Life in the Lucky Zone by Patricia B. Tighe book blitz with giveaway
Life in the Lucky Zone
Patricia B. Tighe
(The Zone, #2)
Published by: Swoon Romance
Publication date: April 5th 2016
Genres: Contemporary, Romance, Young Adult
Seventeen-year-old Lindsey Taylor has been living a charmed life—always the lead in school plays, possessor of a healthy entourage and a hot boyfriend. But halfway through her junior year, the unthinkable happens. Her boyfriend dumps her. She screws up her audition for the spring play. And to top it all off, her theater teacher wants her to run lines with Trey Berger, a gamer guy who irritates her practically every time he opens his mouth. Lindsey needs to find some better luck and quick.
Trey Berger can barely tolerate Lindsey Taylor. It’s bad enough that their best friends are dating and he has to see Lindsey at group hangouts. Now they have to rehearse together. Berger would rather do just about anything else, even chill with his grandmother, whose dementia has forced her to move in with his family.
But as the semester continues, Berger discovers there’s more to Lindsey than the drama queen
persona she puts on for everyone else’s benefit. And the person behind the mask might be someone he cares about. A lot. So what exactly is he going to do about it?
And while Lindsey desperately tries to change her luck and heal from the breakup, she slowly realizes Berger has become her best friend. This video-game-playing boy makes her laugh. And holds her when she cries. Could he possibly become something more?
EXCERPT:
People filled the baggage claim area, grabbing their items from the carousel, their conversations muffled by all the noise. I stepped out of the way of a man heading for the exit and scanned people’s faces. Where was Adam? Were his parents already here to take him home? That might make things awkward.
I edged through the crowd and finally saw him. Relief ran through me, but immediately drained away at the sight of the people with him. Dressed in a T-shirt and
hoodie, Adam was placing a huge duffle bag on the floor beside an elderly couple and a teenage girl. A gorgeous teenage girl with dark hair. I didn’t know who she was, but I hated everything about her. From her long, curling hair to the tight shirt that showed off all her curves. Even the tiny belly curve.
Should I go over there? I kind of had to if I wanted to talk to him. But something held me back. Some sense that prickled up my neck. I shouldn’t meet those people. At least, not right now. Then the problem took care of itself. Adam straightened and looked across the room. Our gazes met. Locked. But I couldn’t read what might be in his. It was too far away.
He tilted his head down toward the others, said something, and then started working his way through the crowd. I knew the people he was with must be watching, but I only had eyes for Adam. He did not look happy.
Crap. I hadn’t planned on a fight. Surely that wasn’t what he had in mind. My pulse sped up, and I squeezed my fingers around the strap of my shoulder bag. And then he was standing in front of me, his hands hanging loosely at his sides, a vertical line between his eyebrows.
“Hey,” he said, with no kiss or hug. “What’re you doing here? I told you I had a ride.”
I made myself smile. “I wanted to surprise you.”
He ran a hand through his hair. It had gotten long; a couple of strands curled toward the snake tat on his neck. “How’re you doing?” he asked, sounding like he really didn’t care.
I could barely choke out the word. “Fine.” Touch me. Tell me everything’s okay.
Someone jostled him, and he stepped closer. “Look, you know things have been weird between us. I should’ve talked to you about this before I left, but I didn’t know how. Stuff has … changed.”
Author Bio:
The mother of two grown sons, Patricia B. Tighe lives in West Texas with her husband and two dogs. Her love of the written word caused her to get a journalism degree from Texas A&M University in 1980 and an MA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University in 2008. When not writing or reading, she can be found walking the dogs or yelling at the TV during an NFL game. She’s also a fan of British TV shows. Downton Abbey, anyone?
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Release Day Celebration: Fear My Mortality by Everly Frost with Giveaway
Happy Release Day to
Fear My Mortality by Everly Frost
Join us in celebrating this new release from Month9Books!
Enter the giveaway found at the end of the post.
Happy Book Birthday, Everly!
In a world where people are invulnerable to illness and death, with lives spanning hundreds of years, a sixteen-year-old becomes witness to the impossible – her brother’s failure to regenerate after death after which she suspects that she too may be mortal.
Fear My Mortality by Everly Frost
Publication Date: April 5, 2016
Publisher: Month9Books
Google Play | BAM | Chapters | Amazon | B&N | Kobo | TBD | iBooks
Everly Frost wrote her first story when she was nine. She grew up in a country town, lived for a little while in Japan, and worked for several years in Canberra, Australia’s capital city. Now, Everly lives in Brisbane, Australia, with her husband and two children. She doesn’t speak Japanese so often anymore, has left the cold Canberra winters behind, but has never stopped writing.
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The Matchmaker’s Playbook by Rachel Van Dyken book blitz
The Matchmaker’s Playbook
Rachel Van Dyken
(Wingmen Inc. #1)
Published by: Skyscape
Publication date: April 5th 2016
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance
Wingman rule number one: don’t fall for a client.
After a career-ending accident, former NFL recruit Ian Hunter is back on campus—and he’s ready to get his new game on. As one of the masterminds behind Wingmen, Inc., a successful and secretive word-of-mouth dating service, he’s putting his extensive skills with women to work for the lovelorn. But when Blake Olson requests the services of Wingmen, Inc., Ian may have landed his most hopeless client yet.
From her frumpy athletic gear to her unfortunate choice of footwear, Blake is going to need a miracle if she wants to land her crush. At least with a professional matchmaker by her side she has a fighting chance. Ian knows that his advice and a makeover can turn Blake into another successful match. But as Blake begins the transformation from hot mess to smokin’ hot, Ian realizes he’s in danger of breaking his cardinal rule…
Read Chapter 1:
The tea? Cinnamon.
The coffee shop? Secluded. Dark. Inviting. The girl? Late.
And not just fashionably late, but the type of late that had me thinking she was going to be a no-show, which was common for a first meeting. At least 15 percent of our clients were no-shows. It was nerves. And fear that our system wouldn’t work for them and they’d be in worse shape than before.
The wood chair creaked as I leaned back and examined the small shop. A year ago people would have asked for my autograph. Then again, a year ago I had just been drafted by the Seattle Seahawks.
I rubbed my knee self-consciously as the aching pain returned, causing a raw edge of irritation to burn through my chest.
I checked my watch again, biting my cheek in annoyance. Twenty-three minutes late.
With a sigh, I reached for my tea one last time, drawing out the sip as I peered over the cup. Two more minutes and I was leaving.
The glass door shot open, the bell nearly clanging to the floor as it slammed against a nearby chair. A small mousy girl with plain brown hair stumbled through; her pale skin turned crimson as she touched her cheeks and nervously glanced around the room.
Most would give her a passing glance. But I wasn’t most.
I stared. Hard.
When her fidgety eyes finally settled on me, she blushed even deeper. It wasn’t unattractive, just very telling.
I pushed my chair back and stood. I had a feeling she wanted to run.
They were always nervous. Which was expected. Besides, I knew what I looked like. I wasn’t being vain, just drawing a logical mathematical conclusion after adding how many times I’d gotten laid to how many times I’d been asked if I was an underwear model.
Chiseled? Check.
Caramel-blond hair that somehow managed to look wavy and thick all the damn time? Check.
One dimple on the right side of my cheek? Check. Sexy crooked smile? Check.
Rugged badass-looking scar near my chin? Check. Smoldering hazel eyes? Check.
And don’t even get me started on penis size. Really, it just gets better the farther south your eyes go—trust me.
She took a faulty step backward, colliding with the magazine rack.
Several copies of the Seattle Weekly went flying across the floor.
With a flutter of busyness, she bent down. Her jeans ripped at the knees.
Yeah, I was going to have to rescue her. She was already a danger to herself.
With a patient sigh, I slowly walked from my seat and approached her. Lowering to her level, I peered over at the newspapers, calmly collected every last one, and stood.
She was frozen.It happened. Often. And unfortunately, it was a huge time-waster.
Because my business? It was flourishing, and time was my currency.
She was late.
Meaning she was wasting not just my time, but my money. Typically, I met my clients elsewhere, but I was short on time and wanted to see her in action. I was having some serious second thoughts as she grabbed one of the paper napkins and proceeded to blow her nose before stuffing the napkin in her front pocket.
“Stand,” I instructed, trying to keep the scowl from my face.
She gaped up at me, her mouth ajar, her eyes widening as her skin went from pink to white, all within a few seconds.
“Or,” I whispered, pinning her like a bug with my stare, “you can sit. But I highly doubt that’s the way to get on the good side of that barista you’ve been trying not to check out ever since you walked in that door.”
“But I haven’t—”
“You have.” I nodded, giving her an encouraging look. “And if you don’t stand right now, you’ll lose your chance with him. Most experts believe that jealousy is the most crucial emotion men feel before falling in love.” I held out my hand.
She stared at it.
“I won’t bite.” I smirked, then leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Yet.”
She gasped.
“Take it.” I gave a curt nod. “That’s what I’m here for, remember?” With reluctance, she placed her hand in mine and stood on wobbly legs. I eyed the barista with mock annoyance as I helped my new client to her seat.
“What’s this?” She pointed at the red cup in front of her chair. “Tea.” I yawned. “But yours is probably cold.”
“I hate tea.”
“No.” I shook my head and leaned forward, my hands placed directly in front of her cup as I scooted it closer to her. “You love tea.”
She frowned. “Smile.”
“What?” “Just do it.”
She forced a smile, which actually transformed her face quite nicely. A bit too much tooth and faux enthusiasm, but I could work with enthusiasm. Apathy, despondency, despair . . . not as easy.
“Hey . . . you, uh . . . guys need anything?” Jealous Barista asked as he wandered over to our table. Any jackass with half a brain knew that if we wanted something, we’d just go to the counter and ask.
“Nope.” I didn’t give him a second glance. “Oh.” He didn’t leave. Idiot. “I just—”
“I’ll send my girlfriend over if I need something, how’s that?” This time I did meet his gaze. Sometimes it was just too easy. Really. His eyes burned through me, nostrils flared, fists clenched. Dude may as well have been wearing a sign that said “Mine” with an arrow pointed at Mousy Hair.
“Thanks, though,” my client squeaked, tucking that flat hair behind her ear in a seminervous gesture that asshat probably found cute.
We were going to have to work on that squeak. It was endearing . . . like a fat puppy that couldn’t walk.
But in order to gain the barista’s attention? She needed to move on from fat puppy to something more like a greyhound—sleek, beautiful, unique.
Jealous Barista walked off. “He hates me.” She slouched.
I let out an irritated sigh as I reached for her hand and gripped it.
Clammy fingers. A personal favorite, said no man ever.
“Stop fidgeting and sit up straight.” I squeezed her hand.
Her chest rose and fell like she was running a marathon. Shit, if I had another fainter, I was going to walk.
“Sorry,” she huffed as she leaned in. “It’s just that he’s actually talked to me only a few times, and only ever to ask if I wanted sugar in my coffee.”
“He hates coffee,” I whispered. “Every time someone orders coffee, he actually sneers. It’s hard to tell if you don’t look for it. But his nose lifts, his eyes narrow, and the bastard sneers, as if coffee is the equivalent of getting high behind the Dumpsters.”
“But . . .” She bit down on her bottom lip. It was plump. Juicy.
Finally! Something I could work with. “He works at a coffee shop.”
Impatience pounded through me. “And you run five point six miles every day at three in the afternoon, yet you hate running. We all do what we gotta do to get what we want. You want a nice body? You work for it. He wants to pay for parts for his motorcycle? He works for it.” Damn it, I really needed to stop taking clients when I was running on no sleep.
“Should I be taking notes?” she asked softly.
“You love tea. You hate coffee.” I reached out and brushed my thumb across her bottom lip. “He despises public displays of affection, probably because he wishes he was the one involved with a girl who can’t keep her hands off her man.”
Her head swayed toward me, eyes heavy, cheek pressed into my hand. Bingo!
“Touch me,” I instructed. “But—”
“Do it now.”
Gulping, she reached across the table and placed her hand on my shoulder.
On. My. Shoulder. “Lower.”
“But . . .” Her eyes darted to the counter.
“Stop staring or we’re done.”
She moved her hand lower and ran her hand over my chest, her forefinger grazing my nipple. Probably by accident, but the barista’s reaction would be the same.
“Now laugh.”
“Laugh?” She giggled nervously.
“That works too.” I grinned smugly. This was always my favorite part, the part that solidified me as a certified genius. A rich one too. The moment when the guy suddenly realizes there’s something brewing between him and the girl who’s been vying for his attention for weeks, years, whatever.
Jealous Barista waltzed back over. “Shell, if you need anything besides tea, let me know.” His chest puffed out as he crossed his arms. I fought the urge to roll my eyes and give the douche the finger.
“No.” Shell met my gaze with a reluctance that slowly turned into triumph. “I think I’m good with my tea.”
“You hate tea,” he pointed out. “No,” I said. “She loves tea.”
“Asshole,” he grumbled under his breath before walking away. “He knows my name.” She gave a rapturous sigh of longing. Again, the urge to roll my eyes was so strong my cheeks twitched. I shrugged and leaned back.
“Who are you?” she said.
“Ian Hunter.” I nodded. “Master wingman and your only chance in hell of getting”—my eyebrows lifted as a sigh escaped between my lips—“that.”
Jealous Barista stared at us with his lips pressed into a firm line. “When do we start?” Her words rushed out so fast they nearly ran
into one another.
I smirked. “Three minutes ago.”
Author Bio:
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and contemporary romances. When she’s not writing you can find her drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from readers!
Want to be kept up to date on new releases? Text MAFIA to 66866!
You can connect with her on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/rachelvandyken or join her fan group Rachel’s New Rockin Readers. Her website is http://www.rachelvandykenauthor.com.
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The One Who Got Away by Ava Claire book blitz with giveaway
The One Who Got Away
Ava Claire
(An Alpha Billionaire Romance)
Publication date: January 27th 2016
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance
It was supposed to be the best day. I was marrying the love of my life–and nothing would ever be the same.
And then he left me at the altar.
Five years later, I get a job offer I can’t refuse. The trouble is, the boss just so happens to be the one who got away…
EXCERPT:
Even from behind, he was something to behold. He had on a black leather jacket with a charcoal gray hoodie. On anyone else, it would have looked juvenile, hipster even. Like someone emulating ‘rugged’ based on what they saw in a magazine or on some TV show. This guy was all man, all testosterone with his broad shoulders and jeans that gripped an ass that I was dying to grip.
Realizing that I was staring at some stranger’s behind, my eyes shot up to tamer territory, but his dark wavy hair was even more dangerous. It was just long enough that he could do that man-bun thing that was all the rage. But nothing about this man was forced. He didn’t follow trends; he made his own. His dark locks were wild and free.
I hadn’t even seen his face, but I knew he was trouble. With a capital T. Which meant I was in trouble, because if I wasn’t sure I was gonna take the job before, well, I was positive now.
“Oh! Mr. Carraway, I didn’t know you were on site today.”
I gasped.
No.
NO.
The allure, that instant draw…I should have known. It had only happened once before when I was partnered with the hottest guy at Rhoades High in Advanced Chem.
He turned from the espresso machine and I stopped breathing.
Lincoln Carraway smiled at me like a wolf about to rip out the throat of its prey.
“Welcome to Make a Change, Catherine.”
Author Bio:
Ava Claire is a sucker for Alpha males and happily ever afters. When not putting pen to paper or glued to her Kindle, Ava likes road tripping, karaoke, vintage fashion, and searching for her own brooding billionaire.
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The Semester of Our Discontent (Lila Maclean Mystery #1) by Cynthia Kuhn
The Semester of Our Discontent by Cynthia Kuhn
My rating: 2.5 of 5 stars
Lila Maclean has just started her job as an English professor at Stonedale University. She’s just starting to make some friends with her colleagues and learn her way around but after a confrontation with a colleague she later walks in to find he’s been murdered. More attacks on professors follow the first but when Lila’s cousin is arrested in the case Lila vows to find out more about what is going on and clear her name.
The Semester of Our Discontent is one of those cozy mysteries that has the main character sticking to who they are and doing their investigating with their own skills and knowledge. One thing I never enjoy is when the characters become some sort of super sleuth when they are supposed to be everyday people caught up in a crime, thankfully this book kept Lila in the world she would be comfortable with as a professor and I certainly appreciated that.
However, I will say some of the debates and discussions among the group of university professors could be a bit dull here and there. Some parts were interesting but after a few discussions about the male literary authors versus females and what should or could be taught the story got a bit slow paced for my taste.
Now, my biggest complaint overall with the book may be considered a slight spoiler but it involves the ending and the killer. The big killer reveal at the end isn’t something a reader could really pick out and guess from the story and the overall explanation really was rather weak for a killing spree. It’s also really not realistic to have the killer basically giving a haha it’s me speech when those involved hadn’t a clue.
Overall, some good aspects to the story and writing but in the end I wasn’t extremely overjoyed either. In the end decided to go with 2.5 stars for The Semester of Our Discontent.
I received an advance copy from the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
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