Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Desire for Days
Sexy in Spades Series
Maggie Dallen
Contents
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Chapter One
The red paper hearts strung up behind Caleb’s head made him want to vomit.
Fuck Valentine’s Day.
He shouldn’t have come to this party. The beer was flat, he was days away from losing his starring role on a daytime drama, and he was just as single today as he was every other day of the year.
Also, his face itched.
He scratched at his beard, cursing it under his breath. There were so many reasons why Caleb did not want to be at a Valentine’s Day party, even if it was an anti-Valentine’s Day party. The problem was, he and his best friends, Kat and Yvette, had started this tradition in college. Back then they’d all been single and bitter. Now, nearly ten years later, he was the only one still single, and definitely the only bitter one left now that his besties were in love.
Granted, his best friends had only found their significant others within the past few months, but that didn’t help the fact that he felt like he’d been left behind. Not since grade school had he felt this particularly keen sense of rejection. Back then it had been in gym class, but tonight, sitting in a booth at their favorite dive bar, he had a strange sense of déjà vu. Why did no one pick him?
He turned to Yvette who was sitting beside him and asked her. His artist friend was refreshingly blunt. If anyone could help clue him in to what he was doing wrong with his life, it was her. “Yve, why does no one pick me?”
She wrinkled her nose as she stared at him. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Too much,” he said, polishing off his beer. “Also, not enough.”
She nodded as if he’d said something wise. Then she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. “Dufus, you know that women pick you all the time, right?”
Only Yvette called him names while giving him pep talks. He muttered something noncommittal in response. He knew where she was going with this. It was the same lecture she’d been giving him since college. The one in which he was told that he had to let go of his dream girl fantasies.
She and Kat had been harping on this theme for years, but he never really listened. They didn’t understand. Neither of them were romantics. Well, they hadn’t been until they’d met their current boyfriends. Now they were sappier than he was, but they still gave him shit for his high standards.
“I’m not going to settle,” he said.
“Good for you.”
He peered at her through narrowed eyes. Nope. It didn’t seem like she was mocking him. “Seriously?”
She grinned. “Kat and I never said you should settle.”
Uh oh, here it comes.
“We’re just saying you should keep your options open. Your dream girl might not be what you imagine.”
See, now this made no sense to him. She and Kat said that sort of shit all the time, and it sounded like gibberish to his ears. If she was his dream girl, then she would be exactly how he dreamt her, wouldn’t she? Wasn’t that the very definition of the woman of his dreams?
He shook his head and turned his attention to the chips on the table. Clearly his best friends did not truly grasp the concept of the one, even if they had found true love. That didn’t make them experts, now did it?
He frowned at the chips. Maybe it did.
Turning back to Yvette, he told her the real reason behind his drunken misery. “Sheila dumped me.”
Her face fell, honest sympathy replacing her earlier mockery. “Oh, Cal, I’m so sorry.”
He nodded. “Right before V-day, too. That’s just shitty.”
“Agreed.” She squeezed his shoulders again. “But at least you’re at an anti-Valentine’s Day party with other people who also eschew the awfulness of this holiday.”
He gave her a reluctant smile. “Says my friend who’s head over heels for her new boyfriend.”
Her eyes lit up with happiness that she couldn’t disguise if she’d tried, giving him a twinge of a strange emotion that was somewhere between jealousy and happiness on her behalf.
“This is true,” she said slowly, “But just because I’m in love doesn’t mean I have to suddenly think Valentine’s Day is cool.” She arched her brows and gave him a knowing look. “It’s still a shit holiday created by Hallmark.”
He raised his glass to cheers hers. “Amen to that.”
She craned her neck looking around at the crowd.
“Trying to find Darren?” he asked. Darren was her new boyfriend who seemed to be permanently attached to her hip, which would be annoying if Caleb didn’t like him so much. Plus, Darren made her happy so Caleb would have been cool with it even if he didn’t like the finance dork.
She shook her head. “Nah, I’m checking out options for you. This place is crawling with women who would love to have a sexy night with Doctor Hottie.”
He laughed despite himself. Doctor Hottie was the nickname she and Kat had given his character, Dr. Brandon Reeves, on the show. It had struck them both as marvelously ridiculous when he’d been cast as a surgeon at the age of nineteen.
“Thanks,” he said. “But I doubt I’m going to find a new girlfriend at an anti-romance party.”
She rolled her eyes. “Maybe not, but maybe it’s time you take a break from looking for your perfect dream girl and have some fun for a while.” She gestured around the crowd. “Any woman here would be psyched to snag the attention of the stud who plays a doctor on TV. So go, pick one, and have some fun, for crying out loud.”
He sighed as he settled back in his seat. This was also not a new speech. Yvette had been trying to get him to loosen up when it came to dating ever since they’d first met.
“Come on, Caleb. It’s a new year, a new look—” She reached out and tugged on his beard, which brought his attention back to how itchy the stupid thing was. “It’s the dawn of a whole new Caleb.”
He stared off into the crowd. She had no idea how right she was. He had yet to tell his friends that his character was about to be killed off. After nine years of playing a lead role that had earned him a daytime Emmy and countless rabid fans, his character was being unceremoniously axed from the show.
They didn’t even let him go out with his dignity intact. His character goes stark raving mad—hence, the beard—and will be shot by police as he’s about to murder the show’s newest starlet.
After three marriages, more affairs than he could count, a career as a world-famous surgeon, and after rebounding from amnesia, a coma, and an evil twin, he would leave the show a failed psychotic murderer.
No, a failed murderer with a beard.
The brutal humiliation of his exit was like rubbing salt in his wounds. But it was the fact that he would be turning thirty soon wit
hout a job and without a girlfriend that had him feeling so sorry for himself tonight.
Yvette nudged him with her elbow. “Come on, snap out of it, dweeb.” She waved a hand at the crowd in general as if offering them all up for his approval. “There are a ton of single chicks here tonight. Pick one and have some fun for once.”
He bit back a sigh as he scratched his face. He so was not in the mood for fun. “Thanks, but I think I’m going to head out early. I don’t want to be the buzzkill.”
Yvette looked stricken—likely because this was the first time he’d ever left a party before midnight. Or dawn. Caleb, like Yvette, loved to party.
Just not tonight.
She gripped his arm. “But—but, look at all the women.”
He did look and what he saw made him infinitely more depressed. “I know pretty much every woman here.” He’d either dated them or ruled them out as a possibility. Some days he felt like he’d dated or ruled out every woman in New York.
Not that he was a player or anything; he was what Kat liked to call a serial monogamist. Each and every relationship began with the same high hopes, and each one ended with the same devastating realization that he had not found her. His one.
And yes, he knew how cheesy that sounded and how rare it was for a guy to be so invested in the idea of true love. Most men he knew weren’t great romantics—well, not until Kat and Yvette had brought Bryce and Darren into his life. In them he’d found true male compatriots. Fellow men who also believed in concepts like love at first sight and soulmates.
His jaded best friends deserved guys like that. But when the hell would it be his turn?
Turning to Yvette, he went to give her a hug goodbye but she was in the midst of pointing someone out to him and her finger poked his face. Her fingernail stabbed his cheekbone and he was pretty sure she’d drawn blood.
Now his face stung as well as itched.
Neat.
She winced. “Sorry.”
“It’s all good.”
She clung to his arm. “I was just trying to point out that girl over there talking to Kat. Look!”
He looked.
“She’s new,” she said, excitement in her voice. Apparently she too had realized that this crowd was an exact replica of every party they’d ever thrown.
Except for that chick, who was, in fact, new.
She was also hot.
Tall and thin, she had long black curly hair and sharp features that had a hint of the exotic about them. Her lipstick was a vivid red, the only splash of color in an otherwise black and white look.
Even her outfit was black and white. Black pants, black top, white shoes. Classic but not exactly sexy. She looked like she could be headed to a business casual lunch, especially compared to all the women around her sporting cute dresses in varying shades of red and pink.
Fuck Valentine’s Day. Her outfit seemed to say what he’d been thinking all night.
He grinned, but unfortunately Yvette seemed to take that as encouragement. “You like her? I’ll go introduce you.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“No, but Kat does. We’ll have her introduce you.” Yvette’s eyes were wide with excitement. “Ooh, we’ll have her introduce you as Doctor Hottie. She’ll totally dig the fact that you’re a big time actor.”
His stomach plummeted at her well-intentioned comment. He really needed to tell them that he’d lost his cushy gig. But that would mean facing the fact that he had no idea what he was going to do with his life after Monday when he filmed his last scene.
A death scene. With a beard. God, what had his life become?
“Come on.” Yvette tugged at his arm but he resisted her.
He was so not in the mood to flirt or try to summon up some witty banter. Especially not with a woman who was clearly not the one. How did he know?
He just knew. There was something harsh about her, he could tell that even from a distance. While her lips were hot—plump and a sexy shade of red—they were quirked up in a smirk at something Kat said.
It wasn’t a pleasant smirk. It was hard and cold, like she was jaded and pissed.
Probably both. They were at an anti-Valentine’s Day party, after all. He was pretty sure everyone here fell into the jaded category, himself included.
But his dream woman was not jaded, nor angry. She was sweet and kind and loving.
And as of now, she was firmly a figment of his imagination.
“I’ve got to go, Yve.”
She started to protest again. “She’s getting away!”
It was true, the mystery woman was walking away from Kat but Yvette’s exclamation was a touch too melodramatic even for him. “It’s okay, Yve, I think we can let her escape our evil clutches for tonight.” He reached for his coat. “I’m heading home anyways.”
He ignored her whining and her pleading. He wasn’t trying to be an ass—on the contrary. This was for in her best interests, and Kat’s. His two best friends finally had true love on this romantic holiday, which he secretly loved. Or rather, he would love it if he ever had a love to share it with.
He cut off Yve’s protests with a peck on the cheek. “Have fun with Darren. Tell Kat to enjoy her night with Bryce. I’ll catch up with you guys at brunch.”
Brunch was their thing. The three of them had been doing it every Sunday since freshman year of college and not even new relationships stood between them and their weekly mimosas. Or bloody marys. Or whatever alcoholic beverage they chose to partake in.
And there were always alcoholic beverages to be partaken in.
Yvette winced.
“What?”
“We can’t do brunch this weekend.”
He blinked as his brain attempted to register this news. “What? Why not?” He’d been planning on spilling his bad news at this particular brunch. He’d been oddly looking forward to it—the purging of his bad news, combined with the soothing bliss of day drinking and his best friends’ encouraging words. “No brunch?”
“Darren wants to take me away for the weekend and Bryce and Kat decided at the last minute to do a Montana weekend at the lodge and—”
He lifted a hand to stop her. “I get it.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Yeah?”
He sighed. “Of course I do.”
Of course he did. If he’d found a woman to love right before this romantic holiday, he’d have planned a weekend getaway too. He was glad that Darren and Bryce had stepped up to the plate.
Glad, but also sorry for himself. His personal pity party just hit a new level of sad.
He started edging toward the door. He had to get out of there before he did something thoroughly unmanly like cry or something. “I’ve got to go, but have fun this weekend and we’ll catch up when I get back, okay?”
She probably didn’t even hear the last part as he was already out the door, inhaling the crisp, cold air and letting it clear his mind and relieve some of the self-pity that was making him feel like a drowning man in that bar.
Cars whizzed past as drunken couples stumbled along the sidewalk.
God, he hated this holiday, and he would continue to despise it until he found his soulmate.
He raised his hand to try and hail a cab, even though he knew it would be futile on a Friday night in this busy neighborhood. With his free hand he pulled out his phone and called up an app to order a lift home. He groaned at the wait time that popped up.
Looking up at the starless night, he let out a weary sigh that summed up the full extent of his misery. Of course he’d be stuck waiting forever.
This was the most depressing holiday and it fell during one of the worst weeks of his life. In short, he was living in his own personal hell.
Chapter Two
Kennedy should never have let her roommate talk her into this party.
Yes, it was nice to see her friend Kat, but she’d have rather seen her former colleague over lunch or maybe out for a glass of wine. Parties sucked, and Valentine’s Day parti
es—be they for or against the holiday—they sucked hard.
She’d ordered a cab ages ago and now she cast a surreptitious look down at her phone. Thank God. They were only ten minutes out. Good enough. She could wait outside for ten minutes if it meant escaping this sea of awful.
She spotted her roommate in the crowd and veered toward her, noting without surprise that the pretty blonde was chatting animatedly with a cute guy. Maybe she shouldn’t interrupt. She started to head toward the door with a plan of texting her friend to say she’d left, but Emma had other ideas.
“Kennedy!” Emma’s voice carried, her high-pitched southern twang standing out from the crowd, just like her. “Where are you going, girl?”
Kennedy turned back with a wary smile that probably looked more like a grimace. She’d been caught.
Emma turned her back on the guy, not seeming to notice that his face fell with disappointment at the loss of her attention. Kennedy almost felt sorry for him. She’d been living with Emma for two years and she still hadn’t quite adjusted to the little whirlwind of joy. That’s what she was, too. A petite, high-energy bundle of happiness. Kind of like a good-tempered Chihuahua.
She meant that in a good way. Not one of those yippy little dogs, but one that was excitable but sweet. Too loveable to ever get annoyed with.
She was also a caricature of cuteness. Like right now for instance. Emma widened her blue eyes in obvious disbelief, looking for all the world like a Disney princess. “You’re not leaving, are you?”
Kennedy grimaced again, feeling about a hundred years older than her friend, even though in reality she was only three months older. Maybe she had an old soul—or maybe Emma had been blessed by a fairy godmother. Whatever the explanation, Kennedy often felt old, bitter, and inexplicably angry around her roommate.
Not angry at her, just angry in general. Her default mode these days seemed to be pissed. It hadn’t always been like that, but then again, she hadn’t always felt like the oldest person on the planet either.
Emma’s big eyes demanded an explanation.
Desire for Days (Sexy in Spades Book 3) Page 1
