Just Fooling Around: Darcy's Dark Day/Reg's Rescue\Cam's Catastrophe/Devon's Dilemma by Julie Kenner, Kathleen O'Reilly
Authors: Julie Kenner, Kathleen O'Reilly
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Contemporary, Adult, Fiction - Romance, Romance - Contemporary, Romance - General, Romance: Modern
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laughed. “I’ll be right here next weekend, but wewon’t be going to the theater.” She pressed a kiss to his bare chest.
The high-pitched tones of her cell phone startled them both, and she grabbed it up, then answered, listening at Bella’s rapid-fire words. “Thanks,” she said with a grin to Evan. “Feel better soon.”
“Bella?”
“She said she hopes we’re having fun, and if we’re not too worn out from our busy day, that we might want to go to the theater tonight.”
“Sorry. Not following you.”
“She remembered that she never even had the tickets,” Darcy explained. “They’re waiting for me right now at the will call window.”
She leaned forward and settled purposefully beside his naked body. “See?” she said, leaning in and brushing her lips over his. “Nothing but good luck today.” She nipped his lower lip. “But frankly, I don’t think I’m in the mood for a show after all.”
DEVON’S DILEMMA
Kathleen O’Reilly
1
April 1, two years earlier
T HE EAR-SPLITTING NOISE of the alarm clock was sadistic and cruel, and most hellishly of all—four freaking hours too early. Devon Franklin rolled over again and threw the covers over her head.
Three o’clock in the morning.
For a moment, there was blessed ignorance. The idea that she had accidentally missed the alarm, or that she had suffered a temporary brain spasm. Unfortunately, none of those things were even remotely close to being true.
The digital watch was within easy reach on her bedside table, but she knew the date. The other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year she woke up with a sigh of relief, because it wasn’t…
April 1.
Bone-tired and furious, she succumbed to a fit of juvenile rage, and slammed her hand over the off button, silencing the beep and hopefully killing the clock in the process.
April Fools’. Ha. If she were an average twenty-eight-year-old female, with a life expectancy of 78.1 years, nonsmoker, healthy diet, within ten pounds ofher ideal weight, she could blame the crack-of-dawn buzzer on a no-good-sibling prank, or a moronic friend getting carried away with a holiday that was nobody’s idea of fun.
However, she was a Franklin.
Cursed. People thought curses were cute and funny, and only happened to pretty people. Oh, yeah. If only that were the case.
Being the most rational Franklin, she knew the safest path to a relatively pain-free day. Hibernate in bed until midnight and wait the disasters out. It was what the rest of her family called Devon’s Ostrich Solution.
She hated when they said that. Maybe it wasn’t the most daring (Cam), optimistic (Darcy) or academic (Reg) strategy. However, it remained an undisputed fact that of the four siblings, Devon had a lower incidence of medical traumas. From an early age, as soon as she understood the eventful complications of the Franklin curse, Devon had hunkered down and opted for maximum protection against whatever bad things came on April First. Sure, it meant that her life wasn’t nearly as lively…
Oh, boo hoo hoo.
Now she’d done it. Completely debated herself into wakefulness when she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Devon sunk down farther into the blankets, waiting for the sounds of silence to wash over her and hopefully deliver her back into the sleepy arms of Morpheus, who was the only man who dared come near her on April Fools’. Yes, that was what she was doomed to for her sex life. Imaginary Greek gods.
Instead of sleepy silence, hard rain rapped like coinson the old roof of her tiny cottage, quaintly set in the middle of Middle America.
Maxbass, North Dakota. Nothing ever happened here. Devon had picked the town three years ago for that reason.
She craved nothingness. She ached for nothingness. A booming blast of thunder scoffed at her nothingness, rattling the double-paned, tornado-proofed, hurricane-secure windows.
Outside, another sound mixed with the rain. An unsettling dragging sound and some sort of
The high-pitched tones of her cell phone startled them both, and she grabbed it up, then answered, listening at Bella’s rapid-fire words. “Thanks,” she said with a grin to Evan. “Feel better soon.”
“Bella?”
“She said she hopes we’re having fun, and if we’re not too worn out from our busy day, that we might want to go to the theater tonight.”
“Sorry. Not following you.”
“She remembered that she never even had the tickets,” Darcy explained. “They’re waiting for me right now at the will call window.”
She leaned forward and settled purposefully beside his naked body. “See?” she said, leaning in and brushing her lips over his. “Nothing but good luck today.” She nipped his lower lip. “But frankly, I don’t think I’m in the mood for a show after all.”
DEVON’S DILEMMA
Kathleen O’Reilly
1
April 1, two years earlier
T HE EAR-SPLITTING NOISE of the alarm clock was sadistic and cruel, and most hellishly of all—four freaking hours too early. Devon Franklin rolled over again and threw the covers over her head.
Three o’clock in the morning.
For a moment, there was blessed ignorance. The idea that she had accidentally missed the alarm, or that she had suffered a temporary brain spasm. Unfortunately, none of those things were even remotely close to being true.
The digital watch was within easy reach on her bedside table, but she knew the date. The other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year she woke up with a sigh of relief, because it wasn’t…
April 1.
Bone-tired and furious, she succumbed to a fit of juvenile rage, and slammed her hand over the off button, silencing the beep and hopefully killing the clock in the process.
April Fools’. Ha. If she were an average twenty-eight-year-old female, with a life expectancy of 78.1 years, nonsmoker, healthy diet, within ten pounds ofher ideal weight, she could blame the crack-of-dawn buzzer on a no-good-sibling prank, or a moronic friend getting carried away with a holiday that was nobody’s idea of fun.
However, she was a Franklin.
Cursed. People thought curses were cute and funny, and only happened to pretty people. Oh, yeah. If only that were the case.
Being the most rational Franklin, she knew the safest path to a relatively pain-free day. Hibernate in bed until midnight and wait the disasters out. It was what the rest of her family called Devon’s Ostrich Solution.
She hated when they said that. Maybe it wasn’t the most daring (Cam), optimistic (Darcy) or academic (Reg) strategy. However, it remained an undisputed fact that of the four siblings, Devon had a lower incidence of medical traumas. From an early age, as soon as she understood the eventful complications of the Franklin curse, Devon had hunkered down and opted for maximum protection against whatever bad things came on April First. Sure, it meant that her life wasn’t nearly as lively…
Oh, boo hoo hoo.
Now she’d done it. Completely debated herself into wakefulness when she wanted nothing more than to sleep. Devon sunk down farther into the blankets, waiting for the sounds of silence to wash over her and hopefully deliver her back into the sleepy arms of Morpheus, who was the only man who dared come near her on April Fools’. Yes, that was what she was doomed to for her sex life. Imaginary Greek gods.
Instead of sleepy silence, hard rain rapped like coinson the old roof of her tiny cottage, quaintly set in the middle of Middle America.
Maxbass, North Dakota. Nothing ever happened here. Devon had picked the town three years ago for that reason.
She craved nothingness. She ached for nothingness. A booming blast of thunder scoffed at her nothingness, rattling the double-paned, tornado-proofed, hurricane-secure windows.
Outside, another sound mixed with the rain. An unsettling dragging sound and some sort of
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