My name is Milo Caro and I have a confession to make.
I’ve been in love with Colton Mathews since I was five. He should have known that sharing a cookie with a sugar obsessed little monster would do the trick–it sealed his fate. So really, the fact that he’s sporting a black eye, a limp, almost got ran over by a car, and was nearly responsible for another person’s death? Right. HIs fault. Not mine.
I made a pact with myself–this weekend would be different. I’d come home for my brothers wedding, smile, and Colton would naturally melt into my arms, we’d get married have five kids, live in a house by the river, and get a dog named scratch (clearly I’ve thought this through).
What really happened? I punched my brother in the face, Colton kissed me and apologized, I lied about having a boyfriend, oh and everyone wants to meet the mystery man.
They say laughter always comes before insanity–ha, ha. All I wanted was my brother’s best friend…instead I’m sitting in prison.
Let this be a lesson to you all…life rarely happens the way you want it to.
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Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband and their snoring Boxer, Sir Winston Churchill. She loves to hear from readers! You can follow her writing journey at www.rachelvandykenauthor.com
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Exclusive Sneak Peek at The Consequence of Revenge
Colt on the other hand kept getting glares from Milo, so I knew he wasn’t going to bring his best game.
Leaving me . . . the win.
I know it seems ridiculous—how does a guy pick up so many girls using cheesy lines? Listen up, because what I’m about to give you is the equivalent of free gold, your ride into the promised land, your bread, your butter, your freaking passport into heaven where women always engage in pillow fights and take off their tops. Just. Because. They. Can.
It’s not about the actual pickup line—hell, no. Do I look stupid? It’s in the delivery. Always in the delivery. Girls love a sense of humor; they love a guy confident enough to put his balls against the wall while she holds the only hammer capable of smashing them to tiny bits.
Jason thought it was about the pickup line.
No, my 70 percent success rate had everything to do with how I made the girl feel important.
So basically he was going to look like an ass.
I was so ready for that front-row seat. Hell, where was the popcorn?
“Look, there’s one.” I pointed to a lonesome girl sitting at the bar. She had that slouched, pouty look about her. Her eyes kept darting from her drink to the bartender, then back to her drink, fingernails tapping against the glass in a smooth cadence. By the looks of it, she’d had a really long day and was feeling slightly insecure, and it was possible she had just been stood up.
“Cake.” Jason patted me on the chest twice before walking up to her. I followed him but took a seat a few chairs down. I wanted to actually hear the slap when it happened.
“So.” Jason cleared his throat. “In honor of saving water, from here on out, I think you should just shower with me.” His smile was huge.
The woman, however, looked like she wanted to stab him.
“Ha-ha.” Jason leaned forward. “I’m Jason.” He held out his hand.
She stared at it like he was diseased and then glared.
And that’s my cue. Without wasting any time, I walked up to the girl, put my arm around her, and said, “Hey baby, is this asshole bothering you?” Jason’s eyes went wide as saucers, and he lunged for me, but Colt held him back and led him away.
“Yeah.” She relaxed beneath my arm. “Thanks.”
Once they were out of earshot, I pulled my arm away and looked at her drink. Scotch, interesting choice. “Hey.” I tapped the bar. “Get the woman a double. She just had a drunk guy with limp dick hit on her.”
Swearing was heard behind me. I had to fight to keep from laughing out loud.
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