Light Me Up Synopsis
For Rachel Hennessy, it’s been an interesting six months. Boyfriend? Cheated on her. Job? She totally just got fired. Starting her own wedding planning business sounds exciting … in theory. In reality, it’s completely terrifying. And on top of all that, the freaking cherry right on top? She just had an ill-timed, alcohol-instigated one-night stand with her bff Casey’s brother, Tate. Yeah, that Tate. The one that she’s had a teensy, inconvenient crush on for years.
But nothing about it is ill-timed or inconvenient for Tate Steadman. Because he finally feels free. Free of the oppressive relationship he’d been in for the past six years. Free to pursue Rachel, because one alcohol-fueled night was not even close to enough for him. He just wished she saw it that way. Because she makes him want more than he ever knew he was capable of.
When their one night has unexpected consequences, Rachel has no clue how to trust that he’s not just trying to be ‘the good guy’ who wants to do ‘the right thing’. And even though the chemistry between them practically burns down an entire city block when they’re together, she doesn’t know how to let down the concrete wall she’s built up around herself.
The ‘mistake’ of one evening can change the trajectory of two lives, but maybe a mistake is all they really need to push them right into true love.
Light Me Up is a 90k word humorous contemporary romance with a moderate heat level, and is second in a series of standalones.
"Best get caught up, little girl. That shot isn't going to drink itself."
She turned towards him and arched one brow. "Little girl?"
"You're what? Six years younger than me and about a foot shorter. I'd say that's accurate."
Rachel crossed her legs, and the way that they had lights mounted underneath the bar top only served to highlight her smooth skin capped by dangerous looking heels. She picked up her second shot glass, clicked it against one of his empty ones, and tossed it back. She blew out a breath and he caught a whiff of the Southern Comfort.
"I get what you're trying to do, Tate. Be a peach and go work your mind tricks somewhere that's not by me."
"No tricks, I promise."
"So, what kind of shot was that?" he asked when she didn't respond.
"It's called a Short Southern Screw. Seemed appropriate tonight." His confusion must have read on his face, because she rolled her eyes. "My boss ... well, former boss, Deidre, is quite the southern belle. And considering my impending unemployment, I most definitely got screwed. But I'd wager a guess that you already knew that, judging by your presence at this fine establishment that you would probably normally never step foot in."
Tate was surprised that she brought up her firing so easily. Letting her statement pass for the moment, he flagged down the bartender again, who'd moved down the length of the bar to try his luck with a pair of coeds that had parked themselves on some stools a ways down.
"And you accuse me of being judgmental. You don't think this is my kind of place?"
She turned towards him finally, her cheeks holding a slight flush from the back to back shots. He had to shift his eyes away from her face because of how good it looked on her. Your sister's best friend. Your sister's best friend. He chanted it over and over in his head, to absolutely no avail.
"This is so not your kind of place. Because people only come here for two reasons: to get wasted and try to sweat out everything they've imbibed on that dance floor or make conversation where the most substantial thing that gets said is 'Your place or mine?'"
Tate laughed, because she was absolutely right, and then handed the bartender his credit card, motioning for him to start a tab. He pushed a glass towards her, and picked up one of his own.
"Fair enough, I wouldn't normally come to a place like this. I like it though, it was a good choice." He looked around, and then landed back on where she watched him with a speculative look on her face. "What are we toasting to?"
She blinked a few times, her hazel eyes burning in the dark atmosphere. "To being pleasantly surprised."
They clicked glasses, and the only time she moved her eyes from his was to flick down to his mouth when he lowered his empty shot glass. And he felt that look like she'd dragged a lit match down his spine.
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About Karla Sorensen
Karla Sorensen has been an avid reader her entire life, and not long after the purchase of her first e-reader, she realized that it would probably be cheaper to just write out her own happily-ever-after stories. It doesn’t take much to keep her happy … a book, a glass of moscato, and at least thirty minutes of complete silence every day. She still keeps her toes in the world of health care marketing, where she made her living pre-babies. Now she stays home, writing and mommy-ing full time (this translates to almost every day being a ‘pajama day’ at the Sorensen household…don’t judge). She lives in West Michigan with her husband, two exceptionally adorable sons and their German Shepherd, who is not nearly as well trained as the one in her first book.