The Opposite Of Right (Bad Decisions Trilogy #1) Read online

  Contents

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  THE OPPOSITE OF RIGHT

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DEAR READER

  Excerpt

  Other Books

  Bio

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  The Opposite of Right

  Kylie Stafford has spent her whole life doing exactly what’s expected. The right major, the right sorority, the right guys, just like her mother and her sister before her. But when everything falls apart for her, Kylie wonders if doing everything right has been utterly wrong. There’s only one way to find out.

  She decides to try making all the wrong choices for three months. Hit on a tattoo-covered rock musician? Check. Go back to his dressing room for a hot hook-up against the wall? Gulp. Drop everything to be a roadie for him to binge on more of the best sex of her life? Maybe. Start falling for him despite her better judgment? Um….yeah. Figure out why doing everything that seems wrong feels so darn right?

  THE OPPOSITE OF RIGHT

  by

  Christi Barth

  For Tom, who made a famously bad decision on how to ask me out…which ended up in the best decision we both over made, to fall in love.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Nothing can make this day better,” groaned Kylie Stafford. She swirled one perfectly French-manicured nail around the rim of her gin and tonic. Poked at the chunk of lime balanced on the edge. It looked a couple days old. Withered and dry. In other words, as crappy as she felt.

  “Nothing?” Her BFF, Amanda Marsh, scanned the dark club, then pointed at the life-size cutout by the door. It was identical to the one that had stood in their room at the sorority house for four years straight, from the long brown hair to the full lips and the tanned, washboard abs. “Not even if Cam Watson, the rock god himself, came over and stuck his tongue down your throat?”

  Well, sure. Being kissed by the lead singer of Riptide wouldn’t just turn her day around. It’d make her whole year. As would miraculously getting a new job, an all-expense-paid trip to Tahiti or a pair of Louboutins. They were all equally unlikely. “Please. That’ll never happen. I meant nothing in the actual realm of possibility can fix today.”

  “Grumpy.”

  “Don’t I have a right to be?”

  “Come on, we just tossed our caps in the air yesterday. After four long years of cramming and stressing, we are officially college grads. Can’t you be a little happy about that?”

  Amanda wasn’t just a glass-half-full person. She was an unlimited-refills-on-that-glass type of person. Normally, Kylie found it cute. Cheerful. Well, she didn’t want to be cheered up. Not one bit. When your perfect life took a nose dive into a pile of crap, a girl deserved to mope. And she’d darn well remind Amanda of why it was pointless to even try to cheer her up.

  “In the one day since graduation, I lost the fantastic Smithsonian internship I had lined up.” Kylie held up one hand and ticked points off on her fingers. “The one I spent months getting. Now I have no job, no prospects. I have to start from scratch, in line behind a gajillion other brand new college graduates.”

  With a noticeably dimmer smile, Amanda reached over to tug on a lock of Kylie’s long red hair. “No job means you can get plastered tonight and not worry about having to get up in the morning.”

  How was having no reason to get up a good thing for a twenty-two-year-old chomping at the bit to finally start her life? “Right. When I’m crashed on your couch. Because my boyfriend dumped me one stinking hour before we were supposed to move everything out of my dorm room and into his apartment.”

  Brian had finally realized that her internship in DC meant that she wouldn’t be warming his bed here in Chicago every night. And then realized that he wasn’t cut out for a long-distance relationship. Oddly, Kylie was more pissed on principle than anything else. Being dumped by Brian gave her a sense of freedom she hadn’t known she wanted. Didn’t mean she’d give him a pass on absolutely sucktastic timing, though.

  “You aren’t wearing a cast on any of your arms or legs,” Amanda mumbled into her violently pink drink.

  “At least a broken leg is fixable. There’s no obvious fix for my life.” Kylie squeezed her eyes shut, trying to picture what she’d done to make her whole life suddenly go so wrong. “I did everything right. Went to Northwestern, just like my whole family. Joined Gamma Delta Phi just like Mom and Kira and Gran. I hated the pink and brown colors, but I joined because I was a triple legacy. It was the right thing to do. Went with the major my parents chose, because it was a right choice. A smart choice. I even got this stupid French manicure because Mom said it was the right way to go for a day as meaningful as graduation.” She’d wanted Northwestern purple and white polka dots.

  “Uh, Kylie?” Amanda looked pained. “If you did a shot for all the times you just said ‘right,’ you’d be plastered already.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” Her friend was about to become a teacher, which somehow gave her the ‘right’ to edit everyone’s conversations, instead of just twelve-year-olds’. It was annoying, but she was always right.

  “The day’s not completely ruined. You’re about to hear your favorite band in the whole world.” She reached over to bat at the laminated card hanging from Kylie’s neck. “With a special, all-access pass thanks to our friend Keenan starring in the local opening act.”

  At least the pass meant she didn’t have to stand in the mile-long line for the bathroom. She stood, pulling Amanda along with her and crossed the crowded club floor. But no-wait peeing didn’t exactly solve all her problems.

  Geez, Amanda just wouldn’t give up. Well, neither would Kylie. “I did everything right. And yes, I’ll buy you a shot to make up for saying it again. So why is everything suddenly wrong?”

  “There’s no denying you’re having a bad day. Go ahead and vent. I’ll listen. I’ll provide a shoulder to cry on, an endless supply of chips and salsa and a place to sleep for as long as you need it.”

  “Thank you.” Amanda’s famously endless patience was the reason Kylie could let herself go ahead and whine so much. Squatting in her apartment for more than a couple of days, however, pushed the bounds of friendship way too far. “But you already have a roommate lined up to move in next week. I need to be gone by then.”

  “Why not move back home?”

  “No.” No, squared. No, a million times over. No, to the nth degree. Kylie shook her head so hard that her hair whipped at her cheeks.

  “Okay, but why not?”

  Her parents’ home was full of trophies from her perfect childhood years. Back when everything still went right for Kylie. Photos of her sister Kira’s perfect wedding last summer. Gah. It’d be horrible. “Mom would try to fix everything. Tell me what to do next.”

  With an incredulous, are you hearing this? glance at the bouncer inspecting their passes, Amanda asked, “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Because I already followed her plan. Dad’s plan. My advisor’s plan. I did everything they wanted, and now look where I am.” Kylie threw her hands up in the air as they entered the still-crowded backstage area. “I swear, I’d have better luck if I just did the opposite.”

  “The opposite of what?”

  Hmmm. That simple question unleashed a big what if in her brain. Kylie gasped. Covered her mouth with one hand while she considered. Maybe it was the two gin and tonics. Or maybe it was just a freaking brilliant idea
. “The opposite of right. Making good decisions ruined my life. What if I start making bad decisions? Doing things that I think are wrong?”

  Amanda’s chocolate-brown eyes went wide beneath her dark bangs. “Well, there’s a very strong chance you could end up stabbed on the side of the road. Or broke. Or wearing one of those godawful jumpsuits that all the magazines are trying to bring back into fashion.”

  “I’m serious.” Maybe what was right for everyone else was wrong for her. Kylie certainly had nothing better to do than explore that possibility.

  “So am I. Don’t ever let me catch you in a jumpsuit. I don’t care if its haute couture and costs a thousand dollars. Just. Say. No.”

  “I promise.” Kylie gave her a swift shoulder hug. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

  “Always. Which means, I guess, I need to help you with this new life direction.” Amanda twisted around, looking for who knows what in the large common area full of rock fans, press and backstage crew. “You should start with something utterly wrong, but still fun. Bad, but not dangerous.”

  “Sounds good. What should I do?”

  Amanda pointed at the hallway by the restrooms, where a tall man leaned against the wall. His tight white tee showed off his muscled, lean build. Tattoos ran down both arms. He looked like the very definition of bad-boy perfection. “How about him?”

  Kylie fingered the hem of her first-ever Riptide concert shirt. It was faded. Too big, since she’d bought it to wear at the gym. She quickly knotted it high over one hip. It exposed her midriff and pulled the material tight against her breasts. Perfect—in all the wrong ways. She could do this. She had to do this. So what if she’d never hit on a man before? This was the Metro, for crying out loud, one of Chicago’s most famous rock clubs. People probably hooked up by the bathrooms twenty times a night. If everyone else could do it, so could Kylie.

  She looked back over her shoulder at Amanda, who grinned like a fool and gave her two thumbs up. Okay, then. Waiting wouldn’t make her any braver. So she marched right up to the hot man. Couldn’t even see his face because of the exposed single lightbulb hanging two inches above his head. Kylie focused on the late-day scruff along his jawline instead.

  “Hi. I think you’re hot. I’ve had a really lousy day, and I think kissing you would make it better.”

  Silence—or what passed for silence in a crowded club at almost ten p.m.—hung between them just long enough for Kylie to decide she’d made a horrible mistake. She was only wearing jeans, not anything sexy. This guy was waiting for a bathroom to open up. Maybe he needed to pee more than he needed to be sexually accosted by a stranger. She tried to squint past the bright halo obscuring his face to figure out if he was smiling or shocked or just dismissive.

  “Let’s find out,” he finally said in a good-natured tone.

  Wow. That was easy. Except…asking him was only step one of her first bad decision. Implementing step two was something else entirely. Kylie had no idea how to start. Should she wait until after the bathroom? Go straight for the lips? Or kick things off with an introductory neck nibble? And where to put her hands?

  The man snaked out an arm around her waist, pulling her close enough that the buttons on their jeans clinked. Kylie stumbled, which ended up putting one of his legs between hers. Both hands flew up to rest on those taut pecs. “Hi,” he breathed softly against her ear.

  Oh. That was nice of him. The polite hi was all it took to spur her into action. Kylie pushed onto her tiptoes, turned her head sideways and aimed for his lips. She almost missed. Got the corner and some sharp stubble.

  But this guy knew his stuff. He caught her lower lip with his upper, tugged her into place. And then he nibbled. Just soft, short nibbles. Ones that made all the hair on her arms stand up. His tongue traced the crease between her lips. Kylie parted them on a sigh, but he didn’t push the advantage. Instead, he just kept up the teasing, back-and-forth motion.

  Heat seared into her lower back. Without her realizing it, he’d shifted his hand to the exposed skin between her jeans and tied-up tee. Big. Warm. Moving in a slow whoosh, like a brush across a snare drum. It made Kylie want to wriggle closer. So, still on tiptoe, she wrapped her leg around his. That motion brought her flush against something very, very hard. Wow.

  His other hand grasped the side of her face. Tilted it back a bit. Then his tongue finally swooped in, caressing—seriously!—all of her tongue as carefully and thoroughly as Kylie imagined he might treat her breast. God, she wanted to rip her shirt off and let him do just that.

  Tipping his forehead against hers, he asked, “Is your day any better now?”

  “Who cares about my day? My night is freaking fantastic.” Kylie pulled back to look at him. And felt her knees turn to slush. It….he…the man she’d been kissing was none other than Cam Watson. God, she’d spent hour after hour staring at his pictures and GIFs and videos. Kylie felt like an idiot for not recognizing him sooner. The sensual, full lips. Eyes the deep blue of a midnight sky. Of course, he’d cut off all his signature long hair and spiked-up what was left. It made him look edgier. Badder. More mouth-watering.

  A super skinny girl in a Riptide tee with a mile-high afro barreled out of the bathroom. Cam swiveled his head so fast his neck made an audible snapping sound.

  “Deondra, how do you feel?” Concern made his voice husky. Or maybe it was the aftereffects of their make-out session. Yes. Kylie far preferred that reasoning.

  “Like I just threw up. Twice. And like my appendix is about to burst.”

  “You think so?” He shook his head. Squinted. “Do you even know what that feels like?”

  The other woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah. My twin sister described it—in excruciating detail—after her emergency surgery three days ago. You know twins—we do everything together. I’ve been expecting this.” She winced, grabbed low on the right side of her belly and bent over a little with a whoof of air.

  Kylie found that fascinating. Horrible for Deondra and her sister, of course, but mind-bogglingly fascinating that twins were so connected, so identical, that their bodies would break down at almost the same time.

  “Let me put you on the bus,” said Cam.

  Another eye roll. “Are you crazy? You’ve got a show in ten minutes.”

  Wow. The enormity of the moment rolled over Kylie like an avalanche. She hadn’t just kissed the hot guy she’d drooled over for years. No, she’d been kissing the lead singer of the megaband Riptide. And they were supposed to put on a concert any minute now. She was smack in the middle of backstage details that would turn Amanda green with jealousy.

  “You’re more important than a gig,” Cam insisted.

  Deondra’s teeth flashed white for a second as she tried to smile through the obvious pain. “Aww, that’s sweet. Even sweeter because I know you mean it, you big softie. But my job as promotions manager is to help make you guys money, not cost you a no-show fee for canceling a whole concert just to hold my hand. So everything’s set. I called for a cab to take me to the hospital in between pukefests one and two. It should be here any minute. You go ahead and rock the house like usual. The only thing left to cover is…” She trailed off, then straightened up. Looked directly at Kylie, then deliberately shifted that gaze to Cam. “Who’s the arm candy?”

  Heat roared into Kylie’s cheeks. Yup. She’d gone from newly minted college graduate to arm candy in less than a day…and totally deserved it. Because Kylie was still twined around Cam’s lower half like a vine. Not to mention that he still had his hand sort of wedged down the back of her jeans.

  God, she hadn’t told him her name! Mortified, Kylie dropped her foot back to the ground. “I’m Kylie,” she said to Deondra. Because aiming that information at Cam at this point felt like way too little, way too late. “Kylie Stafford.”

  Deondra stabbed a finger in Kylie’s direction. “Are you a Riptide fan?”

  “Who isn’t?”

  A harsh, guttural laugh from Cam. “You’d be surprised. Or may
be not.”

  “Kylie, I need you to do me a solid.” Deondra put a hand on her arm. Kylie had a feeling it was intended as a friendly gesture, but probably more because the poor woman needed help standing. “Will you work the promo table? Sell the shirts and CDs?”

  “I…uh…sure.” Kylie shrugged. Why not?

  “We’ll reimburse you the cost of your ticket, of course.” That pointed gaze just about pinned Cam to the wall. “Won’t you, Cam?”

  “For God’s sake, Deondra, I’ll handle it.” He tugged at the spikes of his hair. “Will you go sit down before your appendix shoots out and pops me in the eye or something?”

  With a wince, she dug her fingers into Kylie’s arm. “Don’t try to make me laugh.”

  “Then what would I do with all my spare time?”

  “Write a hit song or two?” Deondra buckled over again with a sharp cry.

  God, she felt awful for the poor woman. That said, being a diehard Riptide fan meant more than a few daydreams about skipping out on class to go be a roadie for them. This was Kylie’s chance to experience, if only for a few hours, what it’d be like. And this was her chance to take control of her life and move it in a different direction. Yeah, if only for a few hours, whatever. She was on a roll. First a hot kiss, now a new, if temporary job. This whole bad-decisions experiment was working out waaaaay better than planned.

  Kylie patted Cam on his magnificent chest. “Can’t you see that Deondra won’t go anywhere until you hit the stage? I’ll take her to the door and stay with her until the ambulance comes. Then I’ll staff the promo table.”

  Cam gave his assent with a sharp nod. Then he kissed Deondra on the top of her curly head. “Text me immediately if you’re really going into surgery.”

  The piercing wail of sirens came through the walls. “At this rate, I figure they’ll wheel me in right after your first set.”

  Kylie grabbed the phone dangling from Deondra’s limp hand. “Here. I’ll input my cell number. You can text me with updates, and I’ll pass them along to Cam as soon as the show’s over.”