30 Days

Book 1: 30 Series

by Christine d'Abo

Genres: Women's Fiction

Synopsis

For years, Alyssa has been going to bed with a memory. Is she ready to wake up with a fantasy? Some people wait their whole lives to find their soul mate, but not Alyssa Barrow. She met Rob at nineteen, and they were set to live happily ever after—until he became ill. In his final days, Rob urged his beautiful, young wife not to abandon happiness—or pleasure. He even left her a special gift, a sexy game plan to help her move on: Thirty cards with instructions for thirty days of passion. You’ll know when the time is right, he’d said. Now it’s two years later, and when Alyssa meets her hot new neighbor, Harrison Kemp, she begins to think the right time is right now… From his sculpted thighs to his devilish grin, Harrison is the kind of man women want. Before she can lose her nerve, Alyssa tells Harrison about her long-ignored cards…and asks him to help her fulfill them. It’s a favor he’s more than happy to, um, perform. With his skillful touch, and the hot press of his lips against her skin, Alyssa finds herself re-awakening to life—and a host of other sensations. But what began as not-so-innocent fun soon grows into true intimacy, and Alyssa realizes she’s opening herself up not just to sex…but to love. When it comes to a future with Harrison, what’s really in the cards? Saucy, heartwarming, and insightful, 30 Days explores the agony—and the ecstasy—of starting over, and how a little encouragement, and a little courage, can go a long way…

Release date: August 1, 2015

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

So, the thing about me being a widow at the ripe old age of thirty-five was that no one knew what to say or how to act around me. My couple friends still invited me over to their parties, barbecues, and the like, but the conversations always drifted into the land of awkward. Oh you look great. I haven’t seen you since Rob . . . since the funeral. Did you do something to your hair?

The few single friends I had tried to pull me into their world. I didn’t quite fit with them though. While they were clubbing or barhopping trying to find the perfect guy, every time I met someone my brain automatically compared him to Rob. I wasn’t still looking for that special someone—I’d found and lost him.

Being a widow is not quite the same as being divorced. I’d been quite happy being married, having regular, boring sex with my amazing husband, followed by eating cold pizza in bed while we watched the hockey game. It was what I’d always wanted. He was who I’d always wanted.

Seriously, fuck cancer.

As a result, I found myself on my own more and more. It wasn’t a bad thing, really. I’d been with Rob since I was nineteen and we’d been friends long before we’d officially started dating. We’d grown up together, had the same interests, same fears. Hell, we used to speak in nothing but punch lines, only to dissolve into giggles together when no one else in the room knew what the hell we were talking about. Not having him by my side had forced me to slowly become a singular entity instead of a plural.

Being on my own was . . . strange. Rob had been gone nearly two years and I still found myself turning to say something to him at the weirdest times. Though over the past month that started happening less frequently. I couldn’t tell you exactly how I felt about that. Guilty? Oh my God yes. But I knew it meant I’d finally started to move on. I hadn’t told anyone about my mental shift. Instead, I found myself going to this quiet place in my head, speaking less, observing more. It was different. I guess I’d become different more out of necessity than any real desire to change.

We’d known his time was coming to an end and took the last month of his life to simply enjoy each other. It was on one of our various trips to the beach that he handed me The Envelope.

“What’s this?” My fingers were damp from the ocean spray and sticky from the ice cream I’d just finished. “If this is some death letter thing, I can’t read it.”

He grinned at that. “Naw, it’s not sappy or anything. But yes, it’s for after I’m gone.”

“Rob—”

“Lyssa, listen to me. I promise you it’s not what you think.” He huffed, puffing out his shallow cheeks. “How many guys have you slept with?” The breeze moved his shirt and the sun made his brown eyes sparkle. If he had any hair left it would have blown from his forehead. My heart ached to run my hands through his hair once more. “And if you say more than one I’ll promise not to be pissed.”

“Don’t be an ass. You know you’re the only man I’ve ever been with.” We’d talked a lot about that after we’d gotten married. Rob had a small measure of guilt that I hadn’t had a chance to sow my oats. Somehow he thought because of my limited dating experience I would get bored or grow to resent him.

The idiot.

“That’s my point.” He took my hand and pressed the envelope into my palm once more. “Don’t open this until you’re ready. Hell, you might not want to open it at all. Just . . .” He gave my hand a squeeze, but for the first time in a long while, he couldn’t meet my gaze. “I know you said you didn’t think you’d want to be with anyone else.”

“I don’t.” The thought made me ill.

“Baby, you shouldn’t be alone. You have too much light and love inside you. The thought of you being on your own, of not having anyone to share in the joy you have to give? No. I know you. There will come a time when you’ll realize that you’re ready to move on—”

“I won’t.”

“—and I know you’ll feel guilty about that. You’ll ignore the feelings for as long as you can, thinking that you don’t need anyone. Then something will happen. You’ll see someone and in that beautiful brain of yours you’ll be all nice ass, dude, and that will be it. You’ll cry about it but you’ll realize you’re ready.”

“Please. I wouldn’t cry.” Because it wouldn’t happen. Ever. “Not over a nice ass.”

He chuckled, finally looking me in the eye. “You’ll cry. But then you’ll remember this conversation and know that I was right. So I’m going to say I told you so now. Then I want you to take this envelope and open it.”

“Rob—”

“It’s about sex.”

I stood there with my mouth open. “What?”

“Just some ideas I had for you about sex when I’m gone. Getting back on the horse. Riding the cowboy. That sort of thing.”

I wasn’t ready to think about him being gone, let alone wanting to have sex with someone else. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Seriously, shut up or I’m going to punch you.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t let me forget about the envelope. He tried to get me to talk about it, but I would always cut him off. When I shoved it into a pile of papers in the closet, it found its way back onto my dresser. That box in the basement of papers that was older than me? Materialized on top of my desk. The recycling bin? Back onto the counter. I could have continued to play that game, but then Rob took another turn for the worse and all thoughts of envelopes and what they contained were the last things on my mind.

The cancer won.

And I was suddenly alone.

It really wasn’t as bad as I’d first assumed it would be. I thought a lot about Rob, and missed him terribly for the better part of the first year. I functioned, worked, went out, but that was more of an automated response than actual living. There’d been more tears than I ever thought possible. My chest ached and my stomach churned. When I didn’t feel ill, my mind wandered. I couldn’t pretend to have any focus. My friends and the people at work never called me on my distraction.

Then I started to emerge from under the darkness and began to live once more. I still missed Rob, thought about him daily, but the tightness in my chest eased. That’s when the guilt kicked in. At least he’d already told me it would.

I stopped going out to our friends’ homes for a while. They’d begun to get used to me as a singular—Alyssa—and not a plural—Rob and Alyssa. With their ease came my anger that they were all still couples. Their lives hadn’t been shattered and swept away without their permission. They’d smile, laugh, and all the while I wanted to scream at them.

So I stayed away.

It helped. I was able to catch my breath, cry, hit things, and slowly my brain adjusted. I could be allowed into public once more, no longer a danger to happy couples.

One thing that helped was changing up my routine. I’d rearranged all the furniture in our condo, painted the walls, even put up some new pictures. Rob would have hated them. I wasn’t a fan myself, but it served its purpose. I started going to a new coffee shop half a block farther away from our building. I saw new people as I went, had to train a new barista named Len, smiled at a street performer who always played the same three songs on his guitar. It was good.

By the time the beginning of June rolled around, the tension had bled from my shoulders. It had taken me nearly two years, but I knew I was going to be okay.

That was when it happened.

A new guy moved into the complex.

Our building was a renovated school, each unit composed of three converted classrooms. Rob loved that we had a working water fountain just outside our front door. For fun, we’d mentally labeled the condos by classes. We were English because of the sheer number of books we had. Mr. and Mrs. Le Page were French, the Chin family were Home Ec and on and on. The new guy had moved into Tourism, the condo owned by some company that let their out-of-town employees stay there for extended periods of time. It was just down the hall on the side opposite our place.

No, my place.

And he had a nice ass.

I knew this because my first sight of him was him bent over, pushing a large box through his front door. His jeans were stretched tight as his long legs worked against their load. I don’t know how long I stood there, but it was enough that I hadn’t unlocked my front door and he must have felt my gaze on him. He looked over his shoulder and smiled.

My body shivered. Even with the distance between us, I felt the intensity of his gaze.

Then I heard Rob’s chuckle in my brain, that little one he’d give me when he knew he’d won an argument. I had to get in before I looked even more the idiot. I waved to the guy and immediately fumbled with my key. I knew he was watching me, which made the entire process of opening the door a monumental task. Click, whoosh, bang and I was safely inside. I pressed my forehead to the door and contemplated the probability of dying from embarrassment. Given my current state, upward of forty percent chance of death.

The bastard did have a nice ass.

It was in that moment that I remembered my conversation with Rob at the beach and his envelope. I was guilty, but that guilt wasn’t nearly as strong as it had once been. With my hand pressed against the wood, I pushed away and slowly made my way to the bedroom. The envelope had taken up residence in my underwear drawer—I knew Rob would approve—deep beneath my panties and socks. I hadn’t thought about it for quite some time, but rather than feel sad about the prospect of opening it, I had a strange tingle of anticipation.

I held it in my hands as I sat on the edge of the bed. The stains from my ice cream–coated fingers were still on the envelope. Chocolate with fudge. I ran my thumb across them.

Nothing else adorned the front of the envelope, no indication of what may be inside. I huffed, then licked my lips before I finally slipped my finger beneath the edge and tore the paper open.

Hidden inside was a single piece of paper wrapped around a bundle of index cards. I ignored the cards for the time being and spread open the paper. I took a moment before I could read the note. This was something new from Rob and my heart broke a little bit more. Those invisible fingers squeezed at my chest.

Alyssa.

I love you. I know you love me. I’m glad you’re ready to move on and start having some fun once again. I also know you well enough to realize you’ll only go so far before you stop. Don’t do that. And for God’s sake, don’t get into a serious relationship right away either. I always thought you hadn’t taken enough time to figure out who you were as a person before we hooked up. We jumped into being a couple and lucky for us we worked and it was awesome.

You always said you never regretted being with me so young, but you also didn’t date anyone else. You didn’t sleep with anyone else. I took that experience from you and I always hated that you didn’t get to explore. I wanted to give you my permission to go out there and experiment. Have fun. Fool around and don’t feel the least bit guilty about it.

I thought I might also offer you some suggestions on how to get started.

Humor me, okay.

I’ve had a lot of time on my hands recently. When you weren’t here, I started this little project. I call it Alyssa’s 30 Days of Sex. Please don’t have sex thirty days in a row because I’ll be jealous. Not really. If you can do that, go for it. Seriously though, jealous.

Anyway, even if you don’t use any of these cards, I had a lot of fun imagining you enacting them. You’ll read them and think OMG boy dreams! That’s cool. They are. Change them up if you want.

Even when you weren’t with me, you made me happy. I’m going to stop now before I get sappy. Go get laid and enjoy the kinky sex.

Love you, baby.

Rob

I laughed. It was such a Rob thing to have done. I had no difficulty picturing him coming up with ideas for his cards while going through his chemo. Come to think of it, that explained most of the Internet pop-ups I’d been forced to clean off his laptop after he passed.

Sex cards. He wrote me freaking sex cards. I fell in love with him all over again. My best friend and lover was giving me advice on how to hook up with other people from beyond the grave. The idea was a mix of weird and sweet, the perfect descriptor for him.

My fingers shook as I flipped through the cards. Tears filled my eyes, but I couldn’t stop myself from giggling. If he were still here, I would have punched him on the arm for confusing the hell out of me. I kept laughing as I flipped through the stack. He didn’t actually expect me to do some of these? Threesome. Public sex. Get tied up. Have sex with a vibrator in my ass.

Actually, that one sounded interesting.

Eventually I went back to the first card and looked at it closely. On the top of each one he’d printed 30 Days of Sex, and directly below it, the day it represented. This one had One written across the top and only one word written in his messy scrawl in the middle of the card. While it appeared to be the simplest to complete, I had a few doubts about starting on this insane game.

Masturbate.

That was something I’d forgone doing for so long I wondered if my body remembered how.

Light was fading outside and it would be time for bed soon. Memories of Rob and the new guy with the nice ass were bumping around in my brain. My nipples grew sensitive and rubbed against the padding of my bra as I shifted back on my mattress.

This wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t even really sex. Not really.

Masturbate. I could do that. Totally.

Some of the other cards though, Rob might have overestimated my taste for adventure. But at the very least I could do this one thing. I picked up the Day One card, set the others on my nightstand, and walked out to the kitchen to get something to eat.

It was only one thing. I didn’t have to do everything in the pile. Hell, if I only ever did this one, it would be a change for the positive.

I used to love sex. We’d enjoyed each other, explored and had fun whenever we could. We hadn’t been ready for kids, but that didn’t stop us from practicing every moment we could. The more I thought about it, the more I realized I missed it. I was tired of feeling empty and alone.

I could do this.

Leaving my dishes on the table, I took the card and went into the bathroom. If I was seriously going to attempt this, then I was going to do it right. That meant preparations.

Water rolled across my body, making my fingers glide across my skin easily. I took my time and used a facecloth rather than my normal loofah. The shower had never been a place where I’d pleasured myself, but I knew if I was going to make this work, if I was going to take Rob’s cards seriously, then like the other things in my life I needed to change up my routine.

So no relaxing in the bed where we’d once had so much fun.

After I’d finished with my quick wash, I dropped the facecloth on the holder and proceeded to wash my hair. I’d always had this thing about my head being touched, fingers being dragged across my scalp. There used to be a time when a trip to the hairdresser would result in me getting so turned on that I’d jump Rob the moment I walked through the door. Unlike every other occasion over the past two years, I took my time and let my nails move across my skin until I shivered.

The soap bubbles slipped down my neck and fell into piles on my chest. I moved a hand to push the suds across my breasts, my nipples already hard as I touched them. For a moment there wasn’t the tingle of pleasure I used to feel whenever I’d touch myself. Again, I caressed the peak, pinching and rolling the sensitive skin between my finger and thumb.

It was hard to turn my brain off and simply feel. I pushed aside my emotions, the loneliness, everything and allowed my body to be the boss. I scraped my nail across my nipple, flicking it twice hard.

A gasp escaped me before I realized it was coming. My pussy pulsed and for the first time in forever I was aroused. God, it had been forever. I hadn’t allowed myself to feel anything beyond anger and grief for far too long. It was as though I’d opened up a window and a strong breeze had blown through the numbness of my mind.

I hated when Rob was right.

Turning around, I rinsed the soap from my hair and put in the conditioner. The slick fluid was perfect for what I wanted to do. With my back to the shower spray, I pressed my fingers to my clit, circling the swelling flesh, and tried to relax into the sensations.

It felt nice.

I pressed my other hand against the wall to steady myself and closed my eyes. Flecks of water splashed across me, but I ignored them. My world was focused down to the space between my thighs, the place where only Rob had been, and my growing need to feel something pleasurable. I set a simple rhythm, something that had always gotten me where I wanted to go before. For a brief time it worked. It became harder to breathe and my body shook. I pressed harder, even took the chance to slip my fingers into my slick passage, remembering what it was like to have Rob press into me.

As soon as his face floated up into my mind the arousal I’d felt slipped away. One moment I was climbing the mountain to orgasmland and the next I’d crashed back to reality.

“Shit.” I pressed my forehead to the wall. That was anticlimactic.

And that thought got me giggling. Then I started to cry.

Okay, maybe I wasn’t quite ready for this. I rinsed the conditioner from my hair and turned the water off. The towel was warm and dry wrapped around me, offering me a small measure of comfort for my failure.

Nikki invited me to go to the farmers’ market with her the following Saturday morning. The summer air was already warm despite the early hour and I’d been forced to pull my hair up into a bun. I loved my sister for so many reasons, but right now it was her ability to make me laugh that was winning me over.

“Dude, oh my God, look at this.” She picked up a cucumber the size of an arm and started waving it around. “You could kill someone with this. Or have a really pleasant night in.” She turned to the vendor and handed over her money. “This baby is mine. Hello, my darling. I shall take you home and make sweet, sweet love to you.” She kissed its tip.

“You’re such a pig.” But the thought of my sister doing the nasty with a cucumber got me thinking about my own dilemma. Though I wasn’t about to follow her lead and buy my date from a farmer.

“What’s wrong?” She bumped my arm as we walked through the thinning crowds. “You were all smiling there and now you’re not. I need my baby sister happy.”

“I’m happy.” No, I wasn’t.

“No, you’re not. Don’t try to pull that shit on me. I’m a trained professional and know when people aren’t telling me the truth.” That was the downside to having a psychologist as a sister—she always knew when something was wrong with me.

She hooked her arm in mine and pulled me over to a coffee vendor. Only once a large black coffee was firmly in my grasp did we find a table to rest. Nikki patted my hand before she guzzled down half of her drink.

“I don’t know how you can drink that when it’s still hot.”

“I’m a freak.” She grinned. “And you’re trying to deflect the conversation. What’s up?”

My family had made it a point not to bring Rob up with me anymore. They would talk to me about him if I started the conversation, but that was it. I never knew if it was because they didn’t want to upset me, or if they didn’t know what to say.

“This is a bit weird.” I’d started carrying Rob’s last letter to me since I’d opened the envelope. While I didn’t break down into tears anymore, I still felt a bit adrift. Having Rob’s words close to me somehow made everything a bit easier. Nikki didn’t say anything when I pulled the note from my purse and slid it across the table. “It’s from Rob.”

Her eyes widened. “And you just found it now?”

“Not really. He told me about it before . . . at the beach. He said it was for a time when I thought I was ready to move on.”

Nikki had loved Rob like a kid brother, even though she was only two years older than him. He’d been around so long we teased him about changing his last name to Wood instead of me changing mine to Barrow. “And are you? Ready to move on.”

She sounded skeptical, which really wasn’t surprising. Nikki had once claimed that Rob and I gave her hope that she’d find her soul mate someday. She was currently on the hunt for husband number four.

“I’m never going to forget him. And no, I’m not sure about getting back out there. But this isn’t so much about dating as it is about sex.”

Nikki cocked her eyebrow and carefully picked up the letter. “Should I be reading this?”

“Would I give it to you if you shouldn’t?”

“You totally would. Perv. Oh my God, he gave you sex cards.”

I burst out laughing at the look of horror on her face. “You do know that I’ve had sex, right? Many times.”

“Shut up. Eww.” She carefully set the note down. “Dare I ask what was on them?”

“Not unless you want to be scarred for life.” This was good, being able to talk about this and not feel the urge to cry. “I’m not about to start dating, but . . .”

“But you . . .” Nikki gave my hand another squeeze. “You’re ready for something. He’s right, you know. You should get out there and have some fun. Sex doesn’t have to be about love. It can be about needing to feel something. To be touched. To get all those happy endorphins running. . .