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The Darkest Chase
-- EXCERPT: “You saved me in your phone as Vampire Man?” I raise both brows. “Um.” Talia freezes, looking at me sheepishly with her phone clutched in both hands. “…guilty,” she whispers with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry?” “Uh-huh.” I lean back on my hands, just watching her. “Why did you do that?” “I just… you know, the first time we met—” “You mean when I gave you mouth-to-mouth in the middle of town? After your asthma attack,” I growl. Her face flashes pink. She swallows loudly, nodding. “Yeah. That time. It sorta felt like waking up from a dream. This beautiful man with sharp teeth and a red mouth hovering over me… I used to be a huge Anne Rice nerd. And Grandpa had me watching old Dark Shadows reruns from the time I was five.” “Uh-huh.” I never take my eyes off her. She’s squirming now, and there’s a predatory pulse in my heart that loves every bit of it. “Have you thought about my teeth, Talia? Do you want to be marked?” “Marked? O-oh.” Breathy, soft, and she’s already saying yes without really saying a single word. She can’t look away as her eyes gleam. “Maybe. I mean, you bit me before… but you were being gentle.” “That’s not a yes or a no,” I tease. Leaning forward, I prowl toward her. Every last little vulnerable thing about her jumps out at me. One minute, she’s this innocent angel who warms me with a light I can’t describe, who makes me feel like if I wanted, I might learn how to have a life again. The next minute, she’s prey, plain and simple. Her nostrils flare. Her breathing quickens. When she trembles again, I’m gone. Forever lost in this woman. My inner beast inhales deeply, stuck on her scent. Vanilla heaven. All mine for the taking. Closer. Closer, every slow movement makes her tremble more until I’m right there. She whimpers as I stop, almost nose to nose with her, our eyes locked. There’s more than rich vanilla rising off her now. This aromatic sweetness, heady and sharp. 
GIVEAWAY! --
The Echo on the Water
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: ROSIE When the show is over everyone gets up to leave, as do I, but Amon stays right where he is. Obviously waiting for me. I make my way to the end of the row and stand before him, his eyes dancin’ a little. “Amon.” “Rosie.” “Are you here for me?” “I am.” “Oh. I see. Well. What can I do for you?” “I asked you to go bowling last night.” “You did.” “You turned me down.” “That’s right.” “Well, I was wondering if it was just bad timing or if it was me.” I let out a breath. “Why are you wondering that?” “Why?” His eyebrows shoot up. “Because if it was bad timing, I’m gonna ask you again. But if you don’t like me, I’ll move on.” “That’s very forthcoming of you.” “Thanks. I like to be forthcoming.” He’s talking with a straight face, but I’m smiling pretty big right now. “Well, can I think about this a little bit?” “Can you define ‘little bit?’” I smile bigger. “You’re flirtin’ with me.” “Why does that surprise you? You flirt with everyone.” “Well, yeah. But that’s me. You’re… you.” “What are you saying? I’m not flirty?” “Are you flirty?” He smiles now. But he narrows his eyes too. “Should I ask again? Or should I move on?” “If I say move on, will you truly move on? Or will you try again?” His smile grows. “Try again.” “Then I’m gonna tell you to move on.” He nods, still smiling, then leans forward. “By the way, I read your little paper. Not the one you gave me, but the one from last week. My sisters had a copy.” “Oh, right. They do the Revival marketing and I’m part of the marketing now.” “I like it.” “Which part? The whole idea of it? Or just the vibe?” “The writing.” I nearly giggle. “You like the ads?” “Yeah. I’m kinda jealous of Robust and Hearty because I like his taste in women. And I was thinking that the woman he described sounded a little bit like you.” I nearly guffaw. I manage to hold it in, but my cheeks get hot and I know I’m probably turning bright red. “You fancy a…” I pause to think back on what kind of partner Robust and Hearty was looking for. “A courageous and resilient woman who is ready to embrace the thrills and trials of a life less ordinary?” Amon nods. “I do.” “Well.” I pull myself together. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Amon Parrish. But I am not looking for a man at the moment. I am quite happy with my life as it is.” He nods at me. Pretends to take off an imaginary hat and bows a little. And even though he’s not in costume—he’s wearing his usual outfit of black tactical pants and black t-shirt—I picture him in one. “Well, then,” he says. “I will leave you to your day. But I’ll see ya around, Rosie Harlow.” I nod back. “See ya around, Amon Parrish.” He turns and walks out, not even looking back. But I’m not unhappy about that because he already told me that he’s gonna try again. I am being courted. By Amon Parrish, of all people. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Sparks Ignite
Only 99c for a limited time! -- EXCERPT: Charles’ showing up has shaken me. I nervously fumble with my dress, trying to hide the embarrassment that’s bubbling inside me. I never would have thought Charles would do something so desperate. After he claimed we were too different and I was beneath him, I would have thought he would have moved on. He and Nat seem perfect for one another. They were both on the same level. The level where you’re in between childhood and adulthood. You still think of only yourself before others. Yeah, that one. Jay more than handled the problem and for that, I’m relieved. I’m not sure if he could see how upset I was or if it was a chance for him to get his hands dirty with blood. Something tells me he enjoys intimidating others along with beating the crap out of them. Speaking of the devil himself, he struts back into the tent with a smile that I could only describe as amusement. I’m sure his size makes him feel like King Kong. He’s standing around six-one, but his muscles are larger than most of the men I’ve ever seen. Other than one other man. I’ve had the pleasure of being pressed up against. “Are you okay?” Jay asks. I nod, but I know I’m not. I don’t know how to feel. The D.J. taps on the microphone getting everyone’s attention, “I want to introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Joel Huntingburg!” The music cranks up as Macy and Joel walk in holding hands and dancing onto the dance floor. Everyone claps and it seems the outburst is forgotten as the evening kicks in. After the newlywed couple cuts the cake, everyone takes their seat and I know it’s my time to make my speech. Tapping my glass, I stand up, “I want to make a toast,” holding up my glass I continue. “To the new couple. May your marriage be filled with happiness, and your hearts filled with love, and Macy, may you never have to call Bob again to do Joel’s handy work,” I wink at Macy and she laughs with a few others knowing exactly what the hell I’m referring to. Everyone cheers, “Here, here.” A few hours later, when the non-partiers go home, the lights go dim and the atmosphere changes to more of a club style vibe. When couples make their way to the dance floor, I stay planted in my chair, not bothering to look up. Concentrating on the napkin in my hands, I twist and pick it apart. I should get up and socialize with the other bridesmaids who have all gathered at the edge of the dance floor, talking in a deep conversation, but I don’t have it in me. My body is tired from these past two weeks of running around gathering and collecting items for this beautiful event. When April, the girl I can’t stand, turns to her left and smiles at someone, I crane my neck to see who’s got her attention. I jump when someone’s breath fans my skin. “I need a dance,” the deep voice says. “You owe me a date.” Jay. My cheeks heat with discomfort. I really don’t know why I agreed to go out with him. His good looks and bad boy persona make me want to run away. I can’t visualize him as being husband material. A good fuck, of course. He’s everything you would want sweating over you, but I’m not looking for a good fuck, so why did I agree? Sliding my chair back, I stand, only to face Jay as he softly wraps his hand around my waist, pulling me out of the dance floor. The music changes to a slower beat and I place my hands on his shoulders. I’m about to step into his embrace when my body is jerked backwards. I gasp when I stumble up against something solid. My body instantly melts. There’s one person who my body has ever melted for, Colt. “Your body remembers me, hmm?” He brushes his lips against my ear. “Does your pussy remember my fingers, or should I reintroduce them?” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Fire Called
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: The Appalachians are ancient—they existed millions of years ago, before the continents separated. They have stories aplenty to tell those who will listen to the pines sway in the wind, to the howls of the coyotes, and to the stories wildflowers tell when they bloom, each a different shape and color as the weather warms and cools in the spring. It takes practice, sure. And there are those with gifts, like Virginia—the youngest of seven daughters—who have a special affinity for those conversations. The sky was overcast, the air was thick with the scent of rain, and the birds chattered warnings about the impending storm on Ember’s first day in the field. Today’s goal was to survey the area to prepare for future outings. She had convinced Nicole she could handle the woods alone. And Nicole, ever trusting, had granted her the autonomy she craved. Ember reveled in the solitude of the mountains. She relished the freedom to explore at her own pace, unburdened by the presence of others. But then she heard a voice she didn’t recognize. “Emberly,” it said. She neither saw anyone nor was sure where it was coming from. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d heard her name called by someone—or something— she couldn’t see. It wouldn’t be the last either, especially with the amount of time she’d be in the woods after dark. She knew what the tales said about those who acknowledged such voices with words or action; it was best to ignore it. In the early daylight, it was less likely to succeed at harming her. It was also loud enough it was probably far away. Still, spirits gossiped, and she didn’t want a reputation for being gullible. It kept talking to her anyway. “Emberly Jane Whitmore, you have a debt to repay.” The “debt” mention gave her pause. It was unwise to talk to spirits you couldn’t identify, especially in the woods. Then again, it was unwise to promise yourself to the spirits, too. Ma had warned Ember about that a thousand times and about the consequences that befell those who promised themselves and attempted to evade payment. “What do you want me to do?” she asked, directing the question nowhere in particular just in case. “I’m supposed to be working.” “This is the work,” the voice said cryptically. “Again, what exactly are you asking me to do? Shed my blood on a rock?” “You will know when you know. But consider this your summons. When the time comes…” The spirit voice? Confusing as shit. And not at all helpful. “When the time comes, I what?” “Be ready to meet your betrothed.” 
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #Her Fake Boyfriend by Heatherly Bell #Contemporary Romance @Xpresso Book Tours24/7/2024
Her Fake Boyfriend
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: “There you are, Boo!” Michelle ran over and threw her arms around him. Finn seemed to freeze in place, his arms remaining where they’d been at his side. “Huh?” “Please,” she hissed in his ear. “Go along with this and I’ll make it worth your while.” “Go along with what?” “Long story, I’ll explain later. For now, pretend you’re my boyfriend.” Hands on her waist, he set her back a step, eyes narrowed. “Have you been drinking?” “No. I wish! Listen, there’s someone here I need to impress.” “With me?” He quirked a brow. “Well, you’ll do.” He scowled. “I’m not interested in pretending. I know you’re a lawyer and this is your life but the rest of us don’t lie to people daily. Excuse me.” He tried to step aside but she grabbed him by the lapels of his navy peacoat and planted a kiss on him. Nothing too crazy as she wasn’t big on PDA especially when she actually knew people were watching. Arthur hadn’t taken his eyes off them since she ran over here. Still, Finn’s lack of resistance surprised her. So did the buzz through her body. Finn was not a terrible kisser, as it turned out. And dear Lord he smelled good. When she broke the kiss Finn was staring at her with mossy green eyes. It was a look that said he thought she should be committed to the nearest mental hospital, and the idea made him a little sad. Well, she could work with that. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Wormwood
Only 99c for a limited time! -- EXCERPT: I hastily threw the saddle on Hero and was up and riding before anyone in the group had a chance to ask me what was wrong. With my pulse thundering in my ears, I pushed the horse, leapt over crevasses and rode hard in a wide circle around the camp, scouring both sides of the stream and looking fiercely for anything that might indicate where my three friends had gone. But after a thorough, fruitless scout of the countryside, I began to slow my pace, the gravity of what may have transpired sinking in like a corrosive poison. “Tiamat!” I screamed, my voice laced with venom. “What have you done with them? Where are they?” I turned the horse and scanned the gray skies but could see nothing. “Show yourself, you son-of-a-bitch!” And he did. Tiamat appeared as a speck on the western horizon. White wings spread out behind him, he grew larger by the second as he neared our location. And all around him, pacing his approach and stretching wide across the sky, rolled towering black clouds, thick and heavy with impending rain. With my heart hammering in my chest, I kicked Hero into motion and raced back to the camp, watching Death approach on silent wings. He was incredibly fast—we reached the camp at almost the same moment—Tiamat, a vulture circling overhead while I thundered in on my horse. There was a loud clang as the stew pot fell and splattered into the dirt. The group’s hunger was replaced by awe as they took in this supposed heavenly sign. They stood frozen, gawking at Tiamat in wonder and ignorance. Obviously unaware of the danger they faced, they looked expectantly at him, believing, perhaps, that mercy would come from above. It did not. Like a warning, rain began to fall in a steady drizzle. It gathered and beaded on our upturned faces, and dripped from Tiamat’s wings and body as he circled overhead. I watched him closely, my limbs shaking from anger and adrenalin. Keeping my eyes glued to his still passive movements, I slid from Hero’s saddle and scooped up the crossbow—Tiamat’s crossbow, actually. But while I loaded a bolt and cocked it, Tiamat matched my ante and calmly pulled out a knife. I was confused by this move at first. He could kill us in any number of ways; quickly and effortlessly. Why use a blade? I moved to the center of the throng, trying to protect the others by maintaining a simple proximity to them. “Keep close to me,” I told them. “He’s come here to kill us.” A few of the group moved in toward me, but most looked at me like I was insane. Nellie and the tattered-looking business woman, whose name I had learned was Jennifer, actually stepped a few paces away, as if to show this celestial being they did not share my sentiment. “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. What was I to do? Did they think he was going to bless them with his knife? “If you want to slaughter them, you’ll have to kill me too!” I shouted at him. My hands shaking, I aimed the crossbow up into the drizzle. Tiamat didn’t respond and made no move toward us, but instead brought the edge of the knife to his bared wrist. He held it there for a moment, appearing to exert pressure with the blade, and I lowered the crossbow in shock. “Tiamat, don’t…” I gasped. With a swift, violent movement, he slashed his left wrist deeply and the blood pumped out like a river, running down his arm as he held his gashed limb above his head. Wasting no time, Tiamat flew straight up into the drizzling sky, gaining height at an incredible speed. Then he ceased flying and immediately began tumbling downward, plummeting as he deliberately smeared the blood from his wrist across the feathers of his right wing. At the last moment, he pulled out of the free fall and swooped above our heads, scattering bloody water droplets onto our upturned faces. “Oh … oh shit!” I cried, realizing what he was doing. There was something with his blood … what was it about his blood? I raised the crossbow again, watching as he tightly bound his wounded left wrist while he circled us, flinging blood from his wings with every beat. I had to shoot him … I had to… My hands were slippery on the crossbow and my eyes blurred with tears. With quick, angry swipes, I dragged my arm across my eyes to clear them, and tried to aim again. I had him in my sights; he was about to slice into his right wrist—all I had to do was pull the trigger. I could feel the tears running freely now as a sob escaped my throat. The crossbow shook, but I fought to hold it steady, and focused my aim on his chest, the only way I could be sure…
GIVEAWAY! --
Realm of Dreams and Destiny
-- EXCERPT: Ezerick’s POV She was, in every way, an enigma––a beautiful witch who appeared from the shadows, capturing my heart and imagination. And leaving me forever changed. The witch with chestnut hair and vibrant green eyes has been appearing to me for five years. Each visit is our shared secret, a hidden world that unfolds within the confines of the empire grounds. She meets me in the courtyard, gardens, and stable, always under the veil of secrecy. She believes I’m a knight in the emperor’s service because it’s what I’ve allowed her to believe. Perhaps it’s the way she often finds me in training, always clad in golden armor. Or maybe it’s the way I carry myself with the discipline and bearing of a soldier. In her eyes, I see a mixture of curiosity and innocence. It’s a wonder that the harsh realities of our worlds have not marred what we share. She speaks to me of her life, her dreams, her fears. But never once has she asked about my lineage. Never once has she voiced suspicions that I’m more than what I appear to be. To her, I’m a knight. Not the crown prince. Not the heir to the empire. There’s a simplicity in that identity, a freedom that allows me to be someone other than the person everyone else expects me to be. With her, I’m not burdened by the weight of the crown, the expectations of an empire or the gaze of a demanding father. Our conversations meander through topics both mundane and magical. She speaks of her world, a place of beauty and enchantment, so different from the structured life I lead. Her tales are a balm to my soul, providing a respite from the rigors of my princely duties. Yet with each visit, a part of me aches with the guilt of deception. I long to tell her the truth and reveal who I am, but fear holds me back. I’m afraid of losing the connection and bond we share. The truth could tear us apart. I don’t know how I might cope with losing her and what we have. So I remain silent, cherishing each moment we have, living in the stolen time of our secret encounters. In her presence, I find a peace I never knew I needed. It’s a connection that transcends the boundaries of our respective worlds. As the crown prince and future emperor, my life is filled with duty and expectation. But with her, I’m just a young man caught in the spell of a beautiful young witch. Sometimes I wonder if she ever looks at me and sees beyond the armor and guise of a soldier. Does she ever glimpse the prince hidden beneath the golden metal? Does she sense the lineage coursing through my veins or the destiny that awaits me outside our secret meetings? The connection we share has grown beyond mere friendship. I’ve found a confidante in her, a kindred spirit who understands me in ways that others can’t. Our conversations drift from the mundane to the profound, each word a thread in the intricate web of understanding and acceptance we’ve built. In the quiet moments we share, I often catch myself marveling at the ease with which we interact. There’s an effortless flow in our conversations, a rhythm as natural as the ebb and flow of the tides. She listens with a depth that makes me feel heard in the truest sense, her responses thoughtful and genuine. There’s a vulnerability in our interactions and a mutual openness that has grown. I’ve revealed hidden parts of myself I’ve kept guarded from the world, and shared fears and dreams that I’ve never voiced aloud. In return, she’s entrusted me with her own inner thoughts, her hopes and her sorrows. The ability to be my truest self with her is liberating and poignant. In her company, I find a sense of peace and belonging that eludes me in my royal life. She’s become a sanctuary and haven where I can lay down the burdens of my title and just be me. This witch who’s cast a spell over my heart… I like her more than I ever thought possible. And lately, I’ve grappled with a startling realization. I might have fallen in love with her. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Stranded and Seduced
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- DEAR READER Dear Reader, When I was invited to be a part of the Diamond Club series with Harlequin Presents, I was thrilled. When I learned that my romance was going to be inspired by Beauty & the Beast, I nearly shrieked. This fairy tale is one of my favorites, and the first movie I ever saw in theaters (well, a third of it—my father had to take me out because I kept screaming at the wolves!). Writing Griffith and Rosalind’s love story, set against the backdrop of the Normandy coast, was a dream come true. Recreating the Beast’s castle, and adding a major dash of spice to a tale as old as time, was so much fun. I loved researching French chateaus, especially the Château de Gudanes in southern France. This restored home was not only a physical inspiration but a personal wonder as I learned how much restoration the castle has undergone in recent years. It was a treat describing the French retreat Griffith and Rosalind find themselves trapped in as they finally succumb to the attraction simmering between them. I hope you enjoy reading their love story. Have a wonderful summer, and happy reading! Love, Emmy -- EXCERPT: Griffith Lykaois traced a finger over the scar that cut through his right eyebrow, skimmed the corner of his eye, and sliced over his cheek. Another scar stretched from the side of his mouth down to his chin, surprisingly smooth to the touch. Still a visible angry red slash even when he combed his beard to cover it. As he sat in the leather high-back chair by the balcony doors, a glass of whiskey within reach, he could picture his ghoulish visage in his mind as if he was looking in a mirror. The past eleven months had faded the scars to dull pink. But time hadn’t dimmed the memory of the first time he’d seen himself. Stitches crisscrossing the fresh wounds. Eyes bloodshot and unfocused from the medication they’d pumped into him. “Monstrous.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Mating Season
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: I start to move off the dance floor when someone comes up behind me. A male someone. My first instinct is to have an embarrassing freak out… but he smells… wow he really smells good. What is that? It’s strong yet subtle at the same time. Warm, musky. But also mossy. But somehow in a good way. I’m not sure I’m describing it right. I’m not sure mere words could convey it. And the solid warmth of him pressed up against my back feels… comforting somehow. His hands skim my sides to land on my hips as he urges me to move with him. His erection grinds shamelessly against my backside as his arm wraps around my waist, urging me to press harder against his length. It’s a heady cocktail of that powerful scent, pure masculine strength, sensuous movements, and stark primal possession. He hasn’t spoken a word to me, and given recent traumatic events, I should be panicked, but all I feel is calm—and other things I’m going to ignore. Dark animal things. I’m hit with a bolt of such overwhelming lust that suddenly I want this man more than anything I’ve ever wanted. I want him to hike up my skirt and fuck me right here in the middle of the dance floor. I want him to put me on my hands and knees and drive into me from behind in front of all these people—sweaty, writhing hot bodies that could never compete with the inferno building between us. I feel hot and cold all at once and the arousal between my legs thumps heavy with the beat of the music. The pornographic images flitting through my mind only grow stronger the longer we dance. If you could call this dancing. One of his hands has moved up to grip the front of my throat, holding me in place against him as he brings us impossibly closer. His other hand starts to slide up my thigh, under my dress, between my legs, his fingers barely brushing against the heat and wetness of my panties. And then my fear starts to edge out my lust. No! I can’t let this happen. Forgive me if I don’t want to just jump back out there and let a man touch me after… the woods. It’s normal to feel a bit of disgust toward all men when one tries to hurt you like that. It almost feels shameful to let any man touch you ever again. So why the fuck am I letting this stranger so close? Why am I rewarding any man for the bad behavior of his kind? Bad behavior I have personally suffered. I don’t know him. He could be a fucking serial killer. I come back to my senses and pull away. He grabs me and pulls me back to him, and instead of more fear, I feel a kind of rage I’ve never felt before. I stomp down HARD on his foot with my heel. He lets out a yelp, and releases me. “Rosalie, wait!” I shouldn’t be able to hear him over the noise of the club, but I do. I turn around, and there’s Cooper. I shouldn’t be surprised. Didn’t some small part of me subconsciously just know? It’s why I didn’t look back at him—just let him be a stranger, because the stakes are far too high with him as he really is. He’s wearing jeans and a black T-shirt that pulls tight over his muscles. His tattoos wind down his arms, ending just above his hands. Those warm brown eyes… that closely shaven beard… No. Absolutely not. His agenda might not look as bad on the surface as the guy from the woods, but it still involves his fucking boner… and controlling me. No. I’m not his mate. I’m not dealing with this alpha bro You belong to me, bullshit. I’m not going to just swoon into his arms because he’s pretty and saved me, as though a man doing the decent thing somehow now obligates me to give all my freedom away to him. Men really are just living on an entirely different planet. And he doesn’t get to just decide any of this. I fight to get through the crowd on the dance floor, but his hand is around my wrist before I can get away. “Let GO of me!” A few people start to notice the conflict and back away, and I see a bouncer eyeing us. I’m pretty sure even as large as the bouncer is, that Cooper could take him. He holds his hands up in surrender and takes a step back. “Just talk to me. I just need to talk to you.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Broken Fortune
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: “How much money did you get?” Paul drops in, trying not to seem as outright aggressive as my other siblings but still trying to ferret out the information. “It was nothing,” I say, trying to shut this conversation down. “Oh, it wasn’t nothing,” Benjamin says. “It was over five million dollars.” Everyone at the table looks ready to either spill their drink, fall off their chair, or turn me upside down to try and shake the five million out of my pockets. “Can I have some?” Winnie says, shifting her attention for the first time this evening from my father to me. “No,” Benjamin says sternly to Winnie. “Your mother is giving that back.” “What about,” Paul says, daring to get between Benjamin and his money, “if you give us all five million dollars, so Lizzie doesn’t feel so alone. I mean…I’m sure my mother left something for all of us and Lizzie’s just came through first.” “No,” Benjamin says. “Lizzie won’t feel alone when I have it back. Because none of you are getting any extra money. Everything that was Kate’s is now mine. That’s what we decided. And upon my death—which should be noted, won’t be happening anytime soon—you will all receive the entire inheritance split into five.” “Wait,” Paul says, clearly upset. “Wait. She’s our mother. Mine. I’m her son. I mean, no offense to your kids Benjamin, but me…and Julian, we should get something now. Not have to wait until you die. You’re not my father.” Paul’s words visibly cut through Benjamin, like an unexpected knife in the back. Even I can’t help but wince on his behalf—considering he’s spent the last thirty-three years trying to convince Paul he’s a reasonable, viable father. Meanwhile, he’s made not one corresponding overture in my direction, relegating me to the status of just an afterthought that will always linger… 
GIVEAWAY! -- |
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