Today we welcome to author Michele Summers. She is with us promoting her latest book, Sweet Southern Trouble. Enjoy her thoughts on one of her favorite things about the south as well as an excerpt from the book.
Author:
Michele Summers
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Pub
Date: May 2, 2017
ISBN:
9781402293641
An ambitious Southern belle
Marabelle Fairchild knows she’s a gal who can get things done.
Feeling unappreciated at the exclusive private school where she’s a
kindergarten aide and varsity tennis coach, Marabelle determines to score with
the next big fundraiser. What she doesn’t expect? A smokin' hot football coach
to throw her off her game...
A reclusive NFL bachelor...
NFL coach Nick Frasier is Raleigh’s most eligible bachelor, but he
wants to focus on his career…not his playboy status. He doesn’t need a
smart-mouthed, pint-sized kindergarten teacher pestering him. So he cuts
Marabelle a deal—in exchange for Nick sponsoring a bachelor auction starring
him and his gorgeous celebrity pals, Marabelle will pose as his fiancée to ward
off unwanted advances.
What could possibly go wrong?
Buy Links:
Thoughts about the south:
The
best things about the South can be debated until the cows come home. For me,
the list changes as often as our weather. I was born and raised a Carolina Blue
Tarheel, but after college, I made my home in Miami, Florida and stayed for
over twenty years (A different kind of south altogether). But since returning
to my Tarheel state, it’s quite evident, some things have changed…and some
things have not!
Here’s one of my favorite things about the south:
College Rivalries: I live in the heart of the ACC and yeah, we love our football,
which includes tailgating with barbeque, fried chicken, deviled eggs, pimento
cheese and sweet tea. But football is kind of like the appetizer, leading up to
the main course. We use football season to get in shape and start flexing our
school color muscles, because what we really cut our teeth on and can cause
more devastating arguments than the Presidential debates is…basketball! Make
that college basketball. Those
buzzer-beater games where we all sit on the edge of our seats, praying our team
wins before we succumb to our final heart attack. Where we cheer and cry along
with our favorite players and shake our fists and curse at the blind refs or coaches
who call bad plays. My kids have vivid memories of being shoved in their
bedrooms during basketball games, when they were little, because mommy couldn’t
be held responsible for her colorful language.
We take our basketball as
seriously as we take our fried chicken, NASCAR or sweet tea.
EXCERPT:
“Coach
Frasier, may I be perfectly frank?”
“Have
you ever been anything else?”
Marabelle
hesitated before answering. “Well, no, but I think it’s an admirable trait.”
Nick
bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “Then certainly don’t change
on my behalf.”
Blinking
huge, chocolate-brown eyes, Marabelle looked more determined. Her face—sans the
paint—was attractive. Faint freckles were scattered across her small, pert
nose, but her mouth—by far the main attraction—had that bee-stung look that
Hollywood stars coveted. For a moment, he wondered if her lips were as soft as
they were full, if she tasted…
Where
had those thoughts come from? She’s a kindergarten teacher, for
chrissakes. He punted those unwanted thoughts right out of
the stadium, and got his head back in the game by focusing on her small hands,
which seemed to talk even more than her sexy, full mouth.
Marabelle
paced in front of the large, white, dry-erase board. “Trinity Academy has a
very important fund-raiser every spring that the whole community supports, and
this year is going to be extra special, because they’re raising money to
improve the football field and add two more tennis courts. And—”
Nick
had heard this pitch a million times. Same setup, different location. “And you
want me to contribute to the fund? Right?”
She
stopped pacing. “Well, it’s more than just your money. Don’t get me wrong, your
money is huge.” Nick chuckled at her lack of
tact, but she ignored him, intent on lining up dry-erase markers in alternating
colors.
“We
need your help in contacting your celebrity friends and asking them to
participate in the golf and tennis tournaments,” she said, leaning the markers
against the board. “And we want you to ask the single, eligible men you know to
sell themselves in our bachelor auction,” she finished all in one breath and
turned, knocking all the markers to the floor.
“Um,
what?” Nick shook his head as he bent to help her gather the scattered markers.
This had to be a joke. “Are you secretly filming me for YouTube or something?
Is this some sort of practical joke?” He’d had enough of being secretly filmed
to last a lifetime, and if this fairy-tale character thought she could pull a
fast one on him, she had no idea who she was up against. His gaze darted around
the classroom, searching for a hidden camera. The room looked clean. Then he
smirked. “Did my offensive coordinator set this up?”
Kneeling
on the floor with puckered brows, Marabelle asked, “Who?”
Nick
handed over three reds and two blues. “Coach Prichard. We’ve been arguing about
the draft, but I didn’t think he was this upset.”
Right
on cue, she turned stern schoolteacher. Standing, she released the handful of
markers on the metal tray, her back as straight as if fused with a goalpost.
“Coach Frasier, this is not some reality TV show, and I don’t even know your
offensive coordinator. But if he’s upset, I suggest you make nice, and maybe
you guys will start winning some ballgames.”
Splaying
hands on his hips, he delivered one of his fiercest stares. “You tetched in the
head or something? Are you telling me
how to coach a professional football team?”
Marabelle
didn’t flinch. A room full of five-year-olds must be tougher than he thought.
Curling her fingers around a ruler in the metal tray as if she might rap his
knuckles, she said in the same firm, schoolteacher voice, “If there’s
dissension among your staff, it would be prudent to smooth things over. Arguing
with your staff is bound to affect the players. It just goes to reason.” Tap,
tap went the ruler in her palm.
Nick
swore under his breath. Many a rookie had backed down from his most
intimidating stare. Its effect was legendary. But not on crazy Marabelle. “Ms.
Fairchild, you don’t know jack shit about coaching football.” Nick rarely lost
his temper off the field, but she’d managed to push all his buttons. He knew
his young team had struggled last season. He certainly didn’t need reminding
from little Miss Muffet. He had the team’s owner, general manager, and the
press for that. But Nick believed in his team. They had raw talent, and with
good coaching and proper discipline, they’d only get better. Yet, it still
rankled when he was confronted with their less-than-stellar record.
He
didn’t need this hassle. “I’m out of here,” he muttered, starting for the door.
“Coach
Frasier, please wait!”
Nick
whipped around to squash the crazy, ruler-toting fairy once and for all, when
three high school boys barged through the classroom door, carrying large tennis
bags over their shoulders.
“Hey,
Coach, you comin’ to practice today?”
“What?”
The theme song from The Twilight Zone played in his head.
Why would he be coming to practice here?
“Whoa!
You’re Nick Frasier,” said the tallest of the boys as all three gazes landed on
him.
Nick
plastered on a smile, not wanting his scowl to be reported all over social
media. “Hey, guys. What’s up?” All three eagerly shook his hand, talking at
once. “You boys play for the tennis team?” Nick asked in between introductions
and hand pumping.
“Yeah.
We’re heading to practice and wondering if Coach is coming.”
“Coach?”
Still confused, he searched their faces.
“Surprise,
surprise,” Marabelle chimed softly next to him.
About the author:
MICHELE SUMMERS writes about small-town life with a Southern flair, and has her own interior design business in Raleigh, North Carolina, and Miami, Florida. Both professions feed her creative appetite and provide a daily dose of humor. |
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