Today we have the blog tour for the much anticipated novel, SUIT, by BB Easton! Check it out and grab your copy now!
Series: 44 Chapters
Author: BB Easton
Release: October 18
Because BB Easton had so much fun writing her bestselling, award-winning memoir, 44 CHAPTERS ABOUT 4 MEN, she decided to give each of her four men his own steamy standalone. SUIT is Ken’s book—the hilarious, heartwarming tale of how BB finally got over her bad boy phase and found happily ever after with…gasp…a guy in a tie.
“Since when are you into guys in ties? You only like guys who look like they rob guys in ties. At gunpoint.”
It was true. By 2003, my type had been well-established. There might as well have been a giant sign on my heart that said, “Good Guys Need Not Apply.”
Which is exactly why I had to friendzone Ken Easton. The man was a former football star, smelled like fresh laundry instead of stale cigarettes, and had more ties in his closet than tattoos on his knuckles. Pssh. BOR-ING.
But the more I got to know my hunky study buddy, the more questions I came away with. Questions like, why doesn’t he date? Why does he avoid human touch? Why does he hate all things fun and wonderful? The psychology student in me became obsessed with getting inside Ken’s head, while the spoiled brat in me became obsessed with getting inside his heart.
In 2003, I found the one thing I love more than bad boys…
A good challenge.
*SUIT is Book 4 in the 44 CHAPTERS ABOUT 4 MEN spin-off series, but it can be read as a complete standalone.
Ten minutes later, we were sitting on my favorite bench outside the mall, both holding giant smoothies, as I lit my first cigarette.
“So, you hate being cold, yet you spend your entire break outside, in February, drinking a frozen beverage?” Ken took a sip of his smoothie.
“That’s why I sit here.” I smiled, gesturing toward the sun overhead with my lit cigarette. “It’s like ten degrees warmer on this side of the mall. But we can walk around if you want. That’s what I do when I get really cold.”
Ken smiled and shook his head. “I’m just giving you shit.”
That was good, because the way we were sitting, angled toward each other, my foot was touching his shin and it was the highlight of my day.
“How’s that papaya-mango treating you?” I asked, flicking my eyes down to his giant Styrofoam cup.
“It’s pretty fucking amazing,” he deadpanned.
“Lemme try it,” I said, sticking my cigarette between my teeth so that I could hold out my empty palm.
Ken held my stare as he took another sip, shaking his head.
“No? Why not?” I snapped.
“You didn’t say the magic word.”
“What? Like, please? That magic word?”
Ken nodded, straw still in his mouth. He was so fucking cute and so fucking infuriating all at the same time. I had to fight the urge to slap his drink to the ground and then kiss the shit out of him.
With a dramatic eye roll, I said, in my best British orphan accent, “Please, Mr. Easton? May I please have a sip of your smoothie, sir?”
Ken’s lips curled around the straw in triumph.
I jerked the cup out of his hand and replaced it with mine. Giving him what I hoped looked like a fuck you death glare, I took a sip, and my eyes instantly rolled up into the back of my head.
“Holy shit, that’s good.” I took another sip. “I’m keeping this one. You can have mine. There’s more of it left, anyway. That’s like, a better ounce-per-dollar ratio or something. You can’t argue with that.”
Ken smiled and tapped the side of his new cup against mine. “Only because of the ounce-per-dollar ratio.”
I watched as he put the straw that had been in my mouth into his mouth. There was no sense of ickiness. No traces of germaphobia at all.
Weird about touching. Not weird about swapping spit. Interesting.
As we sat and talked, I realized that I could not keep my hands out of my hair. I had a ton of nervous ticks. My hands and mouth were pretty much always busy: smoking, talking, chewing pen caps, gesticulating, laughing inappropriately, picking threads from my clothing, chewing my fingernails, twirling my hair. But trying to make small talk with Kenneth Easton made it worse than ever.
“Oh my God, if I don’t stop playing with my hair I’m gonna go bald,” I laughed, sitting on my hand. “I’m not used to it being straight. I normally can’t even get my hands through it.”
Ken watched me in amusement but said nothing.
“Did you notice?” I turned my head from side to side, my burgundy bob twisting and falling back into place. “I just got it done a few days ago.”
That was all he said. No smile. No innuendo. Just I noticed.
My face fell. “You don’t like it.”
“It doesn’t matter whether or not I like it.” Ken’s features were serious. As in, he was seriously not going to tell me that my new fucking hair cut looked pretty.
What the fuck?
“Why not?” I snapped, heat rising to the surface of my ice-cold cheeks.
“Because you’re Brooke Bradley.” Ken set down his cup and faced me head on. “The first time I ever saw you, you had a shaved head. You didn’t give a shit what people thought then, and you shouldn’t start now. Do you like it?”
I blinked. Then, I blinked again. “Uh, yeah…I love it.”
“Then that’s all that matters.” Ken relaxed against the back of the bench and took another sip from his almost-empty smoothie, the slurrrrrp sound adding some much-needed levity.
No one had ever flat out refused to compliment me before. Hans had told me I was beautiful every day of our two-year relationship. Every day that he had bothered to call or come home, that is. My parents had been showering me with praise since I was born. My friends and I were constantly feeding each other’s egos. But somehow, by not telling me what I wanted to hear, Ken made me feel even more special than if he had.
Enter the Giveaway
About BB Easton
BB Easton lives in the suburbs of Atlanta, Georgia with her long-suffering husband, Ken, and two adorable children. She recently quit her job as a school psychologist to write stories about her punk rock past and deviant sexual history full-time. Ken is suuuper excited about it.