Can You Handle It?**

  Naughty Bedroom Collection

  Whitney G.

  Contents

  Synopsis

  A Note from Whitney G.

  How I “Met” Your (Brother)

  True Crime

  What If?

  The Invitation

  One Year Later

  Scandal

  The Good Wife

  Single Ladies

  The Rainmaker

  Never Have I Ever

  Temptation Island

  Now You See Me

  Now You Don’t

  Sleepless in Seattle

  Sex and the City

  Lost in Translation

  Secrets and Lies

  F*R*I*E*N*D*S

  Dangerous Waters

  I (Almost) Got Away with It

  It All Ends

  Alone

  Numbers

  The Blacklist

  Missed Connections

  The Wedding Rehearsal

  The Big Day

  Epilogue

  Can I Come Over?

  Prologue

  Don’t Miss Out!

  Other Kindle Unlimited Titles

  Can You Handle It?

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

  Copyright © 2021 by Whitney Gracia Williams.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the author.

  Cover design by Najla Qamber of Najla Qamber Designs.

  Created with Vellum

  Synopsis

  The Naughty Bedroom Collection

  It all started with a sext message ...

  Well, it actually “ended,” but that’s a story for another day.

  Freshly divorced, I decide to spend a week at a luxury retreat for singles.

  I should’ve known better ...

  The only man I manage to “meet” is my massage therapist, who is way too young for me, but that doesn't stop him from pursuing me at the resort.

  He makes it all too tempting, all too easy to say yes.

  Thankfully, I’m able to check out without giving in, but he shows up at my doorstep days later to finish what we started.

  The thing is, his age isn't the only problem between us.

  He’s also my best friend’s younger brother...

  This is a standalone novella and Book 2 in the Naughty Bedroom Collection.

  From Book 1

  Can I Come Over?

  It all started with a sex scene…

  Well, I was failing to write a sex scene.

  As an author of over fifty smut books, I was struggling to do what I did best. So, for fun, I asked one of my best online friends for some help.

  I really shouldn’t have done that…

  He wrote the scene far better than I ever could, and seven months of platonic, yet-flirty friendship were wiped away in ten minutes.

  He asked to meet me in person…

  We’d previously agreed to keep things digital, to remain faceless friends—since he was forty-two, and I was twenty-six, but neither of us could resist.

  When I saw him at the airport, I was instantly attracted to him.

  But I knew, right then and there, that we could never be.

  It turns out that the man I’d been talking to for the past several months was the last person I expected.

  The last person I should ever think about…

  He’s my dad’s best friend.

  This is a standalone novella and Book 1 in the Naughty Bedroom Collection.

  For fun.

  Just for fun.

  <3

  A Note from Whitney G.

  Dear Awesome Reader,

  Thank you so much for picking up Can You Handle It? I hope you enjoy this naughty & forbidden romance between Harlow & Tyler! This book ends at 90% and features a snippet from the first book in this series.

  If you want to be the first to learn of my upcoming releases, sales, and special things that I only offer to my readers, be sure to sign up for my Exclusive F.L.Y. List. (F.L.Y. = Effin Love You. Because whether you love or hate this story, I still love you for giving it a chance!)

  Sincerely,

  Whitney G.

  How I “Met” Your (Brother)

  Harlow

  Oh. My. Fucking. Gahhhh…

  “Ma’am, I need you to get the hell out of my store.” The manager of Big Daddy’s Naughty Secrets pointed to the exit. “Please don’t make me call the police.”

  “I think you should call them.” I crossed my arms. “That way, I can explain how someone on your staff has been stealing from me and you’re not doing a single thing about it.”

  He gave me a blank stare, extending our hour-long stalemate to two. This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my Saturday afternoon, but I refused to leave without getting answers.

  “I have the statements to prove this.” I motioned for him to look at the paper I’d slammed onto the counter seconds ago. “I’ve never bought any of these toys, and I really need my money back.”

  He picked up the sheet, running his finger along a few of the lines I’d underlined in red. “Looks like you buy a lot of lingerie at Victoria’s Secret.”

  “Those are the legitimate charges. That’s why they’re in green.”

  “Right … ” He rolled his eyes. “Let’s see these others.”

  I waited for him to address the three hundred dollar charge for the ‘Pleasure Me, Daddy’ collection, the eighty-five dollar one for “Cuckold Galore,” or any of the fifty-dollar charges for a penis enhancement pill.

  “Okay. Look, Miss.” He set down the sheet, shrugging. “Like I told you before, this is an issue between you and your credit card company.”

  “Well, they seem to think differently,” I said, pleading. “I honestly never knew this store existed before these charges appeared, so there’s no way I could’ve bought this stuff, you know? Maybe it’s identity theft.”

  “Okay, then.” He smiled. “So, you want me to give you the benefit of the doubt, and accept that you’re telling the truth. Then, I’m assuming that you want me to refund you nine hundred dollars—getting none of my products back, and call it a day?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “I promise to leave you a five-star Yelp review the moment I get out of here. I’ll also tell everyone that you didn’t penalize me for an obvious case of stolen identity.”

  “Oh, okay.” He crossed his arms. “Security!”

  “What?” I sucked in a breath. “I thought we were on the same page.”

  “You’re out of your goddamn mind, lady.” He called out again. “Security!”

  A beefy, uniformed guard emerged from the sex doll aisle, but I didn’t wait for him to give me a perp walk. Instead, I grabbed the statement and stormed out.

  I rushed to my car and locked the door, beating my hands against the steering wheel in utter frustration.

  In the grand scheme of things, the purchases at this store were a drop in the bucket compared to the thousands that some anonymous jerk had spent at Pornhub.com, OnlyFans, and Big Booty Club.

  Still, I struggled with the idea of paying back credit I never used.

  Unsure of what to do next, I thought about the top four things my late mother always suggested whenever she encountered problems with her refunds.

  1. Call in a bomb threat and rob the register before the police arrive.

  2. Call the store a million times with burner phones and jam the phone lines until they give in to your demands.

  3. Send firm (but slightly threatening) emails.

  4. Write a scathing Facebook post.

  I seriously considered the bomb threat. It was the quickest way to get my money back, but I realized my aging car would never let me speed away fast enough.

  I settled for the American Express Credit Card Facebook page and clicked one-star before venting my frustrations on their public wall.

  Harlow McGuire —> American Express Credit Card

  Dear American Express,

  Since all the people via your phone lines have refused to help me, this is my last resort.

  For the umpteenth time, I did NOT purchase a “flesh-light, a PornHub subscription, or any “dental dam” products. (I also don’t understand why there is a Netflix charge on my bill since everyone I know uses my best friend’s account/password, but I digress.)

  These are fraudulent charges, and I would like my credit back ASAP.

  I would hate to take this to Twitter, but I will if you don’t help. I’m sure other dissatisfied customers would love nothing more than to EXPOSE & DRAG you for the assholes that you are.

  Harlow McGuire

  To my surprise, someone on their staff responded to my post within minutes.

  American Express —> Harlow McGuire

  Hello (Again) Miss McGuire,

  If by “people who have refused to help [you],” you’re implying that we won’t reverse the charges, you are quite correct.

  According to our records, these purchases have been a consistent pattern since February of this year.


/>   There is no fraud here.

  You bought the products, received them, and…You’re clearly enjoying them.

  Feel free to “EXPOSE” & “DRAG” us on Twitter as much as you’d like. (Be sure to include the part about stealing from Netflix. We’re sure they’ll be thrilled to hear that.)

  We look forward to receiving your monthly payment on the 15th.

  American Express

  I screamed bloody murder as I read their response.

  I’d been so immersed in my soul-crushing internship and falling in love with my study partner, Dave, that I hadn’t opened my credit card statements in months. Besides, all I ever charged were Ramen noodles, sweatshirts, and Kindle Unlimited.

  Okay, maybe an occasional erotic audiobook as well, but that was it.

  It wasn’t until the card was declined at the dollar store this week that I realized something was amiss.

  Feeling defeated, I called my best friend, Chelsea.

  “Hello to the ‘most massive of massive’ best friends,” she answered on the first ring.

  “You really have to stop using that phrase, Chels,” I said. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “In that case, hello to the bestie who got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m calling because I need a raincheck on Girls’ Night with you and Farrah tonight.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I’m already at my limit, thanks to the sneaky bastard who keeps using my credit card. I’ll have to cancel the account today and hope they won’t send me to collections.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She sighed. “Wait, you know what? There was this guy in my tech class who used to do some black-hat stuff to dox scam artists for fun. If you send me a picture of your statement, I’ll text your number to him and ask if he can figure out something.”

  “Yes, please.” I snapped a picture and sent it to her. “Thank you so much.”

  “No problem,” she said. “He typically takes a week to get back to people, so be patient. In the meantime, do you want me to bring you parmesan chicken or parmesan pasta back from the bar?”

  “Parmesan pasta.”

  “Will do.” She ended the call, and I cranked my engine.

  Before I could pull out of the parking lot, a text from an unknown number popped onto my screen.

  555-976-9087: Seriously? This was easy. You could’ve doxed this guy’s IP address yourself: 786 University Avenue Wayward Dorm, West Campus.

  555-976-9087: If you cash app me an extra $50, I’ll give you the guy’s name. Send me a tit pic, and I’ll discount it to $30.

  I rolled my eyes. I didn’t need him to give me anything else.

  I already knew who lived at that address.

  Chelsea’s ‘I don’t talk to anyone in the family anymore’ younger brother, Tyler.

  What the hell?

  True Crime

  Harlow

  I stepped off the elevator at the all-boys dorm of Main College, inhaling the heavy scent of pizza and alcohol.

  From memory, I headed to the room where I’d helped Tyler move years ago. I couldn’t help but wonder why the hell he was still a freshman and how I wanted to address his fraud.

  As a loner, he’d always been aloof and non-confrontational—which made sense as to why he was paying for his cock’s pleasure—but still ... This theft was unacceptable.

  My best options were crystal clear: Be an understanding ally who lets him admit his wrongs first, be the mature adult who offers him a payment plan, or rip off his head and hide the body.

  Choosing the first option, I knocked on his door and waited.

  No answer.

  I knocked again. A little louder this time.

  Nothing.

  I turned to walk away, but the theme song from the Friends sitcom played from inside.

  “Open this damn door, Tyler!” I banged on the wood harder than ever. “I know you’re in there! Open it right now!”

  The sound of furniture scraping the floor came next, and then the door opened.

  “How many times do I need to—” The sentence stalled on my lips as he stepped into the doorway wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist.

  My jaw unhinged as his eyes met mine, and I sucked in a slow, unsteady breath.

  This man was not the “boy” who I helped to drop off years ago. Either he was a made-over imposter, or my eyes were playing one hell of a trick on me.

  This man was sexy as fuck.

  The unruly, dark hair that once fell too far past his shoulders was now replaced with neatly trimmed locks that any woman would want to run her fingers through.

  His stunning dark green eyes weren’t hiding behind oversized glasses, and there was a black quote tattoo on his chest where a playground scar used to be.

  “Accept what is, let go of what was, and have faith in what will be.”

  As water droplets traveled from his chest to his abs, I knew without a doubt that his days of wearing baggy sweatshirts were long gone.

  I’d always thought he was “passably cute” whenever I came over to hang with Chelsea, but that description was officially out of date. He was the sexiest man I’d ever seen, and the competition—even my current boyfriend, wasn’t anywhere close.

  “Hello, Harlow,” he said, his voice deep.

  “Hello, Thief.” I snapped out of my trance.

  “You look tired,” he said. “No offense.”

  “You want to know what I don’t look like?” I crossed my arms. “The type of person who would buy ‘fleshlights,’ ‘Make My Penis Big’ pills, and doggy-style videos from a porn site every month.”

  He raised his eyebrow.

  “I know you’re desperate since you’ve always been a loner and a virgin for as long as I’ve known your sister, but credit card fraud is a serious crime. There are consequences and repercussions, and cheating bastards have to pay.”

  He smiled a set of pearly whites, revealing that his days of having a metal mouth were forever a prologue.

  “This is the part when you start talking about how you’re planning to pay me back,” I said. “I’ll wait.”

  He stared at me for several seconds, not saying a word.

  “Do I need to repeat myself?” I asked. “If you don’t give me some ideas, I’ll have no choice but to tell your sister and your mom how you’ve been spending your never-ending freshman year. Between you and me, I doubt they’ll be impressed with your choice to double major in Fapping and Fraud.”

  “Harlow, I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about,” he said.

  “So, I do need to repeat it?”

  “No.” He adjusted his towel, and I tried not to stare at what was behind it. “For one, I’ve never paid for porn or bought any sex toys … I’m also not a virgin. Far from it, actually.”

  My cheeks heated as he looked me up and down.

  “I’m also highly confused as to why you think I have your credit card information,” he said.

  “Because I used someone to trace it.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the message. “See? The address leads right to you.”

  “It leads to this dorm,” he said. “As a whole. There are one hundred other guys who live here.”

  “Do they know that you’ve been a freshman for as long as you have?”

  “Cancel the card, and I’ll look into it for you tomorrow.” He looked amused, avoiding my question. “I’m cool with the guy who works in the postal room, so I’m sure he can figure out which guy is stealing from you.”