Crista McHugh
CONFESSIONS OF A QUEEN B*
Releasing: July 28th, 2015
Blurb:
Alexis Wyndham is the other type of Queen B—the Queen Bitch.
After years of being the subject of ridicule, she revels in
her ability to make the in-crowd cower via the exposés on her blog, The
Eastline Spy. Now that she's carved out her place in the high school hierarchy,
she uses her position to help the unpopular kids walking the hallways.
Saving a freshman from bullies? Check.
Swapping insults with the head cheerleader? Check.
Falling for the star quarterback? So not a part of her plan.
But when Brett offers to help her solve the mystery of who’s
posting X-rated videos from the girls’ locker room, she’ll have to swallow her
pride and learn to see past the high school stereotypes she’s never
questioned—until now.
Pre-Order Buy links:
About Crista McHugh:
Crista McHugh is an award-winning author of fantasy and
romance who writes heroines who are smart, sexy and anything but ordinary. She
currently lives in the Audi-filled suburbs of Seattle with her husband and two
children, maintaining her alter ego of mild-mannered physician by day while she
continues to pursue writing on nights and weekends.
She is an active member of the Romance Writers of America
(including the Greater Seattle Chapter and the Seattle EastsideChapters), and
Romance Divas.
Just for laughs, here are some of the jobs she’s had in the
past to pay the bills: barista, bartender, sommelier, stagehand, actress,
morgue attendant, and autopsy assistant.
And she’s also a recovering LARPer. (She blames it on her
crazy college days)
Find Crista Online:
http://www.cristamchugh.com/wordpress/
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3035791.Crista_McHugh
https://www.facebook.com/CristaMcHugh
https://twitter.com/crista_mchugh
http://www.amazon.com/Crista-McHugh/e/B004C6F86Y/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1434738454&sr=8-1
Excerpt
“By the way, I brought something from home that you might
find helpful.” He pulled a black contraption from his backpack. “This is an
infant carrier—very useful when you want to keep your hands free while carrying
the baby.”
I tried to make sense of all the straps and fasteners, but
after a few seconds, I was completely lost. I gritted my teeth. I would have to
ask Brett for help. “How does it work?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” He looped two of the straps around my
shoulders and snapped them into place. “The X goes in the back, and the pouch
goes in the front like so. Then, you put the baby here and lock into place.”
Five seconds later, the doll was pressed against my chest,
and Brett was conveniently helping it rest its head comfortably on my boobs.
And much to my horror, I kind of liked him standing this close to me, touching
that part of my body. It was far from actual groping, but every little brush of
his fingers sent a little shiver through me. I was running dangerously close to
giving into my hormones and letting him continue.
I slapped his hands away before it was too late. “Hands
off!”
He backed away, hands up in front of him. “What? You have a
nice rack.” His gaze lingered on that part of my anatomy. “In fact, I’m a
little envious of Junior there.”
“I can’t believe you just said that.” I turned around and
tried adjusting the doll so it wasn’t being smothered in my cleavage. The
reprieve also gave me a moment to pull myself together. My cheeks were still
burning from the realization that I was suffering from a bad case of
Brett-itis. “Actually, I can. You’re a bonehead jock who’s too busy thinking
with his dick.”
“God gave men both a brain and a penis and only enough blood
to use one at a time,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Well, start thinking with your other head before I take the
lower one out of commission.”
“And we’re back to the ball-busting.” The amused glint in
his dark brown eyes told me he’d witnessed my moment of weakness, that he saw
the flush that still lingered in my face (and other parts of my body I refused
to acknowledge). “So, back to getting your phone number…”
I closed my eyes to clear my head. “Just for exchanges,
right?”
“Sure, if that’s what you want.”
“Yes.” So far, every conversation I’d had with Brett ended
with me alternating between wanting to punch him in the face or jump his bones.
“No worries.” When I opened my eyes, he was focused on his
phone. “Anytime now.”
I gave him my number, which he entered into his contacts.
Part of me wanted to snicker. How pissed off would Summer be once she
discovered my number in his phone?
“Do you want my number?” he asked when he was done.
“Kind of hard to get to my phone with this doll strapped to
my chest.”
His eyes flickered to my chest again. This time, I managed
to limit my response to pure annoyance and snapped my fingers in front of his
face. “Eyes up here, bucko.”
“Fine, let me write it down for you.” He tore a scrap of
paper off something in his backpack and scribbled his number on it. He pressed
it into my palm, reviving that irritating shiver I got every time he touched
me. “I’m sure you’re just dying to conveniently misplace this, but please wait
until after the project is done.”
The slip of paper reminded me of the one I found yesterday,
but the bell rang before I could confront him about that. He was gone, and I
was left with an eight-pound computerized doll and a growing sense of confusion
when it came to Brett Pederson.
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