I have been patiently waiting for this book and now finally we have the gorgeous cover! I loved the novella I read a few months back and now can’t wait for the whole story š¤
He was best friends with my stepbrother, that same stepbrother who hated me.Ā
His two parents loved him. My mom was a junkie. My dad barely knew me.Ā
Years passed.
I got my life together.
Cut went onto NHL stardom.Ā
Then there was a text.Ā
I was drinking.Ā
There was a party.Ā
Cut was there…Ā
I loved Cutler Ryder since the first moment I saw him.Ā
The only problem? He never knew I existed.
About the author:
Tijan is a New York Times Bestselling author that writes suspenseful and unpredictable novels. Her characters are strong, intense, and gut-wrenchingly real with a little bit of sass on the side. Tijan began writing later in life and once she started, she was hooked. Sheās written multi-bestsellers including the Carter Reed Series, the Fallen Crest Series, and the Broken and Screwed Series among others. She is currently writing a new YA series along with so many more from north Minnesota where she lives with a man she couldnāt be without and an English Cocker she adores.
SURPRISE! Not My Match, an all-new sexy, new adult sports romance from Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills is coming January 19th, and we have the smoking hot cover!
Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills delivers a smart and sexy romance about a professional football hottie and the girl heās sworn to never touch.
Homeless and heartbreakingly innocent, Giselle Riley walks into my penthouse and chaos follows.
I shouldnāt have invited the girl genius to live with me, but itās clear she needs my helpānot only for a place to lay her pretty blonde head but in finding real love, which sheās not going to get with the crazy men she picks up online.
Too bad sheās a twenty-four-year-old virgin and Iām a bad boy wide receiver. Sheās off limits for a hardcore player like meāand weāre just friends. Instead, Iām her matchmaking service, no matter how jealous it makes me when I tag along on her dates.
I can keep my self-control. Right? No way will I give in to everything inside me that dreams of a girl like her in my world.
I may be the best wide receiver in the country, but how could I hold on to a girl like her?
Wall Street Journal, New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills is best known for her angsty new adult romances and romantic comedies.
I Promise You, an all-new swoony sports romance from Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills is coming October 12th, and we have the hot, hot, hot cover!
Dillon McQueen: Babe. I promise. You want me. Serena Jensen: Um, who are you?
Thereās a legend at Waylon University: the first girl you kiss freshman year at the bonfire party is the one youāll never forget. Sheāll crawl under your skin and never leave. Sheāll spark a passion so fierce youāll burn the world down to possess her.
You might even put a ring on it.
As in all things with fate, timing is everything. That kiss can go horribly wrong. She might run in the opposite direction. And boy, did Serena run.
Dillon is Waylonās hotshot quarterback with something to prove. All he wants is to graduate and make it to the NFL. What he doesnāt need is to finally meet the mystery girl he kissed at the bonfire freshman year. Isnāt it enough that sheās haunted his dreams for more than a thousand nights?
Fate laughs in his face when he runs into the quirky girl at the Piggly Wiggly. Surrounded by his entourage, heās got all the Oreos in his cart; she gets revenge by buying every six-pack of his favorite beer.
Obviously, that legend is a curse. Sheās not his type and hates him. Worst of all, how can she not remember him when she left a Serena-shaped hole in his heart for the past three years?
So why canāt he stop trying to win her?
Will this quarterback score the girl or make the biggest fumble of his life?
Wall Street Journal, New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills is best known for her angsty new adult romances and romantic comedies.
How beautiful is this cover for Carrie Aarons’ next release?! Love at First Fight releases on September 18, and it’s an enemies-to-lovers romance that features an alpha trying not to fall for his best friend’s girlfriend! If you love a steamy, hate-to-love romance, then this one is definitely for you!
This summer was supposed to be spent lounging on the beach, madly in love with my boyfriend.
Until he decided to move to Singapore, and break up with me an hour before his plane left. Now Iām stuck in a Hamptons house share with six of his closest pals, including his best friend ā¦ who despises me.
Since the moment Smith Redfield laid eyes on me, heās hated my guts. Iām serious, I think the raven-haired restaurateur gets physically sick just being in my presence. And heās never been shy about hiding that fact.
There was the time he cackled when I landed face first in a pile of Manhattan trash bags. Or the night I tried to throw my ex-boyfriend a surprise party, and Smith had strippers crash the bash. Or maybe it was New Year’s Eve, when he got in my face and called me a sheltered goody two-shoes who wouldnāt know passion if it smacked me in the lips.
Heās rooming right next door for the summer months, and I donāt think more animosity could exist than in the hallway of our vacation rental. As if I wasnāt already sporting a bruised ego and broken heart from the way his best friend left me.
But the more midnight run-ins we have, the more I canāt help but think about the way his mouth would feel against mine. With each heavy-eyed glance over the dinner table, Iām starting to wonder if the damaged alpha male doesnāt harbor more than just loathing towards me. After all, they say hate is the closest emotion to love. And with the way weāre skating that thin line, itās bound to burn this whole house down.
Add it to your TBR:Ā bit.ly/LAFFtbr Cover designed by Sarah Hansen at Okay Creations.
About Carrie:
Author of romance novels such as The Tenth Girl and Privileged, Carrie Aarons writes books that are just as swoon-worthy as they are sarcastic. A former journalist, she prefers the love stories of her imagination, and the athleisure dress code, much better.
When she isn’t writing, Carrie is busy binging reality TV, having a love/hate relationship with cardio, and trying not to burn dinner. Sheās a Jersey girl living in Texas with her husband, daughter, son and Great Dane/Lab rescue.
He was the sun, and she was the moon. A love like theirs was never destined to last.
Chasing the Moon, an all-new emotional second chance romance from author S.M. Soto is coming October 28th, and we have the gorgeous cover!
A modern-day retelling of the Greek Myth of Selene and Endymion.
He was the sun, and she was the moon. A love like theirs was never destined to last.
Selene Drake has always been the girl that blends into the background. The wallflower. Quiet. Unnoticed. Sweet as can be. It never bothered her, she preferred slinking into the shadows.
When she first laid eyes on Endymion Black, she fell irrevocably in love with him. The bad boy. Cold. Distant. Handsome as ever.
For years, she pined after the unattainable boy who had somehow burrowed his way into her heart.
Until everything changed.
One unforgettable night bridled with passion and forbidden lust destroyed her naĆÆve heart and reshaped her innocent soul. It sent her fleeing from the only town sheād ever truly known.
Five years later, Selene is back in Dunsmuir and the boy she spent years loving in silence, has now turned into a man. A man with his sights set on her. Somehow, the tables have turned, and this time around, heās the one doing the chasing, determined to claim her heart as his. Only, he doesnāt realize, she has a secret of her own.
One with the potential to change their lives forever.
Chasing the Moon is a full-length standalone romance.
Cover Designer: Najla Qamber Photographer: Regina Wamba
About S.M. Soto:
S.M. Soto was born and raised in Northern, California where she currently resides with her son. Her love for reading began when she was a young girl, and has only continued to grow into adulthood. S.M. lives for reading books in the romance genre and writing novels with relatable characters. She refers to herself as a bit of a romance junkie. S.M. loves to connect with readers and eat copious of donuts that will surely lead to her demise.
A huge thank you to Social Butterfly promotions and Colleen Hoover for a chance to read and review this book early.
ā The nicest thing my mother has ever done for me is die. ā
This story started on a depressing note. It revolves around nineteen year old Beyah (pronounced: Bay-uh), who dreams of leaving her shitty life behind and move on to bigger and better things i.e. college in a different state; on full scholarship, miles away from her addict mother and her absentee father who, though he sends child support, never cared enough to check on her.
ā Fuck this summer. Fuck these people. Fuck the whole current state of my life.ā
But unfortunately, her best laid plans crashed and burned pretty fast as tragedy strikes and soon she finds herself plucked from her trailer park life in Kentucky to a beautiful summer place in Texas, complete with a rich stepmother, an adorable stepsister, Sara and the cute rich boy nextdoor, Samson, who has a few secrets of his own. Just like that, she goes from having no one to having a brand new family and a place to call home almost overnight.
ā Heās a vault and I really wish I had a key. Or some explosives.ā
Though they got off on the wrong foot, Samson and Beyah became fast friends. Maybe because they found a kindred spirit in each other. Despite the obvious difference between their social status, Beyah and Samson were alike in more ways than one. ‘Their bond was too intense to ignore’ But neither of them were looking for anything serious. So both agreed to a short summer fling with an expiry date, keeping things casual between them. And the story progresses from there, centered around Beyah and Samson and the beautiful summer they spend in Bolivar Peninsula that changed their life. Maybe forever.
ā I know what love is, because I spent my whole life knowing what it isnāt.ā
My favorite part of the story is Beyah. There is no doubt that the girl had a tough life. Tougher than one can imagine and she’s only nineteen. Her life story broke my heart. ‘Heart Bones’ is Beyah’s journey to healing. Told exclusively from her point of view, it’s all about the summer she spends with her father’s family and her relationship with Samson. It’s about love, family, heartbreak and healing.
ā Damaged people recognize other damaged people. Itās like a club you donāt want a membership to.ā
I don’t really know how to review this book further without giving away the plot. I have been reading a lot of good books lately but ‘Heart Bones’ is special. It definitely made an impact. I cried, I laughed and I swooned. Maybe broke a few heart bones of my own. CoHo is definitely one of the best ‘temporary’ romance authors out there and ‘Heart Bones’ is the prove of that. Beyah and Samson’s story hit me with a shit ton of emotions. It gave me all the feels! Their effortless chemistry is hard to find, even in story books. And I am not going to forget about them any time soon.
ā Hearts donāt have bones. They canāt actually break.ā
What if the only way of knowing you grew a heart bone is by feeling the agony caused by the break?
‘Heart Bones’ is definitely one of the best books I read this year and if you are a fan of angsty young adult romance then go for it. CoHo never disappoints.
ā He tastes like saltwater and my blood feels like the sea, raging and crashing through my veins.ā
Happy reading! xoxo.
P.S. A friendly reminder; keep some tissues handy. You’ll thank me later lol.
āNo one delivers an emotional read like Colleen Hoover.” – Anna Todd, New York Times bestselling author
Heart Bones, the beautifully written, emotional romance that will rock you to your core by #1 New York Times bestselling author Colleen Hoover is available now!
From #1 New York Times bestselling author of Verity and Regretting You.
Beyah comes from a life of poverty and neglect; Samson from a family of wealth.
When the two find themselves spending the summer as neighbors, they soon realize money is one of the few things they don’t have in common.
Their bond is too intense to ignore, but with only ten weeks separating them from the start of their new lives on opposite ends of the country, Beyah and Samson decide to stay in the shallow end of a summer fling.
What they don’t realize is that a rip current is coming and it’s about to drag both their hearts out to sea.
Colleen Hoover is the #1 New York Times and International bestselling author of thirteen novels and multiple novellas. She lives in Texas with her husband and their three boys. She is the founder of The Bookworm Box, a non-profit book subscription service and bookstore in Sulphur Springs, Texas.
Playing With Fire, an all-new emotional and raw small town standalone romance from USA Today bestselling author L.J. Shen is coming September 15th and we have the stunning cover!
A broken boy on the path to destruction. A scarred girl without direction. A love story carved in secrets, inked with pain and sealed with a lie.
Grace Shaw and West St. Claire are arctic opposites. She is the strange girl from the food truck. He is the mysterious underground fighter who stormed into her sleepy Texan college town on his motorcycle one day, and has been wreaking havoc since. She is invisible to the world. He is the townās beloved bad boy. She is a reject. He is trouble. When West thrusts himself into Graceās quiet life, she scrambles to figure out if he is her happily-ever-after or tragic ending. But the harder she pushes him away, the more he pulls her out of her shell. Grace doesnāt know much about anything beyond her townās limits, but she does know this: She is falling in love with the hottest guy in Sheridan U. And when you play with fireāyou ought to get burned.
For more information, join L.J. Shenās reader group: http://bit.ly/2lTnonw Stay up to date on all release news. Follow L.J. Shen on Instagram:https://bit.ly/LJShenIG
Cover designer: Letitia Hasser at RBA Designs
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.
Some girls are born perfect. They have perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect skin. They have perfect grades and high ambitions. Theyāre popular and admired. Theyāre adored and revered. And loved. Iām not one of them. Thatās the first thing to know about me: Iām not perfect. I have flaws. Many, many flaws. I donāt have perfect grades. I donāt have high ambitions. I donāt get why the sum of all the angles of a triangle has to be one hundred and eighty or the world will collapse. Or why when we talk about the heart, we reduce it to a muscular organ with four chambers thatās sole purpose is to pump blood through the body. Iām far from being popular and Iāve got something called witchy eyes. Or at least, I call them that. Theyāre golden in color and they arch up at the corners, making them look sort of catty, witchy. Which is super poetic because Iāve got a witchy name too. Salem. Salem Salinger, and the second thing to know about me is that along with witchy eyes and a witchy name, Iāve got a witchy heart as well. Meaning, my heart has secrets. In fact, my heart is swollen with secrets. Many, many secrets like my many, many flaws. And that is why I did what I did. The thing that landed me here. The little, inconsequential crime that got me sent to St. Maryās School for Troubled Teenagers ā an all-girls reform school. Only they donāt call it a reform school anymore. Itās not the 50s or the 60s. These days, schools like this are called therapeutic school. Because they believe in therapy. And restoration and reformation. They believe in teaching us to be productive members of society. Whoās us? Weāre the bad and hopeless girls. Weāre the girls who break rules and love rebellion. We donāt like school or classes. So we keep getting into trouble with our classmates and teachers. Sometimes we get expelled multiple times from multiple schools until our parents or guardians are forced to take drastic actions. Some of us break the law too, which technically I did. I mean, there were a couple of cops involved. They didnāt handcuff me or anything but I had to ride in their squad car and go to the police station. But there were no charges pressed. Instead, I was sent to St. Maryās. Iāve been here almost a week and Iām already behind. In assignments, I mean. God, the assignments and homework. Theyāre very strict about that here. So I really shouldnāt be falling asleep in class if I want to catch up. But itās Friday afternoon and itās trigonometry and itās not as if Iām magically going to understand everything to do with triangles and tangents by paying attention in the last fifteen minutes of the class anyway. Honestly, I donāt think anyone is paying attention even though everyone is quiet and facing the blackboard. There are probably fifteen other girls besides me in this small beige-painted concrete and cement classroom where I sit in the back. Weāre all slumped over the hard, wooden desks, with our chins in our hands. We all have tight braids either flowing down our backs or draped over our shoulders, tied at the end with a mustard-colored ribbon. We all wear a starched white blouse and a mustard-yellow skirt that touches the tops of our knees. Except I have a black chunky sweater on because Iām a sunshine girl and the inside of St. Maryās feels like winter. We pair our uniforms with knee-length white socks and polished black Mary Janes. Our notebooks are lying open in front of us and our butts are planted in chairs as hard and wooden as the desks. From time to time, we squirm and adjust ourselves in our seats because Iām guessing the wood is digging into our asses. At least, itās digging into mine. So it should be really hard to fall asleep, right? Or daydream. But Iām doing both until I hear a sound. Psstā¦ Itās coming from my right. Slowly I turn to find my neighbor, over in the adjacent row, trying to get my attention. Itās a girl Iāve seen before. Around campus, in the cafeteria and in the dorm building where every student who goes to St. Maryās stays, but Iāve never talked to her. Because no one talks to me here. Iāve actually tried very hard to get them to talk to me or even smile at me or just wave their hand at me by waving mine but I havenāt been successful. I canāt even get my roommate, Elanor, to say hi to me. So I donāt know what this girl, my neighbor with blonde hair, wants from me. But as soon as our eyes meet, she motions her head toward something. Biting my lip, I look at what sheās pointing at. Itās a piece of paper. Itās sitting at the edge of my desk, folded over twice to make a little square. For a second, I canāt comprehend what a piece of paper is doing on my desk. Confused, I look up from it and focus back on the girl. She widens her eyes at me and gestures at it with her chin again. What theā¦ Oh. Oh! I finally get it. Itās a note. Sheās passing me a note and she wants me to open it. Got it. Immediately, I go to grab it but stop, my hand suspended in midair. I look up and see that the teacher, Mrs. Miller, is busy solving a weird-looking equation on the board. So Iām safe there. But why is this girl writing me a note? Doesnāt she know that Iām the most hated girl at St. Maryās right now? Iām the principalās ward. Yeah, the principal of St. Maryās School for Troubled Teenagers, Leah Carlisle, is my guardian. Sheās been my guardian for eight years now, ever since I was ten. And somehow because of that Iām enemy number one around campus. So far in the week that Iāve been here, people have glared at me, tried to trip me in the cafeteria, accidentally-on-purpose bumped into me in the dorm hallways and locked me in the bathroom. From what I can gather, the students think Iām a spy, and if they talk to me and reveal their secrets, I might go to Leah and rat them out. And teachers think that since Iām her ward, Iāll be given special treatment. So itās natural for me to debate whether or not I should open the note. But then I hear my neighborās whispered words. āOpen it.ā I swivel my gaze at her and she says those words again, or rather mouths them, open it, before giving me a big smile. A big and brilliant smile. Itās the smile that does it. Someone is smiling at me. A girl at St. Maryās ā my new reform/therapeutic school ā is smiling at me and I didnāt even have to do anything to get that smile. So fuck it. My hand resumes its journey and practically snatches the note off the desk. I bring it down to my lap and open it. Itās boring, huh? I get it. Miller is a snooze-fest. But donāt let her catch you falling asleep. She loves to take away student privileges. Ah, the infamous privileges. This whole reform/therapeutic school system runs on a little thing called student privileges, which you earn by following the rules. So hereās the whole concept: when weāre sent to St. Maryās, they take away everything that weāve so far taken for granted in our old, corrupt and rebellious lives. First of all, there is no personal technology allowed. Meaning no cell phones or laptops or iPads or whatever. Everything that we use has to be school-issued and it is heavily monitored. If you want to use the internet, you go to the computer lab and use the computer there, for an allotted number of hours. If you want to talk to someone on the phone, you do it using the school phone, again only during an allotted time period. Second, if you want to go off campus, you need a permission slip from a teacher and you can only go out during an allotted time. Now if youāre good ā your grades are okay and youāve been doing your homework and participating in activities ā you get the privilege of using the computer longer than everyone else or you can go out twice a week and stay out longer and so on. And who keeps track of things like this? The guidance counselor assigned to you that you meet with every week. But all of this is useless to me. Because I just started here and so I have a four-week ban on any privileges. Meaning I canāt go out no matter what. My computer usage is one hour per day and I canāt make any outgoing calls; I can only receive calls on Saturdays. If at the end of the four-week period, my guidance counselor, who just happens to be Mrs. Miller, thinks Iām fit to be rewarded for my rule-following and hard-working ways, I might get to go out or use the computer for more than an hour. So I write a little note of my own: Thanks for the heads up. But since Iām on the four-week grace period, I basically have no privileges. I hand over the note to the girl and she grabs it like Iām handing her a lifeline. I guess sheās as bored as me. Quickly, she opens it and dives into writing a reply on a freshly torn piece of paper, which she hands me back a few minutes later: Oh right! Sorry! I completely forgot that youāre a newb. But Miller has been known to deduct privileges in advance. Sheās a biatch. Pardon my language. Iām Calliope, by the way. But everyone calls me Callie. Iām sorry about all the stuff some of the girls are putting you through. I do gotta ask though: Is Principal Carlisle really your guardian? And are you really not a spy? I have to smile at her note. Thereās no malice there. Not after the way I feel her looking at me with so much eagerness. So I reply, Gotcha. No sleeping in Millerās class. Sheās actually my assigned guidance counselor too. So not looking forward to that meeting next week. Yes, Principal Carlisle is really my guardian. My mom and her were childhood friends. She died when I was ten so me and my older sister were sent to live with her. And no, Iām really not a spy. Iām just like the rest of you guys. Also, youāre the first person to smile at me in this place. So thanks again. I pass the note back to her and like before, she jumps at it and devours it quickly. As soon as sheās done, she writes back. Youāre welcome! I wouldāve said hi sooner but I had to be a little careful since I so donāt wanna get on the bad side of Principal Carlisle. Yeah, I donāt blame her. Leah can be a little intimidating with all her rules and punishments and lectures and ambitions. I mean, what else do you expect from the principal of a reform school? I, myself, am totally afraid of her and I lived with her for eight years. But I guess sheās only intimidating to girls like us, who break the rules and are perpetually bad. I write down my reply, feeling light for the first time in almost seven days. Itās okay. Principal Carlisle scares me too. A second later, her reply comes. Right?! She is scary. Like, she never smiles. By the way, if you sit with us in the cafeteria, weāll make sure no one will bother you. Iām about to ask who āusā is, when the bell rings and the day ends thankfully. Everyone dives down for their backpacks like theyāre diving in to save their lives, which could very well be true because God, this class was killing me. I turn to Callie, the first girl to talk to me at St. Maryās, and say, āThanks for having my back.ā She smiles brightly. āOf course. Iāve been there. Miller is so fucking boring.ā āDid I hear someone dissing Miller?ā This comes from a girl with black hair and glasses. Sheās got a husky voice and a mischievous face, and sheās wiggling her eyebrows at us. Callie rolls her eyes. āPoe here has a great aversion to Miller.ā āDuh.ā Poe zips up her backpack and skips over to us. āSheās evil. And my guidance counselor. So Iām super lucky.ā She turns to me then, curious. āIām Poe, by the way, as Callie said. Poe Austen Blyton. My mom was an Austen fan. And a Poe fan. And that.ā She points to a third girl. āIs Bronwyn. Bronwyn Littleton. Isnāt that the greatest name ever?ā The girl sheās pointing at has the longest hair that Iāve ever seen. Like Rapunzel. Her light brown braid goes down to her ass but when she looks at Poe and shakes her head in a very indulgent and patient manner, I completely forget about the length of her hair and marvel over her eyes. Because her eyes are silver and so ethereal looking. She slings her backpack over her shoulder and looks at me. āBut people call me Wyn. Because I hate Bronwyn, which Poe already knows.ā She swings her gaze to Poe. āDoesnāt she?ā Poe sticks her tongue out at her. āItās okay,ā I say, chuckling at their antics. āI hate my name too. Salem. It sounds witchy.ā Wyn smiles at me gently. āI like it.ā Second smile of the day. I canāt believe it. This is turning out to be the best day ever. āCan I ask you a question?ā Poe jumps in but before I can answer either way, she continues, āWhy would Principal Carlisle send her own ward to St. Maryās? I mean, she could very easily discipline you back at home, right?ā Well, I guess I spoke too quickly. All my earlier lightness evaporates as Poe and Callie and Wyn look at me with curious gazes. Itās a genuine question. Very, very genuine. So I donāt blame them for asking me that. In fact, Iām surprised it hasnāt come up before. But then, these girls are the only ones who have talked to me at St. Maryās. Itās just that Iām a little conscious about my crime. A lot conscious, okay? Itās not as if I do what I did everyday. But I had to do it. I had to. āBecause I stole some money from Leah ā Uh, Principal Carlisle ā and sort of ran away,ā I say. āOr at least, I tried to. Before they caught me.ā The cops. I was at the bus station, ready to board and get out of this town once and for all when they caught up to me and brought me back. I mean, I still donāt understand how it all happened. I was so careful while getting out of the house. It wasnāt the first time I was sneaking out in the middle of the night anyway. Iām an expert, for Godās sake. But somehow, Leah woke up and when she found me missing, along with my sunshine-yellow bike and one hundred and sixty-seven dollars from her wallet, she called the cops. And since sheād had enough of my bad girl ways and she didnāt want me to ruin my life any further, she sent me here. To become good. āIāve been doing you and your mother a disservice. I shouldāve been more strict with you and sent you here sooner. If I had, then none of this would be happening. So youāre going to St. Maryās.ā Thatās what Leah told me. I couldāve refused. Iām eighteen now; turned eighteen a few weeks ago. I couldāve just walked out but I didnāt have any money. Whatever money I had, I used that to buy the bus ticket and the rest, Leah confiscated. So here I am. āBut I was going to return the money,ā I continue. āI was going to get out of town and get a job and once I had enough savings, I was going to give the money back to her.ā Which is all true. I actually have a part-time job, or had one. At a restaurant in town where I worked as a waitress. But Iād just blown my savings and I really needed the cash. And I really, really needed to run away. āWhy were you running away?ā Poe asks, her eyes wide. Damn it. I never shouldāve let out that information. That I was running away. My heart swells and pounds inside my rib cage. My witchy heart with a thousand secrets. āUh, Iā¦ wasā¦ā I try to think of an acceptable lie. Maybe I can tell them what I told Leah, that I hated this town and my old school and everything else so I was just hauling ass. She bought it. I bet theyād buy it too. But Wyn gives me an out. āItās okay. You donāt have to explain.ā Callie smiles. āYeah, we all have our secrets.ā āYeah.ā Poe nods, putting her hands up. āSorry if I came on a little too strong there. Itās one of my weaknesses. I talk too much. And I always ask too many questions.ā Just like that the tension breaks and I can breathe easily. Thank God. I just met them. These are the first people to actually be friendly and talk to me in here. I donāt want them to hate me too. And they will if I tell them why I was running away. If I tell them my secret. āOkay,ā Callie chirps. āLetās go to dinner. And you can definitely sit with us, if you want.ā Suddenly, Poe bursts into a series of gasps and actions. She looks at the clock hanging over the blackboard. āOh my God, we have to go. Now. Forget dinner for a sec. Iāve got something to show you guys.ā āShow us what?ā Callie asks. āHello? What else? Eye candy.ā Poe wiggles her eyebrows again. āOh my God. Yes! I needed something nice the first week back to this hellhole.ā Callie grins. āI know. Apparently, thereās a press conference that we should see. This girl from junior year tipped me off. We gotta go.ā Iām confused. āWhat eye candy?ā At my question, Poeās eyes go wide again as she takes me in. Not only that, she gasps too before lunging for my arm. āOh my God. This is perfect.ā Then she turns to Callie and Wyn. āIsnāt this perfect? She knows him!ā I have absolutely no idea what theyāre talking about. But Callie catches on and whips her eyes to me. āYes, she does,ā she breathes out to Poe before turning to me. āYou do!ā āI do what?ā I ask, now more confused than ever. Wyn is shaking her head again in that indulgent manner of hers that Iāve seen before. āLeave her alone, guys. She doesnāt know what youāre talking about.ā So Poe explains it to me. āYou know him. You know the Principalās hot son. Our eye candy.ā All right. I still donāt know what theyāre talking about. Principalās hot son. Who the fuckā¦ Principalās hot son. Him. Oh my God. The boy with sun-struck hair and summer blue eyes. Heās the principalās hot son now, isnāt he? He is. Because Iām stupidly at St. Maryās and Leah Carlisle, along with being my guardian, is now my principal as well. āYou lived with him,ā Poe says. āYou lived with a soccer superstar.ā āYes. The Blond Arrow,ā Callie tags on. The Blond Arrow. Thatās his soccer nickname. Thatās what they call him, his fans, the critics, the sports people, whatever. They gave it to him when he debuted last season. When he free-kicked the ball from the center of the field and it went soaring through the air, past all the players and hit the net, right in the center. Holy fuck, theyāre talking about Arrow. My Arrow. Before I can say anything though, Poe and Callie are dragging me out of the classroom with Wyn tailing behind and discussing how I can tell them everything there is to know about Arrow Carlisle, the celebrity athlete, because I lived with him before he went pro. Iām not listening to them though. I mean, I am, here and there but Iām mostly inā¦ shock. Which is stupid because I shouldāve thought of this. I shouldāve known. That heād come up in conversations or that Iād hear his name in passing. It used to happen a lot, back in my old high school, normal high school. Heās pretty famous around these parts. Heās The Blond Arrow, the pro soccer player. Of course heās famous. And of course heād be famous here as well, at a girlās reform/therapeutic school. His mom is the principal, isnāt she? So yeah, I shouldāve expected this. But somehow I didnāt. And now Iām here. In the third-floor bathroom. Because Poe wants to show us something. A press conference, she said. The reason weāre in the third-floor bathroom is because itās always out of order so no one goes here. No one whoās up to any good anyway and we fit the bill perfectly. Because Poe has a cell phone in her hand, which everyone knows is super duper forbidden, here at St. Maryās. If we get caught, we will probably lose all our privileges and God only knows what else. But Poe is hitting all the keys on her phone like sheās done it a thousand times before and Callie and Wyn donāt seem to care and Iām in such shock that I donāt care either. Especially not when the video Poe was trying to get loads and Iām staring directly at him. His dirty blond, sun-struck hair is the first thing I see. Maybe because itās shining under what looks to be a thousand overhead lights. Not to mention the flash of a thousand cameras
that are all pointed toward him. Heās sitting on a podium with a bunch of other people whom Iāve seen many times before. I havenāt met them personally, of course, but they always hover around him on events like this. Itās an MLS press conference. Thereās that yellow and blue shiny logo of his team, LA Galaxy, fluttering behind him on a giant screen with a black and white soccer ball, and thereās his coach with the shock of white hair, sitting beside him at the podium. For a second, I get distracted by the moving strip at the bottom of the screen, displaying different headlines. Emerging star of the LA Galaxy injured during practice; LA Galaxy to replace their midfielder superstar with a rookie; The Blond Arrow, hailed by critics and fans as the new David Beckham, to leave the season unfinishedā¦ Thereās more of it, more headlines, the same thing said in a variety of ways. The same thing being: he is injured. And that he canāt play for the rest of the season. But I donāt understandā¦ I donāt get it. He was fine a week ago. āSo what does it mean for the team and the rest of the season?ā Iām still reeling from the headlines on the bottom when someone asks this question. Someone off screen, and of all people sitting at the long table with black mics in front of them, itās directed at him. I know because he hears it. He hears it and his jaw that Iāve always likened to a sharp and sculpted blade moves back and forth. Itās very subtle and I donāt even think that anyone notices, not in the commotion of events like this, but I do. I do because Iām attuned to him. And because itās such anā¦ atypical reaction for him. Arrow never moves his jaw back and forth. He never gets annoyed enough to do that. Heās patient. Heās patient and determined and level-headed. Iāve heard this about him a number of times, at the interviews, at the press conferences. His calm is legendary. āWhat it means ā obviously ā is that I wonāt be playing on the team for the rest of the season.ā That increases the roar around him and the team coach leans forward and says, āWhat he means is that itās very unfortunate and no one couldāve seen it coming. But Rodriguez is an excellent wide midfielder and as hard as it will be to fill the shoes heās had to step into, weāll be making every effort to help him. As we will help Carlisle as much as we can with his recovery.ā His blue eyes flash, then. They go from a summery blue to stormy and wintry. Again, itās so atypical that I notice it right away. I not only notice it but I absorb the shock of it. Because Jesus Christ, a week ago, when I was packing my bags to leave for St. Maryās, Leah and I, we watched his game together. The soccer season is on and they were playing New York City FC. And okay, so they lost that game and as far as I know Arrow, it must have hurt him because heās very competitive. But heās lost games before and he always comes back swinging. He appeared fine at the press conference after. A little grim but fine. Also, he called the house to talk to Leah later that night ā he always calls after every game of his ā and well, I listened in ā I always do. The conversation was slightly critical on Leahās part because theyād lost but nothing out of the ordinary. No signs whatsoever that there was something wrong with him. I was actually mourning the fact that I wouldnāt get to watch him play all that much anymore because of the stupid TV rules at St. Maryās. So I really donāt get it. What the fuck happened? āCan you tell us how long you expect the recovery to take?ā Another question fired off screen and to him but this time, he isnāt even paying attention to them. He has his head dipped down and heās looking at his fists on the table. Heās practically glaring at them and God, I have a very bad feeling about this. Very bad. Whatās happening? Whyās he acting this way, when heās always been so professional and polite? When the coach realizes that his player wonāt answer the question ā he looks kinda shocked by Arrowās defiance too ā he takes the reins. āItās a very typical meniscus tear. Iām glad it happened during practice and we were able to get help quickly. Itās minor right now but we all know that knee injuries have a way of creeping up on you, especially if you play contact sports. So we want to take every precaution that we can so it doesnāt turn into something major.ā I swallow when Arrow still wonāt look up. His posture has gone even tighter, as if heās repelling his coachās words. As if heās repelling everything thatās going on around him. āWill you be staying in LA for the duration of your recovery?ā For some reason, it feels like the pause after this question is longer and heavier. Or maybe itās my own anticipation of what the answer is. My own anticipation to hear his voice, his rich, deep voice. A voice that I dream about. Leaning forward, he looks into one of the cameras and it feels like heās staring directly at me. āNo. Itās been kindly pointed out to me that I need to disappear for a while, go off the radar. So I can heal. Recover from the injury that frankly no one saw coming. And well, I agree. So Iāll be going eastā¦ā He trails off before his words become curt and clipped. āBack to my hometown, St. Maryās.ā What? No, no, no. He didnāt say St. Maryās, did he? He didnāt say heās coming back. No, he didnāt. He couldnāt have. Because he canāt come back. I donāt want him to come back. I donāt. I want him to stay far, far away. He was the reason I was running away that night. He was the reason I stole that money and I was going to go somewhere before they caught me and stuck me inside a cage. So he canāt come back when he was the one I was running away from. My Arrow, the guy Iām in love with. My sisterās boyfriend.
NOTE: This book is a standalone and DOES NOT contain cheating
MY DARLING ARROW Saffron A. Kent Release Date: September 17
Darling Arrow, I shouldnāt be writing this.
Itās not as if Iām ever going to send you this letter, and there are a million reasons why. First of all, I was sent to this reform school as a punishment for a petty, totally inconsequential crime. Not to ogle the principalās hot son around the campus.
Second of all, youāre a giant jerk. Youāre arrogant and moody and so cold. Sometimes I think I shouldnāt even like you. But strangely your coldness sets me on fire. The way your athletic body moves on the soccer field, and the way your powerful thighs sprawl across that motorcycle of yours, make me go inappropriately breathless. But thatās not the worst part. The worst part is that you, Arrow Carlisle, are not only the principalās hot son. You also happen to be the love of my sisterās life.
Saffron A. Kent is a Top 100 Amazon Bestselling author of Contemporary and New Adult romance. More often than not, her love stories are edgy, forbidden and passionate. Her work has been featured in Huffington Post, New York Daily News and USA Todayās Happy Ever After. She lives in New York City with her nerdy and supportive husband, and a million and one books.
I am really, really excited about Kristy Marie’s upcoming book about reality TV and enemies turned lovers romance! ‘Subscriber Wars’ is coming out next month and I am already in love with it lol. Check out the awesome blurb below.
These videos contain scripted lies and staged kisses but the hate is very real.
Subscriber Wars, a sexy, new adult rom-com from bestselling author Kristy Marie, is coming soon!
Blurb:
I can explain. Kind of. I realize the wig and makeup donāt help my case, but thatās not the point. The point is, Sebastian came at me first. Heās the one who started this war, but Iām the one who finished it.
Iām not even sorry about it. Fine. Maybe I am. A little.
Thatās the only explanation as to why I just agreed to play his fake girlfriend so heāweācan win a million dollars in the hottest reality show contest ever filmed on campus.
Donāt get it wrong though, Sebastian and I may look like we love each other, but everyone knows reality TV is nothing but scripted lies and staged kisses.
A self-proclaimed reader enthusiast, Kristy started her writing journey back in 2009, reading and writing when her daughter was napping. Establishing her place in Corporate America (because something had to pay the bills), writing became her dirty, late-night secret.
After eight long years, she released her debut novel, Commander. It was a long road, but she can honestly say, the road less traveled had the most beautiful sights.
The only thing Kristy Marie loves as much as reading and writing is sports! Especially those that require muscles and a nice ass. Her favorite is, and always will be, baseball. She’s such a fan, that she even married her small town’s high school’s centerfielder where they still live with their three badass kids.
Diary of a young book reviewer 