Nice Girls Don't Ride
Roni Loren
April 21, 2015
Book
Blurb:
Natalie
Bourne thinks she has the perfect night planned for her twenty-first birthday.
But when her car breaks down and her boyfriend bails on her, she’s left
stranded in an auto shop dealing with a way too cocky, way too hot mechanic,
who seems to be intent on pushing every button she has.
Monroe
Hawkins knows he shouldn’t be messing with a girl from the uppity private
college. Especially when he can tell she sees him as the help. But he’s having
trouble resisting the redhead with the smart mouth and the killer legs. So when
Natalie’s night goes from bad to worse, there’s no way he’s letting her spend
her birthday alone. He makes her a deal—he’ll take her home but not until the
sun comes up.
Ten hours,
one motorcycle, and the city of Austin at their fingertips…things are about to
take a major detour. And soon, there may be no U-turn in sight.
My Thoughts:
I adore Roni Loren's writing, because it's fun, flirty, sexy, entertaining, and whatever other adjectives you want to use. By the end of any of her stories you feel satisfy and hankering for more, with that said Nice Girls Don't Ride has all the great qualities that are associated with a Roni Loren story. I love this story. It was a fun quick read. Of course I would love to see this a little longer, because it was a fun read once Natalie ditches the douche she called the boyfriend.Seriously, her boyfriend was a douche. He was one of those guys that view girls as objects. Now come on if you are going to cheat on your girl have the decency not to ditch her on her birthday. However, people in relationship should cheat in general just lead to bad things happening. After she ditches the loser she hangs out with Monroe, by the way he's soooo awesome. LOVE Monroe. Oh my gosh, I mean he could have ditch Natalie after she taken care of the douche, but she gave her a birthday she would remember. Definitely heart melting good time. He made her feel special when no one else in her life did. Plus, he cooks (keeper).
You can go back to my opening and everything I said about Roni's books can able to Nice Girls Don't Ride. Definitely, a fun, sexy read that you don't want to miss. If you haven't taken a chance on Roni this would be good one to checkout, because it's quick and complete story.
Copy provided by Penguin via NetGalley
Excerpt from Nice Girls Don't Ride:
Chapter One
Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to
me, happy birthday, dear . . .
I groan and lean
back against the guardrail, shielding my eyes from the piercing sunlight. How
exactly should I finish that?
Girl
who currently smells like sweat and roadkill?
Girl
about to go broke paying for this mess?
Girl
whose boyfriend will not answer his goddamned phone?
My fingers move
over the screen as I text Caleb again. Where r
u???
I stare at my
phone, willing a response out of it, but the screen goes black before there’s
any answering ding. Caleb had warned me that he was going to be cutting it
close for our date tonight. And I know his internship at the local campaign
office sometimes runs late when they’re prepping for a rally, but he should be
out by now.
My fingers move
over the screen again. R U
secretly Superman in ur off hours? Come on, u can tell me. If ur saving the
world, I’ll understand.
Of course,
there’s still no response. And now my neck is prickling with not just sweat but
anxiety. What if something happened to him? What if he was in an accident? What
if—?
I stop myself
before the thoughts spiral, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath. Cool it, Nat. But that little exercise only gets me a lungful
of the dead skunk that’s roasting in the heat a few yards away from me on the
side of the highway. Blech. I press my fingers over my
mouth, fighting a wave of nausea.
I check the
clock on my phone for what seems like the hundredth time. The roadside-assistance
lady said they would contact a local garage and get me a tow right away. But
it’s been over an hour, and the only cars that have passed by have either
ignored me or sent catcalls flying my way. Because, of course, my piece-of-crap
car had to break down when I’m all dressed up in a low-cut dress and heels for
my birthday dinner. Yay for timing.
One guy had at
least offered to help and had seemed nice enough, but I’ve seen how those
horror movies end. Girl on the side of the road accepts help from a seemingly
harmless stranger, only to have her organs carved out later that night. No,
thanks.
A grinding of
tires on gravel draws my attention upward. A black tow truck rolls past me on
the road and pulls to the side, sending a cloud of dust in its wake. I keep my
phone clutched in my hand, quickly check the can of Mace in my purse, and then
push off the guardrail. The side of the truck says Billy’s
Custom Cycles and Auto Repair. There’s a tattoo-style logo of a
motorcycle on fire, and I know that it’s definitely not the name of the repair
shop the roadside assistance service gave me. It had been some big
chain—AutoPlus or something like that. A little shimmer of nerves goes through
me and I stop where I am, my heels sinking into the gravel.
The front door
of the tow truck opens and a tattooed arm appears before anything else. For
some reason, my eyes lock onto pieces of the man instead of the whole—like I
can’t handle the entire view quite yet, only snapshots. That muscular arm as
the driver slides out of the truck. The worn black motorcycle boots that hit
the ground. I force myself to look up, tracking along the faded jeans and
fitted black T-shirt, until I collide with a dark blue gaze.
“Looks like you
need a ride.”
The deep voice
startles me for a second and snaps me back into the moment like a slingshot. Ping! Pay attention, Nat. Now is not
the time to let my guard down. “No, thank you, I don’t. I already have another
shop on the way.”
His gaze tracks
over my dusty dress, slow and lazy like, before he lifts a dark brow. “How long
have you been waiting? It’s pretty hot out here.”
The once-over
makes me more than a little self-conscious. He can’t be all that much older
than me, early twenties for sure, but something about him is intimidating as
hell. “I don’t know. Not long. I’m sure they’ll be here any second.”
He crosses his
arms over his chest and eyes my car, which has chosen this moment to start
smoking from under the hood—as if it senses help in its midst and is crying out
for it. “What shop is coming?”
I brush at the
skirt of my dress, trying to give my nervous hands something to do. I don’t
want to look worried or scared or show him that I’m melting in this brutal
Texas heat. “AutoPlus, AutoMart . . .”
He scowls.
“Autoland.”
“That’s it.”
“You might as
well set up a tent then. They take forever to get to calls, and they’ll charge
you twice as much as we would. Plus, they close at six. They’re just going to
tow you in and then lock up for the night.”
“Says the guy
who wants to make a buck on a girl stranded on the side of the road.”
The corner of
his mouth lifts. “Hey, princess, I’m just trying to be a nice guy and get you
to your”—he looks me up and down again—“sorority party on time. I get paid the
same either way.”
Princess? Sorority party? My eyes narrow and I give him my own
head-to-toe look, taking in the messy dark hair, the tattoos, the heavy boots,
the finely shaped . . . I snatch the thought back before I can
go there. “Look, Son of Anarchy, I appreciate the nice guy
offer, but how do I even know you’re legit?”
He snorts. “You
think I drive a tow truck around for fun? Call the number on the side of the
truck if you want. But otherwise, I’ve got better stuff to do than stand here
in the heat, smelling roadkill. Two minutes, princess. I’ll be in the truck.
You want a tow and a ride? You get in. If not, good luck with Autoland.”
He turns to go,
and I feel a little dart of panic at being left alone again—even if he’s not
exactly the company I want. This isn’t the best part of Austin, and the sun is
on its way down. “Wait, what’s your name? You know, so I can verify.”
He doesn’t turn
around but calls back. “Monroe.”
I dial the
number to the shop and, of course, they verify that Monroe works for them and
is driving the truck today. The guy on the phone sounds amused by my questions.
And his reaction makes me realize that I’m being paranoid, that my nerves are
officially frayed, and it’s making me act like a bitch. I thank the guy on the
phone, hang up, and take a steadying breath. This is going to be okay. Not
everyone is out to take advantage. Some people actually do things to be helpful
without ulterior motives.
My mother would
laugh her ass off at that logic. Everybody’s got an agenda,
Nattie.
I straighten the
neckline of my dress, hike my purse up my shoulder, and walk over to the tow
truck with as much dignity as I can muster for a sweaty girl in a dusty dress.
Monroe hasn’t climbed back into the cab, but is instead leaning against the
front bumper and watching the cars zoom by on the overpass up ahead. He doesn’t
look my way. “Verified that I’m not a serial killer?”
“Verified that
you work for Billy’s. The serial-killer part is yet to be determined.”
He smiles out at
the horizon. “Want to check the backseat for weapons or body parts?”
“I have a
feeling you’d be too sneaky to leave such obvious evidence lying around. And if
you aren’t that clever, I’m going to be seriously disappointed in myself if I
fall victim to a dumb serial killer.”
He chuckles and
it changes his whole face, warming it. When he turns his head, his blue eyes
meet mine and my stomach tightens a little. I do my best not to let my reaction
show on my face. Last thing I need is him thinking that I’m interested in him.
Because, of course, I’m not. I’m totally not. If there’s an opposite of my
type, it’s this guy. And plus, I have Caleb. Cute, smart,
on-his-way-to-big-things Caleb.
Caleb, who won’t
answer his goddamned phone.
Monroe pushes
himself off the bumper. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult,
princess, but I’ll take it you’re going to ride with me.”
“Yes. But only
because I can’t handle the dead-skunk smell for another minute.”
“I’m preferable
to skunk guts? The flattery just rolls off you, doesn’t it?”
The jab lands
squarely. I press my fingers to the space between my eyes and rub. “Sorry. I’m
really not trying to be a bitch.”
“It just comes
natural, then?”
My eyes snap
open and I’m ready to hurl an insult back, but I find him wearing a playful
grin and clamp my lips shut.
He angles a
thumb toward the truck. “Get in . . .”
“Natalie,” I
supply.
“Natalie. And
kick the A/C on. Getting your car hooked up is gonna take a few minutes. You
may want to call someone for a ride, too, because there’s no guarantee we can
get this fixed tonight. I’m assuming you have plans.”
I glance down at
my outfit, suddenly self-conscious about the sexy getup. It’s not my typical
style, but tonight was supposed to be special, and I had wanted to knock Caleb
on his butt. He’s been so wrapped up in work and school lately that I’ve felt a
little like furniture. So I borrowed my roommate’s dress with its plunging
neckline and treated myself to the new risqué lingerie I’m wearing beneath. I’m
not exactly Ms. Vixen normally, so Caleb would’ve never seen it coming. Now
it’s all a waste.
“I have a date
with my boyfriend,” I say to Monroe.
“Right. So, he
can pick you up?”
“He’s not
answering his phone. But I’m sure I’ll get him soon.”
Monroe makes
some noncommittal noise and nods. “I’m going to get to work. You go and cool
off. There’s bottled water in the ice chest in the backseat.”
“Thanks.”
Before getting
in the truck, I find myself watching Monroe walk back toward my car. He’s
easily over six feet tall but doesn’t move in that awkward, hunched way that
most of the taller guys on campus move. There’s an easy confidence to him, like
he’s fully grown into his body and taken ownership—a man’s walk. My eyes follow
him as he pops the hood of my car and leans over. The hem of his shirt lifts as
he bends, exposing a strip of tanned, muscular lower back. I find myself
wondering what it would feel like beneath my fingers and if he has any more ink
hidden under there . . . I force my eyes away.
What the hell is
wrong with me? I don’t have random illicit thoughts about complete strangers.
Especially not strangers who have tattoos and call me princess.
I shake my head
and pull open the door on the passenger side. Maybe I have heatstroke or
something.
I lay my head
back against the seat and close my eyes. But all I can see is the image of my
new mechanic pulling his shirt all the way off, sweat dripping off him, me
putting my hands . . .
I sit straight
up.
Yep, definitely
heatstroke. Has to be.
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Author Bio:
Roni
wrote her first romance novel at age fifteen when she discovered writing about
boys was way easier than actually talking to them. Since then, her flirting
skills haven’t improved, but she likes to think her storytelling ability
has. Though she’ll forever be a New Orleans girl at heart, she now lives
in Dallas with her husband and son.
If she’s
not working on her latest sexy story, you can find her reading, watching reality
television, or indulging in her unhealthy addiction to rockstars, er, rock
concerts. Yeah, that's it. She is the National Bestselling Author of The
Loving on the Edge series from Berkley Heat.
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