Relentless Habit: O-Town Series Read online

  Relentless Habit

  O-Town Book 1

  Karen Renee

  Discover other titles by Karen Renee at:

  www.AuthorKarenRenee.com

  © 2020Karen Renee

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:

  [email protected]

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by Furious Fotog

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Relentless Habit (O-Town, #1)

  PLAYLIST

  Chapter One | Honey, You're a Bad Habit

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  About the Author

  Other Books by Karen Renee

  Connect with Karen Renee

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I say it every time, but I mean it every time. My sincere thanks to my readers. Without you, none of this would be possible. Also, kudos to the book bloggers out there who help make the launch of each book a success. Thank you!

  No two ways about it. This book would not have happened – the way it did – without BJ Bentley and the Book Crush Café Facebook Group’s “Flash Fiction Fridays.” Originally I thought Brock and Cecilia would have a one night deal, and that would be it. Further, I thought, it would be one of those things an author knows and the reader doesn’t need to know. Lo and behold, I signed up to fill a vacancy for “Flash Fiction Friday” and wrote how Brock and Cecilia would meet then clearly insinuate they head home together. I expected those 2,200 words to be it. Then, each of them would have a separate book...except when I got done with their scene, I thought, Well, that’s more than you bargained for! Hmmm... The feedback from the Book Crushers helped too, and then, it was just a matter of finding the time to write this book.

  It’s always tricky to know who to dedicate a book to, and had perspective not been such a big deal for Cecilia, and had MeMaw not reminded me of a woman I miss dearly... well, I likely would’ve dedicated this book to the Book Crush Café members.

  Kudos to Jennifer, who has to be the fastest reader around. Seriously, you need to contact Guinness or something, but thank you, as always!

  I’ll always be grateful to Babs Lovern, who taught me that, in fact, most of us have no problems. Not in the big scheme of things. Things still stress me out from time to time, but it never fails that I hear her voice repeating that to me, even if she isn’t here physically to tell me.

  Thanks to Katie, Valerie, Monica, and Michelle – who assure me there’s no such thing as too many bedroom scenes!

  I would be remiss not to ‘acknowledge’ the pandemic which tripped me up for many weeks – putting this novel in a holding pattern for nearly a month. Have no fear, I did not write masks or viruses into the story.

  Thank you Barbara J. Bailey, you encouraged me to keep plugging away during this year of craziness and you were flexible with my changing deadlines. Thank you!

  A humongous thank you to Furious Fotog. Your covers are as gorgeous as your photography!

  As ever, thank you to my family for such unyielding support.

  DEDICATION

  For Babs–

  She always said, “We don’t have any problems,” and like many wise words, it took a long time for me to see the wisdom. I miss you greatly, and I wish you were still here because no doubt, you’d give MeMaw a run for her money!

  PLAYLIST

  DON’T STOP THE MUSIC by Jamie Cullum

  LOSE YOU AGAIN by Walk the Moon

  SUNFLOWER by Post Malone and Swae Lee

  CRAZY FOR YOU by Michael Franti & Spearhead

  FEELIN’ ALRIGHT by Joe Cocker

  90 DAYS by P!nk featuring Wrabel

  GO EASY by Matt Maeson

  TAKE IT EASY ON ME by Robin Thicke

  CIRCLES by Post Malone

  START OVER by Imagine Dragons

  ME AND SHIRLEY T. by Jake Shimabukuro

  EVERYBODY’S FREE (TO WEAR SUNSCREEN) by Baz Luhrman

  Chapter One

  Honey, You're a Bad Habit

  Cecilia

  Spring 2019

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I shouted my question to be heard over the bass.

  He looked at me long and hard. “Honey, you’re a bad habit for me.”

  Not only was that not true, it almost sounded like a pick-up line. See, it was the sixth time I had seen him here. He came with his friends, and they all danced. Actually, no. His buddies did that thing where they moved their hips and shoulders just barely in time with the beat. Harry in When Harry Met Sally mentioning obligatory dancing while performing the white-man’s-overbite immediately came to mind. Totally true of the buddies, but this man could dance. He had an attention-grabbing masculine grace. With his well-defined muscles, the vision of him moving gracefully around that dance floor was fascinating. Especially since when he moved you just knew he knew what he was doing. So damn sexy.

  I had watched him during my visits to the club. Many women had approached him, trying to dance with him. Not that I could blame them. The man was the epitome of fine. Thick, wavy brown hair parted on the left, with the sides grazing his ears. He flashed a pearly-white smile at the ladies, but found ways to get away from them. I had thought he might be interested in men, but then two weeks ago, I had the pleasure of dancing with him. A repeat last week, but when he tried to get my number I dodged his questions. The noise of the club made it easy.

  It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested. I simply wasn’t ready.

  Tonight, I’d watched him stroll onto the floor, and my roommate all but shoved me toward him. Slinking to the other side of the dance floor had failed, and he’d cornered me.

  That brought me back to now, and I shook off my thoughts by shaking my head. “You’re not making any sense. I’m not a bad habit,” I hollered.

  With my background, I knew a thing or two about bad habits, and one thing was for sure: I was not a bad habit. I was stone cold sober. In a night club. On a Saturday, after ten hours of making the “Happiest Place on Earth,” one of the happiest places on earth.

  Since he didn’t respond, I smiled into the dizzying strobe lights. “Guess I’ll just get out of your hair, then.”

  Before I could turn on my heel, his warm hand gripped my hip, turning me back to him...and into him. “Something you should know about me. I like to be bad. My older brother taught me all about bei
ng bad.”

  I smirked. “Did he now?”

  “He’s an outlaw biker, so yeah. He did.”

  My eyes widened at that information, but then thoughts of my sister, Tennille, and her fiancé (also an outlaw biker) came to mind. So did thoughts about a disgusting biker from a rival club. I took in a deep breath. Surely this handsome man wasn’t with a motorcycle gang.

  Before I could respond, his head dipped to my ear. “Wanna be bad with me?”

  Did I ever! His cologne, the yeasty smell of beer on his breath, the solid press of his torso against my breasts, it was heady stuff. The problem was, if I kissed him, I wasn’t sure I could keep myself in check. Sad as it was to say, I was much like that children’s book If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, because if you gave me a hint of beer, I would want a cocktail. That cocktail would lead to smoking, and it might or might not be of the legal variety.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I had sex without being fully intoxicated and impaired. It was shameful. It was also the reason I moved to Orlando.

  The music faded and the DJ spoke. “Been a long time since I hit GILT, but my man Sully talked me into it. This one’s for him.” I lost the scent of Handsome’s cologne because he was gazing into my eyes. His eyes were magnificent. Even in the flashing lights of the club, I knew they were a spectacular shade of blue.

  The song began and a man’s voice sang a sultry rendition of “Don’t Stop the Music.” My head reared back as I realized it was Jamie Cullum. Tennille and I loved the guy, but it had been years since I heard his version of Rihanna’s popular song. My reaction did not go unnoticed, and this man’s lips curled in a smile that made my panties wet.

  The curl died, and it didn’t take a lip-reader to know he muttered, “Fuck it.”

  Those lips landed on mine and I thought I would lose my mind. His hands slid from my waist to clutch my ass. He pulled me tight to him, both our hips grinding as Jamie Cullum sang about being naughty. I parted my lips to gasp, and his tongue slid inside my mouth. He tasted like beer and man, and I craved more. Heat curled from my belly toward my breasts and down to my crotch. My hands went into his hair and, feeling its silky softness, I moaned. I swiped his tongue with mine, igniting something in him. He pushed into me bodily, one of his arms came up behind the small of my back and he arched me backward. As the music neared the end with a frantic piano crescendo, he broke the kiss but grabbed my hand, dragging me to a nearby patio for smokers.

  I blinked up at him and realized he had stopped us in a corner away from people smoking. His large blue eyes were locked with mine. “Tell me your name, baby.”

  I closed my eyes, debating whether I should do this or not. When I opened them again, his face was closer.

  “Cecilia,” I whispered.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, lips tipped up.

  He moved closer for another kiss, but I reared back. Not a chance I would kiss him again without knowing his name. “You? What’s your name? There’s no way it’s Sully.”

  His head cocked for a moment. “To some I am. Name’s Brock Sullivan.”

  I stared at him as his name sank in; it was nearly as masculine as he was.

  “Christ. You’re definitely a bad habit.”

  I squinted. “Until now, you didn’t even know my name.”

  His eyes warmed. “Yeah, but every time you look at me, including just now, it’s like getting a hit. A guaranteed high.”

  I turned my head and deep-breathed through my nose. He had no idea how wrong his words were to me, and I knew he had no way of knowing about my issue-ladened past. His warm fingers cupped my jaw, turning my gaze back to his.

  “Honey, if you think you’re gonna dodge me like you did last week after a kiss that damn phenomenal, you’re wrong.”

  I pressed my lips together, debating on being brutally blunt or taking a page from my sister’s playbook and being diplomatic. Tennille was practically married, so she must know a little something I didn’t. I opted for diplomacy.

  “I’m not the girl for you...honey.”

  His hands gripped my biceps, and I was treated to him throwing his head back with laughter. Like the rest of his body, his neck was thick and strong, and his tipped-up chin made his Adam’s apple enticingly prominent. Watching him made me smile, and then it made me fidget because it turned me on.

  “Another sign you’re a habit. I fuckin’ love hearing you call me ‘honey,’ but that was pretty damn funny.”

  “I wasn’t being funny,” I said, shaking my head.

  His chin dipped. “You were, because I could’ve sworn you said, you’re ‘not the girl for me.’” His right hand moved, and he tapped my nose with his index finger. “Except, only I decide who’s the girl for me and who isn’t.”

  I smiled. “Just to say, only I decide who’s the man for me and who isn’t.”

  Brock nodded once. “I imagine that’s true, but you wouldn’t have danced with me again last week if you weren’t interested. Not sure about your cat-and-mouse shit, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “Really?”

  “Nope, because I’m gonna put an end to it. Mainly because I’m gonna be your bad habit, too.”

  “Doubt my counselor would approve,” I muttered. Then I yearned to pull those words back or turn time backward by a minute. Since neither option was possible, I chanced a glimpse of Brock’s steely blues. Yep, the damage was done.

  “Counselor?” he asked, his voice as steely as his eyes.

  My lips thinned, I shook my head, and peeled his hand from my arm. “Yeah, I have a counselor. Anyway, it was a damn fine kiss, but I’m gonna head ho––”

  His hand turned in my grip as he took control, raising the back of my hand to his lips. “Oh no, you don’t. One question, yes or no. This a sexual abuse counselor?”

  I knew if I nodded this would end, but I couldn’t lie to Brock. “No. Drug abuse.”

  He closed his eyes, his face slack as regret washed over him. Kissing my hand, he kept hold of it but lowered it between us. “Fuck,” he hissed. When he opened his eyes, they were a brilliant cornflower hue. “I’m sorry, offering to be your bad habit was a piss-poor choice of words.”

  I chuckled because my father would’ve said something similar. “No biggie, really. Um, you’re a really great dancer, not that you need me to tell you that. I wish more men were confident enough to let it––”

  “Grandparents,” he snapped.

  “What?” I breathed.

  “My grandparents did that. Forced my dad to ballroom dance, and later insisted me and both my brothers do the same growing up.”

  My eyes widened and I couldn’t stop it. Ballroom dancing was in his background. Yum. He had two brothers. Double yum! I blinked away my thoughts. “Still, it’s sexy as fuck, not that you need me to tell you so.”

  A devilish grin lit up his face. “I could show you horizontal moves–”

  I groaned. “Don’t do that!”

  His head tipped closer. “Do what?”

  “Make bad jokes about dancing. You’re good at it. Own it.”

  He wrapped an arm around me. “Oh, I own it all right. I’m just saying, you should see all of my moves, honey.”

  My phone chimed. I grinned, but Brock kissed the corner of my grin. “You’re not saved by the bell, Cecilia. My guess, it’s your girl or girls. Text them back. You’re goin’ home with me. Nothin’ to worry about. My brother’s the DJ tonight, so if they don’t hear from you in the morning, they can send the search party to him and club management first thing.”

  A laugh barked from my throat. “I am not going home with–”

  He kissed me again, and it was worse than I realized. The kiss on the dance floor was such that in no way did I think it could be topped, but this one beat it. Worse yet, there was a hint to his kiss that I knew not only he could do better, but we could do better. And if our kisses could get better, what did that say for the main event? His lips disengaged before I could think about that any further.

&
nbsp; With glittering eyes, he asked, “Is there really any reason for you not to see where this can go? I don’t have to be your bad habit, but I want you to be mine. Period.”

  I didn’t even have to mull it over: it was time for me to develop a new habit. If I was lucky, it would stick. “Let’s go. I’ll text my roommate from your car.”

  Chapter Two

  Flirting at Every Possible Moment

  Once my feet hit the floorboard, Brock closed the passenger door to his Civic. Me being stone cold sober, and having a few moments away from him and his body heat, my anxiety had time to rear up, along with second thoughts. I should have been texting my roommates like I said I would, but I was too busy thinking I should have declined his tempting offer.

  The driver-side door closed, and I knew it was too late. In no time, he was merging the vehicle onto I-4.

  Crap. How far were two great kisses going to get me? No doubt he would throw me out the moment he knew about me.

  A recent session with Dr. Scibearis came to mind. I had to stop assuming the worst before it even happened. I sighed as I reminded myself my past was past. No changing it. I was alive. I had to thank the Lord everyday I was healthy physically, at least. Mentally was up for debate and probably always would be. What good was my life if I wasn’t going to live it?

  “You sure are quiet, babe,” Brock said.

  My mind raced, and I forced out a feeble, “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just hope you haven’t changed your mind or something.”

  Yes! This was my chance.

  He kept speaking. “Though, I’d put effort into reminding you of the dance floor if you had.”

  I exhaled.

  Dr Scibearis was wrong. I knew it then, and I damn sure knew it now. She said I could do a random hook-up. She claimed I just needed to find the right man, forget about my sketchy and scary past. Unless things became serious, a one-night-stand didn’t need to know I had been a prostitute.

  Right.

  I couldn’t do this. Something was going on between Brock and I. We had just met officially, but my every instinct told me he was looking for something serious. I was serious all right, seriously wrong for him.