We Meet Again - Brooklyn's Healing

By AM Church

LOSS, MANIPULATION, DECEIT, HEALING.

 

YEARS AGO

Grif was my entire world.  

Two hundred and twenty pounds of the sexiest man you'd ever meet.

He was perfect.

Even his heart shaped mole was perfect.  

And then he vanished.

Disillusioned about love, I gave up on finding my happy ending.    

 

TEN YEARS LATER

A chance encounter with a sexy stranger shatters my world all over again.

it's Grif, and yet he denies my existence, our past.  

The crushing grief I felt all those years ago and worked so hard to overcome, returns.

I become obsessed with the identity of the sexy stranger.

With the help of my two best friends, we set out on a journey to uncover the truth and a shocking discovery about the heart shaped mole.

 

Fans of sexy love stories with tears, laughter, twists and turns will enjoy We Meet Again – Brooklyn's Healing by A.M. Church.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AM Church
• Release date: Feb 3, 2021
• ISBN: 9781777582708

AM Church

A.M. Church started writing her first book series Return to Me - Part 1 and 2 in August 2013 after the explosion of erotic fiction in mainstream literature. She fell in love with creating flawed characters in provocative page-turning stories. Her favorite stories to share are ones of forbidden love and sexual exploration. She hopes her stories will take her readers on an erotic journey that push them beyond their limits. Each of her characters holds a special place in her heart, especially the stubborn sexy alpha males she loves to create. Since 2016, she has published three novels Return to Me – Part 1 & 2 and The Consequences of London and is currently working on her 4th and 5th novels. A.M. Church lives near Vancouver, B.C. Canada with her husband and her spicy imagination. : If you’d like to connect with A.M. Church, please follow her on: https://www.instagram.com/amchurch_author https://www.facebook.com/AM-Church

Book preview

Prologue | Brooklyn

PRESENT DAY...

I reach for the organic avocado oil.

Yeah, this isn’t going to work.

It’s just out of my reach. As I stand on my tip toes in my highest heeled boots, it’s no use, I’m never going to get there.

Damn it, why haven’t they re-stocked the shelf? It’s the last bottle of my favorite brand and it’s shoved to the back.

I turn to go and find a staff member here in the busy Trader Joe’s on a Friday afternoon before the Memorial Day long weekend.

Good luck with that.

My nose hits a wall. Well, I thought it was a wall, sort of. It’s more like a chiseled chest.

I can just tell.

Yeah, they’re very defined muscles covered in navy cashmere.

Great taste.

I can’t see his face. Without asking permission, he boldly spins me back towards the shelves. With his left hand still touching my hip, he causes a shiver as he reaches dangerously close to my breast and reaches the oil.  

The hair on my arms stand up while something stirs deep inside of me. I try to get a glimpse of his face, but I can’t. He grabs the glass bottle, hands it to me and walks away.  

Who does that? I didn’t even get a chance to thank him.

In that brief encounter, not only did my body physically react to his touch but my soul ached.

I know that sounds insane, crazy, but it’s true.

There was something familiar about him. His strength, his confidence, and oh god, his scent. It was then that I realized I needed to see more. I need to see his face.

My feet scramble to chase after him, just to be sure. What I’m feeling, I wouldn’t dare share with anyone until I was sure.  

He’s rounding the corner and getting swallowed up in the crowd. I push past the hordes of holiday shoppers, trying not to lose sight of him. He’s heading towards the organic produce. The crowd parts giving me a chance to see him, albeit from behind.

The image doesn’t disappoint. He’s well-built maybe an athlete from his fantastic ass and strong thighs. His shoulders and back are equally strong. My eyes travel up the rest of the way until I reach his hair.  

His hair. It’s the same hair. My heart is beating out of my chest.

A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach causes me to stumble. Righting myself, I walk a few more steps before pausing. I brace myself against a sturdy display.

Thank God.

He turns so that I see every feature of his face, features I’d never forget.

He doesn’t look the same as he did ten years ago. None of us do, but I’d know him anywhere. His eyes are the same vivid green color with a sexy new crinkle around them. His dimples aren’t as pronounced as before. His nose is strong, his smile’s still sexy.

My breathing is ragged. I watch in awe-like fashion as he inspects each grapefruit before selecting the perfect one. It would be comical, intriguing even, if the bile wasn’t rising to the surface. I might even pass out.

It’s him, I know it.

I will myself, with all my might, to walk towards him. It’s been too long, there are things to be said and God help him, I’m going to say them. He’s clueless, although he shouldn’t be, of what’s about to go down as I march towards him.

Him, I’d thought I would never get this chance.

I stop on the other side of the mango display. He’s looking down and doesn’t even acknowledge me. I open my mouth. Nothing comes out, my mouth is like sandpaper. I try again. Gr... Still nothing. I clear my throat quietly as I don’t want him to hear me until I’m ready.

One more time, here goes. Grif, I say above a whisper. Nothing so I say it again. Grif. This time it sounds like I’m shouting. I’m not, but almost.

He finally looks up and then at me or rather through me. He looks perplexed. He barely smiles then looks away.

You son of a bitch.

You are not going to pretend not to know me.

Grif.

He walks away but not before gently placing the mango in his cart. I catch up to him and grab his arm abruptly spinning him around which seems surprising based on my size versus his. He’s standing there staring at me without any clue.

Oh no, this is not happening.

Grif, you bastard. Don’t pretend to not know me. That’s beneath even you. I can feel the tears welling up. I thought I was stronger, but truth be told I’m standing in front of the man that took my heart and he has the audacity to pretend I don’t exist.

Excuse me, he says sounding intrigued and albeit, annoyed.

Oh, am I bothering you? I don’t have much of a temper, but right now he’s pushing my reasonable limits.

Well, generally when a beautiful woman approaches me, I would say no, but yes you are beginning to annoy me. He shrugs free of my grip and walks away.

No, he doesn’t get to do this. Wait, I yell at him.

I don’t care about my avocado oil, so I cause a scene and drop my basket in front of everyone and chase him down.

Listen, Beautiful. I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know you. That’s a shame, but we’re done here. He dismisses me.

I rush past him and turn to face him, my finger waving in his face. I must look like a lunatic, but I don’t care.

Recognizing this is my last chance, I go for it. "Oh really? Let me help you out there. You don’t remember screwing the hell out of me for two days straight that we couldn’t even walk after that. Or how about this, taking me from behind in that tiny storage closet at that football stadium where you had to muzzle my screams so we wouldn’t get caught.

No? Huh, nothing?"

I didn’t know Grif was such a good actor.

He’s playing utterly surprised by the description of that wild date. Like, he wasn’t even there. 

I have to slow my breathing or I’m sure I’ll hyperventilate. Well, if that doesn’t trigger anything, maybe this will. He’s too afraid to move.

Asshole.

The night we made love on the beach and then you proposed to me. You said something like ‘Your world without me means nothing’. You don’t remember any of this?

He continues to stand there, dumbfounded, arms crossed in defiance.

Well, fuck you.

I turn and rush towards the exit. I know that wasn’t very lady-like, but he deserved it. I find my way to the front of the store and jog towards my car. I throw open the door and fling myself inside. The top is down so I close the roof as I start to tremble. The tears begin to sting against my cheeks. I can’t will myself to start the car so I cover my face and sob.

He hurt me ten years ago and now he’s devastated me one last time pretending not to remember. Was I that horrible of a fiancée? He left me, after all, so I must have been. He didn’t even have the decency to say ‘Hey sorry about the way I left, but you look good.’ No, he had to humiliate me by not even recognizing me as at least someone he slept with if not his fiancée.

Has he suffered a head injury? Part of me hopes he has. 

My face is still buried when I hear a soft knock against the window. I shake my head and hope the stranger goes away. They don’t.  The knocking gets louder. Please, just go away I say to myself deep within. No, the knocking continues. I look up, probably with a mascara-streaked face. I see him.

Him.

I see red as I can’t believe he has the audacity now to approach me as if I hadn’t just melted down in front of him and the rest of middle suburbia’s favorite grocery store, Trader Joe’s.

What do you want? I ask lowering the window. If I had held my ground and stuck around long enough to buy my groceries, I would have grabbed something to throw at his head.

Have I mentioned I don’t usually condone violence?

He looks uncomfortable. He should be. Um. I was worried about you. It’s a statement, but his voice raises at the end more like a question.  

No need, I’m fine. Clearly, I’m not, but I dig my heels in for the sake of my self-esteem.

He clears his throat. Yes, I can see that.

Is he making fun of me now? Go away, Grif. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you’ve made your choice to ignore me, pretending I don’t exist. So, on that note, I’m going to go.

I tremble as I try to start my car. It’s an easy, push start vehicle, but I can’t get it to start. He hasn’t responded to my words and yet he leans inside to see why my car won’t start as if he’s a white knight.

He’s not.

What are you doing?

Trying to help you get out of here. He smiles attempting to show me he’s empathetic. It’s a kind gesture, which is odd being he was just an ass inside.

He reaches over and points to my gear shift. Ah, that’s the issue. You don’t have the car in park. He pulls his head out of the window.

I slide the car into park, but now I don’t want to drive away until he admits he knows me. Why can’t you just acknowledge me? My lip quivers as I look him square in the face.

I don’t know you; I swear. He crosses his heart with his fingers.

A small laugh escapes me, mostly out of disgust. Right.

He continues to hold on to my car like he doesn’t want me to leave. Why do you keep calling me Grif?

I shake my head. Really? Now you want me to play along? Because..., I pause and take a breath, because your name is Griffin, but you always preferred Grif.

I assure you my name isn’t Grif or Griffin. 

Sure, then what is it? I push the button and my car starts this time.

Thank God.

It’s Barrett, Barrett Gibson. He pulls out his business card as evidence that he isn’t lying. See, he says handing me a card.

I take it from him even though I’ll be throwing it out later. The card displays his name, just like he told me. That doesn’t mean anything. Barrett Gibson displays prominently at the top of the card followed by his profession, Stunt Man.

Not convinced. I’ve had girlfriends whose husbands had a second set of business cards to give out to other women. Sleazy really.

Do you believe me? He asks as if it matters whether to him that I believe him.

Sure. If you want me to believe you, I do.

He pulls away from my car. No, you don’t. I promise you I’m not this asshole Grif.

My head whips in his direction. Why would you call him that if you aren’t him?

It’s obvious. He left you before you married him. I pay attention. I heard what you said in there and more importantly what you didn’t say. He motions towards the store.  

My car is idling and I want to leave. I try to hand him back his business card. I don’t care anymore; I don’t want it.

No. Keep it. He walks away, but not before turning back and saying, take care of yourself.

Chapter 1 | Brooklyn

TWELVE YEARS AGO – THE DAY I MET HIM

Faster, I squeal as my boyfriend Troy rides slowly over the crest of a jump at the motocross track owned by his buddy. I’m holding on for dear life as I sit behind him. I can feel him chuckle while he humors me.

He’s good enough to be a semi-pro rider, so I hear, but he isn’t. And right now, this must be boring and yet for me, it’s terrifying and exciting all rolled into one. He accepts my challenge as I squeeze him with my thighs. I trust him so I’m not the least bit worried as I urge him on.

Sadly, for him, he doesn’t get any air as we roll over jump after jump. I know he’s dying to open up his 250 KTM once I eventually get bored and jump off. I gesture to the parking lot as we near the finish line. He steers the bike towards the cars and trucks.

When the KTM comes to a complete stop, I slide my leg over to hop off, but not before he grabs my leg preventing me from moving.

Baby, I can’t wait to get you home, but right now I need to ride.  His mouth is close to my neck, his breath tickles my flesh.

I smile as I hop off.

I dart out of the way of the projectile mud clumps, commonly referred to as a roost, caused by his tires. I watch him until he disappears over another hill before walking back to the truck to ditch my helmet and check my hair.

After primping, I head towards the stands, brushing by a small group of guys. Once I passed them, I hear the typical whistles, catcalls and some very rude comments.

You know, typical locker room stuff. It’s easy to ignore them.

I climb to the top row of the nearest stands and sit down. I squint trying to find Troy on the track. He’s entering the chicanes just before the finish line. He easily navigates through the series of tight turns just before the finish line. He gestures one more lap as he roars by accelerating towards the first jump.

I hold my breath as he disappears down the hill until he comes back into view. He’s good. Very good. I’ve never liked the jumps, but he lives for them. I let out my breath when he comes up the hill and rounds the corner.

The stand creaks below drawing my attention away from the track and towards the sound. A large man, definitely not a boy, takes the rows two at a time and sits down.

Why do people do that?

He could pick anywhere to sit, and yet he chooses the same row I’m in. I sneak a peek while he’s watching Troy.

He’s handsome.

Nope, I take that back. My breath quickens.

He’s actually hot, like beyond sexy. More like one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. I’d say he’s in his late twenties. I’m only 23, but I’ve always been attracted to older men. I don’t know why I feel this, he seems to emanate wisdom and experience.

Oh, and he’s so very cool.

His stature is large, maybe six three.

His body is hot, well built. His hair is dark with a slight wave to it. He’s tanned which isn’t unusual around here. I keep staring at his thighs. They’re straining against his tight jeans. I try to drink in one last glimpse of his face before I become obvious.

His facial features are strong with just the right amount of angles. He’s perfect. His eyes, although currently squinting as he follows Troy around the track, are dark green and sexy as hell. My knees buckle even though I’m safely sitting on the bench.

He has the look that all women go wild for and want. His lips... Don’t get me started on his lips or what his mouth is capable of doing.

He suddenly looks over and catches me ogling him. Was it ogling? Yup, I would say it was ogling. Damn it.

Are you here with Troy? he asks. His stare is intense.

I nod. My mouth is dry, but I try to respond. Yeah. He’s just doing a couple more laps.

He turns back to watch Troy. He’s clearing the final jump. He’s pretty good.

I agree.

I watch as he puts his sunglasses on.

Oh my god. He’s so sexy. How can anyone look this good? Did I walk by him earlier? If so, how did I miss him? Was he one of the guys making rude comments? Doesn’t seem like the type.

He chuckles.

What? I snap out of my continued assessment of him. He’s staring as if waiting for an answer.

I asked you if you liked motocross. He stands up on the bench and moves a little closer. His jeans cling to his legs, which I still imagine are muscled thighs.

Eyes up I have to tell myself.

I’m Griffin, but my friends call my Grif. He reaches out to shake my hand.

I don’t know why, but I stand to meet him. Silly idea, he towers over my five-foot four-inch height. He lowers his sunglasses and meets my gaze. God, I wish he hadn’t taken his glasses off. My knees weaken again, as I gawk at him.

I’m Brooklyn. My friends call my Brooklyn. That’s my idea of a joke.

He likes my joke and laughs. Pretty name. Can I call you New York?

I look away and smile. My friends call me that too, but I wasn’t prepared to give that away.

Just then I hear the annoying sound of Troy’s two-stroke engine. If you know the sound, you’d probably agree. He pulls up in front of the stands and removes his helmet as he hops off the bike. It currently doesn’t have a kickstand, so he leans it against the lower part of the stands.

Hey Grif. How are ya?  He climbs up the stand to shake his hand. I see you met my old lady. He leans in and kisses me in front of Grif. I hate that nickname.

Grif looks away until the kiss is over, which if I had my way, would be quicker than it is. I’m not much for PDA.

You’re looking good out there.

Troy puffs out his chest with Grif’s comments. Thanks man. Just practicing.

The guys walk down the stands to look at his bike. I sit back down and savor the sun. Whatever they’re talking about will no doubt bore me. When they’re finished talking all things motorcycles they call me down.

Grif here, is an ex-professional Supercross rider. Cool, hey? Troy says to me.

I’m impressed and slightly surprised as he’s bigger than most of the guys I’ve seen racing Supercross or Motocross. Wow, impressive, I say.

It was just a few seasons. I work for Kawasaki now as one of their Marketing Directors so I still get to attend the racing to support our sponsored riders.

Are you good enough for a sponsorship? I turn and ask Troy.

He chokes out a laugh. No way babe, not even close. I like to race for sure, but I’ll stick to this amateur series.

Anyways, it was nice to officially meet you. I’m out of here. Griffin stares at me longer than necessary. My heart stalls.

Before I can return the sentiment, he walks away. I can’t help it; my eyes follow him through the crowd to his Lincoln truck. It suits him. Sophisticated, expensive, and less common than the usual Fords and Silverados. A blonde girl catches up to him and grabs his hand. Of course, he’d have a girlfriend.

I feel a pang of jealousy. Why?

He opens the door of his truck and gives her a boost up to the passenger seat. His large hand cradles her ass as he waits for her to slide into her seat. Her shorts are, well, short. Her ass cheek hangs out of the bottom of the hem. He doesn’t look disappointed with the outfit. When she’s settled, he shuts the door, but before he walks around the front of the truck, he looks up and winks at me. 

All I can think about is what he plans on doing with her as soon as he gets her alone. His hands are skilled, his mouth I’m sure is talented. My body shivers which begs me to ask why my body doesn’t shiver in the presence of Troy?

Ready to go babe? Troy sneaks up behind me and pinches my ass.

I nod and follow behind him. Nope, not the same reaction.

***

After that day at the track, Troy and I got into a big fight and I walked out on him. Proudly, I haven’t looked back, not even with his multiple attempts to try again.

I can’t really put my finger on it, we were having a good time, but we weren’t compatible. The fight started over his feeble attempt to make me jealous when we went out after the track. It was immature, petty and disrespectful.

Sure, Troy’s a good-looking guy, no doubt. He has dirty blonde hair, a slight scruff covering his jaw and expressive amber colored eyes with long lashes, which is infuriating to all women.

We were at a bar where the waitress was overly flirty with him and although he usually ignored the attention, that night, he hadn’t. He said he wasn’t feeling the love from me, so he set out to test my loyalty. He did and I failed the test or rather we both did. I walked out when I watched the waitress stop him in the alcove near the bathroom.

At first, I was mesmerized watching it unfold wondering how he would react. He stopped, they chatted and then she reached up to trace his lips with her fake nail. He closed his eyes as he began to lean in, for what I can only imagine, was going to be a kiss between them. Instead of rushing over to claim my man, I walked out.

That pissed him off that I wouldn’t stay and fight for him, which became the focus of the fight, and not the fact that he almost kissed another woman. We screamed at each other in the parking lot for twenty minutes before I exclaimed, I was done and left with a girlfriend.

Chapter 2 | Brooklyn

TWELVE YEARS AGO – I MEET HIM AGAIN...

Four weeks later, I’m alone by my choosing. It was inevitable, Troy and I weren’t in it for the long haul, but it was fun, and the sex was amazing. I hate to admit it, I mostly miss the sex and maybe a bit of his companionship, but mostly the sex. My body craves it, but since I prefer to be in a relationship, I won’t sleep around.

It’s Saturday afternoon and my best friend’s Ravyn and Ronnie are coming over later. I run into the Trader Joe’s to pick up a cheap bottle of wine and some snacks.

Damn, it’s busy, not surprising for a weekend afternoon. I park my convertible Beetle near the back of the parking lot and walk towards the store. I pass a shiny big truck in the parking lot and it isn’t until I’ve entered the store, that I remember who it belongs to.

Oh my god, it’s that guy I met at the MX park with Troy. What was his name, Garrett? No, that’s not it as I say to myself wandering the aisles. The hair on my arm stands up at the very thought of him. I round the aisle and walk straight into them.

Hi, he says with his deep voice.

A shiver runs down my back at the sound of his voice. Hi Griffin. Thank God I remembered it at the last minute.

New York, it’s nice to see you. He doesn’t look away. His stare is incredibly intense.

I giggle. I like the way he says my nickname. Nice to see you too. I reply. Now I focus on how I look. I remember putting on a bit of makeup before I ran my errands, but do I still look okay? Why do I care? Oh yes, I remember, because I’m now single, but he isn’t as I recall.

I don’t usually jump in and out of relationships, and although I’m not ready, opportunities, I felt a connection with this man that I don’t intend to squander.

How’s Troy? he asks with genuine interest.

I try to give him my best ‘demure’ look before responding. It’s always awkward when you have to tell someone about a failed relationship, however in this case, I’m happy to admit I’m now single. I don’t know, we broke up about a month ago.

Really.

That was an interesting response. I’m trying to gauge if I see excitement or interest in the twinkle of his eyes.

We move out of the way as we’ve obviously created a bottleneck, if the dirty looks of the shoppers is any indication.

I nod. So, what exciting plans do you have for a wild Saturday night? I ask him.

Nothing much. I’m going to a buddy’s tonight. You?

I watch him shield me from a shopping cart driven by an oblivious customer. He puts his large foot out to block it from running right into me. She also gives us a dirty look before moving on.

Thank you.

He smiles at me. His smile could melt the toughest of critics. Anytime. Now, you were saying? He grabs my empty basket and places it on the ground.

It warns my heart that he seems engaged, interested in enjoying our chat.  A couple of my girlfriends are coming over. Low key really. Just appies and drinks.

He leans in, What time should I come over?

His warm breath tickles my cheek. He’s kidding, but I think he’s flirting.

Well, as much as I’d love that, my girlfriends might be ticked. Okay, I’m flirting back.

His eyes linger on me before saying, that’s a shame. His finger brushes a strand of hair from my face.

My cheeks flush. Yes, well I guess I should get going. Truth be told, I’d stay here all day staring at him.

That would be awkward, right? I don’t make it a habit of asking men out, although this would be the time to break that habit.

Well, tomorrow night then? Go out with me?

Thank God.

I pause for just the right amount of time, although I’m dying to scream, yes. Sure, that sounds great.

Was that cool enough?

Great, he says. I’m sure his megawatt smile lights up the whole store.

He hands me his business card and asks for my phone number. He tells me he’s going to pick me up and to make sure I bring my appetite and my bathing suit.

Interesting.

We say our goodbyes and I quickly finish my shopping with a smile so big it borders on creepy.

I don’t care.

I was and still am excited to see my girlfriends tonight, but my excitement might also have something to do with my date with Griffin tomorrow. Is it a date?  Yes, I would say it is by the way he’s undressing me with his eyes.

Chapter 3 | Brooklyn

TWELVE YEARS AGO – OUR FIRST DATE...

At 4:30pm on Sunday afternoon, I’m getting ready for my date with Griffin. I can’t remember ever being this excited about starting something new with someone.

Is that what’s happening here? I’m not sure, but it’s still exciting.

I check my hair and makeup, which I spent an excruciatingly long time on both, even though it sounds like we’re going swimming. I’ve put my hair up in a high ponytail, which I can clip up depending upon the level of exercise required. I’ve applied waterproof mascara and my face has