Published Date: 25th October 2013
New Adult Contemporary Romance – with a British sensibility
*Appropriate for adult readers due to sensitive themes (sexual violence), language and sexual content.
Cass is seventeen and never been kissed, let alone touched. On one humiliating night, that changes when two boys become interested in her. Flynn is the older brother of her best friend, yet Cass has never considered him as anything other than that. Rob is the school sports star and becomes obsessed with Cass when he loses a bet because of her.
As the relationship between Cass and Flynn develops, Rob's interest becomes increasingly malevolent. One terrible night changes Cass's life and threatens to destroy her relationship with Flynn, as well as her future.
Amazon US Buy Link: http://goo.gl/onDGpi
Amazon UK Buy Link: http://goo.gl/TXr7t4
Goodreads Link: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18299202-curve
Facebook Author Profile Link: https://www.facebook.com/nicolahudsonauthor
Goodreads Profile Link: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7211253.Nicola_Hudson
Twitter Link: https://twitter.com/NicHudsonAuthor
I’ve always been an avid reader and occasional writer, but only ever for my own eyes! Then, last year, I read my first New Adult novel - and I was hooked. After consuming a vast e-pile of NA, the burning need to write my own was overwhelming. And so I started…
Fitting in writing around a demanding job and a wonderfully supportive husband has been, umm, interesting at times but the whole process has been a fantastic experience. I have been blown away by the friendliness and support shown by the readers, writers and bloggers who make up the NA and Indie communities; online with them is one of my favourite places to hang out!
I have already started the follow-up novel to Curve, Heart, which follows Neve as she starts at university.
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Things like this don’t happen to me.
As we swayed slightly awkwardly in time with the warblings of a ballad being sung by one of those manufactured boybands, I tried to enjoy the moment for what it was: me, Cass Jones, dancing with Rob Meadows at the Sixth Form Christmas party.
Rob Meadows, star of the school rugby team.
Rob Meadows, blonde god of gorgeousness.
The evening was coming to an end and, after the rowdy jump-dancing of earlier, the DJ was playing the compulsory slow numbers that signalled the end of the party for some but just the start of the evening for others. And there I was, still dancing.
The Sixth Form Christmas party was a highlight of the school social calendar, especially as it usually provided significant fodder for the yearbook. All of Year 13 had started to think about lives beyond school, our small town, even our friends, as part of the university application process. Consequently, there was a sense of desperation to our attempts to create some happy memories to take with us. There we were, on the cusp of legal adulthood, yet not really sure of our place in the world.
Neve and I had debated whether or not to even bother going to the party. As habitual residents of the social periphery, we didn’t really belong to any of the usual cliques found in most high schools. And we were OK with that, enjoying the sense of irony in watching those cliques shift and re-shape, occasionally even imploding.
I’m not trying to suggest that the evening was some sort of Ugly Duckling transformation story. I am definitely not Cinderella.
But it was clear that others, as well as me, were surprised to see me there, doing that. I was dressed in some black lace concoction that Neve had assured me was ‘a little bit sexy, but definitely not slutty’, opaque tights and a pair of ballet flats. It had been a nightmare trying to find something to wear that looked dressy enough, covered enough and didn’t look like it should be worn by my mum. Neve had managed to cajole my hair into a side sweep of loose waves and hide the couple of spots that had appeared, as if on cue, that morning. I knew I didn’t look like most of the other girls, especially those with their fake tans, fake hair and fake nails, but I was OK with that.
Usually I was happy with the office-wear rules that made up the dress code for Sixth Form: black trousers, a plain tee shirt and a cardigan had become my own unofficial uniform. So maybe people were surprised to see me in a dress. Or maybe it was because Rob was dancing with me.
That was more likely the cause.
About half an hour earlier, Rob Meadows had come over to our table, drink in hand, sat down and started chatting like we were long-time friends. He joked about some of the teachers, and recalled some of the funny moments from when we had lessons together in main school. As the conversation continued, he had moved his chair closer to mine, as though he was struggling to hear what I was saying. At one point, when he touched my arm to point out the drunken antics of one of the other rugby team players, I finally got the message.
Rob was flirting with me.
When he asked me to dance, I looked across at Neve, who was bravely trying not to look like a fifth wheel. I knew she was as surprised as me at what was happening; this had not even been considered in the endless discussions we had had about the evening before tonight. She shrugged her shoulders and I got up to follow Rob to the area where a few couples were in varying stages of becoming physically acquainted with each other. My heart was pounding. I had never danced with anyone other than Neve, and never like this! I decided that I just had to follow his lead; clearly this wasn’t going to be his first time.
As we moved together in time with the music, I felt the tautness of Rob’s waist beneath my hands. I had worried about what to do with my hands but he had gently taken them and placed them on his hips before gathering his own around my neck, pulling me close. His thumb was softly rubbing my nape, the tiny movement sending shivers up and down my spine. My breath became shallower with each tingle.
Was this what all the fuss was about? If so, I finally got it.
One sway brought us closer together and I was sure that I could feel him pressing into my hip. I’d never been that close to a boy before, well, not in that way, and I didn’t have the foggiest about what to do. I was sure that most of the girls would be able to laugh it off with some innuendo-laden joke, some might even have moved in closer. But I wasn’t one of those girls and the last thing I wanted was to mess up what could