Today is release day for SOUR, a stand-alone adult contemporary romantic comedy, by Jennifer Woodhull. See below for information on the book, buy links, an exclusive excerpt, and details on her giveaway.
About the Book
Author: Jennifer Woodhull
Release Date: June 4, 2019
Genre: Adult Contemporary Romantic Comedy
Links: Goodreads | Amazon | Amazon UK | Amazon CA | Barnes & Noble | Amazon AU | iBooks | Kobo
Tall, handsome, and eternally optimistic Noah has dated a string of gorgeous women. His best friend Elle has outlasted them all. Of course, he has no idea she’s been in love with him for years. Why would he? It’s not like she’s going to tell him. After all, she’s short and awkward, and as he’s fond of reminding her, has a sour disposition.
When Elle takes off on her annual ten-day vacation with her family, Noah comes to a startling realization. She’s the woman who is by his side day in and day out, whose office is across the hall, and whose house is around the corner. She has called him on his shit when he gets too cocky, and he has held her in her arms when her heart was broken. Absence must make the heart grow fonder because while she’s in Germany with her parents, he realizes that everything he has ever wanted was right there all along. Now he’s on a mission to make her realize that romance won’t ruin their friendship, but platonic friendship is ruining their relationship.
I’m beyond excited that this trip will be just me and Noah, instead of a lot of boring people there that we have to pay attention to instead of just hanging out with each other like we prefer.
I try to focus on the workflow I’m supposed to turn in this week for the marketing strategy for the last quarter of the year, but I’m having trouble focusing.
My instant messenger lights up.
Noah: we need things. let’s go shopping tonight.
Me: what sort of things
Noah: you need a new dress for the formal vendor night, and I need…things
Me: what sort of things?
Noah: it’s personal
I grab my phone and text him.
ME: WHAT SORT OF THINGS
NOAH: don’t yell its rude
ME: THEN TELL ME
NOAH: it’s PERSONAL
ME: tell me or I’ll throw away all the gummies u left at my place.
NOAH: u wouldn’t dare
ME: wouldn’t I though?
ME: I’m sorry?
NOAH: underwear. I washed my underwear with a red polo and they’re all pink. every pair.
ME: <tears of joy emoji>
I laugh out loud so hard I snort, and he looks up from his desk, craning his neck to look through my window at me. I stand and walk across the hall to his office, and flop down in the chair across from his desk.
“So, tiger, how pink are we talkin’, here?” I put a finger up to catch the tears under my eyes from laughing so hard, and hope I don’t have an unintentional smoky-eye look from my mascara.
“Pink. Like…pink.” He replies, shaking his head.
“That’s not like you, Noah. You’re the perfect housekeeper. You’re great at laundry. You did such a great job cleaning up my place that I can’t find anything.” I roll my eyes.
When I mention the cleaning job he did in my apartment, his cheeks turn pink. I can’t say I’ve ever seen that happen before. It’s weird. It’s intriguing.
“Oh, well…,” he rubs a broad palm up and down the back of his neck. “I’ve been kinda distracted lately. It was just a stupid mistake.”
“Well, we definitely don’t want you walking around Vegas in pink shorts. What if our rooms are on the same floor? If you pick up some girl, and bring her back, her laughter will probably wake me up.” I fan myself until my laughter subsides.
“I’m not picking up any girls in Vegas,” he says, putting his hands behind his head as he leans back in his chair.
“Oh? I thought you said you were cooling things off with…what was the last one’s name? Is that back on?” I ask, hoping my curiosity sounds light and friendly, though it is definitely neither.
“No, that’s been over for a while. I’m not picking up women in Vegas, though. I’m thinking of trying something different…,” he looks down, then casts his eyes up at me, the pale blue orbs turning dark as they peek up from under thick, dark brows.
“What?! Don’t tell me you’re batting for the other team now. I mean, I’ve had a few gay guys ask me about you, but I always thought for sure you preferred an innie to an outie,” I laugh.
“Um, no. Definitely one-hundred-percent straight, thanks,” then he looks at me and we say in unison, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Seinfeld. Our mutual love of 90s sitcoms is boundless. It is one of a thousand things that make him perfect.
“So, what then?” I ask, dipping my brows.
“I’m taking a little break from the usual, that’s all. I’m thinking maybe I want to try…I dunno. Something…more.” He shrugs and holds my gaze intensely.
“So…,” I swallow hard, the words catching in my throat. Please, dear God, tell me this isn’t the conversation I’ve dreaded for the past five years. Please, please, don’t let him have found someone he’s serious about.
About the Author
We all need moments of escape. With all the demands on us day in and day out, we each need something just for ourselves. Perhaps nothing provides a private moment – a brief respite from the everyday – like escaping into a great story. When you pick up one of my books I hope you find that place that you can escape to. Explore the streets of Paris with new heroines, or fly around the world to reclaim your lost love with a favorite hero. Whether it’s the romance that takes your breath away or those climactic encounters that make your pulse race, I hope you find that solitary moment of enjoyment while lost in one of my stories.
Jennifer Woodhull is based in the Southern United States, spending time in her second home of England, and traveling as often as she can. Her love of travel permeates her work, and her characters often find themselves exploring new and foreign surroundings.
A keen observer of human behavior, Jennifer often draws inspiration from something as simple as a fleeting connection, or the glimpse of a unique trait or characteristic. Her favorite place to write is on airplanes.
“The drone of the engine, the scores of people, all traveling to something or from something, and being disconnected from digital distractions are a combination that provide the perfect place to write,” she says. “If you see a woman in seat 9F who is balancing her Macbook on her lap because it’s time to close your tray table, please have patience. I’m just trying to finish one more sentence.”
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