Love in the City (The Complete Collection Boxed Set)

by Liv Morris

  “Hey,” I say, wincing from the discomfort. Following the arm attached to mine, I see it belongs to none other than Coop. “What the hell do you want?”

  “For one, that this night was over. And second, for you to sober up. How many drinks have you had?”

  “Sober up?” I ask. “I’m fine. Just dandy.”

  “Good God.” He holds my hand while pulling me with him. He’s likely twice my weight and a good eight inches taller than me, so all I can do is follow him. “I think you’re going to be Vanna White tonight. Just stand up at the mic, look beautiful and smile.”

  “I’m fine. Seriouz…” The word won’t come out of my mouth right.

  “See what I mean. You can’t even talk.”

  I decide to keep my mouth shut, afraid that anything I say will make his point valid. He practically drags me across the floor to the front of the ballroom. There’s a little stage for us to stand on. Coop helps me up a step to the platform then guides me on to the raised floor. He steps up to the microphone, which is attached to a podium and raises the mic a few inches. He side eyes me. It’s a quick glance but he conveys a lot with it. Mostly, Keep your damn mouth shut.

  He taps the mic to gather the crowd’s attention and so the evening begins. Tap… tap… tap.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentleman. I’m Andrew Cooper, Peachtree’s new assistant football coach.” There’s a roar of applause, shouts and hollering. I guess he truly is a big deal after all. Whatever. “Thanks for the warm welcome. I’m looking forward to giving back to the Atlanta community here at Peachtree. Joining me tonight is Ms. Montgomery. Our new art teacher.”

  I do a perfect Vanna White impression and wave at the crowd smiling like I’m Miss America. All the pageant practice came in handy after all. Wouldn’t my mother be proud?

  “The proceeds of tonight’s Casino Night will be split between the football booster club and the art department. So please support Peachtree by throwing some dice or turning a few cards…”

  Just as Coop is speaking mid-sentence, there’s a loud commotion in the back of the room. I stand up on my tiptoes to see what’s going on back there. Coop steadies my balance by placing his hand on the shoulder opposite of him. I am swaying a bit.

  I see a woman escorting a police officer toward us, zigzagging through the tables with people standing motionless at them likely wondering what the hell is going on. The woman walking our way is clearly upset, but the officer shows no emotion. His face is totally impassive. Not an expression shows. I can’t for the life of me figure out what the hell is going on but I have a feeling this angry woman is about to clear things up for me.

  “Officer, these two are the leaders here tonight.” I gasp as she points to Coop and me. What the heck? “This whole evening is a game of chance. Unauthorized gambling in the eyes of the law.”

  Now the two intruders to the event are standing in front us. “I think we can clear this whole thing up quickly,” the officer says in a commanding way, full of authority. His voice is the only sound in the room and strangely echoes off the walls. “We just need to see your permit to operate a charitable evening of gambling. I’m sure the fundraising chairperson has it.”

  Holy shit! I don’t know the first or last thing about a gambling permit. And the chairperson is out of town taking care of her sick parent. All this adds up to us being royally screwed.

  “Sir,” Coop begins. “I think I can clear this up quickly. You may know me as Andrew Cooper, former tight end for the Falcons.”

  “Son, I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re the Pope. I need to see that paper.”

  Now’s when things get a little crazy. I decide to pipe in here and it’s not very helpful at all. Shocking, I’m sure.

  “See, Coop. Finally someone who’s not impressed with you and your superstar status.”

  I push him with both hands, but he hardly moves. In frustration, I start beating on his chest. Not one of my finest moments. He grabs my hands, more in defense from my slight beatings, but still I protest with gusto, struggling and fighting with him.

  “How dare you hold me like that? Let go of me.” I try to free myself to no avail.

  “I’m not letting go of you until you calm the hell down.” I’m pretty sure the entire room hears him say that through the microphone. The gasp I hear somewhere in the room proves the point.

  “How can I calm down when you’re such an asshole?” I hear even more gasps after that one.

  “Okay, you two.” The officer comes up onto the platform with us, moves his face in front of mine and takes a deep breath. “Just as I thought. Drinking. Both of you.”

  “What?” Coop asks incredulously. “I’ve not had a single drink tonight.”

  “Well, I’ve heard that one before. How about this then? I’m taking her to jail for being drunk and you for being disorderly. She did ask you to remove your hands and you didn’t comply.”

  I look to my wrist and see Coop’s fingers still wrapped around them. Then in a split second, he releases them. Like they’re hot coals, burning his skin.

  “Officer, I apologize for their behavior tonight.” Mr. Reynolds appears in front of the podium, hopefully coming to our rescue. “It appears that we do have a permit, though it’s in the hands of our event’s chairperson. She was called out of town on a family emergency.”

  Mr. Reynolds comes up on the platform, stops at the officer’s side, and whispers something into his ear. I watch as the officer nods his head up and down agreeing with whatever Mr. Reynolds told him. Hope springs up that this is all getting cleared up and the Casino Night can resume.

  Mr. Reynolds finishes his secret conversation and moves to the side leaving the officer alone in front of us.

  “Right now, I’m more worried about the display I just saw between these two than the gambling permit.” I watch the officer pull a lone pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. “I think it’s best to take them in, Mr. Reynolds. Let them cool down for a bit. Don’t you?”

  Mr. Reynolds looks between Coop and me. There’s the oddest half-smile on his face. It surprises me, as I would’ve thought he’d be furious with our outburst and my drunken behavior.

  “Yes, I agree. Some time cooling off is a good idea,” Mr. Reynolds agrees with the cop. Wait a second. I’m going to jail for this? A silly quarrel. What universe am I living in anyway?

  “Give me your hand, Miss.” I extend my arm, and feel the cold metal as it encompasses my wrist, hearing the simple click securing the cuff. Damn, I used to think handcuffs were sexy. Not anymore.

  “And now yours.” He points to Coop’s arm and repeats the same process. One handcuff and both of us bound together. Would someone please wake me up now? Surely, I’m dreaming and this is an awful nightmare.

  The officer takes my arm gently and leads me off the platform. Coop has no choice but to follow. I walk through the room with my head down in shame until I hear Priscilla speaking somewhere to my left side.

  “Don’t worry, Millie. I’ll call my cousin. He’s an attorney.” I look up and see her, and realize I’m crying, tears streaming down my face. I nod at her and mouth the words, “Thanks.”

  But I’ll need more than an attorney. There’s a good chance that I’ll need another art teacher winning the lottery. This job, my dream one, is probably over before it really began. More angry tears follow. I’m frustrated, mad at Coop and myself.

  I want to kick him in the shins. Take out all my frustrations on something, anything. I’m afraid to even look his way. If he returns my gaze with anger in his eyes, it could get ugly fast. I don’t remember the last time I’ve been this upset. Steam might even be coming out of my ears.

  Keeping my eyes trained on the ground, I see that we’re in the lobby as the flooring changes to marble tiles. Shit, next up is the patrol car. Then the police station. After that the unemployment line. What a clusterfuck of a night.

  The warm evening air hits me as the officer leads us outside. My skin is overheated and I wish there
was a cool breeze blowing. Between all the alcohol and getting cuffed, I’m feeling feverish. Flush, too.

  Now that we’re outside, I peek up just enough to see the officer’s awaiting patrol car in the distance, lights off, thankfully. Any more drama and I’d be screaming. As we approach the car, Coop finally speaks. He’s been oddly silent the entire time.

  “Officer, there really isn’t a need to take us to the station. Surely, we can work this out here.”

  “Forget the speeches, hotshot. I’m not listening. You can tell your story to the precinct captain. He loves to be entertained.” For the first time the police officer shows some emotion and laughs. At us. In Coop’s face. We are so going down for the count now. I can almost hear the jail cell’s door slamming shut.

  Coop sighs in frustration. I look up at him and I swear he looks a little scared, uneasy. His record as the perfect celebrity is about to be tarnished. The press will have a field day when they get ahold of this. I’m a nothing. I’ll go back to Augusta where I belong and find a job cat sitting or something. No one will care.

  But he’s going to have to answer for this one. The reporters will likely grill him and sensationalize the whole ordeal. And as Coop looks into my eyes, registering some feeling that I’d never seen on his face, a little sympathy pushes past my anger, making me just a little bit sorry. Dare I say remorseful?

  “Hey.” Talking just above a whisper, I pull on the handcuff we’re both connected to and get his attention. “I’m sorry about all of this. I egged you on.”

  “Yes, you did. But I wanted to get back at you.” Now I see anger in his eyes. He wanted a pound of flesh from me. Well, he’s already had a few pounds of my flesh, but not like this.

  “Get me back?” I ask. “Well, you sure picked an asshole way to do that.”

  We’re standing at the car before Coop can answer me back. But I’m sure he’ll fill me in on how wrong I am. The officer unlocks the back door for us.

  I’ve seen this exact scenario a million times on TV shows. The bad guys under arrest have to climb in the backseat. The officer guides them, placing a hand on their heads so they don’t knock themselves out on the door’s frame. This is one art form I don’t care to imitate. But we have no choice and climb into the back. Sliding across the leather seat, I make room for Coop. I lean against the far door. Far, far away from him.

  “You have no idea, do you?” Coop asks me through gritted teeth, anger seething from him in waves. “Answer me.”

  “Wow, you’re quite the jerk.” My response is spoken more like a hiss. “No, I don’t have any idea why you’re so mad, and honestly I could care less.”

  “Here’s the whole damn truth.” He pauses, waiting until I make eye contact with him and we’re staring into each other eyes. All my attention is his right now. His anger makes him appear so intense, dangerous, and deliciously sexy. He’s as beautiful as hell and I find myself shifting in my seat. It’s the damn Coop effect. No woman is immune to it. “I’ve never, I mean never, had someone leave me after having sex like you did.”

  And boom it hits me. This has nothing to do with me, Millie, the person. It’s his big, fragile ego. I bruised it. Hit him where it really counts. The simple act of my leaving him without a word was a bull’s-eye aimed straight at his pride.

  “I was right. It’s all about you. I was just the first one who stepped on your ego. Welcome to the real world, Coop. It’s called rejection.”

  I really didn’t mean that, you know. There never was any rejection on my part. More like an escape before he rejected me. But I’ll never tell him that.

  “Here’s the deal, Millie. I really liked you. Maybe that’s why it’s bothering me. I thought you felt the way same way about me too.”

  Another bomb was just dropped on me. I wasn’t expecting that response from him at all. He liked me. Coop, Mr. Football, the man who ruined me for all others. Hell, what a dumbass I am. He’s looking at me. Heart on his sleeves vulnerable. God, he’s too adorable right now. So I do what every smart, single woman in my shoes would do. I scoot across the seat and basically attack him. But this time with my lips not my fists.

  Epilogue

  I’ve heard it said that there’s a thin line between love and hate. Sexual chemistry blurs that line. Erases it, in fact. Coop and I are a perfect example of these truths.

  We stayed in that police car for a long time, kissing, groping, panting and steaming up the windows. Trying to make out in the backseat of a car, handcuffed to a 6’3” dude was a challenge but one I succeed at, thank you very much.

  I bet you’re wondering about the cop. Did he take us to the station? Book us? Throw us in a jail cell? Nah, nothing like that happened at all.

  You see Mr. Reynolds overheard our entire little quarrel. He particularly loved it when I tossed my drink in Coop’s face. And being a wise, sweet man married for close to forty years, he saw what Coop and I didn’t. A basic, undeniable attraction. Oh, and two super stubborn knuckleheads.

  When Mr. Reynolds spoke to the officer privately, he concocted the whole scheme. He asked the officer to cuff us, get us alone in the backseat of his patrol car, and leave us there. They both watched from afar just in case it turned violent, but left when they saw us getting jiggy with it.

  Wondering how our story ends? We’ve been together now for two whole years and will be married next month with Mr. Reynolds officiating. Who knew he was an ordained Methodist minister? But most importantly, Coop and I are both hopelessly in love with one another.

  I feel like Disney’s Cinderella because our love story is my fairytale. And in this game called life, I feel like I’m the second art teacher at Peachtree to win the lottery. That’s how lucky I feel having found Coop.

  We had some obstacles to overcome and probably still do, but we’re a team and ready to tackle them. Yes, even his football jargon has rubbed off on me. I’m not sure if we’ll always live happily ever after but we’re sure going to try.

  The End

  Dear reader,

  Thank you for taking a chance on an independent author. I truly appreciate you choosing to buy and read my book.

  I’d love to hear from you too. Perhaps leave a review on Amazon, or stop by my Facebook page. http://www.facebook.com/LivMorrisAuthor

  You can also connect with me on twitter. It’s a favorite of mine.

  http://twitter.com/Living_Write

  All the best,

  Liv

  Turn the page to read the first chapter of ADAM’S APPLE, my Erotica best seller!

  Adam’s Apple

  (Touch of Tantra #1)

  by Liv Morris

  Prologue

  April 23rd, 2005. Laurel Hill Cemetery, Philadelphia, PA.

  The sky shines a crisp, azure blue, but my heart is a lifeless gray and quickly turning as black as the muddied dirt I’m holding in my hands. I squeeze my fingers so tightly into a fist that my hand begins to shake and bits of grit embed into my palms.

  The task set before me is customary and very common among men. But the woman I mourn today was anything but common. She was brilliant, wise, and beautiful.

  Now she’s gone… Forever.

  Sorrow will no longer consume her heart and soul. Instead it passes on to me.

  I toss the black dirt into the dark and musty grave and fall to my knees. The eerie hollow sound of the clumps of dirt hitting the wood below is more than I can bear.

  The tears I’ve been suppressing for days now fall freely down my face like a dam’s flood after a breach. An unrestrained sorrow pours out of me, and the whirl of emotions I’ve hidden within myself is no longer concealed. My grief is freed as I realize all I love is now six feet below me, but it might as well be a million miles away. The distance will never be broached this side of heaven as she is God’s angel now.

  Returning to the hearse, I see a man’s face in the distance. We make eye contact before he raises the tinted window of his black limo. His vehicle pulls away, disappearing into the morning’s mis
t. Anger rises above my grief because he has no right to be anywhere near this solemn ceremony.

  He’s the bastard who slowly and silently destroyed the woman I’m leaving behind today in this cold and wet cemetery. She was my mother … My selfless life-giver, and I owe her everything.

  Chapter 1

  My legs feel as heavy as lead pipes, but somehow they carry me through the marbled lobby to the sidewalk outside of my office high rise. I find myself standing on grimy concrete with the New York City rain pelting me, staining my yellow silk tie. I am numb to nature’s onslaught, as my thoughts remain at the conference table forty stories above—where the last meeting of the day still haunts me.

  My head of corporate security had informed me that my trusted partner and friend, Simon Edwards, betrayed me by stabbing me in the back. My stomach almost retches as I think about his deceit. I’ve known him since our freshman year at MIT fourteen years ago. Through random selection, we’d shared a dorm room together. We weren’t extremely close because we were polar opposites and different personality types. Especially when it came to dealing with people. Basically, I tolerated them and he didn’t. But we formed a common respect for one another during our college years and beyond. Maybe it was our desire to make our mark in the business world, as we both had something to prove to the fathers we hated. It was likely the only thing we had in common.

  After graduating college, four of us from MIT, including Simon, headed to New York City and formed Kings Capital, largely using the inheritance I received after my mother’s death. It served as the company’s seed money and positioned me as the company’s head. Although Simon seldom made his way to the boardroom, his presence there was felt by us all. We’d relied on his genius mind to design a way around any obstacle or shortcoming we found in our software ventures. We capitalized on so many deals thanks to Simon. We had a saying among the board, “If Simon says so, we buy.”