Drowning in Love (Written in the Stars Book 6) Read online

  Drowning in Love

  A written the stars novel

  Kelsie Rae

  Copyright © 2020 Kelsie Rae

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. The reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  Cover Art by Cover Me Darling, LLC

  Editing by Wickedcoolflight Editing Services

  Proofreading by Stephanie Taylor

  June 2020 Edition

  Published in the United States of America

  Contents

  Series Forward

  1. Nora

  2. Nora

  3. Gage

  4. Nora

  5. Gage

  6. Nora

  7. Nora

  8. Gage

  9. Nora

  10. Gage

  11. Nora

  12. Nora

  13. Gage

  Sneak Peek of Fearless to Love

  Check out the rest of the written in the stars series

  Interested in Owen’s story?

  Also by Kelsie Rae

  About the Author

  Series Forward

  Dear Readers,

  Do you believe in destiny? Or do you believe you drive your own fate when it comes to matters of the heart?

  The idea for the Written in the Stars series came about one afternoon as I was thinking about how intertwined we are with the universe and the cosmos—we’re made of stardust, after all. It got me thinking about astrology, and whether something as celestial as our Zodiac signs influenced how we behave in love. Some may call it pseudoscience, while others use their horoscopes daily to make major life, love, and career decisions.

  That’s how this series was born!

  Twelve months. Twelve wickedly talented romance authors. All coming together to answer the age-old question—Does your horoscope decide your fate in love?

  You’ll have to decide for yourself as you binge-read your way through twelve deliciously sexy and deeply romantic stand-alone novellas—one for each Zodiac sign. I can’t wait to start this journey with you. Personally? I think it was written in the stars!

  XO,

  C.M. Albert

  P.S. Please join us in our fun and interactive Written in the Stars readers’ group at https://www.facebook.com/groups/writteninthestarsbooks where we discuss all things horoscope and love related!

  1

  Nora

  “You’re really moving back?” I ask, unable to help myself. The sun is still high in the sky, and I raise my hand to shield it from blinding me as the opposing team snaps the football. The stadium is buzzing with anticipation for the opening game of the season, but I’m still in shock from my brother’s revelation.

  My brother, Owen, rolls his eyes. “I mean…why not? My football career died as soon as I blew out my knee. I stayed here to finish my degree, then got sucked into a few opportunities but….”

  My nephew, Owen’s son, Grady, pumps his fist into the air as the Red Hawks fumble the ball. He’s completely oblivious to the adult conversation we’re spouting, but he wouldn’t understand the weight of it even if he were listening. There’s just too much history for a little kid to comprehend, and I have to give Owen props for shielding him from it.

  Owen joins in with his son’s whooping and hollering, although I’m not sure if it’s for Grady’s credit or if it’s because he wants me to drop the subject.

  Yeah. Not happening.

  When the crowd calms down long enough for me to hear myself think, I press, “But what?”

  “Drop it, Nora.”

  “Nope. No deal. You could move anywhere with Grady now that his mom is out of the picture. I want to know why you want to move back to New Hampshire? Does it have something to do with an old flame you ditched before going off to college by chance?”

  “Will you give it a rest?” he mutters under his breath.

  “No. I won’t. For women everywhere, I refuse to let you hurt her again. It was bad enough witnessing it the first time. Can you imagine how awful she felt? I mean––”

  “Seriously, Nora. Will you please stop?” It’s the desperation in his eyes that gets me to snap my mouth shut. He feels just as shitty about the circumstances as Saylor, his ex, did when he broke up with her. I just wish I could understand why he did it in the first place, and why he would feel the need to face her again after all these years. I mean, he has a kid, for Pete’s sake. Still, the pain is rolling off him in waves at the memory of everything he let slip through his fingers, so I bite my tongue.

  Fed up with me staring at him, Owen grabs his son’s hand and tugs him out of the bleachers as the crowd cheers at the completion of a twenty-yard pass across the field.

  Remembering his manners, Owen asks, “We’re going to get a hot dog or something. You want anything, Mama Two?”

  “No, thanks. See you in a few.”

  He disappears up the steps with his son in tow. He’ll be back. Then I’ll apologize for being overly protective of his ex and her feelings. After that, he’ll say it’s okay, and we’ll move on with life. But that doesn’t mean I won’t want a detailed update when he runs into her. And he will run into her.

  What the hell is he thinking?

  Lost in the comforting chaos surrounding me, I relax into my chair and watch the ball snap to our quarterback. I grew up in seats like this, cheering my brother on as he ran his way to the end zone over and over again. I still crave nachos and football jerseys every fall, and I’m grateful my brother was able to score us tickets to the first game of this season.

  If only I hadn’t scared him out of his seat with my meddling.

  “Excuse me,” a deep voice rumbles from the aisle. There’s a soft slur to it that piques my curiosity. Looking up, I’m met with the richest brown eyes I’ve ever seen even if they’re a little glazed over from the caramel-colored beverage in his hand. Just a hunch, but I don’t think it’s his first.

  “Sorry, pre-gaming went a little longer than anticipated, but if I’d known I’d get to sit by a pretty little thing like you, I’d have cut it short,” he adds with a teasing grin. Normally, the comment would roll right off me, but it’s combined with that sexy smirk and an over-the-top wink that makes my insides tighten. I can’t help but laugh before standing up from my seat to let him scoot past me. A few more muscular bodies follow him, each just as bombed as the last, while also equally attractive. They look older than the usual frat boys, so I’m going to assume they’re fans of the game or are alumni coming to root for their team. Just like my brother and me.

  Brown Eyes surprises me by stopping on my right, making his friends inch past him to get to their seats instead of him taking one further down.

  Interesting.

  Casually, I look up the stairs to see if my brother is coming back yet, but they’re empty. Once the final guy scoots past me, I sit back down and try to act normal. Try being the key word. I feel like I’m about to break into a sweat just because a cute guy happened to sit next to me at a football game. I sit up a little straighter.

  Don’t you dare look at him, Nora.

  Don’t.

  Even.

  Think.

  About.

  It.

  Cheeks blazing, I peek over at him. He’s looking at me with a full-blown grin plastered across his handsome face. Chiseled jaw. Straight, white teeth. Smoldering s
mirk that could melt the panties off a nun. It’s a heady concoction.

  I snap my attention back to the field. When I realize I’m holding my breath, my mouth forms a tiny ‘o’ shape before I let out the pent-up oxygen in my lungs. I take another peek. Yup. He’s still looking at me. Still grinning. Still looking devilishly handsome.

  And still driving me insane with his attention pointed directly at me instead of the game.

  With a huff, I tuck my hair behind my ear and glance his way another time, only breaking eye contact when his cocky smirk almost makes me forget what I was going to say in the first place. “Is, uh…”––another peek––“is there a problem?” I ask.

  “No problem,” he returns before tipping back his clear plastic cup and gulping down a bit more beer.

  “Are you uh…you sure about that?” He’s still staring at me with the whole cat-who-ate-the-canary look.

  “Positive.”

  “Then why aren’t you watching the game?”

  “Because you’re much more interesting to look at,” he quips. “Can I ask you something?”

  I can’t help the awkward laugh that bubbles out of me before I mutter, “Sure. Ask away.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  Covering my face in my hands, I laugh. Hard and uncontrollably.

  “What’s so funny?” he asks with faux outrage, though he’s clearly enjoying my insane reaction to his equally insane proposal.

  I laugh even harder, my cheeks so hot with embarrassment that I’m surprised I haven’t burned up on the spot.

  “Sorry, Gage.” His friend pats him on the back, sloshing a bit of his drink onto the ground. “I’m pretty sure that’s what you’d call rejection.”

  “Ah, come on, Pretty Girl. You can’t reject me in front of my friends. They’ll never let me live it down.” With those same puppy dog brown eyes, he pouts for good measure.

  “And what would you suggest I do?”

  “Saying yes would be a good start,” he teases before resting his elbow on the chair arm that separates us.

  “You’re charming when you’re drunk; I’ll give you that,” I reply. There’s a pinch in my cheeks from smiling so hard, but I can’t help myself.

  “Charming, huh? I can work with that.” He tosses another wink my way before pointing out, “That wasn’t a no, by the way.”

  I cover my mouth to prevent any more laughter from bubbling up, but it doesn’t stop the pinch in my cheeks from amplifying.

  “Come on,” his friend interjects, leaning forward so that he can see me more clearly. “Throw the guy a bone. Say, yes, will ya?”

  “I believe this is called peer pressure at it’s finest.”

  “You wanna see peer pressure?” the stranger––Gabe?––asks with a mischievous grin. There’s a time-out on the field, so the crowd is relatively quiet, and our little interaction has slowly attracted the attention of the strangers surrounding us. I can tell he’s thriving on the attention, while I feel like I’m having heart palpitations from it.

  When he stands to his full height, towering over me, I realize what he’s about to do.

  No, no, no, no!

  Reaching for his muscular forearm, I try to tug him back down, but it’s like trying to pull a statue down that’s been bolted to the ground.

  Useless.

  “Don’t you dare,” I whisper-shout, not opposed to begging if it’ll keep him from doing what I think he’s about to do.

  Throwing his head back, he laughs, and the sound goes straight to my lower stomach. “Do you hear that?” he yells, demanding everyone’s attention. “This pretty girl doesn’t want me to propose in front of all of you on this beautiful day. You see, she isn’t usually one for being the center of attention, but she’s just too damn gorgeous to sit on the sidelines as she makes me the luckiest man in the world. Isn’t that right, Pretty Girl?”

  I scowl up at him, though I know he can see my curiosity and barely-restrained amusement no matter how hard I try to bury it.

  The combination only encourages him to proceed.

  There’s no way he’d actually fake propose to me in front of all these people.

  As if he can read my mind, he slowly lowers down to one knee before sliding my left hand into his.

  “Will you, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on, the woman who captured my heart the moment we met…”––I snort before realizing the giant screen on the scoreboard is flashing with a live feed of his little speech––“will you marry me?”

  The entire stadium is silent, holding its collective breath the same way I’m holding mine. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. Hell, I can see it from the damn jumbotron.

  “Come on, Pretty Girl,” he murmurs in a low voice that’s only meant for me. “Say, yes. If you do, each and every fan in this place will have a good story to tell their friends when they get home instead of a sob story about how you broke my heart.”

  Sneaky bastard. He’s right. This would make a pretty epic story, which is the only reason why I nod my head up and down. The crowd goes wild. Whistling. Hooting. Screaming at the top of their lungs. The combination only seems to incite my fiancé further, encouraging him to stand up and tug me into his arms. Then he’s kissing me.

  I’m in shock for a solid two Mississippis before my body takes over. Fingers weaving into his soft, brown hair and my heart racing a million beats a minute, I open my mouth and give a tiny piece of myself to an absolute stranger while knowing that I’ll never be able to steal it back. When the taste of wheat explodes across my tongue, I grin against him.

  “What’s so funny?” he murmurs, keeping his arms around my waist.

  “Just thinking about how I was one-hundred-percent right in my initial assumption.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You’re charming when you’re drunk.”

  “You should see me when I’m sober,” he teases before dropping another quick kiss to my mouth. “Can I have your number?”

  “You mean so we can finalize our wedding arrangements?”

  He laughs. “Something like that.” His grip disappears as he searches his pockets. With pinched brows, he mutters, “Shit.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I left my phone in my car. I’ll be back in a few.”

  I watch his sexy butt as he jogs up the concrete stairs before he disappears through the tunnel only to be replaced by a fuming Owen.

  Cringing, I curl into my seat, then wait for him and Grady to reach me.

  “What the hell was that?” Owen demands, hooking his thumb over his shoulder.

  My face reddens. “Nothing.”

  “You sure? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I just witnessed you getting proposed to on the screen.”

  “Yeah, what’s up with that, Mama Two?” Grady probes with his gangly little arms crossed over his chest, mirroring his father’s posture. I shake my head and pull him into the seat beside me to prevent Owen from interrogating me any further. “It was nothing. Let’s just finish the game.”

  I glance back at the tunnel, hoping to see my fake fiancé striding back to me with his confident swagger. But he never does. In fact, the only thing I’m gifted with is glares from his friends before they also disappear from the stadium a few minutes later.

  What the hell was that?

  2

  Nora

  “Hey!” Gem greets me through my cell.

  “Hey! I’m picking up everyone’s coffee for the meeting, but Bertie won’t answer my text. What does she want?”

  “I dunno. Just grab her one of the seasonal drinks. We all know they’re the best.”

  Chuckling, I pin my cell between my shoulder and my ear while digging in my purse for my wallet. “That’s because the seasonal drinks are your favorite, but that doesn’t mean they’re everyone’s favorite.”

  “Fiiine. I’ll go ask,” Gem whines before her voice is muffled for a minute. I glance up at the menu before moving up in the coffee line as the next customer
is served. “She said she wants a black coffee today.”

  “Just like his soul!” Bertie shouts, her voice echoing through the speaker.

  I laugh. “His soul?”

  “Yeah. Apparently, Bertie had a bad night with what’s his name. Good thing we’re hosting a single’s cruise, eh? Besides, I already told you never to date a Leo. They’re bad news, Bertie. Come on.”

  Evidently, she’s done talking to me and will now be scolding Bertie for the next fifteen minutes.

  “Look. I gotta go,” I tell Gem as I step up to the counter. “Don’t chew her out too much. I’ll be there in a few.”

  “Bye! But seriously, Bertie––” The call goes dead, and I’m left rolling my eyes at my astrology-loving friend as I give our orders.

  Balancing four coffees with one arm, I swing open the glass door to Polished Magazine’s headquarters, then lift my chin at the receptionist, Bertie.

  “You are a freaking lifesaver. You know that, right?” she tells me. The girl is decked out in a black Beatles shirt with a black blazer on top, black pants, and––you guessed it––black stiletto heels that could easily stab her ex’s jugular if she was feeling particularly feisty. Which, based on her attire and coffee choice, I’m going to say is very possible.

  “How you doing, Bertie?” I ask.

  “Gem’s right. I never should’ve dated a Leo.”

  “Please tell me you’re not actually drinking the zodiac Kool-Aid, Bertie.”

  “I’m sorry, but have you seen all the memes floating around? They’re like…almost never wrong.”

  “Almost being the key word,” I jest.