Lemon Crush Read Online R.G. Alexander

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Contemporary Tags Authors: R.G. Alexander Advertisement1

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“Retiring” for her consisted of traveling continuously, getting two degrees in under two years, falling in love and marrying a man who marina-hopped for work and might have legitimately believed he was a pirate. She’d also gone on a dozen cruises, volunteered at Habitat for Humanity, shown up for every serious surgery or special event for her friends, written several more scripts and even managed to sit in front of her computer long enough to write and self-publish a book of her own, just to see if she could—a Wizard of Oz-like story based on a great aunt I’d never met who’d lived through the Depression. Listing it all off exhausted me.

Not even her husband’s passing had slowed her down, despite her devastation.

How was an introverted daughter with a fondness for reclining and long, lazy afternoons with a book supposed to live up to that kind of nonstop, overachieving legacy?

Then sixteen months ago, she’d gone racing off on another adventure, over my vocal objections, and her heart had decided to give out for good.

I’d been spiraling ever since. Stuck on this procrasti-whining hamster wheel and unable to cry, fight or write my way out of it.

You’re changing that now.

Yes, I was. All I had to do was rent out the apartment, convince Gene to let me join their October Lemons race, and use the extra cash to fix up my money pit in the next few months.

You also need to finish your book.

Yes, because financial stress was guaranteed to get those creative juices flowing.

When the repairs and the race were done, when Morgan was back and we’d fulfilled our last promise to Mom, I wouldn’t have this yawning pit in my stomach anymore. I’d be able to write again. I’d feel better about selling the house and moving to San Diego with Chick. The most important thing was that I’d finally be moving forward instead of standing still.

I was making the right decision.

My phone chimed again. This time, it was a notification that I’d received a completed application for the apartment, including credit score and background check. His name was Terry. I skimmed through the details before popping over and searching out his name on Facebook.

I wasn’t being creepy. A woman alone couldn’t be too careful, and credit checks were nowhere near as valuable as social media when it came to discovering whether or not you’d be renting to a potential serial killer.

No red flags. Excellent.

Going back to his application details, I polished off another cracker and then read out loud, “A construction supervisor traveling for work, with a home and kids out of town, so he’ll be gone most weekends. Only three months, barring job delays.”

That sounded perfect and as unobtrusive as I was going to get. He had to be the guy.

I put down the phone and grabbed a few crackers in one hand and my broom in the other.

Aren’t you going to accept his application? The one that will solve all those problems you’ve been listing off?

Possibly. Probably. I needed to think about it.

Lost in indecision, I popped a second cracker into my mouth without finishing the first and regretted it almost immediately when it turned into a cheek-bulging mass I could hardly chew.

“Hey there, Gus.”

I dropped the broom and whirled around.

Wade Hudson was standing in my backyard, tipping his head a bit so the bill of his cap kept the sun out of his eyes. “I was headed this way, so I brought your car along. I’ll unhook it and park it wherever you want.”

My “Shit!” came out as “Chff!” right before I simultaneously spewed and inhaled chunks of gooey peanut butter cracker putty and started to choke.

“August?” He sounded as appropriately alarmed as I felt.

I turned and lunged for the open kitchen doorway and the bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper I knew was waiting just inside, needing to wash this down. I made it to the island counter and pounded my fist on it while fighting down panic. My instinct was to cough it out, but I would have to inhale again to do that, and I couldn’t. Was I supposed to drink upside down now? No, that was for hiccups. Hold my arms in the air and hop on one leg? I couldn’t remember any save-yourself-from-choking life hacks at the moment, because my brain cells were being starved of oxygen.

I heard “Damn it, August!” and then Wade wrapped his long, hard body around me and lifted me to my toes, tightening his well-developed forearms like we were in a wrestling ring and he was about to bring the pain. Thank Chick for putting that visual in my head.

Damn, he’s strong.

Don’t pee.

This can’t be how I die.

Did I put on deodorant?

Only when I was coughing up unattractive blobs of cracker and sucking in air like a dying fish did I realize that I’d been Heimliched. And that his arms were still around me, practically touching the undersides of my unfettered breasts.


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