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Afterword
That’s all for Rayne and Seth. I hope you enjoyed their short little tale.
I’m Calling Dibs is a peek at a new set of characters that are all getting full-length standalone novels from me.
Up first is Audria in LHL (full title to be revealed soon). This small-town romance is expected to release February 2021. You can add this book on Goodreads here!
Also by Harloe Rae
Reclusive Standalones
Redefining Us
Forget You Not
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#BitterSweetHeat Standalones
Gent
Miss
Lass
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Silo Springs Standalones
Breaker
Keeper
Loner
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Total Standalones
Watch Me Follow
Ask Me Why
Left for Wild
About the Author
Harloe Rae is a USA Today & Amazon Top 10 best-selling author. Her passion for writing and reading has taken on a whole new meaning. Each day is an unforgettable adventure.
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She’s a Minnesota gal with a serious addiction to romance. There’s nothing quite like an epic happily ever after. When she’s not buried in the writing cave, Harloe can be found hanging with her hubby and son. If the weather permits, she loves being lakeside or out in the country with her horses.
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Harloe is the author of the Reclusive series, Watch Me Follow, the #BitterSweetHeat series, Ask Me Why, the Silo Springs series, and Left For Wild. These titles are available on Amazon.
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Stay in the know by subscribing to her newsletter at http://bit.ly/HarloesList
Join her reader group, Harloe’s Hotties, at https://www.facebook.com/groups/harloehotties/
Check out her site at www.harloe-rae.blog
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Follow her on:
BookBub ➜ http://bit.ly/HarloeBB
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Facebook Page ➜ http://Facebook.com/authorharloerae
Instagram ➜ https://www.instagram.com/harloerae/
Ctrl+Alt+Bang
By J.D. Hollyfield
Don’t play games with a girl who can play them better
-Unknown
Chapter 1
Footsie is for fuckheads…
Melanie
I never considered myself a betting man. Or a man at all since I carry around breasts. Not cannons, but a nice rack of perky tits any man would be happy to snuggle between. Any man but my ex-boyfriend. And since I’m not a betting woman either, I never would have wagered this shit would happen to me.
The big C-word: cheating.
By a big D-word: douchebag.
Enter Tad, my lazy, perpetually-trying-to-find-himself, loser ex-boyfriend, who, up until a week ago, was still my loser boyfriend. A guy who I allowed to change me from my normal spitfire self, to a meek, naive, well… just a pathetic human. And yes, I’m mentally kicking his balls in having to admit that.
Good ol’ Tad had it made- an apartment he didn’t pay for and a girlfriend who cooked and cleaned for him. His lifestyle consisted of lounging around in his old, smelly flannel pajama pants and talking to his online friends all day. Yeah. Real winner. And who’s to blame? Most likely myself since I stayed with him for almost two wasted, pathetic years.
Let’s take a minute to stroll down memory lane. When we met, he was great. A dreamer with so many aspirations that I fell instantly in love with him. A man without restrictions. The sky was the limit! Well, it turns out there were limitations all right. I was starting to think his true profession was making excuses. It’s not the right job, babe. I’m not feeling the vibes on that one, babe. Their dress code is out of my comfort zone, babe. Nothing. Was. Right. Now, normal feisty me would tell him to get out of his smelly flannel pants and take anything that is offered. Get a fucking job! But since I was becoming a sucker with no backbone, I said to myself, who was I to push? He had so much passion, I couldn’t dull his shine by forcing him into a career that wasn’t meant for him. But for the love of God, I wanted him to be something.
Then, one day, it happened.
He came to me, the biggest, most enchanting smile on his face. He spun me around and around until we were both dizzy and out of breath from laughter. We fell to the ground, and he kissed me so passionately, my toes tingled.
Then he told me he’d found his calling. No, he found his passion. My boyfriend wanted to be a photographer. It didn’t have the same ring as a doctor or lawyer—even a stable nine to five position that came with benefits and a salary.
A photographer.
As in, a person who’s supposed to maybe understand lighting, exposure, oh I don’t know someone who knows how to take a photo—basically a job that requires expertise. None of which Tad had. My smile strained while I asked simple questions. Don’t you need experience? Don’t you need a camera? Don’t you need money to start this hobby—I mean career?
Tad had it all figured out. There was no talking him out of it. He just needed me on board. Mainly because I had to front him all the cash. Hello! Where were my friends and family when the alarms started going off screaming, Don’t fucking do it! Oh, wait, they were there. I just ignored them all. So, what did I do? I cleaned out my savings and supported my man. Bought him the best camera out there because, of course, he insisted he needed to be able to run with the best. Spent countless hours setting up a business website and ordering business cards to flutter all over town.
I had faith in him. I was finally seeing the man I first met, showing such passion and drive—oh wait, he never had drive. Scratch that. But he was going to make it. And when that happened, not only would he pay me back—which he swore to do—maybe there would be a ring in the future.
The future…
Insert belly fucking laughs.
Asshole.
I’m getting ahead of myself, though. I can’t start the shit-talking until I explain why I’m talking the shit.
Deep breaths.
Rewind six months. Tad was accomplishing exactly what he set out to do. He sat in front of the computer, researching and learning his way around a lens. I was his perfect muse, and I had to admit, the pictures he took of me weren’t half bad. Before long, his business was booming. Almost overnight, he had clients interested in his services and his business was growing steadily.
Everything was panning out. I actually did see a ring in my future.
Insert unstable hyena laughs.
My mother always told me trust was the most essential asset in a relationship. Without it, you have nothing. That was Tad and me. I trusted him wholeheartedly, and he was my other half. My best friend. There was no reason not to trust him.
Until he gave me several. Long workdays. Late nights. The smell of perfume that wasn’t mine. And I know because I don’t smell like a cheap whorehouse. I didn’t want to fathom that my boyfriend would cheat on me, not after everything I’d done for him. But when I got a call from my girlfriend, my suspicions were confirmed.
“Girl, he was at lunch with some total skank!” my best friend, Deanna, shouts.
“Maybe it was a client.”
“They
were playing footsie under the table. I almost barfed up my salmon. And that shit was expensive! You have to wait months to get reservations at Winnebago’s!”
“I don’t know, Dee…I feel like you’re overreacting. Was this a liquid lunch? ’Cause sometimes you tend to—”
“Melanie, she was inspecting his teeth. What client inspects teeth? I don’t even get the freaky with my dentist and he’s hot! She was all up in that grill. If I hadn’t been so grossed out, I would have missed their tacky nose kisses. He is cheating!”
No. Not my Tad. I couldn’t believe it. I was just being paranoid. Stressed about work. Tired from missing him while he worked late; sometimes not even making it home. I mentally put my shades on to block all the neon signs trying to blind me. I mean, who wouldn’t? No one wants to find out they’re being cheated on—especially by a guy who practically owes them everything.
Asshole.
Wait, I already called him that.
Fucker.
Having faith, I kept my mouth shut, but this time took off the shades. I started to pay attention to his schedule. Stole peeks at his calendar and clientele. All women, by the way. No need to panic! It could have been a coincidence!
It wasn’t.
It never is.
The inner voice of a woman’s is strong—way stronger than my cheating boyfriend’s dick, which I thought was suffering from erectile dysfunction. But that’s a rant for another day. His dick was working fine—just not with me. When I got a call from Jenna, my other bestie, who happened to see Tad at—no shocker—outside of a dentist building, she filled in the final blanks for me.
“Did you know your sleazy boyfriend is currently massaging some slut’s tonsils? I will rip his useless, flaccid dick off the next time I see him. I knew you should have dumped him the second he started in on that whole ‘I’m just nervous’ bullshit when you were trying to sack him. I mean, who lies to a girl about not having a working penis!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jenna.”
“Bullshit. I talked to Deanna. You’re in denial, and that loser is cheating on you. I just witnessed it! I’m at the dentist getting my Invisalign mold and saw him. He was in the back parking lot with some girl. She was atrocious looking, by the way.”
“How do you know it wasn’t just a friend or a client—”
“Melanie! They were kissing. Like disgusting teenagers.”
Hmmm…sounds exactly how Tad kisses. “You sure it was him?”
“Jesus. Yes, I called out his name. When he turned, I threw my Yeti at him. Hit him right in the forehead. I didn’t get my cup back, though. Pissed about that.”
“Hmmm…”
That was the only response I had. Maybe it was a calm before the storm reaction. Because what happened next was nothing short of theatrical. I finally listened to the screaming expletives in my inner voice and did the first thing that came to mind—revenge. After putting some pieces together, I started with his website, which I happened to have designed. The dumbass didn’t change his login or password, so I was ablet to read the email after email of women propositioning him and him accepting. My boyfriend wasn’t a photographer. He had turned himself into a goddamn gigolo.
Talk about a failed return on investment.
I drank myself into a stupor. Then I wrote down every dime I’d spent on him—from rent to dry cleaning his stupid flannel pants to his fake career. He didn’t just owe me money. He owed me his life.
Okay. Before anyone gets worried, I didn’t murder him. I’m a natural brunette and don’t care much for the color orange. It really tends to drown out my pretty blue eyes. No, I let him live, but when I was done with him, he may have wanted me to end him.
I simply waited until he got home, played the perfect girlfriend, offered him a drink spiked with enough Viagra to take out a horse, and waited. And then I handcuffed him to the bed and watched him experience the most painful erection. He howled and cried. Begged me to uncuff him. Or at least give him a hand job. Instead, I used my fancy camera and made him my muse. Then, while he cried for me to take him to the ER because he swore his dick was going to explode, I emailed the pictures to every single person on his contact list.
Then I called his mother and told her to come collect her loser son and get him the fuck out of my apartment. I couldn’t imagine how uncomfortable it was having his mom find him with a hard-on, but I couldn’t have cared less. I was done.
Pats my own back.
Cries hysterically.
Assembles girl gang to pick up the pieces.
Chapter 2
Everyone should have a girl gang
Melanie
“Holy shit, show me the pic!”
“Ew, no! I don’t want to see his hairy junk. I bet he has a nasty, overgrown bush,” Jenna gags, while Deanna offers me a sympathetic smile.
“Sorry, no harry bush dick pic,” I say, sipping on my dirty martini. Yep. Just what the doctor ordered. “Plus, I got rid of them all after I sent them to his mother.”
Jenna spits her drink out, and Deanna yelps, wiping her face with her napkin. “Dude, what the hell?”
“Totally sorry, but you sent them to his mom? Savage!”
I guess I shouldn’t mention that I also sent it to his grandparents. “Listen, guys. I really don’t want to talk about Tad anymore. I’m just glad he’s gone so I can move on.” Three martini glasses go up to cheers. “I’m looking forward to some me-time. Maybe re-organizing my book—”
“Oh, hell, no!” Jenna startles me when her demanding voice cuts through my suggestion of house cleaning. I could really use a fresh wipe down. Spend the weekend re-organizing— “You are not going all Merry Maid on us. You’re not getting any younger, and we know Tad did nothing for that poor vag of yours.”
Deanna agrees with an “Mmm-hmmm.”
“We are absolutely fucking thrilled you finally got rid of that jag-off. We’ve been waiting for this moment.” Another nod from Deanna.
“Exactly what have you two been waiting for?” They’re supposed to support me, not rub salt in my still fresh wounds by reminding me how much I suck.
“For you to finally get properly laid.” My two friends nod in unison.
“I don’t need to get—”
“Yes, you do,” Deanna comments, hiding behind her martini glass. My mouth parts, and a dramatic pfft falls from my pouty lips. They aren’t wrong, though.
“Honey,” Deanna starts, her tone saccharine sweet, “when was the last time you had an orgasm? With another person. Vibrators don’t count.”
I don’t like where this is going. It’s none of their business. “I don’t know! It’s…been awhile. You know, Tad was very insecure about his—”
“Supposedly non-working dick?”
“Jenna!” I snap, trying to hide in my own martini as the old woman next to us scowls. The problem is, I honestly can’t remember the last time I had sex—a good ol’, skin on skin, tongues-in-dirty-places, sweat-inducing, exploding orgasm. I mean, there was that one time with Javier…my vibrator. I had just changed his batteries, and holy moly, what a difference a new charge can make!
“We’re going to assume your silence is because you’re practically a virgin again—”
“I’m not a—”
Jenna waves her hand to cut me off. “Trust tree. We’re in it. There is no need to be ashamed that your most important asset has been taken advantage of. She needs to be used, sister! She needs to be petted, groomed, and stuffed with shit!”
“Jenna!” Deanna and I snap at the same time. Jenna turns her accusing eyes on Deanna.
“Oh, girl, don’t get me started. I know what you did last summer when you and Kevin went to Cancun.”
Deanna’s face turns beet red. “I told you we had too much to drink.”
“Yeah, cool. I normally take couples home and swing too—”
“It was a one-time thing!”
Jenna throws her head back and laughs. “You spent the entire week wit
h them doing nasty things to each—”
“Guys! Jesus. Not the place,” I say, cutting them both off. From the way Granny is eyeing me, we’re about to be forced to take this conversation elsewhere. “Fine, you’re right. I haven’t had sex in a long time. I can’t even remember the last time I saw a dick.” Now that I think about it…
“Oh my god. What if I don’t even remember what a dick looks like? If a dick came calling, would I even know? Would I be like, ‘Wow! Hey, little buddy! What are you?’”
The horrid gasp from Granny has me shutting my yapper, whereas Jenna turns to Grandma and says, “Yeah, she needs dick bad.”
Yep. We’re getting kicked out.
The couple calls over their waiter, and after a long story I’m sure is about dicks, they change tables.
There’s nothing left to say. I clearly need dick, and my friends know it. But I’m not as outgoing as Jenna. Or social like Deanna. I keep to myself. And I like it that way. I can’t even fathom being out in the dating world again. “Maybe in the future I’ll meet someone, but right now—”
“Shut it, prude. Sorry, that was your vagina talking through me. She wants you to shut up. Now, we have something for you.”
Not good.
Last time Jenna had something for me, I hallucinated for three days in Mexico and woke up in a hotel bathtub wearing a flamingo costume.
“Deanna and I…” she squeals, making me more nervous. Shit, I have no interest in seeing dead people again. “We signed you up for this dating app—well…more like a sex app.”
I Have Lived And I Have Loved: A Charity Romance Collection Page 51