Truly Madly Deeply (Forbidden Love, #1)

by L.J. Shen

wanted to get out of here, fast. I’d already achieved what I came here to do and saw no need to stick around in Buttfuck Creek. That was why the locals were angry at me. For cashing out and handing the town’s keys to a bunch of corporate suits who, in their eyes, were going to kill its quaint charm and small-town legacy and inject it with Botoxed designer stores.

“For you, maybe. But what about the people in this town? The small business owners? The folks who grew up here and stayed because they love the old-fashioned lifestyle?” Her entire body was angled toward me. I had her undivided attention, and suddenly I felt like someone had poured lava down the pit of my stomach.

You’re not smitten. You’re horny. Which is a form of excitement that can be dealt with using your right hand and some shower gel.

“Bite me.” “Thought you’d never ask. Just say where.” She looked pissed, but she didn’t look scared. And I didn’t know why, but it made me very fucking pleased that my sexual innuendos didn’t scare her.

“You’re the only man I know who manages to be chivalrous and a complete jackass in the same breath. It’s a talent.”

I didn’t want her to feel targeted by some huge jock. He was obviously going to be a threat to her, which meant I had a great excuse to finally beat him to a pulp.

How to be a Dickface: The Full Guide.

“Was about to ask the same question. Channeling your inner Richard Ramirez?”

“In the middle of the night?” I got into his face, my toes brushing his. He wore a popped-collar polo and futuristic sneakers. All he had left was to tattoo the word douche across his forehead.

You know nothing about her new life, shit face. They might be besties. With matching friendship bracelets and half-heart necklaces. For some reason, the last thought made me want to dip Kieran’s head in a bleached toilet full of piranhas.

Seriously, what had I done in a previous life to deserve this kind of karma? Decapitated puppies and kittens in the town square?

Seriously. No. Rock. Bottom. None.

“Specify next time, then. I’m not a fucking mind reader.” “You aren’t? Well, then I won’t keep you guessing—I want you to go away. Now.” The tips of her small, red mouth curved upward, and she brushed invisible lint

The touch was short-lived, but it was enough to make me swallow a hiss of depraved desire. She. Touched. Me. Willingly.

I flipped him off as I drove past her house and into the night. I rounded the curb, then parked in front of an unfamiliar house, choking the steering wheel with my fingers and grunting in frustration as I glued my forehead to the horn, letting loose a long, continuous blare. I then took out my cigarette pack and smoked four cigarettes in a row, until I became dizzy.

My alarm clock notified me that it was six a.m. by blaring into my ear in decibels that shook the purple walls of my bedroom. I smacked it off and rolled onto my stomach, moaning into my pillow. Even after a trillion-hour shift

the size of a prehistoric animal all night.

My Spidey-senses told me there was a lot of caffeine in my near future.

scrunchie. I also put on two yellow wristbands for the cuteness factor. I wasn’t hoping to bump into Prince Charming. With my luck, I was more likely to bump into Ted Bundy.

Cool, briny breeze assaulted my nostrils. I did a few torso twists and leg stretches on my front porch as I scanned my surroundings, dread drip-drip-dripping down my belly.

There will be no evil men, no lonely woods, no bad people. Just you and the music. And your maddening urge to pee every time you run, probably.

my whole body turned to ice.

My heart pulsated violently in my chest, and my hands felt like two pillars of salt, heavy and foreign to the rest of my body. A persistent, dull pain throbbed in my right shin, reminding me of that day all those years ago. I was reliving that moment all over again. The memory crisp, vivid, and in full color.

My eyesight became milky, fogged with terror; my mind screamed at my feet to stop moving, but they continued running of their own accord, going harder, faster; I looked around frantically. I wasn’t on Main Street

vampire? I mean, he was painfully beautiful and permanently sulky.

“Are you hurt?” His low, husky baritone rumbled over my head.

But I was currently spiraling worse than a Slinky over my pathetic attempt to run two miles, so all I managed was whimpering into the mud. I felt like an injured animal, cornered by a big, bad wolf.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” His voice hovered above my head. He sounded like he was standing on a treetop. How tall was this man? “Just wanna make sure nothing is broken.”

He was on his knees in the dirt, right there with me. And I wanted to throw a tantrum like a toddler because now I couldn’t even hate him all the way.

Underneath his relentlessly cold exterior was a compassionate creature who built the women in his life their dream house and literally pulled people from the mud. God, please don’t let me crush on him again. My heart couldn’t survive season six of This Is Us, what makes you think I can withstand him?

I wanted love. I wanted sex. I wanted all the things other people had and I didn’t. But I wanted them with someone I could trust. And...

“My wiping my nos—ohhh, I see what you did there.” I sniffled, burying my face into his pecs to avoid eye contact. “Sorry about the, erm, nervous breakdown.”

Being in his arms felt good. No, not just good, divine. I could see myself getting addicted after that first hit. I felt like nothing could hurt me as long as he had his arm wrapped around me. Which was dumb because Row was the very thing that could rip me into shreds.

“Hate is such a strong word. I only hate political grifters and frosted tips as a hair trend. Even David Beckham couldn’t pull it off.”

much.” He slung one of my hands over his rock-hard shoulder. Swoon.

That was freakishly accurate. “Are you able to read people’s minds? Like that Mel Gibson romcom? Is that, like, a medical condition?”

“Absolutely not.” He patted my shin clean of blood and dirt with the tenderness of a loving parent, and I dug my nails deeper into those jacked-up deltoids, this time not because it hurt but because I hadn’t touched a man in years and was extremely deprived. “I make it a point not to read anything. Reading might lead to opening my horizons. I like ’em narrow and flat.”

“You live in an inn?” My eyes bulged out.

My heart deflated like a balloon, floating aimlessly before crashing in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t tell if it was because it meant the next goodbye would be morbidly final, or because I was jealous he was in a position to buy a whole-ass apartment when I couldn’t even afford to rent a bike in New York. Either way, the pang of sadness unsettled me.

More staring. Zero words. I didn’t move, and neither did he. In fact, we were both frozen in place, waiting for something, anything, to happen. It was just that…it was the first time since he’d taken my virginity that we weren’t enemies, and I liked it. I missed it.

He shook his head and chuckled, the international you’re-cute-but-ridiculous male gesture, and it felt like my face had been licked by a group of squishy puppies.

Now I could ogle his butt and triceps to my heart’s content, make impressed sounds, and he’d think it was the house I was admiring.

(his butt was twelve out of ten, by the way).

“Good idea, if you need some deadweight. Fox Sports said his leg is busted.” Yesterday, Kieran had mentioned that

There was a coyote lying right in the middle of the empty room. It looked like roadkill, its eyes open, dead, and empty. Its guts spilled onto the floor. My eyes watered at the smell, and I palmed my mouth to keep myself from heaving.

next-level shit. Vandalizing my property is a step too far.” He squared his shoulders. “I’m going to break some skulls.” Well, this was terrible news to me. Because just as he said that, I keeled over, emptying my stomach onto his brand-new lush carpet.

There were countless things I disliked in this world. A never-ending list of shit that ground my gears. To name a few: overcooked seafood, foreign films that won Oscars, any music made after 2015, the vast majority of humans, and porn that had more than three minutes of plot.

She was like a Range Rover. Pure status symbol and unreasonably high maintenance. Her entire allure was that Cal seemed to hate her, and Cal didn’t hate anyone.

She had scarlet hair and matching lipstick, and red-soled heels higher than Willie Nelson. At twenty-six, she was the youngest mayor in the United States. Impressive, even if Staindrop had fewer citizens than some sheds.

“Ambie.” She looked up from her phone, setting it down and uncrossing her legs à la Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. “I see you brought me my favorite.” Her ruby lips parted alluringly.