Riley Hunter was the dependable one. The good girl, loyal to a fault and faithful to the end. She’d had big dreams, once upon a time, until her grandfather got sick and she had to give up going away to college to care for him. Now, a year after his passing, Riley is a townie through and through, doing social media for a local realtor and happy with her daily grind. Or, at least, content. Content, that is, until she literally runs into her old high school crush during her morning jog one random weekday in the middle of May. The morning jog they used to run together, before Piper left three years ago, that is. Left without looking back…
Piper McPhee couldn’t wait to leave tiny Jasper, North Carolina. To run away from her abusive mother. Her dysfunctional home life. Her cloying friends and, most of all, her confused feeling about girls. And how much she adored them. The only thing she regretted leaving behind was Riley, sweet, sexy Riley. Her first and only female crush. But after three years at State, and a recent avalanche of failed romances, she can’t wait to come back to town. More specifically, come back to Riley. As the two girls pick up their old habit of running together every morning, they struggle to reconnect and realize it’s because they’re no longer friends. Or, at least, just friends. And in the days to come they’ll connect in ever increasing ways, becoming lovers at long last and realizing just how much they’ve missed by denying their feelings for far too long. And, happily, making up for lost time one scintillating tryst at a time…
Excerpt
Alex Winters © 2024, All Rights Reserved
Riley
“The hell?”
Riley Hunter did a quick stutter-step onto the sidewalk, used to having the whole of her big, wide suburban street to herself at this admittedly ungodly hour. Instead, she was suddenly sharing it with a rattletrap pickup truck in some sickly shade of mustard yellow, the crooked bumper covered in a hodgepodge tapestry of faded Northern Carolina State bumper stickers, as it grumbled by at an almost luxurious pace.
Riley took a break from glaring at the ramshackle bumper, afraid it might fall off in the middle of the street, and glanced up at the sky, familiar shades of orange, blue, and black as her morning run straddled the last of nightfall and the beginning of daybreak.
The truck’s brake lights faded around the corner as it wound clumsily along toward the cul-de-sac at the end of Sycamore Street. Riley shook it off and slipped back from the sidewalk onto the blacktop, pink-and-white running shoes finding familiar footing as she wound down her morning jog, savoring the cool dawn air as it washed over her sweaty body.
In the vague distance, the truck’s engine still hummed, the only sound for miles as the sleepy little town of Jasper, North Carolina slumbered through the last of the night, hours away from waking. It was what made her morning runs so appealing, despite the ungodly hour: an entire town, quiet and sleepy, all to herself.
Not that little Jasper was ever quite bustling or hectic to begin with, but there was something to be said about the solitude of an early morning run, the peace and quiet of empty streets, hers for the taking. Winking stoplights glowing just for her, no traffic jams or waiting at crosswalks, no barking dogs or passing school buses; nothing but her, the road beneath her feet, and the familiar sights, sounds, and even smells of her tiny hometown.
Most mornings, anyway. But this morning, she was sharing her long, meandering street with a noisy, rusty, unfamiliar interloper. Some college kid delivering papers, perhaps? Or some burned-out frat partier heading home after a rowdy kegger, heading off to bed as her day was newly beginning? Riley wasn’t curious, per se, just ticked off that the best part of her run, the quiet, slow, leisurely cool-off down the last of her street, had been ruined by some rattletrap junk heap at the ass crack of dawn.
“Chill, Riley,” she told herself, musing quietly with the last of her breath. “You sound like Old Mrs. Johnson when you and Piper used to drag your asses home after some high school party!”
Thus, she rounded the corner that led to her house, finding the piss-yellow truck parked crookedly in front of Piper’s old house. As she watched, transfixed, the driver’s side door opened and none other than her old teammate, and first lady crush, unfolded from the seat, one velvety-smooth, irresistible inch at a time.
“Speak of the devil,” Riley murmured, heart racing as she padded closer to the house at the end of the street, legs suddenly as unsteady as her trembling knees.
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Meet the Author
Alex Winters is the pseudonym of a busy restaurant manager whose curious young staff would love nothing more than to follow him around the dining room reading his steamiest, most romantic passages aloud! When not writing romantic holiday stories of various heat levels, he enjoys long walks with his wife, scary movies, and smooth jazz. Visit him social media to see what stories are brewing up next!
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