Showing posts with label cheyanne. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cheyanne. Show all posts

Monday, March 9, 2015

Book Blitz + Giveaway: Motocross Me by Cheyanne Young


Motocross Me
by Cheyanne Young
Release Date: June 4th 2013
Genres: Romance, Young Adult
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Synopsis:

When Hana Fisher moves to the small town of Mixon, Texas to live with her dad, she dreads having to work at the boring pile of dirt he fondly calls a motocross track. But when she gets there, she finds the rinky-dink dirt bike track from her childhood has grown into the most respected racing track in the state.

Now popular by association, Hana endures the pain and sweat of working in the summer heat in order to fit in with a sport she’s growing to love. She gets a real family, a best friend and not just one, but two of the fastest racers trying to win her heart.

When Hana abuses her status as the track owner’s daughter to help the gorgeous Ryan Russo cheat in the biggest race of the year, she risks more than just losing her job. Every good thing in her life is at stake now- her friends, her dad’s trust, and Ash Carter- the kind-hearted racer who may not be as alluring as Ryan, but is proof that nice guys don’t always finish last.


Just because they’re the two fastest two-fifty Pro riders in Texas, doesn’t mean they have a reason to hate each other. I promise myself I’ll find out the big secret that Shelby doesn’t know. I’ll find it and I’ll fix it. But when I see Ryan, all thoughts of anything remotely comprehensible drift out of my mind like a message in a bottle, tossed out to sea.
He’s on the tailgate of his truck, slouched over with his elbows on his knees, staring at the ground and breathing heavily. A half-empty bottle of lemon-lime Gatorade teeters in his hand. Sweat rolls off his hair in all directions – down his ear, through his bangs, and probably down the back of his neck though I can’t see that far. It’s amazing how something as gross as sweat can be so gorgeous sparkling in the sunlight on a sculpted, beautiful, and extremely talented body.
I have to stop thinking in metaphors, or my heart might share the fate of an over-inflated water balloon. There I go again. I slow my steps so as not to seem eager, and approach him with as much apathy as I can gather in my weakened state of mind. Apathy is, after all, one of my more prominent talents. 
“Hey there,” I say, hands in my front pockets. Ryan looks up and sweat rolls down his temples like water. For something with no body fat, how was that much sweat coming out of his head?
“Hey.” He shuffles to the left and taps his hand on the spot next to him. The tailgate is as high as my neck so there is no way I can climb up there. He sees my hesitation and grins.
“Put your foot on the tire and grab my hand and I’ll pull you up.”
I do as he says, and when my foot is on the tire I grab onto the side of the truck and reach for his hand. In one swift motion he pulls me onto the tailgate like how Wesley saved Buttercup from harm in the Fire Swamp. There may not be any Rodents of Unusual Size under Ryan’s truck, but it’s fun to daydream.
My legs swing freely below me. I need to say something clever that will show off my intellect and charm, or at least make it seem like I have some. Ryan gulps the rest of his Gatorade and tosses the bottle on the ground.
“So what kind of gas mileage do you get with this thing?” I ask.
He laughs. All of my careful conversation planning, and he laughs.
“If you really want to know, I get about ten miles to the gallon with these tires.”
He leaps off the tailgate, grabs the empty bottle and tosses it in a blue plastic trashcan. Then he comes back to his truck and unzips a large duffle bag full of clothing and extra riding gear.
“Sometimes it’ll get up to twelve.” He chooses a white t-shirt from the bag.
“That must get really expensive.”
“I can afford it.” He grins, removing his jersey in a quick motion. My heart stops and a chill runs through my body. I curse myself for wasting sixteen years of life never noticing how gorgeous a man’s chest can be. How could I have been missing out on this? But then again, I’ve never seen one this close. With the t-shirt still in his hand, he stands in front of me on the ground, letting his eyes meet mine. I’m so high in the air, I can probably see over the top of his head if I dared to look away from his shirtless torso, but that isn’t a dare I want to make.
“Girls ask a lot of questions about my truck but that my dear, is never one of them.”
“Well, maybe I’m just not that kind of girl.” Girls ask him about his truck? Way to be original, Hana.
 “And what kind of girl are you?” He keeps the shirt in his hand and put his elbows on the tailgate on either side of me. My stomach does a somersault.
“Whatever kind of girl you want me to be,” I say. It’s lame and cliché, but it feels like something a guy like Ryan would want to hear.
He’s close to me. Really close. Closer than a guy has ever been to me. He is still shirtless. Does he want me to feel this uncomfortable and intimidated? Do I want him to? My heart is no longer dead; it is, in fact, beating faster and louder than it has in that whole semester I took of cross country running.
He curls out his bottom lip and peers into my eyes. We are so close now I’m afraid to breathe. My heart thumps and my brain is a blurred frenzy trying to make coherent thoughts from the electrical currents shooting through my veins.
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” He leans closer to me. “I really like your little good girl image.”
His lips hover inches from mine. I brace for him to kiss me. He backs away and puts on the shirt. I sigh with force of the breath I had been holding. Ryan notices. How freaking mortifying. At least it’s dusk and the sun is setting in on us because my cheeks burn with the fury of a thousand suns. What if he wasn’t about to kiss me and I just thought he was and now he thinks I’m a loser?
He straightens the shirt over his abs and reaches up to help me jump down. My feet hit the ground and a little poof of dirt covers my shoes. His arms slip around my waist and pulls me straight into him. We kiss. Right on the lips.
And we’re still kissing.
KISSING.

His hands let go of me and his lips tear away from mine. I think he says something but I don’t know. All I know is I just got my second ever kiss and this time, it wasn’t from a lanky kid with braces.






· Cruise – Florida Georgia Line

· Hey Stephen by Taylor Swift (This song reminds me of how Hana chases after Ryan.)

· Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want – The Smiths

· Your Love Is My Drug - Kesha

· Shake It – Metro Station (A good hanging out at the motocross track song)

· All Your Life – The Band Perry (The line about fireflies inspired the firefly scene with Ash <3)

· Saying Sorry – Hawthorne Heights

· The Highway Don't Care – Tim McGraw & Taylor Swift (Her going away to college song)

· That's What I'm Here for – Jason Castro (This song is for the last chapter)

· We Will Rock You by Queen – The perfect racing song. We used to listen to this while driving to the motocross track every Sunday

· Let it Rock by Kevin Rudolf – A great pump-up song before the races.

· The Distance by Cake – Another great song about racing.

· All Your Life – The Band Perry – The line about fireflies inspired the firefly scene with Ash <3



Cheyanne is a native Texan with a fear of cold weather and a coffee addiction that probably needs an intervention. She loves books, sarcasm, nail polish and paid holidays. She lives near the beach with her family, one spoiled rotten puppy and a cat that is plotting to take over the world, one scratched up welcome mat at a time.

She's a cubicle dweller and all around sarcastic weirdo by day. But at night, Cheyanne can be found furiously typing on her computer, probably complaining on Twitter about how she should be writing. When she's not honing her procrastination skills, she's writing books for teenagers. She is the author of several books for teens and recently turned her love of superheroes and writing for teens into books about teenage superheroes. POWERED is her first superhero book but it won't be her last. Because POWERED is a trilogy. Duh.
Want to get an email when my next book is released? Sign up here: https://tinyletter.com/CheyanneYoung



Win (1) ebook copy of Motocross Me by Cheyanne Young (INT)


Blitz-wide giveaway (US/CAN):

A signed paperback
Dirt bike necklace
Swag
$10 Amazon gift card




Monday, October 6, 2014

Book Blitz + Giveaway: Summer Alone (Summer Alone #1) by Amy Sparling


Summer Alone (Summer Alone #1)
Publisher: 336Love
Release Date: October 1st 2014
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Synopsis: 

From the best selling author of Summer Unplugged, comes a new series set in the same world. Becca's senior year of high school is approaching and she's tired of being the dorky best friend. Determined to reinvent herself with help from Bayleigh, she plans to spend the summer breaking out of her shell. When Bayleigh gets grounded and sent away for three months, Becca's plans come crashing down before they've even started.

Now Becca is alone and can't even talk to Bayleigh on the phone. Not wanting to miss out on the summer before senior year, she takes a job at the local indoor BMX track. The job is fun, her boss is laid back, and the place is packed with hot guys. One of them just might have a crush on her. This may be a summer without her best friend, but it doesn't mean she'll have to spend the summer alone.

Part 1 of a 4 part novella series.


SUMMER ALONE
by Amy Sparling
- Part One -


It’s the first day of summer and I’m sitting in my bedroom, still wearing pajamas. It’s pretty much where I can be found any time I’m not in school. If there’s one thing to know about me, it’s the one thing everyone knows about me: My name is Becca Sosa and I am a loser. Or in the words of Trey Sheppard at the senior’s party last week, I am a lame-o dork-o.

I hate insults like that. The ones that are said behind your back, directed to other people as you walk by. The insults you weren’t prepared to hear because the people who say them—Trey Sheppard—are usually nice to your face. It’s one thing to call someone an asshole if they are being an asshole; that’s a trait you have control over, something you can choose to be or not to be. Like when my best friend Bayleigh accidently dropped a piece of popcorn and it fell on her little brother’s head and he got all confused about it. Then she kept tossing popcorn at him all night, just to mess with him. I told her she was a jerk for doing it. That’s an insult that was deserved, even though she thought it was hilarious.
But lame-o dork-o? I didn’t set out to become the lamest, dorkiest person in the city of Lawson. It’s not like I was intentional about it. Besides, I’m normal. I’m not dorky. I don’t wear thick-rimmed glasses with tape holding them together, or suspenders or orthodontic headgear or something like that. That’s why those are the worst insults. Being made fun of for something that’s just…just you.
The sad thing is that I didn’t realize there were people who thought of me that way. Sure, when your best friend is crazy beautiful and wild in the best way and makes friends everywhere, you kind of expect to be known as the less popular one out of the two of you. But I guess I hadn’t realized how low I actually was on the popularity totem pole.
Bayleigh has always been more popular and more outgoing than me. She’s had boyfriends since we were in sixth grade, back when having a boyfriend meant holding hands before and after school and telling everyone you had kissed when really you hadn’t.
But even with the drastic differences in our personalities and likeability factor at school, Bayleigh has always stuck by me. We met at a daycare when we were four years old, during a time when my stay at home mother had temporarily gotten a job to help pay for Grandma’s nursing home. Bayleigh and I were instant best friends, according to our mothers, and even though I only had to go to that daycare for four months, our moms exchanged phone numbers and we stayed best friends with play dates and sleepovers. I really owe a lot to Bayleigh. She’s the world’s greatest best friend.



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In case you didn't know, Amy isn't my real name. It's a pen name I use to publish books and novellas for teens that have a romantic theme. My real name is Cheyanne Young and I also publish YA books under that name, but they are usually in different genres and for older age groups.

I chose the name Amy Sparling when I independently published my first book, Deadbeat. I wasn't sure if I would keep the pen name at first--I wasn't even sure if I'd keep publishing. But I got incredibly lucky and found a group of young adults who loved my stories and kept asking for more. You guys seriously have made my writing hobby into the greatest part of my life. I will continue writing books under this name as well as publishing books of a different nature under my real name.

If you'd like to be the first to know about new book releases, sign up for my mailing list.





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