Model Behavior

by Carter, M. E.

  Table of Contents

  Model Behavior

  About the Book

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilogue

  Better than the Book

  Acknowledgements

  About the Authors

  Other Books by M.E. Carter

  Other Books by Andrea Johnston

  Copyright © 2019

  By M.E. Carter and Andrea Johnston

  Cover design and Formatting by Uplifting Author Services

  Editing by Karen L. of The Proof Is in the Reading, LLC

  Front cover photo by iStock

  Back cover by DepositPhoto

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-948852-22-7

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. No part of this publication may be stored or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, people – living or dead – is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of various products, characters, businesses, artists, and the like which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or, it was not purchased for you then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for supporting this author.

  About the Book

  He thinks he’s so perfect with his model behavior . . . and he just might be.

  Reading and reviewing books is my hobby. Rescuing wildlife is my passion. It never occurred to me that both my hobby and passion would collide in the strangest of ways one day.

  I was perfectly content in my quiet little world. Working, reading, and supporting my favorite authors left little time for dating or a relationship. Besides, when you take the horizontal mambo off the table, you sort of limit your prospects.

  Then one night, Matthew Roberts in all his cover model glory blew into my life and swept me off my feet.

  ~

  Life as a single dad is not for the weak. Especially when your daughter is a spunky six-year-old with a passion for singing and a weakness for baby animals. I’ve been strictly focused on being her dad and smiling for the camera to provide for her future. Having my abs splashed on the cover of romance novels hasn’t left much time for a personal life. Much to my mother’s dismay.

  When a storm dropped—literally—a wild animal into my life, I knew there was one person who could help us—Carrie Myers. I just never expected her to save not only the small squirrel but to also find her way into my heart.

  Sometimes the most unlikely person can be your greatest gift.

  Dedicated to Luke the Squirrel.

  We miss you buddy.

  Don’t forget to look before you cross the street.

  Prologue

  Carrie

  I’m not sure if coming to the National Association of Narrators Awards – NANA for short - was the best idea I’ve ever had in my life, or the absolute worst. It could go either way.

  It’s always been on my forever changing bucket list to see what the ceremony was all about. The best of the best is here, after all, decked out in their finest duds. But as an avid reader and listener, I never want to ruin the fantasy in my head by seeing what a narrator looks like in real life. It’s also why I’ve spent much of tonight’s ceremony with my eyes closed. Seems like it would defeat the purpose of attending, but truly I’ve had a blast. One of my favorite authors, Pippa Worthington, treated me to this fantastic trip, which I could never have afforded on my own. I’ve been wined and dined and hobnobbed with more of my favorites, like Donna Moreno, while they wait to see if their story won any kind of narration award.

  That might be a slight exaggeration. The wine was fourteen dollars a glass so I only had one and vowed not to spring for more. The dining options are severely overpriced for mediocre food so I Door Dashed lunch today instead. Of course, I kept my gaze down as I rushed through the hotel to meet the delivery guy. Like I wasn’t taking any chances tonight, I sure as heck wasn’t taking them this afternoon.

  If you knew how much I love audiobooks, though, you would know why I couldn’t risk seeing anyone’s face. Don’t get me wrong, I love reading. It’s why I became a book blogger and why I’m so good at it. But audiobooks take things to a whole new level for me. A good voice can make the story come alive in a much more intense way. Plus, I’m very visual with the characters. Seeing the face of the narrator just ruins the fantasy for me because they almost never look like my imagination has made them out to be.

  Or at least I assume they never do.

  My only snafu was accidentally interrupting my favorite erotica romance author, Donna Moreno, while she talked, er, whistled, to the narrator with the sexiest voice, Hawk Weaver.

  Block out his face, Carrie. You didn’t see anything. You did not hear her call him Todd. Push that waaaaay deep into the recesses of your brain…

  I still don’t understand what all the whistling was for. Hawk mumbled something about her learning the language of his people and then they started re-enacting one of the make out scenes from Donna’s books. It’s all a bit muddled.

  Before I could ask, I was dragged away by a hot guy who was kind enough to guide me through the crowd while my hand was over my eyes. He didn’t even run me into anything, which is more than I can say for what I would do to myself.

  Unfortunately, the hot guy is romance cover model, Matthew Roberts. Sexy face, lickable abs, perfect swoon-worthy smile, and according to anyone who has ever met him in person, always kind to everyone. Oh, and he’s known to sleep with a different reader at every event he attends.

  I hate guys like him.

  Hate might be a strong word. Loathe would be more accurate, but fact of the matter is, I don’t know him well enough to loathe him either. I just loathe his type. A type I know too darn well. The type we all know too darn well because we’ve seen it—the guy who spends his time counting his macros, doing crunches, and climbing ropes between flirty winks in the mirror at other gym bunnies. The type that has no interest in an actual relationship, just wants to flirt with women to get in their pants, then drop them like a hot potato while spouting “I was clear from the beginning that I have no interest in a relationship.”

  Most of the women I kn
ow fell for the game called “Scratch the Itch” a time or two in college. It sucked and now that I’m older I want no part of it. I’m perfectly happy sitting on the sidelines playing my own game called, “Not until you put a ring on it, and even then, maybe not.”

  Really, I’m not as bitchy as I sound. It just makes me uncomfortable that Matthew is so flirty with me whenever our paths cross, which doesn’t happen frequently enough for him to even call it “friendly flirting.” Hell, the first time we met he hit on me before even asking my name. I find that kind of thing counterproductive to my relationship goals, and yes, I have them. I want to be someone’s one and only, not their one right now. And I’m nobody to Matthew Roberts. I’m a book blogger who loves to go to author events and was lucky enough to become friends with Donna Moreno. I have nothing to offer Matthew, especially if he’s looking to get in my pants. Based on his reputation and my ideals, getting to know each other would be a waste of both of our time. I don’t need him to flirt with me; I need some liquor.

  “Okay, the coast is clear. You can open your eyes now.”

  Blinking rapidly as my eyes readjust to the light, I look around the room. Matthew has brought me to the hotel bar I’ve been avoiding. Mentally, I calculate how much is left in my bank account before choosing my very expensive beverage of choice. I was considering a whiskey, but one finger is probably more than my monthly light bill.

  “What can I get you?” Matthew asks, because that’s just the kind of polite crap he does. Offers to buy women he doesn’t know drinks. The question is, what does he expect in return?

  I furrow my brow momentarily, but quickly school my features. I don’t like Matthew but that doesn’t mean I need to be rude all the time. I can be nice. Fine… I can answer civilly.

  “Ice water, please.”

  It’s Matthew’s turn to look confused. “After having our ear drums blown apart in the weirdest declaration of love ever? I thought you just mumbled something about wanting liquor?”

  He heard that? Which means he was listening? Huh.

  “Are you mocking the grand gesture Donna just made?” At least I assume it was a grand gesture. Based on how fast Hawk Weaver’s tongue ended up in her mouth, anyway.

  “Little bit, yeah.” He grins like he’s funny, which he isn’t. At all. Maybe a little.

  “It’s called romance,” I snark and yes, I make air-quotes, “which you would know if you read any of the books you’re on the cover of.”

  Matthew only smirks at me. I don’t like it. I’m trying to put up a good bitchy front so he doesn’t get any ideas and instead I seem to be entertaining him.

  “Are you always so hostile?”

  “Yes.” The word comes out a little too quickly, and we both know I’m lying. “Fine. No.”

  “So why are you so angry with me?”

  I could go into all the reasons—I’ve known boys like him before. I’ve been hurt by boys like him before. I don’t subscribe to this whole “sex can be just sex” thing. If he doesn’t care enough to earn my trust, he’s not worth my time. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

  I know how that conversation will end though. I’ll waste my breath explaining my reasons. He’ll zone out while I talk. We’ll both walk away frustrated. It’s better for both of us if I just get him to leave now. Which means I need to explain in a way I’ve discovered most men can understand.

  “I’m not having sex with you.”

  Matthew laughs. Hard. Like the idea of getting naked with me is the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. I wish I was relieved to know we’re on the same page, but I’m not. I turn away from him so he can’t see the hurt on my face and signal the bartender. Suddenly, I need a stiff drink, cost be damned.

  “Hey.” The laughter has stopped and his tone has changed to something more assuring. “I’m not laughing at the idea. I think you’re incredibly sexy.”

  “Hmm.” That’s the only response he’s getting from me. I refuse to let him get a rise out of me. I’d rather he thinks I’m irritated by the bartender flirting with yet another cover model at the end of the bar instead of getting me a drink. I begin waving, hoping to catch her attention this time.

  “No really. I just think you’re funny.”

  Now he has my attention. I look over my shoulder at him, crinkling my nose. “You think it’s funny that I have boundaries?”

  “No. I think you’re funny because you just assume you need them. You’re like a little chihuahua, barking at me to show how tough you are. It’s cute.”

  He did not just refer to me as a yappy, nervous dog. I love chihuahuas, particularly our shelter dog, Noah, who makes no qualms about letting anyone and everyone know he’s a permanent resident, but that doesn’t mean I like to be compared to him. First of all, I have way better teeth. Second, I don’t usually pee on chairs.

  “You’re not making a good case for yourself, Roberts.” Waving frantically now, I still can’t seem to catch the bartender’s attention. It’s starting to piss me off, especially since I may need alcohol to get through this conversation.

  Matthew moves in behind me and I stifle a gasp caused by the heat of his body next to mine.

  No, Carrie. You will not have a visceral reaction to this man. Not this time…

  He flicks his wrist once and the same bitch I’ve been waving at flashes a huge smile and saunters our way. That’s one more irritation I have about a pretty face and eight pack of abs—to be catered to while the rest of us fight to be seen. It’s irrationally annoying. Any tingling in my lady bits has dried up.

  “What can I get for you?” The bartender’s voice comes out dripping of sexuality. If I rolled my eyes any harder, they’d get stuck in the back of my head. By the way she narrows hers at me, she didn’t miss my reaction. Welp, I’m getting spit in my drink now for sure.

  Matthew doesn’t seem to notice the pissing contest in front of him, probably so used to women fighting over him. Instead he smiles kindly. “I need two whiskeys please. Neat.”

  Wait, did he just buy me a drink? Whipping my head around to clarify what’s going on, he takes one look at me and startles like I reminded him of something.

  “Sorry. Make it two fingers each please.”

  “Coming right up.” I assume she bites her lip and looks him up and down because it takes a few seconds for the scent of Love’s Baby Soft spray, circa 1990 to fade away. I don’t know for sure, though, because I’m still trying to figure him out. “Just let me buy you the drink. I promise I won’t try to get in your pants.”

  I’m both relieved and disappointed. Doesn’t he want in my pants? He’s not getting there, but a lady still likes to be wanted.

  And I’ve lost my mind. Shaking my head, I try to filter through all my muddled feelings. So much has happened in the last five minutes; on top of the adrenaline high I’ve been riding all night, I feel like nothing makes sense anymore. Default bitch mode is clearly not working for me, so I just move right back into regular Carrie mode. Whatever that is. Right now, it’s resolved.

  “Thank you.”

  Matthew’s eyes light up. “Ah! She can be polite after all.”

  I purse my lips and bite back a smile. “Don’t push your luck, buddy.”

  My phone vibrates, and I pull it out to read the text from my bestie, Jamie, while our drinks are delivered.

  “Thanks. Keep the change.” Matthew says kindly and hands her some cash. I don’t even want to know how much it cost for two hard liquor drinks. Next time I go to an event like this, I need to hit a liquor store on my way in.

  “Everything okay?”

  I find myself smiling at the picture Jamie sent me and rubbing my thumb over the cute little face on the screen. “Yeah. Just got a picture of my baby boy.”

  The words pop out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I immediately realize I’ve made a mistake. Clicking my phone off, I pray Matthew was distracted by Lady Love the bartender again and missed it. But no. I find Matthew swallowing a good-sized sip of his drink, hi
s eyes lit up. “Mmm.” He wipes a drop from his bottom lip, and I’m back to that lady bit issue again. “You have a son?”

  “Uhhh… sort of?” I have no idea how to explain my weird situation to him. On the one hand, I’m not embarrassed. Quite the contrary. I love this little guy. On the other hand, I don’t live in a normal life situation. I’ve gotten some weird looks before, and based on Matthew’s face, he’s already confused.

  “How do you sort of have a son?” He snaps his fingers like the answer just occurred to him. “Oh! Are you a foster mom? I have such respect for people who do that.”

  Oh great. Now he thinks I’m a saint. This is about to go downhill. At least I don’t have to worry about him inviting me to his room anymore. The crazy lady is about to be marked off his list permanently.

  “I have a six-year-old daughter myself,” he continues to ramble while I try and decide how to answer his actual question. “She’s the absolute love of my life. See?” Matthew flashes me a picture of arguably the most adorable little girl I’ve ever seen. Dark hair like her daddy in a halo of ringlets. Light, chocolate eyes with long lashes women my age pay top dollar to emulate. This kid is a knockout. Of course, look who her dad is. It’s not a surprise she takes after him.

  “I don’t understand how people can bring a child into the world and let it fend for itself. I would die for her, ya know?” I nod because I do know. Theoretically. “It takes a special person to bring someone else’s child into their home to raise and love. I really admire that.”

  “Umm… yeah. Thanks.” I try to leave it at that. Now that he’s come to his own conclusions, I have no reason to correct him. I won’t see him again after tonight until the next event, and hopefully only in passing, so I can just let him believe what he wants, right?

  But no. I can’t be so lucky. Matthew wants to keep pushing the issue. Damn interested charmer. “How old is he? And what’s his name?”

  I close my eyes and realize I’m not getting out of this one without an explanation. “He’s, uh, about four weeks old…”