A brand new duet is coming from Meghan Quinn, unlike anything she’s written before, with books releasing only a few weeks apart. She describes it as “an epic romance about a man who is bound and determined to become a fighter pilot, not letting any distractions get in his way, but when he meets a girl at a party in the mountains, he knows his life is about to change. There are twists, turns, and epic surprises in this story…” Feast your eyes on the covers of the Blue Line duet!
Taking a deep breath, I sip my beer as Stryder nudges me with his elbow. “Check out the girls playing pool over there.”
I look at the pool table, which is surrounded by partygoers cheering on what seems to be one hell of an epic battle between two teams. One is made up of two guys who look somewhat familiar. Do I know them? And the other team is made up of a blonde and a brunette.
The blonde has shoulder-length hair tousled to the side, as if she’s been running her hands through it all night. Her lips have been painted with bright pink lipstick, bringing out the glow in her complexion. She is hot, really hot.
But she’s not the one who’s caught my attention.
Stick in hand, laughing at something one of the guys said, the brunette’s smile spreads across her face, lips full and natural, a light gloss highlighting them. Her long, brown hair falls over her bare shoulders in waves, blanketing her in a gorgeous waterfall of silky strands. Her body, fit and small with a light swell in her hips, tapers down to toned legs. There is an air of exuberance surrounding her, a bright beacon in the dark night. Her smile, her laughter . . . it lights up the night, drawing attention to her from everyone around her. There’s no denying her beauty or the way she so easily captures people. But I’m not sure she’s aware.
I can’t take my eyes off her.
The blonde makes another shot, and then calls for the eight ball to sink in the top right pocket. With one quick stroke, she sparks the cue ball right into the eight and sinks it, ending the game. The guys they were playing groan, gripping their heads, while the blonde and brunette give each other a quick hug. From afar, I can see the blonde whisper into the brunette’s hair, pulling a smile from her friend.
Sticks in hand, they pat the losers on the backs and, following the blonde’s lead, the girls head in our direction.
Casting my gaze down, I stare at my boots, the fold of my jeans kissing the top of the stylish shoes I very rarely wear.
I’m hit first by a sweet, flowery scent and then a pair of grey boots come into view.
“Stryder Sheppard, right?”
Keeping my head pointed down, but peering up through my eyelashes, the blonde props her pool stick next to her and cocks a hip out to the side.
“Yeah.” From the corner of my eye, I can see Stryder’s signature smile pull at the corners of his lips. “Do I know you?”
Sticking her hand out, she says, “Ryan Collier. You came to our prom with Dani Barton, senior year.”
“Ah, Dani.” Stryder nods his head knowingly. “She’s going to school up in Idaho, isn’t she?”
“I believe so. Studying hotel management.”
Stryder nods his head in agreement. “Good for her.” Gesturing to the brunette, Stryder asks, “Who’s your friend?”
I take that minute to look up as the brunette moves a step forward, entering my line of vision. “This is Rory. Rory, you remember Stryder, right?”
The noise around us seems to quiet—movement of the lake slowing, and air stilling—as Rory speaks, her voice awakening something inside of me. “How could I forget the infamous Stryder Sheppard who led the senior and junior class in an epic rendition of YMCA? You were a legend that night.”
Chuckling, Stryder says, “That’s my jam. What can I say, I was feeling the beat.”
“Who’s your friend?” Ryan asks, her voice distinctly different than Rory’s.
Where Ryan has more of a throaty voice, Rory’s falls off her tongue sweet and smooth, like fresh spring water trickling down the mountain. It does something to your body . . . makes you feel at ease.
Looking up, hands gripping the banister behind me, I listen to Stryder introduce me.
I make eye contact with Rory for the first time.
“This is Colby, my best friend and right-hand man.”
I barely register his words, or the pat on my back followed by a squeeze to my shoulder, because in that moment, it feels like the world momentarily stops spinning, the noise draining into silence around us.
Gorgeous and sensitive green eyes connect with my dark, brooding irises. A tilt of her lips, a flash of her straight white teeth past those full, sleek lips.
“Hi.” It’s a simple greeting, one syllable, but it holds so much weight because that one little word seems to slant my entire world.