One hundred years ago when I was young and impulsive (okay, it was five, alright? Five years ago…) I let my boyfriend take, let’s just say… compromising pictures of me.
(Shut up. It made sense at the time).
Surprise! The sleazy back-stabbing jerk posted them on a website and, well, you can guess what happened. That’s right.
I’m a meme. A really gross one.
You’ve seen the pictures. And if you haven’t – don’t ask. And don’t look!
As face recognition software online improves, I get tagged on social media whenever anyone shares my pictures. You try getting a thousand notifications a day, all of them pictures of your tatas.
So. I’m done.
It’s time for revenge. Let him see how it feels! But how do you get embarrassingly intimate pictures of your jerkface ex who double-crossed you five years ago?
Especially when he’s a member of the U.S.House of Representatives now?
Getting sweet between the sheets with a congressman is pretty much every political roadie’s dream, right? I’m one in a crowd.
Except to this day, he swears he didn’t do it. Pursued me for months after I dumped him five years ago. Begged me to take him back.
And I almost did it. Almost. I was weak and stupid and in love a hundred years ago.
Okay. Fine. Five.
But I still have the upper hand. Second chance romance has all the emotional feels, doesn’t it?
I can’t wait to punch him in the feels.
All I need to do is sleep with him once, take some hot-and-sweaty pics of him in… delicate positions, and bring him down. That’s it. Nothing more.
Pictures first. Revenge after. And then I win.
At least, that’s how it was supposed to happen. But then I did something worse than sexting.
I fell in love with him. Again.
B&N / KOBO / APPLE BOOKS
GOOGLE PLAY / AUDIBLE
Being beside him is power.
Being with him–oh, how we moved mountains together. We explored universes without ever leaving our bed.
And he explored me, in full, as if I were an uncharted land waiting patiently to be discovered.
Once you’ve been loved so thoroughly and centered so swiftly by another soul, how do you live without that?
The last five years have been a sad experiment for me.
One with no acceptable outcome.
Parker’s hand presses my rib line, one of his thumbs in the divot where my spine rests between two thick lines of muscle. My nose brushes against his lapel. He’s still wearing his suit jacket, the light wool infused with old cologne, woodsmoke, and the scent of a man who once took his time letting me learn how to be me, wholly me, in his orbit.
While he revolved around me in return.
We’re twinned by circumstance, by gravity, by some unnamed force that makes me breathe him in. His charged air is a nutrient I’m so deficient in that now–as I take him in freely, his foot moving surely, his thigh brushing mine, his belly beckoning–I see how much I need him.
How weak I am.
Giving in to what he’s told me would be so easy.
Dropping over the edge of the precipice of his truth would be the surrender I need.
A FREE prequel to Fluffy