by Lex Martin
Breathless
Lex Martin
Contents
Title
Also by Lex Martin
About The Novel
Prologue
1. Logan
2. Joey
3. Logan
4. Joey
5. Logan
6. Joey
7. Logan
8. Joey
9. Logan
10. Joey
11. Logan
12. Joey
13. Logan
14. Joey
15. Logan
16. Joey
17. Logan
18. Joey
19. Logan
20. Joey
21. Joey
22. Logan
23. Joey
24. Joey
25. Logan
26. Joey
27. Logan
28. Joey
29. Joey
30. Logan
31. Logan
32. Joey
33. Joey
34. Logan
35. Joey
36. Logan
37. Joey
38. Logan
39. Joey
40. Logan
41. Logan
42. Joey
43. Joey
44. Logan
45. Joey
46. Logan
47. Logan
48. Joey
49. Joey
50. Logan
51. Logan
Epilogue
Shameless Synopsis
Shameless Excerpt
Acknowledgments
Also by Lex Martin
About the Author
Breathless Copyright © 2020 Lex Martin
All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any capacity without written permission by the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This adult contemporary romance is recommended for readers 18+ due to mature content.
Copy editing by RJ Locksley
Cover by Najla Qamber Designs
Model Photographs by Perrywinkle Photography
First Edition
ISBN 978-1-950554-00-3
Also by Lex Martin
Texas Nights Series:
Shameless (Kat & Brady)
Reckless (Tori & Ethan)
Breathless (Joey & Logan)
The Dearest Series:
Dearest Clementine (Clementine & Gavin)
Finding Dandelion (Dani & Jax)
Kissing Madeline (Maddie & Daren)
Cowritten with Leslie McAdam
All About the D (Josh & Evie)
Surprise, Baby! (Kendall & Drew)
About The Novel
Joey…
I wouldn’t say I ran away exactly—twenty-two is too old for that.
I’d call it self-preservation.
I have one objective: protect my heart from the boy next door who has no clue I’ve loved him my whole life, even with a front row seat to his revolving bedroom door.
My escape plan almost worked.
Except I left one thing behind.
Logan Carter hijacked my heart, and now it’s time to get it back. This time for good.
Logan…
I wouldn’t say I’ve been lying this whole time—not about everything.
Not about how much I miss my best friend, and definitely not about how pissed I am that she left with hardly a goodbye.
She’s the last person I ever expected to ghost me, and her absence left a gaping hole in my chest.
When Joey Grayson steps off that bus, I know I’ll do anything to keep her home, and that means finding out the truth.
But I’m not sure how to tell her my truths when I’m living so many lies.
Breathless is a standalone companion novel to the USA Today bestsellers Shameless and Reckless. Each book features a different couple.
As always, to Matt & my girls
“My very soul demands you.”
– Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
Prologue
Joey
Before tonight, my most significant sexual relationship has been with my shower head.
Let me just say it takes guts to purchase a removable shower head from DeLuca’s Hardware Store when Mrs. DeLuca’s eyeing you like she knows you’re going to blast it against your privates when you get home.
Unfortunately, bravery has been fleeting in my life, but that was one of my more courageous moments.
So is this one.
For some reason, though, I’m not feeling the relief I thought I would.
And I’m not talking about the lack of an orgasm.
This—hooking up with Trent—is supposed to be about me letting go of the past, of someone I can’t have, and forging ahead. Of living my life instead of always feeling like I’m trapped in the back seat of someone else’s journey.
Trent is trying his best. Going slow and speaking softly. Being gentle.
And the sex is… fine.
Except my body aches, and not in pleasant ways. But a girl’s first time doesn’t always feel good, right?
I blink, wondering if I’m supposed to feel so numb. So disconnected.
But like I’ve just been hit by a car and it’s taking my body a few seconds to process the pain, the dam of emotion finally breaks.
One tear. Then two. Until a whole river cascades down my face, my conscience objecting to what I’ve just done.
Objecting to the man hovering over me with his brow crinkled in concern. Because he looks all wrong. Smells wrong. Feels wrong.
Black hair instead of dirty blonde. Brown eyes instead of blue. Smooth hands instead of rough.
“Joey, sweetheart. Are you okay?” Even the way he talks to me is wrong.
I shove him off me, wincing when he exits my body, and curl into the pillow that smells like the rest of this hotel. “Yeah. Just had too much to drink. Sorry.” I try to muffle the sob by burrowing deeper into the bedding.
His hand runs along my spine, a gesture to soothe me, I’m guessing. Trent’s a good guy. It’s not his fault I’m in love with someone else. In fact, we bonded over our mutual heartache. He’s recovering from a bad breakup. It was his idea for me to “break the seal” and use him to forget Logan.
Not that Logan was ever mine.
Trent probably just wanted to get off. I can’t blame him. A sure-thing hook-up with a twenty-two-year-old virgin with no strings attached? What red-blooded man declines that? No one I know.
But this is supposed to help me cut ties with Logan. That’s what this trip to Florida has been about. To grow up and get over him.
I needed to do something. What self-respecting woman in this day and age spends her whole life pining for the boy next door when he’s made it clear she’s not his type? That he loves her as a friend. That he sees her as his bud. His sidekick. Maybe even a little sister.
I cry harder. Because I know—as certain as I’m sure the sun will rise in the morning, despite the dread burning in my soul right now—that Logan loves me. As a friend. That even after not talking to him for months, he’d probably take a bullet for me. That he’d likely be pissed I gave it up to some guy I’ve only known for a few weeks after spending a lifetime waiting to give myself to someone I love.
Well, I got tired of waiting.
After years of watching my best friend hook up with other women, I fi
nally grew a backbone. I only wish it felt better.
It doesn’t matter because Logan will never know what I’ve done.
I’ve been friend-zoned, and I’m ready to move on.
And by the time I see him at his brother’s wedding this summer, I hope my heart has let go of him too.
1
Logan
Secrets are the most damning thing about small towns. Secrets and lies.
I would know.
I stir my cup of shitty gas station coffee and watch another bus enter the dusty Texas depot, dropping off another ragtag group of people. They disembark, squinting into the soul-searing July sun as they stretch, probably wishing they’d forked over the extra cash to fly coach into Austin.
If Joey had told me she was taking the fucking bus from Florida, I’d have given her the money for a flight.
I shake off the pang of regret and anger that thrums through me every time I think of her. No, if she wanted my help, she’d have returned any one of my texts in the last six months.
Anxiety twists in my gut. Worry over how she’s doing. Fear that she traveled so far by herself. Irritation that I feel so helpless when it comes to this girl.
As the bus driver tosses suitcases from the side compartment of the Greyhound, one man picks up his bag and starts to stroll away, except he pauses, looks around, and yanks off something from his hand.
His wedding ring.
See what I mean? Secrets.
An SUV pulls into the parking lot a minute later, and he waves at the driver. A pretty young thing exits her vehicle and races into his arms. I’m guessing that’s not his wife.
I roll my eyes, a wave of anger settling in with the coffee and nerves churning in my chest.
Is it really so hard to keep your promises, asshole?
Reason two hundred why I don’t have a girlfriend—if you can’t be focused on a relationship, if you can’t be committed and faithful, then don’t have one. It ain’t that difficult.
Reaching over to the dash of my truck, I crank up the air conditioner.
A smack to my shoulder makes me jerk, and my buddy Patrick motions toward the clock. “For the third time, what time does her bus get in?”
My heart jackhammers against my sternum. “Ten more minutes.”
“No offense, but you look kinda fucked up. You okay?”
I shrug, not bothering to mention I forgot he was in the truck. “Just want to get this over with.”
He laughs and gives me a teasing look. “I’m sure Joey would love to know that’s how you feel.”
My hands tighten against the steering wheel, years of frustration whirling below the surface, but I shove that shit down. “Joey doesn’t know I’m coming. She thinks Tori’s picking her up.”
She asked my brother’s fiancée, who’s also her good friend, to give her a ride. If I’m being honest, it stings. But how could she ask me when she wouldn’t answer the fucking phone?
Patrick’s eyes widen. “Dang, son. This oughta be fun.”
I press the heels of my palms into my eyes, exhaustion from the last week taking its toll. “Cody wasn’t feeling well this morning, and Tori had to take him to the doctor. Otherwise…”
It pains me to finish the next sentence, so I don’t. But the truth is I wouldn’t have had a clue Joey was coming home today if Cody hadn’t gotten sick.
I figured she’d be back soon since my brother Ethan and his fiancée Tori are getting married in two weeks, and Joey is one of Tori’s bridesmaids, but no one gave me any specifics. Tori’s been strangely silent on the topic of my best friend. Or former best friend.
Fuck.
I rub my chest, over the ache that started when Joey left with barely a word as to why. One minute we were taking holiday photos with my family, and then, poof, she was gone. She left me a vague text—something about needing to get on with her life, which really fucking confused me—and then moved her grandmother to be near their family in Florida. I knew her uncle had offered to help relocate Rosalie, but Joey never seemed eager to go.
Until last December.
When her brother put their grandmother’s house up for sale last spring, I nearly went ballistic until I remembered she’d be back for the wedding.
Not sure how it went from Joey and I talking almost daily to me getting ghosted by the girl who’s been my shadow since we were kids, but that’s what happened.
Yeah, I’m pissed. At her for treating our friendship like it means nothing to her. At myself for not knowing what’s going on with her. Because obviously something is wrong for her to up and leave like her ass was on fire.
I’ve always prided myself on being there for Joey when no one else was. I thought we had something special. Something meaningful. We’re each other’s one call from jail, for fuck’s sake. My Netflix binge buddy when I genuinely want to watch a movie and relax. The one woman who makes me want to try to be a better person.
Patrick nods at me. “You coming to the bonfire?” When I don’t say anything because I’m too deep in thought about this mess with Joey, he groans. “Come on, man. It’s been ages since you’ve gone out with us.”
It’s my first night off in weeks, and all I want to do is order a pizza, grab a beer, and veg out in front of my flatscreen with Joey, if we can get over whatever the hell happened between us this year.
“Don’t tell me you’re ditching us for another chick?” He snickers. “Which one you been hanging out with? Felicia, Deb, or Anna?”
I have no clue who he’s talking about, but that’s because I’m a liar, and I can’t keep my shit straight anymore.
“Sure. One of them.” It’s the only way to get him to shut up. I can’t explain what I do with my time without untangling a lie too big to stuff down once it’s out.
My phone buzzes on the console between us, but before I can pick it up, the name flashes. I mute it and jam it in my pocket.
A quick glance at Patrick tells me he saw more than he should’ve. He lifts his eyebrows. “A new one, huh? Is she a babe?”
I don’t respond because there’s no way to answer that question in an appropriate way. Not sure when I became an “appropriate way” kind of guy, but I can’t deny the last few years have fucked me up.
He hums in the back of his throat. “Been meaning to ask you… You wouldn’t care if I asked Joey out, would you? Bro code kinda applies because you’re BFFs or whatever weird platonic thing you have going on, and you get ragey when guys hit on her, so I thought I should ask. But she’s been looking so damn hot on her Instagram, it got me thinking.”
“Ragey” is fucking right. The last thing I want is one of my idiot friends jerking her around. He’d probably dine-and-dash her like the rest of my friends, and there’s no way I’ll put up with that bullshit. Joey’s not a casual sex kind of girl.
Don’t get me wrong. I love women who are into casual sex. They’re pretty much all I’ve sampled in a horizontal sense, but I know enough not to mess with anyone who wants a ring on that finger. And I say don’t fish in that pond if you’re only lookin’ to catch and release.
My eyes narrow. “And you think you’re good enough for Josephine?” Because I know Patrick won’t bother to wake his lazy ass up when Joey gets locked out of her house in the middle of the night or needs a ride home after pulling a double shift at the salon. And my girl deserves someone who’ll man up for her.
He starts to mumble a response, but I throw my hand up. “Back up. What Instagram? Joey has an account?” She hates IG.
His eyebrows pop up. Probably because never in the history of Joey and me has Patrick known something about her before I did.
Reaching into his pocket, he palms his phone and clicks around, and then I’m looking at the beautiful girl with the face I know as well as my own.
Damn, I miss her. Never thought I’d miss that little squirt so much.
She was always trailing behind me and her brother Silas when she was little. With lopsided pigtails and a toothy grin. Always tripping
and scraping her knees or elbows. Always needing help climbing up the slide or wanting a push on the swings.
Silas and I are four years older. We used to be best friends until our families had a falling out. Then it was just me and Joey. Whatever happened between our parents somehow didn’t affect our friendship, though I can’t blame her for sticking with me instead of Silas since he’s a dick. After all, I’m the one who crawled down an abandoned well to get her when she fell in as a kid, and not her dumbass brother, who was standing right there.
I scroll through three or four photos, marveling at her golden tan and smooth skin. Staring at the freckles dotting her cheeks. Looking a little too long at her plump bottom lip and the way her flowy top clings to her petite body.
My eyes drift to her lips again. To the delicate curve of her neck and the way her necklace dangles between her perky, round breasts.
But years of kicking my own ass to not let things get weird between us force my attention above her neckline. To her eyes.
