Do Over

by Serena Bell

  “Where’s Gabe?”

  “Sienna’s there.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t ask,” she says. “Your sister is a good person. I love her. Keep talking.”

  She loves Sienna, huh?

  Does she love me?

  Maybe she’s feeling it too, because she says, “So, Jack. Just to clarify. We’re, like, together.”

  “We’re actually fucking together,” I clarify. “Not just ‘like.’ ”

  “Like, we’re going to live together in the same house with Gabe?”

  “That. Exactly fucking that. No ‘like’ about it.”

  “And we’re going to have sex.” Her voices drops a little, and she gets this super-sexy little secret smile on her face.

  “Lots of sex,” I say.

  “Could we, um, start now?”

  I don’t bother to answer that question. Or, not in words, anyway. I cup her face in my hands and drop my mouth to hers, and kiss her as gently as I can manage. Which lasts about three seconds, because she grabs the back of my head and pulls on my hair and kisses me so fucking fiercely that I have trouble catching my breath.

  No one kisses like Maddie. Like she’s all in, like all of her energy and spirit is focused into making me feel as good as humanly possible, like she’s trying to tell me with her lips and her tongue how much I matter to her. And I’m trying to tell her back. And we’re tangled up, getting in each other’s way; it’s like a wrestling match as we tumble onto the couch, and she’s trying to get my clothes off and I’m trying to get hers off and I think we end up tying the whole batch into a knot, but somehow we are actually naked, or at least naked enough, and I’ve got my face buried in her breasts, in the satin feel of her, the scent of her skin, loving the contrasts, the smooth cool and the hot tight nipples under my tongue, and—

  “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” she murmurs.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.”

  She tips her hips up and rubs herself against me, reaching down to arrange us so I can slide through her wetness without actually penetrating, but that makes us both gasp and she’s squirming under me so much that I think my two choices are embarrass myself or just do it, so when her hips tilt so the head of my dick lines up perfectly with her sex, I thrust.

  She starts coming, arching and panting and spasming around me, and—

  “Oh, shit, Maddie, don’t do that—”

  Because I’m losing it now, the orgasm surging up, and even though it feels so damn good, losing myself in her, pouring myself into her, I think I wanted it to last forever, this feeling that she is finally, finally, mine.

  As I come down, teetering in that weird almost-disappointment, she whispers something against my ear.

  “What?”

  “I said, ‘I love you, Jack Parker.’ ”

  Oh. Okay, then. Scratch the whole disappointed thing.

  I brace myself on one arm and brush her hair back from her face, smiling down at her. “I love you, too.”

  It doesn’t feel scary. It feels like I’ve told her a hundred times before in a hundred different ways, and if I haven’t?

  I fucking should have, because it’s always been true.

  Epilogue

  ONE YEAR LATER

  It’s bring-Gabe-to-work day. This is an unofficial holiday I’ve declared because every night when I get home from work, he demands to know when he can come see the houses I’m working on. It’s been a little tricky because, well, I don’t want him to see the houses before Maddie does.

  But today she’s home from work for her twenty-week ultrasound, which is where the three of us will go as soon as we’re done here, and—

  Oh, I’m sorry, did I leave that part out?

  Right. So. Maddie is pregnant.

  We decided we couldn’t let Gabe get too complacent with his only-child status. Plus Sienna and my mom kept asking for more babies and we didn’t want to disappoint. Just kidding. About the not-wanting-to-disappoint part. The harassment was real. And relentless.

  Maddie and Gabe get out of her car and come up to the trailer-office.

  “Daddy!” Gabe yells, catapulting himself into my arms.

  “Hey, Jack,” Maddie says, strolling up behind him, giving me a private smile that goes straight to my dick.

  Maddie is just starting to look pregnant, and I get a sick, alpha-male kick out of having knocked her up. Also because her tits are epic. I may have to keep her pregnant for the rest of her fertile life. She actually might not mind. It’s been a good pregnancy and she loves feeling the baby kick (as does Gabe), and she is so horny that she is asking for sex twice a day (and once confessed to making herself come pretty much every time she’s alone, which is such a fucking turn-on that I keep coming up with excuses to take Gabe to the playground and the five-and-ten, and…yeah).

  Other things that have happened since last we met: I got my general contractor’s license. Studying for that exam was the hardest thing I’ve ever done except for telling Maddie the truth about not cheating on her (which is still a thing that makes me raise one eyebrow at myself in disbelief). Luckily, Maddie’s faith in me never once wavered, even when the two of us were up night after night with her quizzing me. Gabe even got in on the action and would pop-quiz me on stuff Maddie had primed him on.

  I almost threw up in the testing room, but I passed.

  Also, Harris dumped Mia. I’m sure you could have seen that one coming, because once an asshole, always an asshole. Mia and Harris lasted about two months after Maddie caught them dining in. Then Harris said that he’d never been that into her, really, that his therapist thought maybe he’d just been using Mia to get out of his commitment to Maddie.

  Ouch. Like, ouch, ouch, ouch.

  Mia asked Maddie if she’d be willing to give her another chance. She said she didn’t expect forgiveness or even trust, but she’d really, really like to meet for a cup of coffee. So they’ve been doing that. Coffee. Maddie says it’ll be a long time before she trusts Mia with anything that matters, and I think it’s good to be cautious, but I also think they’ll be okay, someday. And I’m in favor of it, Maddie forgiving Mia. Everyone makes mistakes, and love can make us really, really stupid.

  It can also make us our best selves. I should know.

  “Hey,” I say, as they reach the trailer. I let Gabe come inside and look around (although there’s nothing exciting about it—just desks and computers and blueprints and files, the most complete records of everything that happens anywhere on my building site that you can imagine). He sits in my chair and spins it around, and then he asks to see inside the houses.

  Most of the other houses being built in Revere Lake right now are McMansions, but I chose to work with this developer on my first big project because he wanted to build not-so-big and more affordable designs. And we’re both pretty damn excited about the houses that are coming out of our collaboration. They’ve got relatively small footprints but a great open feel, lots of light, lots of nooks and crannies for kids and storage—and they all sold within a couple of days of us finishing the model house.

  Luckily, I can still tell Gabe he can see inside the houses, because there is one house that, even though it’s sold, isn’t yet occupied. The new owners are waiting to move in because—well, because.

  So we head down to the end of the cul-de-sac.

  This one is my favorite. It backs up on wooded conservation land, which means that no matter how developed Revere Lake gets, this house will keep its secluded, private feel and its beautiful view overlooking a little stream. It has the best light of any house in the development, because I personally made sure the angle of the house on the lot brought in plenty of sun and no direct views of its neighbors.

  I open the front door and lead them inside. The main floor has an open design and the second floor overlooks it from a balcony, so the foyer feels big and open and flooded with light even though it’s not actually that big in terms of square footage. Gabe squeals over the bal
cony and runs up the stairs right away so he can look out from between the railings. I made sure the railings were spaced so there was no way he could poke his head through.

  I lead Maddie into the kitchen, which is small but efficient. Good appliances, solid cabinetry, excellent countertop materials—but not the ones that are trendy and expensive. Ones that are worth their cost.

  “This is nice,” she says wistfully. She runs a hand over the glossy surface of the countertop and touches the controls on the stove.

  “Could you picture yourself making dinner here?” I ask.

  She laughs. “I wish.”

  “Do you?”

  “I’d love to live here. It’s beautiful.”

  I smile and watch her as she explores the space—the kitchen opens into the dining and living areas, and there’s a little bathroom and a small TV/away room tucked into the corner. She goes up the stairs, and I follow, admiring the rear view, watching as she and Gabe tuck their curious faces into the spaces. There are built-in bunks in one of the kids’ bedrooms and the other is painted to be a nursery. There’s a third kids’ bedroom, too. Thinking ahead, you know?

  And then she turns into the master bedroom and comes to a dead stop in the doorway. Gabe crashes into her from behind and wraps his arms around her leg to restore his balance.

  There’s a bed in there, and it’s made up. I made it up to exactly match the bedroom in our house (the Revere Lake house formerly known as “my house”). And just in case she didn’t get the point, I folded a pair of my pj’s on the left-side pillow and a pair of her pj’s—

  Although, I’m not sure you could actually call them pj’s. Remember that bodysuit, consisting mainly of black leather straps, and not so terribly many of them, that she liberated from Harris’s house?

  I have become much better acquainted with it of late. Anyway, it’s on the right-hand pillow. (Not that she doesn’t already know how much I appreciate it. I have made that abundantly clear.)

  “Jack?”

  Her gaze bounces from my face to the bed and back. She’s clearly trying to figure out if it means what she thinks it means, and for a moment I panic. What if it’s not what she wants? A house is a pretty big gift not to consult her on.

  But then she throws her arms around my neck and kisses me in a way that I’m pretty sure indicates a yes.

  She pulls back. “For real, Jack? This is ours?”

  I nod. It’s occurred to me that I’m choked up enough that if I try to actually answer, I’ll sound like a tool.

  “Oh, my God, Jack, I love it. I love it.”

  Her eyes fill suddenly with tears.

  “Oh,” I say. “Oh, no. Don’t cry. You can’t cry. Think of the children.”

  Acknowledgments

  I am so grateful to my fabulous editor, Sue Grimshaw, and the team at Loveswept for your faith in me; to my terrific and beloved agent Emily Sylvan Kim of Prospect Agency for always having “a minute to brainstorm”; and to the women who accompanied me on this leg of my writerly journey: Amber, Annie, Cheryl, Darya, Ellen, Kris, and Mauri. Special thanks to BellGirl and BellBoy for having been so ridiculously adorable at age four, and to Mr. Bell, who possesses, among many, many lovable traits, an infinite willingness to answer the question “Why?”

  BY SERENA BELL

  Do Over

  Head Over Heels (coming soon)

  Returning Home:

  To Have and to Hold

  Can’t Hold Back

  Hold on Tight

  Seattle Grizzlies

  Getting Inside

  Standalones:

  Yours to Keep

  After Midnight (novella)

  Turn Up the Heat

  PHOTO: © SUSAN YOUNG PHOTOGRAPHY

  USA Today bestselling author and RT Reviewers’ Choice Award nominee SERENA BELL writes richly emotional stories about big-hearted characters with real troubles and the people who are strong and generous enough to love them. A former journalist, Serena has always believed that everyone has an amazing story to tell if you listen closely enough, and she adores hiding in her tiny garret office, mainlining chocolate and bringing to life the tales in her head. When not writing, Serena loves to spend time with her college-sweetheart husband and two hilarious kiddos—all of whom are incredibly tolerant not just of Serena’s imaginary friends but also her enormous collection of constantly changing and passionately embraced hobbies, ranging from needlepoint to paddleboarding to meditation.

  serenabell.com

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  Read on for an excerpt from

  Head Over Heels

  by Serena Bell

  Available from Loveswept

  Chapter 1

  “The guy in Fishing was a total moron,” Rodriguez says.

  Rodriguez is my assistant store manager and my best outdoors guy at Mike’s Sporting Goods, the store I’ve managed in a north-of-Seattle suburb for the past five years. Rodriguez and Brooks, my top sports-equipment guy, and I are standing in enemy territory—the parking lot outside the brand-new Big Win Sports chain store, which had its grand opening this weekend. The three of us just finished posing as Big Win customers, trying to figure out how deep a bite of our business the new store is going to take.

  Our intel is pretty discouraging. Big Win stocks everything we stock, more or less. And in larger numbers. For lower prices.

  Perfect ad copy, right? Shop at Mike’s. Find less, pay more!

  Rodro shakes his head in disgust. “This guy didn’t know anything about where to go. He didn’t know anything about tying or casting.”

  “The guy in racket sports tried to sell me a beginner’s racket even though I said I was a three-times-a-week competitive advanced player,” Brooks says.

  “It’s not a bad thing if their customer service sucks,” I say reassuringly. But I’m feeling pretty grim. For one thing, Big Win is depressing—badly lit, huge and echoey, and stocked with cheap merchandise, which means that just being in there is enough to tank my mood. Worse, bad lighting and crappy design won’t be enough to stop it from leaching our profits. And while we’re doing okay with Mike’s, I wouldn’t say we’ve got a huge buffer against disaster. We operate pretty close to the bone. Mike—the owner—likes to do things the way they’ve always been done, and as times have changed I haven’t always been able to convince him to keep up.

  I sigh. I’ve got to come up with a better pep talk if I’m going to wipe those defeated expressions off my guys’ faces.

  “We’ll figure it out,” I say, doing my best to sound convincing and mostly succeeding. “I’m not going to let Big Win fuck up Mike’s business after fifty-five years.”

  Brooks and Rodro look doubtful but a little less like I ran over their dogs.

  I meant what I said: I’m not going to let the business fail. For one thing, I love this store—have loved it since I first walked in and felt like I’d walked straight into the store my parents owned when I was a kid—the most at home I’d felt since leaving Texas for college.

  But my love for this place aside, there is no way I’m going to let Big Win be the thing that proves my parents right about how out of my league I was, taking on this job.

  I pull my keys out. “All right. Thanks for the recon. We’ll talk strategy tomorrow.”

  “You have time for a beer?” Brooks asks.

  I must give something away with my hesitation, because Brooks smirks. “You got a date?”

  I shake my head. “Nah. But Liv’s bringing Katie and me takeout.”

  Brooks narrows his eyes. “You’ve got to explain this to me. How Liv’s bringing you takeout is not a date.”

  “It’s not a date because Liv and I are friends. Like you and Rodro and I are friends. So if I eat a pizza with y’all, it’s not a date.”

  “But Rodro and I aren’t a hot red-head with an amazing rack,” Brooks points out.


  My friendship with Liv is an endless source of fascination to my guy friends, who pretty much just can’t believe I could hang around her and not want to—their words—tap that.

  It’s not that the thought hasn’t ever crossed my mind. Liv is, as they rightly point out, hot. Gorgeous, actually. Long and lean and leggy, but soft in all the right places, with porcelain skin and a killer smile. It’s that I’ve become expert at not acting on it, because acting on it would fuck up a good thing. Which would be fine if it would lead to another good thing, but that’s not Liv and me. Plus, redheads aren’t my type.

  “I’ve told you, Liv and I would make the worst couple on earth.”

  At some point, I should tell Brooks and Rodro the whole story of how Liv and I met and got to be friends, and why exactly we could never be a couple, but I told the nanny I’d be home by 7:00 and Liv said she’d try to show up around 7:30, so now’s not the time.

  “So, you wouldn’t mind if Rodro or I asked her out?”

  “Nope,” I say.

  Brooks raises his eyebrows, but I just wave him off. I’ve taken so much shit about Liv since we became friends three years ago, I almost don’t hear it any more.

  We walk toward my truck and Rodro’s Suburban.

  “How’s the family hauler treating you?” Rodro asks, eyeing my new four-door pickup.

  When Katie came to live with me, I had to sell my beloved old Silverado and buy a new truck—because the older model pickups aren’t configured right for little kids in carseats—and Rodro and Brooks both know it was a huge kick in the balls when I was already down.

  I shrug. “Didn’t have much choice. The Silverado wasn’t safe.”

  They’re both looking at me with pity. Just about a month ago, Katie’s mom—my very much ex—was killed in a car accident while Katie was at ballet class. My life was turned upside down. I went from being an occasional visitor in Katie’s life to being an actual dad in the blink of an eye. And Katie—and her constant sadness—became my full-time responsibility.