Title: Claiming Zoey
Author: J.B. Baker
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: March 12, 2018
This should be easy.
Fly into my hometown Fall Creek, attend the party my grandfather was invited to,
Then fly back to my hunting ground, New York!
Well at least I thought it would be that easy.
That is until I see her,
Zoey Brooks
She wasn't expecting to see me either.
The once annoying teenager has turned into a full woman.
Curves, Hips, Toned Body and Venetian blonde hair.
A few years ago I didn’t even set eyes on her.
I was heartbroken by her sister, and well now
The mere sight of her makes my inner beast growl, yet she’s having nothing to do with my macho ways.
That is until we kiss
I need to make this goddess of a woman mine.
Claiming Zoey soon becomes my only sultry sin!
He was so cool and confident, but at the same time, he was so unbearably obnoxious. The way he blatantly tried to hit on me was so full on, and it did not suit him at all. I am still having trouble believing that that shit works on women in New York or wherever else he lives. Do women like that kind of stuff in big cities? “Hey, let’s get outta here and go to New York on my jet; I’ll take ya out for a steak dinner. This party is so lame.”
I prance about in imitation of the great Noah Dickhead Jackson. I pull a few more of his signature dick ass lines as I dance around the living room, inducing Kaylee and Savannah into hysterical frenzies of laughter.
“Come on, guys! Who behaves like that? We certainly don’t have any people like that here in Fall Creek – thank God,” I say, picking up a plate and stacking it on some others nearby. Savannah, Kaylee and I are cleaning up after the party. My parents have already gone off to bed. The girls and I are sharing a bottle of sparkling wine while we do the final chores of the day.
“You have all the luck, Zoey. First, you have DJ Zac trying to win back your heart with romantic invitations to your place of work where you should cook him his dinner – ‘that’d be like so romantic, Honey-buns’…” We all laugh at that. “And now, you have this New York wanna be big shot guy going all ape on you. I am sorry. I guess I hoped that he was more like Hunter,” says Kaylee.
“It’s okay. You couldn’t have known what kind of man he has become;” I say.
Yet, no matter how much I try to badmouth him in my mind or out loud, I can’t help but feel drawn to Noah. How that is even possible is beyond me. But there is something about Noah Jackson that intrigues me and makes me want to break all the rules. It somehow makes me want to do what he tells me to do, and that is so not like me. The only people who can partly tell me what to do are my girls, Kaylee and Savannah, and that’s like once every half-year - and my parents every lunar eclipse.
I really got the chance to study him while I sang. His cool, cocky manner and the way his sexy light brown waves of hair tumbled down his neck in a mess, that for me was perfection, enchanted me. For once, his mouth was shut, and I could focus all of my attention on his face.
It was kind – gone was the supercilious veneer he displayed during our chat. It was impossible to make out that spark of warmth and kindness at first because of all of the conceited bullshit he spewed from his mouth when he spoke. Along with the melody of my song, Noah was no longer Noah Dickhead Jackson but Noah Prince Jackson. He had looked at me as if he was in awe of me. I felt so special under his caressing gaze that lifted me up and made my voice more powerful than ever before. I frown. I am certain something is there between us; but what?
“You call the guy a wanna be big shot…I don’t think so. I would’ve taken him up on his offer for a steak dinner in a heartbeat…take a look at this – the man’s a billionaire and a superstar,” says Savannah, holding out her smartphone with a trembling arm.
“Holly shit…is that…” Kaylee’s voice veers off into silence as her eyes fix onto the device’s screen.
“Yep, that’s Noah Jackson,” says Savannah as if she is his best friend. “Pretty cool, huh?”
“That can’t be him with Beyoncé?” I blurt, nearly dropping a plate I just picked up. “It says here that he hosted a party for her and Jay Z at his New York penthouse. Who is this man?”
“He’s a music producer…” This time it’s Kylee reading the accompanying text to the article on the screen.
I gulp. I almost feel my heart drop a hundred feet in free fall. Noah Dickhead Jackson is a music producer. James Jackson you crafty old bastard. Now, I know why you said you had connections in the business. How was I to know that your grandson is…what does it say here…Noah Jackson, the owner of Butterbeat Records, will soon become a self-made billionaire. If the performance of his artists continues, the orphan record mogul will soon hit the billionaire jackpot.
“Billionaire,” spits Kaylee.
“Billionaire,” exhales Savannah. “This is incredible,” she turns to me with one of her archetypical mock serious expressions on her face, “next time that man asks you out on a steak dinner date, you damn well go. You have sex with him, and you offer him your body in order for him to plant his seed inside you. You make babies with this man, you hear. And after that, you think of me, your dear sweet friend Savannah, and hook me up with one of his acquaintances…you got that?”
This is too much. Kaylee and I burst out laughing. “Where do you get that shit from, Savannah? So that he can plant his seed – that’s hilarious,” I say between whistling teeth.
Savannah is deadly serious. “If you think that’s impressive, look here,” she continues, almost ramming her phone in my face.
“Oh, come on, Brad Pitt…really!” scream both my sister and I.
“Yep, and all of these other people here too…” Savannah’s fingers act like those belonging to an expert secretary as they skim over the screen in quick-fire fashion. The information available on Noah is endless.
My gaze remains glued to the phone as Savannah accesses various photographs of Noah on the web. It’s the who’s who of Hollywood, the music industry and politics. I swear there is even one with Noah and the president of the United States. It’s incredible to see a fellow native of Fall Creek to have come so far. Despite his earlier conceitedness, I feel my chest swell up with pride as if I was the one on all of the photographs.
A loud whoosh of air escapes my mouth. Argh, I should’ve known. It feels as if my heart stopped beating and I am about to die. I am gawking at one of the sexiest women there is. She stares back at me smugly from the screen on Savannah’s smartphone.
And that’s where it begins, my little tour of ‘Noah’s girlfriends’ past.’ Yay, I love the Internet and mobile technology. Thanks to it, I know exactly what Noah’s last ten dates looked like. I am also able to ascertain how many women he’s fucked, when and where and exactly what they wore before he undressed them. Sometimes I wish I were born in a different age – modern technology sometimes tells us things we really don’t want to know.
Obviously, the women he was involved with were all hot as hell. That was to be expected. But not one of them had any resemblance to the other. I have often heard that men usually have a target group or a type of woman they prefer – like maybe blondes or brunettes or women with a motherly disposition or maybe girly types or the educated kind. Not Noah. He just likes women – all of them. It seems to me that if she has an opening between her legs and looks like a superstar, he is in there with his gun blazing.
I prance about in imitation of the great Noah Dickhead Jackson. I pull a few more of his signature dick ass lines as I dance around the living room, inducing Kaylee and Savannah into hysterical frenzies of laughter.
“Come on, guys! Who behaves like that? We certainly don’t have any people like that here in Fall Creek – thank God,” I say, picking up a plate and stacking it on some others nearby. Savannah, Kaylee and I are cleaning up after the party. My parents have already gone off to bed. The girls and I are sharing a bottle of sparkling wine while we do the final chores of the day.
“You have all the luck, Zoey. First, you have DJ Zac trying to win back your heart with romantic invitations to your place of work where you should cook him his dinner – ‘that’d be like so romantic, Honey-buns’…” We all laugh at that. “And now, you have this New York wanna be big shot guy going all ape on you. I am sorry. I guess I hoped that he was more like Hunter,” says Kaylee.
“It’s okay. You couldn’t have known what kind of man he has become;” I say.
Yet, no matter how much I try to badmouth him in my mind or out loud, I can’t help but feel drawn to Noah. How that is even possible is beyond me. But there is something about Noah Jackson that intrigues me and makes me want to break all the rules. It somehow makes me want to do what he tells me to do, and that is so not like me. The only people who can partly tell me what to do are my girls, Kaylee and Savannah, and that’s like once every half-year - and my parents every lunar eclipse.
I really got the chance to study him while I sang. His cool, cocky manner and the way his sexy light brown waves of hair tumbled down his neck in a mess, that for me was perfection, enchanted me. For once, his mouth was shut, and I could focus all of my attention on his face.
It was kind – gone was the supercilious veneer he displayed during our chat. It was impossible to make out that spark of warmth and kindness at first because of all of the conceited bullshit he spewed from his mouth when he spoke. Along with the melody of my song, Noah was no longer Noah Dickhead Jackson but Noah Prince Jackson. He had looked at me as if he was in awe of me. I felt so special under his caressing gaze that lifted me up and made my voice more powerful than ever before. I frown. I am certain something is there between us; but what?
“You call the guy a wanna be big shot…I don’t think so. I would’ve taken him up on his offer for a steak dinner in a heartbeat…take a look at this – the man’s a billionaire and a superstar,” says Savannah, holding out her smartphone with a trembling arm.
“Holly shit…is that…” Kaylee’s voice veers off into silence as her eyes fix onto the device’s screen.
“Yep, that’s Noah Jackson,” says Savannah as if she is his best friend. “Pretty cool, huh?”
“That can’t be him with Beyoncé?” I blurt, nearly dropping a plate I just picked up. “It says here that he hosted a party for her and Jay Z at his New York penthouse. Who is this man?”
“He’s a music producer…” This time it’s Kylee reading the accompanying text to the article on the screen.
I gulp. I almost feel my heart drop a hundred feet in free fall. Noah Dickhead Jackson is a music producer. James Jackson you crafty old bastard. Now, I know why you said you had connections in the business. How was I to know that your grandson is…what does it say here…Noah Jackson, the owner of Butterbeat Records, will soon become a self-made billionaire. If the performance of his artists continues, the orphan record mogul will soon hit the billionaire jackpot.
“Billionaire,” spits Kaylee.
“Billionaire,” exhales Savannah. “This is incredible,” she turns to me with one of her archetypical mock serious expressions on her face, “next time that man asks you out on a steak dinner date, you damn well go. You have sex with him, and you offer him your body in order for him to plant his seed inside you. You make babies with this man, you hear. And after that, you think of me, your dear sweet friend Savannah, and hook me up with one of his acquaintances…you got that?”
This is too much. Kaylee and I burst out laughing. “Where do you get that shit from, Savannah? So that he can plant his seed – that’s hilarious,” I say between whistling teeth.
Savannah is deadly serious. “If you think that’s impressive, look here,” she continues, almost ramming her phone in my face.
“Oh, come on, Brad Pitt…really!” scream both my sister and I.
“Yep, and all of these other people here too…” Savannah’s fingers act like those belonging to an expert secretary as they skim over the screen in quick-fire fashion. The information available on Noah is endless.
My gaze remains glued to the phone as Savannah accesses various photographs of Noah on the web. It’s the who’s who of Hollywood, the music industry and politics. I swear there is even one with Noah and the president of the United States. It’s incredible to see a fellow native of Fall Creek to have come so far. Despite his earlier conceitedness, I feel my chest swell up with pride as if I was the one on all of the photographs.
A loud whoosh of air escapes my mouth. Argh, I should’ve known. It feels as if my heart stopped beating and I am about to die. I am gawking at one of the sexiest women there is. She stares back at me smugly from the screen on Savannah’s smartphone.
And that’s where it begins, my little tour of ‘Noah’s girlfriends’ past.’ Yay, I love the Internet and mobile technology. Thanks to it, I know exactly what Noah’s last ten dates looked like. I am also able to ascertain how many women he’s fucked, when and where and exactly what they wore before he undressed them. Sometimes I wish I were born in a different age – modern technology sometimes tells us things we really don’t want to know.
Obviously, the women he was involved with were all hot as hell. That was to be expected. But not one of them had any resemblance to the other. I have often heard that men usually have a target group or a type of woman they prefer – like maybe blondes or brunettes or women with a motherly disposition or maybe girly types or the educated kind. Not Noah. He just likes women – all of them. It seems to me that if she has an opening between her legs and looks like a superstar, he is in there with his gun blazing.
J.B.Baker writes adventurous, steamy and sexy contemporary romance, new adult romance and women's fiction with characters that stay with you long after you have finished reading. Her focus is for you to fall in love with the characters page by page. With each book containing great elements of fun, flirty, and unpredictable storylines J.B.Baker wants to take you on a journey with each book that she writes.
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