Title: Forgot to Tell You Something
Author: M.L. Broome
Genre: Steamy Contemporary Romance
Release Date: November 10, 2020
Play by the Rules…
What do you get when you mix a dive bar, a worn velvet couch, and a discussion about goats?
The night I met Owen, obviously.
Talk about the unexpected. I sought out my private nook in Wicked Chucks, looking for a good view of the band. Instead, I got a front-row seat to the most delicious man I’ve ever seen.
He’s everything I never knew existed but being with him means breaking my own rules.
I didn’t invent the rules, but I play by them.
Rules maintain order.
Rules keep me focused.
Okay, rules suck, but they also keep me safe.
Now, I have a man who wants to toss out my rule book and create a new one. Together.
Some Rules are Meant to be Broken…
What do you get when you combine a tiny woman with a mile-wide stubborn streak, unwavering dating rules, and a hard-hitting passion?
My current situation.
I went to Wicked Chucks for the music, but I met Tally instead, right after she crashed through the balcony door and into my arms.
The first thing I realized? She’s a total klutz. The second? I was staring into the face of the woman I’d been eyeing all night, and she was even more beautiful up close. But when she started discussing blood oaths and goats, her coolness factor skyrocketed.
No joke, this woman is made for me. She’s gorgeous, funny, and sexy without trying.
Only one small problem—she has rules. Two of them are cake. The last one? That might be a problem.
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“I was looking at you, too. Not to state the obvious, but you are pinup calendar hot, Owen.”
“Is that right? Tell me more about how hot I am.” I know that look, complete with his sexy grin. That look tells me he’s picturing me naked, riding him into oblivion.
A tempting idea, really.
“Nice try. I’m not stroking your ego.”
The grin widens at my unintentional sexual innuendo.
“Don’t even say it, Owen.”
“I was just wondering if other body parts were admissible.”
I try to hold back my smile, but it’s an impossibility. “And yet, you said it.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I nod—at least we agree on something. “It’s not, but it is you who missed out on mind blowing sex.”
His jaw slackens. “You’re joking.”
I shrug, keeping my gaze on the computer screen. “Guess you’ll never know.”
“How about I make it up to you? Twice as long, twice as good?”
“Nah. One and done. Sorry.”
His fingers tap the desk. Apparently being turned down for sex is not something he’s used to in his life. “We’ll see about that.”
I peer at him over the top of my glasses, sending him a scowl. “Check your ego, Dr. Stevens. You’re not that irresistible.”
His hand snakes across the desk, clasping mine. “No, I’m not. You are. I told you, you’re the purest heroin.”
“Could we find another analogy? I hate being compared to something that destroys lives.”
Owen chuckles, lifting my fingers to his lips. “How about this, then? You’re every dream I never knew I had. I didn’t believe in soulmates until I met you. You’re it for me, Tally.”
God, I hate him. I hate when he says things so profound and moving, and he looks so damn earnest and yet manages to smash my heart into bits on the ground. I pull my hand back, massaging the palm with my thumb. “Only one problem with that, Owen. I don’t believe you anymore.”
“Then I’ll prove it to you.”
I laugh, not because it’s funny but because it’s such a well-worn line. “Sure, you will.”
“Will you give me a chance?”
“Owen, I’ve given you nothing but chances.”
M.L. Broome is a bohemian spirit with a New York edge. She writes high-octane contemporary romance with a touch of angst and plenty of steamy goodness. Her characters are bitingly real, earning their happily-ever-after only after some emotional ass-kicking and personal growth.
When M.L. isn’t writing or holding one-sided arguments with her characters (spoiler alert—they always win), she loves losing herself in nature on her North Carolina farm, one of her rescue buddies by her side. She adores dressing up and kicking back, a glass of whiskey with an equally stunning view, and experiences that make the soul—and senses—tingle.
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