Say it Again: Bridgewater, #0.5

By Devin Sloane

She thinks he's not right for her. Good thing he likes a good fight.

 

Mercilessly bullied as a child, Sophie McDonald knows there are two worlds: one for the beautiful and one for everybody else. Yet every three weeks she crosses that border to the local boxing club for fight night. When she sees Dean in the ring, she knows which world he falls into. So why does she keep going back?

 

Dean Donovan is used to fighting for what he wants. And he wants Sophie. But how can he fight the ghosts in her past?

He's so much more than she thought he was, but she's not sure she'll be enough for him.
She's everything he wants, but his past may be more than she can handle.

 

Her past is holding her back. His is poised to tear them apart. Can they find their way forward together?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Devin Sloane
• Release date: Dec 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223822967

Devin Sloane

As a reader and a storyteller, I am irresistibly drawn to more mature characters. Though they often carry the fears, insecurities, and traumas from their younger years, they tend to do so with humor and panache!  They bumble along until life forces them to deal with their brokenness in the midst of parenting, building a career, looking after aging parents, and starting or mending a romantic relationship.  Here is where I write my stories.  Stories where physical intimacy reflects emotional intimacy and healing.  Stories of sisterhood that celebrate family and chosen family. Soul-stirring stories that take you on an emotional journey, one where you might easily recognize yourself or someone you love.  As in the real world, there are no easy answers. But their hard-won HEAs will make your heart happy. At home, I am outnumbered by one husband, four kids, a dog, a cat, and plumbing issues that never quit. You can most often find me curled up on my front porch, earbuds in, music cranked up, with my nose stuck in a book. Honestly, I’m most often hiding from my favorite people in the world who require far too many meals. When I’m really lucky, my husband, who is without a doubt the hero in my very own love story, is hiding with me.

Book preview

Say It Again

Bridgewater Prequel

Devin Sloane

Copyright © 2023 by Devin Sloane

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. No part of this or any other publication by Devin Sloane may be used for AI programming or purposes. For permission requests, contact [e-mail].

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Cover Art by:

Devin Sloane

Contents

Play List

Dedication

1.Poetry

2.Not the Forever Kind

3.Brains, Brawn, Heart

4.My Only Defense

5.Thrill of the Chase

6.Third Wheel

7.Rainbow Wish

8.Friends Don’t Kiss

9.Book Knowledge

10.Sneaky

11.Not That Guy

12.Cocky

13.Testing the Waters

14.I Just Need You

15.Fabulous

16.Sounds Like a Plan

17.Shower Worship

18.A Good Father

19.Bomb

20.Second Place

21.Under One Condition

22.There is No Us

23.Too Late

24.On the Fly

25.One Date

26.Epilogue

Live Again - Gilligan’s Island

About the Author

Also by Devin Sloane

Play List

Safe in My Hands – Eli Lieb

Latch – Natalie Taylor

Walls – Kings of Leon

Take Me Home – Ryan Dolan

Lover - Truslow

Come to This – Natalie Taylor

Endlessly – Uncle Kracker

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/39F0dNi4fUInSeBzS9U9yS?si=682061dcb21743cf

Dedication

A-

I will always be the fight you can win.

Poetry

Sophie

Poetry.

Was it an odd thought? I didn’t care. The man moved like poetry. Not the kind of poetry that flowed seamlessly from line to line, its syllables rolling off your tongue like a melody. He was the kind of poetry that burst with fits and starts, all sharp angles and jagged edges, twisted phrases dancing around your brain, demanding every ounce of your attention only to deliver a line so beautifully crafted it gutted you.

I felt his sweat as if it were my own rolling down between my breasts. I tilted my head to the side, lost in the savage energy of the crowd, the raw adrenaline emanating from the ring.

The power of it.

The sheer audacity of swinging your fist at another person.

That energy. My lips parted as I filled my lungs.

I wanted it.

BOXXX.

The club drew me like a moth to a flame the third Friday of every month. Amateur nights. And the owners rarely failed to step into the ring.

Though they caged their power.

Sweat. Perfume. Hot dogs. Beer.

It should not have been a pleasing combination of odors, but I’d become conditioned like one of Pavlov’s dogs so that even the smell of a hot dog set off a tiny sparkler of excitement in my belly.

As an elementary school teacher, hot dogs ran rampant.

And as an ordinary, freckle-faced, much too tall, too thin, elementary school teacher, I did not belong here. Most nights, I slipped in at the last minute and perched on the end of the bleachers. Close enough to the rest of the crowd that I didn’t draw attention.

Close enough to the door to make an easy exit.

Not that I was much to look at, but my freaking hair sat like a flame-thrower on top of my head. Especially on the days when I failed to tame it.

I pushed it out of my face for the fiftieth time. I knew better than to wear it down in this kind of weather, but I’d been in a rush to get there before the big guy stepped into the ring.

He always drew a crowd. Officially retired now due to a knee injury, he’d been a big deal a couple of years ago. Judging by the women crowding the floorspace, he still was.

Although there was only ever one he paid any mind to.

Watching him fight gave me fuel to get through my week. A class of thirty six-year-olds was nobody’s idea of a picnic, but if he could get in that ring and fight for nine minutes, I could cut out fourteen gazillion snowflakes a day and go back again for more.

I rolled my neck, my meager muscles tense and poised for action. The bell rang to signify the final three minutes.

He moved with the grace of a lion. His body thicker than his opponent’s. The extra weight was an advantage, but his opponent had a couple of inches on him.

My bicep twitched with the first jab. I laughed to myself. These spaghetti arms would cause no harm.

Dancing around one another, exchanging blows, the crowd whistling and hollering.

I always came alone. My guilty little secret. I was a pacifist, for Pete’s sake!

The bell rang. He pounded gloves with his opponent and jumped down from the ring. Rolling his neck, his eyes lit so bright I could see them from where I sat, he scanned the beauties on the sidelines.

I didn’t know why I stayed for this part.

He had a gorgeous girlfriend. And she was just as gorgeous up close. Long black hair. Bright blue eyes. Delicate little chin.

I hated her.

Again, I pushed my red, frizzy mess out of my eyes. Watching was a certain kind of torture but it was an excellent reality check.

Swinging out of the ring, his eyes found her.

She jumped to her feet, a smug smile on her face.

He stalked ahead of her, reached for the door, and held it open. His arm extended to grip the top of the door, the muscles in his triceps standing out in stark relief.

He tracked her movements.

His face hungry.

My lord. I fanned myself.

Her round hips swaying, she sashayed through the doorway leading to the locker rooms.

He prowled behind her, his energy coiled.

I could feel it from the stands.

I watched until the door swung closed on his back. Took a shaky breath in and slowly blew it out again.

Lucky girl.

Dean

I’m an asshole.

Even as the thought entered my mind, my fingers dug into the softness of her hips, my body determined to finish what I started.

My movements slowed. I opened my hands to lightly cup her lush bottom.

I can’t keep doing this to her.

She assured me she knew the score, but I knew she wanted more.

If she didn’t stand there after a fight, exactly the way she used to when we were dating, I wouldn’t take anybody to the back. That was just not me.

But she was there. Every time. Looking just as beautiful as always.

Just as available.

And she was proving to be a difficult habit to break.

One hand crept up to the middle of her back, and I scrubbed the top of my crew cut with the other as I forced myself to stop.

Fuck, I bit out, disgusted with myself as I eased away from her. Not bothering to take off the condom, I tucked myself back into my shorts.

What? She exclaimed, her fingers digging into my shoulders as she fought through the haze. Her eyes struggled to focus on mine. Why did you stop?

I stepped closer. Braced my hands against the table on either side of her hips and touched my forehead to hers. Kayla, I murmured. I can’t keep doing this to you.

She huffed out a laugh that rang with bitterness then hooked her long legs more securely around the backs of my thighs. I know the score, Dean.

I nodded against her forehead then tipped back and kissed it. I grasped the edge of her dress, my thick, calloused fingers obscene against the delicate fabric, and eased it down over her hips. I winced at the pain I was about to inflict on her.

I know you do. You deserve better than this.

Her eyebrows lowered ominously. Both palms landed on my chest as she ineffectively pushed. I’m a big girl. I’ll decide what’s good for me.

I stepped back to give her space. I know. I flicked a finger between us. But this thing we’re doing? It’s not good for me. I’ve never used a woman like this-

The sound of her gasp stopped me in my tracks.

Her eyes filled with tears.

Kayla…

She turned her face away and held up a palm. Stop. For the love of peace, Dean, stop talking.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. I’d known her since first year of university. Kayla-

Her long hair swung as her chin shot up. Her face red, eyes glossy, she screamed at me. Stop talking!

Not knowing what to do with my hands, I propped them on my hips. Unable to meet her eyes, I dropped my chin, giving her some semblance of privacy as she hopped off the table and pulled herself together.

The rasp of her breath was the only sound other than the muffled buzz of the crowd outside.

I’m going to need some space.

The tremble in her voice squeezed my heart. I never should have taken her up on her offer.

I loved you, Dean, she whispered.

I met her eyes.

I owed her that.

I know you did. What else could I say? I didn’t mean to use it as a weapon.

She smiled in that self-deprecating manner I’d grown to detest. I handed you the blade.

Her high heels tapped across the floor. At the door she turned, gifting me with the mischievous smile that first caught my attention.

I laughed. What are you up to?

She laughed wetly then drew in a shuddering breath. Her gaze steady, she admitted, I love you still.

My face fell.

She opened the door. People peeked in, smiling suggestively.

I hated that for her.

It’s over, Dean. I’m sorry, she said.

My eyes flew to her face. What? My surprise was genuine.

She pressed her trembling lips together. Gathering her bravado, she blew me a silent kiss.

Forgiveness.

It’s over. Please accept my decision and give me some space.

Understanding her game, I stalked toward her. It was just a fight, I protested.

Her eyes filled. She shook her head, the sleek curtain of her hair hiding her face. No, Dean. I wish it was, but it’s the end.

She reached out a hand, barely grazed my chest, then snatched it back. Stepping into the hall, she allowed the door to swing closed. And all the eyes on the other side remained carefully averted while the gap closed.

Not the Forever Kind

Six Months Later

Dean

Icracked my knuckles. Uncharacteristically nervous.

As part-owner of BOXXX, I planned to expand our programming to better serve the community. This included a program for inner-city schools. That I was pitching today.

This was my baby, and I wanted it to go well.

For me, boxing was a lifesaver. I knew what it was to grow up without the advantages other kids took for granted. Luckily, I had a father who grabbed me by the ear at eleven-years-old and marched my cocky ass down to the gym the first time he caught me smoking up.

After welcoming the group of teachers, some looking around with wide, interested eyes, some seemingly appalled, I gave them the tour and explained the tenets of the program. We finished in the break room where my partner Carl waited to answer questions while I made my rounds to gain individual feedback.

I glanced down at the name tag of the tall redhead. She looked familiar.

Sophie McDonald.

Hi, Sophie. I’m glad you could make it. I studied her face. Do I know you?

She was different looking. Interesting looking. If I were an artist,