The Sure Thing Read online

  Contents

  Front title

  Copyright

  Mailing list opportunity

  Dedication

  Inner title

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The End!

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  About the Author

  The Sure Thing

  Samantha Westlake

  Copyright 2017 Samantha Westlake

  All rights reserved.

  The Sure Thing

  Book design by Samantha Westlake

  Cover Image Copyright 2017

  Used under a Creative Commons Attribution License:

  http://www.creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0

  Adult content warning: All characters are legal and fully consenting adults and are not blood relations.

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  A Billion Little Clues

  Melinda Gaines, overworked personal assistant, is cursed with permanently bad luck. Her boss keeps making unreasonable demands, and no guy has seen the inside of her apartment in months.

  But when Melinda is sent to a party at the CEO's house, she ends up on a romantic, moonlit balcony with an unnervingly handsome stranger. Melinda is convinced that her run of bad luck is over.

  That is, until she finds that her latest crush is being accused of murder...

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  Dedication

  For my spouse, who listens to all my crazy story ideas - without a single eye roll, somehow.

  The Sure Thing

  Chapter One

  ALEX

  *

  Hi there.

  Yes, you, reading this book. How's it going? You can't see me, obviously, because these are written words, but I'm giving you a friendly little wave right now. Go on, wave back. It's not that silly.

  Actually, it is kind of silly. Stop waving. Everyone's going to start staring at you, the crazy person waving at their book or e-reader.

  But you didn't get this book to have a conversation with me, a supposedly fictional character – and we can't really have much of a conversation, since it's pretty one-sided. No, you want to hear my story. Read about how I'm such a strong and sexy man, fantasize that you're the one falling in love with me, letting me kiss you and tempt you into bed, where I do all sorts of delectable things to make your toes squirm as an orgasm washes so powerfully over you that all you can feel is pleasure...

  Hah, and now you're blushing. Even when I'm not physically in front of you, this is too easy.

  I do have to warn you: this story that I'm going to tell is not all light and breezy. Yes, there are some funny parts, but there are also some serious parts, some heart-wrenching parts, some parts that might make you feel genuinely choked up with emotion. Sorry. If it was up to me, this book would just be kinky, amazing sex, cover to cover – but I made a stupid promise to tell the truth.

  The truth, as it turns out, isn't always pretty and fun.

  But most of that probably doesn't make much sense to you, considering that we're still on the first few pages of this novel. I'm not the best storyteller, it turns out, so you'll have to give me a little leeway.

  I probably ought to just start at the beginning.

  (Not the actual beginning, of course – what, you want to read about me as a baby, screaming and crying and shitting in diapers? Totally not sexy. No, we're starting at age twenty-eight, when I'm at peak hotness. Tall, washboard abs, lean but with a solid layer of muscle, tousled hair the color of deep bronze, and a smile that will make your panties vanish in a flash of steamy arousal...)

  This story starts with me, walking down the sidewalk at an early ten-thirty in the morning, heading off to get my morning dose of caffeine. I've got an espresso maker in my apartment, one of those giant, twenty-thousand-dollar machines imported all the way from Italy, but I prefer to go outside and stretch my legs after rolling out of bed.

  Besides, the manual's all in Italian, which I haven't bothered to learn how to read.

  There's also this really cute coffee shop that has the absolute best coffee, just half a dozen blocks from the huge skyscraper that houses my penthouse apartment. I savor my morning walks over to get my daily fix of caffeine. I get to step out into the hustle and bustle of New York City, let the tide of humanity sweep me up and carry me along.

  Everyone's just so self-absorbed here, you know? No one spares a single glance for anyone else. They're all mesmerized by their cell phones and iPods and thoughts of how Joan from Accounting keeps on haranguing their ass about turning in those stupid time sheets, even though the sheets aren't due for another week. I could probably go get my coffee in the nude, and most of the strangers I pass wouldn't even notice.

  The ladies might slip me a few phone numbers, though. Not that I need them, but it's always nice to be appreciated.

  Today, I arrived at the coffee shop a little later than usual. I'd been sidetracked by a particularly fine specimen of a woman, dressed in little more than a sports bra and a pair of short shorts that might have well been painted on her perfect ass. Yowza. It got my blood flowing, and I took a detour to retrieve her phone number.

  By the time I made my way back to the coffee shop, however, the line stretched nearly out the door. I winced as I stared at the backs of the thirty or so people standing in front of me. This was going to take forever.

  At least, it would for anyone else. Not for me, Alex Hamilton, the luckiest man in the world.

  All I had to do was close my eyes and focus, and all my problems could just... vanish.

  Now, standing at the back of the line, I did just that. With my eyes closed, I took a moment to organize my thoughts. I imagined the inside of my skull as a big, blank black slate, one upon which I could trace out words in lines of glowing yellow light.

  "In typical fashion, no one in line had yet decided what they wanted to order," I composed, the words springing into brilliantly glowing life on my mental page. "But in a display of kindness uncharacteristic for New Yorkers, they decided to let the young, handsome man at the back of the line place his order first while they made up their minds."

  I opened my eyes, a faint smile on my lips.

  The man in front of me, in his mid-forties with thinning hair and a badly fitting, rather wrinkled suit, turned and glanced back at me. "You know, I'm not sure what I'm ordering," he said, nod
ding to me. "Why don't you go ahead?"

  "Me too," called out the woman in front of him, a business bitch type in black pumps and a horrendously prim pantsuit.

  "And me."

  "Yeah, I haven't decided either."

  "Just go ahead."

  Smiling, murmuring my thanks, I breezed past the long line of people, up to the front. The barista behind the counter blinked, her eyes flicking over my shoulder at the long line of people who'd just let me cut ahead of them.

  "Well, that's strangely kind of them," she remarked. A smile grew on her face as she shifted her attention back to me. "Now, what can I get you, Alex? The usual?"

  "Oh, Shirley, you know me so well," I replied, giving her an answering smile. "And come on – I'm always lucky! This isn't anything unusual."

  "I guess that's true. I remember the time when you forgot your wallet, and the whole coffee shop chipped in to pay for your drink!" Shirley laughed as she shook her head. "The strangest things happen around you, it seems."

  I faked a modest shrug. "I'm sure that I did something amazing in a past life."

  Still laughing, Shirley punched my regular order into the register. "Grande Americano with an extra shot," she called out. "That will be six fifty, Alex."

  I pulled out my credit card – but then had a better idea. Why not show off a little? "Anyone else want to pay for my drink?" I called out, while adding another couple of lines of writing to my mental page.

  The rest of the line dashed forward, holding out dollar bills. I selected a twenty from a younger guy with a fauxhawk haircut that made him look like an utter douche, and passed it across to Shirley. "And keep the change," I added.

  A little dimple popped out in her cheek as she gave me a smiling little curtsy. "Always so generous, Alex. I'll have your drink out right away."

  I stepped off to one side, waiting for my order to come up. Still with me, dear reader?

  Don't ask me to explain how my power works, because I don't think I really have a solid answer. What I do know is that I simply need to compose the words in my head, like writing a book, and it comes true in the real word.

  Yeah, I know that it sounds crazy. Maybe it's magic. Maybe Jesus himself smiled down at me and said, "This guy needs to have a charmed life. He deserves it." And when I'd gotten the powers, yes, I'd definitely been at a shitty place in my life where I did deserve a good turn for once.

  Whatever the reason, it works, and I love it.

  You don't need to know all the details, of course. Maybe I'll share some more, later in this story. It'll make you keep reading, well past your bedtime, wanting to figure out my secret. If I tell you at all – maybe I'll keep it secret, or put it in a sequel so that you need to shell out more cash for Volume 2.

  "Drink for Alex Hamilton!" called out a voice behind the counter, and I stepped up to accept my coffee.

  "Is that really your name?" I turned at the sweet voice. "Like the president?"

  I smiled at the gorgeous, scantily-dressed young woman I'd chased down earlier for her number. "Why yes, it is," I answered. "Say, didn't I get your number just a few minutes ago?"

  "Yes, you did," she agreed, batting long lashes at me in a show of mock modesty. "And can I confess something?"

  I raised my eyebrows as I took a sip of coffee.

  "After I gave my number, I kept on thinking about you, to the point where I turned around," she went on, her gaze developing a smoldering intensity. "And right now, I don't need to be anywhere – I was just heading home from hot yoga when you asked for my number."

  "Hot yoga?" I echoed. "Sounds exhausting."

  "It keeps me very flexible," she purred, letting my imagination run wild. She took a deep breath, expanding a glorious chest until my eyes couldn't possibly look anywhere else. "But it does get me very sweaty, to the point where I need a shower afterwards."

  "Sounds quite rough."

  "It is – especially because there are some spots that I just can't reach easily in the shower by myself," she continued. A finger reached out to slide down my chest, plucking at one of the buttons on my custom-tailored shirt. "It would really help if there was someone else to run his hands all over me, help me get clean..."

  I counted to three inside my head while, once again, thanking whatever deity decided to make me the luckiest man in the world. "I do have a very busy day," I said, and nearly laughed aloud as I saw her expression fall. "But," I continued, "I think that I can squeeze in enough time to go do a good deed or two."

  The erotic fire redoubled in her face. "I'd better not waste any time, then," she purred, her hand grabbing a handful of my shirt as if to physically tug me all the way back to her apartment and into her shower.

  The hot yoga practitioner turned out to be named Serena, and the golden shade of her skin wasn't marred by a single tan line. She also, I soon discovered, had some very impressive musculature in her legs and core, enough to let her wrap her legs around my waist and make her body bounce up and down in a most satisfactory manner. In fact, the only thing less than perfect about the entire experience was that my paper coffee cup couldn't survive in the shower along with us, not without getting soggy and falling apart.

  "But today, the coffee shop decided to use up its stock of plastic cups, handing them out instead of paper ones," I murmured to myself, inscribing the words inside my head.

  Selena paused in her efforts for a second, tilting her chest back so that my face emerged from in between those glorious breasts. "Sorry, did you say something?" she asked, panting between the words.

  "Nope." I shook my head as my free hand slipped out of the shower, picking up my plastic cup full of coffee. "Just urging you on to greater heights, you sexy Amazonian queen."

  Selena's eyes lit up at the compliment. "You just focus on staying upright," she purred into my ear, her body once again twisting into incredible, unbelievably flexible motion. "I'm going to make you come so hard that everyone in this apartment building hears it."

  "Now that sounds like the kind of challenge I can get behind," I countered, navigating my coffee straw to my lips. "You go right ahead and try to win that challenge."

  Serena redoubled her efforts, and while I'm not sure if the entire apartment building heard me cry out when I finally finished, they almost certainly heard her own moans and screams. The woman's lungs were almost as impressive as the rest of her Barbie-doll body.

  "Wow, that was fun," she said an hour later, still a little out of breath. "If you ever feel up to a repeat performance, Alex, you give me a call."

  "You got it," I said as I stepped out of her apartment, still buttoning up my shirt.

  A naughty little gleam danced in Serena's eyes. "And here's one last reminder," she smirked – and as she reached out to slowly close her front door, the towel wrapped around her body dropped to the floor.

  Walking along the sidewalk outside, I whistled jauntily to myself, closing my eyes and feeling the warm midday sunlight striking the closed lids. If only I'd taken a picture of that last moment...

  A line of writing inside my head, and my phone beeped. I pulled it out and grinned at the new photo. Nice. That would drive my best friend Tommy crazy.

  What a life, huh? Magically perfect.

  Now now, reader, don't get too envious. We're only just done with Chapter One. There's a lot more of the story to come...

  Chapter Two

  ALEX

  *

  "You're just unbelievable, you know that?" Thomas Simpson, corporate lawyer, shook his head at me, waving his hands helplessly in the air. "Really, you are. I don't have any other words for it."

  Reclining back a little further on the leather couch, I just raised an eyebrow at him. "You'll have to give me a little more than that, Tommy," I said.

  "I mean..." He crossed his arms over his chest, but then immediately undid the gesture, as if it didn't seem to properly communicate the frustration he felt. "Look, you've got superpowers, basically. Even more than that – you're like a god."


  "Thanks. So?"

  "So the point is that you've got the power to fix, like, just about every problem in the world, and what are you doing?" He waved his arm at our surroundings. "You're sitting in a club and getting drunk while ogling women!"

  "Yeah, pretty much." I grinned. "Fun, isn't it? It's like sitting at an unlimited buffet, just watching all sorts of tempting dishes sweeping by."

  "Disgusting, man." He struggled into more of an upright position. "I mean, why aren't you out there trying to fix all the problems of the world? There are people starving and hungry and getting killed in wars and stuff, and you're just sitting here doing nothing!"

  I sighed as the smile fell away from my face. "Come on, Tommy. We've talked about this, lots of times. Remember all those discussions in my dorm room, back in senior year of college? We decided that I couldn't go around fixing all the problems in the world, that I should just stick to the small-scale stuff so that I don't cause more problems than I solve."

  "Yeah, but..." I'd caught Tommy in a tough spot, argumentatively speaking, and he knew it. Not finding a suitable response, he settled for an angry, impotent glare at me.

  I put my half-finished flute of champagne aside. "Something's bothering you. Something in particular."

  "What, you got the power to read minds, now?" he asked, still sullenly not meeting my gaze.

  "Nope – I tried that, and it was deafening, remember?" I turned towards him, planting both my hands on my knees. "But I know my best friend, well enough to tell when there's something that he dislikes. And I also know that he's too stubborn to just spit it out without my having to ask."

  Tommy tried to sulk for another minute, but I knew how to get through to him. "Tommy, don't make me start ordering everything fried on the menu," I said.

  His eyes shifted over to me at that. Tommy had always struggled a bit with his weight, ever since we'd both gone to high school together. I'd helped him fight off the excess pounds, but he still had to physically control his urges to eat around fried foods. When I wanted to drive him crazy, I just had to start ordering everything on the menu that came with a crunchy battered coating.