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Dream Lover (Lover Boys #1)
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The prick actually left me at the altar.
I was devastated when my fiancé dumped me.
My life was a shitshow, and I needed a distraction.
Suddenly, he’s pulling me up on stage,
My spidey senses are telling me beware.
Hotter-than-hell rock star meets sexy nerd next door in this scorching romance with a dash of humor from Amazon bestselling romance author, Aubrey Wright.
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We all have our wedding fantasies, right? I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell spent more than a few hours—hell, probably a few days’ worth of hours (OK, weeks, months)—dreaming about that perfect day. I was a kid, of course, so all the fantasies ended up being some dreamy haze of white lace and champagne and, hell, why not a few horses while I was at it?
As I got older, of course, the dreams took on a little more of a realistic tone. The gorgeous castle where the wedding would take place—floating in a perfect blue sky, naturally—was replaced by an elegant church. The lovely, white, silk dress that seemed to flow for miles in my wake in my dreams was swapped out for something a little more subdued and, well, actually based in reality.
But, of course, one thing never changed—I’d be getting married to my dream man, surrounded by my friends and family and all the rest, ready to start my new life with a guy who I loved dearly.
In all my fantasies, however, there was one thing I never imagined. One particular guest that I never made room for in my daydreamed guest list. The one attendee who was, at that moment, looming over me, his coal-black eyes set among a face covered in wild, chocolate-brown hair.
And not only that, Chewbacca dressed in a tux which, surprisingly, fit him pretty damn well.
“Mffmhmmm?” he said.
“Um, sorry,” I said. “I don’t speak Wookie.”
He shrugged his shoulders in a frustrated manner that was, I had to admit, a little out of character. Less like a fearsome, powerful Wookie and more like an oversized teenage brat.
“Mffmmhmm!” he said. “Mmmfmm! Frmhf.”
I decided that was just about enough.
“Cory,” I said. “As much as I admire your dedication to authenticity, you’re going to have to take that thing off if you want me to hear a single word you’re saying.”
He turned his head away for a moment, as if trying to weigh the pros and cons of breaking character. Finally, Cory reached up with his big furry hands and pulled off the mask, revealing a pudgy face, his typically shaggy, unkempt hair plastered to his sweaty forehead, his face red. He took a few deep breaths, as if he’d just stepped out of a sauna and needed desperately to get some nonstagnant air into his lungs.
“Sorry,” he said between pants. “The costume.”
“I get it,” I said. “That thing’s got to be like an oven. An oven covered in fur, if that’s even a real thing.”
“You think this is fur?” he asked, tugging at a handful of brown on his forearm. “I don’t even know what this is. Hell, I’m staying away from the candles because I’m pretty sure whatever this costume is made out of would go up like tissue paper if a fire even came near it.”
I glanced over his shoulder at the scene behind him. It was total costume-clad insanity. The wedding guests were all in cosplay mode, dressed as their favorite fantasy and sci-fi characters. A techno remix of what sounded like the Battlestar Galactic theme—the new one, not the impossibly corny old one—played over the PA system. It had to have been one of the nerdiest parties I’d ever seen in my life.
But it wasn’t just a party. It was a wedding. It was my wedding. All done up to the specifications of my husband-to-be, with very little input from the bride, that being me.
A slender figure sidled up to me, one I recognized right away, even out of the corner of my eye, as Shania Weeks—social worker, blonde bombshell, one of my best friends, and, very importantly today, one of my bridesmaids. She wore a long, elegant gown, her blonde hair wrapped around the back of her head in a thick braid that framed her pert, pretty features like a halo.
“Cory,” she said, folding her arms underneath her boobs and cocking her hips to the side. “This better be good. We’re in the middle of getting this gorgeous girl ready, and I’m pretty sure it’s bad luck for you to even be in her presence.”
I couldn’t help but grin. Sticking up for myself had never been a problem, but Shania, the most recent addition to my tight little friend group, had always made sure problems were stamped out before they had a chance to begin.
“Yeah,” I said, realizing that she’d taken the words right out of my ruby-red-lipstick-painted mouth. “What she said.”
Cory’s face was already red from the costume, but Shania’s no-bullshit tone managed to put an even deeper shade of blush into those cherub cheeks of his.
“I know, I know,” he said. “But I was just wondering if any of you had seen George.”
“George?” asked Shania. “As in, George Salt? As in, the groom?”
I winced, just like I always did, at the mention of my fiancé’s last name. Sure, I was thrilled as all get-out about the idea of finally being married after thirty-two long years, but taking his last name was something that elicited a, uh, different reaction.