by Talia Hunter
Mason might be the manliest hunk of manhood Carlotta’s ever salivated over, but she’d have to be certifiable to give him a second chance.
Wouldn’t she?
Read on for a sneak peek of No Laughing Matter, the first full-length book in the Lennox Brothers series.
Sneak Peek of No Laughing Matter
Carlotta
I wasn’t having the worst week of my life.
But only because I ate an awful lot of crap sandwiches when I was a kid. Metaphorically speaking.
There were some foul-tasting, unpleasantly chewy chunks in the sandwich life had served me this week, no denying it. But given a little time—and maybe a few dozen martinis—I could fix it. At least, that’s what I was telling myself as I hauled my suitcase up the run-down wooden front steps of my mother’s house.
Home.
For the first time in ten years, I was home to stay.
And I was really trying not to hate it.
But the wooden boards under my sneakers felt dangerously soft, as though they’d been so worn down by life they were thinking of giving up completely. A jasmine vine had spread so far across the wall, it was smothering the windows on one side of the house. The sickly stench of its flowers mingled with the smell of dog poop that wafted from under the porch.
And worst of all, I had no idea who my mother would pretend to be.
Neverland and the Emerald City were more real to Mom than California. She was the reason I’d been teased at school because I’d had no idea dragons or witches were make-believe. I’d assumed everyone had conversations with trees, and left bowls of milk out for fairies.
Thanks to the school bullies, I’d realized Mom wasn’t just separated from reality, she’d filed for permanent divorce.
Lifting my hand to knock, I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin. No matter what fantasy world Mom was living in, at least now I knew what was real. Besides, maybe she’d become more grounded since the last time I saw her. Perhaps she’d answer the door in a pair of sweatpants and ask how I was. She might even want to hear about my life and offer some kind of sensible advice to help me fix my career implosion.
Okay, not that last bit. I wasn’t completely deluded.
The door swung open. My mother was wearing an enormous layered dress, complete with petticoats—one of her Shakespearean costumes. She was holding a tumbler half-full of a clear liquid that was probably Gin.
“Carlotta!” She threw her free hand in the air like she was on a stage. “You’ve reached safe haven. Come in quickly, before our enemies see you.”
Nope. Nothing had changed. As silly as it was to think it might, my stomach still tightened with disappointment.
What, you were expecting a hug? I silently asked my clenched stomach. Because doesn’t everyone talk to their body parts?
“Hi, Mom,” I said. “Thanks for taking me in. It won’t be for long. I’ll head back to LA as soon as I get my career sorted out.”
But my mother had already swept away into the living room with her full skirts swishing around her. And if I followed, I’d be returning to her world where fantasy twisted its way into reality until it became all but impossible to unravel them.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to get back in my car and drive right back to LA?
If only I hadn’t already sub-let my apartment.
With a resigned sigh, I hauled my suitcase into the small living room that now held even more books than I remembered. Enormous floor-to-ceiling bookcases were packed so full that books were overflowing onto the coffee table, dining table, and floor. The room even smelled like books, a musty, old paper smell.
“Let me guess.” I motioned to Mom’s dress. “You’re teaching Shakespeare to your class?” Somehow she still held down a job as an English teacher at San Dante High School. I could only imagine how bewildering her parent-teacher meetings must be.
“Two households, both alike in dignity, in fair Verona.” She set her glass on the coffee table with a dramatic flourish.
“Romeo and Juliet?”
She bobbed a curtsey. “I’m the nurse.” As she straightened, Mom tugged a piece of candy from her sleeve, unwrapped it, and stashed it in her cheek. She sucked on hard candies like a chain smoker puffed on cigarettes.
“Where’s Xul the Destroyer?” I asked, looking around. “Is he okay?” It was weird that Mom’s elderly Basset Hound hadn’t greeted me at the door.
“If you’re referring to my faithful canine companion, his name’s now Lennox.”
“Excuse me?” I frowned. “Did you say you’ve decided to call him Lennox? As in Edward Lennox?”
Edward Lennox was Mom’s neighbor and sworn mortal enemy. I would have sworn I was past being surprised by anything she did, but surely she wouldn’t rename her beloved old dog—quite possibly the only thing she’d ever truly loved—after the person she hated most?
“That’s right. Lennox is in the garden.” She led me to the back window, and I saw Xul digging in the rows of vegetables Mom liked to grow so she could pretend she was living in The Little House On The Prairie.
“But Edward Lennox still lives next door, doesn’t he?” My uncomprehending gaze went to Edward’s house, which was visible through the back window. “Why on earth would you rename Xul?”
“Allow me to demonstrate.” Mom pushed the back door open and stalked onto the back porch, standing at the top of the steps that led down to the garden. “Lennox, you shameless mongrel,” she bellowed at the top of her lungs. “Desist your foul explorations! Extract your filthy snout from the dirt!”
Xul ignored her, intent on living up to his real name. Over the years, Xul the Destroyer had been responsible for a lot of dug-up vegetables. He had a thing for carrots.
Next door, a face appeared in the window, peering out with a scowl. No doubt Ed Lennox had heard Mom’s shout. The woman who’d sublet my apartment in LA had probably heard it.
“Do you really have to do that?” I asked.
“Indeed I do.” She looked gleeful. “It vexes Edward Lennox sorely. I only wish I’d thought of it a few years ago, when his hearing was better.” She raised her voice again, bellowing even louder. “Lennox, you filthy cur! You despicable mongrel!”
The dog in question didn’t seem to notice that he was being yelled at. I couldn’t blame him. He’d been Xul for all of his twelve years, and probably assumed Mom was yelling at somebody else.
Still, I went past Mom and down the back steps to get him. Just because I’d lost my capacity to feel any embarrassment didn’t mean I wanted my mother to keep yelling at poor Xul.
I was at the bottom of the steps, near the fence, when the back door of the Lennox house opened. A man jogged down Edward’s back steps, moving more quickly than I would have imagined sixty-something-year-old Edward Lennox would be able to go. He stopped at the gate that separated the two properties and stared at me, as though surprised to see me.
It wasn’t Ed Lennox.
This man was huge, with wide shoulders and bulging biceps. He was my age, and I recognized him instantly, though he had a scar on his neck that hadn’t been there last time I’d seen him.
“Mason Lennox?” I was so shocked, I said his name like a question, as though I expected him to answer.
More shocking was the fact he did answer. “Hello, Carlotta. It’s been a long time.”
“Wow. You actually spoke to me.”
As well as the scar running down the side of his neck that disappeared under his T-shirt, there was another scar on his forearm. A long line of light, ridged skin cutting up lengthways. Could he be Jason Momoa’s sparring partner? A bare-knuckle boxer? Or a stunt double for the Incredible Hulk?
“What are you doing in San Dante?” he asked.
“What are you doing here?” I wasn’t about to explain my career disaster, and how I’d come home to give myself time to get back on track. Not when looking at him made me feel so unbalanced.
Mason was my first. Well, to be clear, though he claimed a
lot of firsts from me, the one thing he didn’t take was my virginity.
But at thirteen years old, he was my first crush.
At fifteen, my first kiss.
He was the first boy to touch my boobs.
And most importantly, the first to break my heart.
But there was nothing boyish about Mason now. He was a man mountain, made up of muscle, hard edges, and a dusting of stubble, wrapped in a thick layer of sex appeal that was only enhanced by his scars, and the whole powerful-and-dangerous look that was definitely working for him.
He wore a faded gray T-shirt that had to have steel reinforcing for the seams to still be holding together, and he wasn’t so much wearing his jeans as allowing them to hug him. Tightly.
Unfortunately, in spite of the way he’d treated me, he hadn’t developed any deformities. Instead, just looking at him made my legs weaken.
Don’t be ridiculous, I told them sternly. He’s not that good looking.
My legs didn’t bother to reply. They knew I was lying.
Mason Lennox had grown into the manliest hunk of manhood I’d ever seen. So the universe must have decided my crap sandwich wasn’t already chewy enough.
Click here to keep reading.
Also by Talia Hunter
THE LANTANA ISLAND SERIES
Boss With Benefits
The Devil She Knew
The Engagement Game
THE RICH LIST SERIES
Rocking The Billionaire
Mastering The Movie Star
Bossing The Billionaire
Pleasing The Playboy
Copyright © 2020 by Talia Hunter
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
