And turned into a New York Times bestseller.
A random meeting between a rural Ohio chick and a rich Boston musician kickstarted all sorts of random acts of love and lust — and got even more complicated when his bandmate entered the picture.
And never left.
From unconventional love to second-chance romance to your wildest desires, The Random Series will have you giggling, swooning, and fanning yourself to the heart-pounding beat of the sexiest, most daring and irresistible musicians to come out of Boston.
Five band members form the up-and-coming group Random Acts of Crazy–each with a story of his own in this long-running series.
Let these rock stars take you on a CRAZY wild ride, and with a little TRUST, they can fulfill your every FANTASY.
The Random Series includes:
Random Acts of Crazy (Book 1)
Random Acts of Trust (Book 2)
Random Acts of Fantasy (Book 3)
Random Acts of Hope (Book 4)
Random Acts of Yes (Book 5)
Random Acts of Love (Book 6)
Random Acts of L.A. (Book 7)
Random Acts of Christmas (Book 8)
Random Acts of Vegas (Book 9)
Random Acts of New Year (Book 10)
UNIVERSALNow FREE in Kindle Unlimited!
Excerpt
(From Random Acts of Crazy)
The last everloving fucking thing I expected to see as I drove down I-76 toward my little hometown of Peters, Ohio was a buck-naked man wearing a spiked collar and a guitar.
I mean, only wearing a collar and a guitar. The man was barefoot, for goodness sake. On the highway. In May, in Oh-fucking-hi-o, where winter isn’t a season but a state of mind.
How could I not stop and offer him a ride? Seriously? Where was he hiding a weapon? Okay, Okay, maybe up there, but think about it for a minute. He’d have to twist quite a bit to access anything he hid up his puckered—well, there!
And he wasn’t a bit hard on the eyes, either. Kind of a Brad Pitt circa 1991 look, before he married Miss Toothpick and then left her for that wan Elvira and her weak Michelle Duggar imitation.
Anyhow…back to the naked hitchhiker. My 1986 Toyota Tercel wasn’t anything special but it, um, had a floor. And a windshield. And a place for Mr. Naked to rest his weary nuts. The vinyl might be cracked and faded and it wasn’t no Giving Tree from that Shel Silverstein book, but at least the man could give his balls a rest. Those muscles looked like they could sure use some eyes hungrily ogling them, too, for they screamed for loving attention. If I couldn’t touch, I could at least be the one to stare, right? I’m a giver like that.
Always thinking about others.
Author Bio