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![]() PURCHASE THE BOOK HERE! About the Book Title: The Horse List Challenge Author: Anna Lores Genre: Erotica, Romantic Suspense With a violent ex-husband hot on her trail, Ava Black seeks comfort in the arms of Jameson "Brady" Ross, The unrequited love who protects her. Having healed from the physical abuse at the hands of her ex, she devises a naughty wish list - she calls her Horse List - to help empower her. Will Brady finally fulfill her sweetest fantasies and become her partner? Or will the man who dominates her dreams and desires, the wealthy Eric North, come for her? Does she have the strength to fight for her life and love, or will she succumb to demands of her powerful ex-husband? Excerpt Maybe a cold shower would kill her desire for him, shock her body into reality. Sex with Brady was high on her Horse List because it was likely never to happen. He wasn’t into her, and she panicked when he touched her uncovered scars. She turned the handle to cold, freezing cold, and stepped inside. She squeaked as the splash of icy water hit her warm, tanned legs. “Ava, are you okay?” Brady shouted, sliding in his white socks into the bathroom and stopping in front of the shower in black boxers, ready to attack an intruder. Something had him as jumpy as Colin. He was usually a calm influence, rarely the first in a fight. He didn’t join in unless he saw real trouble. He stepped into the shower with her, and shuddered. “Shit. It’s freezing.” Without asking, he reached past her, brushing his arm against her breasts, and turned the handle to warm. “Ava, you’ve got to pay atten—” Worried hazel eyes focused on her. “Brady, I’m…” God help her, she was lost in those brown eyes with the most remarkable specks of green sparkling like fireworks. She loved him, always had, always would. His hand drifted around and cradled the back of her head. His lids glided down as his lips came millimeters from hers. Firm pressure against the back of her head brought her chin up a hair, taking her so close to a kiss. So close. “Please,” she whispered, not sure whether it was for a kiss or for him to take her, make her forget everything, everyone…make her feel loved, wanted, controlled… Her tightly beaded nipples pressed against his bare chest. Her sensitive breasts throbbed against the diamond bars pierced through them. If he just kissed her, she would be that much closer to his firm, yet gentle, loving touch. She could overcome the panic from bare skin touching the sensitive brands on her belly and thighs. She was ready. She was ready for him to try. If only he would… “Ava.” His lips met hers, then they were inches away again while his body pressed her back up against the cold, tiled shower wall. “Please, Brady.” He held her with just one hand, but within his palm he held her fragile heart and soul. His wet boxers couldn’t hide the erection pressed against her belly. Begging with desperation, she touched his hips. “Please, I want to try. I want to try, Brady. Please.” His muscles bulged everywhere like a heavyweight fighter ready to get into the championship ring. He didn’t move, just inhaled and exhaled, blowing warm minty air over her lips. Taking his lack of communication as a maybe, she pushed down his soaked black boxers an inch. “Please, Brady.” She’d take mercy sex from him. “Ava.” His voice rumbled so low, her body vibrated with the sound. Cream rushed down to her folds. Heat radiated from her flesh. “Please.” She begged. “Please.” ![]() Author Bio Anna started writing romance as a by-product of insomnia. After a year of late night reading, she borrowed her son’s laptop after he went to bed each night, and set about breathing life to her very own characters. After a month of writing in the middle of the night, she was surprised with a new laptop of her own to pursue her dreams. With a B.A. in English Literature and a desire to fill her world with wonderful stories she and her close friends could not just talk about, but gush over, she shed her job as mom of three in the late night hours and assumed her alter ego of dirty girl. Links Buy on Amazon Author Site: www.annaloresauthor.com Facebook: www.facebook.com/AnnaLoresUS Twitter: www.Twitter.com/annalores Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14064436.Anna_Lores
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by Destiny Blake Genre: YA Time Travel Release Date: April 26th 2016 Summary:
Everybody wants to go to heaven but nobody wants to die
Andora died and she remembers every last detail of her gruesome death. One would think after going through that ordeal, she could face just about anything. Sheâs about to find out.
Soon after her death, Andora discovers that heaven doesnât want her and hell doesnât have room for her. Sheâs not about to question the latter all things considered. See, Andora wasnât exactly a nice person and as far as faith goes, she only believed in herself. Come to think of it, she probably wasnât scheduled to meet St. Peter at the pearly gates.
According to the Gatekeepersâthe beautiful ones who stand guard over the afterlifeâsecond chances are rarely given but Andora earns one anyway. The Gatekeepers decide where she should spend the rest of her life and off she goes, traveling through time to a historical realm of perpetual hell, also known as the early 1800s.
Andora begins life as a prairie girl, but soon faces another untimely death. Landing in front of the Gatekeepers for round two, she takes it as a sign. Desperate to live a more acceptable life, Andora quickly realizes that being good isnât as easy as it looks particularly for those with mischief in their veins.
To make matters worse, her second-second chance is one she shares with another subject. A handsome rogue of a boy, Rebel makes it his mission to land in front of the Gatekeepers as often as possible. However, thereâs a small problem with his plan. Thereâs no way to guarantee that the Gatekeepers will always be there to guide them into a new world and they soon discover that a fresh start is anything but a sure thing.
âWeâre coming to your world. Welcome to oursâ¦.â Gatekeepers by Destiny Blake
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Excerpt
The day I died really sucked. Waking up in front of a righteous bitch with plenty of superior attitude? Well, letâs just say⦠it made dying look like a walk in the park.
A barely audible light tapping of a booted toe yanked me into sudden consciousness. Pressing my cheek against the black and white tile flooring, I stared up at the one attached to the boot. Iâd been here before. Given the look on Vengeanceâs face, she wasnât exactly happy to see me again.
âWell? What are you waiting for?â She crossed her slender arms. âYou know the routine. Get up. On your feet, Lassie!â
Lassie. I hated that name.
âWe donât have all day.â Vengeance smirked. It was the kind of grin that left chills up and down my spine. âWe have to assign another identity. We wouldnât want to keep your new family waiting now would we?â
âOf course not, Veng,â I grumbled, deciding to stick with the nickname. Veng didnât seem to care for it. The flaring nostrils and clenched fists provided proof. Before I could congratulate myself for crawling under her skin, the wicked wench grabbed my ear and forced me to stand.
âOuch!â I screamed.
âThere, there,â she muttered sardonically.
In the distance, several Gatekeepers rushed down the corridor. They were undoubtedly told of my arrival.
âVengeance, how many times do we have to remind you? Do not torture the subjects. Itâs bad for morale and ââ Thorne came to an abrupt halt as soon as he rounded the first pawn-shaped column. He sucked in a sharp breath before he dramatically exhaled and asked, âAndora. What are you doing here?â
I shrugged. âCanât seem to live without dying. You know how it is.â
âNo, I donât think I do,â he said suspiciously. âWhy donât you start at the beginning and tell us how this happened.â
âOh you mean Iâm the first subject to return to the fold?â
âWhy are you here?â His voice was firmer this time.
âI donât know.â
âShe remembered,â Vengeance said.
Thorneâs gaze shifted from one Gatekeeper to the next. âCan any of you explain this?â
Dayz smirked. âNo idea. But by the look on your face? Youâre not exactly disaââ
âSilence,â Thorne snapped, focusing on me once more. âWhat happened?â
âConsidering how much trouble sheâs been, it wouldnât surprise me if someone killed her again,â Vengeance said.
âWas that necessary?â Dayz asked. Dayzâs lanky build made him appear somewhat awkward but I liked him. He was kind which was an apparent rarity among the Gatekeepers.
âTruth trumps necessity,â Vengeance pointed out.
About that time, a door slammed on the other side of the welcome chambers. Another recognizable face appeared. âGuess Iâm not the only human up for reassignment.â
âRebel?â I couldnât believe my eyes. Weeks before, we were brought together for reeducation. We were separated when the Gatekeepers pitched him into the future. A short time later, I was tossed into the past.
âDonât act surprised. I told you weâd meet again.â
âYes you did.â I felt uncharacteristically safe when he hugged me. âItâs good to see you.â
He stepped away and quickly turned to Vengeance. âIf you ask me, you should just keep us here.â
âThatâs not an option,â Vengeance said. âAnd someone should hurry up and explain how this can even happen. Iâm beginning to get bored.â
âPoor thing,â I muttered, catching a scowl from Thorne.
âSome people refuse to die.â Rebel popped his neck and grimaced. âItâs called cheating death.â
Dayz closed the distance between us. âHow did you die this time, Andora?â
âWell, you seeâ¦. I was preparing to eat a bite of bird whenâ¦â
âA bite of bird?â Dayz wrinkled his nose.
âGo with it. I was only a prairie girl for a week. Do you think I had time to learn that particular eraâs slang?â I scoffed. âI did not.â
âGod save the queen,â Rebel teased. âMaybe next time theyâll place you in a castle where you belong.â
âOr a dungeon,â Vengeance suggested. âIâm sure I can think of a crime or two to pin on you.â
Copyright © 2016 Destiny Blake
Excerpt provided for promotional purposes & pending final approval for publication
About the Author
An avid reader and full-time writer, Destiny Blake enjoys YA paranormal, commercial and literary fiction, mysteries, thrillers, and unique fantasy novels. After 15 years of writing for the market, Destiny decided it was time to write what she liked to read. The end goal was to pen stories that readers would love and her grandchildren would later cherish as well.
The author invites all readers to follow her on Twitter @AuthorDestiny and to stay in touch by writing:
destinyblakeauthor@gmail.com. To help Destiny celebrate the debuts of Legends and Gatekeepers, readers can send their copy and pasted proof of purchase to the email above. Include a snail mail address to receive a promotional product. Please include âLegends & Gatekeepers Proof of Purchaseâ in the subject line. Offer ends on April 15, 2016. Void where prohibited by law.
GIVEAWAY: Presenting Dark Beautiful Ashes Series Book 1 By Author Lora Ann Genre: Erotic Thriller, Dark Romance Synopsis Desperate people commit desperate acts. All-consuming desperation led her to deceive herself, her sister, and the man she loves. Keeley Kincaid is in over her head—trading one addiction for another. She’s convinced she can handle it and hold everything together. But deception has a mind of its own. Enter the world where lines blur. Nothing is as it seems. Good and evil come together in a macabre display. And at the heart of it all beats the drum of deceiving those loved most. Can love and light ever penetrate such darkness? Excerpt Darkness consumed the young woman. The dream was evident with every violent thrash she gave, yet something told her there was so much more. Cold sweat drenched her body as a monster from the past rose up to claim her, again. She should have fought. Should’ve demanded he stop. Problem was, she not only relished what his sadistic torture brought to life inside her, but savored it. Craved it. Wanted more and more until the demon fully possessed her. She invited him in as an adored lover welcomed her mate. His violence was familiar, comforting. She was as acquainted with his wrath as her own skin. Yes, Keeley was his and he knew it, demanding she bleed out for him—only him. With an enraged kick across the bed, she knocked over the bedside table, slicing her foot on a lamp that broke. The smell of blood wafted through the air, increasing her desire. She needed him to fuck her. To bathe in her life source until she ran dry. The devil sneered as he took a bite of her innermost parts, draining her of every ounce of essence she could provide. And she only wanted to give him more as he took with a vengeance, malevolence raging to have her. From the grave he wrapped his decaying fingers around her throat and squeezed. “Give it to me, Keeley,” his seductive voice commanded. Something in that awakened another side of her. A spark of light, she long considered forever extinguished, incessantly attempted to shine. The flame required her oxygen, her fuel to burn. Burn with a brilliance. Burn with a purpose. The demon roared and writhed beneath the ever-present love that wouldn’t let him take what was so clearly his. She wanted him, unmistakably claimed his wickedness as her own. He could give her what that damnable light never could. She was addicted to pain as if it’d become her new brand of heroin. He raged in fury at the flickering, tiny spark that refused to go out and let him have his prize. It was so weak, so pathetic, if he could convince her to put it out, once and for all, they could reign together. He’d have his queen to do with as he pleased—when he pleased. Never permitting death. An eternity of torture and pain he knew she yearned for in the deep recesses of her soul. Yes, her soul was what he fought for. And he would have it! All of a sudden, when he violently slammed his cock inside her forbidden hole he felt a pain like no other, screaming, the demon withdrew and examined his prized possession. Worry knitted his brow as he saw the decay climbing along his proud manhood. His hand shook as his body shuddered. What was happening? He searched rapidly to find the source of this new development. That was when he saw it, rising from the ashes. The damnable flair coming to life, still struggling to hold on, but fight it was doing. Immeasurable love blinding him as he shielded his eyes. He had to take care of that before it gained any more strength. In an instant, his quest shifted. Destroy that light, that fucking love, and she was his forevermore. He backed into the shadows he was so accustomed to, studying his newest foe. But his queen had more than one holding that light alive. He hissed, “Lacey and those damn Strand brothers,” before realizing that, while Keeley’s sister and her new family posed a threat, she wasn’t his biggest adversary. No. The one called Tar was going to valiantly fight for her. His maniacal laugh caused the troubled Keeley to rise, terror in her eyes as they darted around the room. She couldn’t see him, of course. He stepped closer and ran his hand through her hair and whispered, “Your knight will not save you. Love isn’t what you desire. Only I can give you what you need. Mark my words, beauty, he shall die. And you will be the one to destroy him.” Keeley screamed and screamed and screamed until her vocal chords refused to function. Her eyes blinked rapidly, for she knew--she knew—her monster spoke the truth. If she permitted Tar into her heart, she would be his executioner. No more thought entered her mind as she moved like a robot. This was rote to her. Bag in hand, she snuck out like a thief acknowledging she could never return, yet if it kept Tar alive and safe, she’d gladly pay the price of loneliness. A light like his should never come in contact with the obsidian that was her. Darkness smiled as he laced his fingers with hers and tugged her into a world she would never escape. He had won, after all.![]() Amazon Links: US http://amzn.to/23WNG78 UK http://amzn.to/1UrGdHW AU http://bit.ly/1okfAX6 CA http://amzn.to/1ROmmSM Playlist Bird On The Wire – Katey Sagal Waiting For Superman – Dautry Enter Sandman – Metallica Blackbird – Sarah McLachlan Hero – Enrique Iglesias Heaven Knows – The Pretty Reckless Supermassive Black Hole – Muse Welcome To The Jungle – Guns N’ Roses Promiscuous – Nelly Furtado Freak Like Me – Halestorm I Get Off- Halestorm Bring Me To Life – Evanescance Monster- Eminem ft. Rihanna I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry – Amy Lee Connected Books Branded US http://amzn.to/1R0vRut UK http://amzn.to/1NgpSRE AU http://bit.ly/1IeP6j0 CA http://amzn.to/1SnWhWC Bound US http://amzn.to/20dPnaE UK http://amzn.to/1MITq95 AU http://bit.ly/1Q2UkQf CA http://amzn.to/1Nd60ui Broken US http://amzn.to/1RUQG8X UK http://amzn.to/1TbmRCt AU http://bit.ly/1kXJVKh CA http://amzn.to/1IePQVi Bliss US http://amzn.to/1MjRSWI UK http://amzn.to/1PSyr7I AU http://bit.ly/1Nd4J6y CA http://amzn.to/1Q2Vawd About Author Lora Ann Lora is a Missouri native who relocated to California as a teen. She spent several years as an international flight attendant for a major airline before taking on her greatest job ever, a stay-at-home mom. Now she resides in Kentucky with her family, and has taken on her newest adventure, writing.![]() Website http://www.loraann.com Facebook Author Page https://www.facebook.com/lora.ann.books Google + https://plus.google.com/u/0/+LoraAnn Pinterest https://www.pinterest.com/loraannbooks/ Goodreads author https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/419700.Lora_Ann Twitter https://twitter.com/Loraann_ Tsū https://www.tsu.co/LoraAnn Fan Group Lora Ann's Lounge http://on.fb.me/1Od9lPH
Book Blitz:
Hybrids
by
Geri Glenn
&
Shelly Morgan
Apr 25th - May 2nd
Title: Hybrids
Written By: Shelly Morgan & Geri Glenn
Release Date: February 26, 2016
Genre: Paranormal Romance
Cover Design: Wicked By Design
Their mother was the Angel of Protection. Their father was a soldier of the Underground. No one ever thought a demon could love an angel, but when their parents met, it was love at first sight. They fought their attraction until it was too much to take. When God, and the Devil himself, found out about the pregnancy, they fled to protect themselves and their unborn child. But when the pain of labor was over, instead of one baby, there were two; hybrid twins.
Cyrus and Joey are fraternal twins and the product of this forbidden love between ultimate good, and ultimate evil. When their parents are slain immediately following their birth, the twins are given refuge inside of a convent by a kind, but no-nonsense, priest with a penchant for slaying demons. The priest trained the twins from a young age to kill off an entire race that they themselves descend from.
Now, nineteen years later, Cy and Joey leave the convent for the first time to investigate a series of rapes and murder happening at a college campus hours from the only place theyâve ever known or called home. Trying to navigate in this new world of school, parties, and the allure of the opposite sex, the twins quickly learn that being human isnât all itâs cracked up to be. As they struggle with the feelings that come with falling in love, they both fight a battle from deep within. Will their love be enough? Will their own personal vendettas pull them in the wrong direction? But the question that plagues them most â are they good, or evil?
Shelly Morgan
Shelly is an Iowan girl. She now resides in the town she was born and raised in. Having three children, itâs hard for her to have any down time, but when she finds it, you can find her holed up somewhere reading her next steamy book in a long list of books in her virtual library or writing her next story.
She is the author of the Forsaken Sinners MC series, with her first book being released in February of 2015. Even though this is an MC series, she has plenty more ideas, so look out for more than just biker novels from her in the future.
Shelly became fast friends with Geri before she even released her first book, but through their friendship they both decided to delve into the jar of Paranormal. Itâs been a lot of work, but such a ride so far, sheâs actually sad to see it end. But she knows that with the end of this book, itâs not the end of the journey, itâs just the beginning. She hopes you enjoy it as much as she and Geri enjoyed writing it.
Geri Glenn
Geri is a Canadian girl, born and raised. Sheâs a military wife, mother of two and devourer of words. She can often be found reading a good book, magazine or any shampoo bottle within reach.
She is the author of the Kings of Korruption MC series, with her first book being released in August of 2015. A sucker for any type of alpha male, Geri refuses to be tied to one genre.
Writing this book with Shelly has been a welcome challenge and a ton of fun. She hopes you love Cyrus and Joey as much as she and Shelly do!
Hosted by Obsessive Pimpettes Promotions
We're thrilled to be hosting Ariel Heart's THE LITTLE WINE GUIDE Book Blast today! Pick up your copy!
Title: The Little Wine Guide
Author: Ariel Heart Publisher: Blazing Sword Publishing, Ltd. Pages: 60 Genre: Nonfiction
Don’t know much about wine? From Cabernet to Chardonnay, from buying wine to enjoying it; this jam-packed little book removes the mystery and makes learning about wine fun. The Little Wine Guide is presented in a conversational tone and helps you discover what interests you in the world of wine as you embrace your personal wine style.
For More Information
You have decided it’s time to learn a little about wine. You don’t want to get carried away, but you would like to get a handle on why you like some wines yet others are just yuck. Maybe you were at a friend’s house and the wine your friend raved about tasted nasty to you, but the recommendation at the restaurant was the best wine you have ever tasted. Perhaps that guy or gal in your life enjoys wine and you want to know some basics at least. You have come to the right place my friend.
This book is your hack for wine, your quick start guide that provides a foundation and will give you ways to discover and enjoy wine your way. Such as, throwing your own wine tasting so you can experiment with wine and have a good idea of what you are actually doing. No need for a hefty book that you won’t read but may end up as a doorstop. Wine can be fun and interesting, and I’ll prove it. In this guide you will be provided with the critical basics to jump-start your wine education and do your own wine tasting for yourself or with friends and family.
We will follow two imaginary people in this guide, Michael and Jessica. We will help both of them meet their wine education goals and learn alongside them in the process.
Michael is your average guy who never thought much of wine; it doesn’t go with football or baseball. But Michael is seriously dating and his gal likes wine, her parents even collect wine.
Michael wants to make a good impression on his potential in-laws, so he is looking to get a quick wine education before the big dinner where he meets them. He isn’t planning on impressing anybody, but he wants to share in the wine experience and converse with some knowledge. We will give Michael the foundation he needs to skate through the important dinner and even be able to share a little about what he likes using the language of wine.
Jessica is single and building her career. It’s time to leave college keg parties and jungle juice behind and prepare for the client entertaining and high-powered social mixers she will be expected to partake in.
She needs to understand what she likes, and navigate the champagne luncheons and wine socials without blinking an eye. We will get her on her feet and help her find her own wine style and taste. As always, drink responsibly and don’t drink and drive.
Watch the Book Trailer
About the Author
Ms. Heart is a wine enthusiast on her personal wine journey who found most books on wine either too textbook, too long, or packed with information she didn't need or want to know. Eventually, she was collecting the information that she found pertinent to enjoying wine without a degree in viticulture. She thought others might like to have the short cut to the core material as well. Thus was born the idea for The Little Wine Guide. So, join her on this wine discovery journey! Ms. Heart has a Bachelor's degree in Business Administration and has worked in Fortune 500 companies and Department of Defense most of her life. She is a Colorado native who loves the mountains and wildlife, but doesn't ski, and currently volunteers at a cat shelter, played clarinet for a short time, and dabbles in drawing, watercolor, and acrylic painting.
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GiveawayAriel is giving away a wine basket!
Terms & Conditions:
Good luck everyone!
ENTER TO WIN!
By: Everly Scott
Publication Date: April 5, 2016
Cover Design: Mayhem Cover Creations
Genre: Romantic Comedy/Chick Lit
Amazon US - http://amzn.to/1UlHiQJ
Amazon UK - http://goo.gl/0YNGGA
Amazon CA - http://goo.gl/8x4AoU
Chapter One
I spent the first half of my twenties accusing myself of being a feminist fraud for wanting a boyfriend who thought I was perfect. I had been a good girl, a maniacal, career-focused, intellectually stimulated woman who leaned-in, took a seat at the table, and made my voice so heard I had become hoarse. But none of that seemed to matter in the Los Angeles dating world. Looking for love had led me into the defined biceps of guys who thought I might turn into an acceptable companion if, and only if I changed something about myself. If I lost fifteen pounds. If I didn’t say “fuck” so much. If I made more money. Less money. Had a smaller nose. Didn’t always want to eat pasta. If I didn’t have a belly. At some point between learning how to flirt in high school chemistry class and stumbling furiously toward the eve of my twenty-sixth birthday, I had given up. Stopped dating completely. Packed away the dresses, heels, and the innuendo. Vowed to focus on myself. Sharing a chocolate chip cookie sundae with a guy who wouldn’t be afraid to caress an arm, thigh, or hip bigger than a size two, five, or eight only happened in my imagination. A male sundae-lover definitely didn’t exist in a Los Angeles gym. I went to the gym once. My childhood best frenemy, Jenna, convinced me that the gym helped women burn energy, melt fat, and meet men. The entire experience mirrored meditation, she’d told me. “Don’t complain about being fat. Complain about things you can’t change.” I went alone, without telling her that I had decided to test out her theory. Bad idea. With my phone, tiny polka dotted towel, and headphones in hand, I entered the world of adult, organized, physical activity. It smelled like stale water. I flashed my electronic guest pass at the laser scanner, kept my focus towards the back of the big square room, and moved quickly past the cardio machines, knowing that if I tried to run or elliptical or spin bike myself, I’d be exposing my newbie status. A tsunami of terror hit me, hard. I had no idea what to do in a place like this. I quickly looked for a place to fit in, a place to disguise myself. A group of women crowded around one weight machine like it was a pan of brownies and they had PMS. It seemed like the magic potion. It was the Miss Universe of the gym, and if they had to have it, so did I. Jenna’s directions echoed in my mind. “Stretch first. You don’t want to pull a muscle. Touch your toes or something.” So I leaned against the wall and touched my toes. Except touching my toes was more like leaning my elbows against my bent, trembling knees. I bent over a little farther, and the back of my thighs burned. A couple of bones crackled, but I had a good view of the magical machine. “Totally worth it,” I whispered to myself, rubbing my hamstrings. A woman in a full face of makeup, with boob-length blonde hair taught me how to use the contraption without knowing it. I continued touching my knees. Step 1: adjust the weight on the machine. Step 2: pull the level that makes the thigh pads fly apart. Step 3: sit down. Step 4: clench thighs together. Step 5: Repeat. A lot. It seemed easy enough. The blonde sitting on the machine made it look like thigh clenching was a way of life. Real women learn to walk, talk, read, and thigh clench. So when she was done, and the crowd of women had busied themselves with other gym work like butt extenders, and arm pumpers, I approached my machine like we had an intimate relationship. “Looking good,” I said, patting the seat. I adjusted my weight and assumed my clenching capacity would be 50 pounds. I didn’t want to look like a complete wimp. I pulled the lever, sat down, and tried to squeeze my thighs together. Nothing moved. The more I tried to pull my knees toward each other the more everything stayed in place. At that moment, I understood why the weight lifting men grunted. I closed my eyes and pressed my knees against the pads. A grumble vibrated inside of my stomach. Roar like you’re a queen. Queen of the fucking jungle, I thought. My best attempt at roaring resulted in a throat clearing sound, a thankfully silent fart, and yet again, a complete lack of movement. I lowered the weight down to twenty-five pounds and did two of rapid squeezes. The weights slammed together, alerting everyone within ten feet of me that I worked hard. I pumped iron. Made my body fat cry. A woman with a bright orange towel draped around her neck walked back and forth in front of me. Sighing and pacing. Her orange shoes squeaked each time she spun to walk in the opposite direction. She was hunting me. Staring. My knees hovered in mid-thrust, incapable of meeting in the center, already too shocked by this new range of motion. Orange bang and I had been subjected to watching my shameful attempts at exercise long enough. My inner thighs tingled, and damp sweat bubbled under my butt. I would sacrifice my time on the clencher before Orange Bang threw me to the floor in an exercise-induced rage. I rubbed my inner thighs before getting up. “She’s all yours,” I said. Orange Bang looked at me, her head now between her legs because she could actually touch her toes, and mouthed thanks. She wiped down the seat before she took her turn. I stood in the middle of the gym, scanning to find my next work out option. A thick film of steam covered the floor to ceiling windows of the gym. Bathroom mirrors after a hot shower had nothing on these shining beauties. Men were everywhere. And only one of them had a belly that hung over his shorts. He was diligently at work, doing squats all the way across the length of the gym floor. Squat. Step. Squat. Step. I was relatively inexperienced when it came to exercise protocol and gym etiquette, but I was pretty sure squats could be done in one location. A trainer, dressed in the gym’s collared uniform shirt, stood in the corner scribbling on a clipboard. The squatter smiled through open teeth, and kept his eyes glued to the clipboard – his finish line. A man, who could have been a football player, or model, or a professional Hulk impersonator, fumbled with the weight control on a machine that looked like a horse and carriage. Right next to me. He set his desired weight, somewhere way at the bottom of the weight stack, and then jumped into the empty space fit for a human’s body – the horse section of the horse and carriage. He rested in a squatting position, his legs bent at an awkward angle. It already looked painful to me, and he hadn’t moved yet. He placed the handles on his shoulders, and unbent his knees, until they were completely straight. He let out a guttural sound that, to me, suggest he tore something. I squinted, but couldn’t look away. He pressed his chin into his chest, took a deep breath, and bent down again. This was it. My next victim. It seemed simple enough, as long as I stuck with what I had found to be my twenty-five pound limit. The man, finished with his grunting and growling, stepped out of the machine, and looked my way. “You next?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Yeah. I do these all the time,” I said, not moving from my spot in-between the thigh clencher and the horse and carriage. “I’ve got a couple sets left. Let’s rotate.” He patted the machine, raised his eyebrows, and then poured water into his mouth from a water bottle he held a foot away from his face. I had no idea what he was talking about. Rotating sets sounded more like baking cakes than exercising. Instead of being clueless and admitting it, I was clueless and nodding. “Yep,” I said. “Rotations.” I cracked my fingers on my right hand one by one. I assumed he would simply move on to the bigger and better things this place had to offer, maybe returning to the horse and carriage when he was done with a different machine. Pulling the levers down to rest on my shoulders turned out to be impossible. I leaned against the back of the machine looking for switches or hooks or buttons that would make it do what I’d seen happen for the Hulk a few seconds ago. I refused to read the instructions. No one at the gym read the instructions on anything since I got there, and I wasn’t going to be the first one. You are a lion, I thought. A lion goddess. Jenna will be jealous because you will look like a fucking lion goddess. And then I roared at myself. Out loud. While the levers of the machine were still in the air and I, stood there, obviously not lifting weights. “Get off for a second. I’ll adjust it for you,” the hulky-man said. And then he laughed softly. My face felt like it had caught on fire. I had been discovered. “Why are you still here?” My undercover mission was prematurely aborted. I got off the machine. “You didn’t happen to hear any roaring, did you? Cause, if you did, I think it was that lady over there with the orange towel.” He shook his head. “If you did these all the time,” he said, “you’d probably know that you gotta pull this handle back here. It raises the height and loosens the shoulder rest.” He rattled the metal, pulled what had to be fifteen different handles, and slapped the machine. “We’ll just have to adjust it again when it’s my turn.” “Thanks,” I said. I needed to make a quick recovery if I was going to survive this encounter with any dignity. “I meant, I come here a lot, but I never use this machine,” I said. He dropped the weight from twenty-five to ten. I adjusted the underwire in my sports bra. “You know, if you want to lose weight quickly you have to focus on your diet more than exercise,” he said, as if he were talking through me. I got off the machine, made some excuse about having to use the bathroom, and walked to the water fountain near the entrance. We were separated by half a wall, a couple of mirrored pillars, and hundreds of sweaty people, but what he said felt like it lodged itself in between my ribs. Jenna had been so wrong. No one designated wanna-be Hulk as the king of the gym universe. He didn’t know if I was there to lose weight. He didn’t know what I ate on a regular basis, if I was actually healthy or not. He didn’t know anything about me, and yet, out of his mouth came an ice cold dagger. But neither the Hulk or Jenna could know that the gym had gotten under my skin. So I stuck around. I played with a strange arm contraption, choked back tears of embarrassment, waved some free weights in the air, and accidentally hit the max speed button on my archenemy the treadmill before I ran out of the gym basically screaming. When I came home sticky and red skinned, I looked in my own mirror for an entire hour. Sat and stared. It seemed like I had grown larger than I was when I left for the gym. I removed my faded white shirt and saw rolls of flesh that had in no way been taught a lesson by an ab-ripper. Without the support of my sports bra, my breasts were sagging and young, a complexity I still can’t understand. And under my yoga pants there were seas and valleys, mountains, craters, and hills that were either created by nearly twenty-six years of a delicious diet, or a poor genetic makeup. I sat for the entire hour, inspecting my body, centimeter by centimeter, wondering how anyone could unveil me, explore me, and touch me without seeing this history of a rebellious body. At the end of the hour, I was naked and alone and unchanged. I texted Jenna. Me 7:05 PM: Liar! Meditation does not exist at the gym. There are no magical fixes. I have boobs and thighs and arm bulges and cheeks and I hated the entire experience. Keeping my body the same. Thanks. Jenna 7:10 PM: Hahaha, you actually went? Okay chubs. If you say so. I knew my best frenemy was an asshole, but the longer I sat in front of the mirror, the more I solidified my belief that someone out there could love a stomach that wasn’t the countertop, washboard, six pack, bikini ready bombshell type. Jenna had to be wrong. Somewhere, there’s a single guy who would love a woman even though she despised the gym. He would probably have three sisters and would adore his mother. He might eat large portions of healthy lettuce wraps and protein shakes when in public, but at home would nurture gnocchi in pesto creams, butter sauces, and béchamel toppings. He’d indulge in garlic breads and steaks and brownies and ice cream cakes. When entertaining a lady, he would not stare at her disapprovingly if she went back to the kitchen for a second taste. And he certainly would not recommend that she accompany him on his next trip to the gym. I wasn’t so desperate for designated exercise time that I was willing to justify paying hundreds of dollars a month to attend the sweatiest, most judgmental place on earth at four in the morning on a Thursday. I didn’t want to go running at four in the morning on a Thursday either. And doing crunches to an online workout video wasn’t my idea of an enthralling way to spend a Friday night. I wouldn’t have wasted a Monday night on that. I’d rather paint, or browse make up blogs, or learn how to play an instrument. Anything other than the gym, honestly. I hoped that I could find a man willing love the naked woman sprawled exhausted and overwhelmingly bootylicious on the floor of her bedroom. I had only encountered the opposite of him. Then again, I didn’t bother to spend time in many different places – I went to my makeup studio, I went to the mall, to the bank, to buy groceries, the park– but surely the most enticing and rare of the male species must have gone to places like these too. If he did, he must have been hiding from me. I was absolutely against the online dating world – if not for any larger reason than that upon meeting my initially two-dimensional friend, he might have found that my picture didn’t accurately portray who I was in person. Maybe he would expect my body to be similar to a nutritionist or a gymnast instead of a hardcore foodie or a self-proclaimed pizza connoisseur. I was always in the mood for a good, thin crust, fresh mozzarella covered pizza. Anyway, the body-type mix up was possible despite video chatting and selfie-sending. Honestly, no one ever looks like themselves on Skype. And so, on the eve of my twenty-sixth birthday, in a gym induced state of fatigue, I threw both middle fingers in the air. Fuck Jenna, Orange Bang, the Hulk, and the gym. “Victory,” I screamed. I stood in front of the mirror, middle fingers still up, swaying, spinning, and posing for no one but myself. After many years of contemplation and in the face of all the things that men and women might have considered my cosmetic deal breakers, I decided to find new public places to spend some time, places that embraced bodies like mine. A place where I could find my person. My tribe. I committed to participating in a new social activity every weekend, even if I was uncomfortable or terrified. Promised myself I would stay for at least an hour. Pinky swore I would talk to or maybe even flirt with at least one guy during that time. One place, one hour, and a couple of weekends to find the love of my life. Or maybe to find a couple of men who showed potential. At least, that was the plan.
Chapter Two
I walked into the cooking class alone on the first Saturday evening in February. My twenty-sixth birthday. The day I had casually titled Find My Soul Mate Date. It was raining outside, a cruel and unusual punishment for Angelenos. The windows of the corner restaurant speckled with condensation. A sign informed the public that the restaurant was closed for a private event, but it was written on a chalkboard positioned inside the closed door. Helpful, right? As I got farther into the room, the door behind me opened and closed, and hungry groups of people hummed and grumbled while retreating back into the damp night. I brushed past empty tables for two or four, and targeted the ten people already in the back of the restaurant, not including the chef who wore a floppy, white hat covering the very top of what could only be a charmingly bald head. I wondered how many people in the group already knew each other before that night. It definitely crossed my mind that all ten of them came in a huge party bus, and that I would be the intruder, the odd woman out, the one oblivious goldfish in a pond of stunning family of koi. Initially, I thought a cooking class would be a perfect event to find a man who appreciated a curvy body. But as I pried each foot off of the ground and then forced one in front of the other, I saw that of the ten people, only two males were present. One of them attached his pinky to the brightly polished pinky of a woman in a short black dress. Taken. Under no circumstances should a woman attempt to attract a man who obviously operates under the spell of another woman. Even I knew doing that brings bad dating karma. So I immediately diverted my attention to the other male. He was surrounded by a group of three women, and none of them looked particularly attached to him. I was interested, and terribly sweaty. I made it my mission to sneak into a conversation with the only seemingly single man in the room. With about ten minutes until eight, we had time to mingle. The ten people were standing in subgroups of six and four, and I turned slightly to the right to angle myself at the single man. The more I focused, the more clammy my palms got. There was no ring on his left hand, and he had very nice facial hair - the kind that required special grooming tools and more time to perfect than the amount traditionally expected for a man to spend. I approved. When I was about five feet away, I made eye contact with the woman standing next to the single man. I smiled. The extra fat on my stomach wiggled up and down with each bang of my heel against the floor. Looser clothes were on the list of necessary items for my next night out. While draping my coat over my right arm and sliding it in front of my stomach, I continued smiling. Looking friendly had to give off good vibrations. Standing just slightly outside of the circle their bodies had formed, I leaned forward, glancing at each person’s face. “Hello,” I said, which sounded way too professional and not at all fun. Who ruins saying hi? I waved, hoping it would lighten up my manly hello. Sweat formed in my armpits, lubricating my skin in the most unpleasant way. I made sure that my hand was the only part of my arm that moved. “I’m Katherine,” I said through a forced smile. The woman standing next to the single man grabbed the hand I waved with and shook it. My arm flailed wildly as she pulled it up and down. Mission accomplished. Sweat droplets fell from my armpit and slid down the side of my torso, settling somewhere near my belly button. Pull yourself together. You’re not meeting the fucking President. “My name is Mindy, and this is my brother Zander,” the woman said as she pointed to the single man. All signs pointed to Zander’s potential. He had a sister, and she was friendly. Progress. I moved to shake Zander’s hand and I made a quick but complete once over. Brown eyes. Trimmed mustache. Crooked bottom teeth. Tousled black hair. Tight green shirt. Black suit jacket. Dark jeans. Converse. Maybe twenty-eight. Skinnier than the average guy. Cute. “Nice to meet you,” he said. It looked like he was winking but I didn’t know for sure so I acted like he wasn’t and decided that I needed to say something interesting to Zander. That was my self-imposed requirement before meeting the other two people in the circle. “So what brings you here on a Saturday night?” I said and then immediately regretted. It didn’t get any cheesier than that. No, the first thing out of my mouth was even worse than cheesy, it was strangely forward. Not even cute-forward. Just bizarre. No one says that tired line except cougars who know they sound like an extra from a one season sitcom. I continued picking myself apart for asking that question while Zander made conversation. “My sister loves cooking. I live on the east coast so we don’t get to spend much time together. While I’m visiting I try to hang out as much as possible. Quality time, you know?” He grinned. His sister was chatting furiously with the other two women from the original group of four. I told myself to go for it. It. Zander. Flirting for the first time in five years. Because I had already been cheesy and strange, so I thought the night had to be up from here. “And,” he hesitated a little, leaning forward, “I don’t ever turn down good food.” He smiled a one-sided grin. And we have a winner, everybody! That was all I needed him to say. Before I had the chance to convince myself that I totally wasn’t Zander’s type I was blurting out things like, “I could show you around sometime,” and “Maybe I could take you to see the Hollywood sign?” Determination goes a long way, I guess. He stared straight at me as stupid words fell out of my mouth. I stood there squeezing my arms into my sides, feeling shocked at my ability to be bold, and worrying that in about two seconds I’d be shot down. I wasn’t worried because I’d be getting shot down from Zander in particular, but because I didn’t want to be shot down at all. No one likes to be told they suck. The possibility of rejection, of someone saying right to my face that they didn’t want to get to know me, or even have a one night stand with me (not that a one-nighter was the goal, even though hell, it might be nice) was enough to make me run straight out into the rain and down the street to the closest gym. Really, any kind of rejection, even a remotely polite one, might as well scream “You’re not good enough,” or “You don’t look like that girl on T.V. and you probably eat a lot so taking you out to dinner would be too expensive.” I worried that if someone told me that I might want to change myself. I resisted the sudden urge to bat my eyelashes and flip my hair because I wanted this guy to like me for me and not for whatever horrible impression of a runway model I could come up with on a fifty-four degree winter night in the back of an empty restaurant on Pico Boulevard. “That’s nice, really. But, no need to show me around,” he says confidently. I knew it was coming. There was no chance that we had made a connection in the first place. I should have walked right back out into the rain when I saw there were only two guys here. I could have pretended I was a hungry customer turned away by the chalkboard announcement. I wanted to break eye contact with him but he smiled and then I couldn’t look away. “I’m from here originally. Born and raised. I work in New York now, but I’ll always be a California boy at heart. Actually, I could probably show you a thing or two about L.A.,” he says. He nudged my arm and walked over to his sister who had joined the pinky partners’ group. I touched the spot on my arm where his elbow brushed my skin. I had become a giddy teenager in less than ten minutes. “Everyone find your kitchen companion,” the man with the chef hat said. “It’s going to be a delicious night.” He walked around to the front of the kitchen where his counter top was, and explained in a thick Italian accent that the class would be making Fettuccini Alfredo. “Pasta and sauce from scratch,” he said, “because that is the only way.” After everyone was paired up, Zander with his sister of course, myself and the second half of the pinky partners were the only two people standing alone. Her male companion found himself partnered with a woman with giraffe legs. He drooled and stood there staring, right at eye level with her breasts. I looked at him, and then back at the woman he came with. I sighed. “Men,” I said under my breath. The kitchen assistant dropped a ball of dough on my work stand, slapping the dough once on its puffy top before she moved to the next pair of amateur cooks. My partner’s name was Hunter and the pinky partner was her husband. She told me they have an open relationship, and patience is not in his nature. It was going to be a long night. We began rolling out our own sections of pre-kneaded dough just like the chef instructed. “So,” Hunter said, moving her rolling pin in short bursts, “Anyone special in your life? A lover, I mean, not a best friend or a sassy grandma or anything.” Her eyes fixed on me, expectant. I told her I didn’t, and that I was in the market for a six-foot-two businessman who had a thing for bigger women. “Oh please. You’re not a bigger woman,” she said, almost too quickly in my opinion. I laughed it off and put more pressure on the rolling pin. “Honestly Hunter,” I said, putting too much upper arm strength into the task, “you and I both know that out here anything bigger than a size 5 is a bigger woman these days.” Holes began to peek through my dough, which looked more like lace than like pasta. Hunter rolled her eyes. “It’s true,” I continued. “ They call size eights plus sized models, and if any woman dares to call herself curvy but has a little extra stomach, then she’s not the hot kind of curvy she’s just fat.” “Honey,” Hunter said, throwing a flour-covered hand in the air. “A little confidence goes a long way.” “Do you know how long it took me to get into this dress?” I asked. “Same amount of time it took me to get into this thing,” Hunter said, pushing her breasts together with her arms. “Impossible,” I replied. “I’m a 10, the dress says it’s a 10, but it wanted to act like a 5 tonight,” I said, pulling the dress down at my thighs. Smudges of flour polka-dotted along the hemline. “My dress has multiple personalities.” Hunter shook her head. “Poor thing,” she said while laughing. “All the best ones do.” The chef spun around quickly in our direction. “All the best what?” he asked. He peered down his nose at our workstation, and held my dough up for the class to see. It hung in the air; the weight of the mass opened the holes up even more. “Attention class! This dough here, is not the best. Don’t. Do. This.” I could have sworn it wasn’t that bad stretched out on the counter. Even though there were only ten other people there, my face went red as he explained that my lack of technique resulted in a poor product. “Stop all the talking. You are not focused,” he added. I glanced around the room to gauge everyone’s reaction to the chef’s tirade and there he was. Zander. He looked at me and mouthed the words: I like it. He shrugged his shoulders. I felt sweat seep from the pores in my hands. The rolling pin slid easily against my palms. The chef handed my dough back to me, and I crumpled it up to start over. The chef shook his head. “You are not a natural. It will take more work,” he said. Zander watched and laughed silently. With my crusty ball of dough in hand, I swung it through the air in a halfhearted attempt to hurl it at Zander’s head. I quickly slapped it back onto the counter, and blew him a small kiss. Zander held up his flattened dough and swirled it in the air like a pizza. “The biggest and most important rule of my kitchen, this kitchen, or any kitchen is: do not play with the food,” the chef said as he wandered over to Zander’s station. He said something directly to him that I couldn’t hear. I was staring long and intently enough that I should have been able to read their lips, but I couldn’t. The chef walked away and Zander whispered in his sister’s ear. In that instant I was already jealous of their relationship. If he were that interested in me, wouldn’t he have looked at me first? After all, we were having an across the room food fight when he got busted. His attention should have been directed at the last person of contact before the interruption. And there I went. My imagination exploded in a fury of fake memory montages: my first date with Zander, quickies before work, meeting the family, Thanksgiving dinners. We had absolutely no relationship and I was already acting like we had to decide which set of parents to visit on Christmas. If Zander would have shown up here alone like me, maybe then we could have been partners. Maybe I could have practiced this flirting thing without adding in the complications of jealousy. I was still watching him when Hunter began to tell me about how she and her husband met. She mentioned something about Palm Springs in the summer time and a business trip to get away from his ex-wife who was adamantly against the open relationship lifestyle. But when Zander’s eyes met mine and I had absolutely no idea what Hunter was talking about anymore. He winked. I was sure of it. “After going through all of that,” Hunter said, “I knew for sure he was supposed to be my husband. If we could get through something like that and still be in love. And I mean he really supported me through it all, then I could explore a non-traditional relationship for him.” “Definitely,” I said, pretending to be completely up to speed with the conversation. “Who knew I would love it so much?” Hunter burst into laughter. “Well, honey that’s life.” I nodded, the other half of my consciousness sill across the room lost in whatever Zander was doing with his hands. My hands had given up on rolling my useless crumbly ball of dough into anything edible. So Hunter made the fettuccini. I asked Hunter if she thinks she has found true love. She handed me a hand held pasta cutter and a sheet of dough. “Do that.” She pointed to the screen at the back of the class, magnifying the intricate work of the chef. Hunter slipped her section of dough through the slicing machine as she looked at me and asked, “is dough only pasta after you cut it?” “Not sure,” I said. Hunter raised her eyebrows, and plopped the long noodle into a pot of boiling water. “So you’re the type who likes to speak in riddles?” I asked. “A little bit.” We dropped the fettuccini into boiling, salted water, and the chef taught everyone how to make Alfredo sauce with butter, Parmesan cheese, and a little heavy cream. “No garlic or onion or any extra seasoning. Not authentic,” he said. I let Hunter do most of the work. My job was to stir. Wooden spoon in my hand, I stirred and stirred to meld the ingredients into one united sauce, and to keep it from burning. My hand sweat made the spoon slide around in my grasp. The damp hands could have been a result of nerves or a product of the sauce’s tiny sauna. Both were equally possible. I stirred while I looked at the back of Zander’s head wondering if he was too handsome. I wondered if he lived too far away, or was too skinny, or too rich, or too smart to be interested in someone like me. I consoled myself with the idea that he could simply be a nice guy. The nice guy who said nice things to the sort of chubby girl who came to the cooking class alone. I laid the spoon handle against the side of the pan and then wiped my palm against my shirt. “I’m sorry if I’m being too intrusive,” I said to Hunter, who still hadn’t told me the status of her belief in one true loves. “I thought we were sharing stories.” “I haven’t heard very much about your story yet.” “Well,” today’s my birthday-“ “And you’re by yourself?” She looked surprised. “That’s usually a thirty-something thing to do.” “How do you know I’m not thirty-something?” “Honey, because I’m thirty-something. You’re still a baby.” “I’m twenty-six today, thank you.” “Exactly.” “I’m twenty-six today, and I’m-” I lowered my voice. “I’m trying to meet people, kind of the old fashioned way. I felt like I needed to do it on my own. Be responsible for my own happy ending.” I tapped the top of the sauce with my spoon. “So here I am.” Hunter directed her attention to Zander, and then back to me. Then she did it a couple more times, raising her eyebrows the whole time. Hunter asked if I was interested in the guy with the black suit jacket. “You know, the guy who likes to play with his food,” she said. “I know you want to go talk to him. In my opinion, he’s a little immature for you, but if that’s what you like…” I stirred the sauce again, my eyes fixed on the pot. “Oh come on, you’ve been staring at him the entire time. I thought you were going to slip your fingers into the pasta machine.” The pasta machine was highly frowned upon by the chef, but was there in case anyone was inadequate with slicing by hand. “Practice. Practice. Practice.” The chef clapped after every pause. He stopped to hover over every station, inspecting the sauce’s aroma. An intense heat flooded my cheeks and I wondered if I had in fact been that obvious. “Look, Zander seems alright but I think I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one night,” I said. “I just want to eat this pasta and head home.” The chef stopped at our station, adjusted his hat, and yelled with a wide-open mouth. “Practice!” He clapped twice. Hunter dropped the freshly drained fettuccini into the alfredo sauce and inhaled deeply. “Sweetie, don’t be sorry when that cutie walks right out of here and you never see him again. Mine likes to be curious and all,” she said, gesturing to her husband who was chatting with the giraffe girl and not even attempting to learn about making fettuccini alfredo, “but I know who means the most to him.” She smiled and dropped fresh pasta into boiling water “True love?” I asked. “Our own kind of true love.” At the end of the class everyone was sitting around eating fettuccini with slices of bread and drops of olive oil and the scent of Italy rising from the pots seated on multiple stoves. I shoved my elbow into Hunter’s side when I saw that Zander was walking over to our station. “Oh my God,” I said as I shoved a forkful of pasta into my mouth. “Swallow that pasta! You don’t want to look like a pig, do you?” She giggled after asking and I assumed it was to take away the sting of calling me a pig. “Asshole,” I muttered to her. She ignored me. I swirled the fettuccini around my fork and asked Hunter if she thought it was pasta or dough now. “Both.” She shrugged and I swallowed. I shoveled in another bite hoping I would still be chewing when he reached our station. He started talking before he made it all the way to where I was sitting. “How’d yours come out? Mine was a little dry,” he said, attempting to replicate the chef’s accent. All I could manage with my mouth fully occupied by creamy starch and cheese was a clumsy head nod. “I take it that nod means your food was molto magnifico,” he said with some kind of waving hand gesture. “Your horrible job on the rolling must have been the secret.” “Did you have too much wine or do you always speak in tiny spurts of Italian?” I asked. Hunter butt-bumped me from her spot at the counter, and then cleared her throat. I took another bite of the fettuccini, a little smaller this time, hoping that having something to do with my mouth would excuse any moment of silence in case the small talk grew stale. As I looked up from my plate, I noticed Zander’s eyes weren’t focused on my face. He wasn’t even staring at my chest like I expected. His eyes were glaring at the area directly underneath my chest, and I couldn’t be sure what his conclusion about that area was. I had a feeling it could be something like: This girl should really stop with the forklift of cheese and cream ‘cause I can see right where it’s headed, and it’s not pretty. I stood up immediately to help disguise the bounding rolls. I smiled and took another bite. Bigger this time. “My sister and I are leaving now, but I thought maybe I could get your number,” he hesitated, for what I could only explain as an attempt to read my reaction. “In case I forget something about L.A. and need a tour guide or something.” He smiled and his eyes traveled from my face back down to my stomach, and all the way to my feet. I didn’t know if he was intrigued or appalled. “I think its sweet that you’re asking, really, but you really don’t have to do that,” I said. I put my plate down and wondered if his sister put him up to this. She probably said, “Zander, that poor girl looks so lonely. And I can tell she likes you. She could have a fun time with a successful, attractive guy for once. Show her a good time and then go back to New York. No harm done.” I could just imagine it happening. If I could read lips I probably would have recognized the exact moment it happened too. “Don’t have to do what?” Zander asked as he fumbled with his cell phone. I pressed my tongue into the corner of my lips and wished I was still chewing so I could buy myself some time to respond without having to tell him the ugly truth. I couldn’t tell him that I was too afraid to give him my number because if he never called all of my fears would be staring me in my big, hope-filled face. I couldn’t tell him that I didn’t want him to call out of pity, or because he just wanted a girl he wasn’t attracted to for a friend so that the relationship would never get messy and complicated. I must have stood there thinking for too long because he shifted his weight to his left side and asked, “So do you have a boyfriend or are you just not interested after all?” His gaze stayed on my face this time. All at once I could see my heart breaking before it happened. If we actually started a relationship his friends would ask him when he started being into bigger chicks. They’d tell him he could do better. His mother would disapprove. His sister would tell him she didn’t mean for us to actually date, she just wanted us to have a little fun. He would go back to New York and would decide that he’s too nice of a guy to dump me. So we would have a long distance relationship, and then he would run into a model on her way to a photo shoot. He would cheat on me and they would fall in real love. And it would all be because I was never meant to be with someone that far out of my league anyway. “Its none of that Zander. I actually have to go. It’s getting so late. Great job on the dough though!” I turned around, grabbed my coat and my plate of pasta, and ran out of the kitchen and into the cold, sprinkling night.
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Everly Scott loves Italian food, yummy candles, and love stories. She recently made the switch from teaching college writing to hogging all of the writing time for herself. But, when she’s not writing, you can find her hanging out on Twitter, Instagram, and her website, or learning how to powerlift, kind of. Eventually. 10 Random Facts About Me: 1. I am the proud owner of Bachelors Degrees in Honors English Literature and Creative Writing and an MFA in Writing. 2. Sunny (and dehydrated) Los Angeles has been my home base since birth. I’ve never lived anywhere else. 3. I love dogs, especially my own fuzzy Shih Tzu baby, but I am not the biggest fan of dog beaches. 4. I am utterly in love with my high school sweetheart. Not in a creepy, still crushing on him kind of way, but in a we-are-married-and-more-in-love-than-ever kind of way. 5. I may or may not be addicted to pasta. 6. I also may or may not be addicted to Dateline, 20/20, and Investigation Discovery. Don’t judge me. 7. Beyonce is #lifegoals. 8. I used to sing. A lot. In choirs, at weddings, and funerals, and football games. And in the shower. Actually, I still sing. Mostly in the shower. 9. When I was a kid I wanted to be a veterinarian. Then I realized I was allergic to cats, hated science and really sucked at math. Dreams crushed. 10. Tattoos. I love them. I have three, and if I could be covered from head to toe in beautiful art, I would! Okay, maybe not head to toe. Maybe just from collar bone to toe.
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![]() Field Stripped Box SetAuthors: Marissa Dobson, Nicole Garcia, Piper Presley, Ellie Keys, Julie Morgan, Alyssa Breck, Lily-Ann Johnson, Natasza Waters, C.J. Pinard, Tamara Hoffa, Shelley Munro, S.E. Babin, Carly Carson, Xandra James, and Calinda B Genre: Military Contemporary Romance 15 Steamy Military Romances from today's New York Times and Amazon Bestselling authors. GET STRIPPED with stories filled with love, romance, and smokin' hot alpha men sure to get your temperature rising. Bestselling Author, Marissa Dobson Ace in the Hole: Ace in the Hole-Returning home from a deployment, Navy SEAL Ace Diamond finds the only woman he’s ever loved pregnant and living in his house. Gwyneth didn’t expect reuniting with the man who broke her heart. After all these years, will they give love a second chance? New York Times Bestselling Author, Nicole Garcia Saving Private Blue: Savannah has endured years of heartache ever since Billy broke up with her and joined the Army. Her only comfort is Travis, Billy's brother. What happens when two brothers love the same woman? Can broken hearts be mended? Will true love prevail above all else? Amazon Bestselling Author, Piper Presley Thorn of a Soldier: Young and newly married Marisa and Brody Clark will soon be separated when army soldier Brody gets deployed. Will Marisa remain Brody's devoted military wife or will an ex-boyfriend convince her to untie the knot? Ellie Keys Belinda’s Mission: Belinda Banneker (B.B.'s) world has been rocked in more ways than one and only one person can set it to rights. The only problem is no one knows where this man, well no one, but B.B. Bestselling Author, Julie Morgan Delta Force: Fighting in the war changed Logan Saunders. Facing the possibility of losing everything, he has to make a choice: In the line of fire, there is fight or flight. This is a fight Logan intends to win. Award-Winning & Amazon Bestselling Author, Alyssa Breck Locked and Loaded: After society turned its back on him, ex-Army Ranger Hunter McKay finds a family in an outlaw motorcycle club. When Holly Farris' research lands her in a seedy bar, the biker and the journalism student collide. Can an ambitious young reporter win the heart and trust of a jaded former soldier? Amazon Bestselling Author, Lily-Ann Jonson Blondie's Hero: When Teufel Hundens Bar & Grill needs a new bartender will Retired Marine Jake Peterson be the hero that Blondie needs? Or will hidden truths and her ex's anger have Blondie doubting not only Jake but their budding love as well? Amazon Bestselling Author, Natasza Waters Committed to Chase: Combat took Jesse’s leg, but as a retired SEAL he has no regrets. He's got a new mission. Her name’s Charlie and the chase is on. C.J. Pinard Antihero: He's dealing with a haunted past of crime and war. She's trying to stay clean and walk a straight path. Is the chemistry storming between them enough to keep them together? Bestselling Author, Tamara Hoffa Healing Love: A sniper’s bullet shattered Army Medic Sandra O’Donnell’s shoulder and her sunny outlook on life. Can fellow soldier, Zach Winters provide the Healing Love she needs to fight the nightmares and dare to care again? Shelley Munro Innocent Next Door: Special Air Services soldier Nikolai Tarei owes his neighbor and friend a favor, but looking out for his twenty-two year old niece is stretching friendship too far. Summer is young but her sex appeal, sassiness and brazen disregard for safety have Nikolai scrambling to protect both her and his battered heart. Award-Winning & Amazon Bestselling Author, S.E. Babin Flight Risk: Just when he thought he’d gotten rid of her, Lennox King shows up as a combat photographer embedded with his unit. Brooks is in the hot zone already, but her presence is guaranteed to make it a scorcher. Carly Carson Taken by the SEAL: Navy SEAL Declan Moynihan has orders to clandestinely shut down a notorious slave brothel in a Middle East war zone. Laila Catami, his accidental captive, is the mysterious woman being brought in to run the brothel. Xandra James SEALed with a Vegas Kiss: SEALed with a Vegas Kiss- I'm in Vegas to stop a wedding. I've been in love with Molly ever since I could remember but I'm no good for her, so I've stayed away...when I could. But now her brother—and my CO—has found out the groom-to-be is a dick, and I have no intention of ignoring a direct order to take him out of the picture. My mission is to stop the wedding at all costs, but success hinges on whether I can keep my hands Amazon Bestselling, Calinda B Blurred Lines: A lonely young woman meets a Navy submariner on leave. His heart has been broken; hers has never awakened. Will their lust-filled communion make a difference? Amazon US – Amazon UK - iBooks – Barnes & Noble – KoboGiveaway - 11 Prizes![]() Purchase the book here! About the Book Title: Capturing the Captain (American Pirate Romances: Book 1) Author: C.K. Brooke Genre: Historical Romance, Sea Adventure Publisher: Limitless Publishing Release date: 4/26/2016 Book Description: In 1720, it’s a pirate’s life for Abigail Clear, daughter of a notorious colonial pirate captain… But when a rival crew invades Abigail’s ship, she is taken prisoner. Now aboard the enemy vessel, she must contend with its formidable captain. But who is the real captive? Locked away in the belly of The Indomitable is no place for a woman… Captain James Morrow is more than displeased to discover his sole captive to be none other than an untamable young lass who will earn him no bounty. Yet if he can soften the little rogue, she just might switch her loyalties to him, and reveal the whereabouts of the infamous thief who sired her—and his stolen treasure. But two can play that game, as Abi is equally inclined to charm the dogged sailor off her father’s tail. Might she and Captain Morrow run the risk of falling for their own charades? They dance about their disguises as genuine developing emotions clash against deeper motives, and suspicion runs high. When the captain finally steals a first kiss, Abi decides it’s high time to make her escape—fleeing not only his vessel, but her fondness for the man who intends to see her father hang. The high seas heat up as Captain Morrow’s quest to recapture Abi is halted by her pirate father, Captain Clear. Will James succeed in pursuit of his captive love, or will his desires conspire to make him a captive himself? Excerpt “I don’t believe it.” His words were low and guttural. “After all of my patience with you…” Abi snorted. “Patience?” He took another step. “The kindness I’ve shown you…” “Kindness!" “This is how you treat me in return?” Had Abi been a gentler woman, she might have lowered her eyes. However, she had the audacity not to. “Your kiss, your sketch and company were but charades as you bade your time to deceive me,” he snarled. “And there I was, risking my hide and that of my friends to rescue you!” “I do not need rescuing!” Abi whirled around and marched across the sand. ![]() Author Bio: C.K. Brooke grew up in the coastal state of Maryland. She began writing books when she was six years old. Her debut novel, The Duchess Quest (48fourteen, October 2014), received a five-star editorial review from Readers’ Favorite Book Reviews & Awards Contest and was selected as a Shelf Unbound Top 100 Notable Indie Book of 2015. Since its publication, she has authored seven more fantasy and romance novels, including Capturing the Captain, the first book of the American Pirate Romance series. Today, C.K. resides outside of Detroit in Washington, Michigan with her husband and young son. When not haunting the local library or blissfully buried in her eBooks and manuscripts, she enjoys blogging, singing, and playing the piano by ear. For more, visit her at www.CKBrooke.com. Links Website: www.CKBrooke.com Facebook: www.Facebook.com/CK.Brooke Twitter: www.Twitter.com/AuthorCKBrooke Goodreads: www.Goodreads.com/CKBrooke ![]() Mr. Perfect
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo / iTunes EXCERPT: “We own most of the land in the Tech Center. My father bought up the land thirty years ago before any of this was here. And we lease it out.” Jesus. What kind of money is that? I can’t even begin to understand it. “Anyway,” Mac says, standing. “I’m waiting in here for a reason.” “Is that right?” I stand up too, but my heart beats a little faster when I take him in. He’s wearing a dark gray suit today, a blue shirt that is so light it’s barely a color, and another brilliant cerulean-blue tie that makes his matching eyes shine as they stare into mine. I don’t know why, but I step backwards. His full attention on me suddenly feels more like a force than a look. He steps forward, hands reaching for me. I bump against the wall, no escape, and then he fists the front of my blouse and rips it open, revealing my silk cami. My mouth opens in surprise. He rips the cami apart too. And then, with one forceful whoosh, both garments are lying in a puddle of fabric on the floor. “What are you doing?” I yell. The intense stare turns to a boyish smile. “I’d like you topless for breakfast. And I get to call the shots for our dates.” “Why do I even bother with you? Just why?” I refuse to cross my arms and cover my tits. Fuck him. Just fuck him. “Every time I start to think you’re not a pig, you go and do something like this.” “It’s fun, right?” His smile never cracks. “No,” I say. “It’s humiliating.” “Your tits are nice, Ellie. You should not be ashamed of them.” “I’m not ashamed of them—” “Good. Because I’d like to stare at them while we have coffee and discuss our date tonight.” A knock comes from Mac’s office and I might have a panic attack that someone will come in and find me bare like this. “Hold that thought,” Mac says, leaning down to kiss my lips. “Breakfast is here. Sit,” he says, pushing on my shoulders until I slump into the window seat again. “I’ll be right back.” And then he enters his office, pulling our connecting door closed. I listen to the conversation in there as I look down at my clothes. What the hell was he thinking? The cami is dust. Ripped straight down the middle. At least the silk button-up shirt is only missing all the buttons. I can probably tie it around my waist to make it out to the parking lot, but-- There’s a jingle of a cart and plates. We have… room service? What kind of company has room service? I guess I’m not all that surprised they have it up here. We have several restaurants on campus. The Atrium has a cafeteria. Maybe this came from the cafeteria? Mac is laughing on the other side of the door, then I hear a polite thank you just before the sound of a closing door. The connecting door swings open again and Mac is there, a wide grin on his face. “I hope you like pancakes.” “This is not happening.” “Oh, this is happening, Miss Hatcher. You are sitting here.” He points to the middle of the window seat as he pushes the cart towards me. “I have no clothes, Mac. You ripped my cami. I’m going to have to tie that over-shirt on and go home to change. In fact,” I say, reaching down to get my blouse and pull myself together, “I’m not coming back. I’m done. Just when I think you’re a human, you act like an ape.” “Would you just relax, Ellie?” He rips the shirt from my hands, balls it up, and then tosses it in the air, where it arcs perfectly and sails into the new trashcan that matches the desk. “Three points,” he says. “It’s like you live in your own world or something. I think it’s funny that you accused me of living in some delusional fantasy, but you, Mr. Stonewall, you’re a raving lunatic who thinks the world is his asylum.” “I’m going to take that as a compliment. Now sit. I’ve got it all under control.” -- EXTRA!! Pre-order: ![]()
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Goodreads / Amazon / Kobo / iBooks / AllRomance EXCERPT FROM BOOK 1: Jessi Wallace eyed the cute bartender’s butt the way a hungry cat might eye an unsuspecting bird. She actually licked her lips. “I am so going to do him.” Layla Messner held back a sigh, took another sip of her lemon-drop martini, and asked herself for the sixth time that night, Why am I here, again? Silly Layla, thinking Jessi was trying to be friendly. More likely, she just wanted a wingman—or wingwoman in this case—and had no one else to step out with. Jessi leaned over the bar provocatively in her low-cut top, calling to the bartender and pointing to her empty glass. “Can I have another down here?” Oh, God, she was actually batting her eyelashes. And the way she was leaning to flash her cleavage, it was a wonder her boobs didn’t fall right out onto the bar. Layla glanced down at her own chest, pulling back her shoulders. Her boobs weren’t so bad, even if they weren’t shown off as blatantly as Jessi’s. Layla knew she had nothing to be ashamed of in that department. If anything, she’d been generously blessed. The problem was, she was a little too blessed in other areas as well. “Curvy” would be a kind description. “Chubby” might be more to the point. The place was pretty quiet for a Friday night. But then again, it was the weekend before spring break, and much of the college-age crowd that usually frequented the Shamrock had already left town. Layla had a four-hour drive to get to her parents’ house and was wiped from spending the day with a class of hyper first graders. Morning would be soon enough to make the trip home. The bartender ambled down their way and gave them both a smile. “Ready for another, ladies?” Layla’s heart warmed at the way he included her in the offer. He didn’t just ignore her, the way some guys did, to focus on her prettier companion. “You got it.” He directed his gaze at Layla, and her heart gave a little flip. It was too dark in the bar to tell what color his eyes were, but she knew they were beautiful. Just like the rest of him. Dark hair, a buff body, and a gorgeous face. High cheekbones, a straight nose, chiseled lips. Those lips moved, but Layla was too mesmerized by his looks to pay any attention to what he was saying. She blinked. “Uh, excuse me?” “He asked if you want another drink.” Jessi’s cutesy moves were forgotten as she gave Layla the death stare. Don’t poach on my territory. As if. Still, a girl could dream, couldn’t she? -- ![]()
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