Thursday, June 30, 2016



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Excerpt


I’m a lonely man. I choose to be this way. I had true love with her. It didn’t matter how old we were, or how young; once you have it, you never let it go. You spend a lifetime together. And I pissed it away. Underlining painful memories have inflicted punishment on my tattered soul for years. Besides Rori and Muriel, those two things are the only constant impressions that have kept me going. If I didn’t feel the need to live with a constant dagger shoved through my heart, I would have let myself whittle away years ago. It’s distressing, to say the least, that the pain I’ve caused is the only thing I’ve let rule my life. I’m living in hell every day, repeatedly burning from the inside out since day one. I will never forget the first time I was rejected in New York, how badly I wanted to call her and beg her to forgive me. I couldn’t do it, and I knew it. I jumped in the shower instead, rinsed off the dirt and grime, then pressed my forehead to the yellow tiles. Hot water beat down my back. I vowed not to cry, even though my heart ached and my lungs felt like they were working overtime to help me breathe. I caved and fell to the shower floor, my fist pounding and beating the wall in front of me until I became numb to the shooting pain filtering from my hands all the way to my shoulders, twining up around my neck until I choked from the lump lodged in my throat. Nausea bubbled up, and I vomited the contents from earlier in the day. The rancid smell left me dry heaving and an oversized human slumped over in the small confinement that the pain from missing her had left me in. When the water ran cold, I lay there shivering, wishing for nothing but her. Once I composed myself, I crawled back up and cleaned and towel-dried off, only to climb into an empty, cold bed, tired and defeated, scared to close my eyes, because when I did, all I saw was her. Several nights I repeated the same thing until the real life nightmares struck me hard, leaving me in this worst shape of my life. For years, I’ve been honest with myself over and over again, saying I deserve every chip and break my heart feels when her birthday or Christmas come around. It’s like this infinite cloud that hangs dormant over my head: dark and gloomy, cold and wet. It will never go away. Now that I’ve seen her, and even though I’m walking back down The Strip with no idea where I’m going, the memories that were once happy become so unpleasant I could easily bleed my life dry. Desperation pools around me. Panic sets in. What if she’s gone and I never see her again?



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The Drifter by Kathy Coopmans is a heartfelt romance you are going to want to one-click!  


Releasing July 11th.
Add to your TBR at: http://bit.ly/1RWK7BH



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Blurb


To the outside world, Kray Brooks had it all growing up.
Wealth. The devoting parents.
The beautiful girlfriend.
Good grades.


All of it a lie, except her. The woman he left behind thirteen years ago to try and achieve his real dream... to become a musician.


Life doesn't always go according to the plan you set out for yourself.
Sometimes, you drift. Become lost, lose hope and crash.


For thirteen years he's been drifting wherever his guitar takes him, avoiding his past. Never thinking of his future.
Not once did he think it would all catch up to him. Until it did.


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About the Author:
Kathy Coopmans
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USA Today Best-Selling Author Kathy Coopmans, lives in Michigan with her husband Tony where they have two grown sons.
After raising her children she decided to publish her first book and retiring from being a hairstylist.
She now writes full time.
She's a huge sports fan with her favorite being Football and Tennis.
She's a giver and will do anything she can to help another person succeed!


Use whichever one of these you would like babe.


Stalk Her: Facebook | Twitter | Website |  Goodreads | Newsletter signup





THANK YOU!
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If you missed the cover reveal of EMINENT LOVE by Leddy Harper on Hypable last week, you have got to take a look below! This cover is absolutely STUNNING. Plus - get your first look at what's inside!

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About EMINENT LOVE

Life doesn’t always start with once upon a time. Love doesn’t always end with happily ever after. After spending five years with the love of my life, I did nothing to stop her from walking away. She had her reasons to leave. I had my reasons to stay. But a year later, the realization of loss hits me, and I’ll stop at nothing to fix it. I leave everything behind to drive across the country to win her back, and I refuse to accept anything other than fulfilling old promises. But the only certainty in life is: nothing is as expected. The most valuable lessons don’t often revolve around a fairytale ending—frequently, they come from hurt and healing. They come from the kind of personal growth love offers. The mending of your heart, your soul, and your life. And every once in a while, you find the greatest gifts in the packages you never expected to open.


Add EMINENT LOVE to your Goodreads list here!
Preorder EMINENT LOVE now, available July 20th:

Get your first look at EMINENT LOVE:

I’ve done nothing for a year other than think of her and remember how good I’d had it. How healing her love was for me. How I’d never find anything resembling it again. Not like I’d tried, but that didn’t mean anything. Nothing had meaning without her. Nothing. I inhaled deeply, my heart hammering away…and I pressed call. My breathing ceased as it rang. Once. Twice. Three times. And then her voice came through the line. Such a soft sound, like a melody. Warm and soothing, just like her. The air blew out harshly past my lips as I readied myself to speak, to recite the words I’d held onto for a year. Although, before my lungs completely deflated, my breath caught in my chest, burning me from the inside out. “Hey, you’ve reached Layne. Well, not really. You’ve reached my voicemail. I wasn’t able to get to my phone fast enough, but if you leave a message, I’ll call ya right back.” With my eyes closed, I could picture her perfectly. Her smile was evident in her voice, in the way she spoke with a lilt at the end of her words. Pain. That’s what listening to her voice filled me with. Immense torture. I couldn’t even form enough thought to come up with something to say. When the beep sounded, I didn’t speak. One second. Two. Three. Four seconds of complete silence dragged out before I finally ended the call. “Fucking stupid idiot,” I said aloud as I slammed the phone down on the table. My face immediately fell into my hands. Of course she didn’t answer. She had no reason to. She’d said all she needed to say in the email she’d sent about a month after we’d broken up. An email I’d disregarded for weeks before finding the patience to open it. I should’ve responded then. I should’ve done something. However, I chose to dismiss her and the entire situation. It had been easier at the time because I’d allowed the fury inside to burn stronger until any ounce of compassion regarding her or our life together had been decimated, charred beyond recognition. Turned into ashes and then carried away by the wind.  

About Leddy Harper

Leddy Harper had to use her imagination often as a child. She grew up the only girl in a house full of boys. At the age of fourteen, she decided to use that imagination and wrote her first book, and never stopped. She often calls writing her therapy, using it as a way to deal with issues through the eyes of her characters. She is now a mother of three girls, leaving her husband as the only man in a house full of females. The decision to publish her first book was made as a way of showing her children to go after whatever it is they want to. Love what you do and do it well. Most importantly Leddy wanted to teach them what it means to overcome their fears.








Just Keep Sweet (Compound Series #3)
by Melissa Brown
Release Date: June 21, 2016
Add to Goodreads
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SYNOPSIS

Obstacles.
So many obstacles. Nothing but obstacles.

Months ago, I agreed to help Aspen Black take down the Prophet of the FLDS—to prevent her daughter from being married at an early age, and to save innocent lives from systemic abuse on the compound.

The obstacles in this case are mounting, as are my feelings for Aspen. The tension between us is palpable and I know there’s more to our connection than the increasingly difficult case at hand. But, she’s not only married to the Prophet’s brother, she’s equally devoted to her faith. Two obstacles that just may be insurmountable.

But, no matter what happens, I will close this case. 
Even if it kills me.





EXCERPT


After receiving a text the following morning from Aspen, I hauled myself to the station at the ass crack of dawn, the adrenaline of anticipation overpowering the pull of grogginess and the desire to stay in bed a couple more hours.
"Seriously?" asked Megan, the receptionist, looking at me over her reading glasses. She let out a yawn behind her hand as she waited for my response.
I froze. "What?"
"You've never been here this early ... like ever." She laughed, holding up the hot pink clock from behind her desk.
"And how would you know that?" I flirted, waving the clock away until she placed it back behind her desk. "You've only worked here for five minutes."
Megan had moved to Arizona a month before and was still adjusting to the area. She was originally from Chicago and had a serious accent—like those guys in the "Da Bears" skit on SNL.
God, I'm old.
"Big case?"
"You know it." I winked, and she blushed. She'd had a crush on me since the first day we met when I winked at her casually and her cheeks turned a deep red. Since then I was guilty of manipulating that crush for my own gain.
I'm an asshole sometimes.
Leaning in, I lowered my voice and pretended to look down her shirt for a brief second. Her cheeks grew darker. "Listen, um ..." I looked around the office. "The case I'm working on is highly sensitive and the girl coming in is from the local FLDS compound—"
Her mouth dropped open. "Oh my God, seriously? I haven't seen one yet."
I cringed at her phrasing, which was new for me. Just months ago, I wouldn't have flinched—hell, I said things like it—referring to the members of the FLDS as if they were animals at the zoo, a spectacle to be observed. Aspen changed all that. They were people. People who needed my help.
"Yeah, well, don't stare, okay? Just direct her to my office as quickly as you can. The sergeant isn't exactly a fan, if you know what I mean."
"Got it." She nodded, aiming to please me.
"Thanks." I offered one more empty wink and strolled to my office, leaving the door open in anticipation of Aspen's arrival. Before I had the chance to log my password into my laptop, I heard the alluring tone of her voice.
"Detective?"
Within seconds, I'd hopped to my feet and crossed the room, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her tight. She tensed at my touch which, although it hurt my ego slightly, reminded me that our relationship was supposed to be a professional one. I released her from my grasp, stepping back and holding my hands in the air.
"Sorry, I just—it's just so good to see you."
The corners of her lips turned up, and her normally pale cheeks turned a deep shade of pink. "No, no, it's all right. It's wonderful to see you, too, you have no idea ... I'm just ... Well, I've never been one for hugs. My mother used to tease me about it all the time."
"So in other words, it's not me, it's you?" I asked with a nervous laugh.
"Something like that." She smiled, showing her teeth. Something she didn't do often. They were bright white and straight, especially for someone who couldn't possibly have had braces growing up.
Am I really falling over myself because of an impressive set of teeth? What the hell is wrong with you, Cooke? Get your shit together.
For the briefest of moments, I studied her ... this young woman standing in my office, trying to figure out what it was that made me feel this way in her presence. I certainly didn't the first time we met. I couldn't quite put my finger on when she started to creep into my subconscious. Her hair was a generic shade of brown, pulled back into a long braid that hung to her waist. She was wearing the traditional FLDS thick cotton dress that covered every inch of her body. And her feet were covered with worn sneakers. From a distance, there was nothing remarkable about Aspen at all, really.
But there was more to her, and I knew it. Her eyes were a deep aquamarine, so brilliant in color that I would have thought they were colored contacts if I didn't know better. Her strong eyebrows only served to pronounce those eyes further. Her skin was clear and pale, like that of a porcelain doll and her lips were, despite never being covered with makeup, a dusty shade of pink. They were full and plump, waiting to be kissed. More than her beautiful face was everything that made her Aspen. Aspen was stubborn, clever, and determined ... everything Elizabeth called me on a daily basis. Cut from the same cloth. Perhaps that, ultimately, was the reason I was so drawn to her. Or maybe I simply wanted to protect her.
Nope, couldn't be it. I protected women every day on the job; it was more than that. It had to be. It was her.
Shaking off my mounting attraction, I got down to business. I wasn't doing either of us any favors by acting like a stupid-ass teenager in her presence.
"Did you bring the note? Is there anything we can use?"
Aspen reached into her bag, nodding. "Yes, but I'm not sure. I'll leave that to the expert."
 I studied the note, rage building in my gut with each sentence. So much condescension and entitlement in one little piece of paper. When I reached the part about myself, I could feel my neck grow hot. There was no way he could know of my attachment to Aspen, but I felt as if he could read my mind. It creeped the shit out of me.
Aspen could read my face. "There's nothing, is there?"
I shook my head, feeling defeated despite the anger flaring in my gut. "I've spent some time on our database, and it looks as though a few of the prophet's customers in the ledger have quite the record."
"Record?" she asked, following me to my desk. I pulled a chair around for her and gestured for her to take a seat as I finished logging into my laptop.
"Criminal record ... some were busted for drugs, one was arrested for indecent exposure."
Aspen knitted her brow. "What is that?"
"It's when you show your naked body to someone unsolicited and in public."
Aspen recoiled as if she'd tasted a sour lemon. "Who would do that?"
"Who would pay to spend time in the prophet's room of horrors? We're dealing with some fucked-up characters, Aspen."
"Good point."
"Sorry about the language."
She shook her head and grinned. "I don't even notice it anymore."
I gritted my teeth. "That might not be such a good thing, Little House."
"Hm." She bit her bottom lip and looked down at the floor.
"What?"
"When you first called me that, I despised you for it. You were making fun of me and I knew it. It was infuriating. But now ..."
I swallowed hard, looking into her eyes, overwhelmed by their subtle intensity. "Yeah?"
"You have no idea how nice it was to hear it again, to be here with you. I feel safe again, even though I know I'm not." She shook her head. "Not in the slightest."
"You will be," I said with determination. "I'll make sure of it."
Aspen tilted her head to the side, studying my eyes as she narrowed her own. "I believe you."
A knock at the door startled us both. Aspen jumped in her seat, and I clutched the arm of my chair as I looked up, hoping I wouldn't see Sergeant Ross beneath the doorframe. Instead, I saw another member of the FLDS, a woman I'd never seen before.
"Holly?" Aspen said, confusion in her voice.
The young woman, not much older than Aspen, had deep blond hair and dark eyes. Her presence was meek, unassuming, like most of the women I'd encountered from the compound. Her mouth was dropped open as she stared at us.
"Aspen?" she asked, looking as confused as Aspen sounded. "What are you doing here?





GIVEAWAY

AUTHOR PROFILE


 Melissa Brown was born and raised in the suburbs of Chicago. She attended the University of Illinois and is the mother of two fantastic kids. She's an avid reader who enjoys making handmade gifts for her family and friends, as well as baking and painting. Melissa has an unhealthy obsession with pop culture. She speaks fluent movie quotes from the 1980s (John Hughes = genius), reads celebrity gossip magazines and never misses an episode of Scandal. She enjoys writing contemporary romance, romantic suspense and young adult novels.

All of Melissa's books are currently available exclusively through Amazon.com and are part of the Kindle Unlimited Program.






Wednesday, June 29, 2016

 
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Coming July 10th

Pre-order exclusively on iBooks HERE

Add to your Goodreads shelf now.

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Being the only woman working for a professional baseball team isn’t easy. As the San Diego Shock’s newest athletic trainer, Allie knows all about long hours, endless travel, and warding off players’ advances. Given she’s already the subject of a handful of rumors about how “lucky” she was to have earned such a coveted position, she can’t so much as flutter an eyelash a player’s way if she wants to be taken seriously.

But number eleven is doing more than fluttering eyelashes Allie’s way. Far more. Luke Archer is at the top of his game and doesn’t let the fear of striking out keep him from swinging. This is a motto he applies both on and off the field, but Allie appears immune, seeming to view Luke as nothing more than caution tape on legs.

He’s a player, and in Allie’s experience, they’re all the same. She won’t risk her job or her heart to another one, no matter how different this one claims to be. But as Allie gets to know him, she discovers the number eleven the public thinks they know is very different from the real Luke Archer. He seems too good to be true.

And maybe he is.

Allie will have to confront the stories attached to a player of Luke Archer’s stature and decide who she’ll put her faith in—The man she’s falling for? Or the rumors?

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CHAPTER ONE




Working for a professional baseball team was going to be the end of my love life. The past two years confirmed that theory, as had the last text I’d received from my latest ex-boyfriend.
           Half of the year on the road added to another half of the year working grueling hours that rivaled a doctor’s first year of residency equaled a whole lot of no free time to fill with a social agenda. Since being hired on by the San Diego Shock this season and the San Francisco Kings the year before that, the longest relationship I’d maintained spanned eight weeks.
           This last one had barely cleared the four-week mark.
My lifestyle was costly, but it was worth it. Baseball was in my blood, and sports medicine was in my heart.
           I’d grown up in a small Midwest town where people still got together for potlucks and everyone from the town hermit to the mayor attended a funeral. Where the only place you were expected to be after church on a Sunday was stretched out on the bleachers around the baseball field. It didn’t matter if it was a T-ball game or the high school championships—the bleachers were always packed.
Baseball was a religion where I grew up—it was stitched into the fibers of my life—so it was no surprise when I ended up with a baseball player. No, the surprise came after I’d followed him to college and found him in bed with someone else.
           It had taken the wind right out of me, along with my tendency to trust first and doubt after. Ben had been sleeping around for a while by the time I found out—friends had known and said nothing—and that was the day I made a promise to myself to never let another guy hurt me as he had, to never be made a fool of like that.
After changing schools mid-year, I started studying sports medicine and never looked back. Or at least not often. I only looked back when I found myself feeling something similar to what I’d felt for Ben. The relationship never lasted long after that.
           As evidenced by my newest failed relationship.
           “Whose ass do I need to kick, Doc?”
           Dropping my phone into my lap, I looked across the aisle to see who was sliding into the row across from me.
Luke Archer.
Known to fans as the best hitter on the Shock, if not in all of pro baseball. Known to women for his good looks and up-to-no-good smile. Known to Cosmo magazine as being voted the Finest Ass in professional baseball. And known by the athletic training staff as a well-rounded pain in our asses.
           Not because he thought he knew better or was yet another prima donna—which the sport had no shortage of—but because he held to the old-school code of taking care of an injury by “walking it off.” If that didn’t work, then we could usually convince him to pop one or two pain relievers after the game, and sometimes, if he was feeling especially accommodating, he’d accept a bag of ice.
           Luke Archer was the real man of steel, and no one to date had managed to convince him he was also made of those injury-prone materials known as flesh and blood.
           “Doc?” Archer’s voice broke through my haze of thoughts. “Just give me his name and I’ll take care of it.”
The rest of the team and staff were shuffling down the aisle between us to find their seats on the team jet, but his stare aimed my way felt unyielding.
           “What makes you think anyone’s ass deserves a kicking?” I asked.
I returned a high-five as Reynolds passed by. He’d twisted his ankle in the game earlier today, and I’d been the first on the field to get him taken care of. I’d been the last one out of the locker room to finish getting him taken care of too. As a noob, I had to work twice as hard. As a woman, I had to work ten times as hard.
           “I have three younger sisters. I have more experience than most with guys deserving ass kickings.”
           The last of the guys wandered by us. Without the break of their bodies coming between us, Archer’s stare became too intense. His eyes seemed capable of pinning me to the back of the seat.
           The head athletic trainer, Dax Shepherd, attended to the “money” players—the ones like Archer, who brought fans to the stadium and were a large part of the Shock’s impressive win-to-loss ratio. Up until this very moment, I didn’t know Luke Archer was aware of my existence on this team or the planet.
           “You really have three younger sisters?” I asked.
Unlike most of the female populace, I didn’t know every last fact about Luke Archer. The news about his parents had made headlines a few years back, and that was all I knew about his personal life.
           “I really do. And I talk to or text all of them every day.”
           “Plus you kick asses for them.”
           Archer’s hazel eyes lightened. “Plus that.” He twisted in his seat so he was almost facing me, his eyes dropping to the phone in my lap. “So? No one messes with my sisters. And no one messes with my team.”
           My forehead creased. “I’m not one of your teammates.”
           “You’re a part of my team. Just because you don’t play the field or swing a bat doesn’t mean you’re not. You keep us healthy and strong out there.” When I cocked an eyebrow, he added, “And when we get injured, you make sure we get fixed up quickly so we can get back to doing what we love. You’re every bit as vital to this team as . . .” He glanced up and down the aisle like he was looking for someone to fill in the blank with.
           “As Luke Archer?” I completed for him.
           His answer to that was a lifting of his eyes. “I’m one man who can swing one bat.”
           “One bat really, really hard. And very, very exactly,” I interjected.
           He continued, “You make sure twenty-five men can keep swinging their own bats.”
           “Well, there’s me, the two other athletic trainers, the physical therapist, the personal trainers, and the actual doctor who help out with that too. I can’t take all of the credit.”
           “Come on. You work twice as hard as any of them, so you should at least take most of the credit.” When his phone started chiming in his slacks’ pocket, he pulled it out, turned it off, and hid it back in his pocket.
           “And since the closest Shepherd and Coach Beckett have let me get to you is handing out a water bottle, how would you know that?”
           He pointed at his eyes. “I’ve got two of these and use them for observation on occasion.”
           “When they’re not searching for your next conquest?” I gave an internal groan the moment after I’d voiced something that should have stayed unsaid.
           My relationships with the players had always been professional and rarely, if ever, delved into the realm of personal information. If it didn’t have to do with preventing or tending to injuries, I didn’t bring it up.
           Until now. When I’d just suggested that Luke Archer had a reputation in every city the Shock had visited, every hotel they’d stayed in. Perfect way for my first real conversation with the star player of the team, and the whole of professional baseball, to go.
           Archer stayed quiet, studying me with that tipped smile he was famous for.
           “You know my opinion on rumors?” he said a minute later.
           I was capable of nothing more than shaking my head.
           “That they’re started by haters. Spread by fools. And accepted by idiots.”
           My head tipped. “Are you calling me an idiot?”
           His eyes flashed. “Are you calling me a manwhore?”
           I studied him lounging in his seat with his legs kicked out in front of him, his wide chest stretching beneath his suit jacket, his long arms resting on the armrests.. His body was enough to weaken the resolve of someone as jaded to player players as I was, but his face didn’t play second-string.
           Brown hair lightened by the sun, smooth skin darkened by it, a strong jaw, and hazel eyes that trended more toward the green end of the spectrum; Luke Archer was quite possibly the most attractive man I’d ever laid eyes on. According to Sports Anonymous’s random poll of five thousand women, he was the best-looking guy in professional sports today. The other few billion women on the planet would have agreed with that title, I assumed.
           “Do you always take so long to answer a question?” Archer motioned at me, waiting.
           “No,” I said, recalling the last question he’d asked me. Snap out of it. “I don’t think that you’re a  . . . manwhore,” I whispered the last part.
I’d had enough experience with the rumor mill to be a sympathetic party to the target of so many. Being one of the first and only female athletic trainers in professional sports had opened me up to a hundred rumors when I’d been hired. All versions of them had to do with me fucking my way into the position.
           “Good.” Archer nodded, seeming satisfied. “Because you certainly don’t seem like an idiot.”
           “Thanks?”
           He nodded again. “Welcome.”
           That was when the pilot’s voice echoed through the team jet, running through his usual spiel. We were leaving Tampa and heading up to Chicago. Now that the season was in full swing, I lost track of the cities we were leaving and the ones we were heading toward. All of my attention was focused on the players and getting them through the season as injury-free as possible.
           “I’m still waiting for that name, Doc.” Archer clicked his seat belt into place when one of the attendants stopped beside him, looking ready to strap it into place for him.
           When she saw mine unfastened, all I got was a lifted brow and a pointed finger before she moved on to the next aisle.
           “Oh, it’s okay. He’s not worth it.” I lifted my phone toward him before dropping it in the duffel bag I kept on hand at all times. Bandages, tape, painkillers, and a small cooler of ice packs were always at the ready whenever I was with the team. “Any guy who breaks up with someone via text message isn’t worth much.”
           “Really? Over text?” Archer’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the reason the ass-kicking was invented. For those types of guys.”
           I shrugged as the plane started to taxi down the runway, the interior lights dimming. “We haven’t even been together a month. Truthfully, it lasted longer than I thought it would. This kind of lifestyle”—I twirled my finger around the airplane—“makes it difficult to sustain a long-term relationship.”
           “That’s why I’m not a fan of them.”
           “Long-term relationships?”
           Any kind of relationship,” he said.
           I nodded my understanding. The players had it worse than the team staff. At least in terms of having to question if a person was into them for who they were or because of their job, and the fame and money that came with it.
           “I’m either practicing for a game, playing a game, recovering from a game, or fueling up and resting for a game. There’s not time for much else,” he said.
           Leaning into my armrest, I realized how strange it was to be having such an easy conversation with Luke Archer. It felt natural, not forced. Most of the players would take a moment to chat with me about something game-related, but I was still the new kid on the block. I felt like I had to pass some test before they’d accept me as a member of the team.
           Archer didn’t seem to be of the same mind though.
           “Yeah, I know. It’s like you need to find someone who can just travel with you wherever you go, right?” I said, thinking how much easier it would to be in a relationship with someone I got to see on a daily basis without two computer screens.
           “Exactly. Someone who understands the lifestyle. Appreciates the sacrifices you have to make.”
My head fell back into the headrest from the inertia of takeoff, but I could still feel Archer’s eyes on me. “Someone who understands that the job comes first. Someone who doesn’t get insecure or jealous or bent out of shape that they get the few precious minutes in between the job.”
           When my head turned toward him again, I found Luke Archer staring at me with a kind of intensity I hadn’t seen aimed my way in a long time. My breath caught, and even though the strength of his stare threatened to overwhelm me, I held his gaze.
           “Someone who understands the game. The commitment. The time. The sacrifice. Someone who’s as committed to it as you are.” One corner of his mouth twitched, carving a dimple into his cheek. “It’s not like you could ever expect to find a person like that sitting in the row across the aisle from you, right?”



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Nicole Williams is the New York Times and USATODAY bestselling author of contemporary and young adult romance, including the Crash and Lost & Found series. Her books have been published by HarperTeen and Simon & Schuster in both domestic and foreign markets, while she continues to self-publish additional titles. She is working on a new YA series with Crown Books (a division of Random House) as well. She loves romance, from the sweet to the steamy, and writes stories about characters in search of their happily even after. She grew up surrounded by books and plans on writing until the day she dies, even if it’s just for her own personal enjoyment. She still buys paperbacks because she’s all nostalgic like that, but her kindle never goes neglected for too long. When not writing, she spends her time with her husband and daughter, and whatever time’s left over she’s forced to fit too many hobbies into too little time.

Nicole is represented by Jane Dystel, of Dystel and Goderich Literary Agency.





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