Page 1 of Crushes to WHAT

Prologue

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What are you doing here?

Storm

Friendly reminder that the prologue isn’t for you. The prologue is for me.

I know, I just said that the whole book is for me in the author’s note. What can I say? Your girl is a little selfish sometimes. I want my cake, and I want several big ole bites of it, too.

The prologue is different than that, though. It’s not mine as a gift to myself. It’s the twist of a knob for a door that leads to somewhere new. A step into the shallow end of a deep pool. A drop of water before a torrential downpour.

It’s a word in the line of chapters on the side of my screen, telling me that we’re starting, now, and giving me the space to hesitate, take a deep breath, and make sure I’m ready before I go any further.

The prologue is, above all things, the beginning.

And if I want to use it for my beginning, I very well will, since most of you losers don’t even read it anyway.

For those of you who are reading this—who read all of the prologues, when they’re meant for you and when they’re not—welcome to our new beginning. I hope you’re ready for it.

Because I am, now.

Chapter One

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If you’ll recall, Poem did tell him to be patient and hot.

Almond

“Emerson Wright,” a strong, low rumble slides through my phone.

I clutch the device to my ear, breathing hard.

“Hello?” he says.

I squeak, clear my throat, then squeak again.

Internally, I curse.

Freaking, freaking, freak.

Freak!

On the line, Emerson pauses before his voice, an even lower rumble than before, wraps around my name like an embrace. “Almond.”

Externally, I curse. It’s barely a whisper.

Then I lose my nerve, hang up, and throw my phone across the room. The infernal device lands on the carpet, unharmed.

It begins to ring.

Freaking, freaking, freak.

I launch myself, grab the phone, and hit answer. “Hello!” I squawk, cringing.

A deeply amused chuckle replies. “Hello, Almond.”