What Lovers Do
by Jewel E. Ann
Self-Published
Shep’s found the female version of himself … and he thinks she’s perfect—perfectly unavailable.
Everyone loves Shep, the charismatic employee at Scottsdale’s newest pet store. He has shared custody of his two dogs with his annoying ex-wife and a smile that can disarm most women.
Except … Dr. Sophie Ryan.
What starts out as a disastrous first meeting, involving a coffee catastrophe and mistaken flirting, turns into an unconventional friendship.
Fake phone sex.
Dog park dates.
And eighteen holes of golf.
The problem? Sophie’s taken herself out of the dating pool for a mysterious reason, imprisoning Shep in the friend zone for eternity.
As their competitive personalities hit a boiling point, the gloves come off and so do their clothes. When Sophie’s “real” life threatens their relationship, can Shep let go of his past to chase the one that might get away?
Genre
I'm really on a Jewel E. Ann kick lately.
Sometimes I get into those moods where I want a steamy romance that is heavy on the emotional trauma the author is willing to inflict on you.
Jewel E. Ann is a go to author for me when I'm in that mood.
What Lovers Do isn't that, though.
I mean, it's steamy, but instead of crying my eyes out, I was smiling. Even laughing. Romantic comedy indeed.
I was curious if I would love this book as much as her other books, and I got to say - I did.
Despite the main characters liking and playing golf.
I fucking hate golf.
The story itself is excellent. The meet-cute is adorably awkward. These two characters have their own things going on, and meet at the worse possible time - but still end up falling for one another.
The romance is sweet. Sexy. The banter between Shep and Sophie is excellent, and led to a wide grin on my face while reading.
The chemistry between those two ... whew.
Even with the humor, and romance, the elements Jewel used in both characters lives as roadblocks felt interesting, and unique. Definitely not the common tropes I've encountered in a romantic comedy.
I loved the unpredictability.
What Lovers Do was a delight to read. Even with the golf. If you are looking for a light read that will make you smile and laugh, What Lovers Do will definitely make you feel good.
Jimmy: “What do you mean?”
Jimmy furrows his brow. Yeah, he was definitely smarter when I met him. The mind is not exempt from the “If You Don’t Use It, You Lose It” law.
Jimmy is decomposing in my house, but he’s not actually dead. He needs more than a bedding of newspapers, a dish of water, and an endless supply of guppies.
I might have to kill him, put him down. It’s the humane thing to do.
Millie: “Just make sure you talk to the vet.”
Shep: “I brought it up to Dr. Stanley at the last visit. She said Julia’s fine; she just enjoys licking herself there. It must feel good. You used to like it too.”
Millie: “Don’t be crude, Shep.”
Shep: “Factual. Not crude.”
Truth? I’ve never hated anyone, but I might hate my ex-wife.
To hide my growing detest, I humor her. Or maybe I humor myself to stay on the right side of sanity.
Millie: “Listen…”
she checks her watch
Millie: “…how would you feel about us getting on the same dating app?”
Shep: “I wasn’t into role-playing when we were married. What makes you think I’d want to do it now that we’re divorced?”
Millie: "If you reject all dating apps, you’ll never find anyone. And don’t forget, that’s how you found me.”
Shep: “I feel like you’re on to something with that statement. An aha moment?”
Millie: “I thought we ended things amicably.”
Shep: “We did. That’s why I’m saying, ‘Thanks for the offer, but no thanks.’ I could have said, ‘Are you out of your fucking mind, bitch?’ But I didn’t because we ended things amicably.”
Doubling down on my condescending, toothy grin, I get into my car. I’m perfectly capable of finding someone without the help of a dating app. Backing out of the driveway, I wave. A wave with all five fingers, not just my middle one because … “amicable.”
Sophie: “Shep. Shep. Shep. Why does that name sound familiar?”
Shep: “Cute. But I can actually hear the smile on your face. Nice try.”
He’s not wrong, but I wish he were. I have no business smiling because of any man.
Sophie: “What are you wearing—doing?!! I mean doing. What are you doing?”
I pinch my eyes shut. I can’t believe I asked what he’s wearing. Maybe he didn’t hear me.
Shep: “Fishnet stockings. A black lace thong. And a Spanx bodysuit,”
he says in a deep, rich voice. I snort, cupping a hand over my mouth
Sophie: “Pretty fancy for a Wednesday, don’t ya think?”
Shep: “Pretty nosey for a first conversing date, don’t you think?”
Shep: “Tell me what you were doing when I called you.”
Sophie: “I’d rather discuss hemorrhoids, tax audits …”
Shep: “That bad, huh?”
I laugh.
Sophie: “That bad.”
Shep: “Vibrator battery go dead on you?”
I snort.
Sophie: “Funny, but no. I have a backup.”
Shep: “Fascinating. Tell me more.”
Sophie: “Should I be worried that a guy I met days ago at the pet store is calling me to talk about vibrators? Feels a little stalker-ish.”
Shep: “Again, you asked what I was wearing. I’m just following your lead.”
Sophie: “How long were you married?”
Shep: “Five years.”
Sophie: “How long have you been divorced?”
Shep: “A year.”
Sophie: “Do you miss her?”
Shep: “I see her way too often to miss her.”
Sophie: “Do you miss being married?”
Shep: “I miss some things about it.”
Sophie: “Like?”
Shep: “I miss going out with friends, our couples’ friends. I miss barbecues. Golfing with her on Friday afternoons. I miss quick trips to vineyards and long walks with the dogs. I sometimes miss the woman I married, but I never miss the woman I divorced.”
Shep: “That’s not what I miss most about her. It’s what sounds most engaging. Most romantic.”
Sophie: “Did you … did you lie to me?”
I sit up and hold out my phone to stare at it for a few seconds. Who is this guy?
Shep: “Six-thirty.”
Sophie: “Six-thirty what?”
Shep: “Walk the dogs at four. Exercise at five. Shower at six. Have sex with my wife at six-thirty. That’s what I miss most. But I thought we’d ease into our tele-dating.”
Sophie: “Tele-dating?”
Shep: “Yes. We’re dating via phone.”
Sophie: “We’re conversing, not dating.”
Shep: “No, Sophie. We were conversing. At least, that was the plan until you just had to know what I was wearing. You can’t uncross that line.”
Sophie: “Uh … I can and I did.”
Shep: “Nope. I thought we’d discuss the weather, then move on to hobbies, favorite vacation spots, and maybe share our bucket lists. You’re the one who initiated phone sex right off the bat.”
Shep: “Shut the fuck up. What were you needing to tell me? Something about Caroline?”
Howie: “Oh, yeah, that. I already mentioned it. Slipped it right in there without you noticing. Sometimes I do that to Caroline too.”
I smirk. We’re friends because neither of us are capable of taking life too seriously.
Shep: “Condolences to Caroline, Pencil Dick.”
Howie laughs. He’s able to laugh at himself better than any human I know.
Howie: “I really deserve some sort of award. With my familial Puny Pecker Syndrome, I have to use my dick, three fingers, and a toe to get the job done properly.”
Legit, I Googled “how to kill someone without leaving a trace” before I went to sleep last night. Now that search is out there … in cyberspace, even though I erased my search history. So Jimmy gets to live because I made a misstep in my murder planning. That’s unfortunate.
Sophie: “You don’t have a ninety-degree angle when you hinge your wrists at the top of your swing. See?”
I show him the video and pause it. He stares at the screen for several seconds before shifting his attention to me.
Shep: “Dr. Ryan … do you golf?”
Sophie: “Probably better than you, Shep.”
His entire face blooms with something resembling utter happiness. Christmas morning. Fourth of July fireworks.
Shep: “Take off your shoes.”
Sophie: “I’m hungry.”
Shep: “I’ll feed you in a minute. Take off your shoes.”
Sophie: “You’re not feeding me. That’s the definition of a date.”
I cross my arms over my chest.
Shep: “Sex defines a real date. Take off your shoes.”
He gestures.
Shep: “After you.”
I eye him for a few seconds before heading toward my car. After about ten steps, I turn around. His gaze is still stuck to me, and that grin … it’s a little obnoxious.
Shep: “I’m in trouble, Sophie. So much trouble.”
He shakes his head slowly.
Shep: “But do you have friends who look at you the way I look at you?”
My lips wrap around the straw, and they don’t let go until I figure out how to reply to his comment.
Sophie: “How do you look at me?”
Shep: “Like my dogs look at me.”
I laugh.
Sophie: “You think I have treats in my pocket for you?”
Shep: “No. Well, do you have treats in your pocket? Now that I think about it, I can’t imagine a better trait in a woman than carrying treats in her pocket.”
I giggle, shaking my head.
My gaze doesn’t go to his; it slides to his hand on my wrist.
Sophie: “Wh-what are you doing?”
I whisper.
Shep: “I’m touching you.”
After a hard swallow, I manage another clipped question.
Sophie: “Why?”
Shep: “Because it’s too hard to not touch you.”
Shep: “What if friends do touch like this? What if we make our own rules? Isn’t that what you suggested during lunch? Or what if we choose not to have any rules? Why complicate things with rules?”
Complicate? Is he suggesting no rules is … easier?
Sophie: “Rules…”
I clear my throat, unable to tear my gaze away from his hand touching mine
Sophie: “…prevent lines from being crossed.”
If he can’t hear my heart beating wildly against my ribcage, then he’s deaf. I can barely hear my own words past the whooshing in my ears.
One. Single. Touch.
Shep has proven that less is more—infinitely more.
Shep: “What lines? I don’t draw lines,”
I choke on a nervous laugh.
Sophie: “Lines on the street keep cars from crashing into each other. Lines are good.”
Shep: “Sophie … are you afraid of crashing into me?”
Yes. I’m terrified of crashing into him. I’m terrified that I’ll misplace my self-control whenever I’m with him. Being with Shep feels like a chronic state of intoxication. It’s dizzying and reckless. It’s a preamble to regret.
Sophie: “Yes. We’re just friends.”
I pop a piece of pineapple into my mouth.
Sophie: “Despite your juvenile attempts to see my nipples.”
His face comes to life.
Shep: “It was a successful attempt. Not juvenile. Well planned with a solid payout.”
I roll my eyes.
Sophie: “You didn’t see anything.”
Shep: “Oh, I saw everything. I could sketch your nipples if they robbed a bank.”
Sophie: “Stop.”
I laugh, returning the food trays to the fridge.
Sophie: “Stop talking about my nipples.”
Shep: “You brought them up. Don’t get me wrong, I was hoping you would. Like … really hoping. I’ve been meaning to compliment you on them. That day at the store, I wanted to give them a slow clap or something special like that. Maybe a ribbon like at the state fair.”
Sophie: “You could murder me, and no one would know where to look,”
His eyes narrow for a few seconds.
Shep: “Interesting. Tell me more.”
Sophie: “I told the people I work with that I needed the weekend off for personal reasons. I’m the boss, so no one questioned me. I think they suspected issues with my ex. My best friend is in Vegas this weekend for a wedding, so I didn’t bother to tell her where I was going. My mom is still upset about me not attending her cat’s funeral, so she doesn’t know. And I only talk with my dad every month or two, so he doesn’t know either. My sister … well, she’d totally lose it. I irresponsibly, recklessly left town with complete abandonment to stay with a guy I’ve known for less than a month.”
Shep: “Why would your sister lose it?”
Averting my gaze to a couple walking into the clubhouse, I shrug while thinking about the embryo inside of me.
Sophie: “She’s just a lot more cautious than I am.”
Shep leans back and rests his hand on the table, softly drumming his fingers.
Shep: “I’ll think about it. The murder. I wasn’t planning on it, and I’ve never done it before. But now that you’ve offered it as an option, I feel obligated to at least consider it. And I’m always game to try new things.”
My grin remains restrained for a moment.
Sophie: “Sure. Take your time. Just let me know what you decide. Or … don’t. I suppose a good homicide requires a certain element of surprise.”
He smirks.
Shep: “I’d imagine so. But again, I’ve never done it, so I can’t speak from firsthand experience. I would have researched this a bit had I known ahead of time. I guess my head is spinning right now because we somehow jumped from me offering you my cock to you offering to let me murder you."
Shep: “Were you pissed off at Jules? When you thought they were from her … because I assume you called her first. Were you mad?”
Sophie: “I …”
I clench my teeth and roll my eyes.
Sophie: “That’s not the point.”
Shep: “That’s the only point. It can’t be okay for Jules to send you flowers, but not okay for me to send you flowers.”
I close the door to my office.
Sophie: “I’m not having sex with Jules. So don’t lecture me on friendship etiquette.”
Shep: “Well, Jules should address that if she feels it’s unfair that I get to have sex with you and she doesn’t.”
Shep: “Are you wearing panties under that dress?”
Really? Right in front of his parents he has me flustered. I’m sure they can see it on my cheeks.
Sophie: “Yes.”
I grit my teeth and fake a smile in case they glance up at me.
Shep: “That’s a shame.”
He sits up straight.
Hillary: “What are you two talking about?”
Hillary glances up from her phone, having missed the call.
Sophie: “Shep asked me about a concert, but I’ve already seen it. And I don’t usually see the same performance more than once.”
He downs the last few gulps of his beer and sets his bottle on the table.
Shep: “Unless you really like them and you know that no two performances are exactly the same. And maybe you get backstage passes.”
Hillary: “Oh, Marcus knows a lot of people. I bet he could get you backstage passes.”
Gordon nods several times.
Gordon: “You should do that for Sophie. It might be fun. Concerts are great.”
Shep dips his chin into a sharp nod, his grin on the verge of cracking his whole face.
Shep: “They really are. A good concert is unforgettable. So intense and satisfying. It’s like you’re in another world, and you don’t ever want it to end. You want to relive it over and over again.”
When the two men finish their big concert sales pitch to me, I shrug.
Sophie: “Sorry. I’m a one and done girl. I need variety. Life is too short to experience the same thing twice.”
Hillary: “I agree with Sophie. Try something new.”
Hillary comes to my rescue. Shep rolls his eyes.
Shep: “Says the person who’s been vacationing in the same three spots for twenty years. Says the woman who married her high school boyfriend. Says the woman who only buys one brand of purses.”
Gordon laughs.
Gordon: “He’s got you there, sweetheart.”
Hillary: “Fine.”
She fakes a pouty face.
Hillary: “Maybe you should see the same performer more than once, Sophie. If you like them, it’s a safer bet than trying another one and them not living up to what you’ve already experienced.”
Shep: “That’s likely. Probable. Nearly a one hundred percent guarantee.”
Shep’s enjoying this a little too much.
Sophie: “Why don’t you give me your address, Marcus Shepherd? God … I can’t believe I didn’t know your real name. How did it never come up in conversation?”
He winks.
Shep: “Because you weren’t thinking about my full name. You only needed one to scream when I made you—”
Sophie: “Just …”
I cover his mouth.
Sophie: “Stop. You’re obnoxious.”
Sophie: “What are you uh … doing?”
Shep: “Touching myself. Do you touch yourself?”
With a nervous laugh, flames shoot out of my cheeks.
Sophie: “Not uh … not usually on a full stomach. You know … muscle cramps and other physical dangers associated with rigorous activity after a meal. One time I made a batch of cookies late at night and overate.”
I lift my gaze to his when his hand stops moving. He bites his lips together, fighting his grin. My head shakes slowly.
Sophie: “Got a little frisky with myself after like … six cookies, and two of my fingers cramped up so badly I had to stop. I went to sleep that night horny and crippled.”
Shep: “She’s the female version of me. And I never imagined saying this, but I kinda dig female me.”
Giving me a lifted eyebrow, he runs a transaction through the register.
Howie: “That’s messed up.”
Shep: “Crawl under my skin, Soph …”
he whispers before brushing his lips over mine.
Shep: “It will never be close enough.”
If two people speak at the same time, nothing is heard. If two people listen at the same time, nothing is spoken.
Jimmy: “You didn’t have to let me back inside. I know that. And while part of me wanted to believe you did it because you love me like I love you, I remembered a story you told me. When you were a child, your dad injured a garter snake with a weed eater and you insisted your parents let you nurse it back to health. And you did. Then you released it. A snake, Sophie. A measly garter snake. You didn’t let me back in the house because I’m special. You did it because you’re special.”
Jules: “We are all one event away from losing. Losing our minds. A job. A loved one. A marriage. A dream. We are all one event away from losing ourselves. Stability and sanity are not human qualities. They are not genetic traits. They are a state of mind.
Sophie: “I didn’t ask for you to be in my life. You weaseled your way into it. For a moment, maybe several moments, I let you be my best friend. Friends have to be more … friends have to be a safe place to share your fears, your dreams, heartaches, and the embarrassing things that make you feel less. Friends have to be able to see all the ugly and be there anyway. Friends hold hands. Friends embrace you when the world shakes you to the core. Friends don’t see mistakes as faults. They see mistakes as reflections of all the parts of themselves that they hope someone will love anyway. Friends fix things; they don’t break them. Friends don’t hold grudges. Friends know they’re not competing with anyone else for your love and trust. Friends don’t get jealous. That’s what lovers do. You said we were friends.”
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