Bombastic #BookBlitz: Falling For Boston by Leslie Kate

Falling for Boston
Leslie Kate
Publication date: October 13th 2016
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

As the youngest of four, Dylan has always been the baby. But don’t let that fool you; she’s not your average baby sister. Growing up with three older brothers left Dylan with a lack of femininity and in its place, a real guy’s girl personality. Sports, beer, burping, you name it; but don’t even think about going near her feet with a pair of heels.

When Dylan meets Tyler Vaughn, the famous and devastatingly attractive football superstar at work one morning, she’s thrilled by his good stats, not his good looks. But the wide receiver—and sweet romantic—throws her for a loop when he pursues her despite what she knows is missing, her feminine charm.

Now Dylan must reconcile the fact that this guy may actually like her, and even scarier, she may like him back. Dylan speaks sports and sarcasm fluently but romance, now that’s something completely foreign to her. What’s an emotionally-allergic guy’s girl supposed to do with a hopeless romantic?

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EXCERPT:

I hung up without responding. Not only was I late but the conference room on this floor was conveniently located on the opposite side of the building. Hastily grabbing everything I needed for the meeting, I took off.

Turning the corner to head towards the conference room at Mach 10, I never even saw it coming. I knocked into something solid and hard, like a wall. A warm wall but a wall nonetheless.

“Oof!” the wall grunted.

“Jesus!” I yelled as I stumbled backward. The crash was akin to that of a car accident; loud, jolting. Only I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. I’d collided with the wall so hard I lost my balance and fell on my ass.

In the process of falling, I’d flailed. Everything I was holding went flying including the most precious item I’d been carrying—my Bruins mug full of fresh coffee. Despite my attempt to save the mug, it was no use. I bobbled it like an elusive bar of slippery soap in the shower, and it fell to the floor where it smashed, splintering into pieces. And while this harrowing event was occurring; I also managed to spill coffee all over myself.

You know the saying “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”? To me, Hell hath no fury like a Dylan without coffee. I was fuming, and also quite literally steaming thanks to the hot coffee I was now wearing.

I didn’t even want to think about the bad juju that would come from breaking my lucky mug. The Bruins were on a hot streak headed into the playoffs. I hadn’t used another mug since they started winning.

Fudge, only I didn’t say fudge.

I looked around at the confetti surrounding me before the pain radiating from my tailbone reached my brain.

“Ouch, that’s gonna leave a mark,” I said to myself.
“Well, you’re quoting Tommy Boy, so I don’t think you’re concussed. Are you okay?”
The deep voice had come from the offending wall, but I had yet to look at his face. I was still surveying

the damage around me. My brain was foggy, still a little cuckoo kachoo from our head-on collision.
“No, I’m late for a meeting. I need to get to the conference room like yesterday,” I said, shifting to my

hands and knees and picking up the broken pieces of my mug.
“Yeah, you were walking pretty fast. I didn’t even see you coming. Are you sure you’re all right?” The Wallasked.
“I’m all right,” I said dismissively.
Finished picking up the pieces of my trashed mug, I saw a hand in my periphery offering to help me stand. It was a huge mitt, complete with long fingers that could palm a basketball. I grabbed onto it, feeling the warmth of its skin as it completely swallowed my tiny hand.

Once I was standing, I finally looked up at the face of my would-be attacker, The Wall. The nickname was permanently lodged in my mind. It was a habit. I worked in sports, we nicknamed everyone. The Great Bambino, Dr. Dunkenstein, The Fridge, Big Papi, The Great One, A-Roid, you get my point. We loved nicknames, and once it caught on, you could never shake it.

With one glance, a shock ran up my spine as my breath caught in my throat, and my heart started to race. I knew that face.
You see, I had literally just run into Tyler freaking Vaughn. I may have been calling him The Wall in my head but in real life, he was one of the top receivers in the NFL. And I had just plowed right into him. “Shit,” I blurted out. What was with me today? I seemed to have a terrible case of the shits – verbally. “I know, I’m sorry about your mug,” he answered regretfully.
“Forget about the mug,” I said frantically. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer, rather just looked at me in stunned silence. I prayed that I hadn’t hurt him. The last thing I needed was to send a high-profile player to the Injured Reserve because I hadn’t been paying attention to where I was going and accidentally cracked one of his ribs.

I waved my hand in front of his face. “Hello? Anybody home? You need me to go get some smelling salts?”

His eyes finally focused, and he cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said with a smile.

Dear Lord in Heaven, that smile was blinding. Not in a fake white teeth kind of way but it… glowed. Almost as if the clouds had opened up and the sun was shining directly on him, and only him.

Vaughn was a devastating matchup for opponents, and I guess that wasn’t all. Looking at him from two feet away I was enlightened to the fact that, apparently, Vaughn was also devastatingly good looking. I’m not talking a cute smile or endearing freckles. I’m talking Mega Jackpot winner of the Genetic Lottery, one-in-a- million odds. His effervescent beauty would be evident even to a blind person.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Nothing I’m not used to. I just usually have pads on,” Vaughn added making me chuckle. Lucky for me, he’d had the mental acuity to crack a joke.

“You sure?” I double checked anyway despite his assertion. Athletes were notoriously stubborn; they’d never admit they were hurt. Their bone could be poking through their skin, and they’d just say it’s a scratch. Yeah, a scratch. And you’re an idiot.

“Positive,” he reaffirmed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I waved him off. “I’ll be okay. It was my fault; I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’ll just rub some dirt on it or something.”

“Amazing how well dirt works on injuries, huh?” he said with a chuckle. “I guess I’ll stop bothering you now so you can get back to work. I know you’re a day late.”

I shook my head at the sarcastic comment, but I couldn’t help but smile.

“Make sure you walk safely. Maybe next time try to use a turn signal before you cross traffic. It might help you avoid another collision,” he added.

That time, I laughed. Vaughn was a smart-ass, who knew? I couldn’t hold it against him, though; I was a smart-ass myself. I’d never been the serious one, always the goofy, oddball jokester. I got exceptionally awkward when things got, well, awkward. I could appreciate the fact that he’d cracked a joke to infuse some levity. It was exactly the kind of thing I would do.

He extended his hand for a handshake. “I’m Tyler Vaughn, by the way. It’s nice to meet you…” he trailed off indicating he was waiting for me to introduce myself.

“Dylan,” I offered. “Dylan Riley.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Dylan Riley,” he said, smiling at me again.
Once again, with that smile the heavens opened up, his face aglow, and yet all I saw… was blue.

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Author Bio:

Leslie Kate, despite growing up in Upstate New York, is crazy about everything Boston. She attended the University of Massachusetts Amherst where she studied sports broadcasting. There, her lifelong Boston sports addiction blossomed into the fanatic she is today.

Having dabbled with the idea of writing a book since high school, she finally put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and wrote her first book, “Falling for Boston,” where she combined her passion for the written word with her passion for sports and the City of Champions.

Aside from being a sports nut, Leslie Kate love reading (much to the chagrin of her boyfriend), movies, music, and being active (she’s a spinning instructor at her gym.)

She also loves cooking, but not cleaning; dogs, but not cats; and shoes, but not purses or jewelry. She owns one pair of Christian Louboutins that she sometimes just wears around the house because she likes to look at them.

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