Promo for Fly by Molly McLain
Meet Colton Wade, FMX rider...
I’m just a small town guy who caught a lucky break. Now I’m living the dream, on the brink of high-flying super-stardom. But something’s missing.
That something is Taylor.
She’s my best friend. The one who makes me want to push harder and higher. The one I fall back on when shit gets tough. The one I’d give it all up for.
I’d do anything to protect her. To make her dreams come true too.
But a single night changes everything.
And now the one she needs protection from...is me.
“Why?” she murmurs, her voice raw.
“Why what, gorgeous?”
“Why do you put up with me?”
I almost ask if she’s serious, but the way she’s clinging to me begs for an answer. So I give it to her as honestly as I know how. “Because you’re my best friend and I love you. Because you bend over backwards for me every chance you get and, whenever I’ve got shit going on, you’re the one who talks me off the ledge. You’ve supported me in every way imaginable and trying to be that person for you is the only way I know how to say thanks.” I kiss her temple and she exhales a shaky breath. “You want me to go on? I’ve got a thousand more reasons if you want to hear them.”
She looks up at me, tears clinging to her eyelashes. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“You’re nothing like him.”
Thank God. “I’m glad to hear that, because I’d off myself if I were.”
She smiles. “Don’t do that. Please.”
“And please don’t give up because of him. You have too much life to live.”
Using her sleeve, she dries her face. “ God, I’m sad. You’re here to…do whatever it is you have to do and I’m leaving boogers on your shirt.”
I glance down at the wet spots and lift a shoulder. “They’ll dry.”
She laugh-snorts and goes to the mirror, grimacing at her reflection. “Oh, God.”
“Not gonna lie, Tee—I’m pretty sure your face wasn’t this puffy when you had that allergic reaction to kiwi back in junior high. You’re still pretty though. Always will be.”
“Shut up,” she groans and tries to step around me to leave the room.
“Where you going?”
“Back to bed.”
“Oh, no, you’re not. Get in the shower. I’m taking you out.”
She gives me her best ghetto mama head roll. “Are you telling me what to do again?”
I smirk and weigh my options: piss her off or piss her off. “Yeah. I am.”
“I need to ice my eyes, not be seen in public.”
“We’ll reevaluate after a shower. Come on.” I reach for the hem of her sweatshirt and she slaps my hand away.
“The snot on your shirt does not give you license to try and undress me.”
Shame about that. “No?”
“Absolutely no. And it doesn’t give you permission to make plans for me either. I’m already set on sharing a pint of gelato with Forest Gump and Dumb and Dumber.”
“I would really like it ah-lah if you’d reconsider.” I try to bribe her with a grin.
“No.” She’s not buying my joke. In fact, she sticks her hands on her hips and raises an eyebrow. A challenge?
How brave of her. “You sure about that?”
“Very.” Her chin lifts and I lunge forward, grip the bottom of the sweatshirt with both hands, and yank it over her head. Her shriek and panicked attempt to right her tank top keep her distracted from my subsequent attack on her sweats. I tug them down, then hike her wriggling, protesting body over my shoulder so I can pull them off her feet.
When I put her down, she’s breathing hard and standing before me, covered in head to toe pink. Cheeks, tank top, panties, and sparkly polish on the tips of her pretty toes.
She glances down at her nearly naked body and then up at me, her mouth agape. “You bastard.”
I toss the sweats over my shoulder with a wink. “I’ll take these back, seeing as they’re mine.”
“I hate you.”
“Not as much as you’ll hate me if I leave you alone tonight. Now humor me and hop in the shower. We’ll come up with something more interesting to do than watch movies you’ve seen fifty times.”
I can see the wheels turning in her head as a slow grin slides across those lips I want to kiss so badly. “More interesting, huh? How about this?” Faster than I can blink, she whips off her tank top.
“Jesus Christ!” I’m the one who shrieks this time, but damn if I can take my eyes of her tits. Full and creamy, tipped with tight, coral nipples. Fuck. Me. Running.
“Why are you still standing there, Col?” she asks, a taunting lilt in her tone. She’s reclaimed the upper hand and, because I’m a man and she’s friggin’ gorgeous, there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
I try to speak, but nothing comes out. My perverted fucking head is too busy taking inventory. A narrow ribcage, a flat, sexy belly, and a tiny, studded hoop winking at me from her navel. Sweet mother of God.
“Should I take these off, too, then?” She hooks her thumbs through the lace at her hips and starts to shimmy.
“No!” I throw out a hand and my cock throbs in protest. “No. Just…” She’s not ready for this, man. She’s just reacting. “I’m gonna go.”
“Good idea.” Those pretty breasts jiggle as she nods and I swallow the saliva pooling on my tongue.
Yep, there’s a special spot in hell for pigs like me, I’m sure of it.
“Yeah.” I brace my hand on the doorframe, as I turn away.
“Pick me up in an hour.”
Molly McLain lives in a tiny little town in Wisconsin with her husband, three kids, and a sassy dog. She loves fountain soda, jellybeans, Luke Bryan and Avenged Sevenfold, thunderstorms, and camping at quiet lakes. She's been scribbling down love stories since she was old enough to dream about happily ever afters, and now she writes sexy, small town romance for real.
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