Temporary Read online

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  Newsletter sign up

  A Note From Alexx

  BACK COVER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Also by Alexx Andria

  About the Author

  Temporary

  Alexx Andria

  Contents

  Copyright

  Newsletter sign up

  A Note From Alexx

  BACK COVER

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Also by Alexx Andria

  About the Author

  Copyright

  TEMPORARY

  By Alexx Andria

  © 2017 Alexx Andria. All rights reserved.

  No part of this NOVEL may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher. All characters are fictitious and any resemblance to an actual person is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Kim Van Meter

  The following NOVEL is approximately 40,000 words and an original work of fiction.

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  A Note From Alexx

  Dearest Reader,

  I have no excuse other than when the voices talk, I listen.

  It started innocently enough…the question ‘What would happen if’…and then my imagination took over my brain, pushing all other projects.

  But some of my favorite projects have been ones that I didn’t plan, the ones that just happened organically and I hope you agree.

  I love hearing from readers so please, stop by my Facebook, Twitter or web page to say hello.

  You can find me here:

  Facebook: facebook.com/alexx.andria.796

  Insta: author_alexxandria

  Twitter: @alexxandria2772

  Website: www.authoralexxandria.com

  Email: [email protected]

  BACK COVER

  It’s only temporary, baby. Don’t go catching feelings because I will tear you apart.

  GAGE

  Mari Jones is an itch under my skin that I can’t satisfy. The sassy, long-legged cocktail waitress is everything I shouldn’t want. Smart-mouthed, take-no-shit, sexy-as-hell, and the worst thing I could throw into my life but I want her.

  The thing is…I’ve always wanted her.

  She doesn’t remember me but I’ve never forgotten her.

  And now I’m going to put her into my bed.

  Don’t get me wrong — I’m not about forever — I see what I want and I find a way to get it but it’s always a temporary fix.

  No amount of money in the world can fix what’s broken inside me — and I should know, I’m fucking loaded — so don’t even try.

  I’m damaged. Broken to the core.

  If she catches feelings, I’m going to ruin her.

  Even though I know I should walk, I can’t.

  She’s everything I ever wanted…everything I will never deserve to have.

  Right or wrong…she’s mine.

  1

  I noticed him the moment he stepped inside the dive bar, even though I was slammed between customers waving me down, shouting their drink orders while I dodged the pinch of their fingers on my ass.

  Typical night at Jimmy’s Tavern. Loud, rude, perverted clientele, the smell of sweat and piss that seemed to permeate the walls, and the occasional sharp tink of glass breaking. Yep, everything seemed in order.

  Except for him showing up.

  You see, guys like him — tall, broad-shouldered, shock of dark hair and a chiseled jaw — didn’t just waltz into Jimmy’s because it wasn’t a place where seemingly normal people ended up.

  I’m not being a bitch when I say Jimmy’s caters to the lowest common denominator — the sad dregs, the disillusioned, the teetering-on-the-edge-of-committing-a-felony type.

  But I made good tips (I know, shocking) and their money (dirty or otherwise) paid my bills. Plus getting a job in the city was hard to come by when you were only working with a high school diploma.

  So yeah, I noticed him.

  And so did every other female in the place, the sound of panties dropping over the din of the crappy band was near deafening.

  “Good God, I’ve just looked into the eyes of my future baby daddy,” Sasha gushed, sliding her tray across the bar for refills. “Did you see him?”

  I gripped my tray of drinks. “Yeah, I saw him.” Hard to miss. “Take my advice, steer clear.”

  “Why?” Sasha asked, confused.

  I blew out a short exhale. I didn’t have time to explain but I did anyway because Sasha was a sweet girl (barely twenty-one to my wise twenty-six) and incredibly naive. “Look, why would a guy like him show up to someplace like Jimmy’s? One of these things don’t belong and it’s clearly him. So, that begs the question…what’s he here for? Slumming for a good time with a girl who’ll lick his balls and whatever else because she’s so grateful to be with a guy like him? Or, he’s a psychopath looking for a victim. Fuck either of those scenarios.”

  “Maybe he’s just low-key and likes the ambiance,” Sasha countered with a reproachful pout. “I mean, not every guy is a douchebag, Mari.”

  “You’re smarter than that, Sash. And most men are douchebags.”

  I had the empty bank account to prove it. “Promise me you’ll just deliver drinks and nothing else. For the love of all that’s holy…do not give him your phone number. Let Carli have him. With any luck she’ll give him The Herp.”

  Sasha giggled but still said, “You’re no fun,” pulling her laden tray before reluctantly agreeing, “Fine. I’ll give him a pass.”

  “Good girl.”

  Karma points, I needed them. My advice to the girl ought to count for something.

  But my gaze seemed to find him in spite of my attempt to ignore him completely. Even dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, he had an air about him that screamed money. It was like a pheromone that all the women (and some men) got high on like a dog eagerly sniffing unwashed butts.

  While Sasha stuck to her word, even though she did send me a few pained looks begging for me to ease up on my dictate, the other girls
were practically throwing every signal known to man that they were ready and willing if he so much as winked at them.

  Not me, though.

  Money didn’t impress me but it was nice to have. Like when the rent was due. A flush of impending panic threatened to upset my game face. I’d figure something out about the rent. Right now, I had to make tips.

  Lots of tips.

  Sure, he had a look that screamed I’ll-ruin-you-in-the-best-way-possible but I really wasn't in the market for any of that nonsense.

  No more good-looking, sexy-as-fuck, superior-DNA guys in my future.

  Maybe I’ll start cultivating an attraction to the awkward type; you know, the ones who start stuttering when someone of the opposite sex starts talking to them.

  That’s cute, right?

  Okay, don’t answer that but it was way cuter than finding out that your hottie, model-cute boyfriend was a raging manwhore who would probably fuck a McChicken (and probably had) if he thought he could get away with it.

  Ugh. Don’t think of Landon. If only his face and body had reflected the ugliness of his soul, I would’ve kept walking instead of letting the asshole buy me a drink two years ago.

  Landon had seemed like a dream. Handsome as fuck but with an adorably lazy wit that I’d mistaken for smarts when in fact, he’d just been an ass. He’d ran with my sarcasm and tossed it right back. God, I’d been hooked from the start.

  And so charming! I mean, he had the charisma of a used-car salesman. Hell, he’d sold me on his used bit of goods and I’d fallen hard for his empty promises.

  I’m talking empty as a depression-era soup bowl, you know what I mean? Landon had turned out to be nothing but hot farts in church — smelly and socially unacceptable.

  Sasha interrupted my tiny pity party by rushing over, bumping into me with her monster tits to whisper/squeal, “Oh my God, Mari…he wants to buy you a drink!”

  What? Why? I let my gaze drift to the out-of-place stranger, my consternation etched on my face before shaking my head. “That’s weird. Wait, how do you know?”

  “Because he flagged me over and I thought maybe, he needed a refill,” Sasha answered but her cheeks flared.

  Little liar. “You were hoping he wanted your number,” I surmised, calling her out.

  “Okay, so, yes, maybe just a little but it doesn’t matter because he’s interested in you. Go figure. The one person who isn’t interested in the least, is the one he wants.”

  I refused to be flattered, laughing with healthy derision. “Men like him only want what they can’t have. It’s all about the chase. No thanks.” Then I hefted my tray, ready for my next round. “He can just find someone else to stalk. I’ve got work to do.”

  Maybe if I wasn't still licking my wounds over Landon, my last terrible mistake, the walking dick on legs, I might've been open to talking to the stranger but the reality was, my Spidey-senses were fully functioning and kicking hard.

  There wasn't a man alive who could convince me to let down my walls. Honestly, at this point, I was ready to let my vagina close up shop permanently.

  Sasha stared, incredulous that I was walking away from such a catch. She took on a motherly tone. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone new. You can't let opportunities like this go by. If nothing else you can use him to make Landon jealous. A jealous boyfriend is always a more attentive one.”

  “In case you've forgotten, Landon and I broke up. He fucking cheated on me, Sash. I’m not going back to him.”

  “Yeah, but you were pissed off at the time when you broke up. Think of all the good times you guys had. One mistake isn’t a deal-breaker, you know?”

  “No, actually, some mistakes are deal-breakers,” I corrected her, incredulous. “I caught him with his dick in someone else’s mouth. That’s as final as they come. I wouldn’t touch him with someone else’s hands at this point.”

  Sasha’s eyes widened with sudden contrition, bobbing her head. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, you’re totally right. You were totally right to push Landon to the curb. I mean, who does that? So fucking rude.”

  Rude doesn’t even begin to describe what Landon did to my heart. I didn’t want to admit it but…I’d thought he was The One. Yeah, as in babies, marriage, the white-picket fence…all the domestic shit you can imagine because I was so head over heels. Now I think of myself back then and wanted to vomit.

  I realized Sasha was still talking, wistfully at that.

  “I’m just saying that if I had a guy like that eye-fucking me from across the room and asking to buy me a drink…it probably wouldn’t take much to get me to ride him right there in front of God and country.” Suddenly, Sasha paused as if she’d discovered the true reason for my aversion. “Oh, girl, are you on your period? Because if you are, I have a porn star trick that totally works. You just stick a make-up sponge—“

  “I’m good,” I stopped her right there. “Not on my period. Just not interested.”

  Like my period would be only reason why I wouldn’t fuck a total stranger.

  Sasha, disappointed that she hadn’t solved the dilemma, asked plaintively, “So, what do I tell him?”

  “I don’t care. Tell me him I’m not interested, or tell him I’m gay and I have a really jealous girlfriend. Make something up, it doesn’t matter to me because I’m likely never going to see him again.”

  Sasha pushed away from the bar, casting a look that clearly questioned my sanity as if I were foolishly giving up the opportunity of my life. I watched as she delivered my message. The stranger lifted his shot glass in salute and I turned away.

  That guy was probably accustomed to people bowing and scraping to do whatever he wanted. Must be a rude awakening to be rejected. I probably took a wee bit too much enjoyment out of rejecting him. Maybe I was punishing him for my broken heart but Landon wasn’t available.

  Landon was shacking up with his new girlfriend, the one whom I caught servicing my boyfriend in my apartment.

  Such a fucking asshole. And just when I thought he couldn't sink any lower he had to go and add salt to the wound by draining every last dime from our bank account.

  All I had to my name were the sweaty tip dollars that smelled like they’d been previously wedged between someone’s ass crack. I was starting from zero and that didn't feel very good at all.

  I half expected the stranger to be more persistent — those type usually were — being told no just wasn't in their purview. But to his credit, he left me alone. I was grateful. I just wanted to end the night, finish my shift, go home and cry quietly into my pillow.

  Either that or drink myself stupid until the following day. Either/or would work.

  But after an hour or so, he left and my night went on as usual. I said my goodbyes to Sasha and the rest of the crew and stepped out the back door, ready to walk to the subway station.

  My eyes burned and my feet were barking because working a double in shitty shoes was murder but when you were on a fixed income, quality footwear wasn't exactly the biggest priority.

  And besides, I was never one of those women who lived and died by their shoe collection. If you were to look in my closet right now you'd see three pairs of shoes: a pair of running shoes, a dusty pair of heels that I rarely wore because I never had the money to go anywhere, and flip-flops that were nearing the end of their days but still got the job done.

  To be honest, I preferred being barefoot. Probably a consequence of growing up in the country. How a country girl like me ended up in New York City was one of those stories that deserved to land in the How-I-Fucked-Up-My-Life column.

  But then, I guess we all had decisions that ended up in that column at some point, right?

  This was ‘Merica and we got the right to fuck up our lives however we choose — so said my inner redneck without apology.

  And boy howdy, if fucking up were an Olympic sport, I’d medal in gold.

  Go. Me.

  2

  The backdoor had barely clicked shut when a voice sta
rtled the shit out of me.

  “You refused my offer for a drink.”

  I whirled, my fingers digging into my purse for my pepper spray, my pocketknife, or even an eyeliner pencil sharp enough to do some damage, to find the good-looking stranger waiting for me.

  So totally not cool.

  “What the fuck?” I hissed, managing to find my pepper spray and point it at him. “What are you doing waiting for me like some stalker?”

  “Calm down,” he said as if I were the one being unreasonable. “I’m not here to drag you off down the alley.”

  “Yeah? So ambushing someone at two in the morning is totally normal in your world?”

  “Not usually but sometimes you have to make exceptions for extraordinary circumstances.”

  “Look, asshole, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but sometimes you’re going to strike out. I’m not interested in you, okay? Move along.”

  He chuckled as if I were cute. “Why did you refuse my drink?”

  “Are you kidding me? Are we really doing this? You’re freaking me out and I'm about to call the cops in about two seconds if you don't back off.”

  “Jumpy, aren’t you?”

  “Uh, yeah, especially when strangers accost me for refusing their offer of a drink.”

  “Accost you? A little dramatic, don’t you think? We’re just talking.”

  He had a point. He didn’t seem all that dangerous but his actions were throwing me off. I mean, c’mon, who waits outside of a dive bar for a date? No thanks, creeper stalker dude. I don’t care if you look like an angel, you’re freaking me out. “Look, I'm flattered that you seem to like me but I'm not interested. I'm gay and I have a giant bull dyke girlfriend who gets very jealous when anyone looks cross-eyed at me so do yourself a favor, save your balls and just leave me alone.”