Sometimes it takes crossing an ocean to figure out where you belong.
It's been two years since twenty-year-old Jordan had a boyfriend—which means it's been forever since she, well, you know. But now she’s off to spend her junior year in Aberdeen, Scotland, the perfect place to stop waiting for Mr. Right and just enjoy Mr. Right Now.
Sexy, sweet (and possible player) Griffin may be her perfect, no-strings-attached match. He’s fun, gorgeous, and makes her laugh. So why can’t she stop thinking about Noah who, minutes after being trapped together outside the train’s loo, kisses Jordan like she’s never been kissed before? Never mind his impossible blue eyes, his weathered, annotated copy of The Great Gatsby (total English-major porn)…oh, and his girlfriend.
Jordan knows everything this year has an expiration date. Aberdeen is supposed to be about fun rather than waiting for life to happen. But E. M. Forster, Shakespeare, and mistletoe on Valentine’s Day make her reconsider what love is and how far she’s willing to go for the right guy.
AJ writes stories to break readers’ hearts, but don’t worry—she’ll mend those hearts with a happily ever after…maybe. The first book she wrote was YA, but now she’s two-timing her first love Pine4BWwith NA. She’s always in the middle of reading two to three books, adores online shopping (everything from groceries to shoes), and she still loves vampires, whether it’s Eric Northman or the Salvatore brothers. When she’s not writing, AJ is sneaking off to her day job as a high school English teacher or hanging with her husband and kids in the Chicago burbs.
AJ’s debut NA novel, IF ONLY, releases with Entangled’s Embrace line on March 24!
Representation: Courtney Miller-Callihan at SJGA.
Teaser Excerpt #2—Jordan meets Noah on the train.
Standing outside the loo, I really do have to pee, but the door says Occupied. Thankfully, I hear the sad excuse for a sink inside. Good, my wait will be short. As the lock clicks open, the train jostles enough that the bathroom’s occupant stumbles out, pinning me up against the doors that lead back into my train car.
My face is buried in his neck, and despite his exiting the tiniest closet of a public loo, he smells good. Like, really good. Like, running-through-a-field-of-just-cut-grass, laundry-fresh-out-of-the-dryer good.
He pushes back, his hands resting on the door on either side of me, a small laugh mingling with his exhale. “Sorry,” he says, his Midwestern accent unmistakable. Another American. “Turbulence, I guess.” His voice is deep with the slightest rasp, and I can actually hear his smile. When I look up, my stomach does this flippy thing that makes me think I should get into the closet loo stat. Glinting blue eyes stare back at me, and I see my dazed reflection in his irises. I should say something, right? I should stop staring and say something.
A tremble of a laugh precedes my words. “I thought that only happened on airplanes.”
His brown hair is long enough that it’s starting to curl up at his temples and above his ears. I stifle the urge to run my hands through it and silently berate myself for said urge. Something is wrong with me.
He smiles and shrugs. “It’s all yours,” he says, stepping aside. “Watch your step on the dismount.” He looks back at me, nodding toward the door with a hesitant smile.
I regain my composure, ready for my wittiest retort. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Or, maybe I’ll opt for not even close to witty.
I rush into the body-sized compartment and lock the door. My breathing steadies, and my stomach stops doing acrobatics. What the hell was that?
When I exit the loo, I make sure to watch my step on the dismount. What I’m not expecting is to see loo boy examining the compartment door, running his fingers along the seam.
“So, here’s the thing,” he says, his brows knitted together. “The door is kind of jammed.”
He looks down, avoiding my eyes.
I should respond to what he said, but my only thought right now is how my stomach contracts again at the sound of his voice.
“Hey.” He’s talking again. “Did you hear me?” His head lifts to meet mine, and this time I see it, the glassy panic in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask, somehow regaining composure. His eyes plead for something, and I want to help him. But I don’t know what he needs.
I grab the handle of the pocket door and try to slide it open, just to be sure he’s right. It doesn’t budge.
As if God, or the universe, or L. Ron Hubbard has it in for me, the train jostles again, thrusting me straight back into loo boy.