by Hart, Cary
Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
BOOKS BY CARY HART
PLAYLIST
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
EPILOGUE
SNEAK PEEK - HONEYMOON HIDEAWAY
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
SNEAK PEEK - LOVE WAR
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
COPYRIGHT
Disclaimer. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously; any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locations is entirely coincidental.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement.
This book contains material protected under the International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author. For more information regarding permission email [email protected]
Editing provided by Word Nerd Editing
Proofreading provided by Proofing with Style
Interior Design provided by Cary Hart
Publication Date: August 2019
UnLucky in Love (Hotline Collection, Book #1)
Copyright ©Cary Hart 2019
All rights reserved
THE HOTLINE COLLECTION
UnLucky in Love
Coming Soon
Ring Ready
Seriously Single
BATTLEFIELD OF LOVE SERIES
Love War
Love Divide
Love Conquer
SPOTLIGHT COLLECTION
Play Me
Protect Me
Coming Fall 2019
Make Me
Own Me
THE FOREVER SERIES
Coming Summer 2019
Building Forever
Saving Forever
Broken Forever
STANDALONES
Honeymoon Hideaway
Better Luck Next Time by Kelsea Ballerini
Bitter Love by Pia Mia
Voices in My Head by Ashley Tisdale
Love Myself by Olivia O’Brien
Last Kiss by Taylor Swift
If We Never Met by John.k
How Can I Forget by MKTO
Best Damn Thing by Alexander Stewart
I Don’t Care by Ed Sheeran w/Justin Bieber
Sucker by Jonas Brothers
Just Friends by JORDY
Fight For You by Grayson Reed
Wait For You by Jake Miller
Look What God Gave Her by Thomas Rhett
Forever Right Now by Conor Matthews
Incredible by James TW
Falling Like The Stars by James Arthur
You Feel Like Home by Hills x Hills
Ceej — I started this book to make you laugh and finished it to make me smile.
I miss you my dear friend.
CHAPTER 1
CLOVER
“He didn’t?”
“Oh, he did! Clover, I’m telling you,” CJ, one of my best friends and New York’s sassiest socialite, groans over the hands-free system, “every—single—sense was in over-freakin’-load.”
“So, the blindfold didn’t scare you?”
It’s a reasonable question, right? I know I’m not as adventurous in the bedroom as CJ, but a blindfold? That seems kind of creepy and definitely requires a little more “research”—and when I say “research,” I mean Google.
Don’t judge. You know I’m right! Google…knows it all!
Need to get lipstick out of the carpet? You Google.
Need a quick and easy recipe? You Google.
Need a quick background check? You Google.
Need to figure out what exactly your best friend is doing with her latest boy-toy, Mr. Do-It-All-Night-Long? You Google.
So, is there really a question as to what I’m going to do? Of course not! I’m going to pull over to the side of the road and park.
“Are you being serious right now?” CJ stalls, waiting for me to reply.
She’s onto me.
If I tell her I have no clue what she’s talking about, I’ll get the whole “spice up your life” speech delivered in the form of a Spice Girls tune.
“It’s a reasonable question.” I give her a quick answer to buy myself some time until I can figure out what in the hell she’s talking about.
It’s not like I don’t have sex, I do. I have it all the time. Every single Friday from five to six, after Jeffery gets home from work. We both agreed too much sex could complicate our relationship. Make it messy.
At first, I thought maybe he just wasn’t into me because what guy wouldn’t want it all the time? But Jeffery is different. He has a plan—a plan I can respect.
“Hell no! That’s the whole point of sensory deprivation.”
There it is! The clue I was looking for!
Pressing the speaker button, I pull up the Google app and search for the newest kink trend. At least, I’m sure it’s a trend. Something new everyone is trying. Well…everyone who isn’t in a lasting relationship like myself.
Ugh! The blue-line of death. Are you kidding me? This is supposed to be the largest 4G network in America.
“Why is this thing so slow?” I mumble.
“Well, yeah. Sometimes he went slow, and other times it was so quick and hard, it had me jumping off the table.”
Did she just say table? What did she get herself into? Finally, Google comes to life and gives me the answer I’m looking for.
SENSORY DEPRIVATION: a process by which someone is deprived of normal external stimuli such as sight and sound for an extended period of time, especially as an experimental technique in psychology.
Okay, this isn’t nearly enough. I need to see what this is about. Time to mute CJ and head for the videos.
“When you’re blindfolded, you have no idea when or where you’re going to be touched. The wait—the anticipation alone—is orgasmic,” CJ rambles on. “Then, when your partner, or as I like to call him, Sex God Extraordinaire, removes two or more senses? BEST ORGASM EVER!” she shouts.
CJ carries on, giving me a play-by-play of her sexcapade as my fingers work to find something to explain this madness.
&nb
sp; Here we go!
A scene from that movie everyone was talking about. The suit who just so happens to be a dom fell in love with a virgin college graduate starting her career. Insert a contract, she becomes his sub, and hello red room full of whips, battery-operated devices, and…blindfolds.
“Clover? Are you even listening?” CJ seems a little annoyed.
Oops! I quickly take it off mute. “Of course. I was just taking it all in.”
“Clover Kelley, don’t you lie to me. You Googled!”
She says the word like I should be ashamed.
“It’s a search engine, not some dirty little secret.” I take the phone off speaker and hold it up to my ear. “I have nothing to be ashamed of.” I look around, then whisper into the phone. “You, on the other hand,” I deepen my voice even more, “are into BDSM.”
“Wh-What?” CJ laughs out. “I’m not.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I interrupt. “Right here. It says, and I quote. ‘Sensory deprivation is commonly used in BDSM.’ What do you have to say for yourself, missy.” I twist in my seat, feeling a tad uncomfortable while turning fifty shades of red.
“I knew it! You totally Googled!” She must have slammed her hand down on the steering wheel because the horn honks and CJ lets out a curse.
“Don’t change the subject about how Mr. Do-It-All-Night-Long, or Mr. Sex God Extraordinaire, or whatever you call him totally Christian Grey-ed you.”
She laughs.
I don’t.
“Did you just make Christian Grey into a verb?”
“Don’t turn this around on me. This…” I wave my hands around in the air, looking like a crazed lunatic to the passersby, I’m sure, “is serious, CJ. First, it’s this sensory thing. Next, it will be those underground sex clubs where you participate in group orgies. Then, before all is said and done, you will end up in one of those polygamist relationships.”
“Clover!” CJ laughs out. “You really need to chill. I had great sex. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
“You say that now.” I close my eyes and think about what could happen. Next up on Dateline: The Death of NYC Socialite, Carly Jane Collins.
“In all seriousness, Clo, you need to let loose once in a while. You know, like, live a little and orgasm a lot.”
“That’s your solution for everything, isn’t it?” I roll my eyes.
I know she’s right. I’ve lived my entire life for my future—not the now. It’s not like it’s something new, though. I’ve mapped it all out—every goal, ambition, and what I have to do to make it all happen. If it didn’t, I didn’t do it.
“Then come have a snow cone with me,” CJ dares.
I grumble. “Seriously?”
She knows I’m going to say no. Why? Because of a simple little stain. You know, the ones you get from sloshing the cup around or missing your mouth because of a sudden brain freeze? Yup, I avoided those at all costs, which means I’ve also never had a snow cone—ever.
“You are twenty-seven years old. I promise you—no stains,” she pleads. “We can even get you a coconut cream one. It’s white. No stains.”
CJ is trying to get me to get out there more, but I’m happy with the way things are now.
I have the perfect job.
The perfect home.
The perfect boyfriend.
The perfect life.
Why would I mess with perfect?
“It’s not about the stains,” I lie. It’s totally about the stains. My parents worked hard to provide me and my brother with nice things. I wasn’t about to ruin my new dress by having a stupid, cold, but very tempting, icy treat tumble down the front of me.
My brother, on the other hand, couldn’t help himself, and my parents constantly had to replace his clothes. So, I played it safe. I became the rule follower, the good girl.
“Whatever. I’ll forget the snow cone for now because I’m pretty sure that’s going to take a therapy session,” CJ mumbles. “Or ten.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t need therapy.”
“You’re right,” she admits.
“I-I’m right?” I question as I take a sip of my Diet Dr. Pepper. I’m never right when it comes to CJ.
“Yes, you are a hundred percent right,” she confesses. “You need an orgasm.”
Soda spews everywhere. “Carly Jane Collins,” I choke out her full name while pulling one of my special oops moment towelettes and frantically wipe the dashboard before the stickiness sets in.
“Oh, hell no! I’m going to pretend you didn’t just call me that. You know how I hate—”
“What CJ?” I interrupt, a little upset she’s snooping in my sex life again. “You brought it on by telling me I need to—that I should—well…you know.”
“What? Orgasm?” She laughs out. “You can’t even say the word. I’m willing to bet you haven’t even—”
“I orgasm just fine,” I interject.
“Really? Come on, Clover. Someone who has great sex doesn’t orgasm just fine. It’s amazing, explosive, life altering, it’s anything other than fine.” CJ snickers. “So—tell me, Clover…” she draws out my name.
This can’t be good.
“When is the last time you orgasmed?” I can almost envision her red-lipped smirk knowing she has me backed into the corner.
I could lie and say it was last night, but why? Why does a woman have to orgasm to prove her love life is perfectly fine? Jeffery, my boyfriend of the past six years, is absolutely amazing, even if our sex life is anything but stellar. I don’t need to defend him—or myself, for that matter. Orgasms don’t strengthen a relationship. They can actually distract you into believing what you feel is love when in all reality it’s lust.
Our relationship is built on happiness, communication, trust, enjoying each other’s company. Not whether or not we are compatible in bed. Sex is a distraction that complicates a relationship. One I’m not willing to risk. I have a plan, and that plan is to get married and have kids before the age of thirty. I have too much time invested in this relationship to risk it all by suggesting we get a little risky in bed.
So, I do what any woman would do with a need to release the tension—I break out the Satisfy Pro. A trusty little gadget that doesn’t make me feel like I’m cheating, but helps me unwind after a rough day before Jeffery gets home.
“I’m waiting,” CJ persists, and will keep on until I finally answer.
So, I finally answer somewhat honestly. “A couple days ago.”
“Ha! Liar!” She calls me out, but I’m not going to back down.
“Were you there?” I give her half a second to answer, then keep going. “I did indeed get off on Wednesday, right after work, and it was glorious.”
“Oh, jeez. Are you being serious right now?” CJ calls me out on the BS I just gave her. “Jeffery doesn’t even get home till six. So what you’re telling me is the only way you get off is by fingerbating? Come on, Clover, you have to know this is not okay.”
I gasp.
“Yes, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Fingerbating, muffin’ buffin’, saucin’ the taco, clubbing the clam, polishing the pearl—I could keep going if you want me to, but something tells me you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Stop!” I shout, and CJ lets out a chuckle. “Stop laughing. It’s not funny.”
“I’m not trying to ruffle your feathers, Clover. You are my best friend and I hate that you aren’t getting the most out of your relationship. Jeffery Dahmer should be making sure you…”
“Stop calling him that,” I demand.
“Dahmer, Dalton…all the same,” CJ jokes.
“No, not really. Dahmer eats people,” I point out the obvious.
“And Dalton should be eating you.”
“Touché.” I cave, admitting the truth, though I still stick by my theory that sex complicates things.
“Now we are getting somewhere,” CJ huffs out. “Clover, why do you think I go into detail about all my adventures?” CJ pau
ses but doesn’t give me time to answer. “It’s because I’m hoping to trip your trigger so you don’t have to flip your own switch.” She giggles. “Sorry, I totally couldn’t help myself. The moral of the story…I want you to have your dream.”
“I do,” I whisper.
“But, sweetie, you don’t. You are stuck on autopilot when you should be shifting gears.”
“Autopilot isn’t so bad, is it? I mean, it gets you there, right?” I try to convince myself more than her.
“Of course not, but even on autopilot you have to refill, and you, my sweet, wonderful, kind of OCD, refuses-to-have-a-snow-cone-with-me friend—have been running on empty.”
Leaning my head against the soft leather, I let out a sigh. I know she’s right, I’m just not sure how to fix it. I have worked too hard to make our relationship work. If I give up now, what does that say about me?
“I’m sorry to throw this all at you at once, but it seemed like it was heading there, so I went there.”
CJ seems almost apologetic, which she shouldn’t be. It’s not her fault my sex life sucks. There, I admit it.
I, Clover Kelly, am sexually deprived.
I take a few deep breaths and say what I know she’s thinking. “I can’t leave him.”
“I’m going to ignore the fact that you said can’t and not won’t, and yes that was a little seed I just planted right now, but ignore it. It’s a seed. It will eventually grow…”
“Spit it out, CJ,” I bark.
“Fine. Chill, girl. I’m not saying you need to make any drastic changes in your relationship status. I’m just saying take it from vanilla to french vanilla. Test the waters a little bit. Beat Jeffery home, freshen up, undo a few buttons, hike up your skirt, and ravage your man. Sweet talk, dirty talk, or whatever you’re into, and greet him at the door. Make sure he has no choice but to take you right then and there.”
Everything she’s saying makes sense. Our relationship is fine. It has a sturdy foundation, the walls are up, we just need to change the color.
“I hate it when you’re—” A beep interrupts. Holding the phone away, I see it’s the man of the hour. “Hey, Jeffery is calling, give me one second.”
“Wait! Tellmewhatyouweregoing—” she says in one breath, trying to get it out before I switch over.
