Hooray for Sample Sunday!!
I’m sooo excited to finally be able to share a little snippet from my next release, Love at First Spite, coming in July!
Nori and Maxwell have been sooooo much fun to write, so I hope you guys will enjoy them as much as I have.
Now let’s meet Nori. 🙂
(Note: Sample copyrighted, unedited, and subject to change.)
It was my word of the night.
“No, I don’t want you to buy me a drink.”
“No, you can’t have my phone number.”
“No, I don’t wanna get to know you better.”
“No, I don’t wanna… anything.”
In fact, the only person that was gonna get a “yes” out of me for the night was the cab driver whenever one finally decided to answer my pleas and pull over at my feet.
Because, “Yes” I needed a damn ride home.
The night had been less than eventful. My intentions were to go check out the new lounge on what I assumed would be an off-night, have a glass of wine or two, and relax while the live band they advertised on their website played their set. But somehow, the lounge turned into more of an overcrowded nightclub, the glass of wine was exchanged for some mysterious brown liquor because the bar wasn’t properly stocked, and the live band was actually a DJ playing a bunch of songs from artists that I’d never even heard of.
So no, I didn’t wanna be there any longer.
But here I was, stuck on the sidewalk right outside of the building trying to hail a cab while balancing on my stilettos that were specifically designed for sitting.
I stuck my hand out once I saw a faint yellow shadow in the distance. But before I could lean out into the street, someone stepped in front of me and let out a heavy whistle.
Of course the driver pulled right over for the jackass who had stolen my cab. I watched in envy as the guy strolled confidently to the back door, pulling it open and leaning in to communicate with the driver. Then he turned back to look in my direction, stealing my breath in the process with his perfectly squared jawline and face covered in a shade of honey. The kind that was pure and unfiltered, and you could only get it from a special factory or a farm.
Not just the regular grocery store shit.
“Your chariot awaits, beautiful. And it’ll even get you home before midnight.”
He’s talking to me?
Am I even breathing again yet?
Check your pulse, girl!
I put a finger to my wrist, pretending to twiddle with my bracelet while simultaneously ignoring the guy because there was no way his fine ass was talking to me. Not that I wasn’t beautiful, or that he couldn’t be talking to me.
He just wasn’t.
Because then I might die, and I wasn’t ready to die in the name of random fine ass men doing acts of kindness. I mean, that just sounded way too good for my obituary, especially considering how much of a bitch I had been all night. I was far from deserving of such a blessing. Karma just didn’t work that way.
“Beautiful, come on before the clock strikes. Time’s ticking.”
This time I made eye contact. Well… I made the mistake of making eye contact because I’m pretty sure I stumbled back on my heels the second those beautiful, bold, smoldering brown eyes locked with my suddenly mediocre ones.
I loved my damn eyeballs.
They were great, did their job, served me well.
But his just made them feel… inferior, giving the kind of glow I could only achieve in good selfie lighting. The dude was practically the definition of bullshit walking in the best way possible.
Bullshit as a compliment.
“I know gas is down these days, but I don’t think he wants to wait forever.”
Now that I had made eye contact, I had to respond. But it felt like the words in my head were jumping around holding “Pick Me” signs as if they were all dying for a chance to be a part of this glorious moment with the glorious man.
He can’t possibly be as glorious as he looks.
I released the breath I had been holding for who knows how long before I took a step forward towards the cab, choosing to give the maybe-glorious man a nod of thanks and then sliding past him to climb inside.
What better way to communicate than giving a universal sign of appreciation.
Words were obviously for suckers.
“Slide over. We need to talk.”
Sliding over meant company. Talking meant words. Both meant him.
There was a battle in my head over what was happening, and there was a battle on my face as it tried to decide what emotion to display.
Annoyance seemed fitting too.
But how could I be annoyed with a man that had done a good deed for me? I mean, sure I had called him names in my head over it, but that was before I knew his intentions. Now he was like… a hero of sort.
“You know, I’m starting to think we may have overserved you. Are you okay?”
We overserved you?
Oh no, he thinks I’m some dazed drunk!
Words, get in formation!
“I uh… I’m fine. Hello? Goodnight? Aloha? I’m sorry. I was giving you options. That was awkward. Now I’m talking way too much. Who are you again?”
His smile was the perfect mix of sex and… church. Why those two things came to mind as a combination, I had no idea. But it seemed so perfectly fitting for a guy that made me want to drop to my knees, moisten my lips, open my mouth wide, and… pray.
“I’m Maxwell; owner of the lounge. I saw you inside, and you didn’t look like you were having a good time. So I wanted to talk to you about your experience, see what we could improve on so that you’ll be more inclined to come back.”
“Oh. Right. Do you have a suggestion card I can fill out? Company email? Should I leave a review on Yelp? Or maybe Facebook? Yelp reviewers can be assholes.”
Why the fuck do I keep talking so much?
The sexy-churchy smile returned as he leaned against the door and answered, “Consider me old-fashioned, but I’d rather just… talk to you myself. If that’s alright.”
I barely heard the ending to his sentence, feeling delirious thanks to the scent of his cologne being wafted into the cab by the night wind.
God’s work, obviously.
But it was then that I realized I was doing it again; looking like the dazed drunk as Maxwell waited for a response.
Of course his name was Maxwell. Sexy as hell in the coolest way possible just like my favorite Neo-Soul singer. If he could sing like him, I’d be tempted to propose. Lay all of my cards on the table, and fly us both to Vegas to seal the deal.
Wouldn’t that be somethin’, somethin’.