When Amber signed her sister’s name on a pen pal letter to a Marine, it was only meant to be a little white lie. As usual, Jory Walker, stepped in to right her sister’s mistake.
When faced with four letters from SSGT Trent Stevens in Afghanistan, Jory had no choice but to correspond. Sure he’d be drooling over Amber’s photo in a bikini, thinking it was Jory. But she’d never meet him, so what harm could it do if she sent him a few letters?
She was in no danger of falling for him, because, they had nothing in common. Or did they? Jory kept up the masquerade, writing to him regularly and eagerly awaiting his replies. As they grew closer, the lie grew bigger.
Would her charade boomerang replacing happiness with pain? What started off as an innocent ruse, morphed into a monstrous web of deceit. Maybe unpredictable love was destined to break her heart.
Here's a taste:
Jory Walker plucked three letters from the mailbox in front of the house. Two bills and one envelope addressed to her that looked like it had been through a war. It had, according to what was scratched in the upper corner.
SSGT. T. Stevens
Anger bubbled up inside her. She made a beeline for the house, only to collide with her sister.
“Amber! What the hell?” She waved the envelope in the young woman’s face.
“I just sent him one letter.”
“This is the fourth you’ve gotten from him. When are you going to write back?”
“It was a mistake…”
“You can say that again. Especially the part where you signed my name!”
“Laura was so convincing. I thought she meant one time. Only one letter.”
“She asked people to sign up to write to guys in the military. Not to write only one letter and include a lewd photo.”
“It wasn’t lewd, whatever that means. Just me in a bikini. I’m not good at writing. Much better at pictures.” Her beautiful, blonde sister, with a Miss America figure, grinned.
“And the reason you signed my name?”
“I always liked yours better. Besides, if he wanted another letter, I knew you’d write it for me. So, it might as well have your name on it.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit smile. I’m on to you. And the answer is ‘no.’” Jory shoved the envelope from T. Stevens into Amber’s hand.
“Please? Pleeeaassseee, Jory. You’re the writer. Not me.”
“That’s right. You’re the pretty sister, and I’m the smart one.”
Amber nodded. “I don’t mean it like that. You’re so much better than me.”
Amber’s jaw jutted out. “Okay. Disappoint some poor guy out there fighting a war. Look at his picture. He’s hot, even with a buzz cut. Besides, he might die. Your words could be the last ones he ever sees!”
“He’s expecting you, not me.”
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