Blurb:
Ellie has a bad habit of picking the wrong man; a cheating ex-boyfriend, a mild-mannered foot fetishist, and let’s not forget about the hillbilly with the impolite hard-on. But when Sam James, the oh-so-hot bad boy Ellie has sworn to stay away from, keeps turning up like a bad penny, she’s going to need more than her psychic senses to see what’s coming her way.
Excerpt:
I think I might be a little bit psychic. I can’t predict the winning lottery numbers and I won’t be starting a hotline any time soon, but I can spot a breakup coming days, even weeks ahead of time. I admit there’re always little clues before the big break, but it’s more a feeling I have. It’s something in my gut that says, ‘Get out the chocolate and Jane Austen – this one’s going to be a doozey.’
I’ve been down this road before. Ellie meets boy. Boy seduces with promises of commitment. Ellie falls in love with boy. Boy turns out to be a scum-bucket. Right now my psychic senses are telling me my boyfriend, Tim, may be scum-capable. Alright, he hasn’t actually done anything to warrant my suspicion, but that in and of itself is curious. For a guy with a naturally naughty disposition, he’s been acting like a damn choirboy. Four times last week I came home to fresh flowers. Every girl knows receiving flowers once in a while means, “I love you,” and getting them four times in one week means, “Sorry I screwed my secretary.”
There’s also the issue of his sudden disinterest in foreplay. He used to take his time on me, brushing his hands over my body and whispering dirty words against my neck until I was floating off the bed. But lately he’s claimed to be, “too bushed for foreplay tonight, Babe.” Last week I even offered to do that ‘special thing.’ That which is normally reserved for birthdays and anniversaries, and he turned me down in favor of watching the Rangers play the Mariners. No guy turns down that to watch four hours of baseball on TV.
For these reasons and others, my psychic warning bells have kept up a persistent clanging in my ears. Even though he smiles and soothes and assures me of his love, I can’t stop doubting him. It’s making me crazy. I feel like I’m turning into Glenn Close’s character in Fatal Attraction. I’m one flower delivery shy of making rabbit stew for dinner and practicing holding my breath under water. I feel ridiculous and disgusting for not trusting him, but in the depths of my soul I know he’s out there somewhere, sucking face with a bleach blond bimbo with big Texas hair and more boobs than brains. And that sucks because this time I thought things were going to be different. This time I thought I’d found the guy who was going to give me my H.E.A.—Happily Ever After.
Emily Hemmer Bio:
Emily Hemmer was raised in the Northwest suburbs of Chicago before settling in Kansas City in 1996. She was raised in a house full of women and can therefore shower, blow-dry her hair, and apply a full coating of makeup in twenty minutes flat. A huge fan of romantic comedies, Emily was overjoyed to realize her college roommate could recite every word of the movie 'Clueless,' until she realized that was the only VHS tape her roommate owned. Emily dropped out of college and to this day, blames the listless years of her twenties on the words, "As if!" She completed her degree after an extended eleven-year semester break.In October 2012, Emily learned she came in 2nd place for the SFARWA 's Heart-to-Heart contest (for contemporary single title romance) for her first work, The Break-Up Psychic. This work has been a true labor of love and is the basis for all of Emily's future happiness. But she's trying not to put too much pressure on herself. According to her Yahoo! Shine horoscope for 2013, this year looks to be the best of Emily's life. She has plans to publish three books, win countless accolades from her peers, and literally roll around in a bed made of money. She also plans to purchase a new dishwasher.
Links:
@EmilyHemmer
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