Knocking Boots
Willow Winters
Copyright © 2020 by Willow Winters
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.
Cover Designer: Lori Jackson Design
Contents
Also by Willow Winters
Prologue
1. Grace
2. Charlie
3. Grace
4. Charlie
5. Grace
6. Charlie
7. Grace
8. Charlie
9. Grace
10. Charlie
11. Grace
12. Charlie
13. Grace
14. Charlie
15. Grace
16. Charlie
17. Grace
18. Charlie
19. Grace
20. Charlie
21. Grace
22. Charlie
23. Grace
24. Charlie
25. Grace
26. Charlie
27. Grace
28. Charlie
29. Grace
30. Charlie
31. Grace
Epilogue
Sneak Peek at Promise Me
Prologue
Chapter 1
Sneak Peek at Tell Me To Stay
Preface
Prologue
Also by Willow Winters
About Willow Winters
Also by Willow Winters
Merciless World
A Kiss to Tell
Possessive
Seductive
Merciless
Heartless
Breathless
Endless
All He’ll Ever Be
A Kiss To Keep
A Single Glance
A Single Kiss
A Single Touch
Hard to Love
Desperate to Touch
Tempted to Kiss
Easy to Fall
Do You Want Me?
This Love Hurts
Merciless World Spin Off
It’s Our Secret
Standalone Novels:
Broken
Forget Me Not
Sins and Secrets Duets:
Imperfect (Imperfect Duet book 1)
Unforgiven (Imperfect Duet book 2)
Damaged (Damaged Duet book 1)
Scarred (Damaged Duet book 2)
Willow Winters
Standalone Novels:
All I Want is a Kiss
Tell Me To Stay
Second Chance
Knocking Boots
Promise Me
Burned Promises
Forsaken, cowritten with B. B. Hamel
Collections
Don’t Let Go
Deepen The Kiss
Kisses and Wishes
Valetti Crime Family Series:
Dirty Dom
His Hostage
Rough Touch
Cuffed Kiss
Bad Boy
Highest Bidder Series,
cowritten with Lauren Landish:
Bought
Sold
Owned
Given
Bad Boy Standalones,
cowritten with Lauren Landish:
Inked
Tempted
Mr. CEO
Happy reading and best wishes,
W Winters xx
Prologue
Charlie
“Charlie...”
Grace’s soft voice beckons me from across the hotel room as I shut the door. I pull at the knot in my necktie, loosening it before tossing it on the floor. Through the dim light the night provides I can barely see as she scissors her legs under the stark white hotel comforter.
It’s unreal to me still that she wants me so much and what’s more, they all think she’s mine. Every one of those guests at my sister’s wedding thinks Grace belongs to me. Then again, the whole damn town is convinced she’s the next one to get hitched.
They’re right about one thing. She’ll be screaming my name tonight. But the rest is all a lie.
“Don’t make me wait anymore...” she pleads.
Grace’s slender neck arches as she grips the comforter in her hands and groans out her words with a little pout on her lush lips.
I’ve got her so worked up, my little sweetheart, but that wasn’t hard to do. I knew she wanted me. She doesn’t want to keep me though; she just wants me for the night. Tonight, she’s all mine. I’m not the kind of guy who’s good enough for her. Even though my throat gets tight at the thought, and my steps pause on the way to her, I blame myself. She was too tempting to resist and all of this is my fault.
Grace isn’t the kind of girl who winds up with a man like me. She’s got her life planned out. She wants the whole nine yards, and in less than a year.
She wants a picture-perfect family and a white picket fence, but that’s not a life I’m ready for nor one I can provide. Not right now. Maybe not ever.
I can see Grace wearing a white dress. A wedding dress. I bet she’d wear one of those big ass gowns with a train that fills the aisle. It’s not hard to imagine how the dress would move around her long, shapely legs.
The thought of her walking down the aisle to someone else, a man other than myself, pisses me off. The anger rises, heating my blood just thinking about it and that tightness in my throat comes back with a vengeance. But there’s no way in hell I’ll be the man she’s walking toward. We both know that. I have Grace for tonight, and that’s all that matters. It’s what I wanted in our deal.
It was a drunken deal we made when our flirtatious natures got out of hand. She promised to come to the wedding and pretend to be my girlfriend, to keep my family off my back.
I slip off my shirt, and start undoing my belt just as she turns onto her side and looks at me through her long lashes, her eyes shining with lust.
“I want you, Charlie.” She whispers the words I’ve been dreaming of since she first stepped into my life.
Fuck. I can’t take my name sounding like lust on her lips. As if the taste of my name is all she needs to get off.
Or maybe I’m just imagining it. Maybe all this is in my head, because I want to think that hooking up somehow means more to her now.
It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious.
It was just a date. Just a release. All of this was only for fun.
And I know after tonight, she’ll be long gone.
The bed groans as I climb on top of it and I bend down to kiss the soft skin on the tender side of her neck, I can’t help thinking she feels so right. So perfect in my arms.
I pull back the comforter, revealing the lacy negligee she's wearing, and watch a beautiful pink blush travel up her chest and into her cheeks.
“What’s this?” I ask her with a cocked brow. My already hard dick twitches with the need to get that lingerie off of her and onto the floor. I want what’s underneath.
She bites down on her bottom lip and attempts to throw back one of those smart ass responses she’s always got for me, but my lips are on hers before she gets a single word out. Nipping and sucking and reveling in what’s to come.
Her fingers spear into my hair and she deepens the kiss, wrapping her legs around my hips. My hands roam up the curve of her waist and back down as she moans into my mouth.
This is dangerous. I’m fucking addicted. I swear, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
As I stare down at her beautiful face, her lips parted and her gorgeous baby blues half-lidded, I know this isn’t just a good time anym
ore. Not for me.
I’m not the type of man she wants. We both know that. I don’t have what it takes to keep her.
But damn… I want to.
Grace
Rewinding to the beginning of this story….
“It’s not the worst news, but I know it’s not what you wanted to hear. Honestly though, Grace, there are a number of options,” Dr. Abrahams tells me but all I can hear is the last option she gave me. The best option according to her: freezing my eggs. She smiles at me, brushing a strand of gray hair behind her ear. My own simper falters and I hate that I can’t hide the disappointment better.
Looking past her at the wall I note that it’s plastered with what must be hundreds of pictures of newborns who Dr. Abrahams has helped other women conceive. Their little smiles and bows and cute little fingers and toes stare back at me. The photos are framed with pink and blue paper and give the room a hopeful atmosphere. I should be more thankful; the doctor just told me my eggs are still viable, after all. But she’s given me news that a woman at my age shouldn’t be getting. ‘Premenopausal’ isn’t a word I ever thought I’d hear. Let alone this soon.
My parents always said, career first. “Figure out your life and make sure you’re stable before settling down. You have plenty of time for marriage and babies.” I suppose my father didn’t think I’d be premenopausal either.
Barely keeping the smile on my face, I nod at whatever Dr. Abrahams said although I have no idea what came out of her mouth.
All isn’t lost yet, but if I don’t act soon my chances of having a child will be gone. Even now, without IVF, the odds are slim. My hormones have just given up apparently.
I’m only thirty. So… I’ve got to meet someone, and get him to propose. That’s a year and a half, optimistically. Hopefully it’s someone who wants to have kids, with extensive and expensive medical help more than likely. My mind drifts back to my health insurance and I wonder what’s covered and what’s not.
They say that people who wait at least three years before tying the knot stay married longer, so that’s three years longer I’d have to wait. Then there's conception and gestation… and the birth, of course. My fingers run circles around each other, twiddling as I think of how this is possible. It has to be possible though, because I’ve always wanted a child. The thought of a bundled up newborn with a little button nose and sweet yawn takes over for a moment and my throat goes dry as my eyes prick. I can’t not have a child. I nearly say the words out loud but somehow I keep them down. Swallowing them and reminding myself that freezing my eggs will work. The doctor said so.
The little plan in my head means it will be more than five years and thousands of dollars before any baby could be a reality, assuming everything goes perfectly. If the IVF works on the first try. My gaze drifts to the wall of babies, which seems to be mocking me.
“Grace,” Dr. Abrahams says gently, reaching across her desk to touch my hand. The sudden touch is jolting, bringing me back to the present. My very single, very baby-less present. “Did you hear me? I have some pamphlets here for the fertility preservation clinics I recommend.”
She presents a number of brightly colored brochures, waiting for me to take them and smiles.
“Okay?” My answer comes out as a question, rather than any kind of statement. This isn’t at all what I expected from my checkup. To say I’m shocked is an understatement. “Thank you,” I quickly add and hope that she didn’t take my initial response as rude. Clearing my throat, I smile broadly. “I appreciate it,” I tell her and somehow my voice is even and echoes a happiness that’s absent from how I truly feel.
“We have your follow-up visit scheduled,” the doctor says absently, clicking the keys on her computer and staring at the screen, “so you’re all set.” She finally looks at me with a smile.
I can’t return it as I nod my head. A follow up in a few days to see how bad it is. How bad. Not if it’s okay. But how bad. She didn’t use that exact term but it’s what she meant. Once the blood work is done she can tell me just how bad it is.
Just wonderful. I can hardly wait, my inner voice is deadpan and again I keep my mouth shut.
“If you have any further questions, don’t hesitate to call.”
I manage a smile, nodding and when she stands, I do too, gripping my purse with both clammy hands.
A nurse in hot pink scrubs whisks me out to the reception area. “Have a nice day, Miss Campbell,” she tells me, winking before she turns to call her next patient amongst the women seated there. “Mrs. Gray? Shellie Gray?”
“Here!” A woman who looks to be in her early forties with kind wrinkles around her deep brown eyes pushes herself to her feet.
I drift out of the woman’s way, and then the nurse closes the door behind them both. I take a deep breath, giving myself a mental shake, and head out to the parking lot. The pictures of all those babies playing in front of my eyes.
My mind is awhirl with thoughts, most of them depressing. More and more depressing with every step I take. I climb in my white sedan and pull the seatbelt on. With the click of the ignition, the car rumbles to life and I instantly turn the radio off, leaving just the hum of the car to accompany me before pulling out of the parking lot. The downtown Atlanta traffic is just as heavy as my thoughts.
As I sit in traffic on I-85, I stare at the Atlanta skyline. The sun is already setting against the brick buildings. The burned orange and yellow against the blue is peaceful. I sigh. The city was so fun when I was in college, and a great place to be when I was a recent graduate looking for my first serious job. No more retail and interning. No more clubs with my girlfriends and late nights that end up in horrific hangovers.
Now I have a steady, long-term career as a graphic designer in Buckhead and more and more often, I find myself driving to the suburbs. My cramped apartment in Candler Park would be left behind for the easy, laidback lifestyle I’ve found in Vinings, just outside the city’s perimeter if I could afford the move, and the time to actually move. The thought of moving is just one more stressor to deal with. I’m pretty certain the doctor just gave me plenty to stress over.
With my fingers tapping along the leather steering wheel, traffic finally moves at a reasonable pace.
Come to think of it, I haven’t even been at my apartment for more than a night’s sleep or a shower in ages. I haven’t been anywhere in the city, really. The nightlife doesn’t call to me anymore. It’s all work, work, work. I basically live at work, and that’s it.
Well that and my go to bar. Everyone deserves a drink after a long day.
At the moment, all I want is to get lost in a cosmo or martini to finish this day off. And I know just where I want to have that drink — at the hole-in-the-wall bar my coworker Ann showed me a couple of months ago. Mac's bar has a jukebox, plenty of places to sit, and unlike the other bars in Vinings, it serves liquor as well as beer.
Just thinking about it has me parched. Well, that and the bartender, Charlie.
Charlie.
The traffic finally frees up completely, and I’m quick to engage the turn signal and get off at the next exit to drive toward the bar. Maybe Charlie will be there. He usually is and when I get a drink or two in, he’s my confidant. That thought puts a smile on my face. It’s nice to have someone to talk to and as much as Ann is a good friend for gossip, that’s essentially all she does. Gossip.
I jump out of the car in the parking lot of Mac's Tavern, and look at my reflection in the side of the car. Brilliant blue eyes lined with kohl, long waves of copper-colored hair, and a cute upturned nose greet me. If I was nitpicky, I’d say that my eyes are a little too big, that my lips are too wide.
But I’m trying to get away from that kind of thinking. I tug my pale yellow skirt down and undo a button on my collar. There’s no one to impress inside Mac's, so it’s time to get comfy.
After fluffing my hair once, I lock my car and head inside. The place is an old brick building, plain and short. Stepping inside is like a breath of
fresh air, when you crave a break from it all. There’s an ancient wooden bar along one side of the room, plenty of stools, chairs and tables to fill up the space with the exception of a small dance area that remains clear. It’s dimly lit, but that’s just fine by me because it aids in the pub atmosphere.
The sound of balls knocking together on the pool table in the back and the chatter of people follow me to the bar. I prefer it to a table. You never know who you’re going to meet at the bar or what stories you’ll hear. That’s mostly what Charlie and I talk about. The regulars, their drama and anything else new in this part of town.
It’s nice to unwind like that.
As I make my way to the bar, I realize that I'm smiling. There’s something about this place that does that to me. There are about a dozen people sprinkled throughout the bar, mostly enjoying after-work drinks.
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