Nocturnal Book Reviews 3rd Blogoversary Celebration Day Four with Penny Reid!
Hello, peeps!
We
are THREE on the 9th of May, so we will be celebrating all week with
exclusive content from our favorite authors, giveaways and personal
tidbits.
Hope you join us in all the fun.
Cheers,
Karina & Vika
Did you know?
The best stunt this blog has ever done was Christmas With feature in 2012 which still gets hits every week. We managed to get together a formidable team of Elizabeth Hunter, Jess Haines, Carolyn Crane, Seanan McGuire, Suzanne McLeod, Dakota Banks and Marta Acosta. It was amazing, folks!
Today's final guest of honor is our beloved, funny and beautiful Penny Reid with a very special present for our anniversary. It's an exclusive short story!
* * *
Did you know?
The best stunt this blog has ever done was Christmas With feature in 2012 which still gets hits every week. We managed to get together a formidable team of Elizabeth Hunter, Jess Haines, Carolyn Crane, Seanan McGuire, Suzanne McLeod, Dakota Banks and Marta Acosta. It was amazing, folks!
Today's final guest of honor is our beloved, funny and beautiful Penny Reid with a very special present for our anniversary. It's an exclusive short story!
* * *
Since Karina was
kind enough to write a Valentine’s Day review for my latest book,
Love Hacked, I thought I’d write a little Valentine’s Day story
for her blog. Thank you, Karina, for your FANTASTIC and honest
reviews, and congratulations on your accomplishment!!
What did she really have to
lose? All she needed to do was email the guy, set up the date, pray
he was even a fifth as amazing as Emily said he was and show up.
That’s all.
I am such a Scaredy McFrightenedton…
She stared at the blinking cursor on
her screen and eyed the “x” in the upper right hand corner that
would end her misery. She could just close the screen, go to the
start menu, select shut down, and watch her computer screen
fade to black…
One year… twelve months… just a
week shy of three hundred and sixty-five days.
Somewhere in the rebellious recesses of
her mind, an annoying little voice that sounded suspiciously like her
own reminded her that twelve months had passed since her last date.
Since her boyfriend had broken up with her via text message,
completely out of the blue, on Valentine’s Day.
On the scale of awful, it rated pretty
high. This was because the text he’d sent was a picture of him
kissing another girl.
In other words, he was a douche.
Sure, she had sworn off dating for the
remainder of her life. Sure, she had been resigned to living her
existence as a neurotic spinster.
Maybe she would get a cat, or two, or
four, or seven—might as well make it a baker’s dozen.
But now, after almost twelve months and
Valentine’s Day looming large, she was ready to throw her hat in
the ring again. Get her groove on. Get jiggy with whatever “it”
was, if people even said that anymore…
She was not so sure.
What do you have to lose?
That thought troubled her. Pursing her
lips as she contemplated loss, she realized—sans the possibility
that he was a serial killer—all she had to lose was time. Time she
would most likely otherwise spend watching Room with a View
and rewinding the scene on the hill over and over and over and over.
The one where Julian Sands grabs Helena
Bonham Carter with his big, masculine hands, holding her around the
waist and sliding his—she imagined—cool hand over her cheek, then
pulling her to him with expectation. And as their lips meet for the
first time, amidst the sea of golden barley, the kiss explodes with
passion.
Screw fear of the unknown! Carpe
Diem! Seize the fucking day!
Mary nodded, then started typing.
Hi Lucas,
You don’t know me—not really—but
Emily informed me that she told you all about me and you are
interested in a date; she thinks we would be perfect for each other
but I am more skeptical- by nature. Even though I am a romantic, I do
not believe in love at first sight- that’s just silly. What I do
believe in is chances- everyone deserves a chance.
So, if you want yours, please meet
me at Jake Peterson’s microbrewery on 5th
and Pine this Saturday at 6pm (Valentine’s Day). I’ll be the one
in leather pants.
Looking forward to meeting you, Mary
I. Harris
PS Don’t ask what the “I”
stands for because I won’t tell you
On a rush of adrenaline, she typed her
email, typed the address from the card Emily had given her, and hit
send. Mary reveled in her courage and guts and ability to grab the
moment and smiled at the inspiration of meeting at the
microbrewery—most likely brought on by the picturesque barley field
of Lucy and George’s first kiss.
She also considered herself to be quite
ballsy, having scheduled the date for V-day.
Mary spent a full minute congratulating
herself, dwelling on her amazingness before anxiety hit her like a
punch in the throat.
What have I done?
***
Nervous wreck? Anxiety-ridden? How
about deer caught in headlights?
Oh yeah, that and more.
What am I doing here? What are you
doing?
She glanced down at her outfit—leather
pants. Leather-fucking-pants. She was certifiable. She needed to find
the nearest sane person and sign over her rights to decision making,
or at least give them her computer and passcode to the computer labs
on campus. She glanced around the microbrewery with severe
apprehension, and her mind started rehearsing for the seventh time
all the excuses to leave when he showed up… if he showed up.
It was already five minutes after 6:00
pm.
He is not coming. You are a moron in
leather pants, and he is not coming because you are a moron.
She tucked her hair—worn in a cascade
of curls down her mid-back—nervously behind her ear and
glanced at her watch again, unable to miss the cleavage peeking at
her beneath the purple V-neck she’d decided to wear.
Mary had justified it earlier by
reminding herself that today was laundry day. What she didn’t want
to think about was showing up in leather pants and her green granny
sweater, the only other clean item in her closet.
Mary chewed on her purple-painted lip
and shifted in her seat. The waiter looked her way and their eyes
met. His gaze flickered to her chest, he smiled shortly; then he
turned and attended to another table. The knot in the pit of her
stomach twisted.
Oh great, now Mr.
I-am-married-waiter-guy feels sorry for Ms.
Looking-absolutely-ridiculous-in-leather-pants. She rolled her
eyes, reminding herself that no one looks good in leather pants.
Then, she looked up and saw leather
pants…
Leather pants, leather boots, leather
jacket, leather motorcycle gloves… and blue eyes. The bluest eyes
she had ever seen. As mesmerized by his eyes as she was, she couldn’t
help but notice the rest of him—the entire package. Thick
muscular thighs, broad muscular chest and arms, square cut jaw, and
blonde spiked hair. For a moment, she thought he was… him. Her
blind date.
However, a split second later, as she
attempted to swallow her lust, she’d already convinced herself he
was not him.
Yes, he had blonde hair like Emily had
described. Yes, he had blue eyes. Yes, he was tall. But, Lucas had
also been described as artsy. This man sure as hell wasn’t “artsy.”
Sure, his body was a work of art, his movements were artful, but she
would never describe him as “artsy.”
He was combing the brewery—turning
his head this way and that as though searching for someone. She
hadn’t had time to compose herself when his eyes locked with hers
and then it was impossible to tear her gaze from his.
He smirked.
She swallowed.
He started walking toward her.
She swallowed again.
He stopped at her table, but she was
out of saliva and her mouth felt cottony and useless.
He dipped his head as though waiting
for her to speak. Finally, raising his eyebrows, he queried, “Mary
I. Harris?”
The sound of her own name, especially
coming from his mouth and said with his sexy man-voice, shook her
from the trance. She stood abruptly, causing the chair to scrape
noisily on the wood floor, and extended her hand, “Yes, um—yes!
I’m Mary, you must be—”
He cut her off, moving a chair closer
to hers and said, “Sit.”
And she did. Her face turned beet red
with embarrassment. What am I? A dog? Sit. Bark. Roll over. Her
face flushed again, this time from unbidden images of her rolling
over and him on top.
He was watching her, his elbow resting
carelessly on the table, and she burned brighter under his scrutiny.
Realizing she could clear her throat, she did. “So…um…thanks
for meeting me…” She glanced up, meeting his clearly amused
stare.
He leaned closer to her, resting his
cheek against his propped up palm, “Not what you expected?” he
asked, raising an eyebrow.
Her eyes widened, and she instinctively
shook her head, “No, no…” She looked away, closing her eyes.
Then sighing, she lifted her eyes to his again, “Well, actually,
yes. You are not what I expected.”
He raised his eyebrows and scooted his
chair closer, “How so?”
She smiled at him, feeling somehow more
at ease and more anxious at the same time, “Well, Emily said you
were artsy and somehow…” She gestured to him with her hand,
unable to finish her sentence.
Watching her, his expression
unreadable, he stated, “I am not artsy. I am not even sure what
that means.”
She couldn’t help it; she laughed. He
watched her amusement with interest—giving in to a small
smile—before clearing his throat, “Nice pants.”
Her laughter faded. She tucked a strand
of hair behind her ear and narrowed her eyes, “Yeah, well, yours
aren’t bad either. Where do you shop? The Leather Warehouse?”
Leaning back in his chair, he smirked
and pulled off the leather jacket and gloves, revealing a charcoal
gray t-shirt underneath that proved her suspicions about his chest
right. Realizing that she was staring, she forced herself to look
away, “So um… Emily said—”
Looking away and sighing heavily he
shook his head, “Look, I need to tell you something.”
Oh God. He’s married. He’s a
eunuch. He’s gay. He hates my leather pants…
She tried not to let her panic show as
he lifted his eyes to hers. Making certain she was paying attention,
he leaned in close, “I am not who you think I am.”
Mary’s eyebrows pulled low in
confusion.
He continued, “I think you sent me
that email on accident. I don’t know anyone named Emily… and no
one tried to set me up with a Mary.”
Her mouth dropped open in despair and
complete and utter embarrassment, “Oh my God…” She stood,
reached for her bag, and backed away from the table.
Clearly anticipating her movements, the
stranger reached for her hand. This didn’t deter her from
intermittently muttering curses and apologies.
“I’m so sorry, this is not…I
mean, I’m sorry you came all the way to…I don’t know what the
hell I was…you are definitely not, and I’m not, and fuck!”
“Listen—” he stood and moved his
grip from her hand to her elbow, “—wait.”
She raised her eyes to his, slightly
shaking her head, and asked, “Why did you even come?”
He took a step forward, dwarfing her
with his massive size. His hand—strong and calloused, she noticed
without wanting to—shifted to her waist, holding her still and
sending heat to her stomach.
Dipping his head to the side and
leaning close, he whispered, “I wanted to know what the ‘I’
stood for.”
* * *
AAAAH, what a fab short story, Penny! Thank you So MUCH!!!!
Penny also graciously donated a swag pack with a signed bag for one winner.
Just comment below to enter the contest, and I will choose a winner on May 11th with the help of Random.org.
Good luck!
Penny's books we reviewed:
Neanderthal Seeks Human | Friends Without Benefits | Love Hacked
AAAAH, what a fab short story, Penny! Thank you So MUCH!!!!
Penny also graciously donated a swag pack with a signed bag for one winner.
Just comment below to enter the contest, and I will choose a winner on May 11th with the help of Random.org.
Good luck!
Penny's books we reviewed:
Neanderthal Seeks Human | Friends Without Benefits | Love Hacked
