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Preppy by T.M. Frazieris LIVE! I'm so excited for you guys to read it! This is 5 star Kindle Crack. We begged T.M Frazier for MORE Preppy. Holy sh*t did she deliver. I'm just full on in love with this book and this author!
Samuel Clearwater, A.K.A Preppy, likes bowties, pancakes, suspenders, good friends, good times, good drugs, and a good f*ck.
He’s worked his way out from beneath a hellish childhood and is living the life he’s always imagined for himself. When he meets a girl, a junkie on the verge of ending it all, he’s torn between his feelings for her and the crippling fear that she could be the one to end the life he loves.
Andrea ‘Dre’ Capulet is strung out and tired.
Tired of living for her next fix. Tired of doing things that make her stomach turn. Tired of looking in the mirror at the reflection of the person she’s become. Just when she decides to end it all, she meets a man who will change the course of both their lives forever.
And their deaths.
For most people, death is the end of their story.
For Preppy and Dre, death was only the beginning.
This is the fifth book in the King Series and it's meant to be read after Soulless. Did you read all four books in the USA Today bestselling the series yet? KING series reading order: King, Tyrant, Lawless, Soulless are total Kindle Crack! Amazon: http://amzn.to/2cFGkzi
About the Author:
T.M. Frazier is a USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR best known for her KING SERIES. She was born on Long Island, NY. When she was eight years old she moved with her mom, dad, and older sister to sunny Southwest Florida where she still lives today with her husband and daughter.
When she was in middle school she was in a club called AUTHORS CLUB with a group of other young girls interested in creative writing. Little did she know that years later life would come full circle.
After graduating high school, she attended Florida Gulf Coast University and had every intention of becoming a news reporter when she got sucked into real estate where she worked in sales for over ten years.
Throughout the years T.M. never gave up the dream of writing and with her husband’s encouragement, and a lot of sleepless nights, she realized her dream and released her first novel, The Dark Light of Day, in 2013.
I pull up in my driveway looking over at the house. What I see pisses me off.
Here she is in a long-sleeved shirt, long pants, hat and glasses pushing a brand new lawn mower.
I make sure I check my temper before I walk over. Right before I cross the street the little girl on the front porch stops me mid step.
She looks like just like her mother, just a smaller version. She is sitting on a plastic little table, that they probably just bought, coloring.
I make my way over to her right when the lawn mower goes off
“I told you I would cut the grass.” I try to sound casual, but the blood in me is boiling, it must be ninety-five degrees outside, and she’s wearing enough clothes for a trek across the frozen tundra.
She looks up “I also said I got it, and I would be doing it myself.” The little girl from the porch makes it to her mother and hides behind her, yanking on her pant leg.
The fearful look that she gives me is just like her mother’s. I crouch down, getting eye-to-eye with her and say “Hey there, beautiful. What’s your name?” She doesn’t reply, and instead she lowers her gaze so she is looking at her feet. “I’m Jackson,” I reach out my hand, but drop it when I know she won’t take it. I gesture behind me, as I say “I live in that house right over there. I used to know your great grandma.” I’m trying to draw her into a conversation with me, but nothing I say engages her.
“It’s ok baby, you can tell him your name. Nan used to make him cookies, so you know what that means, she must have really liked him.” She rubs her daughters shoulder.
“I’m Lilah,” she says in barely a whisper.
“That is the most beautiful name in the whole wide world. You’re lucky to have such a beautiful name.” She smiles at me, right as a car back fires. She yells and puts her hands to her ears.
Two things happen at the same time, her mother grabs her and runs toward the house, and I vow to protect them.
“Wait,” I rush after them and make it right to the door before it’s closed in my face. I stand there inside the house and watch them rushing to the corner and hide.
The third novel in New York Times bestselling author Heidi McLaughlin's Boys of Summer baseball series.
A beast at the plate, Travis Kidd is a superstar for the Boston Renegades. But when baseball isn't occupying his time, Travis - named Boston's Most Eligible Bachelor - is known as a ladies' man.
Saylor Blackwell knows sports. As a public relations specialists, her focus is on the athletes. The hours are long, the job stressful, and she's prohibited from dating any of the overly friendly athletes, but the result is what matters - she's financially able to care for her daughter.
When a drunken night spent with Travis threatens that, Saylor knows she's made a mistake. Unfortunately, when he's accused of a horrible crime, it causes a PR nightmare and forces Saylor to come to his rescue. But when Saylor's ex comes back demanding custody, it might up to Travis to save her right back...
The one I’m eyeing for the night bends at her waist and lines her pool stick up with the cue ball. She slowly pulls the wooden rod through her fingers, until the felt top finally connects. The hard white plastic ball rolls toward her target, hitting it perfectly and stalling as the blue-striped ball rolls into the pocket. I let out a massive sigh and lean on my stick, waiting my turn. I should’ve known better when she approached me, asking if I wanted to play a game or two of billiards with her. I know better than to let a good-looking woman hustle me out of money but I wasn’t thinking with my right head. I never am, and once again I’m getting my balls get busted, no pun intended, by a pool shark.
“Sweetheart, are you going to let me play? My balls are getting lonely.” If she thinks I’m crude, she doesn’t say anything. In fact, she looks at me from over her shoulder and winks before shimmying her ass toward my crotch. My internal groan is epic. I’ve been watching her bend, lick her lips, show me her ample cleavage, and shake her ass for almost an hour. Not to mention, she brushes against me each time she passes me. And the touching isn’t subtle. I can read her loud and clear, all the way from her tight as-sin jeans to her plunging neckline.
“I can’t help it if you suck.”
“Do you?” I ask, stepping in behind her. My crotch is lined up perfectly with her ass, earning me another hair-tossing look over her shoulder.
She stands and turns to face me, resting her ass on the edge of the table. “What do you have in mind?” Her finger trails down the front of my shirt until she reaches the buckle of my belt. The tug is slight, but definitely felt. Message received loud and clear.
“What’s your name?”
“Are names important?”
“Of course. When I demand that you come for me, I need to know what to call you.”
“Demand?” she questions.
“I’m greedy like that,” I tell her, placing my cue stick against the table as I step closer to her. I lean in and try to get a whiff of her perfume, but a mix between the stale air from the bar and the beer on her breath makes it hard to tell what she’s wearing. I do love a woman who takes the time to dabble the perfect scent on her skin though.
“My balls aren’t blue, darling, and haven’t been in years.”
“No, my name is Blue.”
“That’s a very unique name,” I say as my hand rests on her hip.
“What can I say? I’m a unique woman, Travis.”
Ah, she knows my name. That’s usually how things go for me. Rarely am I given the opportunity to introduce myself. Everyone knows who I am, and while I enjoy the fruits of my labor, sometimes anonymity would be nice. One day, I’d like to talk to a woman who doesn’t know that I’m Travis Kidd, right fielder for the Boston Renegades and one of the town’s most eligible bachelors. “You know who I am?”
“Doesn’t everyone? I’m a Boston girl; I know my Renegades.”
I nod and reach for my beer. It’s the off-season, and technically I shouldn’t be here. I usually head south for the winter but opted to stay home this time. After a long season, one that saw my former managers die and one of my closest friends on the team become a dad to twins, I thought I’d stay around and see what the winter had to offer. Aside from the cold, I haven’t found much, except Bruins hockey and Celtics basketball. Those games have been the highlight of my time off.
The pickings for women have been slim. Without trying to bag on the female population, it’s evident that they’re seasonal as well. Right now, the puck bunnies, gridiron groupies, and court whores are in full effect, and the cleat chasers are resting like the rest of the baseball world. Maybe I should’ve been a dual-sport athlete. This way I would’ve had the best of both worlds.
“What?” I ask, mentally shaking the cobwebs out.
“Where’d you go? It’s your turn?” Blue nods toward the table, and I look over her shoulder to see the cue ball sitting there.
“Why don’t you help me?” I know how to play the game of pool, but since she seems to be a pro, why shouldn’t she show me? I would’ve happily slid up behind her and taught her how to handle her stick but she took the fun out of it.
Instead, she’s off to my side and leaning into me, giving me a perfect sideways glance down her shirt. I smirk, ignoring everything she tells me, and watch as her mounds of flesh move each time her hand does. They’re real, that’s for sure. None of that fake silicon shit on this chick.
“And that’s how it’s done,” she says, righting herself. She continues to slightly lean over the table though, jutting her chest out for me to ogle. I cock my head to the side and wink before taking aim at the cue on the table.
My first shot goes in, and the second quickly follows. I line up the third, and that is when I see a raven-haired beauty nursing a drink at the bar.
Saylor Blackwell is off limits to anyone her agency represents. That includes me. Although I wish it didn’t. Saylor is the one I would’ve switched agents for if she told me to, but I fucked that up much I like I screw everything up. When she needed me, I wasn’t there. And I haven’t spoken to her since.
It’s my dumb luck that she’s sitting at the bar with her long, slender legs crossed, and she’s dressed like she recently got off work. Her eyes are set on the television, ignoring the gaggle of men staring at her. I remember that she was a hard nut to crack back when I wanted to know her better. I can’t imagine what she’s like now that she’s more successful.
My last shot is sunk into the corner pocket. “Eight ball, right side,” I say, nodding in the same direction I plan to send the black ball in order to finish this game. I’m in a rush now, eager to speak with Saylor. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t help myself.
“Where ya going?” Blue calls out.
“To the bar. Rack ‘em,” I tell her. It’s not a lie. I am going to the bar but with the intention of speaking to another woman. I’m smooth though, and I can easily play it off while I order another round of drinks.
“Two please.” I put up two fingers as I motion toward the bartender. Leaning in, I know I’m blocking Saylor’s view of the television, which is all in my game plan.
“Travis,” she says coldly. We have a history. A small one, but it’s there. I often remember the night we spent together and the regret that was on her face when we were done. I had never been kicked out of an apartment before that night. Usually, once I’m satisfied, I leave. With Saylor, everything was backwards. It’s like she used me to scratch an itch, and once I took care of that, she didn’t need me anymore. “What brings you in?”
She looks everywhere but at me. “I’m meeting a client.”
“And nursing your what?” I take her drink from her hand and sniff. “Scotch? When did you start drinking the hard shit?”
That gets her to look at me. Her glare is deadly as her blue eyes penetrate into mine. “As if you know anything about me.”
“I know enough.”
“You don’t know shit, Travis Kidd. Go back to your booty call. She’s looking at me like she’s ready for a cat fight, and I assure you, you’re not worth fighting for.”
Saylor turns, giving me the cold shoulder. If I weren’t so stunned by her outburst, which I did not deserve, I’d tease her. But I have a feeling that there’s something bothering her, and I’m the last person she needs making shit worse.
With the bottles of beer between my fingers, I go back to the pool table where Blue is indeed throwing daggers at Saylor’s back.
“Down, kitty. She works for my agent.” I run my hand down her arm, trying to diffuse the situation. Jealous women usually turn me off, and this should be my sign to hit the road except I’m an idiot and want to stay mostly so I can watch Saylor.
Taking Blue by her hand, I lead us over to the stools, and I sit down, pulling her between my legs. My hand is planted firmly on her leg right under her butt check. It’s a risky move, especially with all the cameras around, but I don’t care right now. It’s the off-season. I’m allowed to have a little bit of fun.
“You have nothing to be jealous over,” I tell her. If anything, I’m trying to appease her.
“We good? Wanna go back to kicking my ass at pool?”
She looks over at the table and nods. “You rack, and I’ll break.” Blue saunters away, giving me space to watch Saylor, who turns and makes eye contact with me. I wish I could tell what she’s thinking. Is she second-guessing her harsh words? I am. I want to go back over and offer to pick her tab. Or ask how she’s getting home. It’s late, and the roads are shit. If she’s driving, she shouldn’t be drinking. She has a kid that depends on her.
“I’m ready,” Blue says, thrusting the stick in my face. Her words catch me off-guard. Is she ready to play another game or two of pool? I hope so because I have no intention of leaving as long as Saylor is at the bar. Or is she ready for me to fuck her and never ask for her number? Because that is bound to happen as well.
I break, sending the balls off in every direction. Four drop. Two of each giving me the choice of what I want to be. Blue is yammering in my ear about the set-up and which would be the best. Her angles only work for her though, and I see that I can run the table on her if I line up correctly.
“We should’ve bet,” I tell her as I walk around the table.
“I’d hate to hustle you out of your money, Travis.”
I laugh off her comment and proceed to clear the table. She huffs when the eight ball falls into the designated pocket.
“Well would you look at that,” I say, taking a bow. Blue pushes me lightly and falls into my arms. Her lips are on mine before I can push her away, and doing so now would be embarrassing for her so I kiss her back and find myself opening my eyes to watch Saylor watch me.
As soon as I pull away, Saylor is sliding off the bar stool and heading toward the door.
“Be right back. I need some fresh air.” A true gentleman would’ve invited his lady friend outside, but that is not who I am.
“Do you need a ride home?” I ask, as soon as I see Saylor standing near the curb. “And what happened to your client?”
It didn’t strike me as odd earlier when she said she was meeting a client, but it does now. I’ve never met anyone from the agency at a bar, let alone this late at night.
“How about that ride home?”
“Travis,” she draws out my name and then drops her head into her hands. Without thinking, I pull her into my side. “Come on, Saylor. It’s a ride. Nothing else.”
“What the hell is going on? I thought you were taking me home?” Blue speaks loud enough for everyone on the block to hear.
My arm drops, and Saylor steps away from me. I turn at the sound of Blue’s voice behind me.
“I’ll be in. Give me a minute.” I smile, hoping to placate Blue but it doesn’t work.
“I see some things never change,” Saylor says as she steps off the curb and waves at a cab only to be passed by.
Shaking my head, I push my hands into my pockets for a bit of warmth. If I knew Saylor would be out here when I returned, I’d run in and grab my jacket. “It’s not like that.”
“What, do you like her or something?” The sound of Blue’s voice grates on my nerves. Saylor looks over my shoulder and rolls her eyes.
“Or something,” I say, without taking my eyes off Saylor.
As soon as a taxi pulls up to the curb, Saylor is sliding in.
I make a split second decision to get in with her, but not before Blue yells at me. “Where the fuck are you going?”
I answer her by slamming the door shut. I have Blue on the outside screaming and Saylor looking at me like she’s going to kill me. She opens the door, and I hear, “Fuck you, Travis Kidd. You’ll pay for this.” And before I realize what’s happening, Saylor is out of the car and the cab is speeding down the road.
Originally from the Pacific Northwest, she now lives in picturesque Vermont, with her husband and two daughters. Also renting space in their home is an over-hyper Beagle/Jack Russell, Buttercup and a Highland West/Mini Schnauzer, JiLL and her brother, Racicot.
When she isn't writing one of the many stories planned for release, you'll find her sitting court-side during either daughter's basketball games.
Heidi's first novel, Forever My Girl, is currently in production to be a major motion picture.
Honor by Jay Crownover is LIVE! Read an excerpt & enter to win a signed paperback from Jay.
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Jay Crownover returns with her most complicated hero yet, in the first book in the romantic suspense series The Breaking Point.
Don’t be fooled.
Don’t make excuses for me.
I am not a good man.
I’ve seen things no one should, done things no one should talk about. Honor and conscience have no place in my life. But I’ve fought and I’ve survived. I’ve had to.
The first time I saw her dancing on that seedy stage in that second rate club, I felt my heart pulse for the first time. Keelyn Foster was too young, too vibrant for this place, and I knew in an instant that I would make her mine. But first I had to climb my way to the top. I had to have something more to offer her.
I’m here now, money is no object and I have no equal. Except for her. She's disappeared. But don’t worry, I will find her and claim her. She will be mine.
Like I said, don’t be fooled. I am not the devil in disguise... I’m the one standing front and center.
Order HONOR in ebook or paperback, releasing 10/18/16
Maybe if I hadn’t spent the last six months slinging pancakes and greasy hash to hungover hipsters and avoiding the too-curious eyes of the cops who like to hit up the diner for early-morning breakfast, I would have noticed the ominous shift in the air.
Before I came to Denver six months ago, my senses had been honed to pick up on the slightest threat. Before, anything that might be dangerous, that might put me in peril, had made my skin tingle, made everything inside of me vibrate with awareness. Now I had settled into a simple, dreary rhythm. Every day was the same as the one before it and there was no outside threat constantly hounding me, hunting me, haunting me. I let my guard down. I had gone soft, and as a result the biggest danger of them all managed to slip into my new normal without giving any kind of hint he was there.
My nonslip shoe—that were probably the ugliest things ever made but absolutely necessary considering the greasy food the tiny kitchen pumped out—squeaked on the laminate floor as I made my way over to the lone patron who had taken the last available seat in my section. The massive plastic menu completely covered his face, but the Rolex on his wrist and the perfect cut of his suit jacket let me know he wasn’t my typical kind of customer. There wasn’t a flannel shirt or police blues in sight, and as I got closer, a whiff of something exotic and familiar engulfed my senses and stopped me in my tracks. Of all the things I had left behind, he was the one I had tried hardest to forget.
The tingling across my skin spread. My tummy tightened. Blood rushed loudly between my ears. My shaking fingers curled around the pen in my hand like a weapon. Before I could pull it together and walk away, the menu lowered and I was pinned to the spot, immobilized by eyes the color of spice rum.
They were wicked eyes. Eyes that saw far too much and gave nothing away. Eyes I daydreamed about. Eyes that caused me to wake up in a cold sweat. Eyes that turned me inside out and shook me up as they made a slow perusal from the top of my head to the tips of my god-awful shoes, returning to my face and staying there as I struggled to keep my shit together.
He slowly put the menu down on the cracked tabletop and leaned back in the booth. He was strikingly out of place here and I absolutely hated how that sexy twist of his mouth, a mouth that I dreamed about almost every night, made my traitorous heart flutter and my pulse kick.
I was also strikingly out of place here, but I’d learned to fake it. He, obviously, never bothered to fake anything. He wasn’t a man with virtuous intentions and he never pretended to be.
Gone were the mile-high stilettos that I always wore. In their place I now donned work shoes that prevented me from falling on my ass as I ran food and dirty dishes to and from the kitchen. I was hiding in plain sight, knowing that the last place on earth anyone who might come looking for me would check out would be this greasy spoon. This was the opposite of me and the life I had always lived, so even though I could afford better, craved more, this was where I needed to be…until he showed up.
Jay Crownover is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Marked Men, The Point, and the Saints of Denver series. Like her characters, she is a big fan of tattoos. She loves music and wishes she could be a rock star, but since she has no aptitude for singing or instrument playing, she'll settle for writing stories with interesting characters that make the reader feel something. She lives in Colorado with her three dogs.
Check out my review and enter for a chance to win a Kindle copy of A Love Letter to Whiskey by Kandi Steiner. ALLTW is one of my top reads of 2016!
Title: A Love Letter to Whiskey
Author: Kandi Steiner
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: October 13, 2016
PRAISE FOR AMAZON BESTSELLING A LOVE LETTER TO WHISKEY
"Ten stars for this brilliantly written love story. It's raw. It's real. It's flawed. It's simply perfection." - New York Times Bestselling Author Kim Karr
"A Love Letter To Whiskey starts out with a slow burn, but before you know it you are intoxicated and unable to stop until you reach the end. Once you hit the end, you are completely drunk in love with Steiner's words. Her best work to date and my favorite read of 2016." - Brittainy C. Cherry, Amazon #1 Bestselling Author
"You will savor Whiskey to the very last drop, and the hangover will be worth every heart-wrenching second. Steiner's writing is as smooth as scotch, as heady as whiskey, with a sweet afterburn that will leave you addicted." - Bestselling Author Staci Hart
"A Love Letter to Whiskey will get you drunk on feels. Wildly intoxicating, I could not put it down. An absolute masterpiece for angst lovers." - Angie, Angie's Dreamy Reads
It’s crazy how fast the buzz comes back after you’ve been sober for so long.
Whiskey stood there, on my doorstep, just like he had one year before. Except this time, there was no rain, no anger, no wedding invitation — it was just us.
It was just him — the old friend, the easy smile, the twisted solace wrapped in a glittering bottle.
It was just me — the alcoholic, pretending like I didn’t want to taste him, realizing too quickly that months of being clean didn’t make me crave him any less.
But we can’t start here.
No, to tell this story right, we need to go back.
Back to the beginning.
Back to the very first drop.
This is my love letter to Whiskey. I only hope he reads it.
5 stars/standalone This book gutted me. What an emotional roller coaster ride. There were times I wanted to kick my Kindle...hard. A Love Letter to Whiskey made me want to do shots of whiskey. Whiskey is one of my top reads of 2016! I have a monumental emotional book hangover. By the way, at 80% into this book I decided I would be rereading it again super soon. IT'S THAT GOOD!
The first time I tasted Whiskey, I fell flat on my face.
I was drunk from the very first sip, and I guess that should have been my sign to stay away.
Jenna and I were running the trail around the lake near her house, sweat dripping into our eyes from the intense South Florida heat. It was early September, but in South Florida, it might as well have been July. There was no “boots and scarves” season, unless you counted the approximately six weeks in January and February where the temperature dropped below eighty degrees.
As it was, we were battling ninety-plus degrees, me trying to be a show off and prove I could keep up with Jenna’s cheerleading training program. She had finally made the varsity squad, and with that privilege came ridiculous standards she had to uphold. I hated running — absolutely loathed it. I would much rather have been on my surf board that day. But fortunately for Jenna, she had a competitive best friend who never turned down a challenge. So when she asked me to train with her, I’d agreed eagerly, even knowing I’d have screaming ribs and calves by the end of the day.
I saw him first.
I was just a few steps ahead of Jenna, and I’d been staring down at my hot pink sneakers as they hit the concrete. When I looked up, he was about fifty feet away, and even from that distance I could tell I was in trouble. He seemed sort of average at first — brown hair, lean build, soaked white running shirt — but the closer he got, the more I realized just how edible he was. I noticed the shift in the muscles of his legs as he ran, the way his hair bounced slightly, how he pressed his lips together in concentration as he neared us.
I looked over my shoulder, attempting to waggle my eyebrows at Jenna and give her the secret best friend code for “hot guy up ahead”, but she had stopped to tie her shoes. And when I turned back around, it was too late.
I smacked into him — hard — and fell to the pavement, rolling a bit to soften the fall. He cursed and I groaned, more from embarrassment than pain. I wish I could say I gracefully picked myself up, smiled radiantly, and asked him for his number, but the truth is I lost the ability to do anything the minute I looked up at him.
It was an unfamiliar, warm ache that spread through my chest as I used my hand to shield the sun streaming in behind his silhouette, just how you’d expect the first sip of whiskey to feel. He was bent over, hand outstretched, saying something that wasn’t registering because I had somehow managed to slip my hand into his and just that one touch had set my skin on fire.
Handsome wasn’t the right word to describe him, but it was all I kept thinking as I traced his features. His hair was a sort of mocha color, damp at the roots, falling onto his forehead just slightly. His eyes were wide — almost too round — and a mixture of gold, green, and the deepest brown. I didn’t coin the nickname Whiskey until much later, but it was that moment that I saw it for the first time — those were whiskey eyes. The kind of eyes you get lost in. The kind that drink you in. He had the longest lashes and a firm, square jaw. It was so hard, the edges so clean that I would have sworn he was angry with me if it weren’t for the smile on his face.He was still talking as my eyes fell over his broad chest before snapping back up to his sideways grin.
“Oh my God, are you fucking blind?!” Jenna’s voice snapped me from my haze as she shoved Whiskey out of the way and latched onto my hand, ripping me back to standing position. I’d barely caught my balance before she whipped around to continue her scolding. “How about you brush that long ass hair out of your eyes and watch where you’re going, huh champ?”
I didn’t even have time to call dibs, I couldn’t even think the word, let alone say it, before it was too late. I watched it, in slow motion, as Whiskey fell for my best friend before I even had the chance to say a single word to him.
Jenna was standing tall, arms crossed, one hip popped in her usual fashion as she waited for him to defend himself. This was her protocol — it was one of the reasons we got along. We were both what you’d call “spitfires”, but Jenna had the distinct advantage of being cripplingly gorgeous on top of having an attitude. She flipped her long, wavy blonde ponytail behind her and cocked a brow.
And then he did, too.
His smile grew wider as he met her eyes, and it was the same look I’d watched fall over guy after countless guy. Jenna was a unicorn, and men were enamored by her. As they should have been — she had platinum blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, legs for days and a personality to boot. Now, before you go thinking that I was the insecure best friend - I had it going on, too. I worked hard, I was talented - just not at the things traditional high school boys valued.
But we’ll get to that.
“Hi,” Whiskey finally said, extending his hand to Jenna this time. His eyes were warm, smile inviting — if I had to pick the right word for him, just one, I’d say charming. He just oozed charm. “I’m Jamie.”
“Well, Jamie, maybe you should make an appointment with the eye doctor before you run over another innocent jogger. And you owe Brecks an apology.” She nodded to me then and I cringed at my name, wondering why she felt the need to spill it at all. She always called me B — everyone did — so why did she choose the moment I was face to face with the first boy to ever make my heart accelerate to use my full name?
Jamie was still grinning, eying Jenna, trying to figure her out, but he turned to me after a moment with that same crooked smile. “I’m sorry, I should have been watching where I was going.” He said the words with conviction, but lifted his brows on that last line because he and I both knew who wasn’t paying attention to the trail, and he wasn’t the guilty party.
“It’s fine,” I murmured, because for some reason I was still having a difficult time finding my voice. Jamie tilted his head just a fraction, his eyes hard on me this time, and I felt naked beneath his gaze. I’d never had anyone look at me that way — completely zeroed in. It was unnerving and exhilarating, too.
But before I could latch onto the feeling, he turned back to Jenna, their eyes meeting as slow smiles spread on both of their faces. I’d seen it a million times, but this was the first time I felt sick watching it happen.
I saw him first, but it didn’t matter.
Because he saw her.
Kandi Steiner is a Creative Writing and Advertising/Public Relations graduate from the University of Central Florida living in Tampa with her husband. Kandi works full time as a social media specialist, but also works part time as a Zumba fitness instructor and blackjack dealer.
Kandi started writing back in the 4th gradepress.” She took particular interest in writing romance after college, as she has always been a die hard hopeless romantic (like most girls brought up on Disney movies).
When Kandi isn’t working or writing, you can find her reading books of all kinds, talking with her extremely vocal cat, and spending time with her friends and family. She enjoys beach days, movie marathons, live music, craft beer and sweet wine – not necessarily in that order.