EXCERPT 1:
I pressed my lips tight to fight the smile dying to break free. “What happened to your face?”

He took off his glasses and shoved them in the white lab coat he wore over a green scrub top and khaki pants. “You’re late.”

“You’re blue.” I bit back a snicker.

His cheeks flushed. 

A snort giggle escaped me. “Did you have a Braveheart re-enactment after baseball? I’ve never heard of that kind of kink, but to each his own, right?” 

He rolled his eyes. “It’s Blu-Kote.”

“The old fogie wound treatment stuff? Do you use that?”

“No.” He wiped ineffectively at his face. “This morning, a horse owner poured it on the hoof while I was looking at the abscess before I could stop him. The mare kicked it all over me. It won’t come off my skin, and it ruined my shirt.”

“Oh.” I compressed my lips to stop the laughter bubbling. A head duck helped while I threw my oversized purse on the client sofa. I reached for the bottle of alcohol off the shelf above the sink and grabbed a few cotton balls. “Hold still.”

“Stop laughing.” He waved at me when I got close to keep me away.

“I’m going to help you.” I saturated a cotton ball in alcohol and wiped his cheek. It didn’t come off easily since it had set into the skin. I rubbed harder. 

“Oww.” He tried to bat me away. “Are you trying to peel off my skin?”

I held up the cotton ball to show the blue coming off. “Stop being a wuss. How many clients did you see like this?”

He put the laptop on the counter and crossed his arms. “A few.”

“You need to come up with a better story than some horse kicking it all over you.” I kept rubbing.

“I’m not going with kink as my story.”

I laughed so hard I had to step away from him and put down the cleaning items. I rubbed my eyes. “You’d have the ladies wondering.”

“I’d rather not be known as the Blue Man of the bedroom.” 

 

EXCERPT 2:
I tugged at my hair. “Haven’t you done enough to mess up my life?”

“Enough?” Her eyes narrowed. She pushed away from the side of the building. “It’ll never be enough. I was there when you lost your brother. You helped me get through me losing my mother two years ago. You spent months doing all that stuff to convince me we should go out. Months of romantic bullshit. I thought you were my always and whenever, but you’re not.”

The hurt in my chest was so much I could barely breathe.

She whispered, “You cheated on me the day before prom. How is it possible you turned into an asshole overnight?”

I had to. 

I never wanted to let her go. Even thinking about it felt like my ribs were caving in. I skipped prom last weekend—not because I didn’t want to go, but because the thought of seeing her there with someone else, smiling like nothing had happened, would’ve broken me.

She kept going, voice shaking but sharp enough to cut. “I caught you sucking face with—with Milly.” She practically spat the name. “Of all people—her? She’s hated me since seventh grade.” Her breath hitched. “My pity date to prom wouldn’t even dance with me. Drew just stood there like a coward while I pretended I couldn’t see everyone staring.” Her eyes glistened, but her smile was bitter. “And for the record? Drew kisses better than you ever did.” 

“Does he?” Every other concern in my head dropped away. Drew kissed my girl? I would beat the hell out of him after the game, regardless of being friends and teammates. The dart of her eyes told me she lied about it being good. “You didn’t like it. That’s why you wanted me to kiss you right now. You needed a reminder of what it’s like to be kissed right.”

She whispered. “I’ll never forgive you for kissing her.”

At least she didn’t deny our kiss was better.

“This revenge shit stops now.” I held up my hands. “Enough. This ends now.”

“I was never enough for you.” Her voice trembled with fury and something far more dangerous.

Her gaze dragged down my bare chest, lingering like a touch that never quite landed. A small smile tugged at her lips.

I glanced down.

Crap. I’d forgotten I wasn’t dressed.

Baseball underwear. Blue knee-high socks. No shoes. The pale skin usually hidden under my baseball pants dared the sun to burn it.

Erika always had a way of making me lose my sanity.

The gym door clicked shut behind me. The prop had slipped.

“No!” I lunged for the handle and yanked, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. Completely locked.

Panic shot through me like electricity. I slammed both fists against the metal, the sound echoing back at me in a hollow, mocking boom.

Today wasn’t just another game. It was the game—the most important one of my life. College scouts sat in those bleachers right now, ready to decide whether I’d leave with a full-ride future or nothing but a pat on the back and a maybe-next-year.

I pounded the door once more and turned slowly. “This is your fault. How could you do this to me?”

She whispered, “Is there another way in?”

“It’s locked.” I pointed at the door. “That’s it.”

“It’s not my fault you ran out here wearing that.” Her gaze darted down my body again. “There’s got to be a coach or someone still here.”

“Everyone’s at the field. And I’m in…” I gestured to my underwear and socks. “Give me your phone. I’ll call someone to help.”

“I don’t have my phone.”

“You owe me this. You’re never without it.” I held out my hand. “Give it. Now.”

She dropped her head. “My dad took it away after he found out the lab fire was my fault.” She clasped her hands. “I can go get my car and drive you down to the field or look for someone to unlock the door.”

“That’ll take too long.” I ground the words out between clenched teeth, my jaw aching. “This was a step too far. Nobody is ever going to forget me showing up naked to the biggest game of my life.”

My pulse hammered in my throat, fury drowning out everything else.

“You wanted war, Erika?” I snarled. “Well, congratulations. You just got it.”

 

EXCERPT 3

“You look tired,” a low voice said behind me. 

Whiskey? I craned around the cow’s backside to see a face I wished I could forget, one whose disgusting symmetry I’d left in the past. Josh Hurst’s brown eyes sparkled with something. Was it condescension or judgement or humor? I couldn’t read him. He didn’t deserve that ridiculous nickname I’d blurted out in a mush-brained moment of getting lost in those eyes long ago. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought he was sexy, but it had been the first time he really saw me too. 

The wind ruffled his brown hair, a little longer than I remembered—at least on top—and untouched by time with no hint of thinning or greying. He was supposed to turn into a gargoyle after high school—double chin, bald head, maybe pushing three hundred pounds. Not this. Not muscles everywhere and those long legs in jeans that still made something tighten low in my stomach. Stubble shadowed his jaw but didn’t hide that he lacked even a hint of a double chin. Lordy, seeing him as a full-grown adult absolutely blew my mind.

A brief smile showed he’d fixed the imperfectly aligned front teeth while he rubbed the cow’s ears.

Damn his audacity to refuse to decay like he was supposed to.

“I got this. The hard part is done. I’ve got the calf in position.” I might have shrieked it out a little too loud. I took a break to stand up and prove I wasn’t intimidated by his six foot-plus frame. 

“Here, I’ll get it.” He shouldered past me, his mud-caked boots coming dangerously close to crushing my feet. He gave a few solid tugs and out came the calf. My hard work to make sure it was properly placed made delivery a breeze. I watched, immobile until the moment…

The calf took a breath. It was alive. Thank, God. 

I’m not a farm vet, but I’d done that. I had turned the baby and helped it deliver safely. I crouched next to the calf, removed gunk from its face, and palpated everywhere to make sure all legs and hips were intact. Everything checked out normal.

I stood up and stared at Josh, who wouldn’t look me in the eyes. He remained fixated on the calf.

I waited for him to say I’d done a great job to make his part easy.

Where was the credit I deserved for over an hour of pain?

He unhooked the calf from the puller, wiped the baby down again, and massaged the calf into movement.

I wanted to scream, “I can’t feel my arms and you can’t even say thank you?”

“So glad you could get the little lady set straight,” the elder Sawyer drawled behind us. “She sure was struggling. All in the ears, ain’t that right, Doc?”

“The ears?” I echoed. I glared at Josh, waiting for him to correct Mr. Sawyer’s misconception.

Josh still didn’t make eye contact with me. Nothing had changed. The war was still on. Josh would continue to do whatever he could to one-up me.