The F Word - Misti Murphy

Prologue

Hudson

There are some things that are better left unsaid.

Like the fact that I have a soft spot for romance novels. A few years ago it reached the point that I started narrating them as a side gig to my full-time job at my buddy’s bar, Line ‘Em Up.

That’s right, ladies. It’s my smooth and sultry tone you hear when you crack open that fresh audio book about some billionaire and his baby making ways. It’s my voice that slides into your ear canal like a well lubed erection.

Hmm, too far?

How about I’m the sexy, gravelly voice that adds the va-va-voom to those sensual scenes you love so much, saying all the right things in all the right ways to make hearts across the planet swoon. I’m practically a superhero. Call me Bat... er, Supervoice? No, how about Captain Aural, master of cunnilingus for your ear.

Another thing I have no intention of mentioning to my friends is that little side career was the first step into the world of romantic comedies written by yours truly. Usually with a billionaire or a grumpy hero thrown in for good measure, but never a best friend. I’ve even done alright with publishing them under a pen name, because people out there get me. They read my books and they laugh and cry and swoon.

But my friends will never know. Because the one thing that’s worse than your best friends ribbing you about being lazy is having them tease you about being pathetic.

I learned that lesson the hard way when I first started writing romance. There is no better joke than a fifteen-year-old boy who writes about love. There is nothing more pathetic than the guy whose own happy ending is so elusive that he settles for fiction.

I’d like to take a moment to add that I don’t believe eating, breathing, and living romance is ridiculous. I don’t care what your gender or sexual preference is, or if you have a favorite kink, or trope for that matter, I get you. We all need some romance in our lives and to escape for a while. We all deserve a little pleasure, or to experience love, even if it’s only in our imagination. Give me a second chance romance or an enemies to lovers story every day of the week and I am happy as a pig in mud. I’ll gladly come out of my manly closet and admit that.

It’s just I know the guys that I work with and if they ever found out that I’m such a dreamer that I write books about love I would never live it down.

And one more thing that I would never admit to anyone. Not even my best friends. I don’t want to only write romance. Recently I’ve watched two of my closest buds fall in love and commit to the women who make their lives better.

Callan has Hayley now. And a baby on the way. He’s still stoic, but he’s no longer a cranky jackass.

Fleetwood has Sadie. They got engaged a few weeks back and are already planning their wedding.

And I have... Vale. Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy. He’s my brother from another mother. Part of my family. It’s totally Bromancia with us two. But chilling on his couch, playing Xbox over a couple of beers and talking shit is not how I envision spending the rest of my life.

For one, he doesn’t have the tatas.

Or the ass. And I’m definitely an ass guy. There is something so juicy about a woman’s curvy hips and deep bass shape that calls to the Neanderthal in me. In the immortal words of Sir Mix-a-Lot... well, you know where I’m going with this... Vale doesn’t have the kind of buns that would make me give up the single life.

But I am tired of being single. I’m starting to think having someone special to come home to would be nice. I look at Callan and Hayley, or Fleetwood and Sadie, and I wish I had what they have. I’ve started daydreaming about having one girl to wrap my arms around night after night. One girl to tell all my deepest secrets. A girl with a baby bump and a ring on her finger and a smile that’s all for me.

She has your face, love. Your smile. Your eyes. Your laugh.

But I never did have a chance with you...

So I’ll send you a funny meme that reminds me of you or type out a text telling you how much I