by Ivy Hunt
Panties are overrated. One more trophy to his collection won’t make a difference. I grab my purse and shoes and tiptoe out into the living room.
It’s ginormous, at least twice the size of my entire apartment. Three dark leather couches frame a square coffee table in front of a large TV on one side. An eight-seater dining table separates the space from a long kitchen island—the scene of my disgrace.
I spy a blue bit of lace on the ground by the counter and I scurry over. When I bend, a cocktail of blood and booze rushes to my head. I have to squeeze my lids shut and clench my teeth together to keep from throwing up while I question my poor life choices.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The clicking increases in volume but comes to an abrupt halt a few feet away.
One of my eyes rises on the back of a patent stiletto. The other opens on a red sole.
Oh. My. God.
His wife? Was he wearing a ring last night? He wasn’t stupid enough to bring me to a home he shares with a partner, was he? I huddle tighter under the counter. Stupid is relative. Football brain injuries are a thing.
A switch clicks on and the scent of caffeine fills the room. Keep your shit together, Becs. My eyes dart to the front door. The four yards to the exit might as well be four continents.
Lace in hand, my shaking knees straighten.
Want to see what happens next?
Get Not by the Playbook
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Acknowledgments
It takes a village!
I am grateful for the many groups and individuals who have been instrumental to this book and to my crazy new writing world.
Thank you to my RWA-NYC critique group for reading the first iteration of everything (and forgiving me for it), the HEA women for listening to my dumbest questions, TCA for the amazing writing community, the morning coffee sprint group for the constant encouragement, and the NYC NaNo critique group that got me started.
Thank you KC Finn—for the escape to your place in the midst of crazy 2020 and for the football lingo.
Thank you to my great beta readers, SW, VS, and AS.
To a couple of amazing individuals—DB and KK. Thank you for dragging me, kicking and screaming, across the finish line.
And to the fam and friends - for not saying I’m tooo crazy and letting me do this.
About the Author
Ivy Hunt writes contemporary romantic comedies about strong, sexy men and smart, funny women.
She is a passionate New Yorker who left her Happy For Now job in tech to pursue her Happily Ever After as a writer. When she’s not writing or reading, she’s gallivanting the world.
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