Please Me by J. Kenner…Excerpt Tour Stop

From New York Times Bestselling author J. Kenner comes PLEASE ME, a new novella in her Stark Ever After Series, brought to you by 1,001 Dark Nights! Be sure to grab your copy today!

From New York Times and USA Today bestselling author J. Kenner comes a new story in her Stark Ever After series…

Each day with Damien is a miracle, each moment with our children a gift. And yet I cannot escape the growing sense that a storm is gathering, threatening to pull me away, to rip us apart. To drag me down, once again, into a darkness to which I swore never to return.

I have to fight it—I know that. And I am waging the battle with of all my heart. But it is Damien who is my strength, and we both know that the only way to push away the darkness is for him to fold me in his arms and claim me completely. And for me to surrender myself, once again, to the fire that burns between us.

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Excerpt:

I close the door behind me, intending to return to the bedroom. Instead, I go outside. I pour another glass from the second bottle Jamie and I opened, then settle onto the chaise lounge and look up, letting myself get lost in the stars that blanket the moonless sky.

I don’t hear him, but I know when Damien steps onto the patio. The scent of him. The subtle shift in the air, as if Damien Stark truly is the force of nature I sometimes believe him to be. Mostly, though, I am simply attuned to him, and he to me. Of course, I know he’s there. Just as I knew that he would come.

I turn my head and let myself breathe him in, this man the gods must have made just for me. He’s strong and powerful and walks with confidence. His strides are long and straight, and his goal is clear—me.

When he reaches my chaise, he sits on the edge of it near my hip, then takes my hand in his. I’m still wearing the bathing suit I put on to lounge with Jamie, covered by a simple, lacey pull-over. It eased up when I sat, and now Damien’s slacks brush the bare skin of my thigh, making me hyperaware of our connection.

Damien lifts our joined hands, then kisses my knuckles. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

My eyes dart to his, and I see both apology and humor reflected on his face. “I think that’s my line,” I say.

Slowly, he slips his hand beneath the lace of my cover-up so that his palm presses against the bare flesh of my lower abdomen, just above my bikini line. The touch is casual, little more than a place to rest his hand, and yet the contact sends sparks shooting down through my core, making my inner thighs tingle and my sex burn hot and needy.

J. Kenner’s PLEASE ME – Review & Excerpt Tour Schedule:

August 29^th

Author Groupies – Review

Besties, Books & Sunshine – Review & Excerpt

Devilishly dirty book blog – Review & Excerpt

Kick Back & Review – Review

Melena’s Reviews – Review & Excerpt

Reading Between the Wines Book Club – Excerpt

August 30^th

Booked All Night – Review & Excerpt

Canadian Book Addict – Review & Excerpt

East Coast Book Chicks – Review & Excerpt

Morning Books and Coffee – Review

Ms. Me28 – Excerpt

Read-Love-Blog – Excerpt

August 31^st

Crystal’s Book World – Review & Excerpt

DC Book Lovers – Review & Excerpt

Four Chicks Flipping Pages – Review & Excerpt

iScream Books Blog – Review & Excerpt

Lynn’s Romance Enthusiasm – Excerpt

Smut Book Junkie Reviews – Review & Excerpt

September 1^st

All Things Dark & Dirty – Review & Excerpt

Bad boys and bedtime stories book blog – Review

Bookaholic Confessions – Review & Excerpt

My Girlfriends Couch – Excerpt

Read Review Repeat – Review & Excerpt

Shannon’s Book Blog – Review & Excerpt

September 2^nd

BJ’s Book Blog – Review & Excerpt

Brittany’s Book Blog – Excerpt

Heather andrews – Review

Two peas in a pod – Review & Excerpt

Women who stare at books – Excerpt

September 3^rd

Book Breath Babe – Review

Cupcakesandbookshelves – Excerpt

Ellie Is Uhm … A Bookworm – Review & Excerpt

Nadine’s Obsessed with Books – Review & Excerpt

Read. Eat. Love. – Review & Excerpt

The Overflowing Bookcase – Review

September 4^th

A StorybookRomance.net – Review & Excerpt

Bloggin’ With M.Brennan – Review

Engaging Secrets – Review & Excerpt

Friends Till The End Book Blog – Review & Excerpt

Mile High Kink Book Club – Review

NightWolf Book Blog – Excerpt

September 5^th

A British Bookworm’s Blog – Review

Bobo’s Book Bank – Review & Excerpt

CJR The Brit – Excerpt

Devilishly Delicious Book Reviews – Excerpt

Evermore Books – Review & Excerpt

KDRBCK – Review & Excerpt

September 6^th

Bookalicious Babes Blog – Review & Excerpt

Jax’s Book Magic – Excerpt

MI Bookshelf – Review

Naughty Book Eden – Excerpt

Nerdy Soul – Review & Excerpt

Ramblings From This Chick – Excerpt

September 7th

Books 2 Blog – Review & Excerpt

Living In Our Own Story – Review & Excerpt

Nerdy Dirty & Flirty – Excerpt

Once Upon An Alpha – Review

The Reading Cafe – Review & Excerpt

Stark Ever After Reads – Review & Excerpt

Julie Kenner (aka J. Kenner and J.K. Beck) is the New York Times, USA Today, Publishers Weekly, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of over forty novels, novellas and short stories in a variety of genres.

Praised by Publishers Weekly as an author with a “flair for dialogue and eccentric characterizations,” J.K. writes a range of stories including super sexy romances, paranormal romance, chick lit suspense and paranormal mommy lit. Her foray into the latter, Carpe Demon: Adventures of a Demon-Hunting Soccer Mom by Julie Kenner, is in development as a feature film with 1492 Pictures.

Her most recent trilogy of erotic romances, The Stark Trilogy (as J. Kenner), reached as high as #2 on the New York Times list and is published in over twenty countries.

J.K. lives in Central Texas, with her husband, two daughters, and several cats.

Website | Facebook | Twitter

Flirting With Forever by Kendall Ryan…Excerpt Reveal

I’ve waited years for the perfect girl, yet she was right in front of me all along.

My best friend, Natalie, has been by my side through everything. Leaning on my shoulder, borrowing my sweatshirts…and making my pants too tight when she flashes me that sassy smile that drives me crazy.

But she has no idea about that last part. She doesn’t have a clue I’ve felt this way about her for years.

Until one night after too many cocktails, we fall into bed together.

I’m flirting with my forever…she just doesn’t know it yet.

This book is a sexy, slow-burning best-friends-to-lovers romance with a guaranteed HEA and no cheating. Dive in, and get ready to melt for Cam!

PRE-ORDER NOW

Amazon | iBooks | Nook | Kobo | Audible

I look up at Cam and meet his eyes, brimming with secrets. I need answers, and I need them now.

No more secrets, Cam.

“What’s going on?”

The man in my arms doesn’t answer with his words. Instead, he takes hold of the edge of my towel and pulls it from my body. I gasp at the sensation of our skin pressing intimately together. I brace myself against his chiseled arms, digging my fingers into his biceps for purchase.

He isn’t done. He lifts his hands, one to my hip, one to my cheek. His thumb draws a small circle on my exposed hip bone. With the side of his knuckle, he traces the outline of my lower lip. I stay very, very still so he won’t notice the slight shudder racing down my spine.

“I can’t tell you,” he says so softly that it breaks my heart.

“Yes, you can.” I barely recognize my own voice. Cam’s eyes, dark and hurting, are locked on my lips. I want to ease that pain.

And I think I know how.

I lean in closer, pulling myself up to his level with my hands on his chest. Our breaths mingle and everything is warm, the air between us aflame.

“You’re killing me.” These are the words that fall from Cam’s lips before they meet mine.

God.

My lips are locked against his in the softest of kisses. I catch his lower lip with my own, pressing every ounce of my feelings into him. Every thank you for being there for me. Every you’re perfect for being exactly what I need.

Can he feel how much I care for him?

He’s still for a whole Mississippi second—a second too long for me to bear.

Oh God. What have I done?

But the moment I pull away, Cam leans in. His hands are on my face, holding my lips against his. He tilts my head, digs his fingers into my hair, and opens his mouth to mine.

“Natalie . . .”

The sound of my name slipping so lustfully from the back of his throat sends a jolt all the way down. All the way down.

I pull myself even higher on my toes, clinging to him with my arms around his neck. He returns the favor, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me tight against him. Our mouths are magnetic, unable to separate, unwilling to stop.

My God. I’m kissing Cam.

I’m kissing my best friend.

I’m kissing him and I can’t stop.

I dart my tongue between his lips, caressing the underside of his upper lip. He growls, maddened by my bold move. His fingers blaze fiery trails down my neck and shoulders. His hands explore me, memorizing the slope of my back and the curve of my hips. Each touch is so soft, yet so electric.

Soon it’s all frantic kisses and eager moans that I’m pretty sure are coming from me. I press into his shoulders, leaving handprints on his chest. My fingers draw lines down his abdomen, then finally trace along the bulge beneath his towel.

Cam jerks back, his eyes full of questions.

But there’s no more time for questions. We’ve wasted far too much of it.

A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author of more than two dozen titles, Kendall Ryan has sold over 1.5 million books and her books have been translated into several languages in countries around the world. She’s a traditionally published author with Simon & Schuster and Harper Collins UK, as well as an independently published author. Since she first began self-publishing in 2012, she’s appeared at #1 on Barnes & Noble and iBooks charts around the world. Her books have also appeared on the New York Times and USA Today bestseller lists more than three dozen times. Ryan has been featured in such publications as USA Today, Newsweek, and InTouch Magazine.

Visit her at: www.kendallryanbooks.com for the latest book news, and fun extras

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When The lights Go Out by Mary Kubica…Excerpt Tour Stop

We are so excited to be a part of a 2-part tour for the release of best selling author Mary Kubica’s new psychological thriller, When the Lights Go Out!

Follow along the excerpt tour beginning in August, with long excerpts in consecutive order at each tour stop, followed by an Instagram tour and review tour beginning in September!

About When the Lights Go Out

Hardcover: 336 pages

Publisher: Park Row; Original edition (September 4, 2018)

A woman is forced to question her own identity in this riveting and emotionally charged thriller by the blockbuster bestselling author of The Good Girl, Mary Kubica

Jessie Sloane is on the path to rebuilding her life after years of caring for her ailing mother. She rents a new apartment and applies for college. But when the college informs her that her social security number has raised a red flag, Jessie discovers a shocking detail that causes her to doubt everything she’s ever known.

Finding herself suddenly at the center of a bizarre mystery, Jessie tumbles down a rabbit hole, which is only exacerbated by grief and a relentless lack of sleep. As days pass and the insomnia worsens, it plays with Jessie’s mind. Her judgment is blurred, her thoughts are hampered by fatigue. Jessie begins to see things until she can no longer tell the difference between what’s real and what she’s only imagined.

Meanwhile, twenty years earlier and two hundred and fifty miles away, another woman’s split-second decision may hold the key to Jessie’s secret past. Has Jessie’s whole life been a lie or have her delusions gotten the best of her?

“Kubica brilliantly unravels the lives of two women in this tense and haunting tale of identity and deceit. WHEN THE LIGHTS GO OUT will keep you questioning everything-and everyone-until the riveting conclusion. A twisty, captivating, edge-of-your-seat read.” –Megan Miranda, New York Times bestselling author of ALL THE MISSING GIRLS

Purchase Links

Amazon | Books-A-Million | Barnes & Noble

Excerpt:

I keep track of the sleepless nights in the notched lines beneath my eyes, like the annual rings of a tree. One wrinkle for each night that I don’t sleep. I stare at myself in the mirror each day, counting them all. This morning there were four. The surface effects of insomnia are even worse than what’s going on on the inside. My eyes are red and swollen. My eyelids droop. Overnight, wrinkles appear by the masses, while I lay in bed counting sheep. I could go to the clinic and request something else to help me sleep. Some more of the clonazepam. But with the pills in my system, I slept right on through Mom’s death. I don’t want to think about what else I’d miss.

At McDonalds, I’m asked if I want ketchup with my fries, but I can only stare at the worker dumbly because what I heard was, It’s messed up when boats capsize, and I nod lamely because it is disastrous and sad, and yet so out of left field I can’t respond with words.

It’s only when he drops a stack of ketchup packets on my tray that my brain makes the translation, too late it seems because I hate ketchup. I dump them on the table when I go, the mother lode for someone who likes it. On the way out the door I trip, because coordination is also effected by a lack of sleep.

Two hours ago I dragged my heavy body from bed after another sleepless night, and now I stand in the center of Mom and my house, deciding which of our belongings to take and which to leave. I can’t stand to stay here much longer, a decision I’ve come to quickly over the last four days. I’ve spoken to a realtor already, figured out next steps. First I’m to pack up what I want to keep, and then everything else will be sold in an estate sale before some junk removal service tosses the rest of our stuff in the trash.

Then some other family will move into the only home I’ve ever known.

I’m eyeing the sofa, wondering if I should take it or leave it, when the phone rings. “Hello?” I ask.

A voice on the other end informs me that she’s calling from the financial aid office at the college. “There’s a problem with your application,” she says to me.

“What problem?” I ask the woman on the phone, afraid I’m about to be cited for tax evasion. It’s a likely possibility; I’d left blank every question on the FAFSA form than asked about adjusted gross income and tax returns. I might have lied on the application too. There was a question that asked if both of my parents were deceased. I said yes to that, though I don’t know if it’s true.

Is my father dead?

On the other end of the line, the woman asks me to verify my social security number for her and I do. “That’s what I have,” she says, and I ask, “Then what’s the problem? Has my application been denied?” My heart sinks. How can that be? It’s only a community college. It’s not like I registered for Yale or Harvard.

“I’m sure it’s just a weird mix-up with vital statistics,” she says.

“What mix-up?” I ask, feeling relieved for a mix-up as opposed to a denied application. A mix-up can be fixed.

“It’s the strangest thing,” she says. “There was a death certificate on file for a Jessica Sloane, from seventeen years ago. With your birthdate and your social security number. By the looks of this, Ms. Sloane,” she says, and I amend Jessie, because Ms. Sloane is Mom. “By the looks of this, Jessie,” she says, and the words that follow punch me so hard in the gut they make it almost impossible to breathe. “By the looks of this, you’re already dead.”

And then she laughs as if somehow or other this is funny.

Today I’m looking for a new place to live. Staying in our old home is no longer a viable option because of the residual ghosts of Mom that remain in every corner of the home. The smell of her Crabtree & Evelyn hand cream that fills the bathroom. The feel of the velvet lined compartments in the mahogany dresser. The chemo caps. The cartons of Ensure on the refrigerator shelf.

I perch in the back seat of a Kia Soul, trying hard not to think too much about the call from the financial aid office. This is easier said than done. Just thinking about it makes my stomach hurt. A mix-up, the woman claimed, but still, it’s hard to grapple with the words you and dead in the same sentence. Though I try to, I can’t push them from my mind. The way she and I left things, I’m to provide a copy of my social security card to the college before they’ll take another look at my application for a loan, which is a problem because I don’t have the first clue where the card is. But it’s more than that too. Because the woman also told me about some death index my name was found on. A death index. My name on a database maintained by the Social Security Administration of millions of people who have died, nullifying their social security numbers so that no one else can use them, so that I can’t use my own social security number. Because, according to the Social Security Administration, I’m dead.

About Mary Kubica

Mary Kubica is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of THE GOOD GIRL and PRETTY BABY. She holds a Bachelor of Arts degree from Miami University in Oxford, Ohio, in History and American Literature. She lives outside of Chicago with her husband and two children and enjoys photography, gardening and caring for the animals at a local shelter.

Connect with Mary

Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

Excerpt Tour:

Monday, August 20th: Palmer’s Page Turners

Tuesday, August 21st: Books and Cats and Coffee

Wednesday, August 22nd: Mystery Suspense Reviews

Thursday, August 23rd: Book Reviews and More by Kathy

Friday, August 24th: A Bookworm’s World

Monday, August 27th: Novel Gossip

Tuesday, August 28th: Books & Spoons

Wednesday, August 29th: Read Love Blog

Thursday, August 30th: That’s What She Read

Friday, August 31st: From the TBR Pile

Instagram Tour:

Monday, September 3rd: @brookesbooksandbrews

Tuesday, September 4th: @chapter_break

Tuesday, September 4th: @girlandherbooks

Wednesday, September 5th: @kate.olson.reads

Thursday, September 6th: @jennblogsbooks

Friday, September 7th: @bookishconnoisseur

Saturday, September 8th: @pnwbookworm

Sunday, September 8th: @girlsinbooks

Review Tour:

Tuesday, September 4th: Literary Quicksand

Wednesday, September 5th: Diary of a Stay at Home Mom

Thursday, September 6th: Books & Bindings

Thursday, September 6th: Book Reviews and More by Kathy

Friday, September 7th: No More Grumpy Bookseller

Monday, September 10th: Booktimistic and @booktimistic

Monday, September 10th: The Book Diva’s Reads

Tuesday, September 11th: Thoughts on This ‘n That

Wednesday, September 12th: Books and Cats and Coffee

and @booksncatsncoffee

Thursday, September 13th: Thoughts from a Highly Caffeinated Mind

Friday, September 14th: Becky on Books

Friday, September 14th: From the TBR Pile

Monday, September 17th: Moonlight Rendezvous

Monday, September 17th: Staircase Wit

Tuesday, September 18th: @booknerdnative

Wednesday, September 19th: Palmer’s Page Turners

Thursday, September 20th: Mystery Suspense Reviews

Friday, September 21st: Girl Who Reads

Monday, September 24th: Novel Gossip and @novelgossip

Tuesday, September 25th: Bewitched Bookworms

Tuesday, September 25th: Why Girls are Weird

Wednesday, September 26th: @hollyslittlebookreviews

Thursday, September 27th: Mama Reads Blog

Thursday, September 27th: Jathan & Heather

Friday, September 28th: Kritter’s Ramblings

The Left Side of Perfect by Meghan Quinn…..Excerpt Reveal

The Left Side Of Perfect – Release Day – August 30

For better or for worse,’til death do us part . . .

The better captured me; she’s who stole my heart.

And made me realize I couldn’t live without this woman.

The worse of her took my breath away–kicked me when I was down and twisted me into a million knots.

When I first met her, I thought she was someone I would never see again.

The second time I ran into her, it was a random coincidence.

The third?

I didn’t know it at the time, but she was the girl I was going to marry.

But life isn’t always perfect. You have to take the better and the worse–even if it means giving her up, having her slip between your fingers, and letting her walk away.

I’m getting married.

This is forever, ’til death do us part.

The Right Side Of Forever – Release Day August 31

In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish . . .

It sounds so simple, to love someone unconditionally.

To give them your heart.

So why is she slowly eating away at my soul with every unanswered phone call, every unread text, and every door left unopened?

She said yes, and yet, in order for her to be with me . . . I need to let her go.

SIGN-UP TO BE NOTIFIED WHEN THE BOOK RELEASES ON AMAZON

Her hands rest on her hips, the navy-blue Grecian-style dress draped down the length of her body, a small slit on the side that barely reaches her knee. “You’re really fixated on this, aren’t you?”

“Nah, didn’t care too much. A homemade dinner would have been nice, though.”

“I can’t cook.”

“Neither can I,” I answer honestly. I either eat out, or I make myself scrambled eggs, and that’s about it. Rory taught me how to make meatballs once but hell if I can remember how to do that. All I know is that I enjoyed crushing the beef between my fingers. I get by with limited knowledge in the kitchen.

She chuckles. “Well, aren’t we a pair?” She turns to watch Stryder and Rory together. Apparently not giving a shit about the even bigger elephant in the room, Ryan asks, “Is this weird for you?”

“I have a flask in my jacket pocket, so you tell me.”

She lifts her bouquet and pulls out a mini bottle of alcohol. She wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Thought maybe we’d both need this since we have to sit through having all these pictures taken with them.”

“Smirnoff? That’s what you brought with you?”

“It was all I had. Don’t judge me.”

“I’m judging.”

Playfully she whacks my arm. “You shouldn’t be judging me. It was innovative. I carved out a little space in my bouquet for this bottle. If anything, you should congratulate me on this genius idea.”

“Was it your idea?”

“I mean”—she toes the ground—“I might have seen the idea on Pinterest along with a recipe for beer cookies that tasted like vomit.”

“Beer cookies?” I shake my head and take the little bottle from her. Twist the cap, tilt the bottle back, and swig. I hand it back to her, leaving half the bottle. “Even I know better than to think beer cookies would taste good.”

“They were for a boyfriend I was trying to impress.”

“Impress or poison?”

“Impress.” She laughs. “Although after our breakup, I should probably say poison. Teach all future suitors: if you mess with me, you get poisoned.”

“It’d keep me away, that’s for damn sure.”

She finishes the rest of the little bottle and returns it to her bouquet. She pats it and says, “I can recycle it later.”

“Get drunk and save the earth. Sounds like a good combination to me.”

“Ryan and Colby, can we get you over here for a few pictures?” the photographer calls out.

“That’s our cue.” Ryan pokes my cheek with her index finger, looking sincerely at me. “Don’t forget to smile, because these pictures will last forever.”

“Scowling not in the job description of best man?”

As we walk over, she says, “I would normally say no, but given the bride is your ex-girlfriend, one scowl is allowed.”

“One scowl? Damn, better make it a good one.”

Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.

Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.

Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!

Lost Boy by M. Robinson….Blog Tour & Review

BLOG TOUR

LOST BOY

BY M. Robinson

Cover Model: Stephen James

Cover Design: The Final Wrap

Genre: Contemporary Romance/ New Adult

Standalone

In a world where I had no say, violence became my refuge, and nothing else mattered.

Not even my own life.

Until her.

Skyler Bell.

It all started the first time I heard that voice. Giving me hope for tomorrow. My first love was everything all at once.

Consuming.

Maddening.

Forever.

Mine.

Except, I never imagined there were secrets that needed to be shared. Lies that needed to be confessed. Truths that needed to be told.

Demons that needed to be buried.

Once I realized the depth, the longing, the sadness and sorrow in her eyes mirrored mine, it was too late. Love didn’t come to me as heartbreak, it came as everything I’ve ever wanted. Walking away wasn’t an option, but it was the only choice I had.

I finally found the price of love and it cost me…

My soul.

My body molded perfectly against his like I was made just for him, only him. It was the most overwhelming, mind blowing, consuming feeling I’d ever felt in my entire life. There would be no coming back from this.
From him.
From us.
Ruining me for any other guy. He slowly parted his lips, beckoning me to do the
same. I followed his lead, imitating the same rhythm he set. His tongue traced
my swollen lips, and it left the craziest sensation in its wake. A tingly fire
that only he could put out. I’d never be able to lick my lips and not think of
this very moment. It would be lodged next to my heart where he belonged.
I pulled back my tongue, and he took it as an open invitation to gently push
his into my awaiting mouth. Seeking mine out, turning this kiss into something more than I could have ever imagined it could be.
No words came close to describing what was happening between us. The feelings he stirred deep within my mind, my soul, matching my emotions with each stroke of his tongue and lips. This push and pull was as uncontrollable as where fate
wanted to take us. I never wanted him to stop kissing me.
Not for a second.
A year.
A lifetime.
Noah’s lips were meant to be on mine. My body was meant to be beneath his. Our hearts were meant to be together.
I was his girl.
I had always been his girl.

M. Robinson is back at it again – giving us all the feels and emotional whiplash you can endure in one book. I love it!!

Lost Boy is a standalone spinoff from her other series but you in no way need to read anything else to know what is going on in this book. In fact, I think new readers will enjoy this book even more. Noah’s book is one I have been waiting for, for what seems likes ages and she does not disappoint us.

I won’t give any crucial details of this book because even a small part might be giving too much away. Noah and Skyler are a hot mess together and separately. These two will give you so much whiplash, you will want to reach into your kindle and slap them around a few times. And it’s not in an irritating way either – they just infuriate with you their pushing and pulling and wanting to protect each other from their personal demons.

But along with their push and pull, these two are HOT AS FUCK!!! They not only have explosive personalities, but these two are hot between the sheets (even when they aren’t physical). Let me tell you – Monica delivers some dynamic chemistry with these two not just in the physical aspect, but in the mental and spiritual part.

Monica really knows how to deliver us a story that is nail biting, exhausting but damn exhilarating. I loved every bit of this book. I couldn’t read it fast enough and I never wanted it to end. Prepare yourself for a wild ride.

LOST BOY (STANDALONE)

AMAZON / B&N / KOBO / ITUNES

ALL FREE ON KINDLE UNLIMITED!

CLICK HERE

CLICK HERE TO SHOP

M. ROBINSON BIO

USA Today Bestselling Author of Lost Boy, El Pecador, El Santo, Ends Here, Keeping
Her Wet, Road to Nowhere, El Diablo, The Good Ol’ Boys Standalone Series, The
VIP Trilogy, Tempting Bad, and Two Sides.

M. Robinson loves to read. She favors anything that has
angst, romance, triangles, cheating, love, and of course sex! She has been
reading since the Babysitters Club and R.L. Stein. All time favorite books
are The Bronze Horseman Trilogy by Paullina Simons.

She was born in New Jersey but was raised in Tampa Fl. She
is married to an amazing man who she loves to pieces. They have two German shepherd
mixes, a Wheaten Terrier and a Tabby cat.

CONNECT WITH M. ROBINSON

http://www.authormrobinson.com

http://www.facebook.com/authormrobinson

https://www.instagram.com/authormrobinson/

https://twitter.com/AuthorMRobinson

Snapchat: AuthorMRobinson

Reader Group: www.facebook.com/groups/M.RobinsonVIP/

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/M-Robinson/e/B00H4HJYDQ/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7233168.M_Robinson

BOOKBUB:
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/m-robinson

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCC_KwkX2jlr1mV5wJGoqjDQ?view_as=subscriber

$100 AMAZON GIFT CARD

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Bring Down the Stars by Emma Scott….Excerpt

I fell for Connor Drake. I didn’t want to; I fought against it, but I fell in love with him anyway. With his words. With his poetry. With him. The gentleness and beauty of his soul that speaks directly to mine. He writes as if he can feel my heart, hear its cadence and compose the exact right lyrics to accompany every beat and flow.

I’m in love with Connor…so why do I feel an inexplicable pull to his best friend, Weston? Grouchy, sullen, brooding Weston Turner, who could cut you down with a look. Fiercely intelligent with a razor sharp wit and acid tongue, he’s the exact opposite of Connor in every way, and yet there’s electricity in the air between us. The thorny barbs Weston wraps around himself can’t keep me away.

But the more time I spend with these men, the more tangled and confused my emotions become. When they both sign up for the Army Reserves during a time of increasing strife in the Middle East, I fear I’ll never unravel my own heart that sometimes feels as if it will tear straight down the middle…for both of them.

**********
Bring Down the Stars is an emotional, angst-filled novel of unrequited love by bestselling author, Emma Scott, and is inspired by the classic tale, Cyrano de Bergerac. (Roxanne) It is Book I in the Beautiful Hearts Duet, coming this summer. Book II, Long Live the Beautiful Hearts, to be released a few weeks later. #lovetriangle #confusedhearts #notamenage

I took the cement stairs into the library and entered the cool, hushed confines of the main reading room. None of the long mahogany desks with green-shaded lamps were empty. One of the university clubs had taken over two-thirds of the space. The rest of the tables were filled with students like me, trying to get a head start their course load.

I finally found an empty seat at the end of a table, opposite a blond guy engrossed in reading. His open backpack spilled books and papers into what I hoped could be my table territory.

“Excuse me,” I whispered. “Can I…?”

He looked up, his expression vaguely hostile. Piercing blue-green eyes set in a stunningly handsome, if angular, face met mine. High cheekbones, sharp chin and long straight nose. He looked chiseled out of smooth stone at first glance, then his features softened for a moment as his gaze swept over me. Something like recognition lit up his eyes, and I could see the gears of his brain turning as he studied, analyzed, and then came to a conclusion. Not a good one, I guessed, because his expression hardened again.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered. He stood up, leaning his tall, slender frame over the table to corral the books back into his pack.

“Thanks,” I said, thinking if he wasn’t a basketball player or a runner, he was a model.

All right, girl, get a grip.

I sat, cracked my textbook and settled in to read. I wasn’t through two pages when the words blurred to nonsensical gibberish and my skin prickled with the sensation of being watched.

I glanced up, straight into the ocean eyes of the guy across from me. A million thoughts swirled in their soft depths before they quickly glanced down. He slouched lower in his chair, disappearing behind his book—the collected poems of Walt Whitman. Part of me wanted to melt. Good lord, a hot guy reading poetry? I was only human.

And this is how you wound up with a broken heart in the first place.

I must’ve been frowning at the book because the guy held it up and said, “Not a fan?”

I blinked back to reality. “No,” I said. “I mean, yes. I love Whitman. And poetry in general. I just… Never mind.”

He regarded me a long moment, then slowly closed Whitman and picked up Atlas Shrugged from his short stack of books.

“Ugh, that’s even worse,” I muttered without thinking, and then shook my head. “God, sorry, I left my filter at home. Don’t listen to me.”

His lip curled. “Is there anything in my collection you approve of?”

A hot, smart asshole, I thought. Game on.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m not in a good mood today and it’s making me forget my manners. I’ll leave you to read your capitalist propaganda in peace.”

The guy’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing under the blond hair that fell across his brow. “Not a fan of Rand either?” He smirked knowingly. “No, of course you aren’t.”

My blood heated at his flippant tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The guy nodded at my textbook—Global Responsibility and the Third-World Hunger Epidemic—and shrugged, as if that answered everything.

“Oh.” I frowned. “Well… yes. I mean, Rand’s point of view is purely capitalist and mine isn’t. Not by a long shot.”

The student sitting to my right exchanged glances with the girl sitting across from him. Then both packed up their books and left.

“We’re being disruptive,” I said to my across-table neighbor. “We need to stop talking now.”

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes intent on me. “So what’s your point of view?”

“My what?”

“You said your point of view isn’t capitalist.” He raised a brow. “So what is it?”

“Humanist, I suppose. Since you asked. I think everyone, regardless of race, creed, income-level, or sex should be granted the same shot as anyone else.” I raised a brow at him. “But you don’t?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” he said with a slight chuckle. “Since we’re tossing labels around, I’m a realist.” He held up his book. “And not a fan of Rand either.”

“You’re not?” I leaned back too, crossing my arms. “Are you just messing with me or what?”

“Maybe,” he said. “What do you care what I think anyway?”

My mouth fell slack. “I don’t. Thanks for reminding me.”

“No problem.”

“Wow, you’re rude.”

“That’s the word on the street.”

“I can see why.” I lifted my own book up to signal conversation over, but my eyes wouldn’t focus. I could feel the hum of his presence like a field of electrical wires, getting under my skin and infiltrating my thoughts. The buzz went beyond distraction. It felt like a challenge had been laid down.

And I never walked away from a challenge.

I lowered my book to see the guy’s glance hide behind his book again.

“Well?” I demanded.

“Well what?”

Why are you watching me?

“Why are you reading Ayn Rand if you don’t like her either?”

“Required reading for an English Lit minor.”

“And your major? Let me guess, pre-law.”

“God, no,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows but he offered nothing more. “Are you going to make me run through Amherst’s list of majors until I guess which one is yours?”

“Yes,” he said. “Alphabetically, please.”

A laugh burst out of me against my will, and the guy almost smiled. Every one of his hard angles softened.

“Economics,” he said. “But I don’t know what I’m doing with it.”

“That feels like the most honest thing you’ve said to me so far,” I said.

“And that’s important to you?”

“Yes,” I said, my laughter dying away as I remembered Mark and that girl, naked in the bed I’d slept in just the night before. “Honesty is very important.”

He lifted one shoulder.

“You don’t agree?” I asked.

“Being honest is sometimes mistaken for being rude.”

“You must be really honest,” I said.

Again, he almost smiled. “Must be.”

Satisfied that I’d held my own against this beautiful but hostile member of the opposite sex, I went back to my book…for eight entire seconds before my skin started prickling again. The electric hum of his attention was impossible to ignore.

When I looked up this time, he didn’t look away but cleared his throat.

“I’m Weston Turner.”

Emma Scott is a bestselling author of emotional, character-driven romances in which art and love intertwine to heal, and in which love always wins. If you enjoy thoughtful, realistic stories with diverse characters and kind-hearted heroes, you will enjoy my novels.

Hold You Close by Melanie Harlow & Corinne Michaels….Promo Tour

“Corinne Michaels and Melanie Harlow are a match made in heaven. Five-Sweet-Stars for this unforgettable collaboration!” –A.L. Jackson, New York Times bestselling author

Hold You Close, an all-new second chance standalone romance by New York Times bestselling author Corinne Michaels and USA Today bestselling author Melanie Harlow, is available now!

Synopsis

From NYT Bestseller Corinne Michaels & USA Today Bestseller Melanie Harlow, comes a second chance standalone romance.

Ian Chase broke my heart at seventeen, and I’ve spent the last eighteen years hating him for it.

He makes it easy, with his smart mouth and playboy lifestyle—which I unfortunately have to observe since he lives behind me. Every time I see him climbing out of his pool, practically naked and unreasonably sexy, my blood boils.

I’ve always loved to loathe him.

I never planned to need him.

***

London Parish is my little sister’s best friend, not that it stopped me from falling for her.

Our history is complicated. The only thing we have in common is being godparents to my sister’s three adorable kids—until our lives are changed in one tragic moment.

Now we’re trying to raise the children we love, mourn an unthinkable loss, and fight an undeniable attraction.

My life is already upside-down, and the last thing I need is for old feelings to resurface.

Because I’ll never be able to keep her, no matter how hard I try to hold her close.

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Excerpt:

“Ian,” my bartender, Toby, calls with his hand out.

“What’s up?”

“You have a call.” He pushes the phone toward me.

No one calls the club for me other than vendors, and it’s eleven-thirty at night, so whoever it is can wait.

“I have to deal with something now, send them to my voicemail.”

He shakes his head. “She’s called three times.” The annoyance in his voice is clear, even over the music.

She?

The only woman that would resort to calling the club is my ex-wife. God only knows what bullshit she wants now. For all I know she broke a nail, it’s my fault, and she thinks I should pay for her new manicure, or a hand replacement. She’s like the gift you’ve tried to return but can’t find the receipt for, so you’re stuck with it. I hate unwanted presents, and I hate Jolene.

“Send the devil to my voicemail,” I say and walk away.

I head out to the sidewalk. Drea wasn’t kidding, the line is nuts. “Hello, Officer,” I say to the pudgy cop standing next to the bouncer.

“Mr. Chase, we’re getting complaints,” he says, looking down the sidewalk at the line.

“I can’t help that we’re popular.” I shrug. “I’m at capacity, and can’t kick out the paying customers to take care of the line.”

“You’re obstructing the entrances of other businesses because of the way your overflow lines are set up.”

How the hell would they like me to handle it? We’re not inside the casino, there’s no way to control the line. I’m not about to turn away people when we hit the number ten. This is a business, and part of the free marketing I get is thanks to the line.

“All right, I’ll figure something out.” I grip the back of my neck.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. If this is Jolene, I swear to God, I might lose my fucking mind.

The name flashes across the screen, London Parish. For fuck’s sake. Like I need to deal with my sister’s uptight, irritating best friend right now. London would be incredibly hot if she wasn’t such a raging bitch. I look at my call log and see this is the third time she’s called.

I walk down the strip a little, and after a few deep breaths, I call her back.

“Ian, you need to come to my house.”

I smirk. “Well, this is a first. Did you have the stick removed from your ass?”

“Don’t. Not today, please. Just come here.” I hear her sniff and my protectiveness kicks in. Someone made her cry. We don’t get along at all—partly because we’re polar opposites and partly because of our history—but no one gets to make her cry.

“Are you hurt?” I ask.

“Not in the way you think.” Her voice hitches.

I’ve known London for twenty-five years. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen or heard her cry—I was the reason one of those times.

“What’s wrong? Is it an emergency? Because I’m at work and the club—”

“Now, Ian. You need to come here now.”

She also doesn’t play games.

Fuck.

I look at my watch and blow a deep breath through my nose. It’ll take me at least thirty minutes to get there. This is seriously a shitty night. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Just . . . hurry,” London says and hangs up.

Dread pulls at my stomach, telling me there’s something going on. I don’t know what, but I know I need to get there.

“Get rid of the line, no more get in,” I tell the bouncer, and then head inside.

Drea is at the bar, and my anxiety is starting to grow. London needs me there, why? What happened? Did someone break into her house? Mine? Maybe it has to do with an ex, if she even has one, or it could be nothing like that. Regardless, her voice was shaky and I can’t waste time wondering.

“I have to go,” I tell Drea.

Her eyes widen. “Go? Go where? It’s a packed house.”

“I’m aware of that, but something came up. I need you to handle things tonight.” I turn to Toby. “Stay until Drea is done closing and I want you to escort her to her car at the end of the night.”

He nods.

I never let her walk out of here alone. Even if I have someone coming home with me, Drea’s not going to be unescorted. Too many men get the wrong impression because she’s nice to them. Over my dead body will she be hurt as a result of working at my club.

After I get in the car, my mind is racing. I drive faster than I should, telling myself that London is just being dramatic.

And then I remember . . . she has my nephew and nieces at her house.

My foot pushes down on the pedal of my Jaguar, making the engine howl with each mile. I turn into the development where we both live, pass my house, and head to hers. I still hate that our backyards touch. Every damn day I see her sitting out on her deck, reading her books, looking down at me with her disapproving attitude.

When I get there, the flashing lights of a police car brighten the road. I don’t think. I don’t know if I even put the car in park before I’m out of the vehicle.

“London!” I yell as I rush through the door. “Christopher? Morgan? Ruby?” I call out for the kids, praying it’s not one of them.

When I get to the living room, I release a heavy sigh—they’re all there, not hurt.

Then I see the tears streaming down Morgan’s face. London gets to her feet. Her eyes are red, puffy, and black mascara runs down her cheeks. “Ian.” She chokes on my name.

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

The girls start to cry again, and my nephew pulls them into his arms.

London moves toward me, placing her hand on my chest. “They’re gone.”

“Who?” I ask, confused.

“Sabrina and David,” she whispers.

Yeah, they went on a trip. Why the hell are they crying? “This is what you called me for? They’ll be home in a few days. Why are you crying too?” I ask.

Her green eyes meet mine and her lips part. “No.” She shakes her head. “They won’t.”

I look over at the kids again, and then to the muted television. My feet move closer, because I have to be sure the words flashing across the screen say what I think they say. “Flight 1184 crashes off the coast of Hawaii. Three hundred missing and presumed dead.”

My sister was going to Hawaii.

My sister is gone.

I sink to my knees in front of the kids, unsure what to say. They just lost their parents, and my heart is breaking. My sister was my best friend. She was the one who pushed me to open Veil and do what I wanted. I’ve always had her support, and now she’s gone.

Christopher lifts his head, his brown eyes filled with unshed tears. “They’ll find them,” he says with conviction.

“Okay,” I reply. We both know it’s a lie, but it’s one he has to tell himself. I remember being fifteen; there was no telling me I was wrong.

“Dad wouldn’t . . .” he starts, and then stops as his lip quivers.

My own tears start to fall, as Morgan grabs my hand. “What do we do now?”

I have no fucking clue. How do I tell these kids how to survive? I’m the last person in the world equipped to give this advice. I look to London. Her hand touches my shoulder and she wipes the tears that fall silently down her cheeks.

“We hold each other close,” she says.

About the authors:

New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestseller Corinne Michaels is the author of nine romance novels. She’s an emotional, witty, sarcastic, and fun loving mom of two beautiful children. Corinne is happily married to the man of her dreams and is a former Navy wife.

After spending months away from her husband while he was deployed, reading and writing was her escape from the loneliness. She enjoys putting her characters through intense heartbreak and finding a way to heal them through their struggles. Her stories are chock full of emotion, humor, and unrelenting love.

USA Today Bestselling Author Melanie Harlow likes her martinis dry, her heels high, and her history with the naughty bits left in. When she’s not writing or reading, she gets her kicks from TV series like VEEP, Game of Thrones, House of Cards, and Homeland. She occasionally runs three miles, but only so she can have more gin and steak.

Melanie is the author of the AFTER WE FALL series, the HAPPY CRAZY LOVE series, the FRENCHED series, and the sexy historical SPEAK EASY duet, set in the 1920s. She lifts her glass to romance readers and writers from her home near Detroit, MI, where she lives with her husband, two daughters, and pet rabbit.

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To sign up for monthly text alerts: Text HARLOT to 77948

Cover Reveal….Keeping Him by Kennedy Fox

Jackson Bishop is your typical playboy.

Unpredictable, charming, and overly confident.

Growing up in Texas, the ranch life is all he’s ever known. Horses and late night partying are his lifestyles, and all the local girls know it too. Riding lessons aren’t the only things taught at the stables, and he makes sure clients never leave unsatisfied. Everyone knows Jackson’s a wild card, but not everything is as it seems. He may be a womanizer on the surface, but he’s hiding deep feelings about the one who’s had his heart since he was a teen. Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as roping her in and claiming her as his.

Kiera Young is well-known for her sassy nature and outgoing personality. Though she’s one of the best horse trainers in the area, she’s never been able to tame her best friend and the man she’s secretly loved since she was fifteen—Jackson Bishop. She’s waited years for him to confess his true feelings but as time goes on, she decides she’s done waiting. Kiera finally meets a man who promises to give her the world, and when he pops the question, she says yes—knowing they’re both ready to settle down and start a family.

Even if her heart beats for another man.

Jackson’s certain he’s lost Kiera for good and has no one to blame but himself. However, on the day of her wedding, he can’t bring himself to watch the woman he loves walk down the aisle to someone else. Kiera’s already having second thoughts and knows she can’t get married without his support. It’s not until she’s at the altar that she realizes she can’t let Jackson go and will do whatever it takes to keep him—even if it means running out on her own wedding.

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Brooke Cumberland & Lyra Parish are a duo of romance authors who teamed up to write under the USA Today Bestselling pseudonym, Kennedy Fox. They share a love of You’ve Got Mail and The Holiday. When they aren’t bonding over romantic comedies, they like to brainstorm new book ideas. One day, they decided to collaborate and have some fun creating new characters that’ll make your lady bits tingle and your heart melt. If you enjoy romance stories with sexy, tattooed alpha males and smart, independent women, then a Kennedy Fox book is for you!

Keep up with all their social media platforms for updates & info!

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Release Day Blitz….Lost Boy by M. Robinson

RELEASE DAY BLITZ

LOST BOY

BY M. Robinson

Cover Model: Stephen James

Cover Design: The Final Wrap

Genre: Contemporary Romance/ New Adult

Standalone

In a world where I had no say, violence became my refuge, and nothing else mattered.

Not even my own life.

Until her.

Skyler Bell.

It all started the first time I heard that voice. Giving me hope for tomorrow. My first love was everything all at once.

Consuming.

Maddening.

Forever.

Mine.

Except, I never imagined there were secrets that needed to be shared. Lies that needed to be confessed. Truths that needed to be told.

Demons that needed to be buried.

I finally found the price of love and it cost me…

My soul.

My back hit the concrete wall with a thud.
“You got what you wanted, so you can go now. Because I can’t stand fucking looking at you any longer!”
I reached for her on pure impulse. “Skyler—” As soon as she felt my strong arm’s wrap around her waist, she kneed me in the balls.
“We’re even now, because I hate you too.”
Push.
I groaned in pain, and in her fuck-me heels, she took off running toward the exit. Breathing through the dis-comfort for a moment, I hauled ass after her. My boots pounding the wet pavement, chasing her in the pouring rain. Catching up with her outside the back of the dark building.
I gripped her arm and roughly turned her toward me, never expecting what happened next.
“No!” she shouted bloody murder, once again shoving me as hard as she could. She didn’t falter, losing her fucking shit on me. “I loved you!” She ignored the sting I knew her hand must have felt every time it connected with my face and body. Hitting me anywhere she could.
I tried blocking each and every blow, driving her further to push and hit me harder. Taking out every malicious word I’d said to her, and years of pent-up anger with herself, on me.
“I fucking loved you!”
“Cutie, calm the fuck down,” I ordered, trying to grip onto her wrists.
“Fuck you!” she yelled, punching and shoving me more, the closer I came toward her. “You don’t know anything! Nothing!”
“Skyler, enough!”
Raising her hand up to slap me across the face, I gripped onto her wrist and spun her around before she could react. She lost her footing which only made it easier for me to carry her up into my arms. Striding over to the nearest car that appeared abandoned in a secluded corner of the alley.
“Stop it,” I warned, controlling her body from thrashing around. Pissing her off even more.
“You stop it! Put me down!”
And I did, slamming her ass on the hood. Taking ahold of both her wrists with my hand and placing them above her head. I pinned her down, and still she fought with every ounce of courage she had left in her.
“For fucks sake, stop!”
“No!”
“Well then, I’m just gonna havta fuck the fight right out of ya.”
“Don’t you dar—”
My lips crashed onto hers, slipping my tongue into her mouth. Demanding complete and utter control. She weakly thrashed around, and I held her tighter against my chest, kissing her fucking senseless.
Groaning against her lips, “Fuck… I missed you…”

LOST BOY (STANDALONE)

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M. ROBINSON BIO

She was born in New Jersey but was raised in Tampa Fl. She
is married to an amazing man who she loves to pieces. They have two German shepherd
mixes, a Wheaten Terrier and a Tabby cat.

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Shimmy Bang Sparkle by Nicola Rendell….Blog Tour

Shimmy Bang Sparkle by Nicola Rendell

Release Date: August 21st
Genre: Contemporary Romance

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BLURB

To catch a thief…or fall for one?

All Nick Norton wants is to stay on the straight and narrow…and never get caught stealing again. Then he lays eyes on her: Stella Peretti—100 percent sexy and absolutely irresistible. Especially when he sees her smooth moves lifting a two-karat diamond. Nick realizes he’s found the sparkling woman of his dreams—one so perfect for him it’s almost criminal.

The Shimmy Shimmy Bangs are master jewel thieves who are planning the heist of the century. And Shimmy leader, Stella, isn’t about to let anyone—even if he is a hunky, tatted-up studmuffin—get in her way. But when two of her girls are put out of commission, Stella realizes that Nick isn’t just a red-hot distraction. He might be the answer to her pilfering prayers.

Now, Nick and Stella are putting everything on the line for one last job. But when two thieves have this much chemistry, it’s only a matter of time before somebody’s heart gets stolen.

EXCERPT

“Niiiiiiick!” came her voice, more of a growl that an actual word. “Get me out of here. My legs are going numb!”

To the bathroom I went, where I was met not only with Stella’s pinch-worthy ass in the window, but also an explosion of towels and makeup, shampoos and lotions, on every flat surface, and all over the floor. Dozens of makeup brushes poked out of an old coffee can by the sink, which was encrusted with jewels like Stella’s phone.

Stella had managed to tangle her legs up with toilet paper like the back end of a sloppily wrapped mummy, so I pulled that off her first. She’d also gotten her belt loop hooked over the lock on the window, so I unhooked that too.

But I didn’t pull her out quite yet, because her ass was just too hot to ignore. She was still in the same jeans she’d been wearing last night, and I took the chance to run my hand up the back of one thigh. I leaned down, and gave her a kiss on the small of her back. Her body went limp in the window, and she let out a moan. Once I’d had my fix, I hooked my arm underneath her hips and gave her a tug. I absolutely loved the way her skin felt next to mine, especially like this, when she was way too out of her element to feel self-conscious. The muscles of her stomach weren’t flexed, and I felt the soft curves and lines like she hadn’t let me feel them before. The narrow strip of skin where her T-shirt had ridden up made all those cliché terms make sense.

Soft as silk.
Sweet as cream.
Fucking heaven.

About the Author

Bestselling author Nicola Rendell loves writing naughty romantic comedies. After receiving a handful of degrees from a handful of places, she now works as a professor in New England. Nicola’s work has been featured in USA Today’s Happy Ever After and the Huffington Post. She loves to cook, sew, and play the piano. Her hobbies might make her sound like an old lady, but she’s totally okay with that. She is represented by Emily Sylvan Kim at the Prospect Agency.

Connect with Nicola

Website: http://nicolarendell.com

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Release Day Blitz….Bring Down the Stars by Emma Scott

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Later that night, Connor lay sprawled on the couch with SportsCenter blaring, scrolling his phone. I sat at the kitchen table, tapping my pen against an empty page in my notebook and contemplating running as my Object of Devotion. I couldn’t muster the blood and guts to put it to paper. I liked running. It served a purpose, but did I want to make it my life?

“Oh shit,” Connor cried from behind me.

“What is it?”

“I accidentally texted her.”

“Who?” I said, knowing damn well who.

“Autumn. I was fucking messing around and I hit that stupid predictive text thing, then panicked and hit send.”

“So what?”

“I don’t text or call a girl until at least three days have passed.”

I set down my pen and turned around. “Are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. It looks desperate to text her the same day.”

I hid a smile. “What did you text?”

“Just ‘yes’.” His eyes widened. “Shit. She’s texting me back.”

Connor jumped up from the couch and came to where I sat, standing next to my chair as we both watched his phone.

Yes…? J

Connor typed, Hey.

I smirked. “Really?”

“Yeah, so?”

A pause, then a new text bubbled up. What’s up?

“Now she’s annoyed,” I said. “Or impatient.”

Connor looked to me. “What do I say?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“You’re good at this shit. How many papers did you write for me at Sinclair?”

“This is not the same thing.”

“Ballpark.” Connor made a face. “Dude, she’s waiting.”

I frowned, thought for a moment. “Tell her the truth.”

“Hell no—”

“Tell her the truth but make it better. Tell her you were messing with your phone while thinking about her. Tell her that you wanted to talk to her so badly, your subconscious made it happen.”

“Oh, that’s good.”

Connor’s fingers flew, and then he hit send.

There was a pause and no answer.

Connor frowned. “What’s this mean?”

“It’s good. I mean she’s thinking about what you said.”

The rolling dots of Autumn’s reply came in.

The old ‘accidental text’ move? I feel like I’ve seen that before…;-)

“She’s not letting you off the hook so easily,” I said, smiling despite myself. “Don’t deny. Tell her she’s one hundred percent right. You’ll make any excuse to talk to her.”

“That’s perfect, man.”

Connor typed and hit send.

I like your honesty, came the reply.

“Hey, it’s working.” Connor beamed. “Now what?”

It was working, and I didn’t like what it was.

“I don’t know, man,” I said, waving a hand. “Type something. Whatever you’re thinking.”

“I want her to go out with me.”

“Then ask.”

With a horrible fascination, I watched Connor type, So, dinner?

“Jesus, dude,” I said.

“What? That’s exactly what you told me to do.”

“Not like that,” I said. “I told you she needs romance.”

I don’t know, she wrote. I have so much work to do already.

“Fuck,” Connor said. He nudged me with his phone. “Wes, man, you do it.”

I blinked. “Do what now?”

“Ask her out for me. The right way.”

I stared.

“Look, this girl is special. I’m not too proud to admit I need back-up getting things rolling with her.” He grinned that winning smile. “C’mon. Just this once.”

“But…”

Connor shoved his phone into my hand. “Come on, man. Do what you do. Write something witty and poetic. Something that’ll impress her enough to get me another text. Another…anything.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Write something that knocks her on her ass and gets me in the door. That’s all I ask.”

I looked at Connor’s phone in my hand and Autumn Caldwell’s text, waiting for an answer. I felt my best friend’s expectations literally breathing down my neck as he leaned over me.

Ignoring the small ache in my heart, I thought about what I would’ve said to Autumn had it been my phone in my hand, and began to type.