Gee, I’m going to be a whining, pleading terrible brat… and I was told I could beg & plead and ask for votes.  I rarely do it, so bear with me.

The ladies at Dear Author and Smart Bitches are doing their annual DABWAHA tournament.  It’s the tournament for romance books!  With Brackets!  And you can win an iPad!  So could I!  But you have to get me on the board.  I’m a write in, so you have to fill out the form in the post…

Would you nominate IF YOU HEAR HER? It has to be a 2011 book and it would go in the contemporary category (not series-that’s for category/series romances like Harlequin, etc).  You’ll need the ISBN…  978-0345517531. (ten digit one is  0345517539.)  Just add it into the field marked and viola.

It’s over at http://dabwaha.com

Pretty please? I’ll love you forever.  Well, I love my readers anyway, but still.

snippet!

“This friends-only shit is not working.”

He couldn’t get her out of his mind, out of his thoughts.  Scowling, he finished up his shower and climbed out, drying off with a towel and slinging it over his shoulders.  When he opened the medicine cabinet, the box of Trojans sitting there all but mocked him.

Swearing, he grabbed his razor and slammed the door shut so hard, it was a wonder the glass didn’t break.

Friends.  “My ass,” he muttered.

Twenty minutes later, he was heading out to the car, a weird mix of excitement and dread curling through him.  He wanted, needed to see her, but at the same time, he knew it was going to strain his…ah…patience.  Already, his skin was humming, his heart racing at the thought of seeing her.

Abruptly, he climbed back out of the car and headed back to the house, jogging back up the stairs as quick as his right leg would let him. Opening the medicine cabinet, he stared at the box of Trojans, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Shit,” he muttered. Then he grabbed the box.  “The Boy Scout motto…be prepared.”

Even it was just driven by wishful thinking.  On his way back out, he opened the box and tore packets off the strip, tucking them into his wallet.  The rest, he threw into his glove box.

Her house was only a couple miles out from his and he used those few minutes to try and talk himself down.

It wasn’t happening, though.

Every time he saw her, every time he talked to her, he wanted her more, liked her more.

Needed her more.

Stopping in front of the house, he turned off the car and sat there a few minutes, studying it.

The house itself was painted a fresh, gleaming white, the shutters a dark red that matched the front door.  There were window boxes with flowers in front of the windows on the porch and a swing at the far end.  He climbed out of his car and pocketed the keys.

Lunch.

They’d do lunch.  And if there was an…opening, he’d see if maybe she was open to pursuing something beyond friendship.  He’d apologize for how he’d screwed things up, and they could see where things went from there.

He mounted the steps and knocked on the door, jamming his hands in his pockets, feeling as nervous as a damned teenager on his first date.

She opened the door, keeping the chain in place.  “Yes?”

“Uh…” Oh, wow, slick.  Don’t you sound all suave?