Be somebody’s hero.
That boy was me—Colby Brooks. Except I’m not that same little boy anymore.
My dreams might still be the same, but my reality isn’t.
I’m smarter. Stronger. A man.
And I learned a long damn time ago, the only way to achieve my dreams was to avoid distractions—at any cost.
Focus. Resolve. Determination.
But all it took was one single night. One night and my entire life…changed.
One night had me colliding head first with the biggest distraction of my life; Rory Oaks.
Smart. Charming. Beautiful.
Rory changed everything.
Quickly, my one-track mind started to bend.
Each kiss faded decade-long dreams.
And with one single incident, I fly off course.
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LOVE.
I absolutely LOVE this book. Although there's not a Meghan Quinn book I don't like, but there are some I like more, but I flat-out HEART this book and can't wait for the next book. I love how both Colby and Rory are portrayed: both broken but somehow they manage to bring some balance to the other. This isn't an insta-love type romance, but more of a slow-burn, old-fashioned, wooing type of romance. I love Rory's soul and Colby grabbed my heart and still hasn't let go and I want the best for him because he both needs and deserves only the best and purest of love. The only thing, the ONLY thing about this book that's got me a bit up in arms (not much, maybe like up in T-Rex arms), is the cliffhanger. Because that is one HELLUVA ending and I'm needing book 2 like now. NOW I say!
Head
turned down, pushing the sleeves of his white Henley up his arms, he swaggers
toward me. His jeans hang low on his hips, held up by the same brown belt he
wore the other night. His narrow waist directs my eyes to the center of his
jeans, and I can’t help wonder what might be behind the crotch of his pants.
And then
there is his chest. Barrel like, broad and prominent. His thick biceps showcase
his strength, and the fabric of his shirt stretches over his shoulders and forearms.
Having spent a lot of time at the gym, I’ve seen every body type, but Colby’s
is different. He’s strong, built, but not like a body builder. His body seems
to suggest the only kind of weight he’s been lifting is his own body, pushup
after pushup. I can’t imagine there being barbells in his workouts, but I can
imagine logs, cadets, and heavy machinery. He has working muscles, the kind you
earn from hard, dedicated work on the field. In a word? Impressive.
Walking
up to Stryder, he grips his friend’s shoulder and says something into his ear.
A smirk crosses Stryder’s face before he moves over to our side of the bowling
alley and takes Colby’s place.
Is he
leaving? Already?
Might as
well at this point. It’s not like he’s going to talk to me, not after my
pathetic attempt at a bet. I should have known I was going to hang out in the
gutter all night. It’s where I usually am when I’m bowling. I blame the ball.
The thing has a vendetta against me.
Sighing,
I prop my chin in my hand and watch Stryder expertly toss his ball down the
lane, getting a strike . . . once again. And just like every other strike, he
pumps his arm up in the air and celebrates. We get it, you’re good, no need to—
“Hey.”
That
voice . . .
Stunned,
eyes wide, not able to move, not wanting to scare him away, I keep my eyes
trained forward, soaking in that beautifully deep voice of his for a brief
moment before saying, “Hey.”
“Can I
sit here?”
Still
keeping my eyes trained forward, I say, “Sure.”
My body
tingles with awareness of how close he is to me, that fresh laundry scent
invading my senses, prickling the little hairs on my arm. My body leans toward
his, wanting a little more, searching for anything else he might give me. I don’t know why he’s choosing to engage me
in conversation, but I’m sure as hell not moving while he does.
“Sorry
about tonight,” he says and he actually sounds sincere.
“Why are
you sorry?” I mumble.
Reaching
around, he takes my cheek in his hand. The callouses on his palm rubbing
against my skin is a welcome sensation. As I’m turned toward him, I steady my
breathing. I’m having a hard time slowing my heart rate because of his close
proximity, and the unexpected touch shooting a wave of heat through my veins.
“I’m
sorry you didn’t get to ask me any questions. I didn’t think you were going to
suck that bad.” A playful smile tugs at his lips, and my heart sinks to the
floor. Oh God, he’s so gorgeous, especially when he smiles.
Matching
his smirk, I say, “I didn’t think I was going to suck that bad either.”
“I feel
bad.”
“You
should.” That garners a laugh, deep and throaty, the sound cloaking me like a
shield, protecting me from the outside world, bringing me into a little bubble
where we are the only two that exist.
“Ask me
a question.”
Shocked,
I swallow hard and say, “Really?”
He nods
and holds up his fingers. “You get three.”
“Oh,
three? Wow, I feel like you just gave me the key to your soul.”
Rolling
his eyes, he adjusts his stance on the barstool and leans back, giving us some
space, our knees still knocking into each other. “Easy killer; it’s just three
questions.”
“Yeah,
three questions I didn’t have before.” Tapping my chin, I try to think of good
questions, but now that I have him willing and waiting, nothing comes to mind.
I wasn’t prepared for this, he caught me off-guard, and now I feel I can’t be
strategic about my probing. “Hmm . . . what do you like to do on the weekends?”
“Jump,”
he answers.
Searching
his eyes, lips quirked, I say, “Uh, you’re going to have to be more specific
than that. What kind of jumping are we talking here? Like jump roping? Because
that seems kind of weird to do on the weekends, and if you tell me you’re in
some kind of jump-roping club at the academy, I’m not going to believe you.”
His lips
curve up as he scratches the side of his jaw. “Jump out of airplanes.”
Oh.
Oh.
That’s .
. .
Uh,
that’s really hot.
“So you
just casually jump out of airplanes?”
“I’m
part of the Wings of Blue, the academy’s parachute team. We jump every day, at
least two to three times a day after class and before dinner, depending on wind
and ceiling limits. On the weekends, some of the guys, including Stryder and
me, go to Springs East Airport and do civilian jumps. The more jumps we get in,
the higher the chance we’ll be considered for big demonstrations, like
parachuting into football games and major sporting events for the Rockies and
Broncos.” Ummmm. Did anyone else just
hear how many words he gifted me? And seriously? Does the man have no clue
how incredibly sexy he is when he talks about something he loves? The
expression on his face . . .
“Wow,
that’s . . . that’s really hot.” I chuckle. “Sorry, I don’t mean to fangirl
over your parachuting, but I guess I wasn’t expecting that answer. You just
jump out of planes?”
He
slowly nods. “Every day.”
“Anything
to get you up in the clouds, huh?”
“Yeah,” he answers shyly, rubbing his jaw. “Okay, next question.”
THE DOWNSIDE OF LOVE – July 5th
Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped. Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking. Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze! Facebook | Follow on Goodreads | Website | Amazon Author Page | Instagram | Follow on BookBub
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