Author: BB Easton
Genre: New Adult Romance
Release Day: September 11th
Because BB Easton had so much fun writing her bestselling, award-winning memoir, 44 CHAPTERS ABOUT 4 MEN, she decided to give each of her four men his own steamy standalone! SPEED is the second book in the 44 Chapters spin-off series—a gritty, taboo love triangle overflowing with dark humor and tangible teen angst. It is based on a true story.
After her possessive, psychopathic, rage-fueled ex, Knight, joins the Marines, sixteen-year-old BB is left trying, and failing, to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart. It isn’t until she meets Harley James—an easy-going, tattooed mechanic with a face as angelic as his habits are sinful—that she learns how to live again. How to laugh again. But will she learn to love again?
Over Knight’s dead body.
Review by Paula:
What a wild and crazy ride. BB is still hurting after Knight left her for the marines she can’t eat and even trying to celebrate her sixteen birthday doesn’t really phase her until her parents gift her new tires for her car. BB meets Harley a older guy who is sexy as hell and things start to lift up until Knight shows up. Wow so much drama and heartache I felt awful for BB and these guys I wanted to smack each one for her! I felt like BB through out this book though we hear her thoughts and feel her feelings so much I wanted to be her friend. A great intense romance story and I want more! 5 Stars
It was love at first sight. A late ‘60s Mustang fastback body style, matte black paint job, matte black rims, blacked out windows, and a massive open-air scoop on the hood. It looked like something straight out of Mad Max.
“Can I help you with somethin’?”
I turned and met the amused stare of a broad shouldered, baby-faced, blue-eyed mechanic. His dirty-blond hair was pushed back in a messy pompadour. His forearms were covered in hot rod tattoos. His pouty bottom lip was pierced. And his name was embroidered on the A&J Auto Body shirt hugging his hard chest.
“Sorry,” I sputtered. “I know I’m probably not supposed to be back here, but I…” I looked back up at the beast on the lift and a deep longing seized my chest. “I just can’t leave her.”
Harley—if that was even his real name—chuckled and said, “So, you like the ladies, huh?”
“What? No!” I snapped.
“Good.” The mechanic smiled, and the twinkle in his mischievous blue eyes reminded me just how much I liked boys.
Trying to bring the subject back to cars and away from my sexual orientation, I looked around the garage and pointed to my faded black hatchback on the farthest lift. “I drive the baby version of this.”
Harley glanced over at my most prized possession and nodded in approval. “Five-oh, huh? Not bad. Manual or automatic?”
“Manual,” I groaned.
“No shit? Your boyfriend teach you how to drive that thing?”
“No,” I said, letting my mouth hang open in pretend offense.
“Ah,” Harley nodded. “You met him after you got the car.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said, rolling my eyes. I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from smiling. God, he was cute. The guy had a face like James Dean and a body like Dean Cain. And that accent. Living in the south, Southern accents are a dime a dozen, but Harley’s was just subtle enough to be cute. Cute, cute, cute.
Harley smirked at me and asked, “Your old man must be a car guy then, huh?”
“You got me,” I smiled. “I’ve been hoarding all his old Muscle Car magazines since I was a kid. I used to cut out all the Mustang pictures and tape them to my bedroom walls, but the tape fucked up the sheetrock so my mom bought one of those clear plastic shower curtains with the photo pockets and—”
Harley held up a hand to silence me. “I’m gonna have to stop you right there,” he beamed, “’cause right now all I can picture is you in the shower and I’m pretty sure I’m not gonna be able to process another word you say.”
Oh my God!
I could feel the prickly heat of a blush creeping up my neck. I bit the insides of my cheeks to keep my face from splitting open into a blotchy, big-toothed grin caused by his sexy little comment had caused. This guy, Harley, had to be in his early twenties, he was fiiiine as hell, and he was flirting with me.
Having no idea how to respond to that, I tried again to change the subject. “So, what do you drive?”
“Hmm…” Harley tilted his head and smirked. “Why don’t you take a guess?”
Oh, we’re playing games now. Okay…
I tapped my lips with my fingertips and eyed him, thinking hard.
“You strike me as a…Volkswagen Beetle kinda guy.”
Harley almost laughed, then quickly scowled, trying to look offended.
“No? Oh, I got it. PT Cruiser.”
Harley pursed his ample lips, fighting back a grin.
That one had him wrinkling his nose in genuine horror.
“Oh, I know—it’s a trick question! You drive a Vespa!”
I was running out of ideas, so I looked around the shop and spotted a ‘64 Impala lowrider. “Ooh! I found it. Right there,” I said, pointing to the hoopty. “The gold rims were a nice touch. I bet you even put hydraulics on it, didn’t you?”
Harley finally let out the laugh he’d been biting back. It was deep and raspy and made my insides tingle. “You’re getting warmer,” he said. “It’s actually on hydraulics right now.” Harley lifted an oil-smudged finger and pointed to the matte black sex machine above my head.
(subject to change)
About the Author
BB Easton lives in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia with her long-suffering husband, Ken, and two adorable children. She recently quit her job as a school psychologist to write stories about her punk rock past and deviant sexual history full-time. Ken is suuuper excited about it.