Links
by
Lisa Becker
Genre:
Contemporary Romance
"Witty,
heartfelt and emotionally satisfying. Everything I want in a second
chance romance! Once I picked it up I couldn't put it down!" #1
New York Times bestselling author Rachel Van Dyken
In
high school, Charlotte Windham went through a typical ugly duckling
phase - glasses and all, while harboring a crush on Garrett Stephens,
the school's athletic heartthrob. Fifteen years later, Charlotte and
Garrett have a chance encounter at a Los Angeles restaurant. However,
this time around, Charlotte has leveled the playing field. She’s a
bestselling novelist and no longer “Glasses,” the humiliating
nickname Garrett gave her. She’s a catch and, thanks to corrective
eye surgery, it’s not just her eyes that see better…so does her
heart! Garrett hasn’t fared poorly either, transforming from teen
heartbreaker to adult lothario and is now a successful professional
golfer suffering from a possible career-ending injury. Can Charlotte
forgive Garrett for his past ways, and more recent Don Juan
lifestyle? And, can Garrett change his ways for a second chance with
Charlotte, who may just be perfect for him?
Lisa
Becker is a romance writer who spends her time like she spends her
money - on books and margaritas. In addition to Clutch: a
novel, she is the author of the Click trilogy, a contemporary romance
series about online dating and Links, a standalone, second chance
romance readers. As Lisa’s grandmother used to say, “For
every chair, there’s a tush.” Lisa is now happily married to a
wonderful man she met online and lives in Manhattan Beach, California
with him and their two daughters. So, if it happened for her, there’s
hope for anyone! You can share your love stories with her
at www.lisawbecker.com.
Follow
the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
Chapter One
Garrett
Present Day
Damn! I’m late...again. You’d think with nothing to do, I’d get my
act together enough to be on time for a family lunch. I fell asleep on the
couch after my rigorous night’s activities with Dani, spelled with a heart over
the “i.”
She’s a Laker girl. It took
me three weeks, and a dinner reservation at Genevieve, to convince her to go
out with me, but it was worth the effort. She was insatiable in bed and her
flexibility was a total turn on. Without much sleep last night, it’s no wonder
I passed out on the couch after my morning workout.
I rush past the valet and
glance at the incoming call on my cell phone thinking it’s Mom checking on my
arrival status. It’s not Mom. It’s only been a few hours since I slipped out of
Dani’s bed before she woke up this morning and she’s already calling me for the
second time today. I let it go to voicemail again and figure she’ll get the
hint. Then again, she likely won’t. Dani with a heart over the “i” isn’t the
brightest bulb in the marquee.
As I race to the
restaurant, I scowl knowing Mom’s going to have my head. Actually, she’s
probably used to it by now. I’m surprised they don’t give me fake arrival times
knowing I’m always ten minutes behind.
I rush through the
revolving door of the restaurant, through the bar, and smack into a woman. She
brushes against my bum shoulder and the pain burns right through me. Minding
the manners Mom hammered into me from a young age, I mutter, “Sorry,” when I’m
honestly not. I look down and notice something familiar about her.
“Hi, Garrett,” she says,
sharing a small smile. “It’s been a long time. How are you?”
“Um. I’m fine.” My brows
furrow as I wrack my brain trying to figure out who the hell this woman is.
She’s short, about five two and roughly my age. I glance down and notice full,
round breasts, slightly wide hips and thick thighs. Not my usual type, so I’m
pretty sure I haven’t slept with her. At least I don’t have to worry about that
embarrassing scene. She’s got chocolate brown eyes, looking at me with warmth.
“And...how are you?” Shaking my head I am still trying to place her.
“I’m doing well,” she
replies, her smile growing.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I
say, trying to be polite and end this awkward reunion that clearly has me
clueless.
“Well...I guess I should
go.” She turns back and waves to a woman sitting in a far booth of the
restaurant. On further inspection, she’s waved to Lindsay, my sister, who of
course made it to our family lunch on time. Seated with her are my parents,
with Mom frowning at me and shaking her head. Like she didn’t expect I would be
late. Marcus isn’t here yet either. Guess the twin thing really does run deep.
“You know Lindsay?” I ask
her.
“Uh, yeah,” she says, with
a small chuckle and a noticeable hint of sarcasm.
“My parents?”
“Of course.” She shakes her
head slightly like it’s hitting her I have no damn clue who she is. Then she
confirms my suspicions and just lays it on the line. “You don’t know who I am,
do you?” Her eyes are alight with humor.
“Umm. I’m afraid you have
me at a disadvantage,” I splutter, rubbing my hand behind my neck – my tell –
before flashing her my most charming, dimpled smile. Before she can respond, a
lady in her mid-sixties with salt and pepper hair wearing an outfit appropriate
for someone twenty years younger – but this is LA after all – walks over.
“Pardon the interruption,”
she begins. “I would just be kicking myself if I got home and didn’t take
advantage of telling you what a big fan I am.”
“Oh, thank you,” I say,
turning on the faux charm I reserve for situations such as this.
“My husband and I loved
your book.” The lady turns fully toward this mystery woman. “I wish I had it
with me for you to sign. Maybe I could get your autograph on something else?” I
cock my head to the side and watch Mystery Woman. She turns back toward the elderly
lady and smiles sincerely.
“Sure. I’d be happy to sign
something.”
The lady reaches into her
oversized zebra-print bag and produces a pen and small notepad. She hands them
to Mystery Woman and turns to me, smiling.
“Who should I make this out
to?” asks Mystery Woman.
“Donna and Frank. Your dear
friends, Donna and Frank.”
“My... dear... friends...
Donna... and... Frank,” Mystery Woman murmurs aloud as she writes. Watching her
autograph the paper, I can’t help the grin spreading across my face. Once she
finishes, Donna reads through the note, her eyes widening with delight.
“Thank you, Charley,” she
says.
“My pleasure,” replies
Charley – Charley? – who looks tickled.
“Charley?” I rack my brain
to no avail.
“Yes,” replies Donna with
pride. “You are standing with the brilliant novelist Charley Windham.” She
turns back to Charley before walking away. “Thank you again, dear.”
“Charley Windham?”
“Uh-huh,” responds Charley,
giving me a look like I should piece it together.
“Charley Windham. Why does
that name sound so familiar?” I rub my hand on the back of my neck while
Charley looks at me with amusement. “Wait, you’re Charley Windham? Who wrote The
Crossing Guard?” Charley shakes her head and laughs.
“That’s me.” She’s unable
to control the wide smile spreading across her face.
“Yes. Now I know. I read
your book. In fact, everyone on the tour read it. You couldn’t walk around a
locker room or airport terminal without seeing someone with it in their hands.”
“That’s nice to hear.” She
grins at me with her head tilted, nodding it slightly up and down, giving me
the impression she’s waiting for me to say more.
“That explains who you are,
and I get you would know who I am, but how do you know my family?”
“That is the question of
the moment, isn’t it?” She smiles smugly.
“You’re enjoying this,
aren’t you?”
“Immensely.” She is
grinning unabashedly.
I look back over at my
parents and sister and see my brother Marcus walk in through the restaurant’s
back entrance. After a quick exchange, Lindsay points to where Charley and I
are standing. Marcus waves to Charley and she waves back.
“Oh, you know my ugly as
shit brother too?”
“Ugly as shit? You’re
identical twins,” she laughs.
“Nah.” I shake my head with
a playful sneer. “I got the looks. He got the brains.”
“You got the looks?” She
watches me with a raised brow.
“Yep. All of ‘em.”
“I suppose you got all of
the humility too?” I can hear the humor in her voice.
“Seems more like
humiliation these days.” I rub the back of my neck and look down at my shoes. I
really messed things up and now I don’t know if my career is over.
“Hey, don’t knock yourself.
Not your fault you have shoulder issues.” She places a hand on my arm and her
slight touch causes all my blood to rush south.
“You follow my career?” I
ask, my spirits surprisingly improving. There’s something about this woman
that’s got me intrigued and I don’t just mean ‘cause I can’t place how I know
her.
“I’ve been known to glance
at the sports page now and then,” she says with smiling eyes.
“So, how did you say you
know my brother again?” Marcus, his wife Abbey, and Lindsay start to walk over
to us.
“I didn’t.”
“You’re not going to tell
me.”
“I’m finding it quite
entertaining you don’t know who I am,” she says again.
“Of course I know who you
are,” I scoff.
“You do?”
“Yes. You’re the charming
and talented writer having dinner with me on Saturday night.” Charley lets out
a nervous giggle and glances down at the floor and damn, if that’s not the
cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“You want to have dinner
with me on Saturday?” she says on a breath and I wonder how she would breathe
my name as she’s coming undone beneath me. Before I can respond, Marcus places
his hand on her shoulder.
“Well aren’t you a sight
for sore eyes.” Charley turns toward him and Marcus scoops her up into a big
hug.
“Good to see you, Marcus.
This must be your wife.” She turns to the short red head with wide green eyes
and a full smile standing between Marcus and Lindsay.
“Yeah, this is Abbey,” says
Marcus, turning to the side, allowing the small woman to shake Charley’s hand.
“Wow. I’m a huge fan,” she
begins, grasping Charley’s hand and pumping it furiously. “The Crossing
Guard was my favorite book of last year. My book club spent hours
discussing it.”
“Oh, thank you,” says
Charley, with the same genuine appreciation she showed to Donna a few minutes
ago.
“I didn’t realize Marcus
knew you. I probably would have begged him to ask you to come meet with us,”
Abbey continues, still holding onto Charley’s hand.
“Oh, believe me, she
doesn’t owe me any favors. It’s the other way around. If it weren’t for
Charlotte here, I probably wouldn’t have gotten into a good college,” he says
to Abbey.
“Charlotte?” I repeat.
“Of course. Charlotte
Windham. You know, our high school English tutor,” he says, looking at me like
I’m a dumbass.
Charlotte Windham.
Charlotte Windham. Then it hits me. “Oh, Glasses. You’re Glasses.” I smile
widely, proud of myself for finally putting it together.
“Yep. I’m Glasses,”
Charlotte sighs loudly. “Well, I need to get going. Great catching up with you
all again and nice to meet you Abbey.”
“I’m sorry, Charlotte,”
says Lindsay, shooting daggers at me with her eyes. What is that death stare
for, I wonder.
“It’s okay. Um...give me a
call if you want to grab lunch. I’m waiting for a manuscript back from my
editor, so I’ve got a ton of free time.” With that, she turns and walks away.
“You’re an idiot.” Lindsay
shakes her head and scowls at me.
“What? What did I do?” I’m
flummoxed.
.jpg)
.jpg)
