on finishing her second novel. She’s nervous about it, considering her debut novel was such a success. Turns out her drama with Karen was perfect material for a suspense novel about a female friendship gone wrong, a pyramid scheme, and a gardener who knew more than he should have.
“I’ll be at the shop, but if you need anything, I can always run home.”
“Hmmm, you know…” Georgie twists her lips.
“I know that look. You need something now.”
“I’m just craving a slice of something sweet and juicy.”
I chuckle. “I know what you want. I’ll be sure to bring home a watermelon.”
“Thanks Grady, you know, you really are one in a—”
I cut her off with a kiss. Screw the melons. This girl is my once in a lifetime.
Hey Sweet-Tea
The Way To A Man’s Heart Book 8
By Frankie Love
I’m back home with an NFL career as busted as my knee.
My plans were dashed with one injury, but the moment I see Myra I think she might be my cure.
She’s a Southern girl who knows how to cook and I’ve got a hankering for some comfort food.
This sweet-tea is just what the doctor ordered.
Dear Reader,
Major is guil-tea as charged.
Don’t worry, this alpha isn’t fixin’ to commit a crime…
but he is ready to commit to Myra.
This one’s fast, flirty, and naugh-tea as ever!
xo, frankie
Chapter One
Major
I’ve never liked attention. And so, when I moved back to my hometown a few months ago, I started wearing a ball cap and keeping my eyes down. Most people still know it’s me. Hell, I grew up here, played football for the high school team before I was drafted into the NFL.
And yes, I’m grateful for the career I had, but damn, it kills me when people bring it up. I’ll be walking my dog, Madden, and someone will stop and ask for a selfie, my autograph, my phone number even. All it does is remind me that I’m here — not on the field. And the sad truth is I’ll never return. Not in the way I dreamed about.
So today, I keep my head down, per my new normal, as I walk into Grady’s Garden Shop. He doesn't seem to be around, and so I browse the aisles myself.
“Can I help you, sir?” someone with a Southern drawl asks.
I turn, eyes raised. “Sir?” I chuckle. “I’m only twenty-six. Surely I’m not old enough to be a sir.”
“Sorry,” the woman says. “I was just being polite. I can see now… I can see…” She stammers, clearly flustered. She’s a cute, curvy thing, with hair like honey and eyes like a blue-sky day. She’s wearing a green apron and a name tag.
“No worries, Myra,” I say.
“How did you know?” Her eyes widen, then she licks her lips — pink pouty ones — and smiles, pointing to her name tag. “Right. I’m Myra. And you are?”
I run a hand over my jaw. Pleasantly surprised that she doesn’t know who I am. “I’m Major Owens.”
“Well, nice to meet you, Major. And what brings you in today?”
I chuckle, relived that I don’t have to pose for a photo op with this sweet thing. She’s treating me like any old Joe — not the multi-millionaire I am.
“I’m looking for some flowers. Fresh cut ones, actually. Which makes me think maybe I should have gone to a florist, not a garden supply shop.”
She gives me a big smile that draws me into her orbit. God, she’s like a breath of fresh air. “I got you covered, Major. We have some bouquets up front. We get them from Lucia at Nettle Bank Farm. Would you like me to show you?”
I clench my jaw, thinking I’d like her to show me a hell of a lot more than flowers. “Sure thing.”
I follow her up front and see the display.
“Any flower in particular?” she asks. “Are they for your sweetheart?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m single. They’re for my Grandma Trudy.”
A warmth seems to wash over Myra. “That’s so thoughtful. Any granny would love fresh flowers from their grandson. Does she have a favorite?”
I pull off my ball cap and scratch my head. “Roses, I suppose.”
She nods, then bends over, and damn, her ass is round. My cock twitches as she eyes each rose bouquet. She picks one, and turns to me, her tits pushed together — and she asks what I think.
“I think they look great,” I say, trying to fix my gaze on the flowers, not her breasts. But damn, it’s hard because they look so damn good.