The Day the Jerk Started Falling (Jerk #2) Read online

  The Day the Jerk Started Falling

  The Jerk Duet: Book Two

  Published by Max Monroe LLC © 2018, Max Monroe

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-1-7321702-2-3

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Editing by Silently Correcting Your Grammar

  Formatting by Champagne Book Design

  Cover Design by Peter Alderweireld

  Photo Credit: iStock Images

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Intro

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Present

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Bonus Scene: Two annoying podcasters, one mad momma, and a baby

  Bonus Scene: Wedding Bells & Sneaky Grooms

  Preview of Tapping the Billionaire

  Acknowledgments

  * * *

  To Ollie: You, our friend, are the epitome of a swoony bastard. It’s been a while since we’ve felt the swoons so hard it brought us to tears. And even though you had a tendency to misbehave while we wrote your story, we can’t deny that The Oliver Arsen Effect is a real thing. We’re forever your fangirls.

  To Max’s baby: Stop kicking your mom’s ribs. Also, we can’t wait to meet you.

  And last but certainly not least, to Kelly Clarkson. One day, when you’ve noticed our existence and we’ve become best friends, you’ll be able to look back on this dedication and think, “Man, I really love my best friends Max and Monroe.”

  * * *

  Podcast Series: The Day the Jerk Started Falling with Oliver Arsen

  Dating is easy, mates. The women are plentiful, the opportunities abundant, and the fun endless.

  I’ve taken a woman night surfing—only to end up using the board and the motion of the water for another purpose—jetted over to New Zealand for a two-day holiday with another, and given more than one a fair tour of my bedroom.

  No effort overspent, I enjoyed every moment of it.

  I live hard and love harder, but it’s the second one that usually gets me in the most trouble. My affection tends to be short-lived—a quality I’ve been assured multiple times by the fairer sex isn’t becoming.

  Basically, according to the greater population, I’m the ultimate jerk.

  And if you grouped the lot of my past conquests together and set me ablaze, not one of them would piss on me to save my life.

  Taking the next step, having a long-term relationship, has never been my forte.

  Commitment is hard. The thought of a one-woman wank for the rest of my life has barely ever been conceivable, let alone possible, and I have to blame that for how badly it all went.

  When I look back at my behavior, there has to be a reason.

  A reason, friends, that when it came to Luciana Wright, I fucked it all up.

  I’ve been cursed out, stomped on, slapped. Had my balls volleyed, spat on, and punched. And even, on one occasion, nearly run over by a car with a madwoman behind the wheel.

  But I’ve never been through the brutal torture of love.

  Until Lucky.

  She’s an American bombshell and my sister’s best friend—a woman so wrong for me, it should be written in the waves.

  And she’s the reason we’re all here.

  The exact reason why I strong-armed the lovely, albeit slightly hard-ass, editor of this fantastic website to let an Aussie bloke like me prattle on about his love woes.

  [chuckles]

  Vanessa, if you’re listening, I’m certain your balls are bigger than just about every man out there. And trust me, that is a compliment.

  [chuckles again]

  Also, thank you for your hospitality via podcast permission. It is much appreciated.

  And you, dear listeners, you should know that for the next God only knows how many episodes of this podcast series, I’m going to spend my time talking directly to Lucky. If you’re not her, but you’d like to keep listening, I urge you to help me. Help me by hearing me out. Help me by relating to my story. Help me plead my case. And to really prepare yourself to get the whole tale from both sides, listen to her podcast first.

  [distinct pause]

  I had you in my grasp, Lucky, but now it’s fallen apart.

  And in order to explain how it happened—to explain myself—I feel like I have to go back to the day it all began.

  To the day the jerk started falling.

  * * *

  Episode 1: The Assignment

  Day One of Falling

  [clears throat]

  Hi, guys. Ladies. Hopefully, the lovely Lucky.

  I want to, first, thank you for listening, and second, ask patience of you as I wade into uncharted waters.

  I’m an active guy with what many would describe as a large personality, but I’m not prone to making myself vulnerable in such a public way.

  Hell, I’m truthfully not that prone to making myself vulnerable in the private sense either.

  That’s probably a decent part of my problem, but no worries…there’ll be plenty of time to psychoanalyze me as the story goes on.

  Without further ado, I suppose it’s time I got started.

  And to start a story that’s already been told by you, my love, it seems to make sense that I start in a little bit of a different place. In the hours before your arrival, in the calm before the storm.

  [pauses]

  The early morning of June 4th in Sydney was one of the prettiest I’d seen. Waves buoyed and the ocean churned as I pulled up to sitting on my board and flicked the salty cling of seawater out of the tips of my hair. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, and I, a happy bloke with the feel of the board and ocean below me, had no earthly idea what was coming.

  My mate Lokie had a smile on his face as wide as the beach, and even without knowing the reason for it, I couldn’t help but mimic his enthusiasm.

  “What’s with the mug?” I asked cheerily, swirling my feet in the water below to turn my board back toward the beach.

  The wave I’d ridden not five minutes ago had jolted my adrenaline, but I was just getting started. If I had my choice of it, I’d be out and
about until I was half-cooked.

  Unfortunately, as I’m sure you’ve learned by now, Luck, I’m a man of many professional commitments, and time spent enjoying the ride was limited.

  “You’ve drawn a crowd, mate. Sheilas and blokes, they all want to fuck you.”

  [laughs]

  I know it’s ridiculous, but I’m telling you, that’s what the man said. I’d swear it on the success of my company. Still, you should know that, even to me, it was a ridiculous thing to say.

  Much like I imagine you are now, I rolled my eyes at his overglamorized view of my fading fame and laughed.

  “Right. I’m sure they’re all cock-hungry. Couldn’t be the call of the waves?”

  “Not the way they’re watching you, Oll.” I snorted at the wonder in his voice. “Trust me,” he assured, “there’s a look about them.”

  “Ah well,” I said with a laugh, leaning into my board and paddling to catch up with the rising swell. “Too bad I can’t fuck and ride at the same time.”

  Lokie laughed and splashed at the water at his sides, calling after me, “You haven’t tried!”

  I smiled into the orange light of the rising sun and pushed up on my board to gain my feet. The rush of the wind mixed with the speckled splash of salt and sea, and I leaned into the curl to ride this one until the end.

  In case you’re wondering, Lokie was right. I’d never tried. Fucking and surfing at the same time, that is.

  When I’m riding the curl, the only connection I need is between me and the wave. Sounds like a little bit of a spit shine, but it’s the truth. For as big of a dog as I am romantically—or was, I suppose—I still found way more spiritual satisfaction from my dedication to the water.

  “Ollie!” Pat Pollock, a Sandgroper who’d found his way to Sydney and stuck, waved wildly on the beach, cupping his hands around his mouth ever so slightly to amplify the sound of his call. “Ollie!” he yelled again as I rode the flow and dipped up and over the top of the wave as it finally petered out.

  Close to the shore, I made it the rest of the way in with a quick paddle before jogging out to greet him, my board under my arm.

  His smile was broad and charming, the feral bastard. He was good looking and well-toned, and the sheilas ran him damn near ragged.

  I’d say he was a lucky man, but given the intent of this podcast, and who I hope is my main audience, I’ll refrain in the name of my genital safety.

  [laughs]

  Don’t deny it, Luck. I’ve seen the damage you can do with a well-aimed shoe.

  Anyway, back to the story.

  “Hey, Pat. Something you wanted, mate?” I teased as I accepted his extended fist with a pound of my own.

  “Your phone,” he said cheekily, dumping it unceremoniously from his hand to mine without care for the sand or sea. I hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding it.

  I caught it on the drop and shoved my board into the sand with the other arm.

  “Been ringin’ constantly. I checked the caller for ya,” he added with a wink. “Ole Allie’s lookin’ good, mate. That a recent picture of her on your screen?”

  He was referring to a family photo, me and all three of my siblings, that was taken a few years back.

  I scowled slightly, his taunting about good looks and my sister bringing out my baser protective instinct. Alas, she was married, newly pregnant—a fact she’d only just shared with me—and halfway around the globe, and yet, his words still singed.

  I knew the inner workings of the mind of a bloke like me—and I didn’t want even one of them anywhere near my sister.

  [laughs]

  In hindsight, it was a little ridiculous to worry about a friend of mine getting it on with my sister. But beyond that, it was entirely ironic that a friend of my sister’s ended up getting it on with me.

  Now, I know you’ll take that wording as me giving you the blame, love, but I can assure you, if you’ll keep listening, you’ll see that’s not my intention. No, when it comes to pursuing you, I take all the blame.

  Anyway, it didn’t take much to bug off from Pat and call Allie back.

  [laughs]

  God.

  If only I’d known the can of worms that was about to explode my way.

  You, love. I’m talking about you.

  “Hey, Allie,” I greeted her. “You’ve got me the talk of the beach here, calling all incessantly. If I don’t answer on the first call, you think maybe I might be busy?”

  “You never answer on the first call, asshole.”

  “Crikey, sis. It’s arsehole. Moving to America isn’t an excuse to actually become American, is it? Abuse the Aussie vernacular too much, and I’ll have to classify you as barro.”

  “If anyone is embarrassing, it’s you, remember? I’m one of Mum and Dad’s golden children.”

  “You were,” I corrected. “Until you decided to have your ankle biter all the way across the world. I’ve taken your place now.”

  “Tell me, Oll. Are you still trying to grow face fungus, or have you given up on being a real man?”

  I laughed at my sister’s pointed prod at my inability to grow an even, impressive beard, and I refocused the conversation. We could jive and jab in our sibling dance for hours if I didn’t direct us back to the target.

  [chuckles softly]

  You haven’t gotten the chance to see much of that side of us yet, Luck, but I’m sure you’d like it. Ask Allie. My life with her prepared me for the ballbusting you like to give.

  For now, though, I’ll give you a little peek of it here…

  “I’m baby-faced as ever, sis,” I snapped back. “Other manly endeavors have proven far more worthy of my time.”

  She snorted at my insinuation, and I smiled at the familiarity of it. As much as we teased and taunted, I missed the simplicity of having breakfast with her from time to time.

  “I’m sure. Is there a woman left in Australia you’ve yet to root?”

  “I’m distinguished, Al. I don’t cop a root just anywhere. Hell, that’s why someone invented a wristy.”

  “Oh, gross,” she scoffed, horrified at the shameless reference to a woman jerking me off.

  I gloried in her embarrassment, really rubbing the jab until it cut rough. “No worries. I always make sure to keep the spoof out of their hair.”

  “Jesus Christ, you’re ill! I feel crook.”

  Bull’s-eye achieved, I laughed at her discomfort. “Ah, you might be disgusted, but at least you’re sounding Australian again. I’ve done my job.”

  “Wrong, brother. I’m calling you to tell you your job has just begun.”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?”

  “My best friend, Lucky, is flying by metal bird as we speak, bound for Sydney—and you.”

  That’s you, love. As you can see, things are about to get good.

  “Why the hell is she doing that?”

  “To cover the remainder of the tour.”

  “I thought I might actually see you for that, you know.”

  She scoffed. “I’m not flying over there pregnant. That stands out like dog’s balls.”

  “Not to me,” I pouted, unwilling to admit that her absence should have been obvious.

  No offense, but I’d been looking forward to seeing my little sister. And knowing you were coming to replace her probably didn’t do much to help my first impression of you.

  Allie, oblivious to my disappointment, laughed. “Well, it should have been. Lucky is coming in my place, and I’ve promised you’ll look out for her. Pick her up at the airport. Keep her from getting stung or bitten by something poisonous within an hour of arrival, that kind of thing.”

  “Allieeee,” I groaned. “You know I’m not some touring bloke. I don’t keep a schedule of my own, let alone someone else’s.”

  “Yes, I’m aware. Normally, you’re about as useful as tits on a bull. But today you’re going to be the best fucking tour guide she’s ever seen, and you’re going to be bloody charming.”

>   “And what can I suppose will happen to me if I’m not?”

  “Well, I guess I’ll find a way to make sure you cark it.”

  “Blimey!” I feigned shock. “Murder, huh? No dramas, then. I’ll be there.”

  “Ollie—” Allie started to warn, knowing me and my promises far better than I’d like her to. It wasn’t that I purposely broke them off. I just had a way of getting busy and forgetting.

  “I’ll be a bloody Boy Scout. I promise.”

  She sighed heavily.

  “What time does she arrive?”

  “In an hour and a half.”

  I laughed. “You really stocked up the notice on this one, huh?”

  “Just think of it this way—now you don’t have enough time to forget.”

  “I barely have enough time to take a piss before I have to be on the way.”

  And right there on the beach I’d surfed a million times, talking to the girl I’d grown up with, the assignment was born.

  There wasn’t enough notice to think. There wasn’t enough time to question. In the time it would take me to surf a half-dozen more rides, hop in my Jeep, and blaze a trail to the airport, everything I knew would be setting up to change.

  I had no idea, Lucky. No idea at all that this would be the day the jerk started falling.

  * * *

  Episode 2: The Meet-Ugly

  Still Day One of Falling

  So, I was headed to the airport to meet my fate.

  My fate being you, love.

  [chuckles softly]

  And, thanks to Allie’s last-minute call and the fact that I’m not the kind of bloke who arrives ten minutes early, I was down to the wire on time.

  The screech of my tires echoed in the chasm of concrete as I jerked my Jeep into a spot in the parking garage at the airport. A bit careless and hurried, I jogged the shifter into neutral and engaged the parking brake.