Wishing the happiest of book birthdays to R.S. Grey’s “King of the Court” and Carrie Aarons’ “Then You Saw Me”! (My reviews of the ARCs will be posted soon!)
You know what’s guaranteed to send your heart into your throat? Opening the front door of your off-campus house to find the boy you had a crush on all through high school telling you he’s the new subletter.
Of course, he barely knew I existed back then, and still doesn’t even though we attend the same university. But in a house of six college kids, it should be easy to remain invisible while carrying a torch for him. After all, I’m skilled at being overlooked and playing second fiddle.
Except Austin Van Hewitt, my hometown’s golden boy, doesn’t get the memo. After we throw our first party of the year, I’m on his radar and somehow my lips miraculously end up on his. The budding romance is one I’ve always dreamt about. As he shows more and more interest, I push aside the plaguing insecurity of never being good enough.
But then a letter shows up in our mailbox. A time capsule I wrote to myself when I was fifteen. You know, the kind where a teacher sends it to you years later? Guess who opens it by mistake and reads all about how I plan on marrying him and having his babies one day? Did I mention I signed it using his last name?
Mortifying would be an understatement. After he starts pulling away, I’m once again the girl in the background hoping that someone will understand me enough to pay me all of their attention.
The old me, the one conditioned to settle for what she’s given, would back down. This time, though, if I want everything I almost held in my hands, I’ll have to speak up. I’ll have to admit exactly how I feel, fight for the love that was blossoming. And I’m not sure what’s scarier; voicing my inner thoughts or facing his ultimate rejection.
We don’t get a lot of NBA superstars coming through little ol’ Pine Hill, Texas. That’s why everyone is all in a tizzy over the fact that the USA men’s Olympic basketball team will be training here of all places before this year’s Summer Games. With little else to talk about, rumors about the players have been spreading like wildfire, and there’s one man in the middle of it all holding a match.
Olympic gold medalist.
Widely hailed ‘King of the Court’.
The morning he walks into my dingy diner, I have enough sense to keep my head down and go right on wiping tables, pouring coffee, and serving up short stacks. A man who looks like that—superstar or not—has only ever meant trouble, and more trouble is the last thing I need, what with taking care of Nan and scraping by on tips from truckers.
If anything, he seems drawn to my indifference. His steely gaze pierces me behind the counter. My knees nearly buckle under the weight of his attention. But while Mr. Pretty Boy is probably used to snagging city girls with a smile, this gal is country strong.
I won’t be some clichéd convenience for him on his way through town.
So look over your choices carefully, Benny-boy. We serve up sides of hash browns here, not heartbreak.