by: Amber Laura
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: November 16, 2023
Publisher: LitLiber
Miranda Monroe’s world just imploded. Not only did she just get dumped by her long-time boyfriend, but she got dumped in the most humiliatingly painful way imaginable. Very suddenly single, homeless, and heartbroken, she runs to the only person she knows will always be there for her.
Sam Church. Her best friend (and the man she’d once secretly been madly in love with).
Which is how she finds herself, emotionally spent and financially crippled, somehow agreeing to his outrageous offer: that she move into his guest bedroom. Temporarily, of course. Just until she gets back on her feet.
There’s only one problem. In the midst of mending her shattered heart, in the process of trying to find herself again (just who is Miranda Monroe?), her thoughts keep getting distracted, wandering in the most confusing and forbidden of ways…just down the hall from her.
Which is ludicrous. The most commitment-phobic person she’s ever met, Sam is off-limits to Miranda for all kinds of reasons. But mostly, because he’s her best friend—and she loves him too much to lose him. So why, suddenly, can’t she seem to stop fantasizing about him? Why can’t she stop hoping for something more?
Slightly Delayed and Somewhat Haphazard is a best-friends-to-lovers romantic comedy underscored with notes of healing fiction and the echoing sentiments of an adult coming-of-age novel.
“You know, maybe it was a good thing that I kissed you. Getting that old crush out of my system. Once and for all.”
“You had a crush on me?”
“Yeah. Sure. A long time ago,” Miranda stressed. Judging by the incredulity emblazoned upon his person, Sam had never once, not even in the most remote region of his mind, considered the possibility of them. Which meant he’d most certainly never once, not even in the slightest way, considered Miranda in that light.
Which was doing excellent things for her ego.
“When?”
“I don’t know. College, probably.”
Sam laughed. “You must have been really bad at flirting.”
Miranda gave him a look. “Cute.”
Sam laughed harder. But all he said, this time more to himself than anyone else was: “Well, well.”
Though her face felt too hot, Miranda doubled-down, playing her part to the hilt. “Hard to be so studly, huh?” She refused to be baited into talking seriously about this. She refused to let the conversation spiral any more out of control than it already had.
Sam scoffed. He picked up his fork, turned back to his breakfast. “Something like that.”
“You poor thing.”
Sam took another bite of his eggs. Miranda followed suit, picking up a piece of bacon. She was in the act of swallowing when he said: “Okay, but what happened on Friday? Don’t kid yourself. That’s not what it’s like to kiss me.”
Miranda was thankful she didn’t choke. She offered him a nervous flick of her eyes. Humor was etched across Sam’s lips and eyes but still… Miranda couldn’t shake the feeling that, underneath the shiny veneer of it, there was a shimmer of truth, of invitation embedded inside his words.
She gulped. From the moment she’d woken up the morning before, Miranda had lived in terror that she and Sam wouldn’t be able to bounce back from The Kiss; ten minutes ago, she’d been scared that she’d pushed it too fast and hard, trying to make an inside joke out of it too soon. What she hadn’t expected was that she’d tempt him.
Miranda wasn’t sure how to respond, what to say. The ground felt shaky and unfamiliar. So, she settled on something noncommittal. “Cocky.”
“Which showed impressive restraint on my part—”
“You’re a true gentleman.”
“Because you aren’t the only one who’s wondered.”
That stopped Miranda cold. Suddenly, she couldn’t catch her breath. Suddenly, she couldn’t seem to keep the façade going. “Huh?”
Impulsively, nervously, Miranda’s tongue flicked out of her mouth, running across her bottom lip. Her stomach seized when his eyes caught the action, when his mouth kicked out to one side in reaction. Something was happening between them. She could feel it crackling in the air around them.
“Sam?”
His eyes contracted at the quiver in her question, at the panic lining the letters of his name. A nerve ticked in his jaw, the veins in his neck stretching taut—alive with some unknowable emotion—but otherwise, his body remained perfectly still, seemingly frozen. And then, in a flash—a flash so quick Miranda would later have cause to wonder if she’d imagined the whole thing—his features smoothed out, Sam’s body relaxing in his seat. A low laugh floated out of his mouth. “I mean, sure. The thought probably crossed my mind once or twice. Then again, when we met, I was something of a horndog.”
Miranda blinked. Cleared her throat. Clung to the joke he’d set up for her. “Past tense?”
Sam grinned. Still there was something off in the way he spoke. In the way he wouldn’t look at Miranda. “Past tense.”
For the second time, she wasn’t sure how to respond—she wasn’t sure what, exactly, he meant by past tense? His horndoging ways or his thoughts about her? For the first time in memory, she found it difficult to verbally spar with him.
“Right, right,” Miranda murmured emptily. She wasn’t sure what else to say. Though she was the person who’d started this whole thing, nothing was going according to plan. She’d been trying to tease her way back into a sense of renewed normalcy between them but it’d backfired.
Sam had wondered about her? That wasn’t a renewed sense of anything.
He’d been flirting with her, too. She was almost sure of it. Not just friendly banter, either, but flirting with intent.
Miranda had never encountered that Sam before—the one who made women practically throw their panties at him. Yeah, sure, she’d seen the effects of his charm in action, of his singular attention on other girls, but she’d never been caught in the web herself.
Which is exactly what happens when you play with fire. You get burned.
(For clarity, this excerpt has been edited/modified from what appears in the book.)
“You had a crush on me?”
“Yeah. Sure. A long time ago,” Miranda stressed. Judging by the incredulity emblazoned upon his person, Sam had never once, not even in the most remote region of his mind, considered the possibility of them. Which meant he’d most certainly never once, not even in the slightest way, considered Miranda in that light.
Which was doing excellent things for her ego.
“When?”
“I don’t know. College, probably.”
Sam laughed. “You must have been really bad at flirting.”
Miranda gave him a look. “Cute.”
Sam laughed harder. But all he said, this time more to himself than anyone else was: “Well, well.”
Though her face felt too hot, Miranda doubled-down, playing her part to the hilt. “Hard to be so studly, huh?” She refused to be baited into talking seriously about this. She refused to let the conversation spiral any more out of control than it already had.
Sam scoffed. He picked up his fork, turned back to his breakfast. “Something like that.”
“You poor thing.”
Sam took another bite of his eggs. Miranda followed suit, picking up a piece of bacon. She was in the act of swallowing when he said: “Okay, but what happened on Friday? Don’t kid yourself. That’s not what it’s like to kiss me.”
Miranda was thankful she didn’t choke. She offered him a nervous flick of her eyes. Humor was etched across Sam’s lips and eyes but still… Miranda couldn’t shake the feeling that, underneath the shiny veneer of it, there was a shimmer of truth, of invitation embedded inside his words.
She gulped. From the moment she’d woken up the morning before, Miranda had lived in terror that she and Sam wouldn’t be able to bounce back from The Kiss; ten minutes ago, she’d been scared that she’d pushed it too fast and hard, trying to make an inside joke out of it too soon. What she hadn’t expected was that she’d tempt him.
Miranda wasn’t sure how to respond, what to say. The ground felt shaky and unfamiliar. So, she settled on something noncommittal. “Cocky.”
“Which showed impressive restraint on my part—”
“You’re a true gentleman.”
“Because you aren’t the only one who’s wondered.”
That stopped Miranda cold. Suddenly, she couldn’t catch her breath. Suddenly, she couldn’t seem to keep the façade going. “Huh?”
Impulsively, nervously, Miranda’s tongue flicked out of her mouth, running across her bottom lip. Her stomach seized when his eyes caught the action, when his mouth kicked out to one side in reaction. Something was happening between them. She could feel it crackling in the air around them.
“Sam?”
His eyes contracted at the quiver in her question, at the panic lining the letters of his name. A nerve ticked in his jaw, the veins in his neck stretching taut—alive with some unknowable emotion—but otherwise, his body remained perfectly still, seemingly frozen. And then, in a flash—a flash so quick Miranda would later have cause to wonder if she’d imagined the whole thing—his features smoothed out, Sam’s body relaxing in his seat. A low laugh floated out of his mouth. “I mean, sure. The thought probably crossed my mind once or twice. Then again, when we met, I was something of a horndog.”
Miranda blinked. Cleared her throat. Clung to the joke he’d set up for her. “Past tense?”
Sam grinned. Still there was something off in the way he spoke. In the way he wouldn’t look at Miranda. “Past tense.”
For the second time, she wasn’t sure how to respond—she wasn’t sure what, exactly, he meant by past tense? His horndoging ways or his thoughts about her? For the first time in memory, she found it difficult to verbally spar with him.
“Right, right,” Miranda murmured emptily. She wasn’t sure what else to say. Though she was the person who’d started this whole thing, nothing was going according to plan. She’d been trying to tease her way back into a sense of renewed normalcy between them but it’d backfired.
Sam had wondered about her? That wasn’t a renewed sense of anything.
He’d been flirting with her, too. She was almost sure of it. Not just friendly banter, either, but flirting with intent.
Miranda had never encountered that Sam before—the one who made women practically throw their panties at him. Yeah, sure, she’d seen the effects of his charm in action, of his singular attention on other girls, but she’d never been caught in the web herself.
Which is exactly what happens when you play with fire. You get burned.
(For clarity, this excerpt has been edited/modified from what appears in the book.)
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1. If there’s creamer, I’m drinking coffee. And when I edit, there’s always creamer.
2. I do my best daydreaming on long car rides.
3. Some of my favorite stories came as follow-up answers to the question: “What if…?”
4. I’m the mother of a darling (if slightly overweight), 16-year-old cat. She’s kind of my mascot.
5. One of my favorite parts of writing is inventing new places—or traveling to spaces where I’ve not actually been. It’s magical and never disappointing.
6. Writing may be a solitary process, but then the characters always keep me company.
7. I’ve never quite figured out if I like to write by plot or the seat of my pants.
8. (Because I write, I don’t math.) When a scene isn’t coming together on a piece of writing, or a string of dialogue is falling flat, I like to close my eyes and picture the whole thing as though it were being acted out on a movie screen—and forty minutes later, I usually wake up!
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The cover looks good. Sounds like a story I would enjoy reading.
ReplyDeleteWhat is your favorite space to do your writing?
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