18+ A New Adult Comedy
When Sydney Porter transfers to Northern University, she’s ready to put her past behind her. Landing a job on campus as an irreverent radio personality, she uses the anonymity to air all the campus dirty laundry—earning the infamous Sunday Lane more than a few enemies. But her true passion is spinning records, even if Drunk Earl is her biggest fan.
Published: April 23rd, 2015
A New Adult Comedy
When Sydney Porter transfers to Northern University, she’s ready to put her past behind her. Landing a job on campus as an irreverent radio personality, she uses the anonymity to air all the campus dirty laundry—earning the infamous Sunday Lane more than a few enemies. But her true passion is spinning records, even if Drunk Earl is her biggest fan.
Sydney’s junior year kicks off with the promise to be amazing. Or at least it does until Gray Peters, hotshot quarterback, unexpectedly reenters the scene. His presence threatens to destroy everything she has going, as well as resurrecting a night Sydney never wants to remember or repeat. She’d run away like a coward, but this time she's determined to stay and fight.
A twisted battle of wit and trickery ensues, with one common goal—vengeance. Sydney and Gray set out to make each other miserable. But misery loves company, and soon, walls are destroyed and truths are revealed that could change their future forever.
EXCERPT
I added another track, exploding the speaker with a fast beat, and danced around until I felt a pair of hands run up the sides of my thighs, slow and easy.
“What are you doing?” I yelled up at Peters. He was standing directly behind me and the top of my head landed just below his chin. His answer was to pull my backside into his hips.
“I’m dancing, Sinister.” He groaned into the back of my neck. “This is what you wanted, right? No inhibitions. I’m your bitch tonight, right? We can start flinging knives in the morning.”
I let out a cracked laugh, not quite understanding this one-eighty in his personality. “You don’t bring a knife to a gun fight, Peters, but if you’re referencing your dick, I’d be shocked to receive a paper cut.”
He pressed even farther into me as I continued to mix.
Looking back on this now, I should have just elbowed him in the stomach and tripped him off the edge of the balcony, but I was drunk. Elated by the dancing crowd. Everything about this place screamed sex—the people, the lighting, the sweat dripping off bodies, and his husky breathing against my ear breaking down my protective dome. I tried to muster the strength to stop him, but with my mind half altered, my body took over completely.
As if he knew I was struggling, he gently lifted the back of my damp hair and planted his lips on my neck. His tongue swept across my skin, and he softly moaned over my fret board. I released a sharp breath into the microphone, and he laughed against the back of my ear.
“What… are… you—”
Before I could finish my pathetic plea to end this, his hands slid over my front, gliding down my stomach and stopping just before the waistband of my underwear.
“Peters,” I rasped.
His hand rolled over my shirt, and he pulled it deep between my legs. I let out a breathy groan into the microphone and tipped back my head until it rested against his shoulder. Peters dragged his tongue up the inside of my neck like I was a Popsicle—his favorite flavor—long and flat. He pulled my sweat into his mouth.
When the music rose to a sharp crescendo, so did my panting, right into the mic. It was hard to believe this six-foot-two behemoth could deliver such a delicate touch, but I didn’t have to turn around to know it was him. My body had a memory of its own.
About the author:
KF Germaine is a Pacific Northwest native and part-time author. Besides reading too late into the night (4 AM is still considered night, right?), KF has several life pleasures which she won’t list because, well, it begins to read like an Oscar-winner acceptance speech and no one wants to hear about her hairdresser. Instead, KF believes one's secret enjoyments are more telling. So to name a few: Circus Peanuts candy, watching country music videos on mute, and awkward/borderline-inappropriate conversations with grocery clerks.
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