Making Up, an all-new laugh-out-loud romantic comedy standalone from New YorkTimes bestselling author Helena Hunting is coming July 16th and we have a sneak peek!
Cosy Felton is great at her job—she knows just how to handle the awkwardness that comes with working at an adult toy store. So when the hottest guy she’s ever seen walks into the shop looking completely overwhelmed, she’s more than happy to turn on the charm and help him purchase all of the items on his list.
Griffin Mills is using his business trip in Las Vegas as a chance to escape the broken pieces of his life in New York City. The last thing he wants is to be put in charge of buying gag gifts for his friend’s bachelor party. Despite being totally out of his element, and mortified by the whole experience, Griffin is pleasantly surprised when he finds himself attracted to the sales girl that helped him.
As skeptical as Cosy may be of Griffin’s motivations, there’s something about him that intrigues her. But sometimes what happens in Vegas doesn’t always stay in Vegas and when real life gets in the way, all bets are off. Filled with hilariously awkward situations and enough sexual chemistry to power Sin City, Making Up is the next standalone in the Shacking Up world.
Working in an adult toy store is the opposite of glamorous. Sure, I get a fifty-percent discount, which is a real perk, but it doesn’t offset some of the weirdness I have to deal with. Such as Eugene, one of the locals who frequents the shop on a regular basis. He came in this morning and handled all the display toys. He’s mostly harmless, but the silicone fondling is pretty high on the creepy factor. Eventually I told him I had to close up for a few minutes so I could grab lunch. The deli across the street has the best daily specials.
While I wait for my chicken shawarma, I make a mental list of all the things I need to do this afternoon: check the magazines to make sure the pages aren’t stuck together, restock the flavored lube, and wipe down everything Eugene molested with toy cleaner. Once I’ve tackled those less-than-fun chores, I can work on my assignment for my hospitality class, provided I don’t have real customers.
I glance out the window, checking to make sure Eugene isn’t loitering around in front of the store, waiting to be let back in. Sometimes he’ll stop by more than once during my shift. He’s not there—thank God—but there’s a black sports car parked in the lot. It looks nice and possibly expensive, which might mean an actual customer who will spend money.
Loki, the cashier at the deli, hands me my drinks and shawarma.
“Thanks! Have a great day!”
“You too,” Loki says to my chest.
As I leave the store, I see a man in a suit reading the sign I taped to the door. I don’t want to miss a potential customer, so I take a deep breath and mentally shift gears, putting on my best sales-person mask. I have to pretend to be a completely different person when I deal with customers, so I can get through what would otherwise be a fairly embarrassing event. Discussing the ins and outs of sex toys with strangers is not something I particularly enjoy, but it’s a paycheck, so I’ve learned to roll with it. My root beer foams and drips down the straw while my coffee sloshes onto my hand—the lids never fit right—and my chicken shawarma dangles perilously between my pinkie and ring finger as I cross the street.
The suit doesn’t look creepy like Eugene, but then, suits can be deceiving. Half the time they think they can proposition me like a sex worker. Or they pretend the weird stuff they’re buying is a gift and not for them. Pfft. I know better.
Suit turns and heads for his car, so I call out, “Hey! You in the suit, hold on!”
His shoulders hunch, as if he’s trying to be smaller, which is physically impossible. Based on the size of him, he probably played college football. Or he has Marvel comic hero blood relatives. Either way, he’s a big dude.
He stops walking, though, which is good. I could use some sales today. The commission boost is always a plus to the shitty minimum wage. Rent is due next week, and judging by his car, he has money to burn.
My heels are skyscrapers, and everything I’m wearing is either too short or too tight to facilitate running—the Sex Toy Warehouse uniform is supposed to be sexy, aka revealing—so I awkwardly jog the rest of the way while trying to get the key to the shop out of my pocket and not drop my shawarma. The manager gave me my own set since I frequently open the store.
“Sorry to keep you waiting; plastic dicks don’t quite cut it for lunch.” Inwardly I cringe, because seriously, why did I say that?
“I would imagine they’re not all that satisfying,” he replies in a deep voice that would probably sound good whispering naughty things in my ear.
I’m not sure if he meant that suggestively or not. Regardless, I walked right into that one.
I finally look up. Dear sweet Jesus on a cloud of marshmallows, this is my lucky day. The suit is gorgeous. Like the kind of hotness that sucks the breath right out of your lungs and sends all the blood in your body rushing between your legs. It’s a good thing clits don’t react like penises, otherwise mine would be hanging out of the bottom of my shorts with excitement. I’m thankful my physical reaction is limited to damp underwear and tingles.
His dark hair is straight and cut short, parted at the side and neatly styled. He’s a cross between a mobster, and a fifties movie star. Capone and Ward Cleaver rolled together and dipped in lust. His nose is straight, lips are full, and he’s got a chin that looks like it could cut glass. His features are strong, but he somehow manages to be boyish even though everything about him screams pure, undiluted masculinity.
His tongue drags across his pillowy bottom lip and his throat bobs. I lift my gaze and meet his eyes. They’re a strange color. Not brown, not green, but some kind of honey-lemon color, ringed in emerald. Like a cat maybe.
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of PUCKED, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She's writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.
Chapter Reveal Sneak Peek! And giveaway down below!
“Very nice to meet you, Reece. I’m Persephone Alexander. I have a few questions we can get started with, if you don’t mind.”
“The quicker we get started, the quicker we can finish.” He looked around like he would have rather been anywhere but there.
Those giddy bubbles soured in my stomach. A server came by with the bottled waters I’d ordered. I arranged them in a neat pyramid at the end of the table.
“Would you like a water?” I held one out to him.
He eyed me like I was offering him an illicit substance but then reached out. His fingers brushed against the backs of mine and shooting sparks of excitement rushed through me. Pulling the bottle out of my grasp, he cracked it open and took a gulp.
My cheeks heated and I glanced down at my cards, flipping the ones at the front to the back.
“I have a notecard with some information for you to fill out.”
Sliding it across the table, I held out a pen for him. He took it from me, careful that our fingers didn’t touch this time. I’d have been lying if I’d said I didn’t want another touch, just to test whether or not that first one had been something more than static electricity. He filled out the biographical data on the card and handed it back to me.
“Let’s get started.” Just rip the Band-Aid off. Clearing my throat, I tapped the cards on the table. A few heads turned in our direction at the sharp, rapping sound. “When were you last tested for STDs?”
Maya Hughes can often be found sneaking in another chapter while hiding in the bathroom from her kids! :-) I’m a romance writer who loves taking inspiration from everyday life, namely my husband and biggest fan. Inspiration also strikes when I hear a song, meet someone new or daydream while at soccer practice.
I’m the mom of three little ones, the wife to an amazing husband and also work full time. Some of my favorite things are cinnamon rolls, white wine, laughing until I can’t breathe and traveling with my family.
“I can’t
believe the week is almost over.” Val groaned, then consoled herself with a
large gulp of the fruity cocktail sitting in front of her.
I sighed
sadly, silently agreeing with her. Spring break needed to be a lot longer than
a week. Pretty soon, it would be back to work, back to classes… back to
reality.
Reality
sucked.
Especially
when I gazed around this tropical resort and realized some people lived like
this all the time.
“One week
in paradise just isn’t enough,” I said out loud, playing with the pink umbrella
perched in the coconut drink I held. Rotating the barstool, I spun to face the
turquoise water of the ocean and pure-white sand beneath it.
Grass
umbrellas dotted the beach, and under them, people lounged and played. Beyond
the beach, people also played in the water, running around in skimpy bikinis
and golden tans.
The breeze
off the ocean blew through the tangled strands of my blond hair, and sand clung
between my toes. Focusing past the shoreline, I gazed across the water, past
the floating cabanas, and out to a small island filled with palm trees.
“I’d like
to see the guy who owns that island just once while we’re here.” My voice was
wistful as I plucked the cherry out of my drink and popped it into my mouth.
Sweet juice
from the fruit burst over my tongue as I stared.
Val made a
sound and slapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t even tell me that’s the reason you
haven’t had a fling yet!” she practically yelled.
Swiftly, I
swung in her direction. “Shh! God, Valerie, don’t announce our sex life to the
entire resort.”
“At least I
have a sex life,” she muttered, fitting her straw into her mouth. “That’s what
spring break is for. Letting loose, having fun… no regrets.”
“Hey, I’ve
done that, too.”
She made a
rude sound. “You’ve turned down three guys since we got here.”
I shrugged
and looked back at the ocean. “I’m picky.”
“You have
to let him go, Nor,” Valerie said gently. Leaning in, she rested her cheek on
my shoulder. “I know you loved him, but Alan wasn’t good enough. And he hurt
you.”
Yeah. Yeah, he did.
I sucked on
the straw until it made that annoying slurping sound because my alcohol had
officially run out.
“Having a
fling is the best way to get him out of your system. Let someone rock your
world for a night, and forget about him completely.”
I smirked.
“You think a one-night stand will erase a guy I dated for nearly a year?”
Val sat up
and wagged her eyebrows at me. “The right guy will.”
I laughed,
and she snagged the empty coconut out of my hand and held it over her head.
“Bartender, another!”
“Now, about
that.” My best friend pointed out toward the distant island. “Please tell me
you haven’t been holding out to see if Mr. Island shows up to rock your world.”
I scoffed
at her assumption.
“I knew
it!” she yelled.
People
around us turned to look at her.
I smiled at
them, “Sorry. She’s a bit extra.”
“You’re
still hung up on your cheating, scumbag ex, and now you’re hung up on some
faceless guy who might not even exist?” Val dropped her forehead into her hand.
“I’ve failed as a best friend.”
I slipped
an arm around her shoulders. “You have not.”
A tap on my
shoulder made me turn, my eyes colliding with a set of piercing green ones.
“Oh,” I said, a little breathless.
“Your drink
is ready,” the bartender said, leaning over the bar, holding out my refill.
“Oh!” I
glanced down at the drink. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,
gorgeous,” he quipped and winked.
I nearly
spilled the drink in my lap right there. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and he had
the bronze tan of a local with an accent to match.
“You need
anything else, just wave.”
I nodded,
unable to reply.
“See!” Val
said, putting her arm around me, bringing me back around. “This is exactly what
I’m talking about. You’re gorgeous. You could have any guy here you wanted.
Even the bartender. Yet you’re busy mooning over some guy who’s probably old
enough to be your grandpa.”
“I am not
mooning!” I insisted. Then I grimaced. “And ew… grandpa.”
“You really
expect some young, hot single to own that island over there?”
I shook my
head. “Not just the island… this entire resort.”
Valerie
moaned. “That’s just a sexy rumor the staff here likes to tell women like us.
It makes us even more excited about this place.”
“It could
be true,” I murmured, staring out to sea. “He really could be some young, rich
computer genius who sold off an app and bought this place.”
“Uh-huh.
And he has a hot body and the stamina to make you forget all about Awful Alan.”
“Hey,” I
accused, salty. “I didn’t judge you when your fantasy was to sleep with a yoga
instructor to see if they really were more flexible than other guys.”
Valerie
giggled. “They are. They totally are.”
I rolled my
eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Hey, I’m
young, single, and being safe. What’s wrong with a little fun?”
I drank
some of my cocktail.
“Besides,
at least my fantasy was attainable. Yours is practically from the pages of some
cheesy romance novel.”
“Whatever.”
I sighed. This conversation was bringing down my buzz. “Finish your drink so we
can go lay on the beach.”
“Your time
is running out.” She reminded me. “We’re going home tomorrow night. If you
don’t have a fling soon, you’re never going to get over Alan.”
I’d had
enough of this conversation, and if she said my ex-boyfriend’s name one more
time, I was going to scream. I jumped down off the barstool and tripped on my
flip-flop, stumbling.
“Whoa,” I
stammered as I fumbled forward. Seconds later, I collided into the back of a
chair, falling over the shoulder of whoever was sitting there and dumping my
drink down their chest.
The
shoulder under my waist stiffened, and I scrambled to leap back.
“Oh my
gosh, I am so sorry!” I exclaimed. Dumbly, I looked down at the drink in my
hand. It was empty.
Horrified,
I skittered around the chair as the person sitting in it stood, pushing it out
from beneath him.
Our bodies
collided and I tumbled back, but he caught my arm to keep me from falling.
Another apology formed on my lips, but the second I looked up, it dissipated.
He was
tall. So tall I had to crane my neck back to look up at him. His shoulders were
wide, and his jaw was chiseled. His skin had the same deep bronzed look as all
the locals, and his hair was the color of midnight.
I didn’t
know if his mouth was just sexy as hell or if the way he pursed his lips as he
regarded me made them look pouty, but the effect was still the same.
Everything
inside me tightened and then went liquid, as though he’d melted me with just
one glance.
My mouth
moved, but no sounds came out. I was exceptionally aware of his large hand
wrapped around my upper arm. Even though we were sitting in the shade, his hand
felt warm like he’d been in the sun. Goose bumps erupted along my bare arms and
legs, and my scalp prickled with awareness.
Glancing
down to where he held me, I couldn’t help but notice how his hand was so big it
wrapped around my arm completely. Involuntarily, I shivered as I thought about
what else his hands would completely cover.
Embarrassed,
I jerked away from his touch. His hand dropped beside him, and then I realized
the entire front of his shirt was completely soaked with my drink.
Gasping, I
tossed aside the empty coconut and let my hands hover near him. “This is all my
fault,” I exclaimed. “Can I get some napkins over here?” I yelled. “Valerie!”
My best
friend, who was standing there just as speechless as I was, burst into action
and turned toward the bar.
“I’m so
clumsy,” I told the guy. “I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you a new shirt,” I offered.
“And whatever you’re drinking today.”
“No need,”
he said. His voice was quiet but so commanding it didn’t need to be loud. “It’s
just a shirt.”
Glancing
down at the ruined garment, I groaned again. It was blue silk. Probably cost
more than I made in an entire week. And because of the material and the fact
that it was soaked, it was plastered to his chest as if he’d been caught in the
rain.
He was
thin… but imposing. Everything about him was.
Val shoved
a towel in front of my face, and I snatched it quickly. Rushing forward, I
didn’t even think twice about reaching out to try and dry the shirt.
The thin
material was saturated, and it seemed no matter how much I patted and wiped,
nothing helped.
Above me, a
throat cleared. “Are you done?”
I froze,
towel still pressed against his shirt, and looked up. His chin tilted down, and
our eyes met, pure desire sliding through me.
I jolted
back, flushing. “Sorry, I was trying to…” What was I trying to do?
He smiled,
reached up, and unbuttoned the shirt to peel it off his body and drop it in the
sand. “I’m pretty sure it’s not savable.”
My mouth
ran dry. I couldn’t look up from his tan, smooth chest.
A second
later, he snapped in front of my face, making me lift my eyes. “You might want
to lay off the alcohol the rest of the day. I think you’ve had enough.”
Dumbly, I
nodded and held out the towel for him to take.
He glanced
between me and the offered towel, then smiled. “I’m good,” he replied, then
turned around and walked away.
I stared
after him long after he was gone, still holding out the towel like a moron.
Val jumped
in front of me, eyes wide. “Oh my God!” she whispered. “That guy was hot!”
The towel
fell out of my hands, landing beside his forgotten shirt.
“Hey!” Val
yelled toward the bar. “Who was that guy?”
“Never seen
him before,” one of the bartenders called back.
“Sucks,”
she muttered, then grabbed my hand. “C’mon, let’s go get some vitamin sea.”
“Wait!” I
exclaimed, pulling back before she could drag me away. Bending down, I picked
up the wet, sandy shirt he’d just discarded from his body.
Val tsked
and dragged me toward the beach. “First the island guy, and now this.” She
sighed. “You’re completely hopeless, Nora. Hopeless.”
As I stared
down at the shirt clutched in my hand, I couldn’t help thinking she might be
right.
2
Carter
I sat there
listening to quite an amusing conversation going on behind me.
One bad
girl and one good… The bad trying to corrupt the good. I guess I could
understand the appeal. The good ones were always the best at being bad.
I never got
involved in guest affairs, even though all these scantily clad women were ripe
for the picking. It was too easy. Too boring.
I liked a
challenge.
Like being
able to erase a man from the mind of a woman who couldn’t let go.
I wondered
if the good girl behind me was as open to that kind of fling as she pretended
to be or if she clung to the rumors about a man on an island because she knew
he probably didn’t even exist.
Sometimes
holding on was easier than letting go because at least the pain of holding on
was familiar.
The second
her drink spilled over my shoulder and across my chest, I wondered if it was my
karma for listening to their conversation or if there was something else here
at work.
The sparks
between us were practically visible, and the way she shivered beneath my touch
excited me. Still, I pulled away, because sometimes being a mystery was better
than being real.
I felt her
eyes against my back the entire time I walked away. I pondered if I would ever
see her again, if I would be able to rise to her challenge.
The way my
life had turned out so far was all because of fate. So I decided to leave this
up to fate, too.
Author Bio
Cambria Hebert is an award-winning, bestselling novelist of
more than forty books. She went to college for a bachelor’s degree, couldn’t
pick a major, and ended up with a degree in cosmetology. So rest assured her
characters will always have good hair.
Besides writing, Cambria loves a caramel latte, staying up
late, sleeping in, and watching movies. She considers math human torture and
has an irrational fear of birds (including chickens). You can often find her
painting her toenails (because she bites her fingernails) or walking her
Chihuahuas (the real rulers of the house).
Cambria has written within the young adult and new adult
genres, penning many paranormal and contemporary titles. She has also written
romantic suspense, science fiction, and male/male romance. Her favorite genre
to read and write is contemporary romance. A few of her most recognized titles
are: The Hashtag Series,GearShark Series, Text, Amnesia, and Butterfly.
Recent awards include: Author of the Year, Best Contemporary
Series (The Hashtag Series), Best
Contemporary Book of the Year, Best Book Trailer of the Year, Best Contemporary
Lead, Best Contemporary Book Cover of the Year. In addition, her most
recognized title, #Nerd, was listed
at Buzzfeed.com as a top fifty summer romance read.
Cambria Hebert owns and operates Cambria Hebert Books, LLC.
My dick never got me in half as much trouble as my heart...
We were high school sweethearts. I was head over heels for her and no one could tell me we weren’t going to last forever. College? Going pro? My family’s money? None of it mattered. She was all I needed.
Then she ripped my heart out. But I’m not going to let that happen again.
She’s back. Invading my life and acting like she was the wronged one. The pain is still there, but I can’t keep my eyes off her. I can’t stop thinking about her and how much was left unsaid between us. Being this close is making me question everything I thought I knew about her.
This time everything will be on my terms. Everything…
Maya Hughes can often be found sneaking in another chapter while hiding in the bathroom from her kids! :-) I’m a romance writer who loves taking inspiration from everyday life, namely my husband and biggest fan. Inspiration also strikes when I hear a song, meet someone new or daydream while at soccer practice.
I’m the mom of three little ones, the wife to an amazing husband and also work full time. Some of my favorite things are cinnamon rolls, white wine, laughing until I can’t breathe and traveling with my family.
Today we have the chapter reveal for DIRT by Cassia Leo! Check them out and pre-order your copy today!
Title: DIRT
Author: Cassia Leo
Series: Evergreen Series
Release: January 12, 2018
About Dirt
A hard-hitting, emotional new series from New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo.
Jack and I had everything. Then, in one brutal instant, the universe tilted on its side, discarding us into black nothingness.
Now, I have a cocky a**hole for a husband.
The only way we communicate anymore is when we’re fighting or f**king.
With nothing left to lose, I write Jack a goodbye letter and head for Portland, where I quickly meet a neighbor who helps me find a job.
My new neighbor—broody, tattooed ex-soldier Isaac Evans—is complicated. Nevertheless, we form a fast friendship, bonding over our mutual desire to create something beautiful from the wreckage of our lives.
But despite the distance between us, Jack and I are still trying to make things work—fighting and f**king dirtier than ever. And he doesn’t appreciate my new friendship with Isaac. Not one f**king bit.
I hugged Jack Jr. tightly against my breast, and he molded his soft, warm body to mine. His eyes remained closed as his tiny fingers curled around the fabric of my blouse, his rosy lips puckering as he geared up for more food.
“You sucked me dry, little fella,” I whispered, leaning in to press my nose against the downy-soft, golden hair on the top of his head. I inhaled his scent and my muscles unspooled. “But I’ll be back to feed you soon. I promise.”
Why do babies smell so damn good?
Before I got pregnant with Junior, my favorite smell was orange blossoms. As a teenager, I often got scolded by my mom for picking the flowers off the orange tree in our backyard in Portland. I’d rub the creamy petals between my fingers, bruise them with my fingernails, then sniff my hand for hours until the scent wore off.
When I was pregnant with Junior, my favorite scent became the rich aroma of the forbidden coffee I could no longer drink.
After Junior was born, and my decaf days came to a glorious end, I realized how wrong I’d been. There was absolutely no scent as sweet and soul-quieting as the smell of the top of a baby’s head. Bonus points if the baby was lying peacefully on your chest sound asleep.
“Are you ever going to put him down?”
I flicked my head sideways, startled by Jack’s clear, baritone voice.
He stood in the doorway of Junior’s nursery, the silhouette of his six-foot-three athletic body framed by the warm light in the hallway. His head was tilted to the side. He’d probably been standing there admiring us for a while. After six years together, I knew Jack’s body language and facial expressions better than I knew my own face.
I stood from the rocking chair and stole one more sniff of Junior’s head before I placed him gently on his back in the center of the crib. I adjusted the left sleeve of his pajamas, pulling it down to make sure it covered his entire chubby arm. I didn’t want to imagine him waking up cold and alone in here.
Jack appeared at my side as I switched on the video baby monitor. “He’s going to be fine,” he murmured, reaching down to stroke the soft patch of hair on Junior’s head. “In fact, he’ll probably enjoy some time alone. After all, he is just like his daddy; sometimes, we need a break from the constant attention from the ladies.”
I rolled my eyes and headed for the door. “Making jokes only makes leaving him slightly less scary, you know,” I said as we stepped into the hallway of our five-bedroom dream home in Hood River, Oregon. I couldn’t wait to fill up every one of these bedrooms with brothers and sisters for Jack Jr.
Jack chuckled as he followed closely behind me. “Less scary is an improvement,” he replied, grabbing my hand to stop me in the middle of the corridor. “You promised Junior you’d be back soon. Can you also make me a promise?”
The hallway lights made his dark hair look glaringly shiny, but I couldn’t help but notice how weary his blue eyes looked tonight. Since Junior arrived three months ago, I’d been so focused on my baby boy’s vulnerability, his scent, his beauty, I hadn’t slowed down enough to appreciate how those were the same qualities that made me fall in love with Jack.
Suddenly, my worries about leaving Junior with my mother for the evening evaporated. All I wanted to do was kiss Jack, grab hold of that dark hair and make love to him for hours. I wanted to replace the weariness in his eyes with dark hunger, or maybe a glint of mischief.
I squeezed his hand and smiled at the thought of possibly having sex with him in public tonight. We hadn’t done that in a while.
“What kind of promise?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nope, you’re not allowed to ask. Just promise me you’ll say yes.”
My stomach vaulted at the sound of those words. They were the same words Jack spoke when he asked me to marry him. I wondered what he would ask this time.
The phrase “just promise me you’ll say yes” had become like an inside joke, our own private, unspoken promise to each other that we would always do whatever it took to stay together. The last time he had uttered this phrase, he asked me to stop taking my birth control pills. With Junior here, it was easy to trust that whatever Jack asked me for this time would turn out to be exactly what I needed.
I tilted my head back so I could look up and into his crystal-blue eyes. “Yes, I can make you a promise.”
His expression became sober. “Promise me you’ll be present tonight.” He fixed me with a piercing gaze as his large hand cupped my face. “It’s just you and me for the next three hours. Promise me.”
I smiled. “I promise. Just you and me. And I’ll even put my cell phone on vibrate.” As I said the words, a sharp finger of fear prodded my subconscious, telling me it was a bad idea to risk missing a phone call tonight.
The exhaustion in Jack’s eyes melted away as he smiled. “I can deal with that, but you have to promise me one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
His smile turned almost menacing as he looped his arm around my waist and drew me close. “Promise me you’ll lemme smash that blonde bombshell booty,” he said, landing a light swat on my ass.
I shook my head as I recalled how we often had sex in public during our first year together, in our senior year at Oregon State University, Cascades. For some reason, once we graduated and moved in together, having sex in public seemed like something we couldn’t get away with so easily. We decided public sex-hibitions — or throw downs, as we more commonly referred to them — would be reserved for special occasions like anniversaries or vacations.
Truthfully, Jack and I kicked off our relationship by having sex on the first date. He was always a very difficult man to resist. When he showed up at my apartment to pick me up that night, I couldn’t resist his suggestion that we should stay in and make paper masks of ourselves, then put them on and ask each other first date questions as if we were the other person. I had never laughed so much on any date. Ever. But when he asked — while pretending to be me — if I’d ever had sex with someone on the first date, I couldn’t help but respond with, “I’m Jack-fucking-Stratton. I’ve fucked a lot of girls on the first date. But none as gorgeous as you.”
Jack always knew how to keep things fresh and alarmingly sexy. Six years in and my body still craved him almost every second of every day.
Today was our three-year wedding anniversary. We’d only had sex twice since I gave birth to Junior three months ago, and both of those times were truly awkward.
The first time was painful. My C-section incision hadn’t fully healed yet, and even trying to have sex with him behind me was uncomfortable. The second time we tried, Jack was so afraid of hurting me, he stopped midway through. There’d been a lot of oral sex happening in this house since then.
Luckily, a few weeks had passed since our last attempt, and I had repeatedly assured him I was fully healed up now. I was certain that even if the sex did hurt a little, it would still be worth it. I couldn’t understand couples that didn’t consider sex an important part of a relationship. I never felt more complete, more present, more alive than when my body and mind were entwined with Jack’s.
I smiled as I wrapped my arms around his waist. “I think I know just the place for a proper throw down.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Ooh. Tell me more.”
As he leaned in to kiss me, my mother’s voice interrupted us.
“Are you two making out again?” she said, standing at the top of the stairs with her hands on her hips as she gawped at us. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”
Jack laughed and I shook my head as we moved toward her.
“We’re just trying to keep you entertained while you’re on vacation, Beth,” Jack said.
My mother cocked an eyebrow. “If I wanted to watch porn, I’d open up your laptop and have a look at your internet history.”
“Mom, don’t be gross,” I protested, trying not to laugh.
Jack smiled as he held out his elbow for my mom to grab hold as they descended the stairs in front of me. “I made a special collection of links for you. They’re in a folder labeled Tantric Geriatric. You’ll love it.”
I rolled my eyes. Jack and my mother exchanged jabs like this all day.
My mother was staying with us for a few days, so Jack and I could have some time to ourselves and get some much-needed uninterrupted sleep. She was leaving tomorrow to go back to the house where I grew up in Portland. Though she pretended as if she was desperate to get home to her Craftsman cottage in the city, and I even teased her about how she was dying to get back so she could see the handsome new neighbor she’d been going on about, I knew she was going to miss Jack’s pretend insults as much as she would miss Junior and me.
My mother practically shoved me toward the front door. “I order you to go have fun,” she said, smiling as Jack opened the door and stepped outside. “And don’t come home until you’re too drunk to walk.”
I shook my head. “Thanks, Mom. Please call if you need anything. And don’t answer the door for anyone. There’s a house that got broken into a few streets away.”
She waved off my paranoia. “Stop worrying so much. We’ll be fine. See you later, babe.”
I blew her a kiss, then I closed the door behind me.
* * *
“I have to admit, having sex on the waterfront was one of my favorite public throw downs ever,” Jack said, pulling his Tesla into the long driveway of our four-acre estate. “But do we really have to wait until our fourth anniversary to do it again?”
I tugged the silky fabric of my skirt straight as I pressed my thighs together. Though my body was still raw with the evidence of the dirty deed we’d just committed, I couldn’t wait to get Jack inside and pounce on him again. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the sensation of him moving inside me, and how good he was at making me feel beautiful.
“We can do that anytime we can snag a babysitter,” I replied as he turned the car off.
He made no move to exit the Tesla. “Well, babycakes, you’d better get ready to interview a fuck-ton of babysitters.”
I laughed. “Babycakes? That’s a new one.”
Jack rarely used the same term of endearment twice in a row. He liked to keep me guessing.
He scrunched up his nose. “Yeah, that one was kind of creepy. Now that I’ve tried it out, I think I can bury that one in the nickname graveyard.”
“Try the incinerator,” I said, reaching for the door handle.
“Duly noted,” he replied, exiting the vehicle.
Jack and I glided unhurriedly along the flagstone walkway, which was lined with sparkling pathway lights. As we made our way toward the steps leading up to the covered porch, I stopped in the middle of the path and closed my eyes as I inhaled the sweet scent of the lavender and honeysuckle I’d planted with my mom’s help.
That was when I made a wish, a corny wish, but I didn’t care.
I wished that every person could find someone they loved as much as I loved Jack. I wished every child could feel as loved as Junior was. And I wished every anniversary could be as perfect as this one.
“No… No, no, no!” Jack’s voice grew louder with each no.
They say mother’s intuition is scientifically proven to exist. I knew by the tone of Jack’s voice, without even opening my eyes, that my world would never be the same. I knew in that instant, I would regret leaving Jack Jr. tonight for the rest of my life.
Though I knew something was wrong, I wasn’t prepared for what we found.
At some point, while we were lost in our blissful celebration, the front door of our home had been forced open. This discovery was what had made Jack cry out in disbelief. Father’s intuition must also be a thing, because he told me later that, even though the door was still closed, the moment he saw the gouges in the wood near the handle, he had felt that same sense of dread. That feeling that the universe had suddenly tilted on its side, discarding us into black nothingness.
The house was ransacked.
Furniture upended, paintings and flatscreen televisions torn off the walls, shards of shattered vases littered the floors. Complete and utter chaos.
The master bathroom doorknob looked as if it had been shot off. We found my mother’s lifeless form huddled against the bathtub, my baby boy’s dead body clutched tightly in her arms.
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About Cassia Leo
New York Times bestselling author Cassia Leo loves her coffee, chocolate, and margaritas with salt. When she’s not writing, she spends way too much time re-watching Game of Thrones and Sex and the City. When she’s not binge watching, she’s usually enjoying the Oregon rain with a hot cup of coffee and a book.
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