Maybe in Fifty: A Novella, page 1
MAYBE IN FIFTY
PREQUEL NOVELLA TO UNEXPECTEDLY RUINED
IRENE BAHRD
Copyright © 2023 by Irene Bahrd
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Author Note: All names, characters, businesses, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover created by Love Lee Creative.
Created with Vellum
To Harrison Ford in 1981—
Thank you for being sexy as fuck.
CONTENTS
Content Warnings
Author Note
1. Amanda
2. Jack
3. Amanda
4. Jack
5. Amanda
6. Jack
7. Amanda
8. Jack
9. Amanda
10. Jack
11. Amanda
Loved Maybe in Fifty?
Acknowledgments
About Irene
Also by Irene Bahrd
CONTENT WARNINGS
By reading this book, there is a good chance you will experience the following side effects:
Wet panties.
Binge watching the Indiana Jones trilogy.
Finding the closest bakery for a bagel and lox.
Frequenting a hotel bar in hopes of finding your own Jack.
You’re welcome.
All jokes aside, this is a slow-to-medium burn, medium-spice romantic comedy prequel novella with a healthy dose of on-page explicit content. It is intended for mature audiences. Also, it’s a short novella, so only expect this sexy read to have your hands in your pants once or twice before it’s over.
Additionally, there are scenes with:
Oral sexytime — it’s an Irene Bahrd trademark, you knew it was coming
Mild masochism — just a little biting/marking
Sex with a stranger — you would too if you met Jack
Butt stuff — just a knuckle in the bum
Edging — don’t worry he’ll let her come
Ok, fine, this is a shopping list and not warnings…
If you are triggered by anything in this book, do us both a favor and don’t read anything else in my backlist. The rest of my books are equally unhinged.
AUTHOR NOTE
This is a prequel novella to Unexpectedly Ruined. It can be read as the first in the series, but contains mild spoilers for A Voice Without Reason and Not Her Villain. There are references to characters from other books, but you shouldn’t feel lost if you haven’t read them.
For the best reading experience, this novella is recommended prior to Unexpectedly Ruined.
Jack’s chapters are written in British English, Amanda’s are not. You will find an extra “u” and a lack of “z” in his point of view. This is intentional.
Additionally, this novella is NOT a how-to guide. You will probably be arrested if caught with a hot man’s hand in your pants in public.
Please be safe and talk to your doctor about what works best for you and/or your sexual partners regarding birth control and STI protection. Jack and Amanda are fictional, you are not.
1
AMANDA
After a shitty release day for my seventh novel, all I want is one night where I don’t have to think, feel, or do anything other than come on a man’s face. Granted, my end of day numbers weren’t bad, per se, but I had my sights set on a top five spot in the charts and only managed to graze the top twenty.
Months of writing, marketing, and sleepless nights… just to get top fucking twenty.
My release from earlier this year, Maybe in Fifty, is still holding strong in the top ten. I’m not sure where I went wrong with this one. I just want to forget today ever happened.
Picking up men in a hotel bar isn’t on my short list of favorite things to do on a Friday night. However, men who frequent this particular bar are ideal candidates for a few drinks and a quick fuck. Hell, one of my best friends ran into a hot as fuck billionaire here who blew her mind in the sack, and she’s now living her happily ever after with him. I’m not looking for a man with money, but I do need someone who is down to try new things in bed.
Why is it so hard to find a hot New Yorker who’s not afraid to bite you?
For the last hour, I’ve been bored out of my mind by real estate brokers, traveling marketing managers, and a few men who are here for an academic conference. Painting on a smile, I reject every one of their advances. What used to be a fun game isn’t doing it for me anymore. It’s rinse and repeat with each one.
“What do you do?” They always start the conversation the same way, as if they can find all they need to know about me based on my job.
“I’m a gay erotica author.” I’m not, but it’s the easiest way to get rid of them when I need to end the conversation quickly.
Or, my personal favorite strategy is to sit there in silence and barely listen as they drone on and on about an accolade or accomplishment that’s supposed to make them seem desirable… or like they have a huge dick. Which they never do.
I’ll be picking up my own tab tonight, but I don’t mind. It would’ve been nice to meet a hot man who knows his way around a woman’s body better than stocks and bonds. Today has turned out to be one let down after another.
The man to my right—who most definitely doesn't belong here based on his attire—has been sitting beside me since I sat down. Unfortunately, he hasn’t so much as glanced my way, let alone attempted to hit on me. Admittedly, his disinterest intrigues me. He orders another whiskey, which shouldn’t surprise me; he has a rugged charm about him and looks like he walked straight out of an adventure movie. He’s missing the three piece suit most men are wearing here, instead sporting dark denim, a brown leather jacket, and a man-bun—my favorite handle when a face is between my legs. I carefully observe him from the corner of my eye to see what this guy’s deal is since he hasn’t said a word to me. There’s definitely a story with this one.
For the first time, I catch him carefully eyeing me as I’m rimming my glass with my middle finger. If I don’t make eye contact, perhaps he’ll miss that I’ve been checking him out. I look away a little too quickly but spot a small smirk in the mirrored glass behind the bar. He totally caught me.
“What’s a pretty lass like yourself doing in a place like this?”
Disappointment gets the better of me; I was expecting a better pickup line. His accent is definitely Irish, or maybe Scottish? I can’t quite tell based on his one-liner. I sigh, my hope officially squashed that he could be more interesting than the rest of the men here. “Is that the best you’ve got?”
“I’ve watched you brush off no less than six other men tonight. For you to turn down these sharp suited stock-monkeys, you must be heartbroken and drowning your sorrows. Or you haven’t found the right man… yet.”
He’s definitely Scottish. I wonder what he looks like wearing a kilt and nothing underneath…
I chuckle, mostly to myself. “And you think you’re the right man? Don’t think you can tempt me with that hot accent of yours. It would take at least three more whiskey sours for me to consider a man who wears a leather jacket in the middle of summer.”
He takes a sip of his drink. “Oh, she’s a wee spitfire. Well, I don’t need my accent to seduce you; I’ll simply ignore you until you’re desperate to talk to me.”
I try to hide my smile, but fail miserably. He’s figured out my game. “You’d never ignore me,” I insist.
I turn to look at him and it’s the biggest mistake I’ve made all night. He’s about ten years older than me, but I love a good age gap romance. His beard is neatly trimmed; his bright green eyes impossible to ignore. With his delectable accent on top of it all, I’m toast. This man isn’t just hot, he’s one of the most attractive men I’ve ever met.
He clears his throat and introduces himself, “I’m—”
“No names. No jobs. It’s easier when I disappear into the night.” I couldn’t date a sinfully gorgeous man like him, I’d never recover if it didn’t work out. But, if he’s up for a night of fun, I’m absolutely in.
“Well, well, sprite, it sounds like you’re suggesting you want to spend the rest of the evening together,” he chuckles into his glass.
Yes, yes I am. “My place or yours?”
He nearly chokes on his drink. Once he composes himself, he replies, “Neither.”
Well, shit, I read him wrong.
“Should’ve guessed you’re just a big flirt,” I laugh. “Well, I best be off. Long morning of writ— I mean work. Lots of work. The workiest work. I—”
“No names. No jobs,” he reminds me.
Wait… is he up for it?
My eyes dip to his lips, wondering how he tastes…
Can I fuck the sexiest man alive? No. It’ll ruin me for all other men—just like the fictional pussy ruiners my author friends write about.
“I should go,” I sigh.
He places his hand on mine and says softly, “Stay. Let me buy you a drink. I don’t want to take you upstairs, spitfire. Let’s spend one night where I’m not—” I narrow my eyes at him. “Right, no names. How about, I’m not me and you’re not you?”
As he retract
“It never occurred to me that you could be.” He smiles and it’s something movies are made of. One little taste couldn’t hurt, right? “If you were,” he continues, “you would’ve left with one of the last four investment bankers flirting with you.”
I chew on my lip and weigh my options. “So, if you don’t want to take me upstairs, what do you want?”
“Let’s hit the town. See where the night takes us. Leave the baggage at the door.”
“A night together? But then I might start to like you,” I admit, biting back a smile.
“We can’t have that, can we, my wee spitfire?” He leans in and whispers, “Too late for me, though.”
I consider downing my drink in one go, but I need to keep my wits about me with this one. “Alright, hot Scot, what do you have in mind?”
2
JACK
Walking out of the hotel, I take her hand. I’ve spent the past hour or so watching her shrug off half a dozen men, and I’m still not quite sure why she’d consider spending time with me. I shouldn’t question it, but women like her never give me the time of day back home.
“Where should we head first?” I ask.
She looks down at our joined hands, but doesn’t pull away. “You’re the one who wanted a night out. You decide.”
“You’re the local, what would you suggest?”
“Are you hungry?”
You have no idea how hungry I am, spitfire. “Aye, but what I’m hungry for will need to wait until later,” I reply with a wink.
She fights a smile for a moment, but her eyes widen when her stomach grumbles. “Right, well, are you ready for the unsexiest food you can eat?”
We continue down the street and she leads the way to a little bakery. I’m not sure why she would view pastries as unsexy, until we enter and she orders an onion bagel with smoked salmon and cream cheese. She continues to surprise me. I hold back a chuckle as I order the same but on a plain bagel.
There are four booths, all of them full. As we look for a place to sit, an older man gestures for us to come over. He wipes his mouth as he finishes a bite of his babka. “We’re just about finished. You and your girlfriend can have our table.”
“Oh, we’re ok, thank y—” My mystery woman slides into their booth. I huff a small laugh and continue, “Thank you.”
She beams at me, then turns her attention to the couple and asks, “What are you two up to tonight?”
“It’s our anniversary,” the man replies, glancing at his wife. “Fifty years.” He looks at his wife like a young man in love. I can’t help but smile; he reminds me of my grandad.
“Fifty long years,” his wife teases and he kisses her temple. She takes in my appearance and asks, “Little warm for a leather jacket, isn’t it?”
My spitfire smacks my arm with the back of her hand. “That’s what I said! He looks like he’s auditioning as Harrison Ford’s stunt double.”
“How old do you think I am?” I tease with faint offence.
She smiles sweetly and replies, “Not a day over twenty-one.”
“How long have you two been together?” the woman asks.
“A solid hour,” my sprite laughs.
“An hour? A first date?”
My beautiful stranger looks at me with a bright smile and bites her lip for a split second, drawing my attention to her mouth, before she finally replies, “Something like that.”
The number for our order is called and I slide out of the booth to retrieve it. As I return to the table, my spitfire is laughing with the couple as if she’s known them for years. I sit and she lights up as I set her bagel in front of her.
“I’ve been craving one of these all week!” She takes a large bite and lets out an exaggerated moan. “Told you, unsexy,” she adds with her mouth full.
I take a bite of mine and jest in agreement, “Truly the unsexiest you could find.” Smoked salmon is pungent, but the minute she ordered it, I knew I was safe to order one as well. I’ll admit, I love that she doesn’t have qualms eating food on a first date that others would shy away from. To say it’s refreshing is an understatement.
She giggles and the man across from us clears his throat. “Have a good night, you two. We have a comedy show to get to.”
“It was nice meeting you, and thank you for letting us join your wee celebration,” I tell them as they begin collecting their things to leave.
“Congrats on fifty years! Big milestone,” my spitfire adds.
The couple leaves and my date for the evening continues devouring her bagel as if it’s the most delicious meal she’s eaten in a year. “Want a bite?” she offers. “So much better with an onion bagel.”
“Sure.” I take a small bite of her bagel, despite wanting more as the delicious tang of the onion, cheese, and salmon hitting my tongue. “That’s fucking good.”
“Right? Best in town, you know?” she says proudly, taking a bite in the spot I did.
“Who are you?” I quietly ask. I can’t help myself, she has a magnetic force drawing me to her unlike anything I’ve felt before.
“I’d give you a fake name, but who in their right mind would want to hear someone else’s name called out in bed?”
She wipes her mouth but a small bit of cream cheese remains on the corner of her lip. I instinctively swipe it from her with the pad of my thumb, then bring it to my lips to clean it off. Her laugh at my seemingly innocent gesture leaves me longing for more.
I know nothing about her—where she works, where she lives… Hell, I don’t know her name. I find myself wanting to get to know her more than any other woman I’ve met in my life.
As she finishes eating, she asks, “Do you dance?”
“Depends. What kind of dancing?” I retort.
“Alright, you got me. I’m not about to suggest ballroom dancing this late at night. Night clubs. Or are you too old to grind against a woman? Is the loud bass thumping in the background too much?” She bites her lip to keep from laughing.
I consider my options…
Decline. I don’t dance, this is a terrible idea.
Go deaf while feeling a sexy woman's body pressed against me.
My cock seems to like the idea of being close to her, so I opt for the lie, “Well, in that case, my too-old arse is ready to listen to too-loud music.”
“Are you sure? How old are you, anyway? Will you fall down and I’ll need to call someone?” she teases.
“Aren’t you out past your bedtime? Shall I call a nanny?” I counter.
“For fuck’s sake, I’m thirty-two,” she laughs. “I still get carded at bars, but I'm hardly a child.”
“Aye, but you want to put me in residential care when I’m turning forty tomorrow.”
Her eyes twinkle with mischief as she yells out to the bakery, “Did you hear that? We have a birthday boy in the house!” Fuck. She leans in to whisper, “Not up for a song? Meet me at the rooftop lounge on 9th and West 16th Streets. If this is meant to be, you’ll find me.”
3
AMANDA
I practically shove him out of the booth as the men behind the counter begin to sing. I walk swiftly toward the exit, giggling like a damn kid, when he grips me by the waist. I suck in a breath and spin as he pulls me into him. My hands fly to his chest to catch myself and his eyes don’t leave mine as the world around me disappears.
While I know little about this man, one thing is certain: he’s the best kind of trouble. I slide my arms into his open jacket, wrapping them around his back and closing the remaining distance between us until our bodies are flush. The entire bakery is singing but all I hear are his quiet words beside my ear. “You think you can run, spitfire?”
