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The Derby Girl by Tamara Morgan - Romance>Contemporary
Book two of Getting Physical
Roller derby girl Gretchen "Honey Badger" Badgerton lives in the moment, no apologies. Like every woman in Pleasant Park with a pulse, she finds Dr. Jared Fine irresistible, but she's taken by surprise when her unattainable new neighbor asks her out.
On paper, Jared is the perfect man: gorgeous, wealthy and charitable. But his golden image is just that, and opening an upstate practice is a welcome chance to start a new life. When Gretchen stops to help him with a flat tire, he's intrigued by her feisty attitude--and her sexy body art. There's something refreshing about being with a take-charge woman who doesn't expect him to be anything but himself.
Though Gretchen is hesitant to shatter Jared's "bad girl" illusion of her, she has to face facts: she's fallen for the good doctor. She's used to putting everyone else's needs before hers, but as their relationship heats up, can she handle having someone take care of her for a change?
Don't forget to check out book one of Getting Physical, The Rebound Girl, available now!
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Gretchen's right eye was so swollen she almost missed seeing it.
Bright red, so small it looked as though it could barely fit a whole human being, probably purchased to make up for a penis of microscopic proportions, the vintage Ferrari that had pulled over to the side of the road was no more than a blip in her peripheral vision. A flash of color. A warning sign.
Naturally, she lifted her foot off the gas and eased her own car--also red, but vintage only in the sense that it ought to have been earmarked for the junk heap--onto the shoulder. Slight though this blip might be, it was a blip she recognized.
Her car rattled to a wheezy stop, and she didn't bother checking her image in the rearview mirror before getting out. Gretchen knew very well what she looked like right now. An encroaching purple bruise was in the process of forming on the shiny, swollen flesh around her eye. Blood crusted inside one of her nostrils, and her bottom lip was so fat she had what could accurately be termed bee-stung lips for the first time in her life.
It had been an awesome night.
"Need a hand?" she called out, picking her way along the edge of the highway, which was dark and deserted and the perfect setting for any one of a number of horror movies. Gretchen happened to adore horror movies, which was why she always came prepared. Her purse was a treasure trove of pepper spray and strategically placed rolls of quarters, none of which had ever seen any action.
That was what happened when you only stopped on the side of the road for cars you knew. Common sense made it unnecessary to battle the things that went bump in the night.
"Hello?" she called again. She could see the driver crouched near one of the rear tires. "Anything I can do to help?"
At this time of night, there was little traffic between Philadelphia and her hometown, the cozy borough of Pleasant Park. During rush hour, the routes were a constant stream of sensible commuter cars making the sixty-mile trek, but few people straggled home from their urban pursuits near ten o'clock on a weeknight, so it was unlikely anyone else would stop to lend a hand. And she knew for a fact that cell phone reception in this area sucked. Her car broke down here at least twice a month.
The man looked up from his pancaked tire, a frown etched onto his face. Despite him driving a ridiculous car, his face was one Gretchen knew well. Dreamed of often. Occasionally fantasized about licking.
But only occasionally. And always under the most sanitary of conditions.
Technically, she'd never exchanged more than a few words with him, though he stopped by the cafÃÂ© where she worked part-time several days a week. He always ordered black tea kombucha and a whole wheat bagel to go, and although his conversation was generally restricted to a few grunts and fewer smiles, he had a good working relationship with the tip jar.
To be perfectly fair, Gretchen was half in love with every customer who had a good working relationship with the tip jar.
His face was heavy with lines, but in that attractive way of well-weathered men who had stories to tell for each one, and was topped with a dashing crop of dark hair touched at the edges with gray. It was hard not to admire a man with hair like that, especially in Pleasant Park, where a Dr. Fine sighting was almost as big of a deal as that time they'd passed an ordinance to paint all the fire hydrants a cerulean blue.
The Derby GirlBy: Tamara Morgan