Never the Right Choice

By Lizzie Socorro

Photography has always been Carmen Garcia’s lifelong dream, but the only way for her to pay the bills is to photograph blushing bridezillas and irate mothers-in-law. The Norton Photography Grant is the perfect opportunity. The competition will afford her the chance to focus on what she really loves.
She was a powerful woman who dazzled him in a bar. From her heels to her hair, Jackson couldn't look away. But it was her wit and smile that truly caught him. He was just a schoolteacher with a secret hiding behind his gorgeous blue eyes. She was embarking on a career-changing path. She wasn’t expecting anything more than a hookup.
The next morning, she walked away. There was no place in her life for a man she met at a bar. She was taking a step toward the only thing she’d ever wanted. Little does she know it’s a step closer to him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lizzie Socorro
• Release date: Mar 31, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311526588

Lizzie Socorro

Lizzie Socorro is from the South, but is currently living in self-imposed exile in the cold North. She has a dog named Bingley and a cat named Collins, and they hate each other. Lizzie divides her time between trying to keep her hair in check, fighting with her lemon of a dishwasher, and volunteering at her local animal shelter. Lizzie especially loves history and the arts, and anything that brings them together, like historical fiction. She also loves to hear from her readers.

Book preview

Never the Right Choice

Lizzie Socorro

A Thousand and Seventeen Nights

Publishing Company

1017nights.com

[phone]

5646 N Kenmore, Chicago, Illinois 60660

Published by A Thousand and Seventeen Nights at Smashwords

Copyright © 2015 Catherine Matamoros & Dolores dS Hernandez

Summary of Never the Man

Copyright © 2015 Catherine Matamoros & Dolores dS Hernandez

We would take it as a personal favor if you were to not pirate our beloved novel, bitches.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. 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 return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

This is work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher at the address above.

Cover design by

The Killion Group

For my sister

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

The next installment

About the Author

Chapter One

Carmen tried to be a good person.

She did. She really, really did.

She worked out occasionally, usually had veggies with her meals, kept up with her professional deadlines, and called her mother at least once a week. But every once in a while, just like that package of cookies in the pantry sometimes beckoned a little too imperiously, she allowed herself a cheat day. She didn’t roll her eyes a single time that her mother encouraged her to find a nice Mexican boy (like those existed in Baton Rouge) during their last chat—she could afford to skip the gym tomorrow. She finished editing the latest batch of engagement photos, each sappier than the last, with the 3-carat rock displayed more prominently than any attempt at true emotion—she had earned herself a little indulgence on her date.

And if it wasn’t a date so much as a hot guy alone at the bar on a Friday night, well, so be it.

And if a little indulgence translated to two more margaritas, leading to three tequila body slammers past her limit, well, she deserved to treat herself. His name was Jackson, he had blonde hair that was just messy enough to look deliberate, and Carmen could stare into his bright blue eyes for hours—in fact, did, when he wasn’t licking salt off of her neck.

Carmen deserved this. She was celebrating—and commiserating, too, just in case. The annual Norton Foundation Photography Grant’s application deadline had been that day. Carmen, gritting her teeth and crossing her fingers against any possible ojo, had finally talked herself into entering and taken the plunge one last time. This was the third year that she had entered the prestigious competition. The year before, and the year before that, she hadn’t even made it past the first round of eliminations, but who knew? The third time could be the charm.

With the hefty entrance fee and the strain it took on her nerves, Carmen couldn’t afford to enter a fourth time. This was her last chance at the Norton Photography Grant and the promised exhibit that went along with it. And just in case her application was denied for the third time, Carmen was getting pre-emptively shitfaced. She was celebrating her courage and giving her dreams one last hurrah, either way. Best to cover all of her bases, she figured.

Hence the margaritas that had less and less lime juice, until they were just straight shots of tequila. As much as she had appreciated Anna’s encouraging text—and hopeful admonition to not go too crazy by herself—from that morning, Carmen was alone, she was risking her future, and she was entitled to a few questionable decisions. Especially when her two best friends in Baton Rouge had abandoned her to deal with some crisis of paperwork at their office. She was at the Radio Bar, their favorite bar in Baton Rouge, free of anyone acting as the annoying voice of reason. Time to enjoy it. Otherwise, what was the point of being young and dumb?

Not so young now, though. At 27, Carmen had reached the age at which college experience and memories ceased to be relevant. Most of her friends, like Anna, who was busy being engaged in Dallas, were settled and well on their way to being respectable members of society. Carmen, on the other hand, was still on the path heading towards nothing that she’d stepped onto five years ago.

Fresh out of college and with no idea of the direction she wanted her life to take, other than a desire to pursue photography, and in need of income, Carmen had agreed to take some engagement pictures for a new friend she’d made in Baton Rouge. She and Melody were working together in the DA’s office, and Carmen was so eager to encourage the growth of the friendship—the first she’d really begun to develop in a new city—that she had offered her services and camera before really thinking. Melody had been so enthusiastic that she couldn’t back out, and then loved the resultant photos so much Carmen had found herself roped into shooting the wedding.

Word of mouth had two more women calling her for lovey-dovey photo shoots within the next month. Soon enough, Carmen had enough clients that she’d quit the job she’d had as a temp and found herself working as a wedding and engagement photographer without ever willingly or knowingly taking the leap into that world of hearts and desperate showboating of our love is better than your love.

Five years of conventional—but not too conventional—poses, vainglorious flashing of the ring, too-wide and too-bright smiles, hollow eyes and false cheer only rivalled by falser love. Carmen had been in so many meadows that she was an expert in tick bites and had spent so much time in churches that she was an honorary choirboy. Five years of tacky filters, tacky decorations, tackier manners.

Half a decade of her life, sucked away by Pinterest and pissing contests.

She had a lot to offer the world of photography, Carmen thought. She had ideas, and plans, and knew a lot more about her style now than she did five years ago. And she was absolutely certain that her style did not involve wedding pictures. She loved the lonely—a tear, a tree, a man staring at that which he could never have. To celebrate that which would never be and never could, to record it, in order that it would never be forgotten, never be lost.

Winning the Norton Photography Grant would allow Carmen to quit that which she hated and open a gallery. Make her living from art, not cheese. That was the dream.

Not that she was going to tell that to the sexy stranger who kept flashing her little grins from the bar. No, for him, secrets were preferable to whole truths. Secrets made her alluring. Intriguing. Mystery made Carmen into a gypsy, not the uninteresting, bohemian wedding photographer that daylight revealed.

Not that she would end up telling him anything, if he continued to do nothing but smile at her every few minutes. She was clearly alone, he was clearly alone, and if Carmen did say so herself (which she did), her caramel skin and chocolate eyes gave her something of an irresistible magnetism when it came to the opposite sex. She’d been told that her eyes sparkled and had even once gotten the comment that her smile was dazzling.

So no, she wasn’t worried that the man was disinterested. Maybe he was just shy. Maybe he needed some encouragement.

Accordingly, the next time that their eyes met across the room, Carmen winked.

And he immediately turned his head away.

Well. Besides the damage that could do to her pride, his reaction was just plain poor manners.

Carmen glanced back down at her own table, resisting the urge to glare at the man. Instead, she settled for twirling the little spear that her impulsively purchased and deeply regretted martini had come with. That's what she got for trying something new. One sip of the drink and she'd sent it back, revolted by the flavor. Fiddling with the little plastic decoration kept her fingers busy and her mind from anger.

Excuse me, miss.

The voice broke through her reverie like a hammer. Carmen glanced up quickly.

Yes?

A serving tray bearing another margarita hovered before her eyes. Carmen started to shake her head, confused.

No, I’m sorry. I didn’t order another. At least, she was pretty sure she hadn’t. She’d only had three margaritas so far, but she’d already decided to not have any more.

Yes, ma’am, I know, the waiter said with a smile. His Southern drawl was gentle, but it still made Carmen sigh. She missed her best friend. Tha gentleman at the bahr wanted to send this your way.

Oh. Carmen started, then smiled. Well, thank you.

She allowed the waiter to deliver the glass. He left Carmen considering the tempting tequila.

Well, she couldn’t not drink it. That would be rude. Besides, it was just one more. What was the harm? She deserved an extra drink tonight, of all nights. And she certainly needed it.

As she raised the glass to her lips, her gentleman at the bar boldly glanced back at her. His own drink—whiskey?—raised, toasting her. She smiled back slowly, letting her gaze linger along his long, lean lines.

Carmen certainly liked what she saw. He was interested, he was handsome, and he was definitely flirting with her.

Carmen took the plunge.

She opened one hand, gesturing at the empty seat across from her. An invitation.

One that he was quick to accept, grabbing his drink and heading her way.

Thought you’d never ask, he said, sliding into his new seat.

The voice wasn’t what she had expected. Deeper—so much deeper than she’d been prepared for, and a tone that would lick at her bones if she let it. Close up, the man was even more attractive than she’d thought. His blonde hair was just long and thick enough for Carmen to imagine weaving her fingers through it with pleasure, and his eyes were as clear blue as the Caribbean. There was a cleft in that chin that had been invisible from a distance, but now made its appearance in his square jawline, peeking through the line of stubble. And that smile—it tempted her to sin, promised that she’d enjoy the ride.

And damned if Carmen didn’t want to take him up on it.

Um, sorry, she said, catching herself staring. I’m Carmen.

Jackson, he said.

He extended one large hand. It all but enveloped Carmen’s when she met his handshake, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver up her arm.

Thanks for the drink, she said. She reluctantly withdrew her hand, opting to take a gulp of her drink to avoid thinking of anything else to say.

My pleasure, Jackson replied. I’ve been enjoying the view all evening. I had to show my appreciation somehow.

The smooth compliment was a bit too contrived to be believable, but Carmen grinned nonetheless. Nice line, she said. Does that usually work on girls?

Jackson’s gaze roamed her face, taking in her cheeks, lips, hair, before dropping back to her eyes. You’ll have to let me know, he said, the corners of his mouth curling up sensually.

Carmen shrugged, taking another sip. So far, so good, she joked. She had to admit, the line had worked on her. It had sent a small shiver through her body, knowing that Jackson was so blatantly attracted to her.

Her companion leaned back in his seat, allowing Carmen to drink in the view. His long-sleeved shirt stretched across a broad chest and muscular arms, dark jeans sat low on trim hips, and one heavy, brown-booted shoe rested on the other knee, giving the man the appearance of a warrior regarding his spoils after battle. If she were in a studio, Carmen would put a kilt on him.

Jackson finished his drink, the golden liquid sliding out of the glass smoothly.

Carmen’s waiter stopped by the small table. Another one? he asked.

Jackson looked at his empty glass and paused, considering, but Carmen intervened.

Yes, please, she said. And put it on my tab. Jackson looked ready to protest, but Carmen smiled at him, ready to charm him out of it. You did buy me a drink, she told him. I’d like to repay the favor. He’ll have another…?

Tequila, Jackson supplied, filling in the blank. Agavero.

He was drinking tequila out of a scotch glass. Carmen raised her eyebrows at him, surprised.

A shot’s over too soon, Jackson said. I like to savor my guilty pleasures.

That delicious smile of his told Carmen that it wasn’t just his alcohol that he liked to sip at, slow and sensual, until he was pleasantly dizzy. The words swirled around her, deep and carnal, like a promise, making her breath hitch in her throat.

Their waiter had no patience for the tease of foreplay, apparently. And you, hon? he asked, his question breaking through the spell.

Carmen checked her drink. There was still some of her margarita left, but it had gotten dangerously low. She wanted something to enjoy if they were going to stay and talk much longer. Having just begun, she knew that she wanted to linger. All she knew so far was the man’s name and the way his words curled in her belly, and she wanted to learn more.

Yes, she said decisively. And this time, make it a double. That last one had tasted far too watery. Jackson wasn’t the only one who wanted to savor his pleasures.

The waiter finally disappeared, allowing the two to continue their just-begun conversation.

So, Jackson, Carmen started, but he beat her to it.

I’m an art teacher, he said, answering the question that she hadn’t even gotten out yet. High school.

Oh! Efficient. To the point. Worked for her. I’m…

No, don’t tell me, Jackson said with a grin. I want to guess.

Carmen smirked at him. Good luck, then. No one ever guessed photographer.

Oh, it’s a challenge? he said. That narrows it down. Something less traditional, then. You’re only making it easier for me. No doubt he’d only said it as an excuse to look her over again, leisurely this time, lingering on the gold hoop earrings and the purple sash that she’d wrapped up into a skirt. Actor.

No, Carmen told him, laughing. She was more pleased than she expected to have him be wrong. I would much rather be behind the camera than in front of it. So she was giving him a hint. It wasn’t much help, if his next guess was any indication.

Oh, director! He looked so confident in his assessment that Carmen rather enjoyed telling him otherwise.

In Louisiana? Nope. Oh, this was too much fun. She laughed again at his frustration at getting another guess wrong.

Jackson slapped one thigh. Damn! You’re a photographer. I was going to say that after actor, he claimed, pointing a finger at her, but then I thought I should stick with theatre. I should have gone with my first instinct!

Technically, that was still your second instinct, Carmen replied with a chuckle. But yes. I’m a photographer.

And left it at that. He didn’t need to know of weddings and engagements. He didn’t need to know that she hated it. She didn’t need to tell him that she had a dream. Dreams were for talking about on dates. They required mature discipline in order to be achieved. This was just a strange man in a bar. A man with hypnotizing eyes and a smile that was temptation incarnate.

To Carmen’s relief, Jackson did not ask for more information. Instead, he let the silence settle in around them, warm and encompassing as a blanket. Carmen was unused to the quiet. In her family, you didn’t stop talking until you were dead. And even then, the wake was as lively as a party, filled with music and stories upon stories, each trying to be heard over the last. This wordless gap, however, filled by Jackson’s eyes dreamily devouring her, felt peaceful rather than awkward. Comfortable, somehow, even as her heartrate beat a staccato tempo against her ribs every time that their gazes met.

The silence lasted until the waiter reappeared, bearing fresh drinks. Once Carmen took her first sip of the first of her too-many margaritas, the conversation flowed more freely than even the drinks. They spoke of nothing, of everything, the first pause in the conversation only coming when he paused to take his first bold lick of salt from Carmen’s neck before downing the first of the shots with a relish that would make any frat boy proud.

With the alcohol happily stoking a fire in her stomach and Jackson’s eyes stroking warmth into her chest, Carmen couldn’t think of the last time she’d felt so alive. She laughed until her sides hurt, and then laughed some more, unable to stop herself. Jackson was intelligent—small surprise, given that he was a teacher—but more than that, he was witty.

It had been too long since a man had made her laugh so hard. It had been a long time since a man had made her feel anything strongly. Who knew if it was the man himself, in the right place at the right time, or the drinks—how many, Carmen had long since lost count—or Carmen herself? She didn’t have an answer or a reason, beyond the sensual curve of his lips, begging to be tasted, and the way his eyes lit up when he said her name. Carmen. On his tongue,