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Here is a short sample from the book:
SEE THAT GUY SITTING BY the window inside the rustic-yet-trendy bar?
The one with the broad shoulders filling out a half-zipped, blue plaid pullover and slim-fit, black cargos?
He’s dragging a hand through his short, dark hair, and his strong brows are pinched together in a mixture of confusion and disbelief as he stares at the attractive woman sitting on the other side of the round table. Yes, the pretty boy with the what the shocked k look on his face—that’s me, Dean Conrad Morello.
Why am I having difficulty breathing, you ask?
It’s because of the woman sitting across from me, wearing the fitted gray bomber jacket, and the skinny jeans tucked into black leather knee boots with the killer heels. She’s staring at me with eyes the color of the Laphroaig single-malt in my hand. Right now, they have a connotation of decadence and pleasure as she chews on a few truffle fries.
“So, what do you think?” She tosses her rich dark brown hair over her shoulder. Several streaks of indigo highlights, almost the same shade as her jeans, play with the light. And I can’t help but notice how it shines, even in the dimness of the bar.
This is Cori—short for Coriander—Phillips. One wouldn’t describe her as quirky, or ethereal, or alien, or any other condescending adjective used to depict women who are decidedly not “the girl next-door.”
Basically, what I mean is: she’s undeniably beautiful in a not-quite atypical way. However, she’s much more than a pretty face. She’s smart as hell, deeply perceptive, unfailingly kind, witty, and happens to be my BFF—you know, best friend forever—so don’t get any ideas.
She also just dropped a bombshell on me.
“I want a baby,” she repeats.