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Finding A Way Back Home

Finding A Way Back Home

4.5 ⭐️ on Goodreads!

"I have been waiting since "South of the skyway" for El and Brod to have a book. This was everything I wanted and more."

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SYNOPSIS

Elora

My life was a well choreographed dance of success—the only thing missing was the grant to fund the foundation of my dreams. With a little luck, that should be in the bag by the end of the week. Everything was falling exactly into place. At least…it was until I showed up to an overbooked hotel, and my saving grace showed up in the mouthwatering six-foot form of none other than my high school crush, and brothers’ best friend, Broderick Allen. The commotion of a bustling lobby came to an abrupt halt as I found myself face-to-face with the one man I could never forget.

Believe me, I tried.

I had no choice but accept his offer to share a room, making the once-anticipated conference into my own personal torture chamber. Screw the competition. Could I just manage to survive the week with my dignity intact?

Broderick

As much as I loved teaching at Mistyvale’s local college, the promise of dry heat and Las Vegas sunshine had me nearly as excited as the grant I’d be vying for. It was supposed to be a mini vacation and dream opportunity all in one. But even my years of meticulous planning couldn’t prepare me for the bombshell standing in the hotel lobby.

Now, the one woman I could never have was sharing my room. Long, lean, with mouthwatering little curves I’d always ached to touch, Elora Rhodes was every man’s fantasy, not to mention a total powerhouse in business.

With Mistyvale’s snooping eyes out of the equation, everything was different, and Elora felt a lot like…mine. My loyalty to her brothers had always kept us apart, but now, the rules were shifting. Elora was no longer the “little” sister from our childhood. I might’ve flown to Vegas with my eyes on the grant, but if I played my cards right, I could claim a much bigger prize. The question was: would I lose everything I’d worked so hard for, and my two best friends in the process?

A spicy, brother's best friend, second chance, small town romance book.

CHAPTER ONE LOOK-INSIDE

“So, what’s your body count?”
A laugh bubbled up my throat, but when Todd’s blue eyes didn’t crinkle, and his mouth slowly closed, the sound halted. Awkward. I swirled my merlot, still kind of waiting for a punchline. When nothing came, I scoffed, “Excuse me?”
“You know. Your body count,” he repeated with a derisive amount of emphasis, as though I simply hadn’t heard him the first time. My nails dug into my palm beneath the table. “Like, how many dudes—”
“Hmmm…I don’t know, do the ones in the freezer count?” Tone dripping in disinterest, I set my wine down to refrain from pouring it over his blond waves. If for no other reason than just because it was an exquisite year, and I didn’t particularly want to waste it. Giving him a little wink, I added, “Or just the ones I’ve disposed of?” I shot a pleading glance at our server, who blanched but nodded. It was a shame, really, as this restaurant boasted the best chef in the city. But Todd was, unfortunately, only one in a long line of shitty blind dates, and my asshole tolerance was entirely used up.
The world’s most perfect autumn afternoon came to a bumbling halt as he grappled for a response. Hell, just this morning, I’d sat in the booth recording an episode for my podcast, TrailblazeHer, with one of the most inspiring women I’d ever had the pleasure of befriending, celebrating her seven-figure year, only for her to shock the hell out of me and turn the celebration around with gushed affirmations over my book deal. When the show wrapped, we’d enjoyed a leisurely lunch sipping wine and eating mezé while Mara caught me up on her adorable four and six-year-old children, her husband’s new affinity for fishing, and the book club recommendations she’d gained in the last year.
The two of us had been talking for ages about starting a foundation together, resonating with TrailblazeHer’s mission to empower women everywhere to reach their professional potential, and her daily mantra to raise the damn bar in all categories of life.
Evidently, Todd’s ‘bar’ had somehow become ensconced in Hell itself, as he had the audacity to scoff in my direction. “What? I don’t think it’s too personal of a question to ask someone. You’re beautiful, I’m, well—” he gestured vaguely at his entirely average-leaning-on-lanky body, “and we’re old enough not to beat around the bush. If we’re doing anything, have you been tested? A man’s gotta evaluate the risks of dating a woman over thirty. If you’re this easily offended, it must be terrible,” he laughed as he swiped up his martini. Some people’s children, so help me. Who in their right mind could ever think this was an appropriate conversation starter? What in the hell happened to ‘Hello. How are you? What’s your zodiac sign? Are you looking for a good time or something serious?’
A dull ache brewed behind my eyes, gaze settling on his fingers where they twirled the olive toothpick as he shrugged and added, “I’m probably around forty.”
Of course, you are. I didn’t have to engage in this conversation to guess if I responded with a number anywhere near that–which it wasn’t–he’d tell me it was too many. After all, only men are intended to enjoy their bodies. For fuck’s sake. Deadpanning, I lolled my head sideways, blinking pointedly as our server made her way over. I held up my card with pleading eyes.
“God bless you. Please ring me up.” To Todd, I demanded, “And what, pray tell, is your goal in asking?” Though placid, even I could hear the blade of temper threatening my composed tone.
“Just not big on sloppy seconds. I mean, you’re what, almost forty?” Thirty-two and about to go spend a stupid amount of money on a new eye cream. “So, I know you’ve been around.”
With a suffocated glare, I threw back my drink, wincing as too much liquid funneled down too tight a space and stood. Forcing an expression more grimace than smile onto my face, I turned my attention to the tool across the table, our server scurrying away. “Alright, that’s enough for me. Todd, have the day you deserve.”
His protest fell on deaf ears as I gathered my phone and purse, and followed the waitress’ path to the bar, my heels clicking over the slick concrete floor. Music bombarded my senses with some modern calamity of heavy bass, the mouthwatering scent of steak worth selling a kidney for assaulting me. Dammit, Todd. That smells amazing.

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