Title: I Love My...Trilogy Author: Sabrina Lacey Synopsis The I Love My… Trilogy is the box set of the entire “I Love My…” romance series. It’s jam-packed with “I Love My Healed Heart” “I Love My Side of The Story” and “I Love My Fire” ---three whole novels, just shy of 200,000 words! In the intertwining erotic romance stories of three best friends (Fashion Magazine Assistant Editor Jessica Harper, Casting Director Amber Monroe, and Passionate Painter Nicole Henry) we fall in love with their friendships, their quirks, and most of all, their hot as hell men! Jessica’s been cheated on, Amber’s in a stale relationship, Nicole’s been single for three years, and against the electric backdrop of New York City, they battle their way to true love with the help of each other and a loyalty you will love. "If women acted this way across the globe, men would only be able to cheat with each other because the sisterhood would be so strong." – Amazon Review |
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Excerpt
Three of them, one from each book...
Excerpt 1:
I never thought I’d be the type of girl to answer a sex ad. They were gross, laughed at, ridiculously disturbing even. But then there are those posts tonight that cause my mind to question the masses, the ones that beckon me, like: “Use me like I’m him” and “I’m free of judgment - and in New York for only one night.” The latter one really catches my attention.
Why am I looking? Because I am at the height of my sexual prime and even though my heart hurts from the loser boyfriend that just under two months ago ended our relationship without my consent, I want it. Sex. I want a man’s body on top of mine. I want the pressure of his chest against me - the weight of him, the smell of him, on top of me. Behind me. Underneath me. Next. To. Me.
I want it. So I answered one.
Will I tell anyone I answered the ad? Hell, no.
While I’m sitting on my couch with my glass of Pinot Grigio, watching an episode of So You Think You Can Dance, I hear it…the unmistakable sound of an email alert on my phone. It could be more spam from my credit cards. It could be a notice that someone liked my post on Facebook (I really need to turn those alerts off), or it could be my ticket out of this boredom and anger. I consider waiting for the commercial break to check it… Yeah, right. I reach for the phone.
The email reads, “I loved what you had to say. You’re really funny. And if those pics you sent are real, I’d love to meet you. Where are you now?”
My heart starts to race. That’s not the credit card company. Thank God I put up real pics, but now that he’s brought it up, did he put up real ones? I never even thought of that. I’m too honest. I really should try to lie more often. But then I’d be more like my ex. And that jerk is such a lying sack of… but who cares? There’s a man waiting for my email and I know how it feels to wait. Boy, do I.
I start to type, but stop to take a sip from my wine. Do I have more wine in the fridge? This is going to take more than one glass. “I’m home. East Village. Where are you?” I hit send and already feel the wetness building. My mind starts to race with the “pleases.” Please be cool. Please be handsome. Please have posted your real picture.
How many women answer these ads, I wonder. Who knows? How many of them had been dating David, my ex? Well, with him, the possibilities are endless. I smile at my ability to laugh at the situation. I can joke still, I tell myself. Nice. Well done. You’re still in there… I think. Let’s see if everything still works. With the phone still in my hand, wine glass half-drained in my other, the vibration and tone signals a hasty response. Email alert! He didn’t make me wait long. He’s excited, too? I giggle like a teenager, alone on my couch, and open it.
“I’m in the East Village, too… just below 7th. Lucky me, huh?” He included a happy face. Nice. I like a guy who can use a properly placed emoticon. It’s an art.
I think quickly. I want to make sure to be funny in return. Keep his interest. Spark the fire. Did I just say, “Spark the fire?” Oh my…someone help me. Okay, here goes. I type fast, without censoring myself.
“No… Lucky me.” I hit send and wait.
The next minute goes by with my heart pounding like there’s House music playing in my chest: bam bam bam bam bam bam. Maybe I’ve had enough wine. Nah. I take a gulp. This calls for a glass…or five…of courage. If you can’t be honest with yourself, who can you be honest with?
Vibration and tone go off again. I can barely stay seated on the couch because I am FREAKING OUT. I check the email. It’s not from him. It’s one of those stupid alerts from Facebook. Don’t get me wrong - I love Facebook - but hearing from it now is like hearing from my Aunt May. Not sexy. Focus on the kids dancing on the TV, I tell myself. They’re so talented. So gifted. How are they all able to do the splits? Riiiiing tone! Woop! I check the email and this time… it’s him.
“I can be there in ten minutes.”
Excerpt 2:
With his eyes clouded more than I’ve ever seen them, he releases me and steps away, walking out of the room to the front door of the office like I’ve just killed him.
Anxiety screams as I call, my voice cracking, “Are you leaving?”
He turns, surprised at the sound. He does his best to hide his disappointment, but I still see the reflection of it swimming in green. “Yeah. We’re going to celebrate. This is a big day. My baby and I are moving in together.”
“Oh.” I’m spinning with guilt and I don’t move. I want to take it back, but something is stopping me. Just bring him in for an audition, Amber! What are you doing?
He smiles at me in such a way that makes me realize I’m topless. I look down and cover my breasts. “I should put some clothes on.”
He grins, jogs over and grabs me. “Nah. I like you just like this.” I get swung around once and kissed, before he sets me down. If a girl can be an asshole, then I am one.
“Woo. Dizzy. Just give me a minute, baby,” I say, pushing myself away.
He lets go and shoves his hands in his pockets. I turn to get my things from my office. Struggling to reach for my blouse on the high shelf it landed on, I see it’s touching the book The Liars Club by Mary Carr. The title expands and vibrates, mocking me. I jump back down and as I snap on my bra with more difficulty than ever and put on my blouse, the shame deepens, because the devil on my shoulder is now screaming, Celebrate later. You have work to do. You should stay here if you’re ever going to amount to anything. The devil sounds oddly like my dad and the Feminist Revolution.
They’re so loud that I yell, “No!”
“What?” Josh asks, sounding worried.
“What? Oh. Nothing!” I shut down the computer, turn off the lights. Amber Monroe Casting will just have to open early tomorrow. I’ll come in at dawn if I have to. Tonight is his.
Excerpt 3:
“Your face is making me nervous.”
“What face? I just want a hot dog.”
I point my free hand at him. “And now that face! The one that says you’re innocent when you’re not innocent! My best friend does that!”
“Amber?” he asks, not looking back, legs moving fast.
I shake my head, breaking into a trot. “No. My other best friend. Slow down!”
“You have a best friend named Slow Down?”
I laugh and pick up to a jog. He lets go of my hand, breaks into a full-on run, and the chase is on! I run after him, laughing, as he dodges me several hilarious times. He makes me chase him all the way to the hot dog stand. I’m out of shape so he loses me long before we get there. I finally catch up, panting my heart out. He’s out of breath, too; his grin is like a little kid’s.
I grab my thighs, bent over, chest heaving. I look up at him and scowl. “Stop checking your imaginary watch!”
He feigns surprise. “You can’t see my watch? I see it.”
I shake my head, standing up straight, holding onto my ribs for consolation. “Oh, right. Sorry. It’s very expensive. My apologies.”
“Cost my mom nine months to make it! What do you want on your hot dog?” He smiles, filled with mock pride and nods in the direction of the forty-something Lithuanian vendor who’s watching us, not amused.
I hold my hand onto my chest. “I really need to start going to a gym or something. Umm… mustard.”
He stops, throws me a sideways glance. “Onions?”
“Only if you are.”
“Great. We’ll both have onions then. Did you get that?”
The vendor stares at him and starts to work.
Mark and I share a look. He shrugs, walks over and pulls me close. He kisses me once and leans back to look into my eyes, his arms wound comfortably around me. “Nicole.” The warmth in his eyes turns intimate again, as if we’re alone. “This is the best time I’ve had in years.”
A surprised smile drifts throughout my whole body. I don’t say anything though, because I’m having a hard time believing he’s real. There must be something wrong with him. Nothing in my life is this easy or makes me this happy. Then I remember – there issomething wrong with him. A major flaw called distance. This amazing man lives a very sad and lonely three thousand miles away from me. Suddenly I realize that may be exactly why that girl – the one he met on his last trip – ditched him for another guy. I couldn’t understand it before, but now I know she probably got scared. That’s probably why I’m here and she isn’t.
Mark’s brow creases as he searches my eyes. “Hey hey hey. What was that?”
A little puff of disbelief escapes my lungs. “You see everything.”
He nods slowly, his eyes warm and kind. “It feels good.”
Easy for you to say, I think. For me, it feels terrifying.
A heavy Lithuanian accent booms out of nowhere: “HERE YOU GO!”
Mark and I look over at him. Letting go of me, Mark reaches for his wallet to pay the man.
I silently watch him ask for a couple bottles of water. He’s so comfortable in his own skin, and even better, I feel comfortable in mine when I’m around him. So what if he lives far away? Maybe long distance can work. I choose to make the opposite decision she made. I’m not going to let him go. I don’t care what happens. I’m not going to be an idiot – because that’s what I think she must be. I hope I never meet her, because I will tell her to her face what she lost… and that’s just mean.
“Can we have some chips, too?” I call over.
“The lady wants chips!”
The vendor nods without expression.
Mark whispers, “He loved us,” as we walk back into the park.
I laugh. “Our biggest fan, for sure.”
I never thought I’d be the type of girl to answer a sex ad. They were gross, laughed at, ridiculously disturbing even. But then there are those posts tonight that cause my mind to question the masses, the ones that beckon me, like: “Use me like I’m him” and “I’m free of judgment - and in New York for only one night.” The latter one really catches my attention.
Why am I looking? Because I am at the height of my sexual prime and even though my heart hurts from the loser boyfriend that just under two months ago ended our relationship without my consent, I want it. Sex. I want a man’s body on top of mine. I want the pressure of his chest against me - the weight of him, the smell of him, on top of me. Behind me. Underneath me. Next. To. Me.
I want it. So I answered one.
Will I tell anyone I answered the ad? Hell, no.
While I’m sitting on my couch with my glass of Pinot Grigio, watching an episode of So You Think You Can Dance, I hear it…the unmistakable sound of an email alert on my phone. It could be more spam from my credit cards. It could be a notice that someone liked my post on Facebook (I really need to turn those alerts off), or it could be my ticket out of this boredom and anger. I consider waiting for the commercial break to check it… Yeah, right. I reach for the phone.
The email reads, “I loved what you had to say. You’re really funny. And if those pics you sent are real, I’d love to meet you. Where are you now?”
My heart starts to race. That’s not the credit card company. Thank God I put up real pics, but now that he’s brought it up, did he put up real ones? I never even thought of that. I’m too honest. I really should try to lie more often. But then I’d be more like my ex. And that jerk is such a lying sack of… but who cares? There’s a man waiting for my email and I know how it feels to wait. Boy, do I.
I start to type, but stop to take a sip from my wine. Do I have more wine in the fridge? This is going to take more than one glass. “I’m home. East Village. Where are you?” I hit send and already feel the wetness building. My mind starts to race with the “pleases.” Please be cool. Please be handsome. Please have posted your real picture.
How many women answer these ads, I wonder. Who knows? How many of them had been dating David, my ex? Well, with him, the possibilities are endless. I smile at my ability to laugh at the situation. I can joke still, I tell myself. Nice. Well done. You’re still in there… I think. Let’s see if everything still works. With the phone still in my hand, wine glass half-drained in my other, the vibration and tone signals a hasty response. Email alert! He didn’t make me wait long. He’s excited, too? I giggle like a teenager, alone on my couch, and open it.
“I’m in the East Village, too… just below 7th. Lucky me, huh?” He included a happy face. Nice. I like a guy who can use a properly placed emoticon. It’s an art.
I think quickly. I want to make sure to be funny in return. Keep his interest. Spark the fire. Did I just say, “Spark the fire?” Oh my…someone help me. Okay, here goes. I type fast, without censoring myself.
“No… Lucky me.” I hit send and wait.
The next minute goes by with my heart pounding like there’s House music playing in my chest: bam bam bam bam bam bam. Maybe I’ve had enough wine. Nah. I take a gulp. This calls for a glass…or five…of courage. If you can’t be honest with yourself, who can you be honest with?
Vibration and tone go off again. I can barely stay seated on the couch because I am FREAKING OUT. I check the email. It’s not from him. It’s one of those stupid alerts from Facebook. Don’t get me wrong - I love Facebook - but hearing from it now is like hearing from my Aunt May. Not sexy. Focus on the kids dancing on the TV, I tell myself. They’re so talented. So gifted. How are they all able to do the splits? Riiiiing tone! Woop! I check the email and this time… it’s him.
“I can be there in ten minutes.”
Excerpt 2:
With his eyes clouded more than I’ve ever seen them, he releases me and steps away, walking out of the room to the front door of the office like I’ve just killed him.
Anxiety screams as I call, my voice cracking, “Are you leaving?”
He turns, surprised at the sound. He does his best to hide his disappointment, but I still see the reflection of it swimming in green. “Yeah. We’re going to celebrate. This is a big day. My baby and I are moving in together.”
“Oh.” I’m spinning with guilt and I don’t move. I want to take it back, but something is stopping me. Just bring him in for an audition, Amber! What are you doing?
He smiles at me in such a way that makes me realize I’m topless. I look down and cover my breasts. “I should put some clothes on.”
He grins, jogs over and grabs me. “Nah. I like you just like this.” I get swung around once and kissed, before he sets me down. If a girl can be an asshole, then I am one.
“Woo. Dizzy. Just give me a minute, baby,” I say, pushing myself away.
He lets go and shoves his hands in his pockets. I turn to get my things from my office. Struggling to reach for my blouse on the high shelf it landed on, I see it’s touching the book The Liars Club by Mary Carr. The title expands and vibrates, mocking me. I jump back down and as I snap on my bra with more difficulty than ever and put on my blouse, the shame deepens, because the devil on my shoulder is now screaming, Celebrate later. You have work to do. You should stay here if you’re ever going to amount to anything. The devil sounds oddly like my dad and the Feminist Revolution.
They’re so loud that I yell, “No!”
“What?” Josh asks, sounding worried.
“What? Oh. Nothing!” I shut down the computer, turn off the lights. Amber Monroe Casting will just have to open early tomorrow. I’ll come in at dawn if I have to. Tonight is his.
Excerpt 3:
“Your face is making me nervous.”
“What face? I just want a hot dog.”
I point my free hand at him. “And now that face! The one that says you’re innocent when you’re not innocent! My best friend does that!”
“Amber?” he asks, not looking back, legs moving fast.
I shake my head, breaking into a trot. “No. My other best friend. Slow down!”
“You have a best friend named Slow Down?”
I laugh and pick up to a jog. He lets go of my hand, breaks into a full-on run, and the chase is on! I run after him, laughing, as he dodges me several hilarious times. He makes me chase him all the way to the hot dog stand. I’m out of shape so he loses me long before we get there. I finally catch up, panting my heart out. He’s out of breath, too; his grin is like a little kid’s.
I grab my thighs, bent over, chest heaving. I look up at him and scowl. “Stop checking your imaginary watch!”
He feigns surprise. “You can’t see my watch? I see it.”
I shake my head, standing up straight, holding onto my ribs for consolation. “Oh, right. Sorry. It’s very expensive. My apologies.”
“Cost my mom nine months to make it! What do you want on your hot dog?” He smiles, filled with mock pride and nods in the direction of the forty-something Lithuanian vendor who’s watching us, not amused.
I hold my hand onto my chest. “I really need to start going to a gym or something. Umm… mustard.”
He stops, throws me a sideways glance. “Onions?”
“Only if you are.”
“Great. We’ll both have onions then. Did you get that?”
The vendor stares at him and starts to work.
Mark and I share a look. He shrugs, walks over and pulls me close. He kisses me once and leans back to look into my eyes, his arms wound comfortably around me. “Nicole.” The warmth in his eyes turns intimate again, as if we’re alone. “This is the best time I’ve had in years.”
A surprised smile drifts throughout my whole body. I don’t say anything though, because I’m having a hard time believing he’s real. There must be something wrong with him. Nothing in my life is this easy or makes me this happy. Then I remember – there issomething wrong with him. A major flaw called distance. This amazing man lives a very sad and lonely three thousand miles away from me. Suddenly I realize that may be exactly why that girl – the one he met on his last trip – ditched him for another guy. I couldn’t understand it before, but now I know she probably got scared. That’s probably why I’m here and she isn’t.
Mark’s brow creases as he searches my eyes. “Hey hey hey. What was that?”
A little puff of disbelief escapes my lungs. “You see everything.”
He nods slowly, his eyes warm and kind. “It feels good.”
Easy for you to say, I think. For me, it feels terrifying.
A heavy Lithuanian accent booms out of nowhere: “HERE YOU GO!”
Mark and I look over at him. Letting go of me, Mark reaches for his wallet to pay the man.
I silently watch him ask for a couple bottles of water. He’s so comfortable in his own skin, and even better, I feel comfortable in mine when I’m around him. So what if he lives far away? Maybe long distance can work. I choose to make the opposite decision she made. I’m not going to let him go. I don’t care what happens. I’m not going to be an idiot – because that’s what I think she must be. I hope I never meet her, because I will tell her to her face what she lost… and that’s just mean.
“Can we have some chips, too?” I call over.
“The lady wants chips!”
The vendor nods without expression.
Mark whispers, “He loved us,” as we walk back into the park.
I laugh. “Our biggest fan, for sure.”
Author Bio
Sabrina Lacey used to shoot photography and for a while, fashion. She was like Diego, the photographer in I Love My Healed Heart who worked the tents at Fashion Week. It gave Sabrina all the insight she needed to create a fantastical tale about the glamorous lives those people don’t really live. ;) Now she lives in Los Angeles, CA. with her dog Pippin. He wouldn’t comment for this bio. He’s an enigma, that one. A tiny, fluffy, white Maltese, enigma who captured her heart and ran with it. She however would like to say that she loves you for coming along for the ride. Cheers and Happy Reading!