Normally, Aspen Edwards will do anything for her free-spirited best friend, Mischa, but this feels like a bit much. The plan is simple, all Aspen has to do is write down a few affirmations and recite them during the New Moon. But as skeptical as Aspen is, a promise is a promise. So, she whispers each wish to the universe, pondering the possibilities of "what if." Who wouldn't want a promotion at work, a new home, or to become an irresistible sex goddess?
But Aspen’s luck doesn't change with the wishes, or the wind. Each of her whispered prayers produces disaster. She gets fired. Her car breaks down. She gets kicked out of her house. And of course there is the crap icing on the cake of doom, falling for flirtatious and sexy, Wes, who sees her as nothing more than his “little sis”. It might not be so bad if his house weren't the only place she had to go.
Unbeknownst to her, the universe has a few tricks up its sleeve, and Aspen's bad luck streak might just be putting her right where she needs to be!
“That boy is almost too pretty. Down girl!”
Mischa raises her brows in confusion, “Down girl? I’m not the one salivating.”
“I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to my vagina.”
She giggles. “Did it work?”
“No, she won’t listen. She’s been neglected too long.”
“Oh hey, great job out there, I really liked some of your moves.”
I turn to her completely taking my mask off in the process and start shaking my ass. “Oh yeah? It’s because this is the hottest ass chicken you ever did see!” I laugh and happen to look to the side as I turn my head to really get into my shaking and happen to meet the eyes of the person sitting in the lobby.
Oh. My. God. “Wes?” My humiliation is complete.
There is laughter sparkling in his eyes and his smile is enormous. “I really enjoyed some of those moves as well. If only I had known it was you.”
There are no words. None. I thought I was speechless before, I was wrong. So, so wrong.
Having practically tossed the box I was carrying aside, I’m on my hands and knees trying to gather up all the dildos as fast as I can, and toss them – quickly, but carefully - into the box. I mean I may be embarrassed, but the likelihood that I will need these just increased. I refuse to look up at Wes or to look at anything other than the task at hand. It isn’t lost on me that he hasn’t moved, and not for a million dollars do I want to see the look on his face. He’s likely wondering what the hell kind of sex crazed person he’s about to let live in his house. Oh God, he probably thinks I’m a total slut. My best thought is that he merely thinks I like variety. Oh shit. I pitch a couple more into the box and go running down the sidewalk chasing one that hit the slope and kept rolling.
Oh hell, this is so not cool, this is going to be torture. All I want to do is touch him. I take my glass off the table so I have something to do with my hands. What I want to do is trace his mohawk or the planes of his face with my fingers. All this does is make me even more aware of him. I mean he’s lying right here on me for God sakes. I feel aches in my body that aren’t at all appropriate between friends.
The plate of spaghetti I’m holding to the side is forgotten. I let go of it in my need to wrap my arms around his neck and it crashes to the floor. Our bodies press against each other from chest to hip, and all I can feel, all I can taste, all I can smell is Wes. I want him with every part of me. Desire consumes my body like a hunger that will never be satisfied. It rolls over me making like a gentle fog and gathers between my legs.
Author Jennifer Miller was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois but now calls Arizona home. Her love of reading began when she was a small child, and only continued to grow as she entered adulthood. Ever since winning a writing contest at the young age of nine, when she wrote a book about a girl with a pet unicorn, she’s dreamed of writing a book of her own. The important lesson she learned about dreams is that they don’t just fall into your lap – you have to chase them yourself. Most importantly, she is a wife and mother, and is very lucky to have a family that loves and supports her in all things. She also has an unhealthy addiction to handbags and chocolate covered strawberries, neither of which she cares to work on. For more information about Jennifer Miller, please visit www.jennifermillerwrites.com