Wednesday, February 8, 2017
Tuesday, February 7, 2017
Excerpt Reveal: A WAY BACK INTO LOVE by Veronica Thatcher
Title: A Way Back Into Love
Series: Love Series #1
By: Veronica Thatcher
Publication Date: February 15, 2017
Publisher: Notion Press
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Cover Designer: Notion Press
Derek let out a frustrated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. "Em…I mean that…It’s just this person you have become. The Emily I used to know didn’t hit on random guys at the bar."
Emily crossed her arms over her chest and gave Derek a glare. "Five years is a long time, Derek. Maybe I have changed," she said, "And besides, why do you care so much?"
Derek glared back at her as he replied harshly, "Oh, so you have changed so much over the last five years that now you throw yourself at random men like a…” he trailed off, not finishing his sentence.
Emily’s mouth fell open and her eyes widened as she let Derek’s words set in. She couldn’t believe her own ears for a minute. Had Derek really accused her of being a slut? She couldn’t believe it – it all felt like a nightmare.
"What did you just say to me?" Emily whispered, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. "What did you just say to me?" Emily asked in a louder voice this time.
Derek didn’t say a word as he continued to look at Emily coldly.
Emily took a step towards Derek and narrowed her eyes. Poking Derek’s chest with the index finger of her right hand, she said in a soft yet acerbic voice, "You don’t get to call me a whore. You’ve no right to judge me. Do you hear me? You’ve no fucking right to judge me." The anger, the jealousy and the heartache combined with the alcohol she had consumed gave Emily a newly acquired courage. She felt more emboldened than she had felt in her entire life, and so, she didn’t hold back in letting out her pent-up exasperation. "You broke me," Emily continued, her words slurring slightly, "You broke me, but I am all glued up together now. And I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what you broke. You don’t get to call me a whore." Emily finished her diatribe, her breaths coming in short pants as a result of her outburst.
Derek looked into her eyes, the anger and bitterness in his eyes now replaced by confusion. "I broke you? What do you mean?" he asked in a bewildered voice, his eyebrows shooting up.
Emily stepped back from him and shook her head. "Oh, you know damn well what I mean. You know what, Derek? I’m done having this conversation with you. I’m so done with this conversation and I’m so done with you," Emily spat out angrily before brushing past him.
"Emily, wait," Derek said, catching her by her arm. "Where are you going?"
Emily spun around and gave him a bitter look before looking down at his hand gripping her arm. "Leave my arm," she said in a low yet threatening voice, "And why do you care where I’m going? It’s none of your business."
Derek didn’t leave her arm in spite of her warning and said, "Em, you’ve had too many drinks. You can’t drive in this condition. I’ll drop you home."
Emily jerked her arm free from his grasp and replied in a bitter voice, "Thank you, but no. I’m perfectly capable of getting myself home on my own. I don’t need you to drop me home. Do you get it, Derek Thorpe? I DON’T NEED YOU!" Emily yelled the last words, causing a few people to look their way.
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Monday, February 6, 2017
New Release: SILVERWITCH by Tamara Grantham
NEW PRINT RELEASE:
Silverwitch
Tamara Grantham
(M.D. Series, The Olive Kennedy)
Published by: Crimson Tree Publishing
Publication date: February 6, 2017
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance
It’s Faythander’s legend of King Arthur. And it’s not for the faint of heart.
Olive Kennedy, Fairy World MD, isn’t ready to go back to work. But when her dragon stepfather shows up on her doorstep with bad news of the world-ending variety, that’s exactly what she’ll have to do. He wants her to stop the elven queen from obtaining seven weapons of King Arthur fame, and he wants her to break into a dragon’s vault to do it.
One problem. Silvestra, the silverwitch of Dragon Spine Mountain, guards the weapons. And she’s not willing to give them up. With the help of Kull, her newly reunited, half-crazed Viking boyfriend, she’s hopeful they’ll stand up against the dragon. Plus, she’ll have the help from Kull’s warrior princess sister and a professional thief.
But Olive has never had great luck. What starts as a routine quest quickly turns into a life or death fight. And one of her companions won’t make it out alive…
EXCERPT:
“I fail to see how we’re lucky. We’re trapped in an unfamiliar world with no way of returning home. The staff is gone, and I have a suspicion that if we find it, we will not live long enough to return it to the sky king.”
Maveryck gave me a condescending smile. “Perhaps you will not live long enough,” he said as he stood, and without further explanation, he limped away from me and down a narrow hallway. I hesitated before following him. Navigating alone through a tomb like this would be suicide, so I reluctantly trailed him, barely keeping my temper in check.
“Where are you going?” I demanded.
“To find a way out of here.”
“What then?” I asked. “Where will we go? How will we find the staff? How will we return home? Have you the magic to create portals?”
He rounded on me, his jaw clenched. “First, and listen very clearly, I’m not in the habit of answering questions—not from you or anyone else. Second, I’m not your friend, nor am I trying to help you. For the time being, we share the same goal, so I will work with you in order to bring the staff back. After that, our partnership will be dissolved. I’ve never lost an object before, and it won’t happen now. If you impede me in any way, I will aid you no more.”
“Have you forgotten who my brother is? Should you return to Faythander without me, what do you think the king will do to you?”
“I don’t care.”
“You might care when you’re rotting in the Wult dungeons.”
“I doubt he would throw me in the dungeons for leaving you. In all honesty, I believe he would reward me.”
Now he’d pushed too far. I’d had an ill feeling about this man from the moment I’d met him, and I would tolerate his superior attitude no more. I shoved him against the wall, pressing the weight of my body against him, making the stacks of skeletal remains rattle behind us.
“Enough,” I hissed. “I will not tolerate being spoken to in such a manner.”
Instead of shying away as I expected, he clamped my wrists in his hands. He used no magic, but the calculated look he gave me sent shivers down my spine. “And I,” he said, “will also not tolerate being spoken to in such a manner.”
Fear made my heart beat wildly. Who is this man? It was at that moment I realized how very little I knew about him. Where did he come from? Where did he live? Who were his kin? His gaze locked with mine, and sparks of purple danced in the gray of his irises. I knew he possessed magic, but he’d led me to believe his powers were limited. Had he lied?
Author Bio:
Tamara Grantham is the award-winning author of more than half a dozen books and novellas, including the Olive Kennedy: Fairy World MD series and the Shine novellas. Dreamthief, the first book of her Fairy World MD series, won first place for fantasy in INDIEFAB’S Book of the Year Awards, a RONE award for best New Adult Romance of 2016, and is a #1 bestseller on Amazon in both the Mythology and Fairy Tales categories with over 100 reviews. Tamara holds a Bachelor’s degree in English. She has been a featured speaker at the Rose State Writing Conference and has been a panelist at Comic Con Wizard World speaking on the topic of female leads. For her first published project, she collaborated with New York-Times bestselling author, William Bernhardt, in writing the Shine series. Born and raised in Texas, Tamara now lives with her husband and five children in Wichita, Kansas. She rarely has any free time, but when the stars align and she gets a moment to relax, she enjoys reading fantasy novels, taking nature walks, which fuel her inspiration for creating fantastical worlds, and watching every Star Wars or Star Trek movie ever made. You can find her online at www.TamaraGranthamBooks.com.
Monday, January 30, 2017
Blog Tour: FLIGHT LESS by L. Duarte
Title: Flightless
By: L. Duarte
Publication Date: January 23, 2017
Publisher: LD Publishing LLC
Genre: Romance
Cover Designer: Okay Creations
#flightlesstour
Everyone has a story.
Mine went like this: Once upon a time, I met a boy. He was the most handsome fella in the land. I fell in love. Together, we had cosmic chemistry. I believed I would live a life of unending bliss. Until he broke my heart. Shattered it to pieces. And I lived unhappily ever after instead. The end.
Or so I thought.
Life found a way to reunite us. But to change that unhappy ending, I had to learn how to forgive. And my heart seemed unable to do so.
This is a love story. But it is also, much more. It’s the story of how I coped with my shortcomings, my fears and rewrote my destiny. Everyone has a story. This is mine.
AMAZON US - http://amzn.to/2iWTYxD
AMAZON UK - https://goo.gl/usJ3w4
AMAZON CA - https://goo.gl/VPrQMu
Check out these other amazing books from L. Duarte
Chapter One
I stepped back. Not literally, just figuratively. I did that with every concert. I allowed my mind’s eyes to hover over me and my fans while I analyzed and dissected the unique relationship between us.
As I watched the multitude of people—a beautiful kaleidoscope of different races and social statuses—my heart, in utter bliss, roared.
The audience held their hands upwards as if in an offering or a request. I never knew which. In perfect synchrony, their arms rolled in waves like the swaying of a stormy sea. Their voices cried out my name, and the smell of their sweat and the heat of their mingled bodies emanated from them, unfurling to me like the sweet perfume of incense.
I held the mic near my motionless lips and stared at them. At that moment, I became one with thousands. At that moment, I took back from the crowd all the energy I had fed them. And their vibe made me high and drunk. It was my personal Nirvana. The kind of rapture that can only be attained through uttermost intimacy. A oneness I had only felt with one other person. A person who had severed that connection and shattered my heart into a million shards of pain.
I worshiped them as they adored me. The exchange of atomic energy contained nuclear power. I was drained from giving. They were wasted from receiving. But we were both impossibly happy and satisfied.
My motionless lips finally moved, uttering the final words for the night. The parting words. “Good night, Sydney!” I waved a hand back at them. “You looked beautiful tonight. All forty thousand of you.”
I bowed. They deserved my reverence. People had spent their time camped outside the venue waiting for a closer glance at me. They had spent their precious earned money to see my performance. They were worthy of my respect and gratitude.
Another wave of a hand. A kiss. Another bow. And I was out. Another show was done. Eight more to go.
I jogged backstage and gave the mic to Jeremy, my makeup artist, in exchange for a bottled water. He opened a portable case containing all the potions that would quickly improve my appearance for the meet and greet.
Before I took a swig from the bottle, Clara, my assistant, brusquely interrupted my post-concert ritual. She snatched the bottle from my hand and returned it to a confused Jeremy. “Gray. With me,” she demanded, grabbing my elbow and urging me toward my changing room.
I glanced back at the stunned face of Jeremy. It was time for meet and greet with the VIP’s. I needed to freshen up. My makeup had all but melted under the stage lights.
Once inside the privacy of the room, I demanded, “What’s going on?”
She raised a finger and said, “Wait.”
I opened my mouth to protest. Instead, I swallowed the words. Clara was usually a chatterbox; her clipped words quickly clued me in that something was seriously wrong.
As I waited, Clara dialed a number on her phone. Her silence became as unnerving as the red glare of an alarm light.
“Betty, I have Gray,” Clara said. Wordlessly, she shoved the device in my hand. The door closed with a thud after she exited in a flurry of silent drama.
“Mama?” I asked holding the phone to my ear.
“Hey, Puppy,” Mama said in a soft, almost regretful tone.
“What’s going on?” I asked. Silence filled the other end of the line, only increasing my concern. Mama knew I had just left the stage. She followed my tour from home. Minute by minute. It was unusual for her to call me so soon following a show.
“How was, um, the, um, concert?” she asked.
“Mama, did you call me to ask how the show went?” I furrowed my brows and every hair on my body stood at attention. Mama knew my routine during a tour. After a performance, I had a brief meet with fans and then I would go on hours of silence to rest my vocal cords. Although she knew she could call me at any time, she never called until at least ten hours following a show.
“Mama?” I prodded after a long silence.
“I have cancer,” she said bluntly.
The phone connection was perfect. No static. But Mama’s words hummed in my ear with a tunnel-like quality. Distorted, altered, garbled. My mind, however, had remained sharp and alert. Without much thought and after a brief pause, I uttered the words, “I’m coming home.” I hadn't said those words in over a decade. Somehow, they didn't taste as foreign as I had imagined they would.
***
“Gray,” I said. The word hovered on my tongue, saturating my taste buds with an acrid taste. “Gray,” I repeated, letting it roll off my tongue. I did that a lot. It was my name.
Often, I mused about my name. It hadn’t been given to me because it was fashionable. Nevertheless, it had a history. My history.
When I was little, I liked to fancy its origin. The sky, I would think, was painted gray the day I was born. I loved the theory. The unattainability of the infinite mass of gray made it a great namesake. Whenever gray clouds hovered in the sky, I would lay on my back and stare at them, dreaming that when I grew up, I would build an enormous ladder, climb it, and touch the gray painted dome. It was all, of course, a foolish child’s dream, born out of vain imagination. I wasn’t born during the day, nor was the sky gray. And it was most definitely not the inspiration behind the choosing of my name.
I was born in a graveyard. Serene Hills Cemetery, it was called, though its surface was flat. It was a fall night, October 20th, approximately 11 pm.
They found me covered in vernix. I used the term ‘they’ loosely. A dog found me. A female German Shepherd mix that went by the name of Sunshine. Her fur was golden. Shiny like sun rays. I had a newspaper cut-out of her. It’s black and white, but it described her that way. In the shot, she looked straight at the camera, two vivid round eyes dotting a long and alert face. She had the knowing stare of someone who was aware she had done a good deed.
Obviously, I don’t recall the details surrounding my birth. I was an infant. But I had Mama tell me the story so many times, which after a while, the images ingrained in my brain like the roots of a tree embedded in the fertile soil. They became so real in my imagination that it felt as if they were my recollections.
I was a born a preemie. Weak, small, and blotchy-faced. I was skin and bones with a mop of black spiky hair, and a bad case of a cold.
A miracle, they called me. But I knew I was no wonder. I happened to have the perfect concoction of healthy lungs and a loud cry. These, and the sharp canine sense of hearing and smelling had saved me. I didn’t believe in miracles. Not anymore.
When they found me, decay from the trees covered the ground on a fascinating palette of colors—an array of red, yellow, purple, brown, orange, golden, bronze.
I used to question why the leaves change colors and fall off the branches. According to a scientific explanation, leaves are a weak and feeble part of a plant. So, before the weather gets severely cold, the trees should toughen up to protect themselves. Or simply dispose of the leaves, the weak part.
Personally, I believe they turn colors before falling as revenge. A personal vendetta. And for that I applaud them. They turn their death into a poetic and alluring sight. That line of thought made me believe death was beautiful. It fascinated me. It’s more interesting than birth, although similar.
I had been abandoned under a pile of dead foliage. According to the police investigation, it appeared my birth mother had buried me under the leaves. Hid me. Like a criminal attempting to cover its tracks. Supposedly, I spent the night under a cocoon of leaves. The tree’s decay was soaked with blood and amniotic fluid.
According to Sunshine’s owner, they were walking on the sidewalk by the cemetery when she heard a whizzing sound. Sunshine’s owner discarded the noise as being the cry of squirrels.
Sunshine didn’t. At odds with her sweet nature, she became agitated and broke loose. She squeezed through a small gap in the fence and disappeared between the gravestones, leaving her owner in a frenzy.
Less than a minute later, Sunshine returned. Her mouth muzzled around my small waist, my umbilical cord dragging, rattling the decayed leaves.
I found my story fascinating, unique. Or so I told myself whenever I got teased at school.
The hospital staff called me the Graveyard Miracle. Soon after, Gray for short. It stuck.
I spent three months in the hospital. That’s where Mama worked. The graveyard shift. She fed me. She bathed me. She caressed my skin. “My heart had not a chance. It fell madly in love with you,” she said, whenever she told me my story. Her pale hand, dotted with freckles, caressing my black, straight hair.
When I became her child officially, she quit the night job. “I had brought home my very own Graveyard Miracle.”
She found a day job at a pediatric clinic, occasionally helping at the hospital for extra income. She continued working at the clinic throughout my childhood, adolescence, and after I left home. She remained there until cancer said, “No more.” Until cancer said, “I want your time. From now on, you are going to dedicate every waking hour to me. I’m egocentric. I want it all. I want your flesh and the total sum of your soul.”
That’s why I was there, sitting in the back of a limousine Clara had rented to pick me up from JFK airport and take me home.
“When should I schedule your flight to LA?” she had asked. “Only a one-way ticket for now,” I responded.
32 Lorelai Lane, my childhood home. It was a small Victorian-style house, built in 1929. The colorful foliage of a maple tree and an oak tree framed the dwelling as if it was extracted from the pages of a fairy tale book. When I was little, I used to fancy my house was lovely. The most enchanting place in all realms. Staring at the house, I discovered that I still thought that. It was the most magical place in the world because it was the place that humans refer to it as ‘home’. And home is a thing of fairy tales. Rare and pure.
The car door was wide open, awaiting me. I climbed out. The driver stood straight as a pole. His hands perfectly folded in front of him, his face impassive. I wondered how long he had stood there, waiting for me, questioning my sanity. The luggage was lined up at the front porch. His face remained expressionless when I pulled a generous tip from my purse and handed it to him. “Thank you,” I murmured.
He drove off, the sound of the engine trailing off into the quiet street. It was late at night. The crisp air smelled of burnt wood and autumn, reminiscent of bonfires and fireplaces.
I crossed the stone path leading to the front steps.
The hinges of the front door squeaked, and Mama slowly appeared as light spilled out from inside the house. She leaned against the doorframe, cocked her head, her eyes fixed on me. She knew me so well. She knew I needed the time.
I peered up, carefully examining Mama’s face. It had been only two months since I had last seen her, but she appeared decades older. Even under the porch’s pale yellowed light, I could detect the lines circling her mouth. Small bags sagged under her eyes, and her plump skin appeared loose, dripping like melting wax. Her hair showed inches of gray and her usual square and proud shoulders were smaller, fragile. But what got my attention the most were her eyes. Their vivid green had turned opaque.
The grief and sorrow in her stare set my feet in motion, and I climbed the steps.
When mama stepped forward, the old wooden floor groaned and creaked under her feet. She came to a halt at the top of the stairs. Her lips curved into a small smile, and her arms spread open in an inviting hug.
As I stepped forward, my legs felt wobbly with the weight of so many years of absence.
I have found that there is only one thing better than reading, and that is writing. I am always torn between the two. I am also frequently torn between chocolate and coffee. However, I emphatically do not like the month of February, lies, and flies. For me, bravery is defined by the courage to do what we fear the most. I live in Connecticut with my husband and two children. Drop a few lines. I would love to hear from you.
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Tuesday, January 24, 2017
Book Blitz: HER SOUTHERN TEMPTATION by Trish F. Leger
Title: Her Southern Temptation
Series: Legacy Falls #1
By: Trish F. Leger
Publication Date: October 5, 2016
Genre: Contemporary Romance
#hersoutherntemptationblitz
A transplanted northerner, new to the south...
Allie Magill is familiar with the hard knocks of life. The widowed mother of a four year old, Allie has landed in the South where the air is thick with humidity, the nights are hot, the men are honorable, but even hotter. But business as usual is stilted when she meets the new construction company owner, Jake Warren. Now it's all Allie can do to keep her hands to herself and not put her job, or heart, on the line.
A southern man whose world is rocked by a northern beauty...
Jake Warren knows little about things up north, but he does know Allie Magill is unexpected. The liaison for a hotel chain, Allie enters Jake's work life to make sure business goes as planned. But once he gets a taste of Allie, and takes a peek behind that closed-off northern exterior, all bets are off. He knows he has to make her see that life and love in the south flows differently and he hopes once Allie sees how sweet surrender can be, she won't be able to turn him down.
Battling ghosts from her past, Allie will have to learn to accept Jake's way of life and win the heart of her southern temptation.
AMAZON US - http://amzn.to/2jMDZ9k
When he stiffened against her, and let out a soft growl against her ear, Allie swore steam must be rising up between them. It was almost too much to bear.
“Damn, honey…”
His words were succinct, to the point, and had the same effect on Allie as a bucket of ice water. She tore herself from his arms, and like the coward she was, walked calmly past the crowd of people, out the building, to her SUV parked outside.
The night air was hot, of course, and did nothing to stop the burn that had come over her like a summer heat wave. She was breathing heavily, her heart tripping in her chest, and her only thought was to get home…NOW. She would be better able to analyze everything once she was safe in her own home with her daughter.
“Oh God, oh God…”
Don’t think about it. It was one dance. Only one, and only . . . the hottest experience you’ve had in the past four years. Hell, maybe even your whole life.
Allie shook her head. No, she would be honest with herself. She and Ryan had never been like a match to a flame, but there had been some passion, mostly love, between them. But nothing at all like the living entity of combustible energy that had been growing between her and Jake on that floor.
With shaking hands, she got her keys out of her little clutch purse, and was about to open her door, when Jake’s voice interrupted her escape.
“Allie, honey, wait a sec…”
Oh God. Don’t turn around.
But she had to, didn’t she? If she pulled the cowardly lion act now she would never be able to face him again. They had to maintain some semblance of a business relationship. It had to be done. Gritting her teeth, she turned, and realized he was closer than she had originally thought.
The night clung to him lovingly, as Allie had been doing so moments before. She couldn’t see his face, or any hint of his expression. She just saw a large, looming Jake filling up her vision.
“Look, when you did what you did, it just caught me off guard, and I’m not about to apologize for my body’s reaction to something so simple.”
“Simple?” Her body began to quake and vibrate. He thought that lick had been something simple? That lick had rocked her little world, damn it!
“Well, maybe not so simple, you’re right. But it did surprise me, in a good way.” His voice was deeper now, slight amusing undertones hidden in there as well. And as Allie watched, he moved closer. She countered, moving back as well, her back hitting the door of her SUV. She was well and truly trapped.
There still was a slight shadow where his face was, so Allie had no idea what he was thinking, but she knew what she was feeling, and that burning, incendiary feeling was back. Her lower body erupted into little white hot flames, singeing her nerves as they awakened, tripping along her extremities.
“This isn’t a good idea Jake, you know it. I know you do.” Her voice sounded slightly raspy to her ears.
“Ah, darlin’, I know that, but when has anything that felt this good, been bad?”
And with no other warning, he invaded her personal space, and silenced all of her protests, swooping in like a large shadow. His mouth was on hers, his lips softly coaxing, softly nibbling at first her top, then lower lip. No other part of his body touched hers, except for his mouth. His hands were braced on both sides of her head on the vehicle. Allie was stunned, shocked into submission for the moment, and oh so glad that all she had to contend with was his mouth. She didn’t know if she could handle any other part of him touching her.
She inhaled Jake into her, realizing everything about him was delicious, including his lips. Her fingers tingled, wanting to reach out and grasp him, but she didn’t, she kept a death grip on her keys and clutch, not willing to make an ass of herself with this man.
He moved slightly back, canted his head and came back for more, this time licking the seam of her lips with his tongue. Oh yes… Allie’s breath left her mouth, only to be caught up by Jake. He let out another soft little growl then his body came down on hers, pressing her against the car, while his hands came into play, tearing through her hair on each side of her head, holding her in place while he seduced her mouth with his.
Oh God, he tasted so good, the alcohol on his breath only adding to his earthiness as Allie gave in and let her tongue swipe against his. His large body shuddered against hers, while his leg slipped in-between. The hardness of his thigh right in the place where she needed it most was a jolt to her system.
She pushed back, snapping out of their kiss, and catching his attention instantly.
Her hands came up to her lips, wanting to hold onto the taste and warmth of him that was still there, but the shaking took over her. She shook her head back and forth slowly.
“No, no, this shouldn’t have happened,” she whispered.
He tore his hands through his hair. “Allie girl, I’m sorry…”
“No…” That’s the only word that would come from her mouth. Allie kept shaking her head and turned her back, fumbling with her keys, finally unlocking the door, she climbed in and revved the engine.
Not once did he try and stop her as she threw her car in reverse and pulled away.
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Monday, January 23, 2017
Book Review: THE FORLORNED by Angela J. Townsend
Title: The Forlorned
Author: Angela J. Townsend
Category/Genre: Adult Horror
My Star Rating: 4/5
Goodreads blurb:
When Tom Doherty first laid eyes on the lighthouse he knew it was damned.
An advertisement lured him to the island, offering a job renovating the old lighthouse and ramshackle buildings. What he didn't know was that he was the only applicant. None of the locals wanted the job – no one dared.
Isolated and alone, Tom soon discovers why. Messages from disembodied voices; ghostly visitations and escalating horrors draw Tom deeper into the island's evil past—a darkness that forces Tom to unbury the truth and bring demons of his own into the light.
My Review:
This book's premise was down right enticing to me. Pirates, curses and ghosties, oh my! An exciting and thrilling read, The Forlorned is action packed and will keep you on the edge of your seat. Personally, I wouldn't categorize it as horror; I'd put it more toward the paranormal genre. Everything unfolds exactly as I imagined a haunting would in an old lighthouse damned by spirits of the past. The main characters were endearing and had great backstories to put them right where they should be for the story to take off. That said, the dialogue was pretty far from believable. It felt scripted at best, forced at worst. The romance didn't work for me, either. In fact, I think the book would've gotten along just fine with out the girl. She didn't add much to the story line, in my opinion.
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