If you enjoyed For Crosby (Book #3 in the For You Standalone Series),
be sure to check out:
Book #1 For Finlay, Caden and Finlay’s story
Book #2 For Forester, Trace and Marin’s story
Here are a couple excerpts…
For Finlay Excerpt:
Finlay
I stood on the sideline under the unbearable August sun. There was no reprieve from an Alabama summer. Pool water turned to bath water, and lakes were overcrowded. So unless you were brave enough to jump into a cold shower, you dealt with the heat. And out there in the open stadium, the sun beat down like a mother.
A couple players ran over to the sideline, pulling off their shiny red helmets revealing damp hair and sweaty red faces. The once menacing black paint trailed like tear drops down their cheeks. They grabbed the water bottles I extended to them. “Thanks,” the shorter one uttered, while the taller downed the contents of his without taking a breath.
They tossed me back the empty bottles. I grabbed two more from the bench and searched for anyone else looking for sustenance. When no one caught my eye, I hurried to my back-up supply in the big jug behind the bench and filled the empty bottles.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Ugh. That freaking voice.
“Get your ass over here.”
I turned, eyeing the asshole approaching me with nothing but disgust. And while I had a million comebacks for his inappropriate comments, I held my tongue—at least for the time being. I needed to be there. A prick like him wasn’t going to drive me away.
“Didn’t you see me motioning for you out there?” he growled.
Yup. I shook my head. “Sorry.”
“Well, give me a damn drink,” he ordered, colder than usual.
I bit down on my bottom lip as I handed him the bottle, wishing I’d spit in it first.
He ripped it from my hand. “Coach might’ve gotten one with tits this time,” he said to no one in particular. “But she’s sure dumb as dirt.”
I sucked back a sharp breath.
“Grady!” a deep voice shouted. “That’s enough.”
I froze, startled that someone actually had the balls to stand up to the three-hundred pound brute.
Grady’s eyes lifted over my shoulder. A cold calculated grin—nearly concealed by his pathetic attempt at a beard—tugged at his lips. “This don’t concern you, Brooks.”
“Leave her alone,” the quarterback warned.
Grady laughed wickedly before his eyes shot back to mine. “Don’t get your hopes up, sweetheart. Brooks ain’t nobody’s Prince Charming. He’d fuck you then ditch you in a matter of seconds.” Grady downed the water and tossed the bottle to the ground as he lumbered away.
I didn’t turn around. I knew who Caden Brooks was. I’d known before I even arrived on campus. Junior star quarterback. His conquests epic, making his way from his home state of California to Alabama in grand-freaking-style. And his looks…well, he certainly was pretty. If football didn’t work out, his dirty blond hair, blue eyes, and body people bowed down to would be gracing underwear billboards in Times Square in no time. But the last thing I needed to see was Brooks waiting for a thank you. Waiting for me to fawn all over him like every other girl.
Not a chance in hell that was happening.
“You okay?” Brooks asked from somewhere behind me.
My head whipped around, my dark ponytail slapping me in the face. My eyes locked on his sweaty face, his eyes prominent in the bright afternoon sun. “I could’ve handled it,” I scowled.
His head recoiled, the lack of appreciation catching him off guard. “Yeah, looked like you were handling it.” Of course he recovered. Guys accustomed to people kissing their asses always recovered, never letting anyone see them falter. As if on cue, his features sobered. I watched it happen. I watched him realize I wasn’t worth his time.
I wasn’t. Nor would I ever want to be. I hated Caden Brooks. I hated him with everything I had left in the world.
“No worries,” he said. “I won’t make that mistake again.” He turned and walked toward the other end of the sideline.
I didn’t need him.
I didn’t need anyone…
For Forester Excerpt
Marin
I reached behind me, grabbing for the bag of cheddar goldfish from the floor of the backseat, desperately needing a snack. Yup. That’s what my life had come to. Eating stale goldfish off the floor of my car. If my college friends could see me now.
I’d dropped CJ off at camp and had a few hours to clean the house that had suddenly gone to hell and search the Internet for a job. I pulled into my neighborhood, passing all the fancy homes with their brick fronts, fancy stained-glass doors, and meticulously manicured lawns. The same ones that had drawn Charles and me to this neighborhood seven years ago. I remember imagining our future there. Imagining Charles surprising me with breakfast on Saturday mornings. Twirling me around the kitchen to our favorite song. Our laughter filling our beautiful new space.
At twenty-two, I was such a fool.
Scratch that. At twenty-nine, I was still a fool.
Those days had never happened. My marriage had been a sham. Something I was part of, but never really in. I’d merely been playing a part. I never saw what was going on. Never saw I was the only one invested.
I turned from the houses that lined the street. A basketball bounced out in front of my car. I hit the brakes. A man jogged out in front of my car, bending to grab it. When he stood back up, he turned toward me and flashed a wide smile. Two dimples dug into the sides of his mouth, sending my mind reeling. I recognized those dimples. They belonged to Trace Forester, the neighborhood kid who zipped by on his skateboard always smiling and waving as he passed by. That was well before CJ. That was when I’d just graduated with my Bachelor’s and had nothing to fill my days but homework from my grad classes. Now those dimples belonged to a man. At least he looked like a man, all six foot something and ripped. His white shirt gripped massive arms and his dark hair was now cleanly cut and not shaggy like the little skateboarder years before. And though the blue eyes that were currently staring at me were the same, the face with its square jaw covered in a dusting of stubble had matured.
Trace walked around to the side of my car. I lowered the country music on my radio and dusted the goldfish crumbs off the front of my shirt. I turned toward my open window with a smile that hopefully said I wasn’t trying too hard to look put together when my world had recently fallen apart. No doubt he knew. His mother was the biggest gossip in town.
“Hey,” he said, ducking his head to look in the car window. “I haven't seen you in a while.”
I smiled. “Yeah.” I couldn’t stop my eyes from drifting over his chest, especially with his shirt stretched across it. “Last time I saw you, you were skateboarding around here like a maniac.” Realizing I might’ve been staring a little too long, my eyes jumped to his.
“I haven't skateboarded since junior high.” He ran a hand through his dark hair with an amused laugh. “You do realize I’m a senior in college, right?”
I laughed to myself, unable to recall the last time I’d actually seen him. Once CJ was born, my life became hectic, my mind oftentimes distracted. Probably the reason I didn’t know my husband was cheating on me. “Sorry. I guess life happened.”
“Yeah. I heard you had a kid.”
I nodded. “CJ. He’s five. He kind of reminds me of you when you were younger.”
His brows lifted. “Wild?”
I snickered. “Happy.”
His eyes lingered on mine longer than what was probably acceptable given our substantial age difference.
“So.” I cleared my throat to break the sudden awkwardness. “How do you like college?”
He smirked. “It’s treating me all right.”
I suddenly felt like I’d missed something. “Why do I get the feeling you’re laughing at me?”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes remaining on mine. “I’m not laughing.”
“Then what don’t I understand?”
“I’m Alabama’s number one receiver.”
My eyes rounded. “Sorry. I should probably know that, shouldn’t I?”
“I’m surprised my mother hasn’t told you.”
I shrugged. “I kind of keep to myself these days.”
“Yeah. I heard you’re getting divorced.”
My eyes flashed down. Did people think I hadn’t been a good enough wife? A good enough mother?
“Never liked the guy,” he admitted matter-of-factly.
My eyes shot back to his. “No?”
He scoffed. “Hell, no. The guy seemed like a total douche.”
I threw back my head and laughed, feeling a giant weight lift off my shoulders. If Trace knew the truth about Charles, and he’d been away at school, hopefully the rest of the neighborhood did, too. “So, what are you up to this summer?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Working out so I’m ready for the season, and making some cash. You know Lou’s Beach Bar?”
“Do I?” I laughed, shaking my head at the wild recollections flooding my brain. “My friends and I practically lived there when we were in college…God. That was so long ago.”
“Yeah. Cuz you’re so old.”
“That was another life.”
“You’re getting a divorce. Your life didn’t end,” he said, so nonchalant—so sure—I almost believed him. “Why’d you ask what I was doing this summer?”
I swallowed. Me and my big mouth. “I might have a proposition for you.”
He quirked his brow. “I like where this is going.”
Gah. His confidence was off the charts. “I need a guy around.”
“You don’t say?”
Oh shit. “For CJ,” I quickly added. “Camp ends soon and I need someone to spend some time with him. You know, play catch or something. His father never really takes the time to do that when he sees him. I don’t want him to be an awkward, uncoordinated kid.”
“Yeah. That would suck.”
“Well?” I said. “You up for the challenge?”
Trace’s eyes zoned in on mine. “I’m always up for a challenge.”
For some reason, I got the feeling he wasn’t talking about CJ.
“When do you want me to stop by?” he asked.
“Oh. Whenever you can. Just text me. Do you have your phone on you?”
He slipped his hand into the pocket of his basketball shorts.
My eyes followed his hand, noticing the way his shorts hung low on his hips as he pulled the phone from his pocket. Geez. He even had definition there.
Trace cleared his throat.
My eyes jumped to his, my cheeks pulsing with heat. What the hell was wrong with me?
He wore a slight grin, as if amused by the dirty cougar checking him out. “What is it?”
I rattled off my number and he punched it in. I finished by saying, “Marin.”
He glanced up at me. “You don’t think I know your name?”
I shrugged. “Most kids don’t pay attention to stuff like that.”
“I’m not a kid,” he said, his voice dropping to a lower tenor. “And I did pay attention.”
A ripple rolled through my stomach. A dangerous, unexpected ripple. I needed to get the hell out of there. He was a kid for Christ’s sake. And he clearly wasn’t looking at me the way my body was leading me to believe he was. I was damaged goods. I couldn’t even keep a husband. “Well, just text me when you’re around,” I said off-handedly, so not to appear desperate. “I’ll make sure CJ and I are home.”
He nodded, stepping back from the car.
“I really appreciate this.”
“Not a problem, Marin.”
The smooth way my name rolled off his tongue told me I needed to be careful when it came to Trace Forester. He was a kid. And I was a lonely, twenty-nine-year-old, single mother. Things like that were only glamorized on television with housewives and their landscapers, not in real life.
As I pulled away, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Trace stood with his arms folded across his chest watching me go…