RELEASE TOUR - The Roommate Game by Lane Hayes

 

RELEASE TOUR - The Roommate Game by Lane Hayes

Length: 58,000 words
Series: Smithton Bears, #3
Prior Reading: recommended but not essential
Genre: contemporary, college, sports
Tropes: Hockey, college, opposites attract, roommates
Trigger/Content Warnings: n/a
Designer: Reese Dante

getbook.at/TheRoommateGame

The hockey player, the figure skater, and the roommate situation…

Gus

No one throws a party quite like I do. Technically, I could have graduated three years ago, but I love Smithton, I love hockey, and the team needs a good captain with a positive outlook. That’s me. I love this town, and it loves me.

Well, except for my roommate.

Rafe doesn’t like me at all—total mystery. I’m a nice guy. Ask anyone. He’s the one with stick-in-the-mud-itis. Or maybe the nonstop partying is too much for him. It’s definitely taking a toll on me, and I’m trying to do better ’cause in a twist, Rafe’s not so bad.

He has a great smile, pretty eyes, cute dimples, and—

Oh, man. I think I have a situation.

Rafe

This cannot be happening. I’m a competitive figure skater with goals and big plans. How did I get saddled with a party-boy hockey-hero for a roommate?

Oh, yeah. I mistakenly assumed the captain of the hockey team would be goal-oriented. Wrong. Gus and I have nothing in common, and I have no idea how I’m going to survive a year of this.

But oddly enough, we’re good together in a crisis. So good, I’m beginning to wonder if we could be something serious. Something more than a couple of athletes playing the roommate game.

The Roommate Game is an MM light-angst, college hockey romance featuring a fun-loving captain, a serious figure skater, and a chance at forever.

AVAILABLE NOW

EXCERPT:

This hangover wasn’t my worst by a long shot. I still felt crappy, though, and my mouth was dry as dust. I hobbled to the kitchen and sent up a prayer to the fridge gods that there’d be something on the shelves. 

The gods answered with a gallon of pulp-free orange juice and a single slice of cheddar cheese.  

Meh, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

I glugged half the carton, swiped my hand across my mouth, and was about to polish off the rest when I sensed someone behind me. 

Rafe, my cute, but very grumpy roommate. The dude was about as friendly as a porcupine who’d lost a fight with a cactus. Seriously. 

“Want some?” I held out the container, positive I could win him over with a friendly smile. 

Wrong. 

“No, I don’t want to share germs with you, but thank you for asking,” he replied, a thunderous expression on his pinched face. “What I would appreciate is for you to replace my orange juice and maybe add a sticker to remind yourself not to touch it next time.”

“Oh, shit. This is yours?” 

“It was,” he corrected.

“I’m sorry, man. I’ll make it up to you. Let me buy you breakfast.”

“No, thanks. I have class.” 

Now, that could have been taken one of two ways: A, I have class and would never drink out of a carton in my boxer briefs and a holey T-shirt while smelling like the south end of a northbound mule. Or B, I have a Biology lecture to attend. 

Yeah, I was getting A vibes, too. 

Rafe spun on his heels, marched out of the room, and stomped up the stairs. And unless I was way off the mark, he’d closed his bedroom door with more force than usual. Yep…he was pissed. 

Again.

I hoped it was my imagination, but I could have sworn I’d caught a hint of true animosity in his glare this time. The sort of steely-eyed venom I associated with opponents doing battle on the ice in the middle of a heated game. Not my fucking roommate. 

Shit. 

Did Rafe hate me?

about the author:

Lane Hayes  lives in sunny Southern California with her amazing husband, who thankfully doesn’t mind cooking, and their fabulous fox red Labrador, George, who’s pure mischief. Both provide oodles of inspiration for the low-angst, humorous books Lane loves to write.
She’s been telling stories about sexy, funny, sometimes geeky and quirky men who find love for a dozen years now and loving every minute. In her previous life, she sat at a desk and dealt with numbers, so yes…romance is much more satisfying!
Lane loves tea, travel, and chocolate…in any order. Add a book and she’s set!

My Readers’ Group, Lane’s Lovers: https://bit.ly/3aIbMYg
My Newsletter: https://bit.ly/3cICfaK
Website: www.lane-hayes.com
Twitter: twitter.com/LaneHayes3
FB: facebook.com/LaneHayesAuthor
Amazon Author Page: amazon.com/author/lanehayes
BookBub: bookbub.com/authors/lane-hayes
Instagram: instagram.com/lanehayesauthor/
Goodreads: goodreads.com/LaneHayes

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Release Tour - Baby, It's Cod Outside, by Kat Cassidy

 

RELEASE TOUR - Baby, It's Cod Outside by Kat Cassidy

Length: 47,000 words
Series: Silver Shoals #2
Prior Reading: Prior reading NOT required
Genre: Small-town, Holiday, Christmas, Rom-Com 
Tropes: Opposites Attract, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Confidence/Hidden Vulnerability
Trigger/Content Warnings: anxiety rep, on page panic attacks, loss from cancer (family member, past)
Designer: Kat Cassidy

https://getbook.at/SilverShoals2

With his CEO father away, Benjamin Whitaker III is left running the family empire. And, you know, trying not to implode from anxiety while he’s at it.

Local investigative reporter Jackson James smells something fishy going on at Whitaker Seafood, and it’s definitely not just the mackerel.

One’s trying to keep things clean and tidy. The other’s digging up some serious dirt.

This year, Silver Shoals isn’t dreaming of a white Christmas. Just a low stress week, a front page headline, and a way out of this very merry fish-mess.

Baby, It’s Cod Outside is a low heat, opposites attract, hurt/comfort, small town MM holiday romance. It can be read as a standalone.

AVAILABLE NOW

EXCERPT:

Ben’s parked outside the used bookstore downtown, motor idling, the radioactive binder sitting in his lap. Snowflakes drift lazily by the windshield. The scene is pretty and painfully indifferent. He checks his watch again: 10:43 pm, still seventeen minutes early. Because of course he is. Panic loves punctuality.

He stares down his reflection in the mirror, telling himself that this is a person about to take back control.

The reflection does not look convinced.

Here, Ben’s anxiety helpfully starwipes to another slide in the ongoing horror-powerpoint entitled ‘Absolute Worst Outcomes of this Meeting’ that’s cycling in his brain: Jackson simply laughs at him and tells him to stop wasting his time. 

He’s mid-fantasy about reversing down the block when knuckles rap suddenly against his driver’s side window. Ben flinches hard enough to head-butt the visor. 

Window down, cold air in, along with Jackson James: snow-flecked hair, eyes crinkling above a scarf wrapped high against the chill. “Evening. Are you planning on loitering out here all night, or just until someone calls the neighborhood watch?”

“I didn’t realize you were already here. Thanks again for meeting me, Mr. James. And, uh, sorry about the dating app thing. It was kind of a desperation move.”

“‘Desperation move,’ huh?” Jackson repeats with obvious delight. Ben silently blesses the scarf for obscuring Jackson’s too handsome face, even as another, less helpful part of him regrets missing out on seeing that smile in full. “Exactly how every guy dreams of being described.”

Ben’s laugh cracks like ice. “I didn’t mean it like that. Obviously. I just didn’t really have a lot of options. Not that you’re a last resort. I just meant you’re...special.” He closes his eyes, briefly debating jumping out and running directly into the ocean. “Specialized! I mean specialized. Your skillset.” His brain is begging his mouth to stop to little avail.

A faint snort escapes Jackson. “Keep digging, Fish Prince. At this rate, we’ll hit bedrock in no time.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been... a lot today. I just meant you’re unattached. Er, professionally unattached. To Whitaker Seafood.” He forces himself to slow down. “You’re not connected to any of this and it seemed like yesterday… that you thought something was wrong. And it is. Something is very wrong. So I thought... I don’t know, maybe you were the person that could help.” He ducks his head, voice quieter now. “But if this was dumb, I get it. I can go.”

Ben braces for rejection.

Instead, Jackson’s posture shifts, some of the sharpness softening. “Hey. I’m not blowing you off, alright?”

And then, almost too casually, just rough enough, Jackson adds, “If anything, Mr. Whitaker, you’ve got my full attention.”

Ben swears the temperature spikes. Jackson’s gaze tracks over him, slow, deliberate, borderline indecent, before landing on the binder in his lap. Ben’s fingers twitch, instinctively drawing it closer.

Jackson gestures toward the bookstore. “Maybe we should take this inside?” he says, low and easy, like it’s just a suggestion and that everything that happens next is in Ben’s hands. Like the faint possibility, of what, Ben isn’t even sure, doesn’t spark a confusing mix of panic and excitement in his stomach.

Jackson steps back to give Ben room, rubbing his gloved hands briskly. “Before I lose my best typing fingers to frostbite, preferably.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Kat Cassidy is a romance novelist. She’s a dreamer, a schemer and, above all else, a believer in true love. She lives in Canada with her husband, her kids, and her lovable mutt, and she likes loud guitars and strong IPAs.

https://katcassidyauthor.com/
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