A Redo (The Sterling Shore Series #6) Read online

  A REDO

  The Sterling Shore Series #6

  Copyright 2014 by C.M. Owens

  Professionally edited by Tonya Houle

  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 author. This eBook is licensed for your enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  The story in this book is the property of the author, in all media both physical and digital. No one, except the owner of this property, may reproduce, copy or publish in any medium any individual story or part of this novel without the expressed permission of the author of this work.

  Sometimes a second chance just isn’t enough…

  Chapter 1

  ALLIE

  Three months ago…

  Hey, Wren, it’s me—the girl you fucked in Cancun seven years ago. By the way, you have a six-year-old daughter because of that night. I couldn’t tell you then because you left me with a fake name, you asshole. But now I’m telling you. Even though I hate the very sight of you, you still need to be a father because Angel deserves one.

  Yeah… That’s probably not the way I need to tell him about my… I mean, our daughter.

  Calm, Allie. Calm.

  I groan while tossing the lettuce into the shopping cart, wishing there was a manual to tell me what to do. Do they have brochures for this screwed-up situation? Doubtful. Only my luck can be this bad.

  For months I’ve been stewing over what to do since I found him by fluke.

  I never thought I’d find him, and now I’m living in his city. How can I speak to him? What should I do?

  On one hand, I should be an adult. I know that night wasn’t supposed to turn out like it did, and he didn’t deliberately impregnate me.

  On the other hand, I can’t help but loathe the very sight of him. And the bastard did give me a fake name!

  Abhorrent as his actions were, I’m even more disgusted with myself for just jumping into bed with a guy that I only knew for a few hours. What did I expect?

  No. I won’t shoulder this blame. I won’t. I refuse. I might have made a poor decision, but he made a worse one by lying about his name.

  I would have contacted him immediately if I could have. Stupid, jackass liar. When did my life get even more complicated than it already was?

  And Angel is caught right in the middle of our bad decisions. It’s not her fault, and I don’t have the right to deprive her of a father just because of my own pride and hurt.

  As I move down the canned food aisle, I start running through everything that could go wrong. What if he wants to try and take her away from me? What if he breaks her heart? What if he doesn’t want anything to do with her? What if…

  Shit. I forgot to grab juice.

  Abandoning my shopping cart in the aisle, I jog back to the end to grab the juice, but I slam into a hard body before I ever even get close.

  “Holy shit!” I gasp when I start to fall, but strong arms wrap around me, tugging me toward that incredibly warm, strong body that I’ve just collided with.

  “Easy now. Are you okay?” a soft, deep, almost familiar voice asks.

  My body tingles against his touch, and I mentally count the days since I last enjoyed someone’s touch this much… Shit. I can’t count that far. Especially when I’m distracted by the strong chest in front of my eyes. Even though he’s wearing a shirt, I can see lines of muscle, and I have to stop myself from running a hand up the stranger’s body.

  What the hell?

  A strong, masculine scent mixed with some delicious cologne winds around me, and I get lost in two sensations—touch and smell.

  I’ve lost my mind, and I apparently miss sex more than I realized.

  “You okay?” the voice prompts again, and I finally peer up from his chest, looking at him from under my lashes.

  A subtle hint of sexy stubble lines the strong jaw above me. I normally don’t like facial hair, but that jaw has me seriously reconsidering my stance. The second I take in his face, my color drains, my body stiffens, and my breathing stops.

  This world can’t be that small. It’s not possible.

  “Should I get some help?” he asks, concerned, and my gaze lingers on his lips.

  “I’m fine,” I breathe, even though I’m not fine at all.

  This can’t be real. He’ll remember me any second now, and I can’t seem to put words together to explain things before he gets the wrong idea.

  He continues holding me against him, tipping my chin up, and my breath catches in my throat when he gives me an easy grin. How can the snake look so tempting when I’ve felt the brutal sting of his venomous bite before?

  “I’m Wren,” he says, that smug look of his irritating me now.

  “We’ve met,” I say bitterly, stepping back. Okay… so stepping is not so easy. It’s more of a wobble.

  Internally, I curse my legs for turning to rubber.

  “Is that so?” he asks, smiling bigger while propping up. “I doubt it. There’s no way I would have forgotten you. What’s your name?”

  He’s kidding, right?

  “Allie,” I say with a tense jaw, glaring at the bastard who continues to smile, seeming unaware of the fantasies running through my mind—fantasies of castration and throat punching, not dirty fantasies. Nothing dirty at all.

  You hate him, Allie. Don’t get fooled again by the skin.

  “Hmm. I know a few girls with that name, but you’re not one of them. Last name?”

  Stupid, jackass, player! He knows a few girls by my name? He sleeps with so many people that he can’t remember me? How many women named Allie has he been with?

  “Allie Thrash. We met in Cancun seven years ago,” I grind out, holding the fakest damn smile there has ever been.

  He tilts his head, lazily eyeing me up and down. “And I guess I made an impression?” he asks, looking even cockier than he did five minutes ago.

  “You left me with a daughter, so I’d say that’s one hell of an impression, Wren Jacobs.”

  I’m not sure if I’m too pissed to be rational or if I have a case of verbal diarrhea, but the words fly out of my mouth all wrong. This was not supposed to happen in the supermarket next to canned peas, damn it. This was supposed to be mature and civil; I envisioned an office and a premeditated meeting. I was not going to lose my shit the way I am now. I’m not ready for this.

  His face pales, but he shakes his head, taking a step back as though I’ve just slapped him.

  I almost feel like I’m supposed to do some dramatic display of dropping a microphone and walking off right now.

  “Prize. No. I’m not… You have me confused,” he says, his words running together and turning almost incoherent. “My last name is Prize. Not Jacobs.”

  Now I really do want to slap him. Correction, that throat punch sounds more tempting than a mere slap.

  “I know,” I bite out. “I didn’t know that seven years ago when I met you, though. You were with Tag Masters. Wish I could have remembered his last name, but considering he wasn’t in my bed, his last name wasn’t important. But, yeah, you’re definitely the Wren. Obviously I made less of an impression on you.”

  He stumbles and grasps onto the side of the aisle, knocking over several cans of all sorts of things. If this wasn’t a completely life-altering moment, it would be comical.

  But it is life-altering, and he’s actually handling it better than I expected. There’s no rage. I expected to be called a liar or something. I had a big speech lined up to counter any lying accusations, and I’m weird for wishing he’d give me a
reason to say that speech.

  “No,” he whispers again, seeming horrified, distant, and definitely in denial, but it’s more to himself than to me. I’ve definitely lost him. Damn it.

  I really hope he doesn’t go into emotional shock or something.

  Sighing, I turn back and grab my purse, then I pull out a paper and pen. While he stares out into space, I jot down my name, address, and phone number. I’m not standing here another minute. I can’t. I just… I can’t. Especially not here and not like this.

  “Here,” I say, offering him the paper, but he’s so spaced out that he doesn’t seem to see it. Instead, I lay it in his lap before continuing. “There’s my information. Call me when you’re ready, and we’ll set up a paternity test. We’ll talk. We need to talk. If you don’t want to, then have the decency to let me know.”

  I turn around, walking away, barely able to hold the tears back as I abandon the shopping cart and its contents, taking only my purse with me.

  The second I reach the fresh air, it all hits me at once, and I hiccup out a sob that can’t be contained.

  I just spent seven years of my life hating a man that doesn’t even remember me.

  Chapter 2

  WREN

  Present day…

  When the hell did my mother start locking her front door on a Sunday afternoon? I’m already running late, and she promised me she’d have all the groceries bought that I would need to feed a child. I apparently suck at being a father, because I can’t even manage to buy the food my kid likes.

  My kid. That’s… I still haven’t wrapped my head around it.

  “Mom?” I prompt when I walk in, but there’s no answer. The massive house doesn’t exactly carry sound very well, and I don’t have time to track her down.

  If I’m late, Allie might damn well cut my balls off before cutting me off from Angel. But if I bring Angel over here to get the groceries, my mother will never let us leave. I need to figure out a way to bond with my daughter if I’m ever going to be in her life. And my mother hogging her attention isn’t the way to do it.

  Jogging toward the kitchen, I make a mental note to get a new phone. Mine has been freezing up all the time, and I didn’t even realize it had gotten so late until I was rushing around. My phone was still stuck on one even after it was past two. Stupid piece of shit.

  Large canvas bags are still resting on the counter in the kitchen, and I sigh in relief. I grab the first two and… drop them both to the ground as my jaw falls unhinged.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I ask the man who is walking into the kitchen with my mother’s robe on—her pink, far-too-short, satin robe.

  “Oh, Wren. Sorry. Didn’t know you were here,” Ray Fucking Drivel says on his way to the fridge, acting as though I shouldn’t be shocked out of my damn mind right now.

  I watch, unable to form anymore words that can possibly relay how confused I am in this moment. After he opens the door on the fridge, he bends over way too far, revealing much more of his body than I’ve ever wanted to see, and I whirl around to fight back a gag.

  “Why are you naked under my mother’s robe?”

  “Because my clothes are in the wash,” he says as though it should be common knowledge.

  “And your clothes are in the wash because?”

  “I got them dirty when I was crawling under the house.”

  The more questions he answers, the more confused I become. But before I can truly interrogate him, my mother walks in from the other side of the kitchen—the side I’m facing. Her eyes widen as she tightens the strings on her long, black satin robe.

  Oh hell no.

  “Wren,” Mom says in surprise. Her hair is ruffled, her face is flushed, and her lips are swollen. I’m going to be sick. “I would have thought you’d be here sooner.”

  I gag silently when I think of what I might have heard had I gotten here earlier. Mom reads my horrified expression and shakes her head vigorously. “I meant much earlier. I thought you’d go shopping with me so you could do it on your own next time.”

  Ignoring the man who is pouring a glass of orange juice much closer to us than he was and making himself entirely too comfortable in my childhood kitchen, I take a steadying breath before trying to answer.

  “My phone messed up again. Lost track of time,” I say through clenched teeth, feeling my body tense all over when Ray slides his arm over Mom’s waist and tugs her back against his front. When she giggles and leans against him before stroking his face, I gag out loud.

  “Oh, Wren. Stop it. I’m a grown woman.”

  “And he’s a fucking con artist! Last I checked, you’re exactly the sort of woman he targets.”

  Ray cocks an eyebrow at me, but doesn’t act offended, which only pisses me off all the more. But Mom… Shit. She looks like she’s ready to beat my ass.

  “Wren Prize, I love you, but you don’t get to judge people for making mistakes in the past.”

  I glare at her when I hear her underlying meaning. “I fucked up one night. He fucked up for years. He’s a—”

  “A man who served his time and now works for the FBI. He’s also a security designer for highly reputable businesses, and a very wealthy man on his own who doesn’t need my money.”

  I wasn’t going to say any of those things and she knows it.

  “I should probably leave the two of you alone,” Ray says with smile while leaning down to kiss her cheek. “I deserve what he’s saying, dear. I’ll see you upstairs.”

  Dear? He did not just call her dear!

  Bile rises to my throat upon hearing that oversharing tidbit about seeing her upstairs. My eyes are already burning from the images my mind is imagining against my will.

  Ray walks off, and I immediately start back in. “When the hell did you start… dating Ray Drivel?”

  “Capperton. He prefers Capperton because of his daughter. And we’re not dating… exactly. We’re just two people who happen to enjoy the physical company of each other.”

  I’m going to be sick for days.

  “I’ve got to go,” I groan, darting out of the house even as my mother says something my ears can’t hear. Apparently they’re scarred as much as my eyes are and refusing to let in anymore traumatizing words.

  It’s not until I get almost to Allie’s place that I realize I never did get the groceries I dropped in the kitchen floor when I saw the con in my mother’s robe.

  Not a good day.

  Chapter 3

  Cancun — Seven Years ago…

  ALLIE

  “Allie Thrash. I’ll be damned. In Cancun and drinking,” Chris says, assaulting me with his toxic breath when he stands too close.

  Only in Mexico and under the influence of a lot of tequila would the captain of the football team suddenly recognize me. Small towns are terrible for having some stupid hierarchy, and I’m sure as hell on the bottom.

  “Nice ass, nice tits, nice… share,” he slurs. I think he meant to say hair.

  “Thanks,” I grumble, doing what I can to peel myself away from him. I never should have agreed to this stupid senior trip, but I know Bella wanted to come. She hasn’t ever been any more popular than me, but she has sure as hell blossomed and turned into a girl the guys want. Too bad she no longer wants any of them.

  “Hey, Allie. Over here,” Bella calls, waving me over toward two guys who look a little older — early twenties, maybe— and I gratefully skip toward her and away from Chris Parks.

  I stumble to a halt when I see the guys up close, because they’re sure as hell not from here or back home.

  “Hey, these guys are from Cali — like us. This is Tag Masters and his friend Wren… Um… Sorry, I don’t know your last name.”

  “Jacobs,” the guy with dark hair, soft lips, and a delicious smile says as he sticks his hand out for me. Wren Jacobs. I really like that name. I like it so much that I don’t even remember the other guy’s name at all—or how to speak, apparently, since everyone is staring at me expectantly.
>
  “I’m Allie Thrash,” I mumble shyly, prompting his grin to grow.

  “How drunk are you?” Tag asks Wren, though I don’t know why.

  Wren grins at me before giving me a wink that makes my heart flutter almost too painfully. No one has ever looked at me like that. I’ve always been the foster girl who lived with Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. My identity has always been as lost as me, but right now, I feel like someone is looking at me for the first time without any judgment, pity, or discomfort. I feel… like a normal person.

  “Tequila is my best friend,” Wren tells Tag, prompting the guy to laugh. Tag seems thoroughly interested in Bella, fortunately. Which leaves all of Wren’s attention focused on me.

  “Want to grab a drink?” Wren asks me.

  This trip finally feels like it’s worth it.

  “You’re drunk. We shouldn’t do this,” Wren says in protest, but his lips continue to stroke mine, just as his tongue returns to explore my mouth. I could kiss him all night, but I want more.

  I refuse to leave here without doing this. For me. I need to feel wanted. Wren’s hands feel like medicine on burned skin, and his lips taste like heaven, saving me from hell.

  “Please,” I whisper. “You’re drunk too. I swear I’m sober enough.”

  Never thought I’d have to beg.

  He gives me a lopsided grin while leaning back, his fingers toying with the strings on my bikini top until he pulls them free, exposing me to his hungry eyes. I’ve never felt so good about myself.

  “Baby, if you really want this, I won’t refuse, but you don’t have to,” he says again, nibbling my bottom lip while grabbing my hips a little rougher.

  A whimper escapes me, and my heart grows heavy in my chest, pounding as though it might escape at any moment. This is more exciting, more passionate, and far more desired than my first time where I stupidly trusted the wrong idiot with my virginity.

  I’ve only known Wren for one night, but I’ve never had anyone look at me the way he does. It’s as though I’ve gotten a redo here. A fresh start. He doesn’t know me or my baggage, and he just wants me.