Love Sick by HJ Bellus and Her Girls Release Blitz

A Romantic Comedy

ADD TO YOUT TBR ON GOODREADS

http://bit.ly/LoveSickTBR

PURCHASE YOUR COPY! ALSO AVAILABLE ON KU!

KINDLE
US | PAPERBACK | KINDLE UK | KINDLE
CA | KINDLE AU

EXCERPT:

Memphis Love

I lie back in the lounger, finding the perfect snooze zone again while
soaking up the rays. Then I hear it. The hairs on the back of my neck
stand on end. Every single inch of my body is on alert. I sit right back
up, pulling down my Ray-Bans on the bridge of my nose.

I smile.

I smile like the victor of Titty Mania 2017. Give me the belt, bitches.
Hand it right over. She didn’t fall into my lap this time. Nope,
it’s so much sweeter because I spot her before she attacks.

Raylan. She’s standing at the bar fifty feet away. Her head is thrown
back in laughter. A damn fruity drink is in her hand. Her girls at her
side are making her laugh at something. It’s a lingering suspicion,
but I know Raylan is never this carefree. The edge of a hot tub is feet
away. It’s not her clumsiness I’m studying, but what she’s
wearing.

Or should I say what she’s not wearing? That scrappy piece is a poor
excuse for a damn top. I know what’s under it or at least half of it.
She has one of those fancy, see through skirts tied around her lower
half. The knot is settled nicely on her hip.

It would take one nip of my teeth to undo it. Fuck, I wouldn’t have to
take her bikini bottoms off to taste her. I bet she’s as sweet as
those damn drinks she loves.

“Daddy, antennae.”

I peer over to the voice ready to glare at the bastard interrupting my
daydream, hot shower research supplying spank bank material. But it’s
a little boy pointing right at me.

“That man has Wi-Fi.”

I squint my eyes trying to put together what the hell is going. He
begins racing over to me chanting Wi-Fi.

I peer down to see if the little bandit is planning to nab any of my
personal items. Kids these damn days are too smart for their good.
It’s then I see the Wi-Fi. Spandex and a raging cock are not the right
combination and a clear signal for Wi-Fi according to young children.
The size of my engorged dick could guide astronauts home from Jupiter.

What has this clumsy girl done to me? I’m a global threat at this
point. Draining my remaining drink, I find the perfect excuse to stride
right over to the bar where the group of girls are still chatting it up.
Hell, Raylan doesn’t notice all the men checking her out. Her friend,
Brenna, has at least double Ds and I’d bet my left nut they’re fake.
She’s the type the majority of men magnetize to, but not with Raylan
next to her. Josi, I’m pretty sure that was her name, is also a
knockout with fake assets and plump injected lips. But it’s none of
that which attracts me.

The fuck? I don’t remember any female names, and here I’m studying
Raylan and her friends like a first rate stalker. I saddle up to the
bar, blocking the group of dickheads drinking in Raylan. My size and
width get the job done.

“Another, hun?” the busty bartender asks.

I keep up the smolder showdown giving it to her smooth. “Please,
darlin’.”

That does the trick. I hear one of the girls squeal. I know it’s not
Raylan but not sure which one it is.

“Raylan.” I hear a loud skin slap, but I don’t look, pretending to
eye down the bartender. “It’s him.”

Another voice joins. “It is Raylan. Holy shit, he’s on the
cruise.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

“Who?” Raylan asks. Hell, her voice erects the Eiffel Tower in a
matter of seconds.

“I’d say nipple gate 2017, but it was more of Tit Show Gate 2017
live and in action.”

There’s an audible gasp. I can feel her gaze soaking up the front view
leaning on the bar. My elbow is propped on the smooth wood and my face
is in the direction of the back shelf with my legs crossed at the
ankles. Most men would flex their muscles right now, putting them in the
douche category permanently. I remain calm, playing to ignore the
conversation.

I’m betting today they’ve had a few to drink since their voices are
not a whisper when they think they are.

“You were right about his wiener. It was not your imagination.”

I stifle laughter at that one.

“Don’t say wiener; we aren’t ten years old anymore.”

“I told you it was huge.”

And there’s my cue. I stand slowly, paying attention to each move of
my body, grab my drink from the bar, and make eye contact. They react as
suspected, ducking their heads and blushing like fools.