Feisty
AN ALL-NEW STANDALONE FROM NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR JULIA KENT
I’m not too proud to admit that finding Mr. Right involves swiping right. Right? Welcome to dating in avocado toastland.
Here I am, on my first blind date, ever, courtesy of a smartphone app and my two annoying best friends.
So what is Chris “Fletch” Fletcher doing, walking across the room, looking at his phone like he’s pattern matching a picture to find a real person he’s never met before?
Oh.
Oh, no.
The guy I drop-kicked in seventh grade cannot be my blind date. The guy who earned me this infernal nickname.
That’s right.
Feisty.
———
More from New York Times bestselling author Julia Kent as Fiona “Feisty” Gaskill gets her chance at love—drop-kick included.
Other Standalone Books in the Series:
Little Miss Perfect
Fluffy
Perky
Buy links:
Amazon (all countries)
Google Play
Kobo
BN/Nook
Apple Books
BookBub
Goodreads
Audiobook narrated by Erin Mallon:
Audible
Amazon Audio
iTunes: Coming Soon
Excerpt
“Why are you suddenly meddling in my life like you know me? Because you don’t,” I inform him, moving closer, one hand rising up, my index finger pointing as I assume a power stance that seems otherworldly. Some self inside me is coming to the forefront.
And she has something to say.
Two of the people at his table turn and look at us, then start whispering. Fletch’s eyes cut over.
“Can we talk in private?” he asks.
“Why? Afraid of being called out in public?”
“No, but you’re about to get a bunch of cellphones pulled out. You really want more recordings of you floating around on the internet?”
I spin on my heel and move to the hallway in what I think is the direction of the bathrooms. Paleo2Clean is new to me, but before this incarnation, it was a soup restaurant, and before that, a froyo place.
Yep. Guessed right. High chairs and bathrooms.
“Look, Fletch,” I say, grabbing his arm hard. “Until our reunion last year, I hadn’t seen you in forever. And when Mal and Will chose us both to be in their wedding, I wasn’t happy, but I plastered on a fake smile because that’s what you do when your friends are getting married and you used to hate one of the groomsmen.”
“Hate?” A smile tickles his lips, his amusement infuriating me more than any other response he could possibly have. “You,” he says, looking at my hand on his skin, taking a step closer into my space, “hate me?”
“No. I said I used to hate you. Before I worked on evolving and being a better human being.”
“How, exactly, have you done that?”
“By increasing my vibration.”
“You are a better person because you use vibrators?”
“Who said anything about sex toys?”
“You did. Just now.”
“No, I didn’t! I said vibrations!”
“What’s the difference?”
“Enlightenment!”
“Pretty sure enlightenment comes from enough orgasms, too, Fiona.”
An espresso machine hisses in the distance, cutting through the sound of our matched breath. He’s inches from me, heat pulsing off his rock-hard body, the close-fitting black cloth of his shirt rippling only because of curved muscle. My hand on his arm feels like heat itself, our bodies some sort of element that conducts energy on a wavelength science hasn’t discovered yet.
And I’m wet, wanting, and so, so confused.
“Why are you turning this conversation into a sex talk?” I finally choke out, pulling back as he leans in.
“You started it,” he replies, the smile fading, replaced by something intensely seductive. He bites his lower lip for a moment, looking at me. Then, in a whisper that makes me lean in to hear, he adds, “Maybe you wouldn’t hate me so much if I helped you with those vibrations.”
Author Bio:
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. Since 2013, she has sold more than 2 million books, with 4 New York Times bestsellers and more than 19 appearances on the USA Today bestseller list. Her books have been translated into French and German, with more titles releasing in 2020 and beyond.
From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men’s room toilet (and he isn’t a billionaire she met in a romantic comedy).
She lives in New England with her husband and three children where she is the only person in the household with the gene required to change empty toilet paper rolls.
Social Media Links:
Website: http://jkentauthor.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jkentauthor/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/jkentauthor
Newsletter: http://bit.ly/2PIBi9n
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jkentauthor/
Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/julia-kent
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3238619.Julia_Kent
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.com/Julia-Kent/e/B00A99V268/
Release blitz organized by Writer Marketing Services.
Award-winning author Linda O’Connor started writing romantic comedies when she needed a creative outlet other than subtly rearranging the displays at a local home décor store. Her books have enjoyed bestseller status. When not writing, she’s a physician at an Urgent Care Clinic. She shares her medical knowledge in fast-paced, well-written, sexy romances – with an unexpected twist. Her favourite prescription to write? Laugh every day. Love every minute.
No one who lives in the U.S. can be unaware of our current toxic political climate. It’s gotten to the point where people can be attacked for the hat they wear, or an argument can occur between strangers over a candidate’s plan for health care. Know what it is? It’s ridiculous, is what it is. When did we stop being a country where people could disagree without fear of fistfights? When did people stop mattering less than being “right?”
Mom and Dad usually voted for the candidate who supported the military more. My grandmother was a die-hard Democrat, a union steward in the plant where she worked, and had strong opinions she would voice anywhere about who should be running things. Contrary to most of my contemporaries who grew up during the Vietnam War, I leaned more toward my parents’ views than the revolutionaries’. Now, my mom leans more toward her mother—less conservative and more progressive. Do we battle it out during phone calls? Yes. Do we still love each other? YES! We’re family and we love each other despite any comments about the elections.
Cece Whittaker is a Christian Romance writer who lives at the southern New Jersey coast. She has created the 
How Charity Sunday works: for every comment made on this blog post, I will donate money to the charity named. The same promise is made for every blog site listed in the group–click the Linky Links link at the bottom of this post to see the list of participants and read/comment on any of them to see a donation go to that blogger’s charity. We’re all different! Thanks for your help and your participation!
To set the stage, I attended Mary Washington College of the University of Virginia (now University of Mary Washington), in Fredericksburg, Virginia. At that time, sooooo many years ago, the University of Virginia was all male. The exception were those women who had majors that had to finish in Charlottesville, like nursing majors. If you were a woman and wanted to attend UVA, you went to the girls’ branch, Mary Washington. All female, when I attended, we were just a couple of years way from having to wear a skirt or dress when leaving the dorm and being forbidden from getting into a car with a male without a chaperone.
on the hall. Her roommate had immediately christened her Caddy, based on her initials, and that’s what we all called her. She was tall and kind of willowy where I was stubby and not willowy at all. She had naturally curly auburn hair (that took forever to dry) and a fair Irish complexion. We hit it off right away, partially, I’m sure, because she didn’t go home very often and neither did I. She had (still has) a wickedly sharp sense of humor, an amazing intellect, and one of the kindest hearts I’ve ever known. She’s very loyal to her friends but she’s not a pushover. She loves her family fiercely, and she’s a damn hard worker.
