But Jenna's best friend Kari is nutty about soap operas, and she wants insider details on Mitch’s job. Unfortunately, Mitch isn't interested in her; he wants Jenna. So Jenna agrees to go out with him -- for Kari's sake. After all, he's really not her type.
Except he's sweet, funny, and sexy, and even as Jenna tries to keep him at arm's length, she likes him more and more every day. When she thinks she might have a chance with Drew again, Jenna has to decide: Is what she thinks she wants really what she needs?
***
What are people saying about Midnight Confessions?:
If you're looking for a sincere and very real laugh-out-loud romantic comedy, look no further.
- Zoë Marshall, author of Until It Doesn’t
Jenna is an easy heroine to get behind: her insecurities and her yearning for a lost love would be familiar to most women.
- Marina Finlayson, Author of Twiceborn and The Twiceborn Queen
***
“He called, right after I hung up with you, actually, and said he had fun last night, and we should hang out again, and I said yeah we should, and he said he wanted to ask me something, and I said I was running late to get breakfast with you, and would he like to join us, and he said yes, and that was all.” She shrugs and — thankfully — breathes. “Nothing earth-shattering.”
I’m still mentally dissecting this exchange when the door swings open and Mitch strides in, resplendent in faded boot cut jeans — with cowboy boots, of course — and yet another plaid shirt. This one isn’t flannel, but it makes up for that, saints preserve us, with mother-of-pearl snaps.
Not buttons. Snaps.
“Speaking of earth-shattering,” I say, and nod at the door. Kari turns around so fast I can’t believe she doesn’t give herself whiplash. She waves frantically — and unnecessarily, since he’s already walking toward our table.
Walking, though, doesn’t really begin to describe what he’s doing. His advance isn’t quite a strut, and it isn’t quite a swagger — it’s somehow both of these and neither of these and something in between. Perfectly, sexily in between.
There’s that word again: sexy. It’s so incongruous, but good Lord, the voice isn’t enough? (And the eyes, I can’t help thinking. And the jaw.) Does he have to exude overwhelming masculinity and raw pheromones with every step as well? It’s insane. I can’t look away.
I’m not too caught up in watching his progress to note, however, that every other woman in the diner — even Dot — has stopped what she’s doing to watch him make his way across the floor.
Finally, validation! I’m not imagining things.
While this is a relief, it doesn’t speak well for the taste of the women in the diner — myself included, of course. I mean, really. Mother-of-pearl snaps?
He stops when he reaches our table and favors each of us with a smile. I stare at him, bemused. That smile is as much a killer as the voice and the eyes, exposing perfect straight white teeth even as it crinkles up the corners of his eyes in an alarmingly endearing way. And shows off his dimples.
Great. Dimples, too.
Our usual table against the wall normally seats two, but he snags a chair from the next table over, turns it around and — of course! — straddles it, crossing his arms over the back and resting his chin on them. He doesn’t seem to notice that his knee is now resting against mine, though I can’t seem to notice anything else. Actually, that isn’t true. I’m also spending a lot of time noticing the way his tight jeans stretch over his thighs. “Good morning,” he says. “Have you ladies ordered yet?”
Did I actually think I remembered what that voice was like? If so, I was wrong; memory can only capture a pale shadow of that voice. It coats the words like warm maple syrup, rendering me speechless from the joy of listening to it. It’s outright stupid that anyone can sound like that, let alone this guy.
I appraise the snaps again. They’re still there.
I look down at my menu and try to think of something to say. I come up blank.
“We haven’t had a chance yet,” Kari says. “I just got here myself.”
“Are you feeling better this morning?” he asks, and when Kari doesn’t answer I realize he must be talking to me.
“I feel fine, thank you,” I say, trying to sound perky. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“You seemed awfully down last night.”
“No, no, I was fine, I just had a lot to drink.”
He looks like he might argue with me, but Kari pipes up. “Dot’s going to kill you for sitting on that chair like that,” she says.
I don’t think Dot is going to do any such thing, and Mitch doesn’t look terribly concerned either. Probably doesn’t find himself on the receiving end of too many stern lectures from the fairer sex, and Dot is still one of us, after all.
“I’m sure she’ll forgive me,” he says, leaning precariously backward to try and steal a menu from the next table over. “I’ll order a ton of food.”
“Here, take mine,” Kari says, and passes her menu to him. It’s a good thing his back is now turned to the rest of the place, because the smile he flashes her would give Dot — and every other woman there — a heart attack. I want to kick myself. My immediate reaction is to wonder why I didn’t give him my menu; then he would have smiled at me.
My next reaction is to remind myself that I’m really not attracted to him.
“What do you recommend?” he asks, and there’s a long pause before I realize that since Kari isn’t answering, he must be talking to me again. I look up and catch the full brunt of those eyes.
“I’m not hungry,” I blurt.
“I am,” he says, his voice lower, almost a rumble, and his eyes hold mine. He’s doing it again! I swallow hard and his lips twitch. Is he holding back a smile? Is that supposed to be a double entendre? And does it even matter, when he’s wearing cowboy boots and mother-of-pearl snaps?
***
Enjoy the excerpt? To read the rest of Midnight Confessions, click here.
Planning a happy-ever-after with the one that got away ...
Emma Case is thrilled when her brother asks her to be the “Best Woman” at his wedding – that is, until she finds out that his fiancée has chosen a “Mister of Honor,” and it’s Jake Madden, the man who broke her heart 5 years ago. Even better: it's their job to plan the wedding.
Now, with her own fiancé fuming at home, Emma's planning a wedding with the man who didn't want to marry her. Can she hold onto her sanity long enough to pull this off ... and can she hold onto her bitter memories despite the constant reminders that they might not be as accurate as she'd like to think?
***
What are people saying about For Better, For Worse?:
Short and sweet romance that has a lot of heart and wit…. Looking forward to reading more books by this smart and funny author.
- Simone Pone, author of The City Center, The New Agenda, and The Mainframe
Cute story, and a fun read - this story begs to be made into a romantic comedy.
- PatersonS, Amazon reviewer
***
Jake picked up his menu. “What are we having?” he asked.
“Actually,” I said, “I’m not having anything. We should be able to settle this over coffee and I can be home in time for dinner.”
He looked at me over the top of his menu and shook his head. “I’m pretty sure you can’t plan a wedding in the time it takes to drink a couple of cups of coffee,” he said.
“I’m not talking about wedding planning,” I said, wrapping my hands around my coffee cup so he couldn’t see them shaking. “I’m talking about how to explain to Bryan and Angel that we’re not going to be planning this wedding.”
He shook his head again. “That’s not on the agenda, Em.”
I wished he would stop calling me that. I’m an Emma, and I’ve always been pretty forceful about the issue. Jake was always the only one who called me “Em” and got away with it, and here he was, all this time later, still getting aw
ay with it. I didn’t want to get into a debate about it, though, when we had something more important to deal with.
“I wasn’t aware you’d worked out an agenda,” I said
“Angel asked me to do this. You know how I feel about Angel.”
“And you know how I feel about Bryan, but that doesn’t change a thing.”
“That doesn’t change a thing about what?”
“About us, about this — about doing this thing together when I don’t want to spend time with you.”
“Ouch,” he said, but he didn’t really sound hurt at all. On some level, he had to have been expecting it. The last time we’d spoken I was telling him never to come see me again, or call me again, or even think about me again unless he wanted me to sense it wherever I was and come kick his ass for him. He couldn’t possibly think any of that had changed. “I won’t say I don’t deserve a certain amount of anger, Em, but it’s been five years. Maybe —”
“Maybe nothing,” I said, leaning in closer so the other tables couldn’t hear. “Don’t you start that ‘maybe’ business with me. I’m not going to sit here and rehash the wobbly rise and spectacular fall of our so-called relationship, so that topic is off limits, period.”
“I wasn’t rehashing anything,” he said, “though now that you bring it up, I think I’ll have the hash.” He set his menu aside and the waitress appeared as if he’d conjured her. He ordered the hash and eggs, and the waitress looked at me expectantly.
“I’ll just have coffee,” I said.
“Suit yourself,” Jake said, and handed our menus to the waitress, who refilled his coffee and took off for the kitchen again. “You’d better not be planning to steal any of my hash.”
“I already said I’ll eat when I get home.”
“I know,” he said, flashing that cocky grin across the table again as he reached for more sugar, “but you don’t always mean what you say.”
“I meant every word I ever said to you, which is more than you can say for yourself, you —”
“I thought we weren’t going to rehash the, what was it . . . spectacular fall —”
“We’re not.”
“Then stop talking about it.” He challenged me with his eyes, and, God help me, I rose to it.
“You started it!”
“What are we, five?” He gestured at the bowl of creamers and I shoved the whole bowl across the table. “The way I see it,” he said, “neither of us expected this, and it’s certainly awkward, but this is about family. Angel’s as much my family as if she’d been born to it, and you and Bryan love each other so much it’s scary, so . . .”
“So?”
“So, saying no isn’t an option.”
“Saying no is always an option.”
“Then fine, call Bryan and tell him you won’t do it.” He stacked the newly empty creamer thimbles into the older ones, pinched them together again, and looked at his coffee instead of me while he stirred.
“I can’t do that.”
“You just said that saying no is always an option.”
“I can’t say no to my brother.”
“And so we’ll have to do this.”
“Actually,” I said, “I was thinking I could just plan it myself.”
“Angel asked me to help.”
“Tell her it’s too awkward,” I said.
“It’s not too awkward, not for me. If you can’t hack it, then by all means step out. Bryan will understand.”
“It’s not that I can’t hack it.”
“Well, what is it then?”
“Maybe I don’t want to hack it.”
He was quiet while the waitress put his meal on the table, then picked up his fork and raked it over his hash. “The thing is, Em, as my man Mick says, you can’t always get what you want.”
***
Enjoy the excerpt? To read the rest of For Better, For Worse, click here.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tammi Labrecque lives in Bangor, Maine with two kids, three cats, and dozens of fictional characters that keep her awake nights.
She writes across several genres, including romance, fantasy, urban fantasy, mystery, and horror. You can find her at TammiLabrecque.com.
One Hell of a Guy: The Cambion Trilogy, Book 1 Page 9