Kissing Madeline (Dearest #3) (42 page)

Dani doesn’t regret that night with Jax, just the need to lie about it. Since her roommate has made it clear what she thinks about her brother’s “type” of girl, the last thing Dani wants is to admit what happened.

Jax knows he’s walking a fine line on the soccer team. One more misstep and he’s off the roster, his plans to go pro be damned. Except he can’t seem to care. About anything… except for the one girl who keeps invading his dreams.

Despite Jax’s fuzzy memory of his hot hookup with his sister’s friend, he can’t stay away from her, even if that means breaking his own rules. But there are bigger forces at work–realities that can end Dani’s college career and lies that can tear them apart.

Jax realizes what he’s losing if Dani walks away, but will he sacrifice his future to be with her? And will she let him if he does?

Finding Dandelion
, the second book in the
Dearest
series, is a standalone novel. This new adult romance is recommended for readers 18+ due to mature content.

* * *

Purchase
Finding Dandelion
on
AMAZON
.

Excerpt of
Finding Dandelion

PROLOGUE

- DANI -

Goosebumps line my skin as Travis threads his fingers through mine. Closing my eyes, I brace myself.

“You sure you want to do this, Dani?” He sounds nervous even though he’s the one who sold me on the idea in the first place. “It’s going to hurt. A lot.”

Brady laughs. “Man, don’t scare her.”

Brady is hot, all ridges and taut muscles and menacing tattoos, and I know he’s staring down at my naked back right now. He’s so out of my league.

Of course this is the only way I’d get a guy like that to touch me.

Swallowing, I nod and clutch my shirt to my chest. “Let’s do this. I’m not chickening out.”

I’ve done my homework, researched optimal positioning, pain, methods, everything. Now I just have to take the plunge.
This is going to be my year of firsts.

“That a girl. I promise I’ll be gentle.” Brady moves away from me, and the buzzing starts and stops.

Travis’s grip tightens as he leans down and whispers, “If your mother knew you were doing this, she’d kill me.”

I yank my hand from his and swat my best friend. “What’s the matter with you? Now is
not
the time to talk about my mother.”

A black gloved hand runs across my shoulder as Brady lowers the strap on my lacy, black bra. Hell, yes, I wore my sexy underwear.

He lowers his voice. “This is going to be cold.”

All of my muscles tense, and he chuckles.

“Honey, relax. This isn’t my first time.” Brady’s voice is sultry and deep, sending chills across me. He rubs my skin slowly, the smell of alcohol thick in the air. “I’ll take good care of you. What’s in your head is worse than the reality. Trust me. It’ll hurt at first, but you’ll get used to it, and you’ll only be sore for a couple of days.”

Shit. I’m really going through with this.

I glance over my shoulder and look him in the eye.

Brady smiles, and butterflies swirl in my stomach. He presses a finger into my trapezius muscle. “Right here?”

Nodding, I close my eyes and rest my chin on the back of the chair.

“This is beautiful, by the way.” He taps on the translucent piece of paper.

“It’s the North Star. To help me find my way.” I say this more for myself.

Brady presses the paper against me and rubs. Then the buzzing starts again, and the needle cuts into my skin.

CHAPTER ONE

(Three weeks later)

- DANI -

My fingertip traces the lines on my shoulder where my tattoo sits, muscle memory taking my hand to the axis where North and South intersect and where I hope to find balance. A mooring. Some stability.

I can feel it in my bones. Hope. A smile tilts my lips as I start to buy into my pep talk.

My smile grows… until my new co-worker drops a stack of work in front of me.

Laura gives me an empty smile. “I already have plans this weekend, so I’m leaving this for you. As the marketing major, this should be right up your alley, right?”

Our junior year of college hasn’t started yet, and she’s already bailing on me. Biting my cheek, I reach around to re-stack the documents.

Laura and I are Professor Zinzer’s new assistants. We’ll be coordinating all of the other work-study students in the art lab this fall while we prep materials for his classes. He always takes on one art student and one business student to manage his office. Because my best friend Travis had Zinzer last semester, I got the inside track on this gig and beat out dozens of other business applicants.

I tuck the pile of work into my messenger bag, not bothering to smile.

“Zin needs it by Monday,” she chirps.

In other words, he needs it the Monday of Labor Day weekend.
My jaw tightens.

Laura doesn’t look even remotely guilty for dumping this on me. As she tosses her hair over her shoulder, she says, “Thanks, Dani.” Her not-so-subtle appraisal of me makes me squirm. “You’re so… nice.”

If I were a cartoon, steam would be pouring from my ears. I’ve never hated a word so much in my life. If one more person tells me I’m nice, I’m going to lose it.

Nice gets me dumped on. Pushed around. Ignored.

When I was a kid, I thought I merely had manners. What the hell is wrong with being polite? But now I see this characteristic doesn’t cut it in Boston where everyone is so much edgier. The Midwest is just a friendlier place. In Chicago, when someone runs into you, the person says, “Excuse me.” Here, I get cursed at or shoved. I’ve gotten used to this faster pace of life, but it doesn’t diminish the fact that I can be such a goddamn pushover.

My mother would tell me to “fuck nice.” I chuckle to myself. She has a mouth that’s worse than half the frat boys at this school.

I guess that’s what happens when you almost die of angiosarcoma.

The laughter withers on my lips, and I blink back the sudden onslaught of emotion that comes whenever I think of my mom. She fought like hell to survive, even after she lost all of her hair and both breasts. And she beat it. For now at least.

By the time I get to my dorm suite, I’m still wrestling with what I wish I had told Laura. Why can’t I find the words when I’m in the moment? As I stare at the pile of work that sits near the edge of my desk, a tight ball of frustration coils in my stomach. I’m going to be holed up all weekend preparing my professor’s brochures instead of unpacking.

My eyes drift to the wall of boxes in the small room I’m sharing with a girl I met last semester. Jenna is a riot. We took a sociology class together. It was such a snooze that to entertain ourselves, we’d write pervy notes to each other to see who could make the other laugh. She always won. And, yeah, my professor hated me. But, come on—when Jenna wrote, “I wanna choke on your thick man-slinky,” I couldn’t help but bust out laughing.

Her Southern drawl and perfect blonde hair throws you off. First you think she might be a really uptight biatch, but then she slings an arm around you and acts like she’s known you for ages. I’m not totally sure how she’s BFFs with our other roommate, though. I’ve only met Clem once, but the girl is a glacier. Hello, she rolled her eyes at me when I asked if she liked
The
Vampire Diaries.

On my way out the door to run a few errands, I pause in front of a mirror to smooth back my long hair. My reflection reminds me of my mother. Everyone tells me I look exactly like her when she was young. I have big green eyes, pale skin, and dark brown hair except for the swaths of pink I dyed last month, and thanks to Victoria’s Secret, I have a few well-placed curves.

Opting to skip any makeup, I grab my jacket and head out.

The train ride is quick, and when I step out into the bright afternoon sun, I have to shield my eyes. As I wait for the light to change so I can cross the street, I find myself staring at a guy trying to get what must be ten pizza boxes through the door of a restaurant a few feet away. I walk over and grab the handle to hold it open. Out of the corner of my eye, I see blonde hair streak across the restaurant a second before I hear the girl giggle.

“Hope you and your friends can handle all this pizza,” she says, all breathy. I don’t know if she’s trying to be sexy or if she’s out of breath from doing the fifty-yard dash to talk to him.

I roll my eyes while I stand there, still opening the door. The guy’s shoulder presses up against the pane of glass, and he laughs.

“I’m sure we can handle it. Thanks, uh—”

“Tamara.”

“Thanks, Tamara.”

Through the glass, I see her wave a piece of paper. “Here, call me if you decide you need an extra
mouth
for all that… food.” The way she says “mouth” tells me she is
not
talking about the pizza. Gross.

Her silhouette disappears briefly on the other side of him. His hands are on the tower of pizzas, and I don’t see him reach for the paper, but then his back arches like he’s surprised.

When she steps back, her hands are empty. Okay, I think she just shoved her number into the pocket of this guy’s jeans.

All righty.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, thanks, doll,” he says to the blonde.

When he steps back onto the sidewalk, I get my first good look at him. He’s wearing aviators, so I can’t see his eyes, but the rest of him is all kinds of sexy. Tall and lean. Skin the color of light caramel like he’s been out in the sun. Brownish-blond hair tousled in a devil-may-care kind of way. His biceps, which are corded in muscle, pull at his t-shirt, and I can’t help but stare.

An SUV pulls up behind me, and a guy shouts, “Hurry the hell up, Jax. I’m not going to circle the block again.”

Jax laughs and turns slightly. He finally sees me and tilts his head. He clears his throat again.

“Sorry. I’m being an ass, blocking the doorway.”

I blink.

He smiles down at me, and I think the heavens part because he’s so damn beautiful it hurts to look at him, but before I can get the courage to say something, anything, his friend honks. Jax looks to the SUV and then back to me, smiles again, and walks away.

Ugh! The next time a drop-dead-gorgeous slab of man talks to me, it would be nice to use words.

* * *

Purchase
Finding Dandelion
on
AMAZON
.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My first order of business is to thank my husband Matthew, who is the one who pushed me off the ledge and got me to take a chance and try my hand at writing fiction. If I had landed in a giant splat on the ground, I’d be blaming him too. haha. Seriously, though, thank you, Matt. You make me laugh every day, and you’re the reason I have anything funny to say. Thanks for not killing me when I use our convos in my books. And to my girls, I may not want you to read my books, but you’re the reason I write. Love you, little bears. A big hug to my awesome family in Texas and the best parents a girl could ever have. Love you!

I have the most kick-ass agent ever. Kimberly Brower, thanks for being tough on me and for being a great friend. My books are better because of your input.

RJ Locksley, you’re a fantastic editor. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your feedback.

A huge thanks to Whitney Barbetti and KL Grayson, who helped me get my second wind. I seriously wouldn’t have finished this book without you. Love you guys. #Trifecta4Ever

Jules Barnard, you deserve a medal for reading my crappy first draft. Still waiting for you to visit me in LA. *whistles*

Tackle hugs to Krista and Becca Ritchie, who showed me the ropes to self-publishing. Becca, thanks for talking Krista into designing my gorgeous covers! You two inspire me.

M. Pierce, thanks for that wry sense of humor and encouragement. I appreciate you pushing me to redo my first cover. So many great things happened because of that advice. I owe you some pancakes.

To Sheri Thompson-Gustafson... Thanks for helping me pick out my covers and for holding my hand whenever I freak out, which is often. I wrote Maddie’s roommate for you. Sorry I didn't give her big boobs. xoxo!

Cole McCade, I’m psyched I finally found someone who loves Harold Perrineau in
Romeo & Juliet
as much as I do. Thanks for helping me with my blurb. I owe you a few drinks. Let’s line up that designated driver.