Title: Beauty and the Book Boyfriend
Author: K.M. Galvin
Genre: Contemporary Romance
**Recommended for ages 18 and up**
When Bellamy Strong started writing, it wasn’t with the intention of becoming the next phenomenon. It was…to be blunt she had no friends. School is rough on the anti-social. It’s even harder publishing your books and the world decides it wants a piece of you.
Now her series is ending and her publisher is demanding she show up for her fans. End her reclusive persona. A three month, worldwide book tour dressed as Makyla, the lead character in her book. As for Maxsen, the love interest, her fans pick model Caleb Pace to play the role during a casting contest. No big deal right?
What happens when your fantasy comes to life and turns out better than you imagined?
K.M. has a coffee addiction that's just begging for an intervention and an obsession with music that borders on unhealthy. She’s undefeated in the Office trivia and looking for her own Ron Swanson while she writes. The entire Twenty-Something series is now available.
“Here, you forgot this,” a deep voice says from behind me. Still crouched, I spin on the balls of my feet and immediately fall flat on my ass when I see who’s behind me.
Standing above me is Max. My Max. But that’s not possible, right? Maybe I’m having a psychotic break; the stress of the series is causing me to hallucinate.
Max bends down, bringing us to eye level. His face is millimeters from mine. He lets out a breath and it washes over me. Actual breath. From his lungs. In. My. Face. I gulp in air, finally able to breathe, and that’s a little better. I blink.
“Huh?” I croak. Brilliant.
“I said you forgot this,” he responds, his voice filled with laughter as he waves a tampon in front of my face like a magic wand.
Goddammit, it’s a super.
My face fills with so much heat I’m surprised it doesn’t singe my eyebrows straight off. Jumping to my feet, I scrutinize him carefully. He follows my movements, standing to his full height, and holy hell he’s tall.
At least a foot taller than my 5’4.” Just like I’d imagined. His hair is a dark auburn, so dark it looks like spilled blood at midnight; so dark it looks black until the sun hits it. His eyes are honey-brown, almost supernatural in their color.
It’s supposed to be unreal because he’s not real. What the frick?!
His face looks as if it’s carved from granite. In fact, every inch of him is defined. Light golden skin is stretched tightly over his muscles, and even though he is wearing a loose work out tank and track pants, I can tell he’s hard all over. I can tell because that’s how I wrote him. I’ve known him for almost ten years now.
“Are you ok?” he asks, his eyes crinkling at the corners with concern.
So many thoughts and words, too bad they’re all trapped in my throat. My hand rises on its own violation and… I poke him.
I poke his chest.
I touch him.
Holy effing shit!
“Oh my God!” I whisper-yell. Am I dreaming? I pinch myself hard and yelp. Nope, I’m awake. “Oh my God. This is not happening!”