by Amy Daws
“What’s this?” I ask, taking the pink mug from Camden and eyeing the thick black text on the side that says: These Glasses Make Me Look Sexy.
He sits down beside my legs as I lean back against the headboard. Waking up with Camden still gives me butterflies. Seeing him almost every day still makes me smile. Snuggling him in bed doesn’t make me uncomfortable anymore. It makes me happy.
The more time I spend with him, the more comfortable I become with this whole lack-of-space business. Any time I feel myself pulling away, Camden has an uncanny way of turning things dirty and making me forget all about that separation I thought I needed.
Cuddling isn’t so bad when you just let yourself enjoy it instead of mentally freaking out over the after effects. And since I no longer care about my Penis List plan, I’ve realised that Cam gives me all the Tequila Sunrise life experiences I could ever want.
We’ve even got his little ritual down for the mornings he has to go to practise or matches. Apparently it was a solo job before I came along, but Cam says making me a part of his visualisation technique is sure to make him the best striker Arsenal has ever seen. I don’t mind, even if he does like to shout “Goal!” after he comes.
God, he really is a pig.
I smirk around a sip of the coffee he brought me and eye him appreciatively propped on the edge of the bed. He’s dressed in a soft white cotton T-shirt that he seems to have an endless supply of and a pair of jersey shorts that reveal his muscular thighs.
“Didn’t like me using the standard black coffee mug anymore?” I ask.
“I thought it was time you had your own,” he exhales heavily. “We’ve been together for three months now, you know.”
“Three months? When did you start counting?”
“You were mine the day of my injury, Specs. You just didn’t know it yet.” He leans over and kisses my forehead, sliding his fingers through my hair as he drops more kisses all the way down to my neck. “You look good with my coffee in your hand.”
I frown. “You’re so weird about coffee. The first time I came here and your sister gave me some, I thought your head was going to explode.”
He squints at me thoughtfully for a moment before standing up and striding over to his dresser. When he returns, he’s holding an intricately carved keepsake box. He opens it up and sifts through several sheets of loose leaf paper until he finds the one he wants.
Holding it out to me with a nervous twinge in his eyes, he murmurs, “It’s a poem my mum wrote.” My eyes fall to the paper scribed with carefully written words by a woman he knew very little before she died. “Read it,” he instructs.
Your Favourite Girl’s Cuppa
When you handed me that cup,
you handed me your heart.
When you inhaled that roast,
you inhaled our first start.
When you laughed around a sip,
you soared into my mind.
When you poured me some more,
I gave you all the love I could find.
Coffee is more than a cup of caffeine.
Coffee is the drink you sip from for dreams.
Coffee makes moments more than a scene.
Coffee makes love become everything.
When you have true love in your heart,
coffee in bed is the best place to start.
When I look up, I can’t hide the tears in my eyes. “Camden,” I croak and he half smiles.
“I love you a latte, Indie,” he rushes out anxiously. The dopey look on his face makes my heart swoon. “I just wanted you to know that.”
The words fall down on me in the most delicious way possible. The scent of coffee all around us makes an instant memory fold in my mind. He watches me, nervously awaiting my reply.
Because I promised never to hold back from him, I inhale deeply and answer, “Well, I love you from my head tomatoes.”
His gaze narrows, having to think it through for a bit and then he laughs. Really laughs. It’s a great laugh. It’s a laugh that zings you right in the knickers and makes you laugh along with him.
His mock impressed face nods before he replies, “You’ve been sitting on that one for a while now, haven’t you?”
I giggle. “Maybe.”
His face grows serious, but that smile stays in his eyes. “I love you,” he says, cupping my face and pressing a soft kiss to my lips.
“I love you,” I repeat. “And there’s nothing punny about that.”
THE END
There’s more Harris Brothers Love coming!
Be sure to email me or post a review of Challenge and cast your vote for which brother’s story you want next! And sign up for my newsletter to be notified of the next Harris Brothers release date.
www.AmyDawsAuthor.com
Challenge is a spin-off from the London Lovers Series.
Read on for the full reading order on this series of standalones or check out Hayden and Vi’s gripping love story sneak peek at the end.
MORE BOOKS BY AMY DAWS
The London Lovers/Lost in London Series:
Becoming Us: Finley’s Story Part 1 (prequel)
A Broken Us: Finley’s Story Part 2 (standalone)
London Bound: Leslie’s Story (standalone)
Not The One: Reyna’s Story (standalone)
That One Moment: Hayden & Vi’s Story (standalone)
One Wild Night: Julie’s Story…coming soon
The Harris Brothers Series:
A spin-off series featuring the football-playing Harris Brothers!
Challenge: A British Sports Rom Com (standalone)
Pointe of Breaking: A College Dance Standalone by Amy Daws & Sarah J. Pepper
Chasing Hope: A Mother’s True Story of Loss, Heartbreak,
and the Miracle of Hope.
AUDIBLE
The London Lovers/Lost in London Series:
Becoming Us: Finley’s Story Part 1 (prequel)
A Broken Us: Finley’s Story Part 2 (standalone)
London Bound: Leslie’s Story (standalone)
Not The One: Reyna’s Story (standalone)
That One Moment: Hayden & Vi’s Story (standalone)
One Wild Night: Julie’s Story…coming soon
The Harris Brothers Series:
A spin-off series featuring the football-playing Harris Brothers!
Challenge: A British Sports Rom Com (standalone)
Pointe of Breaking: A College Dance Standalone by Amy Daws & Sarah J. Pepper
Chasing Hope: A Mother’s True Story of Loss, Heartbreak,
and the Miracle of Hope.
For retailer purchase links, visit:
www.amydawsauthor.com
Now that I’ve written my eighth book, I’m confident enough to realize that no book process for me is the same. If I could sum up what writing Challenge was like using one word besides “challenging” …it would be tumultuous. From moving into a new house to traveling to three different countries, I have learned that I am not Super Woman, and to try to write a book amongst all of that madness was simply that…madness!
But I made it and I’m happy…I think. Ask me over drinks to be sure.
Regardless of everything, I do truly love this story and these characters. They have the best banter I’ve ever written between a couple, and I loved dipping my toes into full-blown rom com.
And now I’m grateful to thank the people who helped get me here. Because there were a lot for this one.
First of all, my beta readers and proofers. I tortured them with this book. This is the first story that I have had to tell my beta readers they need to re-read before reviewing because the changes were so extensive. I sent them multiple updated files, I hounded them for feedback, I asked them to talk out characters with me, and I messaged them constantly. It was painful. But we made it. And it truly was something I couldn’t have done without them. So, thank you all for being there for me and for Cam and Indie!
Belinda! My footballer/British muse. You are the o
ne who inspired these wacky Harris Brothers of mine back when I wrote That One Moment. Thank you for being my voice of fun for these boys and the wonderful sport of football.
My editor, Stephanie. Thank you for editing my book in the middle of Hurricane Hermine. Your roof was leaking, your power was going out, your lawn was flooded, and your potted plants were flying, but by George…you stuck with me. One of these days, I won’t have a painful deadline! That’s a lie, I probably always will.
I have to give a personal shout out to one of the most incredible authors I know, Staci Hart. Staci, I’ve never met anyone like you. I’ve never seen anyone find the people they want to surround themselves with in life, and then spend countless hours trying to raise them up as high as they can go. You work tirelessly to help others and ask for nothing in return. From beta reading, to helping me with my cover, to introducing me to your incredible author family, I’m overwhelmed. I can’t fathom how you see so much in me, but I am grateful. Thank you for being my biggest cheerleader with this book. I’m keeping you and your tribe forever. I want to be you when I grow up.
My hubby. The dude who doesn’t watch soccer (football). You may not have helped me with the technicalities of this sports romance book, but it’s you that holds the family together when I disappear into another story. Thank you for making meals, getting school supplies, buying the groceries, and not yelling at me too much for letting Lolo eat Lucky Charms in bed every morning.
Lolo. My daughter. My best friend. I’ve read articles about how you shouldn’t be best friends with your daughter because you need to be a mother and enforce discipline. Screw it. You’re mine and I don’t care what people say. Thank you for the hugs that you don’t even know how bad I needed and the snuggles that make all this hard work worth it. Thank you for asking the most thoughtful questions at bedtime every night. It’s probably my favorite thing about you.
My angels in the sky, my special six. I still haven’t forgotten you. I may think of you a little less, but it’s only because you are all so innately a part of me that I carry you with me every day…with every breath…with every heartbeat. If I’m overly emotional, it’s because you six taught me what it’s like to feel. And I still wish you were here instead of there. But then that would be a very different story.
Amy Daws lives in South Dakota with her husband and miracle daughter, Lorelei. The long-awaited birth of Lorelei is what inspired Amy’s first book, Chasing Hope, and her passion for writing. Amy’s contemporary romance novels are mostly London-based so she can fuel her passion for all things British.
For more of Amy’s work, visit: www.amydawsauthor.com or check out the links below.
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Every moment in life has a ripple.
Every day has twenty-four hours.
That’s one thousand, four hundred forty different chances per day that can affect the course of your life.
Watching a ripple that you caused and immediately wishing you could take back is a devastatingly powerless feeling. You have to sit there and witness it grow and spread…like an infection.
And once it starts, there’s not much you can do to change its path or pattern of movement.
Unless, of course, you decide to make a splash.
CHALLENGER
“Hayden Clarke. Good to see you again.” The doctor rises from behind his desk and extends his hand to me. He’s a tall, robust man with a grey beard. Dressed in khaki trousers and a navy jumper, he is the perfect cliché shrink.
I give him a firm, confident shake, trying to portray my entire state of mind with one simple gesture. “Hiya, Doc.”
“Please sit. I’ve been looking forward to this appointment for weeks.” He gestures to one of the maroon leather armchairs and takes the one seated directly across from it.
I drop down onto the familiar seat and rest my ankle on my knee. “You probably say that to all your patients.”
“I wish I could, Hayden. I wish I could.” He peers at me, and instead of grabbing his notepad like he normally does, he crosses his arms over his chest and eyes me speculatively. “Tell me, how are you feeling with your one-year anniversary approaching?”
He just dives right in. Every time. “I’m feeling fine. I’m focusing on preparing my speech for the charity gala, as you well know.”
“Yes, that’s right. Are you still confident about speaking? It’s a sensitive subject matter.” He cocks his head to the side, like he can see the answer if he looks at me hard enough.
Glimpses of the night I wish like hell I could forget flash through my mind. I straighten my posture and mindlessly touch my brown leather cuffs on each of my wrists. “Definitely confident. I can handle it,” I answer pragmatically.
A look of fondness lights up his features. “I think it will be a big turning point for you, Hayden. I really do.”
“That’s sort of the point.” I release my cuffs and rub my hands down my denim-clad thighs. “I’m ready to get on with my life. The last few days, I can’t seem to stop thinking about the days leading up to that night.”
He nods thoughtfully. “That is expected, given the timeline and the fact that the anniversary is only days away. What are you doing to continue progressing in your recovery beyond the charity gala? Who are you spending your days with?”
I shrug my shoulders and frown. “Leslie, Theo, and Baby Marisa mostly.”
His brows lift archly. “Anyone outside of your family?”
I clench my jaw because I can tell he’s asking a question he already knows the answer to and it irks me. “Not really. I help out with the baby a lot. And I’m back working with my brother again. We’re busy.” The truth is I don’t have many friends left after spending the last four years drinking my life away. And eventually trying to take my life.
“Any word from Reyna?”
My eyes cloud over at the mention of her name. “She texts occasionally. I don’t really engage much with her.”
He simply nods and I let out an exasperated laugh. “We’ve already established that she’s not a good friend for me to lean on. Now you want me to go out and make new friends? How am I supposed to know what kind of friends are safe?” I challenge him.
“Hayden, it’s not about making friends. It’s about putting yourself out there. There are lots of people you can converse with who wouldn’t be anything like what Reyna was to you. I’m just noticing a pattern here. You’ve lived with your brother, his fiancé, and their new baby for three months now. You don’t appear to be showing an effort to intermingle with people outside of your family, to become a part of society once again.”
“I disagree with you,” I jeer, slicing my hand through my hair. “I’m getting up in front of hundreds of people to tell my entire bloody story. That seems like the definition of putting myself out there.”
The doctor smirks and nods again, which only further frustrates me. I stand up and stride over to the window to gaze down at the busy west end London traffic. A red double-decker bus full of tourists passes by. I’d give anything to be out there as a foreigner on holiday and oblivious to the shite that goes on in here.
“So what then? You don’t think my speech will be much of a challenge?” I snap, looking over my shoulder at him.
“I didn’t say that.” He sighs heavily and narrows his eyes at me, obviously gauging my temper.
“I’m reading between the lines.” I like Doc because he doesn’t bullshit me. But I get tired of having to find all the answers myself. Him questioning my recovery like this makes me feel insecure at a time when I’m desperate to prove to everyone that I’m not the same person. “Come on now. Out with it, Doc. Tell me one thing that could be more challenging.”
“Look, Hayden, you’ve done the twelve steps. You’ve told your story in group therapy. You’re staying clean. These are all good things, so let’s focus on those.”
I walk back over to my seat. “Don’t hold back on me now, Doc. Come on! Challenge
me,” I dare, tossing my hands out wide as I sit back down. I always did love a challenge.
He shrugs his shoulders like he was expecting my reaction. “I just wonder how you would react if I asked you to tell your story to a single person. Not a room full of others in therapy. Not a ballroom full of people. Telling your story to an audience full of strangers is one thing. Finding someone whom you can sit down with and look in the eyes and tell your story to is completely another. Not a family member or a close friend. Rather, an acquaintance. The point is you’re not just talking at them, you’re engaging with them. They’ll likely have questions and comments. You’d have to field them all with an open mind.”
“And you think that’s the ultimate challenge,” I scoff arrogantly, but feel a churning in my abdomen over the idea.
Doc shrugs. “You said you’ve been recalling the days leading up to your attempt?”
“Yeah,” I reply, grimacing at where he’s going with this.
“All right. Let’s try this…Find one person and tell them about the five days you experienced leading up to your attempt. Be honest. Be open. Be vulnerable. It will be difficult and it will pull you back to that time, but getting it out will be the ultimate test to your recovery. We’ll call it the ‘Countdown Challenge’.”
“Bloody hell,” I snap. “I thought this was why I am doing that big gala speech. To test myself…To push my recovery.”
“You’re doing that speech for many reasons, Hayden—one of which is for your family. It is a benefit they began for you, after all. But both of these challenges will push you in different ways.” He pauses, scratching his beard as he attempts to collect his thoughts. “Let me ask you this. Do you remember how important Leslie felt to you the day she found you?”
