Excerpt!
Before long I saw the blind move on the front window again. My heart started pounding in my chest, but I remained steady, pretending my whole focus was on my bike. I was just spraying some more lubricant on the chain when her front door cracked open and she sauntered out.
“Oh!” Her hand fluttered to her chest, like she was surprised to see me there.
I had to admit, her acting skills were quite good. If I hadn’t seen her spying on me from the front window just moments ago, I would have believed I’d startled her. Instead, I smiled at her and lifted my hand in a wave. Time to start my experiment.
“Hello! I’m the new neighbor,” I called out.
I proceeded to bobble the can of lube like an inexperienced scientist when my gaze met hers for the first time. Her blond hair was a gorgeous tumble of beach-y curls, longer than most women wore their hair these days. And the curves didn’t stop there. She walked toward me, those hips shifting and swaying, taunting me. But then a smile split her face and I was entranced. Those lips were made to grin like that: wide, open, genuine.
When she was on the other side of my bike, close enough to touch, close enough to smell her flowery perfume, I forgot all about my experiment. Forgot completely that observing my subject and cataloguing all her features wasn’t a necessary part of testing my hypothesis. Because at that moment, it felt most definitely necessary. Maybe even imperative.
“Hello. I’m Lily-Marie.”
Her throaty voice washed over me, swirling with her perfume in teasing my senses. I reached out my right hand automatically, expecting a quick handshake as was customary when meeting someone for the first time. She glanced down at my hand, then back up at me, her smile slipping. A moment of awkward silence hung there before I also looked down and saw that I had a greasy can of lubricant in my hand. The hand that was outstretched, almost sullying Lily-Marie’s blouse.
“Oh! Sorry.” I quickly dropped the can, but jumped again when the impact of the can hitting the ground shot a stream of lube into the air, narrowly missing Lily-Marie’s boots.
I wasn’t a man to blush, but I felt the heat anyway, the burn of embarrassment creeping its way up my spine. I wasn’t one for crude innuendo, but nobody could have missed that obvious enactment. She finally slipped her hand into mine and gave it a firm shake.
“Wow, that was a narrow miss.” She laughed and I tried to follow suit. “So, Lance, what are you doing out here?”
My lips pinched together. “Who’s Lance?”
The smile was back, lighting up the conversation when it most badly needed it. “You, silly. Lance Armstrong? Famous bike rider?” When I still looked perplexed, she spelled it out for me. “You haven’t told me your name.”
Ah! She was telling a joke. I got it. I totally got it. “Good one!” I laughed again, amazing even myself when it came out sounding like one of my father’s wheezy guffaws. “It’s Jameson. Jameson MacMillan.” Great, now I sounded like James Bond.
This dating experiment is about to go viral…
Jameson
When my eight-year-old son starts asking question about love, I decide to use a magazine article on how to woo a woman to prove, once and for all, that romantic love doesn’t exist. Companionship, habit, mild fondness, sure, but not that thing called love. I have my hypothesis ready and I’m dead set on experimenting on my new neighbor, the single mom who does the weirdest things.
But my experiment goes awry in unexplainable ways...
Lily-Marie
When dating apps fail me spectacularly, I decide to go old school and use a 1950s magazine I dug up at a yard sale to help find Mr. Right.
Fifty Ways to Find a Husband.
Sounds legit.
Problem is, my new neighbor, Mr. Science Professor, keeps blocking my attempts. And keeps losing his shirt. How does a book nerd have so many muscles anyway? Thing is, my kids like his son and we start spending a lot of time together, which is distracting me from my ultimate goal: to find a husband to sweep me off my feet and be a good father to my kids.
Things get comical quick when my best friend records everything in her daily newspaper column. I can’t help but wonder if single moms like me can actually catch a husband. Or will this Mom-Com go viral as an epic train wreck?
Jameson
When my eight-year-old son starts asking question about love, I decide to use a magazine article on how to woo a woman to prove, once and for all, that romantic love doesn’t exist. Companionship, habit, mild fondness, sure, but not that thing called love. I have my hypothesis ready and I’m dead set on experimenting on my new neighbor, the single mom who does the weirdest things.
But my experiment goes awry in unexplainable ways...
Lily-Marie
When dating apps fail me spectacularly, I decide to go old school and use a 1950s magazine I dug up at a yard sale to help find Mr. Right.
Fifty Ways to Find a Husband.
Sounds legit.
Problem is, my new neighbor, Mr. Science Professor, keeps blocking my attempts. And keeps losing his shirt. How does a book nerd have so many muscles anyway? Thing is, my kids like his son and we start spending a lot of time together, which is distracting me from my ultimate goal: to find a husband to sweep me off my feet and be a good father to my kids.
Things get comical quick when my best friend records everything in her daily newspaper column. I can’t help but wonder if single moms like me can actually catch a husband. Or will this Mom-Com go viral as an epic train wreck?
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Author bio:
Marika Ray spends her time behind a computer crafting stories, walking the beaches of southern California, and making healthy food for her kids and husband whether they like it or not. Prior to writing novels, Marika held various jobs in the finance industry, with private start-up companies, and then in health & fitness. Cats may have nine lives, but Marika believes everyone should have nine careers to keep things spicy.
Marika enjoys writing all types of fiction novels, based on what inspires her. Right now she's working on a new steamy RomCom series along with sweet romances to make your heart explode. All her books come with a money-back guarantee that you’ll smile at least once with every book.
More information can be found at www.marikaray.com
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