✍🏻 Blog Tour & Excerpt: Nikki Sloane’s The Pool Boy ✍🏻

You’re going to get wet…

The Pool Boy by Nikki Sloane is now live!

Nothing says happy birthday like catching your husband in a compromising position with his boss.

His male boss.

Why, hello, midlife crisis. I’m starting over, but this time I’m doing it right. Or at least I’m doing what I want.

Taking the day off from work to hang out poolside? Yup. Do I leave the swimsuit in my house? Sure.

Does my very hot, twenty-something pool boy happen to catch me naked? Oh, yeah, he does. And he likes what he sees… a lot.

My best friend keeps telling me to have a fling and get back out there. But I’m not so sure she meant for me to do it with her son.

  Download today!

Amazon:  https://amzn.to/2vXMQNI

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/ThePoolBoyNS

Apple: https://apple.co/2OREEFv

Nook: http://bit.ly/39AcBSW

Kobo: http://bit.ly/38rdA7z

Google Play: http://bit.ly/37oYhv1

Goodreads: https://bit.ly/36gp7pS

Excerpt

Troy Osbourne came once a week to service both my pool and the freestanding spa. I’d hired him last year to handle closing and covering the pool for the winter, then reopening it for me last month, and his weekly visits that followed had kept the water crystal clear and the pH perfectly balanced.

My pool had never looked so good.

But Troy always came when I was at work and let himself in through the gate at the side of my fence, so I had completely forgotten his schedule. He must have gone behind the pool house and inside to fetch his supplies, and when he’d rounded the corner and discovered me topless, he’d dropped everything in his arms.

Including the long pole with the net on the end.

It was as if someone had put their foot down on the sustain pedal of a piano, only this piano played the music of time, and the moment suspended with my long, drawn out gasp.

I was topless, and he was frozen, and holy shit, he was my best friend’s twenty-four-year-old son.

It burst from my lips in horror. “Oh, fuck!”

 In my panic, I grasped at my towel to cover myself, only to struggle, hopelessly, since it was pinned beneath my body. I leapt to my feet and yanked the terrycloth up, pressing it over my naked chest.

Troy still hadn’t moved. His lips were open, as if he’d planned to say something, but now he was frozen and unable to do anything. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his mirrored Aviator sunglasses, but he didn’t seem to be breathing.

So, I did what any reasonable woman would when a gorgeous, almost-stranger caught her naked.

I ran.

Meet Nikki

USA Today bestselling author Nikki Sloane landed in graphic design after her careers as a waitress, a screenwriter, and a ballroom dance instructor fell through. For eight years she worked for a design firm in that extremely tall, black, and tiered building in Chicago that went through an unfortunate name change during her time there.

Now she lives in Kentucky, is married and has two sons. She is a three-time Romance Writers of America RITA© Finalist, a Passionate Plume winner, a two-time HOLT Medallion finalist, and couldn’t be any happier that people enjoy reading her sexy words.


Connect with Nikki


Amazon:   http://amzn.to/1SbBUyM

Facebook: http://bit.ly/NikkiSloaneFB

Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorNSloane

Instagram: http://bit.ly/NikkiSloaneIG

Bookbub: http://bit.ly/NikkiSloanneBB

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Joining her mailing list: https://www.nikkisloane.com/newsletter

✍🏻 Blog Tour & Excerpt: Willow Winters’s You Are My Reason, book 1 of the You Are Mine duet ✍🏻

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You Are My Reason, the first in the epic You Are Mine duet that will evoke all the emotions by Wall Street Journal bestselling author Willow Winters is available now!

REASON

It’s been a long time since I’ve looked at a man and wanted something more.
Even longer since one has looked at me with a gaze that I couldn’t tear my eyes from.

No one is perfect, but that’s how it felt to be in his arms.
I started to think everything was going to be alright. That life had finally put the pieces of my broken heart back together.

Fate may have brought us together, it’s a pretty little thought my poetic mind had.
But there’s no doubt that the sins of his past would tear us apart.

This story was previously published as Imperfect in 2017. It has been revised and elevated.

REASON_LIVE

Download your copy today!
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Apple Books: https://apple.co/2CjpfKR
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Add YOU ARE MY REASON to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/39YuJXQ

Excerpt

It figures it would stop downpouring the second I get in here. The bar is jam-packed as it always is, and the melody of guest chatting and glasses clinking welcome me. I can get lost in the crowds of people. I know they see me, but they don’t know me.

This bar in particular is one of my favorites. It’s always full. It’s tufted leather seats are constantly filled, and the warm rich tones of the wooden ceiling and brick walls make it feel like home somehow.

My suit looks like every other suit in this place. Well most of them. I run my fingers through my hair and shake off the rain as I shrug off my Armani jacket and toss it over the bar top at the very end.

It’s been a long day, and the last thing I need is to go home alone. As soon as my eyes lift, the bartender is on me. Patricia’s her name, I think. She’s in here every weekend.

“Whiskey?” she asks me. She never stops moving, shoveling ice into short glasses and pouring liquor like a pro. Unlike the other women in here, she’s not looking for a man with deep pockets. She doesn’t do chitchat either, which is one reason why I like sitting in this section. The other reason is that it’s out of the way where I can simply blend in and watch.

“Double,” I answer her with a nod and slip my cell phone out from my jacket pocket. I’ve only been gone from the office for two hours, but I’ve got a dozen emails waiting for my attention. A huff of a grunt leaves me as another text from Liam pops up.

You coming out tonight?

Already out, I answer him as the glass hits the polished bar top and Patricia slides it over to me.

My phone pings as I lift the glass to my lips and let the cool liquor burn all the way down and warm my chest.

Where at?

I contemplate telling him. I like Liam. A lot. If I had any friends, he’d be one of them. But I don’t trust anyone and after talking to my father today, I don’t want to be around a damn soul.

A sarcastic laugh makes me grin as I realize I’ve come to a crowded bar to be alone. It’s the truth though. In this city, you’re always surrounded; there’s never a place to hide unless it’s in plain sight.

I down the rest of the liquor and tap the heavy glass against the bartop as I consider what to tell him. And that’s when I hear it. Almost as if daring me to stay alone any longer. It’s the gentle sound of a feminine laugh. It’s genuine and it rings clear in the bar even though it’s soft.

It’s a soothing sound, a calming force in the chaos that surrounds us. As if everything is moving around me but the woman who uttered that sweet sound.

The smooth glass stays still as I look down the bar in search of her.

The rest of the crowd doesn’t seem to notice, they continue with whatever the hell they’re saying and doing, but my eyes are drawn to my left. Through the throng of people, I just barely get a glimpse of her.

Blonde hair that’s pulled back, showing off her pale skin covered in black lace.

A man at the very end leans away from the bar, digging into his back pocket for his wallet and giving me a clear view of her.

Those dark red lips attract my gaze first. She licks her bottom lip before picking up a large glass of deep red wine. The color, from this distance at least, matches her lips perfectly. She smiles at something someone must have said and her shoulders shake, making the dark liquid swirl in her glass and bringing a blush to her high cheek bones.

She tosses her hair to the side, it’s damp from the rain and her fingers tease the ends as she brings her tendrils over her shoulder, wrapping them around her finger while she sips her wine.

It’s when she looks away from whoever she’s been giving her attention to that my heart stops and my curiosity is piqued.

Without their eyes on her, her expression morphs into something else. I finally see her eyes, the lightest of blues with flecks of silver speckled throughout, and that’s when I really see her. Not just the image of what she’s portraying.

Pain is clear as day.

It’s the lie though, how fucking good she was at hiding it, that’s what really gets me. Even I was fooled.

People can hide behind a smile or a laugh, every soul in here can pretend to be something and someone they’re not.

The truth is always there though and I’m damn good at recognizing it. Your eyes can never hide two things: age and emotion. Hers speak to me in a way nothing else can.

But had I never looked just then when she thought no one was watching, she never would have shown me willingly.

She straightens her shoulders and I see her profile, her expression and the corners of my lips turn down. Not only do I know her pain; I know her name. I know everything about her.

Julia Summers.

My blood chills as she turns back to the table and the smile slips back into place on her face just as the man at the end of the bar takes a step forward, obscuring her from my vision. As if the moment of clarity and recognition was just for me in that moment. Like fate wanted me to know how close I was to her.

I keep my eyes on the bar, doing my best to listen, but her voice is silent or lost in the mix of chatter throughout the crowded place.

“Another?” Patricia’s voice sounds close, closer than she usually is. I lift my head to see her standing right in front of me, both hands on the bar and waiting.

I nod my head with my brows pinched, shaking off the mix of emotions. This city is a small place with worlds always colliding, but I’ve never seen her in person. Only in a photograph. Only that once. I’m sure it’s her though. I’ve never been this sure of anything.

The ice clinks in the glass and I watch as the liquid slips over each cube, cracking them and filling the crevices.

“You okay?” Patricia asks me. It’s odd. In the year or so since I’ve been coming here, she’s never bothered to make small talk. It’s why I don’t mind her.

I give her a tight smile as I reply, “I’m fine.” I reach her eyes and widen my smile, relaxing my posture and leaning back slightly.

She eyes me warily as she mutters, “You don’t look fine.”

It takes me a moment before I shrug it off and say, “I’m alright, just tired.”

She nods once and goes back to minding her own business, sliding me the whiskey and moving back to the other customers.

I tap my pointer finger against the glass, looking casually down the bar.

She’s hidden from view, but I know she’s there.

Meet Willow Winters

willow autor photo

Willow Winters is so happy to be a USA Today, Wall Street Journal and #1 Contemporary Best Selling Author!

Willow started writing after having her little girl, Evie, December 2015. All during her pregnancy with Evie she continued to read and she only wanted to read romance. She was reading a book a day — sometimes two.

In January 2016 Willow was staying up late with Evie and just thinking of all these stories. They came to her constantly so she finally sat down and just started writing. She always wanted to do it so she figured, why not? Today Willow cannot be happier for making that decision!

Connect with Willow

W Winters:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2kBla8e
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2WWGReads
Bookbub: http://bit.ly/2L6c8va

Willow Winters:
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Sign up to Willow’s newsletter and receive EXCLUSIVE content, sneak peeks, and FREE books monthly: http://eepurl.com/b98e3D

✍🏻 Blog Tour and Excerpt: Kandi Steiner’s Ritual, Palm South Book 5 – Have you read it yet? If not, grab it quick. ✍🏻

“If Gossip Girl and Riverdale had a love child, it would be PSU.” — #1NYT Bestselling Author Rachel Van Dyken

Ritual by bestselling author Kandi Steiner is now live! 

Read my review HERE.

Written like your favorite drama television show, the Palm South University series has been called “a mix of Greek meets Gossip Girl with a dash of Friends.” Follow seven college students as they maneuver unrequited love, teacher/student romance, the tangles of “no strings” relationships, love triangles and more. Each “season” has six “episodes,” and just like when your favorite show hits Netflix, you can read just one episode at a time or binge the entire thing. With the perfect mix of angst, emotional romance, and romantic comedy, the Palm South University series is your next guilty addiction.

Drama. Lies. Sex.

Welcome to Palm South University.

The weather isn’t the only thing heating up in South Florida. At a school where fraternities and sororities don’t exactly play by the rules, relationships are bound to be tested. Parties and sex are definitely key ingredients in the Palm South recipe, but what happens when family issues, secret lives, and unrequited love get tossed in the mix?

Follow Cassie, Bear, Jess, Skyler, Erin, Ashlei, and Adam as they tackle college at a small, private beach town university. Written in television drama form, each episode of this serial will pull you deeper and deeper into the world of PSU.

Where the sun is hot and the clothes are scarce, anything can happen.

  Download today or read for FREE with Kindle Unlimited

Amazon:  https://amzn.to/2P8y9xX

Amazon Worldwide: mybook.to/RitualPSU5KS

Goodreads: http://bit.ly/2vLkJBm

Also Available in the Palm South University series:

Rush

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

Anchor

Amazon: https://amzn.to/30SV0CF

Pledge

Amazon: https://amzn.to/30UvzAC

Legacy

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3hBtRuI

Excerpt:

“Do you have pole tomorrow?” he asks, checking his side mirror before he pulls onto the road.

“No, I need a rest day.”

“And it’s Sunday, so you wouldn’t have class, right?”

My suspicion rises. “No… but I do have Chapter at six.”

“Chapter…” he muses, side-eyeing me with a grin. “Damn sorority.”

I smack his arm playfully.

“Do you think you could skip it, just this once?”

“Probably not without a death threat from Ex,” I say seriously. “But… what are you proposing?”

We pull up to a red light, and Brandon bites his lip before turning to me. “The Bahamas.”

“The Bahamas?!”

“The Exumas, technically.”

“The Exumas,” I repeat, sounding like a freaking parrot at this point. “You’re proposing we go to the Exumas tonight,” I clarify. “As in… the place where you swim with pigs.”

“I was thinking more like the place where I fuck you on my yacht and drink fruity cocktails out of coconuts with you on the beach,” he says on a smirk, and the light turns green, making him turn back to the road with a shrug. “But if you’d rather swim with pigs…”

I laugh, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it. I’m tempted to say We can’t just go to the fucking Bahamas, Brandon, but I know that’s a lie.

He has a yacht.

And more money than he knows how to spend.

Technically, we can go to the Bahamas.

I’m quiet for a long while, and Brandon glances at me from the corner of his eye before pulling into a random restaurant parking lot. It’s a Mexican diner, not even open yet, since it’s only ten in the morning. When he’s parked, he turns to me, grabbing my hands and pulling them into his lap.

“Look, we’ve both been busy this summer — you with your exec position in the sorority, and pole… me with this national client we’re in the bidding war for… both of us working hard at Okay, Cool after everything that went down in the spring with Kim… and now, school is back in session, it’s the last semester before you graduate, we’re both hard at work, and I just…”

He smooths his dark thumbs over my wrists, his eyes that are usually so intense, soft and vulnerable now.

“This might be our last chance to spend some real, quality time together before life gets even crazier than it already is.”

My heart melts into a puddle right there on the floorboard of his expensive ass car, and I lean over the console, kissing him long and hard.

“Let’s go to the Bahamas,” I whisper between kisses. “You’re right. Everything else can wait.”

He sighs, wrapping his arms around me until he’s pulling me into his lap. I squeal and laugh, but then my next breath is stolen by the erection growing in his slacks.

“This would be a lot easier on the yacht,” I say, rubbing the seam of my leggings against his hard-on.

“Maybe,” he says, sucking on my bottom lip and releasing it with a pop. His lips trail down my neck as my head rolls back. “But these windows are tinted, and you’re sexy when you say I’m right.”

Meet Kandi

Kandi Steiner is a bestselling author and whiskey connoisseur living in Tampa, FL. Best known for writing “emotional rollercoaster” stories, she loves bringing flawed characters to life and writing about real, raw romance — in all its forms. No two Kandi Steiner books are the same, and if you’re a lover of angsty, emotional, and inspirational reads, she’s your gal.

An alumna of the University of Central Florida, Kandi graduated with a double major in Creative Writing and Advertising/PR with a minor in Women’s Studies. She started writing back in the 4th grade after reading the first Harry Potter installment. In 6th grade, she wrote and edited her own newspaper and distributed to her classmates. Eventually, the principal caught on and the newspaper was quickly halted, though Kandi tried fighting for her “freedom of press.” She took particular interest in writing romance after college, as she has always been a die hard hopeless romantic, and likes to highlight all the challenges of love as well as the triumphs.

When Kandi isn’t writing, you can find her reading books of all kinds, talking with her extremely vocal cat, and spending time with her friends and family. She enjoys live music, traveling, anything heavy in carbs, beach days, movie marathons, craft beer and sweet wine — not necessarily in that order.

Connect with Kandi

Website:  www.kandisteiner.com

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7319216.Kandi_Steiner

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Kandi-Steiner/e/B00JDJOINE 

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

Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/kandilandks/

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

Twitter: https://twitter.com/KandiSteiner

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/kandi-steiner

Book+Main: https://bit.ly/39u1KLs

✍🏻 Blog Tour & Excerpt: Max Monroe’s Hate the Player – Have you grabbed this yet? ✍🏻

HTP - BT banner

I hate him.

I want him.

He’s a jerk.

A player.

Addicting.

Trouble.

Hate the Player, a slow burn and hilarious romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe is available now!

Read my 5 ⭐️ review HERE!

Hate the Player (official 9x6)

“Roses are red, violets are blue, stay away from Andrew Watson’s *ahem* because no other women ever do.”

That’s quite the way to start a conversation at a casual lunch, huh? Grilled chicken, French fries, and pelvic-fatigue, oh my!

And that’s not even the worst of it.

My friend Raquel didn’t pull any punches when she warned me about my brand-new co-star and his notoriously player-esque ways. Apparently, my most important mission on my first role in a feature film is to stay immune to his charms.

Are you kidding me? Production costs on this movie are in the hundreds of thousands a day, and staying away from a panty-whispering, vajayjay-charmer is supposed to be at the top of my list? Pfft. Puh-lease.

It doesn’t matter that he’s annoyingly attractive, uber rich, crazy famous, and lusted after by ninety percent of the female population; Andrew Watson is trouble with a capital T—especially for a woman like me.

As a preventative measure, I’ve decided to go ahead and hate him.

Don’t worry, you guys, I’m completely in control. There’s absolutely no way I’m going to do something stupid like fall in love with him.

I can hate the player but still secretly love his addictive game.

I’m sure of it.

HTP - AN

Download your copy today or read for Free on Kindle Unlimited!

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2C7tklj

Amazon Worldwide: http://mybook.to/HateThePlayer

Add Hate the Player to Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2ZLb2y4

HTP - Teaser 3

Excerpt

Birdie

True to my name, I’m about to take fucking flight. At least, I would if I could.

In this moment, it really would have been helpful if my trainer hadn’t successfully eliminated all the extra flappy meat on my upper arms. Surely, if I got them going fast enough, the wind beneath those bat wings could have carried me up and through the ceiling of this place.

C’mon, you big baby, I coach myself. You can do this.

One cavernous breath into my lungs and then another and another, and eventually, just before my vision turns tunneled, I will my feet to move away from the door.

Gleaming marble floors, golden statues, and a freaking fountain in the center, the lobby of Capo Brothers Studios is everything I should have expected and more.

If everything is bigger in Texas, then everything is most certainly richer in LA.

I check in with security quickly, my voice only a little croaky thanks to the frog in my throat, and head for the elevator bank at the far side of the lobby.

I’m to head to the fifteenth floor, I’m told, and then go straight down the hall to the glass doors on the left at the end. There, I’ll find William Capo’s office—the head honcho and only surviving brother of Capo Brothers.

My cowgirl boots are noisy on the marble floors when I do as instructed. The sound you make when you walk is such a small detail—one I don’t normally think about—but the echo of their clack today makes my heart feel like it’s knocking into my rib cage and each step across the ornate floor is merely a sound effect.

Fifteen floors eclipse quickly—clearly, they’ve spared no expense on their elevator—and the hallway that leads to William’s office seems strangely one-directional. Like once I go down it—once I take this step—there will be no going back. Which is probably why, after forcing myself to go the distance to the end, I pause at the open door, the points of my booted toes just shy of crossing the line.

“Good morning.” A pretty assistant dressed in a white power suit greets me before I’ve even cleared the threshold of the door, and all thoughts of escape are dashed. Like it or not, I’ve just been shoved over the line. I will my feet to do the same as she continues to speak. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Birdie Harris,” I answer and have to swallow hard against the dryness threatening to close my throat. “I have an audition.”

My nerves are so obvious, the assistant offers a sympathetic smile.

If she were from my childhood hometown in West Virginia, she’d most likely be thinking Bless her heart.

She taps something across the keyboard of her iMac and places her hand to the Bluetooth at her ear. “Mr. Capo, I have Birdie Harris here.” Immediately, she looks away from the computer and meets my eyes. “They’ll be ready for you shortly. You can take a seat over there.” She points behind me, back through the door and across the hall to what I’m assuming is a fancy-schmancy waiting room of some sort. I haven’t encountered a place in the building that doesn’t have some sort of gilded or marble inlay, so I highly doubt I’m going to step through that door and into a room styled by the set designer for Saw. Though, I can’t say some sort of torture device wouldn’t be completely misplaced right now. I’m already doing a pretty good job of mentally waterboarding myself with worry.

I offer a little nod, keeping my twisted, sicko thoughts to myself. I doubt they’re interested in hiring a woman on the brink of a hysterical episode.

The secretary quirks a brow, and I realize, though I’ve nodded my affirmation of understanding, I’ve yet to move.

Good God, Birdie! Go sit down.

Annoyed with myself, I turn on my boots and march across the hall so violently, it’s like there’s an invisible person helping me along with a heavy hand at the nape of my neck.

When I cross into the room, a man is sitting on a swanky leather sofa with his booted feet up on the coffee table. He glances up briefly before returning his eyes to the phone in his lap. Embarrassed, I smooth my clomps instantly.

You’re a gazelle, Birdie, not a herd of buffalo, I coach. Move like it.

With his attention occupied, I survey him more closely as I move to take a seat across from him. He’s wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt, and his jawline would make steel beams look weak. Seriously. Confronted with an earthquake, I would seek shelter right under the eave of his jaw.

I’d love to get another peek at his eyes just to study the color, but fearing the eye contact that would require, I’m careful not to make any overt noises that might draw his attention again.

When he smirks, a devilish proposition-like smile at the screen of his phone, I don’t have to wonder anymore.

Oh no. I know exactly who this man is.

Andrew Watson.

The very man Rocky warned me about and I subsequently Instagram stalked. A laundry list of different women dotted through his timeline, it confirmed everything Rocky told me and then some.

All relaxed and cool, he sits on the white leather sofa with one arm outstretched across the back. Confidence and charm ooze from every freaking cell in his body. No doubt, Andrew Watson is more than capable of commanding the attention of everyone in the room, no matter the situation.

No wonder he’s one of Hollywood’s most famous actors.

The only time I have that kind of quiet confidence is when I’m onstage, singing my songs, lost in the music I created.

Just play it cool, Birdie.

On a deep breath, I force the uncertainty and unease out of my shoulders and settle my ass into the sofa across from him. He shifts again, crossing one ankle over the other and casually adjusting the denim at his crotch.

My eyes are immediately drawn to his bulge, and thanks to Rocky’s colorful descriptions of his favorite appendage, a little penis-shaped soldier is burned in my brain. After a few seconds of imagining the shape of his helmet and intensity of his salute, I jerk my gaze away in a panic.

Jesus. As if this audition wasn’t screwing with my head enough! Now I have Saving Ryan’s Privates, a military-themed porno my head just made up starring Staff Sergeant Dick Richardson, complicating things even more!

I must make a noise I don’t realize—the sound of my saliva gurgling in my throat while I choke on it, perhaps—because Andrew looks at me with curious eyes. I try like hell to keep my calm and act like I haven’t just gone to mental war with the soldier in his pants, but there’s only so much hysteria containment my mind is capable of.

“Uh…hi,” I say, trying so dang hard not to glance back down at his crotch that I start spewing diarrhea of the mouth about goddamn military-themed movies. “I never saw A Few Good Men, but I hear Tom Cruise was good in it.” When I realize what I’ve just said makes absolutely no sense to him—punctuated perfectly by his eyebrows drawing together noticeably—the gurgling saliva turns into a full-blown choke, and suddenly, the only way to breathe is through a hacking cough.

Holy shit, I’m too anxious to be around other humans right now! Also, I’m going to kill Rocky for putting this crap in my head about this guy’s penis.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and I hold up my hand in some kind of gesture. I’m not sure of its technical name, but its meaning is clear—please forget I exist right now.

He asks me once more, but I nod, and once the embarrassing coughing fit passes, I meet his piercingly gray-blue eyes—seeing their color is strikingly unavoidable now—and I offer a halfhearted smile.

“Sorry,” I apologize. I didn’t mean to drag him into an impromptu SNL sketch where I choke on spit and say ridiculously inappropriate, off-the-wall things. “I guess you could say I’m a little nervous.”

His responding smile gleams so bright, I have to wonder if he has an endorsement deal with Crest toothpaste. His mouth would make a dental hygienist get on their hands and knees and thank the Lord above.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. There’s no need to be nervous around me,” he responds, punctuating his words with a wink.

If my mind were a screenplay, the nerves would be exiting stage left.

Did he seriously just wink at me after assuming that I’m nervous to be in his presence?

Surely, I’m hearing this wrong. No one is that obsessed with themselves…right?

“Excuse me?” I ask, and his megawatt smile is still ever-present.

“If you’d like me to sign an autograph or take a selfie with you,” he enunciates slowly, as if my being able to understand him clearly was the problem. “I can probably sneak that in before I have to head in there.”

His autograph? You have got to be kidding me. He sure is a cocky bastard—and for the first time today, I’m not even talking about his dick.

Like the tip of a match being swiped across the edge of a matchbook, aggravation bursts into my veins.

“I’m here for an audition,” I assert.

Unfazed, he quirks a brow as if to say, my invitation for an autograph still stands.

Attractive or not, this guy is one of the biggest asses I’ve ever been around.

“I’m Birdie Harris. I’m auditioning for the role of Arizona Lee.”

And I’ll be damned if I’m not gonna land this acting gig just to spite this prick.

About Max Monroe

A duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.

Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.

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