Ready to get a sneak peek at THE HOOKUP by Erin McCarthy, coming May 8th?
Check out an excerpt below and pre-order your copy now!
About THE HOOK UP
Is there an equation for the perfect hookup? Turns out it’s a lot more complicated than one plus one. . . .
Sophie: Numbers are my comfort zone, which explains why my sex life is a big fat zero. Then again, if I’m smart enough to earn a PhD, why can’t I calculate a way to get a guy into bed, just to see what all the fuss is about? With my prima donna sister, Bella, getting married in Maine, I figure her wedding is the perfect opportunity for my little experiment. And Cain Jordan seems hot enough—he’s certainly drunk enough—to show me what I’ve been missing. Judging by the body of evidence, it’s a lot. . . .
Cain: Being stuck in the same town as my lying SOB twin brother, Christian—who may or may not be the father of the son I’m not allowed to see—is a hell of a reason to drink myself silly after the lobster boat docks each day. Any port in a storm . . . But Sophie’s different. She doesn’t play around. And she’s becoming a habit I don’t want to break. Because the smartest woman I’ve ever met is also the sexiest—and the only one who makes me want to change.
Don’t miss Bella and Christian’s story in The Breakup!
THE HOOK UP releases May 8th – pre-order your copy now!
✦ Kobo http://bit.ly/2oRza07
Read an Excerpt from THE HOOKUP
I saw him the minute we walked into the bar. A guy perched comfortably on a stool, his arms muscular, his grin confident, arrogant. He had short dark hair and a jawline that was sharp and symmetrical. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, this was no software engineer or physicist. This was one of those manly men that they use for memes on Pinterest and for beer commercials and underwear ads. He was abs and ass, muscles and machismo, and like any other female, I had an immediate reaction to all that testosterone.
My heart started to race and my body started to tense and tighten, and grow warm in places that normally only got hot and wet in the privacy of my own apartment. I wanted to fan myself as I stared at him, blinking through the veil of mascara and fake lashes.
It was like my vagina stood up and sang. Him. He would be the one. The man to take my virginity and make it a memory. He wasn’t my type, but that wasn’t the point. He wouldn’t be interested in me either, but I knew enough about bar culture to know that if he was here, he was interested in going home with a girl. I could be that girl.
I was delusional, of course, a fact I was forced to acknowledge immediately when I realized that despite the fact that my dress had coaxed huge cleavage from my reluctant breasts, the hottie was checking out my sister.
So typical. But I couldn’t deny that blondes were more fun. At least more fun than me.
I walked past him to the bar and plucked the menu off the countertop, debating how to proceed. Men. The one equation I could never solve.