If you missed Episode Twelve, read it here.

If you missed Episode Thirteen, read it here.

If you missed Episode Fourteen, read it here.

If you missed Episode Fifteen, read it here.

Coral

“Thank you all for being here.” Dana, the bookstore owner, clasped her hands and smiled broadly at the packed room. “We’re so excited—and honored—to have bestselling—and local to Burton!—author Coral Jennings with us tonight. She’s going to tell us a little about the process of seeing her beautiful words turned into breathtaking films—and if we’re really nice to her, she might tell us about her new book, too.”

The audience chuckled appreciatively, and I forced my own smile to stay in place. God, I hated these things. I didn’t have a problem interacting with my fans on a one-on-one basis. I could sit for hours talking about my characters and listening to readers tell me how different stories had made them feel, what they hoped for the future of those characters . . . but standing up in front of a group of people, with the weight of their collective expectation falling heavy on my shoulders, I had to really focus to keep from panicking and running away. Fast.

But Dana, who’d opened her business in Farleyville, the next town over from Burton, had been such a cheerleader to me from my very first book that I felt an obligation to show up whenever she threw one of these events. Small, independently owned bookstores struggled these days, I knew. They were competing against the few remaining chain book sellers as well as the on-line giants. Dana was a savvy businesswoman who paid close attention to what her customers bought, and she’d begun working with local authors as a way of differentiating herself from other booksellers. Attendance at these monthly salons, as she called them, had swelled over the past year.

The applause jolted me from my reverie, and I glanced over to see Dana taking a step back from the podium, gesturing to me. Great. Showtime.

I took my place behind the microphone, placing my cards carefully on the stand in front of me, and lifted my eyes to the people in the seats, taking a moment to scan the crowd and remind myself that I was speaking to individual readers, not to a nameless, faceless entity. Sitting in the front row was Mrs. Elishman, who’d been one of my very first readers. She never missed one of my appearances if she could help it. A few seats behind her was Kevin Shewell. He’d started up a book club after getting hooked on my stories, and I’d made a few surprise video visits to the meetings.

My gaze stuttered when it swept over the other side of the room. Sitting on the end of a middle row was an all-too-familiar face, and when our eyes met, it felt as though everyone else disappeared.

What the hell was Dax Turner doing here?

**

I went hot all over, and for a long moment, I forgot where I was and what I was doing. It had been two weeks since the movie premiere, two weeks since our picnic on Sam and Meghan Reynolds’ farm. Two weeks since I’d admitted my sad history for Sexy Bartender Dude, letting him know that while I might be down for a hook-up, I wasn’t ever going to be interested in anything else.

When we’d left that day, we’d both been silent. Since my YouRideIt from Savannah had dropped me here at the farm, Dax had offered to drive me home, and I’d taken him up on it, thinking maybe I’d invite him in . . . and then we’d see what came next.

I couldn’t deny that I was attracted to him, and if he wanted to get down and dirty with me now that he understood I wasn’t going to get all mushy and insist that we were in love or any crap like that, I’d be open to it.

But Dax hadn’t said anything during our drive. I’d been mute, too, aside from giving him directions, telling him where to turn. And when he pulled up in front of the house I shared with Celeste, he hadn’t turned off the car or moved to unbuckle his seatbelt. Hell, he hadn’t even put the car in park.

So I’d stumbled over a goodbye and thank you for the ride, and then I’d grabbed my stuff and hightailed it into the house, refusing to look backward.

Since that day, Dax had texted me a few times, asking me to meet him for coffee or a drink . . . he’d even offered to drive to Burton to take me to dinner. But I’d declined each time. I wasn’t sure why, exactly, but something about the guy felt dangerous to me. Not in a stranger-danger kind of way—no, I trusted him completely. Maybe it was myself I didn’t trust. Maybe I was a little afraid that Dax might be a threat to the promise I’d made ten years ago, the one I’d kept faithfully since Jason had left me.

Dax had gone radio-silent over the past couple of days. I’d assumed that he’d finally given up on me. But now here he was, his face alert and serious as he and the rest of the audience waited for me to speak.

I pushed him from my mind. If I was going to get through this next twenty minutes, I’d have to pretend Dax Turner didn’t exist, or I’d end up stammering and babbling.

Drawing in a deep breath, I pulled up my big girl I’m-an-author panties and began to speak.

***

“I just loved the movie.” The woman in front of me hugged copies of three of my books as she gushed over the just-released film. “You did such a great job picking actors to play all those characters. I can’t imagine how you do it!”

I refrained from rolling my eyes, but barely. No matter how often I explained—as I just had at length during my speech—that as the author, I actually had very little or nothing to do with the casting and producing of movies made from my books, some readers still didn’t get it. Trying to correct her assumption now was a losing proposition, so I just nodded and smiled.

“Wait until you see the next one,” I replied. “You know, they’ve cast Diego Ramos as Thomas. And some of the filming is going to happen right here in Burton. I’m hoping to be on set for a few days.”

The woman wrinkled her nose. “I heard that. Do you really think Diego Ramos is right for that role, though? I mean . . .” She shrugged. “I guess he’s a good actor, but Thomas isn’t, um, you know.” She flipped her hand over. “What do they say now? Latino?”

Inwardly I bristled, but I managed to control my expression. At least I hoped I did. “I don’t think that really matters, do you? Thomas is a sexy guy with dark hair and tanned skin. I even mentioned in the book that he had some Spanish blood from a few generations back. I think Diego will be fabulous.”

“Maybe. But I’m not sure I’ll be able to see him as Thomas. After all, he’s not only Puerto Rican, he’s also—”

Dana interceded at that point, perhaps sensing that I was about to lose it. “Thank you so much for coming,” she said, guiding the reader kindly but firmly away from the table. “Have you seen our special movie display over here? We even have a couple of autographed scripts that are up for auction—all for charity, of course.”

I blew out a breath, slumping back into my chair. It had been a long evening, and I was pitifully grateful that the line in front of my table had finally petered out. I’d lost track of Dax after my talk had ended, and I assumed that he’d slipped away. He wouldn’t have any interest in getting books signed, so there wouldn’t have been a reason for him to stay. Although come to think of it, I wasn’t entirely sure why he’d shown up at all.

“You look like you could use this.” As if my thoughts had summoned him, Dax was suddenly at my side, setting down a steaming cup of coffee in front of me.

I tilted my head back to look up at him. “So you didn’t leave.”

He frowned. “No. Why would I leave? I came here to see you.”

“Oh.” I picked up the coffee and sniffed it, humming a little in appreciation. “You disappeared after I finished speaking.”

“I was waiting for your fans to leave.” He lifted one shoulder. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“Hmm. Thanks.” I pried the lid from the paper cup and blew on the coffee. I hated getting a burned tongue. “Why are you here, anyway? And how did you know I’d be speaking tonight?”

“I followed you on social media, and there was an announcement,” Dax replied, answering the second question first. “And like I just said, I’m here to see you. Since you turned down all my invitations, I decided to give it one last shot and just—show up.” He spread his hands. “That makes me sound like a stalker. But I honestly just wanted to see you again, Coral. I was hoping maybe we could go somewhere and talk.”

I squared my shoulders. “Haven’t we said everything that needs to be said? I told you that I’m not looking for a relationship. If by talk you mean we should go somewhere and get naked, I would definitely take that under consideration.”

“Since I was thinking about taking you to the little restaurant around the corner, getting naked doesn’t seem like the best plan,” Dax shot back. “God, Coral. When did I become the girl in this scenario? Here I am, telling you I don’t want to have no-strings-attached sex, and you’re acting like I’m the unreasonable one.”

“Because you are!” I raised my voice, and several customers still lingering turned their heads, reminding me that we were in a very public setting. I took a calming breath and went on. “I made myself very clear when we were on the picnic. I’m not looking for anything other than . . . friends with benefits. I’m not capable of more. Trust me. That part of me died with Jason.”

“And I told you that day that I call bullshit,” he growled. “If you’re so sure that you’re never going to feel that way again, why not give us a chance and prove it to me? If we start seeing each other and you can still honestly say that it won’t work, then fine. I’ll accept that. But I think you’re afraid of me. Of this.” He pointed to himself and then to me. “You’re scared shitless that you’ll fall for me, and that will somehow make what you felt for Jason . . . less.”

A mix of panic and fury, laced with something I else I didn’t care to name, rose within me. Struggling to keep my voice low, I stood up and stepped closer to Dax, just to make sure he didn’t miss anything I had to say.

“You don’t know me. You don’t know how much Jason meant—means to me. And I have to wonder why you’re going to all this trouble to chase after a woman who’s made herself very clear from the word go.” Anger made me impulsive and unreasonable—and careless with my words.

“As a matter of fact,” I went on. “What I think is that you liked the little taste of fame you got when we were at the movie premiere. You saw what it was like to have people cheering, reporters asking you questions, photographers taking your picture. And now that you got that taste, you want more, and you see me as the ticket. That’s why you keep asking me out. That’s why you stalked me here tonight.”

Dax’s eyes flashed with hurt and irritation. “If that’s what you really think of me—if you can believe that of me—maybe we don’t have anything more to say to each other.”

I swallowed a whole heap of regret and tossed my head. “Why the hell else would you be interested in me, Dax? That’s the question I’m asking myself right now. When you could have any woman in the world, why are you pursuing me?”

He took one step backward. “Did you ever stop and think that it’s because I really like you, Coral? Or that I can’t get the memory of the one kiss we shared out of my head? Did you consider that maybe I can’t stop thinking about spending more time with you—and that it has nothing to do with your job or your fame—” He spit out the word as though it tasted bad. “—but only because I really fucking liked you? Because I do. Or I did before you just made me feel like nothing more than a—a guy you hired to pretend to be your boyfriend.”

Before I could even take another breath, Dax turned and stomped out of the bookshop, vanishing into the darkness and leaving me with nothing but my own remorse and shame.

Want to know what comes next?

Episode Seventeen is coming next Friday, December 17th!

Do Coral and Dax stand a chance?

There are TWO more episodes of Bosom Buddies.

Don’t miss them!

What about Celeste?

If you didn’t read her story in TINSEL AND TATAS,

don’t despair . . .

TITS THE SEASON

is available here now!

If you missed Episode Eleven, read it here.

If you missed Episode Twelve, read it here.

If you missed Episode Thirteen, read it here.

If you missed Episode Fourteen, read it here.

Dax

I never considered myself a gambling man, but today, I was doing just that. I’d woken up this morning with Coral on my mind, the memory of that kiss—hot damn! That kiss!—still on my lips and the scent of her clinging to my tux jacket as I rolled it up to send it to the cleaners. I’d considered my options and decided I had nothing to lose by seeing if she was still in town and up for a late breakfast.

When Coral had responded that she was already on her way home to Burton, I hadn’t let that slow me down. I wasn’t the type of guy who was used to being told no by women—not that I was jerk about it when it did happen, and not that I ever pushed the issue. I’d been raised right.

Still, I’d gotten the sense the night before that Coral had been teetering on the verge of . . . something like saying yes to me. In her eyes, even as she’d told me that this was goodbye, I’d seen a tinge of regret, as if she was making that decision against what she really wanted. She was following the lead of her head instead of her . . . well, not her heart, necessarily, but maybe of her body.

So I’d pushed a little on the idea of a picnic. It had popped into my mind, and I’d run with it, thinking about the little mom-and-pop sandwich shop on the edge of town. When Coral had finally said yes, I grabbed my keys and headed out.

Now I was bouncing along a dirt road that was a dotted line on my navigation program, hoping I was going in the right direction and not about to run into an angry farmer with shotgun. Just as I rounded a corner, I saw a small figure standing beneath a tree, her back resting against the trunk as she bent her head over a book. Pulling onto the grass, I turned off the engine, slid the keys out of the ignition and climbed out of the driver’s seat.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

***

Coral lifted her head to look at me, and I felt a jolt when her eyes met mine. She looked completely different today; she wasn’t all dolled up for a date as she’d been the first time we’d met, or for a fancy premiere as she’d been last night. Today, she was dressed down in an oversized T-shirt and faded jeans with scuffed Chuck Taylors. Her face was clean without a hint of makeup and her short hair was tousled.

But to me, she’d never been so beautiful.

“Hi.” She pushed off the tree and took a few steps toward me, her hands still clutching the worn paperback. “You found me.”

It felt like those words meant more than what she’d said. You found me. Like she’d been lost, just waiting for the right guy to see who she was, to recognize her beauty, her worth . . . to sweep her into his arms the way I was longing to do.

I swallowed hard. “Yep. It was touch and go there for a minute. I was a little worried you’d sent me out in the middle of nowhere just to get me off your back.”

Coral smiled a little. “Nah. Trust me, if I was planning to get rid of you, I know all of the best ways. After all, I’m an author.”

“I’ll have to remember that. Might be a good incentive to behave.”

She laughed. “I’m not sure it would work with you. I have a feeling you’re kind of incorrigible.”

“I might be,” I admitted. And then, before I gave in to the desire to sweep this woman into my arms once again, I opened the trunk of my car. “Okay. I’ve got a blanket in here, and I picked up sandwiches, a couple of sodas, some chips . . . and oh, yeah, some napkins.” I scooped up everything we needed and slammed the lid of the trunk. “Sorry it isn’t fancier.”

“I don’t need fancy. Just food. I’m actually starving.” She patted her stomach. “What did you get me?”

“Well, I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just picked up their specialty. It’s an Italian sub with oil and vinegar. I hope you like it.”

“It sounds perfect.” She helped me spread the blanket, and we both sat down. “I’m not that picky when it comes to sandwiches. I love them all.”

“Good to know.” I handed her the paper-wrapped sub and a can of soda, and ripped open the bag of chips. “I like a girl who isn’t fussy.”

“Hey.” She shot me a mock-stern glance. “Don’t be sexist.”

I spread my hands. “I’m not. I don’t like guys who are fussy, either. I’m an equal opportunity disliker of high maintenance people.”

She grinned. “Okay, as long as we’ve got that straight.” Taking a bite of her sandwich, she groaned a little. “Oh, my God, this is so good.”

My body reacted to the sound as though she’d taken off a key piece of clothing. I watched in fascination as she chewed and swallowed, as her tongue darted out to swipe over her pretty pink lips. In my dark and dirty mind, I saw those lips wrapped around my—

“What did you get?”

“Huh?” I blinked, taking a deep breath. “Um, I got ham and cheese. I’m not a big fan of salami.”

Coral smirked. “Good to know.”

“Okay, listen.” I laid my sandwich on the open paper. “Let’s talk about something that doesn’t feel—you know, like, sex talk in disguise. Unless you want to forget this food and roll around on the blanket with me instead.”

She stared at me in silence for a long moment. “I didn’t realize we were, um, sex talking in disguise. Okay. Ah . . .” She inhaled, and I did my damnedest not to look at her tits. “So. Tell me about you. Are you originally from Savannah? Did you grow up there? Is your family still in the area?”

I struggled to keep up as we switched gears. “No, not from Georgia. I was born and raised in a small town in North Carolina. Family . . . I don’t have any left. None that I want to know, anyway. I have no idea who my father was, and my mother took off when I was a kid. Left me with my grandpa, and he brought me up.” I shrugged. “He owned a bar. We lived upstairs, and I started working there when I was still in grade school. You know, like, bussing tables and shit.” I reached for a chip. “My grandfather had a heart attack when I was twenty. He decided he wanted to retire, to live in town with his sister . . . and he didn’t want me to be tied to the bar for the rest of my life. So he sold it to his son, my uncle, and I headed south. Ended up in Savannah . . . because I met a girl.”

“Ohhhhh.” Coral wagged her eyebrows. “A girl, huh?”

“Yeah, and I was still young and stupid, so I thought I’d found my happy ending, you know? Got a gig at a local bar, worked a lot to get us a decent place to live, but before I could save up for the security deposit, I came home one night and found that while I was working, she was fucking another guy in our bed.” I shrugged. “So I took my shit and moved into the decent place by myself. I kept working, got better jobs when I could, and finally, I landed at the Gwynn. It’s a good spot for me. I like what I do.”

“And after getting your heart broken, you lived like a monk?” she teased. “All work and no play?”

“Hell, no.” I winked at her. “I’m not a dull boy, baby. There’s been a lot of play over the years. I don’t know that the girl who kept me in Savannah broke my heart, though. More like my pride. And maybe she hurt my trust in people.”

“Hmmm.” She took a long drink of her soda. “I get that. And it was her loss.”

“Thanks.” I finished my sandwich.

“What about your grandpa? Do you ever go see him?”

I shook my head. “I did, but he died two years ago. My uncle sold the bar to a company that tore it down and built some chain restaurant. So no reason for me to go back there.”

“I’m sorry.” She reached one hand to cover mine and then seemed to think better and withdrew her touch. “That sucks.”

“Nah. It’s fine. Gramps was ready to go—he’d gotten pretty sick at the end. And my uncle wasn’t running the bar the way it deserved, so that needed to stop, too. I don’t have any regrets. It’s not my thing.” I stretched my legs out and leaned back on my elbows. “That’s me. Now tell me about you.”

“You know about me. Author. Klutz. Unrepentant babbler.” She lifted one shoulder. “That’s me.”

“No, it’s not,” I corrected. “You’re a talented and successful author who gets her books made into movies. You have two very loyal best friends who think you’re the shit. And they told me that you’re glad to play matchmaker for them, but that you never date.”

“That’s not exactly true,” she countered. “I just don’t have relationships. I have my fair share of dates.” Her cheeks went slightly pink. “I don’t object to one-night stands.”

“Oh, really?” I cocked my head. “But no relationships. Why is that? I’d think the romance author would be all over finding her own happily ever after.”

“Maybe I already did find it, and I know I’m not going to get it again.” She dipped her gaze to the blanket between us, her teeth sinking into her full bottom lip.

“Now that needs some explanation. Sounds like there’s a story.” I nudged her hip with my foot. “Spill it, writer woman. I need to know.”

Coral flickered her eyes to me. “It’s not a pretty story, Dax. No happy ending in this one.”

“I figured. If it did, you wouldn’t be sitting here with me.”

“True,” she admitted and then took another deep breath. This time, I did let myself ogle her chest. Just a little.

“Okay. Um, when I was seventeen, I found a lump in my breast.”

“What?” I frowned, bringing my attention back to her face.

“A lump,” Coral repeated patiently. “I was young, and everyone figured it was just, you know, a gland or something. Maybe a cyst. But my mom was always super vigilant, so she took me to her doctor, and they did a mammogram, an ultrasound, then a biopsy. And it was cancer.”

“Fuck, Coral.” I sat up straight. “Holy fuck. You had fucking breast cancer?”

“I did.” She nodded. “And so I was in and out of the hospital for over a year. In the end, I responded well to the chemo and radiation—it was grueling, brutal, and nothing I ever want to live through again—and I went into remission.” She tapped her head with a crooked smile. “And knock on wood, twelve years later, I’m still okay. At least, I’m still cancer-free.”

“Crap, Coral. I didn’t have any idea.” I raked my hand through my hair.

“No, because I don’t make a big deal out of it. But that’s not my point.” She leaned back on her hands, staring over my shoulder. “While I was in the hospital undergoing treatment, I met Jason. We fell in love. I found my soulmate when we were both in the fight for our lives.”

I didn’t like where this was going. “Jason, huh?”

“Yeah.” Her lips curved slightly. “He was sweet and earnest and he had a very aggressive form of brain cancer. But still, he was doing incredibly well. The doctors were optimistic, and we . . . we were wildly in love. We spent every minute together that we could. We had sex for the first time the day after the doctor told me I was in remission.”

“Oh.” I pictured a younger Coral, and my heart ached for the girl she had been.

“A couple of months later, Jason told me he had to go for an overnight procedure to have a shunt repositioned. He joked that it was such a small thing, the prep was going to take longer than the procedure. And it did—it was successful. I went over to see him when he was back home, and for the first time ever, we made real plans. We talked about where we wanted to go to college, when we wanted to get married, what we wanted to do with the rest of our lives . . . then before I left, I kissed him goodbye and said I’d see him in the morning.” She paused. “But I didn’t. He never woke up. There was—an aneurism. No one knew, no one could’ve known. He died in his sleep . . . painlessly, the doctors told us. They said he never would’ve known.”

“God.” My voice was raw. “Fuck, Coral, I’m so sorry. You were just a kid.”

“I was, in a way. And in another way, cancer makes you grow up fast. So does death. I wasn’t a kid anymore.” She squared her shoulders. “And I knew then, just as I know now, that I’d had my one chance at real love. Jason was my soulmate. He was who I was meant to be with, and when he died, part of me did, too.”

I understood now why she’d been so resistant to my overtures last night. “You don’t know that. You were so young. Wouldn’t Jason want you—”

“Don’t do that.” She held up a hand. “Don’t you think everyone has said this to me? My parents, my friends? But they don’t know what I feel. What I know.” She shook her head. “And I know that Jason was it for me. I might have . . . like, hook-ups, friends-with-benefits, sex dates, but I’m not going to fall in love. Not again. Not ever.”

I should have been ecstatic by this news. After all, hook-ups and one-night stands were my jam, right? I should’ve been relieved that I had a shot to get naked with this woman who turned me on in a big way without having to worry about catching feelings.

But instead, as we slowly began cleaning up from our picnic, all I felt was a hollow sense of despair.

Want to know what comes next?

Episode Sixteen is coming next Friday, December 10th!

Do Coral and Dax stand a chance?

There are THREE more episodes of Bosom Buddies.

Don’t miss them!

What about Celeste?

If you didn’t read her story in TINSEL AND TATAS,

don’t despair . . .

TITS THE SEASON

is available here now!

If you missed Episode Ten, read it here.

If you missed Episode Eleven, read it here.

If you missed Episode Twelve, read it here.

If you missed Episode Thirteen, read it here.

Coral

I always feel like Cinderella on the day after big events like the movie premiere. Sure, I put on the dress and the glass slippers and rode to the ball in the carriage, but after midnight struck, I’m just a girl in rags with a pumpkin and a long list of chores.

On the morning after my evening with Dax, the feeling was even worse. I’d spent the night in my lonely bed at the hotel tossing and turning, restless with frustration and regret. I couldn’t help wondering what might have happened if I’d let Dax come back to my room with me, if I’d allowed myself to believe what he’d been saying—that the red-carpet kiss had been for real. Would my bed have been less lonely? Would he have stayed with me all night? And instead of being bleary-eyed and numb the next morning as I prepared to check out, mindlessly tossing my finery and cosmetics into my suitcase, would I have been blissfully relaxed, enjoying a sexy breakfast in bed with my super-hot lover?

Well, I reasoned with myself, we’d never know. I’d sent Dax away last night not because I wasn’t attracted to him but because I was. And, come on now, let’s get real—it wasn’t just the physical draw, although that was there in spades. It was that I honestly and genuinely liked him, and that was a dangerous proposition.

I wasn’t a prude about one-night stands. Hell, hook-ups without any strings attached were my jam, though I didn’t go around proclaiming that. Even Celeste and Sabrina were largely unaware of my assignations. Hey, I didn’t love how these things happened, but a woman has needs, after all. And since I knew that love wasn’t in the cards for me, tumbling in the sheets with random dudes was the way to go.

But I had standards. I didn’t sleep with men who I didn’t like—that was one reason Dr. Dopey hadn’t made the cut—and I also didn’t sleep with men who I liked too much. If there was even a whiff of a possibility that the situation could morph into romance, that was a deal-breaker.

I didn’t do romance. And I sure as hell wasn’t showing up for love. Been there, done that, had the ugly scars to show for it. I’d handed over my ability to love when I was eighteen years old, and I never planned to take it back. Thanks very much.

And that was why I was alone today, skulking out of the Hyatt in dark sunglasses as my rolling suitcase bumped along behind me. I smirked to myself as I waited for the YouRideIt that was going to carry me back home. I’d arrived here yesterday with so much excitement, all shiny and glowy, ready to be a temporary star. How quickly the mighty fall. If I’d done something crazy and impulsive like indulged in wild, sweaty sex with Dax the smoldering bartender, would that glow have lingered a little longer? Maybe. But then again, maybe not. It was possible that I’d feel grimy and uncomfortable.

Probably not, but it was better to think that way.

***

The car pulled up to the curb, and I climbed inside, smiling briefly at the driver who asked me if I was all right for him to listen to the radio on the ride to Burton.

“Oh, sure.” It was actually a relief that I wouldn’t feel pressured to make small town with a stranger when all I wanted to do was close my eyes and think about absolutely nothing for forty-five minutes.

I was doing just that when I felt a buzzing in my ass. It took me a minute to realize that my butt hadn’t fallen asleep; I’d tucked my phone in the back pocket of my jeans.

With a sigh, I tugged it out, yawning as I blinked at the screen.

TEXT FROM HOT BARTENDER DUDE

I bit back a smile. I really needed to change that entry . . . or crap, maybe I should just delete it. I’d made the decision that Dax wasn’t safe for me to be around. That meant I should take his number off my phone, and I definitely, positively shouldn’t answer this text. Hell, I shouldn’t even read this text. I should hit delete and move on.

And yet my finger hovered over the notification, and before I could second-guess myself—or should that be third-guess myself?—I’d touched it, making the message pop up.

Hot Bartender Dude: Hey, Coral. Thanks again for last night. I wanted to say I’m sorry if I was pushy at the end. I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable and ruin what had been an incredible time.

Three dots appeared, indicating that he was typing. Then they vanished . . . and then reappeared. I waited to see if anything else showed up, but the dots stopped again.

After a moment, I blew out a long breath. I shouldn’t answer. Right? I should ignore it.

Coral: You didn’t make me uncomfortable. And I’m the one who should be thanking you. Again. Because you did me a huge favor, and I appreciate it. And you weren’t pushy. You were actually kind of sweet.

Hot Bartender Dude: Sweet. Yeah, that’s the vibe I’m going for.

Coral: I meant it in a very strong, masculine way.

Hot Bartender Dude: Sure you did. If you’d seen how many times I wrote and rewrote that message, you’d be thinking again.

Coral: Awww, that’s even sweeter.

Hot Bartender Dude: Awesome. Let’s start again. Hey, beautiful, what’re you doing? Are you still at the Hyatt?

Coral: No, I’m on my way home. The ball is over. Cinderella has left the building.

Hot Bartender Dude: I always thought old Cindy was a much more interesting girl when she was at home than when she was in that overgrown pumpkin. Anybody can put on fancy clothes and be someone they’re not. Singing while you clean a floor takes real balls. And you’re so much more than the person those reporters saw last night.

Coral: Oh, yeah? How do you know that? From one hour of me moping at your bar and a single movie date?

Hot Bartender Dude: I’m a good judge of character. It comes from years of bartending.

Coral: Better training than psychotherapy, huh?

Hot Bartender Dude: You know it. So when will you be home? And what are your plans for the rest of the day?

Coral: About half an hour, I think. Plans for the day include crawling into bed with a cup of tea and reading until Celeste brings me barbecue for dinner. These events always wear me out.

Hot Bartender Dude: So does that mean you’re too tired for a picnic?

I paused, my thumb over the keyboard. A picnic? What was he talking about?

Coral: I didn’t see a picnic on my schedule for today. Might be tough to do that from my bed.

Hot Bartender Dude: If you haven’t had a bed picnic, darlin’, you’re missing out. But I was talking about eating lunch outside. It’s a pretty day for October. The sun is warm, and I have the day off.

Coral: But you’re in Savannah.

Hot Bartender Dude: So were you a few minutes ago. See, there’s this thing called driving, and turns out I can be in your neck of the woods with lunch in hand by one.

Coral: But why? Last night was wonderful, so much fun. Maybe we should just leave it at that.

Hot Bartender Dude: Or we could go for a picnic and see what happens next.

I let my head fall back against the seat, closing my eyes. I was so tempted. So very tempted. Dax made me wanted to believe that unreachable dreams were possible. And a picnic . . . it was a beautiful day. I’d been inside for too many weeks, working hard to meet my last deadline, and the idea of sitting in the sunshine with a man like Dax . . .

Hot Bartender Dude: Are you still there? What do you say, gorgeous? There’s this sandwich shop right on the way outside of town, and I promise, my picnic won’t disappoint. Tell me where to meet you, and I’ll be there.

I bit the side of my lip. This was dangerous. Dax himself was a huge threat to my fenced-off heart, and if I let myself relax, I might be in danger.

Don’t be ridiculous, I told myself sternly. There’s no risk because you’ve already gone through the worst day in your life. This is a damn picnic. What’re you afraid of?

Picking up my phone again, I typed out a response.

Coral: There’s a place I know. It’s by a lake on a farm—I know the owners. Sending you the directions now. See you there at one.

Tucking my cell away again, I exhaled a long breath and gripped the edge of the vinyl seat, hoping I wasn’t making a horrible mistake.

Want to know what comes next?

Episode Fourteen is coming next Friday, December 3rd!

See what happens at the picnic . . .

There are FOUR more episodes of Bosom Buddies.

Don’t miss them!

What about Celeste?

If you didn’t read her story in TINSEL AND TATAS,

don’t despair . . .

TITS THE SEASON

will be released Tuesday as a stand-alone!