Take a Chance on Me

By Elizabeth Kelly

Indie Shaw isn’t looking for love.

She’s been there, done that, and has the divorce to prove it.

Dating in her forties is a nightmare, and all she wants is a nice, safe man to share her bed with once or twice a week.

Until Val Jensen walks into her vet clinic. With his massive body, rugged looks, and rough demeanor, he’s the polar opposite of nice and safe.

It’s a damn shame her brain is begging her to bed him.

Val didn’t expect to be so attracted to the smart veterinarian with the curvy body and sexy mouth. Yet there’s no denying his attraction.

After a disastrous dating experience that impacted not just his life but his daughter’s as well, he vowed not to repeat the same mistake.

But Indie’s gotten under his skin in a way that no woman ever has, and he can’t resist spending time with her – both in bed and out.

Indie and Val grow closer with each day, but their past traumas threaten to destroy their future together. They may be falling in love but learning to trust each other could prove impossible.

Please note this book contains steamy scenes that may not be your cup of tea.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Kelly
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781774461501

Elizabeth Kelly

Elizabeth Kelly was born and raised in Ontario, Canada. She moved west as a teenager and now lives in Alberta with her husband and a menagerie of pets. She firmly believes that a human can survive solely on sushi and coffee, and only her husband's mad cooking skills stops her from proving that theory.Sign up for her monthly newsletter: https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/r0h6b7Check out her website at: www.elizabethkelly.caYou can email her at:[e-mail] also writes contemporary and paranormal romance under her alter-ego "Ramona Gray". Check out Ramona's books at www.ramonagray.ca

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

W ait, where are you going? Sierra’s voice cut in and out, and Indie turned up the volume before merging into the far lane.

A place called Custom Rides. They do custom-built motorcycles, Indie said.

Holy shit. Did your brother finally convince you to get a bike? Sierra asked.

"God no, I am strictly a passenger when it comes to motorcycles. But it’s his birthday in a few months, and Dad wants to get him a custom paint job for his bike. Dad found this place online and asked me to check it out since he and Mom are still in Arizona.

The store doesn’t have a website with pictures of their work? Sierra asked.

They do, but you know Dad. He thinks everything on the internet is fake. Indie laughed. So, now I’m driving across town on a very snowy Tuesday evening to a store where I’ll potentially be the only woman there, and either be completely ignored or suffer through a bunch of patronizing bullshit from the store employees.

Sound like a great time, Sierra said.

What are you doing tonight? Indie asked.

Same thing I do every night… sanding, painting, and questioning why I ever thought buying a fixer-upper to renovate was a good idea, Sierra said.

Because it was your dream, and now that your asshole of an ex-husband is out of the picture, you can live that dream? Indie said.

Sierra laughed. That is true. Hey, did you know that DIY drywalling is incredibly difficult? Like, I’m gonna have to hire a drywaller, difficult?

Sorry, honey, Indie said. I know you wanted to do everything yourself with the house.

I do, but I also know my limits, and drywalling is one of them. None of your clients at the vet clinic happen to be reliable drywallers with good reputations, do they?

Indie laughed. I don’t think so, but I can double-check.

Thanks, babe. Listen, I gotta go. The floor in the guest bedroom isn’t going to sand itself. Love you.

Love you too, Sierra.

Sierra ended the call, and Indie stopped at a red light, studying the snowy landscape. She’d ask one of the clinic receptionists about the drywalling thing. She rarely focused on anything beyond the animal she examined in her client appointments. Their owner’s occupation wasn’t a topic that usually came up.

You know what Val Jensen does for a living.

As usual, just the thought of the big, rough-looking mechanic made her feel too warm and like she had tiny gymnasts doing backflips in her stomach. Val had come into the clinic with his daughter’s pet bunny a few weeks ago, and despite his rough appearance, he’d had an obvious affection for the rabbit.

The robotic voice of her GPS told her to take the next right, and Indie flicked on her turn signal. She’d been immediately attracted to Val, and despite knowing someone like him would have no interest in someone like her, she’d made a fool of herself. She cringed as she turned right. God, the look on his face when she’d given him her cell number made her want to sink through the car floorboards, even though it’d been days since her humiliation. He’d seen right through her pretense that it was in case his rabbit fell ill again, and he hadn’t called.

She sighed and drove carefully down the snowy road. She needed to stop thinking about Val Jensen and his dark eyes, granite body, and those big, tattooed hands that she couldn’t stop wondering what they’d look like cupping her breasts.

Indie, give it a rest. He’s not interested in you, and you’re gonna wear out your freaking vibrator if you don’t stop fantasizing about him. I know you miss sex, but if you want a real dick and not that piece of plastic you hump every night, you need to stop fantasizing about the unattainable and find yourself a real-life fuckbuddy.

Inner Indie was right, but finding a guy only interested in sex with her once or twice a week was much more difficult than she thought. Scratch that. Finding a guy who turned her on and could make her come was more difficult.

You’re being too picky. You don’t need to have a connection with the guy to fuck him. Hell, you don’t even have to have a conversation with him.

Right again, but apparently, as much as she wanted to be the type of person who could just fuck someone regardless of whether she felt a connection, she wasn’t. Her inability to come with the five guys she’d slept with since her divorce proved she needed a connection. At least, she hoped that was the reason she couldn’t come. She’d had a connection with her ex-husband, and plenty of times, she’d had to fake it with him. But was she really asking for that much? Why was it so damn difficult to have an orgasm with a man? As much as she told herself it wasn’t her, that she had some trauma from her ex blaming every issue on her, she still had a hard time believing it wasn’t her fault. Her besties, Sierra and Hazel, had no problem orgasming with a guy, but here she was… forty-five years old and still struggling to have a great sex life.

Hell, forget great. She’d settle for a solid nice at this point.

The GPS announced the destination was on her right, and Indie turned into the Custom Rides parking lot. She parked and shut off her car, staring at the building before her. It was large with light grey siding and white trim. Two garage doors, painted white to match the trim, were on the left side of the building, and to the right was the front glass door with a dark grey awning over it. The awning and garage doors had the Custom Rides logo printed on them.

Only one other car was in the parking lot, but warm light spilled from the glass door. She climbed out of her car and walked to the building, checking the sign. They were open for another fifteen minutes, and she pulled open the door and stepped inside. The bell above the door jingled her arrival. An extended counter on top of a glass display case sat directly in front of her. The case held various motorcycle parts, each shiny clean and gleaming in the light. A cash register sat on the counter, along with a small spinning stand holding Custom Rides keychains and an array of stainless-steel water bottles with the Custom Rides logo.

On the wall to the right, long metal pegs held a variety of Custom Rides merchandise, including shirts, hoodies, trucker hats, and vests. A door marked ‘employees only’ and a floor-to-ceiling display shelf of motorcycle helmets lined the back of the store. To her left was a large showroom with over a dozen bikes showcased. She walked over to the closest motorcycle, trailing her hand across the leather seat and along the metallic blue body.

Holy shit, she murmured. While not a motorcycle expert, she knew more than the average person thanks to her father and brother’s obsession, and she knew quality work when she saw it. Every bike in the showroom showed a master’s touch, and she couldn’t wait to tell her father he’d found the perfect place.

She touched the leather grips on the bike’s handles before moving to the next motorcycle. This one was painted cherry red, and the chrome had been polished until it gleamed in the overhead lights. She ran her fingers along the seat, picturing what it would be like to be on the bike, her arms wrapped around the warm bulk of the man in front of her, her knees gripping his hips, the solid rumble of the bike’s motor between her thighs.

She squeezed her thighs together. The only thing she missed about her dirtbag of an ex-husband was his bike. They’d gone on plenty of bike trips during their marriage, and she missed it with a fierce ache. So much that she’d even considered taking riding lessons, but in the end, she’d chickened out. As much as she missed being on a bike, she had no desire to learn how to ride solo.

Maybe Val would take you for a ride on his bike.

She scoffed inwardly. Forgetting she’d never see him again, she had no idea if Mr. Valerie Jensen even rode a bike. Sure, he looked like he did, but looking like he might be perfectly at ease on a bike, didn’t mean he would be. Still, adding a detail like Val riding a motorcycle would make her fantasy about him tonight a little richer. It wasn’t like it harmed anyone to pretend that he rode a bike and would also be willing to bend her over it and fuck her into the best orgasm of her life. It was a harmless little fantasy that would give her beleaguered vibrator a real workout tonight.

She heard footsteps behind her, and a shockingly familiar voice said, How can I help you tonight?

Indie froze, her fingers pressing hard into the leather seat. It couldn’t be him. He was a mechanic. It was probably someone else with a honey-rough voice she couldn’t get out of her head.

Ma’am? Now the voice held a hint of impatience. Can I help you?

Indie turned around, her body weirdly numb and her breath whistling in and out of her lungs. She stared at the big man behind her, at those pretty dark eyes, big tattooed hands, and the broad chest covered by a dark blue t-shirt with the words ‘Custom Rides’ etched into the material.

Her voice embarrassingly breathy, she said, Hello, Mr. Jensen.

Val stared at her, his eyes widening just the tiniest bit. Hello, doc.

CHAPTER 2

The woman standing in his showroom had a great ass. An amazing ass, actually. It eased his irritation at having a customer only ten minutes before the shop closed. He stood in the doorway for a moment, wiping the grease from his hands before sticking the rag in his back pocket and going over to the woman with the fantastic ass.

He drank his fill of her ass as he approached. It was lush, full, and perfect for gripping while he pounded into her. Maybe he could convince her to go for a drink with him tonight. It’d been too long since he’d felt the slick grip of a pussy.

If you’re so fucking horny, call the vet. She wants you.

His pace slowed… yes, she did. Probably not nearly as much as he wanted her, but he wasn’t a stupid man. She would be more than willing to have drinks with him. Drinks and maybe something more.

So, call her.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. A woman like her wouldn’t be satisfied with some quick and dirty hookups once or twice a week. She’d want the whole meal deal - proper dates, nice dinners, meeting each other’s friends and family.

Val didn’t do that. He’d made that mistake before, and it nearly cost him everything.

He studied the woman’s ass again. Her body shape was similar to the doc’s, but she’d been wearing shapeless scrubs both times he saw her at the clinic. The scrubs couldn’t quite hide how great her tits were, but he had no idea if her ass was as incredible as this woman’s.

Holy fuck. Are you going to ogle the woman’s ass all night or get in there and maybe make a fucking sale? Raven’s schooling isn’t exactly cheap.

No, it wasn’t, but it was worth every fucking sacrifice he’d made to help her. She was the first on his side of the family to go further than a high school diploma, and he was damn fucking proud of her. He’d do whatever it took to help her achieve her dreams.

He stopped behind the woman. How can I help you tonight?

She didn’t reply, although he could see how her fingers dug into the bike seat before her.

Ma’am? He could hear the impatience in his voice. Can I help you?

She turned slowly, and he stared in surprise at the very face he’d masturbated to nightly for the last few weeks.

Hello, Mr. Jensen.

Her voice, that low sexy rasp that fucking haunted his dreams, washed over him, and he immediately got half a woody.

Hello, doc.

She bit at her bottom lip - holy fuck, was she trying to kill him? - before clearing her throat. Um, hi, how are you?

Good, you? He fought the urge to adjust himself. Hopefully, she didn’t notice the half-bulge he was sporting. But Christ, he was only human, and she had the body of a fucking goddess. Her thick jacket was open, revealing a tight shirt that clung to her full breasts, and the painted on jeans were a far cry from how she’d looked in the clinic. Hell, if she’d been wearing this in the exam room, he probably would have bent her over the exam table and fucked her right then and there.

He went from half-stiff to a full-blown erection in a blink of an eye and immediately moved behind the bike she stood beside. There was no way she could miss how his jeans were tented now.

Oh, um, I’m good. Really good. How’s Jack?

Fine, he said. Eating well.

That’s great. He’s a really sweet bunny. I’m glad to, uh, hear he’s doing well. I mean, I assumed he was because I know you would have brought him back if he wasn’t, but it’s still nice to hear that a patient is doing well.

Her nervous chattering was cuter than it should have been. But his urge to tug her close and stop the babbling with a kiss was a bad fucking idea.

How can I help you tonight? he said.

So, do you work here part-time? she asked.

His confusion must have been evident because she said, You’re a mechanic, aren’t you?

I build custom bikes, he said.

Her eyes widened. Oh. Oh wow. I thought you were a mechanic in a garage. How long have you worked here?

His confusion was growing by leaps and bounds. What do you mean?

Now she looked confused too. I mean, how long have you been with this company?

Since I started it eight years ago, he said.

You own the shop? The surprise in her voice immediately rubbed him the wrong way. He knew what he looked like, knew how he came across to people like her who’d never had to choose between keeping the lights on or feeding their kid, but for some reason, her shock that he wasn’t just some grease monkey cut him to the bone.

I do, he said brusquely. I’m sure it’s shocking to you that someone like me could own a place like this, but my shop closes in two minutes, so why don’t you tell me why you’re here so we can both get home before the next coming of Christ.

Her cheeks turned bright red, and the shame and embarrassment in her eyes made him feel like a real fucking asshole.

To her credit, she straightened her spine and stared directly at him. I’m very sorry, Mr. Jensen. That was incredibly rude of me, and I know better than to make these types of assumptions.

He grunted out a non-reply, and she took a deep breath. I stopped by this evening because my father is looking for a custom paint job for my brother’s bike. He saw your shop online and asked me to drop in and see if your work is as amazing in person as it is online.

She glanced at the bike between them. Her face was still a painful shade of red, and that shame in her eyes hadn’t dissipated even a little, but she said, I’ll be sure to tell him that it’s even better. Dad’s currently in Arizona, but I’m positive he’ll be in touch once he returns.

She backed away, giving him a truly awkward wave. Have a good evening, Mr. Jensen. It was, um, nice to see you again.

She turned and nearly ran from the showroom, pushing through the front door like the devil himself was after her, and disappeared into the darkness.

Fuck! he snarled before stomping to the door and turning the sign to closed.

Thanks to him being a sensitive fucking baby, he’d just lost a potential sale and any chance of fucking Indie.

CHAPTER 3

O of, yeah, that did not go well, babe, Sierra said.

Sierra! Hazel gave her a pointed look before squeezing Indie’s hand. It wasn’t that bad, honey.

Indie sighed and leaned back in the booth, staring at her half-eaten pasta. No, Sierra’s right. It was bad. I made an assumption, and he called me on it as he should have.

She used her fork to poke at the pile of pasta. The look on Val’s face was awful. He was angry, I could tell, but also… disappointed? That made me feel worse than the anger.

I’m sorry, honey, Hazel said.

So, what are you gonna do about it? Sierra asked.

Indie stared at her two best friends. When it came to personalities, they were the complete opposite. Hazel was nurturing and gentle, while Sierra was over the top blunt. Although she didn’t lack empathy, as a judge who’d seen some shit, it took a lot for her to show that empathy - even with friends.

Not that Indie ever felt unsupported by Sierra. She knew without a doubt that Hazel and Sierra would be there for her in a heartbeat, just like she’d drop everything for them. They’d been friends for over twenty years, and she couldn’t imagine her life without either.

I apologized, Indie said. He didn’t come right out and accept it or anything, but I was sincere and hope that came across.

No, I mean about fucking him. How will you fix this so you can still get plowed by the big, bad bunny owner? Sierra asked.

Hazel choked on her French fry. Before Indie could pound her on the back, their server, Julia, was there, giving Hazel a few hard whacks between the shoulder blades.

Thank you, Hazel croaked before accepting the glass of water from Julia and taking a sip.

No prob, Julia said as she set new glasses of water in front of Indie and Sierra. "I just did a refresher course on my first aid certificate, so if I had to, I could have Heimliched that fry right out of you.

Indie laughed, and Julia grinned happily at her.

Indie, Hazel, and Sierra had been coming to Dawson’s Restaurant at least weekly for years, and Julia was, by far, her favourite server. Indie was childless by choice and generally found most Gen Z annoying, but Julia was different.

The dark-haired beauty was currently in university and on her way to getting her medical degree. After seeing her nearly every week for