Release Date: September 27, 2016
Blurb:
From New York Times Bestselling author Tracy
Wolff and International Bestselling author Katie Graykowski comes a sexy tale
of love, laughter and lingerie …
Lyric Wright is an off-beat astrophysicist
whose life is falling apart around her. After losing her fiancé to a hula
dancing astrologer and losing her dress to an ill-fated leap of faith, she’s
sure there’s nowhere for her life to go but up. At least until she sits down on
a trans-Pacific flight next to the one man she never wanted to see again—the
boy she’d lost her heart and her virginity too back before she’d learned that
friendship and football don’t equal true love.
Broken down quarterback Heath Montgomery is
on a plane ride to nowhere. Dodging the phone call he’s certain will end his
professional football career for good, he might be Texas bound, but he knows
there’s nowhere for him to go but down. But that’s before his childhood best
friend and confidante plops back into his life wearing nothing but duct tape
and a bad attitude. Determined not to lose her again (especially since he isn’t
sure why he lost her the first time) and desperate to outrun his own shadowy
future, Heath sets out to take Lyric on the ride of her life. Too bad she only
dates men who actually know what her butterfly nebula is … and can find it
without the help of a star chart.
Add in one passive-aggressive flight
attendant with delusions of couture, a cherry red car with a crush on Neil
Diamond, an over-protective sister with a black belt in Krav Maga, two parents
determined to marry their spinster daughter off to the hometown hero no matter
the cost, and a whole lot of lingerie popping up in all the right places at all
the wrong times and you’ve got an unforgettable love story that fans of Susan
Elizabeth Phillips and Rachel Gibson won’t want to miss!
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2c5EEkY
Excerpt
Thirty
minutes later, Lyric stood outside of the airport and stared in a mix of horror
and utter disbelief at the block long, red, low-rider, 1980s-era Cadillac
Eldorado. She peered closer. Were those curb feelers? And spinning rims?
Wanting to
bend over to get a better look but conscious of the fact that all she was
wearing was Heath’s T-shirt and a pair of boxers he’d scared up in a gift shop
that had “Don’t Mess with TexAss” on the butt, she opted for a slight lean. “Is
pimp-mobile a special upgrade at Avis?”
SETI only
paid for the sub-sub-tennis-shoe-sized compact, so she didn’t know. Maybe
rental companies didn’t offer new Cadillacs.
“I know.
It’s pretty awful, but by the time we got you dressed, all the other cars were
gone. I tried everyone from Alamo to Thrifty—nothing. I bought this off a
baggage handler. He called it his ‘Sweet Cherry Cherry.’”
Heath clicked a button to unlock the door and
neon-blue chaser lights ran around the under carriage. “Oops, wrong one.” He
clicked another button and hydraulics hummed. The back half of the car lowered
while the front half bounced up and down like it was hopping on one foot.
Lyric took a
step back. “Keep clicking, maybe it’ll explode.” She was pretty sure walking to
San Angelo barefoot in TexAss boxers would be better than riding in that thing.
Thank God her tetanus shot was up to date.
“It’s
alive.” He clicked again. The chaser lights blinked green and purple. “Damn,
it’s a ride at Six Flags Over Studio 54.”
Heath
clicked the last button on the key fob and the doors finally unlocked. He
stepped forward, opened the passenger-side door for her. “Your chariot awaits.”
The
unmistakable scent of marijuana wafted up in waves. She held her nose. “Christ,
we’re going to be stoned from the contact high.”
He walked
around to the driver’s side and slid in. “Damn, you’re right. Roll down the
windows.” Thunder boomed, and then lightning blazed across the sky. “Okay, roll
’um up. No wonder he sold it to me cheap—he needed to support his drug habit.”
With a
shudder, Heath plugged the key into the ignition and turned it. As the engine
roared to life, so did the radio. The words “Baby loves me” blasted through the
speakers at top volume.
“What the
hell is that?” Lyric clapped her hands over her ears.
“I think its
Neil Diamond.” He reached over to turn off the radio. The button wouldn’t
budge. “Here, let me.”
She shoved
his hand out of the way. “I’m good with mechanical things.” She pressed down on
the button a couple times, but nothing happened. Finally, figuring there were
more ways than one to handle the situation, she turned the volume knob all the
way to the left. The sound level didn’t change appreciably, so she tried again.
Still nothing.
Beside her,
Heath was laughing his ass off as the chorus came on. “No wonder he called it
Cherry Cherry.” He wiped the tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks. Eyes
narrowed, she hit the eject button. She designed satellites for a living. She
could damn well conquer this radio. The stereo whined as it ejected the disc,
and blessed silence finally filled the car.
She sighed
in relief. “Thank God. I hate that song.” At that exact moment, the car
hiccupped, coughed, and then—with a particularly violent shimmy—the engine
died.
“What
happened?” Lyric demanded.
“I don’t
know.” Heath turned the keys in the ignition, trying to get the engine to turn
over, but nothing was happening. He pumped the gas pedal a couple of times and
turned the key again. Nothing. “Personally, I think the more appropriate
question is what did you do?”
She was getting
damn tired of that question being leveled at her. Especially since Heath
channeling Tre was a scary sight. “I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who
bought a lemon.”
“She’s a
cherry, not a lemon.”
“Seriously?”
Lyric rolled her eyes at him. “Pop the hood. There must be a loose wire or
something.”
“I will, as
soon as I find the damn doohicky. It’s not where it’s supposed to be.” He felt
around under the dash. As he angled his body down to feel under the seat, his
elbow brushed against the CD that was still resting at the mouth of the CD
player. It slid back in, and as “Cherry Cherry” started to play from the
beginning, the car roared to life.
They froze
and looked at each other. “You don’t think …”
“Of course
not. You’ve obviously been reading too much Stephen King. This is not
Christine’s younger, sluttier, disco sister.” Lyric cocked her head to one side
and shot him a look.
“You sure
about that?”
“Of course
I’m sure.” Indignant now, she jabbed a finger at the eject button. Once again,
the CD slid out. Seconds later, the car gave an angry groan, and with a very
loud backfire, it died once again. She tapped the CD and it floated back into
the player. The beginning of “Cherry Cherry” started again, and the engine
roared to life. She ejected it and the car died.
Okay. Demon
possession— especially of inanimate objects—was impossible. Then again, most
people believed that humans were the only intelligent beings in the universe …
she rolled her eyes. On the whole, Homo sapiens wasn’t afflicted with
broadmindedness.
Gingerly,
she touched the dash. Was this car the unholy vessel of some crazed Neil
Diamond fan? Oh dear God. She sat back. She was obviously losing her mind.
“Okay,
that’s it,” Heath exclaimed, pushing the CD in one more time. “If you want to
get to San Angelo this year, forget God. Neil Diamond is our copilot.”
“That’s the
most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” Lyric peeled her legs from the seat and
tucked them under her.
Still, he
had a point. If it meant getting to her daddy, she could handle four hours of
“Cherry Cherry.” Maybe. As long as she didn’t spend too much time wondering
about what it was that made these seats so damn sticky.
Heath rolled
down the windows as he pulled out of the airport parking lot. They were between
storm clouds. “No wonder the guy smoked so much pot. He had to be stoned to put
up with this much Neil Diamond.”
Was it her
imagination, or did the volume go up?
“Sorry.”
Heath glanced around like he was looking for the spirit of Cherry Cherry.
“Nothing personal.”
The car hiccupped, but the volume went back
down.
“Thanks,
Cherry,” he said as he pulled out onto Highway 71. “
You’re not
actually talking to the car, are you?” Lyric demanded. “It can’t hear you, you
know.”
“You sure
about that?” Heath asked with a raised brow. “Because I’m not.” “
You’re being
absurd. There’s obviously a loose wire somewhere under the dash.” The car
wasn’t possessed … okay, it might have a small crush on Neil Diamond. But that
was all she was going to admit to.
About the Authors
Tracy Wolff
Tracy Wolff collects books, English degrees
and lipsticks and has been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when
immersed in a great novel. At six she wrote her first short story—something
with a rainbow and a prince—and at seven she forayed into the wonderful world
of girls lit with her first Judy Blume novel. By ten she’d read everything in
the young adult and classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation
her mom started her on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book,
Tracy knew she’d found her life-long love. Now an English professor at her
local community college, she writes romances that run the gamut from
contemporary to paranormal to erotic suspense.
And for all of those who want the unedited
version:
Tracy Wolff lives with four men, teaches
writing to local college students and spends as much time as she can manage
immersed in worlds of her own creation. Married to the alpha hero of her dreams
for twelve years, she is the mother of three young sons who spend most of their
time trying to make her as crazy as possible.
You can find Tracy also on Twitter, www.tracywolff.blogspot.com
and www.sizzlingpens.blogspot.com.
Tracy Wolff also writes as Tessa Adams
Katie Graykowski
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