Cuffing and Loving: Cuffing Season, #5

By C.M. Kars

When a bartender decides to finally grow up and get her life together, the last thing she needs is a quiet (and handsome) bouncer with an adorable puppy to derail her plans. Things are about to get cuffed.

Izzy Prewitt has always been the Prewitt wild child. She doesn't have a career yet, despite being in her mid-twenties, and she's been tending bar ever since she was of legal age. When she finally decides that she's going to become that better version of herself that her family can be proud of, the last thing she needs is to get embroiled in helping a coworker and his puppy.

Izzy can tell that Callum's vibe is all about putting his head down and working hard, but Luna the puppy has other plans. Before Izzy knows it, she's invested in the pup's health and welfare, even if Callum seems to think of her as the consummate party girl that always gets her way.

When Izzy spends Valentine's with Callum, she's wondering if something serious with him is up her alley, if Callum sees a future where they're both together. Except Izzy's always been the Prewitt Party Girl, and a serious relationship is something she's never really experienced.

Can Callum be her first?

Cuffing season (n.): the period between October and Valentine's Day where single people tend to look for short-term relationships for the holidays.

• Language: English
• Publisher: C.M. Kars
• Release date: Jan 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798201045739

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C.M.

OTHER WORKS BY C.M. KARS

The Never Been Series

Never Been Kissed

Never Been Nerdy

Never Been Loved

Never Been Under the Mistletoe

Never Been Boxed Set

Sera & Hunter: A never been collection

Never Been Happier

The Fangirl Chronicles

Fangirling Over You

To All the Footballers I Loved Before

Bias Wrecked

Pucked Romance

Never Say Never

The Fangirl Chronicles Boxed Set

The Cuffing Season Series

Get Cuffed

Cuffing and Turkey Stuffing

Cuffing and Tree Trimming

Cuffing New Year’s Resolutions

Cuffing and Loving

Zachary

Whipped

Cuffing and Loving

Book Five, The Cuffing Season Series

by C.M. Kars

Copyright © 2022 C.M. Kars

All rights reserved.

This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.

Cover design by Indigo Chick Designs

Editing by Kasi Alexander

Contents

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

NEVER BEEN #5

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ONE

End of December...

Hold on, she’s too young to be getting married, I say, looking down at the family group chat on my phone, Evie by my side.

We’re hanging out at the bookstore, Evie eating her dinner, and me lighting up her day with my beaming personality.

I still have an hour before I head back to work, the nights getting hotter and sweatier as the final days of the year draw to an end.

Evie munches around a giant vat of salad that smells fruity, even from all the way over here.

You make it sound like my sister’s sixteen or something, and her life’s going to be ruined by getting married that young.

I shrug my shoulders, then pull back the wisps of hair I’ve carefully laid out of my bun back and behind my ears. "Yeah, but you know what I mean. Vick’s the most anti-social person I know in the entire world. And she found a guy living right next door to her that wants to marry her? Evie, this is wild. Wild."

My cousin smirks at me, then wipes at her mouth. Michael’s really nice. He’s really sweet to her, you know?

I shake my head. Nope, I don’t know.

Evie tilts her head at me, and she’s got that expression on her face which means she’s seconds away from calling me out on my bullshit. Which is fair.

They’re very sweet together. They complement each other well. And oh God, they talk so much to each other. It’s really cute. The kind of cute you’d find in a romance novel, if you bothered to read all of my excellent recommendations, Evie says.

I roll my eyes and plant my head on the desk, looking at her from this new vantage point. Evie, get over it. I’m not going to read a romance novel if I’m not getting any at the end, I say.

She laughs, then blushes. I know, right?

Evie’s one true dream is to find a guy that won’t mind her waking him up in the middle of the night just as she’s finished reading a particular good romance.

Honestly, I can’t relate.

The guys I’ve been around lately are nothing but casual relationships that I’ve gotten tired of. My flavors of the months have become flavors of six months, and I can’t remember the last time I was attracted enough to a guy to want to go home to his place for the night.

Evie frowns down at the ends of her hair. I should dye my hair blond, she says resolutely, and I know she’s about to get into one of her moods.

You can, sure. And I’m going to go back to school, I snort, since we’re all talking about dreams that won’t come true.

Evie’s about as likely to change as a tree is about to survive after a lightning strike.

My cousin glares at me, and I glare back, then pretend to go cross-eyed to make her laugh.

I hate it when you do that, it scares the crap out of me. She shudders, stabbing her fork into her salad and munching on the bite.

I’m just waiting for you to tell me what’s wrong, anyway, I say, still glancing down at my phone. I’ve learned that I have to approach Evie not from a straight line, dead-on so she can see me coming, but I’ve got to come at her at different angles to get her to tell me what’s wrong.

"Mrs. Bristol is leaving tomorrow for her trip, and I’m worried I’m not going to be able to do my best. I’m worried the store’s going to crumble around my ears while she’s gone, and then she’ll never even think of letting me take over the lease."

I sit up and glance around the back office. The back door doesn’t close properly so it’s always freezing in here, especially as winter sweeps over the city and makes everything cold, icy and horrible.

Sure, Evie’s got an ancient heater she turns on for expressly this purpose, but the thing’s louder than an airplane, and I can’t imagine having to work in this place without a proper heater.

Then again, I’m sweating by the end of the night at the club, so I overheat easily.

And Evan messaged me randomly the other night, she murmurs, looking down into the depths of her salad like it’s a magic eight ball about to give her the answer she so desperately needs.

Yeah? I ask. I know Evie liked the guy, the kind of like that definitely could’ve turned into something more if he wasn’t such a dick to her. And no matter what I said, roundabout or to her straight, Evie needed to figure it out on her own.

It still sucks, though, seeing her hurt by it even though the guy broke up with her months and months ago.

We’re so very different, Evie and I.

I’m the consummate party girl that never has a care in the world, and Evie’s been drowning in so many self-imposed responsibilities, tasks, and deadlines that it’s obvious we were given  the wrong sisters.

My sister Max thrives on organization and orderliness. If she doesn’t have a pen and notepad in her purse, she’s angry. Vick’s more laid back and relaxed about most things—a lot more like me.

Evie nods and swallows hard, finally moving her glass container of salad onto her desk and frowning down at it. She chews more and more slowly as she peers down at all that green concoction, and I know I have to wait her out.

I expect the tears; Evie always pushes herself to the very brink, and it always ends in tears before she can rein herself in. So this isn’t a surprise, but the way she clutches at her chest like her heart’s being torn to shreds makes my own throat tighten up, and I frantically wonder what I can do to help.

He wasn’t the kindest to me, she says. I know that now, I do. But people get over this shit in no time, and then there’s me, waiting to be anyone by myself.

Evie, I say, leaning over to reach for her hand. She allows me to grab it in between the both of mine as she fights off the tears. There’s going to be a guy that’s going to be head over heels for you. Seriously, he’s going to lose his head.

Well, I hope not literally. That would be bad.

I snort. Yeah, smart ass. Obviously.

"Evan called me boring. Boring! She looks up at me, the family resemblance barely there to see. I know I’m boring. I know that I’ve wrapped myself in the store and trying to get it running the way I want, because damn it, this is what I want. I want to run a bookstore and let it be a magical place where people can come in and get away for a little while. Is that so wrong?"

Her eyes are bright with unshed tears, and she sniffs hard a few times in a row to chase them away.

She still lets me hold on to her hand, though, and I know she’s going to be demanding hugs soon, too.

Izzy, what about you?

Ah, I say, grinning at her, trying to force a happiness I don’t feel.

I’ve felt weird ever since I found out that Vick was engaged to be married, like we’re old enough for that shit, like we’re ready for that, collectively, as a group.

And then I realized, belatedly, that I’m the one that has a problem with all of this.

Because yeah, I’m always late to the party when it comes to life milestones.

Hell, I still live at home at the ripe old age of twenty-seven. I’ve been working at the bar for the past eight(ish) years of my life without any prospects of promotion.

I haven’t really done anything of value in my life, and everyone I know has moved on.

Hell, social media is a minefield when I try to dodge around all the pictures of old high school friends that have houses, and husbands or wives, big weddings, and finally babies popping out everywhere.

And they ask about me—they ask what I’m doing, and I find myself more and more embarrassed every single day to say what I do, to say where I am in this stage of life.

Like, I don’t even have a serious boyfriend—I’ve never had a serious boyfriend. While I know that isn’t the end all, be all, my parents too, are getting worried about me.

That I’m never going to grow up, that I won’t be able to take care of myself.

It’s the kind of talk Evie and I always have at the end of the year, promising ourselves we’re going to make changes, and then never following through.

Time’s passing me by, and no matter how fast and hard I run to chase it, it’s still slipping through my fingers.

It’s that time of year again, huh? I say. Evie flips her hand over and threads our fingers together, adding pressure to my hand that’s both comforting and stifling simultaneously.

Evie nods, then shrugs her shoulders. "I always think about it, about doing something drastic, but I never actually go through with it. Think about it, Izzy. The only people that are stopping us from doing anything is us, because we’re afraid."

So what does that mean for you? I ask, knowing exactly what Evie’s going to say.

I’m going to ask Mrs. Bristol once and for all to let me take over the lease when she gets back from her trip. These next few weeks are going to be the test if I can handle doing it all on my own. I know I can, though, that’s the thing.

I nod. Evie’s hyper-focused when she needs to be, and she’s always been very determined. I think that’s why Evan couldn’t handle her—because once she puts her mind to something, she gets it done, no matter the cost to herself, or her other relationships.

That’s good, Evie. That’s really good. But don’t forget to have some fun along the way, all right?

Evie snorts, then waves it off. There’s time for that later. I’ll find my husband after I take over the lease. There’s time for that later.

Maybe it’ll be like Vick and Michael, you know? Next-door neighbors and everything. That’s like a fairy tale story.

Evie shakes her head. Yeah, I don’t think that’s how it’s going to be for me. I foresee something a little more...dramatic.

Shit, that doesn’t sound good.

Evie laughs, then moves her hand out of my grip and resumes eating. There’s only another twenty minutes left of her break, and then I’ll have to brave the cold outside and drive to work all by myself.

What about you, huh?

In theory? I ask, leaning all the way back in my chair, placing my hands behind my head. I don’t really see myself ever getting swept off my feet.

Evie laughs, some of her salad plopping right out of her mouth and onto her lap. She groans in despair and then quickly swipes at the mess on her thighs without once looking at me.

Don’t say that, ‘cause now it’s going to happen, Iz. Shit, this is going to stain, and I just washed these jeans. Ugh.

I snicker and then start laughing when Evie sends me a death glare.

You know, I’ve been thinking about skydiving, she says nonchalantly, and I know if Evie’s been thinking about it enough to say it out loud, well, it’s pretty much a guarantee that she’s going to do it.

I shiver on the spot. And they call me the wild one in the family, I say, breaking out into a cold sweat just thinking about flying through the sky at a million feet above sea level.

If I go skydiving, are you going to go back to school, like you’ve said you wanted to do? Evie asks, and I hate how she does that to me, blindsides me with a bet I won’t be able to refuse.

I hate losing, no matter what.

I lick my lips, tasting my cherry lip gloss that I forgot to bring with me, but honestly, it’s not like I’m going to have time to put some on during my shift in between running around and making drinks, flirting and showing off my chest for tips.

Fine. You go skydiving, and I’ll go back to school, sure. I’m sure registration is over anyway, for the spring semester starting next month.

Evie waves a hand, dismissing everything I just said. Yeah, right. All you have to do is pay a late fee or whatever, and you can still apply. In fact, she says, I’ve been thinking about that a lot, too. Remember those old applications we worked on together last year?

I shake my head, because I do remember and honestly, if I’m adding two and two right, then I think Evie just got me into the spring semester at Concordia University for a Graduate Diploma in Business Administration.

Evie, you didn’t.

"I told you, I’m tired of waiting by the sidelines. This year we’re doing shit, and getting stuff done. No more waiting for stuff to happen to us. It’s time, Izzy."

That doesn’t sound spooky as hell.

Evie grins, then opens up her laptop. I already sent the application back at the beginning of the month, and with the holidays and everything, there’s probably going to be a delay until you get answer—

"Shit. Shit, shit. Evie, I got accepted. I show her my phone and the email I pulled up that went to my spam folder, dated a whole week ago. Holy shit, Evie! What the hell am I going to do now? I don’t have time to go to school full-time!"

Evie stares at me, and I stare back while panic tries to overtake every single cell in my body. Running away from my problems seems like a good idea, but I’d just be carrying them with me, and I’d just be exhausted by the end anyway.

I shake my head at her, staring down at my phone incredulously.

Try, Izzy. All you have to do is go and try. Please? I want you to be happy, and you’re not. I know you’re not.

I wince at her words and put my phone back in my pocket. I’ll deal with it after work, after.

How do you know that? I ask, tilting my head.

It’s easy to tell. You feel about as stuck as I feel, like a stick in the mud, caught. Well, I’m not doing it anymore. I’m going after what I want, once and for all. If I choke, I choke. She clasps her hands together, holding them tightly. "Please, no choking. None whatsoever, please, please, please."

I want to make a joke, but Evie might throw her salad at me, so I don’t.

We’re doing this, huh? Weird ass New Year’s resolutions or whatever we’re calling it?

Well, they’re my resolutions, you’re just trying to get a leg up in the corporate world and maybe learn to manage the Arsenal, huh? Wouldn’t that be awesome, not having to deal with assholes at the bar?

I nod slowly, because yeah, it totally would.

YO, IZZY, YOU HAVE to pick it up. What’s up your ass? Lola asks, hip-checking me hard enough that I nearly go flying down the length of the bar. I almost drop the bottles of beer I’ve uncapped for some himbos that look like they’d rather stare at my chest all day than pay me for their drinks.

Nothing, nothing. Everything’s good, I say, ignoring the fluttery feeling in my chest, the way it pulses and pushes up at the base of my throat, and my eyes start welling up with tears.

I’m having a hard time, but nobody cares that the bartender is having a hard time—it’s usually the other way around; the people doing the drinking laying out their lives as the alcohol starts to hit them harder and harder and harder.

Can I go back to school? Should I go back to school? These are the kinds of questions that are on my mind while I make some random guy a gin and tonic.

My ass everything’s good. Look, take your break first, okay? Just hold out for another fifteen minutes, Lola says, patting my back, which is hilarious to me because I’m pretty sure she’s younger than me, and she’s the one doing the comforting instead of the other way around.

Being a bartender is cute and all while you’re working your way through college, or as a side job while you pursue what you really want to do in life, but I’m getting close to my late twenties, and working at a bar is only acceptable if you’re the one owning the bar.

Wow, you sound exactly like Dad. That’s what he says all the freaking time.

I can hold out for the next fifteen minutes, maybe. It feels like agony as I go through the motions, pretending to flirt with the idiots at the bar, wanting them to give me a big tip so I can go back home, lie down in bed, and try to figure out why I’m feeling so very stuck.

It could be the time of year, the way everything’s new and freezing cold in the month of almost-January. It could be the way everything’s supposed to start fresh, where I’ve always been the same.

Something’s got to change. I’ve got to change. I have to.

Fifteen minutes takes a hundred years to pass, and by the time Lola lets me go off for my break, I’m barely keeping it together.

I head outside to the back alley, just needing some fresh air. I wrap my arms around myself and pull in deep, deep breaths. I walk toward the lit sidewalk to get away from all the alley smells.

Derek, the veteran bouncer who looks like he’s seen shit and always gives me a different story when I ask about the injury to his ear (where a whole chunk has been cut off or torn off, I don’t know, I’m not a wound-analyzing expert). He’s a man in his forties, with a giant blackened ring on an important finger. Derek’s hot in the way that danger always makes that part inside of us wake up and pay attention, but he’s got a husband, who I’ve met more than once, and they’re adorable together.

Even for a Wednesday night, the club is busy, the line in front of the door snaking down the block with a bunch of kids (Jesus, when did I start to call them kids? What’s our difference in ages? Five years, tops?) scantily clad and definitely not wearing coats to deal with the damp and cold weather shuffle from side to side to keep warm.

I cross my arms over my chest, hike my shoulders in, and focus on my surroundings instead of the mess that is my body right now.

It helps then that there’s a bit of a scuffle in the line of people waiting to get inside, some swearing in a mixture of French and English that I can barely make out over the yelling.

Derek keeps close to the door, while the other guy he’s partnered with, equally as big and brawny and as much of a physical reminder to not mess with him, moves his way over in a graceful prowl that I wouldn’t expect from a guy his size.

There are a few terse words spoken, and the two guys that were fighting in the line go their separate ways, the crisis averted.

When the bouncer I don’t know walks back toward me, closer to where I