Reviewers for TO DATE A WEREWOLF.

[Molly]

Hi, guys! I released the second book in my Werewolf Kisses series, which has a stand-alone plot.

I'm looking for those interested in reading to review. Message me so that I can PM you a coupon code from Smashwords to download it for free.

As a heads up, it's a silly, sassy book with no sex or foul language. Here's a sneak peek:

The next time the doorbell rang, Maggie forced herself to calmly approach her awaiting guest, have some self respect. She peeked out the peephole, and all she could make out were chest hairs--that was good news, under the circumstances--bushing out around a gold chain necklace. Tacky. But she could deal with his flair for 70's jewelry if he indeed turned out to be a werewolf.

Maggie opened the door, and saw a man who could have been Hagrid's brother of all people. He was massive. So tall he had to duck his melon head, just so he wouldn't knock it against a lone lit light bulb. On the bright side, she quickly determined that standing next to him she could pass for a size five.

"Hey, pretty woman." Maggie had to shield her eyes from the gust of wind coming from his mouth. "Pleased to meet you." The second strong gale blew back her bangs, and she hoped her eyelashes were glued on enough.

"You... um... can bench press a truck, I presume?"

"Two," he simply said. She was thankful for the brief response, as all it offered was a light breeze across her cheeks. The next thing she knew, they both successfully stuffed themselves atop one of those little scooters you always see on Italian streets in romance movies. Her arms couldn't even reach around his stomach; instead, she got a good grip of the sides of his leather vest (no T-shirt underneath), and desperately hoped they didn't look like two sausages smooshed together on a stick with wheels; she soothed herself with the thought that in comparison to him, she was more like a little smoky.

At the Irish pub, her date was downing drink after drink without breaking a sweat. She actually hoped he got a little tipsy so she could get him to open up to her about his situation. She took a matchbox from beside the ketchup bottle, and thought it all over, as she re-lit the tea-light candle sitting in its vintage glass votive between them.

Was he a werewolf, or wasn't he? He sure was big and hairy--that was incredibly obvious--but even if he were her favorite paranormal creature, who held the cure to her zombified condition, could she fall in love with him? For the kiss to work, for it to cure her, love needed to be there.

He belched, and the candle was blown out. Could she even like him?

Maggie imagined rating her desperation on a scale of 1 through 10. She was wavering around 9, but as she narrowed her eyes at her date, studying his repulsiveness, she had to admit she wasn't that desperate. This guy needed a girl to be at a 10, or completely-off-the-charts loony.

And so Maggie stood up, threw a wad of cash at him for her half of the bill.

"Where you going, babe?" he called after her, sending a gust of wind that rippled her dress.

Maggie turned to him, and lied. "The Bachelor is coming on in six-point-five minutes, and I need to see who's getting a rose."