Exclusive Excerpt: Across The Horizon - Vilma Iris | Lifestyle Blogger

“Sometimes love happens when you least expect it.” That was what my husband’s mistress told me the day I found out about their affair.

I didn’t believe it until five minutes later when mouth-watering celebrity chef Tanner Reese walked up, tossed his arm around my shoulders, and told my cheating husband to take a hike.

Tanner and I couldn’t have been more different. He spent his weekends at clubs, rubbing elbows with fellow A-listers. I spent mine in yoga pants with cheese boards and a glass of wine—or six.

Our relationship shouldn’t have worked, but it did. That is until Tanner proved to me that even though love happens when you least expect it…

So does heartbreak.

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Exclusive Excerpt: Across The Horizon
By Aly Martinez

Exclusive Excerpt: Across The Horizon

“Sometimes fate brings you to a place in life for a reason. It’s not up to you to figure out what that reason is. It’s only up to you to decide what you’re going to make of it.”

Coming Dec 6th, Aly Martinez brings us ACROSS THE HORIZON—a story of unexpected connection and chemistry, on the tail of deep heartbreak. I’m thrilled to share a sneak peek from Aly’s must-read romance. I can’t wait!

“Listen, can I get your address?” I asked through the phone.

“My address?” she parroted as though it were the first time I’d asked and not—literally—the fourth in so many minutes. “Tanner, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Then you would be wrong because it’s an excellent idea.” I sighed, stopping at the large gate at the entrance of my property, and leaned back in my seat.

It had been a while since I’d had to convince a woman to go out with me. Hard-to-get was a game I had no time or desire to play. This was probably why I ended up with overly eager nutcases. Maybe it was time for a change. For as many times as I’d thought about Rita over the course of the day, I’d be willing to make an exception for her.

I’d done some digging after Rita had tucked tail and snuck away while I was still on the second lunch wave. I could barely contain my laughter when I’d caught sight of her trotting away in those sexy red heels. With pink cheeks and shifty eyes, one would have thought she was headed to rob a bank, not making a break from a children’s carnival.

According to the countless women who had stopped by for pictures, autographs, or a flirty chat, her name was Rita Laughlin, soon-to-be ex-wife of Greg Laughlin, balding, boring, and completely average MD. She had been born in Midtown, gone to college at Emory, and married the douchebag seven years earlier. She currently lived in a large and well-decorated house in Buckhead that the majority of my new friends hoped she got when she “took him to the cleaners.”

To hear them tell it, she was kind, generous, and honest to a fault. Definitely not bad qualities.

She loved sushi, wine, cheese, and yoga. I hated sushi, but three out of four weren’t bad. What? Yoga was great for my core.

And some woman named Beth had told me a riveting story about Rita’s drunken dance moves at last year’s Christmas party. From the way she’d told the story, I was positive it was supposed to be insulting. But what my good pal Beth didn’t know was that not only had I seen her conspiring with Tramp Tammy before heading my way, the idea of Rita dancing—drunk or not—was far from a turn-off.  Huge fucking stamp of approval.

Smiling at the thought, I turned left. I lived at least twenty minutes from Buckhead. This gave me a full twenty minutes to work my magic.

“Yes, your address, babe. We made a date for eight, remember? I’m nothing if not punctual.”

“It’s currently eight fifteen.”

My gaze jumped to the clock. Damn, how had it gotten so late? I really shouldn’t have taken that call from my attorney while I was getting dressed. Nothing good ever came from an after hours, eight-hundred-dollar phone call. And since this particular call had been about Shana’s latest bullshit, it was even worse than I’d expected. For half a second, I’d considered calling Rita and canceling, but she was a far better distraction than drowning myself in a bottle of Belvedere while Porter cracked jokes about my God-awful taste in women.

Scrambling for an excuse that didn’t make me look like a total jackass, I said, “You didn’t specify Daylight Savings Time or not.” Yep. That was the best I could come up with. Maybe this was why I didn’t like women who played the hard-to-get game. I sucked at it.

“Does a person need to specify that?”

“Apparently.”

“Riiiight,” she drawled. “Anyway, maybe I should take a rain check on tonight. My life is kind of a mess right now.”

“Come on, Rita. You can’t get a rain check. It’s not even raining.”

She laughed softly. “You know what I mean. You’re sweet, honey. And I do appreciate you letting me accost you today. I also would like to formally apologize for that. That wasn’t right.”

“It wasn’t wrong, either. You won’t find me complaining when I pick you up in a little while—this being after you give me your address.”

She sighed. “Tanner, don’t be silly. I’m letting you off the hook.”

“Who says I want to be let off the hook? You agreed to a date tonight. So I’m taking you up on that legally binding verbal agreement.”

“Legally binding verbal agreement?” she asked, incredulous.

Shaking my head at myself, I turned onto the highway. Eighteen more minutes. I had better get to work. “Okay, fine. Let’s say this isn’t a date but rather just me taking you out to dinner to say thank you for the very pleasurable accosting you gave me today. No hooks. No semantics. Just dinner. Though, so you know, I won’t take being further accosting off the table. But totally your call.”

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