Wrong Then Right
Love Happens #2
By Jodi Watters
Out May
15, 2015
Synopsis
Hope
Coleson is having a doozy of a day.
Wrongly terminated from her menial waitressing job? Check
Abruptly evicted from her run down apartment with prime views of the graffiti painted dumpster? Double check.
Thoroughly bedded by a smoking hot man with smooth moves and zero communication skills? Triple X check.
And it doesn't end there. Estranged family members are showing up like bad pennies, her precious savings account has been wiped clean, and she may or may not have a stalker.
So what's a desperate girl to do, but try her hand at love?
Retired Navy SEAL Beckett Smith doesn't make mistakes.
Yes, he drinks his way to the bottom of a beer bottle or six, on one too many occasions.
Sure, he's a well educated man who prefers to communicate at a level only slighter higher than your average poodle.
And yeah, he lost his legendary control and slept with his boss's sister, stripping her of more than just her clothes before making a quick getaway. Only it doesn't end there. Isolation isn't providing the peace he's seeking, the boss he considers a friend is ready to hand him a beat down and a pink slip, and the girl he can't stop thinking about is suddenly parked on his doorstep.
Wrongly terminated from her menial waitressing job? Check
Abruptly evicted from her run down apartment with prime views of the graffiti painted dumpster? Double check.
Thoroughly bedded by a smoking hot man with smooth moves and zero communication skills? Triple X check.
And it doesn't end there. Estranged family members are showing up like bad pennies, her precious savings account has been wiped clean, and she may or may not have a stalker.
So what's a desperate girl to do, but try her hand at love?
Retired Navy SEAL Beckett Smith doesn't make mistakes.
Yes, he drinks his way to the bottom of a beer bottle or six, on one too many occasions.
Sure, he's a well educated man who prefers to communicate at a level only slighter higher than your average poodle.
And yeah, he lost his legendary control and slept with his boss's sister, stripping her of more than just her clothes before making a quick getaway. Only it doesn't end there. Isolation isn't providing the peace he's seeking, the boss he considers a friend is ready to hand him a beat down and a pink slip, and the girl he can't stop thinking about is suddenly parked on his doorstep.
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My
love for steamy romance began when I was in junior high. A friend and I came
upon a dumpster of discarded paperbacks behind our small town's Ben Franklin
store. The covers were missing and each book was torn in two, split right down
the center of the spline, but I found that to be no obstacle as I scanned each
page looking for any love or lust words—and curse words, too. It wasn't long
before I was scouring the public library and our local discount store,
devouring anything labeled romance. I said a tearfully grateful goodbye to Judy
Bloom as Jackie Collins began ruling my world.
I live with my high school sweetheart turned husband and our three, beloved
DVR's, in the desert Southwest. Otherwise known as the surface of the sun
during the summer months.
My life long goals are to think before I speak, smile more and swear less, and
actually weigh what my driver's license states I do. And I have been
contemplating a hair color change for the last decade. I'm thinking red.
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