Hello my samurai kitties! I've got a release to feature this week, this time for my twitter pal Ashley Poston. So here's a bit about the book, two excerpts, a few vids and even a giveaway!
America's favorite pop band, Roman Holiday, is done, dead, and so totally last year. For eighteen-year-old rockoholic Junie Baltimore, this is music to her ears. But when she discovers their sexy ex-lead singer hiding out on the boardwalk, her summer vacation becomes the cover story of the year.
She's willing to keep him a secret, but when a sleazy paparazzo offers her the cash she needs to save the bar her father left behind, could she sell out for the chance to save her future? Who is she kidding? That's a no-brainer...but she never planned on falling head over heels for the lead singer.
Swallowing my heart back down into my throat, I take a tentative step into his darkly lit bedroom. Posters of Harleys and European cities are plastered on his walls. Somewhere downstairs, Roman Holiday’s “Crush On You” echoes through the entire house in a sick sort of sadistic irony. My ankles wobble, but I keep my cool, trying to slip out of my Converses on the way to his bed.
“I even have mood lighting,” he adds, thumbing back to the flickering electric candles on his headboard.
“They’re...nice…” I get one shoe off halfway to the bed, and dig my toe into the back of my other shoe right when I hit a silky pair of underwear on the ground. I catch myself on the edge of the bed. With my Converses successfully off. Score.
He gives me a wide-eyed look. “Baby, you okay?”
I flip back my hair, trying to play it off. “Oh yeah,” I say, trying to sound aloof and sexy, because I didn’t fall and bust my ass on his silky underwear. I lean back on the bed. “I’m perfe—”
But my hand meets complete air.
With a cry, I pinwheel my arms forward, grappling for anything I can to keep myself from falling back. What I manage to grab a hold of his tie.
“Wait!” he yelps a second before his words are strangled out of him, and we fall into a heap at the foot of his bed together.
I tilt my head slightly to sneak a peek out of my curtain of hair. Aquamarine mohawk, earring affinity, kilt, combat boots—I might be a bad Roman Holiday fan, but I know Boaz Alexander when I see him. Beside him is my nightmare from last night—tattoos, soda pop orange hair, emerald eyes.
And, if that’s Boaz Alexander then...
“Did they scrub the fungus off too?” snickers the tattooed jerkface.
“Bro-ha, you suck.” Boaz flips through the rest of the magazine. “Man, I’m so bored. Hey, I got a killer thought—let’s fire ourselves up and go drunk midnight-mini-ing? YOLO!”
“Say YOLO one more time and I’m leaving your ass here.”
Boaz scoffs. “What crawled up your crack, brah? Be lighter. You’re way too doom-n-gloom these days.”
“Maybe I like doom and gloom. Together. In a civil union.”
Mohawk rolls his eyes and puts Cosmo back. “I’m going to go get a box of Twinkies. Don’t ditch me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Like last time, brah?”
“Miss?” the old cashier calls. I whirl my head around, not having noticed that I’m the next in line. Orange-haired jerkface looks at me then, emerald eyes meeting mine, and as the recognition dawns on his face, it dawns on mine too.
His eyes drift down to the jumbo pack of condoms under my arm. A blush begins to creep up the back of my neck, and flood across my face. That sinful, aching grin from last night curls across his lips again. It’s cheshire. It’s trouble.
“I take mine ribbed, actually,” Roman Montgomery says.
About the Author
Graduating from the University of South Carolina, she interned at Random House Publishers with Kodansha USA, where she (helped) edit the Sailor Moon manga and that was really, really, really cool. She wrote a play that won some award, and can quote every Motion City Soundtrack lyric by heart.
She currently lives in South Carolina with her cat (aka her soulmate) and a plethora of books. When she’s not writing, she’s going to the movies (her second favorite past time) or taking extravagant road trips (her third favorite past time). Oh, and she’s naturally redheaded, and she’s already stolen your soul so don’t ask.