Karigan Hale's Blog: Karigan's Pencil

The McAllister Brothers Series is getting a new look! Check out these covers for ALL THREE books. Let me know what you think!

Brock and Kennedy's Story:An enemies to lovers snarky romanceCHECK OUT the NEW Blurb and First Chapters Sneak Peek of Cowboy, Take Me Away ,HERE Now Available on ,Amazon and in KU! Cash and Lydia's Story:A secret identity snarky romanceCHECK OUT the NEW Blurb & First Chapters Sneak Peek of Cowboy, Save Me ,HERE Pre-Order Your Copy Today! (available Sept 3rd)Colt and Shelby's Story:A friends to lovers snarky romanceFirst Chapters Sneak Peek of Cowboy, Forgive Me COMING SOON!

I was so excited to write the twins' stories - Cash and Colt - identical twin HOT cowboys. Yummmm. And I had the idea for Cash's love interest - a damaged woman running from her past - for a while. But something didn't feel right. Her character read like a dishrag. It wasn't fair to Cash and it wasn't fair to you, dear readers. SO, I revamped her entire character to make her much more spunky, sarcastic, and a MUCH better match for Cash. So forget what you may have read in the back of Book 1. This is ALL NEW and SO much better!SYNOPSIS: LYDIA

Not all who wander are lost. Some are just trying to avoid reality. Like me. But, like Brittany Spears’ career, all good things came to an end. Namely, my finances.

Which is how I ended up at the Winding Ridge Guest Ranch with some decisions to make.

Flirting with Cash, the mega-hot cowboy running the place, was a welcome distraction. Until he went from eye candy to wanting more.

Unfortunately, I dragged along more drama than a Dance Moms marathon. So it was look, talk, no touch until I got my life straightened out.

But a little touch wouldn’t hurt right? What he didn’t know about my past, would only hurt me in the end. Hurt I was used to. Taking care of myself I was used to.

Until my drama caught up to me in the worst possible way…

Chapter OneLydia

Frantically, I threw things into a suitcase—shirts, jeans, shorts, socks—not really caring if I left things behind. Toiletries landed on top in a jumble. I had to get out of here fast. If I didn't have something I needed, I'd buy it along the way.

I sat on the top of the suitcase to force it shut.

"Come on. Come on," I willed it, trying not to scream in frustration. Why couldn't this one thing go my way this one time? Finally, after some "why me" rage-screams, the zipper closed. The only thing I tripled checked was the plane ticket and the large wad of cash I'd stolen from the safe. Taking this much money would quickly alert them something was wrong, but I didn't have any other choice. After two years of wandering, my funds were drying up. And I needed to disappear.

Like now. Because no way, after everything I'd been through in my travels, were these dildoes going to be the end of me.

The ride share app beeped alerting me my car was waiting out front. Fina-fucking-ly. I'd called it over thirty minutes ago.

Dear Uber, please add an option for urgency. Like a button to say, "step on the gas, Nancy in a gray Equinox, so my friends don't have to identify my body." Sincerely, Running For Her Life.

I grabbed my suitcase and backpack, said a silent screw you to the closed door beside mine, and carefully tiptoed down the steps so I didn't risk waking anyone. Given the heavy snoring coming from the next room, I really wasn't in danger of that. For once, their incessant drinking worked to my advantage. I doubted anyone would stir before noon. Lazy bastards.

I'd almost give up chocolate to see their astounded faces when they looked in the safe. Me, they wouldn't care about. The money and the ledger, they absolutely would.

Whose laughing now, assholes? They'd screwed with the wrong bitch when they screwed with me. I'd been too many places and seen too many things to fall for their bullshit theories. Theories which were growing crazier and crazier each day. No thank you. This girl knows when to cut and run. And knows when to take some collateral in case they come after me.

I dragged my suitcase across the dry, dusty ground toward the waiting car. Nancy, wearing a flamingo printed Hawaiian shirt and billowy capri pants to match—were they pajamas?—waited by the passenger door.

"You Lydia?" she asked.

I glanced behind me. No one but me and the fireflies. I gave her a long look, then said, "Yup."

"Headed to the airport?" she asked as she helped me load my stuffed suitcase into the backseat.

"Yup." As indicated on the app when I booked this ride. Was it too late to cancel and order another? I had a bad feeling about this. Of course, that could also be my anxiety over becoming a thief. Or the bean burrito I had for dinner last night.

Probably it was Nancy.

"Great day to fly. Skies are supposed to be clear and only a little wind. You're smart for going so early. Maybe you'll get lucky and your flight won't be full. That's the best." She was surprisingly chipper for oh-dark-thirty in the morning. She was also not in a hurry to get into the car. She stood on the passenger side with her hands on her hips, looking into the sky. The dark sky. The pitch-black sky with nothing to see in it.

"I'm kind of in a hurry, Nancy. So can we save the chitchat for the ride?" I asked.

"Oh, sure thing." Nancy ambled over the driver's side, while I slid into the backseat.

"Traveling alone?" she asked when she finally started the car.

"Yup."

"Going somewhere warm?"

My heart rate kicked up a notch. Why was she asking so many questions? Did someone figure out my plan and send a spy?

A chuckle bubbled in my throat. No way these ding-a-lings could rub enough brain cells together to have that foresight. Besides, I only figured out my plan a few days ago myself.

Nancy was simply making conversation. No big deal. No need to read into it. Just be vague and non-committal. In this one-horse town chances were Nancy was the only Uber driver. And Nancy obviously liked to talk. So the less I told her, the better.

"I hope so," I said, avoiding eye contact. I'd read somewhere that people remember you more with eye contact or physical contact. I was determined to avoid all of the above until I was well away from here.

"Well, we should have you there in no time. Traffic isn't usually bad this time of day," she said, punching the airport's address into her phone's GPS.

"Thanks." I made a big show of putting in my air pods, hoping she would get the hint that I wasn't into small talk. I dug my fingernail into my thigh to force my leg to stop bouncing. The goal was to look nonchalant, not like a complete basket case. Do not draw attention to yourself, Lydia.

Nancy was still talking in the front seat, but she didn't seem to require any response from me, so I tuned her out and tried to figure out my next move. I'd been drifting for about two years, running from my problems and my pain. It was a wonder I didn't run into nut jobs like these earlier in my travels.

I know. I know. If I've heard it once, I've heard it a thousand times—from my aunt, from well-meaning strangers, and from my own conscious—this is how CSI episodes start. A single, twentysomething woman couch-surfing her way across the United States wasn't my smartest idea.

In my defense, I had a full canister of pepper spray and a Tasmanian devil attitude, so I wasn't completely helpless. I'd been known to punch a guy in the twig and berries if he got to handsy. More often than not, I talked my way out of any situation without the use of violence.

Except this one. These mother fluffers were delusional and drunk—not a great combination. Add in some doomsday bullshit and healthy dose of hating the government, and this place was one jug of Kool-Aid away from a cult. I'd already planned on moving on sooner rather than later, but their late night "damn the man" sessions were getting increasingly more intense. And more specific.

And then Bryan disappeared.

I shook my head to clear it. Suspicions didn't equal evidence. Besides, the local sheriff was at one of the planning meetings. I needed to get the hell out of dodge before I went to any police with my concerns. If I even did that. Technically, I'd stolen from them, which was a misdemeanor at best. Was there a Robin Hood defense? Like a Good Samaritan Law, but for people who only stole from bad guys?

I made a mental note to check it out.

I didn't think they would take the effort to come after me. I'd stolen their money, sure, but I left them enough for a McDonald's two for five deal. I wasn't a total bitch.

Once we hit the highway, I had to concentrate on not dying in a fiery car crash instead of the troubles that I left behind.

"Nancy, I know I said I was in a hurry, but you don't have to set a land speed record," I said, grasping the oh shit handle above the door like Brittany Spears did her flagging singing career.

What ever happened to her anyway? One minute she was dancing with a snake like a badass female Steve Irwin. And the next she's shaving her head and going coo-coo crazy over some skinny white dude. Reminded me of some of the women at the compound I'd just left. The men there, and Kevin Federline, must have some magic cocks to make girls stay with them. I can't see any other reason why.

Luckily, I knew better than to piss where I slept and didn't oblige the men there. Because even if their cocks were magic, my downtown wasn't that desperate. I needed more than a wham, bam, thank you ma'am drunken mattress pounding. Which, from the sounds coming out of the adjacent rooms, was all those douche canoes were capable of.

That's a big no thank you from me. I got more attention from Mr. Good Vibrations who went everywhere with me. Yes, I named my vibrator. No, I'm not ashamed of it.

I was pulled out of my thoughts because my shoulder slammed against the door by a sharp swerve. Nancy laid on the horn and gave the driver next to us some choice words.

"You all right back there?" she asked, looking at me for way too long in the rear-view mirror.

"Just peachy," I replied, rubbing my shoulder. "Eyes on the road, Nance."

She laughed. "People don't know how to drive in the dark. I find it's much easier without the lights on. Less glare."

"Mmm-hmmm," I hummed absently. Then her words settled in. "Wait. What? You don't have the lights on?"

"Nope. That's what reflectors are for. Besides the car is a light gray."

I rolled my eyes and said a few Hail Marys. At least I think they were Hail Marys; it'd been a minute since I last went to church.

"How much longer?"

"Gipis says about ten minutes."

"Gipis?" Did I even want to know?

"You know G-P-S. I call him Gipis."

"Of course you do," I muttered. Dear Uber, maybe also add a sliding scale for the length of the crazy train the driver is riding. Sincerely, Bruised Shoulder.

"Oh sugar plum fairies!" Nancy shouted. "Hold onto your butts, we're gonna have to make a quick trip across traffic."

"What do you mea—" I was cut off when my shoulder hit the door again as we careened across four lanes of traffic to hit an off-ramp. Hand to God, the car tipped onto two wheels and literally screeched as we rounded the corner. She practically clipped the big yellow arrow signs indicating the sharp turn.

I gave up on Hail Marys and went straight to bribery. Please, baby Jesus. If I make it out of this alive, I'll go to church again. I'll be more patient with little old ladies. I'll give up carbs!

Okay, maybe not the last one. Would life even be worth living without some warm bread and a loaded plate of pasta?

"Phew! We made it," Nancy said on a laugh. She patted the dash, "Good girl, Betsy."

Of course she named the car too. But who was I to judge since I named my vibrator?

When we pulled up to departures, I almost shed a tear. I'd never been so happy to see an airport in my life. Now, it was time to disappear. Again. Only this time I wasn't leaving with a fond farewell, I was leaving with stolen cash and property. And potentially leaving behind an angry mob.

"Bye Lydia! Don't forget to rate and review!" Nancy called, waving like a lunatic from beside the car. I gave her the peace sign and made my way through security. I gave her four stars because I didn't die, which I guess was her main job.

I didn't fully relax until the plane was taxiing down the runway, taking me away from that crazy town and toward Winding Ridge Guest Ranch in the mountains of Maryland. I figured there was no way the lazy bums at the compound would follow me all the way out there.

Chapter TwoCash

"Howdy city slickers," I drawled in my best imitation of an old west cowboy. I even tipped my hat and winked at the gaggle of ladies, undoubtedly a bachelorette party. They dissolved into giggles and sighs. I rode Dexter, my paint stallion, slowly in front of the group to emphasize the sway of my hips.

"No doubt you're here at Winding Ridge Guest Ranch to get away from your hectic lives, enjoy some fresh air, and possibly wrangle some cattle," pause for dramatic effect, "or some hot cowboys." Another half-smile and wink to the ladies.

"Are you available?" one of them called out.

"Becky!" her friend scolded through giggles and smacked her arm.

I took in Becky's tight T-shirt. Her Daisy Duke shorts rode up her tan thighs as she rested one shiny cowboy boot on the bottom rung of the fence. She tilted her head to the side and gave me a sultry smile. I returned it with my best smolder. Her smile deepened. Yup, flirting with wanna-be cowgirls was definitely a perk to co-owning a ranch excursions business with my brothers.

I continued the rehearsed welcome speech, "Although all of that is true, this is still a working ranch. The horses don't care if you've had a late-night dancing at Stables or fell in some poison ivy. They need to get fed, watered, exercised, and cleaned daily. Part of the package is to experience life on the ranch. And it doesn't all smell like fresh cut leather. Your boots are gonna get dirty, your skin is gonna get tan, and your muscles" another pause to flex ever so slightly, "are gonna get worked."

"I'll work your muscle anytime, cowboy." This from Becky again.

Her friend, mouth hanging open, smacked her arm again and stage whispered, "I can't believe you just said that!"

I brought Dexter to a halt and leaned forward on the horn of the saddle. "My name is Cash McAllister, and I'll be one of your guides during your experience. My three brothers will be along shortly to introduce themselves as well."

Becky's friend whisper squealed, "There are four of them!?!"

I chuckled. "Don't get too excited, ladies. My two older brothers, Brody and Brock, already have cowgirls warming their beds at night. You'll meet Tessa and Kennedy soon enough as well. We're a family business." And hopefully none of these new customers would tell Kennedy I called her a cowgirl. I'd catch hell for that comment for sure. But it was true. Although Winding Ridge Guest Ranch was my idea originally, all of the McAllisters—original and recent add-ons—jumped right in to make my vision a reality.

I looked around for my brother, Colton. That was his cue to come riding over the hill and help me escort the groups to their cabins. Becky would lose her shit when she saw we were identical twins.

"Any questions so far?" I asked, stalling. I took my eyes off the busty Becky to assess the rest of the group. Becky had three other friends with her. One, the astonished arm-slapping friend, wore a blinking "bride" button. Yup. Definitely bachelorette party. They were all bright-eyed, scantily clad, and heavily made up. I forced myself not to roll my eyes. They would be next to worthless as far as chores went, would be my guess. In the year we'd been doing this—hosting excursions on the old Pullman property, now renamed after the closest mountain range—bachelorette parties tended toward hung over, flirty, and full of excuses to never pick up a shovel. They'd show up for the horseback rides and bonfires. But hell, their money spent the same.

I answered a few mundane questions about the animals and specific chores, the land and the town while I moved my eyes over the other guests.

A father-son duo. Son was trying to look bored, but he was eyeing up Dexter with interest. I made a mental note to get him into the stables sooner rather than later. He shrugged off his dad's hand from his shoulder. Interesting dynamic. But having been a teenaged boy myself, I empathized completely. He'd probably rather be spending his summers playing video games or with friends.

A family group stood next to them—two moms, two kids sans electronic devices in their hands. Bonus points, moms. I loved when we had kids in the group. They were always eager to help with anything. Didn't always get it right, but they got an A-plus for enthusiasm. I had a good feeling about these two.

Separated a little from the group was a single woman on her own. She had on sunglasses and a wide-brimmed sun hat that dropped her face in shadow. Whereas Becky's crew was one smirk away from dropping their shorts to get my attention, this woman looked like she wanted to throat punch the giggling gaggle. Her body language exuded annoyance as Becky made another blatant sexual innuendo.

Singletons weren't the norm. I made a mental note to check her file, make sure she wasn't a magazine reviewer or part of some health code inspection or something.

I was about to pull out my cell phone to call Colt—usually a no-no since we wanted to give the customers the impression they were off the grid—when his procrastinating ass finally rode over the hill behind me. I gave him my best cowboy scowl.

"Sorry, brother," he called as he slowed his horse next to mine. "Got caught up with Ms. Woodhouse's spaniel." I glanced at him for real; he was still wearing his scrubs.

Becky's friend looked from me to Colt and back again. We get that a lot as identical twins. "I've died and gone to Heaven," she whispered. "Maybe getting married isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Dibs on the doctor," another from their group called out.

Colt laughed beside me and introduced himself. "Dr. Colton McAllister, local veterinarian. But you can call me Colt. Sorry I'm late. You all must be ready to see the cabins." He swung a leg over the saddle and dismounted in a fluid motion. I followed suit, and we tied our horses to the fence post.

"Our ranch hands have already taken your belongings to your cabins," Colt said. We fell in step together and walked down the fence line to the gate. As expected, the group followed us on the other side. If Becky swung her hips any harder, I was afraid she might pop one out.

"In your cabins you'll find itineraries for tonight and tomorrow. Some things are planned for you based on the questionnaire you answered when you registered. Others are choices you can make based on our ranch schedule. Meals times are non-negotiable on the ranch. You miss a scheduled meal, you're on your own," I explained. When we reached the gate, Colt and I jumped up and over it in almost a simultaneous action. That got us an enthusiastic round of applause from the ladies of the group. Damn, if that impressed them, wait until we roped some cattle later.

Colt picked up the instructions as we led the group down a short path to the row of small cabins where the guests stayed. "We've also provided you a list of businesses in town, a map of the ranch and the local area, and some favorite sightseeing spots outside of Winding Ridge. If you're gonna wander into the mountains, please let one of us know. There are some predatory critters—bobcats, coyotes, black bear—that could make your trek less than ideal. But don't worry. The old adage is true—they are just as scared of you."

"Bears," the little boy whispered in awe.

I smiled at him. My turn again. "Each day you'll find a new itinerary along with the morning paper on your cabin doorstep. The cabins do include indoor plumbing," a brief pause for some light laughter, "and the bathrooms and kitchenettes are stocked with supplies. If you find you're missing anything, use the numbers listed in your welcome packets to request whatever you need. We take care of each other out here on the ranch."

And, just like clockwork, we finished our speech as we approached the first in a row of cabins. I pulled the assignment list from my shirt pocket.

"James and Kedron Robertson," I called. The father-son duo stepped forward. "Y'all are in Leatherwood Cabin. Hope to see you tonight at dinner." I handed them their key and watched as they climbed the few steps onto the small porch.

We moved down the row to the next detached cabin. The cabins were close enough together for the staff at our guest ranch to easily keep an eye on them but still far enough apart to offer some privacy.

"The Collins family," I read next. "You are staying in Prickly Gooseberry Cabin."

"That's a funny name," the little girl giggled.

"I suppose it is," I said with a smile. "All the cabins are named after endangered plant species." I leaned down and stage whispered, "My brother Brock's fiancee is a bit of a plant nerd." She giggled again then raced her brother onto the porch. The moms followed looking a bit weary.

"L. Williams," I read. I looked up, but no one volunteered. "Is there an L. Williams here?" I repeated. It had to be the singleton of the group—the overly dressed, sassy RBF currently scowling at the bachelorette party. I caught Colt's eye and nodded at her.

"Miss," he said, touching her elbow. She jumped a mile. "Sorry. Are you L. Williams?"

"I guess I am," she said.

"You'll be bunking here in Yellow Foxglove Cabin," I explained as she approached.

She lifted her head, and I was struck by the curve of her jaw and her angular nose. Her skin was a gorgeous shade somewhere between olive and russet, giving my own tanned skin an almost pasty pallor as her hand brushed mine to take the cabin keys. She barely glanced at me as she strolled past, her long black braid swinging with each step. Intrigued, I watched as she made her way up the steps of her cabin porch.

Once she was inside, I turned my attention back to the bachelorette party. Two of them were practically hanging on Colt, asking him all about how he saved little puppies.

"Last, but certainly not least," I said, bringing their attention back to me. "For Laura's Ladies," I tipped my hat at the bride. She blushed crimson. "We have our deluxe cabin Pearly Everlasting." I offered the key to Becky. She placed her hand in mine, and I closed my fist around her fingers. In a move I knew would thrill, I pulled her close so our bodies were almost touching. "Don't be afraid to call me if you get scared tonight," I drawled, looking directly into her eyes.

She leaned in, closing the distance between us. All I had to do was dip my head and my face would be buried her beautiful breasts. Unfortunately, my mama would kill me if she found out I disrespected a woman like that, so I refrained.

Becky whispered, "I'll be sure to." She pushed one of her thighs between mine and pressed herself against me. With one last squeeze of her thighs around mine, she finally backed up and said, "I hope you're on the itinerary, Cash McAllister."

Well, shit. Riding Dexter back to McAllister Ranch was going to be as hard as my dick.

TO BE CONTINUED in Cowboy, Save MeComing to Amazon and KU in September

The first few chapters of How to Date a Rock Star, the latest addition to the highly-acclaimed How to Date series by Karigan Hale, are available for free. Read on to see if Xavier can get over his unrequited crush on Lizzie and find love in the mountains of Maryland.

CHAPTER 1

Perfect. A blinding storm was just what Xavier Drake needed to cement this day as the worst day ever. Cursing his choice to trade in his reliable yet clunky four-wheel-drive truck, he slowed his new sports car to a crawl as the rain pelted his windshield. Even on the highest setting, his whining windshield wipers were no match for the sheets of sideways rain obscuring any visibility. And he might as well turn the damn headlights off for as much good as they were doing.

If this winding, backwoods road had a shoulder—which it did not—he would have pulled over in a heartbeat to wait out the storm. Instead, he now understood the phrase "Jesus, take the wheel" as he white-knuckled it slowly around each unfamiliar curve.

"Take some time off," he said, mimicking his agent's annoying nasal voice. "It'll help the creative juices flow. Give you back your flavor." He cursed as a bolt of lightning lit up the sky and blinded him for a brief second. "Great advice, Eric. But I won't have any juicy flavors if I'm roadkill."

What the hell did that mean anyway—creative juices? He hated when people spoke abstractly. It wasn't constructive. Telling him to show his colors, add more spice, channel his muse—bullshit. As a former IT specialist, he wanted numbers and data and something constructive. Not flowery gibberish that helped exactly zero in getting him out of his current funk.

The deadline for his new album loomed two short weeks away. And all he had was one mediocre song and a handful of crap.

"You've got a lot of potential here," Eric told him earlier today after an especially painful recording session. "But there's something missing."

"Every change I've made you've rejected," Xavier reminded him. He cased his guitar and threw himself on the sofa in the control room. "I'm running out of ideas."

"Zay, you can't manhandle melody into shape. You've got to let it marinate and flow from your soul. Let the music"—Eric paused for dramatic effect—"shape you." He smiled as though he was giving actual clear advice. Xavier blinked at him.

"This isn't a cooking show. This is my career," he mumbled after Eric continued to look at him expectantly.

"Fine. You want real talk?" Eric asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"Yes. Finally. That's what I've been asking for," Xavier said.

"If you don't come up with something spectacular in the next two weeks, something to echo the success of your first record, the label is going to drop you faster than a whore drops to her knees. Is that real enough for you?"

Hence the Worst Day Ever. Putting him on a two-week deadline to somehow mine gold out of the pile of musical shit he had to work with definitely didn't help his creativity marinate. The pressure only amped up his anxiety and cock-blocked his ideas. He needed a goddamn miracle.

Since staring at the same four walls of his in-house studio or the same four walls of the recording studio wasn't creating that miracle, Xavier took Eric's advice and rented a cabin in the mountains of Western Maryland to get away for a while and clear his head. Isolation. Fresh mountain air. Nature. And best of all—no nagging agents or record labels.

Maryland weather—notorious for changing whenever a mouse farted—lived up to its reputation by ruining a brilliantly bright day with a torrential and somewhat unexpected thunderstorm just as dusk fell. And he was currently driving through the center of that storm.

He probably had a little black rain cloud hovering right over his car and following him all the way to his destination. So much for fresh air. If this storm didn't let up, he'd be stuck in the cabin staring at those same four walls and still not making progress on his songs.

He leaned forward in his seat, straining the seat belt, trying to see more than two feet in front of his face. Was it raining harder? The thunder was a constant rumble in his ears. Could he use that as a lyric?

God, the first album had been so easy it lulled him into a false sense of confidence. He'd had a ton of material to work with since he'd been shoving music in a dresser drawer since high school. He'd also had Lizzie Vandevere as inspiration. Nothing like unrequited love and a broken heart to inspire song. After pouring his feelings into the music, he realized he was more in love with the idea of her instead of the real her. Good thing, too, because she ended up marrying his brother, Zander.

In fact, Xavier had Lizzie to thank for his music career in the first place. Not only did she inspire some of his best songs, but she initially posted the first video of him singing on the internet. He'd read about people becoming YouTube stars, but he never, in a million years, thought it would happen to him. Until it happened to him.

His first album, titled Between Reality and Dreams, smashed the charts to everyone's surprised delight. Then came the whirlwind of talk shows and promotional shoots and award shows and article interviews and pop-up performances and celebrity appearances and planning his concert tour. All the while, the record label expected him to keep writing new songs. In every fucking interview the host asked, "What are you working on now?" or "Can we get a sneak peek into your next album?" or "When's the next album come out?"

He'd finally understood why Zander and Lizzie got so annoyed when, immediately after their wedding, everyone asked when they were going to have kids. Like, can a man have a moment to enjoy his current success before being pressured into more?

But like Eric said, he needed to ride the wave of his momentum. Get another album out while his fame burned hot. Unfortunately, what no one quite grasped was he'd had decades to perfect his first album. And very little pressure. Now, everyone expected him to replicate that genius in less than a year while being pulled in eight hundred other directions. And, more importantly, without a muse like Lizzie to create poetry in his heart.

The only constants in his life this past year were insomnia and Eric. And no one wanted to hear songs about his balding, fake-tanned, forty-something agent. This excursion into the mountains would at least jolt him out of his daily routine if nothing else.

Hell, maybe he could pretend a deer was a female rebuffing his advances. He was willing to try just about anything at this point.

Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky as the thunder cracked simultaneously. "Shit!" Xavier shouted, automatically slamming on the brakes and sending the car into a slide. The next bolt of lightning illuminated the road ahead. And a huge tree laying across the roadway. He tried to control his car as he hydroplaned back and forth across both lanes.

Well, dying in a car accident was one way he could get out of his deadline, Xavier thought.

Right before he crashed into the tree.

CHAPTER 2

“One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.” Molly Edwards counted the seconds between the streak of lightning and the inevitable crack of thunder. The bolts were getting closer. Which meant her power was probably—definitely—going to go out. Great. She loved living in the mountains, away from big cities and prying eyes, but sometimes she missed the comforts of civilization. Like cable television and food delivery and reliable electricity.

She and Tank, her ferocious, seven-pound Yorkipoo, were enjoying the storm. The cool air brought in by the sudden summer thunderstorm provided some much-needed relief from her non-air-conditioned cabin. She ignored the way the tall trees surrounding her yard swayed precariously in the wind. Storms calmed her, a fact most people found weird, but she didn’t apologize for it. Storms always brought something with them or revealed something in their wake. In a world where she strived to make everything predictable, a storm defied her wishes. Nature’s unpredictability was the only kind she could handle, and she welcomed it as a reprieve from her everyday structure.

Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky. Molly started counting seconds biding her time until the storm chased her inside. When the crash was followed by the low hum of a car horn in the distance and not lightning, she stopped. The horn didn’t.

She jumped to her feet, startling the little dog who started barking at the darkness. A droning horn in this storm could only mean one thing: someone had an accident. She couldn't fathom why someone chose to drive on her lonely road in the middle of this deluge. Must not be a local, she thought.

Well, she couldn't just strand them there. She grabbed her cell phone, rain slicker, and four-wheeler keys from inside the door and ran to the garage with Tank yipping at her heels.

"Stay here, boy," she said. Tank danced around her but stayed in the garage as she backed the four-wheeler out of it. She closed the garage door behind her so he wouldn't be tempted to follow her, then took off toward the whining horn.

The wind quickly whipped off her slicker hood, and she could feel the cool rain dripping down her neck and back. Another flash of lightning revealed part of her driveway washed out ahead. She gritted her teeth, braced herself, and gunned the engine a little harder. A huge splash and a little fishtailing later, she made it through—completely sodden but still upright and moving. The horn got progressively louder as she closed the distance.

When she approached the scene, her heart sank a little. As far as she could see in the pinpoint light from her four-wheeler's headlights, no one stood beside the vehicle. The vehicle—a sporty, red roller skate of a car—was smashed against a huge tree that had fallen across the roadway. Not good.

Molly scrambled off her four-wheeler slipping on the rain-soaked roadway. She pulled her hood back up, mostly to keep the torrential rain out of her eyes and moved closer to the tree. She had to climb over it to access the car. A stationary figure lay hunched over the steering wheel.

She wrenched open the driver side door, coughing from the scent of the deployed airbags, and flipped on her flashlight to assess the figure's condition. A male. A big male if the breadth of his shoulders was any indication. She didn't see a lot of blood, which was good, but he also wasn't moving, which was problematic. No way she could move him on her own.

His head faced the passenger side, so she went around to see if she could check his pulse and breathing. Please let him be breathing. Pushing a fast-food bag out of the way, she knelt on the seat to lean across. She gasped when she saw his face. Not only because of the blood streaking down it, but also because it was one of the most perfect faces she'd ever seen. Long, angular nose. Strong, defined jawline. Long, thick eyelashes. Full, kissable lips. She was stunned to stillness. Something about him looked familiar.

Probably because he looked like every guy in her dreams.

At least the half she could see. The rest of his face was still smooshed against the steering wheel.

She forced her eyes away from his chiseled features—of all the times for her dormant libido to suddenly wake up—to try to assess his injuries. She leaned in a little closer and reached out to trace his cheekbone. He moaned, and she jumped back, hitting her head on the ceiling and dropping the flashlight out of the car.

"Ow," she said, rubbing her head.

The man shifted slightly, and then leaned back in the seat. A huge gash marred his otherwise perfect forehead. Strands of his thick blonde hair were matted in the blood which had run down his face and soaked into his shirt. Molly took out her cell phone to call 911. When it didn't start ringing right away, she checked the screen. Zero bars. Shit. She kicked herself for not bringing the walkie-talkie.

Another bolt of lightning lit up the car, and Molly screamed. The man's eyes were open and focused on her.

"Holy shit," she said, placing a hand over her racing heart. "Are you okay?"

He moaned, and his eyes shut again.

"Okay. Semiconscious. I can work with that," she said. "I hope." She unlatched his seat belt, and he groaned again.

Molly glanced at the distance between the parked four-wheeler and the driver's side door—and then at the massive tree separating them. She had to figure out a way to get the off-roader closer without also getting it stuck in the mud runoff on the side of the road.

With one last glance at the man in the car, she trekked back to where she'd parked. She sighed, assessing her options. None of which were promising. She didn't have a choice—she'd have to chance the mud. She drove carefully off the driveway into the woods until she sat perpendicular to the car.

Saying a small prayer and going for fast and powerful, Molly gunned the engine and shot up the embankment. Her back tires started spinning up mud as soon as the front tires found purchase on the asphalt. She leaned forward, trying to propel it up the hill through sheer force of will.

"Come on, asshole!" she yelled into the storm.

Just as she was about to give up and move to Plan B, the front tires dragged the vehicle onto the road. She whooped for joy, then maneuvered it as close to the driver's door as she could. She'd figure out how to get them both back down to the driveway later. One step at a time.

The man was in the same position as when she left. Even with the rain beating down around her, Molly hesitated. This was a strange man—a big, strange man—who would regain consciousness at some point. She was risking a lot by taking him into her home. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know what he was doing out here on this road at this time of night in a storm. Molly bit her bottom lip. She should just drive back to the house, call 911, and let them take care of it. She glanced at the fallen tree across the road and then at the dark expanse in the other direction. If the road washed out as it usually did during storms like this, no one would be able to reach them. Could her conscience live with the fact that she just left him here? Could she risk her regulated privacy by bringing him back to her home?

He moaned softly then but didn’t open his eyes. His skin was pale and ashen aside from the streaks of blood dripping down his face. Her conscience won out. She’d walkie-talkie the sheriff when they returned to her house, and she’d just have to pray the road stayed passable.

Carefully, so as not to startle him, she shook his arm.

"Hey," she said quietly. When he didn't move, she shook him harder. "Hey! Mister!"

He lolled his head and blinked his eyes a little.

"That's it. Come on, dude. Wake up," she cajoled. He blinked slowly.

"Wha-what…" he tried to speak. Then his eyes rolled back in his head again.

"Oh no you don't. Stay with me." Molly grabbed his chin and pulled his face around to hers. She had to shout over the horn. "I'm Molly. You've been in an accident. I'm going to get you to safety, but I need your help."

"Mol-Molly?" he croaked.

"Yes. Molly. Can you walk?" she asked. She glanced down to his legs, realizing that with the front-end damage to the car, his legs could very well be trapped in the twisted metal. The shadow of both feet had her sighing in relief.

He moaned again. She grabbed the thigh closest to her and lifted his foot out of the car. So far, so good. She reached in to do the same to the other leg. Not as hard as she thought. She stood up to see how she could get his upper body out, but he had already twisted in the seat with one arm leaning on the steering wheel. Yes!

"Okay," she shouted to him. "I'm going to give you my back. Lean on me, okay? We only have to make it the four-wheeler." She thought he nodded.

She backed up and basically sat on his lap. She felt his heavy hand on her shoulder and braced herself for the rest of his weight. He paused a little too long, so she slapped his knee and yelled, "Now! Let's go!"

He grunted and draped himself over her back. Even with his minimal help, Molly struggled not to collapse under his weight.

"You couldn't have been a petite teenager, huh?" she grunted as they awkwardly double stepped toward the four-wheeler.

Somehow, either because the cold, pelting rain jolted the guy awake or by some divine intervention, Molly wrangled them both onto the four-wheeler. She gave a look at the car with the door still hanging open and thought about trying to close it.

For about a half second. Screw it. Based on the front-end damage, the car was toast. A little rain wouldn't hurt it. It may even alert any other motorists stupid enough to travel in this weather of the trouble. In any case, saving the car a little rain damage did not outweigh the risk of this guy falling off the four-wheeler if she got off.

She turned the four-wheeler around and drove toward her neighbor's driveway instead of attempting to get their disproportionate weight down the muddy embankment. Even though this path would take longer, she didn't want to risk tipping.

She could feel the man's heat against her back as he leaned heavily against her. His grip around her waist slackened from time to time, so she pinched his arm to keep him awake. He tightened his grip. She'd apologize for the bruises later.

The rain pelted her as she struggled to control the vehicle, her semiconscious passenger, and her limited vision. She could once again hear the booming thunder as the sound of the horn faded the farther they drove away. If this weather kept up, the road was likely to be flooded from mountain runoff. It had happened before. She had to get back to the house fast enough to call for help before it did.

To be Continued in How to Date a Rock Star

Available NOW on Amazon and in KU

#firstchapter #sneakpeek #mcallisterbrothersseries #kariganhale

Cowboy, Take Me Away is the first book in a NEW series - the McAllister Brothers Series. This trilogy follows the brothers--Brody, Brock, Cash, and Colt--as they try to find love in the rural mountains of Maryland.

Hot cowboys, lonely nights, and a splash of suspense make this series HOT and DANGEROUS!

He makes his living as a cattle rancher. She's an animal activist. When an outside force threatens both their lives, they'll have to find common ground to survive. But can they also find love?

Keep reading for a sneak peek into Brock and Kennedy's story.

You ever have an "OH SHIT!" moment? I'm not talking about the lowercase "oh shit, I got mustard on my new blouse" kind of moment. No, I'm talking about the all caps, multiple exclamation point, probably warrants the F-word moment. That's the kind of moment I had when I woke up in a strange bedroom. Back in college, it wouldn't have seemed so bizarre. What happens in college, stays in college—am I right? But I was almost thirty, and my bed-hopping days were behind me.

So, whose bed was I in?

The only logical conclusion? I was still dreaming. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will myself to wake up.

I counted to three, pinched my own arm, and opened my eyes again. The shadows took shape as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Dirty clothes piled in the corner. A nightstand with semi-circle water stains. Window covered in crooked blinds.

Nope. Definitely not my place. This place reeked of bachelor.

Oh shit, again. Memories from last night came into focus slowly, much like the shapes in the room. The bachelor that undoubtedly belonged to this place was a guy named Brock whom I met last night at a bar. A Hollywood handsome cowboy clad in well-worn jeans, cowboy boots, and a "wanna tame me?" smile. Couple that with the dark hair and blue eyes, and he was basically my kryptonite.

How did I go from checking him out at the bar to waking up in his bed? On a work night, no less. I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes to try to remove the fog brought on by sleep and, if the raging headache was any indication, the beginning of a hangover.

I remembered being with my coworker and best friend, Darcy, at Stables, the local bar and grill where any respectable citizen of Hillcrest found themselves during happy hour. We'd ordered our usual—beer and mozzarella sticks—thankful to have gotten there a little early to avoid the after-five crowd for a little bit. That way we had some time to enjoy each other’s company before the buzzed pick-up crew started in with "Let me buy you a drink, sweetheart" and "You girls look lonely, mind if I join you?" Or my personal favorite, "Looks like you ladies are missing some meat at this party." Because starting with a reference to your penis is always a good idea, said no woman ever.

Darcy complained about her long-distance relationship with her douchebag boyfriend Mitch, and Jeb, the bartender, flirted with us. So all in all, a typical Thursday night.

An hour after we arrived, every stool around the bar was full, and Darcy and I were on our third round. With only mozzarella sticks in my belly, I felt the lovely effects of the alcohol blurring the edges of my consciousness. Enough to make me aware that my voice was a little louder than necessary but also enough to not really care overly much. I was thinking about asking for the check when Darcy nudged my arm.

"Don't look now, but I think that cowboy at the end of the bar has been checking you out," she loud whispered. I turned in my seat to see who she was talking about, but she hit me on the arm. "I said don't look!"

"Of course I'm going to look!" I exclaimed.

"Well, don't make it obvious," she said.

"Which one?" I asked, trying to make it look like I was just scanning the crowd.

"Last seat on the left. Dark wash jeans, black baseball cap."

I gave her an incredulous look. She just described every other guy in here. Hillcrest pretty much had two types: ranchers and townies. Ranchers wore jeans, hats, and boots. Almost exclusively. They'd sometimes switch between a t-shirt or a button-down flannel depending on the occasion. Townies wore khakis and dress shirts to happy hour since they came from their office jobs in the neighboring city.

"I said the hat was black," Darcy said, flipping her dark braid over her shoulder in an attempt to appear nonchalant. "Oh, Jeb is talking to him now."

I swiveled around in my stool to peer down the bar. Jeb and a well-built cowboy around my age were doing the fist-grab lean-in thing guys do with friends. I didn't recognize the guy, but I was still relatively new to town, so that wasn't surprising.

And I knew I'd remember seeing this particular cowboy. My half-intoxicated lady bits squeezed their approval as his lean into the bar lifted his finely sculpted ass off his bar stool.

"Do you know who he is?" I asked Darcy, my voice huskier than usual.

"Nope. I don't think he's been in before when we've been here." Then, her chocolate eyes lit up.

Uh-oh, I know that look. I braced myself for her next sentence which was sure to be ridiculous.

"You should go home with him!"

"Are you out of your mind?" I exclaimed. "He's a stranger. I don't want to end up on Dateline."

"What?" she asked, feigning innocence. "Jeb knows him. He's cute. And I bet he's good in the sack. You should give him a test drive and let me know if it's worth me breaking things off with Mitch."

"Ew! You'd want my sloppy seconds?"

"If it's good, why not?" she said, laughing again. I shook my head at her.

"Ooo, he has a friend with him," I said, pointing at the equally handsome cowboy sitting next to him. "Why don't you put your money where your mouth is and join me in one-night-stand land," I challenged.

"Kens, you know I have Mitch. I'm not going to cheat on him," she said, but her smile faltered a little. Trouble in paradise—as usual.

"Well, I'm not interested in a one-off right now, either. I have too much going on at work to worry about stroking some guy's ego," I said and downed the last of my beer.

"His ego isn't what I would stroke. But to each their own," she said and winked.

I rolled my eyes at her and squinched up my nose. She laughed. "Don't be such a prude. Oh, another thought: what if he's just passing through? That would be the perfect one-night stand!"

"Darcy, I just told you I'm not into one-night stands," I reminded her. My eyes kept drifting back to the stranger at the end of the bar though. He couldn't have been more my type if Santa's elves had hand-crafted him based on my exact criteria and placed him in this bar with a big ol' "For Kennedy" tag. Dark hair peeked out from beneath his backward baseball hat. His tan skin emphasized the blue of his eyes, which caught the light even at this distance. A hint of a beard ran along his jawline. His t-shirt fit snug around his arm muscles and chest. I bet he could carry me to bed with little to no effort...

Not that I was contemplating that. I wasn't. Not at all.

I. Wasn't. Looking. For a. One-night stand.

"Why not?" Darcy asked, giving voice to my inner monologue. I indulged in another slow scan of Mr. McMeltme. One might even say I was undressing him with my eyes. His clothes said cowboy—and you know what they say about cowboys and the way they ride horses. So, why not indeed?

Maybe there was more than one thing to do in this small town after all.

"You know what? Besides deeply instilled morals from many, many Sunday school sessions, there really isn't a good reason. I'm a liberated, modern woman," I said in my best uppity southern drawl, emphasizing the silent "h" in front of woman.

Darcy laughed. "Indeed. Hey, Jeb!" Jeb sauntered over. "Is that guy you were talking with a serial killer?"

"Who? Brock? Or Cash?" Jeb asked, glancing over his shoulder. I caught the cowboy's eye, and he lifted one side of his mouth into a knowing smirk. That look said, "I know you're checking me out. I know you like what you see." It was both infuriating and sexy as hell. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"The cute one with the backwards hat," Darcy clarified.

"That's Brock. And he's not a serial killer," Jeb confirmed. "Neither is his brother, Cash."

"They're brothers?" Darcy squeaked and squeezed my arm. This scenario was quickly shifting from Dateline to Pornhub. At least in Darcy's mind.

"Married?" I asked, shaking her grip loose.

"Nope."

"Gay?" Most good ones were.

This got us a smirk from Jeb as well. "Not according to most of the girls from our high school."

"Then Kennedy wants to buy Brock a drink," Darcy said.

Jeb raised his eyebrows at me. Do or die moment. I glanced at Darcy's encouraging expectant face. My inner letch had the same expression.

It must have been the alcohol, but I heard myself say, "Yup. Make sure he knows it's from me."

Jeb chuckled. "Bold move," he said as he walked away to fill my order and deliver it to the cowboy.

Please baby Jesus—or Santa's elves—let the handsome stranger just be passing through. That way if this did turn into a one-night stand, I'd never have to see him again. Since Brock still stared at me, I gave him my own flirty smile in return, ran a finger around the top of my beer bottle, and slowly licked the beer from it.

That part of the night was pretty clear at least. I bought him a drink. He sauntered over, pure cowboy with every step, oozing sex and confidence. I tried not to spill beer on my shirt. We talked. He bought me a drink. We danced. We drank some more.

That's where the memories take a deep dive into a murky abyss. Were we at a hotel? Did we have sex? Do I have my car? Shit. How much did I have to drink?

Three beers with Darcy. At least two with Brock. Five drinks. And a shot? Do I remember a shot? Not good, Kens. Thanks to two dead-beat alcoholic parents, I closely monitored my own alcohol consumption. Usually. And no wonder after a childhood riddled with memories of blackouts and fights and hangovers and "I don't remember"s.

One cute cowboy in jeans that hugged him in all the right places, and I'd thrown caution to the wind.

Wait. Maybe he drugged me! I narrowed my eyes but didn't remember leaving my drink unattended. Besides, Jeb had vouched for him. And really, anyone who wore jeans like that didn't have to use drugs to get a woman.

Tentatively, I reached under the covers to assess my clothing situation. No shirt, but I still had on my bra. And my skirt. And my underwear. I gave a silent shout-out to past me for getting dressed so I wouldn't have to rummage around the dark room for my clothing in nothing but my birthday suit.

I chanced a glance behind me on the bed where a lumpy form laid with its back to me. Must be Brock. I studied his form for a moment in the shadowy darkness. Broad shoulders, muscular back, narrow hips. Damn, he looked good even in silhouette. Given the sizable rod that poked me in the back while we danced, I bet sex with him was great.

I just wish I could remember it.

Well, time for the walk of shame. I had work in a few hours and needed to do something about this raging headache. I checked my phone which I found on the nightstand beside me—two o'clock. Great. I was going to be a zombie at work. At least it was Friday.

I stood up and immediately fell back onto the bed again as the room around me spun. Not from drunkenness this time, but from the aforementioned headache pounding in all corners of my brain. Brock shifted behind me. I willed myself to get it together, squinted my eyes against the pain, and like the strong, independent woman my mother raised me to be, tiptoed out of the room as quietly as I could.

And right into the happy, drooling face of a golden retriever. He whined a little and shifted on his haunches, his tail thumping on the hardwood as it wagged.

"Hi, buddy," I whispered. "I'm just gonna grab my... uh, things," I said, pointing to my missing shirt on the floor of the hallway.

He licked his lips and whined a little louder. "Please don't bark," I pleaded. "We met last night. At least I assume we did." I had no memory of it, but he wasn't growling like I was some stranger, so I assumed that was true. Unless the poor mutt was used to strange women roaming around his owner's house in the middle of the night. Perfect, I was an alcoholic and a slut. Like mother, like daughter.

I shook the familiar self-deprecating thoughts aside to search for my other missing belongings. Finding my purse and shoes a little further down the hallway—must have been a hell of a shag if we couldn't even wait to get into the bedroom before undressing—I let myself out onto the front porch of a cute little cabin. The dog disappeared into the bedroom as I closed the door behind me. Only a big black pick-up truck sat in the driveway. Which meant I'd left my car at Stables. Great. Probably a good idea at the time since my memory lapses clearly show I shouldn't have been driving. But damn. Can't a girl catch a break?

Hesitating only a moment, I dialed Darcy. That heifer got me into this mess, she could help bail me out.

If she answered.

I hung up when I got her voice mail and tried again.

I was cursing Darcy with terrible, incurable acne as her voice mail picked up for the third time when a ball of yellow fur flew off the porch beside me. Lowering the phone, I turned around slowly. Brock leaned against the door frame, baby blue eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and arms crossed over his very chiseled chest. My fingers itched to touch his bare skin, just to see if it would bring back any sensory memories from last night, but I managed to refrain.

Barely. His six-pack abs were made for running my hands over. Or maybe my tongue.

Definitely my tongue.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, his voice gravely and deep.

My eyes snapped from his abs to his face. I said, "Home. If I can find a ride."

"You weren't going to say good-bye?"

"You were sleeping. I didn't want to wake you."

"Well, I'm awake anyway. I can take you back to your car."

"Thanks. Darcy isn't answering," I explained, holding up my phone.

He grunted and turned to go back inside, presumably to get his keys. And hopefully a shirt or some pants. Those boxers left very little to the imagination. And I berated myself again for not remembering our romp in the sheets. I finally get some action with a super hot cowboy after months of a dry spell, and I can't even put it in my memory bank to use as fuel for my menage a moi sessions with my vibrator. I listened to the crickets and tree frogs calling to each other as I waited in the darkness. Maybe they'll have better luck remembering their booty calls.

The dog rubbed up against my leg and planted his head decisively under my hand. What could I do but pet him? Smart dog. With such soft fur.

"Aren't you a sweetie," I said. I bent down to get both hands into his fur behind his ears.

I was practically hugging him when the front door opened, and Brock emerged fully clothed—a blessing and a disappointment. He gave us an amused half-smirk and gestured to his truck. I stood to follow him. When he opened the back door, I almost snorted. Did he expect me to sit in the back like an Uber? I rolled my eyes, ready with a smart-ass comment, when he gave a quick, sharp whistle and the dog jumped in the back seat. He shut the door.

"You can sit up front," he said as though he read my mind. I pursed my lips at him and walked around the front of the cab.

"What's his name?" I asked as we pulled out of the long, gravel drive.

"Duke." At the mention of his name, Duke stuck his head between our seats and tried to lick my face. "Sit," Brock said firmly. The dog sat.

"He's great," I said. Brock nodded but didn't say anything else. We lapsed into a semi-uncomfortable silence, so I stared out the window. Trees lined one side of the driveway. I could see open fenced-in field on the other. Not a neighbor in sight. God, I was going to end up Dateline. I scooted closer to the window and comforted myself with the fact that Brock had chosen a golden retriever—the stuffed animal of dogs—as his companion instead of something more menacing. Like a wolf or hyena.

We turned on Main Street before Brock spoke. "You know, the streets are empty now if your offer of road head still stands."

Sharply, my eyes locked on him, and I leaned even further into the door away from him. Had I really offered road head? That didn't sound like me. Of course, I don't usually make drinking into blackout a habit either, so who knows what drunk, horny Kennedy did or said last night?

"I'll take your silence as a no," he said with a smirk. A smirk I found sexy last night as we danced but now wanted to wipe off his smug face.

"I think last night was quite enough," I said, hoping the vagueness was enough to cover whatever had happened between us last night. My headache and lack of memory was making me bitchy. He just chuckled and turned up the radio. No "come on, baby, one more time" or "my dick has your name written all over it"? Usually guys tried harder for a blowjob.

Wait. Did I suck in bed? Was he not begging me to stay for round two because the sex was bad? Is that why I couldn't remember it? My mind was blocking it out?

"You okay over there?" he asked, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "You're a bit pale."

"Headache," I mumbled. Not a lie.

"Yeah, I bet. Maybe lay off the drinks a little next time," he said.

"Excuse me?" Was he seriously lecturing me on drinking? After soliciting road head?

"Just an observation."

"I don't need advice from strangers about my drinking habits."

He grunted in response. How did I ever find this man attractive?

"Besides, you weren't complaining last night," I added as we drove into the Stables parking lot.

My little blue Kia sat alone under a light post. Brock parked alongside it.

"Neither did you. 'Cowboy, take me away', remember?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows a little.

A flash of memory clicked into place. Me willingly plastered against him while we danced to some country song. His erection pressing into my hip. His mouth on my ear as he whispered, "Wanna get out of here?" Me, in my best put-on sultry voice purring, "Cowboy, take me away."

Annoyance bit through my headache as I quickly got out of his truck. So, I said that. So what? Not my most original line—thank you Dixie Chicks— but it felt sexy and clever at the time. I scowled at him and said, "A real gentleman wouldn't remind me of it."

He waited until I had slammed the door to yell through the open window, "Hey Kennedy. Thanks for the dirty, wild ride. How's that for gentlemanly?"

And then, with a wink, the asshole left me standing there alone, in the dark, with my mouth hanging open as he sped away.

CHAPTER 2

"Come on, man. Why are you dragging your ass?" My brother, Cash ragged me the next morning. It was cock-crow o'clock in the morning, and we were on the ranch for morning chores. Cows and chickens could care less if you had a hangover or blue balls. And so, apparently, could my younger brother.

"I hope she was worth it," Brody, my oldest brother, chimed in with a smirk. There were four of us in all—the McAllister brothers—Brody, already married; me, the middle child; and the twins, Cash and Colton. Colt was off raising hell in veterinary school while the three of us were left ranching beef cattle on our ranch and taming horses on the newly acquired Walker ranch next door. Acquired because Brody married the farmer's daughter, Tessa. They'd been best friends since they were kids. Everyone saw their union coming except them.

"Hardly," I said in answer to his question. "I got zero sleep for nothing."

Brody stopped to lean on his shovel and look at me. "I swear I saw you bring a girl back to your place last night. You losing your game?"

"Hell, no. My game is just fine. She'd had too much to drink. As soon as her back hit the bed, she passed out," I admitted.

She'd teased me by avoiding my kisses and stripping off her shirt in the hallway. I was right behind her, I swear. But by the time I disentangled myself from Duke and followed her into my room, she was snoring away on my sheets.

"Oh man. That sucks!" Cash laughed. "You sure know how to pick 'em."

"Is that so? How'd it go with her friend? I didn't see her sneaking out of your room."

Cash busied himself with shoveling. "She has a boyfriend, apparently."

Now it was my turn to laugh.

"Didn't I teach you two better?" Brody shook his head in mock-disappointment. "Now that I'm married, someone has to carry on the McAllister legacy."

I snorted. "Right. The legacy of being in love with the same girl since you were 10? That legacy?"

"Seems to have worked out just fine for me. My girl stays in bed with me," Brock shot back and gave his wedding ring a kiss. Cash and I rolled our eyes.

"Seriously sorry about your date," Cash said. "She was hot."

Understatement of the year. I'd noticed her as soon as I walked into Stables last night. Correction, I noticed a red high heel attached to a long bare leg first. Hard to miss since every other female wore cowboy boots. I followed that shapely leg up to mid-thigh and the hem of her tight skirt. Then along the lines of her bare shoulders in the tank top she wore that left little to the imagination. Her short blond hair was swept to the side. She looked sophisticated and sexy. And city.

And just what I needed after a few months on the road. A quick one-off with a feisty stranger. No commitment, no problems.

No go.

Trying desperately to forget the feel of her ample tits pressed up against me while we danced, I resumed my shoveling of the stalls in the barn. We turned the horses out early so we could give their stables a good cleaning. I was itching to just ride—work off some of the pent-up energy I didn't get to release last night. Trust me, I tried everything to wake her up but drew the line at throwing cold water on her. Not that I wasn't tempted. It'd been a little while since I'd had a beautiful girl lying half naked on my bed. I'd hoped maybe she'd sleep it off a little bit and then wake up hornier than before. Instead, I caught her sneaking out.

Well, Duke caught her sneaking out. He woke me just in time to make sure her escape wasn't successful.

Sure, the gentlemanly thing to do would have been to assure her nothing had actually happened. Clearly, she didn't remember much. But when she opened her mouth and all that sass came out, I couldn't help adding fuel to her imagination. Serves her right for her "I've had my fill" comment. Had her fill, my ass. If she'd had a piece of Brock McAllister, she'd be begging for more.

Besides, she'd remember eventually, so no harm done. In all likelihood, we wouldn't cross paths again. Too bad, really, because she was a firecracker. She'd bought me a drink, for Christ's sake. No girl had ever done that before. I was about to do the same, but when that busty blond sent me the beer and sucked a finger into her mouth, I knew I was in for a fun night. Too bad she couldn't hold her liquor as well as she could hold a conversation. The flirtatious sparring was a welcome change from silly girls dissolving into giggles.

But thinking about what could have happened did not ease my current blue ball situation. I dug the shovel into another pile of dirty straw and nearly tumbled headfirst into the stable when the handle broke off.

"Shit!" I exclaimed, catching my balance on the wooden wall. Both brothers lifted their heads in question. I held up the shovel handle, sans shovel, for them to see. "Second one this week."

Brody's eyebrows knitted together. "Really? That shouldn't happen."

"Guess I don't know my own strength," I said, flexing for them.

Cash rolled his eyes. "I had one break on me last week too. I'll make a note not to buy this brand again."

"Let me see it." Brody held out his hand for the handle. I handed it over. He inspected the broken end.

"Look," he said, pointing at the handle. We looked. "This is a clean break not splintered. It almost looks like someone cut through it."

"Who would do that?" I asked. "Any ranch hands complaining lately?" We had a crew of a few dozen men—some from town, some wanderers—who worked for us seasonally. Most of them had been with us for years. I couldn't see any of them doing this maliciously.

"Not that I've heard about," Cash said. "Think it was a prank taken too far?"

"Monday morning, round everyone up. We'll have a meeting," Brody said.

"Three broken shovels warrants a meeting?" Cash asked with a snort of derision. "We'll be called 'Karen' behind our backs for sure."

Brody sighed. "Maybe I'm overreacting. Could just be a faulty batch of shovels. Or normal wear and tear. We have had these for years. Brock, what do you think?"

"Has anything else happened like this?" I asked. I hadn't noticed anything, but I'd been away for the last several months visiting other ranches on the East Coast researching ways to be environmentally sustainable. The McAllisters were going green.

Brody and Cash both shook their heads, unable to think of any other weird occurrences.

"I say we let it ride for now then. No need to get everyone riled up if it turns out to be coincidence," I said. "We need those guys when slaughter season starts."

Brody nodded and went back to his stall. He inspected his own shovel but must not have seen anything suspicious since he didn't say anything.

I grabbed a rake from the stack by the tack room to finish clearing the used straw from the stable.

That afternoon, I made a trip to the local hardware store to grab some new shovels. The owner, Mack, sat behind the counter. I told him about the broken shovels.

"Hmmm. Strange. That company is usually one of the best. Must have been a bad batch. I can cross-reference your order and send them a damage report," he offered.

"You don't have to go through all the trouble," I said, placing the new shovels on the counter for him to ring up. A flier on the community bulletin board beside the register caught my eye. On it, pigs stood huddled behind a chain link fence. The words blazoned on top were "Taking Action for Animals" with some random statistic about the conditions on factory farms. The fine print read "Humane Alliance of America, Garrett County Chapter."

I snorted and hitched a thumb toward it. "If you keep allowing that drivel in here, I may have to shop somewhere else." An empty threat, and Mack knew it. He had the only hardware store for a least thirty miles.

"Free speech and all that. I felt sorry for the poor girl. She's fighting an uphill battle in this town and seemed so earnest," he said.

"You old softie," I teased with a smile.

"Yeah, well. She's trying to get some momentum for a rally or walk or something that group is planning."

"Good luck to them," I said. Most of the people in Hillcrest were ranchers, and most of the rest relied on those ranchers for the local economy.

Mack finished ringing up my purchases, and I headed back to the ranch. But I couldn't stop thinking about the flier.

The animal activists had been more vocal lately in Hillcrest and the surrounding towns, but I hadn't given it much thought. McAllister Acres and Walker Ranch were not factory farms. Our cattle were pasture raised and grain fed—they had hundreds of acres to roam. The chickens were free-range, and our pigs lived their best life in a large paddock of their own. Still it pushed my buttons to think some goody-two-shoes city company thought they could come out here and put hard-working people out of business. Or at the very least make them feel guilty about the way they've been making a living their entire lives.

Now, the Pullmans were another story. Rumors about the less than savory treatment of their livestock had been circulating for years. If this activist group could put them out of business that would benefit our little farm tremendously. And save the animals, of course.

I shook my head at myself. I must still be grouchy from lack of sleep and lack of sex. None of my business how another family made their living.

I pushed the flier from my mind and turned up the radio. There was nothing a little Toby Keith couldn't cure.

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Exciting news! I've teamed up with over a dozen amazing women indie authors from around the globe to create a steamy short story collection where all characters find love--or at least lust--during quarantine. Yes, even during a pandemic, love survives. 

If you are looking for some quick sexy reads or some new authors, this is the series for you! We will be releasing a new story every 5 days! There are three available right now!

My story, Private Lessons in Lockdown, will be released on July 10th, but you can preorder it right now to make sure you don't miss it.  It is the steamiest story I've ever written! ;) 

Brock is called to the Principal's office for more than just a meeting.

An empty school. A year of flirting. A need for human touch. When Brock is called to the principal’s office, all of his principles disappear. He can't seduce his boss, but will he be able to resist if she seduces him?

Amanda Kincaid, principal of Deerfield High, has had her eye on the sexy Social Studies teacher for a year. A confident, powerful, no-nonsense leader, Amanda's naughty bits take over her brain when she's around him. Is the mandatory school closure the chance she needs to show Brock she's not only just his boss, but a woman as well?

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Read on for a sneak peek into the first few pages.

Part 1: Amanda

Amanda Kincaid, principal of Deerfield High School, didn’t imagine it that time; her social studies department chair definitely rubbed his knuckles against her thigh. On purpose.

For the third time. 

She quivered slightly at the contact. Ever since this social distancing mandate started, human touch was at a premium. Especially for Amanda, who was single and alone—something this pandemic painfully reminded her of daily. 

Well, except for her cat. And although Scamp was super soft, his touch wasn’t the one she craved. He also left cat hair everywhere.

Her human interaction went from about two thousand faces a day to maybe three on a good day ever since school buildings closed—opting for distance learning to help flatten the curve of the virus—about a month ago. Quite an adjustment for a people person like her. 

So, she’d called this in-person meeting with Brock Richards out of desperation for some face-to-face interaction. And right now, there wasn’t anyone else she’d rather see in person than Brock. Not only was he sexy as hell, but he always smelled delicious—musky and masculine. That just didn’t translate through an online video chat. Neither did the mosaic of his steel blue eyes.

When she suggested they meet in person, Amanda prepared herself for Brock to refuse. There really was no reason he had to come to Deerfield High School, where they both worked, to go over the schedule for next year. In fact, she’d met with all the other Department Chairs via video chat to discuss this very thing. 

But having Brock all to herself in the empty building proved too enticing. She’d been having fantasies about what they could do on her desk ever since she hired him at the beginning of the year. Totally inappropriate fantasies since she was his boss, but that just made her daydreams—and night dreams and wet dreams—all the more naughty and appealing.

Their interactions started innocently enough. They would cross paths in the hallway sometimes or at staff meetings. As department chair, and part of the leadership team, Brock had legitimate reasons for emailing her or visiting her office.

She’d noticed, though, that for the last few months before they closed schools for quarantine, the reasons he’d stopped by her office were often ones easily resolved via email. She one hundred percent didn’t mind seeing him in person, however. And she refused to believe she was overthinking his attention. That didn’t help fuel those fantasies.

She couldn’t get in trouble for just thinking about a subordinate, right?

To be continued in Private Lessons In Lockdown

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Enjoy the first two chapters of How to Date Your Boss: A steamy, snarky contemporary office romance. Nora and Andrew's story had been marinating in my brain for a long time before I had the courage to put it down on paper and then out in the world. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Especially the steamy parts. Let me know in the comments what you loved and what left you wanting more! I'd love to hear your thoughts. If you end up picking up a copy, please consider leaving a review on Amazon, Goodreads, or Book Bub. I use those comments to help with future books. Now Enjoy!! Chapter 1 “So that’s it then. You’re just kicking me out. Just like that?” Nora Ridgeway stood in her kitchen, hands on hips, staring incredulously at the man she’d just spent a year of her life with. A man currently trying to break-up with her. “I told you, you have two weeks to find somewhere else to live. I’m not just dumping you on the street,” Phillip DeGlass countered. “Two weeks—like you’re firing me from a job. How generous,” she rolled her eyes adding under her breath, “and impersonal.” “Come on, Nora, we both knew this was coming. Let’s not be dramatic.” “Knew it was coming?” her eyes snapped back to his face. “Do I seem like I knew it was coming?” Her mad kicked up now that the initial shock had worn off. “Sure, we’ve both been a little busy lately—you more so than me, now that I think about it. But really, Phillip, we never even discussed this. Don’t you think our relationship deserves at least that before you just up and end it without any discussion?” He sighed dramatically. An indication, she knew, that he had made his decision already and expected her to just fall in line and follow his directive. “What is there to say? We’ve grown apart. Why drag it out?” “Grown apart? If you had asked, I would have defined it as,” she waved her hand searching for a phrase, “relaxing comfortably into a relationship.” She paced across the kitchen. “But you didn’t ask. You decided we weren’t a suitable match and that’s it.” Nora stopped moving and stared at him, tears filling her eyes. “How can you just throw away an entire year? How can you just walk away like this is nothing more than a business deal gone bad? Without even talking to me about it first or trying to find a way to make it work?” He ran his fingers through his hair—a gesture she used to find sexy and endearing, but now made her want to tear out that glossy mane strand by strand. “Nora—” he sighed her name like she was a petulant child. That dried those tears right up. She was pissed again. “Did you ever love me? For real? Or was I just a convenient accessory to have around the house? A necessary addition to your ever important ‘image’? No,” she held up a hand to ward off his answer. “Don’t answer. I don’t want a placating lie, and I think I already know the truth.” “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and she almost, almost believed him. “Yeah, well, fuck you. I’ll be out before the two weeks.” “Take your time. I’m going on a business trip, so I won’t be here anyway,” he said. “Isn’t that convenient,” she muttered. He actually had the gall to look at his watch. “I leave tonight.” Her mouth dropped open. “I thought it would be easier this way.” She picked her jaw off the floor to say, “Easier for who? For you? Well don’t worry, I won’t be here when you get back.” Annoyance now undercut her original hurt and anger. How had she ever thought she loved this hard man? “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Truly.” He reached for her then, to pull her in for a hug, but she stepped back and held out her hand to shake instead. If he wanted to treat her like nothing more than an impersonal business deal instead of someone he was supposed to have loved and cared about, then so be it. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of falling apart in his arms. That would be later. With a pint of ice cream. Or two. He winced as he took her hand in both of his. “Nora, don’t be like this. We can still be friends.” She snorted. “I don’t think so. Good luck with the rest of your life. I’m sorry this merger didn’t work out,” Nora said. She tried hard not to remember the way his warm, strong hands felt on the rest of her. Phillip brought their joined hands to his lips and kissed her fingertips. She ignored the small pang that ran through her and focused on the wall above his shoulder. “I do care about you, Nora. I wish you all the happiness, I just don’t think I’m the one to give it to you.” She shrugged and slowly pulled her hand out of his. “Gee, and here I thought I was happy. Thanks for deciding for me that I was wrong.” He sighed again and walked to the front door grabbing a suitcase and briefcase on the way. “I’ll be home next Friday.” “Then I won’t be,” she called from the kitchen. “Good-bye, Nora.” Without another glance, he walked out the door shutting it between them with a click Nora was sure she would remember for the rest of her life. “Safe travels, jack ass,” she shouted at the closed door. Now what? Now she was single and, essentially, homeless. It wouldn’t take her long to pack her few belongings. He owned all the furniture, décor, kitchen supplies, dishes, bath towels, bedding… Just the thought of all the things she didn’t have sent her into another mood. Walking through the house and smashing all his things would certainly make her feel better, but he’d be just enough of a prick to sue her for damages. Not worth it in the long run. But damn, it would have felt so good. Maybe she could break just one thing… She went to the kitchen and took out a bowl that wasn’t hers and a spoon that wasn’t hers and prepared to eat a lot of ice cream on the comfy living room sofa that wasn’t hers. At least she could watch whatever the hell she wanted on the TV that wasn’t hers without being berated by Phillip. He didn’t believe in mindless TV. Not stimulating enough or some other such nonsense. But, of course, they were out of ice cream. She closed the freezer, then opened it again hoping that some would magically appear. No luck. That’s how her life had been going lately. Loading up on break-up essentials definitely necessitated a trip to the grocery store. Break-up. She sighed and leaned against the fridge. Yup. She had just been dumped. By the man whom she thought she was in love with, and whom she thought loved her. The bastard. He probably had someone else already—upgrading to a more sophisticated or prettier model. That was why he wanted her out of the house, and his life, so quickly. Double bastard. Nora pushed herself off the fridge. And he knew—he knew—she had nowhere to go, limited funds, and practically no belongings. Triple bastard. “Not mine,” she said, pointing at the kitchen table on her way to the front door. “Not mine.” The bar stools by the counter. “Not mine.” The pillows on the couch. “Not mine.” The rug on the floor. “And not mine,” this she said with a little hitch in her voice as she picked up a picture of the two of them at the beach taken just a few months ago. She was looking up at him smiling. He was looking at the camera with his arm draped casually over her shoulder. She thought they were so happy. Was he already done with her then? She pulled the picture closer to her face to see if she detected anything in Phillip’s gaze. Hard to tell since sunglasses hid his eyes. Not that they were ever especially expressive. She blinked away the memory and the tear that threatened to emerge, grabbed her keys from the bowl on the table by the door that wasn’t hers. A triple bastard was not worth tears. Maybe not worth the tears, but she would be fooling herself if she thought they wouldn’t come later. Even though he was a hard, unfeeling douche canoe, she had just had her heart broken unexpectedly. But first, ice cream. She headed to her car—her car!—and, as if the spirits were finally on her side, found “Survivor” on the radio and cranked the volume. Beyoncé sang to her soul. She belted it out on her way to the grocery store. Her phone rang as she wandered through the chip aisle. Her heart dropped when caller ID showed it wasn’t Phillip. You do not want to talk to him anyway, dummy, she scolded herself. Her finger hovered over the “end call” button to send it to voice mail. As much as she loved her college roommate and best friend, Essix Miller had a sixth sense about Nora’s moods. Maybe it was because they had spent almost every waking - and sleeping, come to think of it - moment together for seven years. Four years through college and then three years post. Until Six had moved to Maryland to be closer to her aging parents, and Nora had moved to North Carolina with Phillip. She decided to answer. She really should vent her frustration to more than just the nacho chips in her hand. “Hey, Six,” she said with all the enthusiasm she could muster. Exactly zero. “Uh-oh. I know that tone,” Six said as a way of greeting. “What happened? Another rejection letter? Don’t give up. Didn’t J.K. Rowling get rejected like 47 times before Harry Potter made her a bazillionaire?” Six’s voice wrapped her in familiarity. The ache in Nora’s chest eased just a little. “Only 12 times for J.K.,” she sighed. “No, I got a different kind of rejection. A two-week notice.” “You lost your job?” Six asked. “No, a two-week notice on my relationship,” Nora said. “I don’t follow,” Six said. Nora explained about Phillip. “What an asshole!” Six said, when Nora was finished. “He just left for his trip? He didn’t even give you a say in it at all? Who does that?” Six’s outrage on her behalf helped Nora justify her own feelings. “Yeah, so now I’m at the grocery store using his money to buy break-up essentials,” Nora said throwing a 6-pack of chocolate bars into the cart. “Don’t forget the ice cream,” Six warned. “On it,” Nora said. “I guess this will give me the kick in the pants I need to actually get a life. First, I need to find a place to live, though.” “Did you check your horoscope today?” Six asked. Nora laughed. “You know I don’t do that.” “You should. Hold on, I’m pulling it up now.” Nora wandered into the ice cream aisle. “Do you think standard Mint Chocolate Chip or go crazy with Toffee Butter Peanut Ripple Crunch?” “Why not get both? You said it’s Phillip’s money, right?” Six suggested. Nora laughed. “That’s why we’re best friends.” “Here we go. It says, ‘An invitation is coming your way, and you shouldn’t hesitate to say yes. When a goal is too easy to attain, it is not very fulfilling. Embrace today’s challenge with everything you’ve got’,” Six read. “Well, I guess Phillip did invite me to get the hell out of his life,” Nora said frowning. “That can’t be it. He didn’t invite you; he just told you. There is a difference,” Six said. “Thanks for reminding me,” Nora said, but she knew her friend wasn’t really listening. Once horoscopes or chakras or tarot cards came into the conversation, Six wandered into her own little world until she figured out what they were “saying.” Nora, still a skeptic, had to admit that over their seven-year friendship enough of Six’s translations had come true to make Nora at least consider them. “You know what?” Six said after a moment of mumbling to herself. “How much do you love your current job?” Six asked. “It’s just a job. Why?” “There’s an administrative assistant position opening up at my publishing house, but it would mean relocating to Maryland. I know you want a writing career, but this would get your foot in the door of a publishing house. And your broken heart away from Phillip.” “Sounds promising,” Nora said. “The Memoir/Non-fiction publisher is looking for an assistant. He’s never had one and seems to be pretty picky. We’ve had several interviews, but he’s rejected them all.” “Sounds like a peach,” Nora snorted. “He is a little serious,” Six laughed, “but he’s gorgeous. I’m talking capital G, panty-melting, chakra-shaking Gor-geous. So at least you’d have some eye candy to help you get over Phillip. I know I could get you a Skype interview. If you come with my recommendation, I bet you’ll get the job in a heartbeat. Not to mention you are completely over-qualified with your degree.” “Six, I literally just had my relationship status uprooted. I’m not sure I’m ready to commit to completely uprooting my entire life by relocating, too.” “It’s just an interview,” Six cajoled. “You don’t have to commit, but at least you’d have an option in your back pocket. And we’d be working together. In the same building. Not four states away.” Nora sighed. Six whined, “Please? Puh-lease, please, please, please?” Now she had to laugh. “You know what? Why not? I accept your invitation.” Six woo-hooed on the other end. “That’d be great if you could set it up. No pressure if it doesn’t work out, like you said. If worse comes to worse, I could always sleep in my car.” Because no matter what, she’d be out of the house when Phillip returned. Absolutely. Nora Ridgeway may not have much, but she still had her pride. She hoped. “You won’t have to sleep in your car, ding-dong. You can always stay with me,” Six offered. “You’re the best, Six. Thanks. Gotta go, I’m at the check-out.” Nora steered her cart into the shortest line. “I’ll text you the details of the interview,” Six said and hung up. She unloaded her cart onto the check-out belt anticipating a wonderful night at home binging on comfort food and watching a sappy rom-com where the ending was always happy, and the men were always sensitive and hot. “PMS or man-trouble?” A voice broke into her thoughts. “Excuse me?” Nora really looked at the cashier for the first time. Christ, she must have been at least 90. “This much chocolate and ice cream usually means one or the other,” the cashier said waving a wrinkled hand to indicate Nora’s purchases. “Or maybe woman troubles? I don’t mean to assume your significant other is a man,” the cashier said with a wink while continuing to scan her items. Was she for real? What kind of grandma talked like this? “No,” Nora said. “You were right. Man trouble. Of the triple bastard kind.” “Then, the ice cream was a good choice, if you don’t mind my saying. Have yourself one good cry. Get it all out of your system and then forget about him. If he really is a triple bastard, he doesn’t deserve more than that.” “Wiser words were never spoken,” Nora said, genuinely smiling now as she handed over Phillip’s credit card. The one they usually used for groceries which technically this was even if Phillip would never get a chance to eat them. “I’ve been through some things in my day. Hell, Mr. Munz at the community center still gives me reasons to buy ice cream occasionally.” She laughed at Nora’s shocked expression, the laugh lines around her eyes practically swallowing them. “Men. They seem to like to invent ways to piss us off.” Nora laughed genuinely then. “Thank God for inventing ice cream to cool us off when they do.” “Amen to that, young lady. Good luck! Someone as pretty as you will find your prince charming. I was lucky enough to be with mine for almost 55 years. You know, although I ate my share of ice cream during that time, I made sure he had reason to as well.” She gave Nora one last wink and a wave. Nora decided she would take the grocery store grandma’s advice and let herself indulge in a good cry tonight. Then leave those feelings, and Phillip, behind in the house when she moved out. Chapter 2 Andrew Forrester stood by the window in his office while his co-worker's assistant—Four or Seven? She had a weird name that sounded like a number—fiddled with the computer to pull up the video call system. He agreed to this interview as a favor. She’d been doing double duty by helping him as well as her actual boss. Otherwise he wouldn’t be wasting his time on this interview. Why would someone from out of state, who, according to her resume had never been an assistant before, be a viable candidate when those he had interviewed right here in were not? Seriously, they were only a few miles from Washington D.C.—one of the most populated cities in the country. To ease his curiosity, he pulled up one of the blogs she listed on her resume. When he searched her name on the site quite a few articles popped up. Always a good sign when the host wanted to use the same author more than once. He clicked on the first one and scanned it. Not bad. A little naive, but the post was from a few years ago. He enjoyed her writing voice: upbeat, fun, a little sassy, but intelligent. He clicked on another link. He should be working on the manuscript from the new author they were hoping to sign. It had promise but lacked refinement. Which was his job, he supposed. To take something almost there and smooth it into a masterpiece. He should probably apply that mentality to his quest for an assistant instead of rejecting them right away. But anyone who had to sit through the parade of idiots he did these past few days couldn’t blame him. He didn’t know where his publishing company advertised this position, but they needed to rethink their decisions. One candidate had arrived in ripped jeans, for Christ’s sake. Another snapped gum through the entire process. Mouth noises were an immediate hell no. He could barely stand the sound of his own chewing. So, anyone that could string together a phrase like Ms. Ridgeway was already a step ahead in his eyes. Andrew once again contemplated telling John, his managing publisher, he didn’t actually need an assistant. Hadn’t he been handling the job just fine this whole time without one? The piles of files on his desk and the notifications in his email reminded him otherwise. The publishing house continued to grow each year, which was a good thing, but until they could hire other people, he had to take on more responsibilities. Especially with any new talent. His unfinished novel also waved at him from his heart. If he had an assistant, he hopefully wouldn’t have to take so much work home. That would leave him time to actually work on the damn thing. It had been tickling his brain for the better part of a year now — ever since his father passed away, and he found their love letters from his dad’s time in the war. “Mr. Forrester, I’m sorry, but I can’t get the video to work,” Two’s voice broke through his thoughts. “It probably has something to do with updating Java. Audio works just fine, though. You might be able to see her, but she definitely won’t be able to see you.” “Great,” he grumbled. He’d been threatening to throw the malfunctioning machine across the room on the daily. What didn’t the IT Department understand about needing the computer to function in order to do his job? “You are live, though,” Three (Seven?) was saying, “and Nora should be signing in any moment. She will be able to hear you immediately. Do you want me to stay to do introductions?” “I think I can handle it. Thank you,” he dismissed her. She gave him a thumbs up. “I have a good feeling about this. I didn’t hit any red lights on the way here, and two black cats walked in opposite directions.” She stepped out of the room in a flourish of colorful skirts. Andrew shook his head. A moment later the computer chimed and a rather attractive, though pixelated, face appeared on screen. “Ms. Ridgeway, I presume,” he said. “Yes, that’s me,” she said as the video feed froze. “Right. The video seems to be faulty, but I can hear you just fine.” “I can hear you, too. Thank you for being willing to do this interview via computer. I appreciate it.” “Well, your friend recommended you highly,” he said. “Yeah, Six is great,” Nora said. SIX! He wrote it really big on his desk calendar so he wouldn’t forget again. “Well, let’s get right to it, shall we?” Andrew said and began firing the typical questions at her. About half-way through he could only remember about half of what she had said. Instead of listening, he watched her mouth move - when the video wasn’t freezing anyway. She had a way of half-smiling as she talked that was quite pleasant. When she smiled for real, her whole face showed it. There might have even been some freckles on her nose, but the crappy connection made it hard to tell. The questions were just a formality anyway. What interested him more was how the candidate answered rather than what they said. He could read a resume after all. But his potential assistant’s personality had to mesh with his if they were going to work so closely together. He needed someone with some intelligence that he could bounce ideas off of. According to John, he also needed someone who could help with client relations. Apparently that area “needed improvement”, according to his last review. So far, Nora checked all his boxes. “All right, Ms. Ridgeway, last question,” he said when she had finished answering the previous one. “Tell me something about yourself to help me remember you. It could be anything—hobbies, an interesting pet, favorite food. What makes you unique?” He loved this question. Most people said uninteresting things like, “I’m a super hard worker” or “I have the cutest dog”. If he hadn’t rejected them because of another reason already, that usually got them on the chopping block. He took a sip of his coffee. Let’s see what you’ve got, Ms. Ridgeway. “I can cross one eye at a time,” Nora said and proceeded to do just that. Caught off guard by the silliness, he choked on the coffee and spit it back into his cup before shouting a loud “HA!” Thank god she couldn’t see him. Just as he got himself under control, she switched eyes, causing him to laugh again. “I can definitely say I’ve never had someone say that before,” he said. She smiled. “You did say unique.” “I certainly did.” He shook his head. Of all the candidates, Nora landed at the top of the list. And Six did see two black cats walking in opposite directions this morning. He didn’t really know what that meant, but she seemed excited, so it must be fate, right? He decided to take a chance. “I’ll tell you what. You surprised me, which is hard to do. You are clearly overqualified for the job, but have a degree that matches the industry, so I’m going to give you a shot. Can you start on Monday?” “Oh my goodness! Yes! Thank you!” she squealed and stood up to do a little dance. The word JUICY shouted at him from across the backside of her sweatpants. He smiled again. “We do have a dress code, here, though, Ms. Ridgeway,” he teased, deadpan. He watched the color drain from her face as she looked down. “Oh shit,” she said and sat down quickly. “I only planned on being seen from the waist up. I do have real pants, I swear.” “I’ll have HR send you the necessary paperwork. See you on Monday. 8am sharp,” he logged off, still smiling. When was the last time he had spontaneously laughed? Andrew honestly couldn’t remember. He had to admit, it felt good. Had he really just hired someone because she made him laugh? Well, that and her interesting mouth. He bet those full lips were quite kissable. He sat up straight in his chair. He couldn’t think like that; he wasn’t interviewing a date. He was going to be her boss. Still that didn’t keep him from wondering whether she had freckles on any other parts of her body. Or if she had any other hidden tricks. Andrew thought of her crossed eyes and chuckled again. His office door suddenly swung open to Six standing on the other side clasping her hands. “Is it true? Did she get the job?” “Word sure does travel fast.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I was only a little bit eavesdropping,” Six said holding her fingers an inch apart. “Did I hear correctly?” “She got the job,” he confirmed. “I knew she would! Black cats never lie.” Six clapped her hands like a toddler. “You won’t regret it, Mr. Forrester. I’ll train her on everything, so you don’t have to worry about it.” “Thank you. That’ll be very helpful. Try to keep the socializing to a minimum at work, though,” he warned. “Of course. We’re both very professional,” Six assured him. “I’m gonna call her right now.” Six danced out of the office. Unfortunately, Mindy Carlisle, the editor she worked for, soon replaced her. “What can I do for you, Mindy?” he asked not looking up. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her prowling her way over to his desk. Mindy had a thing for personal space—as in, she didn’t believe in it. She popped her hip right up on the side of his desk and leaned over to see his computer screen where he had opened an email to HR. “Since Six is practically having a baby out there, I assume her little friend got the job?” She said. Andrew nodded. “How sweet. Hopefully they don’t just gossip all day.” “Six assured me they wouldn’t,” Andrew said still not looking at her. “What’s she like?” “She has a degree in writing, is relocating from North Carolina, and is willing to work hard,” Andrew stated. “No, silly. I mean is she cute?” Mindy said. “Cute?” He knitted his brow. “What does that have to do with anything?” Mindy laughed and tossed her artificial auburn hair over her shoulder, “When a man answers like that, then the answer is yes. I guess I have to step up my game around here if I’m going to continue to be the office siren.” “Self-proclaimed,” Andrew murmured as she slid off the desk. “Listen, Andy.” He cringed. He hated that nickname. Especially in her mouth. “Rule number one of having an assistant is not to get too personal or emotionally involved. Especially with the way you gobble up women and then spit them back out.” She ran a hand over his shoulders as she stepped behind him. “You should’ve probably gotten a male. She’ll be drooling over you in a D.C. minute. I know that is hard for you to resist.” “Thank you for your analysis of my love life, Mindy, but contrary to what you think, I do have some self-control. Now if you don’t mind, I have work to do.” He scooted his chair closer to his desk to try to minimize contact. “Of course you do,” she said. “I can’t wait to meet little Miss Cutie-pie on Monday. Don’t forget our meeting this afternoon with John.” She wagged her fingers at him as she slinked out the door. He got up to close it behind her. Maybe he could actually get some work done now. But he found his thoughts returning to what Mindy said. He did not “gobble up women and spit them out”. Did he? He rubbed a hand over his jaw as he sat down. Last month he dated that nurse whose nose made the weird noise every time they kissed. He could only handle that for three dates. Before her was the campaign manager, but she had been on her phone talking to the candidate more than talking to him, so that hadn’t lasted more than, what—four dates? Turns out she and the married candidate were burning up more than the campaign trail. Four dates seemed like more than enough when he found that out. Earlier this year was a preschool teacher. She had promise. Until she kept using words like “potty” and “inside voice”. Who could blame him for not wanting to be talked to like a toddler? So what if his longest relationship had only been about four months? Which, he had to admit was maybe a little pathetic. He had food in his fridge that lasted longer than that. “So what?” he said again out loud to no one but the fern on the corner of his desk. Anything permanent or long-term could wait while he focused on his writing career. He barely had time to work on his novel now. With a girlfriend came more demands on his time. Besides, as far as he knew, none of those ladies complained about their time together, short though it was. He didn’t ghost them or lie when he wanted to stop seeing them. That made him not a complete jerk. Right? His parents’ smiling faces admonished him from their place in a frame on the shelf beside his desk. He knew they would want him to find someone to share his life with. Someone to make him happy, like they had done for each other. Settling, even in the short term, wasted his time. He didn’t settle for mediocrity in his writing, and he wouldn’t settle in his personal life, either. Especially after finding those love letters and realizing just how deep his parent’s connection had run. His parents were married for almost 40 years before cancer claimed his mother a few years ago. They were completely devoted to each other. So while some people would call him picky, Andrew couldn’t find anything wrong with having high expectations when it came to whom he spent his time with. Or his life. To be Continued in How to Date Your Boss Available NOW on Amazon and KU

Enjoy the first two chapters of How to Date Your Ex: a steamy, snarky contemporary second chance love story. Book 2 in the How to Date series. Six Miller, Nora's best friend from How to Date Your Boss almost took over the story. She was the obvious choice for Book 2. I also loved Brendan the Bartender's willingness to help a friend in need. Nora didn't know Six and Brendan had a shared but not so happy past when she insists on going to the bar. Read the first two chapters of their story below. If you do check it out, I'd love to hear what you thought! Enjoy! Chapter 1 Essix Miller, known to everyone but her grandmother as Six, tapped the steering wheel with her neon colored nails as she cowardly hid in her car. The front door of McConnell’s Bar and Grill loomed large and forbidding in the distance. The clouds rolling in threatened rain. Four crows perched on the telephone wire above the building. All ominous signs. All signs that pointed to her turning this car around and heading for home. Of course, she couldn’t do that, though. Her best friend Nora’s engagement party after-party raged on inside. Without her. Eight years of friendship with a healthy dash of guilt, definitely outweighed crows and clouds. Time to put on her big girl panties and head in. She checked her make-up in the rear-view mirror one more time—could she look any more pale?—and, before she chickened out again, opened the door of the car and forced her feet to move. Of all the millions of places in Washington D.C. and its surrounding suburbs where they lived, why did Nora and Andrew have to choose this bar? Not that Six hadn’t tried to suggest all the other places. Her friends were just stubbornly set on McConnell’s. It wasn’t the bar she was against, just a certain bartender. A bartender she used to date before he disappeared on her. What were the chances he wasn’t working tonight? The wind picked up just then tangling Six’s long, dark hair. She frowned as she felt the first raindrop. The universe confirmed he was definitely working. Six took two deep, cleansing breaths—one for nerves; one to center her Solar Plexus Chakra—and opened the entrance door. She forced herself not to look at the bar while she scanned the crowd for her group of friends and coworkers. “Six!” Nora’s bright voice called from somewhere near the back. “Excuse me. Pardon me,” Six said as she tunneled through the throng of people towards Nora’s waving arm. She didn’t remember McConnell’s ever being this crowded. Of course, she hadn’t been inside for almost a year. One whole year. Had it really been that long? She paused in her quest to think about it. And felt a cold liquid sliding down her leg. “Oh shit! I’m so sorry,” a voice beside her said. She looked down at the beer on her skirt and skin, then up into the face of a rather drunk Redskins fan. “Let me get you some napkins or something.” When he was finally able to focus on her, he added, “Actually, let me buy you a drink, beautiful.” He slurred his words spilling more beer on her. “No. Thanks anyway. I’ll take care of it.” She frowned just noticing the sea of red and yellow around her. Football game. That explained the crowd as well as the synchronized yelling. Six managed to make it, without further incident, to the table where Nora and her fiancé Andrew were waiting with several other friends and coworkers. “Tell me there are napkins here?” Six asked after exchanging hugs. “I got caught up in the last play.” She gestured to her wet skirt. Nora winced. “Sorry. I forgot how crowded this place gets on game days when I suggested it. I think the game is almost over though.” “No worries,” Six said forcing a smile. She added “beer shower” to her list of signs indicating she should be anywhere but here. “I’ll get you some napkins. And a drink,” Andrew offered. Nora beamed up at him like she was bathing in the sunshine bursting from his pores. Six’s smile turned genuine. She loved seeing her friend so happy. “What are you drinking?” Andrew asked her. “I’ll have a G&T with a lime, please,” Six said. “Be right back,” Andrew said as he pushed his way towards the bar. “G&T, huh?” Nora asked. “Since when?” “It’s just easier to say ‘two’ when I order them for Mindy,” Six shrugged mentioning her boss at Green Light Publishing where she and Andrew both worked. “I’ve actually grown to really like them.” “I’ll have a sip when Andrew gets back. Maybe I should branch out a little. Although Brendan does make a mean martini,” Nora said taking a sip of hers. “Is Brendan here tonight?” Six asked, trying to sound nonchalant and again forcing herself not to look for him at the bar. “He’s always here. I don’t think that man ever takes a break.” Nora narrowed her eyes at Six. “Wait a minute. Is Brendan your ex-bartender boyfriend you sometimes allude to?” “We only went on a few dates. I’d hardly classify that as a ‘boyfriend’,” Six lied. “I knew it!” Nora slammed the table with her palm. Six jumped. “You have to tell me all the details now that I know both of you.” “There’s nothing to tell,” Six insisted. “The fact that you refuse to tell me anything about him and have been avoiding this place like the devil lives here implies otherwise.” Six shifted in her chair. “We went on a couple dates. I thought things were going okay. So did my tarot cards. Then he just vanished. A short ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ text, but then poof, gone. No more emails, texts, or phone calls. No explanation beyond ‘I can’t do this right now’,” she lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. “I tried coming in here a couple times, but he was never around. Or he was hiding in the back to avoid seeing me. I didn’t really see the point in coming back after that. Message received.” “Oh, Six. That sucks. He’s a triple bastard in disguise. Want me to ask him about it?” Nora offered putting her hand over Six’s. “Hell no! My contact information hasn’t changed. If he wanted to get in touch with me to explain, he easily could have. He probably doesn’t even remember me.” “That’s impossible. You’re unforgettable, Six,” Nora said. “Yeah, well…” she started, but Andrew came back with their drinks. “I’m paying you back for this round,” Six said taking her gin and tonic. “This is your celebration so you shouldn’t have to pay for drinks.” “Don’t worry about it,” Andrew said. “I know the bartender.” He gave Six a pointed look. “Seems like I’m not the only one.” “Wait. How did you hear our conversation?” Nora asked. “What? I didn’t.” The couple exchanged a look that clearly communicated something only they understood. “Brendan sent Six’s drink over compliments of the house. He said it was ‘for an old friend’,” Andrew explained air quoting “for an old friend”. “Guess he does remember you,” Nora mumbled, but Six didn’t hear. Despite her very best efforts, despite knowing what would happen, despite all her pep talks in the car, Six’s traitorous eyes flicked towards the bar. Her dark brown eyes locked onto Brendan’s hazel ones immediately. He lifted his mouth in an embarrassed, pained half-smile and nodded slightly in greeting. In that instant, the last year evaporated. She was back in his arms lazily waking up late on a Saturday to that same lopsided grin. Her Heart Chakra threatened to open back up to him, but luckily she clamped that shit down quickly. Oh no. Not even his panty-melting grin could erase the humility of obsessively checking her phone for returned texts after he disappeared. She scowled back at him and turned forcefully around. Andrew looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Nope. Not talking about it. Not here. I’m changing the subject,” Six said. “Nora, how has your mom been with wedding planning?” “Overly opinionated as usual. I just say ‘thank you for the feedback’ and then immediately delete it from my memory,” Nora said. “Good plan.” Six smelled him—a mix of smoky bar with underlying musk—before she saw him. She heard him—a low, velvety tenor with a hint of an accent—before she dared turned around. “How’s everything over here?” Brendan said from right behind Six’s chair. She deliberately ignored him. “Great!” Nora said enthusiastically. “Crowded tonight.” “Redskins game,” Brendan said in explanation. “The game just ended, though, so it should be easing up soon.” “No problem, man,” Andrew said. Nora smiled mischievously and said, “Brendan, do you know my friend, Six?” Six shot her a murderous glare. “We’ve met,” she said stiffly. “It’s really great to see you again,” Brendan said, moving into her eye line. She snorted. “Yup.” She could just distinguish his masculine shape from under her eyelashes. The curve of his biceps. The slight narrowing of his waist. The strong, solid line of his legs. “How have you been?” he asked. “Fine.” She looked anywhere but at his face. She didn’t really want to see his expression. Or his hazel eyes. She’d rather imagine him with a big, protruding, hairy wart on his nose. “You look amazing.” “I know,” Six said shortly. “My boyfriend tells me all the time.” Nora kicked her under the table, prompting Six to scowl at her again. So what if she was being rude? She didn’t want to talk to him. “Boyfriend,” she heard him whisper under his breath before he said to the table, “Okay, well, if you need another round, just signal. Lizzie or I will bring it over,” Brendan offered. “That way you don’t have to try to traverse back and forth to the bar.” “Thanks, Brendan.” Nora looked at Six’s nearly empty glass and added, “We’ll probably need another round by the time you get back there.” “I’ll send one right out. Same order? Martini, Stella, G&T with lime?” Brendan pointed to each of them in turn. “You got it,” Andrew said. “Just put it on my tab.” Brendan nodded, gave one last look at Six, and made his way back to the bar, slapping a few backs and high fiving a few patrons on the way. She wouldn’t allow herself to misjudge him again. He may appear all jovial and friendly and cute, but underneath he was a lying snake. Unfortunately, her thoughts were distracted by how well his jeans hugged his ass. Well, maybe not unfortunately. When she finally lost sight of him in the crowd and turned back toward the table, Nora was smirking at her. “What?” Six asked. “Are you sure you don’t want to know why he disappeared?” she asked. “Truly?” “I’m sure. Knowing why won’t make it less true. Stop meddling,” Six said. “It’s just that Brendan is such a nice guy normally,” Nora persisted. “Great bartender; lousy boyfriend,” Six said. “Speaking of lousy boyfriends, where is Timber?” Nora asked. Six shook her head. Nora didn’t keep her disdain for Six’s current beau a secret. “He has a busy day tomorrow at the gym, so wanted to turn in early. He’s training for a big competition this weekend,” Six explained. “Wait. I thought CrossFit was just a training technique. Like yoga or HIIT or cycling. They actually have competitions?” Nora said in disbelief. Andrew chimed in. “Yeah, I’ve heard of them. They’re actually pretty hard core.” “To each their own, I suppose,” Nora quipped. “Do you go watch him? You haven’t mentioned it before.” “I have mentioned it,” Six said. Nora pretty much ignored everything to do with Timber. “But, no, I haven’t been to one yet. He hasn’t exactly asked me to go, either.” “Well, tell him good luck from us,” Andrew said. Before their next round of drinks arrived, Nora and Andrew were suddenly swept up in the melee of the party. A few coworkers from Green Light joined the table to talk with them. Six turned her back on the table to view the room, careful to keep the bar counter out of her sight line. The establishment itself was really nice as far as small privately-owned bars went: typical dark wood on practically every surface; a smattering of tables, high tops, and counters; stained glass light fixtures hanging from the exposed beams in the ceiling; sports, Ireland, and celebrity memorabilia hanging from the walls; everything clean and neat. Six especially loved the full wall of windows that opened onto a tree-lined courtyard and deck in the back of the building. One night a weekend in the summer, McConnell’s would have local bands play as well. She loved sipping on a cocktail, chatting with Brendan as he manned the outside bar in the warmer weather. She could almost forget she was in the city back there. Six’s mouth dropped into a half-frown at the memory. She’d lost those experiences along with Brendan when he ditched her. Six’s attention fumbled out of the past and back into the present after one of the Redskins fans overheard they were celebrating an engagement and insisted on buying a round of shots. He tried to hoist Nora onto his brawny shoulders for the celebratory drink, but Andrew, with an assist from Brendan, successfully removed the guy’s hands from his fiancé. Admittedly, seeing Brendan handle the drunk with grace and finesse was pretty impressive. Nora was saved, no one got in a fight, and not a single drop of alcohol spilled. When Mr. Hands, still jovially toasting the couple, left with his friends, Six herded Nora to the bathroom to freshen up. “You won’t think I’m shirking my Maid of Honor duties if I head out, will you?” Six said to Nora when they were inside. “Of course not! Especially now that I know Brendan’s your ex. I’m surprised you stayed this long,” Nora said fixing her lipstick. “Speaking of Brendan, you better not say anything to him when I leave.” Six pointed a finger at her in the mirror. Nora raised her eyebrows in a “who me?” gesture. Six laughed, “Yes, you. I promise to tell you all about our short yet sordid affair later. Just don’t mention it to him.” Nora crossed a finger over her heart and said, “Promise. Although it’s going to kill me.” She turned to give her friend a hug. “Thanks so much for everything you’ve done so far. Especially for being here tonight.” “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Six pulled back and added, “Now, go enjoy your fiancé. I’ll call you tomorrow.” Six stopped briefly at their table to say good-bye to Andrew and their coworkers. She was almost to the door when a hand on her arm stopped her. She turned around with an “I’m not interested” on her lips but stopped short when her gaze followed the freckled, muscular arm up to its owner. Not some random drunk looking to score. Brendan. The zip of electricity between them proved her body didn’t get the “not interested” message. Neither did her naughty bits. They clearly remembered Brendan’s touch since they were spreading a sizzling heat through her entire body. She tried to look bored and uninterested. “Six,” he said. “Can we talk?” Chapter 2 As soon as Brendan touched her arm, the instant attraction they’d once shared reignited. He couldn’t deny the way their bodies reacted to one another. By her sharp intake of breath, Brendan knew Six felt it, too. Her eyes locked on his, but he didn’t like what he saw there. Fire, yes, but behind a wall that he’d helped build. He should just leave this poor girl alone. Instead he repeated, “Can we talk? Please. I want to apologize. Come to my office so we can have some privacy.” He started to pull her in that direction, but she wrenched her arm free. “No, thanks,” she said, the molten fire in her eyes hardening to stone. “No need. It’s fine. It happened a long time ago. I’m totally over it. Things happen. No biggie. Good seeing you again. I’ve got to go.” “Six, I owe you an explanation for what happened,” he insisted. “Look, Brendan. Any explanation should have come a year ago. Or any time during the intervening months. I don’t want or need to hear it now. Especially if it’s just to ease your conscious.” She turned to go. “Six,” he called, but she didn’t turn around. Just kept walking out the door into the night. “Damn it.” Brendan put his hand on the door to push it open and follow her, but someone called his name from behind him. Sighing, he turned around. “Brendan!” he heard again. His assistant manager, Lizzie Vandevere, waved to him from behind the bar. One last look at the door that stood between him and Six, then back to the bar. “What’s up?” he asked stepping behind the counter. “I could use some help closing out these tabs,” Lizzie said, “but only if you have time between mooning over exotic brunettes.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brendan said, heading to the register with a customer’s credit card. “Yes, you do. You haven’t been able to take your eyes off of Nora’s friend all night. Tell me you at least got her number.” “It’s complicated,” he paused. Lizzie raised her eyebrows in anticipation. Okay, short version. “We dated before. A long time ago,” Brendan explained hoping she wouldn’t ask for too many more details. Luckily the back and forth of closing out tabs and filling drinks for those who were staying kept them too busy for a real conversation for a while. As he popped tops off four more bottles for the mourning fans of the losing team, he took a moment to savor that thought—McConnell’s was busy. Finally, after over a year of blood, sweat, tears, and more sweat, he could comfortably say he was on the upward side of turning this place around. Again. Two consecutive months in the black. Of course, football season helped. Hopefully those patrons would stay for basketball and then baseball in the spring and summer as well. He was cautiously optimistic, but still needed some additional revenue to really feel like McConnell’s could make it long term. He had plenty of ideas swirling around in his head, but neither the time nor the capital to really make them a reality at the moment. What a fucked-up cycle—he needed more money to expand the business so he could make more money. American Dream at its finest. Unluckily, Lizzie picked the conversation back up when they slowed down a little right before last call. “Did she dump you?” Lizzie asked. “Who?” Brendan said playing dumb. “Who, my ass. Come on, spill.” When Brendan just lifted his eyebrows in a question, Lizzie put her hands on her hips and added, “Exotic brunette spit-fire in the killer skirt? The one that clearly pushed your lust button?” When he still didn’t answer, she sighed in frustration, “Nora’s friend. I know you know who I mean.” “Fine,” he capitulated. “Like I said, it’s complicated. She and I dated right before I hired you. Around the time I left to take care of that family stuff. Not great timing. Then we sort of lost touch.” He shrugged like losing Six wasn’t one of his greatest regrets. The small, constant iron fist of “what if” in his stomach just grew exponentially after seeing her again. “So now that family stuff has calmed down, are you going to ask her out again?” “Not likely. I just asked her to talk to me, and she stormed out like the place was on fire. Plus, she apparently has a boyfriend,” he frowned. “All I can say is that I haven’t seen you look at anyone that way since I’ve been working here. I wouldn’t give up so easily if I were you,” Lizzie said. “I just told you she has a boyfriend,” he repeated. “Well, I didn’t see him here tonight. And boyfriend doesn’t mean husband,” Lizzie countered. He shrugged again and avoided her gaze. Nora and Andrew were making their way to the bar. Yes, distraction! Brendan was happy for his friends. His drunk friends if Nora’s wobbly cadence offered any indication. The only other time he’d seen her really drunk was shortly after she and Andrew moved in together. That was also the night when Andrew stopped worrying that Brendan wanted to steal Nora away from him. They’d settled into a jovial friendship ever since. “Hey guys. Can I get you another round?” he said when they were in hearing range. Andrew said, “No, man. I think we’re going to call it a night. I’m still going to attempt to get to work in the morning.” “I’ve already taken a sick day. In fact, my boss, who just left herself, insisted on it. How did it get so late?” Nora asked. Her face sported a healthy blush, and her eyes were a bit glassy. Yup, definitely buzzed. Andrew seemed sober enough, though. Brendan felt comfortable letting them leave without calling a ride share. “How many shots did you have?” Brendan asked her. “I lost count,” Nora said, but Andrew held up four fingers behind her and widened his eyes. She continued, “Apparently being a soon-to-be bride also means getting shit-faced for free.” “We’ve come to settle the tab,” Andrew said. “I think it’s past time for someone to get to bed.” “Don’t worry about the tab. It’s on the house. In honor of getting shit-faced for free… I mean getting married,” Brendan laughed. “No way,” Andrew said and motioned for Lizzie. “Lizzie, we’d like to pay our tab, please.” She took his credit card. “I’m never going to get a raise if you keep giving stuff away,” Lizzie scolded playfully. Andrew turned back to Brendan. “I appreciate the offer, truly. But you’re running a business.” “Thanks, Dad,” Brendan teased. Nora laughed out loud, “Oh my goodness, I say that to him all the time!” Brendan said, “I do owe you an engagement gift, though.” Andrew started to wave away the suggestion, but Brendan continued, “I think I have a proposal that could benefit us both. And it involves food.” “I’m listening,” Nora said leaning her elbows on the bar. “Tell me more about food.” “I’ve been thinking of expanding into catering. The bar is really only open in the evenings, so we have time. I need some taste testers. You guys get a free meal, and I get your honest feedback on new recipes,” Brendan offered. There, he had said it out loud—the idea that clawed for attention in his mind night after night for months. Now the idea floated out in the world, and he was forced to follow through. God, that sounded a lot like something Six would say. She still resided in his bones. Lizzie looked at him with her mouth open. Probably he should have at least mentioned the catering idea to her before now. But he didn’t even know he was going to suggest it until he heard the words coming out of his own mouth. He gave her an apologetic look. “Brendan! That sounds amazing. What a great idea,” Nora squealed and clasped her hands. “We need a caterer for our wedding still. We could be your first clients.” Uh-oh, shit just got real really quickly. “Let’s see how you like the food first, okay? How’s later this week look for you guys?” Brendan said. As they settled on a date and time, Brendan’s heart rate kicked up. Getting into the wedding catering business could be monumental. He hadn’t even thought about that when he made his offer to his friends. Now he could think of nothing else. Nora said, “Come on, Andrew. Take me home before I lose my buzz so we can have wild, drunk sex all over the apartment.” “Don’t have to ask me twice,” Andrew laughed, kissing his fiancé on her head. “We’ll see you on Wednesday with appetites ready.” Brendan waved them out as Lizzie rang the bell for last call. As the bar crowded with patrons wanting to get their last drink, Lizzie said, “You have some explaining to do, Mister. We can talk while we clean up.” “Yes, ma’am,” Brendan said shaking up a mixed drink. An hour later, they helped the last customer—still singing “Hail to the Redskins” at the top of his voice—stumble into a ride share. Lizzie wiped down the bar while Brendan started to put the chairs up on the tables. “Catering, huh?” Lizzie asked. “Funny how you’ve never mentioned that before. Even to your assistant manager.” “Sorry,” he winced. “I should have told you before now. I kept going back and forth about it.” Her mouth turned up on one side, “Translation—you kept it inside instead of talking to anyone about it. Just like you never want to talk about your family issues or the hot brunette. Or why you lock yourself in the office for hours at a time. At some point your inner bottle is going to spill over or explode.” “You sound like my mother. I’m fine,” he said. He patted down his chest and torso. “Nope. No explosions on the horizon. Besides now I am talking about the catering. I just think we could provide that service since this place isn’t open until happy hour anyway. Little known fact, I actually went to culinary school for a bit before taking over here.” “Really? Well shit, Bren, I think it’s a great idea! I know my way around a kitchen good enough to follow a recipe. Plus, I freakin’ love weddings. Sign me up for all the weddings,” Lizzie said wistfully. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I want to see what Andrew and Nora think about the food first,” he said. “Although, it would be fun to cater their wedding. Sort of a test run to see how it works. We could provide the alcohol, too.” “And you’d get to see a lot more of Little Miss Can’t-Take-My-Eyes-Off-Of-You.” “I didn’t even think of that,” Brendan lied. Spending time with Six came to mind first when Nora put the idea in his head. He’d be forced to see Six. Or really, she’d be forced to see him. She could only avoid talking to him for so long. He recognized her the moment she opened the door tonight. Her bright, multi-colored skirt was a dead giveaway, but her mass of long, dark hair swirling around her face as the wind blew in with her sparked memories of when his hands were embedded there messing up those silky strands himself. But his body felt her. Remembered her. He tried to stay away from their table as long as he could. Fifteen minutes seemed like a heroic attempt. Wasn’t it his duty to check on all his patrons? That was just good business practice. Turned out to be a bad idea. Once he inhaled Six’s familiar scent, she invaded his every thought. He could concentrate on nothing other than the way her mouth moved as she talked or sipped her drink. When she tucked her silky hair behind her ear, his fingers tingled from the memory of its texture. He was so transfixed by memories of her, he almost missed the guy trying to manhandle Nora. Luckily, he’d caught it soon enough to avoid Andrew bashing the guy’s face in. Not that Andrew struck him as a brawler, but Brendan understood the murderous look in Andrew’s eye as another man put hands on his girl. A touch that was clearly unwanted. After that incident, Six had left, taking her bright energy with her. Don’t forget that she rejected you first, his conscious reminded him. Of course she did; his apology came a year too late. “You’re thinking of her again, aren’t you?” Lizzie asked breaking into his thoughts. “The far-away look on your face says it all.” “Was not. I just took too many shots tonight, too.” Brendan busied himself with the broom. “Bullshit. But I’ll let it go. Tell me more about your food ideas. I’m excited to try them, too,” Lizzie said. “Mainly so my waistline doesn’t keep suffering from eating greasy, fried bar food night after night.” “I’m thinking Irish with a Twist,” Brendan said. He filled her in with some of his ideas as they finished closing. Once alone in his apartment—with nothing but his thoughts and the whirring refrigerator to keep him company—Brendan fought for control of his senses which were, at the moment, still full of Six. The feel of her hair between his fingers, the scent of her perfume invading his memories, the sound of her laughter bouncing around the bar. He remembered vividly the first time he heard that laughter cut through the bar room. To be continued in How to Date Your Ex Available NOW on Amazon and KU

Public school English teacher here! Give these books another try - you might like them better as an adult (and when you are forced to do analysis by annoying teachers like me). As a public school English teacher for almost 2 decades (has it really been that long??), I have a deep love of the classics. From old, dead, white guys to rebellious women ahead of their time, these books are timeless for a reason. When I tell people I teach English, there seems to be very polarized reactions - either they loved it or hated it. Shakespeare gives them hives, or they know every line. The thought of reading Poe or Hardy sends them running, or they have a favorite story. I'm not going to lie. When I was in school, I didn't love everything we read in English class. I didn't "get" the point of The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. I wasn't enamored by Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. And I certainly didn't get all giddy for the plethora of worksheets and analysis we were expected to do for each book. (Anyone else make a toothpick version of the Globe Theater? No, just me?) However, when I picked these books up again in college and then sometimes a third time as an adult - to read them for pleasure and the joy of the language - I found I really liked them. (except for Huck Finn... still don't like that one) They are timeless. They are beautifully written. They are worth the wrath of my Seniors when I expose them to these books as well. So, here are a list of my 10 favorite classics - and trust me, limiting it to 10 was harder than Andrew Forrester's abs. If you haven't read them since high school, I encourage you give them another try. You might find that if you don't have a venn diagram to complete or an essay to write, you will find a bit of truth and beauty in them. 1. Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy Most people know Hardy because Anastasia Steele mentions him (and his more famous book Tess of the D'Ubervilles in the infamous 50 Shades of Grey books by E.L. James. However, Far From the Madding Crowd is my emergency car book (everyone has one of those, right?). I can open the book to any well-worn page and get swept easily into the story. The main character, Bathseba Everdeen, is a woman ahead of her time. Even in the late 1800s, she's decided she doesn't need a man to succeed in life. Of course, then, she attracts the attention of three very different men as she tries to navigate life as the owner/operator of her very own farm. Who will she chose? This story was also made into a move in 2015 starring Carey Mulligan and Matthias Schoenaerts. I LOVE this movie just as much. The tension between the Love Quadrangle is tangible. Swoon!! 2. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald Jazz, liquor, parties, love affairs, secrets, and murder - what else could you ask for in a story? Set against the backdrop of the early 1920s, Fitzergald uses an outside narrator, Nick Carroway, to tell the love story of the titular and mysterious Jay Gatsby and rich Daisy Buchanan. I LOVE Fitzgerald's poetic writing style and his ability to make me feel for the bad guys. Even my students love this book! This was also made into several movies. My favorite is the recent Baz Luhrman flick starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Carey Mulligan. So good! 3. Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen Would any list of classics be complete without a book by the amazing Jane Austen? I could recommend ALL of her stories actually, but this one is my favorite. A classic enemies to lovers romance with a strong female lead. Elizabeth Bennett - the second of 5 sisters - is headstrong and independent. And she doesn't like when righteous rich boys look down on her family. But what if one rich boy isn't all he seems? Can Darcy and Elizabeth put their pride aside to find true love? Movie versions - The original BBC version with Colin Firth is wonderful and stays true to the story. It was originally an episodic series, so it is long, but definitely worth it. I also enjoyed the 2005 version, although that seems to be an unpopular opinion. Matthew Macfadyen is a great Mr. Darcy. And although the film takes some liberties with the original text, the tension between Elizabeth and Darcy is palpable. That rain scene - yes! 4. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee I. Love. This. Story. We named our cat Scout. Atticus is a man to look up to. If you haven't picked this up since high school, I encourage you to do so. Talk about a timeless story. And if you don't know about the reclusive author, give her a bio a look-see as well. Fascinating. This was the only book she published in her lifetime. Her only other book Go Set a Watchmen was posthumously published after her death. It is the sequel to TKAM and shows Scout as an adult. The only film version is from 1962 and stars the incomparable Gregory Peck as Atticus. Even my 21st century students love this black and film. 5. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck The reluctant readers in my classes really like this story of two migrant workers trying to support each other during the Great Depression. George has sworn to take care of his simple-minded but brutally strong friend Lennie. And although the book is a tragedy (get your tissues out!), it is a story of friendship, tough decisions, and the hardships of the 1930s. My students and I recommend the 1992 movie version with Gary Sinise and John Malkovich. So good. 6. Macbeth by Shakespeare Oh Shakespeare, how do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love all Shakespeare's plays, but Macbeth and Romeo and Juliet top my list for sure. Yes, they are both tragedies, I know. Macbeth especially has something for everyone - murder, conspiracy, war, strong women pulling up their husbands' big boy panties, morality, power struggles, witches! - it's great! Although Shakespeare was meant to be watched - it is a play - reading through it first might help you understand what is happening in the play. I enjoy the Roman Polanski 1970s version of the movie. Yes, it's a little dated, but it sticks to the story really closely. Other favorites the modern retelling with Patrick Stewart and the newest Michael Fassbender version. 7. The Odyssey by Homer One of the oldest books in history, The Odyssey is the tale of the brave King Odysseus. He fought valiantly in the Trojan War - in fact, it was he who came up with the idea for the Trojan Horse which eventually helped the Greeks win - and is now on his way home. Unfortunately, he pisses off some gods on Mount Olympus and it takes him 20 years to get home. The story includes lots of fun characters from Greek Mythology including The Cyclops, Calypso, Hermes, Poseidon, Athena, Circe, and more. If you can stomach a 300 page epic poem, this one is the one to pick. There have been many adaptations of this story over the years. My favorite is the Hallmark 1997 version with Armand Assante in the title role. Just be ready to cringe a little over the computer graphics. Man have we come a long way! 8. Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte This gothic masterpiece is a love story with a twist - and a secret, crazy wife hidden in the attic. Jane pulls at our heartstrings the entire book. Girl just can't seem to catch a break!? But, like Cinderella, her good nature and kind heart help her win (ish) in the end. Another masterpiece by a Bronte sister. Check out her other books and those by her sisters as well. A whole family of educated women ahead of their time. I don't have a favorite movie version, but there have been MANY throughout the years. 9. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote I love true crime. If I'm not writing (and sometimes when I'm supposed to be), you'll definitely find a true crime documentary on the television or on my podcasts. Dateline, Forensic Files, My Favorite Murder - they are all my jam. But what kind of True Crime Aficionado would I be if I hadn't read In Cold Blood by Truman Capote? Fun fact, he was childhood best friends with Harper Lee. In fact, Dill, from To Kill a Mockingbird is reportedly inspired by Capote. Forensics weren't what they are today, so be ready to shake your head at the detective work in this book, but it was true to the time period. No movie of this book, but you can find tons of information about the crime if you do a little searching. 10. The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood Okay, I might be stretching the definition of "classic" with this choice, but I really love Atwood's writing style. She weaves words in her prose like poetry. The world-building here is both wonderful and terrifying - especially in the current climate with the #metoo movement. If you like Dystopian reality books, this is one you can't miss. She recently released a long-awaited second book in the series as well: The Testaments. I actually could recommend any of her books, and I'm not even really a sci-fi fan! Nolite Te Bastardes Carborundorum! The recent television series staring Elisabeth Moss is really good. The first season follows the Atwood's story almost exactly and the cinematography is breath-taking. Bonus: "The Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allan Poe Okay, this is actually a short story which is why I didn't want to take up a space in the official Top 10. But Edgar Allan Poe was the master of gothic suspense. He is also considered the father of the detective series. Any of his short stories are great, but "Cask of Amontillado" is easy to follow and the surprise ending is to die for (see what I did there?). Another favorite is "Murders on the Rue Morgue" widely acclaimed as the first detective story. He's also a home-town hero - What up, Baltimore?. So, that's my list. Did I miss any of your favorites? Have you had a similar experience of enjoying them more as adults? Let me know in the comments! I love talking about literature!

I'm in the final editing stages of Book 3 in the How to Date series: How to Date Your Brother's Best Friend. This story follows Lizzie Vandevere (Brendan's new business partner at McConnell's Bar and Grill) as she tries to guard her secret from her friends and her heart from her high school crush. Zander Drake, Lizzie's crush, is no longer the lanky boy from high school. He's all grown-up and all man. And all about Lizzie. The problem is he's only in town for a short visit. And he's Lizzie's older brother's best friend. AKA: Off-limits. But aren't rules meant to be broken. I know Lizzie and Zander's story will warm your heart and heat your naughty bits (did someone say sex on a motorcycle? Varoom!). Enjoy the first two chapters here and be sure to grab your pre-order copy! CHAPTER ONE Lizzie Drake Mrs. Lizzie Drake Mrs. Elizabeth Drake Mr. and Mrs. Zander Drake The Drake Family Lizzie and Zander Zander Zander Zander Partly embarrassed but mostly amused, Lizzie Vandevere shook her head as she flipped through her old high school notebook. Why had her mother even kept this thing? The color drained from her face as another thought occurred to her: who else had seen this thing? Hopefully if anyone got a hold of it, they got bored with the geometry notes in the beginning pages and stopped looking. It had been embarrassing enough when stupid Todd Sanderson had seen her writing it in class when she was a freshman. She'd been tuning out their teacher's lengthy explanation and doodling in her notebook when a voice behind her whispered, "Never gonna happen." She quickly slammed shut her notebook. "Lizzie? Question?" Mr. Shalvo asked. Her classmates all turned in their seats to stare at her. "No. I'm good. Sorry," Lizzie said. She ran her fingers through her short blond curls to try to hide her bright red ears. "As I was saying—" Mr. Shalvo went back to the lesson. When he turned to write something on the board, Lizzie shot a glare over her shoulder to the seat behind her. Todd Sanderson smirked back at her. God, what a dweeb. She'd silently cursed him with chronic, pus-filled acne. "Zander Drake is like Deerfield Prep royalty. You don't even exist to him, Freshie," Todd had whispered. "I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered back. Denial. Denial. Denial. "Your little notebook covered in wishes and dreams. Better set your sights a little lower if you ever want to get laid," he suggested. "You're ridiculous." She felt her neck heat with embarrassment betraying her flippant tone. "The Drake brothers can have any female they want, and they usually want the ones who actually act like females. In other words," he said tugging on one of her curls, "not you." She swatted his hand away. "Shut up. You're gonna get us in trouble," she shot back. Thankfully he sat back, but she could hear him chuckle under his breath. Of all the people to see her doodles, it had to be the lamest, stupidest boy that ever lived. The lamest, stupidest boy with the biggest mouth. She'd sweat bullets until the end of the day, praying and hoping Todd wouldn't tell Zander—or the rest of the school for that matter—about her doodles. Since Zander nor her brother, Nick, said anything that afternoon, she figured her secret crush was still a secret. Mostly. Except for Todd who tortured her for months by winking at her knowingly—especially when he was talking to Zander and happened to catch her eye. He'd point to whatever fully make-upped girl stood beside Zander and shake his head sadly at her. In high school—well honestly now, too—she'd had very little interest in unbuttoning her uniform blouse or rolling the skirt to make it shorter like most of the other girls in their exclusive private school. She didn't wear make-up and kept her hair short, so she didn't have to think about it. She'd rather be on the soccer field than sitting in front of a mirror for hours perfecting her eyelashes or practicing social media poses or whatever girly-girls did all day. But Todd was right about one thing: Zander did seem to date the high-maintenance ones. Not only that but he remained a pipe dream for another reason—he was her older brother's best friend. Which put her directly in the "like my little sister" zone—a zone even lower than the "friend zone." Where was her brother anyway? He was supposed to be helping clean up the house. Typical Nick—MIA when manual labor was involved. He'd be at closing though when the money was handed out. Well, she sure as shit wasn't touching anything in his room. He could come clean out his space himself. Or watch it get put in the dumpster. She sighed in frustration and looked back down at her notebook. As if her name melding with Zander's wasn't bad enough, the millions of little hearts she'd drawn made it especially cringeworthy. Yup, this was going in the trash pile. No evidence needed from her embarrassing high school crush. And she hadn't needed the geometry notes so far in her adult life She tossed it into the trash bag behind her and started on another pile. After an hour, Lizzie stood to try to get the kink out of her back. The three additional trash bags she'd accumulated so far barely made a dent in her childhood room. Three trash bags for just her tiny room! They still had the rest of the house to go through. When she agreed to help her parents get the house ready for the market, she figured they'd at least started the process. But, nope. Not a single china cabinet emptied or box packed. If she didn't get some help soon, she was going to hire someone. Definitely the College Hunks Hauling Junk company. She wouldn't mind watching that process. In the meantime, she once again called her brother. Straight to voice mail. She rolled her eyes, a bad habit her mother had tried to guilt trip out of her, and texted him instead. LIZZIE: Thanks for the assist at Moms house today Knowing he wouldn't respond to her attempt at a passive guilt trip, she slipped her phone into her back pocket and called it quits for the day. She boxed up her keep pile, taped it shut tightly, and labeled it KEEP FOR LIZZIE on all four sides. Then she pushed it to the corner of the room where hopefully no one would bother it until she could come retrieve it. She'd have to borrow a car. Maybe Xavier would be willing to help her. He had a truck. "Oh crackers!" she shouted. She glanced at her phone again to check the time. She was late for her shift at McConnell's Bar and Grill, the bar where she was now proudly part owner. She didn't want to leave Xavier hanging any longer than she had to on what was bound to be another busy Saturday night. Brendan McConnell, the other owner, Jerry, their full-time cook, and Gabby, their part-time employee, were finishing a catering job and wouldn't be back until much later. LIZZIE: Zay! Sorry Im gonna be a little late XAVIER: No prob. Ride safe LIZZIE: Thx Ur the best XAVIER: I know. ;) You owe me Xavier Drake—Zander's little brother, who wasn't so little anymore—suddenly came back into her life about a year ago when he moved back to the D.C. area. She hadn't seen either Drake brother since their parents retired to Florida about five years ago. The boys, both exploring their own lives in other states, didn't really have a reason to return. Until recently, when Xavier wanted to take advantage of the IT boom in the D.C. area. He'd fallen in love with McConnell's, just like she had, and agreed to not only be their part-time IT guy, but also continue to work behind the bar and in the kitchen. More importantly, he had become one of Lizzie's closest friends. She'd asked him about Zander from time to time, trying to sound nonchalant. Just a "how's the family" when she really wanted to scream "tell me everything about Zee!" in desperation. He'd only given her the standard "everyone's fine." Zander apparently hadn't stopped serial dating, much to the chagrin of his parents who were hoping for grandbabies to spoil. Lizzie tried to ignore the thought that crept into her consciousness—at least he wasn't married. Because who cares if he was? She didn't care. That was her story, and she was sticking to it. And holy crap did Xavier ever look like his brother—or at least how she remembered him—tall, broad, and blonde. The only significant difference was their eyes. Where Xavier's were a kaleidoscope of browns and greens, Zander's were a deep mocha brown with amber rays extending from the pupil to the outer rim. Tiger eyes, she'd called them in her unfortunate attempts at poetry in high school. Shit. Her poetry. Where was that journal? The thought of someone seeing those pathetic inner thoughts and childish metaphors had her running back upstairs to her room. She found it among the cobwebs and dust under her dresser. Right where she'd hidden it before leaving for college. Her parents' housekeeper never cleaned under there. Based on the layer of dust on the top of the dresser, she doubted the woman ever came in her room at all after she'd officially moved out. She flipped through the journal, cringing at her pitiful high school heart vomit—there were a lot of references to angels and falling rose petals and broken mirrors, yikes—and then started to stuff it into one of the trash bags. Something made her pull it out at the last minute. Instead she took it downstairs and stuffed it into her backpack. She put her trash bags in the attached garage, grabbed a water from the fridge and her helmet from the hall table, and headed out the back door to where she parked her motorcycle. Lizzie threw a leg over the bike and was about to put on her helmet when she caught movement in her periphery. Without thinking, she swung her heavy helmet toward the shadow rapidly approaching behind her and felt the contact all the way up her arm. She heard an "oof" and a "what the hell, Lizzie," in a voice from her past. As the doubled over figure lifted his head, she immediately recognized those tiger eyes. Zander Drake. CHAPTER TWO "That's not what helmets are for. Haven't you learned to ride that thing correctly yet?" Zander asked, trying to catch his breath after Lizzie's blow to his stomach. "Maybe if I had a better teacher, I'd be doing a better job," she teased. Zander had in fact been her teacher. Zander scoffed. "You had the best teacher." "What are you doing here anyway?" Lizzie asked. "Visiting Xavier. Checking out the old stomping grounds," he said. Not completely a lie. Just not the whole truth. "But what are you doing here?" she clarified pointing to the driveway. "At my parent's house?" "Oh. I'm supposed to be meeting Nick. He said he needed some help moving some furniture or something," Zander explained. He was finally able to stand up straight and take a deep breath. He lifted his shirt to see if she'd left a mark. "Holy abs," Lizzie said under her breath. He flexed them for good measure. Then examined her more closely. Little Lizzie all grown up. Time hadn't dulled her natural beauty one bit. "Looking good, Lizard." She rolled her eyes at the use of her old nickname. "Thanks. I haven't seen Nick. He was supposed to meet me here like two hours ago. If you see him, let him know I'm pissed." She started to put on her helmet. "Where are you headed?" he asked. "McConnell's. My shift is starting. Xavier's there solo until I get there," Lizzie explained. "Mind if I tag along? I need to touch base with Xavier and see if I can crash at his place," he said smirking. Probably he should have asked Xavier first, but what are families for, right? If Zay wasn't up for company, he'd crash with Nick. God knew that clown had enough room to spare. "You haven't asked him yet?" Lizzie asked. Zander smirked again and shook his head. "Does he even know you're coming?" "He knows I'm coming. I just don't think he knows it's today," Zander explained. "I see," Lizzie said in a tone that clearly meant she did not, in fact, see. "Well, you can follow me if you can keep up." She put her helmet on and adjusted the straps on her shoulder bag. "How about you drive my rental, and I'll take your bike?" he asked hopefully. He hadn't ridden in too long. She flipped up the face shield on her helmet, said, "Not a chance," and gunned the engine. Zander sprinted back to his rental car knowing she wouldn't wait for him. She was out of the driveway and halfway down the street by the time he started his car. Thank goodness for GPS. He caught up to her at the next light, however. He beeped and waved enthusiastically when she glanced over her shoulder at him. He could feel her eye roll even though he couldn't see it through the tinted lens of her helmet. His eyes traveled the length of her back as she leaned over the handlebars in anticipation of the light change. Her perfectly round ass hugged the seat as though it was molded for her specifically as her thighs gripped the sides of the bike. Damn, how he wished he had just asked to ride with her. He remembered all too clearly the way their bodies fit together as he gave her riding lessons back in high school. The slight curve of her breasts against his back. Her arms tight around his waist. Her soft breath tickling his neck. And, on especially tight turns or fast straightaways, the pressure of her thighs gripping his hips as she squealed with excitement. When she finally demanded to take control herself, he rode behind her feeling her muscles move as she expertly controlled the powerful bike beneath her. He was also ever mindful of not poking her in the back with his hard-on. And making sure Nick never saw his embarrassing reaction to Lizzie. The Vandevere siblings didn't always get along, but Nick was still protective of his younger sister. Nick was the biggest reason why Zander hadn't made a serious move on Lizzie in high school. That and the fact that she wasn't a cheerleader. He kicked himself now thinking about what he missed because he worried so much about his reputation. So instead of dating her, he'd purposefully extended those riding lessons making up ridiculous reasons for them to continue. Just to spend time with her. Just to feel her tight against him. A horn blast behind him made him jump. The light had changed. He waved an apology in his rearview mirror and took off after Lizzie's retreating back. He was in for a long couple of weeks if he lost all conscious thought every time Lizzie was around. Of course, he could always avoid her. He was good at that—running, avoiding, excusing, denying. Those were the real reasons why he was back here in the DC area in the first place. Namely avoiding Tiffany. And giving her space to get over him since she was apparently in denial about their break-up. Plus, he had to help Nick clear out his parents' massive Potomac home. At least that was the excuse he gave Tiffany for going away and not taking her calls. Or answering her bazillion texts. Or liking her social media posts. Even when she tagged him. Which she did. Too often. He shook his head at his own stupidity. Again. The last time he dated a girl like Tiffany—all boobs, no brain and hell bent on a husband—he'd gotten himself into a similar predicament. He'd promised himself he wouldn't be that stupid again. He'd be perfectly upfront about his intentions or lack of intentions when it came to marriage. Instead, he'd been lulled into passivity with Tiffany's buxom breasts and fuck-me eyes. So stupid. This two-week hiatus was a good idea for Tiffany as well as him. He needed to cleanse his palate of women and focus on himself. He was almost 30 and still pretty much adrift. Sure, he had a career, one he liked well enough, but he was stagnant. He liked dating around, but the types of girls he attracted weren't the ones he really wanted to be with. Of course, he was the envy of his office since he not only dated the most chicks but also the hottest ones. Unfortunately, he never really had a connection with them outside of traipsing them around company events. The very definition of arm candy. Lately he wondered if he wanted more. Then he'd get out of his own ass and remember how good he had it being single. Nobody nagging him to clean his bathroom or make dinner or call if he was going to be late. He could listen to Metallica at full blast in his tighty-whiteys at two in the afternoon if he wanted to. He'd never actually wanted to do that specifically, but that wasn't the point. Zander's phone buzzed beside him. He cringed as he waited for the hands-free system to inevitably tell him it was Tiffany. Even though he explicitly told her not to contact him. Instead the robotic female voice said, "Text from Nick the dick. Where you be at bro." Zander chuckled at the nickname for his oldest friend. He really should change it. Maybe when he actually turned thirty, he'd feel more compelled to be mature. He enabled the Bluetooth and said, "Call Nick the dick cell," which made him chuckle again despite himself. The phone rang twice then Nick picked up. Miracles upon miracles. He rarely actually answered his phone. Of course, Nick wanted something from Zander which increased his accessibility a hundred-fold. "Hey man," Nick said by way of greeting. "I thought you were coming to help me?" "I was there, dude, but you weren't. I ran into Lizzie as she was leaving. She said you were supposed to be there two hours ago," Zander said. "I probably definitely did that on purpose," Nick laughed. "I didn't want to hear her nagging me the whole time. Listen, I'm here now. Can you come back?" "I'm heading to McConnell's really quickly to check in with Xavier. Depending on how long it takes, I could be back in about an hour," Zander offered. He didn't really want to make the 20-30-minute drive back to Potomac after having just been there. And after flying from Atlanta to Mary land this morning. He wanted a shower, a snack, and a nap. One look at Lizzie's ass on her bike made him think about something else he wanted, too. Something perpetually off limits. But he did promise Nick he'd help. Plus, he loved looking through rich people shit. They had the craziest things. He'd worked really hard to be able to afford his own crazy things. "An hour? I might be done by then. Text me before you leave. I'll let you know," Nick said. "No problem. Sorry. Lizzie made it seem like you were a no-show. I can help tomorrow," he offered. "Yeah, that could work. Forget about coming back here tonight. I'll text you a time tomorrow. I need to check if Lizzie is planning on coming back," Nick said. "I'll ask her when we get to the bar and let you know." "Thanks, bro. See you tomorrow." Nick hung up. Before he could stop them, Zander's thoughts turned to being alone with an adult Lizzie in the big, empty house tomorrow before Nick arrived. He could absolutely show up early "accidentally" and show Lizzie what he'd been fantasizing about since high school. Then he immediately scolded himself. Idiot. She was Nick's little sister. He'd known her forever. Plus, she'd never been the type of girl to just roll into bed with anyone. In fact, he wouldn't be surprised if she was still a virgin. As he followed Lizzie towards McConnell's, he wondered how he could confirm or deny that thought. To be continued in How to Date Your Brother's Best Friend - Available Now for Pre-Order on Amazon. Release date: April 28th.

Hello Book Lovers! First of all, how are you doing during this unprecedented time in history? Are you finding ways to keep busy at home? Are you able to see your family and friends - even if it is through video? Are you reading more to escape reality? Are you dealing with distance learning and home schooling as well? Here on the farm, we are so fortunate to have almost 6 acres to roam around on. Our closest neighbor's are cows. We've been checking things off of our to-do lists - clearing the stream, cleaning the pond, planting trees and veggies, and playing with our new baby chicks! We are hoping to put up a fence soon, so we can adopt pygmy goats as well. Another positive thing coming out of this mandatory Stay-At-Home order is that I have found some more time to read and write. The third book in the How To Date series is scheduled for release on April 28th - less than 2 months after Book 2! And both Xavier and Nick are screaming for me to tell their stories as well. While I usually do most of my writing in the summer months (my muggle job is high school English teacher), I'm now able to steal a few extra hours for writing in between managing my own, new online classrooms and helping my kiddos manage theirs. Be sure to sign up for my newsletter so you get a FREE book and never miss out on new releases. Also, on Facebook, you can help me choose the next cover and the name of Xavier's love interest! As a teacher, I'm used to interacting with at least 500-2000 people a day. Now, I'm down to 3 - whom I love very much - but it's quite a change. Please, please, please connect with me, so I have some more adult conversation!