Read Last Call (Bad Habits Book 3) Online
Authors: Staci Hart
Last Call (Bad Habits Book 3) (35 page)
Everyone quieted and turned to where he stood at the front of the bar.
“I wanted to thank you all for coming tonight and kicking off our newest adventure. This is a bit of of a dream come true for Rosie and me, an amalgamation of ideas and passions that turned into what you see here. But I’m only the muscle in the operation. The brains, the charm, and definitely the style is all Rose. Come on up here, Rosie, and say hi.”
Everyone turned to me, and I blushed and waved him off.
“You’re not getting off so easy,” he said, smirking, that asshole. “Come on, Rose.”
My cheeks were on fire, frozen in a smile as I made my way up to stand next to him and face all the people who were there for us, for me. I took a breath and raised my glass.
“I’m not one for big fancy speeches, so instead, I propose a toast.”
Everyone raised their glasses, waiting for me to speak, and I was filled with emotion, swallowing it down so I could speak.
“Cheers to the end, because every story that ends begins another. Cheers to beginnings, that they may be full of hope and love. And cheers to you, my friends, for being a part of ours.”
Here, here,
waved through the crowd, and we drank to our future.
Cooper pulled me into him and pressed a kiss into my temple. “We did it,” he said, and I beamed, disbelieving that it was real, that it was happening, right then. And it was ours.
I walked through the crowd, first hugging Lily, the best friend I’d ever have, and she laughed, swiping at her tears as they fell. I hugged West, the beaming lumberjack, and he kissed my cheek and told me how proud he was. Then Maggie and Ellie as I passed, accepting their well wishes and congratulations, and a half dozen more people in a whirl as I made my way back to Patrick.
I found him at the edge of the crowd, standing in the middle of my universe. And when I stepped into him gently, looked up into his eyes — eyes that saw me, all of me, and loved me still — I took a body assessment.
Knees: weak.
Cheeks: flushed.
Stomach: flipped.
Eyes: glistening.
Heart: full.
And the moment he bent to kiss me was the moment that marked the beginning of the rest of my life.
Acknowledgements
Of course my first thank you goes, as usual, to my husband, Jeff Brillhart. This was a rough one, and you picked up my slack without a complaint, at least not an audible one. Without you believing in me
so
much, without your sacrifice, I couldn’t be doing this very hard thing that I love so very much. So, thank you. I love you.
My second and third thank yous are combined into one super thank you, the likes of which only the Three Brosketeers can achieve. To the other two wheels in my tricycle, Becca Mysoor and Kandi Steiner — there’s legitimately no way I can repay you for being here for me. If it weren’t for you two cheering me on, I may not have made it to the end. You’ve held me and loved me and cried with me. You’ve told me like it is. You’ve given me hope when I had none. And I love the two of you so, so very much. #Brochachosforlyfe
To my beta readers: Zoe Streiker-Howard, Melissa Lynn, Brie Burgess, Lex Martin, Miranda Arnold, Terry Maggert, Monique Boone, Jen Miller, Beth Cranford, Jenni Moen, Tina Lynne, and Angie McKeon. You, my dearest crew, are invaluable. I told you when I sent the manuscript that it was a mess, and your comments helped me sort through it and turn it into something I’m proud of. So thank you for your honesty and criticism because without it, I wouldn’t the writer I am.
To Lauren Perry — You are absolute magic. This cover is my favorite so far, and that’s thanks to you, Chelsee Spinello, and Jesse Sykes. The three of you made the most beautiful art together, and I just can’t thank you enough.
To Christine Stanley — You’ve always got my back, ready to go when I need you with a smile and a hug and a smack on the ass. Never leave me!
To Kiezha Smith Ferrell — Thank you for taking my work and polishing it up until it shines. It brings me immense relief to know my book is in such capable hands.
And to you, dear readers. Thank you for reading this story. Thank you for your love and support of me, of these books, and the characters in them. We do this for you, and we couldn’t do it without you. So raise your glass to beginnings disguised as endings.
More Books by Staci Hart
Hearts and Arrows
Deer in Headlights (Hearts and Arrows 1)
Snake in the Grass (Hearts and Arrows 2)
What the Heart Wants (Hearts and Arrows 2.5 Novella)
Doe Eyes (Hearts and Arrows 3)
Fool’s Gold (Hearts and Arrows 3.5 Novella)
Hardcore (Erotic Suspense Serials)
Bad Habits
Last Call
Nailed - Erotic Shorts
Once
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About the Author
Staci has been a lot of things up to this point in her life: a graphic designer, an entrepreneur, a seamstress, a clothing and handbag designer, a waitress. Can’t forget that. She’s also been a mom to three little girls who are sure to grow up to break a number of hearts. She’s been a wife, even though she’s certainly not the cleanest, or the best cook. She’s also super, duper fun at a party, especially if she’s been drinking whiskey, and her favorite word starts with f, ends with k.
From roots in Houston, to a seven year stint in Southern California, Staci and her family ended up settling somewhere in between and equally north, in Denver. They are new enough that snow is still magical. When she’s not writing, she’s gaming, cleaning, or designing graphics.
Follow Staci Hart:
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: Stacihartnovels.com
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: Facebook.com/stacihartnovels
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: Twitter.com/imaquirkybird
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Wherever It Leads
FENTON
"TELL HIM I GOT his message yesterday and I don't need him to blow me. But thank him for the offer."
Grabbing the nearest shopping cart and sliding it in front of me, I toggle the phone against my shoulder. It nearly slides off my rigid muscles, a mix of workout fatigue and work stress setting up shop across my back.
Duke sighs through the phone, not even pretending to hide his frustration. "Fenton, that's not true," he says, exasperation thick in his voice. "He didn't ask to blow you."
"Obviously it's not fucking true. I just want to hear him have to deny it."
"You know what? Just forget I called. I'll come up with a response myself."
"That's probably the best idea you've had yet."
Duke sighs again, louder this time. I'm sure I've been an asshole to deal with since I hired him, but I gave him plenty of warning what he was getting into. This entire situation, the one he was hired to deal with, has been a complete clusterfuck from the start. There's nothing more vexing than not being able to fix a problem and having your hands tied behind your back while being needled that the problem exists. I know it exists. I'm keenly aware and no one wants it fixed more than me.
"I'll just tell them the status hasn't changed."
"I could've taken care of this," I bite out.
"I know. I know."
"And they wouldn't let me."
"I. Know."
"I know
you
know. Try to impart some of that knowledge to
them
. I'm playing by their rules right now, but I’m starting to lose patience with their—”
"Fenton, you have to play by their rules. Otherwise—"
"I'm heading into the store," I interrupt. "The service is going to get shitty."
"Talk soon," Duke says, ready to end the conversation anyway, and the line clicks off. I shove my phone into the pocket of my black athletic pants. My jaw pulses, the buzz from this morning's workout now vanished.
Ignoring the eyes of an uptight man perusing the apples, I skirt my cart left to avoid interaction. I have no idea why I chose today of all days to do my own grocery shopping. I could’ve waited three damn days until my housekeeper gets back from vacation.
Steering clear of the apples and the negative energy rolling off the shopper, I head towards the bananas. I need to find the optimism I had five minutes ago before Duke called from the office and ruined my Saturday morning.
The bananas are organic and perfectly ripe, so I pluck a bunch off the podium. I start to push away, but the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. A ruffle of unease scatters through my subconscious. I pause mid-step and glance around the store. People mill about, minding their own business, nothing out of the ordinary. I start to push away again when I spy the offender. A black piece of plastic peeks out from behind a bundle of bananas, the overhead light ricocheting off it and catching my eye.
I reach behind the produce and pull out a black cell phone. Turning it over in my hand, it looks no worse for wear. I press the round button on the bottom and the screen lights up.
Staring back at me are two gorgeous girls, probably a couple of years younger than me. Mid-twenties, I’d say. The dark-headed one is flashing a peace sign in a barely there white bikini. She's hot as fuck. But it's the blonde that draws my attention. She sits crossed-legged in shorts and a tank top on the beach, her hair falling around her narrow shoulders. Her body is covered, her stance demure, but there's something striking about her that I can't pinpoint. I almost can't look away. Her blue-green eyes taunt me, tease me with a look that’s downright beguiling. The touches of vulnerability hidden behind her confidence intrigue me, make me want to hear her voice and know what she’s thinking.
Laughing at my ridiculousness despite the heat roiling in my blood, I skim the store again. No one seems to be searching for the phone.
I glance back at the screen and my gaze goes immediately to the blonde. The curve of her hip has my thumb gliding over the screen.
I should turn the phone in to management. It's the logical, responsible thing to do.
My feet don't move.
Losing your phone in the bananas doesn't exactly shout responsibility.
Taking a deep breath, I ponder my options. I can turn it in to Lost and Found and hope that they actually give it to her if she comes looking. Or … I could try to get in touch with her myself.
Keep telling yourself you're playing the Good Samaritan.
Leaning against the produce display, I do a quick analysis. The odds of her finding it at the Help Desk aren't great. Maybe fifty-fifty. Some bagger boy will probably see the lock screen and take it to the bathroom and jerk off. The odds of
that
are phenomenal. The odds of me breaking the passcode aren't great either, but if possible, would greatly increase her chances of getting it back.
And the chance for me to see those eyes in person.
I type in 0000.
“Try again” flashes on the screen.
1234.
“Try again.”
Steering the cart with my elbows towards the customer service desk, I run through possible passwords before I commit to my final try. I have one more chance before it locks me out for good and I have no choice but to turn it over to Bagger Boy and his bathroom break.
I go for 1111, another overused password.
It makes a clicking sound and the lock screen opens. The phone toggles in my hands, my jaw dropping in disbelief. It worked. The home screen is filled with apps over shiny gold wallpaper, waiting to be explored.
Should I or shouldn't I?
My thumb glances over the photo album and I see the first photo.
I definitely should.
Wherever It Leads
by Adriana Locke
USA Today Bestselling author of
Sacrifice
and
The Exception Series