Can an injured ex ball player convince the woman he wakes up married to in Las Vegas to take a second chance on him?
After spending the last four months drowning his sorrows over the end of his baseball career, Jack Bishop finds himself winging through the blue skies to Las Vegas, not so ready to spend the weekend with some woman his best friend set him up with. He expects a paid escort. What he gets is the woman he walked away from ten years ago to pursue his passion, and she’s not very happy to see him.
Devyn Tate believes she’s quite capable of finding somebody to take her out to dinner. She’s no longer looking for a lifelong promise. She has a commitment only to her battery-operated toy to fulfill that particular need. Yet her friends have managed to talk her into spending the weekend in Las Vegas, on a blind date of all things. They promise the guy is trustworthy. They insist that she should have fun. Unfortunately, fun is not what she envisions when she discovers Jack Bishop lying on the floor of her suite in nothing but his underwear that’s on backward, and she has a wedding ring on her finger.
General Release Date: 17th October 2014
“Fuck. I can’t believe I’m even considering going through with this,” Jack mumbled and sipped from his glass of Crown Royal, smothering a sigh. Christ, he needed to find new friends. His current ones derived too much joy in taking advantage of his soaked-in-alcohol, pissed-at-the-world state of mind.
Why the hell can’t people leave me alone? His friends, his agent, his teammates—every other goddamn day he deleted messages from his phone. Everyone wanted to either console him or provide career advice.
Jack ground his teeth together. Not for the first time, he wondered what he’d done to deserve the crap hand he’d been dealt. He’d spent the last four months alone—he rolled his eyes—he’d tried to spend it alone. You’d think unreturned phone calls, sneered hellos and ugly name-calling would keep the scavengers at bay.
Thank Christ most of his family had finally given up. Although, that last message from his mother insisting that he get his head out of his ass and start acting like an adult still stung.
Guilt wormed a hole through his pride. Elaine Walker didn’t deserve his attitude. That woman had created a home for him when no other had. If it wasn’t for Elaine and Grant taking him in when they had, he would probably be living on the streets, or in jail.
Then two nights ago, after a coerced game of poker slash intervention, in which he lost five hundred dollars and a bet, his so-called friends had talked him into spending the weekend in Vegas with a blind date they’d arranged. Apparently those closest to him figured a good woman could pull him out of his funk. Then they had all laughed and wiped the table clean—and not of chips and pizza crumbs. Too bad they didn’t pick up their dirty dishes at the same time.
Not that he needed a date. He dated fine. Or he had. They came to him, or rather his publicist arranged for them to come to him, and they left. Just the way he liked it. Sometimes he fucked them. Most of the time he didn’t. Not one woman in the past ten years had flipped his switch beyond a dim glow. Not that he’d been looking. He had no plans to settle down, much to his foster parents’ dismay. And it’s not as if they didn’t know he wasn’t husband material. Besides, who’d be interested in a washed-up, washed-out baseball player at the age of twenty-eight? His single concession to the people he called family had been moving closer to the only true home he’d ever had—not exactly in their backyard close, but near enough.
Swirling the amber liquid around in the bottom of the glass, he racked his brain for a good missed-the-plane excuse. He needed this trip as much as he needed another drink. Jack’s phone buzzed like a bee on crack as it skated across the coffee tabletop. He glanced at the screen and groaned. Knowing what he’d find, he hit the pad anyway, lighting up the message.
Hey, Jackie boy, don’t you dare skip out on this flight. I’ve found the perfect woman for you. Everything is arranged and paid for.
Oh great. They’d got him a hooker.
I’ve sent you the hotel info in the attachment. You can thank me later. Now get your ass to the airport.
Fucking Mason. Regardless of his foster brother’s success, Jack should never have hired him as his agent. The ass took liberties normal agents wouldn’t dare. He swore the man had rigged a camera somewhere in this apartment. Good thing he considered Mason his best friend and loved him like a true brother, because he’d been nothing but a pain in his backside the last two months, ranting that Jack needed to get out, move on and find somebody to settle down with, something to take his mind off of what had happened. With that man’s intuition and ability to nag, he must have been a female in a previous life. Jack ignored the itch to search the room, but just in case, he raised his hand and flipped his best friend and foster brother the bird.
Lifting his left arm, he checked the time on his silver Rolex, his parting gift from the team, and grimaced at the residual pain that sliced through his shoulder. Anger followed. Anger over the inability to do something he’d loved since childhood. The only thing that had made sense to him during those early turmoil-filled years when he’d been shuffled from foster home to foster home. Anger over a career cut short far too early—seemed to be the story of his life—everything had ground to a halt before it had even begun. Anger over the fact that he sat alone in his apartment with nothing but a handful of expensive objects to show for it. Things his publicist insisted that he needed. Rather than argue, he’d just gone with it.
Maybe he could sell it all and move to a straw hut on an island. One with no phone or Internet service.
With all the energy and excitement of a turtle, Jack rose from his living room couch and meandered to the kitchen, his feet lead-like. He placed his empty glass in the not-so-empty sink. He let his gaze roam the tiny one-bedroom apartment as he walked towards the front door. His mother would have a coronary if she saw the leaning tower of magazines, the double layer of dust and the clothes strewn about the leather furniture and granite tables. While on the road, he’d only spent part of each winter here. So little time, it felt more like visiting than living. Now, everything had changed.
Shoes are her addiction, but books are her passion. Anne Lange grew up with a love for reading. If you take a close look, she’s got either a book, her Kindle or her Kobo—maybe all three—tucked into her bag or a pocket when she leaves the house. You know, just in case there’s time to sneak in a chapter or ten. Anne reads many genres of romance, but prefers to write sexy stories, often with a dash of humor, and usually with a side of those sinful pleasures your mom never told you about.
Oh, and always a happily ever after.
While embarking on this wild journey of becoming a romance author, Anne juggles a full time job and a family. Not always successfully. Who needs a clean house every day? And what’s wrong with cereal for dinner? She lives in Ontario, Canada with her wonderfully supportive husband, three awesome kids who are growing up way too fast, and Rocky the bearded dragon.
You can visit Anne's blog and Goodreads page or follow her on Twitter.
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Anne Lange - Female First feature
The city that never sleeps. This city, in my opinion, is one of the best for people watching. People from all over end up in Las Vegas. It’s a hot spot of entertainment and the best place to lose your inhibitions. It’s okay to be a little wild here.
My first trip to Las Vegas was over ten years ago, and it immediately became one of my favorite places to go. I’ll drop some cash in the slot machines on occasion. I love the shopping! I’ve eaten in some wonderful restaurants, seen some great shows, and lazed by the pool. I love the heat. I adore the view. I love the story ideas being in Vegas generates. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas right? Well…not always.
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