(The Random Series, #1-8)
Publication date: August 3rd 2016
Genres: Comedy, New Adult, Romance
From New York Times bestselling author Julia Kent comes a very special sale. Regular price $25.99!Darla’s not the type to pick up hitchhikers on the turnpike in rural Ohio — especially naked ones. She also didn’t plan to have her first book become a New York Times and USA Today bestseller, and turn into eight books of heart, heat, hilarity and crazy comedy mixed in with wild, deep romance that lasts and lasts…The Random Series giant boxed set contains the first 8 books in the Random series, a bestselling saga that defies categorization. Romantic comedy, heart-stopping drama, unconventional sensuality, rock star gods, mousy librarians with quite a nightstand drawer stash, a mother who is addicted to sweepstakes winnings, sugar-free gummy bears that cause a CDC scare, and a chicken running for president (who probably polls better than any of the current choices)…you won’t find another book series quite as “random” as this.Save when you buy this omnibus, and sink into a half a million words of fun and love.This boxed set contains:
Random Acts of Crazy (Book 1)Random Acts of Trust (Book 2)Random Acts of Fantasy (Book 3)Random Acts of Hope (Book 4)Randomly Ever After: Sam and Amy (Book 5)Random Acts of Love (Book 6)Random on Tour: Los Angeles (Book 7)Merry Random Christmas (Book 8)
The last time I saw Sam was four and a half years ago at the qualifiers for the National Debate Tournament. He was from a neighboring school and I’d seen him since freshman year at different speech tournaments, every Saturday, from the end of October through March with few exceptions. I had a sense of who he was from the start. He was Lincoln-Douglas debate all the way, baby. Smart, determined, and turning from a silent geek into one hell of a hot guy by the time we were seniors.
The funny part was he didn’t know it.
The awesome part was that was what drew me to him.
He wasn’t awkward, like the other guys. Sam was so self-contained and knew himself so deeply that he didn’t need to talk about it, show off, or prove his manhood. Talking to Sam could be torture. Catching him in the halls, in the cafeteria with his group from his high school, and me with my group from their rival, we intersected enough to hang out. Over ice cream bars and the occasional cup of coffee by our senior year, there was an accumulation of just enough conversations for me to decide that I wasn’t crazy and that there was a spark of interest there.
What happened to confirm that was burned into my brain, the second strongest memory of my life.
I lost one of the most intense debates of my career two weeks before qualifiers, and Sam found me in a corner of the enormous high school auditorium. I was trying to cry quietly, and mostly not succeeding. He just found me—that’s all. He didn’t lord over the fact that he placed first in the tournament that day, to my third. He didn’t try to say all the right words that everyone thought were kind, and considerate, and comforting, and helpful.
He didn’t stumble or say “I’m sorry.” He just walked up and stopped a few feet away from me, his brow lowering with a frown of recognition, and then did something so perfect it makes me ache to this day. Decisively, step by step, he closed the gap and just put his arms around me.
Tucked my cheek into his chest and wound one arm around my waist, the other around my shoulders, rested his head on my hair, and held me.
I would give anything to go back to that moment in the auditorium, with its cracked wood seats and its shabby, threadbare carpet, its smell of lemony bleach, to feel again how Sam filled all my senses. My ear against the wool of his suit, his arms wrapped around me like a cocoon of understanding. His aftershave, the rasp of his cheek against my ear. Sam created a world for me in that one moment, a safe world where I could cry. A world where I fell in love.
What I didn’t know then was that two weeks later at the national qualifier tournament, I would dismantle that world, atom by atom, molecule by molecule, completely unaware that I was doing it at the time.
About the AuthorNew 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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