Can I just say the success of this series supports my love of the good guy, especially the complex, tortured good guy? (Please refer back to my obsession last year with North and South. Richard Armitage. O.M.G. I even have fan fiction on Wattpad for that one.) I know that bad boys are somewhat the rage right now with their tats and their pasts completely devoid of love and understanding. But I like me a sexy nice guy.

I’m releasing one to you almost as we speak. In one week, Rhyolite Drifts: Yellowblown™ Book Two will be released with the continuing story of Violet and her slice of heaven, Boone, all on preorder for 99 cents. So grab yourself a handful of Hotness.

Sitting in the truck on the prairie, the night sky blocked by ash, was like sitting in a closed refrigerator, minus the threat of suffocation. Boone reclined in the passenger seat, gingerly exploring the cut and bruise over his eye. At least the lid wasn’t swollen shut anymore. Sneaking over the train trestle bridge with fifty-percent vision hadn’t been the wisest journey he’d ever made. Violet wouldn’t call him Dudley Do Right when she heard about that.

If.

Distance was supposed to break the bond. That’s what had happened with his high school girlfriend, and with Twyla. He’d gone on to the next phase of his life and they’d receded. He wasn’t so cold that he hadn’t worried about their hurt feelings, but he hadn’t been broken. He hadn’t shuddered with guilt in the daylight and woken at night filled with longing.

He’d been alone—solidly alone, without even a friendly conversation at a gas station—for a little more than two weeks and learned he wasn’t very good at it. Especially now, when time and distance weren’t working in his favor.

Leaving Violet hadn’t been a real choice. He’d had to go. He had to find his parents.

A girl he’d only been with a couple of months couldn’t tag along, even if she asked fervently enough to squeeze his heart. This wasn’t a trip to the county fair, after all.

But the damned bond wasn’t breaking the way it should. It wasn’t even weakening.

Rhyolite Drifts on Amazon

If you need to start at the beginning, Eruption is also on sale. You can find the purchase links here.

Make sure to visit other people on the hop by using the Click Here link below.

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Click here to find the other authors on the Book Hooks hop.

As services are disrupted, Violet Perch uses her bike to deliver mail to her rural neighbors and steal some alone-time for her sanity. She sees the flag up on the mailbox at a house she’s never stopped at before, and is pretty sure the note in the box requesting she come to the slightly creepy house to get a message is just a ploy to lure her into the clutches of serial killer.

I left my bike by the road as a signal that Violet had been here. That way if the cell towers were down and my phone’s GPS failed, the homicide detectives might know where to find the blood spatter with their black lights. Were forensic scientists still employed? I wondered this as I shuffled through the dead leaves in the driveway. It would actually be a great way to evaluate careers. How would such a proficiency test question be worded? “Is it important to you your career remain viable through an apocalyptic event?” Perhaps if I survived the next quarter hour, or the next year, I would take a serious look at who still had jobs and then go get training for whatever they were doing.

As I mentioned above, books one and two are both on sale for 99 cents, so it’s a great time to get started with the Yellowblown™ series. Eruption: Yellowblown™ Book One is highly recommended to be read first, and was a BTS eMag Red Carpet finalist in 2014.

You can find Eruption: Yellowblown™ Book One here:

Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MRHAIRO

Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/eruption-j-hughey/1120343037?ean=9781500866051

Kobo https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/eruption-3

iTunes https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/eruption/id977183578?mt=11&uo=4

Rhyolite Drifts: Yellowblown™ Book Two is available for preorder at Amazon and will be on other vendors on or around May 5, 2015.

Here’s a blurb:

Abandoned by Hotness.

Held hostage by the Yellowstone eruption, I’m stuck at home instead of loving life at college.

Sanity is restored when my college roommate arrives, but I’m still trapped in my hometown with a bunch of people just trying to survive. Some of them are surprisingly interesting, like the HAM radio opera singer lady. Or the pop star who crushes on me while waiting for an air filter for his tour bus.

Unfortunately there’s also my roommate’s gangster little brother who pushes Grandma to her conservative edge, and the local entrepreneurs determined to capitalize on hard times. They tick me off.

Despite all this I’m determined to find a path to the fabled land of Adulthood even if my heart is broken and all the roads are ash covered.

And where the heck did that Nebraskan cattle rancher go, anyway?

Everything is changing but my heart and my hopes don’t want to change with it.

Admit it, you’re hooked. Give the first book a try for 99 cents.

Also, visit the other authors on todays Book Hooks blog tour by using the Click here link below.

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Click here to find the blog list.

“I’m here to be with you and I intend to keep it that way. I’m not stepping aside for anybody or any reason, unless you tell me to.”

I nodded again, abrading my forehead on denim.

“And even then, I’m gonna put up a helluva fight for you.”

If Amazon did their job, Rhyolite Drifts should be available to preorder for 99 cents at http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VGOQ9VS. To be ready for it, you need to get to know Hotness in Eruption: Yellowblown™ Book One.

Make sure to visit the other Hot For Friday bloggers today. You can find them by clicking the little blue frog.

Here’s the snippet where Boone makes Violet weak in the knees…again:

I kissed the center of his chest. “You don’t want a helpless girl to go limp in your arms?”

“As long as it’s you, I’ll take it. You can go limp, grab me, lie down, stand up, do whatever you want as long as I’m the man you’re doing it with. Tell me how you want it and I’ll do it. Fast, slow, noisy, quiet, dirty, polite, outside, inside….”

He continued his list while I cracked up. “So, now you’re my sex slave?”

“Yes,” he answered without thought. “Absolutely yes. Or maybe we can take turns.”

As I said, this is from Rhylite Drifts: Yellowblown™ Book Two, which is in the editing phase now, and will soon be released, but get yourself some Hotness by reading Eruption!

For more swoon-worthy lines, click the froggy to find the other authors in this weeks hop. Thanks for visiting!

In this scene from Eruption: Yellowblown™ Book One, Boone, the Geology TA who is also Violet’s freshman-crush-starting-to-turn-into-sophomore-boyfriend, first breaks the news. Neither of them fully understand the potential impacts, though Boone has a better idea than Violet.

EXCERPT

“You’re starting to freak me out,” I said. He looked like he was going to tell me someone had died, but he didn’t know anyone in my family, and surely the Dean of Students would not give him the responsibility of passing on bad news after three weeks of talking.

“Sorry,” he said. “I can’t decide if I’m freaked out or not.” He took a deep breath. “Yellowstone is erupting.”

I stared at him, not a flicker of comprehension illuminating my dim-bulb mind. Nothing. “Yellowstone? The place with the, umm, geysers?” Obviously I’d heard of Yellowstone, never been there, not sure I could place it on a map in the murky part of the U.S. between where I lived and Hollywood.

“Yeah. Yellowstone sits over a hotspot that’s been around for millions of years.”

“Instead of steaming it’s now erupting? As in lava erupting?” We’d covered igneous rocks in a very general way already so I knew hot liquefied rock below the ground was called magma and, when it erupted, became lava.

“Dr. Potter says nobody knows what it’s doing. It blew this morning. I mean explosively blew. All the local sensors went offline. Satellite pictures show a big brown cloud of dust. Like two hundred miles across.”

Boone’s voice shook a fraction. I put my hand on his forearm. He sat back so he could hold it in his.

I asked, “Do you have friends out there, or family?”

“Not close. Dr. Potter knows I’m from Nebraska. He asked me where—made me point to it on a map. He said my family might want to stockpile supplies, or better yet, leave.” He paused, prompting me to scoot to the edge of my seat. “My house is nine hundred miles away from Yellowstone, Violet.”

END OF EXCERPT

I’ve incorporated little science tidbits throughout the book, but especially in the next scene after this excerpt, to give the average reader a respectable understanding of Yellowstone and some geological concepts. If you’d like to know more about the science, I’m in the middle of a series of blog posts about it, starting with I’m a Geek about Yellowstone, some low-key talking points to impress your friends that I then expand upon in subsequent posts.

BLURB for Eruption: Yellowblown Book One.

I’m in the middle of the perfect college semester, hundreds of miles from Mom, with an awesome roomie and my freshman crush finally becoming a sophomore reality—Hotness! I’m figuring out calculus, I’ve got both hands on the handlebars and the wind of freedom in my hair. What on earth could slow my roll?

How about if the Yellowstone volcano erupts for the first time in 630,000 years, spewing a continuous load of ash (crap) all over North America? Think that’ll put a kink in my bicycle chain?

Make that kinks, plural, because here’s a scientific fact I’ll bet you didn’t know. Nothing ruins the perfect semester like a super caldera. Now that I’ve made you smarter today, maybe you can tell me how to keep my life cruising in the right direction—no to Mom, yes to roomie, double yes to Hotness!—during a global disaster?

My lame name is Violet and, in the interest of full disclosure, I’m not hanging from the side of a cinder cone on the last page of this trauma, but there’s definitely more to come. Unless, of course, humans become extinct and then there’s not. Duh.

Buy it now  on Amazon

Eruption is book one in the Yellowblown™ Series and is a BTS eMag Red Carpet Finalist.

Don’t forget to visit the other Book Hooks bloggers this week by clicking where it says “Click here” below.

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Click here to find the other Book Hooks blogs!

That got me thinking about fictional fathers I’ve created. I’ve written at least one horribly cruel father, and three who are somewhat disconnected, and a few characters whose fathers have died, though I’ve given a couple heroes and heroines relatively normal family units. Violet Perch is one of the normal ones because, in Eruption, part of the journey is watching this white-bread American family deal with the eruption of the Yellowstone super caldera. In this short excerpt, Violet is still at college. Phone communications have been spotty due to problems with landlines and cell towers. Her dad finally reaches her while she’s in the car with the new boyfriend her parents don’t know about. She and Dad have already talked about all the important stuff, like everybody being safe and having food, etc. Then….

“It sounds like you’re in a car,” Dad said.

“Oh, well, I, umm, I…a guy took me to a rail trail south of Pittsburgh.” Dang it, I hated when home life infringed on college life.

“A guy? What guy?” Dad’s tone went from conversational to stern alertness.

“We’re almost back to campus. Gotta go.”

“Wait. What guy?”

I sighed. “Dad, I’m fine. I’ll text you later. Say hi to Mom and Sara, okay?”

He grumbled, but hung up. I suspected this wouldn’t be the end of it. As soon as he told mom I’d been out with a boy, my phone would light up big time.

Boone quirked a brow. “I guess your parents don’t know about me?”

“No,” I admitted. “Do yours?”

So, tell me in the comments about the first character who comes to mind when you think of a fictional father. He can be either good (the wise Odin) or horrible (Darth Vader).

Eruption is book one in the Yellowblown series. I just sent book two off to the editor so it’s definitely coming in the first half of 2015!!!

BLURB

I’m in the middle of the perfect college semester, hundreds of miles from Mom, with an awesome roomie and my freshman crush finally becoming a sophomore reality—Hotness! I’m figuring out calculus, I’ve got both hands on the handlebars and the wind of freedom in my hair. What on earth could slow my roll?

How about if the Yellowstone volcano erupts for the first time in 630,000 years, spewing a continuous load of ash (crap) all over North America? Think that’ll put a kink in my bicycle chain?

Make that kinks, plural, because here’s a scientific fact I’ll bet you didn’t know. Nothing ruins the perfect semester like a super caldera. Now that I’ve made you smarter today, maybe you can tell me how to keep my life cruising in the right direction—no to Mom, yes to roomie, double yes to Hotness!—during a global disaster?

My lame name is Violet and, in the interest of full disclosure, I’m not hanging from the side of a cinder cone on the last page of this trauma, but there’s definitely more to come. Unless, of course, humans become extinct and then there’s not. Duh.

Available at Amazon

Make sure you visit more of the authors in the Book Hooks hop by using the “Click here” link below!

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Click here to find more authors in the Book Hooks hop.

EXCERPT

He panted in even, deliberate puffs by the time we reached the edge of campus, but he hadn’t given up. He’d stayed on my back wheel. I did a cool down loop on the local streets before guiding us to the dorm.

I stepped off my bike and reluctantly removed my helmet. My stubby ponytail was mostly intact, though much of the front section of my hair slipped from the skinny hairband. I did my best to tuck the errant strands behind my ears.

He arranged his own gear then looked at me with the green stare again, more intense than before. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“I’m sure we freshman all look alike.” I extended my hand. “Violet Perch.”

“Boone Ramer.” He took my hand and, though our palms were hot and sweaty, he continued to hold it, lighting a fuse of attraction that sparked up my wrist and past my elbow. “Violet. Unusual name. I’ll remember it now.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a curse,” I said as the heat passed my shoulder to go straight to my skort.

“I didn’t mean unusual bad. It’s nice. Feminine.” He released my hand while his eyes touched me, sliding down my pink jersey and along legs I knew weren’t particularly long but had hints of muscle definition.

I knew what I was. In our world of breast enhancements and thigh gaps, I didn’t have the right dimensions to attract a guy in Boone’s league, especially with my sports bra smashing my itty bitty titties down to nothing. Helmet hair, sweat stained armpits, padded bottoms, and black sturdy shoes completed the non-seductive, flat-chested ensemble. I was all in.

His face sharpened in a way that suggested he might like what he saw. My nostrils flared in immediate, misguided response. God, he was magnetic.

“You’re in good shape,” he said appreciatively. “I bonked on the last hill but you pulled me up.” He waggled his brows at me. “Couldn’t let you make me look bad.”

My face flushed beyond exercise-induced red. “You did good.” We wheeled our bikes toward the door and I’d almost worked up the courage to ask if he’d like to ride together again when a trilling voice called his name.

Twyla Blakelock, who’d ignored me at a rush party last week, bounced up to press her glossy lips against his mouth. Her nose wrinkled. “Ewww, you’re all sweaty,” she said.

What kind of moron touches him and says Ewww, I thought. You’re ewww, Twyla.

“Hey, I’ll see you later,” I said out loud, eternally grateful for the guy who came out the door at the right time to hold it for me.

END OF EXCERPT

Eruption probably isn’t as spicy as some of the books in this hop, and the payoff takes awhile due to an apocalyptic eruption of the Yellowstone caldera, but Boone and Violet are worth the wait. Especially Boone.

BLURB

I’m in the middle of the perfect college semester, hundreds of miles from Mom, with an awesome roomie and my freshman crush finally becoming a sophomore reality—Hotness! I’m figuring out calculus, I’ve got both hands on the handlebars and the wind of freedom in my hair. What on earth could slow my roll?

How about if the Yellowstone volcano erupts for the first time in 630,000 years, spewing a continuous load of ash (crap) all over North America? Think that’ll put a kink in my bicycle chain?

Make that kinks, plural, because here’s a scientific fact I’ll bet you didn’t know. Nothing ruins the perfect semester like a super caldera. Now that I’ve made you smarter today, maybe you can tell me how to keep my life cruising in the right direction—no to Mom, yes to roomie, double yes to Hotness!—during a global disaster?

My lame name is Violet and, in the interest of full disclosure, I’m not hanging from the side of a cinder cone on the last page of this trauma, but there’s definitely more to come. Unless, of course, humans become extinct and then there’s not. Duh.

Eruption: Yellowblown Book One is available at Amazon.

Make sure to visit all the other tension scenes on this Hot for Friday hop this week!

Or join the fun at http://www.bookboyfriendscafe.com/2015/02/hot-for-friday-hot-and-bothered.html

EXCERPT

I’d spent months forcing myself into mental placidity where Boone Ramer was concerned, the mantra “not into you” repeating like an endless ride through “It’s A Small World” at Disneyland. Now, unexpectedly, I climbed the rails right before the steepest drop of “Thunder Mountain.” Dark. Disoriented. Exhilarated.

“You’re not like most girls, are you?”

The confusing question spurred me to blurt my own, a thought barely formed in my mind, much less my mouth. “Do you want to go to the Valentine’s formal with me?”

His head shook “no” too quickly, automatically, as if I’d offered him a cube of disgusting, moldy cheese. “I can’t,” he added, in case I hadn’t gotten the unequivocal message.

I looked past him into the warmth of the library, wishing I could reverse the clock and return to “It’s A Small World.”

No such luck. The bottom of the roller coaster dropped, leaving me, well, screwed. In less than five minutes I’d gone from time-to-study-French-verbs to a fresh hell of obsession for Boone Ramer.

Not.

Into.

You.

“Okay,” I said as I ducked around him. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Violet, wait,” he said when I was halfway to the door.

END OF EXCERPT

BLURB

I’m in the middle of the perfect college semester, hundreds of miles from Mom, with an awesome roomie and my freshman crush finally becoming a sophomore reality—Hotness! I’m figuring out calculus, I’ve got both hands on the handlebars and the wind of freedom in my hair. What on earth could slow my roll?

How about if the Yellowstone volcano erupts for the first time in 630,000 years, spewing a continuous load of ash (crap) all over North America? Think that’ll put a kink in my bicycle chain?

Make that kinks, plural, because here’s a scientific fact I’ll bet you didn’t know. Nothing ruins the perfect semester like a super caldera. Now that I’ve made you smarter today, maybe you can tell me how to keep my life cruising in the right direction—no to Mom, yes to roomie, double yes to Hotness!—during a global disaster?

My lame name is Violet and, in the interest of full disclosure, I’m not hanging from the side of a cinder cone on the last page of this trauma, but there’s definitely more to come. Unless, of course, humans become extinct and then there’s not. Duh.

Eruption is book one in the Yellowblown™ Series and is available at Amazon.

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Click here to view the blog hop list!

I wish I’d experienced a true college romance. I had a couple of boyfriends but always seemed to start the relationship about a month before the end of spring semester and by fall the long distance killed the spark. For the guy, not me, which meant I’d wasted my whole summer pining for a boy who lost interest by July 4th.

What’s special about a college romance? I picture sitting together at football games, studying on a dorm bed, holding hands as you walk across the leaf-strewn quad. Something about being part of the student population but also having that one special flame burning, that one face you really hope you see as you walk into the food court/library/post office.

As a consolation, I’ve started the ideal college romance in my newest release Eruption. Violet, the main character, experiences many of the benefits of an autumn boyfriend. Until the Yellowstone volcano erupts. And that interrupts her love story in a whole different way than summer break.

You can learn more about Violet here, and if you want a chance to win your choice of some Eruption swag, sign up for my newsletter at www.jillhughey.com/contact before September 27.

Hope you continue to enjoy the Fall Into Romance blog hop. Don’t forget to enter the Rafflecopter for a chance to win a $75 Amazon gift card.
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To find all the authors on the Fall Into Romance hop, visit www.hopswithheart.blogspot.com

EXCERPT

I glanced around the room again, in the midst of a minor panic attack and, seeing my bike, remembered the first time I’d ever talked to Boone, for real. Last September, on a gorgeous Saturday evening, I’d taken my old bike—a heavy blue Neanderthal compared to my Giant—for a quick spin to escape the freshman roommate from hell who’d gotten high, or drunk, or both—in the middle of the afternoon, no less—and drained her cell phone battery with sobs to her hometown boyfriend. When I tried to be sympathetic, her wordless snarl told me she didn’t want my support, though I’d tattled to our RA on my way down the hall. I really didn’t want to return from biking to find my cray cray roomie dead from an overdose.

After my responsible escape, I’d ridden four or five miles out of town then looped back on the country roads. At the first stoplight, a biker came toward me on the perpendicular street. He nodded at me and looked away then looked back at about the same time I recognized him. Boone freakin’ Ramer. The unexpectedness both jazzed and horrified me. Hotness, all to myself, yes, but he was seeing me in a helmet, sports sunglasses and a water bladder backpack.

“Hey,” I said.

He wore sunglasses, too. The reflective orange lenses hid his eyes, but not his frown. “Aren’t you a freshman at Western Case?” he asked. His voice was nice, not crazy deep but definitely masculine, and he spoke with a slow cadence, in no hurry at all.

“Yeah,” I said. Scintillating. Brilliant.

“What’d you think of the game?”

“What game?” I scooted my bike farther onto the shoulder of the road as a car cruised past.

“The football game. Today. At home.”

“I don’t follow sports much. Was it good?” Those maddening mirrored glasses hid everything. His extended silence couldn’t be a positive sign.

“Are you lost?” he finally asked.

I glanced around. “I don’t think so. Do I look lost?”

His self-deprecating smile thinned his lips but showed no teeth. “No, sorry, most students only ride far enough to find beer.” He moved his head in a way that suggested he was checking out my gear. “I should’ve noticed you weren’t dressed for a grocery run.”

“I only did about ten miles,” I said with a shrug.

“Twice what I can do on these hills.” He grimaced.

I slid my sunglasses off my sweaty nose. I didn’t like not seeing his eyes and hoped he’d show me his if I showed him mine. I used the maneuver as an excuse to check out the rest of him. His biking shorts were loose, like gym shorts, accentuating awesome, tight calves. The top half of him didn’t disappoint, either, with the thin fabric of his shirt plastered over his pecs. He was respectably muscled, not over-juiced like Bodacious.

Hot. Ness.

“New to biking?” I asked.

“Rehabbing my knee.”

“That sucks.”

“Yep.” He finally removed his sunglasses to wipe his forearm over his ruddy face.

“What happened?” I indicated his leg with the tip of my chin.

His quick glance registered surprise before he gave the same odd little smile. “Oh. I was a quarterback for the football team. Took a low hit at the end of last season.”

I squinted at his leg. “Wow, those scars are tiny.”

He prodded at a shiny pink dot on his hairy skin. “The doctors in Pittsburgh are some of the best.” He sounded tired, or sort of downcast.

In an unusual moment of insight, I said, “Was today the first game since?”

“Yep.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t play?”

He looked down the street, away from me, then at the road cinders at our feet. “This is the first fall I haven’t played ball since I was six.”

“Wow. I can’t think of anything other than, you know, the basics like breathing I’ve been doing for that long.”

He smirked.

“Docs wouldn’t clear you?”

“They did. I didn’t.” He picked up the front of his bike by the handlebars then set it back down. “When the mom who drove you forty miles round trip for midget practices and the dad who wrecked his shoulder passing the ball back to you both say it’s time to quit….”

“Sounds like your parents are good at mind-jobs, like mine.”

He smiled a little more cheerfully and I smiled back, glad because he’d been cruising toward miserable. Just the image I wanted to create—here’s the sports ignoramus who can totally bum you out in thirty seconds flat.

“They let it up to me in the end. I made the right decision. It’s not like I have a chance to go pro. I’ll be able to walk when I’m forty, maybe throw the ball with my own kid.” A shrug bunched the muscles at his shoulders. Another shadow of doubt passed over his face.

“The bike’ll be good for you.” Again with the brilliance, as if some millionaire orthopedist hadn’t already told him about biking. Duh.

“I can go farther in Nebraska. Fewer hills,” he said. He reached for the water bottle attached to the down tube of his bike, and I could almost see him shaking off the blues. “Where are you from?” His green eyes bored into me with unanticipated curiosity.

“Indiana. We have hills but not like this.”

“Why do you ride?” he asked after he’d finished taking a deep drink from the Copperheads Football bottle.

“Um, mostly ’cuz it feels good. I mean, it helps me to clear my head.” It feels good? Really, did I say that out loud?

“Endorphins,” he said. “Though I could do without the bugs smacking me in the face.” He tucked the bottle in the cage and pushed his sunglasses back on. “Wanna head back?”

“Sure.” I slid my own glasses on and clipped one foot into a pedal.

We stood on the corner, ready to launch, each waiting for the other to lead.

“You go ahead,” he finally said with a chuckle.

“Is this a test to make sure I’m not lost?”

“No.” He grinned. “My mama taught me ladies go first.”

I rolled my eyes, checked traffic and pushed off, thanking God my other biking shoe clicked neatly into its bracket.

“Clips,” he said from over my left shoulder. “You’re brave.”

“Power on the upstroke and downstroke,” I said.

“Or instant death the first time I tried to stop.”

I laughed. “I practiced in my front yard for awhile. If I can do it, anyone can.” I shifted into a lower gear for the gentle climb. The real bitch of a hill would come at the end.

“Don’t baby me, now,” he said.

I glanced over my shoulder at him. “Have it your way.”

He panted in even, deliberate puffs by the time we reached the edge of campus, but he hadn’t given up. He’d stayed on my back wheel. I did a cool down loop on the local streets before guiding us to the dorm.

I stepped off my bike and reluctantly removed my helmet. My stubby ponytail was mostly intact, though much of the front section of my hair slipped from the skinny hairband. I did my best to tuck the errant strands behind my ears.

He arranged his own gear then looked at me with the green stare again, more intense than before. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

“I’m sure we freshman all look alike.” I extended my hand. “Violet Perch.”

“Boone Ramer.” He took my hand and, though our palms were hot and sweaty, he continued to hold it, lighting a fuse of attraction that sparked up my wrist and past my elbow. “Violet. Unusual name. I’ll remember it now.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of a curse,” I said as the heat passed my shoulder to go straight to my skort.

“I didn’t mean unusual bad. It’s nice. Feminine.” He released my hand while his eyes touched me, sliding down my pink jersey and along legs I knew weren’t particularly long but had hints of muscle definition.

I knew what I was. In our world of breast enhancements and thigh gaps, I didn’t have the right dimensions to attract a guy in Boone’s league, especially with my sports bra smashing my itty bitty titties down to nothing. Helmet hair, sweat stained armpits, padded bottoms, and black sturdy shoes completed the non-seductive, flat-chested ensemble. I was all in.

His face sharpened in a way that suggested he might like what he saw. My nostrils flared in immediate, misguided response. God, he was magnetic.

“You’re in good shape,” he said appreciatively. “I bonked on the last hill but you pulled me up.” He waggled his brows at me. “Couldn’t let you make me look bad.”

My face flushed beyond exercise-induced red. “You did good.” We wheeled our bikes toward the door and I’d almost worked up the courage to ask if he’d like to ride together again when a trilling voice called his name.

Twyla Blakelock, who’d ignored me at a rush party last week, bounced up to press her glossy lips against his mouth. Her nose wrinkled. “Ewww, you’re all sweaty,” she said.

What kind of moron touches him and says Ewww, I thought. You’re ewww, Twyla.

“Hey, I’ll see you later,” I said out loud, eternally grateful for the guy who came out the door at the right time to hold it for me.

END OF EXCERPT

Only 99 cents at Amazon until September 27.  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00MRHAIRO