Read HAPPY PANTS CAFE (THE HAPPY PANTS SERIES) Online
Authors: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
HAPPY PANTS CAFE (THE HAPPY PANTS SERIES) (28 page)
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(FATE BOOK 2,
Coming late 2014)
Dakota Dane is about to tell a lie she’ll wish she hadn’t. Because her lie is dangerous, sexy, and just showed up on campus, angry as hell and looking for her…
Ugly duckling Dakota Dane has a new boyfriend. He’s male-model gorgeous, built to perfection, wealthy, and smart. He is also a lie. As in, 100% fabricated. Does it matter that Dakota has a perfectly good reason for making him up? Not really. Not when Dakota’s made-up boyfriend shows up in the flesh.
So is she crazy? All signs point to maybe. But the walking, talking enigma with the deadly vibe isn’t about to give her any answers or let her out of his sight. And with college just around the corner, Dakota fears her dreams of a bright future have just collided with a dark rabbit hole…
Lord. Whoever had been on the other end of that phone was coming to my room. I had to get out of there. Because as much as I loved believing in miracles, those didn’t exist, which meant this guy was some psychopathic stalker, some frigging lunatic who’d convinced everyone he was my boyfriend.
I slipped from the covers and immediately had to brace myself on the edge of the hospital bed. My head pulsed with painful, dizzying jabs. I slowly stood upright and willed myself steady. My ribs and hip were sore, but I’d survive. That was, if I got the heck out of there.
I blew out a breath and wobbled to the clear plastic bag with my belongings hanging on the wall. I had to find my mother. I had to warn her. What if this guy showed up and tried something?
I slipped on my jeans, sweatshirt, and sneakers, not bothering with the other stuff. I grabbed my phone and purse and tiptoed to the door.
I poked my head out, hoping to spot my mother doing rounds, but instead I saw—
The breath whooshed from my lungs.
Santiago?
Cue slow motion and avalanche of conflicting, irrational thoughts accompanied by an imminent panic attack.
My stomach and heart squeezed into a brick and then dropped through the center of my body.
Lord, help me.
Because the man I’d invented—correction—the
gorgeous
man I’d stolen a picture of, stood twenty feet away, speaking to my mother, wearing low-slung faded jeans and a fitted white, button-down shirt.
I stared in wonderment while my eyes infused with his image and branded itself on my brain. He was lust, rock star, tough guy, jock, Prince Charming, and misfit rolled into one dangerous, rugged, well-groomed package. He sent my female brain into a tailspin.
I’ve lost my mind. That gorgeous man is not standing there. That’s not possible!
I willed my heavy feet to move, but my eyes remained glued to him. He was tall—around six three or six four—and, just like in his photo, built like a lean, mean predatory animal with broad
shoulders and powerful-looking…everything. Especially those arms. And those legs. And those…
yep. Everything.
To boot, he stood with the sort of confidence that gave me the distinct impression he really might be deadly. And ate his meat raw. Possibly still squealing.
Santiago, who towered over my mother, leaned down and hugged her. Then my mother said something, and they laughed like old friends.
What? He hugged my mother?
What was happening? Did she know him? Was the universe punishing me for lying? If it was, it was totally working. I’d never, ever lie again.
This time, I mean it, Santa.
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The Accidentally Yours Series Finale!
Prologue
Death is trying to seduce me.
I always suspected he would come for me after I survived the accident, and now there’s no doubt. And death isn’t some ominous creature that carries a bloody scythe, his face obscured by a black cloak, his spindly fingers protruding from the cuff of his dripping sleeve as he enters your dinner party, points to your plates, and declares in a gravelly voice, “You’re all dead. It was the canned salmon.” Oh no. This is no snarky Brit skit, and he’s no monster.
Death is a sex god.
He’s tall, built from indestructible solid bricks of muscle. His cheekbones are chiseled works of art, and his full, sensual lips are meant for doing anything but killing. Like I said, sex god.
How do I know this? He’s been watching me, whispering in my ear while I sleep, quietly hiding in the shadows while I eat, while I work, while I shower.
So for once, I’m turning the tables.
I follow the sound of his footsteps through my beach cottage, out my back porch, and then pick up his large footprints in the sand. I crouch behind the tall, dry grass blanketing the massive sand dune. The crashing waves mask the sound of my thumping heart and heavy, frantic breaths. I’m sweating like mad as the tropical morning sun beats down on my back, and I spot my stalker splashing in the waves.
He stands, and I can barely breathe when I look at him.
Though he’s nearly transparent, the outline of his naked body glistens with drops of ocean water reflected by the sun. I’ve never seen a more beautiful man. Shoulders that span the width of two normal-sized men, powerful arms and legs that make me wonder if he’s not actually carved from rock or molded from steel, and incredibly sculpted…jeez, everything. There’s not an inch on this beast—not a neck, an
ab, not a pec or a thigh—that isn’t constructed from potent, lethal-looking muscle. Well, except his hair. Though I can’t see the color, it’s beautifully thick and falls to his shoulders. I imagine it’s a warm shade of brown, streaked with reds and golds. Because he’s utterly beautiful, and that’s the kind of hair a beautiful man would have. Yes, he’s a god, not the bringer of death. And I can’t help but wonder why he’s made that way. Is it so that when he comes for me, there’ll be some sort of consolation—getting to see his face? I don’t know, but I’m not ready to see it yet. I want to live. I want to grow old. I want to fall in love. Just once before my time is up.
Yet somehow, I want him, too. Why? That’s gotta mean I’m
loca
, right?
My eyes study every poetic detail of this “man,” hoping to find answers. But there’s nothing. Nothing that will help save me from him.
Suddenly, I see his chin lift, and his head turns in my direction.
Can he see me?
Oh my God. He’s coming right for me.
I bolt from my hiding place and make a run for it. I know if I make it to my house, I’ll manage to lock the doors, but that won’t stop him. There is nowhere to hide from death, but I run anyway.
I make it to my back porch and reach for the door, but I slip on something.
Shit. Really? A banana peel?
My body crashes to the hard cement. My head cracks on the sharp edge of the porch’s step, and I can’t move. All I feel is my beating heart and heaving lungs, burning with fear.
“Dammit, woman. Why the hell do you always run from me?” His deep, melodic voice washes over me, and I love how it soothes my soul.
I look up and try to focus my eyes, but he’s difficult to make out. His dripping hair catches only a few rays of morning sunlight.
“You’re so beautiful,” I croak. “But I changed my mind; I don’t want to die. Please don’t take me away.”
I feel his warm hand brush against my cheek. “I am trying to save you, Ashli. Why won’t you let me?”
Why does he say that? Why is he lying to me? It doesn’t matter now, because I’m already dying. The darkness begins to swallow me.
“Shit!” I roll from my bed and fall to the floor with a thump.
Sonofabitch! Why do I keep having these dreams?
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When San Francisco native Mimi Jean went on an adventure as an exchange student to Mexico City, she never imagined the journey would lead to writing Romance. But one MBA, one sexy husband, and two rowdy kids later, Mimi would trade in 15 years of corporate life for vampires, deities, and snarky humor.
She continues to hope that her books will inspire a leather pants comeback (for men) and that she might make you laugh when you need it most.
She also enjoys interacting with her fans (especially if they’re batshit crazy). You can always find her chatting away on Facebook, Twitter, or saying many naughty words on her show MAN CANDY on Radioslot.com!
You can learn more at:
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MimiJeanPamfiloff
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author.