Fantasy&Education

A SEXY, SNARKY-SWEET ROMANCE from New York Times & USA Today Bestseller MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF.
SHHH….IT’S A SECRET!For over forty-five years, singles have been secretly flocking to The Happy Pants Café. And what are they searching for? It’s not coffee. And it’s not pants. It’s true love, and everyone who goes, finds it!
So what, exactly, is the café’s big secret? Harper Branton, a columnist for the San Francisco Tribune, who’d sooner believe in unicorns than in true love, is about to find out. And it’s the perfect story to save her train wreck of a career.
Too bad she’s got competition. He’s sexy, he’s arrogant, and he thinks she’s crazy. ("What kind of person doesn’t believe in love?") And this coming from a man!
When these two rivals go head to head, it's more like a WWF smackdown. A shared history binds them in wonderful, terrible ways quickly turning their duel into more than just a fight for a story.
Will they tear each other apart for the win or end up as two more satisfied Happy Pants customers?
NOTE: STAND-ALONE STORY

You can buy it here and here. 

My  thoughts (Roxana):

Okay... I'm not going to be a scared little girl and hide behind my mommy. Oh no! I'm going to say this woman what I think about her... right now! She's the most hard-working, genius, absolutely fabulous woman that I have not meet yet. Her books are the works of a genius and she's not scared to try new things, to see how her readers (and new readers, because people get hooked on her books automatically) react to her new books. From my experience as her reader, I can say with all my heart, that I LOVE every little word that she writes- seriously woman, you can give me a... let's say... bag and write about it and I'm going to write you an ode where how brilliant you are because you deserve it.

From the first moment when I bought your book ("Accidentally married to... a vampire?"),because of a dear blogger had recommended you, I was... yours...

Afte that we had "King's"and now I can't wait to read the next books you will publish, even though some of them will be an ending bittersweet for me, especially if we consider these beautiful years that you gave me...  us, your readers. I'm sure that I'm going to cry a little, but in the same time I can't wait to find out what you have prepared for us...

Now...about this new story, it was so funny and sweet like a cake with ice cream and I loved every word in it... from the moment when we meet Austin Royce and how infuriantingly sexy he is, but like every man candy that you created, we can't help ourself and fall for them.

Let's not comment about his relationship, or the lack of thereof, with our witty, crazy journalist and  feminist, Harper Branton. Well this story starts with Harper who is one of the happiest woman alive because she (finally) has her columne in  for the San Francisco Tribune. You may say that she doesn't need anything else, right?

Wrong! She needs to write about something, something big that will launch her career and make her unforgettable. But in her way stands Austin Royce, a man who she has a history  with, but hasn't seen him for some time- you'll find more about it when you'll read the book-so  she doesn't expect him to reappear in her life after all this time, but he does and everything about their relationship is crazy wonderful, intense and their steamy conversations will have many ladies pants in a bunch, so expect all the hotness ladies!

All because of a little cafe owned by Luci Leon-Parker, a seventy years old lady, but what is really important is not her, even though she has her own role in this situation, it's all about Happy Pants Cafe, because you need just one little visit to find your true love.Harper would say something like... Liar, Liar, pants on fire, because... let's face it... in our age, is hard to admit that true love exist, more so love at first sight. But, that's what fate has prepared for our sarcastic, non-believer in soulmate aka Harper.

Final Verdict- If you want a great sexy romance with so many funny moments you'll almost pee yourself, while laughing so hard that it hurts, I highly recommend this book or any of her other books. Seriously, people, this woman is like a writing machine and none of her books will disappoint you. And let's not forget the hot men and steamy situations, right ladies?

My rating: 5/5

CHAPTER ONE

Thirty-one-year-old Austin Royce felt cold. And it wasn’t a chill due to winter weather or having forgotten to turn up the thermostat. Because it wasn’t winter, and he wasn’t indoors. Nope. This cold came from the frigid cement biting at his bare back as he lay on the ground, staring up at a pale blue, early morning sky, wondering where the ever-living-hell he was. His head throbbed like a son of a bitch, and his stomach felt like he’d eaten…well, something not good.

Slowly, he sat up, trying to ignore the nauseating sensation of the earth gyrating beneath him. “What happened?” He closed his eyes, pressing his hands to his temples, silently vowing to never, ever again do whatever it was that he’d done last night.

With a few slow breaths, the dizziness subsided, and he opened his eyes, realizing the surroundings looked familiar: a dozen little tables, slightly weathered chairs, red flowers…He was outside the Happy Pants Café.

How did I get here? And what happened to my shirt? Hell, and my shoes?

He wobbled his way to his feet and steadied himself on the back of a chair. His eyes immediately gravitated toward the gold ring on his finger. “Oh shit!” He held up his left hand and stared at the thing. He’d gotten married last night?

What the hell? To who?

Austin racked his brain, attempting to stir up the last thing he remembered. Chickens. He remembered chickens. And tequila. And…
Mariachi music?

Crap. Yes, mariachis. He remembered being at that crazy party, doing tequila shots with those insane, unstoppable bastards, and then dancing with Harper.

Harper... Fuck!

His mind filled with blurry bits and pieces, including an image of Harper smiling up at him with her big green eyes, a twinkle of sheer hatred flickering inside them. He remembered her leaving the party right after she falsely accused him of ruining her life. She’d lost her dream job, was humiliated on the front page of a major tabloid—twice—and got arrested—just once, but that was enough.
Oh, man. He shook his head, remembering lots and lots of things, but he sure the hell didn’t remember getting married.

But apparently you did, asshole. At least, that’s what the wedding ring indicated. What had gotten into him?

A bottle of tequila, perhaps?

He needed to find Luci, the owner of the café who threw the party. Luci would know what happened. He hoped.

~~

Ten Days Earlier...

“Dickhead-SOB-from-hell, get away from that bride, or I’ll castrate you with my teeth.”

Aside from her family, twenty-eight-year-old Harper Branton had only ever loved two things in this world: Austin Royce and her job. For the record, she’d been nine when Austin had broken her heart—ancient history—so that pretty much left the job, which was fine by her; that lover boy was demanding. Or was her job more like a needy husband who expected one hundred and ten percent, 24/7?

She shrugged. Who cares? It’s all I ever wanted, and all I’ll ever need. Especially now that Harper’s dream had finally come true. The San Francisco Tribune. Her very own column in the society section. And that blushing, brunette, A-list bride standing across from Harper in the crowded reception tent was her big-debut-fish.

It had cost Harper five hundred bucks for her dress and the promise of babysitting her demonic nephew and niece for an entire week, while her older sister Jessa, a high-profile divorce attorney, went to the Bahamas with her husband, Mr. Cool-As-Shit (aka Cas).
Actually, though it was hard to tell with so many people standing in the way, the shmuck who now stood shamelessly flirting with the famous bride sort of reminded her of Cas. He had thick, modestly messy, wavy brown hair and a dimple (aka pretentious sinkhole) that would show when he made one of those snobby, affected laughs: Ha. Ha. Haaaa. Haaaa. Harper couldn’t hear this particular shmuck’s laughter over the music or the noise of the elegantly dressed crowd getting down to some weird wedding rendition of Avicii, but she didn’t need to. The guy looked like a bit of a…

Douche! No, he didn’t! Had Shmuck just slipped the bride his number? Okay, Harper got that Christina Bass-Andrews was hotness personified and from the coolest “teen” vampire show on TV. (They all looked twenty-five and drank scotch. But, hey. Whatever.) This guy, though?

What a pair of balls! It was the actress’s wedding day, and she was clearly drunk! And I have to talk to her before I lose my chance!
Harper had made three failed attempts to intercept the bride in the swanky country club’s powder room but on each occasion had ended up four or five women behind her prized target. Complete waste of time! Except that she’d overheard the bride telling two other ladies about having met her new husband in St. Helena at some coffee shop with a really odd name—the Happy Pants Bakery or something. The other women had responded by saying that they already had scheduled visits of their own because they were “tired of being single.”

What the hell kind of place was it? An elite hook-up club? And what about that name? Did the male customers have happy pants when they entered? Or were their pants happy after they left? Hmmn… Harper had taken note, thinking it might add a nice little garnish for her journalistic main course: an impromptu interview with the famous bride at the event du jour. That was what Harper had promised her editor, and she couldn’t let her down. Not after just having been promoted to full-time columnist.

You’ll deliver. Just as soon as that douchebag—

“Hi, I’m Gilbert. Wanna dance?”

Harper peeled her anxious eyes away from the bride. A youngish-looking man with a generous belly in a tuxedo-tee (the tux printed on the shirt) stared with stoner-red eyes. He had a nacho-cheese-like substance stuck right in the middle of the faux cummerbund.
“Sorry?” she asked.

His foggy gaze drifted to her ample breasts, which were a bit more exposed than usual in her off-the-rack, consignment store Valentino. Lime green and sherbet orange were so not her colors—clashed horribly with her short auburn hair and freckled skin. In fact, with her curvy figure, she was sure she looked like a piñata waiting to happen. Just add bat.

“Wanna dance?” he repeated.

“Uh, sorry. I’m here with someone,” she lied. Her gaze flashed back over to Douchebag, who turned in her direction, allowing for a better look.

Hello, hottie! Now she got why the bride was so into him. The man was a tall Ken Doll-type—gorgeous face with distinguished bone structure and a perfect smile.

Oooh. He hadn’t bothered to shave, either. Harper had an inexplicable weakness for o-forty-eight-hundred-hour shadows. Especially when the male jaw in question was angular and strong. Add a pair of sensual lips and warm eyes…

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