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Copyright © 2017 by Linda Kage
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S.
Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.
Omnific Publishing
2355 Westwood Blvd., Suite 506
Los Angeles, CA 90064
www.omnificpublishing.com
First Omnific ebook edition, November 2017
First Omnific trade paperback edition, November 2017
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
Kage, Linda.
Believing Bailey / Linda Kage – 1st ed. isbn: 978-1-623422-51-6
1. New Adult Romance — Fiction. 2. Falsely Accused— Fiction.
3. Redemption— Fiction. 4. College — Fiction. I. Title
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Book Cover Design by Linda Kage and Amy Brokaw
Printed in the United States of America
For Holly
(Or as Sadie calls you: Cat Kitty!)
Chapter 1
BAILEY
This party sucked so bad. Even the beer was stale.
I seemed to be the only person bothered by the taste, though. Everyone else in the crammed fraternity house was chugging it as if it were, well, good beer.
Wrinkling my nose, I lifted the red SOLO cup higher so there’d be a longer stream to watch as I poured the contents into the sink.
Behind me, some frat boy called, “Hey! What’re you doing? That’s good beer.”
“Debatable,” I murmured as I finished emptying my cup and then tossed the wasted shell into a nearby trashcan. Dusting my hands dry on my denim-covered hips, I glanced around, searching for some kind of entertainment. Any kind of entertainment.
A keg stand was taking place in the other half of a kitchen with cheers of, “Drink, drink, drink,” chorusing throughout the room. But meh. Boring.
I’d just left the half-dressed drunk girls dancing in the living room, and didn’t want to witness that atrocity again.
Out the window, I saw a group of guys playing bean bag toss on the back lawn. I could’ve headed that way and joined their game, but the wussies I’d defeated last week had been nothing but sore losers; they’d called me some really nasty, lame names just because someone with ovaries had kicked their asses. So I had no desire to play against those no-aim idiots again.
