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✍🏻 Blog Tour & Excerpt: Monica Murphy’s Rate A Date ✍🏻

The all new standalone in the Dating series by New York Times Bestselling author Monica Murphy is LIVE!

Eleanor Murray is tired.

Tired of going on awkward dates. Tired of meeting men who just aren’t that into her. Tired of being set up on blind dates by her well-meaning friends.

She is a believer of true love, of finding that happily ever after, and she wants it. She deserves it. But at the rate she’s going, she’s pretty sure it’s never going to happen.

Until a friend creates a profile for Eleanor on a new dating app. At first, she’s reluctant. Dating apps aren’t the way to finding true love, are they? But then she makes a connection on Rate a Date, and this gorgeous, confident guy almost seems too good to be true…

Mitch Anderson has a secret. 

He’s just moved to Las Vegas for his high profile job and after years of playing the field, he’s looking for a serious relationship. He wants to find a woman who likes him for who he is, not what he does. Meeting Eleanor on the dating app, he’s intrigued. Meeting her in real life while she’s in town for a bachelorette weekend, he completely falls for her. Now he’s in way over his head.

Their chemistry is combustible. They can’t keep their hands off each other. But will Eleanor forgive him when she finds out who he really is?

Read my review HERE!

Download today!

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Excerpt:

“You’re just saying that.”

“Not really,” I tell her truthfully. “You’re gorgeous.”

“Mitch.” She draws my name out, like she’s all embarrassed. “You really think so?”

“Oh, I know so.” I lean back, taking her in. “I can’t wait to meet you in person this weekend.”

“Wait a minute. You’re not some secret serial killer, are you?” She asks this with such seriousness, I start to laugh all over again.

“Even if I was, do you think I’d tell you?” I grin, unable to contain it. “I’d keep it a secret, right?”

“True.” She smiles. Laughs a little. “It’s just…my friends don’t want me to meet you by myself. They want to come with me.”

“Swear to God, I’m not a serial killer, Eleanor,” I say solemnly, holding my hand up and making the peace sign. “Scout’s honor.”

“That’s not what you do when you say scout’s honor,” she says quickly. Little Miss Smartypants. “You do your fingers like this.” She holds up her hand, the first three fingers up and pressed close together.

“How do you know that? Were you a secret Boy Scout? Have a brother who was one?”

“I, um, dated a guy who was an Eagle Scout.” Her expression turns sheepish. “He was really into the Boy Scouts.”

“Was that in high school?”

“Uh. No. College.”

I’m frowning. “College?”

“Well, he got his Eagle Scout status his senior year, but was still involved with the scouts through college. And—beyond.” She presses her hand against her forehead and briefly closes her eyes. “Fine, I went out with him after he graduated college. I never really went to college. I went to beauty school.” She drops her hand, sending me a meaningful look.

“So you went out with a guy who was still excited about being an Eagle Scout…and he was a grown man.” I start to laugh. “Sounds fun.”

“I’ve not had the greatest luck when it comes to dating guys,” she admits.

“Oh yeah?” I’m rubbing my chin again, contemplating her. Wondering what the hell is wrong with all the men in her life that they don’t know how to treat her.

And then I realize how lucky I am that they all blew it so now I have my chance.

“Yeah. I’m just—I don’t pick well. And I always get really awkward around guys.” She rolls her eyes. “I can say really dumb things. Or I just act all nervous and weird. I start to ramble.”

“Like now?”

“Yes.” She laughs. “Like now. I’m rambling. I’m totally rambling and you don’t look bored, so I take that as a good sign.”

“I think the rambling thing is cute. I like your awkwardness.”

“Wait until you see it in person.”

“I can’t wait to see you in person,” I tell her with a sly smile, making her blush. “I can’t wait to give you a hug. See what you smell like.”

“Mitch.” Her cheeks look on fire.

“What? I’m serious. You wear perfume?”

“Of course.”

“Use scented shampoo?”

“Duh. I’m a hairstylist.”

“Then I can’t wait to see how all those scents mix and create the essence of you.” Oooh, that was a good one. I didn’t even mean to say that. It just spilled out of my mouth.

“Aw, you’re being so sweet.” She sends me a heated glance. “Kind of sexy.”

“You think me talking about how you smell is sexy?”

“Honestly, Mitch? I think everything about you is sexy,” she says with a little sigh, right before she claps her hand over her mouth. “I probably shouldn’t have said that.” Her voice is muffled behind her palm.

“I love that you said that,” I say, warming up to this conversation big time. “I think you’re pretty fucking sexy too, Eleanor.” Hesitating, I wonder if I should tell her what I did in the shower.

Maybe not.

“Have you ever sexted with someone before?” she asks, sounding genuinely curious.

“I guess.” I shrug, not really wanting to answer her. Makes me feel like a slimy shit to admit that yes, I have. Lots of times. “Sort of. I’ve made plenty of  booty call messages. DTF, stuff like that.”

She frowns. “DTF?”

“Down to fuck.”

Oh.” Her eyes are wide. Her mouth is formed in this perfect O. “Oh.”

“Back when I wasn’t big on relationships,” I add. “But I’ve changed.”

“You have?”

“Yeah. I’m looking for a special girl.”

“Really?”

“I want a long-term relationship.”

“It’s too bad you’re moving,” she says, sounding sad.

I don’t want to focus on that right now. I don’t even know if this girl is the one. She has great potential. But we need to meet in person first. Test it out.

“We’ll see each other this weekend,” I remind her.

“I know!” Her face brightens. “And I’m excited.”

“So am I, Eleanor.”

So am I.

Meet Monica:

Monica Murphy is the New York Times, USA Today and #1 international bestselling author of the One Week Girlfriend series, the Billionaire Bachelors and The Rules series. Her books have been translated in almost a dozen languages and has sold over one million copies worldwide. She is both self-published and published by Random House/Bantam and HarperCollins/Avon. She writes new adult, young adult, and contemporary romance.

She is a wife and a mother of three who lives in central California on fourteen acres in the middle of nowhere along with their one dog and too many cats. A self-confessed workaholic, when she’s not writing, she’s reading or hanging out with her husband and kids. She’s a firm believer in happy endings, though she will admit to putting her characters through angst-filled moments before they finally get that hard won HEA.

 Connect with Monica:

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✍🏻 Blog Tour & Excerpt Reveal: Erin Nicholas’s Making Whoopie ✍🏻

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If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen…

Making Whoopie, an all-new not-to-be-missed marriage of convenience romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Erin Nicholas, is available now!

Read my review HERE.

MW Cover

This marriage of convenience is about to get sticky.
Getting hitched for the health insurance is not Jocelyn Asher’s idea of romance.

But the hospital quote has really frosted her cookies, and suddenly, “I’m rich. We should just get married,” sounds a whole lot more swoony.

Especially when the man proposing is this gorgeous. And takes her to parties featuring champagne and petit fours. She’s a sucker for anything with bubbles or icing. And just like that she finds herself married to a near stranger.

Grant Lorre is usually allergic to spontaneity.

So why did he ask the beautiful small-town baker he had a one-night stand with to marry him? Somehow watching her lick batter off a whisk–not a euphemism–made a wedding and a little fraud seem like a sweet idea.

They’ll just play house and make some whoopie–pies, of course–for a few months and then move on with their separate lives. Until then, bring on the cream filling. And that is a euphemism.

But as things heat up even outside of the kitchen, they quickly realize there’s no recipe to follow when it comes to love.

MW an

Download your copy today!

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Excerpt

No one fell in love over cheesy potatoes.

That was ridiculous. There was nothing sexy about cheesy potatoes. Or potatoes without cheese, for that matter.

But lust? Well, that was a possibility. Apparently.

Because watching Grant Lorre eat cheesy potatoes across her best friend’s mother’s dining room table was making Jocelyn Asher hot.

Of course, Maggie McCaffery’s cheesy potatoes were award-winning. Seriously. She’d taken home the purple ribbon four times from the Dubuque County Fair and twice from the Iowa State Fair. And Grant seemed to agree that they were delicious. He’d made a sexy groaning sound when he’d first taken a bite, and Josie had been mesmerized as his lips closed around the tines of his fork. Never mind how her heart rate had picked up when he’d turned the fork and licked it.

She was a mess. Purple ribbon or not, Josie was pretty sure that getting worked up over watching a man eat potatoes meant she was hard up.

She took a long drink of iced tea and tried to remember the last time she’d had sex. If she wasn’t forgetting anyone—and how sad would that be—the last time had been with Ben Davis. After Kara Davis’s, now Tibbin’s, wedding.

Last week Kara had been into Buttered Up, the bakery where Josie worked with her best friend Zoe, to order a miniature version of her wedding cake to celebrate their first anniversary.

Josie sighed. That had to explain the sexy potato thing going on across the table. It had to.

But then Grant laughed at something Aiden, his best friend and Zoe’s fiancé—yes, it was one big happy group at this table—said, and Josie felt her neglected lady parts clench. Yeah, it wasn’t the potatoes.

Thankfully.

Kind of.

As weird as getting turned on by potatoes might be, it might have been preferable to being turned on by the man who had been coming into the bakery nearly every morning for the past two weeks, but hadn’t so much as asked her to have a cup of coffee with him.

He’d asked her if the blueberries in the muffins were locally sourced. He’d asked her if they had any gluten-free cinnamon scones. He’d asked her for a lemon slice for his cup of hot water. But that was pretty much the extent of the things he’d asked her over the course of the time they’d known each other.

Oh, and he’d caught her when she’d fallen off a ladder. Twice. Very gallantly.

He’d swept her up before she’d hit the floor. Like a freaking knight in shining armor.

But both times he’d simply set her on her feet and gone on with his day.

She, on the other hand, was now getting hot and bothered by side dishes.

ErinNicholas-2About Erin Nicholas

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Erin Nicholas has been writing romances almost as long as she’s been reading them. To date, she’s written over thirty sexy, contemporary novels that have been described as “toe-curling,” “enchanting,” “steamy,” and “fun.” She adores reluctant heroes, imperfect heroines, and happily ever afters.

Erin lives in the Midwest, where she enjoys spending time with her husband (who only wants to read the sex scenes in her books), her kids (who will never read the sex scenes in her books), and her family and friends (who claim to be “shocked” by the sex scenes in her books).

Connect with Erin

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