Today we have the blog tour for Rash Decisions by Alex Rosa! Check out the tour and grab your copy today!!
Title: Rash Decisions
Author: Alex Rosa
Genre: Contemporary romance
About Rash Decisions:Julia Ferris had it all. A loving a boyfriend, a glamorous city, and a high paying job. What more could a girl want? She’d ask you, “What if all those things weren’t what you wanted … ever?” Julia’s life has always been defined by everyone around her, but one day she makes the rash decision to finally live life for herself, and it all starts with a pair of shoes. Now it becomes her only guide. From new jobs, to new boys, and a life in a big city she was never prepared for, she can at least admit one thing now: It’s all exactly what she wants … kind of.
My steps stop at the second door from the end of the hall. Apartment 5031B. Close enough to that corner unit.
I swallow my last bout of giggles and knock a few times. My hand barely lifts away from the door before it swings open, and I’m stunned into awe.
Troy’s sapphire eyes burn into me as his long fingers rub through soft, charcoal strands of hair.
Why do the jerks have to be the pretty ones? Troy’s casual look throws my ovaries into overdrive. His leather bomber jacket with a sweatshirt hoodie emerging from the collar makes him look like the guy from the wrong part of town. However, it all clashes so wonderfully with his bedhead of hair. His hair is always slicked back and sharp. He always looks so severe. Now, I don’t know how to feel. His boy-next-door-but-I’d-totally-sneak-into-your-window-at-night look throws me.
“You’re early,” he barks harshly, and all I can think is: oh, there it is.
“Am I?” I gulp. “Do you want me to come back?”
My insides recoil at my own question, remembering that I’m the one doing him a favor.
His cheeks pink and his eyes soften, too. I swear I might have actually turned into a puddle. My body wants to fall into his arms, and it’s the most ridiculous feeling that I have ever felt.
“No-no. It’s fine. Please come in.”
My heart jolts in my chest at the real life event of stepping into his home. I don’t know whether or not I should kick myself over the circumstances of why, but I let it go.
I rush past the modern, granite kitchen, drawn to the large open room, and the glittering view. I try to keep my jaw safely sealed to my mouth as I enter. The space is stunning, and shockingly warm. His expansive, contemporary window that dominates the living room gives an almost tranquil effect to the cozy interior. Large, plush leather couches sit in the center on dark cherry wood floors, and the maroon walls are adorned with works of art and complete with a polished red brick fireplace. It all makes me want to snuggle up, like a cabin in the sky-rise.
A giggle almost clucks its way through my lips, but my rational side decides to finally catch up.
“You have a beautiful home, Troy.” I take my eyes off the large bookshelf in the corner, noting its location for later, and look at Troy. It’s a terrible idea as my eyes collide with apprehensively searing blue ones. I wet my lips. “I didn’t know what to expect, but this is a nice surprise.”
Troy Dillinger does this thing with his mouth, I’ve noticed. He only ever does it when he’s curious, even if it’s a reluctant curiosity. I’ve witnessed it so many damn times now that even my hormones are asking to take a break. It’s when the corner of the right side of his mouth tweaks upward into a brief smirk a certain way, if only for a couple of seconds at a time. I’ve never seen anyone do it just like that. The look is like a bullet shooting sharply into your heart, jolting your insides.
Is this normal?
He walks toward me from the kitchen, sticking his hands into his black skinny jeans, and I notice his eyes traveling over the length of my body again.
Yep, definitely regret wearing a sweater.
“What did you expect?” he asks.
It’s a funny thing. Sometimes Troy’s antagonizing is infuriating, but then again, sometimes it makes me relax, like right now. I should probably give my therapist a call. This feels like a topic we should cover.
“You don’t want to know,” I quip, pursing my lips into a smirk, only igniting his own.
“I beg to differ—“
It’s as if I had forgotten why I’m here as I see the seven-year-old Elizabeth barreling in from a hallway I hadn’t noticed.
Oh, god. I’m here to babysit, not flirt.