Perfect Odds by Lashanta Charles Book Tour and Giveaway :)
Perfect Odds
by
Lashanta Charles
Genre:
Contemporary Romance
Calista
Brenner refuses to let go of her past. She had her entire life
figured out…except, maybe that was only in her mind. Being stood up
for her own wedding should be a clue. Regardless, she’s determined
to fix this. She just needs a plan and if there’s one thing she’s
good at, it’s planning. It doesn’t matter that she’s a
whirlwind of clumsy chaos. All she has to do is stay away from the
gorgeously irritating Jayce Cranston and her wedding-her life-will be
back on track. That’s exactly what she wants. Right?
Jayce
Cranston has somehow let himself be bamboozled. One minute he’s
enjoying his quiet existence in his home in the outskirts of Buffalo,
NY and the next he’s dealing with a beautiful alcoholic and her
penchant for trouble. And with his business manager out of the
office, he has to actually . . . deal with people. Surprisingly, the
little ball of clumsiness is making that task so much easier to
handle.
Neither
of them could have guessed that Calista’s past would decide it
wants to be her future and will stop at nothing to make that a
reality. Could she accept that maybe her carefully laid plans weren’t
as careful as she thought? Will Jayce be able to show her that he’s
worth a chance and, together, their oddities can be perfect?
This is only my second time
flying. Ever. Not surprisingly, it’s just as traumatic as the
first. My eyes flit from the exit signs to the compartment where the
flight attendant said the oxygen masks would deploy from. If this
plane goes down I want to know exactly where I need to be. The
‘fasten seatbelt’ light goes off and a voice says something about
cruising altitude. I don’t move, fingers gripping the armrests, as
I will myself to let go so I can tighten my seat belt. I flex my
pelvis and the two centimeters I’m able to move lets me know that I
definitely need to tighten it. I shouldn’t have that much space,
right?
“Good
grip you’ve got there,” a voice says. An slightly familiar and
impossibly gravelly voice. My head jerks upright, eyes
landing on those fathomless, glacial blues again. The first-class
area of the plane is spacious, but he still manages to take up more
than his fair share of the room. How did I not notice his physique
before? A dove gray Henley stretches tight across his broad chest and
shoulders. He stares at me, cocking his head to the side, causing a
lock of his dark hair to flop across his forehead. His hands are
shoved into the pockets of his well-worn black jeans, which encase
long and powerful legs. He’s tall, like he has to duck a lot when
he moves through certain places. Then again, a man that size probably
commands everything and everyone to clear a path when he moves. Like
nothing would dare risk standing in his way. I wonder what that feels
like. I try to get a read on what he’s
thinking, but his face is blank. He just stands there and stares.
Borderline creepy, but he’s beautiful, so it’s acceptable. Kind
of. Not really. Just creepy. A bout of turbulence
hits and his impressive frame is barely jarred at all while I could
swear we’re minutes away from crashing into a mountain. Or an
ocean. What are we flying over right now? “You’re
scared,” he says. I’m not sure if he’s just
making an observation or if he’s asking a question, but at this
point I want him to go away. I try really hard to tell him that, but
it only comes out as a whisper. He frowns and steps closer, leaning
forward to hear me better. “What?” “I
don’t like your eyes,” I blurt. Loudly. I
would cover my mouth in hopes of keeping anything else from spewing
from it, but with the plane crashing I have to maintain my grip on my
seat—the cushion is a flotation device. I stare at him in horrified
humiliation, waiting for his response. He stares silently for a few
seconds then speaks. “Why
not?” I expected anger or disbelief. His
calm is unnerving, but I feel obligated to answer since I basically
insulted him. “There’s no warmth to them.” He studies me, but doesn’t
speak. Finally, he glances around, then leans forward and bares his
teeth, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. I flinch and he
quickly steps away.
“What
the hell was that?” I ask. “I
smiled. Warmth,” he mumbles, his cheeks flushing slightly. Is he blushing? I
stare at him in silence as I consider his words. He didn’t get
insulted when I said I didn’t like his eyes. Instead he tried to
make them warmer by . . . smiling? That definitely was not a
smile. My niece tends to be grumpy from time to time and when we try
to get her to smile, she does this thing where she just shows us her
teeth. Like he just did. It occurs to me I don’t know his first
name. “I’m
Calista. You can call me Cali. I would shake your hand, but the plane
isn’t stable.” The corner of his mouth ticks up
just as a flight attendant approaches him. The smirk drops and he
watches her. A bright smile flashes on her face, no chipped teeth,
and she reaches out to touch his arm as she asks if he needs
anything. Her name tag says Tabitha. He shakes his arm free then
looks to me for an answer. “Liquor.
Strong liquor. Shots. No ice,” I tell her. Clearly I’ve been
reduced to monosyllables. “Whiskey,”
he declares then drops into the vacant seat next to me. The seat
Colin should be occupying. Tabitha runs a hand through her
shoulder length, brown hair as her smile falters, but she quickly
plasters it back on and nods. “Is
there anything else you’d like, sir?” She steps closer to his seat and
he leans closer to me. I lean away from him. Why is he even sitting
here? He tells her no and after an awkward moment her eyes cut to me.
Her lips pucker and she glares at me before turning and moving away.
What the hell was that, Tabitha? We watch as she goes to a curtained
off section and for a moment I’m plagued by the odd thought that
she’ll do something to my drink. “I’m
Jayce. It’s stable; you’re safe,” he says and places his hand
on top of mine. It’s rough and calloused and
exceptionally warm. Most importantly, it actually comforts me. That
shouldn’t be happening. Red flag. I snatch my hand
away, tighten my seatbelt as far as it’ll go, then fist my hands in
my lap, my nails digging into my palms.
LaShanta
Charles is from South Carolina, but currently lives in Tacoma, WA.
She's married, has three tiny humans who constantly mooch off of her,
and is active duty in the US Army. She's a homebody who adores
SLEEPING, reading (romance, especially RH, paranormal, and sci-fi),
eating, white chocolate mochas, SLEEPING, Reese's PB Cups (but only
the ones stuffed with Reese's Pieces), and writing. Oh, and she hates
spiders; why do they need EIGHT legs?
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