The Feel Good Factor
Lauren Blakely
About The Feel Good Factor
That inked bad boy who’s been striking sparks with me since he rode into town? Turns out he’s my new housemate, which adds up to a super-complicated living situation and chemistry so hot it should be illegal.
I have a fantastic family, great best friends, a job I love…and now I’m up for a promotion to police sergeant. I need total focus—not a flirty, dirty, irresistible, tattooed hottie riding into my town on his motorcycle. Can I arrest him for being too good-looking? When he kisses me senseless in the back of a waffle truck, it’s criminal, the things he makes me think about hot syrup and melted butter. One order of hot, fluffy hookup to go, please.
But the next time I see him, it’s not for our date with benefits. He’s the guy who just rented the room above my garage.
I need the rent to pay my bills, not a man like Derek, who I soon discover to be strong, caring, generous, good with kids, and kind to puppies… If I’m not careful, he’ll be moving into my heart as well as my house.
***
A no-strings-attached fling with the fiery redhead who revs my engine? Why, yes, that does sound like a delicious perk of my new job in this new town, thank you very much. I’m coming off a bad relationship, and I have zero interest in anything serious. I’ve got all the serious I need helping my sister take care of her three little kids while her husband is deployed.
Except, surprise! Perri isn’t just my future fling. Turns out she’s my sexy, sassy landlord.
A lease definitely counts as “strings attached,” and as much as I’d like to get tangled in her sheets, I can’t let myself get tangled up in a relationship.
But as soon as we put the cuffs on our escapades, I learn over late-night conversations in the kitchen, that my landlord is so much more than the sexiest woman I’ve ever met– she has a quick mind and the biggest heart.
Once I’m in, I’m all in. And to convince her that we should see where this goes, I plan on turning up the heat—and not just in the kitchen.
1
Derek
There are lies, damn lies, and then there’s love at first sight.
That’s the kind of storybook bullshit that gets people in trouble. I can find my own way there, thank you very much.
Besides, a detour of that sort is the last thing I need now that I’ve packed up all my shit and moved to a new town.
I’m not running away, even though it looks like it, thanks to the bike and the lack of stuff I own. I’m running to, and my goal when I arrive in town is singular.
Do what I came here to do.
Problem is, sometimes I go too fast.
Like today, as I’m riding down a side street on the way to my sister’s house, a little speedier than the limit. But hey, I have places to be, people to see. What’s the big deal if I go five miles over? I’m safe as fuck and always have been.
A siren blares.
“Ah, hell.”
I pull over to the curb, turn off the engine, and remove my helmet, ready to pull my “hey, we’re all in this together” card with the guy I didn’t see running traffic duty.
But there’s no guy stopping me.
The officer in blue strolling down the sidewalk is certified 100 percent babe, and I do believe this is the best view I’ve seen in days. Wait, make that years.
Because holy redheaded lady-cop fantasy.
Even that uniform can’t hide those curves, nor can the ruler-straight line between her lips hide their lushness. The cinched ponytail of auburn only makes me want to untie it, get my hands in those locks, then run my lips all over her neck.
“Hey, officer. Was I going too fast?” I ask with a gee, I couldn’t have been speeding grin.
“What do you think, Lightning McQueen?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Yeah, just a little,” she says dryly. “How about your license and registration?”
I grab my wallet and hand her my license, then the bike’s registration. She runs a quick check, nods since it’s all clear, and gives them back to me. “Let me guess. You either didn’t realize how fast you were going, or you have someplace real important to be?”
I flash her a grin, hoping the crooked kind is her favorite. “I do, and I sure hope you’ll forgive me.”
She parks her hands on her hips. “You’re aiming for full forgiveness?”
“Complete absolution. What’ll it take to get there?”
She scoffs, but it has the hint of a laugh in it. “Let’s hear your story. Tell me where you’re going, Mr. Speedy.”
I raise a finger to correct her. “I’m not Mr. Speedy. I’m Mr. Take My Time.”
She stares at me. “Yes, Mr. McBride,” she says, emphasizing my name. “And I’m Ms. I Don’t Have Time for Flirty Bikers.” Her lips quirk up though, like she’s trying to fight off a smile.
“I’ll give you the SparkNotes version.” I heave a sigh, drag a hand through my hair, then tell her where I’m off to, hoping the story of a man looking out for his sister and her kids will win over her black heart.
She shakes her head like she doesn’t quite believe me, but doesn’t quite disbelieve me either. She whips off her shades, revealing green eyes with flecks of gold—eyes that study me, that roam over my beard, my inked arms, and maybe, just maybe, all the way down.