The Story of You and Me by Pamela DuMond
She's driven to save a life.
He's haunted by breaking one.
Some secrets are too risky to share.
But nothing's more dangerous than falling in love...
Nineteen-year-old Sophie doesn’t listen to the naysayers because she has hope. The kind of hope that makes you do weird things—like travel two thousand miles away from everyone she knows and loves to a strange city.
So what if her first night in Los Angeles starts with a small misstep—a brief trip to the ER after twenty-one-year-old Alejandro, the hottest guy she’s ever met, saves her during a bar fight on the USCLA campus.
The stakes are high for Sophie—life and death—as she seeks answers to dark questions in a city that can be a slice of heaven, or a piece of hell. She’s running out of time on her journey to find healing. Falling for a guy isn’t part of her plan. But healing doesn’t always come the way you think you need it.
Sophie’s healing is six-foot-two-inches tall, has stunning hazel eyes, black, shiny hair and a rock solid chest that shelters her. Her healing is Alejandro.
But he’s not your typical college party boy—he has a dangerous past. Sophie isn’t the only one who keeps secrets. As they fall in love, he fears his truth might hurt her. And Sophie doesn’t know if she has the courage to tell him:
He can’t break her—because she’s already broken.
A Story of Hope. A Story of Love. A Story of Redemption.
“Go out with me, for real,” he said. “Not a yoga class or a walk on fire event, or a palm reading.”
I really wanted to say, yes. But, this would take us to a different place.
“We are so perfect right now,” I said. “I don’t want to screw up our relationship. I don’t want—”
He pulled me toward him and kissed me. One hand cradled the back of my head. He ran his fingers through my hair with his other hand. His lips were full and insistent. His tongue slipped inside my mouth like it was meant to be there. Tempting me. Claiming me. He tasted sweet.
And suddenly I felt like I was falling all over again. I leaned back against my front door as his lips moved from my mouth, trailing kisses down my face, down my neck.
“Sophie,” he breathed in my name. Then kissed me hard on the lips, his tongue exploring my mouth. One strong arm wrapped around my waist as he lifted me up a few inches off the ground toward him, my T-shirt scrunching up toward my breasts, my bared abdominal skin pressed tight against his thin T-shirt.
“Life is short, Sophie Marie Priebe. We are not perfect people. We don’t know how much time we will have together.”
He had no idea how scary prophetic he was being.
“But I will guarantee you this. We have something far more special than the majority of people. Consider this to be your official invitation—” His warm breath and the pressure of his full lips brought a flush to my skin. His hand traced down my neck toward the top of my T-shirt. He pulled the neckline back as he kissed my shoulder.
Shivers raced up and down my arms. “This is me. Officially asking you, Sophie, to, please, go out with me.” He tucked strands of my hair behind my ear. Kissed my ear. Kissed my hair. Kissed my shoulder.
“Yes, Alejandro. Yes, I will go out with you.” I tried to find my footing. Which was a little hard to do when he was still holding me six inches above the ground.
Gidget barked and I heard a kitchen window slam shut, muffling her yips.
“Voyeurs,” I said to Alejandro as his lips brushed mine.
He frowned. And slowly let me slide down his body. His gorgeous face. His dimpled chin. I closed my eyes because I just wanted to feel him: His muscular solid chest. His tight abs. His hardness. When my feet hit the ground, he backed away from me.
I swayed for a moment and wanted to say, “Fuck you, caution. Screw you, MS! You can’t own me. This is my time!”
“Gimme Shelter” blared from Alex’s phone. I opened my eyes and reached for him, but he was standing a couple feet away from me the sidewalk. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Someone needs a Driver. I can’t believe it. Not tonight.” He stared at his phone.
“Sorry, Bonita. It’s important. I made a promise. I’ve gotta go.” He jogged toward his Jeep.
“Okay,” I said as my knees felt weak and I leaned against my door.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” He got into his Jeep and drove away.
About the Author
Pamela DuMond is the writer who discovered Erin Brockovich's life story, thought it would make a great movie and pitched it to 'Hollywood'.
She's addicted to The X Factor. The movies Love Actually and The Bourne trilogy (with Matt Damon -- not that other actor guy,) make her cry every time she watches them. (Like -- a thousand.) She likes her cabernet hearty, her chocolate dark and she lives for a good giggle.
When she's not writing Pamela's also a chiropractor and cat wrangler. She loves reading, the beach, yoga, movies, animals, her family and friends. She lives in Venice, California with her furballs. If she ever gets her act together, she might even blog more often.
She's constantly updating her website, which you can find at http://www.pameladumond.com
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