Friday, August 28, 2015

Joni, Underway by Kelly Oram and Jonathan Harrow


We are so excited to feature this Brand new book from Best Selling Author Kelly Oram and her talented husband Jonathan Harrow!



Kelly Oram wrote her first novel at age fifteen--a fan fiction about her favorite music group, The Backstreet Boys, for which her family and friends still tease her. She's obsessed with reading, talks way too much, and likes to eat frosting by the spoonful.

Jonathan Harrow left a career in Hollywood to pursue his dream of writing novels. He has an author crush on Charlotte Bronte, and a real crush on his author wife, YA bestseller Kelly Oram.

They live in Phoenix with their four kids and their cat, Mr. Darcy.

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Nineteen year old Joni is loving life as an adult—living on her own, dealing with grown-up things like jobs, hook-ups, and doing her own laundry. Best of all: after finishing her first year at ASU, she will never again be called a freshman.
But when her brother is suddenly killed in a car accident, Joni’s adult life is turned upside down. Struggling to cope with loss, guilt, and anger—not to mention the meddling of friends and family trying to “fix” her—Joni is relieved to be presented with an escape in the form of a sailing trip her brother had been planning for months before he died.
With her first step onto the sailing vessel Lady Marguerite, Joni plunges into an adventure that will mark the beginning of her real adult life—a journey across the ominous dark blue of the Atlantic Ocean with a small, eccentric crew, and the young Captain Reid, whose gorgeous looks are only outmatched by his talent for care and kindness. Unfolding through the ups and downs of life at sea is an unforgettable story reminding us that love will always be a work-in-progress and coming of age never gets old.
Purchace your copy here: http://amzn.com/B00YDSK0J6






Excerpt!

Back on the docks, lost in the middle of a maze of boats and pilings and light posts, I watched painted numbers pass by. I was surprised at how many of the boats showed signs of occupancy. Wet towels hanging to drip-dry, or lights on in tiny windows just above the water line, or a radio playing softly. All the boats had names, of course. Some creative, or dignified, others just silly. Endless Summer. Serenity. Windsong. Yes Dear. Sea Monkey. Get Her Done. My favorite was Breaking Wind; very classy.
I was passing a shiny black yacht with the moniker Obsession, when a sudden commotion startled me. With a thrashing of water and a high-pitched shrieking came a half-naked body from under the boat. Elbows planted on the dock’s edge, a surfer-bodied guy levered himself up and flopped onto his back with an exaggerated yowl and chattering teeth. A headlamp was strapped to his forehead; its powerful beam blinded me as he leapt to his feet. “Sorry ’bout that. Didn’t get you, did I?” He turned toward Obsession. “Eva! All good now, yeah?” I moved to continue on, but he stopped me. “Hold up. Did I get you?”
“No, I’m good.” I squinted against his light.
“Oh.” He ripped it away and tossed it onto the deck of the boat. “Eva! Try it now!” Back to me: “What slip number?”
“What?” He’d caught me in mid-guess about his age. I’d have estimated mid-twenties and gorgeous. No, he was handsome, which is a word I thought only grandmas used anymore. I mean, guys are cute or guys are hot, but this guy…yeah, he was hot, but in a classic way that wasn’t intimidating. His looks didn’t say Hey baby, like what you see? They said—
“What slip number are you looking for?” He took great handfuls of each leg of his shorts and wrung the water out. His entire body was covered in goose bumps.
“Thirty-one,” I answered, and before I could follow up with the boat’s name, he said…
“Lady Marguerite.” And he cringed with a smile. “Uh-oh.”
“What?”
He glanced sideways at me as he pushed excess water down his legs. “Uh, you’re young and beautiful, that’s what.” He said it with a laugh, like Duh, silly girl, didn’t you know? He could have shoved me in the water and I’d have been less surprised. “Nah, the guys are gonna love it, is all.”
I was so confused. Was he warning me or complimenting me? Should I be scared or flattered? “Okay, thanks.” Again, I turned to leave.
Again, he stopped me. “You ever been sailing?”
“What would you guess?”
He smiled, dark eyes sparkling. “Want me to walk you down there?”
I wanted to say You can walk me anywhere you want. Which, after passing through my filter, came out, “Nah, I can find it. You look really cold, so…”
He hugged himself, shoulders hunched, and his smile broadened as he considered me with a look I could only describe as thoughtful, and the kind of intense eye contact that makes your blood race.
A woman’s voice interrupted: “Yeah, that did it. Reading fine now.” From a tall, buxom supermodel standing on the back deck of Obsession with a glass of wine in hand. She swished it around with an eyebrow cocked at me.
The guy gestured down the pier. “You’re nearly there. Down toward the end, look for two guys drinking beer.”
I murmured some sort of thanks and hurried away, embarrassed by the obnoxious clack-clack-clack of my suitcase. I couldn’t help a glance back: The guy was toweling off; the supermodel had taken a seat to admire him above the rim of her wine glass. For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to marvel at the incongruity of lifestyles in this world. Most of us have to trudge through life, get jobs, go to school, and get sunburned, while others are blessed with naturally-tanned Maxim bodies and live on rich yachts with gorgeous, muscled, goose-bumped handymen.


 

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