Early readers are already reacting to the story of the playboy bar owner who falls like a tree for the shy book nerd!
“An eclectic road trip with all the feels… I LOVE LOVE LOVE this book! … this story was so real and the characters so heartwarming and fun … one of the best titles I’ve read this year!” –Diane with Nerdy, Dirty & Flirty
“Angela Quarles, you have created one of the best books in this year that I have read.” — Rachel on Amazon
“Peeps this story was one truly refreshing read.” — Rady Reads
About Risking It
500-mile road trip! Mission? Get over the guy you kinda-sorta hooked up with. Problem? He’s your new road-trip companion.
To Play…
So, yeah. Here’s me heading out on this stupid soul-searching road trip to get over The Turd, and here he is leaning against my car, all easy charm, batting his ridiculously long eyelashes, and asking for a ride. Explaining why he can’t come along would be admitting my struggle to purge him from my thoughts. The universe is laughing at me. I can’t fall for a short-term playboy. But tell that to my body, which up and goes hey there as soon as his pheromones get within sniffing distance.
Or Not to Play…
My reputation as a player isn’t just smoke and mirrors. I play the field. Constantly. No strings sex? Perfect. But ever since a certain shy book nerd slipped under my skin, I haven’t wanted anyone but her. The kicker? She blew me off the next morning. Now that I’m stranded and she’s my only ride, maybe I can find out why our awesome night together turned into her ghosting me.
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Excerpt – First Kiss
He pockets his phone and turns so he’s facing me but still just as close. I have to arch my neck to see his face.
I catch my breath—there’s a big grin there, beaming all of its hunky, charming glory right at me. How’s a lady supposed to resist?
His blond hair, darkened from the rain, is plastered to his forehead, with a little curl flirting with his right cheekbone. I flex my fingers because—gah—I really really want to reach up and slick his hair back for him. I glance at his mouth again.
The scene from the 2005 version of Pride and Prejudice pops into my head, the one where Mr. Darcy is all yummy and wet, and he’s laying his heart out right there for Lizzy, and she’s all, “I wouldn’t marry you if you’re the last man on earth,” and he looks so devastated but also as if he’s dying to kiss her.
Except this man’s not proposing, and I’m under a giant potty chair and not in some garden temple thing.
Except, holy mackerel. He’s leaning down.
His strong hand cups my cheek. I hold my breath, my heart going omg-omg-omg.
Next thing I know, I’m clutching his wet T-shirt and yanking him down. I think because I was afraid it wasn’t actually happening and I didn’t want to be disappointed again?
Who knows, but our mouths bump into each other.
Smooth, Jane.
Just as mortification is about to yank me back to sanity, he groans and brushes his lips across mine. His face is warm but wet from the rain. He shifts his hand to the back of my neck and grips me tighter.
Holy heck. We’re kissing. His tongue makes a foray, and I welcome him, his mouth a warm contrast to his rain-wet skin.
And then something amazing happens—a warmth bursts in my chest and arrows down. I’ve kissed guys before, but I’ve never, ever, been turned on by a lip-lock. Not like this.
It’s always been just fun…or interesting.
But this? Sparks are a-sizzling, baby, all along my skin.
I angle closer, and his other hand grasps my hip and tugs me up against him. Oh jeez—my heart thumps—because there’s no mistaking the hard-on pushing into my lower belly.
He does a slow circle of his hips, groans, and breaks away.
My breaths are coming fast, so I breathe through my nose, trying to disguise how I embarrassingly sound as if I just ran ten laps.
“Jane?”
“Yes?”
“You realize what we were doing, right?”
“Um, kissing?” I’m still trying to get my breathing disguised and under control, so I can’t spare a lot for thinking.
“Yes. Under. A. Potty. Chair.”
We start laughing, and then our laughter feeds off each other as we trail off, and then start laughing again. It’s one of those good kinds of belly laughs, when your stomach feels as if it did a bunch of crunches.
“One for the books.” Aaaand… I release my death grip on his T-shirt because, like a dope, I was still holding on.
“I’ll say.” He gives me a sly wink.
I flush, because I’m like eighty-percent positive there’s a double meaning to that. Or maybe it’s just my imagination again.
I pick my umbrella up from where I’d dropped it. “Well, we better get going if we’re going to make it to Daytona Beach tonight.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Daytona Beach?”
“Yep.” I step out from under the potty chair and hold the umbrella high so he can squeeze in under, and we walk back to the car.
“Do I even want to ask?” His fist is gripping the umbrella, stacked above mine. We keep our strides in sync, him all casual, and me like ohmygodwejustkissed.
I match my tone to his lighthearted one. “The next site is actually a hotel. The Sun Viking Lodge. Claire booked a room.”
And then I stumble, breaking our in-sync stride—Claire only booked one room. Surely there’ll be more available.
Aiden must think the ground made me stumble, because he turns into my side, placing his hand across my stomach as if he’s saving me from a face-plant. “You okay?”
I nod mutely because his thumb just did a little circle. God, that feels nice.
He moves back to the less mind-altering position of being by my side. “Sun Viking Lodge. Lemme guess—it’ll have Vikings.”
And because I don’t want to show I’m anxious about tonight, I play along. “Vikings in the sun.”
Yeah, there’ll be rooms.
Giveaway!
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Designer: Sara Eirew
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Cover model: Steven Dehler