Sarah Darlington's Blog

I'm happy to announce that ADRIFT, the fourth and final book in my Kill Devil Hills Series, is due out May 30th!! Here's the blurb...

ADRIFT (Kill Devil Hills #4) by Sarah DarlingtonWhat happens when the world thought you were dead and suddenly, now you are alive?
Ben Turner is back! Not quite as dead as everyone thought, fresh out of a nine-month stay in prison, and back home in Kill Devil Hills, North Carolina. Having been dishonorably discharged after charges of desertion from the military, this once well-loved local has fallen from the top. With no plans for college or the future, and hated by the town that once loved him, Ben feels like he’s drowning all over again.

Juniper is pregnant, alone, and running from her crazy fiancé. With only enough money for a one-way bus ticket, she heads to Kill Devil Hills, NC, a town she vacationed in as a little girl, a town she knows, come February, will have plenty of beach rentals to lie low in for the next couple months. Except she didn’t plan on getting caught on day one by the man living next door. Ben. He’s a man who has even more problems than she does, but maybe it’ll take a man like Ben to save her life.
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(Adrift will be free on Amazon KU when it releases.)

Okay. Here's the deal. I'm trying to decide which novel I want to work on after I finish writing ADRIFT. (Kill Devil Hills #4, due out in June.) I've written a intro to two possible novels.
Option 1: Contemporary Romance. Standalone. Childhood friends reunited years later.
Option 2: Paranormal (New Adult) Romance. Standalone.

So here are the first 3 pages of each. Please comment your thoughts on my post about this on my Facebook Reader Group. Remember these are completely unedited and subject to change.

Option 1: Contemporary Romance.

CHAPTER 1:



MICK
My ‘aha moment,’ that moment in life when everything clicks into place and you suddenly realize exactly what you need in order to feel some resemblance of completion, that moment when you know you have to risk it all…well, it happened as I was nearly decapitated by a vase. A vase! A Waterford Crystal, twenty pound, 40k euro vase from Ireland that we’d picked up on our last vacation—that kind of vase. It came flying at my head, flung with an incredible amount of force for a one-hundred and ten pound woman. It must have been all those sessions with her personal trainer, sessions that I had paid for, that gave her such inhuman strength.I ducked just in time and the vase hit the wall behind me. Miraculously no crashing sound followed, only a giant thud of contact. Wow. It was a really thick vase, good quality, excellent craftsmanship.“You piece of shit, asshole!” she screamed at me.I’d never heard Sandra swear before. This was a first. She’d always shown me a refined, perfectly put together, proper side. Her true colors—true fucking colors, people—were coming out now. I almost liked this side to her better. Almost. Maybe if I hadn’t already had my previous epiphany then I might have reconsidered the break-up that I knew inevitably was about to follow this fight. Because I didn’t want the wet-blanket, roll-over-and-die type in woman. I wanted someone who would challenge me and didn’t put up with my bullshit. I think. I think that was what I wanted. Who the hell really knows what they want though, right?For the first time in our relationship, Sandra was showing me more than just compliance and agreement. So for a moment, a very meniscal moment, I almost considered giving our relationship another try.But…Nah.No matter what her true personality was, I still wanted her out of my life.She picked up a lamp.“Sandra,” I said calmly, raising my hands up like she was a wild, rabid animal. “Put the lamp down. You love that lamp. You got it in Paris. None of this is the lamp’s fault.”“I don’t give a fuck!” she screeched, and hurled the lamp with all her strength.The lamp wasn’t as lucky as the vase had been. Like it was some kind of grenade, I jumped out of the path of destruction. The lamp collided with the floor and broke into several pieces. As I watched it shatter, I realized that I’d kind of liked that lamp. The lamp didn’t deserve this. So instead of trying to consul her, I grew indifferent to her temper.“You know what?” I said to her, my voice sharp and direct. “Your suspicions are perfectly accurate. I have been cheating on you. On multiple occasions with multiple different women. You know why? Because I just don’t care. I don’t care about you. I don’t care about where this relationship is going. I never have and I can’t pretend anymore. I don’t love you, and I don’t want to love you. And you know I’m never going to ask you to marry me. So why are we both wasting our time here? I think we should end this. Yeah, I think that’s the best thing we can do. So would you please go?”There. I said it.Finally.Two years too late, but I said it.She was right. I was a piece of shit, asshole. But at least now I was an honest piece of shit, asshole. I watched as the tears started to fall down her cheeks. Then as she began collecting her things. Then as she packed her bags. And then as she left my apartment, slamming the door as she went. She told me she’d send a company out to come collect the rest of her stuff. In reality, the rest of her stuff was my stuff. I’d paid for it all, which made it mine. But, whatever, she could have all of it. Except the vase.“I’m keeping the vase,” I yelled at the door a few moments too late. The door was closed and she was already gone. I stood there in my now silent apartment, broken things all around me, still staring at the door.So back to my ‘aha moment.’ I realized why I sabotaged all my relationships—every single damn one of them. Because that was exactly what I always did. When things got to a point where stuff became too serious, too close to turning into forever, I inevitably did something to fuck it up. And I finally realized why I always did this.Rebecca.A girl from my past.The only girl that had any hold over me.The memory of my Becca, of leaving her behind all those years ago, haunted my thoughts daily, almost hourly. There was a guilt there that I never could shake. It was the deep seeded kind too. I hadn’t seen Becca since I was ten years old. Seriously, ten. Circumstance of life had separated us. She’d only been a childhood friend, but somehow this gut feeling inside me told me that she was always meant to be more. It was a crazy notion. But when I slept around with different women, it never felt like I was cheating on Sandra or whoever my current girlfriend at the time was, it felt like I was wronging Becca. Silly, I know, because I hadn’t seen her in fifteen years! But I had this loyalty to her and only her.Now it was time to do something about that loyalty.Or else I was doomed to forever have giant, twenty pound vases thrown at my head.I didn’t know anything about current day Becca. If she still lived in our old town, on Cherry Hill Drive, in the trailer across from my mother’s lot. For all I knew Becca could be an unwed mother of four, addicted to heroin, working some dead end job, if she was even working at all, maybe even selling her body for money, and still living in that same damn trailer. Because that was the type of people that came from our neighborhood, the type of people that life chews up and spits back out.I didn’t know. I didn’t know where she might be now and to what degree of fucked-up she might be after growing up there. Either way. I needed to find her, help her, hell…marry her…I didn’t know. Something. Maybe all I really needed was closure from the wounds of my adolescence, from those formidable years before my father rescued me from that hell-hole. Whatever. I had a plan now. I knew what I needed to do next. Make things right with Rebecca, help her, and hopefully heal something inside me in the process.

* * *
Option 2: Paranormal (NA) Romance.


CHAPTER 1:



VI
“Poison,” Annabeth stated. She stared at my latest Google search, the one I’d accidently left open on my computer screen the night before. In an admittedly semi-drunken moment, I’d been causally researching the subject. Casually…more like obsessively. More like I’d barely slept last night trying to find a website with a recipe that seemed genuine.“It says here,” she went on, repeating one paragraph in particular, one I’d already read several times, “that you should mix one part rat poison, another part apple cider vinegar, and the last part cough syrup.” She grimaced, her face rather pale, probably from the reading material. “And then you have to let the mixture sit for one week before adding the juice of one rancid potato.” She flipped her long sheet of blonde hair over one shoulder, turning to give me a stern glare.“Seriously, Vi, that’s the grossest thing I’ve ever read. No one in their right mind would ever willingly or mistakenly drink that. So, what’s the next step to your plan? A funnel and force feeding? The two of us would never be able to overpower a man like him—despite whatever weak condition he’s in now.”There were so many variables to my plan. Obviously I wasn’t ready to execute it yet if I was still in the research phase, but it was nice knowing that she assumed we were in this together. But no. Murder—if that was what it should be called, more like justice—was a one person job.“Weak condition?” I dug, wanting know to if she knew more than me.She seemed hesitant to answer my question, though, shrugging her small shoulders and avoiding direct eye contact.She’d seen the man we were discussing the night he’d been captured. She’d been lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time when some of our relatives had brought him in, barging through the main living room, dragging this man forcefully behind them. That had been a month ago, and I still hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing him. But Annabeth had, and she’d described him for me. She hadn’t described him as weak.“You think he’s weak now?” I asked, repeating myself, needing a clear answer.With a sigh, she finally answered. “He’s a prisoner. I’m sure the relatives aren’t feeding him ribeye and baked potato dinners.”“So they’re starving him?”Good. I wanted that man to suffer.Again my friend shrugged. That was the thing about Annabeth, about all of them, because I was younger than most of them, she and everyone else always treated me like I couldn’t handle the full truth. It was always apparent in their eyes. Whenever anyone told me anything, I always got the sense that it was only half of what they really meant. But I could handle the truth, all of it. I knew I could. Probably better than Annabeth. She’d grown up and spent all her years in this cushy estate. I hadn’t. We had so much in common, but not that. And besides, I wasn’t that young or that innocent. I would kill the man being held prisoner in the basement, so help me God.“I don’t know what they’re doing to him,” she answered. “I don’t really want to know.” Then she shivered, the way a person shivers shaking off the cold, but it wasn’t cold in my room. And again, in her blue eyes, I could tell there was more she knew but wasn’t saying. A truth below the surface.Of course I already assumed they were torturing this individual, holding him hostage in whatever holding cell this place had, and doing anything necessary to pull whatever information they could from him. I fully supported that. Only…I wanted him dead sooner rather than later. Maybe they’d break him and he’d talk, or maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, it bothered me that he still got to live while my mother was gone. It bothered me that anyone would keep this man alive, while knowing full well how dangerous he was. It was safer for all of us just to kill him quickly and be done with it.Right in that moment thinking about all of this, something inside me, the part of me that had been festering since the moment I learned about the man in the basement, snapped. Yes, I was young among my kind. And age—wisdom, specifically—meant everything to these people. But I couldn’t stand on the sidelines any longer.“I’m going down to the basement to see him,” I announced, standing from where I sat, standing so quickly I nearly toppled over my own feet. But I managed to keep my balance and I rushed across the room for my jacket and my shoes.Annabeth leapt to her feet as well, following me. “Stay out of this, Violet,” she pleaded. “I’m serious. Let the men handle this. They know what they’re doing. If they want him dead, by poison or whatever means, they’ll do it. Jace Lovelace is in charge of stuff like this. He’s smart. Too smart for his own good. And whether he’s torturing this man for information or simply torturing him for sport, I’m sure the outcome will benefit us all. I know you’re used to fending for yourself, but we live by a code in this house. We help each other. We help each other survive. Acting on impulse is not the way to survive.”Even though I’d only know her a few months, Annabeth was pretty much my only friend in this world. And certainly my best friend in this house. She was, after all, my grandmother. But I’d grown more determined than ever in the last few minutes, fueled by a crack in my heart that I knew would never mend. There really was nothing she could say or do to stop me in my pursuit of vengeance.On the inside that was how I felt. On the outside, I had to act differently.I didn’t put on my shoes or my jacket. I didn’t storm out of the room. I didn’t do anything crazy or hasty. Annabeth had spent a number of years studying martial arts. I’d heard someone in the house mention it at some point. She was petite but strong. I had at least twenty pounds and five inches on her, but I think my grandmother could crack my skull if she really wanted to. So I wasn’t about to push her. And even though we were friends, even though she was my grandmother by blood, even though I really wanted to fully trust her…I didn’t. I didn’t fully trust any of these people I lived with, my ‘relatives.’ Maybe this sense of mistrust came from my mom, because growing up she’d always taught me to never trust anyone. Maybe I was wrong in my mistrust. Maybe I was right.Either way, I knew I had to purse my vengeance alone. And especially not this moment.“Okay, you’re right,” I told Annabeth. “I’ll stay out of it. For now, at least.”The rest of my afternoon was spent beige watching old episodes of Friends. For being almost eighty years old—at least that was what I estimated Annabeth’s ‘true age’ to be, she told me it was impolite to ask and refused to tell me the actual number—my grandmother sure didn’t act her age. She acted more like a teenager, snorting milk out of her nose, laughing at every single one of Chandler’s lame jokes on the television, talking about boys, and reminiscing about what a ‘Grade A hunk’ my grandfather had been back in the day.Annabeth reminded me of a time capsule, like I was glimpsing back into the past somehow. My mother, also a carrier of the gene and also eternally youthful, had never once seemed as young as Annabeth seemed. Annabeth acted more like a little sister than someone two full generations older than me.After a long day of food and television, she left me alone in my suite and she returned to hers, which was located on the opposite end of the estate that we both lived in.This place, Ravensworth as it was called, was like a castle. Or maybe a hotel. There were five stories of apartment style suites, each suite equipped with its own kitchen, bedrooms, and living spaces. And then there were several common areas throughout the entire building—larger living spaces, ballrooms, restaurant like dining halls, game rooms, a bowling alley, a swimming pool, etc. The place was like its own mini village. Like a cruise ship. It was both strange and wonderful, simultaneously. I kind of loved it. It was free to live here—like free food and free rent. It felt very safe. The décor, although a little dated, was homey. The people—my ‘relatives’—were friendly…weird, yes, but friendly.Still, something inside me questioned everything around me. A part of me was always on guard, always waiting for that other shoe to drop. My mother had purposely left all of this behind when she’d run away from my grandmother and this place. Why? She wasn’t alive to ask, so that was the million dollar question and the reason behind my concern.
Yet, with a man as evil as the one in the basement, questions like that were forgotten and only one thing concern me. Killing him.

IRELAND, OCTOBER 2016It's been ages since I've posted anything on my website. That's mostly because I've been taking a break from writing since my little girl Evie was born. It's very hard to find the time to do anything with two little kids. I'm sure most moms can relate. But I was looking through our Ireland vacations photos from October and thought I'd share a few on here. Nothing too fancy--just a quick post.
We had an awesome trip. We flew into Dublin, rented a car, and from there drove to Knocktopher Abbey--which is an abbey that has been converted into a hotel. It was so cool staying somewhere with so much history! From there we drove to different day trips each day: Kilkenny, Rock of Cashel, Cork, Blarney Castle, Waterford, and Hook Lighthouse...to name a few of the spots we visited. So we got a good feel from the SouthEastern part of Ireland. And October in Ireland was a great time to visit, a little chilly but hardly any rain. It was a great trip. I'm so glad we braved the flight with little Evie (she was 7 months at the time).

Today is the release day for PULLED UNDER!!! And in case you haven't read the first chapter, I thought I'd post it here. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1:



2 and a half years ago…SYDNEY
Today was officially the worst day of my life. Call me melodramatic, but I thought I was going to die. Was it possible to die of heartbreak? I think maybe it was because the pain in my chest was insurmountable—like a giant boulder sitting on my heart, smashing it into a flat pancake.Ironic, too, because John had made me pancakes for breakfast this morning. I’d woken up hopeful and excited, given that today was my sixteenth birthday. Today I was a woman…or at least that was what I’d always thought my Sweet Sixteen was supposed to feel like. John, my big brother and my guardian, had surprised me with breakfast. Homemade pancakes with blueberries—exactly the way our Nanny Kristen used to make for us when we were young. They were wonderful pancakes, surprisingly, since John was a horrible cook. Then I’d headed off to school.And it all started off as a regular enough day—complete with Honors classes that were admittedly over my head, lunch with my favorite teacher, Ms. Whittle, and kids who didn’t know nor care what my name was. Needless to say, I was about as irrelevant at my school as irrelevant comes. But life was good. Because there was Ben.Ben was that boy at our high school. Arguably the most handsome, most athletic, and most popular guy among a sea of frogs. The boy whom girls like me dreamed about and the one other boys wished they could be. And…he knew my name.Just last Friday in our chemistry class he’d asked me, and I quote, “Hey, Sydney, what did you get for number three?”Oh swoon. Be still my beating heart.Ben had amazing, sparkling blue eyes that were framed by long, dark lashes. He had dark brown—almost black—hair that was a little wavy and always perfectly disheveled—like a young, American Hugh Grant. Sigh. I could stare at him for hours. On my first day at Kill Devil Hills High School, two years ago, I’d fallen instantly in love with him. There was something about him. Somehow I knew; I knew with every ounce of my being that he was the guy for me. This wasn’t some imaginary infatuation in my mind. There were moments—small moments where I would think he felt it too. Like this past March, for example.Sam Butler had bumped into me on the walk between English and Art. I’d been carrying a giant case of colored pencils, and Sam didn’t even notice me. I tripped, and I’ll never forget the sound of those pencils rolling in a million different directions. Not a single student in that hallway helped me. Everyone brushed past, stepping over the pencils, while shooting me snarky looks. It was beyond embarrassing. People laughed. I could feel my cheeks blaze red hot. Only one person did something—Ben. He quickly bent down to help me collect all the pencils. And afterward he said, “I’m Ben.”And I said, “I know.”It felt like a moment out of a Meg Ryan movie. He reached out to hand me my case of colored pencils, our fingers brushing slightly, and it was like ‘magic.’ My heart skipped and I swear Ben had felt it too.Too bad he had a girlfriend. But I didn’t care. I loved him still. Maybe one day he would grow to love me, too. He’d realize she was all wrong for him and that I was right. A girl could dream. There was no harm in dreaming. I’d watched enough movies to know that dreams sometimes came true. Sometimes the nerdy, shy girl won the heart of the popular boy. It could happen. I had hope.Until today…when my hopes and dreams had been smashed. Or, more accurately, pounded.I’d forgotten my gym clothes in my PE locker. I always brought them home to be washed on Fridays and I never forgot—because who wanted smelly gym clothes? Not me. So after my final class, I’d hurried across the school to grab them. But Ms. Whittle had stopped me on my way—she’d brought another one of her favorite romantic comedies from home to let me borrow. We’d started talking about movies, and I lost track of time.By the time I reached the locker room, it was deserted but, luckily, not locked. I tiptoed my way through the empty, musty-smelling room. It freaked me out being in there alone—it was too quiet without the usual sounds of gossip and giggles. Then I heard a moan. Like a sex moan! Not sure what I was doing or why I felt compelled to look, but I peeked around the corner, searching for the source of the moan. When I found it, my eyes saw the most horrific sight imaginable.Sonya Fletcher. God, she was beautiful. Everything I wished I could be. Soft blonde hair, tiny frame, button nose, and perfectly perky breasts. Half the boys at our school worshiped her. Worse still, she was Ben’s girlfriend. And I saw her cry out in pleasure as a toned white butt pumped against her naked form. Her tan, lean legs were spread wide and locked around the waist of…Ben.Unfortunately, it was Ben’s white naked butt and his penis that filled her vagina.And it was my heart that hit the floor.“God, I love you,” he grunted and pounded into her harder, both of them oblivious to the fact that I was watching. Then Ben pulled out, flipped her around, pushed her stomach against the white tile sink, and slid inside her from behind.Oh my goodness!A squeal left my lips, my virgin eyes bugging out of my head, and then I ran. I ran as fast and as hard as I could, tears streaking down my cheeks, the entire world around me suddenly duller than it had been before. What had I just seen? I texted John and told him a ‘friend’ was driving me home. I’d long since missed the bus. Lamely, Ms. Whittle ended up driving me home.Reality was a bitch and today she’d slapped me across the face. And I hadn’t even grabbed my gym clothes…Somehow in my mind, I’d never realized Ben and Sonya might be intimate like that. Especially like that. And now the image was burned into my brain. Meanwhile, I’d never even been kissed before. How lame was I? How could I ever compare to Sonya? I’m not sure I even wanted to anymore.So…that had been earlier, and now here I sat at Chancy’s Claw. Birthday dinner time, woo-freaking-hoo. I didn’t know how I was going to get through this meal without barfing all over the table. The image of Ben and Sonya was still fresh in my mind, eating my brain like a starved, rabid zombie.“Sydney,” John said, rapping his knuckles on the table so I’d stop staring off into space. “Just say the word and we’ll cancel this. Mom and Dad are still thirty minutes out. We can go home and order takeout. They’ll bitch but whatever.”Leaning my head on the back of my plastic lawn-chair, I groaned. “They’re already going to bitch because we came here instead of somewhere nicer. Might as well suck it up and get this over with.”“Is something else wrong?” Leave it to John to be persistent right now.“Just the fact that high school sucks.”A pained expression filled his face. And I instantly regretted saying that. John and I had a good thing going. He was my guardian, my parent, and my brother. He was ten years older than I, and he took care of me, thus preventing me from having to live with our realparents. I hated making him worry. He didn’t have to take care of me and it was wrong of me to burden him with my problems. Being forced to raise a teenager—that had to be difficult enough.Two years ago, when John had simply asked, my parents had given me over like they were loaning someone a sweater. They were really just children themselves. Rich, impulsive, spoiled children. Their life was one long vacation, and they never took a moment of it seriously. They were fun people, but sucky parents. Neither worked. Instead they lived off the fruits of my grandfather’s labor. It wasn’t an ideal lifestyle for a child. So when I turned fourteen, John, who proved to be more mature than both of them combined, suggested that I come live with him. They’d jumped at his offer.So that was how I ended up living with John in our family’s beach house in North Carolina. My parents visited us often enough, but in actuality he was my real parent. And I didn’t need to worry him with my silly teenage heartache and drama. He gave up so much for me, and I appreciated that more than anything. Living with him was so much better than the alternative.“I just need some fresh air before they get here,” I explained, feigning a smile. “Would you order me a milkshake whenever the server comes over? I’m in a milkshake kind of mood.”John nodded. So I slipped out of my seat. I cut through the restaurant toward the hostess stand and the front door. Outside, I walked around the building in search of a decent place to hide. It was frigid and windy, since Chancy’s was next to the ocean and it was February, but I found sanctuary by the dumpsters. No one would bother me here.I sat down on a crate and for the second time today cried my eyes out. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Not to mention silly. How could I believe that Ben would ever want me? My hair was this weird dishwater blonde and my eyes some ugly pea-green color. I had freckles and glasses. My best friend was my teacher, for crying out loud! My butt was about as flat as John’s pancakes and my boobs even flatter. I spent all my time watching hopeless romances, living in a dream world waiting for Prince Charming to come rescue me from my mundane life. But this wasn’t Sixteen Candles and Jake Ryan wasn’t about to ditch his hot girlfriend for pathetic, naïve me.I sniffled into my sleeve. God, I was so lame…crying by the dumpsters on my birthday.“Um, is everything okay?” a voice asked.Yikes! And apparently I wasn’t alone.Using the heel of my hand to wipe the tears from my cheeks, I quickly turned my back away from the person who’d just walked outside through a door on the side of the building. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that he wore a Chancy’s Claw employee t-shirt and was bringing out the trash. I knew his name too. Rhett Morgan. He graduated three or four years ago from my school. He never went to college and still frequented high school parties—or so I’d heard. That’s the thing about being invisible. I always heard everything because people often forgot I was around and talked openly in front of me. And Rhett Morgan…well, he was a constant topic of conversation at Kill Devil Hills High.Even Ms. Whittle had spoken of the infamous Rhett once or twice. She’d mentioned something about how funny he was. I’d always kind of assumed Rhett had been her ‘Ben.’ That he’d been the popular, good-looking boy she’d worshiped from afar in high school. But Rhett wasn’t a boy. Nope, definitely a man, and definitely still standing outside with me. I hiccupped, trying to mentally shrink myself into a tiny ball. Maybe he’d go away if I ignored him.I heard a heavy clank as he must have heaved the trash into the dumpster. Then, much to my horror, he came to sit beside me. He pulled out another crate and plopped down.“You’re seriously crying,” he stated. He had a deep, husky voice—kind of soothing. “Was it something you ate?”Looking up, I glared at him. “No,” I snapped. “It wasn’t something I ate.”He smiled. “Figured. Got you to look at me, though.”I huffed.“So,” he said, running his hands across his thick, jean-covered thighs then resting them on his knees. “I just started as a bartender a week ago. People—well, drunks mostly, but that’s beside the point—they keep telling me all their personal problems. I’m quickly becoming a certified therapist. I’m probably better than a therapist—because who wants the opinions of some stiff in a suit? So how about you tell me what’s up? I’ll try to help.”“Are you serious?” I groaned. This guy had to be insane. “You actually want to hear my problems? Willingly?”“Yep. Let’s test out how good of a bartender I am. If you don’t feel better after talking to me then I’ll quit tomorrow. Fair plan?”He couldn’t be serious, could he? But the thing was…he might have been Ms. Whittle’s ‘Ben,’ but he wasn’t my ‘Ben.’ Just because he was gorgeous, kind of cocky, built like an MAA fighter, and actually talking to me, that didn’t mean I was about to fall instantly in love with him. So, shrugging, I decided why not.“I accidentally saw the boy I like having sex with his girlfriend today. I walked in on them in the school locker room. That’s not something I can unsee. It was a reality check on how lame I am, since I’ve never even been kissed before, and a reminder of how he’ll never be mine. So there. That’s the pathetic reason I’m crying. Oh, and today’s my birthday. My parents will be here soon, and I’ll have to suffer through a “fun-filled, excitement overloaded” weekend with them.”I waited for him to laugh, but he didn’t. Serious as a heart attack, he asked, “You’ve never kissed anyone before?”“No.” God, this was mortifying.“Just today alone I’ve already kissed three different women.” He said this with pride. I already knew he was a manwhore from the rumors at school, and now he’d confirmed it.“Ew,” I groaned. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”“Okay.” He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his jaw like he was thinking. Did guys like Rhett even have complex thoughts? “I have a plan to make you feel better. How about you and I…how about we kiss?”I gasped and nearly slipped off my crate.“Don’t look so stunned,” he said. “You’re a beautiful girl.”Beautiful? That confirmed it; he had to be high. Or a flat out lunatic. Or maybe this was the reason he’d already kissed three girls today—he was a total player.“How old are you?” he wanted to know next.“Sixteen.”“Yikes.” He jumped to his feet. Actually, he’d been kind of leaning toward me and I hadn’t even realized it until he ripped himself away from me. “You’re practically a kid. Is kissing a minor legal??”With a giant huff, I stood up. “You are officially the worst bartender-turned-therapist ever!” I yelled at him. “Oh yeah,” he yelled back, “well, you have the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen!”What?“And you shouldn’t let one guy define you. You should never cry over someone as stupid as a guy. Because trust me, we’re all stupid when it comes to women. And you shouldn’t kiss me either. Your first kiss should be memorable and special—something that makes you smile for the rest of your life. Ask anyone, I’m not ‘first kiss’ material. I’m not ‘last kiss’ material either. And you are—”Something inside me came to life. I’m not exactly sure where the surge of confidence, excitement, and power came from, but I flung myself at this stranger and I kissed him. He was older and sexy and completely out of my league…and I, Sydney Francesca Michaels, kissed Rhett Morgan. He wasn’t Ben, but maybe he was the next best thing.So it happened. A quick press of my lips to his. Then I immediately pulled back, suddenly shocked and terrified by my actions.He stared at me for a moment after, as my face burned under his scrutiny and the blood in my veins raged through my body. He was probably equally as shocked and terrified, but somehow, the expression on his face didn’t show it.“You have to go slower,” he finally said, his voice different now, thicker and heavier. “Never rush it.”Inching closer, he took my face in his hands. His touch was searing hot. For what felt like an eternity, he continued to stare at me. I stood there, unsure how to act. Then his hands removed my glasses. He slipped them off and tucked them into one of my hands. “Can we try that again?” he asked, softly. “You already spoiled your first kiss on me. We might as well try to make it count a little more. Good plan?”Unable to speak, I nodded. More than anything, I wanted to try that again.“You really do have very pretty eyes,” he whispered.“A boy in kindergarten told me they were diarrhea-green.”“He was an idiot. They’re the color green the ocean turns when a big storm is coming.”And with that lingering comment, possibly the nicest compliment anyone had ever given me, he pressed his lips against mine. Aside from his hands on my neck, no other part of our bodies touched—just our lips. Warm, soft, lingering lips. My brain didn’t know how to rationalize Rhett. I couldn’t decide what to make of him, but his kiss was perfection.Up until the moment it ended.Not even a second later, Rhett’s lips were forcefully ripped from mine. And then someone subsequently punched him in the jaw. That someone was my brother. John had appeared out of nowhere, livid, aggressive, and ready to kill. “Don’t you fucking touch her, Rhett Morgan,” he screamed. “You nasty motherfucker.”Oh dear God! Never in my life had I heard my brother swear like that. Nor had I ever seen him hit another human being. John looked like a badass—covered in tattoos with a nose ring right through the middle of his nose like a bull—but he was harmless. At least, I’d always thought he was harmless. I guess when it came to protecting me, he wasn’t. Rhett stood up, adjusting his jaw. Then he shifted his feet, widening his stance like he was preparing to fight back. I was willing to bet money on the fact that Rhett had been in his fair share of fights in his lifetime. He had that look about him—the look like he could do some serious damage. I had to stop this.“This is my fault,” I shrieked, tugging on John’s arm. “I kissed him. I kissed him.”“I don’t care who kissed whom,” my brother snapped. “You’re never going near him again.”“Fair enough. It was an impulse thing anyway. Didn’t mean anything. Can we just go?”Rhett lowered his hands. I wasn’t sure if I was lying about the ‘impulse’ comment or not. Either way, he looked hurt by my words. But that wasn’t possible, right? I was the fourth girl he’d kissed today. Surely, he’d just find someone new to kiss later.My brother ushered me away, toward the front of the restaurant, leaving Rhett behind. And I let him because I didn’t know what else to do.“I need to pay for your milkshake and the appetizer I ordered,” John grunted. “Then we’re gone and never coming back to this hole again. Got it? Rhett Morgan sleeps around with everyone. He probably has crabs, and his crabs have something even more disgusting. He’s no good and will work at this bar for the rest of his meaningless life. You’re never going near him again.”Wow. I didn’t know my brother could be such a judgmental jerk.“It didn’t mean anything,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”We went back into the restaurant, John tugging me along. A big part of me wanted to glance up, toward the bar in the back of the room and look for Rhett. Had he come back inside? I felt horrible about my brother punching him. I hoped he knew that I was sorry. But I kept my head down and followed John.Our untouched appetizer of fried calamari sat on the table. The server approached us, carrying my milkshake. John asked for the check and asked her to box up our food so we could take it home. It took a few minutes and then finally she returned. She handed John the takeout box and me my milkshake. She also slipped something into my hand when John wasn’t looking.A piece of paper.My heart started slamming even harder than it was already. My skin burned. I couldn’t look at the paper the whole way home for fear that John would see. But once we arrived home, I rushed up to my room to see if the paper was what I thought it was. It was. It was a note. A note from Rhett. The note read:
Come find me when you’re no longer jail-bait.

Want more? You can purchase PULLED UNDER here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0131LV6KW/

Pulled Under by Sarah DarlingtonRelease Date: September 1, 2015
Synopsis:
man-child. noun.
: a grown man who is very immature, therefor considered a man-child

manwhore. noun.
: a promiscuous man who has no regard for his sexual partners or the emotional value of his relationships

Rhett Morgan couldn't have been more wrong for me. The guy drank beer in the shower, for crying out loud. He had no prospects for the future, had slept with half the women in our beach town of Kill Devil Hills, and had no desire to change his manwhore ways.

And when Ben Turner, the guy I had loved from afar for the past four years, died and I couldn't get over his death, I desperately needed a distraction. A distraction like Rhett. So I used him for a one-night stand. Because, after all, that's the only thing a guy like Rhett is good for...right?

***New Adult Romance. This novel is the third book in the Kill Devil Hills series, however it can be read as a standalone. Recommended for 18+
Preorder: amazon.com/dp/B0131LV6KW/
Join the Facebook Pulled Under Release Party!!! Sept 1st!!
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Other novels in the Kill Devil Hills Series: #1: KILL DEVIL HILLS
Noah is determined to escape his past and keep his life under control. Then he saves the life of his best friend’s little sister, Georgina Turner — who is battling her own demons. He can't get her out of his head, even if Georgina tears down the emotional walls he so carefully built.
Read chapter 1 and 2 here
Amazon I Amazon UK I Barnes and Noble I Kobo I iTunes***Signed paperbacks are in the store!


#2: CHANGING TIDESEllie Turner is a lesbian. She knows who she is, loves who she is, and couldn’t care less what the rest of the world thinks of her. Then television star Nate West comes along. All thick muscle and alpha-male testosterone. When Ellie meets him on an airplane, he ignites something inside her she never knew existed.Amazon I Amazon UKRead the full synopsis on: Goodreads

man-child. noun.
: a grown man who is very immature, therefor considered a man-child

manwhore. noun.
: a promiscuous man who has no regard for his sexual partners or the emotional value of his relationships

Rhett Morgan couldn't have been more wrong for me. The guy drank beer in the shower, for crying out loud. He had no prospects for the future, had slept with half the women in our beach town of Kill Devil Hills, and had no desire to change.

And when Ben Turner, the guy I had loved from afar for the past four years, died, and I couldn't get over his death, I desperately needed a distraction like Rhett. So I used him for a one-night stand. Because, after all, that's the only thing guys like Rhett are good for...right?

Add on goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23257390-pulled-under

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Goodreads Book Giveaway Changing Tides by Sarah Darlington Giveaway ends May 31, 2015.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter to Win

Yo Philly!I just wanted to say Thank You to those who stopped by my table in Philly yesterday. It was my first signing and I had a blast! I also loved meeting all the other authors/bloggers/readers! I wanted to share a few photos from the event!



My next signing will be the Virginia is for Romance ~Author Event. October 3rd in Richmond, VA!!!
All the info is here: Facebook Page I Website I Tickets to the Event

Add on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/2...
Cover Reveal date: July

The Changing Tides blog tour starts today!!! CHANGING TIDES by Sarah Darlington "Nate West. Hollywood bad-boy. Television megastar. Womanizer. Basically everything I hate about the male species rolled into one handsome package. And yet…I want him."
Ellie Turner is a lesbian. She has tattoos, short hair, and a ‘don’t-mess-with-me-attitude.’ She knows who she is, loves who she is, and couldn’t care less what the rest of the world thinks of her. And since she has the most kick-ass best friend on the planet, Noah Clark, even when family drama gets in the way, nothing can offset her happy-go-lucky demeanor.
Until television star Nate West comes along. All thick muscle and alpha-male testosterone. When Ellie meets him on an airplane the only thing Nate West should be good for is a brand new profile picture on Facebook. Right? Wrong. Turns out he’s good for so much more.
This man is going to flip everything Ellie thought she knew about herself upside down.

***NA Romance. This novel is the second book in the Kill Devil Hills series, however it can be read as a standalone. Recommended for 18+


PURCHASE NOW:Amazon ~ Amazon UK ~ Barnes and Noble ~ Kobo$0.99 for release day!

Other novels in the Kill Devil Hills Series: KILL DEVIL HILLS
Noah is determined to escape his past and keep his life under control. Then he saves the life of his best friend’s little sister, Georgina Turner — who is battling her own demons. He can't get her out of his head, even if Georgina tears down the emotional walls he so carefully built.
Read chapter 1 and 2 here
Amazon I Amazon UK I Barnes and Noble I Kobo I iTunes
Author Bio:
Sarah Darlington lives in Virginia with her husband and two-year-old son. She's a former flight attendant, navy brat, constant day-dreamer, wannabe photographer, and an avid scrapbooker. She loves to travel and is working on visiting all 50 states.

Sarah Darlington Online:Goodreads ~ Twitter ~ Facebook ~ Sarah's Website ~ Instagram
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