Space Between

Name: Space Between
SKU: 262905
Availability: InStock

$3.99

Brit Palmer

We’re just friends.
Alex is the guy women swoon over. Gorgeous. Privileged. Reformed bad boy. Hella alpha.
But he’s not my type. I’m a left-wing, feminist with a ridiculously high IQ. I’d rather be singing a jazz tune or shopping for a pair of designer shoes to go with a couture coat. I proudly check the box: weirdo.
Yes, over the last eight years, I’ve developed an affection for him. Given the circumstances, it’s to be expected.
We grew up in the same town. We love jazz shows and Warriors basketball. We help each other out. We co-parent an adorable little dog. He’s the person I turn to when my world feels upside down.
But we’re just friends.
Oh, and there’s that piece of paper. Shh… don’t tell my friends.
Umm, maybe I secretly long to be his pretty, well-behaved housewife. Shh… don’t tell Alex.

Alex Willingham

We are not just friends!
Yeah, there’s that secret binding us. But it’s more than that. We have something.
To Brit, I’m a capitalist suit. Never mind this suit keeps a roof over her head, well-fed, and adorned in designer fashion.
My model-pretty smart girl, made me who I am. I owe so much of my success to her.
Business aside, I’m still her man. Brit just doesn’t know it yet.
I’ll hold out. Eight years isn’t really that long. (Nah, it’s really long.)
At the end of the record spinning between us, she and I both know, our happily-ever-after will be worth the wait.
We were never just friends.

Standalone. Steamy, low angst romantic comedy from the world of the Smart Girl Mafia Series, Book #3. Affluent, thirtysomething, diverse heroes & heroines living in California. Always happily-ever-after. Expect laughs, lite kink, and a fake marriage between two people who love to listen to jazz but often fail to hear each other.

Format

Clear

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EXCERPT

Can a Secret Lead to Forever?

BRIT PALMER

“Brit, come sit on my face.”

Arousal floods my sex.

It’s Saturday morning. Hints of dawn peek from behind the white plantation shutters in Claire’s floral country living room. A bird chirps a constant melody.

Last night, Alex and his brother’s friends crashed the Smart Girl Mafia quarterly sleepover.
Even in our 30s, my friends and I still kick it like we did in college. But now, we do so with fine food and booze. And lately, fine men.

“What if someone walks in?” I ask, quietly.

“I doubt anyone is up this early,” he whispers.

I want to do it. Alex is skillful with his tongue. So skillful. It’s his thing.

For eight years, he’s asked: “Can I go down on you?”

Every time, I responded: “We’re not there yet.”

Last night we arrived. It was our first sexual experience. We haven’t even kissed.

I was a little drunk and high on the relief of finally being done with my dissertation. Finally being done with my doctorate degree. Finally being done with the last eight years.
He lies across from me. We were assigned to sleep on two sofas facing each other with a coffee table in between. The scent of homemade cinnamon apple potpourri wafts in the air.

“How do we do this?” I ask, tossing the thick white comforter off my body.

“Take off your panties and straddle my chest.”

He’s shirtless, on his back. The white comforter bunched at his feet reveals black boxer briefs. The life-like dragon tattooed across his muscular pec summons me forward.
Rising from the sofa, my peacock kaftan-style nightshirt falls mid-thigh. I slip off my black bikini panties and toss them on the pile of clothes I wore last night. I pause at the edge of his sofa.

“I’ve got a lot of thigh. How will you breathe?”

I’m 5’10. 162 pounds. While Alex is 6’1, fit, with a broad chest, he’s just a man. A man who needs air to live.

That would be a hell of a story to tell my friends on our truth hike: I accidently killed Alex, orgasming on his face.

“I’ll survive. Be a good girl. Come here,” Alex says, removing his silver titanium glasses.

I’m no pretty girl. I’m no distressed damsel waiting for a man to rescue me. But when this blue-green-eyed man says “good girl” my body flames with need.

Imagine the most attractive man… Alex Willingham is hotter than him.

At 31 years old, he appears older and wiser than his age. Light olive complexion.
Conservatively cut deep brown hair. Chiseled jawline. Always clean-shaven.

“Stop worrying, Brittney. You’re not going to kill me.”

“How did you know that was what I was thinking, Dragon?”

“After eight years, I know how my do-gooder wife thinks.”

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AMIEE SMITH. So, I love the art of writing romance fiction. I’m a character-driven author. My stories are contemporary romance with steam, humor, and diversity. I run my business from my living room in California. When I am not writing and telling people about my books, I run another online business. Read lots and lots. Watch tons of TV series. Drink coffee and wine. Listen to music. Cook comforting vegetarian meals. Say prayers, meditate, and light candles. Text with my girlfriends. And try to squeeze in a walk and a shower. My sexy little stories are my attempt at making someone’s night. May you always feel loved, seen, and heard. Books 1-4 of the Smart Girl Mafia Series currently available. Find me at: AmieeSmith.com and @amieesmithbooks on all the socials. -Amiee