Accidental Leigh (Literal Leigh Romance Diaries Book 1) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Praise for Melanie James

  Hot Reads By Melanie James

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Preview A Valentine’s Surprise

  Preview Conjuring Darkness

  Praise for Melanie James

  A Valentine’s Surprise - “It was one of the cutest and hottest novellas I've ever read. It's rare to have such a great mix of cute and hot, but this author does it perfectly!” ~ Willow Star Serenity Reviews

  A Valentine’s Surprise - “This is one of the best short stories I have read in a long time!” ~ HeadTripping Books

  A Valentine’s Surprise - “This little love story is capable of getting your juices going and turning a dull afternoon into a page turning glorious day.” ~ Aubree Lane, Author of Sierra Mist & Early One Morning”

  Conjuring Darkness - “I was already a huge fan of author Melanie James so I expected her to write another amazing book. Even I didn't expect how incredible Conjuring Darkness would be. I couldn't put it down!” ~ Kelly Cozzone, Author of Tropical Dreams

  A Valentine’s Surprise - “Kuddos to Melanie James for throwing a good romance our way. I want more!” ~ Jennifer Theriot, Author, Out Of the Box Series

  Conjuring Darkness – “Conjuring Darkness captivates your attention right from the start and never let's go. The adventure packed into this supernatural thriller only keeps you on the edge and turning the page. It definitely was one of those books that was hard to put down.” ~ Angela Ford, Author of Closure

  Conjuring Darkness – “This book is captivating from the first page, I could not put the book down. I was so surprised by all the twists, turns, the unexpected. I could not wait until I was through each chapter.” ~ Angie at I Heart Books

  Hot reads by Melanie James

  Seasons of Love Series

  A Valentine’s Surprise

  A Summer Love – July 2014

  Fall in Love – Coming fall 2014

  Literal Leigh Romance Diaries

  Accidental Leigh

  Serious Leigh – Coming Soon

  Stand Alone

  Beautiful Betrayals – Coming August 2014

  Darkness Series

  Conjuring Darkness

  Hour of Darkness – Fall 2014

  Edition License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you wish to share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should delete it from your device and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.

  The book contains content that is not suitable for young readers 17 and under.

  Copyright

  Accidental Leigh

  By Melanie James

  Copyright © by Melanie James

  Editing: Black Paw Publishing

  Proofreading: AVCProofreading

  Cover Artist: Dreams to Media

  ISBN-13:

  978-1499232509

  ISBN-10:

  1499232500

  All rights reserved

  Published in the United States of America

  Acknowledgements

  To my amazing assistant Stephanie Mae. There are not enough words to express how grateful I am to have met you! Your support means the world to me and I am always in awe of your hard work!

  Monkeys – Thank you so much for everything. You all are amazing! My tree would be awfully lonely without each and every one of you to fill it up!

  CLS – Rock on! #PTTP!

  Thank you to all of my readers for the continued support. You have given me more than you know!

  Dedication

  This book is for my amazing kids. I couldn’t imagine life without the five of you!

  Chapter One

  Goodbye Carl, Hello Vlad!

  Apparently, the strangest, yet most powerful thing has happened to me, which isn’t saying much. After all, I’m a single, overworked and under-fucked elementary school teacher. This strange and magical thing wasn’t expected and I sort of stumbled on it by accident.

  Maybe, I should first explain what led up to this discovery. Let’s just say that because I have a non-existent love life, I’ve decided to spend my summer break doing something new. I decided to write romance stories. Like most women, I love reading romance books that are unabashedly hot. Let’s call it my guilty pleasure. Don’t get me wrong, I read a lot. I get into the brainy essays and the trending book club recommendations. I love the classics as well. Reading has been the single most influential part of my life, but nothing gets the juices flowing quite like a steamy, smoking hot hero who delivers orgasm after panty wetting orgasm.

  Some (mostly men) would sneer at the way women consume romance books. I’ve heard men refer to romance books as nothing but pulp. They like to call them bodice rippers, mommy porn, paperback porn, and the like. Women, and a growing number of romance reading men, would agree with me when I say the romance genre of today is a rich source of good fiction that really draws from so much more. Is it full of erotica? Hell yes! Is it full of feel-good Happily Ever Afters? Sometimes. Let’s face it. Women are smart readers. They know what they want and what they need. Maybe some of the Nay-Sayers (mostly men) could learn a little bit about how to be a real man from a good fictional alpha male. God knows, the male gender seems to be sorely lacking in some of those qualities these days. Hence, we have to get what we need and what we want from fiction.

  To say the least, I’m a book-whore and I follow multiple series and authors. You had better believe, I keep my masturbatory fantasies pretty stocked up with just about anything that could possibly suit my mood. I have a pretty creative imagination that often puts together some exciting ideas. All of my naughty ideas are drawn from the themes from my reading habit. In the past year, I realized that I had developed a true artistic vision, and I pondered what I could do with my creativity. Why not write these stories down? They could someday be bestsellers! Like I said, something strange happened and that is why I need to keep a diary of what’s going on.

  It all started last fall. I had been casually dating a guy named Carl, a math teacher at the middle school. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice guy. He just doesn’t come close to being a shadow of what my book boyfriends are like, and he could never even dream of being the lead hero in anyone’s fictional fantasy, let alone mine. Carl is just too… dare I say, bland. He’s soft, pale, and a little lumpy.

  I have a category for guys that fit this exact description. Marshmallows. Marshmallows have some good qualities though, they can’t simply be overlooked. They are usually decent guys that are financially stable. They just don’t have what it takes to get the juices flowing, if you know what I mean. Carl never gave me that initial jolt that made me even consider having sex with him. The passion never even smolder
ed. Hell, who am I kidding, the spark never ignited!

  One Saturday morning, he called and wanted to see if I’d like to go out to dinner and catch a movie. I really tried to ignore him, but he’s a persistent little bugger. I found myself scrambling for ways that I could be tactful about saying, I already had plans. I mean, it was the day that I had been eagerly awaiting for months. I had finished reading the third book in the Shifted Hearts Vampiric Wolf series the day after it was released. This next installment promised to be hot, and I was foaming at the mouth!

  Book four was ready and willing to provide the long awaited pleasure that I so desperately needed. I was all set. I had bought the perfect mood candles, the bath soaps, and a giant size pack of AA batteries. We’re not talking about the family size package, no, no, no... This was the size that the Red Cross orders during extended power outages resulting from catastrophic natural disasters. I hate to admit this, but I even bought the perfect skimpy little negligée to wear after my four hour bath. Oh hell, I might as well admit it, I had already received a special gift to myself. It arrived in discreet, plain brown packaging. The gift promised to measure up to Vladimir Wolf’s fictional hardened length, every long, thick inch of it. Where was I? Oh yeah. Back to Carl, who couldn’t let go. I finally let it blurt out of my mouth.

  “Carl! I told you that I already have plans. I’m busy tonight.”

  “Doing what, Leigh?”

  “Dammit! I have a date already!”

  “Oh? Really? With who?” Carl said who with a very nasally and sarcastic tone, by the way, and that really just pissed me right the fuck off! We’re talking about my boy Vlad, now. Nobody and I mean nobody talks bad about Vlad!

  “You wouldn’t know him, his name is Vladimir, and he’s from Romania.”

  “What? Let me guess, you have a date with another one of your fictional characters. That’s what it sounds like to me. Leigh, why didn’t you just say you didn’t want to see me anymore?”

  “OK fine, Carl. I would rather stay at home and masturbate than go out with you!” The stinging words rolled off of my tongue and hung in the atmosphere between cell phone towers like a swarm of angry bees. I clamped my mouth shut, as if I could still stop them from getting to Carl, but it was too late.

  I had everything just right. The mood was set and I slipped into a nice warm bath with my Kindle ready for action. Then it happened. In the second chapter, my beloved Vladimir, my hero, my fantasy love, was dead. Dead! Some low-life werewolves killed my vampire-wolf shifter with a wooden stake wrapped in silver. I screamed in pure agony, “Dead? Dead! No!” I spent the next couple of hours sitting on my bed crying, my tears dropping on my Kindle. Sad, I know. I called my sister in Pittsburgh, who shared my love for Vlad. I needed support and she sadly couldn’t offer it. All we did was cry over the untimely passing of our beloved Vladimir, and make threats against the writer who swiftly brought grief into our lives. All the while, my mood candles pathetically melted away, alone.

  As the weeks went by, I slogged my way through the stages of grief over that damn book. It was a very serious thing for me. I was officially in mourning. I subconsciously chose black to wear to work. Who does that sort of thing? Me, that’s who! It didn’t go unnoticed by the other teachers, or even the students at my school. The day I realized that my grief was on full display was when a small voice asked. “Miss Epstein? Did somebody croak or something?” I lost it again. “Croak?” I couldn’t tell the little girl the truth. “Yes, Haley, someone did, in fact, croak. Somebody very dear to me. My boyfriend.” Kids! They are very observant, but they can be such uncouth little mongrels. I felt awful for lying, not because I was lying to a child, no. I only felt awful because I knew that I had just cast out the first of many threads which would eventually be woven into a huge web of deceit.

  As the weeks went by, that little lie spread through the class like an infestation of head lice. Then the lie reached up from the sticky mass of mucus that is the student body and spread to the teachers’ lounge. Nothing gives the lunchroom coterie of stressed out teachers the dark and secret joy of morose delectation like good gossip. Like any viral lie, the croaking of Leigh’s boyfriend had grown. It became altered into a story of fantastic proportions. I felt the gravity of the lie, when finally, one of the perky new teachers approached me.

  “Leigh, I just want to tell you that I am very sorry for your loss.”

  I was caught a bit off guard and had to scramble to recover so I didn’t blow it. “Huh? Oh, thanks.”

  “I lost my great-aunt a few years ago and it affected me deeply. I just can’t imagine losing my entire family in such a tragedy.”

  I was curious now to know what the hell kind of tragedy had taken out my entire family. I wanted to lead her on, but I wasn’t quite sure of how to do it. “Yes. Yes, it was.”

  She handed me a large folded poster board. “One of my students had asked if the entire first grade class could make a sympathy card for you. I hope you don’t mind the graphic images, but I believe the children should be allowed to freely express their feelings. I think it cultivates their empathy. Don’t you agree? I was just reading a study-”

  My stomach churned at her still fresh first year teacher peppiness. She handed me the card that was adorned with a few doodles of what appeared to be bananas flying out of a box. Scattered around were dismembered stick figures with X’s for eyes.

  “Oh my God!” I interrupted her discussion on the relationship between creative expression and empathy with my shock at seeing the grotesque artwork.

  “What is it? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Oh… Sorry, it was just unexpected. What exactly does this show? I mean, are those bananas flying through the air?”

  “No, those are fingers, except for those two. Those are severed penises. Oh, and I think those over here are bratwurst. That tiny addition was little Carter’s contribution. Everyone heard how bad it was when the sausage plant exploded and your family’s car was caught in a giant fireball.”

  I was trying with all of my might to keep from vomiting. “OK, well, tell them how much I appreciate their consoling thoughts.”

  I really wanted to ask her if she was secretly trying to groom the next generation of serial killers. I bit my tongue because more than wanting that question answered, I just wanted her to take her happy ass back to the classroom and leave me the hell alone. A sausage plant explosion was how my one tiny lie ended up? I supposed the gruesome details included a deluge of body parts and ground pork spattering the neighborhood. I imagined the surreal scene with empty sausage casings dangling from car antennas like so many discarded condoms.

  I had no doubt, I had become the most recent fodder for discussion among my peers. I guess it must have been welcome. The other recent gossip included a middle school teacher’s husband, Ron. He taught history at the high school, but was forced to make an unexpected exit after the dressing down of his entire class. Apparently, a student questioned whether it was relevant to learn about the French revolution. He told the entire class they needed to learn it or become a generation of stupid assholes, just like their stupid asshole parents who lived in a town full of assholes, dipshits, and dumbasses. He then went on to recite a list of the worst assholes by name, which happened to include the entire school board. Now, the only time we saw him around school was when he was dropping off something for his wife. If you said hello, he only grumbled, “Asshole” and turned away.

  In any case, a certain degree of mourning was appropriate. As insane as it may seem to some, any true fan of a good romance series will validate my grief. You really have a tremendous amount of emotional investment with the book boyfriend. Maybe more than you would with the real-life boyfriend. Let’s face it, when you are in the dating scene, you have a built-in level of expected disappointment. How many times have you heard it from your friends? You know, the “disclaimer.” Those usually start out with, “Well, at least he can hold down a job.” “Sure, he’s no Chris Hemsworth, but at least
he doesn’t live in his parent’s basement.” And sometimes they get downright desperate. “Well, at least he didn’t have to blow into a tube to start his car.” The worse one I’ve heard someone say about their boyfriend was “you can barely notice the ankle monitoring bracelet.”

  In the series you are reading, you have an immortal, consistent, and perfect lover. You don’t have to make excuses or apologize for him, like you would with the real-life boyfriend. The book boyfriend fills those empty spaces of your heart that most guys could never reach, and that’s just the emotional side of it. I don’t even want to mention the physical aspects.

  Chapter Two

  An Old Desk and a Shocking Experience

  I finally shook off my obsessive disappointment with the author and channeled my bitterness into creative energy. I made a decision. I would take matters into my own hands and start to write my own books. Just to have a plan was refreshing. I looked forward to getting started.

  One wintery day over my holiday break, I decided, as long as I had some free time, I would start preparing. Now, everyone knows that a writer has to have a little nook or cave where all of their creative ideas can get put into words. I have a one bedroom apartment that has whatever space my damn cat allows me to use for myself, which isn’t much. First, I needed a desk. It’s the one thing every writer needs, and I finally found one for free on the local online classifieds. Someone was getting rid of it and I immediately called the number.

  “Hello?” It was an elderly woman that seemed sweet. I could just imagine the serene grandmother pausing her daily baking of fresh chocolate chip cookies to answer my inquisitive call.

  “Hi, I’m calling about the desk you listed. What can you tell me about it?”

  “It’s a desk, not a job offer.”

  “OK. What’s it made out of? Is it big or small? Can’t you describe it a little?”