Love and Learn (Voretti Family Book 2)
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Authors: Ava Blackstone
LOVE AND LEARN
Copyright © 2015 by Ava Blackstone
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in an article or review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Edited by Naomi Hughes
Cover by Damonza
ISBN: 9781944594022
Navy SEAL Tyler MacKinnon is
that
guy. The one who pitches a no-hitter in the big game even though he skipped practice. The one who can get any girl into bed with a funny story and a grin. But when Ty is hit by an IED, his charmed life is blown straight to hell.
Though his leg heals, that naive certainty that the universe is on his side is gone forever. And it’s like everyone knows it. Everyone except Annabelle Voretti, the sweet, studious girl Ty left when he made the spur-of-the-moment decision to join the Navy right out of high school. When Ty is with Annabelle, he feels like
himself
again. But winning her back is going to take a fight, and Ty is used to going with the flow instead of battling the current.
Annabelle has only ever taken one risk in her life—and it sent the most popular boy in school running straight from her arms to the Navy, leaving her with a raging case of sexual insecurity. Now Ty wants a second chance, but Annabelle has learned her lesson. Except
what if
? What if the only way for Annabelle to heal her sexual scars is to go back to the source? Some one-on-one tutoring from Ty might be just what she needs—if only she can find the courage to take one more crazy risk.
LOVE AND LEARN
A VORETTI FAMILY NOVELLA
AVA BLACKSTONE
To my endlessly supportive mother.
I
F
THERE
WAS
a hell, then it was the Northern Chicago Bridal Expo. And Tyler MacKinnon was on a collision course with its fiery center.
“Come
on,
honey. They’re giving away a Chloe North dress!” His fiancée Bri dragged him forward, toward a mannequin decked out in a half-ton of lace and rhinestones.
Her soft skin felt wrong against the callused mess of his own palm. Almost as wrong as the hitch in his gait when she pulled him forward.
Everything had felt wrong since the injury, because the IED hadn’t just hit his leg, it had destroyed his entire life. As a Navy SEAL he’d scaled cliffs and sprinted for miles. Now he couldn’t make it from the Harney’s Flowers booth to the Belle Mariée Bridal station without limping.
But his snail’s pace didn’t suck nearly as much as what it signified. That he wasn’t immortal. That he couldn’t relax and go with the flow and rely on the universe to take care of everything. The universe had already abandoned him once. And, despite his best efforts, he saw no sign that it had reported back for duty. One little sign—was that so much to ask?
“…so I told her strapless does not mean Vegas stripper on a pole. You know?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“You have no idea what I said. Do you?”
Used to be, when he’d drift into his own thoughts, Bri would find it amusing. Now she sounded pissed.
She was all he had left of his old, charmed life, and if he didn’t get his head out of his ass, he’d lose her too.
He put his arm around her, so they at least
looked
like the happy couples surrounding them. “Sorry, babe. I don’t like fighting through all these people, that’s all.”
“Just picture me walking down the aisle in a strapless Chloe North gown.”
He tried to, but the image wouldn’t come into focus. All ten thousand of the conversations around him crowded into his head, mobilizing into a massive ball of static. “Let’s find Hugh’s Bakery. They’ve got cake samples.”
“You had an energy bar five minutes ago. You can’t possibly be hungry.”
“I don’t have to be hungry to want cake. Think about it. A nice piece of chocolate—”
“Tyler MacKinnon! I have to fit into a wedding dress. The last thing I need is to gorge myself on cake.”
He wasn’t sure why a few slices of cake should matter, since Bri hadn’t even bought the dress yet, but the heat in her glare warned him not to ask for clarification. “Right. No cake.”
Bri sashayed forward, cutting through the crowd with an effortless smile and a few well-placed elbow jabs. He tried to smile the way she was, but his muscles ignored his direct orders. The further they went, the hotter it got, like they really were walking deeper into hell.
He took a deep breath.
Stale sweat. Rancid food. Desperation.
His heart raced and his lungs seized up. He was back in Iraq, bleeding out into the dirt.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
It’s over. You’re safe.
Bri squealed. “Look, honey. All we have to do is fill out those questionnaires, and we’re entered to win!”
He didn’t want to open his eyes. He wanted to stay in the dark where he could be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
Bri sighed. “I know guys don’t get all giddy over clothes like woman do, but this wedding is never going to happen if I don’t find a dress. I need you to rally.”
Pull it together, MacKinnon.
He forced his eyes open. They were in the heart of the crowd now, part of a long line of couples waiting to be handed a clipboard by the Belle Mariée reps.
Questions covered the oversized page from top to bottom in tiny font, and Ty had a brief fantasy where he grabbed the clipboard and shoved it down the smiling rep’s throat.
He shoved the misplaced anger down. “Forget about Chloe North. Natashja will make you a gorgeous dress. Anything you want.”
Bri snorted. “Honey, I know she’s your godmother, but that woman hates me. She’s not touching my wedding dress.”
An elbow jabbed into Ty’s gut.
The anger he’d forced down surged back up. He turned to confront the asshole who didn’t understand personal space—
—and came face-to-face with a sweet-faced sixteen-year-old.
She had dark hair, eyes that had never been within a thousand miles of a battlefield, and a sweet smile. She looked almost like—
He cut the thought off there, like he always did.
The girl looked him over, and those innocent eyes went wide. “S-sorry. Someone pushed me, and…”
“’S okay.”
She shrunk back toward an older woman in a
Here Comes the Bride
t-shirt.
A familiar pressure built inside him. He needed to get the hell away from here or he was gonna explode.
He slung an arm around Bri, turning her away from the Belle Mariée rep. “C’mon.” His heart was thundering inside his chest, but he somehow kept his tone casual. “Let’s get some coffee.”
“As soon as we enter the contest.”
“Seriously, babe. I really need caffeine.”
She surveyed the fifty-couple-long line. “It’ll only take a minute.”
The pressure broke, stabbing through his temples. “I’ll buy you whatever goddamn dress you want! Now, let’s go.”
She stared at him like he’d shed his skin, revealing all the rot underneath. “What is
with
you lately?”
Fuck.
Fuck
.
He dropped his head. Bri might not understand what he was going through, but she’d stood by him after the accident. He owed her for that. He might not be the same man she’d fallen in love with, but at least he could pretend.
So he apologized. When he and Bri finally made it to the front of the line, he took the clipboard he was offered. He even managed a smile, because that’s what pre-IED Ty would’ve done.
Pre-IED Ty wouldn’t have minded crowds or questionnaires. He’d have answered the multiple choice questions randomly and still won the dress, because he was the universe’s golden boy.
Ty followed the Belle Mariée rep’s directions, heading to the table on the left side of the booth where a bunch of guys were filling out their questionnaires. Bri went to the right with the other women.
He started to fill in the multiple choice bubbles at random, but as if she sensed it, Bri looked right at him.
Okay. He could answer a few questions.
Your ideal woman will: A) stay at home and raise your children. B) have a career like you. C) make enough money that you don’t have to work.
Ty chose B and moved on to the next. Ten minutes later, he turned in his clipboard. Then he had to wait for the prize announcement. What seemed like hours later, one of the Belle Mariée reps finally picked up a microphone.
“Helloooo Chicago! Belle Mariée wishes all of you the best on your special day. It’s a time you’ll remember for the rest of your life, so we want to make sure you’re wearing the right dress. And one lucky woman is going to be wearing a custom Chloe North gown—paid for by us!”
The crowd screeched with excitement. Bri squeezed Ty’s hand.
Too tight. Too close. He needed a quiet room with a door he could padlock shut.
“So, without further ado, let’s find out how compatible you couples are!”
The collar of his T-shirt seemed to have shrunk two sizes, because it was strangling him. He forced in a breath. Of course he and Bri were compatible. They’d dated for a year before he’d proposed, and never once gotten into an argument.
Granted, he’d been stationed six thousand miles away for most of that time. Now that they were living in the same time zone, there had been a few bumps. But that had nothing to do with incompatibility. It was only that Ty was having a hard time readjusting to civilian life.
“The women were asked to fill out a questionnaire regarding their habits, likes, dislikes, and future plans, while the men were asked to describe the habits, likes, dislikes and future plans of their ideal woman. We’ve scored each couple according to how well their answers matched.”
There was scattered laughter, mixed with a few groans, from the throng of waiting couples.
“Our most compatible couple will win the Chloe North dress. Now, let’s take a look at the scoreboard!” The rep gestured to a screen behind him.
Bri dragged Ty forward. “You remembered that I like sushi better than Mexican food, right?”
“Uh…”
Her smile was too bright—forced. “That’s okay. It’s only one question. I’m sure everyone missed at least one—” She stopped dead, right in the middle of a pack of rabid Bridezillas. “Tyler MacKinnon! What on earth did you do?”
Ty squinted at the screen, but all he could see was a jumble of numbers. “What?”
“There!” She stabbed one blood-red nail toward the bottom score. “Couple 492. We got a fourteen out of one hundred! Did you even read the questions?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t lie to me.” She stalked forward, eyes narrowed at the screen.
“C’mon, babe. It’s a stupid multiple choice test. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Bri’s glare snapped from the screen to him. “Now that I think about it, we would’ve scored
higher
if you filled in the answers at random.”
He started to sweat, which was fucked up because it wasn’t like she’d caught him in bed with another woman or blowing his savings at a strip club. This was just some gimmicky dress promotion. “Babe, I swear on my life I did my best.”
“A fourteen out of one hundred was your
best
? Don’t give me that crap. I know you, and—” Bri’s strident voice broke. “Oh my God. You were thinking about someone else. Weren’t you?”
Her eyes shined with moisture that he sincerely hoped was a trick of the light. The other couples were watching. Judging.
Why is a beautiful woman like that with an asshole like you?
“Come on, Bri. Who else would I have been thinking about?”
“Annabelle.”
His throat squeezed shut in a vain attempt to keep the rest of his secrets inside. How had she known, when, half the time, he didn’t even let himself think Annabelle’s name? “I don’t think about Annabelle. Not like that.”
“You talk about her in your sleep. Did you know that?”
Shit
. What had he said? “I probably talk about a lot of people.”