50 Ways to Win Back Your Lover (Bower Boys #1) Read Online Kelly Siskind

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: Bower Boys Series by Kelly Siskind

Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 108053 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)

Growing up, I had it all—my art, close friends, a gorgeous girlfriend who owned my heart—but then my life exploded.
Turns out my father was laundering money, and my whole family got shoved into witness protection. No notice. No chance to explain. I was ripped away from beautiful, blue-eyed Delilah Moon, shattering both our worlds.
A decade later, fate has given us a second chance.
The cartel my father worked for has been wiped out. I’ve returned to my hometown, determined to win back the love of my life. But Delilah is engaged.
Or…is she?
I’m almost positive she’s lying about her fiancé to protect her heart. Which means I need to up my game.
I’ve made a list of fifty ways to prove we’re meant to be. Except Delilah’s barely looking at me, never mind swooning. I have a feeling my disappearance scarred her more than she’s admitting, and no one in town will tell me what happened…



Despite what some people think, I’m not dead. I haven’t been stranded on a desert island these past ten years. I didn’t secretly join the priesthood or get stuck in one of those escape rooms. Nope. I’m here. Out in the world and alive.

At least I was alive, until the loudspeaker at the terminal gate crackled to life and uttered two words, one name—the name that has the power to cut me down at my knees: Delilah Moon.

Now? I’m definitely dying. Or is this a mini stroke?

My brain’s gone on the fritz, unable to form a coherent thought other than Delilah Moon, Delilah Moon, Delilah Moon. I’m pretty sure if I move, my rubbery legs will fold, sending my frozen face on a collision course with the half-crushed Dorito on the retro carpet.

Delilah Lost-Love-of-My-Life Moon.

I scrutinize the departure area like a sniper who’s inhaled a case of Red Bull: furtive reconnaissance with a frantic edge. Kids sit slouched, half sliding off their faux-leather seats, faces plastered to their phones. The adults aren’t much better, thumbing their devices, eyes dilated in their Cell Trances. My brother Lennon is thankfully still off perusing the terminal’s stores. If any of my brothers heard that name, they’d shout a list of reasons why I have to hide from Delilah Moon—if this is the Delilah Moon—and remind me we aren’t allowed to talk to anyone from our pasts.

Heart racing, I lean toward the elderly woman beside me. “Did they just say the name Delilah Moon?”

She glances at the departure counter, magazine crinkling in her grip. “I believe they did. It’s a lovely name, isn’t it?”

It isn’t lovely. It’s downright angelic, but that name cannot be here. “Maybe they said Eliza Woon. It was tough to hear clearly.”

“No.” The man next to her leans forward, shaking his bald head at me. “Definitely Delilah. It made me think of dahlias, my wife’s favorite flower.” He winks at her.

A sudden flash hits me: Chasing a shrieking Delilah through the wildflowers on her property. Laughter, sun, carefree bliss. Scooping her up and tugging her down, her fingers threading into my hair, our lips connecting under a canopy of daisies and scarlet flax.

My stroke intensifies, but I still don’t see her. Not one hint of the breathtaking woman who undeniably owned my heart. And my pulse? Still running a three-minute mile.

Unsure what to do, I reach for my sketchbook—any possible distraction—and proceed to cut my finger on a page. Because, of course. Blood beads along my skin. I suck on it, attempting to control my hamster-wheel thoughts. It’s not her, right? It can’t be her. Nope. No way. Definitely not her. Life wouldn’t be this cruel.

By the time I glance up again, it’s clear Life enjoys kicking me in the nuts.

My first and only love is hurrying up to the departure counter. Her curly brown hair is longer than I remember, her hips rounder, her body fuller. Lush. The girl I knew has transformed into a woman, and instantly, my eyes burn. I stand up. Sit down. I’m a malfunctioning jack-in-the-box. Which kind of sums up my current self, forever confined and controlled, forced to embody a different name and altered existence, because . . . are you ready for this kicker?

I happen to be in witness protection.

Delilah leans on the counter, angled away from me. From this vantage point, I can’t tell if her lips still have that bee-stung look or if her blue eyes still undo me with one glance.

Another breath-stealing flash hits: Delilah and me, sixteen and inseparable, lying side by side in her barn, hay sneaking into uncomfortable places, her family’s Arabians snorting and nickering while we take turns flipping comic book pages, her eyes so blue they’re the color of summer freedom and Sonic the Hedgehog, the parts of my body touching hers on fire with a heady mix of love and lust.