The Do-Over
Page 1
The Do-Over
A Second Chance Romance Novel
Julie A. Richman
Julie A. Richman
Text copyright © 2016 Julie A. Richman
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
The Do-Over
Photo: Wander Aguiar
Model: Forrest Harrison
Cover Design: Jena Brignola
Book & eBook Design: Deena Rae @ e-BookBuilders
ISBNs:
ePub - 978-1-942215-51-6
Mobi - 978-1-942215-52-3
Paperback - 978-942215-53-0
Table of Contents
Other Books by Julie
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Still Can Claim 30’s …(and I’m sticking to it)
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Authors Note
Acknowledgements
About Julie
Contact Julie
For The Reader
Books By Julie
Other Books by Julie
Searching for Moore (Book 1)
Moore to Lose (Book 2)
Moore than Forever (Book 3)
Needing Moore Series Boxed Set
Bad Son Rising
Henry’s End
Slave To Love
For Jean and all the warriors who have fallen… and their families
And for those who are still fighting… and their families
“You never know when you’re making a memory, they will wish that they were here together again…someday.”
~ Rickie Lee Jones
Young Blood
Twenty-Something…
Chapter 1
To say I needed to get away would be a freaking understatement. It had been twelve months since my last vacation, and the friend I had traveled with on that trip had been so depressed about her break-up with her loser ‘I don’t wanna work, why don’t you work, babe’ ex-boyfriend, that she refused to leave our hotel room. For seven days, she read the same copy of People Magazine, over and over. My vacation definitely did not end up being a holiday. So, I really was in need of this one.
As I leaned my back against the ship’s railing, enjoying people watching and scouting for eligible, unattached men, my attention was drawn to him. I might have been a little more than slightly drunk, but I was mesmerized watching him and couldn’t pull my eyes away.
With every step, the drink spilled all over his bare feet, soaking the frayed hem of his worn jeans. Step. Splash. Step. Splash. Step. Splash.
Coursing through my bloodstream, a third rum and something was making me feel a bit bolder than usual as I laughed at him and his inability to keep the alcohol in the plastic cup while he attempted to make his way across the windjammer’s polished teak deck.
Hearing my laugh, he turned to me, and the look on his face was great, like he was trying hard to give me an angry, dirty look, but didn’t quite pull it off, because he was immediately disarmed by my amused smile and slightly drunk giggle.
Instead, he ended up smiling back at me. And oh my God, it was a stop me dead in my tracks smile. And what was even more surprising, was my reaction to it. To him. I could feel the blood rush in my veins and my sharp intake of air created a small gasp. And that was a rare occurrence. That never happened to me.
“I’m guessing waiter is probably not in your future,” I quipped.
Laughing, “You’re probably right.” His voice was deep and melodious and my first thought was, Damn, I’d love to have phone sex with him, followed by, three drinks and some sea air and look at you, you’ve turned into a perv, Tara!
His icy drink splashed all over my feet, and I could see the laughter in his eyes, saying, “Serves you right. Pun intended.”
He was sexy in a non-traditional way. Not your classic good looking guy, but he had charisma, the ‘It’ factor. He didn’t have to try hard to be cool. He was cool. The man was a chick magnet, of that, I was sure. There was something very rock ‘n roll about him. A mane of wild dark curls framed his long thin face, and although he was attractive now in his 20’s, this was a guy who was going to grow into his rough-hewn looks, and be his hottest in his thirties, forties, and maybe even fifties, especially if he kept his hair. Momentarily, I felt sorry for the woman in his life, who undoubtedly had to deal with her man constantly being hit on by other women.
Finding an open chaise lounge by the pool, I set my rum and whatever down on a little metal table and took a load off as I eased onto the thick blue pad. Looking up at the pitch-black sky, the taut white sails were hypnotizing, their clean lines forming perfect arcs, feeding on Pac-Man-like chunks of the night. Inhaling a deep breath of the damp sea air, I let the oxygen relax me, as my eyes acclimated to the constellations that were happily making themselves known.
Mr. Wet Feet was across the pool handing a drink to a dark-haired girl stretched out on a chaise. His girlfriend, I assumed. He didn’t sit down and her body language was screaming her displeasure with him. Viewing this made me so happy that I was traveling alone. There was only one person I had to worry about – me.
And now, after three flights, a delay and nearly twenty-three hours of travel, I was finally on vacation. Sailing on an amazing 148-passenger vessel that was a hybrid between a beautifully appointed cruise ship and a grand, old tall ship. And right now, we were cutting our way through the late-night waters aided by the power of billowing sails on this windy night.
The destination, in this case, was what made the journey. Obscure little islands that the large cruise ships couldn’t get to were our ports of call, and the only thing to worry about for the next week was how far my chaise lounge was from the nearest bar. Sighing, I closed my eyes as I approached that state of exhaustion where my body was screaming, let me sleep, you evil wench, but my mind was barreling out of control, ready for the adventure to begin.
I could hear the creak as someone sat on the chaise to my right, but didn’t open my eyes to acknowledge their presence. My eyelids were just so comfortable in their current closed position.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars.” It was that melodious voice.
Although my eyes were still closed, I could not stifle my smile. It was his pronunciation of stars that caught me off-guard. Stahz. This guy was from one
of New York City’s five boroughs. And if he continued to talk (tawk), I knew that I just might be able to pinpoint exactly where he was from – Brooklyn, Queens, The Bronx.
“You’re right, you probably haven’t, the light pollution on the east coast obliterates them,” I responded.
“I don’t live on the east coast.” There was a challenge in his tone.
“No?” I finally opened my eyes and turned my head to look at him.
“No. I live in L.A.,” he corrected my assumption.
Smiling, “But you’re not from L.A.,” I paused. “Queens?” Voicing my guess.
That gasp-worthy smile slowly spread across his face. “Very good.”
“Okay, keep talking. Let me see if I can figure out where in Queens.” I could feel my own smile matching his.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Wes.”
“Hi Wes, I’m Tara. How long have you lived in California?”
“Three years.” He was succinct.
“Oh, you are going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”
He nodded, but didn’t utter a word.
“Favorite beach.”
“Venice.” The one and two-word answers were not giving me a lot to go off of.
“Is that where you live?”
He nodded and took a sip of his drink.
“Why did you move out there?”
“Business.”
Sitting up in my chair, I grabbed my drink. “You’d be a great Mad Libs partner.”
Looking at me over the lip of his glass, I could see the tug at the corners of his mouth and I was already aching to see that smile again.
“What kind of business are you in?”
“Apparel.” Another one-word answer.
“Ah, a Garmento gone west coast rogue.” I nodded and took another sip of my drink.
Caught off-guard by my usage of the popular nickname for execs and workers in New York’s fashion and garment industry, Wes started to laugh at my comment, as his own sip of tropical happy juice was already headed down his throat. Abruptly, he sat up straight, coughing. Without thinking, I reached across giving him a few hearty slaps on the back.
“You really are very amusing,” he coughed out the words.
“I absolutely can be, but my intent was not to kill you with laughter. Cutting the trip short would probably piss off your girlfriend.”
“My girlfriend?” Wes looked startled. And then it dawned on him. “That’s not my girlfriend that I’m here with. That’s my sister.”
“Your sister?”
“Yeah,” he paused, rolling his eyes. “She booked this trip with her boyfriend, had laid out all the money and the jerk-off ditched her like two weeks ago for one of her best friends.”
“Shitty boyfriend and an even shittier friend.”
“Yeah, this chick is a real piece of work and he’s a total loser. So, she called me and asked if I wanted to go. And even though it was last minute, this was a hard one to say no to.”
“Totally. But I feel for your sister. Poor thing. She got screwed twice.”
Wes laughed, “Now she has a legit reason to be a moody bitch versus just being the brat she usually is.”
“Seriously, the poor girl. Cut her some slack, big bro.”
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, as if giving me a dirty look, but I knew a smile and smartass comment were on the horizon.
“Sharing a tiny cabin with a depressed chick is not my optimal idea of vacation fun,” he confided and I thought, Oh, I know that story too well. “You’re going to be seeing a lot of me on deck.”
I wanted to tell him that I hoped so, but being forward with a guy I was even slightly attracted to, was way beyond my comfort zone. Had there been no attraction on my part, well, then I could have said anything. But with this guy, I could feel the spark.
“So, is that what you are doing out here tonight? Avoiding being confined in close quarters with your bummed-out sister.”
Wes squinted at me. “No, silly. I’m out here so I can talk to you.”
I know I blushed, even though I tried to act cool and was just glad the stiff night breeze was most likely calming the heat in my face. Momentarily, I looked away from his stare, my heart pounding. Was I ever going to not freeze up when a guy I was attracted to flirted with me?
“Me?” I forced a laugh, then a joke. “Good answer.”
Holding out his drink to clink with mine, our glasses met halfway.
And with a smile, out of my mouth I blurted, “Forest Hills.” Then, “How close am I?”
His laugh was immediate, his eyes squinting into a warm smile. “Close enough to get invited to my mother’s house for dinner.”
“Damn, I’m good.” Smiling, I took a swig of my drink. Okay, so Wes was a Forest Hills boy.
“Let me get you another.” He popped up from his seat upon hearing my oh-so-not-ladylike slurp at the bottom of my cup.
Watching him walk away, it was impossible not to admire his ass. While he was only of medium-tall height, he had that slim runner’s build usually seen in much taller men, the kind of body that screamed adrenaline junkie. I had been trying to decide as we talked whether or not he was cute, and as I watched him getting our drinks at the bar, I realized there was no doubt the man was hot, in an unconventional kind of way. Definitely not your standard good looking or a pretty boy by any means, but the charisma and personality made him even more attractive than the hot-and-I-know-it types. And those lips. Oh, those lips. Full, with a slight sneer that killed me each time he burst into his arresting smile. I was mesmerized by them and I could feel an obsession coming on, needing to know what they tasted like, felt like against mine.
Handing me my next cold drink, I could feel my head waffle and buzz just sitting up to take the glass from him. Between exhaustion, alcohol and the energy I was feeling off Wes, I was totally intoxicated as we settled back into our chaises and the conversation took off at high speed.
“Seriously, you were at that concert? I was there, too!”
“No way that is your favorite movie. Oh my God, I’ve seen it like forty times.”
“You went to that camp? Do you know my cousins?”
“Stop! I was at the opening Mets game, too.”
“Which weekends did you have a West Hampton share?”
“I was at Limelight the night Pearl Jam played. That was one of the best concerts ever.”
“Oh I totally agree; Low is such an underrated album. I can’t believe it’s your favorite, too!”
“Get outta here. I used to work in that neighborhood, too.”
“You seriously did not just use an obscure Bowie lyric on me.”
“Oh my God, nobody knows that restaurant. I totally love that place. I think it’s the best Tiramisu in the city.”
“Me too, I’m following the SETI project, too. There’s got to be other life in the universe.”
“Stop! That is totally my fantasy you’re describing. Get out of my head!”
As the hours drew on, the conversation continued to gain momentum, the similarity in our lifestyles, the times we were in the exact same places and our paths could have crossed, but never did, kept mounting. It was almost miraculous that it had taken us this long to meet. Our common interests, likes and dislikes, and senses of humor were so in sync. There was never a lull in the conversation. Never a moment where I thought, “Okay, so what am I going to talk to this guy about?”
“You know we have been like one-degree of separation people our whole lives.” Wes was amazed. “How did I not know you? And how is it I’m just meeting you because I filled in for some asshole on this trip?”
“This is crazy,” I laughed. “We have this parallel universe thing going.”
“That sounds very Dark Shadows.”
“Nabbed. I stole it from Dark Shadows.” We both laughed.
As the sun began to lighten the eastern horizon and the sta
rs silently took their final bows, I was riding high on an energy burst. I quickly tried to search my mind for another time in my life, another conversation that had flowed like the past six hours. I came up blank. Wes and I had just shared a night, under the cover of darkness, where our energies merged. It was as if I had just met my oldest friend for the first time and we immediately had a lifetime to catch up on to bring us up to speed.
Sometimes you just click with people and become fast friends. This was similar, but much more intense, as it was laced with that unspoken male/female tension. I wasn’t sure if he just took it as, great conversation with a nice girl or if the energy he felt matched mine. Could a person go on this magic carpet ride alone with the individual sitting next to them experiencing a non-spellbinding, mundane experience, I wondered? Or was this the norm for him? Maybe this was just how he related to people. And while I had no problem making friends and talking to people, and in most cases (except for when I really liked a guy) was very outgoing, what had just happened, was different.
Or at least it had been for me.
Getting up from his chair, Wes reached out a hand to me, leading me to the ship’s railing. Side-by-side we leaned on the rail, watching the first colors of morning make their show. I could feel the heat from his body next to me and the clean scent of detergent on his tee-shirt. I wanted to bury my nose in it, letting my senses of touch and smell fill with him.
I caught Wes just looking at me. “What?” I asked. “Do I have raccoon mascara tracks or something.”
He shook his head, smiling. “No. I’m just kind of tripping out about meeting you. I mean we have been in the same place at the same time like a gazillion times.”
I laughed. “I know. It’s crazy. And it doesn’t feel like I just met you. You know?”
Bumping me with his shoulder. “Yeah, totally. That’s the thing. This has kinda been like when you hear from an old friend from high school or college and you haven’t talked to them in a few years and you end up talking for like two hours on the phone and it’s like no time has passed.”