Page 1 of Hot & Bothered

Peyton Doucet couldn’t believe her luck.

After what seemed like an endless stream of douchebag dates and boyfriends who looked good on paper but were crap in the sac and crap in the personality department, she’d been considering a nunnery. Or at the very least swearing off men and proposing to her vibrator.

But fate—or her best friend Rayma—seemed to have other plans and practically dropped a hot hunk of a man with giant arms, a nice smile and gorgeous eyes right in her lap.

Well, sort of in her lap.

He was beside her on the party bus, but he might as well have been in her lap based on how much space he took up. And now they were dancing up a storm on the dance floor at Rayma and Jordan’s wedding.

Jace was a six-foot-four, dark-haired Adonis who was not only a really smart and funny guy, but he was also a police officer. And her best friend’s husband’s best friend.

Were the stars finally in alignment? She would have to check her daily astrology report. Because yes, shewasone of those women who believed in astrology, ruling houses, the planets and moons affecting our moods, and that when Mercury was in retrograde the world went to total shit.

She also believed that some astrology signs just weren’t compatible. She was a Gemini and some signs just didn’t pair well with her and her twins. Like Cancer and Virgo for example. Her last boyfriend—Keeler (yeah, what the fuck kind of name was that?) was a Cancer, and they were so incompatible. How they even lasted the three months they were together was beyond her. The man was a slug. He did nothing but sit on the couch and play video games. Then he made her feel bad for wanting to go out and socialize.

And the sex wasn’t even that good, either.

Rayma said Peyton was human duct tape. She was always trying to fix people.

So maybe that’s what drew her to Keeler (godawful name). She thought she could pull him out of his shell and “fix” him. Make him more social and interactive. Show him there was so much more to life than just getting hemorrhoids on a couch playing video games with teenagers in Romania all day long.

Nope.

Didn’t work.

Her duct tape was obviously covered in all the dog hair from Keeler’s heeler. Yes, Keeler had a heeler. A heeler named Wheeler.

She couldn’t make this shit up if she tried.

But she kicked Keeler—and Wheeler—to the curb in September (she didn’t actually kick the dog, of course, she wasn’t a psychopath) and was enjoying a hookup app and living her best single life with her trusty vibrator since then.

But if she thought that was her best life, she was incredibly mistaken. Becausethiswas her best damn life.

Right now.

Tonight.

Christmas Eve.

The evening of her best friend’s wedding, and Peyton was getting her tongue massaged by Jace’s tongue as they danced on the makeshift dance floor at the wedding reception.

Wine flowed through her veins. Love was everywhere in the air, and Jace smelled so damn good, she was having a hard time not licking his neck.

The song turned to a slow ballad, and a few people left the dance floor, while others moved onto it. Jace and Peyton just slowed down, but he didn’t peel himself off her, and she certainly wasn’t letting go of him.

He broke the kiss and grinned down at her. “You caught the pineapple.” Rayma carried a pineapple down the aisle instead of a bouquet. It was an inside joke between her and her new husband.

Peyton’s smile hurt her face. “And you caught the garter.”

“So what does that mean?”

She didn’t have to respond. Because it was a rhetorical question. His blue-hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence and mischief and the partial erection in his police uniform serge blues that bumped against her thigh told her exactly what he thought it should mean.

She batted her lashes at him sweetly. “I think it means you’re my ride home.”

His grin intensified. “That’s what I thought, too.”

Glancing around them, she realized they were now the only ones left on the dance floor. The twinkling lights overhead seemed to be on a dimmer switch and the brightness decreased.

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