by Piper Rayne
“So you think you know better than her?” Chelsea asks Lauren.
“Yep.” She crosses her hands in front of her.
Chelsea grabs the paddle in front of Madison and slaps it down in front of Lauren. “You select who she bids on then.”
“No way!” Maddie says. “She’ll have me with some meathead guy with monster muscles who can’t hold a conversation.”
Lauren points to Madison. “I resent that comment. Tad was an engineering major.”
“And he’s still in college trying to make the dream happen,” Vanessa says with a laugh.
“Well, he was gifted in other areas,” Lauren insists.
“Aren’t they all?” Vanessa rolls her eyes.
“It’s not my fault you pick the three and a half inch floppy dicks.” Lauren nudges Vanessa.
“Then it’s settled.” Chelsea picks up Lauren’s paddle and hands it to Vanessa and then hands Vanessa’s paddle to Madison. “You each pick a guy for the other one.”
“No way,” Madison hands Vanessa’s paddle back. “She can’t pick for me.”
Chelsea relaxes back in her chair and sips her water.
“You’ve had way too many trips to the bar. Our tastes are completely opposite,” Vanessa objects, which kind of surprises me because of the three of them she seemed like the up-for-anything kinda girl.
“It’s one date. It’ll be fun!” Chelsea insists.
“Then you do it.” Madison tosses her friend’s paddle into the middle of the table.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” Dean leans back on two legs of his chair telling us he’s been listening the whole time. “She’s taken.” He rubs her stomach again and Chelsea beams.
“You don’t have to do it, but I think it would be fun.” She stands and pats Madison’s arm. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me, but Mauro really is a great guy.”
Madison’s cheeks flush pink and I don’t miss the way Lauren’s tamped down her dislike for him. Her eyes ping-pong between Madison and Mauro and I hope the gears are shifting. Maybe giving her friend a date with the one guy she’s been pining over might be the best gift she could give her.
“Where are all my single ladies?” the MC booms over the microphone and I slide out of my seat and back over to the table with Roarke. His arm instantly comes around to rest on the back of my chair. “Let’s meet the first responder bachelors up for auction tonight.”
I hope they take Chelsea up on her idea. It seems like a fun thing to do with your single friends. After all, what could possibly go wrong?
Keep scrolling for a Thanksgiving Bonus Scene plus an exclusive excerpt to the prequel of Blue Collar Brothers!
Cockamamie Unicorn Ramblings
The last book in a series is always sad for us, but as you know, one day you’ll see these couples again. Maybe when you least expect it!
As we mentioned in the Manic Monday CUR, this book idea was born from Piper. She already had the idea for an enemies-to-lovers book about a woman falling for her ex-husband’s divorce lawyer who she despised. We were able to work with this idea and bring in the other two books to develop an entire series.
We’ve loved writing this series! We’ve loved giving you three very different heroes and heroines with three very different versions of what happily ever after means to them. Each one is a little different, but no less valid in our eyes. To some couples HEA means a white picket fence, two point five kids and a dog. To others, it means just the two of you navigating life’s ups and downs, but knowing you’re doing it together.
Rayne has especially loved being able to write these stories set in her hometown of Chicago. Which brings us to the next topic… The Bianco Brothers.
Lucky for Rayne, we’ll be staying in Chicago for another series. Mauro, Cristian and Luca Bianco will be our heroes for the upcoming series, The Blue Collar Brothers. We’ve given you a glimpse into our heroines. We’re going to let you in on a little secret. For Charity Case we went back to single point of view, giving you only the girls side of the story. But we couldn’t tease you with the Bianco brothers and not let you be in their head, so you guessed it—DUAL POV!
Now let’s put our hands together for our awesome team!
Letitia from RBA Designs for the wonderful covers.
Ellie from Love N Books for line editing. We’re still trying not to give you a manuscript one day with an unrealistic deadline (even if you hit it each and every time).
Shawna from Behind the Writer for using those great peepers and catching a lot more than commas and typos.
Sarah Ferguson and Social Butterfly PR for their usual organization and being one step ahead of us throughout the process.
All the bloggers who carve out time to read and review our books. Your enthusiasm for our books and characters only makes us continue this ride.
All our early ARC readers, first for wanting to read our stuff early and for posting their reviews.
And of course, all our unicorns. <3 Your excitement and love for our characters keeps new voices popping in our heads! Thank you isn’t even close enough to how we feel about you all!
xo,
Piper & Rayne
Bonus Material
Thanksgiving – Bonus Scene
Hannah and Roarke
2 weeks before Thanksgiving…
Hannah
My conversation with Roarke this morning weighs heavily on my mind the entire ride into the office. Victoria’s already on the phone by the time I arrive at work. Giving her a quick wave and dropping my bags into my office, I head to the kitchen hoping I’ll find Chelsea. She spends most of her days eating now. Not that I blame her. It’s probably the silver lining to carrying a bowling ball around inside you all day.
Just as I assumed, she’s got her phone in front of her on the table with a bowl of candy corn resting on her belly.
“Hitting the sugar already?” I make a beeline over to the coffee since I was too nauseous after Roarke’s newfound revelation to drink the gourmet hazelnut blend he ground fresh this morning.
“You sound testy. And you’re drinking our coffee. Where’s your super posh coffee Roarke lovingly prepares for you every morning?” She clicks her America’s Got Talent video clip off her screen.
I sit down at the table positive today is going to be unproductive for all of us. Most of my day will be spent online scouring.
“Hey ladies,” Victoria says when she enters. “Can you believe Pete wants Jade for Thanksgiving?” She steals a piece of candy corn from Chelsea’s bowl and sits down at the table.
“Hey, unless you have another bag stashed somewhere in your desk get your grubby hands off my fix. You girls get your coffee, I get my candy corn.” Picking up two pieces she places them in her mouth with a flourish.
Chelsea’s flawless face of make-up and cute maternity outfits still amaze me. If I were ever to get pregnant, I’d live in muumuus for the entire nine months and probably well after.
“I’ll bring you a bag tomorrow,” Victoria says.
“Don’t bother.” She drops the bowl on the table, offering to share. “This kid will have a new craving by then.”
Sometimes her cravings change by the hour. She made us go half way across town for the best Rueben sandwiches for lunch one day only to say she really wanted pizza from the other side of town after we paid our Uber. We’re like two months away from baby Bennett’s arrival and Victoria and I might be just as relieved as his or her parents.
She cracks her neck. “What’s the deal?” Her eyes focus on me.
“What?” Victoria asks, her eyes shifting to the coffee mug as I raise it to my lips “Oh, yeah, what is the deal?”
I lower the mug. “What? I drink coffee from here all the time.”
Chelsea and Victoria share a look.
“But not out of that.” Chelsea points.
My eyes follow her vision to the white mug with green script stating, ‘I didn’t fart, my ass blew you a kiss’. I push it away from m
e.
“I didn’t even notice.”
Victoria picks it up and pours the coffee in the unicorn mug with ‘I’m fucking magical’ written on it and places the one Dean gave Chelsea as a joke in the sink.
“Man, I should’ve snapped a picture.” Chelsea smiles sweetly over to me, but we both know she wouldn’t have done it.
“Dean really is a funny guy.” Victoria sits back down.
Chelsea rolls her eyes. “He came home yesterday and told me that he thinks we should try a natural childbirth.”
“He must have been joking,” I say.
She straightens her back, pulling down her shirt to make sure it covers her belly. “No. He even printed off research facts about pain medicine and the effects on the baby. Sat me down and was one minute away from giving me a power point presentation. I freaked all night because I bow down to the ladies who can do it naturally, but I know that’s not for me. Then as we’re getting into bed and he’s massaging my back, he tells me he was just kidding.”
“Did you laugh?”
“After I beat him with a pillow. Yes,” she says, sheepishly.
Victoria shoots her a pointed look. Chelsea nods. “I know. I know. He has a dry sense of humor and I fear this little one will inherit that same gene.” Her hands caress her stomach.
Victoria reaches out and runs her hand over Chelsea’s belly, too.
“Enough distractions. Spill.” Chelsea looks over at me, her sentimental mood shifting.
“Roarke wants a homemade Thanksgiving dinner.”
“By you?” The tone in Victoria’s voice suggests I should be calling a really fucking good caterer which I thought of, but he’d know.
“By both of us.”
“That’s sweet,” Victoria says, ever the romantic.
“I can’t cook and I’m not even sure he can. He’s never made one damn thing. We go out every night or order in.”
They both stare at me.
I stand because if they can’t even offer fake encouragement and give me the whole ‘you got this’ rendition friends give to friends, I know I’m screwed.
“Oh, and don’t worry, you guys are all invited to witness my epic failure. Vic, you can bring your mom, and Chelsea, I know that you’re celebrating the next day since Skylar’s not back until then. So, no excuses.”
“But I was going to lay on my couch and gorge myself all day,” Chelsea says and yeah, I think she’s serious.
“You can do that at my house,” I offer.
“Not if the food sucks,” Chelsea says. I’m not sure what look I give her, but she picks up the bowl of candy corn, dumping it over her head. “There. I did it myself.”
I chuckle and shake my head at her. “Thank you.”
She plucks a piece of candy corn out of her hair and pops it into her mouth.
I leave the kitchen to hit Google in order to figure out how to make a Thanksgiving dinner without calling the best caterer in Chicago.
Thanksgiving Day
“Help!” I yell through the speaker of the phone.
“This isn’t the Butterball hotline,” Chelsea answers like I assumed she would, her voice muffled with chewing.
“The button hasn’t popped, my potatoes are still hard, and the green bean casserole overflowed in the oven and set off the fire alarm. I cannot do this!” I wipe my hands on my apron which I bought earlier this week because I didn’t even own one.
“Why on Earth did you tell Roarke to go play football with the guys then?” she asks.
“Because he kept looking over my shoulder at everything I was doing, and it was making me crazy. Plus, I just…”
“Wanted to show him you were the boss?”
I laugh for the first time in two hours. “Not the boss, but that I can accomplish this feat without his input or advice.”
Chelsea chews in my ear. “What are you eating?” I ask.
“Chalk.” More chewing sounds.
“Chalk?” I can’t possibly have heard her right.
“Yeah. I Googled it. It’s normal so Dean went to the dollar store and bought me the variety pack. I know it should all taste the same, but I swear the pink one tastes like bubble gum.”
“Chelsea, are you sure that’s okay?” I ask while I turn the oven light on.
Maybe Chelsea won’t even notice the hard potatoes.
“Yeah. The internet says it is.”
“The Internet isn’t your doctor. Chelsea, I know nothing about pregnancy and cravings, but it doesn’t sound right. I don’t want to overstep, but DAMN IT!” I burn my finger on the lid of the pot. I run over to the sink lifting the faucet to cold and sticking my finger under it. The fact I know the drill for burns says a lot about my prowess in the kitchen.
“Relax Han, I was just kidding. Don’t go crazy. I’m eating donuts. I’m going to write a letter to Uber Eats because they are the best thing ever.” More chewing sounds through the phone.
“Great, do they deliver a turkey dinner?”
“I bet they would.”
“Han!” Roarke’s arrival home startles me.
“Shit. It’s Roarke. I gotta go,” I whisper.
“Oh good. I’m calling Dean to pick me up some chocolate milk. See you soon, Chica.”
The line dies and I turn off the faucet, drying my throbbing finger on the dishtowel.
“How’s dinner coming?” Roarke walks in looking devastatingly sexy in his sweatshirt and track pants covered with mud and grass stains. He inspects the pots and peeks in the oven.
“It’s good. Coming along.” I bite the inside of my cheek to distract from the pain in my finger. “How was the game?”
He shrugs. “I should’ve stayed in bed with you.” He corners me against the sink, his hands on either side of my hips.
“I haven’t been in bed.”
“I can see that. Pretty soon I’ll have you pregnant.” He kisses my chin and then my nose and lastly my lips. “I gotta say this domestic look is turning me on. Of course, I’d rather have you naked under that apron.” His hands reach behind me and fiddles with the strings. The fabric falls between us. “Come take a shower with me.”
His lips give a convincing argument, his hands on my breasts, his fingers teasing my nipples since I’m sans bra what with having to get a turkey in the oven at an ungodly time this morning.
“Then you’re on cooking shift after,” I say.
“Sure thing.”
He lifts me into his arms, carrying me out of the kitchen and down the hall. Before the water’s warm, he has me naked and he’s stripping his own clothes off.
“I have about ten minutes before the sweet potato dish is done.”
“With the way you look, I can be done in five.” He rushes us over into the walk-in shower and under the stream of warm water. The spray feels like heaven after being bent over a hot stove all morning.
“Not before I…”
He laughs. “Never. Ladies first…always.” His lips crash to mine, our tongues finding that perfect rhythm that ensures five minutes will be plenty.
One minute later, his hand is between my legs, running through my slickness.
Two minutes later, his cock is in my hands, pumping as his lips travel from ear to mouth and down my neck.
Three minutes later, my back is pressed to the tiled wall with his body between my thighs.
Four minutes later, his dick is sinking into my warmth and he fills me like no other man.
Five minutes later, inaudible words are murmuring from both our mouths. His hands are on my ass, lifting and lowering me over him.
Six minutes later, my fingernails are gripping at his shoulder blades, needing an anchor to hold as my orgasm builds.
Seven minutes later, my orgasm crescendos and my body loses all tension.
Eight minutes later, Roarke pumps into me while his labored breath echoes within the shower walls.
So it took us longer than five minutes, who’s counting?
“That was all the affirmation I n
eeded to know I should’ve stayed home.”
“And that we should’ve ordered our Thanksgiving dinner.”
He kisses my lips. “Probably, but I bet your turkey is going to taste amazing.”
Where is the incessant need to please my man coming from?
“Oh, I’m sure it will.”
Here’s hoping you don’t end up in the hospital with salmonella.
I pump the shampoo, rubbing it through his salt and pepper hair. “You get washed and I’ll get ready.”
The sight of suds dripping down Roarke’s hard body tugs at me to have a round two, but the fire department will end up being our dinner guests if we don’t hurry. I don’t need to be splashed on the front page of the Tribune tomorrow half naked outside my burning skyscraper.
“Your turn.” He gives me a knee weakening kiss before exiting the steam filled shower.
I never tire of watching his ass.
A half hour later, I leave the confines of our bathroom with damp hair and no shoes.
Roarke moves around the kitchen like he’s flippin’ Bobby Flay, breezing from one pot to the other, appearing totally relaxed.
UGH, of course he can cook. The man can do everything.
I peek in the oven to see the damn poker hasn’t popped up yet to say the turkey is done.
“How am I doing?” he asks, snaking his arm around me and pulling me to him. He kisses my neck since I have lipstick on.
“Better than me, I’m embarrassed to admit.”
“Look in the trash.” He releases as the water from the potatoes overflows and sizzles on the stove top.
Peering into the trash I find the sweet potatoes and green beans in the trash.
“I had to start over. Sorry.”
I cringe then wrap my arms around his stomach and inhale his crisp cologne. “Don’t be sorry. We can’t all be cooks.”
He chuckles but doesn’t call me out. The love of a good man.