1. Este #2
My stomach sinks as I realize what she’s about to say.
I’ve tried to keep my adult dystopian series hidden from her because it had been reviewed as “clever smut with a hefty side of survival.” I’d even picked a pseudonym in hopes it would deter my daughter from finding it.
When she shouts the familiar title with a triumphant grin, I sigh and cringe.
“Don’t judge me,” I tell her. “It’s a little old for you.”
“Mom, I’ve read way worse.” Reed rolls her eyes at me like she does a dozen times per day, and I give a little shrug and force myself to get over my embarrassment.
“For what it’s worth, I really like Kai.
She’s strong, and like, I adore Liam, but she doesn’t need him.
He just kind of tags along with her and is in the right place at the right time.
She wants him, but she doesn’t need him.
So many books have the man rescuing the woman like she’s totally useless, but Kai’s a badass on her own. ”
My heart swells with pride. “I’m glad you see it that way. A man is nice to have but not entirely necessary.”
“It would be okay with me if you dated again.” Reed’s declaration comes out of nowhere and leaves me stunned silent. “It’s been three years, and you’re only thirty-four.”
I slide into bed beside Reed and reach for her. She allows me to hug her close as hot tears spring to my eyes. I kiss the top of her head and nod.
“Like I said, honey, a man would be nice, but not mandatory. The two of us are managing okay now, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, but you have to get lonely sometimes, and all I’m saying is, don’t let me be the reason you stay alone, Mom. It’s your choice. And you deserve to be happy no matter what.”
Mallory ducks her head in the doorway, spots us on the bed, and yells, “Group hug!”
She bounds over and jumps onto the bed beside us, wrapping both of us in her arms. I’ll always owe Mallory for helping me get through Cole’s loss.
For being a great auntie to my daughter, finding the right therapist for Reed, and being the glue that held us both together in Cole’s absence.
Not to mention the job she’d given me without hesitation.
“Hold down the fort,” Mallory instructs Reed as we head toward the door. “Uber’s here.”
“And don’t you dare bring that stray cat in again.” I narrow my eyes at Reed. She gives me an innocent look and a dolphin smile that doesn’t reassure me at all, and Mallory pulls me through the house.
“Did you finish your antibiotics?” Mallory hands me my to-go coffee cup, and I grab my cross-body purse, visor, and water jug.
“Just this morning. I’ll have to be careful with alcohol.”
“What you have to do is have fun. That’s the point of this.
And we need to find me a fling, remember?
” Mallory pouts in my direction, and I give a hearty laugh.
I don’t doubt she’s thinking purely with her nether regions right now, even though she’s barely been broken up a month and a half, and I haven’t so much as touched a man in over three years.
We get into the Uber and chat about the “qualifications” required for her upcoming rebound.
She’s excited about the prospect of being around veterans, but I’m not.
I’ve sworn off men who have ever been involved in the military, especially the ones on active duty, because I know what loss feels like, and it’s nothing I ever want to endure again.
I won’t torture myself a second time. No, I need to find someone with a boring job who doesn’t put himself in harm’s way on purpose.
Someone who isn’t addicted to adrenaline.
A nice CPA or something who wears a suit, not a uniform.
The event turnout is decent, judging by the people streaming out of the overflowing parking lot.
We both grab our belongings and head over to a big tent labeled “Registration.” It’s already balmy out with nearly full sun, and I can smell barbecue sauce wafting over from the place that’s catering lunch.
They’re known for incredible brisket and burnt ends, and I can’t wait to shove them in my face in a few hours.
We find a table with laminated name tag pins and, as I try to attach mine to my thin tank top, I stab myself in the chest and yelp in surprise.
“Ouch! Fuck!” I grumble, and then suddenly, a hand covers mine.
“Let me get that for you,” a low, male voice states.
I glance up only for my jaw to drop as I survey the handsome man standing in front of me.
I’m struck by his clear, jade green eyes that seem to sparkle with laughter as they meet mine.
Blinking, I break the awkward eye contact and feel downright woozy as I take in his strong jawline, short dark hair, and a very light five o’clock shadow that makes me want to rub my cheek against his.
Jesus, Celeste, get a hold of yourself! I lecture myself as he pins my name tag on and then holds out his hand.
“Hey, I’m Dominic,” the man tells me as he grasps the hand I’ve outstretched without thinking. My mouth suddenly feels drier than the Sahara, tongue thick and uncoordinated as I try to speak.
“My friends call me Este. Este Evans,” I tell the beautiful stranger, unable to stop staring at him as I mumble.
He resembles the Greek god Adonis, wearing a tight tank top that does nothing to conceal his plentiful, sinewy muscles.
Dominic’s running shorts are short enough to display his powerful thighs, but long enough to cover the most important parts—the parts I now find myself blushing beet red for thinking about. Still, they make my heart skip a beat.
“Well, Este, I’m looking for a partner for the first race. It starts in five. You in?” His confident tone suggests that the only answer he plans to accept is “yes.”
Mallory bumps me with her shoulder. “She’s totally in,” she answers for me, slapping my ass and pushing me closer to Dominic. Mallory walks away giving me two thumbs up as she mouths, “Hot!”
He holds out his hand to me, and I can’t help but stare at it for a second before I grab it. His hand is warm, and it squeezes mine as he gently tugs me toward the field, where couples are getting ready for the first event.
“You from this area, Este?” Dominic grabs a burlap sack and sets it at my feet. He indicates I should put my feet in it, so I follow his lead.
“Born in Texas, only left briefly,” I tell him. “Am I jumping down this field in this sack?” I can’t help but eyeball the sack curiously and give it a sniff.
Why does it smell so musty? I really have to get into this thing?
I glance at the field, trying to approximate its size, and then back at the sack, attempting to come up with a game plan where I don’t immediately fall on my face.
“Not until the buzzer sounds. Then, you take a shot and spin around eight times. You’ll go, come back, tag me, and then I’ll go.
” Dominic’s grin splits his gorgeous face, and then his dimples pop.
I resist the urge to press my fingertips into them, unsure a man this handsome is both real and standing in front of me right now.
He finally drops my hand, and I clasp my hands together, realizing they’re hot and already sweaty.
Great. I haven’t worried about being the girl with sweaty hands since I first started holding Cole’s hand at fifteen.
I shake my head and finally let out a laugh, realizing how terrible I’m going to be at this game.
Hell, I’m not fast to begin with, much less while in burlap.
“You do not know how much you’re handicapping yourself by choosing me for this race.
Just hoping to come in last, huh?” I bite my lip, unable to stop myself from poking him in the abdomen jokingly.
It’s like I’m possessed. My fingertip presses against a sinfully strong abdominal muscle, and I grimace because it’s like I’ve poked a brick wall.
“Small price to pay for the pleasure of your company,” Dominic tells me, and a blush creeps up my face and probably to my ears because I feel them heat up.
“And for what it’s worth, I’m born and bred here, too.”
Someone talks over the speaker system, explaining the very basic rules. We’re instructed to grab two shots from the bartender at a nearby table, choosing from whiskey, vodka, and tequila. Each of us must take a shot and spin eight times before we get our turn to race down the field.
This is going to be insane.
“You look like a tequila girl,” Dominic guesses accurately before he jogs over to the table, holds out two empty shot glasses, and instructs the bartender. I can hear his friendliness as he speaks with the bartender, and I realize they’re on a first-name basis.
Looking around, I count twelve teams, and the realization hits that, if I’m better than even a few of them, I’ll be proud of myself. My balance skills aren’t the greatest, so my expectations aren’t lofty.
Do I want to make a fool of myself in front of Dominic? No. But for the first time in many years, I’m willing to risk it in exchange for a few minutes with this guy.
Dominic returns with the shots—one for me, one for him.
“Thanks, Dominic,” I grin, fanning myself as the sun comes out from behind a cloud. Texas sometimes feels like a year-round summer, and I’m sweltering.
“You can call me Dom, and you’re welcome.”
“Dom.” My accidental dreamy tone makes my ears heat up even more.
My heart rate skyrockets as he stretches quickly, his shirt riding up and showing off his lower abs and sexy-as-all-hell hipbones.
He’s ripped! I’m not usually so quick to drool over any man—hell, I’ve hardly looked at one in forever.
This wasn’t what I expected today, either, but… here we are.
I must look anxious because Dom yanks his shirt down over his waistband and trains those sparkly green eyes on me. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head. We’ll do our best and have fun. That’s what this is about. None of us are athletes.”
“I’m witherin’,” I grumble, quite tired of this burlap sack in the eighty-degree March morning that feels more like June.