One And Done is releasing on July 19th (it is available for pre-order now) and I’m sharing the first two chapters of this 300 page plus contemporary erotic romance.
Read the first scene here: http://tasteofcyn.com/2016/06/06/one-and-done-first-scene/
It takes Azure an hour to fix my hair and another thirty minutes to push me out the door. I hold the coat closed with one hand as I walk along the hallway. Although it’s fully buttoned, I don’t trust the garment.
The elevator is empty.
There’s no security guard at the entrance of the building. That’s normal. The station positioned there is purely for show. I’ve never seen anyone sit in that chair.
I exit.
Woofer is waiting outside the doors.
It doesn’t matter when I leave or when I return. The kid is always lurking around the front doors, handing out the free daily papers. I feed him as often as I can and give him my spare change. It isn’t enough but I don’t know what else to do.
I’m achingly aware that, if it weren’t for family, for people who loved me, I could have been Woofer. I could have been homeless.
When I was seven years old, the biggest paper mill in Thunder Bay, my hometown, closed. My dad, along with thousands of other people, was laid off. He swallowed his pride and applied for every job available—minimum wage positions at fast-food restaurants, night shifts at telemarketing companies.
No one hired him.
Months passed. My dad’s car disappeared. Weeks later, the minivan vanished. A stranger picked up the TV. Another man took my dad’s tools.
My parents tried to hide their concern, making our precarious situation seem like an adventure, but I felt their fear, their stress. I saw the slump of my dad’s shoulders as he returned from another long day of job hunting.
My mom, after working an equally grueling double shift at her low-paying cashier position, would patiently rebuild his confidence, caring for him, her belief in her husband, my dad, unshakable.
Then, one day, we returned home to find the front door of our bungalow padlocked, a huge foreclosure notice plastered to the wood.
“We’ve lost everything.” The anguish in my mom’s voice shocked me. She was normally so strong, so calm. I’d never seen her break down.
Her reaction made the situation even more real. We were homeless, without a place to stay, to sleep, our clothes, my toys, books, trapped behind that locked door.
I shook, more scared than I’d ever been in my short life.
“We didn’t lose everything, love.” My dad hooked his right arm around my mom’s waist, drawing her to him. He rested his left hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his palm permeated my thin cotton shirt, soothing my terror. “We have each other.” He paused, forcing a smile, a bleakness in his eyes. “And we have family. We’ll always have a place to stay.”
He was right. When we showed up on Grandma Whyte’s doorstep, she took one look at my dad’s face, muttered something about proud fools, and ushered us into her four-bedroom home, telling us we could stay as long as we needed.
We’d have to earn our keep, she stressed as she mixed a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies, my dad’s favorite treat. He would be responsible for maintaining the yard, clearing the driveway of snow in the winter and for completing repairs around the house. My mom would be in charge of the cleaning and the laundry. I’d help Grandma Whyte with the baking.
My dad eventually found a job but we never moved out. We lived with my grandma until she died. She’d become my confidant, my best friend, and I howled for a week after the funeral.
Grandma Whyte left the house to my parents. I inherited her recipe box, the papers inside stained brown with the vanilla extract she made herself.
The recipe I used to make the chocolate chip cookies for Edward and for Woofer had been written on one of those papers, in her familiar scrawl.
“You just missed a Ferrari, Miss ‘Nella.” The car-crazy kid shakes with excitement. “A 488 GTB, red, mint-condition, 3.9-liter V8 engine, two turbochargers.”
“That sounds powerful.” Knowing nothing about cars, I try to look suitably impressed. “Don’t wait here all night for it to drive past again.” I muss the boy’s unruly mop of black hair. “Get to a shelter before they fill up.”
“Shelters are for old people,” he grumbles, bumping against me.
“Shelters are for all people.” I hand him a paper bag stuffed with two turkey sandwiches, heavy on the vegetable fixings, a bottle of orange juice, and the cookies. “What do I get for this?” Woofer doesn’t accept charity. He has his pride also.
“Since you got your paper already, I guess it’ll have to be a hug, but I don’t like it.”
He lies. He loves it. The kid is starved for touch.
“Then give it to me.” I open my arms. He squeezes me, thumping the bag against my back. I hug him to me. He allows this embrace for a couple of heartwarming moments before wriggling away from me.
“Did you make oatmeal raisin?” He looks in the bag.
“Chocolate chip.”
“You made these cookies for him.” Woofer scowls. When the kid first appeared at his post, about a year ago, he mouthed off to me, in typical teenager style. Being protective of me, Edward took offense. He threatened to call the cops and have the kid arrested. Woofer hasn’t forgiven him.
“I made the sandwiches especially for you.” I give him one more quick hug, which earns me a grimace and some under-the-breath cussing. “I don’t want to see lettuce and tomatoes on the sidewalk when I get back.”
I ignore his grumbles and walk toward the subway station.
There’s the usual collection of homeless people gathered around the entrance. Some of them are the same age as my dad was when he lost his job.
I say hi to them, addressing the men and women I know by name, and enter the underground.
The train arrives almost immediately. I select a seat near the door and I gaze around me. It’s a hot summer night. The air conditioning in the car is under strain, whirring loudly.
I’m the only person in the subway car wearing a coat. Many of the women are wearing short skirts and sleeveless shirts. A couple of the men are in shorts.
Why am I doing this?
Edward loves me, wants me, needs me. We haven’t seen each other during these past two weeks because his work has been crazy. I don’t have to dress like an actress in a very bad porno film to garner his attention. I’ve had it since the very first moment we met.
Edward and I had both been attending a fancy charity gala. I wasn’t supposed to be there. My billionaire boss had been called out of town at the last minute. There had been an emergency involving one of the company’s low-income housing projects.
Mr. Powers had sent me to the gala in his stead, entrusting me with the task of relaying his very generous donation to the hostess. Edward had been given a ticket by Mr. Barron, one of the partners at his firm.
I knew very few of the guests. Edward knew no one. Arianna, our hostess, introduced us. Edward looked dashing in a black tuxedo, the lights shining on his blond hair, his eyes the lightest shade of blue.
He took my hand, bent his head, and gallantly kissed my fingertips. My heart skipped a beat. It was so romantic. When Arianna flitted to her next guests, moving out of earshot, he declared I was the prettiest girl in the room.
And that was it. I was a goner, head over heels. No man had ever said those words to me. No one had ever looked at me as though I was the center of his universe.
These past two weeks, he’s been working hard, trying to get ahead for me, for us, for our future. I have to be understanding, appreciative.
Sweat drips down my spine, slips between my ass cheeks.
A trio of blue-jean-wearing, spike-haired tough guys move in front of me. They’re clad in T-shirts, their bared arms tanned and tattooed. The tallest one looks my way, his mouth moves and they all laugh.
I set the tin of cookies on my lap and run my palms over my borrowed coat, ensuring the buttons remain fastened, that there are no gaps in the material, revealing my clothing…or lack thereof underneath.
They can’t see anything. It’s sweltering and I’m overdressed, and they might suspect I’m up to something but they don’t know what that something is.
The subway car’s doors slide open at St. Andrew station. A gray-haired man wearing a long, tan, trench coat enters. He shuffles between the seats.
My shoulders lower. I’m not the only one overdressed.
The man sits on the seat across from me. His legs spread and his coat gaps open, revealing hairy bare legs. I blink. Under the trench coat, he’s sporting brown loafers, long white sport socks with red stripes around the cuffs.
Oh my God. That’s the uniform of flashers everywhere.
The man is naked under his coat.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.
I can’t control my eyeballs. My gaze lifts and meets his. The man nods at me and has the audacity to wink, as though we share a dirty secret.
My face heats. He thinks I’m a fellow flasher, that I plan to expose myself, to show my naked body to unsuspecting men and women.
I’m going to kill Azure.
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He wants one night. I want forever.
Hit it and quit it—that’s Smoke Sheridan’s relationship philosophy. The tall, dark, and dangerous club owner never spends more than one night with any woman. He seduces the broken-hearted, leaving them with smiles on their faces and a sexual confidence other men can’t resist.
I need his services.
My boyfriend of four years dumped me because I’m a lousy lay. Smoke can help me win him back, teach me how to make my man writhe in ecstasy. I’ll show him such bliss, he’ll bellow my name in the dark of the night, want me with an all-consuming desire.
This sounds like a great plan. Except I see the loneliness in Smoke’s eyes, feel the wistfulness in his touch, experience the wanting in his embrace. The player isn’t as shallow as he appears.
And I’ve never been good at letting go.
One And Done contains inappropriate humor, very bad pickup lines, a BBW heroine who doesn’t know what she’s doing and a player who thinks he does.
This is a standalone story.
Buy Now:
On Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/One-Done-Cynthia-Sax-ebook/dp/B01FOVMF70
On Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/One-Done-Cynthia-Sax-ebook/dp/B01FOVMF70
On ARe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-oneanddone-2040641-340.html
On Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/one-and-done-cynthia-sax/1123809444
On Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/one-and-done-1
