Samuel Clearwater, A.K.A Preppy, likes bowties, pancakes, suspenders, good friends, good times, good drugs, and a good f*ck.
He’s worked his way out from beneath a hellish childhood and is living the life he’s always imagined for himself. When he meets a girl, a junkie on the verge of ending it all, he’s torn between his feelings for her and the crippling fear that she could be the one to end the life he loves.
Andrea ‘Dre’ Capulet is strung out and tired.
Tired of living for her next fix. Tired of doing things that make her stomach turn. Tired of looking in the mirror at the reflection of the person she’s become. Just when she decides to end it all, she meets a man who will change the course of both their lives forever.
And their deaths.
For most people, death is the end of their story.
For Preppy and Dre, death was only the beginning.
**This is the fifth book in the King Series and it’s meant to be read after Soulless.
About the Author:
T.M. Frazier is a USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR best known for her KING SERIES. She was born on Long Island, NY. When she was eight years old she moved with her mom, dad, and older sister to sunny Southwest Florida where she still lives today with her husband and daughter.
When she was in middle school she was in a club called AUTHORS CLUB with a group of other young girls interested in creative writing. Little did she know that years later life would come full circle.
After graduating high school, she attended Florida Gulf Coast University and had every intention of becoming a news reporter when she got sucked into real estate where she worked in sales for over ten years.
Throughout the years T.M. never gave up the dream of writing and with her husband’s encouragement, and a lot of sleepless nights, she realized her dream and released her first novel, The Dark Light of Day, in 2013.
Ever since she was a little girl, thirty-year-old Rosedreamed of the day Harley would carry her across the threshold on their honeymoon. So what if this isn’t her actual wedding day, and that she’s only here because Harley was left at the altar just a few hours earlier?
Trading San Francisco for paradise and swapping her bridesmaid’s bouquet for a Blue Hawaii, Rose hopes she can finally escape the friend zone.
Once upon a time they had been more than friends, but life got in the way. She’s spent every day since wishing Harley would get a clue.
She’s always been his best friend.
He’s always been hers.
She’s in love with him.
He’s … not in love with her.
He’s … marrying someone else.
He’s … hiding something.
He’s … well—it’s complicated.
Excerpt
Harley bangs on the door. “Rose, what’s the hold up?”
“Shut up, ass face,” I say, scowling in his direction.
“You haven’t even put it on yet, have you?” He chuckles, leaning against the frosted glass panel. “I’m giving you five seconds, babe.”
I know he isn’t kidding with this, either, so I let the towel fall to the floor and I yank on the bikini. I’m just snapping the bottoms into place when he bangs again.
“Time’s up.”
“I can’t wear this,” I say as he opens the door. My body is turned toward him, but only because half of my ass is hanging out of the cheeky-cut swimwear. Harley doesn’t need me to turn around in order to see how much skin they expose. The huge mirror over the vanity is doing a fine job of showing it to him. He takes a slow sip from the paper coffee cup in his hand.
“Well?” I demand, snatching the cup from his grasp and gulping down a huge mouthful. It burns my tongue and throat and brings tears to my eyes that are in no way related to the fact that he hasn’t said anything yet.
“You wanna know what I think?” He takes a step toward me and reflexively I take one back, only I have nowhere to go because my ass hits the bathroom vanity, and I swallow hard and nod. Harley’s arm snakes around my waist, his fingers sliding down to the fabric of my bikini bottoms and across my exposed flesh. My body thrums. I hold my breath and he leans in close to whisper in my ear, “I think it’s lucky you’re not my wife, because you’d be walking with a limp for the rest of our honeymoon.”
BLP REVIEW ~ Rebecca
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Author Information
Carmen Jenner is a thirty-something, USA Today and international bestselling author. Her dark romance, KICK (Savage Saints MC #1), won Best Dark Romance Read in the Reader’s Choice Awards at RWDU, 2015. A tattoo enthusiast, hardcore makeup addict and zombie fangirl, Carmen lives on the sunny North Coast of New South Wales, Australia, where she spends her time indoors wrangling her two wildling children, a dog named Pikelet, and her very own man-child. A romantic at heart, Carmen strives to give her characters the HEA they deserve, but not before ruining their lives completely first … because what’s a happily ever after without a little torture?
Lara Kessler showed up as if heaven sent her to me, and suddenly my priorities changed. Love is funny like that. One minute you’re living the dream, then BAM! Half my soul shows up backstage wearing a purple shirt and sexy skin-tight jeans, making me realize what I’ve been missing all along. Loving her means exposing a life I’ve tried to bury.
My heart had lost its beat.
Until I saw him.
Kaz Fabian caught my attention the moment I laid eyes on him. Love is funny like that. The famous guitarist was every woman’s fantasy—great face, chiseled jaw, cut biceps. The rock star was pure sex on and off stage, but his charm and charisma won me over. Loving him means burdening him with a life I’ve tried to leave behind.
With her future dim and his past in the spotlight, can they overcome their fate or will they just be another tragic love story?
Meet S.L. Scott
New York Times and USA Bestselling Author, S. L. Scott, was always interested in the arts. She grew up painting, writing poetry and short stories, and willing her days away lost in a good book and the movies.
With a degree in Journalism, she continued her love of the written word by reading American authors like Salinger and Fitzgerald. She was intrigued by their flawed characters living in picture perfect worlds, but could still debate that the world those characters lived in were actually the flawed ones. This dynamic of leaving the reader invested in the words, inspired Scott to start writing with emotion while interjecting an underlying passion into her own stories.
Living in the capital of Texas with her family, Scott loves traveling and avocados, beaches, and cooking with her kids. She’s obsessed with epic romances and loves a good plot twist. She dreams of seeing one of her own books made into a movie one day as well as returning to Europe. Her favorite color is blue, but she likens it more toward the sky than the emotion. Her home is filled with the welcoming symbol of the pineapple and finds surfing a challenge though she likes to think she’s a pro.
Jeremy King, Hollywood über-agent to the stars, knows that sharks gotta swim. He’s one of them, after all. He’s never met a deal he couldn’t strike or an argument he couldn’t win. LA is his kind of town—they both never stop moving.
So when his friend and client, movie star Andrew Pettigrew, invites him on a “man-cation” to the wilds of Idaho for a little fly-fishing, Jeremy’s not so sure. He might not have cell service. There’s no way there’ll be any supermodels to woo. And his idea of the great outdoors is a drive down the Pacific Coast Highway in his Tesla Model S—moose definitely do not factor into the picture.
Fitting then that because of a moose, he meets Macy Shea Summerlin, the best fly-fishing guide on the South Fork. Jeremy’s surprised and tantalized, but Macy isn’t having any of his alpha male posturing. She gives as good as she gets, and she knows how to throw a mean right hook.
As the two of them get tangled up in each other’s lives, both Jeremy and Macy must come to terms with winning and losing and letting love in. And Jeremy has to find the answer to his own question: Is he simply “using” Macy or could he really “use” someone like her? Find out in Use Somebody, book 3 of the Fix You series.
Excerpt
I look at the wide fresh scar on the palm. “And how did you do that again?” Her face clouds over for a moment. Her brows knit together, the eyes go down to the counter, her lips press into a thin line. Then she looks up at me, transformed, a smile on her face and a shrug on her shoulders. “Stupidity.” She tilts her head, waiting for me to tease her or laugh it off. I don’t. “No, Macy, really. How did that happen?” “I already told you, I was helping a guest gut a fish and gutted my hand instead.” I lean closer to her. “Then how come every time I ask your face looks like somebody ran over JT over there?” Her smile drops. “I do not.” I point the loaf of bread at her. “No, don’t lie. I hate lies. Your face tells a different story, even if it’s just for five seconds, until you paste the fake-girl smile on. Something bad happened.” I swear her eyes well with tears. Then she shakes her head no, tosses her hair, like she’s shaking the memory to the edges of her mind, or clearing the etch-a-sketch of a horrible image. She’s still for a moment. “Lots of bad stuff happened. Life happened. This?” She holds the palm up. “This is nothing. I cut it gutting a fish. End of story.” It’s clear from her tone, clear that she’s not trying to lie. She’s trying to get me on board with the approved story. Trying to protect herself by putting another witness in her court. Another witness to stand up for her. If that’s what she needs right now, so be it. “Fine. Don’t tell me now. But don’t lie. I fucking hate liars.” She seizes on an opportunity to change the subject. “Mouth! You, Mr. King, need a swear jar.” She jumps up and starts rifling through the cabinets. In the cabinet to the left of the oversized Subzero she succeeds. “Aha!” She pulls out a mason jar and plunks it on the kitchen island. “Put a buck in there.” “What?” I’ve cracked an egg and use the shell to separate the white from the yolk. “You owe the swear jar a buck. Out on the river, I’ll keep track for you. At the end of the night, you come home and put your fine in the jar.” It hurts me to hear the strain in her voice. I answer, help her forget our earlier discussion. “Who gets the jar at the end of the week?” She’s trying so hard to lighten things up, steer the conversation far away from her. Her wounds. “Consider it an extra tip to your favorite river guide.” I point to the back pocket of my jeans. “Wallet’s in there.” She smirks. “I don’t think so. I’m not touching your butt.” I hold my hands up. “I’m covered in egg. Just grab the wallet.” She rolls her eyes and comes over to me. The weird scruffy dog lifts his head up, watches her. She stands behind me for a minute and lingers. I smell her and feel her warmth against my back. I take a breath in through my nose and try to exercise some restraint. “Fine.” She quickly snatches the wallet out of my pocket and pulls a bill out. It’s a twenty. She frowns. “No, it’s a buck for the jar.” She pulls the billfold wider and thumbs through the bills. “What?” I’m back to cooking. I don’t look up. I know exactly what. “There’s nothing smaller than a twenty in here, Mr. King.” I keep my head down. “Guess a twenty will have to do.” She huffs and plucks one out, stuffs it in the new swear jar. “You are a piece of work.” “So I’ve been told.”
From the first beat of the song, I begin to sing every dang word to her, and she begins to laugh as I put on the bad boy front that everyone already believes. As verse two starts, I move in closer to her, and when he references the bad toy in the parking lot, I point to where my bike’s parked. She takes a step toward me, and I hope and pray that her dad is not looking because it’s about to get hot in here… quick. Chauna begins to sway her hips in rhythm with me and sing right along with me. As the final chorus plays, she looks over her shoulder and smiles as she turns to whisper into my ear.
“Walker, I wanna bad boy,” she says with a slight laugh. When the song ends, we wait for the next, and as I look toward the tables, I see Logan. It’s obvious he’s pissed, which isn’t what I need because I really wanted to be his friend.
As Jackson’s Wheel takes the stage again, we get a drink, and around eleven when the adults begin to show, we decide to head out to our spot. Once we get there, we don’t waste any time getting as close to each other as possible.
My hands find her skin, and she begins to laugh. “What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Nothing, bad boy,” she says.
“Oh, you want a bad boy, huh?” I say roughly.
“Damn right, I do.”
Boondocks by Casey Peeler releases on October 25th.
The devil sat on my shoulder from my first breath, he watched my every move, and with the first strike of lightnin’ I was pulled under.
Walking into Boondocks the voice of an angel called to me and I vowed to live a better life. She kept me on the righteous path until Satan called one last time.
It was time to take him down or lose my angel forever.
About the Author:
Casey Peeler grew up in North Carolina and still lives there with her husband and daughter.
Growing up Casey wasn’t an avid reader or writer, but after reading Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neal Hurston during her senior year of high school, and multiple Nicholas Sparks’ novels, she found a hidden love and appreciation for reading. That love ignited the passion for writing several years later, and her writing style combines real life scenarios with morals and values teenagers need in their daily lives.
When Casey isn’t writing, you can find her near a body of water listening to country music with a cold beverage and a great book.
“Your language skills are better than your French-braiding skills,” she teases as she shuts her iPad.
I pretend to be insulted. “So not true. I can do French braids with my eyes closed.”
She shakes her head. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
“I’ll prove it to you.”
She tilts her head, and her hand freezes on her purse. “Prove it?” she asks quietly.
Somehow I’ve thrown a gauntlet I didn’t realize I was tossing. I do the only natural next thing—follow through. “Sure. Got one of those hair tie things?”
She nods slowly. “Yes, but . . .” Her voice trails off. Then she resumes the thought. “You really learned to French braid?”
I nod. “Hayden insisted on it,” I explain then study her face. Her pupils are dilated, and she blinks. Ah hell, I’ve made her wary with my remark. “I don’t have to prove it. I was just teasing,” I say, giving her an out. Mildly flirty comments are one thing—hands in hair are another.
A small grin spreads on her face, as she dips her hand into her purse and produces a black elastic band. “No, I insist. You were horrible last time. Have at it.”
She drops to the floor, scoots over to me, and with her shoulder, she nudges my right knee.
Hello, slippery slope. Funny to see you again so soon.
Her other shoulder bumps my other knee. There’s no need to think—I widen my legs more and let her settle in between them. I’m seated on the couch, she’s on the floor, and she waits for me to braid her hair.
As I stare at her lush, blond locks, the breath escapes my lungs. For a moment, it’s as if I’m hovering in a state of suspended want. Like this is the real line we’re crossing. Not me bringing her dessert, or touching the corner of her lips, or gazing at her face longer than I should. Not even sending texts about a pair of wild birds or making comments about showers and nudity.
But this.
Touching her hair.
Fuck, I love her hair.
I slide the tie over my wrist, then gather up some strands near the top of her head. “Confession,” I say in a quiet voice. “I watched a few YouTube videos after you taught me.”
She leans back, and I can feel her smile. “Like I said, prove it.”
“It’s on.” I focus on the task of separating her honey-blond hair into three sections, running my fingers through them like a comb. I lift the first strand and lay it over the middle one, then the left, gathering more hair into the next section.
After I failed at her first French braid lesson, I took it upon myself to learn. I don’t like not being able to master basic skills. A man should be able to braid his daughter’s hair.
And his woman’s hair.
“How does it look?” Her voice sounds a little breathy.
“Like it was braided by a man who learned by watching YouTube videos,” I answer.
She laughs lightly and leans into me more, inching closer. My hands still for a moment. I feel like I’m in high school again. Like I have a crush on a girl, and I don’t know what to do, where to go next, what to say.
The thing is, I do know. I just don’t know that I should. But I know what I want. There’s no doubt in my mind. I want to touch her, to kiss her, to feel her body press against mine. Even the chance to touch her like this is intoxicating, a rush of blood to the head. Her waves of hair are soft, and they feel spectacular falling through my fingers. I can’t picture a single thing besides running my hands through these strands as I kiss her, as I touch her, as she moves beneath me.
From NYT Bestselling author Lauren Blakely, comes a swoony new standalone romance…
THE SEXY ONE!
Want a romance guaranteed to make you melt? Get ready to fall in love on October 17th!
Let me count the ways why falling into forbidden love is not my wisest move…
She works with me every single day.
Did I mention she’s gorgeous, sweet, kind and smart?
She works in my home.
Playing with my five-year-old daughter. Teaching my little girl. Cooking for my princess. Which means…
She’s the nanny.
And that makes her completely off-limits…But it doesn’t stop me from wanting her. All of her.
***
The other nannies in this city don’t call him the Sexy One for nothing. My boss, the amazingly wonderful single father to the girl I take care of every day is ridiculously hot, like movie star levels with those arms, and those eyes, and that body. Not to mention, the way he dotes on his little girl melts me all over. But what really makes my knees weak are the times when his gaze lingers on me. In secret. When no one else is around.
I can’t risk my job for a chance at something more…can I? But I don’t know how to resist him much longer either…
**The audiobook will release the same day as the eBook on October 17th and will be narrated by
Sebastian York and Andi Arndt!**
About the Author
Since self-publishing her debut romance novel CAUGHT UP IN US three years ago, Lauren Blakely has sold more than 1 million books. She is known for her sexy contemporary romance style that’s full of heat, heart and humor. A devout fan of cake and canines, Lauren has plotted entire novels while walking her four-legged friends. She lives in California with her family. With eleven New York Times bestsellers, her titles have appeared on the New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal Bestseller Lists more than sixty times. Her bestselling series include Sinful Nights, Seductive Nights, No Regrets, Caught Up in Love, and Fighting Fire as well as standalone romantic comedies like BIG ROCK, MISTER O and WELL HUNG, which were instant New York Times Bestsellers. In the fall she’ll release THE SEXY ONE, a swoony contemporary romance. To receive an email when Lauren releases a new book, sign up for her newsletter at laurenblakely.com/newsletter.
Our Empire is crumbling right before my eyes. No one can be trusted for reasons that are consuming me, controlling me and ripping me away from my family.
This new family who has taken over the streets of New York has taken someone away from us. We will not let them take anymore. The only way to stop them is to sacrifice one of us.
But who? They want to end me and my cousin, Calla.
I will never allow that to happen.
This is our EMPIRE. Our LIFE.
What it boils down to is… her life or mine.
The answer is MINE!
I’m perceived as weak, all because I’m a woman.
A woman on a mission now that they’ve stolen someone I love.
They have threatened my family, my child, my love.
I may be a woman but, I’m the daughter of a notorious killer.
They want to end me and my cousin, Roan.
I will never allow that to happen.
This is our EMPIRE. Our LIFE.
What it boils down to is… his life or mine.
The answer is MINE!
I’m loved.
I’m lost.
I hate.
Excerpt
“These people are ruthless, Calla. Are you sure you can handle it?” I told her as well as Alina and Anna the same thing I’m telling Roan. I’m extremely aware of how dangerous this situation is. I may not have had the displeasure of personally dealing with these wretched leaders who don’t play fair in our world; on the contrary, I will not tolerate any of them treating me any different because I have tits and a vagina. If it weren’t for women, they would be fucking each other over more than they do now. Welcome to the first episode of badassery and women power, you self-righteous dicks.
I’m a firm believer in women’s rights. I don’t care what men’s opinions are of us or what a woman is trying to accomplish. We are all equal. The only difference we have is, women use their brain the way we should, while most men use what hangs between their legs to do their bidding for them. And I can guarantee, these overbearing suckers have dicks that should be playing a role in Ripley’s Believe it or Not. Small dicks, small brains, and all that jazz.
I’ve been fighting round after round with Cain for weeks over this. The need to protect me I get. We have a daughter, is his argument. “Why do you feel the need to take on this role? You don’t have to, you know? One of us can.” It’s not that Cain wants this position. No. That’s not it at all. The man is scared of losing his wife. Of the things I will see, the things I may have to do. How I’ll react to being threatened. Will the same thing or worse happen to me like it did before? It’s not one bit funny, but the only way to shut that man up is to flash my tits and vagina in his face. Then fuck him until his cock—which isn’t small by any means—takes over his worried brain. Like I said, men. I love my man, though. These pissy, arrogant cock-suckers who will be calling a meeting at any time are the worthless pieces of shit. Except the Solokovs, who think in this century and treat everyone equally like we do, not like these fools who I’ve studied until my eyes were bleeding and could no longer make out their faces through my blurred vision. Most of them I haven’t met yet, and they already make me sick and make me want to hurl all over their expensive Armani suits. They could all learn a thing or two from a woman.
“Get to the point, Calla. You said we don’t have time to fuck around. Let me hear your theory.”
“You need to loosen up, Roan. You sound like Hitler, for god’s sake.” I salute him.
The tiny crack of a smile he had moments ago falls; in its place is the face of a man who’s suffered loss and hardship. This look on him is what I hate. I’ve been busting my ass to help him out here. Searching through tiny holes for any goddamn thing I could find.
What Cain and Roan don’t understand is the craving I have to protect them too. It’s my right. I may not have lived my entire life growing up in this environment of murder, drugs, stealing, and the latest, underground illegal fighting, but I’m no fool. I can play with fire, but I’m not allowing myself to get burned.
“I’m not afraid of those men, you know. I’m not afraid of you either. In fact, I just may be your biggest weapon. Remember that, Roan,” I seethe. Between him and Cain trying to scare the crap out of me, I’m ready to prove myself to them more than anyone else.
The sharp tongue, piss, and vinegar are all in my blood. Just like Roan, I will kill for my blood. I also know Roan. That man protects with his life, as do the rest of these men. He’s going to have someone on me at all times. Maybe even several men. What he fails to realize is, my dad will never allow anything to happen to me. He’s already volunteered to go where I go. People are scared to death of the unstoppable John Greer, and they should be. He’s killed and made more people disappear than I want to know about, but he’s my father, my protector, and even though I trust our friends and family, I trust him more. His eyes are everywhere, trained on point. I don’t want anything to happen to my dad. I do know he will refuse to let anyone take care of what’s his, especially after the hell I went through with Roan’s older brother, Royal; a man I didn’t know before he kidnapped me. Besides, both of them know my dad has trained me to shoot. I hope I remember how. I’m not invincible, none of us are. But I sure as hell will not lie down and let anyone trample all over me. Especially men who don’t respect me.
I’m sick and tired of this shit. Here we think everything is fine. Those people will stick with the rules. You stay in your territory, and I’ll stay in mine. Hell no, someone crossed over. Someone shot our loved one in cold blood.
Jeremy King, Hollywood über-agent to the stars, knows that sharks gotta swim. He’s one of them, after all. He’s never met a deal he couldn’t strike or an argument he couldn’t win. LA is his kind of town—they both never stop moving.
So when his friend and client, movie star Andrew Pettigrew, invites him on a “man-cation” to the wilds of Idaho for a little fly-fishing, Jeremy’s not so sure. He might not have cell service. There’s no way there’ll be any supermodels to woo. And his idea of the great outdoors is a drive down the Pacific Coast Highway in his Tesla Model S—moose definitely do not factor into the picture.
Fitting then that because of a moose, he meets Macy Shea Summerlin, the best fly-fishing guide on the South Fork. Jeremy’s surprised and tantalized, but Macy isn’t having any of his alpha male posturing. She gives as good as she gets, and she knows how to throw a mean right hook.
As the two of them get tangled up in each other’s lives, both Jeremy and Macy must come to terms with winning and losing and letting love in. And Jeremy has to find the answer to his own question: Is he simply “using” Macy or could he really “use” someone like her? Find out in Use Somebody, book 3 of the Fix You series.
Jane isn’t entirely sure that Cinderella got such a raw deal. Sure, she had a rough start, but didn’t she eventually land a prince and a happily-ever-after? Meanwhile, Jane is busy waiting on her demanding, entitled sisters, running her cleaning business, and . . . yep, not a prince in sight. Until a party and a broken shoe incident leave Jane wondering if princes—or at least, a certain deliciously hunky billionaire—maybe do exist.
Except Brock Wellington isn’t anyone’s dream guy. Hell, a prince would never agree to be auctioned off in marriage to the highest bidder. Or act like an arrogant jerk—even if it was just a façade. Now, as Brock is waiting for the auction chopping block, he figures it’s karmic retribution that he’s tempted by a sexy, sassy woman he can’t have. But while they can’t have a fairy-tale ending, maybe they can indulge in a little bit of fantasy . .
About the Author: Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she’s not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!
Sydney Paige was never so mortified to hear the words “wrong number” in her life. She meant to tell off the guy who broke her best friend’s heart, but unleashed her anger on a perfect stranger instead. And now her world is turned upside down by the captivating man who wants to keep her on the line.
Brian Savage is living a life he’s quickly come to hate-until Sydney’s wild rant has him hooked and hungry for more. Soon the sexy woman on the phone becomes the lover in his bed. But Brian has secrets, and the closer he lets Syd get, the harder it is to shield her from the devastating mistakes of his past . . .
Excerpt
The sun burned across a cloudless sky. I felt the intensity of it bake into the skin of my bare shoulders.
Waves crashed against the shore, some carrying surfers with them in the distance. A few feet ahead of me, a small child kicked a sand castle and giggled with his father.
I sat down on a step and slipped my sandals off.
The sand was warm underneath my feet as I dug my toes into it, staring out at the world in front of me. I rubbed a shell between my fingers as I watched a couple walk hand-in-hand toward the pier.
They looked happy. I tried to remember the last time Marcus held my hand, or even reached for it.
My chest burned when I couldn’t conjure up an image in my mind.
I looked down at the faint line marking my left ring finger. The token I was left with now that I no longer wore my ring. It was subtle, thanks to my naturally pale skin, but to me it stood out like embers glowing in the dark.
I hated it. I didn’t need a reminder of how I’d failed as a wife. Or how Marcus stopped seeing me as one.
Maybe I could coat my entire hand in sunblock except for that thin strip. Burn the memory away.
The idea seemed promising enough to consider.
From my back pocket, my cell beeped with an incoming message.
I wiped the tear from my cheek as I stood and palmed my phone, expecting to see Tori’s name lit up on my screen.
I froze on the step, my free hand on the railing as I stared curiously at the message and the number it was sent from.
Wild Girl. Eaten any innocent men alive today yet?
My lip twitched, the hint of a smile.
I sat back down, reading the message a second time as I remembered my conversation with this stranger yesterday.
My accidental verbal beat-down.
Jesus. I really let him have it.
I couldn’t think of the last time I was that embarrassed.
I told the guy to remove a dildo from his mouth, for Christ sakes.
All in all, whoever this was seemed to be a good sport about it. He could’ve laid into me and cussed me out. Made me feel even more like a complete shit for dialing the wrong number and not confirming the identity of my intended victim before I tore into him like he owed me money.
He was more than decent about the whole thing. Easily forgiving.
And now he was messaging me out of nowhere and striking up conversation.
Wild.
He wanted to talk to me.
Huh.
I tapped my thumb on the edge of the phone case, then hovered over the letters of my keypad as I stared at the message.
Did I even want to talk to this guy anymore? Wasn’t this weird? We didn’t know each other. Our encounter was a mistake. A one-time mishap, never to be repeated.
Danielsis the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Sweet Addiction series, the Alabama Summer series, and the upcoming Dirty Deeds series.
She would rather bake than cook, she listens to music entirely too loud, and loves writing stories her children will never read. Her husband and children are her greatest loves, with cupcakes coming in at a close second.
J grew up in Baltimore and resides in Maryland with her family.
Book Loving Pixies 