Genre: Contemporary Romance Release Date: July 20, 2021
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★ A sexy, small town sports romance from USA Today bestselling author Lex Martin! ★
What’s worse than having Rider Kingston, the star quarterback, give you the big brush-off because he doesn’t want to get serious? You’d probably think living across the street from him where you get a firsthand view of his hookups, right?
That’s what I thought. Until someone drops off a baby with a note pinned to her blanket that says one of those jocks—either Rider or one of his roommates—is the father. The problem? Baby mama doesn’t mention which of these numbskulls is the sperm donor.
I wouldn’t care about their paternity problems—not the slightest bit—except my brother lives there too. Which means that adorable squawking bundle might be my niece, and there’s no way I’m leaving her unattended with those bumbling football players.
They need my help, even if they don’t know it yet. Once we solve this dilemma and figure out who’s the daddy, I’m out.
I’ll just ignore Rider and those soul-searing looks he gives me every time I reach for the baby. He broke my heart three years ago. He won’t get a second chance.
As I walk Sienna to her car, she squeals. “Holy crap, is that Rider Kingston?” Without my permission, my gaze slides across the street to the oversized man-child, who has the gall to be moving furniture shirtless while flexing his stupid abs. Judging by the other sweaty minions pouring out of the two story, Rider’s getting new roommates too. My eye twitches again, and my focus snaps back to Sienna. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan of football.” “Oh, I’m not. I can’t sit through an entire game. But I am a fan of football players.” Her gaze turns ravenous as she scans my neighbor’s front lawn. Or, likely, the glistening eight-pack Rider’s put on display. “All that testosterone. Those bulging muscles. That deep, masculine grunting. Oh yeah. Get me one of those!” She cackles, and Rider hears it. Of course he does. Shockingly, he deigns to speak to me. “Hey, Gabby,” he shouts. “How was your summer?” I’m not sure when he decided to stop ignoring me, but that’s better than pretending we’re friends, which we’ll never be. I close my eyes because I don’t need any reminders of his masculine beauty. And I definitely don’t need to see that sexy smirk, the one more powerful than his cannon that took the team to the playoffs last year. No, I’m not interested in the star quarterback. Not anymore. Turning on my heel, I wave my middle finger and march back to my house. Laughter is all I hear as I slam the front door shut behind me.
AUTHOR BIO
Lex Martin is the USA Today bestselling author of the Texas Nights series (Reckless/Shameless) and the Dearest series. She writes contemporary romances, the sexy kind with lotsa angst, a whole lotta kissing, and the hot happily ever afters. A former high school English teacher and freelance journalist, she’s lived all over the country but currently resides in her hometown of San Antonio with her husband and twin daughters.
Title: Totally Folked Series: Good Folk: Modern Folktales #1 Author: Penny Reid
Genre:Contemporary Romantic Comedy Release Date: July 20, 2021
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One unforgettable night leads to an unlikely shared connection, and unlikely connections never go unnoticed by the good folks in Green Valley, Tennessee. . .
Jackson James follows the rules. He has to. He’s a sheriff’s deputy in a super small town with a super big personality. However, strict adherence to the law during the day has been enjoyably balanced by rakish rules at night. Jackson, typically happy to protect and serve (and serve, and serve), starts questioning the value of wayward evenings when getting laid starts to feel more like being waylaid. Could it be that Green Valley’s most eligible—and notorious—bachelor longs for something (and someone) real?
Mega movie star Raquel Ezra follows only one rule: always leave them wanting more. Studio execs, reporters, audiences, fans, lovers—no one can get enough of the smart, savvy, and sexy bombshell. But when “generous offers” begin to feel more like excessive demands, years of always leaving has the elusive starlet longing for something (and perhaps someone) lasting.
When Raquel abruptly returns to the quirky Tennessee hamlet, her path crosses with the delectable deputy with whom she spent one unforgettable night. Unfortunately, scandal and intrigue soon follow. Raquel and Jackson must decide which is more important: following their rules? Or, at long last, finding something real.
TOTALLY FOLKED is a standalone, contemporary romantic comedy novel and book #1 in the Good Folk: Modern Folktales series.
Penny Reid is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Best Selling Author of the Winston Brothers, Knitting in the City, Rugby, and Hypothesis series. She used to spend her days writing federal grant proposals as a biomedical researcher, but now she just writes books. She’s also a full time mom to three diminutive adults, wife, daughter, knitter, crocheter, sewer, general crafter, and thought ninja.
Genre: Contemporary Romance Release Date: July 20, 2021
BLURB ★ A sexy, small town sports romance from USA Today bestselling author Lex Martin! ★
What’s worse than having Rider Kingston, the star quarterback, give you the big brush-off because he doesn’t want to get serious? You’d probably think living across the street from him where you get a firsthand view of his hookups, right?
That’s what I thought. Until someone drops off a baby with a note pinned to her blanket that says one of those jocks—either Rider or one of his roommates—is the father. The problem? Baby mama doesn’t mention which of these numbskulls is the sperm donor.
I wouldn’t care about their paternity problems—not the slightest bit—except my brother lives there too. Which means that adorable squawking bundle might be my niece, and there’s no way I’m leaving her unattended with those bumbling football players.
They need my help, even if they don’t know it yet. Once we solve this dilemma and figure out who’s the daddy, I’m out.
I’ll just ignore Rider and those soul-searing looks he gives me every time I reach for the baby. He broke my heart three years ago. He won’t get a second chance.
As I walk Sienna to her car, she squeals. “Holy crap, is that Rider Kingston?” Without my permission, my gaze slides across the street to the oversized man-child, who has the gall to be moving furniture shirtless while flexing his stupid abs. Judging by the other sweaty minions pouring out of the two story, Rider’s getting new roommates too. My eye twitches again, and my focus snaps back to Sienna. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan of football.” “Oh, I’m not. I can’t sit through an entire game. But I am a fan of football players.” Her gaze turns ravenous as she scans my neighbor’s front lawn. Or, likely, the glistening eight-pack Rider’s put on display. “All that testosterone. Those bulging muscles. That deep, masculine grunting. Oh yeah. Get me one of those!” She cackles, and Rider hears it. Of course he does. Shockingly, he deigns to speak to me. “Hey, Gabby,” he shouts. “How was your summer?” I’m not sure when he decided to stop ignoring me, but that’s better than pretending we’re friends, which we’ll never be. I close my eyes because I don’t need any reminders of his masculine beauty. And I definitely don’t need to see that sexy smirk, the one more powerful than his cannon that took the team to the playoffs last year. No, I’m not interested in the star quarterback. Not anymore. Turning on my heel, I wave my middle finger and march back to my house. Laughter is all I hear as I slam the front door shut behind me.
AUTHOR BIO
Lex Martin is the USA Today bestselling author of the Texas Nights series (Reckless/Shameless) and the Dearest series. She writes contemporary romances, the sexy kind with lotsa angst, a whole lotta kissing, and the hot happily ever afters. A former high school English teacher and freelance journalist, she’s lived all over the country but currently resides in her hometown of San Antonio with her husband and twin daughters.
Title: Inked Obsession Series: Montgomery Ink: Fort Collins #2 Author: Carrie Ann Ryan
Genre: Contemporary Romance Release Date: July 20, 2021
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The Montgomery Ink saga from NYT Bestselling Author Carrie Ann Ryan continues with a second chance romance sure to tug at your heartstrings.
When men in uniform showed up on Eliza Wilder-Strong’s doorstep, she knew her life would be irrevocably altered. She not only lost her husband, but the future she’d carefully planned. A year later, she’s looking to start over—beginning with a solo healing vacation. Only she never expects to see a familiar, tempting face along the way.
Beckett Montgomery refuses to want his little sister’s best friend—especially because she’s a widow. Yet there’s no stopping the connection between them. As the temptation to give in intensifies between them, so do the reasons they shouldn’t stay together.
Painful ghosts from both of their pasts stand in their way and sometimes it’s the living that can haunt you when you’re not looking.
“I don’t mind dancing with you, Eliza.” And I meant it, even if I was tired, and my back had started to ache something fierce. Or that every time I was near her these days, I wanted to lean down and sniff her. I’d developed an addiction to something I shouldn’t have, and I needed to quell that need damn quick.
She sighed. “Well, thanks for saving me—like everyone seems to be doing these days.”
The way she said it made me frown, but then a sliver of memory slammed into me. I pushed it away. “I don’t always save people,” I bit out, my voice cool.
She stared at me, questions in her gaze, but she didn’t ask them. Good, because I didn’t have answers for her. “Okay, Beckett. Okay.”
I didn’t save everybody. And I knew that.
The dance was slow, but I wasn’t paying attention. Didn’t see anything. Didn’t even see him. Didn’t catch that soft scent again. I just swayed as the others gave us odd looks as they danced around us. I ignored it all.
Because I didn’t save everybody. Not even myself.
AUTHOR BIO
Carrie Ann Ryan is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of contemporary, paranormal, and young adult romance. Her works include the Montgomery Ink, Redwood Pack, Fractured Connections, and Elements of Five series, which have sold over 3.0 million books worldwide. She started writing while in graduate school for her advanced degree in chemistry and hasn’t stopped since. Carrie Ann has written over seventy-five novels and novellas with more in the works. When she’s not losing herself in her emotional and action-packed worlds, she’s reading as much as she can while wrangling her clowder of cats who have more followers than she does.
Title: Her Noble Protector Series: Night Storm #7 Author: Caitlyn O’Leary
Genre: Romantic Military Suspense Release Date: July 31, 2021
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Her worst nightmare had come true—somehow she had been kidnapped and forced to kill her captor to get away.
Finally home in Arizona, Lisa Garcia was scared all the time. She jumped at every sound and shadow, too scared to even leave her home. How could someone who used to ride the rapids and trek the wilds of Alaska be reduced to this?
Navy SEAL Raiden Sato had forgotten more missions than he could remember. But this last one would stick in his mind forever. Lisa Garcia. How could he ever forget her? Tough, strong, compassionate, beautiful, the woman was a force of nature. But Raiden couldn’t help remembering how she’d been when they’d parted. She’d seemed broken. He needed to know how she was now.
When Raiden took leave to check on Lisa in Arizona, he was shocked at the woman he found. The kick-ass wilderness guide was gone, replaced by a woman still mired in trauma. She was positive that someone was out to get her. Determined to help her, Raiden was positive that he could heal her with time, patience, and perhaps even love. But what happens when Lisa is right, and somebody really is out to get her?
This is an action, adventure, romantic, stand-alone novel.
Lisa shot up, her eyes wide, as she struggled to breathe, struggled to get away, but something was holding her down. She tried to fight, tried to get away, then she heard glass shatter and it stopped her short. “Goddammit!” She focused and saw the light on in her bathroom. She always kept her light on, so she wouldn’t be scared if she woke up from a nightmare. “Yeah, like that helped me.” This one was bad, she went to turn on the lamp on her nightstand, and realized it wasn’t there. She blinked back tears when she realized that was what the breaking glass had been, she’d knocked it half way across the room with as she’d thrashed about. She yanked at the sweat soaked sheet. The damn thing was tangled around her like some kind of jungle vine. She kicked herself free then swung her legs over the side of the bed almost stepping in the glass. Lisa crawled to the end of the bed, stumbled to the wall and slammed on the switch so that the overhead light turned on. She whipped her head around and sighed in relief. The two locks on her bedroom door were secure. God, what kind of loser has locks on their bedroom door? “Shut up!” The nightmare was probably nothing, but maybe she had heard something. She’d already called the police three times over the last six weeks for no reason whatsoever, she wasn’t calling again. She picked up the aluminum softball bat that was beside the door, and slowly unlocked the door, and waited. Her arms started to tremble. Lisa had no idea how long she’d been in this position, with the bat at the ready. Ten minutes? A half hour? An hour? She was afraid to move even a millimeter to check her smartwatch. It wouldn’t matter if she did, since she had no idea when she first stood watch. You’re such an idiot, Garcia! She felt a tear slip through her defenses. The bat, which wasn’t all that heavy, felt like it was made of lead. Lisa felt her right hand begin to cramp, when she tried to loosen her grip so that she could relieve the pressure, she couldn’t get it to move. She tried again. Ahh God. Now her tense shoulders were starting tremble. She pushed herself against the wall, willing her body to move. She had to be able to swing the bat if someone came in. She had to. She listened intently. She didn’t hear anything, but that didn’t matter. She remembered how quietly the SEALs could move. She hadn’t heard a thing when they’d come up behind the man who…who… Lisa shook her head, willing away the memory. Willing all memories away, even the older ones that got confused with the newer ones. She pushed away from the wall and gritted her teeth. I can do this. I can. The bat started to lower as her shoulders lost strength. She rested the bat on her right shoulder, it wasn’t good because she would lose some of her speed when she swung, but she had no choice. Lisa heard her harsh breathing. She needed it to stop, it would tip off whoever was out there. Breathe through your nose. You can do it. She kept listening intently. Nothing. Or was there something. What is it? Am I going crazy? How long have I been in this position? Her back hit the wall as she slumped, but so did the bat, the metallic bing rang through her bedroom. Somebody was sure to have heard it. She pushed herself off the wall and tried to get back to a batter’s stance, but she couldn’t, she just couldn’t. Her arm’s were trembling so bad, that she could barely keep them up. Lisa tasted salt and knew she was crying again. She was always crying. Staring at the doorknob, she willed it to move so she could take the swing before she fell over, but nothing moved. It was too much. With what little strength she had left, she grabbed the doorknob and swung open her bedroom door and stepped out. The kitchen light was on, like it always was. Frantically, she looked around her home’s open floorplan and saw nothing. She raced to the front door and sagged when she saw both deadbolts were in place. Her head swiveled on her neck as she spun to look at the door in her kitchen that led to her carport. Not only did it look closed, she could see the pizza pans resting up against them were still in place. She whimpered with relief. She swung around again to check the patio door. She was almost positive that nobody would have gotten in through her patio they would have had to break the glass to get in, plus she had two cookie sheets and three pizza pans tipped up against the door so they would have knocked it over and she would have heard the crash, but she dashed over to the door to double check it. Lisa gave a watery sigh when she saw that the steel bar at the bottom of the sliding door was still in place and not one single pan had been tipped over. She felt her legs start to give out, and she eased herself to the floor before she fell down. Lisa tried to drop the bat, but her hands were too cramped to let go, she shook her arms, trying to force it to drop on the floor. It finally fell. Her hands hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. She shoved them between her knees, trying to stop the painful tingling. It was sweltering in her house, why hadn’t she turned on the air conditioning before she went to bed? Looking around she wondered why she hadn’t done a lot of things. There were dirty dishes all over her coffee table, and some on the floor in front of her couch. She frowned when she saw three bags of groceries on her dining room table. One was tipped over, and there was a pint of yogurt and a loaf of bread peaking out. When had she ordered groceries? What was in the other two bags? Who cares? Lisa rested her head against the blinds on her sliding glass door, it felt a tiny bit cool. She should get up, right? She needed to keep her eyes open, if she didn’t she’d dream then there wouldn’t be a jungle, or in the back of Damon’s pick-up. Two times when she had been helpless. Utterly helpless. Don’t close your eyes. Please God, don’t let me close my eyes.
Caitlyn O’Leary is a USA Bestselling Author, #1 Amazon Bestselling Author and a Golden Quill Recipient from Book Viral in 2015. Hampered with a mild form of dyslexia she began memorizing books at an early age until her grandmother, the English teacher, took the time to teach her to read — then she never stopped. She began re-writing alternate endings for her Trixie Belden books into happily-ever-afters with Trixie’s platonic friend Jim. When she was home with pneumonia at twelve, she read the entire set of World Book Encyclopedias — a little more challenging to end those happily.
Caitlyn loves writing about Alpha males with strong heroines who keep the men on their toes. There is plenty of action, suspense and humor in her books. She is never shy about tackling some of today’s tough and relevant issues.
In addition to being an award-winning author of romantic suspense novels, she is a devoted aunt, an avid reader, a former corporate executive for a Fortune 100 company, and totally in love with her husband of soon-to-be twenty years.
She recently moved back home to the Pacific Northwest from Southern California. She is so happy to see the seasons again; rain, rain and more rain. She has a large fan group on Facebook and through her e-mail list. Caitlyn is known for telling her “Caitlyn Factors”, where she relates her little and big life’s screw-ups. The list is long. She loves hearing and connecting with her fans on a daily basis.
Genre: Standalone Romantic Comedy Release Date: July 19, 2021
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Ladies, you’ve never had a first date quite like this. He’s a billionaire. Desperately handsome Wildly charismatic.
In fact, a certain article of clothing of mine has gotten quite damp. Except… It’s not the good kind of damp. Actually, I’m suddenly very, very wet. Oh no.
I’ve left out something important. I’m nine months pregnant. Don’t ask about the father. I’d rather forget.
But I’m sitting in the fanciest restaurant you can imagine. Opposite the man of my dreams. It’s our first time alone together. The start of something spectacular. And… My water just broke. ___
Tasty Mango is a standalone romantic comedy about going into labor on a first date with a billionaire, the ensuing hilarity (and pushing) in a very expensive limo, and trying to manage a new relationship with the world’s most eligible bachelor while cleaning spit up out of your hair.
I’ve always pictured this moment. Me, in a little black dress. My hair swept into a perfect chignon. An exclusive restaurant filled with elegant diners.
China clinks. Crystal glasses gleam on linen tablecloths.
Seated opposite me is the ideal man. Tall, dark, handsome.
Custom suit. Gold cufflinks. He’s charming and witty. Wildly successful in business. And he only has eyes for me.
It could have been the greatest first date of my life. Except.
My belly is too big to let me pull up to the table properly.
The baby is kicking like crazy for me to eat something — NOW.
And a funny trickle of wetness is forming deep in the recesses of my panties.
And not the good kind. Am I peeing myself?
“Havannah, are you okay?” Donovan McDonald pauses, his water goblet halfway to his lips. He’s a gentleman, so he’s not drinking wine since I can’t.
His eyes are on me, his thick brows knitted in concern. His gaze dips to the table’s edge, where I’m hunched, trying to hide my bump. I’m desperately trying to appear like a normal date from the chest up.
“Perfect!” I say, keeping my voice as chipper as possible. I shift on the chair, making sure my legs are hidden by the tablecloth. I spread my knees in hopes that I can air dry.
Pregnancy is a beast.
But I have a few days to go until I’m due, and I hear first babies are always late. I’ve vowed to be nothing but chic and put together on this date. He’ll see my elegance, my poise —
Uh oh. Another squirt of wetness slips out.
How can this be? I peed right before I came. I’m not coughing, or laughing too hard, or sneezing.
I push my cloth napkin under the tablecloth and shove it up under my dress. Sorry, fancy restaurant. I’m stealing this. It’s an emergency.
To be honest, if I had known what was about to go down, I would have left right then.
But I didn’t.
And you’re not going to believe what happens next.
AUTHOR BIO
JJ Knight is the USA Today and Amazon Top 100 bestselling author of contemporary romance and romantic comedy including Single Dad on Topand Big Pickle.
Title: The Grumpy Player Next Door Series: Copper Valley Fireballs #3 Author: Pippa Grant
Genre: Romantic Comedy Release Date: July 8, 2021
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An enemies-to-lovers / sports / grumpy-sunshine / neighbor romance
I, Tillie Jean Rock, am not in love with my brother’s teammate. Sure, he might have those biceps and that “I am the grouchiest of grouchy bears” smolder, and he might shovel snow off his driveway next door wearing nothing but boxer shorts and rubber boots, and he might be running a side business feeding all the stray goats in town, but studliness is only skin-deep.
And I might flirt with him every chance I get, but I swear it’s only to annoy my brother.
And him.
Because Max Cole?
Under all of those glorious muscles and chiseled cheekbones and searing glares beats the heart of a heartless devil.
I could no sooner fall in love with a guy who treats me like a kid, and judges me at every opportunity, and sets an army of garden gnomes loose on my yard, than I could fall in love with my grandfather’s pet parrot.
But I can definitely annoy him. I can one hundred percent get on board with annoying him.
That’s what you do when you don’t like your neighbor, right?
But you know what they say about love and hate…
It’s a very thin line.
Especially when the real reason I’m not in love with Max Cole—that he’s incapable of love—might not be true at all.
The Grumpy Player Next door is a fun-filled enemies-to-lovers romcom featuring a ray of sunshine on a mission, an athlete who’s only grouchy around her, and an epic prank gone wrong. It stands alone and comes complete with small-town shenanigans, a goat who’s not nearly as wise as his name suggests, and proof that sometimes, love is the best kind of vengeance.
There’s a fine art to revenge, and today, I am arting the hell out of it. I’m talking cackles of glee, evil cartoon overlord-style, rubbing my hands together while bouncing on my toes. Reminding myself to shut up because my brother will be home from his morning workout any minute now, and I don’t want to tip my hand when he doesn’t know I’m waiting for him here in his house up on the mountainside. You would think he would’ve learned to engage his security system more often by now. But he hasn’t, which means I’m here, armed and dangerous and ready, and I’m cackling with glee all over again. I know, I know. Is this really how you want to pay him back for having a box labeled “dildos” delivered to you at your parents’ house in the midst of all the pre-wedding activities for your other brother last week? Yes, actually. Yes, it is. It’s payback time. Also? I have zero doubt Cooper will have mad respect that I’m doing this. Sort of like while I was pissed when he replaced my coffee beans with roasted goat poop before he left for spring training nine months ago, I very much respected that he pulled it off, even if I wasn’t pleased at having to admit that that was the prank that took him over the top to win in our annual off-season prank war. But this winter? This winter, my brother Cooper “Stinky Booty” Rock is going down. The universe told me so. Why else would it have hand-delivered that video into my social media stream to inspire me right after I finished figuring out where to donate an unopened box of dildos? I cackle again. And then I slap my hand over my mouth. He’s home. There’s his dark head, bent toward the knob, beyond the tempered glass panel beside his front door. He’s dressed in Fireballs red, which is more orange than it is red, and he’s probably worn out from lifting at the gym. Yesterday was cardio day. I know, because he ran past Crusty Nut, our dad’s restaurant where I’m the manager five days a week, at least two dozen times without stopping in once to say hi. I haven’t seen him since the wedding several days ago, which either means he’s avoiding me and the revenge he knows I owe him, or he has a stick up his butt and has forgotten the little people. Or, possibly, he’s distracted, in which case, he needs this. I squat into position at the top of the stairs, as hidden as I can be while still seeing my target, Nerf blaster locked and loaded, waiting while he fumbles with his keys. For the record? It’s not easy to hide at the top of a curved staircase. I’m on my belly now, half-angled behind the wall of the hallway to his guest bedrooms, peering between the slats of the banister, hoping all my target practice pays off. Steady, TJ. This is what you trained for. The lock clicks. I flatten myself lower and take aim. The door swings open. Dark hair in the foyer. Go go go. I squeeze the trigger, sending a rapid blast of modified foam darts at the six balloons floating in the space above the door. The needle sticking out barely an eighth of an inch in the tip of the first dart connects. One helium balloon pops. Then two more, followed by the fourth and fifth. The sixth shifts after getting hit, like it’s a tough guy balloon. It’s the ninja of balloons, and it doesn’t want to participate in my dastardly plans today, but that’s okay. The other balloons are bursting in a sparkly, shiny, beautiful pink glitter spray that’s splattering on the walls, exploding from its nylon shell and raining down like a spring shower, coating the walls, making the air sparkle, and dusting all that dark hair as Cooper’s lifting his head. “What the—” And in the span of a heartbeat, before he can finish that sentence, I realize my mistake. My terrible, horrible, very bad miscalculation. If I were a superhero, I’d be sucking all that glitter into my lungs and redirecting it into my brother’s bedroom, which is likely what I should’ve done in the first place—hindsight, right?—but I didn’t. This was so much more dramatic and didn’t risk me having to find out which local he’s screwing around with in his spare time, as she’d be coated in glitter too after rolling around in his sheets, except my prank has failed. It has failed spectacularly. “Oh my god,” I gasp. That’s not Cooper. That is so not Cooper.
Pippa Grant is a USA Today Bestselling author who writes romantic comedies that will make tears run down your leg. When she’s not reading, writing or sleeping, she’s being crowned employee of the month as a stay-at-home mom and housewife trying to prepare her adorable demon spawn to be productive members of society, all the while fantasizing about long walks on the beach with hot chocolate chip cookies.
There is a giveaway for Grumpy Player Next Door Book Box full of goodies plus bonus signed paperbacks (1 winner, open internationally – please note international winners may be responsible for their own VAT should it apply)
Genre:Standalone Contemporary Romance Release Date: July 12, 2021
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Before I even met Donovan Decker, I knew his shoe size. You see, I’d gone away for a few days, and in my haste to get out of the airport, I’d grabbed the wrong suitcase. After checking out the expensive footwear and tailored clothes, I dialed the number on the luggage tag hoping maybe Mister Big Spender might have my bag. A deep, velvety voice answered, and as luck would have it, he had my suitcase, too. Donovan and I met at a coffee shop to do the exchange. Turned out, it wasn’t just his voice that was sexy. The man holding my luggage was absolutely gorgeous, and we had an immediate spark. He got me to admit that I’d snooped in his bag and then convinced me to make it up to him by letting him buy me coffee. Coffee led to dinner, dinner led to dessert, and dessert led to spending an entire weekend together. Donovan wasn’t just handsome with a panty-dropping voice. He was also funny, smart, and surprisingly down to earth for a man who wore seven-hundred-dollar shoes. Did I mention he also did my laundry while I slept? Definitely too good to be true. So what did I do to repay him for his kindness? I waited until he was in the shower, then ghosted him. My life was too complicated for such a great guy. In the months that passed, I thought about Donovan often. But New York City had eight-million people, so what were the chances I’d run into him? Then again, what were the chances I’d run into him a year later…when I’d just started dating his boss?
Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall StreetJournal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles have appeared in over a hundred Bestseller lists and are currently translated in twenty-five languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
Title: The Grumpy Player Next Door Series: Copper Valley Fireballs #3 Author: Pippa Grant
Genre: Romantic Comedy Release Date: July 8, 2021
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An enemies-to-lovers / sports / grumpy-sunshine / neighbor romance
I, Tillie Jean Rock, am not in love with my brother’s teammate. Sure, he might have those biceps and that “I am the grouchiest of grouchy bears” smolder, and he might shovel snow off his driveway next door wearing nothing but boxer shorts and rubber boots, and he might be running a side business feeding all the stray goats in town, but studliness is only skin-deep.
And I might flirt with him every chance I get, but I swear it’s only to annoy my brother.
And him.
Because Max Cole?
Under all of those glorious muscles and chiseled cheekbones and searing glares beats the heart of a heartless devil.
I could no sooner fall in love with a guy who treats me like a kid, and judges me at every opportunity, and sets an army of garden gnomes loose on my yard, than I could fall in love with my grandfather’s pet parrot.
But I can definitely annoy him. I can one hundred percent get on board with annoying him.
That’s what you do when you don’t like your neighbor, right?
But you know what they say about love and hate…
It’s a very thin line.
Especially when the real reason I’m not in love with Max Cole—that he’s incapable of love—might not be true at all.
The Grumpy Player Next door is a fun-filled enemies-to-lovers romcom featuring a ray of sunshine on a mission, an athlete who’s only grouchy around her, and an epic prank gone wrong. It stands alone and comes complete with small-town shenanigans, a goat who’s not nearly as wise as his name suggests, and proof that sometimes, love is the best kind of vengeance.
There’s a fine art to revenge, and today, I am arting the hell out of it. I’m talking cackles of glee, evil cartoon overlord-style, rubbing my hands together while bouncing on my toes. Reminding myself to shut up because my brother will be home from his morning workout any minute now, and I don’t want to tip my hand when he doesn’t know I’m waiting for him here in his house up on the mountainside. You would think he would’ve learned to engage his security system more often by now. But he hasn’t, which means I’m here, armed and dangerous and ready, and I’m cackling with glee all over again. I know, I know. Is this really how you want to pay him back for having a box labeled “dildos” delivered to you at your parents’ house in the midst of all the pre-wedding activities for your other brother last week? Yes, actually. Yes, it is. It’s payback time. Also? I have zero doubt Cooper will have mad respect that I’m doing this. Sort of like while I was pissed when he replaced my coffee beans with roasted goat poop before he left for spring training nine months ago, I very much respected that he pulled it off, even if I wasn’t pleased at having to admit that that was the prank that took him over the top to win in our annual off-season prank war. But this winter? This winter, my brother Cooper “Stinky Booty” Rock is going down. The universe told me so. Why else would it have hand-delivered that video into my social media stream to inspire me right after I finished figuring out where to donate an unopened box of dildos? I cackle again. And then I slap my hand over my mouth. He’s home. There’s his dark head, bent toward the knob, beyond the tempered glass panel beside his front door. He’s dressed in Fireballs red, which is more orange than it is red, and he’s probably worn out from lifting at the gym. Yesterday was cardio day. I know, because he ran past Crusty Nut, our dad’s restaurant where I’m the manager five days a week, at least two dozen times without stopping in once to say hi. I haven’t seen him since the wedding several days ago, which either means he’s avoiding me and the revenge he knows I owe him, or he has a stick up his butt and has forgotten the little people. Or, possibly, he’s distracted, in which case, he needs this. I squat into position at the top of the stairs, as hidden as I can be while still seeing my target, Nerf blaster locked and loaded, waiting while he fumbles with his keys. For the record? It’s not easy to hide at the top of a curved staircase. I’m on my belly now, half-angled behind the wall of the hallway to his guest bedrooms, peering between the slats of the banister, hoping all my target practice pays off. Steady, TJ. This is what you trained for. The lock clicks. I flatten myself lower and take aim. The door swings open. Dark hair in the foyer. Go go go. I squeeze the trigger, sending a rapid blast of modified foam darts at the six balloons floating in the space above the door. The needle sticking out barely an eighth of an inch in the tip of the first dart connects. One helium balloon pops. Then two more, followed by the fourth and fifth. The sixth shifts after getting hit, like it’s a tough guy balloon. It’s the ninja of balloons, and it doesn’t want to participate in my dastardly plans today, but that’s okay. The other balloons are bursting in a sparkly, shiny, beautiful pink glitter spray that’s splattering on the walls, exploding from its nylon shell and raining down like a spring shower, coating the walls, making the air sparkle, and dusting all that dark hair as Cooper’s lifting his head. “What the—” And in the span of a heartbeat, before he can finish that sentence, I realize my mistake. My terrible, horrible, very bad miscalculation. If I were a superhero, I’d be sucking all that glitter into my lungs and redirecting it into my brother’s bedroom, which is likely what I should’ve done in the first place—hindsight, right?—but I didn’t. This was so much more dramatic and didn’t risk me having to find out which local he’s screwing around with in his spare time, as she’d be coated in glitter too after rolling around in his sheets, except my prank has failed. It has failed spectacularly. “Oh my god,” I gasp. That’s not Cooper. That is so not Cooper.
Pippa Grant is a USA Today Bestselling author who writes romantic comedies that will make tears run down your leg. When she’s not reading, writing or sleeping, she’s being crowned employee of the month as a stay-at-home mom and housewife trying to prepare her adorable demon spawn to be productive members of society, all the while fantasizing about long walks on the beach with hot chocolate chip cookies.
Genre:Standalone Contemporary Romance Release Date: July 12, 2021
Excited about Vi Keeland’s upcoming release, The Spark? Check out this SNEAK PEEK of CHAPTER 1!
CHAPTER 1
Autumn
I’m definitely getting too old for this. I tossed a pile of mail on the couch and plopped down beside it. It was barely six o’clock, and I wouldn’t have minded climbing into bed and calling it a day. I needed a vacation from my four-day mini vacation. Thank goodness I’d scheduled myself a weekend to recover. My girls’ trip/early bachelorette party in Vegas for my friend Anna—the one where we were all going to relax by the pool and get spa treatments—had turned into all-night clubbing and almost missing my flight home earlier today because I’d overslept. It had definitely been a while since I drank more than two glasses of wine in the span of a week, and I was feeling my ripe old age of twenty-eight before the sun had even set this Friday night. Thank God I didn’t have to work tomorrow. I briefly considered going the hair-of-the-dog route and sucking back a vodka cran while zoning out on Netflix, but then my phone rang, crashing me back to reality. Ugh… Dad flashed on the screen. I should’ve just gotten it over with and spoken to him, but I didn’t have the energy. Nonetheless, allowing myself to avoid the stress speaking to my father would inevitably cause reminded me of the other thing I needed to do that I’d been avoiding all afternoon. Laundry. One of my least-favorite tasks—mostly because it required me to sit downstairs in my building’s dingy basement laundry room. Up until a few months ago, I would start my laundry and come back forty-five minutes later to make the switch to the dryer. But that practice had come to a halt after one of my loads went missing—an entire load of wet bras and underwear. Who the hell stole wet clothes? At least nab dry ones. Nevertheless, it was an expensive lesson, and now I didn’t leave the basement until my clothes were washed and dried. Sighing, I begrudgingly went to the bedroom, where my suitcase still sat on the bed, and unzipped it. I’d packed a linen skirt on top that I hadn’t wound up wearing, and I figured I’d hang it in the bathroom and hope the wrinkles worked themselves out over the course of a couple of steamy showers. I hated ironing almost as much as I hated doing laundry downstairs. But when I flipped open the top of the suitcase, my linen skirt wasn’t on top. At first I thought my bag must’ve been selected for search, and things hadn’t been put back in order… Though the wingtip shoe I lifted was most definitely not mine. Shit. I rummaged through the suitcase in a panic. Slacks, running clothes, a men’s dress shirt… A sickening feeling washed over me, and I scrambled to look at the luggage tag. I’d never filled out the identification card inside, but the leather had my initials embossed on the outside. And this one…had no initials. Crap. Crap. Crap. I’d grabbed the wrong bag off the luggage carousel. I started to sweat. All of my makeup was in that bag! Not to mention a week’s worth of my best outfits and shoes. I needed to get it back. Rushing to the kitchen, I grabbed my cell from the charger on the counter and Googled the number for the airline. After wading through a half-dozen prompts, I reached a recording. “Thank you for calling American Airlines. Due to unprecedented call volume, your estimated wait time is approximately forty-one minutes.” Forty-one minutes! I blew out a rush of air. Great. Just great. In the meantime, while I waited on hold on speakerphone, listening to staticky music, it hit me that whoever’s luggage I had might very well have mine. I hadn’t even checked the luggage tag to see if, unlike mine, the identification information was filled in. I zipped back down the hall to my bedroom. Bingo! Donovan Decker—kind of a cool name. And he lived here in the city! Thankfully, Donovan even had his phone number listed. It couldn’t be that easy, could it? I doubted it, but considering I still had forty minutes before I could speak to someone at the airline, I wasn’t losing much for trying. So I swiped to end my call. I started to punch in the numbers on the tag, and then decided to hit *67 first to make my number private. With my luck, the guy wouldn’t have my luggage, but he’d be a total creeper. I was caught off guard when a man’s deep voice answered on the first ring. I hadn’t yet figured out what I was going to say. “Uhhh. Hi. My name is Autumn, and I think I might have your luggage.” “That was quick. I just hung up with you guys two minutes ago.” He must’ve thought I was calling from the airline. “Oh, no. I don’t work for American. I traveled home this morning and must’ve grabbed the wrong bag at JFK.” “What are your initials?” “My initials?” “Yeah, you know, the first letter of your first name and the first letter of your last name.” I rolled my eyes. “I know what initials are. I just don’t understand why you would ask—Oh! Does that mean you have my luggage? I have my initials embossed on the luggage tag.” “That depends on what your initials are, Autumn. The first letter matches.” “My initials are AW.” “Well, then it seems you are indeed the thief who clipped my luggage.” Sure, I hadn’t checked my luggage tag, but it offended me that he was calling me a thief. “Wouldn’t we both be thieves? Since you’re in possession of my luggage?” “I only took yours because it was the last one left rotating around the carousel. You see, unlike you, I checked the luggage tag the first time it passed, and when I saw it wasn’t mine, I left it for the rightful owner to claim. But the line at baggage customer service was twenty deep, and I had a meeting I was already late for. So I took the one I have hostage until the airline could sort it out.” My shoulders slumped. “Oh. Sorry.” “It’s fine. Are you here in the City?” “I am. Could we possibly meet to swap bags?” “Sure. When and where? I’m out now, but I’ll be back in an hour or two.” The tag had an address on the Upper East Side, but I lived on the West Side, farther downtown. “Could we meet at the Starbucks on 80th and Lex?” That was closer to him, but at least I’d only have to drag the suitcase onto one subway. “I can’t think of any excuse not to. What time?” That was sort of a weird way to phrase a yes, and the way he emphasized the word excuseseemed odd. But hey, I was getting my bag back. So what if he turned out to be a little strange? At least I’d hidden my phone number, and we were meeting in a public place. “How about eight?” “I’ll see you then.” It sounded like he was about to hang up. “Wait…” I said. “How will I know it’s you?” “I’ll be the one holding your luggage, Autumn W.” I chuckled. “Oh, yeah. Sorry…long week in Vegas.” I bent and lifted the shoe from the top of the bag. Ferragamo. Expensive. And big, too. A quick peek revealed it was a size thirteen. The inner teenager in me couldn’t help but think big feet, big…. Plus, the guy had a deep, sexy voice. I would definitely be exploring more of the dude’s luggage after we hung up. “I’ll meet you at eight,” he said. “See you then.” I was just about to swipe my phone off when something hit me. Oh God! “Hello? Wait…are you still there?” It took a heartbeat or two, but the sexy voice came back on the line. “What’s up?” “Ummm… Did you…open my bag?” “I unzipped it at the airport to make sure it wasn’t mine when I noticed the luggage tag initials.” “Did you…see anything?” “There was a pink thong on top, so that pretty much sealed the deal that it didn’t belong to me. But I didn’t rummage through, if that’s what you’re asking.” I forgot I’d shoved that thong in at the last minute. It had been at the back of a drawer when I’d checked the hotel room one last time on my way out. But I’d take him seeing my underwear over the other stuff inside my bag. I blew out a sigh of relief. “Okay, that’s great. Thank you. I’ll see you at eight at Starbucks.” “Whoa. Hang on a second—not so fast. You sounded pretty nervous that I might’ve gone through your bag. Are you hiding something sinister in there? I’m not going to be walking around with a suitcase full of drugs or something, am I?” I cracked a smile. “No, definitely not. I just…I’d prefer if you didn’t go through it.” “Did you rummage through mine?” I glanced at the shoe in my hand. Taking out one measly piece of footwear wouldn’t be considered rummaging, right? Nah. “No, I didn’t.” “Are you planning on it?” he asked. I had no idea what the man looked like, yet I could tell by his voice that he was smiling now. “Nope,” I lied. “Alright. Then we have a deal. I won’t go through your bag, and you won’t go through mine.” “Okay. Thank you.” “Do I have your word on that, Autumn W? I might have some things I’d prefer you didn’t see in there.” “Like what?” He chuckled. “See you at eight.” After we hung up, I tossed the shoe back into the suitcase and bent to close it. But as I reached for the zipper, my curiosity got the best of me. Was he just screwing with me, or did he really have something in here he didn’t want me to see? Of course, I knew what I had in mine, which made me extra curious. I shook my head and started to pull the zipper closed. About halfway, I laughed out loud. Who was I kidding? Now that I didn’t have laundry to do, I had almost a full two hours to kill before I met Mr. Bigfoot. This suitcase would taunt me all that time. I’d most certainly give in eventually, so why not put myself out of that misery and just take a little look-see inside now? Then I’d be able to relax. He’d never know I hadn’t lived up to my end of the bargain. Not to mention, for all I knew, he was elbow deep in my suitcase right now. In that case, it would only be fair that I got to go through his, right? I nibbled my lip for a few seconds as a wave of guilt washed over me. But I quickly forced that out of my mind. Of course I’m right. Feeling justified now, I unzipped the suitcase and took a minute to mentally note how everything was packed: a white dress shirt was folded on top, and two shoes were set on either side, heels facing up. I carefully unpacked those and placed them on the bed next to the suitcase in the same order. The next layer had more folded clothes: two expensive dress shirts, a pair of sweats, boxer briefs, and a few T-shirts, one of which had something emblazoned on the front—familiar lettering that began HA—so I unfolded it to see what it said. Harvard Law. Ugh. One of those. No wonder he could afford Ferragamo shoes. Underneath the pile of clothes was a white laundry bag—the kind a hotel gives you to put your dry cleaning in, but most people used it to separate their dirty clothes. With no desire to sort through smelly socks, I started to fold the clothes back into the suitcase, feeling a twinge of disappointment. But when I smoothed out the layers of the pile, I felt something lumpy and hard underneath in the plastic laundry bag. So I took the clothes back out and looked inside, hoping to find…I’m not sure what. Though what I found was definitely not what I expected. The bag was filled with at least twenty or thirty of those little shampoo bottles hotels give out. Actually, a closer inspection revealed some were conditioner and a few were moisturizer. Buried on the very bottom were also three little sewing kits and half-a-dozen toothbrushes wrapped in plastic—the kind you could get at the front desk of a hotel when you forgot yours. What the heck had Mr. Bigfoot done? Rob a housekeeping cart? This kind of stuff, though a lesser quantity, is what you’d usually find in my suitcase since I was broke all the time. But it wasn’t the type of thing you’d expect in the suitcase of a man who had gone to Harvard and wore seven-hundred-dollar dress shoes. Now I was even more curious to meet Donovan Decker.
***
I arrived at Starbucks almost twenty minutes early, so I went online to treat myself to a flat white with honey almond milk. Even ordering it had me salivating, thinking about the sweet, creamy drink. Expensive coffee was my indulgence, but it didn’t happen too often with the five-dollar price tag and my skimpy budget. I stood at the end of the counter, waiting for my drink and mindlessly scrolling on my phone, when a man walking through the front door caught my attention. Oh, wow. Now that was one good-looking man. Describing him as merely tall, dark, and handsome didn’t cut it, not by a mile. Jet-black hair framed a magnificent face with a chiseled, masculine bone structure, full lips, and a Romanesque nose. I wasn’t the only one to notice, either. I watched as the Adonis took a step back outside to hold the door open for a woman exiting the store, and the poor lady caught one glimpse of him and literally tripped over her own feet. Seemingly oblivious that he’d caused the incident, he extended a hand to help her up, flashed a killer smile, and strolled inside. His bright blue eyes scanned the room, stopping right on my ogling ones. Embarrassed at being caught, I quickly diverted my attention back to my phone. A few seconds later, I was still pretending to be enraptured by my screen when footsteps came to a halt in front of me. I glanced up and blinked a few times. The guy from the door flashed a crooked smile. “Were you able to control yourself?” My forehead wrinkled. “Excuse me?” His eyes danced with mirth, and his voice lowered. “I bet you couldn’t.” I stared at him for an awkward moment before finally shaking my head. “What on Earth are you talking about?” The man’s brows furrowed. “We made a deal, remember? I wouldn’t go through yours, if you didn’t touch mine?” I’d watched the man walk in, stood right in front of him staring for at least a solid minute, and it took until nowfor me to notice he had something in his hand. “Oh my God. You have my suitcase!” He laughed but still looked perplexed. “What did you think I was talking about?” “I…I don’t know. I was thoroughly confused.” “I thought you saw me walk in.” I did. But I hadn’t made it past your face. “No, I hadn’t noticed. Sorry. I guess I was just zoning out.” The barista behind the counter yelled my name. I was glad for an excuse to put some distance between this guy and me. I needed a moment to gather my wits. Though when I returned, I still felt a little off-kilter. “Thank you for meeting me to swap suitcases,” I said. “I’m really sorry I took the wrong one.” “No problem.” I rolled his case forward and released the handle. But the Adonis didn’t do the same. In fact, he pulled my bag closer to his side. “Before we switch…” He tilted his head and studied my face. “I’m curious to know if you kept your word.” I mimicked his pose and tilted my head. “What if I say I didn’t?” “Well, then you’d have to pay a penalty for violating the terms of our deal.” I raised a brow, intrigued. “A penalty?” He nodded. “That’s right. There’s a penalty.” I laughed as I lifted my coffee for a sip. “I just got back from a girls’ weekend in Vegas. Pretty sure this overpriced drink just used up the last five dollars in my bank account.” “I wasn’t referring to a monetary penalty.” “What kind of a penalty, then?” He stroked the stubble on his chin for a moment. “You’d have to have coffee with me.” Did this guy really think that would be a hardship? I debated how to answer. If I told the truth, it would be embarrassing. I mean, I went through the man’s personal belongings. But the flipside was I’d get to check him out some more over coffee. Then again, I’d be agreeing to spend time with a complete stranger. Though…whenever I met a guy online, I usually met him at a coffeehouse, and I probably knew more about this guy after going through his suitcase than I would from an online chat. Not to mention, none of my online dates had looked like Donovan Decker lately. In fact, none had made it further than coffee in a while. Adonis had been watching my face as I debated my answer. His smirk made me think he already knew I’d checked out his bag. So, what the hell? I stood tall and met his stare. “Was the lady from housekeeping harmed in the robbery?” His eyes narrowed for a heartbeat, but then a giant smile spread across his face. He held his hand out toward the seating area. “After you, Autumn W.” ★★★
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AUTHOR BIO
Vi Keeland is a #1 New York Times, #1 Wall StreetJournal, and USA Today Bestselling author. With millions of books sold, her titles have appeared in over a hundred Bestseller lists and are currently translated in twenty-five languages. She resides in New York with her husband and their three children where she is living out her own happily ever after with the boy she met at age six.
