Chasing Crazy
by
Kelly Siskind
"With an endearingly awkward female
protagonist, a swoon-worthy male love interest, and Siskind's superb
storytelling, this is one of the best New Adult contemporary romances I've read
to date."
-- USA Today bestselling author K.A. Tucker
~ Synopsis ~
Dear Mom & Dad, I dropped out of
school. I'm going backpacking. Sorry. Love you both.
At nineteen, Nina has endured two lifetime's worth of humiliation. Tired of waiting for it to get better, she decides to get going-across the globe to New Zealand. There she soon faces what she most fears: a super sexy guy ready to be Nina's next mistake.
Once Sam's life was all about having fun. That was before the accident. Now his friends have bailed and his world is broken. But when a gorgeous girl on his flight looks at him with passion instead of pity, Sam feels his old self coming back to life.
Now traveling together, Nina and Sam know this isn't just a fling. They're falling fast, hard, and deep. More than anything, Sam wants Nina to forget her fears. But to help her do that he must reveal his own painful secret-and risk Nina never seeing him the same way again.
At nineteen, Nina has endured two lifetime's worth of humiliation. Tired of waiting for it to get better, she decides to get going-across the globe to New Zealand. There she soon faces what she most fears: a super sexy guy ready to be Nina's next mistake.
Once Sam's life was all about having fun. That was before the accident. Now his friends have bailed and his world is broken. But when a gorgeous girl on his flight looks at him with passion instead of pity, Sam feels his old self coming back to life.
Now traveling together, Nina and Sam know this isn't just a fling. They're falling fast, hard, and deep. More than anything, Sam wants Nina to forget her fears. But to help her do that he must reveal his own painful secret-and risk Nina never seeing him the same way again.
Another
big, sweaty guy squeezes from the door and returns to his seat at the rear of
the cabin. With my eyes on the prize, I pick up the pace. My steps get longer.
Quicker.
I
don’t break eye contact with that door. I don’t look down. If I had looked down, I might have seen the
large black boot sticking out in the aisle. If I had looked down, I might have stepped over it. But I didn’t.
In
one glorious move, my sandaled toe smacks into the black boot…and I tumble.
Hard.
Fast. Face first. The corner of the book in my hand slams into my full bladder,
and my vision from earlier comes to life. Every. Horrifying. Detail. Like a
pathetic five year-old child, I wet myself. I manage to stop the Niagara Falls
portion of the flow, but I pee
myself
nonetheless. Frickin’ perfect.
Lying
with my face smashed against the rough airplane carpet, I squeeze my eyes,
willing this to be a horrible nightmare, when two hands grip my shoulders. They
pick me up effortlessly and place me on my feet. Mortified is not a strong
enough word to describe my current state of being. My underwear is sodden, the
front of my skirt is damp, and there’s a pretzel bit stuck to my eyebrow.
Still, that doesn’t hold a candle to the level of horror I experience when I
turn to find Hot Guy in front of my face.
His eyebrows pull together. “You okay?”
An
animal sound explodes through my lips, something between a caw and a yelp, as I
spin away and dash for the still- green vacant sign. I slam the door and fight
with the stupid bar thingy to get it locked, then I whirl around looking for
those god-awful paper toilet covers. The bathroom reeks of some sort of foul I
can’t describe. The guy before unleashed a whole lot of awful in here. I dance
from foot to foot, knees knocking, as I get the cover down. Underwear off,
skirt up, and the stream flows before my butt hits the seat.
It
keeps flowing. And flowing. And flowing.
I
stretch the neck of my fitted white T-shirt and stick my nose inside while the
marathon continues. I pick the pretzel bit off my eyebrow and fling it on the
floor. There must be something seriously wrong with me. Here I am, trying to
start fresh. New me, new life. And I can’t make it a minute without creating
havoc. Maybe it’s all the pot my folks smoke. No matter how many times they’ve
denied it, I bet Mom smoked boatloads while pregnant with me. Boat. Loads.
When
the trickle ends, I stand and stamp my foot on the flush button then step back
to avoid being sucked into the atmosphere. Although, nose-diving to earth might
be preferable to facing Hot Guy Who Saw Me Pee when I leave the bathroom. I
could lock myself in this tin can until we land. Unfortunately, it smells like
a Taco Bell meal gone wrong.
With
no other option, I prepare to exit the lavatory. I remove my underwear and cram
it into the trash. Barely. I dampen some paper towels and blot the front of my
skirt. Luckily, the blue and purple floral pattern is busy enough to hide the
wet splotch stretched across the fabric. I shove two wads of paper under my
armpits to soak up my stress sweat. After shaking out my red hair and retying
it into a ponytail, I wash my hands a third time. Finally, I shove the latch to
vacant and push the door.
I
almost yank it shut.
Hot
Guy Who Saw Me Pee is leaning against the side of a seat with his arms crossed.
His are eyes locked on the bathroom door…and me. Double shoot.
He
straightens and shoves his hands into his pockets. I try to hurry past him, but
he steps in my way. Taller than me by a head, he dips down toward my ear. “You
should watch where you’re going when you’re running inside an airplane,
Ginger.”
What
the…? Ginger? Is Hot Guy making fun
of my hair? To my face?
With
my nails biting into my palm, my whisper-yell explodes before I can stop it. “I should watch where I’m going? Maybe
you shouldn’t sprawl across the entire aisle, Mister…Man.”
Wow.
I just said that. I called Hot Guy Mister
Man. I can’t even get angry right.
Mister
Man, Hot Guy…whatever, he looks more amused, a suggestive smile on his lips. He
leans closer, his brown curls flopping on his forehead. “I was joking, all
right? I’m sorry about the tripping thing. Seriously. You sure you’re okay?”
Before
I can answer, a girl pokes her head around his shoulder. “Excuse me. Mind if I
get by?” She nods toward the bathroom.
Hot
Guy slides his arm around my waist and draws me against his chest to let the
girl pass. I suck a sharp breath. Hot Guy definitely
works out. The hard contours of his pecs are unmistakable through his cotton
shirt, the sharp ridges of his muscles firmly against my body. His palm
flattens on my lower back, and he pulls me tighter. Oh God.
My
fingers itch to touch him. Every chiseled inch. If he didn’t see me wet myself,
this would be way better than picturing warm suds dripping down his body. In a
shower. My hands trailing between his legs.
Then
I flash to the last time I was this close to a guy. Hypnosis couldn’t repress
that memory deep enough. Better for me and everyone involved if I stick with
fantasies. Placing my hand on his chest, I push back from Hot Guy, a little
disappointed to lose the contact.
Two
long fingers find my chin and lift my gaze. “Look, Ginger, I’ll let you by when
you tell me you’re okay. So are you hurt, or are you cool to make it back to
your seat?”
There’s
a scar on his chin, long and jagged. I blink to stop staring. “First, don’t
call me Ginger. And second, yes. I’m fine. No thanks to your boot. Can I go
back to my seat now?” I fiddle with my skirt, sure everyone nearby knows I’m
flying commando.
Hot
Guy studies me a beat, then raises his hands. “Watch your step on the way
back.” But he barely moves, so I’m forced to rub against him (pantyless) to get
by.
Holy heck, that chest.
Two
steps away, I see my book still on the floor from my fall.
The
rest happens in slow motion, an instant replay of pure awful.
I
bend down to grab my book, and the airplane jiggles as though it’s bouncing
from cloud to cloud. The floor tilts back. I reach to grab the nearest armrest,
but a man’s arm is planted there ‘resting.’ Next best option: launch myself
forward to grab the back of the man’s chair. This super- smooth move occurs as
the plane rights itself. The laws of gravity kick in, and I pitch forward. I
don’t do this elegantly. No points for good form. I land on my elbows, and my
skirt flies up to my hips.
Yes.
My skirt. The skirt that covered my pantyless behind is hitched around my
waist. OhGodOhGodOhGod. I flip on my
back and tug the flimsy cotton down to my knees. I do it just in time to see
Hot Guy close his mouth. His eyes darken ten shades before he slips into the
bathroom I recently exited, where he’ll for
sure assume it was I who dropped the atomic stink bomb.
Reminder to self: always pee before boarding an airplane.
~ Links to Buy ~
Amazon ** Barnes & Noble ** iBooks ** Kobo
~ About the Author ~
A small-town girl at heart, Kelly moved from the
city to open a cheese shop with her husband in Northern Ontario. When she’s not
neck deep in cheese or out hiking, you can find her, notepad in hand,
scribbling down one of the many plot bunnies bouncing around in her head.
She laughs at her own jokes and has been known to eat her
feelings—Gummy Bears heal all. She’s also an incurable romantic, devouring
romance novels into the wee hours of the morning.
She is represented by Stacey Donaghy of the Donaghy Literary
Group.
2015 Golden Heart® Finalist
~
Connect with Kelly ~
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