SNEAK-A-PEEK: Nora and Kettle by Lauren Nicolle Taylor + Giveaway!!

11

Nora & Kettle

Lauren Nicolle Taylor

Published February 29th 2016 by Clean Teen Publishing

YA > Historical Fiction | Retelling

Purchase links: Amazon | BN  | itunes | Kobo

 

BLURB FROM GOODREADS:

“What if Peter Pan was a homeless kid just trying to survive, and Wendy flew away for a really good reason?”

Seventeen-year-old Kettle has had his share of adversity. As an orphaned Japanese American struggling to make a life in the aftermath of an event in history not often referred to the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II and the removal of children from orphanages for having “one drop of Japanese blood in them” things are finally looking up. He has his hideout in an abandoned subway tunnel, a job, and his gang of Lost Boys.

Desperate to run away, the world outside her oppressive brownstone calls to naive, eighteen-year-old Nora the privileged daughter of a controlling and violent civil rights lawyer who is building a compensation case for the interned Japanese Americans. But she is trapped, enduring abuse to protect her younger sister Frankie and wishing on the stars every night for things to change.

For months, they’ve lived side by side, their paths crossing yet never meeting. But when Nora is nearly killed and her sister taken away, their worlds collide as Kettle, grief stricken at the loss of a friend, angrily pulls Nora from her window.

In her honeyed eyes, Kettle sees sadness and suffering. In his, Nora sees the chance to take to the window and fly away.

Set in 1953, Nora & Kettle explores the collision of two teenagers facing extraordinary hardship. Their meeting is inevitable, devastating, and ultimately healing. Their stories, “a collection of events, are each on their own harmless. But together, one after the other, they change the world.””

 

1

[tour schedule

 

EXCERPT:

I snort, push my sleeves up, and lean back on my forearms. She watches me, her eyes on my bare skin, and I wonder what she’s thinking. “Dances. Really? What’s to miss?” My experience with dances was one forced event in the camps where we watched the grownups awkwardly shift in lines to scratchy music. It didn’t look very enjoyable.

She releases the button she’s been playing with and smirks. “Says someone who’s clearly never been to one.”

“How do you know that?” I say, raising an eyebrow and touching my chest, mock offended.

She laughs. It’s starlight in a jar. I blink slowly. “Oh, I can tell just by looking at you, the way you move. You,” she says, pointing at me accusingly. “Can’t dance.”

The candlelight twinkles like it’s chuckling at me. “I can dance,” I say, not sure why I’m lying to defend myself. I’ve never danced in my life.

She stands up and beckons me with her finger, and I think there’s something wrong with my heart. It’s hurting… but the pain feels good.

She looks like a pirate’s cabin boy, shirt billowing around her small waist, ill-fitting pants rolled over at her hips to stop them from falling down. She points her bare foot at me. “Prove it!”

Shit!

I cough and stand nervously. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I put them behind my back. She giggles. Touches me. Runs her fingers lightly down my arms until she finds my hands. She grasps my wrists and I gulp as she places one on the small dip between her hips and her ribs, extending the other out like the bow of a boat. Her hand in mine.

I follow her small steps and we wind in circles, avoiding the clumps of debris, painting patterns in the dust.

I stare at my socks and her narrow bare feet, listening to the swish of them across the dirt. “You know, this is pretty weird without music,” I mutter, looking up for a moment and suddenly losing my balance.

She exhales and brings us back to equilibrium. She starts humming softly. It’s a song I’ve heard before, but I pretend it’s the first time. Her voice is sweet, cracked and croaky, but in tune as she gazes at the ground and leads us up and down the back of the tunnel.

This moment is killing me. I don’t want it, but I do. Because I know it won’t be enough and it’s all I’ll get.

The end of the song is coming. It rises and rises and then softly peters out. We look at each other, understanding that something is changing between us, and we have to decide whether to let it. Please, let it.

She sings the last few bars. “And if you sing this melody, you’ll be pretending just like me. The world is mine. It can be yours, my friend. So why don’t you pretend?”

Her voice is like the dust of a comet’s tail. Full of a thousand things I don’t understand but want to.

She stops and starts to step away. She’s so fragile. Not on the outside. On the outside, her body is strong, tougher than it should have to be. It’s inside that’s very breakable. I’m scared to touch her, but I don’t want to avoid touching her because of what she’s been through. That seems worse.

So I do it, because I want to and I don’t think she doesn’t want me to. Her breath catches as I pull her closer. I just want to press my cheek to hers, feel her skin against mine. There is no music, just the rhythm of two barely functioning hearts trying to reach each other through miles of scar tissue.

She presses her ear to my chest and listens, then she pulls back to meet my eyes, her expression a mixture of confusion and comfort. She breathes out, her lips not wanting to close but not wanting to speak. She settles on a nervous smile and puts her arms around my neck. I inhale and look up at the ceiling, counting the stars I know are up there somewhere, and then rest my cheek in her hair.

I don’t know how she is here. I don’t know when she’ll disappear.

We sway back and forth, and it feels like we might break. That we will break if we step apart from each other.

I can’t let her go.

I think I love dancing.

 

a

 

 

AUTHOR:

 Caroline-Patti-225x300

Twitter | Website  | Facebook

Lauren Nicolle Taylor lives in the lush Adelaide Hills. The daughter of a Malaysian nuclear physicist and an Australian scientist, she was expected to follow a science career path, attending Adelaide University and completing a Health Science degree with Honours in obstetrics and gynaecology.

She then worked in health research for a short time before having her first child. Due to their extensive health issues, Lauren spent her twenties as a full-time mother/carer to her three children. When her family life settled down, she turned to writing.

She is a 2014 Kindle Book Awards Semi-finalist and a USA Best Book Awards Finalist.

 

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SNEAK-A-PEEK: Racing Hearts: Compilation by Laura Lascarso + Giveaway!!

11

Racing Hearts: Compilation

Laura Lascarso

Published October 26th 2015 by Leap Books, LLC

YA/NA > Contemporary | Romance

 

Purchase links: Amazon | BN 

 

BLURB FROM GOODREADS:

Book One:

Eighteen-year-old Jesse Copeland learns of a local car race sponsored by his father’s nemesis, Shep Bradley, and the prize money might be enough to keep his family from losing their home–if he can win. Brooke, Shep’s daughter, is also aiming to compete, with or without her father’s approval. She’ll do whatever it takes to persuade Jesse to make her car race ready. Both are driven, both are risk-takers, and soon it’s more than engines getting fired up. Jesse tells himself their relationship is strictly business, until it isn’t. Can two star-crossed lovers overcome a family feud as old as Ford vs. Chevy, or will the competition become too explosive for these racing hearts?

Book Two:

See you at the finish line… With the big race weeks away, eighteen-year-old Jesse Copeland struggles to keep his head in the game and his hands off his smoking hot competition. But when Brooke reveals a secret that could destroy Jesse’s family, it sends him into a tailspin of self-doubt. Jesse must pull himself together if he hopes to have a shot at the prize money, save his home, and win the heart of the girl he loves. Can these two competitors overcome the sins of their fathers or will a shadowed history destroy their dreams forever?1

[tour schedule

 EXCERPT:

RH1 two scenes from Brooke’s perspective, first-person

By Laura Lascarso

Not many things held my attention, but that Cobra did, especially speeding down the highway in broad daylight like it was the Daytona 500.

I adjusted my rearview mirror to get a better look. From the shape of the hood I guessed it to be a ‘69 and I might add that the driver was easy on the eyes as well. He pulled up next to me and revved his engine, which roused me from my afternoon daydream. Maybe it was a tease or maybe it was a challenge. There was only one thing I could do—I revved my engine back.

“Nice ride,” he called out, checking me out with just the right amount of discretion. I appraised his lines—powder blue paint job polished to a high shine and not a scratch or dent on her. I appreciated a man who took care of his car. That Cobra was a beloved machine.

“Back at ya, Hotshot,” I called. “Want to race?”

He tilted his head and seemed to give it some thought—for an entire half-second.

“I don’t race girls,” he called. I smiled even though I’d like to slap the smug grin off his face. A lot of guys make the mistake of underestimating me on the racetrack, and then I cream them. And then I laugh.

“Oh no?” I revved my engine again. The sound was like a drug to those of us who chase the thrill of victory. Racing was an addiction like any other and the possibility of an unexpected challenge gave me goose bumps all over. My adrenaline kicked into high gear. “Just this once?”

He might have been reconsidering when the light turned green. I gunned it, slithering in front of him like a snake. I saw his stunned expression in my rearview. Now I had his attention. It took him half a beat to recover and then he was chasing after me.

I darted in and out of a few cars—they seemed happy to oblige. The wind was in my hair and my endorphins were flowing—the best feeling in the world. I was soaring near 60, free as a jaybird.

He finally caught up, or maybe I slowed down a bit to let him catch me, because after all, he was pretty cute and his taste in cars was something to be admired. Maybe if I got to know him, he’d let me drive his Cobra. We could take our cars down to the Circle-Circle and race for real. There I could beat him proper, maybe put some money on it, just to make it interesting, Mr. I-Don’t-Race-Girls.

“What’s your name?” he called out. Distraction was a method my brother Junior often employed, one I’d trained myself to become immune to. I pulled ahead just a tad, making sure he couldn’t overtake me.

“Brooke,” I shouted, keeping an eye on the road. My exit was coming up fast. No more time for small talk.

I sprinted ahead and dirt-tracked a turn onto the bridge. My tires burned some rubber and an oncoming car laid on their horn like a demon. A thrill of panic raced through me—I nearly sideswiped the car—and then my backend straightened out and I was safely in my lane. I blew my racing partner a kiss and drove on.

I thought maybe he’d follow me, but alas…

Sure it was fun, but this small time stuff was for amateurs. I needed a real racecar on a real track—a professional outfit. That’s where I needed to focus my energy. I had two months before my father’s race, and whether he liked it or not, I was going to enter. Now, all I needed was to find someone to make my car race ready, and fast.

This summer I’d prove to my father that I was a contender. I’d make it so that he couldn’t do anything but sponsor me in the racing circuit. Other girls might have opportunities—marriage, college, career… But for me, there was only racing. That was the one thing I was good at. And everything else was just a blur outside my window.

 

*****

 

I went to visit Jesse that Sunday, despite my brother’s warning, partly because I wanted to see him again, but more because I saw his potential—his potential to help me, that is. Here under my very nose was a first-rate mechanic who wasn’t in my father’s pocket, who could not only make my car race-ready, but who might also be able to keep it under wraps—something unheard of in my family.

I found him in the back garage, banging away at the inside of his Mustang with the music on full-blast. I may have paused for a moment to admire his arms, which were ripped with muscles from hard labor, and his shoulders, broad as an ironing board. His thin t-shirt clung to his back and outlined the V-shape of his torso. I may have noticed those things, but I wouldn’t go as far as to say I was distracted by them.

“Hiyah, Hotshot.” I had to shout to be heard above the music.

He looked surprised and stopped what he was doing mid-swing. He climbed out of the car—sweaty, grimy and completely adorable.

“Hey, yourself,” he said with a little half-smile, one of those you don’t even know you’re giving.

“Don’t you ever get a day off?” He seemed to always be working, and though I didn’t know for sure, the fact that he didn’t have his own car or cell phone made me think that he wasn’t too well-off. Maybe he spent all his money on cars. Or drugs. I hoped not drugs.

“This is my day off.” He walked over to the sink and turned on the water, splashing his face and running his hands through his hair. It still stuck out every which way. He pulled up his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his neck, affording me a glimpse of his finely chiseled midsection. Can I get an order of fries with that?

“Your brother know you’re here?” he said, completely ruining the moment.

This was a delicate situation. My brother could be pretty intimidating and my father would blow a gasket if he found out I was building myself a racecar. Jesse would be taking a risk to help me out, which meant I’d have to offer him something in return, something he needed.

“No, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

I took a tour around the garage, stalling for time while checking out his Mustang. It looked like a hell of a lot of work, and the way he was swinging that crowbar made me think that it would take me three times as long to complete a job like this.

Time was not on my side.

“Looks like you’ve done this before,” I said.

“A couple times. Well, I helped my dad. Sam helped him. They always worked as a team. Sam was my dad’s pit boss, when he was still racing.”

“Was he now?”

He nodded and turned over two buckets, offering me a seat. It was such a gentlemanly thing to do without any thought to what reward he might get in return. I’d noticed that about him. The way he was generous for no reason. In my family, it was always tit for tat—what’s in it for me? With Jesse, he seemed so trusting and open. It gnawed at me a little bit, knowing what I was about to ask him.

“I’ve got a proposition for you, Jesse.” I’d be up front about it. He seemed to be the type to appreciate directness.

“I’m listening.” He slouched back a bit and crossed his arms. I took a deep breath.

“It would require me divulging some information that I’d like to keep private.”

“You got a secret?”

“I do.”

“I’m no gossip.”

I believed that he wasn’t, but Sam seemed like the head biddy in the henhouse with the way he scratched at the dirt. I glanced over to where he was chatting up another mechanic.

“Sam? Yeah, he’s a blabbermouth, but he can keep quiet, if it matters.”

I’d have to take the risk. I had no other options. “I’ve got a racecar.”

“The ’97 Camaro?” He had a good memory for cars.

“Yep. But it isn’t a racecar just yet.”

His grin faded a little like I might have hurt his feelings. Maybe he liked me. Maybe I liked him too, but that was beside the point.

“You need someone to make it race ready?” he guessed.

I nodded, doing my best to appear as a damsel in distress. It wasn’t my favorite look, but it worked so often that I couldn’t give it up.

Jesse groaned. “What for?” he asked. I knew he was entering the race, and I didn’t want him to worry about me being his competition, so I decided to keep it vague.

“I’d like to have a little practice behind the wheel.”

“Why don’t you ask your dad? He’s got plenty of mechanics at the dealership. I’m sure they take on side work.”

Because if my dad knew about this, he’d ground me for life or send me to some boarding school run by nuns or worst of all, take away my cars—both of them. “The truth is, Jesse, he doesn’t want me racing.”

I had a little pout, poor me. He narrowed his eyes and studied me—seeing right through my act. I could see he was having some inner argument with himself. It seemed this wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.

“I don’t think I can help you,” he said at last.

I sighed, all slow and dramatic-like. He checked out my boobs, but tried to act like he wasn’t, and though I didn’t want to have to resort to this, it seemed he was giving me no alternative.

I did my sexy walk over to his car and laid my hands on the hood. I’d deliver him a two-fer. If my looks didn’t persuade him, then maybe my pocketbook would.

“Must be expensive,” I said, “doing all this work to a car, just for one race. I’d pay you, of course, for your time and labor.”

He didn’t say anything, but I knew I’d piqued his interest. I tossed my hair over my shoulder and bent over a little. I’m not proud, but like my father always says, you got to use whatever advantages you’ve got. Being the daughter of a car salesman I’d learned a few things in that regard.

“I know the realities of racing Jesse. It’s expensive and it’s dangerous, but what can I say? I love it—like our fathers, and like you. If you’re trying to protect me from the big, bad world of racing, you’re about ten years too late.”

He groaned and I knew I was wearing him down. “You know the heap of trouble I’d be in, if your father caught wind of this?”

“I’m very good at keeping secrets.” I gave him my most innocent look.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He stood, but I could already tell he was coming around. Some kind of sixth sense, I suppose. I reached into my back pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper that had my phone number on it.

“I could really use your help, Jesse. You’re the only person I can trust with this.” I took his hand in mine—big and calloused and caked with grease—the hands of a working man or a race car driver. “Here’s my number. Think about it.”

I smiled and walked away, praying that he’d swing my way. I needed him to get my car in shape. That’s all there was to it. Without him, I was sunk. And if we had to spend a little more time together, if I had to watch him work in his garage with his muscles slick with oil and his hair all disheveled like he just got out of bed. Well, I suppose it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

So long as it didn’t become a distraction.

 

AUTHOR:

 
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Laura Lascarso aims to inspire more questions than answers in her young adult fiction. Her debut novel COUNTING BACKWARDS, which deals with mental illness, was awarded the Florida Book Award gold medal for YA lit in 2012. Her most recent novel, RACING HEARTS, tells the story of two star-crossed lovers set in Daytona Beach, the mecca of motorsports, and has been described as a Romeo & Juliet on wheels.

She lives in North Florida with her husband, two children and a menagerie of animals.

 

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SNEAK-A-PEEK: Forever Night Stand by Ysa Arcangel + Giveaway!!

11

Forever Night Stand

Ysa Arcangel

Published December 20th 2015 by Blvnp Publishing Inc

A > Romance | Contemporary

 

Purchase links: Amazon 

 

BLURB FROM GOODREADS:

“What the mind forgets, the heart remembers.”

Brandy Curtis is a strong and independent career woman who does not care for commitment. She prefers no strings-attached, one night stands because that’s all she can give with what little free time she has. This is the life she has chosen and the life she is used to.

However, everything changed when she met Ivo, a gorgeous doctor with irresistible charm. He was just supposed to be another hookup, but he quickly became so much more. The more nights they spent together, the more Brandy felt that life had given her something to live for.
Things seemed perfect… until a visit to the doctor sends her world crashing. The timing couldn’t be worse. As her heart gets closer to Ivo, her memories begin to fade.

Will Brandy be able to actually live her life with Ivo… or will she succumb to the condition that threatens to claim her forever? Find out how this touching journey of life and love turns out. Grab your copy now!

1

[tour schedule

 

EXCERPT:

 

“Come, take a walk with me.”

We ambled through the side roads through the farmlands and eventually ended up in a barn. We walked inside in silence and saw some hay blocks. Ivo started to arrange the hay blocks into a bed and pillows, not making much of a mess. I just stood there watching him work.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a makeshift bed, can’t you see?”

“Ivo, what are you planning to do?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.

“I don’t have plans to have sex with you here, Brandy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Nah, you like me too much to make me sit on the cold hard ground.” I rolled my eyes playfully.

“But if you keep on doing that I might just change my mind,” Ivo said and I quickly let out a laugh. “Let’s just sit and relax and talk maybe. My feet hurts, we’ve been strolling around for hours now. Are you just gonna watch me make our bed?”

Ivo pulled me in and I instantly snuggled beside him.

“So far how do you like it here?”

“I love it here. It’s stress-free, the life here so far is tranquil and fun.”

“That’s why I always wanted to go back here even when I was in Atlanta.”

“I know, right? Everything here is just so peaceful and quiet. The people are nice except that Bettina.”

Ivo let out a soft chuckle. “She didn’t do anything bad to you.”

“Well, she threatened me with that text. She’ll ruin everything that we have, you know.”

“We have nothing,” he stated.

“Arrangement…  we have an arrangement, Ivo,” I reiterated. “Can we not talk about her, so how was your trip to Rome?”

“Everything went well. We have a promising case. The subject is quite hesitant to talk about her condition but hopefully she’ll open up so I can help her get through her situation.”

“Good. I’m glad you accomplished something in that small amount of time.”

“Did you miss me when I was away?”

I blushed and crossed my arms over my chest. “No,” I quickly answered. “I was too busy having fun with the kids.”

“I’m glad you’re happy around them. You miss having a sister, do you?”

“Yeah, I haven’t had any since mom started to—” I dared not continue. “Let’s not talk about me, Ivo. You’re not going to get anything out of me.”

Ivo took my hand from my chest and held it. “It’s okay to talk Brandy. If you don’t like this ‘thing’ we have taken to the next level so do I, but I could be your friend. You can tell me anything.”

I pulled my hand back. “Friends with benefits, huh?”

“Yeah, apparently it’s a thing nowadays,” he said and we both chuckled.

I sat up and played with some of the hay blocks beside me. “I grew up in a family of boys, Ivo. I grew up strong. Independent. I don’t want to cling to anyone and depend on anyone except myself.”

Ivo listened attentively to me.

“My family has a history of Alzheimer’s, Ivo. I am next in line. I know better than to have a boyfriend, start a family, raise kids…”

“I can help you Brandy,” he cut me off and took my trembling hands. “If you’ll just let me.”

“Nobody can help me.”

“I will. Trust me. You’re going to be okay,” he assured and held me close to him.

“No!” I stood up and shouted at him. “I’m not gonna be okay, Ivo! I’m not gonna be okay! I can feel it. It’s coming for me, Ivo. I can feel it.” I broke down.

Ivo came up to me, cupped my face and sat me down on the make shift bed. “Sshh…  sshh, it’s okay. It’s okay just relax.”

Ivo held me in his arms like I was the most fragile thing in the world until my cries turned into faint sobs.

“Doesn’t it get boring?” Ivo said in a deep drawl as he glowered at me

I suddenly realized he still had me in a tight embrace, so I quickly drew away from him.

His smirk widened and his eyes narrowed dangerously as he grabbed my hand and pressed me against the barn wall.

I frowned and stuck my tongue out. Ivo flicked his tongue against mine, quickly taking my tongue in his mouth and sucking gently.

I pulled away and pretended I was disgusted at his actions. “Ivo, I’m serious! I don’t want to do it here!”

Ivo merely chuckled and pressed his lips against mine. “Shut up, Brandy,” He mumbled when we parted. I groaned inwardly. He was being such a tease and I knew that if Ivo pushed me far enough I’d let him do whatever he wanted with me.

Unfortunately, he also knew this, and I knew he was ready to hear me say, “I want you inside me.”

While I was lost in my thoughts, Ivo had brought my hands above my head, holding both of them in his larger hand while the other roamed my body, caressing every curve.

I gasped when Ivo’s hand cupped my breast through my shirt. I squirmed slightly as he began licking my neck, giggling occasionally as it tickled my face. I arched a little, allowing him more room to suckle my neck. I vaguely registered his hand gripping my thigh and lifting it upwards to curl around his waist.

He smirked triumphantly when a lusty moan crept out of my throat as he slowly grind against me.

“See, you do want this.” Ivo said as he let go of my hands. I wrapped them around his neck and kissed him.

“Be quiet and make love to me.” I giggled at my boldness. He seemed to like it, though.

He slid my shirt off, leaving me in my underwear. Ivo quickly flicked the button of my pants and unzipped them, letting them fall to the floor. He stood back to stare down at the half-naked woman that stood before him. I blushed and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Don’t stare at me like that, I feel like a piece of meat.”

Ivo chuckled at my words and began to undress until he leaned against me once more, this time clad in only his boxers.

As we made out against the wall of the barn I realized something was pressing against my tummy, I lowered my hand to touch his arousal gently through the silky fabric of his boxers. Ivo swatted my hand away quickly, and hurriedly unclasped my bra and buried his face between my breasts. As Ivo sucked my nipple, one of his hands lowered and cupped my panty-clad sex, making me breathe in sharply. He pushed a finger into me through the cotton fabric and watched my face in delight as I moaned softly.

I began panting heavily as he brought his lips down against my throat and his hand steadily pinched and pulled at my nipple.

I gripped his shoulders and dug my nails into them as I gasped and rocked myself against his fast-moving fingers. With a loud cry I shuddered as I felt myself release. Ivo slid my now wet underwear down my hips and carried me over the make shift bed bridal style and lay me down.

He reached for his pants and grabbed his wallet, pulling out a tiny foil packet.

He removed his boxers and I bit my lip. He rolled the condom down on his now fully hard member, and then he gently pushed my thighs apart.

“You’re so ready,” I breathed. I was waiting for him to thrust into me, but instead, he just rubbed it up and down my wetness. “Oooh,” I let out a high-pitched moan as his manhood pressed ever so slightly into me. I tried to move my hips forward and close my eyes. I didn’t even care that we were in a barn anymore.

“A boy scout is always prepared. I don’t want you reminding me about your 4Ns rule anymore,” he said and gave me a wicked grin. “Brandy, watch me,” he ordered.

I opened one eye, ever so slightly then opened both and sat up, supporting myself on my elbows as I watched him press his erection between my legs. Ivo entered slowly as he watched me watch him, and I had to admit, it was more arousing.

When he had entered his whole length into me, he pushed me back into a laying position pulling my hips up to his waist. He plunged himself deeper inside me. I gasped and moaned as he pumped at a frantic pace. I tightened my legs around his waist, allowing my hips to smoothly rock along with him as my arms circled around his neck. I arched my back and grabbed handfuls of golden hay as I brought my arms above my head.

The sensation was washing over me and I mustered up my voice to push Ivo over the edge. “Come on, Ivo. I want it so bad.”

He cried out my name as he pulled out and came intensely. I felt his warm liquid inside me. I sighed pleasurably, my legs wound around his waist once more, he pulled my hips closer to him.

Ivo leaned forward on top of me, and let out a contented sigh. He plucked out pieces of straw from my hair and kissed my tired lips. “I love fucking you,” he whispered.

“You mean ‘I fucking love you.’”

Ivo rolled off me and began picking up our discarded clothes.

“Definitely, maybe.”

I blushed but didn’t bother objecting.

We returned to the house and I walked into the kitchen to drink some water. I felt so dehydrated after a long day of walking and our intense sack session in the barn. I smiled at that thought.

As I opened the refrigerator, a cute little notebook fell from the top. The notebook fell open on the floor. I crouched, picking it up carefully. I should have never done that, but I couldn’t stop right then. I couldn’t put it back, not when I saw my name written over it.

 

Patient Name: Brandy Curtis

Case #220: Suspected onset of Alzheimer’s

11:45AM — While Brandy was helping me prepare for lunch, I asked her to pass me the eggplant. It took her quite a while before she took the tomato and passed it on me. She doesn’t know which vegetable is which.

2:30PM — Brandy asked me thrice the name of the triplets on different occasions.

5:00PM — Brandy tried and tasted the Lake Garda olive oil. After she turned her back from the personnel, she again asked me if she could try to taste the oil. She didn’t remember she tasted it already.

6:30PM — We went to the wine festival in Bardolino on the shores of Lake Garda where we enjoyed wine tasting. Brandy had at least four wines tasted in a row. She was all smiles and happy then she turned to look at me and asked what we were doing at that place.

 

The room started to spin around me as I fell to the ground, the notebook falling on my chest. I took a deep breath and forced myself to get up off the ground. I pulled my hand across my eyes trying to wipe away the quiet emotions inscribed in my mind.  Did it really happen? Why can’t I remember any of this?

I tried to settle the emotions inside me. But they were fighting their way out, fluttering in my stomach and came hand in hand with the realization I was being used for some sort of research and how pathetic that made me feel.

I stormed outside and Ivo looked at me, a question in his eyes, as if to ask me what is wrong.

“I’m not a case that you need to solve, Ivo! Damn you!” I felt the tears start to roll down my cheeks leaving a warm trail underneath my icy glare.

Ivo moved closer to me, scaring me even more. He attempted to talk but shut his mouth and the shocked expression on his face morphed into one of concern. He pulled me in and tried to wrap me in his arms. I was having none of it and I pushed him away. My feet stepped onto the slick sidewalk, and I left with no particular destination in mind.

The rain started to pour. Hard. The winds were so strong that the rain fell nearly horizontally. The howling winds deafened my thoughts.

“Brandy, stop!” Ivo ran after me and pulled me into a tight embrace as the rain soaked our clothes.

Even his warmth couldn’t stop the shivers. The cold has seeped too deeply into my bones.

His fingers gripped my arms and shook me gently to make me open my eyes. “Let’s talk, don’t just go. Let me get you a towel. You need to get out of those clothes.” He moved away, but I grasped the back of his shirt, he spun around and at that moment everything turned pitch black.

 

 

AUTHOR:

 Caroline-Patti-225x300Twitter | Goodreads | Website 

Ysa Arcangel is a Filipino author based in Manila. She works as a Spanish-English GDS Helpdesk by day and a writer by night. She is a loving partner to a chef and a mom to three amazing kids.

She enjoys creative writing and uses her obsessive nature by writing contemporary paranormal and romance fiction with lots of laughs, tears and sighs showcasing sweet, funny and badass female leads with raunchy and hot male love interests whether human or supernatural.

She’s a lover of coffee, tattoos, and giant dogs. She is also an extreme sports enthusiast. When she’s not writing, you can see her spending time with her family, reading, or having TV series marathons.

Her debut novel is titled Forever Night Stand.

In this enthralling debut novel, you will find out about the heart that never forgets and the disease which has the power to rob, damage, and destroy yet cannot vanquish the feeling of love and being loved.

   

 

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SNEAK-A-PEEK: In Place of Never by Julia Anne Lindsey + Giveaway!!

11

In Place of Never

Julie Anne Lindsey

Published February 2nd 2016 by Lyrical Press, Inc

YA/NA > Romance | Mystery

 

Purchase links: Amazon | BN 

 

BLURB FROM GOODREADS:

Can the truth set her free?…
 
A part of Mercy died the summer her sister tragically drowned. Now Mercy has a chance to discover if Faith’s death was an accident—or murder.  Her first step is to confront the lead suspects: a band of traveling gypsies—the last people who saw her sister alive. But Mercy finds an unexpected ally in Cross, the soulful musician in their ranks. He’s a kindred spirit, someone who sees into her heart for the first time in, well, forever. Yet stirring up the past puts Mercy in danger…
 
Suddenly someone is shadowing Mercy’s every move, making her even more determined to uncover the facts. With Cross by her side, she is ready to face it all, even if that means opening up to him, knowing he may one day leave her. What she discovers is a truth that rocks the foundation of her small river town—and a love worth risking everything for….

1

[tour schedule

 

EXCERPT:

Chapter 1

 

The Sideshow

Faith is dead.

The words had formed my first thought every day for three years. Strangely, on the anniversary of her death, my mind was blank.

My bedroom door stood open, courtesy of my little sister, Prudence, no doubt. This was her way of nudging me into motion. Muted shades of gray light filtered through rain-washed windows, barely enough to illuminate dust motes floating overhead. Time to face the worst day of the year.

Sounds and scents of breakfast climbed two flights of stairs and settled into my thoughts with an eerie echo. I pulled clothes from the pile and brushed my teeth and hair. These were the things I’d only begun to appreciate before everything changed.

Far too soon, my toes curled over the top step outside my room. I pulled in a deep breath and braced my palms against cool stairwell walls, dragging my fingertips over the grooves and planes in the wood paneling as I inched downstairs.

From the quiet hallway outside our kitchen, life looked surreal, like the setting for a play with actors in motion but no audience or script. Dad’s clothes were as neat as a pin, and his hair fell in the same schoolboy style he’d outgrown thirty years ago. The morning paper lay open in front of him, beside a full cup of coffee that had lost its steam. Pru stood at the stove shoveling eggs from a pan onto a plate. She, too, appeared ready for the day, if I ignored the tremor in her hand and the strain in her brow. She nearly dropped the plate when she turned from the stove.

“Mercy.” She pressed a hand to her heart and stumbled to the table with the eggs. “Why are you just standing there?”

Dad turned blank eyes on me, unspeaking.

I moved to the counter and filled Mom’s favorite travel mug with coffee, ignoring the palpable tension. In sixty seconds, I’d be out the door with my free, portable caffeine.

Pru untied the apron from her waist and folded it on the counter. She stared at me. “Aren’t you eating?”

I sealed the mug. “No.” I needed to be anywhere but here.

Dad tensed. The paper crumbled around his tightened grip, but he wouldn’t get involved, especially not today. Today we’d pretend we were still a family. Three months from now, we’d do it again.

Pru bit her trembling lip. “Mercy.” The word was barely audible, even in the quietest house on Earth.

Something tore inside me, and I wavered, slowly sipping coffee until the bitter taste Mom had loved turned my stomach.

Dad pressed the paper against our ancient Formica tabletop and lifted cold coffee to his lips.

I settled onto a chair and tapped my nails over tiny flecks of gold and silver embedded in the table’s white surface. He and Mom had received the kitchen set as a wedding present from her parents. A grooved metal wrap curled around the table’s perimeter. My sisters and I had done homework at that table. Birthday cakes and Thanksgiving dinners were served there. When our family was whole, we’d played cards and board games together every Friday night. Family night. Lately, we were a family of ghosts, figurative and literal.

The legs of Dad’s chair scraped over worn linoleum. He poured his coffee into the sink and freed his jacket from the chair back where he’d sat. He threaded his arms though too-large holes. “I’ll be home late.”

Pru flopped her arms against her sides. “But you didn’t eat.”

He scooped his Bible and keys off the counter and pulled the front door closed behind him.

Pru collapsed into the seat across from me. Bony elbows slid across the tabletop. “Please eat something.”

“No thank you.”

Her frown deepened. “No one eats around here. It isn’t healthy.”

“We don’t sleep or talk either. At least we’re consistent.” A deep cringe pinched my heart. I’d promised myself not to provoke Pru. She was only a kid. The least I could do was use restraint and good manners. “Sorry.”

I stared into her wide blue eyes, wanting to say a million things I couldn’t. “You didn’t need to make breakfast. It’s not your responsibility.” The word lodged in my throat, filling the space until air struggled past.

“Sorry.”

Hurt welled in Pru’s eyes. “Whose responsibility is it then? Yours?” She stood in a burst of energy I couldn’t fathom, rocking her chair onto two legs before it settled with a thump. “I’m fifteen, not five.” Pru whirled through the room, dumping eggs in the trash and shoving dishes into the sink. Defeated by her loved ones before nine AM. It wasn’t fair.

She turned on her heels and glared at me. “You’re leaving in six weeks. Then what?” She bit her bottom lip and scrubbed a plate hard. “You could at least pretend you don’t want to go. Even if it’s a lie.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m going to college like everyone does.”

Her weary eyes drooped at the corners. “Not everyone.”

“Not Faith.” As if I needed the reminder. As if I didn’t think of that every day.

She dried her hands and pursed her lips. “What are you doing today?”

Thunder rocked the house. “I’m going out.”

“Out where? There’s a storm. Besides, my friends are coming over for movies and popcorn. Why don’t you stay? Company could take your mind off…stuff.”

Stuff. Right.

“Me, Prudence, and the color guard?” I flipped a handful of sandy curls off Pru’s shoulder. “I’m not sure that’d be fun for anyone.”

“Please.”

“Can’t. I’m going to go see Mom and Faith. I’ll be home later.” Her doe-eyed expression stopped me short. Since when was Pru so needy? She’d certainly never needed me. Had she? Even if she had, what was I supposed to do about it? “If you want, you can come up to my room when your friends leave. We’ll eat cold pizza and drink warm soda after Dad falls asleep.” My throat constricted further with each word. Faith and I had spent many nights that way when Pru was small and sound asleep in her room next door.

She paled. “Maybe.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Maybe?” That was the best invitation I’d ever offered and she’d turned me down. Something was up. “Why? Do you have plans after Dad falls asleep?”

“Maybe.”

I sucked air. “You can’t go out after curfew.”

She crossed thin arms over her chest. “I said maybe. Anyways, since when do you care? Is this a joke? You think you’re in charge?”

My gut wrenched. Was I? Everyone ahead of me on the chain of command had either died or otherwise checked out. “You can’t stay out all night.”

She clenched her jaw.

I grabbed my bag off the coat tree and secured it cross body before she lashed out. “I can’t do this right now. I’ll be home soon. I won’t interrupt your movie day, but I will look for you tonight.”

Pru scoffed as I edged past her and out the door where Dad had disappeared minutes before.

My muddy Chucks waited on the rack against the railing.

Pru glared at me through the window.

I couldn’t stay. I had to visit Mom and Faith before the storm washed the roads away.

I gathered my hair into a knot as I sloshed through the rain toward the edge of town. Puddles splashed warm water onto my ankles. Raindrops swiveled patterns over my forehead into my eyes, blurring my vision and masking a hot tear of frustration on one cheek. The streets were empty of pedestrians. Cars with wipers on warp speed settled at stoplights or outside shops, collecting women in rain gear and children wielding umbrellas shaped like storybook characters.

Dad’s car sat alone in the church lot. He dreamed of inspiring the town and he prayed fervently for a healing of our broken community. The concept was nice if you weren’t one of his forgotten daughters.

I ducked my head and moved faster, dashing through the lot and across the intersection at Main Street. Soggy, wind-battered flyers waved from light posts on every corner. The annual River Festival returned this month, assuming St. Mary’s didn’t wash off the map before then. I tugged my hood over my ears and sloshed onto the sidewalk. American flags lined store windows. Support our Troops shirts and Uncle Sam bobbleheads monopolized every retail display in town. The Fourth of July fun was right on schedule, only a few days until the big parade and concert in the park. My family didn’t celebrate this weekend anymore.

Several yards away, two guys took shelter under the awning outside our local honky-tonk. Their laughter broke through the drumming of rain on rooftops and pounding of truck tires through puddles. Both were tall, dark, and out of place in my town. Instead of jeans and boots, like cowboys or country singers, or the shorts and gym shoes of locals and tourists, this pair wore black pants and dress shoes. Their matching V-neck shirts were equally out of place in St. Mary’s, West Virginia.

The broader one noticed me first. His smile vanished and his posture stiffened. He locked his wrists behind his back and nodded. The short sleeves of his shirt nipped his biceps. The ridiculous breadth of his chest

tested the limits of the thin black material. His clothes probably hid the grotesquely oversculpted figure of a body builder.

My feet slowed instinctively, weighing the merits of crossing the street to avoid them. Crossing meant moving away from my destination, staying meant eventually sharing a three-foot patch of cement with two guys already filling every spare inch.

The leaner, younger-looking one turned his face toward me. Black ink crawled up his neck from the collar of his shirt to his earlobe. A scar pierced one eyebrow and a thin silver hoop graced the corner of his mouth.

Dad wouldn’t approve.

I rounded my shoulders, withdrawing into my hoodie and averting my eyes.

The broad one whipped a hand out as I stepped onto their patch of cement. “Miss.”

I jumped back, wrapping my fingertips around the strap of my bag.

His enormous arm blocked my path. He clenched a mass of silk flowers in his fist. “For the lady.”

“Uh.” I pulled in a shallow breath. “No thank you.”

The younger one’s eyebrows dove together. “I think you’re scaring her.” His dark eyes settled on mine. His voice was deep and low. “Is he scaring you?”

The big guy handed the flowers to his friend and stepped back, palms up.

The younger one offered them to me, extending his arm slowly as if being careful not to frighten a wild animal. “I’m Cross. This is Anton. Anton thinks he’s a magician.”

I glanced over one shoulder at the church behind me before accepting the strange offer. A lifetime of forced manners pushed my name from my mouth. “Mercy.”

Cross’s lips twitched. “He’s a lot to take in, but he’s a marshmallow.”

I bit back an awkward smile as Anton protested the remark with a shove. “Mercy’s my name. It wasn’t an exclamation.”

Cross relaxed his posture. “Good to know.” He shoved his fingers into his pockets. “Do you live here?”

“Yeah.” A measure of unexplained confidence wound through me. “Not you, though.” I scrutinized their strange ensembles again. Their clothes were almost like costumes, or what I imagined a mortician would wear in the nineteen hundreds. “What are you doing here?” I sidestepped them, exchanging my view of the distant willows for a view of the church.

The low tenor of their voices collided as Cross said, “Visiting,” and Anton said, “Performing.”

Cross narrowed his eyes at Anton.

Interesting. A sign tucked into the corner of the honky-tonk’s window announced another round of live bands. Cash prizes and a guaranteed Nashville record executive in the audience meant lots of newcomers to St. Mary’s. Maybe these two were country singers. “Performing what?”

Again with the twin speak, Cross answered, “Nothing.”

Anton answered, “Everything.”

I frowned. “Well, that’s cleared up.” I waved the bouquet. “Thanks for the flowers.”

“You’re welcome,” they answered.

Dad’s face appeared in the church window, and I darted into the rain. “I have to go.”

I stuffed the flowers into my bag as I jogged away from the street of shops, closing the space between the willows and me. Thunder cracked in the distance. The storm was passing for now. I stepped into the pavilion outside St. Mary’s Cemetery with a sigh of relief. Willow trees lined our small town along the river’s west edge. Their craggy branches swept the earth with every gust of wind. The town cemetery stretched fingers of marble graves into the distance, marking lives lost in the mid-eighteen hundreds beside others lost in my lifetime. Two of those graves marked the lives of Porter women, Faith and Mary Porter. My older sister and my mother.

When the drops thinned to sprinkles, I made my way up muddy paths to their grave sites, sliding down as often as I moved forward. Dad said he’d chosen the spots at the top of the hill so Faith and Mom could look over our town. If they truly had a view, theirs was perfect.

The sopping earth squished under my weight as I left the path. A week of relentless rain had ruined the dirt roads and flooded the lowlands mercilessly.

I knelt before the headstones. “Hi. I bet you didn’t think I’d come in the storm.” Tears burned my eyes. I’d come selfishly. “You’re the only one I can talk to.”

I rubbed my wrist over each eye. “I am so amazingly sorry.”

Wind beat against the trees, shaking limbs and freeing wads of green leaves from their branches. “The storm’s gathering again.”

I wiped pine needles and dirt off Faith’s name. Wind tossed sticks and tiny American flags across the thick green grass. A batch of grave flowers rolled down the hill toward the river, reminding me of the ones in my bag.

“I have something today.” I unlatched my bag and pulled out the silk flowers. “Some very weird guys outside Red’s gave these to me. I think you should have them, Faith. I don’t bring you flowers enough. Maybe that’s why I ran into those two. You needed flowers.” I stabbed their plastic stems into the mushy ground and pressed the grass tight around them, anchoring them the best I could.

“I miss you. I wish you knew how much. Dad’s still trying to save the town. Pru’s still pretending she’s like everyone else. The color guard’s coming over for popcorn and movies.” I rolled my eyes. “I think she’s planning to sneak out tonight, and I don’t even know if it’s the first time.”

I settled in the wet grass and tilted my face to the sky. “I’ve never minded our summer storms. Remember when we used to dance in the rain until Dad begged us all inside? He’d laugh and say,” I mocked Dad’s deeper voice, “‘I guess the rumors are true. My girls don’t have the sense to come in out of the rain.’”

A sound in the distance caught my attention. A rhythm. “Do you hear that?” Wind whipped through the trees, but the eerie sound of tinny pipes and organs floated to my ears. I rubbed my palms over gooseflesh-covered arms and an icy shiver slid down my spine.

I stood on wobbly knees and moved to the hill’s edge.

A line of black vehicles crawled along the river toward the campground. Each truck was marked with the symbol that once haunted my dreams. A fancy letter L, circled in curlicue lines and tiny words from another language. “The Lovell Traveling Sideshow came back?”

After three years, it was back.

I turned to my sister. “I bet they came for the River Festival. What should I do?”

I sensed her presence and felt her voice in the wind, obscured by the ringing in my ears. My weary conscience screamed, “Leave it alone,” but my every curious fiber disagreed.

I’d researched, cyberstalked, and obsessed over the Lovells off and on for two years before I backed off. I squinted at the caravan of trucks below. If one of them knew what happened to Faith, I needed to hear it. Maybe someone at their campsite could help me.

Dad refused me the courtesy of knowing what happened to my sister. When I’d followed him through our home begging, he’d said I was too young. Faith was too young. I should pray for peace. I’d scoured the local paper and Internet for information. Three years later, the only things I knew for sure were Faith was dead and Dad blamed the Lovells. I’d heard him and Mom after Faith’s funeral. He hated them, but it didn’t make any sense. Faith drowned. Dad believed the Lovells contributed to Faith’s death somehow, despite the coroner’s accidental drowning conclusion.

I looked over one shoulder at Faith’s headstone. “I’ve got to go. I’ll be back.” I rubbed wet palms against my jeans. My feet stumbled through the grass on autopilot. This was my chance.

I sprinted toward home, formulating a plan. First, I needed a shower and change of clothes. Next, I needed a picture of Faith from that summer. The Lovells probably saw thousands of new faces every year and three years had already passed. Expecting them to remember one girl from a town as unremarkable as ours was asking the impossible.

I slowed my pace on Main Street. Outside the honky-tonk, a fresh banner hung from the awning, a photo advertisement for the Lovell Traveling Sideshow. My mouth dropped open as my gaze swept over the ad. I missed the curb and planted one foot in ankle-deep runoff racing for the gutter. “Gross.” My palms hit the sidewalk, stopping me from a complete fall. The open flap of my bag dripped against my pant leg when I stood. I buckled the bag without looking, unable to drag my focus away from the banner. A woman covered in tattoos posed with a set of acrobats front and center. A shirtless strongman with a mask and endless muscles stood behind her. I tried to match Anton and his flowers to the masked man in the photograph. Was it possible?

A man in tuxedo tails pulled fire from his hat and a woman in a ball gown swallowed swords. Animals in black tutus and studded collars pranced at her feet. Behind the others stood a brown-eyed guy with neck ink, a guitar, and a frown. Cross was a performer all right. He was one of them. A Lovell.

 

 

AUTHOR:

 Caroline-Patti-225x300Twitter | Facebook | Website 

Julie Anne Lindsey is a multi-genre author who writes the stories that keep her up at night. She’s a self-proclaimed nerd with a penchant for words and proclivity for fun. Mother of three, wife to a sane person and Ring Master at the Lindsey Circus, most days you’ll find her online, amped up on caffeine and wielding a book. Julie started writing to make people smile. Someday she plans to change the world.

Julie is a member of the International Thriller Writers (ITW), Sisters in Crime (SinC) and the Canton Writer’s Guild.

   

 

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SNEAK-A-PEEK: Did I Mention I Love You? (DIMILY #1)

11

The Did I Mention I Love You? (DIMILY #1)

Estelle Maskame

Published December 1st 2015 by Sourcebooks Fire

YA/NA >Contemporary | Romance

 

Purchase links: Amazon | itunes | BN | BooksAMillion

 

BLURB FROM GOODREADS:

Love is everything but expected.

Eden Monro came to California for a summer of sun, sand and celebrities – what better way to forget about the drama back home? Until she meets her new family of strangers: a dad she hasn’t seen in three years, a stepmonster and three stepbrothers.

Eden gets her own room in her dad’s fancy house in Santa Monica. A room right next door to her oldest stepbrother, Tyler Bruce. Whom she cannot stand. He’s got angry green eyes and ego bigger than a Beverly Hills mansion. She’s never felt such intense dislike for someone. But the two are constantly thrown together as his group of friends pull her into their world of rule-breaking, partying and pier-hanging.

And the more she tries to understand what makes Tyler burn hotter than the California sun, the more Eden finds herself falling for the one person she shouldn’t…

Did I Mention I Love You? is the addictive first book in Wattpad sensation Estelle Maskame’s DIMILY trilogy: three unforgettable summers of secrets, heartbreak and forbidden romance.

 

Praise for Did I Mention I Love You?

 

“Readers will root for them, like they would with Edward and Bella—the mutual attraction and need for one another is palpable. It rings of passion, excitement, and first love.” –VOYA Magazine

 

“An edgy young adult romance with dark layers” –The Examiner

 

“A believable coming-of-age story and an unconventional romance, set against a present-day California summer… . The fallout of divorce, the insidiousness of substance abuse and family secrets, and especially the pangs of first love drive this emotionally resonant tale.” – Publishers Weekly

 

“Written in first person, Maskame’s trilogy opener is an excellent portrayal of a teenage girl’s life in the 21st century. Eden has to adjust to her blended family, try to feel pretty, be body conscious, and make friends, all while falling in love for the first time. She is someone all young people can relate to…Romance fans will be captivated by Eden and her journey to finding herself and true love.” –School Library Journal

 

 

EXCERPT:

 

I can almost see the road through the gaps in the fence by the side of the house, and I squint through. There’s music playing. More like blaring. I can hear it over the crappy music that’s already bouncing around the back yard, and as a sleek white car speeds up to the edge of the sidewalk and skids against the curb, I grimace in disgust. The music cuts off the second the engine is killed.

“What are you looking at?” Rachael asks, but I’m too busy staring to even attempt to answer.

The car door swings open roughly, and I’m surprised it doesn’t fall straight off its hinges. It’s difficult to see clearly through the fence, but a tall guy gets out and slams the door shut just as aggressively as he opened it. He hesitates for a moment, stares at the house, and then runs a hand through his hair. Whoever he is, he looks su-per depressed. Like he’s just lost all his life savings or his dog just died. And then he heads straight for the gate.

“Who the hell is this jackass?” I mutter to Rachael as the figure nears us.

But before either of us can say anything more, Jackass decides to hit the gate open with a fist, drawing the at-tention of everyone around us. It’s like he wants everyone to hate him. I figure he’s probably that one neighbor that everyone despises, and he’s only here in a fit of rage because he wasn’t invited to the lamest barbecue get-together that’s ever been hosted.

“Sorry I’m late,” Jackass comments sarcastically. And loudly too, with a smirk on his lips. His eyes flash green as emeralds. “Did I miss anything besides the slaughtering of animals?” He throws up the infamous mid-dle finger to, from what I can see, the barbecue. “I hope you guys enjoyed the cow you just ate.” And then he laughs. He laughs as though everyone’s expressions of disgust are the most entertaining thing he’s seen all year.

“More beer?” I hear my dad call out to the silent crowd, and as they chuckle and return to their conversations, Jackass heads through the patio doors. He slams them shut so hard I can almost see the glass tremble.

I’m stunned. I have no idea what just happened or who that was or why he’s just entered the house. When I realize I’m slightly slack-jawed, I close my mouth and turn to Rachael.

She bites her lip and pushes her sunglasses down over her eyes. “I’m guessing you haven’t met your step-brother yet.”

 

 

AUTHOR:

 

 Caroline-Patti-225x300

Twitter | Website

Estelle Maskame started writing at the age of thirteen and completed the Did I Mention I Love You?  trilogy when she was sixteen. She has built an extensive fan-base for her writing by serializing her work on Wattpad. Fitting book writing between work, Estelle has amassed followers from all over the world. She lives in Scotland. For more visit estellemaskame.com

 


   

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