

## Fearless Flying

## The Vivienne Series

### Book 1

By Karen Gordon

~~~

Smashwords Edition

### Copyright © Karen Gordon Author

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

### Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### A Note from the Author

Hi! Welcome to Vivienne's world. I'm thrilled you decided to give this series a try.

The book you are about to read is the first of seven novellas in a fierce and flirty chicklit series. I created the main character after reading another series about King Arthur's court by a fantastic writer named Lavinia Collins. Her stories look at the legend from the female perspective and one of her characters, Nimue, fascinated me. She's a quiet young woman who everyone fails to notice or discounts because she's so sweet looking. In reality she is the puppet master. Always watching and learning, she uses her knowledge to control powerful men like the king and Merlin. Vivienne is based on Nimue. Viv is an introvert; smart, quiet, always watching and learning. Those are her super powers. She uses them to get ahead at work but things don't always work out so well when it comes to her love life.

If you love this book I really want you to stay with me on this journey and read book 2, HiJack. In it Viv has to match wits with the top brass at work including a new boss who is easy on the eyes and definitely off limits. I think you'll love seeing how she handles the pressures of the executive suites and I'm so excited for you to read HiJack that I want to give you a FREE copy!

There will be a link at the end of this book, follow it and let me know where to send your FREE copy of HiJack.

This will also put you on my mailing list which is a really fun place to be. I never, ever give names away or sell them (cross my heart). You will get occasional emails letting you know about sales, new books, giveaways and even more FREE books! It's truly a win/win. If this book isn't your cup of tea, I still want to say that you are amazing. You gave an indie author a chance and I truly appreciate that.

So, I hope you enjoy Fearless Flying and don't forget to look for the link for a FREE copy of HiJack at the end.

Lots of love,

### "To be old & wise you must first be young and stupid."

\- Someone Old & Wise

### Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

### Chapter One

I can count the number of guys I've slept with on one hand. I can count the number of guys I've wanted to sleep with on one finger. And that man is on his way to my apartment right now. Ironically, if I end up having sex with Danny tonight I have my dad to thank, or blame, depending on how this goes.

It's 4:05 and the chime on my electronic meat thermometer dings. Perfect. Danny will be here at 4:15 so that gives the roast beef ten minutes to rest before I need to serve it. I do another walk through of my tiny apartment for a final confirmation of the details of my plan of seduction.

Pecan pie warming on the stove top and combining with the roast for the perfect scent—check.

Tools necessary for removing and storing the window A/C unit lying next to it—check.

Pristine linen sheets replaced with Walmart cheepie sheets that I am willing to have sex on—check.

My heart is racing a little but ten years of anticipation will do that to you. I check myself in the full length mirror in my bedroom one more time. Even I have to admit, I've nailed this outfit. My new jeans keep it casual, but have strategically placed seems and fading to highlight all my curves. My ass could turn me on in these. My tee shirt looks like I just threw it on, but I shopped for an hour online for this specific one—it's a little sheer, hangs off one shoulder, and highlights the blue lacy bra underneath. And even through my toes are freezing on the hardwood floor I'm barefoot to show off my shell-pink pedi. My feet are one of my best features; no way I'm hiding them today. If all goes as planned I can warm them under Danny's gorgeous muscular legs during our post-sex snuggle.

I grab the tousle spray from the bathroom cabinet and primp my perfectly-styled messy beach waves one last time. Good luck resisting me now Danny. You're going to need it.

At 4:15 I hear the buzzer from the building's front door announcing his punctual arrival. I knew it. Danny doesn't do late. He was never late one day in the eight years that my dad was his boss. Yes, his reliability is one of the reasons I crave this man. I buzz him in and use the two minutes it will take him to climb the stairs to my apartment to pull the roast from the oven and tent it with the waiting piece of foil.

I try to suppress my smile as I open the door. I'm keeping it casual. Like he's just Danny moving my air conditioner to storage, not my undying crush finally ready for me.

He is definitely looking laid back, leaning on the door frame, hands in his jean's pockets, looking at the floor. He looks up and shifts the tooth pick to the other side of his mouth, drawing my attention (once again) to how damn full his lips are. I swear I'm turned on already and he hasn't even said a word.

Then he does. "Roast?"

I regain my composure and nod. "Yep."

He takes a deep breath in and launches himself off the door frame. "Pecan pie too?"

"Yep."

And he lets out a long frustrated sigh.

What? NO! Not this. Not again.

He walks over to the window and starts to pull the air conditioner from its perch. It's wedged tightly into the ancient window frame and puts up a fight. I silently thank it for making this harder for him. In muted distress I watch him as he takes a screwdriver from my tool kit and uses it to push the frame back where it has embedded itself into the unit. After replacing the screwdriver in its correct slot (Do you see why he is perfect for me?), he shifts his weight back, stretches his exquisitely muscular arms around the machine and heaves. I can't help but swoon a little at the way his shoulder muscles flex then settle as he leans the old hundred-plus pound thing against his chest.

He looks at me, but only to get my attention, then nods toward the door. "Let's go."

My weak smile can't hide my disappointment. Surely he must see that I anticipated and want more than this.

I open the door to my apartment then walk ahead of him down the three flights of steps to the basement storage area. He's not even trying to make small talk--not asking about my job or my new car. This is worse than I thought.

I admit I knew there was a chance he would turn me down, but I weighted it as a slight chance. He could still be getting over his divorce, but it's been over a year. She left him. How long can he mourn the loss of the stupid, wussy woman? I've written off his reluctance to let her go to the fact that she has their son. That's the only reason I can see for him not moving on to someone better, someone who won't bail at the first sign of trouble, someone with a backbone—

Someone like me.

I fumble with the padlock on the door of my storage locker. I probably should have had it unlocked already so he wouldn't have to stand there holding the A/C unit, but I didn't want to leave it unlocked for too long and I did not plan on him doing this right away. My roast and pie were supposed to work their magic and slow this project down so it would last until morning, or at least a few hours.

With the lock finally off I open the door and step aside for him to enter the tiny room. I fight the urge to lock him in there and hold him until he wakes up and notices what is right in front of him.

"I didn't ask you to do this, you know."

He sets the unit down with a grunt and turns to me. "I know." He dusts off his hands and walks past me as I shut and lock the door.

"I'd already made a deal with the maintenance guy to do this for me."

He starts back up the stairs ahead of me. "Yeah, well your dad asked me to come over here and do this, so here I am. You're welcome."

Damn it. I did sound ungrateful, but this was about so much more than the air conditioner. "I made you dinner to thank you."

We reach the landing with the building's front door and he turns toward it. I can't let him go yet. "You're not staying for dinner?"

"Can't. I've got to go to work."

Puhleeese. What a lame bull-shit lie. I know where he works, I know his hours, and I know that he doesn't have to go back to work tonight. His shift ended at three and he's not wearing his work uniform. "Did you change shifts?"

"No, but I've got to go." He makes a move for the door and I block him.

My anger and embarrassment has me at a loss for words. I open my mouth to speak but I'm afraid of what might come out. I need time to process this and formulate a response. For once I have no plan B because I didn't plan on failing this spectacularly. All I can think to do is kill him with kindness. "Take the pie at least. I can wrap it up and you can share it with the other guys on your crew."

"Not tonight." He moves toward the door again. I block him again.

"Danny, I..."

"Vivey, I told your dad I would come over here and help you move your air conditioner. That's all he asked me to do and that's all I'm going to do." He reaches out and touches my arm as if the contact will somehow lessen the blow. "I...," He checks his watch. "I gotta go. I'm gonna be late."

He pushes past me, his size and warmth momentarily engulfing me, his Irish Spring scent lingering in his wake as he passes by. He doesn't look back as he descended the stairs then gets on a motorcycle illegally parked on the sidewalk. When did he get a motorcycle? He guns the engine, checks for pedestrians and cars and pulls out onto Drayton Street heading toward downtown.

I'm not sure how long I stand there, recovering from the shock of that short, excruciating brush-off. I had an armory of temptation ready in my apartment and he ran after he caught a whiff of my first shot. I shut the door tightly and check that the handle has locked. I love this apartment and this neighborhood, but I'm not naive enough to not be aware of its dangers.

On my way up the stairs I pull my phone from my back pocket to call Dom who's on standby, waiting for her BFF sex summary. She answers, "So soon? Jeez he's quick on the draw."

### Chapter Two

"There wasn't any draw. He moved the air conditioner then practically sprinted out of here." I plop down on the couch and hug my favorite pink chenille pillow to my chest. It's like putting a fluffy Band-aid over where I hurt.

"So start from the beginning, he got there and then what happened?"

A Dom-analysis could take an hour, five times longer than the actual date. I'm not up for it. "I don't know. He got here, smelled the roast and pie, asked me if that's what he smelled, then immediately started pulling the air conditioner out of the window. He was definitely on a mission to get the hell out of here. He even lied and said he had to go back to work. He wasn't even wearing a uniform. I mean, what the hell, like I'm not going to notice that?"

That shuts Dom up. Danny is not known for lying. If anything he could be called too blunt, honest to a fault.

"I need an exorcism, Dom. I need to purge him from my soul."

"I won't argue with you there. I've been listening to you moan and drool over him for ten."

"I know. I know." I cut her off because I don't want a review of all the stupid ways I've embarrassed myself over Danny. "Cut me some slack. I was fifteen."

"Ok, when you met him, but this past year...V, if he hasn't made a move by now..." I can tell she doesn't want to say it and hurt my feelings and she doesn't have to.

"He isn't going to." Ouch that hurts to say, but it's like ripping off a Band-aid. I need to do it. I need to move on. "Just give me some time."

"Sure. Yeah. I know." A sad silence hangs heavy between us because only Dom knows how hard this will be for me.

I change the subject. "You and mama going to play bingo tonight?" I know they are.

Dom and her mama and her aunties all played bingo together every Thursday night at their church. "How goes the wedding fund?" They are all pooling their winnings and saving up for Dom's wedding.

"Growing baby, growing. Luis's aunt and grandma are going in with us now." Dom's family is the opposite of mine, huge and involved. Dom still lives with her mama and siblings and will until she marries Luis in a few months. "Do you want to come with us tonight? The girls will make you feel better. We'll down a few cervezas..."

"No, not tonight. Besides, I'm an Irish girl...I've got to drown my sorrows in whiskey. I think it's required."

"Alright, you have the night off to drown your sorrows."

"Thanks. And thank you for understanding. "

"Hey, I get it. Believe me I've been there the whole time. The man's smile and body alone could do any girl in. And he used to be really sweet to you. Ever since your dad moved away and his divorce, he's changed."

"Yeah, he has." She's right. "I guess he's only nice to me because of my dad. Now that he's not here..."

"Are you going to tell your dad to stop sending him over to help you? You know he'll do it again."

Damn, she's right. It's a losing battle with my dad to convince him to let me take care of myself. I spent half my life taking care of him, and me, and our house, and he still treats me like I'm a child. "Noooo. Oh hell, you're right. If this weren't the most perfect effing apartment in this city, I would move my ass to Sweden and get away from both of them."

Dom laughs, "Then Big Mike would find some dude named Sven and have him at your place taking care of you."

"As long as Sven isn't frigid." We both laugh that that one.

"Do you think that's it." Dom asks. "Do you think Danny's frigid?"

"Oh, hell no. Like I've always said, there is something about the way he moves, still can't put my finger on it, but there's something in his stride that tells me he'd be a really great lay."

"No, no, don't go there. Assume he is a horrible lay and a shitty kisser."

"With those lips?"

Even Dom can't argue with that. "Ok, so he might be a good kisser, but he doesn't deserve you."

"Because...?"

"Because he is estúpido , a box of rocks. Come on V, how can he not see by now what an amazing catch you are? You are smart, successful, a gourmet cook, totally cute and if he ever gave you the chance I'm sure you would wear him out in bed until he died a happy man."

"I would rock his world."

"Save that for someone who deserves it."

"Like who, Dom? In twenty-five years I have met one man, one, who meets my standards."

"And don't you dare lower them now."

"I'm going to die alone as a cat lady, still looking for that perfect guy."

"No you're not. There is going to be a guy who appreciates how hard you work to make everything perfect. Did you pour yourself that drink yet?"

I put my phone on speaker and set it on the bar cart in the corner of the living room. "Pouring it now." Dom can hear me put ice in a tumbler and pour Jameson over it.

"Of course you had ice in the bucket."

"And little lemon wedges too." I add one to my drink and water from the pitcher.

"What are you going to do now?" Dom is my mother hen. A job she and her mom took over when my mom died.

"Cut the roast into sandwich meat so I can take it to some guys who will appreciate it."

"Ok, good. No single ones yet?"

Dom is always pushing me to find romance at work which, number one, goes against my policy of never dating at work, and two, she doesn't know these guys like I do. They are salesmen, always polite and kind and joking and so full of shit it practically leaks out their ears. "No single ones."

"At least Bob appreciates you."

That he does. My boss, Bob Brockhaus is the lead salesman in international sales for JetStream Aerospace. He travels the world selling private jets to billionaires and he does a damn good job of it, in great part because he has me. I make his chaotic home and work life run like a well-oiled machine and he makes sure I am paid well to do that. At least I have Bob.

### Chapter Three

I've put the guys who work in the sales department into three categories: DAL – divorced and looking, DAG – divorced and gave up, and MAH – Married and hanging on by a thread. International sales (or I-sales to insiders) sounds cool and sexy and from the outside might look cool and sexy, but it's a lifestyle that is hell on a marriage.

Right now my boss, Bob, is in Dubai. He's there at least once or twice a month and stays a few days each time. After three days home he'll be flying to Hong Kong, then Melbourne, then Seoul before coming home for another three days. He's married, again. Kara is wife number three. He and I are working together to try to hold on to this one.

I have ten different apps that I use to keep track of Bob, his travel schedule, his contacts, his expenses, and his families and almost all are open this morning. He's on a follow up sales call with a Prince so he had to fly commercial to Dubai. He has enough frequent flyer miles to buy out first class but that doesn't immunize him from delays and missed connections. I'm on line with him trying to find a work around for storms keeping him stranded in Zurich. Kara definitely wants him home this weekend. She and Bob are both hammer texting me and each other. This is not the first time I've felt like I was standing in a room with them, watching them have a very private argument.

I'm refreshing the Swiss weather site on my main computer screen when Ted Kircher leans in, carrying a heaping plate of my roast beef. He holds it up and gives me thumbs up and I smile briefly at him. I set the carved beef out in the conference room with some bread and condiments when I got in this morning and sent a blast email to everyone in I-Sales to come and get it. None of the DALs, like Ted, will touch the bread. Eating out constantly on the road is hell on a diet so all the salesmen still looking for love have sworn off carbs. DAGs will take the bread and make a sandwich with the beef and mayo then add a large slice of the pecan pie. MAHs are rarely in the office. If they aren't on the road they are at home squeezing in all the family time they can.

Ted may be hitting on me but it's hard to tell. Salesmen who sell multi-million dollar jets are constantly on—happy, joking, overly upbeat, super friendly. I could take it all as coming on to me, but I chose not to. (Refer to rule number one at work.) If I meet them on their level it all stays completely artificial and friendly from a distance. I walk a fine line between looking accessible and being inaccessible.

I book Bob on the four p.m. train from Zurich to Geneva where he can meet up with Colin, another JetStream sales rep, who is there with one of our planes working on a sale. The storms will have moved east of Switzerland by then and Bob can catch a ride home with Colin and be back in Savannah by tomorrow morning. I text him the details.

Limo driver on way to frequent flyer club now.

First class train tic in email. Dinner rez on train(carb free).

Limo will b waiting in Geneva to get to airport.

Colin will hold flight for you.

And soothe Kara's ruffled feathers:

Bob in Savannah office at 6:48 a.m.

Should b home by 8 a.m.

Have a gr8 wknd.

Bob replies:

Perfect, as always. Thank you from Kara and me.

Kara doesn't reply but I'm not surprised. She and Bob have been married for almost a year but she is still getting used to the fact that, for better or worse, I'm part of their marriage. If she wants Bob-time she has to go through me because I control his master schedule. I get her as much as I can, but seriously, he has to work too.

As I spin in my chair to take a much-needed pee break I face Cat, another I-Sales secretary. She's holding the tray with what's left of my roast beef and sandwich fixings and the empty pie plate. She drops them in the center of my desk right in front of me. "Your stuff was in the conference room. I need it."

Why does she always make such a big deal out of everything? This girl feeds on drama which I do not have the time or patience for. "Thank you Cat, now I don't have to go get these later." I smile as I stand and push past her, her cue that this conversation is over. Technically, as the secretary to the senior sales rep I am the senior secretary, but it's not a power I use very often. Being a MAH, Bob is rarely in the office so he doesn't need the facilities here, which means I don't have to join in the reindeer games of fighting for conference rooms and supplies.

The latest Bob-crisis has kept my mind occupied all morning but now the remains of my seduction dinner, strewn across my desk, are taking me right back to last night. Before I lose it and go all pity-party at work I gather it up and head to the kitchen area and the big trash bins. Screw being efficient and thrifty, I'm throwing it all out. Screw saving my plastic serving pieces for another day. Screw my stupid need to have a plan B and not waste my perfect passion meal—a lot of good all that planning and preparing did me. I channel my hurt into anger and take it out on the serving platters, slamming them into the wide plastic bin. It felt great and I'm tempted to clean outdated lunches from the fridge for another excuse to throw things. But I stop myself. Ranting at work is unprofessional and beneath me.

As I round the corner near the ladies room, I stop dead in my tracks. There's a guy at the end of the hall in a maintenance uniform. The odds of it being Danny are one in a thousand, but my heart thuds anyway as I strain to look for his wide-legged, hands-on-hips, Danny-stance. This guy's too tall and lanky. Not him. I want to write my racing pulse off to anger, but hell, it looks like my heart and hormones didn't get the memo that my Danny-stalking days are over.

Then my traitor brain joins them, seeing the perfect excuse to call Darlene, my dad's old secretary to find out why one of her maintenance guys is in I-sales this morning. After all, if one of the sales planes is broken I need to know. I mean, this could affect Bob getting home. Of course, she would also know if Danny has switched shifts...

"It's one of the new guys." Darlene informs me. "His name's Mark. Why, you likie?"

"No, I just wondered why he's hanging out it I-Sales."

"3-2-B is having landing gear trouble in Morocco. He worked on it last so they called him in to consult with the repair crew there."

"Oh," is the most enthusiastic reply I can muster. If it doesn't affect me or Bob, I let it fall off my radar. I'm also a little occupied trying to figure out clever way to turn the conversation to Danny without being obvious.

Darlene knows me too well. My silence is a giveaway. "He's here. You want to talk to him or about him?"

"About him," I answer. I give her the cliff notes version of last night.

"He's still day shift, sweetie. I have no idea why he would tell you that." She pauses for my reply but I'm too upset to offer one. "I've got about five hundred other single guys down here. You sure you don't want one of them? Give me your shopping list and I'll send one your way."

I chuckle a little at the idea because I know she's only half kidding. Her desk is the social center of the maintenance hangars. She knows every man and woman who works down there; who's single, who's not and wants to be, and who's about to be. "I want one that's 5'11, medium brown hair with soulful light brown eyes, full lips, great body, can't tell a joke to save his life, polite, punctual, kind..."

Darlene lets out a frustrated breath. "Only got one of those and it looks like he's taken by the ghost of wife past. As far as I know he still hasn't gone on a date since she left." This is going nowhere so she changes the subject. "How's your dad?"

"Fine," I say, "He and Carla went to the casino last week and he won two grand."

"Good for him. Now there's another one who I thought would never date again. I still can't believe your dad left here to get remarried."

"I know. I was kind of shocked when he signed up for that dating site, then bam, he meets Carla the first week."

"He's one of the good ones. She saw a good thing and grabbed him up."

I sigh, "He is, I know, he's just too overprotective and meddlesome when it comes to me."

"That's just love, Big Mike style." I smile and roll my eyes at her too-true statement. My dad is a bit of a legend on the maintenance floor. He was known for helping people out; giving guys their first job out of college or the military, setting them straight when they screwed up at work or at home. He was the mentor of maintenance. He gave Danny his first job when he was fresh out of the Navy and even though my dad is fifteen years older than him they just clicked and became best friends.

"Speaking of love, yours just walked by my window with a pissed off scowl on his face. It seems like he always looks that way since your dad left."

"I know! I think he's lonely. He needs me Darlene."

"Maybe he does, but do you need him? I get the hot part, sweetie. Don't think I don't stop and take in the view of him working sometimes, but, I mean, don't you want someone closer to your age?"

"He's only seven and a half years older than me and no, I don't. I feel like I'm babysitting when I date guys my own age."

"Yeah, I bet you do," She concedes. "You grew up fast after your mom died."

My phone buzzes and I reach to shut it off so I can continue my conversation with Darlene but it's Bob. "Bob's calling. I need to get this. He's trapped in Switzerland and Kara wants him home now."

"And you are the one person who can make that happen."

"Or die trying. Thanks for the Danny update." I hang up quickly and pick up Bob's call. It's nothing urgent; he's on the train to Geneva and wants to go over next week's meeting schedule so he can stay off his phone once he gets home. Kara's threatened to toss it in their pool more than once. I finish his updates then straighten up my desk to make room for my lunch.

I eat alone a lot and often at my desk. Staying several steps ahead of Bob takes extra effort. It took me six years to work my way from being a receptionist to one of the top secretarial positions in the company. I did it by working my ass off, doing extra work, doing more than anyone could or would ask. I've been with Bob for a little over a year and I'm finally getting my stride. I know all his likes and dislikes. I know how to get him in and out of all his most frequent sales stops as quickly as possible while maintaining his maximum comfort. I know his diet, seat preferences, shirt size and favorite tailors.

I watch the other I-sales secretaries leave together to go out to lunch. I can't say I want to go with them. Office gossip wears me out. But maybe I've become too reclusive lately. Maybe I'm the one who is lonely and that's why I can't seem to let go of my absurd crush on Danny. I'm resolved to take action now and I text Dom.

What r we going to b for Halloween this year?

Halloween has always been our thing. Ever since we were little, we would coordinate our costumes and trick-or-treat together. We graduated from candy to liquor prizes in high school but we've always gone out as a team and entered costume contests. I bailed on her the past two years because of work stuff but I know how to fix that this year. I look up charity Halloween balls in the area while I wait for Dom's reply. Bingo, there is one at the art museum. I copy the link and send it to Kara along with a few very cool, expensive costume ideas for her and Bob. Calendar cleared.

### Chapter Four

I wanted us to go as Wonder Woman and Batgirl but Dom put her foot down because we had done that twice already and she hates her Batgirl costume. She wanted us to make new costumes and go as Green Eggs and Ham but I put my foot down on wearing food costumes which are neither cute nor sexy. Besides any literary reference, even one to a children's book would be lost on the bar crowd. In the end Dom's mama came up with Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf—sexy versions of both, of course. It was the perfect solution. I got my cute red dress with boob-enhancing corset and Dom got to be BAD in her wolf costume.

I put myself in charge of creating our agenda. Ever since our first Halloween as over twenty-ones, Dom and I have had a goal of spending nothing all night. It sort of just happened the first year, but we figured out a system (my analytical issues rearing their ugly head) and have it down to an art now. Step one is carrying no cash on us, just our IDs and cell phones strategically placed in our costumes.

Then we start at the Corner Bar near my apartment, home to lots of skeezy old men and no contest but extremely cheap drinks. It's my dad's old hang out so I rarely have to pay there anyway. Someone who remembers Big Mike will sit and reminisce about him with Dom and me over a couple of three-dollar drinks. Once we have some liquid courage in us, we will have Dom's fiancé, Luis, pedicab us downtown to hit as many costume contests as we can. Even if we don't win the contests, drunk people buy us drinks because they like our outfits. When Luis finishes his pedicab shift at midnight he will bring his car, meet us, and drive our drunk asses home—free and safe.

The costumes Dom's mom, Lucca, made are awesome. She's the one who taught me to sew...and knit, crochet, macramé, and bake. She's a true Jill of all trades and my organizational idol. She found a tutorial online for making a wolf face with makeup and Dom sits patiently while Lucca and I touch up details and freeze the edges of her long black hair into a frame around her face. She looks evil and hot. Luis should be expecting serious scratches on his back later tonight.

We can walk to the first stop because it's close and, well, we can still walk.

The old dudes at the Corner Bar don't disappoint. They buy us cheap shots and throw cliché lines and jokes our way about our costumes. We call for Luis at ten so we can head downtown and catch the first contest at the BarBar. Dom catcalls her fiancé as he peddles. "Hell yeah, babe. Look at that ass—dimpled with the promise of pleasure."

Luis is laughing and I have to admit Dom is right. His job definitely has body benefits, the man has some beautiful legs and a butt I don't mind watching for ten blocks.

BarBar is normally a little too young and goofy for my taste, but I need immature and stupid tonight. I love Halloween because being in costume lets me be someone I'm not, someone silly, laid-back, easy-going and fun. Tonight I'm not Vivienne, over-organized control freak, I'm Red, walking trouble.

Dom and I place third in the costume contest behind a girl wearing pasties as a top and some guy dressed as a used tampon (yeah, they keep it classy here). All we win is a bunch of swag from the liquor companies, but it's cool. We trade it for drinks from the college kids who want it for their dorm rooms. While I'm more focused on executing our free-drink, hit-every-contest plan, Dom is focused on finding me a Danny replacement. She keeps pointing out any guy who looks even remotely like he might be my type.

The next bar is more touristy so there are very few people there in costume which works to our advantage. We win this one and walk away with $100. Technically this could be drink money but I tell Dom we need to stick to our plan and put this in her wedding fund. I know she's getting pretty tipsy because she hugs and kisses me and keeps telling me what a great fuckin' friend I am.

She doubles down on her search for my next obsession and focuses on a bunch of businessmen who are more than happy to buy us premium drinks on their expense accounts. They're definitely not college boys and one does look particularly good in his suit, but there's just no spark there. At Dom's urging, he gives me his card and I see he works for one of JetStream's vendors. I'm glad I'm in costume and calling myself Red because he is someone I might call for my job.

Dom doesn't hide her frustration. "He was cute!" She yell-slurs at me as we walk to our final contest.

"I know but he works for HighTel. I have to call them for Bob sometimes."

"So!"

"So..." I don't have an answer because she is starting to make sense. There are no rules against me dating a vendor. I change the subject because I really don't want to go back there. The guy was a good match for me. His only fault is that he isn't Danny and my defenses are down enough for me to admit that I still want the lying bastard.

"Next stop you have to at least kiss whoever I pick for you."

I open my mouth to protest but she shuts it with a glare. She has great taste and knows me well enough that I'm game. "Fine, I'll do it."

"Hell yes you will." She's dragging me toward The Rail, our favorite Irish pub, and the place Luis will meet us. As we wait in line to get in, Dom makes some needed adjustments to my costume. I've gone from boobilicious cleavage to my nipples almost popping out and I try to stand still as she adjusts the laces on the front of my corset but the cocktails are kicking in. We get into a giggle fit as the guys behind us encourage her to play with my boobs. I start to play with her hair, stroking it and we move toward each other, looking like we might kiss. They're chanting "kiss " and we're laughing and none of us sees that the line has moved on. The bouncer yelling, "move on," breaks our little show. I turn to face the bouncer, fishing my ID out of my top and I stop.

Danny is sitting on a bar stool in the doorway of The Rail carding people and looking anything but amused. He holds his hand out for my ID. I'm too stunned to speak. Dom isn't.

"Oh, fuck me!"

She gets several offers from the group of guys behind us. Danny gives my ID a cursory glance because he knows how old I am and does the same to Dom's, never saying a word to us. He hands them back and looks past us to the next group in line.

"Danny, I.." I start to speak but he ignores me and talks to the guys behind us.

"Oh, NO WAY!" Dom won't go through the door now. She's turned Puerto Rican, she-wolf crazy. "Yolo, you think you can treat my girl this way?" She shouts.

She's in his face but Danny just looks up at her slowly and calmly replies, "Get inside Dom. I don't have time for this right now."

I push her through the door because my heart is pounding and my head is spinning and my drinks are threatening to come up and out all over Danny and the front steps. We retreat to the ladies room to regroup.

"Why would you ever want that asshole," Dom says angrily. "I don't care what he looks like, he's a fucktard and a loser."

I only half hear her tirade because my fuzzy brain finally pulls the missing pieces together so I can form a thought and sentence. "He didn't lie."

That stops her cold. "What?"

"He didn't lie." I repeat both to myself and Dom.

"What are you talking about? So he didn't lie, he just snubbed you, AGAIN!" She shouts the last word like she's using it to wake me up.

"No, Dom, he was going to work the other night. He was going to work here."

I can tell from her look that she is too disgusted with me to grasp the enormousness of what I just figured out. I push myself away from the sink I'd been leaning against and pull on the rickety door handle.

"Where do you think you're going?" Dom pushes the door shut. There is a loud groan from the girls waiting in line outside the bathroom.

"To talk to him." It's obvious that I have to now that I know he's not a liar. Why can't she see this? I pull on the door again and she holds it closed with her hands.

"V, wake up. Whether he lied about the job or not he just totally snubbed you."

"He's working. He couldn't talk right then."

"And you think he wants to talk now?"

Damn she makes more sense drunk than I do. I stew for a minute then say, "Fine, whatever, let's just get out of here."

I pull her toward the front of the bar where I can see Danny from where we perch on a window ledge.

Dom follows my line of sight. "You're killing me, V, let him go."

I shake my head "no'"and she settles in. She knows I never give up easily.

### Chapter Five

When Danny takes a break I approach him, despite the look in his eyes that says he is anything but happy to talk to me right now.

"So this is where you work at night." I state hesitantly

He just nods, crosses his arms and stands back. He has "fuck-off" body language down to an art but I'm not intimidated. I know him too well and drunk Vivienne is ten times more tenacious than sober me.

"Look, I don't know what I did to piss you off..."

He's trying to cut the conversation short and doesn't let me finish. "You didn't do anything. I'm not pissed, just busy." He looks away like he has somewhere to go.

I know this isn't a good time or place for this, but I want answers. I want a final declaration of some sort. My voice sounds whinier than I want it to, "Danny, I just want to know. I mean, you must have figured it out by now..."

He cuts me off again, changing the subject. "You need to go home, Vivey. You don't need to be here."

Normally I turn to mush when he calls me Vivey. He and my dad are the only two people I ever let call me that. Tonight, it pisses me off because it makes me sound like some child he has to correct then sends off home to her parents. "What the hell? Why shouldn't I be here? I'm twenty-five years old, its Halloween night and I can be in a bar if I want to."

He finally looks me in the eyes. "It's late. People are getting stupid drunk and I don't want to have to keep an eye on you. I'll call you a cab."

I'm pissed now, I'm sure my face is as red as my dress. "I have a ride and I'll stay as long as I want. You don't need to keep an eye on me." I throw up air quotes. "I can take care of myself."

The condescending, patronizing look on his face when grabs my arm adds fuel to my fire. I twist from his grasp and start to walk away but turn and say, "Screw you, Danny," before I'm too far away for him to hear.

✈✈✈

Dom couldn't hear our conversation but she can see I'm livid. She pulls me up to the bar with her and uses her body to wedge us between two guys so we can reach the bar.

"I'm sorry, V. I really am but maybe it's what you needed. It's finally over." She's talking into my ear so I can hear. She seems a little more happy than sorry.

"He treats me like I'm still fifteen." I shout back to her.

She nods her head, acknowledging that she agrees with me then leans in to talk again. "There's someone here who definitely doesn't think you're fifteen." She turns to look behind the bar and smiles at Sam, my one-night stand.

"Hey Sam." Dom shouts and waves him over as she is nudging me under the bar.

I'm more than shocked to see him. I mean sure, this is where I met him when he was tending bar six months ago, but I hadn't seen him back since or heard from him, not that I was exactly waiting by the phone. Hell, I don't even know his last name. I've always referred to him as Sam the-one-night-stand.

It takes him a minute to recognize Dom and me and I'm a little hurt—yeah, I must have been really memorable. Then again, he's a cute, young bartender that I hooked up with on a whim and tons of encouragement from Dom and Irish whiskey. He was part of my find-another-guy-and-forget-Danny plan. There's a good chance I'm not the first or last girl to use him for a similar plan.

It's clear when he does place my face and he smiles. I'm relieved.

I smile back. "Hi Sam. How's it going?"

"Good." He's beaming at me now and I hope it's because he's recalling our fling. "What can I get you?"

Dom practically pushes me out of the way to set up her plan. "V here just got snubbed by this a-hole. She needs a shot of Jameson Black Label and some sympathy." She winks at him. "And I need a shot of Cuervo," she adds.

His eyes ask me if it's true. I shrug and nod.

He pointedly says, "Be right back," to me then turns to get our drinks.

Dom leans into me. "You have to kiss him."

I had almost forgotten I agreed to let her pick a guy for me to kiss but once again she is right. Round two of the forget-Danny plan with Sam sounds great right now. Even better, let the asshole see me kiss Sam from his perch at the door—little girl my ass.

When he sets our shots on the bar I let Dom work her magic. She knows that even with a few drinks in me I'm not forward enough to initiate a lip lock with Sam.

Dom puts her head on my shoulder and makes a sad face at him. "Too bad there's no one to kiss her and make it better."

He laughs at her blatant ploy but reaches his long arm across the bar to the back of my neck and pulls me in for a very nice kiss. I'm flooded with memories of kissing him before and all the other things we did too. I kiss him back.

The crowd around us gets restless because they want drinks and their bartender is too busy making out with Little Red Riding Hood to make them. Their jeers cause us to pull apart. I have to force myself not to look over at Danny. I'm dying to know if he saw it and his reaction. Asking Dom is not an option either.

I get my answer about twenty minutes later. Dom and I are still at one end of the bar. Luis is there now too, making out with his very drunk fiancée. Sam stops by every few minutes to wink at me and occasionally kiss me. It looks like we are both definitely up for round two.

Luis and Dom pull apart long enough to discuss when they are leaving and if I plan on sticking around to wait for Sam to get off work. I spot him at the other end of the bar, leaning in, listening to someone. When he leans back I see its Danny. Sam looks puzzled, says something to Danny then they both turn to look at me. Holy fuck. He did not just cock block me. I'm off my chair, pushing my way toward them.

I push Danny aside. (OK, I rub my ass across his crotch and push him back with my hips. I never said I play fair.) I lean across to Sam. "What did he just say to you?"

He looks a little embarrassed when he admits, "He told me you're wasted and I need to leave you alone tonight."

I turn and glare at Danny. He glares back.

"What is your problem?" I scream in his face. "Who made you my parent?"

He's in my face and he doesn't miss a beat. "Your dad did."

"You and my dad need to just get the hell out of my life. You both act like I'm a helpless child. I've been taking care of him since I was a kid. I don't need you to babysit me, I don't need your help, and I sure as hell don't need you screwing up my love life!" People around us are staring and trying to move away. Danny puts his hands on my hips and tries to steer me out the back door. I hold my stance and push against him. "Back the hell off, Danny. If I want to go home with Sam and screw his brains out, I will and there is jack shit you can say about it."

There may be jack shit he can say about it, but there is evidently something he can do about it. He circles my waist with his arm and lifts my feet off the floor and walks toward the back door. We're half way there and I'm flailing like a rag doll. My elbow flies into one side of his head. I'm not very strong, but I'm sure it still hurts.

"Vivey, goddammit, stop it." He sets me down right outside the back door. I step back but only to get some momentum to really slam one into his left cheek. He's shocked as I am. I've completely lost control.

I hate myself when I do stuff like this. It's like I hold on so tight to everything in my world then I get some liquor in me and...bam, I do something really stupid without thinking. I reach for his cheek but I can't. I think I've broken my hand. I curl up around it, moaning and cussing.

Danny takes a few breaths to calm down then reaches for my injured hand. I pull it farther under my cape, away from him. "Let me see your hand, Vivey."

I'm embarrassed and still pissed at him. "No and stop calling me that." I'm almost crying now, fighting to regain some composure but the Jameson swirling through my head isn't helping at all.

"I've always called you that." His voice is calm and softer, his eyes seem to register hurt and he's still reaching for my hand. This is nice Danny. This is the guy who's made me laugh and asked about my life and told me really lame jokes and helped my dad with stuff. This is the guy I put on a pedestal ten years ago; the guy I need to let go of so I can stop hurting myself.

Luis and Dom are standing in the back door now watching us. I look up at them. "Let's go." I turn and walk toward the street though I have no clue where Luis is parked.

I hear Danny behind me, calling me, "Vivey." I don't turn around but I hear the door shut and I assume he's gone back inside.

### Chapter Six

It's rare that I travel with Bob but this week he is speaking at the JetStream Executive conference in Palm Springs, California. It's a strange event where all of us who work together in Savannah get on planes, ours and commercial, and fly to another location to talk to each other.

Bob is delivering a State of Sales address, and then the rest of the time will be spent golfing and socializing with other execs. Kara will be there too doing her exec wife things. I will be stressing out until Bob's presentation is over then he's asked me to come along on a golf outing. I think it's his way of trying to reward me for all my hard work but one, I don't play and two, business social events are almost painfully awkward for me. One on one with someone I know, I'm great but, in a group of people whom I barely know and who outrank me by a mile, I'm tortured.

The best thing about this trip is that I get away from Savannah for a few days and will hopefully be so busy that I have no time to think about Danny and our ugly fight or Sam and the shambles that is my social life. No better way to do that than immerse myself in presentation notes.

Dom didn't say much on our way home Halloween night or since. I think she's waiting for my take on the whole debacle. We've talked every day but only about my trip, her work at the restaurant and her wedding plans. In retrospect this whole Danny thing has gotten out of control. He was my first crush and yes, that tends to stay with a girl. I was a socially awkward but overly mature fifteen-year-old who was disgusted with boys my own age. Not only was he a smokin' hot twenty-three year old man, but he talked to me, like real conversations and paid attention to me. This was heady stuff. The fact that he was newly married with a baby was incidental. In my teenage brain I fantasized that he would wake up and realize that his wife was an evil hag and that I was the right girl for him. Then it happened...at least the part where she's out of the picture, although she left him (more evidence that she's completely insane).

So to be fair, I was starting to give up on the whole Danny and me idea until she left. Then it felt too much like fate. Then I waited a year, and another for him to make a move and it's not like he didn't have an excuse to see me. My dad moved to New Orleans to marry Carla about the same time as Danny's divorce. Dad asked Danny to keep an eye on me and help me out (which is so annoying in so many ways). He could have called or come by my place anytime. But he didn't.

I've made far too many excuses for him. It hurts like hell to finally face the fact that he isn't interested in me and alone in my hotel room in Palm Springs I have too much time to think. Hell, I could be anywhere and I'd have too much time to overanalyze the why's and why-not's of me and Danny. I'm actually looking forward to the golf outing as a mental distraction.

✈✈✈

It is a beautiful day on the course and the views are stunning. There needs to be a way for introverts like me to get to hang out in beautiful places like this and not have to deal with other people. So far today hasn't been too stressful for me. I'm driving the cart and managing the snacks for the group. The wives are here so that allows me to fall off the social totem pole and gives me a chance to get to know Kara a little better, although she is mostly busy chatting up the top exec wives. She really is an asset to Bob. I hope she stays.

I've been pretending that I have something engrossing and important on my iPad all day as an excuse not to have to chit chat. I'm really reading a BDSM romance and kind of enjoying mentally jumping between the dungeon with Master Raffe and the golf course. I'm on a particularly steamy part when I hear someone approach my cart.

"Don't tell me you're working out here."

Oh god, it's Joel Rockhurst! Why is Joel Rockhurst coming over to talk to me? He's the CEO of the company. He's supposed to stay on the course with his buddies and send some assistant over if he wants a snack. I smile weakly.

"Oh, no sir." Then I remember what I was actually doing and cover. "Well, a little." I sheepishly admit. "I was just checking the flights for tomorrow."

He nods his approval. "Joel Rockhurst." He holds out his hand to shake mine.

"Vivienne Ramsey," I say. It's one of those uncomfortable introductions that happen when you know of someone but don't know them. "I'm Bob Brockhaus's secretary."

He nods again then says, "what have you got in there?" He glances at the cooler attached to the back of my cart.

I hop out and open the lid. "Water, Cokes and Diet Cokes, Coke Zero."

"No tea?"

"Um, no." I move the ice around as if that would make some tea appear. "I could run up to the club house and get you some."

He smiles at me like I gave the answer he was hoping for.

"Sweet or unsweet? Lemon? Sugar? Sweetener?"

Again I get an approving smile. "Unsweet with extra lemon, no sweetener."

"Two lemons?"

"Two would be perfect."

I cheerfully tell him, "Be right back," as I start the cart and turn toward the club house. I drive fast welcoming the chance to get away from him. He makes me nervous.

✈✈✈

Luckily, once I give him his tea Joel Rockhurst doesn't feel the need to chat with me anymore, but I do catch him looking at me more than once. When I do he doesn't look away like he's been caught. I guess you can look at whoever the hell you want when you run the company. I just can't for the life of me figure out why.

It doesn't feel overtly sexual and he's married. Wife number four is Miss Georgia from three years ago. She's vivacious, stunning, petite—my complete opposite. I doubt our CEO has suddenly developed a thing for quiet, tall, curvy secretaries.

When we reach the thirteenth hole, I make an excuse about checking on arrangements for tonight's dinner and beg off. Not that I have one thing to do with planning the dinner, but most of them aren't too interested in what I'm up to anyway. Bob would know I'm lying but he's engrossed in making sure Kara is having a good time. I'm secretly planning on skipping out on the dinner and taking the rental car to go have dinner alone at In-N-Out Burger then find a quiet place near the beach to sit and read my book. It's my true reward for all my hard work.

I convince Bob that I had too much sun out on the golf course and that I'm taking the car to go get aspirin and aloe. It's a semi-valid excuse. I am an Irish shade of pale that is usually only seen on people who are already dead and I've got some red spots on my shoulders where I missed with my mega sun block.

In-N-Out doesn't disappoint. We don't have them in Savannah and Bob took me to one when we were in LA and got me hooked. The dinner I skipped was over a hundred dollars a plate (wine not included) but I am so much happier with my cheeseburger, fries and shake. My belly is happy and full and the sun is setting when I find a small public park with benches that have a view of the ocean. I find a bench that is a little out of the way but still looks safe and I get back to my dungeon time with Master Raffe.

I'm more than a little surprised how much this book is turning me on. In real life the idea of being a submissive woman is ridiculous. I've always been smarter and more organized and better at taking care of everyone than anyone else I know, especially men. I would no doubt get frustrated if Master Raffe tied one of the knots wrong then I'd have to show him how to properly tie the ropes (because I would have thoroughly researched and practiced beforehand). And I would probably end up buying everything for our dungeon time because I can out-shop everyone. Eventually I would end up in charge, again. It always happens that way. It can be a great thing, like at work, where I get paid extremely well for it. Or it can be an annoying thing, like at home, where I did everything and my dad still treated me like I was feeble-minded and couldn't function without him.

I stop overanalyzing (at least for a minute) and let myself enjoy being turned on. The heroine is crawling across the floor toward her Master, her leash dragging behind her. She has happily submitted to the god-like perfection that is Master Raffe. She is naked (like all his subs). He is dressed. She's been good and earned the privilege of time alone with her Master and the opportunity to blow him. My brain is at war with my hormones as I read this. My brain says she's a simpering moron but my hormones have me thinking I might want to sign up for that opportunity. It's been too long. Sam the-one-night-stand was my last sex six months ago and it was fast, drunk and as clumsy as first time sex always is.

The ringtone I have reserved for Carla pulls me back to reality. I was enjoying my alone time but she rarely calls me so I pick up. She's not one to call just to chat.

"Viv?" She's crying, actually more like sobbing.

"Carla?" I only hear more sobbing. "Carla? What's wrong?" A chill crosses my body and I know something horrible has happened.

"He's gone." I know she's referring to my dad.

"Gone? As in left you? Did you guys have a fight?" I'm grasping for the lesser of two disasters.

"No, baby, gone. Your dad had a heart attack this afternoon. He died, Viv. He died." She starts sobbing loudly again.

There is nothing I can say. I can't seem to find any words. My throat is closing and I can't breathe. I continue holding the phone to my ear. I'm looking around me at nothing, trying to grasp something that will tell me this isn't real, that I'm in some horrible dream and that I will wake up in a second.

Then Carla speaks again. "Oh, god, Viv. This can't be real. He's too young."

I want to answer her but I still can't. The food in my stomach starts to churn and I think I might throw it up.

"Viv? Are you there?"

Finally a question I know the answer to. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Are you at home?"

I look around again, trying to remember exactly where I am. "No. I, um, I'm in Palm Springs with Bob." Now my brain has something to grasp onto; planning, organizing. I suddenly know what to do and say. The highly ordered, always-prepared part of me says, "I'm coming there, Carla. I'll get a flight out tonight. I'll be there in the morning."

"OK."

"Do you have someone you can stay with tonight?" I go into mothering mode, taking care of Carla. It feels good, normal, settling.

"Yeah, I can call my friend Kate."

"Good, call Kate. Have her come get you. Take something so you can sleep. OK?" As always the adult/child roles are reversed with me.

"OK."

"Good. Call Kate now, have her stop and get you some sleep meds, then I'll call you when I land tomorrow. Got it?"

"Yeah." She answers weakly. I can hear her softening, relaxing a little as I take over.

"I'm going to hang up now. As soon as I do you call Kate."

"I will." I'm about to hang up when she says, "Love you, Viv." It's a little odd. We've never been overly affectionate, but it feels fitting now.

"I love you too." I assure her and I hang up.

I'm in full-on Vivienne mode in seconds, making a mental list of everyone I need to call and all I need to do—book a ticket, talk to Bob, call Dom, call Danny... I'm going to have to put off that emotional punch in the gut for now. Would he even pick up the phone after our ugly fight so I can tell him his best friend has died?

### Chapter Seven

Fifteen hours later, I'm standing at the edge of the security zone watching for Danny to come through concourse B of the Louis Armstrong International Airport in New Orleans. My flight got in an hour and a half before his so I told him I would rent a car and wait for him to give him a ride to his hotel. He seemed more lost than me when I reached him to break the news.

He must have been at work at the bar judging from the noise level in the background and I was a little surprised he took my call. I played our conversation over and over in my head on the flight, analyzing if there would have been a better way or time to call. I also replayed all of my recent conversations with my dad, all of them painfully too short and full of meaningless updates and banter.

I didn't cry as I packed in Palm Springs. I was too busy hammer texting with Bob about the hotel and booking myself a flight. Bob offered to try to get one of the company jets for me but I knew that would throw off not only the schedules of the execs but the pilots too. I'm acutely aware of all the work that goes into getting a private jet from point A to point B. It's not like in the movies where the billionaire makes one call to command an immediate flight somewhere. I did accept Bob's upgrade to first class on my commercial flight.

I didn't cry on the flight or after I landed, although being in the New Orleans airport and realizing I'm not going to see my dad hit me hard as I exited the gangway. I felt the pressure, the need to let something out; tears or a primal scream, but this was no place for either. After I claimed the car and got the keys, I lined up with all the happy families and loved ones waiting to greet someone coming home or coming to visit.

While watching a dad lift his son to get a drink from the drinking fountain I realize, I'm an orphan. I have no parents. So many questions pop up in my mind that I never asked my dad—questions about him, questions about my mom. Questions I would never have an answer to now.

I see Danny approaching but he doesn't see me. He doesn't seem to see much of anyone. He's just moving forward, one step at a time, looking toward nothing. I have to wait until he crosses the security line before I can touch him on the arm to get his attention. He half smiles at me, "Vivey."

"Hey." I half smile back. There is something grounding about him being here, like part of my dad is here with me now. Despite their age difference they were so much alike. I point toward the parking lot. "I got a car. I can go get it while you get your bag and meet you out front."

He holds out the duffle he is carrying. "This is all I brought."

"Oh, ok. Well, then let's get going." I lead the way toward the rental car lot.

The ride is uncomfortably silent, the only sound being the voice of the app that's giving me driving directions. When we reach the hotel, I pull up in the drive and while I'm getting a valet ticket, Danny takes all our bags out of the trunk and stacks them so he can carry them all. I want to protest. I have a large suitcase, a hanging bag, a carry on and my briefcase tote because I was planning on being in Palm Springs for a week of semi-formal events. He lugs them inside without looking back at me.

Bob booked rooms for both Danny and me using his endless hotel points and coveted Black membership status. He set us both up in concierge level rooms at the JW Marriott downtown. At first, Danny protests and wants to pay but I explain that I'm not paying either and that it's all paid for by Bob's road warrior life.

"I'm going to Dad and Carla's in about an hour then Carla and I have an appointment with Dad's lawyer. Do you want to go?" I want to establish our schedules before we part ways. Danny has followed me to my room with all our bags. He doesn't seem interested in relinquishing the job to a valet so I don't push the issue.

"No." his voice is quieter than normal when he replies.

"I'll call you when we're done and we can all go to dinner." It's a half request, half demand. I want him along for Carla and for me. I want to cling to the part of him that reminds me so much of my dad.

"Yeah, sure." He drops my bags in one corner of the room and readjusts his duffle on his shoulder as he turns to leave.

I say, "thank you" but I don't think he heard over the door closing on its own loudly behind him.

✈✈✈

I sit on my bed and I wonder what a normal person would do in this situation. I often wonder that. Would most people lie down on this giant pillow of a bed and sob? Would they raid the mini bar or call up for a bottle to drown their sorrows? All I want to do is organize. I don't want the noise of the TV or any distractions as I unpack and make the space my own. I light my soft rose scented candle then arrange my toiletries in the bathroom. I lay out my travel pajamas and slippers for later. I hang my dresses and contemplate which one I should wear to the funeral and if any need pressing. Oh, screw it. I love ironing. I love quickly and efficiently making perfection out of wrinkled chaos. I set up the board and press all of them.

When I meet her I see that Carla is my opposite. She isn't wearing make-up and her hair looks slept on. She looks the way someone grieving should look. I look like I'm attending a conference, complete with a notepad in a leather folder for taking notes during the meeting.

She hugs me tight and sobs and doesn't want to let go. It's only when her need for a Kleenex overwhelms her that she pulls away to wipe her nose on a wad she pulls from the front pocket of her jeans. This would be an ideal time to fall apart, to break down while I've got someone here to commiserate with my pain, but I can't seem to get there. I can't cry.

Carla thanked me at least ten times for being there during the meeting with the lawyer. My dad changed his will when he married Carla and split everything he had between us. I see relief when she hears the news. Before she married my dad she was living on the edge of poverty. She got nothing from her first husband when they divorced when he went to jail. She has three sons by him, all of them grown, but all more often a financial drain than help to her. I'm not surprised that none of them are here today and I don't expect them at the funeral either.

I really am financially solid without my dad's money and I'm briefly tempted to just give it all to Carla, but I stop myself. If her kids leech off what she gets today, she might need it in the future.

After the lawyer, we stop by the funeral home Carla chose to make arrangements. My hackles are up and I'm not sure how to take the amount of upselling we're getting accompanied by a heaping dose of guilt. I pull Carla aside to the women's room to talk before we sign up for anything.

I choose my words carefully. "I want this to represent my dad."

Carla nods and splashes her face with water. She starts to take out her cigarettes then realizes she probably can't smoke in here.

"Do you think dad would want the premier line casket?"

She chuckles. "Hell no. He'd go with a pine box if they'd let us."

I smile at how well she knows him. They've only been married a few years but they were intensely happy, beautiful years for my dad. He and Carla were two peas in a pod.

"I'm not trying to be cheap," I assure her. "But I think you will need this money in the future more than we need some of this stuff."

She nods again.

"So we go with the basic package?"

She gives me a solid nod. Like my dad, she's not much of a talker.

✈✈✈

I was worried that dinner would be awkwardly quiet and just plain painful with three grieving people. It helped that Carla picked a hole-in-the-wall bar and grill where she and dad liked to hang out. The regulars who knew my dad were all in for a proper Irish wake—beer, whiskey and stories all night.

Danny fit right in and had some of the best Big Mike stories, since he was friends with him the longest. I shouldn't have been, but I was shocked at some of the scrapes Danny and Dad had with the law. The two of them had worked nights and weekends, fixing up a 1965 Pontiac GTO, or The Goat as they called it. Once it was running, they had to talk their way out of a few speeding tickets when they took it for test spins through the marsh lands outside Savannah. They tried to outrun the cops once, dying to see how fast the car would go. There was no talking their way out of that ticket.

I laugh until I cry at the stories but still can't let go and grieve.

Lack of sleep and too much whiskey overtake me around midnight but none of us is in any shape to drive. I impress the hell out of all the old dudes in the bar when I order an Uber car using my phone and explain how I have an account and don't have to have cash to pay. This brings on rounds of stories of how proud my dad was of me and how he would tell anyone who would listen about his smart, beautiful daughter. I almost lose it then but the car arrives and saves me from becoming a blubbering mess.

In the elevator back at the hotel, Danny watches me. I'm not sure if he thinks I will fall over or burst into tears or if he's analyzing my lack of tears. He doesn't explain. He looks like he wants to hug me before we part ways at the elevators, but then he grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze.

I wanted a hug, god damn it, I needed it tonight. Honestly, I still want so much more from him too. I don't know why he barely ever touches me. I can't look at him when I whisper, "Night, Danny," and pull away.

### Chapter Eight

My dad was a big man both physically and his personality. His funeral doesn't do him justice. We're not expecting too many people: a few people from the bar, the man dad had been working for and his family and some of Carla's coworkers are the only visitors at the wake. It's strange to be at my own dad's funeral meeting most of the other mourners for the first time. I feel like an outsider and I wonder if it's my own fault. I wanted my independence. I pushed him away. Am I paying the price now?

Most of the guys he worked with in Savannah, his friends that I know, can't make it on such short notice. They send flowers and make donations in dad's name to his favorite charities and their long-distance love helps me feel a little less disconnected.

Danny stays on the periphery of the event. He's a quiet man who looks incredibly handsome but uncomfortable in his suit and tie, just like my dad. Not being an actual part of the family he has no role, no script to follow like I do to pass these sad hours. I want to go to him, to stand by him and hold his hand but every time I try someone else vies for my attention.

At two p.m. the funeral director gathers all those present for a brief memorial service. Carla asked me to speak and I struggled with something to say as I lay in bed last night but the perfect speech eluded me. To do justice to the loving, but frustrating and complicated relationship we had, I would need to speak for hours. Even then I'm not sure I could get it right. When my mom died we became a family of two, but two never felt like a family. It felt more like a couple of people who lived together and crossed paths and sometimes butted heads. We cared for each other and took care of each other, but my mom's absence was like a missing puzzle piece that had tied us together. Big Mike Ramsey, all-American tough guy, did the best he could raising a daughter alone.

I was happy for him when he met Carla and decided to move to New Orleans for her. He had been single for fifteen years (although I learned last night, hardly celibate). There were days I missed him, but I was mostly happy he had moved on and found love for himself again. I was also happy to have him out of my hair.

It hurts to even think that now.

But at the time I was ready to make my own life and stop taking care of him and having him jump into my life at the most inopportune times.

There is no way to express how I feel about my dad in a few minutes to a group of people I hardly know so I let the funeral director say a few generic things--a choice I know I will regret later.

✈✈✈

Only three people stand in silence as the casket is lowered into the ground. There should be thousands; all the people he had helped and mentored and loved. This is some sick twist of fate that he died suddenly and far from home. To keep myself from facing the stark reality of this moment, I focus instead on all the things I might have done to make this moment better. Should I have specifically asked more people to drive to the cemetery for the burial? Would more of his Savannah friends be here if I had contacted them sooner?

The funeral director is saying a final few words and Carla is sobbing, the wad of Kleenex in her hand reduced to mush. I put one arm around her as I search in my purse for fresh tissues. I can feel Danny's warm presence to my left and for a moment I let myself wish I had someone, specifically him, to hold me up. My super powers are wavering right now.

I console myself with the truth that I've never had a shoulder to cry on and it would probably feel kind of odd and uncomfortable. Growing up my dad never knew what to do when I cried. He might pat me on the back and offer a few encouraging words but never a warm embrace. Female tears scared him. I'm better at being the shoulder that others cry on. I may not always know what to say but I'm fantastic at knowing what to do. I focus on Carla, holding her tighter and rubbing her back.

✈✈✈

Danny and I pick up some take-out for dinner and take it back to Carla and Dad's place. Although I could use a good dose of cooking therapy right now, I don't want to invade Carla's kitchen. I have to let procuring the perfect restaurant meals suffice but it's harder to love people with food you don't prepare yourself.

Carla's touched that I remember her and dad's favorite Chinese restaurant and her standard order; shrimp lo mien, no mushrooms. It makes me happy because not everyone understands how I love; by paying attention, by remembering their likes and the things that matter to them.

We eat in relative silence and it looks like there might be a long night ahead of us until Carla speaks up.

"It's Wednesday night," she clears her throat, striving to sound upbeat, "your dad and I always watch Survivor on Wednesdays. Would you want to stay and watch it?"

I love the idea of my dad and Carla and all their rituals; the little things that bound them together. Those were the things that made me feel like I was part of a family when I would come to visit them--Sunday afternoon football games, dinner and a movie every Friday night, Wednesdays watching Survivor. Continuing the pattern feels good.

"Sounds good. I haven't seen this season."

"You two go get it started. I'll bring some dessert." Bowls of ice cream eaten in front of the TV were also part of every Wednesday night.

I stand and start to clear plates and close take-out box lids but Carla stops me. "Let me. You've done so much already. Go, get off those heels and get comfortable."

She needs to have a job, a task to keep her in motion and out of her head so I go to the bathroom to gather myself and make sure I don't have mascara pools under my eyes.

When I walk into the living room Danny is sitting where I normally sit on the couch. He has unbuttoned his dress shirt about half way down to compensate for the way Carla keeps the house barely air conditioned. It's embarrassing how much it affects me, even today. My lust for him has no bounds, no conscience, and obviously no scruples.

I figure I had better play it safe and not sit on the couch with him. Carla's chair and dad's recliner surround a small end table on the other side of the room. I decide to take dad's lumpy, old recliner but I stop before I can cross the room. My heart lurches. I feel like I've been sucker-punched in the gut. The stupid chair is my undoing.

My dad and I had had a horrible, screaming argument when I was sixteen and I was going through an HGTV/DIY phase of redecorating. I had a plan for our living room and I wanted my dad's fugly recliner gone. There was no place for it in my design scheme. As I look at it now, I hear all the ugly things I said to him about cheap-ass furniture and him being stubborn and unreasonable. I called him an asshole that night.

I'm stuck. I can't move. I'm silently crying when I hear Danny call my name. "Vivey?" I don't answer because I can't seem to get out of this sad place. I'm in deep, trying to wish my dad back so I can apologize. I need more time with him.

Then Danny is standing next to me and I know this because I hear him quietly say, "Vivey" in my ear.

The ball of emotion that had been caught in my chest since Palm Springs rises and I can't stop it. I double over and gasp for breath. Danny is rubbing my back, unsure what to do for me. I collapse on to him as my need for comfort overwhelms me. He pulls me down with him onto the couch and holds me close.

And I sob.

Tears and snot are pouring out of me and the harder I cry, the closer he holds me until it's almost hard to breathe with his strong arms compressing me. I'm falling apart and he is trying to hold me together.

"He's gone." I choke out then hiccup as I try to breathe in.

Danny smooths my hair with one hand while the other keeps me pinned to his shoulder. I feel him breathing unevenly, fighting his own pain and tension.

"I want him back." I wail. "I want him back."

"I know." His voice cracks and I realize that he is crying too.

I fling my arm over his other shoulder and turn my face into his neck and hold him tight. I force a breath in past the hiccups. Danny smells like cologne and the underlying scent of jet fuel, the scent that always clung to my dad's skin too.

✈✈✈

When I finally calm myself enough to stop crying I'm spent. I don't know when I've ever felt this exhausted. I struggle to lift my head from Danny's shoulder but he pushes me back down and gently kisses me on the forehead. I muster enough strength to squeeze his shoulder and lean in to kiss his neck. It feels so natural, kissing him, probably because I've conjured it so many times in my mind. I do it again and feel a rush of endorphins wash through my tired brain. I turn my head to kiss his jaw. His whiskers feel exactly like I knew they would against my lips; sensual, rough.

I must have shocked him because he turns his head toward me and there they are, the most kissable lips. It's more instinctual than planned when I lean up and gently kiss them. They feel just as good as I knew they would. I kiss him again and I'm blindsided by a wave of lust. I want more. I want to kiss his warm lips for hours. I want to feel them all over my body, everywhere I hurt, kissing away all my pain and tired.

Just as a little voice starts to remind me that Danny doesn't want this, that he doesn't want me, he kisses me back and I shove that little voice away and let myself fall into this beautiful floating feeling. I feel almost drunk, definitely out of my head, for once. I'm only vaguely aware of Carla coming into the room. We pull apart but not before she sees us.

She chuckles and shakes her head. "He always wondered when you two would get together."

Her words stun both Danny and me and we turn and look at her in unison.

"He would talk to you on the phone." She gestures to Danny with the bowl of ice cream she's carrying. "Then after he'd hung up, he would always say that one of these days you were going to pull your head out of your ass and finally grab onto Vivey."

Danny is too stunned to speak. All I can do is laugh at the irony and the way Carla quoted my dad perfectly.

He turns to me. "Did you?"

"Know?" I shake my head, "No. He never said anything to me." But it would have been nice, Dad. There is too much left unsaid.

Carla hands us each a bowl of ice cream smiling like a Cheshire cat. She un-pauses Survivor, then sits down with her own bowl.

I eat my ice cream and try to focus on the show but I can't stop looking back at Danny. He looks like he is going over every conversation he ever had with my dad about me. He's so lost in his thoughts that his ice cream melts before he ever takes a bite.

### Chapter Nine

We finish watching Survivor with Carla then linger on our goodbyes, promising that we will come by tomorrow before we fly home. I know she's spent nights here without my Dad before but it's still hard to leave her alone tonight.

Danny is still quiet on the car ride to the hotel. I catch him looking over at me occasionally.

"What?"

He shrugs.

"Talk to me." I want to reach for his hand but I'm not sure where his head is right now.

"Do you remember when you moved into your apartment?"

My Dad, Danny, Dom and Luis all helped me move in but only Danny stuck around to help put the bed together. Everyone else had somewhere to be that night. It was yet another time that I pretty much threw myself at him and he told me no. "Yeah, I remember."

He's watching the road but lost in thought. "I wanted to stay."

Now it's my turn to be shocked. I try to speak but don't know where to start. He doesn't notice because he's still on the same train of thought.

"It was about two months after she left." I know he means his wife. He never says her name. "I told myself that I was rebounding, that your Dad would kill me, that you'd regret it. But I wanted to stay."

"But you never...I didn't think you liked me. I mean, I thought you were only nice to me because of my Dad."

He's still lost in his own memories because he doesn't reply to what I said. "I've gone out of my way, more than once, to drive by your place." He chuckles to himself then finally turns to me. "I've thought about just stopping in, pretending to be checking up on you, just to hang out with you for a while."

"Why didn't you?"

He shrugs and goes back to watching the road but then replies. "It wouldn't have been a good idea, even if I didn't think Mike would kill me. I was usually feeling sorry for myself."

"But I would have..." He doesn't let me finish.

"Not fair to you."

And there it is again him and my Dad, thinking for me, telling me what I want and need, never asking my opinion. "Don't you think that's for me to decide? I know how to take care of myself, Danny."

He stresses his sincerity by looking over at me. "I know you do."

✈✈✈

He's quiet the rest of the way to the hotel but when we get there he touches me more than he has since I've known him. He offers his hand to help me out of the car then holds mine in the elevator. He must be still torn about us because he's studying the carpet. He finally looks at me when we hear the chime that we've reached our floor.

When the door opens he lets go of my hand and steps off. I follow and stand there waiting to see if he'll tell me what he's thinking now.

"I'm not going to tell you what to do."

I feign shock.

He glares at me. "But I'm going to lay it all out there." He takes my hand and studies our entwined fingers. "I'm too old for you. I'm broke. I have a bitch of an ex-wife," I knew all these things so he brushes through them. But then he studies my reaction when he says, "And I'm leaving."

My heart jolts at the last word. "You're leaving? What do you mean you're leaving? Where are you going?"

"I've taken a job in Saudi Arabia. I leave in two months." He squeezes my hand. "This is a bad time to tell you. I'm sorry. I want you to know before we..." He leaves a blank space for what might happen between us.

"Why?" I ask but I pretty much already know why. There's always a need for airplane mechanics in Saudi and it pays a shit ton, tax free. Guys go there to make money.

"Remember when Nick was born, he had that heart thing?"

I nod. Danny's son was born not long after I met him. He was premature and had a heart defect but I thought all that was taken care of. He had several surgeries when he was little to fix it.

"Well, there's been complications. He's doing ok now, but he's on some new experimental drug and treatment. It's not covered by insurance."

"Oh." I nod. That explains a lot about him being broke in spite of his two jobs.

"I've signed a three year contract."

I nod again and exhale my frustration. It feels like a cruel joke. After ten years I find out that he wants me and he's leaving. We're both completely emotionally wrung out from the funeral and now this.

He leans in and rests his forehead against mine. "I'm sorry." He puts his other hand on my neck and pulls me in for a hug.

I say, "I'm sorry too" into his collar.

"What are you sorry for?"

"For me. For you. For us." I sigh and burrow farther into his warm neck. "For Carla, for my Dad." My voice cracks and he pulls me close with both arms. "Come sleep with me." I feel him start to pull away then I add, "I mean sleep, as in go to sleep. Don't let me lie there alone in my room and overthink all of this."

"How can I stop that?"

"If you're sleeping next to me, possibly without this annoying shirt," I bump his collar with my nose. "I won't be thinking about much of anything else."

He laughs softly and kisses my forehead. "Alright. We'll just sleep." I can tell he's as tired as I am but there's still a question in his voice that that's all we'll do.

✈✈✈

In my room, we strip. He takes off his socks and shoes, jacket and shirt but leaves his dress pants on. I unbuckle my shoes and toss them on the floor then pull my dress over my head. I stop momentarily trying to remember which bra and undies I have on. I look down. It's my pink lace set, more sweet than sexy but it makes me feel pretty when I'm sad. Danny raises his eyebrows at it and smiles. I pull back the covers and slide into bed. Danny's still standing there.

"That's what you're wearing to sleep?"

I nod and pull back the covers on his side. He shakes his head in protest but slides in between the sheets and turns off the lamp before settling himself on the pillow. I scoot across until my head is on his chest and my leg wrapped around his.

"I'm supposed to sleep like this," He asks. His hand caresses my back.

"For now." I relax into him.

"You're not making this easy."

"I don't want to," is my drowsy reply. I don't torture him anymore but only because I drift off immediately.

✈✈✈

I don't care if it's only for a short time. I'm awake and have been for almost a half hour, just laying here watching Danny sleep and trying not to move and wake him. When he told me he was leaving last night, I was crushed, so crushed I had to push it aside and forget about it so I could get some sleep. When I woke up this morning I knew exactly what I want to do. I want to be with Danny for as long as I can.

I've been thinking about my Dad and Carla. Would they have missed the chance to be so in love if they had known it would end so soon? Hell, no. I'm glad my Dad quit his job to move to New Orleans and be with Carla. I'm glad he had those few years when he wasn't lonely anymore. His life is giving me my answer.

I reach for Danny's hand and lace my fingers with his. He mumbles something and rolls away from me taking my hand with him. I'm now squished up against his back so I take advantage of it.

I touch my cheek to his warm skin and breathe in. I'm imprinting his smell on my brain because it makes me so damn happy. He twitches and mumbles again then rolls onto his back and slowly opens his eyes. With my chin on his chest, I look up and him and smile.

"Morning."

He doesn't respond and I get the feeling he isn't a morning person but he moves his arm from under me to around my shoulder and pulls me in close. We lay there in companionable silence but I can only stay quiet for so long.

"I thought about what you said last night, and I don't care if it's only for a short time."

With my head against his shoulder, I can't see his face but I can hear him take a deep breath as he thinks about my answer.

"Do you think my Dad would have stayed away from Carla if he had known it would only be for a few years?"

He rubs my arm for a few minutes before he says, "No." He's still staring at the ceiling deep in thought.

"I get why you're leaving. I don't like that you are, but I get it."

I take my hand from his and rub it up his arm. He has a faded farmer's tan on his bicep where his uniform shirt ends. I've noticed it before and wanted to touch him there. So I do.

"Let's just do this, for right now, for the time we've got."

I caress his forearm, the muscles and tendons I've watched bunch and flex as he would work with my dad. I want to touch him everywhere and I'm really getting turned on but I'm not feeling much movement from him. I pull away to see his face.

He's debating again.

"What?" I ask.

"I should warn you, it's been almost two years." He shakes his head and laughs. "Two fucking years." He looks down at me. "I don't want this to be bad but..."

I don't understand. I would think after two years of no sex he would be on me like white on rice. I want to roll on top of him and get this party started so I start to and he eases me off.

"Vivey, do you know what happens when a man hasn't had sex in two years?"

I have to admit I don't.

"I'm gonna be like a god-damn teenager again. This may be really quick. You are killing me right now."

I had noticed the tent in the sheet but figured it was just morning wood. He might have been trying to warn me off by telling me that he was going to be bad in bed, but all I heard was that I was killing him. Me. I feel like a goddess that can turn on this beautiful man.

I know my smile is wicked but I can't help it, I'm having too much fun. Drive you crazy and kill you with sex? Challenge accepted. I lean down and kiss his chest, then his sternum, his belly button and the start of his happy trail.

"God damn, Vivey." I can hear his conflict, Stop, but...don't.

I sit up and unbutton his pants then unzip them slowly. I reach in and scratch my nails along the fabric of his boxers, against the length of him.

He grabs onto the pillow behind him with both hands. Yeah, you'd better hold on.

I use both hands to pull his pants and underwear off together and toss them aside.

Oh hell yeah. He has those indents on his hips, the ones that seem to point right to my prize. I want to taste him but I show a little restraint and use my hand to caress him. He's rigid and pulled up tight and I realize that he won't last long so I dive in. I take as much of him as I can in my mouth then try to relax and take in more, past my gag reflex. I hear a sharp inhale followed by a raspy exhale. His reaction makes me feel even more powerful.

I work him with my tongue, spurred on by his stream of curse words interspersed with my name. He reaches for my head when he's about to come and holds on to me. I don't know if he wants me in a certain place or is afraid I'll let go and stop but I don't until he's spent and uttered the name of every deity he knows and added mine to the list.

I fall back onto the bed and laugh, conceited with my prowess. I rocked his world. And that was just round one.

### Chapter Ten

It seems I was a little premature, feeling smug and thinking I had a few things to show Danny. Round one took the edge off of him, the two year build-up of sexual tension. And it made round two an eye-opening lesson for me on the difference between sex with a man and sex with boys.

I thought I'd had pretty good sex in the past. I mean it was fun and felt...good. But it was all fast-food sex; quick, serves a purpose, just the basics. I thought that was all there was until Danny introduced me to gourmet sex.

Sure, I had always assumed he'd be good in bed because one, who fantasizes about crappy sex and two, there's something in his walk, an ease in his own body that just said that he would be uninhibited and confident. I got that part right. But I didn't know that was just the tip of iceberg, the part of this incredibly sexy man that the world could see. What I got this morning is a fantastic lover; something I thought only existed in steamy romance novels.

The first idea he erases is that sex is just the actual act, tab A in slot B. After his mind-blowing blow job, he's in no hurry to go again whereas I'm definitely ready. I try to move things along, reaching for him, wanting to get him hard again. But he takes my hand off and laces it with his then moves both my hands over my head and rolls half onto me. I'm trapped, in the best way, at his mercy for him to set the pace.

He leans in and nudges the tender skin on my neck with his lips and stubble. It sets off a ripple of sensations through my body.

"Slow down." He whispers to me.

My knee-jerk reaction is to do the opposite because I hate it when someone tells me what to do. But then I realize that he's right. I've wanted this, exactly what's happening right this minute for years. I've dreamed about it and now that I'm here I'm going to rush through it?

I stop fighting him, pushing against him, and relax under his weight. It feels so good.

"That's it." He's trying to encourage me but all I hear is patronizing. I'm having a hard time letting go of the fight that we've been having for the past two years and I tense up again. He notices.

"What's wrong?"

What's wrong? What's wrong is that I'm me—uptight, neurotic, overbearing me.

"Vivey, relax."

Nerves and frustration bubble up into a laugh. "Me, relax? When have you ever seen me relaxed?"

He knows me well enough to chuckle at the idea. "I haven't. But I want to." He leans in again and slowly presses his entire body to mine and gently slides up then down. "I want to make you feel good but I can't if you won't relax."

He's ignited nerves all the way to my toes; every inch of my body wants him. He's exciting parts of me that I'd never thought about during sex. The front of my thighs can feel the hair on his legs and the muscle beneath and they want more. My belly feels soft against his and my breasts are tickled by the hair on his chest. He's moved from kissing my neck to my shoulders then my clavicle. I doubt most other guy would know where my clavicle is let alone how kissing me there would fire so many sensitive nerves.

I can feel him starting to get hard again but he's still in no hurry. He's meticulously making his way down my body, blissfully torturing me. My urge to take over and get relief is overwhelming.

I try rubbing my hip against him but he pulls away, denying me access. I scoot closer but he sets his strong lower leg over my hips to keep me in place. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm turning lovemaking with the man of my dreams into a WWE grudge match.

I can't begin to hide my tension. He stops kissing me and let's go of my hands.

"I'm sorry."

He rolls me onto my side and spoons me from behind. "It's alright. First times together are never easy." We lay there for a minute and I worry that he's giving up on me.

"Don't stop, please," I say and immediately regret it. Wow, now I'm begging. Please have sex with the insane control freak.

I can feel his lips smile against my shoulder. "I haven't. I'm still holding you." But then he pulls away and I panic. I've pushed him too far.

He tells me to, "Stay right there," as he gets out of bed. I'm so relieved he'll be back that I ignore the fact that he just gave me a command. I roll over to watch him.

He finds his wallet and digs deep into the lining before producing a smashed, battered condom package. He flips it around in his hand. "Do these expire?"

I laugh and relax and fall more in love with him--the wonderful laid-back man who can stand there naked and make jokes. I hop out of bed and dash into the bathroom for my toiletries bag and my own supply of condoms. I toss five fresh condoms on the bed and Danny raises one eyebrow at me. I'm not sure if he's impressed that I'm prepared or worried that I carry a supply with me.

"What?"

He picks them up. "Five?"

I laugh. "I can get more if we need them."

He opens one and slides it on as I watch. His openness with his body makes me less concerned about mine. I take off my bra and toss it across the room then my panties which I slingshot in his direction. I miss by a mile but I'm having so much fun.

He sits on the bed with his back against the headboard and motions for me to join him. "Come 'ere."

I fight the momentary urge to go against his directive and climb onto the bed next to him. He uses my hips to have me straddle his lap, his cock so close to where I want it.

"We'll do this your way, this time." He pulls me in for a kiss and lets me push my hips into his, grinding against him. "But you will let me have my way with you eventually. We have two months to figure this out."

With that he slides his hands down to my ass and lifts me onto him. I sink down then kneel up again, reveling in the sensation. "That's it. You've got control. Make yourself feel good." His permission is a gift, an acknowledgement that he understands me. It opens me up and releases my fears of failing him. As I drop back down I stop, overwhelmed. I lean in and kiss him, trying to let him feel how much he means to me. His moan of pleasure is music to my soul because I'm pleasing him. I'm in control and he's not just tolerating it, he loves it.

I get out of my head and just feel and our sex moves into an entirely new realm—a dance of give and take. I don't rush, pushing for my orgasm. I know it will come. I can feel it building. I slowly ride him and when he bends his knees, I fall back onto them, enjoying the different sensation of the new angle. When I speed up, he uses my hips to help me. I'm so close when I feel him piston his hips and he comes with another combination of my name, random religious sayings and cuss words. And I feel it, like I never have before. Because I'm not lost in my own head, worried about my performance, I can feel him pulsing in me. Oh my god, it's a turn on. I'm so close. I reach down between us and use my fingers to push myself over the edge, almost screaming his name with each wave.

I fall back. A euphoric, spent pile of mush and I laugh at nothing. Because I don't do it often enough. Danny's catching his breath and smiling. I don't know what to say. What I feel is beyond words. Luckily he doesn't seem to be looking for conversation either.

He pulls me forward, against his chest and slowly eases himself out of me as we stretch out on the bed.

When I finally get the energy to speak, all I can say is, "Wow."

He lazily rubs his hand along my arm. "Wow?"

He's questioning this? Did he not just have mind-blowing sex with me? Or is he questioning whether he was that good?

It dawns on me then that, despite his substantial skills he hasn't used them on a woman in a long time, let alone an appreciative woman. I know things were ugly in his marriage in the end. Could his crazy-bitch of an ex really have not appreciated sex like that? Or would they even have been having sex in the end?

I'd never gotten the full story, only bits and pieces that I overheard, but I do know that she left him for a guy with more money—a lot more money. She's a member of the elite of Charlotte now, something Danny could never give her.

I lean up and kiss him on his chest. "Yeah," I assure him, "Wow."

### Chapter Eleven

We spend the morning at Carla's house delaying our inevitable leaving and her finally being completely alone. She digs through drawers and papers, offering me stuff I might want or need. On Dad's dresser top she finds pictures of me as a kid and a few of my dad and mom together. I put those in my purse.

"What about The Goat?" She asks when she comes across the keys to the car Danny and my dad had fixed up.

I answer her but look at Danny. "What about The Goat?" It's more his than mine.

"It's yours," she hands me the keys. "I've got the Ford and I can't drive that thing."

Danny eyes are on the keys. I can see that he wants it. He did half the work on it and it's his tie to my dad. I hold the keys out to him but he shakes his head. "It's yours. He left it to you."

"But..."

"I can't take it with me anyway."

I had forgotten about his job in Saudi or pushed it out of my mind on purpose.

Carla sees another opportunity to keep us with her for a little while longer. "Well, let's go see if the darn thing even starts. It's been months since he drove it."

✈✈✈

I hand Danny the keys. It can be finicky when you started it and he would know how to finesse and coax it. I actually know how, but this isn't the moment to let him know that Dom and I had "borrowed" the car a few times through the years.

The moment it turns over and roars to life, we are all still and silent. It's like my dad is there. The loud sound, the oversized energy, the precision of the mechanics is all Big Mike's signature in this world. In that moment, I want the car and I want Danny to have it too. We both need this piece of my dad.

We drive around a few blocks, letting the battery charge, all of us silently enjoying the feeling of my dad's presence. When we get back to the house none of us wants to get out of the car.

As I sit there in the driveway I know exactly what I need to do. "I'm driving this home."

"Today?" Carla questions.

"Yeah." I shake my head, picturing the perfection of the idea. Then my perfect idea grows, fate giving me a nod that Danny and I should have more time together. "You coming with me?" I challenge Danny.

He doesn't answer right away but I know he can't resist driving him and Dad's baby back to Savannah. He looks around the interior assessing the odds of the car making it six hundred and fifty miles. "Yeah, I can't let you drive this thing home alone. I'm not sure it'll make it."

And he's back to treating me like a child. I smirk at him. "And what are you going to do if it doesn't?"

He smirks back. "I'm the mechanic that built it. I'm sure I can think of something. What do you think you would do alone?"

I lift up my phone and pointed to the AAA app. "They have tools, you don't."

Carla laughs at us from the back seat. "I wish I could be there to see the two of you on this road trip."

I smile back at her and point to my texting app. "I'll send you updates."

✈✈✈

After turning in the rental car and cancelling our flights we stop at a huge truck stop on the edge of the city for provisions. It's near 7 p.m. and the sun is setting.

"Why don't I drive to Mobile while you sleep then we can decide whether to take I-10 through Florida or go through Alabama," As I talk I follow Danny though the store, both of us gathering snacks.

"One, you aren't driving, I am, and two, we are not going through Florida." He pours himself a large black coffee and I hand him two sugar packets. "Two?" He questions, as if I'd forgotten his preference.

"It's a large." I note, pointing at the 32 ounce coffee cup. He doesn't reply but dumps both packets into his cup.

"My app is showing six construction zones on the Alabama route. It might be forty miles longer though Florida, but it will be much faster and easier to drive."

He silently studies the map on my phone. "Fine, Florida, whatever."

"And there is no reason for you to drive the entire way."

"Vivey, you can't handle that car. It's fast; the steering has too much give..."

"And the brake pedal sticks." I finish for him. "I've driven it, many times." I let him process that bombshell while I peruse the selection of granola bars.

"Big Mike let you drive that car?"

"Dom and I borrowed it a couple of times and I'm pretty sure my dad didn't know about it." I grab two protein bars to go with my iced tea.

"You stole the car."

The way he says it irritates me to no end—so damn patronizing. We've started something new but it's not going to be easy to let go of what we've been to each other these past few years.

I don't reply to his accusation because I want to tell him where to stick it and not in a sexy way. Instead I walk toward the register and ask if he wants an apple or banana from the fruit basket as we pass it.

✈✈✈

He refuses to sleep but he lets me drive the first leg of the trip to Mobile, saying he wants proof that I know how to drive it. I keep it just above the speed limit and obey all the traffic laws even though I'm itching to push it. Driving it brings back great memories of flying down long, low marshland roads with the windows down and the stereo turned up. I laugh to myself at the memory of Dom throwing herself at the cop who stopped us. At eighteen, she was more silly than sexy and in the end, I'm pretty sure the cop let us go because he was impressed with the car, not us.

When I let him take over on the far side of Mobile, he visibly relaxes, like he'd held his breath the entire time I drove. He eases back into the seat, lets his hand drape across the steering wheel and gear shift, and tunes into the powerful hum of the engine. God he's sexy like that—in his element. And then there's the good old front bench seat, just calling me to unhook my seat belt and stretch across it to christen my new car with a little highway head. I decide that now might not be the time but only because we have hours of driving ahead of us. He might be more receptive to killing time that way later.

The sun has set and the early fall night air is cool in the quiet, sparsely populated Florida panhandle. I don't sleep because I want to talk to him. I want to try to find the kind, attentive man who I fell in love with. The one who existed before my dad left and assigned him the job of my keeper. The one who had an open heart before his wife left him.

The magic of the moment works and our conversation flows easily. We start to fall back into the friendship we had when I was younger. He opens up about his son and his heart relapse, the experimental drugs he's taking, and the costs.

"One shot, just one damn shot, was over two grand. And he had to get the shot for six months in a row." He shakes his head in frustration. "That put me behind, and then he had a reaction to the shots and was in the hospital for a few weeks—scared the shit out of me. That was partially covered, but I sold my car to make all the deductibles on that."

I try to just listen and let him vent, to offer some comfort. I don't think he's had anyone to share all this with since my dad left. But I can't just listen. I'm programmed to fix. If someone presents me with a problem I can't help but find a solution. And like the pieces of a puzzle falling into place, I see it. I know how I can help Danny get back on his feet faster and give us some time together. The problem is that the guy who sees himself as taking care of me will probably be less than amiable to moving in with me.

### Chapter Twelve

"Hell no!"

Yeah, that's pretty much what I figured he would say. He's insulted so I just need to lay out all the reasons why my idea is flawless.

"If you move out of your house now it will be easier to sell and then that will be taken care of before you leave. I can help you get rid of stuff and put things in storage. In fact, I'm gonna need a storage garage for this car. We can get a bigger one, split it and you can store your stuff in there while you're gone."

He doesn't respond right away so at least he's mulling it over. He takes so long to reply I think he's not going to but he finally says, "I can't mooch off of you." I should be thrilled because it sounds like he might be willing, but his harsh view of himself and the situation stops me short.

"Danny it's not..." I start to give him my logical perspective, that we're friends helping each other out but I realize that there is no room for reason here. It's killing me to see him hurting so much and to know I have a solution. If he would just see it from my point of view.

I drop it but it still sits heavy between us. I wish I hadn't said it. I didn't mean to kick this good man when he was already down. We have nothing to say to each other for the next few hours.

✈✈✈

The sun is coming up and Danny looks exhausted so I check the hotel app on my phone.

"There's a Fairfield coming up in Jacksonville. They have free breakfast so we could eat and sleep for a few hours."

I'm trying to be helpful but it seems to irritate him moe. "I'm not going to let you pay for a hotel room. I'll get some coffee and we'll keep going."

I would let him be right, for once, if his plan wasn't so dangerous. He needs sleep if he's going to keep driving and it doesn't look like his crushed male ego was going to let me take over anytime soon.

"I'm not paying for it." I say quietly, "Points," I remind him.

"Bob's points?"

"I mean technically, yes, but they're also my points to use. He never uses them. When he's not traveling for work, he doesn't like to go anywhere." He briefly considers it then shakes his head no. I change tactics.

"I'm tired, Danny, and hungry. I'd like to take a shower and change clothes." I hate resorting to a take-care-of-me plea but we need to stop and it's a way that puts him back in charge. I add in, "Please."

"Fine. Tell me where to go." He says on a resigned breath, then mumbles, "like there's a chance you won't."

✈✈✈

We eat breakfast in silence, focusing on the news that's playing on the flat screen at the far end of the room; our silent stalemate a painful reminder of how much I've already screwed things up.

In our room, I shower first. When I finish I announce that it's his turn but he's sound asleep on one of the two double beds. I stand there and watch him, wearing only his briefs; his large, beautiful male body sprawled across the bed. I'm getting chilled, my hair is still wet and I'm wearing only a towel in the air conditioned room.

I want him. I want his warmth. I want his affection; his arms around me, his heart beating close to my ear. I think about taking the other bed and leaving him alone but then I remember my Dad and Carla and their short time together. Carpe diem, girl. I peel off the towel, lay it on the pillow and slide into the small space available next to him. He wakes briefly and looks at me. I look back, pleading with my eyes, completely vulnerable, raw and naked—risking a very painful rejection. He gives in, but huffs out a frustrated sigh before he pulls me in close to him and spoons around me. This is not the way I had pictured things between us, not what I had hoped for.

When I wake the afternoon sun is seeping through the cracks in the drapes. I'm facing Danny's chest. He's breathing deeply and I watch, mesmerized by the rise and fall of his chest. I reached out to caress him and tentatively touched one of his nipples, wondering if that would feel as good to him as it does to me. He stirs briefly and smiles in his sleep. Interesting.

I lick his nipple, and then scrape it a little with my teeth. He continues to move closer into me, instinctively pushing his sleep-erection against me. I slide one leg over his hip and revel in the sensation.

He's still half asleep but I'm completely turned on and desperately wanting that sexual high and connection with him again. I reach down and stroke him through his briefs, then reach inside the waistband, wanting to feel more. That gets his attention. He opens his eyes and smiles lazily at me.

"I could get used to being woken up this way." I like the way he says it, like he's warming up to the idea of us living together.

"I could get used to waking you up this way." I smile back and slowly stroke him, trying to replicate the speed he likes. It feels so good; physically, sure, but more than that. At this moment I feel close to him, connected, like we're a couple.

### Chapter Thirteen

As we reach the outskirts of Savannah, the sun is setting and I'm plotting the logistics of Danny and me staying together tonight. Unfortunately I don't see any way for it to happen, especially when we both have to go to work tomorrow. I reluctantly ask him to drop me at my place so he can take the car to his house.

We block all the parking spaces behind my building as we unload my suitcases. I take my carry-on bag and Danny grabs the rest. As we are coming up the back steps, my neighbor, Mrs. Ogden, opens her door.

"Vivienne, I thought that was you." She looks at me briefly then studies Danny. "I haven't seen you around much lately."

"No, I've been out of town. Were you looking for me? Can I help you with something?"

"Oh no, I'm fine, but I took a delivery for you and I haven't seen you around to give it to you." She seemed a little irritated, which was odd. We accept packages for each other all the time.

"Oh, ok. Well I can take it now."

She slips inside her door and returns hidden behind the largest bouquet of flowers I have ever seen outside of a hotel lobby. I have to step back to make room for the oversized arrangement between us. "Wow, thank you for taking them Mrs. Ogden. I appreciate it."

"There's a card, but it's sealed." I can see her watching Danny for a reaction out of the corner of her eye. She has to be wondering if this is my new boyfriend and if he sent the flowers. And ok, she's being a busybody, but we keep an eye out for each other in this building.

I take the vase from her but have to set it on the floor while I unlock my door.

"I can't thank you enough for accepting them for me. They must have taken up a ton of room in your place."

She shrugs. "They smelled nice."

Once Danny and I and my flowers are all crowded into my living room I search for the mystery card. Not only is it sealed but my name and address are typed on the front.

Danny takes my suitcases into my bedroom and I wonder if he's giving me a little unnecessary privacy. I know he hasn't been dating anyone because I have a Darlene-spy in his department at work but he doesn't know the same about me. I want to reassure him because I seriously doubt they're from some secret admirer.

"I have nothing to hide from you."

He shrugs and carries my stuff away anyway.

He returns to find me sitting on the floor next to the vase, obviously confused.

"Who they from?"

"Joel Rockhurst." I say.

"Joel Rockhurst? As in the CEO of JetStream, Joel Rockhurst?"

"Yeah." I nod still studying the card. "And it's handwritten. I think it's actually his handwriting." I hold it up for Danny to see.

"What's it say?"

"Bob told me why you left the conference early. I'm sorry for your loss. You and your father are an important part of the JetStream family, and it's signed by him for sure. I know his signature."

"I didn't know Joel Rockhurst knew who your dad was. I don't think I've ever seen him down on the maintenance floor."

"He didn't know who I was until recently. I got an iced tea for him during the golf tournament." I study the gorgeous, fragrant flowers. "The man must really like iced tea." I put the arrangement on my kitchen table where it takes up so much room I'll have to move it to eat. I try moving it to the coffee table but it blocks the TV screen. My already tight living quarters just got that much more crowded.

✈✈✈

Danny doesn't stay with me that night in my apartment or the next night or the rest of the week. I talk to him on the phone or we text but only because I'm contacting him about the storage garage we are renting together. He's putting distance between us and it feels awful. He's still hasn't given me a direct answer on moving in so I'm going to take that as a yes and move ahead with the plan. I offer to meet him at his place on Saturday morning so we can start packing. He reluctantly agrees.

When he opens the front door I want to jump into his arms and take a week's worth of sexual frustration out on him. He hugs me but stops there. The lack of kisses is unnerving and I'm not sure how to react. I try to keep things upbeat and make myself useful.

I follow him around with my iPad as he points out the few things he's taking with him and what needs to go into storage. I make notes about the number of boxes we will need and sizes. I also start a separate section on repairs and sprucing up that will need to happen before his house goes on the market.

When we reach his bedroom he stops the tour and finally asks, "What are you working on there?" He glances at the screen.

"Just taking notes."

"Notes about what?"

"Packing, painting, stuff like that."

"Vivey, I got this. If you want to help a little fine, but I know what I'm doing."

I minimize my notes but don't delete them. "Ok, what do you want me to do?"

He looks around and it's clear he doesn't really have a plan. I bite my tongue and wait for his instruction.

"I guess start in the kitchen, pack stuff up in there."

"OK, where are the boxes and packing supplies?"

"The boxes are in the garage if that's what you mean by packing supplies."

The tension is building between us already but the idea of just throwing breakables in a box is too ludicrous for me not to challenge.

"Do you have some bubble wrap or old newspaper I can use to protect stuff?"

He lets out a deep sigh as he puts his hands on his hips, his stance that says he is struggling to be patient but I'm not sure if it's with himself or me. I assume he doesn't have anything but boxes when he says, "Fine, start in the extra bedroom and I'll see about finding some newspapers."

I back out of the room to avoid pushing up against him because he's irritated. My eyes linger on his bed, the one I seriously doubt we will be using today if things keep going like this.

✈✈✈

I make a ton of progress in the room that used to belong to his son. The fact that it's full of extra stuff now tells me that his ex hasn't allowed visitation in Savannah and Danny has had to drive to see Nick for a while now.

As I sort through boxes of high school yearbooks and sports trophies, it hits me how little I really know about his past and the things that matter to him. I've memorized every detail I've been able to observe since I've known him but he's never really sat down and talked about his past to me. If I throw away this plaque he got for volunteer work in high school, would it matter to him? It's from Habitat for Humanity. I didn't even know that he knew how to build a house.

Working in separate rooms is good for us. The tension dissipates and he seems grateful when I offer to go get more boxes and pick up some sub sandwiches for lunch. Of course, I also grab bubble wrap, shrink wrap, packing tape and labels from the store then sandwiches, chips, a six pack of his favorite beer and a bag of his favorite cookies. Before I check out, I toss a box of condoms in the cart too. I can never be too prepared.

I try to be subtle as I bring all of the packing supplies into the house and he doesn't mention them but glares to make sure I know he thinks I've gone overboard and they're unnecessary. I use our lunch time to ask him a little more about his past.

"I didn't know you could do carpentry."

He seems perplexed for a minute then remembers the plaque. "Yeah, my family was big on doing charity work. Everybody had to do something. Building houses sounded easy to me."

This is the first time he's ever talked about his family to me. "You grew up in Florida right?"

He nods as he takes a bite of his sandwich.

"Any brothers? Sisters?"

He drinks some beer before answering. "One brother."

"Is he still in Florida?"

He doesn't look at me and concentrates on tearing open a bag of chips as he says, "No, he died. We were both in the military. He was stationed in Iraq. He didn't make it back."

My heart sinks and my throat is too tight to swallow another bite of food. "I'm sorry. That's horrible."

He shrugs but still won't look at me. "Comes with the job."

I don't know why he's being so cavalier; if he never talks about it to anyone or if he is avoiding opening up specifically to me. I feel the same sting of distance I've been feeling all week from him. He's letting me into his life but only so far, only as much as he deems acceptable before he leaves.

I concentrate on my sandwich and wonder if maybe he's seeing this all so much more clearly than I am and he's right. Maybe we should just let New Orleans be a brief fling that we had and I should stop pushing him so hard.

But the doubts in my mind are quickly whisked away by the truth I feel from my gut. We have a chance for something great here, even for a short time and I won't give up on it that easily. The carpe diem in my soul is a final gift from my dad and I can't ignore it.

I change the subject. "Have you ever watched any shows about staging?"

"Like building sets for a play?" He shakes his head.

"No, staging is setting a house up to sell faster at the best price."

"Really?"

"Yeah, they have all these shows about what paint colors to choose and how to arrange the furniture and do things to make buyers see it as their home."

"Let me guess, you've watched them all." He's being obtuse, pretending not to know why I brought this up.

"I've watched a few. I mean I've already got some great ideas that we could do really cheaply; a little paint, some flowering plants. I've seen them use spray paint to make old appliances look amazing."

And the patronizing glare is back...

"I'm just trying to help."

But again, he pushes me away. "I know you are but it's not necessary. You helping me pack some of this stuff up is enough." He might be trying to tell me that my help will not be needed after today, but I can play at the obtuse game too. I'm doing it for his good and mine, for what I know is right. I'm going to keep showing up and helping until he admits how much he needs me.

### Chapter Fourteen

I pack boxes all day on Saturday and when the sun sets, he offers to take me to dinner as a thank you. It's a sweet gesture and one I hope will lead to more romance but I can feel that it's also his way of evening out the score and letting me know he will do the rest himself.

Our conversation at dinner is neutral, Savannah news and weather, but I touch him a lot and he starts to loosen up. He holds my hand as we leave the restaurant. When we're blasted by a chilly breeze he puts his arm across my shoulders and pulls me in close. There's a spark there, I can feel it but unlike him, I can't turn it off.

Back at his place, parked in his driveway he hesitates. We sit in silence and I feel like he's waiting for me to do something but I don't know what. Is he waiting for me to announce that I'm going home? Because that's not happening. I can feel his reluctance but it only makes me want to work harder, to show him how great we could be together.

He finally opens his door and asks, "You coming in?" It's not exactly seduction but I'll take it.

Things are no less strained inside. He seems lost amid the sea of boxes. He doesn't offer so I don't take off my jacket. Instead I stand in the foyer waiting for his next move.

"Thanks for your help today." He looks around, acknowledging all our hard work.

"Not a problem. I can help tomorrow too." As in, why don't I spend the night and we can get back to work tomorrow. I hope he gets the hint because it's about as forward as I can get with him. Will I ever be able to completely relax when we are together?

He catches my hint but doesn't grab on. "Vivey," he takes my hand and studies it as he rubs his thumb across it. His tone is gentle for his brush-off. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let things get to this point."

I try to make things lighter. "What? Me helping you pack?"

He replies with his standard glare. "Us sleeping together. New Orleans was..." He struggles to find the words. I wait, not breathing, my throat closing around a lump of fear. "We were both hurting, needed each other, but..."

I can't let him do this. I won't let him finish dismissing me from his life. I grab on to a final thread. "Fine." My voice cracks with my lie. It's not fine but I have to pretend it is if I want to stay in his life. "We can go back to being friends. Friends help each other move."

He looks up and shakes his head, possibly pleading for help from my dad to win this argument with me. "That's just it. I don't want to just be friends. I feel great when I'm with you, but there is nowhere for this to go." When he looks at me, he sees the hope in my eyes. The only thing I heard was that he feels great when we are together. Anything after that was lost to me. He fixes me with his gaze. "I'm leaving. There's no way around it."

"So let's feel great together until you do." I use his words against him but leave off until I figure out another plan. I lean into him, terrified that he will pull back. He doesn't but it takes him a minute before he releases his resolve on a sigh and kisses me.

I'm instantly flooded with a combination of joy and lust. I'm winning. And I'm determined to keep winning. I peel off my jacket and toss it on the floor then reach for his. I know he said he likes to be in charge during sex but I have to be right now. When he admitted that he loves sex with me he gave me ammo and I'm going to use it.

I'm pouring every bit of sexy I've got into this kiss while pulling my tee shirt up. I press myself hard against him when I have to break the kiss to get my shirt over my head. I realize that I'm more into this than he is, but I also feel his resolve melting away. I pop my bra open and it falls between us. He looks down and I follow his line of sight strait to my nipples, chilled and excited and beaded in his direction. He slowly reaches up and puts a warm hand over one and I know I've got him just as much as he's got me. We both moan with pleasure.

I feel powerful and sexy. I grab the hem of his shirt and push it up until he has to lift his arms so I can get it over his head. I wrap my arms around his neck and graze my nipples against his warm skin and the hair on his chest. I can't imagine how he's not feeling the same white-hot need that I am but I still feel his indecision. His arms are around me but not pulling me to him. I kiss him again, letting him feel my desire, and then I add, "Make me feel good." My voice is muted by my heavy breathing. "Let me make you feel good." And please, please do not turn me down now because I couldn't take it.

My pleading is his undoing. He pulls me in tight, bends his knees slightly, then stands and lifts me with him as he moves toward the bedroom. Yes! Oh, God yes! I might come just from the thrill of victory. I've seduced the man of my dreams.

✈✈✈

But my victory is short lived. He's on board but determined to take over. He can't let me win and have my way. He tosses me on the bed and I reach for him but he backs away. He sits on the end of the bed, too far away for me to touch him, but close enough that I can see what he's doing. He leans down and unties his shoe before pulling it off. Then he does the same to the other. It's a painfully slow process that has me squirming with frustration as I feel my passion starting to cool. I reach for the button on my jeans but he reaches around and stops me. He places my arms above my head one by one, not speaking but also not bothering to hide his agenda. It kills me but I stay put. I lay there and watch as he continues to slowly undress.

It's one hell of a show with a finale that has my mouth watering but I hate only being allowed to be the audience. I keep my hands where he put them but I clench my fingers and pop my knuckles in frustration. He goes into his bathroom and I can hear him opening and closing now empty drawers. He has to be looking for his stash of condoms.

"I moved them to your top dresser drawer." I call from the bed.

He doesn't respond but comes out of the bathroom and glares at me for reading his mind and being right. What was I supposed to do, wait for him to rifle through every box in the room? I keep my hands in place but glare back. Excuse me for solving your problem.

He tosses a string of three wrapped condoms on the night stand.

I smile up at him. "Three?" And I wiggle my eyebrows.

He tries but can't hold on to his power face and he laughs. "If you're lucky."

I don't disagree because I can't. He's right.

He lays down next to me and pulls me to him. I wrap my arms around his neck. His look reminds me that that is not where he wants them. I argue, "They were falling asleep." He studies my face and I feel like a child caught lying, probably because I am. "Don't you trust me?"

His answer is a very strong and too honest, "no."

I flinch and he softens the blow by kissing me. Then he lays down the rules for the night. "You want me to make you feel good and I want to and I will, but I don't want to fight you or have to second guess your every move." He pushes the hair off my neck and kisses me where he knows I love it. I dissolve into liquid. "Relax. Can you do that for me?"

I nod my agreement even though I'm seriously questioning my ability to do this. Relaxing is a foreign concept to me. Surrendering is the antithesis of my being.

### Chapter Fifteen

We use two of the condoms that night and the third in the morning. I definitely won't say the sex was bad, far from it, but just like our relationship, it was intense. One night with Danny is an opus. There's lust and power struggles that end in blessed release followed by regret (his), tears (mine) and finally tenderness. I initiate morning sex, taking advantage of his morning wood. I won't say he was mad when he's awake enough to realize my plan, but the sex that follows was rough and quick and he might have hoped one-sided. But I love it. Maybe because it's Danny and I lust him, but more likely because it's Danny and I want all of him, even his frustration and anger.

After a weekend of packing and lust we are both ready for a few days apart, not that he isn't on my mind most of the time. In my quiet hours alone in my apartment my brain does what it always does; organizes. I create a color-coded, timeline/work chart. I painstakingly research how long it will take to do each task to make his house more marketable, then schedule them in the most efficient order and assign them. I print out two copies to take with me on Friday night when he's said I can come over again.

My efforts are so much less than appreciated. We fight over it from day one.

I call Dom every morning on my ride into work so she can help me analyze everything going on between me and Danny.

"We're fighting about the paint again."

"Jeeeezus, not the paint again. Is he still mad you made him take that first color back?" Dom must have her own flow chart on her white board to keep track of all our issues.

"Probably. Last night he took his bed apart and scraped the walls up as he carried it through the living room."

"Which is why you wanted to paint it last." Thank God I have Dom who understands the perfect logic of my plan.

"I know! I had to literally bite my lip and leave the room to keep from yelling, "I told you so." But he knew. I didn't have to say it. Now I have to paint that same god-damned wall all over again. Third time!" These talks were supposed to calm me down but I was getting all riled up again. Nothing grates on me more than gross inefficiency. "He fights me on everything. It's like he hates me now."

"He doesn't hate you. So you fight, then you get to make up. Lots of make-up sex, right?"

I'm silent. I don't reply because even our sex life is starting to tank too. "Not so much." I admit.

Her quick, "oh," tells me that even Dom is running out of answers.

✈✈✈

I'm secretly thrilled when he dismantles his bedroom because it means he can start to stay at my place. I reason that maybe things will be better if we are away from the things we keep fighting about. But it turns out to be another grudging compromise. He comes home with me some nights but never brings a suitcase or even his toothbrush. And it doesn't improve our sex life much. The passion is gone, even the angry passion. I'm starting to feel like sex is now just another task on our color-coded timeline.

One night after a particularly ugly fight about how to arrange things in the storage unit, he lay in bed next to me but felt a million miles away already. I want to apologize but don't. I'm right, damn it. But I also want to try to grasp at his love that I can feel rapidly pulling away from me.

"Arrange the locker any way you want," I say. It's not an apology but a concession.

He breathes a heavy sigh. "I don't care about the god-damn locker. And you're right anyway." The last sentence sounds completely defeated.

"Danny I..." I start to explain my position again but he cuts me off.

"You're right. Ok? I realize it, god damnit. You're right about the paint and the furniture and the fact I need to take vitamins. You're right about the realtor and that I need to buy new work boots. You are right about everything."

"I just want to help you." I shrug and squeak out. I have a horrible tightness in my chest that I'm having trouble talking through. It's the words I've been dying to hear but not in his demoralized tone.

He lies back with a sigh. "I know you do, Vivey. I know." He stares at the ceiling and I wait for the but-statement that will follow.

"What? Say it. Whatever it is."

"Don't wait for me."

I bite my lip and look down so he can't read my face. I'm caught. Now that it's clear he is leaving I have been secretly planning our lives once he returns.

"I have a three year contract. Do not wait for me." He stresses each word.

I don't answer because I won't agree to something I had no intention of doing.

He catches my lack of answer. "Fuck," slips out before he can stop it. He rubs his forehead as if I'm giving him a headache. "We never should have started this." He says it to the room, not me.

I can't face him now. I cry silently until I finally have to sniff. He looks over at me.

"Vivey." He brushes the tears away from one cheek as I wipe them from the other. "Vivey, I know you're not going to understand this but I love you, I swear I do, but that's why I need you to agree not to wait for me."

"That makes no sense." I sniff again and try to curtail my crying. "You love me?" I grab on to that. "If you love me then we should be together."

"No." He reaches over and pulls me to him. "No, it doesn't mean we should be together. In our case, it means we should let go before we kill each other." He settles me against his chest. "Vivey, isn't it obvious now that I'm not the right guy for you? I don't want you wasting three years of your life not meeting the guy who is right for you."

"Is this because I'm pushy?" I don't know if he can read the terror in my voice but I'm naming my biggest fear; that it's because of me, of who I am, that we failed.

He breathes out and carefully chooses his words, "I have never met anyone who needs others less than you." He turns on the pillow to look at me. "I need to be needed, Vivey. I want to be needed. I want to be right sometimes."

I'm crying hard now. This really is the end of us, the end of my Danny dream, because we tried, and I failed.

I have no counter arguments because for once he's right. I don't need anyone, even him. I curl up against him and let him hold me while I cry myself to sleep.

### Chapter Sixteen

You know that sick feeling you get when you are still technically in a relationship but you know it's really already over? Danny and I are still a couple, but...

He goes to Charlotte to visit his son for Christmas while I'm at Dom's trying not to spread my desolation all over her family gathering. Luis's family is there too so there are now double the number of wedding-crazy, holiday-happy Puerto Ricans in the house. I hide out in Dom's room a lot, pretending to not obsessively check my phone for calls or texts from Danny.

I make an appearance at dinner but wish it was socially appropriate to eat alone in the kitchen. I'm not sure if anyone else is buying my sham smile, but Dom isn't. She corners me in her room and lures me out of my cone of sadness with her aunt's killer pie.

"I'm glad you're here."

"Seriously?" I smirk. "I don't think I'm really adding to the festivities."

"I would be worried sick about you if you weren't here."

I lay my head on her shoulder and take another bite of pie. "Thank you. You don't need to worry about me, but thank you."

"I do worry about you because here's the thing: you think you're Wonder Woman, and you are probably the closest thing alive to her, but you're still human and you've had the shit kicked out of you these past few months. Even Wonder Woman gets to lean on her sidekick."

"She didn't have one."

"What? What about Steve Trevor?"

I laugh a little and shake my head at her ironic mistake. "Boyfriend and no, theirs was not a cry-on-my-shoulder kind of relationship." I soothe my raw emotions with another huge bite of pie. "I thought I wanted Danny but I guess I only wanted the idea of Danny. He was right about one thing; we sucked as a couple."

She doesn't disagree.

"I thought I wanted my dad to butt out of my life." I shake my head at the memories of all the times I told him to back off and pull in another shaky breath. "Now he has."

"You didn't make that happen. You are not that fucking powerful." She hugs me to her and rubs my back. "And I'm here for you. I'm not going anywhere."

"You're getting married, sweetie," I point out. "Luis will have you and you'll have him." I lie back on the bed and set my empty plate on Dom's side table. I stare at the posters on the ceiling of her bedroom as I've done a thousand times before and contemplate my life. "My problem is that I want a guy, but I don't."

"No, you want a man but you don't need one."

"I always thought that was a good thing."

Dom lies down next to me and grabs my hand. "It is. You'll see, I promise. There will be someone, a smokin' hot male someone, who can handle you, deal with how amazing you are; someone who will appreciate you. "

"I'm glad you're so sure."

"Are you going to his going away party?"

I shrug. Maintenance is having a happy hour get together at The Rail to send Danny off to the land of no liquor or unmarried women. "I'll probably stop by but Bob's leaving for a major sales presentation in Seoul the next day. I need to be at work early to make sure he has everything."

"I'll go with you if you want."

I give her hand a squeeze but don't reply because for once I'm not making plans. My life feels too unstable and uncertain to plan even a few days ahead...except for work. God bless my job.

✈✈✈

I do stop by Danny's going away party, briefly and alone. Part of me wants to see everyone from maintenance, especially Darlene, and to be honest, part of me wants to see how Danny acts toward me around them.

If I need a final message that we are officially not a couple, I get it. He gives me a quick, friendly hug when I get there then moves on to make the rounds and talk to his friends. I don't think anyone else notices, but Darlene does. She comes over and stands next to me.

"Wanna talk?"

I shake my head.

She studies me for a moment. "You knew he was leaving, right?"

I nod.

"Hurts anyway?"

I nod again and she puts her arm around me and gives me a squeeze. "Call me anytime you need to talk, ok?"

I give her a weak, "thanks" then stand next to her for what I hope is an appropriate amount of time before I beat it out of there. I wave to Darlene before I leave but don't look back at Danny.

✈✈✈

The next day I have Bob packed up and in the air before noon. He's taking one of our newest, largest jets to demo for a Korean investor. As I stand watching him take off from runway nineteen I glance across at the commercial terminal. Danny's there right now. I check the time on my phone. He's probably waiting to board his flight to New York where he'll connect with his flight to Riyadh.

I left him a note this morning, telling him good bye. Telling him that I love him and probably still will when he comes back, whether he likes it or not.

He still has a half hour until boarding. It would take me at least forty-five minutes to drive to the other side of the airport. Or... I could use the security clearance I keep for moving Bob's stuff around and take the direct route.

I commandeer one of the linemen from the JetStream ramp and asked him to give me a ride across. I have him drop me near Danny's gate. I've never abused my clearance before, and can't believe I'm doing it now, but I submitted to everything short of an anal probe to get the security badge that I'm now flashing all over concourse C. I deserve to use it illicitly at least one time.

Danny doesn't look overly surprised when he sees me approaching. He smiles a little and nods. "Of course you know how to get in here without a ticket."

I flash my badge at him. "Of course."

I'm not exactly sure what I came to say but I want us to part on a better note. We stand in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. He doesn't look at me, but finally speaks.

"You are amazing. You know that, right?"

I want to say, "But not amazing enough for you?" But that would keep us in the same place we had been for weeks now. So I say, "thank you" instead.

I touch his hand and he takes mine. "I know you don't see it, but you are still the most amazing man I have ever known."

He chuckles. "Then you must have not gotten to know me too well." He squeezes my hand. "I'm still going to check up on you, you know. I'll be home once a year." He looks out the window at the JetStream headquarters across the field. "I expect you'll be running the place by the time I'm back."

I chuckle. "I run Bob's life. That's enough for me."

"You say that, but," he shakes his head, "No, you are going to go incredibly far Vivey; way too far for a grease-monkey like me."

I don't agree with him.

They call final boarding for his flight and when he bends down to grab the handle of his carry-on, I let go of his hand. He leans in and gives me a quick kiss on the lips before he turns to go.

I call after him, "Love you." I don't know if he heard me or not but he doesn't turn around again. I want to watch him board and watch his plane take off, hang on to him until he's out of the same airspace as me but my ride's waiting on the ramp.

✈✈✈

I decide to take an afternoon off. Something I could do anytime Bob is out of town, but I never do. I'm in no mood for friendly office chatter today. I'm going home to sit on my perfect, oversized, tufted sofa and hug my pink chenille pillow. I need to dig my pristine linen sheets out of storage and put them back on the bed, my bed. I'm going to have to face it alone sometime, feel the silence, move around without Danny in my way, and miss him. I need time to grieve losing Danny and my dad.

I stop by my desk to pick up a few things when an urgent email catches my eye. It's from Carolyn Guage, Joel Rockhurst's secretary. I open it.

Vivienne, I've set up a lunch meeting for you and Mr. Rockhurst in his office Monday at 12:45. Please reply and confirm your attendance.

What the hell? Lunch for me and Joel Rockhurst? This has to be a mistake. I call Carolyn.

"This is for Bob, right? He's out of town but he'll be back late next week. We can reschedule it."

"No. He specifically asked me to set up a lunch with you."

"Why?"

"Don't know and he didn't offer a reason. You'll be here though?" She posed it as a question, but everyone at JetStream knows that a request from Joel Rockhurst is really a command. No one tells him no.

"Uh, sure. I'll be there."

"Great. See you then."

I have no idea why he would want to have lunch with me but I'm sure my brain will come up with a few million between now and 12:45 on Monday. Whatever it is, my gut tells me this can't be good. I need to prepare to meet with the CEO but how do you prepare for the most random mystery meeting in the history of JetStream aerospace?

I call Dom.
Thank you for Fearless Flying with Vivienne. I hope you enjoyed your flight.

The journey continues in book two of The Vivienne Series, HiJack. Keep reading to find out how to get your FREE copy.

Smart, sassy Vivienne Ramsey is back to take on the most infuriating, (but smokin' hot) boss she's ever had to handle. She'll have to out-play the power player if she wants to keep this dream job.

Away from work her carefully planned life has spun out of control— she's lost her dad, the man she thought she would be with forever moved away, and her best friend is about to get married. Now her new job will require that she bring her A game every day to keep one step ahead of (and her hands off of) her new boss. What ingenious ideas will ever-clever Viv come up with to keep her cushy new position?

HiJack is the second book in The Vivienne Series--seven hilariously fierce and flirty chick lit novellas. If you like inspiring stories filled with relatable sexy, smart women then you'll love this glass-ceiling smashing, worldwide journey by feminist fiction author, Karen Gordon.

I'd love to send you a FREE e-copy of HiJack. Go to www.karengordonauthor.com/landing to continue your captivating, high-flying adventure and #LiveLikeViv. Just tell me where to send your FREE copy.

Wondering why the CEO is so interested in Viv? Here's chapter one from HiJack to get you started on the next leg of her journey.

✈ ✈ ✈

One of the advantages of living alone is that there is no one to judge you when you stand in front of your closet only wearing your Wonder Woman gold cuffs and tiara. I need to feel powerful this morning. I need to get dressed and go to work and to my lunch meeting with Mr. Rockhurst.

Not that I plan on wearing my Wonder Woman costume (although, I considered wearing it under my work clothes, minus the jewelry).

I spent the weekend deep in self-care mode. On my way home from work on Friday I stopped at the grocery to stock up on comfort foods. When I got home, I purposefully ignored the emptiness and busied myself with clearing away the last of the Danny messes then setting up my chick cave for a full-on pity party. Winter had finally arrived and the cold, rainy weekend ahead fit my mood to a tee. I washed and dried my pink hugging pillow then pulled my winter furry blanket from the storage chest. I wasn't ready to sleep in my bed alone, so the couch would be my world for the next two days. While the water boiled for the potatoes I was going to cream, I lit lavender and rose candles.

Dom couldn't take either night off from the restaurant, but we made plans for tomorrow to be a spa day for just the two of us. My phone kept dinging as I prepped for my night. It was Dom sending me more recipes for homemade masks, salt scrubs and deep hair conditioners. I always loved silence and usually spent days at home without turning on the TV or music. But tonight it was too silent, Danny's voice conspicuously missing. So I played Vivaldi while I changed into my softest pink PJ's then put the finishing touches on my dinner.

When I climbed under my blanket and settled in for my dinner, I was in Vivienne heaven—a heaping bowl of creamed potatoes topped with cheddar for dinner, a beautiful chilled rosé wine, followed by a dense chocolate cupcake. Once I had filled the hollow space in my core with food, I queued up the tears. City of Angels did it for me every time. It may have taken me days to break down and cry when my dad died, but Meg Ryan could get me there in less than two hours. I wailed. I sobbed until my chest hurt and I felt like I had cried myself dry. I cried for my dad, for Danny, for me, for Meg and for her Angel. Damn I felt for Nicholas Cage like I never had before—left alone in the world with all his love to give. I cried myself to sleep.

Dom scraped up what was left of me the next day. She molded me back into some semblance of my old self with lotions and potions, and lots of handholding and encouraging words. She brought Starbucks and chocolate croissants and her mama's roast pork and plantains to heat up for dinner.

By Saturday night my mood had started to shift. Creamed potatoes were replaced by Puerto Rican comfort food. My pink jammies were tossed in the laundry in favor of yoga pants and a cami. Vivaldi gave way to Kelly Clarkson, and Meg and Nicholas were put back in storage. I spent the night on the couch watching Julia Roberts Eat, Pray, Love her way around the world. It was good to see someone else recovering from loss.

Now I'm in Wonder Woman mode, ready to tackle...I have no idea. Lunch, that's obvious, but why?

I finally opt for a business suit, but give it some key Vivienne touches. For one, I skip the shirt. A strategically placed safety pin keeps the neckline of my jacket exactly where I want it. It's intriguing and I add my delicate gold necklace with the Irish goddess symbol charm to boost my powers. I'll take all the help I can get today. I keep my makeup and jewelry simple to offset the sexy effect of no blouse. And, my pièce de la résistance—four inch heels. They're classic pumps but with devilishly pointy toes that look like they could injure you. They will also make me exactly the same height as Joel Rockhurst. I checked online, he's 6'2". It's harder to be intimidating when you are eye to eye.

✈✈✈

I feel fierce and ready for whatever he throws at me when I show up at Carolyn's desk. She's on her phone, but she smiles up at me and points to his door, indicating that I should go in. I smile back, suck in a deep breath and pull myself up to my full height before I open the door.

Joel Rockhurst looks like the CEO of a private jet company should, if you're going by Hollywood standards anyway. He's a sixty-three year-old silver fox, aging like Richard Gere or Kevin Costner—all distinguished and kinda sexy. He has the body of a man with a personal chef and a private trainer and just enough lines on his face to make it look like he hadn't hit the Botox, yet. When I walk in, he's also on the phone and fiddling with a golf club while he talks. He uses it to point to a chair in front of his desk, indicating that I should sit there. I sit on the edge. I don't want to get comfortable until I know what this meeting is about.

As he finishes his call I study his office. Most of it is pretty generic for anyone in our industry--glamour shots of all the planes we make, awards for charity work, a few golf trophies. There are photos on his desk, probably of his family, but they're facing away from me so I can't scrutinize them. The décor says wealthy, but is more business than flash. Like him, it's all understated. The desk alone probably costs more than my car, but it's made to look more mundane and well-used. There's a marble-topped table next to my chair with two industry magazines and an interesting paper weight. I can't resist the urge to turn it toward me.

As he hangs up, he catches me and smiles. "Welcome to my office, Ms. Ramsey. I'm glad you could make it." He doesn't stand up to greet me. He's keeping it casual, except for my name.

"Thank you." I smile back and try to look relaxed. I don't let go of the paperweight but instead pick it up. "EPR gauge," I note. I study the face further. "From a 1960's model J2."

He laughs and shakes his head. "I was right about you."

Ok, that was cryptic. "Sir?" I have to know more. Right about me how?

He pushes himself out of his chair and walks past me to the conference table at the far end of the room. "I hope you like chicken, Ms. Ramsey. I always have chicken on Mondays."

What a perfect Joel Rockhurst statement. It sounds accommodating, but isn't.

I shrug. "Chicken is great." I stand and walk toward the table making sure I stand near him briefly and face him, eye to eye. He pulls the chair out for me and I sit. "Thank you."

As he walks toward a bar cart he asks, "What can I get you to drink?"

I play it safe. "Water would be great."

He returns with a glass of water for me and a glass of tea for himself. When he sets it down, I push a small plate containing lemon slices toward him and he nods. "You're good."

Ok, we've established that. I don't think my nerves are showing, but my irritation might soon if he doesn't get to the point.

He sits and immediately begins to cut his chicken and green beans. I follow suit. After chewing and swallowing his first bite, he finally gets to the point.

"Have you met my son, Jack?"

I pretend to be searching my memory, but there is no reason on God's green earth I would know his son. Sure we're about the same age, but we don't exactly run in the same circles. "No sir. I don't think so."

"Well, he's finished up at Duke and will be starting here in a few weeks."

And we have an answer. He keeps talking but it's clear. I'm here because I'm going to be working for Jack. He wants me to be his son's secretary.

He is still talking, saying something about marketing and Jack's degree, but I'm already scanning my memory for any tidbit of information on this guy. I come up with very little. All I really know is that he's Joel's son from his second marriage and must be twenty-two or twenty-three if he just graduated.

I take a bite of my chicken and try to casually chew it, but I'm already itching to get out of there and get to a computer to find out more about my new boss. Joel finishing a sentence with, "so, how does that sound to you?" snaps my attention back to him.

I hope my smile looks genuine. "It sounds...fantastic." Because really, what else am I going to say? It sounds like a perfectly shitty idea, sir. It's my new job now whether I want it or not.

"Of course, your new position will put you in a new salary grade. Carolyn will go over all that with you."

I nod and I think he is wrapping things up, but then he pushes his plate away and leans in to me. "I've watched the work you do for Bob, Vivienne."

He's switched to my first name now. This has my attention.

"You are amazingly organized, hard-working, loyal. Jack will need someone like you to...help him." He's choosing his words carefully and I'm trying to read between the lines. "It may take him some time to adjust to a corporate schedule. I'm counting on you to help with that transition." He puts heavy emphasis on the word help.

I nod like I'm in complete agreement, but I'm not sure why he's stressing this to me. Is his kid mentally deficient in some way? Why is he pushing this idea so hard?

"I will do my best, sir." Now, I'm really dying to wrap this up and get to a computer. "And, I truly appreciate you choosing me for this position."

He seems satisfied that I've read his code words because he reaches across like he is going to shake my hand, only he squeezes it instead, like a family member or friend might. Are we conspirators now? Did I just join team Joel and Jack? It's all sitting way too heavy in my stomach for me to eat so I excuse myself, saying that I had a huge breakfast and giving some lame excuse about needing to get back to my desk.

Thank god he lets me go. But then there's Carolyn. As Joel ushers me out she smiles up at me like I just won the lottery and she's giving me the big check.

"Here's your packet."

Joel excuses himself before going back in his office and shutting the door. I take the heavy packet from Carolyn and force as genuine a smile as possible. This could be the best thing that's ever happened to me. Maybe I should be grinning from ear to ear, but I can't do that until I know for sure. I don't do happy on half information.

I peak inside the packet. "Wow, there's a lot here. I've got some studying to do."

"You've got time." She reassures me. "You'll officially start next week but if you want to I'll give you a tour of your new office."

An office. I get an office. Not a desk, an office. This is sounding pretty good already. I'm picturing an inside, smaller office, but I'm still thrilled. Chances are it will have a door. I've always wanted an office with a door. I can't take the tour now. I just told Joel I had to get back to my desk. I beg off until tomorrow.

Now for the tricky part, I'm jonesing to google Jack Rockhurst like an addict needing a heroine fix. But digging the dirt on him on a company computer is not a good idea. This is a job for Dom. I text her.

And the best news—the entire Vivienne Series will be published in 2017! I will never make you wait very long to find out what happens next.

### Departure

Book 3

Now available on Amazon and read FREE on Kindle Unlimited

✈

There's never been a crisis that Vivienne Ramsey can't figure her way out of—until Jack. The reluctant future CEO still thinks his ambitious assistant is too much work and not enough play.

Its beauty versus brains and super-smart Vivienne is determined that she can help turn her boss into the leader their company needs, or she might die trying. Is a trip to Vegas just what they need to become a winning team or will too many delicious distractions in sin city pull them drastically off course?

Departure is the third book in The Vivienne Series--seven hilariously fierce and flirty chick lit novellas. If you like inspiring stories filled with relatable sexy, smart women then you'll love this glass-ceiling smashing, worldwide journey by feminist fiction author, Karen Gordon.

Get your copy now and c0ntinue your captivating high-flying adventure and #LiveLikeViv.

### Voyage

Book 4

Now available on Amazon and read FREE on Kindle Unlimited

### Soaring

Book 5

Now Available on Amazon and read FREE on Kindle Unlimited

### Free Falling

Book 6

Now available on Amazon and read FREE on Kindle Unlimited

### Celestial

Book 7 – Coming July, 2017

Watch my Facebook page for a 99c pre-order sale!

If you enjoyed Fearless Flying, you might also enjoy meeting The Burnouts, both completely out-of-the-ordinary, NA contemporary romances.

Both available now on Amazon and free to read on Kindle Unlimited.

The Burnouts Series

Suburban Love Song (book 1)

One party girl with a secret older boyfriend...

One geeky guy with a girlfriend with a purity pledge...

One afternoon that brings them together...

On her sixteenth birthday Carrie Gould has no one to celebrate with. Her best friend's grounded (again), her mother's throwing a tantrum (again), and her dad's not around (ever). There's no one to help her eat the cake she made for herself, or is there...

He always has to dribble three times before he shoots the basketball, always. Ben may be a total OCD geek, but he lives next door, he's really tall, and he's usually hungry. So what's the worst that could happen if she invites him over? One afternoon won't change everything...

One day, two opposites, the start of something extraordinary.

### Let me introduce you to Carrie and Ben...

### Suburban Love Song
### Chapter One

Carrie twisted the knife in her hand and took another swipe at it. Maybe if she used a lighter touch with her swirly strokes she could bury the crumbs that had pulled off the cake and worked their way to the surface. She looked again at the photo of the Yellow Butter Cake with Chocolate Frosting and her heart sank more. Martha Stewart's cake was tall, and straight, and perfect. The stunning guests at her perfect party would love it. Carrie's cake was lopsided, had crumbs, and there was really no one to eat it.

Her bottom lip started to tremble again. She swallowed down the lump in her throat and breathed deep 'til she could will back the sting of tears wanting to form. She was not going to let her win this time. This was her god-damned 16th birthday, and her mother was not going to take this one from her too. She leaned over the counter and put her head on the cold granite and worked to steady her breathing, listening hard for sounds from her parents' bedroom. None. She had no idea what her mother did when she locked herself in there. Maybe wait for someone to break down the door so she could continue her show. Well, good luck with that, lady. No one here but you and me, and I'm not playing your game. She listened for sounds from her brother's room. None. Christopher must still be napping.

Carrie pushed the plate holding the slightly-lopsided yellow butter cake with crumbly-chocolate frosting to the center of the kitchen island and rested her head on her stacked fists to study it. Why had she made it? Did she really hold out hope that this would be the year that her Dad remembered her birthday, and he would come home to have cake with her? She huffed and shook her head at that ridiculous idea. So, why take almost four hours to make a whole cake from scratch for just her, her mom and two-year old Christopher? 'Cause someone had to do it. Just because she lived in the house of crazy didn't mean she didn't get a birthday. If her parents couldn't get it together to have one for her, she'd just do it herself.

As she stared at the cake, thinking how much she didn't want to eat it after all that batter-bowl licking and icing tasting, she noticed a steady pop, pop, pop, swish sound from outside. Usually Ben shooting hoops in his driveway drove her nuts, but tonight the steady cadence was soothing. Always three dribbles, pop, pop, pop, then he would shoot, swoosh. Never four dribbles, never two, always three. Sooo Ben. Carrie rolled her eyes, but listened again, sure enough, pop, pop, pop, swoosh. Predictable Ben, boring Ben, irritating Ben... but, usually hungry Ben. Last summer, while he was away at camp, Ben had grown really tall. He was a total bean-pole, over 6-feet tall, and all gangly arms and legs. Now he looked like a cross between Dennis the Menace and the Jolly Green Giant, but he could eat a lot of cake.

Carrie silently opened the door to her brother's room. Christopher was still sound asleep, sprawled sideways across his big-boy bed, held in place by the safety railing. He had been sleeping almost two hours. That was a long afternoon nap for him. Probably a growth spurt going on there too. Maybe he and Ben could make a dent in the cake together.

♥ ♪ ♥

Pop, pop, pop, swoosh. Ben didn't stop shooting when he noticed her. She scanned her memory for the last time she talked to him. Had she pissed him off? It had been so long, she couldn't remember. They went to the same school, were in the same grade, and usually sat by each other when they had class together because their last names were close in the alphabet, but their high school lives were worlds apart.

He was wearing one of the ugly 'Class of '99' tee shirts they had been selling at school. Carrie made a mental note to talk to him about how un-masculine the purple tie dye looked.

She stood on the edge of the driveway waiting to be noticed, careful not to get in his way. Pop, pop, pop, swoosh. He was definitely ignoring her. Shit. She wished she could remember what he could be mad about. The problem was that it was so easy to make him mad. They had so many fights and make-ups over the years, it was just one big blur to her now.

She finally called out to him, "hey." Pop, pop, pop, swoosh. She considered just going back to her house, but years of experience had taught her that one apology would put her back in Ben's good graces. As soon as she was the one to admit fault, they were good again.

"Sorry." She wasn't sure what for.

Ben stopped between rounds and finally looked at her, "what for?"

Did he actually expect her to remember? She was sure he remembered. You would think he could use his Mensa brain for something other than remembering every little thing she did wrong.

"I'm sorry I made you mad." That should cover a lot of territory.

Ben started his dribble pattern again and turned away from her but not before she saw his smile. He wasn't really mad, he was just giving her a hard time. OK, that was kind of funny. She needed that today.

"Want some cake?"

"Sure," He paused to consider the offer, "why?"

"'Cause I made a whole cake, and there is no one to eat it but Two-fer and me." Ben had started calling Christopher 'Chris-two-fer' on his last birthday, which was now shortened to just Two-fer.

"You made a cake for no reason?"

She wasn't about to tell him about her birthday. She didn't need a pity party. "Yeah, I saw it in a magazine, and I just felt like making it."

Ben set his basketball in the grass on the side of the driveway where it couldn't roll away. He took care of his stuff like that. Carrie was sure it was the same basketball she had given him for his birthday when he turned 8. Back then they were always invited to each other's parties.

♥ ♪ ♥

Ben sat on one of the tall stools at the kitchen island, near the cake. "Yellow cake?"

"Yep."

"My favorite." Ben pulled the whole cake in front of him and perched a fork over it.

Carrie pulled it back to her, "my favorite." She cut a large slice for Ben and tried to lift it on to a plate. The icing-heavy top tumbled on the counter, and the soft cake broke apart over the side of the plate. Her mother's voice in her head admonished her; wrong knife. Why didn't you use a cake knife? Oh my God, Carrie, what a huge mess. Ben won't want that piece of cake. It's ruined. She was staring at the mess, drifting into morose, when a large hand with long fingers scooped the cake off the counter and onto the plate. Ben was standing behind her, using his fingers to scrape the rest of the icing off the counter. He returned to his stool while licking the icing from his fingers.

Carrie noticed his warmth leave her back. It had felt nice. She wanted it back. She took a breath and shook her head. She must be really strung out from her shitty day. This was Ben. Sure he was taller than her for the first time in their lives, but he was still Ben. He was her geeky neighbor who always talked too much about the Army and had to dribble the basketball three times before he could shoot it. She cautiously looked up, hoping her weakened brain would only see Ben the geek. Sure enough, he had put a blob of chocolate icing on his nose to make her laugh. Carrie rolled her eyes but felt better seeing the Ben she knew, her sort-of, sometimes friend. Ben saw she was staring and crossed his eyes to see the icing on his nose. Dorky or not, he was funny; Carrie smiled, but only briefly.

"So what's up with you? Why are you so..." You could see Ben's quick thought process in his eyes as he found his answer even before he finished the question. "Oh," he said quietly as he looked down at the cake. He figured it out. "It's your birthday."

Ouch. It felt like a punch to her gut. It was one thing to know it, another to hear it out loud, from someone else. Carrie looked down at the icing still stuck to the counter and started picking at it with her finger.

"Where's your mom?" He knew better than to ask where her dad was.

Carrie looked over at the closed door to her parent's room. Ben's eyes followed hers and he asked, "Is she OK?"

There was no need to try to pretend with Ben. He had already seen her mom go all bat-shit crazy over little stuff through the years. She could only keep up the façade for so long, and Ben had been around too long. "She's pissed at me."

"On your birthday? What did you do?"

"I made a cake." Carrie laughed softly at the absurdity of the statement. "She came home from the store with a cake mix, and I was already making this cake. She threw the cake mix at me and said I hate her and I hate her cakes and I'm ungrateful and, I don't know... stuff like that."

Ben looked over at the bedroom door again like he was assessing the odds of her coming out. "Did you know she was planning to make a cake?"

Carrie sat down on a stool and continued picking at the icing. "I never know what she is going to do."

Carrie and Ben both jumped a little when they heard door hinges squeak in the hallway near the bedrooms. Christopher was standing in his doorway, still dazed from his long nap. He stared at Ben, then lit up and smiled like Santa Claus had come. Ben scooped his little buddy up then planted him on his lap in front of the glob of cake and icing he had been eating. Christopher settled his drowsy head onto Ben's chest as his short arm stretched to reach Ben's shoulder. He said, "cate," and Carrie was glad that at least he recognized what was on the plate.

Carrie made a sippy cup of milk while Ben fed Two-fer bites of cake and icing from his fork. When she put the cup down on the counter Ben held the fork away from Christopher's mouth, "what do you say to your sister?"

Sometimes Ben was such an old man. Not only did he always follow rules, he made others follow them too. The lost look on Christopher's face assured her that Ben had not passed on this geeky trait to Christopher yet. Ben leaned down and prompted, "thank you." Christopher mimicked, "taint tu," and smiled up at Carrie for her approval. Geeky or not, it was cute.

Carrie sat down with a fork and dug into the rest of the cake. She looked up into Ben's disapproving eyes. "Wha?" she said through her mouthful, "it's not like anyone else is going to eat it." She shoved another forkful in to spite him, then chewed with a smile on her face, her cheeks full.

"So where is MG?" Ben was referring to her best friend who was grounded, at least for today.

Carrie thought about answering him and letting the cake fall out of her mouth, but she was enjoying his company and didn't want to razz him too much. She held up a finger till she swallowed then said, "grounded."

"She got caught going out with a 22-year old guy." Ben didn't need that information, but it was always fun to shock him a little. Carrie's own sometimes boyfriend, Chuck, was 21; another fact that Ben would, no doubt, not approve of. But Ben didn't seem fazed, or really interested. Why did she always feel the need to press his buttons? Because you are a mean girl, her mother's voice in her head chimed in.

Carrie put down her fork as she felt the storm clouds of guilt rain on her little birthday parade. Focus on the other person, don't always talk about you, said the mom-tape running in her head. "So, are you still going out with Joelle?" Carrie knew he was. Ben and Joelle always walked around school holding hands. Joelle proudly displaying her purity ring between their clenched fingers. People in Carrie's group, the druggies, would gag and make retching noises when they walked by.

His answer was a strangely weak, "yeah."

"What?"

"Nothing." Ben filled his mouth with cake so he wouldn't have to talk then focused on giving Christopher another bite. Carrie kept watching him, looking for more details than his lukewarm answer. Finally after swallowing Ben said, "You don't like her much, do you?"

Carrie wondered if her feelings about Joelle showed on her face. She hoped they didn't because she was going to lie to be nice to Ben, "She's alright," she said with a shrug. Ben wasn't buying it. "OK, no, I don't like her much, but I think the feeling is mutual."

That seemed to get his attention, "What are you talking about?" You could hear his shock that Joelle Welker, purity ring-wearing President of the Right to Life club and outspoken Christian would have anything bad to say about anyone. Carrie knew better.

"She talks about us, about me, and MG."Carrie paused to read his reaction, so far neutral. "More than once I overheard her and her friends calling us whores. She calls my friends drug-addicts."

Ben raised his eyebrows, "Aren't they?"

Now it was Carrie's turn to get defensive. "Some of them do drugs, but not all. Most just dress different, 'cause they're creative. So people judge them, people like Joelle."

Ben carried Christopher into the living room and dropped him on the couch. Two-fer giggled. Ben picked up the remote and turned the TV to cartoons, distracting him from their conversation. "Is that why you hang around with them?" he asked as he walked back into the kitchen, "because you're creative?"

"Yeah, I guess so, and they're nice. They don't judge." She raised her eyebrows, challenging him.

"You're kidding, right?" Carrie knew he was referring to them gagging when Ben and Joelle walked by.

"They only give it back to those who dish it out."

Silence. Damn it. They were getting along 'til she had to bring up this mine-field of a topic.

"Do you want some more cake?" Christopher popped up and looked over the back of the couch, "cate?" They both laughed.

"Not you Two-fer. I asked Ben if he wanted more because some little monster ate all his cake." Christopher laughed and said, "meee." Then he turned and plopped back down to watch TV. The uncomfortable tension between Ben and Carrie was still there.

Ben picked up his plate and fork, took them to the sink and rinsed them off. Carrie was surprised he didn't load them in the dishwasher. "Thanks for the cake. It was really good." He walked over and stood directly in front of her, crowding her space. "I'm sorry I forgot your birthday," he almost whispered.

Carrie backed up into the counter. She didn't want him to be nice, it was too real, too honest, too much. Joking and teasing she could take, distance was good too. "Why would you remember my birthday?" she smirked. She was too raw for this today.

"Because I went to every one of your parties since we were 6," he said as if he was pointing out the obvious. Ben was looking down at her, studying her.

"What?" she said, exasperated and irritated by his scrutiny. There was pity in his eyes, and it was rattling her cage.

"Was this your only party? For your sweet 16?"

Oh, a swift kick to the heart. She couldn't let him see how much it all hurt. "Yeah, well, I'm not so sweet." She tried to diffuse the tension.

Ben was standing over her, trying to look into her eyes, like he had something important to tell her, something he wanted to make sure she heard. "You deserve better than this."

Shit he was direct. That last hit was her undoing. A tear she fought all afternoon while she made her cake ran down her cheek. She looked away from him and tried to turn away in the small space between two stools, the counter, and Ben.

But he didn't move. He stayed in her space, blocking her in, witnessing her humiliation. Carrie worked to shut down her pain and turn it into anger. She was about to shove Ben out of the way or say something rude when he crushed her thin defense. He reached out and hugged her.

"I'm sorry." He spoke quietly into her hair. "I just say stuff. I think just because it's true, I should say it."

Carrie's body tensed. Her brain spun trying to make sense, trying to process, trying to find a reference for his comfort. She felt a small warm spot in the pit of her stomach, and it felt amazingly good and god-awful strange at the same time. She tentatively bent her arms and touched his waist.

"I'm sorry I made you cry." He said over the top of her head.

Carrie tried to respond but couldn't talk past the ball of emotion caught in her throat. She was about to tease him about wanting to hug her because that's all he and Joelle did, but she fought the urge to make him angry. It felt too good. He was tall, and warm; there was so much Ben surrounding her. And his jacket smelled like fresh air and laundry detergent and fabric softener. She felt the lump in her throat melt and the breath it had been blocking all day eased out of her.

"Ben?" her mother's voice was raspy from crying and registered shock at him being there or them hugging, she wasn't sure which.

Carrie jumped and pulled quickly away from Ben, but he did not back away. Still standing too close he said, "Mrs. Gould," acknowledging her in a strangely confrontational tone from over Carrie's head.

Lana Gould ignored the hug and Ben's tone and went into hostess auto-pilot. Spotting Carrie's cake on the table she started opening drawers and cabinets, gathering the proper serving supplies. "Did Carrie offer you any cake?" Ben was about to answer when he and Carrie turned toward her to see her look of disgust. "Carrie, did you eat off the cake?" she questioned with controlled anger. The tension in the room spiked.

Without answering Carrie took her fork off the counter and pushed past Ben to rinse it off. Lana spun in a slow circle, following Carrie's path, berating her as much as she dared with Ben present. "That is disgusting, Carrie. Why would you do such a thing?" She turned her attention back to the cake and didn't wait for Carrie to answer. "Well, we'll just have to pitch the whole thing now. What a waste." She picked up the cake and dramatically dropped it in the trash can. Her last sentence was punctuated by the metal clank of the trash can lid closing.

Carrie spun around, dropping her fork in the sink. Her shock at seeing the blank space on the counter only registered for a moment, her anger for a flash after that. She sucked in a calming breath, shot Ben a look of apology and walked toward the stairs to her room, her face defiantly blank.

Lana watched her leave, then turned to face Ben. "I'm sorry, Ben, she's rude like that now." She turned to the sink to finish rinsing off Carrie's fork. "I think her friends are a bad influence on her." She placed Carrie's fork in the dishwasher along with Ben's plate and fork, clearly not needing Ben's input in the conversation. Lana noticed the knife still on the counter, as she reached for it she acknowledged Ben again. "You know MG, don't you?" she turned to rinse the knife. "What do you think of her?"

Ben hesitated while he tried to decide if he was going to be given time to answer. "I, uh, I really don't know her very well."

Not acknowledging his answer she continued talking as she sprayed cleanser and wiped the counter, "Have you seen the way she dresses? And her mother?" Lana rolled her eyes. "She's divorced, you know."

Not wanting to get sucked into the conversation, Ben bent over the back of the couch and picked up a very quiet Christopher who turned and buried his head in Ben's neck. "Gotta go, bud," Ben said into his hair. Two-fer clung tighter, "wat wif me," he pleaded.

"Can't watch TV today. We'll play basketball tomorrow, OK?" Two-fer nodded then slid down Ben's chest and landed on the sofa with a bounce.

Lana resumed their conversation, following Ben through the kitchen to the back door. "I haven't seen your mother at the Ladies Sodality in a while."

Ben debated his reply. Surely Lana remembered that his parents were divorced now. It was gossips like Lana who made his mom avoid the meetings. "She's just really busy, I guess," he blurted out as he reached for the door handle. But before he escaped home he couldn't resist one parting shot, "thank you for the cake, ma'am. It was fantastic." Then he shut the door behind him before she had a chance to respond.
Catch You If You Fall

(The Burnouts Series,book 2)

I always liked him.

We met sophomore year and just hit it off. We lost our virginity together because we knew it would be weird and awkward, so why not do it with a friend.

We'd end up together, night after night, seeing who could drive the other insane with want. But we were still just friends, you know, with benefits.

Then he dropped the "L" bomb, told me he loved me, and I ran...all the way to New York.

I don't know what he's doing now, probably already married with a kid on the way.

I'm where I thought wanted to be, with all the celebs and debs and money—so much money. But I don't fit in. I feel pathetic, watching them, longing for what I can't have.

I miss home; the quiet and my friends. I've learned a lot since I've been here. I've learned that I didn't always like him.

I loved him.

### Check out the prologue of this fantastic second-chance-love story.

###  Prologue

Junior Prom, 1998

They all piled into the limo, ready for food and a reprieve from the stares and drama that had been prom. Steve scooted across the bench seat to make room for his dates: Carrie, Casey, Gina, and MG. Casey wanted the window seat so she crawled over his lap, almost kneeing him in the balls on her way.

"Case, jezus!" He doubled over, protecting himself.

Her look of surprise said she hadn't really noticed who she had just climbed over.

Gina and Carrie arranged themselves on either side of him, popped off their high-heeled shoes and draped their legs across his to rest their feet. He unconsciously grabbed their toes and started rubbing, causing both of them to moan in ecstasy. But his mind was on MG, kneeling on the rear facing seat with her butt squarely in his field of vision while she gave the driver directions to the all-night pancake restaurant.

At least fifteen different guys must have come up to him tonight and high-fived or fist bumped him for having four dates to prom. Fifteen guys who normally never talked to him but probably talked about him as a burnout, drug addict, loser. He'd never considered himself the smartest guy, but he was sure as shit smarter than them when it came to girls.

It started when he was fourteen. Girls started coming on to him, usually older ones. That was the summer he grew five inches and towered over all his friends at a gangly six feet tall. That was also the summer that his dad stopped making him get his hair cut. Women of all ages couldn't seem to keep their hands out of the dark brown waves.

Desiree was sixteen and lived in his apartment complex. She gave him his first joint and first kiss and he was hooked. He loved everything about both, especially the way they made him feel. Having grown up with only his dad and brother, girls were exotic to him and he couldn't get enough time hanging out with them. He wanted to hear what they had to say, study their bodies, taste them, smell them, make them smile. Desiree and her friends taught him how to do just that in a way that guaranteed they couldn't get pregnant. He had hours and hours of oral lessons from his first girlfriends. When he met MG he volunteered to teach her, then Casey, then Gina (though they never got that far). He'd be happy to go over the finer points with Carrie too if she ever asked.

"Don't stop!" Carrie moaned and he went back to rubbing her feet. Casey took off her shoes and stuck her feet on his lap too. He rotated rubbing Carrie's, then Gina's, then Casey's. MG's were notably missing.

♪ ☺ ♥

The tough-looking night shift waitress at Paul's Pancakes flirted with him. She teased him about what he had to keep four dates happy then passed him her number on the back of the check.

Gina saw it first when she grabbed the check to divide the total by five. "So, who do you think this is for?" She joked as she held it up to show the others. They all smirked at Steve.

He shrugged off his innocence. "What?" There was no jealousy in the group. If he wanted to call the waitress he could. But that was the problem too, there was no jealousy, especially not from the one he wanted it from.

MG wiped the last of the syrup from her plate with her finger and licked it off. Steve watched her with rapt attention. Try as he might he couldn't give up the hope that she might really care, that he hadn't majorly fucked up when he told her that he loved her. He breathed out his frustration and looked away. Carrie caught him and gave him a small smile of understanding. She had it just as bad for her neighbor Ben as he did for MG.

He thought back to the two weeks when he had lived at MG's house. His older brother Tony (better known as Stony) had come home wasted and beat the crap out of him. When he got to a pay phone the only person he wanted to call was MG and she didn't hesitate to drive in a snow-storm and come get him. Then she took care of him, well, her and her mom. She put Hello Kitty band-aids all over him and made him laugh through his pain. She made stupid airplane noises and fed him soup because he could hardly move his shoulder and his lip was too swollen to eat solids his first day there. She fell asleep, spooned against him, watching movies on the couch in her upstairs TV room. He even stayed through Christmas. She bought him fingerless gloves and a hat, and her mom spent way too much on a new leather jacket for him. Best damn Christmas he could ever remember. Best two weeks he could ever remember. He wanted more of it.

But he fuckin blew it. Somewhere in the middle of telling her about his memories of his step-mom, he told MG that he loved her. He meant it, but he should have kept his mouth shut. Ever since then, they were still friends, but... it just wasn't the same. She barely touched him anymore.

♪ ☺ ♥

After pancakes they were all back at MG's house where Steve was sprawled on the couch in the upstairs TV room. He had changed out of his tuxedo and was waiting for the girls to finish changing. It was past two a.m. and he had really had enough for the night, but MG insisted they needed to stay out all night. He slumped over the plump arm of the soft chenille sofa. Gina came in and flopped across the giant bean bag chair, looking like she had had enough too. Carrie and Casey both stretched out on the carpeted floor, sharing one of the big floor pillows for their heads.

"Don't go to sleep," he warned. "She'll drag your ass down the stairs and out the door." When it came to fun, MG was determined. If she wanted to stay out all night, they would all stay out all night, even if she had to drag them kicking and screaming.

But MG took too long to get ready (nothing new there) and they were all breathing deeply, sound asleep, when she came in the room.

"Come on you guys," she pleaded to the silent room, then gave up when no one stirred and pulled a pile of blankets from the hall linen closet. Through half-open eyes Steve watched her drape a blanket over Carrie and Casey, then Gina. He closed his eyes when she sat on the coffee table in front of him, wondering what she would say or do if she thought he was asleep. She reached forward and twirled some of his wavy hair around her finger. She had been doing that ever since they met sophomore year. It made his hair stand up and her laugh.

He was half on the couch, one leg still on the floor. She laid the blanket over him and leaned in and sniffed his shirt when she tucked it around his neck. Hopefully smelling his cologne (not that he owned any). He had stopped by Walgreens to use a sample on his way to her house.

His heart lurched when he felt her climb over him and under the blanket and snuggle into his back. Her arm wrapped around him and burrowed into a warm spot against his chest. He opened his eyes and swallowed, willing his traitor heart to slow down before she could feel his reaction to her, that stupid hope he worked hard to keep buried. In his mind "Love Sucks" by the Addicts played in a loop 'til he fell asleep.
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Acknowledgements

I first must thank Lavinia Collins (awesome author, check her out) Her character, Nimue, in her Guinevere Trilogy, was a quiet girl who no one suspected of being the puppeteer pulling the strings of all the powerful men. I wanted to create a modern version in Vivienne. (Keep reading the series, it will make more sense.)

I also want to thank the entire INFJ community on Pintrest, and in particular, Elle X. You have no idea how much your pin boards have changed my life. We share our wisdom, quietly.

A huge thank you to The Beta Babes (Chrissy, Lindsey, Margaux, Catherine and Amy) who have been reading through rough drafts of the entire series since last year and still have more to go. A special thank you to Chrissy Hooker, Editorial Goddess, for her patience and advice on storylines and life. Alex Stargazer (another great author, check him out), the only other member of my writer's gang (which still needs a gang sign). Thanks for taking this wild, self-pub ride with me.

For being the mentor I never dreamed I could have, thank you to Whitney Gracia Williams (yeah, I'm dropping big names now. I know her!) You are so patient!! All your marketing advice did not fall on deaf ears.

Finally, and most important, TY to the three amazing, sweet, funny, kewl, geeky men I live with. You are the reason for everything I do, Doug, Beau and Cole. I love you!

Legal Mumbo Jumbo

Copyright 2016 © by Karen Gordon Author

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
