I’m not too proud to admit that finding Mr. Right involves swiping right. Right? Welcome to dating in avocado toastland.
Here I am, on my first blind date, ever, courtesy of a smartphone app and my two annoying best friends.
So what is Chris “Fletch” Fletcher doing, walking across the room, looking at his phone like he’s pattern matching a picture to find a real person he’s never met before?
Oh.
Oh, no.
The guy I drop-kicked in seventh grade cannot be my blind date. The guy who earned me this infernal nickname.
That’s right.
Feisty.
Any choices available to her will ultimately lead to sacrifices. Fay must figure out what she is ready to sacrifice—her heart, her soul, or even…her life.
“You could have come to me,” she mumbled miserably. “I could have helped.”
“How?” I countered. “It was ridiculous. Crazy.” I pulled back. “I got weak. I got stupid. I got reckless. When shit got hard, and I wanted to get high, I’d jack off instead. The sex…” I ground my teeth. “It didn’t happen as often as you think. When it did, it was after a meltdown, after I got high.
“I’ll never be able to earn your forgiveness, Keira. Never. And that’s okay.” I released a shaky breath. “I realized that tonight. You don’t have to forgive me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying. I won’t. I’ll never stop. If I have to spend the rest of my life— It doesn’t matter. Nothing does apart from you and Cyan.”
“Does it hurt?”
I frowned. “Jacking off twenty times a day?”
“No.” Her voice was small. “I asked you before and you said no, but I don’t believe you. The padlock… does it hurt?”
It hadn’t back then. But I’d upped the gauge with another custom-built device.
“Yes.” It fucking ached like a son of a bitch.
“So, instead of drugs, and rather than jack off or fuck to escape the drugs, you’re self-harming?”
“It’s working.”
“You’re self-harming,” she repeated grittily.
“I haven’t had sex in months. I haven’t jacked off in months either. It’s working, Keira.”
“It’s not a sustainable solution.”
“It’s breaking the habit. I won’t cheat on you again. I won’t. I can’t.”
“Even if I never take you back? Even when I get a boyfriend?”
My jaw ached with how hard I clenched down. “Even then.”
A shocked breath escaped her. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”
“Because you leaving me… I hit rock bottom. I’ve been there so many fucking times, K. So many times. I’m so sick of being on the ground, looking up. Trying to fix my fuck ups, to make shit right. I can’t do it again. I can’t. I can’t want to end it all again—”
“Suicide?” she interrupted, a horrified gasp to her words.
“You’ve no idea how many times I almost tried. I don’t want you to know. I just… I did the best I could, and that was nothing in comparison to what you brought to our family. I let you down. I let Cy down. But I won’t do it again.”
The sound of an engine rumbled to life, half pipes with it, and when a solitary light pierced the kitchen window, I wasn’t altogether surprised that the biker was coming to our house. I’d given the security guard a heads up to let a brother through the gates, just in case Rex or Digger arrived, but now wasn’t the best timing.
Not when, finally, I felt like Keira saw me for what I truly was.
A nothing.
A nobody.
An addict.
Worthless.
Trash.
And yet she still held me.
She didn’t push away from me.
She didn’t act as if my touch were poison to her.
I swallowed, affected more than she could know by her generosity, her selflessness.
How didn’t she realize how perfect she was?
How beautiful a person she was?
It hurt me. It physically hurt me. Which was why, there and then, I vowed that would be part of my recovery too.
I’d fix me, I’d try to fix us, but I’d fix her as well.
I’m a romance bookaholic and I won’t touch a book unless I know there’s a happy ending. This addiction is what made me craft stories that suit my voracious need for raunchy romance. I love twists and unexpected turns, and my novels all contain sexy guys, dark humor, and hot AF love scenes.
I write MF, Menage, and Reverse Harem (also known as Why Choose romance,) in both contemporary and paranormal. Some of my stories are darker than others, but I can promise you one thing, you will always get the happy ending your heart needs!
During all the time I spend with Nix, I’ve been letting myself believe that lies of omission aren’t really lies. And the lies I do tell her—my name and where I’m from—don’t really matter compared to the deeper truths I lay bare. She knows my genuine feelings, my fears, my likes, and dislikes . . . things that seem so much more essential than my fake history.
Perversely, I liked watching her talk to my mom. I saw my mother look Nix over with the slightly raised eyebrow that indicated she had encountered an object of interest. It would have killed me to see my mom dismiss Nix as boring.
Best of all was the knowledge that Nix had sought me out that day. That she had gone looking all over campus for a purpose that seemed glaringly clear the moment we were alone.
Her eyes roved over me. She had the hunter’s determination to bring me down and not go home again starving.
I’ve been wanting to fuck Nix since the moment she stepped out of the underground pool. Hell, I might even have felt that first flaring lust the moment I laid eyes on her crossing campus. That burst of sudden heat . . . it wasn’t all hatred.
I tell myself I can’t do it, that it would be wrong to sleep with her under false pretenses.
But every second I’m around her, I’m losing control. It’s like the day I boxed Dean—each glance from her eyes, or bite of her lip is like another blow, knocking me senseless. Tearing off my veneer and taking me back to the man I used to be: prince of the West Coast. My father’s right-hand man, running his business, preparing to take over someday. Surrounded by women and friends, wealth pouring in . . .
That man had confidence. He didn’t have to hide. He never pretended to be weaker, shyer, lesser. He never compromised his integrity with lies.
I want to be myself with Nix, not this alias. I want her to know me, not him. I want to fuck her as myself.
Sophie Lark is an Amazon Bestselling author who writes intense, intelligent romance, with heroines who are strong and capable, and men who will do anything to capture their hearts. She lives with her husband, two boys, and baby girl in the Rocky Mountain West.
She has a slight obsession with hiking, bodybuilding, and live comedy shows. Her perfect day would be taking the kids to Harry Potter World, going dancing with Mr. Lark, then relaxing with a good book and a monster bag of salt and vinegar chips.
When I answered an ad for a caretaker at Saint Mark’s Sanctuary I thought I’d be dusting chandeliers and polishing floors. I didn’t expect to be tricked into a curse, going in debt to a monster, and being forced to take a self-paced “Let’s Learn Magic” course so I can fix a two-thousand-year-old problem.
And that monster?
Not your ordinary, everyday beast.
He has hooves, and horns, and fur on his legs.
But ya know where he doesn’t have fur?
Yep. There.
Which is fine.
Except he doesn’t wear pants.
Nothing at Saint Mark’s is exactly what it seems.
The entire inside is magic, the hallways upstairs are nothing but parties from the past, and the super-hot guy who lives in the dungeon?
Yeah.
Not human.
My name is Pie and all I want is to be a normal girl with an average life.
I refuse to get stuck in this curse.
I refuse to learn magic to break it.
And there is no way in hell I will fall in love with a monster.
“If this kills you, you should thank me. Since you’re immortal. That means your curse would be broken.”
Well. She’s got a point there. I put the test tube up to my lips, almost pass out from the horrible smell, then down it in one gulp. It hits my stomach with a burn.
“The burn passes,” Pie says hurriedly. And she puts her hand on my arm, either faking compassion or really meaning it.
Her touch is warm too. And something about it does make me feel better. Soon, the burn is gone and in its place is a tingling feeling in my hands. Then a buzzing in my head.
“Did you get to the buzzing yet?” she asks. I nod. “Good. You’re almost there. Now, while we’re waiting for it to work, let’s talk about this job.”
“No.” I put up a hand. “Not now.”
“Yes. I need a job. Just a part-time one. The Honey Bean is looking for a waitress. I need that, Pell. And I will use all my money to buy what we need and then I won’t have to go into debt.”
“You don’t get it. That won’t work. The harder you fight the curse, the more it works against you. The less magic money you use, the more the curse will force you to use it. Bad things will happen. And that will force you to work harder to…” I pause, not really wanting to say the last bit.
“Harder to what?” she presses.
“Please me. The harder you’ll have to work to please me with the debt book stuff.”
She points a finger in my face. “I will not be blowing you. Just… FYI.”
I cannot hide my laugh. “Good to know. And for the record, Pie, you’re not my type.”
She lifts her chin up in indignation like I just insulted her. “I’m not your type?”
“Nope.”
“What kind of type do you like? Bull girls?”
“I’m not a bull.”
“A satyr chimera girl?”
“There are no female satyr chimeras. We’re all men.”
“Then what is your type?” And now she’s annoyed.
I shrug. “I’ve always been partial to the nymphs.”
“Nymphs.” She crinkles her nose like the thought of nymphs is distasteful. “Water fairies?”
“Not fairies. Nymphs. You know. Willowy girls with evil intentions lurking in the forest.”
JA Huss is a New York Times Bestselling author and has been on the USA Today Bestseller’s list 21 times. She writes characters with heart, plots with twists, and perfect endings. Her books have sold millions of copies all over the world. Her book, Eighteen, was nominated for a Voice Arts Award and an Audie Award in 2016 and 2017 respectively. Her audiobook, Mr. Perfect, was nominated for a Voice Arts Award in 2017. Her audiobook, Taking Turns, was nominated for an Audie Award in 2018. Her book, Total Exposure, was nominated for a RITA Award in 2019.
