Mr. Big Ego (Dirty South Book 3)

by Kat Addams

As with everything I do, it’s all first and foremost for my daughter. You are my light and always will be. I hope you can look back and forgive me for all the frozen pizzas I made while I was writing books to begin paying for your college.

  Thank you to my dad for supporting me and never reading my books. Gosh, please don’t. I’ll screenshot the acknowledgments. Deal?

  To my writing dream team—You’re amazing. Big thanks to my editor, Jovana Shirley, for not throwing her computer at me because I need to take a grade-school grammar refresher on past participles. Also, thank you to Lori Jackson for making my covers and graphics melt the panties off of everyone—myself included. I would be so lost without you two. Girl power!

  To the indie authors who have provided me with so much help along the way—You are all badasses. Thank you so much for putting up with my crazy questions and minor freak-outs.

  About The Author

  Kat Addams is a forever twenty-nine-year-old fashionista, following her lifelong dream of writing contemporary romance inspired by the exotic men she meets in her worldly travels. At least, that’s what she would like for you to think. She’s certainly not a stay-at-home mom, indulging in excessive daydreaming, frozen pizzas, an unhealthy addiction to purchasing pajamas, and one too many cocktails on the regular. That’s some other romance author. The poor thing probably has to sneak away upstairs to write her dirty stories! What would her family think? Thankfully, that’s not Kat!

  Social Media:

  Still crazy about Kat? Rawr! Stalk her on the social media platforms linked below!

  Sign up to join the Kat Addams Advanced Reader Copy (ARC) Team and be the first to get your hands on the latest releases! http://bit.ly/kaarcteam

  Linktree (For all of the links in one convenient location!)

  Newsletter Subscription (Bonus: free Hotty Toddy e-book)

  Goodreads

  Bookbub

  Amazon Author Central

  Kat’s Kittens Reader Group (A Facebook group to stay connected, laugh, and share. Hope to see you there!)

  Facebook

  Instagram

  Twitter

  Want to keep up with all the shenanigans? No wrestling mask required! Subscribe to Kat’s newsletter for the latest news. You can find her newsletter on her website: www.kataddams.com/subscribe. By becoming a subscriber, you’ll be the first to know the juicy details on upcoming releases! You’ll also be the first to hear of special offers, exclusive content, sneak peeks, terrible ideas, ridiculous shenanigans, and more! As a special gift for signing up, you’ll also receive a free e-book, Hotty Toddy. Check below for more information on this stand-alone, second-chance, and fake marriage novella.

  Other Books by Kat Addams

  Available now!

  Grit and Grind, Dirty South Series, Book 1

  Available on Amazon.

  Being a best-selling romance author doesn’t make falling in love any easier …

  Christopher Kaiser’s books were taking the romance genre by storm. Rumor even had it that his sexy stories had actually been inspired by personal experiences. But the notorious Southern playboy wasn’t ready for a stand-alone relationship. What would happen to his writing if Christopher settled for just one muse?

  He was about to find out …

  Aspiring author Klara Woods found herself lacking inspiration. A string of bad relationships and a meet-cute gone wrong had left her with empty sheets … in more ways than one. Taking matters into her own hands, Klara decided to jump-start her career by attending a writer’s workshop in her hometown of Memphis.

  But it was her love life that was about to get a rewrite in the city of grit and grind.

  Nashvegas Nights

  Available on Amazon.

  What happened backstage didn’t always stay backstage … in Nashvegas.

  Music Row star Jason Jones loved three things—his dog, ice-cold beer, and gorgeous redheads. His life sounded like a country song … and he had the baggage to prove it. One minute, he was onstage, crooning to a flame-haired goddess, and then he was backstage, giving her an encore she’d never forget.

  Neither would he …

  Hot-mess express Dorothy Elizabeth Prudence was a nurse by day and lonely by night. With a name like that, she never got laid. That was about to change, thanks to her wingwoman bestie.

  Hitting Nashville’s Music Row for a wild night had seemed like an excellent idea. She was only looking for a good time but found a lot more than she’d bargained for.

  They both did …

  Hotty Toddy

  Jules Turner is all about peace, love, and light. She’s always marched to the beat of her own drum, even when that beat took her far from her hometown of Oxford, Mississippi, and straight to sunny California. For the past ten years, she has been perfectly content to trade in her Southern roots for a yoga mat and herbal tea.

  When her meddlesome mother suddenly interrupts Jules’s namaste life by asking her to return for a visit, Jules knows her mom is probably scheming to play matchmaker … again. She won’t fall for it this time though … except that she does—literally—landing right at the feet of her former flame.

  Todd Miller—aka Hotty Toddy—is just as ruggedly gorgeous as he was in high school. When he learns that his teenage crush is back in town—and just in time for their ten-year reunion—he convinces Jules to come up with some scheming of their own. If Todd is lucky, their scheming will take them straight to the bedroom, where he tried—and failed—to seduce Jules on prom night so many years ago.

  Pretending to be happily married, Todd and Jules strike out to fool their old high school bullies in the ultimate prank. But they quickly learn that they’re really just fooling themselves. They can’t just pretend. Not when they can’t keep their hands off of each other.

  How can two people who have been apart for so long connect again so quickly? What happens if their fake romance turns into something real? Will Todd be able to handle Jules’s free-spirited adventures in California, or can he convince her to stay back in Mississippi and embrace her small-town roots?

  With a little bit of scheming—okay, a lot of scheming—Jules just might find that her matchmaking mother knows best.

  COMING SOON!

  A new series by Kat Addams!

  DTF (Dirty. Tough. Female), launching May 5, 2020.

  PREORDER THE FIRST BOOK IN THE SERIES, ON THE ROX, HERE.

  CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF MS. MAY?

  Join her on her online dating adventures in Mayday: Tinder Love in the Golden Years, a Dirty South novella.

  Sometimes, all it takes is a hot meal-or a broken heater-to spark a long-lost flame!

  Marilyn

  I was looking for a handyman, not a “handsy” man.

  And don't think I was too old to know the difference.

  You wouldn't believe the things these eyes had seen.

  Thought I'd seen it all-until I joined Tinder.

  I was swiping men away like flies. To the left. To the left.

  Too grouchy. Too gassy.

  Not enough hair. Not enough teeth.

  I was elderly, not dead.

  The last person I'd expected to see was Clyde Jenkins.

  Now, here was a man who could handle his tools.

  Clyde

  I was looking for a home-cooked meal now and again … and maybe a respectable woman to warm my bed.

  After spending a little time on this online dating app, I wasn't sure there were many women my age still alive out there.

  Then, I stumbled across a photo that gave my pacemaker-and other parts-a tickle.

  Marilyn May … I knew she was a feisty lady and a dang good cook.

  She'd also happened to be my first sweetheart.

  So, I did what any self-respecting man in his post-prime would do.

  I swiped right, trimmed my nose hairs, and pulled out my church shirt.

  They don't call these the golden years for nothing!

  Available on Amazon on April 1, 2020.

&nbs
p; YOU CAN PREORDER HERE.

  CHECK OUT THE FIRST CHAPTER NOW!

  Chapter 1

  Marilyn

  I rolled myself out of bed, stretching and making noises that I hadn’t made since that time twelve years ago with Brother Anthony from church. I’d said more hallelujahs that night with him than I had all year in the pulpit.

  Forgive me, Father, but that man had had me from the moment he lowered his eyes and whispered, “Good morning, Ms. May. Pleased to see you at service, Ms. May.”

  My name rolled off his tongue like oil in a frying pan—sizzling hot. The devilish grin he proudly wore should have warned me, but instead, it only made things worse. I’d not been able to get home fast enough to serve him some of my famous sweet tea—and by sweet tea, I meant, the banging sixty-four-year-old body of mine.

  But, of course, that had been twelve years ago, and I was seventy-six now. There’d been much less sagging and dragging going on, and I’d still not had to buy adult diapers. Wasn’t that some shit? No one told you when you got old and cranky, you also started piddlin’ when you sneezed, hiccuped, farted, or coughed. No, there were lots of things my mom had never told me about aging. Truth be told, if she had ever passed on this depressing wisdom, I wouldn’t have listened anyway. I had wanted to be a cool mom and a cool grandma. And being cool didn’t include wearing diapers and soaking dentures.

  I groaned as I pushed my heels into the cold wooden floorboards of my chilly room. I pushed myself off the bed, falling back, one, two, four times before I got my footing. No one told you that either. Balance and strength weren’t something that stuck around in old age. It was only yesterday that I’d come so damn close to breaking my hip and being laid up in the hospital for who knew how long.

  I’d been at my nosy neighbor, Gloria’s, house, listening to the latest neighborhood gossip. I didn’t particularly like Gloria. She and I’d had some drama way back. But these lonely days called for some type of human connection, so I’d brought over some cookies and listened to her drone on and on about the other old coots down the street. When her doorbell rang right in the middle of a dramatic tale, I jumped up so high that I fell off her musty, checkered couch. Thankfully, I’d had enough sense to put my palms down and ease my fall. I guessed I still had my reflexes.

  I shuffled my feet across the floor, shivering all the way to the iron radiator to kick it with my slipper. This damn thing had been broken for two years. It only worked when it wanted to, and usually, that was after I’d given it a good whack with a brush, a book, a frying pan, or anything within my reach. It would turn on for a little while, but it always seemed to putter out not long after it had gotten going—just like a man. That was why I’d named my radiator Roger. It wasn’t exactly my idea to call him Roger. It was my friend Grayson’s idea.

  Grayson and his boyfriend, John, had come over to take a look at it last winter. John was pretty handy, but Grayson wouldn’t know what a wrench looked like if I hit him upside the head with it. Those two teetered about with the furnace, making clanging noises and inspecting every inch. But in the end, they’d declared that they had no idea what the issue was and named it after an ex-boyfriend of Grayson’s who had the same characteristics—quick to turn on but hadn’t lasted long at all and annoyingly frustrating. Hence, my furnace was now Roger.

  Roger had been a good man back in the day when I was married and popping out babies like every other Southern woman I knew in these parts. But when I had gotten rid of my no-good husband over twenty years ago, things had started to get tough around here. I’d had to learn to do a lot on my own, and I had been okay with that then. But at seventy-six, I was not. I needed a man to fix my heater, to cut my grass, and to grill me a steak that I could hardly chew because, once again, no one told you that your teeth would go soft and fall out when you were old.

  As much as the thought of putting up with another Roger pained me, I decided to give it one last shot. If I could have some old fart in my back pocket to play Mr. Fix It and all I had to do was bat my eyes and serve him some sweet tea—the real stuff—I could do it. Never mind having him leave his dentures on my nightstand overnight or reminding him to take his Viagra. That ship had sailed for me a long time ago.

  Like I always told my friend Klara, “If you don’t use it, it shrivels up.”

  I didn’t look down below much these days, but if I did, I was sure I’d see a wrinkled old raisin.

  I poured myself a cup of hot coffee and sat in front of the TV. Klara was supposed to be coming by this morning. Every Monday, she’d come by my house and check on me, usually bringing doughnuts and playing catch-up on her weekends. I didn’t mind it. I needed the company. After my daughter had moved to Outer Forks, I rarely had guests anymore. Sunday supper with my family had become few and far between, but between Grayson and John, and Klara and her new husband, Chris, I was more than happy. Any more people than that, and I might just end up stroking out—or at least pretending to. I could only handle so much.

  It was only the nights that had been getting hard to swallow. Again, that must be something to do with old age. I’d never been bothered by being alone. But lately, my bed was feeling mighty cold at night. Probably because that dumbass Roger wasn’t warming it properly.

  My mind went back to Brother Anthony from church. We had kept up our fling all during the summer months, but we had known it couldn’t last. He was a traveling preacher, and he had been called to another church for a permanent job, sixteen hours away. He knew how to work me, but ain’t no man worth me traveling that far to keep him as mine. I’d let him slap my ass one last time, and then I’d kicked his butt on out of here.

  I sat back on my lumpy couch and smiled to myself, remembering that Brother Anthony and I were part of the reason this couch was so worn out. I took a long sip of my coffee as I heard Klara’s car door slam. I groaned, forgetting that I hadn’t unlocked the door so I would need to get up again. I set my mug down on the table and pushed myself to my heels three times before getting to my feet.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” I said, pursing my lips and opening the door.

  “Bringing you your Monday rays of golden sun and doughnuts to start your week off right!” Klara bounced through my doorstep and set the doughnuts on the table before going into the kitchen and coming back with her own cup of coffee.

  I hadn’t even made it back to the couch yet before she settled into her spot next to me.

  “Make yourself at home, dear.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Thanks. I am. Except it’s colder than a witch’s titty in here, Ms. May! Is Roger acting up again?” Klara sank back into the cushions.

  “Yep! Just like a man. Good-for-nothing men, good-for-nothing heater. Although—and ever tease me about this, I’ll cut you—I have been thinking about finding a man to fix the place up around here.” I eased myself back down onto the couch and reached for a doughnut.

  “You don’t need a man for that! It’s the year 2020! There are all sorts of women who know how to fix stuff up, myself included. You tell me what you need, and I’ll put on my tool belt and fix it.”

  “No offense, child, but I need someone who doesn’t have a new husband and a life. I know how all that goes. I’ve been there, done that, and I’m not going to be the crotchety old lady interfering in y’all’s time. If I had an old lady butting her miserable life into mine anytime I got my panties down for my new, sexy husband, I’d have to ship her off to a nursing home.”

  “Well, no offense to you, too, but you already are the crotchety old lady. You haven’t interfered in anything though. You know Chris and I love you. I’m not sure why, but we do.” Klara set her mug down and turned toward me.

  She and I could argue all day and still be friends that night. Banter was our love language.

  “Don’t go getting all soft on me. Put that mug back in your hands and carry on. We are here to discuss your weekend and your next big novel, which you said you’re basing on me this time, right?”

  “Exper
t subject-changer. Hmm …” She tapped her chin. “I need some inspiration. You could play a role in that department now that I think about it.” She grabbed her mug again and took a long sip.

  “Oh, yeah? You writing about a superwoman then? I didn’t know you wrote fantasy, but I’ll be your role model, sure.” I licked the doughnut glaze off my sticky fingers, smacking my lips and smirking.

  Klara had already dedicated one of her novels to me, but I’d yet to make my debut in one. At least, to my knowledge. I’d combed through her books, looking for any resemblance to me, but the closest I’d gotten was to a mentally deranged homeless woman named Frieda.

  “A love story! You know that. You said you’re looking for a man. Why not look for one to do more than fix your house up? Why not look for one to knock your full-coverage stockings off too?”

  Klara stared at me over her steaming mug. I couldn’t see her lips, but I was sure they twitched in an attempt to hold back a laugh.

  “You’ll be here, too, one day, Ms. Famous Author. Don’t you think your money is going to buy you time. You’ll be wearing adult diapers and taking Geritol in the blink of an eye. Better pop them babies out beforehand, or your eggs are gonna dry up. I keep on telling you, but you don’t—”

  “You’re still doing it,” she muttered, setting her coffee back down.

  “Doing what?”

  “Changing the subject. You went back to me. We are talking about you. I said you could be my inspiration for my next novel. Maybe I could write about love through the older years? What do you think? Since you tell me that no one tells you blah, blah, blah about aging, you can tell me. Tell me everything and also tell me how your love life works.”

  “I ain’t got a love life. I can tell you how everything works and, most importantly, doesn’t work, but as far as a man … I only have that dumbass Roger in there.” I nodded my head in the direction of my failure of a radiator.