The girls at Oasis for YA love blogfests. And they love good YA romance. So they’re back, combining the two again in their second annual That’s YAmore Blogfest. Starting today, they’re inviting YA writers to post 250 romantic, steamy, swoon-worthy words from their WiPs on their blogs. Then participants can hop around to check out all the other steamy entries.
So, because I’m awesome and currently knee-deep in a rewrite, I’m posting an excerpt from Cross My Heart (the contemporary YA romance formerly known as Loving Max Holden), the very same WiP I pulled from for last year’s That’s YAmore Blogfest post. Now, before you start to wonder if I’m crazy and completely obsessed with this story (I TOTALLY AM), please know that I do have other projects I’m working feverishly on. It’s just that I can’t let go of Cross My Heart and Max and Jill and all their angst. In the down time between my other WiPs, I find myself continuously coming back to their story, working to better it so eventually it’ll be fit to see the light of day.
We’re getting there.
That said, here’s a steamy little excerpt from Cross My Heart:
“What were we talking about again?” Max asks.
He’s close, so close I can see the dark stubble on his chin. I study it to avoid his eyes, but then I want touch it, to feel the roughness for myself. I look down at my hands, clasped tightly in my lap. My heart is pounding so ferociously I’m certain he hears it too.
“How everything’s changed,” I say softly.
“Jilly.” I sink unwillingly into his embrace as he whispers the nickname that never fails to melt me. “If you tell me to go home, I will.”
His words give me sudden, stark clarity, forcing me to view the situation from a distance, unencumbered by his scent and his warmth and his touch. I’m a reasonable person. A smart girl. He’s drunk, looking for distraction, a good time. As much as I want to help him come out of the darkness he’s been hiding in, I won’t be his no-strings-attached hook-up, the other woman to his obnoxious relationship with Becky McMahon. I resolve to tell him as much—that he should, in fact, go home, that he should drink a glass of water and swallow a couple of Aspirin before bed, and that I’ll see him tomorrow at school.
But before I can utter a syllable, he’s charging forward, eyes glazed, lips parted. I’m so astonished, so shocked, I let him push his mouth against mine, and even though it’s aggressive and sloppy and utterly unexpected, I fall headlong into his rhythm. I can’t help it, and I certainly can’t process this frantic, feverish kiss. I didn’t even know I wanted it, but—oh my God—it’s good.
And just like that, I forget all about the millions of reasons kissing Max Holden is a terrible idea.
Yep. That’s Max and Jill.
I ♥ them.
Don’t forget to stop by Oasis for YA to check out all the other swoon-worthy That’s YAmore entries!