Fortune for Love

by Poppy Drake

  Copyright © 2020 by Drake Poppy

  Cover designed by Meet Cute Creative

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  All About the Alphas

  Fortune for Love

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  Pick Up Your Next Book!

  About the Author

  All About the Alphas

  Alphas come in many flavors, and this series covers them all, including billionaires, businessmen, working class men, veterans, policemen, firemen, heroes, and more. Regardless of whether they’re in the boardroom or a workshop, if they’re in a big city or a small town, these alpha romances feature all the broody, sexy energy readers love, with insta-heat and insta-love. Though the books in this series focus on alphas of all sorts, rest assured that each standalone story will feature sexy men who are good with their hands, cautious with their hearts, and ultimately unable to resist the women that fate deals them.

  Fortune for Love: An Alpha, Curvy Woman Small Town Romance

  When I stumble into the fortune teller’s tent at my town’s county fair, I never expect for her to tell me that I will be meeting the man of my dreams, my soulmate and love of my life. And especially not that I would be meeting him that night!

  But then I literally fall into the arms of the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. And when our bodies connect, it’s a cosmic connection. Maybe the fortune teller was right after all …

  Just when I am about to let myself fall, I realize he has a girlfriend. A gorgeous, legs for days and killer hair girlfriend. So I do what I do best, and run away.

  One night I am drinking a neon blue slushy at the county fair and the next second, both my drink and my eyes are all over a gorgeous, curvy, blonde angel. But before I can get the chance to even learn her full name, she disappears into the night.

  Just when I’ve lost all hope, I find her again. And this time, I’m not letting her go until she realizes that she’s the woman for me.

  Chapter One

  “Ugh, do we really have to go tonight? Wouldn’t you rather we just grab some froyo and binge watch the new season of that vampire show?”

  I already know the answer before the question leaves my lips. There is no way Samantha, my roommate and best friend, is going to let me stay in tonight. Not on the opening night of the annual county fair that draws hundreds of folks from neighboring towns to our humble five-acre park that houses the fair.

  Samantha rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Hell no. You have been single now for six months. You need to start getting out and back to the real world. So we’re going to take some baby steps.” She crosses her arms at her chest, signaling that she is done having this conversation. “Starting tonight.”

  I groan, but know there’s no point in arguing with Samantha. A part of me knows she’s right. I have been hiding in our apartment for months now, wallowing on our couch and watching way too many romantic movies while I cry into the pillow. Two weeks of that kind of behavior after a breakup was acceptable. Six months was … excessive.

  Not to mention that the closest I’ve come to a sexual experience in all that time is watching hot television vampires getting it on. Samantha might be fully aware of my emotional patheticness as I mope around the house, but she has no clue about the fact that I wake up every morning, twisted in the sheets and needy for the kind of release that only comes from a partner.

  Sex with my ex wasn’t anything special, but atleast it was something.

  She tosses my jean jacket at me. “Put this on and grab your purse. We are leaving in five.”

  I shrug on my jacket and grab my bag, making sure my phone is inside. I am not above texting my mom to call me with a fake emergency as an excuse to come home early.

  As if she can sense that I am already concocting an elaborate escape ruse, Samantha stops and looks me over. “You aren’t going to try and bail on me again, are you?”

  I feel a sting of guilt as I remember the last few times Samantha had successfully managed to drag me out only for me to sneak back home a few hours later. I’ve never been much of a partier and being around too many people I don’t know makes me anxious. I’m still reeling from the betrayal of Jared, my boyfriend of four years who cheated on me with my cousin. Finding them in bed together had been heartbreaking. Finding out a week later that they were engaged because she was three months pregnant? That had been traumatizing.

  I hate how deeply the break-up has affected me. And if I’m being honest, it wasn’t the loss of Jared that hurt the most, or even the estrangement from my cousin who I now refuse to acknowledge. What really hurt and tore me up inside was knowing that people were capable of telling you they loved you and wanted to spend the rest of their lives with you just mere minutes after sleeping with another person, promising them those same things.

  That, to put it mildly, fucking sucked.

  As if she can see my thoughts turning, Samantha links her arm through mine, gently guiding me through the front door. “I have a good feeling about tonight.”

  I force a smile to my lips and nod as if I agree. I don’t. I think tonight, like every other night, will end up with me staring at the crack in my ceiling I have been meaning to fix for months, wondering how I will ever get past Jared’s betrayal. But Samantha has been there for me through everything: holding my hand while I cried for hours, pouring me generous amounts of wine and supervising my cellphone when I get a little too close to wanting to text Jared. She’s a good friend.

  Our arms still linked, we walk the few blocks up to the center of town. For four years, Samantha and I have rented a quaint, two-bedroom house a few minutes away from the downtown row of shops, restaurants and neighborhood pubs. I wouldn’t call our town exciting, but that’s not why we live here. Samantha and I both were born and raised in this town, and it’s home in every sense of the word. We know everyone, have sampled every single flavor of ice cream at Mr. Thompson’s Ice Cream Machine and have, without ever missing a year, attended the Edgeville County Fair.

  As we near the park, loud, festive music blares from outdoor speakers hooked up to a small stage where a local band plays hits from the eighties. The crisp autumn air sends a chill through me as we enter the large town square. We stop at the booth by the entrance and Samantha and I each buy a stack of tickets.

  As we walk into the carnival and into the crush of people, Samantha looks at me with a mischievous glint in her eye. “Do you think there’s a kissing booth here?”

  I roll my eyes. “Doubt it. And really, would you want to kiss some random stranger who works here? I mean, his best friends are probably creepy clowns in their forties who hit on teen girls!”

  Samantha sticks out her tongue. “You are always such a buzzkill. But luckily for you, I am an excellent best friend and will ignore the rain cloud that permanently travels over your gorgeous little head.” She waves her stack of tickets. “So, where to first? Do we want to ride the carousel or shoot little ducks so we can win a teddy bear that will get stuck in the back of our closet for twenty years?”

  I laugh. “Shooting things always sounds like a good idea to me!”

  Samantha shakes her head and links her arm again in mine. “My adorable little psychopath. Let’s go and shoot things!”

  We stroll together through the carnival site. It’s a Saturday night and because it’s opening week
end, it’s packed with everyone from our small town and all the surrounding towns. Kids, teens and adults all meander around, laughing and enjoying the evening’s festivities.

  As we push through the crowds, I spot a couple walk by, their fingers intertwined, as they leisurely walk. Cocooned in their own little love bubble, they look blissfully happy. The girl, a pretty blonde with a pink ribbon in her hair, leans her head into the man, who wears a proud smile on his face. While any other normal person - someone who hadn’t had their heart ripped out of their chest, stomped on about a hundred times and then clumsily shoved back in - would find the scene cute, all I can feel is queasy. Will I ever be able to not be repulsed by the idea of falling in love?

  After all, that had been me just six months ago. I had been so happy. Jared and I weren’t the perfect couple, and there were times I doubted that we were true soulmates, but we worked. We knew each other’s quirks and dislikes. I liked the left side of the bed, he liked the right. We were fine!

  And then he had to go and sleep with my cousin Savannah, who I counted amongst my closest friends. And if that wasn’t enough, he had to go and get her pregnant and then propose? I had waited for years for a ring from Jared, yet Savannah got hers in just a couple of months.

  What did she have that I didn’t?

  Why couldn’t Jared love me?

  “You doing okay, Chrissy?”

  I look over to see Samantha watching me. She’s concerned and her easy smile has gone. I hate how she worries, and I feel guilty for casting a sour mood over our fun night out.

  I nod and paste a smile on my lips. “I think I’m just thirsty. Do you mind if we stop and grab a drink?”

  Samantha’s smile returns and she wiggles her brow mischievously before digging into her purse. “I thought we could do a little BYOB. Except, it’s like BYOV.”

  “BYOV?”

  Samantha hands me a water bottle, unscrewing the top for me. “Bring your own vodka. I mixed it with grenadine, cherry flavoring and soda. I call it a ‘Slutty Shirley.’”

  A bartender, Samantha has a social media following edging over half a million thanks to her creative concoctions and hilarious bar stories she shares online. And as her roommate, I am her lucky guinea pig.

  I take the bottle and bring it to my lips, taking a long sip. The cherry and soda mask the vodka and it glides like butter down my throat before settling in my stomach. I realize, perhaps too late, that I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast and probably shouldn’t be drinking on an empty stomach.

  I hand the bottle back to her. “Not bad.”

  She laughs and takes a sip before screwing the cap back on and tucking the bottle into her purse. “Not bad? You are so hard to please, girl.” Her eyes light up as she sees one of her regulars a few booths down.

  “Don’t look now,” she warns, keeping her voice low despite the fact that the crowd of people around us drowns her out. “But remember that super hot guy I told you about that comes in every day after his shift at Lenny’s Mechanics? That’s him!” She gestures with her chin as her cheeks turn bright pink with excitement.

  “You should go say hello,” I tell her.

  She shakes her head. “No way. Tonight is our night. I’m not going to leave you here and … ”

  “Seriously, Sam,” I interrupt. “I’m good. Go talk to him and then if he’s a total dud, just text me again and we’ll meet up. I’m getting hungry anyway and need to grab something to eat.”

  After assuring her that I will be okay about twelve more times, I push Sam to the hot mechanic and embark on my search for something fried and delicious. I take my time, walking down a few aisles of booths of different games from “Guess Your Weight” (um, no thank you. I have had far too many cookies dunked in icing and covered in drunken tears to want to go anywhere near that) to “Dunk the Hunk” (definitely coming back for this one. I think it could help with some of the anger management issues I have been experiencing).

  I follow the scent of cinnamon until I’ve stumbled down a makeshift corridor of carnival booths and tents hawking everything from face painting to axe throwing. I’m about to turn around and circle back again in a renewed effort for fried Oreo cookies when I hear a voice call out to me.

  “You look like you could use good news!”

  I whip around to find a beautiful woman, with long auburn curls and mesmerizing emerald green eyes staring right at me.

  How had I not noticed her?

  She sits in front of a small round table in a dark tent, illuminated by only a string of fairy lights hanging from the makeshift beams. A tapestry of a hand with an eye in the middle hangs directly behind her. Above that is a sign reading: MORIANA, FORTUNE TELLER.

  I glance behind me, assuming that she must have been calling out to someone else. When I find no one there, I look at her. “Are you talking to me?”

  She rises from her seat and smiles. She’s much taller than I expected and her head almost touches the top of her tent. She gestures with her hand for me to come over. “Come and join me. I see good fortune in your future.”

  I force a practiced smile to my face. Not that I have anything against fortune tellers. I take the fortune cookies that accompany my beef chow mein from Dragon House very seriously, but I’m not in the mood to be told some cheesy fortune about how I will soon have riches and a sexy Italian boyfriend. So I decide to brush her off in pursuit of better things. Like fried Oreos. “Oh, that’s okay. I was actually just — “”

  But before I can finish with my half-hearted excuse, she cuts me off. “You recently experienced heartbreak, didn’t you?”

  Her eyes narrow as she asks the question, as if she’s focusing hard, seeing something I quite can’t fathom. Her words stun me and my voice trails off as I watch her. She holds up her hand, as if signaling to someone - or something - to pause for a moment, before she nods her head up and down as if in agreement.

  Who is she talking to? I glance around, finding no one. The booth across from hers, a small storefront selling jewelry, seems to have been abandoned, leaving just the two of us at the end of this alleyway.

  Finally, she looks at me, her smile falling away. Her expression softens, as does her voice, and when she speaks, I find myself taking a step closer to hear. “You lost a love you thought was true, didn’t you?” She holds her finger to her head and closes her eyes and pauses for a long moment before reopening her eyes. “Oh, you poor girl, he cheated on you. And broke your heart.”

  Chapter Two

  Oh, you poor girl, he cheated on you. And broke your heart.

  Her words hang in the air between us. A chill runs up my spine, causing all the hairs on the back of my neck to stand.

  How did she know?

  I don’t even try to hide the surprise on my face as I stare at her, open-mouthed. And when she gestures for me to enter, and take the seat across from her, I obediently follow. I ignore the voice in my head shouting for me to run, to find Samantha and write this whole experience off as some stupid coincidence. I need to know how she knows. Is she really a psychic? Or am I so crushed by this break-up that I just have my trauma written all over me? In which case, I need to trade my ice cream for a therapist. Pronto.

  As soon as I sit, she reaches across the small table and grabs my hands. Her touch is surprisingly cold as she turns my palms to face upward. She doesn’t say anything for a long minute as she examines my palm, tracing its deeply embedded lines with her finger.

  Uncomfortable with the intimacy of her touch, and the declaration of her vision a mere minute ago, I shift in my seat. “So, are you a palm reader? Is that something you go to college for, or —”

  “Shh!” She cuts me off and shakes her head sternly. “I need silence to read your future. I am seeing something very, very interesting.”

  Interesting? Is that good or bad? My anxiety piques as I begin to run through all the random scenarios that could possibly be described as interesting. Do I have an incurable disease? Am I going to win millions? Wil
l I finally get that promotion or will stupid Derek beat me out again? Oh, will my left boob finally catch up with the right and grow that extra half an inch to achieve full symmetry?

  The psychic clears her throat, sounding annoyed. “Calm your mind, please,” she whispers, her brow furrowed in concentration. “You’re making it hard for me to read your aura.”

  For the second time in less than five minutes, my eyes bug out of my head. Was she actually reading my mind?! And is she reading my palm, my mind or my aura?

  Too many questions race through my brain but I do my best to push them away, instead picturing a calm, bubbling brook. Samantha had convinced me to start practicing meditation to help with my panic attacks, and I latch onto some of that familiar imagery now. I imagine a rock at the bottom of the brook and focus on it, transforming myself into the rock, allowing the cool, fresh water to wash over me.

  I am a rock. I am a rock. I am a rock.

  Finally after my fiftieth declaration that I am a rock, the woman currently hijacking my now sweaty palms looks up. Her eyes are wide and a smile stretches across her face. “This… this is a first,” she says, finally breaking the silence. She pulls her hands away and leans back in her chair.

  “A first? A first what?”

  She leans forward, dropping her elbows onto the table. “Tonight. It will happen tonight!”

  I am positive I could not look — or feel — more confused than I do in this very moment. “What will happen tonight? Oh my God, it’s cancer, isn’t it? I’m getting cancer tonight?”

  She shakes her head, and looks at me with both concern and confusion. “No, of course not. You don’t just get cancer. No, this is much, much better.” She pauses and exhales a long breath. It’s all for dramatic effect, and I hate it. She’s definitely not going to be getting a tip.