Hard to Handle (A Bangers Book)

by Sarah Bale

  “I had to turn in my edits. This is the last round before the book comes out and I needed to get the love scene just right.”

  And for some reason that stupid love scene was giving me more hell than any other scene in the book.

  Lori, who sat next to Jeremiah, broke into my thoughts and said, “I can relate with the deadline. I messed up big time.”

  “Uh oh. Did you procrastinate again?”

  A journalist, Lori wrote for our local newspaper as well as any freelance gigs she could pick up. Unfortunately she had a bad habit of waiting until the last minute to work on her projects, which often landed her in trouble with her editors.

  “Yeah. It’s the bull-riding piece. It’s just been hard to write it because of all the memories it brings up about Daddy.”

  Knowing both Lori and Amy’s past with their father I could see how writing about the rodeo might be hard but she needed to put her feelings aside and do her job. The newspaper would only give her so many chances before they got tired of her last minute style and find someone else.

  Amy asked, “Does Mom know you’re writing the article? You should tell her if she doesn’t.”

  Older by fifteen months, Amy often felt the need to lord those months over Lori and boss her younger sister around.

  Lori shook her head. “No, you know how she would react. She still changes the TV if a rodeo commercial comes on.”

  And since we lived in Oklahoma the rodeo came to town a lot…

  “What are you going to do about the article?” I asked.

  “My editor wants me to interview one of the bull riders. He’s ranked number two or something like that, but everyone thinks he’s going to win the grand prize. I did see a picture of him, though. He’s hot. V-card worthy hot.”

  I held back a laugh. She’d been on a kick lately, rating guys on a scale of “hell no” to “V-card worthy”, which meant she might give them a shot at her still present virginity. Lori talked a big game, but I wondered if she would follow through if given the chance.

  Jeremiah asked, “And how does the waiter over there rate?”

  We all turned to look at the same time and Jeremiah groaned.

  “Girls, have I taught you nothing?” He said with a shake of his head.

  “He’s all right. Definitely do-able, but not my first choice,” Lori said.

  Amy disagreed, as they often did when it came to men, and said, “You’re nuts. He’s hot!”

  “Gay.” I chimed in. “He’s too perfect to be straight. Plus, I think he’s cute, which automatically means he’s gay, married, or a douche bag.”

  I had the worst luck ever when it came to the opposite sex.

  “Stacie’s right, he’s gay, or at least according to my dating app. I just wanted to get your official V-rating,” Jeremiah said with a grin. Then he said, “Back to your article. When is it due? I hope you’re not sitting with us when you should be writing.”

  “My editor wants to see a first draft by tomorrow.”

  Everyone groaned and Jeremiah slid out of the booth.

  “Girl, get out of here.”

  Lori rolled her eyes as she grabbed her jacket and stood. “I’ll see you guys later.”

  We watched as she walked away with her shoulders slumped. Oh yeah - she had her work cut out for her on this one.

  After Lori left, Amy sighed. “I don’t know why she waits until the last minute! She’s always done that.”

  Lori and I worked together briefly one summer so I knew this was a true statement. Even back then she’d wait until the last moment to do anything assigned to her, to the point that I would help cover for her. Her procrastination felt maddening a times.

  Jeremiah picked up a slice of pizza and said, “Well, I have some news, too. Treadmill asked me out on a date.”

  Jeremiah never called his dates by their real names. He said using the nicknames made him feel safe. I felt like withholding their names became his own way of protecting his heart. Sometimes this method backfired on him because he became too guarded and didn’t give people very many chances.

  But I couldn’t exactly say anything since I had my own issues when it came to the opposite sex.

  “That’s exciting. Where are y’all going?” I asked.

  “A fitness expo.”

  I stared at him in awkward silence and finally said, “Uh, that’s cool.”

  Another thing about Jeremiah – his interests always mirrored those of the people he dated. When he dated Lumberjack he liked to go camping. Twelve Gauge brought on an interest in gun shows. And don’t even get me started on the time he dated the gynecologist. The traumatic aftermath was still too much to remember.

  He must have sensed my thoughts because he said defensively, “It’s not like that this time. This time it’s different.”

  As it always was…

  Amy smiled. “I’m sure it is.” Then she said to me, “I saw another billboard with your book ad on it. I almost stopped to take a picture so I could text it you.”

  Always the peacemaker in the group, Amy knew how to smooth issues so things could get back to normal. And none of us liked change so her mollifying skills were perfect.

  “I can’t believe how quickly they got the ads out there.” I said with a grin.

  I still got excited as hell to see my books being advertised in such a big way.

  “Well, what’s new with you?” I asked Amy.

  This question was more of a formality since we talked on the phone or through texting several times a week when we weren’t hanging out, but asking became apart of our ritual. And so we answered.

  “I’m just trying to make sure everything is ready for the opening in November. I still haven’t got the Chef with the catering company to confirm, so I may need your help with that.”

  “Are you still nervous?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. I feel like this could make or break me. I’m so lucky that people are even interested in what I’m doing and I know it’s partly because of the two of you.”

  Right before the holiday season Amy’s art gallery would be reopening to the public featuring a well-known artist’s sculptures as well as her own pieces. Truly talented, each of her paintings told a different story.

  Jeremiah reached across the table and held her hand. “Doll, this is all you. All we did was tell people about it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Her tone suggested she didn’t believe him, but she would after the opening. People would be lining up to buy her art. Heck, I even had my eyes on one of her pieces. I wouldn’t tell her, though, because she’d try to give the painting to me and I wanted to make sure she was paid for it.

  Turning to me, she asked, “Are we still going to Dallas in two weeks?”

  I nodded and she squealed. One of our favorite things to do as a group was to travel to Dallas for the weekend. We loved going to the “Big D” mostly because we discovered a source of entertainment that most definitely couldn’t be found in our own city. And I loved every last sinful moment spent there.

  “Is that smart, considering the deadline?” Jeremiah questioned, which momentarily brought me down to earth.

  I stuck out my tongue and said, “Talk to me after your date with Treadmill.”

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Ouch, you got me.”

  Depending on how his outing went, he just might join us on the trip. If that were the case then he’d be singing an entirely different tune. I kind of hoped he came with us. We all tended to laugh more when he was around.

  Wednesdays were my loneliest days. I know it sounded crazy to have a day that seemed lonely, but I did. The world rushed by in a blur, except for me. Luckily my favorite writing spot wasn’t busy and I found my own personal haven.

  Carrying my coffee to my table near the window, I sat down. Sunlight bathed the area in morning warmth. Hazelnut drifted into the air and I inhaled deeply. This was bliss.

  Since my deadline loomed over my head, the employees at the cafe had seen
me around a lot and had my drink ready to go when I entered the building. In about two hours they’d bring me another beverage made to my liking. It was a perk of my job.

  Opening my laptop I resisted the urge to click on my Internet browser. Advanced copies of my book were now in the hands of reviewers. This meant there was potentially comments about my book out there somewhere. And a writer knew to never read the comments.

  A lesson learned the hard way I eventually had to stop reading reviews. I’d never please everyone. Though most of the reviews and comments were good, the bad ones could set my world into a tailspin. Not only did they hurt my feelings, but they also made me question myself. And I didn’t have time for that.

  Plus, the people on my marketing team watched out for me. They would let me know if a reviewer’s comments were something I truly needed to worry about. So far there hadn’t been anything to be concerned over.

  So, instead of opening the Internet, I turned on my playlist and began working on my new book. Different than anything I had done before this book felt so right. I became lost in my words, letting them tell the story I dreamt about.

  When someone touched me on the shoulder, I jumped and yelped at the same time. Luckily no one else witnessed me embarrassing myself.

  “Sorry, I didn’t realize you were in the zone,” Lori apologized as she sat across from me. “Cindy asked me to bring your coffee over.”

  Cindy, the barista, obviously knew that I had been in the zone and sent Lori over for safety reasons. I’d knocked more drinks out of Cindy’s hand than I cared to admit. Grinning, I took my coffee from Lori.

  “What are you doing here? Please don’t tell me you got fired.”

  “What? No. I just interviewed the bull rider for my article. We ended up meeting in person instead of doing it over the phone. I came here to finish my notes. The office is just too loud today.”

  She had a look on her face that I couldn’t describe. There was more to this than she was saying.

  “And how was the interview?”

  “It was… he was…” She paused and then said, “He is amazing. And he was cute - cuter than the picture even showed.”

  I smiled. “Sounds good. Go on.”

  “He wasn’t like most bull riders. He was so down to earth and real. Not like my Daddy at all.”

  Wow. She really liked him. I couldn’t remember the last time she showed this much interest in a guy, especially a cowboy. That was saying a lot.

  “Did you get his number?”

  Her cheeks flushed as she replied, “Of course I did. I have to contact him when the article comes out so he can let his team know. He actually gave it to me before I asked, though. Weird, right?”

  I held back a smile. If he had a team of people working for him then she could’ve easily left her information with them. I didn’t point that little fact out, though. She was getting out there and meeting new people, even if it was work related. Sometimes I thought we were all too comfortable with the way things were.

  “And then he asked if I’d call or text him to let him know how the article was coming along. Or just to say hi…”

  “That sounds promising.”

  She took a sip of her drink and grew silent. Finally, she said, “Yeah, it does. I’m not going to get my hopes up, though. We all know my track record with guys.”

  I hated that she thought that way about herself, but I also knew how she felt. When rejections were all you were used to it was hard to get excited about anything related to the opposite sex.

  “Well, just see how it goes with him.”

  She smiled. “Thanks. Amy thinks I’m crazy for even thinking about talking to him. She’d die if she knew what I was really thinking, though. Stace… he’s really hot and I can’t stop imagining what it’d be like to kiss him.”

  I knew that Lori looked to Amy for advice and support, and vice versa. The only problem with this was they each had such strong opinions on things that they often clashed. And their approach toward men fell under the clashing list. Amy was a firm believer that romance would happen on its own, where as Lori didn’t mind putting herself out there.

  I said, “Look, don’t get all worked up over nothing. Just take it easy and see where it goes.”

  She nodded. “You’re right. He’s just so… different that it’s hard not to get excited.”

  I knew the feeling, but didn’t say anything. I had a tendency to fall for guys who would never like me back in return. My “curse” was almost comical, except for the pain it put me through. I sighed softly. All I could do is hope my luck would change one day, though I wasn’t holding my breath.

  About the Author

  Sarah Bale's family always knew she was destined to write romances when they saw the elaborate stories she created for her Barbie dolls as a child. Throughout middle school the writer inside Sarah began to bloom. At fifteen she penned her first book, which will never see the light of day if she has any say.

  When Sarah isn't writing she enjoys spending time with her family and friends. She resides in Oklahoma and doesn't plan on leaving any time soon.

  www.SarahBale.com