“What the hell?” They were all here: Darah, Mase, Renee, Paul, Dev, Sean, Megan, and Jake. And someone else I didn’t recognize, but who had to be Joe.
“It’s not my birthday,” I said. It wasn’t for another few weeks.
“Not yet,” Hunter said. “Taylor, this is Joe. Joe, this is Taylor.”
Joe was a towering presence, with dark chocolate skin and a suit that was probably made by an Italian designer, and a stern face to match. He looked every bit a lawyer.
“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Caldwell.”
“He’s going to call you that, just so you know. Joe’s very formal that way, which is ironic considering he forces me to call him Joe,” Hunter said. Joe cleared his throat as a response.
“Okay, so someone’s got to tell me what we’re doing here,” I said.
Everyone looked at each other, and it hit me like three million lightbulbs all going on at once.
“I swear to God, Hunter if you bought me a house, I am going to kill you. Slowly and unpleasantly. We’re doing a torture segment in history 226, and I know several ways this can happen.”
“Missy, I didn’t buy you a house for that exact reason.”
Joe cleared his throat again.
“It’s a rent to own. Hunter made a down payment and the first month’s rent. I have the lease papers here for you to sign, as well as signature cards for a new joint checking account,” Joe said, whipping out a stack of papers that he shoved in my face.
“Wait, what?”
“We’re renting it. To own. Also, guess who else is renting it with us?” Hunter said.
“I give up,” I said, on the verge of freaking out.
“We are!” Renee said, throwing some confetti on me. “All of us are moving in together!”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I said, looking around and waiting for someone to tell me they were just screwing with me.
“Nope. We worked it all out this week,” Hunter said.
I opened my mouth to yell at him. To tell him that it was crazy. It would never work. Who did stuff like that? A mother. Fucking. House.
“I’ll let you pay every other month’s rent,” Hunter said, as I tried to assemble my thoughts into coherent words. “All you have to do is sign.”
“How much money is in that joint account?”
“Only two hundred dollars. So far. I’d put it all in there, but I knew you wouldn’t let me.”
“Hunter…”
“It’s not a handout. It’s building our foundation.”
I looked around at all the faces. God, I loved them. So much it hurt to think about.
“Can I at least see it before I sign?”
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, and Hunter took us on a tour, with Joe pointing out the best features like a real estate agent. Joe was exactly how I’d pictured. Calm, cool, all business. I made it my goal to get him to smile.
I fell in love with the house as soon as I saw the adorable kitchen, with a little breakfast nook. There was a big living room where we could fit a gigantic couch and which already had the infamous recliner in it.
“We thought about moving all your stuff without telling you, but we figured you’d get pissed. Getting the recliner here was bad enough,” Mase said. Oh, they knew me so well.
On the second floor there were two large bedrooms, each with their own small bathroom, and then on the third floor there was a master room with bath attached.
“This is ours,” Hunter said, waving his arm around. The room was big and open and filled with light. There was only one thing in the room. It was a picture of Hunter and I that Mom had snapped the previous weekend, in a peacock-painted frame. It was in black and white. His head was bent over my shoulder, and he was placing my fingers on the guitar strings and I was laughing at something he’d said.
I picked it up and looked at our happy faces.
“So what do you think?” Hunter said, standing in the bathroom doorway and watching me, his hand tapping a steady rhythm on his leg. One, two, three, four, five. “By the way, Stephen King lives down the street. If that helps my cause any.”
My mouth dropped. “You’re shitting me.”
“Did you see the house with the cool iron fence? The huge reddish one?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s his.”
I could live down the street from Stephen King. Holy crappity fuck.
“I also changed my major.”
“You did?”
“Yep. We’re now liberal arts students together. I’m now a proud member of the College of Education. Music, to be exact.”
“You changed your major?”
“I decided that it was finally time to do what I wanted to do. Not what I thought I should do.” My mind was already overflowing with everything that was happening all at once. I couldn’t comprehend it all.
“I thought we could frame our blow paintings and put them here,” he said, gesturing to one of the walls. “And a big bed, right here.” He went around the rest of the room, and I imagined it. I imagined saying yes and moving in with Hunter next semester. I imagined it and I decided that I wanted it to be real.
“Okay.”
Hunter stopped talking about potential paint colors and stared at me.
“Okay?”
“Okay. But whatever money you put in that joint account, I’m putting in as much. Fifty-fifty. You’re not going to be making much as a music teacher.”
“You’re right. Fifty-fifty,” he agreed, coming and putting his arms around me.
“So, Mr. Zaccadelli.”
“Yes, Miss Caldwell?”
“I guess I win the bet.”
“I guess you do, Missy. I said I would leave the dorm. I never said anything about you coming with me. So, the way I see it. I won.”
“Loving you was the best mistake I ever made,” I said.
He shook his head.
“Getting assigned to be your roommate was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me. I don’t think I’ll ever get so lucky again.”
“Wanna bet?”
“No way.”
And now here's a little peek at The Wild Ones, by New York Times best selling author, M. Leighton!
I’m so, so grateful and humbled to be featured at the end of this awesome chick’s book! The following is an excerpt of my New Adult Contemporary Romance called The Wild Ones. For information on where to purchase this or any of my other books, please visit me at my blog http://mleightonbooks.blogspot.com or send me an e-mail at [email protected] I’d love to hear from you! I hope you enjoy the first chapter :)
The Wild Ones
Passion as hot as midnight in the South and love as wild as the horses they tame.
Camille “Cami” Hines is the darling daughter of the South’s champion thoroughbred breeder, Jack Hines. She has a pedigree that rivals some of her father’s best horses. Other than feeling a little suffocated at times, Cami thought she was pretty happy with her boyfriend, her life and her future.
But that was before she met Patrick Henley.
“Trick” blurs the lines between what Cami wants and what is expected of her. He’s considered the “help,” which is forbidden fruit as far as her father is concerned, not to mention that Trick would be fired if he ever laid a hand on her. And Trick needs his job. Desperately. His family depends on him.
The heart wants what the heart wants, though, and Trick and Cami are drawn to each other despite the obstacles. At least the ones they know of.
When Trick stumbles upon a note from his father, it triggers a series of revelations that could ruin what he and Cami have worked so hard to overcome. It turns out there’s more to Trick’s presence at the ranch than either of them knew, secrets that could tear them apart.
CHAPTER ONE- Cami
Sipping my beer, I look around at the familiar scene. If the honky tonk music blaring from the speakers in the ceiling hadn’t been enough to scream COUNTRY BAR, the sea of cowboy hats would have been. I smile as I adjust the black one that sits atop my own head. I love being incognito. Even if, by chance, someone I know stumbles into the smoke-filled dive, they’d never believe it was me looking out from beneath the brim.
Something hits the back of my barstool¬—hard—just as I put the glass to my lips. Ice cold beer pours down my chin and straight into my cleavage. I suck in a breath.
“’Scuse me,” a deep voice rumbles in my ear. Two hands grip my upper arms and pull me back, keeping me from tipping right out of my seat. I’m looking down at my soggy jeans and t-shirt when I feel the hands disappear. Half a second later, a face appears in my line of sight. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
My fingers stop plucking wet cotton away from my chest and I stare. Quite rudely, I might add. I’m speechless. Literally. And that, like, never happens to me.
The most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen are staring back at me. They are pale greenish-gray, rimmed in sooty lashes and filled with concern.
A sharp jab to my shin makes me let out the breath I hadn’t been aware of holding. I see my best friend Jenna’s head poke out from behind the mystery face. I know she kicked me and I know she’s trying to get my attention, but I can’t look away from these eyes long enough to glare at her.
God, his eyes! I’ve never seen eyes that make me want to gasp and giggle and do a strip tease all at once. But these do.
They flicker down, letting me go just long enough to collect my wits. I find very few of them. They are well and truly scattered. When he looks back up at me, his eyes are wrinkled at the corners. He’s smiling. And holy hell, what a smile it is!
“Does it make me a bad person for liking your shirt better this way?”
I glance down at myself. My dark pink bra is plainly visible through the now-wet paper thin material of my pale pink shirt. So are my very erect nipples. I blush, mortified.
Why, oh why did I wear a light pink t-shirt with a dark pink bra?
Because you can’t see your bra through it when it’s dry, dumb ass.
A thumb brushes my right cheek. “God, that’s sexy,” he whispers. Against my will, my eyes fly to his face. His smile has died to a lopsided grin that is devastation in its purest form. “I’ve never made a girl blush before.”
I laugh nervously, struggling to find my voice, to find my dignity. “Somehow I doubt that,” I say softly.
“Wow! The hair of a devil, the face of an angel and the voice of a phone sex operator. You really are the perfect woman.”
To my utter humiliation, my cheeks burn even hotter. Curse my fair skin!
Reaching into his pocket, Hot Stranger pulls out a couple bills and slides them across the bar. “Another of whatever…” He trails off, looking at me in question, waiting for me to fill in the blank.
“Cami,” I say, trying to hold back my grin.
Smooth way of getting my name. Chalk one up for Hot Stranger.
“Another of whatever Cami is having.” He turns back to me, a wicked gleam in his smoky eyes. “Sorry about your drink. Not so much about your shirt, though,” he admits candidly.
Willing myself not to blush again, I tilt my head. “So, do clumsy strangers have names in this place? Or are you just called ‘bull in china shop’?”
The lopsided grin comes back. “Patrick, but my friends call me Trick.”
“Trick? As in trick or treat? That kind of trick?”
He laughs and my stomach flutters. It actually flutters. “Yep. That kind of trick.” He sobers and leans in close to me. “Cami, can I ask a favor?”
I’m breathless again. He’s so close I can count every hair in the stubble that dusts his tan cheeks. For just a second, his clean manly scent overrides the cigarette smoke and stale beer smell of the bar.
I lose my voice—again—so I nod.
“Pick ‘treat.’ Please, for the love of God, pick ‘treat’.”
Like an idiot, I say nothing. I do nothing. I simply stare. Like a…a…well, like an idiot.
He makes a disappointed noise with his lips then starts shaking his head. “Too bad. Woulda made my night.”
He straightens, takes a step back and smiles at me again. “Nice to meet you, Cami,” he says, and then he turns and melts into the crowd.
********
“Earth to Cami!”
Tearing my gaze away from the broad-shouldered, slim-hipped view of Trick walking away, I turn to Jenna. “What?”
“Is that all you have to say? ‘What’?” She’s grinning.
“What would you like me to say?” I’m still a little addled. Or is it bedazzled?
“Um, I’d like to hear your plan for getting your lame ass off that stool and going over there to collect on that treat!”
“Eavesdrop much?”
“He was practically sitting in my lap while he hit on you. What was I supposed to do?”
“Uh, move!”
Jenna snorts. Not a great sound, but somehow she makes it seem cute and girlie. “And miss that view? I was all but catatonic just looking at him. He is seven kinds of hot, Cam!”
I giggle. “Listen to you. You’ve got a boyfriend. Or have you conveniently forgotten that we are meeting people here?”
“I haven’t forgotten. Have you?”
I nod at her. “Touché, pussycat.”
In truth, I had. From the time I’d looked up into Trick’s eyes, I hadn’t thought of Brent one time. And that can’t be a good sign. Brent has never made me feel what this guy has in three minutes.
“Meh,” she says, waving her hand dismissively as she sips her own beer. “Don’t give it a second thought. Looking at him is kinda like staring at the sun. You see spots and you’re dizzy for a while, but then it goes away.”
I wonder to myself if I really want it to go away. I can’t ever remember a guy making me feel this way.
I can’t stop myself from looking into the crowd again. I scan the endless ocean of hats until my gaze stops on one dark head. The hair is longish and has a slight wave to it. I know without having to see his face that it’s Trick. It just seems right that he’d be the only guy in the place not wearing a cowboy hat.
Almost like he can feel my eyes or my thoughts on him, Trick turns around. His gaze locks with mine like there isn’t a room full of people between us. We stare at each other for a few seconds and then, real slow, he grins.
