Five Minute Man: A Contemporary Love Story (Covendale Book 1) Read online

  Five Minute Man

  Abbie Zanders

  Published by Abbie Zanders, 2014.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  FIVE MINUTE MAN

  First edition. August 13, 2014.

  Copyright © 2014 Abbie Zanders.

  Written by Abbie Zanders.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Five Minute Man

  Acknowledgements

  Before You Begin

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Thanks for reading Adam and Holly’s story

  If you liked this book...

  About the Author

  Also by Abbie Zanders

  Five Minute Man

  A Contemporary Love Story

  by

  Abbie Zanders

  Acknowledgements

  Amazing cover and series design by Marisa @ www.covermedarling.com

  Stock photos from www.depositphotos.com and www.pixabay.com

  Professional editing by Additional editing by Kris at C&D Editing services (cdediting.weebly.com/) who has a much keener grasp of grammar and tense than me.

  ... and THANK YOU to all of you for selecting this book. You didn’t have to, but you did.

  Before You Begin

  Five Minute Man was originally published in August 2014 – my first self-published title! Three years and thirty books later, I’m still awed by the whole author thing and the opportunity to live my dream.

  I like to think that I’ve learned a few things along the way, and the book you’re reading now shows the results of that. This edition has been updated, professionally edited, and re-covered. It still has plenty of humor and snark, as well as sexy times and explicit language, so if those things offend you, this probably isn’t the book for you.

  Still with me? Awesome. Five Minute Man is the first book in my Covendale Series, which will consist of four books when all is said and done. If you like what you read, feel free to check my other titles and click the link at the back of this book to sign up for my newsletter, receive a free ebook, and get a chance each month to win a $25 gift card, just for being your snarky, alpha-male loving self.

  Chapter 1

  Holly McTierney snorted in laughter as she reread the passage one more time. This time, she was careful to swallow her hazelnut flavored coffee first. The stuff had burned like a bitch when it came out her nose.

  A five-minute orgasm, achieved in an elevator, for God’s sake? Five minutes?

  Max, her big Siberian mix, looked up at her with those freaky black-rimmed eyes, one brown and one pale blue, from his super-sized fluffy doggie bed over by the radiator.

  Holly drew in a deep breath and wiped the tears from her eyes, dog-earing the page and setting the paperback down onto the round, black walnut table that fit so perfectly in the bow-windowed breakfast nook.

  Where did authors come up with this stuff? Talk about your urban fantasy! It took her three times that long to achieve satisfaction, and that was using Vinny, her triple-threat Vibonator with port and starboard attachments. As if a man could actually manage something like that with nothing but his penis!

  The really sad part was, this particular piece of sci-fi was on the bestseller’s list of erotic fiction, while her latest collection of drafts was still sitting on the editor’s desk somewhere.

  A five-minute orgasm, she thought to herself as she chuckled. As if.

  It shouldn’t have been as funny as it was, especially since Holly was a bona fide published author of romantic fiction herself. But even she had to draw the line somewhere. Soul mates, love at first sight, bad boy alpha males with hearts of gold—yeah, she had tapped those tropey wells with the best of them, but this? Dr. Who was more believable.

  After rinsing out her mug at the double-basin, stainless-steel sink, she put it into the stylish drying rack atop her custom granite countertop. Holly’s kitchen was her Valhalla, the center of her universe, and as such, it claimed top priority when she had a few extra funds after bills, gas, and groceries. So what if the rest of the tiny cottage looked like shit? She spent most of her time in here, anyway. And once she sold a few more books, she would be able to fix the rest up, too.

  If she sold more books. An author was only as good as her sale numbers, and staying afloat in a saturated market was getting harder every day. That was one of the reasons she supplemented her meager income with occasional literary quickies on the side.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t like writing freelance for a couple of popular romance magazines; she did. Those short stories paid the essential bills and put food on the table, even if there wasn’t a whole lot left over for other things. However, it was selling her books that gave her the biggest sense of satisfaction. Each completed piece was like a much-loved child, and seeing one go out into the world and be successful was every parent’s dream.

  She hadn’t struck it rich—yet. Getting a book out there took time and money. Cover art, editing, advertising—none of that stuff was free. There were plenty of times when she’d had to resort to mac-in-a-box, and Max had to make do with the cheaper, store brand dog food during particularly lean weeks. Overall, though, they were doing okay.

  It would all be worth it someday, she hoped. With hundreds of thousands of new books flooding the market every year, becoming the next Katie MacAlister or Alexandra Ivy wasn’t going to be easy.

  Holly sighed. That was enough lollygagging. Time to bite the first bullet. Forty-five minutes of morning exercises to boost her metabolism. It was a necessary evil so she didn’t feel quite as guilty about spending the next several hours on her ass, drinking coffee with way too much cream—a staple for aspiring authors everywhere—and pounding out another desperate attempt at literary success. There just wasn’t a whole lot of physical effort involved in crafting a fantasy. If writing burned calories like Zumba, she would be a waif-thin supermodel.

  Max yawned as she reached down to pet him before heading toward the guest room, where she had set up her makeshift fitness room. The equipment had been acquired courtesy of local garage sales; pieces that, after a few initial uses, had become dust-gathering, space-consuming, ergonomic clothes racks. God bless those lacking the willpower to stick to their New Year’s resolutions!

  This room was next on her list to fix up. The old hardwood floors, which were badly in need of a sanding and refinishing, were bare except for the couple of interlocking flex flooring squares she had picked up on sale to preserve her aging joints. The dingy, yellowed walls screamed for some patching compound and a fresh coat of paint.

  In her mind, she pictured gleaming white walls, motivational posters, some big mirrors, and maybe a small, mounted flat-screen in the corner. Having an inviting, attract
ive space to work out might make it easier to exercise. Maybe.

  Abs first. She docked her iPhone and let the heart-pounding heavy metal soak into her skin as she kneeled on the circular torture device and swung her ass left and right to the beat. Then it was a twenty-minute walk and jog on the treadmill to get her heart rate up. The chaser was fifteen minutes of strength/cardio circuits of thirty to sixty seconds each—push-ups, jumping jacks, squats, butt-kicks, planks, mountain climbers, wall sits, and calf-raises.

  Holly hated all of it with a red-hot burning passion, but she forced herself to do it, anyway. She absolutely refused to go up to the next jean size. Big butts might work for some high-profile celebrities, but Holly doubted she would experience similar results.

  Sweaty and annoyed that she hadn’t been blessed with a tall, lithe figure, she chugged sixteen ounces of eau de tap, plopped her five-foot-two, chubby butt down, and got to work.

  Chapter 2

  While waiting for the server to take their order, Holly told her friend Liz about the “five-minute man,” as she had dubbed him in her own mind. They were at their weekly dinner—Holly’s only consistent, voluntary socialization. Liz didn’t find it nearly as funny as she had.

  “You don’t actually believe that kind of stuff is possible, do you?” Holly accused when she saw that faraway, dreamy look Liz sometimes got in her eye when they talked about some of Holly’s storylines. Liz was the best sounding board ever.

  Liz twirled the stem of her wineglass between perfectly manicured, blood-red nails while she considered her answer. One thing about Liz: she was one of the few people Holly knew who really cared about whatever came out of her own mouth. If she said it, she meant it. The fact that she wasn’t saying anything now spoke volumes.

  “Jeez,” Holly murmured when the response was taking longer than it should have. She took a sip of her unsweetened tea, scowling as the tip of the decorative lemon slice pushed up her left nostril. “Have you ever had one?”

  “No,” Liz finally answered. Like the good friend she was, she snatched the lemon from Holly’s glass and relegated the offending slice to time-out on the bread plate, which remained empty for them both, given the insidious evil of carbs after six p.m. Liz’s unsweetened red wine didn’t count since it was listed as a nightly staple on her latest “sugar equals Satan” diet, which was yet another reason Holly continued to see Liz on a regular basis—she was no natural Skinny-Minnie, either. “But I’d like to think it is possible. That there is some man out there capable of making me feel that way, pushing all the right buttons inside and out. I would think, with all the steamy stuff you write in your stories, that you’d believe in something like that, too.”

  Holly scoffed. “That right there is exactly why I write those stories. Because if I didn’t, there’d be no sex worth talking about in my life at all.”

  Liz giggled and covered her mouth.

  Holly closed her eyes and let the blush wash over her. “Our waiter is right behind me, isn’t he?” Not just any waiter, either, but a totally hot, college-age cutie with big brown eyes and an ass they had both been discreetly ogling all night.

  Liz nodded.

  “Is he smiling or beating feet with a horrified look on his face?”

  Liz’s eyes, the only part of her face not covered by her hand, flicked over Holly’s shoulder. “He’s definitely smiling.” The words came out slightly muffled.

  Holly exhaled. Today was just not her day.

  She took a deep, fortifying breath and addressed the young stud. “I won’t be having dinner, after all,” she said wryly. “Turns out that the foot in my mouth is actually pretty filling.”

  Their waiter, whose name tag read Brandon, – gave her a hundred-watt smile that probably got into more coed panties than Stayfree. He leaned a bit closer, lowering his voice. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty hot for an older woman.”

  Holly hid her mortification behind a polished smile she had perfected around age eleven when puberty took a noticeable hold. “I’m flattered, Brandon,” she said, lowering her voice as he had his. “With charm like that, you’re going to be chasing them away someday. You know, when you’re old enough to shave.”

  Liz turned away, hiding her laughter.

  After a brief moment of widened eyes, Brandon laughed, too. “You’re all right. And just for the record”—he leaned down farther and winked—“I use my dad’s electric shaver twice a week now.”

  Holly couldn’t help it. She laughed. The kid was just too damn cute for his own good.

  Two hours later, while clearing away the remains of grilled chicken and veggie entrees, Brandon picked up the best cash tip he’d had all month.

  Chapter 3

  Adam looked up when his nephew came in from work, chuckling. Brandon was a good kid. Not only was he on his way to graduating summa cum laude with a degree in architectural engineering, but he was holding down a steady job, too. Living with Adam saved him the expense of a college dorm room or an overpriced off-campus apartment, and Adam liked having him around.

  “Good night, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Brandon said, collapsing on the couch. “These two ladies left me a fifty-dollar tip on a thirty-dollar bill. They were something else.”

  Adam Grayson sighed inwardly. His young nephew had the same curse his brother had. Namely, he was irresistible to the female sex. No matter where they were, what they were doing, women of all ages were drawn to him. It didn’t help that the kid was naturally charming, either. Adam didn’t mind so much when the girls were around Brandon’s own age, but it annoyed him when older women set their sights on his nephew. He was just a kid, after all, and a good-hearted one at that. The last thing he needed was some cougar getting her claws into him and taking a few bites.

  Brandon saw the familiar frown on his uncle’s face and guessed his thoughts. “It wasn’t like that. They didn’t come on to me. They were funny as hell, though.”

  Relief washed over Adam’s face. Only a dozen years older than Brandon, he felt the need to look out for him. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. It was pretty slow tonight, so I overheard a lot of their conversation.” He grinned. “They were debating on whether or not it was possible for a man to give a woman an orgasm within five minutes.”

  Adam choked on his beer. “Say what?”

  “You heard me.” His nephew snickered. “One of the women said she’d read a book where this guy took a woman in an elevator and gave her a screaming O in under five minutes. She said it was unbelievable, even for erotic fiction. The other woman disagreed.”

  “Jesus.” Was that what women talked about these days? Damn those romance writers. Between them and Disney, they set women’s expectations too high for any regular guy to have a decent shot.

  “How old were they?” An image of little, blue-haired old ladies debating Fifty Shades over Shirley Temples flashed in his mind and gave him a case of the shudders.

  “Not very. Thirty, maybe.”

  Against his will, Adam’s interest roused. He was thirty-two and single, wondering if he would ever find a woman he actually wanted to spend some quality time with. Most women his age were already married, and if they weren’t ... well, he had found out the hard way on multiple occasions that there was usually a good reason for that. “Thirty?”

  “Mmmhmm. Pretty hot, too.”

  “How hot?” Adam blurted out before he could stop himself.

  Brandon pretended to think about it, but if Adam knew his nephew, he had been working on what he would say since the moment he had served the women. In Brandon’s opinion, Adam spent far too much time working and not enough playing.

  “Well, let’s see. One was about five-seven or so, blonde, blue eyes, dressed nice, like she had just come from an office or something. I think her name was Liz.”

  An image formed in Adam’s mind, one of a classically pretty, professional woman.

  “Was she the believer or the non-believer?”

  “The believer.”r />
  Interesting, Adam thought vaguely, but wasn’t surprised. She sounded like many of the women he had wined and dined. Pleasant. Attractive. Predictable.

  “What about the other one? She of little faith?”

  “Smaller, darker hair with some kind of streaks, I think. I don’t remember quite as much about her appearance, but she was really funny.”

  Adam nodded, practically seeing the wheels turning in Brandon’s head. He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t even think about it.”

  Brandon grinned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” With an almost believable yawn and a stretch of his young limbs, he said, “Well, I have an early class tomorrow, so I’m going to crash. I’ll catch you in the morning.”

  As Brandon walked off to his room, Adam could have sworn he heard him whistling.

  Chapter 4

  “Tuesday night is ladies’ night,” Adam groused a week later, annoyed that he had been had by his conniving nephew. The fact was confirmed when he read the laminated card clearly displayed above the trench of sugar packets on the table. “You set me up.”

  Brandon’s facial expression was just a bit too innocent to be completely believable. “Relax, will you? Just have a couple of drinks, enjoy a nice dinner, and watch the game.” Brandon indicated the huge flat-screen mounted on the wall.

  Adam narrowed his eyes. He did have a good, unimpeded view of the screen, and the place really wasn’t crowded at all, at least not where he was sitting. Most of the action seemed to be at the fancy bar on the other side of the restaurant where drinks were half price. Regardless, his bullshit detector was sounding the alarm loud and clear.

  “Do not even think of sending a woman over to my table, or buying one a drink and saying it came from me.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Brandon lied smoothly.