Cover Reveal - "Just hearing the word 'sweetheart' makes me cringe. That term is not a term of endearment for me. It brings back memories. Memories that I don’t want unleashed and demons that I don’t want chasing me. I’ve spent years ridding myself of those dark times and I do not want to go backwards."
Photographer: Toski Covey
Cover Designer: Shoutlines Design
Inspired by true events
Where do you turn when the ones who are supposed to love you most, hurt you?
When is enough, enough?
That is the exact question Chloe Evans had when she escaped her own personal hell that terrifying night. Even though the road to rebuilding her life has been tough, she's spent the last two years trying to mend her battered soul. Doubting that all her efforts are even worth it, she begins to feel she will forever be tied to the man who took everything away from her.
Ryder Matthews is the epitome of what most girls associate with perfection. With his good looks, bad boy persona, multiple tattoos and piercings he is every girl’s fantasy; every girl except Chloe Evans that is. Ryder sees Chloe as a challenge...one that he's more than confident he will win.
Drew Nichols is every girls dream guy. He’s sweet, sincere, trusting, and most of all patient. He’s exactly what Chloe needs in her life, but is he who she wants?
We all have things in life we'd like to forget about. Some bigger than others. When Chloe uses college as her diversion to escape the memories will either of them be able to make her forget?
EXCERPT
There’s a huge banner hanging above the entrance that says, Welcome Freshmen. Distracted with reading it, I almost collide with my resident adviser.
Popping her gum she sticks out her hand and says “Hey, I’m Erin, the RA for your floor and you are?”
Wiping my clammy hands on my jeans I stick out my hand, “Chloe Evans.”
She shakes it, then untucks a clipboard from under her arm and flips through the attached stack of papers. “Okay...” she runs her fingers over the pages. “Evans, Chloe... let me see. Here you are. You are in room 306. Third floor,” she replies cheerily.
“Great. Thank you,” I say. Time to unpack. I head back to my car to grab a couple of boxes. Heaving two boxes and a bag out of my trunk, I turn to head up to my dorm when suddenly I lose my grip, my toe hitches on the curb and just before I face-plant on the concrete, I'm caught by two strong arms that pull me back to my feet.
For a moment, all I can see are muscular arms covered in tattoos. I catch a glimpse of the name Matthews written in black Celtic script running the length of his forearm from below his elbow to his wrist. When I look up, his striking cobalt blue eyes distract me from my embarrassment. His jet-black hair looks just long enough for me to run my fingers through it and I'll be damned if that's not exactly what I want to do. His thick lips are spread wide in a charming smile. His features are strong and his jaw line is chiseled, softened only by a day's worth of stubble. He's the paragon of masculine beauty.
Dumbstruck, I flush with embarrassment. I'm staring but who wouldn’t stare at him? He's amused; I can see it in his eyes.
“Tha –Than – Thank you,” I stutter. Geez, Chloe could you sound anymore ridiculous, I scold myself. Get your shit together. Despite the cautioning voices in my head, I hesitate to detach myself from his arms. Somehow I find the strength to step back just a bit.
“No problem, sweetheart. Next time watch those curbs. I may not always be around.” He winks and at first I'm speechless, then almost immediately indignant.
“I am not your sweetheart.” I've never been a fan of nicknames which is why I’m so upset at his callous use of one. Just hearing the word 'sweetheart' makes me cringe. That term is not a term of endearment for me. It brings back memories. Memories that I don’t want unleashed and demons that I don’t want chasing me. I’ve spent years ridding myself of those dark times and I do not want to go backwards.
“Not yet,” he replies. Those two words threaten to make me weak in the knees. His voice is a dark rich baritone, like an audible dessert. He is definitely confident and arrogant, I think to myself. Either way, I am ready to give it back to him.
“Yet? I stare at him questioning with large doe-eyes. I cannot believe the audacity this guy has. “You’re awful confident for just meeting me,” I balk.
"I enjoy a challenge princess," he winks, walking away. Who the fuck was that? And, what the hell just happened to me?
Popping her gum she sticks out her hand and says “Hey, I’m Erin, the RA for your floor and you are?”
Wiping my clammy hands on my jeans I stick out my hand, “Chloe Evans.”
She shakes it, then untucks a clipboard from under her arm and flips through the attached stack of papers. “Okay...” she runs her fingers over the pages. “Evans, Chloe... let me see. Here you are. You are in room 306. Third floor,” she replies cheerily.
“Great. Thank you,” I say. Time to unpack. I head back to my car to grab a couple of boxes. Heaving two boxes and a bag out of my trunk, I turn to head up to my dorm when suddenly I lose my grip, my toe hitches on the curb and just before I face-plant on the concrete, I'm caught by two strong arms that pull me back to my feet.
For a moment, all I can see are muscular arms covered in tattoos. I catch a glimpse of the name Matthews written in black Celtic script running the length of his forearm from below his elbow to his wrist. When I look up, his striking cobalt blue eyes distract me from my embarrassment. His jet-black hair looks just long enough for me to run my fingers through it and I'll be damned if that's not exactly what I want to do. His thick lips are spread wide in a charming smile. His features are strong and his jaw line is chiseled, softened only by a day's worth of stubble. He's the paragon of masculine beauty.
Dumbstruck, I flush with embarrassment. I'm staring but who wouldn’t stare at him? He's amused; I can see it in his eyes.
“Tha –Than – Thank you,” I stutter. Geez, Chloe could you sound anymore ridiculous, I scold myself. Get your shit together. Despite the cautioning voices in my head, I hesitate to detach myself from his arms. Somehow I find the strength to step back just a bit.
“No problem, sweetheart. Next time watch those curbs. I may not always be around.” He winks and at first I'm speechless, then almost immediately indignant.
“I am not your sweetheart.” I've never been a fan of nicknames which is why I’m so upset at his callous use of one. Just hearing the word 'sweetheart' makes me cringe. That term is not a term of endearment for me. It brings back memories. Memories that I don’t want unleashed and demons that I don’t want chasing me. I’ve spent years ridding myself of those dark times and I do not want to go backwards.
“Not yet,” he replies. Those two words threaten to make me weak in the knees. His voice is a dark rich baritone, like an audible dessert. He is definitely confident and arrogant, I think to myself. Either way, I am ready to give it back to him.
“Yet? I stare at him questioning with large doe-eyes. I cannot believe the audacity this guy has. “You’re awful confident for just meeting me,” I balk.
"I enjoy a challenge princess," he winks, walking away. Who the fuck was that? And, what the hell just happened to me?
About the author:
Brandy Lynn resides in Richmond, Virginia with her husband, teenage son, and furry friend.
She's a retired blogger, chocoholic, aspiring writer, wine lover, avid reader, procrastinator, animal lover, and a craft fanatic.
Her debut novel, Make Me Forget is scheduled to release on February 23rd, 2015.
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