Boss Man Bridegroom by Meghan Quinn- Now Live!

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BOSS MAN BRIDEGROOM by Meghan Quinn is now live and free in KU! Read below for the full blurb and a fun excerpt!

Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2QvTsea

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Blurb:

“Will you do me the greatest honor of all time and be my bridegroom?” she asks, hope in her eyes . . .

How did I get here? My assistant, bent on one knee, holding my hand, her expectant face waiting for an answer.

Just . . . how?

How did I go from being insulted by Charlee Cox to hiring her to be my assistant? How is it that she’s chaos in color – making me crazy and my life better at the same time?

I never thought I would be staring down at her bright blue eyes begging me to go along with this ridiculous scheme I suggested.

Yes, I suggested. Like the idiot I am, I thought hey, why not start an HR nightmare and have my assistant ask me to marry her?

Confused? Don’t worry, so am I.

But try to follow along, because this is how I became Boss Man Bridegroom.

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EXCERPT: 

**RATH**

“Rath Westin, my boss, my commander in chief, my Gucci Governor—”

“I don’t wear Gucci.”

“Go with it.” She winks and clears her throat. “Mr. Big Shot, Barking Britches, and Irritable Ira—”

“Jesus . . . Christ.” I rub my hand down my face.

“Will you do me the great honor . . .” She wobbles on her bent knee and clutches my hand to steady herself. “Will you . . .” She tears up, her voice becoming shaky. “I’m sorry, I’ve never done this before.”

“I sure as hell hope not,” I say through gritted teeth.

“And I didn’t think I’d get emotional either.” On a deep breath, she finishes, “Will you do me the greatest honor of all time and be my bridegroom?”

Christ, nothing is ever simple with her.

“Why did you say it like that?”

“Did I not do it right?” she mumbles to herself. “See, I knew I was doing something wrong.”

“No, why did you say bridegroom?”

“Oh, well, that’s what you would be. You see, that’s what they used to call men who were soon to be married . . . a bridegroom. But then somewhere along the way they shortened it to groom. But if you marry me, I would give you the dignified pleasure of retaining the honorable title of bridegroom.”

“Don’t call me bridegroom.”

“Boss man bridegroom?” she asks with a cheeky grin.

How the fuck did I allow myself to get in this position? With my quirky and sometimes annoying but mostly efficient assistant, kneeling in front of me . . . proposing.

Proposing to me.

In a pair of belly-covering slacks and suspenders, hair pulled back into a tight bun like she often wears it, looking up at me through her red-framed glasses, her bright blue eyes shining past the lenses, begging me to go along with this ridiculous scheme I suggested.

Yes, me.

Like the goddamn idiot I am, I thought hey, why not start an HR nightmare and have my assistant ask me to marry her?

Confused?

Don’t worry, so am I.

Where do I even start? Maybe from the beginning?

Here is a quick rundown: my ex, who used to work with me, left me for bigger and better things. We don’t talk about her, ever, because she took my heart with her. Instead, I buried myself in my work. I became a hermit in my office, firing one assistant after another because they weren’t good enough or their voice annoyed me, or they thought salt was sugar and gave me one bad cup of coffee that ended their career at Westin Enterprises—that mistake was on them.

In my spare time—not that there’s much—but when I do have spare time, I follow my two idiot friends around the city, helping them avoid fucking up their lives. But now that they’re both in loving and committed relationships, one planning a wedding with my sister as the bride, I have much more time on my hands.

Maybe they’re to blame for my demise, for this ridiculous charade I’m now a part of.

What does this have to do with my assistant proposing to me?

Well, you see, I was in the market for yet another new assistant, and that’s when one of my best friends, Bram, suggested I lean on his assistant, Linus, to help me find someone. Side note: Linus is a gift from God, and I’ve offered him huge pay raises many times to jump ship and join my company, but his loyalty lies with Bram . . . unfortunately.

So Linus helped me find an assistant, and that’s where it started to go downhill.

The minute I saw her, I knew it wasn’t going to be a good fit.

Why?

Because she’s too goddamn beautiful.

Because she’s far too bubbly.

Because with every smile and checklist she devises, she makes me want to bend her over my desk and make her mine.

But, since I clearly don’t know how to make any decisions worth a shit, I hired her, right there on the spot.

And that was the beginning of the end.

Need to know more? Well in case you are on pins and needles about my answer to her proposal, I said yes.

Here’s the story of how I became Boss Man Bridegroom.

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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.

M_Quinn_photo

Connect with Meghan:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/meghanquinnauthor

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7360513.Meghan_Quinn

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authormeghanquinn/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorMegQuinn

Website: http://authormeghanquinn.com

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/meghan-quinn

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2LitE4x

Boss Man Bridegroom- Cover Reveal!

Whoa baby check out this hot cover for Boss Man Bridegroom by Meghan Quinn! Fun, intriguing blurb below:

Blurb:

“Will you do me the greatest honor of all time and be my bridegroom?” she asks, hope in her eyes . . .   

How did I get here? My assistant, bent on one knee, holding my hand, her expectant face waiting for an answer.

Just . . . how?

How did I go from being insulted by Charlee Cox to hiring her to be my assistant? How is it that she’s chaos in color – making me crazy and my life better at the same time?

I never thought I would be staring down at her bright blue eyes begging me to go along with this ridiculous scheme I suggested.

Yes, I suggested. Like the idiot I am, I thought hey, why not start an HR nightmare and have my assistant ask me to marry her?

Confused? Don’t worry, so am I.

But try to follow along, because this is how I became Boss Man Bridegroom.

BOSS MAN BRIDEGROOM RELEASES JANUARY 23RD!

Add to your Goodreads TBR: https://bit.ly/2QvTsea

Pre order your copy here: mybook.to/BOSSMANBRIDEGROOM

The Lineup by Meghan Quinn- Now Live!

The Lineup by Meghan Quinn is now live!

Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2Y9Oupy


Get it here:

FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

Amazon US: https://amzn.to/37ZUQw9

Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2OL5cZe

Amazon CA: https://amzn.to/2RgzLHK

Amazon AU: https://amzn.to/34JOTkR


Blurb: Want to know a secret?

It’s about that girl over there.
Don’t look, but she’s the one in the power suit—with the long, black hair and the serious expression, the one I’m about to go on a date with . . .

Yeah, according to her, she “accidentally” donated an obscene amount of money to my charity — The Lineup — to win said date but I found out the truth. Miss. Button Up Blouse has a secret, passionate crush on me.

I didn’t know her name until two days ago, despite the friends we have in common.
Was I oblivious? Probably.
Was I blind to it? Definitely.

But I’m no fool, I see it now. The High Heel Harlot wants more than just a date with Jason Orson, she wants to be able to claim the best butt in baseball as hers.


EXCERPT: 

**JASON**

It isn’t in my nature to cry over burnt ham, but here I am, tearing up like a jackass, because the meal I’ve been reluctantly slaving over for the past four hours is two shades away from charred dust.

I had it all planned out. The timing was right, the recipes perfected, the table decorated with impeccably folded napkins that impersonated angelic swans, and polished silver that I scrubbed for an hour until I could see my balls in the reflection. Nothing says polished silverware like a spoon that gives you a clear upside-down view of your gonads.

But even with countless hours of preparing this feast, naked as the day I was born with only an apron to cover my man-loins, I still ended up with a scorched ham doused in fire extinguisher agent because somehow, the damn thing caught on fire.

Imagine this, a grown-ass man—no, not just a grown-ass man, but a man at the fresh age of twenty-eight, built like a linebacker with buttocks you can bounce rocks off . . . thanks to squatting for a living—dancing around the kitchen on his twinkle toes, arms flailing with pink and white potholders attached to his hands, screaming like a banshee, as flames light up the Jenn-Air double oven where the brown sugar and pineapple ham resided.

Are you seeing it?

Add the imagery of said man naked, dick and balls harmoniously bouncing in panic while the apron his “girlfriend” got him that says Eat my food, Lick my dick, unravels in the fit to unleash the fire extinguisher.

That was me . . . a minute ago.

Frantic, screaming, and all in all losing any last shred of my man card I had left.

It’s why I’m currently weeping like a nitwit into the flaps of my apron, wondering where I went wrong.

If we’re going to be honest with each other—and I would like to establish honesty with you—I’ll admit, I’ve always leaned toward the sensitive side. You know, the cuddly grizzly bear. Big and intimidating but a fucking gooey butterball heart on the inside.

Tell me a love story. I’ll listen the crap out of it.

The Bachelor? Why yes, that’s one of my favorite shows.

Do I smile when sharing a candlelit dinner with myself, followed by a nice long soak in a bubble bath while Enya—the fucking goddess of all voices—plays in the background? I sure as shit do.

But if some ignorant asswipe gets in my face on the ball field, stirring up trouble, I’m the first to lay a fist across his jaw and the first to be thrown out of a game.

And I’m not even sorry about it.

People are arriving in an hour. I’m vulnerable as fuck with my bare ass resting against the cold white-oak floor of my girl’s apartment, while a lonely tear streams down my freshly shaven cheek. I have no main dish, and the apartment smells like burnt rabbit turd.

Why am I in this hopeless predicament?

Because of one person.

One single person who flipped my life upside down.

A bombshell in a suit, a ravenous sex-fiend in the sheets, a classy and sophisticated tight-ass in the boardroom. She’s a knockout who’s always on my mind. She’s the girl you do things for, that you never thought you’d ever do . . .

Like cook a fancy-as-fuck four-course meal for her and her business associates while practicing interesting conversational starters to ensure the night flows smoothly.

Back in college, I might have been referred to as the mother hen of the boys. I might have cooked at least two meals a week for the guys in the loft, and yeah, I was the ironing wizard, the one everyone turned to, to get out the most stubborn wrinkles. The title has carried on over the years, but my creativity in the kitchen has dwindled with the lack of time, my ironing is now done by my apartment keeper once a week, and the fresh flowers scattered around my place? They’re more dead now than alive.

My point—I’m not the lady of the house I used to be. But I’ve been getting back into the swing of it.

So when my girl asked me to perform the impossible feat of an intimate dinner for four, I should have ordered in, tossed everything in serving dishes, and called it a night.

But nooooooooo, I had to attempt to be a goddamn hero and try to cook everything myself.

And all for what?

For one girl?

No. Not just one girl. The girl who owns my balls, who has a grip so tight on them that if she asked me to bellow out my ABCs in soprano while swirling my finger around my belly button . . . I would.

Who is this girl that has brought me to the brink of boo-boo smush bear insanity and caused me to weep like a schoolgirl in the corner of the apartment?

There’s only one lady with more than enough ovaries to buckle the knees of the mighty Jason Orson.

The one and only Dorothy “Dottie” Domico.


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.

M_Quinn_photo

Connect with Meghan:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/meghanquinnauthor

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7360513.Meghan_Quinn

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authormeghanquinn/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorMegQuinn

Website: http://authormeghanquinn.com

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/meghan-quinn

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2LitE4x

The Lineup by Meghan Quinn- Cover Reveal!

Blurb: Want to know a secret?

It’s about that girl over there.
Don’t look, but she’s the one in the power suit—with the long, black hair and the serious expression, the one I’m about to go on a date with . . .

Yeah, according to her, she “accidentally” donated an obscene amount of money to my charity — The Lineup — to win said date but I found out the truth. Miss. Button Up Blouse has a secret, passionate crush on me. 

I didn’t know her name until two days ago, despite the friends we have in common. 
Was I oblivious? Probably.
Was I blind to it? Definitely.

But I’m no fool, I see it now. The High Heel Harlot wants more than just a date with Jason Orson, she wants to be able to claim the best butt in baseball as hers. 

Here’s another secret . . . she has no idea I know. 

THE LINEUP RELEASES DECEMBER 5TH!!!!

Add to your Goodreads TBR: https://bit.ly/2ZxlFGJ

Pre order your copy here: mybook.to/THELINEUP

The Dugout by Meghan Quinn- Now Available!

The Dugout by Meghan Quinn 

Release Date: September 19th

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Add to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2lRZDMK

My Take: (ARC REVIEW) You do not want to miss this funny, sweet, poignant sports romance from the always fabulous Meghan Quinn. If you’ve read The Locker Room then you know you are in for a treat … but I loved The Dugout even more. (Both are totally standalone). There were moments towards the end where I wanted to throw my Kindle at the wall but all was well in the end, of course. Sports and college kids are both not my favorite topics but the writing and plot are so well done I barely even noticed. I enjoyed both main character’s journeys and watching them grow and change. It’s a bit of a slow burn but it so so hot once it gets there. 5/5 stars

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AVAILABLE NOW!!!

FREE in Kindle Unlimited!

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AMAZON AU: https://amzn.to/2mjMPyF


Blurb:

Let me ask you a question:

If someone is vying for your spot on a team and just so happens to injure you during practice, would you believe it was on purpose?

Word around campus is . . . it was no accident.

That injury has cost me everything; my starting position, my junior year—and the draft. Now, I’m a senior fresh off recovery, struggling to find my groove, until the day I run into a nervous, fidgety, girl with freckles, in the dining hall.

They call Milly Potter The Baseball Whisperer, The Diamond Wizard, and The Epitome of All Knowledge. She believes in baseball. She breathes it. She’s the queen of an infamous dynasty, but no one actually knows who she really is, and she plans to keep it that way.

One mishap in the panini line, one miscommunication in the weight room, and many failed attempts at an apology equal up to one solid truth — Milly Potter never wants to speak to me again — no matter how good my forearms look.

Little do we both know, she’s about to become more than just my fairy ballmother.

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Excerpt:

**CARSON**


Everyone knows me as the easygoing, fun-loving guy without a care in the world. You know who I’m talking about, right? 

The guy who cheers when a couple kisses, who says stupid shit like YIPPEE when he’s excited, the guy who has no shame in shimmying his bare, bright white ass to his friends just to make them laugh.

I’m also the guy who is magically smart, can lead an entire bar to harmoniously sing any Taylor Swift song, lucks out in everything he does, and has impeccable taste in clothing—despite wearing a baseball hoodie every Monday. A dude must make himself feel better when the Monday blues hit and a hoodie does just that.

But have you guessed it? Do you see where this is going?

I’m not that guy anymore. 

Nope. 

Easygoing and fun-loving? Not anymore. 

I spit venom at whoever dares to be in my presence. You know the old man who throws endless piles of shoes at the street youths as they walk by? That’s me, minus the incontinence problem and mothball smell. My days of singing Taylor Swift with a crowd are over. 

Instead—if I even make it to a bar—I bury myself in a corner and sneer. Oh boy, do I fucking sneer. I sneer at anything and anyone that even attempts to look at my face.

That impeccable fashion sense I was boasting about? Gone. I think I’ve been wearing the same pair of athletic shorts for a month—not really—but maybe it’s a little true.
And the guy who lucks out in everything he does? Ha, my luck was cut short at the beginning of the season thanks to the square ass, dirty dick named Kirk Babcock, also known as Kirk BADcock by my team.

What did this Badcock do, you ask?

If you’re thinking he poked me with said bad cock, you need to get your mind out of the gutter. 

What he did was even worse than winging his willy around on the baseball field.

So bad that you might need to brace yourself . . .

**FLAILS ARMS** 

He committed a sin against all baseball etiquette. 

The cardinal sin. 

The biggest sin of all sins.

Are you sitting? I don’t want you to faint from the blasphemy I’m about to share. 
Deeps breaths, everyone . . .

He . . . damn it, he slid late . . . at practice. 

Gasp, I know.

I told you it was bad . . . my balls are shriveling up into my taint just thinking about it.
The dumbass freshman, who had too much juice in his junk, decided to book it to second during a practice game while Holt and I were fleshing out a double play. The dingleberry slid into second base two seconds too late. 

Why is this a problem?

For those of you who might not be in the know—don’t worry, I won’t hold it against you—back in 2016, the gods of baseball developed a new rule; all players sliding into second must hit the ground first before touching the bag to avoid injuring the opposing players. 


Layman’s terms: don’t be a dickhead and hurt people. 

Apparently, Badcock didn’t get that memo, because the little turd nugget charged second base like an out-of-control steam train . . . just as I slid my foot across the base for the out. His dirty slide took my leg out, twisting me in the process, and tossed me to the ground. 

As I fell, I heard a resounding snap that would make any grown-ass man throw up into his lap, followed by an immense amount of pain shooting up the back of my leg. 
The motherfucker—stenchy bad cock—ruptured my Achilles tendon. 

Like Achilles himself, I buckled to the ground and wallowed in pain while holding my leg, as if I let go, it would detach from my body and float right on up to heaven where it belongs for the many good years it gave me. 

Badcock proceeded to fling his helmet off his head, get in my face, and apologize profusely, making up some excuse about tripping over his own damn feet. Yeah, okay, fart breath.

I’d like to see the tape for a full review, because I’m questioning the shit out of that statement. Tripped, my left nut. 

If I was a freshman and got hurt, I wouldn’t want to rip the skin off Badcock’s scrotum, maybe just give him a swift lodge of my foot up his ass. But ripping scrotum skin, nah. 
But guess what? I’m not a goddamn freshman. 

I’m a fucking junior, and if you know anything about baseball, you know being a junior in college is one of the most important times in a guy’s life. 

Because that’s the year you’re eligible to be drafted. 

DRAFTED.

Brentwood University is known as a breeding ground for exceptional baseball players; it’s where the scouts come to find their next top prospects. If you want to play professional baseball, you either choose to go into the draft right after high school or be recruited by Brentwood. I chose an education so I had a possible career to fall back on in case something happened to me . . . like rupturing my Achilles tendon. 

Can you guess where this is going?

Strike up the violins, because a sob story is coming your way. 

I was ushered off the field and straight to the state-of-the-art training room where, after an excruciating physical exam, I had an ultrasound. It was then confirmed I’d be out of commission for the season. I underwent surgery, had the stupid thing stitched back together—let’s take a moment to be physically ill over the thought of that—and then put through an extensive rehab, missing my chance to be drafted.

You read that right, I was not drafted. My best friends were . . . I was not.

Because no one wants an injured player, even if he has tons of promise. 

Even if he was the best second baseman in the country. 

Even if he was supposed to be drafted in the first round. 

Not one single team wanted to take the gamble to see if I could make a full recovery.
Isn’t that just peachy?

So needless to say, Kirk BADcock stays as far away from me as possible. As for me, I’d like to say I’m not a bitter man with a chip on his shoulder, but that would be a massive lie. 

I have the biggest damn chip on my shoulder, so big that I named him Aloysius and I high-five him every morning, agreeing that we’re going to try to make at least one person’s life miserable that day. 

My suggestion, if you see me around campus? Steer clear, run away, duck and hide, because I’m a polluted motherfucker with an equally rotten Aloysius on my shoulder ready to raise hell in your life. 

Carson Stone is out for vengeance thanks to one moronic badcock.

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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.

M_Quinn_photo

Connect with Meghan:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/meghanquinnauthor

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7360513.Meghan_Quinn

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authormeghanquinn/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorMegQuinn

Website: http://authormeghanquinn.com

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/meghan-quinn

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2LitE4x

The Dugout- Cover Reveal

Check out this hot cover for The Dugout, by Meghan Quinn, releasing September 19th!

Blurb:

Let me ask you a question:

If someone is vying for your spot on a team and just so happens to injure you during practice, would you believe it was on purpose?

Word around campus is . . . it was no accident.

That injury has cost me everything; my starting position, my junior year—and the draft. Now, I’m a senior fresh off recovery, struggling to find my groove, until the day I run into a nervous, fidgety, girl with freckles, in the dining hall.

They call Milly Potter The Baseball Whisperer, The Diamond Wizard, and The Epitome of All Knowledge. She believes in baseball. She breathes it. She’s the queen of an infamous dynasty, but no one actually knows who she really is, and she plans to keep it that way.

One mishap in the panini line, one miscommunication in the weight room, and many failed attempts at an apology equal up to one solid truth — Milly Potter never wants to speak to me again — no matter how good my forearms look.

Little do we both know, she’s about to become more than just my fairy ballmother.

THE DUGOUT RELEASES SEPTEMBER 19TH!!!!

Add to your Goodreads TBR: https://bit.ly/2ZxlFGJ

Pre order your copy here: mybook.to/TheDugout

fullwrapcover

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.

That Forever Girl- Now Live!

USA Today bestselling author Meghan Quinn’s second book in the Getting Lucky series brings heart, humor, and heat back to Port Snow.

BLURB

There are two little words every small-town man dreads:

She’s back.

Harper Sanders, the girl who was supposed to be my forever, has returned to Port Snow, Maine, for good—and she’s bringing back memories of our shared past.

We once had a bright future together, but when tragedy struck, I threw it all away and pushed her out of my life. People in our small town think I’m cursed, but I know better. I did it all to myself.

And now she’s creating a life of her own in the place where we first fell in love. I can’t fight my feelings for her—or the strong attraction that keeps pulling us together. But after all this time, can she forgive the past and fall in love with me all over again?

Everyone hopes to find that forever girl…I just hope I haven’t lost mine for good.

THAT FOREVER GIRL

GOODREADS LINK:https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/42600605-that-second-chance?ac=1&from_search=true

UNIVERSAL PURCHASE LINK: mybook.to/ThatForeverGirl

⭐⭐⭐FREE IN KINDLE UNLIMITED!!!!! ⭐⭐⭐

EXCERPT:

There is no way in hell she’s here.

My family isn’t that cruel. Right?

From my car, I try to gauge the number of bodies in my parents’ house through the windows. Ugh, I can’t see shit.

She can’t possibly be at family dinner. My family loves Harper, but they wouldn’t invite her, not after I called my mom the other day, telling her to put her matchmaking skills to rest. She just chuckled but reassured me she knew what she was doing. Whatever the hell that means.

I was very adamant about leaving Harper alone. The Knightlys can be too much at times, and I’m sure we’re the last thing she needs right when she’s trying to settle back into town.

Resigning myself to the inevitable, I retrieve my keys from the ignition and make my way to the front door. Hand on the doorknob, I take a deep breath and walk into the house I grew up in. The warm walls and carefully hung family pictures greet me first, followed by my family’s raucous laughter emanating from the back of the house.

I remove my shoes and hang my suit jacket on the coat hanger by the front door before cautiously making my way down the long hallway to the connected kitchen and large dining room. Ren, Griffin’s girlfriend, is the first to spot me. She gives me a small smile and a little wave. The rest of the family is scattered around the kitchen as usual, getting in my parents’ way as they try to finish up the dinner prep.

Griffin sees me next. “Ah, you finally decided to join us.” He checks his watch. “I think that was eight minutes in the car. Who had eight minutes?”

Reid raises his hand and hops off the counter, grabbing a bowl from the center of the table and pocketing the wad of cash inside. “I know him too well.” Reid pats me on the back and slips me a one-dollar bill. “Here, this is for you. Thanks for taking eight minutes to prepare yourself to come in the house. Daddy is going to buy a new pair of jeans.” He pats his pockets.

Ignoring everyone and their stupid bet, I pop the fridge door open and grab a water. Reid joins me, sticking his head in the fridge so I’m forced to look at him. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

“Ask what?” I grit out.

“If she’s here. I know that’s why you were hanging out in your car, debating if you should come in or not.”

My skin prickles, and I brace myself for the answer as I shut the fridge door. “Is she here?” I hiss.

Slowly, Reid smiles and nods. “Yup, she’s in the bathroom.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I angrily squeeze my water bottle, nearly popping the top off. “Why? Why is she here?”

Reid shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe because she wants to be here.”

“Who invited her? Was it Mom?” I don’t wait for an answer. Instead, I walk over to the culprit, who’s hovering over the stove, stirring a huge pot of chili.

“Oh, hey, sweetie. Cornbread is in the oven, honey is in the crock, and I also got tortilla chips because I know how much you like crumbling them in your chili.”

“Mom, why did you invite her? I told you to leave her alone, to leave usalone.”

“What are you talking about?” My mom looks me up and down and then goes back to the chili.

“Harper. I asked you not to invite Harper.”

The bathroom door opens, and Jen pops out, rubbing her hands together. “Did he come in yet?” Her eyes light up as she spots me. “What time was it?”

“Eight minutes. Reid won.”

Disappointed, she snaps her fingers. “Damn, I for sure thought I was going to win.”

Confused, I turn back to my mom. “Harper isn’t here?”

“No, of course not. I wouldn’t invite her so early. She needs time to settle. What made you think she was here?”

I whip around to find Reid leaning against the kitchen wall, arms crossed and with a giant grin on his face. I point at him. “You better run, because I’m going to fucking kill you.”

Like a bolt of lightning, he takes off, and I chase after him, nothing but pure murder on my mind.

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AUTHOR BIO:

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.

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