Tag Archives: single dad

Cover Reveal: The New Guy by Sarina Bowen

The New Guy | Sarina Bowen

Brooklyn #8

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Release Date: February 28th, 2023

Cover Design: Elle Maxwell

Buy Links:

Amazon: https://geni.us/New-Guy-Amzn

Apple Books: https://geni.us/New-Guy-Appl

Kobo: https://geni.us/New-Guy-Kobo

Nook: https://geni.us/New-Guy-BandN

Audio: Coming soon

Add to Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/63355404-the-new-guy

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Blurb

A new male / male hockey romance from 24-time USA Today bestseller Sarina Bowen!

My name is Hudson Newgate, but my teammates call me New Guy.

That was my nickname in Chicago, too. And Vancouver. That’s what happens when you keep getting traded. Brooklyn is my last chance, especially after my poor performance last season.

But I can make this work. The new guy knows to keep his head down and shoot the puck. The new guy puts the game first.

What he doesn’t do is hook up with the other new guy—a hot athletic trainer who lives in my building. Gavin needs this job with my team. He’s a single dad with responsibilities.

We can’t be a couple. My arrogant agent–who’s also my father–will lose his mind if I’m dating a dude. And my team needs me to score goals, not whip up a media circus.

Too bad Gavin and I are terrible at resisting each other…

About The Author

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Sarina Bowen is a 24-time USA bestselling author, and a Wall Street Journal bestselling author of contemporary romance novels. Formerly a derivatives trader on Wall Street, Sarina holds a BA in economics from Yale University.

A New Englander whose Vermont ancestors cut timber and farmed the north country in the 1760s, Sarina is grateful for the invention of indoor plumbing and wi-fi during the intervening 250 years. She lives with her family on a few wooded acres in New Hampshire.

Sarina’s books are published in more than a dozen languages with fifteen international publishers.

Social Media

Website: https://sarinabowen.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorsarinabowen

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7737308.Sarina_Bowen

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/sarina.bowen/

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Release Blitz: A Gift-Wrapped Holiday by Amy Aislin

A Gift-Wrapped Holiday | Amy Aislin

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Release Date: November 22nd, 2022

Cover Artist: LC Chase

Heat Rating: 3 flames

Length: 69,000 words / 272 pages

Buy Links

Amazon | Apple | B&N | Kobo

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Blurb

Mal’s first priority is giving his six-year-old son the best Christmas ever, a goal made trickier by a recent move to New England after losing his job. As a single dad, he’s not looking for romance—especially not with a blond California boy ten years his junior.

After being ridiculed at the family business, Luca sets out to prove himself by opening an eco-friendly gift-wrapping store in a small town with a hard-on for Christmas that’s about as far from LA as he can get. Out of his comfort zone in snowy Maine, love is the last thing on his mind.

But the magic of the season has other ideas. As Mal and Luca collide on wintery streets, will they let their first Christmas in Lighthouse Bay lead to happily ever after?

Content warning: stillbirth. Although it took place off-page and in the past, it is discussed on-page.

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Excerpt

Mal slowed at the bottom of a driveway and nodded at the house. “This is me.”

“I was wondering who lived here,” Luca said, taking in the house’s boxy structure.

“Why? Because it’s hideous?”

That startled a laugh out of Luca. “Well . . . yes. It doesn’t match the rest of the houses.” The area just west of Christmas Lane housed Lighthouse Bay’s historic homes, but this modern construction was decidedly not historic. Luca had passed it a couple of times on his evening gift deliveries and wondered what the owner had been thinking. “Why’d you buy it if you don’t like it?”

“I’m not. I’m leasing.”

Even so, Mal had gone all out with the decorations. Icicle lights hanging from the roof, flashing multicolored lights framed around each window, static white lights around a nine-foot-tall pine tree, and a lit-up reindeer family. He even had some sort of spotlights buried somewhere in the yard that swirled red and green snowflakes on the house in an unidentifiable pattern.

“Which is probably another reason I haven’t unpacked,” Mal continued. “I hate this place.”

“Why lease it, then?”

Mal blew out a breath that ghosted the air in front of him. “The short version is that I was in a rush.”

“And the long version?”

“The long version is something I’ll have to give you another time.”

Luca glanced at Otis. “I think he’s asleep.”

“Bet he gets a second wind as soon as I walk in the door.” Mal’s voice was a disgruntled grumble that Luca shouldn’t have found as charming as he did. “Thanks for walking us home.”

“Thanks for letting me. I like talking to you.”

Mal’s smile went lopsided. “I like talking to you too. Still want to do it again sometime? I promise not to feed you ice cream while it’s below freezing outside. Real food only. Scout’s honor.”

Luca’s armpits went damp despite the winter weather, and butterflies took flight in his belly. He dug his toe into the sidewalk. “You must really want to date me if you’ve asked me out twice in one week.”

“Or I just want an adult to talk to for once,” Mal said, a teasing tilt to his smile.

Luca stuck his tongue in his cheek and backed down the driveway, keeping his gaze on Mal’s. “Or maybe you like me.”

“Damn. And here I thought I wasn’t being obvious at all.”

The butterflies floated into Luca’s throat. “Text me?”

“I will.” The darkness enveloped Mal as he moved away from the sidewalk and into the shadow of the house, but Luca could still see the quirk to his lips. “Good night, Luca.”

“Night, Mal.”

Luca watched Mal and Otis head inside, waved at Mal through the glass-fronted door, then turned toward his own home only a couple blocks away, an extra bounce to his steps.

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About the Author

Amy’s lived with her head in the clouds since she first picked up a book as a child, and being fluent in two languages means she’s read a lot of books! She first picked up a pen on a rainy day in fourth grade when her class had to stay inside for recess.

Tales of treasure hunts with her classmates eventually morphed into love stories between men, and she’s been writing ever since. She writes evenings and weekends—or whenever she isn’t at her full-time day job saving the planet at Canada’s largest environmental non-profit.

An unapologetic introvert, Amy reads too much and socializes too little, with no regrets. She loves connecting with readers. Join her Facebook Group to stay up-to-date on upcoming releases and for access to early teasers, find her on Instagram, or sign up for her infrequent newsletter.

Social Media

Blog/Website | Facebook | InstagramNewsletter Sign-up | Facebook Group

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Giveaway

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Release Blitz: Fran Cuthbert Ruins Christmas by Lisa Henry & J.A. Rock

Fran Cuthbert Ruins Christmas | Lisa Henry & J.A. Rock

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Release Date: November 15th, 2022

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Blurb

Welcome (back) to Christmas Valley. Where it’s Christmas every. F@$#ing. Day.

It’s your typical Hallmark movie plot: my big city boyfriend dumped me, so my adorable five-year-old daughters and I moved back to my hometown just in time for Christmas. I guess the magic of the holiday is going to show me what I really wanted all along, or something.

But on Hallmark, people aren’t usually mainlining their mother’s Xanax. Or stealing the last available Peachblossom Pony Pal from their hot doctor because they have to give their kids the best Christmas ever. And when they run into their high school sweetheart, they don’t usually face the gulf of lies that exists between Cass Sullivan and me.

Oh yeah, and their hometown isn’t located directly up Christmas’s butthole.

I left Christmas Valley because I couldn’t listen to one more carol or look at one more tinsel-wrapped streetlamp. But moving to Boston meant leaving Cass, and that has always been my one regret. I mean, I also regret the box of Franzia in my closet, being publicly dumped, agreeing to take tap dancing lessons with my mom, and the fact that I can’t seem to open my mouth without a little white lie popping out. But mostly Cass.

When I need someone to play Santa for my girls’ favorite Christmas tradition, Cass steps in. Suddenly, I’m falling for him like we’re seventeen again. Can we put aside two decades’ worth of baggage and give each other a second chance? Can he help me build a life in Christmas Valley? And has he really been banging our former geometry teacher?

Only Christmastime will tell. If the holidays don’t kill me first.

Fran Cuthbert Ruins Christmas is a sweet, low-heat holiday novella featuring a second-chance romance, a hot mess MC who could use a steadying hand, adorable kids and dogs, and a guaranteed HEA.

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Excerpt

I stood in the produce section of the Christmas Valley Save-Rite, a place I hadn’t stood in eighteen years, reminding myself that a nice bag of turnip greens was just what the doctor ordered. And then trying not to imagine a scenario that involved me doing precisely what my doctor ordered, all night long, because Dr. Stephen Florris had a blinding smile, a smooth baritone voice, and an absolute peach of an ass, and I was fairly certain that winning his love was the key to my elusive happiness. I focused on the greens, vaguely embarrassed that I even needed a doctor to tell me what I should eat. I was an RN and ought to have known better than to spend the last two months living on Lofthouse cookies, Pepsi Max, and White Cheddar Goldfish.

Dr. Stephen Florris had told me gently but gravely at my last visit that it was no wonder my anxiety was through the roof, with all the sugar I was consuming. I’d had the highly inappropriate urge to tell him the reason I was mainlining sugar was that my boyfriend had broken up with me via the Kiss Cam at a Sox game (I’d leaned in, and he’d turned away to ask the woman on his other side where she’d bought her pretzel), and so I’d moved from Boston back to Christmas Valley, OH—a town of 3,915 people, five different holiday shops all purporting to be the Midwest branch of Santa’s workshop, and three annual tree lighting ceremonies; two near actual Christmas, and one for Christmas in July.

Christmas Valley: for the undiscerning gentleman in the throes of a mid-ish life crisis who enjoys driving past Jim Jordan 2024 signs and gagging on Christmas’s dick year-round.

I’d gracefully accepted a nursing job at the community hospital and the attendant pay cut. For the past two months, I’d been driving fifteen minutes to the next town for groceries to avoid seeing anyone I knew. I’d enrolled my girls at Christmas Valley Elementary, the playground of which still harbored the segment of concrete tunnel where I used to hide from bullies with my imaginary friend, Liar Bob. Liar Bob had a tragic backstory where he’d been a compulsive liar until a fairy made it impossible for him to tell anything but the truth. I’d ask him things like, “Will I ever be hot?” and “Will I ever get away from this place?” and “Why would my parents name me Frances?” He’d said, “Yes, Frances, yes you will. And yes, you will. And because they are monsters, Frances.”And I’d believed him.

Now I was starting to think the whole story about the fairy making him tell the truth had been a lie. Because here I was, eighteen years after graduating from Christmas Valley High: Home of the Fighting Reindeer, feeling far from attractive and certain I’d be stuck here until the day I died.

Instead of telling Dr. Stephen Florris—who, mercifully, was not someone I’d gone to school with—my whole sob story, I’d tried to let him know that I was going through a stressful time but that obviously I understood the importance of getting enough sleep and enough B vitamins. He’d asked me, in an unconvincingly offhanded way, what my daughters ate, and I’d looked him right in the eye and told him they ate a healthy, balanced diet—except for the occasional fried potato pizza from Cocca’s—and that the White Cheddar Goldfish lived in Daddy’s secret closet. I didn’t mention the White Cheddar Goldfish’s friends who shared the closet: Box of Franzia, Some of Mom’s Xanax, and Just a Couple of Weed Gummies.

Dr. Stephen Florris had looked at me with mingled pity and suspicion and told me to follow up in four weeks.

My phone jarred me from my reverie and my search for a bag of turnip greens that was not past its sell-by date. My heart thumped when I saw Ben’s name on the screen. I couldn’t have ignored the call if I’d wanted to.

I swiped to answer and said, “Hey,” as casually as I could manage.

“Fran, it’s Ben,” he said, as though I required clarification.

“I know,” I said.

“Do you have a minute?”

“Sure.” I rummaged through the greens. The loudspeaker suddenly blared festive music and the sound of jingle bells, and a cheerful voice said, “Attention holiday shoppers, did you know that now you can get twice the ho-ho-holiday deals with a Save-Rite advantage card? Just fill out our form online, or ask one of our elves to…”

Ben and I both waited until the announcement ended. Then he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking. About Cookies with Santa.”

My heart sank. “Ben…” I said warningly. Maybe a little desperately.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

I closed my eyes briefly. Tightened my grip on the phone. “Why not?”

“For reasons I would think are obvious,”

“You said you would still see the girls.”

“Fran, you moved them eight hundred miles away. I care about them a lot, but if you’d really wanted me to keep seeing them, you wouldn’t have taken them so far.”

“This is where I’m from. I didn’t pick it at random. I needed somewhere to go after you—” I cut myself off. I was not going to get into an argument with my ex in the produce aisle of the Save-Rite. The parking lot, maybe. “Please, Ben,” I said, even though I’d promised myself I would never beg Ben for anything ever again. “Just this year. By next year I’ll have found a replacement, but Christmas is three weeks away, and I—I’m just dealing with a lot.”

“There have to be companies that do this shit. Rent-A-Santa or whatever.”

“They’re used to you. Your Santa. They’ll know if it’s someone else. And come on, the surprise of getting to see you on Christmas Day…”

“I know.” For a moment, Ben sounded genuinely remorseful. “But the truth is, I’m trying to move on. I’ve met somebody.”

Time seemed to freeze. “Met somebody?”

“Yeah. He’s really, really great, actually. You’d like him. Things are going well for me, and it would be really hard to explain to him that hey, so, I have to fly to Ohio because I pretended to be Santa for my ex-boyfriend’s daughters for three years and ate cookies with them every Christmas Eve, and my ex wants me to continue to do this even though he called me ‘the Armie Hammer of mid-level insurance executives’ and said he hoped I died alone—”

“I was in a dark place.”

“—and then he also wants me to spend Christmas morning with him, as myself, because his daughters miss me. So you don’t mind, hon, do you, if I remain inextricably bound to my ex’s life?”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Isn’t it?”

“The girls do miss you. You treated them like they were your daughters. You created a set of, of expectations, and now you’re just—”

“They’re not my daughters, Fran.”

That thumped me in the gut.

“I want to spend Christmas with my boyfriend. I want you to be able to move on, like I have. And I don’t think you can do that if I’m still in your life.”

I couldn’t explain why I did what I did next. I just hurt so much, so suddenly, and I was so angry and confused and unsure whether he was exactly right or being an asshole. So I opened my mouth and pulled a Liar Bob, pre-fairy transformation: “I’m actually moving on just fine. I’m seeing somebody too.”

“What?” He sounded way too surprised.

“His name is Dr. Stephen Florris.” Should not have given him a real name. Fuuuuck. “He’s my doctor.”

“Isn’t that a little unethical? Or a lot?”

Was my doctor. Now we’re dating, so I have a different doctor. Dr. Richmond.” Stop talking, Jan Brady.

“Okay, well, I’m glad to hear that.”

“So even if you did come to visit, it wouldn’t affect my moving-on trajectory, because I’m happy in my relationship. And Stephen doesn’t think it’s weird that somebody who was an important part of my daughters’ lives for years would still come to visit them.”

Ben sighed deeply. Idiot that I was, I’d missed that sigh. “I’m happy for you,” he said. “Really I am. But I can’t do this. It’s too…painful, and awkward. And I just can’t.”

“All right.” A numbness was beginning to set in.

“And I think it’s best if, going forward, we don’t have any contact.”

I nodded, my hand frozen on a bag of turnip greens. People were starting to stare. I realized Ben couldn’t see me nod, and so I would have to say something. But it felt good not to move or speak or think.

“Attention holiday shoppers. Now you can jingle all the way to our bakery for some tree-light-ful holiday deals on cookies, cakes, and more!”

Once more, Ben and I waited in silence for the ad to finish. At least, I thought we were both waiting in silence. But when the cheerful voice stopped speaking, Ben had already hung up.

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About the Authors

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Lisa likes to tell stories, mostly with hot guys and happily ever afters.

Lisa lives in tropical North Queensland, Australia. She doesn’t know why, because she hates the heat, but she suspects she’s too lazy to move. She spends half her time slaving away as a government minion, and the other half plotting her escape.

She attended university at sixteen, not because she was a child prodigy or anything, but because of a mix-up between international school systems early in life. She studied History and English, neither of them very thoroughly.

She shares her house with too many cats, a dog, a green tree frog that swims in the toilet, and as many possums as can break in every night. This is not how she imagined life as a grown-up.

Lisa has been published since 2012, and was a LAMBDA finalist for her quirky, awkward coming-of-age romance Adulting 101, and a Rainbow Awards finalist for 2019’s Anhaga.

She also has a Facebook group where you’ll be kept in the loop with updates on releases, have a chance to win prizes, and probably see lots of lots of pictures of her dog and cats.

Social Media

Website | Facebook | Instagram | Goodreads | Bookbub | Twitter |   Lisa Henry’s Hangout

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J.A. Rock is the author of over twenty LGBTQ romance, suspense, and horror novels, as well as an occasional contributor to HuffPo Queer Voices.

J.A.’s books have received Lambda Literary, INDIEFAB, and EPIC Award nominations, and The Subs Club received the 2016 National Leather Association-International Novel Award.

24/7 was named one of the best books of 2016 by Kirkus Reviews. J.A. lives in Chicago with an extremely judgmental dog, Professor Anne Studebaker.

Social Media

https://jarockauthor.com

facebook.com/ja.rock.39

twitter.com/jarockauthor

The Book Nook with Sarah Honey
https://www.facebook.com/groups/rockhenryhoney

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