April blames her addiction for chocolate on growing up near the country's chocolate capital, Hershey, Pennsylvania. Born and raised in a rural area, April always had lots of time to cultivate an active imagination, penning her first book at the age of ten, with a child's typewriter a lot of liquid white-out. Even though both her stories and writing methods have changed drastically through the years, one thing hasn't.
Her imagination.
Cowboys, military men, and alpha bad boys with a penchant for corrupting the good girl are among her favorite heroes to bring to the page. As both a contemporary and romantic suspense author, April loves sweet, second-chance romances as well as the thrills and squeals of being involved with a man who feels more naked without his Glock than without his skivvies.
When April's not donning her writing gloves, she's busy raising two energetic kids and husband. And there isn't a day that passes when she's not dreaming up yet another happily ever after...
First Love can pop up in kindergarten over a shared chocolate chip cookie or in junior high during a school dance. Some people don’t experience it until later in life. Regardless of when Cupid first shoots you with his arrow, First Love sticks with you for a reason.
It’s the first time your heart beat for someone other than yourself.
Mine happened in college, but before I dive into the story, let me do my romance author diligence and set the stage.
Let’s call this trip down memory lane April Takes on the Bad Boy. Naturally, if our heroine [me] goes toe-to-toe with a boy with a questionable reputation, she needs to be a good girl, right?
Well I was—disgustingly good. We’re talking straight A’s, Honor Society, and yes, I was a card-carrying marching band member (and a Drum Major, no less). My one moment of rebellion? Having two girlfriends spend the night while the Mother Unit visited her sister. That’s it. A sleepover. Not even the kind where you tell drunken stories and make the others run naked around the neighbor’s house at midnight.
Our bad boy in ATOBB wasn’t bad in the sense that there was a sealed juvie record and a cigarette hanging from his mouth, but he was my opposite in every way. For one, he was from the city. Yep, this sweet country girl from the no-streetlight town will eventually fall—and fall hard—for the older boy from New York City. He tells it like he sees it and if others don’t like it, too damn bad.
What happens when a sweet, sheltered eighteen-year-old gets tossed into an abrupt life of freshmen college freedom? She makes up for lost time.
On one Friday night, my friends and I stumbled back to campus, which was often patrolled by city police and student-security. One such hunky student guard—the New York City Bad Boy—stopped us as we crossed the commons.
(I had a thing for uniforms even then.)
You prepared for the Meet-Cute? Have you guessed it yet? No? Then let me clue you in.
Imagine my horror—and his—as my stomach chose that exact moment to stage its own rebellion right on his well-polished boots. Not a little spittle. Not a dainty amount. A complete and total evacuation of everything that had been consumed in the last eight hours.
My peeps, it wasn’t pretty.
While my friends cackled in delight, I prayed for the ground to swallow me whole. But to my horror, not only did I not become invisible, our college campus shrunk three sizes after that fateful night.
The New York City Bad Boy was everywhere—the mess hall, the college lounge. There was even an unfortunate mosh pit incident when the Cherry Poppin’ Daddies came to town.
And then, year two…
Ditching the dormitory life and the sharing of a bathroom with thirty-odd girls, I moved into a college-sponsored house on campus. Six girls living on the bottom floor, and six guys on the top. Add in a twenty-something Resident Assistant, and I still can’t figure out what college administration was thinking, but hey, it makes for a good backdrop, right?
And yep, you guessed it. Who lived directly above this good girl and her roommates but the Bad Boy and his?
On more weekend nights than can be counted, my roommates and I waited for the drunken foot-shuffles of our upstairs neighbors to come home from a night of hard partying—and then the fun began.
Aqua’s “Barbie Girl” blared on repeat, with speakers tilted up to the second floor for maximum vibratory effect. Bets would be taken on how long it took our Bad Boy to trudge downstairs and try to make the peace—and he always came down.
It wasn’t long before he popped up even without Aqua-encouragement. We ‘ran into’ one another more frequently, hung out in the living room for movie nights, and hit up our local diner for midnight fried clam strips and lemonade—don’t judge.
What started as friendship turned into something more, baffling friends on both sides. But we worked. We had fun and enjoyed each other’s company, all the while knowing that upon the Bad Boy’s graduation at the end of the year, we would part amicably as friends.
But when I suffered a traumatizing family loss, the Bad Boy showed that he was so much more than his rough-around-the-edges alter-ego. The end of the year eventually came, but neither of us was willing to say goodbye.
A one-month long-distant relationship turned to a year, then a year to two. On the day I crossed the stage dressed in my cap and gown, I received more than my diploma.
I received a ring and a promise of forever.
Twenty-one years and an epilogue later, and the Good Girl [me] and the New York City Bad Boy [the hubster] are still proving opposites attract. My First Love gifted me my Second Love and my Third Love—though in no favorite-ranking order despite my son’s claims over his sister. Our two young children are perfect examples of what happens when a big city attitude meet a small-town country heart.
It’s the first time your heart beat for someone other than yourself.
Mine happened in college, but before I dive into the story, let me do my romance author diligence and set the stage.
Let’s call this trip down memory lane April Takes on the Bad Boy. Naturally, if our heroine [me] goes toe-to-toe with a boy with a questionable reputation, she needs to be a good girl, right?
Well I was—disgustingly good. We’re talking straight A’s, Honor Society, and yes, I was a card-carrying marching band member (and a Drum Major, no less). My one moment of rebellion? Having two girlfriends spend the night while the Mother Unit visited her sister. That’s it. A sleepover. Not even the kind where you tell drunken stories and make the others run naked around the neighbor’s house at midnight.
Our bad boy in ATOBB wasn’t bad in the sense that there was a sealed juvie record and a cigarette hanging from his mouth, but he was my opposite in every way. For one, he was from the city. Yep, this sweet country girl from the no-streetlight town will eventually fall—and fall hard—for the older boy from New York City. He tells it like he sees it and if others don’t like it, too damn bad.
What happens when a sweet, sheltered eighteen-year-old gets tossed into an abrupt life of freshmen college freedom? She makes up for lost time.
On one Friday night, my friends and I stumbled back to campus, which was often patrolled by city police and student-security. One such hunky student guard—the New York City Bad Boy—stopped us as we crossed the commons.
(I had a thing for uniforms even then.)
You prepared for the Meet-Cute? Have you guessed it yet? No? Then let me clue you in.
Imagine my horror—and his—as my stomach chose that exact moment to stage its own rebellion right on his well-polished boots. Not a little spittle. Not a dainty amount. A complete and total evacuation of everything that had been consumed in the last eight hours.
My peeps, it wasn’t pretty.
While my friends cackled in delight, I prayed for the ground to swallow me whole. But to my horror, not only did I not become invisible, our college campus shrunk three sizes after that fateful night.
The New York City Bad Boy was everywhere—the mess hall, the college lounge. There was even an unfortunate mosh pit incident when the Cherry Poppin’ Daddies came to town.
And then, year two…
Ditching the dormitory life and the sharing of a bathroom with thirty-odd girls, I moved into a college-sponsored house on campus. Six girls living on the bottom floor, and six guys on the top. Add in a twenty-something Resident Assistant, and I still can’t figure out what college administration was thinking, but hey, it makes for a good backdrop, right?
And yep, you guessed it. Who lived directly above this good girl and her roommates but the Bad Boy and his?
On more weekend nights than can be counted, my roommates and I waited for the drunken foot-shuffles of our upstairs neighbors to come home from a night of hard partying—and then the fun began.
Aqua’s “Barbie Girl” blared on repeat, with speakers tilted up to the second floor for maximum vibratory effect. Bets would be taken on how long it took our Bad Boy to trudge downstairs and try to make the peace—and he always came down.
It wasn’t long before he popped up even without Aqua-encouragement. We ‘ran into’ one another more frequently, hung out in the living room for movie nights, and hit up our local diner for midnight fried clam strips and lemonade—don’t judge.
What started as friendship turned into something more, baffling friends on both sides. But we worked. We had fun and enjoyed each other’s company, all the while knowing that upon the Bad Boy’s graduation at the end of the year, we would part amicably as friends.
But when I suffered a traumatizing family loss, the Bad Boy showed that he was so much more than his rough-around-the-edges alter-ego. The end of the year eventually came, but neither of us was willing to say goodbye.
A one-month long-distant relationship turned to a year, then a year to two. On the day I crossed the stage dressed in my cap and gown, I received more than my diploma.
I received a ring and a promise of forever.
Twenty-one years and an epilogue later, and the Good Girl [me] and the New York City Bad Boy [the hubster] are still proving opposites attract. My First Love gifted me my Second Love and my Third Love—though in no favorite-ranking order despite my son’s claims over his sister. Our two young children are perfect examples of what happens when a big city attitude meet a small-town country heart.
Someone is watching their every move.
After a lifetime spent in and out of hospitals, Zoey Wright is tired of playing it safe. She’s ready to take charge of her own life and get out of her comfort zone, starting with a new job as a CSI agent. But when her childhood crush Knox Steele gets pulled onto her case, Zoey needs to put her feelings for him aside or more women will die at the hands of the serial killer preying on her hometown.
Former Army Ranger Knox Steele is back in Washington to help his brothers open an elite private security firm. He never expected to stumble onto a crime scene, or see his best friend’s little sister working it. Zoey is all grown up now, and the attraction between them is electric, despite his best efforts to resist it. But all that changes for Knox when he realizes the victims have one thing in common . . . and Zoey might be next.
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I look forward to reading this.
ReplyDeleteCongratulations on your new release!
ReplyDeleteWhat a fun story about meeting your hubby! Love it!
ReplyDeleteI really like the sound of this book...
ReplyDeleteDeadly Obsession sounds like a thrilling read. Thank you
ReplyDeleteWhat a wonderful first love story! Opposites really do attract.
ReplyDeleteSounds like a great read!
ReplyDeleteSounds good. Sign me up!
ReplyDelete