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  Calculated Risk

  Copyright © 2016 by Rachael Duncan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes, if done so constitutes a copyright violation. This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.

  Edited by:

  Nichole Strauss with Perfectly Publishable

  Interior Design & Formatting by:

  Christine Borgford with Perfectly Publishable

  Cover Designed by:

  Marisa Shor with Cover Me, Darling

  Photographer:

  Lauren Perry with Perrywinkle Photography

  Table of Contents

  Calculated Risk

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Sneak Peek

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by Rachael Duncan

  To girls’ trips and the three ladies that helped inspire this story.

  Lydia

  THE LOUD RATTLING draws attention from those around me, but I pretend I don’t see them staring and judging. Why wouldn’t they put down smooth floors in this place? The square tiles make the shopping cart vibrate and rattle uncontrollably no matter how slow I walk up and down the aisles. I place one hand on top of as many bottles as my spread-out fingers will reach while steering with the other hand to minimize the clinking noise. Unfortunately, I’m only able to touch four of the nine liquor bottles, so the stares continue as I make my way up to the cashier.

  Yes, I need a cart in a liquor store.

  This is what my life has come to.

  But it’s not all for me. We were all assigned tasks for this weekend, and mine happened to be the liquor store run. Now I know why. As I pass a little old lady, she takes one glance at my cart and looks back up at me with a raised brow. She doesn’t have to say a word because her thoughts are written all over her pruned-up face.

  Lush.

  I resist rolling my eyes and give her a tight smile instead. At twenty-five years old, I like to have a little fun. So sue me. Although, looking at my yoga pants, ratty T-shirt, and messy bun, maybe she’s entitled to make her assumptions.

  “Did you find everything okay?” the cashier asks as I place each bottle on the counter.

  “God, I hope so. I’m not sure my liver can take more than this,” I joke. She doesn’t laugh. I keep quiet until she puts my bottles in a box, since a bag won’t work apparently, and tell her to have a nice day.

  Once everything is loaded into the car, I send the girls a group text.

  Me: Well, now everyone thinks I’m the town drunk.

  It’s not long before they all chime in.

  Charlotte: hahaha

  Scarlett: It’s for a good cause!

  Paige: In 24 hours you won’t care what those people were thinking of you!

  Me: Yeah, yeah.

  After sarting the car, I put it in drive and head home.

  With my sunglasses on and the top down, I bathe in the warm sun as I cruise along the street. A small smile pulls at my lips thinking about this weekend. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten out of town and had some fun. With the way my work schedule has been, I’ve had little time to breathe, let alone relax.

  Pulling through the gate of the apartment complex, I make a pit stop at the mailboxes to see if I have anything important waiting for me. It’s doubtful, but you never know. I thumb through the envelopes of bills and junk before stopping on one.

  Seth Lee is typed across the middle, taunting me. My cheeks heat in anger and my heart beats a little faster as my nostrils flare with each draw of air in through my nose. I know it’s just one of those dumb, generic credit card applications, but it still pisses me off. I rip it in half angrily before throwing it in the trash can nearby. You’d think enough time has passed that the mere sight of his name would have little to no effect on me, but I’m not there yet.

  Balancing the box of booze on my hip, I manage to unlock the door to my apartment before entering. A loud meow sounds at my feet.

  “Hey, Spartacus,” I greet. He responds with another meow.

  I set the box down before bending over to pick up my huge, orange tabby. When I say he’s huge, I mean it. I swear this cat was bred with a saber tooth tiger. When the vet is impressed with the size of his head and teeth, you know he’s big. His purr meets my ears as he nudges my chin with his head. It’s the only affection I get nowadays. “I missed you too, buddy.”

  With Spartacus in my arms, I walk us to my bedroom so I can start packing. I set him on my bed, despite his protest, and retrieve my suitcase from the closet. A long sigh escapes my mouth as I look around my room like a magical elf is going to materialize and pack for me.

  “Alright, we’ll start with the easy stuff first,” I mutter under my breath. Walking over to my drawers, I open the top one and pull out a handful of underwear and throw it in my bag. After I’ve got my pajamas in there, I’m back to square one with not knowing what the hell to bring. Bars and clubs aren’t my scene, so this is a little foreign to me.

  My hands are on my hips while I stare at the row of clothes hanging in my closet, hoping something will jump out at me. I hear my phone ding from where I left it on the bed, so I walk over to check it and see another group message.

  Scarlett: Make sure everyone is drinking plenty of water tonight. Hydration is key for tomorrow!!

  I love Scarlett dearly. We’ve only known each other for about eight months, but we clicked instantly. She’s hilarious and has this drinking thing down to a science.

  Me: Yes, mother.

  Scarlett: You’ll thank me later. <3

  Heeding her advice, I go to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water. This weekend is going to be a complete shit-show.

  And I can’t wait.

  Lydia

  THE DRIVE DOWN to Myrtle Beach only took us about three hours, but since we left after work, we didn’t get in until eight o’clock. Fortunately, we were all ready and just needed to touch up our makeup and change our clothes.

  That’s what I’m doing when I hear Scarlett yell, “Shots, shots, shots!” I shake my head as I run my hands through my loose, hazelnut curls one more time. Exiting the bathroom, I see the girls already pouring liquor into tiny plastic cups. With lemon
and lime wedges and salt laid out all over the desk in the corner of the hotel room, it’s starting to look like a frat house in here.

  “Here you go, Lydia,” Scarlett says as she hands one to me before raising hers in a toast. “To a night we’re sure to forget.”

  “Cheers,” the rest of us say in unison before throwing the shot back.

  My throat is on fire. In fact, it feels like I poured kerosene down it. I can hardly breathe as I cough out, “Damn. What was that?” I know I didn’t buy anything at the liquor store made out of lighter fluid. Paige and Scarlett both cringe while making disgruntled noises as well.

  “It’s just a little something I brought from my stash at home,” Charlotte tells us.

  “What was it?” I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I search for something to chase it with.

  “Everclear,” she states.

  “Are you insane? I’m not trying to die this weekend.” I grab a bottle of water and chug it, which helps soothe the burn, but my mouth still tastes like gasoline. I definitely was not prepared for that.

  A few more shots of something less potent, and we’re ready to go. The four of us grab our purses and are about to walk out of the door, but I run back in to get something out of my suitcase. Rummaging in the front pocket, I locate the object I’m in search of and slide it over my left ring finger. My hope is no one notices, but as soon as I step into the elevator, Paige is the first one to call me out.

  “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

  I roll my eyes and let out a sigh. “Can you not make a big deal about this?” I sound defensive even to my own ears, which gets the interest of the others.

  “Big deal about what?” Scarlett asks, leaning around Paige to look at me.

  “The engagement ring on her finger.” Paige crosses her arms over her chest.

  “You’re still doing that?” Charlotte asks, sympathy in her brown eyes.

  I turn away from them and face the front of the elevator.

  After that jerk broke my heart, I couldn’t let go of the hurt. As much as I tried to forget, it was impossible. I vowed I’d never let something like that happen to me again, and the only way to ensure that was to appear attached.

  “Lydia??” Charlotte presses. There’s no judgment in her tone, only concern.

  “I promise I’m good, guys. You don’t have to worry. I just want to go out and not be bothered by some sleazy guy looking for a hookup. I’m using the ring as repellant.”

  Scarlett gives me an arched brow before the elevator doors open to let us out.

  “Maybe you should try to move on and see what’s out there,” Paige suggests while we walk to the front of the resort to catch the Uber car we called beforehand.

  I try to reign in my annoyance, I really do, but this conversation is getting old. I know it’s been about a year and a half, but I can’t put myself out there again. At least not yet. Instead of reiterating this to them though, I choose to remain silent and slide into the front seat of our ride.

  Alcohol is a funny thing. It’s merely a bottle of liquid with no real power sitting on a shelf at a bar. Contained it’s useless; consumed it makes you feel like you can conquer the world. The latter is where I’m at right now. After more shots than I can count and three different bars, I haven’t got a care in the world. It’s a nice and welcomed change from my day-to-day life this last year.

  “Let’s get another drink!” Charlotte yells to us over the music. We’ve just walked into our fourth stop for the night. After checking out the layout and locating the most important points—the bar and bathroom—we make our way over to the right side of the room and get a drink.

  Now that it’s getting later, the crowds are starting to thicken. The dance floor is full, and the music is pulsating in my ears. It brings a small smile to my face as I feel the beat in my body.

  We’re almost to our target destination when a guy elbows me right in the boob as I try to skirt around him. He turns around and all I can do is hold my boob in my hand as I grimace slightly. He presses his lips together in an attempt to not smile before our eyes meet.

  “Ow, that was my boob!” I inform him. Honestly, I’m exaggerating a bit. You can blame that on the booze.

  “Sorry, are you okay?” he asks, leaning in closer. His scent hits my nose and the first thought is I want to bathe in whatever he’s wearing. It’s a light, woodsy smell that encompasses all things masculine. I’ve never smelled anything so delicious. That scent, mixed with the alcohol I’ve had, is a heady combination.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” I manage to say once my brain stops focusing on wanting to sniff him.

  “Let me make it up to you and buy you a drink.” He flashes me a smile that I’m sure has every woman before me fall at his feet. Not tonight though.

  I shake my head slowly. “Thanks, but I don’t take drinks from strangers.”

  “Smart. Well, what do you want to know? My favorite color is blue, I love me some pie, and I can’t stand cats.” He looks up at the ceiling like he’s thinking. “I think that covers the basics.” When his focus comes back to me, it’s hard not to smile at the playful grin on his face.

  “That sucks because the cat thing is kind of a deal breaker for me.” I shrug and move to walk away, but add, “Plus, your impressive list of likes and dislikes still makes you a stranger.”

  “Look, I’m just a guy in a bar having some drinks with his brother when I elbowed a pretty girl. Have a drink with me?” When I don’t reject him again, he holds his arm out toward the bar. The sober part of my brain tells me to dig my heels in and get far away from this guy. This is how heartache starts. Unfortunately, the slightly intoxicated side of me far outweighs the sensible side, and I find myself following. There’s just something about him that’s got me enthralled, and I’m powerless to fight it.

  Glancing to my left past Mr. I-Hate-Cats, I catch sight of my friends a few feet away. They pretend to be engrossed in the wall behind the bar, but I sense them watching me from the corner of their eyes.

  “Marcus,” he says, extending his hand out to me, bringing my focus back to him.

  “Lydia.” I return the gesture and shake his hand.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’ll have a Yuengling,” I respond.

  “Hmm,” he says as his brows lift.

  “What?”

  “Nice choice, but I would’ve pegged you for a fruity girl.”

  “The only fruit I like in my drinks is in the form of wine. Otherwise, I’m a beer girl.” Well, if you don’t count tonight where the girls have been shoving shots down my throat.

  He nods his approval before waving the bartender down and giving him our orders. When he turns back to me, I take the opportunity to really look at him. He has light brown hair that’s short on the sides and long on the top. I can’t make out the color of his eyes because it’s so dim in here, but he has a strong, angular jaw, and his T-shirt perfectly showcases his broad shoulders and muscular arms.

  “You come here often?” he asks.

  I can’t contain the laughter that erupts from me. “Seriously? That’s the best line you’ve got?”

  “What?” he asks, trying not to crack a smile.

  “Of all the cheesy lines out there, you just used possibly the most cliché one known to mankind.”

  “Alright, how about I try again?”

  “If you think you can come up with something better, by all means.”

  He turns his back to me for a few seconds, then faces me again. “Are you from Tennessee?”

  My brow furrows in confusion. “No?”

  “Oh, because you’re the only ten I see.” Before he has a chance to see me holding back my grin, he turns back around to repeat the process.

  This time, he leans against the bar with one arm when he spins around. “Did it hurt?”

  “Did what hurt?” I play along.

  “When you fell from heaven.”

  That one earns him an eye roll be
fore he starts all over again. “Are you Google?” He pauses for effect. “Because you’re everything I’ve been searching for.”

  This is quite possibly the cheesiest man I’ve ever encountered in my life.

  And I kind of like it.

  It’s refreshing and makes me laugh.

  I look over his shoulder to see my friends huddled together, staring at me. Their eyes are wide with matching smiles as they nod and talk to each other. Even with the fog clouding my judgment, I know what they’re assuming. I open my mouth to put their assumptions to rest when Marcus catches my attention again.

  “Excuse me, do you think you can handle twelve inches?” His eyes look me up and down as my mouth falls open in shock. “Oh, good. I’ve only got five,” he says with relief.

  I throw my head back and let out a laugh. I should probably be offended and horrified he just said that to me, but with the look on his face, I can’t hold it in.

  “Oh, God, it hurts.” I clutch my side as I try to compose myself. When I glance back up to him, he’s looking down on me with the cutest grin on his face. “You’re . . . charming,” I say sarcastically, but smile to let him know I’m only teasing.

  “I’ve got a full range of skills I don’t put to use.”

  “Well, it’s good to know you don’t victimize other women with those godawful lines.”

  He raises a brow, an amused expression on his face. “It got you to laugh,” he points out.

  “That it did,” I agree with a couple nods.

  “So, where are you from?” he asks.

  “Right outside Raleigh.”

  “Here you go,” the bartender interrupts, placing our drinks on the bar. Marcus sets some money down before grabbing them and handing mine to me.

  I take a drink, letting the taste of hops coat my tongue and run down my throat. “What about you? Where are you from?” I ask.

  “Apex.” He brings his beer up to his lips and I fixate on them. They’re full and lickable. My eyes widen in surprise, and I don’t know if it’s from his answer, or my thoughts.

  “Oh, wow, so you’re over in my neck of the woods.”