The Good Girl's Property

1. "I Watch a Lot of Russel Peters."

QUICK NOTE: You probably need to read the first book before this, because it'll get pretty dark after this first, boring-ass chapter. Some references will be to the events classed in the FIRST BOOK, The Bad Boy's Good Girl. This is a  continuation of the story, still revolving around the two main characters, Dylan and Drew.

Happy reading!

Sequel to The Bad Boy's Good Girl

NOT EDITED

Come feel my heart,

It's beating like a drum and

I confess,

When you're around,

It's like an army's marching through my chest.

(La La - The Cab)

"God fucking dammit."

Those are the first words that come out of my mouth when I take my camera out of the box it was carefully packed in. The large crack in the glass lens pisses me off the longer I stare at it. I close my eyes, bite the inside of my cheek and sigh through my nose.

"You're going to hell for using the lord's name in vain," Drew informs me as he sits down. "I mean - whoa, what the fuck?"

I glare at the destroyed lens with angry eyes. "My mother fucking camera just happens to turn to shit the first fucking day of university-"

Drew takes it from my hands gently. I open my mouth to protest and he shakes his head, clicking his tongue lightly. "It doesn't seem ... too bad. I mean, can't you just replace it with the extender or something?"

I sigh through my nose. "No, Drew. Not that simple." My hand found its way into my hair, dragging through the tangled mess. "And I'm not even dressed. Dammit, I'm going to be so late-"

I cut myself off and stand quickly, reaching into my photography equipment box to yank out my Nikon, my first professional camera. I cringe and lightly dust it off, lengthening the strap.

Weighing it in my palms, I twist the lens and sigh. "This'll do."

Drew smiles at me and ruffles my hair like I'm a kid as he stretches to his full height. "This is why I love you, babe. So self efficient," he gushes mockingly, and I roll my eyes, my heart stuttering at the simple word.

"Whatever," I peel off my camisole and cotton shorts just to frustrate him, stretching backwards and pretending to stretch. He coughs into his elbow, eyes flickering down my exposed body for a second before finding my face again.

I smile to myself and dress quickly, pulling on jeans and a woolen sweatshirt. That's England for you. September and already cool and rainy.

I pull my hair into a messy bun to hide the tangles and the greasy quality. So much for a shower today.

I pull on my new pair of black high tops, since long abandoning my alabaster ones from last year. Drew pulls a form fitting grey shirt over his head and it's my turn to check out his body as he slides the material over his abdomen.

Whoa, Dyl, chill the hormones. Seriously, you're thinking like a ho.

Ha, ho-mones. Dirty thoughts.

I bite my lip and stand after lacing up my shoes. "Good luck at work ... as a model," I giggle, my teenage side showing.

Drew smirks. "Yep, I'm hot."