Crazy With You

  Crazy with You

  Matchbox Series Book 2

  E. H. Lyon

  Copyright © 2021 by E.H. Lyon

  Crazy with You, Matchbox Series #2, First Edition

  Written and published by: E.H. Lyon

  All rights reserved.

  Editing & Formatting: Contagious Edits

  Cover Design: Shanoff Designs

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means. Including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination and used fictitiously and are not to be perceived as real. Any resemblance to persons, venues, events, businesses are entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  Ebook ISBN 978-1-7362792-1-2

  Paperback ISBN 978-1-7362792-6-7

  Matchbox Series

  Different with You

  * * *

  Crazy with You

  * * *

  Always with You

  * * *

  Again with You

  * * *

  Tempted with You

  Contents

  About the book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Next Up

  Acknowledgments

  About the book

  This sexy real estate agent just met his match with crazy…

  Max Katz follows a strict rule about dating clients—he doesn’t. It’s a reason that he prides himself on being the local real estate guru in Sage Creek, Colorado. And it’s a reason why Max sticks to asking for the number of the beauty he meets at the local bar Matchbox—because said beauty isn’t his client.

  Until she is.

  But Harper Ives enjoys making Max’s job difficult. The free-spirited newcomer to town is every fantasy for Max come true, including the one about the kindergarten teacher ready to school him. Yeah… Max may need to consider an amendment to his rules.

  Because they are two souls on the same crazy wavelength, and if spirit animals exist, then these two have found one another. Love at first sight is an understatement. But when you fall hard and fast then something is bound to go wrong.

  Crazy with You is the second sweet and sexy standalone novel from the Matchbox series where you can revisit all your favorite characters throughout.

  Chapter One

  Max

  “Bang it out, Lucas. Long and hard. Against a wall is even better. Hell, I will even lend you my handcuffs if it gets the job done. But trust me, the answer to all your problems is a good, well…you know,” I remind my friend for the hundredth time. He and Abby have been together for a while now, the epitome of two divorcées now sharing romantic domestic bliss 2.0.

  Lucas grins at me and holds a hand up as he sits across from me next to Jake at the high-top table in the busy bar. The sound of mumbling voices in the background and a good track of music plays on the speakers. It’s dimly lit in the bar, but in a sophisticated way. No way is Matchbox a dive bar, as proven by the candles on the table. We’re lucky to have this fantastic local brewery and bar in our beloved town of Sage Creek. For a weeknight, the bar in an old warehouse is happening. There must be live music later, which explains why there are more people than normal.

  “Max, she was only pissed because I failed to tell her my mother was coming to dinner. Doubt I need to handcuff her after my tenth apology, and besides, we have our own pair,” he shrugs.

  Jake gives us a humorous look. “I think you’ll have to do better than ten apologies. Unleashing your mother on Abby is a curve ball.”

  “I don’t look forward to the day my mother meets a potential missus. She will be cooking for days,” I note as I drink from my beer bottle.

  “But she cooks well,” Jake adds, and it’s true.

  “You just need to find a future Mrs. Katz,” Lucas reminds me as he pulls up his polo shirt sleeve, and his remark is a low-blow reminder.

  “Can we change topics?” I nearly beg.

  “Sure,” Jake says, searching his mind for a new topic. “Any good houses on the market these days?”

  “There are a few. It’s a bit slow, but my clients always end up satisfied.” I grin and Jake shakes his head at my reference.

  “Is that the tagline of your adverts? Max Katz, Real Estate Agent—you’ll always leave satisfied?” Lucas is now amused with me.

  I give him a glare. “It’s my turn to get a round of drinks, right?” I question Lucas and Jake.

  “Absolutely. Make it a good scotch too,” Jake warns me. He’s an attorney, and he fits the image of suit with scotch in hand to a T. He’s fairly new to our group of friends, but he went to graduate school with Lucas, and I hang out with him from time to time.

  “Yeah, sounds good,” Lucas confirms. Our town doctor also knows his quality drinks. He is also my best friend from childhood, along with Leo who is off the grid traveling.

  Nodding to them, I slide off my stool and walk to the bar, working my way through the crowd.

  Arriving at the bar, I signal for Nate to come over. Nate is Lucas’s little brother and owner of this place where we’ve had some great nights. In our group, we all have a few things in common. We dress well, have good jobs and are successful, we take care of ourselves and stay lean. But Nate, well, he is pure muscle which makes sense as he used to play professional hockey and refuses to let himself go.

  Nate grabs a bottle of fine scotch from the shelf and comes to the bar. “Three whiskeys?” He gives me a knowing look as he is far too familiar with all of us.

  “Yep,” I confirm then lean against the bar to look around the crowd. “Busy tonight.”

  “Can’t complain. More tourists than normal, I guess, to go hiking up in the mountains since the weather has been good. I’ll be right back. Need more scotch glasses,” Nate calls out as he heads off.

  Minding my own business, I feel someone press against my back. Quickly I turn around as the voice of a woman speaks.

  “Excuse me, sorry, didn’t mean to rub against you like a magnetic science experiment,” she apologizes, and I can’t help but smile to myself at her odd reference.

  Looking at her and I draw in a breath. Wow, she must be a product of a science experiment.

  Her long black hair is as shiny as a hair shampoo ad with a few strands of brownish sun-kissed hair, her blue eyes perfect circles of small Caribbean seas, and her mouth…well, it should be a crime what her smile is making me think. Her black lace top gives me an inkling that she inches on the side of bohemian but isn’t fully pledged.

  “Uh, no problem. It’s crowded,” I manage to say, but our eyes meet and already they’re locked in and committed for more words.

  “Yeah, for a weeknight, it is a little crazy. But I guess it’s Wednesday, nothing like hump day, right?” she mentions, and her lips attempt to smile at her remark.

  “Hump day…right.” I forgot about that phrase, but f
uck, I think I might want to take it out of context tonight.

  I’m well aware that I am pushing mid-thirties and that I should make my Ma happy by settling down with a wife that she can dote on. More than that, I’ve got my shit together so why not find the right Mrs. Max Katz?

  And I’ve tried.

  I’ve attempted to date women I’ve met when I’m out with friends, women I’ve met at the supermarket, hell, I even let my mother set me up with someone’s granddaughter from her book club. I’m willing to give romance a shot.

  …it’s just, I have fun too.

  I have fun because these dates are end-of-the-world horrible. As in, by main course I am begging the guys to send me fake emergencies. It’s excruciating. The fish out there in the local sea should be put on an extinction list. It ain’t pretty.

  In front of me now is this creature and I can’t decide what move I should make. But she already sucked my air away and that’s new for me.

  “I haven’t seen you here before,” I comment, and her mouth hitches up. She seems satisfied that I am continuing our conversation.

  She bites her bottom lip, but not in a nervous way. No, she seems like someone who is too confident for that. Instead she bites her lip to draw me in, and it is freaking working.

  “Oh? I’ve been here a few times now. The girls from my yoga like to come here.”

  “That is kind of funny. Meditate away the toxins then come here to drink something toxic.”

  She gives me a side-slant smile as she takes a drink from the cocktail in her hand. Something lime and iced. “Mmm. I don’t do that type of yoga. I am more the ‘on your head doing splits’ kind of yoga gal.” She gives me the sexiest look that I think I have every witnessed as she waits for my head to connect what that all could mean.

  Something tells me it could involve some interesting positions for activities that involve two.

  My cheeks tighten and she must see my dimples as I have a satisfied grin on my face. “That sounds interesting,” I manage to muster.

  She playfully lets her finger circle the rim of her glass as her eyes roam my face. “I take it you’re not new around here?”

  I scratch my cheek with my thumb and briefly look back at Lucas and Jake who are in deep conversation then return my gaze to the woman in front of me. “Born and raised here in Sage Creek, Colorado actually. Matchbox just happens to be owned by a friend too. So, I’m here a lot.”

  There has been no reason to leave Sage Creek, except for when I was in college. The quaint main street, the river that is great for the summer, and the view of the mountains is top notch all year round. Everyone that lives here does well, as proven by our first-class bistros and restaurants.

  “Wow, a true local. I just moved here for my job and like it so far. This is a nice bar. I can imagine you have a lot of stories from nights here.”

  I smile as I think back to some great times. “True.” I look at her and our gazes get a little lost on one another.

  Just then, Nate returns with glasses and pours my whiskeys.

  “Sorry it took a little longer. Your tab? Tell my brother the ‘on the house’ rule doesn’t apply to him,” Nate reminds me, and I give him a grin.

  “Yeah yeah yeah, story of our lives,” I say as I grab the drinks between two hands, returning my gaze to this woman who still seems to be captivating me. “Can I get you a drink? I need to drop these off, but I could do with a cocktail actually.”

  Her smile spreads and her fingers gently touch and glide along my arm. “That sounds good, but I need to get home. I have a big day tomorrow with things to do. But maybe I will see you around. I guess I can find you here.”

  I quirk my lips knowing this is my play now. “I normally don’t do this.” A little bit of a lie. “But can I have your number? Maybe I can show you around our quaint little town.”

  She does that sexy lip attack again with her bottom lip as her head tilts to the side. “That is a tempting offer and hopefully it comes true. But let’s let fate decide if we meet again.” Her hand moves to my upper chest and she gently pats my blue button-down shirt as if she is encouraging me. She starts to walk away.

  I quickly call out, “Can I at least have a name?”

  She turns to glance over her shoulder back at me. “Harper.”

  “Max.”

  “Well, I hope to see you around, Maxwell.” She smirks and her eyes give me a glint before she walks out of my night.

  The next day, I hop out of my parked car and pull out my phone then I swipe for the realtor app. There is someone waiting at the door, but I don’t take notice as I pull up the listing in my e-mails for this appointment. Jess is my business partner and normally the one showing clients houses to buy, whereas I do the selling. But Jess told me I needed to handle this client as she had to close on another house before 4pm today.

  Walking up the path, I know the beautiful ranch-styled property is in my sideview. The house was recently refurbished and ideal for a couple or small family. Approaching the front door, I look up at my new client. Haven’t yet met her, but as my eyes draw a line up from the sidewalk to her long black hair—something tells me I have.

  She turns around in what feels like slow motion and her eyes catch on that I’m standing in front of her. Luckily, her mouth forms a beaming smile.

  “Harper.” I let it out plainly, but my eyes must be shining from this change of events. A zing of excitement runs through me.

  “So, we do meet again, Max.” Her eyes don’t blink and instead look at me intensely as the corners of her mouth curve up.

  I let out a deep breath. “So it seems. I had no clue that you were H. Ives in my calendar,” I remark, and it’s true. She wasn’t supposed to be my client.

  “A shame about Jess’s son being sick. But I guess that means I am stuck with you.”

  I scratch my chin. “Uh, Jess’s son?”

  “Yeah, she was supposed to show me houses. She’s in my yoga class. But she phoned me this morning to say Sam—her son—has chicken pox and that you would take over.”

  Jess is doing the single-mom thing with her son—Sam—who most definitely does not have chicken pox. Literally, she just showed me a photo of the kid slobbering on a block at daycare at our working lunch.

  “I’m sure Sam will be fine,” I comment.

  Harper doesn’t seem too concerned.

  I begin to unlock the door with a code app on my phone. “Shall I show you the house then?”

  She moves behind me, invading my air, and I am silently telling my dick to stay in check.

  “Sounds good,” she says as the door opens, and we walk in.

  Right away, her face lights up when she sees the pool in the backyard through the sliding doors of the open living room and kitchen. She walks straight there.

  “As you can see there is a pool,” I explain as I slide open the door.

  Before I have any reminder of what planet I’m on, Harper pulls up her black cotton dress and throws it to the side along with her sandals.

  My mind still can’t catch up, and it’s been a solid minute or two since she dived into the pool before I remind myself where I am.

  My brain literally blanked out.

  Now my mind is whirling with the image I see. Forever imprinted in my brain.

  There is literally a mermaid in front of me. Black hair, blue nails, dripping wet in a set of black lacy panties and bra. Now she is emerging from an impromptu swim in the pool of the house I am showing.

  Okay, mermaids don’t exist, but if they did, then I am positive that Harper Ives would be a dead ringer for one.

  My mind catches up and I know with all certainty that this is F-me bad news.

  Why? Because if I had to choose a princess that I find hot, then Ariel—the Little Mermaid—wins every time. Harper is trapped in Snow White’s body with the personality of Ariel—-this chick could be my little mermaid, albeit the racier, not child--approved kind. My brain may combust from this fantasy tease happening right in fr
ont of me.

  Harper had me tripping at hello and now all the energy is rushing to places that are not professional. This is a big problem. I have a strict professional policy. It is why I have dominated the housing scene in recent years and have a Tesla waiting for me on the driveway to drive me to my next appointment. Part of being professional is not hooking up with clients. Clients are clients. Harper is my client.

  Repeat, Max. Harper is my client.

  I run a hand through my black hair then drag my hand down my olive-skinned face that has a little stubble on my chin today.

  Harper walks up the steps of the pool to stand on the patio. The whole walk is enough to send my mind back to blanking out.

  “The pool is heated all year.” Harper gives me a knowing look as she twists her hair, wringing the water out.

  Is she standing like that with a sensual look to rile me? Or is that her normal stance that the world needs to accept?

  “Uh, yeah.” I’m not sure I should be looking at her, but her eyes are inviting me in, and her mouth seems like it would love to be around my cock. “So, I don’t have a towel. Normally my clients stay dry.” I give my best smile.

  “They never get wet with you around?” she asks, and her look tells me she is trying to rile me with a sentence seeping full of inuendo.

  Scratching my chin, I can’t help but grin an entertained look. “Clients, no,” I confirm. “Women who aren’t my clients tend to get wet,” I deadpan and look at her.