Eligible Ebook Bundle

Eligible Best Friend

To all the other women in town, Ford Monroe’s a player. To his ex, he’s a failure she doesn’t want around their kid. But to me, he’s my best friend. The single dad and I both work as paramedics and are partners on the job. Dating isn’t worth ruining the best relationship I’ve ever had, no matter how hot he is.

But when my ex-fiancé comes to town to woo me back and Ford’s ex-fiancée claims he’s a poor role model for his son, Ford has an idea. An idea so crazy it might just work to get both our exes off our backs.

We’re only supposed to pretend to date, but it’s not long before I want the real thing. Yet when Ford’s life gets rear-ended, the romance growing between us gets put on life support. He has to put his son first, and I’m done changing bandages on my heart for a guy.

Eligible Best Friend was previously published as Shock in K. Bromberg’s Everyday Heroes World project. Some details have been changed, but the story is still the same.

Eligible Ex-husband

The man in the magazine spread, the one dubbed the most eligible bachelor, is my ex-husband.

Six months ago, Simon’s company was never more successful, just like our marriage was never emptier. I was a stay-at-home mom with a sugar daddy who had no time to pass the sugar or be a daddy. I asked for a divorce and he let me go, just like that.

Now, I’m mending my broken heart and finding myself while being a strong role model for our girls. But when my mom gets sick, I need help, and he’s there like a superhero in a tailored suit. And when my mom recovers, he’s still there, doing grocery runs and braiding our girls’ hair.

I don’t want to hang my hopes on my workaholic ex just because he’s suddenly wearing basketball shorts instead of designer threads or because he’s giving me that look that melted my heart in college.

Chemistry was never our problem. I don’t want to trust that he’s changed only to find out that, once again, I’m not worth fighting for. He needs to prove that he’ll be as ruthless about us as he is in the boardroom.

Eligible Ex-husband was previously published under the same title in the Cocky Heroes World project. Some details have been changed, but the story is still the same.

Eligible Best Friend Chapter 1, Sneak Peek:

“And then he did this thing with his tongue—”

The woman, whispering at full volume to her friend while picking out condoms and lube, glances over at me. Her face flushes, and she bites her lip. I can’t tell if she’s embarrassed or about to come from the memory of the guy with the tongue.

Her friend shoots me an irritated look, but it’s not as if I knew they’d be in their yoga pants and moisture-wicking tees, taking their time picking out his-and-hers KY and trading hookup stories. Aren’t there bars for that? This is the personal hygiene aisle of a grocery store.

“Excuse me.” I try to step around her to grab a box of sport tampons because I refuse to admit a tampon is the biggest thing I’ve had in my vagina for a year.

Her eyes sweep down my outfit, snagging on the Star of Life on my chest. I’m used to getting second glances when I’m out in my EMT uniform, a white polo and my black tactical pants. I try not to run errands in my work clothes, but I have a lunch meeting tomorrow I’m trying not to think about and getting to the store after work is always iffy. I never know what bodily fluids I’ll encounter during a shift.

“Are you with Fargo EMS?” The woman who had been gushing about her sexcapades faces me with a greedy glint to her hazel eyes.

I don’t mean to, but I glance down at the emblem on my shirt that reads Fargo EMS. “Uh, yep.”

Her grin widens and she leans forward so far that I take a step back and clutch the tampons to my chest. “Do you know Ford Monroe?”

I should’ve known. Ford Monroe. Panty-dropper extraordinaire. Master of climaxes and killer of relationships before they start.

Yes, I know Ford. Really well. “He’s my partner.”

And I don’t want to hear about his magical tongue. But I’m going to give him shit about it, and I can’t wait.

She grins and I know what’s coming next. How rude would it be to run? It’s bad enough that I don’t have any girlfriends of my own, friendships that weren’t orchestrated because of our last names and what we could do for each other’s careers, but I don’t want to attract fake friends who only want to scale me to reach my partner.

“Oh.” She oozes excitement. “Can you pass him a message for me?”

The thing about Ford is that he’s also my closest friend. I read between the lines. “Didn’t he give his number to you?”

She pouts. “I’m sure he hit a wrong number.”

He didn’t hit any numbers. I know Ford. He’s a good guy, but he breaks hearts and expectations because he refuses to make any promises he’s not willing to keep. It’s why we work so well together. He’s hung up on his ex and my last relationship was over as soon as my fiancé dipped his dick back into his ex.

Ford and his insanely good looks were off-limits the moment I heard his sob story from one of the EMTs we work with. And since we work together, he knows he can’t hit it and quit it with me.

It’s a win-win.

“Maybe you could just give me his digits and I’ll text him?” she asks hopefully. Her friend rolls her eyes.

I’m right there with you.

“Sorry, I can’t give it out. HIPAA and all that.” HIPAA’s confidentiality requirements have nothing to do with it.
Here’s hoping these two aren’t in the medical field and won’t call me on my bullshit.

“Oh, right. Can you tell him Courtney said he can hit her up anytime? I sent him my contact info.”

I doubt it. He deletes numbers if he thinks they’re going to want more, whether it’s breakfast the next morning or a springtime wedding.

But as much as I like Ford and respect the hell out of him as a paramedic, I can’t let this poor thing wait on a message that isn’t coming.

“I can, but I’ve got to be honest. He’s the definition of commitment-phobe and he probably won’t reach out.”

Her expression falters. “Oh. I thought we had a connection.”

“He’s like that, but I can tell you that, truly, it’s not you; it’s him.”

She cocks her head, her gaze sharp. “Are you two together?”

I snort. “No.”

Not only is the idea of dating Ford ludicrous—I mean, we’re partners—but I’m so not his type. I wear my hair in a plain braid every day to work. I use a sports bra to cram the ladies down because I refuse to do what my mom calls the Baywatch Bounce walking up to a scene. And I don’t wear a lick of makeup. Stroke patients don’t care if I have mascara on or not. After the way I grew up, it’s freeing and I love it.

“Really? Like, never? You’re gorgeous.”

I relax. She’s not going to shoot the messenger, and I’ll take a compliment from a woman any day over a dude. She wants in Ford’s pants, not mine. “Thanks, but I have my own baggage. It’s why we work so well together.” I give a smile before glancing at my watch. “Oh, crap, I gotta go.”

I rush through checkout and fly to the ambulance garage. Ford’s in a huddle with the two guys on the outgoing shift of the ambulance we’re assigned to.

Ford lifts his vivid blue gaze from the conversation and grins. “Wescott. You’re late.”

I give him a mock glare. I’m five minutes early and he knows it. It’s just not as early as I usually am.

I swagger toward the group and hit them all where it hurts. A woman’s period. “I had to stop for some lady plugs. You want to do it for me next time?”

His brows pop. “You’re a lady?”

Mitch’s grunt shakes his fledgling gut. He jokes about putting on the pounds with his wife while they were expecting their second kid—who’s ten now—but the paramedic could still haul a stair chair down eight flights on his own if he was allowed to.

His partner, Arnesh, an EMT like me, clears his throat and looks around the plain garage bay like he wishes he was anywhere else but here, discussing the periods of someone he knows. He’s a rookie like me, but I’m a few years older.

“Relax, Arnesh. Ford here is insecure because I have bigger muscles than him.”

Ford scoffs. “In your mouth, maybe.”

Mitch’s eyes go wide, no doubt worried about a harassment charge based on proximity.

Ford throws his hands up. “Totally not what I meant.”

I laugh and pat his shockingly hard shoulder. “I know, and you’d never know anyway.” Since Arnesh pales like he’s going to faint, I spin the conversation back around to work. “Anything new?”

“Nah,” Mitch answers. “It’s been a pretty mellow day. But now people are gearing up for Saturday night stupid. It’s going to be busy.”

The guy has a sixth sense when it comes to the chaos level of the workday. If he says it’s going to be busy, it usually is.

“But nothing like next week will be,” Arnesh interjects and gives us an ominous stare. “It’s a full moon.”

We all groan, but then Ford and I share a triumphant look. The last full moon that landed on a weekend was one of the most memorable of my career. Three seizure calls, a guy wandering the street buck naked and bleeding from his nose with a blood alcohol limit over point three, and a five-car pileup on the interstate that had us working until nearly our next scheduled shift.
Ford and I are off next weekend.

Mitch catches the exchange. “Aw, you fuckers. You’re not working? Want some extra hours?”

“I have to do my nails,” I deadpan. I don’t wear polish, and I don’t care what length I’m allowed on the job; they’re always trimmed short. Not suffering another manicure is one of the perks of moving away from San Francisco. I might still polish my toenails, but these guys will never see me outside of my Under Armour boots.
Ford grins. “I have a date.”

“Yeah,” Mitch rumbles. “When don’t you have a date?” He juts his chin up at Arnesh and they head to the break area, where they’ll grab their belongings and leave.

I start for the rig. “Speaking of dates, I ran across one of yours in the store. I gave her your phone number.” When color leaches from his face, I can’t help chortling. I don’t let him suffer long. “Just kidding. I told her not to get her hopes up.”

“You’re the best.”

“As long as you remember that.” I stop with my foot on the first step into the patient compartment. “But what is that thing you do with your tongue that she was gushing about?”

His brows draw together. “Give them an orgasm?”

“Oh, so that’s why they all chase after you? There’s a serious lack of female orgasm-giving males in the world?” My own life has a serious lack of orgasms, thanks to my cheating ex. Whenever I try to get myself off, I hear the moans coming from my ex’s office last year.

“Apparently. It’s not like I’m a catch.”

I roll my eyes, but he doesn’t see me. That’s his ex talking.