The Davenports, Season One, Episode One: The CRD Series: Season One, #1

By Shannyn Leah and Kelly Moore

Warning: If you are looking for a sweet, sensitive book with a happily ever after, this isn't it. It is a totally inappropriate book about a completely dysfunctional family. The F word flies free along with many other curse words. Feel free to get drunk (because the Davenports sure are!) while you're reading it, and prepare to wet yourself laughing. If sex scenes are not your thing, this book might not be your thing. But, if you have a crazy sense of humor and like raunchy comedies - you're in the right place. Join in on the craziness of The Crazy Rich Davenport Family. 

Lucy's husband Mark, died a year ago. Her life and her families has been steadily going downhill and things have gotten a little out of control, to say the least. When her daughter plans a birthday party for her half-sister. Lucy decides it's time they all get their act together, but not everyone is on the same page.


There will be dildos and strawberries flying in the air, along with firecrackers, curse words, and little blue pills being slipped into drinks - hard-ons for everyone! Lucy's hope for normal in her dysfunctional family will never happen and things only get worse when Mark's snooty parents drop a bombshell that will only spark more insanity from The Crazy Rich Davenport family.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shannyn Leah
• Release date: Aug 21, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386208440

Shannyn Leah

USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR, Shannyn Leah welcomes you to her small town of bad boys and smart, sassy heroines. Contemporary romance with the perfect blend of humor, heart and heat.  To be notified when new books, exclusive excerpts and contests are released, join her mailing list here: http://www.shannynleah.com/newsletter-and-secret-access-club.php

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ford

IS IT CHEATING if you have sex with your girlfriend’s split personalities?

She has three that I know of—that any of us know of—and I’m not about to screw Tommy the Zombie Hunter. But, I mean, when I wake up next to Slutty Pepper, and she’s working on my morning hard-on, wouldn’t it be rude to jump away and tell her she’s not Daisy?

Because, in actuality, it is Daisy’s body, Daisy’s eyes, and Daisy’s hand…only sometimes her mind temporarily strays a bit off track. Slutty Pepper never stays around long, and she’s usually too tired to pop up—like my erection—this early in the morning. She prefers to prowl the evening like a wild teenager who also happens to be eight years younger than Daisy’s age of twenty-five.

That means Slutty Pepper is three years younger than me. Is this illegal? If Daisy’s legally twenty-five, but her split is not of age, does that make this morning’s rendezvous in Daisy’s bed illegal?

Oh damn, this is too confusing first thing in the morning when Slutty Pepper is pumping up and down on top of me.

Yes, Ford, yes! I cup her breasts—again, Daisy’s breasts—and listen to her shout my name as we both succumb to the pleasure. She digs her nails into my flesh and squeezes my chest so tight I make a sound of pain. 

You like that, Ford?

Oh fuck. Slutty Pepper’s eyeing me like I’m a candy she’s going to devour. I’d say it’s a good thing, but I know with Slutty Pepper it’s never good.

I have to get ready for school. It’s as good an excuse as any, and it’s the truth. I should’ve stayed in my dorm room last night, but being the university is in the same town as my parents’ house—now my mom’s house—sometimes it’s nice just to hang out at home with my siblings and their nanny, my girl, Daisy.

Slutty Pepper shoves my chest down, and I bounce off the bed. She leans down and presses one finger against her lips as she purses them out more than Daisy does. She’s the complete opposite of my sweet Daisy, and I shouldn’t be under her.

I won’t tell if you don’t tell.

Double fuck. She’s talking about telling Daisy. Her personalities talk inside her head, and lord only knows what trouble Slutty Pepper could stir up. Daisy didn’t deserve the hassle of them cheating—again.

Damn Slutty Pepper is too persuasive.

I try to sit up, and this time she wraps her arms around my neck and bounces on my lap. Let’s have a shower.

I’m going to be late.

What’s wrong with being a little late? She almost swallows my ear and bites my earlobe hard as she pulls away. She whispers some goddamn sexy shit she wants to do to me in the shower, but I’m feeling guilty.

Again.

You’d think I’d learn the first time. Or second. I mean, how many times has my dick been in this personality? It’s too early in the morning to count. 

Another time. I lie—or tell myself I’m lying when really, I suck at resisting Slutty Pepper. When she wants something, she’s a go-getter and too damn hot. A hot side of the girl I like. 

I lift her off my lap and set her on the bed. 

Oh, Ford. She opens her legs and slides her hands between her breasts, down her middle, heading to the warm and wet waiting area below. Daisy doesn’t have to be downstairs for an hour. Let’s play.

I grab my clothes from the floor, half-ass pulling my pants up my legs and hurriedly struggling to push my hand through an arm before I change my mind and dive down below.

See you later, I say, making a beeline toward the door. I practically run through the main living quarters—all decorated in calming yellows and beige, matching Daisy’s personality. As I shut the door, I can hear Slutty Pepper moaning in a wave of pleasure she’s bringing to herself. I press my back against the door, closing my eyes and ordering my body to stop reacting. Encouraging Slutty Pepper will get me into deep shit. She always manages to get me into deep shit. 

I open my eyes, hoping to hell I have some control over myself and find my younger sister staring at me. She taps her socked foot on the plush carpet, and her brown pants match her straight dark hair which she’s pulled into a tight ponytail. One of her hands is firmly planted on her cocked hip, bunching her white flared sweater. Her eyes, the same blue as mine, look ready to skin me alive, and she looks more awake than a person should at this early hour.

You screwed Slutty Pepper again, didn’t you?

I’m not going to lie. I mean, I’m standing here getting a hard-on all over again listening to the screaming moans through the door.

Well, I’m not going to sleep with Tommy.

At least Tommy has morals.

He believes zombies are real. He literally killed a squirrel in the backyard last week. Shot it to death. With a BB gun. Daisy made us have a funeral and everything for it. Closed bag, so it wasn’t bloody or gruesome for the younger kids.

And Slutty Pepper doesn’t believe in the pill, so I hope you covered Slutty Mini Ford up because we don’t need more kids running around.

Kids? Hell no. I’m twenty and in the second year of my studies in bioengineering. Kids are not in my picture. Not my own anyway.

My parents had a litter of six, and my dad had two with the wife before my mom. Since my dad’s unexpected passing almost a year ago, my mom’s in denial and we’re damn lucky to have Daisy keeping the kids sorted. Unless I screw it all up and she packs her, Slutty Pepper, and Tommy’s bags up and walks out the front door. 

I follow a steaming angry Gemma down the hallway.

What are you even doing here? I ask. She has a dorm room too, thankfully not anywhere close to mine. She drives me crazy enough with the amount I see her already.

She turns, and I almost run into her. It’s Friday. She says it like there’s some underlying meaning I’m supposed to understand. All Fridays mean to me is Slutty Pepper will be planning on sneaking away to a club come midnight, and if I don’t control the situation, it won’t be my dick inside either of them. Not that I care what or who Slutty Pepper does. It’s not like Daisy is out having sex with random people, but Daisy’s been worried lately, which is how Slutty Pepper and I started hanging out in the first place.

It is Imogene’s birthday and Mom’s throwing her a party—tomorrow.

I make a face of disgust at the mention of the first siblings, my half siblings. The all-time famous Imogene and Mark Davenport Jr. Talk about stuck-up assholes. With fifteen years over me and Gemma, those two dimwits had been raised with a silver spoon in their mouths, on a pedestal, and groomed to be the heirs of the family business.

Mom’s not throwing her a party. Mom won’t even know what day today is. She likes the bottle more than Slutty Pepper and the new gardening guy. Who would have known that cliché was so true?

Gemma turns and starts walking again, and I follow her through the wing of our mansion. Yes, I’m rich, my siblings are rich—filthy rich actually, but there’s no way I’m about to let all of us grow up into snot faces like the first siblings. We aren’t entitled to our trust funds until we turn twenty-five, so as of now, we live off our mom. Which we could really take advantage of if we wanted; she pays very little attention to what’s going on around the house since our dad died.

No, everyone thinks Mom’s throwing her a party. The first siblings, the other grandparents. Plus, Uncle Jacob and Aunt Jane are coming.

Oh great, a whole big, loving family get-together. Not what I want to be doing on my Saturday evening.

They all think Mom’s planning it, but really it’s us.

It’s not me.

It’s tomorrow, and yes, it is you.

We walk down the double stairs to the marble-floored foyer. 

I’m busy. This is very last minute to spring on me. My sister’s going to be lucky if I even show up. It depends on the time. If Slutty Pepper comes out to play, I will be out of here.

I texted you last week with the details.

Thinking back, yes, I think she did send me a text I ignored. I have school. You have school.

Grandma and Grandpa Davenport are both coming to the party.

I would rather sleep with Tommy than entertain those people. My father’s parents are a perfect example of the first sibling’s future.

Gemma smiles at me. Unfortunately, I have a list for you and sleeping with Tommy isn’t on the agenda. My sister shoves the list against my chest.

I would sleep with Tommy. Our grandmother, on our mom’s side, who we call Yaya stops beside us. She tilts her head, nicely adorned with a purple wig today. Medium length, spiky at the bottom and flared bangs. The color is quite the contrast against her red lipstick and painted black nails. She’s the complete opposite of Grandma Davenport, and I can see she’s packing a large purse today which means she’s selling street Viagra in the old-age home again. Friday Fun Day she calls it. The thought of it terrifies me. A bunch of horny old men chasing the old ladies down the halls. Nasty.

Yaya contemplates for a second as a grin crosses her face, and I know I won’t want to hear whatever is about to come out of her mouth. You know, if I swung that way and wasn’t married to your bastard grandfather. By bastard, she means normal, and I know that she really adores him in her own way. My grandpa Miller, better known as Pops, is the only sane person in this house. Who, by the way, has broken into the guesthouse again. 

Pops lives in the guesthouse, Yaya. Gemma shakes her head down to the handful of paper she’s holding.

I have potential tenants for the guesthouse.

I wrap my arm around Yaya and give her a squeeze. She’s built like a fighter, but she’s still my Yaya. Yaya, you can’t rent out Pops’s house.

I need the money. She slaps my chest. She doesn’t need the money, but she came from the other side of the tracks and has her mind set in poor mode.

Gemma sifts through the papers in her hand until she finds one and holds it in Yaya’s direction. Your list.

Yaya points her finger at the list. I have errands to run today.

Good, run these while you’re at it. Gemma waves the paper in her direction.

It’s Friday Fun Day.

Gemma shakes her head. Work around it. This is your list, and I need you to get this stuff—today.

Yaya finally takes the paper. Two suckers reeled in what looks like a huge list of errands. I would ask my sister why she hadn’t hired a party planner, but I already know she doesn’t want to be pampered like the first sibling.

Looking down at my list, I’m telling you, at this point, I’m all for a party planner. I have classes, as do you.

Do it after or during. We both know you sleep through class anyway. Don’t mess up those lists, she says, walking away. I’m depending on you. Mom’s depending on you.

You just don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the other grandparents! I shout after her. I’m tempted to crinkle up the note and toss it in the urn beside me, but I’d never hear the end of it.

The other grandparents are coming. Yaya sounds less impressed than I am.

Yeah.

You know what would be fun? She wraps her arm around me, and we start walking toward the kitchen for some breakfast. I’m sure I don’t want to know her idea of fun, especially with the devious way she asked.

I doubt it.

If we spiked old man Davenport’s drink with a high dose of some Viagra.

I laugh. I can’t help it. This shit is coming out of my old grandmother’s mouth, and I know she’s only half kidding.

No, I say, but how can she take me seriously when I’m laughing my ass off.

Why not?

The fact that she has to ask is a problem in itself. I stop before the kitchen and turn to her. No spiking Grandpa Davenport’s drink.

She shrugs.

Yaya?

Yeah yeah, okay.

Promise. I hold my hand out, and she only eyes it.

Don’t you have errands to run?

Promise.

She huffs her disappointment. Fine, but when we’re sitting around bored out of our minds, remember, I had entertainment planned, and you ruined it.

I try not to laugh, but a smile definitely reaches my eyes. Fair enough. I better get on this list. Who knows what Gemma has me doing. Try not to give the poor guys at the home a heart attack today, okay?

Darlin’, when you’re my age, dying during an orgasm is the way to go.

Yuck. Gross. Too much, just too much. I turn and wish Yaya’s laughter is because she’s teasing, when really, I know she’s dead serious.

Chapter 2

Yaya

JUST BECAUSE FORD is all grown up and banging Daisy or whoever the hell she is, he thinks he can tell an old lady what to do. Old Grandpa Davenport is so getting Viagra in his drink! I yell back to the house as I climb behind the wheel of my 2000 silver Lincoln.

I need to invent a drug to subdue the rocket between Ford’s legs. If I have to listen to him and Piper…Pippen, no that’s not it. I strum my black painted fingernails on the steering wheel, trying to come up with her