F-Bomb - Lani Lynn Vale

Blurb

You murder a man, and all of a sudden people are scared of you.

Slate Solis went from being a guy that people went to in times of need to an ex-con that people crossed the street to avoid being too close to.

He knows he’s done wrong, but out of all of his sins, only one really bothers him—coveting thy neighbor’s wife.

Harleigh Belle—the cute little lady that never gives him a second glance.

After seeing her for the first time while he was in prison, she’s stayed on his mind for three long years. Each time she comes in to visit with her friend on family day, he can’t help but stare.

Then the day comes that he’s set free, and he’s almost disappointed that he’ll never see her again.

Except fate has different plans.

He hasn’t been back in his house for more than three hours when he sees her.

Harleigh Belle in all her glory…oh, and her husband that is everything Slate isn’t.

He tells himself that her being fifty feet away from him, all day every day, is a complete coincidence. One that he shouldn’t take advantage of. The more time that passes, the harder it gets to stay away. Until one day, and one very ill-timed thunderstorm, ruin everything.

Who knew that baby-making-weather was a real thing?

Prologue

I didn’t mean to push all your buttons. Just kidding. I really did.

-Slate to Izzy

Slate

Three years ago

The first time I saw her I was shackled to a table with chains.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, trying to keep my eyes on Izzy but having a hard time doing that since there was a blonde woman that was about five foot nothing at the table next to me, giving the man she was visiting a rundown about a Chuck Norris race that she was running in about a week.

“I’m talking about the fact that our mother is a whore, and she tried to get the daycare that Astrid is enrolled in to allow her ‘visitation time,’” Izzy explained patiently.

I finally pulled my eyes off the blonde and looked at my sister.

“And this surprises you because?” I asked with a raised brow.

She sighed loudly. “I guess that it doesn’t. I’m just annoyed that I have to deal with it at all. I thought I got rid of her and she keeps popping back like a herpes outbreak.”

The blonde at the table next to us paused in her conversation with the man and looked at my sister with a grin on her face.

I sighed and tried not to stare.

It was nearly impossible, though.

I wasn’t sure what it was that drew me to her.

She was about five foot nothing with blonde hair that was arranged in a fighter’s braid down both sides of her head. She had bright pink strands that were woven throughout the braid, and at the very bottom, it transitioned into straight purple.

Her eyes were an eerie shade of green. Kind of like sea foam…but brighter.

She had the longest lashes that I’d ever seen, and that was saying something because it looked like she had zero makeup on.

Her forearms were absolutely tiny and were about the size of two of my fingers put together in width…but those forearms had so many goddamn bracelets that they went almost halfway up said arm.

“Are you listening to me at all?” Izzy asked. “Are you sick?”

I looked at my sister, once again peeling my eyes away from the blonde, and shrugged.

“You’re talking about our mother,” I said, sounding bored. “What did you want me to do? Say ‘huh, that’s weird?’” I asked. “Because it’s not weird for her. Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to do anything before now.”

Izzy sat back with a huff and crossed her arms over her chest, looking adorably annoyed.

Izzy, my baby sister, had changed a lot since I’d gone to prison.

She’d grown into her own and had become a beautiful person.

Not that she hadn’t been one before, but there was a difference between the broken and scared doll that she used to be compared to the beautiful, confident, ‘I can do anything’ woman that she’d turned in to. Though, that had a lot to do with the fact that she was married now to a man that would kick anyone’s ass that ever hurt her—my mother included.

Izzy’s dark hair was in a bun on top of her head, and I was fairly sure she had a spit-up stain on the black t-shirt she was wearing. Not that I’d point that out to her yet. I’d make sure we