One Night
Aleatha Romig
Edited by Lisa Aurello
Photography by Wander Aguiar
Cover Art by Letitia Hasser RBA Designs Romantic Book Affairs
Formatted by Romig Works LLC
Romig Works LLC
Contents
One Night
COPYRIGHT AND LICENSE INFORMATION
Author's Note
One Night
Untitled
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
What to do now
Books by Aleatha Romig
About the Author
* * *
ALEATHA ROMIG
New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of the Infidelity and Consequences series and PLUS ONE
One Night
Copyright © 2017 Romig Works, LLC
Published by Romig Works, LLC
2017 Edition
ISBN e-book: 978-1-947189-06-5
Cover art: Letitia Hasser at RBA Designs / Romantic Book Affairs
Photography: Wander Aguiar
Editing: Lisa Aurello
Formatting: Romig Works, LLC
* * *
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the copyright owner.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
* * *
This book is available in print from most online retailers
* * *
2017 Edition License
* * *
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the appropriate retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Over a year ago my friend Georgia Cates and I decided to start an adventure: writing stories that were outside of our brand. Our endeavor was successful on many counts. It opened a world of possibilities and let us shake off the chains of expectation. Though we each wrote different titles, we ventured into that new world under one name.
While that pen name no longer exists, it helped us to expand our horizons and try new things.
The story you're about to read started as a short and sexy, predictable novella written by me as Jade Sinner and entitled MALCOLM: The Meeting. My reviews were good and I learned that while writing dark twists and turns, I could also be funny and light.
If any part of this story seems familiar, it could be because you read the 17K-word short novella. That was just the beginning.
ONE NIGHT is more! It is now a full-length, contemporary romantic-comedy novel.
I hope it makes you swoon, laugh, maybe shed a tear or two, and finish the last page with a smile.
I know that I did all of that while writing.
Thank you for allowing me to shed the other name and embrace this side of Aleatha. Thank you for giving Leatha, the lighter side of Aleatha, a chance!
I hope you enjoy ONE NIGHT!
A sweet, fun, and sexy stand-alone romance from New York Times bestselling author Aleatha Romig.
* * *
One night to remember
* * *
Is that too much to desire?
* * *
One night for fun, passion, and a chance to remember what it’s like to be a woman.
I’m not looking for love.
There’s a man in my life who loves me with all his heart. He has beautiful blue eyes, is three feet tall, and calls me mommy.
He’s my whole world and I’m his. Fate stole away his daddy far too soon.
What would happen if I allowed fate another chance, just for one night?
* * *
One night to help a friend
* * *
Why did I agree to this?
Blind dates are disasters. If I weren't helping the friend of a friend, I wouldn't go.
I’m not looking for romance, love, or even a one-night stand.
After all, the man my friend knew is gone. I’m no longer the hockey star known for his "pep" on the ice and in the sack. I have a new life and a new career—a new passion. I’m not looking for more.
When the blind date is a bust, could fate change everything?
* * *
One night doesn’t end with a kiss—it begins with one.
* * *
Be ready to laugh, cry, and fall head over heels in love as you let Leatha, the lighter side of Aleatha, take you away with this new, sweet, and sexy stand-alone romance, ONE NIGHT, the perfect reading to keep you warm…hot…steamy…on a cool night.
Amanda
The hum of the office around me disappears as I notice the small clock at the bottom of my computer screen. How did I miss lunch again?
I shake my head and reach for my emergency stash, hidden at the back of my desk drawer. A protein bar isn’t exactly the lunch of champions—or the breakfast—but more often than not it’s what I end up eating. Maybe I should think of a better stash. Like those little tiny wine bottles. If I drank a white, I could pretend that it’s water.
Instead, I unscrew the cap from my real water bottle and take another bite of my protein bar.
“Oh my God,” Sally says as she slips into my cubicle. “Tell me that’s a midafternoon snack and not your lunch.”
“I would but...” The words come out scratchy from the dry oatmeal and peanut butter that’s currently working more as a glue to keep my lips stuck to my teeth. I wiggle my lips as I try to swallow.
“Seriously, I texted you about lunch.”
I down a gulp of water and pry my lips from my teeth. “I know. I saw it. But Cruella de Vil has been on the warpath today.”
We both turn as an interoffice communication pings from my computer and my manager’s name appears on the screen.
“See,” I say.
Sally laughs. “Have you thought about Friday night?”
“Are you serious? I didn’t have a chance to remember lunch; Friday night is too much for me to think about right now.”
She settles her behind against the edge of my desk. Crossing her arms over her chest, she lowers her voice. “I promise you’ll like him.”
“I’m not you.”
“That’s good. I’m seeing someone. I can’t go on a blind date.”
My nose scrunches. “Why do they call them that? Even the idea makes my skin crawl.”
Sally is my best-est and longest friend. We’ve been like two peas in a pod since we were young, since the time we both discovered that bo
ys weren’t just smelly, cocky pests, but actually had appeal. A lot of appeal. We’ve seen each other through life’s ups and downs. It’s true that her life has had a few more ups, but no matter what, we’ve been there for one another.
“Oh, sweetie,” Sally goes on, “Brian’s friend Pep will NOT make your skin crawl. No...those goose bumps will all be from the heat.”
“Sally, seriously, I’m not ready.”
“You are. You need to be. It’s just a date.”
My bottom lip disappears between my teeth for only a moment. It's been a long time since I've thrown caution to the wind and let myself go. One night of abandoned, reckless fun. How difficult would that be to do? Would I even remember how?
“See,” she says with a knowing grin. “You're thinking about it. You're actually considering it.”
My computer pings and I turn back to the screen. It's another message from my manager, no doubt reminding me about something she’s reminded me about fifty times, or maybe it’s a new trivial task that she’s come up with for me. God knows messaging me to email someone takes her more time than if she’d actually write the damn email herself.
Shaking my head, I look back at my friend's big hazel eyes.
She bats her eyelashes and opens them wide as she tries one more time. “Okay, I wasn't going to tell you this, but even though he's new in town, gorgeous, funny, and sexy as hell, we’re worried.”
“You’re worried?”
“Well, Brian more than I. I’ve only met him once and he seems really nice. It’s just that Brian’s concerned that there could be something wrong with him.”
“Like what?” I ask.
Her head tilts to the side. “Come on, Amanda. You’d be helping the poor guy out, and I know how partial you are to helping the less fortunate.”
“I leave food out for the puppies and kitties. I volunteer at the homeless shelter at least once a month. I’m not in the habit of helping twenty- to thirty-something-year-old men.”
“Hey, those men need a little help sometimes too. I never thought you would discriminate. I mean, what if he was at the shelter?”
“He’s homeless?”
“No. But doesn’t everyone deserve a little help now and then?”
I take a deep breath, my attention torn between Sally and the persistent pinging of my computer messages. “All right, spill. What's wrong with him? Is he color-blind? Dyslexic? Does he have one testicle that’s smaller than the other?”
I cover my grin as my eyes open wide. Only with Sally would I say such a thing.
She leans closer. “Well, I'm not sure about his testicle. You see, Brian and I made this bet. Brian thinks that his old friend may have an issue with getting it up...too many PED's when he played for the Lightning.” She shrugs. “That’s what Brian thinks. Me, I think that he has a playboy rock-hard body with a soft heart and just hasn't found the right lady.”
“Wait a minute. Are you saying you want me, hardly playboy-girlfriend material, to settle your bet?”
“No,” Sally insists. “I want you to be that right lady. And,” she adds with a grin, “Brian wants to know if he can get it up.”
I shake my head. “That sounds like too much work. Besides, I'm taken. I have the handsomest man in my life. As a matter of fact, he slept in my bed last night.”
“Jase doesn't count.”
“What do you mean?” I mock shock. “He most certainly can count. He has since he was three. He also knows his ABC’s. Actually, he's a genius and you, Aunt Sally, should know that. He can even write his name, first and last.”
“Honey, you're a great mom. But it's not fair to you—or to Jase—to live like a monk. It's time to see what the world has to offer.”
Again, my computer pings.
“Ugh. I don’t think monks have a million messages backing up. Besides, don’t they take a vow of silence or something?”
“Then a nun,” Sally replies. “That’s it. You’re right. You make a better nun. Celibate and wine drinking.”
“Hey!” I reach up to my long brown hair, currently pulled to the side in a low ponytail resting on my shoulder. “I could never wear a habit. Can you imagine how flat that would make my hair?”
Sally laughs. “Speaking of habits. Try giving up that celibate thing and I know a habit you'll enjoy again.”
I purse my lips. “I don't know. My parents are always willing to watch Jase, but he goes to bed at eight-thirty. I'm sure Mr. Sexy-ex-hockey-player slash rock-hard-playboy isn't interested in a date that turns into a pumpkin at eight o'clock, even if he does have erection issues.”
“I bet if you ask nicely, your parents will keep Jase overnight. As a matter of fact, I know they will.”
“You know?” I ask suspiciously as my stomach twists.
I'm not ready for this. I should be. Jason just turned five years old and it's been nearly five years since I last saw his father. The memories incite the same emotions they always do. I see his blue eyes, the same ones I see daily in our son. I remember his parting words, telling me he'd return safe and sound. I remember the touch of his lips on mine just before he pulled away from me and headed toward his unit. And then I remember the terrible knock on the door. I knew what had happened before I opened it. No military wife wants to see a man in uniform at her front door who isn't her husband.
The following few weeks are still a blur. I can't remember how I functioned, if I ate, or if I even took care of Jase. He was so young. I tried. Thank God for my parents.
Somehow we survived. Somehow time has moved on.
In a few days, Jason will begin kindergarten as a relatively well-adjusted little man. I couldn't be prouder of him, and I know Jackson would be too. That's why I let Jase consume my life: he deserves more than what I can give. He deserves two parents. Thanks to a roadside IED, it's up to me to be both.
Yet there are times that I wonder what it would be like to be a twenty-five-year-old woman, instead of the responsible mother, if only for one night.
Ping!
“Shit, Sally, I need to get on whatever Ms. de Vil wants. If I don't, I won't hear the end of it.”
“You didn’t even take lunch. You deserve a few minutes.”
We both know that won’t happen as long as the puppy killer is on a rampage.
“Okay, fine.” My friend brushes my shoulder. “Call your mom and ask her to watch Jase on Friday night, or I will.”
I shake my head. “Sometimes you're a real bitch.” My accusation is quiet and accompanied by a big smile.
Sally lifts her chin as her grin grows. “That's why you love me. Don't make me call your mother, because I will. We both agree you deserve a life beyond Jase.”
“Are you seriously ganging up on me?”
She doesn't answer.
Before she walks away, I ask, “You mean this Friday night?”
“Yes, just the four of us.”
It's only Tuesday. “Give me a day to think about it.”
“I'll give you until five o’clock; Brian needs to talk to Pep.”
“Bitch,” I mutter under my breath as my attention is quickly diverted to the list of things my manager needs done ASAP. Number one: water her plants.
Are you shitting me?
I put myself through college to get a degree in financial planning to water plants?
“Careful,” Sally whispers. “You don't want anyone to think you're using my endearment on someone else.”
My face snaps upward as I stand and peer about the room of cubicles. Thankfully, no one is looking my way.
“Go. Get out of here. I have work to do. God knows that if I don't, puppies may die.”
“Save the puppies and the sexy men,” Sally says as she walks away.
My boss's name isn't really de Vil. It's DeVoe.
One evening, not long after I got my job, Sally came over to my apartment. Jase loves her and so do I. She was the one who recommended me for my job. The title, administrative financial assistant, was everything I wante
d.
Sometimes ideals and reality don’t match.
With Jase in bed, Sally and I talked about work over a bottle—or two—of wine. It was purely a slip of the tongue. I could probably blame it on Jase's obsession with Disney. Nevertheless, instead of DeVoe, de Vil came out—as in Cruella de Vil. Ever since, whenever I'm upset, I imagine Glenn Close and the animated character, and it makes me smile, well, other than the twinge over the puppy coat. That's easier to imagine in cartoon form.
“Amanda.”
My neck straightens as my name, accompanied by the click of Christine DeVoe's heels, reaches my ears.
“Amanda, have you received my messages?”
“I have,” all five hundred of them. I don’t say the last part. “I've contacted the purchasing department and Jim is supposed to get back to me. I was waiting until I had an answer. I’ve sent the emails about the withholdings—”
She nods as her lips come together. As if she were expecting it to be my first priority, she asks, “And what about my plants?”
“They're on my list.” Along with fifty other more important things. I don't say that part either.
“Don't forget. Phil is looking a little limp.”
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