Sneak Preview. Archer: Ex-Bachelor


 Archer Bennett
I’m never going to win any Mr. Personality contests. The only thing that matters to me is the company I built with my recently deceased brother. Period.

I have neither the time nor the inclination for relationships.

Now, the future of the company lies in the hands of my five-year-old nephew Stuart…
…and my brother’s insufferable sister-in-law, Simone Parker, who has just been named his guardian.

Simone Parker, who makes a living as a “fashion blogger.”

Simone Parker, who has no idea how a trust is run.

Simone Parker, I hoped to never lay eyes on again.

There’s no way I’m leaving the fate of my nephew or my company in the hands of that woman.
But fate has other ideas, and now the only solution for both of us is to join forces and…get married?

The first STAND ALONE book of the: EX-CLUB ROMANCE series.

No Cliffhangers! HEA Happy Ending.

WARNING: Due to adult scenes, language, and adult situations, for 18+ only!



Time is money.

Last year I made $75 million dollars, not including my bonus, which puts even that amount to shame.

If you divide that amount by the fifty-two weeks a year I work—I don’t do vacations—then it comes to about $1.4 million a week, very much rounded down.

If you divide that by the seven days a week I work—I don’t do weekends—it comes to about $206,000 a day, slightly rounded down.

If you divide that by the fourteen hours a day I work—6 a.m. to 8 p.m. minimum—then it comes to about $14,000 an hour, ridiculously rounded down.

That’s about $245 a minute, again rounded down, in case anyone is keeping track.

Time is money.

And right now Simone Parker has wasted—I check my watch again—about $2500 of my precious time. Rounded up.

Eric Babcock, the attorney sitting across the desk looks at me, swallows hard and adjusts his tie for the third time since this meeting started.

Or at least since this meeting was supposed to start.

I tap my fingers on the knee of the leg crossed over my other leg.

He swallows again, this time with a cough. Pretty soon he will start sweating. In fact, kudos to him that he hasn’t already begun to take on a nervous sheen.

I have that effect on people.

No one will ever accuse me of being Mr. Personality. In fact, I am known as the Jaguar of Wall Street: cool, cunning, calculating. I subscribe to the Machiavellian principle of success: it is better to be feared than loved.

“You did tell her this meeting was at 10 o’clock?” I ask him with barely contained irritation. My dark gray eyes practically cut into him.

“Ah…uh, yes. Of course, Mr. Bennett I can’t imagine what is keeping her.”

I think back to the maid of honor from my brother’s wedding and I have a pretty good idea of what may be keeping her.  She’s probably finishing up her make-up, or primping her hair. Hell, she may not even be up yet, no doubt recovering from a night of partying.

“I’m so sorry I’m late!”

I turn at the sound of the airy voice that’s just breezed in through the door.

Simone Parker.

The air in the room shifts. Most would probably sense a lightness cutting through the thick bog that I’ve created while waiting impatiently for her. Even I feel that momentary tilt of the earth underneath me…before I find my bearings and remind myself who I’m dealing with. All I need to do is take a good look at her to find my ground again.

What in the hell has she done with her hair?  The ends of her long, dark hair are bright pink. In fact, everything about her is pink.

At least I had the tact to take into account the solemness of today’s proceedings and dressed accordingly: a black Armani suit matched with a white dress shirt and slate silk tie.

The only black Simone has bothered to wear is a pair of stiletto heels capping off two shapely, brown legs that, as a package, lean more toward the bombshell genre rather than that of a sister-in-mourning. Her dress is all frills and ruffles wrapped around her body in a way that shows off the same striking curves I remember from the wedding six years ago.  That was the last time I ever set eyes on the woman.

This outfit is further proof that today’s revelations are of dire importance.

“It took me forever to finally pull myself together—I just kept thinking about Bette, and Kevin, and poor, sweet Stuart. And then it was impossible to find a taxi….” This bit of rambling is punctuated with a dramatic sigh as she settles into the chair next to me.

“I completely understand, Miss Parker,” Babcock says with incommensurate sympathy. He is positively falling over himself as he lifts his round body out of his chair to offer her a tissue from the box on his desk. I doubt most of the clientele that enter his office are able to make him turn this particular shade of pink, complete with wide-eyed awe, the way my brother’s sister-in-law has.

“Thank you so much,” she says, offering him a smile that practically drowns him in sugar.

One dainty hand, also with pink nails, plucks a tissue from the box. Babcock looks as though he’s just been knighted by the queen of fucking England.

And it’s no wonder, the way she looks. It’s a good thing most of that sex-kitten face of hers is covered by those monstrously huge sunglasses or he’d literally be on his knees. As it is, she practically has him salivating.

Simone is naturally milking it for all it’s worth.

“You’re so kind, Mr. Babcock.  It’s just been so difficult since….” The rest is drowned out by a fresh bout of sniffles.

“That’s completely understandable Miss Parker. I can only imagine—”

“Perhaps we can get on with this meeting. Some of us have jobs to return to.”  I’ve made sure to stress the word jobs purely for her benefit.

Simone turns to me as though she’s just realized I’m sitting there.

“I’m sorry,” she says with a distinct chill in her voice. She lifts those obscenely large frames off her nose to bore a hole in me with large brown eyes that are now narrowed with contempt. “Do I know you? You seem familiar, but I can’t quite place you. One might almost mistake you for family.”

“It’s no surprise you have trouble placing me,” I reply in a dry tone. “The last time I saw you, you were holding a half-empty bottle of champagne in your hand and making out with the photographer’s assistant at my brother’s wedding.”

She gasps and those eyes widen with white-hot fire. I watch her full lips, also in a darkish shade of pink, itching to give it right back to me, but before she can utter a word Babcock clears his throat.

“Perhaps we should get started. I’m sure you both have busy schedules and are quite eager to hear about your siblings’ final wishes.”

Smooth. I’ll give him that. No doubt in his profession Babcock is used to dousing out the flames of familial resentment.

I’m the first to break the staring competition. I haven’t a clue about Simone, but I do indeed have a busy schedule and, more importantly, I am very eager to hear about my brother Kevin’s final wishes. “Yes, let’s.”

“Ah, uh, yes,” he says, for some reason looking to Simone for confirmation.  She just drops her glasses back down on her round little nose and directs her attention back his way.

“Well, due to the unusual circumstances of Kevin and Bette Bennett’s death, which is still under investiga—”

“We are both familiar with the circumstances of their demise,” I say, keeping my impatience in check.

This topic elicits another bout of sniffles to the left of me.  There is a pause while Mr. Babcock offers another tissue.  At this rate, we’ll be here all day.

It isn’t that I don’t miss my brother. It has, however, been over a week since the plane flying him and Bette to New York disappeared, leaving me plenty of time to adjust to the reality of him being gone. Right now, there is important business at hand which supersedes any time-out for sentimentality.  It’s important business that affects the future of the company that, for all intents and purposes, is now mine. Which is why I intend to get to the point of this meeting as soon as possible before Babcock has to start buying stock in Kleenex.

“Perhaps we can start with the guardianship of Stuart?”

Babcock blinks at me as though I just suggested euthanizing his puppy.  The man is an attorney in downtown Manhattan. Surely he knows my reputation by now. The bottom line is everything to me.

The look on my face must convey as much since he immediately snaps back into lawyer mode.

“Yes, well, since, er…due to the unusual circumstances of their death,” he gives me a quick, sheepish glance before continuing, “it is impossible to determine which spouse survived the other. In cases such as this, each spouse is treated as though they outlived the other. As such—”

Good God, I don’t need a primer on probate law, Babcock!

Despite my desire to reach across the desk and snatch the papers out of his damn hands to read them for myself, I sit and pay attention, lest some minor, but important detail actually slip from his lips.

“Kevin and Bette Bennett were almost identical in their wishes.  I must say it’s refreshing to see a couple who is so completely on the same page in things such as this. While it’s not uncommon, in my experi—”

In what will no doubt be our one and only moment of harmonious thinking, both Simone and I manage to shut Babcock up and get him back on track. I do so by pointedly clearing my throat. Simone falls back to her go-to of sniffling and lifting her glasses to wipe her eyes.

Yes, yes, everyone knows Kevin and Bette had a fairytale marriage, seeing eye to eye in every possible way. Yadda, yadda, yadda. I’m keeping my awe and admiration in check until I know exactly what page it is that Kevin and Bette were both on.

“You can start with Bette’s will I say.” Hopefully that will put an end to Simone’s leaky eyes and nose. I’m irritated to find Babcock look to her for confirmation once again and then proceed when she nods her head.

“Very well then.” He lifts the paperwork and proceeds to read. “I, Bette Parker Bennett, being of sound mind….”


“I see how it is!” 

Simone turns to me with a glare, lifting up her sunglasses to rest them on her head. “I have the responsibility of actually raising our nephew—not that I would expect Bette and Kevin to have it any other way,” this is stated with a meaningful twist of the lips, “and this one gets to hold all the purse strings.”

Babcock has finished reading both of our siblings’ final wishes. Neither one of us is entirely happy, but I’m certainly not going to be this blatantly candid about my feelings on the matter.

Simone is apparently reading from a different page.

“Well now Miss Parker, that’s not exactly how—”

“I’m sure Kevin and Bette knew what they were doing when they named you guardian over Stuart,” I say, interrupting Babcock.

Simone’s only reaction is to narrow her eyes with suspicion.

My face remains completely impassive.

She turns back to Babcock. “So what, I’m supposed to go running to him every time I need to buy groceries or school clothes or…whatever?”

“I’m perfectly willing to give you free rein. Like I said, I trust that Kevin and Bette had a perfectly sound reason for naming you guardian over our nephew.”

“And you guardian over the trust and estate, whatever that means.”

“Oh not to worry Miss Parker, it simply means—”

“When was the last time you even visited your nephew?” Simone has spun her head back around to face me, cutting Babcock off.

“I fly to London on a regular basis.”

“Not London. I’m referring to Stuart. Your nephew?” She draws out the words, as though I’m slow in the head.

I can feel the deliberately relaxed muscles in my face start to harden into something approaching annoyance. “And when was the last time you were in London?”

She straightens up in her chair indignantly. “I Skyped with all of them every Thursday night.”

“Oh, well in that case,” I say in a droll tone.

Her mouth tightens in anger. “Do you even know anything about Stuart? What’s his favorite food? What food does he absolutely hate? What’s his favorite color? Book? Candy? Who is his best friend?”

Babcock, to his credit, tries to get the conversation back on track. “Perhaps it would be best if—”

“I simply don’t understand why either of them would hogtie me with the likes of him, knowing how little interest he’s ever shown in his own nephew.”  She’s back to looking in his direction again, though all of this has obviously been said for my benefit.

“Perhaps they didn’t feel you were quite qualified to take control over Kevin’s half of a billion-dollar company,” I offer.   

Dammit. I’ve let her get to me.  What is it about this woman that manages to get under the iron-clad skin I’ve built up when it comes to human interaction?

There’s a sharp intake of breath on her end. I turn to see Babcock vacillating between the two of us with wide eyes, like a spectator at a boxing match waiting to see which of us is going to throw the knockout punch.

I for one don’t plan on being the one to satisfy him. My method of dealing with obstacles like Simone is far more lethal—figuratively speaking.

Simone somehow manages to recover. Out of the corner of my eye I watch her calmly smooth down the skirt of her dress over her crossed legs. Her lips are pressed firmly together, no doubt to keep from saying exactly what’s on her mind.

Babcock clears his throat and straightens up in his chair now that the dust seems to have settled.  “Well, now that that’s—”

“I suppose—”

“Listen, I’m—”

We’ve both spoken at once, causing Babcock to flinch in his chair. Simone turns to me with a cool look. I turn to her with the poker face that I use in every negotiation.

“Go ahead,” I say, ceding the floor to her.

“No, by all means, you first,”  she says with a sweet smile.

I wait a moment, then talk. I have no desire to play games. “I have to fly out to London to handle transitioning the London office of Bennett Financial.  Since you’re so concerned about my lack of interaction with my nephew, how about I take on the responsibility of bringing him back to New York? It will give us a few days to get to know one another. Perhaps I’ll even find out what his favorite color is.”

The last part was said in an almost sarcastic tone and I’m pissed at myself. That kind of low blow shows far too much weakness. All the same, I dare her to find fault with what I’ve just proposed. If she really cares about him, then she should have no argument with this idea.

There’s the tiniest hint of suspicion in the way she looks at me, as though trying to find the catch. Perhaps she’s smarter than I remember.

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” she concedes without argument, much to my surprise. “I think you’ll find out that he’s a wonderful little boy and worth getting to know better.”

I’m a bit thrown by how easily she’s given in. Working on Wall Street has inured me to the idea that every proposal should naturally lead to a few rounds back and forth until a compromise is achieved. I stare hard at her face and find it completely void of anything resembling guile or cunning.

She actually meant what she said. Go figure.

“It’s blue by the way.”


“His favorite color.” She brings her sunglasses back down and turns to face Babcock.

I can feel one side of my face itching to quirk up in a hint of a smile. I quickly stamp it out. While my claws have been drawn back in, the wheels in my head are already spinning. I can’t—won’t—let emotion come into play here. There’s far too much at stake.

If all goes according to plan, by this time next month, both Stuart and I will be rid of Simone Parker for good.

Preveiw Chapters: High Stakes, A Texas Heat Romance

Now Available on Amazon!

HIgh Stakes

Chapter 1

Left or right.

Like the flip of a coin, it really had boiled down to chance.

Mixers & Elixirs.

Chance McCoy thought it was a clever enough name for the event put on after hours at the Houston Museum of Natural History. He’d only heard about it the day before, and what better last hurrah before returning to two weeks on an oil rig than drinking beer and admiring pretty women in pretty dresses?

He’d done the meandering around thing, finally making his way to the second level, since the band on the first floor playing 80’s pop music hadn’t really done it for him. At the top of the stairs, he’d paused for exactly half a second before coming to a decision.

Left or right.

Left were the wildlife exhibits, which had always fascinated Chance as a kid. It would have been his first choice, if not for the quartet of admirable pairs of legs that had just exited the ladies’ room. Normally, that too would have been his first choice, but he had little desire to play eeny, meeny, miny, moe tonight. It was a delicate dance, focusing on the woman who held most of your interest while charming her friends just enough to keep from being cock-blocked.

At least those mascaraed and eye-shadowed gazes looked him up and down appreciatively enough to let him know that he cleaned up quite nicely.

If they had been just a wee bit closer, they would have seen the wear and tear. There was the tiniest bit of grime under his fingernails that he couldn’t quite get out, short of a bona fide manicure, which was not happening for various reasons. He also carried with him the slight residue of unfinished re-acclimation into polite society. Two weeks in the testosterone-driven stronghold that was his day-job didn’t rinse off all that easily.

But Chance had always been a chameleon. Thanks to his unconventional upbringing, he could kick back with the goodest and ole’est of good ole’ boys, or sip champagne with the creamiest of the crème de la crème. So the comfortable t-shirts and worn-out jeans had been replaced with a decent, black dress shirt and a nicer pair of jeans.

All the same, those four subtle nods of approval put a nice little bounce in his step when he swiveled right instead, straight into the gems and minerals exhibit.

That’s when he saw her.

It didn’t matter that her back was to him, something about those straight shoulders drew him in. The dress was one of those halter-back deals that left plenty of flawless skin on display. Her shoulders formed a perfectly horizontal line, not too wide or too narrow. Just perfect.

She was standing in front of a display, rigid as a statue. Chance made his way over toward those smooth, brown shoulders. There wasn’t the faintest movement on her part; whatever she was absorbed in held her captive.

As he came in closer, he had a strong feeling that just maybe his luck was about to change.

About damn time.

Chance came around until he could see her in profile: full lips that held the promise of a brilliant smile, but were now slightly parted in awe; a small, round chin that stuck out almost stubbornly; a pointed, round-tipped nose that was overshadowed by the very pronounced cheekbone he had a glimpse of; long lashes that framed eyes that gradually slanted into something approaching almond-shaped.

She didn’t even register him in her periphery, which gave him pause. He certainly didn’t want to interrupt her intense concentration on—he shifted his gaze to the object of her focus—the large purple geode in front of her. One look at that shoulder, which had a rich, warm glow even in the darkness of the room snapped him right out of that lapse in judgment.

“Amazing isn’t it?”

She jumped in surprise, turning to him with all her internal bells and whistles going off at once.

“Oh my God!” she gasped, placing a hand to her heart.

Chance’s brain instinctively went to work.

The body’s physical reaction to all forms of surprise was pretty much the same, whether it was the thrill of winning the lottery, or the shock of running into a grizzly bear during a nature hike. The sensory receptacles all opened up at once, absorbing data to send to the brain at lightning speed: dilated pupils set in eyes that opened wide; flared nostrils; lips parted to form a semblance of an O; ears perked up and alert. Even the blood vessels expanded, allowing for that rapid flow to and from the heart, which would be pumping double-time in an adrenaline-fueled rush.

Interpreting these signals was practically second nature to Chance. It was a perfect cliché, but he could literally read people like a book.

It was what came next that Chance was most interested in.

The human body was also quick to recover from that initial shock, once the brain determined whether the surprise was appreciated or not.

The “not” would be obvious to all but the most blind observer as the body closed in on itself: the brow crinkling; lips pursed or pressed in a straight line; eyes narrowing or looking elsewhere; arms folded over the chest. Taken together, they might as well have been a neon sign flashing: CLOSED FOR BUSINESS.

Fortunately, her open mouth breathed out a small, relieved laugh. That was the first good sign. The rest of her face remained open, taking him in with acute interest. Those pupils stayed dilated behind lashes that subconsciously blinked prettily. The nose flared once again, inhaling those pheromones. Her body subtly twisted his way, letting Chance have a better look at her.

Then that smile appeared. Oh, that smile. It was the kind that took over the entire bottom half of her face, revealing her teeth all the way to the gum line. Chance had always been a sucker for exaggerated smiles like this, which came so naturally to some women.

“Sorry, you just scared me,” she breathed, giving him another small laugh. She had a nice voice, feminine with a slice of huskiness to it that was like that splash of Tabasco sauce in a Bloody Mary.

Her slim hand came to rest against her chest and Chance could practically feel her heart beating underneath it himself. A sudden premonition hit him that one day it would be his hand feeling that lub-dub, lub-dub underneath his palm. It made his own heart beat a little bit faster.

Cool it, Chance. The last thing he needed right now was to get seriously involved with a woman. His circumstances were complicated enough.

“It seems I’m the one who should be doing the apologizing. I didn’t mean to interrupt your concentration.” He nodded toward the large geode on display.

Her eyes followed his. “Oh, that. It’s just fascinating, isn’t it?”

“I agree. Something that looks so ordinary and even a bit rough on the outside. Most people wouldn’t look twice at it. Then you crack it open and your mind is completely blown by the wonders inside.”

The slight comparisons to himself weren’t an accident. In fact, they were subtle hints in her direction.

She gave a light laugh again, before pressing her lips back together as though she was self-conscious about her smile. “Actually, I was just trying to find patterns in it.”


She pointed one delicate finger at the glass. Her nails were short and perfectly shaped, with black nail polish. Definitely no grime underneath those nails. In fact, everything about her, from the hair twisted in some intricate knot at the nape of her neck, to the sleek heels she wore, signaled sophistication.

“I was just wondering if there was a reason why one crystal should be bigger or darker than the one next to it. Is it a matter of how close it is to the hollow center? Is it determined by how the geode rests on the ground? Gravity? The heat from the sun? Air? Water?”

“Maybe it’s just a random act of nature?” he offered, now truly interested. The conversation had taken a turn he hadn’t expected, but he was fascinated all the same.

“Random hardly ever happens in nature. Usually, if you search hard enough, you can find a reason and rationale for everything.”

“Is that so?” he replied with a grin.

She looked over at him and immediately matched his grin with one of her own, this time a little more restrained, now that she was in control of herself. Still, it was another good sign. “Trust me, I’m an expert.”

“Is that so?” he added, chuckling.

She gave another one of those femininely husky laughs. “Before you start trying anything on me, I should let you know I’m here on a date with someone.”

“Me? I’m just admiring not so random acts of nature.”

Now those gorgeous lips were twisted in a smirk. “Well, I suppose I should move out of the way, and let you observe the geode unobstructed.”

Chance moved one slight step closer to her, noting how her face and body remained open in response. She leaned back a bit, but her feet stayed in place. All very good signs.

“Who says I’m talkin’ ‘bout the geode?” he said in a playfully exaggerated drawl.

This time that slightly raspy laugh was deeper, as she twisted her head down in a bashful, but flirtatious way. Then she shifted her gaze to face him with a subtle uptick of one eyebrow. “He’ll be back any moment now.”

She probably wasn’t even fully conscious of the challenge her voice and expression held. But Chance was more than happy to pick up the gauntlet.

“Now what sort of man is crazy enough to leave a woman like you all alone, even for a moment? I feel it’s only right that I do him a favor by keeping you company so no man tries to step in and start making the moves on you.”

This time, she couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “You’re awfully bold.”

“Well, as you said, there’s a reason and a rationale for everything in nature,” he replied, raising an eyebrow with his own challenge.

Her body language was very OPEN FOR BUSINESS. Chance almost felt bad for her date. Then again, it couldn’t be going all that swell if the woman in front of him was so amenable to other suitors.

“What am I supposed to tell him when he comes back and you’re standing here flirting with me?”

“We’re just two people who happen to be admiring the same thing,” he said, letting his eyes wander down her body to clue her in on exactly what display he was admiring.

Her eyes responded in kind, though less blatantly: a quick scan of the goods, an even quicker dart in another direction, all while she tried to hide her smile.

Now he was curious about this date of hers. “Was this place your idea or his?”

“Hmm?” she asked, her eyes widening in surprise at the change in topic. “Oh, mine. I love the museum. Especially the butterfly center.”

“butterfly center,” he echoed.

“Mm-hmm,” she said nodding and returning her gaze to the geode. “I escape there practically every—”

She instantly stopped talking and flashed her eyes back to him, as though she had almost said something she shouldn’t have.

Chance’s smile assured her it was already too late.

The lips that were pressed firmly together did a poor job of hiding her pleasure. The eyes that fell to the floor demurely, and the dimple forming in one cheek told him that she had no problem with him maybe knowing too much of her business.

Before he could proceed they were interrupted by the “someone” she was here on a date with.

“Red wine, as requested,” said the voice, a little too adamantly.

“Someone” was a man who was quite a few inches short of Chance’s 6’3”. He was a bit softer under that, admittedly, much more impressive suit and tie. His dark hair, styled and coifed, was a perfect contrast to Chance’s finger-raked, dark blond hair, which grew a little too far past his collar. “Someone” wasn’t unattractive, Chance would give him that much, but there was an undercurrent of desperation and petulance Chance didn’t much care for.

He shifted his gaze to watch her reaction to the reappearance of her date. Her body signals were practically flashing neon signs as the wineglass was presented to her: perfunctory smile (the teeth and gum line were noticeably absent), a single blink that lasted just a bit too long, eyes that were just a bit too bright, the slight sigh, the body that remained facing in Chance’s direction.

Sorry pal, she’s taken.

Now all Chance had to do was figure out how to make that a reality.

He held up a finger to the man. “Actually, if you could just give us one minute. I was this close to getting this gorgeous woman’s name.”

“Her name is, here-on-a-date-with-someone-else, pal.”

“Hmm, that seems like a mouthful,” he grinned at her. “If I were you, I’d think seriously about changing it to something a bit…easier on the lips.”

The twitch of her mouth told Chance that she, one, got the joke and, two, appreciated it. The gleam in those eyes also indicated the reference to his lips—and what he was interested in doing with them—wasn’t lost on her.

Her “someone” most definitely did not appreciate it. He placed the glass holding red wine directly in the line of sight between two of them, following it with his body.

Chance waited, watching, as her lips parted, a heavy inhale preceding….

….a resigned exhale. She diverted her eyes to her “someone,” and that was the end of that.

“Thank you, Simon,” she said, taking the glass.

Chance bowed his head graciously.

“Chance is my name. Long story there. I’d love to tell you about it sometime.”

That got a small smile behind Simon’s back as he gave Chance a hard stare. “Like maybe when she isn’t on a date with another guy?”

Message received.

But Chance was never one to go down that easily. He gave his best conceding smile, making a show of back walking. “Fair enough.”

Then he stopped, his smile becoming a bona fide grin. “But I do have to say, if I was out with a woman who could put most of the gems in this room to shame, I wouldn’t leave her side for one second.”

And there it was, all her sensory receptacles opening up again. One…two…three…

“Juliet,” she said, just as Simon was about to give Chance another what for.

Chance just gave her a grin and a wink, nodding his head at the two of them, then leaving them to it.

Tough luck Simon, she’s definitely taken.

Chapter 2

“It’s gots to be real! It’s gots to be real!”

The words didn’t quite match the lyrics sung by Cheryl Lynn, but Kenny had a way of making each song his own. Despite having raised the level of their bikes to “nine,” a few snickers echoed around the spin class.

As usual, Juliet was at her Saturday morning spin class, which was no surprise should anyone have done a thorough analysis. And Juliet most certainly had.

This specific class, at this specific gym, at this specific time was the deliberate result of a number of factors, each contributing to the probability of her actually attending on a regular basis.

Arranged in order of weighted importance:

  • Proximity to her apartment
  • Proximity to a Starbucks with plenty of seating
  • Specifically being located between said apartment and said Starbucks
  • Likelihood of actually getting a bike without being wait-listed
  • Starting late enough for her to wake up, get ready, and make it to class
  • Starting early enough so she didn’t laze the morning away and eventually decide not to attend
  • Liking the instructor

It was a good thing that the instructor was weighted less heavily than the others, since Juliet normally didn’t care for Kenny’s rather flamboyant way of guiding them through the class.

However, today even Juliet managed a chuckle.

“And release! Back down to two, for a verrrry short recovery!” he yelled in his exuberant way, as You’re the One that I Want from Grease came on. “Okay, everyone…it’s race time! Y’all know what to do! Get them legs pumpin’!”

Juliet took a deep breath and began to pedal faster. It helped that her heart was one step ahead of her the whole time. As she thought about last night’s date, her legs pedaled faster, trying to catch up with her rapidly beating heart.

Sadly, it wasn’t because of Simon.

I got chills, they’re multiplying, and I’m losing control

‘Cause the power you’re supplying, it’s electrifying


What a name. A name with a story. A name that had disappeared almost as soon as it had been uttered.

Her legs faltered and her bike shoe snapped out of its lock.


Juliet snapped it back in, and began peddling faster again. As her pace increased, so did her optimism for some reason.

“Okay, now I wanna hear y’all sing along!” Kenny urged as the song got to its chorus. “Get that air into y’all’s lungs!”

You’re the one that I want…

Ooh ooh ooh,” Kenny crooned. “I don’t hear y’all!”

As usual, only a few spinners joined in. Normally, Juliet wouldn’t have joined them in a million years.

Today was different.

You’re the one that I want…

Ooh ooh ooh,” she belted out, earning her a surprised look of respect from Kenny.

“That’s it, girl!”

For some reason that got more people in the class going. By the end of the song, everyone was “Ooh ooh oohing,” and laughing as they raced.

“And….done!” cried Kenny, clapping his hands.

* * *

“What got into you today?” Shayla Sweeny looked at Juliet with an amused smirk as they wiped down their bikes.

After spin class, showering and doing her hair at the gym, Juliet’s next item on the agenda was always a trip to Starbucks, where she put all the calories she had just burned right back on with a grande caramel macchiato. Practically, without fail.

Shayla and she were what they termed “weekend friends.” Months ago they had found themselves standing next to each other in line at Starbucks. After recognizing each other from class, they decided to sit at the only available table together. Now it was their regular Saturday routine.

Juliet just shrugged. “I’m just feeling good, I guess.”

“The date went that well?” Shayla asked raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Juliet just laughed. “Not quite. Long story.”

“Ooh, now I’m really looking forward to my after-spin Starbucks.”

* * *

“And then he just took off?” Shayla asked, sipping her latte.

They were relegated to the patio outside Starbucks, and enjoying it, despite the late summer Houston heat.

Once again, Juliet admired how well her friend put herself back together again after spin class. Her hair was natural, in a cute little afro, so that helped. But the once sweat-drenched, makeup-free face was now like something off the cover of Essence Magazine. She wore a bright orange tank top that showed off her dark skin beautifully, and a fun, colorful print wrap skirt.

Juliet’s typical style was carefully curated, based on plenty of research, for the strongest possibility of attracting the kind of man she wanted…or thought she did. After last night she wasn’t so sure. All the same, she had officially crossed that dreaded threshold firmly into her 30s and she couldn’t afford to take chances with her appearance.

She had washed, blow-dried, and flat ironed her own relaxed hair into something resembling “straight,” down past her shoulders, curling the ends for good measure Her make-up was the usual mascara/eye-liner/lip gloss simplicity she limited herself to. She wore a sleeveless, knee-length sundress in white eyelet fabric that showed off her brown skin perfectly.

“Yeah. Gone, just like that,” she said, shrugging. “But, I don’t know. For some reason it just felt like that wasn’t the end of it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Shayla said, lifting her sunglasses up on her head. “Is this our Juliet? The one who doesn’t believe in chance, or luck, or fate? Praise Jesus, we’ve finally found a man to convert our little analytical cynic,” she said, falling back in her chair with a laugh.

Juliet just kicked one sandaled foot out at her friend. “Don’t be ridiculous. It was just a fun detour on a so-so date.” She frowned, remembering how disappointing Simon had been. “A really so-so date.”

“And here you are, ooh, ooh, oohing, during spin class.” Shayla leaned in closer to Juliet. “Girl, if you don’t put whatever’s going on with you out into the universe then you don’t deserve this guy.”

Her friend fell back and brought her sunglasses down again. “At least tell me he was hot enough for the spank bank.”

“Shayla!” Juliet yelped with a laugh, nearly spitting out her macchiato.

Shayla just laughed. “Oh come on. Dish! I need something to distract me from the neanderthal waiting back at home for me, no doubt still in his boxers and unshaved face, drinking milk straight out of the carton. And before you say anything, I love him to death despite that.”

Juliet took one look at the ring on Shayla’s finger and felt that familiar pang of envy. At 31, it seemed like Juliet was a walking, talking cliché: smart, attractive, successful, nice…yet no man to show for it.

Not that it should matter. Or so all the magazines, books, and websites had informed her.

Juliet wasn’t desperate for a man, she just felt like she should have met someone she was compatible enough with to marry by now. It was getting to the point where she had to analyze what was wrong with her, and not the men she was dating.


Juliet was brought out of those sobering thoughts and taken back to last night. She recalled the man with the recklessly styled hair, the eyes that sparkled with an interesting hue even in the darkness of the museum, and that killer smile.

“I guess if you took…the voice of Matthew McConaughey, the attitude of that guy from Suits—”

“Gabriel Macht?” Shayla interrupted, leaning in and pushing her glasses back up again. “Now I’m really intrigued.”

“Yeah, but he looks more like a mix of…” she thought about it, “50% Jensen Ackles, definitely in the eyes and mouth, 30% Bradley Cooper around the mouth, and…maybe 20% Paul Walker?”

Shayla stared at her for a beat. “Leave it to you to boil him down to the world’s hottest formulaic equation.”

“It just fits,” Juliet said, the picture of Chance etched so deep into her brain that he might as well have been standing in front of her once again.

“Of course the question still remains….”

Juliet bit, rolling her eyes, even though she damn well knew where Shayla was going. “What?”

“How the hell are you going to run into this Casanova again?”

Now it was Juliet’s turn to fall back into her chair. “I don’t know. All he has is my first name and…”

She recalled the slip-up with the mention of the butterfly center. At the time, she had been appalled at how easily she had revealed her guilty pleasure to a perfect stranger. She often escaped to the butterfly center during the week, which was only a hop, skip and a jump from where she worked at Rice University.

“And what?” Shayla asked idly.

“I mentioned the butterfly center.”

Shayla raised an eyebrow. “Well, there you go.”

Juliet wrinkled her brow. “I didn’t even tell him when or where or—”

“So what?” Shayla sighed and put down her cup. “Juliet, not everyone in the world operates by a perfect analysis of likelihood and probability and whatever else it is that goes on in your brain. Some people just throw caution to the wind and follow their gut.”

Juliet frowned.

“Don’t you dare give me that look. After all, what the hell has eHarmony gotten you so far? You wanna talk odds, how about I bet you that this guy is sitting in that butterfly center right now, damn sure you’ll show up?”

Juliet laughed.

“Laugh all you want, but when I get back from my vacation in two weeks it will be you buying me my latte, girlfriend.”

* * *

Juliet had a membership to the museum. Considering how often she made her way across Main Street from Rice University to the museum on a weekly basis, it made financial sense.

As soon as she entered the Cockrell Butterfly Center, a mostly black butterfly with white streaks landed on her dress. Juliet was thrilled; the butterflies never landed on her.

She made a point to note, not only the species of butterfly itself, but exactly where and when it had landed, what part of the center she was standing in, what lotion and soap she had used earlier today—speaking of scent, did the caramel macchiato play a role?—what time of day it was, how long since she had washed this dress. Did her laundry detergent make a difference? Perhaps it was the fabric of her dress….

“Well, hello there stranger.”

Every bit of analysis in her head evaporated upon hearing that voice.

Juliet turned to see her JensenBradleyPaul hybrid with a Matthew voice and Gabriel attitude strolling toward her. He was dressed in a simple black t-shirt that showed off his admirable build, and a pair of jeans that revealed something even more impressive.

Upon closer reflection, none of those men had anything on this one.

This one was his own man.

Chapter 3

It had been a long shot.

But Chance had lived his life, for the most part successfully, indulging in the occasional long shot.

Something deep inside of him told him that this one would work out. And wouldn’t you know it, the jackpot to end all jackpots had paid out.

With nothing more than a name, a gorgeous face, and an “escape every….” Chance had, no pun intended, taken a chance. Worst case scenario he was out the price of admission. The best case scenario was standing right in front of him. Once again, he thought just maybe his luck was about to change.

“You’re here,” she breathed, as though it was both a complete surprise and 100% expected at the same time.

Maybe not such a long shot after all.

Today, Chance didn’t have to read signals. The fact that Juliet was here was all the confirmation he needed that she was just as interested in him as he was in her. She looked even more beautiful in the daylight that filtered through the glass ceiling of the butterfly center than she had in the dark, muted lighting in the hall of gems and minerals last night.

“I am,” he replied. “I take it Simon didn’t work out?”

She gave that slightly raspy laugh that was beginning to do a heck of a lot more than just appeal to him. “No, he was…let’s just say, much more interesting on paper than in real life.”

“Well, in that case, remind me to burn my papers.”

She laughed again, but before the conversation could progress a large, blue butterfly landed on his shoulder.

“Oh! A Blue Morpho!” she gasped with delight. “I can’t believe it!”

Chance cocked half his mouth up in a grin. “Is this a good thing?”

“They’re my favorite,” she said, cautiously approaching him, her eyes growing wide with wonder as she observed the large black and blue butterfly. Chance accommodated her, not moving a muscle, lest his new wingman fly away.

She stared at it with that same look of concentration she’d held for the geode the night before. That look fascinated him. Usually the people he interacted with were experts at hiding their emotions, maintaining a look of perfect neutrality to keep anyone from reading their minds, or rather, their cards. Juliet’s face was a completely open book, revealing her excitement and interest in whatever it was she was concentrating on at the moment. It was refreshing, and very attractive.

“I always wondered what makes them chose one person or thing over another. People say wearing colors helps, but I always come here in bright colors and…nothing.” She looked down at her white dress, which Chance found extremely bait-worthy, and laughed. “Today, I actually managed to attract something.”

“You certainly did,” he said with a broad grin.

She brought those lashes back up in his direction and fluttered them before laughing again. There was that big smile again, which ended far too quickly as her lips snapped down over her gums and teeth.

“So, Mr. Good-on-Paper didn’t work out? In that case, you’ll be happy to know that I am a high school dropout, who lives in his grandmother’s basement, subsisting on a diet of Cool Ranch Doritos and Red Bull, as I play video games for eight hours straight all day.

She allowed that smile to break through again. “In which case, I should warn you that I am a clingy attention whore, whose favorite pastime will be scrolling through your text message history and poking holes in condoms.”

“A veritable match made in heaven,” he said.

It was a fun little lark, but there was a definite tug at the back of Chance’s mind reminding him that he had plenty of reasons to play it close to the vest when it came to revealing too much about his personal life. He deftly stomped out that nagging little ember and relaxed into the smile Juliet was pointing his way.

“So, now that we’ve established that we are perfect for one another, what shall we do for our second date?”

“Second date, huh?” she inquired, raising an amused eyebrow.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t commandeer another man’s date. How about first and one-quarter date?”

She laughed at that. “I don’t know. We didn’t really get to do much on our ‘first’ date.’”

“Well I suppose we should rectify that oversight.”

“By doing what?” she challenged, raising an eyebrow.

Chance boldly came around to rest an arm on the small of her back and guide her along the path in the butterfly center. He was pleased to note that, after initially stiffening in surprise, she relaxed into the hand that came to rest gently on her hip. “How’s about we just wander and see where the day takes us?”

Juliet looked up at him thoughtfully for a moment, then gave him that brilliant, all-encompassing smile of hers.


* * *

“So what is your stupid pet trick?”

They were still wandering around the butterfly center at a slow pace. Chance was surprised at how simple and easy it felt, a refreshing change from the rest of his life.

“What?” she asked, laughing in surprise.

“You’re at a kid’s birthday party and someone holds a gun to your head and says, perform. What do you do?”

“Besides, call 911,” she retorted with a laugh. “And probably child protective services, while I’m at it.”

Chance laughed. “Okay, change the gun to a million bucks.”

“Um…I guess…does beating them at blackjack count?”

Chance went rigid and gave her a sharp look.

Her grin faltered at his reaction and he softened his expression, making it perfectly neutral again.

“Or baseball, or anything where numbers or statistics or information is concerned,” she continued. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not Rain Man or anything. Statistics. Odds. Predictions. I’m your gal. I’d probably end up having birthday cake thrown at me for boring the crowd, but there it is.”

“Well, now you’ve got me picturin’ you covered in whipped cream and icing,” he said in a sexy drawl, giving her his best devilish grin.

He could see the positive effect it was having on her, despite her visible reluctance to allow such a risqué line this early on. He felt the tiny ripple of laughter through her ribs and the easy feel of her relaxed body under his hand.

“So, your turn.”

“Reading people,” he said without hesitation.

“Oh?” Juliet replied, cocking her head with a smirk. “And what story am I telling?”

He squinted his eyes as if in thought. “Your smile, for one.”

He watched her instinctively press her lips together, sucking them into her mouth the way she’d done a number of times before.

“There,” he said cocking his chin toward her. “You’re self-conscious about it. You think it’s too broad? Too toothy, maybe? But that’s how I know it’s genuine when I see it,” he said, giving her a considering look. He stopped walking and reached out to hook his finger under her chin and lift her face toward him. “And it’s the most beautiful thing about you.”

Based on her initial reaction, he was right about her issues with it. A smile like hers didn’t go unnoticed, and there were people in the world—usually in the form of childhood tormentors—who lived to dampen others’ flames. Chance planned on doing everything he could to rectify that.

Starting with a kiss.


Comin’ This Summer… Texas Heat!

Now that the Wright Brothers have completed their Happily Ever Afters…it’s time for a new series! I hope y’all are ready for some heat, Texas Style! I Give you:

Texas Heat Romance Series


Having lived in Houston for more than a second, I am, and always will be an official Texan. Because that’s how they roll, God bless ’em. So obviously, I had to create my own official ode to the state…and the hot men that live there. Fun fact: My first ever date was to a shooting range. How’s that for Texas?

That said, forget all your clichés about Texas…except the part about everything being bigger down there. Yes, that pun was intended in every which way. In this series, you have a Baseball Player, a Poker Professional, and a Ranch Owner. But there is more to these bad boys than meets the eye. Find out this summer!

At any rate, to start the series, we have Home Run (formerly known as Slugger Fever)!

Sluger FeverSMALL

Coming June 26, 2017!


It was the sound that would change their lives forever. 

Carter Fox is the powerful home run hitter for the Houston Sluggers.

Baseball was the only good thing in his life.

Then she winds up with one of his home run balls in her hand.

Jordan Douglas has three priorities in life: Law school. Graduation. Job.

There is absolutely no room for a  playboy baller.

Then she winds up with one of his home run balls in her hand.

An overt show of bravado.

A case of misread intentions.

A slanted news piece that gets picked up nationally.

Pretty soon all of Houston is talking.

Damage control leads to something deeper…

…until a tiny, little curve ball is thrown into both their lives.

Now the game is changed forever.

This is a Stand Alone, BWWM  Romance in the Texas Heat Romance Books, with an Unexpected Baby.

WARNING: Due to quite a few extra steamy scenes, and Adult language 18+ only!!

Preview chapters coming soon!

After that:

High Stakes: July 2017

Hard Sell: August 2017

Background Story: So Wrong


Authors get asked all the time how they came up with the ideas for their stories, and I’m no different. One of my favorite Authors is Stephen King, particularly his short stories. In one of his short story collections, Everything’s Eventual, he begins each tale with the back story of how he came up with the idea, which I appreciated as a fan.

So I’ve decided to do the same with most of my stories. There are no new stories under the sun (King himself wrote a story about it–Secret Window, Secret Garden), but each author’s take on it is unique. How many iterations are there of Romeo and Juliet?

So how did So Wrong, the spin off to the Wright Brother’s series come about?

Well, it began when I realized that the third Wright brother definitely needed his own book. When we first meet him in Mr. Wright & Mr. Wrong he is an angsty, slightly Emo teenager. By the end of Mr. & Mrs. Wright he has grown out of that particular phase and there are hints that he may be the same perfect book boyfriend that both Michael and Alex Wright are. If you are signed up for my newsletter and read the Bonus Chapter then you briefly meet Bonita Jackson from So Wrong.

So, with River needing his own story I ran with the idea of one of my favorite fairy tales: Beauty and the Beast. It’s a oft use prototype for romance novels, and for good reasons. A heroine who loves to read? An anti-hero? The atypical villain in the form of Mr. Perfect? How could you go wrong?


So yes, I started with a heroine who loves to read and a boy who seemingly needs a bit of taming. Throw in a lot of action, drama, and fun side characters and voila! So as not to give away too much of the plot, I’ll leave it at that. I will say that there are definite shout outs to Beauty and the Beast and I hope my readers have fun picking them out. Some are obvious. Some are subtle. Some turn the book completely on it’s head.

Buy or Borrow So Wrong Today!

So Wrong: Preview Chapter





Bonita may play the Good Girl, but he has every intention of bringing out her bad side.

After all, he’s just your typical, rich, bad boy with the mysteriously dangerous past.

The boy with the disreputable reputation, and even more disreputable father.

The boy with the secrets that he keeps hidden from everyone, even Bonita….


A pastor’s daughter, she’s been good her whole life, and River Wright is just So Wrong in every way.

He’s a distraction…an exciting and gorgeous distraction, but trouble all the same.

He may end up ruining everything if she lets it go too far.

After all, she’s got secrets of her own.

A STAND ALONE +75K word IR BWWM Romance that is spin off from the Wright Brothers Series, with a HEA Happy Ending. All main characters are over the age of 18 years old.

WARNING: This book includes graphic and steamy scenes, violence, and adult language, so 18+ only!!



She’s gorgeous.

River Wright stopped in his tracks as he saw the girl at the end of the aisle looking at a stapled set of papers with a wrinkle in her brow.

What made him first take notice was the dress she wore. In a sea of yoga pants and booty shorts with “Juicy” or “Pink” splashed across the ass, which seemed to be the unofficial uniform of your average coed, she had on a sleeveless, knee-length dress. The dress was white with blue flowers and feminine to the point of being old fashioned, complete with a skirt that looked perfect for twirling. It even had a damn bow tied around the back, which he noticed when she turned to pluck a book off the shelf and stick it in the basket she was holding.

The dress was what had caught his attention. The body that it covered is what kept it. River’s eyes wandered down her amazing curves, swerving in and out like a perfect S.

Tiffany Brookstone bumped into his broad back. It was an annoying reminder that she had joined him on this little venture.

“What are you doing?” she asked in an irritated voice, too drunk to notice that his attention wasn’t on her.

His focus stayed on the girl as she tucked a thick strand of hair behind her ear where one arm of her glasses rested.


Normally not a look guys went for, but on her it was like the smile on the Mona Lisa: intriguing. As far as River was concerned, it was the very thing that made her appealing, highlighting her beauty rather than detracting from it.

River’s eyes were drawn down to her full lips as she placed one finger tip on her tongue and brought it down to turn a page of the stapled sheets she had in her hand.

It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen. He felt his dick twitch as he thought of  how he would give anything to have any part of his body switch places with that finger.

The girl had the natural coloring that many of his friends at Pierre University had no doubt tried hard all summer to achieve during their time spent on various Mediterranean or Caribbean beaches. It was a flawlessly smooth hazelnut brown, that instantly made him wonder if she herself had any tan lines underneath that dress hugging her body so admirably.

“Um, are we going to stand here all night?” Tiffany asked into his back. She wrapped her arms around his waist and giggled. “‘Cause I can think of more enjoyable ways to spend the evening.”

That was the exact moment the girl looked up at both of them.

Of course it was.

One raised eyebrow, then she was back to her papers, looking back and forth between them and the shelves in front of her.

Dammit, Tiffany.

“Hey,” he said to Tiffany behind him, disengaging her arms from around him. “Why don’t you go pick out a t-shirt or something? A present for tagging along with me tonight.”

Tiffany sighed and without even looking, he knew she was rolling her eyes. “Why would I want a t-shirt from this stupid university?” she asked.

“Because you actually go here,” he said in an irritated tone.  She gave another sigh and ventured off, leaving River free to make his move on the girl as she collected books from the shelf in front of her.

River sauntered down the aisle, plastering that cocky grin on his face that he had long ago discovered girls liked. He was glad he had avoided using any of the baskets in the bookstore as he collected the load of books currently in his arms. Something about carrying one around had toyed with his ideas of manliness that, in the back of his mind, he knew was textbook machismo. All the same, he was semi-cognizant of the way his biceps and delts instinctively flexed as he carried the heavy load through the aisle on his way over to her.

Right now she was reaching up to try and grab a book from the top shelf and River stopped to watch, his grin getting wider as he looked at her from behind.

Hello, sweetheart.

She stuck the toe of her shoe on the bottom shelf to give herself a few inches, which made her smooth brown calves more pronounced. The heel of her foot slipped out of the flat she had on. It somehow made the scene even more erotic, the arch of her foot only adding to the wealth of curves she had to offer. Her ass became more round and taut now that her body was stretched out. The cherry on top of this visual ice cream sundae was the extra hint of back thigh that was revealed as the hem of her skirt rose ever so slightly.

Just a little bit higher please.

It would have been a sin not to help the poor girl out. River grinned as he hefted his stack of books under one arm, holding it up against his hip.  He came up right behind her, pressing his body lightly against hers as he reached above her to grab the book that she was obviously going for. She had an intoxicating smell…peaches? coconut? Some alluring mix of the two.

“Wha—?” A surprised yelp escaped her lips.

She twisted around under him with indignant squeak. Gorgeous brown eyes blinked up at him over the edge of her glasses that were falling down her round little nose.  The thick lashes fluttered for a second as she took him in, then the frown appeared. She pushed him away.

He hadn’t anticipated that and fell back two steps with a laugh, easily catching his balance. Then he held the book out to her.

“Here you go,” he said, plastering on that grin again.

She made an irritated grab for it, but before she could reach it, he lifted it well above her head. She was probably only five-foot-five or -six, which gave him at least an eight-inch advantage.

“How about a name first?” he teased.

The irritation turned to anger. “How about you just give me the book?”

“Oh,” he pouted, “and after I went to the trouble of being a Good Samaritan.”

“Good Samaritan?” she said with a sharp laugh. “I don’t recall the part of the Bible where the Samaritan presses his body up against the back of the helpless traveler.”

River chuckled. “Well, if you want to start getting into discussions of a biblical nature,” his grin deepened, “I’m more than happy—”

“How does your girlfriend feel about you playing the Good Samaritan like this?” she interrupted with a raised eyebrow. He didn’t miss the sarcastic emphasis on the word “Good.”


“Here you go, babe!” Tiffany shouted as her arms came around him, one holding out a purple Pierre University women’s baby t-shirt. He saw Bonita’s eyebrows go up in affirmation at the word “babe.”

The arm he was using to holding the book over the girl’s head faltered and sagged just enough for the girl to jump up and grab it out of his hand.

“Yoink!” she actually yelped, which he found absurdly comical. Then she back-walked away from him with a grin.

“Thanks, babe,” she taunted, then pushed her glasses up her nose with one finger—one very deliberately chosen finger.  With that, she spun around causing the skirt of her dress to twirl just the way he imagined it would.

Tiffany gasped behind him. “Did that girl just give you the middle finger?” she asked, outraged. “She has some nerve.”

“She certainly does,” River said, mostly to himself as he smiled.

He was done with his own shopping and considered following the girl. First though, he had to deal with the one drunkenly attached to his waist.

“Hey, I think I saw some Vogue Magazines up front. Why don’t you go wait for me there?” Before she could argue, River spun Tiffany around leading her in that direction. He watched to make sure that she actually made it there without face-planting it on the floor, then rushed to get in line behind the girl in the blue and white dress.

* * *

Boys don’t make passes at girls with glasses.

“Or so they say,” Bonita Jackson muttered to herself as she adjusted hers while she stood in line at the front of the university bookstore.

That last bit with the finger had been bad. So bad. Where had that even come from? Already Pierre University was having a bad influence on her.  The old Bonita would have never even fathomed such a lewd gesture.

She wondered what her father, the good Reverend Maurice Jackson, would have to say about it, and on a Sunday of all days.  A twinge of shame hit her. Then she brushed it away. The whole point of moving up here was to get away from her parents and maybe be a bit bad.

Mission accomplished, Bonita.

“Or so who says?” she heard a voice behind her inquire.

She blinked and looked back. It was him, minus the girlfriend, who Bonita suspected was a wee bit under the influence.

“Are you following me?”

He held up the books in his arm. “Last minute text book shopping, like yourself. Speaking of which, are you a new student here? I haven’t seen you around, and I definitely would have noticed someone like you.”  He grinned down at her.

“Transfer student,” she said curtly, then turned to face the counter.

Fortunately, she was called next, which eliminated any further interrogation, or flirting.

Unfortunately, the cashier right next to hers opened up, which put him right back by her side. The sudden tingle she’d felt when his body had pressed against her backside in the stacks returned.  It was horrible to have those kinds of thoughts about a boy who was obviously already taken. Thankfully, his crass attitude kept it in check.

She could feel his eyes on her as she waited for her books to be rung up. The only reason she was here so late at night, and the day before classes to boot, was because Reverend Howard had kept her so late after church, then invited her to dinner with his family.  She couldn’t very well have said no. Her parents would have been appalled.  Now, still in her church clothes, she looked like an exceptionally tan Audrey Hepburn amid a sea of Paris Hiltons.

Way to fit in, Bonita.

On top of that, the money from her college fund had taken a long time to transfer. Too long.  She’d have to ask her parents about that when she got a chance. Why they wouldn’t just let her have control of it was beyond her. She was 20 years old, what did they think she would do with it all, blow it at the racetrack?

“Will there be anything else?” she heard the cashier next to hers ask the boy. His clerk was obviously more efficient at handling the scanner than hers, who had to take three tries just to get each book to go through. As if the night hadn’t been long enough already.

Bonita made the mistake of glancing his way and found the boy looking at her with a grin. “Why not?” he said, grabbing a few pens in the Pierre University colors of purple and gold and placing them on top of the pile. “I’m suddenly feeling rather…tumescent with school pride.”

Bonita rolled her eyes at that.  She reached into her purse to pull out her bank card now that her cashier was finally down to the last book.  She held it in her hand, willing the scanner to just work so she could leave already. She was so focused on the scanner she didn’t notice the boy’s head lean over to read the name on her card

“Bo-nee-ta Jackson,” she heard his voice say over her shoulder. “Beautiful. I like it; it suits you.”

She brought her card into her chest and turned to him with an annoyed sigh. “It looks like someone needs to brush up on their Spanish 1. Bonita actually means—”

“Pretty. I know,” he grinned. “It just seemed so inadequate. Beautiful suits you better.”

“That will be $547. 67,” his cashier said.

He kept his smile on Bonita as he pulled out a black credit card and placed it on the counter.

The cashier picked it up and handed it back to him. “Sorry Mr. Wright, we don’t take American Express; Visa or MasterCard only.”

There was a slight grimace when the cashier said his name. He sighed and flipped through his wallet to pull out a platinum card instead.

Her own cashier finally managed to  scan the last book. $489.57. Good grief, Pierre University was going to kill her with the amount she had to fork over. Thank heavens she had a college fund.

“Well, it was very nice to meet you, pretty.” Bonita felt it more than she heard it, as Mr. Wright whispered the words across her right ear, then walked away.

Despite herself, a shiver of electricity shot straight through her.

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