Crushed Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Author's Note

  Crushed

  Dedication

  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

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Epilogue

  Thank you!

  Fast Baller (Preview)

  Lulu Pratt's Books

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2019 by Lulu Pratt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Author’s Note

  Crushed is a full-length 79,000+ word novel. Please note it ends at 92%.

  Thank you for reading this. I hope you enjoy Crushed.

  I’ve also included a preview of my book, Fast Baller, for your enjoyment.

  Happy reading,

  Lulu xoxo

  Crushed

  My best friend’s sister was always off limits.

  Charlotte had a crush on me for years.

  She’s all grown up now and wants to lose her v-card.

  I can’t resist her sweet lips and curves.

  We were together, behind her brother’s back.

  When he found out, I thought I lost her.

  I got her back, but now something else has come between us.

  Something I never planned, but always wanted.

  The pain of losing her again is crushing me.

  I need to make Charlotte mine forever.

  *** A steamy STANDALONE contemporary romance with a smoking hot hero. No cliffhanger, no cheating and a guaranteed happily-ever-after.***

  Dedication

  For S.

  Thank you for everything – then, now, and always.

  Chapter 1

  CHARLOTTE

  WHAT USED TO be a fun outlet of expression had become somewhat robotic. Without thinking, my hands worked overtime, turning knobs, and adjusting settings on the espresso machine. Moving to the mini refrigerator tucked beneath the counter felt choreographed as often as I did it. When I first took the job as a barista back in high school, it was only full cream or low fat milk to distinguish the orders at our shop. Over the years we’d developed a long list I could now recite from memory.

  The fridge was stocked with everything from almond milk to coconut creamer. The variation of drinks felt endless, but there was no combination of ingredients I hadn’t mastered. And my artwork was the reason people changed their orders, just to get a touch of Artful Eats, as I’d defined myself online.

  Carefully, I steamed the full cream milk, the easiest to work with. As the woman waiting for her drink aimed her phone in my direction, I was grateful I’d be able to create a flawless design for her. Knowing she was recording me gave me the added emphasis to put on a show. Slamming the stainless steel foaming cup on the wooden counter three times, I watched the foam shift just the way I needed before moving to the front counter to give her a better view.

  “Is it okay if I record you?” she asked, as though she hadn’t already recorded the whole process.

  “Of course!” I smiled. “Make sure you tag me so I can repost you,” I winked before returning my attention to her drink.

  It was half the reason anyone came to the café – the opportunity to be posted on my growing account. What had started as an amusing way to make the workday pass faster had quickly taken on a life of its own. Everyone loved my cappuccino designs so much, they began flocking to the café with phones in hand, hoping to be featured on my account.

  Slowly, I poured the steamed milk into the double espresso, tilting the cup just right. When the foam began to coat the top, I twirled the cup in my hand. First, to the right and then left. The woman watched with a bright smile as the art came to life. Satisfied with my work, I set her cappuccino on the counter, revealing a bird with three small clouds behind it, a new design I’d only begun sharing recently.

  “Oh my gosh! It’s so beautiful, I don’t even want to drink it!” she squealed as she angled her phone for the best shot.

  “Trust me, it tastes even better,” I boasted before moving to the register. On slow mornings, I ran the café completely alone. It was hard, but I enjoyed the solitude and it kept me busy, which made the time pass quickly.

  “You know what I would love to try? One of those beautiful cakes you make. How can we get one of those? Are they in the back?” her friend piped up. She had bright red hair that reminded me of a fire-themed cake I’d posted recently.

  My passion had shifted in the last year and a half. It was part of the reason I didn’t love my job in the way I used to. I’d always loved baking, using it as a form of therapy to connect with my late mother.

  Of course, I’d taken things to a new extravagance, as I was known to do. Like my mom, I made my batter from scratch, a lesson I remember her sharing. She said anyone could buy a box and follow a few instructions, but baking from scratch took love and patience.

  I always hoped my mother could see how much care and time I put into my cakes, creating intricate designs with the icing, where she simply covered the cake. I’d taken everything she taught me and added to it, as I knew she would want me to do.

  “Are these your designs?” the girl asked when I failed to answer, too wrapped up in my own thoughts. She was looking in the glass display case of desserts the owner of the café had delivered every morning.

  “Sorry about that. No, those aren’t mine,” I could hear the disdain in my voice. That work was nowhere near as accomplished as mine. And they tasted more like cardboard compared to my flavors. “I don’t have a place to sell my cakes. For now, they’re just something I do for fun.”

  “Well, if you ever do decide to offer them for sale, you’ll need a much larger space than this. I can only imagine how many people will be in every day to get their hands on those beautiful cakes. I mean, even your cupcakes are beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it,” she gushed.

  It was a bittersweet compliment. I knew my online following loved my cake designs. My account had skyrocketed after I began posting them. But I didn’t have an outlet yet, after trying and failing to get hired at the only bakery I wanted to work for.

  If it were my fairy tale to
write, I’d have my own bakery, with a café waiting area. Customers would come in and have a latte cupcake with their artful cappuccino. Or maybe, they’d just have an espresso to calm their jitters as they taste-tested the many cake flavors we could use to build their dream wedding cake. I wanted to help people celebrate the best days of their lives, with beautiful desserts that tasted as good as they looked.

  But, for now, it was only a dream. So, I forced a smile as I accepted the woman’s ten-dollar bill, and thanked her profusely when she insisted I accept the change as a tip. It was a normal gesture from my followers. It felt like they wanted to support me in some way. I just hadn’t found a way for them to.

  I saved every one of the tips, though. After years at the café, I had acquired a nice savings account, though I didn’t yet have a plan how to spend it. I never felt like the money was mine to spend, but rather to build something for my dream.

  “Thanks, Charlotte! You are as sweet in person as you are online. Have a great day!” the woman called out on her way to the door. She was the last of the morning rush, giving me a few minutes to catch my breath. After two and a half hours of constantly running from one end of the counter to the other, my feet were ready for the break when the door swung open. The bells hanging at the top of the doorway announced my best friend.

  “You’re right on time,” I smiled, turning to turn on the kettle. It was our daily ritual. She would sneak away from her job for a few minutes to catch up and find a reason to laugh.

  “You’re not going to believe who I ran into,” Jackie rolled her hazel eyes. She was the most dramatic person I’d ever met, the best at telling stories. And as if she knew her strengths, she always had the most random interactions to recount, making the mundane entertaining.

  We’d known each other since elementary school and she was the sister I always wanted. Settling into the seat, I watched as she rolled the sleeves of her white-collared shirt to her elbows, revealing the bronze skin that shimmered in the light. She was absolutely stunning, which was a bit intimidating when we were younger.

  My bone-straight blonde hair was boring compared to Jackie’s gorgeous brown curls that bounced with every step. Noticing my insecurities, she taught me how to style my hair in middle school, using rods that left my hair voluminous and serums that gave me a shine mirroring hers.

  The kettle sounded, announcing the start of girl time, and I arranged our favorite cups on colorful coasters before pouring the steaming water. Reaching for the box of teas, I selected Jackie’s favorite – lavender mint, and a rosella blend for myself. Strangely enough, I rarely drank caffeinated drinks, despite how much I loved creating designs atop cappuccinos.

  “This better be good,” I smirked, sitting beside her at the small table near the window. It allowed me to see anyone walking into the café, in case I needed to jump back into work mode.

  “Do you remember Brian from sixth grade?” Jackie asked, pushing a rebellious curl behind her ear.

  “Sixth grade? I can barely remember what I ate for dinner last night,” I said. She was always challenging me with far-off memories from what felt like a past life.

  “You might be twenty, but you have the memory of a senior citizen,” she teased, lifting her tea bag in and out of the hot water.

  “Not everyone can recite the names of every teacher they’ve ever had. For the record, that’s not normal.”

  It was one of Jackie’s party tricks. One she could not believe I couldn’t match. She always teased me about my memory, but I never revealed the truth. Deep down, I knew I’d chosen to forget parts of my life. It was too difficult to remember how lost and unstable I was after losing my parents. Instead, I liked joking with my bestie, one of the few sources of my stability for as long as I could remember.

  Chapter 2

  FORD

  MY ARMS WERE stiff after two hours crammed between two women on the flight from Minneapolis. When the customer service rep said the only seat left on the plane was a middle seat in the very last row, I didn’t hesitate. I’d spent the better part of four years in that city, and didn’t care to spend an extra night there if I didn’t have to.

  The large Welcome to Cincinnati sign at the bottom of the escalator was a heart-warming sight. Quickly, I reached for my phone to snap a photo, feeling like a tourist instead of a native Cincinnatian returning.

  I never thought I would have to leave the city I had grown up in and loved, but in my career field it became necessary. As an airplane mechanic, I found it nearly impossible to find a job at the Cincinnati airport. Between the union and scarce opportunities, the best option was to relocate to a larger airport. Minneapolis had done that for me four years ago. As a major hub for one of the best national airlines, there was a massive need in my industry.

  But the second I saw an opening near Cincinnati, I leapt at the opportunity to move back home. Although it was technically located in Kentucky, the Cincinnati/Northern Kentucky International Airport served my hometown and a few smaller cities.

  While, I’d never bash Minneapolis, it had failed to become a second home. The city had given me the opportunity to break into my field, and for that, I was grateful. But that’s where the love stopped. Everything in Minneapolis was out of touch and unfamiliar.

  Someone had lied to the people of Minneapolis and Saint Paul, convincing them they were a big shot city worthy of a red carpet they never put away. There was a party every night, and I don’t mean the type I was used to back home with beers and a dance floor. These were full-out galas, requiring tuxedos and corporate ties.

  It’s not right to pretend it was all a pain. Some of my wildest nights happened in Minneapolis, partying late into the morning with little memory of how poorly I’d behaved. The four years were a bit of a blur in that way. My job was demanding, leading a team of airplane mechanics at one of the busiest airports in the country.

  Every so often, I needed a release – to kick back and find a way to deal with the stress of it all. I was looking forward to the adjustment I knew would come working at a smaller airport. No longer responsible for performing any repairs, I would be managing the entire team of mechanics. The leap in responsibility was matched by a pay increase.

  As a single man with little responsibilities, I’d accumulated a large nest egg without much of a plan of how to use it. My mother always reminded me I could buy property in Cincinnati for a fraction of the price in Minneapolis. But, I never put much thought into it because my salary included a home close to the airport. It was their way of making sure I was never too far in the event of an emergency.

  “Hey… Um, hello,” a young brunette stuttered as I walked into the small convenience store at the end of the terminal.

  I could see she was attracted to me from the way she blushed from the instant our eyes locked. I’d been able to detect the look in women since my adolescence. There was something about the women in Cincinnati that rocked me harder than anywhere else, though. I’d seen a lot of places, but the women in my home state were unmatched.

  “I just need some Tylenol,” I said, hearing the scratchiness in my voice. “And maybe something to drink.”

  She smiled, pointing towards the back of the small store. Following her direction, I made my way to the second aisle. A reflection of myself in the glass storefront showed I looked as tired as I felt. After a night of packing, I hadn’t shaved or even brushed my hair before boarding the flight.

  My beard was longer than usual, dark and bushy like my eyebrows. I would be trimming it before turning up at my mom’s place as she’d never liked my beard. My hair was all over the place, but I didn’t bother to attempt taming it. Rough curls covered my head, like a canopy hiding my dark gray eyes, yearning for a little sleep.

  The store only offered travel-size options, so I selected the small pack of four Tylenol pills before taking a small orange juice from the refrigerated section. Glancing around, I debated adding a pack of cookies or potato chips before deciding against it. I’d been craving the
best chili in the world from Skyline Chili – my favorite restaurant since childhood.

  Founded in Cincinnati, it was a must every visit home and I didn’t want to ruin my appetite before I could fill up on the meal I daydreamed about in Minneapolis. They didn’t have Skyline Chili there, probably because it wasn’t fancy enough. But I was happy to be back where you couldn’t drive too far without passing one.

  “Anything else, sir?” the cashier asked when I placed my purchases on the counter.

  “Yeah, I think that’ll be it.”

  “That’ll be eight dollars and forty-six cents,” she announced after tapping on the screen.

  “Eight bucks for a few Tylenol and orange juice? Jeez,” I gasped, reaching into my pocket for a spare ten-dollar bill I’d placed there after tipping my cab driver.

  “Sorry, the airport prices are just so much higher than the normal rates,” she winced.

  “It’s not your fault,” I assured her, placing the bill on the counter.

  “Oh, right,” she said with a look of relief followed by a nervous laughter. “So, are you from here, or just visiting?”

  “Born and raised,” I announced proudly and she beamed with pride only a fellow Ohioan could appreciate.

  “I could tell from the way you walk,” she explained, handing me the change.

  “Really?” I smiled, curious about her determining factors for detecting my lineage. She smiled brightly, flashing a dimple I hadn’t noticed before.

  “Oh, give me a break!” A loud call from behind me caught my attention. “You’ve been back for ten minutes and you’re already flirting. Please, let the young woman do her job!”

  My eyes lit up at the sight of my oldest friend. Marshall hadn’t aged since I met him at tryouts to the junior high basketball team. Back then, his parents had still been alive and he was like the rest of us, carefree with his whole life ahead of him. Now, his shoulders were a bit broader, threatening to bust through the black fabric of his security uniform. He had recently been promoted to head of security for the largest bank downtown. We’d made plans for him to pick me up from the airport so we could properly celebrate both our recent accomplishments.