Heartbreaker by Anne Marsh

Author:Anne Marsh
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary
Publisher: Anne Marsh
Published: 2016-09-26T00:00:00+00:00

Hindi

Not sure what it says that I met Rohan when I was competing for Ms. Tiki Hut Tits. Competing—and losing. I hadn’t had much luck, that was true. I was down to a handful of dollars, and my big dinner option that night had involved cleaning the bartender out of pineapples and cherries. Best fruit salad ever since I’d eaten it in Ro’s surly company.

Yeah.

I might also have stolen his beloved lucky shirt. On the bright side, he hadn’t brought me up on charges or anything. My police record was clean, although my driving record is as spotty as a snowfield in the path of an active volcano. He repossessed the shirt and the rest was history. We hooked up. I sold him an island. We got married on the beach of said island and I claimed both the shirt and the man.

Miraculously, the Tiki Hut is still standing six years after our grand meeting when I show up alone for a cocktail or four. Of course, since it’s pretty much a bar, some sand, four stilts, and a palapa roof, it’s equally possible the owner has replaced it a half-dozen times since my last visit. The joint isn’t precisely hurricane-proof. It’s also still hosting its weekly wet T-shirt contest, with the winner earning the aforementioned illustrious title. On the bright side, I don’t have to dance on the bar anymore to earn my grocery cash. On the downside? My tits haven’t grown much since then. I pat my girls. Not their fault they stopped growing after the tenth grade.

The first girl finishes sashaying down the bar, soaked cotton clinging to her boobs. She’s got amazing tits—as the see-through fabric highlights. She shakes and shimmies, dismounting with a gymnast-worthy twist. Sticks the landing, too. Contestant Number Two supplants her on the bar. Good times.

The audience is even more fun than the girls. Given tonight’s entertainment, it’s mostly men and the odd girlfriend. The guys range from the barely legal to old enough to be my grandpa. Some of them are pretty fine looking, too. Yeah. Doesn’t matter. These men are the penny candy in those big glass jars, when what I really want are the truffles behind the glass display counter. Or just one sexy truffle in particular. Once upon a time, Ro was my chocolate-champagne truffle and I wanted nothing more than to hand-dip him in sparkly sugar and then lick that sweet goodness off him. I had it bad.

After we split up, I took a breather, went on a diet and swore off the dating pool. It didn’t help that the guys I met were either Hershey bars—or, worse, not in the chocolate family at all. I got broccoli and melons when I wanted melt-in-my-mouth dark and sweet. Sure, I kissed a few. I was over Rohan MacCarthy and the proof was in my Friday nights out.

The bartender looks over at me and checks the level in my drink. Yeah. I’m only a marginally better customer than I was six years ago.

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