America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(101)

Everybody gets a good laugh—yeah, it’s funny—and I spear another marshmallow to make Sarah the best s’more in the history of s’mores.

“I could live like this every day,” I murmur softly to her.

She leans into me with another one of those smiles I love so much. “Me too.”

“They’re not too much?”

“They’re family. And they’re yours. And they’re perfect. And we’re still locking the bedroom door tonight.”

“You’re utterly perfect, you know that?”

She laughs softly. “Far, far from it.”

“But you’re perfect for me.”

“Who knew one little tweet could change our entire lives?” she murmurs.

“Clearly, I did.”

She laughs again, and Emma startles awake with a cry. I wave Tripp off when he starts to get up, because he’s helping Mackenzie breathe. Also, Sarah and I have conquered worse than a fussy baby.

“Trade me?” I hand her the marshmallow stick, and she shifts to let me take Emma.

And then we sit there together, me calming a baby back to sleep, Sarah proving her marshmallow roasting skills surpass mine, our friends and family chattering happily all around us, and yep.

Life is pretty fucking perfect.



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Sneak Peek at Hammered





If you love bad boy bartenders and opposites attract romance, read on for an excerpt of Hammered, co-written with the fabulous Lili Valente…



Jace O’Dell

(aka a man who only thinks he’s on the verge of leaving his past behind)



Nothing goes better with tequila than a moonbeam. An Olivia Moonbeam, to be specific.

Or so I assume.

I’ve never actually had Olivia, though I’ve dreamed about it for what feels like forever.

And I’ll go right on dreaming, because moonbeams and rough-around-the-edges bartenders go together like champagne and a crap sandwich. Olivia is so high above me, we’re barely the same species, but even if we were, tonight’s not the night to make a play for a girl who’s out of my league.

Not with everything Olivia’s been through in the past twenty-four hours.

So I’m standing here, wiping the same burn mark on the bar that I know will never come clean, ignoring a half-empty tequila bottle that promises to make me forget why I don’t deserve moonbeams if I’ll only give in and have another shot.

But I won’t.

Because I want to remember every minute with her, and one more shot of tequila will take me past pleasantly buzzed and all the way to hammered.

“One more please. Something stronger this time,” Olivia says, pushing her glass back across the bar. “My sorrows don’t feel drowned yet. Shouldn’t they be drowned by now, Jace?”

God, just hearing my name on her lips makes my blood pump faster. I’ve been one degree of hung up on her or another since she landed here in Happy Cat exactly six break-ups ago.

Not her break-ups.

My break-ups. With the same woman. Because Ginger and I are stuck on an on-again-off-again merry-go-round-from-hell relationship that’s driving me out of my damned mind.

Hence, the tequila, even though Ginger and I are off right now and I rarely drink while I’m behind the bar.

I’m a professional, dammit, and I take my job seriously.

Which is why this usually happy little lightweight across from me is getting the weakest Smoky-Pepper in history.

I top off Olivia’s ice and fill in the cracks with Dr Pepper and the tiniest drop of whiskey. But she doesn’t notice I’ve skimped on the good stuff. Poor thing’s a wreck. She’s unraveled the braids she was wearing when she got here, and now her blond hair’s a hot, crinkled mess.

A fucking adorable mess.

“Wasn’t your fault, Liv,” I say, passing the glass back to her.

“But I almost committed murder.”

I shrug. “I almost committed murder once.”

Her eyes go even wider. “No.”

Grinning’s not my thing, but hell, what do I have to lose by flirting with her? And there’s no one else around this late to tell her that it wasn’t her fault a woman had an allergic reaction to the sno-cones she was serving at the farmer’s market tonight. And somebody definitely needs to comfort her.

It should be someone better than me. But she’s here. And I’m here.

So I lean onto the bar at her level and I grin. “You know that giant bunny they put out in Sunshine Square for Easter every year?”

“I love that bunny!” She claps her hands and bounces, which makes everything bounce, but I’m not ogling, I swear. If this is ogling, I also ogle her personality and her shoes, because she has the weirdest shoes. But I like them. All of them.