Bad For Me Series by Lindsey Hart – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read

Bad For Me Series by Lindsey Hart – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com Tue, 20 Jun 2023 02:20:54 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=6.9.4 http://www.books2020.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/favicon.png Bad For Me Series by Lindsey Hart – Read Books Online Free Ebooks good best novels to read http://www.books2020.com 32 32 Husband Trouble (Bad For Me #5) Read Online Lindsey Hart http://www.books2020.com/husband-trouble-bad-for-me-5-read-online-lindsey-hart Tue, 20 Jun 2023 02:20:54 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/husband-trouble-bad-for-me-5-read-online-lindsey-hart Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Erotic Authors: Lindsey Hart Series: Bad For Me Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)

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We are the bad guys.
Love is not a word in our dictionary… until one by one my brothers all get hitched.
If people think I’m going to be next, they got another think coming!
I might have jinxed myself though.
Not might.
I really did… otherwise why would the little vixen standing on my doorstep waving a marriage certificate in my face say we were married.
True, I have no recollections of that night in Vegas.
But was I so drunk that I committed the worst sin in my books… Marriage.
And it doesn’t help that everyone in the family including my crazy matchmaking granny, heard her say she is my wife.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Orion

I should have known that the day was going to be farged right from the start. Like the epic bad type of farged, not the tickle me pink kind of farged.

Granny burned the bacon. Granny. She burned the succulent, salty goodness that is life. All while humming to herself. And singing. And dancing. She was spacing out. Yeah, her head wasn’t in the breakfast game, and in our family, it’s a major sacrilege to waste bacon. It’s how we all wound up sitting in the living room with varying degrees of worried expressions, and by all, I do mean all of us.

My brother, Ransom, and his charming fiancée, Ayana, are getting married in two days. Yes. Married. They might not be the first since my brother, Alden, and his lady, Azalea, randomly, in the spur of the moment, and impulsively decided to get married last year as well. I guess I should say they chose to get married again because they already had a house wedding right after they met, basically just to make things official and legal, and the marriage wasn’t supposed to last, but when they decided to stay together, they never got a real wedding to celebrate their choice and their love, so alas… We celebrated his stag in Vegas even though we’d all basically just flown to Switzerland. Granny, being Granny, made instant overnight plans to come back, and that’s how things got out of control, but you know, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

The burned bacon and the starry look in Granny’s eyes—she never gets starry looks because those are for space, not for a badass like Granny—as she sits in an armchair at the head of the living room, presiding over this family, which has almost doubled in size over the past three years because all my brothers did crazy things like fall in love, and Ransom and Ayana even had a daughter, tells me there’s about to be some kind of trouble.

There are three couches in the room and that armchair. Granny always has to have an armchair. Ransom is sitting with Ayana, and he grabs the free hand she’s not using to balance their daughter, Maya, on her knee. “I can’t get bad news before our wedding,” he says plaintively, almost begging. “It will ruin the wedding forever. I mean, bad news is bad at any time, but it’s especially bad— never mind. I sound like a prick over here. I’ll just stop.”

“A prick who has a real job, a real family, a real life, and no cover,” Lennox, the brother who likes to make funny and not-so-funny jokes, mutters. His lady, Cass, elbows him in the ribs.

“Stop that. We all made our choices,” Alden protests. “Just because some of us chose to leave the family and the life doesn’t mean we’re not with you in spirit.”

“What kind of spirit?” Lennox goes on because he never knows when to quit. “Like a spirit animal?”

“Is your spirit animal the unicorn? Whenever we see one, should we think of you?” My biological twin brother, Atlas, ribs my brothers unmercifully. His lady, Victoria, rolls her eyes at him.

“Everyone knows their spirit animal is a dolphin. I mean, just look at them. Intelligent. Kind, warm—”

“A little bit rubbery with an odd feeling,” Lennox coaches.

“We should take a quiz,” Azalea says, speaking up from beside Alden. I think there are lots of spirit animal quizzes out there. That would settle it.”

“I think more of a narwhale because that’s real,” Lennox goes on like he didn’t even hear her.

Alden stands up like he’s going to take over this family meeting and get everyone back on track, but after doing a quick sweep of the room with his eyes, he sits back down and shakes his head. Yeah, he’s used to the silence of the woods where he and Azalea live, not the boisterous and often ridiculous banter of a family of thirteen.

Yes, I’m the odd man out—the only brother who hasn’t given in and bit the bullet and surrendered to mushy, icky, gooey love. And I plan on remaining that way for a good long while. I am perfectly happy with my singleness. The fact that I have a bit of a hole in my chest that I haven’t addressed even though it acts up like a twinging nerve every single time I see my brothers happy? I’m not going to think about that. It’s nice to be here together again, all of us under one roof, healthy and happy. I get to see Atlas and Lennox happy every single day because we live together most of the time, but not with everyone together like this.

It’s a good thing. Really.

And my empty bed problem? The one I crawl into, alone, at the end of each day—okay, I was going to say night, but we keep odd hours, so it’s often afternoon or morning too. Well, it could be easily solved by, um…well, finding someone who would like to share that spot with me for a few hours. Except I haven’t done that either—the whole casual, mutual fulfilling of needs thing—in…well, I guess it’s been a year and a half.

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Advertisement The Wrong Number (Bad For Me #4) Read Online Lindsey Hart http://www.books2020.com/the-wrong-number-bad-for-me-4-read-online-lindsey-hart Tue, 09 May 2023 20:48:25 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/the-wrong-number-bad-for-me-4-read-online-lindsey-hart Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy Authors: Lindsey Hart Series: Bad For Me Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76347 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >81

Love... Marriage... Girlfriend....
NEVER EVER GOING TO HAPPEN.

Not for bad guys like me.
Until I hear her on the other end of the line.
I should have told her she got the wrong number.
What I specialize in is not house renovation but something far darker and dangerous.
But she sounded so desperate.
So, instead of saying no, I asked for her address.
Instead of calling her back to set things straight, I immediately drove down to the damsel in distress.

Were repairmen supposed to be this hot?
And why did he come all this way out to this haunted mansion to help me out?
He was the only one who agreed to do so.
But I know he's hiding something.

WHEN HE'S COMPLETELY WRONG FOR YOU BUT STILL SETS YOUR SHEET ON FIRE!
Each book in this series is a standalone and can be read in any order. And don't forget, we are team HEA all the way!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Victoria

Most people don’t kick off their twenty-first year of life sunk up to their waist in their own porch. I suppose I could stop and smell the roses while I’m down here, but great-aunt Elinore’s property—now my property—doesn’t have any roses. Thistles, thorns, and six-foot-tall weeds are about the only species of plant life out here.

This place is the barren wasteland of my family. The property had been abandoned and left unattended for years. The house was left to my mom and dad, but they literally didn’t want it, so they gifted it to me as a surprise twenty-first birthday present. Surprise, Victoria, happy birthday! Here’s the old abandoned, maybe slightly haunted house we could never sell, and since it’s been the bane of our existence, you should really love it! They gave me the keys, which were wrapped in a little black velvet box complete with a red bow and everything for the momentous occasion and shooed me out of their basement so I would get out into the world and start my life as an adult.

I was only living in their basement until I finished college, which I did just over a month ago. I’m twenty-one, but since I’m more of the bookish type, I took more than a full load of classes and did some online classes on top of it. I went to school in spring, summer, fall, and winter. So now I’m the proud owner of a shiny, new, freshly minted English degree, one tarnished key complete with the red bow still attached, one haunted house, seven acres of barren land, the best wishes of my family, and one rotten porch that I just fell through.

Oh, you thought the whole up to my waist in my own porch wasn’t literal? It is.

I try very hard not to sigh as I grasp the edges of the splintered, rotten boards and brace my elbows against them. They smell musty and like old mushroom soup left out in the sun for approximately eight days, four hours, three minutes, and thirty-one seconds. Or maybe just old mushrooms. I swear there is a whole farm growing under this porch. A porch that hasn’t seen a loving touch or the soft tread of a human footstep in over four years.

Great-aunt Elinore passed away six years ago in a care home, but the house was left abandoned for four years before she died. For a decade, it languished, but two years ago, my parents made an effort to sell it. I pity the poor agent who had to come and list it. I imagine they walked across the porch a few years ago, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe they just stuck the sign at the end of the driveway, snapped a few photos, and got the hell out of Dodge.

Either way, the house didn’t sell, and my parents constantly fought about it. My mom and dad love each other; they really do. But my brother and I always knew if anything could pit them against each other to the point of divorce, it was this place.

They solved their Aunt-Elinore’s-haunted-house problem neatly enough.

As soon as I graduated from college, that was the end of the fights. I thought maybe they’d worked it out and decided to be civil about it. But nope. Just. No.

It took me a few months to get everything in order. The titles and legal stuff were the worst parts, but I also had to pack my things and say goodbye to my little basement room. I know for a fact that when I checked the rearview mirror this morning as I drove away, I didn’t imagine my parents’ grins. They’re empty nesters now and proud as freaking punch about it. My older brother, Mike, has already moved out for ages. He has his own condo—a nice condo. With electricity and running water.

Two things this house once had, but I doubt it does now.

Thinking about my parents reminds me that I should call them to let them know I got here alive, even if I am still ultra peeved about the whole giving up my nice comfy basement room for this dump thing.

I hoist myself up, stirring up another foul brew of mushrooms, dead leaves, rotten everything, and earthy aroma as I kick up and pull up on my arms. I scramble out of the hole, earning a few splinters in my palms from the weathered porch floorboards for my effort.

The whole thing creaks and groans, and I swear I feel it shimmy a little as I get to my feet. When I say the whole thing, I may or may not mean the house. I take one careful step to grasp the railing. It groans like it’s dying, so I release it with a gasp and instead stumble toward the front door. It used to be red, but there are only a few scraps of paint clinging to the ancient wood. I grab the handle, insert my key into the rusty old hole, and twist. Nothing happens. I twist harder. Nope, no action. I finally just try the knob and let out a feral-sounding sigh when the door swings in. It wasn’t even locked.

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Advertisement Lucky Charm (Bad For Me #3) Read Online Lindsey Hart http://www.books2020.com/lucky-charm-bad-for-me-3-read-online-lindsey-hart Wed, 12 Apr 2023 20:59:32 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/lucky-charm-bad-for-me-3-read-online-lindsey-hart Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Authors: Lindsey Hart Series: Bad For Me Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >70

He should definitely NOT BE IT!!

All my life, I've been Miss Disaster.
Walk on a flat surface, there I go twisting my ankle.
Walk on a street, here comes a piano swinging at me.
Park full of people, here I am, the chosen one for the bird poo.
Not to forget, expert in attracting the wrong kind of people in my life.
But all of that changed... when he kidnapped me.

Oddly enough, whenever I touch him, my luck turns around.
Not one disaster throughout my whole day.
So don't blame me for wanting to "rub" him just a tiny little bit.
Especially when I need the luck to get through one of the biggest milestone in my life.

Sure, he's allergic to commitment.
Asks me to avoid him like plague.
Says nothing good would come out from hanging around him.
But what's a girl to do when the bad guy is her lucky charm.
And it's not like I'll want more from him.
Resisting the temptation of this Lucifer is definitely something I can do... I think.
Plus a little rubbing for luck never hurt, right?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Cass

“Please, Ayana? I don’t have to rub him for luck or anything. Just being in his presence would be enough. And food! I think food has something to do with it. Every single time, there’s been eating involved.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” Ayana huffs. “Rubbing. That just sounds wrong.”

“No rubbing involved. Cross my heart—well, I’m going to leave it that because, knowing my luck, I should just cut that off right there.”

Ayana’s my bestie, the proud daughter of a dad who is scary as all get out because he’s the prez of a biker club, and she takes shit from no one but me. As her sister from a different mister since high school, I guess I’m entitled to a few strange requests.

Ayana’s boyfriend, Ransom, who is big, tattooed, and scarred in the face from a childhood mishap with a spork, of all things—yes, for real—is almost as scary as her dad. Until you get to know him, that is. Both of them. Or, if you’re Ayana, you find out he’s all teddy bear beneath his gruff exterior, soft as butter, and willing to do anything for her and their baby girl, Maya. The most beautiful little girl in the world is currently with the object of our conversation, her deliciously gorgeous, sandy-haired, jacked, and stacked uncle, Lennox, who has a beard to beat both Vikings and Santa.

“My brother is bad news. Bearded bad news.”

Ransom wiggles his hips and bends lower, a driver in hand. He’s recently found golf to be quite therapeutic, and because Ayana loves him, she’s willing to do just about anything, even golfing. Because I need to get in touch with Lennox, I’m also here with a set of rented clubs, about to do my very worst to this par 3. Think major grass divots, errant golf balls, and perhaps even flying clubs. Yeah, and when I say worst, I mean worst. I’m a terrible golfer at best, and by terrible, I mean it’s a lucky thing I haven’t killed someone yet or broken my own leg.

“You love your brother,” I protest.

“I might,” Ransom agrees. “But this is also the same person who, before I met Ayana, told people that my biggest goal in life was to go as a puckered butthole for Halloween.”

“As opposed to a non-puckered butthole?” Ayana covers her mouth and laughs.

I try very hard not to, but it takes sucking my whole bottom lip into my mouth and biting it to keep myself focused. I need to stay focused—both on my quest and on what’s happening on the field. I mean on the green.

I’ve golfed all of once in my life, and that was during high school. Let’s just say it didn’t end well. As per usual, I was involved in a bit of a disaster. I swear, I didn’t mean to let that club go. But go it did, and it smacked our gym teacher right in the face. He ended up having to go to the hospital for stitches, and there was so much blood that one girl in the class passed out, and another barfed.

Where I’m concerned, that’s pretty much just par for the course. Ha. Oh god, that’s too good right now. Look at me go.

I’ve never, ever, EVER met anyone as unlucky as I am. I have the kind of luck that is like a badly held-in fart. The kind of fart where you just can’t hold it anymore, but you’re in a crowded room, so you hope to let it go silently and that it will have zero smell, and no one will notice. But of course, your butt cheeks won’t angle right, so it comes out as a ripper, and it’s a real room clearer, to the point where gagging is a sure thing.

That hasn’t actually happened to me, though. I’m just trying to make an illustrative point.

Ransom studies the ball carefully, adjusts his stance, swings, and sends the ball flying in a straight arc down the way from us and toward the flag deal at the end. I know enough about golf to realize that’s our objective.

Ayana brushes her thick black mane of hair over her shoulder and claps wildly. “Nice shot, my love.”

He turns and winks at her, making the scar that bisects his face become all puckered up, and I try very hard not to think about puckered buttholes. Ransom’s face looks nothing at all like that, though. He’s actually quite handsome, and he’s a truly good person besides. It’s just the thought of the word puckered that tips me off.

As if to prove my point about his goodness, he grins at Ayana, who is the love of his life. “You’re up.” He finishes that up with a kiss on her forehead.

Gah. If that doesn’t make me go all soft and mushy and get kind of grossed out all at once, I don’t know what does.

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Advertisement One Night With Him (Bad For Me #2) Read Online Lindsey Hart http://www.books2020.com/one-night-with-him-bad-for-me-2-read-online-lindsey-hart Fri, 24 Mar 2023 15:26:01 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/one-night-with-him-bad-for-me-2-read-online-lindsey-hart Genre: Alpha Male, Bad Boy, Romance Authors: Lindsey Hart Series: Bad For Me Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 74794 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >79

Good girls are not supposed to fall for the bad guy.
Good girls are not supposed to have a one night stand with said bad guy.
And good girls are definitely not supposed to fall pregnant with the bad guy’s baby.
But I broke all the good girl rules.
My brothers are going to have my balls once they find out I slept with the enemy’s daughter.
Being undercover still meant the gang leader’s daughter was off-limits but seems like my common sense flew right out of the window when I saw her.
How was I supposed to resist her when she came to me so sweetly and offered all of herself.
It was supposed to be just a one night but seems like fate bound us to more.
And now, I had to choose…. do I protect her and betray my family or go ahead as planned and destroy hers?

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Ayana

I’m up to my eyeballs in trouble in the form of two pink lines. Except this is a blue plus sign, but it still came in the form of urine, a white stick, and a prescribed amount of time, followed by a holy shit, there must be some mistake, which was also closely followed by oh my effing god, nope, it’s real. This is real. Fuckshitfuckshitfuck.

Trouble is nothing new. But the blue line is.

I can solidly blame my best friend for this one. If Cassadina hadn’t been all like, oh, this night is super boring, and that guy is too cute, so let’s have a little fun. Please get his number and see what happens. Actually, I dare you to get his number and see what happens, and if you end up sleeping with him, tell me all about it so I can live vicariously through you having hot sex with a scarred-up, tattooed, mysterious man who practically exudes alpha sexuality for a rousing good time, then I wouldn’t be sitting here in this predicament right now.

Alright, so I’m getting ahead of myself. I guess I should start at the beginning. I can’t blame Cass for that blue plus sign. She didn’t impregnate me. No, that was all Smokie Dokie.

Stupid name, I know. But that’s not his real name. At the club, everyone has nicknames. He wanted the name Smoke, but the guys all thought that was ridiculous because he didn’t smoke, and even though he’s a bartender, he hardly drank. He’s not a real member of the club, but all the guys who work for my dad in some capacity generally take on other monikers. Either they’re gifted, or they’re chosen. Anyway, he wanted Smoke, so the guys soon started calling him Smokie. He had a habit of saying okie dokie, so presto bammo, the whole Smokie Dokie name was born.

Rewind two and a half weeks ago to a Saturday night. A very boring Saturday night. When you’re the daughter of a motorcycle club’s prez, either Saturday nights can be wild and full of daring and danger, or they can be like mine. My dad isn’t a typical motorcycle club prez, and his MC club isn’t a typical MC club. As a result, I’m not usually allowed to go to any of the clubs or bars he owns. Which are, by the way, straight-up legit. Bet you didn’t see that one coming. Spoiler alert, this flashback ends with me winding up pregnant, but then, you already knew that.

So, getting to it.

It was hot. San Diego is already hot, but if you haven’t experienced San Diego in mid-July—or at any point in June, July, and August—it’s a rare treat in which only the extremely heat-resistant, borderline reptile or arachnid blooded can survive.

Cass came over for movie night. Long story short, we got bored, and she ended up convincing me to go out. The club is very high-end and public, though not many people know that my dad owns it. When we showed up, I lied to Sonny, one of the bouncers at the door, telling him that my dad said it was fine for me to go out and that we would only be staying for an hour or so. He didn’t like it, but I put on a charming smile, and so did Cass, who is megawatt beautiful, and he let us in.

The rest of my ill-fated, one-night stand of epic fucking sperm of destiny who beat the odds went like this:

“Wow, this place is banging,” Cass says above the pounding bass, glancing around through the flashing lights and the strobing colors. Her eyes cut through the crowd. “Now, to find someone to bang.”

The undulating bodies in the club create an environment that isn’t unique to any other club. It’s an experiment of humanity. I’ve always pretty much hated clubs and bars, which might be my dad’s influence. His forbidding me to go out basically ever never made me more curious about it. He let me experience his clubs a few times with his club brothers surrounding me to make sure I was okay, and I never thought it was anything special. This is one of the first times I’ve snuck in alone. Well, not alone, but without Dad and any of the brothers knowing ahead of time. I guess I find the whole thing pretty boring because what’s to like about the near-darkness, the scent of cloying, sticky bodies all sexed and liquored up, and the general stupidity of…well, too many liquored-up people?

I groan, but the sound is swallowed up like my mouth has been put on a permanent childhood game of mute. “That’s why you wanted to come out? You said you wanted to go out because you were bored.”

“Yeah. Not getting laid is boring.”

“I don’t understand. I thought you’d made your peace with taking a break from guys.”

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Advertisement Marrying a Stranger (Bad For Me #1) Read Online Lindsey Hart http://www.books2020.com/marrying-a-stranger-bad-for-me-1-read-online-lindsey-hart Mon, 13 Feb 2023 18:42:38 +0000 http://www.booksnovels.com/marrying-a-stranger-bad-for-me-1-read-online-lindsey-hart Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary, Crime, Erotic, Romance Authors: Lindsey Hart Series: Bad For Me Series by Lindsey Hart
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Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)

<<<<1 2 3 11 21 >73

Kidnapped, threatened, and held captive until I agree to marry him...
he's bound to be a bad guy, right?!

Except he swears he isn't.
And if I got to know him, I would change my mind.
Why would I even try to get to know the guy that thwarts my every attempt at escape,
Looks like a god damn Lucifer,
Makes my heart go wild,
And likes pineapple on pizza?
It's all wrong wrong wrong.

I'm just a librarian and my life is not supposed to end up like one of those steamy mafia romance novels I like reading.
Wait, did I say steamy?
The only thing that needs to get steamy is the water in my shower, not anything else.
Unless he joins me there...
Oh boy, I'm in trouble.

WHEN HE'S COMPLETELY WRONG FOR YOU BUT STILL SETS YOUR SHEET ON FIRE!
Each book in this series is a standalone and can be read in any order. And don't forget, we are team HEA all the way!

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

CHAPTER 1

Azalea

I remember nothing. Everything is black—the kind of black that the light doesn’t pierce.

My head is a bundle of ragged nerves, muffled cotton, and splitting pain. And it weighs approximately seven hundred and forty-eight pounds. What? I just like the number.

Before I even open my eyes, I know. I know this is a dream, and in this dream, I’m going to wake up tied to a chair. Naked. With a smooth but villainous, dark and powerful, slightly thrilling and slightly terrifying man dressed all in black sitting across the room from me, watching me with his jet-black hair, jet-black suit, and jet-black eyes.

A thrill will go through me. A thrill of terror, but also a small thrill of something else, because this is a dream, and who isn’t turned on by danger, even a little bit? A host of his black-clad cronies will be standing around, ready to do his every sinister bidding. And me. Yes. Me. Normal, regular, stodgy, book-loving, boring old Azalea, who was named after a flower even though my mom just liked the name and didn’t realize it was a flower at all, is now Mr. Dark and Terrifying’s Captive.

Yes. Because this is a dream. One of those edgy, erotic dreams where bad things can seem like they’re actually delightful because, in dreams, one doesn’t worry overly much about morality. Morality is for everyday waking life. Dreams are different.

I drag my eyes open and let out a groan that sounds very real. It’s dragged up from the pit of my rocking stomach, brought up from a throat so dry that it burns, and dragged over my tongue, which feels two sizes too big for my mouth and also so dry that it makes me want to groan and gag and beg for water. I open lips that are so parched that I can feel the fine cracks appear when I part them to try and mutter that very word. The pain has to be manufactured. Something I imagined and filled in because I’ve read too many thriller books to make up for my lack of real-life adventures and experiences.

“Water.” The sound is just a sound. Mmmpphhhhhttttt. Is that really my voice? I sound like an off-key toad.

Now that I’m fully awake, and I mean awake within the dream, my head still hurts. It still feels thick and heavy. I quickly flick my eyes down and sigh in relief. Nope. Not naked. Nope, I’m not even tied up. My fantasy is sorely lacking here because doesn’t every good fantasy involve ropes? Okay, maybe my subconscious is taking it too far. But this is a dream, and dreams can take things the extra mile that we can’t go in our real, boring, mundane, everyday lives.

I’m wearing what I was wearing today; I remember that much. A black pencil skirt, a white blouse with little pearl buttons at the sleeves near my wrists and a tie at the throat that looks vintage, and towering heels that hurt my feet but look wickedly great on. It’s the perfect librarian sort of outfit because that’s exactly what I am. A librarian. On the outside, I’m perfectly mild, even-tempered, and boring. But on the inside, I yearn for adventure. I’m the kind of librarian who, in my free time, grabs a history book, shoves a dirty smut novel inside, and indulges for hours in the most absurd fantasies. The whole dark mafia thing is my favorite, which makes sense. The dream, I mean. It makes sense that I’ve manufactured all this based on my recent smutty, wonderful reading habits. Anyway, I was on my way to work when, out of the shadows of an alley, a huge set of arms grabbed me from behind. I struggled, and when something crashed over my mouth, everything went black. Yup, even the beginning of this dream starts out like the shivery, dark, clichéd crime stories I love so much.

Yeah. Quite a dream.

Because this has to be a dream, right?

Even though I’m not tied up, I don’t pinch myself. I swallow hard past the driest mouth known to mankind and tilt my head up and find him. Yes. Him. I sigh in relief, a massive sigh so heavy and long that it sounds like I’m trying to burp out the alphabet, but with sighs instead of belches. I never was windy enough to pull that off. Anyway, I sigh because it’s him. Yes. Him. I know this has to be a dream because it’s the man from the novels I read.

The perfect epitome of tall, dark, handsome, and wickedly dangerous. The kind of guy with that flawless skin tone, heavy brow, square jawline, and black eyes so dark that they’re like midnight with a side of the blackest paint known in the existence of all artistry, and even then, they’re threaded through with ambler flecks, because every night sky needs its stars. His hair is wavy, and a lock of it falls over his strong brow, belying his danger. That lock is almost boyish. The kind of man that was created out of stone. Six foot five, a hulking beast of a brute, and of course, he prefers black. Black like his hair and eyes and, of course, like his dreamy black heart and soul. Black like his conscience and life. And imposing, like the thugs assembled around the room.

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