Wednesday, November 30, 2016

REVIEW + GIVEAWAY: Hold My Breath by Ginger Scott



We're celebrating the release of HOLD MY BREATH by Ginger Scott! Check out the review, teasers, and giveaway below!

OUR REVIEW:


Shel: Ginger Scott has done it again, y'all. She's written a novel that will suck you in and hold you in its thrall until the last page. Court: And now we have the task of telling you how great it is...in a short review. How to do that! 

Shel: Admittedly, initially I wasn't sure which character I liked least. Will came off as a little too...something, smug maybe? Maddy came off as a little too hard and unrelenting. But true to Ginger Scott form, within pages I absolutely adored Will and by the end I was cheering on Maddy. Both characters transformed in a matter of pages or chapters into these warm, funny, compassionate and passionate characters. Court: Yes. They were honestly bled onto the page, and I couldn't have been more excited to get into the depth of them; to see what really made them tick. There is also so many layers to Ginger's books, and I was not expecting just about any of what I got. But then, I remembered why we love her so much. She is consistent. She is an amazing writer...and she will hit you right in the feels all while really making you fall in love with her words, and her characters. 

Shel: While I'm admitting things, I'll say that I was also a little worried about how in the world Ginger was going to create a character who could be in love with brothers and not make it weird or sketchy, but she really did. I don't think I've ever read a novel with characters with their type of history and shared love interest and see it work out with so little angst; I was skeptical. Was it even possible that I'd end up liking either of the characters or understanding how it would all work out with Will and Maddy? Well, duh-- I'm clearly dumb because Ginger Scott knows how to work magic. Seriously. By the end I was rooting for them and completely excited for how things worked out. Court: Me too. I spent the entire book being entirely in Will's corner. To have the history that he has, and I get feeling completely out of sorts. This novel helped heal my broken heart just a little bit, and you just really have to read it, but it did! I immediately was firing off a message to Ginger to thank her, because I am still reeling from reading this book. It is a walk through grief in a way that I haven't experienced, and how we put people up on a pedestal and see the great things that we loved about them, but that also some of the things that we might be upset about (that pesky anger stage) is okay too...and Ginger Scott, I just love you! I am still thinking about Will and Maddy and will forever. I think this one is my favorite Ginger book ever! (Okay, so maybe I say that every time)...but Hold My Breath is for sure breathtaking, with a cast, a setting and a theme that is original, gripping, and real. 

Shel: I'm pretty sure I say this about all of her novels, but the characters and their hardships are unlike anything she's written. She shredded Will and Maddy --completely gutted them before we even started the novel--and then she gave us the pleasure of reading how she put them back together again for a perfect HEA. Court: *tears* couldn't have said it better. I also have to give her kudos to the authenticity of every athlete she writes about, which she does so well, but the swimming...ahh! So great. Their lives are brutal in training, and pressure to perform. And I think that she nailed it and really gave them the homage that they deserve. I'll say it a million more times, I am sure, but I love sports novels! Read this! Immediately! 


HOLD MY BREATH
NA Contemporary Romance-Stand Alone
Scheduled to release: November 18, 2016


BLURB:
Fractions of seconds can do lots of damage. One decision can ruin lives. A blink can be tragic. And loving a Hollister…can hurt like hell.

I would know.

They say the average person can hold their breath under water for two full minutes when pushed to the extremes. Will Hollister has been holding his for years. The oldest of two elite swimming brothers, Will was always a dominant force in the water. But in life, he preferred to let his younger
brother Evan be the one to shine.

Evan got the girl, and Will…he got to bury all of the secrets. A brother’s burden, the weight of it all nearly left him to drown.

The daughter of two Olympians, my path was set the day my fingertips first touched water. My future was as crystal clear as the lane I dominated in the pool—swim hard, win big, love a Hollister.

My life with Evan burned bright. He gave me arms to come home to, and a smile that fooled the world into believing everything was perfect. But it was Will who pushed me. Will…who really knew me.

And when all of the pieces fell, it was Will who started to pick them up.

In the end, the only thing that matters are those few precious seconds—and what we decide to do while we still have them in our grasp.








GIVEAWAY:
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/4a501259577/?
About the Author:


Ginger Scott is an Amazon-bestselling and Goodreads Choice Award-nominated author of several young and new adult romances, including Waiting on the Sidelines, Going Long, Blindness, How We Deal With Gravity, This Is Falling, You and Everything After, The Girl I Was Before, Wild Reckless, Wicked Restless, In Your Dreams and The Hard Count.

A sucker for a good romance, Ginger’s other passion is sports, and she often blends the two in her stories. (She’s also a sucker for a hot quarterback, catcher, pitcher, point guard…the list goes on.) Ginger has been writing and editing for newspapers, magazines and blogs for more than 15 years. She has told the stories of Olympians, politicians, actors, scientists, cowboys, criminals and towns. For more on her and her work, visit her website at http://www.littlemisswrite.com.

When she's not writing, the odds are high that she's somewhere near a baseball diamond, either watching her son field pop flies like Bryce Harper or cheering on her favorite baseball team, the Arizona Diamondbacks. Ginger lives in Arizona and is married to her college sweetheart whom she met at ASU (fork 'em, Devils).

Social Media Links:
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/GingerScottAuthor
Twitter: @TheGingerScott
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/thegingerscott/
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/user/GingerScottAuthor
Google: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+GingerScottAuthor/posts
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/GingerScott
Website: http://www.littlemisswrite.com

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

REVIEW: Downed by Jen Frederick



 Y'all are you even kidding me right now?

Author: Jen Frederick
Subject Involves: Football
Setting: Southern U.S.
Characters: Asshole-ish Quarterback & Stubborn Southern Woman

Shel: ARE YOU KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?!?! One click the ever-loving hell out of this RIGHT THE EFF NOW. Court: I KNOW! Having not been caught up on this series, I am assuming that the most recent (and 2nd book) of this series has out friend Ace being an ace-hole..he he. So, if you're caught up..you already knew that, but luckily each one can be read as a stand alone!

Shel: We love Jen Frederick (and want to kick ourselves for being so behind in this series--something we're rectifying asafp) and we love her characters aaaaaannnnd we love football so reviewing this was an absolute no-brainer. Seriously. I think when Court and I saw Downed on our Kindles we both had a FAN-GIRL DOWN moment. Court: She's right. That cover, tho...whew! 

Shel: Alright, alriiiight enough obnoxious love, let's get down to it, shall we? Within the first few pages of Downed I was asking myself: What are *these* shenanigans?! What's going on here?! I was curious and giggly and wondering who/what/how about Bryant --kinda like Ace was (except I don't think he was giggling). And, unpopular opinion time (maybe), as the novel progressed I found myself warming up and liking Ace more and more and really feeling a bit mixed about Bryant. Let me start with Ace--he was always honest about who he was and who he wasn't and as he had those lightbulb moments, he shared them with Bryant. I also liked how he protected her and respected her and accepted her and never tried to alter who she was. Even at his most dickish, and he could definitely be a dick, I liked him. Bryant, on the other hand, felt more manipulative to me. Sure I understood her motives and it's not like she was truly deceptive (maybe evasive is more accurate), it was more of her lies to herself that made some of her choices questionable and made it harder for me to warm up to parts of her. Though, parts of Bryant were in my wheelhouse: all of the southernisms were so spot on (says the girl from south Louisiana), having a hard time saying no, and the easy relationship she had with her dad and the more complicated one she had with her mom were all things that I easily identified with. I also loved how hard working she was and how well she read everyone (except herself). Needless to say these characters kept me in engaged and curious and smiling the entire read. Court: I don't think you have an unpopular opinion at all! I think that is the heart of why I told you before you started it that I felt this one was somewhat taking the trope of the football star/coach's daughter and flipping it on its head. I thought that with the way it began, and the way she was just so "right" in everything...not that she was necessarily mean about it...but we could tell that there was definitely going to be more to that so we kept our finger on it. And there was. I enjoyed that Jen makes these amazingly strong heroines, that still have a lot of self discovery to do. They're so on, on, on all of the time in their desperation to be perfect...and she was like that with her family history that you'll find out about. Ace. I really enjoyed him. I liked how he was, and definitely how he was when he realized that he could just not get this girl to leave him alone. She definitely blew in like a hurricane and changed a lot of things up inside him, but the core and important parts stayed all him.

Shel: I'd feel like a failure if I didn't mention how much I loved all of the locker room scenes, the hilarious scene with the van and Ace and their "plan" (her dad's reaction was the absolute best!), and the attention to detail (especially when it came to football) that made an already amazing read that much more fun. I suppose you don't have to enjoy football to love this book but it sure does help; truly, though, the heart of this novel is so much more than about field goals and touch downs and if that's not your scene but you love Jen Frederick, you'll find that you love Downed. Court: YES, Yes, Yes! There was humor and heart on every page of this book. I loved it, and Shelley so kindly stated all the reasons why! Love her for that. I think even if you don't like football, Bryant's love for it might just make you look at it a little bit differently. We all have our "thing" and I loved that Bryant's was baking and making people feel wanted and loved. I wish that I had a little bit more of that in my personality (I do bake a lot! So there's that.) I recommend you read this immediately! 

BUY IT: http://amzn.to/2fGflSp

SYNOPSIS:

He’s the guy no one likes…

Despite winning two national championships, JR “Ace” Anderson was sent packing from his old school after losing the trust of his coach. At Southern U, he has a second chance to prove that his college legacy isn’t endless debauchery and selfishness. But his reputation precedes him, and his teammates offer a chilly welcome in the locker room. The one person who is willing to accept him is the very woman he should stay away from—his new coach’s daughter.

She’s the girl everyone loves…

Bryant Johnson’s only goal in life is to make others happy, even at her own expense. One look at her father’s new star quarterback, and she knows that Ace is her next project. With a reputation for being a “jerk whisperer”, Bryant has spent her last three years at college reforming sorry behavior and turning bad boys into the best boyfriends ever. In Ace, though, she’s met with surly resistance and a sizzling attraction she doesn’t expect. Fixing this wounded warrior will be her biggest challenge yet. Not falling for him will be even harder.

Between her big heart and his damaged one, a battle is ensuing. In this game of love, every defense will crumble.


More on Jen Frederick: 
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6995972.Jen_Frederick



Monday, November 28, 2016

NEW: After We Fall by Melanie Harlow

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After We Fall by Melanie Harlow Publication Date: November 28th, 2016 Genre: Contemporary Romance

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Synopsis:

Jack Valentini isn’t my type.
Sexy, brooding cowboys are fine in the movies, but in real life, I prefer a suit and tie. Proper manners. A close shave.
Jack might be gorgeous, but he’s also scruffy, rugged, and rude. He wants nothing to do with a “rich city girl” like me, and he isn’t afraid to say so.
But I’ve got a PR job to do for his family’s farm, so he’s stuck with me for ten days, and I’m stuck with him. His glares. His moods. His tight jeans. His muscles.
His huge, hard muscles.
Pretty soon there’s a whole different kind of tension between us, the kind that has me misbehaving in barns, trees, and pickup trucks. I’ve never done anything so out of character—but it feels too good to stop.
And the more I learn about the grieving ex-Army sergeant, the better I understand him. Losing his wife three years ago left him broken and bitter and blaming himself. He doesn’t think he deserves a second chance at happiness.
But he’s wrong.
I don’t need to be his first love. If only he’d let me be his last.
“Second chances are not given to make things right, but are given to prove that we could be even better after we fall.” —Unknown

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Purchase Links:

About the Author:

Melanie Harlow likes her martinis dry, her heels high, and her history with the naughty bits left in. When she's not writing or reading, she gets her kicks from TV series like VEEP, Game of Thrones, House of Cards, and Homeland. She occasionally runs three miles, but only so she can have more gin and steak.
Melanie is the author of the HAPPY CRAZY LOVE series, the FRENCHED series, and the sexy historical SPEAK EASY duet, set in the 1920s. She lifts her glass to romance readers and writers from her home near Detroit, MI, where she lives with her husband, two daughters, and pet rabbit.

Connect with Melanie:

NEW: HAIL MARY by Nicola Rendell


 






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At a boxing gym in Chicago, Mary Monahan accidentally knocks out the most handsome man she’s ever met. After she wakes him up with a few slaps and some smelling salts, the very first thing he does is ask her out for ribs and beer. His name is Jimmy. He looks like a Gillette model. And he’s just too hunky to resist.

Jimmy “The Falcon” Falconi is mystified that Mary has absolutely no idea who he is. Mystified and refreshed. He is, after all, not your everyday NFL quarterback. He shops at Costco, has a soft spot for Pinterest, and is in the midst of an epic losing streak.

Jimmy falls for Mary fast and hard, the way he does everything—balls out and like it’s fourth and long. And he realizes he’s finally met his match. That stamina he’s so proud of? Doesn’t stand a chance against her Kegels.

But what they don’t know is she’s also his new physical therapist, recently hired by the Bears to work on his rotator cuff…and groin injury. If she can’t help him, he’ll be traded faster than they can say “offensive penetration.”

In spite of the thousands of internet memes featuring Jimmy’s face with captions like: “HEY GIRL, WANT TO TOUCH MY BALLS?” Mary finds herself falling for him and his unrelenting desire to make her his.

Until a toddler shows up at Jimmy’s door.

And throws their lives into total chaos.

***

To the reader: Contents includes love, sweetness, naughtiness, honey, champagne, and an HEA. Safe.






Chapter 1
Jimmy


She’s got a hell of a left hook, and her jab is no joke either. It’s hard to tell what she really looks like, with the big blue rubber mouth guard between her teeth and the black padded headgear covering her jaw and cheeks. But I know this: I want to get my hands on that body. Her tight pink tee is low cut and skin tight, and across her breasts are the words: “NOBODY’S PUSSYCAT.”
A cold draft blows in from the window, making goosebumps ripple up her arms. A thin stream of sweat runs down into her cleavage, and then I watch her nipples tighten. Christ. With little bounces, she heads back to her corner and bends over for her water bottle. Stretchy black leggings and no panty line.
Fuuuuuck.
The buzzer dings and we square up. She holds her gloves up to her face, ready to go. They’re bubblegum pink with white cuffs; the girliest weapons I’ve ever seen.
But never mind the gloves. It’s those eyes that have me. Shit, those eyes. This crazy deep green. Packers’ green. Jets’ green. Green like cash. Green that could make a guy go right out of his mind.
​Pow goes a jab into my stomach and I double over, tasting my Gatorade from an hour ago. Before I can breathe, before I can even get up my gloves to slow her down, she pelts me hard with a cross to my sternum that knocks the wind straight out of me. I gasp for air and stagger back into the ropes.
​“Jesus Christ,” I moan. “Who are you?”
​Her eyes light up in this smile. This beautiful fucking smile that I feel way down inside. Then she bounces on her toes and smacks her gloves together out in front of her. Whap, whap. “I’m Mary!” she says around her mouth guard. “And you’re slow!”
Cute. But, yeah…no. Nobody talks to me like that. Nobody. I hurl myself off the ropes, colliding with her in the center of the ring, skin against skin now. I press into her sexy shoulder with my bicep, feeling the sweat between us. She nails me in the gut again; a solid, low-slung straight, and I think, I can’ t hit a girl, can I?
No. Fuck, no.
So I stretch my arm between us, the padding of my glove holding her steady right below her collarbone. She swings for me but I’m a foot taller and she doesn’t stand a chance. “Jerk!”
Obviously.
But on the upside, now I can really get a good look at her the way I want to; close up, but not so close that she’s pummeling me. Her legs are solid and I can even see that little curve of her hipbones barely showing through her leggings. I let my eyes follow the line of sweat to her inner thighs, to that wet, hot place where everything comes together. Fuck. I want my hands on that place. I want to feel the softness and the strength. I want to know the taste of that sweat. The way that softness gives under my tongue.
Ding goes the buzzer. I push her away, padded knuckles to her shoulder. She spins and gets into her corner, so I do the same.
I grab my water bottle and squirt it into my mouth, watching her all the time. She’s fucking beautiful, this one. Fucking gorgeous. The woman of dreams. Of fantasies.
From a pink Nalgene, she takes one big gulp, two, and a little water dribbles down her lips, rolling in drops down her throat. Her eyes stay right on mine. Her chest heaves. Her eyes flash. Her lips tighten. And that’s when it happens. She peels off her T-shirt and tosses it to the floor so that the only word showing is PUSSY.
Ding.
Her body is fucking perfect. I mean perfect. I moan into my mouth guard and I look her up and down. Lean but not thin. Sexy and strong. A fighter’s body. A woman’s body. A body strong enough to take everything I want to give it. And then some.
She turns to set down her water bottle, bending at the waist. And that’s when I see it. The tattoo. It’s a ribbon of black lace that runs in a beautiful, feminine line down her back from right shoulder to left hip, curving down into her pants. Tough as hell, pretty as can be. And with the sexiest tattoo I've ever seen in my life.
Stick a motherfucking fork in me. I’m done.
“Nice ink,” I tell her as we square up again.
“Thanks,” she says, leaning in to my shoulder.
“I’ve never seen one like it.” I hook my arm around her again and pull her in. I smell something familiar. I can’t place it. She slips free and moves behind me. For one second, all I can hear is her shoes on the mats.
“I rebelled when I turned 30. It was either this or a tramp stamp.”
“Of what?” I pivot so my face is close against hers.
“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.” She smiles tight around the mouth guard. Her glove comes through the air, cutting through the noise of the gym. Whooosh.
I get my right hand up just in time to block her with my glove. The impact rolls down my forearm like I’m nothing but Jell-O.
​She lets another jab fly but misses me—barely—and I slip around behind her. The hair at the nape of her neck is curly and wet, and a long dark braid runs down her back. That strip of wet fabric at the top of her pants, dark with sweat. “Why are we fighting?” I growl as I get closer. “Why aren’t we out drinking? Making trouble? Fucking around? Let me take you out.”
​She spins to face me, her eyes wide open, surprised. “You wanna drink with me?”
​“Hell yes, I do. And a lot of other things.”
“You want me? Fight me.” She fires her bubblegum pink cannons at my stomach with a one-two combination that makes me feel like I’m nothing but a 283-pound heavy bag.
​I try to get in a left cross, but she’s way faster than I am and comes up from under with a hook straight out of Manila.
That one got me in my brainpan, in my marrow. “Fuck that,” I snarl.
​“Atta boy!”
No way. Nobody atta boys me. I’m Jimmy Goddamned Falconi. I’m nobody’s boy. Never.
“Atta girl.” I nudge her in the shoulder with my chest.
​Around her guard, she says, “You fight like you’re in molasses. But you’re strong. You some kind of athlete?”
At first, I’m about to laugh. For about one second, I think I might be on Candid Camera or something. I mean, I can’t walk to the bathroom on an airplane without someone asking me to sign a cocktail napkin. I can’t get through Costco without someone asking me to sign their shopping list. Some kind of athlete?
​I’m Jimmy “The Falcon” Falconi. Quarterback for the Chicago Goddamned Bears. I’m somebody.
But there’s zero recognition in her eyes. No flicker of the fangirl. No sign she’s playing it cool either. To her, I’m just a guy getting his ass kicked by a girl in pink gloves.
​“Hello?” She presses into my chin with a slow uppercut from the right.
​I snap out of it. I don’t even know how to answer her. I play quarterback for the Bears. Ever heard of them? Or maybe, Ever heard of football? America’s Game? Fuck. I wouldn’t even know how to start. I’ve never had to explain it. People just know. “Yeah, I like to work out.”
​“Then act like it,” she says, all piss and vinegar, and puts her guard back in her mouth. Wham comes that jab into my gut. Pow goes the straight to my pecs. I loop one arm around her and pull her body in close, hooking the back of her neck with the crook of my elbow. I pull her closer, tighter, both arms around her, to get a feel for her…but also to give myself a goddamned break.
She struggles a little, trying to squirm free, but I see the smile on her face, the crinkle of the skin at her eyes.
I pull her head closer to mine. I must be twice her weight; no way is she going to get free now. We are the welterweight and the super heavyweight. Wrong class totally. But then she wedges her forehead in against my chest. I watch her wind up, her biceps flexing, and, boom-boom-boom.
Every time she connects, I lose a little more air and groan, “Fuck-fuck-fuck!”
“Atta boy!”
Fuck. That.
So I keep her pinned and she starts fighting harder, which makes me want to hang on to her more. I press my nose against her head. In her thick brown hair, I can smell her shampoo, her conditioner. Coconut.
​While I’m distracted by that smell, thinking of sunscreen and ukulele music and drinks with umbrellas and her on a beach, she slips out from under my arms and pops up in my face.
​Well, shit.
​“What, you chicken? Gonna hit me back? Or do you want to dance around for an hour or two? Because I can totally do that. I just have to go home to feed the dog.” Whap-whap go her padded fists.
​Oh no, no way. No way am I going to let a pretty little thing talk to me like that. I sniff hard and man up.
I give her a jab. A hook. A cross.
And she blocks me every damned time. Blocks me like she’s fought me before, or like she’s known all along what I’ll do when it comes down to it.
Fucking wax-on-wax off, one-two-three.
Pow-pow go her gloves into my side, and fuck. I think I feel those it in my spleen. Enough. Enough. Anger boils up through me like cheap vodka after a long night.
I’m Jimmy Falconi. And I’m gonna make this girl know my name.
​I crack my neck side to side and get serious. I suck air through the holes in my mouth guard and get my fists up. I edge her into the corner and those eyes flash at me. She’s sweating hard and her mascara is smudged. Her hair is mussed and her skin is slick. It makes her look dangerous. Angry. I’d like to smudge that mascara a little more. In bed. Immediately.
​But first, I’m going to show her who’s boss.
The more she works herself up, the hotter she gets. That’s when something catches my eye. There’s something written on the white cuffs of her gloves. All fuzzy, written in black marker:
On the right glove: HERE COMES…
On the left:…TROUBLE!
Whomp.
She nails me in the jaw with a haymaker, and my molars shake. “Come the fuck on,” I growl back at her, with my glove pressed to the side of my face.
​She smacks her gloves together, and lowers her chin. “Are we sparring or chatting? Hit me!” Bounce, bounce, bounce. Butterfly, bee. Whap, whap, whap. “I’m not going to break!”
​I work my jaw open and closed a few times thinking, Okay. Fine. Fine. I didn’t think it was going to go like this, but I can roll with a hostile defense, sure. Wouldn’t be the first time. I give her the old elevator stare—up, down, up again—and get stuck on her belly button for a little too long. But then I get a game plan together. I figure I can hit her in the stomach. Not too hard, not hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough to let her know who’s in charge here.
​Which would be me. Me, pussycat. Me.
​Nudging the edge of her shoulder with my glove, I drive her backwards. Our eyes lock and I get this…this…prickle all through me.
This woman.
This one. Right here.
I want her. So fucking bad.
The fucking gym with its ten phones playing mariachi goes silent. The guys by the cooler egging her on go silent. It’s just her and me and the sweat dripping between us. Soft skin, sparkling eyes. She smells like a summer day and she’s looking at me in a way that no woman has ever looked at me. Ever.
​Like she’s gonna own me and she knows it.
​Which is bullshit.
​She gives me a little lift of her chin and tightens her lips around the guard. She wipes her nose with her glove and then lowers her head. “Come on! You going to fight or are you just going to screw around?”
​With my left hand, I jab her softly in the stomach. With the right, a play-hook to the jaw. I raise her chin on my glove so her eyes come up to mine. Then I pull her close, my arm around the back of her neck again. “You wanna screw around?” I say into her ear.
​Bam, another hit to the stomach. “I haven’t even gotten started,” she answers.
​Fuck it.
​She wants to play? Fucking fine. I'll play. I'll play hard. I square up. But she gives me this eye. This champion eye. A winner’s eye. Cocky like no eyes I've ever seen before. Tom Brady doesn’t have anything on this kind of cocky right here. My luck, this girl’s some UFC champion. Christ.
​But I can take her. Yeah, I sure fucking can.
​Probably.
​I decide on a straight jab; a no-fail straight jab that I plan just hard enough to send her reeling but not hurt her, not actually injure her. I know the punch. It works in bar fights and brawls on the field. An all-American move. As I wind up, everything slows down. I’m 6’6”, 283 pounds, and I throw a football for a living. When I wind up, I wind up. As I do, she ducks, fast as fucking lightning. Greased. Elegant. Lethal. So as my arm is powering through the air, as my momentum gets caught behind 12-ounce training gloves, she pops back up like a goddamned whack-a-mole.
​Those eyes flash again and she smiles so hard I can see her dimples.
​Dimples. Oh, fuck.
I watch her shoulder tighten, her tricep pucker, and that’s when she lets me have it for real.
The punch comes from left to right, blocking out my view of everything. I don’t see the Mexican flag on the wall. I don’t see the graffiti mural over the windows. Nope. The universe turns bubblegum pink.
It doesn’t hurt, not at first, and as I’m flying backwards, airborne, I have just enough time to think to myself, I wonder if this is what a knockout punch feels like…
Before everything flickers to black.









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Nicola Rendell writes dirty, funny, erotic romance. She likes a stiff drink and a well-frosted cake. She is at an unnamed Ivy and prefers to remain mostly anonymous for professional reasons. She has a PhD in English and an MFA in Creative Writing from schools that shall not be named here. She loves to cook, sew, and play the piano. She realizes that her hobbies might make her sound like an old lady and she’s totally okay with that. She lives with her husband and her dogs. She is from Taos, New Mexico.


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