Unplanned: An Accidental Pregnancy

College Romance (The Unstoppable

Series Book 4) Danielle Hill
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 UNPLANNED
_______________________________________

UNSTOPPABLE #4

DANIELLE HILL
 Copyright © 2022 Danielle Hill

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, resold, or distributed in any form, or by
any electronic or mechanical means, without permission in writing from the author, except
for brief quotations within a review. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or
distribute it by any other means without permission.

This book is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either the
product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Danielle Hill asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Cover Designer: Angela Haddon Cover Designs

Editing: Magnolia Author Services

For all the happy accidents who turned out to be the best thing that ever
happened to someone.
 Contents

Copyright
Dedication
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
Epilogue
What to Read Next?
Stay In Touch
Also by Danielle Hill
About the Author
Acknowledgements
 Prologue
___________________

NOVA

"CLOSE YOUR EYES, Nova! Close your eyes!"

Hands folded around my face, yanking me backward, the sound of
rapid breaths and a pounding heart made louder by the loss of my
sight.
"Oh, god. No... no," my mother whimpered over my head.
"Momma?"
"It's okay, Nova," she rasped, her voice frayed.
She didn't sound okay. She sounded sad or scared. Or both. "It's...
it's okay. Just keep your eyes closed. Just keep—oh, God. Just…
keep ‘em closed—"
Her voice cracked on a broken sound I’d never heard from her
before as she edged us backward. I wanted to open my eyes. I
wanted to see what was making her cry, and then I wanted to tell
her everything was going to be alright.
Because I'd heard Momma cry lots of times before.
I'd seen her rage and yell. Fall to her knees and dig brittle
fingernails into the threadbare carpet as she screamed at the top of
her lungs and tears spilled over her face.
I’d seen her laughing like she might never stop, too, her entire
body shaking with it. Or her tawny hair and amber eyes wild as she
chased me around the house and made me squeal.
And sometimes… sometimes I’d seen her staring at the wall,
making no sound at all. Her down days. That’s what she called
them. Days where she was there, but not really. Where she didn’t
even look at me as she shoved a box of broken crayons and some
torn sheets of paper into my hands. She’d put her head under the
comforter without saying a word and stay there until I turned and
left the room.
She’d stay in bed all day on those days. Until the sky turned dark.
But I didn’t disturb her. Not on those days.
I’d smother my belly with a pillow when it grumbled. When it
became too loud to ignore and my stomach began to ache, I’d tiptoe
to the kitchen. Clamber up onto the counter to grab my favorite
cereal, then eat it straight from the box with my eyes fixed to the
cartoons playing on mute behind the cracked screen of our TV.
Because when Momma was being quiet, I was supposed to be
quiet. Until she was ready to talk again.
I’d heard every one of her sounds.
The good ones. The bad ones. Even the ones that didn't make any
noise.
But I'd never heard this sound.
This broken one.
"Momma," I said again, louder this time, my voice small but
insistent.
Her grip tightened, fingers squeezing around my head until it hurt.
I reached up to pull them away. She fought me, crying. Holding on
to me tighter as her body shook with big, wracking sobs that
vibrated through my back.
Her hands slipped, moving until they covered my nose and mouth,
cutting off my air. My chest shuddered with panicked breaths. My
heart raced.
Then it got darker, and she was falling to her knees with me in her
arms.
My fingernails scratched at her flesh until she snatched her hand
away with a hiss and I tumbled from her lap, landing hard on my
elbows.
Sweeping clumps of tangled hair back from my face, I scrambled
to my knees and blinked twirling spots of color from my eyes until I
could see again.
First, I saw Momma. Cross-legged on the floor with her hands
clutching at her hair. She rocked. Forward and back. Her make-up-
smeared face pale as she stared at something above my head, her
wide golden eyes filled with tears. And horror.
I frowned. Then turned…
"No! Don't Nov—" she screamed, reaching for me too late.
Much too late.
This time when she grabbed me and pulled me into her chest,
when everything went black and my heartbeat pounded like an
unstoppable train in my ears, I stayed there. I clasped my hands
tight around her bony body, my fingers clutching the worn fabric of
her tank, as I pressed my face into her and tried to make it go away.
I squeezed my eyelids as tight as they would go, hoping, hoping…
yet knowing somehow that no length of time would ever erase that
image.
What I didn’t know, as my mom wrapped me up in her thin arms
and tried to shield me from the harsh realities of our life, was that
was the last time she’d ever try to protect me from anything.
Including her.
 Chapter One
___________________________

NOVA

“MOM?”

The house was too quiet as I climbed the stairs and made my way
down the hall, the soles of my sneakers soft against the laminate
floor. I stopped at the last door and nudged it open. The empty
room confirmed my suspicions, causing my shoulders to sag with an
all-too familiar sense of disappointment.
The rumpled bedsheets still bore the imprint of her body, but a
hand to the fabric found it cold to the touch, telling me everything I
needed to know.
Long gone. She’d probably taken off minutes after I did this
morning, her addiction winning out over her desire to get clean, or
any maternal affection she once had for her only child. I lowered to
the floor with a weary sigh, the crushing weight of defeat draping
heavily across my shoulders like a cast-iron blanket.
My head sank bank into the wall with a dull thud, while guilt
settled like an anchor in my gut, spearing me to the floor. There was
no escape from it, even knowing I couldn’t do or give any more than
I already had.
My mother was a lost cause I couldn’t figure out how to quit
fighting.
When she’d turned up a few days ago and begged for my help, I’d
dropped everything. Taken off work to stay by her side, hoping this
time would be different from all the others, even while trying to steel
myself for the inevitable.
Now she was gone again, and honestly, I should have been numb
to it.
 The gripping ache in my chest and lump blocking my throat
suggested otherwise, though. I swallowed over them, but the tell-
tale sting of frustrated tears behind my eyelids prompted me to
crush my hands into fists and jam them against my eye sockets.
Don’t cry, Nova. Don’t you dare cry.
Even if I couldn’t bring myself to give up on her, I couldn’t allow
her to drag me down into the gaping hole of despair she left behind
in her wake every time she skipped town, either.
Every couple of months, she’d show up. Usually because she
needed something. Money I didn’t have, a place to stay. Sometimes
she’d stick around for a week or two, a month at most. Then I’d
wake up to find her gone. Until the next time.
A never-ending cycle. Around and around, we went.
But every now and then, she’d come home and ask for help.
Swear she wanted to get clean. The cynical side of my brain told me
nothing would change, that we’d heard it all before, but despite
everything, the dreamer in me had yet to die.
So, when she asked for help, I was powerless to deny her.
Hope had a way of holding the impossible up in just the right light
to make it look achievable, all the while knowing she was about to
rip out your heart and squeeze it to mulch between her fingers.
“Nova?”
I pushed to my feet at the sound of the front door closing,
brushing my hands over my cheeks to wipe my face bare.
“Nov?”
“In here,” I called, lifting my head to the sound of approaching
footsteps.
Maura appeared in the doorway a second later, dressed in a pair
of light wash skinny jeans and a thin black sweater. Her blond brows
closed together upon finding the space empty, and then…
resignation.
A split second. That’s how quickly hope could die.
We’d been waiting for it. We always were.
“She’s gone,” Maura stated flatly, her pale-blue gaze finding mine.
I cleared my throat with a curt nod. “Looks like it.”
“Did she take anything?”
 I shrugged a shoulder, glancing around the room. “Nothing
important.”
We’d long since learned to make sure not to leave money or
valuables where my mom could get her hands on them. Not that we
had much of value lying around the house, anyway. But if it could be
sold, and wasn’t nailed down, she’d take it.
“Nov—” Maura began, but I cut her off with a firm shake of my
head and walked over to the bed.
With a silent nod, she joined me, wordlessly helping to strip the
sheets from the mattress and erase all traces of my mother from the
room. My room. My bed. The same one I’d camped beside on the
floor, so I’d be close to my mother if she needed me. Close enough
to wipe her brow with a damp cloth, clean her vomit, and quiet her
desperate cries as the symptoms of withdrawal ravaged her body.
Pain bloomed in my chest as I pictured her face streaked with
tears, her weathered skin clammy as I’d wrapped my arms around
her convulsing body. The moment she’d looked me straight in the
eyes and begged me to end it. I shuttered my lids and shook it
away.
I could feel Maura’s eyes on me as we worked, heavy with
concern in my periphery, but this was far from our first rodeo. As my
mom’s best friend since childhood and the woman who’d stepped up
when my mom had checked out, Maura Jacobson had been there
through almost all of it. She knew words were worthless. All the
platitudes in the world couldn’t alter reality, or the harsh truth of it.
My mom would either come back one day and finally get clean, or
she wouldn’t. And we both knew what that meant.
Taking the material from Maura’s hand, I bundled it into a tight
ball against my stomach as I stared at the unmade bed and
wondered if there would be a next time. Or if this was the time she’d
stay away for good, and we’d never see her again.
The selfish thought I failed to bury—that sometimes I just wished
it was over so we wouldn’t have to live in this constant state of
limbo—compressed the air within my lungs. A black shadow of
remorse that wrapped around my throat like phantom fingers, until I
couldn’t take a full breath and darkness pooled around the edges of
my vision.
Because our truth was inescapable.
It didn’t matter how much I wanted to; I couldn’t save my mother
from herself.
Some days, it was all I could do to hope she wouldn’t take me
down with her.
 Chapter Two
___________________________

NOVA

I RAISED A brow over the bar, spearing Jake with a blank look
until he did as requested and filled the shot glass to the brim with
tequila.
“You’re gonna get my ass fired,” he muttered, sliding the drink
toward me.
I picked it up and threw it back, wincing lightly as the liquid hit the
back of my throat. Then I set the glass back down on the scuffed
surface.
“Oh, please.” My best friend, Gabriella Murphy, dropped onto the
bar stool beside me. “Half the people in here are underage.”
Jake faced her and tipped his chin. “Yeah, but I know you two
are.”
Gaby arched a near-black eyebrow. “That’s got nothing to do with
it and you know it. You just can’t get your head around the fact
we’re not fourteen anymore.”
Jake narrowed his dark-green eyes but refrained from responding
to the accusation. Instead, he retrieved the empty glass and held it
up. “You’re both done.”
Gaby scowled as Jake made his way to the other side of the bar to
serve a bunch of rowdy students. My gaze trailed around the room,
taking in the few familiar, but mostly unfamiliar faces. I’d attended
Lakeview University for two years, but hadn’t been too heavily
involved in the social aspect of college. With a GPA to maintain and
bills to pay, partying wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence for me.
Situated a short walk from Lakeview U, though, the town I grew
up in drew a big college crowd and Harvey’s was notorious for
serving almost anyone with a fake ID. Which was probably why the
place was rammed with students returning to school after summer
break in preparation for classes starting up next week.
The doors swung open, and I watched three guys walk through.
One short, with a shock of stark red hair and a heavy smattering of
similarly colored freckles. The second had light brown hair with a
long, narrow build. My gaze strayed to the third guy and narrowed
on his face. Tall with a wide frame and rumpled dirty-blonde hair
that looked like either he or someone else had spent all day pushing
their fingers through it. He weaved his way through the crowd with a
confident swagger that should not have been as sexy as it was.
“How are you holding up?” Gaby asked, pulling my attention back.
Blonde guy forgotten, I cleared my throat as the events of the
past few days re-surfaced with a vengeance. Apparently, the
numbing effect of the alcohol had yet to kick in.
“I’m fine.”
“Nov.” Gaby sighed. “It’s me. Put on a front for everyone else if
you have to, but not with me.”
I swallowed, feeling my throat constrict.
Gaby—all five feet nothing of her with enviable curves and a
squat-honed behind people would pay a skilled surgeon a crap ton of
money for—had never let me hide. Not even from the beginning.
Back in freshman year of high school, when I’d carried a chip on my
shoulder the size of a small crater and a backpack housing a
lifetime’s worth of bad memories, she’d forced her way into my life
when all I’d wanted to do was spend my days fading away into
obscurity.
Somehow, she’d sensed I needed someone before I knew it
myself. I doubt I’d ever have admitted it.
Life taught me at an early age not to rely on anyone. The less you
expected, the harder it was for people to let you down. But over the
years Gaby had proved she was here to stay, and I’d be forever
grateful to the little girl with the uber shiny black hair and her
dogged persistence. Glad she’d continued to plonk herself down
beside me every day at lunch, hand me one of her mom’s
homemade cookies, then regale me with endless commentary about
her life, despite the fact it took me two months to build up the
courage to respond.
“I know,” I murmured, lowering my gaze to the bar where the
blunt edge of my un-manicured fingernail scratched at the chipped
surface. At Gaby’s continued silence, I shrugged. “There’s nothing
really to say, Gabs.” Nothing we hadn’t said a hundred times before.
“Just because you expect someone to hurt you doesn’t mean you
don’t still feel the pain, Nov. It doesn’t mean you don’t still need to
talk about it, either. As strong as you are, you’re only human.”
My hand stilled for a beat, a ripple of emotion rendering me mute,
motionless.
“You know I’m here for you, right?”
Concerned brown eyes awaited mine when I finally glanced up. I
drew in a breath before offering her a faint smile. “Of course.”
“Good.” She squeezed my hand, the edges of her black bob gliding
over her shoulders as she nodded. “When or if you’re ready, I’m all
ears.”
My lips curved a fraction higher, before I tapped my fingers
against the bar and brought my head up to catch Jake’s attention.
Who was clearly ignoring me.
“What I really need,” I muttered, “is tequila.”
Gaby chuckled beside me, her hand briefly rubbing my arm before
she cupped her palms either side of her mouth and screeched,
“Jake! Get that cute ass over here!”
I laughed when Jake’s mouth pinched in at the sides. His
shadowed jaw rolled as he sauntered back over and planted both
palms down on the bar in front of us, one dark eyebrow raised.
“What now?”
“That’s a shocking attitude for someone in the service industry,
Jacob,” Gaby admonished. Then, without missing a beat, she sucked
her lower lip between her teeth and dipped forward until Jake’s gaze
landed exactly where she wanted it.
Four years older than us, Jacob Marsden dated Gaby’s cousin Rina
throughout high school, until Rina moved to Texas for college six
years ago and never came back. He was friends with Gaby’s older
sister, Eva, too. Along with Rina, they’d all belonged to the same
social circle in high school. Which meant Jake had always seen Gaby
as the baby. A fact she’d bemoaned for as long as I’d known her,
mostly because she’d been crushing on Jake since she was fourteen.
Something she’d never made a secret of. In fact, she’d boldly
proclaimed at Eva’s high school graduation party that Jake could do
better than her cousin. Without an ounce of timidity, she’d told him
when he realized that himself in a few years’ time, he’d know where
to find her.
Jake had laughed off the numerous advances from our
overconfident little sass queen over the years. But by the time he’d
returned home from college, Gaby had turned eighteen, developed
killer curves and an even more lethal attitude, and suddenly, Jake
wasn’t as unaffected as he used to be. Not that he’d voiced the
opinion or overstepped the invisible mark that existed between
them. Just meant he wanted to.
Jake straightened, running a palm over the scruff along his jawline
as he cleared his throat and tried to peel his eyes from Gaby’s ample
cleavage.
“Come on, Jake,” Gaby simpered, lowering her voice to a throaty
whisper. “We’ve got fake IDs like everyone else here. Just pretend
you don’t know us for one night. Please?”
His throat worked as he swallowed, and when his forest green
gaze rose to my best friend’s rich brown one, something flickered
across his eyes that suggested he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea
of them both being someone else for the night. Amused, I wagged
my head and wondered how much longer they’d dance around each
other before Jake finally gave in to what they clearly wanted.
“Fine,” Jake muttered as he grabbed the tequila bottle. Without
breaking eye contact, he tossed it up to spin through the air, caught
it upside down by the neck in his right hand, then filled two glasses
to the brim, and slid them across the bar in one fluid motion.
The breathy sound that spilled from Gaby’s mouth tugged Jake’s
lips up into a cocky half-smirk. He turned with a wink and sauntered
away.
“Fuck,” Gaby breathed, heavy-lidded and flushed. “I think he just
made me come without laying a finger on me.”
 I reached for the shot glass. “Doesn’t he do that every night?”
A playful elbow nudged my side. “Keep your voice down.”
“Oh, please.” I scoffed before swallowing the tequila. “Like he
doesn’t already know.”
“Probably,” she conceded with a shrug, then downed her shot and
winced. “I’m just wondering when the fuck he’s ever going to do
anything about it.”
My mouth curved into a sympathetic smile as my best friend
slammed the glass down on the polished wood with a bang. I had
more than enough problems of my own to contend with, but for
tonight, I was content to focus on someone else’s.
 Chapter Three
_______________________________

NOVA

“NO MEANS NO, Gabriella.”

“Why are you being such a dick, Jacob?” Gaby raised her brows
and leaned forward over the bar.
“Because it’ll be me who ends up carrying your drunk ass home,
that’s why.”
Gaby pushed up as Jake dipped down onto his forearms, putting
them mere inches apart. “And would that be such a bad thing?”
Jake stared at her for a moment, his eyes running over her face
and pausing briefly on her mouth. “You know it would, Gabriella.”
Gaby bit down on her lower lip, her eyes hooding. “You don’t
know what you’re missing, Jakey.”
Jake’s jaw flexed, his fingers rolling into loose fists on top of the
bar.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I muttered, finally reaching my limit after
watching them flirt like a couple of horny high schoolers for three
hours. “Just screw each other already.”
Jake jumped back like I’d slapped him, then cleared his throat
roughly and stalked away.
“Uh... what was that?” Gaby asked.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, rubbing two fingers against my forehead.
“The sexual tension was just… a lot.”
“He’s interested, right?” Gaby spun to me but kept her eyes on
Jake. “Tell me I’m not imagining it.”
“Oh, he’s interested. He’s been interested since he came home.
Whether he’ll act on it is another matter.”
“Should I push it? There’s his past with Rina, and he still harps on
about my goddamn age. It’s like he can’t stop seeing me as the gap-
toothed kid with scuffed knees and pigtails.”
I shrugged, hopping down from the bar stool. “First, Rina doesn’t
even live here anymore, and she hasn’t for years. Not to mention
she dumped Jake via text six months after moving to Texas. Second,
he thought you were too young when you tried to kiss him at your
sweet sixteenth. Believe me, he does not see a little girl with pigtails
when he looks at you now. I’m pretty sure I know exactly what he
sees. There’s a big difference between hooking up with a sixteen-
year-old girl when you’re twenty and hooking up with a twenty-year-
old knockout when you’re twenty-four. And the man knows it.”
Gaby’s eyes sparkled. “So, you’re saying I should go for it?”
I laughed. “Babe, you’ve been going for it since you hit puberty.”
She spun to me with a brow arched and a devious glint in her
dark-chocolate eyes. “Oh, he ain’t seen nothing yet.”
With an amused head shake, I hopped down and made my way to
the bathroom, reaching for my phone when it buzzed in my pocket.
As soon as I saw Maura’s name flash up on the screen, I hesitated
to answer.
Maura knew I was out tonight. She was the one who encouraged
me to forget all the other crap and act like some carefree Lakeview
student for a few hours. Before school started up again next week
and I wouldn’t have time for much besides studying, tutoring, and
work.
So, here I was, acting like a normal twenty-year-old, as if I didn’t
have an addict for a mother who kept ripping my heart out, or an
academic scholarship I couldn’t afford to screw up.
Which meant Maura wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency, and
for us, emergencies only ever involved one person.
Head down, I pushed through the bathroom door and watched
the call ring out. My chest rose painfully, heart pounding as I waited
for it to start up again. A minute later, a text came through, and I
paused briefly before swiping the message open.

Maura: Sorry to call Nov. I don’t want to spoil your night

with Gaby, but Benny just called to tell me they picked Britt
up an hour ago for shoplifting and she’s down at Lakeview
Police Station. I wanted you to hear it from me in case
anyone caught wind of it. Don’t worry about it for tonight,
though. They won’t press charges and she’s sleeping it off in
a cell. We can sort everything in the morning. Forget it all
for tonight and have fun, hon xx

I stared at the message for a few seconds, unblinking.

Benny was a cop who’d moved to Lakeview from Pennsylvania five
years ago. He and Maura started dating about six months after he
arrived. I’d lost count of the number of times he’d picked my mom
up off the street out of a pool of her own vomit. Or arrested her for
petty theft, or driving under the influence, then let her sleep it off in
a cell.
She’d left this morning, but she hadn’t gone far.
Not far enough.
The bitter thought crept into my head from the murky pits of my
battered soul like a bucketful of ice-cold water, throwing me off
guard and sending a flood of emotion rushing up my throat. I had a
goddamn right to those fleeting thoughts, however harsh they were,
and I knew I did. Yet every single one hit like a hammer blow to the
gut. Every damn time.
I fastened a palm to my mouth to curb the rolling sob before it
had the chance to break free, just as the bathroom door burst open
and slammed against the wall. My breath caught when the blonde
guy I’d seen earlier walked through. He took two steps before lifting
his gaze, then pulled up short at the sight of me. He blinked a few
times before stepping back to yank the door open again. Glancing
quickly at the sign, he frowned, then tapped a finger against the
wood.
“Uh... you a dude, or what?”
“What?”
Hazel-green eyes ran a path over my face, then down the length
of my body, lingering on the tight-fitted logo tee stretched across my
breasts for a few seconds too long.
“Do you mind?” I snapped, pulling the pervert’s attention back to
my face.
 “I do not.” His lips kicked up on one side as he continued his
perusal with a slow head wag, his gaze dropping to where my high
waisted leggings molded to the shape of my lower abdomen.
“Definitely not a dude. Which means you’re in the wrong bathroom,
sweetheart.”
“What?” I repeated, disoriented.
Without missing a beat, blonde guy tapped the door front again.
“This bathroom is for people with dicks. Unless you have yours
wedged up your ass…”
I glanced at the sign with a frown, noting he was right.
“Ladies is down the hall.”
I nodded, staring at the door, my phone a ten-pound brick sitting
heavily in my palm. I knew where the lady’s room was. I’d been
coming to Harvey’s for years.
“Okay. Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a shit ton of
beer and my bladder’s about to burst, so…”
Blonde guy let the door fall shut and his sentence fall away as he
moved toward the urinal I hadn’t noticed. Probably because I was
too busy reading about my mom being locked up. Again.
The woman who’d ran out on me this morning after I’d taken
three days off work to help her. Whose brow I’d mopped, whose
vomit I’d cleaned. The woman who made me believe her empty
promises time and time again.
Who’d given up and left the first chance she got, so she could go
get high.
Who’d rather shoot up than stay with her daughter.
Who’d—
“You’re just gonna watch me piss?”
My gaze cut across the room, but I couldn’t find my voice. It was
smothered somewhere beneath the landslide of raw pain I was
desperately trying to keep a lid on.
I just needed a minute to work through it.
I just needed… god, just one damn night.
One night.
With a shrug, blonde guy spun to the wall, fiddled with the zip on
his dark wash jeans, then presumably took out his dick and peed. All
while I stood mute, staring at his back with my heart pounding in
my ears, and my shitty world caving down on top of me. Suffocating
me soundlessly.
I felt invisible. Like I was drowning. Thrashing and screaming for
help, but no one could hear me. No one could see me. I flinched
when a face appeared in front of mine, and I suddenly found myself
staring into a set of mossy-green eyes, streaked with browns and
golds and ambers, like swirls of color on a painter’s canvas.
“Hey? You okay?”
My heartbeat slowed.
Okay?
Most days. Yeah. Today…?
Even after years of therapy, my mother could still show up out of
the blue and throw my entire existence into turmoil.
Dark blonde brows closed together as the guy waited for a
response. I blinked up into his eyes for another silent second before
shaking my head no.
I didn’t know the person standing in front of me. Would probably
never see him again. If I was going to fall apart, let all my crazy-
glued pieces scatter across the bathroom floor, this was the place to
do it. A moment of awkwardness with someone I didn’t know beat
the litany of questions and looks of concern I’d face from Gaby or
Maura if I had a mini breakdown in front of either of them. They
didn’t need to worry. I was okay. Or, at least, I would be okay. Soon.
Again. Just… not right now.
“Should I call someone?”
Startled, I blinked when blonde guy bent at the knees and aligned
our faces. Our gazes pulled together like magnets, and when gentle
fingers touched my face, a sudden spark of awareness fired through
me like a bullet.
Or maybe a meteor shooting across a pitch-black sky. A tiny streak
of light illuminating the dark.
My stomach clenched with something that felt worlds away from
the sinking sensation of defeat, and I was gripped with an intense
urge to chase it. Somewhere rattling around in my murky brain, a
voice urging me to stop and think went ignored.
 Because I’d wasted half my life thinking. For once, I wanted to do
the opposite of think.
I wanted to act on impulse. Be young and free. Stupid and
reckless.
My eyes flickered over the handsome face hovering inches from
mine, crinkled with confusion. The chiseled features and angular
jawline. Mussed blonde hair, and the kaleidoscope of fall colors
churning in his narrowed eyes.
He would be the perfect distraction. A life raft in unforgiving
waters. I could break apart in his strong arms, and he wouldn’t even
have to know he was keeping me together.
Tomorrow, I’d succumb to reality. I always did. Tonight, though, I
just wanted to escape it.
I needed something to cling on to until I found the strength to
swim.
My lungs inflated, then fell, words tumbling from my lips in a spill
of warm air. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
A set of thick blonde eyebrows drew inward. “What?”
“Are you in a relationship with someone?”
“Uhh, no…?”
I took a step back and flicked the lock on the bathroom door.
“Are you into women?” I held his gaze, and he arched a brow.
“Fuck, yes.”
Sawing my teeth into my bottom lip, I glanced down. My heart
pounded as nervousness slid through me like hot treacle. I wasn’t a
virgin, but this wasn’t me. I’d never propositioned a total stranger in
a bathroom before. The last person I’d slept with was a guy from my
statistics class almost a year ago, and that had just kind of
happened.
Like most things happened to me.
But this right here was something I could control. Something I
could choose and dictate and decide. A decision I could make on my
own terms, in a world where it sometimes felt like everything was
spinning just beyond my reach.
My mother had been leaving me for as long as I could remember.
I’d hardened myself to it, but I might never truly be okay with it.
Acceptance was the only option available to me.
This would be my choice. A way to take my mind off my problems
that I could forget all about tomorrow and never have to think about
again. They said to act like a typical college student? Well, this was
about as close as I was ever going to get.
Looking up through my lashes, I blew out a breath. “Are you into
me?”
“The fuck...?” He swept a hand through his blonde hair while I
stared up at him.
Without giving myself time to consider what I was about to do, I
reached for the bottom of my shirt and tugged it over my head.
“Shit!”
Face and voice expressionless, I stood in front of him and waited.
Confusion mixed with desire in his hazel-green eyes as they
volleyed back and forth between my face and bra-covered breasts.
“Okay,” he choked, swiping a hand over his face. “I’ve got no idea
what’s going on here.”
“Just… kiss me,” I breathed, bringing his head up sharply.
Maybe girls weren’t usually this direct. Maybe I was doing this all
wrong. Who the hell knew? I just knew I was standing in a
bathroom on the verge of drowning, and I needed someone to save
me without knowing what they were doing, or why.
“What?”
“I just...” I paused, the unfamiliar experience of being so openly
vulnerable forcing my eyes shut. “Just… make me feel something.
Something else. Please.”
His head dipped as my voice cracked, two big palms moving to
close around my face.
“Look, I’m a guy. You’re standing here in your underwear asking
me to kiss you so I’m hard as fuck and it’s taking literally everything
I have not to bend you over and pound you into that wall, but... I
honestly don’t know if that’s what you really want or need.”
To my embarrassment, tears seeped from between my closed lids
and spilled over my cheeks.
“Hey. Fuck. I... uh...”
 “It’s fine.” I spun away and reached for my discarded top. “I
shouldn’t have assumed you’d want to.”
“Shit. It’s not because I don’t want to. Believe me,” he said,
coming around to take my wrist. “You’re seriously hot. Your tits—
damn. In my head, I’ve made you come three times already.”
A strangled laugh rose in my throat, falling from me as I lifted my
watery gaze to his. “You’re everything I need… for a few minutes.”
He stilled, his eyes sweeping between mine, that cut jawline
rolling with indecision. “How drunk are you?”
I shook my head. “I know what I’m doing.”
“How old?”
“Twenty. You done asking questions?”
He smirked. “Not yet. You usually ask random guys to kiss you in
the bathroom?”
“First time.”
His eyes widened. “First time?”
“First time I’ve done this,” I clarified, waving a finger between us.
“Not my first time having sex.”
His eyebrows knitted. “Why me?”
I swallowed and looked down at my feet. “Why not?”
He was silent for a long time before he asked, “What happened to
you?”
Just like that, tears pricked again. Tears I’d spent years getting
under control. I looked up at him through them, practically begging
when I murmured, “For one night, I just want to forget all about it.”
He nodded once, blinked. Nodded again. Then he stepped forward
and grabbed the sides of my face.
We met in a kiss of quiet desperation, his mouth providing the
escape I needed as his tongue swept over the seam of my lips and
plunged inside. We didn’t speak as we stumbled back into the wall,
working our pants loose until his cleared his ass cheeks and he
roughly dragged mine off.
One muscular arm banded around my waist, hiking me up off the
ground as I wound my legs around his hips. He eased back to reach
between us, holding me in place with his lower body as his gaze
locked onto mine, and his fingers hooked around the fabric of my
panties.
“This is what you want?” he asked, voice rough, eyes sweeping
between mine. I nodded, breathing raggedly as he ran his tongue
over his lips. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” I breathed, sensing he needed to hear the word.
His fingers slipped beneath the fabric.
“You’re wet,” he rasped, skimming the tip of a lazy thumb through
my folds.
I dragged in a breath, nodding blindly as my core clenched.
His jaw pulsed as he removed his hand, grabbed a packet from his
pocket and put it to his mouth. He tore it open with his teeth before
handing it to me and settling both palms under my ass. I reached
down to slide it over his length, then placed my hands on his
shoulders and held my breath.
He rolled forward slowly, nudging me just once, then paused and
pulled back.
“Wait. What’s your name?”
“What?” I gasped with a frown, wriggling my lower body to get
the friction back.
“Your name? You have one, right?”
“Do I need one?” I clipped, frustration and need coiling through
me. So close. He was so goddamn close.
“Kind of thought everyone needed one.”
I huffed out a breath. “Do I need one for you to screw me?”
He tipped his head, eyes thinning a little. He stared at me a while
longer, then shrugged with a muttered “guess not,” and drove into
me in one smooth thrust.
My head fell back with a relieved cry as soon as he filled me,
meeting the brick wall with a thud I barely felt as every muscle
spiraled tight with need.
Need. I needed this. I needed to be somewhere else.
Wherever he could take me for a few minutes.
My eyes closed, and my head spun. Then he pulled back and
drove forward again, slamming my back into the wall. My lids shot
open when he pressed into me and placed his lips to my ear, his
voice a delicious rasp that curled through every cell in my body.
“My name’s Danny.” His breath heated my skin. “Just so you know
what to scream.”
My mouth parted on a gasp as his hips drew back, then forward
again, spearing me. Sensation sparked a path through my
bloodstream, building until my muscles quivered and my head spun.
I clasped on tight to his broad shoulders as he pounded me into the
wall in relentless thrusts, just like he’d promised. Then, for some
unknown reason, I heard myself blurting into his shoulder, “Nova.”
“What?” he grunted, pulling back to look at me without pausing
his motions.
“Nova,” I choked again, my eyes squeezing closed as another
wave of pleasure rocketed through me. “My name’s Nova.”
“Huh.” He caught my face with one hand, his lower body rocking
as he said, “Nova what?”
“What?” I swung my head from side to side, catching my lip
between my teeth as a wall of sensation crashed into me.
“Nova what? Scotia? Super? What are you named after?”
Opening my eyes halfway, I parted my lips in a soft cry. “Why do I
have to be named after something?”
He lifted a shoulder, then slammed forward again with a grunt.
“You don’t.” His brows pulled down, lids heavy as he chased down
his release.
When he went to open his mouth again, probably to ask more
inane questions, I swooped forward and covered it with mine,
driving my tongue between his lips. With one more brush of his hard
pelvis against the pulsing bundle of nerves between my thighs, I
blasted apart around him, crying out into his mouth, and biting down
on his lower lip as my body squeezed his. Less than a second later,
his jerking hips pinned me to the wall while he ground into the space
between my thighs.
Open-mouthed, we poured silent cries into each other as we rode
out the waves of ecstasy cresting between us, then finally stilled.
My heartbeat raged in my ears as I dropped my head into the
crook of his sweat-covered throat, still wrapped tightly around his
Another random document with
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 MINCE PIES ROYAL. (ENTREMETS.)

Add to half a pound of good mincemeat an ounce and a half of

pounded sugar, the grated rind and the strained juice of a large
lemon, one ounce of clarified butter, and the yolks of four eggs; beat
these well together, and half fill, or rather more, with the mixture,
some pattypans lined with fine paste; put them into a moderate oven,
and when the insides are just set, ice them thickly with the whites of
the eggs beaten to snow, and mixed quickly at the moment with four
heaped tablespoonsful of pounded sugar; set them immediately into
the oven again, and bake them slowly of a fine light brown.
Mincemeat, 1/2 lb.; sugar, 1-1/2 oz.; rind and juice, 1 large lemon;
butter, 1 oz.; yolks, 4 eggs. Icing: whites, 4 eggs; sugar, 4
tablespoonsful.
 THE MONITOR’S TART, OR TOURTE À LA JUDD.

Put into an enamelled stewpan, or into a delicately clean

saucepan, three quarters of a pound of well-flavoured apples,
weighed after they are pared and cored; add to them from three to
four ounces of pounded sugar, an ounce and a half of fresh butter
cut small, and half a teaspoonful of pounded cinnamon, or the lightly
grated rind of a small lemon. Let them stand over, or by the side of a
gentle fire until they begin to soften, and toss them now and then to
mingle the whole well, but do not stir them with a spoon; they should
all remain unbroken and rather firm. Turn them into a dish, and let
them become cold. Divide three-quarters of a pound of good light
paste into two equal portions; roll out one quite thin and round, flour
an oven-leaf and lay it on, as the tart cannot so well be moved after it
is made; place the apples upon it in the form of a dome, but leave a
clear space of an inch or more round the edge; moisten this with
white of egg, and press the remaining half of the paste (which should
be rolled out to the same size, and laid carefully over the apples)
closely upon it: they should be well secured, that the syrup from the
fruit may not burst through. Whisk the white of an egg to a froth,
brush it over the tart with a paste brush or a small bunch of feathers,
sift sugar thickly over, and then strew upon it some almonds
blanched and roughly chopped; bake the tart in a moderate oven
from thirty-five to forty-five minutes. It may be filled with peaches, or
apricots, half stewed like the apples, or with cherries merely rolled in
fine sugar; or with the pastry cream of page 173.
Light paste, 1/2 to 3/4 lb.; apples, 12 oz.; butter, 1-1/2 oz.; sugar, 4
oz.; glazing of egg and sugar; some almonds: 35 to 45 minutes.
 PUDDING PIES. (ENTREMETS.)

This form of pastry (or its name at least) is, we believe, peculiar to
the county of Kent, where it is made in abundance, and eaten by all
classes of people during Lent. Boil for fifteen minutes three ounces
of ground rice[126] in a pint and a half of new milk, and when taken
from the fire stir into it three ounces of butter and four of sugar; add
to these six well-beaten eggs, a grain or two of salt, and a flavouring
of nutmeg or lemon-rind at pleasure. When the mixture is nearly
cold, line some large pattypans or some saucers with thin puff paste,
fill them with it three parts full, strew the tops thickly with currants
which have been cleaned and dried, and bake the pudding-pies from
fifteen to twenty minutes in a gentle oven.
126. Or rice-flour.
Milk, 1-1/2 pint; ground rice, 3 oz.: 15 minutes. Butter, 3 oz.; sugar,
1/4 lb.; nutmeg or lemon-rind; eggs, 6; currants, 4 to 6 oz.: 15 to 30
minutes.
 PUDDING PIES.

(A commoner kind.)
One quart of new milk, five ounces of ground rice, butter, one
ounce and a half (or more), four ounces of sugar, half a small
nutmeg grated, a pinch of salt, four large eggs, and three ounces of
currants.
 COCOA-NUT CHEESE-CAKES. (ENTREMETS.)

(Jamaica Receipt.)
Break carefully the shell of the nut, that the liquid it contains may
not escape.[127] Take out the kernel, pare thinly off the dark skin,
and grate the nut on a delicately clean grater; put it, with its weight of
pounded sugar, and its own milk, or a couple of spoonsful or rather
more of water, into a silver or block-tin saucepan, or a very small
copper stewpan perfectly tinned, and keep it gently stirred over a
quite clear fire until it is tender: it will sometimes require an hour’s
stewing to make it so. When a little cooled, add to the nut, and beat
well with it, some eggs properly whisked and strained, and the
grated rind of half a lemon. Line some pattypans with fine paste, put
in the mixture, and bake the cheese-cakes from thirteen to fifteen
minutes.
127. This, as we have elsewhere stated, is best secured by boring the shell before
it is broken. The milk of the nut should never be used unless it be very fresh.

Grated cocoa-nut, 6 oz.; sugar, 6 oz.; the milk of the nut, or of

water, 2 large tablespoonsful: 1/2 to 1 hour. Eggs, 5; lemon-rind, 1/2
of 1: 13 to 15 minutes.
Obs.—We have found the cheese-cakes made with these
proportions very excellent indeed, but should the mixture be
considered too sweet, another egg or two can be added, and a little
brandy also. With a spoonful or two more of liquid too, the nut would
become tender in a shorter time.
 COMMON LEMON TARTLETS.

Beat four eggs until they are exceedingly light, add to them
gradually four ounces of pounded sugar, and whisk these together
for five minutes; strew lightly in, if it be at hand, a dessertspoonful of
potato flour, if not, of common flour well dried and sifted,[128] then
throw into the mixture by slow degrees, three ounces of good butter,
which should be dissolved, but only just lukewarm: beat the whole
well, then stir briskly in, the strained juice and the grated rind of one
lemon and a half. Line some pattypans with fine puff-paste rolled
very thin, fill them two-thirds full, and bake the tartlets about twenty
minutes, in a moderate oven.
128. A few ratifias, or three or four macaroons rolled to powder, or a stale sponge
or Naples biscuit or two, reduced to the finest crumbs, may be substituted for
either of these: more lemon, too, can be added to the taste.

Eggs, 4; sugar, 4 oz.; potato-flour, or common flour, 1

dessertspoonful; butter, 3 oz.; juice and rind of 1-1/2 full-sized lemon:
baked 15 to 20 minutes.
 MADAME WERNER’S ROSENVIK CHEESE-CAKES.

Blanch and pound to the finest possible paste, four ounces of fine
fresh Jordan almonds, with a few drops of lemon-juice or water, then
mix with them, very gradually indeed, six fresh, and thoroughly well-
whisked eggs; throw in by degrees twelve ounces of pounded sugar,
and beat the mixture without intermission all the time: add then the
finely grated rinds of four small, or of three large lemons, and
afterwards, by very slow degrees, the strained juice of all. When
these ingredients are perfectly blended, pour to them in small
portions, four ounces of just liquefied butter (six of clarified if
exceedingly rich cheese-cakes are wished for), and again whisk the
mixture lightly for several minutes; thicken it over the fire like boiled
custard, and either put it into small pans or jars for storing,[129] or fill
with it, one-third full, some pattypans lined with the finest paste;
place lightly on it a layer of apricot, orange, or lemon-marmalade,
and on this pour as much more of the mixture. Bake the cheese-
cakes from fifteen to twenty minutes in a moderate oven. They are
very good without the layer of preserve.
129. This preparation will make excellent fanchonettes, or pastry-sandwiches. It
will not curdle if gently boiled for two or three minutes (and stirred without
ceasing), and it may be long kept afterwards.

Jordan almonds, 4 oz.; eggs, 6; sugar, 12 oz.; rinds and strained

juice of 4 small, or of 3 quite large lemons; butter, 4 oz. (6 for rich
cheese-cakes); layers of preserve. Baked 15 to 20 minutes,
moderate oven.
 APFEL KRAPFEN.

(German Receipt.)
Boil down three-quarters of a pound of good apples with four
ounces of pounded sugar, and a small glass of white wine, or the
strained juice of a lemon; when they are stewed quite to a pulp, keep
them stirred until they are thick and dry; then mix them gradually with
four ounces of almonds, beaten to a paste, or very finely chopped,
two ounces of candied orange or lemon-rind shred extremely small,
and six ounces of jar raisins stoned and quartered: to these the
Germans add a rather high flavouring of cinnamon, which is a very
favourite spice with them, but a grating of nutmeg, and some fresh
lemon-peel, are, we think, preferable for this composition. Mix all the
ingredients well together; roll out some butter-crust a full back-of-
knife thickness, cut it into four-inch squares, brush the edges to the
depth of an inch round with beaten egg, fill them with the mixture, lay
another square of paste on each, press them very securely together,
make, with the point of a knife, a small incision in the top of each,
glaze them or not at pleasure, and bake them rather slowly, that the
raisins may have time to become tender. They are very good. The
proportion of sugar must be regulated by the nature of the fruit; and
that of the almonds can be diminished when it is thought too much. A
delicious tart of the kind is made by substituting for the raisins and
candied orange-rind, two heaped tablespoonsful of very fine apricot
jam.
 CRÊME PATISSIÈRE, OR PASTRY CREAM.

To one ounce of fine flour add, very gradually, the beaten yolks of
three fresh eggs; stir to them briskly, and in small portions at first,
three-quarters of a pint of boiling cream, or of cream and new milk
mixed; then turn the whole into a clean stewpan, and stir it over a
very gentle fire until it is quite thick, take it off, and stir it well up and
round; replace it over the fire, and let it just simmer from six to eight
minutes; pour it into a basin, and add to it immediately a couple of
ounces of pounded sugar, one and a half of fresh butter, cut small, or
clarified, and a spoonful of the store mixture of page 153, or a little
sugar which has been rubbed on the rind of a lemon. The cream is
rich enough for common use without further addition; but an ounce
and a half of ratifias, crushed almost to powder with a paste-roller
improves it much, and they should be mixed with it for the receipt
which follows.
Flour, 1 oz.; yolks of eggs, 3; boiling cream, or milk and cream
mixed, 3/4 pint: just simmered, 6 to 8 minutes. Butter, 1-1/2 oz.;
sugar, 2 oz.; little store-flavouring, or rasped lemon-rind; ratifias, 1-
1/2 oz.
Obs.—This is an excellent preparation, which may be used for
tartlets, cannelons, and other forms of pastry, with extremely good
effect.
 SMALL VOLS-AU-VENTS, À LA PARISIENNE. (ENTREMETS.)

Make some small vols-au-vents by the directions of page 361,

either in the usual way, or with the rings of paste placed upon the
rounds. Ice the edges as soon as they are taken from the oven, by
sifting fine sugar thickly on them, and then holding a salamander or
heated shovel over them, until it melts and forms a sort of pale
barley-sugar glaze. Have ready, and quite hot, some crême
patissière, made as above; fill the vols-au-vents with it, and send
them to table instantly. These will be found very good without the
icing.
 PASTRY SANDWICHES.

Divide equally in two, and roll off square and as thin as possible,
some rich puff paste;[130] lay one half on a buttered tin, or copper
oven-leaf, and spread it lightly with fine currant, strawberry or
raspberry jelly; lay the remaining half closely over, pressing it a little
with the rolling pin after the edges are well cemented together; then
mark it into divisions, and bake it from fifteen to twenty minutes in a
moderate oven.
130. Almond-paste is sometimes substituted for this.
 LEMON SANDWICHES.

Substitute for preserve, in the preceding receipt, the lemon

cheesecake mixture of page 372, with or without the almonds in it.
 FANCHONNETTES. (ENTREMETS).

Roll out very thin and square some fine puff paste, lay it on a tin or
copper oven-leaf, and cover it equally to within something less than
an inch of the edge with peach or apricot jam; roll a second bit of
paste to the same size, and lay it carefully over the other, having first
moistened the edges with beaten egg, or water; press them together
securely, that the preserve may not escape; pass a paste-brush or
small bunch of feathers dipped in water over the top, sift sugar
thickly on it, then with the back of a knife, mark the paste into
divisions of uniform size, bake it in a well-heated but not fierce oven
for twenty minutes, or rather more, and cut it while it is still hot,
where it is marked. The fanchonnettes should be about three inches
in length and two in width. In order to lay the second crust over the
preserve without disturbing it, wind it lightly round the paste-roller,
and in untwisting it, let it fall gently over the other part.
This is not the form of pastry called by the French fanchonnettes.
Fine puff paste, 1 lb.; apricot or peach jam, 4 to 6 oz.: baked 20 to 25
minutes.
 JELLY TARTLETS, OR CUSTARDS.

Put four tablespoonsful of fine fruit-jelly into a basin, and stir to it

gradually twelve spoonsful of beaten egg; if the preserve be rich and
sweet, no sugar will be required. Line some pans with paste rolled
very thin, fill them with the custard, and bake them about ten
minutes.[131]
131. Strawberry or raspberry jelly will answer admirably for these.
 STRAWBERRY TARTLETS. (GOOD.)

Take a full half-pint of freshly-gathered strawberries, without the

stalks; first crush, and then mix them with two ounces and a half of
powdered sugar; stir to them by degrees four well-whisked eggs,
beat the mixture a little, and put it into pattypans lined with fine
paste: they should be only three parts filled. Bake the tartlets from
ten to twelve minutes.
 RASPBERRY PUFFS.

Roll out thin some fine puff-paste, cut it in rounds or squares of

equal size, lay some raspberry jam into each, moisten the edges of
the paste, fold and press them together, and bake the puffs from
fifteen to eighteen minutes. Strawberry, or any other jam will serve
for them equally well.
 CREAMED TARTLETS.

Line some pattypans with very fine paste, and put into each a
layer of apricot jam; on this pour some thick boiled custard, or the
pastry cream of page 373. Whisk the whites of a couple of eggs to a
solid froth, mix a couple of tablespoonsful of sifted sugar with them,
lay this icing lightly over the tartlets, and bake them in a gentle oven
from twenty to thirty minutes, unless they should be very small, when
less time must be allowed for them.
 RAMEKINS À L’UDE, OR SEFTON FANCIES.

Roll out, rather thin, from six to eight ounces of fine cream-crust,
or feuilletage (see page 345); take nearly or quite half its weight of
grated Parmesan, or something less of dry white English cheese;
sprinkle it equally over the paste, fold it together, roll it out very lightly
twice, and continue thus until the cheese and crust are well mixed.
Cut the ramekins with a small paste-cutter; wash them with yolk of
egg mixed with a little milk, and bake them about fifteen minutes.
Serve them very hot.
Cream-crust, or feuilletage, 6 oz.; Parmesan, 3 oz.; or English
cheese, 2-1/2 oz.: baked 12 to 15 minutes.

Mould for large Vols-au-vents or Tourtes.

Paste Pincers.
 CHAPTER XIX.

Soufflés, Omlets, &c.