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I Know You Want Me...
One last hookup. At least that’s what graphic designer Jenna Cho has in mind when she texts her toxic-in-life but amazing-in-bed ex, Jax. When her gorgeous boss Jack responds to the booty call instead, Jenna learns exactly why a girl should never hit send after one too many vodka sodas. Still, faced with Jack’s sexy grin and even sexier Irish accent, Jenna thinks maybe she messaged the right man after all—especially when he admits he’s been hoping she’d make the first move...
Dedication
For GB
Texting Under
the Influence
Cara Lockwood
Contemporary, sexy stories for sassy women
Cosmo Red-Hot Reads from Mills & Boon
MILLS & BOON
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Contents
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
About the Author
“Here’s to being single—again.” Jenna Cho raised her vodka soda and clinked it against her best friend’s beer bottle at the Wrigleyville bar on the north side of Chicago. Despite the sparse Tuesday night scene, music still blared over the speakers, as if trying to make up for the thin crowd. The loud thump of bass made it hard to converse but that was fine by Jenna. The last thing she felt like doing was talking about how she and Jax had broken up again. That made three times. Maybe this time was the charm, but she doubted it. Jax was like crack: the more she tried to quit him, the worse the withdrawal.
“You’re better off without that asshole,” Maddie yelled over the music, taking a big swig of her beer. Maddie hated Jax, which Jenna understood because sometimes Jenna hated him, too. Like two days ago when she’d found him trolling for hookups on Tinder (reason for breakup number three). “I mean it. He takes you for granted. He’s totally self-centered. He’s toxic, J. Toxic!”
Usually, when Jenna broke up with Jax, her friend’s bitter ravings about her ex made her feel better. But tonight, Maddie’s endless bashing of Jax just made Jenna feel...depressed. She really felt her whole life was on a vicious loop that ended here every three months: Jenna complaining that Jax had slept around, again, swearing she’d never take him back, only to do so a few weeks or months later, repeating the whole cycle again.
Two guys tumbled through the revolving door, bringing with them a blast of late-fall Chicago air. In the summer, their Wrigleyville neighborhood teemed with Cubs fans and late-night parties almost every day of the week, the home of drunken karaoke and the occasional bar fight. But the Cubs finished their season more than a month ago, and now Clark Street felt like frat row during winter break. The two guys, decent enough looking, eyed Maddie and Jenna as they slid into empty seats down the bar.
Jenna couldn’t believe she looked anything other than a mess: runny eye makeup bleeding into the creases of her almond-shaped lids, her dark, nearly black hair up in a hasty ponytail. She wore the same outfit she’d had on at work: skinny black wool leggings tucked into her brand-new kid leather stiletto boots, and her once crisp oxford, that looked wilted, carried a faint stain on the pocket from lunch. Maddie was impeccable as usual, blond hair in long, flowing layers, that somehow always made her look like she was Venus in that famous Botticelli painting, standing in a giant shell. They’d been friends since kindergarten, growing up in the northern ‘burbs together. Jenna used to be jealous of her pretty friend, but she’d found that they hardly ever attracted the same kind of guys, and besides, Maddie was off the market.
Jenna had been, too. Until today.
Damn Jax.
Jenna knew Maddie was right about him, had been right from the start, but it didn’t change the fact that Jenna couldn’t quite fully understand how someone so amazingly delicious in bed was toxic everywhere else in her life.
And winter was coming. She thought of all the happy couples out there who’d paired up, ready to hibernate on their couches all winter, to fuck their way to spring. Jax was supposed to be her hibernation buddy. Of course, he was more than that and Jenna knew it. Jax, who’d played two years of pro football, possessed a still ridiculous CrossFit body. Adding that to the sensual intensity that he carried with him all the time made him... well, crack. He was crack. Even though he’d had no real ambition besides serving up drinks at the
