Book Tour: Mending Hearts series + Recovery Review (Giveaway)

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Running On Empty by L.B. Simmons

Excerpt

     The drive to Mr. and Mrs. Morgan’s house is a familiar one. And it’s a good thing it is, because I’m finding it extremely hard to concentrate on where I’m actually driving at the moment. I am, however, breaking down every possible scenario that could happen when I knock on that door. Good news is, as each and every scenario plays out in my head, they all end in one of two ways. He either speaks to me or he doesn’t.
     That’s a 50% success rate. Not bad when considering my actions last evening…that and those many years I spent dismissing Blake entirely.
     Memories begin to flood my mind as I drive up to the red brick two story house I spent so much time at while growing up.
     …Blake and I climbing the huge oak tree in the front of his house to get to the tree fort we built together when we were seven years old.
     …Both of us playing hide-and-seek in the garden by the side of his house with me yelling at him for cheating...there’s no way he could count to one hundred that fast.
     …The time we made a bike ramp and tried to jump the fence…definitely not one of our best moments. I find myself grinning widely at that memory. Mainly because Blake couldn’t make the jump, ruined his bike, and had to ride his sister’s very pink Barbie bike until he learned his lesson (as his parents put it). I tortured him with that one for years.
     Parking my car in the drive, I look at the front door and breathe a heavy sigh. I glance down at my hands as I remove them from the steering wheel – they’re slightly trembling. I shake them in an effort to get rid of the obvious nervous energy and wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. I run my hair over my ponytail to smooth any fly-aways and exit the car. Looking down while straightening my “Goonies Never Say Die” t-shirt, another memory surfaces.
     Blake and I used to make homemade t-shirts all the time together. Mine were always way better than his, of course, but at least he tried. My favorite one of his was this army green, G.I Joe “Knowing is Half the Battle” t-shirt. He wore it all the time. So much so that the iron on letters started falling off and it eventually read “Koin is alf Bat.” God, I would laugh every time he would wear it. I think that’s why he wore it so much.
     I look back at my hands. They are still shaking. It seems that even with the comfort of old memories running through my mind, I still can’t shake off my nerves. Making my way to the front door, I mentally chastise my anxiety. “This is ridiculous, Alex. You’re a grown woman. Act like it,” I mutter while walking up the porch steps. I note there’s only a motorcycle parked in the driveway, which bodes well in my favor. This is going to be difficult enough without having a parental audience.
     Approaching the door, I raise my fist to knock, pausing for another second to take in a cleansing breath. Breathing out, I say a prayer and knock loudly.
     I hear his heavy footsteps coming towards the door, followed by the sound of the deadbolt unlocking. I watch nervously as the handle turns, but when I look up, I’m completely unprepared for what is standing directly in front of my face.
     As the door flies open, so does my mouth. Blake is standing in front of me, shirtless, wearing only his red and navy plaid pajama bottoms, bare feet on the floor. His light brown hair is all over the place, but incredibly sexy as it falls messily over his forehead and flips out from behind his ears. One look at this man’s stomach renders me momentarily speechless, and I have to fight to keep myself from running my hands over every single hardened ridge of his abs. So instead, I place my hands over my open mouth and start giggling like a ten year old little girl.
     Mid-giggle, I notice the door starting to close. I quickly jump into action. I immediately put my foot in the doorjamb and my hands on the door, using all of my weight to keep him from being able to close it – a trick he taught me by the way.
     Shaking his head at me through the opening that I’m desperately trying to maintain, Blake emphatically states, “Nope. Mmm-mm, Alex. It’s too early for this right now. Go home.”

Recovery by L.B. Simmons

About the Author

L.B. Simmons is a graduate of Texas A&M University and holds a degree in Biomedical Science. She has been a practicing Chemist for the last 11 years. She lives with her husband and three daughters in Texas and writes every chance she gets.
Email: lbsimmons33@gmail.com






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Yours,