Every now and again it’s fun to freshen up a book cover to make a book shine, and no one does it better than Rebecca Poole of Dreams2Media. She listens, she understands genre requirements and she’s the consummate professional.
To celebrate that sparkly new look, I decided to run an Amazon Countdown Deal on POINTS ON A CURVE beginning Oct. 20th (today!) and running through the 25th. The price starts at 99c, then steps up to $1.99, then $2.99. Obviously the early bird gets the best discount, but those of you who use Kindle Unlimited, you can read it for FREE as part of the KU subscription program.
As always, reviews are gratefully accepted, cherished, adored, drooled over… Um… well, they’re really nice to have. And kinda necessary since without them those pesky Zon algorithms don’t really work in my favor.
Anyhoo… I’m also giving away two audiobook copies (using download codes) of POINTS ON A CURVE plus a few signed print copies (original cover, US only). No hoops, no sign up for a newsletter (which I don’t have anyway), no liking my FB page (but if you want to, I won’t stop you).
Just comment below, leave an email address and I’ll throw random darts and select some winners.
Now, without further ado…
Rob van Horn is a hotshot sports journalist with an instinct for a headline. Taylor O’Brien is an ex-basketball player with a checkered past and regrets.
She’s not his type. He’s her best friend’s younger brother. Rob’s sister arranges a blind date that has Rob and Tay clashing over a bloody beef tenderloin. And it doesn’t take long for them to discover there’s more at stake than splitting the appetizer.
When they go one-on-one on the basketball court, Rob makes it clear to everyone that his tastes have changed—at least in women. And before Taylor can shout “slam dunk” she finds that playing defense can be a very good strategy, indeed.
There’s one little problem, an ex-husband who’s not what he seems, and a story that turns Rob into a bloodhound, with all clues circling back to Taylor. Exposing the truth might put Taylor in the crossfire of more than just bad publicity.
The more he digs, the more Rob finds that sometimes fate takes dinner and romance to a whole nother level…
While Arturo and a squad of ranch hands busied themselves artfully arranging small boat-like white platters of bits and bobs of undercooked seafood, I put on my Prince Charming face, smiled brightly and said, “So my sister tells me you’re in school.”
Wrinkling her nose at the punte di asparagi, she kept one eye on the grilled octopus and the other on my finger tapping an unconscious SOS on my wine glass.
Yes, I’ll fight you to the death for a piece of that knubby flesh swimming with capers and cherry tomatoes, or … yes, I’m in school. Or yes to something else.
Hard to tell, and not the best of starts.
One of the helpers graced my vicinity with bloody beef tenderloin covered with parmigiano shavings. Forgiving the gods of culinary science for fouling it with arugula and hearts of palm, I speared it with the outside fork and narrowly missed an opportunity for a quick foray to St. Luke’s emergency room for stab wounds.
Miz Tay was as quick as I suspected and she wanted that bloody bite of meat as much as, maybe more than, I did. The forks squared off in an Italian standoff worthy of the Godfather.
A gentleman would have relinquished all rights to the raw meat. I wasn’t a gentleman.
Being a lefty gave me a slight advantage. I kept the impaled temptation in place and secured my fair share with a swift, deft slice across the grain.
While Her Ladyship demurely slid the dripping bit onto her plate, I did a lift and drizzle across the dazzling white linen tablecloth, leaving a trail of shame.
Cordie blanched and looked up at some point over my shoulder. Arturo was there, he had to be. Fortunately, the kitchen noises ramped up at that point, drowning out whatever the waitstaff was thinking sotto voce.
Satisfied with the easy layup, I shoved the entire wad of tenderloin in my mouth and chewed contently. At least it gave me something to do with my mouth, because conversation wasn’t happening.
One of the minions anticipated my interest in the calamari and smoothly deposited a selection onto the plate. I nodded my thanks and slipped a quick look to my right.
She was still there. Lips pursed, not chewing.
Fink’s words washed over me as I set my fork down and waited for my sister’s next bright idea.
I was looking down the gullet of insalate, more fish, a cappuccino and desert with two forks. Then off to the theater to jam myself into a seat designed for someone five feet tall, and try not to doze off during the overture.
The adage no good deed goes unpunished sprang to mind.
Cordie giggled, reminding me of how easy it was to devil my favorite sister, and how much I loved hearing her laugh.
With nothing in mind other than to force more than a yes or no, I turned to Taylor-the prim during a lull in the general din and asked, “So, how many times have you been divorced?”
I’ve never actually had my balls shrivel from a look, but there was a first time for everything.
DON’T FORGET TO COMMENT TO WIN A PRINT COPY OF POINTS ON A CURVE