Thank you for joining us in the release day event for Foolproof by Jennifer Blackwood!
Be sure to check out the excerpt and giveaway!
Recovering from a brutal break-up and taking a hiatus from college, Ryan DeShane has just discovered the “6 Ultimate Steps to the Perfect Summer Fling.” It’s a brilliant distraction, and Jules is a tantalizing target. But the
“steps” work a little too well, because he and Jules are definitely, uh, flinging. And it’s only a matter of time before Ryan’s foolproof plan starts to seriously unravel…
She was interested. Time to reel her in. “See something you like?”
She cleared her throat and, even in the darkness of the truck cab, I noticed the deepening blush that splashed across her cheeks. “I’ve seen better.”
There wasn’t a lot about my body that I was overconfident with, but I’d done enough sit-ups and burpees to earn my eight-pack. “You must see a lot of abs then. Have a rating system?” I snapped my fingers. “No, wait, a spreadsheet.”
“If that were the case, you’d be a mid-lister.” Her mouth quirked into an innocent smile.
I suddenly wanted to dropkick every single guy on that list. What kind of guys did she date if I was a “mid-lister?” Bodybuilders? Thor?
I needed to flip the brakes of this freight train thought process speeding on a direct route to don’t go there, dipshit. Her dating history didn’t matter, because in a few weeks I’d be back in Texas. A few times of hooking up, and I’d have this girl out of my system. “Good thing I’m not just another guy on your list.”
She cocked a brow, a clear Payton-ism, her gaze wandering everywhere but my direction. Her fingers etched across the earrings running up the perimeter of her ear. I wanted to run my tongue over each one of the piercings, pin her down in the truck, and explore every inch of her skin. My cock twitched in agreement. I shifted in my seat, adjusting my raging erection.
“You wouldn’t even qualify, DeShane.”
“Is that so?” Damn, she was cocky. And I loved it.
“Not even for the thirty-day trial period.”
“I wouldn’t need thirty days to convince you,” I said.
“And how many would it take?”
Lowering my voice, quiet enough for Blake and Payton not to hear—not that they paid either of us any attention—I said, “I could have your toes curling in twenty seconds flat. Two minutes, and I’d be at the top of that spreadsheet of yours.