“I couldn’t think of anything more perfect.” Lottie turns to Angela. “So not nice to see you again. Take care, Angela.”
And with that, hand in hand, we walk out of the hotel and straight to where my car is waiting. I call up my pilot and tell him to meet us at the airport. My girl wants a burger, she’s going to get one.
As we drive through the city, I think about how lucky I am.
I had been so wrong in so many ways. In suggesting a flagrant deception was the way to get a business deal. To think that Dave, who I’d always known to be a stand-up guy, hadn’t believed in Cane Enterprises all along. To believe that this gorgeous woman in my arms was capable of the sort of betrayal I’d suggested. Ridiculous. I’m fucking lucky. I’ve had to eat humble pie, and I won’t ever take her for granted again. Nor will I fabricate a story to get a deal.
Lottie leans in to my embrace and gently lifts her lips to my jaw. “I love you, Huxley.”
“I love you, too, babe. I’m proud of you. Really fucking proud.”
“I wasn’t too bitchy?”
“You were incredibly bitchy, but I loved it.”
She chuckles. “That last jab was maybe uncalled for, but I couldn’t help myself.”
“Do you have closure?”
She nods. “Very much so. Thank you.”
“No need to thank me, babe. You did this all on your own.”
“You mean snag a rich husband by haphazardly getting lost in The Flats?”
The best damn day of my life. Thank fuck Angela was truly that vacuous to fire Lottie.
“Exactly. You have no idea how glad I am that you lost your way that day, and that you said yes to my crazy proposal.”
“Well, I have to say, I liked your most recent proposal even more.”
“And you said yes.”
“And I said yes.”
Thank God.
“Angela was very wrong about many things, you know.”
“Oh, I know, but what do you mean?”
“You’re my best friend, Lottie. And my life is only better for it. I love you, wife-to-be.”
“And I love you, husband-to-be, even with all your crazy.”
I laugh and then blow her mind with a deep and passionate kiss. My gorgeous, sexy, incredible girl. Life will never be boring with this spitfire by my side. Rainy days will never be dismal. Life will be fun, adventurous, crazy, and better than I ever thought life could be. Better than I ever deserved.
Keep reading for an excerpt from my steamy teacher romance, Earn Your Extra Credit
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Excerpt - Earn Your Extra Credit
Prologue
ROMEO
“Do you want to sit next to Stella on the airplane?” Arlo asks.
“What? Fuck, no,” I say while turning up the game so I can hear the announcers over my tedious, wedding-planning best friend.
Arlo snatches the remote from my hand and turns off the TV. The room is silent for a moment before uproarious objections fill the air.
“Gentry is up next,” Gunner, my other best friend and former teammate, complains from next to me. “He’s three for three so far.”
“We need to talk,” Arlo says in that stern, alpha-like voice that won over his fiancée. Little does he know it doesn’t work on me.
I reach for the remote but he swats my hand with a resounding thud, causing me to yank my hand back. “What the actual fuck, man?”
When I decided to have the guys over to my loft, I assumed we’d tear up some wings, drain some brews, and watch the Bobbies game. Never in my wildest fucking dreams would I have pictured Arlo Turner, the grumpy curmudgeon of the Forest Heights English department, to roll in like a beaming bride, holding a wedding planning folder to his chest, and consume the night with questions about what he should wear and if coconut cake is too “Hawaiian-y” for his Maui destination wedding.
But here we are.
“Cut the crap, Romeo.”
“Cut what crap?” I reach over to the coffee table and pick up my almost empty glass of beer.
“I’m not about to have the Bickersons attend my wedding, so what the hell is going on with Stella?”
“Nothing is going on,” I answer, then take a small sip of my beer, making the liquid last so I don’t have to get up for a refill.
Gunner leans in and asks, “If we get to the bottom of the problem, can we turn the TV back on?”
“Yes,” Arlo answers.
“Then it was the baseball game he took her to.”
“Dude,” I say in protest while sitting up on the couch. “What the fuck happened to don’t say anything?”
Gunner unapologetically shrugs. “I really want to watch the Bobbies kill the Rebels in interleague play.”
“What baseball game?” Arlo asks. “Do you mean the game you took her and Cora to?”
“Yup.” Gunner pops a chip in his mouth from the bowl on the coffee table. “Except Cora wasn’t supposed to go. It was supposed to be a daaate,” Gunner drags out.
“You asked Stella out?” Arlo asks, shocked.
“Way to sell me out for a game, you dick.”
Not showing an ounce of remorse, Gunner stands from the couch and takes my glass from me. “I’ll top you off. You’ll need it.”
Seething, I pass my hand over my head and say, “Yeah, I asked her out. She invited Cora. End of story.”
“That’s not the end of the story,” Gunner says from the kitchen, the open concept of my loft allowing his voice to carry to us easily.
When you think a friend is trustworthy and then they go and shock your fucking nuts right off by divulging everything you told them in secret . . . without even a blink of an eye. Gunner is dead to me.
You’re probably wondering why I didn’t say anything to Arlo about what happened, given he’s one of my best friends, right? It’s simple. Gunner got me drunk and I relished in the comfort of far too many cold beers and a listening ear. If it wasn’t for that, I’d have kept my mouth shut, because the entire incident was fucking humiliating.
Between you and me, I’ve liked Stella Garcia, the Spanish teacher at Forest Heights, for a while now. Far too long actually. I can’t quite pinpoint when it happened, but all I know is over the three years I’ve known her, I’ve been pining after the girl for the majority of the time.
Fucking bold, quick-witted with a sharp tongue, loves sports, shy when it counts. Flat-out gorgeous with her long, wavy brown hair and fascinating green eyes that have a ring of brown around the pupil. She’s had my attention for a while and last year, I decided to finally make a move.
Enough was enough. We shared too many dinners together as friends. She’s pressed her lips to my beer glass without a second thought way too many times. The moment presented itself, I grew a pair, and asked her out to a baseball game knowing she loves watching the sport as much as I do.
But fuck did it backfire.
“What’s the end of the story?” Arlo asks, growing agitated. His patience runs thin, which is surprising, given his profession of educating the youth.
He’s not going to drop it.
Arlo’s relentless when he wants to know something.
Dragging my hand down my face, I say, “It was supposed to be a date.” Gunner sits next to me and hands me my refilled glass, which I gladly take. “She invited Cora. Which was fine. We had a good time, I still sat next to Stella, and we shared jokes even if there was a third wheel. But it was what happened afterwards that—”
“That gutted him,” Gunner finishes for me. When I snap a look at him, he smirks. “That’s what you told me. Just thought I’d help tell the story.”
“I wasn’t gutted.”
Maybe I was a little.
Hell . . . I was humiliated.
Gutted isn’t a strong enough word for what happened.
“What the fuck happened after? Christ. Why are you taking so damn long to get to the point?” Arlo practically growls.
“Go easy on our guy.” Gunner grips my shoulder. “He was embarrassed, man.”
“It’s fine, I’m over it now,” I say in a passive-aggressive tone.
“You’re clearly not if you and Stella can’t even be in the same room together. I don’t want anything ruining this trip for Greer, and your constant arguing with Stella is driving everyone fucking crazy.”
“Great, then I just won’t talk to her. Simple.”
“Just tell him,” Gunner says, nudging me.