Hitched(69)

Follow Pippa on Amazon

Follow Pippa on Instagram





* * *



Keep in touch with Lili Valente!

Free book when you join Lili’s newsletter

Friend Lili

Like Lili

Follow Lili on Bookbub

Follow Lili on Amazon

Follow Lili on Instagram





Sneak Peek from Lili Valente





Check out this HOT new friends with bang-i-fits read from Lili Valente! THE BANGOVER is available now!





ABOUT THE BOOK





It started with too much whiskey, and ended with two plane tickets to Vegas and a make out session with my best friend, renegade rock star, Colin Donovan.





* * *



Kill me now…

No, seriously, kill me now. I’m begging you.





* * *



‘Cause there’s no way I’ll make it through this Best Buddy Festival of Fornication with my dignity intact. The moment Colin and I do more than kiss, he’s going to realize that my feelings for him run so much deeper than just friends.





* * *



I intend to fly back home as soon as our plane touches down—I can’t risk losing Colin, not for all the Big O’s in Sin City.





* * *



But then we run into his evil ex, inciting a series of events that includes chaos, dancing at midnight, more chaos, a cat in a purse, a mirror on a ceiling, multiple conspiracy theories, yet even more chaos, and Colin in my bed.





* * *



Yes. My bed.

And he’s everything I’ve dreamed he would be, and more.





* * *



Maybe the high will be worth the fall.

All I know is that by the time we’re done, we’ll both have one hell of a Bangover.





Excerpt from THE BANGOVER





I wake up with no feeling in my right arm, my face smashed into an unfamiliar pillow, a case of cottonmouth any stuffed animal would be proud of, and the disturbing realization that I can’t remember where I am or how I got here.

I can’t remember, but I instantly know Colin is involved.

I am not a rock star.

I do not do rock-star things like stay up all night burning old love letters or go skinny-dipping in the ocean at midnight or drink so much whiskey after a show that building a pack of vampire snowmen in the town square at three a.m. sounds like a good idea. But under the influence of too much Colin Donovan, I have done all of these things and more.

And apparently, our latest case of shared insanity has landed me on a plane. There’s no mistaking the lingering smell of jet fuel or the dull roar of the engines churning away on either side of this soaring death pellet.

I crack open my lids, and yes—there’s the overhead bin, dull gray and sad in the dim light of the darkened cabin. But instead of the usual packed sardine tin of people on either side of me, there’s only a fully-reclined seat arranged head-to-toe with mine, a quaint swiveling bedside table, and gray plastic walls that grant this little cubby-for-two almost complete privacy.

There is, however, no sign of Colin.

But I wouldn’t put it past him to talk me into buying a first-class ticket to somewhere and then drop me off at the airport before skipping off to do more exciting things. He knows I hate planes. I hate them so much that I usually have to be drunk, drugged, or both to force myself down the Jetway and into my assigned seat. But I’ve never booked a trip while under the influence. I make travel plans, arrange my life accordingly, and then I pop a Xanax like a civilized person twenty minutes before boarding.

This impulsive gallivanting is unacceptable. I don’t usually do impulsive, not even in my work. I’m a plotter, not a seat-of-my-pants wordsmith. I know exactly how the vampire clowns became vampire clowns and who they’re going to kill—and why—before I type a single word. And if I deviate from my outline, I feel anxious, unsettled, unmoored until I find my way back to the path and tie up any loose ends I’ve created.

I like the path.

I like knowing what’s coming next.

I like waking up in my own bed with my own pillow and all my memories of the night before.

I like all of that…until I snap, decide I don’t like it anymore, and do something fucking crazy. The last time I snapped, I moved to a yurt in Tibet for a month. The time before that I went cage-diving with sharks. And before that, I bought a bed and breakfast at a repo auction, without even seeing the inside. All of those things turned out okay in the end—I learned to meditate in Tibet, conquered my fear of sharks, and set my sister up as proprietor of a profitable business with only a few bumps along the way renovation-wise.

But I’m just waiting for the day when I do something impulsive that doesn’t have a happy ending. And perhaps today is that day.

I have no idea what inspired me to drink such an inadvisable amount of whiskey. But as I reach for the water bottle on the table beside me, grateful my hangover doesn’t appear to be too vicious, I vow never to do it again.

No more whiskey, no more pranks with Colin, no more…