Title: Crazy Apologetic Canadians Author: Cathryn Fox
Genre: Romantic Comedy Tropes: New Adult/College Release Date: March 6, 2023
“If you liked Crazy Rich Asians, you’re going to LOVE Crazy Apologetic Canadians!”
I take one look at the grumpy Brit and know I’m in trouble. Not because he’s in Nova Scotia to tear down our beloved amusement park. Or because he wants to build an elite school on the lush property. No, I’m in trouble because Colin Parker is superlicious – despite the stick up his British bum. You see, I’m a free-spirited girl who knows her way around a lobster boat. He’s a rule follower who knows his way around a boardroom. Can you say polar opposites? Oh, did I mention his mother is back in England planning his marriage? The sexy Brit with a debutante makes sense, right? You know what doesn’t make sense? The two of us between the sheets and a montage of fun activities that finally put a smile on his face. But when the montage ends, and life turns messy and complicated—yet we still manage to find common ground—it leads me to believe we’re not so different after all. Until he does the one thing that proves me wrong and I’m forced to make a decision I thought I’d never have to make.
I hurry down the terminal, my thoughts distracted, and collide with some woman speed-walking past me. She drops whatever it is she had in her arms, and latches onto the sleeve of my suit jacket. The grasp pulls me off balance, and I stagger backward, breaking the tight hold. I dip my head and find a petite woman staring up at me, her blue eyes wide as she holds her hands up palms out. “Sorry,” she says quickly. Wait, wasn’t I the one who bumped into her? “What are you sorry for?” She angles her head, her gaze moving over my face. “You’re British.” I frown. “You’re sorry I’m British?” “No, no!” Her long dark hair bounces on her shoulders as she repeatedly shakes her head. “For colliding with you, and…tugging on your jacket. It was a knee jerk reaction.” “Touching strangers in airports is a knee jerk reaction for you, is it now?” I glance out the rotating doors leading outside and take in the streaks of purple and pink bruising the night sky above the large concrete parking garage. “Do you only grope in airports, or can I expect to be accosted once I step outside, as well?” She frowns at me, and I get it. I’m grumpy as hell. It’s been a long day, and I missed my connecting flight, and now I’ve arrived at my destination much later than planned. My driver would have given up on me hours ago. Rightfully so. No one in their right mind would continue to wait for a no-show. I’m not about to call Bryant now, the guy who owns the bed and breakfast where I’ll be staying, and have him come back to the city at this point. From what I understand, it’s a good three-hour drive. “I thought you were going to fall. Sorry I touched you,” she apologizes again as she picks up a sign she’d dropped and scampers off. Alrighty then. Her legs aren’t overly long, but she moves like lightning, the only person in the airport in any kind of hurry. She must not be a local, and I should probably tear my gaze from her cute arse, which happens to be nicely framed into a pair of frayed shorts, and put her out of my mind. I straighten my shoulders, in need of a pint before I figure how and where I’m going to find another driver at this hour. I walk through the airport terminal looking for a pub, but a small store with gobs of Halifax, Nova Scotia merchandise catches my eye and reminds me I’m supposed to bring something back for my cousin’s daughter. Might as well get it over with, because the sooner I’m out of this place, the better. I drag my suitcase along and adjust my leather bag over my shoulder as I step into Hudson News. With no idea what to buy an eight-year-old girl, I walk up to a rack full of plush toys. As I debate between a beaver and a moose, someone crouches down in front of me, her body brushing mine, right around the vicinity of my…dangly bits. “Can I just scooch…” I glance down, and realize it’s the groper again as she bends and reaches for something off the bottom shelf. ‘“Scooch?” She straightens, a plush lamb in her hand, and her smile falters when her gaze lands on me. “Oh, you again.” “Nice to see you, too,” I respond. One manicured brow lifts, as the strap on her tank top slips a bit, exposing a hint of a lacy bra. “Is it?” “Is it what?” I ask as I snatch up a beaver. “Nice to see me again?”
“You can take the front. Sounds like you two have a lot of catching up to do, and I’d like to check my emails,” he replies. “Suit yourself.” Emily flips the seat forward, and gestures for him to climb into the back. He puts one leg onto the floor of the back seat, pushes forward and grunts. I’m about to circle the car, but notice he’s not moving, or grunting. I’m not even sure he’s breathing. Great, I think we’ve killed him. We certainly have the motive. As I glance around, and contemplate on how to hide, or even move, the body, a loud groan reverberates through the near empty parking garage. “Violet.” “Yeah.” “I’m…stuck.” I admire his perfect ass, wedged between the back seat and the frame of my car. “Um, do you want me to push?” “I think maybe you should pull.” I take in the angle of his body and consider the logistics. “What do you want me to pull?” Emily chuckles beside me and I nudge her with my elbow. “Stop it.” “Ow,” she complains. I glare at her. “You’re not helping.” She snaps her gum, enjoying this entirely too much. “What am I supposed to do?” “I don’t know. Go around the other side and push on his head.” “I thought that’s what he wanted you to pull.” “Ohmigod!” She grins, clearly proud of her quick-witted sexual innuendo. “Do you want to walk home?” The car rocks as he tries to free himself, and I pray to God he hasn’t heard Emily, or think in any way that I want to pull his…anything. Emily drops her gum back into her purse. “Fine.” She circles the car, and I step up to him. “I’m going to put my hands on your hips and pull, okay?” “Yes, I believe that will work.” Pity once again hits me. The man is obviously embarrassed. The British are so stiff—do not think about head and stiff. Dammit, I’m thinking about it. Let me try that again. The British are stoic and reserved, and this must be mortifying. Then again, maybe he’s none of those things. People have misconceptions about Canadians too. Yeah, okay, it’s true. We’re ridiculously nice and overly apologetic. Sue me. As he struggles, I take a fast second and consider drawing this out, letting him wallow in his embarrassment. I mean he is here to destroy our town, but because I only have one mean bone in my body—you did just hear me say we were ridiculously nice right—and I might need to use it later, I put my hand on his sides, and brace my pelvis against his rear. Oh my. I glance over my shoulder and pray no one is watching. The last thing I want to be accused of is bum-fucking some Brit in the back of my car. I’m not looking to cause an international incident here. I suppose I could just tell them I’m trying to remove a stick that’s lodged deep. That’s more believable, anyway.
I stare at the gorgeous woman leaning against the wall, a come-hither look on her face, as she asks me if I want to get lucky. One of two things must be happening here. Either I’m in bed dreaming, or I’m hearing things. “Colin, lucky…” she says again. Fuck yeah. I drop everything I’m doing. “You don’t have to ask me twice.” There’s a playful gleam in her blue eyes as she cocks her head and says, “I’m pretty sure I just did.” I walk across the room, each step determined, and put my arm around her waist. “You won’t have to ask a third time.” Her eyes go wide as I pull her to me, press my growing dick against her soft body and dip my head until my lips are just a breath from hers. My heart pounds a little faster in my chest, and I’m seconds from kissing her when I note the shock in her eyes. I inch back. What the fuck? Okay, maybe I really was hearing things. “Violet?” “The cat…Lucky. I meant do you want to get Lucky. You know our cat Lucky, and bring him upstairs for bed.” I try to settle my rattled brain as she rambles on, and the second understanding hits, I unravel my arm from around her back and step back until I hit the kitchen table. “Jesus, sorry. I thought you…must be the allergy medication. Messing with my brain.” I adjust my cock in my boxers, and her gaze drops. “And your…pants.” “I think it’s from the dry weather here.” A laugh bubbles out of her throat. “Yes, it’s usually wet where you come from, isn’t it?” “Wet…yeah.”
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Cathryn Fox is a wife, mom, sister, daughter, aunt and friend. She loves dogs, sunny weather, anything chocolate (she never says no to a brownie) pizza and red wine. Cathryn lives in beautiful Nova Scotia with her husband, who is convinced he can turn her into a mixed martial arts fan. When not writing, Cathryn can be found Skyping with her son living in Seattle (could he have moved any farther away?) shopping with her daughter in the city, watching a big action flick with her husband, or hanging out and laughing with friends.
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