Love In Alabama (The Love In Series Book 1) Read Online Free PDF
Author: Shelby Gates
I knew what was on the other side of the building. Balconies that faced the Gulf. And miles and miles of soft, white sand.
I hurried to the office to check in and was greeted by a woman who looked a lot like my mother. I thought about the conversation I'd had with her and my dad before embarking on my trip. She'd been puzzled by my decision; Dad had just been pissed. He couldn't believe I was willing to throw away free money on something as frivolous as a trip across the country. I didn't add that I'd be sleeping with fifty guys along the way, too
She smiled when I walked in. She had dark brown hair cut short and wore lipstick two shades too red for her fair complexion. A pair of reading glasses were attached to a necklace looped around her neck. “Can I help you?”
I reached into my purse and pulled out the copy of my reservation. I slid it across the counter. “Just checking in.”
Her smile grew wider. “Lovely,” she said. She settled her glasses on the bridge of her nose and peered at the computer. “We have you on the first floor—you'll have direct beach access from your room.”
I nodded. “Perfect.”
She tapped at the keyboard, then swiped my credit card through the reader. “One key or two?”
It felt like a loaded question. “One.”
She handed me the key card and a tri-fold brochure. She spoke quickly, as if there was a line of people waiting to check in and she wanted to hurry me through the process. But I was the only one in the office. “Amenities are all listed in here. Beach Bites is our on-site restaurant and bar. Opens for breakfast at eight am. Bar closes at midnight. Pool is free for guests to use but no outside visitors, please. Beach chair rentals are available—you get a discount. Just show the boys your room card and they'll add it to your bill.”
I tried to remember the barrage of information she'd just fired at me and sincerely hoped it was all available in the brochure. I thanked her and left the comfort of the air-conditioned office to head outside and to my room. Another car had pulled into the parking lot while I'd been inside and a couple got out. The girl was probably my age and wore a white tank top that proclaimed “MRS.” in large, blocky letters. Her husband, a burly guy with a sleeve of tattoos decorating his right arm, reached for her hand and pulled her toward him for a kiss. His hands drifted to her ass and she looped her arms around his neck and he pushed her up against the trunk of the car and I was pretty sure he was going to do her right there in the searing hot parking lot. It was the very opposite of how my honeymoon five years earlier had been.
I hurried to my room, dragging my bag behind me, trying to get out of the heat and trying to get the image of the honeymooning couple out of my head. Brian and I had never been like that. Not ever. Not even the first time we'd had sex. Our relationship had been...perfunctory. No passion. No romance. Sex had felt like a chore, mostly because he was always worried about something, always in a hurry. In the beginning, he obsessed about defective condoms. We'd had one break—the second time we had sex—and it had sent him into a spiral of worry about pregnancy and STDs. Reminding him we were each other's first sexual partners had done nothing to ease his concerns.
And then, when we were married and the condoms got packed away in favor of birth control pills, he'd find other things to worry about. Was I sure I'd taken them? Was I taking them at the same time every single day? There had been multiple times that we'd had sex and he'd simply pulled out before he came, as if he actually believed that this method was more effective than me occasionally taking my pills an hour late.
I dropped my purse on the counter in the little kitchenette. I didn't need to be thinking about Brian and our disaster of a sex life. I needed to focus on the here and now, on the fact that I was free to explore everything I'd missed out on
I hurried to the office to check in and was greeted by a woman who looked a lot like my mother. I thought about the conversation I'd had with her and my dad before embarking on my trip. She'd been puzzled by my decision; Dad had just been pissed. He couldn't believe I was willing to throw away free money on something as frivolous as a trip across the country. I didn't add that I'd be sleeping with fifty guys along the way, too
She smiled when I walked in. She had dark brown hair cut short and wore lipstick two shades too red for her fair complexion. A pair of reading glasses were attached to a necklace looped around her neck. “Can I help you?”
I reached into my purse and pulled out the copy of my reservation. I slid it across the counter. “Just checking in.”
Her smile grew wider. “Lovely,” she said. She settled her glasses on the bridge of her nose and peered at the computer. “We have you on the first floor—you'll have direct beach access from your room.”
I nodded. “Perfect.”
She tapped at the keyboard, then swiped my credit card through the reader. “One key or two?”
It felt like a loaded question. “One.”
She handed me the key card and a tri-fold brochure. She spoke quickly, as if there was a line of people waiting to check in and she wanted to hurry me through the process. But I was the only one in the office. “Amenities are all listed in here. Beach Bites is our on-site restaurant and bar. Opens for breakfast at eight am. Bar closes at midnight. Pool is free for guests to use but no outside visitors, please. Beach chair rentals are available—you get a discount. Just show the boys your room card and they'll add it to your bill.”
I tried to remember the barrage of information she'd just fired at me and sincerely hoped it was all available in the brochure. I thanked her and left the comfort of the air-conditioned office to head outside and to my room. Another car had pulled into the parking lot while I'd been inside and a couple got out. The girl was probably my age and wore a white tank top that proclaimed “MRS.” in large, blocky letters. Her husband, a burly guy with a sleeve of tattoos decorating his right arm, reached for her hand and pulled her toward him for a kiss. His hands drifted to her ass and she looped her arms around his neck and he pushed her up against the trunk of the car and I was pretty sure he was going to do her right there in the searing hot parking lot. It was the very opposite of how my honeymoon five years earlier had been.
I hurried to my room, dragging my bag behind me, trying to get out of the heat and trying to get the image of the honeymooning couple out of my head. Brian and I had never been like that. Not ever. Not even the first time we'd had sex. Our relationship had been...perfunctory. No passion. No romance. Sex had felt like a chore, mostly because he was always worried about something, always in a hurry. In the beginning, he obsessed about defective condoms. We'd had one break—the second time we had sex—and it had sent him into a spiral of worry about pregnancy and STDs. Reminding him we were each other's first sexual partners had done nothing to ease his concerns.
And then, when we were married and the condoms got packed away in favor of birth control pills, he'd find other things to worry about. Was I sure I'd taken them? Was I taking them at the same time every single day? There had been multiple times that we'd had sex and he'd simply pulled out before he came, as if he actually believed that this method was more effective than me occasionally taking my pills an hour late.
I dropped my purse on the counter in the little kitchenette. I didn't need to be thinking about Brian and our disaster of a sex life. I needed to focus on the here and now, on the fact that I was free to explore everything I'd missed out on