Happy Halloween everyone! Halloween is probably my favorite holiday, and I wish you all a fun, spooky, and safe day! 🙂

We’re two weeks away from the release of Damian!!! I cannot wait to share Damian’s story with you! I really think you’ll love it as much as I’ve loved writing it. <3 Don’t forget to add Damian on your Goodreads: http://goo.gl/skXHSX.

Are you ready for your first teaser? It’s the prologue to Damian! What do you think???

Prologue from Damian

(Unedited draft – subject to change)

Damian

I wiped down the bar when a group of girls walked in.

5.5, 7, 6, I thought to myself as I automatically rated each of them in my head and surveyed them from head to toe.

It was a force of habit, like second nature. And in all honesty, this was true for most guys. If any guy said that he didn’t mentally rate a girl when he first saw her, he’d be a fucking liar. Or gay. It was a male-reflex, something instinctively done without much thought—much like breathing.

The three girls headed over to the bar, and sat down right in front of me.

“Hey girls, what can I get you?” I asked, giving them a dazzling, wicked smile. I usually received the most tips from groups of girls, so I always made it a point to throw on the charm with them.

They all gave me, what they believed to be, their most seductive smiles. 5.5 and 7 proceeded to play with their hair while 6 bit her lip. I knew they were each hoping to stand out a little more so than their friends. I saw the way their eyes slowly moved from my eyes to my face to my body, as if their eyes were their fingers and lips, taking their sweet time as they took me all in, inch by inch. And if truth be told, I enjoyed the attention. I mean, what was not to enjoy?

“Hi there,” said 7 as her lips curled into a fuck-me-now smile. “Let me guess, you’re Damian, right?” 5.5 and 6 giggled. I could smell the sweet, floral scent of 7’s perfume as she leaned up against the bar, letting her loose, blonde waves fall forward towards me as she positioned herself so that her cleavage was spilling out over the bar table.

My eyes lingered over the delicate flesh of her full breasts, and for a second, I wondered how they’d taste in my mouth.

I gave her my signature smile, knowing the type of things she must have heard about me. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

7 seductively bit her lower lip purposefully. “We heard you make some amazing drinks.” She drew out the word “amazing,” and it was clear from the way her eyes seemed to devour me that she wasn’t talking about drinks.

I flexed my arms against the edge of the bar counter, displaying my arm-length tattoo that ran down my left arm, and leaned towards them.

“Anything for a pretty face,” I flirted back with a wink.

I surveyed the three girls again. They were all attractive enough, but 7 was hotter than the others, and normally, if a hot girl played her cards right, she’d walk away with my number by the end of the night—the winning lottery ticket where a no-strings-attached night of hot, fuck-her-brains-out fun was just a phone call away.

Okay, so I was cocky. But, in my defense, I had good reason to be.

I was Damian Castillo, the self-proclaimed man whore that made women wet with just a look and a smile. I knew the effects I had on women. I saw the way they looked at me, the way they bit their lips as they eyed me, the way they seductively sipped the drinks I made for them, the way they grinned at me in a come-hither way, inviting me to notice them, inviting me to have my way with them in some dark corner of my bar. It was hard not to be cocky when you always received this much attention everyday.

Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t some asshole that took advantage of women and broke their hearts. Well, at least not intentionally. The girls who I slept with know very well what they were getting themselves into: a night of fuck-your-brains-out-sex where sleep was the last thing on our minds and the last thing we would be getting.

And all I asked for in return: never mention the big C. Commitment. The minute I heard that word from a girl, she was automatically blacklisted from my little (okay, big) black book. From where I stood, when a guy opened the door on commitment, in also came jealousy, emotions, and intimacy, all of which were not in my vocabulary. I won’t commit for any girl, and I won’t say any I-love-yous. That was my motto.

Well, that was until recently. That was until a few months ago on a slow Thursday afternoon when this girl walked into my bar.

I looked over at her—a 10, if you were curious—sitting at the far end of the bar, watching me as she nursed her Sex on the Beach. She gave me a wide grin and I felt my stomach flip in a way that I’ve never felt before. I smiled back at her—not my signature smile I gave to other girls, but a warm smile that meant something more. I knew she was here to spend time with me, and as much as I hated to admit it, I enjoyed her company. A lot. More so than any other woman I knew or have ever known.

So how could I have let this happen to me? How could I have turned into a guy that actually thought about a future—a future with someone else in it? How could I have turned into someone that, for the first time in his life, wasn’t cringing at the idea of commitment? How could I have gotten to this point—this point of no return?

Her name was Alexis, and this was our story.