The Day the Jerk Started Falling (Jerk #2) Read online

  All the while, he’s somehow, someway, still inside of me.

  And what do we do after that?

  Well, we sit on the bed together and somehow find a way to make two bowls of cereal, only spilling, like, half the milk and cereal onto our bed.

  Then we eat Lucky Charms for our late-night dinner.

  And where is Ollie’s cock? Well, it’s still inside of me.

  Yeah. It’s official. This girl is no longer unlucky in love.

  She’s eating Lucky Charms with the love of her life’s cock inside of her kind of lucky in love.

  She’s living her best fucking life kind of lucky in love.

  She’s going to one day soon marry this perfect man kind of lucky in love.

  If that isn’t a happily ever after, I don’t know what is.

  Bonus Scene

  Wedding Bells & Sneaky Grooms

  * * *

  Podcast Series: Lucky in Love

  Episode 50: “Meet me at the altar.”

  Today, dear listeners, is going to be a different kind of podcast.

  You see, I’m recording this minutes before stepping onto the altar, where I’ll watch the woman of my dreams walk down the aisle and commit to being mine forever.

  Today is the day I get to marry Luciana Wright.

  The woman of my dreams.

  My best friend.

  My lover.

  My little fire.

  [clears throat]

  Bloody hell, I’m already getting a little choked up here, and I haven’t really started.

  But I guess that’s what real, true, forever kind of love does to a bloke, yeah?

  [laughs softly]

  Anyway, today, this podcast is for my soon-to-be wife.

  But I invite you all to listen as I share with her exactly what I’m thinking and feeling right now, mere moments before I stand before her and vow to be her husband for the rest of my life.

  [pauses]

  My love, we’ve come a long way, yeah?

  I can still remember that fateful day nearly two years ago when I spotted you inside the Sydney airport.

  I can still remember the way you looked. And the way you were dressed. And the way I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.

  I can still remember how much you hated me.

  [laughs]

  But, mostly, I can still remember everything about that day.

  Everything about you.

  And ever since that fateful day, I’ve haven’t gone a single day without you on my mind.

  Sure, sometimes my thoughts were a little dirty…

  [chuckles]

  Okay, a lot dirty.

  And sometimes, my thoughts were even slightly irritated because, well, you can bust balls like no one, love.

  But always, my thoughts revolve around you.

  Sweet, fiery, passionate, wild, and completely owns my heart, you.

  And today, as I got myself ready and put on this monkey suit that you insisted I wear because it’s our wedding day—and, apparently on wedding days, cargo shorts and thongs aren’t appropriate nor fashionable attire—I’ve never been more confident in any decision I have ever made.

  I think it’s normal for a lot of people to have “cold feet” right before they get married. And considering marriage is a life-long commitment, it’s completely understandable. But I’m not here to tell you I have cold feet.

  I’m here to tell you I’ll never know what it feels like to have cold feet.

  I’m not scared about the future.

  I’m not hesitant or uncertain about committing myself to you for the rest of my life.

  I’m none of those things, love.

  Instead, I am a man who is ready, who is damn near frothing at the mere idea of stepping onto that altar and watching his whole entire world walk down the aisle.

  Because you are, baby. Not only are you my life, but you’re the greatest accomplishment of my life.

  And the fact that you are giving me the honor of being your husband is the single greatest thing that has ever happened to me.

  I know you’re probably rolling your eyes right now, thinking about my surfing career and my business success.

  But, my love, the truth is, all of those no doubt bloody wonderful things pale in comparison to you.

  Today, I choose you.

  Tomorrow, I choose you.

  And for every day after that, I choose you.

  You alone have all of my love and affection. The affection of my heart, my mind, my eyes, my lips, my hands, my coc—

  [chuckles]

  I think we both know what I was going to say there, yeah?

  Don’t be mad. I can’t help it if he loves you too.

  [chuckles again]

  Baby, I love you.

  I love your sass and your words and your smiles and your laughs.

  I even love your ballbusting moments when you’re pointing that tiny little index finger in my face and reading me the riot act.

  I simply love you.

  And I’m so ready.

  So ready to say I do.

  So ready to be your husband.

  So ready to have the irrefutable honor of calling you my wife.

  So ready to see what our future holds.

  So ready to kiss you.

  So ready to hold you.

  So ready for all of it.

  [pauses and laughs]

  And, baby, I probably shouldn’t admit this, but whenever I do these bloody podcasts, I somehow end up laying it all out there.

  So, here goes…

  I know you explicitly told me it was bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the ceremony. I know you very strongly suggested that I don’t attempt to sneak a peek of you on our wedding day, before you walk down the aisle.

  I know you said all of those things.

  But, baby, we have all the luck we need, and I just had to see you.

  So, don’t be mad, but I did, in fact, sneak a little peek of you today.

  I saw you in the courtyard while the photographer was taking your picture.

  I saw you in your beautiful ivory silk dress.

  I saw your bright blue eyes.

  I saw your breathtaking smile.

  I heard your giggle.

  And I heard your funny words.

  And I just…fell in love.

  I fell in love all over again, baby.

  [sighs]

  Yeah, my love. I’m ready.

  Ready for you.

  Ready for us.

  Meet me at the altar. 4:00 p.m. sharp.

  I’ll be the dapper man standing there beside the minister, with his heart in his eyes and all the love in the world for you inside his chest.

  And you, my love, will be the undeniably beautiful bride who makes me the luckiest bloke the world has ever seen.

  You might go by Lucky, but I think we both know, when it comes to love, you make me the lucky one.

  ***THE END***

  Want more from Max Monroe?

  Don’t worry, girl, we’ve got you covered!

  If you’re in the mood for some sweet, sexy, swoony, and downright hilarious Rom-Com, we know just the books for you!

  Our entire Billionaire Bad Boys Series is currently Free in KU, and trust us, you don’t want to miss meeting Kline or Thatch or Wes.

  Start with Tapping the Billionaire today!

  You won’t regret it.

  But, if you need a little convincing, a little excerpt to whet your reading taste buds so to speak, keep reading for a sneak peek of your next must-read.

  What’s up next for us?

  Sexy as sin football studs!

  4th and Girl, the last book in the Mavericks Series will release on November 20th!

  Preorder 4th and Girl today!

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  2018 has been the start of ALL THE FUN THINGS.

&nbs
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  Preview of

  Tapping the Billionaire

  I’m Kline Brooks.

  Harvard graduate.

  President and CEO of Brooks Media.

  Net worth: $3.5 billion.

  Devilishly handsome. How do I know this? I was prom king two years in a row.

  Highly intelligent. Proof? I can solve any Rubik’s Cube, in front of your face, with magic fingers.

  Certified master of female orgasms. My fingers, my tongue, my cock—I can make you scream, “I’m coming!” before you even realize I’ve removed your panties with my teeth. Not the almost orgasms that spur a pathetic moan and half-ass whimper. No. I’m talking toe-curling, back-arching, earth-shattering Os that will leave your voice hoarse, your body shaking, and pack a punch so powerful you’ll be left a sliver of intensity short of unconscious.

  Am I piquing your interest?

  Should I mention my cock is the kind of cock that’s actually dick-pic worthy? I’m not talking an average six-inch shaft. I’m talking big. Thick. Smooth. And hard. Especially when there’s work to be done.

  Or maybe all I’ve done is turn you off. Are you thinking I’m like every classless man out there who’s literally a disgrace to my gender?

  The type of spineless dicks who won’t call the next day. The guys who specialize in late-night booty calls but refuse to take a woman out on an actual date. Yeah, you know exactly who I’m talking about. Those idiots who have women thinking staying single for the rest of their lives is a better alternative than dealing with the bullshit that’s running rampant in the dating world.

  Well, I’m not that kind of guy.

  I say what I mean and mean what I say. I don’t kiss and tell. I call the next day. And if I’m interested in a woman, I will take her out on a date. I’ll open doors for her. I’ll pull out her chair. And I’ll never be the kind of horny bastard who texts dick pics—unless the right woman begs me for them.

  Bottom line, I’m a gentleman. I prefer monogamy to serial dating and fucking my way through New York City. I’ve spent the past few years avoiding the kind of women most would label “gold diggers” and trying out a couple of girlfriends in between. I’ve looked for the kind of woman I want, but lately, I have to admit I haven’t put in as much effort. My focus has been on my company—building it to what it is and then keeping it that way, not only for me, but for all of the people who work so hard for me.

  Until Georgia Cummings.

  She’s fiery, beautiful, has this sassy attitude that demands attention from everyone within her orbit, and is worth way more in value of character than I am in money.

  I don’t know how I missed her.

  I don’t know why it took me so long to really see her.

  Two years, right there in front of my face as my Director of Marketing.

  Maybe it’s because I need to stop drowning myself in work so much. Maybe she didn’t want to be seen.

  No matter the reason, it only took one spur-of-the-minute decision for this remarkable woman to come barreling into my world.

  I wasn’t prepared for her.

  And I sure as hell had no idea she’d knock me on my fucking ass.

  Because the nice guy who believes in real love enough to build his entire fortune from a dating website?

  That’s me.

  And this story?

  Well, that’s us.

  My eyes! Dear God, my eyes!

  There were things in life that, once seen, were damn near impossible to forget. A bleach scrub…acid straight to the retinas…three hours of perfect porn GIFs…hell, even a lobotomy wouldn’t remove those kinds of images.

  Lucky for me, I had come across not one, not two, but four day-destroying pictures. Dick pics, to be more specific. And let’s just say this latest one was not pic-worthy. Not by a long shot. Or a short shot, if I took size into consideration. This was the kind of pic that would leave any woman wondering why. Why? Why would anyone want to advertise they were the owner of this?

  It was the gremlin of male members—and the sole reason my night had taken a turn for the worse. What was supposed to be a nice evening in, watching TV with my best friend and roommate, Cassie, had turned into a nightmare of pubes, wrinkled balls, and a crown that was not fit for a king.

  I banged my fingers across the keypad with a response.

  TAPRoseNEXT (11:37PM): Is that your dick? Really? REALLY?

  TapNext was the latest and greatest dating-site-turned-app for single men and women to meet, chat, and, hopefully, find their next date. Generally speaking, it was a better alternative to nights out at a bar or club. Because, for me, those nights had the same ending—politely declining the thrilling (insert heavy sarcasm) offer of hooking up with some random dude at his apartment, one hell of a hangover, and weird guys with names like Stanley or Milton sending me texts for late-night booty calls for the next month. Which I always ignored.

  My business card said Director of Marketing, Brooks Media. It was a hefty title for someone just starting out in their career, but I had earned it. I worked harder than anyone else in my department, and it also may have helped that the man who held the position prior to me had been fired after being arrested for picking up a prostitute in one of the company cars. Why he had even been driving a company car in the city was still confusing to me. Seriously, even hookers cabbed it in New York.

  Since Brooks Media owned TapNext, it was easy to understand why I was well versed and highly invested in the app’s success. It was a requirement when hired—all single employees had to create a TapNext profile. Staff were strongly encouraged to use the app and give honest feedback about their experiences. Profile names were kept top secret and on penitentiary-style lock-down with Human Resources. And feedback stayed anonymous.

  Translation: Don’t worry, TAPRoseNEXT, your boss doesn’t know about your pervy play on words.

  At first, I’d felt it was an odd way to handle business, but after two years of working at Brooks Media, I’d found that my TapNext profile was a damn good way to do research and find promotional ideas.

  My phone pinged with the offender’s response.

  BAD_Ruck (11:38PM): …

  Did he just ellipsis me? Really?

  TAPRoseNEXT (11:38PM): Creep Threat Level MOTHERFUCKING Red.

  There was no immediate response, but the rest of my rant would not be contained.

  TAPRoseNEXT (11:39PM): Don’t any of you know how to start conversations anymore? Jesus.

  Cassie sighed beside me. “Stop slamming everything around, Wheorgiebag! I’m trying to watch American Ninja Warrior and you’re totally messing with my pumped up vibe.”

  I ignored her, still focused on finding a way to erase the offending images from my brain.

  She peeked over my shoulder before I could pull my phone away. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. Is that my picture on your profile?”

  Creamy, perfect-skinned thighs on display, she was bent over with her dark brunette head peeking through the space between her open legs. Her hooch just barely escaped making an appearance.

  “Paybacks, Casshead.”

  “And what did I do to deserve being your pro-bono photo ho?”

  I cocked an eyebrow. �
��Do I have to choose just one?”

  “Go ahead, give me one example. I dare ya.”

  “College. Sophomore year. I told you not to post those pictures on Facebook, but did you listen? Of course not.”

  She grinned. “Ahhhhh, yes. I remember those. I thought you looked really cute that night.”

  “My head was in the toilet.”

  “But you had those cute puppy dog eyes going on.” She glanced at my phone again, dusky gray eyes hitting the phallic bull’s eye. “Holy hell, what is that? Is that Quasimodo’s dick?”

  I stood up from the couch and began to pace in front of the TV. “Four dick pics today, Cassface. Four!”

  Cassie scrunched her face up. “And what? You were hoping for five?”

  My expression was a combination of disgusted and puzzled.

  “You know,” she explained, “one to fill all the holes and one for each hand.” Easy to interpret and equally graphic hand gestures matched her words as she spoke. “Although, I’m not sure I’d want DP from The Hunchcock of Notre Dame.” One look at my face and she coughed out a laugh. “You’re not really a prude, but right now, you’re playing one on TV.”

  I groaned and gave in, planting my ass back on the couch and burying my face in my hands. “I guess it’s because this profile is for work research. I have this unjustified sense that it should be more professional.”

  She shook her head and smiled, propping her mismatched-sock feet on the arm of our couch. “I gotta say, that wiener is pretty fucking awful. But, Georgie, you work for a company that specializes in an app called TapNext, not the White House.”

  After a brief beat of silence, we laughed at the same time, and I raised one eyebrow in question. “You’re comparing TapNext to the White House?”