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Teach Me Something
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Catherine Davenport is successful in her career, but doesn’t have the same skill when it comes to her love life. After a painful divorce, she’s finding the new world of dating both intimidating and frustrating.
Tired of striking out, she takes the extreme measure of enlisting the help of an instructor in a private club who offers sessions on how to improve her dating strategy as well as her overall sexual confidence.
‘Calvin’, the masked man with the piercing blue eyes and husky voice not only challenges her to step out of her comfort zone, but encourages her to unlock her repressed adventurous side with various lessons.
She feels like she’s making progress until her worlds collide and the identity of the man privy to her most intimate details is shockingly revealed as someone she knows.
Can Catherine put her insecurities aside to take a chance on love where she least expected it, or will her past interfere with her ability to plan a future with the one man who truly knows the real her.
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Teach Me Something (Book #4 in Something Series):
Catch Up On The Series & Read the First Book FREE!
Tell Me Something (Book #1 in Something Series):
Ask Me Something (Book #2 in Something Series):
Bet Me Something (Book #3 in Something Series):
Aubrey Bondurant is a working mom who loves to write, read and travel.
She describes her writing style as: “Adult Contemporary Erotic Romantic Comedy”. (How’s that for a mouthful?) Picture chick-lit with the sex scenes or “smutty chick lit” and there you have it!
When Aubrey isn’t working her day job, or spending time with her family, she’s on her laptop typing away on her next story. She only wishes there were more hours of the day!
She’s a former member of the U.S. Marine Corps and passionate about veteran charities and giving back to the community. She loves a big drooly dog, a fantastic margarita, and football.
Connect with Aubrey
Enter Aubrey’s Giveaway:
Lists were something I could embrace. Lists were a source of comfort to me. They kept the world in order and allowed me to organize my thoughts. But, unfortunately, they likewise reminded me of the true reason I thought my dates weren’t working. “Thanks.”
“You’re holding something back.”
His read on me took me off guard. Maybe having the mask and wig had given me a false sense of privacy. I sighed, chewed on my lip, and ultimately reasoned that if I couldn’t admit my problem out loud to a stranger who was being paid to help me, then I couldn’t possibly fix it. “I think the problem on the dates is me.”
“How so?” His voice was soft and not at all condescending.
“I think that over the first few months of dating I talked a lot about my divorce. Then I realized that was about the biggest buzzkill for a first date ever, so I stopped doing it, but…”
My dramatic lead-up was making it sound like I had some sort of dysfunction whereby I started barking during the appetizer. “Sorry, it’s just something my ex implied, and I shouldn’t believe, but maybe it’s true.” I sighed. “I think I’m boring.”
“Boring?” I was reasonably sure that if I could see his eyebrows, one would be raised in surprise.
“Yes. As in safe, dull, predictable.”
Now that I was admitting it out loud, it came out like a fire hose. “I make lists for everything from groceries to reasons I should or shouldn’t have come here tonight. I have a set night where I pay bills and attend to my taxes, and I enjoy doing both. And you know how New Yorkers will walk into the street and survey traffic before they’d look at the walk/don’t walk signs? Well, not me. I’ll sit there on the corner waiting for that little white man to appear on the sign for my designated time to walk. Basically, where there’s a rule, I’m a follower. Where there’s a risk, I avoid it.”
His eyes showed some amusement before he tried to hide it. “Kat, you’re currently sitting in a sex club, which I would argue is the opposite from safe, boring, and predictable. Matter of fact, it’s pretty bold.”
“And that’s part of the reason why I’m here. I’m tired of being a golden retriever.”
He’d been taking a sip of water and nearly spit it out. A low chuckle accompanied his handsome grin. “Did you just compare yourself to a dog?”
I nodded, having come up with the metaphor months ago, although I’d yet to share it with anyone. “Everyone knows you get a golden retriever when you want a reliable, safe-around-the-kids, not-too-much-trouble kind of dog. But there’s nothing intriguing, unique, or overly exciting about one.”
His mouth was twitching. “You’re not a breed of dog.”
“Fine, then I’m a Volvo. A Consumer Reports top safety pick which does well in a crash, but about which no one has a thrilling story. I mean, when’s the last time you heard someone start an exciting story with, ‘This one time when I was driving my Volvo…’? Nothing exhilarating happens with a car like that.”