Good Girls Gone Wild

Buy Birthday Bash HERE

By Kelli Scott

I love me some bad girls. Strippers. Hookers. Criminals. Spunky, snarky kick-ass chicks who take no guff from anyone. Their tongues are sharp like a surgical instrument, cutting the villain (or hero) to shreds. They drag the straight-as-an-arrow hero off to the dark side, or at the very least to a dark corner with a crook of her finger and a come hither look. Okay, those are my non-erotic heroines.

Erotically speaking, I usually write good girls who take a walk on the wild side. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe to shake up their world and tilt it a little—just enough to throw her off balance or into the arms of a bad boy who knows his way around the female anatomy.

Meet Juli. It’s her thirtieth birthday. Is she drunk? No. Is she partying? No. She’s a sensible single gal. Works hard every day. Balances her checkbook once a month. Wears sunscreen in winter. So how did she end up on the TSA’s no fly list and why are there two cops on her porch? You’ll have to read Birthday Bash to find out.

How about you? Are you on team good girl or firmly in the bad girl camp? Leave me a comment (please include a contact email) and I’ll put your name in a random drawing for an ecopy of Birthday Bash.

Blurb: When TSA puts Juli Falzone on the no fly list, she is stuck at home for her thirtieth birthday. Until her doorbell rings. On her porch are two hot cops swearing out a warrant for her arrest. Are they a practical joke from her well-meaning friends, the best birthday gift ever or has her identity been stolen? Wanting answers and vindication, she lets them in. Can she talk her way out of the situation or will they make her come along peacefully?

Excerpt:

“No, sweetie. I’ve got to go. But I did send you a little gift. Enjoy.” Dara hung up.

Juli held the phone out, staring at it, bewildered by the abrupt brush-off. A phone call from Dara normally morphed into an entirely different version of The Never Ending Story.

Another knock brought her to her senses.

When she opened the door, phone still in hand, a summer breeze blew along her skin. Two police officers, completely opposite in appearance, stood on her stoop, stone-faced serious. The taller, darker cop had a white-knuckled grip on his nightstick. The other, shorter and fairer of hair and complexion, wore a pair of intimidating, mirrored sunglasses despite the darkness.

The taller officer cleared his throat. “Ms. Falzone?”

“Y-yes.”

“May we come in?” the shorter—just shy of six feet—blond man asked.

Her instincts said, no, don’t let them in. But she hadn’t done anything wrong, and they were peace officers. Maybe a crazed killer ran loose in the area, and they wanted to search her backyard, secure her locks and ensure her safety. But after the harrowing day she’d spent at the airport that morning, she was a quart low on trust, dubious of authority figures, and testy in general. 

Oh, what the hell.

She opened the door wider, looking past them to the curb. “Sure.” A streetlight shone bright on a sedan. No other cops appeared to be canvassing the neighborhood. The uniformed duo filed in, but she wasn’t in the mood to make a pot of coffee or answer a bunch of inane questions. She’d filled her quota for the day.

“What’s this about?” She closed the door.

“We have a warrant.” The tall man whipped out a tri-folded piece of paper like he meant business.

She scoffed. “A warrant. For what?” She put on her tough girl act, but had visions of spending life in prison. “I haven’t done anything wrong.” Ever. Someone must have stolen her identity. First the no-fly list, now this.

The blond whipped off his shades, treating her to sky blue eyes. “Haven’t you?”

Dara always encouraged her to take a walk on the wild side. But every potential one-night stand date had struck her as a prospective serial killer or would-be stalker. She didn’t want to have regrets for living a boring life, but she’d seen too many friends, family members and co-workers make tragic mistakes in judgment. Unplanned pregnancies. Bad marriages. Worse divorces. Bankruptcies. She avoided all of the above.

“What’s the charge?” 

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