The F It List
Love You Forever Series Book 6
Alexis Winter
Copyright 2021 by Alexis Winter - All rights reserved.
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In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.
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Respective authors own all copyrights not held by the publisher.
It started when my hot-as-hell coworker offered to give me my first O.
Let me back-up.
It actually started when I got dumped at the altar.
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If I have to see one more sympathetic head tilt from someone asking me how I’m holding up…I might lose it.
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After some serious self-reflection (and momentarily swearing off men forever) I decided the only way to figure out what I want in life is to make a list.
My F It List—A journey to self-discovery and kicking ass!
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But when Grayson AKA, temptation wrapped in a three-piece-suit, offers to help me cross a few items off the list my plan goes a little…off the rails.
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Teach me golf? Yes, please.
Go camping? Sure!
Kiss me in the rain? I would have said no but the moment his soft, full lips melted against mine the word ceased to exist.
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So here I am trying to keep myself in the friend zone, but with each new memory we make, I feel myself falling and I’m not sure I want to be caught.
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One thing that wasn’t on my list?
Having Grayson’s baby.
Knocking out the big O,
Just turned into me getting knocked up.
Contents
1. Cora
2. Grayson
3. Cora
4. Grayson
5. Cora
6. Grayson
7. Cora
8. Grayson
9. Cora
10. Grayson
11. Cora
12. Grayson
13. Cora
14. Grayson
15. Cora
16. Grayson
17. Cora
18. Grayson
19. Cora
20. Grayson
21. Cora
22. Grayson
Epilogue
The Baby Fling Sneak Peek!
Chapter 1
Read the rest of the Love You Forever Series
About the Author
Also by Alexis Winter
One
Cora
That poor girl. I can’t believe she was left at the altar!
I don’t know how she’s going to recover from the embarrassment!
She just couldn’t lock him down. No wonder. He was waayyy too good for her.
These are the things that run through my head every time I look at myself in the mirror—all the things that people are saying behind my back or when they think I’m not paying attention. Of course, they’re also wondering what’s wrong with her?
What is wrong with me? Why is it that all of my friends are happily married with kids or with kids on the way, and I can’t even manage to hold on to one guy? What’s so wrong with me? I mean, I guess I am a little too thin. I would like to have a curvier body—a body like an hourglass, if you will. The only curves I have are from my B-cup breasts, and trust me, they’re always overlooked because they’re a B-cup! My ass is too flat, and my hips are practically nonexistent. I’m also too short. I’m a 24-year-old woman who’s built like a 14-year-old girl. Harley says I’m adorable and pixie-like, but I think most men look at me and see a girl instead of a woman.
I lean into the mirror and inspect further. My eyes are blue, but they’re not a striking blue or dazzling in any way like they once were. Lately, they’ve been puffy and glassy with the amount of crying I’ve done. In fact, my eye shape isn’t right for my face at all according to several beauty magazines I’ve read. My big round eyes and cherub cheeks just accentuate the adolescent look I’ve been trying to change. I’ve always wished I were that girl with gorgeous almond eyes and an angular jaw à la Gal Gadot. Look, I’m not ugly, but I’d be lying if I didn’t wish I looked a little more interesting instead of the pale, short girl next door with a blonde bob and petite features.
A puff of air leaves my lips as I turn away from the mirror and bend over the tub to turn off the water. The tub is full of bubbles but I add in a few essential oils. I already have a dozen lit candles scattered around the tub and the vanity counter. The tray that rests across the tub is complete with a glass of wine—the bottle on the floor well within reach—and a box of chocolates. It’s been a few weeks since my failed marriage ceremony, and you could say I’m still wallowing. This is my weak attempt at putting myself back together, but in reality, I’m just licking my wounds.
I remove my robe and drop it onto the floor as I climb into the tub. It’s an old-school clawfoot tub and it’s completely full, so the water covers my entire body. I pick up my phone and start up some music that plays softly in the background to help me relax. Then I pop a chocolate into my mouth and wash it down with a sip of wine. I lean my head back and close my eyes, letting the hot water relax my tired body. I breathe in the scents of the aromatherapy candles and oils. Slowly, I begin to feel myself start to relax.
Behind my lids, a vision of Jimmy appears, and I feel the ping of pain he’s left in my heart. I can see his blond hair that was always neatly combed. His green eyes and sharp jaw. His plump, soft lips. I remember the way those lips felt when they’d kiss down my neck. My heart feels like it cracks open and breaks. Tears build in my eyes. It doesn’t take long before they overflow and run down my cheeks. This is it, I tell myself. This is the last time I cry over stupid Jimmy Reynolds. This is my last night of moping. Tomorrow, I’ll get up and look at life in a whole new way. I need to get myself over this hurdle and find the man I’m supposed to be with.
All I’ve ever really wanted in life is to be married to a man who loves me deeply—a man who wants to be with me and will do anything it takes to keep me. I want the big yard, the picket fence, and a couple of kids running down the hall. I want to tuck my kids in at night by placing kisses on their foreheads, only to run back to the living room to cuddle up with my husband on the couch in front of a cozy fire. Is that really too much to ask? I don’t want a mansion or a million dollars. I don’t want some fancy car or dream job. I just want a family of my own.
I have to admit, as happy as I am for Harley, I’m also a little jealous. She’s found someone great who loves her for who she is. And now she’s pregnant and has everything I want. Giving them my honeymoon was no big deal. I didn’t pay for it, and it was the least Jimmy could do . . . in my eyes, anyway. There’s no way I would’ve been able to take that trip alone. I would’ve done nothing but cry the whole time, and I’ve done plenty of that from the comfort of my own apartment.
I’m happy that Harley got the trip. And I’m happy that she’s with Foster and that they’ll soon have a child of their own. But how the hell did my life end up this way? I did everything for Jimmy that a good fiancée should do. I waited on him hand and foot. I thought I was being supportive and loving—listening to his problems and trying to offer any advice I could. I bent over backwards taking care of his place and mine. I even budgeted his accounts for him. I did his laundry and made his lunch every day. Most of the time, I cooked dinner for him too. I was so sure I was convincing him of ho
w awesome a wife I’d be. I had no idea that what I was really doing was changing myself to fit him. I was completely neglecting my own needs and desires in my attempt to keep him happy. From now on, I won’t do that anymore. From this point forward, if a man wants me, he’s going to have to realize that it’s a partnership—it’s give and take. I’m no longer going to be that girl who completely forgets who she is for someone else.
I think back over the course of my dating history, and in every single relationship, I was always the one doing the changing. If my boyfriend liked football, I was suddenly an avid football fan. If he hated a TV show, I hated that same show and stopped watching it, even if it was something I’d loved before. I changed the type of music I listened to. I changed my diet and exercise routine. Hell, I even cut my hair because Jimmy didn’t like long hair. He said it was always getting tangled around him.
I decide to push all these thoughts away. All I’m doing is depressing myself, and now that I’m good and relaxed, I’m sure it wouldn’t take much to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
I sit up and crawl out of the tub. I dry off and replace my robe, then turn on the ceiling light and drain the tub before blowing out the candles. I exit the bathroom and fall into bed. I don’t even think I pull the covers up my body. My eyes close and I’m dead to the world.
My alarm goes off the next morning, and for a moment, I’m annoyed that I have to deal with the emotions I’ve been wrestling with all week. But then I remember the promise I made to myself last night and force myself to pep up. I get up and go to start a pot of coffee before slipping into the shower. I feel my chest tighten again as I think about the memories I made with Jimmy in this same shower. Before the tears can fall, though, I shake the thoughts away and turn the water to COLD to make my ass hurry up. Before long, I’m shivering and it’s all I can think about. Hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do to make it through the shittier moments of heartbreak.
I hold a mug of piping-hot coffee close as I flip through my closet trying to decide what to wear. It’s time I start putting more effort into my appearance. Truthfully though, even before my breakup, I’d started to slip into a bit of a lazy morning routine . . . if you could even call it that. I would brush my hair and put on whatever wasn’t wrinkled and call it a day. I just lost interest in trying to look good, but now I have some motivation . . . I want to look good to make myself feel better. I find a nice pair of high-waisted black slacks that always make me feel tall and put-together and pair it with a light pink blouse with lace sleeves. I find my favorite pair of nude heels and toss them on the floor next to my bed.
I take my time blowing out my hair and adding a few waves with my curling iron. I put on a full face of makeup, something I used to enjoy doing but have not wanted to bother with lately since I’d just cry it off.
With my appearance better than it has been these last few weeks, I shut off the light and head back to the kitchen. I open the fridge and root around, opening a yogurt and sniffing it before gagging and tossing it on the counter. I find a stale bagel that’s about as hard as a rock and tap it against the refrigerator shelf. Ugh.
I shut the door and lean against it, sipping the rest of my coffee before glancing at the microwave clock. I still have plenty of time to kill before I have to be at the office, and I don’t want to be the first person there for the fifth time this week. It’ll make me look too desperate—like I’m focusing too much on work as a way to forget my heartbreak. But I refuse to be heartbroken any longer. A guy like Jimmy doesn’t deserve it . . . just like he doesn’t deserve me. Good riddance.
I pull up to Mayhale Medical Manufacturing at 7:50 a.m. and park in my assigned spot. As far as parking spots go, I’m not important enough to park up front, but I’m not in the back 40 either. I’ve been lucky enough to get a spot in the sixth row thanks to my accounting position. I grab my purse and start making the journey to the door.
My job was another thing Jimmy didn’t like. He said that accounting is a boring job for boring people who don’t have one interesting thing about them. One time, his exact words were, “Being an accountant is the equivalent of watching paint dry. It’s as if the color beige were a human.”
He tried talking me into quitting many times over the two years we were together. I’ve never been so glad that I kept my job and went against his wishes. Where would I be now? Alone and jobless? I can’t even bear the thought of that.
When I enter the building, I say “good morning” to many of my coworkers—trying my best to plaster on a genuine smile, knowing that they’re still pitying me. I want them to see that I’m fine. Better than ever, in fact.
I stop in my office and put down my things. I turn on my phone and computer and go in search of a cup of coffee. I walk into the break room and find it empty. There’s a big table with a pink box in the center. I lift the lid and the scent of fried dough and sugar hits my nose, causing my stomach to audibly grumble. “Yes! Donuts!” I see a note next to the box with the word Enjoy!
The coffee hasn’t been brewed yet, so I make quick work of making a pot. I’m a not really fully functioning until I’ve had at least two cups kind of gal. The office rule around here is if you finish the pot, you have to make a new one. And the first person who wants coffee has to make it. I pour some creamer and sage in my mug as I wait for it to brew, then decide on a donut. I grab a paper towel and pick up a plain glazed donut off the top. I replace the lid just as the door to the break room opens. I look up to find Grayson walking in with a smirk.
“Cool, you brought donuts for everyone?”
I shake my head. “No, it wasn’t me. They were here when I came in. But it says enjoy so . . .” I shrug one shoulder as I take a bite of the donut.
He laughs and grabs one out of the box too. I watch as he takes his first bite. The sweet donut causes him to let out a small moan and his eyes flutter closed. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows it. His eyes pop open and land on mine as his tongue darts out and licks some glaze flakes off his lips. “Good donut.”
A blush creeps up my neck as I stare at him. “They really are,” I agree, turning my back to him to force the heat from my face as I pour my coffee.
He comes over to lean against the counter. He crosses his big arms across his chest and looks down at me. I look up and find his intense blue eyes. “So, how are you doing, Cora?”
Ugh, the dreaded question, complete with the sympathetic head nod. Everyone is overly concerned lately with how I’m handling life now that I’ve been dumped at the altar. “I’m fine, Grayson. Thanks for checking,” I say, wanting to remain indifferent instead of saying something that may tell him otherwise.
Grayson and I have been friends since I first started working here. He’s in sales, and the only time we really see each other is in the break room or at work functions, but I’ve always had a slight crush on him, like every other woman who works here. Luckily, we’re not together often, or I probably would’ve blurted it out—hoping a hot romp with him would get my mind off of things. But from what I can tell, he wouldn’t have taken me up on an offer like that anyway. He’s tall, muscular, sexy as hell, and practically every girl in the office wants her shot with him. But at the same time, he seems to be more thoughtful than most. He’s respectful, quiet, and reserved. He never takes any of the women here up on their offers, and he’s just an overall good guy. There’s no way in hell I’m going to fuck things up with him.
“I’m glad to hear it. That guy was a total dick anyway,” he says, offering up a slight smile.
I laugh and nod. “He really was. But I’m done with men like that. It’s time to focus on myself.”
“I think that’s a good idea,” he says, nodding his head.
“I’ll talk to you later, Grayson.” I take my coffee and donut and head toward the door. I pull it open, and just as I’m turning around to shut it, our eyes meet again. He’s still standing in the same spot, arms crossed and eyes on me. His gives me a little wink that causes
my heart to flutter. What the hell was that?
I quickly walk away from the break room and take my breakfast back to my office to get ready for the long workday of crunching numbers. When I’m finally in my office, I close the door behind me and take a seat at my desk. Last week I couldn’t focus on my work. All I kept thinking about was Jimmy: what he was doing, and what everyone was probably thinking about me. This week, though, is going to be completely different. I plan on doing this week’s work and whatever I missed last week. I won’t stop until I have everything done and am putting it on my boss’ desk with a smile.
Crunch time.
When lunch rolls around, I push away from my desk and crack my neck. I’ve been working nonstop since this morning and I’m in dire need of a break. I remove my glasses and drop them on top of the stack of papers I’m working on, letting out a sigh before grabbing my journal and a pen before heading to the break room.
The break room is usually pretty quiet, with most people opting to leave for lunch. But I don’t like to leave unless it’s time to go home. Leaving for lunch is nice and all, but it’s that much harder to get back into the swing of things when I return. In the break room, I can quickly eat, enjoy some quiet time, and get back to work when I finish, so there’s no lag in my brain that says I don’t want to work anymore today.
The F It List (Love You Forever Book 6) Page 1