Three Skid Marks: Skid Marks, #3

By April Ryder

A fun BBW Roller Derby Romance - Part Three!
Hayley's first derby would be enough to make anyone quit. The Wicked B*tches totally slammed theSelby Slammers—gunning for Hayley in particular—but the Slammers kicked just as much arse and eventually went on to win! But that's nothing compared to what happened during half-time between her and Rick the Dick in the men's changing room. Had he really taken her to heaven and back or dragged her down to hell? 

More hilarity ensues as Hayley reels from the aftermath and regret of a passionate quickie and Paul the Fool's return to her apartment—and life—in the lead up to the Auckland Roller Derby semifinals. 

"I've forgiven Adam—for now—as I have a more evil and devious man to kill. So evil and devious that he had me believing there were better men than Paul out there. But guess what? There aren't. Maybe I should introduce him to Paul and they can…they can…um, they can happily cheat together! Yeah, that's what they can do. Damn cheaters!" 
— Hayley

• Language: English
• Publisher: Plutoid Press
• Release date: May 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781927236741

April Ryder

Rock star, catwalk model, ventriloquist—April Ryder is none of these things. She is, however, a BBW housewife looking to spice up her sex life with her hardworking and supportive BBM (is that even a thing?) husband. April enjoys living on the beach and plans to further explore her sexy, sensual side writing romance.

Book preview

Three Skid Marks

April Ryder

Copyright © 2016 April Ryder

978-1-927236-74-1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from April Ryder

Cover image provided by

Mordechai Meiri / Shutterstock

Cover fonts:

Good Foot © Jakob Fischer

American Typewriter

Three Skid Marks

=^.^=

What the fuck, Paul?

There seated on the couch is my ex-fiancé. The man who dumped me while I had the mother of all migraines and walked out of my life—with a blonde stick insect—to a job waiting for him in Wellington. That was the last I had seen of him until right now.

Hayley, you're home late. Where have you been? he asked as if nothing was wrong with this situation.

I, of course, ignore his question. "What are you doing here?" I demanded.

Paul seemed surprised by my response. He doesn't answer me immediately but fidgeted with a cushion right up until I was about to repeat myself. I…the job fell through.

I blinked rapidly at his admission. And the stick insect? I asked, not that I cared. Not really.

The what?

The blonde Adam saw you with when you left.

Oh. Um…that's not what it looked like.

I rolled my eyes. When was it ever? I'm tired. I can't even. Just tell me what you're doing here so I can go to bed. And forget all about you again.

I don't have anywhere else to stay.

What about your friends?

He looked away and considered his words. With a sigh he finally revealed, I might have boasted about the job offer—

And now you're too embarrassed to go sleep on their couch because you feel like a failure? I finished.

Yeah, he said and flashed me the most pathetic poopy face I'd ever seen. It was the closest he could get to puppy dog eyes. Please Hayley.

I dropped my gear bag on the floor with a loud thump and smiled in satisfaction when he flinched at the sound. But I really was tired. The last of the adrenaline from the derby had left my body and just that one drink had me wiped. I needed sleep. Dealing with Paul could wait until morning.

One night, I told him and walked to the bedroom.

It wasn't until I was pulling the covers back on the bed that I realised Paul had followed me. Before he could remove his clothes I firmly told him, On the couch, Paul.

But—

You know where the spare blankets are, I said and waited for him to leave before I climbed into my nice cool bed, star-fished my limbs, pushed the poopy invader from my mind and sighed contentedly. Mmm…cool sheets.

* * *

What the fuck, Paul? I exclaimed when the door to the bathroom opened and the last man on earth that I wanted to see me naked walked in.

What? he asked, shocked by my reaction. You never minded before.

We were engaged then, we're not now. You're a—unwanted—guest, not someone who can just walk in while I'm using the bathroom.

He scratched his sleep-tussled head but backed away without arguing further. I'd have to make sure to ask him for his key before he left. The last thing I needed was for Paul to pop up while I was entertaining someone. Now that would be embarrassing.

Casting aside such morbid thoughts, I greeted Shawn the Shower. He worked his detachable showerhead magic. I didn't leave until I had used up all of the hot water.

Serve Paul right, I muttered as I dried myself.

Even though it was the weekend, I had some work to catch up on in the office. It probably wasn't wise to leave Paul home alone, but the sooner I got the epic paper filing done the better.

One of the two managers I was a personal assistant to had moved down to the South Island to cover a suddenly vacated role. I had to take every file in her office and file it away in the correct place. The woman was a hoarder and this was the perfect opportunity to get it done. That and I was being paid overtime. Cha-ching!

I wasn't the only one in the office. My other manager, Jim, was getting some work done. He had been away for a while after coming off his mountain bike and injuring himself. I was surprised at