Send Me Crazy (Hot in the City Book 1) Read online

  Published by T Gephart

  Copyright 2019 T Gephart

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  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and scenarios are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by Hang Le

  Editing by Insight Editing Services

  Formatting by Elaine York Allusion Graphics LLC

  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

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Connect with T

  To Kelly,

  You’ve not only been an amazing friend but a fantastic wingwoman to my crazy. Here’s your book.

  #DeleteTheMessages #WhatPackage

  QUINN- Hey Babe-a-licious, I’m back! Also, don’t hate me. But I sent Brad a package guaranteeing he’d meet you for a date! I know, I know none of my business . . . but seriously, he needed a push and it was easier to do while I was out of the country. You can yell at me for it later. Clearly, you’re no longer mad. #Winning.

  KARLI - Quinn! Girlfriend, I’ve missed you. Um . . . what package and note? I’m not meeting Brad for a date, what are you talking about?

  QUINN- Maybe he didn’t get it yet? How long does USPS take to send a red racy G-string? I included coordinates for Beans or Bust. You’re welcome.

  KARLI - I’m going to kill you! Where did you send it?

  QUINN - Ummmm to his apartment, sweet cheeks…where else? 264 Hudson

  KARLI - QUINN! He’s 246 not 264!!! Hopefully whoever got it returned it to sender.

  QUINN- Well, then. No return details included and addressed it to Hot Stuff—in keeping with the theme. This just got a whole lot more interesting. Feel like an adventure? ;-)

  KARLI - Lord, I already know I’m going to regret this.

  Quinn

  GETTING INVOLVED IN people’s business was literally my job.

  Not as in literally when most people mean metaphorically, I mean literally like the word was intended to be used.

  I was what you’d call a life documentarian. Sure, it’s not what’s on my business card but that is essentially what I do. Birthdays, deaths, marriages—I’ve got you. Proposals, proms, pranks—also covered. I will photograph, video or a combination of both, all your special—and sometimes private—memories so you can keep them for all time.

  It’s tricky too, trying to capture the moment and keep my intrusion to a minimum. But I’d made a name for myself in the business, flying all over the country—and like last week, the world—catering to clients who loved my particular brand of life capture. So getting tangled in a situation that didn’t really involve me was an occupational hazard. And often spilled into my personal life.

  “Panties, Quinn? Really? Who even does that anymore? It’s not an 80’s rock video.” Karli blew out a breath of apparent frustration, but her smile told me different.

  I rolled my eyes, glancing over the menu she was using as a prop. The coffee shop was busy enough no one was paying us any attention, not that I could convince Karli to keep her cool. And I loved my best friend but she wouldn’t last thirty seconds in my line of work. Grinning, I eased back into my seat, “It’s unexpected. Elicits a response. That’s the reason I sent them.”

  Granted, when I sent the scarlet red lace G-string and the accompanying suggestive note, its intentions had been very clear.

  Light a fire under Brad Getty’s ass.

  And see if he would rise to the occasion.

  See, life was too short to sit on the sidelines playing it safe, and nothing great ever came from inaction. Better to ask forgiveness than permission. And all great journeys started with a single step. And not willing to continue sounding like one of those books in the self-help department, I preferred to get my inspiration from experience rather than between the pages.

  Karli couldn’t be more different.

  Short, with brown eyes and corkscrew brown curls, she was the embodiment of cute-as-a-button. Add in that adorable Texan accent and manners for days, she was the polar opposite to the five-foot-eleven, blonde hair and blue-eyed Yankee that I was. I looked like a towering Amazonian when I stood next to her, our differences almost comical when we went out together. But it wasn’t just looks that had us at opposite sides of the spectrum. Karli liked rules, recycled, and made homemade protein balls with vegan choc chips. While I made life choices by flipping a coin and couldn’t remember the name of the last guy I’d slept with.

  But to be fair, I’d been traveling through foreign countries, so it was more a pronunciation thing. Not that I cared if people raised their eyebrows at my questionable morality, I just wanted to make sure the facts were right.

  For all our differences—Karli’s heart-of-gold goodness and my fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants madness—we were as close as sisters.

  “But Brad would have known they weren’t from me. Not to mention they were postmarked Paris instead of New York. Honestly, Quinn.” She shook her head, her disappointment being an easy read. “I’m almost relieved you got his address wrong.”

  “Sure, like you enjoy being his friend and don’t want to move this along to the next level. Wasn’t it you who said that he’d missed every subtle hint? Newsflash, girlfriend, time to be less subtle.”

  In all honesty, Karli hadn’t had a lot of opportunity. Both her and Brad worked in the restoration section of a high-end bookstore and spent their days very gently and quietly handling books older than dirt. Not like she could peel off her dust-resistant coveralls and go at it on a first edition Pride and Prejudice. Although, I’m fairly sure Jane Austen would have probably approved. Still, given what we were working with, I had to intervene.

  Except.

  Accidentally transposing the numbers in Brad’s address meant I’d sent the scandalous underwear, saucy note and the playful coordinates to someone else. And while some people might have sighed, and bemoaned the lost opportunity, I decided it was the perfect chance to have a little fun. Maybe the little slip up was the universe’s way for me to meet a new guy? Have a fling? Or at the very least make a new friend. Either way, we were staying the course and seeing if our mystery addressee turned up.

  “What if it’s an old lady?” Karli asked, forcing the grin as she stirred her decaf coffee.

  “Honey, if it’s an old lady and she still shows up, I’m shaking her hand and hanging out with her.” I l
aughed, fairly serious about my intentions of befriending whoever walked through the door. “Come on, clearly they’d have to have a sense of humor or they wouldn’t bother. And I’ve got nothing booked for the rest of the day. In fact, I’m going to make a promise right now.” I didn’t blink, putting every ounce of conviction behind my words. “Whoever shows up as a result of my little scavenger hunt, I will embrace and make an effort to get to know. It will be like a social experiment.”

  Sure, I’d prefer if some tall—when you’re a female giant, you want someone who is taller than you—good-looking Adonis strolled through the door and made my toes curl. Who wouldn’t? But the last few months had me questioning my purpose, with my life “documenting” making me a little cynical.

  Yes, I loved my job, and the excitement that came with it. It enabled me to travel and experience so many new things. But it was always from the other side of my lens, watching vicariously while “other” people found love, happiness, and adventure. Meanwhile I was on the sidelines with their hair and makeup team making their extremely scripted proposal, complete with stenciled message in the sand, seem candid and impromptu. We’d been so caught up in documenting literally everything, we were missing out on living the actual moments. And for the person who was capturing those memories for everyone else, I’d missed more than my fair share.

  Karli laughed, amused by my sudden and probably rash declaration. “Well, that’s one hell of a promise, but if there’s one person who’s capable, it’s you. And hell, someone just walked in.” Karli’s eyes widened, her head not so discreetly tipping toward the door. “Oh my God, it’s a guy. He’s super hot.”

  It wasn’t that I didn’t trust her judgment, but our tastes in men were markedly different. She liked guys who were cute in that farm boy kind of way. Wrangler jeans and cowboy boots—the soft strains of the anthem and the unfurling of Old Glory accompanying him as he walked. My palate ran a little more diverse and I wanted someone a little less genteel and a lot more dirty.

  Carefully—I was so used to being invisible it was almost second nature to me—I turned to see the hot guy who’d just walked in.

  And wow.

  She was not wrong.

  Lord, was he tall.

  Not just the average I could probably wear flats and his hairline would be above mine either. No I’m talking TALL, as in I could break out the highest heels in my closet and he’d still be taller. He had to be six-four, six-five? Maybe even six-six, with not a single inch of him wasted. Sculpted, muscled—his clothes were doing a poor job at hiding what had to be spectacular underneath.

  Dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a black Tee, he didn’t look like a guy who’d work in an office. Not sure if it was his rippling muscles or his sun-kissed skin but he for sure had a job that worked with his hands. And his hands were just as impressive as the rest of him.

  Strong, agile, flexing as he pulled off a pair of mirrored Aviators, they unmasked a breathtaking pair of chocolate-brown eyes that played off perfectly against his masculine chiseled jaw.

  He was a Super Bowl advertisement for beer, cologne and deodorant, and I was buying whatever he was selling.

  Please be him, please be him, I prayed to a nameless deity as I watched him stroll into the coffee shop and look around. I wasn’t sure if he was casing the joint, checking his exits so if he robbed the place he could make a quick getaway or if he was looking for the sassy panty bandit. But either way, I was taking it as a sign and rose to my feet.

  It wasn’t just his body—while currently it was winning as my favorite attribute—it was a weird kind of aura that had followed him in. He didn’t slouch, stumble, or try and fade into the landscape. He was casual while radiating self-confidence, every step and flick of his eyes deliberate with intent.

  Jesus.

  In my head I was thinking up something plausible to say. Whether I came clean about the panties or pretended to be just some random woman he’d meet in the coffee shop. I didn’t have much time, the sight of his spectacular front stolen from me as he ordered his coffee. Lucky for me, my view of his amazing ass more than made up for it.

  “Karli?” A gruff voice coughed from behind me as I took a step closer to the counter, interrupting my mental mapping of future dialogue. “Are you the lady who sent the panties?”

  The new guy wasn’t quiet about it either, the entire coffee shop silenced as they turned to look at me. The gorgeous mystery man was no exception.

  “Excuse me?” I turned around, both confused and annoyed. “What did you say?”

  “I said,” new guy pulled out the scant fabric from his pocket and dangled it off his fingers, “are you the lady who sent these?”

  There they were, my panties, like the Zapruder film shot from the grassy knoll.

  While he wasn’t unattractive, he was not what I’d been hoping for. Tall, and fit, and had I been about twenty years older, I would have been totally into him. Maybe. His face was weathered, deep lines marking the skin like a testimony to his years on the planet. And while I knew nothing about him, I’d been pretty good at reading people and this guy had probably seen more than most.

  Not sure if it was my face or the gasp from Karli that betrayed us but a smile broke across the older man’s face. He looked pleased, making no attempt to be discreet as his thick Brooklyn accent was louder than it needed to be. “Did you want them back? Or should I hold on to them for a souvenir?”

  The mystery hot guy who I’d hoped had received my panties had yet to divert his attention. His interest unabashedly alternating between me and the fire engine red lace dangling from the other guy’s fingers.

  “Errrrr . . . it wouldn’t be much of a gift if I took them back.” I tried to recover, pretending that talking to strange men about my underwear was an everyday occurrence. “So they’re yours. Congrats!”

  Karli coughed trying to stifle her laughter as she watched with renewed purpose, from her seat at our table giving her the perfect view of all the action.

  The panty thief—fine, technically not a thief since I’d sent them to him—stuffed them back into his pocket and held out his hand. “I’m Mack.”

  Well didn’t I have a choice to make?

  I could lie, pretend to be Karli—risk her tiny wrath—and leave as soon as possible.

  Or come clean somewhat, tell him it was all some big misunderstanding and leave as soon as possible.

  But . . . I had promised I was going to be friends with whoever turned up. And I wasn’t going to renege even if my chances of talking to the hot guy with the sensational body and gorgeous face were slipping away by the second.

  “Quinn,” I answered without thinking, shaking his hand. “You can all go about your business.” I turned to our attentive coffee shop audience. “Nothing more to see here.”

  He chuckled, amused by my attempt. “Not sure it works like that, Blondie. And I thought the letter said your name was Karli?”

  I was just about to launch into my explanation when Karli stood. “Why don’t y’all have a seat? I mean, no point everyone standing around.”

  Mack folded his arms across his substantial chest as he seemed to consider Karli’s offer. He sure was muscular for an older guy. No middle age spread on him. “Is that what you want?” he asked, directing his question to me.

  My eyes flicked to the hot dude who’d originally caught my attention, his equally hot eyebrow lifted as he waited for me to make my decision. “Sure, let’s all take a seat.”

  I turned, internally weeping at the loss of what would have been a perfect meet cute. We’d laugh about my silly brazen attempts to get my friend and her nerd man out of the platonic zone, and then make sweet, sweet love like animals in heat. Then he’d go bench press a Chevy with his shirt off while I documented it for the good of all womankind. I mean, I said I was cynical, but some shit just needed to be recorded.

  But alas, that wasn’t what happened. Instead, I forced the grin, trying to not be any ruder as I gave Mack the attention he dese
rved.

  “So, interesting story. I accidentally transposed the numbers on the address and sent you my panties. But I guess it all worked out, because look at us making new friends!” My hands waved with enthusiasm, not really telling poor Mack a whole lot of anything.

  Although, I had to hand it to him. Not only did he sit down casually like it was no big fucking deal, but he showed complete lack of surprise. Like walking around with a stranger’s panties in his pocket was totally normal, and then sitting down to have a chat was the next normal progression. “Well, that is interesting. Not only are you not Karli, but I’m not the Hot Stuff you were looking for. Kind of disappointing, Quinn.”

  Yeah, for you and me both, buddy.

  “I’m Karli, and she was interfering.” Karli leaned across the table, throwing out her hand. “But I had no idea she’d done any of it until after the fact.”

  “I interfered, sue me,” I volunteered without much resistance.

  “So why did you turn up? If you knew the package hadn’t reached its intended destination.”

  It was a fair question and one I’d expected from Mack. After all, it was logical. If you accidentally dialed the wrong phone number, you didn’t redial the same number. No, you cough out something inaudible or apologize and got the hell off the line. But I hadn’t been running my life lately with logic high on the agenda so I saw no reason to start.

  “Because, why not? If we hadn’t, we wouldn’t have met you.” Or seen the hot guy who’d surely left by now. A quick glance to the counter unfortunately didn’t reveal him standing there like he had been moments before. Of course he’d gone. Why would he stick around? Most of the coffee shop was back to ignoring us, especially since the lacy underwear had been stuffed back into Mack’s pocket. Plus, it was New York—weird was just another Tuesday. Except it was Saturday, which meant the weird was even more expected.

  Mack’s eyes floated over me like he was doing a mental stocktake. Probably trying to decipher whether I was sincere or if Karli and I were working some elaborate plot to steal his wallet. Which ironically would also be like another day in New York.