“And this is Wilder. Your partner for the ceremony.” She wagged a finger at him. “Be nice.”
He smirked. “I’m always nice, love.”
Ooh . . . Those eyes come with a British accent.
The groomsman, whose name was apparently Wilder, gave me the once-over. His eyes dropped down to take in my dress, then raised to the top of my head, where the fascinator that looked more like mangled horns sat protruding from my skull.
“You had on a different dress earlier. So the accident must’ve happened recently then?”
“Accident?”
He smirked and motioned to the fascinator. “I’m assuming there’s a giant wound under there, since you thought it was a good idea to put that dress on instead.”
“Are you joking?” My hands flew to my hips. “Who insults someone they just met like that?”
“Actually I was.” He grinned. “Joking, I mean.”
“Well, it wasn’t very funny. Do you think I want to be wearing this . . . this . . .” My arms flailed around. “Costume?”
The maître d’ walked over. His eyes flashed down the hall and back. I suspected he was looking for the bride. “Is everything alright over here?” he whispered.
“Fine.”
He gestured to the door. “People are waiting for the ceremony to start. The walls are thin.”
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Of course. Sorry.”
My eyes slanted to the guy standing next to me, my partner, it seemed. He still wore a shit-eating grin and looked pretty proud of himself. But while I continued to scowl, I took a moment to check out the rest of his face, since I hadn’t been able to move past his eyes earlier. Square jaw, defined cheekbones, flawless tanned skin—I wasn’t sure if Bridezilla made the men get spray tans too, but his coloring was too golden bronze to have come from anything other than genetics. Not to mention, he was tall—a weakness of mine—with broad shoulders and . . . I inhaled. Damn, the fucker smells good, too.
I’d been so busy checking him out, I hadn’t realized he’d watched me do it. When my eyes met his again, he raised a brow. “Like what you see?”
Ugh. Cocky and rude. I plastered on a fake smile. “Yes, what a shame something so pleasant doesn’t come with a matching personality.”
Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles are currently translated in twenty-seven languages and have appeared on bestseller lists in the US, Germany, Brazil, Bulgaria, Israel, and Hungary. Three of her short stories have been turned into films by Passionflix, and two of her books are currently optioned for movies. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
“Why the long face?” My buddy Colby walked back into the kitchen and tossed me the keys to his car. “I didn’t think single guys with no kids and fat bank accounts had anything to stress over.”
I caught the keys. “Bite me.”
He chuckled. “No, really. Is everything alright? You were grumbling at your phone the other day when I walked into the elevator, too.”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Except one of the volunteers on the renovations team for the new Ryan’s House project is driving me nuts. You know how we pick two team leaders to help coordinate things on each job?”
Colby nodded. “One for the mechanics—electrical, plumbing, heating, and stuff, and one for interior design—paint, flooring, fixtures, and appliances, right?”
“Exactly. This dude Alex is the design team leader. He’s driving me nuts with his suggestions. He questions every fixture, appliance, and molding I’ve picked out. Today he wants to change the living room paint color by a shade—a freaking shade. I couldn’t even see the difference between the two paint samples online. Now he just asked if we could meet for dinner tonight to go over a few last-minute changes he’d like to make.” I shook my head. “No way am I doing that. It’s a good thing you clowns are coming up this weekend to help out, because I have a feeling this guy’s going to test my limits.”
Colby made a pouty face. “Awww… Brayden has trouble working with others.”
I shook my head, but smiled. “I don’t know why I tell you shit.”
“Probably because no one else wants to listen to you.”
“Ouch.”
He laughed. “What time you getting on the road today?”
“Probably about two. I need to stop by the office and pick up a project I’ve been working on for a kid. He’s in the hospital upstate again, so I’m going to drop by to visit over the weekend and surprise him with it.”
“What did you make this time?”
I grinned. “You know I don’t give hints about my masterpieces before the unveiling. I told his family I’d come by Sunday. If you knuckleheads are still around, you should join me.”
“Sounds good.”
I held up Colby’s car keys. “Thanks again for the car swap. Mine is too small to fit baseboard heating covers.”
“Anytime you want to swap my ten-year-old, beat-up SUV for your hot little six-month-old Porsche, I’m in.” He grinned. “I’m going to have a good-ass time driving that thing upstate Saturday morning.”
I opened the door. “Don’t get arrested for going a hundred and twenty.”
***
Later that night, I checked into the hotel up in Seneca Falls and decided to go down to the lobby bar for a drink. It was empty, except for a woman sitting alone. She had a drink in front of her, and a full glass of wine sat at the empty stool beside her, so I assumed she must be here with someone. I took a seat along the short side of the bar to give them some privacy.
But damn… Sitting here gave me an even better view of the woman, and she was a total knockout—sandy blond hair, big blue eyes, and high cheekbones that led down to a full set of lips. She might’ve been a few years older than me, but that didn’t stop a rush of adrenaline from giving my body a good jolt.
The bartender walked over and dropped a napkin in front of me. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll take a whiskey sour. Any chance you have Russell’s Reserve Ten-Year bourbon to make it with?”
The bartender’s brows pulled together, and he thumbed to the woman sitting alone. “You with her?”
“No, why?”
He shrugged. “She just ordered the same drink. That brand of bourbon and all.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
I glanced over again and lowered my voice. “She alone?”
“Is now. Some guy sidled up to her when she came in a few minutes ago, but he left pretty quickly with his tail between his legs.”
Alrighty then. “Any chance you guys serve food here?”
“Sure do. I’ll grab you a menu.”
Even though I now knew she was alone, I wasn’t too enthused about striking up a conversation with the pretty blonde. Not after she’d just chased another guy away. But when the bartender brought my drink and she looked over, I raised my glass.
“Apparently we ordered the same drink.”
“Whiskey sour?” she asked.
“With Russell’s Reserve Ten-Year.”
She smiled and held up her glass. “To good taste.”
I tipped my glass to her. A minute later, my phone buzzed with a call from Colby. I swiped to answer. “I hope you’re not calling to tell me you dented my car already.”
“No, but how the hell do you put the top back up?”
“You know the button you pushed to drop it?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s the same button to put it back up. You just need to hold it for ten seconds.”
“Crap. Okay, thanks.”
“Where the hell are you that you have the top down?”
“I got a sitter and took my wife for a drive. The wind in our hair is making us feel young and free, instead of like the parents of two little kids we are, usually in bed by eight.”
I chuckled. “Well, enjoy it.”
“I plan to. Why do you think I need the top up? I just pulled into a quiet rest stop, and I need a little privacy, if you know what I mean.”
“Ugh. Don’t tell me that, dude. I don’t want your bare ass all over my seat.”
“No promises, my friend.”
I shook my head. “God, I hate you. Goodbye.”
After I hung up, the knockout looked over. “I’m not usually rude, but I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” she began. “I once bought a new car. When I picked it up, I found an empty condom wrapper on the floor of the front seat. I made them give me another car.”
I smiled. “My buddy and I swapped vehicles for the weekend. I’m considering keeping his crappy ten-year-old hunk of junk and letting him keep my nice, new one after his ass cheeks have rubbed all over the leather.”
“I think that’s a good idea. Unless…”
“What?”
“What if your friend has a penchant for car sex? I’m afraid that would mean he’s already done it in the one you’re driving.”
I pointed. “Good observation. I’ll just get mine detailed.”
The beautiful woman smiled again, and I found myself wondering if she had lipstick on or if her lips were naturally that color. They were just a little more pink than the fleshy red I’d expect for someone with her skin tone. Or maybe she wore some sort of gloss, because they were also perfectly shiny.
After a much-too-long analysis, I realized I probably looked like a creeper staring at her mouth and diverted my eyes to the menu the bartender had dropped off. Though I still couldn’t stop myself from stealing glances in between reading about the appetizers. There was something compelling about her. It might’ve been that her face wasn’t painted to fake-perfection like most women these days.
A few minutes later, I looked over and noticed her glass was empty. So I took a chance. “Can I buy us another round?”
She bit her bottom lip. “Ummm…”
I held my hands up. “It’s just a drink. I won’t invite myself over to the empty seat next to you.”
She smiled. “Sure. Why not? Thank you.”
I held two fingers up to the bartender. “Another round for both of us. On me, please. And when you get a chance, I’ll take an order of the Mexican street corn chicken tacos.”
“Oh, gosh,” the woman said. “I love Mexican street corn. That sounds delicious.”
“Oh, so now you want me to buy you drinks and dinner?”
She waved her hands. “Oh, no, I wasn’t suggesting—”
I smiled. “I’m teasing.” I looked back at the bartender. “Make that two orders of the tacos, please.”
“You got it.”
“Well, now that you’re buying me food and a drink, I feel obligated to offer you the vacant seat next to me.”
“Oh, no. There’s no obligation, really.”
She grinned. “I’m teasing, too.”
I laughed, but I also got up and walked over to her. “Is this seat taken?”
“It’s not. But I can’t promise no bare butts have been on it.”
“I’ll risk it.” I sat and held out my hand. “Brayden.”
“Alexandria. Nice to meet you, Brayden.”
“You, too. Are you a guest at this hotel, or just came in to flirt with a guy and get him to buy you dinner and drinks?”
She smiled. I liked that she could take a joke. “I’m staying here. You?”
“Same. What are you in town for?”
“I’m volunteering for a charity that renovates houses near hospitals for patients who can’t afford a hotel while they’re getting cancer treatment.”
My jaw fell open. “Are you serious? You’re volunteering for Ryan’s House?”
“You know it?”
“I’m the founder. But once a year, I also volunteer to swing a hammer. This is my once.”
“Really?”
“Let me get this straight. We drink the same drink, both love street-corn tacos, both dislike ass imprints on our car seats, and we’re volunteering for the same project? Do I just propose now? Or should I wait and see if you love candy corn as much as I do?”
Her eyes sparkled. “I love candy corn.”
I covered my heart with my hand. “Alexandria Foster. It even has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”
The bartender interrupted our love fest to deliver our drinks. When he walked away, we were both still smiling.
“So you really founded Ryan’s House?” Alexandria asked. “How did that come about?”
“Almost a decade ago, I lost one of my best friends to leukemia. Ryan and I were both engineering students in college when he started treatments. He spent a lot of time in the hospital and became interested in designing prosthetics with more flexibility. We started working on ideas together to pass the time during my visits. After he passed away, I continued with some of the concepts we’d come up with. Long story short, a couple of years later, I got a patent on a new type of prosthetic joint simulator. It’s licensed to most major artificial-limb manufacturers now. I tried to split the profit with Ryan’s parents, but they wouldn’t take anything. So his half goes toward buying the houses we renovate each year for Ryan’s House.”
“That’s incredible.”
I sipped my drink. “How about you? Are you just volunteering, or is there a story behind why you picked Ryan’s House to donate your time?”
Alexandria smiled sadly. “I lost my husband a few years ago to leukemia.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you. He was older than me, but still way too young.”
“Is this your first time volunteering, or did you work on another of the houses?”
“It’s my first time. To be honest, I’m kind of nervous about it.”
“What’s there to be nervous about?” I asked.
“I don’t have too much construction experience.”
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll make sure you’re on the good team then.”
“I didn’t realize there was a good team and a bad team.”
“Usually there isn’t. But we split the volunteers into two crews, each with a team leader who coordinates who does what and makes sure we have the supplies and stuff. One of the team leaders is a real pain in the ass, a know it all. He wants to change everything that’s been planned before we even start. He’s definitely going to micromanage his crew.”
“Oh, wow. Okay. Thank you.”
“We usually just count off the volunteers who show up to give each team an equal number. But I’ll make sure you’re in Jason’s group and not Alex’s.”
“Oh. So Alex is the pain in the ass?”
“Giant pain in the ass.”
The bartender walked over with our food. It looked as delicious as it had sounded on the menu. Conversation slowed as we dug in, but I enjoyed the quiet with the company sitting next to me. After we finished eating, I turned to ask Alexandria something, but I lost track of what I was saying three words in. Her eyes were that mesmerizing.
“What?” She wiped at her cheek. “Do I have sauce on my face?”
I shook my head. “Sorry, no. I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you are absolutely beautiful. I’m relieved I got to sit next to you because I couldn’t stop myself from staring when I was sitting over there.”
Her cheeks pinked. “Thank you.”
Both our drinks were almost empty again, so I motioned to the glasses. “You want another one?”
“I think I’m going to call it a night.”
Disappointment flooded through me. I hoped I hadn’t upset her with my compliment.
Alexandria motioned to the bartender. “Could I close out my tab, please?”
“Sure thing.”
He walked away and came back a minute later. I was still trying to decide if I should apologize. Maybe I’d been too forward?
She signed the check and hopped down from the stool.
“Listen, Alexandria. I didn’t mean to upset you by saying how beautiful I think you are. I apologize if that came off creepy.”
“No, that wasn’t what insulted me.”
“That wasn’t? So something else I said insulted you?”
She looked at me a moment. “Such a shame. Because I find you attractive, too.”
“I’m confused. Why is that a shame?”
She shook her head. “Goodnight, Brayden. I’ll see you in the morning. Oh, and you don’t have to worry about which team I’m on. I’m happy on Alexandria’s team.”
“Alexandria’s team?”
“Oh. Did I say Alexandria’s team? I meant Alex’s team. I go by both names. Alexandria is my given name, after my grandmother. Alex for short.”
I was the last of my group of friends to find “the one.”
The guys would always tease me that I needed to hurry up and settle down.
But I was in no rush.
Until I met someone worth rushing for.
Alex was one of the weekend volunteers at Ryan’s House—a charity I founded to build housing near hospitals.
Little did I know she was the same person I’d been arguing with over email before the project started. At the time, I’d thought Alex was a dude.
In reality? She was a smoking hot blonde who captivated me from the moment we met in person.
Our chemistry was off the charts, and I fell hard pretty fast.
Unfortunately, Alex insisted I was too young for her. I hated that she felt that way. Because age was just a number.
Not only that, her words didn’t match the way she looked at me—like she was very interested.
I lived for the weekends we’d spend out of town volunteering. Alex and I side-by-side hammering during the day, while sharing intimate dinners together at the hotel at night.
Eventually, the walls she’d put up to protect her heart began to crumble.
Until fate threw us a doozy that I wasn’t sure we could come back from.
If I’d thought our age gap was the biggest hurdle, I didn’t know anything yet.
Rule number one for dating an older woman who insists you could never be together?
Don’t fall in love.
VI KEELAND
Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles are currently translated in twenty-seven languages and have appeared on bestseller lists in the US, Germany, Brazil, Bulgaria and Hungary. Three of her short stories have been turned into films by Passionflix, and two of her books are currently optioned for movies. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author of contemporary romance.
She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son, and beautiful daughter with autism.
With millions of books sold, she is a 21-time New York Times bestseller and the author of over thirty novels. Her books have been translated into over a dozen languages and can be found in bookstores around the world.
I’m still unclear on how I got into this predicament in the first place. A year ago, I was a man with one thought on his mind, the redhead I met at a hotel bar. Twelve months later, I found her.
Unfortunately for me, she not only happens to be my very off-limits coach’s daughter, but also . . . my new assistant and roommate.
I don’t even need an assistant, but Coach Wood doesn’t take no for an answer. Add in him writing up tasks for his daughter, Wylie, to complete for me? Well, it’s his own form of sweet torture. We are talking tasks that I would never ask her to do.
Tasks that make her despise me.
Hate me.
That make her utter four words that cause a shiver to crawl up my spine . . . Posey, this is war.
My testicles shrivel into dust as Coach Wood screams at Andie Lintour, the general manager for the Vancouver Agitators.
Spittle flies off his lip.
Eyebrows are slanted like knives, ready to strike.
And the veins in his neck protrude, making me question if it will be his hands that choke me or the scary, pulsing veins.
“Will, we can’t—”
“He was fucking my daughter! We can do whatever the hell I say.”
Did you wince? Because I did.
I know what you’re thinking. Posey, you’re about to lose your life at the hands of your fuming, spitting, hulking-out coach. And your assessment of the situation is a fair and accurate one.
Because yes, I’ve never felt closer to death than at this moment right now.
To bring you up to speed, yes, I was fucking his daughter.
Yes, it was in the locker room.
Yes, it was out in the open where anyone could walk in.
Was it stupid? Absolutely.
Have I lost my mind? One hundred percent.
Do I have any defense? Not one.
Nope, this was pure stupidity. This was a move by a desperate man brought to his knees.
A weak man.
A man with no morals.
A man infatuated with a woman he can’t control himself around.
“I understand the circumstances,” Andie says in her calming voice, “but we can’t get rid of a player because he was having relations with your daughter. Posey is one of the best defensemen in the entire league.” If I wasn’t so terrified, I’d puff my chest. “He’s under a no-trade clause. Even if we wanted to get rid of him, we couldn’t.”
I’m not sure if I should be grateful for that clause because, at the moment, it wouldn’t hurt to at least escape the darkness of death clouding Coach Wood’s expression.
“Then he’s benched,” Wood says as he looks me in the eyes, nostrils flaring. “Did you hear that, you bologna-loving motherfucker? You’re benched.”
I swallow deeply as I dig my fingertips into the armrests of my chair. Not sure why he had to drag the bologna into this, but I don’t bother asking as the vein in his bald head looks like it’s maxed out on stress. “I, uh, yes, I heard you the first time,” I say, causing him to grow angrier.
“Once again, Will, I don’t believe we can do that. We pay him a lot of money—”
“We do.” Will paces his office, and every time he goes near me, my ass clenches in anticipation of a ninja knife hand right to my trachea. “We pay him plenty of money, so why don’t we just put him on the injured list, say he has a sore toe, and then he can figure out with his agent what he’s doing for next year because he sure as fuck won’t be playing on my ice.”
Now, is Coach Wood being a touch extreme? Some might say yes without any context because who really wants to bench their starting defenseman? It’s not the smartest move as a coach, but the man has a good reason.
And sure, I shouldn’t be taking his side. I should be defending myself and the ability to have sexual relations with anyone I damn well please, but here’s the thing . . . the situation runs a little deeper than what you see on the surface.
It’s more complicated.
I didn’t just fuck some random girl on an arbitrary day in our locker room.
The coach’s daughter was riding me, completely naked, in the middle of the locker room after he struck a deal with me to hire his daughter as my assistant to teach her a lesson.
And before you even ask, no, the lesson was not on the science of how the penis meets the vagina.
It was a tough lesson about life.
So yeah, this really is on me.
**Raises hand** Yup, I take the blame.
Guilty.
The only question is, how the hell am I going to get around this? From the way he spoke so cruelly of my precious bologna, I don’t think offering him a daily sandwich—made by yours truly—is going to mend the severed ties we’ve created.
Nope, this will take a monumental, epic proposal of apologies, especially if I want to stay on this team. Which I do. My boys are here. My life is here.
She’s here . . .
Which means I need a plan.
But I swore I wouldn’t get them involved.
I said over and over again that I wouldn’t use their idiotic advice or poorly constructed ideas, but I think desperate times call for desperate measures.
It’s time to call on the Frozen Fellas.
ABOUT MEGHAN QUINN:
USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.
Never miss another NEW RELEASE, text READ to 474747.
From New York Times bestselling author Penelope Ward comes a new, STANDALONE novel…
ABBY:
I’m falling for the father of the baby I’m carrying.
The problem is: it’s not my baby.
And the broody widower is not looking for a long-term partner.
As a surrogate, the deal was that I’d only be in England long enough to give birth.
At first, the man seemed as pretentious as his name: Sigmund Benedictus.
He and I butted heads.
Sig challenged my intentions, accused me of just wanting to do this for the money.
Gradually, he learned to trust me.
He even became protective.
Over time, our heated animosity turned into fiery chemistry.
I was falling in love with him.
But my time here had a limit.
I needed to protect my heart from the devastatingly gorgeous older man who’d end up breaking it.
SIG:
When my in-laws told me they wanted to use my dead wife’s eggs to conceive a grandchild, I wasn’t immediately on board.
They swore that on her deathbed Britney told them it was what she wanted—but only if I fathered the baby. Her parents insisted they would be the ones to raise it.
Against my better judgment, I agreed.
I vowed to keep my heart out of it, though.
I’d continue to pretend it wasn’t happening and live the empty, single life I’d become accustomed to the past five years since Britney died.
And despite the fact that a certain younger American named Abby Knickerbocker had awakened things inside me that I thought were long dead…
I most certainly wouldn’t fall in love with the surrogate.
My phone rang, and I looked down to find it was Lourdes, a woman I’d hung out with over a year ago. She’d been texting me lately to get together, and I’d been ignoring her messages. I silenced the ringer.
“Who was that?” Abby asked.
“Someone named—none of your business.”
“A woman? Is that why you’re in such a rush to get back to London?”
“Trust me, I haven’t met anyone worth rushing anywhere for.”
“Well, excuse me, Mr. Picky.”
I rolled over a bit to face her, resting my chin on my hand. “You think it’s odd to be selective?”
“I don’t think you’re being selective. I think you’re closed off to everyone. There’s a difference.”
“You seem to have me pegged, but what about you? Why are you single?”
“I had a bad experience, as I think I’ve mentioned, and haven’t felt like having my heart toyed with again.”
“How long ago was that? The guy who broke up with you…”
“Nearly three years now.”
“But you’ve dated since that breakup.”
“Yeah. There’ve been a few brief…”
“Hookups?” I arched a brow.
“I guess I can admit that now that you’re not actively assessing my character.”
“Why would I judge you for that? Sex is natural—necessary for survival, if you ask me.”
“You just don’t want to have anything to do with the women after.”
Unable to deny it, I shrugged. “There haven’t been that many women since Britney. At least nothing compared to when I was younger. Most of the time, I meet someone and decide not to go through with anything. But of the encounters I have had, yeah, it’s never mattered whether I saw them again.”
“What was different about Britney? I mean, when you met her? How did you know she was the one?”
My chest constricted. “I’d love to be able to give you a less cliché answer—because I hate clichés—but I just knew. After about an hour together, I never wanted to be apart from her.”
“Fair enough. They say that’s what happens sometimes. You just know.”
“You’ve never experienced that?”
“Nope.” Abby shook her head. “Still waiting for it to happen to me.” She smiled. “Anyway, for the record, I don’t just hook up with people randomly, like some people.” She elbowed me. “I have to know them first.”
“Knowing you, Abby, I can’t imagine you not asking someone a million questions before you sleep with them.”
“Well, yeah. I need to know who I’m dealing with. I’m not going to waste my time with anyone who’s not a good person—even if I’m wildly attracted to them.”
“Sometimes less is more,” I mumbled.
“This from the man who interrogated me the first time he met me.”
“Well, I need to know a bit more about someone who’s going to be carrying my child than I would someone I’m merely going to…”
“F*ck?” She finished my sentence.
The word on her tongue gave me an unwanted thrill. I wouldn’t have minded hearing her say it a few more times, which probably meant I needed my head checked.
“You wanna go?” she asked.
Somehow I’d forgotten my urgency to leave. I’d become pretty comfortable in this spot on the hay. It wasn’t about the hay at all, though, was it?
“Well, now you’ve made me lazy. You’re a bad influence, Knickerbocker.”
She leaned her head on her hand. “Why don’t you just sleep at the inn tonight? Lavinia loves your company.”
“She’ll be conked out by the time we get back there, but I suppose you have a point. At this hour, I might as well just drive into London with you in the morning.”
“You keep work clothes at The Bainbridge, right?”
“Yes. I have everything I need in my room.” I looked out through the barn door. It was now completely nightfall. “Now that it’s dark, you need to be careful driving back.”
“You’ll be behind me anyway, in case I run into trouble, right?”
“Well, you won’t find me driving in front of you ever again,” I teased.
“Good one.” She laughed as she stood and brushed off her dress. “Can you turn around for a minute?”
I narrowed my eyes but did as she asked. “Okay…why am I doing this?”
A few seconds passed. “All good now.”
“What was that all about?” I asked.
“You promise not to make fun of me?”
“No. But tell me anyway.”
“I had a piece of hay stuck in my underwear.” She flashed a goofy smile.
And then…I laughed for what felt like the first time in years.
AUTHOR BIO
Penelope Ward is a New York Times, USA Today and #1 Wall Street Journal bestselling author of contemporary romance.
She grew up in Boston with five older brothers and spent most of her twenties as a television news anchor. Penelope resides in Rhode Island with her husband, son, and beautiful daughter with autism.
With over two million books sold, she is a 21-time New York Times bestseller and the author of over forty books. Her novels have been translated into over a dozen languages and can be found in bookstores around the world.
Plus, I was tired from a shitty night’s sleep. I’d tossed and turned thinking about Little Miss Home Improvement wearing nothing but a pair of denim short overalls and work boots—no shirt, no socks, definitely no bra or underwear.
Josie hopped down from the last two steps on the ladder. “Can I ask you something?”
“What?”
“Are you always this grumpy in the morning?”
“I’m not grumpy.”
“No? So this is what? Your idea of a sparkling personality? I asked if your coffee was okay, and you grunted at me.”
“That wasn’t a grunt. That was a yes.”
Josie made a short, deep noise that sounded like a pig.
I arched a brow. “Is that supposed to be me?”
She made the sound again, this time adding some monkeylike arm movements and jumping around. “Gronk.”
“Cute.”
She jumped again. “Gronk. Gronk.”
I tried not to react, but she was just too damn adorable.
Josie pointed at my face. “There it is again. The elusive Mr. Grumpy Pants smile. It’s kind of…dare I say…nice.” She made an exaggerated gasping sound and covered her mouth. “Oh no. I hope it’s not too painful.”
“Alright, wiseass. I get the point. How about you take your oinking ass out front and grab one of the small two by fours I left on the porch? I’ll show you how to make an easy support to hold up the drywall while it gets screwed into the ceiling.”
Josie strutted to the door. The woman was wearing a white tank top and long, pale pink, flowy skirt to do construction. It looked like she was going on a picnic date, rather than hanging sheetrock—though the tank top hugged her in all the right places, and there was something about her collarbone that I couldn’t drag my eyes away from. She bent to pick up the wood out front, and the top of her tank gaped open, giving me a clear view down her shirt. I forced my head in the other direction, though my eyes managed to slant and continue looking.
“Jesus Christ,” I grumbled to myself. “I need to get the fu¢k out of here.”
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Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles are currently translated in twenty-seven languages and have appeared on bestseller lists in the US, Germany, Brazil, Bulgaria, Israel, and Hungary. Three of her short stories have been turned into films by Passionflix, and two of her books are currently optioned for movies. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
🖤 Don’t Forget Me Tomorrow First Chapters Sneak Peek 🖤
NYT Bestselling Author A.L. Jackson has the prologue AND first chapter of her upcoming brother’s best friend, single mom, small town romance, Don’t Forget Me Tomorrow, available to read now before release day on October 5th!
Prologue
I stared at her from across the room.
I could feel the walls closing in, and the need I’d had for her for my entire life growing stronger than it ever had. As if the two of us were hinged on this moment.
“Tell me I’m not too late. Tell me you still love me.” There was no stopping the plea.
Pain and desperation twisted through her expression. “Do you think I could ever stop loving you?”
The second she said it, I snapped, and I was across the room.
I crashed into her in a landslide of greed.
One hand dove into her hair and the other curled around the side of her neck as I crushed my mouth against hers.
Really kissing her for the first time.
Nothing had ever felt quite like kissing Dakota Cooper.
It was flames and heat and pure relief.
I sucked it in, imbibing the feeling as I devoured her mouth.
My chest nearly blew with the power of it. With the way my heart thrashed violently at my ribs. With the devotion that surged from the sacred place that had always been meant for her.
Except I’d always known why I couldn’t touch her. The reasons I’d built the walls between us.
Why she was only supposed to be my best friend’s little sister.
I’d crossed a line I wasn’t supposed to cross.
And I should have known I’d have to pay the penalty…
Chapter One – Ryder
What the fuck was she doing out here?
I slowed my motorcycle as I came upon a small white Volvo SUV pulled off to the side of the road, its hazards flashing through the dusky light as the summer day faded into grays.
My guts tangled in a knot of worry.
We were twenty miles outside of town, and the two-lane road was basically desolate except for a random car that whizzed by.
There was no mistaking that car. The rear window was a fucking billboard for the country market and café Dakota Cooper owned. It wasn’t like I blamed her for wanting to advertise, but I didn’t love that every fucking person in this town knew her name, either.
Where she worked and where she lived.
Not that there was a ton of privacy in a small town the size of Time River.
Everyone knew everyone.
And even if she lived in the middle of a bustling city, I was pretty sure she would have made a name for herself, anyway.
Hell, I figured every time she smiled at some unknowing fool, she carved herself into their memory.
Made her mark.
Unforgettable.
Protectiveness lined my insides in a sheet of steel.
It was nearing dark, and she was out here in the middle of nowhere.
By herself.
Any monster could roll up and catch her unaware.
Just like me.
My bike came to a rumbling stop ten feet behind her, and I killed the engine, tossed the kickstand, and swung off as I took stock of the situation.
Dakota was more than capable, but it still made me itch that she was on her knees in front of the back-passenger side tire, cranking at a handle on the jack to lift the rear-end of her car.
Looking like a goddamn vision beneath the rays of the setting sun.
I tamped the bolt of lust that stirred my dick, something I’d gotten really fucking good at over the years, and I edged toward her, my boots crunching on the loose gravel.
Awareness rippled through the twilight with my approach.
A flash of tension before it settled into something familiar and right.
“Funny, I didn’t see a call or text from you,” I said, words rough and carrying over a big truck that blew by, sending a flurry of debris scattering through the air.
Dakota glanced my way. The hint of a smile played through the shiny gloss coating her lush lips.
“That’s because I didn’t call you.” Her voice was a tease as she continued to crank the handle, though her breaths were coming hard with her exertion as the back-end of her Volvo slowly hoisted.
At least she had a blanket spread on the ground to protect her bare knees since she had on one of those sundresses she always chose to wear. Black fabric dotted with pink flowers that hugged every lush curve of her body.
I thought she might have been prescribed specific attire with the sole purpose of driving me out of my mind.
“You should have.”
“What, you think I’m not capable of fixing a flat tire?” Eyes the color of cinnamon and fire glinted back. “I seem to remember someone who insisted on making sure I knew where the jack and spare were when I bought this car.”
She arched a brow. Her cheeks were full and high, and the threat of that tiny dimple on the left side of her chin flickered and danced like temptation.
“Yeah, that was so you would know how to do it for when I’m not around, and here I am.” I lifted my tatted arms out to the sides.
Except if she had called an hour before, I wouldn’t have answered. I’d have been too wrapped up in the bullshit dragging me under. A millstone around my neck.
One day it would be the reason I drowned.
The thousand shades of brown in her eyes danced as she peered up at me, and she chuckled a low, throaty sound that shivered over my skin. “Of course, you are. Tell me you’re not stalking me?”
Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I let a smirk ride to my face. “You know it. It’s my job to know where you are at all times.”
“Is that so?” Her expression twisted in playful disbelief.
“Isn’t that what friends are for?”
“Friends? Hardly. It sounds to me you’re acting more like my overbearing brother. I swear, if it was up to the two of you, I’d never step foot outside by myself.”
Sounded like a solid plan.
“What are you doing out here, anyway?” I asked.
“I had to pop over to Costco in Poplar to grab some things for the café. What are you doing out here?” She tossed it back at me like she figured I’d been up to no good.
I had been, but I doubted it was what she was thinking.
Shame locked down my throat. As close as I was to Dakota, there would always be a wall. A place I couldn’t let her see. The fucking last thing in the world I wanted her to know about me.
My jaw clenched as I forced out the lie. “Just felt like feeling the wind on my face. My bike was calling to me.”
“A little hot for that, isn’t it?”
“Never too hot for me.” The smirk was back in full force.
With the history around us, I was thankful we’d gotten to this place.
Where we could be easy together.
Friends, even though it was fucking painful being this close to her most of the time.
But I would take her any way I could have her.
She scoffed and turned her attention back to the jack, clearly picking up on the innuendo I couldn’t help but slide into the conversation. Before I could let my brain spiral into depravity, I strode the rest of the way up to her.
It cast her in my shadow where I towered over her.
“Are you going to get up off your knees and let me help you, or are you just going to leave me standing here staring at you like a lazy prick?”
Leaning back, she swiped a bead of sweat that trickled from her hairline with her bare shoulder.
My fingers itched with the urge to reach out and trace the spot. But touching her was the last thing I could do. I wouldn’t taint her goodness with the sickness of me.
“Haven’t you learned yet that you don’t need to ride in like the cavalry, Ryder?”
“I already rode in, Cookie, so you might as well let me.”
I’d started calling her that years ago.
Now there was no way I could stop.
Pushing to standing, she waved at the flat tire. “Fine, if it makes you feel more like a man, then go for it.”
I shook my head at her. “Are you trying to bust my balls?”
“Someone needs to.” She punted me a grin.
I started to move to take her place, but she bent over to straighten the skirt of her dress.
It speared me to the spot.
Her tits were heavy and spilling out of the scooped neckline.
Her hips full and wide and perfectly hugged by the fabric.
Hair a warm brown that was streaked with honey, and she wore it in a high ponytail, the same way as she did most days, the lush locks wavy and draping over one shoulder.
I couldn’t help but envision wrapping my hand around it, tugging her head back, and devouring that lush mouth.
I swallowed hard, doing my best not to ogle my best friend’s baby sister.
Dude would fucking gut me if he had an inkling of an idea about the thoughts I had of her.
Too bad he was the least of my worries.
She moved a foot to the side, and I took her spot, reining that bullshit in.
I knew better.
Dakota was a friend. Like a sister to me. And I’d do well to remember it. Because I would never fucking drag her into the mess that was my life.
I cranked through the lug bolts, removed the tire, then was quick to replace it with the spare.
The whole time, I could feel her attention on me. Eyes tracing.
“You enjoying yourself, Cookie?” I canted a glance up at her. The last of the light caught her in its hazy rays.
Brown hair and mesmerizing eyes.
So goddamn pretty my stomach clutched.
Raking her teeth over her bottom lip, she tried to contain her laughter. “Guess I like you on your knees for me.”
A snort left my nose. I’d been for years, and she didn’t have a clue.
Giving a final tug at the lug nuts to make sure they were tight, I shifted to fully look up at her. “You need to make sure you’re not driving on this for long and take it in to get the original tire repaired or replaced.”
The cock of her head was nothing but a razzing challenge. “I am a capable adult, Ryder. I even own my own business.”
“Know that, Dakota.” The words were low.
“Then you can stop treating me like a little girl.” The barest flash of annoyance hit her expression.
If only that was the way I saw her.
“Go ahead and tell my brother while you’re at it,” she tacked on, rolling her eyes though there was affection woven through. “The two of you are ridiculous.”
“I just care about you, Dakota. About Kayden.” The admission came rough, and the sweat that suddenly slicked my skin didn’t have anything to do with the summer heat.
Thinking of Dakota’s son always got me that way. He was two, and the cutest fucking thing I’d ever seen.
I didn’t know if it was loyalty or jealousy that hit me hardest, not that I had any right to the last.
Softness radiated from her as she gazed down at me, that sweetness that was always lingering beneath the surface riding from her tongue. “You know I can’t call you every time some little thing goes wrong in my life and expect you to come running, Ryder. You’ve already done enough for me. Too much.”
Gratitude tinged with unease infiltrated her tone, her eyes dropping for a beat. I knew exactly where her mind had gone.
The money I’d given her to help start her business.
I released the jack and stood. There was nothing I could do but take her by the chin. More tender than I should. I towered over her, searching her face like there was a way I could get her to understand.
“That’s where you have it wrong, Dakota. You can. I expect you to call me. Whatever you need. And there is no such thing as too much when it comes to you. Do you understand?” The words left me like a tumble of stones. A plea and a demand.
Because I’d wanted to give her everything I had, but the only thing I had been able to do was give her the one gift that I could.
She viewed it as a debt. Like something she needed to repay.
She could never understand that what I’d given her was my heart.
Those pink lips parted, and fuck, greed twisted through me like a hurricane, cock pushing at my jeans like I might be able to possess the one woman I could never have.
“I don’t want you to waste your time on me,” she whispered. “I know you have your own life. Things you need to take care of.”
A puff of disbelief escaped between my lips. “You could never be a waste, Dakota Cooper.”
The air thickened. Growing dense and pushing in. Heavy and hot. A dragging pull between us.
My phone pinged in my pocket, and both of us jumped back like it was a warning going off that we were about to cross a line we couldn’t cross.
Blowing out a steadying sigh, I dug into my pocket and thumbed into my phone like it was the most important thing in the world, then my chest clutched with the reminder of why I could never get too close to Dakota.
Why she’d hate me if she knew.
Dare: Where the fuck are you? You’re late.
Swallowing around the barbs in my throat, I looked up at the woman who stood three feet away shifting on her feet.
Innocent and right and every good thing in this life.
I roughed a hand over the back of my neck, attention on my boots when I said, “I need to get going.”
I felt the weight of her nod. “Yeah, I need to get to my mom’s and pick up Kayden before they get worried.”
I hoisted up her flat tire, opened her trunk, and tossed it in. Dakota came to my side, her presence close to overwhelming as she placed the blanket she’d had on the ground on top of it.
For a second, we hovered in each other’s space. So close but where we could never belong.
Lost to a beat of greed.
The kind I could never give into.
I pushed the button to close the hatch then took a step toward my bike. “Be safe, Dakota.”
Cinnamon eyes watched me like they could see through to my sins. “You, too.”
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A.L. Jackson is the New York Times & USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance. She writes emotional, sexy, heart-filled stories about boys who usually like to be a little bit bad.
Her bestselling series include THE REGRET SERIES, CLOSER TO YOU, BLEEDING STARS, FIGHT FOR ME, CONFESSIONS OF THE HEART, FALLING STARS, and REDEMPTION HILLS novels. Watch out for her upcoming stand-alone,DON’T FORGET ME TOMORROW, releasing October 5th!
If she’s not writing, you can find her hanging out by the pool with her family, sipping cocktails with her friends, or of course with her nose buried in a book.
Be sure not to miss new releases and sales from A.L. Jackson – Sign up to receive her newsletter https://geni.us/ALJacksonBookClubB or text “aljackson” to 33222 to receive short but sweet updates on all the important news.
NYT Bestselling Author A.L. Jackson has the prologue AND first chapter of her upcoming single dad, enemies-to-lovers romance, Love Me Today, available to read now. Coming May 29th!
Prologue
Energy crackled through the dim-lit hall.
Tension binding the oxygen in attraction and need.
Every-fucking-thing I could no longer ignore as I stared at her where she hovered in front of her door.
“Caleb.” My name barely hit the air.
At the sound of it, I broke.
I crossed the space. No restraint left.
My hand dove into her hair at the side of her head, and I curled the other around her waist and tugged her against me.
We collided in a torrent of greed.
Mouths and tongues and spirits that no longer knew how to exist without the other.
We spun, gripping at each other, desperate to erase every inch of space as I kissed her.
Kissed her with a madness that burned me to the soul.
This woman who’d scored herself into the places I wasn’t supposed to let her go.
Because I knew what I brought into the lives of the people I cared about.
I knew the price they paid.
And I should have known what touching her would cost…
Chapter One – Paisley
Leave it to me to be late, but it couldn’t be helped.
Gathering the straps of the reusable grocery bags, I slung them over my shoulder and shifted my cell to my other ear as I hustled out the automatic doors of the small grocery store.
“You know I don’t have many details,” I told my bestie Dakota as I jogged toward my old truck in the parking lot, my boots thudding hard on the pavement. I pinned my phone between my ear and shoulder so I could dig my keys from my bag. “You know Ryder got me the gig. Some cousin he doesn’t know all that well has a little girl who got her first pony, and she needs to learn how to ride it. Easy peasy.”
Extra cash in my pocket. Exactly what I needed.
“Are you sure you don’t just want to come and work with me at the café? We’re slammed this morning. I could really use the extra help.”
A small chuckle got free. “Which is why you’re wasting your time on the phone with me?”
“Hello, bestie duties. I needed to get the details before you run off to some rando stranger’s house in the middle of nowhere. You haven’t even talked to the guy. You could end up dead in a ditch somewhere. Buried in a shallow grave. Locked in an attic or basement with some freak telling you that you’re his new pet.”
I could physically feel Dakota shudder through the phone. She was so dramatic.
“You really should stop listening to true crime podcasts before you go to bed at night. Your paranoia is getting out of control. Besides, this is Ryder’s cousin we’re talking about. He isn’t going to send me to some serial killer’s house.”
At least I hoped so because it was super odd this guy had only communicated through email, all formal and calling me Ms. Dae, referring to himself as Mr. Greyson as he gave me the precise time to show at his ranch.
What a weirdo.
As far as I knew, Ryder had spent summers with him growing up, but they hadn’t seen that much of each other as adults, and the mysterious Mr. Greyson had moved into Time River about six months back. In all that time, I didn’t think anyone had ever even met the guy, which considering the size of the town we lived in, that was on the questionable side.
He had to be some kind of recluse, I guessed.
“It’s fine,” I told her. “You know Ryder wouldn’t lead me astray.”
“Okay, just text me as soon as you’re done. I want all the details. Or wait, come into the café so you can tell me face-to-face. Even better.”
A giggle slipped up my throat. “You missed me while I was away, didn’t you?”
“I won’t even try to deny it. This town was boring as crap without you.”
Regret pulled at my ribcage. The intense kind because you could never make up for time that had passed or the things you had missed. But I couldn’t wallow in the mistakes that I had made, I could only make sure I never repeated them again.
“I promise you will be bored no more,” I said like a solemn oath. “Mack’s Friday night?”
These cowgirl boots were made for dancing, and I was about to set them free.
“Um, you could not keep me away. Kayden is having a sleepover at my mom’s, and this girl is ready to get her party on.”
Dakota’s son was almost two. He’d been born while I’d been living in Arizona. It was just another thing I’d missed—being there when he was an infant, being there for my best friend.
“I can’t wait,” I told her. “I gotta run. I just picked up my grandpa’s medication and need to drop it off at his house before I head out to this interview, and I’m wicked late already.”
“Give your grandpa a hug for me.”
“Will do. Talk to you soon, Doodle-Boo.”
“Bye, Paisley-Cakes.”
Ending the call, I yanked open the door to my old truck who I lovingly called Maybe.
Her hinges creaked in protest.
Yes, I’d named her. She’d been with me from the beginning, since I was sixteen and had scraped together enough money to buy her, and she’d been by my side through every escapade I’d embarked on ever since.
I tossed the grocery bags across the bench seat and hopped in, and I pushed myself up close to the steering wheel as I leaned in and stuffed the key into the ignition. I bounced as I gave it a little gas and cranked it over, coaxing her with sweet nothings. “That’s it. We have this. It’s you and me, Maybe. Don’t let me down now.”
She roared to life.
And I mean, roared, my old girl rumbling and chugging and vibrating like a raring beast. I caressed a hand over the weathered dash that sported a crack rivaling the Grand Canyon that ran from one side to the other, a perfect reflection of the one that ran across the windshield. “You’re so good to me.”
My phone pinged, and I glanced to the side where it was sitting on the seat.
Ryder: Don’t be late.
I rolled my eyes. As if.
Okay. Fine. I was always late.
Ryder knew me well. And truth be told, I didn’t want to make him look bad, so I pressed down on the brake as I shoved the gear into reverse.
Plus, I really needed this job. No, I really wanted this job.
I could feel the hope of it vibrating through my spirit, and I needed to get my butt in gear before I messed up this opportunity before it even started.
I glanced in the rearview mirror, squinting against the blinding rays of morning light that streaked in as the sun climbed into the endless expanse of blue Colorado sky.
All clear.
I gunned it out of the spot.
I jarred forward when Maybe banged into something from out of nowhere. The sound of grating metal was garbled by the screech that tore up my throat.
I rammed back on the brakes, holding tight to the steering wheel, blinking through the confusion, before my mind finally caught up to what had just happened.
“Crap,” I grumbled under my breath, and I tossed it into park and hopped out. I absolutely didn’t have time for this.
My boots hit the pavement, and I rounded the rear to find Maybe’s tail-end banged up against the bumper of a shiny black Range Rover.
Just freaking awesome.
The SUV was halfway out of its spot, too, and appeared to have been pulling out to head the opposite direction. The two vehicles had made impact right in the middle of the aisle.
I knelt to inspect the spot where we’d collided.
Relief gusted.
There was only a small dent and a scratch on the Rover’s bumper, and my truck didn’t have any damage at all.
It didn’t look bad. Nope, not too bad at all.
Except I was pretty sure the other driver might not agree when I felt the dark cloud descend from above.
Warily, I looked up, and my heart pitched in my chest.
I could barely make him out with the sunlight that blurred around him, the man a silhouette of darkness that towered two feet away. That didn’t mean I couldn’t feel the stone-cold eyes glaring down at me.
“Are you hurt?” His tone was completely at odds with the question.
“No. I’m fine.” It came out shakier than I’d anticipated.
Air huffed from his nose, and his deep voice was a rumble of condescension as he looked at the damage on his bumper. “I guess it’s too much to ask people to watch where they’re going.”
I pushed to standing, my words cracking with anger. “Excuse me? You ran into me.”
Okay, we’d run into each other, but if he was going to be a jerk about it…
A displeasured scoff blew from his nose, and he stepped forward.
I really hoped my eyes hadn’t actually popped out of my head when it brought him into view.
Bollocks and ballsacks.
I’d backed into an Abercrombie model.
Or maybe a Greek God reincarnated.
He glowered, his jaw and cheeks as hard as the icy blue eyes that seemed to glow from his ridiculous face. He was all sharp angles and polished stone, his lips so full and red that my tongue unconsciously stroked over mine.
Correction.
Fallen angel.
That’s what he was.
A dark one who’d been booted right out of paradise for being a giant dick.
His brow lifted, his dark blond hair mostly short, cut close on the sides, but the longer pieces on top were pushed back, making him look fiercer.
My stomach twisted.
“I ran into you?” he challenged.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Um, yes, you did. You’re clearly farther out of your spot than I am. Besides, doesn’t your fancy-ass car have some sort of warning system to keep you from crashing right into unsuspecting people?”
I flung a hand toward his showpiece, scowling hard to prove my point.
Annoyance had him readjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket.
His suit jacket.
Seriously, who was this guy and where did he come from? He was obviously lost. Men like him didn’t belong in Time River, a spec of a small town in Nowhere, Colorado.
But he wouldn’t be the first tourist to stray from the big city and onto our streets. Seeking the beauty of the plains set in a backdrop of breathtaking mountains and the gorgeous river that ran through. In the winter, the mountains would be covered by snow, but at this time of year, only the soaring peaks were painted white, the snow slowly melting as the fullness of the summer approached.
The irritation the man wore was almost palpable. “It warned me, but since you flew out of your spot without care in that monstrosity, there was no time to avert the accident.”
Monstrosity?
“How dare you call Maybe a monstrosity.” I set my hand on the tailgate like it could shield her from the slur.
Exasperation seemed to shake his head as he shifted a bit to the side, and he had the audacity to rake his teeth over that full bottom lip. He returned his potent gaze back to me, blowing out a sigh of resignation. “You know what, I don’t have time for this.”
“Like I do,” I spat, trying to ignore the buzzy power radiating from him.
It wasn’t like he was beefy or anything. Everything about him was lean and hewn, but I’d bet my ass everything under that suit was sculpted in strength. Deceptively smooth. He was the type of guy who would strike before a person even knew he was coming for them.
I propped my hands on my hips. “Do you want my insurance information or what? Or we can exchange numbers or whatever. You barely have a scratch on your car, but I’m sure you’re going to want to get it fixed.”
Like this guy would settle for anything less than perfection.
“No, I don’t want your information. I’ll handle it.”
My mouth dropped open. I didn’t know if I was offended or relieved. “I do have insurance, you know.”
“Congrats, but I think I’ll see to things for myself.”
I blinked.
Congrats?
Without saying anything else, he turned on his heel and strode around the side of his car, taking that dark, broody, self-righteous ego with him.
I stood there gaping at his overpowering form as he slipped into the driver’s seat, the man far too tall and powerful for anyone’s good.
He didn’t spare me a glance when he put the SUV into drive, his tires squealing as he peeled away.
“Grrr…what a freaking jerk,” I shrieked. And still, I stood there staring as he took off onto Manchester, the main street that ran through Time River.
The second his SUV disappeared, I tore myself out of the trance he had me under and hightailed my ass back to the driver’s side of my truck and climbed inside. I shoved it back into reverse the way I’d done before I’d been so rudely interrupted and finished pulling out of the spot, then I shifted into drive and gunned it.
A.L. Jackson is the New York Times & USA Today Bestselling author of contemporary romance. She writes emotional, sexy, heart-filled stories about boys who usually like to be a little bit bad.
Her bestselling series include THE REGRET SERIES, CLOSER TO YOU, BLEEDING STARS, FIGHT FOR ME, CONFESSIONS OF THE HEART, FALLING STARS, and REDEMPTION HILLS novels. Watch out for her upcoming stand-alone, LOVE ME TODAY, releasing May 29th!
If she’s not writing, you can find her hanging out by the pool with her family, sipping cocktails with her friends, or of course with her nose buried in a book.
Be sure not to miss new releases and sales from A.L. Jackson – Sign up to receive her newsletter https://geni.us/ALJacksonBookClubB or text “aljackson” to 33222 to receive short but sweet updates on all the important news.
“What?” I groan and face her again. “Call someone else. Whatever it is, call someone else to help her. I’ll even pay for it. It’ll be cheaper than the therapy I’ll have to endure after seeing her.”
“She needs help.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Oh, I know that. I rode with her all the way to Orlando and back to pick up someone’s shit when they moved in with Maddox.”
She sighs.
I sigh back at her.
We watch one another. Neither of us says a word. But Sara? Sara says lots of words, many of which can be heard through the phone dangling in Ashley’s hand from across the room.
If Sara had called and asked for my help, I wouldn’t answer. The woman is hell on wheels. She’s headstrong and thinks she knows everything. Her aversion to physical labor is astounding.
If I’m water, she’s oil—oil that hasn’t been changed in a hundred-thousand miles. And I’m basically holy water, so it’s a no-go.
But it’s not Sara who’s asking for my help. It’s Ashley. And Ashley is family.
Oh, fuck my life.
I blow out a long, hasty breath.
“I’ll let you come over for dinner tomorrow, too,” Ashley says, luring me in with her fluttery lashes.
Still, I hold strong and think it through.
Even if I put up an argument and do my best to resist her pleas for help, I’ll give in. Arguing will only delay the inevitable. At worst, Ashley will call Maddox, and he’ll call me, asking me to go. And I can’t say no to Maddox because he never says no to me.
Except for the spiders.
“Three dinners,” I say. “And movie nights with you guys every Saturday for a month.”
She grins and thrusts the phone my way.
I take it, glaring at her. It only makes her giggle.
I sigh again, just to set the stage. Can’t let Sara think I’m happy about this.
“Hi, giant pain in the ass,” I say.
“Thinking about my ass again, I see.”
This is gonna suck.
Blurb:
Looking for a Fake Fiancé
Have you ever wanted to prove someone wrong so badly that you could taste it?
It doesn’t matter if they’re right. The fact that they had the audacity to say it is what counts.
Hi. It’s me. I’m that person.
The man I’ve been casually seeing told me I’m not “wife material” and should “lower my expectations”. Didn’t he realize I lowered them the moment I met him for dinner?
Obviously not.
Am I petty? Maybe. Annoyed? Of course. Determined? Definitely.
I need someone to help me flaunt my new engagement—my fiancé couldn’t wait to pop the question because I’m that amazing—in his face.
The problem? I don’t have a boyfriend, let alone a husband-to-be.
Which brings us to you.
Are you handsome? Successful? A smooth talker extraordinaire?
Are you willing to do all the things that someone madly in love would do?
Putting your hand on the small of my back. Forehead kissing. Acting like I’m a treasure you can’t live without. I need you to be prepared to do all those things … and maybe more.
What do you get out of this? I’m willing to negotiate terms—especially if they include a job and a place to stay. It’s a long story.
One night. One event. Let’s put on one heck of a show.
From USA Today and Amazon Charts Bestselling author comes a “hot and hilarious!” fake-dating tale between two frenemies that turn into roommates, coworkers, and, ultimately, lovers. Fans of close proximity, one-bed trope, and blue-collar, small-town heroes will fall madly in love with this story.
About the Author:
USA Today Bestselling author, Adriana Locke, writes contemporary romances about the two things she knows best—big families and small towns. Her stories are about ordinary people finding extraordinary love with the perfect combination of heart, heat, and humor.
She loves connecting with readers, fall weather, football, reading alpha heroes, everything pumpkin, and pretending to garden.
Hailing from a tiny town in the Midwest, Adriana spends her free time with her high school sweetheart (who she married over twenty-five years ago) and their four sons (who truly are her best work). Her kitchen may be a perpetual disaster, and if all else fails, there is always pizza.
Tough Cookie, an all-new heartfelt fake dating small-town romance from Talia Hunter, is now available in Kindle Unlimited!
Noah Malone is back in his hometown for a short break from his stunt work, but his mother’s set on convincing him to settle down in Green Valley so he can give her grandbabies like the good Lord intended. Not only is she pushing him to help out at the Donner Bakery decorating cookies, but her matchmaking is relentless.
To end his mother’s awkward set-ups, Noah needs a no-strings-attached pretend girlfriend. And who better than Carla, a mysterious recluse who seems to have taken an instant dislike to him? When she reveals she’s been isolated by illness, he proposes a fake relationship that’ll stop his momma’s shenanigans and help Carla ease back into the world.
Tech-geek Carla creates a spreadsheet of fake-date challenges. She’s serious and focused on her goal of slowly becoming more social… until daredevil Noah starts messing with her spreadsheet. He’s ridiculously charming, and his sexy additions may be even more appealing than the cookies he brings her, but Carla won’t let her resistance crumble.
Opposites may attract, but can such different people find a recipe for love?
‘Tough Cookie’ is a full-length contemporary romance, can be read as a standalone, and is book #3 in the Donner Bakery series, Green Valley Chronicles, Penny Reid Book Universe.
Pulling my truck up in front of our old farmhouse, the first thing I noticed was how enormous the old oak tree behind the house had grown, and how far its branches stretched over the roof. I made a mental note to trim it back.
The house was even prettier than I remembered, mostly because someone had placed potted herbs along the porch rail to soak up the winter sunshine. My mother had said she hadn’t sent anyone over to check on things since her tenant had moved in, yet the place looked well maintained. The vegetable beds had been covered with cold frames, and the plants inside seemed to be thriving. And chickens were scratching around in the large run I built for Momma years ago.
Who was the mysterious tenant who grew her own food and never asked for anything?
Maybe she was on the run, or in witness protection. She could have stolen a bunch of money before holing herself up in the isolated house and was living in constant fear of being found by the feds. Though in all honesty, that was the plot of the last movie I’d worked on.
Still, when I mounted the steps to the porch with the jar of cookies under my arm—to my credit, it was still more than half full—and knocked on the front door, I was ready for just about anything.
Anything, that was, except what actually happened.
When the door swung open and I saw the woman in the doorway, my jaw loosened. Momma had called her pretty, and though it was a true statement, it didn’t do her justice.
The woman’s face shape was delicate, but her eyes, cheekbones, and lips were generous, like she’d managed to swipe a little more than her fair share. Her eyes were a rich brown. She had dark, wavy hair that fell past her shoulders and was tucked neatly behind her ears. She was wearing thick, fuzzy socks, sweatpants, and what looked like several layers of warm tops. Despite the layers, her bombshell curves were obvious.
I was struck speechless. But it wasn’t just her beauty that made words dry up. It was the way she was looking at me.
Her gaze traveled up from my boots, over my jeans, and cut a slow path across the jersey I’d worn to keep my mother happy. It brushed over the jar of cookies on its way, and grazed my freshly trimmed beard. Her gaze stopped short of reaching my eyes, however. It jerked back to the cookies. And all the while, a frown creased her brow.
She didn’t look happy to see me. The opposite, in fact.
About Talia Hunter
Talia Hunter likes to include her three favorite things in her novels: toe-curling romance, snort-laughs, and heart-warming friendships. She recently moved to Australia’s beautiful Gold Coast, where she’s constantly amazed and not at all freaked out by the weird and wonderful critters. When she’s not writing, you can usually find her with a glass of wine, a good book, at least one of her three cats, and a jumbo-sized can of bug spray.
She clears her throat, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “May I ask you to let me see your emails, please?”
Excuse me?
I press my lips together, curiosity getting the best of me, and pull my phone out of my pocket.
“Jess?”
“No, you may not see my emails.”
Her hands go to her hips. “Please?”
“What are you up to, Pip?”
She reaches for my phone in a quick, bold move. Unfortunately for her, I’m quicker. I hold it up in the air and effectively out of her reach.
“Please, don’t look at them. At least not with me standing here,” she says, hopping a whole foot off the ground to try to reach the device.
I chuckle. “What did you do?”
“Give it to me.” She hops again. “Now.”
“Not a chance.” I swipe the screen and find my email app as she tries to tug my arm down. “Will you stop it?”
“Jess,” she says, fake crying. She stops hopping. “Wait.”
I laugh at her little pout. “You are so fucking cute.”
“I hate you.”
“You do not.”
The app opens, and I scan my inbox. It’s the third message from the top that catches my attention.
Plum, Pippa Re: SEEKING AN EX-HUSBAND
Blurb:
SEEKING AN EX-HUSBAND
I need a fake ex-husband.
Let me explain …
I may have let it slip to my new co-workers that I have an ex-husband. Now they’re fascinated with the details, specifically with him.
Why wouldn’t they be? He’s gorgeous, has exceptional skills in the bedroom, and is determined to win me back.
But there’s a problem. He doesn’t exist.
The bigger problem? I have to produce him to save my job.
This is where you come in.
I’m seeking someone to play a smitten ex-husband for two weeks. You’ll need to remember our love story—details matter when it comes to romance! Please be prepared to travel in-state at a moment’s notice. We may be in close proximity and sharing a bed may be required.
One more thing—kisses are required for optics as necessary.
If this sounds interesting or, at the very least, entertaining, let me know.
Signed,
Your Future Ex-Wife
Buckle up for a steamy adventure between friends-turned-lovers in this new “fresh twist on a favorite trope!” take on fake dating, close proximity, and romance in the workplace from USA Today Bestselling author Adriana Locke.
About the Author:
USA Today Bestselling author, Adriana Locke, writes contemporary romances about the two things she knows best—big families and small towns. Her stories are about ordinary people finding extraordinary love with the perfect combination of heart, heat, and humor.
She loves connecting with readers, fall weather, football, reading alpha heroes, everything pumpkin, and pretending to garden.
Hailing from a tiny town in the Midwest, Adriana spends her free time with her high school sweetheart (who she married over twenty-five years ago) and their four sons (who truly are her best work). Her kitchen may be a perpetual disaster, and if all else fails, there is always pizza.
Professor Romance 