Chapter 1
Blakely
"You come here often?"
My fingers freeze over the screen of my smartphone. I literally take a moment to glance around at my surroundings because the last time I checked, I was hiding out in the walk-in pantry of my ex-roommate’s new kitchen, hurriedly jotting down a scene that began forming in my head somewhere between the salad course and dessert.
When I saw the way that Annaleigh’s eyes fluttered shut and the crimson flush that crept up her neck as she savored the experience of Prescott’s lips sealed to her cheeks, I knew I had to capture that moment for my upcoming novel. It was pure gold.
I wasted no time sneaking away from the engagement party to get those magical words typed into my phone. I've managed to get so lost in my thoughts as the story idea comes to life that, for a fraction of a second, I worry that I may have unknowingly been teleported to some sleazy nightclub where unimaginative pickup lines are an acceptable form of flirtation...
My eyes frantically drift over the shelves of pasta boxes, tuna cans and condiment jars. I sigh in relief. Still in the pantry.
I peek up at the blond-haired, green-eyed man in the crisp gray suit giving me his best Fabio-pose against the doorjamb.
"Excuse me?"
He smiles wide and repeats himself, louder this time, y'know, just in case the distant hum of the conversations and the cling-clang of silverware from the swanky dinner party carrying on down the hall drowned him out the first time. "Do you come here often?"
I groan inwardly. Such a shame. He has so much going for him. He even has dimples.
Yes, dimples.
And a strong, stubbly jaw and long, long lashes.
But unfortunately, he opened his mouth. And words started falling out of it.
Fantasy, ruined.
This is why I allow myself to get lost in my romance novels. This is why I choose to live vicariously through my fictional heroes and heroines – Darcy is my guy. Cullen is my mate. Grey is my master – because real-life guys say dumb shit like 'do you come here often?' when you're minding your own business in a walk-in pantry at an engagement party.
Is an intelligent conversation-starter really too much to ask these days? If this is all that the dating scene has to offer, I'm going to die a virgin.
Mr. Gray Suit is still standing there, waiting for an answer. My skin blazes when I realize that he's blocking the only exit and that there's no way out of here without dealing with him head-on.
Oh, boy...
One look at my crimson cheeks and he quickly decides to forgo any further subtlety. He leans in close, carrying the overbearing scent of his cologne with him. "So, are you gonna get out of here with me or what?"
Dude, come on...
That's one of the pitfalls of being a shy girl. Every guy I cross paths with thinks that his ‘utter irresistibleness’ is the reason for the blush semi-permanently etched on my cheeks. They’re too dense to realize that I’m really just clumsy and socially-awkward to boot and the thought of making casual banter – or god forbid, flirting – causes my heart to squeeze itself into my windpipe.
I give him a tight smile. "No."
What I really want to say is, ‘I've got a pretty little g-spot massager and a fresh pack of batteries at home. So, I’ll pass, you arrogant, misogynistic asswipe.’ But that would be rude.
He hikes a brow. "No?" As though he's never heard the word before.
Wow, entitled much?
"No, " I say again.
His lips form the most unpleasant scowl I’ve ever seen. “Why?”
I blurt out the first excuse that comes to mind. "I'm pregnant and I don't know who the father is."
Really, Blakely?
His eyebrows dart up and his face goes pale. "Uh, okay...g-good luck with that..." he stutters as he slowly backs out of the doorway. I clasp my hands over my mouth to suppress my laughter as he turns and hightails it back to the party.
Argh! The things women have to do to keep thirsty losers at bay. I take an easy breath now that he’s gone.
Ah-kay, back to typing out my story idea.
And as his lips trailed across her cheekbone, Leigh-Anna felt desire ripening in her loins. If she had her way, she’d allow Preswell to take her right here and now. But that would definitely not be proper or ladylike. Still, it delighted her immensely when his mouth brushed the lobe of her ear and his words spilt across her skin. “Oh, my dear, the things I will do to you once I get you alone…”
Gosh – why does fictional Annaleigh suddenly sound like a British aristocrat?
Backspace. Backspace. Backspace.
My irritation begins to deepen. Damn you, Gray Suit for showing up in here and throwing me off of my game.
Let’s try this again.
I immerse myself into getting those words out but it’s obvious to me that I’ve lost my flow. Still, I persist. I decide that even if I end up spending the rest of the night in here, I’ll just keep typing and deleting until I get this story right.
But before long, Annaleigh slips into the cupboard next to me, startling the hell out of me. She closes the door softly behind her and kicks off her high heels. She exhales a heavy sigh of relief as she wiggles her reddened toes. “Can somebody turn up the air conditioner in here? I’m sweating my tits off.” She fans herself with her hand. The girl is literally sweating under pressure.
I quickly shove my phone into the pocket of my dress. She and I are really close – she’s my cousin, my ex-roommate, my best friend, really – but I’m sure she'd be pretty freaked out to learn that she and her fiancé are my muses for Taken by my Bad Boy Lawyer, the erotic romance that I’ve been in here outlining this whole time.
"You okay?" I ask.
Her eyes roll up as if she’s trying to catch a glimpse of the false lashes hanging off of her eyelids. "These things are creeping me out,” she whines, “It's like having spiders' legs glued to my face." I titter softly at her plight. "And If Prescott's mother drops one more hint about being ready for grandbabies, I swear to god I’ll rip out my fallopian tubes and use them to strangle her."
I giggle. "Well, this is your engagement party. It's not crazy that people are thinking about what comes after marriage," I state diplomatically.
She glares at me as she sets a bare foot on one shelf and hoists herself up to grab a bottle of tequila hiding behind the breakfast cereal all the way at the top. "You're not helping, Blakes." She uncorks the bottle and takes a deep swallow. Then, she grimaces before stuffing a handful of cornflakes into her mouth. "I was two seconds away from a meltdown in there."
Annaleigh is a tomboy who lives in sneakers and old hoodies. Tonight, she had to flat-iron her hair and put on lipstick…I know she's suffering.
She watches me with a mixture of suspicion and excitement on her face. "So, what the hell were you doing in here with Ambrose Carlton?"
I tip an eyebrow. "Ambrose Carlton?"
"Yes, Ambrose Carlton. Prescott's college buddy from Connecticut. He's gonna be the best man. A ‘little birdie’ told me they noticed him slip out of here a few minutes ago.”
"Oh..." Mr. Gray Suit, a.k.a., Asswipe.
"Sorry, I assumed that you'd ask a guy his name before dragging him into my pantry to make out." She laughs, nudging me in the ribs.
"As if," I scoff. "He cornered me with some pathetic pick-up line. But don't worry. I scared him off. As far as he's concerned, I'm about to make my debut appearance on the Maury Show." I slick my hand over my little muffin top. "Gonna try and find the father of this little bastard I'm carrying." I grab the box of cereal from her.
"What?!" She gives me disappointed eyes. "I was really hoping you two would hit it off. He's about to make partner at the consulting firm where he works."
I roll my eyes and laugh quietly. "I don't care who he is. He's a jerk."
"Blakely, he's cute. And he was flirting."
"He's creepy, Annie." I shove cornflakes into my mouth.
A disapproving expression covers her face. "Keep up that attitude, and you and your hymen won't be parting ways anytime soon."
"Whatever," I mutter.
Her eyes narrow in on my face. It's lecture time. "Y'know, eventually you're gonna have to step out on your book boyfriends and spend some quality time with a human boy if you want your happily-ever-after."
Is the condescension really necessary, Annie?
I may be the oldest virgin in the state of Illinois but I'm not going to settle for a sleaze just to get the deed over with. I'm not exactly comfortable with my body. My hips are way too wide and the little paunch of my tummy won't go away. My red hair refuses to be tamed and the sprinkling of freckles on my face is just a preview of the spots covering the rest of my body. It's important that I gave my virginity to someone I feel comfortable with, someone who makes me feel safe, like I can let my walls down. I don't think that's too much to ask.
Before I can explain that to her, the door swings open and her brother, Wesley, stands in the doorway glowering at us. "Oh give me that!" he hisses, grabbing the liquor out of her hands. "It's your engagement party. Go mingle!"
"I don't wanna," she whines, donning the perfect pout.
He gives her sharp eyes. "Annaleigh. Go."
Like a cantankerous child, she slips into her shoes and stomps back to the party, grumbling under her breath.
Wesley's eyes settle on me as he slides the tequila onto the shelf. "And you, I've been meaning to talk to you all night."
"What's up, cous’?" I ask sweetly.
"You still have that empty room since Annaleigh moved out?"
I nod. "Yeah. Why? You coming back here to Reyfield?" I question excitedly. Wesley moved out to Silicon Valley a few years ago to work at a tech start-up. I'd love it if he came back home. I miss him. He's one of the few people I'm really close with. I’m elementary school when the bigger kids would pick on me for being freckle-faced and red-headed, Wesley made it his mission to defend me even if it meant getting his skinny ass kicked every now and then.
He chuffs. "Not a chance that I'd move back to this town. But I do have a friend I just found a temporary gig for out here. It'll only last a few months. He needs somewhere to stay."
Uncertainty immediately begins to rumble in my belly. "Uh... I don't know about having some strange guy living in my apartment. I was hoping to get one of my classmates to move in."
Wesley flicks a wrist dismissively. "Nicholas is a big tech dork. All he does is write code and watch Japanese anime cartoons all day. You won't even know he's there."
Unfortunately, that isn't enough to calm my anxiety. I have a tiny circle of people I feel comfortable with and I'm not exactly jumping at the idea of opening that circle up.
"Blakes, I'm not sending you a mail-order bride. Just someone to split the bills with for the next few months. I'm sure you could use the extra cash."
I sigh. He's right about me needing help with the rent. I've been struggling a little since Annaleigh got engaged and moved in with Prescott. She offered to continue paying her share of the rent until the end of the lease but it didn't feel right to keep taking her money when she's living on the other side of town.
"Come on, Blakes. It won't hurt. He's a good guy. I swear. A computer geek. Totally benign."
Wesley will just keep pressing until I eventually give in. I know it. "Give me some time to think about it," I bargain.
He grins victoriously as if he’s already won. "Good.” He slips an arm around my shoulder and pulls me out of the pantry. “Now, let's go find Annaleigh before she tries to escape again."
Ugh! My phone is burning a hole in my pocket but I guess my novel-writing will have to wait.