Meet
Oliver & Vivian in this sexy, quirky & emotional stand-alone.
You will laugh, you will cry and most of all, you will not be
disappointed!
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Blurb
"What
lies beneath my veiled perfection is the ugly truth—my truth, my
reality, my destiny."
Vivian
Graham has an acceptance letter into Harvard, a badass tattoo, loyal
friends, ties to
marijuana, a penchant for Dunkin’ Donuts, and her
pesky V-card.
Everyday
she takes the Red Line to her job at The Green Pot in Boston while
her friends
enter the coveted, black iron gates to higher learning.
The ramifications from a tragic
accident have put her life on hold
while time marches on for everyone around her.
After
graduating from Harvard Law, Boston native, Oliver Konrad, moves to
Portland to
start his career and his life. Three years later, after a
horrific discovery, he returns home to
trade in his three-piece suit
for leather work boots and his suburban home for a condo in
Cambridge.
All
he brought back to the East Coast was an aversion to pillows and
secrets he keeps
hidden behind a mysterious locked door. Oliver’s
days are predictable and his nights are
lonely until he meets Vivian
on the subway. Her long raven hair, green eyes, and
mile-long legs
are achingly sexy, but the way she "innocently" fingers and
licks her
Boston Kreme doughnut can only be described in two
words—complete torture.
When
their paths cross at every turn, laughter is abundant, friendship is
easy, and love is
unintentional. However, their future seems
improbable.
copyright 2014
CHAPTER
ONE
Ivy League
Doughnuts
Vivian
Wake. Stretch.
Shower. Then navigate through the bustling morning crowd to the
subway via the corner coffee shop. A kaleidoscope of colors and the
inviting bittersweet aroma of America’s favorite pick-me-up dazzles
my senses.
No offense to Paul
Revere, but when I think of Boston and its exhausting list of
historical figures, William Rosenberg is the name that warms my chest
and tempts my tummy. It’s my firm belief that his inspiration and
influence in the business world fed my ambition to achieve the high
merits that earned my acceptance into a well-known university north
of the Charles River.
“Boston Kreme and
a medium Dunkaccino, please.”
I ignore the
piercing glances, rolling eyes, and subtle head shakes behind me.
Yes, at five foot eleven inches I can eat whatever I want and not
gain a pound. Long, wavy, ink black hair and green eyes, a runway
model on the outside. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. My
personal assessment of the reflection in my mirror includes the words
lanky, bony, witchy hair, monster eyes, and freaky freckles. A tiny
grin tugs at the corners of my mouth as I focus on my phone, moving
my thumbs over the screen with effortless strokes to send off a text.
Me: Up,
bitches? 2 hrs. to study then get your asses to work. The real world
awaits.
Judgments are
nothing more than presumptuous thoughts, flawed opinions at best.
What lies beneath my veiled “perfection” is the ugly truth––my
truth, my reality, my destiny. Though, for now, I grab my decadent
treats and sashay out the door with a wicked smile.
Two years after I
nailed the admissions interview, I have yet to see the inside of a
Harvard lecture hall, but it won’t be long now. Instead, I take the
Red Line at Harvard Square to Central Square every morning while my
two bitches enter the coveted black iron gates to “Grow In Wisdom.”
Since my hopes of love and marriage were snuffed out like a torch my
senior year of high school, I have my whole life to focus on becoming
a successful entrepreneur.
The air grows thick
and musty on my final descent to the subway. And then I see him, my
new visual indulgence. He first captured my attention a week ago. A
sky scraper among the diverse sea of heads bowed and drawn into their
handheld technological gods. But then again, when you’re my height
the bar for being considered tall is set pretty high. He must be at
least six foot four with lean muscles, short sandy blond hair, and
cornflower blue eyes. Sipping my Dunkaccino, I peek over the lid and
worm my way through the morning crowd, positioning myself to get on
the same car. Everyday he’s dressed in faded jeans, an old T-shirt,
and leather work boots. Maybe he’s married, or has a girlfriend,
but it doesn’t matter. My infatuation will go no further than
basking in his sexy aura and taking mental pictures to use for my own
pleasure.
The train screeches
to a stop and the whoosh of the hydraulic doors sets the crowd in
motion. Most mornings I find a seat opposite my rugged blue-collar
worker. We play a flirty game of peek-a-boo where I unabashedly stare
at him until he glances at me then diverts his shy eyes, taking a
deep swallow. I eat my Boston Kreme doughnut and sip my coffee
keeping my eyes fixed on him. Click,
click, click—I
take my mental pictures.
This morning,
however, the car is herded to capacity. I find myself next to him
with my drink in one hand and my doughnut in the other. As the rest
of the passengers cram in, I glance up and smile. He returns a
hesitant smile, and for the first time I can see his straight white
teeth and dimples. Holy
crap!
He has dimples. My heart rate increases exponentially as I lift my
doughnut toward my mouth. Dimples!
The doors fold shut and the train jerks forward before my legs have a
chance to balance and root into the floor.
“Oh shit! Oh my
gosh, I’m so sorry!” I’m drowning in horrid humiliation while
peeling my half-eaten doughnut off his gray T-shirt. I can’t look
at him.
Through my squinted
eyes, all I see is a smeared glob of chocolate frosting in the middle
of his shirt. Risking a glance, a grimace takes over my face while
meeting his raised brows, eyes darting back and forth between me and
his shirt. Depositing the doughnut back in the bag, I retrieve the
wad of napkins I shoved in my purse and begin to wipe his shirt like
a mother would do to a child. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t
move. My brain registers the faint giggles and snickers from a few of
the lucky commuters who have witnessed this embarrassing mishap. I
may have to start taking the bus from now on, or dress incognito so
I’m not recognized as the clumsy doughnut girl.
“It’s fine,” a
deep voice sounds. Long fingers encircle my wrist, halting my frantic
strokes. “It’s just a shirt.”
Biting my lips
together, I nod unable to make eye contact. He releases my wrist and
I shove the napkins into my bag.
“I, uh … I’m
just so, very clumsy … embarrassed, and uh, again … sorry.” I.
Will. Not. Move. I shall stay bowed in shame until I leap from the
train at the next opportunity.
“It’s really
okay, no need to feel bad.”
“Central
Square,”
the speaker sounds as the train’s piercing brakes pull to a halt.
My frantic dash to
the door threatens to take out a few unsuspecting passengers. I can’t
concern myself with that; sometimes casualties are unavoidable and
necessary.
“Is this your
stop?” Mr. Frosting Shirt says with a questioning tone, probably
because for the past week he’s gotten off the train before me.
It is today!
Without looking back
I nod and sprint off the subway.
#
Lucky for me, when
the white sign with the green planter’s pot becomes visible over
the hill, there isn’t a line of miffed people waiting under it to
get in the door.
“Maggie, I’m so
sorry,” I say with a genuine apologetic tone as I shove my bag
under the counter and tie on my green apron over my fitted T-shirt
and frayed denim shorts. “I had to take the bus and walk the last
mile.”
“Vivian, dear, why
are you apologizing? I told you to take the day off anyway.” Maggie
shakes her head while arranging the packs of seedlings into cardboard
flats.
I take over while
she rings the customer’s order up on the register. “I know, but
this is the busiest time of year and who knows if or when Alex and
Kai will show up to help.”
Maggie, proud owner
of The Green Pot nursery, originally started her business as a front
for growing marijuana. She’s not a law-breaking pothead, per say.
She’s a ten-year cervical cancer survivor.
“You don’t see
me looking too concerned do you?”
I laugh. Maggie has
saintly patience and I love working for her. The Green Pot has become
a legitimate greenhouse—one of the top suppliers for local
landscaping companies—but she still has a stash of wacky tabbacky
for those who don’t want to jump through the hoops to get it
legally. Her only request is that these VIP customers don’t all
come on the same day with their scarf and bandana wrapped heads
asking for the Brown Bag special.
“Chance should be
here soon if you want to go out back and double check to see if his
order is all there.”
Ah, Chance Konrad,
the horny green jack-of-all-trades owner of The Handy Hunk. Chance is
a real player and, in his eyes, I am the World Series of his playboy
game. For two years he has tried to sweep me off my feet and into his
bed. For two years I have rejected his often times outrageous efforts
to win my affection.
The familiar red
flatbed truck backs into the loading zone as I finish double checking
the order. “Vivian.” Chance’s velvety voice caresses my name as
he strips me with his usual lustful gaze.
I give him the eye
roll he’s come to expect while shaking my head. “Chance.”
I’m not naive
enough to think that he has been waiting in patient celibacy for me
to succumb to his advances. In fact, I can’t imagine him going a
single night without some gullible girl’s naked body wrapped around
his. Not that I too don’t find him physically appealing, but I’ve
resigned myself to believe that all my orgasms will be self-induced.
Chance is eye candy, another visual for my private moments. Click.
Click. Click.
“Hate to
disappoint you, I know how much you look forward to our sexy banter,
but my brother is working with me now so you’ll need to use a
little more discretion with your advances,” Chance says as he leans
against the back of his truck with his arms folded over his chest.
Uncontrolled
laughter erupts from my chest but halts in my throat, nearly choking
me, as the other door to the truck opens and a very tall guy steps
out with a chocolate stain stamped in the middle of his gray T-shirt.
Kill. Me. Now!
“Viv, this is my
brother Oliver. Don’t mind his shirt. Some chick on the subway
rammed into him with her doughnut.”
My eyes are so wide
I think they’re locked in this position. “That uh, really sucks.
She must have felt awful.”
“Yeah, what did
you say?” Chance looks at Oliver. “That she scurried off at the
next stop with her tail between her legs?” Chance laughs.
Oliver grimaces,
glancing at me. “I don’t think that’s exactly what I said.”
“Yeah, bro, it
was. You also said––”
“I’m sure she
gets the point!”
I nod and cross my
arms over my chest. “Oliver’s right. I get it. I can totally
imagine it. But I’m sure she didn’t run off with her
tail between her legs.
It was probably just her stop.” I give Oliver a tightlipped grin
and offer my hand. “Anyway, Vivian Graham, nice to meet you.”
Oliver stares at my
hand for a few moments then meets my eyes. “Nice to meet you,
Vivian.” We shake hands and my grip cinches to convey my unspoken
displeasure with his interpretation of what happened this morning.
“Mind if I use the
restroom before we load up and head out?” Chance asks, not waiting
for my response before he heads into the building.
Oliver and I divert
our gazes away from each other as an awkward silence closes in on us.
I glance at his shirt and an uncontrollable giggle bubbles up and
out.
“What are the
chances?” I laugh, shaking my head and meeting his gaze.
He grins and
chuckles.
“I really am
sorry. I’ll get you a new shirt.”
Wiping his hand over
the dried chocolate stain, he licks his lips and smiles so big his
dimples steal my attention. “Not necessary. It will probably come
out and if not, I’m quite certain I have at least twenty other old
T-shirts just like it.”
“Load ’em up!”
Chance emerges from the building as we slip on our work gloves and
start arranging the plants into the back of the truck.
When everything is
loaded and secured, Chance hops in the truck, starts the engine, and
rolls down the window. “Let’s go, Oliver, no need to flirt with
my girl. After two years of rejecting yours truly, I’m pretty sure
she’s a lesbian. And for some reason that makes my dick even
harder.”
Oliver closes his
eyes and shakes his head as I laugh. “Please excuse my vulgar
brother. He doesn’t have a delay button between his brain and
mouth.”
I wave a dismissive
hand. “I’ve been putting up with him for two years. His potty
mouth is the highlight of my lesbian day.”
Oliver furrows his
brow with a slow nod. “All right then, I guess I’ll see you
around.”
“Later, guys.” I
hand the order receipt to Oliver with a wink and walk away to check
on Maggie.
#
Oliver
“Now I know why
you’re taking on so many landscaping jobs instead of sticking to
mowing and home repair.” I flash Chance a knowing glance.
“She’s hot as
hell, isn’t she?” He grins, pulling out of the back parking lot.
I shake my head.
“It’s been two years. I think it’s safe to say she’s not
interested.”
He lifts his
shoulders. “She’s baiting me, slowly reeling me in.”
“She’s stamped
rejection on your head so many times you have brain damage and can no
longer see you make her skin crawl with your dick talking out of your
mouth.”
“She’s a nice
girl. We have a good thing going. Didn’t you notice how she
defended the doughnut chick from this morning?”
“Shit.” I laugh
and run my hands though my hair. “She is
the doughnut chick from this morning, dickhead.”
“What the hell are
you talking about?”
I roll down my
window and pull my Red Sox baseball cap on. “Vivian was the one on
the subway who fell into me with her doughnut. Thanks to you, now I
look like a real asshole because you had to run your mouth about the
whole tail between the legs comment.”
Chance laughs.
“Damn, you lucky son of a bitch! I should start taking the T. I’m
probably missing out on a huge untapped population of hot women.
They’re wasting their time bumping into you, the one guy who won’t
ever give them the time of day.”
I sigh. “You’re
right. I couldn’t care less.”
#
At the chance of
risking what’s left of my manhood to some philosophical bullshit, I
have to admit that digging in the dirt and being in the sun all day
is somewhat therapeutic. I can’t help but mentally pat myself on
the back for coming to that conclusion without the help of a
psychiatrist. Lord knows in an effort to save one hundred and forty
dollars an hour, I can ask myself how I’m feeling and why I think
I’m feeling it with less resentment than I felt from those damn
therapists in Portland.
We’re adding
raised-bed gardens to a hotel in the Seaport district so they can use
the fresh vegetables and herbs in their restaurant. Just one of a
million reasons I love this town.
“Wanna go out
tonight?” Chance asks while mixing the compost into the soil.
“Nope.”
“Tara is going to
bring her sister. We’re going to some new Italian place by the
wharf then to Mike’s for Cannoli.”
“Who’s Tara?”
I sit back on my heels and wipe the sweat from my brow with the
bottom of my chocolate-stained shirt.
“The girl I took
to Mom’s birthday dinner.”
“Not interested.”
“Oliver, you need
to get out.”
“You don’t know
what I need and I told you never to mention a fucking second of my
past!”
“Jeez, dude! I’m
not talking about your past. I’m talking about now!
Nothing more than dinner with a pretty woman. She just graduated from
MIT and she’s brilliant. A nerdy scholar like yourself. It’s okay
to let a nice piece of ass make your dick twitch every once in
awhile. Gives your hand a break.”
“Bite me!”
“Nobody says that
anymore, but whatever, your loss.”
I hate that he’s
right, but I’d rather gnaw off my own arm than admit it out loud.
“Sorry, Chance,
I’m just … shit, I’m just not ready. I’m not saying never,
just not now.”
He pats me on the
shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, Bro.”
With a deep sigh, I
close my eyes and try to shake the image of the one person who does
make my dick twitch. And when that fails, I decide to call it a day.
It doesn’t appear that my hand will be getting a rest anytime soon.
#
I’ve been back for
two months settling into my new life. I feel like a zombie most of
the time. Food lacks taste, I see the sun but I can’t feel it touch
my skin, comedy is void of humor, and the monotonous play of life in
all its muted colors doesn’t catch my eye. At least that was the
case until last week when I started working with my brother.
Living in Cambridge,
I take the Red Line to South Station. Every morning for the past
week, I’ve sat across from this long-legged woman with raven hair
falling in unruly waves around her slender shoulders and down her
back. Soft green eyes peek through sexy long lashes, casting a spell
on me, and I’ve found myself locked in a trance watching her eat
her cream filled doughnut with chocolate frosting. She makes a
complete mess of it, and by the time she’s done every guy in the
subway car is sporting a boner from watching her lick her full lips
and suck the sticky sweetness off her long fingers one at a time like
a fucking Dunkin’ Donuts porn movie.
So now the only
thing I smell is a mixture of coffee and doughnuts. I can taste sweet
cherry red lips that I will never kiss. It’s absurd I’m so
fucking enthralled with her just the thought of the subway elicits a
pathetic schmuck grin, and the vision of her lingers like a drunken
haze even when I close my eyes. But most disturbing is the part of my
body she awakens that I swore I’d never use again.
I’m so screwed.
CHAPTER
TWO
The Welcome Wagon
Vivian
“Hey, bitches,
it’s about time you showed up.” I give both Kai and Alex a big
hug.
“Sorry, Flower.
Sean and Kai were late.” Alex pins Kai with a gimlet-eyed stare
before hugging me.
“I hate when you
call her that,” Kai clenches his jaw.
“She calls us her
bitches, yet you think calling her flower, like we both don’t know
what’s tattooed on her back, is somehow what? Disrespectful?”
I link my pinkie to
Kai’s then playfully nudge him in the shoulder. “I can think of
worse things to be called.”
The scowl on Kai’s
face refuses to fade. Alex thinks she knows everything about the
events that led to my inked backside, but she doesn’t. Kai was
there and as much as he would like to forget how that night forever
changed my life, he can’t. I hope someday we can remember what we
were and not what we’ve become.
“I hate that
fucking tattoo,” he says.
“Well good thing
it’s mine and not yours. Besides, Kate has an infinity symbol
tattooed on her ankle.”
“Ah, Kai and Kate.
It’s bad enough that you two look like Ken and Barbie, but
seriously, hearing your names together is just too much.” Alex mock
gags with her finger in her mouth.
“I don’t look
like Ken.”
“Maybe not blond
Ken, but you could pass for the pretty boy dark-haired doll, and Kate
is definitely Barbie. I’ve never seen her in anything but heels.
Are her feet permanently molded to that shape? Does she walk on her
toes even when she’s barefoot?” Alex laughs.
“Suck me, Alex.”
“Afraid not, babe.
Sean’s idea of a threesome is with me and Flower.”
“Timeout, you
two!” I make a T with my hands. “I’m going home while you two
help Maggie close up. Try to play nice.”
“I won’t be home
tonight,” Alex says as I sling my bag over my shoulder.
“You never are.
Tell Barbie … I mean Kate,
I said hi.” I giggle, giving Kai a wink.
He scans the crowd
for onlookers, then waves goodbye with his lone middle finger.
#
I stick in my
earbuds and float away with Ed Sheeran as I take the Red Line back to
Harvard Square. At South Station an all too familiar face steps
through the doors. We make eye contact, sharing mirrored grins.
“You’re haunting
me today,” I tug my earbuds out.
Oliver takes the
seat next to me. “I could say the same about you.”
“Your obnoxious
brother let you off early?”
Oliver laughs. “I
didn’t ask. I pretty much decide when I’m done. What’s he going
to do? Fire me?” His gaze dips, heating my skin. “So why are you
going home so early?”
“Wasn’t really
my day to work so I left my friends to clean up the mess and close up
shop. Besides, I skipped lunch and I’m starving.”
“You think it’s
because you skipped lunch? Or maybe it’s because you left half of
your breakfast with me.” Oliver pulls at his chocolate-stained
shirt.
“Funny guy, huh?
I’m starting to feel less and less badly about this morning’s
little incident.”
We both stand as the
train stops at Harvard Station. “Come on.” He signals with his
head as we step off. “I owe you a doughnut.”
I hesitate as
commuters shuffle past us. “That’s a ridiculous comment, but I’m
starving so yeah, I’ll let you buy me a doughnut.”
We navigate up the
stairs and make our way out to Harvard Square. I hold up a finger and
duck into the corner shop returning just a few minutes later. “Here,
we’re even.” I toss him a Harvard T-shirt. “Now you can pretend
you went to an Ivy League school.”
He shrugs off his
shirt leaving me with a gaped-mouth stare as I look around to see if
anyone else is watching. Drool-worthy, carved muscles hug his lean
frame, and I can’t hide the blush that creeps up my neck as he
slips on the new shirt before tossing the old one in the trash.
“What makes you
think I didn’t go to Harvard?”
I shrug. “Well,
probably the leather work boots. Why? Did you go to Harvard?”
Oliver cruises ahead
toward Dunkin’ Donuts. “It’s possible.”
I can feel his smirk
as I roll my eyes and jog to catch up.
“After you.”
Smirking, Oliver holds open the door.
“Why thank you,
Mr. Konrad.”
We order doughnuts
and iced coffee then take a seat by the window.
“So, are you?”
“Am I what?” He
arches a sly brow.
“A Harvard
graduate.”
“Ah, piqued your
curiosity, have I?”
“A little.” I
remove the lid from my coffee.
He stares into his
drink as if he’s waiting for his next words to float to the top.
“Yes, I went to Harvard.”
“Cool,” I reply,
sticking my finger into the cream-filled hole then licking it off.
With cow eyes,
Oliver watches me suck the filling off my finger. He clears his
throat. “Yes, I guess it is cool.”
Sticking my finger
back in the hole to scoop out more filling, I laugh. “I don’t
mean it dismissively, I’m just trying to not make a big deal of it.
You’re obviously not using your degree, that is if you received
one, so I don’t want to make you feel bad for doing something else
in life.”
Sliding my tongue
along my cream-covered finger, I wait for his response. He’s
staring at my mouth again with his lips parted and he takes an
exaggerated swallow when his eyes meet mine.
“Uh, that’s um,
an interesting way to eat a doughnut.”
I lick my lips and
grin. “I like to savor it. You know, the way some people lick the
frosting from the center of an Oreo before eating the cookie part?”
He nods and clears
his throat. “I graduated with a degree in Law.”
“Really? Did you
ever practice?”
His forehead tenses
into valleys of lines, almost looking pained. “For a short while,
but … life became too demanding so I had to give it up.” He says
each word with slow calculated precision.
“Do you think
you’ll ever start practicing again?”
He keeps eye
contact, but his gaze becomes glazed. “A few years ago I would have
said no, but now I hope I find my way back.”
“Sounds like
you’re lost.”
Oliver leans back
and laces his fingers behind his head. “I think I am.”
I pull the straw
from my cup and chew on the end giving thought to his comment. “Lost
is a state of mind. You’ll find yourself when you acknowledge
you’re exactly where you need to be in this moment.”
He laughs. “At
Dunkin’ Donuts?”
“Nope, just
alive.” I smile but it falters as I watch the color drain from
Oliver’s face. “Did I say something wrong?”
The legs of his
chair screech along the floor as he stands. “No, I just should get
going.”
I grab my drink,
shoving the straw back into it, and stand. “Okay, well, thanks for
the late afternoon treat.”
“Yeah, sure. So
I’ll see you around.” He doesn’t wait for me and before I can
say anymore he’s out the door.
#
Now who’s
scampering away with their tail between their legs? What the hell
just happened? How can Chance be so transparent, as in, “I’d do
you in the back of my pickup,” but Oliver such an enigma? I climb
the front stairs to my building while fetching my keys.
“Hey, Oliver,
how’s it going?”
I whip around and
see Oliver waving toward an open window of a condo across the street,
then he digs his keys out of one pocket while holding a paper grocery
sack with the other. He unlocks the door next to the one with the
open window, enters, and closes it without a single glance in my
direction.
No way! Oliver is
my neighbor?
I have nothing to
offer this tall sexy man, yet I feel compelled to march across the
street like the welcome wagon with a chip on her shoulder.
Knock knock
knock!
He opens his door
and his brows sink into a scowl. “Did you follow me?”
I make a fist and
point my thumb over my shoulder. “See that red door?”
He nods.
“That’s where I
live. I heard your neighbor greet you as I was getting ready to
unlock my door. How long have you lived here and why did you drop me
like burnt toast then run out of the doughnut joint?”
He jerks his head
back. “Um, two months and I didn’t drop you like burnt
toast,
I had to get going.”
Crossing my arms
over my chest I widen my stance, jutting my hip out. “How have I
not seen you coming or going? And yes, you did drop me like burnt
toast, and then you ran out the door with your
tail between your legs.”
He rests his free
hand on his hip and bends down to my eye level. “I don’t exactly
have a front yard or porch swing to lounge in, so it’s not a big
surprise that we haven’t run into each other. And I didn’t
run
out with my tail between my legs.”
“Well …
whatever. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
Turning on my heels,
I sally forth down the stairs.
“Wait!”
I stop, keeping my
back to him.
“Thank you for the
shirt. You said something that hit a little too close to home and I
didn’t know how to react so … I left. It was a dick move and …
I’m sorry.”
I nod once and
continue across the street.
“Hey! Do you want
to come in for a drink or something?”
“Not today.”
“Are we good?”
he yells.
Unlocking my door
without looking back, I flash him the A-OK sign with my left hand.
Oliver
I pour myself a
scotch and collapse on my back deck. Normally I wouldn’t turn to
hard liquor before five o’clock, but the black magic my new
neighbor across the street weaves requires something stronger than a
Sam Adams. I had the upper hand when she nearly choked on her own
saliva as I shrugged off my shirt in the middle of Harvard Square. It
was completely unnecessary, but I wanted to see how she’d react.
I’m not sure why, since I have no intention of acting on any of my
dick brain impulses. The impulses she feeds like blood to sharks. The
crazy part is I honestly don’t think she has a clue what she does
to me and probably every other straight guy she encounters.
Seriously, what was that today? Finger fucking her doughnut then
sucking it off like she was giving a tutorial on blow jobs?
I don’t even
recognize the voice in my head. I’m depressed, agitated, lost,
starving, and horny as hell. It’s been over three years since I’ve
had sex. Three.
Years!
Chance thinks I need to get laid, but I’ve never been the guy who
easily indulges in one night stands. However, a relationship is not
an option, so I guess I’ll keep my Playboy subscription and hand
lotion to save the poor women of Boston from falling prey to my
selfish needs and lack of ability to ever commit again.
The scotch is
numbing, infiltrating my blood with the ease of molasses. In moments
like this I feel outside of my body, a stranger observing the mere
shell of the man he used to be. I miss that Oliver Konrad. He was
full of life, confident, kind, aspiring, and driven. But mostly he
was connected, rooted in this world and thriving in his environment,
taking all life had to give.
Lost. I’m lost in
this moment. I’m lost in every moment, floundering around as one
day blurs into the next. I won’t look back, but I can’t see
forward. Stuck—that’s it—I’m stuck. Am I waiting to be
rescued? Will I dig my own way out and move forward? Or, will I
perish in this dark hole?
#
I haven’t missed
many sunrises in my adult life. It’s my favorite time of the day.
It used to be symbolic of living to see another day, but now it’s
the reminder I need that time isn’t standing still. For a brief
moment I actually feel the earth moving beneath my feet, inching me
away from my past.
Several months ago I
agreed to move back home under one condition—my family would never
mention my time in Portland. It’s asking a lot of my mom, who is a
psychiatrist, to pretend her son is not fucked-up in the head, almost
to the point of insanity. My dad, however, is a cardiologist and he
openly admits the only matters of the heart he cares to deal with are
the ones behind the closed doors of a sterile OR.
“Are we still
on for dinner, sweetie? Your brother is bringing a ‘friend’ so
feel free to do the same. Love you!”
I delete the voice
message off my phone with a deep sigh. My family is the best, really.
Growing up in Boston our house was the gathering point for all our
friends, and when it wasn’t overrun with kids, my parents hosted
dinner parties and wine tastings. Now the once Leave
it to Beaver
house is haunted by the ghosts of my past and the only thing more
awkward than the impersonal and random dinner conversation is the
blinding pain in their eyes. It says so much more than words ever
could.
Me: I’ll
be there, no plus one for me. Love you.
I send off a quick
text and head to Harvard Square. Leaning against a concrete post in
the underground transportation dungeon, I see the doughnut queen come
down the stairs. Curious eyes find me as she masks her smile behind
the lid of her coffee cup. It should be illegal for someone with legs
that long to wear shorts that short. I wait for her to make her usual
navigation in my direction, but instead she stares at the MBTA map
like she hasn’t seen it a million times before.
Worming my way
through the growing crowd, I stand behind her without saying
anything.
“Hey, neighbor,”
she says, and I think I can hear the grin on her face.
“No doughnut
today?”
She turns, both
hands cupping her coffee inches from her mouth. “I already ate it.
Thought it was in all the other commuters’ best interest.”
I grin and nod. I’m
sure I won’t be the only guy disappointed that the 7:30 a.m.
doughnut porn show has been cancelled.
We board the subway
and stand facing each other again. I look at her coffee with a single
raised brow, then at her eyes.
“No worries.”
She smiles, securing a firm grip on her hot drink as the train jerks
to a start.
“I wasn’t
thinking anything.” I chuckle.
“You were thinking
I was going to owe you another new shirt. Your eyes say it all. It
must be a Konrad family trait because your brother’s eyes don’t
lie.”
“Well, you’re
wrong. I was actually wondering what you eat when you’re not
sucking down caffeine and sugar.”
“If that’s your
sneaky way of asking me to dinner, then I’ll stop you right now.”
Glancing over her
head I shake mine, rolling my eyes. “I’m not asking you to dinner
or looking for a date. I was just making conversation.”
“Good, because I
don’t date.”
I shrug. “Neither
do I.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Fine.”
“Fine,” I say
back as we approach my stop. “Well, see you around.”
She nods.
“Indian!” I hear
her call as I maneuver my way to the doors.
I glance back.
She lifts her
shoulders with a goofy grin beaming across her face. “Since you
wondered … I like Indian food.”
“Me too.” I
match her grin and jump off as the doors start to shut.
CHAPTER
THREE
A Nun’s Life
Vivian
3 Years
Earlier
“We don’t
have to,” Kai reassures me.
“I know. Don’t
you want to?”
“Yeah, of
course I do … I just, you know … I don’t want to hurt you.”
I slip off my
sundress and wait for him to make the next move. His eyes explore my
body and I feel it. Desire. I didn’t know if I would feel it, if I
even could, but Kai wants me and when he pushes down his shorts
exposing his tented briefs, my hopes are confirmed.
“Are you sure
your parents won’t be home until later?” he whispers as if
there’s someone else in the house.
“I’m sure.
Besides, I’ll be nineteen in another month. What could they
possibly do to me?”
Kai nods,
shrugging off his shirt. He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and
handsome with his olive skin, dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and
muscles defined from relentless laps in the pool. I can’t believe
the boy I’ve known since kindergarten, the one who used to call me
skeleton girl because my early growth spurt made it nearly impossible
to keep an ounce of fat on my body, stands before me ready to take my
virginity.
It’s taken
twelve years for our friendship to blossom into something beautiful.
There have been a spectrum of emotions and drama between us. But
after years of choosing every girl except me, it’s finally my turn.
Kai wants to be with me, not as a friend, but a lover. I push back
the thoughts of his jealousy. Whether I need it or not, I don’t
want to be reminded that he chose me after I showed interest in
someone else. A little competition is good. It’s what he needed to
see, the only girl for him has been by his side all along.
My legs shake as
I step closer to him. I rest my hands on his bare chest, and he
weaves his fingers through my hair. Our lips connect and a silent
chill ripples through me as my skin tightens, erupting with goose
bumps. We’ve been intimate in every way except having sex. My hand
makes the familiar journey along his stomach, slipping under his
briefs. He moans into my mouth as I stroke him. I love how firm he
gets for me.
Kai moves his
hands to my shoulders, gently pushing me down. Freeing him from his
briefs, I take him in my mouth like I’ve done so many times before.
His head falls back as he sucks in a tight breath. We’ve done this,
and as much as I like pleasing him, I want more. I want to feel him
inside of me. I want him to take what I’ve saved just for him.
“Kai?” I
release him with my mouth but continue to stroke him with my hand.
“Don’t stop,
baby.”
“Kai, I want
more.” I stand, reaching behind to unclasp my bra. As it falls to
the floor, I watch his eyes. “Touch me.”
Kai’s never
given me an orgasm. I want that to change tonight. Maybe if there are
no boundaries, he’ll take his time with me. Our intimacy usually
ends as soon as he’s had his release. Maybe the feeling of him
penetrating me will allow me to let go of my own pleasure.
“Please, Kai,
touch me.”
He’s still. I
slide down my panties, step out of them, and take his hand. As I turn
to lead him to my bed, I hear his breath catch in his throat and his
grip on my hand tightens. I shouldn’t look back, because I know
what I’ll see and it will crush me.
My body deceives
me. Turning my head, I see it. Pity.
“Kai?”
“Viv…” he
shakes his head “…I’m so sorry. Does it hurt?”
Yanking my hand
from his, I sigh. “No, it doesn’t hurt! What hurts is the look in
your eyes. Jeez, Kai, you’ve touched it before!”
“I know, it’s
just … this is the first time I’ve … seen all of it. I didn’t
think it’d look so …”
“So what? So
gross? So disgusting? So deformed? What, Kai? Tell me!”
Tears swell in
his eyes.
“Don’t you
dare. Don’t you dare cry!”
“I’m sorry,
Viv. Maybe we should wait—”
“No.” I pull
my hair over my shoulder so he has an unobstructed view of my back.
“Take a good long look because this is the last time you’ll see
it. The last time I’m going to put up with that pathetic pity in
your eyes.”
“Viv, don’t.”
I grab my dress
and slip it back on.
“What are you
doing?” he asks.
“I’m taking
my virginity and what’s left of my pride as far away from you as
possible. Hell, I’m taking my freakin’ virginity to my grave
someday!”
“Vivian!”
“Take your
sorry ass someplace else. I’m not going to be part of your pity
party. Not now, not ever! I can’t change what happened and neither
can you. Your incessant apologies have been eating me alive, but that
look … you gutted me with that ONE! Single. Look.”
Present Day
“Kate’s leaving
for Italy with her parents in the morning. I’m yours for a month.”
Kai swaggers in the house and plunks himself down on the couch.
“It’s laughable
that you think I want to hang out with your boring ass for the next
month. And come on in, by the way, have a seat, make yourself at
home.”
He laughs while
propping his feet up on the coffee table. “Thanks, I think I will.
Why don’t you grab me a beer?”
“Get it yourself,
bitch.” I smack his feet off the table. “It’s been a long day.
I just want to fall into bed not babysit you. What are all your frat
boys doing tonight?”
“Vacationing or
getting laid.”
“Who’s
vacationing or getting laid?” Alex asks, tossing her bag by the
door.
“Apparently,
everyone but Kai.” I give him a gleam of devilry.
“And Viv.” He
smirks back.
Harnessing all the
maturity I can find, I stick my tongue out at him. “Who put you in
charge of my hymen? Maybe I’ve already gotten laid. It’s not like
I’d send out a text or anything.”
Kai rolls his eyes.
“Flower, is there
something you’re not telling me?” Alex raises a single brow.
“No, there’s
nothing she’s keeping from you. Trust me, if there were, she sure
as shit wouldn’t let you call her that damn nickname!”
I walk toward the
front door, smacking Kai on the back of the head. “Don’t be so
sure.”
“Hey, where are
you going?” Kai jumps up ready to follow me like the lost puppy
he’ll be for the next month.
“I need tampons,
but I’d love the company.”
He collapses back
down on the couch with a dragged-his-blanket-in-the-dirt look. “I
think I’ll stay with Alex.”
“I’m just
grabbing some clean clothes and heading back to Sean’s. Sorry, Kai
Pie.” Alex sticks out her pouty lower lip as she passes him to go
upstairs.
Kai grabs his bag
and follows me out the door. “You know the only name I hate more
than Flower is Kai Pie. Pencil me in for dinner tomorrow.”
I waltz off in the
opposite direction. “Sorry, I’m busy.”
“See you at
seven,” he yells.
I amble around the
block and head back inside. The tampons were a decoy. I needed to
ditch Kai for the night. As much as I love my best friend, he’s
still selfish and needy, especially when Kate is gone. I’m not
ruling out dinner tomorrow, but tonight I don’t have the energy or
patience to deal with my clingy friend.
“For someone who’s
known you for nearly sixteen years, I find it ironic that he doesn’t
know you stock tampons like survivors of the depression stock food.”
Alex laughs, grabbing a bottle of wine out of the fridge.
I lean against the
kitchen island. “I’m a terrible friend aren’t I?”
Alex hugs me. “Not
to me, Flower.”
“I’m hungry and
tired.”
“Then eat and
sleep. I’ll see you Sunday.” Alex snatches her bag and gives me a
wink.
My hunger can wait.
Pulling my canvas bag out of the entry closet, I head out front and
sit on the steps. This isn’t my usual location, but now I have this
desire to people watch. Okay, maybe person
watch. Pulling out my ball of yarn and needles, I resume my recent
knitting project: mittens. I took up knitting after I declared to
keep my virginity indefinitely. It’s not sexy, but it keeps me
focused, and I like the euphoria I get from completing a project. My
family and friends are usually the lucky recipients of my crafty
work. My dad said he felt like an eighty-year-old man when I gave him
a blanket for Christmas, but I know he uses it to keep warm while he
lounges in his leather recliner watching his Giants play.
Minutes morph into
hours and it’s nearly too dark to see what I’m doing. I’m sure
I’ve dropped more than one stitch. Just as a twinge of
disappointment hits me, I see Oliver. He’s getting out of a black
BMW in front of his condo. Yes, I’ve been waiting hoping to catch a
glimpse of him, but now that he’s here I feel ridiculous. As he
looks in my direction, I drop my head back to my project.
A rapturous buzz
seizes my nerves as he nears.
“I’m not sure
what’s most odd about this situation.”
I glance up with owl
eyes as if I’m really surprised to see him. “Excuse me?”
He sits down beside
me as I shove my yarn back into the bag. His clean pine and
sandalwood scent wafts near my nose, and in spite of the cool breeze
that’s crept in over the past hour, my skin flushes with heat from
his close proximity.
“I wouldn’t have
taken you for a knitter.”
I shrug. “A lot of
younger women knit these days. It’s therapeutic, like meditation.”
“You always knit
in the dark?” He edges closer, giving me a toothy smile that pulls
in those damn dimples.
“Well, um … Most
of it’s by feel and it hasn’t been dark that long. I was just
getting ready to go inside.” My stomach growls in angry protest;
it’s a beastly noise. I squirm while my crimson face prunes.
“Whoa!” He
laughs.
Hugging my arms
around my stomach, I try to physically strangle it into silent
submission. “I’m a little hungry. I sort of skipped dinner.”
It’s possible my decision to skip dinner in favor of the late
neighborhood watch shift was a teensy bit rash.
“Come on.” He
stands and gestures toward his condo with his head. “I just had
dinner at my parent’s house and my mom sent me home with way too
many leftovers. You like Tilapia, new potatoes, and asparagus?”
A wary smile
escapes. “Yes, but—”
“It’s not a
date, Vivian. It’s leftovers. Nothing I haven’t done for stray
animals.”
Standing tall, I
cock my head to the side. “Are you implying I’m a stray animal?”
He shakes his head
and offers his hand. “Come on, stop reading into everything I say.”
Staring at his hand
for a brief moment, I place mine in it and let him guide me across
the street. I’m trying hard not to read
into
the myriad of physical sensations that his touch evokes. My pulse
pounds, heart gallops, and butterflies awaken in my stomach as the
warmth from his hand sends a tingling sensation up my arm. Rarely do
I not feel tall and lanky, like I want to slouch down to keep from
standing out in a crowd, but right now I feel petite and feminine in
his lofty presence. He grabs a brown bag out of the back of his car
before we head inside.
“Would you like a
glass of wine?” he asks while spooning out food onto a plate.
I smack my lips
together. “No, I’d better not. I’m kind of a lightweight and
there’s the long trip home and all …”
I love the sound of
Oliver’s laugh; it’s genuine and spontaneous, like he’s trying
to hold it back but can’t. “Water, then?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He sets my plate on
the woven gun metal gray placemat and pulls out a chair for me.
“This is weird
eating by myself. Are you just going to watch me?” My lips set into
a grim line.
“Nope.”
I hear the bag
rustling, then he sits down across from me with a square glass
container and a spoon.
“What’s that?”
I ask after swallowing a bite of the best fish I have ever tasted.
“Strawberry-rhubarb
cobbler. I was full after dinner so I took my dessert to go.”
“Mmm, looks good.”
“It is. My mom is
an amazing cook,” he mumbles behind a napkin while wiping his
mouth.
“I’ll second
that.” I gesture to the plate with my fork. “This is the best
Tilapia I have ever had.”
We eat in
comfortable silence for a few minutes, both of us enjoying the
culinary orgasms in our mouths. I sneak nervous glances at him while
he spoons bite after bite of the cobbler into his mouth, releasing a
few humming sounds. Finishing the last bite on my plate, I give him
my best puppy dog eyes as I notice there are only a few bites left of
the cobbler.
He grins. “Looks
like you enjoyed it.”
“Yes, it was very
good.”
He nods. “God,
this cobbler is amazing. It’s still warm, too.”
“It must be good,
you’re really hogging it down.” My comment comes out a little
harsher than I intend.
He scoops up the
last big bite and lets it hang in the air a few inches from his
mouth.
My eyes tighten as I
glare at him.
“Oh … did you
want to try a bite?” he asks with a devilish smirk.
“No, that’s
fine. It’s yours not mine.” I scoot my plate to the side and rest
my elbows on the table.
He shrugs. “Okay,
then.”
Never before have my
eyes felt so close to popping out of their sockets. My mouth falls
open as I gasp. “Oh my God! I can’t believe you ate the last
bite!”
Oliver’s brow
tenses as he inches the spoon out of his mouth wiping it clean with
the tight seal of his lips. “What? I just asked you if—”
“I may have said
no with my mouth, but my eyes were begging you for just one bite!
Jeez, you can’t go on and on about how good it is and make those
ridiculous sounds and not think that maybe I might want one little
taste!”
His laughter cracks
through the air and I fight my impending grin.
“Here.” He
shoves the container in my direction. “You can lick the bowl.”
I roll my eyes.
“Like I’m really gonna lick the bowl.”
“Suit yourself.”
He reaches for the
bowl, but I snag it and pull it closer to me, wasting no time swiping
my finger inside and sucking it off with my own heavenly moan.
“My God! You sure
are a handful, woman.” He scoots back in his chair with his arms
crossed over his chest watching me clean the bowl like a starved
animal.
I flip the switch as
if I didn’t bite his head off two seconds ago. “So can you cook?”
His gaze stays on my
mouth and he looks like he’s starving too, but not for food. It’s
the same look he had at the doughnut shop. I’m not sure why he gets
so captivated watching me eat. Weird.
He clears his throat
and takes a deep swallow. “Yes, I can cook. My mom made sure both
Chance and I could cook, do laundry, and sew on a button.”
“Wow, had I known
all this time what a great catch your brother is, I might not have
shot him down so many times.”
“Says the girl who
doesn’t date.”
“Says the guy who
doesn’t date.”
“Touché, Vivian.”
“So do you have
dinner with your parents often?”
He nods. “Once a
week since I moved back from Portland.”
I tap my fingernail
on the table. “Maine?”
“Oregon.”
“Oh, how long did
you live there?”
He purses his lips
to the side. “Three years.”
“Why’d you move
there?”
He clears his
throat, diverting his gaze while adjusting his sitting position. “I
took a job with a law firm there.”
Digging my teeth
into the corner of my bottom lip, I wait for his eyes to meet mine.
“I’m being nosy, I apologize.”
Oliver stands and
grabs our dishes, clinking them together with wavering control. I
sense it’s time for me to leave so I stand and follow him to the
kitchen.
“Well, thanks for
dinner. I feel like a mooch. Tell your mother it was wonderful … or
not. It’s possible you might not want her to know you fed her
leftovers to stray
neighbors.”
His back is to me,
hands pressed against the counter and head bowed. The air feels
thick, almost suffocating. This isn’t how I saw the night ending.
“Okay … so I’ll
just––”
“Stay.”
I’m not sure I
heard him, so I wait for confirmation. My inner voice chastises me
for not acknowledging the absurdity of this situation. I’m drawn to
this man and I can’t give him what other women can, but every look,
touch, and soft laugh makes it difficult to not want him. Maybe, just
maybe he could be what I need––a relationship based on emotions
without the need for physical gratification.
Oliver
My mind said “go”
but my mouth said “stay.” Vivian has this innocence to her that
is not of this world, and when I’m with her neither am I. We’re
transported to some alternate universe where the past doesn’t exist
and the future doesn’t matter. I need her to leave because I don’t
trust myself around her. The hunger I feel for her touch is painful.
When she placed her hand in mine I had to fight every urge to throw
her in the backseat of my car, strip off her clothes, and taste every
inch of her body. It’s possible I should be on meds or maybe I do
need therapy. I wasn’t like this before. It’s just her, but I
don’t know why. Yes, she’s beautiful—stunning actually—but
it’s more and I don’t have a word for the more.
Maybe, just maybe
she could be what I need––a physical release without the
emotional investment.
I face her, allowing
my eyes to drink in her soft features: silky skin, full lips, emerald
eyes, and black hair that flows in endless waves down her back and
over her breasts. The image of those perky breasts peeking through
the thick black layers as she sits naked astride me stirs my dick. If
her eyes drift a few degrees south, she’ll know how I react to her.
I should care and try to hide it, but I don’t.
“Stay. Have some
wine or more water, just … stay.”
“Wine, but only if
you promise to carry me home when I pass out after two sips.” She
brushes her hair back and wets her lips with a nervous graze of her
teeth over the top one.
I’ve become my
brother, imagining everything she does and says is an invitation into
her pants. I’m the “nice” guy; the kiss goodnight on the cheek,
opening doors, lavishing with flowers and jewelry, waiting until the
third date to kiss on the lips and a month before copping a feel. The
old Oliver would insist that sex is at least six weeks out, but my
dick hasn’t gotten the memo. This new, completely lost Oliver is
ready to tie her up and spank her … I’m not sure why people even
do that, but I think modern women like it, so sure, I’d give it a
try.
“So wine it is.”
I grin while grabbing two glasses from the cabinet. “Do you live
alone?”
Vivian laughs. “Why?
Are you planning on stalking me and sexually assaulting me?”
Okay, so I think
I’ll hold off on the spanking. I probably wouldn’t do it right
anyway. “A little paranoid?”
“My roommate,
Alex, her parents own the condo. They’re rich, I guess. Anyway, her
boyfriend and my friend Kai are good friends so they introduced us
when I needed to move to Cambridge. Alex is rarely there, so she was
thrilled to have a roommate to look after things and one who needed a
job. Maggie, her aunt, owns The Green Pot and needed some help
running the nursery since she’s been battling cancer off and on for
years. Alex’s parents agreed to keep the condo instead of having
her move into student housing with the agreement that she’d work
part-time for Maggie. So I get a job and cheap rent, and Alex helps
out occasionally at the nursery, but mostly she makes her spending
money off my rent payments. It’s a win-win.”
I hand her a glass
of wine and motion to the couch. “Alex’s parents are okay with
this arrangement?”
She sips her wine.
“They don’t know. I make myself scarce when they come to visit.”
“And you’re okay
with deceiving people you don’t even know?”
She waves her hand
in the air dismissively as she swallows. “I know them. I come to
‘visit’ every time they’re in town. They love me, of course,
because I’m such a good influence on Alex.”
“So why not just
tell them the truth?”
Vivian tucks her
legs underneath her. “They want Alex to stay busy with school and
work so she doesn’t get distracted by guys.”
I shake my head.
“It’s quite the con you two have going.”
“You don’t know
half of it.” She takes another sip of her wine, and another, and
another.
I anticipate having
her naked within the hour. Reaching over, I fill her glass back up
before it’s even halfway down.
God! What the
hell is wrong with my brain?
“So why did you
need to move to Cambridge?” I ask.
She giggles and I
adjust myself because I’m already imagining her glazed over eyes
calling to me. “My parents think I’m getting my business degree
from Harvard.” She giggles some more.
My dick has
officially taken a backseat to this conversation. As much as I want
to avoid too much personal detail, her comment has my naturally
curious mind turning its cogs. “Why do they think that?”
“Because I got
accepted.”
There’s no way
I could have seen this coming. Vivian doesn’t just surprise me, she
knocks me on my ass leaving me speechless with everything she says
and does. “To Harvard?”
“Yes, Oliver,
to Harvard. Don’t look so surprised.”
I set my drink on
the coffee table and adjust my body to face her. “Let me get this
straight. You were accepted to Harvard. Your parents think you’re
attending Harvard. You moved to Cambridge so they would believe
you’re going to Harvard, but you’re not going to Harvard?”
She massages her
temples with her thumb and middle finger then drags her fingers
across her forehead “Yep, I’ve had way too much to drink.” She
laughs. “So I’m not sure I caught all of your questions or
statements or whatever, but … yes, yes, yes … and yes.” Full
lips curl into a large and oh-so-proud smile like she just aced some
big test.
“I don’t
understand.”
“Oh, Oli-ver,
you don’t have to understand everything.” She leans her head back
and closes her eyes. “I need to pee.”
“The bathroom
is upstairs, first door on the right.”
She doesn’t
move.
“Do I need to
carry you upstairs?”
She opens her
eyes and grins, swinging her feet to the floor. “Nope, I just
wanted to see if you’d offer. After the cobbler hoarding incident I
wondered if you were much of a gentleman.”
She stands with a
slight sway. I grab her waist and bright eyes sparkle with hidden
wonder as she fixes them on mine, pressing the palm of her hand to my
cheek. Every indecent thought I had about her vanishes leaving a
murky residue on my conscience.
“You’re
alarmingly handsome. Do you know that?” she whispers, feathering
her thumb along my lips.
I close my eyes
willing myself to hold still, to resist the urge to cup her hand,
taste her thumb, pull her closer—so close there’s no space for
the rest of the world between us.
She’s gone, but
my breath remains hostage in my chest. Opening my eyes, I release it.
Okay, maybe I need something more than her body.
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My Review
I love this book. Like seriously love this book. Vivian is such a breath of fresh air. She's an old soul, you almost forget that she is only 21. She's funny, she's smart and there's still something very youthful about her but never once does she come off as being immature or naive, just full of life.
Oliver, Oli...I love that man. He's got secrets, he has a past and the last thing he wants is a doughnut eating neighbor to worm her way in to his heart. Their chemistry is instant and their banter is witty. She loves to torture him with her Boston Kreme's and he loves every second of it.
A great supporting cast of characters rounds out a very well written story. It flows easily and you can't put it down. I really connected with the characters, especially Vivian.
This is the first book I have read by the author and if this is an indication of her writing, then I need the rest of her books immediately. So grab a glass of wine, a box of tissues, and even a Boston Kreme if you are so inclined and get ready for a heartwarmingly-yes, I know it isn't a word- funny story that will stick with you.
A 5 star read from me
About
the Author:
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Jewel
is a free-spirited romance junkie with a quirky sense of humor.
With
10 years of flossing lectures under her belt, she took early
retirement from her dental hygiene career to stay home with her three
awesome boys and manage the family business.
After
her best friend of nearly 30 years suggested a few books from the
Contemporary Romance genre, Jewel was hooked. Devouring two and three
books a week but still craving more, she decided to practice
sustainable reading, AKA writing.
When
she’s not donning her cape and saving the planet one tree at a
time, she enjoys yoga with friends, good food with family, rock
climbing with her kids, watching How I Met Your Mother reruns, and of
course…heart-wrenching, tear-jerking, panty-scorching novels.
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