Synopsis:
Alexis Wyndham is the other type of Queen
B—the Queen Bitch.
After years of being the subject of ridicule, she revels in her
ability to make the in-crowd cower via the exposés on her blog, The Eastline
Spy. Now that she's carved out her place in the high school hierarchy, she uses
her position to help the unpopular kids walking the hallways.
Saving a freshman from bullies? Check.
Swapping insults with the head cheerleader? Check.
Falling for the star quarterback? So not a part of her plan.
But when Brett offers to help her solve the mystery of who’s
posting X-rated videos from the girls’ locker room, she’ll have to swallow her
pride and learn to see past the high school stereotypes she’s never
questioned—until now.
Excerpt:
“By the way, I brought something from
home that you might find helpful.” He pulled a black contraption from his
backpack. “This is an infant carrier—very useful when you want to keep your
hands free while carrying the baby.”
I tried to make sense of all the straps
and fasteners, but after a few seconds, I was completely lost. I gritted my
teeth. I would have to ask Brett for help. “How does it work?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” He looped two of
the straps around my shoulders and snapped them into place. “The X goes in the
back, and the pouch goes in the front like so. Then, you put the baby here and
lock into place.”
Five seconds later, the doll was pressed
against my chest, and Brett was conveniently helping it rest its head
comfortably on my boobs. And much to my horror, I kind of liked him standing
this close to me, touching that part of my body. It was far from actual
groping, but every little brush of his fingers sent a little shiver through me.
I was running dangerously close to giving into my hormones and letting him
continue.
I slapped his hands away before it was
too late. “Hands off!”
He backed away, hands up in front of
him. “What? You have a nice rack.” His gaze lingered on that part of my
anatomy. “In fact, I’m a little envious of Junior there.”
“I can’t believe you just said that.” I
turned around and tried adjusting the doll so it wasn’t being smothered in my
cleavage. The reprieve also gave me a moment to pull myself together. My cheeks
were still burning from the realization that I was suffering from a bad case of
Brett-itis. “Actually, I can. You’re a bonehead jock who’s too busy thinking
with his dick.”
“God gave men both a brain and a penis
and only enough blood to use one at a time,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Well, start thinking with your other
head before I take the lower one out of commission.”
“And we’re back to the ball-busting.”
The amused glint in his dark brown eyes told me he’d witnessed my moment of
weakness, that he saw the flush that still lingered in my face (and other parts
of my body I refused to acknowledge). “So, back to getting your phone number…”
I closed my eyes to clear my head. “Just
for exchanges, right?”
“Sure, if that’s what you want.”
“Yes.” So far, every conversation I’d
had with Brett ended with me alternating between wanting to punch him in the
face or jump his bones.
“No worries.” When I opened my eyes, he
was focused on his phone. “Anytime now.”
I gave him my number, which he entered
into his contacts. Part of me wanted to snicker. How pissed off would Summer be
once she discovered my number in his phone?
“Do you want my number?” he asked when
he was done.
“Kind of hard to get to my phone with
this doll strapped to my chest.”
His eyes flickered to my chest again.
This time, I managed to limit my response to pure annoyance and snapped my fingers
in front of his face. “Eyes up here, bucko.”
“Fine, let me write it down for you.” He
tore a scrap of paper off something in his backpack and scribbled his number on
it. He pressed it into my palm, reviving that irritating shiver I got every
time he touched me. “I’m sure you’re just dying to conveniently misplace this,
but please wait until after the project is done.”
The slip of paper reminded me of the one
I found yesterday, but the bell rang before I could confront him about that. He
was gone, and I was left with an eight-pound computerized doll and a growing
sense of confusion when it came to Brett Pederson.
About Crista McHugh:
Crista McHugh is an
award-winning author of fantasy and romance who writes heroines who are smart,
sexy and anything but ordinary. She currently lives in the Audi-filled
suburbs of Seattle with her husband and two children, maintaining her
alter ego of mild-mannered physician by day while she continues to pursue
writing on nights and weekends.
She is an active member of the Romance Writers of
America
(including the Greater Seattle Chapter and the Seattle EastsideChapters), and Romance Divas.
Just for laughs, here
are some of the jobs she’s had in the past to pay the bills: barista,
bartender, sommelier, stagehand, actress, morgue attendant, and autopsy
assistant.
And she’s also a
recovering LARPer. (She blames it on her crazy college days)
Find Crista Online:
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