From New York Times Bestselling author Tracy Wolff and International Bestselling author Katie Graykowski comes a sexy tale of love, laughter and lingerie …
Lyric Wright is an off-beat astrophysicist whose life is falling apart around her. After losing her fiancé to a hula dancing astrologer and losing her dress to an ill-fated leap of faith, she’s sure there’s nowhere for her life to go but up. At least until she sits down on a trans-Pacific flight next to the one man she never wanted to see again—the boy she’d lost her heart and her virginity too back before she’d learned that friendship and football don’t equal true love.
Broken down quarterback Heath Montgomery is on a plane ride to nowhere. Dodging the phone call he’s certain will end his professional football career for good, he might be Texas bound, but he knows there’s nowhere for him to go but down. But that’s before his childhood best friend and confidante plops back into his life wearing nothing but duct tape and a bad attitude. Determined not to lose her again (especially since he isn’t sure why he lost her the first time) and desperate to outrun his own shadowy future, Heath sets out to take Lyric on the ride of her life. Too bad she only dates men who actually know what her butterfly nebula is … and can find it without the help of a star chart.
Add in one passive-aggressive flight attendant with delusions of couture, a cherry red car with a crush on Neil Diamond, an over-protective sister with a black belt in Krav Maga, two parents determined to marry their spinster daughter off to the hometown hero no matter the cost, and a whole lot of lingerie popping up in all the right places at all the wrong times and you’ve got an unforgettable love story that fans of Susan Elizabeth Phillips and Rachel Gibson won’t want to miss!
Tre chose that moment to flounce down the aisle. He stopped at her seat, held a blanket out to her. “Here’s your cape, Wonder Woman. I thought you might be cold.” He glanced down at the shoes and purse she’d crammed into the seat pocket in front of her. “You need to stow those under the seat in front of you. In case of turbulence, the last thing Wonder Woman needs is a stiletto in the eye.”
“I couldn’t bend that far. The dress is too tight.”
“Whining is so unbecoming. Don’t you know we girls have been suffering for fashion for centuries?” But he reached forward and pulled the shoes out. “We’ll just store these overhead. No bending necessary.”
He flicked the blanket open, stood back debating his options, and then slid a corner into her cleavage like a huge napkin before tucking the rest around her. “Can I get you anything else?”
Lyric swallowed the lump in her throat, absurdly grateful for the fact that she’d somehow ended up on a plane with a flight attendant who was kind and benevolent in his own bitchy way. “A glass of water would be nice.”
He patted her shoulder. “Oh, honey, you’ve earned a lot more than a little H two uh-oh. I’ll be right back.” Beside her, the newspaper was shaking. She hoped it was laughter and not a seizure, but from this angle she couldn’t be sure. What was with this guy anyway? He made the Unabomber seem chatty.
Tre came back brandishing an entire basket of liquor bottles in one hand and a glass of ice in the other. “I didn’t think one would be enough. What would you like?”
Lyric eyed the display, thought of the long flight in front of her, and said, “Yes, please,” as she scooped the entire basket right out of his hand. “And a glass of cranberry juice when you get a chance.”
“Great idea. Give your liver a vitamin infusion before hitting the hard stuff … like breaking the fall from a tenstory building with a pillow. Just for fun, I’ll bring you some tomato juice too. I’d hate to have to slap your forehead later because you coulda had a V8.” He glanced at the newspaper. “Can I get you anything, big guy?”
The newspaper didn’t so much as quiver, but a muffled, “No, I’m good,” did float over the top of it.
“He’s famous,” Tre mouthed. He leaned down and whispered next to her ear, “Who knew a newspaper was so versatile? Reading material and shield from the hordes of comatose passengers who are even now leaping over the seats to get to him, pen in hand for autographs. It’s a good thing you’re duct-taped into that dress, Wonder Woman, otherwise you might jump him too.”
“Who is it? The Rock?” She would have eased up and peeked over the paper, but in this dress, easing was anything but easy.
The paper rattled angrily, and Tre’s eyes widened. “I don’t think he’s a WWF fan. I’ll get that cranberry juice now.”
Traitor. Lyric watched him hightail it down the aisle. Oh sure, he had no problem flouncing down here and riling up Mr. Uncongeniality, but the second things got a little tense, he left her to deal with the fallout. This was all she needed … a narcissistic, Rock-hating seatmate with a bionic knee and possession of HER armrest.
She opened a bottle of vodka. To hell with the cranberry juice. She couldn’t wait that long.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him lower the paper about halfway. She couldn’t see much from this vantage point, and after Tre’s latest stunt, she didn’t want to be too obvious. Famous people didn’t like being gawked at—or so she’d heard.
Under the guise of turning on her overhead light, she elbowed her way onto the armrest and tried to peek around the paper. It moved to block her view. This guy was cagey, but curiosity had been her guiding star—take that, Rob; she had stars too—for as long as she could remember. Since subterfuge wasn’t her strong suit, she shoved the basket his way. “There’s enough for two.”
He snorted. “It looks like there’s enough there for half the plane.”
Lyric froze, vodka bottle halfway to her lips. She knew that voice. And not from a Hollywood movie or TV show. No, she knew it because it was the last thing she’d heard before her heart had shattered like Humpty Dumpty—into so many pieces it could never be put back together again.
Lyric, a lovable genius nerd, lost her heart to Heath, football stud, years ago. He broke it. Misunderstanding? Yes. Trust issues? Yes. Kind of a second chance romance except she loved him, he loved someone else…Yes.
As Heath is facing the end of his football career, he reconnects with his childhood best friend, Lyric, on a plane back to their hometown. She’s covered in duct tape, the flight attendant has major attitude, and their adventures begin. He realizes he wants Lyric and has to convince her she’s it for him. It’s complicated…
Packed into this story, you have a car named Cherry Cherry who could give Christine a run for her money. Add in Heath’s manipulations, his ego, sexy lingerie, Lyric’s scary sister, her wonderful daddy and controlling mom, and game on!
The story moved quickly but was complete. Heath was a bigger than life character and his choices were the same. Lyric was his perfect opposite.
4 big stars! I wanted more! It was a sweet story. I did note his number was 9 but the jersey on that wonderful cover is 32. This was of course after I came down from my “ab” high. Also, I would have liked an epilogue, it would be the sprinkles on this yummy cupcake.
About the Authors:
Tracy Wolff collects books, English degrees and lipsticks and has been known to forget where—and sometimes who—she is when immersed in a great novel. At six she wrote her first short story—something with a rainbow and a prince—and at seven she forayed into the wonderful world of girls lit with her first Judy Blume novel. By ten she’d read everything in the young adult and classics sections of her local bookstore, so in desperation her mom started her on romance novels. And from the first page of the first book, Tracy knew she’d found her life-long love. Now an English professor at her local community college, she writes romances that run the gamut from contemporary to paranormal to erotic suspense.
And for all of those who want the unedited version:
Tracy Wolff lives with four men, teaches writing to local college students and spends as much time as she can manage immersed in worlds of her own creation. Married to the alpha hero of her dreams for twelve years, she is the mother of three young sons who spend most of their time trying to make her as crazy as possible.
Tracy Wolff also writes as Tessa Adams
I write romantic comedy with lots of heart. I like scuba diving, Mexican food, chocolate cream cheese frosting, movies where lots of stuff gets blown up, and sparkly things. I have a husband, a daughter, and three K-9 kids. I’d love to hear from you. Shoot me an email at email@example.com