on March 23, 2017
Genres: Contemporary Romance
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What do ice cream and Sadie Montgomery have in common? They're both ice cold, but one taste is never enough.
I wanted to be friends — I would have even settled for her seeing me as anything but a nerd — but there was no getting through. So just like any hard-headed, red-blooded man out there, I made up my mind.
I’d make my coworker fall for me.
I’d like to say it was simple, but like every other epic love story, all it took was one drunken night and a lot of naked courage to get the girl. For a moment, at least.
Love with a coworker is never simple, especially since Sadie’s trying to keep us on the low. Not to mention her persistent ex-boyfriend who won’t leave her alone. But I’ve never been good at giving up, and I don’t plan to start now.
The whole thing is a recipe for a rocky road, but I plan to eat the whole gallon, no matter how bad the brain freeze.
Hot nerd, yes please! This deliciously funny, romantic comedy will leave you with one huge grin and one mad craving for ice cream.
Sadie and Andrew are awkwardly perfect. Sadie has a rough and tuff exterior that masks her painful past. Andrew is fighting his own backstory, be it a little less dramatic, it’s still prevented him from living life to the fullest. Their sugary sweet meet up will melt even the hardest of hearts.
Meghan’s knack for romantic comedy is endearing. Keeping the story light and fun propels Co-Wrecker’s storyline forward. Andrew is the perfect modern day nerd. Armed with calculators, condoms, and a ridiculous love of the Yankees, Andrew will keep you smiling till the end. Looking for a fun read that will keep you entertained for an afternoon? Co-Wrecker is the book for you.
Knowing I will probably regret this, I lift from the freezer, ice cream scraper in hand, and jerk toward Sadie just in time to slip on some melted ice on the floor shooting me across the fountain and straight into Sadie.
But not just Sadie; straight into her chest—her billowing, womanly chest. It’s a satisfyingly soft cushion for my head but from her instant outrage, I’m going to guess she’s not keen on me using her breasts as a pillow.
“What the hell are you doing?” she asks, trying to back away, difficult when I’ve got her pinned against the counter.
Fumbling to get some kind of grasp on my falling body, scraper still in hand, I give her a bit of motor boat—not on purpose—and muffle in her breasts, “I’m sowwy.”
“Get off me.”
“I’m twying,” I say, finally getting a grip on the counter behind her and standing tall. Glasses askew, hat on the floor, and a smothered feeling on my face, I straighten my apron and clear my throat. “My apologies.” Her friend is laughing, hand on her stomach, as I push my glasses back on my nose. “Although, I’m grateful for your sturdy bosom for catching my fall. It might have been a twisty straw to the eye, and I’m not sure my glasses would have held up on such an impact.”
Sturdy bosom? Shit, Andrew, don’t fucking say words like bosom. And for the love of God, don’t say a woman has a STURDY bosom. Say words like tits. Tits are more manly.
“Tits,” I mutter.
“Excuse me?” Sadie has the look of horror on her face.
Fuck, did I say that out loud?
“I think he said tits, Sadie,” her friend cuts in, thumbing through the straw holder. Yup, I said tits out loud.
“I heard him, Smills,” Sadie mutters under her breath.
Glaring at me, looking for an answer, I shrug my shoulders, because I have nothing. No way of digging myself out of this one. Funny how your brain can literally stop working the minute you need it the most. Come on, old fella, kick it into high gear. Come up with something witty, something snarky, something that will put a Band-Aid over this rather raw and embarrassing incident.
But, good fuck. I just had my face in her chest. What man could come back quickly from that?
“Well . . .” Sadie has her arms crossed over her bosom, waiting for an answer. No. Her arms are crossed over her breasts. Shit. Shit.
Nerves crawl up the back of my neck, igniting my ears into lava levels of heat. Crap. Just say anything.
Clearing my throat, I pat her shoulder and say, “Sturdy tits.”
And here I thought it couldn’t get any worse, at least my hand didn’t pat down her breast to see if her nipples were made of steel, or to see if her areolas consist of chain-link mesh. You have to look at the positive.