We're sharing an excerpt from Chelsea Fine's BEST KIND OF
BROKEN! BEST KIND OF BROKEN is a New Adult contemporary romance and the first
book in her new Finding Fate Series, published by Grand
Central Publishing (an imprint of Hachette). It is being released on
March 4th, 2014 and something you need to add to
your TBR pile ASAP!
BEST KIND OF BROKEN Synopsis:
Pixie and Levi haven't spoken in nearly a year when they
find themselves working―and living―at the same inn in the middle of nowhere.
Once upon a time, they were childhood friends. But that was before everything
went to hell. And now things are... awkward.
All they want to do is avoid each other, and their past, for
as long as possible. But now that they're forced to share a bathroom, and
therefore a shower, keeping their distance from one
another becomes less difficult than keeping their hands off each other. Welcome
to the hallway of awkward tension and sexual frustration, folks. Get comfy.
It’s going to be a long summer.
“I will pee on your bed.” This is my big, scary threat.
Levi used all the hot water again this morning, so I marched
into his room in a rage.
I never go into Levi’s room. It’s a personal rule of mine.
Our relationship—if you can even call it that—works because it’s simple. We
never talk about the past. We sometimes argue. And we always stay out of each
other’s business.
But here I am, in the business of Levi’s room, gripping my
towel as cold, wet hair drips down my back. I haven’t had a hot shower for four
days. Four days. This nonsense has got to stop.
“You seem stressed.” Levi, whose jeans are so low on his
bare hips that I can tell he’s going commando, tilts his head. “You know what
you need? A nice hot shower…oh wait.” He gives me an impish smile.
I might just pee on his bed right now.
“Joke all you want, Levi. But the next time you’re out
fixing a broken window or a fire alarm, I will sneak into your room and pee on
your bed.”
I’m dead serious here. And yes, I know it’s completely
childish for a nineteen year-old to threaten such a thing, but I’m fresh out of
maturity this morning. If I don’t get a hot shower tomorrow, I really will pee
on his bed. Or at least find a cat to come pee on his bed. But either way,
there will be urine on his sheets and I won’t feel bad about it.
The impish smile grows. “I can think of better things for
you to do in my bed, Pix.”
Silence.
If his plan was to make me uncomfortable by flirting with
me, it totally backfired. Because the second those words left Levi’s mouth, his
body stiffened in awareness and the space between us became electric. So now
we’re staring at each other’s lips and we’re both breathing heavier than
necessary, and neither of us is really dressed.
I shift in my towel and feel the material slip a bit as I
pull my eyes from his mouth and try to coax my face into a look of something
less come-and-get-me and more ew-you’re-pathetic.
I’m gearing up for my comeback—which will be brilliant and
kick-ass as soon as I nail it down—when his eyes drop to my chest, and all the
air leaves the room.
He’s not looking at my cleavage.
He’s looking at the raised red scar peeking out from the top
of my towel. The scar that cuts diagonally across my torso, running from my
left hip bone to the top of my right breast. The scar I normally keep hidden
under strategic shirts and dresses.
It’s hideous and jagged, but I don’t hide my scar because
it’s ugly. I hide it because it’s a reminder of pain and loss. And Levi’s eyes
are fixated on it.
Pain. Loss.
My heart starts to pound and I no longer care that my shower
was cold or that we have weird sexual tension. I don’t care about Levi’s
forearm muscles or the way the bathroom smells like his soap.
I care about my scar and what it means. It hurts me. It
hurts him.
It’s the only thing we still have in common, the only thing
we absolutely avoid, and now it’s glaring at us; marked on my skin in permanent
red; rising along with each of my breaths.
The horror in his eyes has me hollowed out and helpless, and
I have no words. I numbly turn and head down the hall to my room, shutting
myself inside a millisecond before my body starts to shake. I lean against the
door and try to take a deep breath.
I’m fine.
I’m fine.
I hear Levi’s bedroom door slam closed with a heavy
thud and the vibration runs down the wall and shakes against
my back.
He’s not fine.
I’m not fine.
Pre-Order Links:
Chelsea lives in Phoenix, Arizona where she spends most of
her time writing stories, painting murals, and avoiding housework at all costs.
She’s ridiculously bad at doing dishes and claims to be allergic to laundry.
Her obsessions include: superheroes, coffee, sleeping-in, and crazy socks. She
lives with her husband and two children, who graciously tolerate her inability
to resist teenage drama on TV and her complete lack of skill in the kitchen.
Links:
Website:www.chelseafinebooks.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ChelseaFine
Instagram: http://instagram.com/chelseafinebooks
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