He's Mine Not Hers Read online

  He’s Mine Not Hers

  A Rom-com

  Gianni Holmes

  Editing by

  One Love Editing Services

  Proofreading by Barbara Ingram

  He’s Mine Not Hers © 2019 Gianni Holmes

  All Rights Reserved

  This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic, in whole or in part, without expressed written permission. This is excluding brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental in nature.

  Warning

  This book contains sexual content that is intended for a mature adult audience.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgement

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Coming Soon

  Other Books

  About the Author

  A Note from the Author

  Dear reader,

  Thanks for taking this new and exciting journey with me. What can I say? Writing He’s Mine Not Hers (HMNH) has been fun. It’s a bit different than what I am used to writing, but not so different if you’ve read Unwrapping Ainsley, which is also written with a humorous tone.

  This is the first time I’ve thought of labeling a book in such a way, however, as I am aware that humor can be personal. Who wants the task of having to make someone laugh? Yikes.

  The first idea for this story was the cover. I was scrolling through stock photos and the idea of the cover came to mind. I decided to have it made just for fun. One thing led to another and before I knew it, I fell in love with it. I just had to find the right story to do it justice.

  Please be aware as you dive in you’ll find pettiness, unconventional mothering, and some very questionable decisions made. At times you may want to slap the characters upside the head. Yup, I did too.

  Still, I hope you find laughable moments with these characters. They were not written to be perfect, and as you read, you’ll find they are far from that, but I enjoyed writing their story.

  Buckle down for this crazy ride. What I can absolutely guarantee are that there’s no cheating, no love triangle, and there’s a very nice HEA for you.

  Sons are anchors of a mother’s life.

  Sophocles

  Chapter One

  Jason

  Clinging to my knockoff Chanel bag like it was the real thing, I scanned the faces in the baggage claim area of Sea-Tac International Airport. A million and one faces spun before me and then—.

  “Oh my God, Jason!”

  My face broke into a smile at the squeal of my name. I would know that voice anywhere. I turned my head in the direction of the sound, and that was when I saw her. Becca. Mom, but really Becca. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d called her Mom. She used to hide her makeup from me as a kid if I did, so I learned pretty fast to stick to her given name.

  “Rebecca!”

  Anyone looking at us would never know that she was my mother. They might have assumed we were related, possibly siblings since she did everything in her power to defy the ageing process. She looked damn good, her petite frame in a pair of leggings, a hot-pink top, and the most gorgeous pair of boots I had my eyes on. Her natural brown hair so like mine was covered by one of my blonde wigs I’d left behind when I flew out to London.

  Eighteen months.

  I’d missed her, and seeing her only reinforced that fact.

  “You look stunning!” She grabbed hold of my hands, and we didn’t care. We hugged and bounced in our heels, close to tears, except we both knew by now that waterproof or not, mascara and tears were not a good combination.

  Completely ignoring the onlookers who were staring at us bubbling with joy at seeing each other, she placed a hand on my shoulder and spun me so she could inspect all of me. With a laugh, she smacked my tight jean-clad butt. “That better not be implants.”

  “Squats, girl,” I told her on a laugh, so excited to see her that my heart squeezed in my chest. “I’m too young for gravity to attack, and even when I’m older I won’t go down without a fight.”

  “Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re back. I’ve been dying without you!”

  I nodded knowingly. “Yeah, I saw your pictures. Whoever does your makeup, fire that bitch. I taught you better than that.”

  “I would if I could fire myself,” she agreed on a laugh. “I did try, but I do not have your skills.”

  “Does that mean we’re back to trading my makeup skills to raid your closet because I’m loving those shoes.”

  She gave a girlish giggle which should have been ridiculous at her “undetermined” age. Undetermined was more like forty, but God forbid I made the mistake of ever mentioning the big four zero.

  “I wore them especially for you, hon,” she answered, kicking one foot up in the air.

  The carousel with the luggage from my flight whirred, and I grabbed her arm, tugging her over to wait for my suitcase.

  “You brought luggage with you?” she asked.

  “Well, of course. You didn’t expect me to shuck all my good shit back in London, did you?”

  She shook her head at me. “It’s all makeup, isn’t it?”

  “You don’t know that.”

  But she was right on the money. With everyone and their mama thinking they were beauty gurus and pumping the industry full of all kinds of horse manure, it could be so difficult at times to find quality makeup products. It was one of the things I splurged on because there was no excuse for breakouts because of bad beauty products. Whenever I discovered something new that I deemed a five-star rating, I tended to stock up for a rainy day.

  Makeup was my life. Sounded sad, but it was true. Without the application skill, I would have never made it while living in London. It could be surprising just how much people would pay to get their makeup done just right. Add in my ability to style hair as well, and I had made enough in London for my upkeep.

  I easily spotted my gray suitcase with the pink stiletto designs printed down the middle. I grabbed the handle, but I’d forgotten just how heavy it was.

  “Maybe both of us can get it,” Becca murmured.

  “Let me get that for you,” came a masculine voice to my right, before I could respond to her.

  I beamed a smile at the hunky dude wearing a Seahawks cap. He grasped my suitcase with ease, flexing more than I thought was necessary to bring it to my feet. But who was I to complain when a good-looking guy did something nice for me? At least I
thought it was me until I saw the way he beamed at Becca.

  If I wasn’t already hung up over someone, I would have been offended.

  “Now you and your brother here have a nice evening.” He nodded at Becca, flashing dimples and a wink in her direction before wheeling his own suitcase away. Both of us stared after the guy because he did pack a nice behind in the jeans he wore.

  “I bet he’s married,” I stated, extending the handle of my suitcase.

  “Bet he’s not,” she replied. “You’re just jealous because he liked me better.”

  I stuck out my tongue at her. “You’re always stealing my guys. Come on, where are you parked, man stealer?”

  “That was just the one time!” she protested, hurrying to catch up with me.

  “You mean one hundred times.”

  “For God’s sake, you can hardly be mad at me. Caleb was not suitable for you. He was a horndog.”

  I glanced at her, feeling amused but giving her a blank stare. Damn, it’s good being back. “Right, that’s what made him right up your alley. Maybe I needed a horndog. Plus, remember that guy Victor from sophomore year who I thought came over so often because of me?”

  “You can hardly blame me because he was a Peeping Tom. The little pervert watched me sun-tanning.”

  I shook my head at her, listing all the guys I had tried talking to who ended up either liking her more or suddenly deciding they were straight after I introduced them. Maybe it was my fault for not strictly dating gay guys who were out. Or maybe I subconsciously chose all those guys because I knew they were safe.

  They were not the ones I truly wanted.

  “So, tell me all about your time in London,” Becca insisted when we were buckled down in her Passat and driving to her two-bedroom apartment we shared.

  “I’m sure you stalked my social media profiles, so you already know every time I got out of the house.”

  “Every boy you kissed,” she said. “Every time you went out of the house half-naked. But tell me again anyway, and don’t leave out any of the details.”

  I gave her a rundown of my eighteen-month stay in London as she drove to our apartment in Mooreland Park, an affordable area some thirty minutes from downtown. Instead of going off to college as many of my classmates did after high school, I had opted for a year off to figure out what I wanted to do, mostly because we couldn’t afford college though.

  I had picked up odd jobs here and there until I entered a makeup competition. I never thought I would have won since I wasn’t formally trained or anything, but I did. First-place winner which got me a position with a popular makeup studio school in London. Though the tuition itself had been waived, I’d had to come up with the airfare and to pay for the apartment, so it definitely hadn’t been easy, but I’d had every intention of making the most of the opportunity.

  The city hadn’t been all work though. There had been tons of parties, friendships started and burned. Potential lovers coming and going. It had been eighteen months of sharpening my skills enough to the point that I was confident. Eighteen months of distraction. Eighteen months of a new environment. Eighteen months to get over him.

  I lasted for way longer than I thought I would have, but as soon as we made it through the front door of our home, I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

  “How are things going for Lucas?” I asked her, dragging my suitcase over the worn carpet in the hall. Nothing had changed in the time I had been away. I immediately got nostalgic over my favorite spot on the couch. The dent of my ass was still there.

  “I think once he realized he dodged a bullet marrying Ralph he improved.”

  “It was plain as the big nose on his face that he wasn’t right for Lucas,” I answered. Maybe I should have felt bad for being pleased things hadn’t worked out for them, but I couldn’t be a hypocrite. That man had almost snatched Lucas from right under my nose.

  “I don’t recall him having a big nose at all,” she replied.

  I snorted. “Trust me, he had a big nose.”

  He didn’t, but I couldn’t find anything to use to insult the man. Ralph had been gorgeous, and I had lived in Envy Lane for as long as he and Lucas had been together. He had done me an immense service when he ran off with some guy he was working with the day before he was due to marry Lucas.

  “You can never repeat this,” she stated. “But, later Lucas told me he had second thoughts but felt guilty for pushing the wedding, so he didn’t feel he could back out.”

  “Hmm.” Now that made me feel a megawatt smile coming on.

  “Now, I saw your photos with all those cute guys back in London, so I know you’re not still infatuated with him,” she stated, walking out of the living room. “Come on. I found a bottle of cheap wine that was on discount and bought a bottle for today.”

  I followed her to the kitchen which was spotless and sparkling. She had cleaned for my homecoming. I could smell the lingering sweetness of pine in the air. Usually there would be a dish or two in the sink already. She hated washing up the dishes, so I did them for her.

  “How long were the dishes in the sink before you washed them this morning?” I asked, stopping at the table.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asked, opening the fridge and glancing over her shoulder at my knowing look. “You know what? Sod off, Jason. That’s what the British would say, right?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, but the accent’s all wrong.”

  “Oh man, having you back is so awesome. I was going bored out of my mind.”

  I snorted as I reached for the two wineglasses which she kept in the cupboard for entertainment purposes. “Was that in-between guy number four or five? No, wait, I was gone eighteen months, and there’s a different one every two to three months, so we’re what? At guy number six?”

  “I don’t kiss and tell,” she answered, jumping when the cork popped.

  “There’s hardly anything to tell when our bedrooms are so close.”

  “Well, don’t expect a leopard to change its spots.” She poured the two glasses full of cheap booze, and I watched her down hers in one long gulp before pouring another. “Now, let’s drink to your return.”

  That I could drink to—returning to picking up the pieces of my life I had left in Seattle. I had every intention of working my ass off to become a well-respected makeup artist in this city. It might take a while to build up a clientele, but I would do it.

  In the meantime, there was a broken heart somewhere in Seattle I needed to mend. I might have kissed a lot of frogs until this moment—okay, I didn’t kiss a single frog. Only the wrong princes. A little harmless flirting hadn’t hurt at all, but just being back in the city got my blood pumping, because he wasn’t a plane ride away.

  I clicked my glass against Becca’s. “To no more bad makeup jobs.”

  “To all the past boyfriends we’ve been through and the many more hearts we have to wreck.”

  I only wanted to wreck one heart, and I drank to that.

  Chapter Two

  Lucas

  Fuck.

  Either something was seriously wrong with my eyes, or I had fucked up royally last night. I closed my eyes against the sudden brightness of the unfamiliar bedroom and counted silently to ten. I popped one eyelid open, but nope, the hair color remained the same. The head on my shoulder was topped by short red curls.

  I could have sworn last night when I left the club, I’d had a pretty blonde wearing a tiny top and no bra beneath on my arm. I remembered staring, fascinated by her nipples pressed to the white material. Nothing was left to the imagination, and I remembered thinking there goes my easy lay for the night.

  I stole another glance, and still no blonde. Still not a woman either judging by the morning wood poking me in the thigh.

  Filtering through the little I recalled of last night didn’t remind me of much at first. There was another club somewhere after I’d picked up the blonde. What had become of her? As I became more awake, I was able to place the redhead in
the bed with me at that club giving me the look. The one that said he was looking to get fucked tonight.

  With a groan, I tried to figure out how to extricate myself out of the situation I was currently in. I might have gone home with someone, but I’d had no intention of spending the night. That just made things awkward. Damn, my stomach burned, making me question how many rounds we’d done last night. It had to be more than one, because even I wasn’t that unfit.

  Inch by inch, I tried to shift out from under last night’s mistake, but he was dead weight. His neighbor had banged on the wall for us to shut up and go to bed already. He hadn’t been a bad lay either, but it was hardly what I’d needed. A few hours of pleasure followed by a morning of regret.

  I lived pretty much by a routine existence, doing the same things every day. I worked, ate, slept, rinsed, and repeated. Occasionally I had sex with someone when I felt lonely. Sometimes I wished my relationship with Ralph hadn’t ended in a broken engagement. He might not have been the ideal spouse, but he had been there. At times.

  I froze when Shania Twain’s “Man! I Feel Like a Woman” rang out from somewhere in the room.

  “Shit!” The ridiculous ringtone had been customized by my best friend, Becca, for me to immediately know when she called. I had never wanted Shania to shut up any more than I did right then.

  Sweat popped onto my forehead as I waited, hoping the phone would ring off before waking the dude whose name I didn’t remember. Had I even asked? I breathed a sigh of relief when it stopped, then groaned when it promptly rang again.

  Sleeping redhead raised his head and peered at me in confusion. “Whaaaat?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” I said, trying to shuffle away from him. “My phone’s ringing.”

  He sprang away from me, scooting to the other end of the bed so quickly that for a minute I forgot about the ringing phone. The way he was acting, it was as though I had coaxed him into bed drunk with me, and I knew for damn sure last night had been more than a willing act. For fuck’s sake, at one point he had been on top of me riding my dick, rocking back and forth and pretending to be a cowboy, swinging an imaginary rope and all. He’d seemed stupid doing it, but I’d just wanted to get laid.