S.O.B. by J.C. Valentine Publication Date: November 10, 2015 Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
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Synopsis: Levi Black is an s.o.b.Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he’s a pretentious, obnoxious, womanizing jacka** who thinks the world revolves around him. He wouldn’t be wrong. A famous soccer player, his skills on and off the field have won him medals, trophies, women, and the cover of every heartthrob magazine in the country. He’s broken nearly every bone in his body and a few hearts along the way, including mine--his stepsister—and lived to tell about it. One night changed everything, and I’ve avoided him like the plague ever since. Just long enough to finish college, to bury the hurt, and to outrun the memories. But now that’s all changed. I’m back, and there’s no more running. My hands are supposed to be my livelihood, but now they’re my curse. Levi’s reckless ways have landed him in a sticky situation, and his father has given me an offer I can’t refuse. One month, and all I have to do is put my hands on his body. Easier said than done. The problem is, even though I know it’s bound to bite me in the a**, I can’t bring myself to say no to the s.o.b.
EXCERPTHoly shit. I don’t know if I can do this. Vista is a problem. My problem. Having her here, in my home, is going to change everything. Who am I kidding? It already has. But it doesn’t have to, a voice in my head whispers. One month. That’s all I have to get through, and then my life can return to normal. I can go back to pretending she doesn’t exist, doesn’t matter. One month. I repeat the words in my head until they’re keeping time with the beat of my heart. They’re my new mantra. One month. One month. Piece of cake. Now all I have to do is believe the lie. “Unless you’ve developed an unhealthy attraction to stairs I don’t know about, quit staring into space and get over here, jackass,” Vincent calls out. “I’m not a one man circus. Help me keep these bitches entertained.” The women gasp as if offended by Vincent’s crassness, but they’re not. They are bitches, and they know it. Hell, they’ve made it an art. It’s what makes them attractive to men—being unattainable. Except to me. Being who I am, women like them are a dime a dozen, which grew boring ten minutes ago. I stare up at the empty staircase for a moment longer before kicking a crutch out behind me and twisting around to join the party with the realization that choking down the lie is going to be damn near impossible. I can’t ignore the hollow ache in my stomach that’s formed from just seeing her any more than I can ignore the throbbing pulse that’s demanding attention in my jeans. Vista Marquis thinks a few stairs can keep me from getting to her? Then she doesn’t really know me. I can obtain anything I want. I’m Levi-fucking-Black, and just like my father, I make shit happen.
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