JUST ONE YEAR, a new standalone contemporary romance from New York Times Bestselling Author, Penelope Ward, releases February 24th, and I’m excited to share this sneak peek with you today!

From New York Times, USA Today, and #1 Wall Street Journal Bestselling Author Penelope Ward, comes a new contemporary romance novel

JUST ONE YEAR

(A standalone)

Release date: February 24, 2020

The beginning of my sophomore year in college was off to a rough start.

On the first day of orientation, I had an altercation with an infuriating British dude in a campus bathroom.

(The ladies’ room was out of order. So, I used the men’s room. Don’t judge.)

I got home later that night and realized that the foreign student we were expecting to rent a room in my parents’ house was allergic to our cat.

So, the spare room went to someone else: Caleb—the British guy from the men’s room.

And so it began…my love-hate story with Caleb Yates. Or was it hate-love in that order?

The guy knew how to push every one of my buttons.

Sometimes I’d email him to express my aggravation and disdain.

He’d actually rewrite my own words and send them back to me.

That was the type of infuriating person Caleb was.

So frustrating.

And…

Sometimes incredibly funny and endearingly sweet.

And hot.

He eventually grew on me, and Caleb soon became one of my best friends that year.

Too bad he was headed back to England soon, so nothing could happen between us—for so many reasons.

I definitely couldn’t fall in love with him, especially since all we had was just one year.

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EXCERPT:

I stormed up the stairs and headed straight to my old room—his room. But when I got to the top of the stairwell, I swallowed the words I’d been prepared to unleash. The unexpected sight of Caleb doing pull-ups met my eyes. He used a bar affixed to the top of the door to lift himself up. He wore a T-shirt that rode up each time he rose. His hard abs were now staring me in the face, ripples of carved muscle. He had black wrist wraps on. He’d turned my old room into a home gym.

He was a bastard—but there was no denying he was beautiful.

I cleared my throat. “Did my father give you permission to put that thing in the doorway?”

The house shook as he landed on his feet. “Well, hello, Teagan. Amazing how easy it is to walk up the stairs, isn’t it? He grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat off his forehead. “And yes, in fact, your father did give me permission to put the bar up.”

I came out with it. “You think you know it all, don’t you? Who are you?”

He glared at me. “Who am I? Well, nice of you to ask, Teagan.” He threw his towel down on the desk. “You’ve had no interest in getting to know me from the moment I walked in the door. But since you finally did inquire… Hi, I’m Caleb Yates. Happy to be here. I have no clue what I’m doing with my life and have a somewhat crappy family situation back in England. So, I came to a strange country for the first time to get away for a bit. I miss my mum, but the good news is, I’ve just moved into a house where everyone is cordial—except for the cranky girl in the basement.”

Wow.

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

He came closer, and the smell of his cologne mixed with sweat was…interesting. Couldn’t say it was a bad thing, that’s for sure.

“You didn’t have to write me a snooty email, Teagan. You can come talk to me if I do something to piss you off. If you write me emails like that when I’m right upstairs, that’s the kind of response you’re going to get, each and every time.”

He had a point. The email was a bit cowardly of me. Yet I’d still managed to convince myself it was a good idea. He was right. Anything I needed to say to him, I should be able to say to his face. Quite honestly, the benefit of that was also his face—getting to look at it, I mean. It turned out, looking at him was a lot more fun than avoiding eye contact had been. Thank goodness he can’t read my mind right now.

Seeing that he actually seemed angry as opposed to amused caused me to change my tune—that and perhaps his scent going straight to my head as it followed my mind right into the gutter.

He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

I looked down at my empty hands. “Give you what?”

“The stick in your arse. Take it out and give it to me.”

I crinkled my forehead. “What?”

He wiggled his fingers. “Come on. Hand it over.”

Genuinely curious as to where he was going with this, I motioned with my hand, pretending to remove the imaginary stick from my derriere and throwing it over to him.

He pretended to catch it, then let it weigh him down. “It’s bigger than I thought.” Looking around he said, “I’m gonna find a space for it. Hang on.”

I laughed, against my better judgment. He shoved the imaginary stick under his bed and wiped fake dust off his hands.

“Now that that’s out of the way, why don’t we start fresh?”

TAMING HOLLYWOOD’S BADDEST BOY, a steamy, laugh-out-loud standalone romantic comedy from New York Times Bestselling Author, Max Monroe, is coming March 12th, and I’m excited to share the dreamy cover with you!

Do people say they hate someone’s guts so that they can still fall stupidly, head-over-heels in love with the other parts?

Asking for a friend.

Okay, fine. I’m not asking for a friend.

I’m asking for me—and I’m begging you to tell me that the practice of falling in love with your should-be-enemy is common.

Please tell me that I’m not the only person to track down a guy—who used to be Hollywood’s baddest bad boy before he left LA for good—at his off-the-grid cabin in Alaska, show up unannounced, and find him gloriously naked.

This probably happens all the time…right?

Tell me I’m not alone in my stupidity—that I’m not the only woman who would fall for gorgeous blue eyes and a sexy devilish smirk, even if they belong to a broody, mysterious jerk.

Please. Please. Please. Tell me I’m not alone in this.

For the love of everything, I need all the supportive girl power I can get if I’m going to convince Luca Weaver to come back to Hollywood—otherwise known as the place he hates so much that he ghosted Oscar-level success and escaped to no-man’s-land for the last eight years just to avoid it.

Yeah, don’t worry—that smoke you’re smelling isn’t your house catching fire as you read this…it’s just my career and what was previously known as my heart going up in flames.

Gah. Is it just me, or am I totally, completely, and utterly screwed?

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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.

THE WRONG RIGHT MAN, an all-new contemporary romance from New York Times Bestselling Author, Aurora Rose Reynolds, is coming March 3rd, and I’m excited to share the redesigned cover with you today!

COVER RE-REVEAL
Title: The Wrong/Right Man
Author: Aurora Rose Reynolds
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Design: RBA Designs
Photo: Wander Aguiar
Release Date: March 3, 2020

Waking up to a text asking why you stood up your blind date is not the best way to start the day, especially when the man in question is standing half dressed in your kitchen.

Maybe Dakota Newton shouldn’t have assumed the gorgeous man with a devastating smile standing outside the coffee shop was her date. She probably— Okay, she definitely shouldn’t have slept with him, regardless of how hot the chemistry between them was. But how could she know Mr. Right was actually Mr. Wrong?

Braxton Adams has been called a few things in his life, but a liar was never one of them. That all changes when he’s approached by a beautiful woman who thinks he’s there to meet her for a date.

As a businessman, Brax knows to trust his gut and never let an opportunity pass him by, so he pretends to be someone he’s not.

Maybe he shouldn’t have lied. Maybe he should have come clean. But in the end, it doesn’t matter, because now he has to prove he’s not the wrong man but the right one.

So what if he’s not the man she’s expecting? She’s the one he’s been waiting for.

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ANGRY GOD, an all-new emotional standalone about first love, second chances, and overcoming breathtaking losses at a young age from USA Today bestselling author, L.J. Shen, is available now!

“Buckle up and enjoy the ride, because you’re not coming out the same way you went in. A top 2020 read hands down.”  ~Helena Hunting, New York Times bestselling author

Vaughn Spencer.

They call him an angry god.

To me, he is nothing but a heartless prince.

His parents rule this town, its police, every citizen and boutique on Main Street.

All I own is a nice, juicy grudge against him for that time he almost killed me.

Between hooking up with a different girl every weekend, breaking hearts, noses and rules, Vaughn also finds the time to bully little ole’ me.

I fight back, tooth and nail, never expecting him to chase me across the ocean after we graduate high school.

But here he is, living with me in a dark, looming castle on the outskirts of London.

A fellow intern. A prodigal sculptor. A bloody genius.

They say this place is haunted, and it is.

Carlisle Castle hides two of our most awful secrets.

Vaughn thinks he can kill the ghosts of his past, but what he doesn’t know? It’s my heart he’s slaying.

Angry God is a stand-alone, DARK High School Romance. It deals with sensitive subjects some may find triggering.

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About L.J. Shen:

L.J. Shen is a USA Today, Washington Post and Amazon #1 best-selling author of contemporary, New Adult and YA romance. Her books have been sold to nineteen different countries.

She lives in California with her husband, son, cat and eccentric fashion choices, and enjoys good wine, bad reality TV shows and catching sun rays with her lazy cat.

UNBREAKABLE, a sexy and emotional second-chance romance from USA Today Bestselling Author, Melanie Harlow, is available now! I’ve got an exclusive excerpt and my 5 SMOOCHES review for you today!

“Unbreakable is everything you expect from a Melanie Harlow novel: emotional, sexy and a love that’s worth risking it all for. I could not get enough of Henry and Sylvia’s story!”

~Corinne Michaels, New York Times Bestselling Author

In hindsight, I should not have had that fifth mimosa at Breakfast with Santa.

Or the sixth, seventh, and eighth.

But my shame over the public meltdown that resulted was nothing compared to being abandoned by my husband of fifteen years for a much younger woman—and did I mention she’s pregnant?

For the sake of my children and my pride, I pack up and head for my childhood home and the small town where I grew up. Cloverleigh Farms would be the perfect place for a fresh start.

Falling for Henry DeSantis wasn’t part of the plan.

Sure, he’s easy on the eyes and hard in the bedroom (also the hallway, the bathtub, and on top of his desk), but he’s newly divorced too, and things between us are moving so fast I’m afraid neither one of us has had enough time to heal. Not to mention the fact that I’m a single mom now—my kids have to come first.

But Henry makes me feel beautiful and sexy and wanted and strong—things I haven’t felt in years. We understand each other, and when I’m in his arms, I’m tempted to trust again. To love again. To let myself be loved without fear.

But deep down, I’m terrified.

Is this all too much, too soon? Or am I a fool to let a second chance at happily ever after pass me by?

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“A heart-tugging, heat-filled friends-to-lovers, small town romance with a distinct second-chance feel…”  ~Danielle, Red Cheeks Reads

Check out Danielle’s 5 SMOOCHES review!

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EXCERPT:

“Want to unzip my dress?”

“That would be a hell yes.” He took my hand and pulled me to my feet. “Turn around.”

I turned, lifting my hair off my neck. Slowly, he pulled the zipper down my back, and the red dress fell to my feet. Stepping out of it, I suddenly felt self-conscious. I hadn’t been fully naked in front of a man without the cover of darkness in a long time. I hadn’t been fully naked in front of anyone but my ex since I was twenty—and I didn’t have that body anymore. I’d had two children. Even though I knew it was stupid, that nagging little prickle of insecurity still stung . . . I’d been left for a younger woman. He’d told her I didn’t excite him anymore. Was my body to blame? Before I could stop myself, I covered my chest with my arms, wrapping one fist inside the other and tucking them beneath my chin.

“Hey.” Henry turned me by the shoulder so I was facing him again. “Don’t do that.”

“What?” I had trouble looking him in the eye.

He tipped my chin up. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”

“I’m not hiding,” I said, but of course I was.

Taking me by the wrists, he forced my arms down to my sides, and looked at me.

I started to panic a little.

I was totally bare before him—stretch marks, C-section scar, less-than-perky breasts and all. Unlike many of my friends, I’d never had surgery to restore my post-baby body to its former tight, bouncy, unmarked state. Now I was kind of wishing I had.

I’d never felt so naked or vulnerable in my life.

“Sylvia, I’m going to say this once,” Henry said seriously. “And then, since you’ve learned not to trust words entirely, I’m going to spend the rest of the night showing you that it’s true—I think you are the most exquisite woman on the face of the earth, in every way. There is no part of your body, no inch of your skin, that isn’t perfect, because it’s yours.” He took my head in his hands and kissed me, hard but sweet. “And all I want to do is make you mine, even if it’s just for tonight.”

“Yes,” I whispered. I rose up on my toes, pressing my lips to his again while my hands went to work unbuttoning his shirt. “Make me yours tonight, Henry. That’s all I want to be.”

UNFORGIVEN, a suspenseful second-chance romance from New York Times Bestselling Author, Jay Crownover, releases on February 25th, and I’ve got an exclusive excerpt to share with you today!

Title:  UNFORGIVEN

Series:  LOVELESS, TEXAS (#2)

Author:  JAY CROWNOVER

Genre:  CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE

Release Date:  FEBRUARY 25, 2020

From the New York Times bestselling author of the Marked Men series comes an irresistible and suspenseful romance between a tough Texas Ranger and his first love–a woman in danger who insists she doesn’t need his protection.

Hill Gamble is a model lawman: cool and collected, with a confident swagger to boot. Too bad all that Texas charm hasn’t gotten him anywhere in his personal life, especially since the only girl he ever loved has always been off-limits. But then Hill is assigned to investigate her father’s mysterious death, and he’s forced back to the town–and the woman–he left behind.

When Hill left Loveless, he broke Kody Lawton’s already battered heart. And now that he’s working on her father’s case, avoiding him is impossible. She can handle Hill and her unwanted feelings–until he puts his life on the line to protect her. Suddenly, Kody realizes that Hill could be taken away from her…for good.

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“Crownover delivers the goods.”-Lori Wilde, New York Times bestselling author

“Crownover writes cowboys that make you want to pack your bags in search of a small-town ranch!” -Melissa Foster, New York Times bestselling author

Includes the bonus novella Cowboy to the Rescue by A.J. Pine!

Pre-order your copy of UNFORGIVEN today!

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EXCERPT:

As I stood in the doorway, I took in the bar. It had a decent-size crowd considering it was a Tuesday night. The mix of patrons was as eclectic as the decor. It was all very Kody. The building was an old barn, so the interior had a lot of western elements, including old whiskey barrels for tables. But there were also brightly colored artwork and neon signs brightening up the space. Instead of the big lighting fixture in the middle of the bar being made out of antlers or wrought iron, it was an intricate mix of colorful glass beads. The whole thing was very country and western meets boho chic. The people filling up the seats were mostly Loveless residents. They included the guys gathered near the bar dressed in leather, covered in tattoos, and rocking club colors. The Sons of Sorrow motorcycle club had moved into the hill country on the outskirts of Loveless years after I’d left town. Now their flashy bikes and intimidating presence were as commonplace as pickup trucks and horse trailers. It made sense they liked Kody’s bar since it was between town and their clubhouse, but I didn’t have to like it.

I really didn’t like the way the large, dark-haired man leaning across the bar looked at Kody. I knew from Case that Palmer “Shot” Caldwell was the current president of the Texas branch of the club. I’d taken it upon myself to learn more about the man when he ended up in the middle of the last case that brought me home. Shot was a former marine, a decorated sniper, the son of the founder of the club, and someone Kody was inexplicably close to. Everything about her relationship with the biker set my teeth on edge and had me wanting to make a claim I had no right to stake.

As I stepped forward, the heavy wooden door shut with a bang behind me and drew the eyes of the people sitting closest to me. I saw a couple of looks of recognition, and some people purposely looking away. I nodded and touched the tip of my finger to the brim of my hat in a fairly polite greeting. These people weren’t my friends. No one in this town had tried to help my brother when he needed it the most, and I would never forget that. Unlike the Lawton kids, I’d left Loveless in the rearview mirror and planned on never looking back. All of my worst memories were here. So was the one person I wanted more than anything but knew I could never have.

Under the dim bar lights, I met Kody’s gaze across the room. She looked pale. Her wild mane of multicolored blond hair was messier than usual, and she appeared to be swaying slightly every time she let go of her hold on the bar. Her eyes narrowed, and at first, I thought she was giving me a dirty look, but the next instant her entire body lurched and she toppled over, listing to the side and disappearing behind the wide, long bar.

My heart stopped for a split second and I had to bite my tongue to stop from screaming her name. I found myself in dangerous, deadly situations due to my job, but I couldn’t recall a single instance when I had been as terrified as I was in that moment Kody went down.

I heard the biker shout her name and was vaguely aware of him kicking back his bar stool as he jumped to his feet. I was moving before I had time to weigh whether it was a good idea. Kody didn’t like it when I was in her space. She’d told me she hated me and ordered me to leave her alone on more than one occasion, but none of that stopped me from reaching the bar in record time. It didn’t slow me down when I planted a hand near the biker’s empty drink and vaulted over the top of the bar.

I landed on the floor in front of Kody, ignoring the shouts and commotion coming from all directions. I waved off the bartender hovering uncertainly behind Kody and quietly asked, “Are you okay, Kody?”

The answer was obvious when, instead of biting my head off, her big, bright-green eyes flooded with tears and her shoulders started to shake with silent sobs. Having people burst into tears as I was talking to them, was a pretty common occurrence considering my line of work. I’d developed a natural immunity to tears of all kinds. But not to Kody’s. Hearing her breath catch and watching her eyelashes get spiky and damp as she struggled to hold the tears back made my heart twist painfully in my chest.

About Jay Crownover:

Jay Crownover is the international and multiple New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Marked Men Series, The Saints of Denver Series, The Point Series, Breaking Point Series, and the Getaway Series. Her books can be found translated in many different languages all around the world. She is a tattooed, crazy haired Colorado native who lives at the base of the Rockies with her awesome dogs. This is where she can frequently be found enjoying a cold beer and Taco Tuesdays. Jay is a self-declared music snob and outspoken book lover who is always looking for her next adventure, between the pages and on the road.

Connect with Jay:
Website  |  Facebook  |  Instagram  |  Goodreads  |  Reader Group

Stay up to date with Jay! Sign up for her mailing list today!

THAT SECRET CRUSH (Getting Lucky #3) by Meghan Quinn
Release Date: February 11th
Genre: Contemporary Romance

USA Today bestselling author Meghan Quinn brings more humor and heart with the third novel of her Getting Lucky series: a story about breaking curses and laying your heart on the line.

What happens when your secret crush isn’t so secret anymore?

I’ve had feelings for Eve Roberts for as long as I can remember, but because she also happens to be the twin sister of my best friend, Eric, I’ve never acted on my feelings and long ago resigned myself to keeping my crush under wraps.

But after a terrible falling-out with Eric involving a failed restaurant venture and plenty of blame on both sides, I’m back in Port Snow without my best friend and without any direction. But can you guess who’s here? Eve. And my attraction to her is as strong as ever.

As old feelings rush back, Eve and I find ourselves pulled together, whether we like it or not. Lines are crossed, secrets are kept, and we soon discover that the difference between love and friendship may not be so black and white, after all.

Everyone wants that secret crush to love them back…but will I be ready when she does?

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EXCERPT:
Prologue

**REID**

What the fuck was that?

Did I just experience real-life witchcraft? Whatever it was, I’m pretty sure Neptune and Uranus collided in space, because that shit was crazy.

Stunned and nervously laughing at each other, my brothers and I hurry to a more populated part of the city. We’re soon threading our way through crowded cobblestone Bourbon Street toward a partially broken neon sign advertising huge pretzels.

“She was scary as shit,” Brig whispers into my ear, reaching for my hand. I swat the idiot away.

Out of all my brothers, Brig is by far the most sensitive, but holding hands—come on, dude, self-respect.

Although I can’t blame him for quivering in his jeans.

It might be all the alcohol I consumed, but damn . . . I’m feeling a little uneasy and a whole lot terrified.

Why, you ask?

Because I’m pretty sure an old crone who surfaced from Satan’s lair just cast some weird-as-shit curse on us. She pointed a crooked finger and laid it all out: we’ll have nothing but broken love for life.

And before you scoff at such a blasphemous occurrence, you have to know this: There was fucking wind whipping us in the nuts as she spoke. And on this still, muggy New Orleans night, where the fuck did that wind come from? There were no fans in sight, and there was zero traffic down the narrow cobblestone side road.

Confused? Okay, here are the Cliff Notes.

Baby Brig turned twenty-one, and the four of us Knightly brothers very intelligently chose New Orleans as the place to celebrate because we didn’t want to be cliché and go to Vegas—although I’m kind of wishing we had right about now. We were in the middle of having a great alcohol-fueled night on the town. But, not paying any attention to where our wobbly legs were taking us, we ran into some old palm reader’s table, and Brig’s fat ass broke it. To make up for the destruction, Brig paid her to read his fortune.

Well, she did a shit job.

Oooh . . . you have brothers. They’re going to get you into trouble one day—thanks, lady, tell us something we don’t know.

Her prediction was a load of crock, and because of that, we might have, you know, vocalized our intoxicated opinion on her subpar storytelling. That’s when the crazy shit went down.

Not taking a liking to our constructive criticism, the old bat started flinging her cloak-draped arms around while her evil eyes turned a shade of petrifying yellow, and a huge mole grew on her nose out of nowhere. Pop! Just like that, the mole . . . with accompanying thick black hair.

Okay, maybe the mole isn’t true, and her eyes didn’t change color, but she did wave her arms around, and she said some pretty traumatizing shit. Things like Your dicks are going to fall off and You’ll forever have sensitive nipples.

Hmm . . . that doesn’t seem right.

Did she say that?

Confused, I break the silence hanging over all of us. “Did she say our dicks were going to fall off?”

Panic rises in Brig’s voice. “Shit, did she? Did I miss that part?” He grabs his crotch with both hands as he continues to walk. “I can’t afford to have my dick drop dead.”

“As if we can?” Rogan, the group pessimist, says, ducking around a rowdy bachelorette party. “Pretty sure we all need our dicks, dude.”

Griffin, the oldest and most sensible despite his alcohol intake tonight, speaks up. “There was no mention of dicks falling off. She just said we’ll be cursed with broken love.”

“Okay, so broken dicks,” I clarify.

“Like, I’ll never be able to get it up again?” Brig steps in front of all of us. “Quick, take me to a strip club. I need to make sure that’s not what she meant.”

“She didn’t mean that, you idiot.” Rogan wraps his arm around Brig’s neck and continues down the street, giant pretzels in sight.

“That lady was a fucking whack job. Clearly she has some kind of mental health issue. It’s best if we just forget about everything and move on,” Griffin says.

Sage advice from the brightest out of all of us.

And even though I’m not as freaked out as Brig—I mean, I’m not clutching my dick and praying to the good Lord right now—I have to admit whatever happened back in that alley didn’t seem entirely kosher.

What did she say again? Something about having broken love, and it won’t be until our minds have matured that the curse will be cured? What the hell does that even mean? Not that I’m looking for love, not when my restaurant is my life right now, but it would be nice to know that I still have the option.

When my best friend, Eric, and I were getting through culinary school, pretty much every instructor told us that we weren’t going to have any time for relationships. The only love of our lives would be our knives.

That’s turned out to be true. Betty, Beverly, and Barbie are my girls. Every night we have a foursome, and weirdly, they’re the best I’ve ever had. They enjoy my hands, and I enjoy their cutting edge—fuck, I’m hilarious.

So even though that lady was weird, I don’t think I have anything to worry about.

Broken love.

Curses.

Yeah, okay, you old crone. Go tickle someone else with your mole hair—we’re not interested.

Together, we step inside the crowded, noisy pretzel bar and take a seat before putting in our order. Brig sits next to me, bouncing his knee and scanning the restaurant, its garage doors tucked up into the ceiling, used for closing time only. Everything about this place—selling giant pretzels in the heart of the French Quarter for all the drunk tourists—is genius. Despite the sticky bar top, peeling walls, and dirt-encrusted floors that probably haven’t seen a mop in a few years, there’s no doubt in my mind that it makes a killing . . . on just pretzels. Brig leans in and whispers, “I think she followed us; I can feel her here, staring at me.”

“Dude, you’re fucking paranoid right now. Chill, man.”

“Did you not hear her?” Brig seethes with worry. “She said we would never have dicks again.”

Christ.

I drag my hand over my face. We are way too drunk to be dealing with something like this. “She said we would have broken love. Your dick is fine.”

“That’s what you think? Have you looked at yours yet? What if she turned them green or something? And broken love . . . that’s even worse. You know my goal in life is to be a husband. How can that happen if I’m cursed with broken love?”

Luckily, at that moment, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I reach for it and see Eric’s name flash across the screen. He knows I’m in New Orleans celebrating Brig’s birthday, so this must be important.

I hold up the phone to my sweating, hysterical brother. “Have to take this. Talk to Griff—he’ll hold your hand.”

“Really? You think so?”

I don’t bother to reply and take off toward the hallway that leads to the employee entrance at the back of the bar, trying to gain a little bit of privacy and to get away from the loud, pounding music.

Straight from culinary school—and after working multiple jobs and saving every last penny we ever earned—Eric and I were able to scrape enough money together to start our own restaurant in Boston, which we named Bar 79 after Harbor 79, our favorite place to fish in our hometown, Port Snow.

After six months of tireless menu prep, designing the space, and marketing the hell out of our New England–inspired cuisine with a twist, we opened our doors. And we’re only three months in, but we’re killing it so far. The food blogs love us, and three major articles have been written about our impeccable flavoring and our incredibly close bond.

I accept the call and bring the phone up to my ear. “Hey, man, what’s up?”

“Hey, I know you’re out with your brothers, but I, uh . . . I have a problem.”

“What’s going on? Is it the restaurant, or is it something with Janelle?” Eric has been dating our business manager for the past three months, ever since we opened. I told him it was risky and maybe not the smartest idea he’s ever had, but he was gung ho on making a move, and there was nothing I could say or do to stop him.

“Uh . . . yeah.”

Still drunk, but not so much that I can’t help out with any restaurant issue, I lean against the wall. “Walk me through it.”

Eric has always been the big picture guy, the dreamer, the extravagant one, while I’m more grounded and work out the fine details. So when he calls with a problem, I’m usually pretty confident in my ability to help him work through whatever it is.

“Uh . . .” His voice shakes, a crack in his usually even-keeled persona. Cue the worry. This can’t be good. “Did you recently ask Janelle to make a transfer?”

Janelle has been handling our business for the past five months, ever since Eric confronted me about not being able to juggle everything as we were gearing up for the opening. I was dropping the ball on multiple responsibilities, like managing our funds, paying vendors, and getting all our orders in on time while still trying to cook and develop the menu, so he found Janelle and brought her into the mix to help manage everything. With her MBA and businesslike confidence, she was doing a good job, I thought—well, until this very moment.

“A transfer of funds?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Why? Did she?”

“She did.”

“Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“She, uh . . . she kind of transferred all the funds.”

I press my hand to my forehead, wishing I wasn’t drunk right now. “Dude, spell it out for me, okay? I’ve been drinking all damn day, I just got my dick turned green, and I’m hungry for a pretzel. What the hell is going on?”

“She took it all, Reid. She fucking took it all.”

“Took what? Our money?” That can’t be right.

“Yeah. Took every last penny and just disappeared.”

“Wait. What?” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to comprehend what Eric is telling me. “She took all of our money? Where did she go?”

“No fucking idea.”

“So . . . we don’t have any money in the joint account?” I think back to how much was in there. After all our expenses and the cost of the opening, we were at about twenty grand, I think. Okay, don’t panic.

“No, man. She took it all, out of all of the accounts.”

My heart seizes in my chest as my breath comes out in gasps. Confusion and understanding collide in my brain, sending my stomach into a nauseous roll.

“What the fuck are you telling me right now?”

“The restaurant . . . fuck, man, it’s broke.”

My head falls back against the wall, my body going limp as I slide to the sticky ground that hasn’t seen a mop in a decade.

Broke.

As in, no funds?

There has to be a solution. The police, lawyers . . . this shit isn’t legal.

“Did you report her?”

“Yeah, but because she’s a partner, there isn’t much we can do. She had access to everything. She fucked us over.”

I rub my hand across my forehead, eyes shut, preparing for the worst. “So what the fuck are you trying to tell me?”

“We were already behind on bills. Janelle apparently wasn’t paying them but was still paying herself. Rent is two months overdue, vendors want their money, contractors still need to be paid. We’re fucked, Reid. Utterly fucked.” He lets out a long breath and says the last thing I ever expected to hear. “We have to close.”

No fucking way.

***

I pace the sealed concrete floor of Bar 79’s kitchen, still trying to comprehend what the hell happened while I was gone.

I told Eric to meet me here in the morning after I got back, but he has yet to show up. I’m seriously starting to worry that he’s stood me up when the back door bangs open. I glance up to see Eric stumble inside, a bottle in his hand, a hitch in his gait. What the ever-living fuck?

“Are you drunk?”

“I can’t believe you’re sober.” He makes his way to a prep table and hoists himself on top of it before taking another swig of what I can only imagine is a bottle of scotch.

“How the hell am I supposed to have a conversation about our restaurant when you’re drunk off your ass?”

“Just a wee bit twisted,” he says, holding his fingers up. “And there’s nothing to talk about. We’re fucked, Reid. She took it all. We put every ounce of our savings into this place, and my parents’ money . . .” His face twists in grief before he takes another swig.

“We have to be able to find some investors, some partners. We have great reviews; we’re up and coming on the restaurant scene. We have options.”

He shakes his head. “News is already spreading. No one is going to want to work with two idiots who don’t know how to manage a business.”

I run my hands through my hair, tugging at it. “This can’t be it. There has to be something we can do.”

“We owe vendors a shit ton of money, Reid. We are so far in debt that even if an investor likes our talent, they’re not about to scoop up all the debt we owe. Face it, this is over.” He leans back on one hand and takes a sip of his drink.

“Fuck!” I shout and kick a garbage can across the kitchen. “Fuck! I told you not to date her. I told you it was a bad idea.”

Gaining a little clarity, Eric sits tall and jabs at his chest with the hand that’s holding his bottle. “Are you blaming this on me?”

“She worked you, man. She used you and took what she wanted—that was her plan all along. I never should have let you hire her.”

“I never would have had to hire her if you didn’t drop the fucking ball on all the business shit. Don’t blame me, Reid. When we went into this partnership, you said you could handle the business end while I took over the big picture planning. I did my part. You were the one who fucking failed on his end. I stepped in and tried to find the solution.”

“With a pair of tits,” I shoot back. “You hired her because of her tits, not her qualifications.”

“Fuck you.” He slides off the prep table, the slap of his sneakered feet reverberating through the kitchen. “We never would have been in this situation if you didn’t fuck us over to begin with. Don’t blame this shit on me, not when you’re just as much at fault. Face it, Reid, we might be good in the kitchen, but when it comes to running a business . . . we both just destroyed our careers.”

I don’t want to admit that he’s right, and I don’t want to take blame for this, even though a heavy weight is pressing down on my chest, reminding me over and over that this very well might be my fault.

I should have asked for help.

I should have interviewed Janelle.

I shouldn’t have been so lazy when it came to decisions.

But . . .

“I trusted you,” I say, hands on my hips, staring at Eric. “I trusted you to make the right decision for the business, and you thought with your dick instead of your head.”

He tosses the bottle to the side, the glass shattering as it hits the floor. “Yeah, well, I trusted you to hold up your end of the bargain, and you didn’t, so looks like we’re both shitheads.” He shakes his head and starts to walk toward the back door. “Good luck with your life, Reid. Just don’t ever try to run a business again. Anything you do is guaranteed to crash and burn, just like Bar 79.”

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.

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Title:  FRIES BEFORE GUYS

Series:  KPD SWAT GENERATION 2.0 (#2)

Author:  LANI LYNN VALE

Genre:  ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

Release Date:  FEBRUARY 11, 2020

Sometimes people come into a person’s life and make their heart skip a beat.

Those people are called cops.

Well, one cop in particular.

A SWAT officer for the Kilgore Police Department, to be specific.

The first time Avery Flynn saw Derek Roberts, she was photographing him for the first annual Kilgore Police Department SWAT calendar. He was leaned back in his squad car, shirtless, and giving her a smile that was completely between them. A smile that hinted at what he wanted to do to her later.

When she scrounges up the courage to ask him out after the photoshoot, he laughs in her face.

Well, screw you, too, Mr. February.

***

Derek Roberts never really paid attention to the photographer.

She was a mousy girl who dressed like a twelve-year-old girl. Her tight leggings, extra baggy Star Trek t-shirt denoting her a Klingon captain, and her surprisingly clean Chucks didn’t leave much of an impression.

Now, the outfit that she was in weeks after he rebuffed her? Yeah, now that caught his attention.

Too bad that happens when he’s trying to save her from what’s sure to be death thanks to an unhinged native Texan who’s convinced she was the reason he lost his last chance at a million dollars.

When he tries to save her, she tells him she’d rather take a cattle prod to the forehead than go anywhere with him.

Challenge. Accepted.

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

“Full of feels, packed with heat and Vale’s wildly hilarious sense of humor…a fantastic addition to an amazing new series.”  ~Danielle, Red Cheeks Reads

Check out Danielle’s 5 SMOOCHES review!

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About Lani Lynn Vale:

Lani Lynn Vale is married to the love of her life that she met in high school. She fell in love with him because he was wearing baseball pants. Ten years later they have three perfectly crazy children and a cat named Demon who likes to wake her up at ungodly times in the night. They live in the greatest state in the world, Texas. She writes contemporary and romantic suspense, and has a love for all things romance.

You can find Lani in front of her computer writing away in her fictional characters world…that is until her husband and kids demand sustenance in the form of food and drink.

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