Text Appeal

Once, the only thing that mattered to me was football - training, playing, and earning my place on the best team at every level. I had it all, and I threw it away with a semester of drugs, alcohol....

For my 30th birthday, I'm giving myself the one thing I want most: a baby. Sure, this would be easier if I had a husband - or even a boyfriend - but I refuse to be thwarted by minor details. When I drunkenly confess my plans to my friends, they convince me to ask Jake Jackson for help. Jake, the best friend who's been there for me through thick and thin. Jake, who also happens to be smart, funny, ridiculously good looking, and the winner of all the genetic lotteries.

I loved Bailey Green long before she watched her loser ex take his last breaths. I held her while they lowered his coffin into the ground, stilled her shaking hands when the nightmares would tear her from sleep. I waited for her through her grief. But while she was always willing to let me in her bed, she refused to let me in the one place I longed to be - her heart. Tired of playing second string to a dead man, I let her go. I moved to Florida to begin my NFL career and tried to pretend my perfect life didn't leave me empty.

The last thing I remember is having drinks at Brady's and trying to avoid eye-contact with my life-long crush - the gorgeous, unattainable Maximilian Hallowell. They tell me that was a year ago, but I have no memories of anything since then. What I do have is this ring on my finger that Max says he gave me, and this much-thinner body I've dreamed of most of my life. Aside from a case of retrograde amnesia, everything seems almost... perfect.

Sweet, nerdy, lovable Keaton. She's my best friend and has been for years. Sure she likes numbers and math, and thinks doing other people's taxes is fun. And I like...none of that stuff. She reads novels I'll never understand, and yet we just click. There's no one I'd rather share breakfast burritos with or binge watch hours of Netflix with. She's my person. And so when she takes off her glasses and asks me to help her improve her skills in the bedroom, I barely have to think about it. Of course I'll help her. There's no one better for the job. But what happens when she's ready to take her new-found confidence and move on?

For six generations, the women of wine country have had a saying: don’t bang a Hunter man unless you want a bun in your oven. Yeah, well. I’ve got a saying too: no thanks. The last thing I need is baby makes three. My business is expanding, and the only thing I’m interested in getting knocked up is my bottom line. But then one night, Emma Haverford makes me an offer I can’t refuse - she backs away from the land I have my eye on in exchange for a favor...a big, fat, baby-making favor....

No women. No hooking up. This is the oath I took in solidarity with my best friend after a particularly heinous breakup left him shattered. No problem, right? Wrong. Because lately, I've begun developing big, messy feelings for our best female friend who we both swore was off-limits since we were 16 years old.

Last night was the most embarrassing night of my life. I was that girl. You know, the highly intoxicated chick celebrating her 30th with her two best friends - the ones who are happily married. And the more I drank, the more I wanted to do something reckless to celebrate. By reckless, I meant the sexy and alluring man dressed in a business suit standing near the bar. 

Dean Maddox spent high school pushing all my buttons. Seven years later, we're working together. So much has changed, but he's the same arrogant jerk with the same penchant for teasing me senselessly. I still want to slap the cocky smirk from his face. And tear off his clothes. And kiss him like the ship is going down. I hate him. I want him. I can't...no, I will stop thinking about him. 

Have you ever set out to have a one night stand with a sexy stranger? No? I’m the only one? Just kidding, I would never. Ever. Not usually. But then I figured, why not? My entire life I’ve been good and it’s gotten me nowhere. No job. No apartment. No boyfriend. I’m owed a little fun, aren’t I?

I'm getting really good at cutting my losses. First, the husband. Divorcing him was the best decision I ever made. But between single-parenting and job-hunting, I can't catch my breath. When a celebrity blogging position falls into my lap, I'm determined to succeed. That is, until I get my first assignment and actually see Noah Frazier for the first time...practically naked and dripping wet. My heart races and I forget how to form complete sentences. His chiseled abs, irresistible smirk, and crystal blue eyes are too perfect to be real. So, what do I do? Get drunk and humiliate myself, of course.

As a chief stewardess on luxury superyachts, I massage egos, pamper the spoiled, and cater to the most outlandish desires of the rich and famous. I've never had a guest want something I can't give them. Until British businessman Hayden Wolf comes aboard - all sexy swagger and mysterious requests. But guests are strictly off limits and I've never broken a rule. Not even bent one. My family are depending on me and I can't lose my job. Only problem is Hayden Wolf is looking at me like I just changed his life. And he's touching me like he's about to change mine.

I couldn't have scripted a more perfect night. For one fantastic evening, at a masquerade party in the heart of Manhattan, I'm not the millionaire everyone wants a piece of. Fine - multimillionaire. But who's counting all those commas? Not me, and not the most intriguing woman I've ever met. And that's why I'm eager to get to know her more, since my mystery woman seems to like me for me, rather than for my huge...bank account. Everything's coming up aces. Until the next day, when things get a little complicated. (Newsflash - a lot complicated.)

The first time we met was at a party. Your ex arrived to show off the person he'd left you for last month, and you asked me to pretend to be your date. I was more than happy to help. You were attractive, smart and witty--and that kiss we shared? It left me wanting you for days. The second time we met was in my office on campus where we were both surprised to discover you were the new master’s degree student in poetry that I would be working with. You promised to be professional. I did no such thing. The late nights and intense study sessions spent alongside you majorly throw me off my game. I want you, and I fight with myself daily over this fact. I know I'm crass, that my sexual innuendos and dirty mouth annoy you, but I live for those two bright spots of color in your cheeks. If that's the only reaction I can get out of you, I'll gladly take it. You hate Mondays so every Monday I slip an anonymous poem into your bag and your smile gets me through the week. I think I'm falling for you, and I know it's wrong. I know that I'm only supposed to be the adviser to your program and nothing more, but here's the thing. I think you're falling for me too.

How to kick off a great summer in the Hamptons: Snag a gorgeous rental on the beach. Check. Get a job at a trendy summer haunt. Check. How to screw up a great summer in the Hamptons: Fall for the one guy with a dark leather jacket, scruff on his face, and intense eyes that doesn’t fit in with the rest of the tony-looking crowd. A guy you can’t have when you’ll be leaving at the end of the season. Check. Check. Check.