Kendall Grey's Blog, page 4
November 29, 2018
Let’s Get RUNED!
I finished the first draft of my upcoming comedy, RUNED this week. I haven’t had this much fun writing a book since I scribbled a little ditty called STRINGS in 2013. RUNED totally rocks my world!
As I was thinking about what to do for the cover reveal of RUNED, I was also thinking about sending out holiday cards to readers who might like them. Then, DING DING DING! I thought, “Why not do both at the same time?” Huzzah!
If you’d like to receive a holiday card from me along with the cover reveal and blurb for RUNED, please fill out this form. Supplies are limited. I posted this link on my social media platforms and filled up every slot I had within two days. I’m going to have one more smaller run of cards printed for those who may have missed the first opportunity, but once those are gone, they’re gone for good. Translation: FILL OUT THIS FORM RIGHT STINKING NOW! There are only TEN left! 
May 23, 2018
FALLING FOR MR. SLATER Is Live!
The day has finally arrived! FALLING FOR MR. SLATER by Kendall Day is now available on all retailers!
I also have multiple giveaways and appearances happening today and tomorrow, so come find me!
If you pick up FALLING FOR MR. SLATER and love it (or hate it!), I’d be forever grateful if you’d consider leaving an Amazon review. Reviews and word-of-mouth recommendations help authors sell books better than any advertising I can think of. Thank you in advance for your help!
Quick note: Australian Amazon customers, I know you can’t find the ebook. It should be live, but it’s not. I’ve put in a request to Amazon to investigate the hold up. Please keep checking and accept my apologies for the book being so late.
All the FALLING FOR MR. SLATER info you’ll ever need:
ENTER TO WIN a $100 Amazon gift card and a signed FALLING FOR MR. SLATER paperback, now through May 25
FALLING FOR MR. SLATER paperback giveaway
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May 22, 2018
FALLING FOR MR. SLATER – $100 Amazon Gift Card up for Grabs!
Guess what, chicken butt? I have ANOTHER giveaway going strong. This one is for a signed paperback of FALLING FOR MR. SLATER AND a $100 Amazon gift card! Enter below, and don’t forget about my other paperback giveaway happening on Amazon right now!
More to come. Release day is TOMORROW! 
May 20, 2018
FALLING FOR MR. SLATER Paperback Giveaway
Release week is upon us!
I’ll keep this short and sweet.
Want an early FALLING FOR MR. SLATER paperback for FREE?
Enter this giveaway for a chance to win.
More to come!
May 16, 2018
Hailing Frequencies Open
In preparation for the release of FALLING FOR MR. SLATER on May 23, I’ve composed a list of all the places Kendall Day will be taking over. I’ll be yukking it up and hosting giveaways in the following groups. Hope to see you at one or more of these events!
MAY 17 – 9:00 pm EST: Danielle Norman’s Iron Orchids Group
MAY 18 – 3:00 pm EST: Racy Reads Party Room (Tawna Fenske’s release party)
MAY 21 – 7:00 pm EST: Ruby’s Lounge (Eva LeNoir’s group)
MAY 21 – 8:00 pm EST: Alice’s Wonderhole Group (Alice C. Hart’s group)
MAY 21 – 9:00 pm EST: Sassy Southern Book Blog
MAY 22 – 8:00 pm EST: The Shenaniganators (Danielle Lagasse’s group)
MAY 22 – 9:00 pm EST: Christine’s Book Love Reader Group (Chrstine Ashworth’s group)
MAY 23 – 7:00 pm EST: Leela Lou’s Lovelies (Leela Lou Dahlin’s group)
MAY 23 – 8:00 pm EST: Tara’s Tramps (Tara Sivec’s group)
MAY 23 – 9:00 pm EST: Read Your Hart Out (Staci Hart’s group)
MAY 24 – 7:00 pm EST: Joanne’s Book Junkies (Joanne Schwehm’s group)
MAY 24 – 8:00 pm EST: Book Boyfriends Anonymous (Maria Luis’s group)
MAY 24 – 9:00 pm EST: Celtic Souls Readers Group (Tricia Daniels’s group)
May 7, 2018
Sneak Peek: FALLING FOR MR. SLATER, Chapter 1
So Long, Chokeman
[Jack Slater]
LEARNING GOAL: Jack Slater will employ persuasion techniques to maintain his status as Bracken Middle School’s most beloved teacher.
You’re probably wondering what a handsome young stud like me is doing hanging out at a bar with a bunch of middle school teachers on a Friday night. I know, I know. I should be picking up babes at a rave or banging my head at a local rock concert, eating ecstasy like Tic Tacs. Have no fear. That kind of fun comes later.
For now, all you need to know is I’m also a teacher, and tonight is our final “staff development” before my coworkers and I have to straighten up, start acting like adults, and go back to work on Monday. My farewell to summer begins when this party ends, and it’ll continue until 11:59 p.m. on Sunday night. That’s when I turn into a pumpkin and revert to intellectual Mr. Slater, eighth-grade gifted language arts teacher extraordinaire, soon to be Teacher of the Year.
Yeah, it’s a lofty goal. So what? I’ve been sitting on the winner’s circle sidelines for ages, chomping at the bit for my chance to seize the title. This year, I’m gonna knock Darcy Kuntz out of the running and prove I’m not just a pretty face. I’m a legit contender for Teacher of the Year. It will happen.
Sitting in our usual big corner booth at Oscar’s Bar & Grill in the suburbs of Atlanta, I raise my margarita glass and salute my buddies from eighth-grade hall at Bracken Middle School.
“Friends may come, and friends may go,” I say, “and friends may peter out, you know. But we’ll be friends through thick and thin. Peter out, or peter in.”
“Hear, hear! But for the record, I prefer it peter in,” Alex Savage says, then under his breath to me, “like all the beach bunnies we hooked up with this summer, right, buddy?”
I lift a brow at the memory. He slams his margarita with me and we crash our empty glasses on the nacho-blobbed table to peals of laughter and appreciative tequila grunts.
#SavageAF
Meet Savage. He’s my best friend, my roommate, and my wingman. With his shaggy, blond-streaked brown locks and blue eyes, the lucky devil is almost as handsome as me. He and I become sharks when we smell babes in the water. Efficient, ruthless, and completely unremorseful.
Exhibit A: On our annual surfing trip to California, we made a bet to see who could score the most women in the month we were there. I won with a modest sixteen, beating Savage by one. I snatched up his leftovers on her way out of his bedroom the night before we left. Now he’s in charge of cleaning the toilet in our duplex for a year.
#ThanksSlaterSlut
“Do you think the new principal is gonna separate us?” Stephen Straight asks, wiggling his shoulders and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
Straight is about as straight as the Blue Dragon River in Portugal. In case you don’t have a map handy, it looks like this:
#StraightIsGay
“If they move me to another team, I will die,” Dutchie Green moans. She’s as skinny as a telephone pole and almost as tall, with mousy brown hair. Smart brain, if a little flighty. A nervous foot-tapper. Green is starting her second year of teaching. I don’t know her very well, but she seems a little … intense. #DramaQueen
“I’ve seen it all, honey.” Ann Papadopoulos drags a finger through the top of her drink, swirling the contents. She flaps her fake lashes up at me. At fifty-something, she’s been teaching social studies and getting busy with students’ dads for longer than I’ve been at Bracken. #DadFucker
Exhibit B: Savage and I also have bets on how long it’ll take for Papadopoulos to bag her first dad this school year. At stake is right of first refusal on the next hot piece of ass to show up in the bar at the hotel down the street. That’s where we pick up a lot of our women because they: (a) tend to be professionals who practice safe sex; (b) are often looking for a quickie with no strings attached; and/or (c) don’t live in town, so there’s little chance of ever seeing them again.
“We should be fine,” Papadopoulos continues. “Whoever this Dr. Dragov is, she’s probably gonna shake things up a little her first year just to prove she’s not a pushover, but it’ll only be a few moves here and there. Solid teams won’t get busted up. Parents would raise too much hell.”
“Not all parents,” Savage mumbles. After a moment’s thought, he turns to me. “Remember Chet’s dad?”
“God, what a little shit. ‘Mr. Worthy, your son has been acting out in class, and oh, by the way, walking around with mirrors on his shoes to look up girls’ skirts is considered sexual harassment,’” I say in my authoritative teacher voice.
“That’s my boy,” Savage and I chime together, mimicking Chet’s dad’s drawl. We laugh.
“At least Chet was the youngest in that family.” Savage munches a chip, dribbling salsa from his mouth. “No more Worthys, thank you, Jesus. I think the Pain-in-the-Reardons have another kid, though. Incoming sixth grader. There may even be another one after him.”
“Ugh,” Papadopoulos groans. “I swear, I’ve taught every single one of those kids. Ivan wasn’t the only one who was terrible. I also had the displeasure of educating Genghis, Nero, and Vlad. All of them lived up to their names. First and last.”
“Didn’t you date their dad?” Green asks.
Savage and I duck our heads to cover our smiles and avoid whatever incoming fire Papadopoulos is about to launch.
Burn! I mouth at him.
He looks like he’s squeezing his legs together under the table to keep from pissing himself.
Papadopoulos narrows her eyes at the young idiot Padawan. “So what if I did?” she grits out.
Straight arches a brow and opens his mouth like he’s about to say something. I give him a subtle headshake. Do not walk into that snake den. You’ll come out leaking venom from thirty-one places and missing your head. He returns to his drink and keeps quiet.
Green titters nervously and loudly slurps the dregs of her ’rita through her straw. “As long as you’re okay with it. I think it’s great that older women can still find love.”
Savage and I exchange stunned glances. I’m 98 percent sure actual steam is about to start hissing from Papadopoulos’s ears. Holy shit, Green is digging herself a shallow grave over there.
The waiter arrives with a fresh pitcher. Papadopoulos snatches it and pours herself a tall one, seething at Green the entire time. Then she passes the pitcher to me. I refill Savage’s and my glasses.
“Who was the girl who rigged the air horn under your desk chair during statewide testing?” Straight snaps his fingers at me. “The one they caught blowing a boy in the stairwell at the public library? Rylie? Rachel?”
“Roxie-with-an-ie Rambling,” Papadopoulos, Savage, and I say with nasally voices all at once. That’s how the kid always introduced herself. People often misspelled her name, and she wasn’t the type to be puttin’ up with that shit, so she made it real clear up front.
Ugh. Just the mention of Roxie Rambling makes my balls deflate, shrivel up, and retreat into the darkest corners of my entrails. Not only did she pull countless practical jokes on me and the other teachers during my first year, but she’s also the reason I’m not happily married with five kids now. Roxie Rambling ruined the best thing that ever happened to me. I’ll never forget—or forgive—that kid.
Savage nudges me with a sympathetic shoulder.
“Little bitch,” I mumble and open my gullet wide for several gulps of cool, refreshing liquor to help me numb the sudden flare-up of pain.
Glug, glug, glug.
Papadopoulos slaps the table, her beady peepers popping from the center of a web of fine wrinkles. “God, that kid was like something out of a low-budget horror movie.”
Straight bats his eyes a couple times and folds his hands, making a little platform to rest his chin on. “I can tolerate a lot, but that girl … Ooh, Lord. Her own grandmother couldn’t stand to be in the same room with her sometimes. Somebody needed to spank that little bottom, if you ask me.” He makes a booty-smack motion with his hand.
I choke on my margarita. Under the table, Savage steps on my foot. His face is red with exertion from trying to hold back a guffaw.
“What did she do that was so bad?” Green asks, tapping her fingers on the wood. “I mean, aside from the blowie-in-the-stairwell thing.”
“What didn’t she do?” I laugh bitterly as I assemble a mental list, leaving out the most important part of Roxie’s and my backstory. Savage is the only one who knows the depth of that humiliation, and I’d rather keep up the appearance of badass bachelor for the rest of the team.
I tick off points on my fingers. “Scream-singing DMX songs in class. Dancing on the tables in the cafeteria. Making fart noises in the back of the room and loudly calling other students out for it. Her behavior disorders had fucking behavior disorders. In my eight years on the job, Roxie Rambling was literally the worst kid I ever taught. The only one I’ve ever come close to actually punching in the face.”
And she would’ve deserved it too. I can’t say that about any of my other students, even the really bad ones. Roxie had a way of getting under my skin like no other, and that was before she ruined my life.
I can feel my blood pressure spiking. I slurp more liquor to slow the pounding behind my eardrums.
Savage lifts his hands to testify. “Preach, brother. Preach. Thank Christ she didn’t have any siblings. I’d have retired early and gone to work in retail hell. No lie.”
Shiver. I still have nightmares about Roxie from time to time, usually after my mom calls to nag me with tales of woe about whether she’ll live to meet her grandchildren. Roxie was a walking example of why so many teachers quit before their five-year employment anniversaries. Thanks to her, I’m allergic to relationships and never knock the same pair of boots twice. Though I’ve grown accustomed to the freedom of having sex with whoever I want, whenever I want, I often wonder how my life might’ve turned out if I’d never had the displeasure of teaching that little demon from the ninth plane of hell.
“Anyone met the new principal yet?” I ask, eager for a change of topic, lest I lose my buzz and fall into a funk.
“Kuntz and Kuntz have.” Papadopoulos pronounces their name like “cunts.” Because that’s how we all pronounce it when they’re not around. It’s fitting.
Darcy, a.k.a. Kuntz the Greater, has always been insanely jealous of our team, probably because the kids love us and can’t stand her. We have a great rapport with our mostly gifted students, and every year, ours is the most requested team in the school. Darcy is so strict and by-the-book, she doesn’t relate to the kids like we do. She acts like she has something to prove to some invisible education deity who’s keeping a close eye on her. It’s no wonder the students don’t connect with her. She’s like a freakin’ robot.
Keith, a.k.a. Kuntz the Lesser, is so far up Darcy’s ass, he might as well be wearing her skin as a suit. He does whatever she tells him to, and if that means yipping like a Chihuahua at everyone when things don’t go her way, Keith will adjust the tightness of his collar and do Her Royal Kuntzness’s bidding before she has a chance to say, “Sic ’em.”
#IKuntzBeDoingWithEitherOfThem
Papadopoulos pours Green another drink. “Darcy and Keith were part of the interview team that brought Dragov on as principal. Apparently, they know her from their time in Massachusetts and just raved about her.” She makes a blow-job motion with her hand to her mouth, poking her tongue against the inside of her cheek.
“I wonder what demands they’ll make,” I say, not worried for myself, but for my friends. The kids, parents, and teachers at Bracken love me. My job security is tight. “At the end of last year, I overheard Darcy say Keith was miserable in sixth grade and wanted to move up to eighth with her.”
“No room at the inn,” Papadopoulos says, cutting the air with her hand.
“Screw those Kuntzes, man,” I agree.
Savage lifts his chin at me. “Here’s to sticking together.” He clacks his glass to mine.
“Fuck, yeah,” I say. “They won’t break up Team 8B.”
“The school would fall apart.” Straight nods.
And the new teachers’ fantasies of having a three-way with Savage and me would be shattered—which, by the way, I do not endorse. I never sleep with coworkers. Ever. It’s a recipe for destruction. Three-ways with nonteachers are fine, however.
Murmurs of agreement rumble around the table.
Slurp. Slam. Swallow.
Savage and I have been teammates in eighth grade since we graduated from college and landed these jobs, but we’ve been friends since before high school. He teaches social studies, and I teach language arts. Most of our kids are in the gifted and talented program, and we always have a blast with them.
“Everyone wants to be on our team because we’re the best teachers in the school regardless of what that stupid-ass Teacher of the Year plaque with ‘Darcy Kuntz’ hanging in the front office says,” Green interjects.
Excellent point. And while we’re on the subject … I’m convinced Darcy rigged the voting last year, but I don’t have hard evidence to back up my claim. Very few teachers in the school like her, and teachers are the only ones who vote for TOTY. Since about a quarter of them forget to vote or don’t care enough to, it wouldn’t be hard for someone to reproduce ballots and throw the numbers. All it takes is slapping the right font in a Word doc filled with the staff members’ names and printing on whatever color of paper the “official” ballots are. Doctor up a bunch of those fake bitches with a check mark next to “Darcy Kuntz,” slip them in the voting box before or after school when no one’s around to witness it, and voila. Instant win.
Whatever. When I win Teacher of the Year, it’ll be because I earned it.
Keith and Darcy Kuntz are part of the reason our previous principal got canned. Well, them and the fact that the guy was accused of choking a kid in the hallway for misbehaving. I didn’t see the (alleged) incident myself, but plenty of the student’s friends came forward as witnesses. The rumor that the principal boinked one of the sixth-grade teachers on his desk during her planning period every day didn’t help matters. The kids at school called him Chokeman, but I’ve never been sure if that moniker referred to what he did to the kid or the teacher. Maybe it was both.
Needless to say, Chokeman might still be principal if those meddling Kuntzes hadn’t trash-talked him behind his back to the superintendent. Ah, well. Chokeman probably did deserve to be sacked. I just hate that it was because of their sneaky backstabbing.
“To Chokeman,” I say, raising my glass again. “May you find happiness wherever your path leads, most likely to prison—or worse, an elementary school classroom.”
“You were a psycho horndog, but we’ll miss you,” Savage adds solemnly.
“To Chokeman,” everyone agrees. Tinkles of glasses clanging fill the air, and we all drink.
“You guys are so cute,” Papadopoulos drawls to Savage and me.
Officially drunk as hell, I drape an arm around Savage’s shoulder, and he cuddles up to me playfully. “Aren’t we just?”
I flick a quick look at Straight to see if he noticed. Nope. He’s busy folding his napkin into an origami bird, as oblivious to joke-homosexuality as his own latent variety. That poor guy really needs to divorce his bitchy wife, boot up his roller skates (he figure-skates for fun on the weekends), and roll right out of her life into the sunset with a hot dude on his arm who’ll treat him like a king. Everyone in the entire world knows he’s gay except him.
“Yes, you are.” Papadopoulos wriggles her arms around Savage’s waist. She lowers her voice so only he and I can hear her murmur, “The things I could teach you two.”
Savage’s brow arches and his lips flatten. With Mama P, you can never tell if she’s being a sweet mommy cougar to the younger teachers she protects like her own children or a horny cougar to the younger guys she wants to slay in bed. Since she’s half in the bag on the weekend before the first day of preplanning, I’m certain it’s the latter.
I let go of Savage as he awkwardly extricates himself from her grip on his other side.
“I guess we’ll know Monday whether they’ll let us stay together,” I say, eager to avoid the teaching moment Papadopoulos’s glazed, heavily lidded eyes are promising.
I’m confident that if anyone’s getting shoved up another team’s ass, it’s Green. She’s the weak link in eighth grade. Newbies always get shuffled around their first couple of years. They’re usually too timid to protest until they earn tenure. Easy pickings for the new administration.
“Principal Dragov won’t dare break us up,” Papadopoulos says. “We’re the motherfucking dream team.”
“Hell, yeah,” Green says.
“More drinks to honor team 8B’s badassness,” Savage says, passing the drained pitcher to the waiter who arrives to check on us.
Savage leans over to me and drops his voice, “I got a good feeling about this year.”
Coming off the summer we had, surfing and bagging babes at the beach for most of August, I have to agree. “Me too.”’
#SavageAndSlaterSlayingIt
ASSESSMENT: Jack Slater is the social bomb. EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS.
Copyright © 2018, Kendall Day. All rights reserved.
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May 3, 2018
Cover Reveal: FALLING FOR MR. SLATER
My latest romantic comedy by Kendall Day will hit the shelves on May 23. Here’s the blurb for FALLING FOR MR. SLATER:
This job can suck it.
After teaching eighth grade gifted language arts for years, I’m being moved to remedial sixth grade science.
New team. New subject. New everything.
Oh, and did I mention “science” now includes sex ed? Some of these kids—like that hellion Roxie Rambling, who, a decade later, still holds the title of My Worst Student Ever—probably know more about sex than me, and I’m an expert on the subject.
To add insult to injury, I’ve been assigned an intern from the local college. I need to focus on winning Teacher of the Year, not waste my charm, wit, and ruggedly handsome looks on coddling some bimbo playing teacher.
Just when it can’t possibly get worse, a twenty-one-year-old, hot-as-hell Roxie Rambling darkens my door, wearing a red mini skirt, four-inch heels, and an ID that reads “Student Teacher.”
So long, Teacher of the Year. Hello, trouble—in the classroom and in my pants.
Stay tuned next week for a sneak peek at the first chapter. In the meantime, you can check out some great reviews and/or add FALLING FOR MR. SLATER to Goodreads here. While you’re at it, be sure to give Kendall Day a follow on Facebook. If you’re feeling the need to one-click, the book is available for pre-order* on Barnes & Noble, iTunes, Kobo, and Google Play for only $2.99. The price will go up shortly after release day on May 23.
* No Amazon pre-order.
April 13, 2018
New Name, New Book
Some women change their hair color every other week. I change my name. 
April 7, 2018
SMUT SALE!
Here’s the low-down, short and sweet:
STRINGS and BEATS are on sale for $1.99.
NOCTURNES is on sale for $0.99.
This sale ends April 10, so grab your dirt-ass cheap copies now!
Oh, and heed the warnings on the books. They’re for real, yo.
Strings, Book 1 in the Hard Rock Harlots series
[Hardcore Erotica]
WARNING: STRINGS is not suitable for slut shamers, uptight stone throwers, Holier-Than-Thou prudes, humorless virgins, persons with chronic neck or back pain, pearl-clutching biddies, those who disparage crude humor or vulgarity in their many forms, closed-minded people with sticks up their asses, or anyone under the age of 18. The vile, base language and shocking, unholy sexual acts contained herein are not condoned by anyone with a lick of sense and should certainly not be reproduced without proper training and protection. The potty-mouthed and perpetually horny “heroine” (the term is used loosely) of this book does not resemble a normal, well-adjusted, or remotely believable person in any way, shape, or form. The author acknowledges that the characters in this book are shallow and two-dimensional; the plot is both ridiculous and insipid. She makes no apologies for any of it.
* Readers are strongly advised to wear latex gloves whilst reading to minimize contamination risks.
Free-spirited musician Letty Dillinger adheres to a strict, “no strings attached” policy when it comes to men. After a wild night of unabashed sex in a fancy hotel room, she never expects to see the adventurous stud she dubs “Shades” again. When her all-girl rock trio books a tour at the last minute as the opening act for their archenemies, Letty’s shocked to discover she knows the competition’s new lead singer. Intimately. Shades is no longer a one-night stand. Now he’s the guy she has to one-up on stage every night for the sake of her career.
Sharing close quarters on a bus with her sexy nemesis and his bad-boy buddies puts Letty’s Golden Rule to the test. On this tour, guitar strings aren’t the only things being played. And when heartstrings are pulled too hard, they’re bound to snap sooner or later.
Order your signed paperback copy here
Ebook available at:
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Beats, Book 2 in the Hard Rock Harlots series
[Hardcore Erotica]
WARNING: BEATS is specially formulated for horn dogs, porn oglers, smut peddlers, BDSM junkies, M/M and M/M/F addicts, DP dabblers, body modification connoisseurs, and lovers of A2M backdoor sexy times. If you don’t fall into these categories, can’t stomach hot man-on-man action, or if you have no idea what the above acronyms mean, please back away from BEATS now. This isn’t the book you’re looking for. Failure to heed this warning could inadvertently throw unauthorized users into a persistent vegetative state, or at the very least, require administration of a defibrillator to the chest and/or groin area. Nobody wants that.
For months, shy drummer Jinx Hardwick has been silently crushing on her tall, dark, and scary bandmate, Toombs Badcock. Drawn to his frightening ink and scars, she yearns to uncover the shadowy secrets lurking behind his silver eyes, but Jinx is too intimidated to even look at him, let alone talk to him. When she stumbles upon Toombs and their manipulative lead guitarist Rax in a compromising position, Jinx realizes her chances of winning Toombs’s heart aren’t just a long shot–they’re nonexistent. To make matters worse, Jinx’s family needs her at home. She’s about to back away from it all–Toombs, the band, her dreams of fame and fortune–when Rax makes her an offer she can’t refuse: a no-holds-barred night alone with Toombs. There’s one small catch. She has to go through Rax to get it.
Order your signed paperback copy here
Ebook available at:
Universal Amazon link
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Nocturnes, Book 3 in the Hard Rock Harlots series
[Hardcore Erotica]
NOCTURNES contains 511 F-bombs, 81 well-endowed male chickens, 65 girl kitties, 58 Richard the Lessers, 10 C-U-Next-Tuesdays, and a plethora of other colorful words and phrases that would deafen your virginal mother’s ears and make her bust out her “Shame on you!” finger. If you’ve been tuned in since the beginning of the Hard Rock Harlots series, you know the drill. The sex is extreme, the language is graphic, and the story is over the top. Prudes and under 18s need not apply.
WARNING: NOCTURNES addresses serious topics such as alcoholism, prostitution, and cheating. If you’re looking for a barrel of laughs or sunshine and rainbows, this is NOT the book for you.
Rax Wrathbone is the dirty rock star you love to hate. The filthy fantasy slithering through your bed sheets. The serpent in your lady garden. The snake bite in your panties that keeps you sweating all night. He. Is. Sex.
And he’s no good. For anyone.
After a nasty breakup with his best friend and their band’s drummer, Rax is flying solo for the first time in years. Who needs the drama of commitment when the line for your humping booth spans three city blocks? No, groupies and liquor are far finer company than relationships, and they don’t leave bruises after they’ve had their way with you. At least not lasting ones.
Rax’s new adventures as an alcoholic, guitar-slashing one-man show are going along swimmingly until the only woman who’s ever brought him to his knees shimmies down a pole back into his life. Eve doesn’t abide excessive drinking, she has sex with strangers for a living, and she can’t remember Rax’s name to save her life.
She’s perfect in every way.
Now, if he could just get sober long enough to forget his past and convince Eve he’s worthy of her future …
Order your signed paperback copy here
Ebook available at:
Universal Amazon link
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March 9, 2018
Review: SCYTHE by Neal Shusterman
I keep claiming I don’t like YA books. Apparently, I’m a big ol’ liar. SCYTHE is just the latest in a line of recent YA stories I’ve read that have dragged me kicking and screaming to the Dark Side.
