by Jae
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www.ylva-publishing.com
Other books by Jae
Standalone Romances:
Just for Show
Perfect Rhythm
Falling Hard
Heart Trouble
Under a Falling Star
Something in the Wine
Shaken to the Core
The Hollywood Series:
Departure from the Script
Damage Control
Just Physical
Portland Police Bureau Series:
Conflict of Interest
Next of Kin
The Vampire Diet Series:
Good Enough to Eat
The Oregon Series:
Backwards to Oregon
Beyond the Trail
Hidden Truths
The Shape-Shifter Series:
Second Nature
Natural Family Disasters
Manhattan Moon
True Nature
TABLE OF CONTENTS
The Romance Bet
Sex Sells
Blind Date at the Booklover’s Lair
Christmas Road Trip
The Christmas Grump
Kissing Ms. Santa Claus
The Christmas Elf
Dress-tease
Seduction for Beginners
Change of Pace
Facing the Music
Whining and Dining
The Midnight Couch
About Jae
Other books from Ylva Publishing
Author’s note
All of these stories have been previously published, but so far, they have either been available only as single e-books or they were published as part of an anthology, so readers who prefer paperbacks missed out, as did readers who wanted to have my short stories all in one place.
Now, for the very first time, all of the contemporary romance short stories I have written so far are available in one volume for you to enjoy without having to hunt down the individual short stories.
You can reconnect with your favorite characters that you got to know in some of my novels, for example, sharing a sexy moment with Lauren and Grace from Damage Control, but you also get to meet new characters such as Paula, a technician at a radio station with a crush on the host of a late-night radio show, or Tricia, a writer who goes on a blind date in a bookstore.
Whether you have read these stories before or are discovering them for the first time, I hope you enjoy this collection.
Happy reading!
Jae
Happily Ever After
Thirteen romantic and erotic short stories
by Jae
The Romance Bet
Abby had always been a sucker for sexy voices, and the interviewee on the other end of the line definitely had one—which was why Abby had just missed half of what she’d said. “Uh, did you just say…?”
“One billion dollars,” Tamara Brennan said. “Romance is the bestselling genre worldwide. We basically finance the publishing of literary fiction.”
“Wow.” Abby couldn’t think past that unbelievable number. She spun in a circle on her office chair, causing the junior reporter at the desk next to hers to look up. “People spend one billion dollars every year on these…?” As she was about to add, trashy, clichéd bodice rippers, it occurred to her that Tamara made a living writing exactly that kind of drivel. Insulting an interviewee wasn’t in the Aurora Sentinel employee handbook. “Uh, these…um…”
“Cheesy, predictable, badly written stories?” Tamara supplied, sounding somewhere between amused and pissed off.
“Oh, no, no, that’s not what I was—”
“So now you’re insulting my intelligence on top of my chosen genre?”
Pain exploded through Abby’s leg as her chair spun around once more and her knee crashed into the corner of her desk. She took it as a well-deserved punishment. Whatever she personally thought about romance novels, she shouldn’t have let it leak through. As a journalist, she was supposed to be objective, no matter how boring she found the subject she had to write about.
“I’m sorry.” She rubbed her knee. “I really didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right.” Tamara sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m used to it. Even my own mother is constantly after me, trying to get me to write a ‘real’ book. And most of my friends think they could easily pen a bestselling romance too, if only they had the time.”
Yeah, well, pretty much anyone could write a romance novel, couldn’t they? How hard could it be? All you had to do was to make up two good-looking characters with perfect skin, perfect teeth…perfect everything. The plot is a given. They meet; they fall in love; they have sex—amazing sex, of course—they have a misunderstanding and break up; they get back together…and voilà: happy ending!
Even Abby could do that, although—unlike most of her colleagues—she had never harbored the secret desire to write a novel.
Wisely, she kept her thoughts to herself this time.
“Let me guess…” Tamara’s voice filled the silence. “You think you could easily do it too.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you thought it. Come on, admit it.”
Great. How could she talk her way out of this? Abby’s gaze flitted left and right, but there was no help in sight. “Well,” she said slowly, “I’m a journalist, so I already know how to write. I bet—”
“I accept,” Tamara said.
“Uh, accept what?”
“Your bet.”
“Bet?” Abby echoed. When had she so completely lost control over this interview?
“Yes. You bet that you could write a romance novel, and I accept that bet,” Tamara said calmly. “Or do you want to back out?”
Dammit. Abby usually had great willpower, but she had never been able to resist two things: a woman who knew what she wanted and an interesting challenge. Now she was presented with both.
“No. I’m in. One romance novel. What do I get when I win?”
“If you win,” Tamara said.
God, this woman didn’t give an inch. Somehow, Abby liked that. “All right. What do I get if I win?”
Silence filtered through the line for several seconds; then Tamara’s sexy voice was back. “You get to pick the next book I write.”
“Any book?”
“Any book.”
For some reason, erotica was the only thing on Abby’s mind right now. She shook off the thought. She was in enough trouble as it was. If her boss found out she had pissed off a source—and not just any source but award-winning author Tamara Brennan—and was now making crazy bets with her…
“Okay,” she got out, her voice husky.
“And what do I get when I win?” Tamara asked.
“If you win.”
“If I win.” A smile was evident in the author’s tone.
Abby twirled a pen between her fingers. “I’ll buy a set of your novels and donate them to the local library.”
“Nice try. You forget that I’m a local too, so the library already has a set of my books. Plus it’s hardly the same time commitment compared to what I’ve got at stake.”
True. So, what else could she offer?
A ping on her computer announced an incoming tweet. It gave her an idea.
“I’ll market your books for however long it takes you to write a novel. Social media, blog posts, press releases, whatever you want.”
“Deal,” Tamara said.
Oh fuck, what had she done? She didn’t have time to write a novel!
Then she tried to calm herself. Housewives did it while raising a gaggle of kids, didn’t they? So there was no reason why she couldn’t write a romance in he
r spare time. It wasn’t exactly rocket science.
“How do we decide who won?” Abby finally asked.
“Easy. NaNoWriMo starts on Wednesday. I figured you could just do that.”
Abby scratched her head. “NaNo…what?”
“NaNoWriMo—National Novel Writing Month. It’s a challenge to write a fifty-thousand-word novel in thirty days.”
Abby nearly swallowed her own tongue. “An entire novel in thirty days? Um, I have a day job.”
“Fifty thousand words is more like a novella, actually. I wrote my first five novels while working full-time too. If you put in a few hours every evening and do nothing but write on the weekends, it’s doable, especially since romance is so easy to write, right?”
Tamara’s tongue-in-cheek tone made Abby grit her teeth. “Right. No problem. I’ll send you my masterpiece by the end of November,” she said in the same tone. As a journalist, she was used to working to a tight deadline after all.
“We’ve got each other’s contact info, so you can call or e-mail me before that if you have any questions or need some guidance.” Now Tamara sounded sincere.
“Thanks.” But Abby already knew she wouldn’t need it. She could pound out one of these simplistic girl-meets-boy…or, in her case, girl-meets-girl stories, no problem. “So, to get back to the interview about the romance industry…”
Abby settled down at her kitchen table with her laptop and a beer. She opened a new document and cracked her knuckles. If she knocked out five thousand words tonight, she’d get to take the next two days off to let her brain recover from this sappy romance thing.
No problem.
Two hours, three beers, and four failed beginnings later, it started to dawn on her that maybe, just maybe, this romance-writing business wasn’t so easy after all.
Bullshit. It’s just that I’m not used to it. Once she made it past the first page, she’d be fine. Some research was in order. She googled how to write a romance novel.
Her jaw dropped. Holy shit! Four million four hundred sixty thousand hits! She randomly clicked on one of the links on the first page and scanned the article.
Start with a bang, it said.
Abby stared at the screen. Did they mean that literally?
Probably not. That came later, didn’t it?
Admittedly, she’d never read a romance novel, so she had no idea.
She stared at the e-mail icon in her task bar. For a moment, she was tempted to shoot Tamara an e-mail and ask for some pointers on how to begin her novel.
But no, that would be too much like admitting defeat.
Maybe she should start by choosing names for her characters.
Half an hour later, the ding of an incoming iMessage interrupted her. She clicked over to it.
It was a message from Tamara Brennan.
How’s the writing going?
Abby sighed. Good—if you consider staring at a blank screen and wasting time on baby naming sites writing. But, of course, that wasn’t what she answered.
Great! I’ve already picked names for my characters—Sabina and Tina—and now I’m set to write the first chapter.
It didn’t take long for Tamara’s answer to appear. Abby found herself holding her breath as she read it. How would Tamara react to the two names she’d provocatively dropped—two female names?
Happy writing, then. BTW, you might want to change one of the names.
Why? Abby replied. You never said one of the characters has to be a man.
Not because of that. Lesbian romances are fun. But having a Tina and a Sabina in the same story will lead to confusion. The names are just too similar.
Duh. She was right, of course. A slow grin spread over Abby’s face. So Tamara thought lesbian romances were fun?
Will do, she typed. She hesitated but then continued. Now that she had already received some advice, she might as well ask for a little more help. After all, Tamara probably had a team of editors and critique partners to help her too. So there’s this website that says to start the novel with a bang. I assume they don’t mean Tina and…uh, Gabby are supposed to do the dirty on page one, are they?
Tamara sent a laughing smiley face. No. Although you could, if it sets up an interesting conflict.
Conflict? In a romance novel?
Of course, Tamara answered. Otherwise, romances would be as boring as watching grass grow. Readers want to root for the characters while they overcome obstacles and fight for their happiness. If a sex scene in chapter one contributes to your story conflict, why not?
Abby tapped her upper lip with her index finger. How would that work? Can you give me an example?
Well, the morning after, Tina could find out that Gabby is her new boss or a rival for a job or something like that… Anything that keeps them from having a happy ending in chapter one.
Before Abby could think of a reply, another message from Tamara arrived.
Have you ever even read a romance novel?
Does Pride and Prejudice count? Abby replied.
I love Pride and Prejudice, but I meant something more contemporary. Maybe you should give it a try.
Abby cringed. She didn’t need to read a romance to know that she preferred reading material with a little more depth. No time, she answered. I’ve got a novel to write, after all.
Me too. I’d better not tell my editor I’m exchanging texts with you instead of writing.
What’s it about? Your novel, I mean.
A self-help author who’s about to publish a book on healthy relationships but can’t keep one herself. When her publicist finds out, she hires someone to pretend to be the love of her life.
It was a clever idea that could lead to a lot of misunderstandings and hilarious situations, Abby had to admit. So that was probably what the website meant with opening a book with a bang—something that got the readers’ attention. Maybe she could think of something similar for her own book.
After she had wished Tamara happy writing and clicked back to her still-empty story document, Abby realized that Tamara had never specified the gender of the person pretending to be the self-help author’s lover.
Abby had just changed the opening sentence of chapter four for the fifth time when the icon on her task bar finally announced a new iMessage.
It was from Tamara.
Over the past ten days, they had exchanged messages every day, and truth be told, Abby had come to look forward to it—and not just because it was a welcome interruption to her struggle with her still-unnamed romance novel.
If…no, when she won this bet, she’d have Tamara write something snarky because the woman had one hell of a sense of humor! Her texts often made her burst out laughing.
But today, she’d been waiting for a message from Tamara even more impatiently because she’d sent her the first three chapters last night.
I read it.
Aaaaand? Abby drummed her fingers on the edge of her laptop.
It’s good.
Abby pumped her fist and started a little victory dance. It wasn’t an entire novel yet, but it definitely proved that she’d been right. Anyone could write a romance novel.
Another bing from the laptop made her stop her victory dance to glance at the screen.
For a mystery novel.
What? Abby typed and frowned. Just because Gabby, her main character, was a court reporter didn’t make it a mystery, did it? It’s not a mystery. It’s romantic suspense. That’s a thing, isn’t it? The website said it’s a subgenre of romance.
Yes, but it’s still supposed to be a romance.
It is!!! Abby hammered the exclamation points into the keyboard.
Then where are the emotions? Where’s the relationship arc? Where are the obstacles and internal flaws they have to overcome to be together?
There are plenty of obstacles they have to overcome. Abby’s fingers flew over the keyboard in her haste to defend her novel. Didn’t you read the scene where they’re nearly discovered by the bailiff?
&nbs
p; I read it, but that obstacle belongs to the external story arc—the crime solving—not the relationship arc.
Abby buried her fingers in her hair and tugged while letting out a long groan. External arc, relationship arc… Who knew this was so complicated?
Ready to admit defeat? appeared on her screen, along with a winking smiley face.
No!!! Her exclamation mark key might wear off if she continued like this. A bet is a bet, after all. I can do this. No problem. Whom was she trying to convince—Tamara or herself? She swallowed her pride and added, Maybe you could point me in the right direction with this relationship arc thing?
Are you decent? came Tamara’s reply.
Abby raised her brows before glancing at her sweatpants and favorite T-shirt. Um, yes? Why?
It’s easier to explain in person than to type.
A second later, the FaceTime ringtone blared through her laptop’s speakers, announcing a call from Tamara.
Abby glanced at her shirt again before accepting the call. It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing. It wasn’t as if she was trying to impress this author lady. At least not with her looks.
A woman in her late twenties—about Abby’s own age—appeared on the screen.
Tamara was much younger than Abby had thought she’d be, and she didn’t have long, blonde locks or a messy bun held in place by a pencil either. Instead, she wore her medium brown hair in a cute pixie style, much shorter than Abby’s unruly, shoulder-length mane. The nerdy glasses Abby had expected were missing too. Tamara’s blue eyes looked at her without any barriers. Her tan revealed that she liked to spend time outside and didn’t lead a hermit’s existence, locking herself away in her writing cave.
Abby struggled not to stare. This was not what she had imagined a romance writer to look like. She really should have researched her a little more thoroughly before she’d interviewed her, but Tamara had been a last-minute replacement when another source in the publishing industry had stood her up.
“What?” Tamara asked. Her voice was just as sexy via FaceTime as it was on the phone. It seemed to hold a trace of amusement.
“Uh, nothing. Nice…um, office.” She gestured at the room visible behind Tamara.
It wasn’t what she’d expected of a romance writer’s office either. No walls in red hues, no romantic lights, no nostalgic knickknacks on the shelves. Her writing lair looked more like a business office—just one with a lot of books everywhere.
