by Julia Kent
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale –
And something tickles the back of my throat.
Sniffling comes from Mattie and Chris's soothing undercurrent, his voice murmuring words I can't hear but certainly feel. My throat threatens to cough, my neck spasming as I fight the impulse, biology and modesty fighting in a blood match.
Biology wins.
“Coff,” I choke out, the sound closer to a death rattle than a release.
Candi's neck jerks to the right, her eye catching mine.
Mattie looks over the couch. “Was that Gloria?”
At that exact moment, the dog walks right up to Chris, lifts up on her front paws, and licks Mattie's foot.
“Oh, my God,” Candi groans, the sound making Mattie panic, wails resurging.
With no choice now, I grab the quilt and hope it doesn't slide off me as I sit up. Fortune is on my side as I move to a standing position completely covered, though it's super obvious what we were doing.
To Candi, at least.
“M-m-miss Fiona?” Mattie squeals, his meltdown subverted by my revealed presence. “Why are you here?”
“She was, uh, visiting me,” Chris says.
“Visiting,” Candi coughs into her hand, suppressing a laugh, taking in his shirtless form and my quilted self with a new eye.
Scrambling out of Chris's arms, Mattie walks over to me, climbing on the couch seat to stand nearly eye-to-eye. “You visit Uncle Chris? But how?”
“What do you mean, how?”
“You live at the school,” he says emphatically. “They let you leave?”
“Remember how we talked about this, honey? You saw me at your grandma's house last week at Thanksgiving,” I remind him.
“But that was a holiday! I thought you were there just for that.”
“No, sweetie. I am allowed to go wherever I want and do whatever I want when I'm not teaching.”
He frowns, then turns to Chris. “Did you kiss her again?” he demands.
Candi makes a snorting sound.
“Yes,” Chris confesses.
“Then you have to marry her!”
“Okay, buddy,” Candi says, pulling Mattie off the couch as Chris puts his shirt back on. I'm remarkably jealous, because I can't do the same.
Gloria gently bites the edge of my quilt and starts pulling. Oh, sure, doggo. Now's the time to be playful.
“Listen, Mattie,” Chris says, bending down, hair mussed but eyes serious. “You can come over here any time. Just, you know, don't let your mom use the key to get in without knocking a few more times.” A patented sibling glare shoots from him to Candi.
“How was I supposed to know you and Fiona would be – ”
“Would be what, Mommy?”
“Would be giving Gloria a bath,” I improvise.
Candi openly laughs. No pretense. It's long gone.
Mattie's eyes light up as Gloria drops her bite on the quilt and canters off, tags like jingle bells.
“A bath! Can I help? I've never given a dog a bath before. Does Gloria have bath toys?”
Chris shoots me an incredulous look. “We were giving the dog a bath?”
“We... were planning on it. But we could bake cookies instead!” I say, a little too cheerfully. “Christmas is coming. If you have sugar, flour, butter, and...”
“COOKIES!” Mattie screams. “I'm gonna bake cookies with Miss Fiona at Uncle Chris's house!”
“Right. Bake cookies,” Chris says, grabbing his lukewarm coffee and drinking it down fast.
Candi composes herself and looks at me. “If you want to bake cookies and give the dog a bath, do you mind if I leave Mattie here so I can run some errands alone?”
“That's how it is?” Chris grunts. “Interrupt us while we're – ”
“GIVING THE DOG A BATH!” I say in an arch tone as Mattie plays with Gloria's ears.
“That would explain why you're not wearing shirts,” she challenges him. “You know. The bath part. Might get wet doing that.”
Wink.
“I wanna make cookies. Gloria can have a bath tomorrow,” Mattie declares.
“Looks like lots of stuff has to wait until tomorrow,” Chris mutters, though he ruffles Mattie's hair and looks at him, taking his thumb to wipe away his nephew's tears. “How are you feeling now, champ?”
“Better. Lots better. I always feel better when I see you.” Flinging his arms around Chris's neck, Mattie gives his uncle his all, a full-contact hug that comes with every ounce of his energy, too.
Tears fill my eyes.
Chris is going to be the best father someday.
And then my shoulders drop, ribs expanding, arms and legs and torso and head all attached by a completeness, a connective vibration that makes my heart float like a helium ballon.
Chris is going to be the best father someday.
To our children.
“I love you,” I blurt out, because once you realize who you're meant to spend every waking moment of eternity with – and even the sleeping ones – you have to tell them.
Have to declare.
Have to say it, loud and proud.
If you say so, Jolene told me a long time ago.
Well, here I am.
Saying it's so.
Candi's jaw drops as Chris looks at me from over Mattie's shoulder, love in his eyes.
“I love you too, Miss Fiona!” Mattie shouts, beaming.
Candi, Chris and I laugh, but Chris's eyes stay on me, a cord of energy connecting us that grows and thickens, strengthening with each breath.
“You do.” His words are confirmation.
Not a question.
“I do.”
“I love you, too, Fiona. With all my heart.”
Mattie wriggles in his arms and stands on the back of the couch, putting his ear up to Chris's chest.
“It's a big one, too, Miss Fiona.” He frowns. “Wait. Do I get to call you Auntie Fiona now?”
“Hold on there, bud,” Chris says, throat working hard with emotion, eyes on me. “Not yet.”
“Not yet,” I echo.
But someday.
Chapter 19
Epilogue. Or Stinger. You Decide.
* * *
“It is time to DANCE!” Philippe shouts, the word DANCE! always capitalized in my head when he says it. The middle of January turns out to be a great time to take dance lessons for the wedding. The post-Christmas crowd has enlarged Philippe's class, using their holiday gift certificates and filling the room with new faces. But there's not much else to do this time of year in Anderhill, so Wednesday nights have become something fun for Chris and me.
And tonight, it's the six of us. Perky and Parker, Will and Mallory, Chris and me.
CLAP CLAP!
Chris is in mid-bite, eating his second chocolate chip cookie. He shoves the rest in his mouth and drinks his lemonade, a guilty look on his face as I eye him.
“Carbs. Can't help it,” he mutters as he brushes off his fingers on his jeans and moves over to the rest of us. We've formed a semi-circle at the edge of the highly polished dance floor.
“I still can't believe you two are together. Last time we had a dance lesson, Dancy had a heart attack and you looked like you wanted to climb on top of Fletch and beat him to a pulp.”
“Well, you're half right. I do enjoy doing half of that.”
“Which half?” Chris whispers, rubbing his rib. “Because you got one hell of a kick in last week when we were sparring.”
“Fair's fair. I couldn't walk straight for a day and a half after that night in your apartment.”
“STAHP!” Perky shouts, plugging her ears. “I can't take it. Fiona's got a boyfriend and she's talking porny to him!”
CLAP CLAP!
“Persephone,” Philippe says in his accented English, the lilt light but clear. “Can you please have one DANCE! lesson without using the word porn?”
“Um–no.”
Aggrieved sighs from both Mallor
y and Philippe make our crew laugh, the rest of the class bemused.
“Take a partner!” Philippe calls out, Chris's hand on my waist in an instant, his two left feet threatening my toes like copperheads on a hike near a river. For a guy who teaches boxing and kickboxing, he's remarkably inept on a dance floor. As I put one hand on his shoulder and one in his hand, I step up on tiptoes and whisper something unspeakably filthy, so raw and hot it makes his neck turn red.
His hand flattens on my sacrum and pulls me in. He's hard as a rock.
“Nice mouth for a preschool teacher,” he murmurs, reminding me of the exact same words he said to me at our high school reunion. “You shape young minds.”
“Apparently, my words shape other things,” I say, rubbing against him.
“Fiona,” he grunts, the sound threateningly sexy. “Don't make me take you into the coat room and–” This time, he's the dirty talker, his threat turning into a promise as I start throbbing between my legs.
“DANCE!” Philippe shouts, the music starting.
But we're frozen in place, thrumming with need.
And then suddenly, Parker's phone buzzes, along with Will’s and Mallory's phones. Two ringtones begin seconds later, the sudden cacophony of communication making the tension in the room skyrocket.
“I'm so sorry!” Mallory gasps, half leaping across the room to grab her phone from her purse. Will's is ringing, too, so the combo is worrisome. Are Sharon and Roy okay? Did something happen to Will's parents?
Parker's phone is buzzing, too, though.
“Oh, shit,” he mutters, pointing to the glass screen as the six of us form an impromptu huddle by the door. It's hard to see, but Parker has live news feed from a major international news outlet on his phone.
And the image is of Mallory's older sister, Hastings Monahan, and her husband, Burke Oonaj, complete with their names and headshots. Not mugshots–professional headshots like a CEO of a company would have.
The caption: Bay Area venture capitalist arrested in...
“What?” Mallory cries out, her phone against her ear. “Mom? Is that really her on television being arrested?” Will appears to be on the phone with Roy, explaining that Parker's here and we'll figure something out.
“Does this mean she can't be here for my bridal shower?” Mallory whimpers.
“I think she has bigger things to worry about, Mal,” Will says gently, one eyebrow up as he looks at Parker, who is tapping away from the video and over to his phone, making a call he has to leave the room to complete.
“I've got a lawyer friend in California who can step in and triage,” he says to Will and Mal as he leaves. I pull out my phone and tap to a news station.
Yep. Mallory's sister is being perp walked, handcuffs and all, out of a sleek, high-end restaurant in Presidio Heights in San Francisco.
Hastings Monahan in handcuffs.
And the bridal shower's in a month.
Chris leans down and says, “I hope she didn't do anything too–”
“Don't say it,” I groan, knowing the Dad Joke is coming.
“Oh, God,” Perky intones, Mallory thankfully out of hearing range.
Chris shrugs.
He does it anyway:
“Hasty.”
* * *
;)
* * *
HUGE THANKS to readers for joining Fiona and Fletch on their journey in Feisty. And don’t forget - if you love audiobooks, Feisty is narrated by the extraordinary Erin Mallon! Find the audiobooks wherever you listen.
Next in the series: Hasty!
* * *
I never thought my perp walk would lead to true love.
Then again, I never thought I’d be arrested on RICO charges and hauled away in zip ties on camera for the world to see, minutes after closing the most amazing deal of my career.
And all of it in front of my biggest rival, billionaire wunderkind Ian McCrory.
I am broke.
I am disgraced.
I am alone.
I am a sucker.
But the worst part? I have to go back to my hometown and live in my bedroom filled with relics from my childhood.
Lisa Frank never made me so mad before.
Just when I needed a rescue, I got one — in the form of help from my biggest rival.
He can’t bring back my money.
He certainly can’t bring back my reputation or my pride.
But there’s one thing he can bring back to me.
A sense of hope.
Maybe even love.
Ian sees something in me no one else does, and he’s relentless about making me see it, too. As we grow closer, I’m starting to see that while my entire life used to be a lie, the truth is staring me in the present — and it’s a truth I like very, very much, hot eyes and gorgeous smile and all.
But I have to be careful.
I can’t be too —
That’s right.
Hasty.
The final book in the USA Today bestselling Do-Over Series (Fluffy, Perky, Feisty), as Mallory’s sister, Hastings “Hasty” Monahan gets her turn at a happily ever after that starts off with an arrest.
Acknowledgments
To my author friend and Evil Overlord, Penny Reid, aka Penny Ride: your request that I name a porn star after you is so granted. I hope I’ve done you justice.
::flings all the pennies at you and runs far, far away::
* * *
To J, J, P and D: you’ll never read this, but your energy, well… it just knows. Thank you.
* * *
To my husband, Clark: thank you for never creating a pee perimeter when we camp. But I know that you would, in a pinch. I never need to know whether you have the asparagus pee gene, though. It’s bad enough I have the stupid “cilantro tastes like soap” gene.
Other Books by Julia Kent
Suggested Reading Order
* * *
Shopping for a Billionaire: Boxed Set
Shopping for a Billionaire 1
Shopping for a Billionaire 2
Shopping for a Billionaire 3
Shopping for a Billionaire 4
Christmas Shopping for a Billionaire
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Fiancee
Shopping for a CEO
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Wife
Shopping for a CEO’s Fiancee
Shopping for an Heir
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Honeymoon
Shopping for a CEO’s Wife
Shopping for a Billionaire’s Baby
Shopping for a CEO’s Honeymoon
Shopping for a Baby’s First Christmas
* * *
Her Billionaires
It’s Complicated
Completely Complicated
It’s Always Complicated
* * *
Random Acts of Crazy
Random Acts of Trust
Random Acts of Fantasy
Random Acts of Hope
Randomly Ever After: Sam and Amy
Random Acts of Love
Random on Tour: Los Angeles
Merry Random Christmas
Random on Tour: Las Vegas
Random Acts of New Year
* * *
Maliciously Obedient
Suspiciously Obedient
Deliciously Obedient
* * *
Our Options Have Changed (with Elisa Reed)
Thank You For Holding (with Elisa Reed)
* * *
Little Miss Perfect
Fluffy
Perky
Feisty
Hasty
About the Author
Text JKentBooks to 77948 and get a text message on release dates!
* * *
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent turned to writing contemporary romance after deciding that life is too short not to have fun. She writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs t
o rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.
* * *
She loves to hear from her readers by email at [email protected], on Twitter @jkentauthor, and on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor . Visit her website at http://jkentauthor.com
