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Readers who love books about books will fall for Erin La Rosa’s latest rom comโa friends (with benefits)-to-lovers story about a romance author who’s never been in love, and needs to find out why before her next manuscript is due! For fans of BY THE BOOK and BOOK LOVERS.
Plot Twist
by Erin La Rosa
ISBN: 9781335458117
Publication Date: November 14, 2023
Publisher: Canary Street Press
18.99 US | 23.99 CAN
Blurb:
Romance author Sophie Lyonโs ironic secret just went viral: sheโs never been in love. Though her debut novel made readers swoon, Sophieโs having trouble getting her new characters to happily-ever-after, and she blames it on her own uninspired love life. With a manuscript deadline looming, Sophie makes an ambitious plan to overcome her writerโs block: reunite with her exes to learn why she’s never fallen in loveโand document it all for her millions of new online followers. Which also means facing her ex-girlfriend Carla, the one person Sophie could have loved.
Luckily, Sophieโs reclusive landlord, Dash Montroseโa former teen heartthrobโhas social media all figured out and offers to help. But he doesn’t mention that heโs an anonymous online crafter, a hobby that helps him maintain his sobriety. No one knows about his complicated relationship with alcohol and he intends to keep it that way. His family is Hollywood royalty, so Dash has to steer clear of scandal.
As Sophie and Dash grow closer, they discover a heat between them that rivals Dash’s pottery kiln. But Sophie needs to figure out who she is outside her relationships, and Dash isnโt sure heโs stable enough for the commitment she deserves. So Sophie suggests what any good romance author would: a friends-with-benefits arrangement. Surely a casual relationship wonโt cause any troubleโฆ
*****
Excerpt:
Sophie Lyon was not in a good place.ย
More specifically, sheโd had one (or three) too many the night before. So instead of falling asleep on her bed, she was lying on the couch with a paperback book as a makeshift pillow. Her legs were tucked up in the fetal position inside her billowy dress. And as she licked her lips, she tasted vodka and fried chicken, which she didnโt remember drinking or eating.
She attempted to open her eyes, but her lashes stuck together from the makeup sheโd forgotten to remove the night before. With the help of her index finger and thumb, she managed to peel one lid open. White-hot summer light poured in through the arched living-room window and her mint green walls, a color sheโd specifically chosen for its soothing properties, were mockingly chipper.
But even more unsettling was the book on the coffee table directly in front of her, Whisked Away. Sophieโs first published book. She closed her one good eye and wished sheโd never opened it.
Her mom had always dreamed about Sophie filling an entire bookshelf with all her titles, the years of working multiple day jobs while tinkering on romance books finally worth the struggle. But, as it turned out, Whisked Away would be Sophieโs one and only book. Had she known sheโd be a one-hit wonder, she wouldnโt have ordered the little placard for her writing desk: Ask Me about My Tropes.
The worst part was that she had sold a follow-up bookโor, at least, a pitch plus the first three chaptersโbut she hadnโt been able to finish The Love Drought (a title so tragically similar to her own personal problems that it made her cringe). Sheโd been given multiple extensions but missed all of them. And, per her contract, her publisher had the right to terminate their deal if those deadlines werenโt met. But no matter how many drafts she started, Sophie couldnโt find her way to the happily ever after that all romance books promised and that she loved.
The phone call with her agent started with We need to talkโฆ and ended with You have six weeks to finish this book or your contract, plus the advance, will be taken back.
Sheโd spent most of that advance, though, along with the royalty checks that grew smaller and smaller as interest in her last book waned. She needed money from turning in the next book if she wanted to continue paying for things like food or a place to stay.
She shouldโve seen the implosion coming. Her horoscope had warned that the entire month of June would be bad for important communication. But the damage was done: Sophie was a romance author with writerโs block, and in six weeksโ time, sheโd lose her publishing deal.
So sheโd done the only thing she knew would make her feel better: called Poppy. And her best friend had suggested a night out at their favorite downtown karaoke bar to drown away the loud whir of failure.
She cautiously sat up, then settled her feet into the woven jute rug. Her legs were as firm as Jell-O when she stood. Still, she managed to make it to the hallway mirror, where she saw that her normally side-swept curtain bangs had morphed into Medusa, snakelike tendrils across her forehead, and she had more flakes on her face than her pet goldfish had in his bowl.
She cringed. Rain Boots. Her goldfish was twelve years old and the longest relationship sheโd ever had. She planted her hand on the wall for support and shuffled over to her bedroom where a large glass fishbowl sat on her bedside table. Rain Boots swam in the exact middle and blinked at Sophie with large accusatory eyes.
โIโm sorry, honey,โ Sophie croaked out. โI know we have our bedtime routine, but Mommy got horribly drunk.โ
She tapped the glass with her index finger and waited for a response, but none came. Eventually the silence broke when her doorbell loudly ding-donged and caused her to jump in surprise. The next, and bigger, surprise came when she made her way to the front door and saw her landlord waiting on the porch.
Dash Montrose wasnโt a tall man, but he had presence. Part of that was because he always seemed to be fidgetingโtapping his fingers, shifting his feet, or pacing slightlyโbut also, he had thick arms with swirling, inky-black tattoos.
Itโs not that Sophie had stared at those arms in prior instances butโฆwell, yeah, she probably had.
Still, her first instinct was to hide behind the couch because what the hell was Dash doing there? She and Dash lived next door to each other, but they were not close. In fact, Dash hardly ever acknowledged her existence. He lived in the large house tucked behind her bungalow, but he was always walking away in some kind of a hurry. If she waved, he only ever nodded back. She didnโt think he was intentionally being a jerk, but he clearly had no interest in interacting with her. They hadnโt spoken actual words to each other in at least a few months. She Venmoed him the rent, and sometimes he left a thumbs-up in response. That was the extent of it.
But there he was, in jeans and a T-shirt. What could he want? Did he somehow know her funds were about to run out and he was preemptively evicting her? Sophie avoided confrontation at all costs, but she couldnโt run away from him, not when his face was pressed against the window of her door and he was peering directly at her. She clutched her arms across her chest, extremely aware that she was still dressed in her clothes from the night before, as she made her way to him.
When she opened the door, she was hit not only with the heat from the high sun above but by the sight of Dashโs wet hair slicked around his face. Water trickled down his neck and splotched his faded shirt, like heโd come straight over from a shower. Which meant a few minutes prior heโd been totally naked, covered in soap and water andโฆ
โHey, uh, whoa.โ His voice cut through Sophieโs thoughts. When she glanced up, Dash gave her an uneasy expression, then gestured down the length of her. โWhat happenedโฆโ
She never left the house without a minimum of tinted moisturizer, but of course Dash came on the one day where she closely resembled a Madame Tussauds wax statue melting in the sun. Sophie gently swiped her index finger under her eye, and it came back coated in black liner. Excellent.
โVodka happened,โ she muttered.
She rubbed the liner between her fingers. Something was wrong. Mercury mustโve been in retrograde. If thirteen-year old Sophie had known that she would be renting a place from Dash Montroseโformer teen heartthrob movie star turned still hunky landlordโand he was seeing her hungoverโฆsheโd be even more embarrassed than she already was. And sheโd probably also be delighted. Because Sophie had maaaybe had a photo of him from a magazine cover on her wall when she was growing up. His film Happy Now? was her all-time favorite movie.
She absolutely did not have a crush on adult Dash, though. Well, he was undeniably hot. No point in glossing over that thick, dirty-blond hair, the dimple in his chin, or any of the other tatted-up details. But he was Poppyโs brother and so off-limits that Sophie had built a wall around Dash in her mind. Though bits of the wall appeared to crumble at the sight of his strong jaw and the dark circles under his eyes that made him all the more mysterious to her.
โPoppy asked me to come check on you. She said you werenโt answering your phone.โ He glanced behind her, as if searching for a potential thief holding her cell hostage.
โMy Poppy?โ Sophie had worked at Poppyโs spa, Glow, for yearsโone of the many day jobs sheโd had before quitting to write full-time. Though, now that she had endless writerโs block, she might have to beg for her old job back.
โSheโs my sister, so sheโs technically our Poppy.โ His hands landed in the pockets of his jeans.
Sophie looked behind her to where the phone usually was, and blessedly, while sheโd been drunk enough to use a book as a pillow, sheโd been just sober enough to plug in her phone. She rubbed at one of her throbbing temples and walked over to her desk, grabbed her phone, then held down the power button and watched the white icon flash back.
As she waited for the phone to boot up, she walked back toward Dash.
โOkay, she wants me to tell you that thereโs a video of you going viral?โ Dash gestured to his phone, which made his forearm flex and Sophieโs eyes widen in response.
She tried to process what heโd said. She needed an intense boost of caffeineโmaybe a matchaโto be able to comprehend the words coming out of his mouth. โA video?โ
โI donโt know, she said you needed to see it. And that I needed to make sure you saw it.โ He shrugged, but the small motion lifted the edge of his shirt up just enough for Sophie to catch a glimpse of his boxers.
Sophie didnโt want to be impoliteโDash was Poppyโs older brother, after allโbut what was she supposed to do? She couldnโt so much as look at a candle shop without rushing in to buy one. Dash was the male equivalent of fresh beeswax. She was definitely staring.
Just then, her phone erupted in a series of pings, vibrations, and what sounded like one deafening goose honk. If she owned pearls, sheโd be clutching the hell out of them. The screen filled with notificationsโemails, texts, missed calls, and push notifications from Instagramโbut she pulled up Poppyโs text conversation first.
Soph, are you up?ย
Itโs 10. You never sleep this late.ย
Iโm at work, ARE YOU OKย
Iโm sending Dash over.
YOUโRE NOT DEAD! YIPPEE!ย
OK, hereโs the vid. Donโt freak out!
Dashโs phone pinged too, he looked down, then sighed. โDid you get it?โ He sounded a little irritated.
Sophie frowned at the blurry thumbnail of a woman, but clicked the link, which sent her to the TikTok app. Then, almost immediately, she saw herself reflected on the screen. The video was taken at the karaoke bar, and Sophie was the main event. She stood onstage as the undeniable background music to Elton Johnโs โTiny Dancerโ played. She had requested that song, hadnโt she? The small pieces of her lost-memory puzzle began to click into place.
Only, in the video, she was sobbing, with tears running down her cheeks, as she gazed wild-eyed into the crowd. Poppy ran onto the stage and attempted to coax Sophie off, but Sophie grabbed the mic and shouted, โIโve never been in love, okay?!โ Her voice so angry and vehement that she appeared to be deranged. The person holding the phone zoomed in at that exact moment to capture Sophieโs grimace as she shrieked out, โLove isnโt real!โ Then Poppy yanked the mic out of Sophieโs hand and dropped it for her. End of video.
โStop, stop, stop!โ The words screeched out of her as she furiously poked the screen to try and delete the video. Then she remembered this was not her videoโsomeone else had uploaded it. Eventually, her eyes drifted down to the caption, which read Relatable! The video had over two hundred thousand views and thirty thousand likes.
โOh my holy hot hell.โ She was a writer but could not think of any other words in that moment. Her mind raced at the thought of hundreds of thousands of people watching her have a public meltdown and liking it.
Normally, Sophie was an optimist, but after the last twenty-four hours, she was beginning to understand the appeal of pessimism. Her hand instinctively went to her chest and her fingers tap-tap-tapped at her pacemakerโsomething she always did to steady herselfโas she scrolled through the comments and saw that not one but multiple people had recognized her.
Sophie Lyon is FUN
Sophie Lyon is secretly unhinged and itโs sending me
I hated her book, but I like this?
โJust breathe.โ Then Dashโs hand was on her back, steady and warm, which momentarily distracted her, but not for long.
The heat outside had intensified to Palm Springsโlevel boiling and caused Sophie to break out in either hives or a rash. She furiously clawed at her throat with her free hand. She walked away from Dash and down the porch steps. Her bare feet hit the cool blades of grass in her yard, and when she looked up, the iconic Hollywood sign perched in the Santa Monica Mountains shined pearly white in the distance. Seeing those letters from her yard every morning used to make her feel closer to the success she so deeply craved, but now she felt buried under the weight of its implied expectations.
She stumbled, and Dash was next to her within seconds, holding her steady. He grabbed her elbow with one hand, and the other wrapped around her waist to cup her hip. His skin was warm against her, even through her dress. Her stomach flipped, probably from the lingering alcohol. โSophie, you really need to sit. You look like youโre about to faintโโ
The sound of her phone pinging cut him off. And when she looked down, a familiar name flashed across the screen. Carla. Sophie stopped scratching her throat. Her ex. The woman who had single-handedly led her on for close to a year. A year in which Sophie could feel herself beginning to fall head over heels, and thenโฆ Carla had ended it and dragged their relationship to the trash. Sophie stared at Carlaโs name, and the text underneath, which read Saw the videoโฆ As in her ex had seen the video of Sophie having a full-on meltdown.
It was at this moment that she tilted her head back, let the punishing sun burn her eyes, and shouted as loudly as she physically could. When she eventually stopped screaming, her head felt light. The edges of her vision blurred with the realization that she had nothing left, her life was over, and she was completely mortified.
โSeriously, Sophie? My ears are ringing.โ
Sophie was so focused on her own humiliation that she mustโve forgotten that Dash was right there.
โAre you on something?โ Dash asked.
Sophie frowned. No, she was not on something. She may have been braless, hungover, and hanging by a thread emotionally, but what kind of an accusation was that?
And even if she were on ayahuasca and beginning to see rainbow caticorns encircling her feetโwhich sounded great, actuallyโwhat she did with her body was absolutely none of his business. She paid her rent on time. This was her place. He was the one whoโd come bounding over, all wet and wearing a too-tight shirt, and now he had the nerve to suggest she was the one out of line?
ย ย ย ย She would tell Dash that he needed to leave. But when she opened her mouth to say as much, she felt the bile rise in her throat. Her eyes bulged wide as she closed her mouth and held back something akin to a burp. Dash clocked her panic, and his eyes narrowed. She shook her head, but there was no use. She was definitely going to hurl all over her high-school celebrity crush. And without even being able to call out a warning, she projectile-vomited all over Dash.
*****
Author Info:
ERIN LA ROSA is a writer living in Los Angeles. As a writer for BuzzFeed, she frequently writes about the perils and triumphs of being a redhead. Before BuzzFeed, Erin worked for the comedy websites Funny or Die and MadAtoms, as well as E!s Fashion Police, Wetpaint, and Ecorazzi. Erin has appeared on CNN, Headline News, Jimmy Kimmel, and The Today Show on behalf of BuzzFeed. She is the author of Womanskills and The Big Redhead Book.
Author Website: https://www.erinlarosacreative.com/
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/erinlarosalit/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/erin.larosa
Twitter: https://twitter.com/erinlarosalit
TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@erinlarosawrites
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