Free August: Calendar Girl Book 8 by Audrey Carlan

expensive heels.
    As we walked up the steps, we could hear the tail end of the woman speaking. “…in thanks, we’d love to have you over for dinner sometime soon.”
    “Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Max stated in jest, smacking his thighs while grinning at the couple standing on the front porch.
    The man turned around and his smile widened. I stopped and looked at the specimen of utter man candy who stood in front of me. He was built like a Viking. Sandy-brown hair, chiseled jaw, even white teeth, and just the right amount of scruff to make a girl stutter. The sleeves of his tight-fitting polo stretched around a set of massive biceps, wider around than my thighs, and I was no stick. His blue-green eyes sparkled as he took in my form much quicker than a male usually did. I mean, I wasn’t a model or anything, but I’d never lacked for a man’s interest in the past, and admittedly, the rack was definitely something to write home about.
    This hunk of heaven scanned me as if he were assessing me, not checking me out. I wanted to pout, complete with a lip quiver, until the blonde turned around. Then I got it. Her eyes were a stunning blue and reminded me of the Hawaiian water off the coast of Oahu. Those eyes were set into a pristine pale face with pouty red shapely lips, high cheekbones, and a small nose. Essentially, one of the most elegantly gorgeous women I’d ever seen. All that attached to a thin yet womanly shape, and it clicked why he only had eyes for the blonde. Every few moments, he glanced at her like he was about to take a bite. There was a hunger there, simmering. I knew that sensation because it’s the way Wes looked at me, like he’d never ever get enough. I could tell the blonde appreciated it fully by the small smile she gave him in return.
    On the man’s hip was the most adorable little girl. Aside from little Isabel, that is. Isabel and I had become fast buddies. This morning, I woke up to her little hand playing with my hair while she lay beside me in bed. “How come you have black hair?” she’d asked. I laughed, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and told her that it was because my mommy had black hair. Her little mouth had formed an “o” as she connected the dots. “And my daddy has yellow hair so I have yellow hair!” I cracked up and laughed with her, told her how smart she was, and then let her play with all my stuff while I got ready to hang with Max at his office.
    “Hank and Aspen Jensen”—Max pointed to the male sex-on-a-platter in a pair of tight fitting Wranglers, and then to his wife, God’s perfect woman—“their daughter, Hannah.” He tickled the little girl’s tummy, and she squealed delightfully. “This is my sister, Mia Saunders.” Max once again announced with more pride than the situation deserved.
    I put out my hand and shook theirs and was pleased to find that Hank didn’t strangle my hand. Loved it when a man gave a firm handshake but catered it to the person. “Pleasure to meet you. Funny thing, you actually know my significant other, Weston Channing,” I said.
    Aspen’s eyes lit up. When I say lit up, I mean the sun came out, birds sang, and butterflies fluttered around us. She was just so damn pretty. If she didn’t seem so nice, I’d probably sit with Gin and talk shit about how perfect she was and how unfair it was that bitches like her drove all the good men to their knees. “I love Weston!” She brought both her hands to her chest.
    Her husband grumbled next to her, a real carnal, “me Tarzan, you Jane” type growl. “What’s this about loving another man, angel?” His tone was dead serious, though she raised a hand making a flippant gesture to shoo him away.
    “I didn’t know he was seeing anyone. He’s so kind and definitely a looker.”
    At that comment, Hank’s mitt of a hand curved around Aspen’s waist, and he tugged her back to his chest. “Now you’re insinuating you’re hot for other men, darlin’?”
    Aspen