by Piper Rayne
Our Star-Crossed Kiss
Piper Rayne
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
© 2020 by Piper Rayne
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
Cover Photo: Wander Aguiar Photography
Cover Design: By Hang Le
1st Line Editor: Joy Editing
2nd Line Editor: My Brother’s Editor
Proofreader: Shawna Gavas, Behind The Writer
Contents
About Our Star-Crossed Kiss
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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
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Cockamamie Unicorn Ramblings
About the Author
Also by Piper Rayne
Our Star-Crossed Kiss
She’s got two strikes against her.
Her name is Erickson and her parents own The Bagel Place.
It wasn’t always that way. When we were nine, we were best friends. But then a feud between our dads ripped their successful business apart—and my best friend was ripped away too.
Our paths were bound to cross again. Now, both our families are vying for the same spot on a Food Channel’s reality show. Soon, the hatred between us becomes indifference and then our friendship grows like our time apart was only hours instead of years.
So when Evan asks me to pretend to be her boyfriend, I naively assume it’s to repair the rift between our families. But I wasn’t only wrong, I was dead wrong. That glimpse of a future I saw with her is ripped away again just like when we were young.
The difference is, now I’m all grown up, and I fight for what I want.
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Chapter One
Seth
“My fiancé would die if he knew I was here with you.”
I wish I could say I’m surprised to hear my client say this, but every bridal session I shoot, the woman says that sentence almost verbatim.
“Well he’s going to know once you show him these pictures, but he’ll be too distracted to care.” I chuckle and snap a picture of her spread eagle, dressed in white lace and satin lingerie.
She giggles and I click the shutter five times in a row to catch her head tipped back, smile wide and happy. That’s a keeper.
Being a boudoir photographer isn’t my first choice, but desperate times call for desperate measures. At first, I worried I’d be sporting a hard-on all day, but luckily, my clients are clients and that’s all I see them as. I’ve come to enjoy watching their confidence grow during our sessions.
I rarely want to nail any of them. I say rarely because hello, I’m a man. A single man, I’ll add. I’d be lying if I said never and lying’s not my thing. My brother does it enough for the both of us.
But as my client, Lizzy, sticks her tits into the air, I’m not even slightly aroused. Mostly because my mind is preoccupied by a certain brunette.
“Let’s have you roll over now. Stick your ass in the air a bit.”
Who else gets to say this shit at work? Other than a porn director.
My assistant changes the lighting, knowing exactly what I’m looking for. I’d never photograph a client without someone else in the room, preferably another woman. Having witnesses fends off any potential lawsuits or having someone misconstruing things. It keeps everything professional, not to mention easier.
A knock on the door stops me as I’m about to step up on a ladder to shoot Lizzy from above.
“Can you see who that is, Madison?” I ask my assistant.
It’s a small boudoir photography studio, so only Madison and I are here. We tell our clients if the red light is on outside the door, just have a seat and we’ll be with them soon. If someone knocks, I might duck out during a change break—you wouldn’t believe some of the outfits these women bring to fulfill their loved ones’ fantasies.
Madison closes the curtain that conceals the area I’m shooting in before she opens the door. She only gets it open a crack before someone pushes it forward and she falls to her ass.
“Oh sorry, dear,” my mom says.
“Mom! I’m in a session.” I pull the curtain shut to fully enclose Lizzy, but my mom must have started her walking regimen again because she beats me before I can hide my client.
“You’re a beauty. Oh no, don’t hide on my account. Flaunt what you got going on because thirty years later and you’re looking at the aftermath.” My mom runs her hands down her body.
“Mom, I’m with a client.” My fingers tighten around my camera.
“Why thank you.” Lizzy blushes. I’d snap a picture if that wasn’t weird.
“Trust me, your husband is going to love this. My son is the best photographer in the world.” Mom raises her hand, her finger and thumb ready to pinch my cheeks.
What can I say, I’m a momma’s boy. Not the “I live in her basement and she washes and folds my laundry” kind. But her happiness means a lot to me, and she puts me on a pedestal I’m not really deserving of. I think it’s just that compared to my brother, I’m a prince. Not a prince like Adrian, but you get what I mean.
“You can stay,” Lizzy says, seeming to enjoy having an audience.
My mom takes the invitation and sits in Madison’s chair.
I roll my eyes. “Give us a moment, Lizzy.” I put my finger in the air and politely nod toward the door for my mom to follow.
She sighs but does stand. “Can I give you some advice from an old lady?” Lizzy has no time to answer before my mom speaks. “Night cream is a must, even when you’re exhausted. Stay out of the sun and never smoke. And if you do it right, your sex life is exercise enough.”
I gag while Madison laughs.
My mom shakes her head. “My son likes to think he was brought into this world by immaculate conception.”
Lizzy and Madison share a humorous look. I’m so happy they find my mom so funny.
“Mom,” I say with a bite in my tone.
She waves to Lizzy. “Sorry for interrupting. Remember, you’re beautiful and sexy and”—she waves away my impatient sigh—“you can be strong and brave too. Speak your mind and never keep anything inside.”
“Maybe we should offer an advice booth for you to man when our clients come in.”
My mom rolls her matching-to-mine blue eyes. “My son, the comedian.”
“Let’s go,” I say, holding the door handle.
“Oh fine.” My mom walks over and pats my cheek before she walks out.
“Hey, Madison, let’s change the back
drop to the black.”
She nods. “Got it.”
I shut the door to the studio and walk over to where my mom’s sitting in a waiting room chair.
“When the red light is on, you can’t come in. We’ve been over this.” I point at said light in case she missed it the first hundred times I’ve shown her over the past five years. If I could move her bagel shop so it wasn’t just a block away from the photography studio, I’d do it.
“I gave that girl a confidence boost. You tell them they’re beautiful when you shoot them, right?”
“Why are you here?” I change the subject because my mom needs to stay out of my business.
She nods as if she forgot what was so urgent she had to bust into my session. She opens her purse—which holds everything from tampons she hasn’t used for five years because of menopause to pain medicine and a mini sewing kit. Retrieving a folded piece of paper, she straightens it by laying it across her chest and running a hand down to get the crinkles out.
I hold out my hand and she places it in there once she’s satisfied it’s as flat as it will get.
Calling all businesses!
Come down to the mercantile mart this Saturday between 9-5 with the one dish your restaurant is known for—and get a chance to be on the Food Channel’s series Tastes of Small Towns. If you’re chosen, you head to the semi-finals next week, where our celebrity guests will pick winners for the breakfast, lunch, dinner, and treat segment. If you win, you’ll appear on our episode featuring restaurants and shops in Cliffton Heights, New York.
See you this Saturday!
I hand the flyer back to my mom. “You want to do this?”
She nods. “But you know your dad. He’ll say it’s a waste of time.”
My dad is more the type of guy who thinks, “I make the bagels and you eat them, or you don’t. They’re the best and if you don’t think so, you can take a hike.”
It’s why he and Mr. Erickson couldn’t keep The Bagel and Schmear Shop going. They’d argue about which mattered more—the bagel or schmear. My dad, Chris Andrews, was the bagel guy, and Mr. Erickson was the schmear guy. But because a stupid fight tore the business and their two families apart, Cliffton Heights residents can now choose Andrews Bagel if they want a better bagel than cream cheese or The Bagel Place if they want great cream cheese with an okay bagel.
“So?” My mom raises her eyebrows. “Will you go with me? I’ll bake them fresh and I’ve been working on this cream cheese recipe, but…” She doesn’t have to say it. It doesn’t compare to the Ericksons’ recipe.
“I’m sure they’ll be there too.”
There’s no way their daughter Evan, the brunette I just envisioned on that bed five minutes ago, will pass up the opportunity to be advertised on national television. I might not know everything about her like I used to, but she’s smart and bold. Hell, she’s probably already camped out in front of the mercantile mart to be the first in line.
Chapter Two
Evan
“Where are you going this early?” My sister, Elsie, plops down on the stool, looking half asleep. “I don’t mind the mid-morning shift, but you owe me for this.”
I finish the last tray of bagels. “I owe you? Remind me to pay you back that favor tomorrow when I wake up at three a.m. so we have product to sell to pay for your college. All you have to do is unlock the doors and take orders. Mom will be in after she drops off Eli at school.”
“But you know she’s going to talk to his teacher foreeeever. And last time Mr. Tettlebaum yelled at me because I put too much cream cheese on his poppy seed bagel,” she whines because that’s what Elsie does. “There was a huge line of witnesses.”
“This is one morning. Please, just handle this.”
“But why? Tell me what you’re keeping from me? Are you surprising Brock?” Her eyelashes flicker up and down in a dreamy state. “It’s like a Cinderella story with you two. One day he’s going to come in here and sweep you off your feet, take you to his castle on the hill, and you’ll live happily ever after.” She rests her chin in her palm as if she’s envisioning it all happening right now.
I won’t break my sister’s naively romantic heart, but Brock isn’t the type of guy to put much thought into anything other than his vices—video games, hanging out with his friends, and betting on car races with said friends.
All Elsie sees when it comes to Brock is dollar bills. His fancy sports car and his family’s big house on the hill. Sometimes I sit next to him and wonder how we ever started dating. The truth is, it all started here in The Bagel Place.
Brock would come in around noon and ask if we had anything fresh. Eventually he lingered longer and longer, and since business was always slow by then, it was nice to have someone to talk to. Sometimes a friend of his would stop in and he’d make them buy a bagel or a drink. Usually they’d chat for a minute or two then be on their way, but Brock would stay until I closed. One afternoon he asked me out and I said yes even though he’s not really my type. If I told that to Elsie, she’d faint like one of the members from BTS just walked in the door.
But Brock surprised me. He’s pretty charming and he’s been almost sweet on our dates. Except for after a gala we attended, where we ran into Seth Andrews. It was an event for the Testicular Cancer Awareness Group. Brock’s dad is a bigwig for some company that bought a table.
All those doubts Seth Andrews keeps trying to bring to my doorstep come to mind—that Brock is a drug dealer and the scum of the earth.
“Hey, have you ever heard any rumors about Brock?” I ask in a light voice, trying to make it sound like no big deal. I shove another tray of everything bagels in the oven because we usually run out of them early and Elsie will be lost if she has to actually prepare anything.
“What kind of rumors?”
I shrug with my back to her. I’ve dissected Seth’s accusations about Brock being his brother Trevor’s drug dealer repeatedly. Why would a guy like Brock need to sell drugs? His family is loaded. It makes no sense.
What makes more sense is that Seth has the last name Andrews and anyone with that last name can’t be trusted when it comes to us Ericksons.
“You mean other girls? Damn, Evan, you know you’re hot, right? He’s lucky to get you.”
I turn around, wiping my hands clean with a dishcloth. “Yeah, not about other girls.”
Although Brock does have a reputation of having no-strings-attached relationships. Even Elsie’s sweet compliments can’t erase his past.
She tilts her head. “Then what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t really go out much—”
“Evan, you’re dodging the question. What’s bothering you?”
I sit on the stool across from her and allow all the nervous energy about what I’m doing as soon as I leave here to disperse from my body. “You know that gala I went to a few weeks ago?”
“The fancy one Brock bought you a gorgeous black dress for? That thing may disappear out of your closet one day, by the way.” She laughs and I throw the dishrag at her.
“Yeah, well, Seth Andrews was there too.”
Elsie’s laugh dies as though someone cut her throat.
“Els,” I say.
She shakes her head. “You’re thinking of ruining your chance at a fairy tale romance because of something Seth Andrews said?”
I never expected to see Seth there—in a tuxedo, no less. It was probably his first time wearing one since junior prom when he got crowned as king. Brock was seething after our confrontation with Seth and actually demanded I have nothing to do with him. I’m not sure why Brock’s worried. It’s common knowledge to anyone who lives in Cliffton Heights that Seth’s dad and mine had a falling out years ago. As if that’s not cliché enough, I see actual voting polls on our community Facebook group about who has the better bagels: my family, the Ericksons of The Bagel Place or Seth’s family with Andrews Bagel Company.
I’m not sure what Brock saw the night of the gala to make him demand I ne
ver see Seth again.
“You know Trevor has a—”
“Drug problem? You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone in Cliffton Heights who didn’t see that downward spiral.”
I nod. Elsie’s younger than me by enough that the family feud happened right before she was born. “Well, Seth says Brock was… er… is Trevor’s dealer?”
“I thought Trevor was in rehab? Is he back and using again?” The judgment in her tone is clear.
My dad is aware of Trevor Andrews’ drug problem and has judged how Seth’s dad could ever allow Trevor to become a junkie, saying he’d never let his children get that lost. I don’t think it’s quite that simple though.
“I have no idea about Trevor. I think Seth was warning me or something.”
“Warning?” She rolls her eyes. “That Brock might decorate you in diamonds?”
Oh, my poor sister. Once she graduates high school and finds out what the real world is like, she’s going to be devastated that her new reality doesn’t come with glitter bombs and streamers.
“I’m serious.”
“I thought they were friends? Didn’t they play football together? There’s a picture of the two of them in the glass case with that trophy when we won state all those years ago.”