Trish Grant is not a romantic. Okay, so she may read her share of romance novels, but that doesn’t mean she thinks that some fellow with a six pack is going to ride up on a horse and sweep her (literally) off her feet. Romance like that just isn’t for her. It belongs on the page.

Max Jackson noticed Trish at his cousin’s funeral, of all places. She was hard to miss with her citrus-colored hair, violet contacts and fiery attitude.

Trish was just as captivated by Max. He makes her laugh, which is rare, and it doesn’t hurt that he rocks blue hair and the most killer smirk that drives her crazy. Max is there for her during a rough time and even if she wanted to, she can’t shake him.

There are things about Trish that Max doesn’t know, and she’s not going to tell him. She hasn’t told anyone and doesn’t plan on it, thank you very much. But when Trish’s life is ripped apart by a dark piece of her past, will she let Max in? Or will she give up her potential fairytale to protect her already-scarred heart from further damage?

EXCERPT

We met at a funeral. Not the most auspicious start for a relationship, but whatever. I was dealing with a lot of shit and then there was a boy with blue hair and a smile that made my heart do funny things, even though it was broken.

He didn’t know why I was so torn up about Ric. He was her cousin, but knew what she was like. A raging bitch most of the time. They say not to speak ill of the dead, but Ric was Ric. She was a bitch and a pretty terrible person, but that didn’t stop me from caring about her.

He didn’t ask why I was so upset and then he said something about zombies. It was totally inappropriate, given the circumstances, but it made me laugh anyway. It didn’t hurt that he was disgustingly cute. Like, painfully cute. It was hard to look at him for too long.Of course my brother and my stupid friends saw me laughing with someone of the opposite sex and automatically assumed something. Okay sure, I didn’t smile all that often, or laugh, but mind your own fucking business.

Things moved fast after that. We decided to date and that was that. For the most part.

“Hun, can you hand me my pencil?” Max said as the pencil he’d placed on the table rolled to the floor of the library.

“Sure thing,” I said, leaning down and picking it up. So I wasn’t much of an academic, but I got my homework done. Max had been a good influence on me since he studied harder than anyone I knew, except for maybe Audrey. The guy worked three jobs to put himself through school, so he took his study time seriously.

And then there was me. School was never my thing, but when you had an older brother that was a self-described “fucking genius”, you had no choice but to join in.

I still hadn’t picked a major, but I’d been taking all my general education requirements and after those were done, I’d figure it out. I still had time.

I handed the pencil to Max and he grabbed my hand and kissed the back of it. I rolled my eyes, but inside my stomach fluttered. I thought that feeling would go away by now, but nope. Still there every time he looked at me.

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To get to him, I need to use her.

I’ll play her like a violin and have her falling in love with me before she even knows what’s happening.

It will be easy. I’ve done it before and I’ll do it again.

She’s just a girl.

A tool to get what I want.

When I’m done with her I won’t think twice about walking away.

At least, that was what I thought.

Until I met her.

Excerpt

“Something wrong?” I say, trying not to look too interested.

“Nothing. Just my daughter being herself. I know I should be more firm with her, but she’s my only daughter.” He heaves a heavy sigh and I mentally curse. If she’s texting him, then that probably means she isn’t going to be here tonight. Swing and a miss. Again.

“How old is she?” I ask, even though I know. Down to her birthdate.

“Twenty. But she doesn’t always act it.” He shakes his head like a long-suffering father and the fellow across the way commiserates with him. Apparently he and his wife have four daughters (all grown, obviously). I sit and listen, waiting my turn. The comedian on stage is still going, but not many people are actually listening to him.

“Do you have any children, Mr. Brand?” Beaumont says. I shake my head.

“No, I don’t.” I don’t elaborate. “So what’s the issue with yours?” I’m not above brown-nosing to get the information I want. I’m also not above doing anything to get what I want, actually.

“Typical rebellion. I thought she’d gotten it out of her system in her teenage years, but it seems that was just the beginning.” He turns his eyes to the ceiling, as if begging God. Or cursing him.

“Well, I can’t offer any advice on that front. But I’m sure she’ll come around,” I say, finishing my soup.

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Author Chelsea Cameron

Chelsea M. Cameron is a YA/NA New York Times/USA Today Best Selling author from Maine. Lover of things random and ridiculous, Jane Austen/Charlotte and Emily Bronte Fangirl, red velvet cake enthusiast, obsessive tea drinker, vegetarian, former cheerleader and world's worst video gamer. When not writing, she enjoys watching infomercials, singing in the car and tweeting (this one time, she was tweeted by Neil Gaiman). She has a degree in journalism from the University of Maine, Orono that she promptly abandoned to write about the people in her own head. More often than not, these people turn out to be just as weird as she is.

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