09 March 2015

Teaser Blitz: This Much Space (Twelve Beats an a Bar #2) by K.K. Hendin

This Much Space (Twelve Beats an a Bar #2)
by K.K. Hendin.
Audience/Genre: New Adult, Contemporary Romance.
Publication: March 16th 2015 by K.K. Hendin.
Olivia is Anna Wintour’s worst nightmare, and she doesn’t give a shit. She’s wanted to go into fashion design her whole life, and nothing is going to stop her fabulous plus sized self. Not even her boss from hell, or the fact that she’s the fat Cinderella of the most exclusive lingerie store in Bushwick, Ohio. She’s sworn off dating, because she is focused, dammit, and will not get distracted by anyone in college. She has shit to do and places to go, be it on her own with the clothing she makes, or with the girls in Twelve Beats In A Bar, the all-female a cappella group she’s part of.

Why do group projects always have to ruin everything?

Thierry Acosta has it all. Shortstop on Bushwick University’s baseball team, amazing grades in college, everything he could want. When he gets paired with Olivia for a group project, things are only getting better. And then his dad loses his job, and Thierry’s life falls apart. He can’t manage to get himself to practice, to class… anywhere. He’s got the scars on his wrists to prove that this has happened before, but he thought he was better. He thought he could deal with something like this. The cuts on his thighs say otherwise.

Before they know it, Olivia and Thierry’s relationship has gone from casual project partners to not-so-casual more-than-friends. But when things take a turn for the worse, can they face the growing reality of a relationship that’s become much serious than either of them expected - or wanted?

I walk back to campus—the weather’s only moderately terrible, and the longer it takes for me to get back, the more time I have to calm down.
Zena’s sprawled on her bed when I finally make my way back to the dorm, nose frozen and toes cold. “Do you wanna build a snowman?” she sings as I walk in.
“Go away, Anna.”
“Nah. Don’t feel like it.” She hops off the bed and pads over to her closet. “We’re going out tonight.”
“Who’s we?” I don’t want to go anywhere tonight. All I want to do is curl up in bed with Veronica Mars and hot cocoa and think of terrible ways to kill Loraine. And sketching. Maybe some sewing. Nothing that involves socializing with anyone outside the room. There’s no Beats practice tonight—it’s the first week back from winter break, and everyone’s still settling back into routine.
“Oliviaaaaaa. You promised me that you’d come with me.”
“I have no recollection of that ever happening.”
“Shut up, yes you do. Remember? I told you that Sigma Theta was having a post-Christmas party tonight and that David was going to be there.”
David Gallagher, the star of all Zena’s fantasies. A baseball player—cute, I guess, but not really my type. A little to Abercrombie and Fitch for my taste. But he’s Zena’s type, if her crushing on him for the past few months is any indication. He’s newly single, if the rumor mills are right, and Zena’s been dying to, um, casually bump into him.
Who am I to stand in the way of true love? Or a really good one night stand?
“Ugh, fine. What time is this thing?”
“Another few hours. I’m going to shower—can you do my hair?”
“Sure.” I lie back down on my bed. “I’m taking a nap until you get out of the shower.”
“Sweet dreams.” Zena practically bounces to the bathroom. I close my eyes and start going through the list of popular and creative ways of killing someone. Getting crushed by elephants. Being shot out of a cannon. Being buried alive. Being boiled to death. Decapitation. Sneaking peanut butter into food of someone who’s deathly allergic. Hiding a toaster oven in a Jacuzzi. Axing with a pendulum. Pushing someone out of—
“I’m back!” Zena pokes me on the shoulder. “You didn’t look like you were sleeping.”
“Nah, just spacing out.” I climb out of bed. “What look are you going for tonight?”
“Sexy, subtle, oh hey I almost forgot there was a party today I just threw on whatever.”
“Gotcha. Anything else I should know?”
“I’m feeling a little bloated.”
“Okay. All the stuff is out?”
“Your whole box.”
Zena’s true to her word—she’s taken out my box of hair stuff—all the blow dryers and irons are laid out on the table, along with four different brushes and a handful of clips.
“Whatever you’re in the mood for,” Zena says. “The iPod speakers are out, too.”
“You are the best assistant.” I switch on Playlist Four, and turn the volume up.
“Does it count as an assistant if I’m the one whose hair you’re doing?”
“Yeah, why not?”
I wiggle to the beat of Iggy Azalea singing about how fancy she is, and start on Zena’s hair. Half an hour and two quick spritzes of hairspray later, I lean back. “Go check it out.”
Zena turns around to look in the mirror. “It’s perfect, Liv.” She gives me a quick hug. “You are a fucking magician.”
I laugh. “Hayley calls me a fairy godmother.”
“Oh my God, she’s right! You totally are!”
“Bippity boppity boo, motherfucker.”
Zena bursts into giggles. “You’re crazy.”
“That I am.” I grab my shower stuff and head to the bathroom. “I’ll be out soon.”
The hot water’s working tonight, so I take my time. Leisurely shaving parts of me that nobody’s going to see tonight, but what the hell and why not? I’m all pruney when I finally get out of the shower, and I could not be more happy about it all. Honeysuckle lotion out, and I massage it on my legs. Cocoa butter for the stretch marks, not that it works, or anything. But it smells good, so why not? I stare at my naked body in the mirror, and take it all in. Stretch marks on the sides of my boobs and fanning from my hips—not from babies or growth spurts, but from fat. My boobs are nowhere near as perky as Mama Barbie’s today, but mine are real and heavy and hers are silicone. Double chin, kind of, but no biggie. Damn, random hair. Tweeze and random hair is no more. My toenails are a deep red, not that anyone really sees them other than me. My fingernails are the same red, with silver designs because I got bored. Gonna put on some fake lashes for the evening, because if I’m going to this damn party, I’m going to look fucking amazing.
Swear to God, only the photoshopped look good naked.
I wrap myself up in my bathrobe, and give myself a cheesy thumbs up. “You’re a hot motherfucker, Olivia Vieth.”
“Yes you are!” Zena yells from the room.
I laugh, knowing full well that she was going to overhear me.
“What kind of party is this?” I ask, leaving the warm steam of the bathroom and heading to my hair things.
“Like a post-Christmas thing. Not super fancy, but kind of fancy.”
“Okay. Anyone going that I should know about? Besides David?”
“Not that I know of. The usual Sigma Theta people.”
I roll my eyes. So, a group that includes some Grade-A assholes. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“I know.”
“Wear the green. It brings out your eyes.”
“Will do.” Zena pulls said green dress out of the closet. “Don’t let me get too drunk tonight, okay? I don’t want to make too much of an idiot of myself in front of the baseball guys.”
“No problem.” I couldn’t give much of a crap about the baseball guys, but I’m good with making sure that people don’t get too drunk. Alcohol’s never really been my thing, so I always end up being the designated driver or whatever. Parties are a bit different when you’re the only sober one, but there are a lot of times when they tend to be a hell of a lot more amusing. And make for some pretty kickass blackmail.
“Goddammit, Olivia, why do you always have to look so fucking amazing?”
I grin as I step into my shoes. “I’m glad you think so.”
“If I was a lesbian, I’d totally do you.”
“I’d probably crush you and your little bones.”
Zena buttons up her coat and shrugs. “I’d risk it.”
“Crazy girl.”
“Glamour queen,” she shoots back.
I take one last look in the mirror. Modified Old Hollywood tonight, and damn if I say that I do actually look fucking amazing. I made my own dress because finding a dress when you’re the size I am is practically impossible, and anyway, most of the plus-sized stuff is crap. Man-killer heels, and enough wire in my bra to pretend that my boobs are actually perky.
“As I’ll ever be.” I give my wrists a quick spritz of perfume, shrug on my coat, and grab my phone. “Shall we?”
“Indeedy we shall,” Zena puts on some ridiculous, over the top British accent, and giggles her way out of the room.

KK Hendin's real life ambition is to become a pink fluffy unicorn who dances with rainbows. But the schooling for that is all sorts of complicated, so until that gets sorted out, she'll just write. Preferably things with angst and love. And things that require chocolate.
She spends way too much time on Twitter, and rambles on occasion over at www.kkhendinwrites.blogspot.com.

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