Monday, 24 August 2020

🏈 NOT MY ROMEO ★ Ilsa Madden-Mills 🏈 #BlogTour #Exerpt 🏈



© Bianca   Janeane



• 18 August 2020
standalone Romance
(small-town-Football-Librarian-Pet-Pig☺)
• Book #1 in #TheGameChangers

• Cover Model: William F. Goodge


★★★★★
4.5 Stars
Wall Street Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills delivers a smart and sexy contemporary romance about a smoking-hot professional football player and the small-town girl he can’t resist.

We start off with a lie on Valentine’s Day.

My blind date isn’t the studious guy I expected: he’s a drop-dead gorgeous player with sinful amber eyes. Somehow we end up at his penthouse. I blame the gin and tonic.

The next day I learn he’s Jack Hawke
bad-boy professional quarterback with a murky past. The NDA he has me sign should be a warning that he isn’t a regular person. Please. I sign it Juliet Capulet, so goodbye, famous football player with abs of steel, and good luck tracking down this small-town librarian.

But Jack keeps showing up in places I least expect him. Just when I’m sure he’s gone, he waltzes into my community theater and wins the part of Romeo to my Juliet. How’s a plain, mostly innocent girl like me supposed to resist a man like him?

Is Jack my real Romeo
or will this gorgeous football player only break my heart?




Jack is a 28 year old football star in Nashville.
But the fans and the press don't like him much. But he has reasons for being the way he is.
And Elena. She's 26 and a librarian in a tiny town twenty minutes outside the city.
She also does some slightly scandalous side business that her family wouldn't approve of. But it's her passion.
Jack and Elena have the most hilarious meet cute. LOL!
After an amazing one-night stand they probably think they won't see each other again!
LET THE FUN TIMES BEGIN ...


ADORABLE! HILARIOUS!
I JUST LOVED IT!

This was such a sweet and funny romance!
We also have a few heartbreaking things in our darlings' lives.
And we have the most adorable pet and an amazing BFF roommate for each our darlings.
I just adored reading this!
There's really not much to say. I just adored it. The whole small-town vibe. The family. The gossip. The football. The friends. The sexy love story with its little problems.
This book was just exactly what I needed this week!

NOT MY ROMEO was an adorable and funny and sexy small-town-football-librarian-love-story! I adored it! Run to your nearest amazon for your own Jack - this one is MINE!


I still don't like Ilsa's overuse of those sentences - the ones that probably have a real grammatical name... no idea what it is though...example:
My age, he's a very sweet guy I met in college.
In her seventies, she's wearing her silver hair in a bun.

Know what I mean??? :/ Me no likey!!!



ARC received for an honest review

Not My Romeo was an enjoyable rom-com that left me smiling.

Sports star, mistaken identity, porky pig - yeah, I had a great time reading this one.

 I adore Jack and Elena. She is a bit of a hot mess, but she's putting herself out there.

Jack ... he is great for the most part, but there are things that irritated me, made me want to throw my reader across the room.  Dude, we all have baggage, but the way you acted made me want to give you a clip around the ears. Gah!!

When the do have their sh!t together, our lovelies are just, well, lovely.  They made me laugh and smile and feel all the feels.

There is a bit of angst and upheaval in their lives. I love how their family and friends kept them grounded, called them out on their BS. Well, I liked most of the family most of the time - you'll know why.

However the thing I loved the most is the real Romeo. You'll love him, I bet me last dollar on it.

I want, no I need more of Jack's team mates.  Please give us more!



♥ EXCERPT ♥

I pull my white cat-eye glasses out of my purse and slide them on for a better look. My heart flip-flops as butterflies take flight in my stomach. Oh heck no. That can’t be him. He’s . . . he’s . . . freaking gorgeous, and I don’t mean regular handsome but like a movie star: dark hair swept off his face, the strands wavy and unruly with copper highlights, soft and silky brushing against his cheeks, and too long for a newscaster, in my opinion—but what do I know? I don’t own a television.
He lifts his arm to shove his hair back, and my eyes pop at the tightly roped muscles of his forearm and biceps straining through the fabric, the impossibly broad shoulders.
Well, would you look at that.
And this has to be him, right?
I’m in the right restaurant. He’s alone. He’s wearing a blue shirt. He has dark hair. Odds point to yes. Usually the most simple explanation is exactly what it appears. Therefore, he must be my date.
The man in question turns to look out the window, tapping his fingers on the table impatiently, and I take in his profile. Long straight nose, full dark arching eyebrows, and a sharp, bladed jawline. Sensuous lips, the lower one decadently full. Almost wicked. He’s the kind of hot that draws your eyes over and over just to make sure it’s not a mirage. I knew guys like him at NYU—sexy, athletic gym types who played a sport. And those types never gave me a second look. I’d watch them work out while I fumbled my way around one of those god-awful butterfly machines, while beautiful, tall, svelte girls who weren’t sweating fawned over them, bringing them towels, water bottles, and sexy promises.
He takes a sip of an amber liquid, long tanned fingers grasping the fragile container as his eyes rove across the room. They prowl around the restaurant, as if he’s assessing every person in sight, and I feel the sizzle of him even from twenty feet away. Prickles of awareness skate down my spine. I’m the alpha, his body language yells. Come and challenge me.
His gaze drifts right over me without stopping.
Not surprised.
I duck back into the shadows.
Dang it. My hands clench. I wanted nice and nerdy, not this . . . sexy beast!
And judging by the scowl on his face, he’s grumpy. Life’s too short to be dour, Mister. And what is he annoyed about? I am here!
And he did see a picture of me. Topher said so.
Yeah, maybe he doesn’t really want to meet you.
Maybe he’s hoping you won’t show up.
I tap my foot. I should leave. Really.
The smells of Milano’s waft around me, spicy and tantalizing, and my stomach lets out an angry howl. I move from one foot to the next. Every place to eat between here and Daisy is going to be packed. I could always hit a drive-through on the way back home—but how pathetic is a Big Mac and fries on Valentine’s Day? Plus, I’ll have my entire nosy family to answer to tomorrow. They’ve built up this blind date so much: Oooooh, Elena has a date with a weatherman. Ask him if that’s a barometer in his pocket or if he’s just glad to see you.
I give myself a mental pep talk.
Grow some balls, Elena.
Sometimes you have to go out and take what you want.
So what if he’s hot enough to suck the dew off a rose.
You are hungry. Do it for the pasta.
He is your date. Go get ’em, girl.
I gather my resolve, point my little black pumps in his direction, and start marching.

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 Wall Street Journal best selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap.

She's addicted to all things fantasy, including unicorns and sword-wielding females. Other fascinations include frothy coffee beverages, dark chocolate, Ian Somerhalder, astronomy (she's a Gemini), and tattoos. She has a degree in English and a Master's in Education. When she's not pecking away on her computer, she shops for cool magnets and fuzzy pajamas.