Micalea Smeltzer's Blog, page 5

Whatever Happens Cover Reveal

Violet Page is having a rough time. This former
popular girl is lost. Her parents uproot everything after her younger sister’s
suicide, moving states away to escape the lingering pain of loss. She doesn’t
fit in anywhere, but finds herself strangely drawn to the boy she watches view
the world through a telescope.

Finnley Crawford isn’t your typical boy next
door. Being autistic has always set him apart from kids his age. None of them
quite knows how to approach him or interact, leaving him only one friend in the
form of his support dog. His lack of friendships lead him to a unique love of
space and aspirations of one day reaching the stars. For in the stars, he sees
a peace and beauty he can’t find on Earth.

The more time these two seemingly opposite teenagers
spend together, the more they learn it isn’t what’s on the outside that counts.
So much can be found on the inside if you only care to look.

ADD ON GOODREADS https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/44643036-whatever-happens

ENTER THE GIVEAWAY http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba3ffd552258

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Post Kidney Transplant Life

I haven’t spoken a whole lot since transplant on the topic. I’ve been focused on trying to get my life back on track and regain control when it felt like I had lost it all.

This post is going to deal with mostly the emotional aspect I was not expecting after transplant, but I’ll also speak about other things for anyone getting a transplant or going through the process.

Initially after transplant I was at the hospital every week for checks. It didn’t bother me, because I had a kidney and that was the most exciting thing ever and having to drive two hours each way felt like nothing in comparison to my health. But it DOES take a toll. After a major surgery like that you’re tired, you’re sore, you’re healing. Honestly, I didn’t experience too much pain. (My surgery was on a Saturday and I literally went home Monday)

Shortly after surgery (only a few weeks) things started looking funny in my blood work and my doctors started speaking about possible rejection. (I had a living donor, perfect match, so these weren’t words I was expecting to hear at all) They assured me they didn’t believe it was rejection, but something to do with my medicine, but being told something like that is upsetting. I’ll probably make a more detailed post on this later on, but long story short, I was admitted, had a biopsy, got pumped full of steroids, and then got the all clear that the kidney was fine and my body was sensitive to one of the immune suppressants and I needed a lower dose.

In this time (transplant was August 2018, so less than a year ago as of me writing this) I’ve done blood work every week, and now every other week.

My energy levels post transplant are nothing like I’ve ever had before. I understand now how my lethargy I had for years and years was cause by my (unknown) kidney failure. I remember being so hard on myself, thinking I was lazy, or it was just because I was overweight. Little did I know both were caused by what was happening inside my body.

Now, I want to focus on what this post was originally about. The emotional impact of transplant I wasn’t prepared for. Through my diagnosis and dialysis I stayed very strong, maybe too strong, and was determined to get to the point of transplant. When I got down I pushed those thoughts and feelings away. My mantra to myself became, “I can’t let it beat me.” Those words entered my head all day every day. Dialysis was exhausting. My body hurt. My bones hurt. I was weak. Tired. But I kept pushing through. “Get to the other side. The other side will be better,” I told myself repeatedly. And God, is it. Nothing compares to having this kidney. I’ve NEVER been this healthy in my entire life. My aunt saved my life with her selfless decision to be my donor. I can’t stress enough how thankful I am every day to have this kidney. To breathe without feeling like my body weighs 500 pounds. To go up and down the stairs without getting winded. To be able to think clearly again. (Good riddance brain fog. Fuck you.)

For the first 5-6 months post transplant I was happy, on cloud 9, and felt like I could conquer the world.

What I didn’t expect was the … I’m going to label it depression, but I don’t feel like it was quite to that point. But I became sad, angry, resentful. My body failed me. If it had just worked I wouldn’t have needed this transplant. My aunt wouldn’t have had to do this for me.

The trauma of everything I’d endured came crashing down on me as I finally began to cope with all that had happened since my diagnosis. Procedure after procedure. Infection. Allergic reactions. (I fucking hate tape now and don’t come near me with it, haha) Thing after thing I had brushed aside at the time, only focused on transplant, suddenly came crashing down on me. Holy hell, it’s been a lot to process. Things I suppressed in my memory was suddenly at the forefront of my mind. I began crying. A lot. And anyone who knows me knows I’m not a big crier. (Unless an animal dies in a book or movie. Then pass the tissues, m’kay.) And when I say cry, I don’t mean I teared up. No, I’m talking like sobbing, can’t breathe, face drenched in tears. It was ugly, lol. Like total Kim K ugly cry face. I felt like I was losing my mind.

Now, before you all jump in my comments or DM’s telling me I need to talk to someone, I AM considering seeing a therapist, but I also brought this up to my doctor. It’s not something I’ve kept to myself. I was told this was perfectly normal, especially at the time it hit me because 6 months post is when you hit your peak of health post transplant, and your hormones are coming back because they’ve been knocked out by the disease and dialysis. I also want to add here, I’m doing much better now. I still have my moments, but I’m not crying all the time, or constantly feeling like I NEED to cry. So, progress.

But this was something I was completely unprepared for. I thought, “Oh, I have a kidney now, life is going to be great.” But I think we always seem to underestimate trauma. At least I do. I was scared to say anything at first about my thoughts, because I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, or speak about my fears.

One of the things I’ve struggled with fear-wise is complete and utter panic about the future. It’s drilled into your head that a transplant is not a cure, just another treatment. On dialysis, getting to the other side meant transplant? The other side of this looks like hell. Thank God, I’ve been having less of those thoughts lately. But I think that was aggravated at the time with so many people being like, “Oh you have a transplant now, you’re good for life.” And then having to be like, “No, Karen, that’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works.” Explaining it to people, and watching their faces pale and turn from delight to pity, sucks. But I’m not going to be like, “Oh yeah, I’m set for life.” That’s not the reality, and the general population is clueless when it comes to transplant. (Side eyes Hollywood with their idealistic portrayals)

The other fear has been, “Who’s going to want me? I’m damaged goods.” I’m single and I feel like no guy out there is going to want to sign up for something like this. My life will never be normal. I’m always going to have to have check ups. Blood work. And one day, most likely, I’m going to need another transplant. I am doing everything in my power to prolong the life of this kidney. I take my medicine religiously (I’m psychotic about it, to be honest), I’ve been exercising, and eating healthy. But even with all of that, I can’t control my future. Realistically, I know somewhere out there, is a man who will love me for me, scars and all, disease and all, unknown future and all, but sometimes it’s hard to quiet fear. That being said, I’m glad I wasn’t in a relationship going through this. While I had a great support system in family and friends, I had to rely on ME the most. It helped me grow as a person, become more confident, and see things in a new light. I’m not sure that would’ve happened otherwise. I had to be my rock, my pillar, my strength, not someone else.

If anyone out there is going through these same thoughts and feelings after transplant, please know you’re not alone, and it’s normal. It doesn’t matter what kind of transplant it is, it’s an extremely emotional and traumatic thing. It’s not something most people experience or even have any knowledge of. It’s okay to be sad about it. To get angry. I’ve learned through this that as much as you might suppress those feelings, they demand to be felt and they WILL get their way. Ride the wave, don’t let it crush you.

I’m definitely doing SO much better now than I was a few months ago. I’m feeling pretty happy again, I’m excited about life, about the future. I want to go on adventures and try new things. I want to cherish time with my family and friends. Life’s precious and too damn fragile. My eyes have been opened and I’m learning to appreciate every moment and be PRESENT. When I’m with my friends and family now I rarely look at my phone, where before I would be trying to stay ahead of work stuff, I’m more engaging and not hiding in shadows, I’m living.

I’m hoping to be able to do some fun, short, day trips this summer and get out there. Maybe my next update post will be talking about my adventures.

New Release!

My brand new, irresistible, laugh-out-loud romantic comedy is finally HERE! Yes, it’s out in the world and it can be yours! It’s available exclusively on Amazon for the time being and can either be purchased or read in Kindle Unlimited. If you’re looking for a light, make-you-smile, college romance I hope you’ll check this one out. It certainly was fun to write.

WANTED: A ROOMMATE 

Requirements

1.Don’t be a smoker. That’s gross.
2.Don’t be a jerk. I have no time to deal with your mood swings.
3.Clean up after yourself. Is it really so hard to put dirty clothes where they belong?

If you meet these qualifications, call me.

Sincerely,
Desperately Seeking Roommate

When I put the ad in my university’s newspaper, the last thing I ever expect is for the star football player to respond. 

From what I know of him, Abel Russo is a womanizer and an absolute jerk.

Sadly, he’s the only thing stopping me from being evicted by my annoyingly gleeful landlord. 

It should be easy enough—there’s no chance we’ll fall for each other. But then he gives me lingering looks, and I might just be looking back. 

All I wanted was a roommate, but I’m about to get so much more than I bargained for.

Amazon: http://hyperurl.co/yfmyn7

Paperback: http://hyperurl.co/yeadlf

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43088445-desperately-seeking-roommate

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Desperately Seeking Roommate Preorder is LIVE!

Desperately Seeking Roommate is now available for preorder!
I don’t do preorders often but I wanted to make sure with all the problems Amazon has had as of late that it would be live on time. Preorders will download to your device midnight wherever you live. Can’t wait to hear what you guys think!
Amazon: http://hyperurl.co/yfmyn7
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43088445-desperately-seeking-roommate

The post Desperately Seeking Roommate Preorder is LIVE! appeared first on Author Micalea Smeltzer.

Cover Reveal for my girl B. Celeste!

I don’t much share other author’s stuff on my blog anymore, but I couldn’t not share this cover reveal with you guys. Barbara C. Doyle’s ventured into taboo with her new book The Truth About Heartbreak under the penname B. Celeste. I had the honor of beta reading this book and to say it’s fantastic is an understatement. Barbara put so much of her heart and soul into this book and it’s hands down her best book yet. Taboo is where she belongs. If you don’t care for cheating in books I still think you should give this book a chance. Cheating isn’t one of my favorite elements in books and sometimes a reason I completely put a book down, but a few books have done it right in my opinion, and this is one of them.

Forbidden Romance – Check.
Cheating – Check.
Brother’s Best Friend – Check.
Angst – Check.

BLURB 

I fell in love with him when I was thirteen years old.

He was older, mysterious, and unattainable. The guy I could never touch.

Then one night changed everything for us. But there was one huge problem.

He belonged to her.

Add on Goodreads

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The post Cover Reveal for my girl B. Celeste! appeared first on Author Micalea Smeltzer.

Desperately Seeking Roommate Chapter Two

UNEDITED AND SUBJECT TO CHANGE

Read Chapter one here: https://micaleasmeltzer.com/desperately-seeking-roommate-chapter-one/

Add on Goodreads

Chapter
two

Lou

I manage
to get all the books off the bookshelves in the office space and I stack them
up in piles in my room, planning to go to HomeGoods to see if they have any
wire baskets I can put them in or something. I saw something on Pinterest like
that and it looked really cute. Granted, Pinterest seems to be full of lies
because nothing I ever try on there turns out decent. But baskets seem like a safe bet since it doesn’t involve sugar or
flour.

I decide
to leave the shelves themselves since my future roommate might have books
they’d like to house there. If they want them gone … well, I’ll cross that
bridge when I get there.

Pulling my
hair back into a ponytail, I prepare to move my desk into my room. I moved
things around to make space for it earlier, but I’ve been avoiding heaving the
heavy monstrosity from the other side of the apartment. I’m already a sweaty
hot mess and it’s not even ten in the morning.

I deserve
an award for my dedication to my future roommate, because this shit sucks.

Once all
my stuff is out of the spare room—except the bookcases of course—I vacuum every
square inch and then go through the entire apartment while I’m at it.

After
that, my OCD kicks in and I decide to scrub the entire place until it’s
spotless. I figure that way when someone inquires about the place it’ll be
decent when they see it.

When
everything is clean, I take a shower and change into a pair of real clothes—not my usual fuzzy pajama
pants and loose t-shirt attire. It’s after one now, and I’m in desperate need
of caffeine. Normally I would’ve had three cups by now, but I was busy and it
kept the urges at bay.

I grab my
phone off the counter—the case it’s in holds my credit cards and some cash—and
make my escape before I find anything else I need to clean.

I walk out
the door and walk smack dab into my landlord.

“Oh my
God,” I cry, my hand flying to my chest.

“Not God,
but close enough.” He grins devilishly. His reddish blond hair is neatly
trimmed but worn messily, his face is lightly stubbled like he didn’t have time
to shave this morning, and his hazel eyes pop against his tan skin. He’s hot,
even I’ll admit it, but hot doesn’t make up for his asshole personality.

“How can I
help you, Jamie?” I ask him in a biting tone, knowing there’s no good reason why he’s here.

He gives
me one of his signature smarmy smiles and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
It’d be my luck he’d kick me out on my ass based on rudeness, even though he
needs to take a good strong look in the mirror.

“I was
just swinging by to remind everyone rent is due next Friday at the new price.”

I give him
a mock thumbs up I’d love nothing more than to turn into a middle finger salute.
“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Mhmm, see
you around, Louise.”

He starts
down the hall to the next tenant and I call out, “It’s Lou.”

He knows
this, but he doesn’t care. As long as his pockets are padded with our cash, he
doesn’t care about any of us.

I walk out
the main door onto the sidewalk. The nearest coffee shop is only a block away. It’s
one of the perks of living downtown. I’m in walking distance to so many things,
and as someone who has an aversion to driving, it’s great. It’s not that I
don’t drive, I kind of have to, but I white knuckle it the entire way to
wherever I’m going.

The trees
are bright with the color of fall, and more people than usual stroll around in
the cooler weather. Like them, I’m thankful to finally say goodbye to the
ridiculously humid weather. Walking outside and immediately becoming drenched
in sweat isn’t my idea of fun. Boob sweat is a freaking nightmare and
impossible to avoid when it’s ninety degrees but feels like one-hundred and
ten.

Griffin’s,
the best coffee shop in the world, appears around the corner and I smile. I
love the old-fashioned brick building with green trim. It’s unique and doesn’t
quite look like it belongs in this town, but better suited for a cute hideaway
place in some foreign country.

I push the
door open, the cheery bell signaling my arrival.

I pause
for a moment, inhaling the sweet warm scent of coffee and baked goods.

The line
isn’t too long, and I send up a little prayer for this small blessing. At times
I’ve had to wait thirty minutes just to order here. It’s a favorite with the
locals, and even the out of towners, for its charm and the fact it frequently
hosts music acts and open mic nights. Plus, with the university not far away
students flock here to study or hang out, myself and Miranda included.

Finally
reaching the counter, I order a latte and banana muffin. There’s an empty seat
near the windows, which never happens. I run toward it like I’m racing in the
Indy 500 only to get there the same time as a guy.

“This is
my table,” I declare.

“Pretty
sure I got here first,” he argues back.

I put my
hands on my hips. “Nope, it was definitely me.”

He grins,
and it’s a boyish kind of smile, sweet but with a naughty edge. His teeth are
slightly crooked, but I think it’s cute. Too many perfect teeth in an imperfect
world is a bit much for me, personally.

“How about
we call it a tie?” he suggests. “We could share? There are two tables and
plenty of space.”

My head
cants to the side as I think it over. There are other empty tables, but this
one is the best.

“Fine,” I
agree, albeit reluctantly since I’m not fond of strangers. “We’ll share. But if
you think I’m going to share my muffin with you, you’re wrong.” My sharing
streak does not carry over to food.

His smile
grows wider.

“Not the muffin I meant.”

He chuckles,
and it’s a husky raspy sound—almost too sexual sounding to be a laugh. “It was
still funny.”

My cheeks
heat. Why do I have to be so awkward?

I sit down
and he follows suit. He looks to be my age, and I wonder if he’s going to the
university too. Campus is large and it’s impossible to know everyone. He has
light brown hair, brown eyes, and a heavy dusting of stubble on his cheeks like
he couldn’t be bothered to shave the past couple of days.

“I’m
Tanner.” He holds out his hand.

I take his
hand and shake it before letting go. “Lou.”

“Lou?” he
repeats, raising a brow. “Can’t say I’ve heard that one.”

“It’s
short for Louise,” I explain, tucking a stray piece of blonde hair behind my
ear.

“Family
name?”

I nod. “My
grandmother’s. She passed away before I was born and my parents wanted to honor
her.” My name is called for my order. “That’ll be me,” I say unnecessarily.
“Try not to give my seat away.”

He
chuckles, leaning back in his seat to watch me. “It seems like a hot commodity.
Someone might buy it from me and who am I to turn down a few bucks?”

“Don’t
even think about it,” I warn with a joking smile.

I grab my
order and return. Tanner’s made himself comfortable. His long legs are sprawled
out into the aisle and he’s set up his laptop on the table.

He looks
up at me and I shake my muffin. “Not sharing,” I remind him.

He
chuckles, closing the laptop lid so he can look at me. “What about your coffee?
You sharing that?”

“Nope.” I
pull my muffin out of the bag along with a plastic fork.

“So mean
to me,” he remarks, pressing a hand to his chest.

I notice
then he’s dressed nicely in a dark blue sweater and jeans that look like they
cost more than my rent.

“I guess
it’s a good thing I already placed an order.” His eyes sparkle with barely
contained laughter.

I peel the
wrapper away from my banana muffin. “That’s a very good thing,” I concur. I
pull off a piece of the muffin and pop it in my mouth. I’ve always eaten them
that way, much to mother’s chagrin.

She’d
scoff and say, “Louise Myrtle Powell, a lady does not walk around with crumbs on her bosoms.”

But in my
opinion, if there aren’t crumbs then you’re not enjoying yourself. Life’s too
short to not get messy.

Tanner
smirks at me over the top of his computer. “I’m suddenly very jealous of your …
muffin.”

I choke at
his words and muffin crumbs tumble down my throat, the once soft bites now feel
like ice picks digging into my esophagus as I try not to hack up a lung.

His smile
widens as I grab my coffee and try to compose myself. “You’re kind of
adorable.”

Adorable.

That word
feels like an ice cube dropped down my back—cold, prickly, and utterly
distasteful.

Most girls
get told they’re pretty, or if they’re lucky beautiful, gorgeous, or even
stunning. I’ve always been stuck in the cute or adorable category. It’s a
corner I don’t like being shoved into. Is it my size that doesn’t make me
worthy of more flowery descriptors or am I forever going to be the girl that
never is in the starring role, even in her own life?

About that
time his name is called. I doubt he even notices the shutters I close around
myself. I don’t like people-ing, and this is what happens when I do.

Honestly,
why do I have to leave the house? Human interaction is overrated. I could
survive as a hermit. Me, myself, and I sounds like a mighty fine life to me.

Tanner
slides back into the chair across from me with a gigantor cup of coffee.

He must
have asked for the ‘I’m a closet dick’ special. Actually, in that case his
coffee should be the tiniest cup size imaginable to match his, I’m sure, below
average penis size.

“Why are
you glaring at me?” He raises one brow, lowering the lid on his laptop.

“You
called me adorable,” I blurt the words before I can stop them. I wouldn’t be so
hung up on the silly word if one of the horrible guys I went out with last year
didn’t tell me, “This was fun and all, don’t get me wrong you’re adorable, but
this won’t be happening again,” after
slept with him.

I hate
myself for letting it get to me now, but let’s face it, word vomit is the worst
kind of vomit of all. At least if you’re sick you can clean up the mess and
move on, but words? Once you speak them you can’t gobble them back up and
swallow them down.

He narrows
his eyes in confusion. “What’s wrong with adorable?”

I roll my
eyes, swaying my hand casually through the air. “Little girls are adorable. I’m a woman. I should be can’t-touch-this
hot, or sexy-and-I-know-it sinful, not
adorable.”

He throws
his head back, laughing so hard his whole body shakes.

“Why are
you laughing?” I hiss, my palms landing flat on the table to stop it from
moving along with him.

Laughter
that can only be described as giggles, erupts from him. There are literal tears
in his eyes and I feel like a fool. I want to grab my stuff and run far and
fast away from him, but something keeps me compelled to my seat.

Why is it
so funny that I think I deserve to be called hot or sexy? Just because I’m a
bigger girl, doesn’t mean I’m any less than any other woman—so why does it feel
like I am.

When he
finally sobers, wiping tears from his eyes, he leans over the table and motions
with his hand like he wants to tell me a secret. I lower my head, my ear tilted
toward him and he says, “You’re not my type.”

I rear
back like I’ve been shocked. Any time I’ve heard that line it’s usually
followed by, “Look at me and look at you. We don’t match.” It’s beyond
frustrating feeling like I’m constantly being judged. I’m happy, smart, and I
know I’m pretty. Yeah, maybe I’m not a Victoria’s Secret model, but I’m Lou. I’m me. The most beautiful thing we can be in this world is our own
self. No one else can ever be you, so I believe in loving myself
whole-heartedly. I’m stuck with myself until the day I die. If I hate who I am
and what I look like it’s going to be a long damn ride.

“Because of
my size, right?” I challenge, raising a brow. I never defend myself when this
kind of thing happens, because frankly anyone with that kind of mindset isn’t
someone I want to associate with, but this time I refuse to let it go.

His eyes
widen like saucers and his cheeks redden as he too whips back in his seat. “Oh,
fuck, God no. I’m gay.”

My whole
body collapses onto the table, my head in my hands. I don’t know whether to
laugh or cry so I settle for a combination of both. It figures when I finally
decide to call a guy on his bullshit he’d end up gay.

When I
finally gather my wits, those pesky little buggers, I sit up straight and hold
my chin high.

“If you
weren’t gay, would I be your type?” I give him my best duck lips and
sultry-eyed Instagram worthy look.

He looks
me up and down and a slow grin spreads over his face.

“Most
definitely.”

I shrug
and let out a sigh. “I can live with that.”

I finish
my muffin, sipping my coffee along. Brushing the crumbs off the table I stand
up, my half full cup clasped in my hand. “It was nice meeting you, Tanner.”

“Leaving
so soon?” His fingers halt against his keyboard and one brow peaks as he
regards me with a grin.

I lift my
shoulders in a small nonchalant shrug. “I’ve peopled enough for today.”

He lets
out a full laugh. “Not much of a people person, are you?”

I let out
a small not-very-lady-like snort. “Not really. I only like a few people.”

“Well,” he
drags out the word. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Just do
it.” His smile never falters.

For some
reason I hand it over.

A moment
later he hands it back to me, his number added to my contacts under Tanner-The-Very-Gay-Coffee-Non-Date,
and I can’t help but burst into laughter.

“If you
ever decide on adding a fun gay bestie into the mix, I’m available. I’m a great
time at parties, an excellent study partner, and in case a spontaneous pillow
fight breaks out you don’t have to worry about a boner taking flight. Pussy
doesn’t do it for me. I like hotdogs, not tacos.”

My
laughter only grows. “You know, I think Miranda and I could totally use a new
gay bestie.”

He smiles.
“I’m new in town, so friends would be nice.” There’s something vulnerable in
his eyes, as if he hates admitting it.

“Here,” I
motion for his phone, “I’ll give you my number too.”

He slides
his Android—blasphemy—into my
outstretched palm and I add my contact info.

He
chuckles when he reads my contact name. “Lou-That-Weird-Coffee-Bitch.” He
shakes his head and clucks his tongue. “For the record, Lou, I bet your taco is
the best one out there … if one enjoys tacos.”

I smile
back at him. “Oh, I know. It’s time for the male population to figure that out.
I’m amazing, a total catch.”

With that,
I swish my hair over my shoulder and saunter out the door.

I might
have my moments of weakness, who doesn’t, but I never let my self-doubts dull
my sparkle for long.

I’m a
unicorn—a rare, precious thing, and any man will be damn lucky for me to choose him.

The post Desperately Seeking Roommate Chapter Two appeared first on Author Micalea Smeltzer.

COVER REVEAL!

Ahhhh! I’m so ecstatic to bring you guys the cover for my next book Desperately Seeking Roommate today! Release is April 26th and it’ll be a live release so keep an eye out for it! Now on to what you really want! THE COVER.

WANTED:
A ROOMMATE

Requirements

Don’t be a smoker. That’s gross.Don’t be a jerk. I have no time to deal with your
mood swings.Clean up after yourself. Is it really so hard to
put dirty clothes where they belong?

If you meet these qualifications,
call me.

Sincerely,

Desperately
Seeking Roommate

When I put the ad in my university’s newspaper, the
last thing I ever expect is for the star football player to respond.

From what I know of him, Abel Russo is a womanizer
and an absolute jerk.

Sadly, he’s the only thing stopping me from being
evicted by my annoyingly gleeful landlord.

It should be easy enough—there’s no chance we’ll fall for each other. But then he gives me lingering looks, and I might just be looking back. All I wanted was a roommate, but I’m about to get so much more than I bargained for.

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43088445-desperately-seeking-roommate

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Be sure to check out the giveaway on my Facebook page! https://www.facebook.com/authormicaleasmeltzer/

And a rafflecopter giveaway https://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/ba3ffd552180/

If Desperately Seeking Roommate is one of your most anticipated reads for April vote for it now on this list. (currently #67 as I’m posting this) https://www.goodreads.com/list/show/133078.April_2019_Most_Anticipated_Romances?fbclid=IwAR31gEtD1IzCFf9u46wefrKOYllVdeuEWxP8DEK_GkUXwvoK6yTPXOVWVGo

The post COVER REVEAL! appeared first on Author Micalea Smeltzer.

Desperately Seeking Roommate Chapter One

Chapter
One

Lou

“I can’t
believe I have to do this,” I sigh, staring at the ad I’ve typed up.

“It’s not
like you asked your landlord to be King of the Douchebags and raise your rent,”
my best friend Miranda chimes. She’s lying across my bed on her stomach,
swiping madly on Tinder. I don’t know why she likes the stupid app. I find it
insulting more than anything. The one
time I used it I got a message within five minutes of a dick with a bow wrapped
around it. I immediately replied that was not the gift I was asking for at the
moment, thank you very much.

She turns
her hazel eyes to mine and heaves a dramatic breath. She reaches past me and pushes
the pad on my laptop, sending the ad through to our university’s newspaper.

I cry out,
hands fumbling toward my laptop. “Miranda, I wasn’t ready! I needed to
proofread it again.”

“You
would’ve been here all day reading it and then talked yourself out of posting
it. It needed to be done.”

She rolls
off my bed and strides over to my closet door, swiping through the clothes on
the hangers.

Miranda is
the first friend I’ve ever had who I could share clothes with. I’m short and
curvy—or what most would call plus size—and most of my friends growing up were
either thin or average-sized. I always felt like the odd duck out, until
Miranda and I met during English 101. Neither of us are from Winchester—I came
from the southern part of Virginia to here in the north, and she ventured all
the way from Delaware to here.

Somehow,
we ended up sitting beside each other in our English class and the rest is
history.

She holds
up an oatmeal colored over-sized sweater. “Can I borrow this?”

“Sure,” I
reply with a shrug, shutting the lid on my computer. With a groan, I stand up,
stretching my stiff muscles. I’m twenty-one going on eighty. If I’m sitting or
in any position for too long my limbs lock up despite my nearly daily yoga
routine. It’s ridiculous.

“Thanks.”
She drapes the garment over her arm. Her dark brown curls swing around her
shoulders. With her father being Hispanic and her mother Asian, the girl is the
epitome of the word unique. She’s
stunning and I tell her all the time, but she never believes me because of her
size.

I don’t
know why us bigger girls have to be shamed by society. We’re normal-sized—I’m sorry your media
standards are candy-cane stick thin. I’d rather eat them than look like one.

“I wish
you could move in with me,” I whine, as she goes back to flipping through my
closet. I’ve been pouting about this fact for a solid week—ever since I found
out rent was going up and I was no longer going to be able to afford my
two-bedroom apartment in the historic district. The idea of living with a
stranger isn’t appealing at all, and since I have no time to spare, I have to
be open to a guy for a roommate too.

The
prospect of going to pee and falling into the toilet doesn’t sound like my idea
of getting wet, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I need a
roomie stat.

She sighs,
her lips twisting downward in genuine apology. “I know, babe, but I just re-signed
the contract on my apartment. There’s no way I can get out of it. Living here
would be so much nicer. My place is a dump.”

She lives
in an older apartment beside the small airport of privately owned planes. I
still don’t know how I lucked out getting my cute place downtown—but right now
I don’t feel so lucky and want to punch my landlord in his smug face. He’s
young, probably late twenties or early thirties, and inherited this building
over the summer when his grandpa passed away. Now, the greedy bastard wants to
make more money off broke college students like me.

“Does this
match?” she asks, pairing the sweater with a maroon skirt that ends above the
knees with buttons down the front.

“Yeah,
it’ll be cute,” I tell her honestly. “But … what do you need it for?”

Color
blossoms across her dark skin. “Charlie asked me out.”

“Charlie?”
I shriek. “Why am I just now hearing about this? I thought you hated him.” I
jolt upright from this news, in desperate need of hearing the tea of how this
came about.

Charlie is
in our history class—he’s the type who answers every question correctly and
then looks around smugly like we all care that he’s so much smarter than us.

Newsflash,
we don’t.

She
shrugs. “It happened yesterday. I bumped into him in the library and he asked.
I don’t really like him, but … Lou, it’s been forever since I got laid and I’m desperate. My kitty needs more
than some sweet vibrations. I need a man. On top of me. Inside me.”

“But Charlie?” I can’t get over this. He’s
not hideous, but if looks were determined by personality he’d be one ugly
guy—like Smeagol.

“He’s not
horrible looking,” she reasons. “And you never know, he might be cool.”

“Well,
when he bores you with his vast knowledge of the size of every shit a president
took, don’t come crying to me.”

“I doubt
he knows that.” She spreads the
clothes on top of my bed and stands back, assessing how they look together.
Glancing at me she adds, “I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt, okay. Can
you do that, too? For me?”

I hug my
best friend. “I’d do anything for you.”

“Thank
you.” She smiles, her dark slanted eyes looking relieved. Her relief
transitions into worry and her lips flatten. “What are you going to do if no
one responds to your ad?”

I sit down
on my bed, looking out the old dirty window onto the street below.

“Live on
the streets, I guess.”

“You know
I’d never let that happen,” she vows. “My place might be small, but I can make
room for you somewhere—maybe add a cat cushion in the bathroom.”

I grab a
pink pillow and toss it at her. “My ass wouldn’t even fit on it.”

“At least
it’s a nice ass.” She gives it a tap. “Can we get something to eat now? I’m
starving, and you bribed me over here with the promise of dinner only to spend
two hours writing a measly four lines for your stupid ad.”

It was
more like seven, but even that is a
pathetic amount of time to spend writing it.  

“Fine,” I
grumble. “I do owe you food.”

She snorts,
rolling her eyes and sticking her tongue out at me. “At this point you owe me a
whole fucking pizza.”

***

Twenty
minutes later we’re seated in a booth inside the cozy wood-fired pizza
place—aptly named Woody’s.

The place
has a warm and cozy vibe with browns and blacks used for much of the décor. Our
booth is beside the bar, packed with people—mostly fellow college students and
the random old guy interspersed. I watch one old man leer down the shirt of the
woman beside him.

Nasty old bastards.

Picking up
my beer glass, I let the warm liquid slide down my throat. Across from me,
Miranda texts on her phone, and I don’t dare ask to whom, because I don’t want
to hear the name Charlie leave her
lips. The thought alone makes me want to gag.

Who knows,
he could prove me wrong, but as her best friend it’s my job to have
reservations about any guy she dates. She’s a queen and deserves to be treated
as such. A guy will be lucky to get my stamp of approval, and chances are it
won’t be Charlie.

She sets
her phone aside and stretches across the table toward me. “How much longer
until the pizza is here? I’m withering away by the second.”

“Considering
we ordered five minutes ago, I’d say you’ll be waiting a while longer.”

“Dammit.” She
tosses her head back in aggravation. “Good thing I always have snacks in case
of an emergency.” She rifles through her purse and pulls out a small bag of
popcorn. She proceeds to open it and start shoving pieces into her mouth.

“If you
had that why didn’t you eat it earlier?” I remark.

She shrugs
and answers around a mouthful. “Forgot I had it.”

I shake my
head amusedly. Miranda is one of a kind.

I wasn’t
hungry before, but now that we’re here I’m positively starving. It feels like it’s been a whole day since lunch, not
hours. I was too busy agonizing over the stupid ad to think about my stomach.

“Give me
some of that,” I plead, holding my hand out for some popcorn.

She
cradles it against her boobs. “Mine.”

“Miranda,” I gripe. “Please?”

“Fine.”
She drops a stingy three pieces in my hand.

“That’s all
you get.” She grins and shoves more in her mouth.

I glare at
her, but at least it’s better than nothing. I eat the three pieces slowly,
savoring them. The food is on its way, and once it’s here all will be right in
the world again. I’m pretty sure pizza can solve any problem. Honestly, I’m not
sure why the idiots in government haven’t just ordered some damn pizzas
already. Nobody can fight when ooey-gooey-cheesy goodness is in front of you.
It’s like, against the laws of nature or something. I’m sure of it.  

She
finishes her popcorn and stuffs the empty bag in her purse.

“I’m full,
let’s go.”

I narrow
my eyes.

“Kidding,”
she adds. “God knows it takes more than that to fill me up.”

As much as
I don’t want to bring up Charlie again, I have to. “When is this date of yours
with Charlie?”

“Tomorrow.”
She bites her lip.

Studying
her, I narrow my eyes into slits. “If you never really have liked him why are
you acting nervous all of a sudden?”

She tucks
an errant piece of dark hair behind her ear. “I honestly haven’t liked him. He’s
arrogant, rude, condescending … but also kind of hot in a dork-ish sort of way.
The glasses, the floppy hair.” She rests her chin on her hand and gives a
dramatic dreamy sigh. I’m friends with a complete and utter nutcase.

“Don’t go
falling in love now,” I joke. “I can’t be left alone in my singledom.”

She rolls
her eyes and fans her hand through the air. “Not going to happen. I doubt
Charlie can handle all of this.” She wiggles her body. “I have needs that need
to be met and I’m not certain he’s the guy. It’s only a date though—free dinner
and a movie? I’m not going to complain one bit about that shit.”

“True.”
When you’re a broke ass college student, getting to go out and have a free meal
is the equivalent of the Holy Grail. Toss a movie into the mix and you’ve found
Jesus himself.

It’s been
so long since I’ve dated I’ve become a Scrooge. Freshman year I went a bit
crazy, going out all the time to parties and on dates with guys that usually
only led to sex. Then last year I decided I wanted something more serious, but
most guys still only wanted a one-and-done experience and the few looking for a
relationship didn’t want someone like … well, me.

I never used
to be insecure about my size. I don’t think anyone at any size should ever be
made to feel ashamed. You never know someone’s personal struggles, so who are
you to judge?  But suddenly, I did start to become insecure and
wondered if men didn’t see me as the type they wanted to have a future
with—that I was only good for a quick lay.

After
that, I swore off men, determined to build up my confidence again.

Junior
year is supposed to be my year, and I
won’t let myself get dragged down by pining for some ideal that exists in my
head.

Love will
come along when it’s meant to. Until then, I’ll be living my best life, which
includes pizza nights with Miranda, manicures and pedicures once a month, and
whatever else I want to do—which let’s be real, after I spend the money on the
mani-pedis I’ll be sitting in my apartment contemplating my life choices and if
I really had to buy those Cheetos
from the campus vending machine two years ago for three dollars and fifty
cents, because surely if I had that money today I’d be better off. You might
say I don’t need the mani-pedis, which might be true in theory, but I don’t
need that kind of negativity from anyone in my life, so you can kindly fuck
off.

“Here you
ladies go,” our usual waiter Joe says with a smile, setting down each of our
pizzas—Miranda’s meat lovers and my veggie. Joe is an older guy, probably in
his fifties, bald, and has a black goatee. He’s awesome and always makes us
laugh. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do tonight.”

Miranda
snorts. “Like devour this pizza whole? You bet your ass that’s happening.”

He merely
chuckles and walks away to tend to another table.

I cut two
slices of pizza and set them on the plate Joe brought earlier to cool down.

Miranda
stares longingly down at her plate. “I want to eat it now, but I know if I do
I’ll have severe regrets when my tongue is burnt for a week.” She raises her
eyes to mine and shrugs. “Eh, you only live once, right?”

Before I
can stop her she grabs a piece and takes a huge bite. “Regret,” she cries, pulling a stringy piece of cheese away from
her mouth. “Instant. Regret.” She pants, spitting out a blob of too hot pizza.

Stifling a
giggle, I gesture toward the unfortunate mess of cheese and other toppings in
front of her. “Now look what you’ve gone and done. You ruined a perfectly good
piece of pizza.”

She
frowns. “Such a tragedy. Let’s have a moment of silence in its honor for its
service to my mouth.” She claps her hands together and bows her head. Lifting
it two seconds later she announces, “Enough of that.”

She
proceeds to pick up the rest of the piece she bit into and blows on it to cool
it down.

Once a few
more minutes pass and I feel sure my own pizza is green-lit to eat, I take a
bite.

Nope! Abort mission!

“Ah!” I
cry, as the hot cheese and sauce burns my tongue, bringing tears to my eyes.
“Get it out,” I plead stupidly, because it’s not like a stranger is going to
shove their hand in my mouth to yank out the scalding piece of pizza. I manage
to spit it out and reach for my beer, but the starchy drink does little to
soothe my tongue. I spot Joe walking by and wave madly, nearly falling out of
the booth. “Water,” I beg when he sees me. “Need. Water.”

He
chuckles. “Coming right up.”

Looking
across the table at Miranda, I sigh. “We shouldn’t be allowed out in public.
We’re both walking disasters.”

“I like to
think my awkwardness brings joy to those around me.”

“As
opposed to what?” I inquire, thanking Joe with a nod as he sets down a glass of
water for each of us. I gulp greedily at the cold liquid.

“Horror at
the realization a walking wrecking ball exists, ready to take down anything and
anyone around her. I can’t help it that I’m clumsy and stupid things happen to
me.”

“Same,
girl.” I can relate to that on every level.

When I was
six, I fell from the top of the playground slide onto the ground, banging my
head into a piece of wood that was a part of the area separating the grass from
the mulch playground. Suffice to say, there was lots of blood, more than five
stitches, and a scar on my forehead that I carry with me to this day.

 “Let’s try this again,” she says, and takes a
tentative bite. She gives me a thumbs up. “All clear.”

I take a
bite and, thankfully, it’s not scorching hot anymore, but my sore tongue makes
it less enjoyable than it should be.

I eat a
total of three pieces before asking for a box. After we’ve both finished our
drinks we grab our things and head outside onto the cobblestone road in front
of the restaurant.

The sun is
only beginning to set, and it’s a little before eight, but already starting to
get dark earlier every night. I personally love the times when it’s nine at
night and still light out. Fall and winter are the bane of existence. I thrive
on the energy the sun brings me. If I could hibernate through the winter months
I might like them more, but since I have to get out and brave the cold on the
daily it’s a hate-hate relationship.

We walk a
couple of streets over, both of us much more subdued thanks to the pizza and
drinks.

If you put
food in me, suddenly I’m ready to sleep. It makes eating breakfast and lunch a
game of Russian roulette of will I or won’t I fall asleep in class.

Miranda
and I say our goodbyes as she gets in her car, and then I enter my apartment
building. It’s a ground floor unit, which I hated at first because it didn’t
seem very safe to me, but I’ve come to love it—when I have groceries at least I
don’t have to walk up any stairs.

I close
the door behind me and sweep my gaze around my place, my home. I’ve spent so much time buying things and making it mine. The
white and gray décor with pops of pink in the main space brings me peace. The
same theme carries into my bedroom. The spare room has been my office, housing
a desk and two bookcases that didn’t fit in the main room—though I do have
bookcases lining the wall behind my couch.

Tomorrow,
I’ll have to clean out the office. I don’t know where I’ll put the things in
there, but I’ll figure it out. Anything I can’t keep will have to be donated,
or Miranda can have it if she wants it.

I stand in
the doorway of the room, wondering who on Earth my roommate will be. I hope we
get along and that is doesn’t end up being a complete and utter disaster.

Though,
knowing my luck, a disaster is exactly what I’ll get.

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43088445-desperately-seeking-roommate

Cover Reveal | March 27th

Release Date | April 26th

The post Desperately Seeking Roommate Chapter One appeared first on Author Micalea Smeltzer.

Desperately Seeking Roommate Blurb Reveal

DESPERATELY SEEKING ROOMMATE

WANTED:
A ROOMMATE

Requirements

Don’t be a smoker. That’s gross.Don’t be a jerk. I have no time to deal with your
mood swings.Clean up after yourself. Is it really so hard to
put dirty clothes where they belong?

If you meet these qualifications,
call me.

Sincerely,

Desperately
Seeking Roommate

When I put the ad in my university’s newspaper, the
last thing I ever expect is for the star football player to respond.

From what I know of him, Abel Russo is a womanizer
and an absolute jerk.

Sadly, he’s the only thing stopping me from being
evicted by my annoyingly gleeful landlord.

It should be easy enough—there’s no chance we’ll
fall for each other. But then he gives me lingering looks, and I might just be
looking back.

All I wanted was a roommate, but I’m about to
get so much more than I bargained for.

Cover reveal March 27th  | Release date April 26th

Add now on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43088445-desperately-seeking-roommate

The post Desperately Seeking Roommate Blurb Reveal appeared first on Author Micalea Smeltzer.

Wild Flame is LIVE!

Wild Flame is available now! I hope you guys are excited by this surprise release and enjoy Rush and Kira’s story! They were first introduced in Wild Collision, but you can read it as a standalone.

He was raging chaos.

Kira Marsh wants to escape her past—so far, she’s done just that. But it doesn’t stop the memories from catching up to her.

She was the sweetest sin.

Rush Daniels has been spiraling out of control for a long time.
Haunted by the loss of his parents, he’s losing his grip on reality day by day.

Together they were a fire that couldn’t be doused.

When Rush and Kira start their no-strings attached relationship they expect it to be easy. But when one starts to fall for the other, things spiral out of control in a way neither ever expected.

Suddenly, they’re both facing their demons head-on, while their future together hangs in uncertainty.

Amazon: http://hyperurl.co/ycmgyo

iBooks: http://hyperurl.co/dj7jo0

Nook: http://hyperurl.co/lqmzqm

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/41747395-wild-flame

The post Wild Flame is LIVE! appeared first on Author Micalea Smeltzer.