It was instant lust, the moment I caught sight of his tattoos, well-muscled body, and cocky grin. However, it was ass over tea kettle love the minute that sexy bastard brought me coffee and a bacon wrapped donut.
I fell hard, and I loved every minute of it.
I was lucky enough to grow up in Spartan, but I’d been contemplating a move to somewhere more populated. Lucky for me, Luke moved here and showed me how awesome it is to meet someone who’s crazy matches your own.
It’s not all unicorns and rainbows, when an unwanted blast from my past blows into town, and tries knocking me off my pedestal of awesomeness.
She didn’t shoot me. She missed by a good ten feet.
I fell in love with her the minute I caught sight of her cute little ass in a big pair of flowered granny panties. I tell her it was her pretty eyes, and gorgeous red hair, but really, it was the underwear.
Moving to Spartan was the best decision I’d ever made. I never thought I would meet the love of my life when I moved to this small town.
The people who live here take a bit of getting used to. They sometimes forget what appropriate clothing is, and will use any excuse to party.
I wish I could say that everything followed the fairy tale path, but people intrude, and bring the devil with them.
Embrace your crazy, and enjoy your time in our comical, but absurd little town. Welcome to Spartan!
I swear the pounding in my head is audible. Confusion settles in as I realize that someone is pounding on my door.
“Go the fuck away.”
“Wake up, sunshine. We have to have our proper introduction, and it’s noon.”
The events of last night flash behind my closed eyes, and it feels like fire ants are pouring out of the top of my head and sweeping down my body in a painful wave. Lifting my comforter I look down, and I’m still in my boots and panties. Maybe if I just stay still, he’ll go away.
“I’m not going away, so you might as well get that sexy little ass out of bed. I brought coffee and donuts.”
Coffee? Donuts? That’s almost incentive enough to drag my tired ass out of bed. Almost, but not quite.
“Let’s go, Rambo. I’m giving you thirty seconds, then I’m coming in.”
Pounding. That’s what exists right now. My eyes crack open, and a streak of sunlight stabs me in the eye. I moan and roll over, jerking my comforter over my head.
I hear him chuckle, and I flip my comforter back. I jerk my boots off and throw on my big fluffy robe before stomping out into the living room. I unlock the door and fling it open. My jaw comes unhinged, and I give a valiant effort to work up the proper amount of lust for the shirtless god standing there.
My cheeks pink up and I close the door, slamming it in his face. I can’t do this today, seriously. I glance over, into the mirror next to the door, and want to cry. My bright red hair is sticking up all over the place. I grab a beanie and slide it on, ready to try this again. Opening the door, I try to channel my inner queen, but I stumble with as much grace as my tired, hungover body can manage as I slide down the porch column to sit down on the top step.
He hands me a donut and a tear leaks out when I see the bacon on top. Bacon makes everything better, and that goes for donuts as well. He hands me the coffee and sits next to me.
I give him the side-eye, looking at him as covertly as possible. He just sits there, looking out at the ocean view as he drinks his own nectar of the gods. Taking my own sip, I moan as the caffeinated deliciousness slides down my gullet.
In the daylight, he looks nothing like my husband Jason Momoa. He has sandy blond hair that’s shaved on the sides with the top long, flopping over to one side. His right arm is decorated with a multitude of bright tattoos. He has muscles upon muscles, with a nicely haired chest. His nose is fucked—broken way too many times—but sexy nonetheless. His mirrored aviators hide his eyes from me, and I thank God for that small mercy. He seems like the type to have pools for eyes, and I really can’t afford to drown in those right now.
“My name is Ali, by the way, or Alice. Whichever one you prefer.”
He leans back against the railing and gives me his full attention, which is disconcerting.
“My name is Luke.” He holds out his hand and I take it. His warm, calloused fingers slide over mine, and I clamp my lips shut. Moaning like a cat in heat would give away a lot more than I want to, so I lock that shit down.
He grins. Apparently, I’m not fooling anyone.
Ashley Lyn lives in Colorado with her amazing hubby that she met on match.com. She has two beautiful daughters, a crazy Boxer named Bailey, a Fat Cat named Mojo, and a sweet as apple pie calico cat named Katy.
She is a passionate reader who loves to read any and all genres. A good book, a cozy blanket and piping hot cup of coffee is her idea of a good time.
She loves to write quirky, funny, sexy, and eccentric characters who have zero problems flying their crazy flags.