Worth a Shot Read online

  WORTH A SHOT

  A K.O. ROMANCE: BOOK 1

  Copyright© GAIL HARIS, 2021 Gail Haris, LLC.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  This book contains mature and adult content.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher, except for the use of a brief passage for review purposes only.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead are entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Sarah Paige, OPIUM HOUSE Creatives

  Editing: Elaine York, www.allusionpublishing.com

  Proofreading: Amy Briggs, Briggs Consulting, LLC

  Formatting: Allusions Publishing, www.allusionpublishing.com

  Published in the United States of America

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Also Written by Gail Haris

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To you. Thank you for taking a chance on me and making me feel that writing this story was worth a shot.

  Tori

  I’m going to kill her. I’m going to kill that one too. I’m going to kill everyone in my way. I look down and see the white of my knuckles as I struggle to control my breathing. A robotic voice from the speakers interrupts my inner grumblings.

  “Your destination is on the left.”

  Pop! I slam my blinker signal a little too hard. Gripping the steering wheel, I groan as the car turns. The coffee shop is within my sight. I bet that if I roll the window down, I might even get a whiff of the sweet, delicious smell. This has been the longest hour drive of my life.

  “I’m going to drop you two losers off at the door and then make my way over to that café. For your own safety, don’t argue with me. I’ll meet y’all inside.” I look over at my sister Jane, who’s wearing the biggest grin, completely unfazed by my irritable tone.

  Bouncing up and down with coupons in hand, Jane is tickled pink we’re going to be at the store before it opens. “Thank you again so much for driving us.”

  “You have a license, you know. And a car. So does Britney.” I peek at Britney through the rearview mirror. She gives me a shy, closed-lip smile.

  Jane whines, “You know driving in the city makes me a nervous wreck. Besides, you’re my maid of honor, consider this part of your bridal party duty.”

  I narrow my eyes at her as she bats her eyelashes and smiles wider.

  Yup, I’m going to kill you…you’ll never make it to legal drinking age, so understand that right now, I think as I watch her use the same tactic she’s used to get her way for the past twenty-years.

  I pull up to the bridal store to drop Jane and her best friend Britney off. The chummy duo literally leaps out of the car and skip up to the door where a long line already awaits them. You’ve got to be kidding me. No sale is worth getting up this early for.

  My attitude toward dress shopping and wedding planning should be less indifferent considering I’m also engaged. Yet, we haven’t even set a date, but I’m in no rush. Jane is over the moon with excitement, while I keep telling myself that I’m simply enjoying the engagement process a little longer, probably a tad longer than necessary if I’m being honest with myself. I’ve actually been accused of avoiding the subject and stalling. Am I doing that?

  Well, I’ll worry about that later. For now, I have more important matters in which to attend. Actually, at this God-awful hour, the most important of matters.

  Caffeine.

  The parking lot for the bridal shop is already full, so I find a parking spot in between the distance of both of my destinations and shut the car off. My phone vibrates, and I check it to see my fiancé’s name across the screen —Deacon. Eh, I’ll call him after I get my coffee. He’s probably wanting an update on my whereabouts and to ask if I plan to browse for my own wedding dress. Probably not.

  He’s starting to get impatient, since this isn’t a timeline he can execute solo; and up until now I’ve gone along with the majority of his wants in our relationship. I didn’t transfer to the city like I’d wanted to after I graduated. I don’t party or hang out in bars, but lead a simple, rather dull lifestyle. For the most part, all of our dates are what he suggests that we do. That’s all fine. But on this, we’ll go at my pace. I agreed to marry him in the future, but I didn’t specify when.

  Not wanting to keep Jane waiting to begin her bargain bridesmaid dress bonanza for fear she’ll turn into bridezilla, I silence my phone and hurry out of the car and toward the café. While rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and in a haste to reach my goal of liquid pleasure, I run smack into something hard. I grab my nose as my eyes begin to water from the stinging sensation.

  Fuck! That hurt like hell! Wall? Another car? What in the…. As I bounce back and stumble, I hear a low growl followed by a few choice words.

  What the—

  Walls and cars don’t talk obviously, so I inhale a deep breath and brace myself before I open my eyes. I look up to find the back of a tall, and very solid, man. He turns around to reveal that his coffee has spilled onto his hand and a little has dotted his crisp button-up shirt. I watch as the white begins to turn to a dingy beige color. Okay, maybe more than a little got on his shirt. More like doused him, but it was totally an accident.

  If I was fully awake, I might be a little more concerned with the situation or possibly embarrassed I caused him to burn himself and ruin his shirt. And I most certainly would be more concerned at how he’s looking at me through narrowed eyes. Before I can offer or even attempt an apology, he speaks slowly with a strained voice.

  “You might want to pay attention to where you’re going. Let me guess…you were too busy on your phone to notice.” He looks down at his shirt in disgust, pinching the fabric between his fingers and pulling it away from his skin.

  I pull off my teal sweater to use as a makeshift wipe.

  “What are you doing? There’s no need to take your clothes off—”

  Jeez, I have on a button-up blouse underneath.

  Rolling my eyes, I begin dabbing and swatting at his shirt. “Look, I’m really sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I’m equally as upset as you are.” He takes a step back and holds his hands up. I take a step forward, ignoring his retreat, and continue speaking. “You see, this little interaction is keeping me from my own coffee. Which happens to be the only thing I’m looking forward to today. And for your information, I wasn’t on my phone. I ran into you because I’m half asleep from being up since six freaking a.m. The day hasn’t even really started, and I’m already mentality spent because I’ve been stuck in a car for an hour with two super-perky wedding enthusiasts.” Honestly, I don’t even know what I’m saying or if I make any sense. I press a little more firmly and notice this guy is solid. Wow. Maybe he should take his shirt off. He tak
es another step back and clears his throat.

  “Okay, stop.” I try to dab again, and he growls, “That’s enough.”

  My shoulders slump as I ball up my now coffee-scented sweater. “Through all this, mind you, I’ve not had a single drop of coffee. So, excuse me, but this is equally your fault since you were obviously in my way.”

  That might not have been the apology he was expecting—or an apology at all now that I think about it.

  “I was in your way? Oh, I’m so terribly sorry.”

  Tying my sweater around my waist, I nod and gesture toward the café, “All is forgiven.” Noticing his irritation, I add, “Look, since I’m such a nice person, let me buy you another cup of coffee.” I nod toward his cup. “Didn’t you have a lid on it? This is starting to seem more and more like your own fault, you know.” I raise a brow at him. He shakes his head and pinches his lips together.

  Leaning forward, I peek into his cup and wrinkle my nose. “Straight black? Honestly, you should be thanking me. You shouldn’t have been drinking that anyway.” I raise my chin up in determination and take his arm. “Get ready, I’m going to change your life.”

  I tug, but he doesn’t budge. His dark eyes study me as I give a firmer pull. “What? I’m saving you from a dull and depressing life. Black coffee honestly tastes like sadness.” He looks around and then back to me. I raise my eyebrows and again nod toward the café. I do not have time for this nonsense, not when I’m under-caffeinated. I give a stronger pull on his arm, and this time he allows me to drag him toward the coffee shop.

  Once he starts walking more on his own, willingly, I drop his arm. We walk into the café, and thank goodness, there’s only one person in front of us at the counter. If there’d have been a line, I’m not sure what I would have done. My body craves caffeine. I’m getting anxious, shifting my weight from my left to right leg, back and forth. My arms begin to fidget and my right eye quivers. Suffering from caffeine withdrawals is making me jittery and cranky. My new friend takes notice and looks down at me with his eyebrows creased. He probably thinks I’m strung out on drugs, judging by the way he’s side-eyeing me.

  Yes, I do need to get my fix. Just the liquid kind. Caffeine is my crack.

  I run my hand up and down my left elbow as I lean toward him and whisper. “So, do you not like flavor?”

  He gives me a smirk and looks at me like he isn’t sure what to make of me. “I’ve never tried cream in my coffee, didn’t see the point when straight black does the trick.”

  “You’ve never even tried it?” I whisper in disbelief. “You don’t even know what you’re missing. Bless your heart.” I shake my head and look at him with pity. I pat his arm, the one that’s still holding the remnants of his muddy water. “We’re going to fix this. It’s going to be okay.”

  The final obstacle between me and my glorious coffee walks away. Thank you, Lord. As I step forward, I take his pitiful cup from him and place it on the counter. “Here let’s just dispose of this.” I place it on the counter.

  The barista’s blue eyes grow wide upon seeing us. She licks her lips, a nervous air about her, and taps her fingers on the counter. “Mr. Goodman. Um, uh, I’m s-sorry, sir, was something wrong? I’d be more than happy to get you another one.”

  Not giving him a chance to answer, I speak on his behalf. “Yes. I mean, I didn’t actually drink any of his coffee myself, but I’d be willing to guess it resembles like what I imagine dirt must taste like. Do you have a trashcan back there?”

  She gasps. I raise my hand before she goes into cardiac arrest. “It’s not your fault.” Sheesh, she’s a skittish one. “That’s probably how he ordered it,” I cut my eyes to Mr. Goodman, “only because he didn’t know any better.” I return my full attention to the barista as I place our orders. I tell the poor, trembling girl that while I’ll have mine made as ordered, to cut the sweetness on his by half. I look over my shoulder to Mr. Goodman, with a wink, unspoken confirmation that I’m going to make this all better for him with a few squirts of blissful flavor.

  “Baby steps, my friend, baby steps. I don’t want you to go into a sugar coma since you’ve only been drinking swamp water.” I lean my hip against the counter. “Seriously, this is like my second good deed today.” I check my phone. “And it’s not even nine yet. I consider this the more noble, of course, because by golly, no one should go through life drinking black coffee.” I find myself doing an almost full body shudder at the mere thought of drinking straight black coffee because, really, what’s the point of that.

  When the barista announces the total, we both hold out our cards. His is black and shiny. While my little debit card looks pitiful with some of the film peeling off, revealing the shiny base of the card, and bent in an arc, taking the shape of my wallet that’s overfilled to the gills. Or, that shape might be a result from frequently being stuck in my back pocket. Either way, his black, lifeless card is another reminder of that horrendous coffee he was drinking.

  “No way! I told you I was going to buy you another coffee, not for you to come buy me one. Don’t be ridiculous; I’m trying to make this right, so let me.”

  Of course, she takes his card. He gives her a nod and responds to her initial concerns. “Thank you, Alexis. My coffee was fine. But I’ve been strongly encouraged to try something new is all.” After collecting the receipt, we walk to the end of the counter to wait for our coffees.

  “That was not cool that you bought the coffees. I’m not fully myself—and won’t be until I get my morning hit—but a little voice is telling me what you just did is wrong.”

  “Because you spilled my coffee, burned my hand, ruined my shirt, and then bulldozed me into drinking what you want me to drink?”

  Pursing my lips together, I nod. “Sounds wrong, doesn’t it? But you’ll thank me in a few minutes because this was obviously fate that brought us together.”

  He doesn’t comment. Instead, he shifts his focus from me to his phone. Not one who’s comfortable with awkward silences, I ask, “So the barista seems to know you. Come here often?” I grin at my cheesy line. Mr. Goodman, however, doesn’t spare me a glance, but simply nods.

  O-kay.

  He must sense my agitation at the brush off because he sighs and removes his nose from his phone. “Her brother works for me.”

  “For you?”

  “Yes,” he says in a clearly exasperated tone.

  “Were you on your way to work? Did I cause you to be late?” I’m starting to feel a bit more than slightly guilty that he could’ve been in a hurry and possibly had plans. That I’ve now derailed.

  “I was on my way to the bank and then to work.”

  “Oh. And where’s work? What profession might you be in, Mr. Goodman?”

  Before he answers, they place our coffees on the counter. He hands me mine and mumbles, “I’m in the restaurant business.”

  Vague, but I’ll accept his answer since my precious coffee accompanies it. I don’t waste any time. I close my eyes and bring the source of life to my lips.

  “Ohmygoshyes,” I moan and take another sip. “Mmmmm, all is right in the world.”

  Well, my world at least. It’s hot. It’s creamy. It’s sweet, chocolatey, mocha heaven, soothing my poor, tortured soul. I open my eyes and notice I’m being watched by both the woman behind the counter and Mr. Goodman. Now that I’ve had a jolt of energy, like a shot of lightning to my core, and I’m becoming fully conscious, I look at him, actually look at him.

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…Wow! How did I miss how gorgeous he is?

  Because you have a serious coffee dependency and tunnel vision until you get your fix. I wonder if there are meetings for people with coffee addiction?

  I’m suddenly very awake and very aware. I’m engaged, but I’m not blind. This man not only towers over me but has bulging biceps to boot. No wonder it felt like hitting a wall. He’s not football player huge, but he’s taller than me and definitely solid. As if the stinging in my nose wasn’t evident enough. Des
pite the dark stubble, the sharp curves of his strong and sculpted jaw are pronounced. His full, dark eyebrows and deep, rich honey eyes give him an almost menacing look. However, the ebony hair that sits messy and wild on his head gives him an aura of a carefree guy. There are a few natural curls mixed with strays that fall carefree in his eyes and around his ears. I can’t tell much about his smile, since he has yet to smile, at least at me. His lips have remained thin and white from being pursed together. Overall, the man is ridiculously gorgeous and outrageously broody. Damn, what a combination.

  If I wasn’t engaged, I could see myself flirting with him. If his taste in coffee is any indication of how high his standards are, I might actually have a shot since his bar is obviously set so low. I’m not ugly, mind you, but even I’m woman enough to admit that he’s way out of his league. But it’d definitely be worth a shot, if I wasn’t already in a committed relationship, that is. Sigh.

  He lifts the cup to his lips, and I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Even his neck is strong and sexy. He has to be athletic with a body like that. I’d need to remove those pesky clothes to truly evaluate and render my final judgment, mind you. Speaking of clothes, his poor shirt is most likely ruined. I should offer to have it cleaned or replaced, but something tells me that my peeling, half-bent debit card isn’t swiped at the same clothing stores that he frequents. I look back up to his face. He gives me a devilish smirk. Damn. He caught me checking him out. Play it cool.

  “So…how about that coffee?” I nod toward his cup.

  He takes another sip and nods. “Good.”

  My mouth drops open. “That’s it? Oh, come on! Well, at least say, ‘Thank you for enlightening my taste buds to something that has more flavor than an orthotic shoe insert.’ I’ll assume you’ll order that from now on and walk away knowing that my mission has been successful.”

  He quirks a thick brow and makes a show of looking down at his ruined shirt. I wrinkle my nose. All right, he’s got a point there.

  “Point taken. No thanking me.” I take a sip of my own coffee and again release a sigh of delight. Pure satisfaction in a cup.