The Random Series Boxed Set by Julia Kent
Series: The Random Series #4-6
Publication date: May 28th, 2020
Synopsis (according to Goodreads):
It may have all started with a hitchhiker wearing a guitar--and only a guitar--but now the band's on the rise, and every member--Trevor, Joe, Liam, Sam, and Frown--has a story.
A love story.
From working the "day job" in creative ways to pay bills to engagements gone awry to second chance romances and breakups that make Mavis the Chicken return along with the ever-assured Happily Ever After, this wild and crazy ride leaves you filled with HOPE, screaming YES, and so full of LOVE.
This boxed set contains Random Acts of Hope, Random Acts of Yes, and Random Acts of Love, books 4, 5 and 6 in the New York Times bestselling Random series by Julia Kent.
Note: Random Acts of Yes was previously published under the title Randomly Ever After: Sam and Amy.
Available at:
Excerpt
RANDOM ACTS OF HOPE Excerpt:
The last thing I expected to see when I walked into the kitchen of this Friday night gig was eight vibrators twitching furiously on the tile floor in various states of orgasm-inducing glory.
The giant black dildo was huge, egg-shaped, bulbous balls at the base was winning. A close second, the pink rabbit with the little clit extenders tried to catch up. Next came a two-inch silver bullet, flailing off to the right but occasionally making a giant leap forward. The other four, a ragtag assemblage of peach and brown flesh-colored rubbery plastic, seemed to cluster around the refrigerator as if stoned, lolling about aimlessly after getting their hands on a quarter bag and a limitless supply of nachos.
Ah, yes. The famous vibrator races at a sex toy party. I'd heard about this from one of the other bachelorette party strippers, but I'd never actually seen one.
Check that off my list.
I assumed that would be the biggest surprise tonight as I hovered behind the crowd in my police officer's costume, ready to "arrest" the bride and handcuff her to my partner Jack, the other stripper, who would then undress and pretend to get teabagged by her.
Yeah--I know. It's pretty programmed, right? But that's what the maid of honor always asks for.
And the customer is always right.
Tonight, though, was full of unexpected curves (and I don't just mean the women). Because when I looked at one of the chicks on all fours, cheering that big old black vibrator to victory, I realized that wasn't just any woman.
That was Charlotte.
My ex-girlfriend.
RANDOM ACTS OF YES Excerpt:
Sam
I couldn't stop touching the ring in my front pocket.
That's right--ring. The word sounded so heavy, so weighted with importance. Ring. Like the words wife and husband and wedding and marriage.
And I couldn't stop touching the box that held my future.
Amy had caught it, the rift between my presence in that moment just before words didn't matter. Words, though, were exactly what I needed today, because tonight I was going to sing a new song I'd written just for her--and propose.
Propose. That word feels like a fifty-pound lead ball that sits in your stomach.
And like the lightest, most beautiful bird gliding over the endless sea.
Both of us naked and a bit sticky, we pulled apart, the shower a strong need. "You go first," I said, pointing. "You take longer."
"Want to take one together?" she offered, eyes gleaming and cheeks pulled up with dimples.
I groaned, body half ready and part of me hardening at the thought. God, I was tempted. So tempted. But--
"No," I groaned, clearly torn. She laughed.
"You're getting old," she teased.
I pulled back the covers and showed her exactly how not-old I was.
"Shame to waste that," she said, shaking her head and licking her lips with exaggerated lusciousness, making me rock hard again, one-eye staring up at me from my groin with agonizing attention. Did I really have enough blood in my body to produce that?
Bzzzz.
Our heads swiveled in unison to my phone, which bleated strange humming noises on the nightstand.
Her laughter tinkled like chimes as she walked, bare naked, out the room to the bathroom. I grabbed the phone and--Trevor.
The text said:
You ready?
I looked down at my attached flesh joystick and snorted.
For what? I texted back.
WTF, dude? he answered.
Oh, yeah. The song. The proposal. The--all of it.
The last thing I expected to see when I walked into the kitchen of this Friday night gig was eight vibrators twitching furiously on the tile floor in various states of orgasm-inducing glory.
The giant black dildo was huge, egg-shaped, bulbous balls at the base was winning. A close second, the pink rabbit with the little clit extenders tried to catch up. Next came a two-inch silver bullet, flailing off to the right but occasionally making a giant leap forward. The other four, a ragtag assemblage of peach and brown flesh-colored rubbery plastic, seemed to cluster around the refrigerator as if stoned, lolling about aimlessly after getting their hands on a quarter bag and a limitless supply of nachos.
Ah, yes. The famous vibrator races at a sex toy party. I'd heard about this from one of the other bachelorette party strippers, but I'd never actually seen one.
Check that off my list.
I assumed that would be the biggest surprise tonight as I hovered behind the crowd in my police officer's costume, ready to "arrest" the bride and handcuff her to my partner Jack, the other stripper, who would then undress and pretend to get teabagged by her.
Yeah--I know. It's pretty programmed, right? But that's what the maid of honor always asks for.
And the customer is always right.
Tonight, though, was full of unexpected curves (and I don't just mean the women). Because when I looked at one of the chicks on all fours, cheering that big old black vibrator to victory, I realized that wasn't just any woman.
That was Charlotte.
My ex-girlfriend.
*************
RANDOM ACTS OF YES Excerpt:
Sam
I couldn't stop touching the ring in my front pocket.
That's right--ring. The word sounded so heavy, so weighted with importance. Ring. Like the words wife and husband and wedding and marriage.
And I couldn't stop touching the box that held my future.
Amy had caught it, the rift between my presence in that moment just before words didn't matter. Words, though, were exactly what I needed today, because tonight I was going to sing a new song I'd written just for her--and propose.
Propose. That word feels like a fifty-pound lead ball that sits in your stomach.
And like the lightest, most beautiful bird gliding over the endless sea.
Both of us naked and a bit sticky, we pulled apart, the shower a strong need. "You go first," I said, pointing. "You take longer."
"Want to take one together?" she offered, eyes gleaming and cheeks pulled up with dimples.
I groaned, body half ready and part of me hardening at the thought. God, I was tempted. So tempted. But--
"No," I groaned, clearly torn. She laughed.
"You're getting old," she teased.
I pulled back the covers and showed her exactly how not-old I was.
"Shame to waste that," she said, shaking her head and licking her lips with exaggerated lusciousness, making me rock hard again, one-eye staring up at me from my groin with agonizing attention. Did I really have enough blood in my body to produce that?
Bzzzz.
Our heads swiveled in unison to my phone, which bleated strange humming noises on the nightstand.
Her laughter tinkled like chimes as she walked, bare naked, out the room to the bathroom. I grabbed the phone and--Trevor.
The text said:
You ready?
I looked down at my attached flesh joystick and snorted.
For what? I texted back.
WTF, dude? he answered.
Oh, yeah. The song. The proposal. The--all of it.
*************
RANDOM ACTS OF LOVE Excerpt:
Bzzzz.
Joe's hand froze, resting perfectly between my thighs, my clit a beacon beeping and beeping for him to come, come, come in to home port.
"Don't answer it," I whispered, the lead ball in my stomach growing suddenly, as if lead could be inflated. I knew exactly who--not what--the helium was.
"Dude, ignore it," Trevor chimed in behind me, with his hand in a slick, hot place so full of want I couldn't stand it.
Ignoring us, Joe stuck his arm out and fumbled blindly for his phone, ever-present on the nightstand.
"Let me guess," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm and everything that was dripping elsewhere dried up. "Mommy Dearest." I knew I should keep my mouth shut. Trevor's sigh was one of commiseration with just a hint of exasperation. Walking the line between the two was incredibly hard (as was Trev). Joe moved away, gently nudging me off him, the slide from heat to cold separation making my gut tighten, my throat thick with something dangerously close to shame.
About the Author:
New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author Julia Kent writes romantic comedy with an edge. From billionaires to BBWs to new adult rock stars, Julia finds a sensual, goofy joy in every contemporary romance she writes. Unlike Shannon from Shopping for a Billionaire, she did not meet her husband after dropping her phone in a men's room toilet (and he isn't a billionaire). She lives in New England with her husband and three sons in a household where the toilet seat is never, ever, down.
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