Genre: YA Contemporary Romance
Date of Publication: Feb 15th, 2014
Number of pages: 178
Word Count: 45,000
Cover Artist: GoOnWrite.com
The high school play is in two months and senior Wren Barlow just became director. Wren still isn't over the fact that she got stiffed as a stagehand instead of the lead role that she totally deserved. Now she is in charge of rehearsals, costumes, navigating around cast member hookups and managing the real life drama at home.
The principal counts on her to succeed because tickets have been sold and the money has been spent. But when he drops a gorgeous bad boy on her and wants him to help the play for extra credit, she falls hard for someone she knows she can't date.
With everything spinning out of control, the mysterious and secretive detention king named Derek has a few tricks up his sleeve and wants to help—too bad Wren is scared to give him a chance to prove himself
“Thanks for going with me,” I say because it’s the polite thing to do. What I really want is to tell him that I think about him all day, every day. That I would have been crushed to the core if he didn’t go with me to the fabric store and I would have probably curled up in bed all night thinking about him. Who am I kidding? I will do that anyway.
I open the passenger door to get out and Derek opens his door as well. “What are you doing?” I ask slowly, my mind going into daydream mode about how he could walk around the car, press me against the hood and make out with me right here at school.
“I’m helping you put this shit-ton of fabric in your car,” he says, popping open the trunk.
I laugh. Right. Of course that’s what he’s doing.
Derek loads the bolts of heavy fabric from his trunk to mine and then he closes the trunk with one finger, commenting on how damn dirty the car is.
“Stop whining and be grateful I’m not making you carry it upstairs to my bedroom,” I say with a playful smile. “Then I have to empty all the rolls and cut it to fit the stage. That’s way more work than simply using your man muscles to move stuff around a few feet.”
He stretches his arms up and over his head, making his muscles flex. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
“Huh?” I must have been transfixed by heart-stopping shadows dancing off his toned arms. He didn’t just offer to come to my house, did he?
He lowers his arms and shoves his hands in his back pockets, taking away my view. “So…I’ll just follow you to your place?”
Holy crap. That’s exactly what he just offered.
Cheyanne is a native Texan with a fear of cold weather and a coffee addiction that probably needs an intervention. She loves books, sarcasm, nail polish and paid holidays. She lives near the beach with her family, one spoiled rotten puppy and a cat who is most likely plotting to take over the world.
She also writes under the pen name Amy Sparling.
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