My name is Carly Porter… And I’m really good at bad decisions.
How do I know this, exactly? Well, not including the time I accidentally bleached my eyebrows or sprained my ankle changing a lightbulb…
I had sex with my best friend’s brother.
Zeke Elliott has been a thorn in my side for eleven years. A very sexy, very tempting, very freaking annoying one. With big…hands.
And now my clitoris has a crush on the guy.
Seriously. I can’t look at him without my vagina performing accidental kegels. Which would be fine, but he’s Cain’s brother. I hate him. He’s off limits, right?
Carly’s dating life is a disaster. Every date she goes on from the dating websites ends in disaster. It doesn’t help that after sleeping with her best friend’s brother he seems to be appearing everywhere. Her body can’t control itself around him and her brain keeps sending messages he is a really bad idea. But, Carly is really good at bad ideas.
I was giddy with excitment seeing that Carly and Zeke had their own book. I thought Brooke and Cain were going to be the best couple but Carly and Zeke really give them a run for their money. The humor and sexual tension between them will ignite the pages. You will laugh outloud from Carly’s inner monologue that doesn’t always stay inner and Zeke’s sexy smolder will have you trolling construction sites. Their dance to get to their happily ever after is just as fun as Brooke and Cain’s. If you took my advice (and I know you did) and read Being Brooke you will be just as excited to get your hands on Catching Carly.
I close my eyes and slip one leg out of the window.
Everybody can see my panties.
Not that anyone is here, but I just know everybody can.
This is horrible. And it hurts.
I’m never dating again.
I’m going to buy fifty cats. They’ll never make me climb out of a bathroom window.
“You’re looking at my underwear, aren’t you?” I ask, unfortunately pausing with my legs wide open.
“It’s nice underwear.”
“Oh god.” I swing my other leg down a little too quick.
My dress rides up.
Right over my ass.
And my feet can’t reach the crates.
“Help me, you pig!”
“I’m gonna be stuck here forever. Oh my god.”
The bathroom door opens.
Can this get any worse?
A fifty-something woman I don’t recognize freezes in the middle of the restroom.
I smile sweetly.
She eyes me suspiciously before shuffling into a cubicle.
“Get me down!” I hiss, kicking my legs. “Now, Ezekiel!”
Something scrapes and knocks together.
“Still so hot when you call me that. Especially when your ass is out.” Thud. “All right, sweetcheeks. I’ve got you.”
“Sweetcheeks? What is wrong with you?”
“Look, you can hang there all night bitchin’ at me if you want, but it’s not my bare ass in the middle of the alley. As much as I’m enjoying the view.”
“Oh my god,” I groan. “You swear you’ll catch me?”
“I swear.” His fingertips brush against my bare legs.
My shudder is disguised by the trembling of my arms as I lower myself down.
Zeke’s fingers trail up the outsides of my thighs until he grasps my waist. “Let go.”
I freeze, tensing up.
“Carly, let go. I have hold of you. I won’t drop you.”
Still tensed, I let go of the window ledge.
My life flashes before my eyes. Seriously. I see everything from my first memory to the moment I let go of the ledge and I squeal because I’m going to die and I know that he’s going to drop me and—
Zeke’s strong grip solidifies when he wraps his arm around my waist and holds me against him. “There,” he says calmly into my ear. “You dropped about six inches. You’re hardly cliff-diving.”
I open my eyes and look down at where his arm is pressed across my stomach. His grip is tight, and the popping veins on his forearm trace tantalizing lines across his skin.
And my dress is still around my hips.
I reach down and tug the material over my upper thighs. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He releases me, and when he jumps down from the crates, I see a flash of his cocky grin. “Nice thong.”
That explains the grin.
I clear my throat. “Thank you. It took me an hour to pick.”
“From your drawer?”
“No. From Victoria Secret. Have you seen how many panties are on that website?”
Zeke holds his hands out for me to take. “Oh, yeah. I’m wearing a pair right now.”
My lips curve slowly as I step down onto the ground. “Interesting. What type? Brief? Thong? Boy short? V-string?”
He blinks at me when I put my shoes on. “Why do you need so many different types? It’d be much easier if you just wore none at all.”
By day, New York Times and USA Today bestselling New Adult author Emma Hart dons a cape and calls herself Super Mum to two beautiful little monsters. By night, she drops the cape, pours a glass of whatever she fancies—usually wine—and writes books.
Emma is working on Top Secret projects she will share with her followers and fans at every available opportunity. Naturally, all Top Secret projects involve a dashingly hot guy who likes to forget to wear a shirt, a sprinkling (or several) of hold-onto-your-panties hot scenes, and a whole lotta love.
She likes to be busy—unless busy involves doing the dishes, but that seems to be when all the ideas come to life.