Malachi and I
I hate apples.
I hate them for no other reason than the symbolism they invoked. Throughout literature, apples have taken on the symbol of sin, the forbidden fruit, the start of chaos, the undoing of man. The most famous stories are that of Adam and Eve, a single apple caused them paradise and peace.
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs—an apple laced with poison that caused Snow White to fall into a coma until a random man awakened her with a kiss. A happy ending, unless you knew that Snow White was Margarete von Waldeck, a sixteenth-century German countess who was banished to Brussels by her step-mother. The poison came from the King of Spain, the father of her prince, and yes, with a damn apple. But she didn’t fall sleep, she died.
Then in Greek Mythology, at the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, Eris, the Greek goddess of strife and discord, who understandably was not invited to the wedding but lacked the rational capacity to figure out why, decided to throw a golden apple onto the table at the feast to the most fairest one of all. One apple, dozens of vain goddesses, and just like that a wedding was destroyed and a war began.
If I could take every bloody apple and shoot them to the moon, I would. Maybe if I’d thought about earlier then I wouldn’t have been in my current situation—I wouldn’t have been covered in smoke, sweat, and blood. I wouldn’t have tried to save the old woman from her burning car. Burning because a chain reaction of events that began with the younger woman who was crossing the crosswalk in front of my car, and the impatient fool who ran out of the store. As he barreled into her and knocked her over her bag fell and sent a slew of apples rolling into the street. Apples her daughter then broke free of her grasp to chase after which caused the oncoming pick-up truck to swerve left and straight into the old woman’s car as she was pulling out of her parking space at Spencer’s Grocery Store.
The sight and sound of the accident startled the teen driver who was pulling up behind me, causing him to step on the accelerator instead of the brakes. As his car slammed into mine, my head snapped forward and smashed into the steering wheel as my seatbelt dug its way into my shoulder.
“Dude are you okay?!” The teen moron, screamed as he rushed from his car to mine.
“Oh my god!”
“It’s on fire!”
Even though my vision was blurred I saw the car—a silver BMW—and the bloodied woman who lay unconscious inside of it, and without thinking I pulled off my seatbelt and ran towards the car. I felt nothing as I yanked on the door repeatedly while the smoke rose into my face. Even when she was in my arms and I was dragging her from the car I felt nothing. Nothing, until I looked around screaming for help, only to see, the now bruised and chipped and deformed but no longer rolling…a bunch of fucking apples.
Racer by Katy EvansPublication Date: September 28th, 2017Genre: Contemporary Romance
Racer, an all-new standalone in the Real Series from New York Times bestselling author Katy Evans is LIVE!
A bad boy with something to prove.
A woman with a mission.
The race of their lives.
The love of a lifetime.
I don’t think his parents expected him to live up to his name—Racer Tate—but once he felt the adrenaline rush behind the wheel, he was addicted.
He's the fastest, fiercest driver around.
Scouting new talent brings me to his doorstep...
but his smile sends me to my knees.
The sexy, mysterious Racer Tate is not the kind of man a girl like me falls for. He's secretive, reckless, elusive. But his proximity pushes me beyond reason, and his kiss....
This is our last chance to win, and he is our only hope. I'm supposed to watch him—make sure he doesn't get into trouble. But it's an impossible task. And now the one in heart wrenching, toe-curling, soul-crushing trouble is me. Because when your heart belongs to someone, their truths become your own, and their secrets become your salvation...or your curse.
He says he wants me. He says I'm the One. But he also thinks he'll break my heart, one piece at a time until it's gone.
Excerpt:I’m still reeling. While people approach him, he cuts a path straight to me, his gaze penetrating and target-like; making me want to bolt. His lips do that little upward tilt they do that seems so sexy, and for a second, I feel like I’m lightheaded. I gulp, and then feel mad at myself for acting like some idiot as fucking devil-Racer Tate reaches me, throws himself into a seat next to me, and turns to look at me expectantly with the most gorgeous grin on his face. I don’t know what to say. This guy has left me sort of speechless. “So … ” I say, staring in the distance at his beat-up mustang, then at him. “So … ” he says too, in his deep voice, his smile a little more wicked than it was two seconds ago. He glances at my mouth. Oh god. Why am I licking my lips? It only made his eyes narrow and darken. I open my mouth to speak, failing to find words. He smells like sweat and soap and shampoo, and I feel my traitorous nipples push up to my top again. Why do they do that when he’s around? “This is illegal,” I state. His voice is husky from exertion, and his eyes glint with laughter. “That’s why it’s fun.” I look away from his eyes, trying to focus and clear my head. He leans over and peers into my face, his face shadowed by the moonlight and his jaw now carrying a little scruff. “Are we in agreement?” he presses. “No.” I glare and shake my head, meeting his cocky gaze. “You’re reckless, Racer.” “So are you, Alana.” “It’s just … Lana.” His brows fly up in surprise. “And a bit of a liar too.” I purse my lips, still glaring as my gaze goes back to his car. Girls are rubbing against it as if it were him, and I find it disgusting. Why are women always acting so slutty around race car drivers and bad boys? “You crashed your car,” I say flippantly. “You crashed my car,” he contradicts, amused. I laugh, then scowl in his direction. “You crashed it more. I can’t believe you were making such a fuss about me crashing into you when it was just a little kiss—” He leans in to peck my lips—fast but firmly. “That’s a kiss.” I lose my breath. My eyes wide. He eases back, lips smiling as he comes to his feet and stretches his hand out to take me by the elbow and help me to my feet. “Let’s get out of here.” He starts walking, leading the way. “And go where?” “Anywhere I can get my hands on you.”
Amazon US: http://amzn.to/2vdmnsx
Amazon UK: https://goo.gl/u6Afj4
Add to GoodReads: https://goo.gl/JFvQ6D
About the Author:Katy Evans is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. Her debut REAL shot to the top of the bestselling lists in 2013 and since then 9 of her titles have been New York Times bestsellers. Her books have been translated into nearly a dozen languages across the world.
Connect with the Author:
S.C. Stephens's THE NEXT GENERATION is available TODAY and paranormal lovers won't want to miss this one! Read an excerpt below and pick up your copy today!