MR. APRIL
Calendar Boys Series
NICOLE S. GOODIN
COPYRIGHT
Mr. April
Published by Nicole S. Goodin
Digital edition
ISBN: 978-0-9951168-6-3
Copyright 2019 by Nicole S. Goodin
All rights reserved. ©
This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to your favourite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Mr. April
First published April 2019
All rights reserved. ©
Cover design by Nicole Goodin
Images purchased from Deposit Photos
Editing by Spell Bound
DISCLAIMER
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events, places, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
The author acknowledges all song titles, song lyrics, film titles, film characters, trademarked statuses and brands mentioned in this book are the property of, and belong to, their respective owners.
Nicole S. Goodin is in no way affiliated with any of the brands, songs, musicians or artists mentioned in this book.
CONTENTS
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
EPILOGUE
THANK YOU!
MR. MAY
OTHER TITLES
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PLAYLIST
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
UPCOMING TITLES
DEDICATION
For all the babes born in April
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This book has been written using UK English and may contain euphemisms and slang words that form part of the New Zealand spoken word.
Please remember that the words are not misspelled. They are slang terms and form part of everyday, New Zealand vernacular.
I.e: I’m from New Zealand and sometimes we say weird things down here… please try and be cool about it.
CHAPTER ONE
Beckett
I watch the blonde woman as she climbs out of the black SUV she’s just parked across the street from me and slams the door shut behind her.
Her long legs step out from behind the bonnet, and I tip my glasses down so I can check I’m not seeing things.
She looks like she belongs on a runway back where I’ve come from, not here in this small town I’ve escaped to.
She’s carrying a set of keys that jingle against one another as she looks both ways up and down the street before jogging across to my side.
She smiles at a man that passes by, and his face breaks out into a smile too.
I watch him walk down the path, towards me, in the opposite direction that the blonde woman has gone. He turns and looks back at her over his shoulder – no doubt checking out her ass – and I can’t even blame him; it’s one hell of an ass.
She’s got tiny black denim shorts on that hug everything and leave absolutely nothing to the imagination.
I push my glasses back up my nose and get to my feet. I don’t know what I think I’m going to do, but I do know one thing – I’m not done looking at her.
I’ve only got one bag with me, and I’m aware I probably look like a homeless dude, out here with a beard, scraggy hair, a cap always on my head and glasses on my face, dragging around a large, leather duffel bag, but it’s how I feel most normal… like maybe I might just be able to blend in for once.
No one is looking for me here: in fact, most people don’t give me more than a second glance.
No one knows I’m Beckett Thorn – movie star who rose from mid-range actor to world famous heart throb in the blink of an eye.
No one here cares what I’m wearing or who I’m dating.
No one is going to know if I follow a beautiful blonde woman down the street.
No one is even going to know if I talked to her.
That’s exactly what I find myself doing. I’m following her down the street with the intention of doing more than simply laying eyes on her.
More people walk towards me with smiles on their faces, and I’d bet my entire fortune on the fact they caught those smiles from her.
She steps inside a small sandwich shop and disappears from sight. I stop dead in my tracks.
The minute I can’t see her anymore, I’m served with a harsh dose of reality.
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
I can’t follow her in there and talk to her.
No one might know that I’m Beckett Thorn, but the reality is, I am.
I can’t hit on a pretty girl the way everyone else can – certainly not if I want to keep flying under the radar here, which I desperately do.
I glance in the front window – she’s at the front counter ordering something and holy shit, she’s even more stunning up close.
I’d give anything to talk to her right now – to see if she could make me smile the way she has everyone else, because I bet she could.
But that’s not going to happen.
If I introduce myself to her then pretty soon this whole town will know I’m here.
This shit is the very reason I ran.
I’m not even me anymore. I’m just a product of the machine – a hot commodity – a photo for the front of a magazine or click bait on a digital tabloid.
I sigh and toss my bag back over my shoulder as I stroll off down the street.
I don’t know where I’m heading or where I’ll end up, but I’m confident of one thing – it’s not into that sandwich shop to talk to the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in a long time.
CHAPTER TWO
Blaire
“Thanks, Ricky, I’ll see you next week!” I call out to my favourite server as I head out the door.
“Catch you later, Blaire!”
I balance my sandwich on top of my smoothie as I dig around in my pocket for where I stuffed my car keys.
I don’t know when I’ll learn to take the carry bag Ricky offers me every time, but today is obviously not that day.
I walk slowly down the street as I rummage a little deeper in my pocket.
I also haven’t learnt not to stick my keys into the pocket of my skin-tight shorts either, apparently.
It would seem I never learn.
My sandwich starts to wobble and I stare at it hard – trying to will it to stay put as I finally hook my keys onto my little finger.
I don’t even see what I trip on, but I feel myself falling.
I gasp and squeeze my
eyes shut tight as I wait for the impact.
But it doesn’t come.
A set of strong arms catch me before I hit the ground.
I blink a couple of times and look down at my sandwich. I’m expecting it to be on the ground and my legs to be covered in smoothie, but somehow, everything is still in one piece, and my sandwich is held in a hand that isn’t mine.
I glance up at my saviour and I can’t quite believe what I’m seeing.
He’s gorgeous, but it’s more than that.
This guy, whoever he is, could be the twin of the star of the movie I saw just the other day. He’s got the exact same jaw line and everything.
“Wow,” I say, and then curse myself internally.
He’s incredibly attractive.
He’s got long scraggy hair and a beard on his face, which is in stark contrast to the groomed pictures I saw on the cover of a glossy magazine of my celebrity crush this morning, but with a haircut and a shave, this guy could probably make a killing from doing that lookalike stuff people seem to go mad for.
“Are you okay?” he asks as he steadies me. I can’t see the eyes behind his sunglasses, but I don’t miss the way his whole head moves as he looks me up and down from head to toe.
“I’m good,” I breathe.
He lets go of me once I’m standing up straight again and hands me back my sandwich.
“Good catch.”
The corner of his mouth turns up into a slight smile as he slides his glasses off his face and tucks them into the neck of his t-shirt.
I almost gasp as he meets my stare. He’s got the most brilliant blue eyes that seem so oddly familiar.
“Thank you for helping me,” I blurt out, sounding more flustered than I can ever recall being.
“No problem.” He tips his head to me like a gentleman.
I look at him curiously. There’s something about him that makes me want to know more, and I can’t decide if it’s because he looks so much like the star of my new favourite movie, or if it’s something else entirely.
I realise then that I’m openly staring right at him, this poor man, whoever he is, is probably wondering if I did hit my head after all.
I give myself an internal slap to snap me out of it.
“Well… thanks again,” I say lamely as I step around him, intending to go back to my car and get on with my life.
“It was my pleasure,” he replies. His voice is deep and husky and far more appealing than it should be.
I take about three steps away from him before my brain tells me to go back. For what, I don’t know. The way he just spoke, it didn’t sound like a goodbye – it almost sounded like an invitation.
I turn on my heel, and he’s still standing right where I left him, watching me.
“I’m sorry, you probably get this all the time, but are you aware that you look exactly like Beckett Thorn?”
His blue eyes are trained on my face, and he’s staring hard, like he’s trying desperately to figure something out about me. Whatever it is he’s looking for, he must find it, because his expression softens and he smiles at me.
“You know what? You’re the first person in this country to tell me that.”
I take a step closer. I know I’m being crazy as hell, but I swear I’m looking at the man himself right now.
“You sound like him, too,” I say in a voice barely above a whisper.
My heart is beating fast and my palms are sweaty.
“What would you say if I told you I was him?” he asks me, his own voice just as quiet.
“I’d say holy shit,” I blurt out.
He chuckles and as soon as he smiles a full, wide grin, I know I’m not being crazy at all.
This is him. This man is Beckett Thorn.
“Holy shit,” I breathe. “It’s you.”
“I guess the cat’s out of the bag.” He shrugs.
His eyes dart around as a group of teenagers walk past. He looks back at me with interest, like he wants to know what I’m going to do next.
I think he’s waiting to see if I’m going to scream his name for everyone to hear.
Truthfully, I don’t know what to do. The man I’m in love with in the fantasy version of my life is standing right before me.
He just had his hands on me. His hands, on me.
I should be screaming. I should be yelling and taking photos and asking him to sign my boobs or something.
His eyes dart around again, somewhat nervously, and that’s when it hits me. He’s worried.
The hat, the beard, long hair, the glasses… It all makes sense in a flash.
He doesn’t want to be recognised at all.
“What on earth are you doing here?” The question falls from my lips before I can stop it.
It’s none of my business whatsoever what he’s doing in my little corner of the world, but that doesn’t stop me from desperately wanting to know anyway.
He shrugs. “I needed some room to breathe.”
“But here? You’re in the middle of nowhere,” I blurt out again, against my better judgement.
He chuckles again and dips his head before looking back up at me. “Nowhere is exactly where I wanted to be.”
“Well, mission accomplished,”
I feel like I’m on another planet right now. Beckett fucking Thorn is standing right in front of me – looking at me… talking to me, even.
Somebody needs to pinch me.
He’s still staring at me as though there’s something interesting about me, but he’s the blockbuster star. He’s the interesting one.
“You know my name; I think it’s only fair that you tell me yours, too. Don’t you think?”
Holy shit. Beckett Thorn just asked me my name. Fangirl down.
I repeat.
Fan.
Girl.
Down.
“I’m Blaire,.” I somehow manage to say without shrieking hysterically.
He extends his hand for me to shake – I balance my sandwich back on top of my cup, because that worked out so well for me the last time, before I cautiously take his hand in mine.
His fingers wrap around my palm and he shakes it.
“It’s good to meet you, Blaire.”
“Holy shit,” I whisper to myself.
He grins at me – it’s the same crooked smile I’ve seen on the big screen, and I very nearly pass out.
“You’re on my list.”
The minute the words leave my mouth I feel myself blush. God, I hope I didn’t just say that out loud.
He chuckles. “I’m on your list?”
I blush even deeper, because yes, I did indeed say that.
“Mmm hmm.” I nod, embarrassed, as he lets go of my hand.
God, he’s so handsome I could literally drop dead on the spot right now and die a happy woman.
Men just don’t look like that in real life. Not any men I’ve ever met anyway.
“Like, your list of favourite actors or something?” he asks curiously.
I shake my head.
“Favourite movies?” he tries again, his brow furrowed.
Oh Jesus.
He really doesn’t know.
The only thing worse than having blurted this out in front of him is realising that I’m now going to have to explain exactly what I mean by ‘my list’.
I shake my head. “You know… ‘my list’…”
He shrugs at me helplessly.
Oh, god, help me. Someone just come and get me the hell out of here before I embarrass myself even further.
But alas, no luck… I’m still here, with him waiting for an answer.
“You know… A hall pass…” I blush bright red. “Like, you agree with your husband or whatever on a list of people that you’re allowed to sleep with…” I feel my cheeks heating all over again. “You know… If the opportunity were ever to arise…” I finish lamely.
“And I’m on your list?”
I nod.
“How many people are on this list?”
he asks me curiously, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“Five.”
“And what number am I?”
I nibble on my bottom lip and shake my head. “I’m not telling.”
He nods, his face sporting a wide grin as he dips his head.
If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn he was pleased with this revelation.
“So you’re married then?” he asks unexpectedly.
I nod. “I am.”
He looks back up and into my eyes, and my god, the blue of those things is just incredible, they damn near take my breath away. “That’s too bad.”
That’s it. I’ve officially lost my mind. I must be dreaming, because there is no way that I’m out here in the middle of the little town I’ve lived in my whole life, talking to the hottest man in the world, who has just said it’s ‘too bad’ that I’m married.
I’m hallucinating. I have to be. Maybe I’m passed out on the side of the street having hit my head when I tripped after all.
“I better go,” I tell him – hallucination or real person – I’m still not sure.
I give him an awkward wave and turn around, and if he turns out to be real after all, I’m going to be mortified that I bolted like this, but at this point, I don’t have another option… I can’t spend my day on the side of the street talking to a multi-millionaire actor – if that’s what’s actually happening here.
“It was good to meet you, Blaire,” he calls after me.
I look back at him over my shoulder. “You too, Beckett.”
I almost run the rest of the way back to my car before climbing in and slamming the door closed behind me.
If I’m not insane, then I just met a superstar and addressed him on a first-name basis.
I rub my eyes to make sure I’m not seeing things and look through my wing mirror over to where he was standing.
He’s still freaking there.
Mr. April: A Celebrity Romance (Calendar Boys Book 4) Page 1
