One More Shot

By TL Alexander

From the author of the LOL smexy Layers Series
Girlfriends, Goddesses & Barflies
Book One
One More Shot
After a messy divorce, Dannie O’Brien has come home to Whisper Lake, Oregon. She’s off men for life—vowing to the goddesses, she’ll never be a huckleberry, again.

Dino Coletti, Manhattan’s hottest bachelor doc, moves to small town—smaller lake, Oregon. Why he felt the need to leave NYC, and his manwhoring ways behind him—he had no clue. Then he saw her, and he knew she was the one he didn’t know he was even looking for.

Life on Whisper Lake will never be the same, when a smart-mouthed, independent, wounded woman, meets a man who’s convinced they’re destine, and she’s convinced he’s a snake in the firs.

• Language: English
• Publisher: TL Alexander
• Release date: Apr 18, 2016
• ISBN: 9780997514414

TL Alexander

A.K.A. 2018 indieBRAG WinnerTL Alexander is the author of eight novels. Best known for the smexy, LOL, contemporary romance Layers Series, she ventured into the realm of romantic suspense in 2017 with the release of A.K.A.In 2018 A.K.A. received the indieBRAG gold medallion.Books by TL AlexanderA.K.A. indieBRAG Medallion winnerLayers SeriesLayersMore LayersBeneath LayersBeyond LayersLife's a Bitchwad (a free download at www.tlalexanderauthor.com)Law Inc. Cassandra Marcella Mystery Series Life on TopGirlfriends Goddesses & Barflies SeriesBook OneOne More Shot e-book and paperbackPlease leave a review on this site and TL Alexander Goodreads

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Copyright © 2016

TL Alexander

Published by Crazy Writer Books/TL Alexander

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews—without the permission in writing from its publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with other people, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, (shame on you) or was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting all my hard work.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Books By TL Alexander

About One More Shot

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

About The Author

Copyright Notice

The Layers Series

Beyond Layers

Layers

More Layers

Beneath Layers

Beyond Layers

Life’s a Bitchwad Novelette

Law Inc. Cassandra Marcella Mystery Series

Life on Top

Between a Rocker and a Hard Place

Girlfriends, Goddesses, & Barflies Series

One More Shot

Bottoms Up

Last Call

AKA

A Dark Romantic Suspense

After a messy divorce, Dannie O’Brien has come home to Whisper Lake, Oregon. She’s off men for life—vowing to the goddesses, she’ll never be a huckleberry, again.

Dino Coletti, Manhattan’s hottest bachelor doc, moves to small town—smaller lake, Oregon. Why he felt the need to leave NYC, and his manwhoring ways behind him—he had no clue. Then he saw her, and he knew she was the one he didn’t know he was even looking for.

Life on Whisper Lake will never be the same, when a smart-mouthed, independent, wounded woman, meets a man who’s convinced they’re destine, and she’s convinced he’s a snake in the firs.

Tell me what happened that night.

From what point?

Let’s start from when you felt things were off.

Things felt off all day.

Then let’s start from when you got out of the shower.

I don’t know why—

Humor me, Dannie.

We’ve gone over this a dozen times. I don’t know how rehashing it—

She reaches over and lays her long-fingered hand on my knee. Dannie, trust in me, she says and leans back into her chair.

Okay, I say and lean back into mine. But I think this is—

Dannie, she scolds.

I mentally roll my eyes at her and begin. I got out of the shower, put on my robe, went into my closet, and looked down the rows of shoes.

Good. But be more descriptive as if you’re reliving it.

I was looking for my pair of opened-toed Prada. When I didn’t find them, I looked in Nolan’s closet.

Dannie, why are you here?

For help.

With what?

With my need to control everything and my obsessive-compulsive behaviors.

Then why do you skip those parts?

Because… I don’t want to be that way—that person.

But you are, Dannie.

I know I am. But I don’t like talking about it.

If you don’t tell me these parts of you, I can’t analyze them, and therefore, I can’t help you. Dannie, do you want to change? Do you want to understand why you do the things you do?

Of course.

Then don’t waste your time or mine.

Okay, I say feeling like a chastened five-year-old.

You were looking down the rows…

"I stopped, or I should say, my eyes stopped briefly on row N, the best row, where my beloved Nikes were organized by activity, color, and overall likability," I tell her and pause for her approval.

She half smiles and nods for me to continue.

"I continued to row P, looking for the pair of Prada. When I found its slot and one was missing…"

What?

My heart. Sometimes it feels as if it might beat out of my chest.

Panic attack?

Maybe.

Does this happen every time something is out of place?

A few times, I lie. But now that I’m aware of my behavior, it’s rare, I lie, again.

You’re a terrible liar, Dannie.

Damn woman! Okay. Yes, it happens. There have been times I’ve nearly hyperventilated myself into unconsciousness.

That’s better.

I raise a brow. It is?

Not that you hyperventilate and nearly black out. It’s better when you’re being honest. No good comes from lying, Dannie. Especially when you lie to yourself. Please continue.

I don’t lie to myself. Liar! You lie to yourself all the time, Dannie.

Are you sure about that?

You can read my mind?

She smiles. Your right brow rises when you lie.

I rub my traitorous right brow. I’m going to wear an enormous pair of sunglasses to our next session.

She laughs a full-on belly laugh. When finished, she wipes away her happy tears. You will do no such thing. She waves her hand. Continue.

Where was I?

"Row P."

"I scanned down the row looking for a threesome. Not finding it, I started at the top, row A, and continued through the alphabet. When I reached a pair of Giuseppe Zanotti, the end of the line, I felt…"

What?

Ill.

Nauseous?

Yes. And nervous.

Good. Go on.

Good?

She frowns. You’re stalling, Dannie.

I am not.

Really?

Damn brow!

Go on.

I remember saying, ‘Dammit to hell,’ or something similar. Then I went through my entire closet looking for it. I didn’t find it. So as a last-ditch effort, I went through Nolan’s closet.

How did it make you feel when you couldn’t find it?

You know how it made me feel. I’ve told you—

She holds up a hand. Please, Dannie.

I blow out a breath. I felt frustrated. Out of sorts.

Were you angry?

Maybe.

Her brow rises.

I throw up my hands. All right. All right. I give. Yes, I was angry.

Why?

Because I had the night planned for months, from my dress to the conversation at dinner, and it was beginning to go to shit.

Go on.

I believe I looked at the clock on my nightstand and said, ‘Shit.’ Then I walked back into my closet and looked down the rows of shoes again.

Why again? You’d already gone through them twice.

I had to. Even though time was short; I had to look down the rows one more time.

Good. Then what?

Good? I talked to myself, in my head.

What did you say?

I said, ‘Dannie O’Brien-Miller, you can do this. It’s a minor hiccup, a speed bump, nothing to worry about.’

Did it help?

No. Not this time.

You continued to worry?

Yes. Like I said before, the whole day had felt off and unorganized. I don’t do off and unorganized. I felt…

What?

I felt as if something was about to go down.

Was this the first time you’d felt this way about Nolan, or about your marriage?

Yes.

She frowns.

Damn traitorous brow. No. I’d felt this way for months, maybe even longer.

Then what did you do?

"After I went through the rows one last time, I looked for a pair on row K. A pair of strappy Kors similar to the Prada."

Do you do this often? Replace things with something similar?

It’s rare that I can’t find something; but yeah, I do.

Go on.

I told myself several times they’d have to do.

Did it help?

Yes, it did.

Why do you think it helped this time?

I had no choice, I guess. I was pressed for time. Sometimes logic wins over my obsessive behaviors.

Continue.

I walked to my bed with heels in hand and set them on the floor. Then I looked over my laid-out black dress.

What did you think about the dress?

I shrug. Nothing. It was a dress like all my dresses. Understated yet elegant, like me. I pause for a few beats and think about this. Understated? Elegant? That’s not how I see myself.

Dr. Bates’s mouth opens and then quickly shuts as if she’d decided to let my lies go this time. Go on.

I removed my robe and picked up my panties. As I was stepping into them, the lace snagged on my big toe and tore down the middle of the crotch. I believe I yelled, ‘No! No! No! Not tonight!’ and more colorful words and phrases. I can’t remember them all. Then I took them off and tossed them into the wastebasket on my way back to the closet. When I got there, I walked to the back, opened one of my panty drawers, and went through the rows of folded panties.

How were they organized?

How did you…?

She rolls her eyes at me.

Okay, stupid question. But I still don’t see—

You will.

I’d organized them by color, type, and mood.

Mood?

How I felt or how I’d hoped they’d make me feel.

Okay.

You hesitated. You think that’s strange?

Dannie, I’ve been seeing patients for over thirty years. Very little seems strange to me. Please continue.

I went through the drawer and found another pair.

She frowns. Go through the drawer as if you’re actually doing it.

What?

Envision it in your head and tell me what you see.

Why?

Dannie, she scolds. Close your eyes if you have to.

I frown back at her before I close them. I find the rows of black and go through the stacks. The first stack: granny, granny, big-assed granny, super big-assed granny…

What?

I open my eyes. I pulled out the super big-assed grannies and looked over them. Goddess knows how much I secretly love them and wanted to wear them.

She smiles. I’d say a lot of women secretly love them. Did you…?

Did I choose them?

She nods.

No.

Why?

Because it was my anniversary and I wanted—no, needed to get laid. It had been… months. And…

What?

Nolan would have taken one look at them and laughed. Then he would have come up with yet another excuse not to have sex.

Give me an example.

Oh, my hell! Where did those come from? If you think we’re doing it after seeing that, you’re out of your friggin’ mind, I say in my best Nolan voice.

She chuckles. He’s not alone, you know. I’d say the majority of men would say something like that.

No doubt.

That’s how I knew my second husband was a keeper. I gave him the test.

A big-assed panty test?

She nods. The third time we hooked up, I wore my biggest, granniest, white cotton panties.

What happened?

He looked at them and smiled, then said, ‘Different. But I must say, Kay, you even look hot in big granny panties.’

I can’t help but smile and envy her. Nolan wouldn’t have said that, even when he loved me.

And now, he’s your ex.

Yes, he is. Thank the goddesses.

Continue through your panties.

I close my eyes. Bikini, bikini, bikini, thong, thong, thong, boy, boy, boy, tummy control, tummy control. Then... what the?

What the?

I open my eyes. I thought they were crotchless.

And…?

I just don’t get it. Why go crotchless when you can go bare?

She smiles. Go on.

I looked them over and I realized it was a moth hole; a very large one, but indeed a moth hole.

Then you…?

I keep my eyes open and continue. Let’s see, hipster, hipster, low-rise, low-rise, low-rise, high-cut, high-cut, V-string, V-string, then… finally, I had a winner—no-pinch, seamless, lace hipsters.

I like those too. Continue.

Then I heard Nolan yell my name.

Go on.

I thought—shitbugs! The one time he’s not late and I am. I yelled back that I’d be right down. Then I got dressed and walked down the stairs.

Let’s pause here for a minute.

Good. Maybe you can explain the panties.

That’s self-explanatory.

How so?

How many people do you know who can recite the exact order of their underwear more than two years after the fact?

You’re saying it’s crazy that I can do that?

That’s exactly what I’m saying.

I frown.

"Not that you can do it, Dannie. It’s the why do you remember and the why do you care to. She looks at her watch. Let’s move on. I’d like to know why you chose that particular black dress."

I don’t know. I’d always liked the way it fit.

You know I knew your grandparents. Not as well, or as long, as I would’ve liked.

I know.

I went to their funeral.

I know. I remember meeting you.

And I remember you wore your grandmother’s black vintage Chanel.

So?

What did you—

Oh, my hell. I wore the Chanel that night.

At your first session, you talked about the last time you saw them; their last visit to Boston. She looks down at her notes. You said you’d felt odd or off about your grandparents driving to Florida.

Yes, I felt as if something was amiss. I didn’t want them to drive, begged them to take a plane from Boston, but they insisted on driving and…

And they were killed.

I nod. Although it’s been years, it’s difficult for me to talk about them, especially my dearest Nana. You think I chose that dress subconsciously?

What do you think?

That makes no sense. I’d picked it out weeks prior to our anniversary.

You said you felt off or wrong about things for months. She looks back down on her notes. At our last session, you said Nolan’s revelations, his indiscretions, blindsided you.

They did.

Did they, Dannie? Could it be that you chose the Chanel because you felt things were off; just as you did the day your grandparents were killed?

No, I… Shitballs! I did. Didn’t I?

I believe the dress was symbolic of a troubling and difficult time. And it’s possible that you chose it subconsciously. We make tons of decisions every day. Most are made with logical conscious reasoning. For example, when I drive home tonight I’ll turn west on Elm, not east, because west is the way to my house. Other decisions are made with no apparent logical conscious reasoning. They’re entirely subconscious and can be symbolic in nature.

I’ll admit I knew something was off. Maybe even an affair. But if I’d known it had been happening for years, all the women at the hospital, his fuck-pad apartment next to the hospital, and his inappropriate relationship with Jennifer—I shake my head—I would have reported him and dumped his ass without even thinking about it.

I have no doubt. We’ll discuss his infidelities at our next session.

Goody.

She half frowns. Today I want to focus on that night. Continue on from the stairs.

When I reached the bottom, I sat down, put on my heels, and looked up when I heard, ‘Mrs. Miller.’ Jennifer was standing in front of me. I asked her, ‘Why are you here?’ She said something like ‘Um, well—I.’

She was stuttering?

Yes. She’d always done that around me. I think I intimidated her.

Why do you think that is?

I have no idea. I’d always liked her and had been nothing but kind toward her. I’d felt bad for her.

Why?

Her mom drinks like a fish and her dad is this creepy ex-minor-minor-league ball player who owns a chain of cheap-assed furniture stores. He’s missing both middle fingers. I thought it might have been from an accident until Nolan’s son, Andy, was born without his.

Go on.

I asked her again, ‘Why are you here?’ When she didn’t answer, I asked her, even though I knew I hadn’t, if I had booked her to babysit Em a year in advance and I had forgotten.

A year?

She’d babysat Em on our tenth anniversary. The night their affair started.

She nods for me to continue.

"I walked into the kitchen and she followed. I picked my phone up off the bar and looked at my calendar. She wasn’t on my calendar, of course, and I told her. Then she said she knew she wasn’t. Still confused about why she didn’t tell me this, and why the hell she was there, I waited for her to elaborate, but she just stood there and gaped at me like a grouper. I tried to make her feel at ease by saying, ‘Look at you. You’re all grown up. You’re how old now?’ I asked even though I’d known she’d turned eighteen