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Wall Street Journal and USA Today bestselling author Winter Travers is a devoted wife, mother, and aunt-turned-author born and raised in Wisconsin. After a brief stint in South Carolina, following her heart to chase the man who is now her hubby, they retreated up North to the changing seasons and to the place they now call home.
Winter spends her days writing happily ever afters and her nights being a karate mom hauling her son to practices and tournaments. She also has an addiction to anything MC-related, puppies and baking.
Winter loves to stay connected with her readers. Don’t hesitate to reach out and contact her.
Check out the first chapter of
Wilder Presley Says He Loves Me
Chapter One
He’s back...
Shelby Lyn
“He’s back.”
I snagged the last roll of black ribbon and dropped it into my basket.
“I saw him this morning at the diner. When he walked right by, I was getting my two scrambled eggs with wheat toast and maple sausage.” Missy clicked her tongue. “He looked as fine as fireworks on the fourth of July out on Mason Lake, let me tell you.”
My eyes searched the shelf for the second time hoping for more black ribbon to magically appear. “Maybe they have more black ribbon in the back,” I mumbled. I needed at least five more yards to ensure I had enough to finish the wreath Mrs. Baxter ordered. Halloween was fast approaching, and I needed to get a jump on my yearly orders.
“Shelby Lyn.” Missy snapped her fingers in my face. “Have you heard a word I‘ve said?”
I stepped back and swatted her hand out of my face. “Yeah, you ate your breakfast this morning, and it was as good as the fourth of July fireworks.”
Missy scoffed. “You missed the important part.”
Missy spoke a mile a minute, and while I’m sure most of what she said was necessary to someone somewhere, most of the time, I tuned her out. After almost twenty years of friendship, I learned that if I missed something important that came out of her mouth, she tended to return to it until I heard her. This was one of those times. “Then tell me the important part while we wait for Jack to get his ass out of the backroom and help me.”
“You know he’s probably reading the old Playboys back there.” Missy visibly shivered. “Thank god I never had a boy. I don’t think I could have handled the crusty socks and forty-minute showers.”
“Missy. Did you need to go there?” Dear god in heaven. I did not need that mental picture painted in my brain. “I doubt Jack is doing anything in the backroom. Please, he’s eighteen. I hope he can control himself till he gets off work.”
Missy shrugged. “Girl, you remember how boys were when we were eighteen. Horn dogs looking to rut.”
“Uh, rut?” Was she talking about men or deer? Sometimes the lines did blur.
She scoffed and grabbed the dark blue ribbon. “Dad was watching the hunting channel last time I stopped by. What about this one?”
I shook my head. “It’s navy.”
“Nonsense. This is black,” she insisted.
I grabbed the ribbon from her and set it back on the shelf. “It’s navy, and it won’t work.” The backroom door swung open, and Jack walked out. “There’s Jack.”
“Oh lordy. See, he’s tucking his shirt in.” Missy hissed. “Whatever you do, do not touch his hands,” she advised.
“Jack,” I called. “Can you check to see if there is any more one-inch black ribbon in the back?”
Jack gave me a two-fingered salute and backtracked to the backroom.
“Gonna be ten minutes before he surfaces again. You gave him an excuse to read a few more pages,” Missy laughed.
“You’re a nut, Missy.” I moved over to the selection of orange ribbons and tried to figure out which shade would be perfect. It needed to be bright, but not neon bright.
“Can we get back to what we were talking about before?”
“Your breakfast? It must have been pretty good if you want to keep talking about it.” I fingered a light shade of orange and wondered if it would clash with the dark shadow of orange I already had at home. Mrs. Baxter was as sweet as pie, but she would have a bird if the colors weren’t right for her fall wreath.
Missy scoffed. “Wilder Presley is back, Shelby,” she shouted.
I dropped the light orange ribbon, and Missy's words hit me like bullets to my head. “Uh, what?” There was no way she had just said that.
No.
No, no, no.
Missy snapped her fingers in my face. “Now you’re gonna listen, huh?” she laughed. She shook her head and turned to the rack of ribbon. “What if you did a dark purple instead of black?” she suggested.
I grabbed her shoulder and spun her back to face me. “We’re not going to talk about ribbon right now,” I spat.
“You’re about a minute behind on your shock, Shelby. I’m over having to tell you about Wilder.”
“I was listening all along,” I muttered.
“Wilder Presley is back in Adams, Shelby Lyn, and you look like you saw a ghost.”
I glared at Missy. “I heard you the first time you said it.”
Missy cackled. “Second time I said it, you heard, but I had to repeat it because the look you get when I say his name says so much.”
I didn’t get a look when she said his name. There was no reason why I would get a look. None. “Where is Jack with my ribbon?” I grumbled.
“So you’re just going to act like I didn’t tell you the Wilder Presley is home?” Missy smirked. “You can’t act like this with me, Shelby. You told me what you said the day he left.” She wagged her finger in my face. “I have known you for nineteen years and one hundred ten days.”
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t acting anyway, just like I hadn’t had a look when she said Wilder’s name. “And this isn’t his home,” I insisted. “When you leave for more than nine years, the place you go to becomes your home.”
“Is that a rule?” Missy questioned.
“Here ya go,” Jack called. He held up three rolls of black ribbon. “These are the last of them.” He made his way to me, and I grabbed the rolls from him.
“Thanks.” I nodded to the orange ribbon. “I need to grab a couple of rolls of orange. I’ll meet you at the register.”
Jack nodded. “Sounds good.”
I grabbed two shades of orange and hoped they would work for the wreath, but my mind was too wound up about Wilder to even notice what I grabbed.
“Shelby,” Missy called.
My eyes darted to her. “What?”
“What is going on in that head of yours right now?” she demanded.
I shrugged and dropped the orange ribbon into my basket. “I think I have two days to finish this wreath, and then I need to start thinking about the Christmas wreaths for the church while I work on the twenty other orders I have for fall or Halloween wreaths. I’m busy, Missy.”
Missy tipped her head to the side and crossed her arms over her chest. “You are so full of shit, girlfriend. The man you had a crush on all of your life is back in town, and you’re going to tell me you’re thinking about wreaths? That you didn’t tell him you loved him?”
I nodded my head. “Yes, you will believe that because you are my best friend, and you know I don’t want to have this conversation at the craft store. And I told him I loved him as a friend. It was a “Have a great life, buddy. I love you.” Turning on my heel, I headed to where Jack stood behind the check-out counter.
“You know I’m just going to come over to your house after I get off of work,” Missy called after me.
I raised my hand over my head. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Missy.” Missy had been my best friend for almost twenty years. She had moved to Adams when we were both ten and had become one of my close friends that summer.
“You want wine or hard booze?” she asked.
I needed a damn tranquilizer if what she had told me was true. “Bring the Southern,” I replied.
“Woo, wee,” Missy chuckled. “This is going to be a fun night.”
I rolled my eyes and set my basket on the check-out counter. “You wouldn’t by chance have a bottle of booze behind the counter, would you, Jack?” I blew my hair out of my face and sighed.
“Uh, well, I think my dad might have a bottle hidden in his office,” Jack stammered. “I could see if I could get you a glass.”
Oh, sweet Jack. He was just a little too naïve for his good.
I nodded to the basket. “I think I can make it home without a glass. Thank you, though.”
Jack looked visibly relieved.
Five minutes later, I was sitting behind the steering wheel of my truck and closed my eyes.
Wilder Presley was back in town.
Twelve years ago, I had watched that man drive out of my life with not so much as a backward glance. He had broken my heart that day, and he hadn’t even known it.
Wilder Presley was back, and so were all those feelings I thought I had buried.
No amount of Southern was going to make this any easier.
*
Check out the first chapter of Playboy
Chapter One
Playboy
Just another Saturday?
“WHERE ARE YOU GOING?”
I dropped my cigarette to the gravel and snuffed it out with the toe of my boot. “Bed.”
Jet inhaled deep on his cigarette. “Alone or you got company joining you?” he wheezed before blowing out a plume of smoke.
“Right now, alone, but we both know that can change from here to my bedroom door.”
It was early Saturday morning at the Sacramento Skinz strip club, and I was ready to call it a night. Most of the dancers were offstage and done for the evening which meant I was going to have my pick of the girls to warm my bed tonight.
“Barracuda talk to you?”
I nodded. “Tried to avoid him, but he tracked me down.”
“That means you’re in charge of the new weekend muscle?”
That was exactly what it meant. “He tried to shine it up by saying I was the head of security, but we all fucking know it means I’m the one throwing out drunk assholes Friday and Saturday nights.”
Jet chuckled. “Well, at least you have a week to get used to it.”
“I’d rather Barracuda work out whatever shit is going on with the security company than have the club do security.”
“Hey, just think of it like when the club first opened Skinz. We rotated nights, and it worked.”
That was before the club became so well known. Now, with Skinz being popular, there were easily one hundred and fifty people in the club at any time. When there was an event going like jello wrestling or bubble parties, that number almost tripled.
“Well, I can handle it for a little bit, but I fucking hope Barracuda is looking for a new security company.”
“You’ll have your first shot at the girls if you’re working security.”
I rolled my eyes. I had first shot at the girls either way. I wasn’t called Playboy for nothing. “I’ll catch ya later, Jet.”
I opened the door to the club, and the loud thumping of the bass hit me along with the smell of whiskey and cheap perfume. God knew these girls made a shit-ton of money, but it seemed like they all wore the same fucking overly sweet scent.
Normally, I knew what girl I wanted. They seemed to rotate through with barely any lasting more than a few nights. Tonight, it was different.
I made my way through the back of the club, my eyes darting to the changing room for the girls.
“You need some company tonight, Playboy?”
My gaze fell on Raine. She waltzed over to the door and leaned against the frame.
“What do you have in mind, sugar?”
She shrugged and draped her arm over her head. “Whatever you want, baby.”
Raine was one of the first girls I had slept with when the strip club opened, and she had been clamoring to get back into my bed since. “Don’t you think Tank and Rebel will mind me honing in on you?”
She reached out and trailed a finger down my chest. “You know they won’t mind. Hell, Tank would probably join us.”
That was true, but it wasn’t anything I was interested in. “Maybe another time, Raine.” She should have gotten the hint by now that I wasn’t interested in her anymore, but obviously, she hadn’t clued into it yet. Adding Tank into the equation was her latest ploy. Hard pass.
“We all know you don’t want to be alone tonight, Playboy.”
I gently grabbed her hand and dropped it. “Who said I was going to be alone?”
She scoffed and pushed off the doorframe. “Waste of my damn time,” she mumbled under her breath.
My eyes darted around the room filled with loads of mirrors, half naked women, and a plume of hairspray that hung in the air. Nothing held my attention for more than a second. “Have a good night, ladies,” I called.
I made my way down the hallway and pushed into the main room with a nod to one of the prospects who was guarding the door from the dressing rooms into the club.
Next Saturday, I would be one of the poor saps making sure the drunks don’t get too handsy and try to run back to the girls when they get off stage. I was going to make sure the prospects took all the shit duties, and I can hopefully find a corner to sit in and just keep an eye on everything.
Prospects were supposed to have the shit jobs. I had been down the prospect path, and I had no intention of heading back down it even if Barracuda told me to do it.
Vivid Vanessa was on the stage, and she had the attention of every dick in the room. The one girl who had yet to look my way, and I was strangely okay with it. She had moves like no other on the pole, but something made me take a step back from pursuing her. She seemed like she would want a whole hell of a lot more than I had to offer. She didn’t mess with any of the club guys, and she just had a classy air about her.
I was at the door when a petite hand grabbed my arm. “Looking for company tonight, Playboy?”
Bray. I looked her up and down and smiled. “Maybe, but you might want to put on some more clothes. It’s pretty chilly on the back of my bike.”
Bray flitted her long lashes. “Give me ten minutes? I need to count my drawer and change.”
I nodded. “Meet me at my bike.” Bray wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but she would keep my bed warm for a bit.
“Ten minutes,” she promised. She turned on her heels toward the bar, and I pushed open the door to the outside.
My bike was in the front row and off to the right. Four other bikes of club members stood parked by mine, and there were about twenty other cars in the lot. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it up to my ear.
“‘Sup?”
“Where you at?” Six-Gun asked.
I sat down on my bike and pulled my keys out of my pocket. “Just leaving the club.”
“You got someone here looking for you.”
I stuck the key in the ignition but didn’t turn it. “Who is it?”
“A chick.”
That wasn’t really surprising. “You wanna be a little bit more specific than that?”
“Brown hair. Dressed like a fucking librarian. Possibly hot if she took off the glasses and her eyes stopped darting around like a scared animal.”
I knocked up the kick stand. “She got a name?” I had no idea who the hell Six-Gun was talking about, but I was fucking intrigued.
“Won’t tell me. I asked her twice, but all she did was shake her head.”
“She’s still there?”
“That’s why I fucking called you, brother. She’s here, and she wants to talk to you.”
I glanced over my shoulder toward the club. “I’ll be there in five minutes.” I shoved the phone in my pocket and started up the bike.
Bray was going to have to find someone else to keep her warm tonight.
*