on August 9th 2016
Genres: Contemporary Romance
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RC Boldt's fourth book in the Teach Me series shows us that sometimes the perfect person for you is the one you least expected it to be...
Langley Ford is the definition of serious. Going through life as a pararescue jumper, working solely around men, she’s had to go above and beyond to prove she’s their equal. In fact, she can’t recall the last time she allowed herself to truly relax or let her guard down.
Always the one others rely on to crack jokes, the one to liven things up, Lawson Briggs is a fun, easygoing guy who doesn’t take life too seriously. But witnessing so many of his friends falling in love, he begins to wonder what the fuss is about. Will he ever fall prey to that infamous “love bug”?
Langley is now out of the military and working at a security consulting firm. When she meets the tall, bearded teacher who has endless wisecracks and comments, a part of her wishes she could be like him, wishes she could remember how.
While Lawson might be the best person to teach her how to live life to the fullest, will Langley be the one who teaches him all about love?
He was going to do it. Lawson Briggs was going to actually do it. He was going to pop his own cherry.
Ew. He cringed at the phrasing. He should be more specific. He was going to pop his own cherry … when it came to stalking.
Shit. That still sounded crazy in his head. So, maybe not stalking like, ‘Oh, yeah, why did you order a vanilla latte when you normally order a plain Americano whenever I watch you with my binoculars from across the street in my car?’
No. Not like that. At all.
He was merely planning on casually running into Lee along the route she normally took. And he only knew this because he had interviewed—he preferred that word—Pearce.
Pearce had said it was an interrogation. He called it an interview.
Meh. Semantics, schemantics.
There was only one teeny, tiny, pequeño problemo with this plan. Okay, maybe it was a grande problemo. And, no, he hadn’t a clue as to why he was suddenly channeling his old tenth grade Spanish teacher, Señora Gonzalez. Regardless, there was a big problem with his plan.
He hated running.
And, no, we’re not talking hate as in I hate broccoli unless it’s baked in a casserole of cheesy, melty goodness. Nope. Uh-uh. He. Hated. Running. It was the part he always dreaded when he taught his classes at the gym.
Running: he haaaaaaated it. It was up there with prostate exams. Not that he’d had one, yet. But still. The idea of someone reaching up inside his ass and feeling around?
G to the r – o – s – s.
Yet, here he was. Getting ready to run. Because he wanted to run with his Lee.
Plodding down the steps of his house, he paused at the bottom of the stairs, getting a good, deep stretch of his calf muscles. After feeling sufficiently warmed up, he crossed the road separating his house from the ocean front homes, walking toward the beach access.
“She always includes the beach in part of her run, but only at low tide when she can run on the packed sand, of course,” his ‘informant’ had told him.
Okay, okay. Pearce had told him that.
He had checked the time schedule for the tides of the Atlantic and figured he’d be good if he showed up at about six thirty that morning. It was a Saturday and hardly anyone was on the beach. It was unbelievably peaceful and he instantly wished he were sitting there with a large coffee in his hand instead of preparing to torture himself by running. Oooh, a coffee and one of those awesome bagels from the place down the street would be good, too. They baked them fresh and they were always so g—
His tongue literally felt as though it was lolling around, out of his mouth. Because, one moment, he was fantasizing about coffee, bagels, and not running, and the next … Well, the next moment he was in fear of swallowing his own tongue. And not because the sight that greeted him was perfect. It wasn’t.
It was perfect to him, though.