Crazy Little Thing Called Love: The 80's Baby Series Read online

  Crazy Little Thing Called Love

  M. Andrews

  Contents

  Playlist

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  More in The Series

  About the Author

  Crazy Little Thing Called Love

  By M. Andrews

  Copyright 2021 M. Andrews

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Editing by Kathleen Payne

  Cover Design by Dee Ellis

  Cover Image Copyright 2021

  Created with Vellum

  Playlist

  Crazy Little Thing Called Love – Queen

  Raspberry Beret – Prince

  Girls Just Want to Have Fun – Cyndi Lauper

  Like a Virgin – Madonna

  Take My Breath Away – Berlin

  How Will I Know – Whitney Houston

  1

  Heather

  Good girls from Arizona don’t fly off to New York to interview at design schools behind their mother’s back. Good girls don’t go to discos with people they barely know, and they certainly don’t let some guy they met three hours ago go down on them outside on the stairs behind said disco. How did I end up in this dark alley, with the hottest guy in the club, his face between my legs, with his tongue—his deviously long, limber tongue—licking my pussy like it’s made out of ice cream? I guess it all started with my grandmother. My sweet, seventy-year-old grandmother.

  I know it sounds strange, but I wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t found the brochure from Parsons School of Design hiding under my pillow, which prompted her to mail in an application for me. She surprised me with a plane ticket for the interview and managed to come up with a cover story to tell my mom. Apparently, I am escorting Gran and her quilting club to New Orleans for a bingo tournament. The part about Gran and her friends going to New Orleans is the only thing truthful about that story. They are going but it’s not to play bingo, more like craps on a river boat.

  I should have known something was up when she asked me to come with her to the hair salon for her weekly appointment. She hasn’t asked me since Gran ended up with blue hair. This is why you never go full out during Crazy Little Thing Called Love. You end up smacking the bottles of color and in a panic to fix it before they come back, you end up switching the bottles. She looked pretty rad with blue hair, but she didn’t think it was very funny. It wasn’t until we passed the exit for the salon that I realized something was up. Gran handed me a plane ticket to New York and said, “Heather, it’s the eighties not the eighteen hundreds. You are allowed to decide how you live your life. Get out there and start living it.”

  So, it’s because of Gran I met Tiffany, one of the fourth-year students at Parsons, who gave me a tour of the school after my interview. We bonded over both of us being from small towns. She invited me to go out dancing with her and her friends. Because of that, I met Christopher. Mr. Blue Eyes with the sexy smile and dance moves that could put Patrick Swayze to shame.

  Many shots of tequila and a lot of making out later, here I am about to come all over Christopher’s handsome face. His tongue swirls around my clit while his fingers coax me to explode. My hands take hold of the railings on either side of the small stairway, and my back arches off the steps. I have to bite my lip to keep my moans from being heard by anyone walking past.

  “That’s it, Sarah, come for me,” Christopher commands. Oh yeah, I gave him a fake name. I overheard Tiffany and her friends picking out what names they were going to use for the night during the cab ride to the club. Apparently, they come up with fake names and jobs to keep the guys they meet from looking for them later. When Christopher asked for my name, I told him it was Sarah. It’s not like I am going to see this guy again, so what does it matter.

  Christopher hoovers over me, watching me through the soft flickering light from the fixture above us, while his thumb strums my clit in rhythm with his fingers. He brings me to the brink, and I plummet into the deep caves of pleasure. He captures my lips in a heated kiss. He pushes his tongue into my mouth. Warm and sweet, he tastes like me, and it’s so damn hot. His fingers slowly pump in and out of my core, taking every last bit of my orgasm. My teeth pull at his lower lip and I moan, “More.”

  The sound of his zipper fills the night air. I glance down as he frees his cock from his pants. He is so thick and hard; I don’t know how I am going to be able to take all of him. My legs open wider for him. My head falls back as he strokes my clit with his hard length. This is definitely not how I imagined I was going to lose my virginity. This is so much better. I feel the tip of his cock at my opening.

  “Are you ready?” he whispers in my ear.

  “Yes,” I moan, rolling my hips, urging him to take me. My body tenses as he slowly sinks inside me.

  “Relax, baby, breathe,” he urges me, as he leaves a trail of soft kisses down my neck.

  “Holy shit, you feel fucking amazing,” he groans as he starts to move. Christopher wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to the edge of the step, making him sink even deeper. The pinch of pain has dissolved into pleasure. I stretch and mold around his length, and I feel full in the best way. It’s almost like he was meant to shove that big cock of his in me and only me. We fit perfectly together. I keep one hand firmly gripped on the stair railing and the other gripped in Christopher’s hair.

  He picks up his pace, thrusting in and out while his thumb strums my clit, building us both up. Christopher presses his forehead against mine, and he stares into my eyes as he makes love to me. I can feel myself clenching all around him. He feels phenomenal.

  “That’s it, baby, come all over my cock.”

  “Harder,” I call out. I want to be able to feel him after tonight. He happily obliges and pounds into me with everything he has. A few more strokes and I’m coming and screaming his name. My pussy is greedy for more, gripping around his cock with every thrust. His hand clutches my hip tightly, and his thrusts become wilder. In a few more strokes, he is grunting his release and taking me with him again.

  Christopher wraps me in his arms and spins us around so that I am on his lap. He hugs me close and strokes my back as we come down from our high.

  “Come back to my place tonight. I’m not ready to let you go yet,” Christopher whispers in my ear. I have already done so many things out of character tonight, why not add going home with some guy I met at a disco.

  “Okay, I just need to get my bag and tell the girls I’m leaving.” Christopher helps me up to my feet. He tucks himself back into his pants then removes his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. A rush of music billows out into the alleyway when he opens the door to the club. Christopher rests his hand on my lower back and ushers me inside. He tells me he is going to go pay his tab and to meet him out front. There is a permanent smile on my face as I move through the crowd of sweaty bodies. I just had sex in an alley, and I don’t feel the least bit ashamed about it. That could change in the morning whe
n reality hits me, but for now I am going to enjoy this moment and the rest of the night with Christopher. I deserve at least one night of freedom to be whoever I want to be. Tonight, I am Sarah, the girl who goes home with a gorgeous man.

  “Holy shit, Heather, where the hell have you been? I have been looking for you everywhere,” Tiffany shouts over the music.

  “I was with Christopher. I was just coming—” Before I can finish my sentence, Tiffany grabs me by the arm and starts pulling me through the crowd.

  “We have to get out of here. Mona got in a huge screaming match with some skank in the bathroom. The guy that Mona was dancing with was this chick's boyfriend, and now she is threatening to stab Mona if we don’t leave now.”

  “But I have to—”

  “Don’t worry, I have your bag,” Tiffany interrupts me again. “Come, we have to get out of here now.” Her voice urgent, she pulls me out the emergency exit where the rest of the group is waiting with a cab. I try to tell them I am supposed to be meeting someone, but they don’t pay attention and push me into the vehicle. My heart sinks thinking about Christopher standing out in the night waiting for me and thinking I stood him up. I guess this ends my night of adventure.

  2

  Heather

  Three Weeks Later

  “This blasted thing!” I hear Gran yell from the living room. She must be mad at the VCR again. I wrote down the directions for her the last time she had problems setting it up to record. I should have known Gran would lose them; she’d lose her head if it wasn’t attached. Next time I will tape them to the top of the machine. Before I head out of the bathroom, I tease my hair even higher and make sure my bangs are just right before dousing it in Aqua Net. The bathroom door flies open, and the breeze swirls the fog from the spray around the room. I end up inhaling most of it and coughing.

  “Heather, I need your help with that blasted VCR. I don’t want to miss my stories while we are at the mall. This is the episode where we finally see Montana come out of her coma.” The panic is thick in her voice. God forbid she miss her stories. I don’t get the obsession with these cheesy shows. It’s basically the same damn story lines every week. Someone either dies or gets kidnapped. With the occasional swapping places with the evil twin I didn’t know I had plot to spice things up. These shows give Gran something to look forward to now that she is retired, so I can’t knock them too much.

  “Don’t worry Gran, I will make sure everything is working just right before we go,” I assure her.

  “I won’t be able to show my face at the quilting club next week if I miss this episode.” Quilting club, more like a Starcrossed fan club. Gran and her quilting friends spend more time gabbing about their love for this show than actually making a quilt.

  I rest my hands on her shoulders. “Gran, I swear on Madonna that you will not miss this episode.” She lets out a sigh of relief. “Why don’t you finish getting ready while I set up the recording. You do want to look your best when you meet Derek Fox today.” Her face lights up at the mention of her favorite actor from Starcrossed. He is doing a meet and greet at Pine Grove Galleria, where I work. A few weeks ago, I saw the maintenance crew hanging the posters up, announcing the end-of-summer events happening at the mall. One of the benefits of working there, I was able to snag a VIP ticket for Gran before they went on sale to the public. It was totally awesome to see the joy in Gran’s face when I handed her the ticket. All her quilting club friends were so jealous.

  “Thank you, Heather.” She smiles and trades me places in the bathroom. It is good to see her smiling again. I moved to Louisiana from Arizona last winter to help Gran out after she had hip surgery. Her hips are one of the reasons she had to retire from nursing. She couldn’t handle the long shifts on her feet anymore. The doctors finally said it was time for hip replacement surgery. Her recovery has been rough. Gran is very much the go, go, go kind of gal. And having to slow down has not been easy. The last month or so she has been able to pick up more speed, zooming past me during our walks. The new hip is doing wonders, and she is returning to her feisty self again.

  In less than five minutes I had the VCR set and ready to go. I also taped the directions to the top of the machine so Gran could easily find them. Gran finishes loading up her bag with her knitting supplies while I check myself in the mirror for the millionth time.

  “You look just beautiful, Heather. Is that another one of your creations?” she asks, pointing at my dress. I spent the last week making this dress. It took three days alone to hand sew the individual sequins and rhinestones on the bodice. I layered black tulle and pink lace in with the skirt to soften the look against the silver studded belt and the leather jacket I got from Hudson’s, the department store I work at. Of course I added my own flair to the jacket in the form of silver studs to match the belt.

  “Yes, it is. It’s a mix of Madonna and Molly Ringwold in Pretty in Pink.” I love that movie. Andie reminds me a little of myself, in that we both are great at making our own clothes, and we have terrible luck in the men department. Gran bought me my first sewing machine for Christmas the year I was thirteen, and I spent days experimenting with it. Soon the drawings I’d kept hidden away in my sketchbooks came to life. I was getting really good at it too, making all of my own clothes as well as dresses for my friends. I grab my black scarf from the hook next to the mirror and tie it in my hair, making sure not to deflate my bangs.

  “Are you planning on showing off that dress when you go to fashion school in the fall?” she asks, stuffing yarn into her knitting bag.

  “Gran, I told you I didn’t get in.” I brush off her question. Why is she bringing this up now? We are supposed to be leaving.

  “Well, that is strange, because this letter I found in the trash the other day,” she reaches into her purse and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, “says you were accepted in the Fashion program at Parsons.” Damn it, I knew I should have burned that letter. Gran slips into her I will whoop your ass for lying voice and asks, “So why did you lie and tell me you didn’t get in?” She narrows her eyes at me.

  “Gran, you know why. Mom will never approve of me going to design school.” That whole trip to New York was a huge mistake. I was an idiot to think that I could live this silly dream.

  “All I heard was, blah, blah, blah, something, something, I’m scared. Last I checked, you are a grown up, capable of doing whatever the hell she wants. But I guess I am just a silly old woman.” She is really gonna play the old lady card? Of course she is. This was how she got me to let her go on longer walks when the doctor told her to stick to walking just to the end of our street.

  “I really appreciate you getting me that interview, but I just can’t uproot my whole life and move to New York. Besides, who is going to take care of you.”

  “I should slap you upside the head for even suggesting that I can’t take care of myself. Though, I appreciate you helping me out the past few months after my hip surgery, I will not let you use me or your mother as an excuse for not taking this opportunity.”

  “I’m sorry for insinuating that you were too old to take care of yourself. Right now we do not have time to talk about this. You have a hunky soap star to meet and I have a date. You can tell me I am throwing my life away when we get home. Now, tell me I look nice and we can go.” I really don’t want to unpack my life choices before going on a date with some guy I met through a dating service. The fact that I am even using a dating service to find men is appalling enough. I don’t need my grandmother adding in that I am wasting my life.

  “You look very lovely for your date.”

  “Thanks, Gran.” I grab her knitting bag and open the door.

  “Explain to me this video dating thing again,” Gran asks, as we walk out to my car. I think I have gone over the idea of video dating with Gran about ten times and she still doesn’t fully get it. Hell, even I’m still trying to figure it all out, mostly questioning why I am doing this. I guess if I am going to be stuck here in Pine Grove, Louisia
na, I might as well have someone other than Gran to keep me company. That is pathetic just thinking about it.

  “Basically, you go to the dating agency. They have professional studio with a camera man and producer, who ask you a bunch of questions about your likes, ideal dates, and what qualities you are looking for in a date. The set up looks straight out of a television studio. It’s pretty cool. Then you watch a bunch of video tapes of potential men and you pick one or two to go out on a date with. It’s kind of like that Love Connection show you like to watch with Chuck Woolery. A girl I work with says it worked for her. She just got engaged to a guy she met through video dating. It totally works, Gran,” I say, only half believing myself. I open the passenger's side door for her.

  “Is it safe? Do you want my mace?” She pulls out a can of mace from her purse.

  “There is no need for that. I am meeting him in the food court at the Galleria. And besides, I have my own.” I reach into my purse and show her the small can I pack just in case.

  “Good girl.” She grins and climbs into the car. I toss our bags in the back and take my seat behind the steering wheel. “You know, Heather, if you did decide to move to New York, you would be able to track down that man you met, and there would be no need for video dating.” I never should have told her that I slept with someone while I was in New York. My heart aches when she brings up Christopher.

  “Gran, there are like fifteen million people living in New York City. Trying to find that guy again would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”