A is for Alpha Male
Copyright © 2013, Laurel Ulen Curtis
Cover Design by Stephanie White of Steph’s Cover Design
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About the Author
I consider this book a very personal experience. I wrote it with two people in mind.
Firstly, it’s an author’s version of a fangirl love letter to fellow author, Kristen Ashley. I personally can’t ever get enough of her books, and I feel like this book pays tribute to her greatness.
The second person on my mind was my mom. She is a girl’s best friend, and I wanted this book to shed light on a sliver of how awesome I think our relationship is.
So here’s to you, ladies.
“DON’T BE SUCH a butthead, Hunt!” I screamed as he ran away from my pint-sized fists of fury.
Pulling my long reddish-brown hair down from my ponytail and slipping my hair tie onto my wrist, I sighed a huff of disgruntlement and toed the sandy dirt with my Keds tennis shoe. I wanted to ride a four-wheeler. But now that I wasn’t, there was no need to have my hair up anymore.
Muttering to myself, I grumbled, “He never lets me do anything. Stupid, stupidhead.”
Boy-like fingers tugged on a strand of my hair from behind me, forcing me to turn around.
“He’s just protecting you,” the boy-next-door told me.
That was probably true. Hunter was protective. He was always protective. Ugh.
But I wanted to do the same things my brother and his stupid friends did. I was just as tough. It shouldn’t matter that I was a girl.
“Oh yeah? What do you know anyway, Jerkface?” I griped.
Ryan Parker just smiled, shook his eight year old head, and mumbled with unconcealed wonder, “Where does a six year old little girl learn so many insults?”
I chose not to dignify him with a real answer, stuck my tongue out, and then skulked away, back to the house to see what havoc I could wreak on my sweet mother.
“Boys are so dumb,” I announced on a shout as soon as I entered the house.
I could hear my mom’s light laughter as she made herself visible by stepping out of the laundry room, the towel she was folding still in her hands.
“One day, sweetheart, I guarantee that you will confirm that thought to be true. But, believe me, you won’t care.” She paused, her pupils lifted diagonally in their oval shaped habitats as if recalling a memory, and then shared again, “No. Dumb or not, you’re still going to want one.” As I approached her she crouched down so that she was on my level, lifted a soft palm to my face, and spoke with muted exuberance. “One that makes your heart race with anticipation, your skin tingle with awareness, and your veins sing with excitement. One that accepts you for who you are and brings out the best in you.”
The fingers of her slim hand tensed, and then she told me the most important quality of all. “One that shows you the kind of love you never dreamed existed.”
“SWEET BABY JESUS, thank God you’re here,” I greeted my mom as she came in the door. “I’m freaking starving. My stomach is literally eating itself.”
I could totally feel it gnawing away in there, turning on itself with absolutely no shame about its self-cannibalism.
As Allison approached the table she rolled her eyes and lifted one corner of her mouth into a smirk. “You always did have a flair for the dramatic.”
“Hello Kettle,” I mumbled under my breath which, unsurprisingly, earned me a little smack to the back of my head.
Rubbing my hand on the surely formed lump, I grumbled, “Ouch, that’s child abuse.”
Okay, so she didn’t actually hit me hard at all, and there most definitely wasn’t a lump.
Conclusion: I was dramatic. But so was she.
I watched as she burst out laughing and took several seconds to get herself under control. When she finally settled back down she made sure to point out, “Honey, you have never seen abuse, and you are hardly a child anymore.” She looked me up and down pointedly, and then finished, “Now get over yourself.”
“Alright, fine,” I conceded, explaining, “I can’t help it. You know I get cranky when I’m hungry.”
My mood had always been largely dictated by the state of my stomach. Don’t get me wrong, I was always snarky, but I became significantly more snarky when food deprivation was involved.
Luckily, if anyone knew me, it was my mama, so she just nodded her head in understanding for a couple of seconds before I continued with my real problem. “Plus, I had another horrible date last night. I don’t understand. I know guys aren’t perfect, but it’s getting ridiculous at this point. This guy called his mother six times while we were at dinner. Six,” I emphasized by holding up a six count of fingers. “Cut the fucking cord already.”
After a brief bout of laughter brought on by my delivery, her face turned to a mask of concern, and frankly understanding, as she realized what my real plight was. I was twenty-seven, by no means an old-timer, but I had been dating for years with absolutely zero success. She knew how I felt. Actually, she probably felt worse than I did. She was forty-nine, recently divorced, and going through much of the same thing that I was, except with old, fat guys.
Not that I hadn’t gone on a few blind dates with old, fat guys of my own. Ugh. That was a memory lane I had no desire to drive down again.
Where were the Kristen Ashley alpha males? I wanted one. For each of us.
Kristen Ashley could write an alpha male like none other. They say you write what you know, and if that was the truth, I wanted a shot at Kristen’s inspiration.
Good God, she could write one hell of a man.
Picking up the Coke with extra ice I had already ordered her, my mom took a few sips, inhaling it like the drug it was to both of us. Her eyes practically rolled back in her head as the cool liquid settled into the back of her throat and fed into her central nervous system.
Okay, it probably didn’t feed into her central nervous system directly, but it was just
as important.
When she set her glass back down she looked pensive for a few seconds before looking up at me and stating, “We should go on vacation.”
Yes. Vacation sounded awesome. I could really use one. I nodded my head absently but jerked it to an abrupt halt when the idea hit me with the intensity of a Mack truck. “Yes, yes we should,” I said, a maniacal shimmer almost certainly in my eye.
We needed to go on a road trip. A road trip with a very specific purpose...finding our Kristen Ashley alpha males.
Oh. My. God.
We could travel, see different places, at least meet some different, boring men, and my mom and I would get to spend time together. It was a rare occasion that the two of us couldn’t find some fun.
And maybe some trouble.
This idea was sounding better with every thought I had.
On a high from stroking my already inflated ego, I snickered to myself, and my mom gave me a look that said I surely couldn’t be her daughter since I was acting like I was certifiably crazy.
If you asked me, that was one of the qualities that actually corroborated my DNA.
Confirming my thoughts she said, “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting like a psycho. Laughing to yourself and quite frankly, scaring me.”
As I dug frantically in my purse for a piece of scrap paper and a pen, I tried to ease her nerves. “I know I look crazy. Just relax. I had the best idea ever.”
In reality, that kind of a statement from me probably just scared her more, but I didn’t bother trying to fix it.
I finally found a pen and piece of paper under all of the junk I kept in there and decided it was time to let her in on my inner monologue. “Okay, so here’s what I’m thinking. We should go on a vacation. We should go on a road trip.”
At that, she sat back with a huff, rolled her eyes, and explained, “I was thinking more along the lines of a tropical island. Bikinis. Beaches. Frozen daiquiris.”
Nodding my head at the reaction I had anticipated, I set out to explain. “Yeah, yeah. I know. But not just any road trip. We should call it ‘The Kristen Ashley Experience’.”
When she gave me a look, I hastened to add, “Or we can name it something less obvious like Allison and Haley’s Great Adventure. I even gave you top billing.”
She smiled a triumphant smile, and I took it as a sign that it was safe to continue. “The goal...to find our very own heroes of that caliber. We sure as hell aren’t finding them here.”
She looked a little scared but that didn’t stop her from murmuring, “Okay. I guess that could be kinda fun.”
After pausing for a few seconds and mulling over the idea in her head, she once again acted predictably. She wanted more information. “What’s the paper for?”
Allison was big on asking permission, while I was more of a beg-for-forgiveness type of girl.
I smiled, wagged my eyebrows, and replied, “Oh. We’re gonna make an alphabetical list of the qualities we’re looking for.”
“Huh?” she asked, her forehead acting as nothing but a highway for her climbing eyebrows. Clearly, I had confused her even more.
“Stick with me here,” I said slowly. So slowly, that my tone was mocking and would probably result in another smack to the head if I wasn’t careful. “We’re looking for our Kristen Ashley heroes, so we need to make a list of all the qualities they have that we love. Plus, if there are other qualities that you would consider must-have that aren’t in the books, those are fine too.” As even more apprehension radiated from her, I continued, “Don’t worry, I’ll start the list.”
I paused to scribble down the first letter and then showed her what I was talking about, turning the back of the old, scratch off lottery ticket (Don’t worry, it was a losing ticket) to face her and holding it within her reach.
She took it, read it to herself, and then voiced what I had written. “A is for alpha male?”
“You bet, Woman. You know we both need alphas,” I informed her with a heavy dose authority in my voice. “We want real men. Didn’t you learn your lesson from my anecdote about ole Jimmy boy last night?”
She nodded her head in surrender as I snatched the paper back out of her hand and continued the list, speaking aloud so that she could help me out. “B is for...”
She immediately jumped into the game, practically shouting, “Badass!”
“Yes! Absolutely,” I agreed. “By the way, I like your spunk, Mom.”
She smiled at me as I moved on. “C is for....Cool name.” Tapping the point of the pen on the paper as though it somehow gave more weight to my authority, I continued explaining, “I’m telling you, badasses have cool names. Tatum Jackson. Raiden Miller. Kane Allen. This is what we need. If I meet another Dan Smith, I might kill myself.”
Nodding frantically in agreement, my mom perched on the edge of her seat, eager to fill in the rest of our list.
Prompting her, I said, “D is for....” keeping my head pointed down and ready.
“Dangerous.”
I looked up from my paper and hit her with a mild glare, asking, “Dangerous?”
“Well, not really dangerous. Just a dangerous aura. Or the ability to be dangerous,” Allison attempted to explain.
Thinking about how I should interpret that I wrote down, “Dangerous...Kinda.”
“Okay, next. E is for...”
We both sat there for a solid minute trying to think of what E should be. I was nervous that my slightly attention deficit mind would start to wander, but thankfully, it finally came to me. “Experienced. But I say that with a star next to it. Only in the sense that his previous experience has given him the finesse we so desire in the bedroom.”
“Agreed,” she said, nodding her ascent.
“F is easy. F is for funny,” I stated in a tone that glaringly conveyed, “Yes, Haley. Absolutely, Haley,” was the only acceptable answer.
Nodding her head enthusiastically, my mom practically bounced in her seat. Being a fairly visual person, I accepted her nod and bounce as the nonverbal version of “Yes, Haley. Absolutely, Haley.”
Her exuberance was contagious, and even if it weren’t, I was feeling much the same way all on my own. The idea of finding these kind of men was thrilling. I knew finding them would be a lot harder than making a list, but a girl loves to dream.
“G is for gorgeous!” she screamed, eager to get to the next letter.
“Okay, G should definitely be gorgeous,” I placated before muttering to myself, “Just maybe not at that decibel.”
Unfortunately, she heard me anyway. “Watch it, sweet Haley. I gave birth to you, you know.”
“Trust me, I know. You’ve told me plenty of times over the years, Allison.”
A hint of a smile touched my mom’s lips as she shook her head slightly. Meanwhile, I kept right on talking.
“I don’t know what kind of a threat that is anyway. It’s already done; you already gave birth to me. Twenty-seven years ago, in fact. It’s not like if I don’t change my attitude you’re gonna shove me back up there.” I paused for a beat before looking directly at her and fearfully questioning, “Right?”
She looked at me like she not only thought I was disgusting, but now there was absolutely no question I was crazy. “Um, yeah. No thanks, I’ll pass on the shoving you back in. Coming out was bad enough, and you’re considerably bigger now.”
Gasping and putting my hand to my chest in mock affront, I said, “Are you trying to tell me I’m fat?”
“Haley, focus.”
I had always been a little bit all over the place like this, and no one knew how to get me back on track better than my mom. Hopefully I would find a nice alpha male who had no problem keeping me in check without suppressing my endearingly lighthearted ways in the same way that she managed to do it.
“Right. The list. Okay, so H is for...”
After a brief moment of brainstorming, we both answered at the same time with “Hard body.”
We burst into a fit of giggles
, mine sounding only slightly less deranged than a hyena, and I managed to chortle out, “Hell yes. I like the way you think. All Kristen Ashley males have to have one kick ass body.”
My mom silenced her giggles quickly and moved on while I wrote down H, stating, “I is for Intelligent. Not necessarily book smarts, but you know, the intelligence that counts.”
I gave her a thumbs up sign because I couldn’t have agreed more and kept writing while questioning, “J is for?”
“Jocund?”
Looking up from the paper, I raised my eyebrows. “I don’t even know what that means. How about we stick to adjectives I know the meaning of.”
“Oh come on. You’re a writer and a voracious reader. Where the hell is your vocabulary?” Allison asked, accusation of my idiocy making her voice heavy with annoyance.
“Apparently it’s miles and miles away from the word ‘jocund’,” I half-explained, half-argued.
“Oh good grief, Haley. It means lighthearted,” she grumbled.
Choosing my words carefully, I pointed out, “I’m not sure that KA’s heroes are normally all that lighthearted. I mean, maybe a little, but they’re usually more on the intense side. Not to mention, I’m thinking the two of us will be lighthearted enough for both parties in our relationships. Let’s pick something else.”
She rolled her eyes but gave in to me. “Ughhhh, fine.”
Trying to appease her, I queried, “Would it make you feel better if we put ‘Jocund’ as a secondary, minor trait?”
She bobbed her head and answered unflaggingly with, “Yes. Yes it would.”
I inclined my head to the paper and went back to writing, an indication that she could consider it done.
“Okay, we can come back to J because I already know K. K is for kissing expert.”
Mom just nodded along, probably still feeling slightly miffed by my adjective rejection, and moved on to the next letter. “L is for loving.”
I didn’t even nod, because it went without saying that I agreed, before rolling right into the next letter. “M is for manly.”
That’s pretty much how it went for the next fifteen minutes until we had completed our list. We stumbled on a few letters, but eventually had everything just how we wanted it.
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