Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 27906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27906 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 140(@200wpm)___ 112(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
This beauty brings out his beast.
Millionaire Justus “J.T.” Reese is charming.
Charismatic.
Captivating.
And he’s also the perfect candidate to play pretend boyfriend to the celebrity dancer Janae Boucher while they’re both away on a tropical vacation...
Fake Dating
Small Town Romance
Alpha Male
Vacation Romance
Forced Proximity
*This is a STANDALONE NOVELLA in a FINISHED Series featuring a side character found in the main portion of The Private Series
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter 1
J.T.
I’ll admit it.
Being interrogated about my love life by a 5’5, beautiful, light honey brown skinned woman proudly sporting an “In Spock We Trust” crop top is not at all how I saw this weeklong nerd event going.
I’m not complaining.
I’m simply saying.
Noting.
Putting it in the Captain’s Log – for my fellow Trekkies out here – or secretary notes – for my business crowd companions – or even the side panels – for my fellow comic book warriors like my best friend who is seething that I’m on a tropical resort vacation with his wife who just so happens to be my other best friend.
This is really fucking unexpected.
Even for me.
“You’re here alone…” confirms the brown eyed beauty at the same time she leans one arm onto the outdoor-beach side bar top, “but you’re not alone? You’re waiting for someone?”
Waiting seems like an oversell.
Brynley Winters Wilcox – the spouse to my aforementioned best friend as well as business associate – said she’d meet me down here.
Eventually.
She insisted on a mimosa-induced nap first.
Which I couldn’t argue with.
I mean…I probably could’ve.
I’m quite persuasive.
Especially in the boardroom where it matters.
I’ve initiated and closed more deals than I’ll ever get credit for – since it’s technically not my name on the enterprise – so I guess a more accurate statement would be that I opted out of arguing with her.
Afterall, the chick’s been on a long, warp speed, put everyone else first journey for quite a bit.
It’s about time she’s given an uninterrupted moment alone to rest and rub one out.
And I’m only privy to the last bit of information because I swear to the Gorn Captain that woman lives to make other people squirm.
Or maybe just me and Wes.
Or maybe just Wes.
Definitely Wes.
She’s been doing it since the day they met.
Er.
Sort of met.
They’ve got an unconventional love story.
And honestly?
It gives me hope that someday I can have my own.
That strange complications in that department can be character builders and not just relationship enders.
Rather than regurgitate any of that unnecessary info – and it is so unnecessary to a total stranger – I simply angle my baby blue “Don’t Phase Me, Bro” t-shirt covered torso to better face her and casually shrug. “Not really waiting for someone so much as just here in case they decide to show up and join me.”
“Is the someone who might show up to join you your wife?”
“Fuck no.”
“Girlfriend?”
“Definitely no.”
“Best friend you secretly wish were your girlfriend or wife?”
“Contrary to some rumors out there…still a cosmozoan sized no.”
The long, tone legged, tattered jean shorts wearing female leans in a bit closer prior to inquiring, “Boyfriend?”
“No,” is quickly followed by me gesturing to my attire, remembering the last time a stranger poorly guessed my relationship preferences, “but is it the color?”
“The shoes.”
My hazel stare instantly slips down to examine my denim blue boat footwear. “The style?”
“The tassels.”
Alright.
Maybe Bryn was right.
Maybe those really do only belong on expensive curtains and stripper titties.
“So, what I’m hearing…” the straw fedora sporting bombshell slowly begins, pulling my gaze back up to hers, “is that you’re a free agent?”
“Correct,” escapes in an airy chortle.
“Unrestricted or restricted?” Her teeth steal an anxious bite out of her glossed, wide bottom lip. “Like you can feel free to explore the market to your career’s content or like there’s someone waiting by the phone to match an offer?”
There’s no stopping surprise and amusement from growing on my tan face. “Sports metaphors?” Mirth effortlessly deepens. “At a Star Trek convention?”
My nameless mystery lady sassily shoves a hand on her hip. “I’m complicated.”
“You’re perfect,” automatically leaves me as though someone else is now piloting my mouth.
Her long nose bashfully crinkles during her objection, “Far from it, Imzadi.”
It’s impossible not to lightly groan in gratitude at the overly geeky, obscure nickname that means beloved.
That label is simultaneously the sexiest and sweetest shit anyone’s ever said to me.
Also?
The most impressive.
Non-canon is so easy for too many people to overlook.
There’s still value in most of it.
Especially that novel.
I forgo the instinct to insist she’s anything other than flawless in order to feed my starving curiosity. “You read the book?”
“Listened.” Unexpected excitement rips through her expression. “I mean who could pass up the opportunity to hear Riker, read Riker, for a Riker based novel even if it wasn’t considered part of the actual franchise universe at the time.”
Am I dreaming?
Did I too drink a shit ton of mimosas on the flight here and am now in an alcohol-infused deep sleep?
You know what?
If I am?
Leave me here.
Let me die in this perfect fucking fantasy where I’m with the woman of my dreams who not only speaks my language but looks at me like I truly am her Number One.
Like it’s me who she wants to help run her crew rather than just being another red shirt member on board.