I take her face between my hands. “This ridiculousness right here”—I kiss her—“is why I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Her hands cover mine, her smile full of tenderness and love. “I’m so glad you fought for me. You’re the best chance I’ve taken.”
Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She is the author of Clipped Wings, her debut novel, and Inked Armor.
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The Clipped Wings Series
Cupcakes and Ink
Clipped Wings
Between the Cracks
Inked Armor
Cracks in the Armor
Standalone Romance
The Librarian Principle
If you enjoyed PUCKED, you should read on to experience the hilarity of the first chapter of:
Copyright ? 2015 Debra Anastasia
All rights reserved
Published by Debra Anastasia Fire Down Below is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are all products of the author's twisted imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Dove clutched her second prescription in one week to her chest as she approached the pharmacy counter in Save-Mart. She hated getting any embarrassing drug filled. Specifically, medicines required for parts of her body below her belly button and above her knees.
She even tried ordering personal items online. Her tampons and maxi pads had arrived in a covert brown box on her doorstep. She didn’t even have to look at the UPS deliveryman. Dove had peeked from behind the curtains in her apartment and waited until he was gone before she picked up the package. But her period was unpredictable and she was forgetful, so she had to do the period walk of shame damn near every month. Chocolate, something salty, and a box of hag rags gave her away to any cashier.
Her first UTI had snuck up on her like a hairy little kitten. She never got urinary tract infections, but when she wound up crying from the burning sensation while peeing, she made an appointment with her decidedly female general practitioner. Dove filled her prescription for antibiotics at her friendly Save-Mart pharmacy, comfortingly staffed by discreet ladies. Dove vaguely remembered commenting on her pharmacist’s large belly. Mrs. Pills should be about eight and a half months pregnant as of right now.
When Dove found herself battling a yeast infection due to the powerful antibiotics, she had to make a return trip to her doctor and picked up her current prescription. Now, as she got to the Save-Mart Pharmacy counter again, she waited patiently. She didn’t see Mrs. Pills. From the conversation Dove overheard between the woman’s assistants, she was now both a pharmacist and a happy mom to a healthy baby girl.
Dove didn’t notice the gentleman tucking purple and white bags into uniform alphabetic rows until he noticed her first. She had no time to run with her prescription clearly in view. He unfurled his large frame and his handsome smile at the same time.
Oh crap, kill me. Someone kill me dead. A lot.
“Hello. Dropping off?”
His voice should have been counting down the hits on some radio station. His green eyes flashed with friendliness and maybe a bit of flirtation. Dove swallowed hard and nodded.
After an awkward pause, Mr. Fitzwell, as his nametag claimed, reached between her breasts to pluck the paper from her clenched hands. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow—possibly at her bizarre behavior—and smoothed the paper on the laminate counter. Dove wanted to crap her pants when he announced the name of her drug way louder than Mrs. Pills would ever mention a lady prescription.
“Gynazule??”
Anything with the sound “gyn” in it would perk up people’s ears. Dove looked over her shoulder. What looked to be an entire football team of boys was gathered around a grandmotherly lady. They were obviously showing her their support in great testosterone-filled numbers. Dove was sure the woman’s problem was a lot more devastating than her own.
All eyes were trained on Dove. She tried to curl her body into itself and turned back to Mr. Gorgeous McLoudypants.
Dove whispered quietly, “Yes, that’s it. Thank you.”
Mr. Fitzwell leaned closer to hear her. “Okay.” He seemed to want to engage in some more conversation. “Have you ever used it before? Because it’s a little bit different than your regular VAGINAL cream.” His voice just carried; it was like he couldn’t stop it if he tried.