How hot is this cover? Omg. And it sounds so good. Like I am SUPER intrigued, guys! On Pre-Order right now for 0.99! It's releasing 5/2! Get it at the pre-order price now, it is going to go up to full price on release day! 

Title: All About the D
Series: Standalone
Author: Lex Martin | Leslie McAdams
Release Date: 5/2/2017

I'm known for being formal. Meticulous. Professional.
So you’d never suspect I spend my nights photographing my impressive junk for a NSFW blog. Don’t roll your eyes. I’m not bragging. I have millions of followers who’ll tell you they live for my posts.
I’m like a superhero, saving humanity one dick pic at a time.
Except leading a double life means I need someone to help me protect my anonymity, so that no one, especially my family, ever discovers my online celebrity.
When I call one of the most respected law firms in town, I expect quality legal advice and confidentiality. Not a sinfully sexy attorney whose dangerous curves and soul-piercing gray eyes make me want to personally demonstrate my particular skill set.
I shouldn’t be tempted.
Especially when she knows all of my best-kept secrets. But everyone has a breaking point. And I’ve met mine.
*** All About the D is a full-length standalone. Price goes up when it releases on May 2. Due to adult situations and sexual content, it's recommended for readers over the age of 18. ***

Lex Martin:
Lex writes contemporary romance, the sexy kind with lotsa angst, a whole lotta kissing, and the hot happily ever afters. When she’s not writing, she lives a parallel life as an English teacher.

She loves printing black and white photos, listening to music on vinyl, and getting lost in a great book. Bitten by wanderlust, she’s lived all over the country but currently resides in the City of Angels with her husband and twin daughters.

Lex is represented by Kimberly Brower of Brower Literary & Management.

Leslie McAdam:
Leslie McAdam is a California girl who loves romance, Little Dude, and well-defined abs. She lives in a drafty old farmhouse on a small orange tree farm in Southern California with her husband and two small children. Leslie always encourages her kids to be themselves – even if it means letting her daughter wear leopard print from head to toe. An avid reader from a young age, she will always trade watching TV for reading a book, unless it’s Top Gear. Or football. Leslie is employed by day but spends her nights writing about the men you fantasize about. She’s unapologetically sarcastic and notoriously terrible at comma placement.

Always up for a laugh, Leslie tries to see humor in all things. When she’s not in the writing cave you’ll find her fangirling over Beck, camping with her family, or mixing up oil paints to depict her love of outdoors on canvas.



Yep, what you're seeing is true. WE ARE GETTING A NEW KATY EVANS BOOK!

:::runs around screaming:::

You know this makes my life, right? She is my ultimate, and wait until you get a look at this cover and that freaking blurb! Is it 6/20, yet? I'm flipping DYING to get my hands on this one.

Title: Tycoon
Series: Standalone
Author: Katy Evans
Release Date: June 20, 2017! 

He wasn’t always this rich. This hot. This difficult.
Aaric Christos was a guy who protected me. Wanted me. Maybe even loved me.
That man is gone.
In his place is the most powerful real estate tycoon in the city.
He’s a cold, ruthless, aggressive businessman.
The only one who can save me and my startup from ruin.
It takes every ounce of courage to put my pride aside and ask for his help.
I didn’t expect him to offer it easily.
And he doesn’t.
Instead, he vets me harder than he’s vetted anyone.
Don’t invest in what you don’t know, he says.
He's assessing every piece of me, to the point I've never felt so bare.
I yearn for the boy I once knew, whose touch once craved me.
Putting it all on the line will be worth it, I tell myself.
Until I realize—too late—that some risks are not worth taking.
*A sexy new standalone contemporary romance by NYT and USA Today bestselling author Katy Evans.*



::jumps up and down:: OMG. OMG. OMG. Ok. I am dying right now for you! Wanna know why? Because you get to meet Will freaking McAlister. Oh God! ::groans in delight:: You are so darn lucky. Like you are the LUCKIEST ever. What I would give to read this book again. It's the most amazing romance, guys! Like words cannot even describe it. Down below you will find a DOUBLE five star review <<-- Yep. Jess and I both LOVED it. 


You know what that means, right? It means that it was ABSOLUTELY EPIC! So go forth and read. 
READ NOW. You will be so happy you did!

Also PS: You can read the prologue of Before I Ever Met You below. That prologue will have you buying and reading this book. OMG. It's EPIC!

Title: Before I Ever Met You
Series: Standalone Novel
Author: Karina Halle
Release Date: 4/25/2017

I first met William McAlister when I was just a teenager.
He was handsome, had a beautiful wife and was on the verge of success, having just joined my father as his business partner. Mr. McAlister was full of smooth charm, but back then he was barely a blip on my radar. Just a family friend.
Fast forward ten years: I’m 25 years old and a single mom trying to make things right for her seven-year old son. I’ve made some mistakes, grappled with my demons and now I’m back in the city of Vancouver, getting a second chance at a better life.
I’ve started by working for my father’s production company as an executive assistant. My first day on the job and I already know I could have a promising career there.
That is until I see Will McAlister for the first time in a decade.
Now recently divorced and as sophisticated as always, Will has gone from being my father’s friend and business partner to something so much more.
We’re both older, for one thing, and he just oozes this worldly confidence and stark sexuality. Combined with his tall, muscular build and sharp suits, strong jaw and bedroom eyes, Will has turned into one hell of a distraction.
A distraction I’m having a hard time staying away from, considering his office is right across from my desk and I work with him in such close proximity.
But it’s just a harmless crush, right?
It’s just an innocent fantasy of screwing him on his desk, right?
It can’t ever be more because he’s my father’s best friend, business partner, and my boss.
Before I Ever Met You is a contemporary standalone romance, a light-hearted swoony read that will make you believe in love again.
“Dream girl,” he whispers. “Tell me I have your heart. I won’t let it go, not for any moment, not for any reason. Tell me I have your heart and I’ll keep it next to my own.” 

Oh my! Oh my holy freaking frick! Never have I ever dreaded the end of a book more than I did the end of this! Never! I flat out want to read Will and Jackie's story forever and ever. For the rest of my life. Ahhhhh!!!! Will McAlister is the hero of all heroes, you guys, and I have fallen in love. I have fallen in so much love that I don't even know where I begin and where he ends. It's the kind of love that borders on crazy, that's totally obsessed. I just... holy shit, I fell. I fell so hard and deep. I literally can't think, breathe, eat, or do anything now that I've finished. I'm in a fog. Before I Ever Met You was all consuming. Will is an intoxicating character that smothered me in the very best feels. And now, I'm crazed! Whole heartedly crazed, and in love with this man. I don't know what to do with myself. It's safe to say that I'm suffering from a book hangover. A SERIOUS ONE. This is more than a must read. It's a required read for all romance lovers. God! 

So... Ok. Let me calm down a little. (Hahahahaah! I'm such a nut) Anyway.. I haven't read it Karina Halle book in a long time. I think the last book I read of hers was The Lie, and reading this, Before I Ever Met You, reminded me how much I absolutely love the way she tells a story. Her books are so full of life, so detailed and descriptive. They come alive in a way that gives the reader a full picture, and all the feels. On top of that, her writing is so fluid and her characters so well thought out. Sitting down to this novel was an experience. From the moment I started reading, I could barely breathe. I wanted to know every facet of these people's story. No actually, I NEEDED to know. And I'll tell you, one sitting... I devoured this book in ONE SINGLE SITTING. Phenomenal. 

Before I Ever Met You begins with the most intense prologue I've ever read. It's gut wrenching and immediately I was invested in Will, our hero. That man is a dream come to life on paper. He's kind and sexy, smart and alpha, and every good thing a hero should be. I'm talking a well balanced character who's easy to love, I guarantee it. I was enamored by him from page one. He got the shit end of the stick with his ex-wife. Now divorced, he lives in Vancouver, and is the Vice President of Mad Men Studios. He has everything going for him. Everything. He just needs the right girl in his life.

Jackie's a breath of fresh air! She's a single mom to a little boy named Tyler. Coming out of a rough situation, she's back in Vancouver, and moved in with her parents. Her father, the CEO of Mad Men Studios, has got her a job as Will's assistant. Jackie's determined to make it on her own, to start fresh, build a life for her and her son. I absolutely loved her tenacity, her hard-working spirit, and I love that she was a fighter. 

Will is older than Jackie by 16 years, he's also best friends with Jackie's father, and is now Jackie's boss. (Hahahaha) So. Many. Things! But the first time he sees Jackie she's not the teenage girl he remembers from the past. Nope, that girl's blossomed into a full figured woman that he finds absolutely decadent. The romance that simmers between the two of them is forbidden and juicy and heart pounding and so well written.

I could hardly breathe as I read! I actually had PHYSICAL reactions to this book. Hot sweats, tingles, labored breathing, etc etc. The chemistry between Will and Jackie is down right orgasmic. They had me hooked, tethered to them. I found myself holding my breath, yearning and squirming and dying as their slow burn relationship took shape. It was the most addicting reading experience I've had in a long time. Absolutely heart pounding! I couldn't get enough! No matter how many times I urged myself to read slower, to draw out the decadence that is this book, I couldn't. I was fevered. Fevered by the characters, the story, the emotions. Will was a hero of all heroes. I just LOVED how gentle and sweet he was with Jackie, but also how damn hot he was in the bedroom. My heart exploded for him.

Overall, I can't say enough good things. Really. This is one of my most favorite reads of the year, and more than that it's one of my most favorite reads EVER. It had every single element of what I love in a romance. I felt like I had lived it. Lived and loved every word. Karina Halle's written a romance that should be a required read for every romance junkie. This is all the things and so much more. An intoxicating story line, wrapped in steamy goodness, and brimming with feels I'll never forget. Unforgettable in every way!

Angie's Rating:

If you're looking for one reason to read this book, the obvious answer is simple: Will McAllister, a charismatic, sexy, generous man with a huge heart and such an unbelievable capacity to love. But I can give you lots of other reasons if you need a few more. Karina Halle blows me away with what she's capable of creating with her brilliant writing and captivating storytelling every single time I open a book. Its both mind boggling and awe inspiring all that continues to emerge from the vast recesses of her repertoire. With such a wide spectrum of storylines around such diverse characters, I'm never quite sure what she might deliver next. And with a sweet and salty contemporary romance like Before I Ever Met You, I'm reminded that her bag of tricks is infinite and the surprises she's capable of gifting to her readers will surely keep coming. 

Before I Ever Met You is truly unlike anything Halle has written before, a refreshing, sexy storyline following characters that completely stole my heart. Both light and fun, sexy and emotionally taxing, Before I Ever Met You is an unpredictable forbidden office romance that had me glued to the page. I'm a sucker for an office romance, a story rife with stolen kisses and desktop sex. But this story is further layered with the forbidden nature of a romance between a 25 year old single mom and her 41 year old boss who happens to be her father's business partner.

This relationship seems both promising and doomed from the start. As with any story about two people so perfectly right and so terribly wrong for each other, the road to happily ever after is bound to be bumpy and paved with heartache. But its also lined with steamy sensuality, delicious romance, well timed humor, mixed emotions and second chances. This book packs so much goodness, so much difficulty, sprinkling in such steamy sex and lush romance, snarky banter, infuriating side characters and non-stop drama. It's flawless and perfect and ALL. THE. THINGS.

I devoured this book. I was consumed. I was blown away by the fact that, after still coming down off the high from the dark and twisted violence and bloodshed of Dirty Souls, such a light and sexy, sweet and blissfully romantic storyline could possibly follow. Karina Halle gives me whiplash with all the things she makes me feel as I hungrily turn the pages in every single book she releases, and after the desolation and brutality she left me with in her last book, the sweet, intoxicating romanticism that seeps from these pages is exactly what I needed. Before I Ever Met You is such a beautiful, hopeful romance that'll make you believe in fate, in second chances, and in the indisputable truth that nothing is impossible if we just choose love.

Jessica's Rating:

Two years ago

“You know, I hate to be optimistic about things, but I really think thirty-nine might just be my best year ever,” I call out to Sasha after I spit the toothpaste into the sink. “I know I say that every year, it’s just that every year keeps getting sweeter.”
I expect to hear some sort of murmur from the bedroom, usually in a tone of voice that indicates she’s rolling her eyes. But there’s silence.
I try and ignore it, watching the water roll down the drain of the shiny black sink, but she’s been strange all day. Usually my wife goes all out on my birthdays, starting with breakfast in bed, followed by a blowjob, followed by brunch out with mutual friends, and then topped off with dinner at one of LA’s hotspots.
But while the water drains, my mind goes with it. I have to remind myself that it’s been a few years now since I’ve had a birthday like that. Not that I’m one to ever make a big deal about it, it’s just that Sasha always had. For the last year of my thirties, I guess I expected something.
And today, well we did go out for brunch with Ted, who happened to be in town, and Jeremy and Megan. And we did just come back from dinner at Mr. Chow, only it wasn’t the intimate dinner I’d assumed. I appreciated my friends being there, but what I really wanted was some alone time with Sasha to try and get our marriage back on track.
But on the Uber ride back to our rancher house in the hills of Los Feliz, she barely said two words to me. Just reconfirmed our address with the driver and then the two of us sat side-by-side in silence, like strangers, in the back of a Honda Civic with half-filled bottled water and a few packets of gum.
It was strange, to feel so utterly disconnected from someone you’ve spent the last fifteen years with. The darkness of the the car combined with the lights on Santa Monica Blvd created a distorting effect, amplifying the distance between us.
And now that distance is still here. It’s in the house with us, growing thicker, bigger, by the second. She keeps feeding it.
I sigh, staring at myself in the bathroom mirror. A few grey hairs at my temple. Probably some more at the back of my head. Otherwise my hair is looking pretty good, dark, almost black, thick and not going anywhere, at least for the time being.
I run my hand over my jaw, wiping away any last vestiges of toothpaste, flex my arms and abs, making sure the body I work so hard for is still behaving. I don’t look any older, save for a few lines by my eyes brought on by the California sunshine and my ever-present tan. I don’t feel any older, either. And yet there’s something inside of me that feels weathered and aged, cracking at the edges. Whatever it is feels irreparable, and has been for a long time.
It’s getting harder to ignore, just like the distance between us.
And yet, every year we go on, because facing the truth can be the hardest thing to do.
“Sasha?” I call out.
A touch of fear prickles the back of my neck.
I step out into the bedroom. The lights are all off.
And there is Sasha, standing out on the terrace, staring at the lights of the city below, the curtains billowing behind her in a rare breeze.
“Hey,” I say as I step out beside her, the tiles feeling cool against my feet. There’s a strange clarity to the air that’s a bit off-putting. I swear I smell the ocean instead of exhaust and smog. It’s like the city has disappeared for a moment.
“What are you doing?” I ask her, leaning on the railing, turning my head to face her.
She’s staring straight ahead, her nightgown shimmering against her dark skin. I want to reach out and push her hair behind her ears, the color now muted in the dim light, but I don’t. It doesn’t feel right.
Nothing about this feels right.
Is this what our marriage has become? When touching each other feels like an effort? When birthdays are no longer celebrated? When the most we talk is during the day, when we’re working together at the office?
It wasn’t what I signed up for fifteen years ago.
But whoever imagines things will end up like this?
The skin beneath her eyes shines with dampness. Oh shit. She’s been crying. Sasha doesn’t cry, ever.
My heart immediately hardens with fear.
“Hey,” I say softly to her. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
She wipes at her cheeks and mutters a swear word to herself before facing me. She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just rubs her lips together. I find myself staring into the eyes of the girl that I married, back when we were young and stupid in love. But it was wonderful, being that dumb in love. It was the kind of dumb where you took all the chances, made all the risks, just to share your heart with someone else.
And then something lifts from her eyes and that girl is gone. She’s back to being a stranger again.
“Will,” she says. Her voice is so low it’s barely audible. “I didn’t want to tell you on your birthday...”
Oh god. Oh my god. She’s dying. She’s sick, there’s something wrong with her.
It takes everything in me to try and keep my breath steady. My hands grip the railing. “What?”
She sucks in a sharp breath.
“I’m pregnant,” she says through a burst of air.
I stare at her blankly. The words do not compute.
“I don’t . . . what?”
She nods slowly, her eyes flashing with something I can’t read.
I’m just confused. It doesn’t make any sense. At all.
“How could you be pregnant?” I ask her. “The doctors said, well, the chances of that happening are one in a thousand.”
I’m not sure how I’m feeling right now, I might be teetering on the point of elation. I got my vasectomy four years ago because Sasha didn’t want children, and to be honest, I didn’t either. But now, I feel like that ground that we laid those plans on is starting to shift and shake. If I’m a father . . .
“Will,” she says forcefully, bringing my attention back to her, and now I recognize what’s in her eyes.
Oh fuck.
I am a stupid, stupid man.
I can’t speak. I can only stare at her, her shadowed guilty face and the city of angels behind her.
“I’m so sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t plan on this happening.”
I open my mouth. Close my mouth. Anger builds from somewhere dormant inside me, creeping into my hands until I can’t grip the railing any tighter.
“I didn’t want to hurt you. I was going to tell you, I swear. It just . . .”
“Who is he?” I manage to say, my voice laced with razors.
“You don’t know him.”
“Who is he?”
“Will, please, it doesn’t matter.”
“Like fuck it doesn’t matter!” I erupt. “Tell me who he is, the father of your child! Tell me, so I can beat the ever living shit out of him!”
“Will, be reasonable.”
“Reasonable?!” I yell, my face going red, every part of me growing hotter and hotter, and I’m ready to rip this railing right off the balcony. “You’re my fucking wife. You’ve been cheating on me. You fucking lied to me!”
“I never lied, I—”
I shove my finger in her face, aware that I’m spitting on her as I speak. “You told me you didn’t want children. I know that’s your right and I went along with it to please you, and I know it’s your right to change your mind, but that child should be mine!”
“I didn’t lie!” she yells back, as lights flick on from our neighbor’s house and I know they can hear everything. I don’t fucking care. Let them all hear. “I just didn’t want kids with you.”
I know she regrets it the moment she says it. But it doesn’t matter.
Everything comes to a stop. I can’t even feel my heart beating in my chest. It’s like I’m being submerged in concrete and it’s rising, rising fast.
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, rubbing her slender hands down her face. “I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just I, I thought I knew what I wanted. And I know you hate me right now and I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, Will. You’re such a good man, such a good husband.”
I burst out laughing. It feels like acid in my mouth.
“Such a good husband that you have to go fuck the first man you see?”
She looks reprimanded. I go on. “How long has this been going on for? Tell me. Be honest now, completely honest, it’s the fucking least you could do.”
“A few months,” she says quietly, looking away.
“And you’re already pregnant.”
She nods. “Will. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t planned.”
“You can be as sorry as you want, Sasha. It doesn’t change a thing.” I shake my head, trying to pretend this is all a nightmare. But it’s not. It’s reality. And if I’m honest with myself, it was a long time coming, even if I didn’t see it happening this way.
Fuck. This is killing me.
“Does he know?” I whisper.
“Yes,” she says. “I told him yesterday. I didn’t want to tell you until tomorrow.”
“Well happy fucking birthday to me.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I turn away from her, walking back into the bedroom. “Please stop saying that.”
“But I am.”
“And I don’t fucking care,” I sneer, whipping around to face her as she stands in the doorway. “I can’t believe you would do this to me.”
“You had to know.”
“What I mean is, things haven’t been right between us for some time, and I know you know this. It takes two to tango.”
I blink at her, utterly baffled. “Fuck you.”
“I’m not saying it’s your fault, I’m just saying . . .”
“And I’m saying fuck you,” I tell her. “There’s a thing called communication.”
“Yeah there is, and you didn’t use it much either.”
I throw my hands up, so ready to put my fucking fist in the wall. “I’m not sleeping here tonight. I’m not sleeping here any other night.” I give her my hardest glance, hoping she might turn to stone. “This is on you, Sasha. Maybe we could have communicated better, maybe I could have tried harder, but this is on you, okay? You fucked around. You got pregnant.” Another wave of rage rolls through me. “Jesus. You’re going to have someone else’s child!”
I press my knuckles into my forehead, pinching my eyes shut. “I did all of this for you, all of this for you! Moved here when I didn’t want to. I was happy in Vancouver. I bought this house when I would have been happy with our last condo. I got a fucking vasectomy because you didn’t want children. I did it all for you. Gave you every part of me these last fifteen years. And look where it’s got me.”
She’s not saying anything. I suppose it’s a blessing. It’s better than her just apologizing again.
“Fifteen years,” I go on bitterly. “I loved you for fifteen years. And yeah, maybe the last few we failed a bit. We lost the way. But you either grow together or apart.”
“And we grew apart,” she finishes, her eyes shining in the dark. “And there is no going back.”
I stare at her, my whole world crashing around me. Then I head to the dresser, grabbing some things and shoving them in an overnight bag.
She watches silently as I pack. It matches her silence from earlier today. All this time, all while people were wishing me a happy thirty-ninth birthday, she was carrying her lover’s baby inside her, counting down until when she could tell me.
God fucking damn.
When I’m done packing and scoop up my work bag and laptop, I give her one last glance. “I’ll be at a hotel. I’ll get a lawyer in the morning. I assume you’ve already planned for this and are using Martina.”
She doesn’t say anything. Figures she’d swipe our lawyer first.
Then I head out the door. I know that when the time comes for me to return she won’t be there.
But she will be at work. Monday to Friday. Like clockwork.
The thought nearly chokes me on the spot.
When Sasha joined Mad Men Studios as general manager of the LA office, I never imagined it would backfire on me. I never thought I’d get divorced. Never thought we would be anything other than a married couple working together.
Now I’m not only losing her, my wife, I might be losing my very job.
Happy birthday, fucker.

Karina Halle is a former travel writer and music journalist and The New York Times, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling author of The Pact, Racing the Sun, Sins & Needles and over 25 other wild and romantic reads. She lives on an island off the coast of British Columbia with her husband and her rescue pup, where she drinks a lot of wine, hikes a lot of trails and devours a lot of books.

Halle is represented by the Waxman Leavell Agency and is both self-published and published by Simon & Schuster and Hachette in North America and in the UK.

Hit her up on Instagram at @authorHalle, on Twitter at @MetalBlonde and on Facebook. You can also visit www.authorkarinahalle.com and sign up for the newsletter for news, excerpts, previews, private book signing sales and more.



It's LIVE early. And whoa, am I excited for you to read. I have two book recommendations this week and this is the first. It's an AMAZING read, guys. Funny and sexy and everything good in romance. Review and a Ch 1 + 2 preview of DR. OB are below! Woohooo!

Title: DR. OB.
Series: Standalone 
(St. Luke's Docuseries Book 1)
Author: Max Monroe
Release Date: 4/23/2017

From the New York Times & USA Today bestselling author of TAPPING THE BILLIONAIRE comes a new three book series of Romantic Comedy standalones.
It’s just a docuseries about your career as an OB/GYN, they said.
It won’t interrupt your life during or after filming, they said.
It is a great opportunity for the hospital and your practice, they said.
Well, they—the television executives who seem intent on ruining my career and personal life with a fair number of creative liberties—lied.
Now I’m stuck dealing with the consequences of believing them.
Instead of being known as Dr. Will Cummings, Head of Obstetrics and Gynecology at St. Luke’s Hospital, I’m now being called Dr. Obscene.
What devotion I’d hoped to earn in respect, I’ve instead received in patients flashing me seductive smiles and flirtatious winks during their exams.
How’s a guy supposed to convince the most perfect woman he’s ever met that he’s not as much of an idiot in real life as he appears to be on camera?
With all of the show’s side effects taking root like parasites, it’s going to take a lot to persuade Melody Marco to be anything more than my new nurse.
But I can’t get her out of my head.
I want her.
Good thing I’ve never been one to back away from a challenge…
Get ready, Melody.
The doctor is in.
HOLY WHOA! I'm a complete bundle of mushy, melty goodness right now. That was amazing! Just incredible. Whew! ::releases deep, contented breath:: OK... First things first, a warning. 

This book is OTT in parts. JAW DROPPING, actually. I cringed while covering my eyes and died laughing. The hero's an OB/GYN and some of the things he encounters are whacko. Secondly, this is FICTION. MAKE BELIEVE! I know crazy things happen in real life DR / Patient settings but man, this gets a little OTT. So be warned. It's OTT, BUT utterly amazing. Every second was the ABSOLUTE BEST. I ate up the craziness like it was a piece of chocolate mousse cheesecake (my favorite)! It's HILARIOUS, laugh out loud funny to the point of tears. And the sweetness of Will with Melody ::leans back and groans in delight:: it made my heart feel so full of happiness. So expect crazy fun, seriously hot and sweet romance, because that is exactly what DR. OB is; hilariously sweet, sexy fun! 


So... the moment this book showed up on my Kindle, I started reading. I was ELATED. Max and Monroe are my most favorite duo. I consider them the BEST OF THE BEST when it comes to RomCom. The QUEENS. I'll read whatever they write, whenever they write it. To say I'm a teeny bit obsessive over the characters they create and worlds they build, would be an understatement. I feel like they write my perfect books. The kind of stories that offer me pure escapism and I want to read them all the time. 

DR. OB came at the perfect moment. It's funny because I was just telling someone that I wanted to read a series about Doctors. One, where the hero's saving lives and being all alpha. I mean.. What could be hotter than that, right? And then there was Max Monroe, a week later, with a surprise NEW series coming our way. I FREAKED out. Then, when I saw that it was about Will Cummings, Georgia's brother, I had another bookish moment. 


And truthfully, I had massive expectations for this story. And you know what? It BLEW THOSE EXPECTATIONS OUT OF THE WATER!

This novel's downright hysterical. I devoured it. Will is the head physician of St. Luke's Obstetrics. He's the star of a brand new Docuseries called The Doctor Is In. He's single, a bit of a player, but he has the biggest heart EVER. He's the ultimate gentleman. If you've read Max Monroe's Bad Boy Billionaires Series, you'll have met him there as Georgia Cummings brother. If not, don't even worry. This is a COMPLETE standalone. Nothing needs to be read before it. Will is a deliciously sweet character. He's real and honest and he made my heart feel full. He's the kind of man that you wish you could have in real life. Funny and charming, thoughtful and charismatic, and an amazing Doctor. He's doing this Docuseries that he's initially excited about. He feels like it's going to spice up his life while bringing notoriety to the hospital and his practice. But when the first episode airs, Will's life is tossed upside down. 

Melody Marco is back in New York City, moved in with her parents, and jobless. She's coming off a relationship where all she did was give give give and all her ex did was take take take. Melody's kind of lost, feels unsure of where to go with her life, until her mother Janet takes things into her own hands and gets her an interview at Will's practice (lol). Melody's spent the last several years as a Labor and Delivery nurse. 

Will and Melody have the FUNNIEST meet cute I have ever read in my life. LITERALLY. I thought I had read everything. That nothing could shock me. But OMFG. WRONG. WRONG. WRONGGGG! It was hysterical and awkward and I don't even have words for what I read. My stomach hurt from laughing. These two are something else and I was enthralled with them. I loved reading as they formed a friendship that had me swooning and then when it turned into the sweetest romance ever, I was owned. 

Truly, I loved every second of reading as they traversed the pitfalls of Will's new found fame, and as Melody tried to figure out what she really wanted out of her life. It was endearing to watch them together and it certainly made me hot and bothered when the steamy scenes came in to play. Melody and Will have the BEST chemistry and it burns up the pages of your kindle. 

Overall, this book was a everything. A slam dunk, a home run, a hat trick, a touchdown, a whatever. As you can tell, I LOVED it. I can't stop swooning over it. I want to tell everyone about it. It really was everything I wanted and so much more. I can't say enough good things about this novel and this duo of authors, and I cannot wait until we get the next standalone in this series. I'm addicted. Completely. Whole-heartedly. A top favorite for me.

Angie's Rating:
Chapter One
      Nostalgia overwhelmed me as I pulled into the quiet driveway of my parents’ suburban New Jersey home. It had only been a few weeks since my last visit, but it felt like longer—and there was always a welcome sense of familiarity.
      Several memories played back like trailers for a movie as I took in the two dormers that popped out of the roof—one of which led directly into my childhood room—and guided my car to a stop behind my sister and brother-in-law’s SUV.
      My little sister, Georgia, a toddler at the time, hightailing it across the front lawn—naked—while I’d chased after her, and my oversexualized parents made out on a lounge chair folded out in front of the garage.
      My dad standing in the door and laughing as I’d walked my first date to the car, opened the door, and tried to sit her down directly on a box of condoms he’d placed there.
      George coming home from masturbation camp—yeah, that’s a long story—and crying to me about murdering our mother as I’d sat next to her hip on my bed.
      In the end, she hadn’t gone through with the murder, and I hadn’t been able to do anything to stop the tears, but we’d bonded that day. Somehow, the awkward, well-meaning doings of our parents quieted the normal sibling antagonism that lived between us and turned it into something more mature. Something that still teased and poked, but by and large, focused on understanding and love.
      Lost in my thoughts, I startled when the storm door slammed open and a naked toddler came shooting out of it and onto the front lawn. I jumped into action, swinging out of my car door and leaving it open just as my frazzled brother-in-law Kline leapt from the front porch onto the grass and dropped to a squat, ready to corral her. I took the other side, and together, we herded my niece Julia like she was a lost calf and we were the cowboys.
      As sweat broke out down the line of my back, I realized something. Toddlers are basically just smaller versions of drunk adults, but cuter. But I wondered when the transition happened, when cute wasn’t quite so cute anymore. At what age do we expect them to dry out, go to rehab, that kind of thing?

I’m kidding, obviously.
But there’s no denying the similarities between a toddler and drunk twenty-one-year-old guy at a frat party are uncanny.

      When Kline had her safely squirming in his arms, my mind drifted straight back to my trip down memory lane.
      “Like mother, like daughter,” I remarked at the same time Kline said the exact same thing.
      Both of us froze.
      “What are you talking about?” we asked in unison again.
      His face took on a carnal quality, and I recoiled.
      Oh, gross. And awkward.
      “Never mind,” I mumbled, blinking my eyes rapidly to try to scrub the mental image.
      My sister and brother-in-law were one of those perfect pairs that made each other better. He was a brilliant businessman, loaded with more money than I could even fathom, and one of the humblest guys I’d ever met. She was just as brilliant, successful in her own right as a marketing director with the New York Mavericks, and the happiest part of his day.
      That said, she was also a nutcase, and he was far too good at being her enabler.
      “Where’s Gigi?” I asked, and his whole face lit up.
      “Inside with her feet up.”
      My eyebrows squished together. “Is she feeling okay?” She was pregnant with their second child, and as far as I knew, the fatigue hadn’t been hitting her too hard.
      “Oh, yeah,” Kline remarked lasciviously, and once again, I was sorry I went there.
      “Oh, gross. I was asking about morning sickness, not orgasms, for fuck’s sake. My mom is rubbing off on you.”
      My mom, Dr. Savannah Cummings, was a sex therapist, and the scars of having a parent like her ran deep. I found my moments to enjoy the gifts her occupation had bestowed on me as a brother looking for ammunition against his sister and the like, but Kline, as an outsider, didn’t have the same personal traumas to slow down his enjoyment. Most people run from their crazy in-laws; he ran with them.
      “Oh, come on. If I were really trying to torture you, I wouldn’t have protected you from the fact that Savannah has been in there trying to convince Georgie that, and I quote, it’d be the most natural thing in the world for you to be her obstetrician.”
      Internally, I cringed. Externally, I cringed. In fact, it felt like Kline had just jabbed me in the back of the throat with his finger, and my gag reflex was doing nothing more than reacting accordingly—hacking cough, choking sensation, slight nausea.
      I loved my career as a physician in obstetrics, but I’d sign up to flip burgers at the nearest fast-food joint if it meant avoiding doing vaginal exams on my sister. The mere thought was worse than that disgusting horror flick called The Human Centipede.

Seriously, if you’ve never seen that movie, don’t fucking see that movie.
      That flick is more traumatic than the blue waffle and that “Two Girls One Cup” site combined.
Jesus. Don’t Google those either.

      I immediately wanted to scrub my brain with acid bleach and found myself cringing again.
      Kline grinned triumphantly. “Exactly.”
      Honest to God, a vagina, in a professional setting, didn’t have much effect on me anymore. In a personal setting, say, three beers deep on a Saturday night in Manhattan, I was all about the effect it had on me—but that was another subject entirely. However, as well adjusted to the overwhelmingly intimate aspects of my job as I was, I still couldn’t get on board with being George’s regular OB. An emergency? I’d be elbow-deep in a heartbeat. Otherwise, my sister and I were just about close enough, thank you very much.
      Done talking about my sister’s reproductive pleasure, capability, and organs, I stretched out my arms and wiggled my hands. Kline handed over my squirming niece immediately.
      “Come on,” Kline called as he headed for the door, looking over his shoulder as I blew raspberries on my niece’s tiny stomach. “We better get inside so we don’t miss your big television debut.”
      Butterflies danced in my stomach at the state of my life. Several months ago, a TV production company had approached me and two other doctors at the head of their departments at St. Luke’s Hospital and done their best to convince us to sign on to be a part of what would be a docuseries with several episodes about each of us. They’d decided to call it The Doctor Is In. I honestly thought they could have taken more creative liberties with the title itself, but I guessed keeping it professional and to the point wasn’t a bad approach either.
      To me, it had sounded like a blast from the beginning. A way to spice up work, a little extra initiative, and maybe something I could show my kids someday—and use as an opening with women in the meantime.
      Dr. Scott Shepard, head of the Emergency Department, had the same positive take on the opportunity, but Nick Raines, the newest addition of all of us to St. Luke’s and the head of Neurology, wasn’t so sure. Apparently, he had some ground to make up with his daughter, whom he’d been estranged from for most of her life, but with some pressure from us and the board of directors at the hospital, he’d caved. It’d be good publicity for the hospital as a whole.
      If I was being honest, I was more excited about the publicity it’d give me…personally.
      Grey’s Anatomy had taught me that the “hot doctor” was a thing.
      Telling people you watch Grey’s Anatomy probably isn’t a hot doctor thing, my mind advised.
      Julia started to thrash as soon as we stepped inside the door of my childhood home—after a quick detour to shut the door to my car—so I set her down without protest. Sometimes toddlers needed to be free to roam, and, for lack of better words, go apeshit.
      “Willy!” my father yelled in greeting, charging toward me and the door and completely boxing Kline out of the way. He grabbed my face between his hands and pretended to kiss the air beside my head. This was new behavior, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected. My mom was always reading some new article on love, affection, and the effect of said expressions on your kids. This was probably something she’d told him was good for the health of my sex life.
      “I’m right here, Dad,” I muttered back, a smile on my face. “You don’t have to yell.”
      He ignored me and kept right on booming. “You’re looking long today, son.”
      Oh, good. Another odd behavior, but this one wasn’t at all new. The day I saw my dad and he didn’t have a penis joke waiting for me, I’d also be attending his funeral. Dick had purposely named me William so that we’d be forever bonded as father and son with Johnson-themed nicknames.
What? Isn’t that how your parents named you?
      Still. Preparedness never softened my reaction. You can never be ready for your parent to open the conversation with the state of your genitals. “Oh Jesus.”
      Georgia buried her face in Kline’s chest behind Dick’s back to swallow her amusement. That wasn’t new either. If anyone knew what I was going through, it was her.
      As soon as she composed herself and turned around, I gave her the eye. The one that said hey, these are your parents, too. She gave me a look back, but hers conveyed how happy she was to be sharing some of the humiliation.
      She’d borne the brunt of it for most of our recent past. First, while I was in medical school and doing my residency, both endeavors that consumed nearly every hour of my days, and then when she got married to a man my parents adored, settled thirty minutes from their house, and then went and had a child.

      She can only blame herself, if you ask me. Everyone knows grandchildren are a surefire way to ensure your parents have an all-access pass.
      But she’d received more than one shipment of sex toys—even while on her honeymoon—from our mother in her tenure as humiliation buffer, so I guessed it was my turn.
      “Come on, come on,” my mom said, shuffling us into the living room. “Your show is about to start, but I have snacks inside!”
      “Snacks?” I asked hopefully. I hadn’t had anything to eat since this morning before work, and I was starving. Unfortunately, Kline’s laughter and a few slaps to my shoulder dampened my hope rather quickly.
      “What? No snacks?” I asked.
      “Oh, there are snacks,” Kline corrected. “Just you wait.”
      “Get in here, you three!” Savannah yelled. My sister’s eyes gleamed with the knowledge of things to come.
      I glanced to the door, vivid dreams of escape temporarily taking over my vision, but Georgia’s slap to the top of my arm snapped me out of it.
      “Come on. Your television debut awaits.”
      How weird. Me on television. Talk about a turn of life I didn’t really expect, seeing as I was a doctor.
      Officially lured in, I followed my sister and brother-in-law down the hall. Julia shot out of a doorway and tripped me, but I managed both to catch myself before hitting the ground and avoid stepping on her.
      “Whoa, JuJu. You almost took your uncle Will out,” Kline teased with a smile as he scooped her up and into his arms.
      “Boom boom, dah-dee,” she answered, and even I laughed.
      Boom boom, indeed.
      My mom and dad were waiting in the living room when we arrived, but that didn’t last long.
      “Shoot, Dick. Come help me. I forgot the champagne out in the garage.”
      “Champagne?” I protested. “It’s just a show, Mom.”
      She ignored me, and so did my dad. He didn’t hesitate to jump up and follow her down the hall.
      Georgia covered Julia’s ears, the constantly moving little girl now on her lap, and said the words we all knew to be true but didn’t want to say. “They’re definitely going to have s-e-x.”
      I shrugged in affirmation. I couldn’t think of a time when Dick and Savannah weren’t sneaking off to have sex. And good for them, I guess. I just wished I knew a little less about it.
      The smell of food caught my attention, and it didn’t take me long to zero in on its origin—the coffee table.
      Ah Jesus.
      “Are those vagina-shaped crescent rolls?” I asked, but I knew the answer. Goddammit, my parents are weird.
      Kline nodded enthusiastically. “I helped shape them.”
      “And those? What are those?”
      “Deviled eggs with the tops on and a pickle speared garnish,” Georgia said, her eyes wide and innocent.
      She huffed and giggled a little. “A fertilized egg, obviously.”
      “The Twizzlers?”
      “Fallopian tubes.”
      “See?” Kline said with a laugh. “I told you there were snacks.”
      Still…I was really hungry. And I do like eating pussy, I reasoned. Grabbing three bread vaginas, I popped the first into my mouth and searched the table for penis-shaped hot dogs. I really needed some protein, even if it was of questionable origin and phallic in shape.
      “Ooh, it’s starting! Look, look!” George squealed excitedly. “Turn it up, Kline.”
      He jumped to do as she bid, and I took a seat on the couch beside her and Julia as he did.
      The music started, a fast tempo with a ton of B-roll footage of the hospital, its halls, and the busy city streets of Manhattan. The intensity was exciting, so much so it made my heart beat a little faster. It flashed to the front entrance of St. Luke’s Hospital off of 59th Street, and then zoomed in the front doors and through the halls, stairwell, and around the corner to the front entrance of St. Luke’s Obstetrics and Gynecology at superspeed, almost as if they’d strapped the camera to a rocket.
      But when the doors of my office opened, the actual camera shot faded and the graphic for the show formed, the last words to fade in being Dr. OB and a picture of me.
      Gigi squealed and squeezed my knee, and Kline gave me an encouraging smile from the chair beside us.
      The camera shot picked up again as the cameraman walked down the hall lined with our exam rooms to my office at the end. As soon as my face filled the frame, a knot formed in my stomach. I wasn’t sure why; up until this point, I hadn’t felt anything but excitement. But in that moment, there was a strange sense of foreboding. I didn’t know if it was the expression on my face or just the uncertainty of it all.
      It wouldn’t be long before I knew why.
      I introduced myself and the practice and explained that I couldn’t wait to invite viewers into my world. It was all very innocuous. But then the image of me froze, a flirtatious smile on my face, and rapid-fire, so fast you could barely make out the words as they flashed, a list of everything in my world—or the one they intended to paint—scrolled across the screen.
      The one I expected—medicine. One I encouraged—innovation.
      And then, a whole litany of adjectives that were sure to haunt me for the rest of my life.
      I sat immobile.
      The graphic for the show filled the screen again, and the indication of my segment, Dr. OB appeared at the bottom. Only this time, a ghost of the letters “s-c-e-n-e” filled the space right after.
      Dr. OBscene. Dr. Obscene.
      Me. They’re talking about me.
      Several minutes of footage following me around the hospital ensued, but I was numb to it all. The only thing that penetrated was Kline jumping from his seat and Georgia leaving the room with my niece. Dick and Savannah came back at some point, and they could have yelled for all I knew. But to me, everything was silent.
      My whole life was flashing before my eyes.
      The camera shot followed me into the locker room of the hospital, something I’d had no clue they even had permission to do—an ignorance I had a feeling they intended if the shaky recording and barely cracked door were anything to go by—and continued filming as I pulled my shirt up and over my head and started to pull off my scrub pants. There was nearly a full ass cheek exposed by the time the shot panned away.
      A Grey’s Anatomy-like scenario where they actually filmed you taking your clothes off and having sex in the on-call room wasn’t nearly as appealing in real life. I’d thought they’d follow me around, present me with opportunities to show off my expertise and show the difference I wanted to make in my patients’ lives—not belittle my intent with creative editing and show me getting naked instead of the emergency C-section I’d performed not even an hour earlier. There was a difference between looking hot and capable and looking inappropriate—and this crock of shit was definitely painting me as the latter.
      Christ, my career was on the line here.
      Before I even realized what I was doing, I had my phone out and in my hand, searching for the number of someone who would have some answers, and I really only had one decipherable question. What in the fuck was going on?
      Settling on Tammy Schuler, the holder of one of the seats on the board of directors for St. Luke’s and one of the biggest advocates for all of the positives the show would bring to our lives, I hit call and pressed the phone to my red-hot ear.
      She answered on the second ring, and her voice was cautiously chastising. “Will, calm down.”
      I hadn’t even said anything, but I guess that was the power of my fury as it radiated through the phone.
      “Calm down?” I asked, deathly quiet. “You want me to calm down?”
      “They’ve got me on camera undressing, Tammy!” I exploded. “How the hell were they allowed to film in the locker room anyway? Where was legal on this one?”
      “They didn’t exactly detail in their contract that they’d be filming you undressing, Will.”
      “Then let’s go after them! This is an invasion of all professional privacy and a complete misrepresentation.”
      “Will…” She paused. “God, Will.”
      “They didn’t outline that they planned to do it on their side, but we didn’t outline that they couldn’t on ours. I’m sorry.”
      “So…what? I’m just supposed to sit here and let this happen for the next twelve weeks? I thought this was a goddamn docuseries, not one ass cheek away from the start of a porno!”
      “Our hands are tied for the next thirty-six, Will. We’ve checked with the lawyers, I assure you, but we have no legal recourse. Every single planned episode—yours, Scott’s, and Nick’s—will air.”
      “Fucking shit.”
      “Yeah, yeah, I know. That’s not exactly professional language.”
      She actually laughed a little, and I considered what kind of technology it would require to have my hand reach through the phone and strangle her. Have they invented it yet? Can my brother-in-law afford it? He’s fucking loaded, so I’m sure he can.
      “No, it’s not, but it’s fine. I was just going to tell you the positive news.”
      “I’m not really seeing how you can spin this one in a good direction, Tammy.”
      “How about five hundred thousand hits in an hour?”
      “That’s how many people have visited the hospital website in the last hour.”
      I rolled my eyes. “And? I’ve always thought of hospitals as one of those things that sell themselves. People get injured, they come. It’s not like they’re choosing a spa.”
      “You’d think that, but you’re wrong. People do choose hospitals, Will, and as much as you don’t like this personally, people are choosing our hospital because of this show.”
      “And they’re all checking in to the psych ward?”
      Deep down, I knew she was right. People really did choose hospitals. I’d seen it enough in my time as a physician, but still…this was about me and I was pissed. Emotion sometimes skews fact.
      I sighed. Goddammit. “Fine. I guess it is what it is.”
      “It is.”
      “Then you better keep me on salary until I’m dead, close, or convicted of an actual crime.”
      It was her turn to sigh. “The hospital cannot actually promise to keep a job for you, but I can guarantee the circumstances have been noted.”
      “My sacrifice has been noted.”
      “Now you’re just being dramatic.”
      Maybe she was right. Maybe I was being dramatic. Or maybe this really was the end of my life as I knew it. Either way, I said my goodbyes, hung up the call, and forced myself to go back into the living room to watch the rest of the show.
      The truth was, as angry as I was with Tammy and the board, and as livid as I felt with the production company, neither of those had anything on the loathing I felt for myself. I’d been excited. Na├»vely thinking the show would improve my social life, for fuck’s sake. Oh, you’re so impressive, Will, I’d thought women would say.
      But the show had taken a direction completely different from what they’d pitched—a harrowing account from St. Luke’s most elite doctors—and turned it into a lighthearted romp on everything ethical and professional.
      Unfortunately, with my guard down and my head up my own ass, I’d given them the material. I’d been the man on camera, and there wasn’t anyone but myself to blame for that.
      On the edge of my seat, I watched with disgust as the man on the screen—me, apparently—said something bordering on offensive and winked…while doing a dilation check on a harmlessly pregnant woman…just before the show faded into the final commercial.
      Good. God.
      I couldn’t even remember doing it, winking for the camera like that, and I certainly couldn’t remember doing it with my hand inside of a woman. The camera had been right behind her head, and a gown was covering all the skin of her legs, but, for shit’s sake, it was never appropriate to wink at a woman while giving her such an intimate exam. I wonder if she’d felt uncomfortable? If she’d thought I was winking at her?
      Even though I knew I’d never have acted that way without some kind of pseudo-reasonable explanation, panic and hysteria swirled inside me until the disbelief wore off and let them explode.
      “I look like a predator!”
      No woman was ever going to come near me again. Not for medicine and certainly not for sex. I was going to have to move. To somewhere remote. Without television. And live in a hut or something. Oh my God. No one is ever going to blow me again. I was going to be the male version of a spinster, but instead of cats, I’d just have a collection of pocket pussies.
      Sweet Jesus, I am going to throw up.
      “Don’t worry, Willy. If anything, this will probably up the ante on your female attention and dating life. Women are notorious for seeking out things that are bad for them,” my dad remarked.
      Kline gave a low whistle, and Georgia stood up from her seat in affront. “Um, excuse me?”
      “Dick,” my mom said. But being my mother, she said it through a goddamn chortle.
      Being the center of such discord, I figured it was my familial duty to wade in. Plus, if I didn’t say what I was thinking soon, I feared I’d burst into something from Men in Black. “No, Dad. Crazy women seek out things that are bad for them. The smart ones run in the other direction.” My voice dropped to a dejected mutter. “Which is exactly what they’re going to be doing with me now. Jesus.”
      “I bet no one is even watching,” Georgia chirped hopefully, trying to make me feel better through a backhanded insult. I’d spent all day hoping the opposite, but at this point, I wanted nothing more than for my sister to be right.
      My phone, the opportunist, chimed tauntingly in my pocket. I half considered not reading the text message that beckoned, but in the long run, I wasn’t sure ignoring this little problem would actually make it go away. Instead, it might just make me a bigger fool.
      My family continued to debate my now questionable eligible bachelor status in the background as I pulled my phone from my pocket and swiped to read the message without pausing to see who it was.
      In hindsight, I probably should have taken the moment.

      Thatch: Hot damn, son. You’ve been pretty good at hiding your freak-a-leek all these years. Cassie already has her legs in the air around the clock, trying to get pregnant again, but if that doesn’t work out, you’re officially our new doctor. Hell, even if it does. Her pussy makes all the others you see on a regular basis look like amateurs.

      There it was. An endorsement from Thatcher Kelly, my brother-in-law’s best friend and one of the most ridiculous human beings ever born. He was an adolescent in a giant’s body, and he didn’t like things that didn’t have a big, obvious pair of tits prepared, just waiting to be suckled. He was the worst judge of normalcy and the exact opposite of my target demographic—and he liked the show.
      I was fucked. Really and truly fucked.
      My head fell back in frustration as my inner voice mocked me with the real truth. You aren’t fucked, Will Cummings. You’re never to be fucked again.

Chapter Two
      There was one certainty in this moment, Scott Eastwood looked perfect naked.
      And he looked even better naked and in my bed.
      “Good morning, Melody,” he said with that signature grin of his and pulled me on top of his ridiculously beautiful body—toned, firm, and sculpted, it was the kind of physique that Greek gods aspired to have.
      “Morning, Scott Eastwood,” I said, and his smile grew wider.
      “I think you can drop the formalities,” he teased, and I blushed. “We’re married now, honey. It’s about time you started getting used to just calling me Scott.”
      Even though this is most likely a dream, Mel, we’ll never stop calling him Scott Eastwood…
      Shit…am I dreaming?
      I stared into Scott Eastwood’s heavenly blue eyes as he looked at me like the sun rose and set inside of me.
      “You’re so beautiful in the morning, Melody,” he complimented and brushed a lock of hair out of my eyes.
      Hmmm… Yeah… This seems a little too good to be true…
      “I could spend the rest of my life just staring into your eyes,” he whispered and pressed a soft kiss—that included a little tongue—onto my just-woken-up mouth.
      “You taste so perfect,” he told me.
      I took pride in good dental hygiene, but even the cleanest mouths couldn’t escape the morning breath culprit.
      Goddammit. I’m probably dreaming.
      “We’re married, Scott Eastwood?” I asked.
      “Yes, Mrs. Eastwood,” he responded through a soft chuckle, pressing his lips to mine once more. “We’re married.”
      “Did I sign a prenup?”
      He shook his head. “I’d never make the love of my life, my soul mate, sign a prenup.”
      Fucking hell. Definitely a dream.
      Shades of pink and yellow started to filter over Scott Eastwood’s face, and I knew it was only a matter of time. “Kiss me again,” I demanded and he listened.
      A man who listens instead of arguing? Most assuredly a motherfucking dream.
      “Fuck me, Scott Eastwood,” I insisted, but it was too late. My dream husband’s face and our luxurious white bed started to vanish into thin air as the morning sun finally worked its way beneath my lids.
      I opened my eyes and immediately groaned at the sight—pink walls, cardboard boxes, and work-out equipment. In a matter of thirty seconds, I’d gone from floating dreamily on cloud nine with Scott Eastwood’s naked body pressed against mine to one of the seventh circles of hell that was actually my reality.
      My parents’ two-bedroom nightmare in Hell’s Kitchen. Bill and Janet thought it was a dream, though. One provided by the grace of two little words: rent control.
      But I didn’t really see it that way. Not right now. My life had been reduced to six cardboard boxes stuffed inside my old bedroom, and every effort I’d put into being my own woman for the last six-plus years was gone. I was back home. With my parents. In the place I grew up.
      Although, it no longer looked like my teenage youth. The beige walls used to be littered with posters of eighties’ New Wave bands like Modern Talking and Rick Springfield.

Hey, don't judge my teenage music preferences.
I might've been an outcast in the early 2000s because I refused to jump on the boy band and mainstream pop wagon, but no one could resist songs like Modern Talking’s “Brother Louie,” and let's be real, even to this day, everyone wants to be “Jessie's Girl.”

      But now, the room had turned into something out of a bubblegum pink jazzercise nightmare—aka my mother's "fitness" room. Apparently, pink was one of those colors that motivated people to strive for buns of steel.
      To make a long story short, my life outlook was grim—twenty-nine years old, and I had officially moved back home into my parents’ apartment. I was newly single, had no job, and would be spending my nights sleeping between a treadmill and a thigh master.
      Ugh. Come back to me, Scott Eastwood!
      Shit had just gotten real. Well, real sad. And depressing. And fucking pink.
      “Rise and shine, Melody!” My mother announced her entrance with two soft taps to the already half-opened door. The hinges squeaked, and before I knew it, Janet Marco's smiling face was in full view from my perch on top of my new bed—a mother-flipping air mattress from 1982. It was old enough to be marked vintage—and not in the fun way—and you couldn't even use an air pump to inflate it. This baby required the kind of lung capacity that usually resulted in passing out.
      Jesus. What in the hell time is it? It felt too early for Workout Barbie to be in here working up a sweat. I snatched my phone off the cardboard box—otherwise known as my nightstand—beside the air mattress. I tapped it to life, and the bright screen all but blinded my tired eyes. I ignored the bullshit How’s the weather by you? text from Eli—my newly appointed ex-boyfriend—and focused on the time. The numbers 9:30 a.m. glared back at me, and I mentally gave my bubbly mother the middle finger.
      “How’s my favorite girl?” Janet singsonged as she walked her spandex-covered ass into the room. She left no time for a response before hopping onto her treadmill and jogging at a leisurely pace.
      “It’s too early,” I answered, and she immediately cupped her ear in my direction, giving the universal signal for I didn’t hear you.
      “What was that, sweetheart?”
      “I said, it’s too early,” I repeated, and she offered no response, seemingly still unable to hear what I was saying. I was no rocket scientist, but I’d say the recurrent pounding of her feet against the treadmill track wasn’t helping our conversation.
      “Speak a little louder, Mel,” she instructed and tapped her finger against the controls to increase her speed.
      Fantastic idea, Mom. Because increasing your speed will definitely help us converse like normal human beings.
      A little-known fact about Janet: she was a little hard of hearing. She blamed it on aging and genetics, but considering she’d always had issues with hearing, I had a feeling it had something to do with all of the rock concerts she and my father used to go to when they were young and wild. Back in the day, Bill and Janet were hard-core Black Sabbath fans and attended no less than twenty concerts in a span of five years. Not to mention, they moonlighted as KISS groupies on the side.
      I was no expert, but it seemed logical that years of Ozzy Osbourne and Gene Simmons shouting into her eardrums didn’t increase my mother’s hearing capabilities.
      “I said, I’m fine,” I tried again, and she glanced down at her watch.
      “It’s just a little after nine, sweetheart, but you still didn’t answer my question,” she said with a smile. “How are you doing this morning?”
      Someone help me. I generally had more patience with my mom, but considering the time of morning and the fact that I’d yet to have a drop of coffee, I pretty much just gave up on having a successful conversation with her and focused on entertaining myself. “I’m a mime,” I said, and she nodded but stared at me skeptically for a few moments.
      “Are you sure you’re fine?” she eventually asked. “You’ve had a rough few weeks.”
      Interesting, I noted in my case study. Saying something ridiculous to her is actually more successful than honest discussion. Maybe I had just uncovered the secret to productive conversation with Janet Marco. “Yep. I’m a mime.”
      “Okay, Mel.” She nodded and offered an apologetic smile. “I guess it’s a little too early for me to start meddling, huh?”
      I held up my forefinger and thumb and gestured just a little bit in her direction.
      Her smile grew wider, and she nodded again.
      Hmm…maybe the whole mime bit isn’t a stretch after all…
      “Okay…just one more question, and then I’ll leave you alone—”
      “Mom,” I groaned.
      She held up one determined hand. “Look, I’m your mother, Mel. It’s my job to worry about you,” she said through panting breaths. “You basically just uprooted your life in a matter of weeks. I mean, a little over a month ago, you were living in Portland with the man I thought you were going to end up marrying, and now, you’re back home and single. You’ve ended a relationship, quit your travel nursing job, and left the city you had been living in for the past five years. It’s just very abrupt is all,” she added and glanced in my direction. “I just want to make sure you’re doing okay.”
      The air mattress squeaked and creaked as I tossed the comforter off my body and got to my feet. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and walked the four steps to stand directly in front of my mother, who was still running like a lunatic on the treadmill.
      “I’m okay, Mom,” I reassured with exaggerated pronunciation.
      She quirked a questioning brow, and I nodded.
      “Seriously. I’m okay,” I said, and it wasn’t a lie. Although my life had changed dramatically over the past few weeks, it had all occurred by my choice.
      I wanted to move back home.
      I wanted to leave my relationship with Eli.
      I wanted a new start.
      And yeah, I’d much rather not be sleeping on an air mattress in my parents’ place, but I couldn’t deny that I felt overwhelming relief by my initial steps toward change. My relationship with Eli was all about give-and-take; I gave and he took.
      I had stayed in Portland because of Eli. I had stayed working a hospital nursing job I wasn’t all that fond of because of Eli. I had done a lot of things because of that relationship, and it was time I found my own way and lived the life I wanted to live. I loved Eli, but I didn’t love him enough to lose myself to a relationship I wasn’t even certain he was fully committed to.
      “Will you do me a favor, Mel?”
      I tilted my head to the side skeptically. “What kind of favor?”
      “Do you remember Savannah Cummings?”
      “Your weirdo sex therapist friend?”
      She nodded. “Yep. Her.”
      My eyes bugged out of my head. “You want me to go to sex therapy?”
      “Don’t be ridiculous.” My mother laughed and shook her head. “Her son Will is an OB/GYN, and his practice is currently interviewing for an office nurse. His office is only about ten blocks from here, and since you’ve been doing labor and delivery for the past five years, I think you’d be a perfect match for the job.”
      “I don’t know, Mom,” I sighed. “I mean, working in an office setting? I think I’d rather just apply for an actual labor and delivery position at one of the hospitals here.”
      “You’ll also get to assist Will in deliveries at St. Luke’s. You’ll get the best of both worlds with this position.”
      “You seem to know a lot about this job…”
      She shrugged it off. “I had lunch with Savannah last Thursday, and she happened to mention it.”
      I scrutinized her facial expression and found a couple of cracks—mostly in the skin between her eyebrows, a Janet Marco tell. “What aren’t you telling me right now?”
      “Fine,” she muttered. “I told Savannah to have Will’s office manager schedule you for an interview on Monday.”
      “Monday?” I questioned in annoyance. “As in this Monday? Like, tomorrow, Monday?”
      “I had to, Mel,” she defended. “I was afraid the position would be gone if you waited any longer.”
      “What if I didn’t want that job? Did you ever think of that?”
      “But you love nursing, Mel.”
      I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “What time is the interview tomorrow?”
      “Eight thirty.”
      “In the fucking morning?”
      “Language, Melody.”
      I refused to feel bad for dropping an f-bomb over this news. I mean, my mother had just gotten me an interview for a job I wasn’t even sure I wanted. Not to mention, she’d scheduled it for eight thirty in the goddamn morning. I’d been working night shift for the past five years—I was the furthest thing from a morning person. My internal clock had been accustomed to sleeping at eight in the morning, not waking up to be interview-ready and fight the morning NYC rush.
      Hello, God. It’s me, Mel. Can I go back to my dream life with Scott Eastwood? He’d definitely be on board with staying in bed all day.
      “8:30 was the only available time they had left for an interview,” she explained. “I didn’t want you to miss this opportunity.”
      Fucking hell. I considered miming a very distinct gesture, but only briefly. No amount of bird-flipping was going to get me out of this one.
      Click. Clack. Click. Clack. The rapid sounds of my heels tapping against the sidewalk berated my tardy ass as I rounded the corner of 10th Avenue. My Monday morning had started out like only a true Monday morning could. First, I’d slept through my alarm and woken up to my mother’s shrill voice shouting that I was going to be late for my interview before she hopped on her treadmill and started jogging while the Bee Gees serenaded her with “Stayin’ Alive.”
      Of course, then, since I’d only had fifteen minutes to get ready, I’d found myself fixing my hair and makeup on the subway. It was pretty much an exercise in futility, applying mascara on a metal contraption speeding across tracks with enough bumps and grinds to make R. Kelly proud, but I’d done it anyway. And then there’d been the old man sitting behind me who’d appeared absolutely fascinated with making creepy eye contact with me in my compact mirror.
Did I mention Mondays are my favorite?
And even more than that, the best kind of Monday is one where you have to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn to attend an interview your mother scheduled for you.
      An interview you don’t even really want.
      An interview that would keep you in a career you aren’t even sure you like.
Happy motherfucking Monday.
      As my lungs struggled for oxygen and my feet screamed inside of my heels for a reprieve, I realized I’d forgotten what three New York city blocks actually equated to in terms of distance. Sure, walking three blocks at a leisurely pace with a pair of comfy Converse on was no big deal, but practically sprinting that distance in a pair of heels was the equivalent of Mean Girls’ queen bee Regina George—a real fucking bitch.
      As I headed for the finish line—Dr. Cummings’s office—I tried to pick up the pace. I was already fifteen minutes late, and I had a feeling most medical practices preferred applicants who could get to work on time.
      Interviewing 101: Be on time to the fucking interview, Melody.
      There was a good chance I’d already screwed this opportunity before I had the chance to hand them my resume. I was a fighter, though, so I kept onward.
      I did my best impression of The Matrix as I maneuvered through the workweek foot traffic cluttering the sidewalks. But it was of no use. My elbow still managed to bump into a man in a power suit holding a cup of coffee. The liquid splattered out of his cup and onto his dress slacks.
      “Hey, watch where you’re going!” he shouted toward me.
      “Shit. I’m so sorry,” I muttered, but my legs kept moving toward Dr. Cummings’s office. I knew not stopping made me seem like an inconsiderate asshole, but for one, I was already running late to this interview, and, well, that guy appeared to already have a job. And thirdly, the damage was already done. What was I going to do? Stop in the middle of the sidewalk and lick the coffee off of his crotch?
      A girl could only handle so much bullshit on a Monday morning.
      The words St. Luke’s Hospital shone like a beacon as I stopped in front of the entrance closest to Dr. Cummings’s practice and quickly headed through the front doors, down the hall, up the stairs, and through the doors of the office. Apparently, Janet had been so excited about this opportunity that she’d invested in the research, drawing me a schematic of the hospital’s layout and the fastest route to the actual office within it last night after dinner.
      The instant my heels hit the hardwood floors of the waiting room, everyone, including the receptionist, glanced up in my direction. I had a feeling my entrance was less than graceful. It could’ve been the whole out of breath with my hands on my knees performance I was displaying or the windblown hair and wrinkled dress shirt that I hadn’t worn since high school.
      Whichever it was, both things pointed to me being a bit of a mess.
      “Can I help you?” the young female receptionist asked around a mouthful of gum.
      “Uh, yes,” I muttered and walked over toward the desk. “I’m here for an interview. My name is Melody Marco.”
      She stared at me for a good thirty seconds while she made popping sounds with her gum. Eventually, she sighed, blew a giant pink bubble from her lips and sucked it back into her mouth, and then moved her fingers to the computer and tapped her long, acrylic nails against the keys.
      “Your interview was at 8:30,” she announced.
      “I know. I was a running a little late,” I excused. “I just moved back to the city from Portland, and I guess I forgot how busy New York is on a Monday morning.”
      “It’s 8:50.”
      “I’m really sorry.”
      “You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.”
      Good Lord, this receptionist was sassy. And repetitive.
      “I know. And like I said, I’m really sorry.”
      Melissa, as her name tag indicated, sighed and picked up the phone. “Melody Marco is here for her interview. She’s twenty minutes late.”
      Wow. Thanks, Melissa.
      “Okay. I’ll send her back,” she responded into the receiver before hanging up the phone. She tapped the button for the doors that headed toward the offices, and they swung open on command. “Even though you’re late, Betty will still see you. You can go on back.”
      “Uh, thanks,” I said and glanced toward the doors. “Which office is hers?”
      “You’ll find it.”
      “Gotcha.” Perfect. I’ll just stroll through the hallway and, hopefully, find Betty’s office. No worries about me accidentally stumbling into one of the exam rooms while a woman is getting a pap smear or something.
      Luckily, Betty’s office actually said Betty—well, it said her full name, Betty Matthews, with the title Office Manager below it. And it was easily spotted a few doors down from the reception desk.
      The door was shut, so I rapped my knuckles against it three times.
      “Come in,” she responded. I opened the door, walking in and shutting it softly behind me.
      Betty sat behind her desk, tapping her fingers across the keys of her laptop at a rapid-fire pace. What is that? A hundred and twenty words per minute? She didn’t even bother to look up at my entrance, her eyes staying completely fixed on the computer screen.
      “Uh, hi, I’m Melody Marco,” I announced. “I’m here to interview for a nursing job.”
      “You’re late,” she stated, but she did at least look up in my direction.
      “I’m so sorry. I just moved back to the city from Portland, and I guess I misjudged how busy New York is on a Monday morning,” I repeated my earlier excuse in hopes it would help for something and ran two sweaty palms down the wrinkles of my skirt. This whole interview thing was off to a phenomenal start. Everyone I’d met in the office appeared to completely despise me. I wasn’t a psychic, but I felt like a prediction of me not getting this job wasn’t too far off base.
      “Please, take a seat,” Betty said as she finally looked up from her laptop screen and gestured toward the leather chair in front of her desk.
      I handed her my resume and sat down.
      “Is tardiness an issue for you…” she started and glanced down at my resume, “Melody?”
      “No,” I answered confidently. “I’ve never had any issues with tardiness or absences with any of my past jobs.”
      “You did travel nursing for a few years, I see,” she stated and continued to browse through my credentials. “And it looks like for the past few years your sole focus has been labor and delivery.”
      “Yes. I have over five years of experience as a labor and postpartum nurse.”
      “And what made you move back to the city?”
      Because I broke up with my asshole boyfriend, and now I’m stuck sleeping on an air mattress beside a treadmill inside my parents’ home. “My family is here. I just felt like it was time to move back home.”
      “And what made you apply for this job?”
      Because my mother loves to meddle in my life and actually scheduled this interview for me without my knowledge. I don’t even think I want this fucking job. “I have a passion for obstetrics and loved the idea of having a more set schedule. My last job in Portland, I was working twelve-hour night shifts,” I informed her. “Working night shifts occasionally isn’t bad, but after a few years of doing them full time, it really starts to wear on you.”
      “All right, Melody,” Betty said. “I’m the type of woman who likes to cut through all of the crap, and seeing as I’ve already interviewed over fifty women for this position in the past week, my patience is starting to wane, and I’d rather just get down to the important shit.”
      “Have you seen the show?”
      “What show?”
      “The show.”
      I looked back and forth, half expecting to see a camera hiding behind her potted plant, and then back to Betty. What in the hell was she talking about? “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
      “The documentary that Dr. Cummings is on.”
      “He’s on a documentary?” Now? Cripes. I didn’t want to be on camera.
      She tilted her head to the side and scrutinized my expression. “You honestly haven’t seen it?”
      “No. I’ve honestly never seen it.” I could feel my eyebrows drawing together to form my what the fuck face, so I tried to fight it. I’d been told it made me look really bitchy.
      “Okay. Well, I have a few more interviews scheduled this week, and then we’ll give you a call sometime next week to let you know either way.”
      “Oh. Okay. That sounds good to me.”
      “Would you like me to give you Dr. Cummings’s phone number in case you have any specific questions about the job?”
      “Um…” What? “I’m not sure that would be appropriate… Couldn’t I just contact you?”
      Betty smiled and clapped her hands together in excitement. “Oh, thank God!” she exclaimed and hopped up from her chair. She walked toward the front of her desk and pulled me—literally pulled me—out of my chair and into a tight hug.
      “Uh?” I mumbled, but she completely ignored my confusion.
      Once she was finished embracing me, she let go and held out her hand in my direction.
      “Melody, I would like to offer you the job.”
      “You’re offering me the job?”
      “Yes,” she said with an enthusiastic nod.
      “But I was like twenty minutes late for the interview,” I blurted out.
      “Yeah, but you have the right experience, and you’re not here to seduce Dr. Cummings.”
      My eyes went wide in confusion. Seduce Dr. Cummings? What in the ever-loving fuck?
      “So, Melody Marco, is that a yes? Would you like to accept the position?”
      Did I really want the position? Probably not.
      But did I need money? A thousand times yes. I could only handle having Janet and Bill as roomies for so long.
      Was I a little creeped out with how this whole interview process had just gone? Definitely.
      But money, Mel. You need money…
      I nodded and smiled. “Yes. I would like to accept the position.”
      “Fantastic,” she said and shook my hand. “Paul from Human Resources will contact you to discuss benefits and pay and start date,” she informed me and handed me a folder filled to the brim with new-hire information. “He sounds a lot tougher than he actually is, so whatever he offers as your base pay, I’d counter with something at least ten percent higher,” she whispered and winked.
      “Uh…okay, thanks.” Was the office manager really giving me tips on how to get more money from the hospital? What in the hell is this place? I thought to myself as I glanced around her office again to make sure there weren’t hidden cameras for some kind of prank show.
      But they weren’t there.
      And Betty just kept smiling like she’d won the lottery.
      “And don’t hesitate to call or email me with any questions that you might have.” Her fingers tapped the folder. “All of my contact information is in that folder.”
      As I walked out of Betty’s office, a bit dazed and a lot confused, I couldn’t deny that I’d just experienced the weirdest interview I’d ever attended. I felt like one of the main reasons I’d gotten the job offer was because I hadn’t seen the documentary with Dr. Cummings, and if not having seen the documentary was that important, I only had one question.
      What in the hell kind of documentary was it?

A secret duo of romance authors team up under the pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you a sexy, laugh-out-loud new series…& more. ;)

New writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half.

Stay tuned for the future—this is where the fun begins.
Max Monroe is represented by Amy Tannenbaum of Jane Rotrosen Agency.