Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills and USA Today bestselling author Tia Louise are back with an all-new romantic comedy filled with Southern sass and steamy scenes that will have you laughing out loud and fanning yourself. Pour the sweet tea and get ready"
"The best way to get over your sh**ty ex-fianc" is to get under a shiny new stud""
As soon as Mr. Tall, Blond, and Handsome walks into that bar, I know he"s the hook-up I need to get over stupid Cheater Kyle.
A few stolen kisses in a dark hallway, and I"m pretty sure we"re headed for a home run"until he disappears without a trace.
Whatever. Men are all snakes in the grass, and I don"t need a new one anyway.
I resolve to forget about his perfect lips (and chest of steel) and instead focus on turning my Granny"s old beach house into a profitable B&B.
What I don"t expect is for him to show up the next day in my kitchen!
You see, my sexy mystery man is none other than Jax Roland, the drop-dead gorgeous home improvement star of The Right Stud, and he"s got an offer I can"t refuse.
With a suitcase in one hand and a hammer in the other, he wants to move in and renovate my old house while he films his new show.
But my roommate has secrets, and they threaten to rip our blossoming friendship"and possible love"apart.
When push comes to shove, is Jax really The Right Stud or is he just another nail in the coffin of love"Books by Author:Ilsa Madden-Mills BooksTia Louise Books
My ankle turns, and the heel on my left stiletto breaks off right before I open the door to the bar. Dammit. I clench my hands and want to throw it across the road, but at this point, I"m determined to suck it up and go inside anyway.
I"ve been through three wardrobe changes and waited through four traffic lights to get to the Smoky Siren, the newest (and only) late-night bar in Palmetto, South Carolina, and nothing is going to stop me now. Right, Starship"
Hobbling over to a black wrought-iron bench beside a lamppost adorned with hanging baskets of petunias, I take a seat and peer through the large, front window. I"ll give it to the owners, they"ve done a great job creating a funky, aquatic vibe with turquoise blue accents and iridescent fixtures. It"s packed to the gills on a Saturday night, and couples spill out the doors laughing and talking.
They"re mostly tourists and beach vacationers, but according to my friend Lulu, it"s The Place to find a fast fling. She"d know, since she knows everything going on in our tiny clutch of communities along the coast.
My eyes go to my busted shoe and my bravado deflates. What am I doing here" I should be home on the couch in my flannel pajamas eating Ben and Jerry"s Wedding Cake Wonder and watching Fixer Uppers.
I inhale sadly. I"m not supposed to be alone tonight. I"m supposed to be ensconced in wedded bliss, celebrating my six-month anniversary as Mrs. Dr. Kyle Nelson.
Six months, three hours ago, I should have been showing up at the Charleston First United Methodist Church in a beaded, mermaid-tail wedding gown that cost more than five thousand dollars, which I"d ended up reselling on eBay for less than half.
Note to self: bridal boutiques do not take back dresses nor do catering establishments refund your ten-thousand-dollar deposit.
I cringe before catching sight of my reflection in the glass. At least being cheated on has done wonders for my figure. I"m down ten pounds since the break-up and can even fit into this dress from five years ago. Red and silky with a deep plunging V-neck, it clings to my curves. I may not have love, but at least my body is on point.
"Excuse us!" A young couple holding hands brushes past the bench a little too close as they rush to the double doors and slip inside the bar.
They"re too busy gazing into each other"s eyes to look up, and I think of everything I"ve lost. Scorned-woman rage washes over me, and I want to scream LOVE SUCKS! at them.
See" Hooking up with someone tonight is a terrible idea. Anyway, Mrs. Capshaw, my one guest at the B&B I own and operate (and love), is probably still awake. She might be up for a Gilmore Girls marathon.
We love that show. She even calls me Lorelai sometimes, which I take as a high compliment. Who needs men when I have my own bed and breakfast on the beach" I need a cat"but just one, since more than one means I"m on my way to being a crazy cat lady.
Taking off both shoes, I stand and spin around to head back to my car just as my phone rings. My breath catches, my chest squeezes, and part of me"the stupid, sad part"hopes it"s Kyle calling to let me know, after all this time, he"s finally seen the truth. He made a horrible mistake when he cheated.
It isn"t Kyle, which is fine, because I wouldn"t take that bastard back no matter how hard he begged.
It"s only Lulu.
I exhale and tap the green circle. "Wasn"t it enough that you were just at my house and picked out my entire outfit""
"Are you there yet"" My best friend since kindergarten asks. "Or are you standing at the front door talking yourself out of going in""
With the phone to my ear, I lift my chin and gaze at the starry night sky. "I"ll have you know I"m at the bar, and I just ordered a martini."
"You"re a sucky liar. Always have been. Remember that time you told me I had a booger on my cheek so I"d run to the bathroom and you"d get to kiss Reggie Wallace at Shelia"s sweet sixteen""
"Oh my God, how do you remember these things"" I cry. "And for your information, he can"t French kiss worth a lick. Anyway, how do you know I"m lying" It"s very rude to accuse people of""
Her gum smacks as she chews. "I"m parked on the street watching you, scaredy-pants. Why are you holding your shoes""
"What"" My head jerks around and sure enough, I spot her curly red head sitting inside her Prius.
She waves at me enthusiastically. "Followed you."
"Don"t you have five dogs and a goat to babysit""
"Jean Claude is a ram, and I"m not here to party with you. I"m here to make sure you walk in that door and have a drink, preferably with a hot man. You haven"t left your house in six months."