Per your incessant request “to let you know either way” I regret to inform you that
Admiral Pete’s Fish and Chips will not be able to employ you as an “esteemed Ivy League
Gentlemen’s Broker” who is poised to lure men with “bank” to the bar, and “weed
potential douchebags from the mix.” We, at Admiral Pete’s, value our patrons and
appreciate them from all walks of life. The position available is for fry cook. I’m afraid
your thoughts on wearing your bikini to work might put you at potential risk for a third
degree flesh burn.

Best of luck in your future endeavors,

Day Shift Supervisor,
Kirk Hudson
Admiral Pete’s Fish and Chips

Re: NEED JOB NOW!!!

From: HollowBrookSavingsandLoans@gmail.com
To: Marleyfromthevalley94@yahoo.com

Certified and FDIC Insured

Banking you can trust.

Ms. Marley Jackson,

Thank you for your interest in seeking employment at our Hollow Brook branch. However,
I must inform you that we have never, nor will we ever, solicit to fulfill the position of
“skilled escort mediator.”

Although we here at the managerial branch find it compelling you have compiled data

that pairs women with the most fiscally sound prospects, with the promised “bonus of
free background checks!” our legal department has advised us to refrain from
entertaining the idea any further.

And, to answer your query, no, the free toaster you obtained from opening up yet a

third checking account cannot be redeemed for cash value or as payment for overdraft
fees.

Regards, Clancy Thomas
Branch Manager

Re: An investment opportunity!

From: TheHighlandsArtGallery@gmail.com
To: Marleyfromthevalley94@yahoo.com

Ms. Jackson,

Thank you for “swinging by on the way to the killer shoe sale at Norman’s.” We are

thrilled you had the opportunity to “check out some cool stuff” upon your visit. I was a bit
surprised to see the twenty-point bulletin you took upon yourself to send regarding ways
to improve floor traffic to the “dead space” we seem to occupy.

I’m sure an espresso bar would, as you suggest, “liven up the atmosphere,” as well as

tables and free wireless service for those customers who like to “bring their laptops and
squat for the afternoon while writing that last minute paper;” however, I’m afraid it would
detract from the purpose of our gallery. I’m also hesitant to believe that a trio of
attractive baristas would, as you suggest, “seduce the right clientele.” We, here at the
Highlands Art Gallery, are most interested in serious investors for our collections, not so
much the college freshman who has a last minute paper due in Lit.

Thank you for the opportunity to review your well-detailed plan of how to improve

upon our services and thus “really make some bank!”

We are most certainly declining your offer.

P.S. Thank you for your suggestion on which cleaning solutions might work best to
remove “all the little spots” from “that one painting.” It was auctioned off last week for a
sum of 1.7 million dollars.

Keep yourself and your solvents away from my studio.

Benjamin Hathaway

Licensed Distributor of Fine Art and Luxuries

Re: Let’s do this!

From: AlphaChi@edu.net
To: Marleyfromthevalley94@yahoo.com

Marley,

Get a grip. We are not coughing up some serious cash to have you pose as a wardrobe
consultant in order to help us “set the net.” We here at Alpha Chi are dedicated to the
learning experience and have risen above, “scoring with cute frat boys who have a future
revenue prospect of most small island nations.”

I also want to let you know that your five-step plan to convert a “matronly bookworm”

into a “sex kitten in heels” has really pissed off the majority. They totally feel it’s people
like you who set back feminism by merely breathing the same air as the rest of us.

BTW, I am totally not pissed at you. Feel free to slip your five-point brochure in my
private mailbox ASAP! You’re totally not going to charge me, right? We’re like, friends.

~ C

Re: Employment wanted

From: Banning&TateAdvertisingAgency@msn.com
To: Marleyfromthevalley94@yahoo.com

Ms. Marley Jackson,

Thank you for pointing out the primitive working conditions that exist here in our home
office. No, we are not looking to replace our “garage sale” grade furnishings with
something trendy that might inspire chic clientele. We tend to pride ourselves on our
minimalist décor that includes recycled furnishings and flooring. While we appreciate your
efforts to “launch us into the 21st century in style,” the position open was intended to
draw the attention of a graphics designer rather than an interior decorator.

Best of luck in your redecorating endeavors,
Oliver Tate

Re: Innovative marketing offer

From: TomsApplianceEmporium@gmail.com
To: Marleyfromthevalley94@yahoo.com

Marley,

While we appreciate your thoughts on introducing a bikini-clad hostess to our showroom
floor, we regretfully have decided to pass on your offer as we feel this might affront the
majority of our clients. Thank you for including your Facebook avatar as an attachment.
We have no doubt you would make a fine addition to any showroom willing to “share a
little cleavage.” We feel it is in the best interest of our customers to protect them from
such voyeuristic trials.

Do not, I repeat, do not send a portfolio of yourself in an assortment of swimwear.

This will not be necessary.

Best,

Nancy Lancaster (Tom’s wife)
P.S. Set foot in my store in a two-piece and see how fast I demonstrate the fact rotary

blades on a kitchen mixer can double as throwing stars.

Just try me.

Re: Former student ready to give back!

From: CarringtonElementarySchool@hotmail.com
To: Marleyfromthevalley94@yahoo.com

Ms. Jackson,

Thank you for the generous proposal to come in and read quality stories to our children at
the low price of fifteen dollars an hour on an ongoing rotating basis. While the offer to
“read as many library books as you can cram into their little brains” sounds tempting—
sadly our budget doesn’t allow for such extravagances. However, I am most impressed
that you can “squeal like a mouse” if need be. A talent that I’m sure will come in handy
some day soon. I see big things in your future.

And, as far as erecting a hot dog cart outside of the “barfeteria,” that, too, is a hard

no. I’m proud to say we have updated our menu options since you were last a student at
this fine establishment. We no longer serve “thick noodle worms” or “mystery mush that
smells like feet.”

Wishing you much success,

Principal Warnecki

O N E N I G H T S T A N D -

O F F I S H

M A RL E Y

omebody is going to get laid,” I whisper, curling my finger directly at the tall, dark,

and handsome, expensive suit wearing stranger I’ve been trying to net as my first one-
night stand of the evening. Of the evening? Actually I’m only planning the one. This is
new STD-riddled terrain for me, thus the verbiage snafu. I’m sure there will be a
missionary¸ oral, and perhaps anal snafu later this evening as well. Scratch that. There
will never, ever be an anal snafu. Although, in keeping with the theme in my life, I’m sure
I’ll have an entire series of snafus to look forward to from this night on until death do I
part. Considering I’ve built my existence one snafu at a time it only stands to reason.

The front door to the Black Bear Saloon opens and closes at regular intervals ushering

in the near freezing temperatures, a sure relief to those bathing in the sea of humanity.
The 12 Deadly Sins are still going strong. They have every coed and frat boy in the bar
dancing and thrashing in a mad drunken frenzy.

I watch as my roommate, Annie, wraps her arms around her boyfriend Blake, who

happens to be the lead singer of the aforementioned trespasses. I’m so happy for Annie, I
lose track of the task at hand for a moment. Annie has been deaf her entire life, and,
thanks to high tech implants, she has some of her hearing now. It’s a miracle, and,
believe me, no one deserves a miracle more than Annie. She’s the definition of a
kindhearted, soul. Her boyfriend, however, is the definition of here comes trouble, thus
perpetuating the fact opposites really do attract. Blake is your typical rocker bad-boy with
a heart of gold and apparently with a newborn on the side, but that’s another story.
Annie’s happily ever after has a bit of a modern day twist.

I’m sort of working on a happily ever after of my own—technically I’m working on a

happily ever next couple of hours. As far as my life is concerned I’m not expecting some
sappy forever after or any of that other fairytale bullshit. I’m a realist when it comes to
that four-letter word everyone in the world seems to wield so easily—love. True love is
for other people—people like Annie and Izzy and just about everyone who works at this
damn bar. It’s as if some rabid epidemic went amuck and infected everyone in the facility
but me. Nope definitely not me.

“

I’m a product of Walleye, a dirty small town in the valley that even the homeless

struggle to flee from. It edges Hollow Brook like some distant slutty cousin. Which isn’t
exactly saying nice things about the town I grew up in, but when just about every girl in
my high school sported a baby bump at prom, even the Parent Teacher Association was
forced to face the fact they might have a problem. I believe the term they used was
“epidemic.” While the students rallied for OBGYN services in the health department,
parents lobbied for condom dispensers to be placed next to the fruit vending machines.

Yet, somehow, I managed to graduate fetus-free! (as my mother gushed) and, in the

process, maintained an impressive GPA thus landing myself a scholarship to the
esteemed Whitney Briggs University, playground to the children of the rich and infamous.
My parents may not fall in the rich category, but they sure do give the infamous a run for
their Swiss-bank-account-heavily-tax-sheltered money. Edward Cecil Jackson, my father,
has been in and out of prison on armed robbery charges for the entire length of my life—
holding up liquor stores and gas stations alike. And, for the most part, he always
managed to elude authorities with the exception of the odd credit union. It was always
the bank heists that managed to trip him up and end a stream of illegal revenue that my
family had come to depend on, but I digress.

The music drifts from the speakers as the 12 Deadly Sins finish their set for the night.

Blake ends his last song with an “I love you” to Annie as he holds her in his arms and
they sway their conjoined hips into the proverbial sunset. If she wasn’t my closest friend
at Whitney Briggs, I would have long since barfed up the back-to-back nachos I’ve spent
the majority of the night noshing on.

Why couldn’t I be the one dancing off into the proverbial sunset right alongside Annie?

Why couldn’t that hornet’s ass I dated for the last two years, William Abbey Richie, keep
his wandering pants zipped for five solid minutes? Hard questions for a Saturday night.

Annie’s face turns twelve shades of pink, and, if I had to guess, those sweet nothings

Blake is whispering are a bit pornographic in nature.

See? If only Will would’ve kept his middle stump pointed in my direction, he could be

whispering all sorts of pornographic things to me right now.

Will. Even the memory of him leaves a horrible taste in my mouth like sucking on a

bucket full of rusty pennies.

I finally managed to tell my mother and, Jemma, my slightly psychotic yet well-

meaning sister, about the break up. Jemma has had her fair share of mangled
relationships. She has a variety of kids with a variety of fathers. Jemma is a can of
twisted worms all on her own. My mother just rolls her eyes when men walk out of
Jemma’s life, but, when I told her that Will cheated on me, she clutched her chest
dramatically informing me I was “cuckold.” If cuckold is code for “your boyfriend just went

on a coed fucking spree,” then yes, Will very much cuckold me in the most heart-
wrenching manner.

I knew it would be hard for us going to different universities, in different states no

less, but like a good, wide-eyed, unassuming girlfriend, I trusted him. I gifted him my
heart two years ago and then six months after that my virginity. It turns out collecting V-
Cards is something that William Abigail—whatever his highbrow middle name is—Richie
does best. It’s true I don’t quite remember his middle name. Honestly all I remember
thinking at the time he told me was holy hell that’s a girl’s name! I was drunk off the idea
that this gorgeous, incredibly rich (as his last name attests) boy would want anything to
do with me. Turns out he just wanted to do me—along with a few other people, of
course. I was simply standing in a very long line of “things/people to do.” Apparently he
does “it” quite a lot—so much so that he’s officially a card-carrying member of Assholes
United, an exclusive club that only cheating boyfriends belong to.

It’s his fault I’ve decided to eschew relationships for the time being (the words time

being and lifespan are interchangeable). Everything that’s wrong in my life is Will’s fault
at this point. It’s his fault I’m alone on a Saturday night. It’s his fault I’ve shattered my
heart and ego to shards. It’s his fault I’ve developed a slightly skewed yet alarmingly real
rage toward anyone with a dangling appendage in general. It’s most certainly Will’s fault
that I’ve paired my pricey convertible fit and flare dress (better suited for temperatures in
the triple digits) with an unfortunate pair of bright blue patent heels that peacock for
attention. I thought red might scream desperate and perhaps suggest a cash exchange
for the adventure I’m about to embark on because on this fine night I’ve set my mind,
and my vagina, on staking out a one-night stand.

The dark-haired man keeps sneaking glances my way—most likely because I pretend

to giggle and call him with my finger each time he happens to gaze in my general
direction. He’s literally tall, dark, and handsome, built like a linebacker, oozing a palpable
sex appeal that has women of all ages craning to glean a better look at him. He’s already
dismissed an entire slew of Alpha Chi skanks that have migrated his way. But I’ve marked
him as my one-night stand, and I’m determined to make this happen. Although,
admittedly, I have no clue how other girls actually go about luring strangers to their dorm
rooms. I’ve seen it done on numerous occasions, but most of those were boys, and
staggering drunk at that, vomiting their way down the hall as they trot off to “get some.”
I cringe at the lengths some of my dorm sisters have gone to procure a walking dildo. But
tonight it’s my turn.

Annie has already informed me she’s staying over at Blake’s for the weekend, so

there’s no fear of an awkward run-in with my roomie and said one-night stand. Besides,
it’ll be awkward enough with just me in the room. One-night stands are new territory—no

thanks to Will and the sisterhood of his traveling pants.

Annie and Blake head over toward my Tall, Dark, One-Night Stand, and he’s quick to

pull Blake into a man hug—probably congratulating him on a job well done. The Sins
really did rock it tonight. God—maybe he’s some high and mighty record producer with his
own label? Maybe he’s offering Blake a contract right here on the spot! I swear it’s as if
Annie and Blake are walking on sunshine. Everything goes right for the two of them, so
this wouldn’t surprise me at all.

The Tall Dark One glances my way and nods. Annie and Blake turn to look at me

before whispering something to him.

Oh, wow, this is getting awkward a lot quicker than expected. I turn and pretend to

laugh at whatever it is the gaggle of girls next to me are cackling over. Instinctually I
duck behind the mob of coeds and peer around a blonde with shoddy hair extensions
who’s currently masking me from further humiliation by way of poorly weaved horse hair.

I bet he thinks I’m stalking him—or worse, that I’m a hooker trying to reel in a john!

He’s cradling his phone in his hand. I bet he has the Hollow Brook PD on his contact list,
and his thumb is just itching to partake in a little social justice. Way to go. I close my
eyes and cringe.

Maybe that can be the next headline for my article? “How I Got Arrested While Trying

to Seduce a Fantastically Sexy Businessman.” Obviously he’s way out of my league.

Speaking of my article, I should go home and delete it. Who the hell am I to give sex

tips anyway? I can count on one hand the close encounters I’ve had with the testicular
kind. Will and I weren’t exactly active in that department. My article typically focuses on
fashion with the odd sex tip thrown in for good salacious measure. It’s really my sex tips
that bring the boys to the yard, regardless of the over-used euphemism. My sex tips bring
the girls to the yard, too, and that, in and of itself, is why I have the most widely read
article in both the print and online versions of the WB Daily.

Tall, Dark, and Alarmingly Sexy sears over me with those day glow eyes of his, and

my body sizzles as if I’ve just been thrown in the bathtub with a toaster. He has an
authoritative appeal like a lawyer or an undercover cop.

Cop! Gah! Forget calling the police. I bet he is the police. God. Of course, I’m going to

be arrested—by him. He’s probably just off duty. Those types are always plaguing the
Black Bear, trying to trip up the bartenders into serving minors. They live to shut places
like this down. Unfortunately for Annie and her brothers, who actually own the Black
Bear, this place is a magnet for minors, which, in theory, is fine since they serve a full
menu and an entire array of non-alcoholic drinks to go along with it, but something tells
me the odd hooker is not welcome on the premises.

I spin to leave in my cobalt blue lady-of-the-night heels and smack into a body.

“Marley?” Izzy backs up and steadies me by the shoulders. “Where are you in a hurry

to? You want some more nachos?”

Izzy is my sister Jemma’s best friend, only friend, and my nighttime supplier of never

ending tortilla chips doused in a questionable cheese batter. She and Jemma went to
high school together. Izzy is engaged to one of the owners of the Black Bear, Annie’s big
bro, Holt, thus the free never-ending digestional maladies she gifts whenever I frequent
the place.

“Just taking off for the night.” I try to sidestep around her, but she rather elegantly

blocks my path. Izzy is a dancer, who also happens to own her own dance studio, Electric
Lights. As a savvy business woman, who, as far as I know has managed to escape the
majority of her twenties without getting knocked-up, she’s the polar opposite of my
sister, a three time divorcee with four kids under five. Have I mentioned different baby
daddies?

Izzy pulls back and examines me from head to toe. “Look at you!” She ogles my

convertible fit and flare dress with its crisscross back, its high slit up the thigh that has no
place being out on a January night where the mercury is dropping to artic levels. “Don’t
worry, I’m not judging. I think you look amazing. Love the over-shoulder thing you’ve got
going on.” She bites down on her lip. “I heard about Will. Sorry.”

My stomach turns when she says she’s sorry. It’s all I hear now, sorry about Will! as if

he passed away, and, believe me, I might have preferred that option.

“No big deal.” I shrug it off, eyeing the coat rack before I remember that I didn’t

bother to bring one.

Perfect. I’m going to freeze on the way back to campus. I’ll lose my limbs to

hypothermia, and then let’s see how many perverted police officers I can lure to my dorm
that way. Never mind, I wouldn’t be lucky enough to survive the elements. I can see the
school paper headline now, “Girl Freezes to Death in Blue Patent Leather Heels.” Knowing
my editor, she’ll include the buy link for the heels at the end of the article. My name, of
course, will be superstitiously omitted. People like me get through their fifteen minutes of
infamy simply relegated to gender. Girl goes missing. Girl loses feet due to frostbite in an
attempt to be sexually promiscuous. Girl gets arrested by the best looking member of the
Hollow Brook PD and begs for a one-night stand on the way to the poky!

I glance over my shoulder and spot the handsome-as-hell business suit leering at me.

He makes his way briskly in this direction, and I gasp. His eyes are focused, his jaw set in
a mean scowl. He’s a man on a mission—and I bet a very specific part of him is waiting
for an emission. That’s either fresh lust in his eyes, or he’s looking to meet a correctional
quota, and, right now, I’d bet on the latter. Dear God, I’m about to be accessorized with a
pair of silver bracelets! Definitely something I would never pair with this ridiculous fit and

flare, limb-risking catastrophe. Besides, those kinds of bracelets scream cheap.

Of course, I might scream anything he wanted me to if he chained me to his bedpost.
He steps in closer, a dark smile twitching on his lips.
God, what am I thinking!
“Look, I’d better go.” I twist my way around Izzy and spot her stopping him just a few

feet away, making small talk.

Brilliant! I’ll have to kiss her pretty pink dance shoes for stalling while I make a clean

getaway. Next time I see him at the Black Bear, I’ll be sure to take a covert picture to
post on all the school’s social media sites (anonymously, of course). Exposing him as the
undercover P.I. he is. Everyone knows a man in a suit is litigious in nature. It’s just the
way of our society. And I’m sure he’d like to fuck me sideways for legally “defaming him”
once I out him as a narc.

An entire litany of inappropriate thoughts runs through my mind. That last scenario

has a bit of a dangerous yet painful appeal. And I’m guessing I wouldn’t mind a little pain
coming from him in that department.

I thread my way through the crowd, inadvertently rubbing my body along errant arms

and chests, the occasional pillowy boobs, and rock hard abs. Lord knows I’ve just had
enough action for the entire weekend. The Black Bear is a seaman-like cesspool of people
desperate to get laid. I should wear a body length prophylactic the next time I come in
just to avoid any contact venereal diseases I might be exposed to.

“Excuse me.” A deep voice, dark and lush as midnight, whispers in my ear from

behind. Even with my high rise FMs on, he’s taller than me by a foot. His heated breath
falls over my shoulder like a furnace. I don’t need to turn around to confirm that it’s the
hottest narc on the planet. And me without a single illegal pill-popping remedy. “Can I
buy you a drink?”

I give a short-lived smile before pausing just shy of the entry and swiveling around.
The sight of him in this close proximity is like a swift punch to the gut. He’s good

looking and by good looking I’m talking drop to your knees and beg him to shackle you
for his enjoyment type of good looking. He’s dressed to kill, with eyes that look as if they
want to punish you just for fun. He’s death-threat sexy. No wait, that sounds horribly
violent. He’s more of holy-hell-isn’t-it-illegal-to-be-so-damn-good-looking sexy. He must
know he’s abnormally attractive. Judging by the hint of a lewd grin that says I know I can
have you—I’m most certainly right.

If he is a cop—if he does have handcuffs, I’d gladly let him put them to use.
Those velvet cuffs I bought hoping to use with Will come to mind, and I immediately

push them right back out. I let out a dull laugh at the thought of Will. Will who looks like
a toothless, disheveled frat boy in comparison with this man whose chest is broad and

heavy as a battleship, emitting the warmth of a steam engine as I move in slightly closer.

His lime green eyes sear over mine, and my stomach turns into a fireball that races up

my throat, leaving my thighs throbbing for attention. His body, so thick and muscular
under that dark navy suit, moves inches from mine causing my mouth to water, my knees
to go slack as I try to maintain my composure. His gray and navy striped tie looks sleek
and expensive, and it’s all I can do not to run my fingers over it.

“A drink?” I suppose this is where he catches the bartender in an illegal underage

transaction, rendering both the Black Bear and my vagina useless for the night. “No
thanks.” I flat line. “I’m not thirsty.” I try to force myself to move one foot in front of the
other, but my feet are stuck in slow motion because my eyes can’t seem to pull away
from his.

“How about a bite? My treat.” He holds up his hand like a Boy Scout, and something

about this gesture endears me to him. “At my place.”

And there’s that. He’s gone from Boy Scout to serial killer in a single bound. He’s

obviously trying to lure me to his lair so he can hack off my limbs and fry them up in a
pan. I just might be the meal in question. But something in his bedroom eyes says no. Or
perhaps I am the meal in question but not in the frying pan sense—in the mattress sense
—which happens to be just what I’m looking for. Then it hits me.

“Oh, my, God!” I whisper a little too loud. This is it! I cast my net and caught myself a

one-night stand. “Wait—are you a cop?” I heard once on TV that if you ask them point
blank they’re legally obligated to disclose their true identity, or any arrests they make are
totally bogus. At least that’s my weak cable-based defense in the event he decides to
book me for little late night harlotry. To my knowledge the only thing that defines
prostitution is the passing of a few bucks, and I’m innocent enough to take a ten-dollar
bill from him thinking he wants me to pick up a Big Gulp from the Circle K. Of course, that
would lead to my infamous hooker nickname, Big Gulp. At least it shows promise, if not
productivity.

“A what?” He winces, leaning in—obviously feigning confusion.
“You know a night stick wielder, a badge carrying member of the Bay of Pigs, an

undercover Private Dick who has it out for a sweet innocent coed like me.”

His lip twitches just this side of a smile, and I can tell he’s silently contesting both my

sweetness and innocence. “You think I have it in for you? On what charges should I have
you arrested?”

“God, I don’t know, let’s see, a false narcotics charge? Perhaps railroading me into a

prostitution indictment? Oh, I know! Get me to the bar and suddenly “misplace” your
wallet so that my underage self will volunteer to purchase the both of us a beer, then
bam”—he ticks his head back a notch as I blow up in his face—“the bar loses its liquor

license within the hour. Face it, Officer Cocks”—I give a quick, totally uncalled for glance
to his crotch—“you’ve just been outted.”

“Officer Cocks?” he mouths. He gives a dry huff while darting a quick glance behind his

shoulder. “It looks like you’ve thought of everything.” He raises his arms in a mocking
fashion. “You’re onto me.”

Annie and Blake come over, and I’m quick to wedge myself protectively between

them.

“You’ve met Wyatt.” Annie rubs my back as she and Blake continue to inch their way

to the door. In addition to public displays of affection, they like to expand their touchy-
feeliness to the home front. Annie and Blake like to spend the night together. A lot. I only
know this because Annie is hardly at our dorm anymore. Soon I’ll have to resort to
photographs just to remember what she looks like.

“Oh, is that his name? Wyatt?” I extend my hand. “Marley Jackson.” I give a knowing

nod toward the con-artist before me. He thinks he’s artfully avoided my question, but I’m
about to prove him wrong. “And which precinct should I send the donuts to? You know, to
thank you for taking your protective services to unnecessary lengths.”

Annie goes rigid, and Blake looks more amused than shocked. I bet this narc in hiding

has been after Blake’s band just hoping to find their faces buried in a big fat pile of blow.

“Precinct?” Blake gives him a sock to the arm. “Dude, if role play is your thing, you

really need to clue your opponent in on it. Or else it’s just called a lie.”

Wyatt’s features smooth out. There’s marked irritation in those sharp features of his

as his jade eyes narrow in on mine.

“I haven’t lied about a thing.” He blinks a smile my way. “Ms. Jackson here has

surmised something I’m not. I believe the word she used was narc.”

Blake laughs so loud I jolt out from between them. He and Annie take a few more

eager steps toward the exit.

“That’s Blake’s brother.” Annie waves him off dismissively. “I promise he doesn’t bite.”

She scoots the door open with her back.

Blake raises his hand our way. “Trust me, he’s no narc.” He tweaks his brows as if it

meant something before he and Annie disappear into the cold night air.

“No narc,” I say it under my breath. “Blake’s brother, huh?” I step in front of him with

his wide frame, his defensive lineman shoulders, his dark ridge of a brow and feel that
one-night stand urge start up again in the form of a pleasant vibratory pulse between my
thighs.

His features fall flat, the once smiling eyes, the once playful tug of his lips let me

know I’ve blown it.

“Can we start over?” I jump on my tiptoes causing me to dance a little in my

ridiculously high heels. “I’m Marley Jackson.” I jab my hand in his direction. “I write for
my school paper, both the online and paper versions. As you can see I have a wild
imagination.” Those last few words trickle out almost inaudible. As if this gorgeous man
would care about my barely-there faux literary drivel or the twisted mind that conceives
them.

Wyatt stands unmoved, leaving my hand to hang cold in the air. His gaze darts down

a moment as the slim idea of a smile wavers.

He takes up my hand, warm, thick and firm, giving it a strong shake. God, I haven’t

felt a man like this, well, ever. Will had tiny, slender, effeminate hands. His fingers were
sort of wiry and thin, but this man, his strong thick fingers—all sorts of perverse thoughts
run wild through my brain, and I hang on tight as if I’ve just clasped onto a live electrical
wire.

“Wyatt James. Blake and I share a mother.” His smile widens, and, more importantly,

warms toward me as if his hardcore demeanor was an act all along. “I’m sorry if I gave
you the wrong impression.”

A group of coeds crowd through the door, causing me to press against him. He’s solid

as granite, holds the fragrance of a fresh cut forest mixed with that intoxicating man
scent that again Will denied me because he simply wasn’t a man. But Wyatt, this very
real man, smells and looks seductively expensive. I’m ready to latch on for the night to
see if his bed sheets hold the promise of a very high thread count. Who am I kidding? I
would let him take me in the back of his car on what I’m betting are buttery leather
seats.

“It was nice meeting you.” He nods as he makes a move to leave, and I block him.
“Wait, I’m really sorry. I was totally thrown off by your—” my mind grapples for

anything that might not make him sound like an authority figure bent on legal drama for
the night—“I was totally thrown off by your gorgeous self.” I bury my face in my hands a
moment. “And my tongue has been known to make just enough left turns to get me into
trouble.”

“I’m sure you’re very nice, Marley.” He compresses a smile, shutting his eyes briefly.

“You seem it. It’s just that I’ve moved past the sorority girl phase in my life. I was just
here to support Blake tonight. I don’t usually pick up girls in bars. I’m sorry if I gave you
the wrong impression. It was wise of you to be cautious.” A genuine sadness blooms on
his face. “It was nice meeting you. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.” He tips his head
like a perfect gentleman. “Have a great rest of the night.”

I watch as he strides out of the bar, sucking all the promise of a great rest of the night

right along with him.

And there it is, the big kiss off—and such a polite one to boot. Have a great rest of the

night—read, have a great rest of your life.

“Wait!” I follow him out of the bar and into the snowy night, slipping in my heels on a

patch of ice while freezing in my ridiculous convertible fit and flare dress more suitable for
other climates, other planets, other girls.

Wyatt dissolves in the sugar storm dusting the vicinity as he makes his way into the

parking lot.

“Marley?” A familiar voice calls from behind, and I spin on my peacock blue hooker

heels.

It’s William.

W Y A T T

narc? I would have laughed if my ego didn’t take a bullet. I get it. I’m not the average

frat boy who haunts this place on a Saturday night. I’m a working stiff who came off a
twelve-hour day, still wearing my monkey suit with a briefcase tucked in the trunk.

I slip behind the driver’s seat, start the engine with the keyless remote and sit there

like an idiot inhaling my own exhaust fumes.

She was pretty, I’ll give her that. Beautiful. And sweet in a quirky, slightly psychotic,

way—which, unfortunately, I seem to have a weak spot for. The way she kept beckoning
me over with the curl of her finger, I thought for sure we were on our way to a very good
time. The way that dress wrapped itself around her body was downright vulgar—in a
good way, that is. For twenty minutes straight I dreamed of taking a bite out of one of
those creamy thighs she kept flashing at me. Her smile was bright. Even when she wasn’t
speaking to someone, or further more when she was accusing me of running the Bay of
Pigs, her lips curved up at the tips. You can tell she’s just one of those people who smile
all the time. God knows I can use a little joy in this cheerless life of mine. I try to shake
her out of my mind but that smile…

A light peppering of snow dusts the windshield. For a second I picture her walking the

mean streets of Hollow Brook in those sky-high heels, bright as her eyes, that dress that
needs to be packed and flown to the Caribbean—preferably with me carrying the suitcase
for her. A dull laugh echoes through me. In my mind’s eye we’ve already landed and
settled in our room—I’ve got Marley bent over the bed with my hands inching that silky,
form-fitting dress right over her thighs.

“Screw it.” I jump out of the car and head toward the bar. At the least I could have

offered her my jacket. She’ll end up with pneumonia if she tries to walk to campus from
here, hell, if she tries to cross the street.

A choir of angry voices rises from just around the building and I pause. The sound of a

girl’s shrill voice pierces the dank silence as the snow sets in heavier. A deep bellow
follows with the words “fucking slut” rumbling out clear as day.

I peer over the cypress tree blocking my view. I’m pretty sure I don’t want any piece

of this angry action. I can always drive down the street and try to catch up with her that
way.

A girl throws her arms in the air and gives an exasperated sigh that vibrates through

the night. It’s Marley. Some idiot stands before her in an ascot and hunting boots.

“What the?” I pull back just enough.
“Did you just really say that?” Marley’s voice curls over the parking lot. “I’m the

fucking slut? I’m not the one who wrapped herself around anything with a hole in it!”

He steps into her face with marked agitation. “It was two fucking girls!”
Shit. I step lively as I head over in an effort to deliver a preemptive strike should the

idiot in the ascot try to assault her.

“You still here?” I nod over at her as I grip the handle to the entry. “Hey do you need

a ride?”

“Yes.” Marley digs her fists into her hips, her head jutting out as if she’s suddenly

shifted her anger toward me. She’s feisty and my dick and I both approve. “I will totally
need a ride.” She huffs incredulously as if ride were code for some new hallucinogen. It’s
not, is it? I’m just five years down the road post my MBA, and already I feel dated. How
the hell did that happen? I used to run VD hovels like the Black Bear, and, now, I’ve been
relegated to narc.

Marley wraps her arms around herself and shivers while shooting daggers at the idiot

in front of her—the idiot who fucked “two” girls. I’m guessing he’s an ex or soon to be
one. Marley is a goddess with or without sexed up heels. Some morons don’t know how
good they’ve got it—or, in his case, had it.

I remove my jacket and take a moment to dust the snow from her shoulders before

draping it over her.

She lets out a choking moan as she settles into it. “Oh, thank you.”
My boxers twitch with the sound of her approving groan. I’ll have to memorize that

sound for the shower later. Marley has already gotten under my skin in the worst way. I
swallow hard as I wrap an arm around her shoulder. This is either the part where she
employs a self-defense move, or we walk to the car while the moron balls his fists in a
rage.

Marley twists her juicy red lips in approval as she looks up with a sweeping glance.
“Let’s get out of here, Wade.” She bats her lashes. Her tongue does a quick revolution

over her lips. It’s pretty clear this is all for show, but I can’t help but shed a wicked grin at
the vixen she’s just transformed into. This is the exact girl I was hoping to find at the end
of that curled finger.

I lean in and whisper, “It’s Wyatt.”
“Who’s this freaking Wade guy?” The douche in the ascot gesticulates as if he’s having

a seizure. He’s tall, stringy, elongated features. I’d look into Marfans Syndrome if I were
him.

“It’s Wyatt!” she barks back. “You can’t even pay attention to a damn thing I say!” Her

entire body lurches, and I hold her to me just a touch to keep her from launching at the
guy. I may not be affiliated with the Hollow Brook PD, but I can tell the gesticulating idiot
will have no problem filing assault charges just to tick her off, or, more to the point, teach
her a lesson. He looks like the type of idiot that assumes the world owes him.

“We’re together! We’ve been fucking for months!” She chokes out the words, leaving

both the douche and me equally stunned. “That’s right.” Marley glances up with those
watery eyes. “Wyatt has been helping me with my article. God knows you weren’t going
to bother assisting me when I needed it most. I bought velvet handcuffs for you!” She
riots in his face.

“And we’ve been enjoying them.” I pull her back before the assault scenario becomes

a reality. “Let’s get going, sweetie. I’ve got a bedpost to leash you to before the night is
through.”

Her mouth drops open as she gapes at me.
I give a little shrug. I may have pushed it a little too far—her lips curl up as she gives

an approving blink with those big, blue doe eyes—or maybe not.

“Geez!” The douche grips his hair at the temples. “I can’t believe you’re fucking this

guy! He’s like fucking fifty!”

“I’m not fifty.” Thirty. I’m fucking thirty.
“Shut up!” he roars before reverting his roid-rage back at Marley. “That’s fucking

disgusting! And with whips and chains? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore. I blame
that stupid article. It’s turned you into someone I don’t even recognize.” His hands ride up
a few inches too close to her body as he smirks disapprovingly at her dress. That
expression on his preppy face says I want to vomit on your shoes.

“You’re just jealous,” she snipes. “Face it—you’ve come back to grovel because you

realize what an idiot move it was to wrap yourself around every girl that blinked your
way. You couldn’t hold it in your pants, and now you have to pay the price!”

I don’t wait for the conversation to continue. Instead, I steer Marley toward the

parking lot before we both freeze to death. My dress shirt can only handle so many inches
of snow.

The douche jumps in front of us with a defiant stance. His knee bounces. His jaw is

tight with rage.

“I got a place off Vermont,” he rattles it off like anyone cares. “I’m at Briggs now. I

couldn’t stand to be apart from you, Mars.” His voice softens.

He transferred? Game changer.

Marley’s curious eyes needle into mine as if asking what’s a girl to do? I shake my

head just enough.

“Once a cheater always a cheater,” she spits it right out at him.
That a girl. That’s one truth that never gets old.
“I’m all about you.” He holds up his hand as if he’s suddenly under oath. “I worked

those other girls out of my system, swear to God. Ask my sister, I bought an engagement
ring I was going to give you at Christmas, just before I fucked it all up.”

Marley tenses against my arm. He’s getting to her. An engagement ring, huh. He’s not

fighting fair. She’ll need a lot of resolve to push through this diamond-studded lure.

Marley takes a quivering breath. Her gaze is set dead ahead as if she can see her

wedding day dissolving right before her eyes.

“We’ve got to go.” Marley slips her hand around mine and treks toward the parking lot

at a quickened pace. She’s soft, cold and strong as steel—just the way I like my women.

“Go where?” he shouts into the night like only a desperate man can. “You going to

fuck that old dude? Is that what you’re going to do?” He brays out a laugh.

Who the hell is he talking about? I’m not even close to old. I should go over there and

school his punk ass. He looks exactly like the type of idiot I’d beat up in junior high for
looking at me funny.

“That’s right! I am.” Marley stops dead in her tracks and spins around. “We’re going to

fuck until we pass out! And then we’re going to fuck some more!”

Geez. These kids and their vulgarities.
“Cat Alice was right—you’re nothing but a slut!” he shoots back.
Marley takes in a never-ending breath as if that were the final straw.
“You can tell Cat Alice that it takes one to know one!”
Who or what the hell is a Cat Alice, and why should her opinion matter?
“I will tell her!” he thunders back. “While I’m burying myself inside her later on

tonight.”

So juvenile.
“That’s it!” She drops to her knees. Her fingers spastically fiddle with my belt. Before I

know it my boxers are exposed to the elements. “My next article is titled how to give your
man a blow job in a snow storm! Want to watch?” Her voice curdles to a scream.

The douche lets out a riotous roar of his own, extending his arms to the sky as if he’s

just been electrocuted.

“All right, sweetheart. Time to take you home.” I scoop her into my arms and make a

break for my car before my pants hit the ground. “The bedpost awaits.” I look back just in
time to see the idiot’s jaw drop. “Don’t think I’m opposed to using my belt.” In truth that
last part was meant for the two of them—each their own meaning.

Marley lets out an approving squeal as I land her in the passenger’s seat. The snow

settles over her hair, and she holds a fairy princess appeal.

Her eyes widen. Her lips part as she pulls me to her mouth by the back of the neck.
Marley presses her lips over mine, lingering, smearing me with an angry affection that

can only come after a good fight before pushing me away with a violent gasp.

“What was that for?” I pant into her.
“That was a thank you.” Her eyes ride down my chest then right back up again. “First

one of the night.”

“

So where’s home?” I ask wheeling out of the parking lot a little quicker than anticipated,

my back tires sliding from behind like we’ve just knocked over a bank.

“Wherever you want it to be.” She pulls a southern drawl from out of nowhere.
“Kentucky?”
“Nope, Georgia. I try to hide it most times but on a night like tonight”—she shudders

in my suit jacket—“after what I’ve just been through, it’s all hands on deck. Whatever
helps the pain, my sister says.” She clucks her tongue. “Not that I’m in pain. I’m actually
relieved. William Ashley Richie is just a stain on my past.”

Ashley? That explains a lot.
Once the heater kicks in, I turn it up—turn her seat heater on without bothering to

ask. As much as her accent sounds adorable as hell, she shivered her way through it.

“Are you in a dorm or the row?” There’s a fork in the road up ahead. Whitney Briggs is

a pretty big campus for a private university. “I didn’t go to WB, I went to Lambert.” I
throw it out there for no good reason. Maybe it’s because I wanted to fill the silence, or
maybe it’s just because I want her to know that I’m not ancient like her boyfriend implied
—that they still had institutions of higher education back in the dinosaur days.

“Lambert? Wow, a Trident boy.”
I glance over in time to catch her milky teeth grazing her lip, and my dick ticks to life.
I’m quick to revert my attention to the road. Down boy. No way no how do I want a

piece of that action tonight—maybe any night. That psycho boyfriend—ex-boyfriend of
hers was right, I’m way out of her demographic. I need to be respectful, keep things
chaste—look at her like a little sister.

“Yup. We are the Tridents.” I flick my fingers in the air as if I were at a game. “So

which way is it? North or south?” I nod to the light.

“Depends.” That southern drawl pulls from her throat once again. “Which way do you

live?”

I grip the wheel a little tighter.
“Look”—she sags into the seat—“he’s just going to stalk me all night. Trust me, Will

isn’t one to give up easy—with the exception of throwing away almost two years. We’ve
done the fighting and making up thing before, we’ve just never done the cheating on
each other thing before. That, my friend, is what I call the end. Will and I are through—
hence my desire to not lose a good night’s sleep over him.” Her fingers twist into one
another as if she were gathering her nerve. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I
was thinking you could let me, maybe, stay at your place?”

“It is crazy because, for one, you don’t know me.”
“I know you’re Blake’s brother—I know you lost another brother last summer.” Her

voice grows small. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, dislodging an enormous breath from my lungs. Benji and

Blake were only a year apart. Benji managed to knock up his girlfriend, and that, right
there, is what started the tragic string of events. He died in a motorcycle accident before
the baby was ever born. Blake has decided to raise the baby. He’s a real hero in my eyes.

“I know you own a horse ranch.” Her voice picks up with caution. “I know that Blake

and Annie are someplace called the carriage house on your property so already I feel
safe. I could stay with them if you like. I’m sure once they get the baby settled and make
mad passionate love over every free inch of that place, they’ll be glad to entertain me for
the night.”

An inadvertent laugh escapes my throat, turning into a groan at the last possible

second.

“Now that’s a visual.” One I didn’t need. Just the thought of Blake’s hairy ass defiling

the place makes me squirm. He loves her though, and Annie is a great girl. A dull sigh
expels from me. “Annie and Blake have something special for sure.”

“That they do, cowboy.”
I’m no cowboy, but I don’t bother correcting her. I can practically feel her voice

lassoing around my balls.

Well done, Marley. You win.
I don’t take Marley to the dorms or to the row.
This young man goes west and heads home.

The ranch house is lit up like a peach as I pull into the driveway.

“Anyone home that I should know about?” Marley cautiously takes off her seatbelt.

“You got room on the that bedpost for one more?”

“Funny.” I nod as we get out. “Nope. Not a soul in the place—not even an angry

ghost. I usually leave the kitchen light on twenty-four seven. Not sure why. The dark has
never bothered me.” I extend my hand helping her up the walkway. “I suppose it has
more to do with the fact I get home late, and I like the idea of there being life in the
house. It’s a cold feeling coming home to dark windows night after night.”

I don’t bother telling her that I grew up in this big house with no one in particular to

come home to. It was a lonely childhood that led to an equally lonely adulthood, and,
yes, there’s usually a woman who volunteers to strap herself to the bedpost these days.

“Wow, that was pretty arcane. I’ll try not to read anything too Freudian into it—unless,

of course, you have the place plastered with pictures of your mother. Not that there’s
anything wrong with showing Mama her due.” She laughs and winks in the process. There
goes that country twang again. Can’t say I mind. “I just don’t think her smiling face in the
bedroom would do either of us any favors if you know what I mean.” Her long, svelte
fingers clip over my tie and glide their way down with phallic intent.

A deep rumble of a laugh gets buried in my chest. Marley is still gunning for that one-

night stand she tried to deny offering in the first place. It’s too bad I’ve already relegated
her to a no-fly zone—at least for the night. She’s young and sweet and has no business
being tied to my bedpost or anyone else’s for that matter. The girls I’m with usually have
a mean streak a mile wide, a history, and a grudge. Marley looks to be delinquent in all
three categories.

I unlock the door and let her in before turning on the rest of the lights.
“You will find pictures of my mother—pretty much everywhere. Not sure about the

bedroom.” Do I have one of her in the room with all the bedlam that goes on in there? I
wince at the idea.

“Knew it,” her voice dips to its lower register, rife with disappointment.
“My mom died when I was a teenager.” I let it soak in a moment. “She was a

character. Miss her every damn day.” I slap the back of my neck like I’m swatting away
the memories before I get misty eyed and have to turn in my balls for the night.

“Oh, my gosh. I’m so sorry.” Her hand rides up her chest, and it’s only then I note

she’s not wearing my jacket anymore. I start a fire and pull a few blankets from the hall
closet.

“I can sleep out here,” I volunteer as I fall onto the sofa next to her.
Marley scoots in like a cheetah ready to pounce. “Then I’ll sleep out here.”
“No can do. I’m flying solo tonight.”
“What?” In one quick move her knees are tucked up beneath her, that bottom lip of

hers is pursed out front. Marley has pouting like a child down pat. I hate to admit it, but
I’m a little partial to pouting. “I’m here—for you, cowboy. Do I have to draw you a map?”

She says the words as her finger slips down her body, stopping abruptly just below her
belly. “You, my friend, are about to be crowned king of this jungle.” She picks up my hand
and leads me between her thighs. “Now—is the king ready to rule over his subject?
Because this little servant girl is ready to please his majesty.”

“Clever.” I carefully withdraw my hand, trying to steady my thoughts a moment. I’d be

lying if I didn’t just admit she threw me off balance. I haven’t had a good role-playing
session since God knows when. I think I’m due a throne or two. I shake the thought out
of my head.

“Can’t. I’ve relegated you to little sister status so that whole let’s-welcome-my-snake-

to-your-jungle routine won’t be happening.” I think my dick is ready to abdicate the
throne of my being. I’m not sure what’s gotten into me, maybe I’m being serious, maybe
I really am too old—up past my bedtime and all that other good shit, or maybe, just
maybe, something in me demands to protect her from all the perverts in the world, and I
happen to lead the perverted pack.

“Little sister?” She sings the words out in a string of giggles. “That’s pretty kinky.” Her

nose wrinkles, cute as hell. Okay, it’s sexy as hell, and I’m seriously starting to doubt my
sanity around this girl.

“Not kinky. In fact, I’ve got a little sister, and, if I saw her having an exchange like

that with her boyfriend—”

“Ex! Ex-boyfriend.”
“Whichever—the point is, I wouldn’t want some random stranger—who she was quite

disdainful of just a few minutes prior, trying to take advantage of her.”

She sulks against the cushion. The mask of seduction slides right off her face as if

she’s just agreed with me on some level.

“Whatevs. So where’s this little sister of yours? She go to Lambert, too? I don’t

remember Annie mentioning a sister.”

“That’s because Blake doesn’t have one. My father has another brood in New York. I’m

the product of his first failed marriage—the kid he stuck on the ranch with the nanny. Nice
gal, Sevilla. You would’ve liked her.”

“You weren’t raised by your mom?” Her eyes widen the size of silver dollars, and the

fire reflects in them true as a mirror. On all of God’s green earth, I haven’t seen eyes that
big and beautiful.

“I split my time between my parents. When I was at the ranch, I was with Sevilla. My

dad was too busy with work. He’s an investment broker in the city, thus the spare family
—Piper and Cade. One girl, one boy in the city. He didn’t need me anymore. Not to worry,
Sevilla had a German Shepherd she let me name. Called him Dad for thirteen good years.
Best Dad a guy could ask for.”

Marley gives a hard sniff as her chest bucks.
“Let’s make a U-turn.” I pat my hand over the cushion behind her. “How about you?

What’s your story?” I fling my arm up over the back of the couch. “I’m guessing boarding
school started at nine. Mommy and Daddy have yearly memberships to the country club,
and, when you turned sixteen, you were introduced to high society by way of a debutant
ball—white dress, low kitten heels.” My boxers twitch because I very much approve of the
visual. “Maybe a garter belt tucked underneath. You seem a touch wild.”

Her lips twist up in a knot. “Let’s see—my father is in prison serving his fifth year out

of seventeen. My mother lives with her junkie boyfriend.” She shudders. My eyes ride up
and down her body, seeing her in this new light. My heart breaks for Marley. “I, too, have
a sister—older—married and divorced so many times I lost count—has four beautiful
children with three different daddies. She was my role model up until…” Her words trail
off as she dazes off into the fire. “Anyway—I don’t have a role model anymore. I thought
I’d be my own, then Will cheated, and I didn’t want to be anything to myself. Does that
make sense?”

“Oddly, it does.” I shake my head as thoughts of my solitude lifestyle run through my

mind.

“I swear I’ve never met anyone like you.” She sets her gaze to mine strong as

concrete.

“And I’m sorry you’ve had it rough, Marley.” Her name rolls off my tongue, familiar like

it’s been waiting to escape for a very long time.

“I’m sorry I had to bore you with the details.” She scoots in until the sweet scent of

gardenia cushions between us. “Look”—her mood plummets as she glances down at her
thighs, her finger absentmindedly rubs over my arm—“I’ve never done this before.” She
nods toward the hall. “You know—had a one-night stand. But I want to.” Her eyes widen
a notch with conviction. “I write this article.” She shakes her head. “Sex and the Coed. I
need to—how do I put this—”

“Research?” I’m not sure I should be hand feeding her words. After all she’s the writer.
“Yes!” Her entire face brightens as if I’ve just agreed to something salaciously

delicious. “You seem rather eager, at least you did back at the bar—before I chickened
out and called you a—”

“Narc?”
“Yeah, that.” She wrinkles her nose again, and I hold back the grin fighting its way to

the surface. “Anyway, I’m sort of down a boyfriend—not that I ever want him back. God
no.” She gives a mean shudder. “I sort of just need a partner in crime or a—”

“A study partner?” This is bordering on ridiculous and a possible felony. Is it legal to

team up with a coed for sexual research? I bet we could get a grant for that if we really

put our minds to it.

“Yes! Wow, you’re good.” Her hand glides up the length of my arm, the look of lewd

promise glistening in her eyes. “So, are you in?”

“What is it exactly we’ll be studying?” I’m amused we’re still having this conversation.
“I’ll be studying.” She buries her finger into my chest. “You’ll be teaching. What do you

say?” She wets her lips in anticipation. Marley is a pageant queen who belongs with some
sweet kid who’s willing to ride off into the sunset with her. She’s just jaded right now and
desperately seeking rebound sex.

I don’t need to probe anymore to figure out what type of education she’s seeking so I

do the only thing I can—give her an answer.

“No.”

M A N O F M Y I N A P P R O P R I A T E

D R E A M S

M A RL E Y

ex and the Coed

Today’s outfit, up-cycled boho patchwork skirt paired with a loose fitting pirate top in

ecru. Knee high riding boots with gold-toned buckles. Just because it’s a freezer out there
doesn’t mean you have to put your fashion needs on ice!

Sex tip of the day: Sexperts agree, if the gym isn’t for you then try an aggressive

workout in the bedroom! Nothing burns calories like a good roll beneath the sheets. If
you aren’t exerting energy like you’re running up a hill then you’re simply not doing it
right. And, if you’re not doing it right, practice, practice, practice!

Not doing it right? I stare at the screen a moment too long. How about not doing it at all?
I’m a fake. I’m a faux whore. I’m a coital charlatan. The only carnal knowledge I’ve
gleaned over a two-year period is that sexual relations come sparingly and only if you
beg. Will and I weren’t exactly putting the mattress springs to the test. And now I know
why, he was too exhausted after thumping other girls. I’ve always suspected we were
half-heartedly interested in one another to begin with. We started out as group dating,
then our friends slowly placed us on the couples rack, and we just never denied the title.
Somewhere along the line I convinced myself I was in love. I’m not sure Will ever took it
that far.

The door to the Hallowed Grounds coffee shop swings open, and I glance up in the

event it’s Mr. James, my famed non-suitor. I can’t believe he turned me down like that. As
soon as the sun rose over the horizon, I took off to the carriage house and begged Blake
for a ride back to my dorm. God, that baby of his sure is adorable. Annie and Blake really
do have it all.

I frown at the group of girls bleeding into the establishment. I have a few minutes

before my first class. It’s been a week since the humiliating episode at hand, and my
obsessive brain can’t stop ruminating over that perfect man I had the fortune, or
misfortune, (I’ve thoroughly examined this from both angles), to meet.

But, it’s a new semester. Spring will soon melt away the grief of winter and—I hope—

erase Will from my memory and vice versa. He’s been haunting me all over this ever-
shrinking campus, promising me sunshine and roses, threatening me with boxes of
expensive Belgian chocolate. I’ll admit he almost had me at rocky road fudge.

The door whooshes open again, and it’s two girls I recognize from the Black Bear,

Laney and Baya. I wait for them to get their drinks before flagging them over.

“Hi!” I bounce up and extend my hand. “I’m Marley, Annie’s roommate. We’ve met,

but it’s usually dark, and I tend to wear the war paint pretty thick on a Friday night.
You’re welcome to take a seat here if you want.” I turn to Laney. “My sister, Jemma, and
your sister, Izzy, are close friends.”

“Of course!” She wraps her arms around me without warning. “God, would you look at

that skirt?” Her eyes dip to my patchwork boho, and I can’t help but smile. I pulled this
thing off in four hours. “I have to have that!”

“Ha! Thanks. It’s just something I whipped up myself. Not a big deal really.”
“Are you kidding? It’s amazing.” Baya’s hair is set in dark gold ringlets. Her skin is

perennially tan. “Hey, where’s Annie?” She does a quick sweep of the vicinity.

Laney moves her sea of dark hair from one shoulder to the other. “Let me guess, she’s

with baby Ben. I’m telling you that kid has her wrapped around his little finger.”

“She can’t be with Ben—or Blake for that matter.” Baya pauses to take a swig of her

drink. “It’s the first day of classes. Bryson had a long talk with her last week. No missing
school.”

“So he’s finally okay with Blake, huh?” Baya gives a quick nod as I continue, “I’ll admit

it’s a beautiful thing the way her brothers watch out for her. I’ve always thought it would
be great to have a couple of protective big bros. You know, a couple of strong men who
can beat up little twerps who choose to cheat and yank out my beating heart.” I pull
apart my bagel as if it were Will’s limbs.

“Someone had an eventful winter break.” Laney taps her ice tea over the table,

pulling me out of my homicidal tirade. “So who’s the little twerp and what did he do?”

“You don’t know him. Correction, you don’t want to know him. Will Richie. He’s some

guy I dated about two years too long. We went to different universities until about five
minutes ago. He transferred to WB.” I make a face. “Lucky me, right?”

“Let me guess.” Laney’s lips contort. “He wants you back?”
“Apparently—and in the worst way. I’ve had flowers show up at my door every day

this week. Anyway, it’s not happening. There’s not enough flora or fauna in the world for
me to welcome back that misery.”

“I don’t know.” Baya butts her shoulder into Laney’s. “Sometimes old flames are the

right flames.”

“Relax, I’ll tell her.” Laney butts back. “My then boyfriend and I had a

misunderstanding a while back. We were together for years and then, well, things—
people—got in the way. We reconnected last year, and now”—she wiggles a sparkling
rock at me—“I get to be Mrs. Ryder Capwell for life. We married this past summer.” Her
shoulders cinch to her ears in excitement.

Baya leans into her. “In a double wedding with me!”
“Wow!” I marvel. “Double congrats. That’s really cool. But I assure you that won’t

happen with Will and me.” The door opens as another anxious group of coeds rush in,
and suddenly I find myself crestfallen. Then it dawns on me, I’ve subconsciously been
waiting for Wyatt to come back into my life. Me, a damsel in distress waiting to be saved
from my underused vagina by a knight in shining penial armor? Go figure. “Say, do either
of you know Wyatt James?”

Did that just bubble out of my mouth?
They exchange quick puzzling glances.
Baya holds up a finger. “Isn’t that the guy Izzy dumped?”
“Yes!” Laney interjects. “Izzy mentioned something about him. He’s Blake’s brother,

right?”

“He is, but I don’t know too much about him.” Baya leans in. “Is there something in

particular we should be made aware of? Is he a perv? Is he bothering you, too?”

“No. God, no, he’s not bothering me. I mean maybe he’s a perv.” I bite down over my

lip. “But I mean that in a good way. Anyway, never mind. It was stupid of me to ask. But
speaking of asking.” I sink in my seat a little. “Do you think there’s any way I can get a
job at the Black Bear? I’ll wait tables, wash dishes, mop the liquor off the counters with
my tongue. I’m pretty desperate for cash.” To say the least. There’s a reason I scour thrift
shops for clothing. Up-cycling isn’t just for fashion, it’s to keep me from pulling a Lady
Godiva every single day of my life.

“Sorry.” Baya freezes with a grimace. “In fact, I think all the bars are at capacity. You

might want to check in again before summer. We usually lose half the staff.”

“Summer? I’ll be a professional dumpster diver long before then.”
“Oh, I know”—Laney’s bright pink nails click over the table—“Ryder mentioned they’re

having to hire temps at the office all the time. Maybe he can squeeze you in at Capwell
Enterprises part time? Ooh.” Her expression sours as if she’s just realized something
horrible. “It’s a weekday gig.”

“That’s totally fine. I only have classes Tuesdays and Thursdays. I sort of arranged it

that way. It’s my last semester before I head into the business program next fall, and
that’s five days of suffering a week. I thought I’d take it easy for now.”

“Awesome!” Laney brightens. “If you’re up for it, I’ll pass your info along. He might be

able to get you to speak with human resources later this afternoon.”

“Thank you!” I jump up and pull them both into a hug. “You have no idea how grateful

I am.” I check my phone. “Perfect. I’ve got two minutes to get to my first class.”

“Me, too.” Baya scoops up her things. “What do you have?”
“Pre-Business, Entrepreneurial Management.”
“So do I!” She hops a little too exuberantly.
“Let’s get out of here. I’d hate to be late for the first class.” I wave to Laney. “See you

at the Black Bear.”

“Wait”—she calls—“give me your number!”
I shoot her my number and take off into the crisp winter air. A new semester. A new

beginning.

Baya and I stride over toward the business department. The bare branches of the

maples reach to the sky with their skeletal frames. The lavender pink sky fills in the
background with its early morning blush. I can see the new buds, still tight in their
cocoons, promising something brilliant and wonderful just around the corner. It’s as if the
entire world is promising something better, something new. Spring semester has thrust
itself in our face like a delicious pie we should take careful savoring bites of.

But all I want to take a bite out of—all I can think about—is Wyatt James.
The man who told me no.

Entrepreneurial Management holds the promise of being long and droning. But thankfully,
there’s not a hint of Will anywhere to be seen.

The doorway darkens with a tall, beanpole of a familiar boy, and I sink in my seat.
“Spoke too soon.”
“What?” Baya whispers sliding in close. “Is that—?” Her eyes flick from him to me. “Is

that the cheat?”

“That would be the twerp in question.” I cringe as he heads in our direction.
“Morning ladies.” He sits down in the row in front of us, that familiar cologne of his

wafts over as if it too were waving a friendly hello. It’s sweet, too overbearingly sweet.
I’ve told him that on several occasions. I made it a point to purchase an entire variety of
far more olfactory worthy scents to bathe my man in, back when he was my man, but he
was quick to reject them citing the fact Delusion was an expensive gift from his mother.
In hindsight, the only delusional one was me.

Neither Baya nor I return the greeting, instead we focus our attention on the professor

who just cleared her throat for attention.

Professor Nicholson is a young, beautiful woman with her hair pulled back in a tight

ballet bun and librarian rectangular glasses, sort of a cliché in and of herself because you
can tell she’s drop dead gorgeous beneath all those academic layers. Here she’s simply a
caricature of her real self. It’s funny because I’m almost certain I’d never have that
thought about a man. A man could never be a caricature of himself in a university setting.
We would never say I bet he’s drop dead gorgeous when he’s not hiding under all those
layers of academia as if his glasses, his pocket protector, were simply props for the
classroom. Women seem to have a lot more alleyways that lead back to stereotypical
conjectures—the slutty librarian—the naughty teacher. It’s as if we can never fully be one
without society wanting to peg us as the other—but only if you’re beautiful. Beauty is
never the curse, it’s the sexualization that comes with it.

“Penny for your thoughts.”
I blink back to reality to find that Will has snaked his way beside me.
Crap.
“I’m having deep thoughts about the hyper-sexualization of women. Hint, your kind

doesn’t bode well in this philosophical debate. Buzz off.”

“Buzz off?” he mouths looking slightly stymied by my word choice. I figured fuck off

might raise a brow, turn a head, garner the attention of the professor in a manner I’m not
interested in. Buzz off I can say all day without offending anyone but Will. I like that.
Target offenses are my new pet project whenever Will has the balls to pop up in my life.

Professor Nicholson claps her hands. “I would like each of you to spend the next half

hour meeting your classmates and breaking off into small groups of two or three. The
goal this semester is to start a business with your partner or partners and have it up and
functioning with a profit margin by semester’s end. You’ll be graded on your progress
along the way. The team with the most sales will be awarded a ten thousand dollar cash
prize, donated to the university by alumni, to be split among your group.”

An elated applause breaks out with mine being the loudest. God—ten thousand

dollars! I wouldn’t care if I had to split it ten ways! I would cheer on my feet for ten
dollars at this point.

She forces a smile to come and go. “If you have any questions feel free to see me.”
“So you in?” Will nods at me with his eyes slightly squinted, his grin hanging loose as

though ready to explode.

This is how he used to get me, how we’d make up and fall into each other’s arms so

many times before, but we’ve never had such a huge barrier to cross as another girl’s
body, let alone a whole river of them.

According to Cat Alice, my old best friend slash almost cousin who I haven’t spoken to

in months—correction, she’s not speaking to me no thanks to a stupid argument where

she accused me of stealing her father’s war pin from off his dresser and hawking it. Me.
Stealing someone’s honorary war pin? None of it made sense. Her entire family is so
screwed up I bet her father hawked it himself and swore up and down he saw me do it.
Nevertheless, prior to the ridiculous argument, Cat dutifully reported that Will had slept
with entire football stadiums of women. Of course then she turned around and reported
to Will that I was a bitch-skank (a term I’m sure she coined in my honor). Rumors briefly
flew that I myself was trolling my way through campus frat houses on my knees, but even
Will found that laughable. Anyway, I couldn’t care less that Cat Alice told Will I was a slut.
She’s the one who slept with half the metal heads in our senior class. During prom she
was too busy busting a move in the bathroom letting the boys take turns jockeying her
that it was hard to pinpoint the fact she was actually there. Slut. I shake my head. My
aunt married her father thus the almost familial connection, but at this point they’re
separated and I say good riddance to the entire lot of them.

“So where’s the old man?” Will nods my way as if he were serious.
By old man I assume he means Wyatt.
“Busy.” I turn toward Baya, and he pulls me back by the elbow.
Will has soft, brown eyes that I used to think were beautiful. I used to think I was the

only girl he could see, but apparently he’s an expert at seeing other women both in and
out of their clothes.

“I’m trying out for the basketball team. Walk on. The coach might let me play

tomorrow night. I want you to come. As a friend.” His eyes beckon desperately, and, for
one weak moment, I’m tempted to say yes.

“If you wanted me as a friend, you should have had the decency to break up with me

before you made a habit of sticking your dick in places it didn’t belong.”

A pained expression takes over his face as he nods into me, agreeing. I want him to

say something caustic, to throw a barbed comment my way, anything but make me feel
sympathy for him.

“You’re right, Marley. I should have.” Will makes his way to the front of the class and

is instantly mobbed by a small group of Alpha Chi ho’s. This is the part where I should be
feeling a pinch of jealousy, having some visceral response to seeing him with an entire
gaggle of blondes falling over his shoulders, but, strangely, I don’t feel a thing.

Huh. Maybe what Will and I had wasn’t true love after all.
“What are we going to do?” Baya looks perplexed by the assignment at hand.
“What are you good at?”
Her face goes from panic to pride in less than three seconds. “Oh, honey, it’s illegal to

list the things I do well. Besides, my man likes to keep me to himself, sort of like a
private reserve.”

A smile comes and goes on my lips. “Not that. Outside the bedroom.”
“Most of the time it is outside the bedroom.”
“Okay, you’re hilarious.” And apparently horny as hell. “Um, how about something to

do with my article, ‘Sex and the Coed?’”

“I love that. Each time you put in a new tip, Bryson and I get right to it.” She dazes off

a moment. “It’s sort of like you’re an invisible ring leader in our bedroom.”

“Nice?” I’m not quite sure what to say. I sort of wish I were a ringleader in my own

bedroom. I scowl down at Will while a redhead with a low-cut top engages him in a
breasty conversation.

Wyatt James pops into my mind uninvited, and just as I’m about to shoo him right

back out, I melt into a puddle of swoon and let his dark-haired, sexy self linger.

“Oh, I know!” Baya takes up a fist full of my skirt and examines it. “We can do this.

We’ll make our own crazy brand of clothes and sell them on Etsy and eBay and wherever
the hell they’ll let us! We can even open our own website! We’ll make a fortune by finals.
How did you do this?” She pets my thigh as she smooths out the patches of fabric to
admire them.

“Simple. I just hit the thrift store and chose things I like with appealing fabric and

pieced them together. I kept the first ten inches of the skirt and sewed on the rest. The
patches are sort of easy and therapeutic for me to make since it’s just connecting rows of
squares. We didn’t have much growing up, so I was sort of relegated to the thrift store
out of need more than fashion. Funny I’ve never thought of selling what I make. It’s sort
of a one-off deal.”

“Even better. We can brand it as unique, one-of-a-kind clothes. People love things that

aren’t mass-produced. But first we’ll need a name.”

“Thrift Shop Chic?”
Her lips contort like she might be sick. “Those three words just sound wrong in the

same sentence.”

“Agreed. How about The Dime Store Dames?”
“There are two of us… But dames makes us sound about a thousand years old.” She

tucks her thumbnail between her teeth and starts to chew. “Oh, I know! How about the
Rag Dolls?”

“How about the Rag Doll’s Closet?”
“I like it.” She nods, still drinking down the idea. “How about Rags to Riches? Upscale,

up-cycled clothing for the uniquest you?”

“I love it!” We jump and high five and garner all kinds of dirty looks from our

competitors slash classmates who still seem to be scratching their heads over where to
begin.

My phone buzzes in my hand. It’s a text from Laney.
Great news! Ryder says the secretarial position is yours if you want it. Is

there any way you can swing by today to fill out some paperwork in HR? If so,
you can start as early as tomorrow!

“Look at this!” I show Baya the text. “I have a job! Maybe I won’t have to live off

dehydrated noodles for the next three years after all.” I text back letting her know I’ll
stop by in a few hours.

“I’m really happy for you, Marley.” Baya pulls me in. “And I think Rags to Riches is a

brilliant idea. I’m thrilled to be on your team.”

I glance down at Will in time to see the redhead laughing obnoxiously at whatever

just spewed from his mouth. He probably just informed her of how he fooled the idiot girl
in the back into thinking he would love her forever. The redhead leans in and relaxes her
arm over his shoulder as if it always belonged there, as if that were its new home.

“Boy, he’s not wasting any time.” Baya clicks her tongue.
“He doesn’t have to. We’re not together anymore. He can bed his way through the

entire lecture hall, and it wouldn’t faze me.” Okay, it might faze me a little. My jealousy
monitor has thumped once or twice just watching them interact as if a blossoming
romance were happening right before me. Will glances up a second, and our eyes lock.
Then he does the unthinkable, he glides his arm right over her shoulder as well.

I take in a breath at the sight.
“Ignore him.” Baya ushers us right out the door. “Forget he ever existed. He’s just a

bad memory, hon. He’ll never be anything more than that.”

I ponder this as we head out of the building and into the fresh air. Can Will ever be

just a bad memory? I think he’s holding pretty strong to the one who promised me
forever then murdered my virginity. I think, in the end, he murdered the idea of love in
general.

W Y A T T

apwell Enterprises consists of three major components, advertising, real estate, and

over all world domination. The old coot who’s running this place into the ground has his
foot in too many pools if you ask me, and most of those pools have been pissed in on
numerous occasions.

I nod across the table at Ryder as the last meeting of the day wraps up. Another

boring-as-shit war session that ends in nominal threats that single out anyone looking to
break one of the Capwell commandments, the most important of which is thou shalt not
covet working for any other Forbes 500 conglomerate. Although, it’s pretty clear the
corporate gods are about to roll heads. Everyone has been on pins and needles just
waiting for the ax to fall. Shares have tumbled, investors have trotted off toward higher
ground, and, according to my salary, there is indeed a glass ceiling for men, and I’ve
somehow managed to slam against it.

I glance around at the bevy of gray suits lining the table, not one happens to be

sporting the double X chromosome, and about three look ready to drop dead from
fatigue. Is this what I want to be doing for the rest of my days? Living on a moderate
salary, wearing my suit like an armor against the rest of the world while I try not to take
a permanent nap in my oatmeal? There has to be a better way.

The meeting disbands with bodies flying out of the boardroom faster than you can say

bomb threat. Ryder walks alongside me in the hall keeping up with my brisk pace as I
head to my office—corner suite, uninterrupted windows that span east to west.
Seventeenth floor, nothing but God and mountaintops to greet me. That’s the one perk
I’m not so anxious to lose.

Ryder leans in. “Laney told me about your brother and Annie. Did you know one of her

brothers is an intern here? Bryson. I’d describe him but if you’ve seen one, you’ve seen
them both.”

“Right, twins.” Fraternal. I remember the slight difference in their features that first

night they stood side by side looking as if they were about to storm the stage and kill
Blake. A huff of a laugh dispels from me.

Ryder sticks his head into a nearby cubicle. “Bry, get your ass out here.”
A moment later, there he is. There’s something in his eyes that reminds me of his

sister. Sweet girl. I’m shocked as hell Blake managed to land himself someone who
seems both kind and beautiful—a feat I’ve been trying to master for years.

“Bryson, this is Wyatt James, Blake’s brother.”
“I’ve seen you. Think we met.” He gives my hand a quick shake.
“We may have. Everything seems a little fuzzy at the Black Bear. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“Wyatt, here, is thinking about jumping ship.” Ryder slaps me on the back, and I

pause just steps from my office.

“Says who?” Unless he’s become a mind reader, says no one. He’s right though.
“Says me.” Ryder’s chin moves up and down like a bobble head. “You’re smart, and

you have potential that can shoot right past the barriers my father and his motley crew
have set in place. You like advertising, but you see the bigger picture, technology, social
media beyond a few popular apps. Face it, this is 1950s thinking in a 21

century world.

And”—he bears his serious-as-shit gaze into mine—“if you haven’t thought of jumping
ship—you should. With me.”

I glance to Bryson a moment then back to Ryder.
“What is this? Let me guess. Bryson, you’d like a job. Ryder, you need an employment

opportunity to crop up, and what better way to achieve this than giving me the rope to
hang myself with. Or, better yet, a boat to float me off to unemployment seas.” Not that I
needed the shove. He’s right. I’m one foot out the door already.

“You won’t be unemployed.” Ryder nods toward my office, and I follow him in. Or, if

I’m even remotely right, we’ve just stepped into Bryson’s new office. “I’m the one bailing.
I’ve been meaning to for a while now.”

“Branching out on your own?” I take a seat behind my desk, intrigued by the shift of

events. I’m liking this plot twist a hell of a lot better than the one in which I pack my desk
up in a box. “What gives?”

“Same thing that has the masses headed for the exit. I think I can build a better boat.

So are you two in?”

“Me?” Bryson raises a brow.
“Yeah, you. I know you’ve got the bars, but I also know you want to extend your

reach. And”—he looks to me—“you’ve got the ranch, but it was never your baby to begin
with. What better time to get into a new startup than now? I think if the three of us put
our heads together, we can expand past branding services and offer something more
comprehensive to the technology savvy consumer. I’m not talking mom and pop type
stuff. I’m talking the heavy hitters. Those old school companies need someone to step in

and hold their hand while ushering them into the new millennium.”

“People are already doing that.” I don’t want to pop his bubble, but, if my time and

money are involved, I don’t mind holding the needle.

“We’ll do it better.”
“Excuse me.” The afternoon temp leans in just enough to look like a floating head.

“There’s a woman out here to see you, Mr. James.”

Bryson and Ryder both growl in approval before heading out the door.
“We’ll get together and work out the kinks.” Ryder flashes a devious smile my way as

if I’ve already signed my soul to the devil. He wishes. I’m a numbers man. I need it all
given to me in black and white—and, if we’re lucky, it will equal lots and lots of green.

The door swings open, and, for a brief moment, I’m hoping it’s Marley.
“Monica.” I stand trying to hold back the dull laugh in my chest. Of course, it’s not

Marley. What the hell would Marley be doing paying me an office visit? I have to admit
I’ve had her on the brain for the last few days. Okay, hell, since the moment she left. I
made note of that article she mentioned and read each and every addition of “Sex and
the Coed” over coffee, Sunday morning. Not exactly a Bible companion. It wasn’t porn
either. The tips in and of themselves were rather to the point, but I’m shocked she’d want
her name linked to that. What about future employers? I wonder if she’s thought that
through. I wonder if it matters. “What can I do for you?” I force a smile and freeze it for a
moment.

Monica and I dated for years. She was the one. Or at least I wanted to believe it.

Monica wanted a wedding band and kids, and I soon found out we weren’t as compatible
as we thought. She married someone else, and we remained friends. And, after her
divorce last fall, she’s been coming around a little more, here and there, which leaves me
to wonder if she’s open for an act two.

“I’ve missed you.” She swoops over in her practical teacher heels. Her low bun hangs

off her neck like a stumped tail. Monica is pretty in an unsettling way. She comes across
harsh and needle sharp, caustic, for lack of a better word. You just have to get used to
her barbs and grow a little alligator skin to be around her. I’m usually drawn to the bitter
and the betrayed so that alone helps put the Monica years into perspective.

“You missed me?” I motion for her to take a seat, and she slinks over my desk

instead. I’m standing just a head away from her lips, and the way she keeps gunning for
a kiss, I’d venture to guess that was the entire purpose of the trip. “How was the first day
of class?” Monica just started her first semester teaching business classes over at Whitney
Briggs.

Marley pops to the forefront of my mind, and a trace of a smile comes without

warning.

“Are you kidding? I forgot what college students looked like. From afar you might

mistake them as adults, but up close they look like a bunch of ninth graders.”

A dull laugh rattles from me. I get it. After logging hours at the Black Bear in support

of Blake, I’ve found myself thinking the very same thing. Marley flashes through my brain
again with her creamy thighs riding up high. She’s no kid. Marley is all woman.

“So how about it?” Monica turns her face up toward mine expectantly.
“How about what?” I swear each time Marley comes to mind, I take a nice long

mental vacation that only seems to expand.

“How about catching an early dinner? I’ve got Garrett and Wally with a sitter until

seven. She’s salary, so I want to make sure she stays the full shift. God knows if I start
spoiling her with half days, she’ll come to expect them. People are ungrateful that way.”
Her finger flicks my tie, and I pull back a notch just out of range. I’m sure revisiting old
habits would come easy. Monica and I once fit like a glove except when we didn’t, but,
even before that, I knew something was missing.

“Excuse me?” The disembodied head floats into the doorway once again. “Human

resources called. Your new secretary is on her way up to meet you. Should I ask her to
wait or send her right in?”

“Secretary.” I haven’t had one in so long I’ve forgotten the luxury. The temps have

worked out okay, but they change shoes every other day so there was never really a
point in training them beyond how I like my coffee.

Monica presses her leg up against mine and cocks her head up seductively. Monica

has a lady-boner, and she’s picked me to contend with it.

“Send her right in.” I step around my desk and take a seat.
“I guess that’s my cue. Dinner at Saxons? I’ll meet you at six-ish? I can get the booth

near the fountain. That was our favorite.”

I don’t recall favoring any particular booth. Saxons was a regular haunt of ours that

also regularly took a hit on my credit card because apparently truffles are the gold
standard of food.

“Yes, that’d be great. See you then.” I nod, pretending to bury my nose in paperwork

as she shuttles herself out the door.

One dinner won’t hurt. Hell, it might even get my mind off Ms. Jackson for five solid

minutes. It turns out I’ve got a boner to contend with myself, and there isn’t any way that
Monica is going to alleviate what’s panning out to be one very young, very damn beautiful
craving.

“

Knock knock,” a sweet voice emits from the door. It’s been a half hour since HR sent up

the warning. I was beginning to think she got lost on the way. She. I automatically
assumed it was a woman. I’m pretty disappointed in myself for that. But, nonetheless,
I’m right.

“Come in.” I stand to greet her.
“I would have been here sooner, but I ran into—”
I give a hard blink in the event the apparition that’s been haunting my daydreams has

somehow manifested in front of me.

“Marley?”
“Wyatt?” Her eyes spring open wide.
Another beat of confusion ticks by before I circle around my desk and motion her to

the seat before me.

“Um?” She points to the door before shutting it. “So this is your office?” Her hair is

glossy, smooth as silk today—much paler in hue than I remember. Her eyes are dusted
blue, the same color of the sky just before a storm.

“This is it.” For now. “So are you temping?”
“No, actually yes—my friend Laney, her husband got me the job.”
“Ryder.” My jaw tightens. Something in me doesn’t want Ryder or Bryson or any of the

other testicle-wielding idiots that work around here to lay a single eye on her—even if
they are married. Not that Ryder or Bryson are idiots, but for some reason I’ve elevated
Marley to something private—a character I dreamed up in my mind all for myself. I like
the idea of that on a perverse level. “Please, take a seat.” I lean against the desk
wondering what to do with this.

“Look”—she hesitates—“I really need a job.” She shakes her head, her eyes suddenly

glassy and pleading. “You see, I’m not exactly living it up over at the dorm. There’s an
unlawful amount of ramen going on over there if you know what I mean, and every now
and again a girl likes to sink her teeth into something meaty.” She swallows hard as her
gaze rides up and down my body.

A dark laugh rumbles from me. “My ego appreciates the fact you haven’t lost your

appetite for the meatier things in life.”

“Yeah, well, the offer still stands.” She gives a weak smile, sinking deep into the seat.

“My article could certainly use a—”

“Guinea pig?”
She averts her eyes as if the concept were deplorable. “Subject. A willing subject.”
“What’s the news with the boyfriend?” I head to the mini fridge and pluck out a water

for the both of us.

“Ex-boyfriend. Due to the spectacular amount of foreign assets he’s familiarized

himself with, his offer has since been revoked.”

“His loss, those velvet cuffs held an unordinary amount of promise.”
Marley loosens with a laugh. “That they did.” She gives a less-than-innocent shrug. A

dimple cuts in just shy of her lips, and I’d like nothing more than to sink my tongue into
it. “And they still can.”

“Marley.” I scoot into my desk, trying to hide the blooming ache in my pants. This

might be the reaction Monica was hoping to elicit, but it’s Marley who’s getting the rise
out of me. “I’m essentially your boss now.” Things have taken a turn for the worst. Not
only was I feeling older than dirt around her, but the fact she’s my doe-eyed secretary
doesn’t exactly spell out match made in heaven. More like a match made in human
resources litigation hell once I’m slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit. And don’t for
a minute think it’s not coming. “Our relationship is now relegated to the work
environment. It begins and ends right here in this office.” I lay it down thick in my heavy
authoritative voice, and her cheeks brighten like peppers.

“I’m okay with keeping things behind these four walls if you are.” She straightens

while putting on a pair of dark rimmed glasses as if she were ready to make a business
proposition. “I’m not looking for roses and chocolate. I’m looking for a man, someone
strong, hot as hell like you, who’s willing to test out a few theories with me, that’s all.”

I close my eyes a moment, and she’s still there beneath my lids as if she’s taken up

residency.

“You deserve roses and chocolate, Marley.” I pause a moment because, judging from

her own words, that’s not something she believes in.

She shakes her head disbelieving. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“I read your articles.” Her face bleaches just a touch as I say it. “You should fall in

love, and, when you do, that right person will gift you all of those amazing adventures.
Sex shouldn’t be some bucket list you create, checking off items as you execute them. It’s
not a treasure hunt. It’s a lifestyle. One I hope you can achieve, and, when you do,
cherish it because it’s a little like a needle in a haystack.”

“Impossible to find?” Her voice floats through the air, soft as powdered sugar. “I’ve

seen romantic love up close and personal. It’s ugly. It leaves tear stains on your pillow,
makes you guzzle its brand of bullshit like gasoline, then lights a match and watches as
you burn. No thanks. I’m not asking for seconds.” Her lashes blink so fast I can feel the
breeze. “What about you? You a roses and chocolate kind of guy? How many
relationships have you had in the last two years?”

She’s got me there. “Zero.” I force a smile. “And it’s a nice round number I’m happy

with.” I think. “So how was school?” I ask, shuffling through the mail piled up on my desk.

How was school? Can I sound anymore like I’m trying to be her daddy? I’d laugh if it

were even a hair funny.

“School is school. First day always throws me off a bit. I started a business venture

with Baya—she’s Annie’s sister-in-law. It’s a class project. We need to start a business
and walk through the entire process by semester’s end—ideally with a profit.”

“Just a few months. That’s an ambitious undertaking. What kind of business?” She’s

smart. I like that.

“Thrift store couture.”
Maybe not as bright as I thought.
“Say again?” Old pappy here couldn’t possibly have heard right. “Did you say thrift

store?”

“I know it sounds amazingly ironic, but trust me, it’s what all the cool kids are doing.”

She gives a little wink. “Actually it’s what all the cool kids are buying. Baya and I are sort
of the first to market with the idea. It’s a niche but definitely one that shouldn’t be
overlooked. I’ll be sewing the garments myself, and I’m positive I’ll be able to push them
out the door just as fast as I can make them.”

“Whoa. There goes any growth potential. And just when I saw real promise.”
“What are you talking about? There’s plenty of growth potential.”
“Not if you’re sewing each piece yourself. There are only so many hours in the day,

and there’s only one of you. Let’s say you’re able to make six pieces in one day—” I click
on my accountant-grade calculator better left in the twentieth century, but I like the way
it whistles and purrs, something about this sound that technology can’t seem to replicate.

“Two at the most,” she interjects. “I can maybe make three, but that’s with little

sleep, and, for sure, I’d have to skip my breakfast ramen.”

I glance up. Marley is fit, thin, and, according to her, bordering on malnutritioned.

Beautiful as hell, though.

“If you can only provide two then your business won’t thrive for long. Did you account

for burnout?”

She bites down on those perfect crimson lips, and it’s hard to judge from here if she’s

wearing lipstick or not. Marley is simply that perfect. Ruby lips, eyes like an iron sky, and
those thighs still haven’t left my mind since the other night. My mouth waters just
thinking about them.

“If you take Saturday and Sunday off, you’re looking at ten pieces on a good week.” I

connect my fingers at the tips trying to keep my eyes from drifting to her cleavage. “I’d
say at best you’re buying yourself a nice, mid-salary job.”

“Boy you really know how to take a girl’s dreams and hack them to pieces. Would you

like to drive a stake through my beating heart while you’re at it?” Her lips twist. “My
mother has high blood pressure and the onset of diabetes, would you like to give me a

readout on the equally bleak future of my health?”

Shit. Did I just do that?
“I apologize.” My phone vibrates and jumps on the table before I can elaborate

exactly how bad I feel for taking a giant crap all over her dreams. If I didn’t think I was
an ass before, it’s pretty clear, now.

It’s a text from Blake.
Hey sweetheart. Could you pick up dinner? I put in an order at The

Spaghetti Hut. Two large pizzas. One is all yours for the trouble. My treat.

His treat. I shake my head a moment.
I glance back up at Marley, her face stained with red blotches as if she were ready to

cry or throw sharp objects at me. A castration might be on the table.

“You’re in luck, Marley. I just might have a business plan that quadruples your income

potential. I promise if you hear me out, you might end up with a lucrative business that
puts your classmates to shame.”

“Considering Will is one of my classmates, I’m all ears.”
“Great.” I stand and lock up my briefcase. “I’ll share every last detail over dinner.”

I follow Marley to Whitney Briggs where she drops her car off, and we pick up the pizzas
on the way to the carriage house. We keep the conversation light, with me avoiding the
pitfall of burning all her dreams to ashes and her avoiding the topic of climbing on my
dick for investigative purposes.

“So you’re really going to turn my business venture into a money maker, huh?” She

asks as she sashays to the door.

“You’ve got the brains. I’ve got the money.”
“What’s that suppose to mean?” She gives a sly grin as she rings the doorbell. The

wanting in her eyes lights up the evening like flares. Marley is nonstop seducing me,
beckoning me to be so much more than someone she makes coffee for.

“It means, I’m interested in investing.”
“Really?” She gives an enthusiastic hop and nearly flips the pizzas right out of my

hands.

“Really.”
The door swings open, and my brother looks slightly rumpled. Annie comes up from

behind looking a little worn out herself, and I’m not sure if the baby has them ragged or if
they’ve done it to themselves the old fashioned way.

We make our way in and start on dinner. About part way through, the baby bleats like

a lamb, and Annie is quick to comfort him. Baby Ben is named after his father, Benjamin,
the brother I lost last summer. Blake stepped up when the birth mother announced she
didn’t want anything to do with the kid. I’m proud as hell of my little bro. Blake has
always had balls of steel. What he doesn’t know is that if he didn’t do it, I would have.

I give a careful examination of the little boy who was almost mine.
“Don’t be greedy.” Marley flicks her fingers in anticipation at Annie, and the baby

changes hands.

Something in me loosens. My stomach relaxes. That tense knot in my shoulders gives

a little when I see her with that infant in her arms. Marley deserves all the happy endings
life can afford to give her. She’s smart—also a smart ass—but that’s just a little detail.
She’s gorgeous as a fox—young and too fucking beautiful if that’s even possible. I
withhold the urge to apologize to her for the internal expletive. Nevertheless, she’s—my
mind fights me on the last little bit of information that certifies her from ever being mine.
Too young, too fit, too beautiful—when the hell did I get so picky? How many laws would
I be breaking by seeing someone like Marley? That’s right, none. I hack through my pizza
before knocking back an ice-cold beer as Annie and Marley head to the bedroom to
change the baby.

“So what’s the deal?” Blake takes my beer from me and sets it down on the table.
“What’s the deal with what?”
“She wanted to fuck you the other night.”
I smack him in the gut. “What the hell are you shouting for?”
“Annie says you shut the girl down,” he whispers, annoyed as hell with me. And, in

reflection, I should be annoyed as hell with me, too.

“She’s nice.” I pick up my beer in defiance and salute him. “She’s not my type.”
“You don’t have a type.”
“That may be true, but she’s—” I shake my head in the general direction of the

bedroom. I can feel the shift happening, and once it does I don’t want to be responsible
for feelings or broken hearts. “Look, I saw the pain Mom went through. I saw the agony
in her face over both your father and mine. It’s too much pressure. Love is something you
don’t dick around with.”

“She wasn’t asking you to love her.” He raises his brows as he plucks another slice

from the box. “Not in the way you’re thinking. Newsflash, big bro, just because she’s ten
years your junior, doesn’t mean she’s made of glass. She just wanted to mess around.
Since when is that so hard for you of all people to understand?” He takes a bite, watching
me all the while. “Why don’t you do her a solid? She’ll trot off content to have gotten her
way, and you’ll usher in a new era of pre-menopausal pussy.”

The girls file into the room before I can properly sucker punch him.

We finish up, and Annie and Blake both retire to the sofa like an old married couple. I

pause at the door a moment just looking at their heads knit together as they enjoy a
brief moment of solitude. They’re in love. Annie and Blake are proof that the unicorn
indeed exists. If my mother were here, she would flood the room with tears.

Marley and I drive back to Whitney Briggs in a contented silence.
“So are you going to get that business plan together?” she asks, as she opens the

door to the car.

“Yeah, I am. Why don’t you do the same?”
Marley cocks her ear toward me as if she misunderstood. “My plan?”
Her shirt hangs low in the front. She’s all but offered the girls to me on a platter, but

my eyes still manage to stay trained on hers. Marley’s plan to herd me toward the
bedroom is working spectacularly. If she’s demanding to be tied to the bedpost, who the
hell am I to stop her? I should be penning a thank you—tattooing her name across my
chest for the privilege.

“Yes, your plan.” I gently touch my finger across her lips, and her eyes close

involuntarily. “Draw up an inventory of what you’ll need for that research of yours.”

“My research?” Her beautiful features soften. Her lips fall open, and I memorize her

like this. “It requires a willing participant—no inhibitions—a good back and lots of
stamina.”

“I have all of the above and then some.”
Marley leans in, her cleavage dips as if to say hello. Her eyes light up the dark interior

of the car like sirens.

“Are you telling me you’re in?”
“I’m in.”
Words I hope I won’t live to regret.
Something tells me I won’t.
At least not in the immediate future.

G O O D

V I B R A T I O N S

M A RL E Y

o? Did he fall for it?”

“Of course, he fell for it. He’s a red-blooded American male with a boner the size of

the Washington monument. He’s designed by nature to fall for it.”

I wasn’t being totally dishonest when I asked for a little assistance with my article.

Wyatt just doesn’t realize it’s for a much larger piece I’m working on tentatively titled
“Sex and the Modern Woman: What’s Love Got to do With It?” If I’m lucky I’ll sell my
coitus opine to the New York Post and have a real journalism badge under my belt.
Scratch that. I’ll sell it as a memoir and make millions.

“You’re not going to hurt him are you?” Annie looks nervous as if I’ve proposed to skin

him alive and wear him as a winter coat.

“Only if he asks real nice.” I make a face. “Blake himself said he was practically a

gigolo.”

“Did not!”
“Okay, I believe the verbiage Blake used was man-whore. Same difference. I’m using

Wyatt for sex. He gets pleasure. I get pleasure and perhaps the start of a very
provocative thesis. It’s a trade as old as time. The only point I want to prove is that it’s
high time women turn the tables on men and make something lucrative come out of their
fornicating adventures.”

“Now who’s the gigolo?”
“Point taken.”
“Why not just fill him in on the rest?” Annie is literally pale at the thought of Wyatt

laying it all out on the line literally.

“Please. We’re talking about a man who would have gladly used me for his own

promiscuous purposes night one had I not squandered that opportunity spectacularly by
way of my mouth.” I take a breath and consider Annie’s point. “Besides, the thought of
me spotlighting his bedroom moves in a lasting memoir might make him skittish. He
thinks my article is silly. Trust me, I’ve done nothing but amuse him at the thought of us
engaging in sexual research. He even asked me to come up with a naughty checklist so

“

we can cross things off with a fat, red pen as we blow through the condoms. It’s panning
out to be as clinical as can be.”

It’s safe to say Will wrecked both my head and my heart. There’s no way I would have

even remotely considered penning a sexual memoir as a way to prove the point that you
can lead a very productive life without a man to pin your happiness on. It was only after
weeks of greedily inhaling Netflix marathons of Gilmore Girls did I even begin to get a
kernel of hope, and, by hope, I mean revenge.

What better way to turn my weak, broken heart into a solid sheet of iron than to

remove the element that is lauded as a god to be worshiped—horrifically fictitious in
nature—love. Love is a fickle, slippery serpent that coils around its victim when they’re
least aware and slowly suffocates them by the token fantasy that all it promised ever
really existed. Love is a big, fat, fake, and I intend to blow its cover—ironically between
the covers.

“So what do you make of Blake and me?” Annie sits on her bed with a self-righteous

repose as if she’s ready to knife my plan to shreds before I get a single blowjob out of the
deal.

“You and Blake are a fairytale—the unattainable gold standard in the land of gilded

hearts and all that other stupid cupid crap. Sorry—no offense.” Annie has quickly become
my bestie, and I’d hate for my acid tongue to ruin our blossoming friendship.

“None taken.” She squints at me, studying my body as I lie on my belly ready to pen

my next “Sex and the Coed” article. “What happens if this great use ‘em and bruise ‘em
plan of yours backfires? You know, what if you stumble into the real deal and fall in love?”

“I’ll eat my words, literally. Paper equals fiber, right? Not that it’ll ever come to that

digestionally challenging phase. I’m pretty sure the only foreign object my mouth will be
hosting happens to dangle between Wyatt James’ legs. Sex is his thing. He has the
gratuitous variety with women on a regular basis.” I swing around and sit up so that
we’re facing one another. I’m used to showing Annie my mouth and speaking a little
slower than usual so she can read my lips. But about a month ago she had hearing
implants turned on, and I just can’t seem to get used to the fact.

Annie pulls my hand forward. “Do you want to have non-committal sex with men on a

regular basis? Is that really what you want?”

I contemplate this for a moment. A lifetime of hoe down showdowns in the bedroom

with an entire parade of strangers does seem a bit sexually prolific even for me.

“Nope. Just the one for now. He seems game to keep me on a string. It’ll be the most

honest relationship I’ve ever been in.” Might ever be in.

“What happens when he falls in love?”
My stomach bites with acid as soon as the words leave her lips. Wyatt is handsome in

an agonizing way. He’s unfairly intelligent and perfectly independent. I’m sure he’s a good
catch that someone will want to snag away in the middle of our arrangement. I don’t
know why I’d find this surprising.

“If that happens, I suppose I’ll have to scout the Black Bear for another potential

bedmate, and, my unbroken heartbeat goes on. The keyword here is unbroken.”

She looks to the ceiling with a silent laugh. “I meant with you. What happens when

Wyatt falls in love with you?”

“Ha! Trust me, he won’t.” They never do. I’m quick to wave off the ludicrous idea.

“Men like Wyatt are always looking for something fresh and young to bury themselves in.
If he wanted monogamy, he would have married years ago. I guarantee you that women
have tried and failed to land Mr. James in a wedded and bedded position. He’s a slippery
fish. Most men are. Those, my friend, are what I like to call the honest ones—with the
exception of Blake of course. Take my sister, Jemma, for example—four husbands? Three
baby daddies? And, believe me, she’s just revving her procreative engine. She’s already
got her eye on the government dole out prize. I know this because she’s asked me to
help fill out a ton of applications to secure just that. Hello, Uncle Sam! I’m on my way to
conceiving my thirteen children and use them to collect my government payout for the
next two decades and beyond! I can’t wait to put everyone else’s hard-earned tax dollars
to work—for me! My sister is the epitome of what’s wrong with society. If she were
honest with herself, like I’m being, she would have succeeded in life on her own and
simply used men for what they’re good for—sex.”

“Ah yes— the fine art of fornication.” Annie frowns. “What about kids? Don’t you

eventually want to have them?”

Baby Ben pops to mind with his sweeter-than-silk skin, those butter soft rolls

amassing around his chunky legs. He’s a living doll. My sister’s brood tends to melt me on
an unnatural level as well.

“Easy—I’m going to be everyone’s favorite Aunty.” My gut pinches with heat as if my

body were trying to have its say. My body is a ball of hormones set on a timer to pump
out babies, so, of course, it wants its say. My screaming ovaries are primitive in the most
barbaric sense, but that’s simply a function of nature. Thank God I’ve risen above my
primal state of being and can see what lies before me, the true brokenhearted,
pockmarked landscape of love. The real one in which the L word is quickly excised from
my vocabulary and set on a shelf with Grimm fairytales and Greek tragedies. Even
Shakespeare’s most beautiful plays, in the end, were simply fiction. I’m a woman of the
new millennium, one that takes control of her body and her heart.

Annie winces. “Are you at least going to tell him?”
“Tell him what? That we’re just hooking up for the sake of my article? That we’re

nothing more than fuck buddies? He already knows that part—and trust me—he likes it.
He couldn’t care less if this experience gets tossed on a pie chart or ends up in an entire
rainbow of index graphs. Once I have about six or twelve of these consensual romps
under my belt, I’ll publish my memoir—Sex and the Modern Woman. Believe me, Annie,
social literature is all the rage. I smell a spot on the Times awaiting my arrival. It’s not
like I’m starting some immoral movement. I’m simply compiling evidence that spells out
that this way of life works. And, it is going to work for me. It already does for him.”

She swipes her phone off the dresser and starts texting. “We don’t know that it will

work, Marley.”

“It will. What are you doing?” Annie isn’t one to ignore someone for the sake of social

media. She’s up to no good. That little lift to her eyelid tells me so.

“I’m starting my own documentation diary of your little experience.”
“You can’t do that.”
“If you can turn Blake’s brother into some sort of glorified vibrator, I can very much

make note of how things are going. Besides, the real reason I’m doing this is for your own
good. Once you get your heart broken, and you will, I’ll make a graph of my own showing
how clearly this was an error that you refused to see coming.”

“And then?” My voice gets swallowed up in unexpected emotion. The thought of Annie

outsmarting me at my own game doesn’t sit well with me.

“And then, I’m going to make some mac and cheese and we’ll watch the entire

marathon of Gilmore Girls all over again. I’ll be there for you when you break your own
heart.” Her eyes enlarge as if making sure I get the point. “I’ll help you through it. You’ll
see this tragic, deformed version of love is a heretic you’ve brought to something sacred.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Love doesn’t work for everyone—anyone, really—except

maybe you. I’m here representing the rest of us.” God knows someone has to.

Annie scoots off the bed. “I’d better get to Hallowed Grounds. I’m meeting Kaya and

Tristan before class. Don’t do anything insane today, ‘kay? I still want to talk about this.”

“Tell Kaya, I said hi.” Kaya is Annie’s good friend who happens to be dating Annie’s

old interpreter, Tristan. He and Kaya are just another deliriously happy couple, living the
hallucinatory dream at WB. It’s as if some love struck plague has hit, and, for some God
forsaken reason, I’m immune to the infestation.

She waves me off as she heads out the door. “Love works!” She shouts as she makes

her way down the hall.

It doesn’t. And I don’t need a thesis, a memoir, a survey, or a dozen cheating

boyfriends to prove it.

I just know it.
Some things don’t work for me, and love is one of them.

Capwell Enterprises is tall and daunting—nothing but a collection of mirrored windows
that reflect the ominous threat of an upcoming storm. I wonder if in some way this is
symbolic, something that signifies a very dark period in my life that I’m about to undergo.
A dull chortle rips from my throat as I enter the revolving doors. If I don’t believe in
something as pie in the sky as love, I certainly don’t need to entertain symbolism by way
of the weather. Reality doesn’t dictate itself in ominous signs and premonitions. Reality
deals in movements, in small increments of time that are decided by wary humans with
growling stomachs and desperate appetites for sex and power. Greed is the real name of
the game, not I love you, certainly not I do. Marriage is an institution most likely
developed by divorce lawyers, and, if I had any inclination for all things legal, I’d become
a celebrated member of that elite society. At the least, I could navigate Jemma through
the next few legal entanglements she ensnares herself with in the name of wedded bliss.
Bliss. I smirk stepping into the elevator. More like blister as in it needs to be popped. If it
sounds painful, it’s because it is.

My phone buzzes and I fish it out. Speaking of painful—it’s Will. A heavy sigh expels

from me as I examine it.

You missed my tryouts. Made the team. Knew I would. You up for lunch?
I could A) ignore this message. B) block him from ever bothering me again. Or C) say

yes and never show. I think I like C.

Congrats on making the team! I’ll be sure to make it to every single game.

Look for me in the stands! Meet you in Founder’s Square in five!

I don’t really care if he made the basketball team or the underwater basket weaving

team. I wouldn’t be caught dead in the stands of either to cheer him on, but I like the
thought of distracting him several times throughout the game with the prospect of seeing
me there.

A wicked grin rides up my cheeks. Don’t feel too bad for him. He deserves it. And, in

about five minutes, I’ll have the satisfaction of envisioning him in Founder’s Square, with
a five-foot snow bank ensconcing him on either side. I like the idea of Will freezing his
nuts off in anticipation of my company. It may be a shallow attempt at getting him back,
but, hey, it’s a start—and, if he simply goes away, a most successful end. I’m not really
that motivated to go all Fatal Attraction on him. The bunnies of Hollow Brook can rest
easy for now.

The doors whoosh open, and the not-so-subtle scent of men’s cologne, the scent of

testosterone, permeates the air like an extravagant buffet of virility and domination.
World domination. It’s a man’s world, and we’re just living in it. I smirk as I spot an entire

bevy of suits and not a skirt in sight. I suppose that’s just fewer women to ogle Wyatt.

Wyatt. That dull smile rides up my cheeks again as he comes to mind. I can’t wait to

get our little sexcapades underway. I just love this new in control version of myself. The
me of three months ago was simply a hollow shell of who I’ve become. A vision of myself
stupidly holding those velvet cuffs, scalding tears staining my face as Will relayed to me
(over the phone because evidently that’s how cowards do it) how he might have had an
indiscretion or two. He was simply confirming what I heard from Cat Alice.

Cat. I shake my head. I can just see her gloating face. She’s always wanted Will for

herself. I’m sure she’s wasted no time in cozying up to him although she denies it. I know
that barb Will tossed at me, that first night at the Black Bear, about burying himself
inside her simply isn’t true. I stagnate on the thought. Is he into her? Cat Alice is tall, like
Amazonian tall. Beautiful but beauty like hers can be purchased at any Sephora counter
across the country. She swears she doesn’t have lip injections—that she’s just “very good
with make up.” But we all see past the smoke and Botox-inflated mirrors. Her mother is
an avid believer in if God didn’t give it to you give it to yourself!

Ah, the crazy days when Cat Alice and I used to troll the mean streets of Walleye. She

was always the wild one, experimenting with boys far too early, knocked-up far too early.
She lost that one, by the way. And then, of course, bitter far too early. In hindsight, she
might have been the smart one. She excised love from her vocabulary long before I did.
While I was pining for Will, setting my net and capturing Will, getting cheated on by Will,
she parted her legs for anyone who looked twice in her direction. I know for a fact she’s
always had a thing for Will, but then Cat Alice has had a thing for just about anyone. But,
now that they’re both at Whitney Briggs, I suppose the inevitable is about to happen.

My stomach sours. I hate that the thought of Will with Cat Alice has the ability to

make me sick. I think I’d almost prefer him with just about anybody else. And, worse than
that, I hate that deep down they both still have the power to hurt me.

I take a deep breath and give a confidant knock against Wyatt’s door.
“Come in.” His strong voice vibrates through to my bones and warms me.
Wyatt stands and greets me with that mega-watt grin of his, and I can’t help but feel

like I’ve just been caught off guard and swallowed whole. I kind of like the thought of
swimming inside of Wyatt—getting to know him from the inside out. All thoughts of Will
and Cat Alice scatter like pigeons as I step in and close the door behind me.

Wyatt’s broad shoulders pull back. He’s decked out in a dark, inky suit with a slick

silver tie that reflects the light just so. His dark hair is slicked back. He’s fresh shaven
compared to the slightly stubbled look I’ve grown accustomed to on him. His eyes shine a
bright shade of sea glass, with a mixture of lust, hope, and elation blooming from their
nexus. I’m sort of hoping I’m the reason for the latter three.

“Are you trying to impress me?” I give an impish grin as I take a seat. I have my

notepad and pen ready to go. I plan on getting the low-down on exactly what the job
entails, not to mention giving him the details of the job I have laid out for him, emphasis
on the laid.

“Is that how they teach you to greet your boss in the morning?” He scoots into the

seat in front of me. He’s teasing but a part of him seems curious.

“How, pray tell, did the other scullery maids greet you? Let me guess. Good morning,

Sire! How would you like your java brewed? Excuse me while I grind your coffee beans
with the heels of my stilettos.”

“I would never ask you to ruin a good pair of shoes.” A devious smile creeps up his

face, just one side. Wyatt is like a delicious piece of steak sitting in front of me that I
cannot wait to devour. “I can get my own coffee.” He glides a stack of neatly bound
papers toward me.

“What’s this?” Rags to Riches Two-Year Business Plan. “You did this?” I thumb through

it quickly getting the gist. It’s pages and pages of outlines, suggestions, implementation
techniques, and new ideas I’ve never even thought of.

“As you can see I have an initial plan of five seamstresses. That could free you up to

purchase more fabric, clothes to up-cycle, whichever. And there’s even room for you to
create a few pieces of your own thus keeping the integrity of where it all began.”

“Wow, okay.” I’m totally blown away as I continue to skim over the proposal like a

drink of water in what had always been a vast, lonely desert. “You have a five point plan
for a retail outlet in two different online locations?” I’m more than impressed.

“Three—three different online locations. I’ve already purchased the domain name for

your website.”

“You don’t waste any time do you?” The words wobble on my tongue. I’m not used to

someone going the extra mile for me. “What do I owe you?”

“For what?”
“The domain—the proposal.” I happen to know that a domain name isn’t too spendy

but a professional proposal like this with such a deep scope and sequence can garner 10K
on the light side. Maybe he’ll give me the good guy discount since I’m generously gifting
my body to him for the time being.

“My payment is your proposal.” His jaw tightens before he flexes a genuine smile.

“Where is it?”

God, he’s on the ball. And I’m sure his balls are what have him so on it.
“I’m afraid I’m not as efficient as you. I haven’t had a chance to digest that pizza from

last night let alone formulate a fifty-page addendum of what our sexual future might
hold.” Not that I didn’t fall asleep thinking of the twisted possibilities.

“Like I mentioned, I’ve read your articles.” A set of evenly matched dimples go off in

his cheeks, but he withholds the smile this time. It’s a bit tantric in nature, and I can feel
the big O begging for that devilish grin of his to take me all the way home. “I’ve no doubt
you can be prolific if the moment calls. And, the moment is calling.” He mock checks his
watch. “That’s how I want you to spend the day. Right here”—he gives a quick knock to
the desk—“formulating a plan of action.”

“Consider it done.” I plop my blank notebook onto the glass overlay, and a slapping

sound emits, a bit embarrassing, yet, most likely indicative of what’s to come. Namely
me.

My pen glides over the stark white parchment absentmindedly. I give it a few good

revolutions before I glance back up at his garden-green eyes.

“I’ve got nothing.” Crap. “Not that I’m admitting defeat. Its just sort of par for the

course considering I have a knack to procrastinate if I have a big assignment due. I’m one
of those people who really thrive under pressure. I didn’t think this was due so soon,
Professor James.” A coy smile curls up my lips. I think I’ve just found his nickname,
apropos as it might be, it adds a scorching flare. That cocky, I-know-I’ve-got-you leer,
that self-approving grin. Wyatt James is drunk off his own charm, and it’s easy to see that
the female world around him often partakes of his libations. He’s so perfect for my test
subject that a squeal of delight emits from my throat.

His brows rise. “Excited?”
“Very.”
“Good.” He sets another report in front of me, this one considerably thinner in nature,

the cover page simply reads Document. I skip to the next page and find both our names
printed out at the bottom with a space for a signature to the right. Above that it reads; I,
Marley Jackson, herein enter into a common law contract with Wyatt James to engage in
consensual sexual activity that remains within legal bounds and in no way produces harm
to either party. I agree to negate the right to any litigation that might arise in the event
of emotional or physical trauma. This is a legally enforceable promise that adheres to
state laws within North Carolina. The contractual terms are as follows:

•If litigation is necessary both parties agree to seek arbitration.
•No monetary exchanges will take place in lieu of consensual acts, prior to or post the

span of contractual services.

•If either party feels the need to withdraw from this consensual relationship the term

application as stated in this document is null and void, thus dissolving any further
relations.

•There shall be no third party status. All consensual sexual relations are to take place

between the above stated individuals, to consummate once lab results reveal both

individuals are free from any sexually transmitted diseases.

I glance up amused. “You always draw up a legal document before entering into a

hookup?”

He pushes out a dry smile, and something about that small action sends a quiver

between my thighs, efficient as a vibrator.

“This isn’t a simple hookup.” He says it so cool, it’s believable. “Not in the traditional

sense. And the lab work is just to put your mind at ease. I saw my doctor this morning.
I’ve called campus health services for you, and their earliest opening for a screening is
later this afternoon.”

Oh, wow. Me thinks the professor is randy. I give a gluttonous grin. “Consider me

there.”

“Good. They’re expecting you. I’ve already put your name in.”
Holy wow, this guy is really on top of it. I’m guessing he’s anxious to get on top of

something else. The only planning ahead Will ever did was to fill up his gas tank before
making us late to the movies.

“So are you any good?” I’m half teasing but curious as to how far his ego is willing to

go to defend his fornicating honor.

“Are you kidding?” His eyes dart to mine. His features melt serious and hard as flint. “I

can make a career of this if need be.”

Thought so.
“Well, then! This is going to be fantastic.” I quickly scribble my name in all the

appropriate slots before sliding it over to him. “When can we begin?”

Wyatt leans in with his elbows on the desk, his hands pressed together near his

mouth as if he were sending up a prayer.

“One month.”
“Tonight.” I counter, stunned by his latent proposal.
“Three weeks.”
“Two and a half, and I might spend the night.”
“I promise you”—a slow grin spreads over his face, his eyes glow with an intense level

of assuredness—“you will never want to leave.”

I watch his full lips move as he rounds out the words. Something tells me he’s right.
“You’re going to fall in love with me.” His dimples go off as he gives a cocky grin.
“I’m going to use you.”
“We’ll see.”
Wyatt scrawls his name over all the appropriate boxes and sets down the pen with a

deafening clang.

The smile glides from his face. “Let the games begin.”

“They already have.”

W Y A T T

lassification of terms?” Blake scoffs as he flings the contract back my way.

“Don’t look so unimpressed. I wasn’t trying to woo her, I was trying to scare her—as in

scare her off.” I glance over the page where Marley penned her signature just a few short
days ago.

“You don’t say.” He looks mildly amused. “Did it work?”
“Oddly, no.” I tuck the lewd document back into my briefcase.
The Black Bear is filling up around us as the rest of Blake’s band puts together the

equipment on stage.

A familiar dark-haired shadow treks over. Monica. I give a brief idea of a smile. Just

great. I’ve sent a steady stream of polite yet dismissive text messages for the last few
days—especially after missing dinner with her the other night. I’ve never forgotten about
a dinner date in my life. I still feel pretty bad about that, although, in my defense, Marley
is quite the distraction.

I lean toward my brother. “Why don’t you go up and help out the band?”
Blake rises. “You’ve got a birthday coming up. Anything on your wish list?”
A grimace comes and goes at the thought. Benji and I had our birthdays just a day

apart. I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason Blake remembers it. My birthday will now
forever be a source of pain.

“No worries, buddy. It’s like in a month. I think we should forget about it.”
“It’s in two weeks. And I’m not forgetting.” He knocks on the table before heading for

the stage.

“Looks like I came just in time.” Monica settles across from me with a tight-lipped

smile, her glasses dripping to the tip of her nose. “So, who’s the lucky girl?”

“Lucky girl?” A slight wave of heat rides through me at the mention of a girl. I give a

quick glance to the entrance. Marley mentioned Blake would be playing tonight. She
knows I’ll be here. We spent the better half of the day locked in one sexual innuendo
after another, not to mention a never-ending steam of banter that left my balls aching for
some relief. I suppose in that sense there is a girl. “There is no girl.” And now I’ve lied to

“

Monica for the very first time.

“Good.” She pulls forward her Louis Vuitton briefcase and settles her elbows over it.

“Let’s get out of this adolescent pigsty and have some real fun. Marcus picked the kids up
from school today. I’m all yours for the weekend.” She pulls her lip in slowly with her
teeth. Invitation sent.

“Can’t do it.” My eyes float nervously past her. “I’m meeting someone—and before

your mind wanders, it’s not like that.”

“Oh?” She darts her gaze around the room quick as a pinball machine. “Then what’s it

like?”

“Just doing a friend a favor.” I take another hit off my beer and give a casual glance

over my shoulder. I’m not sure how to classify what I’m doing with Marley. Not sure if
she’s a friend, but in the least that’s how I see her.

Monica leans in with the determination of a cougar with her ovaries on fire. “How

about doing this friend a favor?”

Our eyes connect, and as much as I’d like to, I can’t look away. Monica and I have a

history. We were together, seemingly in love, for what felt like an eternal portion of my
life. I can feel her wanting me. The slight hint of desperation lingers in the air, and I wish
it didn’t. I wish she could see that even though I’m unattached, I’ve moved on.

“What’s the favor, Mon?” I plop my beer back on the table like the slamming of a

gavel.

“My father’s house is about to go on the market. I need to be in Aspen for two weeks

minimum. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind coming along.”

“Really?” She surprised me there. Two weeks is enough time to rekindle just about

any flame, but I’m afraid in our situation she’ll only going to find out the hard way there’s
nothing left between us. “Sorry about your father.” Both of Monica’s parents are gone, her
father being the last to pass away. “Let me think about it. Forward me the details, and I’ll
see what I can work out.” Not sure why I didn’t just say no. Most likely because her father
was a good guy, and the thought of crushing her while he lingers around us like a ghost
makes it that much less appealing. I’ll let her down slowly some other time.

Her phone rings, and she quickly inspects it. “I’d better take this outside. Be right

back.” She slices by at a quickened pace, and a flood of relief fills me.

I’m not sure why Monica feels like a lead coat lately, but I’d hate for her to sense it.

We’ve known each other too long, gone through too much bullshit to simply forget one
another existed. It’s a wonder she still speaks to me let alone wants to fall into my bed.
She’s the one who went out and found someone else while I thought our relationship was
still going strong. In truth, I didn’t feel so strongly about it, and that’s exactly why I
wasn’t so surprised when she walked out the door. I think that’s why I feel so bad for

Marley. I get the confusion you feel when the one you’re with is suddenly with someone
else. It sucks, and it can sting like hell. It makes you insane—so much so that you might
find yourself having contractual sex with someone you hardly even know. That’s why I
wanted to pull the timeline out a good month. At least give her a chance to clear her
head.

A cool pair of hands momentarily covers my eyes. That familiar gardenia scent

surrounds me, and I don’t need my vision to tell me who it is. The warmth of her body
covers my back, and I fight the urge to lean against her.

“Annie?” I tease.
“Be quiet, you.” Marley slinks into the seat across from me as I hold back a laugh. Her

hair is up, waterfalling into a cascade of curls at the crown. Her face glows like the moon.
Marley shines with her crystal blue eyes heavily lined in dark kohl. It’s a vexingly
gorgeous effect I can’t seem to tear my gaze from.

“I want you.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“You want me?” She spikes in her seat, pleasantly amused at the statement. Not sure

why it surprises her. My body, my eyes, each breath I take confirms that I want her every
time she’s near me.

It’s clear I don’t have any control over my tongue when she’s around.
“I want you—to dance with me.” That’s definitely not what I was going to say, nor is it

remotely what I want, but, apparently, I’ve been possessed by a frat boy, so I take off my
jacket and go with it. “Come on.” I pick up her hand and head to the dance floor. Blake
ends one song on a wild jolting note, and I cringe at what I’m about to do. Hell, I know
what I need to do. I’ll simply move and shake like a monkey who’s being electrocuted,
and Marley will want nothing more to do with me. If that contract didn’t scare her off, I
think my dance moves will cement the need to flee.

Blake pumps a dry laugh into the mike as the music starts up again, hard and caustic

—the electric chair for white boys on the dance floor. If there’s a “Dudes Don’t Dance”
episode, I’ll be on it. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone records the killer moves I’m
about to implement, and it goes viral by morning. I’m okay with putting aside my ego if it
means getting Marley to rethink her stance on experimenting with someone for the sake
of her article.

The music stops just as I’m about to bust a back-breaking move. Blake looks down at

us with his hand up to the band.

“I’m going to switch things up for a while,” he pants into the mike. “Grab your lady,

girls grab your man—get ready to get your hip grinding in for the night.”

I shoot him a look as efficient as giving him the finger, and he nods with a devious

smile.

“Nice.” Marley relaxes her arms around my shoulders before vacuuming her hips to my

thighs. My dick tucks neatly into her belly no thanks to my height advantage. “I’ve been
waiting to hold you. Finally!” She bites down on her lip, and, for a second, it feels as if
she’s teasing.

“You do feel nice.” I lean in and take a hard sniff of her hair. Lavender. Sevilla had the

entire house smelling like a field of lavender when she cleaned. Those were my favorite
days, my favorite memories of spending my “Dad” weekends with Sevilla. “You smell
pretty damn good, too.” A crude groan escapes me, and I cringe. I’m only propagating
what I was hoping to stop. Just beyond her shoulder, I spot Monica threading her way
back to our table. I spin Marley deeper into the crowd without giving it a second thought.
I’d rather dance, sniff, and taste Marley all night than deflect any more of Monica’s
advances.

“I think you smell nice, too.” Her hand smooths over my chest. Marley’s eyes sparkle

in this dim light like a pair of glittering sapphires. “So two weeks, huh? What inspired you
to put the boys on ice for so long?”

“I wanted to wait a month,” I remind her. “We met at two weeks.” One month left

ample room for negotiation. Two weeks leaves just enough time for anticipation. Quite
frankly, I’m a bit offended she didn’t put up a bigger fight. I give a private smile.
“Besides, you should get to know the person who’s going to be barking out orders in
bed.”

Her mouth falls open, and she stops moving all together. That’s it. She’s done. I brace

myself for a slap to the face, but her lips twist in a declaration of approval.

“So you’re that kind of boy, huh? I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be

dominated in the bedroom.” She bites down on her lower lip so hard, I’m afraid she’ll
draw blood.

“Uncomfortable. It’s going to feel uncomfortable.” Ironic. The harder I try to shake

her, the more I seem to reel her in. I’m just too damn charming for my own good. “So
you like being tied up?”

She pushes in tight with her perfect body conforming to mine, and I groan as her tits

crush against me.

“I don’t know.” The words bubble out in a giggle. Marley is adorable, and, if she tries

to push her way into my body any harder, my dick will tell her exactly how adorable I
think she is.

“Mmm…” I shake my head. “I like the restraints set pretty tight—no wiggle room—for

you that is.”

Her eyes widen at the prospect. “You have a four poster bed?”
“Bought for that very purpose.” Not really. It was a garage sale find, and the posts are

more of a nighttime hazard, but they’ve been known to hold a few women steady.

I sweep a loose strand of hair from her forehead and inspect her in this dim light.

Marley is a goddess. She can command anyone with a pair of testicles to bow before her,
and they would. They couldn’t help it. She’s that beautiful. But, apparently, the thought of
being tied spread eagle does nothing to dissuade her from our little agreement.

I lean in and whisper, “You look like a naughty one to me. I bet you like a good

spanking.” Maybe the thought of corporal punishment will make her squirm.

“You’re into punishing women?” She practically mouths the words ecstatic.
“No.” Geez. Shit. This is going in the wrong direction. “Hell, no. Well, maybe—I’m

talking about a good old fashioned whipping.” That didn’t sound any better, but it doesn’t
stop my grin from spreading wider than it needs to. Maybe if she thinks I’m a freak, she’ll
gallop her stilettos right out of here. “I don’t consider it a crime that I know my way
around a riding crop. It just so happens that the recipient is usually in need of a very
thorough punishment.” I cinch my lips a moment. Marley is suddenly starry-eyed at the
prospect of a good flogging, and a perverted part of me is glad she’s on board. “Now, tell
me”—I growl into her ear before blowing a hot breath—“have you been good or bad?”

“Oh, professor!” She groans a little too loud, a little too enthusiastically. “I’ve been a

very, very bad little girl!” Her lids blink in rapid succession, and, for a moment, I wonder if
this is all a put-on, and she’s been yanking my chain the entire time.

I give a quick glance around as if expecting a hidden camera to catch the spectacle.
“Come on.” She ticks her head. “What else have you got?” Her finger flicks my

earlobe, and instinctually I groan. “Give it to me all at once. I want to know exactly how
naughty the Professor can be.”

“I bite,” I say it stern as shit. “All the time. In very delicate places.” There. If the idea

of having the most tender part of her grazed doesn’t send her hurdling for the exit,
nothing will.

“Wow, really?” Her brows flex in an awkward range that lets me know she’s not sure

whether to be appalled or impressed. She shoots a nervous glance to Annie at the bar.

That a girl. I loosen my grip in the event she feels the need to test out the sprinting

capabilities of her heels.

“Okay, then,” she whispers. “I guess it’s safe for me to divulge a few secrets of my

own.” She nuzzles in tight until her face is just inches from my own. “I like to lick. A lot. In
very delicate places.” Her teeth graze over her lip, and I pull back a notch before my body
fills her in on how unreasonably excited this suddenly has me. “In fact”—she strokes my
chest with her finger—“I plan to spend an entire night, tasting every last inch of you.” Her
hand slips between my legs. “Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“Nope,” my voice pitches as I swallow hard. “But, fair warning, I’m not as tasty as I

look.” Is bad hygiene really the direction I want to head in? I have my limit, and I think
we just hit it.

Marley tilts back and strums out a laugh. “Well, then, I’ll have to bathe you in

chocolate first. I’m not afraid to add a little buffet to the mix. If you can eat it…you can”—
she hikes up on the balls of her feet and takes a hard bite from my ear—“eat it.” She
backs up, her eyes lit up like blue flames.

I don’t have any objection to eating any part of Marley Jackson. Certainly not the area

she’s alluding to.

“This is really going to happen?” It’s more of a rhetorical question at this point.
“Nine short days, cowboy.” She taps my nose with her finger, that determined gaze of

hers never leaving mine.

A thought comes to me. “I am a cowboy. Do you have plans for tomorrow afternoon?”
“I might.” She cocks her head to the side as if assessing my motives.
“Cancel. You’re coming horseback riding with me.”
Marley freezes in my arms. “I’m terrified of horses.”
Better than I thought.
“Then it’ll be that much more thrilling.” I rub her back trying to coax her into the idea.
The more things we do that terrify her, the less time she’ll want to spend with me.
Nine days. Plenty of time for her to take a mental U-turn.
After several rounds of Marley molding into me, the band starts up with its head

banging rhythm once again, and, instead of implementing my monkey moves, I cry uncle.
I say goodnight to Marley and Annie and note my briefcase is missing. Instead, neatly
stowed under my jacket is a familiar looking Louis Vuitton briefcase, same shape and size
as mine—but undeniably different. Monica is coming after me hard, so it doesn’t
completely surprise me.

That contract blinks through my mind. It’s tucked in the middle among a pile of ad

campaigns thick as a telephone book, and, for once, I’m relieved that I’m a hoarder at
heart.

I stopped by Monica’s place before I came home last night. In the grand scheme of
things, I think the briefcase swap was nothing more than a nightcap in disguise. I firmly
stood on the porch and waited while she made the chaste exchange. She offered me a
movie with pizza and wine, but I kindly declined. A part of me was afraid if I went in, I
would have done something regrettable. This deal I’ve made with Marley has me in a dry
spell for the next week and a half. I’m not a fan of dry spells. There’s a reason I have my

dick checked out regularly. It’s been put to use so much, I’m afraid the damn thing is
going to fall right off.

Around eleven, Marley shows up at the ranch with her hair swinging in a ponytail,

painted on jeans and a pair of cowboy boots that look as if they were made for this place
—for me to enjoy if you want to get specific. The sun lights her up from behind, and her
hair glows with an otherworldly effect. She’s a sight to see, and, suddenly, I’m thanking
God I’ve lived long enough to do just that.

“Morning!” I head over squinting just to take in her full glory. “It’s time to give you a

proper welcome to the Golden Oaks Ranch.”

“Are all these horses yours?” She gives a little hop and almost slips on the icy terrain.

The snow is still stacked on the lower bows of the evergreens but for the most part it’s
been cleared off the main thoroughfares.

“Not a single one. I rent out the stables.”
“Well, since there’s a shortage of horses, looks like I’ll have to ride a cowboy.” She

swings her body around mine in a violent hug, and I groan as she casually socks me in
the nuts with her knee. “Am I looking at the stud I’m going to saddle up on? I figured the
mental imagery of my body restrained, spread eagle over your bed, all that talk about
riding crops might have gotten you in the mood to bump up our play date.” Her cool
fingers glide over my brow. A peaceable look crosses her features for a moment as if
everything else were simply an act.

“Not today.” I nod toward the stable. “We have permission to ride. Let’s take a couple

of these bad boys for a spin. Shall we?”

Marley and I get situated and start in slow as her horse follows mine toward the

ravine at the base of the property. Thirty-five acres of ranchland sounds like a hell of a
lot, but most of it is either up or down hill, depending how you look at it. Not buildable
but beautiful. God’s country. The snow is starting to melt, creating a muddy wash near
the bottom.

I stop over by the anemic stream and help Marley off her horse.
“Did you like that?” The urge to plant a kiss over the top of her head comes, and I

manage to resist. It feels natural like this with Marley. It feels more than natural for me
to want to kiss her.

“Are you kidding? This morning I would have rather gouged my eyes out with a fistful

of number two pencils than piled on a mustang, but it turns out I loved it!” She gives a
little hop while taking off her gloves.

A part of me demands to be disappointed that she loved it, but I’m quick to push that

version of myself off a mental cliff. I’m glad she enjoyed it. This is a part of my life, and
I’d like to share it with her on an ongoing basis. Not sure if it’s a reality but maybe after

she comes out of her boyfriend-bashing stupor, she’ll want to be friends. I’d like that. I’d
like more than that, too.

“Really?” My arms land over her shoulder. “Most girls I bring don’t really think too

highly of the experience.”

“That’s because you’ve been dabbling in the wrong kind of girls. Speaking of girls, I

ran that little business manifesto by Baya, and she thinks you’re a genius.” Her arms
circle my waist as we meander toward the creek.

“Do you think I’m a genius?” For whatever reason my ego is craving that extra stroke.
“I’ll wait until night one to decide.”
A caustic laugh boils from me. “Come night one, you’ll be nominating me for the Nobel

Peace Prize.”

“Nobel, huh?” She purrs into me, her face inching closer to mine. “I was sort of hoping

you were the polar opposite of peaceful. Do they have a prize for discord?”

“I get it, you like a little chaos beneath the sheets.”
“That’s right, boss—and don’t forget it.”
I wince at the moniker.
“Did I strike a nerve?” She touches my lips with her finger. “Let me guess. You prefer

the term ‘professor.’”

“That’s one position I can’t get fired from.” Monica runs through my mind, and I

shuttle her right back out. “Tell me something about yourself.” I wrap my arm around her
waist and start us on a meandering walk following the stream.

“I’m a transvestite, so you’ll have a bit of a surprise ‘night one’—a treat, depending

how you feel about it.”

“I’m not laughing. Something else.”
“I like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain.”
“Now that I can get into.”
“Yeah, but I actually like the thought of making love at all hours, so I’m not so much a

purist when it comes to my seventies music.”

I pull her in with a silent laugh. “Point taken, and I like your version better. You like

sushi?”

“Love it, why? You about to catch a fish with your bare hands and serve it to me raw?”
A deep belly laugh pulses from me. I haven’t felt this relaxed around a woman in a

long time. “Thanks, I needed that.”

“No, I’m serious.” She wraps her other arm around me as we continue our trek

downstream. “You’re like superman. You’re good at everything. It wouldn’t surprise me in
the least if you stuck your hands in that freezing water and came up with a trout the size
of my arm. It’s sort of a you thing to do.”

“You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
“I’ve been watching you this week at Capwell, the way the other employees look up to

you like you have every answer under the sun at your fingertips. You’re like a walking,
talking rendition of Google.”

“That’s because ninety percent of them are interns. I’m paid to know more than they

do. And, believe me, I’m not paid too much more than they are.” Although, in all fairness,
the ranch provides more than enough for me to live off for the rest of my life. My father
isn’t nearly as generous with his time as he is with his money.

“Don’t they work for free?”
“Exactly.” I touch my finger to her nose, and our eyes connect. A spike of heat rips

through my chest. For a micro-second I’m convinced I’m having a cardiac episode. Marley
is beautiful enough to induce one in any healthy male.

“What are you thinking?”
I press my lips together for a moment resisting the urge to kiss her. “I’m thinking

about the body count you’re going to amass in this lifetime if you’re not careful. I think
being in your presence—sleeping with you—should require a medical bill of clean health.”

“Boy, your mind wanders right to the ominous, doesn’t it? Are you afraid a little cardio

with me might result in a casket fitting?”

“I’m healthy.”
“Guess what?” She plucks her phone out and pulls up a screenshot. “So am I. Got my

results back this morning. I guess the only thing keeping distance between you and me is
time.”

“Eight days.”
“Seven nights.” She bats her lashes seductively. Marley hikes up on the balls of her

feet and moves in a few inches, her lips parting in anticipation.

“Seven nights,” I pant into her mouth before the horses whinny, and I pull away. “I

think we should hold off on all extra-curricular sports until the day of. You know, let the
anticipation build up, then shoot off like a truck full of fireworks.”

Her pink lips twist in a knot. Her eyes seethe to vengeful slits. Something tells me

she’s not a big fan of the waiting game.

“I swear I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“That’s what you keep saying.” My arm cinches around her waist as we head back

toward the horses. “What would you have done if I had said no?”

Marley takes in a breath that expands the girth of her chest in a way that only a

contemplative thought can.

“I guess I would have found someone else.”
“Oh, yeah? Here’s what I think about that.” I reach down and scoop up a mountain of

snow and pile it on top of her head.

“You did not just do that!” Marley breaks free and traps a handful of snow hurling it

my way, but the powder sprays out to nothing before it can reach me.

“You throw snow like a girl,” I tease.
“You did not just say that!” A small cry escapes her as she digs in with all she’s got

and hoists an avalanche in my direction. “One thing you’d better know about me, I’m
fiercely competitive!”

“Nice work.” I beam her in the arm, and she gives a maniacal laugh as she packs

together a snowball the size of a brick. “Turns out I’m competitive, too!”

We spend the next half hour laughing our heads off, pelting one another with rounds

of snow the size of volleyballs.

“I give!” I fall back on a cushion of ice, and my very sore muscles crave every last inch

of it. Another snowball pelts me in the side of the head. “Go easy on me, would you? Man
down.” I hold up my arms a moment before gravity takes over.

She slides in next to me, panting. Her hair peppered with bits of ice. “Is that what

you’re going to say after I wear you out in the sack?”

“You’re not going to wear me out in the sack, sweetie. You’ll be too busy struggling to

get free.” I pull her over me as if it were a commonplace gesture, and our laughter
quickly subsides. Marley takes in a breath and holds it. “Sorry.” I loosen my grip, but she
steadies herself over me.

“Don’t be. I’m not.” She traces out my lips with her finger. Marley examines my

features one inch at a time. “Why did you say yes?” She breathes the words in a whisper.

“Because I don’t think I can refuse you anything.”
“Brilliant answer.”
It’s the truth.

I ’ M W I T H

C U P I D

M A RL E Y

alentine’s Day is sort of an awkward holiday to have crop up if you’ve just started

dating someone, let alone if you’ve just penned an agreement to strictly utilize them for
coital purposes. It’s a Sunday, which also puts me in that awkward space between school
and work the next day. I’m exhausted because, for one, Baya and I spent all morning
getting lost in thrift stores. Who knew you could go broke in those kinds of places? Lucky
for me, Baya paid for most everything. I tried to stop her, but she said if I sewed the
clothes we’d be more than even. We spent the rest of the afternoon going over the game
plan that Wyatt mapped out for us (I may have let it leak about the special contract he
whipped up for me. And I have a feeling whips will be an integral part of our
experimentation sessions but I digress. Baya thinks we’re both freaks of nature and
couldn’t be happier for us.)

“Oh”— I take another sip of my latte—“He’s just the first of many. My goal is to hit

twelve or thirteen before I lay it all out in black and white and have it bound as a
hardback.”

“Baker’s dozen? That sounds like a nice place to land.” She grimaces in lieu of a smile

like maybe it’s not. She checks her phone. “It’s three! Gotta run. Bryson’s whisking me
away for a special V-Day vacay!”

I groan as she zips out the door. Baya and Bryson are another oddity in the love

department.

Later in the evening, Annie talks me into going to the Black Bear, and that’s exactly

where I find myself standing at the moment.

“Well, look who cupid dragged in?” Jemma pops up looking bedraggled as ever with

an e-cigarette dripping from her mouth. Her hair is crimped in twelve different directions,
and she had the good sense to smash an oversized glitter bow to the side of her head. I
swear there’s a twelve-year-old girl out there somewhere wondering where the hell her
hair accessory is at.

“Did you come to be my Valentine?” I pull her into a nice tight hug. Despite all her

obvious crazy, I love my sister to pieces.

Izzy pops up by her side with her arm wrapped around her fiancé’s waist. I suppose if

I had a fiancé, I wouldn’t want to let him out of my sight either. Will, the ass, comes to
mind. Somehow I’ve managed to keep a secure distance between the two of us outside
of our one class together. I should give lessons on the fine art of avoiding an annoying
ex. He sent me a text saying We’re even! after I left him out in the cold literally. We’re
even? Oh, honey, even isn’t on the horizon just yet.

“Are you kidding? I came to get my Valentine on.” Jemma slams her hip into mine.

“Where are all the good looking men? You hoarding those for yourself?” Jemma sways on
her platform glitter heels. If Jemma’s general attitude doesn’t say enough about her
personality, her fashion pairings should explain it all. When I say Jemma has the style
sense of a pre-teen, I’m not kidding. “Izzy says you’ve been seen a time or two with a
real man wrapped around your body. Where is this beefcake, so I can size him up
myself?”

Izzy shrinks into me and mouths the word sorry.
“No worries. And, no, we’re not seeing each other. Wyatt and I simply have a business

relationship. He’s my boss.” I figure if I come at this pragmatically I’ll defuse the
potentially sexually infused, and always embarrassing, fiasco that only Jemma can drum
up.

“Nothing like a little overtime under the covers to work your way up the ladder!”

Jemma does a little twirl cementing the fact she’s pickled, and, judging by the volatile
odor stemming from her breath, I’m guessing her weapon of choice was whiskey.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” I say before turning to her partner in crime. “You

taking her keys?”

“She never drove.” Izzy looks as unimpressed with Jemma as I am. “And, yes, I’m

sending her home in a cab.”

“Oh, hon,” Jemma wags her finger in Izzy’s face. “This girl is finding her own ride

home. Tall, dark, and handsome at six o’ clock. And judging by the bulge in his pants it’s
going to be one hell of a ride.”

I follow her gaze to the entry where Wyatt stands talking to Blake and Annie. He’s

tall, dark, and handsome for sure. Just the fact that Jemma and I reference him in the
same manner confirms the fact there’s no denying his crushing good looks.

Wyatt nods this way, and I freeze.
A rush of embarrassment washes over me. A part of me doesn’t want him seeing

Jemma like this. I want him to see and meet the Jemma I know, the bittersweet,
caustically funny, sometimes witty, yet always supportive version. But, God knows, if
given half a chance, she’ll try to beat me to the mattress with this one—sober or not. It’s
not like I could blame her. Wyatt’s brand of naughty looks sort of warrants a familial war

between sisters. Not that for a minute I think Wyatt would entertain the idea. He’s
refined and genuinely caring. He’d most likely offer to drive her home, then tuck her into
bed—alone. Maybe throw a snowball at her on the way out.

A secretive smile comes and goes from my lips.
A slow song bleats over the speakers, and my cells rearrange themselves until every

last part of me is crying out to hold him.

Jemma waves her hand over my face. “Oh, hon, you’ve got it bad. You didn’t hear a

word I said for the last five minutes.”

Izzy flags him down, and before I know it, Wyatt is on his way over with Annie while

Blake takes the stage.

Oh, God. I swallow hard and give a nervous wave. Who cares if he thinks my sister is

a lush. She is one. That dull ache in my stomach lets me know that I care, that’s who.

“Well, hello, stranger.” Jemma attaches herself to his side and sniffs his neck doing

her best impression of a golden retriever. “Rumor has it you’re showing some interest in
my little sister. You sure you want to run in the kiddie pool? I think a man like you needs
a real woman who knows what to do with that equipment you’re wielding.” She licks his
tie—oh, God, kill me—she slips to her knees until Izzy hoists her back up again.

“This is my sister, Jemma,” I say pushing both Izzy and Jemma toward the bar, but

they bounce right back like a pair of unwanted boomerangs.

“Say, don’t I know you from somewhere?” Jemma stirs the air with her finger, missing

his nose by inches.

Izzy pulls her back just enough for her finger not to lodge in his nostril. “He was one of

my blind dates a while back.”

Jemma jerks with delight. “The toe licker!”
“No, eww.” Izzy mouths I’m sorry over to me once again.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jemma.” Wyatt makes an attempt to shake her hand while

pushing out that killer grin of his. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m pretty sure I
would remember you.”

Like forever. And not in a good way. God forbid her foot ever attempts to go anywhere

near his mouth.

“One-night stand with Izzy?” Jemma’s jaw goes slack. “One-night stand with my

sister? Where’s the back of the line, honey? Because I am headed in that direction!”

Sobering up is clearly not on Jemma’s to-do list at the moment.
“No!” Izzy shouts above the music. “Wyatt and I had a blind date not a one-night

stand.” She gives a nervous smile to Holt. “Trust me, there was no standing involved.”

“She dumped him for me.” Holt gives a shit-eating grin, and something in the way he’s

flashing his pride like a badge warms me. What is it with the Edwards clan and finding

the right one? The entire lot of them should be in Guinness or in Ripley’s Believe it or Not.
True love for sure is an “or not” event at least where I’m concerned. It’s certainly hard to
believe in.

“Well”—Jemma curls her finger under Wyatt’s chin and growls—“when you get

dumped by my sweet baby sister, why don’t you look me up?”

Look her up? In what? The welfare line?
Poor Wyatt. Hell, poor me. Just because Jemma is soaked in chardonnay or whatever

the hell else she’s been drinking doesn’t excuse her from trying to steal my appointed
human vibrator from beneath me. God knows, Jemma has never had a problem finding a
power tool of the male variety all by her lonesome. When she finally sobers up, she can
look forward to having the spiked end of my stiletto aiming for her rear—sooner if she
threatens him with a one-night stand again. That’s my job. Not that I ever succeeded at
it, besides I’ve got my sights on the bigger picture now. And, I have a feeling one night
with Wyatt will never be enough.

“I’d better find her some coffee.” Izzy shuttles her toward the bar once again.
“And a muzzle,” I say under my breath.
“You’d better find me a man!” My sister gives the command with a violent shriek.
“Lovely, isn’t she?” I wrinkle my nose and freeze in that position. Each time Jemma

humiliates me, I have a visceral response. I’ve lost track of how many times my sister has
been the specific cause of mortification in my life, but tonight, for whatever reason, she’s
decided to take the crap cake and smear it in Wyatt’s poor face. “She’s really a different
person when she’s not hammered.” Or awake.

“She seems sweet.” Wyatt steps into my line of vision, his easy grin softening just a

bit. “You’re beautiful.” His fingers gently brush the hair from my shoulders. His eyes lay
over mine like a fire. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Marley.”

A bashful smile comes and goes as my cheeks heat ten shades. Wyatt has the power

to touch me to the marrow with a few simple words. “Same to you.” I turn my face
towards his fully, and any ill will I felt toward my sister melts like cotton candy in the rain.
“Did you come to see your brother tonight?” I nod to the stage. A part of me doesn’t want
that to be the answer.

“Nope.” He pulls a single red rose from behind his back, and I die a little at the sight

of the tight, red bud. “I came to see you.”

My mouth drops open, and a series of tingles vibrate over me all at once.
“I’m stunned. I don’t know what to say.” I can hardly catch my breath. My heart

pulsates with a violent tremor as if this simple act were the most thoughtful
proclamation. I used to sneer at guys who plied their girlfriends with flowers, and, now,
here I have a single beautiful rose staring me in the face, and it feels like the most

precious act of thoughtfulness in the world. All those poor, pitiful stems from Will were
nothing more than rhetoric. And, from Wyatt, it feels ten times more special.

“Don’t say anything,” he whispers. “Dance with me.”
Wyatt leads me deep into the sea of bodies with laughter caught in my throat all the

way there. I feel giddy and high and a little unstable now that he’s around.

We wrap our arms around one another as if it were something we’ve spent the last

decade doing.

“I think we should discuss logistics,” he whispers warm in my ear, and the entire left

side of my body catches fire.

“Logistics?” I’m intrigued. Seriously, we have to be the only couple in the history of

the planet that has charted out their first time with strategic mapping and the quasi
involvement of a legal team—or a legal document at the least. Wait, did I say couple?

“Next Saturday night we have an official date.” His warm, deep voice trembles

through my bones and elicits a riot of elation buzzing up and down my spine.

“Do we now?” My toes curl because next Saturday night is the exact date we chose to

consummate our contract. “Your place or mine?” Annie is gone every weekend, so
technically my room at Prescott Hall will be free.

“Most definitely mine,” he rumbles low and animalistic. “I’ll provide the bedposts—you

can bring the handcuffs.”

“Easy, big boy. I don’t think we’ve graduated to handcuffs just yet.” I press my lips

tight to keep the insane smile off my face. A thousand erotic thoughts run through my
mind. I have one week to get spray tanned just a shade below Oompa Loompa, polish my
claws, and do a little bush whacking. “Am I spending the night? The devil is in the dirty
details.”

He frowns a moment. “You look more like an angel to me. And, as for spending the

night—only if you want. I’m not into taking hostages. But, just so you know, I cook up a
mean Sunday brunch. I’d hate for you to miss it.”

“That depends. Can I eat it off your abs?”
“There’s no other way to serve it.”
“I guess I’d better stay then—you know, to verify your culinary skills.” I twist my lips a

moment. “Will there be whips night one?”

He thunders out a laugh. “Are whips a precursor to handcuffs? If so, all options are on

the table.”

A familiar cackle pierces over the music, and I turn in that annoying direction.
“Oh, God,” I hack out the words as if choking on a chicken bone. There she is in all her

seven-foot big-haired glory.

“What’s wrong?”

“Cat Alice.” Her name comes out in a hiss. “She’s…” the words refuse to formulate.

Clearly my tongue wants no part in this. Her arm is draped over Will’s shoulder as they
buddy up in a booth together. He’s whispering something in her ear, and all I see is red.
For so long I felt that Will and I were sacred. We were as good as married, sleeping
together, giving away our intimacies to one another like a prayer before bedtime. And
now here he is with my so-called relation, his lips moving over the side of her face like a
cockroach. This is the worst betrayal. Cat Alice is family. We grew up together. We told
each other secrets in the dark during long weekend sleepovers. She was the only person I
told when Will and I were first together. And when Will and I started to argue last
summer, she was the first person who told me she was sorry to see things go south.

Cat Alice jerks her head my way, her eyes expanding like headlights.
They are so watching us!
I twist into Wyatt and peer around his bicep to confirm the theory.
Oh, God. It’s true.
The two of them crane their necks for a better look as I bury my face in Wyatt’s dress

shirt. The irony. Ha!

“What’s going on?” He tries to pull back, but I’ve adhered myself to his chest like

Velcro. “Did you catch your earring on my shirt?”

“No, actually”—I take a tempered breath—“I lost my virginity to the moron in the

booth behind you. And the girl who’s face he’s gnawing on is my almost cousin, Cat
Alice.” I spin him around so he can get a good look at the heresy.

“Ah, yes. Will and Cat.” He leans in and whispers, “They’re staring. They look riveted,

by the way.”

“I hope Will is deeply regretting his wandering penis.”
“He looks as if he’s ready to chop it off and hand it over as an apology. Would that be

sufficient?” Wyatt seems mildly entertained by the situation.

“Not if he had a thousand penises to chop off. But a little self mutilation is always a

good start.”

“You should forgive him.”
I pull back and examine this hulking man that my arms can’t fully wrap themselves

around. He’s so gorgeous that at all times ten different women have him under their
surveillance. “Bless your penile-acquitting heart. No thanks. And for the record, he hasn’t
asked for my forgiveness.”

“That’s irrelevant.” His eyes squint into mine. “You should forgive him so you can

move on.” A sad smile comes and goes. “And then maybe you won’t feel the need to
subject yourself to a stranger.”

“Newsflash, you hardly qualify as a stranger anymore. And”—I touch my finger to his

plush lips to silence him—“while I appreciate the armchair psychiatry, I still believe every
hurt woman is due a little bitterness in the end.”

He playfully bites down on my finger. “It’s not healthy.”
“But it’s most satisfying.”
“You know what feels better?” His brows draw a line low on his forehead framing

those pine-forest eyes in like a hedge. “Revenge. Let him see you happy.” He firms his
grip over me. “Really, really happy.”

“You make me happy.” It feels vulnerable saying something so benign to Wyatt. It’s

probably as close to a declaration of love as I’ll ever get, so in that respect it felt
intimate. “You know what? You’re right.” I lower his hands over my hips, then lower still
before slipping them right over the curve of my ass. “I think tonight is a great night to
dole out a nice cold helping of revenge. How about a kiss?” I tilt my head just this side of
pleading. I’m not above begging, and God knows there’s an entire litany of sexual favors
I’ll be begging for next Saturday night. I’m sure please and thank you will be two phrases
I’ll become quite familiar with.

Wyatt smolders into me, a slight smile curves up one side. “What happened to

fireworks?”

“We’ll keep it chaste. No tongue.” I hold up two fingers as if proving a point. “Closed

mouthed kisses can look pretty darn hot from afar.” And feel that way up close but I don’t
bother bringing up the obvious.

Wyatt pulls back just enough with his lids hanging heavy, his easy come and go

dimples digging in as if to further seduce me. Wyatt James doesn’t even have to brush his
hair to seduce me another inch. I’m already sold, counting the hours, the passion-ripe
seconds, until we explode like a series of landmines taking out entire continents with our
savage lust next Saturday night.

“Closed mouth,” he admonishes as he edges his way to my lips, his lids shutting ever

so slowly.

Damn, he’s hotter than a grease fire when he tells me what to do—even if it was my

idea. I can feel the heat radiating off his skin like a furnace as my adrenaline skyrockets.
My heart rate picks up. I’m panting as if I’ve just sprinted to Prescott and back.

“So this is happening?” I ask, stupidly as he comes in so close, and I swear he

whispers yes.

Our lips glide over one another, soft at first. What with all the swaying and his hands

still firmly, might I add obediently, glued to my bottom, I’m afraid our lips will keep
drifting away, so I secure my hand to the back of his neck.

Wyatt seals his mouth to mine in one quick intoxicating move. A hard groan expels

from my throat as I melt over him. His mouth steadies onto mine, soft then hard, in a

pulsating rhythm. I writhe my head, moaning into him nonstop, but it’s not for show. Who
knew closed mouth kissing could be so damn erotic? This is most definitely headlining my
next article. It’s horrifically tantric in nature, and, as much as I profess to hate anything
that gets in the way of the finish line, this most certainly makes the journey that much
more memorable.

Wyatt stops moving and expends his full concentration on this one, immovable lip-

lock. We moan and move over one another’s mouths with a building lust that has the
power to fuel ten thousand rocket ships. We could fly to Jupiter and back on the pent up
energy exerted in this one beautiful kiss. Lust. Wyatt and I have it in acres. Can you have
lust without love? Of course, you can. Wyatt and I are living, breathing, sexually starving
proof.

Aren’t we?

Come Tuesday I’m a bit zippy, swinging my ponytail like a thirteen-year-old, walking with
a spring in my step on my way to class. It’s officially countdown-to-Wyatt week, and Aunt
Flo isn’t even on the horizon, so my body is all clear to go.

Annie still thinks I’m certifiable and, yet, helped me thumb through my bin of

underused lingerie this morning. I’m sort of a Pretty Panty hoarder if you know what I
mean. I find them unrepentantly impractical for everyday use, but, nonetheless, I can’t
walk by a good two for one steal. Plus I have the Victoria’s Secret Annual sale marked off
on my calendar as a to-do item—not to mention the half-year, semi-annual and seasonal
clearance. Can a girl ever have too many baby-dolls? I think not. Besides, something tells
me Professor James will very much appreciate the breadth and variety of my vast
collection of unmentionables.

It’s funny because when I was with Will, I never wore lingerie. He was more of a pull-

down-your-sweats-just-enough—go-ahead-and-leave-your-top-on kind of guy. I told him
once that it felt nice when our skin touched, and he just scoffed at the idea. I’ll be curious
as to how many articles of clothing Wyatt deems necessary to remove. I’m hoping all. In
fact, I might even make it a requirement. Rules are rules.

I step into the lecture hall and make a beeline toward Baya, but Professor Nicholson

cuts me off at the pass.

“How’s your little project coming along?” She crimps her lips while taking me in from

head to foot. Her arms are crossed tight, and she looks a touch more anxious than usual.
She’s dressed just a tad more exciting than a nun. I’d cut back on the mock turtlenecks if
I were her. It depletes the air of authority and makes it look as if she’s on her way to a

ski weekend. There are innumerous ways to look Professor Chic without having to
sacrifice fashion.

“It’s coming along great! Baya and I have already purchased a ton of inventory, and

just this last weekend we loaded our first few pieces on eBay.”

“Mmm.” She grazes me with another disproving glance from top to bottom.
“Oh, I made this.” I tug at my skirt—a patchwork made exclusively of velvet and

imported Italian lace. “It all came from Goodwill for a grand total of five bucks. I chopped
and sewed until my fingers bled. I could easily list a piece like this for ninety dollars.”

“Nice spread, but you’ll need to think bigger.” Her gaze dips to my cleavage, and she

openly smirks.

“Oh, um”—my fingers fumble to my neckline—“I actually have an appointment this

week to check out options for expanded labor.” It’s true. Wyatt said he found a few
facilities where they might be interested in picking up a contract with Baya and me.

“I’m sure you’ll use your youth and charm to seduce them into getting your way. Girls

like you always do.” She offers a conciliatory pat.

Will walks in and blows me a kiss before I can react to her odd statement. A look of

disgust rides over my features as he struts on by. He’s wearing his basketball jersey,
flaunting it from under his jacket. I distinctly remember him telling me how girls couldn’t
keep their hands off of him when he wore a jersey.

Looking back it’s as if every move he made was just another stepping stool toward

getting himself laid. Ironically not by me.

“What’s the face for?” Professor Nicholson swivels her head in his direction.
“That’s my ex.” I shudder when I say it. “Anyway. I’m just thankful this class is big

enough for the two of us.”

Her penciled in brows rise above her glasses. “Life in the corporate world is all about

working with difficult people. I’m afraid Mr. Richie’s partner just dropped the class, and
he’s in need of a new team.” She takes a full step back, looking toward Will. “Mr. Richie?”

“No, no!” I hiss in a panic. I can see the abomination coming from a mile away.

Clarification: three feet.

“You’ll be joining Marley and Baya on their class project. Since their business is

already underway, I’m afraid you’ll need to abandon your web application service for the
time being.” She looks back at me with a bleak smile. “Although—it might have been
more lucrative than recycled chic.” There’s a resolute boredom in her eyes as she
examines me once again, followed by a budding look of nausea as if my looks alone have
left a bad taste in her mouth.

Will smears a greasy smile to his face.
“Look—I don’t think I can do this.” Let me put this another way, I CANNOT FUCKING

DO THIS! Only I don’t actually say that last part in fear of putting my pristine GPA in
jeopardy.

“Oh, come now. Doing it is your favorite thing.” She gives a little smirk, and a breath

gets caught in my throat. “You’re wearing your own creation for goodness sakes. This will
be a thrill for you. Think of it this way, you’ll get to dominate a man for change.” She
leans in with something just this side of hatred percolating in her. “Maybe you can draw
up a legal form to disclose the details in which you’d like to do so.” She walks away giving
me the side eye.

What the hell?
My feet carry me numbly toward Baya who already has an array of sketches set out on

the table.

“Sorry,” she mouths, glancing briefly to my left as Will makes his way over—with glee,

I’m sure.

“Not half as sorry as I am. Say, you think she’s pretty nice, right?” I twitch my head

toward the professor.

“She’s totally cool.” Baya shrugs at the professor’s obvious misstep.
“I thought so too, but she was so different just now. She was kind of cold. It’s like all

of a sudden she doesn’t have a soul.”

“Who doesn’t have a soul?” Will whispers hot in my ear and sends an entire swarm of

imaginary worms crawling up my back.

“You, for one. Why can’t you find another party to crash? Where’s your doe-eyed

trollop? She drop the class because she can’t stand your bad breath?” True as God, I
might drop dead from the lethal gasses he just emitted.

“You’re a real comedian.” He takes off his jacket, and the familiar cologne threatens

to smother me to death. Funny how just months ago I thought Will was special—my
someone special—and here he turned out to be just your garden-variety asshole. It goes
to show what a warped lens “love” can add to the equation. Simply remove cupid’s stupid
arrow, and ta-da! you have a remarkably lucid relationship forged on the grounds of
consensual and, oddly, legally documented sex.

I glance at Professor Nicholson when the words legal document pop into my brain.

Funny she used those very words. Does she know? She couldn’t.

Baya’s lids roll up like shutters. “I just had a brilliant idea!”
“Yeah, so did I.” Will flicks his finger over one of Baya’s sketches. “You let me develop

an interactive app that sells this crap globally, and we can shut down this class and split
the take.”

“What’s your brilliant idea?” I’m far more interested in what Baya has to say rather

than taking in any more toxic emissions spewing from Will’s mouth.

“You may be closer to your Baker’s dozen than you think.” She nods towards Will as if

he meant something.

“Baker’s dozen?” I’m half amused. Was I supposed to pick up bagels this morning?

Then it hits me. “Oh, that!” I slit a quick glance to William Abercrombie Richie. I guess I
did screw him, so technically he qualifies. He could provide some input as far as my graph
charts go—of the negative variety. Plus, then, when I sleep with a real man—which I will
this Saturday (I’m looking at you, Wyatt James) it will bring up the boys’ average as a
whole. Who am I kidding? If that bulge Professor James has been pressing against me on
the dance floor is any indication, Wyatt is going to destroy the curve before it really ever
takes off.

“Yes, Baya.” I say it mechanically because, for one, we’re speaking in code in front of

my idiot ex and I secretly love it. “I think”—I nod my head violently toward said idiot
—“would make a grand inclusion to the baker’s dozen.”

“Bake this”—Will pulls out his phone—“I’m about to make both your mouths water

when I show you what I have in store for Tits and Twats.”

“Rags to Riches,” Baya corrects.
I can’t even.
“Whatever.” Will proceeds to regale us with talk of coding and the binary number

system and something called Cobalt—blah, blah, blah.

All I can think about is Wyatt and those clear aqua eyes staring down at me as he

impales me with his hot flesh and makes me his for the very first time. An entire litany of
things I’d like to do to him twist through my mind. It’s pretty clear I’m long over the
bonehead next to me and onto the boner awaiting me. See? Simply remove the nuisance
of love from the equation and an adventure of sexual proportions is born. Wyatt has
become my new favorite obsession. He clouds my thoughts from eyelids open until I fall
asleep snuggling up with my favorite vibrator (who coincidentally happens to be named
Wyatt).

Will waves his hand over my face. “Forecast calls for rain. This is all summer shit. Try

to throw some seasonal stuff in, coats and crap. Maybe try working with vinyl,” he says as
he collects his things and heads out the door.

Forecast calls for rain. A heavy sigh expels from me.
Wyatt comes to mind again.
Things are about to get very, very wet.
That’s for sure.

The next few days roll by in a dizzying blur. At work, Wyatt and I examine Will’s app
which he promptly sent me right after class that day. Wyatt is unreasonably impressed
with my ex’s technological talents which irritates me to no end, but he assures me
utilizing Will’s mad tech skills to make money will only benefit Baya and me in the end. I
suppose it’s true, once the semester is over William Adeline Richie will be nothing more
than a bad stain on my memory, but Rags to Riches will live on. Note to self: Drop the
next damn class that Will decides to crash. Also: Look into online classes.

On Friday, I don my new creation—a pieced suede coat that Annie helped me slice

and dice just the day before. She actually assisted in designing this beauty. I was going
for a straight edge at the opening, and she convinced me that oversized shearling lapels
would be the way to go. Paired with my over-the-knee dark rum leather boots, it looks as
if I’ve just stepped off a runway in Milan.

I head into Wyatt’s office with a cheery, “Good morning!”
Wyatt stands like the gentleman he is. His exaggerated good looks are like meeting

up with a brick wall at a hundred miles an hour, jarring and intensely possessive. His dark
hair is wavy and thick, and my fingers beg to run through it. His lips are made for kissing.
My own lips can attest to that. We haven’t touched first base since that night at the bar,
Valentine’s of all nights, but my mouth has been watering for him ever since. It took more
strength than I have in me not to penetrate him with my tongue. There were so many
other things my body begged to do with his that night, and had I started I wouldn’t have
been able to stop. Annie’s brothers would have had to chase me out of there with a hose.
My body aches just looking at Wyatt like this, broad shoulders, chest of steel, that
knowing grin—because, let’s face it, he knows he’s a god. That, in and of itself, is what
keeps his bed fueled with eager women. And tomorrow night, it’ll be fueled with the most
eager version of me.

“Morning.” I clear my throat, holding up two cups of fresh brewed Joe. “I dragged it all

the way from Hallowed Grounds. Hope you don’t mind, but they make the best mocha
lattes in my opinion.”

“I trust your opinion.” Wyatt’s fingers brush against my hand as he takes his cup, and

a live current travels up my arm.

His gaze hooks onto mine, and we’re caught in this wild erotic exchange that leaves

both our chests heaving. My stomach melts in a puddle of quivers. If simply brushing
against him elicits such a viral response, the probability of me combusting into flames
tomorrow night is as good as done. Not that a few flames here and there are about to
stop me. I’ll bring a fire extinguisher if I have to—hell, I’ll wear fire retardant. Very little is
going to stop me from landing horizontal, and vertical, and any other position he
demands I contort myself into.

He steps forward, close enough to where I can feel the heat emanating off his body,

and my face turns into a flame.

Wyatt reaches up and gently rubs my cheek.
“You have an eyelash.” He touches his thumb to my lips, and a spasm rails through

me all the way down to that tender part of me that craves him most. “Make a wish.”

My breathing picks up as our eyes bear into one another, wide and filled with a lust-

driven inferno.

I blow a slow breath over his thumb, and, like a reflex, my lips touch over it with a

hard, pressing kiss.

An approving dimple recedes in his cheek, so I go for it. My mouth covers his digit,

and I begin on a suck-fest that feels as if it spans hours, although, in reality, it’s more like
thirty seconds.

Wyatt gives a visceral groan as if somehow the fact I’m deep-throating his thumb had

translated to a more poignant part of his body that is far more eager to experience my
suck and pull maneuver. I lash my tongue around him, hot and wet, as I command
another achingly loud groan from his throat.

If his thumb were able to ejaculate, I think I’d be forced with the decision whether or

not to swallow right about now.

“Whoa.” He pulls out slowly and holds his hands up as if this were a sexual stickup. “If

this goes on any longer, we’re going to have one hard situation on our hands.” He turns
just enough and jostles his package as if begging that 747 in his pants not to take flight.

I clear my throat. “Got it.”
“Um”—he swallows hard, still straining to hold it together—“what were we discussing

again?”

“Opinions.” I give a little shrug. “Something to do with coffee.”
“Right.” He closes his eyes a moment, catching his bearings. “There is something else

I’d like your opinion on. But I need your honest gut. You don’t need to be nice about it.
It’s a business decision.”

Business decision—that would be me. I bite down on a private smile.
“Expanding the parameters of the contract so soon? Let me guess. You’d like to

include an exhaustive clause on the benefits of outdoor calisthenics—in the nude. Don’t
worry, cowboy. I’ve been eyeing that barn of yours for quite sometime now.”

“The barn is a given.” He snatches his keys off the desk and holds the door open for

me. “Although, a roll in the hay is a little less comfortable than you’d imagine.”

“I’m up for roughing it for the sake of research.”
“Is that what you’re doing with me? Is this strictly research?” He’s teasing, but that

doesn’t stop my heart from lodging in my throat.

“God, no.” I’m quick to head his way. New golden rule: Leave all subjects of my future

memoir in the proverbial dark. Subject Number Two need not know what additional
purpose I might have planned for his bedroom skills. “I meant experimentation,” I say as
we get on the elevator. The door closes with a quiet whoosh and Wyatt and I are
suddenly confined in a cushioned silence. “This feels slightly uncomfortable,” I say
without reason. When I’m nervous the verbal diarrhea spews without my permission. “I
can’t help feeling a bit predatory around you, Professor James.” I mock curtsey. God, he’s
going to think I’m insane. I’m not insane, am I?

“You can relax around me, Marley. I want you to.” Wyatt’s eyes glaze over as he runs

his finger from my temple to my chin. “It’s important you’re very relaxed for the things
I’m about to do to you tomorrow night.”

A tiny squeak emits from my throat as the elevator door opens. The cool air washes

the heat from my body, albeit temporarily. Wyatt leads me to his car, a different model
than I’ve seen before. Of course, it is. He probably has an entire collection of these in his
twenty-car garage. The Golden Oaks ranch is huge and sprawling with all kinds of
nonsensical buildings dotting it as far as the eye can see. It wouldn’t surprise me one bit
if somewhere out yonder there was a building used exclusively for his special brand of
perversion. And I’m loving the perverse nature of this very erotic beast.

“Where to?” I ask as we zoom out of the lot. The metropolitan buildings soon give

way to the Jepson business district, but Wyatt hops onto I 97, the road that circles the
back end of Hollow Brook, straight to the valley—straight to Walleye.

I sink in my seat a little as the familiar terrain takes over. Expansive dirt lots slip by,

elongating with their nonstop tower of tires, trashcans spill in the street like some never-
ending junkyard.

“It’s sort of a surprise. It’s not too far out. Just past the northern part of Hollow Brook.

Sort of a dicey neighborhood, but I promise to protect you.” He gives a devious wink my
way.

Dicey neighborhood is putting it mildly. We didn’t have a week where we weren’t

locking all the windows and doors due to a robbery suspect running loose in the
neighborhood—and on occasion the robbery suspect in question was my father. It was
police sirens and search helicopters all the time. Jemma managed to move to a slightly
improved track of homes, but Mom still lives in the old house across from the liquor store.
Our neighborhood was a lot more hood and a lot less neighbor, but it was our little, dicey
corner of the world, the one I’ve come to affectionately call Thug Central.

“You’re quiet. What’s on your mind?” Wyatt asks as we edge dangerously close to the

Chicken Fried Filet where my mother was just promoted to shift supervisor. An uneasy
feeling pulses through me until I realize we’re headed in the entirely opposite direction.

“Just taking in the scenery.” A quick breath escapes me. “You were right, it’s a little

rough around the edges here.” I’m speaking from experience.

He pulls in front of a small warehouse with an oversized garage door rolled open, and

I spot dozens of sewing stations set up inside with about a hundred women busily serging
their hearts out. “Wow,” I marvel. “It’s like they’re in training for the Olympic hem-offs. Is
this the place?” I spike up in my seat suddenly excited to be here.

“This is it. Take a look at the work these ladies do, and, if you like what you see, we’ll

set up a contract—short-term at first.”

We head inside and meet up with a tall redheaded woman named Dasha who runs

the facility. Her first order of business is to inform us she’s from Russia. She pounds her
chest with pride before asking us to excuse the potential language barrier.

“I beat anybody’s prices.” She rolls just about everything in that last word until it

comes out sounding like prizes and it instantly endears me to her. She’s actually taller
than tall, squatty features with a turned up nose. Her hair is cut to her ears and dyed a
shocking bright crimson. “Ve have output of tousand grams a veek, depend on level of
difficulty.” I take it grams is code for garments, either that or we’ve landed ourselves in
an accidental drug deal. “I have tree shits of girls.”

Shits equals shifts—or at least I’m hoping.
“Dis is round da clock operation. Ve no joke here.”
Okay, so they don’t have a sense of humor, but are they hiding a bunch of ten-year-

olds in the back? More realistic than the drug deal, I can’t help but wonder if we’ve
unwittingly hit up the local sweatshop. Who are we kidding? Judging from the long, tired
faces—those matching vacant looks in their eyes, I think we might just have stumbled
upon the inspiration for The Walking Dead. I’m guessing they’re not big on breaks around
here either. Good God, why do I get the sudden feeling these women run all three shifts?

“Ve take payment upfront.” She slaps one hand over the other as if we owed her a

stack of cold, hard cash, right here and now. “Ve burn vun too many times da odder vay.”

And there’s that.
I guess it’s fine since most likely my first hunch was right, and this place doubles as a

front for drug trafficking. I bet if we stormed the back we’d find a redline to the Russian
drug cartel.

Wyatt must sense my unease because he wraps his arm around my waist, touching

his head to mine a moment. A breath gets caught in my throat, and the caustic woman—
the quasi-sweatshop all dematerialize for a moment. The sentiment is so sweet, my
knees liquefy.

Wyatt looks to her. “You mind if we talk alone for a moment?”
“Not at all. I be inside. Let me know.” Red Dawn turns her attention to me. “I send

you home vid media kit und samples. If you unhappy—I vork dees girls to da bone ’til dey
get it right. Ve no vant customers unhappy.”

And there you have it.
“Dis is business”—she continues—“and ve do vhatever necessary to make client

happy,” she says it like a threat before ducking back inside.

“I don’t have the money,” I whisper. Or the conscience to work anyone to the bone,

but I leave that out for now. “I can talk to Baya, but we’ve already spent our budget at
the thrift store.”

Wyatt pulls me in tight and tucks his forehead to mine. “This is where a business loan

comes in.”

“Nice thought, but I don’t think I could get a loan officer to lend me her pen.”
“You won’t need her pen”—he pulls me in closer—“or her loan. You’ll have mine.”
“What?”
“I’m always open for an investment opportunity, and you’ve presented one. It’s a

match made in profit heaven.”

I bite down hard on my lip to keep from bursting out in tears of joy. It’s one thing to

have Wyatt’s support and another to have him put his money on the line.

“No one has ever been so kind, so considerate to me before.” I swallow down the fist

in my throat. “No one has ever believed in me the way you do, Wyatt.”

“Yeah, well.” He traces my shearling lapel with the back of his hand, a forlorn sadness

taking over his features. “You’re pretty incredible—smart, beautiful, and you happen to
have an eye for a fashion trend that might just be the next big thing. What’s not to love?”
He gives a full blooming grin, and my entire body seizes at the sight of this gorgeous
man.

What’s not to love? A prickle of joy runs through me, and I wish it didn’t. I wish I

wasn’t so easily seduced by that word. I shake my head in an effort to break our gaze.
Love isn’t anything real. It’s just another four-letter word that’s overused and poorly
defined in our society.

“What’s not to love?” I hold out my hands exuberated by the prospect. “I’ll do it!” I

jump, and Wyatt catches me in his arms spinning me right there under the canopy of
snow-covered pines, in a white glistening wonderland that sparkles under the sun.

If I had to guess, this is exactly what falling in love feels like.
But it’s just a guess.

“

One more stop,” Wyatt says, peeling away from the sweatshop we’ve just employed to

do our first big run of designer up-cycled clothing. Baya and I will come by Monday with
our fabric and designs to help the girls get an idea of what we’re looking for. I feel
exhilarated, and thankful because, for one, no matter what he says, I don’t think I could
have done half of this without Wyatt’s good business sense.

“Anywhere anytime. I’m game.” I run my tongue over my lips as I watch him grip the

wheel with his big, strong hands—the exact same strong hands that will be gripping me
in less than twenty-four hours. “And that goes for tomorrow, too.” Especially tomorrow.
God, it’s like we’re going to have our own twisted little honeymoon—at his place, of
course, to be continued in various locales of our choosing, naked calisthenics aside.

“So tell me, Marley, apart from scouting for bedmates, what makes you tick. Any

specific interests I should be made aware of?”

“I like to hike.” It’s true. Growing up in a fort of fences, rabid dogs and far more rabid

people, hitting the trails was my favorite escape. “I know it’s not the girliest thing in the
world, but there’s something about being one with nature that makes my heart sing.”

“Really?” His head ticks back as if he were genuinely stunned by this. “I love to hike,

too.” His hand rounds over the wheel as we make a left, and now it’s me who’s stunned.
Wyatt has inadvertently driven into the heart of downtown Walleye. Any minute now I
expect to see someone I know walking down the street. “Maybe next week we can take
our work outside. There are some trails on the south-facing side that aren’t socked in
snow. We can do a day trip. The views are stunning up there.”

“I’d like that.” Right now. I would very much like that right this very minute. Wyatt

pulls in an all too familiar shopping center and slides into the first parking spot available.
The sign on the establishment before us reads Chicken Fried Filet with the picture of a fat
ornery bird voluntarily jumping into a bucket.

“You have got to try this place,” Wyatt gushes. “Sevilla used to pick up a bucket for

me every Saturday. I still get those late night cravings if you know what I mean.”

Oh, I know what he means. I used to get them myself, only, in my case, it wasn’t my

housekeeper playing delivery boy—it was my mother.

He gets out, and I hesitate to follow. I could make up an excuse—tell him that I need

to write a paper, that I’m dying of menstrual cramps, that I have a severe allergy to
poultry or, I could woman up and stomach the entire situation. What are the odds that
my mother is working a shift right now anyway? She doesn’t usually start until four, and
it’s still early afternoon. What the hell. I hop out and join him.

“Everything okay?” He presses his hand in the small of my back as he holds the door

open for me.

“I’m with you—everything is great.” No lie there. Wyatt has been the bright spot of my

day ever since we’ve met.

The familiar thick scent of deep-fried goodness hits me, and just as I’m about to take

in a lungful, a familiar, abnormally tall bleached blonde gets my attention from behind
the counter.

“Cat Alice,” I whisper mostly to myself.
“The one from the bar?”
“The one and only.”
Cat Alice lets out an exasperated breath as we head over. Her eyes slit to mine in a

moment of both embarrassment and surprise.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she smirks. “Oh, wait, you didn’t come to see

me, did you? Debbie!” She shouts to the back, and I freeze.

My mother is here? Gah! This just gets worse.
Mom comes out from the back with her wiry hair poking out in every direction. She

has it in a bun, but it’s too wild to tame and likes to make its escape on a regular basis,
giving her the appeal of a psychotic bag lady. She’s lost a tooth on either side of her
canines which also adds a special touch of homeless, but my mother is kind and
tenderhearted, even if she does have a slight addiction to reefer.

“Mommy.” I lean over the counter and pull her in. There isn’t one hint of anything

illegal on her today. Most days the scent clings to her hair, her clothes. Honestly, it’s the
little things. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Told you she had a boyfriend.” Cat Alice scoots into my mother as if they had some

united front against me.

“Um, he’s just a friend, actually. He’s my boss and newly minted business partner.” I

dip a little when I say it. “Wyatt James.”

Wyatt’s face looks pale for a brief second before that warm smile of his takes over,

and he extends his hand to both my mother and Cat Alice.

“What are you doing here?” I ask at Cat. Last I heard she was working as a secretary

at a car dealership downtown.

“Lost my job. The economy is a real bitch, so Aunt Deb took me under her wing.”
Her chicken wing. Normally I’d say that, but I’d hate for Wyatt to think I was insulting

my mother. My mom and I can say anything to each other. We have that kind of a
relationship. I doubt I could even make her a little bit angry with me and vise versa.

“You’re a saint, Mom,” I say, pulling her cold hands to mine. She’s so thin, you can

number the bones in her fingers. “Oh, by the way, did you know that Cat Alice is dating
the dildo that left me?”

Mom’s mouth drops open.
“We’re not dating.” Cat is quick to correct. “Trust me, I wouldn’t want your sloppy

seconds.” She slides over to Wyatt. “Now your business partner slash boss is another

story altogether. Anything you want, sweetheart—I’ll even give you my employee
discount.”

Wyatt’s smile opens to a silent laugh. “That’s okay. I would never want to get you

fired.”

“Don’t be silly.” Mom pulls out her manager key. “This meal is on me.”
We put in our orders and take a seat in the booth furthest from the cash registers. It

doesn’t matter, I can still feel Cat Alice’s radiating beams of hatred penetrating my back.

“So, surprise,” I say without the proper enthusiasm. “I guess you’ve accidently met my

mother.”

“You didn’t say anything when we drove up.” He looks slightly disappointed.
“I didn’t have a chance. But you’re right. The chicken can’t be beat. I wasn’t about to

stop you. Believe me, I’m the last woman on the planet who’d keep a good bucket away
from a man.” I bite my lower lip with nervous intent. “Um, I grew up in this
neighborhood. Things weren’t always champagne and ramen for me. I sort of made it my
mission to escape as soon as I had the chance, and school seemed like the only way out.”

His brows dip with a genuine sadness. “You’re doing great, kid.”
“Thank you, Professor James. I’m hoping to ace that private exam you’ll be holding for

me tomorrow night. In fact, I plan on pulling out all the scholastic stops to impress you
with my carnal knowledge.” Which isn’t much, nary a scholastic stop will be made, but
that’s beside the point.

“I’m already impressed.”
“Here we are!” Mom slides in next to me. “You mind if I join the two of you for a

moment?”

“Not at all.” I scoot a bit to accommodate her. Now that the bandage has been ripped

off unceremoniously, I’m all for her meeting the man I plan on violating in less than
twenty-four hours.

“So what’s the deal with you two?” She looks from me to Wyatt, and suddenly I’m

regretting the fact I’ve pinned myself into the booth. “You really just friends, or is
something more going on?” She gets that I’m-about-to-rat-you-out look on her face. “Cat
Alice says—”

“Cat Alice lies about her own name.” I cut a quick glance behind me in time to see

said liar give me the finger. It’s true. She fell in love with a calico when she was four and
made everyone call her Cat Alice ever since. And, for some unknown reason, it stuck.
“Wyatt and I are—” God, I hate lying to my mother. I completely blame Cat for putting
me in this ridiculous position to begin with.

“Working on getting to know each other.” Wyatt finishes the sentence for me, and I

can’t help but give a shy smile. That’s exactly what we’re doing, and that’s no lie.

“Do me a favor.” Mom leans into the table, her eyes pleading as she sheds a pained

smile. “Be careful with my baby girl. She’s tough stuff up front, but, deep down inside,
she has a heart of liquid gold.” She brushes my hair with her fingers as if I were a
newborn. “She’s been through the ringer these last few months.”

Wyatt meets my gaze and holds it. “You’re right, she does have a heart of gold, and I

don’t have any intention of breaking it.”

Something in me loosens as if I had secretly been waiting to hear that very thing.
We start in on lunch and enjoy every second of my mother’s company, but, all the

while, my mind drifts to Wyatt’s powerful words.

He would never break my heart.
I believe him.

W Y A T T

appy birthday, big bro.

I stare down at the text a moment. I just paid a visit to the administrative office at

Whitney Briggs, making sure Blake’s account is paid up for the semester. It wouldn’t
surprise me if he were in need and didn’t bother to tell me. He’s just that kind of guy. But
I offered to help him get through school and meant it. It’s the least I can do after he took
on the baby. And now that I’m all done loading his university ID with cash for books, I’m
on high alert for my favorite coed, Marley.

It’s Saturday, the day our infamous contract kicks in. It also happens to be my

birthday. But I haven’t filled Marley in on that little detail, not sure why—most likely
because I don’t want to turn this into a “me” event. This is about Marley. It always has
been. Revenge sex, reclaiming her sanity sex, horizontal research, call it what you want,
but it most definitely feels like a rite of passage. I’m not sure why she chose me to
inaugurate the process, but I’m damn glad she did.

“Wyatt?” A cheery, yet ominously familiar, voice calls from behind, and I turn to find

Monica drudging over. “Well, if it isn’t the birthday boy.”

“They keep you caged in on weekends?” I tease as she swings into a full embrace.

Her lips brush over mine for a moment, and I freeze, giving a quick glance around.

“Sorry, I was aiming for your cheek.” She rubs her thumb over the supposed spot she

missed. “Come, let me buy you coffee and a birthday scone. It’s the least I can do.” And
before I can answer, she pulls me into Hallowed Grounds by the elbow. “I have a couple
windows open if you want to discuss dates for our trip to Vale.”

Our trip to Vale. It sounds official. Like something a well-grounded couple might do.

Romantic in nature. Everything it’s not.

“Great.” Shit. Not great. “I was just clearing everything with the administration

department, making sure my brother has his ducks in a row. I’m not sure I’m going to be
able to make it out of town with all the things I’m juggling, but we’ll see.” We’ll see? Is
that code for I don’t happen to have my balls with me today?

Her eyes grow heavy a moment. Monica’s no fool. She can clearly read between the

dismissal-shaped lines.

“That’s fine.” She blinks up a storm, a nervous habit that always signified her

discomfort. “And I love seeing you on campus, but you’d better watch your step around
here, cowboy.” She gives a hard wink. For some reason I prefer the moniker when it
comes from Marley. “I’d stay away from the coeds if you know what I mean. They’re just
after one thing.” She leans in and whispers, “Talk about your power sluts. They’re so
desperate to get laid, they’ve turned it into a little game. You’d think the university were
fresh out of frat boys the way they pursue older men.” She averts her eyes at the idea.

A private smile curves my lips.
“Don’t look so smug, James, there’s a very nefarious reason for this.” She seems

playful and light, but there’s something bubbling under that cracked lid of hers, I can tell.

We put in our orders and shift to the far end of the counter while waiting for our

coffee.

“And what nefarious reason is this?”
Monica chortles out a laugh. “Oh, don’t you worry. You’re too smart to get ensnared in

some sorority girl trap—or, I suppose technically it’s just a harmless game.” She leans in
and wrinkles her nose. “They bag old coots for the hell of it,” she hisses it out in a hard
whisper, and my ego jolts from the bullet. “You know—rack up the points at the end of
the semester, and the one with the most ‘ancient hookups’ under her belt gets the prize.”

“And what might that be?” I’m only slightly amused. I’m also hoping ancient hookups

is a term Monica coined herself.

“Who knows”—she brushes it off with a wave—“something ridiculous like a lifetime

pass to the Laundromat, or a gilded key to the boy’s locker room. It’s the spirit of
competition that ropes them in.”

Marley comes back to me in a memory, surrounded by snow, a fresh packed ball of ice

in her hand. One thing you’d better know about me, I’m fiercely competitive!

“Yes, well, I don’t plan on getting roped in.” I’m not getting roped in, am I?
Our coffee and my birthday scone arrives as we find a seat near the window.
“Don’t discount your good looks too quickly.” Monica leans in, her dark eyes intensely

set to mine. “You deserve to be happy, Wyatt. Not taken advantage of by some insolent
slut who parades you as some trophy to her dorm sisters. Your life isn’t a joke.”

I’m not a joke? She seemed to think so when she was busy bouncing on another guy’s

lap—granted she left me and married him. But, in the mother of all ironies, they’re
divorced, and she’s right back here with me.

I take a sip of my coffee and burn my tongue. Damn. I need all members of my body

in prime fighting condition for tonight. I squelch a laugh. Marley and I are going to make
love, not war—maybe a little of both for the hell of it.

“You should find a nice woman and settle down.” She stretches out the word woman a

little longer than necessary.

“And who do you think I should settle down with?” I lean back in my seat, girding

myself for the answer because, if she’s honest, I know exactly what she’ll say. I’m not
sure why I’ve baited her, but there’s no time like the present to let her down easy. A part
of me wants to get it over with. Besides, she’s pissed me off with all this talk of slutty
coeds. Marley is anything but, and I know what we have between us is more than some
silly sorority game. I’ve got a contract to prove it.

My stomach turns because that’s not a hell of a lot better.
“Who should you settle down with?” She repeats it like a dare. “I guess that’s

something you’ll have to answer for yourself.” She takes a bite out of my breakfast
uninvited. “But I know who you’ll end up with.” She pushes the scone toward my mouth,
and I refuse. “My prediction is that we’ll be back together by spring. We’ve always been
destined for one another, Wyatt. Sometimes the best thing for you is right in front of your
eyes.”

Monica might be speaking, but it’s Marley’s face I see.

Marley insisted we meet at the Black Bear tonight. I’ve shed the suit for a pair of jeans
and a dress shirt in the event she’s more interested in my tie than she is me. I’ll admit
that Monica’s soliloquy about the “ancients” the sorority girls are looking to seduce got to
me a little. Her theory is ridiculous on many levels, but mainly because Marley isn’t
interested in my age. She’s strictly interested in what I posses in my pants, and I’m not
talking about my wallet. The only thing she’s gunning for is someone to test out theories
of sexual relativity with for that article of hers. It may not be highbrow literature she’s
penning, but I’m always up for an educational inquest. I believe “research” is the term
she used. I wince at the thought. The more I think about it, the more Monica’s story
seems within reach.

I spot Blake toward the back of the bar before he melts into the crowd again.
Izzy comes up, grinning like she’s up to something. “Blake and Annie are waiting for

you in the back.”

“The back?”
“Pool room. I’ll show you the way.”
I follow Izzy through the bar and down a corridor, scouring the place for Marley all the

way.

“If Marley comes in, you mind telling her where we’re at?” I’m getting anxious just

thinking about what tonight holds. I don’t think I’ve been this hopped up for sex since
prom.

Izzy turns to me before we hit the back room. “You really care about her, don’t you?”
“I do.” It’s true. I care about Marley. And I plan on showing her exactly how much I

care for every inch of her body, tonight.

“Marley is a sweetheart.” The smile drips from Izzy. “Be careful with her, ‘kay?”
Second time hearing that in a week.
“I plan to.”
We step into the pool room just as the lights flick on and off.
“Surprise!” Dozens of voices roar at once.
And here we go. I try to hold back a laugh, but it rumbles out anyway.
Blake and Annie jump over as I try to assess the sea of bodies swarming the tiny

room.

“Do I know any of these people?” I spot two familiar faces coming my way.
“Everyone’s here.” Blake socks me in the arm. “Happy birthday, big bro.”
A pair of cool hands close over my eyes from behind, and my grin expands twice as

wide.

“Happy birthday, Professor James,” Marley whispers hot in my ear, and I know for a

fact it will be a very happy birthday—in less than an hour if I can help it.

I spin into her and pull her tiny body to mine. A part of me instinctually wants to kiss

her, but I hold back.

Marley outshines the entire bar, Hollow Brook, the universe.
“Damn, you’re beautiful.”
Her hair is wild, and my fingers don’t hesitate running through it. Her face is dusted

with a touch more powder than I’m used to. Marley doesn’t need anything to enhance her
beauty. She’s perfect as is, but, tonight, with her eyes glistening like jewels, she looks
like she should be added as an honorary wonder of the world.

“Happy birthday, stranger.” A young girl’s voice emanates from behind as I’m pulled

backwards by my shirt.

I turn to find a dark-haired beauty with eyes the exact color as mine.
“Piper?”
My sister beams her infectious grin back at me. She’s taller than the last time we saw

each other. The heels might have something to do with that. She’s wearing a little black
dress that is far more revealing than necessary, and she’s got lipstick on—red lipstick that
screams I’m-not-a-little-girl anymore.

“Come here.” I pull her into a hug. “Don’t grow up so fast.”
“Are you kidding? I’m a senior. I’ll finally be graduating this year. And you’d better not

miss the ceremony.” She jabs me hard in the chest.

“You bet I won’t. How is our boneheaded brother?”
“Cade?” She steps back and presents him like a prize. “Why don’t you ask him

yourself?”

“Holy shit.” I slap my kid brother on the back. And yet, he’s grown too. Cade is older

than Piper by two years, a college man himself just like Blake. It feels good to be
surrounded by family. And it hurts like hell that Benji couldn’t be here to join us. I know
Blake is feeling it too. “Dude.” I pull him in by the shoulder. “Did you do all this?”

“Annie insisted.” He holds up his hands. “And don’t worry, Piper and Cade are crashing

with me tonight.”

Cade and Piper both have my coloring, dark hair, light eyes, same shit-eating grin—

not to mention identical trust funds the size of Texas. It’s not a bad deal to be a member
of the James clan. Too bad my father doesn’t give a rat’s ass about any of us outside of
the tax write-offs we’ve provided.

Marley steps in and circles her arms around my waist. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell

me it was your birthday.”

Cade shoves a beer in my hand. “At his age you just sort of forget.” He winks.
“Watch it. I’m not old.”
“That’s right, you’re ancient!” A girl squeals from behind, and I turn to find Baya

giggling into Marley.

I laugh with the crowd, but it echoes a little too close to the bone considering what

Monica said, and, now, I’m wondering if there’s any weight to it.

“Pizza for everyone!” Blake shouts, and the room erupts in cheers.
The next hour and a half is spent trying to kick Bryson and Ryder’s ass in a game of

pool, then chatting it up with my sister and brother while we watch Blake perform with
the band. But it’s Marley in that glittering navy dress that my attention drifts to. Marley
shines like a sea of stars, and my eyes keep flitting in her direction. No matter where she
is in the room, my body demands to gravitate to her. We should be together always. No
one makes me feel as relaxed, as happy, and as anxiously frustrated than that little girl
right there.

Her eyes connect with mine as she saunters over.
“You ready for a real party, cowboy?” Her voice is light. Her eyes sparkle as if an

entire galaxy were buried in each one.

I feel those words like a hot stone in my stomach.
“Let’s get out of here.”

C O M E O N E C O M E

A L L

M A RL E Y

yatt whisks us the hell out of the Black Bear, blazing right through Saturday night

traffic until we land at the ranch in record time. He hops out and carries me to the porch
as if I were his bride, unlocking the door with a flick of his wrist until we land in his dimly
lit home. Wyatt slams the door with his shoe and moves us to the living room depositing
me gently onto my feet as he races to start a fire.

He appears before me again, breathless without missing a beat. “Here we are.” His

voice rumbles straight to my bones like thunder through a hurricane.

“Here we are indeed.” I take a few steps forward and wrap my arms around his neck.

“Happy birthday, Wyatt. I have a little something for you.” My teeth graze over my
bottom lip as I take him in like this. Tall, forebodingly handsome, his strong arms clasping
onto my waist in anticipation.

“Aren’t I the lucky birthday boy?” His dimples dig in tight, no smile. There’s an

earnestness about him that spells out orgasm in the making, and my thighs quiver
because if I’m not careful I’ll achieve the big O before we ever get started.

“Actually”—I clasp onto the tie that he’s neatly paired with dark denim and chukka

boots, my all time favorite—“I’m the lucky one. I win because I have you.”

He winces before his dimples dig in ten times deeper.
“Clothes off.” The smile drops from his face. Wyatt is a man who is used to being

pleased, when and how he wishes, and most likely by whomever he wants.

“Yes, Professor James.” I reach back and unzip my dress, letting it drop to the floor in

a celebrated thump. I hook my thumbs into the sides of my panties and slowly pull them
over my curves. Wyatt’s eyes float down to my hips. His chest expands as if he’s pleased
with what he sees. I let them glide off, soft as a feather and carefully step out of the
fabric puddle, wobbling on my heels in the process.

God, God, God, don’t fall! I do a little dance trying to right myself and land a few

inches closer to him with my see-through lace bra and heels the only foreign objects on
my body. I reach back and unhook my bra, letting the girls spring out like a couple of
hopped up cheerleaders anxious for the big game. It slides off without any help on my

part as if it were fleeing the scene. I take a deep breath and pull my shoulders back as
his gaze heats my body by at least twenty degrees. “Your turn, cowboy.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He loosens his tie with a vengeance before running his fingers down his

shirt and peeling it off. He works his jeans, and, before I know it, Wyatt James is standing
before me, naked—impressively fucking naked.

My eyes greedily take him in. This is no boy with gangly limbs, no bare chested

prepubescent adolescent masquerading as a college boy. This isn’t Will and his wimpy
willy by a long shot. Wyatt is all man. The girth of his chest alone is impressive as hell,
his muscles are so bulked up, I’m half tempted to ask if he’s flexing. My fingers brush over
his chest—where there is actual hair. Hair. Not like gorilla hair, just enough to let me
know he’s passed puberty by a mile. My eyes track lower as I give an audible swallow.

Wyatt is already saluting me with the most impressive specimen known to all of man.

Dear God. I fight hard not to take pictures stat and Instagram the shit out of this. Not one
girl I know will ever believe me. Who knew that Will was cheating me out of the real deal
for so long? This man, this imposing long board of his (and yes it appears sturdy enough
to surf on), his woody, his remarkably lengthy and thick penis-arm is almost too much to
believe—so much so that I can’t seem to take my eyes off it.

“Oh, my, God,” I whisper a little louder than anticipated. I swear if this were anybody

else I’d ask if it were some prosthesis. “Wyatt James, you are hung like a horse.” I drop
to my knees, gripping his hard as tree trunks legs on the way down, again more hair
convincing me that I’ve yet to be with a man. “You are absolutely amazing.” I say it into
his penis as if it were a microphone. My lips fumble toward it, and it sort of wags in the
opposite direction.

“You sure you want to start on your knees, sweetie?” There’s a curt tone to his voice

as if on some level he’s daring me.

“I don’t see why not.” My lips fumble for him again, and this time I latch on. My

tongue does a revolution around the tip. Oh, wow, he’s a mouthful. I’ve just confirmed
what I’ve feared all along. There’s no way in hell I’ll ever be able to walk again. I’m sure
a fair amount of vaginal trauma will take place tonight, and, when it does, I’ll keep
reminding myself that having a boyfriend whose penis doubles as a flotation device is oh
so worth it—newfound hobble aside.

I scoot back in horror as Wyatt grips me by the shoulders.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I blink up at his equally stunned expression.
Wyatt isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my friend. My fuck-friend. No wait that’s too crude—he’s

my lover. I’ve taken a lover. That sounds so much more refined than fuck-friend, although
technically I could never say either in front of my mother, so I don’t really see the

difference. Mommy’s face smiles back at me from the twisted theater of my mind. Ack! I
swat my mother out of my brain like shooing a fly. It’s so not kosher to think of one’s
mother when you have a perfectly good penis staring you in the face. Besides, Wyatt and
I have drawn a quasi-platonic line in the sand. What we have between us is simply for
physical purposes, sort of like a good yoga session or a really fantastic Zumba class. I
wrap my mouth around him again and try my hardest to take him all the way to the root.
I get about a third of the way and try to hide the fact my gag reflex is going off like a
touchy car alarm.

I give another few good-old college tries—I’m pretty sure the person who coined that

phrase would be spinning in his grave if he knew how it’s being applied at the moment.
Then again, if he were once a frat boy himself, maybe not.

I have to say there is a level of intimacy you achieve with someone when their most

prized member is buried deep (halfway at least!) in your mouth that you just can’t get
with an everyday handshake. I plunge in deeper, forcing myself not to gag, and my eyes
water painfully as if I’ve just had acid thrown in my face.

Wyatt offers a haunting moan that lets me know at the least I’m making him feel

good—real good according to the tone he’s exuding.

His fingers dig into my hair, swirling it around, driving it into my face. Okay, so it’s a

little like a dizzying dry shampoo. I make a mental note of this as a part of me tries to
factor in how I can finagle this into an article.

“You don’t dick around, do you?” He groans again as he pushes himself ever so much

deeper.

A laugh bubbles from me while his third arm is still snug in my throat, and the gagging

effect is ten times more pronounced.

A horrid retching sound—or, more honestly, a very unattractive, yet odiously

prolonged burp emits from deep inside me—and, instinctually, Wyatt whips me off of him
before I can bring my own emissions to the party. And why was that so fucking loud? Is
there a bullhorn feature built into my throat that I don’t know about? God, I sounded like
some prehistoric creature! Like a dragon who was about to light his dick on fire. Of course
he pulled away. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he were afraid of me. Hell, I’m afraid of
me at this point.

I take a full moment to cringe properly. Shit! Shit! Shit! Can’t I do anything without

humiliating myself? He probably thinks I’m full of all sorts of interesting gasses tonight.
He’s probably sorry he ever offered me that third slice of pizza. Clearly I’ve violated our
contract.

The fireplace roars, enticing me to jump on in and I seriously consider the proposition.
“Come here.” Wyatt pulls me up, stripping me of my oral duties for the time being—

the time being forever. I can’t say I blame him. I’m sure no man wants his dick vomited
on—like ever. And here I was, equipped with a verbal threat. Leave it to me to turn a
belch into a hate crime.

He grimaces a moment. The exact facial expression you never hope to see when

standing naked in front of a man.

“Sorry.” He cups my cheek in his hand. “I’d hate to end the party before it ever really

begins.” His devilish grin catches the light, and I’m reminded that I’m about to make love
to the single most gorgeous man on the planet—that is if the offer still stands. If he’s not
afraid to hear any other wildly auditory bodily function on my part. “I want to kiss you, is
that okay?”

“Kiss?” My chest bucks with relief. “I just introduced your joystick to my uvula. I don’t

think you need to ask about kissing me.”

His eyes widen a moment as the fire reflects in them. “Joystick?” he mouths.
I bite down hard over my lip as my fingers float up and down his back. Wyatt runs his

hands down my shoulders, cupping my hips before sliding over my bare bottom and
offering up a firm squeeze.

“Are you ready to do this?” He’s studying me in this dim light, looking for the extra

assurance that I’m down for the big game.

“What is this a cross examination? I thought you were going to ravage me?” I give an

impish grin. “You have my permission by the way.”

Wyatt hardens his gaze into mine. Something in him turns, and I can see his primal

devices going off like a flare. He seizes my face with both hands and crashes his lips to
mine. His tongue spears into my mouth, hot and wild, on a mission to penetrate me, to
make me his in a beautiful way that I have never known before. He explores me
thoroughly with a fevered rush as he backs me to the sofa.

His hot kisses track all the way to my ear. “I need to be inside you right now.” He

gives my neck a tender bite, and my mouth opens with a dry croak emitting from my
throat. Wyatt lands us both on the couch, thankfully choosing to overlook my throat’s
second offense of the evening. The soft velveteen fabric warms against my skin. (I once
had sex with Will on a leather couch at his mother’s house. It was like a cold slap to the
entire backside of my body, and, here, even Wyatt’s furniture is all about making me
comfortable.) I bet Wyatt bought this couch with girls like me in mind. He’s thoughtful
that way.

Instinctually my legs ride over his sides and clasp around his back until I’m hugging

him with all four limbs. His tongue rides down my neck, down further until his hot mouth
glides over both of the girls. It’s sort of a drive-by as if he were simply just saying hello
on the way to more interesting places. Wyatt dips down further.

Oh, my gawd! He really is headed to more interesting places!
Wyatt lands my thighs over his shoulders. His thumb softly rubs the inside of my knee

until my stomach melts in a puddle.

Will—idiot that he is—never did that. He claimed he had an allergic reaction that

almost killed him once with some other girl he went down on. So, of course, I never
pressured him. Who would want to be responsible for killing their boyfriend by way of
cunnilingus? How would I ever explain that to his mother? But now that I see him for the
cheat he is, I’m sure he just made it all up because he wasn’t into pleasuring me. Either
that or the girl that turned him off from going south forever had one tainted twat! Not
me. I’m showered and shaved, and I’ve even clipped myself into a Valentine’s Day heart
down there in honor of my first kiss with Wyatt. Technically we kissed in the parking lot
that first night we met, but that hardly counts since I was just trying to make Will jealous.
Anyway, it’s not like Wyatt can possibly notice the craftsmanship that went into my mop
chop.

“Did you do this for me?”
I peer down to see him looking at my handiwork, amused. His finger traces out the

heart-shaped pattern, over and over.

“Why, yes I did! Thank you for noticing.” I’m strangely elated by the approving gleam

in his eyes.

“I noticed.” He circles my features with his gaze. “I make it a point to notice every

single detail about you.”

A tiny squeal emits from my throat.
Is it sick that I love how stalker-ish that sounds?
Wyatt plunges in with his tongue and gets right to work.
“Oh, wow.” I flinch unexpectedly. So this is what I’ve been missing. “Oh, this.” I groan

as Wyatt turns my nether regions into his tongue’s favorite fun zone. He does this twirly
thing repetitively right over my erogenous zone, and I jump a little just trying to catch my
breath. “Okay, that.” I pant. “Yes, for sure that!”

Wyatt lets out a little laugh right over my sweet spot. I guess fair is fair, I practically

chortled him right back out of my throat.

“You taste so fucking sweet.” He growls into me, and I die.
Two things. One—he’s not gagging and going into anaphylactic shock, so already I’m

pleased. And, two—just hearing him belt out that expletive turned me on ten thousand
times more than I ever thought possible. Wyatt is a gentleman, a man’s man. He doesn’t
bark out cuss words 24/7 like the frat boys I’m so often surrounded by, so when he does
let the occasional F word fly, it carries a lot of power and apparently has the ability to
bring me to orgasm at record pace.

“Wyatt!” I cry out in a panic. “It’s happening. I’m going to have it!” Geez, could I

sound anymore like an idiot? Worse yet, like an idiot who’s in freaking labor? Who shouts
these things in the throes of passion? I should have thought this through more diligently
when I had the chance. I should have asked Baya what she screams when her man brings
her to the clit parade. And then I should have taken notes and rehearsed the damn thing
like a fucking novena.

“Do you want it?” He growls it out quickly before getting back to business. Wyatt

doesn’t mess around. I can tell he is all about getting shit done.

“Yes! I want it. I want it so bad, Wyatt.” I pull a throw pillow over my head and bury

my face in it. I would rather suffocate to death than allow one more asinine thing to burp
from my mouth. God, wouldn’t it be ironic if I really did suffocate and die during oral sex?
And, here, Will was the big faker all along.

I fling the pillow across the room in a fit of rage. I’ll be damned if I’m going to gift Will

the pleasure of being right in anything even remotely related to my heart-shaped ass.

The fire roars and lights up the room a brilliant shade of yellow. Wow, I marvel trying

to keep pace, Wyatt almost has me right—there.

“Yes!” I groan louder than humanly possible, partly because the fire just gave an

obnoxious roar of its own.

Wyatt glances up. “Shit!”
I follow his gaze to find the pillow I flung across the room hanging partway out of the

fireplace, going up in flames like a marshmallow.

Wyatt tries to get up, but I lock his head between my thighs.
“Oh, no you don’t. The big O is knocking at the door. You can’t leave now.”
He gives a quick look to the fire. “You have one minute.”
“And then what?”
“The curtains go up in flames.” He presses out a peaceable grin, and those adorable

dimples dig in deep.

“Hurry!” I press his head down, and Wyatt diligently, might I add furiously, gets back

to work. Oh, he’s biting! His fingers find their way to the party and pump into me with a
violent force over and over.

“Yes that! It’s coming! Oh, my God it’s coming!” I scream so loud you’d think a

thermonuclear missile were in my sights. Technically, I’m the one who’s coming, but, for
some mystifying reason, I’d much rather personify my orgasm as the lovechild Wyatt and
I will never have.

Wyatt goes into overdrive, and I let out a yelping scream—the kind you’d hear if a

terrier had a paw run over in the driveway.

What the hell happened to the sexy cry I was just christening the room with a few

moments ago? Really? A terrier?

I whimper and gasp as his tongue rides over me. Wyatt buries his face between my

legs for a brief moment before looking up.

“Was that good?” He’s panting. His teeth glint as the entire house explodes with light.
The curtains go up like dry brush on a hillside as the room ignites with heat and

flames.

“Oh my, God! We’re going to die!” I expel the words in a blood curdling—yet savagely

sexy—scream. “Fire!” I shout stupidly from the couch. Of course, he’s aware there’s a fire.
There’s a fucking blaze taking place five feet away!

“Open the door!” Wyatt barks, and I jump up, opening it wide before running outside,

screaming my head off—naked and terrified as if I were being chased by an ax murderer.

Annie and Blake rush from the carriage house just as Wyatt runs out the front door

hauling a fiery line of curtains with him.

I pause a second from my primal screaming to marvel at how badass he looks hauling

those flames out of his home as if he were teaching them a lesson. He’s like a fire god.

“Are you okay?” Annie is more than freaking out because she just half-signed me the

question.

“I’m great. It’s just Will faked an allergy, and I threw a pillow, and now Wyatt is a fire

god!” Yes. That’s exactly it. I’m so glad I’ve enrolled in such a prestigious university.

Wyatt and Blake hose down the curtains until a veil of white smoke clouds up the

vicinity. I spot Piper and Cade looking like they want to vomit before heading back inside.

“Let’s get you to the carriage house.” Annie is quick to shuttle me off, but I resist the

effort.

“No.” Wyatt and I have unfinished business to tend to. Certainly we’re not going to let

some silly fire dictate how we end this night. I’ve waited two and a half weeks for that
man to tie me to his bedpost. I believe the vague threat of a belt was involved.

“Let’s at least get some clothes on you.” Annie laughs though her words.
“I’m glad you find the mortal peril the two of us were in so hilarious—and no, I worked

very hard to get my clothes off. I’m fine without them.” The thought of my navy sequin
gown melting into a sticky puddle makes me cringe.

“Marley!” Wyatt jogs over, wagging and panting. Both Annie and I are riveted at the

way his penis swings like a pendulum.

“No wonder you don’t want to get dressed,” she says under her breath.
“It’s all clear.” Blake shouts from inside as he brings out the smoldering pillow with a

pair of tongs.

“Are you okay?” Wyatt runs his arms up and down my back, warming me, his face ripe

with worry.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m so sorry.” I burst into tears that I didn’t even know were near the

surface. “I’m so sorry I almost burned down your house. That was greedy of me.”

“It’s okay, sweetie.” He gives my ear a loud panicked kiss. “Let’s get back inside

before we freeze to death.”

We say goodnight to Annie and Blake (who I will never be able to face again. I don’t

mind Annie so much, but, now that Blake has seen the girls and perhaps my V-Day
special super cut, we’ve officially entered the awkward phase of our relationship.)

Wyatt opens all the windows he can. The fire has dwindled to nothing. But great

news! Since Wyatt went all superhero and dragged the fire out with his bare hands, the
odds of us dying of smoke inhalation tonight are practically nil.

Wyatt strides over and wraps his arms around my waist, his hands dripping down my

thighs. “Now where were we?”

Wyatt glows in this dim light—and by light I mean moonlight. With all the windows open,
it feels as if we’re about to have a romp in the woods at midnight.

“How about a nice warm bed?” Is it wrong of me to hope he has a fireplace in his

room? I’m pretty sure Wyatt will want to steer clear of all things pyrotechnic for a while at
least when I’m around. He’s lucky I didn’t burn his entire ranch to cinders.

Wyatt doesn’t hesitate picking me up and carrying me off to his bedroom like a

caveman about to have his woman for the night. I love this sexed up, pent up, I-man-
you-woman version of him. I don’t care if I set feminism back fifty years. Being carried off
in the arms of a strong, gorgeous man is thus far the pinnacle of my existence. If there’s
not a picture of Wyatt in the dictionary under the definition of a man, there should be.
And if you look up weasel, you’ll find Will.

“To the bedroom!” he roars like a battle cry.
I pull his face to mine and start in on a dizzying kiss that feels far more intense, far

hotter than that fire ever could. His passion, his frenzy meets with mine as we devour
one another in a fantastically greedy manner. This is what I’ve always dreamed of,
kissing my boyfriend in such a heady way that the world, the slight stench of smoke
dissipates around you. Now, Wyatt as my boyfriend is something I can sink my teeth into.

Wyatt flops me onto the mattress, and I bounce as he climbs on top of me. He

reaches over and picks up a condom, relaxing back on his knees as he prepares to cover
that lap rocket he has pointing straight into space.

I take him in with the moonlight pouring its icy glow over his form. Wyatt looks as if

he’s carved from marble—albeit a rather beautifully vulgar statue that I’d want for my

personal collection.

“You’re impressive.” I bite down hard over my lip—with a mixture of excitement and

fear—and I swear I taste blood. “But I bet you hear that all the time.” Perfect. Remind
him of his other casual encounters. I’m sure twelve different girls just popped into his
brain, and, thanks to my asinine mouth, he’ll be juxtaposing them to me for the rest of
the night. Of course, I’ll be on the losing end of the condom because I could never
compare to the one-night skanks he’s used to bedding. They might have garnered
themselves a crappy reputation, but at least they’ve managed to leave a lasting
impression with my boyfriend.

Boyfriend? Ack!
Strike three!
Say it with me three times fast: Wyatt James is not my boyfriend. Wyatt James is not

my boyfriend. Wyatt James is not my boyfriend! Shit. The last thing I need to do is
brainwash myself into believing I’m his faux girlfriend. I’m not his anything. We’ve more
than drawn a platonic line in the contractual sex sand. Contracts were signed. We’re
business partners both in and out of the bedroom. If he wanted me as his girlfriend, he
would never have had me sign that ridiculous document.

My heart sinks a moment. Obviously he wants nothing more to do with me outside of

enjoying my body—and, dear God, I hope he’s enjoying my body. If I can give him a tenth
of the pleasure he’s gifted me, I’ll be happy. Wyatt James is my legalized sex slave,
nothing less—nothing more. It’s the way of the future. One small step for Marley
Jackson’s vagina, one giant leap for womankind.

Wyatt snaps on the condom and wraps his hand around the base before gliding up

over the length of himself. A line of fire rips up from my belly just watching as he touches
himself that way. He’s skilled—perhaps highly so. It makes me wonder if this is a daily
occurrence.

“You like what you see?” he asks so nonchalant he might as well have asked about

the weather.

“Yes. God, yes.” A nervous giggle emits from me.
“Good.” He runs his hand over his shaft once again, securing the condom in place.

“Because we’re just getting started.” He gives my thigh a quick tap.

“Oh, right.” My legs widen to accommodate him. “We’d better get to work.” My heart

does its best to drum its way out of my chest. A dull ache springs from somewhere deep
inside as he inches his way toward me with that weapon of mass seduction.

“Marley.” My name growls from him warm and dangerously sexy like a tropical sunset

on some exotic beach. Wyatt lowers himself over me, his cologne warming the air
between us. He steadies himself on his elbows, his eyes glowing down at mine. “This isn’t

work for me. I don’t want you to think of it as work either.” He pauses to dot a kiss to my
forehead. “It’s pleasure—or at least it should be.”

“Oh, it’s pleasure all right.” My fingers coil through his hair as I pull him down close to

my lips. “Wyatt, I love—this.” God, I almost said you! My mouth finds his, and we engage
in a lusty exchange as my legs ride over his back.

There is no such thing as love. Even if there were, I couldn’t let myself fall in love with

Wyatt.

We heat the bed with our primal kisses, his body writhes over mine, solid and

weighted. This is happening—finally happening. There’s no fire in the vicinity, so already I
feel as if nature is giving us a green light.

Wyatt runs his hand down my thigh as if prepping me for the big moment. “Let me

know if I hurt you.”

“Okay, I’ll bite your ear real hard, how’s that?”
A dark laugh thumps through him. “Oh, sweetie, you won’t be able to reach my ear.

Wyatt guides himself inside me horrifically slowly, and surprisingly painfully so. His head
moves up about two feet from mine. I’m face to face with his chest, and, as it were, I can
hardly lift my head off the pillow to kiss that.

“I want to kiss you,” I groan as Wyatt delves in slow and deep.
“Just a sec.” He grunts as he eases himself into my body, eliciting an entire series of

choking sounds to crackle from my throat. Dear God, is there a mute button on this thing?
It sounds as if I’m being hacked up to pieces. Clearly I now see the need for a conduct
code of acceptable bedroom practices. Perhaps this can fall under the chapter heading of
Tonality, Pitch and Intonation: Why your man might think he’s killing you softly behind
closed doors and try not to burp on his penis for fuck’s sake!

Wyatt thrusts in further, settling in as if he’s been looking for a new habitat for Heavy

D and the Boyz all along. He’s stretching and pulling and quite possibly ripping his way
into my esophagus, and just as I’m about to cry out wrong hole, just to have him pull out
for a brief second, he gives one last grunt as his penis high fives my cerebellum.

“You were saying you wanted a kiss?” Wyatt somehow turns into elastic-man as his

face hovers over mine with a loose grin. “You’re so tight. Are you okay?” His brows dip
with worry. The night shadows catch him in all the right places, contouring his bone
structure, highlighting the fact he’s fiercely handsome—majestic in nature.

“Great,” I whisper. It’s all I can manage. Just the one word. I’m afraid if I open my

mouth any further, he’ll be able to have a conversation with his own dick.

A part of me wants to say I love the feeling of this forest fire you’ve ignited deep in

my vagina. Or I love the intense burst of white-hot pain that assures me even though I’ve
had a previous vaginal stretching session with a man far less genetically endowed than

the Goliath currently embedded in my person, I may, in fact, have been a born-again
virgin.

I press my lips together and resist the urge to shout, By George I think you popped

my cherry!

Wyatt slowly moves his way in and out, working up to a full-on pumping session while

sporadically delivering mind-blowing wild kisses. It’s becoming increasingly clear that
Wyatt is the master of both his domain and mine. He’s the king of the sheets. The god of
getting down and dirty. If a lesson in the art of erotic love is what I’ve been looking for,
then I’ve come to the temple to learn from the master. Wyatt is a treasure trove of mind-
numbing multiple moves that he’s perfectly capable of executing in sync, thus the elastic-
man reference. He pulls his mouth from mine and stretches his torso out over me again,
leaving me to stare at his well-defined pecs as his body pumps into mine at a pace that
borders on violent.

Wyatt’s scorching mouth runs a revolution over my face before he continues his

assault on my nether regions again. God, it’s like the Battle of Little Big Horn—emphasis
on the Big.

He drills in deep as if he’s waiting for oil to spew from my throat. Clearly this is my

vagina’s last stand. I suppose that makes Wyatt Crazy Horse by default which is fitting
seeing that he has about six dozen steeds roaming the property. Of course, Wyatt is my
favorite stud. If he were a horse, he’d be one of those giant beasts that look as if they’re
wearing furry white legwarmers, happily trotting their way through beer commercials.

“Is this good?” He groans from above before diving back down with a delicious heated

kiss.

“Y—e—s.” I choke out the word into six evenly split syllables.
My skull hits the headboard repetitively with a dull thump. Great. I’m going to get a

concussion and black out, thus missing the best sex of my life.

“You like being fucked don’t you?” He pants the words out over me as frenetically

paced as his movements, and my mouth falls open. Just when I didn’t think Wyatt James
could get any hotter, he turns up the dirty talk.

I’m half tempted to let him know I like a good skull cracking as much as the next girl

but forego the smartass remark lest I bite my tongue off in the process. Instead, I
manage to twist my neck just enough to land myself in the gushy pillow, neck-crick be
damned, I’m not slowing this train down.

“Um, yes, I kind of—” Shit. That was supposed to be rhetorical, wasn’t it? Of course

it’s rhetorical, stupid!

A pained smile twitches on my lips as he jostles further into me with his vigorous

charge. I can only imagine the workout he must be getting. Who needs cardio at the gym

when you’ve got a hearty game of lust and thrust waiting for you at home? In comparison
to this Civil War reenactment, Will and I had taken tantric sex to a whole new level—
otherwise known as hibernation. Come to find out, I’m more of a rough and tumble kind
of a girl, and it took Wyatt James and his rock ‘em sock ‘em penis for me to see the
lascivious light.

“Say it.” His voice is clipped and loud, pulling me from my momentary trance.
“Yes, I like being fucked!” I shout a little too enthusiastically and cringe because, well,

open windows. “What about you? You like being fucked?” I cringe again. I’ll take a wild
guess, that’s not something any man ever wants to hear. It’s safe to say dirty talk isn’t
my forte. The word choice was embarrassingly unoriginal for one, and two, emasculating.

“Oh? Are you going to fuck me?” He gravels it out with a dark laugh, and suddenly I’m

sorry the expletive ever drifted from my lips. “Come here.” In one acrobatically
engineered move, Wyatt flips me through the air, and I land square over his hips as he
nests comfortably into the mattress.

“Just like that I’m on top,” I marvel.
“Climb on board, sweetheart.” He runs his finger over the sole of my foot, and I jump

landing right over the bulls-eye.

“Wow, you’re highly skilled at this.” Like some sexual ringmaster, but I leave that part

out. It’s becoming crystal clear Wyatt has his mattress moves pretty well orchestrated.

“That’s it.” He groans. There’s just enough light streaming in from the window for me

to see the ecstasy imprinted on his face. Wyatt sinks his head deeper into the pillow as
his eyes squeeze tight.

He wasn’t kidding when he said climb on board. This is a serious pole to contend with.

I’ll admit I’ve never really been on top. Like ever. I’m starting to doubt Will and I ever had
sex. It was more of a ploy to pull me in on one of his masturbation sessions. That would
explain a hell of a lot.

So like how does this work anyway? I lean forward and try to mimic his pumping

motions, exhausting myself after three measly tries. Oh, wow, this is going to be a
disaster. I can already feel the burn in my thighs, and, truth be told, I’m the last to
appreciate a good workout. Wyatt is actually going to deflate waiting for me to get things
underway. I give it a few more go’s, employing a few hopping moves, trying my best to
convince myself that my thighs have suddenly morphed into springs, but I’m more of a
lethargic duck than I am jackrabbit.

“You’re so damn good.” He taps my thigh lightly, trying to sway me to move things

along while kneading my bottom with his fingers. Either Wyatt James is a bald-faced liar,
or he’s never had a woman on top. Although I’m convinced it’s the former, I’ll excuse his
need to bleed a little white lie in the name of encouragement. Wyatt is sweet that way.

I bounce harder, tiring myself out, just wishing it were me on my back smiling like a

loon, doling out the encouraging thigh slaps. This is a helluva lotta work.

“At a girl. Keep going.” He grazes my back with his warm hands, reminding me of the

fact that I might be cryogenically freezing to death up here, yet, again, sponsoring a
serious case of mattress envy.

“Let’s switch positions,” I announce, trying to make it sound as if I’m up for anything

when all I really want is to secure the warm, comfy spot on the bed and for Wyatt to do
all the sex stunts and dirty talk. Come to find out, I’m more of a sloth in the sack than
cheetah—although it’s not without a pang of consciousness. With an attitude like mine,
I’m erasing all the hard work of the women who came before me (double entendre
withstanding). Women have worked by the sweat of their brow to reduce their men to
talking pogo-sticks. And here I am trying to manipulate my way onto my back. I wonder
how many female forerunners of the sexual revolution finally decided, after a few less-
than-celebratory thumps—meh—the missionary position is not that bad a deal.

“I’m in.” Wyatt, ironically pulls out, and the next thing I know I’m bent over the side of

the bed as he plunges back inside from a standing position.

“Oh, that’s better,” I say mostly to myself as I cozy with the sheets he just warmed

with his body. Plus, I’m sort of just lying on the bed like a log, enjoying the ride. It might
not be a celebrated position, but it definitely has its warm and cozy merits.

“This good?” His voice is a hoarse whisper as his hips move with more urgency than

before.

“This is perfect,” I eject the words like chopping an onion. It is perfect because,

apparently, I am the definition of lazy sex.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he grunts out the words while digging his fingers into my

hair and giving a firm tug.

My back arches in reflex to the erotic act.
Hey—maybe lying on my stomach and having my hair pulled is my thing? I had a

feeling I’d discover new details about myself when I started on this journey with Wyatt,
it’s just I didn’t expect to find that I’m basically an unenergetic whiner who likes to have
her hair yanked now and again. This speaks volumes to so many things.

Wyatt exerts enough energy to thrust the two of us into the stratosphere. He’s

panting and sweating and groaning, and good God, I’m suddenly aching to see his face.
For as much as I twist and turn I only catch glimpses.

I grip the sheets and just enjoy the fact that Wyatt James, fire god, sex god, man with

the walking stick for a penis is diving deep inside me, making me feel like a princess,
desired, and beautiful—and I never want this amazing feeling to end. I press my bottom
into him a bit. I’d like for him to at least assume I’m making an effort. I’m not really

expected to make an effort, am I? And how is it that I’m the one with the sex article?

In hindsight, I’ve been coming from a place of little to no experience—prior to tonight,

my vast laughable knowledge can easily be relegated as amateur hour. I have no right to
even use the letters s-e-x in consecutive order. I’ve been blindly leading the masses with
techniques dreamed up by my ingénue—mind you—vanilla imagination from the
beginning. It’s a wonder people haven’t sued me for sexual liability. They must be
stupefied when they read my-less-than innovative and perhaps dangerous-to-implement
ideas. Worse yet, I bet people have been laughing at my tips all along because they
know they’re not plausible. I’m the big joke on campus and didn’t even know it. I’ll have
to ask Baya and Annie to verify this less than flattering theory.

Speaking of Baya, if she and Bryson rely on me as their fearless ringleader in the

bedroom, then I should for sure consider taping one of my sessions with Wyatt and really
show them how it’s done—sans the house fire of course. A good orgasm should never be
followed by a visit from the fire department—not to mention their flashing lights really do
bring all the neighbors to the yard. Before you know it, all of Hollow Brook is watching
Wyatt’s fifth appendage swing like a pendulum, and a majority of the fire department
finds themselves with penis envy. Not pretty.

Wyatt pumps harder and effectively evicts all residents of Hollow Brook from my mind.
The mattress shifts beneath me. With each thrust it slips further off the box spring

until it eventually hits the wall, and I’m forced to grip the sheets for dear life lest gravity
sends me sailing headfirst into the newly formed crevice.

“Shit!” Wyatt digs into my hips so hard, I want to cry out in pain, in sort of a good

way. He seizes—gripping me with the force of ten thousand maniacs. His body throbs into
mine a moment before he collapses onto my back. A sweet kiss lands on my ear. His
chest is slicked with sweat, yet oddly cold to the touch, most likely from the arctic breeze
whipping through the house, reminding us that we’ve managed to piss off Smokey the
Bear in the dead of winter. “Did you like that?” He dots my ear with another searing kiss,
and the iced air licks it as soon as he pulls away.

“Nope. I loved that.” I twist until we’re finally facing one another. “I’m sorry I was so

darn useless.”

“What are you talking about?” He presses out a panting grin. “Believe me, I couldn’t

have done it without you.”

I consider this a moment as we snuggle into one another. “I suppose.” Even if it is

more of a technicality. I curl up into a ball as I try to press my way into his chest for
warmth. “You mind if I spend the night?” Good luck kicking me out if the answer is no. I’m
down one melted sequin dress, and I’ve yet to walk home in nothing but heels.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Wyatt pulls the covers to our ears, and I give an impish grin.
“Thank you.” I lean up and offer a tender kiss to this magical man who rocked the bed

quite literally.

We fall asleep with the mattress still on its axis, the two of us exhausted from starting

fires and putting them out with our bodies.

Wyatt James sure knows how to give one damn good ride.
Too bad he’s not my boyfriend. Too bad I could never love him.
Too bad love sucks so damn much.
Too bad.

W Y A T T

he morning light hits my lids, sawing its way into my skull like a rusted razor. My

tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth as I try to get my bearings. A tangle of blonde hair
comes into focus as Marley lies cradled in my arms. The bed is still tipped on its side from
last night’s romp and stomp. A dopey smile floats to my face as I stare down at her.
Marley’s lips turn up at the corners as if she’s having one hell of a dream, and I don’t have
the heart to wake her. Instead, I ease my way off the bed and stumble toward the
kitchen.

“Shit,” I muse as I survey the damage. The windows stare at me wide like toothless

smiles without the curtains protectively layered over them. A trail of soot leads from the
fireplace to the front door, and it’s freezing as fuck out here.

In the distance, I spot a few ranch hands milling around the corral. I’m pretty sure not

one of them wants to see my bare ass, not this early, not with my dick doing its best to
invert from the icy winds. In a panic I shut all the windows, wrapping a blanket around
my waist like a kilt. I put together a couple of bowls of cereal and head back to the
bedroom before hypothermia sets in.

“Morning,” Marley chirps, wedged between the wall and the mattress. Her sleepy eyed

smile gives her that sexy drugged look that my dick seems to approve of.

“Come here, gorgeous.” I lend her a hand and help her upright before pulling the

mattress back where it belongs.

“If what happened last night is your MO, I suggest you nail your furniture to the

ground—and maybe entertain fire retarding the place.” She winces and mouths, sorry.

“After last night, I might have to.” I pull her down to the mattress with me and sink

her over my lap. “You up for breakfast?” I distribute my culinary masterpiece. “Due to
inclement weather in the kitchen, Sunday brunch will take another seven days to
commence. But if you like marshmallow stars, you’re in luck.”

“Every day, all day.” She dives a heaping spoonful into her mouth, her lips still ruby

red. Marley is a natural beauty in the truest sense.

“I’m glad you’re up for cereal. It’s what I eat regularly and often.”

“That’s because you’re a bachelor. I bet on good days your diet consists of beer and

beef jerky.”

“It’s beer and donuts, but I’ll give you props for getting close.”
“You really need a woman in your life.” She takes a spoonful and nods as she

swallows it down. “I mean in general. Why hasn’t this happened for you?”

“Timing was never right.”
“Well, after those stunts you pulled last night, I’d think the women who’ve had the

honor to tilt your mattress would have killed to keep you in their clutches—between their
thighs to be specific.” Her lashes hang low a moment as the memory of last night burns
her cheeks.

“So I’m a keeper?”
“You can pull your weight. I don’t see why not.” She puts the spoon in her mouth and

pulls it out slowly. “I’m not sure there are such things as bedroom talents, but, you, my
friend, clearly have them. Have you considered giving lessons? I mean not to guys, but
I’m positive women from near and far would generously employ you to teach them a
thing or two.”

“No can do. I have my limits. Leasing myself out for cash wouldn’t have exactly made

my mother proud.”

She winces. “I bet you’re right. You think she’d want to see you married with two

point five kids?” She sets down her bowl, and I do the same.

“More than likely. She was a big believer in marriage—married three times. The first

time she was eighteen, right out of high school.” I wrap my arms around Marley as my
fingers graze down her back. “That lasted six months. Then she waited a couple years
before tying the knot with my father. He was gone all the time, and she started drinking
which led her to sobering up then becoming a counselor at the place she met the final
train wreck of her life.”

“That’s so sad.” She curls into my chest, and I land a kiss over the top of her head like

she was my girlfriend.

Is she my girlfriend? Sounds like verbiage that should have been written into the

contract—although the point of that mockery was to send her in the opposite direction,
and, yet, here she is, in my bed. Not that I’m complaining.

“Why is that sad, Marley?” I drop a kiss to her cheek.
“Because”—her finger absentmindedly traces over my abs—“it just sounds like she

never had that special relationship that everybody dreams of.”

“Is that something you dream of?” I want her to say yes. I want her to own it. Marley

deserves so much more than a hookup—than a contract.

“Used to,” she whispers warm against my skin. “But I’m tired of trying to forge reality

to fit my dreams. Sometimes it doesn’t happen.” Marley glances up—her eyes moist with
tears. “It’ll happen for you, though. You’re too good to be true.” Her lips curve up one
side. “Plus it doesn’t hurt that you know how to use your equipment like a boss.” Her
hand glides down to said equipment, and she gives a gentle massage as I grow in her
hand. “You’re going to make some girl insanely happy.” She averts her eyes. “But, in the
meantime, I suggest you practice a little with yours truly.” Marley straddles me before
touching down a soft kiss to my temple. Her lips move down until they meet with mine,
and I latch onto her, coiling my arms tight around her waist as if she were about to float
away.

Why can’t Marley see that she deserves all those good things in a relationship? She

deserves love just as much as my mother did, just as much as anyone else on the planet,
if not more. She’s a sweet soul who had her heart burned right out of her chest by some
scumbag idiot who didn’t know a good thing when he had it.

I wonder what Marley would think if I told her she deserved something more and that

I was the one who wanted to give it to her? I doubt she’d believe me. I’m the clown who
handed her a legal document outlining the sterile nature of our questionable relationship.
Even if I was trying to terrify her out of the proposition, it backfired spectacularly as do
most things I undertake with my best intentions. But here we are, ready for another
round—her soft tits lying over my chest, my dick in her hand. I’m the one who should
have known better. I saw her tattered heart lying in pieces that first night at the Black
Bear. I should have steered clear. I could have been a friend, a mentor—a boss. I’m just
as responsible for the fact she’s trying to fill that void in her heart with raw affection. But,
God, I want to give her affection, every minute of every day.

My hands glide to her tiny waist, and I carefully roll her onto her back.
Our eyes lock, hers with that easy, lustful gaze and mine with an intent to set things

right between us.

“I’m going to love you, Marley. Just the way I think you deserve.”
Her mouth opens, her eyes widen in horror for a moment.
My mouth finds hers as I dot her lips with a tender affection the way we did it that

night we kissed at the bar. My mouth moves down her neck, to her shoulder, sweeping
along to the other side. I run my lips down the middle of her chest, pausing to offer each
of the girls a heartfelt good morning. My mouth runs down her hip with slow, meandering
kisses, down her thigh before I bury my face in the wet zone between them.

Marley is sweet as a plum, and I can linger right there, taking a moment to fully

appreciate her as a woman, my lips paying homage to her beauty before gliding lower. I
slip down the bed, dragging my tongue down her thigh before kissing the inside of her
knee, and she lets out an involuntary giggle. My lips smooth down her leg, running a

quick circle around her ankle, until I dot a kiss to each of her fucking cute toes. My tongue
runs a line up the bottom of her foot, and she screams with laughter as she jerks it away.

“I’m not done here,” I tease, pulling her other foot close and doing the same. I work

my way up the opposite side of her body, bathing her in kisses, bathing her with my
tongue, trying to lick away her wounds, literally, trying to get her to see that love can be
soft and beautiful. Marley deserves to be worshipped both in and out of the bedroom. The
taste of her in my mouth, the most exotic delight. I don’t deserve her. I’m not sure
anyone does. My lips move over her with a fury. I’m drunk off this girl, this woman who
had me, night one, at the curl of her finger. Her heart has been shredded to pieces, and
there has to be someone out there who can help her heal. I nominate me.

Marley lets me love her, slow, easy, my tongue riding over her in long, easy strides.
Her hand slaps against the nightstand until she hits a condom.
“Right now.” She holds it up, panting.
“As you wish.” I start to tear it open with my teeth then let her beautiful mouth finish

the job. I roll it on nice and slow in full view to give her the benefit of the show. Marley
guides me in, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, her breathing harsh and heavy.

“Yes, this,” she hisses as she pushes me deep inside her.
I don’t object.
I make her every wish come true.
Again and again.

Later that afternoon, Marley and I head over to Blake’s to say goodbye to Piper and Cade.

“What do you mean you’re not leaving?” I’m not amused one bit when Piper starts to

throw a tantrum. She’s been known to throw a fit or two in her day. I’ve witnessed a few
she knocked out of the park. Piper is famous for her pout and shout sessions.

“I mean I like it here.” She flips her dark hair over her shoulder, and I still can’t get

over the fact she looks more like one of the coeds at the Black Bear than she does my
pigtail wearing little sister. “I love horses. I can feed the horses for you. There’s nothing I
won’t do. Contrary to what you believe, I’m not a priss. I’ll even shovel buckets full of
shit.” She pulls her lip to the side as if she’s consigned to the fact.

“Perfect.” I cross my arms staring at her upturned face. If ever I wondered what I

would have looked like as a girl, Piper answered my question—albeit she’s much prettier
than I’m sure my hairy ass would’ve been. “All right.” I never could say no to that face.
“You just scored yourself a summer job. Now pack your duffle bag. Blake is taking you to
the airport.”

Piper glares at me with a fire in her eyes. She has a stubborn streak as subtle as

barbed wire.

“You don’t know what it’s like at home. I hate it there! I freaking hate it!” She

screams in my face as the cords in her neck pop like rope.

I glance to Marley and blink an even smile as if to say I’ve got this all under control.

The truth is, no one or nothing has ever controlled Piper James. I’m not saying she’s a
bitch. She’s just a little emotionally charged—all the fucking time.

“You’re getting on that plane because you have school, Piper. You have to be in

homeroom tomorrow morning or the entire universe unravels.” Do they still put parents in
jail if their kids are truant? Never mind. If I pose that non-threat to her, she’ll be elated.
She’d love nothing more than to arrange a lengthy prison stay for dear old Pops. And, at
the rate he’s defrauding investors of their hedge funds, he’s doing just fine landing
himself there on his own. “I meant as soon as school wraps up, you can come down for
the summer.” A part of me cringes because I know for a fact she’ll have to stay with me.

Cade nods. “Blake and Annie gave us the tour of Whitney Briggs this morning.”
“Really? Did you love it?” Marley wraps her arm around my waist, and I pull her in

close. My entire person glows like a freaking Lite-Brite when she’s nearby. I don’t know
why, but I’m all about playing house with her, pretending she’s the one.

An adrenalin rush hits from out of nowhere as I gaze into the wall just beyond Piper’s

head. Marley is the one? A dull laugh rumbles through me. Good God, I think she is the
one. Marley is the one. She just doesn’t know it yet.

“It was okay.” Piper wipes the imaginary dust off her shoulder as if giving WB the big

FU.

“Are you kidding? I loved it.” Cade is the perfect gentlemen. Blake has the habit of

calling him the Pretty Preppy, but never to his face. Piper, of course, was happy to relay
the message, and, ever since, Cade has referred to Blake as the Junkyard Dog. But, at
the end of the day, we all still get along. I think we care for one another a little more now
especially after what happened to Benji. “And if this one goes”—Cade rubs his knuckles
over Piper’s head causing her to backhand him—“I’m transferring.”

“Really?” She softens. “Thank you.” Piper latches onto him as if he was her favorite

teddy bear, and in a lot of ways he is. As affectionate as my father was with me he was
that much less with the two of them. Apparently metric distance didn’t account for much
after all. Their mother runs the socialite circuit, and she never did have time or patience
for wiping noses or bottoms. Piper and Cade belonged to a long line of nameless, faceless
nannies. They’ve muddled their way through private school, and, now, it sounds as if
they’re looking for their ticket out of the city—at least she is. Cade looks as if he’s about
to follow just to keep an eye on his wild child of a baby sister.

“Think it through. Sleep on it. Give it its due diligence, and all that good shit.” I pull

them both into a hug before dropping a kiss onto Piper’s head. “Be good.”

“See you in May?”
“May?”
“That’s when I get out.” Her emerald eyes expand twice their size. “You gave me the

invite—consider it accepted.”

“Sounds good.” And slightly regrettable.
Blake shuttles them into his truck, and Annie waves them off with the baby in her

arms. Out of all the family I have, my brother, the Junkyard Dog, seems to be the sanest
of them all.

Marley steals the baby from Annie, and, for a split second, I imagine that it’s our baby.

That we have a future together. That we’re giving Blake a run for his sanity.

It could happen.
Stranger things have.

“

Bend over.” I give a gentle tap to her thigh, and Marley is quick to oblige. After gorging

on takeout, we promptly undressed. I added a postscript to the contract: when in my
home all clothes must be promptly removed. In truth, it was her idea, and I simply pulled
out the document and made a quick addition. I knew she was brilliant.

“Is this going to hurt?” Marley has her hands clasped onto her ankles. It’s some

position she read about in Cosmo, in a long line of positions she’s read about in Cosmo,
that she’s determined to test out tonight. Since tomorrow is Monday, and she’s essentially
working for me at Capwell, she’s generously offered to spend the night. I’m not one to
throw out good company, unless, of course, she’s due in homeroom clear across in
another state.

“It might.” I’m just being honest. She’s wet, and I’m lubed, but this position lends for

zero clearance. I had no idea when we came back to the house she’d be interested in
acting out the carnal details of a fashion magazine, but I, for one, am game for whatever
sexual misadventures Marley wants to dive into.

My fingers dig into her hips as I push in slow before giving it a little power thrust, and

she gasps.

“Sorry,” I say, gripping her at the waist a little tighter. Out of all the positions we’ve

rifled through this past hour, this one is by far the most impersonal. It gives off a
headless woman vibe, like I bought some life-like blow up doll, and I happen to have the
model with a pain threshold. “I’ll go easy.”

“No—give it to me!” Her blonde hair whips around my ankles soft as silk. “I need to

know what this feels like.”

“Yes, ma’am.” That’s right, all of the fun and games boil down to that little article

she’s laid her body down for as an offering. I’m not too familiar with the field of sexual
research, but if my volunteer services were called upon, who am I to complain? With
Marley stepping in as the clinical investigator, it’s a privilege to be her trusty subject.

I thrust in and out with a steady rhythm that I’m only seventy percent positive won’t

damage her. Marley is stoic, able and willing to take far too much for the team when it
comes to pushing her body.

“Okay, one more.” Marley taps out, and I carefully withdraw my weapon as she turns

towards me, her face bright pink from the effort. She pushes me to the couch, and I
pretend to fall like a feather. “Your choice, Wyatt.”

“Come here.” I flick my fingers until she clasps onto them and settles her sexy wet self

over my hips. “You on top.”

“Rumor has it that’s a man’s favorite position.”
“Rumor has it most women find it too much work.”
Marley arches her head back and belts out a belly laugh that lets me know I’ve struck

a chord. I only said that because I sensed her discomfort last night.

“No offense, but your technique could use a little improvement,” I say it with a smile

and wince because I think I just hit below the belt without meaning to.

“Oh?” She digs her finger in her cheek looking adorable as hell in the process. “Do tell,

Professor James.” Marley extends her body, stretching her arms to the ceiling, and, for a
moment, I marvel at how stunningly beautiful she is, peaches and cream, my taste bud’s
dream.

“Kiss me,” I give it hard like an order, and she looks titillated by this.
Marley leans in until her soft chest is against mine, her lips where they belong. I

maneuver her hips until my hard-on finds its way home, and Marley moves her body over
mine in a natural rhythm.

“Oh! Like this,” she whispers the epiphany over my lips. “This is much, much, much

better.”

“Just like this.” I do my part by grinding my hips against hers as much as I can and,

between the two of us, we’re getting it done the way it was intended all along.

It takes half the time for me to get there, and I try to hold out until Marley can join in

on the fun, but I end up at the finish line without her.

“Sorry.” I pant, pulling her body over mine, appreciating the fact she’s still hot and wet

for me. “Come here, girl.” I pull her up until she’s sitting on my face and take her home
just like that.

Marley lets out a violent scream that reverberates over the walls, and I’m half afraid

Annie and Blake are about to rush through the door with a fire extinguisher again. We
have been known to start a blaze or two.

She forcibly scoots herself off. Her wild hair splays all around. Her eyes burn with an

insanity of their own.

Marley lands her hand to my cheek a little rougher than necessary, and, for a second,

I wonder if she’s slapping me. Her chest heaves uncontrollably. Her eyes remain low and
heavy.

“I love you,” she pants. Her mouth falls open a little wider, gaping at the misstep her

tongue just took—“for that.” She tries to play it off, or at least I hope. “That was
amazing.”

I give a slow blink. “You’re welcome.”
My fingers graze her hair, and I nod into her puddle-blue eyes.
I love you, too, Marley.
Funny, love wasn’t in the contract. Hell, it was evicted from both our vocabularies just

a few weeks ago. But this, whatever this may be, hit us over the head like a tornado on
fire. It picked us up and is holding us hostage in some magical realm with nothing but the
crackle of lightning all around—nothing but the snap of the electricity that we seem to
generate when we’re together.

This is it. This is the real deal.
Marley and I may not have wanted to find it, but it sure as hell found us.
Now if only one of us were willing to admit it. I’m betting it won’t be her.
Marley falls over me, wet and sticky, hot to the touch like a firebrand.
At the least I gave her something to write about.
At best I gave her a taste of that intangible beast called love.

W H A T ’ S L O V E G O T T O D O W I T H

I T ?

M A RL E Y

week drills by, correction, Wyatt is doing all the drilling. It’s bliss like this with him.

Our office time is just as delicious as our alone time. I sleep, eat, and breathe Wyatt
James—literally. And, just the fact that I get to be literal about something of this
orgasmic nature makes me giddy from head to toe.

Baya, Annie, and Izzy all have their eyes peeled on me.
“So what’s new?” Izzy tilts in as if expecting the low down.
“Nothing much.” Oh, what the hell. “Are you kidding? I’ve been compiling carnal data

as if a monumental government grant were on the line—as if I were completing a
doctoral degree in debauchery. Technically, I might be. Who knows what scholastic
enterprise I’ll be able to parlay my carnal knowledge into? I might just give Masters and
Johnsons a run for their raunchy research money. Scale that back. I might just give
myself a bit of liberation from the oppression held over women since time immemorial.
Nah. A memoir definitely sounds more lucrative. And, God knows, a dollar still has the
power to make me holla’. Can I get an amen?”

“Amen?” Annie looks confused by the concept, and I stomp out the urge to giggle.
Baya snatches my coffee from me. “I don’t think the caffeine is doing you any favors.”
“Very funny.” I take it back and indulge in a nice long swig.
“Would you stop with all the bizarre levels of happy?” Baya snatches my cup back.

“It’s making you sound like a lunatic.”

“Like you’re one to talk. And enough with the musical mugs.” I steal my coffee and

cradle it protectively like a missing child. “You have your own.”

Annie holds back a laugh. “I have to admit, I was worried about you last fall, but,

now, you’re a whole new you.”

“What a difference a couple of seasons make.” Izzy raises her latte my way.
We’re sitting in Hallowed Grounds, hovering over hot coffee while the sun does it’s

best to melt the last of the snowfall outside. It’s going to be an early spring, and no one
could be happier than me.

“It is exciting. I have to admit”—my fingers strum over my cup with a nervous energy

I don’t remember feeling before—“I think I’m in love.” The glee dissipates from me as if
that word alone had the power to vacuum it out. I knock my cup over, and I’m quick to
right it. Thankfully just a few drops managed to escape the lid, and Izzy mops up the rest
with her napkin. “I meant—I’m in love with the situation.” God! If there weren’t a crowd I
might have dumped the hot coffee right over my head. I hate love. Love is a four letter,
dirty, egg-sucking word. Well, romantic love in the least.

My heart beats erratic as if trying to call me out on the lie.
Annie gives my arm a light tap. “It’s okay if you have feelings for him. I’ve been

journaling how happy you are whenever you talk about him, whenever you come home
from work or a night out. You’ve really transformed into a whole new person. It’s as if a
dark cloud hovered over you when you were with Will, and now that Wyatt is in your life
the sunlight has exploded right over your face.”

“You and that silly journal.” I bury my face in my hands a moment. “Look, I’m not

saying sunshine is a bad thing, but let’s not confuse a ray of light with something as
asinine as love. The next thing you’ll be telling me is he’s the reason unicorns shoot
rainbows out of their ass.”

“Unicorns poop butterflies,” Baya asserts. “Everybody knows that.”
Izzy waves her off. “Just admit it, Marley. Wyatt makes you happy. Happiness equals

feelings. There’s a reason the words I think I’m in love just sprang from your lips. You’re
already aware you feel this way. I don’t see the point in denying it.”

“No, no, no.” I hold up a hand like I’m about to stop a freight train. “I do not have

feelings for him. Well, maybe as a friend. But the L word just isn’t for me.”

Izzy’s eyes widen. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Her head cocks to the side as she

offers an incredulous stare. Izzy has always been my biggest supporter—case in point
when I’m defying Jemma. My sister isn’t exactly the best authority figure, and with my
mother gone so much when I was a kid, Jemma was the next unfortunate authority figure
in line. It’s a wonder I don’t have a brood of ankle biters of my own by now. Sometimes
you just have to buck the mold.

“Love is for people like you.” I’m quick to state. “Honestly, I think when it boils right

down to it, the three of you are freaks. People don’t fall in love and stay that way.” My
gaze drifts to the window as a stiletto-sized lump gets caught in my throat.

“People cheat. Some people never fall in love at all, they simply go through the

motions—say those three magic words and hope the rest falls in line.”

And that was my relationship with Will in a nutshell. For the first time ever, I think I

finally admitted to myself that I never really loved Will. I thought I did. But with Wyatt,
something feels different, safer, far more solid than anything I had with Will—and that
relationship lasted a small eternity. Was I just caught up in some vortex of complacency?

God, what if I had married him, and we stayed that unhappy way forever? I would have
never known Wyatt. I would have never tasted and seen how good he was—never known
the high a man could bring me to just with his devilish smile alone. The thought of
missing out on a man like Wyatt James—Wyatt James in particular, makes my stomach
sour.

My phone buzzes, and I fish it out with a nervous fervor as if I were expecting news on

a transplant—heart transplant apparently.

“It’s just Jemma,” I say out loud for no reason, and the three of them break into a

cacophony of laughter. I wished it were Wyatt, and they all know it. I’m as transparent as
glass, and I hate it.

Meet me at the Black Bear at 6. I’ll have the paperwork with me. Gotta get

this shit done. TY!

This shit is code for government dole out forms. I make a face at the text. Only

Jemma would want to fill out an application for food stamps while sitting in a bar with a
ten-dollar drink in her hand. Go figure.

“Anyway, I’ll be seeing Wyatt this afternoon,” I offer as a disclaimer to the Nosey

Nellies who think they know my heart better than I do.

Baya holds up a finger as she knocks back the remainder of her coffee. “Don’t forget

we have class today—our proposal and our first look is due. It’s the big critique.” She
gives an apologetic shrug. “Plus, I think we’re supposed to go over figures with Will. He
mentioned something about stats, and my brain shut off.”

“Don’t worry, it’s a natural response. Most people would rather go catatonic than

listen to what he has to say.” I check my phone as if I were waiting for a proposal. This is
ridiculous. I don’t ever remember feeling so desperate, so inebriated by a text from Will.
Just what kind of power does Wyatt have over me anyway? “And, don’t worry, I’ll be
there.” For the first five minutes. If Will wants to drone on, he’ll have to do it sans my
presence. I think I’m developing a very real allergy to his person. And to think I ever let
him slip his tiny member into my body—in my mouth! Blah! Just the thought makes me
want to gargle with acid. Besides, I have other things, people, to do—namely Wyatt.

I glance deep into my purse and spot the navy velvet cuffs. A naughty grin begs to

break free, but I won’t let it. I’ve been meaning to dust off the velvet hardware for a
while now. What better time than the present? And Wyatt James in cuffs will be quite the
present. A private smile rides on my lips at the thought.

“What are you grinning at over there?” Izzy tries to peer into my purse, but I quickly

pull it to my chest.

Baya snatches it from me and pulls out the soft cuffs with a look of carnal delight.
“That’s an invasion of privacy! I should place you under citizen’s arrest,” I yelp taking

back my purse.

“Look at me, I’m Marley!” Her voice rides high. She dances the cuffs in front of her in a

perverted puppet show fashion. “I am not in love with Wyatt James!” She knocks the
cuffs in my direction as if they’re admonishing me. “I’m a super nasty girl, living in a
fantasy world!”

“Stop.” I touch my hands to my mouth and close my eyes a moment. Who are these

women, and why am I sitting with them again? “That was a bad impersonation by the
way. Identity theft does not become you.”

“So this is what you’re planning to do to Wyatt?” Izzy runs her finger over one of the

fuzzy bracelets. “Citizen’s arrest never sounded so kinky.”

“Yes, well, kink makes the world go round. Or so they say—and, for the sake of

research, I’m about to find out.” I try to snatch them away from Baya, but she pulls them
just out of my grasp.

“Hey, can I borrow these?” She holds them up in broad daylight for all the student

population to see.

My fingers gingerly take them back. “Only after I’ve had a chance to break them in. I

had originally bought them to use with Will. Thank God up in heaven that catastrophe
never took place. These have Wyatt written all over them. Of course, I’m sort of hoping
I’ll be the one in chains. A girl can dream.”

“Wow.” Baya bounces back in her seat. “You are in so deep—you don’t even realize it,

do you?”

The three of them shake their heads in tandem as if they genuinely felt sorry for me.
“Is there something I should know? Is Wyatt sleeping with the cheer squad behind my

back? Does Alpha Chi have him on call? Because, I swear, that man has moves that an
entire army of women would kill for. I’m talking knock down drag out fist fights would
break out over his services. Hair extensions would be in peril.”

Izzy and Annie share a laugh, but Baya continues to shake her head as if she can’t

believe it.

“You are toast, Marley. Face it”—Baya gives a long blink—“Wyatt has you wrapped

around his magical penis.”

“Eww,” Izzy swats her. “That’s disgusting.”
“It’s true,” Annie muses.
If Annie thinks so, it must be true. Crap.
“What are you saying?” I want to hear it point blank.
“You’re in love with the guy.” Baya says it matter of fact, but the words feel like a

sharp slap in the face. “You’re already submerged. You’ve been under for so long you
don’t even realize you’ve already drowned. Case closed—Marley Jackson, has been

sentenced to a lifetime of l-o-v-e.”

“I’d prefer hard labor.” The idea that I’ve become some prisoner to love is laughable.
Izzy gawks at Baya. “Are you through? And please don’t consider a career in

motivational speaking.”

“She’s still right.” Annie shrugs as if she were sorry. “Forget about that stupid memoir,

Marley. You’re in love with the guy. Own up to your feelings.” She gives a smug look of
satisfaction. “I’m willing to bet the bar we’ll be sister-in-laws one day.”

“Gah!” I roar in frustration. Before I know it, I’ve hoisted my laptop onto the table.

“Too late. I’m starting that memoir right this minute. Subject one—”

“Make that Will,” Baya insists. “Don’t waste a single drop of—”
“Men,” Izzy interjects rather sharply. I swear she still thinks I’m thirteen.
“Boy—Will is a boy,” I correct. “Wyatt is a man.”
My fingers start typing as fast as they can.
“Sex and the Modern Woman: What’s love got to do with it? Or how about, My Life in

Men?” I whisper as my brain thunders a mile a minute. “I like the sound of that because
usually it’s the man inside the woman. The irony is rich and empowering from a feminist
point of view.”

Izzy groans at my mock dissertation. “Personally, I think you’re setting feminism back

not forward. Sleeping around isn’t some progressive movement it’s”—she closes her eyes
and takes a measured breath—“slutty. And exactly how many men do you plan on
exploiting this way?”

“Exploiting?” I gag on the word. “Men have been literally screwing around for

centuries, as soon as a woman decides to have a little fun, she’s slutty and exploitive?
Really, Izzy?”

I continue on with my endeavor.

Marley Jackson

My Life in Men

The sexual life and times of a college coed.

How’s that? I turn the screen, so they can take a gander.

“Coed?” Baya raises a brow. “When you said memoir, I thought you might be

publishing this at sixty.”

Izzy scowls. “Eighty would be too soon.” She’s got the protective big sister thing down

pat, I’ll give her that. Although, ironically, my own big sister would be cheering me on.

“Neither,” I say turning the laptop back my way. “I’m thinking something along the

lines of a year or two, you know—I’ll have to fund my post-graduate school life
somehow.” There is no greater truth. The paychecks I’m getting from Capwell, Inc. aren’t
huge, but this girl hasn’t had ramen in a month, so I’m not knocking them either.

Annie looks horrified. “And how many subjects do you plan on taking on in your four

short years at Whitney Briggs?”

“Six? Ten? I don’t know. Originally I thought I’d cap it at twelve.” Twelve. That’s like

ten away from Wyatt. My stomach churns at the prospect. I can’t imagine sleeping with
anyone else, at least not anyone else as wonderful as Wyatt both in and out of the sack.
Just the thought makes me feel like I’m cheating on him, or more accurately on our
contract. “But then Baya suggested the baker’s dozen, so it’s thirteen, and it’s settled.”

Both Annie and Izzy gape at Baya in horror.
If she’s throwing me under the bus with this love bull crap, I’ll gladly pull her right

down with me. How’s the view of the fender, sweetheart?

“Subject One: The Great Imitator,” I whisper as I type. “It’s true, Will was just

imitating a man. I just didn’t know it until I had a real one to compare him to. Scratch
that. I think he’s best known as Ancient History.”

Subject One: Ancient History
Quantity and Variety: Ancient History and I had a few sparse, non-memorable

encounters. Although the subject had full belief he was able to enforce an assortment of
carnal pleasures, the positions were often forced, and not a lot of energy was put into the
endeavor. Unfortunately I had to F-A-K-E the big O on several occasions just to convince
myself that he cared enough that I had one. His body wasn’t up to par due to his age,
and his man parts were most definitely lacking. Even in my inexperience, I knew he
wasn’t up to the challenge, but a part of me kept believing things would get better.
Optimism be damned, they did not.

Positives: He could be tenacious once things got going.
Negatives: He would expend said tenacious energy on trying to work whatever

position best pleasured him. I knew this was a one-sided affair from the first night he
took me to his place.

On a scale of one to ten (one being a mental plea for my virginity), I give Ancient

History, negative five. The subject is unaware of how vitally he sucketh at the art of
lovemaking. It’s comical to think he can make a career of this if need be.

“Would you stop?” Baya closes my laptop.
Annie groans. “That was truly disturbing.”
“We’d better go,” Baya hoists me up. “We’ve got a date with Professor Nicholson, and

we can’t be late.”

We say goodbye to Annie and Izzy and head toward the rabbit hole, otherwise known

as the business department, and then I spot them—Cat Alice and Will, tongue tied right
in Founder’s Square.

Knew it.

My feet carry me in their direction without my full permission, and Baya is quick to stop
me.

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re over that worm, remember?”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’m finished with him.” I shoot a mean eye to Cat Alice

who still has her mouth fused over his like she’s trying to resuscitate him. She might need
to when I’m through with him, but that’s not the point.

She swore she didn’t want anything to do with Will—called him pig vomit when we

started going out and now look who’s lapping it up?

“I have to go. Trust me, it’s a good thing, like lancing a wound to get all the puss out.”

Cat Alice is one infection I want out of my system now and forever. “I’ll meet you in
class.”

“Sorry, sister, but something tells me you’ll need back up—and maybe a hose.” Baya

traipses behind me, struggling to keep up.

“Well, what a shocker!” I shout in an effort to pierce through their grunting. And,

sadly, instead of sounding ironic in a pissed off sort of way, the words warble in the wind
making me come across as genuinely surprised and pathetic.

Will jumps back. His face bleaches out, pale as plaster as he blinks at me like a

startled child. He always did make it a point to let me know he couldn’t stand her. It’s
pretty obvious that was just a cover.

“It’s not what it looks like.” He holds up a hand.
“As if I care.” The words struggle from my throat as I fight back tears. “Let me

guess”—I shake my head trying to control my breathing—“you don’t even like her.” I
mock the tone he used repeatedly when he said those words. “And you”—I seethe at Cat
—“my own fake flesh and blood. I would never bone that twerp.” I do my best to imitate
her. Yes, she, too, pretended to loathe the very sight of my then boyfriend. “Aren’t you
two a pair? Is this the part where I’m expected to woman up and give you my blessing?”

They exchange perturbed looks. If I had to guess what they were saying it would be:

Cat Alice— She’s in on our secret. This is as good a time as any to fess up! And, of
course, Will’s response—I still can’t see myself associated with your rank ass.

I take in a sharp breath. “Oh, my God!” My eyes flit from Will to Cat. “You two have

been at this for a while haven’t you?” I bet they’ve been fucking for years!

A stunted silence takes over our tense little circle.
“Oh, shit,” I hiss. “Wait a minute.” I cock my head toward Cat. “You were the one that

introduced me to Will. You said he was a very special friend of yours.” My jaw goes slack.
“You were already seeing each other at that point, weren’t you?”

Deafening silence. Nothing but their gaping pie holes staring back at me.
I swallow hard, putting together the shit pieces. I growl at Cat Alice. “You were

together the entire time I was with him, weren’t you?”

Cat opens her mouth, and I give a hard shove to her chest.
“That was fucking rhetorical!” I scream right over her face. “And you!” I glare at Will

who’s red in the face, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s angry or embarrassed, but right
about now I couldn’t care less if he was choking to death. “You weren’t even man enough
to get out of one relationship before getting into the next! What’s the matter? Are you
ashamed of her? She a little too real-world to show off to your country club friends? Or
are you just following in your daddy’s footsteps by keeping your trash on the side?”

Baya pulls me back by the arm. “I think we should go.”
“I’m not done.” A laugh gurgles in my throat as I see Cat Alice in a whole new light.

“So you’re the girl he slept with before me—you’re the owner of the tainted twat?” I lean
in feeling a little nastier than usual. “You do realize it was your poor hygiene that had
him faking an allergy!”

Her hand flies to her lips as she gapes at him in horror. “You said it gave you hives!”
“You both give me hives!” I roar so loud my body reverberates. “I hope you choke on

one another’s tongues!” I jump back in a fit of anger. “You’re nothing to me, Cat! Don’t
you ever even look at me again! You’re nothing but a slut. The reason he kept you as his
dirty little secret is because he would never go for anyone like you!” I turn to the idiot in
question. “And by the way, William Angelica Richie, you’ve got a little dick!” I scream so
loud my throat burns. I take off toward the business department so fast I swear I hear a
sonic boom.

“You are going to regret this!” Cat Alice screams into the wind, but I don’t care. I

regret nothing. Finally, and at last, I feel a strange sense of peace.

Baya catches up and swivels me into her.
“I can’t go to class,” I grunt out breathless.
“You have to.” Her face is rife with worry because it’s not just me missing class, it’s

Rags to Riches missing its shining moment. “The first critique is a third of our grade, and
you have all the stats.”

“I’m so sorry.” I pluck out my laptop and happily hand it over. “But I’m sure we’ll do

great.” I run toward Prescott Hall and don’t stop until I’ve hit my dorm.

By the time six o’clock rolls around, I’m showered and dressed and plying over
government handout forms under the duress of dim lighting courtesy of the Black Bear.

“Names and ages of your children,” I ask. I know all this in theory, but my track record

with middle names isn’t so great, and, God forbid, I land a birthday in the wrong month.
My head doesn’t exactly feel screwed on straight today. And if I manage to screw this up,
I’m sure the government won’t mind withholding funds and landing my sweet, yet
completely out of her mind, sister in an eight by ten cell. Anyway, Jemma will probably
land herself there one day all on her own. This is simply deferring the inevitable.

“Aw crap.” She takes another sip of the strawberry daiquiri Holt gifted her. I, myself,

refused the libation, albeit the one he offered me was a virgin. Anyway I’ve been in one
serious fucking mood ever since the incident and don’t care to imbibe a damn thing. “I
got a paper in here somewhere with it all written down.” She thumbs through the
shoebox marked ‘portant stuff.

My phone buzzes, and I pluck it out while I wait. It’s a text from my favorite boss.
What’s up?
I text back. Helping my sister with some paperwork. At the Black Bear. In a

funk.

Not sure why I added that last part, most likely because Wyatt has been such a good

friend. I wonder if we were in a serious relationship if I would have confided that or just
stuck my chin up and pretended everything was fine?

Stop funking around. Let me pick you up. I know just how to cheer you up.
A smile springs to my lips, first one in hours. Come quick, I start to text then delete

it. I’d hate for it to be mistaken as an innuendo. Quite frankly I’m not in the mood for any
of those right now either. I’d love some cheering up. See you soon. I hit send and
lean back to find Jemma studying me with a stern look.

“Lover boy strikes again?” She raises her glass as if toasting him, although there’s

something in her eyes that reads trouble.

“Yes, well, he’s sort of a lucky strike in general. He’ll be here soon, so we have to

hurry.” I get right back to business before Jemma gets schnockered and tries to snag
Wyatt as her own “lover boy” once again. I still get chills when I think of their first
unfortunate encounter.

Sure enough, Jemma does have all of her children’s names, birthdates, and shockingly

birth weights written neatly on a worn piece of paper. There’s not a hurdle too high that
the government can provide that Jemma isn’t ready to clear. If Uncle Sam thinks he’s
going to save a few bucks by denying her a single state benefit he’d better think again.

Jemma has prepped harder for this dole out application than she did the SATs. In that
sense you might say Jemma was simply planning ahead.

“So things getting pretty serious with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dimples? You drop your

knickers yet?”

Knickers? I close my eyes a moment.
“You’re my sister. I don’t even want you to think about my knickers.”
“Just curious, you know—what’s he got in the bottom drawer. You got some of those

naughty pictures?” She makes a grab for my phone, and I inch it out of her range. “I’d
love to know what kind of equipment that boy is hauling around.”

“No, I don’t have any naughty pictures.” I’d laugh if I weren’t busy choking.
Izzy pops up and joins us. “What did I miss?” She looks from Jem to me.
“She wants all the dirty deets, but I’m not divulging a single naughty picture—so

there’s that.”

Izzy makes a face. “Believe me if there’s a naughty picture of Wyatt, I don’t want to

see it. These eyes are for my man only.” She clicks her nails over the table as if calling
court to order. “What’s this I hear about the big blowout on campus?” Izzy lifts a brow.
Sometimes it feels as if I have two older sisters. Izzy, of course, being the only technical
grown-up in the equation. I give Jem an apologetic glance. “Baya told me all about it.”

“No. No blowout.” I shake my head frenetically because Izzy is about to open a can of

William worms. Jemma has always warned me about Cat Alice, and, being my stubborn
self, I refused to listen.

“What’s this big blowout about?” Jemma has that look that says there’s no way in hell

she’s letting this one go.

“Look”—I glance over my shoulder for signs of Wyatt—“it was stupid. I caught Cat

Alice making out with Will and flipped out. You were right. They were doing the nasty the
entire time I was with that fool. End of story.” I sink my nose back to the grindstone and
start whipping through the government landmine of information vomit.

“Hold on just a minute, pretty little sis.” Jemma carefully extracts the pen from my

hand. “You mean to tell me you had a shit storm hit this afternoon, and you weren’t
going to say nothin’? I thought we were close.”

Jemma’s eyes glisten with moisture, but it’s clear she’s pretty pissed. I can’t tell if

she’s about to cry or take a swing at me—probably both.

“I know the words you’re looking for, and I said them. You were right. I was wrong. I

swear I’ll listen to you from now on.” I hold up a hand like I’m taking an oath. And,
surprisingly, it only mildly alarms me that I’ve just agreed to take my sister’s advice
regarding future matters.

“I’m so sorry, hon.” Her features sag. “Come here.” Jemma pulls me in, and I take in

the sharp scent of cigarettes and dollar store rose water that clings to her hair. “I don’t
wanna be right about shit like that,” she says it in her soft mommy tone, and I sniff back
tears. Jemma pulls back, her own eyes tearing up—on second thought, they always sort
of have that bloodshot appeal. “You know what else I’m right about?” She nods as if I
should be able to finish the sentence.

“That I should get a baseball bat and smash in his car windows?” Please God, let it be

that.

“No, hon. The fact you’re in love—with someone else. That Wyatt kid.” She smirks up

at Izzy as if holding back a laugh. “Well, I think everyone at this table knows he’s all
man.”

“Ladies.”
I glance up and to both my horror and delight find a smiling—definitely all man—Mr.

Tall, Dark, and Dimples smiling at me.

God, I hope he didn’t hear Jemma’s daiquiri-inspired aria regarding my love life.
I hop up and wrap my arms around him. The scent of his cologne instantly loosens

me.

“You don’t know how glad I am to see you.” My lips find his for far too brief a moment.

“Izzy can you help Jemma with the rest of the paperwork?”

“Not a problem.”
“Thanks, I owe you one. I’ll see you both later.” I give Jemma a stern look in the

event she’s poised to espouse more theories on where my heart lies.

Wyatt leads me out of the Black Bear, into the cool, brisk evening, and I can finally

breathe again. Without Wyatt it feels as if I’ve spent my entire life holding my breath. I
need him around like I need air in my lungs. I spin into Wyatt, my cheeks burning with
the epiphany.

“Come here.” He pulls me in tight and grips me just the way I’ve needed him to hold

me all day long. God, I love him.

My eyes spring wide.
“Oh, my, God!” I whisper under my breath.
I pull back and am swept away by the warmth in his eyes, by his cutting good looks

that even now have random coeds twisting into him.

This big, gorgeous man is all mine. I want him to be.
I swallow hard as tears come to my eyes. Damn Jemma.
She’s right again.
I do love Wyatt James.

W Y A T T

arley.

I can’t seem to wipe the goofy grin off my face as we drive back to the house. I

offered to take her anywhere in the world, and she didn’t miss a beat when she said the
ranch. Not that I mind. I’ve been craving her all day. She’s taken up residency in my mind
even when she’s not around. She’s the only one I think about 24/7. Somehow, in some
magical way, she’s managed to erase the hurt and pain of this long life and make it worth
my while to open my eyes in the morning for something other than an eight-hour shift at
Capwell. I used to worship the dollar and now all I worship is her.

We pull into the driveway and head up the walk. Marley races me to the porch and

slams her hand over the door.

“I win,” she pants, slightly out of breath.
“You could have saved the energy.” I lean in and take a slow, careful bite of her

bottom lip. “I was planning on letting you have your way with me.”

Marley purrs as I let us in.
“What makes you so sure I want to be in control tonight? Maybe I want you to be”—

her hand glides down over my abs, lower still—“large and in charge.”

“Oh, sweetie.” A dark laugh rumbles from me as I examine her from head to toe.

Marley is a sex kitten, beautiful as all hell, and challenging in ways I’ve never had a
woman challenge me before. “You have no idea what you’ve just asked for.”

“Sounds like you have something wicked up your sleeve.”
“Maybe.” I head over to the fireplace. “Do we have arson on the agenda tonight, or

should I start a fire the old fashioned way?”

“So funny.” She deadpans taking off her sweater. I do a quick double take. Marley is in

her bra and panties before I can light a match.

“You don’t waste any time.”
“Rules are rules.”
It’s true, after we added the clause stipulating no clothes at the ranch house, Marley

has dutifully complied.

Monica’s nagging voice comes back to me. They’re just after one thing. I shake my

head as I get the blaze going. Who the hell cares if Marley is after one thing? That “thing”
just so happens to be attached to my body. I’m sort of a package deal. Besides, I’ve had
enough doubts, no thanks to my ex. That’s one fire I’m putting out.

Tonight’s the night I’m going to talk to Marley about burning that ridiculous contract. I

want something more with her, and I’m hoping she feels the same.

Her arms wrap themselves around my waist before I can turn around.
“I’ve missed you, Professor James,” she whispers, taking a bite of my earlobe.
“Damn straight, you better miss me.” I turn to face her, holding back the grin that’s

dying to erupt. “I haven’t seen you in twenty-hours. That’s criminal. Have you been a
good girl?” I’m up for a game or two if she is. I’ll save the serious discussion for when
we’re both worn out, unable to move because we’ve twisted ourselves into every damn
position known to man. A smile creeps up, and I don’t stop it.

“I’ve been very, very naughty.” She lowers that forest of lashes and bats into me.
“It sounds like you’re due a punishment.” I give a quick sweep around the room for

that riding crop I brought in from the barn. I meant to wash it, but I’m sure a little hay
around the edges will only add to the adventure. I spot it standing erect in the corner
looking ever so innocent. “Don’t move.” I hop over and accidentally catch my foot on the
coffee table. Her purse knocks over and spills its contents onto the rug below. “What’s
this?” I pick up a pair of navy velvet cuffs. I think I like where the night is about to lead.

“Did those little ‘ole things just jump out of my purse?” She bites down on her lip

feigning innocence. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind? I’m loving this development.”
“I was sort of hoping for an arresting development.”
Gently I land a cuff over her wrist before leaning in and whispering, “You’ve got the

key for this, right?”

“Yes,” she hisses so low it sounds like a sigh.
“You have the right to remain silent”—I press my lips to her ear—“unless, of course,

you’re moved to scream—and I hope to arrange for that.” Carefully, I pull her arms
behind her back. “Anything you say or do can and will be used against your very naked
body.” I secure her other wrist into the cuff. “If you cannot afford an attorney, then—well,
you’ll be trapped in my bedroom forever. Do you understand these rights as they’ve been
whispered, hot, in your ear?” I take an unapologetic bite of her neck.

“I’m catching on.” A hard groan comes from deep inside her. “I’m ready for a visit to

the penitentiary. Lucky for me, I’m already undressed in the event any of the inmates
demand to have their way with me.”

“I’m the only person allowed to do that.” I give her lips a gentle kiss. “You belong to

me.” My eyes sear over hers, and, for a brief second, we share something real, something
deeper than the fun and games we’ve plunged into. I lead her down the hall a little
rougher than usual, scooping up the riding crop along the way.

“In need of reinforcements?” Marley smolders like a vixen as her high heels clop

across the hardwood floors.

“The only reinforcement I’ll be needing is right here.” I rub my crotch over her back as

I kiss her from behind. “You ready to serve hard time?”

“Only if you’re going to ask me to bend over and pick up the soap.” Her brow arches,

hopeful.

“I wouldn’t take it off the table just yet.” I press her against the bedpost and pull the

cuffs back, threading the riding crop through each one until she’s effectively pinned to the
bed.

“How did you do that?” She marvels, slightly out of character, and I can’t help but find

it cute as hell.

“I’m all about the surprises.” I’m hoping she’ll love the surprise I have for her later,

when I ask her to be mine—when I promise her things I have never promised another
woman.

The fire from the living room fills the room with a subtle glow, illuminating her beauty

as I gently caress her cheek with the back of my hand.

“So you’re an officer of the law, huh?” She smirks, and it makes me want her ten

times more. “I knew you were a Private Dick the moment I laid eyes on you. Take off
your clothes, Officer James.” She swallows hard, gasping for air as if she’s ready to
detonate long before I touch her. “And, if you don’t—I might be moved to place you under
citizen’s arrest. You’re breaking contract with those things on. Clothes. Off. Now!”

“Aren’t you a little demanding, considering you’re the one in restraints?”
She lowers her chin. “I said now.”
I give my tie a hard yank. “I’ll make sure you say please when it counts.” I unbutton

my shirt a little slower than usual. Apparently, being tied up brings out the commanding,
iron-handed princess in her. Not that I mind. I’m all for Marley barking out orders. I pull
off my shirt and ball it up before tossing it to the other side of the room.

“Pants.” Her brows peak.
“As you wish.” I unbuckle my belt achingly slow. I work the button and zipper, letting

gravity take my pants to the ground.

“All of it.” She snaps a little louder than before, and I try not to smile.
I hitch my thumbs into my boxers and send them sailing to the floor, stepping out of

my pants, shoes, and socks all at the same time.

I walk over, stroking her cheek with my finger, our eyes never breaking contact.

My body presses against hers, skin against skin, fire against fire.
“Naked as the day I was born.” I run my tongue up to her ear. “We’ve got a little

problem.” I graze over her earlobe with my teeth. “You’re all tied up. I can’t fuck you
properly.” I whisper it low, but her body jumps when I hit the expletive.

Marley gives another audible swallow.
“Get on the bed.” Her chest heaves as if she just ran up twelve flights. “I want to see

you pleasure yourself.”

“What? I’m not into flying solo when there’s a perfectly naughty girl tied to my bed.”
“You’ll do as I say, and you’ll do it now.” Her lips curve as she fights the smile. Sorry!

she mouths.

I lie on the bed and let the comforter cool my back a moment. I hike up on my elbows

and stare at my cock with discontent. It’s pointed straight at her like a lightning rod, only
this is one fire bolt I’ll have to comfort on my own for now. I glide my hand down the
shaft once quickly before looking up at her.

“Don’t you take your eyes off me,” she warns.
“Has anyone ever told you, you’re pushy?”
“You complaining?”
“Nope.” My chest expands a moment. “I might just hire a sky writer to thank you.”
“That’s more like it. Now get to work—eyes on me.” She’s heaving again. Bucking

against the bedpost so hard I hear wood creaking. Why wouldn’t it surprise me if the
walls caved in on us tonight?

My fingers clasp over my cock as I begin pumping away, eyes on Marley, my dick

growing harder than steel. Not sure if this was meant to drive her or me insane, but I’m
getting there faster than ever before, wanting to rip the entire room apart just to land
myself up inside her. Her lips part as her panting picks up. Marley leans forward all she
can as if she’s dying to join the party.

“Just say the word, sweetie,” I grunt the words out as I’m about to take it home.
Marley wiggles and writhes until the riding crop dislodges, freeing her from her needle

straight position.

Marley jumps to the bed like a jackrabbit, and I quickly retrieve the riding crop from

the floor. I turn her over on the bed and touch the tip to her shoulder. Slowly I outline her
perfect form, the curve of her hips, her long French vanilla thighs. I give a gentle tap to
her bottom, three times in a row.

“What do you say?” I pull the riding crop up her spine, and she shivers.
“Thank you, sir.” Marley rises to her knees and arches her head back. “May I have

another?”

I drag the tip over her bottom in a circular pattern before pulling back and slamming it

against the bedpost instead.

“Oh!” Marley jumps beneath me. “Oh, wow, thank you. For a minute there I thought

you were going to leave a mark.”

“I am going to leave a mark.” I sink to my knees. “But not with this.” I toss the

weapon across the room. “With my teeth.” My mouth lands over her thigh, and I graze
my way up and down her beautiful bottom.

I grab a condom off the nightstand and roll it on.
Her blonde hair whips over her shoulder as she turns to look at me. “I thought you

were going to punish me?”

“We’re just gearing up, baby.” I plunge into her without warning, and she lets out a

hard groan, and I cringe because I’m hoping it was far more pleasurable than anything
else. I thrust into Marley over and over, closing my eyes envisioning the two of us right
here in this bedroom for as far as the future stretches out. As much as I can’t seem to get
Marley out of my mind, I can’t seem to get sharing a future with her out of my heart. This
has to happen.

It already is.
I turn her over and offer a tender kiss that says I’m sorry, that says I’ve missed you,

that says I never want us to be apart.

But mostly it says I love you.

The next morning we rouse lazily. I missed the chance to have that heart to heart with
her last night partly due to the fact we didn’t leave open a window of opportunity.
Nothing but making love until the light of day just the way I like it. And judging by her
enthusiasm, Marley likes it that way, too. A part of me wants to forget about work and
stay in bed all day.

Marley lands a hot kiss to my lips before whispering, “You think my boss will fire me if

I don’t show up at the office?”

“No, but he might fuck you later if you’re not careful. I hear he’s a real dick.” I gently

rub her bottom. “You okay?” I wince in lieu of an apology.

“I’m fine.”
A phone rings from the living room, her ringtone not mine.
“I’m not getting it,” she hums into my chest. It goes silent, then, after a few seconds,

rings again. On its third rotation she growls and crawls out of bed. “I’m going to hang
whoever it is and then I’m going to flush my phone down the toilet.”

“Why clog up the plumbing when we can just set it on fire?”

I watch her perfect porcelain skin as she exits the room, inspecting her for bite marks

but, thankfully, there aren’t any. My head burrows back into the pillow as I ready for day
two of dominating Ms. Jackson—hell, maybe I’ll let her dominate me. Maybe.

“Wyatt?” She speeds back in after less than a minute. “I need you to take me to my

dorm right now.” She scrambles to get her jeans on.

“What’s wrong?” I hop into my sweats and running shoes. My hand fumbles for

something in the drawer without looking and I pull on a T-shirt that reads World’s Most
Annoying Brother. A gift from Blake a few birthdays back.

“Nothing. It’s stupid.” She blinks back tears as she hustles me out the door. “Just

something to do with Rags to Riches.” She bolts to my car as I unlock the door.

I rush Marley back to Whitney Briggs, and she jumps out of the passenger’s side

slamming the door so fast she forgets to say goodbye. I give a quick honk, and she waves
still racing toward her building.

Something tells me what ever it is, it’s very fucking wrong.

I head home, shower, and throw on a monkey suit. There’s a proposal due in less than
twenty-four hours that I should probably come up with. No sooner do I get into my office
than Ryder comes in with something tucked under his arm, a look of concern cemented
on his face.

“Morning.” He sits across from me with a somber air about him, expectantly as if he

were waiting for me to say something.

“What’s going on?” Second mystery of the day. This is all starting to feel a bit

foreboding.

“Dropped Laney off this morning. I always pick up a copy of the school paper after

walking her to class.” He blinks a dry smile. “I usually give that article your girlfriend
writes a quick glance. You do that?”

“Every darn day.” I chuckle as I open my laptop. “It’s right here on my favorites bar.

Sex and the Coed.” I give it a double take.

The format is a little off today. Centered. Heavy font on the first line. Her name in

bold. Just above that it reads; Hi all! I’m short on time tonight, so I thought I’d toss up a
little something I’ve been working on—my memoir! Here’s a sneak peak, but you’ll have
to catch up with me in about five years to read the rest of the juicy details! Smell ya
later! Chow!

Marley Jackson

My Life in Men

The sexual life and times of a college (slutty) coed.

Subject One: The Ancient One i.e. my boss! (Wyatt James)

Quantity and Variety: The Ancient One and I have had a few sparse, non-memorable

encounters. Although the subject had full belief he was able to enforce an assortment of
carnal pleasure, the positions were often contrived and not a lot of energy was put into
the endeavor. (I blame his senior stature!) Unfortunately, I have to F-A-K-E the big O
every single time just to convince myself that he cares enough that I have one. His body
isn’t up to par due to his advanced age, and his man parts are definitely lacking. Can you
say twig and marbles? Even in my inexperience I understand that he isn’t up to the
challenge, but a part of me wants to believe things will get better. Newsflash! I also
believe in unicorns!

Positives: He could be tenacious once things get going—that is, if he can keep it up.
Negatives: He expends said tenacious energy on trying to work whatever position best

pleasures him. Can you say selfish old coot? I knew this was a one-sided affair from the
first night he took me to his place.

On a scale of one to ten (one being a mental plea for my virginity) I give this subject

a negative five. The Ancient One is totally unaware of how vitally he sucketh at the art of
lovemaking. It’s comical to think he can make a career of this if need be. Speaking of
careers, I hope I don’t get fired!

“What the hell is this?” My heart sinks like a lead brick, and I fight the urge to vomit it

out.

“Sorry, dude. I don’t know what to say. I’ve already called human resources and made

sure her security pass has been disabled. You’re safe here. She’s not allowed in the
building.”

“Got it.” I’m stunned as shit. As much as I’d love to defend Marley, that lecture Monica

gave me about coeds banging ancient dudes comes to mind. “What the fuck is going on?”
I muse out loud as I frantically scroll the article for clues.

“It looks to me like you met up with some horny teen. You sure she’s legal? Are you

going to need a lawyer? I’ve got a good one on retainer if you feel the need.”

“I don’t need a lawyer.” The last thing I need to do is lawyer-up because a coed

managed to land me horizontal. Not just any coed, the one I was starting to think was
mine. I pick up my phone and flip it in my hand, over and over, debating whether or not
to put in a call. “And yes, she’s of age. She’s…” God, is she? I’m drawing a blank. I can’t

remember her age to save my life.

“You think you were set up? You think she’s after assets?”
“No.” Although she did spend an awful lot of time lamenting her financial woes in the

beginning. “You think she wants money?” I’m stumped by the idea.

“Either that or she likes what you’ve got in the bedroom.” He tweaks his neck. “But

according to that article…”

Marley’s words come back to me crystal clear. “She was just using me.” I try to shrug

it off. I told her she’d fall in love with me and that was her response. She was being
honest, and I was too hopped up on the fact she wanted to bed me to listen. “Fuck.” I rub
the shit out of my eyes trying to wake from this nightmare. “You can leave now.”

My phone buzzes. A text from Marley. We need to talk.
I hold it up to Ryder, and he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t talk without my attorney

present. Tread lightly.” He offers up a one-sided fist bump as he takes off.

In a meeting. I text back before Ryder clears the doorway so technically I’m not

lying. I may be a lousy fuck, but I am not a liar. I close my eyes a moment too long.

This can’t be happening.
I pick up my phone again and stare at it a good long time.
There is one woman I’m suddenly anxious to talk to. I run my finger over her name

and wait for her to pick up.

Monica.
“I’m so sorry,” she says out of breath. “I’ve already contacted administrators to have it

taken off the paper’s homepage, but I’m afraid there isn’t a thing I can do regarding the
print addition.”

“So I guess this is when you tell me you were right.”
“I did say be careful, but I had no idea you were swimming with piranhas. Your name

was printed in black and white. I think you have a case.”

“Second piece of legal advice I’ve received today, and it’s not nine in the morning.”
“You want to hit breakfast? I don’t have class, and my office hours aren’t until noon.

What do you say? It’s on me.”

My phone buzzes. It’s another text from Marley.
I’m going to take a wild guess. There is no meeting. Please, Wyatt, we need

to talk. I’m begging you.

“All right. Breakfast it is.” I hang up with Monica, wishing it were Marley instead.
I’m pretty sure it won’t be Marley ever again.

A week strokes by. Then two. April shows up then starts to fade. Marley tried desperately
to get in contact with me, but my ego was too jacked up to face her. I’ve avoided the
Black Bear like the plague—missed about six of Blake’s performances. Took a seven-day
trip to New York to visit my dad, Piper, and Cade in the event I want to relocate. I went
to Vale with Monica and helped close out her father’s estate. She’s kept after me, chasing
me down in darkened alleyways after midnight, begging me to gift her a piece of my
ancient selfish ass, but I keep refusing. Then one far too sober afternoon it occurs to me
that she might be just what I need—someone equally as ancient as me.

Marley is my past. And, apparently, the only way to forget her is to fuck that girl right

out of my head.

It’s after eight when I call Monica to ask if I can swing by. She meets my proposition

with an enthusiastic yes, so I line my pocket with condoms and head out like I’m going to
a funeral.

“Well, hey, good looking,” she sings, leaning seductively against the door, and, for a

split second I want to run like hell.

Wasn’t there a very good reason that Mon and I didn’t work? I’m starting to think

there’s a very good reason anyone and I really won’t work.

Marley blinks before my eyes hot as a flash fire. In my throes of achingly desperate

heartbreak I’ve reasoned enough that I would gladly let her use me again. I would have,
too, but she put my name in that damn paper—humiliated me in ways I didn’t even know
I could feel shame. This is serious. It’s time to stop dicking around with little girls and
take another hard look at grown women—women who don’t play games, like Monica.

“Mommy!” A tiny voice calls from the back. “I want juice!”
“Ugh!” She lets out a mean growl. “Stay in bed!” she threatens. “I’m bringing you

water.” She shakes her head at me. “Kids. It’s a medical condition that takes eighteen
years before it alleviates itself,” she teases, heading to the kitchen. “Make yourself at
home. I’ll be right back.” Monica looks over her shoulder at me as her tongue makes a
slow revolution over her lips. “Feel free to take off your coat, your shoes—all of it if you
want.”

“Will do.” All of it? She’s got two little boys in the back who I’m sure would be scared

shitless if they saw me walking around in the nude let alone pumping myself into their
mother. Nope. This little misadventure will have to take place behind closed and locked
doors. I’ll put off the disrobing until then.

I hop up and head over to her bedroom. What the hell. Maybe I’ll surprise her naked

beneath the sheets. I give my tie a quick tug as I make my way down the hall. A pair of
double doors sit open, so I head on over. It’s a whiteout in here, not a drop of color in
any direction.

I take a seat on the edge of the king-sized bed. I’m not so much nervous to open an

old can of worms as I am dreading the aftereffect. She’ll want to get serious. A girl like
Monica, a mother, isn’t looking for a fuck buddy to occupy her time. She’s not writing an
article or a memoir that I know of. If she has her way, those will be my stepsons she’s
tucking into bed. Maybe they are. I sink back on my elbows and eye the sterile furniture.
Her nightstand is impeccably bare whereas mine is littered with condoms—freeze-framed
from that last night Marley spent with me as a memorial to what an idiot I’ve been all
along.

I lean over and peer into the top drawer. Swear to God, if I see a condom, a vibrator

for that matter, I might actually be impressed.

A pile of old papers sits prominent. Probably essays she needs to grade.
Just as I’m shutting the drawer, Marley’s signature catches my eye.
“What the…” I pluck out the small stack. “Shit.” Photocopy after photocopy of the legal

document I drew up for Marley stares back at me.

“Here you are!” Monica jumps into the bedroom and closes the doors behind her. “I

think someone is anxious to get down to business—” Her mouth drops open when she
sees the incriminating bullshit in my hand. Incriminating of what I’m not sure.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?”
“I was just curious.” Her hands ride up to her lips—something she does when she’s

nervous—nervous because she’s just been caught. “I had taken your briefcase that night
at the bar. It was stupid. I shouldn’t have copied it.”

“Then why did you do it?” Just when I didn’t think I could feel any more indignity my

barometer goes up a notch.

“The truth?” She closes her eyes and dispels a heavy breath. “I thought you might

come by to get your briefcase, and I didn’t know if I’d have a chance to go over it.”

“Keeping it around for some light reading?”
“I wanted to see what you were getting yourself into. I swear I was going to burn it. I

just never got around to it.”

“Did you have anything to do with that article?” For the first time in weeks, I’m

starting to open up to other possibilities, other people to blame, and my adrenaline
skyrockets because finally there seems to be a resolution to this nightmare that I can sink
my teeth into.

“No.” She spits it out emphatic, so convincingly she kills my building buzz.
“I’m not so sure.” I take the paperwork and head out the door.
Every part of me screams go home, but I head over to Whitney Briggs, instead.
There’s a coed I think I’m finally ready to speak with.

C L A I M T O F A M E , W A L K O F

S H A M E

M A RL E Y

nnie keeps murmuring I love you into the phone to Blake. If she says no, you hang

up, one more time I’m going to take her phone and plunge it into the toilet. I couldn’t
care less about the plumbing in Prescott Hall. I get it. Annie and Blake are happy. Baya
and Bryson are happy. Izzy and Holt are happy, blah, blah, blah. And they will all live
annoyingly happily ever after. And here I sit broken and alone—let’s not forget cursed.

A gentle knock erupts at the door. Annie and I both freeze and stare at one another as

if a serial killer just arrived in the most polite manner. It’s probably just Baya. I jump up
and look through the peephole.

A familiar, vexingly sexy, hotter-than-a-house-fire face of a man stands on the other

end, and I can’t catch my breath.

“Oh, my, God!” I hiss to Annie. “It’s him! It’s Wyatt!” I shoo her into the bathroom,

and she’s happy to comply.

“Who is it?” I try to play it cool as if a stranger knocking on the door at ten-thirty is

just something we live with here on campus.

“It’s me, Wyatt.” He rumbles low, and my hand touches the door as if it were his skin.
There are so many things I want to say, so much went wrong so fast. I have a feeling

there aren’t enough words in the dictionary to convey how much hurt I’ve caused him—
even if it wasn’t me who published that stupid article. I have my suspicions, namely an ex
who I happened to have emasculated less than twenty-four hours prior to the debacle,
but he’s been just as good at denying it as I am.

“Can I come in?” Wyatt’s warm voice vibrates through the door.
I want to say yes! I want to fling the door open and ravage him, but something in me

hesitates. Maybe letting him in is just another error in a long line of mistakes. I’ve already
caused him so much pain. I’m horrified at what’s happened between us.

My finger clasps the knob, and I crack it open slowly.
“Do you come brandishing weapons?” I see him for the first time with the naked eye,

in what feels like forever, and that sweet spot between my legs pulsates in response. A
heavy groan rises up my throat, but I forcibly swallow it down. Wyatt James is gorgeous

in a way that makes my bones ache.

“Not unless you count my smile.” He pushes out an easy grin that dissipates as quick

as it came.

“Come in,” I whisper, stepping aside as his woodsy cologne saturates my senses.
He turns to say something, but I stop him. My arms find themselves wrapped around

his body like some autonomic response I can no more control than breathing.

Wyatt. His hard body is pressed against mine, solid and warm, alive—his beating

heart thumping over mine like a prayer.

I pull back, my vision blurred with tears. “I didn’t do that to you, Wyatt. I would never

in a million years do something so deplorable. That was Will. He took what I wrote and
changed the details. That was his name, not yours. I don’t know how he published it, but
he must have stolen my password. It was easy enough for him to hack. I swear to you, I
would never dare hurt you like that. I would never say those horrible things about you.
I’m sorry for all the pain I’ve caused.”

Wyatt’s eyes explode in crimson tacks. “So am I subject number two?” He gives a wry

smile.

“Yes.” I swallow hard, glancing down at our conjoined chests a moment. “And no. I’ve

decided to scrap the memoir. I don’t plan on expanding my database any further,” I
whisper that last part, thick with shame.

“Okay.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I just wanted to let you know I found a

copy of our contract in Monica’s house.”

“Who’s Monica?” An entire array of girls scroll through my mind, but I still can’t seem

to place the name.

“Professor Nicholson. We used to date. We were pretty serious.”
I pull back a notch as my mouth drops open. “It all makes sense. And here I thought

she hated me for no reason.” I shake my head. “She’s been saying these snippy things to
me all semester. Wait—why would she have a copy of the contract?”

Oh, God. I bet Wyatt has penned a million of those demented documents. No wonder

he came up with it so quickly. He was simply pulling it out of the drawer—using some
boilerplate contract he outlined years ago.

I clear my throat. “Just how many of these documents have you been party to?” No

wonder he voluntarily had himself tested for STDs. It was probably a routine visit!

His chest bucks with a silent laugh. “Just the one with you, sweetheart.” He says it a

little more curt than expected. “Monica took my briefcase by mistake one night at the
Black Bear. She rifled through it and made herself a copy for God knows what reason—
bedtime reading.” He winces. “I don’t know what’s going on.” A pained smile comes and
goes. “All I know is that I miss you fiercely, Marley. I miss you so much it hurts more than

I can stand. And, on top of that, I’m not sure what to believe.”

My breathing picks up until I’m panting right over him. His mouth is so close it’s like

holding back a granite wall not to kiss him.

“I swear on all that is holy I didn’t publish that horrible article.”
Wyatt bears into my eyes as if vetting me for an inkling of dishonesty. I’d swear on my

mother’s precious life, on a pile of Bibles that stack to the moon if he wanted me to.

“Okay, Marley.” He gives a single nod. “I think I need to go and clear my head.”
“Please don’t go. I can’t stand to be apart from you. Without you in my life, every day

feels barren—empty. I can’t bear another hollow hour. I need you in my life, Wyatt. I’m
begging you, don’t shut me out.” There. For once in my life I shed my feelings—easy as
breeching a dam. Now if only he accepts what I had to say, we can finally move on. And
that would be a miracle. Nothing ends well for me—ever. I’m not sure why I thought this
might be the exception.

“Thank you for those words.” Wyatt rubs his thumb over my cheek with a pained look

in his eyes as if he were trying to wipe away some incurable wound. “I needed to hear
them. I think I’d better go and try to figure things out. How about we meet tomorrow
afternoon? We can go for a hike near the Witch’s Cauldron?”

“Yes.” A flood of relief takes over as I exhale for the first time in weeks. “I would love

that.” My arms cinch around his body ten times tighter than before. My lips demand to
crash to his, but I hesitate. If I start I won’t know how to stop. I want to do everything
right, and if that means waiting until tomorrow to lose myself in Wyatt then so be it.

He gives a careful nod as if agreeing before heading out into the night.
He’s back.
Wyatt is back in my life, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of the

catastrophe that put a wedge between us—even if it means getting kicked out of Whitney
Briggs.

“

What good is another article going to do?” Annie keeps pace with Baya and me as we

head to class. “And, I’m sorry to remind you, but they kicked you off the paper.”

“I know, I know. I just think I need to get my side of the story out there somehow.

You know, balance the scales.”

“Yes, but how? And is balancing the scales really necessary? Does Wyatt care one way

or another?”

“I care. I’m going to wallpaper this place with copies. One thing I don’t care about is if

the Dean himself gives me the boot. It sucks that Wyatt’s good name—not to mention

perfectly good and fully capable body—were waylaid into something so awful.”

“There she is!” Baya freaks out at the sight of Professor Nicholson. I made it clear that

I felt the need to confront her.

“Here goes nothing.” I speed over just before she heads into class. “Excuse me?”
She turns abruptly, and the smile slides from her face once she spots me.
“Can I help you?” Her eyes sweep over my body from top to bottom. There’s an

arrogance about her that would make it easy for me to hate her, but, knowing that Wyatt
once loved her, I don’t have the heart to do it. I don’t need to imagine how much it hurts
to lose him—I already know.

“Would you mind if we talked?”
“That’s what office hours are for.” She pushes on toward class, and I block her before

she hits the door.

“I know you have a copy of a very sensitive legal document of mine in your home—

without my permission or Wyatt’s.”

“Is that what this is about?” She huffs out a laugh as if it were a minute detail.

“Listen, I was merely protecting a friend. You can call off the faux legal team.” Her gaze
drips down my body with a look that says I’m better than you in so many ways. But she’s
wrong because for one, I would never make copies of someone else’s sensitive
information, and, two, it’s me who Wyatt is interested in, or at least he was. “Besides”—
her expression sours—“I don’t have it anymore. He took it with him.”

“Did you have anything to do with the article that was published in the school paper?”

I’m not sure why I went there other than the fact I feel the intense need to scratch all
suspects off the list, and, up until last night, I had no idea she was a person of interest.

She blinks back in surprise as if I just coldcocked her. And, judging by her response,

she didn’t have a thing to do with it. A part of me wishes she did so I could pin her self-
righteous ass to the wall.

“How dare you accuse me of something so wretched,” she seethes out the words,

corrosive as acid. “And how dare you use a wonderful man for your own advances. It’s
despicable. Wyatt deserves someone so much better than that.”

“And that would be you?” A part of me wants to laugh in her face. I could never see

Wyatt with someone so black-hearted, so jealous over a student that she’d use her
authority to put her down.

“It was me once.” She looks past me into some unknowable world where she’s still

with the man of my dreams. “It can be again.” Her eyes dart to mine. “It will be.” She
heads into class, and I’m slow to follow.

It will be? She seems pretty confident. Wyatt didn’t stay last night. He said he needed

to think about things. Maybe she was one of those things.

A pinch of jealousy ignites through me like wild fire. I wish I didn’t care. I wish I never

hung my heart out on the line just to have someone like her hack it to pieces. This is
exactly why love sucks so damn bad. If you’re not careful, it will gut you when you least
expect it. It always does me.

Baya and Will sit huddled in the corner, and I head over to join them.
“Rags to Riches has filled two hundred orders in the last week and a half alone.” Will

offers a fist bump, but I don’t meet him. “Hey, we’re making bank. Thanks to my app
we’ve tripled sales. In the last three days it’s brought in sixty percent of sales. So pull
that stick out of your ass.” He reverts his attention back to his laptop. “Look, I’m sorry
things have gone to shit for you. I don’t know what else you want me to say. I told you I
didn’t do it.”

“Who else would have access to my passwords?”
“I don’t know, but I suggest you make them a little harder to guess.” His fingers stab

into the keyboard as if he were genuinely frustrated with my lack of belief in whatever
spews from his lips.

Baya scratches her nails softly over my hand like petting a cat. “Who else could

possibly know you that intimately?”

“My mother. Jemma.” I pause a moment considering this. “She is a wild card, but I

doubt she’d ever do something so low, plus she loves the idea of me with Wyatt.” I
wrinkle my nose toward Will as a semi-apology. Not sure why I feel I owe him one
because I don’t. After all, he cheated on me with my own partial relation, Cat… “Cat
Alice.” I slam my hand down over the table so hard, half the room jumps to attention.
“She did this, didn’t she?” I glare at Will.

He tips his head back and closes his eyes.
“That’s all the confirmation I need.” I pull my things together and bolt out of my seat.
“I didn’t say shit!” Will calls after me. “I’m fucking Switzerland!”
Coward.
Coward’s are Switzerland.

I send Jemma a 911 text, and she tracks down Cat Alice to the Chicken Fried Filet.
Jemma is a freaking sleuth when she needs to be. She managed to bust those cheating
ex’s of hers all by her lonesome. Hey, she should totally consider this as a side business!
Jemma’s Cheatin’ Hearts Club. I bet she’d make a killing—from the ex’s begging her not
to divulge any info.

By the time I show up at the restaurant, Jemma is already inside.

God. I give a slight wave to my sister. I can practically see the steam coming from her

ears. Her fists are planted solid into her hips, and, judging by the leather pants and
chains wrapped around her waist, she looks as if she’s about to help me take on Cat Alice
in a good old fashioned beat down. I hope she left the brass knuckles at home. When I
gifted her those last Christmas, it was tongue-in-cheek. The only reason I was able to
purchase those more-than-slightly illegal baubles is because they were labeled as
paperweights. Hopefully the only thing Jemma is guilty of so far is putting in an order for
a chicken fried burger. I’d hate to give Cat Alice the leg up by giving her a chance to
prepare for my wrath. I want to catch her off guard, throw her off balance, then kick her
in those perfectly veneered teeth of hers while she’s on her knees. After all, that’s her
favorite position. She didn’t get the nickname “Bob” for nothing.

“Morning sunshine!” Mom is the first to both catch me off guard and greet me. I didn’t

even see her when I walked in. Had I known she were here, I would have rethought this
scenario, but, it’s too late, my blood is pumping, and my fingers are twitching to skin a
cat alive.

All I can see is red and Jemma, never a good combination. I give a quick glance

around as if coming to. The dining room is sparse with patrons. It’s a wonder this place
stays in business, but, for the sake of my mother, I hope they do.

“Morning,” I chirp trying to act casual. The reality is, Will most likely already gave Cat

the head’s up.

“What’s it going to be?” Cat Alice snarls into the keyboard as she types in her cashier

code. She looks her usual ornery self. Her dark berry lipstick looks caustic against her
ashen skin. Her hair is spun up in a beehive, and her eyes are lined thick with black kohl.
Cat Alice is sporting her signature raccoon look, still trying to make vermin the new trend
in face fashion. Scratch that, she is vermin. Suddenly everything makes so much sense.
Her fingernail polish is badly chipped, and she’s sporting a chipped front tooth to match.
That permanent scowl is plastered to her face, and just the sight of her turns my
stomach.

If I ever need to engage in some serious weight loss, I’ll simply tape Cat’s picture to

the fridge. I’d lose my appetite for weeks. In fact, maybe I should start that up as a
business venture—the Cat Alice diet. Just stare into her cold countenance for thirty
seconds at mealtime, and be amazed at how quickly your appetite vanishes! But don’t
look too long into her dead, wicked gaze—she might steal your soul.

So this is what Will really wanted. I take a breath and try not to judge. Cat Alice is an

asshole, but for reasons that stem from her personality, not her unfortunate looks.

“Well?” She snarls at me in her routine manner, so it’s hard to be properly offended.

“What’s it going to be?”

“It’s going to be a confrontation.” My chest expands as if prepping for a fight.
“That’s right!” Jemma is quick to jump beside me, shoulder to shoulder, in a show of

sisterly solidarity.

“What’s going on?” Mom says it with the smile still frozen on her face, but her eyes let

us know she’s morbidly concerned.

“Did you publish that article about Wyatt in the school paper?” I shoot the words out

like bullets, point blank.

A steady breath pushes from Cat’s cheeks as if she were expiring the air from an old

tire.

“I can’t believe this.” A spike of anger sirens through me, violent as a lava burst. I

jump over the counter, screaming, as I dig my hands in that rat’s nest she calls hair. My
knee finds its way into her gut as I claw at her like an animal.

A couple of men from the kitchen rush out and pull us apart as I swing mercilessly in

her direction.

“You bitch!” I roar so loud my voice rubs raw. “You can’t have anything for yourself, so

you decide to take everything away from me!”

“Is this true?” Mom barks so loud everything stills around us.
Cat Alice heaves out of breath as she releases herself from the stronghold the cook

has on her.

“You called me a slut!” She wags her finger in my face. “You said Will would never go

for anyone like me! Why should I let you get away with everything? Yes, you stole Will
from me, only you were too stupid to realize it!”

“What?” Do I need to slap her back to reality? “He dated me for two years!”
“He dated me first! And—he came back night after night. I was so fucking mad that

day you had it out with the two of us. Who do you think you are speaking to me that
way? You needed a fucking lesson, and I made sure I was the one to give it to you. You
don’t get to call me whatever the hell you like, Marley. What exactly are the rules here?
You get to be an asshole, and the rest of us have to sit back and take it?”

“Will cheated on me! You helped him! He slept with you while he was sleeping with

me! I’m your cousin!” I bury my finger in my chest. “We were best friends! Honest to God,
if you don’t get it, you’re an idiot! You should have known better. You are the asshole
here, not me. And, not to mention—you tried to ruin Wyatt. He’s a great person, and he
never deserved what you did.” I give a brief nod to my mother. “She had to go the extra
mile and hack into my personal account at the paper. She stole private property from my
laptop and reworded it to ruin my relationship with the only man I have ever loved!”

I slap my hand over my mouth as soon as the words slip out. I wanted the first time I

verbally acknowledged my love for Wyatt to be to him. It should have been Wyatt who

heard those words first.

“Oh, sweetie,” Mom softens toward me. “You love him?” Her eyes moisten with tears

as she melts at the idea.

“Yes, I do.” A ball of pain fists in my throat. “And Cat Alice destroyed everything we

had.”

“I don’t want to be like this.” Cat pulls off her apron and takes a step forward. “As

soon as I hit publish I tried to take it down, but the article was locked. I knew I went too
far, but I couldn’t help it. I’m sick of coming in second. All Will ever talks about is how he
wants you back—how wonderful it is just to see you at school. He even asked if I would
mediate, so the two of you could reconcile.”

“And is that what you were doing the day I saw you swapping spit? Putting together a

game plan to get Will and I back together?”

Her gaze drops to her feet. “He wanted to break things off for good—stay friends. I

tried to convince him otherwise.”

“Alice”—Mom pulls her in—“that boy isn’t worth your time. Do yourself a favor, and let

him go once and for all.” Her chin dips. That I’m-about-to-send-you-to-your-room look
takes over. “Apologize to Marley and mean it. Family doesn’t deserve to be treated that
way.”

Cat Alice steps in and tries to pick up my hands, but I pull them back like retracting

from a fire.

“I’m sorry, Mars. I’m really sorry,” she hiccups. “It was stupid and immature, and I

think I owe your boss an apology, too. Please tell him I’m so very sorry.”

“Ex boss, thank you very much. Thanks to you, I’m standing in the unemployment line

once again. Not to mention the fact I’ve been permanently removed from the paper.”

She covers her face a moment and sobs silently. “I’m sorry.” She looks up from

between her fingers, sniffing with her bloodshot eyes.

“You might be sorry, but that doesn’t change the fact my life has been reduced to

shrapnel.”

“Please forgive me.” Her hands fold together as if she’s tossing up a prayer.
“I forgive you. But right now I don’t want anything to do with you. I need some

serious space.”

I say goodbye to my mother and head out of the dining room.
“Marley.” Jemma speeds over with her hair whipping in the wind like a flaxen

tumbleweed. “You did good in there.” Her thumb pulls across my cheek as if wiping away
tears. “As sorry as she seems, I think you did the right thing to cut her scraggly ass loose.
And don’t you dare let me catch you back with that boy. Him I’ll kick straight to the
Atlantic.”

“No chance in that happening.” A mean shiver runs through me as the hard granite of

the mountain falls over the city with its shadow. “There’s another boy I have my sights
set on. I’m just hoping we can still be friends.” I couldn’t push Wyatt’s name through that
boulder of pain lodged in my throat. Cat may have done this, but indirectly I feel
responsible for all the shame I’ve caused him.

“Friends?” Jemma clicks her tongue. “I don’t believe in friends like that.” She plucks

out a cigarette and lights it as if the mere thought of Wyatt mandated some carcinogenic
relief. “Hon, I’m begging you to give love a shot.”

“I was willing to give it a shot before Cat blew it out of my hands. I was going to tell

him that I loved him that very day.” I sag when I say it, and a dull laugh bubbles from me
in disbelief. “Do you ever feel like the universe is against you when it comes to that four
letter word? Did we tell Cupid to fuck off when we were kids?”

She waves away the idea. “Hon, I believe you make your own luck when it comes to

who you drag between the sheets. That man loves you. I’ve seen the way he swoons
over you like there’s no other woman in the room.” She touches my hand with her pinky,
dusting me with ashes in the process. “Now that’s something I’ve never had before. I
think when I grow up I wanna be you.”

My phone buzzes. It’s Wyatt.
Ready for that hike?
I smile at the screen, happy to have this little part of him—now to get the rest.
Ready and willing. Meet me at Prescott Hall? My body tingles and warms as if

it’s coming back to life after a long hibernation.

He texts right back. Be there in ten.
“I’d better go.” I pull Jemma into a long, strong hug.
“Don’t be afraid to share your feelings, hon. Sometimes a little honesty can take you

right where you want to be. Trust me. Your big sister knows best.”

In this instance, I truly believe it with all my heart.
Time to share a few feelings.
Hopefully Wyatt and I can mend both our hearts—together.

Wyatt drives us up the winding switchbacks that lead to the crest trail lined by a heavy
stream. We drive just past the Witch’s Cauldron and hop out, the cool mountain air filling
our lungs with springtime. The sun kisses my shoulders with a deep warmth I haven’t felt
in months, so I opt to leave my jacket in the car. There isn’t a drop of snow on the
ground as wildflowers push through the earth, peppering the landscape with color. The

evergreens sway in the breeze as their needles sizzle against the clear blue sky.

Wyatt and I didn’t say much on the drive up. It didn’t feel like us, the old us. But I’ll

gladly take the new us if that’s what we’ve morphed into. I’ll take any part of Wyatt that
he’s willing to give me. I’ll be his friend, his hiking buddy, the girl who carries his
groceries. I’ll be anything Wyatt will allow me to be so long as I get to be in his life again.

“You ready to do this?” He offers that killer grin as he glances at the trail, and my

heart warms. Wyatt can light me up on the inside with his smile alone.

“I’m ready to do anything with you.” I bat my lashes before blinking into my right

mind. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” I don’t think we’re at that level in our
relationship anymore. I don’t know if we ever will be.

“Hey, it’s okay.” His arm finds it’s way around my waist. “I want you to be yourself

around me. I like that.” He squints with a pained expression. “I like the playful version of
you, Marley. You bring out the best in me,” he says it sober with a touch of sadness, and
I want to thank him for not phrasing that last sentence in the past tense. “Let’s head on
up.”

Wyatt and I walk hand in hand up the dusty trail, outlined with wild lavender laden

with bees. We hit the crest and find a bench that holds a view of all of Jepson down
below. It’s stunning. Breathtaking. And it reminds me of something I can’t quite put my
finger on.

Then it hits me. “I think Annie mentioned she and Blake like to come here.”
“Is this their special place?”
“I think so. It’s so beautiful. It should be someone’s special place.”
He gives my hand a gentle squeeze as if agreeing with the idea.
We find a seat on the bench, and Wyatt scoots in close, his lips pressed tight with that

same pained smile. Here it is, our big moment of reconciliation—or at least that’s what
I’m hoping.

“I’m sorry,” we both say at the same time.
“Why are you sorry?” I’m shocked at first, then, in an unsettling moment, I think

maybe he’s officially breaking things off with me. A sincere rejection usually starts off
with those exact words.

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear you out,” he continues. “That I put so much credence in what

Monica had to say.” He closes his eyes as remorse saturates his features.

“Can I ask what she said? I already know she’s not my biggest fan.”
“She said…” He touches his hand to the back of his neck pausing a moment. “She said

coeds—sorority girls, play a game where they bed older men. I believe the term she used
was ancient. So when the article came out, and I saw the buzzword, I panicked. I thought
I’d been had.”

“Oh, my, God.” I drop my head in my hands. This can get worse. “When I wrote that,

my version, I listed Subject One as Ancient History. It was Will. Will is Ancient History.
Anyway”—I give a hard sniff into my knuckles—“Cat Alice admitted to rewriting and
uploading the article. She said she was very sorry and to extend her apologies.” Like that
makes everything better.

“Really?” His head inches back as pissed as I was when I found out. “Why in the hell

did she do it?”

“She’s hurt. Will hurt her. I hurt her. We had a huge blowout the prior afternoon. She

said she regretted it the minute she hit publish—but apparently not enough to take it
down. She changed my password, making sure I couldn’t. And—I’ve since been kicked off
the paper, so I’ll have to find another way to make amends to you.”

“Please don’t.” Wyatt gently pulls me over, and I settle into his lap.
My body molds to his chest as he warms my back. My eyes close just soaking in the

feeling of Wyatt’s body so intimately touching mine.

“This feels like home.” I nuzzle into his neck, so close to his lips I’m trembling for

them.

“It feels better than home.” He drops a hot kiss to the top of my head. “It was wrong

of me to refuse to hear you out.” He pulls back until we’re facing one another again.
“Marley, please forgive me. I swear I will never let anything else, no matter how
shocking”—his eyes widen a moment because we’ve sort of hit the ceiling at shocking
—“come between us.”

“You mean there’s still an us?”
His eyes settle over mine focused and sharp as lasers. “There is if you want there to

be.”

“I do.” Tears come too quick for me to blink them away. “But about that contract—”
“It’s history.” He touches his cheek to mine a moment, and the temptation to kiss him

grows like a wild fire. “I want something deeper. Something real. I want that with you,
Marley—nobody else.”

“That’s what I want—exactly that.”
“So our age difference doesn’t bother you?”
Is he kidding?
“What age difference?” I’m serious. It’s like we’re one and the same.
“Good.” His chest rumbles beneath me as he sheds a silent laugh. “I want forever with

you, Marley. Will you be my forever?”

“Yes! God yes.” I smooth my thumbs over his cheeks. “Can I kiss you now?”
“There’s one more thing.” His Adam’s apple shoots up and down as he examines me

pressed against the sky. “Damn, you’re beautiful. I want to say something that I haven’t

told another woman since my mother died.”

“Oh?” A part of me demands to be terrified, but it’s impossible to feel that way when

I’m with Wyatt. “I’m flattered already. Should I be?”

“Yes.” He pulls me in tight with a laugh caught in his throat. “Maybe. What I’ve been

dying to say since before any of this transpired”—his petal green eyes press into mine
with a tenderness that melts me like snow—“Marley, I love you.” The whites of his eyes
glisten in the light as tears come—“I’m madly, insanely, deeply, unapologetically in love
with you.” He tilts his head back and shouts, “I love Marley Jackson!” The sound of his
voice echoes from the mountaintop, rioting all the way to the sky. He dots my neck with
a kiss. “I love you, Marley. What we had was lightning in a bottle, and I want it all back.
You’re mine. I need you every day. I need you in my bed, in my heart, in my life. For the
first time in so long I feel whole again. I haven’t felt this way since I was a kid.”

“Since your mother passed away.” I nod into him, tears streaming down my face, hot

and wild. “Wyatt, I love you, too.” I touch my lips to his and press in without anything
more. “I was going to tell you the night before everything fell apart, and we sort of got a
little crazy beneath the sheets. It’s safe to say, you wore me out.”

He tweaks his brows, proud of the fact. “That’s something you can get used to.”
“I really do love you.” My finger glides over his lips. “I have never meant those words

more in my life.” I dig my fingers through his hair and draw him close.

Wyatt sinks his mouth over mine, and in an instant devours me. His tongue runs wild,

moving his affection through me like an unstoppable bullet train.

God, I’ve missed this.
I’ve missed Wyatt like a man dying in the desert misses water. And, here he is,

delivering the life-giving spring straight into my mouth.

The urge to giggle takes over, and I don’t fight it. I pull back and take in this beautiful

man with dark hair and dimples that had me edging out of my mind the first time I saw
him at the Black Bear. He’s all mine.

“I guess this means we’re officially in love.” I graze over his cheek with my teeth.
“And we always will be.”
Wyatt and I fall into a kiss that seals our newfound affection in a way that words could

never convey. His deep throated kisses, the soft tender lashings of his tongue, the
passion-fueled frenzy as we take one another in with rabid impatience—it all shouts I
love you from the top of the mountain, echoing loud and clear right down to our souls.

W Y A T T

arley and I make a quick stop at her dorm to pick up a few things. I’ve convinced

her to spend the night—actually, no convincing was necessary. Marley is one hundred
percent on board with staying over.

“You mind if we hit the Black Bear? Blake is playing tonight.” I round my hand over

the wheel. “Plus, I sort of want to show you off.” My lips fidget with a smile, but I try not
to give it.

“By all means.” She leans in and gives the hair just above my neck a quick tug. “And

I’m about to do the same. Be ready to be claimed once and for all, Wyatt James. And
don’t think for one minute I’m above peeing a circle around you once those sorority girls
start trolling. I’ve seen the way they look at you. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if I have to
throw my naked body over you just to protect you.”

“Naked?”
“Yeah, well, I figure it’ll give them less to grip when they’re trying to tear me away.”
A dark laugh rumbles from me. “I’ll be holding you too tight to ever let that happen.”
We park and head inside. It’s a body-to-body kind of night. I’m sure there’s a fire code

or two being overlooked, but everyone has a drink in their hand, so the bar is happy.

“Wyatt, my man!” A hard slaps emits over my back, and I turn to find Bryson and his

wife, Baya.

“What’s going on?” I offer up a light sock to the arm.
“What is going on?” Baya’s eyes widen as she inspects my arm around Marley’s waist.

“Everything okay?”

Marley pecks a kiss over my cheek. “More than okay. I think we’ve finally straightened

everything out.”

“I’m so glad.” Baya tears up as if she’s been rooting for us the entire time. It’s nice to

know that maybe she has been. That maybe she sensed Marley and I belonged together
before we did.

Annie and Blake head over with Ryder and Laney by their side.
“Dude.” Blake offers up a knuckle bump. “I’d better get on stage, but I wanted to say

I’m glad to see you two together.”

“Are you two together?” Annie whispers to Marley apprehensively.
“We’re most definitely together,” I say, dropping a kiss to Marley’s temple. “I’m in love

with this woman right here.”

“Aww!” Baya and Laney sing in unison.
“You know what I’m in love with?” Ryder takes a quick swig of his beer. “The fact two

of my buddies have started a lucrative business with me.”

It’s true. We had a sit down with a small army of attorneys and made it legal.

Capwell, Edwards, and James Media Services has officially launched onto the scene.

Ryder ticks his head. “I think I have our first intern.” He gives a stern nod toward

Bryson and Baya. “Owen is coming to town.”

Bryson takes a mean breath, expanding his chest wide as a table. “Owen is Aubree’s

brother.” He looks to me as if this might register on some level. “She’s the one who tried
to kill Baya a year and a half ago. Anyway, Owen’s a good guy. I’ve got nothing against
him.”

“Neither do I,” Baya is quick to add.
“My sister, Piper, is coming down this summer. I’m sure she’ll need to keep busy. It

looks like we’ll have two built-in interns.” Piper is going to be a handful, but, even so, I’m
looking forward to having my little sister around fulltime.

“And”—Bryson lifts Baya’s hand between them—“I think we might have a built-in

client.”

Baya shifts her gaze to Marley. “Only if my partner in crime agrees.”
“How can I not?” Marley runs her finger down my tie. “Besides, I have a way of

getting one of the owners to do my bidding.”

I drop a kiss to her lips. “I think we should leave so you can begin to sway me.”
“One song.” Blake flicks my arm before bouncing to the stage.
“This is for my brother and his one true love. I’m glad to see you both so damn

happy.”

I lean in and touch my lips to her ear. “That’s exactly what you are—my one true

love.”

The 12 Deadly Sins start in on an achingly slow song, and the crowd starts to migrate

as people find their dance partners. But I’ve already got mine for life. We make our way
deep into the crowd and slip into one another’s arms. There’s no place I’d rather be.

“Hey, stranger”—I graze over her ear with my teeth—“you still looking for a one-night

stand?”

She shakes her head. “I’m looking for love—and thankfully found it. I think maybe

that’s what I was looking for all along.” Marley wraps her arms around my neck. “You still

have a thing or two to teach me, Professor James?”

“I’ve got a lesson I’m dying to give you.” I grind my hips into hers. “It’s pretty hard.

It’ll need your full attention.”

Marley clasps on tight as we sway to the music. Her hair, her body, the way her eyes

make the world fade to gray—everything about Marley Jackson is poetry in motion. We
dance for what feels like a perfect eternity with her in my arms the way I like it, the way I
need it to be.

“You are amazing.”
Marley mewls like a kitten as her eyes lock with mine. “And you are about to get very,

very lucky.”

“Let’s get out of here.” I clasp her hand as we thread our way through the crowd. My

body has been craving hers for the last few weeks. I almost took her right there on that
hike this afternoon.

We head out into the cool night, the thick scent of cigarettes and beer mingle in the

air.

“Well, look who’s here—together.” A voice gripes from behind.
I turn and spot Monica with a long, black coat wrapped tightly around her. She looks

as if she’s headed to a funeral. Her eyes give me that shifting gaze, the one that says I’m
disappointed in you and sorry all at the same time.

“We are together.” I pull Marley close. No sense in hiding anything. “Look, Monica,

Marley didn’t publish that article. It was a malicious attempt to keep us apart by someone
who was angry with her. And, just so you know, nothing or nobody can possibly achieve
that.” My hard stare, my stern words, they both act as a warning. “One more thing—if
people don’t respect Marley, they don’t respect me.”

“I get it.” She holds up her hands a moment before turning to Marley. “I apologize if

I’ve been anything but civil to you this semester.”

“No apology necessary.” I can feel Marley edging into me as if she wants to bolt to the

parking lot.

“No, it is.” Monica stuffs her hands in her pockets. “I thought we could have

something, Wyatt, but I guess our time has come and gone.”

“I guess it has.” Now it’s me who wants to bolt.
She looks at Marley. “I probably shouldn’t disclose this, since it won’t be official until

next week, but it looks as if Rags to Riches has bypassed the competition by a mile. You
and your teammates will have the prize money to share. Congratulations.”

“Oh, my, God! Ten thousand dollars! I don’t even care that I have to split it with Will!

That’s terrific! I can’t wait to tell Baya.” She touches her hand to her chest. “Thank you
for letting me know.”

Monica gives an uneasy nod. “I really am happy for the two of you. Be good to him. I’ll

be watching,” she whispers, heading into the bar. Something tells me she’s being sincere.
And I’m glad. I wish Monica nothing but the best.

“Let’s go home.” I kiss Marley, twirling her in my arms into the night. “How about after

finals you move to the ranch with me for the summer?”

“Really? Finals are next week!” She jumps and arches her head back as far as it can

go. “Yes! I would love, love, love to move to the ranch with you!”

“I have to warn you, though, I may never let you leave.”
“I may never want to.” She softens into me. “I know I won’t.”
I pick her up and toss her over my shoulder. Marley bubbles with laughter all the way

to the car.

Things are as they should be.
Finally.

Marley sits beneath the sheets with her laptop open as she pecks away at the keyboard.

“What’s up? Working on a paper?” I ask as I bring us both a midnight snack from the

kitchen, more like a 3:00 AM snack. I sneak in a quick 3:00 AM kiss to go with the grapes
and ice cream I managed to excavate from the fridge.

“Oh, just updating some old files. You want to see?” She gives a coy smile.
Her hair is messy. Her makeup slightly smudged just the way I like it. We spent the

last four hours servicing one another, making love like it was our last night on earth, the
first night of the rest of our lives, and it is. It’s going to be a beautiful life with Marley by
my side.

“Yes, I want to see.” I hand feed her a grape as her head bows back. Her neck

elongates to receive it like a goddess, and I’m spellbound. “Let me check it out.”

Marley sets the computer over my lap, and I take it. A dirty grin breaks out over my

face as I take in what’s in front of me.

“Hot damn.”

Marley Jackson

Life With My Man

The sexual life and times of a dedicated girlfriend.

The one and only subject: Wyatt James (e.g. My man!)

Quantity and Variety: My man and I have had many, amazing, mind bending, beautiful

encounters. An assortment of positions are always utilized to ensure maximum and equal
pleasure. (I blame his good looks and huge heart for enticing me into wanting more!)
Fortunately, I never have to fake the big O because he cares enough that I have one. His
body is definitely up to par, and I’m happy to report that none of his man parts are
lacking. Even in my inexperience, I’m well aware that he is far superior to any other male
on this planet. Every part of me understands that, with Wyatt in my life, things will just
keep getting better!

Positives: He is tenacious once things get going—and he keeps it up all night long. He

expends said tenacious energy on trying to work whatever position best pleasures me.
Can you say selfless?! I knew this was the start to a beautiful love affair from the first
night he took me to his place.

Negatives: There are moments we are actually not joined at the hips.
On a scale of one to ten (one being a mental plea for my virginity), I give my man a

thousand and five. Wyatt James is totally aware of how vitally he has mastered the art of
lovemaking. It’s beautiful to think he can make a career of making love, and, fortunately,
his lovemaking will strictly be relegated to me. I plan to keep him gainfully employed.

“I just reworded things a little. You know, a little tweak here and there until it had a

ring of truth. I was going to plaster this all over Whitney Briggs but decided it’s probably
best if this is for your eyes only.” She snuggles into me.

“Agreed.” I press a hot kiss to her forehead and linger.
Marley looks up with those sky-dusted eyes. “I used to think love was for other people

—that I was cursed in that department. I’m happy to say you’ve proven me wrong. Thank
you for that.”

“I used to have the same frame of mind. Thank you.” I place the laptop down and pull

Marley into my arms. I hold a grape before her, and she clasps it between her teeth. “You
own me.” I growl it out, desperate, like a prayer. There is no bigger truth.

“Those are beautiful words. But I might need you to repeat them on a daily basis. At

least for the first twenty years.” She winks, reaching for the ice cream. Her mouth falls
open as she reads the label. “Chocolate with vanilla and peanut butter swirls? I think we
just went from someone loves me to someone is gunning for a blowjob.”

“There’s a reason I didn’t bring any spoons,” I warn, slipping my hand between her

thighs.

“Good.” She takes off the lid and smears the cool peanut butter swirl over my chest.

“We won’t be needing any.”

I take the carton, and we douse each other with the icy contents.

She screams through a laugh, and I cover her mouth with mine.
Marley and I both thought we didn’t deserve love—that it was something reserved for

other people. We each believed we were cursed in that arena. It turns out we not only
deserve love, but found it with each other. There was no curse, just a rocky course to get
to the right person.

Together we’re more than right.
It feels incredible like this, perfect, the way it should be—just Marley and me.

A N O T E F R O M T H E

A U T H O R

hank you for reading Velvet Kisses (3:AM Kisses 6). If you enjoyed this book

please consider leaving a review at your point of purchase. Look for Wild Kisses (3:AM
Kisses 7) Piper and Owen’s story coming soon!

B O O K S B Y A D D I S O N

M O O R E

New Adult Romance

3:AM Kisses (3:AM Kisses 1)

Winter Kisses (3:AM Kisses 2)

Sugar Kisses (3:AM Kisses 3)

Whiskey Kisses (3:AM Kisses 4)

Rock Candy Kisses (3:AM Kisses 5)

Velvet Kisses (3:AM Kisses 6)

Burning Through Gravity (Burning Through Gravity 1)

A Thousand Starry Nights (Burning Through Gravity 2) 2015

Fire in an Amber Sky (Burning Through Gravity 3) 2015

Beautiful Oblivion (Beautiful Oblivion 1)

Beautiful Illusions (Beautiful Oblivion 2)

Beautiful Elixir (Beautiful Oblivion 3) 2015

The Solitude of Passion

Someone to Love (Someone to Love 1)

Someone Like You (Someone to Love 2)

Someone For Me (Someone to Love 3)

Celestra Forever After (Celestra Forever After 1)

The Dragon and the Rose (Celestra Forever After 2)

The Serpentine Butterfly (Celestra Forever After 3) 2015

Perfect Love (A Celestra Novella)

Young Adult Romance

Ethereal (Celestra Series Book 1)

Tremble (Celestra Series Book 2)

Burn (Celestra Series Book 3)

Wicked (Celestra Series Book 4)

Vex (Celestra Series Book 5)

Expel (Celestra Series Book 6)

Toxic Part One (Celestra Series Book 7)

Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 7.5)

Elysian (Celestra Series Book 8)

Ephemeral (The Countenance Trilogy 1)

Evanescent (The Countenance Trilogy 2)

Entropy (The Countenance Trilogy 3)

Ethereal Knights (Celestra Knights)

A C K N O W L E D G M E N T S

There are so many wonderful people to say thank you to. First and foremost to my
dedicated readers who have given me so much wonderful feedback and support regarding
the 3:AM Kisses Series. I hope you enjoyed Marley and Wyatt’s story as much as the
others if not more. A very heartfelt thank you to my amazing street team, Addison’s
Angels! You have no idea what it means to me that you work tirelessly to support my
novels. There simply aren’t enough words to express my gratitude. I heart you all!

Rachel Tsoumbakos you really outshined yourself this time! Thank you for your

spectacular x-ray, proofreading vision. I’m forever in your debt. Christina Kendler, thank
you for putting up with all of my crazy! Please don’t pull your precious hair out because of
me. I’m not worthy! To Kathryn Jacoby my right hand gal! You are a force to be reckoned
with! I’m so glad to have you on my side! A million thank yous would never be enough.

Tabby Coots I can’t thank you enough for all of your enthusiasm! You are amazingly

kind and insightful. Thank you for being such a sweet friend! To Rachel Dicks, thank you
for taking the time to read the manuscript and give me your thoughts! They are always
good ones! And a special thank you to Lisa Markson for all of your incredible support and
generosity. I feel so lucky to know you!

To the fabulous Sarah Freese, thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving me

crucial pieces of advice that helped make Marley and Wyatt’s story a special one. Hugs to
you girl! I feel so blessed to get to work with you!

And last, but never least, thank you to Him who sits on the throne. Worthy is the

Lamb. Glory and honor and power are yours. I owe you everything.

A B O U T T H E

A U T H O R

Addison Moore is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author who writes contemporary and

paranormal romance. Her work has been featured in Cosmopolitan Magazine. Previously she worked as a therapist on a

locked psychiatric unit for nearly a decade. She resides on the West Coast with her husband, four wonderful children, and

two dogs where she eats too much chocolate and stays up way too late. When she's not writing, she's reading.

Feel free to visit her at:

Instagram: http://instagram.com/authoraddisonmoore
Goodreads:

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4096668.Addison_Moore

*Be sure to subscribe to Addison’s mailing list for sneak peeks and updates on all upcoming releases!

http://blogspot.us6.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=75b60ef733&id=b8bbf0dd80

For more information:

@AddisonMoore

140192649382294

addisonmoorewrites.blogspot.com

Document Outline

Copyright
Books by Addison Moore
Untitled
Untitled
Untitled
Untitled
Untitled
Untitled
Untitled
1. One Night Stand-offish
2. Wyatt
3. Man of my Inappropriate Dreams
4. Wyatt
5. Good Vibrations
6. Wyatt
7. I’m with Cupid
8. Wyatt
9. Come One Come All
10. Wyatt
11. What’s Love Got to do With It?
12. Wyatt
13. Claim to Fame, Walk of Shame
14. Wyatt
15. A Note from the Author
Books by Addison Moore
Acknowledgments
About the Author

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