In case you missed my original posting or have been waiting to purchase, Princess for a Day will be available to purchase for just one more month! After November 20, Princess for a Day becomes a pumpkin. Inside you will find my story “Prince of a Guy” a light-hearted, rom-com that I hope will make you laugh and feel good. The ebook price has dropped to $.99–it’s a steal! You don’t just get my story but also the stories of six other fantastic writers!
Purchase Link: Amazon Just $.99. Available only until November 20, 2020!
Excerpt from “Prince of a Guy” by Sascha Darlington
“Have you told her yet?” Jeff asks, bouncing into the living room of Mick’s townhouse with the energy of a toddler. He glances from Quincy’s raised, expectant eyebrow to Mick who’s grimacing and making a slashing motion at his throat.
Jeff nods. “You haven’t. Great. That means I’m in time. Let the games begin.”
Quincy turns toward Mick who looks like he wants to kill Jeff. Whatever the secret is, it’s good, and Quincy can’t wait to hear it. She thinks. Then she acknowledges that this could go either way. Jeff’s idea of a fun secret could be anything from excavating a body to adopting a puppy.
Maybe they’ll need something stronger than tea.
“Your timing is impeccable,” Mick says to Jeff in his upper-crust Isle of Rokke accent, which sounds like a British hybrid to Quincy. The one time she called it British, she was on the receiving end of a twenty-minute history and geography lesson regarding English and Dutch influences that would have progressed much longer if their Classical Survey Professor hadn’t walked in and started class. Since then, she’s always teasingly called it “Isle of Rokke accent,” which garners an eye roll. Well worth it.
Jeff hops onto the brown leather recliner, pushes the button that flips out the footrest, and settles in, his brown eyes gleaming. He rubs his hands together in the universal gesture of upcoming desserts.
Mick shakes his head. “Maybe now isn’t the best time.”
“What do you mean? The party’s next week. You’re running out of time, man. Forget best times.”
“Party?” Quincy asks. No one she knew had a birthday next week “What party?”
“His brother the—”
“Stick a sock in it, Jeff,” Mick says abruptly.
Jeff gulps. Quincy’s eyes widen. Definitely not a puppy-tone, more of a body-burying tone.
Mick runs his fingers through his dark brown hair while staring at the coffee table.
Unable to contain his enthusiasm or keep a secret, Jeff leans forward. “Mick’s a—”
“Jeff, I swear. One more word . . .”
“What in the world’s going on, Mick?” Quincy asks, turning sideways on the couch and pulling her legs beneath her. He seems to be taking this thing far too seriously, especially for a party.
“Prince,” Jeff says the one word.