The Right Stuff (Love in Brazen Bay Book 2)

by Brill Harper

  "Also, your breasts are a disaster."

  Well, that gets my attention. "Excuse me? What's wrong with my breasts?" I look down. I think they are rather impressive, actually. Megan is probably just jealous because she is built more like our mom, which works out pretty well for her most as the time. Being a size six, Megan has a classic beauty and lean figure. I, on the other hand, have been built like a brick house since the age of twelve. And it wasn't until I turned twenty that I learned how to use my curves to my advantage.

  "The dress shop is having a really hard time getting your dress just right," Megan says.

  "Well, you should've thought of that before you suggested a plunging neckline. My breasts didn’t magically sprout after you chose the style.”

  I will admit that I am sort of the family fuck up, but I will not have my lovely lady lumps blamed for it.

  She goes back to centerpieces, so I go back to web browsing.

  "But I need to know who you're bringing, Stella.” I can picture her quite clearly right now. She’s in her car, probably on her way to a house showing. She’s not fixing her lipstick because her lipstick is always already perfect. She’s simultaneously planning her someday-wedding to Brad, how she’s going to convince her executive client and his wife that the five-bedroom house on the bluff is just perfect for them despite the fact that they are moving here to downsize and only need two bedrooms, and how she’s going to corral her little sister (me) into a woman of substance. At least for one day.

  We all know the wedding will go off without a hitch, the exec will totally buy the house once his wife sees the view, and her sister is already a woman of substance—just not very serious substance. Thank you very much.

  Anyone with a passing acquaintance with Psych 101 can diagnose classic transference. She’s stressed about the fact that Brad hasn’t popped the question to her, so she’s obsessing about the wedding she can control. Because my brother’s fiance didn’t know to say no when Megan offered to plan her wedding. I’m surprised Dixie hasn’t run for the hills. She must really like my brother.

  Shit. Megan is still talking. “I have to know if he is going to sit at the wedding party table with us, or if he will be sitting at a guest table."

  What she means is: Will he be good enough to sit at the family table at this ridiculously formal wedding she’s planning for two people who hate formal things?

  And the answer is most likely not.

  I love my sister. I just love her more when she’s not acting the part of Bridezilla in another woman’s wedding. I am so, so tired of talking about this wedding. About dresses. Cakes. Flowers. Chair covers. Bows. Tulle. All of it.

  Except maybe bukkake. I could probably talk about that for a little while longer without being bored.

  One more month. If I don’t kill my sister before June, it will be a miracle. She goes back to analyzing the deeper meaning of centerpieces, so I go back to web browsing. I resume half-listening status and pull up another veterinary clinic’s website to research.

  Dr. Anderson, my boss, wants to revamp our own veterinary clinic site, so I’m comparing our clinic to the closest metropolitan area to our small little town of Brazen Bay. I have a pretty good idea of how I want the site to look, but it never hurts to check out the city ones. More people are moving to Brazen Bay and commuting—like the househunting exec—for better or worse. We want them to feel comfortable bringing their pets here rather than the city. Or Port Jacks. Port Jacks is a college town and just gross.

  "Also, he needs to wear a suit and tie. Not Dockers and a T-shirt."

  "Who does?"

  "Oh my God, Stella. Your date. Your date for my wedding," she screeches. “I mean Leo’s wedding,” she adds a little quieter.

  She’s really losing it.

  “About my date...”

  “Can you maybe bring someone who isn’t in a biker gang?”

  One time. I dated a biker one time. “Noted.”

  “And maybe someone whose IQ is larger than his shoe size.”

  My track record with men isn’t great. Actually, it’s awful. I tend to skip over the cerebral types in favor of eye candy with personality issues. And sometimes the big dumb ones. And the one time, a biker. In my defense, Sons of Anarchy was really popular.

  I don’t date for conversation—that’s what my friends and family are for. I date guys I wouldn’t want to hang around with when we’re clothed. It’s a problem that I understand when I’m not in the presence of a hottie. But when they are around, I usually fail to see the problem. I only see their pecs. And their forearms. And their quads. If my libido is in charge, I like them big and stupid. I’ve been told it’s because I have commitment issues, so I’m attracted to men I would never be able to really care about.

  So I tried commitment last year and it was a disaster. He ended up being the definition of toxic masculinity. Unfortunately, Cole still has a lot of people in Brazen Bay fooled. Including my sister. It doesn’t matter anyway because now I’m on a self-imposed break from all men.

  Including bikers. And personal trainers. And hot pizza guys.

  All of them.

  “Hey, Megan. I need to get back to work. Can we talk about this later? I’ll call you tonight and you can tell me all the things that are wrong with my breasts and my taste in men then, okay?”

  Because the conversation is going to happen whether I want it to or not, but I can at least show up armed. Wine and fuzzy slippers are the preferred armor when it comes to Megan, but even just being home would be an improvement.

  I let my attention drift back to my monitor. According to the website, Dr. Rivers, one of Dr. Anderson’s friends in the city, took on a new vet. I wish Doc would be like her friend and get some more help around here. Another vet would sure take some of the pressure off her. As it is, I pretty much handle her personal life scheduling or she’d neglect to have one. Leann Anderson is a fabulous animal doctor, but she totally sucks at things like eating regular meals and getting her hair cut. I have resorted to filling her Netflix queue and forcing her to take time for relaxing.

  She wasn’t always like this, I’m told. Back in her 20s, she was the drummer in my dad’s band, Ironwing. But when they came home after their one and only world tour, she went off to veterinary school when my dad went to law school. The entire band is all boring and parental now.

  I make a mental note to send a message to Dr. Rivers to ask her to talk to my boss about taking on a new vet. This guy Dr. Rivers brought on... Christopher Lockwood DVM...is an interesting character. The picture is grainy, so maybe he isn’t as dorky as he appears. But, wow, look at those glasses. Thick, black frames...Clark Kent would be jealous.

  “What about Cole? I bet he’d be your date,” Megan asks, not ending the call as I’d hoped.

  “Have you suffered a blow to your head recently, Megan? Cole and I broke up.” For many, many good reasons. He has the requisite quads, but he also has the tendency to hit things that anger him. Walls mostly, but since he had me pinned up against the wall the last time he punched a hole in it, I’m not counting out the possibility that his violence is limited to inanimate objects.

  “Well, he’s still friends with Brad. I’m sure you guys could get along for one day. Besides, maybe you could patch things up. Wouldn’t that be romantic? Getting back together at my wedding. I mean, Leo’s wedding?”

  “No!” I don’t mean to yell, but hell-to-the-no.

  Cole is not in my get-your-life-together-Stella plan. I a few months into the Year of Stella and the return of Cole would be a serious step backward. Also, I never told Megan about the hitting thing. She knows we argued, but she never knew about my wall. Nash, my landlord and friend, fixed the wall without a word, and then I heard that he and my brother had a little chat with Cole in which Cole peed his pants.

  “Cole was horrible for me.”

  “Well, there is something to be said for bad boys.”

  “Bad boys, yes. Mean boys, no. Besides, what do you know about bad
boys? Brad is like Saltine cracker boring.”

  “I don’t even know what that means, but Brad is not boring. And I just don’t want you to end up alone.”

  What Megan doesn’t want is for me to embarrass her. But she’ll never get her wish because no matter how I try not to be, I have always been an embarrassment to Megan. I tend to “draw attention” which is code speak for “spectacle.”

  For most of my life, I wanted to be like Megan. Hell, I wanted to be Megan. Megan is classy. Poised. Stylish. She manages to live her life without a hair out of place, a broken nail, or a bead of sweat.

  I am the opposite of her in every way. I can’t contain myself the way Meg does, to my sister’s utter chagrin. And the harder I try to be “normal” the more I stick out and embarrass us both. She’s better at enumerating all my misdeeds, but her list probably starts with the time I sent her high school boyfriend, my first crush, a love note from a secret admirer—on the back of my spelling test. Not only was my identity no longer a secret, but I misspelled “flower” by adding a “u.”

  Also high on her list—the time I sneezed and farted at the same time at Grandma’s funeral during the moment of silence. I was sixteen.

  She also probably has some things to say about the way Santa Claus terrified me well into my teens...okay, I’ll be honest. Santa Claus still terrifies me. But I no longer kick him in the shin at the mall and run away.

  She also never likes the perfume I wear, my clothes, my hair, the things I did to her Barbie and Ken dolls, my interest in astrology, and the way I sometimes break into song for no reason. And, of course, my taste in men.

  “What you need to do is find a boyfriend. You know if you just—”

  “Don’t start, Megan.” I’m so tired of conversations that start with “if you just.”

  “I want you to be happy. Snagging a man isn’t brain surgery, you know. You’re a great girl. If you just—”

  Desperate to cut her off, I blurt out, “I’m seeing somebody!”

  Why did I say that?

  God, now what? Damage control is key here. Because Megan is a cunning opponent in the game of wits. Like any good salesperson, she knows her prey better than they do.

  “It’s new. I haven’t told anyone yet because we’re ...trying to...uh...take it slow. You know, nurture it a little.”

  I want to hit my head on the desk. Why can’t you control your mouth? Stupid. Stupid and nothing good this way comes. I know Megan won’t let it go. She is going to be all over me like her sorority sisters at a Juicy Couture outlet store.

  “Who is he?”

  I crumple paper over the mic on my phone. “What? What? Megan, you’re breaking up. Are you going through a tunnel?”

  “Nice try.”

  Think, Stella. “I told you that we’re keeping this on the down-low for now. He’s just out of a bad relationship, too.” That seems plausible, right? For this guy who I’m completely making up to be nursing a broken heart?

  “At least tell me his name.”

  I look around the reception area for a lifeline, my eyes settling on my monitor and Dr. Rivers’ website. “Christopher. His name is Christopher.”

  “Oh, I like that name. Where did you meet him?”

  Fantastic. She likes that name. That must mean he’s a good boyfriend if Megan likes his name. “The internet?” That isn’t a lie exactly.

  “The internet? Seriously, Stella?”

  God it’s like my sister is stuck in the ‘90s. “Yes, the internet. It’s this thing where you can communicate with people all over the world through a little box in your house or sometimes your phone.” Wait until I tell her about the dating apps. The idea of swiping will horrify her.

  “Funny. What’s he like? Where is he from?”

  I look at the fuzzy picture, tilting my head sideways and then back. I can’t tell her that he’s grainy or grayscale. “He’s kind of serious.” Nobody else would look that earnest in thick glasses. “But he’s great with animals.” Probably. “He lives in the city.”

  “Well, he must be a vet then, if you know he’s good with animals.”

  “Or maybe, Nancy Drew, he’s just an animal lover.” I check the time, lunch is almost over. “I really have to go. Appointments start soon.”

  “Okay...but call me later.”

  “Right.” Right after I get that lobotomy I need.

  Get So Wrong It’s Right from your favorite vendor today!

  Did you love The Right Stuff? Then you should read Wrong Number Text by Brill Harper!

  So wrong it's right…

  When grumpy firefighter Leo finally answers the wrong number text he's been getting for several days, he has no idea pixels on a screen could be so hot—or make him want things he's never wanted before.

  Dixie has always been quiet, shy, and reserved. Until she "meets" Leo. He's got the once shy librarian shedding her inhibitions and growing her confidence in their texts and calls—and it even starts spilling out into her everyday life. Part of her revels in her secret life—but part of her secretly wishes for more.

  They never share more than first names, but each texting encounter gets hotter and hotter—and more intimate than either of them ever imagined. But you can't trust a stranger on the phone. Not really. You can't ache for something you've never had. And you certainly can't fall in love with someone you've never even met, can you?

  Author Confession: Welcome to Brazen Bay, a small town I crafted just to explore that feeling of so wrong it's right. Just because something is forbidden or taboo doesn't make it wrong, does it? (You'd have to see the pictures on their phones to answer that.) Gruff Leo and sweet Dixie are perfect strangers and perfectly naughty when they let their guards down with someone for the first time. What starts as an innocent wrong number turns into something much more daring. Bonus points if you read this wrong number romance on your phone.

  Read more at Brill Harper’s site.