Mum’s The Word, the third in the Bennet Brothers series from Staci Hart, is LIVE! Grab your copy of this new release today from your favorite online book retailer!
My mother has summoned me home to take my place at Bower Bouquets, and as the heiress, I’m expected to do as I’m told. I’m expected to sit by her side as she does her best to decimate the Bennet family and their flower shop, Longbourne. I’m expected to play by her rules, or she’ll ruin me too.
But the day I crash into Marcus Bennet changes everything. And the kiss seals the deal. If my mother finds out, I’ll lose everything—my family, my life, my security. Worse, she’ll make sure the Bennets pay for my mistakes.
Falling in love with a Bennet is not an option.
But I might not have a choice.
Need to catch up on the series? The first two standalone books in the Bennet Brothers series are both LIVE and available from your favorite online book retailer!
Everyone hates parts of their job.
Maybe it’s the paperwork. Maybe it’s the day-to-day grind. Maybe it’s that client who never knows what they want, or the guy who always cooks fish in the microwave.
But not me. I love every corner of the Longbourne Flower Shop, every flower, every petal, every stem. I love the greenhouse, and I love Mrs. Bennet, my boss. I love creating, and I love being a florist. I don’t hate anything at all.
Except for Luke Bennet.
The Bennet brothers have come home to help their mom save the flower shop, and Luke is at the helm. His smile tells a tale of lust, loose and easy. He moves with the grace of a predator, feral and wild. A thing unbridled, without rules or constraint. When he comes home to save Longbourne, I almost can’t be mad at him. Almost.
He doesn’t remember that night I’ll never forget. That kiss, touched with whiskey and fire. It branded me like a red-hot iron. But it meant nothing to him.
Everyone hates part of their job, and I hate Luke Bennet.
But I’ve built my life to perfection—the perfect boyfriend, the perfect apartment, the perfect career planning celebrity weddings. My job—my only job—is to make sure every event is absolutely and completely perfect.
What’s not perfect? Kash Bennet.
And I wish I didn’t find that so appealing.
I could have told you every perfectly imperfect thing about the gardener at Longbourne. Like his hair, lush and black and far too long. Or his nose, the flat bridge of a Greek god, bent a little like it’s been broken. Or his size. Beastly. Roped and corded with muscles, gleaming with sweat and peppered with dirt. There’s no escaping him, not if I’m going to use his family’s flower shop for my events.
But nothing is what it seems. And in the span of a heartbeat, my perfect life is turned inside out. They say the best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody new. When Kash offers his services to the cause, it sounds like the perfect plan.
What’s not part of the plan? Falling in love with the gardener.
But they were right—there’s no such thing as perfect.
Staci has been a lot of things up to this point in her life — a graphic designer, an entrepreneur, a seamstress, a clothing and handbag designer, a waitress. Can’t forget that. She’s also been a mom, with three little girls who are sure to grow up to break a number of hearts. She’s been a wife, though she’s certainly not the cleanest, or the best cook. She’s also super, duper fun at a party, especially if she’s been drinking whiskey. When she’s not writing, she’s reading, sleeping, gaming, or designing graphics.
My Take: This was so fun, hilarious, romantic, and full of heart- every thing I’ve come to expect in a Pippa Grant book. There was minimal angst but enough drama to keep it interesting. There were plenty of cameos from people we’ve met throughout Pippa’s worlds but it’s still totally a stand-alone. Just what we need when the world feels like it’s falling apart!
BLURB
Never borrow pants from your brother. Especially if he’s a size smaller than you are, because all that pressure in the junk will short-circuit your brain.
And you’ll lie to a woman in a club about your real name.
Leave her unsatisfied after making out in a bathroom.
Then find out that she’s the one thing standing in the way of your dreams. And she very much doesn’t like being lied to.
Now I have to convince Lila Valentine—the woman I can’t stop thinking about, my biggest regret, and my new boss—that I’m what’s best for the baseball team she’s inherited.
If we can’t work together to save the Fireballs, the commissioner’s forcing a sale and moving them across the country.
I’ll do anything to save my home team.
But the one thing I can’t do?
Keep my hands to myself.
Which would be fine, if she hadn’t been telling me lies this whole time too.
Liar, Liar, Hearts on Fire is a rocking fun romance between a single dad obsessed with baseball, an heiress with secrets, baseball pants, a rundown team, and rabid ducks. It stands alone and comes with a guaranteed happily-ever-after.
The squawking erupts again nearby and saves me. There are no visible chickens on the field, and it gets louder as we approach the dugout on the first base side.
Louder and more intense.
Very intense.
Like, are there chicken police? Because we might need the chicken police.
I drift directly behind Tripp while we approach the noise, shameless in using him as a human shield if this is a chicken uprising. What’s that movie? The one with the apes that rebel and take over the world? That’s what this sounds like, except with feathers and clucks instead of chest-pounding and grunts.
“Should we call security?” My self-defense classes didn’t cover protecting yourself from rabid chickens.
“That’d be a foul,” he murmurs. And then chuckles to himself, and oh my god.
“Foul—fowl? Like a bird-fowl? Did you just make a dad joke at a time like this?”
“A time like this? You mean a random Tuesday night at a deserted ball field?”
“At a time when the chickens are gathering for a ritualistic sacrifice of one of their own.”
His shoulders shake, and he seems to be struggling to cough.
“Oh, god, did you inhale a feather? Is that how this starts? They shed their feathers to choke us to death?”
“Please don’t talk about chickens and choking in the same sentence.”
“That was not a dad joke.”
“No, it was—oh. Duck.”
I squat low, spinning to see what I’m ducking from.
Tripp flips his flashlight on me. I squint and cover my head. “Stop! I can’t see! What’s coming?”
“Lila. Ducks. Ducks. Not chickens. It’s mating ducks.”
He swings the flashlight to the dugout, and—oh.
Oh.
“Is it…supposed to be that violent?”
There are two ducks under the bench in the dugout, one flapping its wings and chasing the other, who’s squawking so loudly she could wake the dead.
And— “Ohmygod, I did not need to see that!”
Duck penis.
Duck penis.
Oh my god. Duck penis. Duck penis should not look like that.
Tripp’s bent double laughing.
“Where’s security?” I demand. “Hello? Security? Security? I’ll give whoever removes this duck a ten-thousand-dollar bonus. Right now.”
No one comes running for ten grand, because no one can hear me.
The squawking. It’s a cry for help.
“It’s nature,” Tripp says. He’s wiping his eyes now, he’s laughing so hard. “Give ’em a few. They’ll finish up.”
The girl duck is racing back and forth under the bench.
The boy duck is chasing her with that thing.
And I am not having it. “Shoo. Shoo!“
“Lila!” Tripp calls, but I’m already gone.
Flapping my arms. Yelling. Charging the dugout and the ducks.
Why are they even here? There’s no pond here. Winter’s coming. They should be flying to the Caribbean for Mai Tais and sunshine.
And instead, they’re ruining the sanctity of my ballpark.
“Shoo!” I yell again.
I hit the stairs down to the long covered bench, and the boy duck suddenly seems to realize I’m coming at him.
He turns, pointing that thing at me, flaps his wings, and gets this evil glint in his eyes that means I really should’ve thought about what I was doing before I came in here.
“Woo her nicely,” I snap.
He squawks—no, quacks at me.
Crap.
I need to go back to kindergarten to learn my animal sounds again. I’m a city girl. We don’t do farm animals.
“And put that thing away!“
“Lila.” Tripp’s laughing so hard he’s wheezing. He grabs my elbow and tugs. “Let the ducks be.”
“I’d let it be if he wasn’t attacking her.”
“Maybe that’s how ducks have sex.”
“Then maybe ducks shouldn’t exist.”
“QQQUUUUAAAACCCCCKKKKK!” the boy duck yells.
It’s like a Braveheart yell, and I realize I’m asking the wrong question.
I shouldn’t be asking why is the duck assaulting the other duck in a dugout?
I should be asking what have humans previously done to this duck because he’s going to kill me?
It charges, wings flapping.
I scream and take off running. Tripp mutters a well-timed, oh, fuck and runs with me. “The other dugout,” he shouts, pointing to the dugout on the third base side.
Another light flashes up in the stands.
“Security!” I yell. “Arrest the duck! Arrest the duck!“
It’s gaining on us. Quacking louder. And it can fly. It can fly.
It’s going to swoop over us, poop on our heads, and whack us with that—that—that mutant penis and then scoop us up in its talons, and—”Aaah! It got me. It got me!“
Pippa Grant is a USA Today Bestselling author who writes romantic comedies that will make tears run down your leg. When she’s not reading, writing or sleeping, she’s being crowned employee of the month as a stay-at-home mom and housewife trying to prepare her adorable demon spawn to be productive members of society, all the while fantasizing about long walks on the beach with hot chocolate chip cookies.
Code of Honor, an all-new standalone in the romantic suspense Cipher Security series from April White, is LIVE!
Blurb:
A painting, a panic room, a thief, and her lover … whose job is to catch her.
There are three things you need to know about Anna.
1) She’s a bounty hunter with adrenaline junkie habits,
2) She’s the “awkward” twin, and
3) She’s a thief – kind of.
Darius designs security systems for Cipher Security, and the strange and remarkable woman he met the night the painting was stolen is as intriguing a mystery as his hunt for the thief is.
But the lady has no filter, and she knows she can’t lie to the man who looks like a Disney Prince and kisses like fairytales are true, so she runs from the one person who may actually see her as the heroine of her own story.
‘Code of Honor’ is a full-length contemporary romantic suspense, can be read as a standalone and is book #2 in the Cipher Security series, Knitting in the City World, Penny Reid Book Universe.
April White has been a film producer, private investigator, bouncer, teacher and screenwriter. She has climbed in the Himalayas, survived a shipwreck, and lived on a gold mine in the Yukon. She and her husband share their home in Southern California with two extraordinary boys and a lifetime collection of books.
Her first novel, Marking Time is the 2016 winner of the Library Journal Indie E-Book Award for YA Literature, and all five books in the Immortal Descendants series are on the Amazon Top 100 lists in Time Travel Romance and Historical Fantasy.
Old Fashioned, the fourth and final installment in the Becker Brothers series by Kandi Steiner is LIVE!
🥃Small Town Romance
🥃 Country Romance
🥃 Sports Romance
🥃 Enemies-to-Lovers
🥃 Angst Galore
🥃 Single Parent
🥃 Workplace Romance
🥃 Mystery
It’s a man’s world.
When I declared sports medicine as my major and every man narrowed their eyes, that saying proved true. It was true when my ex-husband decided I’d give up my career when our daughter was born. And again when I divorced the Chief of Police in our small town, and he made it painfully clear that I could leave him, but I would never be free.
Landing the job as the new athletic trainer for Stratford’s high school team is my chance to start over. And walking into a male-dominated sport and staff, I’m ready for the challenge.
I’m not ready for Jordan Becker.
The head coach of our championship winning team is a Herculean force of nature—as severe as he is determined. His icy blue eyes and permanent scowl drive the women in this town mad, and his quiet power and undeniable command conjure respect from every man.
When I join his team, I expect the doubt and anticipate the fight from him. And I get them both.
I don’t expect to form a friendship.
And I never expect to fall for him.
My breath catches when those cool eyes fall to my lips. My body comes alive when his is near. And as those lines begin to blur, every warning bell sounds.
My job, my reputation are on the line.
And my ex is around every corner, waiting to remind me of his power.
It’s a man’s world, and if I want to survive, I can never fall in love with Jordan Becker.
Even if he falls in love with me first.
Download Today or read for FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Kandi Steiner is a bestselling author and whiskey connoisseur living in Tampa, FL. Best known for writing “emotional rollercoaster” stories, she loves bringing flawed characters to life and writing about real, raw romance — in all its forms. No two Kandi Steiner books are the same, and if you’re a lover of angsty, emotional, and inspirational reads, she’s your gal.
An alumna of the University of Central Florida, Kandi graduated with a double major in Creative Writing and Advertising/PR with a minor in Women’s Studies. She started writing back in the 4th grade after reading the first Harry Potter installment. In 6th grade, she wrote and edited her own newspaper and distributed to her classmates. Eventually, the principal caught on and the newspaper was quickly halted, though Kandi tried fighting for her “freedom of press.” She took particular interest in writing romance after college, as she has always been a diehard hopeless romantic, and likes to highlight all the challenges of love as well as the triumphs.
When Kandi isn’t 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 live music, traveling, anything heavy in carbs, beach days, movie marathons, craft beer and sweet wine — not necessarily in that order.
While their love is strictly forbidden, it might be the only thing that can save them…
Reborn Yesterday, an all-new unique and unforgettable paranormal romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Tessa Bailey, is available now.
A timeless love story with bite.
It was a night like any other for funeral home director Ginny Lynn, until the
exceptionally handsome—and unfortunately deceased—young man on her
embalming table sat up, opened his emerald eyes and changed the course of her life
forever, making her feel quite fluttery while he was at it.
Humans aren’t supposed to know Jonas Cantrell, or any vampire, exists. It’s kind of a
major rule. Despite his instantaneous bond with perfectly peculiar Ginny, he has no
choice but to erase her memories of their one and only meeting.
That was the plan. Before a reluctant Jonas can wipe Ginny’s mind clean, she reveals
a secret that brings their worlds crashing together. Human and vampire. Past and
present. Darkness and light. And while their love is strictly forbidden, it might be the
“Will there be a million weeping women at your wake?” She tapped a finger to her lips. “There will be, I’m sure of it. The place will overflow with tears. I better make sure our flood insurance is up to date.”
As she commenced circling the table once more, her white lab coat scratched against the hem of her green plaid dress, which fell sensibly to her knees. It was cold in the funeral home, especially downstairs where P. Lynn Funeral Home’s guests were kept in preparation for their final goodbye, so she’d pulled on thick black stockings with a flower pattern before coming below to work the night shift.
Dressing with care was Ginny’s way of showing respect to the people she worked on—a fact her stepmother and reluctant business partner often scoffed over—but a T-shirt and jeans simply didn’t cut the mustard when she’d been entrusted with a loved one’s care. Ginny had designed and sewn her current ensemble in class and she definitely shouldn’t be wondering what Dreamboat here would think about the cut and fabric. Or if he’d notice she’d fitted it a touch tighter in the hip zone than usually made her comfortable.
“I need help.” She gathered her auburn hair over one shoulder. “You agree, don’t you? Finally, you’ve gotten peace and quiet from your multitude of admirers and here I come, trying to annoy you into reanimation so I can find out the color of your eyes. You must want to die all over again.”
Continuing her journey around the table, Ginny’s gaze ticked to the clock, reminding her she should have started working half an hour ago. Why was she so reluctant to begin? Where did she get off experiencing the weight of loss when she’d never crossed paths with this individual before?
“Anyway, I know what you’re thinking. She’s brought up my legion of female fans three times now. She must be jealous.” Ginny stopped beside Dreamboat and looked down at his regal brow, the masculinity of his jaw, and a horrible welling started in her chest. “I think you’d be right,” she whispered in a red-cheeked rush. “I think if you’d smiled at me even once on the subway a decade ago, I’d be out avenging your death right now. Isn’t that crazy?”
Just to be sure a terrible (wonderful) mistake hadn’t been made, Ginny lifted her right hand, letting two fingers hover over Dreamboat’s pulse. Her heart rate spiked at the prospect of touching him, which didn’t bode well for tonight’s task of filling his veins with formaldehyde. How could she give him the proper care he deserved if she couldn’t stop shaking?
A bracing breath passed between her lips.
She touched her fingers down to his pulse.
Nothing.
There had been no mistake.
He was thoroughly, devastatingly dead.
“I’m so sorry,” Ginny managed, her tears welling at such a rapid pace that one escaped, glopping heavily onto the man’s stone cold torso.
His eyes shot open.
His…eyes shot open?
About Tessa
Tessa Bailey is originally from Carlsbad, California. The day after high school graduation, she packed her yearbook, ripped jeans and laptop, driving cross-country to New York City in under four days.
Her most valuable life experiences were learned thereafter while waitressing at K-Dees, a Manhattan pub owned by her uncle. Inside those four walls, she met her husband, best friend and discovered the magic of classic rock, managing to put herself through Kingsborough Community College and the English program at Pace University at the same time. Several stunted attempts to enter the workforce as a journalist followed, but romance writing continued to demand her attention.
She now lives in Long Island, New York with her husband of eleven years and seven-year-old daughter. Although she is severely sleep-deprived, she is incredibly happy to be living her dream of writing about people falling in love.
Beef Cake, an all-new small town contemporary romance from Jiffy Kate, is LIVE!
If opposites do actually attract, then Gunnar Erickson and Frankie Reeves take the cake.
Frankie Reeves is complicated, even though she won’t admit it. She fills her days working as an ER nurse, taking care of her mom, and searching for the father she never knew. Anything else has no place in her perfectly compartmentalized, purposefully simple life. Attachments? No thank you. She has no time for that.
Gunnar Erickson recently moved to Green Valley to train at Viking MMA with his brother Cage. Being the youngest of the Erickson clan, he’s always felt like he has something to prove, and now that he’s finished with college, it’s his time to shine. But before he can step into the ring, a freak accident sends him to the ER and into the care of one Frankie Reeves.
While he’s immediately smitten, she pretends to be unfazed by this six-foot-three, two hundred and thirty-pound beef cake. Gunnar sets out to prove to Frankie that, not only does she like him more than she wants to admit, but he’s not the uneducated, brute she assumes he is. To Frankie, he’s the worst kind of complication, but that doesn’t make it easy to stay away.
‘Beef Cake’ is a full-length contemporary romance, can be read as a standalone, and is book #4 in the Donner Bakery series, Green Valley World, Penny Reid Book Universe.
Jiffy Kate is the joint pen name for Jiff Simpson and Jenny Kate Altman. They’re co-writing besties who share a brain. They also share a love of cute boys, stiff drinks, and fun times.
Together, they’ve written over twenty stories. Their first published book, Finding Focus, was released in November 2015. Since then, they’ve continued to write what they know–southern settings full of swoony heroes and strong heroines.
Reborn Yesterday, an all-new sexy and laugh-out-loud paranormal romance from New York Times bestselling author Tessa Bailey, is out now.
It was a night like any other for funeral home director Ginny Lynn, until the exceptionally handsome—and unfortunately deceased—young man on her embalming table sat up, opened his emerald eyes and changed the course of her life forever, making her feel quite fluttery while he was at it.
Humans aren’t supposed to know Jonas Cantrell, or any vampire, exists. It’s kind of a major rule. Despite his instantaneous bond with perfectly peculiar Ginny, he has no choice but to erase her memories of their one and only meeting.
That was the plan. Before a reluctant Jonas can wipe Ginny’s mind clean, she reveals a secret that brings their worlds crashing together. Human and vampire. Past and present. Darkness and light. And while their love is strictly forbidden, it might be the only thing that can save them…
Do people say they hate someone’s guts so that they can still fall stupidly, head-over-heels in love with the other parts?
Asking for a friend.
Taming Hollywood’s Baddest Boy, an all-new laugh-out-loud standalone romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!
Okay, fine. I’m not asking for a friend.
I’m asking for me—and I’m begging you to tell me that the practice of falling in love with your should-be-enemy is common.
Please tell me that I’m not the only person to track down a guy—who used to be Hollywood’s baddest bad boy before he left LA for good—at his off-the-grid cabin in Alaska, show up unannounced, and find him gloriously naked.
This probably happens all the time…right?
Tell me I’m not alone in my stupidity—that I’m not the only woman who would fall for gorgeous blue eyes and a sexy devilish smirk, even if they belong to a broody, mysterious jerk.
Please. Please. Please. Tell me I’m not alone in this.
For the love of everything, I need all the supportive girl power I can get if I’m going to convince Luca Weaver to come back to Hollywood—otherwise known as the place he hates so much that he ghosted Oscar-level success and escaped to no-man’s-land for the last eight years just to avoid it.
Yeah, don’t worry—that smoke you’re smelling isn’t your house catching fire as you read this…it’s just my career and what was previously known as my heart going up in flames.
Gah. Is it just me, or am I totally, completely, and utterly screwed?
Download your copy today or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Naked lumberjacks are all the rage. Or is it that they’re full of rage?
I’m not entirely sure, but I think maybe, just maybe, it’s a little bit of both.
Standing beside a hot tub outside of a rustic Alaskan cabin is a bare-chested, handsome-as-hell lumberjack of a man, and he is as naked as the day he was born.
“Who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you doing here?” the big, burly man with a scruffy beard and piercing blue eyes asks me brusquely.
And holy hell, what a question that is.
I started this journey in a meeting in LA, promising my boss the world, continued it with a plane, a car, a hike and kayaking adventure in a cold, rainy Alaskan setting, and in a highly unanticipated twist, I’m ending it in what must be an issue of Playgirl magazine come to life.
And boy oh boy is the centerfold pissed…
“Hello?” he questions harshly. “I said, who the hell are you?”
As hard as it is, given his clothes-less state, I force myself to take a good, scrutinizing look at the rest of his face. I’m here for a reason, and with nothing more than a ramshackle convenience store owner named Earl’s vague instructions to go on, I can only hope that the here I’m at is the here I’ve spent days in a plane, car, and kayak looking for. In addition to a remarkably carved line on the inside of each hipbone, the angry man standing boldly above me has a strong jaw covered by a beard, a little scar above his right eye, miles of muscular, tanned skin, and messy, light-brown hair. I have to look a little closer to confirm my conclusion through the rolling waves of distrust and hatred coming off him, but when I focus hard enough, the star-quality glimmer in his eyes is undeniable.
For the love of pancakes at a Sunday morning breakfast, it’s really him.
Luca Weaver, Hollywood’s former baddest boy—the man I’ve nearly killed myself to find—is right in front of me, and he is naked.
At my non-answer, his jaw turns to stone. “I asked you a question. Either answer it or get fucking moving.” I jolt at the rumble of his voice, but my feet do nothing to take me in any direction. I am rooted to the spot, utterly awed over the fact that I’ve actually managed something as impossible as finding Luca Weaver and all of my normal functions are rendered useless. He scowls, unimpressed with all the hard work I’ve put in—work that he obviously doesn’t know about. “You have five seconds before I come back out here with my shotgun.”
“Uh…” I fumble, trying like hell to grasp the English language once again. I may be distracted, but on some level, I understand the importance of getting my shit together enough to at least prevent a shotgun from joining our little meet-and-greet.
But my brain is bus-y. And slow.
Because Luca Weaver looks damn good without any clothes.
Eight years older since the last time he graced the covers of Hollywood gossip magazines, Luca is a man to whom time has been seriously kind. Either his genetics are just that good, or there’s some kind of sexy voodoo in the Alaskan water.
I mean…his penis is right in front of me, and I can’t find a single thing wrong with it. It’s straight and veiny and perfectly pink.
“What’s the matter with you? You have a death wish or something?” he spits at the statue formerly known as my body. “This is private property.”
His words are serious and firm, and it seems that maybe I do have a dream that’s reminiscent of the movie Fargo—fingers crossed there are no wood chippers nearby. Because for as much as I try, I can’t stop looking at my new phallic friend, even to form a few simple words.
But, come on. Luca Weaver’s freaking dick is right there!
It’s not hard, but still, it’s…big—so big it’s not even a dick.
It’s a Richard. Sir Richard.
King Richard, really.
Shit, I’m in the presence of penis royalty, and I suddenly have the urge to curtsy.
He is a lumberjack fantasy come to life. Instantly, my brain starts thinking about pine-scented flannel and chopping wood and giving a blow job… Wait…what?
Stop being a moron and speak words!
“Uh…so…you’re…naked.” Oh god, those aren’t the right words!
He glances down, mutters something to himself, snags a towel from a few feet away, and wraps it around his waist. “I didn’t invite you here,” he says, his voice gritty with irritation—and maybe, a little with disuse. Which would make sense. It’s taken me an entire season of Running Wild with Bear Grylls to get here. I can’t imagine he’s having book clubs and dinner parties and gabbing with his pals on the regular.
Towel adjusted and glorious goods hidden from view, he studies me with frigid blue eyes and a glare worthy of a scorned woman. I shiver.
“I’m only going to ask you one more time. What in the hell are you doing here?”
I fiddle with the edges of my shirt as I finally find my vocal cords. “I’m Billie…Billie Harris.”
And I am in way over my head.
About Max Monroe
A 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.
The Trade is now available! Meghan Quinn returns us to the world of sports in this brand new, standalone book.
Blurb:
Can you pinpoint a time in your life where you realized you are completely and utterly screwed?
I can. I got the dreaded phone call, the one every baseball player hopes and prays never comes.
I was traded. Yeah, that phone call.
Traded from my long time team of over ten years. And not just to any team, but my childhood rivals; the Chicago Rebels.
Completely and utterly screwed, right? Wrong. The trade was the least of my concerns.
I met a girl. Natalie. Man, she’s perfect.
I swore I would never get involved with anyone during the season. Too complicated. But can you believe I have zero restraint when it comes to this girl? I couldn’t get her out of my head and the more I talked to her, the more I realized I needed her in my life.
So what’s the problem? Why am I screwed? Because, Natalie, the girl I can’t stop crushing on, yeah . . . she’s married.
At least, that’s what I was told . . .
CORY
I’m fucked.
I’m sure you hear that all the time, so the term has lost its impact.
I ran out of sugar for my cookie batter . . . I’m fucked.
Forgot my phone in my car . . . I’m fucked.
Saw my neighbor’s old-man balls . . . I’m fucked for life.
I can guarantee you right now, this is nothing compared to old-man balls and cookies.
This is way worse.
This defines the term, I’m fucked.
What is it you ask?
It happened after one of the worst baseball seasons of my life. Traded halfway through the season to the team I’d hated my entire life, I was drowning in the constant media attention, persecuting me for the pass off for my multi-million-dollar contract.
“We want to win,” the Rebels said. “We can do that with Cory Potter wearing black and red.” And just like that, the team I’ve been playing for my entire professional career up and traded me to unload my hefty salary to develop new up-and-comers from the farm system.
The Rebels.
I’m a fucking Chicago Rebel. Words I never thought I’d say, especially growing up as a Chicago Bobcats fan, the rival team to the Rebels. Not just rival, but enemies. The teams themselves don’t get along, the fans hate each other, and Chicago is divided for a good portion of the year when the stadium lights are on.
But here I am, my name attached to the biggest trade in sports history.
A ballsy move.
An upset to Baltimore.
A baseball anomaly: All-American turned Rebel.
I’ve heard it all, I’ve seen it all, and no matter what’s splashed across the headlines, it doesn’t deviate from the fact that my long-time team decided to part ways with me midseason.
Mid-fucking-season.
After fourteen years, I packed up everything and moved back to Chicago.
But even that’s not why I’m fucked; it’s just the start of it.
The beginning of the end.
Dramatic? Maybe.
But if you were in my shoes, you’d be thinking the same thing.
After not even coming close to getting into the playoffs, the season ended, I was booed off the field because that’s how Rebels fans are—you don’t perform, they hate you—and I sequestered myself to my practically empty and cold apartment.
After a week of binge-eating deep-dish pizza and watching every prison documentary on Netflix, my sister finally dragged me out of my apartment, forcing me to attend a Bobbies playoff game with her so we could cheer on my brother-in-law. Her husband.
Seeing a Rebels player cheering on a Bobbies player plastered all over the news went over just as well as a grandma telling her grandson her favorite pastime is cock-tickling.
Not well.
But still . . . not the reason I’m fucked.
This is beyond worse than that.
During that game, I got the talk. Not the birds and bees, but the talk from a concerned sister about my lack of social life.
You really should get out more.
I know some single moms who are really nice.
Maybe a dating app might be fun. Girls would be ecstatic to match with the one and only Cory Potter.
I don’t want you dying alone.
That last one was a real kicker.
Dying alone. I’m fucking thirty-five and she has me with one toe in my grave.
The way I see it is, if you don’t meet your girl in college or high school, you’re sure as shit not going to meet her while playing professional baseball. Not when the schedule is obscenely busy and long, and not when you’re known for one thing in your city: making a shitload of money for playing a sport.
It’s almost impossible to find genuine relationships when you have this level of fame.
So I’ve resolved to waiting until after I retire to fall in love.
That doesn’t mean I’ve been celibate, I’m a man after all—a man with a shitload of adrenaline pumping through him on a daily basis. I’ve had my fair share of one-night stands with women, and a few on a solid repeat with zero expectations. Every woman I’ve bedded I’ve treated with respect, and I’ve been honest with them, because if anything, I’m a genuinely nice guy who doesn’t ever want to make someone feel bad.
Ask anyone who knows me, I’m the nice guy, the dependable guy, the leader with a heart.
I don’t screw women over, ever.
Are you thinking one of those one-night stands turned into an “accident”? Is that the reason I’m fucked? Got a girl I don’t know pregnant?
Nope, not that either.
But the conversation I had with Milly pushed me to a new way of thinking.
I don’t want you dying alone.
She made me fucking paranoid.
Was I really going to die alone?
Were my good years behind me and now I’m old meat on the market?
Should I be trying to find love in the midst of the craziness of my life?
Milly made me think, which then made me open up to the idea of finding someone, of looking at women differently, of allowing the relationship part of my brain to turn on.
So instead of ignoring every woman that has relationship potential I’d possibly look for, I turned off my blinders and started looking for them.
But I didn’t come close to meeting anyone that remotely fit the box of someone I’d consider going out on a date with. That was until I attended a certain charity event.
I saw her from across the room. Her smile was what caught my eye, then it was the way she laughed and held on to her brother’s hand, her brother who had cerebral palsy.
It was the way she’d lean into him, hold him, as if he was the most wonderful human she’d ever met.
The fact that she was absolutely breathtaking with piercing blue eyes had nothing to do with it.
It was her infectious laughter.
Her kind heart.
Her dedication to her family.
In a matter of seconds, I wanted to know her, wanted to find out her name, wanted to be in her orbit. Wanted to be a recipient of her warmth and affection.
I watched her from across the room, how she interacted with every person who came up to her, and when I was finally granted the opportunity to introduce myself, my breath caught in my throat when our hands connected. I felt my heart slam against the cage in my chest. And I knew, in that moment, with our hands mid shake, my life would never be the same.
Her name is Natalie.
Sister to my new teammate Jason Orson and his twin brother Joseph.
Director of Jason’s foundation, The Lineup.
And the reason why I’m utterly fucked.
Because while I started to grow attached to this magnetic and beautiful woman, when I told my sister about her, she informed me there was a ring on Natalie’s finger.
A ring that didn’t belong to me.
Hope plummeted in the matter of seconds as I felt the color from my besotted face drain into a puddle of remorse.
She was married.
She is fucking married.
See? Totally fucked.
I’ve been crushing so hard, because even a month later, I still think about her. I can still hear her laugh, see her smile, feel her hand in mine.
I want her.
Fucking bad.
They say time will heal all wounds, well for me, the more time passes, the more my wound is exposed and tormented.
Cory Potter is crushing on a married woman . . .
That is why I am completely and utterly . . . fucked.
About the Author:
USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.
Do people say they hate someone’s guts so that they can still fall stupidly, head-over-heels in love with the other parts?
Asking for a friend.
Taming Hollywood’s Baddest Boy, an all-new hilarious enemies to lovers standalone from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe, is available now!
Okay, fine. I’m not asking for a friend.
I’m asking for me—and I’m begging you to tell me that the practice of falling in love with your should-be-enemy is common.
Please tell me that I’m not the only person to track down a guy—who used to be Hollywood’s baddest bad boy before he left LA for good—at his off-the-grid cabin in Alaska, show up unannounced, and find him gloriously naked.
This probably happens all the time…right?
Tell me I’m not alone in my stupidity—that I’m not the only woman who would fall for gorgeous blue eyes and a sexy devilish smirk, even if they belong to a broody, mysterious jerk.
Please. Please. Please. Tell me I’m not alone in this.
For the love of everything, I need all the supportive girl power I can get if I’m going to convince Luca Weaver to come back to Hollywood—otherwise known as the place he hates so much that he ghosted Oscar-level success and escaped to no-man’s-land for the last eight years just to avoid it.
Yeah, don’t worry—that smoke you’re smelling isn’t your house catching fire as you read this…it’s just my career and what was previously known as my heart going up in flames.
Gah. Is it just me, or am I totally, completely, and utterly screwed?
Download your copy today for only 99¢ or read FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
A 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.
Romance Reviewed 