Posts Tagged ‘comedy’

 

Eventually Evie

by Cat Lavoie

Publication date: January 4th 2021
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

Synopsis

How are you supposed to get your life back on track when the Universe won’t stop messing with you?

After a series of personal and professional setbacks, interior designer Evie Glass has lost faith in herself and the world. The last thing she needs is her loud, boisterous family poking their noses in her business, so that’s why she avoids opening up about anything—especially her love life—during their weekly dinners. Thankfully, her bestie and next-door neighbor, Matilda, always has her back.

When Evie is asked to cat-sit Matilda’s beloved rescue, she’s not thrilled at the prospect. One well-meaning mistake later and a distraught Evie is rushing her furry charge to the ER where she meets and is instantly smitten with Fletcher West, a charming veterinarian who seems to return her interest. That is until they both realize they’ve met before—ten years ago when he was dating her temperamental cousin. Fletch’s break-up with Bee put him at the top of her family’s hit list and makes him the last person Evie should be dating.

In addition to navigating a secret romance with Fletch, Evie must also deal with a demanding new job, an eccentric client from her former life, and an ex who’s suddenly blowing up her phone. She convinces herself she’s got it all under control, but what happens when things start falling apart and Evie learns she’s not the only one keeping secrets?

One thing’s for sure…

Eventually Evie’s got to take a chance—on love, on life, and on herself.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Text to Matilda:

Someone just threw a meatball at my face. Talk about kicking a girl when she’s down. Rescue me?

I don’t know what I did to piss off the Universe, but she’s had it in for me for a while. And because of her latest stunt, I now have bits of ground beef stuck in my hair and Aunt Pina’s famous tomato sauce streaking my face and shirt. You could easily mistake me for an extra on the set of a mediocre horror film—one who just realized her real life will never be the quirky rom-com she desperately wants it to be. This is not what I signed up for. Who approved these script changes?

It’s my fault for allowing myself to get distracted. I sent an urgent text to Matilda, my best friend, over twenty minutes ago, and I was just checking my phone to see if she answered—she hadn’t. And then a three-year-old sniper attacked me.

My cousin Frankie’s son has been going through a phase where he throws everything that isn’t glued down as if he’s trying out for the Yankees. I’m his favorite target, so I need to stay on my toes when he’s around. Thank goodness he’s adorable and I’m a sucker for dimples. All of my adult family members are too busy screaming at each other to notice—or punish—the meatball-throwing toddler. Their voices are getting louder and louder, and even though I love everyone sitting at this table, I sometimes wish my family enjoyed the sound of silence a little bit more.

But the scene before me is completely normal. All the sharp objects on the table will be used to eat a delicious dinner, not to stab someone in the heat of the moment. Despite the loud voices and animated gestures, no one is angry.

In fact, it’s a joyous occasion. My cousin Bianca—Bee to friends and family—has just announced she’s getting married. Obviously, the earth has stopped spinning on its axis at the very news and the presses have screeched to a halt. It’s also my birthday today, but my measly milestone has once again been eclipsed by something involving Bee. It’s almost become a beloved family tradition, and I’m so used to her claiming all the attention for herself that I can’t be mad at Bee. I’m not in the mood for attention anyway.

“Isn’t it gorgeous?” Bee is holding up a bunny-eared iPhone so we can see a picture of the ring Mike is going to buy her—a princess cut diamond surrounded by two smaller pink stones on a white gold band. I crane my neck to get a closer look. As per the ring website, this model is their biggest seller and a wonderful way to tell her you want to spend all of eternity by her side. Gag me. But why isn’t the ring on her finger?

“Wait. Wait. Wait. Hold on a minute,” my cousin Fabrizio says between bites of crusty bread dripping in the extra virgin olive oil one of my uncles brings back from Italy every year. “Why am I looking at a picture of this ring on your phone? Shouldn’t it be on your finger?” He’s clearly reading my thoughts. (And he’s also spewing crumbs with every word, but we’re on opposite sides of the table, so I’m safe. Aunt Pina—not so much.)

Bee flicks her long, chocolate-colored hair off her shoulder and gives her brother a stern look. “We’re not technically engaged yet. But it’s going to happen. Soon. We’re just waiting for the ring to be delivered.” It’s obvious by her narrowed eyes that follow-up questions will not be accepted at this time.

It takes all the willpower in the world for me not to groan in annoyance. Does Mike know he’s just a UPS delivery window away from proposing? And won’t he wonder why no one is surprised when Bee makes her official announcement?

“You’re going to make a beautiful bride.” Aunt Pina—one of my mother’s four sisters—can’t get the words out without choking up, and she brings a linen napkin to her face to delicately wipe away a tear. Bee is her only daughter—a much-prayed-for miracle baby after five boisterous sons—and her wedding day has been planned since the second she was born. It will be a night fit for a princess—a big fat Italian wedding to top all other big fat Italian weddings. Every single guest will marvel at how delicious the food was, how gorgeous the bride looked in her designer dress, how no expense was spared from the finest champagne to a dessert table guaranteed to induce a diabetic coma and widespread jealousy and envy.

 

Author Cat Lavoie

Cat Lavoie is a chick lit writer from Montreal, Canada.
She loves writing fun and quirky romantic comedies and is the author of BREAKING THE RULES, ZOEY & THE MOMENT OF ZEN, PERI IN PROGRESS and MESSING WITH MATILDA.

A fan of all things feline, Cat loves cats and hopes to someday have a house full of them in order to officially become a crazy cat lady. (But one or two cats will do for now.)

If she isn’t reading or writing, Cat enjoys listening to podcasts (mostly comedy and true crime) and watching way too much TV. She fell in love with London many years ago and hopes to go back one day. Cat is currently at work on her next novel.

To connect with Cat and find out more about her books, visit CatLavoie.com and follow @CatLavoieBooks on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

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Ain’t She Sweet
Whitney Dineen
(Seven Brides for Seven Mothers #2)
Publication date: December 15th 2020
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

Synopsis

Tara Heinz began her modeling career at the tender age of twelve. After spending fifteen years drooling over forbidden foods, she does the unthinkable. She enrolls in culinary school and becomes a pastry chef.

After a nasty breakup with her rock star boyfriend that leads to tabloid war, Tara takes a job at a rural lodge in Oregon to escape the spotlight she no longer desires.

James Cavanaugh is a farmer in Oregon. His days are spent building his business and his nights are spent sleeping, so he can get up at four in the morning.

Ruby Cavanaugh has plans for her son that involve her new pastry chef. Of course, neither James nor Tara know what’s going on until it’s too late.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

After arranging an assortment of gourds on her newspaper-covered dining room table, Ruby picks up her telephone to call her oldest son, Brogan. “How are you and Addie doing?” she wants to know. As the first recipients of her matchmaking endeavor, the success of their union is integral to her confidence in setting up her younger son, James, with her new pastry chef.

“She’s great. We’re great. New York is beautiful in the fall.”

Whoever said glitter was the herpes of the crafting world never fully appreciated its hypnotic effects, Ruby thinks while spraying gold glitter paint. “I knew you two were meant to be.”

“I don’t know how you decided that, but I’m glad you did. For a while there I thought you were trying to set Addison up with James. Speaking of which, how are things going between him and Tara?”

“What do you mean?” Ruby asks, trying—and failing—to sound innocent.

“Don’t try to tell me you haven’t set your sights on her for my little brother.”

After several moments, Ruby dejectedly confesses, “It’s been hard finding ways to throw them together now that James’s farmstand is mostly closed for the season. I’ve had to resort to hiring your brother to put in a garden here at the lodge.”

“Interesting. I’m not sure I should offer, but let me know if I can do anything to help.”

“You and Addie are still coming home for Christmas, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. We arrive the second week of December and are planning on staying until the first week of March. I’ll be working on my new novel and Addie is going to commute to a hotel she’s redesigning in Portland.”

Ruby walks around the table, eyeing her decorative fall creation before firing off a final burst of sparkle. “I might need your help then. In the meantime, don’t bring up Tara’s name when you talk to James. I don’t want him to guess what I’m up to until it’s too late.”

“You make me nervous, Mom, but you did such a great job for me that I promise not to interfere in your latest project.”

“Good. Now, I’ve got to go. Your brother will be here any minute to meet with Tara about the dessert portion of the garden.”

“Does he know he’s meeting with her?” Brogan asks.

“Of course not. What fun would that be? Bye!” Ruby hangs up on her son before he has a chance to reply. After refreshing her lipstick and picking invisible lint from her sweater, she’s off to make another love connection.

 

About Author Whitney Dineen

Whitney loves to laugh, play with her kids, bake, and eat french fries — not always in that order.

Whitney is a multi-award-winning author of romcoms, non-fiction humor, and middle reader fiction. Basically, she writes whatever the voices in her head tell her to.

She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her husband, Jimmy, where they raise children, chickens, and organic vegetables.

Gold Medal winner at the International Readers’ Favorite Awards, 2017.

Silver medal winner at the International Readers’ Favorite Awards, 2015, 2016.

Finalist RONE Awards, 2016.

Finalist at the IRFA 2016, 2017.

Finalist at the Book Excellence Awards, 2017

Finalist Top Shelf Indie Book Awards, 2017

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#Surviving40
Karen Anne
Publication date: August 25th 2020
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

Synsopsis

Piper Quinn was more than ready to turn forty. So ready she began planning her Parisian celebration at thirty-five. That is until her life fell apart at thirty-nine. Left staring at divorce papers, Piper instantly regrets signing that pre-nup. How was she to know her husband would turn her in for a younger model?

After “accidentally” setting her Manhattan apartment on fire, Piper finds herself not only newly divorced, but newly homeless. Forced to move back home with her parents and take a job she doesn’t want, she soon discovers the gossip train in town moves faster than the subway system in New York—and she’s the hottest topic to leave the station. If matters weren’t bad enough, life in rural Connecticut seems downright claustrophobic when her sixteen year old daughter stops talking to her.

A blast from her past is the spark Piper needs to reignite her life. Owen Clarke, an old high school flame has the ability to turn back time making Piper feel sixteen again. The instant chemistry between them gives Piper hope of redeeming her second act. There’s only one teeny, tiny three foot problem: Owen’s daughter is in Piper’s Kindergarten class. With temptation lurking in every corner, Piper needs to put her emotions—and hormones— in check.

No one said getting older was easy, but turning forty just became a game of survival.

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Enjoy this peek inside

#SurvivalTip: It’s not stalking if you show your face.

I was a glutton for punishment. No doubt in my mind I was in over my head and needed professional help. I had driven to the yoga studio in the next town where Avery taught. Now, I sat in my car, engine still running, willing myself to get the hell out. I watched her through the window. She was in a hot pink sports bra and soft grey leggings. Her hair was in its signature ponytail. There was a bounce in her step as she walked around the empty space of the studio pouring oil into the diffusers. She was in her zen arena, and I had no rational way of explaining my motive other than this woman had Owen and walked away. Why? There had to be something twisted inside her. Some narcissism or schizophrenia that would compel her to leave a man who was pretty close to perfect.

Convinced I had boarded the train to crazy town, I knew I had to get out of here before she saw me. A rap on my window caused me to jump and let out a yelp. I turned to my left, horrified to see Holly standing outside my car door. I lowered my window. “Oh my God! I thought that was you! What are you doing here?” She was practically bouncing.

“Um, Avery had invited me a few times, but my stomach is a little funky… bad sushi… so I think I’m going to head out.”

“Nonsense. Yoga is great for the digestive system. Come on, you’re going to freak over this class. Avery is amazing. You’ll love her.”
I doubted it, but could see no way out, so with a heavy heart, I cut my engine and followed Holly into the studio.

“Avery! Look who I found outside!” Holly grabbed my arm as if I might run away if she didn’t hold on to me. I didn’t blame her. There was a good chance I would flee at the first opportunity. Like a cat in an alley, scouring out the corners, looking for a place to hide, I was in full blown feral mode. If Avery came too close, there was a good chance I’d scratch her.

Avery was overjoyed to see me, her mouth agape as she waved her arms. It was exactly how a cult leader would look if they were trying to lull me into a false sense of security. Her eyes were the size of saucers as she ran over to me, and her beautiful features suddenly held an alien quality to them.

“No way!” She pulled me into a deep hug. Damn this chick was solid. She was smaller than me, and it freaked me out, because I was pretty sure she could kick my ass. “I can’t believe you came! This is amazing. I’m telling you, after tonight, you will be hooked, right, Holly?”

“She’s so right. I swear if I miss a session, my body is quick to let me know—total withdrawal. I need this every week.”

“Have you taken yoga before, Ms. Quinn?”

“You can call me Piper.” It was clear they were all on a first name basis, and I didn’t want to be the old lady rigid in formality. I sized up Avery, trying to decipher how old she was. Owen was my year in school so we were the same age, but this woman, with her flawless skin that had never seen the sun without being protected in SPF 50, was still soaking in the glory of a body that was barely three decades old. “Not really. A few times here or there, but nothing too advanced. I’m not very flexible,” I admitted.

“Well, flexibility comes with practice, and that’s what this is. I don’t see it as exercise so much as a way of life.” Damn she was serious. “I need water every day. I need food, I need sleep. I also need yoga.”
I currently needed a plastic bag to vomit in. This chick was too poster perfect, and the more she spoke, the more inadequate I became.
Avery glanced at her watch. “Oh! Showtime! Let’s find a spot on the floor and settle in.”

There were at least ten other women in the room, and so I walked toward the back, but Holly grabbed my arm and told me to sit next to her. She unfurled her yoga mat, and that’s when I realized I hadn’t brought one.
“I don’t have a mat.” The words were low, and I imagined I sounded like one of my students saying they didn’t have a crayon to color the picture. I didn’t have a mat because I didn’t expect to actually enter the studio. I put on leggings and a tank top like it was a costume, the intention to workout wasn’t real. It was cosplay, nothing more.

“Avery has extra.” Holly jogged over to the corner and pulled a grey mat from the box. She laid it out in front of me, revealing the turquoise lotus flower that was printed in the center. I thanked Holly and sat on the lotus flower, copying Avery, who was now seated on the floor.

“Welcome back everyone.” Avery’s voice was silky smooth.
She’d be great as a phone sex operator. Hell, I’d pay a dollar a minute to see what she had to say. I could only imagine the lewd comments that voice had whispered into Owen’s attentive ears over the years. The hair on the back of my neck bristled at the thought.

Avery folded her legs in front of her in a way I referred to in kindergarten as “pretzel style” and took a few deep breaths. Her eyes were closed, and I soon became aware that everyone around me had also closed their eyes, trusting Avery’s voice to take them on this meditative journey. That was asking a lot of me, but not about to be caught staring at her, I closed my eyes and tried my best to breathe in a way that was not natural at all.

The breathing lasted a long time, and although I was supposed to be letting my thoughts melt away and empty my mind of heaviness, I was too busy burying myself in clutter as I tacked up insecurity after insecurity. The anxiety reached new heights when we were actually expected to transition from breathing to different animal poses. I didn’t know I’d have to be a cat, cow, cobra, and dog all in one flow. We were moving from downward dog to plank to cobra when Avery tilted her head, got up, and walked over to me. Crap. I was doing something wrong.

“Come back up to downward facing dog.” I did as she instructed and was surprised when she came behind me and held my hips. “Okay, you want to open up your hips more, spread your legs a bit wider, and really fall back into this stretch.” She kept one hand on my left hip, her right hand rested gently on my back. I hoped I wasn’t sweaty.

“Your goal is to have your heels touch the ground. It won’t happen right away.” She got beside me, mimicking the proper pose. My hamstrings were burning, which caused my legs to tremble. The blood rushed to my head; I raised my gaze and caught what we looked like in the mirror. It was a bad decision. The mirror only exposed how I felt— disoriented and in physical pain, while Avery bent over beside me, modeling the pose with ease.

“You want your body to become an upside down V. See?” I nodded and prayed she’d move on to another victim. The gods must have shown pity on me because she bounced back up and went to the front to show us the next pose.

About Author Karen Anne

Karen Anne was writing before she could read. As a toddler, she sat with a book in her hands and made up the stories, eager for the day when she’d find out if it all truly ended in happily ever after. Karen still determines the destiny of other people’s lives, but this time, the characters are her own.

She is a Contemporary Romance author who lives in New York.
Coffee drinker by day, wine enthusiast by night, she loves cats and deeply misses 90’s grunge.

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Oops, My Bad
A.C. Pontone
Publication date: July 6th 2020
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

Synopsis

The rules were simple—don’t fall for the handsome vet. Oops! Some rules are meant to be broken.

The light turned red and suddenly my whole life changed. I found myself lying in the middle of the street with two little yellow eyes staring at me.

Then he appeared. Logan. Tall, sexy, built. I’d prayed that Superman would show up to save me, but Logan’s even better. Except that he seems more interested in saving the cat I almost ran over.

Since I can’t pay the vet bills for my unwelcome new guest, I’m forced to accept a job in his veterinary clinic as a receptionist. Not a great fit for someone who’s known since childhood that all animals have it in for her. And Logan seems to be more on their side than mine.

Of course, there’s nothing that says I can’t also unfurl my claws and be a sex kitten for the hot veterinarian. He’s got just one rule: don’t get emotionally involved.

Simple, no?

Not when the damn test comes back positive.

What can I say? Someone’s in trouble . . . and it’s not the cat.

Oops, my bad.

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I hate orange. I hate the cold. And I hate this stupid scooter.

Don’t get me wrong; usually I’m a sunny and positive person, but right now, with my butt frozen and a nose that’s redder than Rudolph’s, my positivity has vanished. Died. Disappeared. Been sucked into a big black hole. Or maybe been flushed down the toilet like the dead goldfish you have to quickly replace in order not to traumatize your little brother.

Not that I ever did that, you understand. Okay, maybe something like that might have happened once—or actually, ten times. I mean, it’s not my fault those dumb goldfish kept coming up to the surface with their creepy little mouths open. I thought they were hungry! Later I realized they’d decided on their own to put an end to their miserable little lives when they realized the grave error they’d made ending up in a bowl on a shelf above the dining-room table in the house where I also happened to live. So many tiny red Samurai soldiers committing seppuku, except with food instead of swords.

It was even kind of poetic. Except for the ending, where all that poetry ended up flushed down the toilet. The life of a goldfish is truly miserable. After the tenth suicide, my parents threw in the towel, something I would probably have done after the first one, and confessed to my little brother the tragic fate of his beloved pet.

I’m pretty sure he threw a thank-God-she’s-gone party when I finally left home to go to college. Now he has a whole aquarium full of multicolored fish. Oddly enough, none of them have ended up in the toilet.

Anyway, going back to the things I’m not happy with in my life, the color orange is probably first on the list. I mean, in what universe would a sane person willingly wear orange clothing? Stranger still, who came up with the idea that a pizza-delivery person should dress like a carrot that’s been regurgitated by Bugs Bunny? I admit I’ve looked worse, though. The Little Caesar’s uniform probably isn’t even one-tenth as hideous as the chicken costume I had to wear to advertise the chicken wings sold by—wait for it—El Pollo Loco! Quite an original idea, you must admit—dressing up as a chicken to promote the wings at Pollo Loco. Needless to say, I was fired before the end of my first week.

Anyway, now I’m a new version of myself. Now I’m a pizza-delivery person with a frozen ass and a stupid orange hat under my helmet. But as long as it pays the bills, I guess I can’t complain.

I have one last delivery to make and then I can finally go home, burrow under the covers, and sleep like a rock. If I manage to keep this job long enough to pay off my overdue bills, maybe in a couple of months I’ll even be able to take a shower with hot water! Or eat something that isn’t Cup O’Noodles. My mouth is watering already at the mere thought of getting to savor some real food. Maybe I can even splurge and buy myself a bottle of wine. I can already imagine myself lounging in my teensy bathtub submerged in bubbles, sipping a glass of Two-Buck Chuck.

With this comforting image in mind, I twist the accelerator and continue down Madison Avenue. The streets are almost deserted because there’s a blizzard blowing in right now, but the rich snobs on the upper East Side still want their pizza. They don’t care about the poor pizza delivery people, even though it’s January, for fuck’s sake, and cold as a witch’s tit.

What the fuck are they ordering pizza from Little Caesar’s for anyway? If I had enough money to afford an apartment in one of the most expensive areas of Manhattan, I would never order pizza from a place like Little Caesar’s. I’d have my own chef and eat delicious gourmet dishes every night. Shit, just thinking about food is making my stomach growl and my mouth water.

With a sigh, I accelerate even more. I’m not going to worry about speed limits on a night like this. Not that this scooter can go very fast anyway. At least I have my own transport—that is, during my shift. If I get a good tip on this last delivery I’ll go home on the subway. Otherwise I’ll walk from the pizza place to my apartment in East Harlem. Five blocks on foot, in January, at night, in New York City. The thought sends a shiver down my spine, literally.

Don’t make that face. I know I don’t exactly live in the most upscale neighborhood, but by this time you should have gotten the idea that I’m . . . probably poorer than the homeless man I just passed, sleeping on Fifth Avenue. The only difference is that I have a roof over my head—as long as I manage to keep this job, anyway.

I roar, or rather, putt up to an intersection. The light’s red, but there’s no one on the street and I really, really want to get this damn pizza delivered on time and possibly get a nice tip, so I floor it. Wouldn’t you know it, at that very moment a car appears out of nowhere. I jerk the handlebars and swerve, somehow managing to avoid crashing broadside into the door of the expensive SUV and becoming a large meatball squished against the window. There must be some invisible superhero watching over me.

The driver of the vehicle honks, shorthand for Look where you’re going, stupid bitch! Under other circumstances I might even apologize, but I really need that tip. So I turn my back on the big black SUV and putt-putt away.

The cold is making my eyes water and the scooter tires are skidding on the icy road. Right when I think I’ve finally arrived at my destination, two small yellow eyes suddenly appear out of the darkness right in front of me. I scream at them—to no avail, since the little beast doesn’t move. Instead, it sits down in the middle of the street and begins to lick a paw. Of course I’m driving too fast, and when I try to brake, I lose control and skid. Though I try to steer in the direction of the skid, I lose my balance and fall. I can’t tell if I hit the damn cat or not. All I know is that there’s a big rip in my uniform pants at the knee. I’m afraid to look; I’m pretty sure there’s a bad cut there as well. One side of my body is pulsating with pain, but at least my helmet served its purpose and protected my head. I’m alive, thank goodness, but I don’t see the cat anywhere. I can’t have the death of that poor feline on my conscience as well when I’m already haunted by the specters of those ten goldfish.

I feel tears pricking my eyes. I didn’t want to kill him! I’m not an animal-hater, really! I have nothing against them. They’re the ones that hate me. Still on the ground, the scooter lying on top of my leg, I begin to sob.

Then I hear it. A little meow right behind my head. It sounds mocking, contemptuous. The stupid cat is making fun of me. He’s safe and sound, while my ass is probably one big black bruise and I’ve got at least a dozen other scratches and bruises. “Aaarrgghh!” I scream like someone possessed. I have to get this fucking pizza delivered if I want to keep my job.

I need a miracle. Where’s Superman when you need him? I look around me and notice to my horror that the pizza box has opened up and spilled its contents onto the icy New York streets. Maybe if I can manage to get up and move my ass fast enough, I can shove it back into the box without anyone noticing that the bell peppers have flecks of asphalt on them.

Slowly and painfully I move the scooter off my leg. I can’t feel my toes, but I’m sure that’s more because of the cold than the accident. As I prepare to hoist myself to my feet, I see that the idiot cat has decided to sit down on top of the pizza. It starts to lick off the cheese, its little muzzle turning bright red from the tomato sauce. I realize I’m well and truly fucked.

Superman, where are you when I need you?

As if by magic, I’m suddenly bathed in light. A post-Christmas miracle? Either that or I’m dead, and this is the light at the end of the tunnel everyone talks about. Fuck, I’m going to die like a cat squashed on the highway, I think, because I know neither of those two possibilities describes what’s really happening. A hysterical laugh bursts from my chest. The irony of the situation doesn’t escape me as I sit there watching the car bear down on me. After all, I am lying in the middle of the street in the heart of New York City—what else did I expect?

Then something totally unexpected happens. I say a silent thank-you to my horrible orange uniform. I hate it, but I have to admit, it’s got the visibility of a neon sign in the darkness. I hear the sound of brakes, followed by a car door slamming shut. Turning my head to look, I blink and my jaw drops.

Oh. My. God.

It’s taken twenty-two years, but He finally heard my prayers.

He’s here! Superman is here!

Okay, maybe I hit my head and didn’t realize it. I must have hit it really hard because I could swear that standing before me is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Besides Superman, of course. This guy’s hotter than all the Marvel and DC superheroes put together.

“My hero,” I whisper as tears begin to fill my eyes and my heart rate accelerates.

“Poor kitten, are you okay?”

“What?” I guess I don’t mind that he’s already using a pet name for me, but isn’t it a little soon? I mean, we barely know each other.

His large green eyes rest on mine and he runs a hand through his thick dark-blond hair. A small wrinkle appears in the middle of his forehead and his eyebrows draw together.

Is he worried about me? My heart beats wildly as a dumb smile appears on my face. I can’t quite decipher the expression on his face, though. Is it fear? Concern? I blink a few more times, trying to focus. Then the truth dawns on me. He’s not concerned about me, he’s really pissed off at me. Superman . . . I think sadly.

“What the hell?” he barks suddenly. His voice is deep and masculine, one of those voices that makes you melt as soon as you hear it. “Be more careful next time!”

My eyebrows rise so high they collide with my hairline. “Are you talking to me?” I stammer, looking around like an idiot as if someone else might be there. Of course there’s no one. It’s just him, me, and the stupid cat. The cat that at this precise instant is rubbing itself against the ankles of my hero. What the fuck?

I watch as he bends over and tenderly gathers up the little monster in his big, capable hands. I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate that cat right now. He strokes it, then lifts it up and examines it carefully. The crease in his forehead deepens. Taking a deep breath, he holds the cat tighter, turns around, and heads back to his car.

“You can’t just leave me here!” I yell after him. He ignores me. My tears are threatening to spill over now. He opens the gate of his SUV and carefully puts the cat inside.

Then I hear him fiddling around with something. I close my eyes. What’s the point of looking? I just lost my Superman to a cat.

“Can you get up?” His voice is severe. I blink and see him standing in front of me again. So now he’s finally worrying about my health. I glower at him, cross my arms, and nod. “Well, come on, then.” My jaw drops again. “Hurry!” he barks over his shoulder as he heads toward his car.

“No!”

He stops, one foot in midair. “No?” He turns back toward me. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting that answer. His frown deepens. “Would you prefer that I call the police?” he says challengingly. At the word police the blood freezes in my veins.

“Um, what?” I stammer, hoping I’ve heard wrong.

“I’m sure they’ll have something to say about the fact that you were speeding and running red lights. Oh, and that you hit a poor animal on the street.”

“I didn’t hit him!” I reply indignantly.

He shakes his head and exhales an impatient sigh. “You’re either coming with me or I’m calling the police.”

For a few minutes we engage in a Mexican standoff. I feel like I’m confronting one of those alpha males I’ve read about in my romance novels. I know that the first one to look away will be the loser. I have to be strong.

He raises an eyebrow in a silent challenge. He’s clearly telling me I’ve already lost. The fact that I suddenly sneeze, getting snot on the collar of my uniform shirt—as if I hadn’t humiliated myself enough already—proves that it’s not my fault I can’t win. The universe is clearly against me.

Heaving a defeated sigh, I wipe myself clean—so elegantly—using the sleeve of my jacket. I see him wrinkle his nose in disgust, then look away. He turns around again and heads for the car. “Let’s go,” he orders.

With a snort I throw my arms in the air. “All right,” I say peevishly as I pull myself to my feet, staggering a little for dramatic effect. I feel like a fragile little fawn entering the big bad wolf’s cave. And yes, I know I’m an idiot. “Wait a minute, I can’t leave the scooter here!”

He stops again and slowly turns back to me. I can see a vein pulsing angrily in his neck. I swallow. Maybe I can leave the goddamn scooter here. But then Mr. Animal-lover passes me without a word, walking over to my scooter. He plucks it up off the road as if it weighs nothing and heads for his car again.

“Anything else, your Highness, or do you think you could finally get into the fucking car?” he asks, his tone curt as he maneuvers the scooter into the back of the SUV.

“Um, I don’t think it will close now,” I babble, pointing at the back gate of the SUV. All I earn for my concern is another annoyed look.

“Get. In. The. Car.”

I hasten to the passenger side and climb in. A glance behind me shows me the cat is in a carrier in the middle of the back seat. It seems weird that a guy would just drive around with a cat carrier in his car, but I’m too intimidated to ask him why.

From the corner of my eye I see that he’s left the back gate open. I told him it wouldn’t close! My lips curve into a small smile of triumph—which rapidly morphs into a grimace of terror when Mr. Animal-lover climbs into the driver’s seat.

“Fasten your seat belt,” he barks in his usual tone which is somewhere between a dog growling and a lion roaring.

I swallow. My palms are sweating and the hairs on my arms slowly rise. I must have hit my head really hard, though, because instead of curling up in the corner of the seat and beginning to cry—something I’m quite good at—I turn toward him, raise my eyebrows and ask, “Are you always this much of an asshole or is it just me?”

I see his jaw go rigid, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he turns the key, presses on the accelerator, and we drive off. With an irritated snort, I look out my window and watch the city lights slide by. All this time waiting for my very own Superman only to discover that he’s actually a complete asshole.

Author Angela Camilla Pontone

 

Angela Camilla Pontone is a USA Today bestselling author. She lives in Italy, in a town between Rome and Naples. She’s been an avid reader since childhood. She prefers romance, but will gobble up pretty much anything that’s available. She’s always loved history and literature, so she obtained a Master’s Degree in the fields of Italian and Romance Languages, Literatures and Philology, Historical and Musicological Studies, Latin Languages and Literatures, Ancient History, and Archaeology.
Camilla’s secret desire was always to be a writer, but she never had the courage to pursue her dream until her life experiences led her to seek a way out of reality. Now, her dream is to continue to create great stories that her readers will love.

For all the latest news about her books and events, sign up now at https://my.sendinblue.com/users/subscribe/js_id/3t1ws/id/3 to receive Camilla’s newsletter.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook Page / Facebook Group / Instagram / Bookbub

 

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Grave Humor

by R J Blain

A Magical Romantic Comedy
Publication date: May 12th 2020
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Paranormal, Romance

 

Synopsis

Most days, Anwen regrets working at a funeral home despite the good pay. With the residents no longer inclined to stay in their coffins where they belong, she’s got her hands full making sure everyone follows the rules:

In the funeral home, there is no screaming, no murdering, no mutilation, no possessions, no kidnappings, no resurrections, and no cursing of any type. Be quiet and stay polite.

The day Old Man McGregor decides to take a walk and disturbs her peace, Anwen learns there’s a lot more to the basement in the funeral home than a vampire and a handsome gentleman on ice.

If she’s not careful, she’ll learn first-hand why ‘eternally yours’ is the most potent of threats.

Warning: this novel contains romance, humor, bodies, shenanigans, and mythological puppies. Proceed with caution.

Purchase: Amazon / B&N / Kobo / Google Play
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Author R J Blain

RJ Blain suffers from a Moleskine journal obsession, a pen fixation, and a terrible tendency to pun without warning.

In her spare time, she daydreams about being a spy. Her contingency plan involves tying her best of enemies to spinning wheels and quoting James Bond villains until satisfied.

Author links: Website / Twitter / Facebook / Instagram / Goodreads
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Bossy Bride: Emma & Jesse

Bossy Brothers #4

by J.A. Huss

Publication date: December 18th 2019
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

Synopsis

Bossy Bride features Jesse and Emma getting almost-hitched on a roller coaster, tricked into being the stars of a pirate show, jumping out of an airplane, and saying their vows in front of two huge Italian families who don’t speak English. It’s a rompy, whirlwind trip down a rabbit hole of “Fantasy” Vegas weddings planned by a man called “Fingers” and just when you think nothing else could go wrong—a mermaid descends from the ceiling. 

Jesse Boston is the man of my dreams. He’s super sexy, super rich, and super funny. He gets all my jokes, he treats me like a princess, and our love life is smokin’ hot.

So I’m gonna marry him. I’m not real picky about how that happens and if my mother wants to have her say, fine. That’s fine. She gave birth to three boys and just one girl. So I get it. She NEEDS a wedding.

But when she invites my childhood nemesis, KAREN, to plan our wedding AND be one of my bride’s maids? Uh—no. It’s not happening. Karen Krakken-Channing will not plan my wedding, will not be at my wedding, and she’s certainly not going to be IN my wedding.

Luckily, my jet-butler, Miles, and my almost-husband get this great idea!

We’re going to elope to Vegas on Christmas Eve eve, get hitched in the most ridiculous way possible, and then fly home in time for Christmas Eve dinner.

We’ve got it all figured out.

Nothing can go wrong.

We will have one simple wedding in like… a drive-through chapel, and call it good.

Take that, KAREN!

Goodreads

Purchase: Amazon / Kobo / B&N / iBooks

 

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About Author J A Huss

JA Huss is the New York Times Bestselling author of 321 and has been on the USA Today Bestseller’s list 21 times in the past five years. She writes characters with heart, plots with twists, and perfect endings.

Her new sexy sci-fi romance and paranormal romance pen name is KC Cross and she writes novels and teleplays collaboratively with actor and screenwriter, Johnathan McClain.

Her books have sold millions of copies all over the world, the audio version of her semi-autobiographical book, Eighteen, was nominated for a Voice Arts Award and an Audie Award in 2016 and 2017 respectively. Her audiobook, Mr. Perfect, was nominated for a Voice Arts Award in 2017. Her audiobook, Taking Turns, was nominated for an Audie Award in 2018. Five of her book were optioned for a TV series by MGM television in 2018. And her book, Total Exposure, was nominated for a RITA Award in 2019.

She lives on a ranch in Central Colorado with her family.

Author links:
Bookbub➜ http://bit.ly/1SW2AB0
Website➜ https://www.jahuss.com
Amazon➜ https://amzn.to/2uO4NgR
Facebook➜ http://on.fb.me/PPpkr3
FB Fan Group➜ http://bit.ly/3697FlW
Twitter➜ https://twitter.com/JAHuss
Instagram➜ http://bit.ly/350gUF5
KC Cross New Release Alert➜ http://eepurl.com/gqBuo9
JA Huss New Release Alert➜ http://eepurl.com/JVhAr

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Alina tasting banner

Tasting Her Christmas Cookies

by Alina Jacobs

Publication date: November 19th 2019
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

Alina tasting cover

Synopsis

Winter is coming—and unfortunately it’s bringing Christmas with it.

I loathe the holiday. I hate holiday parties, fragrant decorations, and hokey movies. If I had my way it would be winter all year round and never Christmas.

Nothing burns like the cold—except a hot oven.

That’s right; against my better judgment I agreed to let The Great Christmas Bake-Off film in my tower.

And St. Nick help me but I even agreed to be a judge.

Holly

Christmas is like the perfect sugar cookie—it slowly melts in your mouth, sweetening every taste bud, making you wish it could last forever.

I love Christmas. I love the cheerful music, the fun sweaters, and the holiday lights. Most of all I love Christmas Cookies.

A begrudging bake-off judge, I refuse to let grouchy billionaire Owen Frost hate Christmas. The man is overworked, his employees are uninspired, and his life is seriously lacking in Yuletide cheer. I want to stuff his stocking with sugary goodness to put him in a very festive mood.

So I dressed up as a sexy elf and gave Owen a taste of something extra special. You should have seen his eyes roll back in his head when he bit into the perfect sugar cookie!

I can’t let Owen Frost be a distraction. Things are insane enough without a sexy billionaire.

My baking subscription service is in the death throes.

My Christmas-ruining step sister is trying to sabotage me in the bake-off.

I’m being stalked by elves on the shelf come to life.

Ok that last one is a little weird, but welcome to my disaster of a life.

I need to win The Great Christmas Bake-Off to pay of my debts and launch my baking career. Sleeping with one of the judges is going to ruin my chance for a merry Christmas. Owen with his washboard abs and big Christmas package is a bad idea. It’s best to keep that all wrapped under the tree.

But when he said in that deep, sexy voice, “Can I have another taste of your Christmas cookies?” Well, let’s just say I’m unwrapping one particular Christmas present early!

Tasting Her Christmas Cookies is a standalone holiday romantic comedy. If you love Christmas desserts, like to laugh out loud at holiday innuendoes, and want Santa to put a tall, good-looking guy under your tree, then pick up this full-length, steamy romance novel! There are no cliffhangers but there is a very happy (Christmas!) ever after!

 
Purchase: Amazon
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About Author Alina Jacobs

Alina author

If you like steamy romantic comedies with a creative streak, then I’m your girl!

Architect by day, writer by night, I love matcha green tea, chocolate, and books! So many books…

Sign up for my mailing list to get the free novella, AFTER HIS PEONIES, along with special bonus content, giveaways, and more!
http://alinajacobs.com/mailinglist.html

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Louisiana Latte banner
This is my stop during the book blitz for Louisiana Latte by Rebecca Henry. This book blitz is organized by Lola’s Blog Tours. The book blitz runs from 25 till 31 March. See the tour schedule here.

Louisiana Latte
By Rebecca Henry
Genre: Chick Lit Comedy
Age category: Adult
Release Date: 28 February 2019

43882156

Blurb

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Deb hadn’t flown in over 20 years. In 1989, at the age of 22, Deb was enrolled at Griffiss Airforce Base to become a commercial pilot. Somewhere between dating her yuppie fiancé and planning their wedding in Chicago, Deb developed claustrophobia, a fear of enclosed spaces. I blame the yuppie. Deb couldn’t get on a plane for love that day, but she could do it twenty years later for money. Money was worth dying for.

You can find Louisiana Latte on Goodreads

You can buy Louisiana Latte here:
Amazon
Bookdepository
Austin Macauley Publisher

Enjoy this peek inside:

I moaned rolling off the bed. I could hear the shower running and figured Deb needed me to get her a bottle of shampoo out of her overnight bag. I walked into the open bathroom. Why doesn’t Deb shut the door, I wondered. “Deb, you need something?” I asked, leaning against the granite counter.
“Oh, Becky, there you are! Yes! I need help.” I blinked, confused. “Okay, like you need some shampoo or something?”
“No, Becky, I need you to come here.” I blinked again. “Like to the shower?”
Deb was submerged in water as it cascaded down her tan body behind a white shower curtain. Her silhouette perfectly outlined. I checked the rings to see if maybe the shower curtain was coming loose and that’s the help she needed.
“Yes, come here, but don’t look at me, I’m naked.” I shook my head, completely bewildered. “Okay…I’m here, right outside the shower now,” I said skittishly.
Deb placed a tan leg on the ledge of the tub. A stiletto was strapped to her foot. “Do you need me to take off your shoe, Deb?” I inched a little closer to the stiletto. “Did you forget you were wearing them?” I asked.
“Oh God no. I never shower in hotels without wearing my shoes, you can catch athlete’s foot!”
“Why didn’t you just borrow my flip-flops?” I asked, astonished, extending a finger at her stiletto. “Because I don’t do flip-flops. Becky, listen, I need you to hold out your arm.” I took a step back, staring at her soaking wet stiletto. “For what?”
“I can’t shave my legs on one foot in these heels, I’ll fall over and break my neck! Please just stick out your arm so I can grab onto it. I’ll be super-fast.” I didn’t respond, staying perfectly still. Maybe if I don’t move, she will forget I’m here, I thought. “Becky! Please! I’m going to injure myself if you don’t help me. It will only take a minute I promise!” Reluctantly, I slowly placed my arm inside the shower curtain, never taking my eyes off her soaking wet stiletto. “Becky, make sure you don’t look, okay?” I cocked my head. “Remember, I’m naked,” Deb said through the curtain.
“Okay” was my only response. There I was having my arm being used by my older sister as a human guard rail while Deb shaved her legs wearing six-inch designer shoes. Who knew a business trip to Louisiana would require so much diva work.

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About Author Rebecca Henry

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Rebecca Henry

Rebecca is the author of The Lady Raven A Dark Cinderella Tale, and her latest novel, Louisiana Latte, a chick lit comedy. Rebecca Henry is also a world traveler, living abroad. She is a serious vegan, gardener, crafter, and practices yoga.

You can find and contact Rebecca Henry here:
Website
Goodreads

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There is a tour wide giveaway for the book blitz of Louisiana Latte. One winner will win a swag bag. US Only.

For a chance to win, enter the rafflecopter below:

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99% Faking It

Dating Dilemmas #2

by Chris Cannon

Synopsis

Lisa is a card-carrying, book-loving Gryffindor. Solid. And that’s why everyone knows she’s awesome. Well, except for her crush, Matt. He only ever sees her as a friend. Plus, he’s got his eye on another girl. Oh well, plenty of fish and all that.

Good thing Lisa just read a book on the “wedding ring phenomenon”—you get more attention when you’re already taken. What if Lisa pretends to be Matt’s plus one? Maybe it’ll help Matt get his girl and Lisa can hook her own fish.

After the plan works, Matt suddenly claims he doesn’t like the view from the friend-zone and wants her instead… But she isn’t interested in being anyone’s second choice. If this guy wants to earn her attention, he’ll need more than some silly “phenomenon.”

He’ll need to go all out…

Disclaimer: This book contains multiple nerd-girl references, cute puppies, and snarky humor that will make you LOL!

Purchase: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | AppleBooks | Kobo

Add to Goodreads

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Enjoy this peek inside:

The alarm went off on my cell. Noooooo. It couldn’t be morning already. Where had Saturday and Sunday gone? I needed a rewind button. I was not emotionally prepared to deal with Monday. Maybe if I ignored it, it would go away. I hit snooze and rolled over.

“Lisa, you need to wake up,” my mom called out from the other room.

“I don’t want to,” I hollered back.

“I know what will get you out of bed.” I heard the microwave door open and close and then the hum of something cooking. The smell of bacon drifted into my room.

“That’s not fair,” I called out.

“You better get your butt in here before I eat it all.”

Bacon was my kryptonite. It was the only thing that would get me up and moving some mornings. I threw the covers back and stumbled into the kitchen. Three pieces of bacon and two slices of wheat toast waited for me on the table.

“Thank you.” I sat down and bit into a piece of salty crispy goodness. Yum.

“You’re welcome. I have to go. I have an early appointment this morning.”

“See you tonight.” I finished my breakfast and fantasized about crawling back into bed. Why had I stayed up until one thirty to finish my book? It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now…not so much.

After taking a too-long shower, I did minimal hair and makeup. I was just going to school. Not like I was trying to impress anyone. I threw on a black sweatshirt which said, “Siriusly?” and my favorite comfortable jeans. Where were my black Keds? I checked in the living room, behind the bathroom door, and under my bed. Nope.

“Accio Keds,” I waited for a split second to see if it might possibly work. Nope. Still a Muggle. Damn it.

I dug out a pair of black booties that laced up like combat boots. Thank goodness there was a zipper on the side because I didn’t want to unlace those suckers every time I took them on and off. The only problem with the boots was now my fun new Harry Potter socks wouldn’t show. Whatever. I checked my cell. I needed to get my butt out the door.

Twenty minutes later I pulled into the Greenbrier High School parking lot and found a halfway decent spot. Maybe everyone was running a little late this morning. After turning the car off, I sat there for a moment. I didn’t have any tests today. My homework was done. I could do this, but that didn’t mean I was happy about it.

“Monday mornings suck,” I announced to the world as I climbed out of my car.

“We might be soul mates,” a masculine voice said from behind me.

I turned to see a guy with cool hair, ripped jeans, and a black leather jacket striding toward me. And suddenly my morning didn’t seem so bad. I smiled at him. “You’re new.”

“The hair gave me away, didn’t it?” He grinned. “I’m Trey.”
“Lisa,” I said.

“Here’s a test to see how small this town really is. If I said I’m Clarissa’s cousin, do you know who I’m talking about?”

“Does your cousin date Charlie Patterson?” I asked as we walked toward the main entrance.

“Damn.” He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back off of his face. “It’s worse than I thought.”

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Author Chris Cannon

Chris Cannon is the award-winning author of the Going Down In Flames series and the Boyfriend Chronicles. She lives in Southern Illinois with her husband and various furry beasts. She believes coffee is the Elixir of Life. Most evenings after work, you can find her sucking down caffeine and writing fire-breathing paranormal adventures or snarky romantic comedies.

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Rideshares, Wrecks, and Sex:
Confessions of a Convicted Uber Driver
by Joe F. N. Schmo
Genre: Comedic Adventure
 
An Uber driver is expected to be courteous and attentive, both to their
passengers and to those on the road. They are not expected to accept
an invitation to a swinger party, flee the scene of a fatal accident,
nor are they expected to be a convicted felon on probation.
Unfortunately,
this Joe Schmo is not your everyday Uber driver.
As most Uber drivers do, Joe began sharing rides with the audacious hope
to one day escape the legal and financial road blocks stalling his
merger onto the freeway of creative success. But when a typical shift
U-turns into a series of detours involving Android ordered lovers,
herpes ridden riders, sexy sorority sisters, a botched bachelor
party, and blundering bank robbers, he arrives (at gunpoint) miles
from his desired destination.
“Rideshares, Wrecks, and Sex: Confessions of a Convicted Uber Driver” is a
narrative nonfiction based upon actual events that transpired over
the year Joe covertly drove for Uber while on intensive probation. He
confesses outlandish details in a highlight reel of wrecks (both car
and train) and sex, effectively answering the question every Uber
rider has begged to know from their driver: “What’s your
craziest story?”
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rideshares teaser
 
 
Joe F. N. Schmo, a 30-something latent child prodigy, is on a quest to
obtain free Rockstar for life and plans to use it to obtain his Ph.D
in Upsetting the Status Quo. Once earned, he hopes to use his written
works as a vehicle to turn underinformed perceptions on their thick
skulls (among other abhorrently selfish goals).
After completing over 1,000 rideshares for Uber while on intensive
probation, Joe has encountered it all (save for alien abductions and
spontaneous combustion) and is über qualified to write a
confessional with such a titilating title.
Prior to his salacious adventures, Joe earned his B.A. in Film and Media
Production where he wrote, produced, directed, and edited several
short films. This experience sculpted him into the kind of asshole
who quotes from random films and includes obscure pop culture
references into his written works.
Joe’s masterpiece, “Rideshares, Wrecks, and Sex: Confessions of a
Convicted Uber Driver” is a culmination of his of film
background, sharing rides with Uber, and myriad adverse experiences.
It was NOT written to please those stiff, literary types, but to
appeal to the haughty neophytes who attest e-books are superior to
the printed page.
Currently, Joe is working on his encore, “Jackpot,” which, much like
“Rideshares, Wrecks, and Sex, was written with the intention to
be adapted into a feature film (as it is his narcissistic goal to
direct his own film adaptations).
 
 
Follow the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!

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