Chapter One
Chance Connor is the greatest asshole alive.
Also, as of now, he’s my very EX-boyfriend.
And good riddance. He cheated on me, has been cheating on me for a while, in fact, and I have only just found out—tonight, at our two year first date anniversary, in my favorite Italian restaurant.
Did he sit down and quietly tell me what was bothering me? Did he explain to me that our relationship wasn’t working for him anymore?
No. But his other girlfriend showed up and so he decided that it was a good time to break up with me. A good time to explain how he can’t be with me because I am such a lousy lay.
In front of everyone.
“Sorry, Layla,” he says, without a single hint of contrition on his suddenly loathsome face, “but I can’t waste my time teaching you how to act in bed. You’re frigid. Good sex is important to me. I’m done.”
I’m in too much shock to cry, or scream, let alone string words together and reply with anything resembling coherence. Hands curled into aching fists in my lap, I’m still sitting right where I was when the skank he has been dating arrived and grabbed Chance’s arm, then told me how he’s been with her for a year now, and that it’s for real.
That I should give him up because his heart belongs to her.
A year. The thought he left my arms to slip into hers day after day for all this time makes me want to puke.
Finally, Chance stops talking, and there’s a ringing silence in the restaurant. I feel the eyes of the customers on me, burning small question marks and pity holes through my flesh.
God, I don’t think I’ve ever hated a guy so much in my life.
My knees are knocking together, but I brace my hands on the table and stand up. “Go,” I say, not sure what I should be saying, what smartass reply I could have given. “Go away. Now. Leave.”
He gives me a pitying look, like he just realized how much worse I am than he originally thought. “Come on, Layla, don’t take it so hard.”
“Hard?” I laugh, and it sounds crazed, so I stop. “You freaking two-timing bastard. Get out!”
I start toward him around the table, not sure if I want to scratch my nails down his face or beat him up with my fists, or maybe start on the skank beside him—when a shadow falls over us.
Quite literally. Because the guy who has just approached our table has to be six foot five, give or take an inch. I have no idea what he thinks he’s doing, so I glance toward him and open my mouth to tell him to get lost, too.
And I go completely still.
I can’t help it. He’s easily the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, in real life or in magazines, with his short, blond hair, those sharp cheekbones and steely eyes, and the body of a line-backer, tall and broad-chested.
He’s dressed in a sleek, expensive gray suit that shimmers where the light catches it, like silver. His pale stubble glints like gold dust. He narrows his eyes at me, then his full mouth lifts in a smirk and he turns to Chance.
“Man, I wanna thank you,” he drawls, shoving his big hands in the pockets of his dress pants. “This was awesome.”
Chance stares at him.
I gape. His words are like a dash of cold water.
Oh my God. He approves of what Chance did? Of how he broke up with me, and of the things he said… holy crap, did he hear what Chance said about me being frigid?
I want the earth to open up and swallow me.
I want to put Chance and this guy together and kick them in the nuts.
I want to run away.
“Who the hell are you?” Chance mutters, glancing at the skank and back at the guy.
“Oh, did I forget to introduce myself? My name is Hawk. Jamie Hawk Fleming.” The guy lifts a pale brow, and God, that name is familiar, but I can’t place it right now, with my heart racing and the scorching burn of humiliation traveling up my neck. “And like
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