Wet Dream Read online

  WET DREAM

  Hotties of Haven

  Jenna Jacob

  Wet Dream

  Hotties Of Haven

  Jenna Jacob

  Published by Jenna Jacob

  Copyright 2017 Jenna Jacob

  Nook Edition

  Editing by: Blue Otter Editing, LLC

  ISBN 978-0-9982284-0-2

  If you have purchased a copy of this eBook, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book. This purchase allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the rights to resell, distribute, print, or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer to peer program. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else. Delete it from your computer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  WET DREAM

  HOTTIES OF HAVEN

  Brea Gates has spent a lifetime surrendering her paycheck, her body, and her ever-lovin’ soul to one worthless man after another. She’s determined to steel her spine and give up romance for good. No one possessing a Y chromosome for her. No way. No how.

  No men!

  When she visits friends in tiny Haven, Texas, she finds blessed peace—for five minutes. One glimpse of rough-hewn cowboy Sawyer Grayson blows Brea’s man-ban to hell, making her ache to get her hands on what he’s packing in those tight blue jeans.

  After a failed marriage, Sawyer swapped “Mrs. Right” for “Ms. Right Now.” Though he refuses to risk forever with a gold digging she-devil again, he’s all about a cold beer and a willing woman…or three. But he knows instantly that Brea is different. She’s the kind of wet dream who tempts him all night. And she just might be the only one who could lure him back to the altar…

  USA Today Bestselling author Jenna Jacob presents the second book in her new romantic comedy series, Hotties Of Haven.

  For Brea

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other Titles by Jenna Jacob

  CHAPTER ONE

  After a double shift at the Mocha Hut, Brea Gates wanted to go home, peel off her nylon uniform, and sink into a hot bubble bath to soak her throbbing feet. It was days like this she wished she’d gone to college. If only she could go back in time, she’d bitch-slap some sense into her naïve, younger self. But oh, no…Amos was going to marry her and they’d live happily ever after. But that didn’t happen. When things went south with Amos’ cheating ass, she’d hooked up with Brady, love-struck-confident that he was the man of her dreams. Of course, he wasn’t. Neither was Beau, Charlie, Drew, Elliot, Garrett, Malcolm, Stan, Tommy, Travis, or Randall.

  Though Brea suspected that her faulty hunk finder should have been recalled at birth, she refused to give up searching for her soul mate. One day, she would fill the obligatory quotient of kissing frogs and find her Prince Charming…or at least a doable facsimile of one.

  While her current lover, Weed, had his fair share of character flaws, life with him was a zillion times better than it had been with Randall—a raging alcoholic who’d pissed the bed nearly every night. Once Weed found work, they’d bounce over this temporary bump in the road, and she’d be happy again…or at least she hoped so. If only he’d put forth a little effort and get off his lazy ass, actually look for a job—instead of lounging in his boxers, listening to heavy metal, playing video games all day—and start having sex with her again, they might be able to patch up their relationship.

  As she pulled into her normally quiet neighborhood, she was shocked to see the street clogged with police cars and television crews. To her horror, she discovered the chaos of activity was focused on their house…or rather, Weed’s. She had no claim on the property, simply paid the damn rent.

  With her heart in her throat, she pulled to the curb. After shoving Weed’s car into park, she cut the engine and stared in disbelief as two uniformed officers led Weed off the front porch…in handcuffs?

  Shit! She hoped they weren’t the same pair from their bedside toy drawer.

  What the hell…?

  Her pulse thundered a speedy staccato. Suddenly, an officer appeared beside her car door. Bending, he peered at her through the open window. “You can’t park here, lady. You need to move along.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. I live here!”

  Taken aback, the cop arched his brows. “In that case. Step out of the car and put your hands above your head.”

  “Do what?” Terror wrapped its icy hands around her throat while dread coiled like a rattlesnake in her stomach. “But…but…why?”

  “You live here, right?”

  “Well…yes, but—”

  “Out of the car,” the officer barked.

  She opened the door and stood on trembling legs as she lifted her hands in the air. Weed snapped his head in Brea’s direction, as if sensing her arrival. Apology was written all over his face. She had no clue why he was being arrested, but the shame in his eyes told her he was guilty as hell.

  Disregarding the cop’s instructions, she slapped her hands on her hips. “What did you do?”

  “I’m sorry, baby,” Weed whined.

  Confusion sliced through her fear. Snapping her head back at the cop beside her, she scowled. “What is he being arrested for?”

  “He’s been selling meth to some kids over at the high school.”

  “Meth?” she screeched. Fury charred her veins. “Where the hell did he get meth? That stupid son of a… I’m going to kill him. Give me your gun. I’m going to put a bullet through his idiotic brain.”

  The cop chortled. “It’s probably not wise to make death threats in the presence of an officer, ma’am.”

  “I don’t care!” Brea fumed. “How could he do such a thing? He doesn’t even take aspirin, let alone drugs.”

  Seething with anger, she turned toward Weed again. Narrowing her eyes, she shot him a look meant to vaporize his sorry ass. Unfortunately, it didn’t, so she bared her teeth at him instead. “Really? Selling drugs? Have you lost your damn mind?’

  “Don’t be mad, baby,” he begged.

  “You know something, Weed? On a scale from one to asshole…you’re a dick!”

  Collective laughter rippled through the throng gathered on the lawn. Weed shot her a sneer that had her wanting to march her way to him and kick him square in the balls. Instead, she watched in shock as her miserable excuse for a boyfriend crawled into the back of a police cruiser before it drove away.

  Pissed beyond reason, Brea scanned the crowd of neighbors assembled across the street. Embarrassment began filling her system as the group stood wide-eyed and whispering, watching the ac
tion unfold.

  “Oh, I am so through with that asshat. I’m going inside and pack my things, then I’m getting the hell out of town.” As she lunged toward the house, the cop stopped her with a hand at her arm.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re under arrest.”

  “Arrest?” A new wave of terror erupted like a volcano inside her. “But I wasn’t the one selling drugs. I had no clue the idiot was doing such a thing.”

  “You’ll have to sort it out with the judge.”

  “Judge?” Brea squawked.

  “Afraid so.” The cop nodded somberly. “Please turn around, miss, and put your hands behind your back.”

  Doing as she’d been told, she felt the cold cuffs snap around her wrists.

  “You have the right to remain silent…”

  A reporter rushed past the other cops and shoved a microphone in Brea’s face. The woman’s questions didn’t even register. But the cameraman’s lens certainly did. Dropping her chin to her chest, Brea hid her face. The last thing she wanted was her friends to see her on the six o’clock news.

  What friends? she reminded with an inward groan.

  Brea didn’t know if she wanted throw up or cry…or both. Of their own accord, fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Her brand-new Nikes were saved from death by barf-fest.

  More terrified than she’d ever been in her life, she sobbed all the way to the police station. The entire time they processed her, like a common criminal, Brea’s stomach pitched and swirled. Her head pounded in time with her racing heart. All she wanted to do was wake up from this demented nightmare. Though she tried to convince every officer she encountered, her pleas of innocence fell on deaf ears. Finally, a kind-hearted female officer must have taken pity on Brea, because the woman offered to call someone for her. Of course, she jumped at the chance but drew a blank when it came time to rattle off a number to the cop. Not only wasn’t there any phone number, but Brea couldn’t think of a single soul she could reach out to for help. She couldn’t call her parents…even if she were sitting on death row. They’d wiped their hands of their only daughter the minute she’d announced she was moving in with Weed. Her mother had cried, asking God how she’d failed her only daughter. But her father had blown a gasket. He’d pounded his fist on the table and shouted. She could still hear the fury in his voice: We’re through picking up the pieces every time some asshole breaks your heart. Until you start making better choices, you’re on your own. We’re not going to bail your ass out of any more stupid romantic mistakes.

  No, they wouldn’t bail her ass out of jail either.

  She didn’t blame her folks for giving up on her… Well, she did, but…it was Brea’s long and distinguished track record for picking the douchebaggiest boyfriends on the planet that forced them to give up on her. She’d endured years of her parents’ constant lectures to “find a nice boy worthy of your love and settle down”. When Brea met Weed she thought she’d finally found a nice boy. He’d had a job, back then, working as a mechanic. But Weed turned out to be one more clown in her circus of bad decisions.

  Brea thought about calling her boss, Charlie, but quickly nixed the notion. Asking him to bail her out of jail because her dipshitiot boyfriend got popped for selling meth was a termination letter in the making.

  When she’d made the rash decision to move to Denton with Weed, Brea severed all ties with the friends she had back in Austin. Well, all but one…Colton Maddox. She called the hunky man-whore, who’d been a member of her old high school clique, from time to time. While the two had never wrinkled the sheets together, they still kept in touch. Ironically, Colton now lived a short distance from Denton in the tiny town of Haven. But she didn’t know his number off the top of her head. And since she’d had to hand over her belongings, she didn’t have her cell phone either.

  After she explained her plight, the helpful cop not only found Colton’s number but dialed him up for Brea as well. Pressing the phone to her ear, she sent up a prayer that the man was home and not at a bar picking up women to take home and warm his bed.

  “Maddox residence,” a woman answered in a low, sultry voice.

  Brea cringed, hoping she hadn’t interrupted him playing slam-the-banana with his woman of the hour.

  “Um…is Colton there?”

  “He’s out in the barn right now. Can he call you back?”

  There was something hauntingly familiar about the woman’s voice, but at the moment, Brea’s mind was so warped with angst and fear she couldn’t focus on trying to place it.

  “No. Um…it’s kind of an emergency. Can you get him for me, please?”

  “Sure. Just a minute.” The woman sounded suspicious but thankfully didn’t ask any questions.

  After what seemed an eternity, Colton’s deep voice on the other end wrapped her in a blanket of relief.

  “Colton, it’s me, Brea. I’m in a bit of trouble here and wondered if—”

  “What’s wrong? You sound like you’re about to fall apart on me.”

  “I am.” Her voice cracked and tears tumbled down her cheeks once more.

  “Are you hurt?” Colton demanded.

  “No,” she said with a sniff.

  “Okay. Take a deep breath and tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I’m in jail,” she wailed pathetically.

  “Jail? Where? Why?”

  “W-weed. H-he was selling meth. They arrested him and hauled me in, too. I swear I didn’t know he was doing something so s-stupid. I keep t-telling the cops I’m…I’m innocent, but they don’t believe me.”

  “Don’t cry,” Colton moaned sympathetically. “Tell me where you are. I’ll come pick you up or bail you out or whatever you need me to do. You can come stay with me or I can get you a hotel room, but listen to me…don’t you go back to him. Got it?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to see that worthless prick’s face ever again,” she huffed.

  “Good. You leave Weed to me. I’ll take care of that late, great sack of shit when he gets out of jail, sweetheart.”

  Brea choked on a watery laugh and thanked him.

  She gave Colton the address to the police station before the female cop escorted Brea back to a holding cell. In an attempt to keep from super-gluing her ass to the pity pot, she watched the comings and goings beyond the scuffed plexiglass barrier. As an officer led Weed past her cell, she launched to her feet and pounded on the faux glass wall.

  “You fucking bastard! I’m in jail because of you!”

  Weed paused and shot her a hateful glare. “If you hadn’t been harping on me to get a job and support you, neither of us would be here.”

  “What?” She gaped in shock. He actually had the balls to blame her for his stupid stunt. “You were supposed to get a real job to help support us both, you dipshit! I hope they lock you away for life!”

  “They might. But you’ll be going down with me, baby!” he sneered.

  “Bullshit! You did the crime, so you’ll do the time.”

  As the guard urged Weed forward, Brea flipped her rat-bastard ex the finger. Shaking with rage, she forced herself to sit back down on the unforgiving metal bench. She hung her head and moaned.

  No way in hell would she sit by and not defend herself if Weed tried to implicate her for his crime. She had to find a way to prove her innocence. But how could she do that when it would most likely boil down to his word against hers? She didn’t have money for a lawyer. The thought of spending five minutes, let alone years, in a federal prison had her all but climbing the walls. Fears and what ifs rolled through her brain like storm clouds. Numbed in despair, she shrank inside herself and stared blankly at the floor. But her mind continued to spin out of control. As she sat plotting several unique and horrifically painful ways to end Weed’s life, the door of her cell swung open. A tall, middle-aged man wearing glasses and a wrinkled suit stepped inside.

  “Miss Gates, I’m Detective Estes.” He extended
his hand. She shook it warily. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience caused by bringing you to the station. You’re free to go now.”

  “I am?”

  Like a dolt, she questioned her freedom instead of leaping from the bench and screaming See ya later as she made a beeline out of the station.

  “Yes. We’ve had your boyfriend—”

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Brea clarified.

  Estes bit back a smile. “We’ve had your ex under surveillance for over a month. We know that you were never present during any of the drug transactions, but I needed to make sure you were unaware of his…hobby. I need to tell you that Mr. Sherman…Weed, tried to throw you under the bus. But when I reminded him during our little meeting that you were never present at any of the drug transactions and asked your role in his…hobbies, Weed couldn’t give me an answer. His lawyer advised that Mr. Sherman tell the truth, and finally he assured us that you had no part in any of his illegal drug activities.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everyone!” She threw her hands up in frustration.

  “So I’ve heard.” Estes grinned. “The friends that you called are waiting out front.”

  “Thank god! Can I go to by Weed’s house and get my things?”

  “I think that’s a good idea.” Estes nodded. “The team is still there gathering evidence, but I’ll call Detective Nickel, who’s there now, and ask him to assist while you gather your personal belongings.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t care if the Dallas Cowboys or the Mormon Tabernacle Choir wanted to watch her pack. All she wanted was to get her shit and get out so she’d never have to lay eyes on Weed again.

  “I assume you’re leaving your ex?”

  “You bet your badge I am,” she stated emphatically.

  Estes smirked and nodded, then handed her his business card. “Leave a number with the desk sergeant where I can reach you before you go. You may need to testify against Mr. Sherman when his case gets closer to trial.”