Coming February 19th!

Cora Kegan's day doesn't end well, and she finds herself fired from her waitressing job. When she returns home, she learns that her roommate ate the last drumstick, which makes her day even worse. Who doesn't like to drown their sorrows with ice cream?

Especially when that sorrow includes still having the hots for your ex-boyfriend, who just so happens to be your roommate...

What kind of trouble does she find when she visits a strip club to get his attention?

Pre-order your copy now!

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Chapter 1

Cora Kegan stopped in front of the blue couch where Jason Powell, her roommate, was lounging and placed her hands on her hips. “Did you eat the last drumstick again?” she asked. There was only one left yesterday, and she hadn’t even had her fair share yet.

He popped the remaining fragment into his mouth and shook his head, his gray eyes sparkling. “A dog ate it.”

“And I suppose that’s why you have chocolate on your face, dumbass?” After a long, hard day at work, she’d been looking forward to vegging out on ice cream. She leaned over and grabbed the yellow starfish pillow off the arm of the couch, whacking him with it.

“Hey! I’m unarmed,” he complained before seeking one for himself. He picked up the matching starfish beside him and hit her shoulder. She lost her balance and stubbed her toe on the edge of the coffee table, falling onto the gray recliner that had a “coral-patterned throw over the back of it. Cora screeched as the chair came dangerously close to tipping over backwards.

“How rude,” she said, throwing her pillow his way.

Jason knocked it out of the air easily, then settled back onto the couch again, putting his hands behind his head and his feet up on the wooden coffee table. “You hit me first,” he reminded her.

“You ate my drumstick,” she huffed, running a hand through her fiery, red curls, which danced like flames and changed to a deeper red as it flowed off her shoulders. Her fingers got stuck near a knot, and she struggled to untangle her hair.

Gah!

She must look horrible. When she stepped in the door not even ten minutes ago, she’d marched directly to the freezer without so much as checking her appearance, not that it really mattered. Only Jason was here, and he didn’t give two hoots as to what she looked like.

He’d seen her at her worst, like when she was drugged up in the hospital after getting her appendix out, and he didn’t bat an eyelash. Just for once, she wanted him to look at her the way he used to when they were in ninth grade and had dated for a brief period of time. He had taken her to the junior high graduation dance. His parents had even bought him this fancy black suit, which made his bleach blond hair stand out. Her stomach had been overtaken by butterflies.

But when Heather and Jared, two close friends of theirs, had a brutal breakup that same night—which tore their group apart as everyone was forced to pick sides—the two of them decided they were too young to get serious and didn’t want to ruin their friendship. If she and Jared had ended up on opposite ends of the friend spectrum, like the other two did, her heart would have broken in two.

Not to mention, their parents wouldn’t let them be in the same room alone anyway if they were dating. They made them keep the door open. And who the hell wanted their parents to overhear every single detail of their conversations? Not that they were spicy or anything, but a girl did need her privacy. Being friends didn’t change much, though. Their parents still made them keep the door open.

She was so glad when she turned nineteen that she was able to move out. Jason already had his own place but had gotten himself into a bit of a pickle. His last roommate, who had happened to be his girlfriend, had left him high and dry. Apparently, she didn’t like Cora being around, and she was always accusing him of cheating. So, after that, he let Cora move in. He said if she was going to be a kink in his dating plans, she might as well stay there, too. She was more than happy to get out from under her parents' thumb.

“Was the day that bad?” Jason asked, breaking her out of her reverie.

“Bad is an understatement. I slipped on some food and landed on my ass, sailing right across the floor just as Ray stepped out of the kitchen. I hit him like he was a bowling pin.”

Jason burst out laughing. “Did you at least get points for a strike?”

When she turned a glare his way, he pulled his lips inward and appeared to try to fight back another round of laughter but failed miserably. He wrapped his arms around his abdomen, unable to contain himself. It made her want to hit him again, but she never won those battles.

Brushing her hair from her eyes, she let out a noisy breath. “I sure did. It comes in the form of a final pay cheque.

That took the smirk right off Jason’s face. “Damn, Cora. I’m sorry.”

“I sure hope bad things don’t come in threes,” she said, resting her head against the recliner.

“Three? Did something else happen already?”

“Have you forgotten that you ate my drumstick?” she complained.

“Oh, yeah. But think of it this way—less calories for you, right?”

That jab burned in her gut, and she jumped to her feet. “Are you telling me I’m fat?” She knew she wasn’t a toothpick and couldn’t eat everything she wanted, but drumsticks were her one vice … even if she had to go to the gym regularly to work it off. “I’m going to bed.”

“Wait,” Jason said, but before he could get another word in edgewise, she stomped out of the room. He watched as she disappeared down the hall and into the bathroom. “Crap.”

That didn’t go exactly as he had expected. She wasn’t fat in the slightest. In fact, she looked pretty dang hot when she walked in wearing her waitressing outfit, reminding him of the outfits they wore at Hooters. The tight white shirt and black shorts that hugged her curves were enough to make his mouth water, but he didn’t dare show it, seeing as she wasn’t the dating type.

He was just happy they lived in the same house, even if he had to reign himself in a little. It was kind of like they were together, except for the sex part. They argued like a couple, fought over food, went out to movies, etcetera. The hardest part of their living arrangement was that he couldn’t get rid of the itch to kiss the living daylights out of her. It was like hell and heaven all rolled into one since she moved in two years ago.

After a while, she came out of the washroom in her cute little pajama shorts and tank top, her ivory skin glistening from her shower. He watched as she walked down the hallway to her room, her ass swaying. His cock hardened just thinking about what it would be like to have her in his bed.

Grabbing the starfish pillow, he placed it across his lap, just in case she came back into the living room. The light pressure against his crotch made him ache for relief. God. Living with her was like sweet torture, and it didn’t help that he could remember being the first one to touch her back in the day. He’d never felt anything so silky smooth as her arousal before. He knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. A heady sense of power had coursed through him at the time, and he almost came right then and there. But their friends broke up, her parents came home, and that was that.

Or maybe it was the thought of sex that had freaked her out. Even he had to admit that would have been a big step at that age. They hadn’t even talked about marriage or their future. And after they broke up, any discussions about their feelings for each other sunk like quicksand. She’d find ways to disappear anytime he tried, so he gave up. Better to be a friend than nothing at all, but he wished they were more than that.

However, the last thing he wanted was to push the topic and have her run away. He knew she had a bunch of money saved up and could take off anywhere in the world without him. She kept it in a tiny safe in her room. It was her rainy-day money.

Satisfied that his body had calmed down enough, he got up and walked past the couch and by the side table that had a mermaid-style lamp. She had put her stamp on the place pretty quickly, making it into her own private ocean cave. He couldn’t say he had a problem with her doing that. Her happiness made him happy, too.

He still had his man cave down the hall, which was his to decorate in whatever way he pleased. He had a fifty-five-inch television, a dark brown leather couch, and a mini fridge stocked with his favorite beer. Cora kept it stocked for him, not that he asked her to. It was where he went to watch football and get some private time when needed. Sometimes she sat with him, but most of the time, she left him alone.

Jason stepped into the kitchen and wandered over to their walk-in pantry after getting a serious case of the munchies. Technically, it was supposed to be their storage closet, but they needed more food space to cover his eating habits, and those of his friends, so they installed shelves that reached all the way to the ceiling. On his right were the canned goods, and on his left were the snacks and other boxed items. He reached for the nachos and glanced into the back corner where his hidden gun cabinet blended into the darkness.

He hadn’t planned on becoming a cop. In fact, he grew up not having a clue as to what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. But after witnessing a robbery that left a pregnant woman injured, it gave him a passion unlike any other. He disarmed the guy. It was almost like a high, but without the drugs. The downside of his job was he saw a side of humanity that made his skin crawl.

They lived in a very beautiful city on the Southwest coast of British Columbia, but it wasn’t without its dark underbelly, like most places. It was his mission to clean up the streets and make them safer for men and women alike. When tourists came to their fair city, he wanted them to see the beauty, and not the side that made them question whether they’d ever come back. But even as a cop, his hands were tied as to what he could do. Protocols and procedures made them walk a very narrow rope, and most law breakers knew it. That was why they dealt with the same people day in and day out. Sometimes he wished he could dawn a mask and take matters into his own hands, like all the superheroes on television; but if he ever got caught, he’d see the end of his badge.

Jason took the bag of nachos and moved over to the stove where he grabbed a cookie sheet from the drawer. He lined it with foil before dumping a crap ton of nachos on it. Turning on the oven, he went to the fridge and took out a block of cheddar and a jar of salsa. He grated enough cheese to cover every inch of the nachos and tossed the sheet into the oven. The more cheese, the better.

Hopefully it didn’t bring Cora out of hiding because if she came out in those cute little jammies, he wouldn’t be able to hide his excitement behind his cotton shorts. It was even more difficult now to hide his feelings, given how comfortable she was living with him. She’d often walk around in a towel, one that barely covered her butt. If he didn’t know her better, he’d say she was trying to purposely arouse him.

After a few minutes, he pulled the delicious smelling nachos from the oven, dumped them onto a plate, and filled a small glass bowl with salsa. He had a little while before he needed to hit the hay, so he quickly rinsed off the cookie sheet and returned with his snack to the man cave. An action movie was starting in a few minutes with Jackie Chan, and he had every intention of watching it. It would help get his mind off the fact that Cora was probably lying naked in bed. He hung his head when his body woke up again. “Down, boy,” he muttered. He seriously needed to get laid before he did the unthinkable, like march down the hall to her bedroom and tell her to do something about it.

But she had three older brothers that would whip him around by his dick if he so much as laid a hand on her. They threatened him with those very words the day she moved in. But, God, he wanted to rip the clothes from her body, tie her up, and release years of sex-crazed hormones that had been building up like mad. Okay, he definitely needed to watch a movie with things blowing up.

Oh, shitballs.

Jason groaned as he ran his hands down his face. His mind was seriously in the gutter tonight. He looked down at the pile of nachos, then to the bulge in his shorts as his cock tightened painfully. He gave himself a gentle squeeze and a tug, unable to stop the shiver that rippled through him.

The nachos would have to wait. He needed to take care of some business first, or he’d be in for one hell of an uncomfortable night. Standing up, he walked over to the door and opened it a crack, his cock creating a tent pole in his shorts. He stuck his head into the hall and made sure the coast was clear before moving towards the only bathroom in the house.

Her door at the end of the hallway was slightly ajar, light peeking out. As he neared the bathroom, he heard a quiet moan come from her direction and some other noise he couldn’t quite place. With his curiosity piqued, he side-stepped his way towards her room, careful to avoid the few squeaky spots on their carpet. He shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help it. Nearing her door, he caught a glimpse of her in the mirror, which was at the end of her bed. She still wore her tank top, but her shorts were long gone. Her eyes were closed, and her head was resting against the pillow, her fiery hair fanning the pillow. But that wasn’t what interested him. She was pleasuring herself with a vibrator, burying it deep inside her body.

Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hand involuntarily went to his cock, stroking it lightly, wishing like anything that it was himself inside her. He wanted to know how warm she felt, if it was anything like before. Did she leave the door open so he would see her? Did she want him to come in? Normally, the only time he knew she had pleasured herself was when she walked out of her room with rosy cheeks, eyes dilated, and a sweet-smelling fragrance emanating from her.

He hadn’t realized how close he was to coming until he felt his shorts slightly damp with pre-cum, and he dropped his hand. Oh, God. This was wrong, so wrong. He turned his back, swearing under his breath. It wasn’t his place to watch—it was her private time. Quietly, he slipped into the bathroom and shut the door, breathing hard.

Dumping his shorts on the floor, he turned on the shower and stepped inside, pulling the curtain closed. He swore to himself that someday soon, he’d find relief by her hand. That is, if she didn’t kill him for suggesting it. But tonight, he’d find relief by his own and imagine it was hers.

And he did just that.

Excerpt From The Handcuff Proposal: A Short Story by Patricia Elliott

This material is protected by copyright.

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