Page 97 of Blue Collar Babes

“If that’s what you want.”

“Is that what you want?”

His brows pinch together. “Haven’t I made it clear? I want you, Cortney. However it is that I can have you.”

My heart rate kicks up a notch. “No more running?”

Spencer shakes his head and presses a lingering kiss to my lips. “No more running.”

“What about my family? My son?” Just thinking about Oliver gives me a shiver, and not the good kind. He’s nearly big enough to try to kick Spencer’s ass if this doesn’t work out. Oh, boy.

“We can tell them tomorrow.”

My eyes slide to the side. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”

His warm hand cups my chin and tilts my face to bring my gaze back to his. “We have time.”

“You think so?” At his gentle smile, I settle into the pillows, feeling my body start to relax.

“We can tell them whenever you want.”

Thank you for reading Rescued!

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A. M. Wilson is a USA TODAY Bestselling Author. She loves infusing her stories with real life--the good, the bad, and the steamy parts. There’s something special about that pivotal moment when two characters realize their love for each other, but she likes wading through a little angst to get there. When she isn't furiously typing on her computer, she can be found searching for her next all-consuming read. A. M. lives in Minnesota with her husband, two children, and two dogs. Visit her website.

REWIRED FOR LOVE: INDIE SPARKS

REWIRED FOR LOVE

I step off the elevator to see my ex-husband storming toward me in the parking garage. It seems impossible I could’ve forgotten so much about him in four short months, but once that decree was stampedFinal,my brain wiped a lot of his annoying details from my memory, like that ridiculous long flop of hair he started rocking across his forehead six months before I caught on. My attorney calls itaffair hair, says all men Bryan’s age think that particular longer-in-the-front, boy-band style makes them look younger.

It makes my ex look like a cartoon character, and the fact that his mad face is the exact same expression as the angry emoji—mouth in a straight line, brows in a V—makes his whole approach right now comical.

Or, it would be if I hadn’t just worked a ten-hour shift, caring for women in the throes of labor, some with serious complications. I added eight new babies to my delivery total today, two that went straight to NICU. Holding my hand up as a signal for him to halt, I offer fair warning. “Don’t you come at me sideways right now, Bryan. I’m warning you, I’m in no mood for your shit today. What are you doing here?”

“Is it true?” He stops about three feet in front of me.

“Yes. I changed your name in my phone to Fuckface McFuckhead.”

“Should I change yours to Nurse Ratchet Who is Fucking My Electrician?”

“If I were Nurse Ratchet, you wouldn’t have lived through the divorce.” The background blurs behind him. I remind myself he’s not worth going to prison. “And he’s notyourelectrician. He’s a contractor with a long list of clients.”

“Are you proud of yourself? You seriously went from someone like me to someone like him?”

My brain displays their images side-by-side: the man standing before me, who once threw his back out reaching into the medicine cabinet for his nasal spray, and the man who’s currently blowing my back out on a regular basis. “Let’s not forget you went to someone else first. Thank you, by the way, for enabling my upgrade.”

“Upgrade? I own four commercial buildings and a five-star boutique hotel. Does he even own his own house?”

“Yes, he does. He also owns a boat, a motorcycle, and his own company, but most notably, he owns this pussy in ways you never did!” I’m fully aware I am yelling on the employee level of the hospital’s parking garage, but I don’t care who hears me. “And I’m late delivering it to him this evening, so get the fuck out of my way!” Without waiting for Bryan to step aside, I go around him as if he’s worthy of no more consideration that a concrete post. Because he’s not.

“Yeah? Well, he just lost a major client. I mean it, Elise! Your uneducated fuck buddy will never work at one of my properties again!”

My laughter echoes throughout the garage. I back out of my spot, roll down the window, and coast toward Bryan, who’s walking with his back to me without so much as an occasional glance over his shoulder, like he’s sure I won’t hit him and run. The king of bold assumptions.

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