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Ebook56 pages37 minutesMake You Mine
4/5
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About this ebook
Molly O'Keefe
Molly O'Keefe sold her first Harlequin Duets at age 25 and hasn’t looked back! She has since sold 11 more books to Harlequin Duets, Flipside and Superromance. Her last Flipside, Dishing It Out, won the Romantic Times Choice Award. A frequent speaker at conferences around the country she also serves on the board of the Toronto chapter of Romance Writers of America. She lives in Toronto with her husband, son, dog and the largest heap of dirty laundry in North America
Read more from Molly O'keefe
The Story of Us Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5All I Want for Christmas Is You (Short Story) Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Redeemed: Into The Wild Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5
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Reviews for Make You Mine
45 ratings2 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This was a quickie but it packed all the longing and attraction of the 20 years it took for these two to be honest to each other!
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5To be honest..it was like watching a black and white on a big screen. Romance at it's finest. Star-crossed lovers..finding out that they belong together. A feel good read.
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Book preview
Make You Mine - Molly O'Keefe
Publishing
1
Lloyd’s occupied that sweet spot between dive bar and shithole.
The twentysomethings that had taken over all the other good drinking spots in Hell’s Kitchen had so far stayed away from Lloyd’s, so no one was wearing suspenders, and the Waylon Jennings on the sound system was unironic.
The bar was sticky. The beer was cheap. The bottles of the good stuff on the top shelf were covered in an inch of dust.
But the best part was the television over the bar that only played ESPN. Never CNN.
So no one ever, EVER knew who he was here.
For all of those reasons, it was Jay’s favorite bar.
He shoved open the door with perhaps a bit more force than necessary, and the string holding the bell over the door chose that moment to give up the ghost. The bell fell down, bouncing off Jay’s head and shoulder to the floor.
Jesus. Really?
What’d that bell do to you?
Lloyd asked from behind the bar.
I don’t know,
Jay said, picking it up and setting it on the end of the bar. What the hell did I do to it?
Same thing you did to that asshole on CNN?
Lloyd asked, and Jay glanced at the TV.
Of course. Of course tonight they’d changed the channel.
He looked over the dozen or so people in the bar and about three-quarters of them started clapping. The rest of them grumbled into their beer, shooting him sideways glances.
Seems about right, he thought. Consistent with polling numbers.
Or maybe the people clapping just liked seeing brawls on TV.
He lifted his hands to the people clapping, trying to shush them. When that didn’t work, he ignored them.
The Jameson shot and the Bud chaser were waiting for him at his seat at the corner of the bar.
On me,
Lloyd said. I been waiting a long time for someone to punch that asshole in the face. How’s the hand?
Jay put his hand on the wooden bar, opening and closing his fist. Hurts like hell,
he said. The knuckles were scraped up pretty good, not so much from the punch but from the fall.
What a clusterfuck. What a fucking clusterfuck.
Here.
Lloyd set a plastic bag filled with ice next to the sweating bottle of Bud, and Jay put it over his knuckles, wincing at the sting. The Jameson’s went down nice and hot, and the Bud cooled it right off.
Another?
Lloyd asked, not even raising his eyebrow. Another reason why this place was Jay’s favorite. When a man came in to get good and drunk, Lloyd didn’t pass judgment. He greased the wheels. Sometimes he put a glass of water on the bar next to the shot. Sometimes he put a cheeseburger down instead of a shot.
But no judgment.
The same again was set up in front of him.
What do you think is going to happen?
Lloyd asked.
You’re making conversation now?
Lloyd shrugged. Don’t have to. It’s just not every day my best customer punches a man out on national TV.
Jay put the cold bottle to his face and closed his eyes. I just couldn’t listen to him talk anymore,
he said.
Bishop was saying some vile shit.
He was. He was saying vile shit.
About Maggie.
And saying vile shit about Maggie was what that guy did. Bishop’s whole fucking reason for being was to split such razor-thin hairs, to use all this misogynistic language without actually ever calling her a slut. Or a bitch. This dog-whistle bullshit.
Most days he could handle it. Most days…
Just not today, it would seem.
Is he gonna press charges?
Lloyd asked.
Jay laughed. No. But he’s probably going to sue the fuck out of me.
The Jameson went down smooth as