Backup Plan, an all-new contemporary romance, by New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author, Emily Goodwin is now live!
When we were only kids, Sam Harris and I made a promise we’d marry each other if we were still single when we turned thirty. Well, my thirtieth birthday has come and gone and I’m still as single as ever.
And as far as I know, so is Sam.
But it’s been ages since we’ve seen each other, and after what he did to me our senior year of college, I wouldn’t put his ring on my finger even if he begged me to marry him. Never mind his devilish good looks. Or the fact that the playboy partier is a doctor now.
Nope, I’m sticking to my guns with this, and when I go back to my hometown of Silver Ridge for the first time in years, I won’t pay him the slightest bit of attention. Well…until he convinces me to go out for drinks to catch up. I knew it was a bad idea the moment I agreed to it.
And then he brings up our childhood promise.
It might be fun and games to him, but it’s not to me. Because as much a I don’t want to admit it, Sam has always been my first choice. And I don’t want to be nothing more than his backup plan.
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Sam leans against the counter watching me. His gaze on me is intimate again, and I can feel my resolve slipping away beneath my feet. “I know they’re in here somewhere,” I mutter. “Dad never throws anything out.” I rustle through old pill bottles. “Ah-ha!” Smiling, I grab what I was looking for.
“Are you sure you should be taking expired muscle relaxers?” Sam asks, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that I so don’t notice his muscular biceps bulging against the sleeves of his black t-shirt.
“Are you sure you should be telling me what to do?” I retort and struggle to untwist the childproof lid.
“Well I’m a doctor, so when it comes to taking medication, yes. I should be telling you what to do, and taking old medication isn’t smart.”
“Touché,” I say with a forced smile, eyes narrowing. The last thing I need is Sam fucking Harris judging me. “It’s easy to forget you actually got accepted and then graduated from medical school.”
Sam laughs and plows a hand through his thick brown locks, messing them up in a way that looks way too fucking good on him. On anyone. His lips pull into a half-smile and his eyes meet mine. “With honors,” he adds. “Don’t forget that I graduated with honors.”
“Who’d you have to sleep with to get that?” I spit back, working hard to keep my composure. I will not crumble…I will not crumble…
“Whoever I damn well wanted to,” he says with a shrug. “Though that had nothing to do with my exceptionally good grades.” He parts his lips, tongue darting out to wet them. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and I wonder if this is a game to him, seeing how easily I’ll cave and fall back on our pact. He doesn’t want the night to end in marriage, no way, but he wants to get what he couldn’t before.
Me, naked in his bed. And dammit, I really want that too.
“Let me,” he says, closing the distance between us, and cups his hands around mine. It’s then I notice all over again just how grown up Sam has become. Where once stood a boy stands a man, and he’s all man now. He was always athletic before, but he’s filled out, thick with pounds of muscle. The boyish, playboy charm still sparkles in his eyes, but it’s peppered with something that alludes to experience, something that promises he knows his way around a woman’s body and he never disappoints.
“These expired seven years ago.” He holds up the bottle. “If you’re that desperate, let me prescribe something for you.”
I let out a breath and bring my hand to my shoulder, pressing my fingers into my stiff muscle. It’s really not that bad; nothing a trip to a good massage therapist wouldn’t cure. Yet there’s nowhere to get a decent massage in Silver Ridge, evidence perhaps that I’ve grown too used to my cushy and very extra LA lifestyle.
“Or,” Sam goes on, deep voice like gravel as he sets the pills down on the counter, “I could do this.” He takes a step back and brings his hands to my shoulders, gently massaging them. His large hands are warm against my skin. Deft fingers work right into the knot above my shoulders blade, and some of the pain immediately leaves me, only to be replaced by a different kind of pain. It’s not physical, and it’s rooted in a deep longing for something I’ll never have.
Meet The Author
Emily Goodwin is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of over a dozen of romantic titles. Emily writes the kind of books she likes to read, and is a sucker for a swoon-worthy bad boy and happily ever afters.
She lives in the midwest with her husband and two daughters. When she’s not writing, you can find her riding her horses, hiking, reading, or drinking wine with friends.
Emily is represented by Julie Gwinn of the Seymour Agency.
Connect with Emily
Reader Group: http://bit.ly/EmilyGoodwinRG