Down the Shore
by T. Torrest
Genre: New Adult
Release Date: April 21, 2015
Livia Chadwick is a photographer by day and a self-proclaimed rock slut by night.
Her dating life is a lackluster parade of evasive jerks and her boss is an unrelenting nightmare of a human being. What else can a girl do but rent a beach house with her girlfriends and blow off a little steam every weekend? But hey, she’s from Jersey. Barhopping down the shore all season is sort of mandatory. All is going according to plan… until she meets Jack.
Jack Tanner is a contractor-turned-musician in a small-town cover band suddenly thrust into the limelight. He’s already had enough of the rock-and-roll lifestyle, and groupies have never been his thing. Then again… there’s a gorgeous brunette in the audience tonight, checking him out with the most incredible green eyes he’s ever seen.
She's looking for a fling.
He's looking for forever.
It’s gonna be one helluva summer.
Set in the summer of 1995, Down the Shore takes the reader on a tour through some of the Jersey shore’s hottest hot spots over one, sleepless, flannel-clad summer. It’s a look back to a time when the music was groundbreaking, the rock clubs were king, and bar bands ruled the world. Read when you're in the mood for: something light, funny, romantic, beachy, and nostalgic. For ages 18+.
***Not recommended for anyone under the age of 18, and/or any readers who are slut-shamers, guido sympathizers, beach haters or anti-music. Other people who should walk away from this book immediately: Readers who have sticks up their butts regarding offensive language, those who don't like detailed sex in their stories, idiots who think "Jersey Shore" has anything to do with actual New Jerseyans, and anyone who can't appreciate pop-culture from the mother-effing nineties.***
I test the waters, skimming a hand between us and sliding my palm against the front of his shorts.
He doesn’t push me away.
Instead, he groans against my mouth and drives his hips into my hand, gripping my ass closer to his body. It’s a fairly impressive piece of equipment he’s working with over there, and I am more than thrilled to have it writhing against my palm.
Just as I tuck my thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, he tears his mouth from mine in a frustrated grunt, his hands braced against my shoulders.
He can’t even meet my eyes as he says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, uh...”
Goddammit. This horseshit again? I can’t take it anymore.
“What the hell, Jack? Why don’t you want to have sex with me?”
I’m trying very hard not to let any hurt show. But hurt I am.
He runs a hand through his hair and growls, “It’s not that I don’t want to. Believe me, I want to very much.”
“So, what are you? Some sort of straight-edger or something?”
Jack chuckles to himself and answers, “No.”
“Closeted gay?”
“No.”
“A virgin?”
“No. Not at all. Trust me, in the old days, there was never anything virtuous about me. But I’m done being that guy.”
“Well, then you seriously misread this situation. Because I’m not done being that girl.”
He crosses his arms over his chest and stares me down. “You don’t really mean that.”
“You don’t know me well enough to make such an assessment.”
“I know you’ve had boyfriends. It’s not always party time for you.”
Huh. Looks as though someone has been doing his recon. I put my hands on my hips and give a huff. “So... what? You want to be my boyfriend?”
A sly grin cracks his face at that. He steps too close, and I catch a whiff of his smoky, shaving-cream scent as he lowers his head and nudges his lips against my ear. “Are you asking?”
Ms. Torrest was a child of the eighties, but has since traded in her Rubik's cube for a laptop and her Catholic school uniform for a comfy pair of yoga pants. She likes pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. She's not much into health food, but she does enjoy talking about herself in the third person.
A lifelong Jersey girl, she currently resides there with her husband and two sons.
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