Ready the Pickles,
Keane Morgan is finally here!
Meet Keane in this STANDALONE romantic comedy!
(No Prior reading required)
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Blurb
Keane Morgan wouldn’t return any of my
calls or texts, and I was pissed as hell about it. I didn’t want to drive from
Seattle to L.A. with the guy any more than he wanted to drive with me, but I
had no frickin’ choice in the matter--at least, not if I wanted to use his
brother Dax’s coveted parking spot at UCLA.
Okay, so it turned out Keane was
objectively gorgeous, and, fine, pretty funny, too. But did he have to be so
damned in love with himself? I mean,
jeez, the cocky way he flashed those dimples was just so orchestrated. And, honestly, what kind of guy uses the phrase “baby
doll” with a straight face? Oh, that’s right: the kind of guy who’s a male stripper.
Yup, the cocky jerk turned out to be
Seattle’s answer to Magic Mike, a stripper known as “Ball Peen Hammer”--which
meant Keane Morgan was emphatically not
the kind of guy I’d ever fall for.
Not. At. All.
No freakin’ way.
Well, until Keane convinced me to fall
for him, that is.
Which I did.
Hard.
Excerpt
As they
exchange information, I make my way to the end of my aisle and loop into
theirs, not taking my eyes off Baby Face the whole time. Shit. This dude’s
hunting Maddy so hard, it’s making my blood boil. Jesus, he’s going
full-throttle rifle on Maddy’s ass
right now, completely foregoing his crossbow altogether.
When I
reach the two of them in the middle of their aisle, I shuffle past the dude and
stand next to Maddy, shoulder to shoulder, and then, on a sudden impulse, put
my arm around her shoulders and squeeze her tight, making her wobble in place
at the unexpected jolt to her balance. “Hey, sis,” I say, squeezing her like a
rag doll. “You totally fell down on your candy-acquiring duties.”
“I know.
I’m sorry.” She subtly wiggles out of my grasp. “Brian and I got into this
hilarious argument about the best candy bar of all- time, and—”
“And I’m
totally right,” Brian says, cutting her off, and they both chuckle at some
inside joke.
“No, I’m totally right,” Maddy corrects.
Brian
smiles at her. “I’ll actually be down in L.A. in a month. How ’bout I call you
then?”
“Great.”
“Nice to
meet you, man,” Brian says, looking at me. He nods but doesn’t put out his
hand.
I nod
back.
Brian
strolls away, buys a Snickers bar and a can of Red Bull, and leaves with a
little wave to Maddy.
The
minute he’s out the door, Maddy takes a giant step away from me, her face
etched with annoyance. “What was that?”
she asks.
“What?”
“That
weird thing you just did?”
“I don’t
know what you’re talking about.”
Maddy
puts on an exaggerated scowl, like she’s Hulk Hogan eying an opponent. “’Hey,
Brian,’” she says in a low voice, clearly intending to imitate me but sounding
more like Arnold Schwarzenegger imitating Maddy imitating me. “’I’m Maddy
Milliken’s bodyguard and I’m going to beat you the hell up now,’” she adds.
“What are
you talking about?” I say, chuckling.
Maddy
pauses, assessing me, and finally shrugs. “Nothing. I guess I imagined it.”
“Imaged what?”
“Your
weird... I dunno... vibe.”
“Oh,
well, yeah. I was worried about you.”
“Worried
about me? I was standing in a minimart, buying candy. Pretty low-risk activity,
I’d say.”
“Uh, you
absolutely were not standing in a
minimart, buying candy—you totally fell down on that job, dude. You were
standing in a minimart, getting picked up by a douche. And second of all—”
“What?”
Shit.
What the fuck am I doing? I’ve got to stop this shit right now. “Don’t get
riled up, baby doll,” I say in my most soothing voice. “All I’m saying is you
took so damned long in here, I started thinking maybe the store was getting
robbed or you’d fallen into the toilet or something.”
Maddy
twists her mouth. “Brian didn’t seem the least bit douchey to me.”
I shrug.
“What gave you the impression he’s a douche?”
“Just a
figure of speech. So are you gonna do the job I hired you to do or not?” I
motion to the candy rack. “‘Cause based on your performance thus far, you’re
totally fired.”
“And I
wasn’t getting ‘picked up,’” Maddy says, her tone full of indignation. “Brian’s
brother goes to UCLA. Can’t I talk to a helpful, nice guy without it being some
sort of a sleazy pick-up?”
“Sure you
can. However, in this instance, you were talking to a helpful, nice guy who was
picking you up so he can bone the living fuck outta ya.”
“Keane.” Maddy’s cheeks burst with color.
“Don’t say that. Oh my god. You’re insane. Brian was just being helpful, that’s
all.”
“Yeah, so
he can bone the living fuck outta ya.”
“Stop
saying that. Please. It’s offensive and absolutely not true. This topic of
conversation is officially over.”
About the Author
USA Today
and internationally bestselling author Lauren Rowe lives in San Diego,
California, where, in addition to writing books, she performs with her
dance/party band at events all over Southern California, writes songs, takes
embarrassing snapshots of her ever-patient Boston terrier, Buster, spends time
with her wonderful family, and narrates audiobooks. Much to Lauren’s thrill,
her books have been translated all over the world in multiple languages and hit
multiple domestic and international bestseller lists. With enticing characters,
enthralling situations and a general love of romantic fiction, Lauren has
created a world of her own, full of wit and sensual desire.
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