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EXCERPT REVEAL ~ Disgraceful (Disgrace Trilogy #2) by Dee Palmer
Coming November 18th
After the dust settles on the most erotic night in her life, a fantasy-fulfilling experience that not only brought Sam back to life, but also laid her brutal demons to rest. Her lust for life returns with her irrepressible passion and she embraces the changes in her life, almost without reservation…almost.
Jason Sinclair is just the Dominant to take a woman like Sam on. She’s fearless and feisty, but when she lost herself, he nearly lost her all over again. By giving her that one night, he became more than her savior…he became her everything. Opening her up to what the future could hold with a potential life of hedonistic heaven together.
Or could one fantasy have been too far? Can the two super kinky souls really settle down together?
As much as Sam dreams of a happily ever after, she’s much too realistic and can’t seem to shake the dark clouds of doubt rolling in. Is the promise of domestic bliss bound to be cursed from day one or does the King of Kink have more tricks up his sleeve?
Jason Sinclair is just the Dominant to take a woman like Sam on. She’s fearless and feisty, but when she lost herself, he nearly lost her all over again. By giving her that one night, he became more than her savior…he became her everything. Opening her up to what the future could hold with a potential life of hedonistic heaven together.
Or could one fantasy have been too far? Can the two super kinky souls really settle down together?
As much as Sam dreams of a happily ever after, she’s much too realistic and can’t seem to shake the dark clouds of doubt rolling in. Is the promise of domestic bliss bound to be cursed from day one or does the King of Kink have more tricks up his sleeve?
“Mmm.” She moans and arches her body into a decent stretch given the confines of the R8 interior. “Are we there yet?” She yawns and pulls her legs into a hold, wrapping her arms around her knees and shifting onto her side to face me.
“What are you…four?” I mock.
“I didn’t say…’Are we there yet Dad?’ She pouts and wrinkles her nose. She has soft pink lines on her face, crumpled skin from a heavy sleepy head against her shoulder. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and it’s all I can do to keep from swerving off the road. She looks edible.
“Oh beautiful, you can call me Daddy if you want, but I’m always gonna prefer Sir.” My voice drips with sensual meaning.
“I prefer Sir.” Her sultry, soft tone I feel, like a direct hit in my balls. I push my head back into the headrest and straighten my arms, my fingers tighten on the wheel. Subtle instant reactions that make her giggle. I try and shift in my seat to ease the painful ache from my now rock hard cock.
“Sorry.” She sucks in her lips and fails to look even vaguely apologetic.
“No you’re not.” I groan when her hand reaches over and rubs the material stretched taut over my shaft.
“Not remotely, but I am more than happy to help.” She slips the seatbelt, so it is only wrapped across her waist, and she slinks across the centre of the car, like a super sexy feline. I lift my left arm to make room. Christ my balls feel like they are ready to explode and she hasn’t even loosened my buckle. Oh now she has…shit!
“Sam…I don’t think this is a really good idea.” My voice catches and I try and swallow the sudden dryness in my mouth.
“Really? I think this is a great idea. Besides…” Her warm breath sears the fibres on my pants, her head hovers as she deftly releases my erection into her waiting hand. ‘Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“Holy. Fucking Shiiii…Ah! Oh yes that…do that again!” I swallow back a choking cough and let the most amazing feeling radiate through my body unchecked. She has her fist tight around the base but her mouth covers the engorged end and she swallows me down like I really am the best meal of the day. I can feel the muscles in her throat and I fight the urge to jerk my hips forward. The back of her head keeps nudging the bottom of the steering wheel as it is. Her tongue does this thing where she slides and wraps it around my , all the while drawing me deeper into her mouth, until I am touching the back of her throat. She pauses only to catch a breath before she swallows me further. God this feels fucking amazing. I know I’m not all in, her hand is taking over where her mouth is physically unable…at least at this angle.
I am counting backwards in Italian just to try and not think about losing control. But when she releases my cock and her lips instantly wrap around one of my balls, I swerve the car onto the hard shoulder and into the police only waiting area. I’d rather get arrested than die and she is fucking killing me here. Her head pops up and I slip from her swollen lips.
“Problem?” Her devious smile is all faux innocence.
“No problem.” I am impressed I maintain a level voice and a steady exhale. “There will be though if you don’t get your fucking jeans off and ride me till I come.” Her pink cheeks flush a little redder, her eyes darken with pure passion and her slim throat takes a deep slow swallow.
Now I’ve changed my mind.
“Wait… No time, just finish what you started Beautiful.” I thread my hand into what’s left of her messy bun and pull her back into position. Her eyes meet mine and flash with mirrored desire before bending over millimetres from my aching erection.
“Yes Sir.” She exhales a breathy sigh with her words. which scorch the wetness seeping from my tip. Her tongue is quick to take the moisture and her lips quickly follow. She sinks quickly onto my length and eager to please she almost swallows me whole.
“Fuuuuuck!” Every muscle in my backside tenses and I grip the steering wheel like it is my only anchor to Earth. One of her hands pumps the base of my cock that makes my spine tingle from top to tip, she palms my balls with her other hand, and her magic tongue is driving me insane tracing the pulsing vein from the very bottom of me to the sensitive top. She tilts her head to flash me a wicked grin and smiles wide pulling her lips free and exposing her bright white, straight, and from memory, surprisingly sharp, teeth. I suck in a sharp breath and brace myself. I fucking hate teeth.
But there are no teeth and I don’t know whether to sigh with relief, or growl with irritation. I do neither because her heavenly mouth takes me as far as her breath will allow, she swallows repeatedly and I explode down her eager throat. My stomach muscles spasm from the intensity of my release and I take a few moments to draw in enough air to compose myself. She softly licks me clean and even though I am not remotely soft she expertly tucks my cock back in its cotton cage. Crawling back to her seat, she faces me. Her eyes never leave mine, even as she slowly wipes her wet lips with the back of her hand and proceeds to lick that clean like a kitty. Damn that is the sexiest thing… next to what she has just done, that is.
I reach my hand out and cup the back of her head drawing her forcefully to my waiting kiss. I press hard, the taste of me fresh but faint on her lips, but her taste is intoxicating, and I can’t get enough. I twist my body and try to drag her from her seat when we both freeze. The car fills with a sudden bright blue light and a piercing siren screams a brief but effective interruption. Sam’s eyes, wide at first, transform into an impossibly huge grin once the initial shock has faded.
“Uh-oh someone’s in trouble.” She wiggles her brows playfully and I fire a scowl, with no anger intended at her. She starts to giggle.
“Oh someone’s in lots of trouble, but lets get out of this first shall we?” My tone is slightly reprimanding.
“We? You’re the one who pulled over into a police only wait zone.” She bites her lips to stop full blown hysterical laughter as a figure appears at my window.
“Because a ticket is better than death…although—” I muse and press the window to open. I greet the officer and catch a quick glance at Sam. Her mouth drops at my fluent French. I pulled the car over just south of the Belgium border with the Netherlands. This country is one of the few that are trilingual, speaking Dutch, German and lucky for me, French. The officer is stern and a series of explanations and questions later he gives me a warning but not a ticket I shut the window when he tries to take another peek inside at my flushed faced fiancée.
I pull smoothly back into the traffic but keep to a sensible speed as the police car has pulled out right behind and is currently tailing me.
“You speak French?” Her clipped tone makes her question sound more like an accusation.
“What can I say…I’m very good with my tongue.” She blurts out a loud laugh mixed with an uncontrolled snort that sends her into a fit of giggles. I adore that sound almost as much as the little moans and sighs.
“What are you…four?” I mock.
“I didn’t say…’Are we there yet Dad?’ She pouts and wrinkles her nose. She has soft pink lines on her face, crumpled skin from a heavy sleepy head against her shoulder. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and it’s all I can do to keep from swerving off the road. She looks edible.
“Oh beautiful, you can call me Daddy if you want, but I’m always gonna prefer Sir.” My voice drips with sensual meaning.
“I prefer Sir.” Her sultry, soft tone I feel, like a direct hit in my balls. I push my head back into the headrest and straighten my arms, my fingers tighten on the wheel. Subtle instant reactions that make her giggle. I try and shift in my seat to ease the painful ache from my now rock hard cock.
“Sorry.” She sucks in her lips and fails to look even vaguely apologetic.
“No you’re not.” I groan when her hand reaches over and rubs the material stretched taut over my shaft.
“Not remotely, but I am more than happy to help.” She slips the seatbelt, so it is only wrapped across her waist, and she slinks across the centre of the car, like a super sexy feline. I lift my left arm to make room. Christ my balls feel like they are ready to explode and she hasn’t even loosened my buckle. Oh now she has…shit!
“Sam…I don’t think this is a really good idea.” My voice catches and I try and swallow the sudden dryness in my mouth.
“Really? I think this is a great idea. Besides…” Her warm breath sears the fibres on my pants, her head hovers as she deftly releases my erection into her waiting hand. ‘Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“Holy. Fucking Shiiii…Ah! Oh yes that…do that again!” I swallow back a choking cough and let the most amazing feeling radiate through my body unchecked. She has her fist tight around the base but her mouth covers the engorged end and she swallows me down like I really am the best meal of the day. I can feel the muscles in her throat and I fight the urge to jerk my hips forward. The back of her head keeps nudging the bottom of the steering wheel as it is. Her tongue does this thing where she slides and wraps it around my , all the while drawing me deeper into her mouth, until I am touching the back of her throat. She pauses only to catch a breath before she swallows me further. God this feels fucking amazing. I know I’m not all in, her hand is taking over where her mouth is physically unable…at least at this angle.
I am counting backwards in Italian just to try and not think about losing control. But when she releases my cock and her lips instantly wrap around one of my balls, I swerve the car onto the hard shoulder and into the police only waiting area. I’d rather get arrested than die and she is fucking killing me here. Her head pops up and I slip from her swollen lips.
“Problem?” Her devious smile is all faux innocence.
“No problem.” I am impressed I maintain a level voice and a steady exhale. “There will be though if you don’t get your fucking jeans off and ride me till I come.” Her pink cheeks flush a little redder, her eyes darken with pure passion and her slim throat takes a deep slow swallow.
Now I’ve changed my mind.
“Wait… No time, just finish what you started Beautiful.” I thread my hand into what’s left of her messy bun and pull her back into position. Her eyes meet mine and flash with mirrored desire before bending over millimetres from my aching erection.
“Yes Sir.” She exhales a breathy sigh with her words. which scorch the wetness seeping from my tip. Her tongue is quick to take the moisture and her lips quickly follow. She sinks quickly onto my length and eager to please she almost swallows me whole.
“Fuuuuuck!” Every muscle in my backside tenses and I grip the steering wheel like it is my only anchor to Earth. One of her hands pumps the base of my cock that makes my spine tingle from top to tip, she palms my balls with her other hand, and her magic tongue is driving me insane tracing the pulsing vein from the very bottom of me to the sensitive top. She tilts her head to flash me a wicked grin and smiles wide pulling her lips free and exposing her bright white, straight, and from memory, surprisingly sharp, teeth. I suck in a sharp breath and brace myself. I fucking hate teeth.
But there are no teeth and I don’t know whether to sigh with relief, or growl with irritation. I do neither because her heavenly mouth takes me as far as her breath will allow, she swallows repeatedly and I explode down her eager throat. My stomach muscles spasm from the intensity of my release and I take a few moments to draw in enough air to compose myself. She softly licks me clean and even though I am not remotely soft she expertly tucks my cock back in its cotton cage. Crawling back to her seat, she faces me. Her eyes never leave mine, even as she slowly wipes her wet lips with the back of her hand and proceeds to lick that clean like a kitty. Damn that is the sexiest thing… next to what she has just done, that is.
I reach my hand out and cup the back of her head drawing her forcefully to my waiting kiss. I press hard, the taste of me fresh but faint on her lips, but her taste is intoxicating, and I can’t get enough. I twist my body and try to drag her from her seat when we both freeze. The car fills with a sudden bright blue light and a piercing siren screams a brief but effective interruption. Sam’s eyes, wide at first, transform into an impossibly huge grin once the initial shock has faded.
“Uh-oh someone’s in trouble.” She wiggles her brows playfully and I fire a scowl, with no anger intended at her. She starts to giggle.
“Oh someone’s in lots of trouble, but lets get out of this first shall we?” My tone is slightly reprimanding.
“We? You’re the one who pulled over into a police only wait zone.” She bites her lips to stop full blown hysterical laughter as a figure appears at my window.
“Because a ticket is better than death…although—” I muse and press the window to open. I greet the officer and catch a quick glance at Sam. Her mouth drops at my fluent French. I pulled the car over just south of the Belgium border with the Netherlands. This country is one of the few that are trilingual, speaking Dutch, German and lucky for me, French. The officer is stern and a series of explanations and questions later he gives me a warning but not a ticket I shut the window when he tries to take another peek inside at my flushed faced fiancée.
I pull smoothly back into the traffic but keep to a sensible speed as the police car has pulled out right behind and is currently tailing me.
“You speak French?” Her clipped tone makes her question sound more like an accusation.
“What can I say…I’m very good with my tongue.” She blurts out a loud laugh mixed with an uncontrolled snort that sends her into a fit of giggles. I adore that sound almost as much as the little moans and sighs.
Dee Palmer hates talking about herself in the third person so I won’t. My husband had my iPod engraved one Christmas with ‘sing like no-one’s listening’ and I know my family actually wish they weren’t listening because I am, in fact, tone deaf but it doesn’t stop me and this gentle support has enabled me to fulfil a dream. This has been a truly brilliant experience, I wrote The Choices Trilogy back to back and released them this year just one month apart…Don’t you hate waiting for the next book in a series? The entire process has undoubtedly been made possible by my incredibly supportive family. I know this is very much an acknowledgment but I know I wouldn’t be writing even this single paragraph if it wasn’t for them so this is about who I am, I am because they let me be.
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RELEASE DAY BLITZ ~ Paid For by Alexa Riley
Mason foster goes through assistants like some people go through tissues. He’s sick and tired of having to replace them, so his best friend and business partner decides to help him out.
Kennedy Myers is here for a job and nothing else. But when the money is too good to be true, there’s nothing she won’t do to please her new boss. She’s bought and paid for, so who is she to say no? Especially when she likes it.
Warning: This dirty office romance is over-the-top filthy. If you want a possessive alpha with a bossy mouth, then do what you’re told and get this book! Seriously, though, if Mason asks, just say you bought it. He’s grumpy.
Kennedy Myers is here for a job and nothing else. But when the money is too good to be true, there’s nothing she won’t do to please her new boss. She’s bought and paid for, so who is she to say no? Especially when she likes it.
Warning: This dirty office romance is over-the-top filthy. If you want a possessive alpha with a bossy mouth, then do what you’re told and get this book! Seriously, though, if Mason asks, just say you bought it. He’s grumpy.
Chapter 1 *Kennedy*
I think I’m going to throw up. The single thought runs through my head, over and over. I take a deep breath, trying to get my nerves under control. Glancing around the giant room, I feel completely out of place. A woman in her late fifties sits typing away at a large desk, the clicks of her fingers hitting the keys the only sound in the big, empty lobby. I’m on the fiftieth floor of the Foster Building, trying to control my stomach as the lady ignores me and continues to work. Her silky gray hair is cut short to just below her ears and she’s wearing thick-framed glasses perched on the end of her nose. Everything about her is professional and says she belongs here. Her outfit is stylish in a way I could never put together, even if I had the money to do so. She’s classy and elegant and was surprisingly sweet to me when I checked in. She didn’t give me a snide look like the women downstairs had done.
I run one hand across my thighs in an attempt to brush away any pieces of fuzz on the too-tight gray skirt I have on. I’m still shocked I got myself into the thing. I got it in the ninth grade when I’d joined the debate team and needed to look professional. My stint at that size lasted about as long as my time on the team. The waist is starting to dig into my stomach, and I pray that the button in the back won’t pop.
I’m wearing simple black heels that I spent two hours practicing walking in yesterday. I found them in a discount bin in a shop down the street from my little studio apartment, along with a simple button-up white shirt. I feel so plain, even a little mousy. I was trying to look older, but I’m not sure I’m pulling it off.
I tried my hand at a little makeup and even took the time to put some curls into my hair. I’d tried to mimic a woman from a magazine I saw, but I’m not sure I got close to what I was trying to pull off.
What am I doing here? I shake my head at myself. I’m a horrible liar and I know it. The absolute worst at it. When I was seven, I broke a glass case my grandpa kept a signed football in. I’d confessed before he could even ask me what happened to it. Then when I was thirteen, my grandpa asked me how my day at school was, and out of my mouth came details of how Cody kissed me after school. I was so bad at lying. I couldn’t even fake it for a second. I simply couldn’t bring myself to do it.
How I think I’ll ever pull this off, I have no idea. Because you have no other choice, I remind myself. I need this job. Correction, I more than need this job. I needed this job three weeks ago.
The little money I had left from selling my grandpa’s house is almost gone. I have no idea how I am going to make rent in my shitty little studio apartment. I might actually be happy to lose the place, though. Maybe I can find a local YMCA to stay at or something. My landlord is starting to really creep me out.
His apartment is right next to mine, and this morning he caught me as I was leaving, reminding me my rent was due three days ago. He also implied there are other ways to pay my rent. Ways that don’t involve money. It made my skin crawl. Mr. Kelly was easily sixty years old. He is always in pajama bottoms and a wife beater with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. And I am pretty sure the lady across the hall from me is paying her rent in the other ways he was talking about. I’d heard her earn her room on multiple occasions, and it made me shiver with disgust.
He was always a little too handsy. He finds new ways to put his hands on me all the time, and it’s becoming unsettling. I try to find ways to avoid him, but yesterday I’d come home to find him standing inside my home. He said he was checking on the water pipes, something about a leak, but my blood ran cold at how easily he accessed my home. How easily he could do it again. After he left, I shoved a chair under the door handle, but it gave me no comfort. I barely slept all night. I had no idea what I was going to do if I came up with the money to pay the rent, because I didn’t feel safe at all.
I’m just happy I still have a few more weeks until I need to make another payment to the nursing home my grandpa’s in. Knowing he has a place to be for a little longer gives me some relief, but not much. A sharp pain in my palm reminds me I’m squeezing my apartment keys too tight and they’re digging into my skin. I open my bag and drop them down inside.
Your name is Kennedy Myers. You went to University of Michigan, where you got a degree in liberal arts. You are twenty-two years old and have always dreamed of working for a company like Foster and Crate, I remind myself for the hundredth time. All lies, other than my name. Lies I made up to try and get this job.
I’m barely eighteen, almost didn’t graduate high school because of my attendance, and I had no freaking clue what Foster and Crate was until two days ago when I saw the job listing. It’s a job that pays more than I could dream of. Enough to keep my grandfather in the pricey nursing home he’s in. Not only that, but if I can keep the sham up, I can get us both health insurance in a few months’ time.
This has to work. I have no other options. This isn’t merely about me. It’s about the man who raised me since I was a little girl. A man who tried to give me everything he could until he started to forget who I was.
I knew I couldn’t take care of him anymore. He needed someone to be with him 24/7, and not only that, I was physically incapable of helping him at times—my grandfather is a big man, easily twice my size. I could, however, make sure he was somewhere safe where people were good to him. So far, I had done that, but the place was far from cheap, and I quickly burned through the money I’d gotten from selling the home he raised me in. I’m drowning in bills. Waiting tables and cleaning jobs simply aren’t cutting it anymore.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered other ways to make money. One of the girls in my building strips and says she could make over a thousand dollars some nights just off cash tips. I’d toyed with the idea. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, but there wasn’t a lot I wouldn’t do to keep my grandfather happy.
The man had raised me since I was a little girl. I don’t remember my mother. My memories are crafted from the stories he told me about her. I never knew my father. My grandpa made it seem like he didn’t know who he was either.
It was always just the two of us, and I love him more than anything in the world. He is the only family I’ve ever known. I loved it when I’d lie down to bed at night and he’d tell me stories about grandma. He always lit up at the memory of her. I grew up thinking I wanted a love like that, but then all that was pushed to the back burner as his health started to decline.
Lately, whenever he is having a good day and starts talking about my mom and grandmother when I visit, I write down everything he says. I am scared that one day he’ll no longer remember the stories himself, and I want to be able to tell him those same stories.
I feel wetness hit my cheeks and I quickly wipe it away. Looking up, I see the woman behind the desk watching me. She gives me a sad smile, and I look away, not liking that I’ve been caught crying. Lovely. I’m sure that’s not going to help me get this job.
I stand up. I need to get myself under control.
“Bathroom?” I ask the woman.
“Down the hall, second door on the right,” she says.
I nod and make my way down the hall, almost running into a man coming out of an office.
“Sorry,” I whisper before moving around him and darting into the bathroom. I feel his eyes on me the whole way.
Get it together, Kennedy.
I think I’m going to throw up. The single thought runs through my head, over and over. I take a deep breath, trying to get my nerves under control. Glancing around the giant room, I feel completely out of place. A woman in her late fifties sits typing away at a large desk, the clicks of her fingers hitting the keys the only sound in the big, empty lobby. I’m on the fiftieth floor of the Foster Building, trying to control my stomach as the lady ignores me and continues to work. Her silky gray hair is cut short to just below her ears and she’s wearing thick-framed glasses perched on the end of her nose. Everything about her is professional and says she belongs here. Her outfit is stylish in a way I could never put together, even if I had the money to do so. She’s classy and elegant and was surprisingly sweet to me when I checked in. She didn’t give me a snide look like the women downstairs had done.
I run one hand across my thighs in an attempt to brush away any pieces of fuzz on the too-tight gray skirt I have on. I’m still shocked I got myself into the thing. I got it in the ninth grade when I’d joined the debate team and needed to look professional. My stint at that size lasted about as long as my time on the team. The waist is starting to dig into my stomach, and I pray that the button in the back won’t pop.
I’m wearing simple black heels that I spent two hours practicing walking in yesterday. I found them in a discount bin in a shop down the street from my little studio apartment, along with a simple button-up white shirt. I feel so plain, even a little mousy. I was trying to look older, but I’m not sure I’m pulling it off.
I tried my hand at a little makeup and even took the time to put some curls into my hair. I’d tried to mimic a woman from a magazine I saw, but I’m not sure I got close to what I was trying to pull off.
What am I doing here? I shake my head at myself. I’m a horrible liar and I know it. The absolute worst at it. When I was seven, I broke a glass case my grandpa kept a signed football in. I’d confessed before he could even ask me what happened to it. Then when I was thirteen, my grandpa asked me how my day at school was, and out of my mouth came details of how Cody kissed me after school. I was so bad at lying. I couldn’t even fake it for a second. I simply couldn’t bring myself to do it.
How I think I’ll ever pull this off, I have no idea. Because you have no other choice, I remind myself. I need this job. Correction, I more than need this job. I needed this job three weeks ago.
The little money I had left from selling my grandpa’s house is almost gone. I have no idea how I am going to make rent in my shitty little studio apartment. I might actually be happy to lose the place, though. Maybe I can find a local YMCA to stay at or something. My landlord is starting to really creep me out.
His apartment is right next to mine, and this morning he caught me as I was leaving, reminding me my rent was due three days ago. He also implied there are other ways to pay my rent. Ways that don’t involve money. It made my skin crawl. Mr. Kelly was easily sixty years old. He is always in pajama bottoms and a wife beater with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. And I am pretty sure the lady across the hall from me is paying her rent in the other ways he was talking about. I’d heard her earn her room on multiple occasions, and it made me shiver with disgust.
He was always a little too handsy. He finds new ways to put his hands on me all the time, and it’s becoming unsettling. I try to find ways to avoid him, but yesterday I’d come home to find him standing inside my home. He said he was checking on the water pipes, something about a leak, but my blood ran cold at how easily he accessed my home. How easily he could do it again. After he left, I shoved a chair under the door handle, but it gave me no comfort. I barely slept all night. I had no idea what I was going to do if I came up with the money to pay the rent, because I didn’t feel safe at all.
I’m just happy I still have a few more weeks until I need to make another payment to the nursing home my grandpa’s in. Knowing he has a place to be for a little longer gives me some relief, but not much. A sharp pain in my palm reminds me I’m squeezing my apartment keys too tight and they’re digging into my skin. I open my bag and drop them down inside.
Your name is Kennedy Myers. You went to University of Michigan, where you got a degree in liberal arts. You are twenty-two years old and have always dreamed of working for a company like Foster and Crate, I remind myself for the hundredth time. All lies, other than my name. Lies I made up to try and get this job.
I’m barely eighteen, almost didn’t graduate high school because of my attendance, and I had no freaking clue what Foster and Crate was until two days ago when I saw the job listing. It’s a job that pays more than I could dream of. Enough to keep my grandfather in the pricey nursing home he’s in. Not only that, but if I can keep the sham up, I can get us both health insurance in a few months’ time.
This has to work. I have no other options. This isn’t merely about me. It’s about the man who raised me since I was a little girl. A man who tried to give me everything he could until he started to forget who I was.
I knew I couldn’t take care of him anymore. He needed someone to be with him 24/7, and not only that, I was physically incapable of helping him at times—my grandfather is a big man, easily twice my size. I could, however, make sure he was somewhere safe where people were good to him. So far, I had done that, but the place was far from cheap, and I quickly burned through the money I’d gotten from selling the home he raised me in. I’m drowning in bills. Waiting tables and cleaning jobs simply aren’t cutting it anymore.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered other ways to make money. One of the girls in my building strips and says she could make over a thousand dollars some nights just off cash tips. I’d toyed with the idea. It wasn’t something I wanted to do, but there wasn’t a lot I wouldn’t do to keep my grandfather happy.
The man had raised me since I was a little girl. I don’t remember my mother. My memories are crafted from the stories he told me about her. I never knew my father. My grandpa made it seem like he didn’t know who he was either.
It was always just the two of us, and I love him more than anything in the world. He is the only family I’ve ever known. I loved it when I’d lie down to bed at night and he’d tell me stories about grandma. He always lit up at the memory of her. I grew up thinking I wanted a love like that, but then all that was pushed to the back burner as his health started to decline.
Lately, whenever he is having a good day and starts talking about my mom and grandmother when I visit, I write down everything he says. I am scared that one day he’ll no longer remember the stories himself, and I want to be able to tell him those same stories.
I feel wetness hit my cheeks and I quickly wipe it away. Looking up, I see the woman behind the desk watching me. She gives me a sad smile, and I look away, not liking that I’ve been caught crying. Lovely. I’m sure that’s not going to help me get this job.
I stand up. I need to get myself under control.
“Bathroom?” I ask the woman.
“Down the hall, second door on the right,” she says.
I nod and make my way down the hall, almost running into a man coming out of an office.
“Sorry,” I whisper before moving around him and darting into the bathroom. I feel his eyes on me the whole way.
Get it together, Kennedy.
Alexa Riley is two sassy friends who got together and wrote some dirty books. They are both married moms of two who love football, donuts, and obsessed book heroes.
They specialize in insta-love, over-the-top, sweet, and cheesy love stories that don’t take all year to read. If you want something SAFE, short, and always with a happily ever after, then Alexa Riley is for you!
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Book Loving Pixies 