When It Hits You (The It Series Book 1)
Page 21
Author Jennifer Lane was my amazing crit partner, giving me invaluable feedback so I could attack the third and fourth drafts with clear direction. Mizz Lane also makes a most excellent cheerleader. I’m so happy to be on this publishing adventure with you, Jen!
I’m not sure why Colleen Keough Wagner, sister extraordinaire, puts up with me, but she does. We’re separated by nine years and an ocean, but that doesn’t stop our minds from often surfing the same wave. Her never-tiring ear, limitless compassion, and unwavering loyalty get me through the birth and raising of each and every one of these stories (and a whole lot of other stuff). Love you, Weenie!
I’m so happy to have discovered Coreen Montagna and her flair for beautiful cover and interior design. She’s been with me for the entire It Series—and has never balked at my input or last-minute requests. Best of all, her designs capture the passionate and playful spirit of the stories behind the gorgeous covers. Thank you, thank you, Coreen!
Georgia McBride will never know how much her enthusiasm for this story meant to me. Thank you for giving this book its first shot as Vibrizzio.
Much thanks to editors Kerry Genova and Nichole LaVigne for polishing my prose.
Sample Chapter: When It Hooks You
The It Series—Book 2
Available at Amazon
Three dates. It was only supposed to be three dates—he was only meant to be a fling. I didn’t want to feel all of this for him. And I certainly hadn’t counted on him keeping such a deal-breaking secret from me.
Till death is too long for Trish Cerise. The twenty-seven year old receptionist is tired of men asking for her forever when she just wants to keep things light and fun. World-traveling businessman Adam Helms steps off the elevator and into her life with his own reasons for keeping relationships at a safe distance. Together, they’re destined for the most glorious short-term romance in history…until they break their own rules and Trish learns something about Adam she wishes she never knew.
I know a future with him is impossible, but how do you break away from such an intense, consuming, heart-crushing love when it hooks you? ~Trish
Chapter 1
KURT’S SMILE FALTERED for the seventeenth time that evening. Something was up with him, and Trish knew exactly what it was—he was going to propose. Why else would he have acted so fidgety and uncomfortable throughout the expensive dinner he’d insisted on buying her? He definitely planned to ask her to marry him. And this time, she’d say yes.
He stayed mute as they left the table and bundled up to step outside. Once on the sidewalk, the clomping of horse hooves on pavement drew Trish’s attention to the busy city street. Hoping to help her boyfriend along in his quest, she nodded toward the old-timey carriage and asked, “Want to hail one of those?” He was clearly waiting for all the stars to align in the ultimate perfect moment, and watching him twist had become torturous.
“What?” Diverting his green eyes from their study of the lights along Michigan Avenue, he looked straight at her for what felt like the first time all night. She smiled, wanting to tease him about being so nervous, but his wide mouth tensed into a tight frown. “Let’s walk.”
Trish’s breath clouded as she exhaled into the January night. She wondered how long he’d last in the cold with no hat, especially since the bristles of his closely cropped hair provided poor coverage. Perhaps his uneasiness caused brain friction, keeping him warm.
She didn’t blame him for being wary. It had been almost exactly a year earlier that he’d proposed the first time. Trish hadn’t said no, but she hadn’t said yes, either, and the whole ordeal had led to a breakup.
She’d always known the separation would only be temporary. If he loved her enough to propose, he’d love her enough to give her a little more time before he imposed marriage on her. No, not imposed. That was an unpleasant word. She quickly discarded inflicted and forced when they flashed through her brain as potential replacements.
Oh, what did it matter which word she used? The point was that Kurt had gotten over his hurt feelings, they’d gotten back together, and now Trish had had her time and was ready. She just needed him to ask the question.
“Can we go in here?” He inclined his head toward an arch that opened to a small courtyard. Most people visiting the trendy shops and restaurants nearby missed this little gem, but it was one of Trish’s favorite secrets of the city—as Kurt well knew. So this was it. This was where she’d say yes to the man she’d spend the rest of her life with.
Her stomach clenched, and she had to tighten her throat to discourage the bile that rushed up. She cursed the rich crab dip she’d scarfed down earlier. Taking a slow inhale through her nose, she attempted to reinstate the quiet calm she’d felt with Kurt ever since they’d gotten back together. That calmness was security to her, a confirmation of her certainty that he was the one.
The two of them crossed over the threshold to find the winter garden uninhabited. While they moved over the square of hardened earth toward the dry stone fountain at its center, Trish slid gloved fingers over Kurt’s palm. Before she fully grasped onto him, he yanked his hand away and took a sharp step back.
“Trish—” He paused, and she watched a sickly pallor creep across his handsome features. His pupils darted back and forth over her face, carefully studying her reaction as he said, “I’ve met someone else.”
Not the four words she’d expected. Balling the fingers he’d left dangling, she felt hot tingles rush across her cheeks and throat.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen. I swear.”
“What, exactly, didn’t you mean to happen?” The iciness in her tone had nothing to do with the frigid Chicago temperature—maintaining this stoic posture was the only thing that kept her from screaming. He was supposed to be proposing right now. She was supposed to be falling into his arms, telling him yes.
The muscle at the corner of Kurt’s jaw bulged. “I’d give anything to not have to say this…” He stared hard at her, his beautiful eyes glassy as if pleading for her to make this easier for him.
“Say it,” she commanded in a harsh whisper. “Just say it.”
“I’m in love with someone else.”
Again, not the words she’d expected. “Love? Really? Are you sure cheating isn’t a better term?”
He stayed silent and turned his face to the side. With the moonlight capturing his full profile, Trish was struck by its familiarity. She knew every line of it, every curve, every blemish. This was a face she loved. Suddenly, she didn’t want to increase the tension. She only wanted to erase this hideous diversion and get them back on track toward where they should be.
“Look, I know I made things hell for you,” she said. “Right when you were ready to give me your forever, I took a giant step back.” Her eyes dropped to the pile of dried and frozen leaves that had gathered at the basin of the empty fountain, and she attempted to truly mean what she was about to say. “Even though I can’t quite forgive you right now, I understand. You took a massive emotional blow, and if this is what you needed to do in order to get over it so that we can move forward, I can learn to be okay with that.”
She dared a peek up and saw the pained crinkle at the corner of his eyes and the severe downward slope of his mouth. Even when she’d rejected his prior proposal he hadn’t looked so filled with dread.
“It’s not like that, Trish.” His voice was very soft. “I don’t want to move forward with you. I need to end this. Tonight.”
All the understanding and diplomacy she’d mustered moments ago popped and fizzled. “Because of that slutbag?”
“She’s not a slutbag.” He maintained steadiness in his voice, but she heard the quiver underneath.
“Look up the word in Urban Dictionary—I’m sure at least one definition involves sleeping with another woman’s boyfriend.”
“I haven’t slept with her.”
“You know I don’t mean literally slept.”
“I haven’t had sex with her.”
“Really, Bill Clinton?”
“Knock it off! This isn’t even about her. It’s about me and you.”
“Then why did you broach the subject with ‘I met someone else’?”
His rough exhale sent a dragon-worthy puff into the night. “Because meeting her is what opened my eyes to how unhappy I’ve been with you.”
Trish snorted. “Whatever you want to tell yourself. No matter how you explain this, the nasty truth is that you’re dumping me for that slutbag. I have no idea why you felt the need to make a big production out of breaking up with me. I mean, seriously, Kurt. Was dinner really necessary? And the carriage ride?”
“We never went on a carriage.”
She glared at him and continued, “And bringing me to one of my favorite spots in the whole city.” She gestured wide and then made the mistake of looking around the hidden garden and letting flashes of memories invade her. Memories with Kurt. The first time she’d brought him here. Holding his hand and laughing at some silly joke. Kissing him. Tossing coins into the fountain…telling each other their naughty wishes…going back to his place and granting them. “Do you hate me so much that you want to ruin this place for me? Why didn’t you tell me you were unhappy?”
He bent to sit on the ledge of the fountain. “Bad choice of words. I wasn’t unhappy. I was…comfortable, I guess. But I realized I want more than that.”
Trish’s sigh was so heavy it hurt. The quiet calm she’d felt with him these last few months hadn’t been certainty and security, after all. It was boredom.
With his elbows resting on his knees, Kurt clasped his hands together and tilted his head, peering at her sideways. “Don’t you want more, too? Isn’t that why you turned me down when I proposed?”
Trish shook her head, her dark blond waves swishing beneath her knit hat. “We’ve been through all of this. You know that wasn’t it.”
“No, Trish, I don’t know that, actually. None of your explanations ever made any sense to me. Until I met Lauren.” One side of his mouth twitched up when he said the slutbag’s name. The tiny, inadvertent gesture crawled under Trish’s skin.
“How did she make this all clear to you?”
“I don’t know.” His lips morphed into a smile, as if he was completely oblivious to the raw emotions of the woman standing in front of him. “All this time the plan was to propose to you again at some point and make a life together. But she came along, and…I don’t know…now the idea of committing to you and giving up the chance to pursue things with her is…depressing.”
“Seriously? You think that’s okay to say to me? I mean, my God, if you’re going to be a dickhead, at least have the courtesy of doing it while I have a drink in my hand so I can throw it in your face! Is that why you wouldn’t go on the carriage? Because you didn’t want to give me the opportunity to shove your ass off?”
“Calm down.”
Trish felt somewhat vindicated that his smile had vanished. “No, Kurt, I won’t calm down. Because who does this? Who takes a girl out for a nice, romantic dinner, walks her to her most cherished site in the whole city—”
“Hardly the most cherished.”
She didn’t even hear him. “—and then tells her he’s trashing their whole relationship for some slutbag?”
“She’s not a slutbag!” He thrust up to standing and glared at her.
Trish glared back, not even sure what made her more angry—that he was breaking up with her or that he kept so vehemently defending this faceless woman. “You know what? I don’t need a full drink, Kurt.” Her eyes flashed around the courtyard and landed on the fountain bed.
Swooping her arms down into it, she scooped up fistfuls of crunchy leaves and tossed them into his face.
He swished them away with one hand, and she saw that the fury in his eyes had dampened to concern. How dare he be concerned for me? She lunged back toward the fountain and grabbed another load. This time she plunged her fists into the lapels of his wool jacket, smearing the dirt and crumbled leaves into it.
He grasped her forearms. “Sweetie, stop it.”
“No!” She stepped back and jerked her arms free. “You don’t get to call me sweetie anymore. You don’t get to call me anything.”
Spinning around, she stomped toward the archway, fending off thoughts of the false expectations she’d indulged in the last time she’d passed under it. The frigid crunch of his footsteps approached from behind.
“Don’t.” She didn’t turn but paused and held her hand up beside her. “The very least you can do is allow me a dramatic exit.”
“We still need to talk about this.”
“Not tonight.”
She resumed walking, and this time no crunching footsteps pursued. The bastard was actually letting her walk away—at least he’d done one thing right by her tonight. She traversed several blocks in a haze of indignant fury. She didn’t deserve to be blindsided like this no matter how much she’d hurt him before.
As she descended the steps to the Red Line train, her temper waned, but she wouldn’t let the tears set in yet. Not in front of all these people. She’d wait until she was back in the solitude of her apartment. The solitude she’d apparently be living in from now on.
How had she not seen this coming? Surely Kurt had shown signs of being involved with this other woman. He’d never been a good liar. Scanning her memory for a clue while the L train rattled toward Lincoln Park, she came up empty. She’d been too busy steeling herself for what she’d expected to be his impending proposal that she’d completely overlooked any forewarning he may have given her. Now there would be no proposal.
It was only because she knew Kurt so well that she didn’t try to convince herself this other woman was nothing more than a passing fancy and that in the light of the morning, without Trish in his bed, he’d realize his mistake and come running back. Kurt didn’t have passing fancies. Kurt didn’t make mistakes, not such big ones. That was one reason he’d taken Trish’s earlier rejection so hard—he hadn’t been able to forgive himself for being wrong about the timing. If Kurt had deliberately based this whole evening around breaking up with her, then things were really and truly over between them.
The train jerked to a halt at her station and she got out. The shadowy sidewalks and streets in her neighborhood were quieter than the area of the city where she’d ditched Kurt. It was like stepping into a different world. It would be okay to cry here, but no tears came.
Entering the stairwell to her vintage apartment building, it struck her how very different her future looked from when she’d last set foot on these worn steps. She’d expected to start packing up her things soon to combine them with Kurt’s at his place. She’d expected to say goodbye to her independent life here. Turning the key in the lock and swinging open the door to look upon the main room of her small, decidedly feminine home, she settled on a new emotion—not sadness or loneliness or betrayal. In one word, what she felt above all else was freedom.
When It Hooks You is available in Kindle at Amazon. Read for free in Kindle Unlimited.
Learn more at NickiElson.com
Get a FREE e-single prequel to The It Series by subscribing to Nicki’s News, a monthly e-newsletter about Nicki’s writing adventures.
Preview: When It Holds You
The It Series—Book 3
Available at Amazon
Virtual. That’s where she was supposed to stay—only in my online gaming life. I never intended to meet up with her in person. And I certainly hadn’t counted on her being who she is.
Cliff Walsh has dozens of hot, smart, and willing paramours in his video games. Who needs to look further? The twenty-eight-year-old attorney is done getting his heart smashed by real-life women who fit his perfect-mate checklist. From now on, he vows to keep his romances digital-only…until a certain redheaded gamer twists all his preconceptions and touches a place in his heart he didn’t know existed.
I always thought I knew what love would look like, but sometimes you don’t rec
ognize it until the moment when it holds you. ~Cliff
When It Holds You is available in Kindle at Amazon. Read for free in Kindle Unlimited.
Learn more at NickiElson.com
Get a FREE e-single prequel to The It Series by subscribing to Nicki’s News, a monthly e-newsletter about Nicki’s writing adventures.
About the Author
Nicki Elson writes spicy fiction with a sweet and dreamy center. She does other stuff, too…like obsess over Survivor and The Bachelor (and she’s not ashamed to admit it).
Writing fiction wasn’t something Nicki set out to do; it just sort of happened when she realized writing reports was by far her favorite part of her investment consulting position. She traded stock allocation and diversification for story arcs and dialogue and now weaves creative writing into her life with her family in the Chicago suburbs.
Nicki writes with two goals in mind: #1 to keep the characters realistic, even when their circumstances are anything but, and #2 to make readers feel.
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