LOL #3 Romantic Comedy Anthology Read online

  Suddenly, the chandelier over the kitchen table went on.

  Followed by Jody’s strangled cry. “Oh, Jesus.”

  Jake didn’t move. “Mind turning that light back off, Sis?”

  Darkness immediately returned. But they didn’t hear Jody’s departing footsteps on the stairs.

  Jake said, “I hope you don’t plan on watching.”

  “Oh, shut up,” Jody said, sounding distressed. “Uh, Sasha?”

  “Yes?” Sasha asked calmly, as if they were sitting in a café, separated by tea and scones, not Jake’s naked, protruding backside.

  “Are you, I mean, are you sure… ” Jody continued.

  “I’m sure.” Smiling, Sasha slid her hands over Jake’s hips.

  The lights flashed on again. “What’s going on? I heard a scream,” Simon said, sounding alarmed. “Oh. That’ll do it.”

  Jake flung his naked body over hers, crushing her into the sofa cushions. “Close your eyes and turn off the lights, damn it.”

  Sasha moved her hands, like little privacy curtains, over his bottom. She couldn’t resist caressing them a little.

  “Does ‘get a room’ mean anything to you?” Jody cried.

  “They’re in a room,” Simon said, just as the lights went out.

  Jake’s mouth came down on Sasha’s in a hot, deep kiss.

  “OK, OK,” Jody said in a rush. “We’re leaving! For God’s sake, give us a minute!”

  They were too caught up in each other to hear how quickly Jody and Simon clattered down the stairs.

  Which was a good thing. Jake was right: he didn’t last very long at all.

  After waiting so long for him, Sasha was glad to finally see him in a hurry.

  Epilogue

  JAKE HANDED SASHA THE BOX, his heart beating too fast.

  They’d been together for over six months now, had lived together for three, and he’d given her gifts before, but this was different.

  This was terrifying.

  And it wasn’t even something he’d made himself. Less than a year ago, he’d been nervous about giving his sister one of his paintings of a common garden herb. That was before his life had really begun, back when he had the depth of a Post-It Note and lived in a shadowy, dull haze.

  Now all was bright and wonderful—and terrifying.

  Was it too soon? He’d thought about waiting until their anniversary in the fall, but then they’d seen that baby at the neighbor’s down the street and looked at each other, and since then…

  Well, neither one of them was getting any younger. And hadn’t they waited long enough?

  Sasha took the small rounded box, laughing. “What, a ring already?”

  His stomach fell into his shoes. Reaching to reclaim the box, he tried to laugh along with her but could only manage a strangled grunt.

  She twisted out of reach, hugging the box to her chest. He’d just been kissing that chest. He wondered if he would ever kiss that chest again, or if he’d ruined his life forever. For all her talk of loving him since they were teenagers, blah blah blah, Jake was skeptical she really wanted to live with him forever. His love for her was mature and certain; hers could be just a habit, like the way she drummed her fingernails on the desk while she was working. Wanting him was a habit, and having him was nice and they were great together, but forever was a long time.

  “Jake?” She was watching him with worry in her eyes.

  Worry. He gritted his teeth and smiled at her through the pain. “Just open it.” Maybe she’d consider the idea. He could put the ring away until next year. Or the year after that.

  Biting her lip, she glanced at him, then slowly opened the navy velvet box. All hint of a smile fading, she stared at the ring in her hand and said nothing.

  “It was my great-grandmother’s,” he said. “I was going to buy you an ethical diamond somewhere, but then my mother said she’d love it if you’d accept this, which of course I would also love, but not for the same reasons. Not that I don’t also want to have grandchildren. I mean, children. And grandchildren eventually, of course, but my mom is thinking more short-term.”

  “Oh, Jake.” She regarded him with her big, beautiful brown eyes.

  “I’m sorry, it’s too soon.” He reached for the box. “And I shouldn’t have mentioned kids. I’m older than you, that’s the problem. Just forget it.”

  “Nice try.” She plucked it out of the box and held it up. Her eyes glittered like snowflakes in moonlight. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  He let himself consider the possibility she wasn’t unhappy about his gift. “You like it?”

  “It’s horrible. I’m going to move out after lunch.” She handed him the ring and held out her hand, fingers splayed. “Put it on my finger?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “About moving out, yes. About you putting it on my finger, no.”

  “Right.” Hands shaking, he aimed for the extended digit, holding his breath until it slid over the knuckle and rested just where it belonged.

  He was taking his first real breath in minutes when she threw herself at him, pressing her mouth against his. Anxiety disappearing, he embraced her eagerly and rolled her onto the sofa, kissing her like the first time, wondering at his good fortune, grieving at the lost years but always, always grateful it had all worked out in the end.

  “I love you,” he said.

  She put her arms around his chest and squeezed. “About time.”

  Author’s Note - Gretchen Galway

  Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the preceding story, Can You Love Me Now?, the newest installment in my bestselling Oakland Hills series. Sign up for my mailing list at www.gretchengalway.com and get a free short story! You’ll also hear about sales, free books, and new releases.

  LOVE HANDLES (Oakland Hills #1): When a couch potato inherits a fitnesswear company in San Francisco, sparks fly with her arrogant, Olympic medalist vice president.

  THIS TIME NEXT DOOR (Oakland Hills #2)

  NOT QUITE PERFECT (Oakland Hills #3)

  About the author: Gretchen Galway is a USA Today bestselling author who writes romantic comedies because love is too painful to survive without laughing. A native of the Midwest, she now lives in California with her husband and two kids.

  Gretchen Galway

  www.gretchengalway.com

  Snowbound

  Victoria Wessex

  DESCRIPTION: Arabella is broke, lonely and stuck at her dead-end job at a gas station way out of town… and there’s a blizzard coming. Then it gets worse: Jarrett, the football captain and king stud of her college walks in. He’s rich, cocky—everything she hates. So why can’t she take her eyes off of him?

  When the blizzard traps them together overnight, it feels like a fate worse than death for a wallflower like herself. But as secrets are revealed, she discovers they have more in common than she thought. And when the power goes out, the question is: how are they going to keep warm?

  GENRE: Romantic comedy with steamy scenes. 10,000 words or approximately 40 pages. This is a standalone short story with all-new characters and a happy ending. You don’t need to have read any previous Victoria Wessex books to enjoy it.

  HEAT LEVEL: Spicy

  Turn the page to begin reading Snowbound by Victoria Wessex, or click here to return to this anthology’s Table of Contents.

  Snowbound

  Victoria Wessex

  Snowbound

  9:57.

  I could have started closing up early. No customers had come in since late morning, panicked by the blizzard warnings. I would have been completely justified in closing up at eight or seven or even six and putting up a “Closed Due to Snow” sign and people would just have had to fill their tanks and buy their road snacks in town.

  But when I’d taken the job, I’d promised Mr. Harrison that I’d work from 4pm to 10pm, seven days a week, and that’s exactly what I was going to do. It was one of the few jobs I could work around my college classes and I nee
ded to keep it.

  9:58.

  It wasn’t just that, though. There was also a certain amount of pride involved. We were meant to be open until 10pm and if someone came along at 9.59pm and needed gas, I didn’t want them to find us closed.

  9:59.

  The road outside was empty, the sky already solid black. The snow wasn’t too deep, yet, but it was falling fast. Where the filling station’s lights lit up the blackness, I could see thick white flakes flying almost horizontally, whipped up by the wind. A thick, impenetrable void, surrounding the filling station completely and cutting me off from the outside world. It would have bothered some people, being all alone, so far out of town. Not me. If you’re on your own long enough, you kind of get used to it.

  It was cold, too, a full-on Wyoming winter, well below freezing even out of the wind and far below it if you were caught in the open. It was warm enough inside the station’s store, but only because I’d had the heaters on full blast all day. I wasn’t looking forward to getting into my freezing car for the journey home.

  10:00pm. There. Now I could close up and, if anyone else showed up, it was their problem. I turned off the heaters and shut down the cash register and card machine. Then I went outside and switched on my car’s headlights, because it was going to be pitch black when I turned the filling station lights off and I needed to see to lock up. I switched off the pumps and turned off the lights outside and finally the lights in the store. The darkness closed in around me, thick and heavy, leaving me in just the tiny island of light cast by my car’s fading headlights. I had to hurry, now, to lock up before the aging battery went flat.

  I fumbled with the key in the store’s door. My body was blocking the light from the headlights behind me, so it was difficult to see. The glass in the door was like a black mirror and I could glimpse my own reflection: red hair pulled back tight from my face and buried under my wool hat and hood, body wrapped up in a coat that was far too thin for the depths of winter and discount-store jeans that were already threadbare. I was still trying to find the keyhole when he rolled up.

  Bright red pick-up with a souped-up engine. Rock blaring out of the open windows, every seat filled with a muscled, hyped-up goon.

  That was what I called them—goons. Jock didn’t fit because they weren’t all into sports and cowboy was too vague because it described half the men in Mustang Falls. These guys, with their rich, ranch-owning parents and their parties and their giggling girlfriends? Goons. I didn’t know them personally, but I knew the type: exactly the same as the ones who’d made fun of me, all the way through high school.

  And then he jumped down out of the passenger seat. The head of all the goons. The one who very much was a jock, and the one I knew the name of. The quarterback, Jarrett West. Soft curls of black hair falling into his face. Big blue eyes that didn’t have a care in the world except which cheerleader to bang next. Girls went silly for those eyes and that body. He was all shoulders and chest, with a tight little waist and then big, powerful thighs. X-shaped. I’d seen him plenty of times, walking around college, often going to or from a training session in one of those tank tops that clung to his muscled chest.

  I mean, not that I’d looked. Not deliberately.

  Right now, he was wearing an expensive-looking padded jacket that looked a lot warmer than my old duffle coat. Even through its thick fabric, I could see the broad swell of his pecs, the powerful lines of his arms.

  “You want us to wait?” yelled one of his buddies. Why do they always have to yell?

  “Nah. I’ll get my dad to swing by and pick me up.” And he started to amble towards me.

  I gave him a very clear shake of my head. I pointed to my watch and then to the dark interior of the store in a very obvious we’re closed way. But he just grinned and kept coming.

  His buddies roared off in the pick-up, whooping about whatever goons whoop about.

  I wasn’t going to be intimidated. I drew myself up to my full height, which was still a full six inches shorter than him. I wished I was the sort of girl who wore heels. “You’re going to have a cold wait for daddy,” I told him. “We’re closed.”

  He tipped his hat back a little on his head. “I thought you didn’t close until ten?” That honey-and granite drawl that had separated so many college girls from their panties. I felt a little tremor run up my spine, despite myself.

  “It’s after ten.”

  He checked his watch. “I got two minutes to.”

  “Then that watch was overpriced.”

  He grinned. He had an annoying habit of doing that. When you disagreed with him over something he’d just smile and attempt to talk you round, instead of turning it into an argument. And I’m good at arguments. I’m not good with men smiling at me, even when I know it’s just a ploy.

  “C’mon,” he said. “I just need some snacks for a party. The pizza guy won’t come out in this snow. I’ll be two minutes.”

  I sighed. I could just tell him to go to hell and get in my car. But he was a customer and there was a part of me that was too proud to turn a customer away, even if he was a rich, arrogant, loudmouthed jerk.

  Jarrett went to the same college I did, in the next town over—Mustang Falls was too small to have a high school, let alone a college. Our experiences, though, were very different. I scrimped and saved and worked at the filling station so that I could major in physics. He waltzed in with a football scholarship when his parents could have easily afforded the fees. He occupied a completely different orbit to me, surrounded by his own little system of adoring female fans, all blonde and gorgeous. It was difficult to escape from Jarrett West, however much I tried. If he wasn’t walking the halls, surrounded by his entourage, he was grinning from the front page of the college newspaper, having won another game. He likely didn’t even know I existed and, if he had seen me at college, he probably wouldn’t recognize me now. I’m not someone people remember.

  “Come on.” He sounded sincere. “Please?”

  The please did it for me, even though he did it with that knowing, mischievous grin, as if he already knew that I’d say yes. I hate that. I hate some guy believing he knows what I’m thinking.

  “Two minutes,” I said at last, and opened the door. I walked in ahead of him and flicked the lights on, blinking in the sudden brightness. It was a relief to step in out of the cold, although it was already cooling down now that I’d switched the heaters off.

  I went behind the cash register and fired it up. Jarrett was still standing just inside the door, grinning at me. As if I was meant to be grateful that he’d stopped by. As if I was meant to clasp my hands together and simper like one of his cheerleaders. Oh Jarrett, you made my day. Come take me behind the bleachers! Here, hold my pompoms while I get out of this uniform—

  “Clock’s ticking,” I grated.

  He nodded and ambled around the store, picking up bags of assorted crunchy, salty goodness. My stomach rumbled. It’s not easy, being surrounded by junk food all day when you’re on a budget. But the store has the same jacked-up prices as any other filling station and if I bought food at work I wouldn’t be able to pay my rent.

  Of course, the inflated prices didn’t bother Jarrett. He filled his arms with snacks and ambled over to the counter. How did he amble, anyway? How was everything he did so goddamn effortless?

  He grinned, tipping his hat an inch like a cowboy in an old movie. “Obliged.”

  For some reason, I flushed at that. I’ve no idea why. I hadn’t really seen those blue eyes so close up, before and, now that I could see it better, all that soft, coal-black hair was sort of… touchable. The idea of him as a cowboy and me as a—I don’t know, a schoolmarm or something swam into my mind. Some sepia-tinted, warm little fantasy world where guys like him were interested in girls like me.

  I grabbed the snacks from his arms and started scanning them through. I was being silly. He was nothing like an old-fashioned cowboy, all honest and courteous. He was just joking around. I finished scannin
g and pushed the pile of snacks towards him. “Eighteen dollars sixty,” I told him.

  He just grinned at me, showing teeth as white as the snow outside. “Arabella, right?”

  I blinked. The filling station is far too small to have things like employee name tags, so my name wasn’t pinned to my breast. So how did he… ?

  He was waiting for a response, so I said, “That’s right.”

  “I’m Jarrett.”

  I was still getting over the fact he knew my name. “I know who you are,” I said, and it came out a little harsher than I meant it to.

  “Ouch. That doesn’t sound good.” Another grin. He dimpled when he grinned.

  I felt a sudden need to get him out of there. He had his world and I had mine and, right now, he was invading my territory. I didn’t need to be reminded of how the other half lived. “Eighteen sixty,” I reminded him.

  He started digging for his wallet. “You should come to the party,” he said.

  Yeah, right. The shy, weird, geeky girl at the jock party. Invited as a joke or, at best, out of sympathy. I’d stand in a corner while people quietly made fun of my cut-rate clothes and then sneak out as soon as I could.

  “I don’t think it’d be my kind of thing, thank you,” I said.

  He leaned across the counter. “Having fun’s not your kind of thing?” There was something about the way he said having fun. All innocent, like he was talking about balloons and beer, but with an undertone of something darker—pulled-down bra straps and hands up skirts.

  I got a hold of myself. “Eighteen sixty.”

  He pulled out a credit card. I whipped it out of his hand and slammed it into the machine. A gold card. Figures.

  The machine flashed an error message. I wrinkled my forehead. It was usually very reliable. Then I spotted the “X” symbol at the top of the screen where the cell signal strength meter should be. “There’s no cell reception,” I said, mystified.

  I pulled out my cell phone and checked it. Across the counter, Jarrett did the same. Both of our phones showed zero bars.