by Scott, S. L.
When Tealey tells the story, she says she was on her way to psychology. When I tell it, I say she was on her way to me. Either version makes for a good story, but mine makes for a happy ending.
If I do say so myself.
And I do.
Bam, and here we are.
Tealey’s Book Recommendations
Tealey is an avid reader and the following are not only her recommendations but also the books she was reading. Hope you enjoy them as much as she does.
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In addition to Tealey and Rad’s story in Head Over Feels, which is part of the New York Love Stories series, I think you’ll enjoy reading the following books. They are all stand-alones that will grab your heart and carry it on the journey along some familiar names. All are FREE to read in Kindle Unlimited and can be found here: CLICK HERE
Marlow & Jackson’s story: Click Here
New York Love Stories series includes:
Never Got Over You
The One I Want
Crazy in Love
Head Over Feels
Never Got Over You - You must meet Natalie and Nick. The universe shifts and their stars realign. Third time’s a charm . . . or is it? READ NOW.
The One I Want - Juni and Andrew are a breath of fresh air that will have your heart swooning and have you smiling. READ NOW.
Crazy in Love - You’ve never met a more determined and devoted hero as Harrison. The girl of his dreams slipped away, their lives taking them in different directions. When destiny brings them back together, they find the chemistry still remains. READ NOW
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Tealey’s Reads in Head Over Feels:
The Resistance - Torn between what Holliday Hughes knew about Jack Dalton and a mysterious side he tried to hide, could she walk away or was he simply too hard to resist? READ NOW
Spark - Meet these up-and-coming rock star brothers and the fierce women they fall for. Spark is all the heart and passion, depth of characters, and originality of We Were Once. READ NOW
We Were Once - Read the Bestselling Book that’s been called “The Most Romantic Book Ever” by readers and have them raving. Turn the page for a sneak peek. READ NOW
Never Got Over You
Copyright © 2021 by S.L. SCOTT
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-1-940071-98-5
Never Got Over You Chapter 1
Natalie St. James
I’m the first to admit I have no business taking another shot.
Especially after the past two.
But what’s a girl to do when a room full of strangers is chanting my name and a particularly wild best friend places the shot hat on my head along with a small glass of liquor in my hand?
I drink.
In a little hole-in-the-wall hidden from the main street in Avalon on Catalina Island, I down the liquid like a champ, then promptly proceed to fall from grace, also known as the barstool.
My eyes close, bracing for impact, except . . . someone catches me just before landing. With my breath caught in my throat, I hang in the balance of arms made of steel and open my eyes.
Laughter fades away with any drunken shame that threatened as I stare into the soulful eyes of a stranger.
“Hi,” whispers the future hero of my dirty dreams . . . oh, wait.
Maybe I’m unconscious? Maybe I was knocked out cold, and I’m dreaming. I blink. Why are my eyes open? Letting my lids fall, I keep them closed long enough to pray, “Please let him be real. If he’s not, I’m begging you to leave me in this dream a little longer.” My lids drift back open to find him still staring at me.
“Are you okay?”
“Perfect,” I reply. I think. I’m not sure if I actually voice the response or not. I feel pretty damn perfect in his arms, though, the response still fitting in any circumstance that involves me, him, and those arms wrapped around my body.
Naked would be nice, but I’ll save that for our second date.
His brow furrows, but a smile curls the corners of his lips.
The fog of alcohol clouds my mind, creating a heavy blanket on my brain. Regardless, I try to calculate the odds of a ridiculously sexy stranger—the exact man I’d craft if Create-a-Hottie was an actual thing—being in the right place at the right time to catch me if I fell.
It’s impossible, so the only logical answer to this conundrum is that either he is the best college graduation gift ever or I’m dreaming. “How are you so hot?” I ask, worried he’ll disappear in a puff of smoke and mirrors. Clamping my eyes closed again, I whisper, “Dear Lord, please don’t let him be a mirage.”
“I’m real.” Yes!
Does that mean my friend set up this encounter for me? She’s always been a great gift giver. It is our job, after all. I squint one eye open, biting my bottom lip. “Mm, so real,” I purr. Too perfect to be real, though. I must be dreaming.
His grin creates dimples that could compete with the Grand Canyon. How did I know I liked dimples enough to add them into this delirium? I don’t know, but score one for me.
“I think you’re going to be okay,” my dream man says, his voice as delectable as his face.
Wait, what? No. “As for me being okay, not so fast, buddy. No need to rush toward the waking hours. Anyway . . .” I drape my hand across my forehead. “Dream or real, I’m going to need mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”
His dimples dig deeper. “Is that so?”
“So right,” I pant.
“Do you think I should call a paramedic?”
“That’s a little kinky for me, but if you’re into it . . .” I press my lips into a pretty little pout to seriously consider this twist. “Nah. Changed my mind. I only want you. Just the two of us resuscitating each other.”
“You want me?” he asks, surprise tingeing his tone as he cocks an eyebrow. He readjusts me in his strong, manly arms. “Circling back to the real part, you do realize you’re not dreaming, right?”
I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, wanting to melt in his arms again. Totally obsessed with how I fit so perfectly, I pull him closer and hold tight. “You do realize you’re stupidly attractive, right?”
He chuckles, his grin lifting higher on one side.
That smirk would totally get me into bed, given what it’s doing to me while dreaming. I close my eyes again. “I’m ready.”
“For what?” His deep, dulcet tones vibrate through my body.
“Resuscitation. I’m ready. Resuscitate away.”
When nothing happens, I peek one eye open. He’s still staring at me with the smirk I’m ready to kiss off his sexy face, and whispers, “I don’t think you need me—”
“Trust me.” Opening both eyes, I also run my fingers through his shiny, chestnut-hued hair, taking in the feel of the soft strands. “I really, really need you.”
When he leans down, I prepare my lips with a quick lick before meeting his . . . or at least, that’s the direction I hope this dream is going.
“I was thinking—”
“Yes?” My gaze floats from his mouth to his eyes again.
“We’ve been at this a while. Maybe we should get you off the floor?” His head tilts to the side, and the industrial lights above him shine bright in my eyes, almost like a place of business, a restaurant, or a bar would hang. My senses begin to return, starting with the stench of old beer scenting the air.
“Yuck.” Next comes a wave of cedar-y cologne and salty air. That’s a scent I approve of, but that’s when something else hits me. Wha
t if I’m not dreaming?
“Up you go,” he says, shadowing me again as he tries to lift me to my feet.
I don’t budge. “Dream or not, I quite enjoy being horizontal with you.”
“Are you always this, should we say, flirtatious?” he asks, laughter punctuating his question.
“Not when I’m awake, no.”
As if he couldn’t be more gorgeous, little lines whisker from the outer corners of his eyes, enticing me to drag my fingertip along each one. I don’t, but I want to. “Are your eyes hazel or brown? It’s hard to tell in this light.”
“Brown.”
“Brown does them a disservice. A kaleidoscope of colors is trapped inside them. I’m going to need a closer look in the sunshine.”
“The sun will be setting soon.”
“Then we should hurry.”
A restrained chuckle wriggles his lips. “You can stare into my eyes, but I have to warn you, once you do, you’ll fall madly in love with me. And I’m leaving tomorrow, so if we’re falling in love, you better get to the loving part since you’ve already fallen.”
“Good point.”
“Get up, Natalie,” my best friend says, rudely barging into my fantasy and peering at me from beside his shoulder. “The floor is filthy! Now you’re going to have to wash your hair.”
My eyes shift her way. “Please go away and let me have this one little dream, Tatum.”
Snapping her fingers twice in front of my face has me jerking my head back. “You’re wide awake and making a fool of yourself.”
Noise from the crowded bar filters into my consciousness. Instead of looking around to confirm, I stare into Dreamy’s eyes a moment longer and then exhale as embarrassment becomes reality, returning me to the present. “You’re real, aren’t you?”
A slow nod accompanies a smug expression.
The heat of my cheeks has me pressing my hands to them in hopes of cooling my skin down. “Do you mind helping me up?”
“I need to know something first.”
“What?” I ask, knowing I should leave before I’m sober enough to realize how absurd I’ve been behaving.
Still holding me in his arms as if I’m light as a feather, he leans closer with his eyes on my mouth. When his gaze rises to meet mine, he asks, “Did you fall in love?”
My heart rate spikes, and the sound of it beating whooshes in my ears. Maybe I did hit my head because I swear at that moment, the one with my dream man so close I can kiss him or even lick him if I want, I can answer honestly.
Despite all the physical signs of me feeling otherwise, I reply, “You know. I think it’s time for me to go.” Before the last few minutes really sink in.
My feet are set on solid flooring while his hands remain on the underside of my forearms to steady me. Like the perfect gentleman. “I wish—”
“Nat,” Tatum says under her breath. She moves in and grabs my hand.
“What?”
Her hair catches the light when she flips it over her shoulder, an exhausted sigh following right after. Every blonde needs a brunette bestie, and Tatum Devreux was destined to be mine since our mothers exchanged silver spoons from Tiffany’s as baby shower gifts. I’m not exactly the calm to her wild ways, but she can out party me any day.
“A party on a yacht down in the harbor. We have to go now, though.”
Panic rises in my chest. I know I should want to hightail it out of here to save myself from further mortification, but I don’t want to go. I’m perfectly content right here.
I’m not shy about it. I look straight at him, but I’m smacked with a dose of candor I wasn’t ready for, my ego crushed under his expression that mirrors pity. Now I regret not making a quick getaway when I had the chance.
My stomach plummets to the floor I was just hovering above. “Yeah, it’s time to go,” I tell Tatum, my hand pressing to my belly in an attempt to keep myself together. My hand is grabbed, and I’m tugged after her as she calls, “Ciao, darlings.”
I turn back to catch Mr . . . Dreamy, Smug, Sexy, Pity-er of Drunk Girls watching me. I’m left with two options to make an escape without further incident. I could blame the craziness on a head injury, or I could just leave. “So . . . thanks,” I say awkwardly as I back toward the door. Yes. Choosing the latter.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice carries over the lively crowd.
I dust the dirt off my ass. “I’m fine. Guess I’m not a tequila girl.”
“You drank rum,” he replies with a lopsided smile that could sweep me off my feet again if I’m not careful.
“Rum. Tequila. Same difference.” I wave off the idea because it doesn’t really matter. “I’m not good with liquor.” That should settle it, but I make the mistake of daring to look into his eyes again. The five feet between us virtually disappears, and mentally, I’m back in his arms again, reading the prose that makes up his features. It would take me days to interpret, capturing not only his thoughts but a history that’s worn in the light lines. He makes it hard to look away.
Stepping forward, he raises his hand and then lowers it to his side again as conflict invades his expression. “You sure you’re okay? You might have a concussion.”
I can’t say I’m not touched by his concern. Grinning, I ask, “Does a concussion involve my heart?”
“What’s happening with your heart?”
“It’s beating like crazy.”
Smiles are exchanged. “I think you’re experiencing something else, but if you’d like me to call an ambulance—”
“Nope,” Tatum cuts in, yanking me toward the door again, and laughs. “He’s cute, but we don’t want to miss the yacht.” She whips the straw hat off me and tosses it to him.
I twist to look back. “Thanks for the lift. Literally.”
“Anytime,” he says with his eyes set on mine. When he shoves his hands in his pockets, he looks like he’s posing for a Ralph Lauren ad. Tan. Rugged good looks. Tall. Those dreamy eyes and a grin that call me back to him. But life isn’t a dream. It’s time to return to reality.
Goodbye, dream man. It was nice hanging with . . . onto you.
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Click here to continue reading: Never Got Over You
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Thank You
Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I have the ability to do what I love because of you. Thank you for reading my books, for the love, and the kindness always.
I wanted to give a shoutout to my awesome team. This book took me three years to write but came together in the last few months. They were there walking this journey with me and giving me, Tealey, and Rad all their attention.
Thank you, Adriana Locke. You came in when I was struggling and picked me, dusted off my confidence, and set me on me feet again . . . technically, made me sit and finish this book. You read every word and page and gave so much of yourself that I’ll always be eternally grateful.
Thank you to Andrea Johnston for listening to my crazy ideas for years regarding this book and not treating me like was nuts. Ha! Also, thank you for reading 38 billion versions of this book over the years.
Jenny Sims, thank you for working tirelessly into the night on impossible deadlines and then doing it again to make sure we catch as much as humanly possible. You are a gem! And I’ll try my best to stop using last for past, like “last few months . . . “ Some habits are hard to break but I’m working on it.
Dear Kristen Johnson, you are always there for me whether it’s in the group or ready with your eagle eyes. Thank you. You are so amazing.
Thank you, Marion (Making Manuscripts), for
trying your best to work with my insane deadlines and for the chats as I muddle through a million ideas and we try to reign them in.
Thank you!
