Mountain Manhattan_Mountain Man in the Big City
Page 17
Everly falls onto the couch, squeezing between her two best friends. They all take drinks of the bubbly, each lamenting their own personal hell.
They aren’t exactly on top of the world. And they feel deceived. The entire universe led them to believe that if they went to college they would be grown-ups. But here they are, all three of them a week out of Oregon State College, with no job prospects, no boyfriends, and—apparently—no housing.
“This sucks,” Amelia says, her head falling on Everly’s shoulder. “Why didn’t a career counselor ever mention the fact that a Fine Arts degree wouldn’t help me? All it did was teach me that I’m more of a hobbyist in terms of creating visual masterpieces. Like, I can legit scrapbook, but that isn’t a job.”
“Um, sweetie,” Delta says, “my degree is in Hospitality. There are literally no jobs for me.”
“You can be a hotel desk clerk,” Everly suggests.
“Yeah, except I didn’t need a degree for that, and it won’t offer me health insurance or pay my student loans. It’s not realistic.”
“I know,” Everly says. “Even if I sold a story to some magazine, I’d make what—fifty bucks if I was lucky? And I can’t afford to sit here and write the next great American novel. That won’t pay any of the bills.”
Everly thought a degree in English Literature would help her become a writer, but so far she’s only completed a few short stories about her life as a college student. Not exactly inspiring.
“At this point I would do anything to stop feeling so out of control. I just want a plan,” Amelia says. “I feel desperate.”
“I’m not desperate, I’m just horny as hell. I haven’t been with someone in like, three months,” Delta moans. “I want a husband, someone to keep me warm at night and fuck me all day long.”
“Then we should have gotten MRS degrees, not BAs,” Everly says, sighing into her champagne. “Not that I’m exactly ready for marriage.”
Delta and Amelia both look at Everly, giving her puppy dog eyes. It’s no secret that she’s a virgin, and if anyone needs a man, it’s her.
“What?” Everly shrugs. “I’m not holding out for Mr. Right. The problem is, I’m just never going to meet a guy who is okay with taking it slow.”
“You don’t need to take it slow,” Amelia says. “You need a man who isn’t going to take no for an answer.”
“I don’t need to take it slow, either,” Delta says. “I just want to take it, if you know what I mean.”
Amelia shoves a pillow in Delta’s face. “Yes, we get it. You want to get laid. But on a more serious note, maybe there are new apartments on Craigslist?” Amelia suggests. “You know, since we’re getting evicted.”
“Not evicted,” Everly reminds her. “It’s just we’re in campus housing. We have to go.”
“Like, in a week.” Delta sighs. “This is dumb. Let’s do something bananas. Like, move to a commune. Or become Amish.”
Noticing the now-empty glasses, Everly returns to the kitchen and brings back some more champagne. “I just want a nice house and a normal life. Nothing crazy, just something regular.”
“With good sex,” Delta adds, winking. “And on that note, let’s look in the Help Wanted section with an open mind.” She opens her laptop. “At this point we don’t have many requirements.”
“I just want to get out of this college town,” Amelia says. Forgoing a glass, she grabs the bottle from Everly’s hand and takes a swig. “I can’t handle it here,” she says, wiping her mouth. “There are way too many memories of Derrick and me in this town, and I need to move on. Stat.”
Delta scrolls through the housing pages, and it’s more of what they’ve already seen. Tiny studios or massive houses requiring three months’ security deposit.
“Hmmm.” Delta keeps clicking, but there are no new listings. Eventually she takes the bottle from Amelia and drinks before passing it to Everly.
Everly follows suit, then sits between them once again, starting to feel more than a little tipsy.
“There’s nothing,” Amelia moans.
“Even if there were,” Everly adds, “it doesn’t matter. None of us have jobs. That’s priority number one.”
“Tell me again why none of us have parents who can help out?”
The three of them were roommates freshman year, and instantly bonded over the fact they’d all been raised by their grandparents. It was such a coincidence—it felt like destiny, and they had to stick together.
And they always did, through thick and thin, for four years. They put Delta’s grandpa in assisted living, attended the funeral for Everly’s grandma and grandpa, and were there when Amelia’s grandma moved in with her older sister.
They have family that love them, but not family that can support them, or even house them.
It’s time they figure this out on their own.
“Okay, go to the want ads,” Everly says, pointing at the tab on the screen.
“Let’s see, here.” Delta takes another sip as the page loads.
The three of them read the job descriptions, not one of them remotely appealing.
Dog walker, ten hours a week.
Editor, must be proficient in Dutch.
Smoothie stand, pasties the required uniform.
“Well, we could do that,” Delta says, laughing. “We all have decent racks.”
“More than decent, but that doesn’t mean I could do it,” Everly says, frowning, knowing her looks have never been her problem.
The problem is, she’s never had a real boyfriend because she always gets so nervous and shy around guys.
“We’re all cute enough so the tips would be good,” Amelia says, considering the smoothie stand position. “But, it just seems so cold.” She covers her chest with her hands, cracking up.
Okay, so they are definitely buzzed.
“This is stupid.” Everly hovers her fingers over Delta’s keyboard. “Let’s try something totally different.”
In the search bar, she types: pretty girls, college degrees, open-minded, need jobs.
The first hit causes all three girls to tilt their heads to the side, and reach for the champagne, simultaneously.
Huh.
WANTED:
MODERN MAIL ORDER BRIDES
FOR ALASKAN MOUNTAIN MEN.
Chapter 1: Boone
We’ve been out on this fishing boat all morning. Just my twin brother and me, like we do most weekends, but today everything about it has been a cluster. We got a late start, the water has been hella rocky, Mason fucked up the lines early on, and we’ve caught shit.
“You got him, bro,” I tell Mason. He and I have been casting lines for hours. He’s drunk off his ass, like he’s been since the night of the car crash, and I’m nursing a lukewarm Bud Light because I’m driving this rig back today. Wouldn’t say I was stone cold sober, but I have my eyes on the motherfucking prize.
And I’m getting her later tonight.
I still plan on hooking the biggest fish of the day, and to do that I gotta keep a clear head.
Yet somehow he’s the bastard with a fish on his line. He’s pulling it up as quickly as he can manage, and a massive trout flies from the deep blue lake.
“What the hell,” Mason shouts, dropping his beer, staggering back as he loses his grip on his rod.
“Mason!” I yell. “That’s my fucking rod. My rod from Dad.”
I try to take it from him, but don’t get hold of it before it flies off the fucking boat.
About the same time, Mason starts heaving across my boat’s deck.
“Fuck me now,” Mason moans, clutching his gut. He’s a lightweight, always has been, and that combined with the rolling waves? He’s fucking screwed.
“You are so drunk,” I say, trying my damnedest to keep my cool. I know it’s just a fishing rod, and I have a hundred of them. But fuckin’ A. That was the rod Dad used when he taught me to fucking fish. It meant something.
And now it’s sunk, along with the largest trout I�
�ve seen all year. Dropping to the bottom of the goddamn lake.
Mason heaves again, falling to the deck, where he’s literally sitting in his own vomit.
My jaw tenses—and, fuck, I get that we’re family, but since our parents died this past year, all I’ve done is have his back. I had no fucking idea my parents had spent so much of their life saving his broke ass.
“You need to get yourself in bed, Mason.” I kick open the door so he can get below deck. “And dude, change your clothes.”
“Shit, bro, I’m sorry.” Mason wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands, moving toward the door. He’ll be completely useless in terms of helping me get this boat off the lake, hitched to my truck, and back to the lodge. “I didn’t mean to get sick.” With a smirk he adds, “I know it’s your big day.”
Dumping buckets of water across the floor, I shrug knowing he’s jealous, or maybe just a fucking asshole. But I refuse to let him get under my skin. He may have slept with my exes when we were younger, borrowed money that he never paid back, and flunked out of college—but shit, he’s my brother. My only family. It would take more than that for me to kick him to the fucking curb.
“It’s all good,” I tell him. “I’ll clean this shit up, get us packed, and then we can call it quits.”
Mason staggers down the steps below deck to sleep it off, and I focus on loading up our gear. So much for the fucking catch of the day.
Still, I’ll have my prize waiting for me when I get back to the lodge. And it’ll be better than a fucking fish fillet.
A few hours later, I’ve backed up near the ramp and my fishing boat is locked and loaded.
I hop into the cab to see that Mason’s sobering up by chugging Monster drinks and eating beef jerky. Lethal post-puke combination, but I’m not his parent.
“Guess I was fucking useless today,” Mason grunts.
I keep my eyes on the road, willing myself not to make some backhanded comment about how he’s been useless a hell of a lot longer than that.
I always keep those thoughts back, along with any sharp words or harsh comments. I’m not some fucking asshole; I’m known as the responsible, reasonable guy around these parts—because I put up with Mason’s shit, but also because I put up with a lot of other people’s shit, too.
That’s what happens when you own the premier hunting lodge in a five-hundred-mile radius in the back woods of Alaska. People come out here, lots of folks who have no clue what they’re doing, who need help with everything when we take them on their hunting and fishing trips.
I used to help my mom and dad run the joint, but after the accident this past winter Mason and I are doing it on our own.
Well, I’m doing it on my own.
Mason moved back out here a few months ago, and shit, he’s more work than help.
But that’s all about to change.
I drink still-hot coffee from my thermos as we roll down the Alaskan highway toward the lodge. It’s nearly five in the evening, and the sun is high in the sky, the same place it will hang until after midnight. That’s one thing my new wife is gonna need to get used to.
“You ready to meet her, Boone?” Mason asks, reclining his seat, eyes closed.
“Suppose so.”
“Fuck, bro, could you sound a little more enthusiastic? Hell, you’re gonna get laid tonight. You should be fucking stoked. I know I, for one, am pumped to have some new hottie around. You better be careful, or I’ll mark her as mine.”
I narrow my eyes, but keep them on the road. “That’s fucking bullshit, Mason. You won’t lay a hand, or even an eye, on her.” I shake my head, annoyed at him. “I’m getting this wife so someone can run the lodge, no other reason.”
“I know we’ve been over this, but you could’ve put out a want ad.”
“You know as well as I do that the reason this lodge has the same customers coming back every year is because it had a woman’s touch. People loved the way Mom made it a place for families.”
I don’t mention that that’s what I loved about it, too. The place felt like home, but with Mom and Dad gone it just feels like a building.
“There are no guarantees this bride is gonna have a woman’s touch, Boone, let alone be able to run this lodge. She could be butt ugly and bad in bed—not to mention cook like shit. In which case, you won’t have to worry about me running off with her.”
“I’m not worried about her being ugly—or her sleeping with you. When Monique and I agreed to the arrangement, it was under the condition that my mail order bride would meet my requirements. Being competent enough to run the lodge was at the top of the list, along with being friendly enough to make the bitchiest customers happy.”
Mason laughs, then turns up the music he’s blasting through his iPhone. “Hope you’re right, bro. I’d hate to show up at the lodge and find out your new wife isn’t what you’re hoping for. This whole thing is a bad idea if you ask me.”
“You’re such a fucking prick, you know that? And no one is asking you.”
“Ahhh, you’re already getting defensive of your girl.” Mason slaps his knee, thinking he is so funny. “Honestly though, dude, did you do anything to get ready for your wife showing up today?”
I shrug. There’s only one thing I plan on doing with my woman tonight, and it doesn’t take too much planning.
“Whatever, bro,” Mason says, shaking his head. “But dude, it’s been a while since you’ve had a woman. You sure you’re gonna know where to put it?”
“I know where I plan to put you—out on the goddamn street if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
That gets him quiet, and I step on the gas.
I told Monique I need a woman who’s responsible and reliable. A woman who isn’t flighty or flakey. I need a woman to run this lodge, who’ll need to be steady and even-keeled.
A woman who knows how to make a house a fucking home.
Also, a woman who is ready to fuck. Because I don’t want some random hook-up. Never been my style, never will be. I want a wife, and I want her to commit to being mine.
And Monique promised that the woman she’s sending is all those things.
Which is good, because tomorrow a pastor is flying into town, and I’m gonna make this woman my wife.
Now I just need to meet her.
The Modern-Mail Order Brides:
CLAIMED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
**ORDERED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN ** (Ordered features the honeymoon lodge!)
WIFED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
EXPLORED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
Mountain Manchester
Mountain Man in the Big City
Order Now: myBook.to/MountainManchester
He’s a maverick with a beard, tattoos and a true mountain man spirit.
Knox Tyler lives in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee where he likes his whiskey neat and his women wild.
When a business meeting brings him to the industrial city of Manchester, England, Knox finds himself face-to-face with Lydia Morris.
With her tailored suit and practical heels, she’s every bit the strait-laced accountant. Nothing like the women he’s known.
But damn if she isn’t delightful, and she sure makes him smile. With Lydia, he forgets that he’s a long way from the blue fog hovering over his mountain.
It’s never so simple as opposites attract. Knox needs proof that their love won’t end up on the rocks and Lydia must account for her attraction to this untamed man.
She’s sweeter than a mint julep but he’s stronger than moonshine. With an ocean between them, can love find a way?
Order Now: myBook.to/MountainManchester
Also by Frankie Love
THE ENTIRE FRANKIE LOVE COLLECTION:
NEW RELEASE: Filthy-Sweet
The Mountain Man’s Babies:
TIMBER
BUCKED
WILDER
HONORED
CHERISHED
BUILT
CHISELED: PRE-ORDER NOW!
MOU
NTAIN MEN OF LINESWORTH:
MOUNTAIN MAN CANDY
MOUNTAIN MAN CAKE
MOUNTAIN MAN BUN
Stand-Alone Romance:
B.I.L.F.
BEAUTY AND THE MOUNTAIN MAN
HIS Everything
HIS BILLION DOLLAR SECRET BABY
UNTAMED
RUGGED
HIS MAKE BELIEVE BRIDE
HIS KINKY VIRGIN
WILD AND TRUE
BIG BAD WOLF
MISTLETOE MOUNTAIN: A MOUNTAIN MAN’S CHRISTMAS
Our Virgin:
Protecting Our Virgin
Craving Our Virgin
Forever Our Virgin
F*ck Club:
A-List F*ck Club
Small Town F*ck Club
The Modern-Mail Order Brides:
CLAIMED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
ORDERED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
WIFED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
EXPLORED BY THE MOUNTAIN MAN
CROWN ME:
COURTED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE
CHARMED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE
CROWNED BY THE MOUNTAIN PRINCE
CROWN ME, PRINCE: The Complete Collection
Las Vegas Bad Boys:
ACE
KING
MCQUEEN
JACK
Los Angeles Bad Boys:
COLD HARD CASH
HOLLYWOOD HOLDEN
SAINT JUDE
THE COMPLETE COLLECTION
❤️❤️❤️
The Charlie Hart Collection
(Frankie’s reverse-harem pseudonym)
Our Virgin:
Protecting Our Virgin
Craving Our Virgin
Forever Our Virgin
Daughters of Olympus:
Their Siren
Their Mate
Their Phoenix
Their Shade (4/6)
Six Men of Alaska:
The Wife Lottery
The Wife Protectors
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❤️❤️❤️
About the Author
Frankie Love writes sexy stories about bad boys and mountain men. As a thirty-something mom to six who is ridiculously in love with her own bearded hottie, she believes in love-at-first-sight and happily-ever-afters. She also believes in the power of a quickie.
Find Frankie here:
www.frankielove.net
frankieloveromance@gmail.com