Falling: A Sexy Alpha Romance Collection

“Shit,” she mutters as a throat clears behind me.

Spinning around, I find Dwayne staring at me. “So I take it that tonight’s not leading anywhere.” His words don’t stun me—they only confirm my suspicions.

Well damn. I figure there’s no saving this now. “Nope.”

His gaze lingers on me for another moment before he reaches into his pocket for his keys. “Figured as much at dinner, but I thought a drink might loosen you up a bit.”

“I think you should leave now.” Avery’s protective streak kicks in and her anger flares. She’s always looking out for me, and I love her for it.

Dwayne takes a step away from us. “Consider me gone,” he says, and a moment later, we watch him walk out of the bar.

“What a douche!” Avery exclaims, her eyes wild with indignation. “All he wanted was sex.”

I groan. “Well, to be fair, I’m pretty desperate for that, too.”

“Yeah, but at least you’re also looking for a guy to date. I’m glad you didn’t lower your standards for him.”

I catch sight of Luke staring after Dwayne and then our eyes meet for a moment.

“Another dud?” Tyler asks as he joins us, distracting me from Luke.

“She’s better off without him in my opinion,” Avery offers her thoughts.

I sigh. “Yes, another dud. Why are good men so hard to find?”

Tyler grins. “I know one right in front of you, who I don’t think you’ve ever considered giving a shot. The way he watches you is a dead giveaway but you seem to be blind to it.”

“Please enlighten me so I can rectify that.” I’ve no clue who he means.

Before Tyler shares the name, a guy runs into me, spilling his drink all over my new dress.

Can this night get any worse?

“Fuck!” Tyler says. He grabs the guy by his

shirt and hauls him away before I even get the opportunity to give him a piece of my mind.

Avery passes me a roll of paper towel, and I attempt to soak as much alcohol out of my dress as I can. The smell of rum fills my nostrils, and my annoyance builds.

“I’m going to the ladies, babe,” I say to Avery as I dump the paper towel on the counter. “This is going to take more than paper towel. I’m freaking covered in rum.”

She stares at me with sympathy and nods. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“Make me a vodka? A double, please.”

“I’ll make you a huge-ass vodka,” she promises, and I leave her to head to the bathroom.

First order of business: clean my dress.

Second order of business: drink as much vodka as is needed to put tonight out of my mind.

“So let me get this straight, you waitress to pay the bills, but your dream is to publish books? And you’ve already got a tonne of rejections for your first two manuscripts?” The guy I’ve been drinking with for the last hour struggles not to slur his words as he recounts what he’s learned about me so far.

I drink what’s left of the vodka in front of me. “When you lay it out like that, it’s almost depressing, but yes, that’s me in a nutshell.” The feelings of inadequacy I’ve held onto over my rejected manuscripts resurface, and my soul shrivels a little more.

Will I ever succeed?

I’ve been writing since I was a teen and am currently working on my fourth book. I never submitted my third to anyone for fear the rejection would finally cripple me. As it is, I go to battle with myself every day. Between the constant back and forth of ‘I’ve got this’ to ‘You’ve got no idea what you’re doing’, the mind whiplash feels like a beating I give myself day in and day out.