Blog Blast: Excerpt & Giveaway! Murder, Mystery & Mothers by Fran Heap

Murder, Mystery & Mothers by Fran Heap
Series: A Willowcroft Cozy Mystery, #1
Genres: Adult, Cozy Mystery

About the Book:

“You’d better leave town or else”.

After a devastating betrayal mystery writer Tammy Rumbelow flees LA for a charming blue cottage in Willowcroft, Michigan. But when a yellowed letter in the attic reveals an unsolved 70-year-old locked room murder in her living room, her peace is shattered.

Determined to start fresh, Tammy enlists the help of a ragtag group of locals:

Bookstore owner Olivia Huddlestone offers a sanctuary for clandestine conversations and genealogical sleuthing among her shelves.

Eccentric Mrs. Hazel Temperance mines her knitting circle for gossip.

Retired detective “Wally” has contacts at the sheriff’s department.

Tech whiz kid Xander Simmons hasn’t met a computer he didn’t like—or a website he can’t hack.

And a stray cat with a nose for clues…

As threatening letters appear and break-ins escalate around town, Tammy must prove to herself—and her inner critic—that she’s capable of solving a murder, or will that be two?

Perfect for fans of multi-generational mysteries filled with quirky characters like Only Murders in the Building and crime-solving writers like Castle.

The complete series:

  

At three in the morning, with her cursor blinking on an empty page, Tammy Rumbelow stumbled upon an online listing in rural Michigan. For the First time in months, a flicker of hope sparked.

The realtor’s photos of the little blue cottage with its front porch and white picket fence, had set her heart alight. The interior was as enchanting as the exterior, featuring an antique writing desk where inspiration could strike.

On a whim—or perhaps out of desperation—she’d picked up the phone and bought it based on the pictures alone. She had never even visited the state before. Had fate handed her a lifeline, or had she made the biggest mistake of her life?

Now, six weeks later, Tammy’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel; nerves and fanfare clashed in her stomach. This was it—her fresh start. But a familiar undercurrent of doubt threatened to bubble to the surface. She turned off the highway. The country roads, flanked by dense forests of oak, maple, and pine, marked the last stretch of her six-day drive from Los Angeles to Willowcroft.

She rolled down the window. The crisp breeze tousled long, wavy strands of brown hair over her face. Tammy inhaled, savoring the clean air. It reminded her of childhood summers—when life was untangled.

As the miles stretched behind her, the hum of the tires a constant companion, fragments of her former life in LA surfaced. Tammy’s chest constricted at the memory of her best manuscript—a boundary-pushing idea. But she’d never seen it in print, at least not under her name. Instead, her rushed, uninspired replacement made it to the shelves, the one cobbled together in the aftermath, her creativity fractured and trust shattered.

The book reviews rang in her head. “No emotional depth.” “Lacked soul.” Tammy winc ed, acknowledging their bitter truth. But the one that stung the deepest: “She’s not just over forty, she’s over, full stop.” They don’t know the real story behind those pages.

“You can never do anything right,” her mother’s sneer boomed, reopening old wounds. It had taken years to quiet the nagging doubts from her childhood, but the betrayal let those words flood back stronger than ever. The steering wheel grew slick under her clammy palms.

A road sign came into view, providing a diversion. “Welcome to Willowcroft. Township Population 999. Greater Willowcroft Population 5,124.”

Will I tip the scales to an even thousand? Any distraction helped. Was two thousand miles far enough away to break free?

About the Author

I am based in Melbourne, Australia but have lived in London, Copenhagen and New Jersey. I've been to 61 countries but want to visit over 190.

I'm a poor excuse of a redhead who loves ancient ruins and drains, hates dusting, revels in going behind the scenes, can't smile in photos and detests selfie sticks (though I now own one).

I have a penchant for collecting quirky data and my favourite saying is: curiosity killed the cat, but information brought him back.

I have wanted to be a writer since I was nine but also had aspirations of being a famous actress, an astronaut, owning a department store and opening up a youth hostel. I became a career Nanny and Neonatal Nurse instead.

Now I am an author of cozy mystery novels (and travel books).

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Blog Blast w/ Giveaway!: Seven Hundred Beachfront by Ligia de Wit

Seven Hundred Beachfront by
Ligia de Wit
Publication date: July 22nd 2025
Genres: Adult, Magical Realism, Romance, Women’s Fiction

About the Book:

Some places hold memories. Others have opinions.

I didn’t mean to run again.
But when life gets tangled, I untangle it by leaving. And this time, my escape came with strings attached: a five-year-old brother I never signed up to care for, a seaside town I barely remember, and a tattered house on stilts that belongs in Renter’s Hell.

I told myself it was just for the summer. A break. A pause. A way to escape the people I care about but can’t seem to fit with anymore, and the choices I don’t know how to fix.

But the sea doesn’t let you stay distant for long.

Then there’s him. Quiet. Grumpy. Mysterious. The kind of man who doesn’t ask questions, but somehow sees more than he should. I don’t even like talking to him, and yet… here we are. Sharing long silences. Unexpected moments. Maybe even something more.

And as for the house? Let’s just say it has opinions—and it’s not afraid to share them.

Seven Hundred Beachfront is a heartfelt, magical story about learning to stay, letting people in, and discovering that healing doesn’t always come the way you expect it. But when it does, you’ll feel it down to your bones.

 

  

Carole hadn’t sent a thing to keep him busy, damn woman, and I’d only used the TV for movies. Wait a sec—Jessie left a Star Wars movie at my place, the first one, so I should have it here.

“No Scooby, kiddo,” I said while looking in the boxes, “but you’re gonna like this one. It’s the real thing, not a single goofy character one mile near it.”

“ ’Kay.” He sat on the old, flowery couch and gazed at me, expectant.

“How do you want your fish?” I asked while putting the movie on, realizing I had no idea what Bobby liked.

“Dead.”

I gave a small smile. “But how do you like it prepared? Pan fried?”

“No. Like Mom does it.” He lifted his little arms and mimed putting something in a pan. “Like this.”

“You’re not much help, kiddo. I’ll cook it pan fried.”

“ ’Kay,” Bobby whispered, gaze down.

After leaving him with the movie, I got ready to cook. The stove burners were a little rusty but worked. I prepared pan-fried fish, along with steamed vegetables and wild rice. Maybe I didn’t have many accomplishments in my life, but, damn, I could cook. It had been either that or be resigned to eating frozen dinners.

When other kids watched cartoons, I watched cooking shows. At ten, I prepared chicken cordon-bleu. Even Aunt Marie was impressed. Carole just grimaced. It’s overcooked, she’d said.

The aroma of spices and well-cooked fish filled the space, and any knot in my body vanished.

My cell rang, and I picked it up, frowning at the caller ID. “Hey,” I answered flatly.

“Honey!” Carole’s voice came clear. “Darling, you have no idea what a marvelous flight we had.” She laughed, evidently delighted. “First class. The only way to fly. Don’t you ever dare fly coach again, Beverly.”

“Sure. Will do that next time I fly overseas in, I don’t know, my next life, I guess.”

“Oh, don’t be such a bore! Don’t you want me to spill the tea, girlfriend?”

She giggled. Giggled.

“Are you drunk, Mother?”

She sobered up. Nothing like reminding Carole of the maternity role she’d never wanted.

“Sweetheart, you are such a bore.”

I put her on speaker and placed one of my unopened boxes on the counter while Carole talked nonstop about her marvelous, fantastic flight and the wonderful five-star hotel in Madrid.

My Lladró figurine lay wrapped in newspaper. Carefully, I unwrapped it and placed it on the counter. Crap, one of the fruits had broken off.

“Bobby and I are okay,” I managed to say when she took a small pause. “The house’s too old, though. I don’t know if this is a good place for me.”

The wind moaned, and the noisy branch thumped above.

“You haven’t asked me a thing about Madrid,” Carole complained. “Make sure to check the pictures I posted because they are a-ma-zing. I already have more than one-hundred likes!”

“Thank heavens for the social media gods.”

“Don’t give me that snarky tone of yours. You need more good energy in your life, girlfriend. You need a man.”

“Ugh, please.”

“You do. And not that silly cowboy—”

“Gary’s a friend. One of my best friends, actually. Since you’re my girlfriend, then you certainly remember I’ve known him since the seventh grade.”

About the Author

Ligia de Wit writes fantasy romance adventures with heart, humor, and just the right dose of magic. A lifelong romantic with a soft spot for fairy tales and found family tropes, Ligia writes characters who are strong in more than just a physical sense. Her characters face fears, fight for themselves, and find love in the most unexpected places.

When she’s not writing (or rewriting) her imaginary worlds, she works for a global distribution company and dreams up stories during lunch breaks. You’ll often find her with her nose in a book, exploring a new city, hiking through forests, or acting like a total goof at theme parks. She’s a proud kid at heart—and owns it.

Find the Author

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Blog Blitz: How to Date a Prince by Hayden Stone

How to Date a Prince by Hayden Stone
Publication date: July 15th 2025
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, LGBTQ+, Romance

   

About the Book: 

What happens when the British Crown Prince falls in love with an American man who opposes the monarchy?

Prince Auggie swears he’s no kind of dashing prince: daydreamer, private—and also secretly very gay. He’s instantly horrified when his father, reality TV addict King James, signs Auggie up for a reality TV show to promote the monarchy, where the man with the most talents wins—and to help find Auggie a bride, the very last thing Auggie wants. But duty calls.

When Auggie finds out his co-star is irritatingly gorgeous Thomas Golden, the charismatic dual American-English heir to the Golden hotel fortune, it’s another step too far. There’s at least one problem: Prince Auggie’s already recently crossed paths with Thomas Golden one disastrous night in a London club. Plus, there’s that whole second not-so-small, not-so-secret problem—the Golden family wants to get rid of the monarchy.

Once Auggie and Thomas arrive on set in the English countryside, it’s already unapologetically hate at first sight. It’s going to be a very long summer of filming…until sparks fly behind the scenes, leading them to make a searing heatwave all their own. But soon, real reality strikes, and Auggie must choose between the life he’s destined for as the future king—or dare risk everything for love.

An enemies-to-lovers, opposites-attract, feel-good gay royal rom-com.

For fans of Red, White & Royal Blue, Boyfriend Material, and The Unlikely Heir.

 

In my next life, I’ll be reborn as Harry Styles. Or maybe as the reincarnation of Taylor Swift. I’ll still be famous if I must, but I’ll be famous due to my talent instead of my chance birth as a royal. I’m quite sure I’m a negative ten on the talent-o-meter.

Everything else is just genetics. And training.

It’s Friday night in London, and Mayfair glitters. When I step out of the black SUV, straightening to my full height, I pause in the drizzle for the cameras on the red carpet at the charity ball. Snapping shutters echo, and a familiar blinding flash dazzles my eyes.

I give my best public smile and stop in a flattering pose, then strike another pose for my best angles like the Danish prince once taught me during a secret fling. Work it, babe, Prince Theodor coached me then as we drank spicy margaritas, which incidentally led to more spice.

More confidence, more sultry. Hand on my hip and a three-quarter turn to the cameras.

The crowd cheers their approval as I’m blinded by the lights. I wave, smile broadly, and carry on, mindful of not tripping over my own feet.

“Prince Auggie! Over here!”

“Prince Auggie—where’s Katie? I’ll be your date!”

“Prince Auggie, come back!”

Tonight, I’m shamelessly selling the image of charming Prince Auggie, future British monarch. I’d like to meet him too, to be honest, because he’s great in the press. Cool guy. From the outside, he has it together. The media and public are fascinated, so somehow, I must be doing something right. Or quite possibly, I’m doing something wrong enough that the media sticks to me waiting for my next mistake.

I’m all kitted up in an edgy mohair tux that an up-and-coming London designer sent over to me. I’m at least looking the part of the dashing prince, even if I can’t get over the idea that the dashing prince is supposed to be me.

To be fair, I do look good enough, taking after my mum—see genetics above—though I wish I loved crowds like she had. The looks balance out the panic, my friend Gav told me. He said it’s heaps of fun not knowing what I might blurt out next. For him, maybe. Meanwhile, I try to keep my mouth shut as a preventative measure in case something messy accidentally spills out.

“Prince Auggie, is it true you’re still single?”

“Prince Auggie, would you take a photo with me? It’s my birthday!”

I pause and go to the young woman at the barrier for a photo taken by her friend. The paparazzi goes wild. We both grin, and for a moment, I pretend I’m carefree. “Happy birthday,” I say, on my best behavior as she gives a small curtsy. “How do you do.”

She blushes, too tongue-tied to speak.

My father, the King, told me not to be too extra tonight, as if he can sniff out rising rebellion like the dawn breaks each day. I’m kind of horrified that he knows what being extra means. And that he’s applied being extra to me, specifically. Nothing good can come of that. Especially when I’ve been on my best behavior the last few months.

Which is why I asked the stylist at the earlier magazine shoot I’m coming from to give me a smoky-eye look for evening, after we bonded over our favorite makeup. She tousled my medium-length, light reddish-brown—blond if you’re generous during the summer—hair with product. Plus, a touch of contouring never hurt anyone. Use those cheekbones for the good of the kingdom, she told me, because it’s your royal duty to the people.

About the Author

More animal than mineral, Hayden Stone is a writer of fun queer fiction, especially with kissing. He currently lives in Victoria, Canada, and has previously lived in Vancouver, Canada and London, UK. He likes strong coffee and is owned by two cats. You can find out his latest news on Twitter or Instagram, or at his website: haydenstonebooks.com

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Blog Blast: Just Another Meet Cute by Jenn P. Nguyen

Just Another Meet Cute by Jenn P. Nguyen 

Publisher: Scholastic Press
Publication Date:  May 20, 2025

 

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About the Book

Boy saves girl stuck on a disastrous hike. What could go wrong? So. Much.

Just Another Meet Cute is the joyful and funny story about what happens when you realize you’re dating the wrong twin.

When seventeen-year-old Nina Riley gets saved by a super cute Knight-in-Faded-Khakis just as she lands in an embarrassingly ‘ahem’ sticky situation during the most disastrous hike known to man, she wasn’t exactly looking for a meet cute. She really just needed some peace and quiet from her complicated family. Unfortunately, he disappears before she can properly thank him or get his number. All she has is his name (Ian Nguyen) and a navy jacket with a dog keychain, a gym card, and laundromat receipt. But a meet cute is a meet cute. And armed with years of watching Veronica Mars and a techy cousin, it should be simple enough for Nina to find the boy of her dreams, right? But when she finally tracks him down, he’s different than she thought ―right down to his name. Ryan is just as cute as she remembers, but the chemistry isn’t there like it was before. After a few dates, she meets Ryan’s family: his sweet grandma, his enthusiastic sisters, and his twin brother ―​​​​​​​―Ian.

    “Are you sure we’ve never met before? Because you look very familiar.”

    “No, I don’t think so.” His eyes flickered down to my empty coffee cup still on the seat between us. “Nina. That’s a pretty name. Now I’m sure I would have remembered you.”

    Except he didn’t.

    Narrowing my eyes, I searched his face for something—anything—but he continued to give me a small polite smile.

    Then two things hit me at once.

    First, maybe he didn’t recognize me because of my makeup. I mean, I was wearing more than I usually did. A lot more. I barely recognized myself when I looked in the mirror this morning. Plus, on my hike, I wore those huge sunglasses that covered half my face. And my hair was in a ponytail.

    Second, if he didn’t remember me . . . then maybe this was my chance to make another first impression. A better one. Like WAY better. It wouldn’t even be hard. I was already off to a pretty good start. This was practically the definition of a rom-com meet cute, one that would make it into the theaters.

    I mean, sure, I planned the whole thing, but a meet cute was still a meet cute, right? And it’s not like I planned the crazy car. That was a happy coincidence.

    “So . . .”

    I straightened on the bench. “Yes?”

    Kicking his left foot at the sidewalk, Ryan jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “I was thinking, after we talk to the police do you—do you want to get some ice cream with me? I know this place nearby that makes awesome homemade waffle cones. It’s the least I could do, since you saved my life.”

    For a split second, as he gazed down at me with such an earnest expression on his face, a pang of guilt seeped into my gut. He was such a nice guy, both now and on the hike. He probably wouldn’t mind if I told him the truth. After all, the more I lied to him now, the worse it was going to get.

    But when I opened my mouth, nothing came out.

    The thing is, it wasn’t every day that I got a chance to rewrite history. Instead of being the weird girl he met on the hike who got injured and wet her pants, I could be the cool girl from the coffee shop. The one who knew about Spider-Man comics and liked mystery novels. The one who went around saving people and probably had her entire life planned out. And definitely didn’t have any family issues. The girl I always wished I could be, at least for a little bit.

    And this was something I was definitely going to take advantage of.

    Plus, technically, I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Not really. I was just tweaking our meet cute story a teensy bit. If he didn’t remember me, then it wasn’t really my fault.

    I gave him a bright smile. “Make it a double scoop and you’ve got yourself a date."

About the Author

Jenn Nguyen fell in love with books in third grade and spent the rest of her school years reading through lunchtime and giving up recess to organize the school library. She has a degree in business administration from the University of New Orleans and still lives in the city with her husband. Jenn spends her days reading, dreaming up YA romances, and binge watching Korean dramas all in the name of 'research'.

Find the Author

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Blog Blitz w/ Excerpt & Giveaway! - Immortal Dark by Shermon Kodi

Immortal Dark by Shermon Kodi

Publication date: March 10th 2025

Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

 

About the Book

The shadows awaken as darkness falls. And these shadows have fangs.

Seventeen-year-old Bexis has survived the frozen streets of Coppejj by trusting no one but herself. With her shadow magic, she’s scraped by as a freelance thief, working for local gang lords and politicians. 

But when a routine heist goes horribly wrong, Bexis is branded with ancient magic, making her the target of a bloodthirsty spirit.

Desperate for answers, she turns to an eccentric demon hunter. Together, they uncover a deadly plot by a sinister cabal, threatening to plunge the world into eternal night. As Bexis confronts her haunted past, she faces a grim choice: Embrace the shadows within, or lose everything she holds dear.

To destroy the darkness, she must first become it.

 

The job is simple.

Enter the room unseen. Wait for Ajjan to distract the mark—a foreign dignitary from the south. Then acquire her handbag and deliver it to the other side of town.

No blood. No trace.

My employer was very specific about that last bit. It’s common protocol in my line of work, along with an understanding that pay will be docked by half if I’m spotted. If there’s blood, I might not get paid at all. My mark must never know I was here. Personally, I thought I’d outgrown grabbing purses in the night. But it’s an easy job, and I can use the money.

The red night moon casts the world in crimson light as I pull myself onto the third-story balcony of a slummy brothel in the west end. The window is webbed with ice, obscuring my view inside—I can only make out pale blotches of yellow light. There doesn’t seem to be any movement, but I can’t be sure the room is empty. I just have to hope the Blackbones did their job and set everything up.

I give the windowpane a shove, but it doesn’t budge. Damn. The thing hasn’t been opened in months, and it’s frozen shut. For a common thief, a frozen window stymies a job. But I’m no common thief.

I take out my trapper tone pipe, a metal cylinder with a single reed, tuned to one specific note. The reflective surface catches light from the lanterns below, illuminating my name inscribed along the side in big bold letters: BEXIS. It was a gift from my deadbeat father right before he abandoned me. It’s the last thing I have from him, and if it weren’t so damn useful, I’d have tossed it years ago.

I bring the pipe to my lips and blow. The note is inaudible, like a dog whistle, too high for the human ear to hear. But the vibration weaves through the air and seeps into my skin, where it sparks like flint on steel, and a sonorous ember catches deep in my chest. Resonance hums through my body. The ambient darkness around me shimmers with feathered lines of silver that only I can see.

A burst of power shudders through me, and I hold it within my realm of focus, like cupping a candle against a sea wind.

This is resonance trapping—the first step in performing harmonic magic. Mine is the harmony of shadow. Sparking the ember is the easy part. Trapping it is more difficult, but holding it once it’s been trapped? Well, that’s like riding an angry wolverine. If I’m not careful, I might lose control, and people could get hurt. It’s been months since that’s happened, but there’s always a chance the resonance will lash out, sending me into an episode of uncontrollable power.

Resonance quivers through my veins. I reach my hand to the glass, willing the vibration into my fingertips, and the shadows obey. Tendrils of silver swirl across my wrist and through my palm. I touch the windowpane, and the shadows run through it, seeping like oil into the hinges.

The window squeals as ice crumbles around the edges.

I shift my awareness to the space above my head. Resonance purrs in my chest as I weave gossamer strands of silver around me like a cloak. This is my greatest trick. So long as I can hold the resonance and have enough ambient shadow to work with, I can conceal myself from prying eyes. But I can’t maintain it for long; already, I can feel my energy beginning to drain as heaviness settles behind my eyes.

Best be quick now.

I heave the window open and squeeze inside.

About the Author

Shermon Kodi is a legally blind author who finds inspiration in the quiet knolls of Chittenden County, Vermont, where the long snowy winters drive one to pair wool socks with moccasin slippers and curl up by the furnace with a pot of chamomile tea and a book about monsters in dark places doing dark things. Through his writing, Shermon seeks to explore the resilience of the human spirit, the tenacity of good people faced with hard times, and the relationships that light us up, make our hearts smile, and carry us through every storm.

When he’s not writing, Shermon spends his time thinking about writing.

He knows this is a problem— although, he contends, it’s a good kind of problem to have. Occasionally, he’ll break from his routines and really let go— sleep in till 7 AM, drink tea instead of coffee, read in the mornings, or plug in the ’07 Strat and reminisce about the days when he dreamed of being a rockstar instead of an author.

He’ll be the first to tell you: “No regrets!”

Life is funny like that.

Shermon is the author of Heart of the Valley and Songs of the Rhor, both available on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited. Stay connected on TikTok and Instagram for updates on his latest books, behind-the-scenes insights, and creative content.

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Blog Blast w/ Giveaway: Chasing Headlines by J. Rose Black

Chasing Headlines by J. Rose Black
Series: Chasing Victory, #1
Publication date: January 2nd 2025
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, New Adult, Romance

They’re chasing the same dream…
Too bad they’re not on the same team.

When Breslin Cooper’s major league dreams go up in flames, he’s left with his backup plan: college baseball at Texas State Tech in Vanquer, Texas. But his public altercation with a reporter saddles him with mandated community service, therapy–and a toxic “Storm Cooper” reputation that no professional baseball scout will touch.

Liv Milline’s family name is practically synonymous with IML baseball. Yet despite her love for the game (the tight pants aren’t bad, either) and her dreams of becoming a baseball scout–her father holds one, ironclad rule: No baseball for Olivia (the corollary: no baseball players for Olivia is just downright mean).

Her one loophole? Playing baseball beat reporter for Texas State Tech.

Chasing similar dreams, Liv attempts to befriend Breslin. But the amazingly talented, pain in her aperture has only two words to say whenever she’s around: “No comment”.

Still, she can’t help but notice the troubled ballplayer’s running on overload. Emotionally wounded and reeling from his mother’s death, the only time Breslin seems close to “ok” is on the ballfield. Liv and his new teammates can’t seem to get through.

When a lapse in judgment catches Breslin in a real-world rundown, jeopardizing his probation and his baseball scholarship, his only choice may be to rely on Liv–the aggravating, attractive, and utterly relentless reporter, chasing her latest headline.

[Book one of a series, Chasing Headlines ends with a HFN, no cliffhanger, but lingering / unresolved issues waiting to bite them in the butt in Book 2.]

   

Breslin POV

I threw my glove in my locker and grabbed my backpack from the hook. I imagined myself bounding out of the room, but my legs barely managed more than a shuffle.

Still, I must have gotten going a bit too fast because, the next thing I knew, Rally Girl was on the ground, phone skittering across the tile.

And I was the asshole. Shit.

She sat on her rear in the center of the hallway, rubbed her hip and winced. Fuck, is she going to claim I injured her—to get back at me for earlier? I glanced behind me at the locker room door. She can follow me. I looked at the exit door. I’d have to step over her. That would be ridiculous. I had more integrity than that.

Still . . .

She hissed through clenched teeth.

“You . . .” Dammit, what was her name? I had not been paying attention to anything other than, well, my shirt. On her body. Idiot.

“Well, what’s left of me. Geez, do you eat bricks for breakfast or what?”

Her legs, long and tan and open—they bent at the knee as she rested her elbows on them. And apparently, my body was not too tired to enjoy the view.

“I’m not hurt and I’m not upset. But maybe you could help me up?” She spoke in a soft voice. Dark eyelashes framed bright blue-green eyes.

I extended a hand and tugged her to her feet. She stood for a breath, two. So close. Connected. Something about the feel of her skin against mine . . . A small, but soothing warmth tingled through the nerves in my hand, sparking a heated rush from my palm to my neck.

A sharp breath, and then her fingers slid from my grasp. I missed the warmth of her.

“. . . maybe offer an apology?” She moved her hand up and down in a phantom handshake. “Sure, Coop. No hard feelings.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. Can this be over? I panted for air and shifted back a step. Her being the hot chick in the water fountain had been one thing. I could have tried to find her, always wondered, haunted the student center in the hopes I’d run into her again.

Her being a reporter meant all of those things went on the “no fucking way, ever” list.

“I don’t know what you’re over there thinking, but, I wouldn’t hurt you. You mean too much to the team.” She frowned. “This was an accident. Not that it didn’t jar me to the bone. You missed your calling as a linebacker.”

I blinked. Opened my mouth. Re-ran the words through my brain. She just said a shit ton of stuff, and what the fuck was any of it about?

“I’m fine, really. You need to stop gushing over me. All the upset is really beneath you.” One eyebrow rose and she crossed her arms. How did she breathe while saying all those words?

“Um, are you OK?” She leaned closer.

I stared at her mouth. “You talk a lot.”

Her arms dropped to her sides. “That’s what you have to say? Not a ‘You OK?’ or ‘So sorry, I didn’t see you there. Can I help you with your things?’”

I didn’t catch all of it, but, maybe, if I did the last thing, she’d move out of my way? And I could get food, drink a gallon of water, take a shower? I stunk to hell and back.

Help her with her stuff. I set my backpack down and knelt at her feet. I tried not to think about those short running shorts or how good it’d feel to slide my fingers over the curve of her calf, up to her hip. I shoved her shit into her bag and tossed it to her. I retrieved her phone from the tile floor.

“That’s, um. Yeah. Thanks.” She pulled the device from my grip.

I pushed my sweat-soaked hair from my forehead. “You’re OK?”

“Yeah.” She pulled the bag over her shoulder. “Got bowled over by a human freight train, but lived to tell the tale. I pity any catcher that tries to get in your way.” She gave me a tight-lipped smile.

So many words. No wonder she had to write them all down. “But you’re fine?”

“What, do you need me to sign a waiver?”

Red hazed into my vision. “I’d say yes, but reporters are lying snakes in the grass. Wouldn’t matter.”

“I . . .” Her jaw worked, but no sound came out.

An errant thought about her mouth working flit through my brain.

“But, I–We’re on the same team, Coop.” She pointed at her jersey as if that was “proof”. It sure as hell wasn’t.

“We’re not.” I hefted my backpack onto my shoulder. “But you were right about one thing.”

“What do you mean?”

I leaned down and stared at her head on. She turned a deep dark pink.

“To pity the person who tries to get in my way.”

About the Author

J. Rose Black weaves stories about obsession, redemption, and the transcendental power of love. From her early days writing fanfiction for a passionate following of international readers, to crafting novels with her own characters, Rose has always been drawn to broody protectors and plucky, no-nonsense women ready to fight for what they believe in.

When Rose isn’t deeply immersed in her latest manuscript, she’s working in cyber security and thwarting the next generation of internet bad guys. Out of the office, she’s #Shipping with friends over her favorite, swoon-worthy couples, heading to the gym to battle the great evil that is Unmovable Baby Weight, or complaining about her husband’s addiction to 3D printing. Also: nagging her children to eat something other than cheese.

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