Twisted Twosome, an all new sexy, laugh out loud romantic comedy from Meghan Quinn is available NOW!
Twisted Twosome by Meghan Quinn
Publication Date: August 3, 2017
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Racer McKay is a broody bastard.
From the moment I met him, he’s been rude, irritable, and unbearable.
A contractor working to remodel my parents pool house for extra cash, he stomps around in those clunky construction boots with his tool belt wrapped around his narrow waist, and a chip on his shoulder.
Racer McKay is also infuriatingly . . . sexy as hell. I want to take that pencil tucked behind his ear, and draw lazy lines slowly up and down his body all the while wanting to strangle him at the same time.
We try to stay out of each other’s way . . . that is until I have no other option but to ask for his help.
But what I don’t realize is he needs me just as much as I need him. I have money he’s desperate for, and he holds the key to making my dreams come true.
Our pranks turn from sarcastic banter, to sexual tension and lust-filled glances. Bickering matches quickly morph into slow burn moments. We’re hot, we’re cold. We push and pull. I need him, I don’t want him. We’re on the verge of combusting with an agreement dangling dangerously between us. Neither one of us can afford to lose one another and yet, we’re finding it quite hard to decipher the line that rests between love and hate.
Racer! What
happened to us!? I’m the first to admit that I fell for Racer back in My Best Friend's Ex . I loved him and his antics and
I was DYING to read his book and see him get his HEA. But me and this book…we
had a rocky relationship.
I don’t know if I had high expectations, or my
anticipation was too much….but I didn’t love this one as much as My Best
Friend’s Ex. With that one, I couldn’t put it down, I was in love with the book
and it was pure perfection. This one…I ended up really liking it (hence the
rating) but it was fraught with difficulty for me.
“Let’s start
from the very beginning. It’s a very good place to start” -- Sound of Music (has no relation to the book, it was just going through my head when I was trying to figure out where to start with my review)
Ok, so I’ve
established that I loved Racer. That didn’t change. There are times when a
character is AMAZING as a friend/secondary character and you’re just dying for
a book for them and then BAM everything changes and the personality that you
fell for is gone when they become the main focus. That wasn’t the case with
Racer. The guy that was awesome and funny in the first book was signing bright
in this one. I loved him. Every moment of him. Georgie on the other hand…not so
much. Initially, I wondered if Adalyn was going to be the heroine of this
book…I was intrigued by that. But then Georgiana was introduced and it took me
a while to warm up to her. I honestly don’t know why I didn’t like her at
first, but I didn’t. But then I started to warm up to her, but I still wasn’t
digging Georgiana and Racer as a couple. I loved the humor, and I loved the
pranks they pulled on each other, but at the same time, there was so much of
that, that I never felt like they were falling for each other. Yes, a
friendship was developing but, to me, not
much else. There was more than one occasion where I considered putting
the book down. As it was, it took me days to read this, and that’s not like me.
I just couldn’t work up any excitement for the story.
Things did
turn around for me after Georgie and Racer did get togheter, when her dad was
causing trouble. I loved the way Racer stood up to her dad and called him on
his crap, defending Georgie. I did love that. And ultimately, it was Racer
defending Georgie to her dad that won me over and had me finishing the book.
I’m glad I
stuck with it, because in the end, I did enjoy it. But I’m not sure this one
will be one I’ll reread over and over again in the future.
Why is it so goddamn drafty in here? I grip my hammer in my hand, my tool belt riding low on my hips, and my stereotypical construction hat rests on my head as I finish up the project I was hired to do.
Taking a quick look around, I search the bedroom looking for an open window or AC vent that’s blowing a cold breeze right against my dick and sac, making it almost impossible to look semi-decent in this scrap of fabric.
“Mmm, I think you forgot a nail on the ground over there,” says the throaty, smoke-filled voice of Mrs. Sage, who is lying across her chase lounge wearing a silky pink robe that is barely tied around her waist. She makes it her mission to show me as much skin as possible, and as we’re talking about skin showing . . .
I bend down to pick up the nail she’s pointing at as the thin strip of man thong material rides higher up my ass crack than I care to admit.
Let’s pause for a second.
Are you wondering to yourself, is Racer really wearing a man-thong as he finishes building a solid oak shelf?
The answer is yes. Yes, I am.
I’m Racer McKay and I wear man thongs for older, rich women while I work on simple projects around their houses. Excuse me, I mean mansions.
Don’t worry. Yes, I’m also very much ashamed to admit the level I’ve stooped to in order to make some cash. I have my pride, but right now, when I’m offered three hundred dollars more to build a shelf in a man thong, I’m choosing to seize the opportunity.
Self-respect was thrown out the window two years ago when a pile of bills and responsibilities were thrust in my direction without any preparation or warning. Making money is as vital as breathing to me, so I will take it any way I can get it.
Cue the man thong.
“Oh, you’re right. Here it is,” I say, holding up the nail. “Thanks for the help, Mrs. Sage. I would hate to see you hurt yourself from my lack of attention to detail.”
She waves me off and puffs her chest toward me, her robe slipping farther apart, showing the cleavage of a very saggy pair of breasts. I’ve seen my fair share of boobs and even though I don’t mingle sex with work, I can’t help but want Mrs. Sage to remove the robe just so I can see what she has hidden under the silky fabric.
How saggy are we talking here?
I’m interested for exploratory reasons, for knowledge of every kind of breast out there. Because right now, Mrs. Sage looks like she’s rocking a pair of pancakes that have been flattened by a steamroller.
“You would just have to nurse me back to health if that happened.” Her finger trails up her varicose vein-covered leg to her geriatric hip. I hold back the shiver that wants to spin up my spine.
All I can say is . . . can’t unsee that.
I nervously laugh and tuck my hammer into its holster. “Not much of a nurse, Mrs. Sage. I might hurt you even more.”
“I don’t mind getting hurt.” She starts to spread her legs and that’s when I call it a day.
I turn around quickly, snag my jeans and slip them up and over my legs, struggling with my tool belt getting in the way. Once things are in place, I remove my hat, put on my shirt, and then cover my hair with a backwards baseball cap. The peep show is over.
Once dressed, I gather my tools, tuck my construction hat under my arm, and turn to Mrs. Sage. This is my least favorite part, getting the old bird to pay up.
“Leaving already?” She pouts, lipstick on her teeth.
“Unfortunately, I have another engagement I’m running late for.” A lie, but it’s the only way I know to get out of here.
“That’s a shame. I really should book you for a whole day. That way you can’t skirt out of here earlier than I’m ready for.”
She walks out of the den and into the entryway where she opens her purse and pulls out a wad of one-hundred-dollar bills. My brain explodes from the amount of cash in her purse, as if it’s chump change she’s ready to throw around at a parade dedicated to her and her riches.
“What do I owe you? Six hundred?”
Fuck, it’s five hundred and if I wasn’t a nice guy, I wouldn’t correct her, but I believe in good karma. Especially considering where my bad luck has gotten me—trying to climb my way out of a large debt. I try to put as many good vibes out in the world as possible.
“We actually agreed upon five hundred, Mrs. Sage.”
“Such a bargain.” She flips through her cash, pulls out five bills—damn—and hands them over to me. “Shall I call for my next project?”
I pocket the cash. “Email is best, Mrs. Sage. I always feel awkward taking phone calls at work.”
“Such a hard worker.” She pats my face and leans forward, lips puckered, but I step to the side avoiding an attack from her old-lady lips.
As I depart, I wave my hand in the air and say, “Thanks, Mrs. Sage. I look forward to your next email.”
Out of her reach, I toss my tools in the back of my truck, enter the cab, and place my hands on the steering wheel as I exhale a long pent-up breath.
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A BLONDE AT HEART
Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.
Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.
Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!
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