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Emmaline

Once a week, I have lunch with the most handsome man in town.��

I’m sure that seems like an exaggeration, since I’m an awkward, weirdo, nerdy girl who makes everyone uncomfortable. But it’s the honest truth.

I’m not even talking about eating lunch at home with my cat, who is admittedly a very handsome boy. I eat most of my meals at home alone, with Miles Standoffish, said cat, or with Miles and my sister, Lily. Generally speaking, I don’t like eating in public; I never seem to get the eating to talking ratio right. I never know when it’s the right time to talk and when it’s the right time to listen. And that’s true even when there isn’t food involved.��

Besides, other people’s mouths are gross and I don’t like hearing people chew. Which, I know, seems more about other people eating, but it still makes me uncomfortable. Because what if other people feel that way about me and my mouth? And don’t even get me started with the noises in restaurants.��

My point is, generally speaking, it’s better for me to just eat at home with Miles.��

But once a week, I make an exception and eat lunch with my best friend, Zane, who just happens to also be the most handsome man in town.��

Today, we’re at the diner, which is where we normally eat. I’m watching him from across the table while he tells me a story about the most recent tattoo he gave to one of the old ladies in the town’s “blue-haired group.�� They’re a collection of relatively hip old grannies who meddle in plenty of the lives in this town. When I say “relatively hip�� I really mean, way cooler than I am, but also much older.

Thankfully, they mostly leave me alone. They probably think I’m a lost cause. Or they simply don’t know what to do with me. Either way, I’m always grateful when people don’t notice me.

Zane’s blue eyes flare as he gets to the climax of the story. “A scorpion. Can you believe that?��

I laugh until I snort trying to imagine Mrs. Hollis with a scorpion marring her weathered skin.��

“It’s pretty badass looking, too.��

“If you did it, that’s not surprising. All your ink is amazing.��

His lips quirk up in a lopsided grin. The brow with the tiny ring in it slides up. “Thanks, Starfish. You’re good for my ego.��

With him looking at me like that, it makes me completely understand why women always go bonkers over him. He’s a perfect specimen of male attractiveness.��

I don’t say that just because he’s my best friend. It’s an objective fact.

He has sculpted muscles without looking like he took drugs to get them. He has an easy, genuine grin that hints at dimples. Dimples you can’t exactly see because he always has a perfect amount of scruff to hide them. The same dark shade as the hair on his head. The hair he keeps just this side of long, a bit too long to be considered tidy, but not long enough that he rocks a man bun. Combined with how bright and vivid his blue eyes are, he’s shockingly handsome.��

But I’ve known from the moment Zane and I first became friends that I was destined to be that and nothing more. So, while I can objectively see that he is hot, as my twin sister, Lily, would say, I don’t look at him that way.��

The truth is, I don’t look at any man that way. It’s just not something I’m comfortable thinking about. But especially not Zane. I couldn’t. Else I’d be setting myself up for a heartbreak that makes no sense.��

Just then, Ruthie stops by the table with our slices of pie. Zane and I have a late lunch here every Wednesday because, one, it is one of the days I go into the actual office instead of working from home. And two, Wednesdays Ruthie makes homemade chocolate custard pie, and it is my very favorite thing to put in my mouth.����

“Here you go, you two,�� Ruthie says, setting the plates down.��

After she walks away, Zane takes a sip of his coffee and I take a bite of my pie. I close my eyes as the smooth chocolate custard slides across my tongue. I moan. There is nothing in the world as good as Ruthie’s chocolate custard pie. I’ll go to my grave believing that.��

“I don’t think anyone in the world enjoys any food more than you enjoy that pie,�� Zane says. He takes a bite and nods. “It is damn tasty though.��

“No, that is a completely inaccurate description of this decadent dessert. It is utterly perfect. The crust is buttery and flakey. The custard is rich and chocolatey without being too sweet, and the texture is smooth and velvety without being slimy at all. Nothing tastes this good.��

His tongue slips out and rolls against his bottom lip. “I think we’ll have to agree to disagree about that, Starfish.��

“What else is better?��

“Nothing you’re ready to hear about.��

Want to keep reading?

Stella

I’m doing that thing where I freak out for absolutely no reason. And I can’t even text Hazel to talk me down from my imaginary ledge because this is her brother that has thrown me into my cycle of nonsense.��

I wish I hadn’t already put on my lounging clothes because I feel like everything is so molded to my body, it’s doing nothing to hide every bump and roll I have. It doesn’t matter. I try to remind myself of that. Ben sees me no differently than he sees his sister. So who cares what I wear?��

I steal a glance at Ben as he comes back into the living room after dumping his bag in his bedroom.��

He makes a detour into the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink? Or I could make some popcorn?�� he calls.��

“Not right now. Thanks though.�� If I eat now while I’m all in a dither, I’ll end up making myself sick.��

I’m being ridiculous. This is Ben. I’ve known Ben for years. Is Ben hot? Yes, yes he is. Stupidly so. He’s tall and while he’s lean—because he is a soccer player—he’s still cut and chilled to perfection. But I’ve kinda had a thing for redheads since I met the Weasley twins. And Ben is the best kind of ginger. His russet-colored hair and matching beard are the same exact coppery color as his eyes and he’s got these sexy freckles. Gah, he’s so stinking handsome.��

I want to strip him naked and see if he’s got those freckles all over his body. And I totally want to know if his carpet matches his drapes. Can you say that about a man? I guess it’s a good thing I brought my vibrator because I’m clearly a complete horndog today. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.��

Well, nothing! That’s the problem.��

I’m giggling to myself like a damned idiot when he comes back into the living room.��

“Amusing yourself?�� he asks and then he drops himself down on the couch next to me. Okay he’s not actually sitting next to me as in our hips and butts aren’t touching, but he manspreads like a pro so part of his thigh and his knee is pressed to my leg.��

The warmth permeating through his athletic pants and into my yoga pants seems to have short circuited my brain and I stare at him dumbly.��

“W�󲹳�?��

“You were laughing. Did you want to share it with the class?��

“Oh, no.�� I grab the remote to busy myself with something. “Are you sure you want to watch this?��

“Yes because I’ve never seen it, but also because I saw somewhere recently that if you watch this movie first and then follow it with Die Hard, then you get to see Alan Rickman get punished for what he does to Emma Thompson. So I guess to fully enjoy Hans Gruber falling off that Nakatomi Plaza, I need to see what, in fact, he does to Ms. Thompson.��

I shake my head. “He’s terrible. I mean he is an amazing actor, was, whatever. But yeah, in this movie he’s a real jackass.�� Then I chuckle. “So it does make sense that it will be kinda gratifying to watch him die so dramatically in Die Hard. Okay, let’s do this. I’ll start if from the beginning because I hadn’t gotten very far.��

We’re half an hour in when Ben abruptly stands. “I need a beer. You want a beer?”��

He stomps off to the kitchen.��

I pause the movie.

“You didn’t mention there were naked people in this movie,�� he says.

His voice sounds weird. I mean yeah, the two movie stand-in characters are naked a lot and also simulating sex acts, but their dialogue kinda defuses any would-be sexual tension of the scene.��

“I didn’t realize it would be an issue. It’s kind of a funny bit in the movie.��

He comes back in, beer bottle in one hand, bag of chips in the other. “It’s not a big deal. I just wasn’t expecting it.��

“No one does. It’s out of the fabric of the rest of the movie, that’s what makes it funny.��

“I’ll take your word for it.�� This time when he sits, he’s a little closer to me so that our thighs are nearly pressed together.��

We watch the rest of the movie in relative silence only pausing once more when I need a pee break. When the movie is finally over he turns to face me on the couch, one arm braced on the back behind me.��

I don’t turn and blatantly stare at the bulge of his bicep that’s trying to bust through his black t-shirt that proudly declares, “I’m a Keeper.�� Of course there’s a soccer ball next to the words and I get it, because he’s the goalie, but gah, I feel that double meaning in my soul. He is a keeper and dammit it all to hell, but I wish he was mine.��

“Alright, Blue, tell me who’s your favorite couple.��

“David and Natalie. Although the Brits must have a very different definition of fat than we do here in America because she’s not big at all. But I love them. I love that he goes to that school play with her.��

He smiles widely at me and I can barely see the hints of his dimples hiding beneath his beard.��

“What about you?�� I ask.

“That Colin guy was an idiot and American women are not that stupid to fall for a guy just because of an accent.��

I laugh. “I agree. It’s a funny stereotype though.��

“I don’t know that I had a favorite, but I hated the Keira Knightly plot line. That guy from the Walking Dead was not only a fucking pussy for hiding his feelings for so long, but he was a shit friend to decide to finally tell her after they were married. Total crap.��

“So you think if you have feelings for someone you should be bold enough to tell them?�� I ask.��

What am I doing?

His coppery gaze drops briefly to my lips which wakes my nipples up enough for them to press against my tank. He looks away and then rubs a hand across the back of his neck.��

“I guess it depends. I mean yes, I think in most cases, you should be honest, but there are a few cases—like that one in the movie—where he should have just kept his feelings to himself. Telling her only served him in that case and that’s not real love. He was selfish.��

I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. What was I expecting? What did I really think would happen if I brought up the topic of unrequited love? It’s not like I have any fantasies that Ben has been secretly in love with me.��

“I think they’ll start the fireworks soon. Wanna go sit on the deck and watch?�� he asks.��

“Oh yeah, I’ve never been out here for that. Somehow I always missed it on the fourth of July, too.�� I stand and grab Jeff’s leash because he probably needs to go outside too. Then I slip on my old backless Chucks and follow Ben out the back sliding door.��

I’d like to say that I don’t stare at his ass, but that would be a lie. Because damn, what grey sweatpants do for the front of man, dark grey athletic pants do for a nice, bubble butt.

Fiona

Tonight could be titled “The Story of Fiona’s Life�� or since it is Halloween, maybe something like “Fiona’s Life: a Horror Short Story.��

Here I am at the coolest party in town, surrounded by glamorous, beautiful people, and I’m standing in the corner like an awkward dork.

The only reason I even got an invitation to this charity shindig is because it’s being hosted by Zee Suite Software which is owned by my brother Ezra Carlisle. Yes, that Ezra Carlisle, and, yes, he is as brilliant as he seems in interviews.

The only reason I actually came to the party is because it’s being held at The Montgomery in Austin, and my best friend, Ainsley, currently runs the hotel (that her family owns), and she begged me to come.

As far as I can tell, I am the only woman here not dressed as a Sexy Something. Sexy Nurse. Sexy Vampire. Sexy Tree. Sexy Whatever. Fill in the blank.

Nope, not me. I am just dressed as Merida, as befitting my red curls. Not the sexy version. Just Merida.

In my defense, I’m just under five-one, and it’s hard to pull off a sexy costume when you’re my height.

So here I am, once again, dragged along to the cool kid party, by my brother and my friend, aka actual cool kids, and I’m standing in the corner like a dork because I feel out of place. Like I said, it’s the story of my life.

Before you start throwing shade at Ezra and Ainsley for not making me feel more included, Ezra only has eyes for his new wife, Paisley, and Ainsley’s best guy friend, Reid, is back in town and throwing serious I’m-secretly-in-love-with-you vibes in her direction, so she’s probably been struck dumb by his attention.

And it’s okay. It’s fine.

Even if I barely top five feet—I exaggerated earlier when I said I was five-one—I am a grown-ass-woman, and don’t need a babysitter to keep me company.

I’m trying to decide if I should sneak out and go home to watch Hocus Pocus for the forty-seventh time when I hear a voice from behind me.

“Hey Princess.��

The voice is deep and husky, and my nipples bead painfully in my bra. I spin and come face-to-face with the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. Okay, we would be face-to-face if I wasn’t pocket-sized and he wasn’t a giant.

He’s dressed as Zorro. Head-to-toe in black, complete with the bandana mask. He’s not wearing the wide-brimmed hat, just the mask. But he does have a rapier hanging from his belt. I’ve never considered myself to have a Zorro fetish, but this is working for me. Big time.

Part of me thinks grown men dressing up in costumes is just �� silly. Since many of the men at this costume party are professional athletes, a lot of them just look awkward, like they are afraid they look ridiculous. Not this guy. This guy owns his Zorro costume.

My own costume is form-fitting and hugs my curves. The wideness of my hips only serves to make my waist appear more narrow. But there’s no low dip showing off cleavage. Like, I said, it is not a sexy costume. I really only picked it because I have thick, red curly hair, so it fits. Still, one look from Zorro, and I feel like the sexiest woman in the room.

His dark brown—almost black—eyes rake over my body. And wow…my brain has stopped functioning. I’m probably standing here staring at him with my mouth agape because that is how cool I am.

His short-cropped beard does nothing to hide his smile. It’s one of those wicked, half grins that’s crooked and so sexy that I think I might actually be dreaming.

“Merida, huh? You’ve definitely got the hair for it.�� He holds out a hand to me. “Mateo Cruz.��

I have enough presence of mind to put my hand in his because I’m ready for this sex-on-a-stick man to touch me wherever he can. His large firm hand is a bit calloused, and it engulfs my smaller and paler one.

I take a shuddering breath and manage a single word. “Fiona.��

“Fiona,�� he repeats as if wanting to feel the consonants of my name in his mouth. Then he brings my hand up to his lips and presses a kiss against my pale flesh.

Okay, question �� Can you orgasm from a simple hand kiss? Asking for a friend.

All I know is that I have never responded like this to another man, but I am literally ready to volunteer myself as tribute for his pleasures tonight. Because…damn, he is so sexy that I might actually be drooling.

Oh shit, what if I’m having a stroke? I inhale deeply to see if I detect the scent of toast.

His brows raise, and then he leans in closer. “What do you smell?��

Oh, double shit. He noticed me inhaling deeply. Fantastic.

Since he probably already thinks I’m deranged, there’s no reason not to be honest. “Toast. Or rather, I don’t smell toast, so that’s probably good.��

He laughs. “Fiona, dance with me.��

“Okay,�� I say meekly, shocked my huffing like a spray paint addict hasn’t scared him off.

He leads me out to the dance floor, then pulls me in close despite the faster beat of the music playing. His arms are wrapped around me, his palms dangerously close to my ass. I’m tempted to just move them to where I want them. He’s so tall, and I’m so not that I barely hit his chest, but with him holding me this close, I can feel his heartbeat against my ear.

I know that no one actually slipped anything into my drink because I haven’t had anything here. But I feel so aware of my body. Every movement brushes fabric against my taut nipples. The feel of his hands on my body, even through the crushed velvet of my dress is so sensual I feel like any minute I’m going to start to purr.

I’m clearly starved for physical touch.

And then the familiar guitar riff and snaps start to play. Suddenly I’m pulled even closer to Mateo while Shawn Mendes’s Señorita plays. It’s probably a cliche, but it’s so damn hot I feel like I’m on fire. I don’t know if we look as hot as I imagine that we do. Probably not because I’m not the most graceful creature on Earth. But I figure Mateo and his pure animal magnetism makes up for any of my shortcomings.

He sings a few of the lines close to my ear, and I’m pretty sure I moan.

“I really want to kiss you, Princess,�� he says. The low gravel of his voice slides over my skin, and chills follow.

“Not here,�� I find myself saying.

Because there is no way I’m going to let Ezra catch me making out with some guy. Despite the fact that I’m a grown adult with two college degrees, my brother is still ridiculously protective of me. But I’m pretty sure I know a place where we can hide for a quick smooch. I grab his hand and pull him off the dance floor. He follows willingly as I take him out of the hotel ballroom where the party is being held to a small storage room.

The minute we’re closed into the room, he presses me against the wall and kisses me. There’s no slow, gentle seduction in his lips. No, this is pure carnal lust with tongue. He picks me up, so we’re better matched in height. I wrap my legs around his waist, and my dress lifts and spreads out behind me, leaving my panty-clad core pressed to the hot seam of his pants.

He sucks my tongue into his mouth and rocks his pelvis against me. The hard ridge of his erection rubs against me, where I need him most. I moan because I swear nothing has ever felt so good.

I rake my fingers into his hair, disrupting his bandana mask, and it falls to the ground. But we still don’t break the kiss. Our tongues slide against one another while he continues to pump against me. The rhythmic press of his cock against my pussy is rapidly building inside me. I should be embarrassed that he’s going to make me come like this, but I’m not.

I whimper into his mouth and rock myself against him, trying to speed towards my climax. Nothing I do alters his pace.

I pull back from the kiss when my orgasm hits. I arch against the wall at my back, crying out as pleasure pulses through every nerve of my body.

He’s breathing heavy, and now that I can see the full of his face, I know just how ridiculously handsome he is. I also know who he is. His face and his name click into place in my memory. Now, I know why he’s so big. I try to find it in myself to care that I just dry-humped one of my brother’s football players, but I don’t care even a little bit.

“Fiona,�� he murmurs. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.��

I stare into his dark eyes, searching for whether or not that’s a line because surely a man who looks like him is a total man-whore. But I see only sincerity shining back at me.

“Do you want to go upstairs to my room?�� I ask. I don’t actually have a room yet, but since Ainsley basically runs the place, getting one will be easy.

He swallows visibly, his Adam’s apple bobs. He nods. “Very much so. But we don’t have to. I just want to spend some time with you. Get to know you better.�� He wraps one of my curls around his finger.

“We can get to know each other better while we’re naked, though, right?�� I ask.

He tosses his head back and laughs. The rich baritone feels like the first shot of coffee in the morning. Like it’s waking up something deep inside of me.

“Yeah, Princess, I’d love to get naked with you.��

“Then follow me. I just need to stop by the office super quick.��

He holds my hand, and we walk together to my best friend, Ainsley’s office. It doesn’t take me long to pull up the rooms on the computer, pick one and reserve it and program a key card.

“I take it you work here?�� he asks.

“More or less.�� Technically I do actual work here. But I’m not an employee of The Montgomery. But when you’re an heiress, and you don’t have to work, you find things to occupy your time.

We’re silent on the ride up the elevator. Finally, when we’re standing in front of the room I’ve secured for the night, I turn to him to ask a question.

“How did you know who I was dressed as?��

He gives me that panty-melting grin again. “I have nieces. I know all of the princesses.�� He fingers another curl. “But Merida has always been my favorite.��

“And why’s that?��

“Because she’s independent and strong.�� Again his heated gaze travels the length of my body. “And she’s mouthy. I like a sassy woman.��

I open the room, and he comes in behind me.

“Tell me, Fiona, do you have a sassy mouth on you?��

I lick my lips, and then I smile at him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?�� he asks.

“Definitely.�� I reach behind me to find the zipper on my dress and can’t quite reach it. I try to get to it from another angle and nearly fall over.

He chuckles and steadies me. Then he spins me around so my back is to him. The sound of the zipper sliding open on my dress is loud and nearly obscene. His hands push the dress off my shoulders, and it falls to the floor.

“Take off the rest of your clothes and get on the bed. On your back, hands above your head.��

Whoa. If someone had told me that tonight I’d be in a hotel room with a sexy man who was bossing me around, I would have said hell no. Because I’m a strong, independent woman, and no man tells me what to do.

Unless he’s this man telling me to get naked.

I toe off my ballet flats, then turn to face the bed. He walks around me and strips off the top covers, leaving the bed with only the bottom sheet and pillows. My plain nude-colored bra is functional and not at all sexy and I’m wearing cotton panties that nearly cover my belly button. In other words, I am rocking the frumpy sexy look. That’s a thing, right?��

He just stands there watching me. He’s unbuttoned his black shirt, and it hangs open, revealing his swarthy skin. His torso is like airbrushed perfection of muscles only interrupted by dark curly hair that bisects his stomach and the occasional tattoo.��

I may or may not be drooling again. I sneak a wipe of my chin while I unhook my ugly bra and step out of my granny panties. I laugh nervously. “You can tell by my super sexy lingerie that I was fully prepared to hook up tonight.��

He laughs. And I’m pretty sure that when he smiles at me this time, I fall a little bit in love with him. This man is clearly dangerous, which is why it’s a good thing this is a one-night thing.

He shrugs out of his shirt, and it falls to the floor. His shoulders and arms are so muscular that it makes me want to sculpt him. But I am not an artist and the only thing I’ve ever sculpted was with Play-doh.

I turn away and crawl up the bed, and lay down flat, raising my arms above my head. I’m thankful that regardless of my underwear choices for today, I did shave all my important areas.

Maddox

“Are you sure?�� I ask for probably the tenth time in the last two days. I am not normally insecure about anything, but the last six months have thrown me for a curve ball.

Sam, my best friend, punches me in the arm. “Enough,�� he growls. “If my Cookie says she’s sure, she’s sure.��

“It’s okay, babe. He’s nervous about trusting someone with the kids,�� Isabel says.��

Isabel is Sam’s wife. In addition to being funny, sassy, and great with kids, she’s a saint for helping me interview potential nannies. Since taking custody of my sister’s kids six months ago, I’ve become aware that my career as a quarterback has not prepared me for several real life situations. Hiring a nanny is at the top of the list.

Thank God, Isabel offered to step in and help by conducting the first round of interviews. Unfortunately, her offer came after several disastrous first attempts on my end.

Sam snorts. “No, he’s worried she’s going to grab his junk.��

Isabel stops walking. “Hold up, did that happen?��

I blow out a breath. “Can we not talk about that right now? Little ears and all that.��

“Unka Mad doesn’t want us to hear,�� Libby says, her voice speaking of wisdom beyond her four years.��

“That’s right, honey,�� Isabel says to my niece. “But y’all are going to love Finley. She’s amazing. Look, there she is.�� Isabel nods to the bench sitting at the edge of the playground where we’re meeting the woman who is hopefully going to be my new nanny.��

Since the season officially started, I’ve had four nannies and interviewed a dozen more. One of those live-in nannies actually climbed into bed naked with me. Thankfully I woke up before she actually had a chance to molest me.��

This is what I get for having one of the most recognizable faces in football. And for being in the special (AKA nude) anatomy issue of the most popular sports magazine when I was younger. All my important pieces were hidden in artistically creative poses, but women still comment about that photo spread.��

After a few weeks of dealing with handsy women, gold diggers and more than one cougar, I enlisted Isabel to help with the interviews in the hopes that removing my name from the process would weed out the worst of the worst.�� Sam, my best friend and teammate, is nearly as recognizable as I am, but his new wife is not known to the football-nutso-fans. I’m not dissing the fans. Fans are awesome. Normal fans are awesome. But what kind of woman gets a job as a nanny just so she can sleep with a football player? That is next level.

Isabel promptly fired the nanny service I was using and found a more reputable one. I didn’t even know there were nanny services to choose from, but Isabel is a badass business woman, so she has mad skills.

After weeding through applications and interviewing three other candidates, she picked Finley Young. And young, she is. Her resume stated she was twenty-two. But she’s already graduated with a degree in early childhood development and is about to start on her Master’s degree.��

I glance at the woman sitting on the bench and she definitely looks too young and far too pretty to know anything about children. Not that either of those attributes disqualify a person’s skill set, but after all the money-hungry man eaters, I’m leery.��

Libby skips next to Isabel, holding her hand and talking. Always talking. I don’t always know what she’s talking about. My experience with animated ponies is limited. But I know she’s whip smart and sweet and a great big sister and I love her as if she were my own. At least I think I do. I don’t actually have my own kids.

Tucker, the fourteen-month old tugs on my ear. I pull my head away and remind him to be gentle.��

The woman on the bench looks up as we approach, no doubt because Libby is loud and still talking. Well, that, but also because Sam and I are both professional football players and not small guys. Especially Sam, whose nickname is The Viking.��

The woman’s smile is immediate and so genuine that it seems to squeeze at something in my chest. Fuck, she’s pretty.

“Down,�� Tucker says, then starts kicking his legs as if he’ll be able to take off at a running pace when I set him down. Instead his feet hit the gravel path and he stumbles. And then the water works begin.��

The woman—who I’m assuming is Finley Young—immediately falls to her knees and leans over enough to get at his level.��

“Hey little man,�� she coos. “I think I might need a high five because I’ve never seen a little boy run so fast.�� She holds her hand up waiting for him to smack it.

His chin is quivering but he looks up at her and at her hand.

“I mean you were like a super hero you moved so quickly.�� She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Tell me the truth, are you Superman?��

He gives her a toothy grin, but shakes his head. Then he claps his tiny palm against hers.

“My name is Finley, and it’s very nice to meet you,�� she says. Then she stands, picking up a tote bag from the bench and looping it over her shoulder.��

She’s so damn short, she barely comes to my chest. Her dark brown hair falls in a sheet down her back stopping where I’d guess her bra-line is. Not that I’m thinking about her bra because I’m not. Nor her fantastic tits or the fact that her curves are so ripe that they fucking demand my attention.��

I am not looking for a woman.��

I do not have time for a woman.

Sex. I would have time for sex. But I can’t have sex with my live-in nanny. Surely, that’s a rule.��

If it’s not a rule, it should be. Because if Finley really is the perfect match for my kids that Isabel says she is, then I can’t fuck this up. I need her. Libby and Tucker’s paternal grandparents have expressed interest in taking them instead of me, which means I’ve got a case worker from CPS breathing down my neck, questioning whether or not a single dad with a reputation as a player has what it takes to care for kids.

Basically, I need a nanny more than I need to get laid. I definitely should not be thinking the words nanny and sex in the same sentence. Especially when the nanny looks like this.

Maybe I should have taken that one chick up on her offer last weekend at the game in New York. I don’t normally go for ball bunnies, but it’s been a damn long time since I’ve gotten laid. The only logical explanation for why I’m looking at this woman with lust surging through my body.��

She introduces herself to Libby, before finally raising her eyes to meet my gaze. And holy fuck.��

Her eyes are so big and expressive and such a rich shade of brown. Like that light shade of brown that used to come in the M&M packs. I don’t think she’s even wearing make-up, but her thickly lashed eyes blink at me and then she smiles warmly.��

I have to shake my head to clear my thoughts enough to remember to shake her hand. I turn to introduce my friends only to discover that Isabel and Sam are loitering a ways behind me.��

“I’m Maddox,�� I say. I do not have time to be attracted to this woman. I need her professional assistance and nothing more. But seriously, where is Mrs. Doubtfire when you need her?��

“Finley Young. It’s very nice to meet you. You’re kind of enormous if you don’t mind me saying.”��

I just stare at her, but there’s zero recognition in her face.��

“And your friend over there with Isabel looks even bigger.�� She claps a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, that was probably rude. I’m so used to being with children and they just say whatever is on their minds.��

“You don’t know who I am, do you?��

She shakes her head. “The woman, Isabel, that I met with said you were some kind of athlete.��

“I’m the quarterback for the Austin Armadillos.��

Her eyes narrow. “Football, right?��

I just nod because, really? Who doesn’t know what a fucking quarterback is?��

Somehow, the fact that she doesn’t know who I am makes her even more appealing. Fuck, that’s not a good sign. I need to get my head in the game.

“Isabel said you met all my qualifications. But we need to go over a few things first before you’re officially hired.��

She nods. “Did you want to walk the kids over to the play area so they can entertain themselves a bit while we visit?��

“Oh, right.�� I look down and Tucker is already halfway to the brightly colored toddler-sized playscape. Isabel and Sam are following closely behind them, giving Finley and I time to discuss her employment. “Libby, listen to Sam and Isabel.��

“Okay Unka Mad.��

“Unka?�� Finley asks.��

I exhale slowly. I hate this story, but I know it needs to be shared if I’m going to hire this woman as my live-in nanny. “They’re my sister’s kids. She just got sentenced to prison and her parental rights were terminated. So right now they’re in kinship care with me.��

Finley’s expression warms and I feel her concern like a physical touch. “Wow, that’s a lot to take on for you and a lot of turmoil for them.��

“They’ve been in and out of foster homes for the last year. I don’t know why I wasn’t contacted when they were first removed. But I got them as soon as I was able to. The problem is, with my job, I can’t give them the kind of constant attention that they need.��

“Which is where a nanny comes in. I understand.��

“It’s a live-in position. You’ll be given a suite of rooms so you have plenty of space of your own. You have access to the rest of the house though.�� The moment I say the words out loud, I’m picturing her in my house, drinking coffee in the kitchen, lounging in the media room. Lounging in my bed. Fuck. Get your head in the game, Maddox. “I have a housekeeper who also cooks so I don’t need you to do any of that. Just spend time with them and make sure they don’t get into too much trouble.��

She nods. “Of course. I am perfectly capable of cooking though.”��

“You’re welcome to, but it’s unnecessary. Mrs. Brewster comes over every morning and prepares meals and cleans the house, does the laundry, etc.”��

“Very well. I brought the sample curriculum I put together for the kids. Did you want to go over that?�� She reaches into her tote bag and digs for a moment, like she’s looking for that sample curriculum.

The action angles her head closer to me and I get hit with a whiff of her scent. It’s something homey and welcoming with a hint of vanilla. Like fresh baked cookies.��

It’s got to be her shampoo or something, because there’s no way this woman actually smells like home. The combination of her and cookies and home should not be arousing, but it is. Alarmingly so.

I take a step away from her, suddenly aware that this is a big problem.

“Uh, I can look at it later. Can you email it to me or something?��

“Yes, of course. Did you have specific questions about any of my qualifications?��

“No, Isabel looked at all of that. And you came from the agency, right?��

She nods.��

“Good. Then we just need to get some things clear. You can’t have any overnight guests at the house. No sex.��

She opens her mouth, then closes it with a frown. I can tell from her expression my bluntness surprised her.��

“I’m not currently involved with anyone,�� she says.

My dick perks up at the news she’s single.

“I’m not either, and I’m not looking to be either.�� I say it firmly, hoping that my dick gets the message, because it doesn’t matter whether or not she’s single. “I have enough on my plate with the kids and my job.�� I glance over at the playground to see Libby helping Tucker down a slide. My heart tightens. My sister is an idiot to have messed up her life so much that she lost them.��

“They seem like great kids,�� Finley says.��

“They are.�� And for once in my life I’m not naturally good at something. The whole jumping in and being a dad—uncle—whatever has just been so damn difficult. I know how to put effort into things. Regardless of any natural ability I may have with sports, I still work and practice hard. But I also trust my instincts. Nothing about parenting works that way. I’m in over my head and I know I need help. “They just need more than I can give right now. I plan to retire soon, but I’m already contractually obligated for this current season.��

“Finney,�� Libby calls out.��

Finley looks up, then glances at me. “May I?�� she motions to the playground.

I nod. Watching her walk away, I’m struck all over again by those luscious curves of hers.

Then Sam and Isabel are at my side. “You need to pull your head out of your ass,�� Sam grumbles.��

“What are you talking about?��

“You’re attracted to her, but you can’t go there.��

I shake my head. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.��

“Sam, baby, don’t be so grumpy. Mad might need some loving.��

“Don’t encourage him, Cookie. You’re already distracted enough,�� he turns to me, “worrying about the kids and we need your head in the game. You don’t have time to fuck around with the nanny.��

I wince because, damn, it’s like he can read my thoughts.��

“She’s very cute,�� Isabel said.��

“Not helping,�� Sam growls.��

She smacks his arm playfully. “You’re supposed to want everyone to fall in love and have what we have.��

“I do. Just not right now. And not with the nanny.��

“Grumpy pants,�� Isabel says.��

Grumpy or not, Sam is right. I know he’s right. I need this to work, which means I need to keep my dick in my pants and my hands off the nanny.

From Ch. 1

Ainsley

Six months ago��

I’ve just barely walked into my condo and hung my keys up when my phone rings. I juggle my purse to pull out my phone while toeing off my uncomfortable shoes.��

“H�������?��

“Heya, Peach,�� Reid’s sexy voice comes from over the phone. “Why are you so out of breath? Did I catch you doing something naughty?��

I roll my eyes. “You’re such a child.�� But I’m smiling. Because no matter what Reid always makes me smile.��

And, for the record, when I describe his voice as sexy, I do not mean to imply that I find it or him sexy. Merely that his voice is deep and gravely. Very manly. And therefore, demonstrably, undeniably, inarguably sexy.��

Not to me personally. That would be inappropriate since he’s my brother’s best friend and—in the year since we discovered our mutual love of all things horror—he and I have become good friends as well.��

“Damn, I was hoping you were doing something naughty.��

I know better than to take his flirtatious behavior seriously. Reid is not actually flirting. This is just what he’s like. Besides, I know, without a doubt that Reid is not interested in me. I know this because:

1. He is a super-hot, professional football player and all around hunka-hunka-burning love,

2. I am and forever will be, the aforementioned little sister of his best friend, and furthermore,

3. I am a dorky, curvy girl who barely knows the difference between a baseball and a football.��

Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with my curves. My head space is officially free of all body-shaming. Mostly due to a lot of therapy.��

My mother, God love her, is not from a time or social class that embraced body positivity. Which means I grew up hearing bullshit like, “A moment on the lips, forever on the hips,�� and “Dear, do you really want that donut? You know, shape wear can only do so much.”��

So, yeah, it’s taken years of therapy to get that shit out of my head. And while I think I’ve done a fantastic job learning to love my curves, I also know that men like Reid—professional athletes with bodies so hot they are actually magazine worthy (as in million-dollar contracts modeling underwear, magazine worthy)—do not usually go for girls who have to double up on the shape wear.��

Despite my mom’s skepticism, that donut is always worth it, and there aren’t many sins that a second layer of shape wear can’t hide.

But all of this means, I don’t take Reid’s comments about naughty behavior very seriously.��

So I say, “I was about to pop open a pint of Chubby Hubby.��

��Chubby Hubby?�� he asks. “It should take more than Chubby to get you off, but if it works for you.��

“Gross,�� I say, even though I’m unable to hide my laughter. “Chubby Hubby is ice cream. Stop making it dirty.��

“Hey, the joke was right there. And I did just openly admit to hoping you were doing something naughty.��

I snort. “Like what?��

“I dunno. Touching yourself.��

My entire body heats. “Reid!��

“What? A guy can have his fantasies.��

I ignore his statement because he’s a ridiculous flirt and I know he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s a player. Literally because he’s a professional football player, but also with the ladies. I mean, I guess I don’t actually know that, but I’ve seen pictures of him with pretty model-types on gossip sites.��

“Do you want me to call you back after I get my TV set up? Because I literally just walked in the door and I want to change clothes and make some tea,�� I say.��

“Nah. I’m already settled in my bed and have everything queued up and ready.��

“Fine. I’ll put you on speaker and you can tell me about your day while I get everything ready.��

“If you’re changing clothes, I’d prefer a video chat,�� he says.��

“Hilarious. Truly. Now how was practice?��

While I change, he rattles on about the team and how he still wishes he could leave Chicago and come back to Texas.��

Once I’m in my yoga pants and sloppy tee, I pick the phone back up and burrow onto the sofa to log onto to Discord, the software we use to jointly watch our favorite show. “You are just being a pussy, because you don’t like the cold,�� I chide him. “You just want to come back to Texas because of the sun, the beaches, and the tacos.��

He gives a sigh that sounds overly dramatic. “It’s my curse in life that you always misunderstand me.��

I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me. “Speaking of curses�� What do we think about the creepy old lady? Is she really a witch or just a red herring?��

I grab the chance to steer the conversation back to The Hotel of Horrors, the six-episode show, based on the book by Colton Briggs, that’s we’re currently watching.��

Ever since discovering our mutual love of scary-as-fuck tv shows, we’ve been hooking up on Discord a couple of times a week to watch together.

No. Not hooking up. That implies something completely different.

Meeting up.��

We’ve been meeting up.��

On line.��

In a purely, innocent way.��

And by “purely innocent,�� I mean completely asexual, meeting up between two friends �� who enjoy watching demons (both human and supernatural) bathe in the blood of the innocent.

Thank God, Reid lets me steer the conversation back to The Hotel of Horrors, because I can only take so much of his faux sexual banter. And I think I’m actually getting turned on by my Chubby Hubby. Maybe that’s not a bad thing, since it’s not like I have any actual chubbies in my life to satisfy me.

But in terms of tempting me to think naughty thoughts about one of my best friends, it is a very, very bad thing.

Buy NOW or read for FREE on KU!

JOSIE

I think my name is Josie Cole.��

If you had asked me that simple question six months��ago, I wouldn’t have balked at my answer. But that was before everything changed. Before I learned that everything I’d been told about my life was a lie.��

I’d lived my whole life as the only child of older parents who had desperately wanted kids but hadn’t been able to conceive until late in life.�� My mom—possibly the sweetest, most loving woman ever—had adored me and showered me with affection. My dad was gruff but kind. If I was the center of mom’s world, she was the center of his. When she died of breast cancer when I was sixteen, it broke both our hearts. He’d always been taciturn and solitary. When I graduated from high school, it never occurred to me to go to college. He needed me with him, and there would never have been money for college even if he hadn’t.��

We’d been poor and moved around a lot. I hadn’t cared about either of those things because, as Momma always said, “Family is what matters. As long as you have family, you have everything.��

Then, on his death bed, my dad revealed the unthinkable. Everything about Momma’s favorite saying was a lie. I didn’t have family. We weren’t family at all.

The reason my parents had me so late in life, is because I wasn’t their child. I wasn’t even legally adopted.��

To hear my “father�� tell it, one day, Momma came home from work with a newborn baby. He’d loved her too much to deny her anything. So without even asking where she’d gotten me, they had packed what they could into the back of his truck and driven off in the middle of the night, disappearing to start a new life with new identities and a new child.

The only clue I have to who I really am and whether or not I have any family left at all is the name of the town where they lived before I was born.��

After Dad’s funeral, feeling hurt, betrayed and lost, I gave in to the impulsiveness my parents tried so hard to control all my life. I set out to find the truth, no matter where it took me or what the cost.��

So here I am in a strange state, in a strange little town sitting at the counter at Red’s Diner with my last $26.43, slowly nibbling on my grilled cheese sandwich, trying to make it last, since who knows when I’ll be able to afford another meal.

And, yes, the idea that my last meal for a while will be a grilled cheese sandwich is a bit depressing, but it was the cheapest thing on the menu. I take a swallow of water, and then the lady behind the counter, Violet—she told me earlier�� sets down another plate in front of me. This one is smaller and is holding a piece of cake.��

I look up at her and shake my head, slightly panicked because while it looks tasty and smells amazing, I do not have room in my budget for amazing. “I didn’t order that.��

She gives me a warm, genuine smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like you’re instantly friends with someone even if you’ve never met them. A smile that says, “Yep. We’re going to be friends. Just accept it because that’s the way things are.��

I automatically smile back, but before I can push the plate across the counter to her, she holds up her hand to stop me.

“It’s a rule here at Red’s. Everyone’s first visit is on the house and includes a slice of my famous apple cinnamon blaze cake.��

I try to send her a skeptical, steely-eyed look. Because I’m ninety-seven percent sure she made that “rule�� up because I look so pathetic.��

And, yes, I do look pathetic. I know it.��

But Coles don’t take charity. That’s a rule that’s been so deeply ingrained in me, it’s just part of my �� well, I’d say it’s in my blood and my DNA, but that’s just silly now that I know my blood and my DNA don’t have anything to do with being a Cole.

Still, I don’t take charity.��

She must see that I’m about to argue with her because she calls in reinforcements. “Isn’t that right, Chase Michael?�� She glances down the counter, and I see a large cowboy sitting there.��

It’s a testament to how consumed I’ve been worrying about my current dire situation that I missed seeing a mountain of a man sitting only a few stools away from me. He’s got a cowboy hat sitting on the stool next to him, and scuffed boots rest on the floor because he’s clearly so tall that he’s basically just leaning on the stool.��

The man looks up at Violet. “I’m sorry, Ms. Violet, I wasn’t listening. I was wrapped up in your delicious lunch.�� Even from his profile, I can tell the smile he offers her is sheepish.��

I can’t see his entire face from this angle, but I see a strong jaw, covered in a short beard, and dark wavy hair so thick my fingers itch to touch it. His thick legs are encased in worn denim that I bet mold nicely to what is probably a beefy bottom. My cheeks heat at that thought. What is the matter with me that I’m ogling this stranger?��

“I was just telling our new friend here,�� Violet says, then turns to me. “What’s your name, honey?�� she asks me.

“J�Dz�����.��

Violet smiles—it’s that same friendly smile that just lights up her already pretty face—then looks back at the cowboy. “I was telling our new friend, Josie, that the first meal here at Red’s is free and comes with a slice of my cake. She was looking at me suspicious like, and so I thought I’d let you confirm to her that it’s the truth.��

“Yes, ma’am.�� Then he turns his gaze to me, and I swear I swallow my tongue. “What Violet says is true.”��

His deep voice with a thick Tennessee accent flows over me ,and I suppress a shiver. Of the good kind.

I know I’m probably staring, but he’s the most attractive man I’ve ever seen. Granted, I come from a very sheltered life, so I haven’t known many men. But unlike the slick and chiseled hotties you see in magazines and on TV, this man is all big and rugged good looks. There’s nothing polished about him, but just looking at him makes me feel warm and safe, but also tingly and a little breathless.

Which just sounds crazy even inside my head. Maybe it’s from lack of sleep.��

I can practically feel Violet looking back and forth between me and this mountain of a man, and my blush deepens.

“Chase Michael, come on over here and introduce yourself to Josie,�� Violet says.��

He nods and stands, and good grief he’s enormous. He’s got to be well over six feet, and he’s thick and barrel-chested. My entire body heats, and I think I might be hyperventilating.��

And then he’s standing next to me, holding out a hand.��

I place my palm in his, and he gives me a ghost of a smile. I’m too dumbstruck to return his smile.��

“Josie, nice to meet you,�� he says in that deep accent. I’d swear I see the slightest tinge of pink stain his cheeks.��

His massive bear-paw-sized hand is calloused against my own, but I have no desire to release him. I’m not one of those tiny, delicate women, and I’ve never had my hand so engulfed in a man’s hand before. In fact, I kind of want to slither up next to him and just lean in. Just sort of burrow.

Which is the silliest instinct, given that I just met him. And also that my life is in chaos. I have zero idea what my next move is in life, but clearly hugging random strangers should not be on the list of possible steps.

Ever since I learned the truth about my family history, I’ve assumed my parents kept me sheltered my whole life because they were afraid someone would learn the truth and I’d be taken away from them. But maybe it’s actually because they sensed that the first time I ever met a super-hot stranger I would want to climb him like a tree.

I mean, it’s probably that first thing, but at this point, who knows?

“Nice to meet you,�� I manage to choke out. I even force myself to release his hand. Yay, me!

Violet sets down another slice of cake in front of the stool next to me and nods to it. “Here, honey, you have some cake, too,�� she tells Chase. Then she turns to me. “You’ll have to forgive me for being nosy, but your phone has been going off every few minutes. Are you in some kind of trouble, Josie?”��

I finally drag my gaze away from Chase, prepared to lie my socks off. But the look of genuine concern in Violet’s eyes nearly undoes me.

I’ve tried so hard to be strong and keep it together since dad died. The months since then have been a blur of grief and confusion. And loneliness.��

So much loneliness.��

I know now why we lived such a solitary, isolated life. Why they worked so hard to protect me. What I’ll never understand is why they didn’t see how alone I’d be once they were gone.��

It’s been months since anyone, even a relative stranger, has shown me this much kindness. I’m like a frostbite victim being thrust into a warm bath. The shock of it nearly breaks me.

I open my mouth to answer, but tears spring to my eyes, and I have to snap my mouth closed or risk bursting into tears.

I swallow hard, muster my courage, and try to imagine any way I can’t get out of this mess I’m in without asking for help.��

Coles don’t take charity. And even if I’m not a Cole, I hate the idea of burdening anyone else with my mistakes. I hate needing help. And I hate even more that I alone got myself into this mess. Okay, I had some help from my dearly departed parents who lied to me my entire life. But the reason I’m here in this diner…all me.

But the truth is, all the grilled cheese sandwiches in the world can’t solve this. My $26.43 can’t solve this.��

I don’t need charity, but I do need help. Rather desperately, in fact.

“I don’t really know,�� I admit. I look down at my phone, and it’s the same number. Seven missed phone calls and twelve text messages.��

Violet pours three cups of coffee, then sets them on the counter. “Spill it, honey.�� She nods to the diner behind us. “We’re the only ones in here. I have no other customers to tend to. Nowhere else to go. If I can help, I will. And I know Chase well enough to know he’d say the same.�� They exchange a look, and from the corner of my eye I see him give a determined nod. “You’re safe here.��

I swallow hard, wanting her words to be true. They feel true. I feel safe in this moment. Safer than I’ve felt in months. Maybe safer than I’ve ever felt. And while I’m sure Violet’s kindness, the coffee, and the cake help, I suspect my sudden sense of security has everything to do with the quiet giant next to me.��

“It’s kind of a long story.�� I pause, giving Violet and Chase the chance to shrug it off. But Violet just nods and sips her coffee, and I can feel Chase’s steady, comforting presence as he listens, so I continue. “I’ll try to just skip to the main parts. Basically, I found out a couple of months ago that everything I believed about my life was a lie. I don’t know for sure, but suspect I was kidnapped as a baby.�� This is a bit of a stretch, but I’m still not ready to admit out loud that my parents were criminals. “There aren’t any records, but I know I have a twin sister out there somewhere, and my only clue was that we were born in the hospital in Jasper.��

“Oh, honey,�� Violet coos and squeeze my hand.��

I exhale slowly. “Anyways, so I wanted to come here to see if I could find out any information, but when my daddy died, he left me with a mountain of debt. I had to sell the house to pay it off, and by the time I did, I was down to my last fifty dollars.��

There are details I leave out. I don’t describe my frantic search of my parents�� house for clues about my origin. For any kind of records. I don’t talk about my fruitless search for a birth certificate. Or the stunning revelation—thanks to a kind but ultimately unhelpful librarian—that without one, I can’t get a driver’s license or an ID or a social security card. And without any of those things, I can’t get a job.��

I am, essentially, a person who doesn’t exist. I have no way to support myself.��

It’s all too humiliating to admit. So I skip that part. “Then I saw an ad, and it seemed like my only hope.�� I cringe, not even wanting to finish the story. Oh, what they’ll think of me when I give them the rest of the details, even if this part isn’t the worst of it. “It was for a mail-order bride service.”��

I release an awkward chuckle. “I didn’t even know that was still a thing. But the company pays for all relocation costs. I didn’t know what else to do.�� So I found a man looking for a bride here in Whiskey Run. It was the closest I could get to Jasper.��

Beside me, Chase has stilled, his coffee cup halfway to his lips.��

“You’re married?�� he asks.��

I sneak a glance at him. “No. I couldn’t go through with it. I thought I could,�� I say quickly. Not wanting Chase or Violet to think that I’d just used the company for my travel costs and had planned on bailing on the marriage. “I intended to fulfill my end of the bargain, but when I got here, I just couldn’t. All the calls and messages are from the company. I’m guessing they’re wondering where I am and why I skipped out on my wedding day.�� I look down at what I’m wearing; a sad excuse of a wedding dress, with its pale blue floral print and simple A-line style. Even faded and a few years old, it was the nicest thing I had hanging in my closet.��

I finally muster the courage to look up at Violet, sure I’ll see condemnation in her eyes, but instead, she’s just watching me, thoughtfully.

“Who were you supposed to marry?�� Violet asks.��

I frown. “Mr. Crawford.�� I drop my face into my hands. “I saw him waiting outside the courthouse. The moment I saw him, I knew I couldn’t go through with it. I have no idea why. I just knew. So I turned and walked away. I don’t think he saw me.��

“Rick Crawford?�� Chase asks.��

“Yes, I believe that’s his first name.��

“He’s twice your age. At least,�� Chase says, a growl lacing his voice.

“And mean as a hornet,�� Violet adds. She reaches out and pats my hand, nodding. “You did the right thing trusting your gut feeling about him. That man is a hundred pounds of nastiness crammed into a twenty-pound bag. He’s already had three other wives that he chased off.��

My stomach rolls at the thought that I could have attached myself to such a person. “I’m an idiot.�� I shake my head. “I just didn’t know what else to do.�� I give a nervous laugh. “And I knew wandering in here and ordering lunch wouldn’t solve anything. But I thought maybe if I could just sit and think, a solution would come to me.”��

Just then, my phone buzzes against the countertop.��

Chase reaches across me, his thick arm doesn’t even touch me, yet I still feel the heat from his nearness. He swipes my phone and brings it to his ear.

“Hello,�� he says. Then he stands and walks away from the counter.��

I look at Violet. “What’s he doing?��

Violet smiles as she watches him, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. “Taking care of things, I imagine. Chase Michael is as good as they come. Such a sweet boy.��

“Boy! He’s enormous.��

Violet chuckles. “That he is. He’s a gentle giant, and I’ve known him his entire life. He’s from good people.��

I stare after him and notice that now he’s got his wallet out, and he’s looking at something inside. He nods, talks a little longer, and then pockets his wallet. By the time he walks back over and hands me my phone, the call has ended.��

“Everything has been taken care of, Josie. They won’t call you again.��

I look up into his face, into those warm brown eyes that remind me of chocolate milk. That’s dumb, I know, but I look at him and all I can think about is all those comforting things that I love. Chocolate milk and snuggles on the couch with a good book, the sound of a cat purring, and the silence of a first snowfall.��

But instead of getting lost in his eyes, I force myself to think about his words.

“I don’t understand,�� I say.

He lifts a big shoulder in a shrug. “I paid the amount of your relocation costs. So everything with the company has been resolved.��

I frown. “Why would you do that?��

“Good people,�� Violet murmurs, her expression a little smug, then continues her wiping down of the countertops.��

I look from him to her and back again. Unsure what to say or do.

Because Coles don’t take charity. Even when they’re desperate.��

I open and close my mouth.��

How am I ever going to pay him back?

I know exactly how much those fees cost because it was in the contract I signed. Before I can even think of what to say next, Chase asks, “Do you need somewhere to stay?”��

I wince. Crap, I hadn’t even thought that far. And my last twenty plus bucks isn’t going to find me a hotel. I again look at Chase’s face, his expression warm.��

I’m still not willing to admit how desperate my straits are, but he clearly sees the truth in my expression.

He just nods. “Then come on, you can stay with me. I actually just had a dog have a litter of pups, and I could use an extra pair of hands to help with that.��

I want to protest. I want to have another option.��

But I don’t. I am officially completely out of options. And no matter how hard paying Chase back will be if I continue to accept his help, it will be impossible if I die of starvation or get arrested for loitering or sent to debtors prison or whatever happens to the impoverished and homeless in Whiskey Run.

I come to my feet and nearly fall off the stool. Big hands come to my hips, steadying me. My entire body comes alive. It’s a different kind of alert than one you’d feel if you were afraid.��

As if my situation wasn’t absurd enough already, now I’m going home with the first man I’ve ever been attracted to.��

My body boldly declaring: I AM A WOMAN! And it’s looking at Chase and noticing that he’s very much a man. A big, strapping man with a kind face and a gentle voice, and a penchant for paying off random women’s debts.��

How is it that this man who seems determined to solve all my problems might be my biggest problem of all?

@TheZMan: Hey, we got news at the office today and I was curious if your professor had shared the information with the class yet?

@PsychedelicAlmond: Ohhhhh�� are you offering to give me an insider scoop?

@TheZMan: I don’t know how to answer that.

@PsychedelicAlmond: It’s okay, I won’t get you in trouble with your boss. I’m assuming you’re referring to the grant?

@TheZMan: Yes. What are your thoughts?

@PsychedelicAlmond: Fifty-thousand dollars to fund your start up and a year of legal consulting from the ZeeSuite lawyers? It’s an amazing o���ǰ��ٳܲԾ��ٲ�.��

@TheZMan:�� And?��

@PsychedelicAlmond: I would not want to be the one to pick the winner. I’ve got some incredibly talented classmates who have stellar projects they’re working on.��

@TheZMan: That’s very diplomatic of you.

@PsychedelicAlmond: Just being honest.��

@PsychedelicAlmond: Are you high enough on your totem pole to have any hand in selecting the winner?

@TheZMan: Are you asking if I can give you an upper hand? *Winky emoji*

@PsychedelicAlmond: Actually the opposite. I wouldn’t want to continue this relationship or whatever we want to call it if that were the case.��

@TheZMan: So you wouldn’t want me to nudge the selection committee in your direction?

@PsychedelicAlmond: Absolutely not! I don’t want handouts. I don’t want help.

@TheZMan: Yeah, yeah. I get it. You’re a badass who doesn’t need anyone’s help.

@PsychedelicAlmond: Damn right, I am!

@TheZMan: I suppose if I told you I think you’re adorable it would undermine your reputation as a badass boss.

@PsychedelicAlmond: You wouldn’t dare!

@TheZMan: But, just so you know, it’s okay to ask for help.

@PsychedelicAlmond: Just so you know, there are some things you have to do on your own. Independence is very important.��

@PsychedelicAlmond: And don’t think I haven’t noticed that you still haven’t told me one way or the other if you’re on the committee who will select the grant winner. Because if you are, we’ll need to stop messaging.

@TheZMan: I would miss talking to you.

@PsychedelicAlmond: I would miss that as well.��

@TheZMan: The answer is no, I will not be the one selecting the winner.��

@PsychedelicAlmond: So you can’t get rid of me that way.��

@TheZMan: Guess I’ll just have to keep you then.��

@PsychedelicAlmond: Speaking of things you keep, let me tell you about that new restaurant by my house��

* * *

@PsychedelicAlmond: I know you weren’t always as successful as you are now. Well, at least I’m guessing that, unless you were born into your job.��

@TheZMan: What are you trying to say?��

@PsychedelicAlmond: Okay, brace yourself.

@TheZMan: Consider me braced.

@PsychedelicAlmond: It turns out, I need advice.

@PsychedelicAlmond: You went silent on me. Did the shock kill you?

@TheZMan: Yes. I’m typing this message as a ghost while the medics work to bring me back. Better ask fast. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel and I think I smell my nana’s apple pie.

@PsychedelicAlmond: Dial down the drama, okay?

@TheZMan: Sure. What do you need advice about?

@PsychedelicAlmond: How do you deal with the overwhelm? I feel so scattered and unfocused about my project. I know ultimately what I want it to be, but it seems like the pieces are never going to completely fit together. Like I’m trying to put together a puzzle with pieces from different boxes and I don’t know what exactly I’m doing.

@TheZMan: I feel that way with every project I ever do. It’s part of the process. At least for me, it is. Perhaps it’s the same for you. Every project—at least the ones worth doing—feel too big to accomplish. It’s how you know you’re on the right track. Anyone can do the easy projects. The tough ones—the ones worth doing—need someone as smart and focused as you.

@PsychedelicAlmond: Have any advice of how to deal with it so I can get back to being productive?

@TheZMan: Think about why you started the project. What is your WHY? If you don’t know why you’re doing it, then you’ll never have a clear picture of the end result. It’s like walking around in a dark maze. You’re just making turns but you have no idea if you’re getting any closer to the end or just walking in circles.��

@PsychedelicAlmond: Look at us using all the metaphors today! How very literary of us ��

* * *

@PsychedelicAlmond: UGH! Why can’t I get this code to work?��

@TheZMan: Need help?��

@PsychedelicAlmond: Yes, but no thank you.

@TheZMan: That counts as a hand up?

@PsychedelicAlmond: Anything from you would. I’ve got to do this on my own. And I have to turn in all of this tomorrow to meet the grant deadline.��

@TheZMan: Do you have ice cream?

@PsychedelicAlmond: Well, that’s random, but of course I have ice cream. We live in Austin, isn’t it against the law to not have Blue Bell in your freezer?��

@TheZMan: Excellent point.

@PsychedelicAlmond: How will ice cream help?

@TheZMan: Because it’s ice cream. Ice cream always helps.��

@PsychedelicAlmond: Hmmm �� I think I was looking for something a little more concrete than that.

@TheZMan: The trick is to take a break, walk away from the computer, eat some ice cream and come back to it with a fresh eye.��

@TheZMan: Also, literally go through the code line by line. Debug it old school style. Another set of eyes would help, but I assume you don’t want to share your screen so I can read over your shoulder.

@PsychedelicAlmond: Not even a little bit.��

@TheZMan: It’s not a crime to accept help.

@PsychedelicAlmond: But it’s a slippery path. There are always people willing “to help�� and then pretty soon, what started out as mine will be theirs.��

@TheZMan: Help doesn’t have to be like that.

@PsychedelicAlmond: Maybe not. But if I do all of it on my own, I know it’s mine.��

@PsychedelicAlmond: But if you want to hang out with me while I eat my Blue Bell Moo Bar, I could handle that.

@TheZMan: It’s a deal.��

@PsychedelicAlmond: BTW, I have a complaint about this software.��

@TheZMan: That’s not good. What is it?

@PsychedelicAlmond: I wish it allowed gifs.

@TheZMan: What?

@PsychedelicAlmond: Sometimes I really need a Mrs. Doubtfire gif, but this software has no such capability.

@TheZMan: Why do you ever need a Mrs. Doubtfire gif? Why does anyone need that?

@PsychedelicAlmond: First of all, watch the tone, Mister. Mrs. Doubtfire is a classic. But mostly because I have a weird thing where I use a British accent when I’m nervous.

@TheZMan: That’s adorable.

@TheZMan: The reason though is that this is anonymous to maintain professionalism they don’t want colleagues flirting back and forth with cheeky gifs.

@PsychedelicAlmond: I see what you did there with the use of the word “cheeky.”��

@PsychedelicAlmond: So is that what we’re doing? Flirting?

@TheZMan: It’s what I’m doing, but I think my game is off.

* * *

@TheZMan: I have a question for you.

@PsychedelicAlmond: Shoot.

@TheZMan: What do you have against working for a software behemoth like ZeeSuite?

@PsychedelicAlmond: I don’t have anything against it. It’s just not for me.

@TheZMan: Why? You have something against paid vacation and a cushy benefit plan?

@PsychedelicAlmond: Sigh. I do dream of cushy benefits.��

@TheZMan: So come work for ZeeSuite. I could get you an interview when you graduate. I know we could use someone with your talent and ambition. Especially since you seem more mature than the average college student.

@PsychedelicAlmond: I’m older than the average college student. Long story, but I took some gap years to help with family stuff.��

@PsychedelicAlmond: Also, don’t think I missed that ‘we.�� Still a company man, aren’t you?

@TheZMan: Okay, the company could use you. And if you dream of cushy benefits, let me assure you, ZeeSuite’s benefits are very cushy.

@PsychedelicAlmond: Tempting, but I have to pass.

@TheZMan: Because ��.?

@PsychedelicAlmond: Apparently, I also dream of exorbitant co-pays and out of pocket dental.

@PsychedelicAlmond: But seriously, big companies are great at producing big software that works for other big companies. At producing apps that work for millions of people.��

@TheZMan: You say that like it’s a bad thing.

@PsychedelicAlmond: It’s not a bad thing. But there are niche markets that are important, too. There are small products that will serve those niche markets. They will never make millions. They will never go public and make their creators billionaires overnight, but those niche products and niche markets are still important.��

@TheZMan: Wow. That wasn’t just, “No, I don’t want to work for ZeeSuite.�� That was, “Hell, no!�� and “Here’s my dissertation on why ZeeSuite sucks!��

@PsychedelicAlmond: Lol. ZeeSuite doesn’t suck. You create decent products that do a decent job at meeting the needs of a lot of costumers.

@TheZMan: Somehow that stills feels like an insult.

@PsychedelicAlmond: It’s not.

@TheZMan: But ��

@PsychedelicAlmond: But, my app will still kick ZeeSuites’s ass, because it’s going to be great. It will just be great at meeting the needs of a very tiny sliver of the market.

@TheZMan: You ever going to tell me what your app does?

@PsychedelicAlmond: Maybe. If I can get this code debugged so that it actually does what it’s supposed to do��.

��

Buy or read for FREE on KU!

Rhett

I don’t have time for a damn wife, despite the fact that my mother keeps pressuring me to find the perfect bride. Montgomery Inc., the company my father started five decades ago and that I now run, keeps me so busy I barely remember what my condo looks like. I can’t remember the last meal I’ve eaten that wasn’t from a commercial kitchen. So, no, I don’t have time for a wife. I don’t have time to date. Most days, I feels like I barely have time to breathe.

It’s the first night I’ve left the office before ten all month and I just want to get home and sit on my couch. Maybe I’ll read a book. Maybe I’ll just stare at the wall. Instead I’m sitting in a fucking traffic jam. Bright red brake lights backed up for miles. I so don’t need this. My condo is less than two miles from the hotel. How the hell did I get stuck in traffic in less than two miles?

What I need is a hard drink and a night with a soft woman. But I don’t have time for that either. Right now, I’m stuck in the far right lane, in traffic so bad, I’m practically parked by the curb.��

I’m searching for a way out of this lane when the back passenger door opens and a woman slides in. She leans forward, handing me a scrap of paper.��

I turn around and look at her. Because what the fuck is she doing climbing into my car?

She’s neither tall nor short, but compact in the best way with curves in all the right places. Her hair is a mass of golden curls and her eyes are a mossy green. She smiles widely, and then raises her eyebrows as if wondering why I am just staring at her.��

“Do you speak English?�� she asks.��

Her voice is simultaneously melodious and husky which I don’t understand. But my body reacts immediately, my cock twitching against my thigh.��

“Can you take me to that address?”��

I glance down at the paper in my hand. It’s for an address across town. What in the actual hell?��

“English?�� she repeats.��

I chuckle because this woman is nuts. “Yes, I speak English.��

She exhales and falls back against the seat. “Thank God.��

I glance down at the address again.��

“Do you not know where that is?��

“I know. I’m just wondering why—��

A little line appears on her forehead. “This is a town car, right?��

I laugh, turning around to put my hands back on the steering wheel. “It is that.”��

Before I can order her out of my car, a sliver of space opens up in the lane next to me, so I take it, edging in front an SUV before the driver can fill the gap. There’s a long honk of irritation, which I ignore, because at least my car is finally moving. For only about twenty feet, but I’ll take it.��

She leans forward, her arms braced on the back of the seat. “Traffic is terrible today.��

“Holiday weekend.��

“Oh, that’s right. I always forget that. When you work from home it’s hard to remember those pesky banking holidays.�� She leans forward, then she practically crawls into my lap as she slides into the front. “Mind if I sit up here? Seems weird to sit back there while we’re just stuck.��

I’m tempted to tell her to make herself at home, but it seems she doesn’t need my permission to do that. Now that I’m in the middle lane, it’s not like I can tell her to get out of the car. Since it looks like I’m stuck with a passenger for a while, I just say, “Help yourself. So what’s at this address?��

She rolls those pale green eyes.��

Damn, she’s pretty. Like just an effortless pretty that’s natural, despite the fact that she’s obviously captain of the hot mess squad. She’s so not my type, yet I cannot deny the distinct tightening of things below my belt. Especially when I glance over and see a swath of pale creamy skin where her oversized sweater has fallen off her shoulder. I don’t see a bra strap which makes me ponder whether the strap has fallen too or she’s just not wearing one.��

My brain seems to flatline at the thought that she’s bare-breasted under that sweater. I mentally roll my eyes at myself because get a fucking grip. I’ve seen hundreds of tits. Hers can’t possibly be that magical.��

“I agreed to go to this speed dating thing with a friend of mine,�� she says reminding me that I asked her a question. And one that didn’t involve whether or not she’s wearing a bra. “She’s the one who hired your car service. Because apparently, ‘I can’t be trusted to show up.’��

She says this last bit while make air quotes and using a fake grumpy voice. Fuck, she’s cute.��

“Speed dating? What the hell is that?�� I jump right over the bit about someone hiring me as a car service. At least now I know why she got in my car.��

“Well, you sit in a room at a bunch of tables and the women stay put in their spots and every eight minutes or so, a new guy comes over and you have a little mini date.��

“A date? For eight minutes?��

She nods. “At the end of the night everyone fills out a score card and if you have a match, then you can set up a real date.��

Traffic moves another fifteen feet or so. “Dating has become ridiculously complicated.��

“Yes, it really has. But this beats scrolling through a bunch of dick pics.��

I bark out a laugh. “I suppose it does. Though I can’t say I’ve ever received one.��

“Ever sent one?��

“No. I don’t really date.��

“So are you married? Is that why you’re out of the dating game?��

“Uh, no. I’m just busy with work and don’t get out much. I travel a lot.��

She frowns. Her phone rings, playing some loud hip-hop song. She answers.��

“Why didn’t you take the car I sent for you?��

The person on the other end is one of those super loud talkers and I’m able to hear the entire conversation.��

“I did.�� My passenger glances over at me.��

“Calliope, the driver just called me and said he waited for half an hour and you never showed.��

Her blond head turns and glances at me, eyes wide. “Oh my hell. I’ve gotta call you back.�� She hangs up, then angles her entire body in my direction. “You’re not a town car driver, are you? I just got into your car like a crazy lady.��

I grin at her. “Pretty much.��

“Fuck my life.�� She puts her head in her hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”��

“It’s fine. Much more entertaining than how I’d planned to spend the evening. I’m Rhett, by the way.��

“Calliope.”��

She smiles and I swear I feel my chest heat. You know how that weird alien from that one movie’s heart would glow red? Yep, that’s what this feels like.��

Maybe I’m having a heart attack.

I’m probably not, because Mark, the VP of our marketing depart and my best friend since college, rides my ass all the time about getting to the gym. And I had a physical just last month as part of the company wellness initiative my sister just implemented.��

Still, an actual heart attack might be more convenient than actually feeling something for this woman I just met.��

“Thank you for not being a serial killer.”��

“Uh, my pleasure.��

“Wait, you’re not a serial killer, right?��

“Not yet.”��

She chuckles, clearly not worried. She sits quietly for a moment at which point the traffic in front of us crawls a quarter of a mile. “If this were a RomCom, this would be our meet cute.��

I glance over at her and she’s still angled towards me, one leg bent and on the seat between us. She’s wearing one of those flowy skirts that’s clearly made with way too much fabric. She’s literally swimming in her clothes. Then her words register and my brow furrows. “Our meet what?��

“You know. The funny or awkward situation where the hero and heroine first meet.��

That hair. I really want to touch it. Finger one of those pale gold ringlets and see if it’s as silky soft as it looks. I give her a sheepish grin. “I don’t watch a lot of movies.��

Her mouth opens silently and I realize her lips are perfectly proportioned. They form a plump bow. Her pink tongue slips out to moisten her mouth. “I don’t even know what to say about that. ‘Don’t watch a lot of movies.’�� She shakes her head sending those curls in every direction. “When Harry Met Sally?��

I frown. “W���?��

Her green eyes widen. “You’ve Got Mail?��

I shake my head. The traffic has managed to move another quarter mile.

��27 Dresses? The Proposal? Crazy, Stupid Love?��

“Nope, nope and nope��

“Wow,�� the word comes out in a breath. “So what was the last movie you saw?��

Despite me noting how far we’re moving in traffic, I find I’m no longer frustrated or annoyed that I’m stuck here in this car. Any other day of my life, my blood pressure would be climbing and I’d be ready to crawl out of my damn skin stuck in traffic like this.��

But not today, because this woman is the most entertaining person I’ve encountered in a long time. “I don’t know. I think there was something playing on my last flight back from London. It was a war movie.��

“A war movie? And I’m guessing it wasn’t one of those uplifting war movies where a three-legged dog saves a platoon of soldiers with the help of deaf carrier pigeons.��

“I don’t think there are any war movies like that.”��

“Well, there should be, because real war movies are so depressing.�� She gives a fake exaggerated shudder. “And if you only watch war movies, that probably explains why you don’t watch more movies. Though, I guess there are just some people who don’t love movies. I mean I get it. I’ve just always really loved stories. I’m a big reader too and originally I thought I’d become a writer, but it turns out I’m better at visualizing other people’s stories. So I’m a children’s book illustrator.��

She says all of this in a rush that would be hard to follow if it wasn’t so much fun listening to her.

“I’ve never met a children’s book illustrator,�� I admit.�� “Never even really thought about that being a thing. Have you illustrated anything I would have heard of?��

She slants me a look. “Why? Do you read a lot of children’s books?��

I laugh, because, no. I don’t even remember reading children’s books when I was a child. “No. But seemed worth asking.��

“I illustrate the Rosie Willoughby Jones books.��

“W���?��

“She’s a bunny.��

“She’s someone’s pet rabbit?��

She gives an offended gasp that I suspect is only a little part faked. “Rosie Willoughby Jones is not a pet! She is an independent modern woman. I mean, bunny.��

I don’t say anything. Partly because I have no idea how to respond to the notion of a book about an independent modern bunny. Mostly because I’d rather just watch Calliope.��

“She lives in a cottage in an enchanted forest where she goes on adventures with all her friends.��

The businessman in me wants to ask how this bunny and her friends are able to afford their cottages in the forest and what kind of work they do to fund all these adventures they go on. But it occurs to me that, possibly, that’s not the point.

“What do you do?��

“My family is in the travel industry.��

“That sounds like fun.��

“It’s not. At least it’s not very exciting.”��

Running the Montgomery hotel empire isn’t fun. It’s an honor to hold the position. I work hard, not just because I have to, not just because it’s what I was raised to do, but because Montgomery Inc. has tens of thousands of employees around the world. People whose lives and livelihoods depend on my hard work and smart decisions. It’s never once occurred to me that my job should be fun.

“I love to travel! But it’s been a while since I’ve been anywhere. Except the Montgomery. I’ve never stayed there, but my girlfriends and I meet there every weekend for brunch. They have the best brunch. Have you been?��

At the mention of my hotel, I go still. I don’t want to talk about business. I don’t want to even think about business.

And, yeah, my hotel, my job, it’s my whole life. Not just because of family obligation, either. I’m genuinely proud of the company and the many people we employ.��

But right now, I don’t want to be that guy. I want to be here. In this moment, with Calliope, in this weird oasis of this car, caught in barely moving traffic.

“I can’t say that I have.�� Which isn’t a lie. I’ve never had the brunch, though I specifically brought Chef Henri in to create that. I shift the conversation away from the hotel. “Tell me more about this thing you were going to do tonight.”��

“Speed dating?�� she says.��

“Yes, that.��

“An exercise in modern torture.”��

I chuckle. “Have you done it before?��

“Once. It was entertaining, I suppose, but I obviously didn’t make a love match.��

“Is that what you’re after? The elusive happy ending?��

She lifts a delicate shoulder. She’s not my type. I tend to gravitate to taller women since I’m six foot three. Calliope is rather petite. But she’s beautiful and I’m certain that she’s hiding some banging curves under her enormous clothes.��

“Isn’t that what everyone is looking for?�� she asks. She tips her head to the side and her voice takes on a wistful note. “A little house in the burbs, white picket fence, rockers on the front porch.��

A sour knot takes root in my stomach. “Let me guess, lazy Saturday afternoons with the kids playing in the yard and your husband grilling burgers on the barbeque pit?��

This knot in my belly feels suspiciously like jealousy for this fictional future husband I imagine for her.��

She laughs and it’s a low, sexy rumble that seems to grab me by the balls. “Well, are the burgers vegan?��

“God, I hope not,�� I grumble. Though whoever that lucky bastard ends up being, he’d probably happily give up beef to make her happy.

She laughs again, slanting me a look. “Yeah, you definitely seem like a steak kind of guy.��

Mostly, I’m a whatever my assistant puts in front of me between meetings kind of guy. But again that’s work, and I don’t want to try to calculate the last time I ate a meal that picked out myself, let alone cooked on a grill myself. Fuck, have I ever done that?

I feel her gaze moving over me and I can tell she’s taking in my suit, the Rolex on my wrist, the custom upgrades in my car.��

“Yeah,�� she says slowly, a teasing note in her voice. “You are definitely a steak at a five-star restaurant kind of guy. I bet you’ve never once sipped a beer while grilling a vegan burger.��

“Not everyone has the luxury.��

“Says that man wearing a thousand-dollar watch.��

I don’t correct her. This one cost nearly fifteen grand and it’s my “cheap�� Rolex. The one my mother bought me because I refused to wear the ostentatious one my father gave me when he retired and I took over the company. I wore that one while he was still alive, because that kind of shit mattered to him, but then switched to an Apple watch after he died. I wear this one though when I know I’m going to see her.��

Instead of telling Calliope any of this, because I don’t want to seem like a douchebag, I say, “What I meant is, not everyone has the luxury of having that kind of time off.��

“You don’t get weekends off?�� she asks, with an arch of an eyebrow.

“The travel industry is a twenty-hour-a-day job.��

She makes a humming noise in her throat. “Well, maybe someday you’ll get a promotion, be the boss, and then you won’t have to work so many hours.��

I snort. “You think the boss works fewer hours?��

“What’s the point of being the boss otherwise?��

This one I answer easily. “Having enough control over things to keep other people from making costly mistakes.��

She snorts. “Are you always such a pessimist?��

“I prefer to think of myself as a realist.��

“Call it what you like.�� The look she gives me makes me feel like she can see all the way to my soul. It’s an alarming sensation, but I can’t say that its completely unwanted. I’ve never consciously desired someone to know me on a bone-deep level, but here, in this car with her, it’s an appealing thought. “But it doesn’t sound to me like you enjoy your job very much.��

The conversation has gotten unexpectedly intense, and I’m a little afraid I’ve annoyed her. But then, she glances down at her phone and sighs. “Alas, if my true love is waiting at tonight’s speed dating, I may never meet him, because I don’t think I’m going to make it on time.”��

I check the clock on the dash. “Unlikely.�� That knot in my stomach loosens a little at the idea that whoever her perfect guy is, she’s not meeting him tonight. “Is it really all that important?��

“Only because of a promise I made to a friend. I told her I’d be open to at least five dates. I’m supposed to report back on these guys. Missing tonight means I’m going to have to do it again.��

“It doesn’t sound as if you’re all that interested. Tell your friend to back off.��

She picks up her phone and starts typing, then glances at me. “Well, at the very least I have to tell her why I’m not going to make it tonight.��

��

Excerpt from

Nine months ago��
Somewhere in the Middle East

Jacob

I open the box with my name on it and I’m kinda confused. It’s been a while since my sister, Selina, has sent me anything. She hasn’t had time with trying to work long hours to help pay for our dad’s medical treatments. I don’t recognize the return address.��

When I get it opened all the way, I can see all kinds of snacks and candy in the box, but what grabs my attention is the letter on top.��

Dear Jacob,

You don’t know me. Obviously. My name is Bethany and I live in Texas. I got your name and address through a Mail the Military thing my local library was sponsoring. I don’t even know if this will get to you.��

Anyway, the program talked about how some soldiers rarely get mail and that sometimes even an unknown voice from home can improve morale. So here I am, hoping to lift your spirits.��

I’m not even sure what to write because I’ve never actually had a pen-pal before. I guess I’ll just tell you a little about myself.��

I’m a twenty-something, read-a-holic and I work at a local florist. My boss is my best friend. Um, I love animals, but can’t have any at my current apartment. I’d love to have a big dog and a few floppy cats that love to lay on my books while I’m trying to read around their fur.��

I’ve lived in Texas my entire life and have never traveled outside of the States. In fact, I don’t even have a passport. Wow, I sound super boring, which I guess I kinda am. I’m a small-town girl. Sand Dollar, that’s my town, is right on the beach. There is nothing better than watching the sun rise or set over the water.��

I love my friends and my family. I love to cook and bake and eat–which I probably shouldn’t admit because I’m a woman and we’re supposed to be afraid of calories–but it’s the truth. Whatever. Life is too short, and chocolate is too damn tasty. Also chips and queso.��

I’m sending a small care package. Since I don’t know you, I didn’t know what you’d like so I sent some of my favorites. I hope you enjoy them. I hope you’re safe. And I hope you’ll write back, but obviously you’re super busy over there keeping the rest of us safe so if you can’t, I totally understand.��

Take care,

Bethany Lucas

I read her letter again. Two more times before I dig into the box. Then I’m yelling at one of my buddies for some paper and a pen so I can write her back. Because there’s something about her letter that calls to me. It’s hard to explain, especially since I don’t really understand it myself.��

I just know that when I read her letter, I felt warm, yet giddy, all over. Kinda like how I felt as a kid on Christmas morning going down the stairs to see what Santa left me. It’s like hope and the best kind of expectation all rolled together.��

Dear Bethany,

I loved your letter. Frankly, it came at a perfect time. I’ve had a shit day and you made me laugh.��

Thanks so much for writing. And thanks extra for the care package. We obviously have a lot in common because Twizzlers are my favorite. And I love Tootsie Pops as well. We’re clearly meant to be friends.��

I’ll do the same and tell you a little about myself. So you already know that I’m Jacob and I’m in the Army. I’m serving overseas–can’t actually tell you where–but I am safe. I’m originally from Oregon. Syn City technically (it’s kinda like Vegas), but my sister and my best friend live in Cherry Falls which is a small town. Maybe it’s similar to the one where you live in Texas.��

I actually have a buddy from Texas. He left active service a while back, works for some security firm or something down there. I mean, I realize Texas is a massive state so it’s not like you’d know him. Now, I’m just rambling.��

Speaking of, if you do write back, do you think you’d want to do it in email? That would be faster. I mean, I love the care packages, but I’d love to hear back from you quicker than the mail can travel. If you want, here’s my email. [email protected]

Now we’re not strangers anymore.��

Jacob

It would take another couple of months before Bethany took me up on my offer for emails. So we wrote back and forth longhand. Waiting for her letters was agonizing. By the time I got her first email, I was pretty sure I was in love with her.

��

Excerpt from

Lennox

I’ve just gotten out of the shower after my workout when the doorbell rings. I tuck my glock into the back of my jeans and pull my T-shirt down to cover it as I walk to the door. Then I glance out the peephole. It’s my curvy, sexy little neighbor.��

Fuck.

This is the last thing I need.

In my line of work, I don’t interact with people very often. Not people like her anyway. Not pretty women with this kind of scrubbed-clean, freckled beauty. This woman looks like she should have a bevy of woodland creatures following her around doing chores for her. ��

She looks so damn innocent. Too innocent for the likes of me.��

But yeah, that doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed her in the months since she moved in next door. Because she’s still fucking hot, with the kind of curves that make me think about how good it would feel to hold onto those soft curves while I plow into her.��

Because that’s the kind of asshole I am. The kind who sees a sweet, gorgeous woman and immediately wants to fuck her ten ways to Tuesday.

I watch her through the peephole, waiting for her to turn and walk away.��

She doesn’t. Instead, she rings the damn bell a second time.��

I open the door and scowl at her. “Yeah?��

She blinks in obvious surprise. Probably because I opened the door fast enough that it’s obvious I was standing right there.

It takes her a moment to recover, but then she flashes me a big, full mouth smile that damn near takes my breath away.

“Hi, I live next door.�� She thumbs over her shoulder to point to her house. “Um, I’m Hailey.”��

I just stare at her, trying my damndest to keep my eyes from dropping to her chest, where a truly fantastic pair of tits is gently outlined by her tee shirt.��

“Right, so anyways, I was hoping you could help me out because I’ve got a little problem.�� She clasps her hands in a prayer-like motion. “Pretty please. I can pay you in beer and pizza.��

My mind immediately goes to the filthy ways she could pay me which just proves that I am a bastard and not worth this woman’s time.��

“Or cookies,�� she continues in a voice that does crazy things to my pulse. It’s a little huskier that I expected, with just a hint of accent that makes me think of Cybill Shepherd in The Last Picture Show—a little bit of west Texas, a whole lot of unattainable rich girl. “I make pretty decent snickerdoodle cookies. I decided I wanted to master that recipe because it’s such a fun word to say and everyone can make a chocolate chip. But a snickerdoodle. Snickerdoodle.”��

She gives me another toothy grin and this time I notice she’s got a tiny gap between her two front teeth.��

It’s legitimately the cutest thing I’ve ever seen and I’m not sure what to do with that. Because I don’t think I’ve ever even thought the word “cute�� let alone noticed something “cute.�� ��

“What’s the problem?�� I find myself asking.

I should have slammed the door in her face because she sure as fuck doesn’t need to get involved with a monster like me.��

I have no idea why I don’t slam the door on her. Maybe it’s the gap in her teeth. Maybe it’s that dusting of freckles on her nose. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve always been a sucker for snickerdoodle cookies.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that I haven’t fucked a woman in over a year—and I’m pretty sure I’ve never fucked a woman like this. Because I don’t do relationships.

Whatever the reason, I just stand there, like a damn idiot, staring at her.

She twists her hands in front of her and it makes me stare at her tits. I could try to be a gentleman but the fucking truth is, I lost that part of myself about the middle of my second tour. You don’t get to be the best Marine Corp sniper by being a fucking gentleman.��

Hell, maybe I lost that part of myself long before that, when I buried my younger brother.��

But, let’s be honest, this chick has some fucking fantastic tits. Big and full and I’m pretty sure they’d fit nicely in my palms. Now my dick is stirring in my shorts and I do not have time for this considering I’m in the middle of a big assignment.��

“So I think I saw some sort of furry creature like run under some furniture. And I know it’s not polite to eavesdrop, but I overheard you talking the other day and I know you’re an exterminator and I just thought make you could come next door and dispose of my little problem.��

Now I’m staring at her face. Brown eyes, brown hair, full lips made to wrap around a cock—preferably mine. And there’s an intoxicating mixture of innocence and mischief in her expression, enough so that I can’t exactly tell if what she says is true or if she’s being coy.

If she overheard me talking the other day, does she know what I do for a living?

Does she really want help with a pest or does she want me to dispose of an annoying boyfriend?

“You can’t call anyone else?��

She bites down on that full bottom lip and I swear to fucking Christ my dick lurches forward. “I mean I guess I could call a company, but since it’s a Sunday, they’re probably all closed or are charging exorbitant rates and it’s not like I can’t pay because I can.�� Her eyes widen and her mouth goes round. “Oh, is that the issue? You need me to pay? Of course. I’m sorry if I insulted you by offering to pay with baked goods. I was just trying to appeal to your neighborly kindness.��

What the fuck is she talking about?

She’s going to call a company to take care of her boyfriend?

Okay, it’s not like places like that don’t exist. They do.

In fact, I work for one.

But companies like the one I work for—Men of Ruthless Corp.—don’t exactly have a listing on Yelp. You have to know people to even know Ruthless exists. And this woman does not have the jaded look of someone who knows people.��

“I have no kindness. Neighborly or otherwise.�� Yes, I’m being an asshole, but this woman doesn’t need to be involved in any aspect of my life and if I go to her house I’m going to want to fuck her. Hell, I already want to just crowd into her standing on my porch and just slip right inside.��

It makes no sense why this random curvy babe would dissolve me into a horny caveman, but there you have it.��

She claps her hands together, once again bringing my eyes to her breasts. I force my gaze to her face.��

“Please, pretty pretty please,�� she begs.��

“Shit,�� I growl. I step out onto my porch and slam my door behind me. “Lead the way.��

She grabs onto my arm and squeezes, clearly not afraid of me on any level. And aside from the fact that I kill people for a living, I’m a scary looking dude. I’m big, bigger than most. I’ve been told I scowl a lot, but seriously if you meet a hitman who smiles all the time, that fucker is messed up in the head.��

“How old are you?�� I ask as she guides me down the stairs of my porch. Because I need to keep a running list of why I cannot touch this woman.��

“T�ɱ�Գٲ�-�ٷɴ�.��

I grunt, but don’t give her a verbal response. The fact that I was already a fucking teenager who could legally drive a car when she was born means I’m way too old for her. Even for just a friendly neighbors-with-benefits scenario. She’s off limits. Do not touch. I just need to keep repeating those words over and over.��

It’s about thirty steps from my porch to hers and when we reach her porch, she steps in front of me to get to the door.��

Letting her walk up the steps in front of me is a mistake because goddamn, but the woman has an ass on her. She’s wearing these tight yoga pants that hug her large, heart shaped ass. She’s not a small woman, not particularly short for a woman and she’s got curves upon tempting curves. I could worship at the alter of her rounded flesh for hours and never sate myself.��

Off limits, fucker. Stop staring at her ass.��

I force my eyes away and then she’s opening the door and I’ve got to get my head in the game. Especially if I’m expected to dispose of some douchebag.��

“Did this pest hurt you in any way?�� I ask. Because that would change how I intend to get rid of the fucker. If he’s hurt her, then I’ll take him apart, piece by piece.��

“Oh no, he didn’t get close enough.��

I follow her into her house and I realize the layout is very similar to my own home. Twenty-two and she lives here? The rent must be ridiculous. There is nowhere cheap to live in the L.A. basin, but Culver City, nestled between some of the studios and some of the newer tech and special effects companies, is ridiculously expensive. Even modest bungalows like mine are pricey. I deliberately chose this neighborhood because it’s about as far from the grittiness of my profession as you can get. It’s all trendy, family-owned restaurants and farmers markets.��

But I live simply. And except for my extensive weapons collection, I just save my money. I’m paid well for what I do. Killing might be the only thing I’m good at, but I fucking hate it. I’m convinced that with every life you take—guilty or not—a piece of your own soul dies with that victim. At this point, I’m not sure I have much of a soul left.��

I used to dream of retiring to some exotic beach. Live the rest of my days barefoot and dining on fresh seafood, falling asleep and waking to the gentle sound of the waves and scent of the salty air. But every year that dream gets more and more hazy like a picture fading with time. I can’t even see it clearly anymore.��

I’m a killer. It’s all I’ll ever be. Eventually it will eat the remainder of my soul and at that point I’ll just have to hope that God will find some mercy to remove me from this Earth.��

She stops suddenly and I’m so wrapped up in my goddamn morose thoughts that I smack right into her plump ass. I grip her hips to stop any forward momentum our crash might cause.��

“Sorry,�� I grumble. I step away before I can enjoy the feel of her soft flesh against mine. She’s all warmth and softness and I’m hard and cold. We do not match, no matter how much I feel some kind of primal urge to claim her.��

The truth is I’m not an actual caveman and it’s illegal to just club a woman over the head and bring her to your house to live with you forever. But fuck me if just being in her presence feels like a cooling balm to my seared soul.��

She could save you.

That inner voice is a fucking liar. “Off limits,�� I growl.

“I’m sorry?�� she asks. There’s something in the lilt of her vowels that lets me know she’s got the hint of an accent.��

“Where are you from?��

“Texas.�� She gives me that gap tooth grin and it makes me want to smile right back at her.��

But I haven’t smiled in so long, I bet I don’t remember how. It would probably be like that cartoon Beauty and the Beast when they try to get the monster to smile and it looks even creepier when it does.��

“Where’s the pest?�� I ask. So far I don’t hear the sounds of anyone struggling and I wonder if she’s bound and gagged him. Was he an intruder or a date gone wrong? I have so many questions.��

I haven’t seen a lot of guys—or even one for that matter—coming in and out of her place. But when I’m on a job, I work long hours and sometimes I’m gone for days at a time. So what do I know?

She grabs my arm and leads me into the kitchen. Then she bends over right in front of me and I swear my whole fucking life flashes before my eyes. It would take nothing to yank those yoga pants down, tell her to grab her ankles and I could be balls deep with the pull of my zipper. Fuck.��

“Last time I saw the little bastard, he’d run under here.�� She points to a gap under the cabinets next to the fridge.��

A spot clearly not large enough for a person. “What kind of pest did you say this was?��

“A mouse or rat? I’m not really sure. I just saw a flash of fur and then an icky tail.��

“An actual rodent?��

Her brow furrows. “Yes. Why?��

For a moment, I’m tempted to ask if she considered training the rodent to braid her hair while she sings to it.

Thankfully, before I can, she asks, “Do you not do rodents? Are like exterminators specified? Like you only do bugs or something?��

I fight the urge to laugh because fuck my life she thinks I’m an actual exterminator. Like one you could look up in the phonebook if people still used those sorts of resources.��

“Something like that,�� I murmur.��

She bites down on that lip again and though I deserve the torture, it’s wearing me down. And I’d rather not get involved with this woman. She’s too young, too innocent, too pure and good and all the lovely things about the world, and I am the opposite of all of those things.��

Is it crazy how much this woman reminds me of a damn animated princess? Yes, it is. What can I say? I watch a lot of movies. And some of those animated ones are damn good. Don’t judge. I’m a multi-faceted man.��

Being a trained killer means I work weird hours, but still have a lot of free time and zero social life. When I’m not working, I exercise and I watch movies. That’s it.��

I can tell she’s interested in me, I’ve seen her looks and her coy glances and I know she’s been watching me through our shared fence. But I cannot pick up what she’s putting down.��

“Can you still help?�� she asks.

“I’ll see what I can do.�� I lay on the floor and begin looking for a sign of any kind of creature hiding. Half an hour later I haven’t even come across so much as a tiny mouse turd. I’m thinking this woman hallucinated the whole ordeal.��

Eventually, after scouring her house, I stand to find her�� smiling at me. “Do you want a beer or something? Or I could order a pizza?��

I shake my head. “Sorry I couldn’t find anything. Maybe call a better professional next time.�� I walk away and head for the door because I’ve got to get away from this woman.��

She’s hot on my heels though, but I ignore that.��

“Thank you so much. And it was so nice to meet you. You know if you ever need anything, like a cup of sugar or whatever, then let me know. I’ll just be here, right next door. Your friendly neighbor.�� She releases an awkward chuckle.

I just nod and walk out her door. She’s so goddamn charming and adorable that I just want to press her against the wall and kiss her senseless. But I’m too smart to make that kind of mistake.��

Whoever it is she thinks I am, she’s wrong.

I’m not the kind of guy who borrows a cup of sugar or shares a pizza with his hot neighbor. I’m not the kind of guy a pretty girl bakes snickerdoodle cookies for.

I don’t know if I was ever that guy. Maybe once. A lifetime ago. Before my younger brother got lost in drugs and OD’d. Before his death broke my parents�� hearts. Before killing people for the Marines snuffed out the last dregs of my humanity.

But even back then, all those years ago, there’d been something reckless and jittery about me. Too restless and wild for my own good, my mother used to say.

The only thing in my life that ever made that restlessness still is the silence of sitting alone, with a rifle in my hands. The killing never brought me peace. Thank God, I’m not that fucked up. The stillness before, the waiting, the hours and sometimes days of quiet beforehand. Sometimes I’ve found a tiny sliver of peace then.��

Yeah, that’s the kind of fucked in the head that I am.��

Which is why no matter what this chick thinks she sees in me, she’s wrong.��

I don’t deserve pizza and cookies and a woman with the most fuckable tits I’ve ever seen.

I deserve the misery and loneliness that hits after the crack of a rifle breaks that sliver of peace.

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