SOMETHIIN’ ABOUT THAT BOY, an emotional story of young love from Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling Author, Lani Lynn Vale, is available now!

SOMETHIN’ ABOUT THAT BOY

by Lani Lynn Vale

Release Date: June 23, 2020

Banner Spurlock knew the moment that he walked into Kilgore High School and saw Perry Street that life was about to get interesting.

Forced to move due to a problem at home, a problem in the form of his ex-best friend hating him for something that Banner’s father did, Banner doesn’t think very much could improve in his life.

He left his status as king of Benton High School behind and moved to a new school where not only would he have to try out for a new football team and prove himself, but he’d also have to find a place for himself in the hierarchy.

Only, the moment that he arrives, he knows that finding a place for himself won’t be too hard. Especially when his reputation follows him all the way to Kilgore, Texas.

***

Perry Street hates school. She hates her peers—most of them anyway—and she hates her classes. All she wants to do is finish her senior year, graduate, and find a place that will give her a full scholarship so that she doesn’t have to be stuck here forever.

That’s her goal, anyway.

Then she walks into first period, on her first day of her senior year, and sits down. Seconds later, he walks in and changes every single plan she’s ever made.

It isn’t long before Perry starts to fall for the bad boy who doesn’t care who he does and doesn’t impress. The boy makes her heart flutter. The boy makes her want things that she’s never wanted before. Not ever.

The boy brings trouble with him that nearly kills her.

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PENTHOUSE PRINCE, a new brother’s best friend, single dad romance from New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, Kendall Ryan, is coming on September 1, and I’ve got the sexy cover to share with you today!

PENTHOUSE PRINCE

by Kendall Ryan

Release Day:  September 1, 2020

Lexington Dane was my brother’s best friend growing up.

We did everything together.

He taught me how to throw a punch, how to change a tire…and he taught me how to kiss. I fell hard and fast, and gave him all my firsts.

I promised I’d wait for him…

But I’m done waiting, because he went off to college and never came back. He took his fancy business degree and moved to New York City, where he promptly became a real estate mogul—turning every penthouse and apartment project he touched into gold.

It’s been ten years, and now he’s back and needs a favor…someone to watch his little girl. That’s right, the cocky penthouse prince and heartbreaker extraordinaire Lexington is back with an adorable two-year-old daughter. Guess who he wants to watch her?

I’ve never been able to say no to him. I might agree to be the nanny for his precious little angel, but there’s no way in hell I’m falling for her hot-as-sin daddy.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

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HOOKING HIM, an all new contemporary romance in the How to Catch an Alpha series from New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, Aurora Rose Reynolds, is available now! Scroll down for an exclusive excerpt, a giveaway and Danielle’s review!

Title:  HOOKING HIM
Series:  HOW TO CATCH AN ALPHA (#3)
Author:  AURORA ROSE REYNOLDS
Publisher:  MONTLAKE ROMANCE
Genre:  CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Release Date:  JUNE 16, 2020

Anna McAlister needs a new life. But that doesn’t mean she needs a new man. After leaving her fiancé and Chicago behind, she promises herself no dating until she finds what she’s looking for. But meeting one seriously hot and determined detective has her questioning herself.

Calvin Miller is that detective, and he’s been burned by women in the past. It’s easy for him to sleep alone and focus on his work, but the moment he lays eyes on Anna, he starts imagining sexy nights with her wrapped in his sheets. Maybe it’s time to get back out there.

But just as the attraction between them begins to sizzle, Anna’s past shows up to create trouble. And to make matters worse, a string of murders forces Calvin to juggle his new relationship and his career. His worst fear? That the two are somehow connected.

Can they find love together, or will her past and his duty sink their hopes?

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“…steamy and romantic with a hint of suspense…” ~Danielle, Red Cheeks Reads

Check out Danielle’s 4.5 SMOOCHES review!

EXCERPT:

Suggestion 1
FIRST IMPRESSIONS ARE EVERYTHING. DIDN’T YOUR MAMA TEACH YOU THAT?

ANNA

“Are you happy?” my friend Lucy asks, and I instinctively tighten my fingers around my cell phone as I put my bare feet up on the wooden rail in front of me. I’ve lived most of my life in the city, surrounded by skyscrapers and the constant sound of chatter and traffic, with air clogged with the scents of food and exhaust. Now, sitting on the back deck of my studio apartment in a small coastal town in South Carolina, with the ocean mere feet away, the sun warming my skin, and a slight breeze playing in my hair, I wonder how I survived in Chicago for so long.

“I’m getting there,” I answer, smiling as I watch a young family laughing and playing in the surf nearby.

“Even living in a small studio apartment and working at a bakery?” She sounds skeptical, and I remind myself she just doesn’t understand. Like everyone else back in Chicago, she doesn’t get why I’d choose to go from making over $60,000 a year, living in a beautiful penthouse apartment, planning a wedding to a good man—who also happens to be gorgeous—to moving to a town where I know almost no one. Where I’m renting an apartment the size of my old bathroom and working a job that pays in a month what I used to make in a week.

“Even living in an apartment and working at the bakery,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral before adding quietly, “I do miss you, though.” It’s not a lie: Lucy has been in my life since I can remember. Our parents were friends, so we practically grew up together.

“I still don’t get it,” she says with a sigh, and my heart sinks. I keep hoping she will, but as the months pass, it’s becoming more and more clear that she won’t. None of my friends or family do. They don’t understand that I didn’t just wake up one day and decide to give everything up. Every day for years, I woke up and looked at myself in the mirror, disliking the materialistic, shallow woman I was becoming. Until one day I decided to do something about it.
“I should let you go. I’m sure you have stuff to do, and I promised Edie that I’d go with her to bingo.”

“Bingo? You’re playing bingo?” She laughs.

I can’t help the smile that tips up my lips. “Yeah, it’s actually kind of fun.”

“If you say so,” she says, sounding distracted, and then a moment later, a distinctive male voice in the background asks her something, and I know it’s Lance, my ex-fiancé, who’s a partner at her firm. “Sorry, I gotta go, Anna.”

“No problem,” I tell her, feeling nauseous. “Bye.” I hang up before she has a chance to reply and then sit forward, dropping my head into my hands as I think back to the look on Lance’s face when I gave him back his ring and told him that we were over. He didn’t say a word and walked away, looking devastated. The hardest part about leaving Chicago wasn’t the lifestyle I was giving up; it was losing him. Even though I wasn’t in love with him, he was my friend. For the five years we were in a relationship, he was a constant in my life, someone I depended on for support, and he was one of the few people who understood the dysfunctional relationship I had with my parents and encouraged me to take a step back from them when they hurt me with their carelessness.

Not wanting to spend the day dwelling on something that would leave me depressed, I pull in a deep breath, expecting to inhale the fresh sea air, but my nose wrinkles when the distinct scent of pot hits me. I open my eyes, get up from my lounger, and stop midway across the deck when a big puff of smoke floats up from the porch below. I walk quietly to the edge and look over the rail, wondering if someone from the beach has decided to hide out and get high. But then I shake my head when I see Dixie and Pearl, my landlady Edie’s best friends, who are in their seventies, standing at her back door and sharing what looks like a joint: an object that seems out of place, given their grandmotherly appearance. Both women are dressed like they’re about to go golfing, in their pastel polo shirts and khaki capris, all capped by white hair that’s styled, like always, in an array of curls.

“Isn’t weed illegal?”

Both women jump, and Dixie, who’s holding the joint, tosses it away, yelling “Oh shit!” while Pearl screams, searching until she finds me on the deck above.

“Anna!” Pearl says, glaring. “You scared the dickens out of me.”

“Dickens,” Dixie says with a giggle as the back door opens.

“What on earth is going on out here?” Edie asks, stepping outside wearing a white linen outfit with her short hair feathered back from a gracefully aging face.

“Anna tried to give us heart attacks,” Pearl says accusingly, pointing up at me, and Edie tips her head back, smiling when she spots me.

Edie was the first person I met when I moved to South Carolina. She had an apartment for rent in her house, and when I answered the ad, she invited me over to view the space. I fell in love with it because it was right on the beach, but after spending an hour with her, I also wanted the apartment because it would give me an excuse to spend time with her. I didn’t understand why I was so drawn to her at first, but something about being in her presence made me feel hopeful. Then one night, over wine, she opened up about her past and told me about her ex-husband, who she was with for more than twenty years before she found the courage to leave him. And when she did, she found a way to be happy, even when he and her family were all sure she would come back with her tail tucked between her legs. I guess her story gave me the hope to fight for my own happiness.

“They’re smoking weed,” I inform her, waving my hand at both women.

“I have glaucoma.” Pearl plants her hands on her hips.

“Really?” I ask, and her eyes narrow on mine in challenge.

“It’s time for us to go anyway,” Edie announces.

“Found it!” Dixie shouts, and Pearl breaks her stare-down with me to turn to her friend, who holds up the joint like it’s a trophy.

“Anna.” My eyes move to Edie. “Meet us at the car. I want to get to the bingo hall before Carol so she doesn’t take our table.”

“That woman is annoying,” Dixie mutters.

“She’s such a show-off,” Pearl says, taking the joint from Dixie and wrapping what’s left of it in a tissue she pulls from her bra. “Who cares that you have five grandkids when they don’t even like you?”

“Right!” Dixie agrees while opening the door for Pearl to go inside before her.

“Meet us in the driveway,” Edie says, and I narrow my eyes on hers. “What?”

“I notice you’re not saying anything about them smoking pot. Did you smoke with them?”

“Not today.” She winks, then disappears inside. I watch the door close behind her, unsure if she’s joking. She, Pearl, and Dixie might all be older than me, but you’d never know by the way they act and the things they say.

“Well, today should be interesting,” I sigh to myself before going into my apartment and shutting the door. I walk between my bed and the open kitchen to the closet and slide my feet into a pair of flip-flops before grabbing a plaid button-down shirt and tying it around my waist. I learned the first time Edie dragged me to the bingo hall that they keep the room a degree above freezing—something that wouldn’t have been bad if I hadn’t dressed for the heat and humidity outside. I stop and grab my keys, along with my purse, then lock up before taking the stairs down to the driveway, where Edie, Dixie, and Pearl are waiting.

“I can drive.” I hold up the keys to my Ford, and they all turn in my direction.

“Where’s the rest of your shorts?” Pearl asks, and I look down at my denim cutoffs, which are short but not any shorter than what girls wear nowadays. Still, they’re shorter than anything I would’ve worn a year ago.

“Oh, stop. If you had legs like hers, you’d show them off too,” Edie scolds, and I glance up, catching her shaking her head at her friend before she looks at me. “Anna, you drive like an old lady. You’re riding shotgun. Get in.” She presses a button on her keys, and the doors unlock.

“I don’t drive like an old lady,” I say to defend myself as I open the door to her red BMW convertible and pull the seat forward for Pearl and Dixie to get in the back.

“The last time I rode with you, you drove thirty in a fifty.”

“It was a construction zone. I was following the rules.”

“It was after eight at night. They weren’t even working.”

“Whatever.” I push the seat back into place and get in. I reach for my seat belt as she starts the engine and lowers the roof. As soon as the top locks into place, she backs out of the driveway, and I’m reaching out for the handle on the door when I hear her laugh.

“Relax, child. I’ve never gotten in an accident.”

“Really?” I glance at her quickly, not wanting to take my eyes off the road, even though I’m not the one driving.

“Well . . . maybe I should say I have never gotten into an accident that was my fault.”

“That sounds a little more believable,” I reply, then pull in a sharp breath as she turns onto the on-ramp for the highway and presses her foot more firmly on the gas. I hold my breath as she merges into traffic and then squeeze my eyes closed as she zooms forward to pass in front of a semi. I feel the car start to slow and open my eyes. I release the breath I’ve been holding as we take the next exit and stop at a red light. When the light turns green, my fingers tighten on the handle of the door, turning my knuckles white as she takes a right and presses the gas once more. I start to pray when she hugs the bumper of the car in front of us, and then my heart drops into my stomach when I hear the distinctive sound of police sirens.

“Oh shit,” comes from the back seat as Edie pulls over and places the car in park. I look over my shoulder and watch Pearl reach into her shirt, pull out a white tissue, and shove it under the seat in front of her.

Oh my God. “Was that your joint?” I shout, and Pearl glares at me.

“Just be cool. This isn’t a big deal.” Edie wraps her hand around my upper leg, and I focus on her and nod, not feeling cool at all. My leg starts to bounce as we wait for the officer to get out of his car, and by the time he gets to Edie’s window, it’s jumping like crazy.

“Edie.”

A deep voice greets us, and I turn my head, noticing first the long, masculine fingers wrapped around the top of the door, then dark jeans, a black belt with a badge attached, and a form-fitting blue button-down that’s tucked in, making it clear the guy is fit. I slowly lift my head as I take in his broad shoulders, and my heart starts to pound for a different reason when I reach his face. Holy wow, even with his eyes covered with a pair of silver aviators that look amazing on him, he’s still heart-stoppingly gorgeous. I stare at him, unsure if it’s his dark hair, sharp jaw, or full lips that have me entranced. All I know is it’s a good thing he has those glasses on. I don’t think I could handle seeing all of him at one time.

“Calvin, how’s your mom?” Pearl asks sweetly from the back seat, and he turns his head just slightly to look at her while I keep my eyes on him. Calvin—that name fits him. It makes me think of those old Calvin Klein ads with Marky Mark that my friends and I used to drool over.

“She’s good.”

“Tell her I say hello.”

“Will do.” He dips his chin before shifting his attention back to Edie. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“I have no idea,” Edie says. Then she asks, “Was I speeding?”

“You weren’t speeding. But I followed you onto the highway and off, and I’m a little concerned with your lack of turn signals and the way you tend to test the boundaries of your brakes when driving behind someone.”

“My car has great brakes,” she informs him with a smile.

“That might be, but I doubt you’d feel that way if the person you followed so closely had to hit their brakes and you, in turn, hit them.”

“You’re absolutely right.” She places her hand on her chest, looking surprised. “I never thought of that.”

“I’m sure.” His jaw tics, making my fingers, still on the handle, clench. “If I see you driving like that again, Edie, I’ll give you a ticket. And you and I both know you can’t have any more points on your license.”

Points? She already has points on her license?

“How many tickets have you gotten?” I blurt, and all eyes rest on me, including a pair covered with a silver tint.

“I still have my license,” Edie tells me.

“One more ticket and you won’t,” Calvin adds.

“One more ticket” meaning she’s gotten a few? “I knew I should have ignored my need to respect my elders and demanded to drive. First, Pearl and Dixie smoking a—”

“Pardon?” Calvin rumbles, cutting off the word joint, and my eyes widen. Oh crap. My mouth goes dry. I wave my hand in his direction and shake my head once more. “They were smoking a cigarette. Even at their age, they should know those things kill.” I can’t see his eyes, but I still feel them bore into mine. I shift in my seat but try to keep my expression neutral. “I’ll make sure Edie’s more careful when she’s behind the wheel.”

He acknowledges my statement with a grunt and comes out of his bent position, which forces me to tip my head back. “This is your last warning.” He taps Edie’s door before he walks back toward his car. I turn to watch him, thinking even from behind, his broad shoulders and slim waist are attractive.

“I can’t believe you were going to tell him that we were smoking a joint,” Pearl hisses.

“She didn’t and she covered for us,” Dixie mutters. “I don’t blame her for getting weird. He’s handsome, and that happens when you’re talking to a handsome man.”

“Do you think he’s handsome?” Edie asks me, and I look over at her, noting a calculating look in her eyes.

Damn.

“Of course she thinks he’s attractive. She’s female,” Pearl says from the back seat.

“Well?” Edie asks.

“Um . . .” I shift under her stare. “He’s okay.”

“Okay?” Dixie snorts. “That man is not just okay, darling, and if you think that, you need to be checked by a doctor to confirm you actually have a pulse.”

“Whatever. Shouldn’t we go? Aren’t you the one who didn’t want to be late to bingo?”

“Fine, you win this one,” Edie says after a long moment, and then she puts the shifter in drive, flips on her turn signal, and checks her mirror. The moment she starts to pull away from the side of the road and into traffic, the car is jolted to the right, and the sounds of metal crunching and scraping fill the air.

With wide eyes and my heart pounding, I turn and meet a pair of mesmerizing blue eyes belonging to Calvin. Holy cow, we just sideswiped a cop! I drag my eyes off his and focus on Edie. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Are you?” Her eyes scan me from head to toe.

“I’m good.” I look over my shoulder and see Calvin backing up behind us, then look at the two wide-eyed women in the back seat. “Are you two all right?”

“I’m okay,” Pearl says shakily.

“Just a little shook up, but I’m okay,” Dixie replies.

“I’m going to make sure Calvin is all right.” I unhook my belt and open my door.

With my legs shaking, I walk around the back of the car, but I stop short when I see Calvin bent over and looking in the open trunk of his cruiser. Without even a glance in my direction, he booms, “Get back into the vehicle.”

“But—”

“Back in the vehicle.” He doesn’t move except to turn his head, and his eyes come to me. “It’s not safe for you to be out here.”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” I tell him, and he comes out of his bent position and walks toward me slowly.

I should back away. I want to back away, but I hold my ground until he reaches out and wraps his hand around my upper arm.

“What are you doing?” I look at where he’s holding me and automatically try to tug free, but he doesn’t let go. Instead, he starts walking, forcing me to go with him. When we reach the passenger side of the car, he opens the door and urges me to sit.

“Stay,” he orders, and I blink up at him in disbelief.

“I’m not a dog you can just order to do something,” I hiss, tucking my feet into the car.

“Yeah, I know. My dog actually listens.” He slams the door and walks away, leaving me fuming.

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WINNING HOLLYWOOD’S GOODEST GIRL, an all-new not-to-be-missed, surprise baby standalone romantic comedy from New York Times bestselling author Max Monroe is available now! Scroll down for an exclusive excerpt!

A baby on the way first.

Then love and marriage?

It’s complicated on its best day.

Raquel and Harrison sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.
First comes love.
Then comes marriage.
Then comes a baby in the baby carriage.

That’s how her brother used to sing it when we were kids—a simple ploy to get under my skin and make me stick my fist in his face—but man oh man, did he get the order wrong.

One night of “kissing” in New York catapulted us straight to the pregnancy portion of the song—surprise!—and now I have to figure out how to carry out the whole melody in reverse.

A baby on the way first.
Then love and marriage?
It’s complicated on its best day.

But our situation is far more problematic than just a simple twist of nursery rhyme lyrics. Before our night together, Raquel Weaver was the best-known good girl in Hollywood—a twenty-nine-year-old sexpot virgin whom the world adored and watched like a hawk.

Obviously, the consequences of that kind of reputation don’t just go away. Add in pregnancy hormones, the media, a fake fiancé, and a selfish manager, and you have the short list of my problems.

As a thirty-four-year-old, successful CFO of a multibillion-dollar media conglomerate, I thought I would be able to handle anything show business could throw my way, but I’m starting to think I might be in over my head.

Good thing I’m all in.
Winning Hollywood’s goodest girl is going to take everything I’ve got.

———————————————————————————————————————

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“…a fun, flirty and fiery… I couldn’t wait to see what was going to happen next…”  ~Danielle, Red Cheeks Reads

Check out Danielle’s 5 SMOOCHES review!

EXCERPT:

Harrison

Never cry over spilled milk.

That’s what my mom always said, but I have to admit, until today, I never paid it much attention. As a kid, I spilled shit all the time. Milk. Juice. Water. If it was liquid, I was splattering it all over fucking creation.

Our mop got a lot of action, sure, but every time, my mom would simply laugh. Not a little, demure giggle, but big, uproarious belly laughing. Ellie Hughes thought life was made for living, and she’d be damned if she let me dwell in the valleys. Hell, maybe that’s why I was always wreaking havoc on all of our flooring—my accidents were a precursor to something upbeat.

Anyway, I haven’t thought much about all those puddles of laughter in a long time.

But today is proof positive: my mom—well, she was a teacher way ahead of her time.

Cereal poured and the financial section of the New York Times in hand, I make my way to my circular, glass kitchen table and take a seat that faces the TV.

Hello, Today!, the syndicated fluff show during the eight o’clock hour on TBC, prattles on about the perfect Christmas breakfast for a family of four while an obnoxious elf bounces around in the background. I roll my eyes as some celebrity—fuck if I know who it is—pretends to know how to make frittatas and turn my eyes back to the paper.

Growing up, television was forbidden fruit in my childhood home. My hard-ass of a dad thought it was more important to read the Wall Street Journal and understand the stock market than watch what he called drivel. He was one of those top 1% people, and his power-wealthy position in life included uber-rich hedge funds, strategic million-dollar stock market swing trades, and a money-hungry mind-set.

The only time the one television—I’m serious, one fucking TV—in our home was actually used, it revolved around big news conglomerates and State of the Union addresses by current presidents.

But despite the old man’s eccentric views on television and movies and normal people’s forms of entertainment, I can’t deny that learning about the stock market at an early age and being forced to understand things like the global economy and trade deals has served beneficial in adulthood.

My morning routine normally synchronizes beautifully for an all-out news download before heading to the office. But today, because of a late dinner meeting last night and too many Christmas-themed cocktails that have nothing to do with the holly-sprig adorned ones on TV, I’m running behind schedule.

The great news is, as CFO of one of the largest media conglomerates in the world, I’m actually allowed to do that on occasion without getting docked on my time card. In fact, I haven’t seen an actual time card in ages. The only punching I do is at Tommy John’s Kickboxing on Wednesdays in a basement studio all the way over on 75th and Broadway.

In the interest of full punching disclosure: I suck at it. Mohammad Ali in training, I am not. But flab is real, friends, even for the studly men in your life, and punching a bag with little to no precision keeps the excess weight off me. In layman’s terms, it keeps the ladies from grabbing on to anything other than muscle in bed.

Ha.

Scratch that last line. They grab my dick; I didn’t mean to make it sound like they don’t. There’s actually more penile touching than any other kind of touching in the cottony comfort of my sheets, and I’m very good at touching the ladies, in turn, with my mouth and penis. In fact, when my dick hears the words dick pic, it asks for photo credit because it was most certainly the one taking the picture.

Okay, maybe I’ve gotten a little carried away, but my point is the same.

What I meant to imply was that they don’t grab on to a beer gut—and trust me, if I didn’t work out, they would. I love beer and chicken wings, and I indulge in them both on way too many occasions to maintain some kind of quota weight “naturally.” If it weren’t for all the strenuous, practically nightly kickboxing workouts, if I were a woman in the public eye, I would be a constant ludicrous headline for my “fluctuating waistline.”

Thankfully, I am trim, toned, and able to binge on buffalo wings whenever the fuck I want.

My cell vibrates across the table, and I snag it off the glass surface to see Incoming Call Cap flashing on the screen.

I sigh at the idea of listening to Caplin Hawkins’s bullshit before I’ve finished my first cup of coffee, but I answer it despite my better judgment.

“Harrison, you sly motherfucker, those stock tips you gave me last quarter have my portfolio growing green like I’m a damn cannabis farmer.” He forgoes a greeting and dives straight into what is most likely his selfish needs. “Should I be concerned you’re getting insider info?”

“Wow, it’s so great to hear from you too, bud.” I smirk and lick my finger to get traction on the thin paper and flip through the pages until I get to yesterday’s closing data for the Dow Jones and S&P 500. Quickly, I scan through the numbers. It’s only one week away from Christmas and a few weeks away from New Years’, and this month’s upward trend appears fairly optimistic for avoiding a choppy close to the year.

“Yesterday, HawCom was up five-fucking-percent. Seriously, dude, are you dragging me and my father’s company into some illegal bullshit?” he asks, and I look away from my newspaper to roll my eyes.

HawCom is the company I’ve been with for the past decade, and it just so happens to be owned by Cap’s father, Jared Hawkins. Financial management for a company of its scale has been tricky these days with the ongoing uncertainty of the market, but all in all, HawCom’s performance numbers have been stable and steadily growing for the last nine quarters. As a major media company with “silent” ownership in some of the world’s most relevant technology companies, it’s not completely unexpected, but it’s certainly not guaranteed.

“Is it difficult being the most ridiculous bastard on the planet?” I retort. “Because, fuck, I can imagine it gets hard coming up with new ways to be this insane.”

Despite this idiot’s stupid question, everything I do is by the book. No insider trading. No fraud. It all comes from a mind that’s been trained since childhood to be strategic and understand economic patterns.

And even if I shouldn’t, for the state of my motivation to maintain a certain work ethic, I do allow myself to take a little credit for HawCom’s success. I’ve been charged with a large job due to my leadership role in the company, but I cherish the opportunity. It’d be hard not to with an uncharacteristically kind and charismatic boss like Jared at the helm.

And for the last four months, I’ve made it a point to cherish everything.

See, I choose to be happy every day.

I choose gratitude and intention in my every action.

I choose the way my life plays out—all of us do.

It took me more than three busy, painful decades and the loss of both parents to figure that out, but now that I have, the freedom in it is impressive.

The truth is, until we die, all of us get to choose our own destiny—

“I swear to God,” Cap grumbles. “I will end you if I wind up in some kind of high-security prison for stock fraud.”

I laugh at the absurdity. “I help you grow your portfolio—without commission, mind you—and you’re threatening murder?”

“Are you deflecting, son?” he questions, always the fucking lawyer. “Because I swear on every-damn-thing, I will—”

“Relax.” I snort. “The only thing illegal about the stock tips I gave you was the fact that I handed them to you on a silver-fucking-platter without asking for anything in return.”

“Speaking of handing shit to me on a silver platter, let’s do that again,” he says, a cunning smile apparent in his voice. “Who is looking profitable for the first quarter of next year?”

“And why should I give you anything, you prick?”

“Because you love me. Because you don’t want to see me become a vagabond, living on the streets.”

“You’re one of the most successful corporate lawyers in North America who already has some of the world’s best advisers handling his money. I’m pretty sure a lack of financial investment advice from me isn’t going to break your bank.”

“Minor details.” He chuckles. “C’mon, dude. Help your best friend and his sweet, lovely, beautiful wife out.”

“Now you’re bringing Ruby into this?” I tsk. “For shame.”

“You and I both know, shameless or not, I’ll do whatever it takes to get what I want,” he retorts, and I laugh outright.

“Are you wanting stock tips or to get me into bed? Because, truthfully, it feels like it could go either way at this point.”

Of course, he doesn’t miss a fucking beat. “I’ll even toss in a candlelit dinner and champagne if that’s what it’s going to take.”

Just for the sake of ending this insanity, I start to open my mouth with a few companies that are worthy of investments in the upcoming quarter, but a shrill voice on the screen of the TV steals my attention. I wouldn’t normally refer to any woman’s voice as shrill because I find it incredibly sexist and demeaning, but I’m telling you, for the sake of painting an accurate description, this particular voice, regardless of its bearer’s gender, is like the distress call of a wounded rabbit. I couldn’t miss it if I were in an underground bunker with six feet of sound-dampening dirt between us. And somehow, somehow, she still made it on TV.

“Thanks, Chris,” she continues, her voice still painful to my ears. “Today is anything but business as usual in sunny Southern California. It seems, folks, that the impossible has happened. Hollywood is abuzz this morning with the most infamous immaculate conception since the Virgin Mary herself.”

My eyebrows pinch together at the ridiculous drivel as I lift the spoon to my mouth. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph must be rolling over in their graves.

“Twenty-nine-year-old famed virgin sexpot, Raquel Weaver, was photographed leaving Beverly Hills Obstetrics today with a noticeable bump front and center on her normally trim figure.”

Brakes squeal to a stop inside my head.

What the fuck? Did she just say Raquel Weaver?

I gape at the television, trying to make sense of why that name of all names just came out of Screechy’s mouth, but the instant a photograph pops up on the screen and all-too-familiar violet eyes stare back at me, I have my fucking answer.

Holy shit. It’s her.

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.

Connect with Max Monroe:

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THE CHANGE UP, an all-new baseball romance from USA Today Bestselling Author, Meghan Quinn, is available now! Scroll down for an exclusive excerpt!

The Change Up by Meghan Quinn
Release Date: June 11th
Genre: Romantic Comedy

BREAKING NEWS: The Bad Boy of Baseball, Maddox Paige, is totally and utterly whipped.

Okay, that might not be the headlines in the newspaper this morning, but it’s the reality of my current situation.

It all started a month ago when I received a call from my best friend, Kinsley. She got a new job in Chicago and needed a place to stay. I’ve known the girl since I was five, what harm would it be to have her stay at my place for a while?

Ha! Total disaster.

Now instead of going out every night with my teammates, I’m couch surfing and sketching endless photos of my best friend . . . but that’s the least of my concerns.

The disaster, you ask? I’m rapidly falling head over cleats in love with my best friend, my roommate, and my number one fan.

And she has no idea . . .

—————————————————————————————————————–

ORDER YOUR COPY TODAY OR READ FOR FREE IN KINDLE UNLIMITED!

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“The Change Up was everything I love about a friends-to-lovers romance wrapped up in a heat-filled, sometimes hilarious, heartfelt love story.” ~Danielle, Red Cheeks Reads

Check out Danielle’s 5 SMOOCHES review!

EXCERPT:

Prologue:
**MADDOX**

Have you ever said something you regret?

Something you haven’t forgotten about an hour later?

Something that sits with you, stews deep in your belly, and then seeps into your bones, burying itself so far into your marrow that all you can think about is the one thing you said . . . and how you wished you could take it back the minute it slipped past your lips?

That’s where I am.

Full of regret.

People always say, “Don’t regret anything. It’s what makes you who you are.” That was said in a whiney, nasally voice. Did you hear it?

Well, those people, the ones trying to spew rainbows and sunshine up your ass about blatant mistakes . . . yeah, they’re only saying that because they fuck up on a daily basis.

Think about it, what REAL person is okay with all their regrets? No one. There is always that one thing you did, that one time, that you will always, always, always think . . . “What if I’d done that differently?”

It keeps you up at night.

You wonder, what transformed, what took over my brain, to utter such words. To alter your life completely and send it down an entirely different course.

Yeah, my life has been fucking altered all right.

Everything was fine.

I was pitching one hell of a fucking season for the Rebels, my ride or die team. I was getting along with my teammates, even the infamous Cory Potter, who made a splash after last season. I’ll hand it to the man, he really is the boss. I was getting laid whenever I wanted, which is always a plus for a guy who has massive amounts of adrenaline pumping through him daily, especially on a pitching day. And there were no strings attached.

None.

Yeah, I might have a rotation of women I call, but any single player in the major leagues does. You need the outlet. Even the prestigious Cory Potter had some booty call numbers before he found Natalie.

I was living a great life, and then it all changed. And it changed fucking fast.

Before I knew it, I was staring into my fridge at dairy products not made from a cow, but rather from oat. What the fuck is that? Oat milk? Explain to me where an oat has a goddamn nipple.

My toothbrush is made from bamboo, which gives off a very woody, splintery taste, and I’ve been using toothpaste tablets instead of paste from a tube . . . because apparently, tubes suck up life in the landfill.

The eco-friendly toilet paper in my apartment disintegrates in my hand and is worthless, making bathroom breaks a fucking nightmare.

And there’s a goddamn three-legged dog in a suit and tie sitting on my couch that goes by the name Herman, or Hermy for short.

I don’t have any privacy, I don’t even remember what meat tastes like anymore, and “Hermy” has a goddamn staring problem. And the three-legged motherfucker, yeah, he’s stealthy. I find him waiting for me outside the shower . . . staring.

When I wake up . . . staring.

When I’m trying to make a goddamn tempeh sandwich . . . staring.

Every time I tell him to “get a life” or to “fuck off” or for the love of Christ “get a new hobby”, he doesn’t even bat an eyelash.

He just stares!

I can’t fucking take it anymore.

I’m losing my goddamn mind and I don’t know . . . maybe it’s because I haven’t had sex in what feels like forever, or because my burgers are now made of imposter “meat”, or maybe because I’m forced to do things I don’t want to do. Either way, something needs to give, because I’m pretty sure from all the vegan shit I’ve been eating, my armpits are just about ready to spring their own mung beans.

Christ.

One phone call.

That’s all it took.

One fucking phone call from a person I cannot say no to, a person who will forever and always be . . . my insanely beautiful and free-spirited best friend.

About Meghan Quinn:

USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.

Connect with Meghan:

Website  |  Facebook  |  Instagram  |  Twitter  |  Amazon  |  BookBub  |  Goodreads

Sign up for her mailing list to stay up-to-date with Meghan!

THE CHANGE UP, an all-new baseball romance from USA Today Bestselling Author, Meghan Quinn, is available now!

THE CHANGE UP BY MEGHAN QUINN

Release Date:  JUNE 11th

BREAKING NEWS: The Bad Boy of Baseball, Maddox Paige, is totally and utterly whipped.

Okay, that might not be the headlines in the newspaper this morning, but it’s the reality of my current situation.

It all started a month ago when I received a call from my best friend, Kinsley. She got a new job in Chicago and needed a place to stay. I’ve known the girl since I was five, what harm would it be to have her stay at my place for a while?

Ha! Total disaster.

Now instead of going out every night with my teammates, I’m couch surfing and sketching endless photos of my best friend . . . but that’s the least of my concerns.

The disaster, you ask? I’m rapidly falling head over cleats in love with my best friend, my roommate, and my number one fan.

And she has no idea . . .

ORDER YOUR COPY TODAY OR READ FOR FREE IN KINDLE UNLIMITED!

Amazon US  |  Amazon AU  |  Amazon CA  |  Amazon UK

Add to Goodreads

About Meghan Quinn:

USA Today Bestselling Author, wife, adoptive mother, and peanut butter lover. Author of romantic comedies and contemporary romance, Meghan Quinn brings readers the perfect combination of heart, humor, and heat in every book.

Connect with Meghan:

Website  |  Facebook  |  Instagram  |  Twitter  |  Amazon  |  BookBub  |  Goodreads

Sign up for her mailing list to stay up-to-date with Meghan!