Book Blast: 90s Playlist (A Romance Rewind Anthology)

90s Playlist 

Authors; Amy Jo Cousins, Audra North, Brighton Walsh, Jennifer Blackwood, Lorelie Brown, Rebecca Grace Allen
Publication date: October 13th 2015
Genres: New Adult, Romance

Synopsis:

Six stories of sex, love, and being young in the ‘90s, inspired by songs of the decade…
My Strongest Weakness by Brighton Walsh
It was supposed to be a one-time thing. No one would find out; no one would have to know. And then once turned into twice, and twice turned into several times a week, and now pierced, punk-loving, rebellious Tia Lanning is banging Mason Brooks, the big man on campus and Mr. All American. But banging him isn’t the problem. Falling for him is. Especially when he’s content to let her remain his dirty little secret.
Worthwhile by Audra North
Jill didn’t expect her semester in Leeds to start with getting dumped by her boyfriend. Especially since she only came to England to be with him. Two weeks in, all she wants to do is go home. Finding love with someone new is definitely not an option. But when she literally stumbles into grad student Stuart’s arms, her experience abroad becomes a lot more worthwhile.
Creep by Lorelie Brown
Roni lives for the raves in Oakland’s warehouse district. Dancing till dawn in white gloves under black lights breathes life into her soul. Nothing will get her kicked out of her underground world faster than turning over Skittles, her dealer. She refuses to provide info about the underage runaway to his big brother Tom. But Tom is going to find Skittles with or without Roni’s cooperation. But Tom is special. He’s rich, handsome and bold. Roni wishes she was special. And like the rave scene she loves, nothing lasts forever.
Smells Like Teen Spirit by Rebecca Grace Allen
Rory Stone’s days of grunge and poetry are behind her, her reality now in bags of Arabian brew, and counting the change in the tip jar. Can indie singer James Griffith rock her muse back into the present?
The Belle vs. the BDOC by Amy Jo Cousins
Shelby Summerfield is a gold star lesbian, even if she doesn’t look like one. Florence Truong is the only other dyke at Carlisle College in 1993 not wearing plaid flannel, and Shelby sets her sights on seduction. But instead of a delightful tumble in the sheets, Florence calls her out for being a straight girl. With seduction off the table, Shelby settles for revenge for her humiliation. But if all she wants is to show up her campus rival, how come Shelby can’t stop herself from saving Florence instead of annihilating her?
Little Red Thong by Jennifer Blackwood
Emily Jones is ready to embark on the most epic spring break trip of her college career with her bestie, twin brother, and her brother’s best friend, Chase. Chase has been in love with Emily since the eighth grade when she kicked his ass in laser tag. He’s not going to piss away his last chance to tell her how he feels. When the group decides to play a game of Spring Break BINGO that involves body shots, a red thong, and secret hookups, this is the perfect catalyst to get him out of the friend zone. But as things get heated, they have to decide if twenty years of friendship is worth putting in jeopardy because of a game, and what will happen when they hit dry land.

Excerpt:

The Belle and the BDOC by Amy Jo Cousins

Getting busted in the back of a bar with your hand on a penis was not the way to go about picking up the hottest lesbian on campus.

“Oh my gravy,” Shelby Summerfield murmured into the ear of the boy who was panting into her breasts and tugging her hand toward the bulge behind his belt. Davis was full as a tick, if the tick had been downing shots of Wild Turkey all night, and Shelby was trying to break it to him gently that she was a pussy-only sort of girl. Of course, if she hadn’t known he’d just been publicly dumped by his girlfriend in humiliating fashion, she’d have applied her knee to Davis’s private parts, but allowances could be made for heartbreak among study buddies.

“Excuse me.”

Oh, fudge.

“Um, hey,” Shelby managed to squeeze out over Davis’s shoulder.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Florence Truong drawled over the Gin Blossoms singing about jealousy. Someone in the bar—Shelby suspected Davis—had pumped a truckload of quarters into the jukebox and put the song on repeat.

“No, he’s not—” But the woman Shelby had come here to find just shook her head and rolled her eyes, striding off toward the front of the bar with a swing of her hips that called attention to her pipecleaner-skinny grey trousers and forest green velvet blazer with cuffed sleeves.

“Damn.” Shelby let herself curse, because really, if a situation called for it, this one did. “Double damn. Oh, get off me.”

She pushed Davis’s dead weight off her shoulder, where he seemed to have passed out sometime after begging for his first hand job and before the spectacular exit of Ms. Florence Truong. Halfway through his slow slide down the wall to the floor, Shelby gave in and hauled him upright again.

“Good thing you don’t weigh much more than a sack of wet mice, Davis Crawley” she ground out as she wedged a shoulder under his armpit and hauled him toward the front of the bar. If she were lucky, she could prop him up on one of the bar stools with a high wooden back long enough for him to sober up. No sense trying to send him home when the boy probably couldn’t remember his own name, much less where he lived. Pouring him into one of the few town taxicabs was a waste of the money she’d no doubt have to pay the driver in advance.

Besides, one drunk poli sci study partner—who was almost certainly going to remember none of this in the morning—was not about to put Shelby Summerfield off her game plan. She’d come to this stupid bar tonight, on trivia night, because she’s heard Florence showed up every Wednesday.

Shelby was tired of drooling over the woman from afar.

She was going to track Florence down like a bloodhound if she had to, because Shelby didn’t believe in settling for anything less than exactly what she wanted.

And if that meant slipping the bartender ten bucks to let Davis sleep it off at far end of the bar, she certainly wouldn’t consider that a waste of the allowance her parents mailed her every two weeks from Dallas.

The bartender, a cranky man whose belly, nose, and enunciation made it clear he was used to drinking as much behind the bar as Davis had poured down his throat in front of it barked at her when she deposited Davis on a vacant chair.

“He pukes, you clean it up.”

“If he pukes, I’ll kill him myself,” she muttered, as worried about the state of her campaign to seduce Florence Truong as she was about the state of the floors at Egon’s.

The impression that she’d been giving Davis a handjob in the back of the bar could surely be overcome. Mopping up puke on her hands and knees in front of the coolest dykes on campus? Not even Scarlett O’Hara could have come back from that kind of blow.

“Just…let him sober up a little. I’ll check on him. I promise,” she swore, and then grabbed her longneck and wriggled through the crowd toward the table where Florence sat with a half dozen girls, all of whom howling the words to a 4 Non Blondes hit. Throwing her shoulders back and pasting a big smile on her face, she waited until the song trailed off, strategically, and then made her approach.

Someone at the table was wearing too much patchouli—although Shelby really thought that any patchouli was too much, and stuck to her Clinique Happy, because even the name had a good attitude—and no one even looked at her, which was how she knew they were ignoring her on purpose, because her boobs were spilling out of this sundress like nobody’s business.

Her cup runneth’d the heck over.