That Thing You're Good At (A Starview Novel Book 1) Read online

  Praise for Isabell Lawless

  “Isabell has a lovely gift of description. Authors don’t do enough of that. I like that author shows the devastating impact of abuse from both the husband’s and wife’s perspective. This is a spicy romance, leaning heavily toward erotica…”

  - Mary Crawford, author

  “… I feel even with my mom for reading Fifty Shades of Grey and deeming me too innocent.”

  - Goodreads Review

  “Twist and turns with the right amount of sexy thrills.”

  - Goodreads Review

  “The author writes with great wit and comedy the steamy conversations this couple seems to have adapted over the years.”

  - Goodreads Review

  “Isabell Lawless shows it all: the constant belittling criticisms, complaints and dominating control that wear away the bedrock of the soul like a river in flood. A story full of suspense. To read it is to remember it for a long time.”

  - Sarah Stuart, award-winning author

  Chapter 1

  JAKE

  Jake Bentley, once New York Rangers’s hot shot forward, human kind’s gift to women adoring washboard abs and making the green dough, sighed and spun around glancing at Moo Park. Its actual name was Mr. Bernard Humphries Memorial Park, but everybody called it Moo Park because it had a sculpture of an enormous cow munching a bundle of hay in the midst of a vast fountain where kids threw their pennies hoping for good luck and fortune. The cow was silver and shone whenever the sun cast a glimmer of light its way but you could see in its contours it was a true Holstein, and she had a full, tilted bowl of pretend milk at her hind legs. The fountain spurted over her, causing her to look like the saint she was for the ranchers in this section of the land.

  Besides the Holstein, Moo Park had one immense flat field and one not-all-that-flat field and between the two a newly constructed playground most kids called Yellow Slides, because of, well all the yellow slides exiting the towers on the play structure. Had he still been a boy he would have played here every day and holed up in one of those slides that looked more like magical tunnels until his mother would give up and wander home. There were some great trees for shade and some blossoms for a punch of color lightening up the place. In all fairness, this park was better than some places he’d seen across the nation during his games, and this was only a minor town in the middle of farmland. Kids here were lucky. They might not know it yet, but they were.

  Kids played soccer at Moo Park, or baseball in the diamond at the opposite side of the flat field. On blankets, people had picnics and read books that were brought from the close-by library. Going by Moo Park was the contrary of walking by any other park. Nothing dramatic ever happened here - which was perfect. You could find solitude and privacy here, you could play the toughest game of soccer if you wanted to. You could spend your whole day here and be happy. Thinking about it now–Moo Park was paradise. And maybe, just a little, he felt okay with being back home.

  Home as in the complete opposite of New York City, taxicabs, and fast food at every corner. Fast food here came from the restaurant Subway that recently migrated next to the local Mom and Pop bakery, the bank, and one of the two slow-food places the town had. Slow as in “wait until I’m done mixing the batter for the pancakes-or-go-somewhere-else” diner. Nothing quick or remotely fast had ever happened here, nor would it, and maybe that’s why he sought his home grounds. No more texts to pretty girls for a quick pickup between fancy galas and hockey training, or raw food restaurants that delivered in electric cars for the price of a donation.

  ***

  HOLLY

  Holly Winters was thirty-three years old, not hot as a twenty-something girl, more like prime rib: reliable and solid. Was she often neglected–yeah, mostly, but was it one thing she knew well it was single-parenting and budgeting a more or less blank bank account. Something she knew little to nothing about was men, virtually all dating. She’d given up on dating as she couldn’t seem to weed out the indecent men from the decent. Holly stood glaring at herself in the mirror pinching herself in places she wished were somewhat less thick and thrust up her already ample breasts. After having Aubrey her breasts had at least doubled in size and she’d given up jogging. Not that she had been any good at it, but it certainly had been an effective way to get rid of a day’s fast-food frenzy without gaining pounds. She adored being a parent; she loved Aubrey. She just had to come upon a way to love herself again or at least embrace the way she looked in the current way nature made her after childbearing. She was yet to discover what the hell that was.

  She applied gloss to her lips and slipped her golden hair up in a high ponytail imagining the hairstyle was not a hair-don’t anymore, seeing she was far behind present day’s fashion status. Yet she worked in fashion! She sewed goddamnit! She could dress anyone in town in their best, but she had yet to discover someone mirroring her voluptuousness to get the look she hoped to depict: single-mom with a few extra pounds trying to look hot enough for a man to be interested but likewise be taken seriously. With the aid of her ally and co-owner Reena they ran the only seamstress shop in town and kept busy, generally with younger girls hunting for prom-dresses, summer flair, or feminine winter coats.

  Reena told her to amp up what she already had going for herself - fuck other people’s judgments. Opinions were vastly overestimated and instead dress her tempting curves and mindboggling boobs. Had Holly not been accustomed to Reena’s personality she would have suffocated on her daily tall cup of caffeine and implied she was nuts.

  Her red flower dress wrapped around her body fully and as she tightened the front forming the wraparound belt into a bow, she appreciated the image a bit more. Like every day before heading out she composed a silent desire for some manly attention. She'd begun to crave it in its absence. A woman can only do so much on her own. A single-mom even less so. She took one last glance in the mirror before heading off to create new marvels for the fashion world of small-town Starview, in hopes she’d stumble on a hot guy with confidence because she sure had none left.

  Chapter 2

  HOLLY

  The ideal way to start the day was with one of the town's bakery’s morning delights, whatever they might be, and today held no exception. The bell chimed from above as she gently thrust the door open to an atmosphere where people purchased their breakfast, savored their coffee if they appeared to be off work or prepared for a future merit (which was the shortcut of running out of town), and spoke quietly. Suddenly her gaze darted to the towering gentleman leaning his hip against the counter. Jesus Christ! She scanned the man in question from head and toe, and warmth flowed through her setting a pulse in all the good places. A man in uniform always stood out from the rest, but this man owned the place. He was dangerously out-of-her-league hot, and Holly’s throat seemed dry. Maybe she was inhaling too hard and sealed the mouth she had left open.

  When her gaze slid back up his tall, muscular frame, she found him beaming at her with a smirk on his face. He grabbed the coffee mug from the counter and strode toward her. "God let him take it to go," she chanted as his arm brushed hers and she gathered a brief whisper in her ear before he retreated through the door, "Ah, she likes a man in uniform." Fuck.

  Holly had been lucky not only to locate a great nanny for Aubrey but a nanny who didn’t charge a single penny. Mrs. Peterson lived just two blocks away from the house Holly had inherited from her grandmother Molly. In fact, Mrs. Peterson had had Molly as a babysitter when she had been a little girl. A working mother had raised Mrs. Peterson, a single one too, so when Holly needed help she'd told her to bring Aubrey over as soon as she desired
. She recognized the constraint of cash and the desire to stay afloat.

  Mrs. Peterson had made it feasible for Holly to break out of her single-mom enclosure, attending to a baby 24/7 and strike a job. A local one. Something she loved doing—sewing. Through an ad online she’d met the young and hip Reena looking for a seamstress for her dress shop in town. Holly got invited to visit the shop, meet Reena, and bring items she’d sewn as proof of experience with fabric. They’d hit it off. There was nothing plain-jane about Reena, they were each other’s opposites and found it working surprisingly well. When Reena dreamed up colorful prom dresses by strutting around in her heels gesturing her hands, ah-ing and oh-ing, Holly sketched the dreams on paper, wrote measurements, and plans for fabric choices.

  It had been over a year since Holly started and since then she'd been offered a shared partnership of the business and with the support from Mrs. Peterson she hadn't turned it down. The holidays occurring in the fall and winter wouldn’t leave them short on assignments. Students loved throwing parties before winter break, and funny enough, the senior citizen group hosting “Dancing with a Senior”, made it extra popping this time of the year. When people over 75 come in to be fitted for sequins and feathers any day turns into fabulosity.

  This summer Reena had spoken to Holly about the prospect of hiring another employee as the business was flying. Holly glanced around the medium-sized store, with its maroon colored walls, gold chandeliers, and the large open area in the middle thinking if they could fit another individual. The garments and strut of people trying them on in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors took space. She’d told Reena the truth and asked if the place could tolerate one more, but gave Reena the ultimate decision. Honored someone had sought out her opinion at all.

  Reena had placed the recruitment ad to see what came out of it. If no one was the new Alexander McQueen, then so be it. But if he was out there, he had to be theirs. Applications from men around the country flooded into Reena’s inbox and she asked Holly to look it over with her. After a few glasses of wine one evening, they’d asked three men to send their male outfits by mail, plus make one surprise piece for consideration. The mailbox gaped empty for the next two weeks before anything exciting arrived, but on day 16, when the most excitement had left the store someone delivered a box . . . and it was magical.

  "Seriously!" Reena gasped, deliberately removing the first hanger out of the package. They both "ah’d" and "oh’d" to the fiber of the fabric, the sheen of the sequins covering the front of the beige long fitted dress. Holly followed the flow of Reena holding the gown as she twirled around the heart of the room imagining herself wearing it.

  "It’s wonderful," Holly said and rose to let her hand graze the dress, feeling its lustrous surface like those of a fish’s scales. "I’ve never seen anything like it except for on the red carpet. You?" Reena shook her head and hung the dress on a hook in one of the dressing rooms at the side.

  "It’s like Barbie on steroids," Holly said. "It would fit you nicely, Reena."

  "Pst, what about you? You got curves woman, desirable ones. I might have the height but nothing much is going on in this region," Reena replied and whiffed her hands in front of her chest.

  "I’ve got baby weight still lingering, waiting to come off . . .”

  "Shut up, you are hot. You need a man to rehash what I’m saying because you never trust my advice."

  "I do, but-"

  "Hey, you know what?" Reena interrupted. "We should go speed-dating! It’s fun and the opposite of serious and you’ll see you still look alluring. Baby weight or not."

  "No. No, and more no. Negative. I’m a mom, I don’t date."

  "Pardon me, but did you hear how dumb you sounded right now? Do you honestly mean all moms have to perish inside and never imagine hot guys doing them? I’m not a mother but that sounds horrifying."

  “Stop saying that!” Holly gasped, and a blush slithered up her neck and onto her face. Even her ears tingled to the vibration of . . . someone doing it.

  “Your face is red, Holly. That means it’s been too long since you had some. How long exactly?”

  “I’m not offering you that information.”

  “I’m your boss and bestest friend, those are the rules. How long? Six months? A Year? God, I hope it’s not the last option,” Reena stared at her with a pitiful look.

  “Well, I had Aubrey and then . . . well,” Holly considered the options for a minute. “Well, I haven’t had time. I’m a mom. See what I mean!”

  Reena choked on her wine and splashed some on the front of her shirt. “Aubrey is two!” she hollered and a long silence followed the disclosure. Holly’s ears were on fire and the rest of the wine made it down easily to cool herself off. It didn’t work.

  Reena poured Holly another glass and raised her own. “On Saturday we are going speed-dating before everything about you become childcare and withered vaginas.”

  God, Holly wanted to die but knew the truth. “Ok,” she countered. “Speed-dating it is.”

  ***

  JAKE

  Jake tried being friendly, he honestly did, but people were morons. Always had been. Sometimes he contemplated having stayed a professional athlete, fractures, misplaced teeth, and all, for a few more years. But he realized his body wouldn’t hold for it so it was back to where he started. Being a cop wasn’t too shabby, except for the morons, that is. His temper had driven him into several fights in his career on the ice. Here, in the real world, he had to reel those urges in, and that hastily, or Chief Drew Marley would send him elsewhere, being a childhood friend or not. Drew had lent him a boxing sack the day of his first employment at the station and told him to run wild on that, not anything else. He knew Jake’s character on the ice and didn’t need it to soot his station’s reputation he’d worked to keep clear and positive for as long as he had held the position of Chief.

  Today was Jake's short shift at the station and he knew his mother would have a fit in her grave knowing he hadn’t had time to shop for groceries let alone cook in a long time. In New York he’d had most food catered to his apartment or a chef cooking for the entire team, counting vitamins and proteins as they dined.

  The store’s shopping basket hung loosely in his grip as he roamed the vegetable section of the local supermarket knowing he wouldn’t find tofu or pre-made protein shakes anywhere close. Instead, he turned at the noise of cans rattling to the floor and observed the stressed woman with the toddler in the shopping cart bend to the floor to pick up her mess.

  “That’s just another day for you, Holly, isn’t it? No husband and a bastard child. Making another mess, are we?”

  Jake’s strides had him right up to the woman’s cart before his mind registered what he was doing. “With all due respect, sir,” Jake interjected. “That’s none of your darn business.”

  The heavy feeling the woman must have carried on her shoulders lifted and a slight smile tugged at the side of her beautiful mouth as she finished cleaning up the floor. He was in her corner and he wanted her to see that.

  Bruce, whom he’d had the luxury of meeting during a church rally earlier in the month, turned to him among the bushels of fall apples and squash. “Like hell it isn’t but someone has got to dare open their mouth and say what everyone one else is thinking. She,” Bruce nodded his head in the woman’s direction, “should know it’s high time she found herself a real job, straightened her daughter’s hair and stopped living in sin.”

  “Who died and made you the expert?”

  Jake turned at the female voice and watched the cart hit the side of one bushel, tipping over the apples onto the store floor. “Just my luck,” he heard her mumble as she hurried out the door of the store, her young daughter, looking no more than three, in her arms, and her full cart of groceries left at the scene of the crime.

  “Tsk, no wonder she never remarried. A woman with that kind of character and mouth is a rotten pick.”

  Jake sighed but felt no need to respond. Bruce was an
old-fashioned tyrant, but he was yet to know that himself. Bruce had already left the scene behind and gamboled in the dessert aisle a few feet away like nothing had happened.

  There was a void of time. A space between spaces and Jake kept shifting his awareness to the shopping cart recently vacated.

  He drew another heavy breath. “Damn it. I shouldn’t but who’s here to stop me.” He grasped the handle of the cart and fifteen minutes later he held a note in his hand featuring an address he had yet to examine and felt his wallet being about $40 lighter.

  Chapter 3

  JAKE

  It wasn’t much, from what he saw from the car. Sure, it was a house, but it had seen better days. Many of them. The street didn’t inhabit many children excluding this house as a pink football, a swing dangling from a tree on the side of the house, and a sandbox adorned the overgrown yard. Still, the front porch looked charming, it had a light on the wall and a happy-looking pumpkin decorated with what looked like glitter stickers stood on the bottom step of the three-level stairs leading up to the front door.

  He turned the key in the ignition and the squad car stopped running. The cement walkway up to the porch was wet from recent showers and the wooden steps creaked as his weight pressed on them.

  He buzzed the round dull yellow doorbell under his fingertip and heard it chime on the other side of the brown wooden door. Small quick footsteps moved closer on the inside and suddenly he picked up a woman’s voice asking the little one he must have seen at the store earlier to “wait,” and “stand back”. The click of the lock sounded between them and the door opened.

  “Yes?” She said, staring at him like she hadn’t seen him before. Was he mad? Hadn’t they formed a brief connection down at the store or was that just him? Most definitely just him as it looked.