Chapter Reveal - Anything But Love By Daisy Prescott
Today we are revealing chapter one from ANYTHING BUT LOVE by Daisy Prescott. This book is a standalone, romantic comedy, and it is the 3rd book in the Wingmen series. Check out the exclusive pre-order link on iBooks for ANYTHING BUT LOVE and grab READY TO FALL (Wingmen, #1) while it's FREE!
ANYTHING BUT LOVE by Daisy Prescott Releasing July 19, 2016 (Wingmen, #3)
ADD ANYTHING BUT LOVE TO GOODREADS
BOOK BLURB:
Another wingman bites the dust in this enemies to lovers story…
For the past year, I’ve been working my butt off to start my own coffee company on Whidbey.
A weekend in Cabo with sun, tiny bikinis, and vacation hook-ups is exactly the kind of tension relief I need.
What I don’t need is a bruised jaw, having to bribe my way out of jail, a hellion set on ruining my life, and my mother seeing a picture of my assets on "The Twitter."
Caribou Caldwell is my worst nightmare.
Unfortunately, she’s also the star of my sexiest dreams.
What happens when a small town guy becomes the focus of a million fantasies? As Erik Kelso navigates his sudden notoriety, will his feelings for Cari turn out to be anything but love?
Anything but Love is the third book in the Wingmen series, a spin off of Modern Love Stories. Like all Wingmen books, it can be read as a standalone romantic comedy.
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CHAPTER ONE
You know what’s awesome? Sunshine, the
beach and a cold beer. The only thing that improves on that trifecta is being
naked.
* * *
Sitting
around the resort’s pool, Carter and I start a drinking game. Every time we see
a dude in a man bun, we drink.
Bad
decision.
Really
stupid game.
We’re
seriously buzzed in an hour.
Too
many hipsters and wannabes from LA around this overpriced hotel.
This
place is crawling with them like a hoard of fedora wearing zombies.
An
all-inclusive resort isn’t typically our speed. As two regular guys from
Whidbey we kind of stick out, but passing on the deal we got would have been
stupider than most of the outfits on the hipsters. Our beards help us blend in
a little bit. Not sure that’s a good thing or not.
Getting
off the island for a long weekend of beers, sun and boobs is exactly what I
need. Since I quit Useless Bay Coffee to start my own roasting business, I’ve
been working hundred-plus-hour weeks.
When
our mom found the deal for cheap through her travel agency, Carter and I jumped
at it. Actually, he jumped and booked it then told me he’d drag my sorry, pale
ass onto the plane to Cabo if he had to.
I
should be nicer about the hipsters. My business partner, Jonah, looks kind of
like these guys with his tatts, stretched earlobe, and mohawk. Somehow on
Jonah, the look is authentic. Like he could kick ass at a punk show, but also
has mastered the art of creating perfectly foamed milk.
I
suggest another drinking game: real or fake. With all the minuscule bikinis,
it’s not hard to tell who is au natural and who could be on a reality show
about plastic surgery.
Not
that I’m complaining.
Boobs
are boobs.
Buzzed
and a little bored, I suggest we go paddle-boarding or some other water sport.
Carter
lowers his sunglasses and thumbs to the other side of the pool where two women
in thong bikinis lie on their stomachs. “Nah, I’m happy with the view here.
Catch you later.”
“Suit
yourself.”
I
tromp over the hot sand down to the water, cursing that my shoes are sitting
next to my abandoned lounge chair. Nodding at Pedro in the equipment rental
kiosk, I grab a board and paddle.
I’m
not saying I’m into water sports, not the kind that immediately comes to mind
if you’ve ever watched porn, but there’s something about being out on the water
that speaks to me. Could be growing up on an island.
Maybe
it was all the time we spent as kids on our dad’s boats.
When
we were young Dad bought a twenty-nine foot wooden sailboat from the seventies
that he restored with Gramps. As his construction business took off, the boats
got newer, bigger and nicer. Until his business partner turned out to be an
asshole and embezzled all but a thousand dollars out of the business accounts,
then disappeared. Ten years later, we’re still picking up pieces after
everything crumbled.
Dad
still has the wooden sailboat. Other than Carter or I taking it around the
island or up to the San Juans it sits on a trailer surrounded by weeds behind
my parents’ house.
I
balance up on the board, bending my knees as I ride over the small waves
crashing toward the beach. Past the shore, the swells gently roll, leaving
smooth water in between sets. Nothing but clear skies and blue water through
the lens of my Ray Bans.
To
the right a tall cliff, more an outcropping of rocks, juts into the water,
isolating our hotel from the Pacific Ocean. My curiosity piqued, I head in that
direction. I’ve heard there’s a place called Lover’s beach near here. Sounds
like it’s a nude beach, or at least topless.
Sadly, the only breasts I spy are on a
bunch of pelicans perched on the rocky cliffs. More sun-bleached cliffs extend
further west heading toward the famous natural arch. I paddle by the arch and
pivot to return to the resort when a splash off one of the rock islands catches
my attention.
A
whoop follows another splash.
What
look like seal heads bob in the water.
As
I approach, I see a body fall from the cliff.
No,
not fall, dive.
People
are diving from a giant rock in the water. By choice.
I
drift on the water, not getting too close to where the divers are hitting the
surface. A small group of boats and kayakers crowd the surrounding cover.
People on the beach stand and watch as well.
The
guys in the water confidently swim near the sharp rocks, their strokes guiding
them away from the undertow that would crash them into the jagged edges. Timing
their exit, they wait until the water is high enough to allow a handhold on the
rock wall. With ease, they pull themselves up the face. At the top, hollers and
back slaps greet them.
Someone
from above yells down to me to try it out. I smile and wave them off. Not right
now. All this sun and the gentle rocking of the water against my board have
amplified the beer from earlier, clouding my judgment.
Maybe
on our last day tomorrow.
* * *
After dinner we
decide to leave the resort and explore town. “Explore” is code for going on the
prowl. The resort is great, but in terms of hooking up, it’s been a lot of
nothing. Sadly, all-inclusive doesn’t include hook-ups. Too many couples and
too many hipsters.
Loud
music pulses from the bars lining the main street off the beach. Almost all the
places have open windows that take up most of the exterior walls. People in
various states of inebriation loiter around and line the sidewalks. I brush
past two girls leaning over the window-counter of a club blasting Katy Perry.
They’re grabbing anyone who walks by to kiss their friend wearing a white veil.
As
we pass, I feel a thwack to my head and turn.
One
of the women is holding a long, pink, inflated penis, and telling by her sloppy
grin, she’s the one who hit me in the head with an inflatable dick.
Carter
is laughing too hard to speak, but slurs out, “You’re a legitimate dickhead
now, Bro.”
A
thump to his head with another inflatable super-dick stops his laughter. “That
hurt!”
“Sorry.
I’ll buy you a shot to make up for it.” A sunburned blond rests her boobs on
the window sill. “Or I can rub it and make it all better.”
Carter
stops short and leans towards the cleavage as if pulled by a magnet. “Can I
choose what you rub it with?”
The
girl’s mouth opens, but it’s her friend who comes back with a reply. “You
touched my dick, I’ll return the favor and touch yours.”
I
about choke and shove him into the bar ahead of me. “If he doesn’t take you up
on that offer, I will.”
We
shoulder our way through the crowd to their spot at the window.
“Ooh,
are you two identical twins? Like those guys who redo houses on tv? I’ve always
liked blond guys.” A redhead with a gleam in her eyes begins petting my
shoulder. She reminds me of Ashley back home. “That’s hot.”
Carter’s
eyes are focused on the purple lace peeking out from her shirt.
“It’s
hot that an egg splits in two at conception?” How is that more appealing?
Her
mouth hangs open a little as her eyes try to focus on my face. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Carter shoves my shoulder. “My brother is trying to be funny. It’s his attempt
to make up for being the ugly twin.”
“We’re
not even twins.” I elbow him.
Ginger
girl’s face falls. “Oh, that’s too bad. I’ve always wanted to be with twins.”
Carter
and I stare at her, then both shudder. No way. No. We step away from each other
at the same time.
I
scratch above my ear. “I’m too sober. I need a drink.”
“Let’s
do shots!” the veiled woman shouts.
“Tequila!”
They all scream and clap their hands.
I
volunteer to go to the bar for shots and beers.
Two
of the penis-wielding girls squeal about their favorite song playing, and drag
me by my hands to the dance floor. They sandwich me between them as they
screech out their love for the pop singer, the guy in the lyrics, and each
other.
I
spin the one in front of me, trying to reclaim a little bit of personal space.
She follows my lead, allowing me to step out of the girl-sandwich before she
slams back into her friend. Both go off balance and tilt into me, causing me to
grab the hips of a woman in a backless green dress to steady myself.
Rather
than shoving me away, she keeps dancing. My hands rest on her swaying hips.
Okay.
This works. I move closer, not like a typical club asshole or a dude in a body
spray commercial, but close enough I can feel her body heat.
The
purple tips of her long hair brush against my arms as she moves in front of me,
her body inches from touching mine. The floral scent of her shampoo mixes with
something beachy and tropical on her skin. She smells like vacation sex. Blood
begins to rush toward my cock and I still haven’t seen her face.
Two
pairs of arms wrap around my middle from both sides. Now I’m the meat in a
triple-decker sandwich.
“We
thought we lost you!” One of the blondes screeches.
“We’re
thirsty.” The other one pouts. Somehow her thirst requires her to shove her
breasts at me.
Distracted,
it takes me a moment to realize purple-tip girl has disappeared into the crowd.
“I’ll
get us some shots.” I wiggle myself out of their grip.
At
the end of the bar, I find a spot to stand.
Next
to me a guy shouts at the person on the other side of him. His tall, but
shorter than I am by a couple inches, and I can see where his hair is thinning
on top. Given he’s not that broad in the shoulders, the recipient of his anger
must be petite because I can only see her bare arm behind him. By the tone in
his voice, she must be a wife or a girlfriend. No guy trying to pick up a woman
would ever use that tone. Unless he is a complete asshole and being an asshole
is what gets him laid.
Her
voice carries over the music. “Stop being a jealous prick. I wasn’t dancing
with that guy.”
“He
was behind you, with his hands all over you ass. Trust me, you made it
perfectly clear you were interested.” He steps closer to her and mutters
something about never forgetting who’s paying for this trip.
She
moves out of his shadow and I catch a glimpse of dark hair with purple tips.
“Damien, stop being an asshole. Maybe if you ever decide to dance with me, I
won’t have to dance by myself.”
The
bartender stops in front of me, and I order tequila shots for the army of
bridesmaids currently being entertained by my brother.
“You
want to flirt with every guy in here all night, fine. I’m not going to stand
around and watch. If I want to waste money on trashy women, I’ll go to one of
the strip clubs down the road.”
“Did
you just compare me to a stripper?” Her voice rises, nearing an octave only
dolphins can appreciate.
“If
you dance like one, you might as well be one.”
I
let my gaze travel down her body. She’s not even showing any cleavage in her
green dress. Hell, most of her thigh is covered too.
“I
hate it when you drink too much and get like this.” When she turns, I let my
focus rest on the small dimples at the very bottom of her back, right above the
curve of her ass. She’s not skinny and I’m not sure if there’s a right angle on
her body. Her waist narrows about the roundness of her bottom. How had I missed
the perfection of it on the dance floor?
A
sharp jolt to my shoulder brings my focus back up. “Quit checking out my
fiancée, asshole.”
Whoa.
“I’m
not your fiancée! Do you see a ring on this finger?” She shoves her left hand
in his face before tucking all but her middle finger down. “Or this one?”
Two
beers and tray of tequila shots appear before me on the bar. I motion for two
more tequilas and hand the bartender a bunch of pesos.
He
pours the additional shots. I take one, down it and flip the glass on the bar.
No lime or salt needed. The burn hits the back of my mouth as I shake my head.
I lift the other shot and meet the green eyes of the woman staring at me.
“Here.”
I hand her the glass. “Sounds like you need this.”
“What
does that mean?” The jerk asks, puffing out his chest as he attempts to appear
bigger.
She
takes the shot and tipping her head back, swallows it. Her face contorts for a
second before she licks her lips and gives me a grin. “Thank you.”
“Now
you’re letting strange men buy you shots? I can’t even believe this. Who are
you?” He slaps his hand down on the bar.
“I
doubt he had time to roofie me, given that we’ve been standing here next to him
the whole time. In case you were worried about my safety.” Her tone is dry and
the smile is gone.
I
lift another shot and nod. She takes it and downs it like the other one, fast
and smooth. Like a champ.
“You
get drunk and puke, I’m not holding your hair.” Now he’s full out scowling. His
hands grip his biceps as he puffs out his chest like a rooster in some sort of
exaggerated macho posturing.
I’ve
had enough. The last thing this night needs is for me to be in the middle of
some lame-ass lovers’ quarrel. But I can’t stop myself from one, final parting
shot.
I
lean into her space. Even though the entire bar smells like the bottom of a
tequila bottle, her scent of sun and coconut surrounds me. I don’t whisper.
Nah, I want him to hear me. “His penis better be enormous.”
Keeping
my focus on her, I slowly lean away and reach for the tray of shots.
A
fist makes contact with my jaw. Shock more than pain sends me reeling back a
step.
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