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At last, he drags himself away from me, backing up a few steps to put a safe amount of distance between our bodies. “Damn, I’m not go
Scooting off the counter, I adjust the oversized t-shirt of his that I’m wearing, pulling it over my ass as I start to walk past him. A frustrated groan ripping from the back of his throat, he yanks me to him yet again. “You know I love you, and—”
“I love you, too,” I whisper a little breathlessly, and a full grin spreads across his gorgeous features.
“Good, because I have no patience this morning,” he informs me, pressing my hand to the front of his boxers so I can feel his erection. “I need you in my shower in the next three minutes or I’ll end up taking my time, and Cameron will have both our asses when we're late.”
“I’ll be there in two,” I promise.
I can hear the sound of the shower ru
My latest background image, the one of Lily and me at prom three years ago, stares back at me and though I can’t remember anything we talked about that particular night, I can vividly hear my sister telling me many, many times how I’d thank her when I graduated.
“I haven’t screwed anything up in a long time,” I start in a low whisper, my voice heavy from all the emotion suddenly weighing my chest down. “I haven't gone out of my way to see what I can wreck. Let’s see how long I can keep this up. If you catch me trying to fuck everything up—well, knock some sense into me, please?”
Before I close the screen, I brush my thumb over my sister’s smiling face and give the image of her an appreciative nod. “And thank you. For everything.”
Then, I leave the room and head for the one thing I’ve wrecked that turned out right.
-The End of Wrecked-
Acknowledgments
Thank you so much to my readers for being so amazing. Your enthusiasm and support for my books amaze me on a daily basis, and I feel so blessed to have you. Thank you for all the emails, reviews, and Facebook messages. You rock my world!
To Michelle Valentine and Kristen Proby— Thank you ladies for putting up with my randomness and making me laugh. I love you two.
To Holly Malgieri and Je
Christine Bezdenejnih Estevez, you are one amazing chick! Thank you for keeping me organized and for loving my books. BIG HUGS for everything you do (and it’s a lot)!
Thanks to Letitia Hasser at RBA Designs for creating such a beautiful book cover. And to Stacy Kestwick for her wonderful beta-reading skills and Je
To Cris Hadarly, Becca Manuel, and Abbie Dauenheimer—Thank you ladies a million times for being so effing creative. I love the trailers and collages, and I smile like an idiot every time I look at them.
To all my amazing author friends—you guys kick ass. I’m so blessed to be a part of such a great, caring community. Lots of love to you all.
To the bloggers in the romance community—THANK YOU! Your support and love for my books mean so much to me. I appreciate you all more than you could ever imagine. Thank you for taking such good care of me and all the other indie authors.
Sneak Peak: Bad Advice
Turn the page for an exclusive sneak peek at BAD ADVICE—a romantic comedy coming in 2015 from Avonlea Cole and Emily Snow!
Chapter One
Dear Avery,
First of all, I’m a huge fan of your column. I’ve been reading it from the start, and your advice seriously ROCKS! Now for the hard part ... I have been dating this guy for several months. We can call him “Ed.” So, “Ed” and I have been spending the night with each other a few nights a week. He is ALWAYS happy and in a good mood when we’re together, BUT he hasn’t introduced me to any of his friends. He hasn’t changed his Facebook status, and we NEVER go out in public.
What’s going on? Does he even like me? Do I embarrass him? Please help; any advice would be appreciated.
Sincerely,
Confused in Richmond
Dear Confused Denial in Richmond,
This is your conscience saying you need to wake the hell up. Is the truth that unclear that you need to write to a stranger for advice? The dude is cheating on you. You are his sidepiece—his mashed potatoes. His steak has already met his friends and, hell, probably even eats Sunday brunch at the country club with his parents.
He doesn't want to know your feelings, doesn’t care about them, and he sure as hell ain't go
Keeping It Real In Raleigh,
Amanda Truthslayer
*
For the third time since sitting down on the other side of my boss’s desk, I read through the post she’d taken the liberty to print off for me, screaming out thoughts as they popped into my head.
“Mashed Potatoes? She called my reader mashed-freakin’-potatoes! How in the hell could any woman have so little class or courtesy? Doesn’t she know this is someone’s life she’s talking about? Someone’s dreams she’s crushing?” I crumble the print-off and slam it into the wastebasket by my editor’s desk. “Of course, she doesn’t because she’s a mega-witch!”
Perched across from me in her cushy leather chair, Barb looked none too pleased at my outburst, but really, who could be calm at a time like this? This she-devil—this Amanda Truthslayer—was ruining my career, one nasty keystroke at a time.
“Avery, I know you’re upset.” Actually, I was pissed off, but I bit my tongue. “And I know this is a big deal.” Barb paused for another moment, tapping her long red nails on the edge of her desk. “But apparently, the public is interested in what she has to say.”
I sucked in a harsh breath. Did she have to knee me below the belt so soon? “Really, Barb?”
Ignoring my exasperation, she bobbed her head a little too enthusiastically, causing her elegant black bun to bounce. “Amanda’s gotten almost eighty thousand hits on just this one post, not to mention the thousands of comments, shares, and likes. And this one just went live last night.”
Eighty. Thousand. Hits.
Wow.
Had I ever even gotten close to eighty thousand hits?
Sure, I have... if you combined all the advice articles I’ve written since starting here a little over a year ago, multiplied the total by two, and then added that number to Amanda Truthslayer’s least popular skewering.
Coming to terms with that particular fact gave me a headache, as if Amanda had just shoved another pin in the voodoo doll she must keep of me.
“And,” Barb added in a low voice, “she’s trending on Twitter and Facebook.”
Was it just me or did she sound more and more excited with each piece of crappy news she decided to share with me?
Focusing my gaze up at the tiled ceiling, I tried to calm my nerves by counting to ten, which immediately sent me into the third stage of panic.