Hi guys, we have Amy Lane stopping by with her new release in the Bluewater Bay series Selfie, we have a great excerpt and a fantastic giveaway so enjoy the post and leave a comment to enter the giveaway! <3 ~Pixie~

Selfie

Amy Lane

One year ago, actor Connor Montgomery lost the love of his life to a drunk driver. But what’s worse for Connor is what he still has: a lifetime of secrets born of hiding his relationship from the glare of Hollywood. Unable to let go of the world he and Vinnie shared, Connor films a drunken YouTube confession on the anniversary of Vinnie’s death.

Thankfully, the video was silent—a familiar state for Connor—so his secret is still safe. He needs a fresh start, and a new role on the hit TV show Wolf’s Landing might be just that.

The move to Bluewater Bay may also mean a second chance in the form of his studio-assigned assistant. Noah Dakers sees through Connor’s facades more quickly than Connor could imagine. Noah’s quiet strength and sarcastic companionship offers Connor a chance at love that Hollywood’s closet has never allowed. But to accept it, Connor must let Vinnie go and learn to live again.

Amy Lane!

For the Selfie blog tour, Amy Lane has written a few monologues from Vinnie’s video blog, set prior to the crash that takes his life. These monologues, performed by Nick J. Russo of Dark Night Sound, correspond to scenes or memories reference by Connor in Selfie, giving you a unique look at this off-screen character.

Please visit http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/selfie and select the extras tab for all six monologues, which will be updated there as they are published.

Enjoying Bluewater Bay? All Bluewater Bay titles are being produced in audio, starting with Starstruck, written by L.A. Witt and narrated by Nick J. Russo, coming soon!

Excerpt

I stopped searching for clothes without holes and grabbed some boxer briefs, yoga pants, and a T-shirt and threw them on haphazardly. The T-shirt was a basic cotton tourist T—we’d gotten it on a trip to the Grand Canyon two years ago. For a while, we’d fought over it, playfully, because we never let ourselves get photographed in the personal shit, and if one of us woke up and put on that shirt, it meant he was staying inside all day and hopefully not alone.

“What do you want me to say?” I was working so hard on leeching the tears out of my voice that it came out flat, no affect, dead.

“I want you to say you want to live!” she half laughed. But she was looking at me soberly, and real concern showed, even through the trowel-thick mascara and the psychotropic contacts.

“Jillian . . .” I didn’t know what to say.

She shook her head and waved her hands in uncharacteristic agitation. I hadn’t seen her do that since the day we got back from Vinnie’s funeral. I’d asked her if she wanted to come inside—basic courtesy, really, I hadn’t expected her to take me up on it. The place had been . . . Well, I’d needed to find a different maid service after that week.

She’d helped me clean up the broken glass and the ripped-down curtains, all without a word. I’d apologized, humbly, feeling like a spoiled child, as she’d sat me down with some delivered pizza and a glass of soda, and she’d done . . .

That. Held her hands up, palms toward me, waving them back and forth as she’d tried not to see . . . me. My pain. The thing she couldn’t fix.

She did that to me now, and then glared, her eyes watering. “This here is an intervention,” she said briskly, and we both ignored the way her voice got thick. “Connor, you need to work again. You need to see people again. You need a fucking goal, even if it’s just to know your line and hit your mark and look into the goddamned camera. You want to see how bad it is? You showed the world how bad it is.”

And with that she shifted aside so I could see the computer. Then she hit Play on the Washington Monument of selfies.

I watched dumbly for a moment as the camera came on, the lens showing a fish-eye view from the mantel in the living room. The furniture was there, fabric couches, matching throw pillows, complementing love seat and recliner, as well as the little conversation pit, and, against the far wall, the 116” flat-screen TV.

Some bozo in board shorts and a tank top was blocking the view, but he backed up like he’d been trained with cameras, and knew about how far he needed to go to be seen in the whole frame.

I stared at my image for a moment. Jillian was right. I look like hell. My hair was usually sort of a sandy blond, but I highlighted it because it was Hollywood. You could see about three months of growth between my part and the blond, and there was some silver in that, even visible in the grainy, badly colored shot.

You could see my ribs. Yeah, sure, there were lumps of muscle, but you could see my ribs.

I had a sort of long face, with a bold nose and a full mouth—when I was full blond I was an Aryan wet dream, really—and really nice cheekbones, sharp and distinctive. It had been the cheekbones that had convinced me I could make it in Hollywood when my parents insisted that if I wasn’t following my father into farming I would pretty much only succeed as a computer technician or an auto mechanic and nothing else.

I’d seen myself in the mirror, stared longingly at my heroes on the screen, and thought, Look at that. We have the same faces. We can be the same.

In the video I appeared . . . rodent-like, almost, and feral. My prized cheekbones threw the thinness of my face into stark relief.

I stared at my own image for a few wordless seconds before it hit me.

“What am I doing? And why isn’t there any sound?”

“There’s no sound through the entire thing,” Jillian said irritably. “Did Vinnie not show you how to work the damned camera?”

I gaped at her, and then I gaped at the computer, because no. No, he had not.

I was actually grateful as I watched what followed.

If you asked me on any given day what the worst part of this video was, I’d give you a different answer on each and every different day. I could point out the fact that my eyes were half-mast and my mouth kept opening while I stared at the ceiling in between sentences. I could say it was the beginning sequence when I seemed to be just yelling incoherently at the camera, one hand on my cocked hip, one hand waggling my index finger like a teacher drunk on his or her own power.

But it was obvious that I wasn’t drunk on power.

My tirade, whatever it had been, ended, and apparently it was time to fly. Yes, fly—flap my arms and run around the kitchen and pretend to be an airplane or a condor or a butterfly or what the fuck ever—I was gonna fucking achieve liftoff and zoom overhead, I just knew I was . . .

Right until I face-planted, arms outstretched, on the couch.

“Wow,” Jillian said, like she was impressed.

“Wow, that’s the end?” I prayed.

“No, wow, I can’t believe your luck that you missed the floor. And you only wish that was the end.”

I looked at the counter below the frame.

“Seven minutes?” Of which we were apparently only two minutes in. It went on. There was the Batusi and the bunny hop. At one point I was singing—obviously singing—head back, belting it out. I tried to read my own lips for a moment, before I gave up.

“‘Sloop John B,’” Jillian said without glancing at me.

“What?” I could not seem to look away from the . . . the train wreck of my life, on display for YouTube viewers everywhere. Oh Jesus. I had over five hundred thousand hits, and it was less than twelve hours old.

“It’s what you’re seeing. See? Right here, you can see that last part.” Oh yeah. It was clear I wanted to go home.

“Oh!” And then, as a capper to the madness, we both sang along with my silent movie self as the timer counted off twenty more seconds of my career-dissipation light.

Holy fuck.

And then . . . Oh God. On the screen I was sitting on the couch, one ankle crossed philosophically over one knee, leaning on my elbow and talking earnestly to the camera.

And then . . .

“Turn it off,” I said thickly.

“No.”

I’d pulled up a picture on my phone and was showing it to the camera. It was nothing incriminating, just me and Vinnie, standing on my balcony, leaning back against the railing, sunglasses on, our faces toward the sun.

We looked so happy.

The other me, the skinny, drunk, pathetic me, just broke down and cried.

Then that same guy stood up and drew really close, so close you could see my rib cage through my tank top, so close the frame went black.

Jillian and I slumped in the desk chairs, while I thought of something to say.

“I’m sorry, Jilly,” I managed after a moment.

“It’s my fault,” she said quietly. “I thought you were okay. You said you needed time to grieve, I said sure—that’s what I did. Gave you time to grieve. I didn’t realize you were here, all alone. You weren’t getting better. You were just . . .”

“Just being sad,” I said, closing my eyes. Behind them I could see that icky, rainy May morning we’d gotten back from the funeral, when Jillian had come inside and helped me eat, and I’d told her I just needed time.

There might not be enough time in the world.

“Well, you had a right.” She clasped my hand. “I was sad—I don’t know if that helps, but I was sad as fuck. You remember when I called Christmas Eve?”

I nodded. I’d been alone, in my house, while Vinnie’s family had held a quiet celebration next door. They hadn’t asked me over. They hadn’t known about us, of course, but you’d think they might have asked Vinnie’s friend over, right?

I wasn’t sure if that meant they were insensitive, or grieving, or just . . . just users, hanging on Vinnie’s fame like my family had offered to do with mine a couple of times since I’d hit it big.

I didn’t want to think of Vinnie’s family that way. For a few years, I’d been able to pretend I had family for the holidays. It had been nice. I didn’t have much to pretend right now—I could probably just pretend they were grieving and had forgotten me.

That was easier.

“I remember,” I said, to try to pull myself away from my post-Vinnie Christmas featuring me, a bottle of wine, a steak, and a laptop full of memories. “You were the only voice I’d heard in a week.”

She rubbed the back of her neck. “Yeah.”

“Is my career over?” I had money in the bank. I’d probably have to sell the beach house if I never worked again, but I could live pretty comfortably on what was left.

“No.” Jillian rolled her eyes. “I thought it was when I called you—man, my heart almost stopped. But I’m telling you, on my way over here, I fielded about six different calls from people who want your story.”

“No.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” She simultaneously looked around for an ashtray and fished in her purse for cigarettes. Vinnie hadn’t let people smoke in the house, but you know what? Vinnie wasn’t fucking here.

Nice, asshole.

I’m not even sorry.

I opened the sliding glass door and grabbed an ashtray from outside—we kept a few for guests. The wind caught me square in the face, and I leaned into it, closing my eyes.

“God, I love the ocean,” I said, thinking wistfully of when I’d have to sell the house.

“Do you?” she asked. I turned back inside and set the ashtray down for her, and she lit her cigarette with a shaky hand and a gold lighter.

I moved away from her and crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe and letting the breeze cleanse away some of my despair.

“I really do. I wish I could live somewhere like . . . like Oregon, or Washington, or even Crescent City. Somewhere it’s cold.” Where it was cold, and the sky was blue, and the water fought an endless, frothy battle for dominion over cliffs and outcroppings of stone.

“You know,” she said tentatively, “you’ve gotten a couple of offers from television in the past months. A lot of shows are still shooting up north. Are you game?”

I nodded, exhausted, even though I’d only been awake for a few hours.

“Yeah,” I sighed, closing my eyes against the sun. “I’d love to go do something like that. Something not . . . here.”

“Well, I think I’ve got just the thing,” she said, checking her tablet. “It’s late—they might have asked someone else, because shooting starts, like, immediately. Let me make a few calls—it might be temporary, you know. Just two months of relocation, and then back here. But it’ll be enough to get your feet wet. And the show films just outside of Seattle—”

“Sounds great.”

“Do you even want to hear what it is?”

With my eyes closed, I could hear the two pulses in the wind. The first one was the ocean, and it pulsed with everything I loved.

The second one was emptiness. And it pulsed with He’s not here. He’s not here. He’s not here. Vinnie’s not here, he’s not here, he’s not here.

It was that second one that made me crave another bottle of wine before I’d even eaten breakfast.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said honestly. “It’s perfect.”

“What makes it perfect?” she asked, exhaling smoke.

“It’s somewhere not here.”

– Read more at: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/selfie (Just click the excerpt tab)

About Amy

Amy Lane exists happily with her noisy family in a crumbling suburban crapmansion, and equally happily with the surprisingly demanding voices who live in her head.

She loves cats, movies, yarn, pretty colors, pretty men, shiny things, and Twu Wuv, and despises house cleaning, low fat granola bars, and vainglorious prickweenies.

She can be found at her computer, dodging housework, or simultaneously reading, watching television, and knitting, because she likes to freak people out by proving it can be done.

Connect with Amy:

• Website: com
• Blog: blogspot.com
• Twitter: @amymaclane
• Facebook group: Amy Lane Anonymous
• Goodreads: com/amymaclane

About Nick J. Russo

Nick J. Russo has been a professional performer for over a decade, but has been voicing audio books for the past few years. He has voiced several titles throughout the romance, sci-fi, supernatural, and thriller genres, and has recently started his very own sound studio; Dark Night Sound. On top of voice acting, Russo manages Dark Night Sound with his fiance and works with a staff of four up and coming narrators. In his free time, Russo is a drummer in a pop/rock cover band, loves to travel, and dreams of one day being able to voice a role in an animated comedy series.

Giveaway!

To celebrate the release of Selfie, one lucky person will receive e-copies of Amy’s entire backlist with Riptide, and an Amy Lane t-shirt!

Thanks for following the tour, and don’t forget to leave your contact info!

Review

Title: Selfie

Series: Bluewater Bay 13

Author: Amy Lane

Genre: Contemporary

Length: Novel (420 pages)

ISBN: 9781626493841

Publisher: Riptide Publishing (April 16th 2016)

Heat Level: Moderate, Explicit

Heart Rating: ♥♥♥♥♥ 4.5 Hearts

Reviewer: Aerin

Blurb: One year ago, actor Connor Montgomery lost the love of his life to a drunk driver. But what’s worse for Connor is what he still has: a lifetime of secrets born of hiding his relationship from the glare of Hollywood. Unable to let go of the world he and Vinnie shared, Connor films a drunken YouTube confession on the anniversary of Vinnie’s death.

Thankfully, the video was silent—a familiar state for Connor—so his secret is still safe. He needs a fresh start, and a new role on the hit TV show Wolf’s Landing might be just that.

The move to Bluewater Bay may also mean a second chance in the form of his studio-assigned assistant. Noah Dakers sees through Connor’s facades more quickly than Connor could imagine. Noah’s quiet strength and sarcastic companionship offers Connor a chance at love that Hollywood’s closet has never allowed. But to accept it, Connor must let Vinnie go and learn to live again.

Product Link: http://riptidepublishing.com/titles/selfie

Review: I thought I could make it… I was sure this was going to be the very first angst-heavy Amy Lane book where I wasn’t going to cry! I was sure I wasn’t going to shed a tear! Oh how wrong I was; this one hit me late in the book, in the last 20% even, that’s why I never saw it coming. But when it did, it was so painful it simply took my breath away… yes there were tears and real crying, and my heart simply HURT!

We know from the blurb that Connor lost the love of his life, his best friend and partner Vinnie, to a drunk driver. They were each other’s everything in private, but nobody knew that, not Vinnie’s family, not their friends, not the fans and public in general. Connor is still grieving a year after Vinnie’s death, only nobody really knows just how deep his pain runs, how utterly broken he is after losing Vinnie, and his grieving process is stunted by the fact that it’s all done in private; how can he openly and honestly grieve the way he’s supposed to when his whole life is a big dark secret?

After drunkenly recording a video on the anniversary of Vinnie’s death and uploading it on youtube, his agent and friend thinks a change of scenery will be the best thing for Connor, and so Connor moves to Bluewater Bay where he starts his new role in Wolf’s Landing. His driver Noah is a bright spot in Connor’s dark life, and they quickly become good friends. Noah can see through the facade, can see the real Connor, and he likes and wants what he sees. But before they can be together Connor has to grieve properly and throughout the grieving process we learn that Vinnie wasn’t as perfect as he seemed. Connor was Vinnie’s rock who supported him through two trips to rehab, who stayed in the closet and hid their relationship from the world because Vinnie wasn’t strong enough to come out, who forgave Vinnie’s many infidelities. The only thing Connor can’t forgive is that Vinnie left him and will never be back again.

At first I thought this wasn’t as painful as it could be, taking into consideration Connor is the narrator of this story. We get to know Connor real well, we get to form a bond with him and hurt for him, because the writing is raw, honest and blunt. I loved Noah as a character, but I absolute adored how Connor saw him through his own eyes. Noah was everything Connor needed, he became the reason Connor overcame his grief and was able to take the brave steps of showing the world the truth about himself. It took a long time for Connor and Noah to get to solid ground when it comes to their feelings for one another and it was totally understandable considering the circumstances, but their physical relationship was smoking hot! Noah is dominant and intense, exactly what Connor needs and wants, so the sex is full of dirty talk, intense and passionate. Perfect!

There are many things I loved about this book, including the secondary characters (Vinnie’s family and Noah’s family), but there was also one thing that didn’t sit well with me. I thought it took Connor too long to get over Vinnie and show Noah he truly loves him. It took literally most of the book for him to let Vinnie go and while I understood it, I didn’t like it. I needed more of Noah and Connor as an established couple, I needed to see them completely together for more than just a couple of chapters.

This book is beautiful but full of sharp edges that will cut you open and will make you bleed. But it’s also hopeful and real. Recommended!

Check out the other blogs on the blog tour