Random Acts of Hope by Julia Kent (#4, 7, 8)
Requirements: ePUB Reader, 850 kB
Overview: New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent turned to writing contemporary romance after deciding that life is too short not to have fun. She writes romantic comedy with an edge, and new adult books that push contemporary boundaries. From billionaires to BBWs to rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every book she writes, but unlike Trevor from Random Acts of Crazy, she has never kissed a chicken.
Genre: Romance, Contemporary
Random Acts of Hope (#4): She dressed professionally, wearing a plum-colored fuzzy v-neck sweater that contoured to the swell of a rack I remembered so well, legs encased in a slim pencil skirt that embellished those creamy hips I could imagine naked with a flicker of memory, lips painted fire-engine red and that maniac-inducing fifties pin-up girl look that I’d dismissed as silly when the girls in college wore it – but that made her smoking hot. Down, boy. God damn Charlotte, my ex-girlfriend, had to be here, of all places. At a bachelorette party where I was a stripper, dressed in a cop uniform with pants that suddenly got way too tight. And she had to be so fine. “Ooooh, honey, you’re one big officer,” said a sultry voice behind me as I watched Charlotte in the other room, chatting with the bride. A hand stroked my hip and hesitated before sliding a bit lower, filling a palm with my ass. “Arrest me, Officer. I’ve been a bad, bad girl.” With one look at the source of the voice, my night went from Oh, man to Oh, no. That voice? That hand? That was my mother. Random Acts of Hope is the fourth book in the romantic comedy Random series, and features guitar player Liam McCarthy from the band, Random Acts of Crazy. Five years ago, Liam and his girlfriend, Charlotte Greyson, were deeply in love. When a betrayal eviscerates them both, each clings to their separate truths as an anchor to navigate the perfect storm. But when the biggest ego in the band reconnects with the only woman who stole his heart, sparks fly in this sequel that asks whether you can believe in the impossible without sacrificing every ideal you hold – in order to find a love bigger than you ever imagined.
Random on Tour: Los Angeles (#7): I guzzled another flute of Champagne and froze, the liquid in my throat, waiting to be swallowed. Tyler was here. We’d met a few times before, in passing. He was the substitute bass player for the band; I was the lead guitar player’s girlfriend’s best friend. In that weird sort of social circle thing where Venn diagrams get laid over different groups, Tyler and I were bound to be in the crossover once in a while. He looked so hot. Short brown hair. A few days of beard. Bright green eyes that were more guarded than a Russian mobster’s. He was sleeved, the colorful tattoos a tapestry, but every time I met him I couldn’t quite see them. We only saw each other in dark concert halls, or tonight, under the stars. He gave Sam a rare smile and a hearty handshake, forearm muscles bulging. I wondered what it would be like to have those hands on me. My fingers tracing those tats. Listening to him tell me the story of his body while he forgave mine. Forgave it for failing me. I shook my head fast to banish the thoughts that drew me into places so dark they became black holes of the soul. The gravity of trauma had a way of sucking all the good into it, and tonight I wasn’t going to let that happen. The opposite, in fact. Tonight I was going to sleep with Tyler. He didn’t know it yet, but that was okay. He would. Soon.
Merry Random Christmas (#8): It all started with a game of Truth or Dare… It’s bad enough I got arrested for prostitution on Christmas Eve. Alleged prostitution, mind you. I didn’t do it. Of course I didn’t. The cops say I offered up a certain sex act for a $5 gasoline gift card, but honey? My sex acts are worth way, way more. So when I tried to explain what happened to the person who came and bailed me out of jail, she wasn’t exactly impressed. Because it was my boyfriend’s mother. Now, I got two boyfriends, so Murphy’s Law said it had to be the mother I hate the most. And she hates me right back. Even more now that I lost her son. That’s right. Where in the hell are Joe and Trevor? It’s Christmas Eve, and I keep getting pictures on social media showing Joe and Trevor all oiled up in g-strings that look like candy canes, dancing with a bunch of well-coiffed older women. I, on the other hand, am wearing Santa pants, flip flops, and smell like jail cell pee. That game of Truth or Dare turns out to be way more dangerous than anyone expected. And our savior? It ain’t the baby Jesus. Not the three wise men. No little drummer boy. Not even the donkey that carried the Virgin Mary on its back while she howled for an epidural. Nope. Can you guess? That’s right. Mavis the Chicken. Can she help us out of this clustercluck?
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