0-69 in 5 Minutes

by Jasmine Black

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Jasmine Black

  0 to 69 in 5 Minutes © March 2010 Jasmine Black

  eXcessica publishing

  A Smashwords Edition

  All rights reserved

  0 to 69 in 5 Minutes

  By Jasmine Black

  Chapter 1

  What am I doing in a hotel convention room full of sex-crazed people? Looking for a date. A shudder rippled through Valerie as she scanned the room of hopefuls. She needed a tall guy with dark brown hair and blue eyes. Ripped muscles from neck to toes. No children. Oh yeah, and dimples.

  Why had she lied about having a boyfriend? She laughed bitterly. Because her parents wanted her to settle down, start a family. How could she when every man she’d ever dated had lied to her?

  Guilt over the lie stabbed her, but she forced it away. She couldn’t allow it to interfere with her plans. Just this one time she needed to think about herself first and get through this ordeal with her sanity in check. Then she’d worry about making amends.

  Things would be better if she stuck to the plan. Men couldn’t be trusted and she had no desire to put her heart on the line again. But she’d have even bigger problems than that if her plan failed.

  Why couldn’t she have described her fantasy lover a bit more vaguely? No, she had to go all out. Impress her family with his imaginary good looks, charm, and personality.

  Oh, that was a lie, and she knew it. The news of her hot new man would weave its way to Tyler, her ex-fiancé, making him regret dumping her for that tramp. Not to mention, she couldn’t face him at her ten-year high school reunion alone. Not when he’d made a name for himself, however trashy it might be.

  The lady in line in front of her stepped aside, and she moved up. A man in a black t-shirt with the word “staff” in orange letters sat behind a desk. She glanced at his name tag. Gene.

  “Welcome to Fast Track to Love speed dating. Name, please.” Gene wiggled his bushy eyebrows.

  Her stomach churned, whether from Gene’s exaggerated eyebrow wiggle, or the giggling crowd pressing in behind her, she couldn’t tell. More likely paranoia was the root of the tiny acid bubbles finding their way up her throat, but still, she hoped no one recognized her. She didn’t need anyone to find out she’d lied about having a boyfriend. The guilt was eating her alive, but she’d come clean to her family down the road-in her own time.

  “Valerie Jordan.” Her gaze darted from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of any man with brown hair, or anyone she knew.

  Gene found her name on his list and checked it off. Then he handed her a card with the number five printed on it. “Okay, Valerie, you’re all set. In a few minutes the coordinator will give an opening speech and get the event started. Until then, relax, mingle. Cocktails are on the house. I hope you have a wonderful evening and find that someone special.”

  The cheesy line rolled off his lips with enthusiasm. How many people found true love in five minutes? True love? Who was she kidding; she just wanted a date to fool her ex. She’d never tried speed dating before, but where else could she go to find a man on short notice?

  The population of men grew rather large and more people waited in line to register. Her odds seemed to increase as the start time grew closer. The first five or so men she saw warranted no second looks. Older, bald, short. She had a few more minutes, perhaps the man of her dreams awaited beyond the entrance doors. However, she hoped he’d walk through them soon so the butterflies in her stomach would settle down.

  A waitress carrying a tray of champagne walked by, and Val took a flute. Then she wrinkled up her nose and waved her hand through the air as the lady in front of her, doing some last minute primping, sprayed perfume, nearly squirting the foul chemicals in her eyes. Two older women, probably in their late fifties to early sixties, stood behind her gossiping about a few of the gentleman they had noticed. Apparently one lady wanted a nice older man for companionship while the other wanted to ‘shake her booty’ with a young stud who could ‘get it up.’

  Shocked, Val gasped and coughed as the champagne tried to slide down her closed throat. The ladies giggled and continued their conversation. Still shocked, Val circulated the large rectangular room, hoping her face was not as red as it felt.

  Minutes later and a few glasses more of champagne, the coordinator cleared her throat into a microphone to gain the participants’ attention. “Welcome everyone to this week’s event and for those of you from across the river, welcome to Evansville, Indiana. Thank you all for coming tonight. No pun intended.”

  A roar of laughter came from the men in the room and a few giggles broke out from the ladies as well. Were these people adults or horny teens?

  “You can see the long row of tables and chairs running down the center of the room. Each one has a number on top. Everyone will sit at the numbered table that matches the number on their ticket. Then you will have five minutes with each member of the opposite sex to get their name, ticket number and whatever else information you’d like. After that I’ll say ‘switch’ and the men will move down the line. At the end of the evening, please turn in the list of numbers for the people you would like to contact. If your numbers match someone else’s, then our staff will arrange a meeting for the two of you.”

  The coordinator paused while the crowd applauded her speech. “If you’re here to meet individuals of the same sex, I’m sorry, but we can’t accommodate you tonight. We have a special mixer for you planned at the end of the month.”

  A few men and women groaned and left the hotel convention room. Sad really, two of the men had been hopefuls. Val twisted and scanned the remaining men. She might be able to get by with a few over-exaggerations, after all most people did hype up their love interest. However, no one came close, especially now. The night would be a waste. If she left, she might find someone in a bar or a club.

  The deadline loomed in her mind. She had two weeks until the big day Tyler strolled back into town. He’d probably drive up in some fancy sports car. Wave his fame and fortune in everyone’s face. Brag about models he’d filmed in his sleazy x-rated movies. But what could she say? Sex sold, and Tyler had the cash to prove it.

  Lights dimmed and soft music began to play in the background. Vanilla scented candles flickered on the tables. Waitresses moved down the line with trays of champagne, beer and cocktails. Val sat down at her numbered table and was joined by a man in a business suit. His blonde hair was combed to the side, and he wore wire-rimmed glasses.

  “Hello. I’m Barry, and I’m looking to get laid.” He smiled a snaggletooth grin.

  She gasped at his bluntness and leaned against the back of her chair. “Well, Barry. I’m not.”

  Barry continued talking as if she’d never turned him down. Would all the men think she’d engage in sex within a few minutes of meeting them? Lord, she hoped not. There had to be someone here who wasn’t desperate. Someone wh
o was sane would be nice.

  Her mind wandered and her eyes followed, not caring what Barry thought. Men and women of all ages, races and social standing filled the tables. Yet she didn’t see the man she was looking for. Of course there was always hair dye and colored contacts. Maybe she could talk a man into changing a few things if he had the right body and, of course, dimples. Unfortunately, those couldn’t be faked.

  “Switch!”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. After four and a half minutes of listening to Barry’s chest-beating, Val was glad when he moved down.

  This time an older gentleman with salt and pepper hair sat down. He looked great for an older guy. A long strong jaw line, trim and in shape. She might have even gone out with him on another night, but he didn’t fit the description she’d dreamed up. Even if he would change his hair, he still looked about ten years too old.

  When the lady said switch, she stood up and headed for the door.

  “Miss? Miss?” The coordinator rushed over to her. Hair falling out of her tight bun and her skirt flying around her thighs as she wobbled, trying to navigate in her pumps. “You can’t go. You signed up, and I can’t give you a refund.”

  “I don’t want a refund.” All she wanted was to get one drink at the bar and plan her next move. She turned when she heard another commotion at the entrance.

  “Oh, come on. I’m five minutes late, and you have an uneven number of participants.” A tall guy with dark hair grumbled in a deep husky voice to Gene.

  Broad shoulders, muscles bulged where the sleeves of his polo cut across his biceps. Tight buns and lean hips defined his khaki pants. Oh, God please let him have blue eyes and dimples. A stretch, she knew. How many men with brown hair had blue eyes? She should have looked up the stats, but the words had flown out of her mouth before her mind had had a chance to catch up.

  “Miss?”

  “What?” She turned back to the frantic woman. “Oh, right. Don’t worry. I’m staying. I just got a bit nervous, that’s all.” She pulled out her seat and sat back down as the coordinator rushed off to the new participant and, with any luck, her new love interest.

  * * * *

  He was late, but he’d made it. Noah Kittler made his way to the row of round tables covered in linen tablecloths and filled with prospective dates. Why he’d let his sister talk him into speed dating was beyond his comprehension. She did have a point. He liked to do everything fast. Well, almost everything. Some things had to be slow and tender. Other things he pushed to the limit, like work and his car on the track. Why should dating be different?

  Only one seat remained empty at the other side of the room. He made his way across the vast space and sat down. The woman at the table had long straight black hair, hoop earrings and a nice smile. Candle light flickered across her face. She appeared to be in her forties, a bit too old for him since he liked to date woman a few years younger than his own thirty-one years.

  “Hi. I’m Wanda. What’s your sign?”

  Was she serious? His sign? His sign was her cheesy line telling him to move to the next seat, but he had to wait until the five minutes were up. Lucky for him, he’d come in late and only three and a half minutes remained. “My name’s Noah and I have no clue what my sign is.”

  “Have you ever had your chart done?” Wanda spread out crystals on the table.

  “No…” This was too weird. By the time she stopped littering the table top, charms covered half.

  Her eyes closed, and she breathed in deeply before opening her eyes and taking his hand. Running her finger over his palm, she sighed.

  “I can tell a lot about a man by his hands. You work with yours. Strong and focused.” She traced a few more lines.

  He shifted in his seat, hating the attention she paid to his hand. After all, they had met about thirty seconds ago, and she massaged his palm a bit too intimately, tickling him as her finger swept along.

  “In the very near future, you will meet a beautiful woman and fall hopelessly in love with her. But life-threatening danger enters your soul through selfish desires. Lies will surface and hearts will be broken.” She folded his fingers and placed his hand on the table. “That is all I can say for now.”

  Digging in her bag once again, she pulled out a business card and passed it to him. Wanda’s Astrological Readings. The woman was here to promote her business, not find a date.

  “Any time you want me to finish your reading, give me a call, handsome.” She winked at him.

  Did she really think her talk about danger and love would make him run to her office or spend hard earned cash for a load of bull? Of course people fall in love and hearts get broken. And who didn’t lie in this day and age?

  “Switch,” the coordinator called out, and the men moved down the line like pro-stocks in the staging lanes.

  Should he line up and follow the crowd, or keep walking out the door? Why not meet a few more women, but what could anyone learn about someone in five minutes? He was tired of the blind dates his sister set him up on. The bar scenes weren’t much better. Co-workers were out of the question since he worked with all guys in his auto shop. Sometimes women clients came in, but what woman desired a man covered in grease and oil? Women wanted their men to at least smell attractive.

  Oh, he could get a date. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was finding the right woman to settle down with, start a family. He wanted more than he’d had with all his other relationships.

  He worked his way down the line of tables. As he sat across from an elderly lady propositioning him, he thought about the last couple of women. They seemed nice. At least they weren’t selling a service, but they just didn’t do it for him. Whatever the reason, he couldn’t describe it. No one generated the spark he’d looked for all his life. Maybe he wanted something that didn’t exist. He didn’t bother with getting either of their numbers nor the lady old enough to be his mother who wanted him to “get it up” for her.

  “Switch.”

  He gladly moved to the next table. Before him sat a natural beauty. Shoulder length chestnut hair, soft bangs swept to one side, hazel eyes and a white radiant smile. She was toned as if she worked out. Sitting down, he couldn’t make out her curves on the bottom half, but her breasts filled out her low cut blouse.

  “Hello, I’m Noah Kittler.” He flashed a smile, hoping to charm her.

  “That’s a nice set of dimples you have there, Noah. I’m Valerie Jordan.” She leaned in close, propped her elbows on the table and her chin on her right hand.

  If she moved any closer, he feared she would pinch his cheeks as his grandma and aunts did. He felt his face flush. In his experience, the boy-next-door smile turned women off. They saw him as a big brother. No matter how hard he worked, how much weight he lifted, he couldn’t rid himself of the little bit of fat on his cheeks.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Valerie.” He held his face still, refusing to play the big brother role. If he kept his dimples in check, he could act the sexy hero instead.

  “Please, call me Val.” She changed her gaze and stared into his eyes.

  His plan worked.

  Maybe his sister’s idea wasn’t so bad after all. He brushed his leg against hers. She tilted her head and smiled with her full, sensuous lips. What was he doing? Rushing things again. Hell, all he knew was her name. And she has glorious breasts I’d love to see naked. Stop it!

  “Tell me about yourself, Val.” He swallowed hard as she ran her foot up his leg. Did she come here looking for sex? Sex was fine, but he could get that from the women at the racetrack who wanted a ride in his ‘65 GTO. He wanted something more out of life. Someone who wanted to be with him, build a family, grow old together. Then stop looking at her breasts.

  In her defense, he had started the game. To her favor, she had started his engine. Made his blood run straight to his cock with one brush of her silky smooth foot.

  “I’m a twenty-eight-year-old, never been married, manicurist. Live here in town and operate my busines
s from my home.” She rushed through her speech as if she’d been rehearsing it for days.

  “Interesting.” His back stiffened as he hid his grease stained hands under the table. The embarrassment of his hands lingered in the back of his mind most of the time, but knowing she cared for them as her profession, increased his anxiety. Would she notice them? Be turned off by them? Could he spend the evening with her on a date? The whole time worrying over his hands?

  “What about you?” She took a sip of her champagne.

  He cleared his throat. “I live outside of town. Have my own business, too, and I drag race on the weekend.”

  Hazel eyes twinkled in the candle light. “Interesting.” She used his word back at him, but it sounded sexy rolling off her lips. “Have you ever been married?”

  The dreaded question. Usually it took a few dates before he had to confess and come clean. At least she asked a simple yes or no question. He could avoid the whole truth for a while. “Yes, I have, but I’m divorced now.”

  The answer seemed to please her. She smiled and leaned toward the table. Would she be so pleased to find out he had impulsively married four times before? None lasted longer than a good oil change. And the ink had barely dried on the divorce papers to his last wife. Her shit still cluttered his place.

  She continued her questions like a to-do-list needing to be checked off.

  “Do you have any kids?”

  “No, no kids.” Sadly he’d never been blessed with children. Perhaps they’d been spared from the drama in his life. Still, he’d love to have a couple running around in the yard.

  “Well then, Noah, I have a proposition for you. How would you like to make yourself an easy grand for two weeks’ work?”

  He slumped his shoulders and relaxed his hands. She had been too easy, too pretty, too right. There had to be a catch to her and here it was.

  Crazy.

  The dame was down right crazy. Did she want him to rob a bank? Kill an ex-lover? Well, whatever she had planned, he could live without it.