Dear readers, it's time to say goodbye, for now. Books Eater will not be returning in 2025. But it's not the end of our reading and writing journeys. If you wish to stay in touch and follow bookish news then you will be glad to know that from now on I will be posting on ' Between the Pages of a Book .' ( https://betweenthepagesofabook.com ) There, you will read not only my latest reviews and views but also my original short stories and poetry every month. The best part is that you can sign up for a newsletter and never miss a post. Happy Reading, always!!
My Not So Super Sweet Life (Unedited)
Cat
sticks her head back through the door and calls out, “Love you!” then closes it
firmly behind her. “Do I at least get a tiny hint about tonight?”
I
take her jacket from her and hold it out, helping her slip her arms through the
holes. Grasping her shoulders, I spin her around and let her see my bike
waiting in the drive. “Clue number one.”
Cat
squeals and does a bounce-like dance. “Are you serious?” She shoots me a quick
questioning look, and when I nod, her face becomes a mask of confusion and eagerness.
“Did you clear it with Dad first?”
“You
think I’m stupid, woman?” I wrap my arms around her slender waist, imagining
how it’ll feel having her arms
wrapped around mine. And thighs straddling my hips. I glance at the
photographers snapping away near the fence, and immediately begin thinking
about puppies. “Of course I cleared it with him. As if I could get away with not clearing it between your bodyguards
and Star Magazine staked outside your door.”
“Touché,”
she says before doing another bounce step. “I’m gonna ride a motorcycle. That’s
so badass!”
I
chuckle and link our fingers, tugging her forward. “Come on, little badass.
Let’s give the paparazzi something worth capturing.”
Her
answering smile is so dazzling it nearly steals my breath. Knowing I put it
there makes me feel like a freaking king. “Are you trying to get me in trouble,
Mr. Cappelli?”
“Always,
Miss Crawford,” I reply. “Always.”
With
a knowing nod at the bodyguards as we approach my bike, I remove my second
helmet from the seat and help her put it on, smoothing back her hair and
strapping it. I step back and look at her. Standing beside my bike in
curve-hugging denim and leather, the black helmet in place, she does look like
a badass. My badass. And she’s never
looked hotter.
“Damn
I wish I could kiss you right now.” Both the helmet andthe prying eyes of the
paparazzi keep that from happening, but when I catch her licking her lips in
response, I groan and shove on my own helmet. “The quicker we get where we’re
going, the better.”
Her
eyes light up from behind the visor as I flip it down. I hop on my bike and
take her hand, tugging her close. “Swing your leg around and scoot up close.”
Cat
does as I say, intuitively grabbing onto my hips, and pulling herself closer.
She’s not close enough. She’ll never be close enough, but I take her hands and
lace them around my stomach, then grasp her knees and tug them firmly beside
mine. She slides an extra inch. The scent of leather and rose mingle in my nose
as the heat of her body seeps past the denim. I could get used to this.
I
look back to see her face. Her flirty grin says she’s enjoying this as much as
I am. “During a turn, you’re gonna lean slightly. When we turn right, look over
my right shoulder, and keep your body in line with mine. When we turn left,
look left. Got it?”
She
lowers her gaze to where my lips are behind the visor and shifts closer. “Look
and lean. Got it.” Her voice is a mixture of excitement, fear, and desire. This
was an excellent idea.
“One
more thing?” I say, waiting for her eyes to flutter back to mine. “Hold on
tight and enjoy the ride.”
Cat
laughs, and pressed up against me like she is, I feel the vibrations throughout
my body. I yank the clutch, press the starter, and feel her jerk behind me as
the engine rumbles to life.
“Best
Valentine’s Day ever!” she screams in my ear.
And
it’s only just begun.
Fine Art of Pretending
SATURDAY, AUGUST 21st
6 WEEKS until Homecoming
• BRANDON •
ALY’S HOUSE, 7:30 p.m.
I
ring the doorbell and step back to gaze up at Aly’s window. She’s tied back her
yellow curtains, and I can see her running around inside, probably trying to
find a purse or matching shoes in her disaster of a room. I kick the red brick
and ponder the night ahead.
As I see it, the night can end in one of
two ways: our comfortable friendship will return after a night of fun and
goofing around, or being with Aly on a date—even a pretend one—will make
kissing her again all too tempting.
I close my eyes and beg the universe for
the first outcome.
From the other side of the door I hear
the click clack of shoes hitting the ceramic tile. I straighten in preparation to
greet Aly, but when the door opens, I feel my smile freeze on my face.I take in
her white lace halter-top and the short denim skirt showing off her tan legs
and swallow.
I hadn’t been sure which outfit I wanted
her to choose, and now...well,I’m still not sure which would’ve been better for
our friendship, but I’mdamn sure enjoying the view.
“You look amazing.”
A blush creeps up her neck. She bites
her lip and fidgets with the neckline of her top. “Um, thanks.”
I clear my throat and remember why I’m
here. Playful and fun. I hold out my
elbow and say, “Your chariot awaits,m’lady.”
She grins and hesitantly slips her hand
into the crook of my arm. The feel of her soft skin instantly has me imagining
other soft things: her hair, her cheeks, her lips. I screwmy eyes shut, replace the thought with baseball stats,
and glance down. “I see you’ve banished the heels for the night.”
Aly nods vehemently. “They are the
devil. From now on, it’s either ballet flats or sneakers on these bad boys.”
She stops to wiggle ablack, flat-footed shoe.
Ibreathe a sigh of relief at her playful
tone. This is good. We stop at the passenger door and as Ihelp her into the
cab, my fingers graze her bare lower back. Her blue eyes meet mine and then
dart away. I cough and close her door, muttering a string of curses as I round
the bumper and slam the door on my side.
Aly smiles nervously. “So, where you
taking me?”
By the grace of God, I choke down the
response I’d like to give, back to my
room, and force a nice, lighthearted, friendly smile
asI back out of her long driveway. “All will be revealed in time.”
“The thrill of suspense, huh?” She leans
back, obviously getting more comfortable with the situation. “I am intrigued,
Mr. Taylor.”
“Good,”I say as I wave at the security
guard in front of her neighborhood. “You should be.”
About the Author
Rachel Harris grew up in New Orleans, watching soap operas
with her grandmother and staying up
late sneak reading her mom's favorite romance novels. Now a
Cajun cowgirl living in Houston,
she still stays up too late reading her favorite romances,
only now, she can do so openly. She firmly
believes life's problems can be solved with a hot,
powdered-sugar-coated beignet or a thick slice of
king cake, and that screaming at strangers for cheap, plastic
beads is acceptable behavior in certain
situations.
She homeschools her two beautiful girls and loves watching
reality television with her amazing
husband. She writes young adult, new adult, and adult Fun,
Flirty Escapes, and LOVES talking with
readers!
Connect with the Author!