In my case, I performed the ritual implosion of all scorned women. I drowned my sorrows in cases of white wine, wallowed in gallons of ice cream, and ignited a bonfire to burn away every damn remnant of his existence. Six months later, the only result was a permanent impression of my ass on the couch.
Adventure Dating my friends dared.
That’s where I saw HIM. Lucas Cummings. He isn’t the classic rich boy I usually end up with. The one whose idea of working up a sweat is waiting for his margarita to be served on the beach. Nope. He’s a rough and tough bad boy that all fathers warn their daughters about. You know the type. Cocky swagger, chiseled jaw—the ‘V’.
SOLD, I said to myself, until I discovered he was so much more than just a BOXER.
Right to the heart.
“Hey,” I say, reaching for it.
“No, girl, you’re gonna want to be stone sober for this one. You don’t want to be like Whit the first night she and Cole got together.” She takes a sip, but I grab the cup back, knowing I need it more than I thought.
Especially when he glances down and a perfect set of sparkling teeth emerge, revealing a smile that has me gripping Lennon’s arm for support. Then he bites his bottom lip for a second, and my fingernails dig into Lennon’s bicep.
“Damn, I wish I saw him first.” Lennon’s voice sounds as dreamy as I feel. “You better ride him like you’re a fucking rodeo star, girl.” And there’s the Lennon I know and love.
The vodka man, now known as Lucas Cummings, turns around, continuing to bounce on his toes.
Sammie’s voice rings out once more, and another boxer enters with four bodyguards and a red silk robe. He weaves through the ropes and stares down Lucas. Lucas laughs, egging him on, and my gut twists.
“The undefeated Brock ‘Lights Out’ Hayes,” Sammie announces, and the guy jumps around the ring, waving both fists in the air.
Lucas turns back toward us, but his attention is focused solely on another guy. A small man rushes in the ring, putting Vaseline on his cheeks and forehead.
“This is the real deal.” The excitement in Lennon’s voice increases.
Lucas keeps peeking over at me, an uptick on his lips each time. Eventually, the guy who I assume is his manager glances over our way to see what’s distracting him.
Whit tugs on my arm and leans in close. “Someone has caught the boxer’s attention,” she whispers and I wish my cheeks didn’t heat like they are.
“Because he’s thinking of all the ways he’s going to fuck her later,” Lennon adds, turning her head for only a second.
“What?” Whitney asks, in the dark on the whole situation.
“I met him at the bar. He asked me to meet him after,” I say, and Whitney’s eyes crinkle as if she doesn’t think that’s a good idea. So thinks the girl who resorted to Tinder.
“Like you’d do that,” she says confidently, and I bite my lower lip. The lip that is now a little tingly from what I assume is the Everclear. “Tahlia, don’t you think you should wait for your second one-night stand for someone of his…caliber?”
Cole peeks over her shoulder. “I met him a few weeks ago when I came to watch the fights. Seems like an okay guy.”
Whitney raises her hand, and it smacks Cole in the face. He grabs his nose.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She glances at him for a second before her eyes set on me again like a mother scolding her teenager.
“No, babe, it’s my fault. I know better than to try to get in the middle of a conversation between you three.” Cole touches his nose a few times and wiggles it around.
“Guess you’re not the kinda guy to jump in that ring then.” Lennon laughs and points at him. Cole raises his eyebrows in her direction.
“Are you challenging me, Lennon?” Cole asks and the three of us laugh.
Whitney waves her hands around. “Forget that. Tahlia, you can’t go have a one-night stand with someone like him.”
I look past Whitney to Cole. “I think you need to go over the one-night stand rules. First one being, you don’t know the person. Second qualification, you pick the hottest guy.”
Cole laughs, but Whitney only becomes more agitated. I’m not sure why she’s giving me trouble. She’s the one who brought me here tonight.
“Tahl,” she sighs.
“Whit,” I mimic her tone. “I’m a grown woman. I’ll be fine.”
Lennon elbows me a few times. “The blood is about to spew,” she says and jumps up, screaming, “Go, black shorts!”
We aren’t trying to stamp ourselves with a top-secret label. We wanted to write without apology. We wanted to not be pigeon holed into a specific outline. We wanted to give readers a story without them assuming how the story will flow. Everyone has their favorite authors, right? And when you pick up their books, you expect something from them. Whether it’s an alpha male, heavy angst, a happily ever after, there’s something you are absolutely certain the book will contain. Heck, we’re readers, too, we get it.
What can we tell you about ourselves? We both have kindle’s full of one-clickable books. We’re both married to husbands who drive us to drink. We’re both chauffeurs to our kids. Most of all, we love hot heroes and quirky heroines that make us laugh, and we hope you do, too.