Just One Moment (Just One Song Book 4) - Stacey Lynn



I HAVE ALWAYS HAD the uncanny ability to know exactly where I am when I wake up in the morning, despite what bed I am in. Years of traveling and spending nights in hotel rooms have primed me for times like this when consciousness pulls me from sleep.

Before I open my eyes, I stretch in the bed. My arms spread wide at a slow pace, to ensure that I'm not sleeping anywhere close to the man whose bed I crashed in.

My arm swipes cool sheets and as my legs rustle beneath the same, silky-soft sheets, I don't brush against warmth there, either.


Last night—and early into this morning—was incredible.

Possibly one of the best nights I've had, ever, with a random hookup.

Not that Lynx was random, necessarily, but he was definitely one of the few one-night stands I've had where I didn't know the person before at least sharing a meal with them.

You could say we bonded pretty quickly once he and his twin brother, Landon, brought my best friend Kennedy to the hotel suite where there was a celebratory party going on for Grayson Legend, MMA fighter.

What I didn't know until last night was that somehow Grayson and Kennedy know each other. I didn't know that when she watched MMA fights on television she knew the fighter she cursed at. Yet the way Grayson had grabbed her and hauled both of us out of our seats, after he took out his opponent in about two point five seconds, shows that he definitely knows her.

I was hustled out of the building and into a waiting vehicle by a scrumptious man who towered over my tiny frame.

Lights popped off his bald head, but it was the thick black slashes for eyebrows, dark brown eyes framed by ultra-long black lashes, and full...full lips that looked delicious that had me pulling out all the stops to get his hands on me.

Fortunately for me, Lynx, as I now know his name, kept me company last night when Grayson declared the party over and then whisked Kennedy out to the balcony of the hotel suite.

Lynx got me sweaty and dirty, cleaned me up with a shower, and dirtied me all over again.


The man has it in spades. Better, he knows what to do with what he's got. And he has plenty.

He also uses it well.

I press my thighs together to quell the small ripple of interest in my achy lower parts and brush the thought out of my head.

I don't go back for repeats.


“One and done” is my motto. Leaves things less messy that way. No one's feelings get hurt. No one gets hurt, period.

I never want to be responsible for hurting another human being again. I don't think I could take it.

Keeping my sexual relationships separated from any emotions helps protect everyone's hearts.

The fact that Lynx isn't in the bed next to me this morning, so I don’t have to do that awkward morning-after thing—something I rarely give any man a chance to do anyway—is icing on the cake.

Happy to be alone under slick sheets that still smell of delicious, heart-pounding, multiple-orgasm-giving sex, I roll to my side and reach for the my phone that I know I left on the nightstand.

I pry my eyelids open, swipe my passcode, and quickly begin flicking through the news app.

It's my routine: wake up, read the news, start the day. It doesn't matter where I am, I always read the Chicago news app. Then I check out the gossip columns.

I read the news because it was ingrained in me early on in life. Being the daughter of a now former Minnesota governor, I was taught that it’s every citizen’s responsibility to know what’s going on in the world around him or her.

I learned to read by sitting on my father's lap while he read the Star Tribune newspaper to me—including the opinion pieces. Because not only should we know what's going on, we should also feel free to speak our opinions and know what other people think on different issues.

It's too deeply imbedded in me to not read the news.

I read the gossip columns because I like that funky crap. I like knowing who's screwing who, whose dress is getting bashed, who's...

"Holy crap," I mutter, my eyes widening. My fingers quickly flick through the screens on TMZ then over to a linked site called Fresh Sports. "What the hell?"

I can feel my throat tightening as my eyes grow bigger.

Kennedy and Grayson.

Front page.

Sports websites.

They're everywhere.

"Kennedy!" I shout, at the same time