Hope Breaks: A New Adult Romantic Comedy (7 page)

Chapter 1
1

I WAS SURPRISED THAT I had so much to choose from in my fridge: leftover lasagna, deli turkey and Swiss, an antipasto salad with Paul Newman’s Italian—even some Jell-O.

We all went for the lasagna and salad, and the Jell-O.  The two
lovebirds ate and swooned at each other, and I was pretty sure they were going to head on back to wherever their bedroom of choice was… and I was good with that, as long as it wasn’t a bed in my house.  I just couldn’t abide letting a couple of teenagers have sex under my roof.

Hell, I hadn’t had sex under this roof!

But wasn’t that going to change?

I shook that thought from my head and felt the blood rush to my face.

After lunch I excused Pebbles and Bam-bam, since I didn’t think they’d do anything more that afternoon except try and mate somewhere, and I was pretty sure I had quite a few really good shots that were probably already downloaded from my camera to my laptop.

Good lord
, I needed at least one of them to knock my socks off—and the socks of Olivia Lovelace.

I headed upstairs after sending off the lovebirds to mating season, and sat down at my desk.  I clicked through the first terrible shots and stopped when I came to the first shot I
’d taken of them on the bed, before they even knew I was there.

I sat back and let my breath out in a long, low whistle.

It was incredible, elegant… rich in texture and feeling.  Somehow, I’d captured the emotion of that intimate moment and it practically sizzled on my computer screen: un-diluted love with a creamy swirl of pure lust.

I clicked further, and each shot just popped with its own captured beat of life and passion.  I put the group on slideshow
, sat back and watched the images slowly change in front of me.

I’d never taken pictures like this before.  I mean, my work until now had been pretty damn good—except that last cover shoot—even though I was no Herb Ritz.  But these pics weren’t even in my ball park. 

They were art.

I shook that thought right out of my head.  This wasn’t art
; this was cover art.

Don’t over think it. 

Now all I needed to do was pick one and choose the right font for the title and author name.

But which one?

As the images faded in and out of the screen I was presented with yet another problem.  They were all freaking amazing shots.

How the hell was
that
a problem?

Well…
too much of a good thing?

Damn.

So I picked the first shot and the last shot I took before things went NC-17, and then one at random.  I loaded the three shots into my GIMP program and shuffled them around.  I took the first shot and cut it to fit as a book cover.  Then I typed the title in—
Late in the Game
—and played around with the fonts and sizes.  When I was reasonably happy with all that, I put in Olivia’s name and that she was a USA Today and Amazon Bestseller, and voila!

I had a book cover.

A pretty damn good one if I said so myself… though it seemed a shame to cover up even a millimeter of the image with anything.

I did the same thing to the other two shots and saved them to My Pictures, a file for just the Olivia Lovelace novels I’d done before, and to a thumb and zip file.

I thought about making some more versions, tweaking them some more… but really, the images were the main thing.  As long as Olivia liked the base image, I could change the fonts to meet her every whim.

And I was suddenly very tired.  Very, very tired.

I decided not to just attach the images to an email and send them to Janine.  I’d wait, get some sleep tonight and then give them another go in the morning.  I’d have the whole day to tweak and change them, and even do up a few more of the shots to send her.

T
hen I’d get ready for my date with Jake.

And Jimmy. 

Jimmy Buffet
. 

Jake and Jimmy Buffet.

I felt my toes curl just thinking about getting to kiss him again, under the stars, with Jimmy serenading us.

It was going to be perfect.

***

“It’s freaking raining!” I groused to Bette as she strolled across the lawn between our houses.  She was dressed to headline Jamboree in the Hills
in a sparkly white dress with a plunging neckline and a skirt that showed off her amazing legs.  A dainty cream white umbrella protected her from the falling rain.

“This is Texas, dear…
we always need the rain.”

I scowled at her. “But I’ve got a date tonight, with a man and Jimmy Buffet.”

Bette stopped and placed her ruby manicured hand over her impressive décolletage.  “You have a date?”

I eyed her wearily.  No
wow, Jimmy Buffet!
  No, Bette was most surprised by the date thing.  I mean, she’d already seen the man, was it so much of a shock that he’d want to see me again?

Don’t answer that.

“Yes, a date with Jake,” I said forlorn.  “And he’s taking me to see Jimmy Buffet at the Tower Amphitheater.  I love Jimmy Buffet.”

“I hear Jimmy never cancels a concert.  Rain or shine.”

That thought brightened me, but then I imagined what I’d look like during a rainstorm.  Scenario one was me in head to toe yellow rain gear.  I shuddered at the image.  Scenario two had me drenched to the skin, which would flatten my hair down like a soggy pancake, and made my t-shirt go all wet t-shirt contest on me—which wasn’t the bad part.  The bad part was having all the other younger, hotter women around me all sporting the same look.

Ack!

“The rain is going to slow throughout the day, and the sun will come out about three hours before sunset,” Bette said as she came up onto my front porch and shook out her umbrella.  “Plenty of time for the grass to dry.  Although, I’d stop and buy a plastic tarp to put under the blanket.  You don’t want your pants to get wet—” she lifted a perfectly drawn eyebrow,  “—at least, not by rain.”

“Ho, ho…
very funny.”

Bette sat down on my porch swing and looked up expectantly.  “So, spill.  What were dates one through three like?”

For crying out loud!  Did she have my house bugged?  “How the hell do you know about date number three?”

Bette smiled coyly and placed her hands demurely in her lap.  “I heard that beast of a pickup of his growl up to your house.  I also observed that he had showered and changed, and that he had pizza.”

Good grief…

“I also saw him leave about twenty minutes later, so I was pretty sure you two didn’t do the nasty.  I imagine it would take hours with a man like him…” She brought her hands up to her chest again.

“Is that your secret?  You can divine the future and spy on people in their houses by fondling your boobs?”

“Don’t be silly,” Bette chortled. “I have one of those fabulous listening device things.”

I turned and looked at her, amazed.  “Like the FBI?”

“No, like the
As
Seen on TV
kind.  I’m wearing it right now, and you should hear the conversation Lynn Hall is having with her chiropractor on the phone.  I guess their next appointment will be at a motel, not his office.”

I blinked at her, horrified that she’d been spying on me even more than I’d already guessed. 

I shook my head.  Why was I even a little bit surprised?  If the technology was out there, she would have it.

“How do you know she’s talking to her chiropractor?   Can you hear him on the phone too?”

Bette shook her head and smiled.  “She’s got him on speakerphone so she has her hands free.”

“Hands free for what?”

Bette just looked at me like I was hopeless.

Oh…

“Oh!”  I stared at her, and then across the street to Lynn Hall’s house.  She was married with two tot sized children.  “Please turn that thing off.  I don’t want to know anymore about anything going on in this neighborhood.”

Bette narrowed her eyes on me and smiled before reaching up and removing the smaller than a hearing aid device from her ear.  “Fine, fine…
so when is he picking you up?”

“Six.”

“Ah, plenty of time for a quick dinner and then off to the sandbox party.”

I sighed and looked out at the still pouring rain.  “That is if the rain actually stops.”

“It will, it will.  I’ve checked with three separate internet sources.  It’s all go.”  She looked me up and down.  “So maybe it’s time for you to go inside and start prettying yourself up.  Six o’clock will be here in less than…” She looked at her watch.  “Less than four hours.” 

She looked me up and down again.  “Maybe you should let me help you out.”

I waved her off and leaned back into the porch swing.  “I’ve got it covered.” Which was code for
back off, sweetie
.

Bette got up and sighed, giving me a slow, sad look one usually reserved for the girl that didn’t have a date for the prom. 
She looked out at the rain—and just then the sun started to peek through the clouds, and the downpour started to sputter and lighten.

“See,” she said, opening up her umbrella
to make her way back to her house through the lessening rain.  “The weather is cooperating.  So you have nothing else to worry about.”

***

The weather did indeed cooperate.  We stopped for some
Mad Mex
and frozen margaritas.  My enchiladas and rice were perfect, and my drink was alcoholic ambrosia.  Traffic was light as we made our way to the concert, and the whole thing was so well organized that we were parked and heading in with our blanket and tarp with plenty of time to spare (Jake had already thought ahead, having stopped at Home Depot before picking me up.)

All in all everything was turning out perfect…

That was until the very second we entered the huge outdoor pavilion. That’s when an enormous beach ball roughly the size of a Miata pounded into the side of my head, stunning me and knocking me down to the wet, wet grass.

I was shaking my head and trying to remember exactly what had just happened when Jake swooped down and lifted me back to my feet.  I wobbled a little and held my head for a beat.  I had an instant headache, but I was sure that was more from the sudden, ungainly face plant than getting whacked in the melon by the giant beach ball.

“You okay, Hope?”

I warmed just hearing him say my name.  I loved the way he said my name.

I nodded and tried to smile, looking up into his deep brown eyes… neither of which were looking back into mine.  They were fixed a little lower, at chest level. 

He peeled his eyes from my boobs and gave me a
wide-eyed look, and then peered back down to my chest.

I looked down and found my once pristine
, pink, sleeveless t-shirt now not only smeared with a sickly green, but wet and plastered to my chest.

My bra was one of those sheer numbers—pretty but not made to conceal much when it was uncovered. (So I was thinking ahead a smidge, sue me!)
Since it got wet as fast as the t-shirt—and since the water on the grass was cold—I suddenly had two hard nipples showing through my shirt.

Shiiit…

I dropped my head and moaned, and my headache ratcheted up to near migraine proportions. 

Jake took me by the shoulders and steered me over to the side, up against the wall of the amphitheater.  I thought for a dizzying moment that he was going to push me up against the wall and kiss me…
maybe go further…

Which was both a horrifying thought—public sex—and a turn on—Jake and sex.

Instead of kissing me, he yanked the old black AC/DC t-shirt he was wearing up over his head and handed it to me.

Okay, it was my turn to stare at
his
chest.  Broad and strong, and covered in tan, smooth flesh.  Just begging to be touched and licked and…

I shook my head and tried to pull myself together.  Yes, Jake was gorgeous.  Yes, Jake was even more stunning without his clothes on…
I mean, without his shirt on.  And YES… I suddenly felt like my body was on fire and all I wanted was for him to smother that fire with his smooth, dreamy naked skin…

And maybe stoke that fire with his…

Jake pulled out the blanket we were going to be using on the grass and unfolded it, holding it up so that I was completely hidden by the plaid material. 

“Okay…
you’re good to go.  Change.”

Oh…
good idea.  “Thanks,” I said, and swiftly jerked my own stained and wet t-shirt up over my head.  I pondered leaving the bra on, but it was wet so I pulled it off too.  Jake’s shirt was black and quite a bit big on me, so no matter what I wasn’t in any danger of showing off my assets again… even if we got drenched from head to toe.