Lunchtime Chronicles: Honey Dripper

by L. Loren

  I got down on one knee, as was tradition. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see me. It was the right thing to do.

  “Ruby Meyers, you are my world. I feel like the luckiest man in the world when I am with you. Baby? Ruby? Open the door and tell me you’ll marry me.”

  The sound of the door cracking open was the best thing I had ever heard in my life.

  Epilogue

  Grant

  Ruby sat in the audience as I answered questions from loyal readers. I had been asked to join a panel of bestselling authors to headline the Big Ben Convention in London. After the big fiasco in New York, Sabrina was able to spin the whole thing in my favor. Little did I know, the microphone was still on as I described how much I loved Ruby. Apparently, the fans were so enamored with our love story, they didn’t care that I was a man pretending to be a woman writer. All they cared about was reading my stories.

  The events had sparked a new series in the Samantha Moans catalog. The readers fell in love with the characters, and the books sold out everywhere. They had done a second and third printing of each of the three books in the series. Of course, that was all the ammunition Sabrina needed to get a better contract for me.

  I was finally able to write my romantic sexy books without fear of ridicule from my MC. It turned out, Ace, our president, was a huge fan of interracial romance books. I had no idea. I guess he had a secret too. Once they found out that I was a bestselling author, the only thing I got from the members was respect.

  Ruby and I flew to Vegas and tied the knot the following year. She had hemmed and hawed about the venue, the colors, and all that other shit. Since she couldn’t make up her mind, I took charge. On May 2nd, we flew out to Sin City, headed over to see Elvis, and made love for the rest of the weekend. I couldn’t tell you what the casino at the Wynn looked like. We never left our room until it was time to head to the airport. There was just something about that woman’s honey that made me feel like the luckiest man on the planet.

  Thank you for reading Honey Dripper. I hope you enjoyed Grant and Ruby’s story. I would greatly appreciate you leaving a review at the retailer where you purchased the book. And please be dure to read all of the Lunchtime Chronicles Books.

  You may have noticed the mention of a drink in the book called the Moanin’ Honey Dripper. It is a delicious concoction created with this story on mind. If you are a partaker of spirits, here’s the recipe for you to make your own:

  Up Next in the Lunchtime Chronicles is Keta Kendric’s Carolina Reaper! Here’s a sneak peek:

  Summary

  ZYANA: One phone call flipped my life so far out of order, I ended up in the hands of a dangerous motorcycle club gunman that went by the name, ‘Snake Eyes.’ The man dripped sex appeal, breathed danger, and lived outside the law, and I’d be damned if I didn’t want his fire to defrost my hidden desires.

  Israel: When my longtime friend asked me to protect the sister I never knew he had, I volunteered with no questions asked. I assumed the job would be easy, but you know what they say about assuming. Danger was a patch I wore on my cut with pride, but nothing within my lethal arsenal could help me extinguish the fire Zyana ignited in my soul.

  ~Excerpt~

  Chapter 1

  Zyana

  The voice of the man sitting across the table from me was nothing but a lingering echo of sound that buzzed like an irritating fly at my ear. He bragged about his extraordinary job in the medical field, his doctor mother, and judge father. The boastful words he spoke of his personal life were lost on me and just as endless as the chatter of the other diners in the restaurant we sat in.

  This was the fifth man I had plucked from the N2U dating app that boasted an eighty percent success rate of adequately assessing your compatibility. The app was rated one of the best on the market, so I was starting to accept that maybe I was the problem.

  My decision to jump back into the shark-infested waters of the dating pool had me attempting to figure out why I had been so fascinated with the rituals of dating in the first place. Where there was once excitement and anticipation, I could now sit through a date for hours as unenthused as if I were home watching mindless television.

  Dating was an unrehearsed performance. Show the other person your best behavior before you gradually let them see who you truly were. When your ex-boyfriend had attempted to pimp you out to a high-profile drug kingpin in an effort to gain a new supplier, you were more inclined to want to know your date’s intentions upfront.

  “So, Brandon, you say that you’re a physician’s assistant?” I asked, pleased that I had remembered his name. My question launched him into a monologue about his accomplishments, goals, and dreams. I’d shared mine with him in one sentence. “I’m an ambitious hairstylist who has plans to own my own salon within the next three years.”

  I sighed. Where the hell were the men who weren’t afraid to show you who they really were and left it up to you to decide if you wanted to deal with them?

  Candles flickered, and soft music whispered as my gaze roamed the dining area that set the stage for romance, a foreign concept because it no longer held the fiery appeal I once craved. Bored, I speared a piece of my crab-stuffed lobster tail with my fork and popped it into my mouth. I nodded, not at the sound of spoken words, but at the sight of Brandon’s raised eyebrows before sipping the too-sweet white wine.

  My phone vibrated, breaking into the feigned interest I’d cast in Brandon’s direction. A quick finger swipe showed that I had missed a call from my brother, Major. The phone came alive in my hand before I could return it to my purse, my brother calling me back.

  “Excuse me, Brandon,” I said, cutting into his rant about...something. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take this call from my brother.”

  “Sure,” he replied, but his strained gaze said differently since I was apparently breaking into the conversation he’d been having with himself. I eased from our booth, my butt sliding across the leather before I headed towards the restrooms in the back of the restaurant.

  I dialed while walking, then pressed the phone to my ear when it started to ring.

  “Zyana,” Major called into the phone after the second ring. The tension in his tone spelled trouble, causing my heart to double-time in my chest.

  “What’s wrong?” I stood near a table displaying a large floral arrangement right outside the door to the ladies’ room.

  “Your identity was leaked in a case I’m working. My cover’s been blown, and the leader of the group I infiltrated knows that you’re my sister. They just tried to come for me, so I can’t protect you without leading them to you.”

  A breathless, “What?” was all I managed to spit out. I knew my brother, and if someone had come for him, and he’d caught them, they were more than likely dead or waiting to be tortured.

  “Are you okay? Safe?” I asked, my leg jumping at a rapid pace as my eyes rocked in my head, scanning every direction.

  “I’m good,” he answered before an unnerving silence followed and urged me to check and make sure the call hadn’t dropped. The background static on his end sounded before his voice returned. “I’m going to ask you a few questions. Answer with a yes or no.”

  “Okay,” I replied, my voice already cracking as fear sliced through my belly.

  “Are you home?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Good. I’m going to track where your phone is pinging and send a friend to protect you until I clean up this mess. Don’t return to your house. Wait where you are, and he will meet you there. His name is Israel Sylas, and he is one of the few people I trust.”

  “Okay,” I answered, failing miserably at grasping a hold of the calm I attempted to summon.

  “I’ve got your location,” Major said with a triumphant spark in his tone. “Sis, when I hang up, I need you to power off your phone and remove the battery and SIM card. Flush the SIM down the nearest toilet and toss the phone and battery in the trash. I’ll get you a new one with all of your ol
d settings.”

  Another long pause followed while I stood, breathing through my heart because it was in my mouth.

  “I love you, sis.” The caring conviction in his tone overrode my fear and melted my heart enough for it to fall back into my chest.

  “I love you too,” I replied before the deafening sound of the dial tone screamed in my ear. The phone became a weight in my trembling hand as my empty stare remained on the black screen, stunned by the blow my brother had just delivered.

  My brother’s job as an undercover cop was always my greatest source of stress. He had decided to go into law enforcement after our father was murdered ten years ago. When nothing was being done to solve our father’s homicide, Major decided he would do it himself.

  He had made detective in record time. His need to solve our father’s murder was his motivator, and criminal justice became his life. He’d dived into law enforcement after having graduated at the top of his class with a degree in engineering and landing a great six-figure job. However, once his heart was set on finding our father’s killer, nothing stood in his way. Not a degree, or job, or a woman.

  I flipped my phone in my hand and popped the back off. My nail slid under and picked at the small piece of plastic until I was able to slide the SIM card free of the metal housing that held it in place.

  I turned my shoulder into the bathroom door and shoved it open before stepping into one of the stalls and flushing the SIM. The metal trash bin filled with discarded paper towels swallowed my phone and battery after I shoved them deep inside.

  A glance in the mirror showed my eyes were already bloodshot, not with tears, but from the biting fear that turned my body into one big pounding heartbeat. Major was good at keeping the dangers of his job away from me as there had only previously been one other scare like this that he had taken care of within a few days. However, I got the impression that this time was different.

  The criminals he hunted were willing to use anything against him if his cover was blown, and I was the easiest target. Aside from my aunts, uncles, and cousins, who we visited on occasion throughout the year, it was just Major and me. He was thirty-two, older than me by six years, and he slung his authority around enough for me to see him as my brother and a father figure.

  Shit! Why hadn’t I thought to call my friends and leave a message on the answering service at work before I tossed my phone? If I missed my scheduled hair appointments, the salon would call, and if my friends didn’t hear from me, they would go to my apartment looking for me.

  Now, I had to go back out there and finish pretending to like Brandon with all this shit on my mind. Was Major going to be okay? Were the people he had gotten involved with already at my house?

  “Are you okay?” Brandon asked after I returned to the table and plopped down in my seat. The warmth on my cheeks told me they were flushed, but my pecan brown skin tone in the dim light of the restaurant would help to conceal my distress.

  “I’m fine,” I lied, inhaling deeply.

  Satisfied with my reply, Brandon continued where he had left off before I had stepped away from the table. His incessant rambling was exactly what I needed to pass the time, and the flash of fake interest I showed apparently pleased him.

  My attention was being drawn to the large darkly-tinted windows that gave me a dim view of the restaurant’s parking lot. Nothing appeared out of place, as people milled about, entering and exiting the place and climbing into and out of cars.

  My gaze locked on a big white guy, dressed head to toe in black, rolling through the parking lot on a black motorcycle. My first thought at the sight of him was: outlaw. Thankfully, he exited the parking lot, and although the man had nothing to do with my situation, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “You seem distracted. Would you like more wine?” Brandon asked, already topping off my glass. If he thought he was liquoring me up to take me home, he was better off getting the waitresses’ number.

  My eyes bucked, staring at that parking lot with a string of horrific scenes playing out in my mind. I’d already slipped my purse around my body in case I had to run. My gaze fell on Brandon, hoping he had good enough sense to follow if he saw me running.

  Needing something to take the edge off, I picked up the glass of wine and sipped. Where the hell was this friend my brother was sending? ***End of Excerpt***

  Carolina Reaper releases October 28, 2020

  Bottoms Up by L. Loren

  Summary

  HARLEY

  I was mortified when my best friend tricked me into spending my birthday weekend on a luxury yacht full of sugar daddies. I may like older men, but I don’t make it my business to sleep with them for trinkets.

  When the lecherous old man refused to take no for an answer, my hero, clad in a pristine white captain’s uniform saved the day.

  Now all I want is for the silver fox named Mateus to take me to his cabin and make me his.

  Mateus

  It was love at first sight. Well, maybe it was lust, but who cares. All I could think about was capturing the heart of the beautiful woman on my preference sheet. She was a charter guest, which meant off limits.

  When that bastard put his hands on her in front of me, it changed the game. All bets were out the window and I went into protective mode. I played a game of Mr. Steal Your Girl and won. Now she’s mine and I’m never letting go. I have an insatiable thirst that only she can quench.

  BOTTOMS UP is an interracial erotic romance (BWWM) with a HEA. It is a part of the Lunchtime Chronicles series which can be read as standalone novels.

  WARNING: This book contains explicit sex and graphic language.

  Chapter 1

  Harley

  MY NAME IS HARLEY MADISON. I am a six-foot-tall, dark skinned black woman with an MBA from the University of Miami. I’m a trust fund baby who owns her own business, and I am about to go to jail for murdering my best friend. You know why? Because, of my addiction. Don’t worry. No druggie here. Well, not in the traditional sense of the word. I am addicted to caffeine! Coffee! The good stuff. If I don’t get my fix before I see my bestie, there is going to be big trouble.

  Paradyce, the chick I consider closer than blood, has been texting me nonstop for the last half hour. She was the only one who contacted me this early in the morning. I groggily swiped at the screen of my phone to stop the offending sound and sat up in bed. Ugh, I needed more sleep. After reading the texts I wanted to throw the phone across the room. That was the lack of coffee in my system talking. Generally, I was a happy go lucky type of girl, but not before my infusion.

  Dyce: The Big 3-0 is coming!

  Dyce: Did you forget?

  Did she really think I had forgotten her thirtieth birthday was coming up? I shook my head in disbelief. Our birthdays were a day apart and we have celebrated them together since we were thirteen. I was trying to think of a response when the phone chimed again.

  Dyce: Hello!

  Dyce: Where RU?

  Dyce: Answer me

  Dyce: RU Sleep?

  Dyce: Hit me up

  If she kept this up, I was going to have a huge headache to go along with my grogginess.

  Dyce: On God. If u don’t call me, we’re done.

  Dyce: Did you hook up last night?

  Damn, now that she mentioned it, I could use a good piece of dick to take the edge off. My mood swings have been out of order lately. Like mama used to say, a nice piece of dick could cure all that ails you. Problem was, the only one I ever experienced was attached to a man who was incapable of staying faithful. Hence the reason I finally kicked his cheating ass to the curb a few weeks ago. I drifted into my own thoughts about my ex, Stanley.

  As Paradyce continued to bombard me with text messages about her plans for our birthdays, I began to get more and more intrigued. I should have some say in what I did and where I went for my own birthday, but she took so much pleasure in planning I usually just went along with it.

  Dyce: Chica, I have secured a sponsor for o
ur birthday celebration. We are headed to the Caribbean. Sun, fun, a yacht and lots of hot deck hands.

  Me: Sponsor? Kill me now!

  Dyce: Have you had your coffee? You need it.

  Me: I barely had any sleep. You know we had inventory at the store last night. I just laid down about two hours ago. GO AWAY!

  When the phone chimed a couple of seconds later, I pulled the duvet over my head and kicked my feet like a two-year-old having a tantrum. Keeping my head under the cover, I read the text with one eye open.

  Dyce: NOT MY PROBLEM! Get your tired ass up! We have shopping to do. Be there in 15.

  This chick here. I groaned because I knew she would not let me sleep. Dragging myself out of bed, I found my way into the bathroom to get ready for an exhaustive day of shopping on Lincoln Road. I hated shopping in those ostentatious designer stores with overpriced clothes that most people couldn’t afford, but somehow managed to wear. It was my worst nightmare come true, but it was a part of my bestie duties. If I didn’t love the girl so much, I would bail.

  Dyce was one of those people who live for the fashions, darling. It was an expensive habit that I had no interest in partaking. Living in a tropical climate meant I could wear as little as possible at all times and I loved it. I would be a beach bum if my father would have allowed it. Board shorts, bra tops, and anything that would show off my canvas of tattoos was my comfort zone. I didn’t need red bottoms pinching my feet when I had the sickest collection of sneakers in Dade County. Nor did I need designer dresses cutting off my circulation, when I could just throw on shorts and a tank and be happy. Relaxation and comfort were my main concerns when buying clothes, not labels and who wore it best competitions on social media.

  The fact that Dyce and I were besties shocked a lot of people. We looked nothing alike. I was tall to her short. She was curvy to my athletic figure. I was a delicious shade of ebony, while her Cuban heritage made for a lightly tanned skin tone. One of the main differences was, she flunked out of college freshman year and I opened my own internet business during my sophomore year, which I later sold for millions, obtained my degree in Marketing and went on to earn my MBA all before the age of 25. My success caused people to think I was some sort of Alexis Ohanian. Nope, far from it. I was nowhere near as driven as the man who captured Serena’s heart. My business projects were always a way for me to have fun. When I was done with that part of my life, I had no problem selling the business and moving on. I believe I was a gypsy in a former life.