DIBS CAPA Nominee

Happy Valentine's Day. I hope everyone has an abundance of love to cuddle with today and everyday.

If, for some off the wall reason, love isn't cuddling up to you right now, may I suggest crawling between the pages of a good romance---until you find something better to crawl between.

Thanks to TRS for nominating my book DIBS for a CAPA.

Below is an excerpt of DIBS. Enjoy.

Lisa Wells http://www.lisawellsauthor.com/

Lacey hung up and punched in Neverfail’s number before she could think herself out of the graduation project. “Hi. Is this Neverfail?” I can’t believe I just asked that question.

“You got it baby. Who gave you the Luv Number?”

The voice, on the other end, was a mixture of surfer-dude meets marijuana-dude. Heavy on the marijuana mix.

“Maddison gave me your number.” Lacey felt three degrees of red burn her cheeks. She wasn’t a hussy by nature. She was more first date equals first base kind of girl.

“How is the old girl doing? I haven’t seen her, in like, a couple of months.”

I think Marty’s bimbo might be smarter than you. “She’s fine. Listen. Are you interested in having sex?” What kind of girl asks a complete stranger that kind of question? Is this what she had to look forward to? Begging guys to have sex with her?

“Sure, why not. I’m always interested in sex. Your place or mine?”

“Yours.” Lacey set up the time and wrote down his address. She drove to Victoria’s Secret for some courage in the form of sexy panties. She changed in the dressing room and threw her old underwear away. From there, she drove to his apartment. She sat in the parking lot long
enough to get her breathing under control and then opened the door. Taking a determined step out of the vehicle, she locked it and never looked back. Time to think would kill the moment. Kill her courage. If she thought, she would never go through with it.

Neverfail answered on the second knock. He was tan, buff, semi-handsome, and mostly naked. The stability of a towel, riding low on his hips, appeared to totally hinge on a tiny piece of material tucked in between skin and more material right below a heart tattoo. It wasn’t a large
towel.

It was a piece of fabric that begged a woman to take a closer look. It was wanton, enticing a woman to view the long legs stretching miles from underneath it. It was scandalous in the way it begged a woman to yank it just to see the hidden parts. The towel was also damn thin. Not at all thick and fluffy. It was see-through, touch-me, forget-the-legs, thin.

A movement, originating behind the middle of the towel, brought her out of her trance. Not bad.
“Yo, you must be Lacey. Nice bod. I took a shower for you,” he said, pointing to his towel.

I bought new underwear for you. Was he expecting her to yank down her jeans and show him her purchase?