WANT (Ryder Brothers #2) by Kayti McGee

Release Date: October 31st

Cover Design: Laurelin Paige

Photographer: Rob Lang

           

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BLURB

Welcome to Hollywood, where wet dreams come true.

I fell for Marlee the second I met her- gorgeous smile, unimpressed by my stardom… bendy.

Not even remotely interested in me.

Of course the girl of my dreams has to be engaged to her hometown high-school sweetheart. Nothing’s ever easy, right?

Until they break up.

And she moves in with me.

The only person who can help her practice for her next role is me.

Because Marlee isn’t just new to Hollywood.

She’s a virgin.

           

EXCERPT

His hand moves to the side of my cheek and his fingers stroke my jaw for a moment before drawing my face towards his. My breath catches when his lips play against mine. Then I feel the force of his mouth and the finesse of his lips as he parts mine and his tongue enters my mouth.

It feels like my first kiss, as he presses his hand against the back of my head, and runs his tongue along mine. Maybe this is my first kiss in some way because I feel something on the other end of his kiss that I haven’t known before: desire. His mouth is hot and hard and pliable at once and I feel that liquid sensation as my body molds into him, my nipples erect and chafing against my shirt. No one has kissed me like this before.

I guess he does want this after all.

He lies on top of me and I spread my legs to make room for him, to take on his weight and it feels so natural. His weight presses me onto the bed and I feel his firm muscles contracting against me, his erect cock pressing into my belly. I feel drunk on him again and can’t believe this is finally happening. I imagined kissing him, imagined our bodies together. There’s so much heat from our bodies that I want my clothes off. I break my mouth away from his, gasping. I’m all ready to untangle my robe and go back to the whole nude thing I was going to do before, but he stills.

“If we’re going to do this right, we need to do everything, one lesson at a time.”

“Like a dance class,” I say. “One skill at a time.” I like that idea. I’m good at learning choreography. I have excellent muscle memory. He runs a finger on my lips and I part them for him.

“You’re a good student,” he says. His voice is deeper than usual but also tinged with more than just that desire. It’s like—I don’t know, seduction or something. “I want to take my time with you.”

I feel safe and comfortable and horny all at once. That’s a much more reasonable combination of emotions, like the ones I read about. In my romance novels. Oh, shit. I realize-those books are about love, and this particular bit of feels always comes before someone falls in it.

Have I made a horrible mistake?

           

About Kayti

Livin’ deliciously in beautiful Kansas City Missouri, where everyone else loves the Royals as much as I do. I like wine and murder shows and mountains and art.

I’m represented by Rebecca Friedman at Friedman Literary because I am a lucky, lucky girl. Call her if you want me to do Iron Chef, otherwise just hit me up on FB at http://www.facebook.com/kaytimcgeeauthor, on Insta @KaytiMcGeeWrites, and stay sexy.

     

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Want by Kayti McGee
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

3.5 Stars

This is a really cute read. I adored Jake. Absolutely adored him. I enjoyed the story and the writing, my problem and why I rated it what I did was I didn’t care for Marlee. Like at all. I don’t want to give any spoilers but she was just kinda unbelievable to me. But now this is solely my opinion please read it for yourself, it really is a cute little book.

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SCARLETT J. ROSE

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KAY MAREE

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ALEISHA MAREE

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About the Books

ANGEL MINE by KAY MAREE

BROOKLYN - I’m scared but I have to be strong not just for me but for my beautiful daughter. After years of being emotionally and physically abused it needed to end. I always wanted a love like the fairy tales I was told as a child, a love like my parents had, but after escaping hell I lost all hope. Trusting another man and falling in love was now the last thing on my mind, making it through everyday was now the new goal for my daughter and me. Then everything changed the day I looked into the most captivating green eyes I have ever seen, it was like they saw into my very soul. And I knew nothing would ever be the same again. 

DOMININC - I was brought up in a dangerous world, a world I had to quickly become accustomed to. It took my brothers death and the events that unfolded after that lead me to be the man I am today a Mob Boss. One of the most powerful man in Newcastle, I’m not a good guy, I have done bad things. I closed my true self off the day I failed to protect the one person I loved dearly, and she paid the ultimate price. But one look into those ocean blue eyes and I felt my whole purpose in life shift, I didn’t deserve her but I was going to make her Mine. I had finally found the missing pieces to my heart I didn’t know I was missing and I wasn’t letting them go... Angel: “I WANTED TO BE THE LAST THING HE TASTED AT NIGHT, AND THE FIRST THING HE TOUCHED IN THE MORNING” Dom: “SHE BROUGHT ME TO MY KNEES, AND I NEVER WANTED TO GET BACK UP”

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FML by SCARLETT J. ROSE

My life was like some psychotic mutant cross breed of Notting Hill and Bridget Jones’s Diary. I worked in a second-hand bookstore and I was a blonde British girl trying to find the love of my life. The only difference was, I had no handsome(ish) Brits after my pudgy British arse, I didn’t smoke like a chimney, but on occasion I did drink like a fish. and yes, my mother did like to send me her off cast clothing that looked like they were right out of the nineteen-forties. Oh, and I lived in L.A. Movie capital of the world. It took a twisted turn, however, the day my gay roommate managed to convince me that going in to a movie studio for Extras Casting was a good idea. If I had known what my life would be like after that fateful day, I would have told him to sod off and cut his bollocks off for dragging my arse out the door.

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THE BOSS WEARS STILETTOS by ALEISHA MAREE

Luca walked out of her life leaving Luna with a broken heart and at the mercy of a ruthless father. When he returns, he doesn't find the shy, nervous girl he left, in her place is a woman, a confident Mafia Boss. Can Luna forgive Luca for leaving her at a time when she needed him the most? Will she risk having her heart broken all over again? And, how does Christmas piece the puzzle together?

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She’s the one bet I can’t resist...

Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills returns with an all-new swoon-fest of a novel about what happens when you look beyond labels and take a chance on love.

I Bet You, an all-new sexy college romance standalone is available NOW!

Sexy Athlete: I bet you…

Penelope Graham: Burn in hell, quarterback.

The late night text is random but Penelope knows exactly who “Sexy Athlete” is. And why she shouldn't take his wager.

Ryker Voss.

Football star.

Walks on water and God's gift to women.

Just ask him.

His bet? He promises Penelope he’ll win her the heart of the nerdy guy she’s been crushing on. His plan—good old-fashioned jealousy. Once her crush sees her kissing Ryker, he'll realize what he's missing. Sounds legit, right? The only question is…why is Ryker being so nice to her?

Penelope Graham.

Virgin.

Lover of sparkly vampires and calculus.

His mortal enemy.

Penelope knows she shouldn’t trust a jock, but what’s a girl to do when she needs a date to Homecoming? And Ryker’s keeping a secret, another bet, one that could destroy Penelope’s heart forever.

Will the quarterback score the good girl or will his secret mean everyone loses at this game of love?

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Excerpt:

Penelope

I stand in front of the mirror in the restroom and gasp. Holy moly, I’m a total disaster. Red is on my shirt, my neck, my cheek, and there’s even a dab in my hair. I let out a heavy sigh as I wipe at it with a wet paper towel. At least my hair is auburn and the red will just blend right in. I scrub at the stain on my shirt, but all I end up doing is making a giant wet spot. “Forget it,” I mutter to myself a few minutes later as I straighten my lopsided messy bun and adjust my glasses. My makeup is faded, and I reach into my apron for a tube of cherry red lipstick then quickly swipe it over my mouth. Like that’s going to improve the situation. I need a makeover and new clothes stat. I walk out of the restroom and take in Sugar’s Bar and Grill, a restaurant in Magnolia, Mississippi. The dinner rush is over, but a few stragglers will come in, mostly college students. Only a block from campus, Sugar’s has a modern farmhouse feel with galvanized steel light fixtures, pale pine floors, and straight-back metal chairs, but the food…well, that’s what keeps the place hopping. It’s the only restaurant near campus to get anything you want served up with a side of fresh fried green tomatoes. Their menu also features Southern classics, such as chicken and dumplings or macaroni and cheese with bacon sprinkled on top. Just thinking about it makes my stomach rumble. I was so wrapped up in writing during my break that I forgot to eat. I sigh and head to the football table, where they promptly hand over the money. “Nice doing business with you, boys,” I say before flouncing off, feeling Ryker’s eyes on me the entire time. What’s his deal with me? I mean, you’d think he’d want to avoid me because of the article, but it’s as if his mission is to be around me as much as he can. In fact, I’m not even sure he knew who I was before I wrote it since we don’t run in the same circles. I suspect he’s torturing me. I push him out of my head and walk over to a table that needs bussing, picking up half-empty soda glasses and putting them on my tray. The door chimes, signaling that someone has come in, and I raise my head to see-- Whoa. I freeze. Bring out the angels and cue the hallelujah chorus. Now that’s the kind of man I should be writing sexy scenes about. Standing at the door is Connor Dimpleshitz—yes, his surname is unfortunate, but his IQ makes up for it. I’ve been crushing on him since our sociology class last semester. Framed by a golden halo of sunlight as it glints through the windows, I decide he’s what would happen if Albert Einstein and Henry Cavill had a baby. “A hot genius. The perfect unicorn,” I murmur to myself. I chew on my lip, debating on whether to mosey up to him and say hi or hide. Hide wins. I know, I’m a little ridiculous, especially since we have calculus together this semester and he’ll obviously see me at some point in class. But then I’ll have good hair and ketchup-free clothes. I quickly survey the possibilities for my escape as the hostess seats him in another server’s section. My eyes land on the right side of the restaurant, where I could make a mad dash for the kitchen, but he’s bound to see me darting since I’d have to walk past him. Plus, I want to hang around and watch him without him knowing. I come to a decision. Wrangling the tray of half-empty sodas I cleared, I quickstep it over to the back left corner, the farthest away from the double doors of the entrance. I maneuver my body into an awkward hunkering position behind a huge potted plant with wide fan-shaped leaves. At least five feet tall with a gnarly brown trunk, the green monster is perfect camouflage. I peek around a big leaf that’s in dire need of a good dusting,judging by the motes floating around. Feeling paranoid that someone is a witness to my absurdity, I throw a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure no one’s around. Ryker. Shit. He’s staring at me from the football table, and there’s a glint in his gaze, as if he’s wondering what I’m doing. I scowl and stick my tongue out at him. He makes me feel so rebellious and flustered and…excited. I can’t even stop myself. Ugh. His expression deepens in amusement, and I grimace, realizing my butt is sticking out. His annoying eyebrow jacks up and says, What the hell are you doing? With eye telepathy I tell him to mind his own freaking business. I pointedly turn my back on him and focus on The Unicorn. A few seconds later, a familiar deep voice resonates from behind me, making me start. “You look a little flustered, Penelope. Spying on someone for your next story, perhaps?” I freeze. Blink. His voice is husky and lower than before when he was calling me garçon, the tone reminding me of languid summer nights under a starry Southern sky while he gives me deep, passionate kisses-- Good Lord.Stop your daydreaming.Must. Stop. Reading. Romances. I heave out a sigh and turn around to face Ryker. What the hell does he want now? *** “I don’t submit to the Wildcat Weekly anymore,” I say. I worked for them most of last year, covering the home games and a few random articles. With a dad who was in the NFL, I know a lot about football, but when Sugar’s offered me more hours, I took it. “No more football stories, huh?” I shrug, my gaze taking in his chiseled cheekbones, the curve of his full lips, the hint of scruff on his jaw. Dammit, why is he so gorgeous? “What can I say? I covered the most fascinating story last semester—you. Guess I went out on a high note.” He nods, taking that dig. “I always noticed you at the games.” I scoff. “I didn’t think girls like me were on your radar.” “You sat near the third row at the fifty-yard line taking notes at every home game.” His eyes drift over me. “And I didn’t say you were on my radar.” “Really? Sounds like you did.” “Trust me, I have more discriminating tastes.” He shrugs. “Why, how sweet of you.” My Southern accent has thickened, the way it does when I’m sassy. It’s one thing to know he doesn’t like me, but for him to say I’m not up to his standards…well. “Did you pop over here just to be nice?” He exhales and rakes a hand through his hair, calling attention to the lighter strands that have been bleached by the sun. “Honestly, I’m not sure why I came over here.” A conflicted expression crosses his face as he tugs at his collar. My eyes stare at the myriad of curly blond chest hairs that are poking out from the V-neck of the light blue Oxford he’s wearing with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay from the ketchup getting all over you, but everything I’m saying is coming out wrong.” Oh. This is different. And not what I expected. “I’m fine, Baby Llama. No need to worry. You can go. Your girlfriends are waiting for you.” I tilt my head back toward the football table. He doesn’t budge. “Baby Llama?” An amused grin flashes over his face. I shrug. It’s been my private nickname for him since sophomore year when I stumbled upon him coming out of an upstairs bathroom at the Tau house after a shower with only a white towel wrapped around his trim waist. Some jersey chaser was with him. His hairy chest had both shocked my virgin sensibilities and excited me at the same time. The unruly curls just made him seem more naked, as if I’d seen his cock. Much to my dismay, I’d later dream about rolling around on that bed of golden curls. Seriously, who takes a shower with a chick in the middle of a kegger? Ryker Voss, that’s who. Because he can. And girls do whatever he wants. But not this one. I respect the game—even love it—but I don’t fall for football players, especially high and mighty quarterbacks who think they walk on water. My dad was the star player at Waylon twenty years ago, and trust me, I know how they operate. They get what they want and then they walk out, leaving broken hearts everywhere. “Have you ever seen a real llama?” he asks, continuing our conversation. It’s as if he’s actually trying to be nice. “I saw one at a safari park once. Little bugger tried to eat my hand off when I fed him, but he was cute. Maybe you need a poster of one in your room so when you see it, you’ll think about me. I’ll even sign it for you.” And there’s the cocky again. “Buy me one. I’ll throw darts at it.” “Damn, you never stop.” He huffs out a laugh, his eyes lingering on my neck. “Oh, there’s a bit of ketchup here too,” he says, reaching out to glide his finger across the top of my collar, his knuckles barely brushing against my neck. The feather-light touch is brief and not sexual, yet my body hums, tendrils of sparks racing over my skin. I suck in a breath and catch his scent, warm and spicy with hints of leather and sandalwood. He blinks and clears his throat. “Um, I actually have this cleaner stuff that I spray on my practice clothes. It’s a miracle worker. You’re welcome to borrow it. Of course, you’d have to come by the football dorm to pick it up. We could even do laundry together if you wanted?” He says the words softly, as if they’re nothing,and I’m staring at him full on. Do our laundry together? I suspect Ryker Voss is flirting with me, though not well. The pimply-faced checkout boy at Big Star has better lines than this. Yet… Something warm grows inside my stomach and then flutters around, the sputtering of newborn butterflies. He is the hottest guy on campus. Still, I remind myself he’s a player, gather my resolve, and shoot those butterflies down. “You’re being weird, Ryker.” “Because I’m being nice? Yeah. New year, new start. I want to forget all the bad stuff from last semester.” He pauses. “And the article you wrote.” “Is that right? Even the part where I said you dishonored the sport and were a disgrace to college players everywhere?” He stares down at his hands. “I had my reasons for what happened.” So I heard. He got involved in the fighting to help his friend and fellow teammate Maverick save his disabled sister. “Ah, well, I did write a follow-up article, but it wasn’t nearly as popular as the first one.” He shrugs, and somehow, he’s closer now. I stare into his thickly lashed cerulean eyes and blink at the force of them. His irises…God, someone should name a crayon after them. “So…do you want to do laundry together sometime?” This again? My mouth parts. “What? Like a date?” “Yeah.” I blink rapidly, my brain trying to wrap about this new Ryker. “No. I’m sure you already have jersey chasers lined up outside your dorm vying to do your laundry. I’ve heard they actually beg to rub your shoulders and do your homework. I imagine they even fight to be the one to suck your sweet little toes.” I come to an abrupt halt. Suck his toes? SUCK HIS TOES? OMG. Where did that random comment come from? I don’t have a foot fetish. I blame it on his presence and carry on. “And don’t worry about me—I don’t need your laundry advice. A little ketchup never hurt anyone.” Determination crosses his face and with a flurry of movement, he drops a small piece of paper onto the tray I’m holding. I stare down at it. Sexy as Hell Athlete is written in masculine handwriting with a phone number after it. I look back up at him, my eyes tracing the enigmatic half-smile on his face. “I wrote it down for you earlier and wanted to give it to you after the ketchup thing, but I chickened out.” Several seconds go by. “Will you give me yours?” he asks after a few moments of us just standing here. “My what?” “Number.” He grins. I indicate the tray and my obvious impediment. “I don’t have any paper on me.” “Just tell me. I’ll remember.” I’m flustered, and that’s the only reason I rattle off my phone number. He grins and repeats it back to me. He lowers his voice in a conspiratorial way. “So…you’re watching someone, I take it. Anyone I know?” Feeling bemused by his attention, I shake my head, quickly losing control of this situation. “For a writer, you seem to be at a loss for words. Do I make you speechless, Penelope?” I scoff. “No.” “I’m curious as to what has your attention back here.” He slides in next to me behind the plant, his shoulder brushing against mine. He’s a giant next to my slender frame, and all at once, I feel protected and safe, which is entirely wrong. It’s probably his male pheromones, lulling me into softness before the kill—and damn if it isn’t working. He murmurs something about us hiding together and spying on people, but I’m distracted because my face is up close and personal with the chest hair that pokes out of his shirt. I want to trail my fingers through it and see if it’s as soft as it looks. He smells like alpha male and sex. Hard, passionate sex that makes you orgasm fast and furious. Not that I have any firsthand knowledge of that, of course, but I have my fantasies. Gird your loins, Penelope. Resist the quarterback. But I’m getting sucked in. I blame it on the dimple that appears when he smiles. My stomach does that fluttering thing again, and this time, I can’t shoo the butterflies away. I’m weak. I move my eyes up the strong column of his tanned throat to meet his gaze. At least ten seconds go by as we take each other in. What. Is. Happening? “You’re pretty,” he murmurs. “Have I ever told you that?” “We don’t usually talk except for when I take your order.” His hand reaches up and briefly touches a piece of my hair that’s fallen out of my topknot. He rubs it between his fingers. “Your hair…it’s—” “Auburn,” I manage, clearing my throat. “It reminds me of a new penny, the way the amber color catches the light…” His voice trails off, and he bites his bottom lip. “God, that has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever said.” “You have worse lines. Tell me, is doing laundry code for sex?” I say, staring up at him. I’m itching to straighten my glasses, a nervous reflex, but my hands are holding the tray. “I only use lines on jersey chasers. You’re the kind of girl I have to work for.” “What about your discriminating tastes?” “Pure bluff. I think we have a real connection, Penelope.” His face is closer now, and I swallow, wondering how we must look to everyone else in the restaurant. I realize that in the process of talking, we’ve backed up to the wall behind the plant, and I figure the only table we’re visible to is the football one, but I don’t tear my eyes away from Ryker to check. “You smell like rainbows,” he says. My chest rises. I’m enjoying his full-court press. It’s…intoxicating. “What does a rainbow smell like?” “Sweet and delicious.” “It’s the suckers.” His eyes land on my lips, and it almost feels as if he’s touched them. Heat rushes over my skin. “The red ones are my favorite. I think they’re cherry or strawberry or raspberry…definitely not cranberry…that’s disgusting,” I say, rambling, feeling disoriented. “It’s crazy, but I really want to kiss you right now,” he murmurs. My eyes drift over his shoulder to where Connor’s table is. I can’t see his face, but I know he’s there, and even though I’m drugged by Ryker’s proximity, I remind myself he’s the one I should kiss. Not Ryker. Ryker is a player—just like my dad was. He watches the direction of my gaze and follows it. “You’ve been watching Dimples hitz, haven’t you?” he says, a frown line appearing on his forehead. “Are you into him?” My stomach dips. “Why would you say that?” “Because you hightailed it over here when he walked in and you’ve been hiding ever since. So, I figure he either did you wrong or you’re infatuated, and since I haven’t heard any gossip about you and him, I’m guessing you must have a thing for him.” Abort! Abort!He knows too much! Sanity slowly returns to my brain in small increments, and I take a deep breath, orienting myself as questions race through my head. What if he uses my crush against me? Maybe he wants revenge for the article. I don’t know! Flustered and unsure, my eyes dart around the restaurant, looking for an exit so I don’t have to answer his question. My gaze lands on the football table he came from, and I notice Archer watching us with focused interest, a calculating look on his face as he whips his eyes from me to Ryker. He leans over and whispers to Blaze, who turns to peer in our direction. I pause, my brain analyzing and decoding. Why is Archer suddenly interested in what Ryker is doing over here with me—especially when there’s a pretty co-ed sitting right next to him, tracing little circles on his bicep? Yet Archer’s eagle eyes are onus. Watchful. I notice all three players at the table have suddenly given us their attention, anticipation evident on their faces. Alarms go off in my head and things start to click into place. How nice he was to me. How we ‘have a connection’. Yeah, right. Mortification washes over me. How could I not have seen it sooner? God, I am an idiot.I was so distracted… I’m a bet. A stupid freaking bet. I feel like someone just punched me in the gut. My survival instinct tells me to get away from Ryker, and obviously,I could just walk away and hold my head high, but I want to make a point and show those football players they can’t toy with me. I release the tray I’ve been balancing for what seems like days in his direction. The contents of the glasses spill out and crash to the floor, watered-down soda and ice drenching us before dripping down to the floor. The plastic glasses make a horrible clattering noise on the wooden floors, and I imagine most everyone in the restaurant heard it. I don’t look to see their faces. I only glare at Ryker. He jumps back and stares down at the mess on his khaki pants then looks back at me. “Remind me to never bring up Dimpleshitz again.” “Stop your games, Ryker.” His face stills. “What games?” My teeth snap together. Enough.

Love football heroes and nerdy heroines?

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About the Author Wall Street Journal, New York Times, and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap. She's best known for her angsty, heartfelt new adult college romances. A former high school English teacher, she adores all things Pride and Prejudice; Mr. Darcy is her ultimate hero. She's also addicted to frothy coffee beverages, Vampire Diaries, and any kind of book featuring unicorns and sword-wielding females.

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I Bet You by Ilsa Madden-Mills
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Wow! What a delicious read! I devoured every single word. I loved the characters, their story and the writing is phenomenal.
Ryker and Penelope are the type of characters that have You routing for them the whole way. He’s a jock, tall, blonde and sex on a stick. She’s quirky, smart and easily puts him in his place. I loved the banter with these two and really enjoyed the secondary characters as well. Great read all the way around! You’ll love it!

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“Smart, sassy, and utterly delightful! Get ready to fall head-over-heels in love with Lucy, one of the wittiest and most inspiring heroines I’ve ever met!”

- Annika Martin New York Times bestselling author

Muffin Top, a hot romantic comedy from USA Today bestselling author Avery Flynn is available now!

The only thing about me that’s a size zero is the filter on my mouth. I’ve got a big personality, a big rack, and a big number on the scale. And I’m perfectly fine with that.

But when some random guy suggests I might not be eating alone if I’d ordered a salad instead of a hamburger I’m shocked silent, which is a feat, trust me.

That brings us to one sexy fireman named Frankie Hartigan. He’s hot. He’s funny… And he’s just apologized for being late for our “date” then glared at the fat-shaming jerk. Next thing I know, he’s sitting down and ordering himself dinner.

I have no problem telling him I don’t need a pity date . . . unless of course it’s to my high school reunion next week. Oops where did that last bit come from? And what do I do now that he’s said yes?!

Because this is no make-over story, and I think Frankie is using me for something. I just have to figure out what…

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Excerpt:

The temptation to say “Yes, Frankie, please squash him like a bug while I clap and watch” was so, so strong—like, the guys who pull semi trucks with their teeth strong. Instead, Lucy played along with her best friend’s fiancé’s brother— OMG, that was now the name of her imaginary all-girl ska band—and smiled sweetly up at him. “He was bothered by my dinner order, honey.” “Really?” Frankie looked down at her plate, over to the dipshit, and then right at her. There was no missing the devil in his eyes right before he turned his attention back to the other man. “What’s wrong with what my girl’s eating?” Mr. In Her Business blanched. Literally. The color drained out of his face so fast that he resembled one of those swipe right before and after photos on makeover blogs. How in the hell she managed to not laugh out loud she had no frickin’ clue. “N-n-nothing,” the man stuttered. Nope. He was not getting off that easily. She looked up at Frankie, still standing next to her chair, his big hand braced on the back of it, and said in the clueless voice that anyone with a brain would know meant there was danger ahead, “He said I should have ordered a salad, then I might have a chance to move from a five to an eight. I’m a five because I have great tits.” Thunderous didn’t begin to describe the dark look of pure vengeance that crossed Frankie’s face, making even the freckles that crossed over the bridge of his nose look scary. Mr. Buttinsky made a little squeaking noise that reminded Lucy of the sound of air coming out of a balloon when someone pulled the tip taut as it was deflating. Frankie took a step forward, menace vibrating off of him in waves. The other guy didn’t bother to say a word, he just took off, weaving his way at a fast clip through the crowded bar and out the front door. Lucy liked to imagine that he peed his pants a little as he did so. “Thanks, Frankie,” she said to the man still staring at the departing figure of Mr. Peed His Pants. “I owe you one.” Her ginger knight in well-fitting jeans and a T-shirt made some kind of noise that maybe was a response in the affirmative. It sounded kinda like “no problem.” Whatever. She was used to that from guys. She was only of interest until a hotter, skinnier, or prettier woman came along. It was the universal fat chick cloaking device. Determined not to let it annoy her as much as it usually would, she turned back to her jalapeño cheeseburger, spicy fries, and soda. Now she could finally enjoy her dinner in peace. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Frankie clunked down a three-fourths filled mug of beer on the other side of her table, pulled out the chair across from her, and sat down. Before she could even ask what he was doing, he waved the waitress over and told her he wanted whatever Lucy was eating, plus an extra order of fries and another beer. Once she’d left, he turned his attention to Lucy and gave her what could only be described as a vibrator smile. She named it that in her head—thankfully only in her head—because she now had a desperate need for her vibrator and maybe a fresh pack of batteries. “You’re not gonna make me eat alone now that we’re on a date, are you?” he asked, swiping one of her fries.

About Avery

USA Today bestselling romance author Avery Flynn has three slightly-wild children, loves a hockey-addicted husband and is desperately hoping someone invents the coffee IV drip. She fell in love with romance while reading Johanna Lindsey’s Mallory books. It wasn’t long before Avery had read through all the romance offerings at her local library. Needing a romance fix, she turned to Harlequin’s four books a month home delivery service to ease the withdrawal symptoms. That worked for a short time, but it wasn’t long before the local book stores’ staffs knew her by name. Avery was a reader before she was a writer and hopes to always be both. She loves to write about smartass alpha heroes who are as good with a quip as they are with their *ahem* other God-given talents. Her heroines are feisty, fierce and fantastic. Brainy and brave, these ladies know how to stand on their own two feet and knock the bad guys off theirs.

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