Showing posts with label Chapter Reveal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chapter Reveal. Show all posts

Monday, 5 November 2018

Chapter Reveal - Snowflakes and Cinnamon Swirls at the Winter Wonderland

Chapter 1
As I descended the stairs to the Wynthorpe Hall kitchen, the vacuum cleaner bumping along behind me, I couldn’t help but think about how eerily quiet the place seemed. As a rule, lunchtime was a bit of a free-for-all as the family, which included us staff, made a beeline for a place around the table to feast on whatever delicious fare the hall cook, Dorothy, had spent the morning preparing. I reasoned that the unusual silence would likely have something to do with Anna, something she had arranged, and I decided to play along with whatever my well-meaning friend had dreamt up. Though I was, for once, itching to get back to town. 
I had barely opened the door an inch before a rousing chorus of ‘Here Comes the Bride’ erupted. The vacuum was whisked from my grasp and the sounds of popping corks and party poppers filled the air. 
‘You twits,’ I laughed, as Anna pulled me into a 
suffocating hug. ‘Tonight is just my engagement party, not my wedding day!’ 
‘We know that, Hayley,’ she said, squeezing me tighter, ‘this is just a little taster of what we’ll have lined up for you here at the hall when the big day finally dawns.’ 
Anna had certainly pulled out all the stops. I knew there would be no one better to take on the roles of wedding planner and chief bridesmaid. 
‘And when can we expect to see the handsome groom- to-be?’ asked Angus, handing me a champagne-filled crystal flute. ‘I take it the Scorching Scaffolder will be coming to pick you up?’
Angus Connelly, the eccentric gent who was married to Catherine, the hall owner, had certainly found a fitting nickname for my ancĂ©. 
Gavin Garford, aka The Scorching Sca older, had been practically everyone’s crush when I was at high school, and the subsequent years – combined with his job erecting and dismantling scaffolding – had played their part in turning a teenage tearaway into a fine specimen of manhood. 
Gavin and his workmates had been called to Wynthorpe Hall earlier in the year to construct a scaffold tower that we all hoped would keep Angus safe while he worked at a height. Gavin had wasted no time in asking me out, and the whirlwind romance that led up to his autumn proposal certainly lived up to the steamy fantasies I’d had about him as a teenager. 
‘I’m afraid not,’ I sighed, gently clinking my glass against 
Anna’s. ‘He’s working at the other side of Peterborough today and won’t be back until late this afternoon.’ 
‘Wouldn’t his boss let him take the day off?’ Jamie frowned. ‘There must be loads still to check over at the pub.’ Clearly Jamie – Angus and Catherine’s youngest son, and heir to the hall – wasn’t particularly impressed by my beau’s absence.
‘We’re both well aware of that,’ I responded with a cheeky 
grin, ‘but some of us don’t have a grand family hall to live in. We have to work all the hours god sends to save up ridiculous deposits just to buy poky ats in town.’ 
‘Still no news on the affordable housing front?’ asked Mick, the hall handyman, who also lived on-site. 
‘Not a word,’ I sighed. ‘At this rate we’ll be drawing our pensions before the council even approve the plans.’ 
‘You know you’re always welcome here,’ said Catherine, kindly. ‘We would be more than happy to accommodate you and Gavin if it meant you could secure your own home sooner.’ 
Catherine had been offering me a room ever since my final year at school when I’d found myself pregnant and was abandoned by my parents when they couldn’t stand the shame. At the time, my nan had been working as a cleaner at the hall, and her untimely death, along with my miscarriage, had ensured my education had never been properly finished. I had gone home soon after Nan’s funeral, but I gratefully took over her job. I loved working with the antiques, paintings and curios and had become something of a self-taught expert in historical conservation. 
‘Thank you, Catherine,’ I smiled at my kind-hearted employer, ‘I do know and, as always, I appreciate your gen- erous o er—’ 
‘But you’re not going to accept it,’ Jamie cut in. 
‘And be constantly on-hand to pick up your pants, Jamie Connelly?’ I batted back as Anna giggled and Dorothy tutted. ‘I don’t think so.’ 
Washing the family’s clothes had never been part of my job description, but teasing Jamie about his slack habits with the laundry bin was far easier than explaining why I needed to be at home; Mum and I may have had our di erences in the past, but I couldn’t leave her defenceless against Dad and his belligerent temper. I knew the time for me to move on would come at some point, but not just yet. 
‘And besides,’ I cunningly added, ‘we’ll be into November next week. You’ll no doubt be too busy planning for Christmas and packed to the rafters with more family and friends than you’ll know what to do with, won’t you?’ 
Moving the conversation on to Christmas was a mas- terstroke on my part. The mere mention of it had Angus bobbing up and down in his seat. I focused my attention on devouring Dorothy’s delicious sandwiches to soak up the zz, barely listening to the ideas Angus was rattling o , until the words ‘Winter Wonderland’ were spoken and I looked up to see Catherine’s face fall. 
‘Absolutely not,’ she said sternly.
‘But—’
‘No, Angus,’ she said again. ‘We’re going to be stretched to our limit as it is, what with the addition of the Christmas tree competition and the party on top of the usual sleigh rides.’ 
‘What Christmas tree competition?’ I asked, pushing my plate away. 
‘Have you not been listening at all?’ tutted Anna with a smile. ‘We’re hosting the tree-decorating competition this year because the church has so many December weddings booked that they haven’t got room for all the trees amongst the pews.’ 
‘It’s going to be spectacular,’ Angus joined in. Clearly, he could already picture it. ‘There were almost thirty trees last year, all decorated by a di erent community group. The one from the hardware store was a triumph, covered in mini tools and DIY materials. I thought it was the best by far.’ 
‘What with that and the party to raise funds for the char- ity,’ Catherine was quick to remind her husband, ‘I hardly think we’ll have the time or the manpower to establish this Winter Wonderland you’ve dreamt up.’ 
‘But as you just reminded us, Mum, we do already have the sleigh,’ said Jamie, catching his father’s eye, ‘and none of what Dad has in mind would encroach on the hall. Just a couple of extra tweaks outside and we could be in business.’ 
‘We could have a snow machine,’ said Angus, wistfully. 
‘Are you joining ranks with your father, Jamie?’ asked Anna. 
She sounded as surprised as the rest of us were no doubt feeling. 
‘Well,’ Jamie swallowed, ‘the charity is going to be closed 
throughout December so we could use the space in the courtyard, and we’ll have an extra pair of hands on-site to help out by then. A very practical pair of hands.’ 
Anna and Catherine raised their eyebrows in perfect syn- chronicity and I thought it was just as well that the charity, which supported bereaved children and young adults, was going to be closed if such extravagant festive plans were afoot. 
‘I’m not siding with him exactly,’ Jamie mumbled. ‘I just don’t think it would be all that tricky to set up, that’s all.’ 
That was as good as a green light to Angus, and I could already tell that a manic few weeks lay ahead. I might have drawn the focus away from my refusal of Catherine’s o er but, in the process, I’d opened up one heck of a can of tinsel- toting worms. 
‘So, who does this extra pair of hands belong to then?’ asked Molly, who had suddenly appeared in the doorway, her wild pre-Raphaelite hair framing her pretty face. 
Molly, with her white witch tendencies, had a spooky knack for popping up out of nowhere. She always looked to me as if she oated on a cushion of air, not setting her feet on solid ground like the rest of us mere mortals. 
‘Is it someone who is going to be passing through or some- one who is staying for good?’ 
‘Since when did anyone get away with passing through?’ laughed Mick, as he pointed rst at himself, then me, Dorothy and nally, Anna. 
We had all arrived at the hall on the understanding that we wouldn’t stay long, but that wasn’t how things worked here. Once Catherine, Angus, the dogs and the hall had found their way into our hearts, we were hooked – for good. ‘That’s true,’ Molly laughed, claiming the seat next to me and giving me an incense-scented hug. ‘I just wanted to pop in to wish you good luck for tonight, Hayley, in case I don’t 
get a chance later.’
‘Thanks, Molly,’ I smiled, squeezing her back.
I appreciated the fact that she had left the cosy con nes of 
her cottage in the woods, but I really didn’t need luck. It had been Molly herself who had read my tarot cards in the spring and had told me love would feature dramatically in my life before the end of the year. I admit I had been dismissive at the time, but then Gavin had turned up in his too-tight vest and set my heart pounding. Sure, he had a reputation, but who didn’t? As far as I could tell, he was the person Molly had predicted, and his timing couldn’t have been more perfect. 
‘So, who’s coming to stay?’ Molly asked again. 
‘A pal of mine,’ explained Jamie. ‘Someone I’ve known for ages and worked with out in Africa. He’s visited here before, too, but that was years ago. He’s agreed to take on the outdoor activities we o er at the centre, as well as adding a few more of his own design.’ 
‘I thought you were in charge of all that, Mick?’ 
‘I have been,’ he said, ‘but I’m not getting any younger and this chap has other skills Jamie can put to good use.’ 
‘You aren’t being put out to grass are you?’ I teased. 
‘No,’ he said, ‘of course not. I just want to get back into the garden. The students from the horticultural college coming out every week have made a massive di erence, and Catherine and I think now’s the time to think about a proper renovation.’ He sounded needled that I had suggested he was on the wind-down to retirement, so I winked to show I was only teasing.
‘You don’t change, do you, missy?’ He tutted, shaking his 
head. ‘I hope with a wedding to plan you’ll soon be more interested in your own goings-on than everyone else’s.’ 
I laughed at that. 
‘I wouldn’t hold your breath,’ I told him. ‘And on the topic of other people’s business, does this pal of yours bring some tragic baggage with him, Jamie?’ It was an unwritten rule – more of an assumption now – that everyone who turned up at the hall had some heartbreak they needed to heal from. We all had a sob story to tell. 
‘More to the point: when is he coming and where is he going to be staying? I’ll need to get cracking if I have rooms to prepare.’ 
‘He’ll be with us by the end of next month,’ Jamie explained, ‘and he’s moving into the gatekeeper’s cottage, so if you could give it an airing, that would be great.’ 
I noticed he hadn’t responded about his friend’s baggage, but I didn’t quiz him further. I was sure it would all come out at some point. It always did, whether we wanted it to or not. 
‘I’ll set a re going rst thing tomorrow,’ I told him, ‘and I’ll open the windows to get the air moving, that way the weather won’t have a chance to take hold and make it feel damp.’ 
‘And in the meantime, Hayley,’ said Anna, pushing back her chair, ‘we need to get you to town so you can prepare for your engagement party tonight. Are you ready?’ 
‘As I’ll ever be,’ I smiled, taking a deep breath as I prepared to meet my fate. 

The blurb
After calling off her engagement, Hayley, the Wynthorpe Hall housekeeper, wants nothing more than to return to her no-strings fun-loving self, avoiding any chance of future heartbreak. Little does she know, Wynbridge’s latest arrival is about to throw her plan entirely off course . . .
Moving into Wynthorpe Hall to escape the town’s gossip, Hayley finds herself immersed in the eccentric Connelly family’s festive activities as they plan to host their first ever Winter Wonderland. But Hayley isn’t the only new resident at the hall. Gabe, a friend of the Connelly’s son Jamie, has also taken up residence, moving into Gatekeeper’s Cottage, and he quickly makes an impression on Wynbridge’s reformed good-girl…


About the author

Heidi Swain is the Sunday Times bestselling author of five novels: The Cherry Tree CafeSummer at Skylark FarmMince Pies and Mistletoe at the Christmas MarketComing Home to Cuckoo Cottage and most recently, Sleigh Rides and Silver Bells at the Christmas Fair. She lives in Norfolk with her husband and two teenage children.






Heidi Swain on Twitter: @Heidi_Swain
Website: http://heidiswain.co.uk
Goodreads - Amazon UK - Amazon US


Wednesday, 6 September 2017

Chapter Reveal -The Honey Trap by Karli Perrin


Prologue
In the beginning, I used to feel guilty when I seduced a married man.
I used to feel dirty when I kissed them.
I used to feel ashamed when their wives divorced them.
But now I feel nothing.
I am not to blame.
I am merely the catalyst.
I am the loaded gun.
I am the honey trap.

Chapter One
I focus on his wedding ring right before I close my eyes. His eager lips meet mine and I can almost taste his excitement. My mind goes into distraction mode as his tongue darts in and out of my mouth.
Tonight is what we call a half trap. This is where our clients are satisfied by photographs of their boyfriends or husbands kissing another woman. We wear a wire at all times so they also receive a recording of their partners planning to go home with us. Most women believe that planning to cheat is just as bad as actually cheating but some women need more. Some women refuse to believe that their man would actually go through with it. In other words, some women are stupid.
A full trap is where we take the men back to our place. Only, it's not our place. It's actually an apartment which the Honey Trap Agency (HTA) rents. Waiting inside are their scorned girlfriends or wives and sometimes the occasional lawyer. We also have an agency bodyguard on standby just in case things get heated but usually the men are too busy begging for forgiveness.
Our safety is a priority. If it's a full trap then we always insist on ordering a cab. Our driver, who is actually another bodyguard, will be parked up around the corner. They take our call then wait for five minutes before picking us up, which is always from a public place. On the rare occasion that a man insists on driving or calling their own cab, we end the trap and only charge our client for a half trap. We make a lot of money but nowhere near enough to put ourselves in any real danger.
I finally pull away when his hands begin to work their way down my back. I open my eyes and watch him for a moment, looking for any signs of indecision or guilt but they don't come. This guy's willing to go all the way. He smirks. "Wanna come back to my place, darlin'?"
I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to take me home to talk about the weather but I ask anyway for the recording. "What have you got in mind?"
He leans closer. "Have you ever had a multiple orgasm?"
I stop myself from rolling my eyes. "No," I reply, feigning innocence. Guys love the whole virginal act.
"Then I'll be your first."
Only in his dreams. If his wife doesn't leave him after tonight then they deserve each other. I grin seductively. "Let me go and freshen up first. I'll be back in a minute." I wink at him before walking away, swaying my hips as I go.
As soon as I step inside the restroom, I reach into my purse and take out my mini bottle of mouthwash. I always use too much but I like how it burns the taste of them away. After successfully numbing my entire mouth, I remove my wire and place it inside my purse just as the door opens. One of the agency photographers walks in and checks that we're alone before stopping in front of me. "Are you okay?"
I nod. "Did you get it?"
"Of course I got it." She takes out her camera and scrolls through several photographs. The first few are close-ups of his face so he can be clearly identified. The rest are shots of us kissing. 
I call my boss as we both exit out of the back. "It's done."

Title - The Honey Trap
Genre - Contemporary Romance
Release date - 13th September 2017
Pre-order links - Amazon UK - https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B074LQG95B

Synopsis - 
After catching her childhood sweetheart cheating on her, Sophia Hamilton is hell-bent on stopping other women from getting played like she was.
And so the played becomes the player.
Fast forward two years and Sophia is now one of San Francisco’s most successful honey trappers. Getting paid to expose cheating men has become the norm but just when she thinks she has seen it all, she is offered a unique proposition which threatens to turn her entire world upside down.
Mason Hunter is a hotel tycoon, millionaire and cheater. Or is he? 
Sophia has six weeks to find out.
She quickly discovers that Mason isn't the only one keeping secrets and she becomes caught up in a tangled web of lust, lies and misplaced loyalties.
Lines are crossed. Rules are broken. The real Mason Hunter is about to be exposed. 
The hunt is on.

Author bio -

Karli Perrin is a twenty something, English Language and Linguistics graduate from Manchester, England. She has always been a big lover of books and was inspired to write her debut novel in 2013. She is a huge believer of fate and is a sucker for a happy ending. Her ultimate goal in life is to live in a house made entirely out of books with her fiancé and two children.
...Hogwarts is plan B.






Saturday, 26 November 2016

Chapter Reveal - On Thin Ice by Aven Ellis


Chapter 1

The Game Plan for December 31st

√Come up with resolutions for the New Year.

√Finish chapter one of my debut novel.

√Put on a happy face and pretend I’m excited to go to the Dallas Demons New Year’s Eve party tonight.

√Get dressed and try to project confidence in an evening gown while pretending I don’t care I’m surrounded by the players’ wives and girlfriends who are practically supermodels.

√Refrain from staring at Matt Rhinelander like a lovesick tween from a Disney Channel show from across the room.

I furrow my brow as I stare at the list written in my Things To Do Today! planner. I absently tap a gold pen against my lips, knowing I can’t place the final checks next to the last three items on my list. I toss the planner aside and anxiously twist my long brown hair into a knot, securing it at the nape of my neck by shoving the pen in it.

Uggggggggggggggggh.

It’s already six o’clock.

And I’m still sitting on my bed with my computer on my lap.

I haven’t even showered yet.

And I have to say, my Harry Potter Ravenclaw T-shirt and yoga pants are way more comfortable than the cocktail dress hanging on the back of my door.

I would be much happier writing for Calla, the fairy heroine in my manuscript, than standing awkwardly in the corner of a party, trying to act like I belong. I’d rather stay here in my brother’s guest bedroom in Dallas than go to a New Year’s Eve shindig in ritzy Highland Park.

Besides, if I weren’t Holly Johansson, little sister of Demons superstar Nate Johansson, I wouldn’t even be invited tonight. Not that I want to be. I’m not into parties.

Or getting drunk.

Since graduating from Northwestern this past month, I’m focused solely on my post-graduate life.

Which means finding gainful employment.

Yes, I am working—and working hard—at writing my debut fantasy novel, but since that won’t even cover a ketchup packet at a fast-food restaurant, I need to get a day job. And since Dallas rent is more than I can afford, I’ll move back home with my parents in Minnesota after the holidays.

I sigh. So far my website, which I designed to offer editing and proofreading services, has gathered fewer clicks than I care to think about. I’ve already inquired at the local library in my hometown, and they don’t need anyone. And I’ve applied for entry-level jobs in all areas of communication in Dallas, Minneapolis, St. Paul, and Chicago. I’ve had some interviews. But no offers.

But the truth is, all I want to do is write novels. I know becoming an author is a marathon, not a sprint. Even if it’s my dream, I need a day job to earn money now and stick to squirreling away whatever free time I have for writing.

I glance down at what I’ve written:

Calla knew she shouldn’t venture across to the North Woods. That land was beyond Flagstone Forest. Fairies were feared there. Normally Calla would never dream of stepping over the line, but the towering redwood trees and waterfalls were so beautiful, and for some reason she couldn’t explain, she was drawn to enter it this December evening.

North Woods inhabitants considered fairies evil, but despite knowing the dangers, Calla flew across the boundary as if no one was there. She soared between the redwoods, hiding between leafy branches, admiring the beauty of the foreign land below her. She would simply take in the view, that was all. See if danger truly lurked there as her older brother often lectured. But she needed to experience this for herself. She would observe quietly from high above, then leave. Nobody would notice she had been there.

That was when she saw him.

“Holly?”

I blink as I hear Kenley say my name, followed by a rap on the door.

I quickly close my laptop. “Come in.”

My brother’s girlfriend enters, already dressed in a gorgeous black evening gown. She’s wearing a maxi dress, floor-length with spaghetti-straps, but embellished for formal wear with a sexy V-neck mesh insert. Her blond hair is long and flowing, her makeup soft and subtle.

As always, Kenley is stunning.

“Are you going to get dressed?” Kenley asks. “We’re going early so I can supervise set up of the dessert table.”

Kenley has a business called Confection Consultations , where she helps plan desserts for parties. She coordinated the display for tonight, so of course, she has to be there early.

But maybe this can be my out, I think hopefully.

“You can go ahead without me,” I say. “Obviously I’m not in New Year’s Eve form yet.”

Kenley cocks an eyebrow. “You promise you’ll show up later?”

Damn it.

“Uh,” I say, testing the waters. “I’m not a big party person. It’s the writer-recluse personality in me. And I have so much work I want to get done before I have a full-time job. It really makes more sense for me to stay home and work.”

Kenley studies me. “You know my mother will not allow you to skip out on this.”

Kenley’s mother is CiCi Hunter, who happens to be dating the owner of the Dallas Demons, Peter Deveraux. She is, in essence, the co-host of this holiday bash, an annual event thrown for the entire Demons organization.

There is no way CiCi would forgive me if I didn’t attend.

I push the laptop aside and stand up. “Okay. But this party only. I’m not going to the party at Harrison Flynn’s afterward,” I declare, referring to the after party being hosted by the Demons’ captain.

“I know you don’t like parties, and you’d rather be in your writing world,” Kenley says. “But sometimes it’s good to do something different. One night won’t throw you off your timetable, I promise. You can talk to me all night. And Lexi,” she adds, referring to her best friend who is dating the Dallas Demons’ producer. “You won’t be standing in a corner by yourself.”

My heart fills with gratitude for Kenley. I misjudged her in the beginning, fearing she was dating Nate for all the wrong reasons. I swallow down the shame I feel for treating her poorly. She is good for Nate, and I have to admit, she’s been good for me, too.

“How did I get so lucky that Nate fell for you?” I ask.

Kenley begins to blush. “Oh, stop it.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Nate says, grinning at us from the doorway and looking sharp in a black tuxedo suit.

“Nobody is luckier than me.”

I see the gaze exchanged between Nate and Kenley and I have no doubts of how much they love each other.

I clear my throat. “Okay, I’ll get ready, but only for this party. Nothing more.”

Nate smiles at me, his dark-brown eyes dancing. “I wouldn’t ask for more. It’s a miracle Kenley is prying you away from your laptop as it is.”

I grab a throw pillow off the bed and lob it at him. “Shut up.”He laughs and catches the pillow mid-air, like his famous in-flight puck grabs on the ice.

“Get ready,” Nate says, tossing the pillow back on the bed. “Don’t make me give you penalty minutes for being late. Earn enough and I’ll force you to go to Flynn’s party.”

“Okay, okay,” I say, laughing. “I’ll get ready.”

“I’ll leave my car keys on the countertop for you,” Kenley says, “along with the invitation. Directions are inside.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“You’re welcome,” she replies. “We’ll see you there.”

“Right?” Nate adds, eyeing me.

“Yes, yes, I’ll be there,” I reassure him.

After they leave, I get up off the bed, and Nate’s dog Marabou comes bounding into my room, his puppy tail wagging in excitement.

“I know, I’d rather stay at home and play with you,” I say, bending down and stroking his head with affection.

Because it’s true. I’m much better with animals and books than I am with people.

I close the door to my room, and my New Year’s Eve gown is hanging on the back of the hook, a reminder that I can’t escape tonight.

I sigh. At times like this, I wish I were normal. That I didn’t suffer from social anxiety in group situations. Nobody knows this secret. Not even Nate. He thinks it’s a writer thing, and that I’m shy, but it’s more than that.

In reality, I feel inadequate in party settings. Like I’m being judged. Like people know I’m only there because of Nate. I know they are all wondering how super-cool Nate Johansson has such a socially inept sister. I’m the picture in the Sesame Street bit where one of these things is not like the others.

The setting tonight will be worse than usual. Surrounded by women who are not only gorgeous—some of them actual models—but also supremely confident. Confident in being social, letting loose, and having fun at a party. In being able to date hockey players and interact in a high-profile scene.

While the mere idea of being at this party sends me into a mild panic. I’ll wait to hit full-blown panic until I get there.

It’ll be something to look forward to. I smile. Okay, despite having crippling social anxiety, I at least can joke about it, even if it’s only with myself.

Once I get to the party, though, the anxiety will kick in, along with the physical symptoms. I’ll start sweating. Oh, this ought to be lovely in an evening gown. Good thing I use clinical deodorant on nights like these. Nervousness will overcome me. I’ll shake. As soon as that symptom pops up, I’ll make sure I put down any drink I’m holding.

But the best is when my eye starts twitching and I look like my contact is stuck—entirely possible in my ongoing war with my contact lenses—and I take on a similarity to a certain cartoon character who is a sailor man.

Ugh.

I hold up the dress and carefully remove the plastic.

Kenley helped me pick out the one-shouldered silver gown by Laundry, and I have to admit it’s gorgeous. It is made of silver sequins, embroidered in an art-deco-inspired pattern, with a long straight skirt and slit up the side.

I study the dress, wishing it could give me some kind of superpower to be normal at the party. But while I could write this superpower into a book, it’s not going to happen in reality, so I hang the dress back up and head into the guest bathroom to get ready.

I turn on the hot water to the shower to let it warm up.

While I wait, I remove my tortoiseshell glasses and place them on the countertop, knowing tonight calls for contacts.

Maybe for once they’ll cooperate and I’ll be able to get them in without dropping one down the drain.

I quickly shower and wash my hair before stepping out into the now steam-filled bathroom. I wrap two towels around me, one for my hair to help soak up the water and keep the damp strands from my face and the other around my body.

I proceed to moisturize, deodorize, and blow out my long, brown hair with a big round brush. Once I’m primed, I zip myself into the dress.

Next step: contacts.

The one thing I’m in a love-hate relationship with. I wear my glasses all the time—hardly ever choosing these thin torture devices—but I feel like this dress calls for the contacts.

If I can successfully get them in, that is.

I mean, really, how hard can this be? In addition to social anxiety, I’m dealt the card of being utterly inept when putting contacts in.

Life is cruel.

I know I’m being dramatic, but I’m a writer. I think it’s in the writer’s handbook. The license to be dramatic.

I open the case. I pick one up and put it in my right eye, praying it doesn’t slide off into the corner. I blink a few times and holy shit, it’s in! I’ve successfully put in a contact before an event!

“Okay, down to the left eye,” I say to myself. I tip my finger into the left contact holder and go to lift it, and rip! It catches on my fingernail and tears in half.

“Damn it!” I yell. “Damn it, why? Why can’t I do this?”

Marabou barks in response. I’m lucky he can’t speak or he’d tell Nate I’m a loon who talks to herself.

I focus on my reflection in the mirror. My vision in my right eye is perfect, the left is completely blurred. So much for thinking I could skate by with one contact in. Too bad I’m out of replacements.

I take the lone contact out, conceding defeat. I put on my trusty glasses and scrunch up my nose. Not quite the look I was going for, but it will have to do. I grab my silver sequined clutch, and anxiety begins to build in my chest, knowing it’s almost time to leave. I rationalize with myself as I enter the kitchen and pick up the invitation and Kenley’s keys.

I’ll know people there. I know Kenley, Nate, Kenley’s sister and mom, and her best friend, Lexi. I hung out with all of them at the Dallas Demons Casino Night last month, and I did okay at that event. It helped that I was working as an operative to help get Lexi and Niko together, so I had a role to distract me, but still. I didn’t get twitchy until later in the evening.

I lock the door behind me and head to the elevator.

And I know Matt Rhinelander.

As soon as I think of him, my stomach does a loop-the-loop. Heat radiates across my cheekbones, and my throat goes dry.

I’ve known Matt for years now. He’s always been a teammate of Nate’s, from their start in Minnesota to when they were both traded to the Dallas Demons last summer.

Nate has brought him home for dinners, cookouts, and holidays when he couldn’t go back home to Wisconsin. He’s always been sweet to me, asked how I was doing and how school was going.

I know he was only being nice. A good guest.

And yet I have this stupid crush on him that won’t go away.I hit the down button on the elevator and close my eyes. The dumbest crush in the history of all crushes in the universe. Matt is never going to see me as anything other than Nate’s sister. Besides, he likes gorgeous girls who have no problem throwing down shots in a bar and dancing on tabletops.

I’m not his type.

Yet here I am. Dealing with stupid butterflies because I know I’ll see him tonight.

Ugh. I should stop the elevator. I should go home. I should— The chime of my Harry Potter ringtone fills the air of the elevator. I snap out of my thoughts and retrieve my phone from my clutch. It’s Nate.

God, he really could have a second career as a psychic.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Are you on your way?”

“Yes,” I say as the elevator doors open. “I’m in the parking garage right now.”

“You’re not bailing?”

I swear Nate knows me better than anyone.

“No. I considered it, though,” I admit.

“CiCi would send security out to retrieve you if you pulled that stunt,” he says, referring to Kenley’s strong-willed mother.

I don’t laugh. I could totally see CiCi doing that.

“No, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

I hang up with Nate and make the drive over to Highland Park, an exclusive suburb of Dallas. My GPS helps me along, as Dallas is still foreign to me. Before I know it, I’m pulling up to a line of cars that are waiting for valet service in front of Peter Deveraux’s luxurious French-style estate.

I can’t help but laugh. Thanks to Nate’s hockey career, I’ve ended up in a completely foreign universe.

The car in front of me comes to a stop, and I see Demons’

forward JP Rochat step out of a sleek black Maserati. He hands his keys to one valet, while another runs toward me.

He opens my door and helps me step out into the freezing December night.

“Good evening, may I have your name, Miss?” he asks me. “Good evening, I’m Holly Johansson,” I say.

He picks up a walkie-talkie and repeats my name, and I know he’s having someone ensure I’m on the guest list, which is quickly confirmed.

“I’ll take care of your car,” he says, smiling at me. I drop the keys into his open hand and thank him. “Have a good evening, Ms. Johansson.”

Right. Good evening. I’m sure it will be great with sweating and twitching and panic, but hey, it’s New Year’s Eve and time to celebrate, right?

I so know how to party.

“Holly?”

I turn and see JP is waiting for me on the circular drive.

I smile. I met JP at Casino Night last month, and I have to say, he’s very handsome with his hazel eyes and dark hair.

Very sweet, too.

“Hi, JP, how are you?” I ask as I walk toward him.

I quickly realize these high heels are going to murder my feet tonight.

If I don’t fall flat on my face first, that is.

I concentrate on walking while JP waits, smiling brightly at me.

“I’m good,” JP says. “You look beautiful tonight, Holly.”

Heat rises again in my cheeks. “Thank you.”

We walk toward the estate, and as I see the swell of people outside the entrance, my social anxiety makes its first appearance of the night. I swallow hard. Maybe if I pretend I have a task like I did at Casino Night , I can be normal longer.

I’m a writer. I need to script something and act it out, and then I’ll be okay.

“Aren’t you cold?” JP asks.

I blink. “No. Why?”

“It’s thirty-five degrees out, and you aren’t wearing a coat.”

Ha! If he only knew I’d be sweating in about ten minutes, he’d understand why I don’t need to mess with a coat tonight.

“I’m from Minnesota, this isn’t that cold,” I say lightly.

Which is true. Compared to Minnesota right now, Dallas is practically tropical.

We step up to the sweeping entrance, and I’m surrounded by all kinds of people. I know this party is for everyone in the Demons organization, from ticket sales staff to players to the vice president of operations. Live jazz music floats through the air, and once I step inside, I’m greeted with soaring foyers and opulent marble floors. Servers walk around with trays of champagne and wine. There’s a coat check to my left, and I see a lavish buffet set up across the long hallway, complete with carving stations. The mansion is completely decked out for the holiday, too, with exquisite Christmas dĂ©cor everywhere.

The halls are crowded with people celebrating as far as the eye can see.

So. Many. People.

I might set a new record for world’s worst panic attack.

People are talking and laughing around me. Drinks are being poured. A group is dancing across the marble floor in the living room at the end of the hall.

And I am frozen in place.

“Would you like a drink?” JP asks me.

My throat is going dry. Oh, shit. Shit. Symptom number one is already kicking in.

“Um, would you excuse me?” I say, realizing I’m about to hit complete panic very soon.

“Sure, of course,” JP says. “I’ll see you later.”

As I turn away, I see a group of players’ wives and girlfriends. They’re all gorgeous. Talking, laughing, being fun. Do I even know how to be fun?

Doubt riddles me. I see a familiar face from Instagram.

Her name is Lauren, and she’s dating the goalie. She has a modeling contract with a huge agency. I’ve seen her in magazine ads. She’s wearing a killer short dress that shows off her long, gazelle-like legs. Next to her, I see Kenley with Nate, laughing and talking with Niko, the Dallas Demons producer, and his girlfriend Lexi.

They aren’t freaking out about what other people think.

They aren’t feeling their chests grow tight in fear.

Why can’t I be normal? I know I’m being irrational.

But I’m powerless to stop it.

Sweat. Now I feel sweat.

The walls are already closing in, faster than usual. I need to regroup. I need air. My eyes dart around the room, like a secret agent looking for an escape.

I see it. A huge row of French doors that I know lead outdoors. I head to them on instinct. I’ll find a terrace or garden or pool on the other side. Some place where there won’t be as many people, I know that.

Sweat is starting to drip down my back. I’m burning up.

I feel like I might pass out.

I weave through the mass of people, feeling lucky that very few of the guests know who I am and I can retreat undetected. I reach the door handle and pop it open, greeted by a whoosh of cold air as I step into the dark Dallas night.

I find myself on a terrace overlooking a lush manicured garden, illuminated by strategically placed lights.

I shut the door behind me and draw a deep breath of air.

I’m shaking now. Every symptom is in play except for the eye twitch, which is going to happen any second. I fight back tears. I will not let my social anxiety be seen by anyone.

Nobody is here. I can collect myself. Then, when I’m calm, I can return to the party, talk to the people I need to talk to, and go home.

Shame fills me. Nobody can know about my problem.

Nobody would understand. People will think I’m insane.

But out here I’m alone.

My anxiety is my secret.

I’m safe.

“Holly?”

I drop my clutch.

I know that Midwestern-accented voice.

I find Matt Rhinelander emerging from the corner of the terrace, his blue eyes locked directly on mine.

Blurb

Holly Johansson knows some things in her life are certain after college graduation:

1.) It’s a long road to become a full-time author.
2.) She’ll need to work to pay her bills.
3.) And Dallas Demons superstar Matt Rhinelander will never return her feelings.

Holly knows her unrequited crush on the partying hockey player is ridiculous. There’s no way Matt would be attracted to a woman who prefers nights in watching TV or reading books when he’s known for his frequent bar hops and fast lifestyle. Obviously he would never see her as anything other than his teammate’s little sister.

Yet Holly is drawn to the other side of Matt—the man she knows has always been thoughtful and easy to talk to whenever she’s been alone with him. It is this Matt that fueled the crush Holly has on him. And she knows it will always be just that—a secret crush.

Or will it?

Because when Matt helps Holly through a crisis, her heart begins to believe that there might be feelings on his part, too. After a night of hard partying puts Matt in jeopardy with the Dallas Demons, can Holly be the one to save him? And when Matt admits he sees her as more than Nate Johansson’s sister, will it put both of them on thin ice?

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About Author

I live in the Dallas area with my family. I enjoy clipping out recipes I will never get around to trying, working out, and chatting with friends on social media. I’m a hockey nut (Go Stars!) and watch as much as humanly possible. I also love shopping and fashion and admit to being obsessed with whatever the Duchess of Cambridge is wearing. In addition to be obsessed with the Duchess, I’m equally obsessed with any show or cookbook featuring Gordon Ramsay.

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Website/Blog - http://avenellis.com/