Simply Complicated Read online

  Copyright © 2021 S. Nelson

  Editor- Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Design – CT Cover Creations

  Photographer – Wander Aguiar

  Cover Model – Lucas Loyola

  Proofreader – Elaine York, Allusion Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the publisher’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Simply Complicated/ S. Nelson – 1st edition

  Contents

  1. Olivia

  2. Olivia

  3. Luke

  4. Olivia

  5. Luke

  6. Olivia

  7. Luke

  8. Luke

  9. Olivia

  10. Luke

  11. Olivia

  12. Luke

  13. Olivia

  14. Luke

  15. Olivia

  16. Luke

  17. Olivia

  18. Olivia

  19. Luke

  20. Olivia

  21. Luke

  22. Olivia

  23. Olivia

  24. Olivia

  25. Luke

  26. Olivia

  27. Luke

  28. Olivia

  29. Luke

  30. Olivia

  31. Luke

  32. Olivia

  33. Luke

  34. Olivia

  Epilogue

  MC Series

  Stay Informed

  About the Author

  Note To Reader

  Acknowledgments

  Books by S. Nelson

  To those who finally got their happily ever after

  1

  Olivia

  “I can’t tell if you’re serious or not.” Brooke, my best friend, narrowed her eyes at me before pursing her lips in that cute yet marginally annoying way of hers. “Sounds more like something I would do. Not you. Besides, you’ve never had one.”

  “I know, that’s the point.” I tapped the side of my glass with the tip of my fingernail, gearing up for the upcoming conversation. Some might refer to what I wanted to do as careless. Others might view it as bold. But I preferred liberating.

  “I meant you’ve never had a one-night stand. You’re a serial monogamist.” Her smile amused and irritated me simultaneously.

  “Am not.” A quick flick of her brow caused me to stammer over my next words. “Okay… maybe… hell, you’re right. To be fair, though, things just happened to work out that way.”

  “Because you choose relationships over letting go and having fun.”

  She signaled to the bartender for a refill as she drained the remainder of her wine. He practically tripped over himself to get to her, ignoring the two guys who’d been waiting patiently to be served. Little did he know she was only interested in women. Sometimes that tidbit of information caused some guys to pursue her even more, which I thought was odd since they didn’t stand a chance.

  Brooke never made a big announcement she was a lesbian. Anyone who knew her was aware. She didn’t hide it, not from her parents, her friends, or her classmates when we were in school. Her sexual identity was part of her, as it was for the rest of us. When I stumbled across her kissing Jenny Madsen behind the gymnasium in seventh grade, she winked at me. Jenny, on the other hand, made us both promise we wouldn’t say anything to anyone, telling us her parents would be so mad if they found out. Brooke, being the self-assured person she was, even at twelve years old, rolled her eyes at the poor girl and told her she was missing out.

  I’d been jealous of her confidence. Still was to this day. She didn’t care what anyone thought about her, living her best life every single day. Brooke wasn’t perfect, and she had problems like the rest of us, but her attitude toward life, and believing everything would work out, was something to be admired.

  “I want to be more like you,” I joked, the underlying seriousness of my jest peeking through.

  “Who doesn’t?” Her shoulders bounced in a lazy shrug. “Seriously, though, I’m all for you trying this out, but promise me you’ll be safe. There are a lot of creeps looking to take advantage of someone as innocent as yourself.”

  “You make it sound like I have no idea what I’m doing.” I couldn’t decide if I was offended or not. “I’m not inexperienced.”

  A small commotion erupted across the bar, and when I turned to see what happened, there was a small crowd gathered near the door. The group of patrons seemed excited, but I couldn’t determine why.

  “Having three long-term boyfriends doesn’t exactly qualify you as experienced,” Brooke said, poking my shoulder to get my attention. “You met all of them through friends or in school. You don’t know what it’s like to pick up men.”

  “Neither do you.”

  “True, but I’ve had plenty of them hit on me, and I’m much better at detecting bullshit than you are.” She playfully nudged my arm. “You’re too trusting.”

  My lips parted in preparation to disagree, but as the words filtered through my brain, I was aware whatever I spewed back at her would be a lie.

  She was right.

  I believed everyone to have the best intentions because that was how I was. It was only over the past year that my blinders had started to fade away. I supposed I could thank Cody, my recent ex, for exposing me to some of the harsh realities of life. Correction, to the harsh realities of loving someone who was selfish and ended up being an overall prick.

  The trust in our relationship dwindled when I caught him texting some girl six months ago, someone he vehemently denied cheating with. I didn’t wholeheartedly believe him, but I didn’t not believe him either, if that made any sense. After the incident, he became unusually possessive and controlling toward me, which was a sure sign he was, in fact, doing something he wasn’t supposed to be. And even though I couldn’t link the connection at the time, I knew in my gut something was off.

  I wasted a year and a half on that relationship, and most days the thought of him angered me. But there were times when his image would infiltrate, and sadness would creep over me. And it was during those instances when I stalked his social media. Nine times out of ten I’d remind myself he wasn’t worth it, and my inner chastisement would work. But for the one time it didn’t, I was left feeling a certain way. Not depressed, because I didn’t want to be with him, but possibly insulted I was replaced so quickly. I ended things with him four months ago, and he was already in a three-month-long relationship.

  Wanting to skip over whatever else Brooke had in store in ways of warning me away from what I wanted to do, I brought the conversation back around.

  “Back to my point, please,” I said, elongating the last word for emphasis. A subtle nod from my bestie was all I needed to continue. I leaned in closer to make sure whatever I divulged was kept as private as could be, considering we were in a crowded bar, the blended voices of the customers providing a shield to our conversation. Or at least, I hoped that was the case. “I’m curious if it’ll happen with a stranger, someone I have no feelings for whatsoever. Someone I’ll only be with one time, you know, to take the pressure off, which is what I believe might be the issue. Not that I’ve thought about it too much.” It’s all I’ve been thinking about recently.
/>
  After a long exhale I continued my rant, crouching so close to Brooke she had to inch back a little. “You gush over your sexcapades, bragging about how many times it happens for you. I’m jealous.”

  “Sexcapades?” She tapped her finger against her bottom lip. “I like it. I’m gonna steal that one.”

  “Be my guest.” Tipping my glass to take a drink, I almost missed my mouth completely when whoever took the seat next to me jostled my arm. A “sorry” drifted through the air next to me, but I never turned to see who the apology came from, too engrossed in my interaction with my friend. “I want to at least give it a try.”

  “What are you going to do? Pick up some random guy and ask if he’ll help you out?”

  “No, not exactly. I’d rather he be a friend of a friend. I need to know he’s not a psycho.”

  “Yeah, you don’t want that.”

  “Exactly.” A small sip of wine passed my lips, sliding down my throat and adding to the feel-good vibe I had going on. “My only other requirements are that he’s attractive and knows how to use what he’s got.” I moved to stretch my back. “Oh, and I want someone who’s a good kisser.” I wasn’t sure if it was how I said it or my expression, but Brooke laughed.

  “Kiss you where?”

  “Very funny. You know what I mean.” Unloading all of this on her was liberating, like a secret I’d been holding on to was finally set free. “I’d even be willing to pay him for his time and effort.”

  “Pay him?” she asked, her voice raising a notch.

  “Shh.” I smacked her arm, too embarrassed at the thought someone heard to look anywhere but directly at her. I lowered my voice when I spoke again just in case someone was eavesdropping. “Yes. I’d be willing to compensate him because he’d be doing me a favor.”

  “Honey, you’d be doing any guy a favor if you simply looked at him, let alone propositioned him. Sex with a hot chick with no commitments? What guy would turn that down?”

  “But I don’t want a quickie, where he’s the only one to get off. I want to have an orgasm too. That’s the whole point of this, for him to work at it, to work with me to make sure I have one. And since I’ve failed every other time I’ve tried to during sex, it might take a while, if it’ll happen at all.”

  “Regardless of how much work it might take, any guy would jump at the chance. You know they love a challenge. Trust me. There won’t be a need to pay anyone.”

  My shoulders came up to my ears before dropping. “Well, I’d be willing to if need be.”

  Brooke tucked an errant strand of her chocolate-colored hair behind her ear, her eyes skating over my face several times. “You’re dead serious, aren’t you?”

  “Yup. I want in.”

  “In?”

  “To the club.”

  “What club?”

  I made it a point to keep my voice low. It was embarrassing enough I couldn’t come during sex, the last thing I needed was for some stranger to be privy to the information.

  “The orgasm club.”

  My friend repeated what I’d said, louder than I appreciated.

  “You’re too much, Liv.”

  “Says the woman who comes every time.”

  “What’s the point otherwise?”

  “Exactly.” I took another sip of my drink before placing the wineglass back on top of the bar. For as much as I loved to talk a good game, I had little faith in myself of actually going through with propositioning a stranger. And if that were the case, I’d have to resign myself to the fate of never having an orgasm during sex for the rest of my life. Hell, I could barely get myself off most times.

  It wasn’t that I couldn’t feel pleasure, because I could, but I couldn’t push past a certain point. Then I’d get frustrated and just give up.

  “I need to pee. Are you going to be all right by yourself for a few minutes? Don’t interview anyone without me,” she teased before I could answer her question, adjusting the bottom of her denim skirt before walking toward the back of the bar.

  While I waited for Brooke to return, I thought about what I’d said. I was completely serious when I divulged my plan, but talking about it and doing something about it were two different things. Being adventurous was something I aspired to. But was that really me? I wanted to answer yes, but I was still figuring myself out. And there was nothing like a cheating ex to put a damper on someone’s self-esteem.

  My phone alerted me to an incoming message from my mother. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to read it, though. She was no doubt texting to ask if I was coming to dinner tomorrow night. She’d told me the other day she had a surprise for me, and I knew exactly what that meant. After my breakup, she’d managed to set me up on two blind dates, both of whom were sons of her nursing friends she worked with at the hospital.

  She’d remind me I wasn’t getting any younger, as if twenty-six was old, and that I needed to meet someone and settle down, so I’d have enough time to have kids. I argued I’d meet someone when I was ready, but it was as if whatever I said went in one ear and out the other, her mom brain refusing to accept maybe it wasn’t in the cards for her youngest child to give her grandkids.

  Her reasoning for not hounding my brother, Mark, like she did me was that it was different for men. He had more time than I did. Some bullshit about biological clocks.

  It was during those times I’d look to my dad for help, but he was no better. He didn’t trick me into dates I didn’t want, but he’d say something like “humor your mother” or “she might be on to something.”

  With my body angled toward the hallway where Brooke disappeared, and my attention on a second text alert chime, I was startled when someone brushed up behind me, warm breath cascading over the shell of my ear.

  “I’d be happy to help you out with your dilemma.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck bristled, and it had nothing to do with my embarrassment at having someone confirm they’d indeed heard what I’d told Brooke. But instead had everything to do with who the voice belonged to.

  Someone I hadn’t laid eyes on in ten years.

  Someone who had broken my heart once upon a time.

  Someone I despised.

  2

  Olivia

  My first inclination was to ignore him, hoping he’d go away. But if I remembered anything about the guy behind me, it was that he loved to get under my skin, and not always in a good way. If he was still the same stubborn, arrogant, and infuriating person I knew a decade ago, there was no way he was going to let me off the hook. He’d view me as too much of a challenge now to walk away on his own.

  “Don’t ignore me, Ollie. I know you heard what I said.”

  Instead of focusing on the rasp of his voice, which was slightly deeper than the last time I heard it, I homed in on the nickname he gave me all those years ago, one I didn’t care for. I whipped around in my seat to face him, prepared to tell him off, but the second I laid eyes on him, all my bravado flitted away. For the briefest of moments, I was catapulted back to that sixteen-year-old girl who’d been infatuated with her neighbor, her brother’s best friend. A guy she thought she loved, until he broke her heart.

  Silently screaming at myself to get it together, I steeled my posture and raised my head high. There was no way I was going to allow him to see me sweat.

  “You know I hate that nickname.”

  “I know.”

  One minute I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face, and the next I wanted him to say something else that would make his mouth curve into that sexy grin again.

  Various thoughts battled for me to give them life, but they were so random I barely had time to digest them before they were gone, only to be replaced with another odd one. When I finally settled on something appropriate to say, I parted my lips, but then snapped them shut. The slight rise of his brow showcased his amusement, and it was in that moment I realized no matter what I said, good or bad, he was only going to banter with me. Which meant, he’d only serve to rile me furthe
r.

  So I stayed quiet. But there was nothing that said I couldn’t return his stare. As his eyes traveled over me, mine did the same to him. The last time I saw him in person, he was only eighteen. His dark hair had been cropped close to his head and he was clean shaven. He’d been gorgeous, but no comparison to the man he’d become.

  His hair was longer now, a mass of unruly waves on top that worked perfectly on him. His jaw was covered with a trimmed beard, highlighting his full lips. He looked more rugged, all while still maintaining an ounce of the boy he used to be. One thing was still the same, minus the fine lines around the edges. His eyes were as piercing as they’d ever been, the shade switching from light blue to hazel to even gray, depending on the lighting. It was those eyes that had once promised me everything I didn’t even know I wanted. Eyes I couldn’t trust now for fear all the hurt and humiliation I’d felt back then would bubble back to the surface.

  Seeing him after all this time was surreal. Sure, I’d seen plenty of images of him. There was no escaping one of the million pictures plastered online. The man offering to “help me out” was none other than the famous American Soccer League player, Luke Sorenson. He’d been to the Olympics several times during his career, winning gold and silver medals with his team. Except for myself, women loved him, and men wanted to be him.

  But I knew him when he was nothing more than a guy obsessed with the sport, playing for his high school team before being given a scholarship to UCLA.