Today is the release day blitz for Speed by BB Easton! Check it out and grab your copy today!
Title: SPEED
Author: BB Easton
Genre: New Adult Romance
Release Day: September 11th
About Speed
Because BB Easton had so much fun writing her bestselling, award-winning memoir, 44 CHAPTERS ABOUT 4 MEN, she decided to give each of her four men his own steamy standalone! SPEED is the second book in the 44 Chapters spin-off series—a gritty, taboo love triangle overflowing with dark humor and tangible teen angst. It is based on a true story.
After her possessive, psychopathic, rage-fueled ex, Knight, joins the Marines, sixteen-year-old BB is left trying, and failing, to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart. It isn't until she meets Harley James—an easy-going, tattooed mechanic with a face as angelic as his habits are sinful—that she learns how to live again. How to laugh again. But will she learn to love again?
Over Knight’s dead body.
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Exclusive Excerpt
It was love at first sight. A late ‘60s Mustang fastback
body style, matte black paint job, matte black rims, blacked out windows, and a
massive open-air scoop on the hood. It looked like something straight out of Mad Max.
“Can I help you with somethin’?”
I turned and met the amused stare of a broad shouldered,
baby-faced, blue-eyed mechanic. His dirty-blond hair was pushed back in a messy
pompadour. His forearms were covered in hot rod tattoos. His pouty bottom lip
was pierced. And his name was embroidered on the A&J Auto Body shirt
hugging his hard chest.
Hellooo, Harley.
“Sorry,” I sputtered. “I know I’m probably not supposed to
be back here, but I…” I looked back up at the beast on the lift and a deep
longing seized my chest. “I just can’t leave her.”
Harley—if that was even his real name—chuckled and said, “So,
you like the ladies, huh?”
“What? No!” I snapped.
“Good.” The mechanic smiled, and the twinkle in his
mischievous blue eyes reminded me just how
much I liked boys.
Trying to bring the subject back to cars and away from my
sexual orientation, I looked around the garage and pointed to my faded black
hatchback on the farthest lift. “I drive the baby version of this.”
Harley glanced over at my most prized possession and nodded
in approval. “Five-oh, huh? Not bad. Manual or automatic?”
“Manual,” I groaned.
“No shit? Your boyfriend teach you how to drive that thing?”
“No,” I said, letting my mouth hang open in pretend offense.
“Ah,” Harley nodded. “You met him after you got the car.”
“I don’t have a
boyfriend,” I said, rolling my eyes. I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to
keep from smiling. God, he was cute. The guy had a face like James Dean and a
body like Dean Cain. And that accent. Living in the south, Southern accents are
a dime a dozen, but Harley’s was just subtle enough to be cute. Cute, cute,
cute.
Harley smirked at me and asked, “Your old man must be a car
guy then, huh?”
“You got me,” I smiled. “I’ve been hoarding all his old Muscle Car
magazines since I was a kid. I used to cut out all the Mustang pictures and
tape them to my bedroom walls, but the tape fucked up the sheetrock so my mom
bought one of those clear plastic shower curtains with the photo pockets and—”
Harley held up a hand to silence me. “I’m gonna have to stop
you right there,” he beamed, “’cause right now all I can picture is you in the
shower and I’m pretty sure I’m not gonna be able to process another word you
say.”
Oh my God!
I could feel the prickly heat of a blush creeping up my
neck. I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep my face from splitting open into a
blotchy, big-toothed grin caused by his sexy little comment had caused. This
guy, Harley, had to be in his early
twenties, he was fiiiine as hell, and he was flirting with me.
Having no idea how to respond to that, I tried again to change the subject. “So, what
do you drive?”
“Hmm…” Harley tilted his head and smirked. “Why don’t you
take a guess?”
Oh, we’re playing
games now. Okay…
I tapped my lips with my fingertips and eyed him, thinking
hard.
“You strike me as a…Volkswagen Beetle kinda guy.”
Harley almost laughed, then quickly scowled, trying to look
offended.
“No? Oh, I got it. PT Cruiser.”
Harley pursed his ample lips, fighting back a grin.
“Wood-paneled Pinto?”
That one had him wrinkling his nose in genuine horror.
“Oh, I know—it’s a trick question! You drive a Vespa!”
Snort.
I was running out of ideas, so I looked around the shop and
spotted a ‘64 Impala lowrider. “Ooh! I found it. Right there,” I said, pointing
to the hoopty. “The gold rims were a nice touch. I bet you even put hydraulics
on it, didn’t you?”
Harley finally let out the laugh he’d been biting back. It
was deep and raspy and made my insides tingle. “You’re getting warmer,” he
said. “It’s actually on hydraulics right now.” Harley lifted an oil-smudged
finger and pointed to the matte black sex machine above my head.
(subject to change)
About the Author
BB Easton lives in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia with her long-suffering husband, Ken, and two adorable children. She recently quit her job as a school psychologist to write stories about her punk rock past and deviant sexual history full-time. Ken is suuuper excited about it.
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