Talk of the town, p.1
Talk of the Town, page 1
TALK OF THE TOWN
TALK OF THE TOWN
BOOK 1
RACHAEL OGLE
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Rachael Ogle is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.
Talk of the Town © 2024 by Rachael Ogle
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Yummy Book Covers
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Eighteen months ago, when I originally wrote the manuscript for Talk of the Town, I wasn’t sure it would actually ever be something I would publish. The majority of the books I’ve written—many of which will probably never see the light of day—contain much heavier themes.
Truthfully, my writing has helped me work through a tremendous amount of my trauma and most days, I will freely admit that writing has saved my life.
But, as is often the case for most of my characters, they keep demanding their place in the sun. Gemma and Brewster were no exception. Theirs is a major departure from the angsty and sometimes heartbreaking stories I’m used to telling.
I’m not mad about it.
After the mental and emotional toll editing and publishing Crash into Me (Knox County book 4) took on me (IYKYK), I was in dire need of a palette cleanser. Gemma and Brewster were exactly the breath of fresh air I needed to bring me back to an even keel.
Honestly, from a marketing standpoint, releasing one book while you’re in the middle of entirely different series probably isn’t wise. As I often tell y’all, though, mental health comes first. My mental health needed Gemma and Brewster and their swoony, fluffy tale.
No angst. No heartbreak. No third-act breakup. Just two people finally realizing what was there all along (and having fan-fucking-tastic sex in the process).
I truly hope you love this dynamic duo.
And if you just can’t live without angst and trauma, don’t worry. Book two will be right up your alley.
All that being said, Talk of the Town does contain accidental drug use and a scene involving a conversation regarding the death of a child (off-page, historical, and not belonging to either MC).
As always, protect your mental health.
Much love,
Rach
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Gemma
Chapter 2
Brewster
Chapter 3
Gemma
Chapter 4
Brewster
Chapter 5
Gemma
Chapter 6
Brewster
Chapter 7
Gemma
Chapter 8
Brewster
Chapter 9
Gemma
Chapter 10
Brewster
Chapter 11
Gemma
Chapter 12
Brewster
Chapter 13
Gemma
Chapter 14
Brewster
Chapter 15
Gemma
Chapter 16
Brewster
Chapter 17
Gemma
Chapter 18
Brewster
Chapter 19
Gemma
Chapter 20
Brewster
Chapter 21
Gemma
Chapter 22
Brewster
Chapter 23
Gemma
Chapter 24
Brewster
Chapter 25
Gemma
Chapter 26
Brewster
Chapter 27
Gemma
Chapter 28
Brewster
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Also by Rachael Ogle
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
GEMMA
Pain. Searing, aching, throbbing pain. Everywhere. There isn’t an inch of my body that doesn’t feel like it’s been hit by a train. Especially my brain. It feels the worst of all. I try to roll over, but nausea threatens to bring up every bit of the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed last night. And it must’ve been tons, because I remember nothing. Every single moment after Brew and I left the restaurant and started playing craps at that casino is a total blank.
I shift my hips and I’m greeted with a wholly different kind of pain. Not an unpleasant pain in the least, but the familiar ache of vigorous sex. I try to remember if I had sex, but I draw a blank. Attempting to clear away some of the brain fog, I drag my hand down my face and something snags on my nose ring.
Something metal.
I dare to squint, praying it’s not as bright as I suspect it will be when I open my eyes. I examine my left hand through barely parted lids and see something glint on my finger. My ring finger. And despite my blinding headache and roiling guts from my apparent hangover—or hell, maybe I’m still a little drunk—I open my eyes wide and focus on my hand.
Why the fuck is there a gold band on my finger?
I’m awake now. More awake than I’ve ever been in my life. I still can’t sit up, because I know I’ll puke. I try to rack my brain for any explanation other than the fantastical scenario I’m working up in my mind as to why I’d be wearing what looks like a wedding band.
And that’s when I hear it. Snoring. Next to me in the bed. My heart pounds and I will my brain to tell me what is going on. I’m praying to all that is holy that I’m hallucinating because Brew and I made a spontaneous trip out to the desert and we’re tripping on shrooms and I’m having some sort of extremely detailed fever dream.
But then, my bedmate moves and the mattress squeaks and I know I’m not alone and it’s not all a dream. And having the confirmation that I’m not alone sends sharp pangs of fear to my stomach and it knots up, threatening to puke for a completely different reason than the lingering alcohol in my system.
Just get it over with, Gemma. Find out who you slept with. You can totally laugh about it when you’re sober. You and Brew can share horror stories about this weekend when you get home and you can tell all your listeners about your wild, drunken night at the radio broadcasters convention.
I blow out a steadying breath and try to roll over without moving my head; which is exactly as difficult as you think it would be. It seems to take hours to get my pounding brain to cooperate with my aching limbs—seriously, that must have been some really excellent sex.
By the time I’m facing my unknown bed companion, I see the back of a head with long, light brown hair. For a split-second, I think I might’ve slept with a woman, but then I see the outline of a dark bearded jaw and realize that it is, indeed, a man. Then my eyes catch on a very familiar tattoo against pale skin that I’ve seen almost every day for as long as he’s had it.
The tattoo of that fucking goose that I’ve never stopped giving him shit for but secretly love. It’s only then that my body catches up with my brain and my heart stops.
Brew is in bed with me.
What. The. Fuck.
Even though I already know what I’m going to find, I lift the blankets and yep, I’m totally naked. And by the looks of it, sporting some really impressive hickeys and bite marks. I sit up as quickly as I dare and try with every functioning brain cell that remains after last night to piece together the events of the previous evening.
Out of sheer curiosity, I lift the blankets to glance over at Brew to confirm what I already suspect I’m going to find. Yep, he’s naked, too. And damn, he’s got a nice ass. Shit, how did I not know that? I drop the covers and scrub my hands over my face. Again, the ring on my finger snags on my piercing and I look at it.
It definitely looks like a wedding band, but surely not. There’s no fucking way Brew and I got married. Yeah, we’re in Vegas, but still. It didn’t happen. But, as if to provide even more proof, Brew rolls over in his sleep and his left hand comes to rest on his chest. He, too, sports a gold band and my heart stops again.
Surely, there has to be some logical explanation. This has to be some crazy stunt Brew cooked up while we were drinking and I was just drunk enough to go along with it. Maybe we decided to do it to show our listeners how easy it is to get married in Vegas?
Think, Gemma.
I make a mental list of things I know for certain, right this minute.
I’m naked in a hotel room.
I’m naked in a hotel room with my co-worker and best friend.
I’ve had sex. With Brew?
Brew and I are both wearing wedding rings.
Brew has a great ass.
I’m hit with the need to satisfy another curiosity now that Brew is on his back. I glance at his face and his mouth is open in obvious sleep. And I know how not a morning person he is and that he’ll probably sleep until noon if not roused by his seven alarms. He’s out cold and I can’t not look, so I pick up the blankets and glance at his dick. My mouth falls open in utter shock. Even only half-hard with a morning erection, it’s impressive. I quickly drop the blankets as heat travels from my cheeks down to my torso.
&nbs p; No wonder I’m sore. Fuck.
If I were making a list, I’d also have to add that Brew is HUNG.
Attempting to not freak out more than I already am, I try to wrap my mind around what is the most likely scenario of what happened last night. Brew and I went to supper. We were talking about how everyone our age was settling down and getting married and starting families. I joked that I’ll probably never get married because no one would want to put up with the fact that I’ll always put my job first. Brew said something about how he didn’t think that was true and that when I found the right person, my job wouldn’t be so important.
We left the restaurant where we’d already had a few drinks, but we weren’t drunk in the least. Maybe a little buzzed, but we weren’t driving, so it was fine. We went to the casino down the street to play craps, since Brew had always wanted to play. They started bringing us drinks and…
The rest is a blank.
I jump out of bed and immediately regret it when the room starts to spin. I brace my hands on my knees to remain standing and glance around, realizing this isn’t even either of our rooms. We’re not even in our hotel? A peek at the clock on the nightstand reveals that it’s after nine. We’re supposed to check out today and go home. I look around and attempt to find my clothes, trying to remember what I was even wearing last night before I see my dress. I keep searching and finally come up with my bra, panties, and sandals as well.
I gather up my articles of clothing, step into the bathroom and take the longest pee ever. After I flush the toilet and wash my hands, I glance at my reflection in the mirror. My makeup is smudged around my hazel eyes and my long, dark-brown hair is wild. And yes, my naturally tan skin is covered in bite marks, starting at my breasts down to my inner thighs. I try not to think about those as I hastily pull on my clothes. I grab a washcloth, wet it, and wipe away as much of my makeup as I can. I run my fingers through my hair, attempting to tame some of the tangles. When things are as good as they’re going to get, I head back out to the bedroom and try to track down my purse or phone or anything that might indicate that we actually did what I’m fearing we did.
I know I also need to get Brew up, since it’s going to take him thirty minutes to come around anyway. I don’t think about the fact that we most likely slept together and, by all accounts, I really enjoyed it. I don’t think about the fact that Brew and I have known each other for ten years and before last night, hadn’t ever even kissed; regardless of the flirtatious banter that is our entire working relationship.
You don’t know if you even kissed last night, Gemma.
Trying to focus, I steel myself and walk over to his side of the bed. I plant my hands on Brew’s shoulders and try not to react to how firm his delts feel under my hands. How have I never noticed that before? I shake him none too gently, because I know how deeply he sleeps. “Brew. Wake up.”
He lets out a soft grunt, but doesn’t stir. I shake him harder and say his name louder. By the third time, I’m practically screaming.
“Jesus, Gem. What?” His voice is gravelly from sleep, and I don’t like how it stirs something in me to hear it.
Nothing has changed, Gemma. You don’t even remember shit. Stop it.
“Brew, fucking get up.” Even to my own ears, I sound freaked out because I am. He must hear it in my tone and it alerts something in his brain because his eyes pop open and he sits bolt upright.
“What’s wrong?” Then his own hangover seems to hit him and he grabs his head with both hands. “What the fuck? Did someone jackhammer my brain? Shit.”
“Yeah, apparently we got really drunk,” I supply, still panicked.
His eyes are barely open, and he finally seems to realize I’m in the room with him. “Gem, how did you get into my room?”
“We’re not in either of our rooms, Brew. We’re in a different room. I think it’s that casino we went to after supper.”
He glances around, his movements hesitant. “What?” He starts to rise from the bed and I shoot my hand out to stop him.
“Also, you’re naked, so you might want to wrap a sheet around yourself or something.” His brow furrows in confusion and he peeks under the blankets to confirm what I’ve told him.
“How did you know I was naked?” I open my mouth and nothing comes out, and he gives me a knowing smirk. “Did you sneak a peek at my junk, Gem?” My expression must convey pain or some other equally unpleasant emotion and he blanches. “Well, shit, that’s not typically the reaction I get from a woman when they see me naked.”
“It—It’s not that,” I stammer. My next words come out in a rush. “I was naked, too. I think we had sex. And I also think we got married, but I don’t remember anything after we started playing craps.”
All the color drains from his face and I don’t know whether to be pleased or offended. I feel like that must’ve been what I looked like when he asked if I looked at him naked.
He finally notices the gold ring on his own hand. “What the fuck, Gemma? What did we do?” I open my arms, palms up, as if to say, no damn clue. He starts to climb out of bed again and I hold up my hand. Shaking his head, he rolls his eyes. “What, Gem; you’ve apparently already seen it all. Don’t pretend you’re a prude. We both know you’re not.” His tone is flat, as if me seeing him naked in broad daylight is no longer a big deal. Except to me, it is. I turn to face the wall and look up at the ceiling to offer him a bit of privacy. “Jesus, Gemma. We’re adults. It’s just a dick. Not like you haven’t seen plenty before.”
“Yeah, but it’s yours, Brew. I was never supposed to see yours.”
He chuckles. “Well, too late now, Pearl.” The nickname he gave me years ago suddenly grates on me, because it feels like things have changed between us, even if I don’t yet know how. I hear him go into the bathroom and come out a few minutes later. “I’m decent.”
Relieved, I turn around to see him pulling his rumpled T-shirt over his head. “Have you seen your phone? Or mine?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Where’s your purse? Surely whatever paperwork we have will be in there, right?”
“Help me find it. We also have to get back to our hotel and check out by eleven. And our flight home is at two.”
“We can’t fly home until we annul this. If we really even got married. Maybe we just got rings. You know us, we’re stupid. Well, I am. It would totally be on brand for me to convince you to go along with some crazy scheme I’ve worked up. I probably said we should pretend to be married to see if we could get people to buy us drinks and stuff. I mean, obviously, we had a lot of drinks, because I’m trashed.” He tosses the pillows onto the floor, trying to find our stuff.
“And hey, maybe we had sex,” he says with a shrug. “I don’t remember it, and I’m guessing you don’t either?” I shake my head. “Okay, so that’s like it never happened. It’s going to be fine, Gem.” He goes back to pulling blankets off the bed in a continued attempt to locate our phones.
“I’m glad you’re so calm because I’m freaking the fuck out, Brew.” His head snaps in my direction and he must see the panic in my face, because he stops searching and comes to stand in front of me.
He doesn’t touch me and I don’t know whether to be happy or upset, because it’s nothing for him to squeeze my arms in friendly support or even pull me in for a hug. But he doesn’t, which makes me feel like things really have changed between us. “Hey, it’ll be fine, Pearl. We’ll get it figured out, okay?” His voice is soft, and he gives me a smile that normally would put me at ease, but now, just makes me burst into tears.
And honestly, I’m not even sure why, except that I possibly married and slept with my best friend and everything’s weird now. Brew pulls me into his arms. “It’s okay, Gemma. Don’t cry. Like I said, we’ll sort all this out and when we get back to work, we’ll laugh about it.” He rubs my back, even as I continue to sob. My face is in his chest and as his scent enters my nose, I have a flash of something from what I can only assume is last night.
