Book Blitz, Excerpt + Giveaway: Lovers Like Us by Krista & Becca Ritchie
8:30 AMFor those of you who are new to my blog, you should know that their Addicted and Calloway Sisters novels have defined my twenties in the same way that Harry Potter, The Hunger Games and The Mortal Instruments defined my teenage years. And that's kind of a big deal.
If you haven't read any of their books yet, now is the time. You won't regret it. I've said it once and I'll say it until I'm blue in the face, I adore them and the way they explore the complexities of life and love and true-to-life issues.
Now's the chance to learn more about them, this series or just to catch up. We've got a fucking brilliant giveaway going for you guys that you don't want to miss. So follow the cut!
And don't forget to purchase the book and send your congratulations to the amazing duo for another fantastic installment.
Lovers Like Us by Krista & Becca Ritchie Like Us, #2
Publication Date: October 31, 2017Genres: New Adult, Contemporary, Romance
Proactively waiting isn’t my thing. I can admit that. So when Farrow unwraps a piece of gum and tugs open the fridge, I ask him, “Need help?”
He chews his gum slowly and glances at me in a way that reminds me he’s twenty-seven. I’m twenty-two, and he’s more than capable to do shit himself.
Farrow starts to smile. “It’s cute that you think I need help getting eggs.” He grabs a carton and kicks the fridge closed.
“You could’ve dropped the fucking eggs.” I’m fighting a stupid battle. And I grimace-smile which makes me want to poke my own eyes out.
Farrow pops his gum. “You mean you would’ve dropped the eggs.”
“Did I? Pretty sure I meant you could’ve.”
Farrow sets the carton by the sink. “I have steadier hands than you.” He leans close and whispers huskily, “You’re not beating me at this.”
I shake my head on instinct. When it comes to Farrow, boyfriend or not, I don’t want to concede that fast. “It’s not proven yet.”
He rolls his eyes into a smile. “Hold out your hand.”
I extend my hand, palm-down. Wondering how he can discern any shake just by sight.
Farrow rotates my wrist. “Like this.” And then he smashes an egg right in my palm.
Don’t smile at him. Don’t smile at him. “Thanks for that,” I say sarcastically, hand dripping in broken eggshell and yolk.
“Anytime.” He laughs, and I act quickly and wipe the runny egg onto his black V-neck, feeling the ridges of his six-pack beneath.
Farrow props his elbows on the sink and actually lets me use his shirt as a towel, even while he’s wearing the thing. Christ.
He’s a Grade A sexy asshole.
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