Lit Up by My Second Chance
Lit Up by My Second Chance
Short, Sweet, and Spicy
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐"A fun little treat of a story!"
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Synopsis
Synopsis
Included in this ebook purchase
✅ Lit Up by My Second Chance
What Readers Are Saying:
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"The grown-ass-man-voice crack may have been my favourite part"
"It was funny and spicy and I loved being in their heads so much."
Lit Creek
Lit Up by My Second Chance
When the good girl has secrets
Emmerson
Is it really too much to ask to have a weekend in the mountains so I can find some inspiration? I mean, did I really need my childhood—ahem, and present day—crush to be my guide? Alone. In the woods. Together. With one tent. And ya, I definitely could have done without the bear scare, which led me to climb him. Like a freaking tree. But I was terrified and the man is massive, what else was I supposed to do?
Jack
I’m just a man. And though I’ve denied myself for many years because she wanted to be friends, I’m not sure any man—saint or otherwise—can withstand the bear scare, the skinny dipping, and the one bed we have to share. Then I find out I’m the inspiration behind the next spicy scene in her book, and I think maybe this is the second chance I’ve been waiting for.
Meet the hotties:
Welcome to the irresistibly quaint town of Lit Creek where the men are hot and the love is big. Loyal and protective, these men fall hard and fast.
This cozy little town has got the cinnamon rolls you need to make you sigh deeply in appreciation of some good buns. You know what I’m talking about!
Jump in and meet your next book boyfriend in these short, sweet, and spicy reads.
Instalove, romcom, no cheating, and (some might say) over the top HEAs guaranteed. Standalone steamy romance book.
Lit Creek
- Lit Up by My Brother's Best Friend
- Lit Up by My Second Chance
- Lit Up by My Bosshole Hottie
- Lit Up by My Small Town Crush
- Lit Up by My Best Friend's Brother
Chapter One Look Inside
Chapter One Look Inside
Emmerson
You know, it’s like the harder you try to hold onto a secret, the more it wants to come out. It’s calling to you, Let me out. I want to be free. It’s so much nicer out there in the land of the wild, strong, and free.
No, damn it. There’s nothing wild, strong, and free about me. And there’s nothing nice out here. That’s why you’re a secret. Stay inside and be quiet. That’s literally your only job.
But of course I’m a hypocrite because I can’t even do my job right now.
RING. RING.
Odd. Why is my phone ringing? No one calls anymore. Everyone just texts. I see the name, Clark. That sounds familiar, so I answer it.
A loud abrasive cough fills my ear. Once it settles, I hear a voice croak out, “Emmerson?”
“Yes?”
“This is Clark. Your tour guide.” Another cough. Can’t this guy pull the phone away from his mouth while he’s hacking up a lung?
“Yes?” But I have a sneaking suspicion that I know what’s coming.
“I can’t take you on the tour today. I’m sick.”
No shit.
“Oh. So…what happens now?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get Jack to cover for me.”
“Jack?” I squeak out as my heart flings itself against my rib cage.
“Ya. He’ll be there soon. Just a bit of a later start. Sorry.”
“Oh, don’t bother. I’ll—”
Another cough. Loud. In my ear. Not sure I have an intact eardrum left.
“You still wanna go, right?”
I force myself to say yes. Because I have to. I’m rethinking that promise I made to myself for this weekend.
“Good. Gotta go.” Another cough. “Have fun,” he manages and then hangs up.
Well. This was not the plan. And shit. This was really not the plan. Alone in the woods with Jack? I’m not sure I can do that.
My palms are sweaty and it’s like one hundred and forty five horses are galloping in my chest. And yes, I know what one hundred and forty five horses galloping sounds and feels like because the Jenson boys have a ranch and I’ve been there and they have one hundred and forty five horses and oh my God my heart is going to explode.
Alone with Jack. In the woods. By ourselves. Together. Overnight.
No.
My chest is heaving. I don’t think I can do this.
Yes, I’m having this conversation with myself as I cling to my messenger bag full of all kinds of secrets. So many secrets. And Jack is the last one who can find out about these secrets.
I need to calm down, take my mind off of this new development.
There’s one thing I know will distract me, so I may as well face it. I reach into the front pocket of my bag and grab the package, tearing off the external wrapping. I can see through the clear plastic front, and my insides clench. What the hell was I thinking when I bought this? Oh, I know what I was thinking—or rather, feeling. I was feeling inadequate, inexperienced, and insatiable. And I needed inspiration for my books. A way to bridge the gap between theory and real life experience.
What the hell am I thinking right now? Opening this in my car has got to be one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. But then again, going on a trip with Jack—alone—sounds even more reckless. It’s blatantly clear now, and I can see how saying yes all the time could lead to trouble, yet I somehow still convinced myself to do it.
My cheeks are flushed and I haven’t even done anything yet. I’m just holding it.
God, it’s so much larger than I thought it would be. This is what nine inches looks like. Huh. Why would I choose pink? Of all colors, did this really seem the ideal color for…ugh…I can’t even bring myself to say it.
I need to feel this thing in my hands. Am I really going to do this? I mean, obvs not here in my car just before I grab my coffee….but…you know…at some point this weekend. My Say Yes! weekend. It’s capitalized and everything, so it’s a thing now.
There’s an extraordinarily sticky sticker holding the package shut, but I’m on a mission now. What does a pink nine inches feel like in my hand?
Gah! That sticker…I shake it off my fingers and rip open the package. Yup. That’s thick. I never thought about girth before. Which is yet another reason why I’m doing this.
Even though I’m sitting in the driver’s seat, I jump when I hear a voice shouting on the sidewalk. They’re not even calling out to me. Oh my God, I'm so nervous. I shove the—thing back in the box and stuff it into my backpack. The bag I’ll need in about an hour. The bag I can’t believe I packed. But whatever, I’m here. I’m doing this. Yes, yes, and yes.
But first. Coffee.
I get out of my car and shut the door, but when I turn to take my first step toward Espresso Yourself Cafe, I’m jolted back. My butt hits the car and my bag tears. Papers fly out. Apparently when I slammed the door, my bag strap got caught in the door.
Oh, no. I scramble to grab those papers. Those secrets. Damn you, papers. I told you there’s nothing nice about being out in the world unprotected.
But I can’t scramble to reach them because of course I’m trapped by my messenger bag to my car. Yanking the strap over my head, I duck under it and am crawling around on all fours to grab my papers.
“Emmerson? Is that you? I didn’t know you were home.”
Damn it. Not Pastor Ray. Oh my God, of all the people.
“Here. Let me help you.”
“No!” When I shout, he just laughs and takes another step forward.
“It’s no problem. Let’s catch these papers before they fly away.”
Oh my God, someone unleashed a dinosaur on those horses in my ribcage because they are more than galloping. Is that even a thing? Note to self: Ask the Jensons if horses can move faster than a gallop.
My hands are moving so fast to grab the papers that I’ve scraped them against the asphalt.
A weird cough resounds from Pastor Ray. Not like the cough from Clark earlier. No, this is a throat clearing, I’m embarrassed for you type cough.
“Is this…Jack?”
Oh.
My.
God.
Of all the papers. Of all the people to find it. It could be worse. It could’ve been Jack.
Pastor Ray is staring at the cover of my new book because of course I printed it off. Like an idiot. I’m looking for inspiration this weekend, so I needed my cover, damn it. The cover to my steamy romance book. And whatever, so what if the guy on the cover resembles Jack. A teensy tiny little bit. It means nothing. A lot of guys have a jaw chiseled out of marble. Hair darker than the night. Blue eyes brighter than the sky that pierce my soul when…um…he looks at me…ya. It means nothing. (Okay, yes, we both know it means everything.)
And Pastor Ray, shit, he’s reading too much into it.
His brows are reaching to the heavens as he’s looking at me. He’s not judgmental. Never has been. But at this moment, he’s definitely analyzing everything.
“Uh no.” I hop to my feet. (No, I don’t hop. Who am I kidding? I use both of my hands to push myself up and then gradually straighten my spine.) “I’ll take that. Thanks for your help.”
I grab the paper, as nicely as I can from the Pastor’s hands, and crumple it up by shoving it into my bag. I’ll cry about those crinkles later.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I dash into the cafe, leaving Ray. But he calls out to me anyway, “If you ever need to talk…”
Yup. I don’t think so. I’m not telling anyone about any of this.
There's only one guy I can call to help me out of this mess I'm in. My brother's best friend.
Fast paced. Banter-ful. Spicy romcoms.
5 HOT brothers find love in this small town full of good girls.
✅ Brother's best friend
✅ One bed
✅ Quaint and cozy small town
✅ Spicy drinks and bedroom scenes
✅ HEAs
When he's been pining for her forever
THIS IS HOW I’M going to die. Shit. I should have put a bra on today. Yup. I can feel the cold seeping into my body already. Death by fence. And it’s not even electric. God, my wrist aches from that stupid six foot fall. I can’t believe I’m still hanging here. Trapped. Yup. I’m gonna die. Why am I such an idiot, you ask? I ask myself that all the time.
It all started with a stupid game of Never Have I Ever, but…oh, no, not the way you’re thinking. I wasn’t actually playing the game. (I’m too old for that.) I was reading about the game—ahem, bookworm—and I realized that I have never ever done most of the things on the list.
Tattoo? Nope.
Black out drunk? Nope.
Travel out of the continent? Nope.
Been arrested? Nope.
One night stand? Nope.
Spin the bottle? Nope.
But, wait. Before you judge me, I’ll have you know something. If you’re looking for the really hardcore stuff, I’m your girl.
Stayed up all night reading? Two nights out of every week.
Slammed back three cinnamon sweet lattes in one day from the local cafe, Espresso Yourself? Damn straight.
Hid the last four snickerdoodle cookies from her brother so he couldn’t have anymore? Yeah, that was me. Huffs on knuckles. Polishes badge. Okay, yes, I admit to sharing the last one with him. I couldn’t bear to hear his crying. God, I’m not the devil in a dress.
But ya. I’m badass like that. I know. Not everyone can live up to this kind of badassery. It’s a calling.
Ha! But what broke me—for some inexplicable reason—was the last Never Have I Ever prompt.
Snuck into a movie theater? Nope.
I mean, c’mon Sierra, everyone has done that one, haven’t they? It’s so simple. Like literally, you just keep your ticket after your first show is done and casually walk into another movie. It doesn’t even take balls to do that. You just walk in a different direction than you would have normally done after the show ends. Easy!
Ugh. But it’s the ethics of it. I just would never do something like that. And I’ve missed my shot at that now. Since movie theaters sell tickets by the seat, it’d be slightly trickier to sneak into a second movie. I’m sure people do it all the time, but don’t ask me how. And since that Never Have I Ever checkable item requires just that much extra courage, I picked something I thought would be easier. C’mon, I have to do something risky.
So I snuck into a concert playing in my cozy hometown, Lit Creek. Well, we both know that’s overstating it because I haven’t actually snuck into anything yet. Le sigh. And I probably won’t get to because I’m stuck in this damn fence with what I think is a twisted ankle and a painful wrist.
God, this is what I get for trying to prove to myself that I can be cool.
I am so not cool. It’s just not in me. And I have to say, all this cool talk is just ridiculous. What am I, in junior high? I’m a freaking twenty-seven year old adult. Cool shouldn’t even be on my radar anymore. I run my own freaking bakery. That’s right. I’m an independent woman making her dreams come true. I think.
But that damn list got to me. I’m afraid to go down that road right now. Besides, I’ve got bigger fears to fry.
Ridiculously enough, my worst fear right now is not death though. It’s not even the fear of being attacked by coyotes. I’m sure my phone would scare them off, right? I don’t even know. Lie to me, please.
But no, my worst fear right now is somebody discovering me in this predicament and nominating me for The Johnny Board. Oh my God, that would just be the worst.
Let me brief you on an important idiosyncrasy of Lit Creek. Back in the eighties, two guys rolled into our cozy little town and robbed our bank. Our tiny little bank manned—womanned—by Mildred. Who, coincidentally, was also in her eighties. It was a miracle she didn’t keel over in shock at the two gunmen. But (apparently with great poise) she just handed them everything that was in the bank at the time. A whopping eight dollars.
Yes. Eight.
Not even eighty.
Eight dollars.
God, I still can’t get over it, and I wasn’t even there.
The story goes that once the men were detained, they were brought in for questioning, and it turns out that they were following a rumor that an investor had swept into town planning to start a mine. Apparently they heard he had deposited one million dollars into our bank the previous week. Not sure where they heard that doozy. Some drunk little bird through a kazoo?
And really, not sure where they thought the million dollars would be stashed considering the bank isn’t much more than a medium sized shack.
Anyway…the story had the town in stitches. For weeks, people would call each other a Johnny if they did something asinine enough. And then someone came up with the brilliant idea to commemorate such idiocy.
Now every year, people get nominated for doing stupid things. Some people pull pranks to try and get themselves on the board, like the time some kids let a dozen mice loose in the school. (Not funny, and so glad I wasn’t there for that.) Other times people get nominated in good fun, like when Ol’ Man Robbie overturned the outhouse on a drunken night diving in after a twenty he lost in the pooper. Ya. He won the fake millionaire dollar bill that year. And in case you were wondering (I know I was) he got his twenty back, too. He was so happy that he got it framed and everything; the fake bill not the twenty. It’s a badge of pride for him.
Clearly, I live in the best town ever. No one takes themselves too seriously. Which, honestly, I do love about Lit Creek. It’s part of its charm, and I’m definitely here to stay.
I just don’t want to have my name on that ridiculous board though. I’d like to think I do a decent enough job at conveying my competence to the world. I mean, ya, okay, there’s that near ten-year blip of a boyfriend that would betray the air of competence I’d like to think I have. But how the hell was I supposed to know he was going to break up with me just before our anniversary? I don’t want to go into that right now. That’s significantly more depressing than being caught in a fence with my body dangling by my leg.
Ugh. I must deserve this.
All of it. I’ve resigned myself to that fact.
And if only I thought I could rip these stupid jeans and drive myself home, I would. But…my leg is really up there and I can’t reach it. I can’t do a sit up upside down. Who do you think I am, Superwoman? I’m probably gonna start losing feeling in my toes pretty soon, and my right foot is the injured one. I can’t take any chances. I definitely need help. I have to text my bestie.
Me: Girl, I’m in a situation. Can you help me out?
Georgie: Shit. I don’t think I can. We’re already halfway up the mountain. Is it an emergency?
Me: Which mountain?
I ask because clearly I have time for conversation like that.
Georgie: Crimson Ridge. Jack wanted to take a few of us up there on a weekend while he doesn’t have too many tours. Sorry, girl. Are you ok?
Me: Just hanging out.
I chuckle to myself like an idiot.
Georgie: *curious face* But you need help?
Me: Nah. I’m all good. I’ll call my brother.
Georgie: *cringe face* He’s with us.
Me: Ok. Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure it out. Have a good trip!
Georgie: Call me if you can’t find anyone, I’ll force the boys to turn around. You know me.
I do. And that’s why I don’t ask her to come to my rescue. I stuff my phone back into my pocket.
But this is just great. All my good secret keepers are out of town. Can’t call my dad because he’s on shift.
Oh, God. I know who I have to call. I just hope I don’t wither of embarrassment on the spot when he shows up. Because I know he’ll come. He has always shown up when I needed him. And he’s always been just out of reach.
I close my eyes and pull my phone out of my pocket meanwhile thanking God it didn’t fly out and break when I gracefully tried to hop over this innocent looking fence.
My head is pounding. I must have hit it when I fell back against the fence. But that doesn’t quite explain the pounding in my heart. Here goes nothing.
Or everything.