by Prescott Lane
Emory faces life’s challenges at the one place that’s never failed her, the ballet barre. But even the barre can’t steady her when fate brings her face-to-face with her old college flame, Mason, who’s hoping to return to the NFL after a career-threatening injury. Before they can surrender to their sexual desires and find salvation in each other’s arms, they need to come to terms with their past. Mason must confront the demons that have set him on a path of self-destruction, while Emory must decide whether to keep her painful secrets locked away, or expose them and risk losing the love of her life. But nothing can prepare Mason for what Emory has kept hidden, or the possibility that he himself may be to blame for the very secrets she keeps – and why they continue to haunt her.
Read an excerpt:
Emory sat between Olivia and Wesley, as three nail technicians worked on their feet. “This is the best idea you’ve had in a while, girl,” Wesley said, wiggling his toes in the water. “Thanks for inviting me.” Emory pointed to Olivia giving her credit.
“She told me about Tomás, and honey, there’s nothing better for a broken heart than hitting the spa.”
“Thank you, Olivia, I’m feeling better already.” Wesley leaned his head back, easing his mind. “We’re not just doing feet, huh?”
“We’re doing it all!” Emory said, giggling. “Manis, pedis, facials, massages, and Olivia, you’re getting your hair and makeup done for our shoot.”
“We deserve it all,” Olivia said, “for all the shit we put up with from our men.” Wesley and Emory nodded in agreement, but then Olivia turned serious. “But what I really need is a wax. Must be a damn forest down there by now!” Wesley and Emory, along with the technicians, erupted in laughter. “Was that inappropriate?”
“No way,” he said. “I come here once a month to take care of that area. They have this hard wax they use. Hurts less.”
Olivia appreciated the tip. “I might try that.”
“Too much information, Wesley,” Emory said.
“Whatever, it’s not like I said she should vajazzle herself.”
Emory hid her face, mortified, regretting she’d allowed Wesley to come, but Olivia was intrigued. “Is that popular in Charlotte? It seems all the Texas housewives are doing it.”
Wesley quickly asked, “Emory?”
“I wouldn’t know,” she said, then apologized to the technicians for her friends.
“Oh, come on,” he said, “we ballerinas are all bare down there. You can’t have more than a landing strip.”
“I prefer Brazilian,” Olivia volunteered.
Emory turned bright red. “Someone help me!”
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Prescott Lane is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and graduated from Centenary College in 1997 with a degree in sociology. She went on to Tulane University to receive her MSW in 1998, after which she worked with developmentally delayed and disabled children. She currently resides in New Orleans with her husband and two children.