proposed once, but I'll do it a thousand times over if you keep saying yes.”
“It's beautiful, Ben,” she replies, tears in her eyes.
She offers her hand and I slide it on. It's a perfect fit, just like I knew it would be.
“It’s my design. A one of a kind, just like you,” I tell her. I kiss her knuckles, and then her lips. “Well, future Mrs. Olivia Tyler,” I say, and smile. “What do you think?”
“I think you're a corny idiot,” she replies, laughing. “And I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I stand and pull her against me, our lips falling into another kiss. She gasps and draws me closer, her arms wrapping around me. I’ve never been happier than I am in this moment. All because of her.
PLAYING THE GAME
SAM
Six months ago, I had it all.
Women. Fame. Fortune.
I coasted in and out of scandals, because I knew I was untouchable.
Then a career ending injury changed everything.
Six months later, nobody will take the risk and hire me. I’m a PR nightmare.
My only hope is when my teacher brother lands me a job at his school.
From star quarterback to high school football coach?
Things are going downhill fast.
Just when I think things can’t get any more complicated,
my estranged daughter turns up on my doorstep.
ANNA
Sam Wilson is one of those guys.
Cocky. Arrogant. Asshole.
He’s also the new football coach at my school—where my father happens to be headmaster.
When I find out Sam lied to my dad to get the job, I decide to use it to my advantage.
Sam needs a girlfriend.
I need leverage to convince my dad to let me decide my own future.
What better ammunition than dating a player like Sam?
Maybe I should feel bad about using him, but I don’t.
Because guys like Sam Wilson never change.
Pre-order now: https://amzn.to/3jQgnvZ
OTHER BOOKS BY MISSY
Awkward Love Series
Too Much Information
(see excerpt over page)
Comfort Zone
Payback’s a Bitch
Don’t Go There
It's Complicated
I Can Explain
A Sticky Situation
Age & Innocence Series
Missy Johnson writing as M Johnson
He Saw Me First
EXCERPT
TOO MUCH INFORMATION
I take a deep breath and glance at the courier e-mail again. It’s well past their allotted “four hour” time frame, and I’ve got better things to do than stand around my apartment waiting all day. Okay, so maybe that’s not true. Maybe I’d be here regardless, but for the love of God, put me out of my misery and deliver my damn sex toy. My heart pounds as I repeat that sentence in my head, because I’m already wishing I’d never ordered the stupid thing.
I blame Becca for this.
When I complained to her that she never puts enough thought into my birthday gifts, she presented me with a gift card for Diddle Me Softly. It had been sitting in my drawer for nearly six months. It was only last week when I decided to do a spring clean that I found it. I was all alone in my apartment, so naturally, my mind began to tick over. I’m a twenty-six-year-old single woman with a healthy sexual appetite who was experiencing somewhat of a drought when it came to men. So why did looking at toys and vibrators make me feel so embarrassed? I mean, who was going to know what I got up to in the privacy of my own home? So long as I didn’t whip it out in the middle of the local coffee shop, I thought it was a pretty safe assumption that nobody would ever know.
One glass of wine was all it took for me to load up that site and have a look.
The first thing that surprised me was the sheer variety of toys available. Was there really that big a market for this kind of thing? Maybe I’d gone into the wrong profession with medicine because obviously sex toy development was the way to go.
As I ran through page after page of toys, I became more overwhelmed and curious at the same time, until I stumbled across the Clitmaster7000. Despite its slightly terrifying name, it actually looked pretty tame compared to some of the other things on offer, so I thought it was a safe option for a beginner like me. I mean, forgive me for being a prude, but the idea of something bigger than my forearm going anywhere near my vagina was not getting me all hot and sweaty. So, I took the plunge and ordered it.
I unlock the door and peek outside. A thought hits me as I glance down the hallway and my gaze falls on my neighbor’s door. My eighty-year-old widowed