A comical love story about finding out who you really are and who you really aren't...
Tired of unappreciative losers who leave her behind, Quinn Gallagher decides it’s time for a whole new Quinn. Someone who is bold and brave and sexy.
So…what happens when one woman tries to reinvent herself to try and find love? With the help of a seventy-something former burlesque dancer; a crash course in fishnets, walking, and wooing; and a very sexy leading man; it can be good, it can be bad, but it is definitely hot and hilarious.
Warnings: This title contains graphic sex, language and a hefty dose of falling in love.
Word Count: 65,000
Available in Print
If he showed up tonight, I was screwed. I was exhausted, stiff and sore. I was not even in the same time zone as a sensual thought. I was pooped. I covered another yawn and glanced in the mirror. At least I wasn’t red, sweaty and smelly anymore. That was a big improvement. I examined my face in the mirror. A glow, much like my post coital sheen this morning, lit my cheeks and gave me a radiance I rarely possessed. “Not too shabby,” I told my reflection, then I whipped open my towel and flashed myself. This triggered a giggling fit. “Sicko,” I said to myself.
Intrigued, I dropped the towel and turned slowly in front of the mirror. I saw my naked reflection in a new light. Gone were the self-imposed criticisms and comparisons to other women. Now I looked at my body with a dancer’s eye. With the gaze of a sensual entertainer. Granted, I was gifted in the chest area but I’d never noticed the dramatic dip and swell where my waist met my hips. I turned some more, taking in the indentations on my bottom where the muscles flexed beneath my skin. I heard myself laugh when I spotted the dimple above my left butt cheek that had always vexed me. Now, I rather liked it. It was sexy. I wondered, briefly, what it would look like if I had a tiny tattoo placed in the center. A heart maybe. Or a butterfly. It could signify my transformation from old to new!
The doorbell rang and I let out a squeak. Oh damn. Frenchy had been right. I wasn’t even dressed. My face was naked, my hair was wet. I was completely devoid of any of my new found feminine wiles.
Another bong. Somehow it sounded desperate. I wrapped the towel around me as Pickle started his yipping that announced a visitor. I had no choice. I’d just have to answer the door au natural. Fuck.
I hit the bottom step and my left calf locked up in the mother of all charley horses. “Aarruh!” I cried, not able to stifle it. Tears came to my eyes and I hobbled toward the door, still clutching my towel. I peered through the peep hole as the muscles seized up again. “Christ!” I yelled. So much for presenting a sane façade. I couldn’t help it, though, it was excruciating.
“Quinn?” Keaton sounded worried.
“Coming!” I yelled, trying not to sound certifiable. I undid the deadbolt and the chain lock and opened the door. “Keaton, hi,” I said with forced cheerfulness. I tried to smile but it felt more like a grimace. I was walking in place, trying to loosen the charley horse. No luck, it locked in another painful contraction. “Fuck!”
His eyes widened and he gave a nervous laugh. Very similar to a laugh one would give while confronting an axe wielding lunatic.
“Quinn, what’s wrong? I’m sorry. You‘re mad because I stopped by again, aren‘t you? I normally don‘t pop in on people…it‘s rude. At least that‘s what my mother says.” Another self-deprecating laugh. Good to know that even Keaton was prone to nervous babbling. Nothing but concern lit his deep blue eyes and I felt like a flake. I had no choice. I could not fake my way out of this.
“No. I’m sorry. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I was practicing with Frenchy and I have a—” The pain flared again, hot and greedy. With a sharp cry, I bent to massage my tortured limb. The sudden motion dislodged the towel and it slid from me with a muffled whoosh of fabric. Keaton was inside in a blink, shutting the door with a bang.
“Not to barge in without being invited,” he mumbled, scooping me up into his arms, “but I don’t see a need to give the neighborhood a show.”
The pain was so intense that I didn’t have time to be embarrassed about nakedness, wet hair or a lack of makeup. My body bowed in his arms as the cramp shot through me again. I hissed and jerked, unable to stop, praying he wouldn’t drop me from my erratic movements.
“Charley horse?” he asked, eyeing my pointed toe and bulging calf. The muscles were visibly tightening even as we watched.
My courteous answer was, “Fuck, yes!” as the muscle popped out beneath my flesh before our eyes.
With a brisk nod, Keaton laid me on the sofa, grabbed my foot and placed it between his thighs. He clamped down with his thighs and grabbed the muscle, working it with his strong hands. “Ahh,” I relaxed a little as my calf muscle released a touch. I became aware of the fact that I was sprawled buck naked on the sofa and that Keaton had my leg between his thighs. My toes a mere centimeter from the fly of his jeans. I watched his tight jaw as he stared at the offending muscle with intense concentration. He kneaded my skin, forcing blood back into the area with fingers that seemed made of steel. “Oh, that’s working,” I sighed, my voice suddenly thick from a swift, sweeping flood of arousal.
This book was added to our catalog on Thursday 25 September, 2014.