THRILL RIDE
South Florida Riders – Book Four
Breezie Bennett
Are you ready for
Thrill Ride?
NFL kicker Dylan Rivera and quirky yoga teacher Melody Hayes have absolutely nothing in common, except they both believe in “one true love.” But when they are forced to live together for one month before Melody takes off for her dream job on a cruise line, they can’t resist the thrill that comes when two opposites attract and ignite.
THRILL RIDE
Copyright © 2020 Mia Frisiello
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights to reproduction of this work are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission from the copyright owner. Thank you for respecting the copyright. For permission or information on foreign, audio, or other rights, contact the author, [email protected].
ISBN Print: 978-1-7341760-5-6
ISBN Ebook: 978-1-7341760-4-9
COVER ART: The Killion Group, Inc. (designer)
INTERIOR FORMATTING: Author E.M.S.
Table of Contents
THRILL RIDE
About the Book
Copyright
The South Florida Riders Series
One – Dylan
Two – Melody
Three – Dylan
Four – Melody
Five – Dylan
Six – Dylan
Seven – Melody
Eight – Dylan
Nine – Melody
Ten – Dylan
Eleven – Melody
Twelve – Dylan
Thirteen – Melody
Fourteen – Dylan
Fifteen – Melody
Sixteen – Dylan
Seventeen – Melody
Eighteen – Dylan
Nineteen – Melody
Twenty – Melody
Twenty-one – Dylan
Twenty-two – Melody
Twenty-three – Dylan
Twenty-four – Melody
Twenty-five – Dylan
Twenty-six – Melody
Twenty-seven – Dylan
Twenty-eight – Melody
Twenty-nine – Dylan
Thirty – Melody
Epilogue
About the Author
The South Florida Riders Series
Wild Ride
Slow Ride
Easy Ride
Thrill Ride
Rough Ride
Sweet Ride
And yes, there will be more. For a complete list, buy links, and reading order of all my books, visit www.breeziebennett.com. Be sure to sign up for my newsletter to find out when the next book is released!
One
Dylan
Pink hair. Pink freaking hair. There’s a girl in my bed with pink hair.
I shut my eyes and rub my forehead, cursing the slightest bit of light that’s coming in through the blinds. It’s way too bright for this hangover.
I glance again at the colorful-haired girl tucked into the pillow, sleeping soundly. She’s Melody Hayes, the eccentric, bubbly, and unbelievably annoying cousin of my best friend’s new fiancée.
Great.
I’m not usually the one-night-stand type of guy, but the drinks were flowing at the South Florida Riders Christmas party last night, and I guess Chase Kennedy’s outrageous Jumbotron proposal had all us single dudes feeling some type of way.
How did our quarterback, South Florida’s most notorious, soulless womanizer, find his forever girl before I did? I’ve been waiting for the one since I was a teenager. And I know for a fact that the one isn’t the hippie yoga teacher sleeping in my bed.
Even if we did have a wild, mind-blowing, incredible night together. One night. That’s all it was.
“Morning.” She rolls over and smiles at me, her face flushing as she clearly feels the classic morning-after awkwardness as much as I do. Her light pink hair falls in soft, shiny waves around her striking face, which is somehow already charged with energy and vibrance.
I sigh out a laugh and raise my brows. “Hey.”
She scrunches up her face and rubs her eyes, looking kind of adorable and very sexy.
I’m hit with a flashback of her wide eyes and sinful smile from last night. And her body…Christ, her body. She bends in ways I didn’t even know people could bend.
I shake my head and run a hand through my hair. It was an electric, unforgettable hookup with a crazily fun and outrageous girl. Nothing more.
“Um, so…” Melody laughs softly and sits up in the bed, curling her knees against her chest and hugging them. I swear she could fold up and fit into a suitcase if she wanted to. “Last night was fun.” She has trouble looking at me. “I don’t normally do that sort of thing.”
“Yeah.” I reach over and toy with a strand of her silky hair. “Trust me, neither do I.”
She arches a brow. “I find that a teensy bit hard to believe. You’re a South Florida Rider.” She shimmies her shoulders mockingly. “Big-shot football player. I’m sure you do this plenty.”
“I’m just the kicker,” I say with a half smile.
She shrugs. “It’s all the same to me. I don’t exactly have an overwhelming amount of football knowledge.”
I shift onto my side to face her, surprised for the hundredth time by how strikingly blue her eyes are. “You’re telling me you don’t know the difference between the kicker and the quarterback?” I laugh with shock.
She wets her lips and looks straight ahead. “Okay, I’m not an idiot. But I’m not a big NFL fan. Hundreds of millions of dollars on beer commercials and sponsorships, and it’s just…a game. No offense!” she adds quickly, holding up her hands.
I narrow my eyes at her, feeling both amused and irritated. “Don’t worry, I don’t get offended. And I’m not nearly the die-hard football player that some of the other guys on the team are.”
“Oh right.” She gives an easy smile. “They call you soccer boy.”
“Shhh,” I tease. “You should look into it more, though. The NFL actually does a lot of good for a lot of people. But I can see how being all anti-establishment fits your whole yogi vibe.”
“Excuse me?” she snaps, whipping her head toward me with a playfully annoyed giggle.
I shrug and lean back against the pillow. “Melody, you’re fascinating and unlike anyone I’ve ever met. But you’re not exactly…my usual type.”
She laughs and shakes her head. I can’t tell if she wants to kiss me or punch me in the face. Maybe both. “I’m not your type? You couldn’t be more opposite of my type!”
I nod slowly, imagining the bearded, sandal-wearing, vegan hipsters a girl like Melody probably goes after. “I definitely believe that.”
“So this was just a stupid, one-time, hookup-y thing.” She waves her hands through the air and slides out of the bed. “It was silly and…”
Pretty fucking great. “Yeah.” I sigh and get out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. “One-time thing. We…” I gesture back and forth between the two of us as she slides into her clothes from last night.
“Would make literally zero sense together,” she finishes with wide eyes, straightening the skirt of the sparkly red dress she had on at the Christmas party.
My mind races back to last night again. That dress. Frantically trying to unzip it
while I stumbled into the bedroom, slamming into the door, carrying her with her legs wrapped around me and our mouths glued to each other.
“Zero sense,” I agree, pushing away the steamy memory and forcing logic back into my brain.
I want a wife. Not a pink-haired hippie with a wrist tattoo and a nose piercing who hates the NFL. I mean, come on.
She lifts a bony shoulder. “Don’t sweat any of this. Even if we weren’t complete and total opposites, I may not be here for much longer.”
I frown and eye her. “Sounds morbid.”
“Quite the contrary.” She bends down to pull her shoes on and looks up at me with an electric gaze. “I recently got offered a job as a full-time yoga instructor on a cruise ship in the Caribbean.”
I grin. “That’s pretty bougie. But don’t people go on cruises to get shitfaced and eat their body weight at a germy buffet?”
She glares at me. “It’s not a booze cruise, frat boy. Many people take to the sea to discover inner peace and maximize wellness, and yoga can be a huge factor in that. It’s a perfect retreat from the hectic stress of life.”
“Doesn’t the rocking of the boat…” I lean side to side, mimicking the tipping of rough waters. “Impair balance?”
She stifles a smile and reaches over, smacking me on the arm. “Hush up.”
I nod playfully. “So, you’re definitely taking the gig?”
A pesky note of disappointment slips through in my words, although I’m not sure why. Even if Melody were staying, we both already established that we’re like oil and water. One time, and one time only.
She breathes deeply and pushes her silky hair over to one side. “I haven’t decided. I’m supposed to give a final answer tomorrow, but I haven’t gotten enough obvious spiritual guidance yet.”
I stand still and raise my brows at her, waiting for the next thing out of her mouth to involve plans to perform an incantation or a seance or some shit.
She holds up her hands, utterly shocked that I question her casual mention of spiritual guidance. “Like a sign! You know, the path should be paved clearly in front of me. I’m super torn right in half, ya know? Right down the middle. I just love my studio here. It’s my baby, and I’ve given my heart to that place for over a year now. But the cruise…” She looks past me as if she’s looking through the wall, seeing something unbelievably beautiful. “It’s calling to my soul.”
I stop to think if anything has ever called to my soul before. The answer is no.
“You could make a pros-and-cons list,” I suggest, taking a swig of water from the glass on the nightstand. God knows I need to hydrate after last night.
“Ew. Too robotic and logical. What’s your address?” she asks, tapping on her phone. “I’m trying to set the pickup location for my Uber.”
“Oh—”
“Shit! Fifty freaking dollars?” she squeals. “What are we, in Manhattan now?”
I laugh and walk over to her, gently pushing the phone down from in front of her face. “I’ll drive you home.”
“No.” She waves her hand and purses her lips. “I’m sure you have, like, balls to kick or something. I don’t wanna—”
“I’m getting my keys,” I call to her as I walk out of the bedroom, confused by the smile that won’t seem to leave my face in spite of how weird and ridiculous this particular hookup has been.
She rushes into the kitchen, somehow bouncing with every step, buzzing with energy, and it’s not even eight a.m. “Thank you so much, Dylan.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes and open the door of my condo, watching her practically skip down the stairs and into the parking lot.
“Oh my gosh, this is the most beautiful day ever!” She giggles and looks up at the sky.
“South Florida in December. It’s nice.” I toss my keys and catch them as I follow her to my car.
“Nice?” She turns around and grabs my shoulders, giving them a shake. “It’s amazing! Perfect temperature, not a single cloud in the entire sky. We live in paradise!”
I look at her with fascination and confusion and, admittedly, a burning, inexplicable attraction.
“Today has a very good energy. I can feel it,” she asserts.
I click the unlock button on my keys and guide her to my black BMW M4. “Oh, can you now?”
“Oh yeah.” She slides into the passenger seat with a flip of her wild hair. “There’s a definite vibe in the air.” She looks out the window as I pull through the gate and out of the complex.
“And what kind of vibe is that?” I ask, laughing at her endearing silliness.
She turns to me, blue eyes sparkling. She bites her lip and holds my gaze, passion and spirit radiating from her in tangible waves. “Good things are happening, Dylan Rivera.”
“Ah.” I turn onto the main road. “That’s only slightly vague, Melody Hayes.”
She laughs. “Maybe not good things. Maybe just bizarre things. Like me casually sleeping with a professional athlete.” She grabs handfuls of her hair.
“And me casually sleeping with someone who reads ‘vibes,’” I add.
“Like I said,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Zero sense.”
And she’s right. One wild night with a girl who is my polar opposite in every way means absolutely nothing.
I just hope I’ll be able to stop thinking about it.
Two
Melody
Oh gosh. Oh goodness. Oh man.
Oh this man. This professional football-playing man. This laid-back, unfazed, grumpy, sexy man who most certainly doesn’t understand me in the slightest.
And now I’m in his fancy car, and only several mere hours have passed since I made the stupid and reckless decision to have sex with him. Twice.
I swallow and look out the window, watching the early morning sun warm every inch of South Florida, wishing I could ease the buzzy, floaty, jittery feeling zipping through my chest.
I sneak a glance at Dylan again and—jeez, he gets hotter every second. We couldn’t be more different, but somehow that made the first true hookup I’ve had in a really long time insanely good. Too good. Because now my whole body is melting and swimming and no, no, no! I can’t like Dylan Rivera. He’s a freaking professional athlete. We have absolutely zero common interests, aside from, well, each other’s bodies last night. There was a lot of common interest in that regard.
I draw in a slow breath and force myself not to fill the silence with mindless chatter as I usually do. Dylan looks sleepy and doesn’t talk much to begin with, so I’d probably just be annoying him.
I look away from him, reluctantly. I wish his hair wasn’t so perfectly scruffy.
“You said it was Tortoise View Townhouses, right?” he says in a raspy voice, glancing at his GPS.
“Yeah!” I say a little too loudly. “They’re not the nicest in the world, but the location is super close to my studio, and I can walk to the beach, which is just such a gift.”
He half smiles and eyes me. “You strike me as someone who really likes the beach.”
“Of course! There’s nothing quite like the very spot where land turns into ocean. The tide kisses the water over and over again, and it’s just like the earth is in love. It’s my favorite place to meditate and have solitary yoga practice.”
Dylan raises his brows, and his jaw falls a little. He’s smiling, and my guess is that’s out of sheer amusement.
I’m sure he thinks I’m kind of odd. The free-spirited, pink-haired, hippie girl. But that’s really just who I am. The type of girl who takes in the beauty of every day and fervently believes in signs from the universe. The type of girl who pays attention to energy and invests in growth and peace. The type of girl who stays far, far away from stupidly hot professional football players.
I’ve believed in the concept of a fated mate since I was a little girl and started reading a frightening number of paranormal romances. I know, without a doubt in my heart, that the one is out there for me. I also know that the world wi
ll give me signs that point me right to him, signs that can’t be ignored. I also know that drinking one too many vodka cranberries at the Riders Christmas party my cousin took me to is not a sign leading me to the one.
“It’s here, on the right.” I point to my townhouse complex, and Dylan turns in.
“Where should I drop you off?” He pulls the car around, and I guide him to the back where my building is.
“Right in front of that…” I squint as we drive closer to make out the writing on the big utility truck parked in front of my door. “Plumbing and water services truck. That’s weird,” I say slowly, feeling a tiny thread of worry curl through me.
Dylan turns to me, putting the car in park. “Did you call a plumber?”
“No.” I hop out of the car. “Thanks, though, I’ll deal with it. I’m sure it’s nothing.”
As I shut the shiny black car door, disappointment punches my gut harder than it should at the idea of saying goodbye to Dylan. But it’s inevitable. One hella fun, crazy night is all we’ll ever be.
I start heading toward my townhouse, walking quickly and hoping whoever this plumber is doesn’t notice the fact that I’m wearing heels and a sparkly evening dress at eight in the morning.
“Melody, wait.”
My heart flips at the sound of his voice calling after me.
Dylan gets out of the car, his muscular frame hugged tightly in a white T-shirt and sweatpants. The bright sunshine makes him even sexier, and I try not to smile like a schoolgirl with a monumental crush.
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