Sweet Spot Read online

  Sweet Spot

  Frankie Love

  Contents

  About

  1. Charlie

  2. Candy

  3. Charlie

  4. Candy

  5. Charlie

  6. Candy

  7. Charlie

  8. Candy

  9. Charlie

  10. Candy

  11. Charlie

  Epilogue 1

  Epilogue 2

  THE REST OF THE “Sweet Enough to Eat” SERIES!

  MORE FRANKIE V-DAY STORIES!

  About the Author

  About

  The moment Candy walks into my chocolate shop, I melt.

  This down-on-her-luck darling needs a job.

  And I need to find this beauty’s sweet spot.

  When I do? Let’s just say she’s craving more!

  But my life is complicated, and if this innocent woman knew about my shady side hustle, she just might walk out the door.

  I can’t let that happen.

  This Valentine’s Day is all about grand gestures, and I’ll do what it takes to be Candy’s man.

  Dear Reader,

  My insta-love novellas are NOT like a box of chocolates… you ALWAYS know what you’re gonna get.

  Committed heroes along with the women who love them, plus filthy-sweet scenes, and true love that conquers all.

  This Valentine’s Day I give you Charlie, a burly bookie who owns a chocolate shop. I promise his devotion to Candy is worth more than a golden ticket!

  xo, frankie

  Chapter One

  Charlie

  Everyone is betting on George. Me? My money would be on Red. Not that I’m a betting man. I just take the bets, never make them myself. No, I like to keep my money in the bank. Save it for a rainy day.

  Still, I got into the bookie business because my pop passed away, and I was the next guy in line for the throne. Not that it’s in a castle, but there is a bit of an empire, even if it’s a shady one. The thing is, no one’s getting hurt, and so long as I’m the man in charge, things will stay that way. My pops was a fun guy to be around but I’m not sure anyone would say he was a good guy. He liked whiskey just as much as he liked money.

  Booze has never been my vice. But I do have my weakness. Chocolate.

  I’ll take sweet milk chocolate, or a dark truffle, a caramel centered confection — Hell, I’m not choosy. I’m just a man with a sweet tooth and a constant craving for candy. My dad always had the chocolate shop as a front for his bookie business, but it often broke my heart to know there was hardly any actual chocolate for sale here. He said chocolates were a good front for the bookie business because it took a long time for it to spoil and you didn’t have to dust it.

  “Hey, Johnny,” I shout to my right-hand man. The crowded bookie room is filled with our regulars who are placing their bets and leaning over the counter to watch the horse races. “You take over the records, okay? I’ve gotta go try and hire a girl.”

  “Hire a girl?” Johnny laughs. “It’s about time you got laid, Charlie.”

  “Not funny. I’m hiring a girl to run the front.”

  I sock him in the shoulder as I pass him, giving him the stink eye. I’ve never had a girlfriend, and the guys around this neighborhood always give me a hard time for it. I get it. I’m a twenty-six-year-old virgin -- not that I’m shouting that from the damn rooftops, but I’m a sucker with a penchant for all things old-fashioned. I’m waiting for the one. The only. The girl who takes my breath away.

  I just haven’t met her yet.

  “So, you need to hire someone. What happened to your cousin Marissa? She was a great employee, ” Johnny asks, sitting down on a stool.

  I throw my hands up. “Yeah, until she ran off with the milkman.”

  “You’re joking, Charlie. What year is this, 1955?”

  “I know, right? I heard she’s happy, although my Uncle Earl’s pissed.”

  Johnny laughs while petting his dog on the head. He always has one of his dogs at his side. It’s just the kind of guy he is. I walk up the steps at the back of the bookie room and push open the door that leads to my chocolate shop. Johnny brought up a good point — it may not be 1955, but sometimes I wish it was. There was something sweet about simpler times when everyone wasn’t tethered to a goddamn phone. Times when people always waved hello to their neighbors and when men were still gentlemen.

  But times are changing, the world keeps moving, and there’s a little less courtesy offered every day. Read Twitter for ten seconds, and you’ll be dreaming of a time when humanity couldn’t tell the whole world what they thought whenever they thought it.

  So, I do my best to impart these old-fashioned ideals wherever I can. Yeah, I know most people wouldn’t assume that from a man like me — a guy who is 6’4” and head-to-toe muscle, who rides a bike — but what can I say? My ma taught me never to judge a book by its cover. The hardest part? Most people don’t have a ma like I do.

  I look around the chocolate shop and take inventory. The depleted shelves are pretty much as they always are. Even though this may be a chocolate shop for all intents and purposes, we don’t advertise. We don’t want many people coming by, to be honest. And to make sure we looked legit, while at the same time unwelcoming, is the sort of thing Marissa took care of. Without her here, I can’t exactly run the business that I use as a front for my other business. The one that’s, ya know, not exactly legal.

  My phone rings and I pull it from my pocket. “Ma?”

  “Hi Charlie, I got your message. I’m glad you’ll be able to come to dinner tonight. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  I chuckle. “I was over for Sunday dinner.”

  “But that was four days ago! Anyways, your sisters are coming too.”

  “Alright, so are you at home now or showing a property?” My mom is a real estate agent and she is always running around town.

  “Actually, I’m home today, just getting a listing together. You know that old factory on Bond Road? It’s for sale. A great price too.”

  “I know that one. It’s a nice-looking building.”

  “And the owner wants to sell, so the price is right.”

  “Well, hope you get a good commission for it. Listen, I’m about to interview a new employee so gimme a call if you need me to pick anything up for dinner.”

  Mom goes quiet. “I hate what you’re doing, Charlie. You’re better than this. I don’t want you to take after your father.”

  “I’m not.” We say our goodbyes, and I run a hand over my jaw and look at the clock. The woman who called about the ad I posted in the paper should be here by now. Not exactly promising for her to be late to the interview. I don’t even know her name. Forgot to ask when she called — that’s how bad I am at hiring women. Guys, I can handle — I know what I need when it comes to running a bookie business: brute strength and men who are unafraid of throwing their fists when someone doesn’t pay up.

  The minutes keep ticking by, and when it’s fifteen minutes past the meeting time, I walk to the door to lock up, figuring I struck out.

  But just as I do, I see a woman flying toward me with a small suitcase in her hand. Her big brown eyes are wide, her hair caramel-colored locks are blowing behind her and her tits bounce with each step she takes. My cock twitches, wondering what the hurry is.

  I open the door of my shop, The Sweet Spot, and she practically jumps in my arms, tears brimming in her chocolate eyes.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  Her bottom lip trembles, my hand is wrapped around this beautiful stranger, protectively, and I don’t even know what I’m protecting her from. “There were thugs, with skeleton tattoos on their necks, just around the corner. They stole my purse as I was getting off the bus.”

  “M
otherfuckers,” I growl. “Stay put.” I run from the shop, whistling down the street, getting the attention of Vinny and Danny. They work for me. “The Boneyard Boys are back at it.”

  Chapter Two

  Candy

  This is the last thing I need: another person to take advantage of me. My father told me a thousand times to trust no one, to stay behind locked doors, to keep my head down. And exactly sixty seconds in this big, new city, he was proven right.

  I stepped off the bus and asked the men before me for directions. The next thing I knew, they were getting aggressive. When I fought back, they stole my purse.

  Thankfully I still have my suitcase with a few essentials, but my money, my ID … all of it is gone.

  I watch as the burly man who opened the door for me whistles for some backup, and down the street, they fly. I have no idea who they are, I have never been to the city before, but I do know that the look in his eyes told me he wasn’t going to let this go. He was going to make those men pay — whoever they are.

  Wiping my eyes, I wonder how things got sideways so fast. Maybe leaving home was a bad idea. As I think that, I know it isn’t true. The tug I felt when I saw the ad in the help wanted section was real. My feelings always pan out, no matter what my father says

  Part of me has always known I was made for more than what my father thinks. And sure, most people wouldn’t still be sitting around waiting for an opportunity to strike when they were twenty-one, but I’ve lived a sheltered life. It’s hard to take a chance when I’ve spent my life being told opportunity isn’t available to girls like me.

  Trying to keep it together, I take a deep breath. I don’t want to break down in this chocolate shop. But it’s impossible not to shed a few tears. The idea of going back to my father’s farm is out of the question, but if I don’t get my purse back with my money, I won’t even be able to afford a motel room for tonight. Let alone bus fare home.

  “Don’t cry.” A rough voice cuts through my tears. I spin to face the big man whose arms I practically leaped into earlier. “Here, take this,” he says, pulling out a handkerchief from his jeans pocket.

  I step toward him, taking the cloth. Looking at it, I see it’s embroidered with the initials C.S. “These are my initials,” I say, eyes widening in surprise. Even more surprised that this brash looking man is carrying a handkerchief. It’s such a sweet thing. No man I’ve ever met is that old-fashioned.

  “What are the odds? I’m Charlie Smith, and this, Miss, is your purse.”

  I gasp, “You found it?”

  He chuckles. “Wouldn’t say found. More like demanded.”

  I look him over and see his knuckles are bloody. My stomach drops. Did he beat those men up for me?

  He sees where my eyes have landed. “Don’t worry about me, C.S. My fists have seen worse damage.”

  I step toward him, wanting to tend to his hand. “I’m Candy Sanders,” I tell him. “Here, let me fix you up. It’s the least I can do.”

  He swallows and his jaw tenses as I take his poor hand in my own. His is so big compared to mine, and I look up into his eyes, feeling so small as I stand in front of him. He towers over me, more than six feet of solid muscle and oozing strength. Where has he been all my life? Because I could have used his might all those times Father insisted I was worthless. I didn’t even know men like him existed.

  “What’s wrong now?” he asks, frowning. “You seem worried.”

  I shake my head. “No, I just… I’m glad I found you when I did.”

  He grunts, and I wonder if his hand is in pain, but when I look into his eyes for a second time, I can tell he isn’t hurting. In fact, he seems hungry. Starving, even.

  “Do you have any Band-Aids?” I ask. “Any alcohol to clean up this cut?”

  “There might be something under the cash register.”

  I hate letting go of his hand, but I have to as I root around under the register. Thankfully, I find a compact first-aid kit. “Is this your shop?” I ask him, setting the kit on the countertop and opening it up. The shop itself is pretty bare. There is hardly any chocolate for sale and certainly not the pretty kinds I make.

  “I own it, yes. But I don’t run it. I was trying to hire a girl today, but she never showed.”

  I rip open an antiseptic wipe and smile softly. “I’m your girl,” I tell him. “Sorry, I was late. I would’ve been right on time if it hadn’t been for the whole mugging thing.”

  He starts coughing. “Damn,” he finally says. “I didn’t realize it was my lucky day.”

  I take his hand again and wipe the blood away, then I open a Band-Aid and place it over the scrapes on his knuckles. His hands are calloused, rough like he’s been working hard his whole life.

  “Thank you,” I tell him. “For taking care of me.”

  He lifts an eyebrow. “It’s you taking care of me, Candy.”

  I swallow. “It means a lot. Without my purse, I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “All my money is in there and I left home this morning, so I’m kind of… Well, what I have with me is all my possessions in the world.”

  “Seriously?” His tone turns intense. “No one is looking after you? Making sure you’re safe? There is no man in your life?”

  I shake my head. “Not even close.”

  He runs a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “I find this really fucking hard to believe.”

  I smile. “Why is that?”

  “A girl like you. So sweet, so… everything. I can’t understand how you wouldn’t have a man making sure you are protected.”

  “I’ve lived with my father all my life, and he did the opposite of making me feel safe.” I shake my head, realizing I may have just said too much. “Sorry. That was inappropriate. Here I am trying to get a job and instead, I drop my baggage on you…”

  He lifts my chin with the crook of his finger. At his touch, sparks fly and my belly flip-flops. Who is this man? He feels like my guardian angel.

  “It’s not too much. Sounds like you’ve been through hell. I won’t let that happen to you ever again. You’re safe now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can live here.”

  “Here?” I look around the chocolate shop. “Um…”

  He chuckles. “No, I mean you can live in my apartment. With me.”

  I feel like alarm bells should be ringing. A stranger just asked me to move in with him, but the only feeling I can pinpoint is gratitude. Well, also, a sense of safety. Just standing next to Charlie, I feel a sense of calm wash over me like I’ve never felt before. I can’t imagine what it would be like to sleep in the same home as him.

  “You live here?”

  “Upstairs.” He points to a roped-off staircase in the corner. I see a door opposite of it, leading somewhere else. The basement, maybe?

  “So, is that a yes?” he prompts.

  I twist my lips. “It’s not a no.”

  He laughs. “I know this is a little unusual, but Candy, the idea of you being out in the world alone, scares me. Look what happened when you got off the bus. They stole your purse, but what if they had taken more?”

  His words send a wave of nausea over me. Those thugs could have changed the course of my life forever.

  “What was your plan, a motel?” I nod, and he grunts his disapproval. “And what if you didn’t get this job?”

  “I didn’t think that far ahead, Charlie. I just had to get out from under my father’s thumb, and this, it seemed like the right opportunity.”

  “I’m so glad you came when you did. I need someone to run the shop.”

  “So, I’m hired?”

  Charlie looks at me, I mean really looks at me. I wonder what he sees. I have on black tights and black flats. And a dress that hits my calves. It was made from grey fabric I found in the closet, scraps from my mother’s old sewing basket.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask when his silence has gone on a beat too long.<
br />
  “I think you need to put on something more cheerful.”

  “You don’t like my dress? I sewed it myself.”

  He smiles, picking up my suitcase. “I like that you can sew. My ma will like that too. But Marissa ordered uniforms that are a bit more upbeat.”

  “Marisa?” I swallow. “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “No, she’s my cousin. She used to work here. Now you’ll run the place.”

  “So, I got the job?”

  “Candy, you were made for this job. In fact, I think you were made for me.”

  Chapter Three

  Charlie

  Her eyes go wide at my words, and I am not surprised. Telling her she was made for me within ten minutes of meeting her, that and asking her to move in, might be a little fast for most people.

  But damn, I’ve never been most people. The letters on my knuckles read LOVE HARD, and hell, it’s what I aim to do. I’ve been biding my time for this kind of love all my life, waiting for the one. Waiting for her. Candy.

  “I don’t really know what to say to that…” she stammers. “I’ve never had a man talk to me so plainly so…”

  “I don’t mean to scare you,” I tell her.

  She shakes her head. “I’m not scared.”

  “No?” I step toward her. “What are you then?”

  She licks her pink lips. “Interested.”

  “Fuck,” I groan, running a hand through my hair. “You’re gonna drive me crazy. You know that?”

  She laughs. It’s a small and gentle laugh. One that sounds like bells ringing or music playing. She sounds like magic. “You’re the crazy one, Charlie. Offering me a place to live and a job, when you don’t even know me.”