Twist of Fate (Taking Chances #2) - Tia Louise

Chapter 1

Books by Tia Louise


About the Author

Twist of Fate

By Tia Louise

A friends-to-lovers, second-chance, stand-alone romance by USA Today bestselling author Tia Louise.

To be “just friends” with a guy, you’ve got to follow The Rules:

Don’t touch him unnecessarily.

Don’t share your intimate dreams with him (even if he asks).

Don’t kiss him, and definitely don’t sleep with him.

Scout Dunne and I have been “just friends” since childhood.

He’s everything you could want—sexy, charming, confident—every girl’s wet dream.

Until we broke The Rules.

We broke them in the ocean, in my aunt’s bathroom, in my bed…

It was the hottest week of my life.

I’m one of the few people who knows the first-round NFL draft pick wants more than a life of sports.

Because we’re friends, right?

Not anymore.

Now he’s gone, and I’m trying to get my career back on track.

Mamma said a guy would never put your dreams ahead of his.

But the twist of fate?

It’s something you never see coming.

(TWIST OF FATE is a STAND-ALONE friends-to-lovers, accidental pregnancy romance. No cheating. No cliffhanger.)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Twist of Fate

Copyright © TLM Productions LLC, 2021

Printed in the United States of America.

Cover design by Shanoff Formats.

Photography by Wander Aguiar.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, photocopying, mechanical, or otherwise—without prior permission of the publisher and author.

Created with Vellum

Dedicated to my loyal readers.

I see you, and I love you more than I can say.

And to Mr. TL, always.

“What’s meant to be will always find a way.”

-Trisha Yearwood



People used to say I could sweet-talk the devil into going to church.

My mom, who was a librarian and English teacher and one of the smartest people I ever knew, said I was a misunderstood character.

She said people looked at me and saw a handsome young man—her words—with blond hair and blue eyes, who slept with a football instead of a pillow and didn’t make very good grades and assumed I traded on that to get ahead.

That’s where they were wrong, she said. Mom said talking to people and listening to what they said made me just as smart as any valedictorian. She said my brother John, who we all call J.R., is more serious because he’s older.

I loved my mom, but I’m not sure she’s right either. I just learned pretty quickly growing up in Fireside, South Carolina, one of the smallest towns this side of Charleston, I’d get a lot further with being nice to people than being shitty.

For example, when I was in fourth grade, Ms. Myrna was going to flunk me because I couldn’t analyze Stargirl to her liking. I just didn’t understand it. The girl was weird, and I get it, Leo was a nerd with no friends, but what was I supposed to be learning from this story?

What was way clearer to me was Ms. Myrna’s husband had thrown out his back working construction at the new development down on the coast, at Oceanside Beach. He was laid up in the bed for weeks, and I could tell by the tightness around my teacher’s eyes, it was wearing on her.

So maybe I couldn’t write an A paper, but I sure could mow her grass and cut that old vine off her back fence and hold the door for her when she carried too many books from the teacher’s closet.

Ultimately, she said if I could at least recite the plot of the story, she’d give me credit for reading the book.

What did that teach me? Getting in there is better than keeping people at arm’s length like my brother. It’s not manipulation. It’s simple facts.

Facts I never shared with my mom.

She was also the kindest person I knew. Laying in that sickbed, she would trace her fingers along my forehead as I knelt at her bedside, and I never wanted her to leave us.

The night she died, the man from church said heaven must’ve needed another angel. He said she was too good for this earth—something even I knew. He said it was fate.

Losing my mom was a truckload of bullshit. I’ve never felt anger so intense, burning so hard in my chest, it radiated up the back of my neck. It made me want to break things. It made me almost forget…

My life was like an Etch A Sketch Fate scooped