Saturday, May 25, 2019

#Tour #Review THE ASSISTANT by Marni Mann @jennw23 @MarniMann

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The Assistant by Marni Mann

Release Date: May 21, 2019

The Assistant.jpg

The Assistant, a haunting new romantic thriller from USA Today bestselling author Marni Mann.


At forty-two, I’m married to my best friend, and we have two beautiful children. 

Everything about my life is perfect until my father gets sick.

Before: I owned and operated a massively successful women’s shapewear company.

After: I stay home with my family because I’ve learned the importance of time.

Before: My husband could rely on me to take care of everything.

After: I hire him the perfect assistant.

My entire life can be summed up in before and afters, but something happens in the middle.

A meeting.

And it changes the course of everyone’s lives forever.

_________________




OMFG! My entire body is tingling. Not goosebumps, not pins and needles, just this weird tingle that is coursing through me since I read those final words. The Assistant is one of those reads that makes you feel like impending doom is all around you. You know it isn't. You look away from the page and you hear birds signing, your dog begging to go out, and cars around you but the minute you go back to your book/e-reader nothing exists but the written words coming to life in front of your very eyes. 

The Assistant is a powerful, suspenseful story that will leave you reeling. I was on edge the entire time I read it. I just couldn't get my heart to calm down or my mind to stop racing. Even when something as minor as food preparations were happening, I found myself having internal freakouts. I know my reaction was BEYOND reasonable. I was too invested. And yet, I still feel my internal freak out was warranted. 

Marni Mann baked a cake with a smile on her face. She's smiling while she presents it to us. She tells us it's our favorite. She has never asked our favorite. We don't actually know her personally but her smile is convincing, her words thoughtful and perfectly placed. She has you convinced that the cake (The Assistant) is necessary for all your future happiness. And we believe her with every part of our doubting hearts! That's what The Assistant does. You are wrapped up in every word Marni gives you smiling in your innocence. Taking in your new favorite flavor...

The Assistant cannot be summarized. It can't be given a few quips to help you understand. It is best to go in blind and know that tissues may be required (though I say that often and yes, I needed some!). Enjoy the unique and highly effective storytelling. I imagine it would be in your best interest to schedule a large block of time to read it because there is no putting this story down. I didn't stop to eat, drink, or use the bathroom. I was consumed by this book. Even as I finish typing this, I'm still tingling from the ending.

Talk about a game changer!

Reviewed for Sweet Spot Sisterhood

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The Assistant - AN.jpg


Download your copy today!


Add to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2H9s5Si

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Excerpt:

I breathed through that thought and filled my nose with his scent. There was a constant rotation of different shampoos and soaps in our shower. No matter what he used or the cologne he added after, Emery always smelled like leaves during a spring rainstorm with a hint of spiciness like the cinnamon and nutmeg I’d shaken onto his coffee. After several deep inhales, I pulled my mouth away, observing how handsome he looked at his desk. He had on a pair of dark jeans and a plaid button-down with a navy sweater on top. And, even though I couldn’t see them, he had on argyle socks and dark brown leather shoes. I just knew my husband that well. Emery began to move his chair, swiveling it around to face me. When he stopped in front of me, I stepped between his legs, setting my coffee on his desk so that both of my hands were free. My palms went to his cheeks. I loved the way his whiskers felt on my skin. He kept his beard longer in the winter and trimmed much shorter in the summer. Winter was my favorite, and he had reminded me of one of the reasons after Alicia’s party when he rubbed it across my entire body. From the look on his face, I had a feeling he was thinking about the same thing. “We have the house all to ourselves today,” he said, confirming my suspicion. His hands slowly slid to the back of my thighs. “When was the last time I was able to do this”—he rubbed his nose across my navel, air from his lips bursting through my top—“on a weekday?” He continued to wrap around until his fingers were on my butt. His lips slowly parted, his eyes fiery with seduction. “I’m going to put you on top of those blueprints, and then I’m going to—” “You have an interview in fifteen minutes.” I put a finger on his lips. “But I want you to remember the thought you just had, and when the interview is over”—I leaned in a little closer—“I want you to put me on top of those blueprints and do to me whatever it was that you had planned.” He kissed the back of my finger, and it started to tremble. “You’re turning me on so much; I’m shaking,” I said, pulling my hand away at the same time the doorbell rang. “She’s early. I like that.” I slipped out of his grip and took several steps back. “I’ll go get her, and we’ll meet you in the dining room.” He nodded, and I walked out of his office, still feeling the tremors as I headed down the rest of the hallway. 



About Marni: 

Best-selling Author Marni Mann knew she was going to be a writer since middle school. While other girls her age were daydreaming about teenage pop stars, Mann was fantasizing about penning her first novel. She crafts sexy, titillating stories that weave together her love of darkness, mystery, passion, and human emotion. A New Englander at heart, she now lives in Sarasota, Florida with her husband and their two dogs who subsequently have been characters in her books. When she’s not nose deep in her laptop working on her next novel, she’s scouring for chocolate, sipping wine, traveling to new locations, and devouring fabulous books.

Connect with Marni:





Stay up to Date with Marni by signing up for her mailing list here: http://marnismann.com/about/

Thursday, May 23, 2019

#NewRelease #Reviews #5stars WRITTEN WITH YOU by Aly Martinez @jennw23 @AlyMartinezAuth


“Aly Martinez is one of the best in the business. You have to read her books.” --Meghan March, New York Times Bestselling Author

Written With You, the emotional and highly anticipated conclusion to The Regret Duet from USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez, is available now! 

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When I was fifteen, a single bullet changed my life. I spent the next decade trying to outrun the devastation of my past, building an empire that would shield me from whatever life could throw at me.

But all the money in the world couldn’t help me when I found a screaming newborn abandoned on my doorstep.

I’d never wanted to be a father. Passing the sludge that ran through my veins down to an innocent child seemed like a tragedy. But there she was—pink cheeks, red hair, and mine.

Somehow, against all logic, that little girl became the best thing that ever happened to me. It was impossible to stay lost in the past when I was the only one who could protect her future.

Which is exactly why, when her mother came back four years later, I was ready for battle.

If only I could stop myself from falling in love with her during the war.

___________________




This is the conclusion to the duet and book one must be read first.

Aly is a master at story building, she ramps up the tension and expectations and never disappoints the reader. I had guessed one of the twists however the buildup to the reveal was flawless. When I thought nothing could surprise me BOOM Aly threw a grenade into the story. 

Everything I loved in book one was here but amped up to the max. The reader feels the tension, I felt it building. My love for Caven, Hadley and Rosie increased so much. They go through so much together I just wanted to wrap them in a protective bubble so no harm could come to them. I thought my heart would stop near the end I literally held my breath through the whole chapter. The epilogue was absolute perfection. 


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I feel like a broken record when I say this because I'm pretty sure I've said this in every review I've ever written for this author but DAMN!!!!!! 

Aly Martinez books are like driving a car down the interstate at 75 MPH. You are happily entertained by your radio/audiobook/kids chatter until you see someone driving erratically 2 lanes over. You stiffen up, you get hyper vigilant and you start praying. You are still watching the road in front of you but now you keep sparing extra glances for that shifty dude 2 lanes over. Just as you start to relax because Speed Racer with the inability to maintain his lane decides to exit the highway at the upcoming ramp, your vehicle gets sides swiped by a drunk driver crossing the median and you go rolling off the hill. Welcome to Aly Martinez's story telling hour, please check your preconceived notions at the door and throw a way all sense of ease. You will only be able to piece together small bits of the out of focus puzzle. And that will cost you...

Written with You is emotional (duh, didn't I already tell you it's an Aly Martinez book!?! 😒). It is intense and it is a whirlwind of chaotic doubts, lies, and guilt. Be careful when it's over you're going to feel guilty for what you didn't catch. You may even experience a deep seated desire to start therapy or read another Aly Martinez book. If either is the case, please proceed with caution. The rabbit hole can be a mighty scary place. 😆

I have no shame in my emotional connections to characters, books, and situations I've never experienced. So I cried. My heart broke. My faith in humanity splintered but my happily ever after glee is fully intact. I am smiling. I freely admit this duet just solidifies my painfully obvious crush on the inner workings of Aly Martinez's brain. Also now I need get another set paperbacks to grace my shelves!

Reviewed for Sweet Spot Sisterhood

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Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!


Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/WWY

Add to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2WkaS16



Start the duet today with Written With Regret


Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/WWR

Add to Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2IOYdg5

*

Every little girl dreams of the fairytale. The one where the white knight rushes in to save her from the clutches of evil. They fall in love, have babies, and live happily ever after.

By that definition, my life should have been a fairytale too.

When I was eight years old, Caven Hunt saved me from the worst kind of evil to walk the Earth. It didn’t matter that I was a kid. I fell in love with him all the same.

But that was where my fairytale ended.

Years later, a one-night stand during the darkest time imaginable gave us a little girl. It was nothing compared to the pitch black that consumed me when I was forced to leave her with Caven for good.

At the end of every fairytale, the happily-ever-after is the one thing that remains consistent. It wasn’t going to be mine, but there hadn’t been a night that passed where I hadn’t prayed that it would be hers.

I owed Caven my life.

However, I owed that innocent child more.

And that included ripping the heart from my chest and facing her father again.

_______________


About Aly

Originally from Savannah, Georgia, USA Today bestselling author Aly Martinez now lives in South Carolina with her husband and four young children.

Never one to take herself too seriously, she enjoys cheap wine, mystery leggings, and olives. It should be known, however, that she hates pizza and ice cream, almost as much as writing her bio in the third person.

She passes what little free time she has reading anything and everything she can get her hands on, preferably with a super-sized tumbler of wine by her side.


Connect with Aly






Facebook Reader Group: http://bit.ly/2DEpPAh





Stay up to date with Aly by signing up for her mailing list today:

Wednesday, May 22, 2019

#Tour #Review THE BILLIONAIRE BOSS NEXT DOOR by Max Monroe @jennw23 @authormaxmonroe


The Billionaire Boss Next Door, an all-new hilarious romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now! 


My new boss has it all. In spades.


Gorgeous green eyes? Check.

Hard-and-sexy body? Check.

Intelligence? Check.

Success? A big fat billionaire… Check.


Too bad I haven’t started out on the best foot.


My big mouth has already turned him against me, and tempting good looks and success aside, Trent Turner is no peach either. He’s stubborn and thick-headed, and son of a fruitcake, he thinks he knows everything there is to know about the hotel business.


With him running the development of the new Vanderturn New Orleans Hotel and me doing the design, our work relationship is far too intimate for two people who absolutely despise one another.


But that’s not all.


See, he isn’t just my billionaire boss from hell. He’s my new neighbor, too.


Same city.

Same building.

Same floor.


Trent Turner is my billionaire boss next door.


Holy moly, let’s hope my career—and hormones—can survive.


Disclaimer: If you generally love to suffer, hate fun of any kind, and are allergic to laughter, this book is not for you.

__________________




I was sold this book based on the ridiculous title and the author. No doubt in my mind I would be entertained. Max Monroe own zany comedies with billionaires. They freaking copyrighted that sh!t. So, of course, my needy, greedy self had to get in on this!

The Billionaire Boss Next Door might not just roll off your tongue but it will have you choking on your tongue. AND...biting your lip, holding in cackles, and definitely snorting at inopportune times. As a matter of fact, their warning/dedication was 110% accurate. if reading this publicly avoid beverages, hot foods, and choking hazards, you will thank me. (You will also be hungry and dehydrated but very much alive!)

I had a ridiculously entertaining time reading The Billionaire Boss Next Door. I'm super excited that this is only the beginning of the next series by these authors. Live long and prosper the newest crop of billionaires! I will be here with you every step of the way!

Reviewed for Sweet Spot Sisterhood


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Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!


Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/TBBND





Excerpt:

It only takes five minutes inside the hotel gym to realize why my original plan was to eat a hamburger in bed. I do not got this. I’m not good at working out, I’ve never been good at working out, and I’ll never be good at working out. I don’t know what to do with the equipment, and it doesn’t know what to do with me. Clearly, it’s been designed for people with half a foot more height and fifty percent more muscle, and even on the lowest of settings, I fumble my way through biceps curls like an uncoordinated inchworm. I can barely reach the handles, so I have to kind of stoop to get in position, but the newly formed curve of my spine makes me have to arch and wiggle to complete the curl. If it weren’t for my kick-ass Metallica T-shirt, I might start to worry that I look foolish. The ten-pound weight clanks as I drop it the inch and a half I managed to lift it in the first place, and I stand up to find a different machine. Surely there’s something in here I can operate without having a special license. I find some kind of seated thing with weights on one end and a padded face rest on the other. I sit, lay my face down, and attempt to slide my legs underneath the weighted bar. But, it’s completely awkward and uncomfortable, and I start questioning what in the fuck this thing is even supposed to do. Just before I give up completely, a throat clears deeply beside me, and I look up to see a far too muscular man staring down at me in confusion. “Uh…wow…I didn’t realize you could use it that way…” Huh? I nearly ask him what he’s talking about, but his actions answer any and all questions I might have. He sits down on the machine beside mine—an identical machine to mine—and it’s then I realize the face rest is not a face rest. It’s a seat. For asses. A seat for sweaty, workout asses. Jesus Christ. I shudder and disentangle myself from the machine. “You okay?” Arnold Schwarzenegger’s long-lost brother asks, but I just nod off his question and put some much-needed distance between us. Also, I scrub my face with the hand towel I brought down from my room like it’s a fucking Brillo pad capable of removing the ball sweat that’s probably found itself a home in my pores. Note to self: take one thousand scalding-hot showers tonight. With a deep inhale, I try to regain some of the pride I lost back there by Mr. Muscles and peruse the room until I find a machine that’s labeled with instructional pictures to boot. Hip. Abduction. Do I need aliens to use this thing? Against my better judgment, I study the pictures and peptalk myself into sitting down on the seat and swing my legs over to the inside of the knee pads. No face-to-butt-sweat mistakes happening here, folks! The weight is set on one hundred and fifty pounds from the person before me, and it makes me wonder if Thor is staying at this hideous hotel too. I pull out the pin and put it on forty instead. After a quick test push with my legs, the setting seems doable, so I take out my phone and start scrolling through it to set up some music to accompany me. Yes. Yes. That’s exactly what I need. Some workout jams. Of course, once I’m on it, I get distracted by Instagram, and five minutes go by before I realize I’m sitting on a machine, not a couch, and the purpose here is to do something other than lounge. I glance up from my phone and scan the room, wondering slightly if anyone knows how long I’ve been sitting here. Mr. Muscles has moved on to a new machine, but a different guy across the room makes eye contact and smirks. Busted. Normal human decency dictates he should let me off the hook and go about his day, but this fit, Adonis-looking, sweat-covered, brown-haired, green-eyed—good God, he’s attractive—man apparently has no manners. Shit. His sleeveless white T-shirt clings to his tanned body as he strides my way, and his athletic shorts conform to a muscular set of thighs and ass. I look everywhere but at him, fiddling with the machine as though I’m doing something productive, but he still doesn’t get the hint. Raspy and firm, the clearing of his throat sounds right next to me. I look up as innocently as I can manage and pull out my earbuds as though I had music playing. “Um, hi,” I say with a cute little manufactured laugh. “I’ll be done in just a second.” He laughs too, but his seems genuine and undeniably directed at me. “If you keep up your current pace, I think it’s going to be a little longer.” “Excuse me?” “Come on,” he says good-naturedly—the prick. “You’re just pretending to work out.” Oh no, he did not just say that…. “I’m not pretending to work out,” I deny. “I’m just getting warmed up.” He nods knowingly. “And setting up my music,” I continue. He hums. “I’m just about to catch my stride.” “Sure you are.” He calls bullshit with his smug, green as fuck eyes, and for the briefest of moments, they glance down at my chest and my legs before meeting my gaze again. “But there are people who would like to really use it, so if you’re done…” What. The. Fuck. Who does this guy think he is? “Are you always this rude?” I question, and his green eyes lighten a bit. “All right, you’re right. I’m really not trying to be a dick,” he says and runs a hand through his hair. Should it really take that much effort not to be a dick? “Let’s start over…” He pauses and pushes a small smile to his full, kissable lips. “How are you enjoying the hotel?” Start over? How about let’s never have started at all? Still annoyed, I don’t censor my answer. “It’s…swell.” He laughs at first, but when I raise an eyebrow in contention, he frowns. “You don’t like it?” “Maybe ugly décor and a whole buttload of pretention are good for some people, but not for me.” “Ugly décor? Really?” How can he be shocked by this? Anyone with eyes could see the design flaws here. “Are you kidding? I feel like I’m in my ninety-year-old grandmother’s living room, except it’s a waking nightmare and I’m about to be eaten alive by the curtains.” “I don’t think it’s that bad. It’s timeless.” Normally, I’m not such a snob about design, nor do I make a point to make other people feel bad for their likes and dislikes, but for some reason, this handsome prick and his dickish attitude just bring it out in me. Before I know it, I’m channeling Regina George. “Well…” I pause and scrunch up my nose dramatically. “I’m sorry to break the news to you, but the design of this place looks like it was done by a blind rat. Gilded sailboat pictures and tapestries with oxen on them aren’t timeless. They’re old.” His eyebrows pinch together, highlighting the otherwise perfect features of his face. Goddamn this ugly hotel for housing such perfect-looking humans. “What did you say your name was again?” Shit. Emory will absolutely murder me if she finds out I got into some kind of confrontational tête-à-tête with a random Romeo in the hotel gym. Let’s also not forget this hotel gym is located inside a hotel that is owned by the company you’re about to interview with… Shit. Yeah. I’d better cut and run while I can. “I didn’t.” I jump up from the machine with the exact agility I’ve lacked during the rest of my workout and offer a saccharine smile. “But, hey, good news. Machine’s all yours.” “Aren’t you going to wipe it down?” he asks as I walk toward the door, and I can’t help but turn around for my parting shot. “Why?” I smirk at the pouty-lipped asshole. “After all, I was just pretending to work out.” Because you know what dicks can do? They can go fuck themselves and wipe down their own workout equipment, tight asses and chiseled jaws be damned. Suck on that, workout Romeo. 

_________________________


About Max Monroe:

A secret duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads. Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far. 

Connect with Max Monroe: 






Stay up to date with Max Monroe by joining their mailing list today: https://www.authormaxmonroe.com/newsletter


Friday, May 17, 2019

#ReviewTour #Tour #Reviews BRED by Ginger Scott @wordsmithpublic @TheGingerScott ‏



We're celebrating BRED by Ginger Scott! BRED is a coming-of-age romance inspired by Great Expectations you won't want to miss!


Bred by Ginger Scott

Mature Young Adult Contemporary Romance

Release day: May 10, 2019



#Free with #KindleUnlimited




BRED

A coming-of-age romance inspired by Great Expectations

By Ginger Scott

My life was irrevocably changed the moment I stepped foot inside Elena Alderman’s grand front doors. A lifeless tomb on the edge of Chicago’s South Side, the Alderman home sat in one of the city’s oldest and wealthiest neighborhoods, and Elena Alderman was the queen. 

She was also mad. 

Not the kind of madness that’s readily apparent. No, her psychopathy was far more surgical—more…insidious. She was surrounded by beautiful things—most notably her grand piano and her adopted son, Henry.

I fell in love with both.

My gift blossomed when my fingers touched her black and white keys. But my life began when I became haunted by the boy. Henry Alderman was a handsome blend of arrogance and seduction, and as we grew up together, I found it more and more impossible to separate him from my thoughts. I envied his life. I imagined how my name—Lily—would look with his. I became his closest friend…and more. I gave him my kiss, locked away his secrets, and loved him even when it was hard to.

But we were just a game. Elena Alderman made the rules. And when she decided to change them, she broke everything. 

Almost.

--




Miss Havisham would curtsy upon finishing Bred. She would contemplate her response and in the end her disgust and pinched face would say it all. Ginger Scott nailed it!

I have to be honest. I was equally intrigued and terrified. I loved Great Expectations and hated it at the same time. It was a novel that has stuck with me since freshman year in high school. I have never done a reread because it's so damn bleak but I always, always admired the hopeless romantic edge. I, myself, am a hopeless romantic and therefore despite my fears needed to read Bred. 

I am so glad I did. Ginger Scott tells a story that to the core is everything to a fan. Bred is a Jimmy Choo to Great Expectations Manolo Blanik. It is NOT a Target brand knockoff. It is NOT a NYC city vendor version. Ginger Scott has captured the emotions and feels of Great Expectations. I think the master would be proud. 

Is it wrong to say I like these characters better than the originals!?! SHhh! I won't say it then. I just felt like they were easier to relate to. Almost like they had more soul! It's probably terrible to admit but I wasn't a fan of the soulless wench in GE and I'm not talking about Miss Havisham. I feel like Ginger have them a second life. A chance at happily ever after.

Reviewed for Sweet Spot Sisterhood

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Excerpt from BRED By Ginger Scott

A coming-of-age love story inspired by Great Expectations

(Copyright Ginger Scott, 2019)


“You know this stuff…” he starts, but I interrupt with an emphatic shake of my head. When his fingers splay out over my back I freeze. I follow the path my book takes back to the place it started in front of me as Henry slides it in place, flipping open to the chapter I’m trying to memorize. Knelt down next to me, he leans closer, resting his right arm next to my left one—we are touching.


I swallow. I’m going to fail. I cannot memorize something like the varied historical degrees of differences between a Protestant hell and a Lutheran one while the master of all hotness is sharing a desktop with me. My arm hairs are literally electric, standing up and reaching to plant themselves in his skin. I’ve gone completely primal—my body convinced that I am the gatherer in need of this hunter.


“Look,” he says, leaning in even closer and reaching to flip the pages. I barely register the movement of his thumb under a bold section of words. When his eyes catch mine still stuck on his face, I jump in my seat a little.


“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’m just overwhelmed. Maybe a little slow, too, from being in here so long.”


It’s partly true, but I’m also just crushing. Crushing—that’s what Nicki calls it. She rolls her eyes every time she catches me doing it too, then labels it with that word. I crush in the dining area. I crush between classes when Henry pokes my arm with his index finger as we pass in the halls. I crush when I watch him sprint across the lawn every day at three in the afternoon, late for rowing. It’s literally become how I know it’s three o’clock! My body just instinctually glides toward my window at exactly 2:59. Pathetic!


At this point, we should just say that I’m crushed rather than crushing. Crushed and utterly destroyed of all pride.


I am gatherer.

“What you need to do is make up a rhyme. Something that will help you keep all of the key words in your brain so when it comes time to write them down in order, you’ll have them there.”


I draw in my lips and let the acid climb up my throat.


“I don’t even understand that. Ugg, I’m hopeless,” I say, letting my head fall flat against the book. I bounce my forehead there lightly while I eke out a desperate laugh at my own expense.


“You aren’t hopeless.” I feel the warm breath from his chuckle and smell the mint of his gum, and it’s intoxicating enough without his touch, so when the warm hand slides the hair from my cheek I go full hypnosis. His fingers trace my jaw, and my head lifts from the light pressure of his hold. For a moment, I believe in myself just because of the look in his eyes when our stares meet. He’s dead serious—and God, the way he’s looking at me, hair all tousled, smile soft and true, cheeks lifted as if they’re glad to see me.


Like a drunk, I lean closer, my lips parting and ready—my mind imagining everything I’m about to feel—Henry’s mouth on mine, the graze of teeth against my lips, us standing as his arms sweep around my back before his hands rush up my spine into my own messy hair.


None of that happens.


I get an inch away from his mouth, my eyelids fluttering with nerves and uncertainty whether they should close or remain open, and Henry turns a few inches to his left, stiffening and backing away just enough to keep me from making this worse—as if I can make this worse somehow. The rush of heat that coats me isn’t from passion—it’s from humiliation. My eyes remain open just long enough to see the movement in his neck as he clears his throat. His soft smile is replaced with a hard line, drawn under the pity that slants his eyes.


I think I understand hell a little better now. It helps that I’m in it.


“I’m just tired. I…” Why I try to speak, I don’t know.


“It’s fine.” His voice is laced with discomfort. In one blink I erased everything that was easy between us. All because of my damn fantasies.


Fine. That word—so short, so four-lettered. Such a lie. I ruined everything.







About the Author:


Ginger Scott is an Amazon-bestselling and Goodreads Choice Award-nominated author of several young and new adult romances, including Waiting on the Sidelines, Going Long, The Hail Mary, Blindness, How We Deal With Gravity, This Is Falling, You and Everything After, The Girl I Was Before, Wild Reckless, Wicked Restless, In Your Dreams, The Hard Count, Hold My Breath, A Boy Like You, A Girl Like Me, Memphis and Cry Baby.


A sucker for a good romance, Ginger’s other passion is sports, and she often blends the two in her stories. (She’s also a sucker for a hot quarterback, catcher, pitcher, point guard…the list goes on.) Ginger has been writing and editing for newspapers, magazines and blogs for more than 15 years. She has told the stories of Olympians, politicians, actors, scientists, cowboys, criminals and towns. For more on her and her work, visit her website at http://www.littlemisswrite.com.


When she's not writing, the odds are high that she's somewhere near a baseball diamond, either watching her son field pop flies like Bryce Harper or cheering on her favorite baseball team, the Arizona Diamondbacks. Ginger lives in Arizona and is married to her college sweetheart whom she met at ASU (fork 'em, Devils).


Social Media Links:


Twitter: @TheGingerScott