Spotlight & Giveaway: Off the Record by Annmarie Boyle

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Annmarie Boyle to HJ!

Hi Annmarie and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Off the Record!

 
Hi! I’m so excited to share a little bit about my new book!
 

Please summarize the book for the readers here:

Off the Record is the third book in the Storyhill Musicians series and it features Bridget, a former WNBA point guard and college basketball phenom, and Blake, Storyhill’s tenor. They’ve known each other for years–each harboring a secret crush for the other. They’ve convinced themselves it’s too risky to act on their feelings until the night of Bridget’s brother’s wedding (who is also a member of Storyhill) when they throw all caution to the wind. After a steamy night of indiscretion they make a pact to never speak of it again. That works . . . well, until it doesn’t . . .
 

Please share your favorite line(s) or quote from this book:

I have a lot of favorite lines–here’s a tiny snippet from one of my favorite scenes (featuring Bridget and her best friend Kalisha):

“I think you better start at the beginning.”
Bridget flopped down on the couch next to Kal and threw her arm over her eyes. “It’s simple, really. A tale as old as time. Overworked executive loses her mind at her brother’s wedding, throws all caution to wind, sleeps with one of her brother’s best friends, qualifies for a free bottle of wine by completing her first Frequent Drinker card in three years, and is now ‘friends’ with long-time crush, and likely in love with said crush’s grandfather and dog.”
“You’re right,” Kal said. “If you take the sex part out, it’s practically a Disney classic. Animal sidekick included.”
Bridget grabbed a pillow from the couch and slapped Kal with it. “It’s not funny.”
Kal giggled. “It is, Bri. It really is.”
Bridget groaned. “You know why Disney never shows what happens after they get together? It’s because it looks like this.” Bridget waved her hand from her chin to her waist.
“It looks like pining?”
“No.” Bridget shimmied into a sitting position. “Dark circles” —she gestured to her eyes— “fatigue, heartburn, new wine habit.”
“So pining.”

Please share a few Fun facts about this book…

I love to write friendship and found family into my books–and this book is full of it! From best friends who call out half-truths when they hear them, to spritely octogenarians, to a pup that turns out to be less dog and more cupid in a fur coat, this book has a lot of love and laughter. Other fun facts are:

• Many of the side characters are named after the people who help bring the book to life (editors, proofreaders, etc)–it’s my favorite way to thank people!
• Storyhill, the band at the center of this series, is inspired by the real life country a cappella group, Home Free
• I am a major foodie and food makes it into every book–this one has a batch of very special lemon cookies, among other things
• I travel a lot and I love to write my favorite cities/locations into my books. This story is set in Minneapolis (my home town) and New York City (one of my favorite places).
• I love smushy faced dogs (I used to have Boston Terriers), thus the choice of Destiny’s breed: French Bulldog.

What first attracts your Hero to the Heroine and vice versa?

Sixteen years before the opening of our book our hero and heroine meet for the first time at a Storyhill concert. Bridget’s (our heroine) brother is a member of the band and he brings her backstage to meet the members of his new band. In the flash of a single smile, she’s smitten. Little does she know that Blake (our hero) felt the same way. They both harbor crushes for years–before admitting their feelings at Bridget’s brother’s wedding.

Did any scene have you blushing, crying or laughing while writing it? And Why?

There is a lot of witty banter and some pretty steamy moments in the book, but the part that chokes me up every time is the epilogue. But since I don’t want to spoil the book, I’m not sharing that. But . . . Blake (our hero) has a very close relationship with his grandfather and every time they are on the page together I’m either laughing or tearing up a little. Here is a little taste of a conversation between Blake and Clyde (Blake’s grandfather):

Clyde’s smile fell and he reached for Blake’s hand. “She’s a good woman, Blakey. Maybe you don’t push this one away. Maybe you hang on to this one.”
He wanted that, he did. But even if he felt more secure about his place in the band, there was still the fact that he wasn’t commitment material. Plus, shouldn’t he talk to Bridget about all of this before his grandfather? “We’re friends, Gramps.”
Clyde snorted. “I might be half dead, but I still got my marbles and I see the way you two look at each other. I don’t look at my friends like that.”
“Except Sharon?” Blake waggled his eyebrows.
“What are you afraid of, son?” Clyde asked, ignoring Blake’s blatant attempt at changing the subject.
So much for not talking about it. “I’m not built for commitment, Gramps. And I’m sure we can agree, that’s what Bridget deserves.”
“What’s wrong with commitment? I won’t say it’s easy. But with the right woman, the right person—I’m trying to learn that inclusivity thing—it’s worth it, Blakey. I wouldn’t trade one day of my fifty-three years with your grandmother. Not the hard ones. Not the days we drove each other crazy. None of ‘em.”
Blake stood and paced at the edge of the bed, scratching his beard. “How did you know Grams was the one?”
Clyde shifted in the bed, and Blake stepped forward to reposition his pillows. “I’m not sure I believe in the idea of The One or a soulmate, but after I met Norah, dating other women lost all appeal and when we were apart, I constantly thought, ‘I wish Norah was here to see this, do this,’ and so on. With her, the good things became great things.”
Blake leaned against the footboard, his fingers digging into the metal. He didn’t want to date other women. He’d stood on the path at the desert botanical garden and thought about how Bridget would love it there. He dreamed of taking their dog for a walk in Central Park, together.
“Blake.”
His eyes flashed to his grandfather’s. He never called him Blake.
“What’s the real problem, son?”
He blew out a tremulous breath. Time to come clean. “What if I give her my heart and she doesn’t want it? What if she pushes me aside? Rejects me?”
Clyde lifted a shoulder, wincing a little. “What if she does?”
Blake bumped a fist against the corner of the bed and smirked. His practical grandfather. No mincing of words here. “Great pep talk, Gramps.”
“It wasn’t a rhetorical question, son. What if she leaves you? Will you disintegrate into nothingness?”
A mirthless laugh fell from Blake’s lips. “No.”
“But what if she stays? What happens then?”
“I spend every day waiting for her to leave?”
“Or you get to spend every day with an amazing woman. A woman who laughs with you. A woman who challenges you.”
“I’ll think about it.” He didn’t need to tell Gramps he’d been thinking about it—and trying not to think about it—ever since that night in Minneapolis. Likely longer.
Clyde patted the bed, gesturing for Blake to sit next to him. Blake sat and grabbed his hand, settling it next to him.
“I love Lizzie with all my heart—and she loves you. But I know she’s not been the best role model. Or even around when you needed her. But your mother is not representative of every woman. A woman like Bridget loves with her whole heart.”
“How do you know that? You’ve only known her for a couple of weeks.”
“She watched Destiny despite her crazy schedule, and she stayed with me when I wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t leave this room until you got here. I don’t need to know more.”
Blake rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze dropping. “What about that crazy schedule, Gramps? She works a lot. Just like Mom.”
“Please review my previous argument. She made time for a dog. She made time for me. She’ll make time for you. And in return, she deserves all of you. Not just what’s in your pants.”
Blake’s eyes flew wide. “Gramps!”
“Think about it, Blakey. You can’t ask for her time if you’re unwilling to give her your heart. Your whole heart. You can’t hold pieces back because you’re afraid of getting hurt. It doesn’t work that way.” Clyde’s eyes fluttered and he yawned.
“Why don’t you take a nap? I’ll wake you when Bridget and Destiny get here.” And after I let your comments digest a bit.
Clyde nodded, and his eyes fell shut.

Readers should read this book….

There are so many reasons to read Off the Record! It’s got secret crushes, a former WNBA star, a portly, meddling pooch, music, and the complications of dating your brother’s best friend. It’s set in New York City and our hero and heroine really have to figure out if the risk of being together is worth the reward.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have in the works?

Off the Record came out yesterday, but I am already working on the next, and final, book in the Storyhill Musicians series. I’m still working on the title, but I can tell you it features single dad and Storyhill baritone, Nick Malone and his adorable son, Henry. There will be plenty of updates on the rest of the band and Nick’s love interest is a woman in STEM. My husband is a chemistry professor, so I have a lot of people and information to help me get the character just right! Look for it in March or April 2023.

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

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Excerpt from Off the Record:

CHAPTER ONE

Bridget Hayes’ plane left in exactly two hundred and eighteen minutes, and her suitcase sat open and empty on her bed. A giant black hole mocking her. It wasn’t like she didn’t know how to pack. Years on the road made her an expert. But this trip wasn’t about a basketball game or a business development meeting. Nothing that simple.
“I have nothing to wear,” Bridget mumbled. Hangers clattered into one another as she rejected every option.
“You have more clothes than the average New York City boutique in that massive closet,” Kal said, laying across Bridget’s bed, sorting through the romance novels on Bridget’s nightstand.
Bridget deflated into the oversized reading chair tucked into the corner. “I give up.”
Kalisha lifted her eyes and waved at the closet. “The red one is nice.”
“The one in the back?” Bridget pushed her dark-rimmed glasses up her nose and squinted. “That’s a dress.”
Kal huffed and spun into a sitting position, flipping her long braids over her shoulder. “And you wear dresses.”
“Not in front of my family,” Bridget said, pulling her legs underneath her. She absently ran her fingers over the scar that carved a deep red path from her thigh to her lower calf. If her family didn’t see her scars, there was less to trigger their sympathy. Less sympathy from them meant fewer memories for her.
“Don’t you think it’s time to . . .”
Kal’s question trailed off as Bridget’s phone blared out its familiar ringtone. Without thinking, Bridget moved toward the dresser where it sat and reached for it. Kal slapped her fingers away. Even ten years after her bestie took home the Final Four award for Most Outstanding Player, her razor-sharp reflexes were still fully intact.
“Leave it,” Kal admonished. “You’re on vacay.”
Bridget looked from her friend to the phone. She should leave it, but honestly, they both knew she’d never do that. “Hey Kristina,” Bridget said, after hitting accept.
Kal rolled her eyes and Bridget spun, ignoring Kal’s frown, and talked her assistant through downloading the financial information the Flames CEO requested. Guilt for taking the entire day off coiled in her belly. If the CEO needed budget information, it ought to come directly from her, not her assistant.
Kal picked up Bridget’s alarm clock and shoved it within an inch of Bridget’s nose. “Ticktock. The countdown is on. Wrap it up,” she whispered with a twist of a manicured finger.
Son of a Brunson. Phone calls and wardrobe indecision shrunk the time from “seasoned traveler casually boarding the plane” to “they won’t hold the plane for you, ma’am.” She despised being late, but when duty called—
Kal pulled the phone from her. “Hey Kristina, it’s Kal. Oh, yep, thanks. I’m glad you enjoyed it. We all good here? Your boss lady is in real danger of missing her plane.” Kal laughed. “I know, right?”
Bridget attempted to wrench the phone back, but Kal pivoted, said goodbye, and ended the call. “What if she needed something else?” Bridget said, unable to quiet the churn in her stomach.
“You’re too available, Bri. They don’t even think before they call you.”
“It’s my job, Kal.” Bridget turned back to her closet, praying for something she hadn’t already rejected to materialize. “Preseason starts in two weeks. It’s not the best time for me to take off.”
“Bri, you’re not getting your nails done. It’s your brother’s wedding. They can manage a day without you.”
“Three days,” Bridget reminded her.
Kal snorted. “Two of which are weekend days. Do not even get me started on your weekend work schedule.”
Bridget tipped up her chin. “You work on the weekends.”
Kal’s eyes popped wide. “Because my contract requires me to. Can you say the same?”
“Sometimes,” Bridget countered. Over the past ten years, Bridget had moved through the ranks from Communications Coordinator to President of Business Operations for New York’s WNBA franchise, the Flames. An occasional league-wide trip took her away over a weekend and she attended most games, but Kal was right. Most of her job could be—or should be—handled during normal business hours.
“Fine,” Bridget said, letting her shoulders fall forward. “No more work until Monday, I promise.”
“Unlikely,” Kal muttered, pushing off the bed and walking to Bridget’s dresser, pulling open the top drawer. “Start here.”
Bridget reached into the open drawer and pulled out a stack of underwear and two bras, carefully placing them in the top pocket of her carry-on. Kal added a lacy black thong and a nearly transparent matching bra.
“What are those for?” Bridget asked as Kal zipped the mesh pocket.
Kal lifted a shoulder, the corner of her mouth tugging up. “They’re bored in the drawer. They need to get out occasionally. Party a little.”
Bridget cocked an eyebrow. “And Andrew and Grace’s wedding is the place to let them out?”
Kal strode to the closet, pulled the red dress off its hanger, folded it, and placed it in the empty suitcase. “I think it’s the perfect place to clear out the dust and cobwebs.”
“Dust and cobwebs, Kalisha? Seriously? It’s not been that long since I’ve dated.”
Kal tipped her head and stared at her with the intensity she historically saved for referees—an incredulous, you can’t be serious glare. “It’s been over two years since you broke it off with Steve, the boring have-you-seen-my-skyscraper engineer—”
“And that wasn’t even a euphemism. He really wanted to show me the building his company had just completed.” Bridget shook her head. Was it possible that she hadn’t noticed not having sex in over twenty-four months? Maybe. Her job required her full attention. Especially since she’d launched two new community programs and set the goal of having the league’s largest season ticket member base.
“I can hear you thinking, Bri. Busy is an excuse.”
Bridget slid her favorite jumpsuit from its hanger and exchanged it for the red dress in her bag. “Wow. Where is all the tough love coming from today?”
Kal ignored her question. “Your brother’s wedding is the perfect place to give your vajayjay some playtime. And you know exactly why it’s perfect. Do not act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
An image materialized in Bridget’s mind. A vision of the only thing she’d never been able to control. A crush that, no matter how old she got or how many people she dated, never fully subsided. And she hated that. She played by the rules, in control of every aspect of her life—except this one stupid thing. Plus . . .
Bridget lowered her voice as deep as it would go and said sternly, “One does not hook up with any member of Storyhill.”
Kal rolled her eyes. “Is Andrew the boss of you?”
Bridget folded a pair of black leggings and a tunic and tucked them neatly on top of her jumpsuit. “No,” she scoffed. “But it’s likely still good advice.” While her personal life was none of her big brother’s business, she didn’t need to go looking for trouble.
Kal held up a pair of shoes to the tunic and, evidently satisfied they matched, tucked them in Bridget’s suitcase. “How would Andrew even know? He’ll be far more interested in his own wedding night than anything you’re doing.”
Bridget dropped to the bed with a sigh. “Why are you not letting this go?”
Kal lightly tugged at the ends of Bridget’s hair. “Because you’ve had this crush for YEARS. Maybe a good shag would get him out of your system.”

Bridget rubbed at the tension gathering between her eyes. “And how do you propose I do that? Walk up to him at the rehearsal dinner, tap on his elbow, and say, ‘My best friend thinks it’d be a good idea for us to sleep together. You in?’”
Kalisha laughed. “I would pay so much money to hear you say that.”
Old Bridget might have done something like that, but today’s Bridget? No way. Current Bridget understood that most risk was not worth the reward. “Yeah, well, that is not happening. For so many reasons. Not the least being, he’s one of my brother’s best friends.”
“Aren’t half the romance novels you read about a brother’s or sister’s best friend?” Kal said, gesturing to the stack of books on the bedside table.
“Yes, but my life is not a romance novel.”
Kal snorted. “You can say that again.”
“Enough,” Bridget said, swatting her friend with an empty hanger. “Crush or not, it’s not worth the drama.”
“But . . .”
“No ‘buts,’ Kal. Help me pack. My ride will be here in a few minutes.”
“Fine.” Kal flipped through Bridget’s garments. “Keep it simple. You need one outfit for the rehearsal dinner tonight, one for tomorrow, one for Sunday, and an extra. You’ve got two already in your bag. I’ll pick out the other two.”
“Um, why do you get to pick the other two?”
“Because you’ve been standing in front of the closet for like twenty minutes, stymied.” She shooed Bridget away. “Go pack your other necessities.”
“Okay,” Bridget said, her shoulders sagging with a sigh. “But no dresses.”
“While I disagree, you’ve made yourself clear.” Kal tapped her chin. “Now, what to pack for a woman committed to hiding her amazing figure and miles long legs underneath pants?”
Bridget grabbed a pillow from her bed and pitched it at Kal. She skillfully batted it away while simultaneously pocketing Bridget’s buzzing phone. “Defensive player of the year,” she said. “Twice.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bridget said, reaching toward Kal’s back pocket. “Give me my phone, superstar.”
Kal swiveled her hips away from Bridget. “You promised no more work stuff until Monday.”
Anxiety propelled Bridget’s heart into her ribcage. A buzzing phone was her kryptonite. An unhealthy attachment for sure, but one she’d address on a day that didn’t include navigating family dynamics and unwanted crushes.
“What if it’s Grace or Andrew?” she said, trying to conceal the anxiety racing across her nerve endings.
Kalisha sighed and pulled out the phone, eyeing the screen. “It’s your mother.”
Bridget’s eyebrows rose. “My mother?” If she was a betting woman, which she wasn’t, she’d have put all her money on the text being from her assistant.
Kal turned the screen toward Bridget. The name “Mom” filled the bubble on her lock screen, followed by three words: Call me ASAP.
Bridget pinched the bridge of her nose with one hand and waggled her fingers at Kal with the other. “Hand it over. You know she won’t stop until I answer.”

Bridget dropped into her seat, scanning the larger, comfier chairs in first class. Someday she’d splurge on a better ticket. But not today. Today she’d spend the three hours from JFK to Minneapolis in coach. She shifted in her seat, trying to settle her six-foot frame into the small space while extracting her laptop from the bag at her feet and balancing a 16 x 20 white bakery box on her lap.
A box of three dozen lemon cookies.
Apparently, her soon to be sister-in-law decided at the last minute that she wanted Curtis, Grace’s best friend from childhood and one of NYC’s most popular chefs, to make his “special” cookies for the rehearsal dinner. That’s why her mother had called. To inform Bridget a courier was on his way to her apartment to deliver the baked goods. Sylvia Hayes, always the master of ceremonies—didn’t matter that no one asked—explained Curtis’s travel itinerary didn’t allow time to make them in Minneapolis, and he was carrying another food item in his lap.
“Can I help you?” the man across the aisle asked, extending his hands.
Bridget turned with a smile. “That would be great. If you could hold this for a moment,” she said, handing the cookies to him.
After she’d tucked her laptop in the seat pocket and stowed the bag under her seat, he handed the box back and said, “You look familiar.” Or more accurately, you look familya—clearly a native, not a tourist.
She never knew if people meant that as a question or a statement and learned through the years to wait and see what they said next. As every year ticked by since her playing days, she got recognized less and less. And she was totally okay with that.
He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “UConn,” he said, smirking, clearly proud of himself.
She turned in her seat and smiled at him. If he remembered her from her college playing days, he was a genuine fan, and women’s sports, at every level, needed every fan they could get. “That’s right. I played for UConn and then briefly for the New York Flames.” She’d prefer to leave the second part off, but as a representative of the team that had given her a job when her entire world fell apart, she owed them her loyalty—even if it came with painful memories.
He shook his head knowingly. “Too bad about your accident.”
The air rushed out of her lungs, but she held her smile, even as it wavered at the corners. “Thank you.”
Every time someone alluded to her career-ending accident, she wished for a better response. It never came. Probably because the minute someone mentioned it, the sights and sounds of shattering glass and bending steel hijacked her thoughts. In sports years, it qualified as ancient history, but the ache in her muscles and bones meant the memories lived just under her skin. Her wounds had healed, but the scars—visible and invisible—remained.
The man reached into the seat pocket in front of him and pulled out a small notebook. “Can I get your autograph?”
Bridget squirmed in her seat, forcing herself to maintain eye contact. The familiar cocktail of guilt and unease coiled through her chest. Refusing an autograph request wasn’t professional, but scratching her name across a piece of paper felt synonymous with writing “Has Been.” “I haven’t played in years. My autograph isn’t worth much these days.”
“My girl, my oldest,” he said, his voice softening, “she’s an amazing athlete. At least I think so. Dribbles a ball like nobody’s business, but she, ah,” —the man rubbed a hand across the back of his neck— “she’s got some confidence issues.”
Bridget nodded. “Athletics are great in so many ways but can also be hard on self-esteem.”
He nodded, his lips twisting in thought. “She’s a point guard, and, just like you, kind of tall for the position. If you sign something for her, it would give me a reason to show her some old clips of your playing days. You know, how you switched so easily between point guard and shooting guard when the team needed it. How you were a master of the pick and roll. I think it’d help her believe in herself a little more.”
Bridget’s heart pinched, and nausea rolled through her at his past tense description. Old clips. Were a master . . . Reign it back in, Bridget. She grabbed the notebook and pen. “What’s her name?”
A wide grin broke across the man’s face. “Ruby. Like the beautiful gem she is.”
Bridget matched his smile. Such a proud papa. Writing the girl’s name across the top of the page, she wrote the only piece of advice that didn’t make her feel like a fraud: The only difference between a good player and a great player is time spent in the gym. Keep dribbling, throw up at least 50 shots a day, and you’ll get there. Persistence and practice trump talent every time.
She closed the cover and handed the notebook back as her phone rang. Bridget carefully wriggled it free from her pocket, causing a passing flight attendant to stop in her tracks. “Ma’am, we’re three minutes from take-off. You need to stow your phone.”
Bridget smiled. “It’ll only take two. I promise.” She understood the rules of flying, followed them without fail, meaning she would flip her phone to airplane mode the minute they pulled back from the gate, but not a second before.
The attendant raised her eyebrows but said nothing.
Bridget turned the phone in her hands, surprised to see Kalisha’s name. “Everything okay?”
“Why is your phone still on?” Kal asked, irritation threading through her voice.
Bridget chuckled. “Are you testing me?”
“If I am, you clearly failed. And I know Bridget Hayes does not like to fail tests.”
Bridget peered over her shoulder, searching the plane for the flight attendant. “I’ve already gotten the dreaded ‘put your phone away’ warning. What do you need?”
“Just to remind you—again—to not work this weekend and enjoy the wedding and all the other things we talked about.” The tap, tap, tap of Kal straightening her papers echoed through the phone.
“I am not sleeping with one of Andrew’s groomsmen,” Bridget hissed into the phone.
“Fine,” Kalisha huffed. “I secretly hope you forgot your phone charger.”
Bridget gasped. “Do not even put that out into the universe, you evil woman.”
Kalisha laughed. “Okay, but seriously, have some fun.”
“Ma’am,” the flight attendant said again, pointing at Bridget’s phone, this time waiting and staring at Bridget.
“Gotta go, Kal. I’ll talk to you when I get back.”
“After your weekend of F-U-N. Love you.”
“Love you too.” Bridget placed her phone in airplane mode and dropped it into the seat pocket. The silver edge of her laptop winked at her over the top seam of the pouch. She could practically feel her inbox filling up. She should pull it out. But balancing it on top of the cookie box wouldn’t be easy. And she didn’t want to disappoint Grace with broken cookies. She snorted. Using baked goods as a reason not to work was a first. But, hey, whatever got results.
She pushed her knee against the laptop just hard enough to force it deeper into the pocket and out of sight. Popping in ear buds, she opened her audiobook app, let her head fall back, and her eyes droop shut. Kal wanted her to have a romance, and in Bridget’s world, listening to a romance novel was a lot less risky than attempting a real one.

CHAPTER TWO

For Blake Kelly, weddings ranked up there with root canals and mushy peas. Thanks, but no thanks. He scanned the room as Grace’s nuptial army scurried to reposition tables, drape tablecloths, and tie little gold bows on the back of every chair. It seemed there were at least two people for every job, making him feel more like set dressing than helping hands. If he stood still much longer, he risked someone tying a gold ribbon around him, too. He eyed the door. Wouldn’t be hard to make a break for it.
But he wouldn’t.
Andrew had requested his help and when one of his Storyhill brothers asked, he showed. From the day the five of them formed the band, they became his family. He wouldn’t risk that, no matter how much he disliked weddings.
He had, however, hoped for at least one day to explore Minneapolis before the wedding madness began. But with Andrew and Grace’s honeymoon bumping up against their next tour dates, they’d spent the entire week prepping for their upcoming concerts.
“You’re next, you know,” a voice said from behind him. Blake turned to find Nick, Storyhill’s baritone, standing beside him holding a tray overflowing with something that looked suspiciously like mini scrolls of sheet music tied with a, you guessed it, gold ribbon.
“Excuse me?” Blake said, snatching one of the miniature scrolls from the tray and unwinding it. Printed in curly script, between rows of music notes, was the first verse of “Love Me Like a Love Song”—the song Grace wrote for Andrew. It was adorable. If you liked that type of thing.
Nick gestured to the other band members, arms loaded down, weaving around the ladders being used to string Edison bulbs across the ceiling of the industrial space. “Joe and Matt are already married. And Andrew has” —Nick checked his watch— “twenty-eight hours left of bachelor freedom. That means you’re next.”
Blake turned his head to pin his buddy with a look. “What about you?”
“I’m already married,” Nick answered in a flat monotone.
“About that . . .”
Nick readjusted his ball cap and crossed his arms over his plaid-covered barrel chest. “That subject is not open to discussion. Nope. Nada. Not going there. We’re talking about you, not me. Stop trying to deflect, Casanova.”
“Hey, hey,” Blake said, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just because I enjoy taking a woman out to dinner occasionally does not mean I have any intention of getting married.” Blake shook his head. “And I’m surprised you, of all people, are encouraging it.”
A sadness passed behind Nick’s eyes as he sat. “You shouldn’t let my experience color yours.”
Blake didn’t need Nick to sour his opinion on commitment. His mother had accomplished that years ago. “I’m perfectly happy being single. Doing what I want when I want.”
Nick scrubbed a hand over his beard and met Blake’s eyes. “You think you’re strong enough to resist it?”
“Nick!” Andrew called, crossing the room, saving Blake from having to answer Nick’s question. Thankfully. There was only one scenario that came close to challenging his stance on long-term relationships. And he planned on keeping that nugget of information to himself. Especially in this crowd.
“Annie wants those favors right now.” Andrew stopped in front of his two bandmates, surreptitiously glancing over his shoulder. “And we don’t want to make Annie mad.”
Nick stood with a shudder.
Grace’s best friend, Annie, practiced law—and ball busting. Blake laughed and stretched his hands out, motioning for the tray. “I’ll take them. I’m not afraid of Annie.”
“No,” Andrew said, and both men spun to face him. “Blake, I need you to pick up Bridget at the airport.”
A shiver streaked down Blake’s spine at the mention of Andrew’s sister. And not the cold kind. The so-warm-if-you’re-not-careful-you-might-get-burned kind. “You want me to pick up Bridget?” Andrew had spent years discouraging Blake’s interaction with his sister.
“Not really.” Andrew grimaced. “But everyone else already has an assigned task, and Grace promised to make our wedding night very boring if I let my little sister take an Uber.”
“Little” was an interesting way to describe Bridget Hayes. At thirty-four years old, six feet tall, and one of the youngest basketball executives in the league, little would be the last word Blake would choose. Stunning or accomplished seemed better starting places.
Andrew tucked his hands in his back pockets. “Just remember—”
Blake blew out a breath. “Yeah, yeah, she’s off limits. I heard you the first hundred times.”
“I was going to say it takes her extra time to get from the gate to baggage claim. But,” Andrew said, pushing a finger into Blake’s chest, “what you said, too.”
Nick picked up the tray of favors and chuckled. “Don’t worry Andrew, gingers are very few people’s cup of tea.”
“I think you got some bad data, my friend.” Blake ran a hand down his chest and winked. “Red heads are the world’s unicorns and who couldn’t use a little more magic in their life?”
“Wow, just wow,” Nick said, shaking his head and striding off toward Annie.
“Those are exactly the type of lines you will not be laying on my sister,” Andrew said, pulling his car keys from his pocket and pushing them into Blake’s hand with a little more force than necessary.
Blake twirled the keys around his finger. “She knows to look for me?”
“She will when she turns her phone back on,” he called over his shoulder, already heading back to his fiancée.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Walking away seemed like a slam dunk. Until a date with destiny changed everything.

Ever since the day her life flipped upside down, Bridget Hayes obeys a carefully crafted plan. And it works. Or it did. Until the night of her brother’s wedding, when she throws out all her rules—in spectacular fashion—and finds herself in bed with one of her brother’s bandmates. What had she been thinking? She caved to the one thing she’s never been able to control—her longtime crush on a tall, charismatic, ginger of a man . . . who also happens to be one of her brother’s best friends.

Blake Kelly knows two things for sure: happily-ever-after is a myth and Bridget Hayes is risk personified. Doesn’t matter that he’s been attracted to her since her brother first uttered the words, “Meet my sister.” Getting close to her could blow up the band. And the band is his family. He can’t risk it . . . no matter how much he wants a repeat performance.

Armed with a pact—tell no one—they return to their regularly scheduled lives. Because in a city of nine million people, what are the chances they’ll bump into each other anytime soon?

Nada. Zip. Zilch.

That is, until a rescue pup named Destiny turns out to be less dog and more cupid in a fur coat.

OFF THE RECORD is the third book in the award-winning Storyhill Musicians series.
Mix two secret crushes, a splash of sports romance, and the complications of dating your brother’s best friend and you have this witty steamy contemporary romance about two people figuring out if the risk is worth the reward.
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Meet the Author:

Annmarie Boyle is a connoisseur of yoga pants, Sharpies, and fancy coffee drinks.

She loves to create stories about strong, smart, and sexy women tackling some of life’s biggest issues—while finding their happily-ever-after along the way. Throw in a lot of laughter and a fabulous supporting cast of characters and you’ve got the stories she both loves to write and read.

She enjoys traveling the world but spends most of her time in a sleepy Midwestern town overlooking a lazy river with her husband, who, after 20+ years, still makes her believe in happily-ever-afters.
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