Baseball Lover
Rose Croft
Publication date: November 14th 2018
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Rose

Sometimes life rears its ugly head and messes up your world.
I know too well. It happened to me five years ago when I lost my fiancé.
It took me awhile to get back on my feet, but I finally got my life in order.
Don’t commit. Don’t get attached. Guard your heart.
Seemed plausible…until a tall, dark and gorgeous man commands my attention.
He is the worst kind of temptation.
Funny, charming, and did I mention hot?
Every woman’s fantasy.
A professional baseball player.
Suit up heart because I have no desire to become one of his stats.

John

Sometimes life drops a little miracle right in front of you.
In the form of a beautiful goddess.
Who’s also intelligent.
Snarky.
Oh, and doesn’t fall for my bullshit.
In fact, I don’t even think she likes me.
That’s okay.
I’m an athlete, and I’m used to challenges.
You don’t make it as far as I have in my sport without having goals in mind.
I’ll pursue her like I’m pursuing the MVP award this season.
And, I will conquer.

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Author Bio:

Rose Croft is a wannabe poet and a writer in her own mind. She's a wife and mom to a beautiful daughter and lives her own happily ever after.

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I Know You Like a Murder
Amy L. Sauder
Publication date: October 23rd 2018
Genres: Adult, Mystery

A narrator always gets to know the reader before spilling their deepest secret.

I am a murderer.

She was just a silly nothing of a girl until I made her rise to fame. A pennything.

So, reader: sit down, cozy up. I’d offer a cup of tea, but you may worry it’s poisoned, and you may be correct.

But I can’t just tell you how she died. That’s too easy. Too quick. Buckle up: you’re in for a villainous monologue.

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EXCERPT:

The 5 W’s of Murder

A narrator always gets to know the reader before spilling their deepest secret.

I am a murderer.

She was just a silly nothing of a girl until I made her rise to fame. A pennything.

I imagine a dreary donut-glaze day at the station before I dropped murder in their laps. I’d like to say the coppers pounded down my door in their cliché little way, but really it was a nice rap-tap-tap. Like the children’s ditty: Skunk in the barnyard, pee-yew. Murder in the theater…for you…

Clueless buffoons, more accustomed to traffic control rather than detective work. I wasn’t considered suspect; for all intents and purposes, I was victim.

“Tell us what happened.” “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?” “Any odd or unusual behavior?” and the kicker: “Is there anyone who would have motive?”

“Don’t we all,” I said. “Don’t we all hold a reason to kill.”

I wasn’t much help. Why would I be? I divulged a dozen motives, to bait their sniffers a million directions, all but mine.

I don’t think they liked me all that much. Whatever. I wasn’t looking to impress. I was looking to distract. Once their curiosities turned elsewhere, I could move on to tell you, my now-avid readers, the story.

My story.

Our story.

If a tree falls in the forest and no one hears, does it make a sound? If a person is murdered and the tale is not told, did it happen?

And so, I have found my audience. Yes, you. Won’t you read my story, sleuth it out? I take the role of murderer, now you fancy yourself a detective.

Sit down, cozy up. I’d offer you a cup of tea, but you may worry it’s been poisoned, and you may be correct. But hold it, dear reader, don’t twist your shirt in a bundle before I give you all the pieces.

What: death, cold and sudden

Where: the most dramatic place for murder, the theater

When: the top of Act III, naturally

Who: Too many names, there are too many names in the world. I only remember the one girl. Don’t be indignant when you struggle to recall names, too.

No matter. I will choose some form of name to distinguish the lot. Let’s call them:

Madame Director,

Homeless Hag,

Facilities Hawk,

Villains 1 & 2,

Shy Boy,

Makeup Artist,

and Cami’s BFF.

But the one you’re waiting for: Camille. Or Cami now, to be more relatable, more likeable. Hear the sounds roll off your tongue: the name Cami skips playfully from your mouth, while the nasal sound of Camille bodes aloof, unapproachable. The name change is product branding or whatever.

She’s a washed up writer. Now scriptwriter and also, get this, leading lady. She scooped that right up, and Madame Director allowed it even though Cami has never performed on stage.

Why: Cami got one of the useless English degrees and expected it was worth something. Interned at a publishing company, but they wouldn’t look at her manuscript without an agent; and she couldn’t interest an agent though she had an in with a publisher.

She’d tell that sob story, then with a twinkle in her eye promise that this theatrical production would put us all on the map.

Hopeful.

Deluded.

But I would make her keep that promise.

Alibis are useless in this investigation, because all of us, of course, were at the theater when it happened. As for motive, don’t we all have something worth killing for?

If you were a Criminal Psychologist maybe you’d have this case wrapped up by now. Tell me, which of the listed characters am I, the murderer?

But statistically speaking, you likely aren’t a Criminal Psychologist, so here you are. Still reading. So many questions.

You know, you could hand this over to a Criminal Psychologist to solve. But I don’t think you will. Not now.

It’s not real, you say. It’s a book. And you’ll pore through this story looking for answers, intrigued by the tale, fascinated by death.

Okay, detectivize. Draw up a grid, write up characters and clues, cross off cleared suspects. Or whatever you crime buffs do. Maybe you have the cliché marker board to track your clues, or maybe you have the string linking ideas throughout a crime-solving room. You sure get off on this stuff, don’t you?

So let’s get to it. What I haven’t told you yet is How. But I can’t just tell you how she died. That’s too easy. Too quick. Buckle up: you’re in for a villainous monologue.

Author Bio:

Amy L. Sauder is a writer, educator, and creative. She has been called quirky meta mystery and walking fairytale. In her not-so-spare time, Amy coaches other writers and sells artistic fashion finds. While she has a degree in English, that has yet to land her amidst a murderous plot. Hopefully that doesn't change.

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If She Were Blind
Laney Wylde
(The After Twelve, #1)
Published by: Crimson Tree Publishing
Publication date: October 22nd 2018
Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance, Thriller

Not everyone can get justice the traditional way—that’s where Estlyn Collins comes in. A young lawyer in Santa Monica, her “legal” service, After Twelve, works outside the courtroom to tip the scales when the justice system has failed.

For a price.

Thanks to her powerful underground network, Estlyn’s success rate is stellar, and her inbox stays filled with inquires from the desperate and vengeful. But when one of those names is a ghost from her past seeking vengeance against her, she’s shaken to her core. Off balance and scared to be alone, she makes an impulsive move for a guy. He’s a complication she doesn’t have time for, but it turns out he may also be an unlikely—if unwitting—asset.

Treading the rapidly thinning line between personal and professional, Estlyn pursues her target while outrunning the one on her own back—only to find she may be running into a lot more than she bargained for.

IF SHE WERE BLIND is the first book in the engaging New Adult series AFTER TWELVE by author Laney Wylde. Perfect for fans of the television shows REVENGE, SCANDAL, and VERONICA MARS, the AFTER TWELVE Series is a gritty social-issue drama that delivers steamy romance, intrigue, and the most bittersweet revenge plots. Estlyn’s determination to right every wrong is sure to quench your thirst for justice, yet leave you wanting more.

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EXCERPT:

I glance past Dean’s shoulder as a man close to my dad’s age takes nervous steps closer and closer to Dean. Once he’s in his space, he taps his back. Dean whips around to face him. “Excuse me, are you Dean Martinez?”

His eyes are full of suspicion as he studies the stranger. “Um, why?”

“It’s Dwayne. We’ve been chatting on Match.com and are supposed to meet up here at seven.”

Dean’s shoulders slouch and his expression turns sympathetic. “Sweetie, you’ve been catfished.”

“Been what?”

“I’m Dean, but I’m not on any dating site.”

“Really? Because,” the older gentleman displays Dean’s dating profile on his phone for him, “you’re right here.”

Dean grabs the phone and starts scrolling through the profile. “‘Male seeking male, any race or religion, age fifty-five and older.’ Seriously? ‘I love me a sweaty old gay with that curly salt-and-pepper chest hair. The longer and curlier the better. I want it poking above those top shirt buttons. Oh, yeah, let it blow in the wind while we drive down PCH in your Lincoln sedan with the windows cracked. In search of someone I can raise a family of hypoallergenic, small breed dogs with, someone who doesn’t have all their original joints. I’m so over all these sexy twinks who just want me for my hot bod. Looking for a real man to settle down with, preferably in a gay-friendly, fifty-five and older community.’”

I can’t help but give Dean’s blind date a once over. The poor guy is buttoning the second to top button over his ungroomed, grey chest hair as Dean reads. His upper lip looks like the outside of a cold drink on a summer day. Dean gives him back the phone and drops his forehead into his hand. “Cal, did you let Estlyn go to the library?”

“Um…”

He glares at me then chastises, “Cal?”

“Yes?” How was I supposed to know she’d use a computer to catfish unsuspecting old gays?

He turns to the humiliated older gentleman with confident compassion. “Sorry, hon. My friend set you up. Best of luck to finding a man half your age to raise that family of dogs with.”

Author Bio:

Laney Wylde is enamored with all things southern California--the traffic, smog, surprise earthquakes, and nonindigenous palm trees. Consequently, it's the landscape her strong and sometimes lovable female leads paint their stories on. Her New Adult novels Never Touched and the After Twelve series are bright with provocative themes, steamy romance, and inappropriately timed humor.
When Laney isn't writing, she's singing Taylor Swift with her little boy or asking her husband not to tell her about his work as a surgical resident while she's eating. She daydreams about using her math degree to get into law school, then realizes that would be too much work and that she should just play pretend court on paper instead. While she loves a good book, nothing beats 30 Rock with a bag of popcorn and M&Ms.

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