The Workaholic and the Realist (New Hampshire Bears #2) by Mary Smith Page A

singing a different tune. She’s telling you she’s changed and not saying sick .” I hoped he could see where I was going with this conversation. I knew his smarts would put the hints together.
    “I get it, but I don’t believe or trust it. You say a person can change, but can’t they change back to their old ways?”
    “Sure, anything can happen, but you’re not even giving it a chance.”
    “You don’t seem to understand how many times she’s hurt me.”
    The number had to be huge, just by the expression on his face and the tone in his voice. He finished his beer and turned fully to me. “I’m ready to take you home.”
    “I’m assuming we’re done talking then?”
    “Yes.” I saw the familiar lust in his eyes.
    “Hate to tell you but I can’t tonight.”
    “What? Why?” He seemed flabbergasted at me saying no to him.
    “I’m on my period.” I told him the truth.
    “Doesn’t bother me.”
    “Eewww,” I exclaimed loudly. “Well, it sure as hell bothers me.”
    Keaton chucked. “Then explain to me why you’re in a bar picking up guys?”
    I smiled. “I’m having a glass of wine messing with guys.”
    “Seems a bit cold-hearted.”
    My brow furrowed. “Huh?”
    “I’m saying, you’re a hot piece of ass, and you’re going to work them up, only to shoot them down. That’s cold-hearted.”
    “Hey,” I chided. “It would have been harmless flirting and nothing more. I’m not that big of a bitch.” Sure, I had my moments, but I really only planned on flirting with whomever approached me.
    “I never said you were a bitch. You’re far from being one. I know you are a strong, opinionated woman, and I love that about you.”
    My girly side suddenly took notice at one word: love . Did he just say love ? “Well, thanks,” I rushed out, not wanting him to know I was over-thinking what he said. A lot. “I’m going home, now. Alone.” I hopped off the stool and out toward the door. I knew Keaton was right behind me.
    “Wait, Harlow.” He tugged on my arm before I reached my car door. “I have something to give you.”
    “For me?”
    Keaton nodded and went over to his truck and pulled out a medium size stuffed animal.
    “What’s this?” I inspected the very white bunny holding a stiff, light brown honey jar.
    “You’re my honey-bunny. Happy Valentine’s Day.” He kissed my forehead as I continued to stare at the animal.
    “It’s cute, but how did you find a bunny holding a honey jar?” Rabbits didn’t even eat honey.
    Keaton chuckled. “I had it made for you.”
    “Made?” I finally looked up at him.
    “Yep, I found a website, and it came in last week.”
    “Puppy,” I grinned. “This is very sweet. Thank you.” I kissed him fully on the lips.
    “Damn, I wish I could fuck you,” he mumbled, grabbing my ass tightly.
    “Rain check.” I kissed him again, wishing the same damn thing.

Chapter Twelve
    Keaton
     
    My eyes were burning; I mean they were actually on fire, because I’d stared at my computer screen all night. I’ve not been to bed at all, but my book was complete.
    Edited? Check.
    Re-read? Check.
    Harlow had given me a name of a beta reader and she’d enjoyed it. Her feedback was very helpful.
    Problem number one hit me. I didn’t have a cover. Problem number two, I didn’t have a nom de plume. I thought Michael Jaco, but Jaco was uncommon and could be traced back to me. Grams maiden name was Knapp and my grandfather’s first name was Bret.
    Bret Knapp.
    Sounds like an author or a mercenary.
    Well, one problem was solved. Now about the cover. I bet Harlow would be able to help me out. I grabbed my phone and then saw it was six thirty in the morning. Would she be up?
    It had been almost three days since I saw her. When I saw her in the bar, with that awful man hitting on her, I knew I had to save her. I made sure I did better than last time, too. I couldn’t remember how I’d found the website to make the custom bunny, but when I did, I knew I had