Book Blitz | 90s Playlist Anthology by Brighton Walsh, Lorelie Brown, Amy Jo Cousins, Audra North, Rebecca Grace Allen & Jennifer Blackwood

90s PLAYLIST: A ROMANCE REWIND ANTHOLOGY
by Brighton Walsh, Lorelie Brown, Amy Jo Cousins, Audra North, Rebecca Grace Allen, Jennifer Blackwood
Published: October 13th, 2015
Genres: New Adult, Romance, Contemporary
Purchase: Amazon

Six stories of sex, love, and being young in the ‘90s, inspired by songs of the decade…

My Strongest Weakness by Brighton Walsh
It was supposed to be a one-time thing. No one would find out; no one would have to know. And then once turned into twice, and twice turned into several times a week, and now pierced, punk-loving, rebellious Tia Lanning is banging Mason Brooks, the big man on campus and Mr. All American. But banging him isn’t the problem. Falling for him is. Especially when he’s content to let her remain his dirty little secret.

Worthwhile by Audra North
Jill didn’t expect her semester in Leeds to start with getting dumped by her boyfriend. Especially since she only came to England to be with him. Two weeks in, all she wants to do is go home. Finding love with someone new is definitely not an option. But when she literally stumbles into grad student Stuart’s arms, her experience abroad becomes a lot more worthwhile.

Creep by Lorelie Brown
Roni lives for the raves in Oakland’s warehouse district. Dancing till dawn in white gloves under black lights breathes life into her soul. Nothing will get her kicked out of her underground world faster than turning over Skittles, her dealer. She refuses to provide info about the underage runaway to his big brother Tom. But Tom is going to find Skittles with or without Roni’s cooperation. But Tom is special. He’s rich, handsome and bold. Roni wishes she was special. And like the rave scene she loves, nothing lasts forever.

Smells Like Teen Spirit by Rebecca Grace Allen
Rory Stone’s days of grunge and poetry are behind her, her reality now in bags of Arabian brew, and counting the change in the tip jar. Can indie singer James Griffith rock her muse back into the present?

The Belle vs. the BDOC by Amy Jo Cousins
Shelby Summerfield is a gold star lesbian, even if she doesn’t look like one. Florence Truong is the only other dyke at Carlisle College in 1993 not wearing plaid flannel, and Shelby sets her sights on seduction. But instead of a delightful tumble in the sheets, Florence calls her out for being a straight girl. With seduction off the table, Shelby settles for revenge for her humiliation. But if all she wants is to show up her campus rival, how come Shelby can’t stop herself from saving Florence instead of annihilating her?

Little Red Thong by Jennifer Blackwood
Emily Jones is ready to embark on the most epic spring break trip of her college career with her bestie, twin brother, and her brother’s best friend, Chase. Chase has been in love with Emily since the eighth grade when she kicked his ass in laser tag. He’s not going to piss away his last chance to tell her how he feels. When the group decides to play a game of Spring Break BINGO that involves body shots, a red thong, and secret hookups, this is the perfect catalyst to get him out of the friend zone. But as things get heated, they have to decide if twenty years of friendship is worth putting in jeopardy because of a game, and what will happen when they hit dry land.

I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you sure you’re his brother? Skittles doesn’t have an accent at all, and you’re…what? English?”

“Good ear, Miss…”

“Roni. Short for Veronica. And you can lay off the miss shit.” He makes me feel defensive. He’s too…Jesus, too much. I step back, but run into the CD rack behind me. It clatters.

“I assure you I’m his brother.” Tom inclines his head toward me and his dark hair falls across his forehead in a way I bet he doesn’t like. That’s what comes of pulling off his sunglasses and scraping his fingers through the waviness in frustration. It looks like both a familiar and awkward gesture. His shirt and slacks are still pin-slick-ironed though. “Half brother, and I’m older by ten years. We haven’t been as close as I’d like. Which is why it’s come to my attention only recently that Corey is in trouble.”

“Seems fine when I see him.” I shrug and turn away toward the rack of Prince. I wipe my cloth over the sign, reaching up on my tiptoes to get the vinyl on the higher, less-accessed shelf, and I hope I don’t shake. Skittles doesn’t seem so great lately.

My stomach gives an entirely different kind of twist than it had a minute ago, the not-nice kind.

“He hasn’t accessed his trust fund in over three months.”

“His what?” I squawk and back to face Tom.

His eyebrows lift, wrinkling his brow. “He doesn’t make it known?”

“No.” I can’t help a laugh. “Not really.”

Tom leans in. I swear I can smell crisp cologne. I want to put my nose against the soft spot behind his jaw to find out. “Do you know where he’s been staying?”

“See, that’s the thing.”

Closer. He comes even closer. My gaze flicks away toward the front counter, but I can’t see Cindy. I don’t want to. I want something really filthy to happen. I want this man to touch me. Not just a hand on my waist, but I want him to touch me intimately. Molesting kinds of level. Hand straight up my shirt. It’s high cut enough, showing off my midriff above low-slung jeans. I’m not going to stop him.

But he has completely different things on his mind. His jaw tightens in a way that says he’ll chew me up and spit me out if I give him half a chance. “Where does he stay?”

“Nowhere. He’s one of the kids…” I gulp. “He’s one of the kids who crashes. Here and there. If you’re lucky, you might be able to find him up and down Telegraph Avenue.”

Tom is furious. Burning with something like rage. I want to touch him. I want to burn myself on him. But he has a force field around him.

Finding it exciting probably cements my fucked-in-the-headedness.

“And if I don’t find him there? Do you know how I can get ahold of him?”

“Sort of.” I have a beeper number I use for him, but I don’t think he’d be happy with me if I give it to Tom. Just a hunch.

“Care to elucidate?”

“My, my, isn’t that a ten dollar word.” I bite the inside of my lip. He is…remarkable.

“Not in the circles I run in.”

“I have no doubt of that.” My fingertips creep toward my bare waist. I want his eyes there. I want him to notice me.

I have a tendency to act out inappropriately.

“How do I find him, Roni?”

I like that he remembers my name, at least. I head for the front window. The sill is six inches deep and stacked with flyers. Colorful ones in dye-cut shapes, black-and-white ones that had been run off on a Xerox machine. A tiny stack of a really wicked poetry ‘Zine that I’ve left there beyond the six-week cutoff because more people could use poetry in their life, even if it tends toward a little overly pretentious. The flyer I need is bright-as-hell yellow, in the shape of a happy face. On the other side are barely intelligible details for a huge ass party. There are no directions, just a phone number that you should call on Friday, the day of the event. There’d be a voicemail recording with the location. “He’ll be here.”

“A rave.” Tom turns the flyer over and over. Disdain crawls out of his pores. His eyes are a cool blue, his cheekbones high in a way I’m not used to. Most people I know with cheekbones that sharp have heroin problems. Not this guy. He’s too…well bred. “How do you know Corey will be there?”

“Skittles is my dealer.”