Sawyer Bennett's Blog, page 6

Cold Fury fans, do not despair! While there may not be any additional Cold Fury books on the calendar (and that does NOT mean the series is done), I promise you are going to LOVE the Arizona Vengeance!

Think about the reasons you love the Cold Fury. They are all the same reasons you’ll love the Arizona Vengeance…and then some:

➜ Those Cold Fury hunks are such sexy alphas. The Arizona Vengeance is packed full of alphas! And while the Vengeance books will be dual POV, there is a larger emphasis on the male POV (a ratio of about 3 to 1).



➜ I love the drama (and sometimes lack of) found in the Cold Fury. You want drama? I’ve got your drama. While Bishop is a fun, fake engagement story, there will be no shortage of drama in your Vengeance future (think situational drama, as opposed to drama between characters).



➜ I enjoy the heat the Cold Fury brings. You’ll get heat, but it’ll be turned up a notch or two. The Vengeance will burn just a little hotter than the Cold Fury, which is never a bad thing!



➜ I love the hockey. Then lucky for you, not only is there still hockey, there is more hockey! I’ll take time to focus a little more on the ice time in the Vengeance series.

The puck drops soon, so grab your seat! The Arizona Vengeance hit the ice on August 14 with the release of Bishop (Book #1). 

Read chapter one of Bishop (Book #1): https://sawyerbennett.com/2018/08/01/read-chapter-one-of-bishop/

#preorder Bishop (Book #1): https://sawyerbennett.com/bookstore/bishop-arizona-vengeance-book-1/

See the other books coming in the Arizona Vengeance series: https://sawyerbennett.com/bookstore/the-arizona-vengeance-series/

The post Like the Cold Fury? You’ll LOVE the Arizona Vengeance! appeared first on Sawyer Bennett.

Chapter 1

I see her and it’s all over for me.

At least for tonight, anyway.

“I’ll be back,” I mutter to Dax as I push away from the bar, snagging my beer at the last second.

Shouldering my way through the crowd filled with twenty-something yuppies here to take advantage of the last few minutes of happy hour, I keep my eyes locked on her. How could I not, when those full, wet lips wrap around a straw sticking out of her fruity-looking cocktail, prompting wild images of those same lips wrapping around my cock.

Before I can reach her, another man—who I’m sure is having the same lewd thoughts as I am—steps up to her and blocks my view. An involuntary growl rolls up out of my chest and I grip my beer bottle harder than necessary. More images swamp my brain and I can see myself cracking the bottle over the fucker’s head. I figure at that point I’ll just drag her off to my lair like a caveman.

“No, thank you,” I hear her say as I pass behind her.

“You’re going to turn down a free drink?” the man asks incredulously.

“I can buy my own drinks,” she purrs at him before taking another long pull from her straw. Her cheeks hollow slightly and my dick twitches.

Stepping to her other side, I set my beer on the bar and lean an elbow right beside it. Her neck twists and her gaze locks with mine. Fuck me but those eyes are incredible—a golden color that I’d noticed earlier from across the bar. Even in the soft light provided mostly by neon beer signs, they almost glowed. I noticed that along with her gloriously long chocolate-colored hair as it flowed down her bare back revealed by her sexy halter top. Long-ass legs and curves everywhere. Tits, hips, ass—all fucking spectacular.

The original plan had been to buy her a drink too, but that’s clearly not the way to this woman’s heart.

“What can I offer you besides a drink that would get you to talk to me?” I ask her.

The man on the other side of her snorts, but apparently my honest question has some merit. She tilts her head, studying me for a moment before she replies, “Read any good books lately?”

Well, fuck. I’m not much of a reader.

I shake my head with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Not my thing.”

“I just finished a reread of The Count of Monte Crisco,” the other guy says, moving in closer to her. I’m gratified by the humor that flashes in her eyes before she twists her neck the other way to give him her attention.

I see an opening and make my move. Staring over the back of her head at him, I correct his slip of words. “It’s The Count of Monte Cristo.”

The gorgeous woman whom I am bound and determined to take home tonight turns right back my way. My eyes drop and I grin at her. “I read it in high school. I have a good memory, so we could talk about that if you want.”

“I meant Monte Cristo,” the man blurts out almost frantically, but she doesn’t look back his way.

Instead, she holds out a perfectly manicured hand to me. “I’m Brooke.”

“Bishop,” I return as I shake her hand. I have an inherent sense that she would not be charmed if I kissed it.

To give the other dude credit, he knows this is defeat and melts away into the crowd.

Motioning to the stool beside her, I ask, “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest,” she says sweetly, swiveling slightly to face me. She uncrosses her legs and recrosses them, not even bothering to pull down her scandalously high-riding skirt. It’s black with shiny silver threaded through, and the silvery top she’s wearing displays a set of fantastic tits. I noticed them when I first saw her, but since coming to stand beside her, I’ve kept my eyes meticulously locked on her face. She knows they look phenomenal and that I’ve already looked.

“Are you here by yourself?” I ask her, because while not totally unusual, most women dressed like that come out in packs for a night of fun on the town.

“I was actually meeting a coworker here tonight, but she texted me just a few moments ago that something came up and she can’t make it.”

That works for me.

“Gotcha,” I say as I pick up my beer and hold it up to her. “Then hopefully I can keep you well entertained in her absence. So what did you think about The Count of Monte Cristo?”

Brooke laughs and picks up her drink, tapping it to my bottle. “Actually, I’m not big into the classics. I’m more of a fashion magazine kind of girl.”

The fashion thing I get right away. I’ve dated enough women and paid for enough designer bags and shoes to know that Brooke is very much into high-quality retail. However, her refusal to let a man buy her a drink tells me she’s also independent, so she may not be into a man buying her those things.

Honestly, I wasn’t into it either—buying someone I was dating something expensive. I did it, I guess, as sort of a thank-you, and it was something they’d wanted. I did it knowing exactly what it meant to them. The women I date—and that most professional athletes date—are in it for the lavish lifestyle I can provide, with even grander hopes it could be a permanent thing one day.

It’s just the way it is.

“So what does this fashion magazine kind of girl do for a living?” I ask her, getting settled into the type of conversation that I hope will spark enough of a connection that I’ll be fucking her later.

Her smile is neither coy nor flirty, but as direct as her gaze. “I do event planning. What about you?”

“Sounds exciting,” I say, having no goddamn clue what that even means.

She shrugs. “That remains to be seen. I just relocated out here.”

Funny. So did I.

Now would be a good time for me to wow and amaze this woman with the fact that I’m a professional hockey player and I just moved here to join the newly franchised team, the Arizona Vengeance. And you know, if it puts her in my bed all the more quicker, so fucking be it.

I shoot a quick glance down the bar where I’d left Dax, my teammate who joined me here in Phoenix direct from our positions with the New York Vipers. The Vengeance is the first team that’s been added to the league in eighteen years and I’m not overly thrilled to be here. This year the Vipers are poised to give the Carolina Cold Fury a solid run for their money for the championship, and now suddenly to be moved out west to an expansion team has not made me happy. It’s why a night fucking my brains out with this gorgeous creature would be a great way to end my summer vacation before training camp starts tomorrow.

Dax is talking to a woman—leaning intimately close—and I’m guessing he’s going to be getting lucky tonight. My eyes come back to Brooke, and I decide to leverage my star status to move things along. If my gut is right about this sexy-as-fuck lady, it’s going to be a long night.

Before I can even tell her about how I’m a hot-as-shit right winger, she leans into me and places a hand on my thigh. “Bishop?”

I swallow hard, frozen by the softly suggestive tone in her voice and because her eyes seem to glow golden as she stares at me. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to be honest,” she murmurs from way down deep in her throat. “I came out tonight looking to have some fun. I’m homesick and out of sorts, and don’t know anyone around here other than a coworker I met today and who stood me up. I’ve had three of these daiquiris and I’m feeling frisky. Do you have any interest in getting out of here?”

Jesus fucking Christ. I just scored the jackpot of all jackpots. The absolute most gorgeous, hottest woman in this place tonight and I didn’t even put forth an ounce of effort other than to remember The Count of Monte Cristo. My eyes cut to her drink glass. “Three of those?”

“I’m not drunk,” she says as she starts to pull her hand away.

My hand clamps down on to hers, holding it tight to my thigh. My muscles leap under her touch. “Didn’t say you were, and I figure I’ll know soon enough when you get off that stool and start to walk. Just want to make sure you don’t wake up with regrets.”

She appears to be fine. Her speech is clear and our conversation was quick and natural. Some women would be blitzed on three drinks. Others wouldn’t be affected that much.

“I never have regrets,” she tells me while lifting her chin.

I stare at her a moment, gauging the truth in her words and the way she holds my gaze without blinking. There is nothing I want more in this moment than to go home with this woman and make her come over and over again.

But more than that, for some reason I just don’t want her to regret it.

Finally, I give her hand a short squeeze as I stand up from my stool. I help her alight from hers. “Let’s get out of here. Just need to let my buddy know I’m leaving and then I’m all yours for the rest of the night.”

“Perfect,” she says, flashing me a blinding grin in return. Christ, those teeth are as perfect as the rest of her. Can’t wait to feel them scrape down my cock, because I sure as hell plan on using my teeth on her.

Biting down on my lower lip—hoping the pain will stop me from coming—I grab hold of Brooke’s hips and try to slow her motion as she rides me.

I have to admit, I was genuinely confused as to what type of lover Brooke would be. She propositioned me in the bar and didn’t bat an eye when I suggested her place rather than mine since Dax is my roommate and he called dibs on our apartment when I told him I was leaving.

But in my car, she shyly said she didn’t have any condoms and we’d have to make a stop. I wasn’t chagrined when I told her I was covered, because what self-respecting single dude doesn’t go out prepared?

Turns out, her boldness in seeking a one-night stand didn’t strictly translate into the bedroom. She was borderline timid at first when we first started making out, but by the time we were naked, she was grinding down onto my fingers as she came for the first time. Brooke yanked hard on my hair as she groaned out a primal release and demanded, “I want that again.”

So I attacked her clit, this time with my mouth, while my fingers worked at her slippery pussy. She fucking tasted amazing, and the sounds I pulled out of her were even better.

Before I could get her off a second time, she pushed me away and demanded I get on my back. Within moments she had my cock sheathed with a condom and was riding me hard.

And as much as I know it’s going to feel spectacular when I blow my load, I don’t want it to come—no pun intended—from her efforts.

Not this time, anyway.

I want to be the one to make her come a second time, and the way she’s bouncing on my dick with her fingers furiously rubbing herself between her legs, while hot as fuck, takes away my power and control.

The muscles in my arms, chest, and back contract hard as I lift her off me. I ignore her hollow cry of surprise, followed by a whine because I took that orgasm away from her, and flip her onto her stomach. My hand dives between her legs and I give her two fingers.

Christ, she’s so fucking wet and responsive.

Moving into place and covering her from behind, I pull her up to her hands and knees before thrusting back inside of her. Brooke screams at the invasion, my cock burrowing in deep as fuck. She arches her back, tossing her head, and that soft hair I’ve been itching to fist floats across her back.

She moves slightly and one shoulder drops. Brooke gasps and I lean slightly to the left, not for one second forsaking the pounding I’m giving her.

“Uh-uh-uh,” I gently chastise her before giving her a sharp slap to her ass. “Get your fingers away from that sweet clit.”

She groans and drops her hand so it flattens out on the mattress. Her immediate submission to my demand causes my balls to tighten, and I wonder what else I can get away with. Bringing my hands to her hips, I start riding her rough. She throws an arm out, palm now splayed on her headboard as she braces against me.

“I’m so close,” she pants.

“Give it to me, Brooke,” I mutter as I lean over her, bringing a hand to the headboard. I grip it tight and use the leverage to throw myself into her. Sweat drips down my temple, lands on a perfect ass cheek still red with my handprint.

“Oh God,” she moans. “Oh God.”

Crazed with the need to come, my balls feeling like their boiling, I bite down on my lip again to hold off. Got to get her there first.

“Come on, baby,” I urge her, resisting the call of her clit. I could give it a slight pinch to get her to shatter, but I’ve never been about the easy way.

“Bishop,” she groans as I pound into her so fast my balls start to hurt from the motion. “Bishop.”

I use my thumbs to pull Brooke’s ass cheeks apart. I watch my cock hammering in and out of her, and I decide to give her something else to scream about.

My finger is still wet from her juices, so I press my index finger to the sweet rim of her ass. Brooke sucks in air and lets out a keening cry as I push my finger in deep.

She fucking explodes, both her pussy and her ass rippling and contracting all around me.

My balls unleash. I come so hard my eyes roll into the back of my head. I pull my cock out, shove it back in hard, and curl my finger. “F-u-u-u-u-c-k.”

Sweet, motherfucking waves of pleasure rage through my body, so powerful I feel dizzy.

I have a goddamn full-body orgasm that rips me apart.

Brooke continues to moan, rotating her hips as her orgasm seems to go on and on and on.

“Jesus,” I groan in both repletion and stunned surprise over whatever the fuck that just was. Her body starts to sag under mine, and I let my weight come down onto her slowly. I leave my cock tucked in place but gently slide my finger out of her, rolling us both to our sides. My arms wrap around her stomach and we lie in silence as we start to come back down to earth.

That was fucking incredible.

The night’s not over yet, but it’s going to go down as the best one-night stand I’ve ever had in my life, and I seriously doubt it can be topped.

The post Read Chapter One of Bishop (Arizona Vengeance, Book 1) Now! appeared first on Sawyer Bennett.

ROMANCE READERS! Wondering if you should give ATTICUS a try? I sat down to chat with Ana Ivies from Ana’s Attic Book Reviews about why SHE enjoyed ATTICUS enough to give it a 5++++ star review. See her answers below!

SB: Atticus is hard to fit in a certain genre. It’s got some women’s fiction elements and it’s geared for dog lovers, but it’s definitely not your typical romance. Why did you decide to give this book a try?

Ana: Sawyer Bennett. I feel like that’s saying enough! But honestly, I trusted that Sawyer Bennett would do right by her readers. I was also looking for something a little different. It’s great to take a break and read something a little different than the norm sometimes.

SB: As a romance blogger, how would you convince romance readers to take a chance on a book like Atticus, that’s not necessarily built around a romance between a man and a woman?

Ana: I have actually been surprised that this wasn’t number one on Amazon this week. It reads like a romance, even if in a way, most of the “romance” is between a dog and it’s owner, there is so much more. It’s about love and friendship and growth and realizing your potential. And there is an awesome little romance in the end.

I have to admit, it’s also really nice to have a few non-smutty reads in my pocket for people who aren’t into that. I love that I can recommend it to anyone, and even read some to my son.

SB: What is the single biggest thing about Atticus that you think will appeal to romance readers?

Ana: First of all, if you are a romance reader who loves dogs (or cat lovers can relate too I think), you NEED to read this. Atticus was an awesome book dogfriend. You will still get all the feels you get with a romance, it’s just a unique and fun twist.

SB: Now, there is a romance in this book although it doesn’t start to develop until later on in the story. What about Jack and Hazel’s relationship made you swoon?

Ana: Dammit! I went back to find a quote that would show the swooniness of Jack and I now have bittersweet tears running down my face again! I couldn’t really find one quote that did him justice though. He was just a rock. He was there for HER. He waited until SHE was ready. I loved that they bonded over dogs and he loved them as much as she.

SB: This book caused you some tears. Knowing that, why do you think readers should still give it a try?

Ana: OMG the tears mean this book made me FEEL! As a rule, I try not to read ugly cry books. I am an emotional person to begin with, so I cry at happy endings. That’s usually enough tears for me. But while Atticus had some sad, it helped complete the story and solidify Hazel’s growth and readiness to have Jack in her life. They were bittersweet tears. Most of the book is warm and happy and loving. Show SpoilerI want to assure you, that my tears were NOT for a dog dying.

Ana and I had such a great time with these questions that she had some follow-up questions…for Atticus! To read the rest of the interview, see the post at Ana’s Attic Book Blog!! 

The post Chatting with Ana’s Attic Book Blog about ATTICUS!! appeared first on Sawyer Bennett.

Atticus

Things were fuzzy when I first came into the world. I remember a lot of scrambling and sometimes fighting to get at my mama’s teat, but there was always enough room once we settled into our respective places and I never went hungry. It seems in those early days all I did was eat, sleep, poop, and pee. It was an easy life, but not very exciting.

I’m a curious sort of pup by nature, unlike my brothers and sisters. They’re happy just wrestling around with each other or chewing on toys. I like to watch things.

Intensely observe the actions of others. Skillfully smell the air for the scents that help me to understand my world. I like to taste things, and the new grownup puppy food we started eating a few weeks ago is delicious.

I’m what you call a Bernese Mountain Dog. I’m not quite sure what I look like, but if I had to judge by my brothers and sisters, I’d say I’m black, brown, white, and really fluffy. Our owners are what you call breeders. My mama and daddy make baby puppies, and then people buy us.

Lately, people have been coming by to look at us. Prior to such an event, me and my siblings are brought out one by one to an outdoor bathtub where we are scrubbed with warm water and sweet-smelling soap. We’re then toweled off before being placed into a makeshift outdoor pen made of interlocking panels. There we dry in the sun and chew on blades of grass or each other’s tails. When the people come to look, we preen and act silly and look our adorable best.

If we’re one of the lucky pups, people will ask to hold us. Our owners will pull us out of our little pen, then we get to play with people and get belly rubs. They exclaim over how cute we are and even if we’re not chosen, there’s a general air of excitement buzzing through the rest of us while we watch from our pen.

This is one such day. We’re all bathed and smelling like flowers. It’s chilly out, so our man owner pulled one of the cars outside of his big, two-car garage, and set up the pen beside the remaining car. He then opened the big door for the people to come look.

Because I’m always aware of my surroundings, it doesn’t take me long to notice that one of the panels on the cage isn’t fully locked, and there’s a tiny gap at the bottom. While the other pups do somersaults and put their front paws on top of the cage to get the people’s attention, I nudge my nose through the tiny opening.

Next my head.

Wiggle a bit to get my shoulders through.

Then it seems I’m sort of squirted through to the other side.

I look over my shoulder. All my sibs are still trying to get the people’s attention and acting very foolish in my opinion.

I’m suddenly intrigued by a smoky sort of smell that’s coming from somewhere outside the garage. I scramble underneath the car, then belly crawl quite stealthily to the other side. Without a moment’s hesitation, I dash out and into what I call the big world. The minute the soft pads of my paws hit the crispy brown grass, a rush of jubilation over takes me.

I submit for a moment to the unmitigated exhilaration of freedom, running around in a tight circle for a few laps before flopping to my belly. The grass pricks at my skin because my fur isn’t very thick there yet, and I hang out for a bit while watching the people ooh and ahh over my siblings. Not one of them turn to look at me, but I don’t feel like I’m missing out on any important action.

The smoky smell hits my nose again, and my mouth waters. My tongue comes out and licks all around my snout as I lift my head to get a better sniff. It definitely makes me want to sneeze a bit, but there is a strong scent of some type of cooked meat underneath. I think I’ll die if I don’t get a taste of it.

It’s from somewhere—my gaze moves to the back of the property—just over there.

A thick copse of pine trees stands strong and tall. I’ve never been back there and it looks dark and a bit scary, but I feel an adventure calling me.

Plus… that smell.

It’s so delicious, and I can’t resist checking it out.

Hazel

My eyelids are sealed shut with the type of nasty gunk that a hard night of partying leaves behind. The act of rubbing them with my fingers sends sharp bolts of pain reverberating throughout my skull. I believe my tongue is glued to the top of my mouth for a moment, but it comes free with a little bit of suction.

It’s a typical Wednesday morning for me. I didn’t have to work last night which meant I partied. It’s what I do because if I don’t put myself out there, how will I ever find what I need?

I manage to blink against the morning sun coming in through the living room blinds that are so worn and twisted they’re completely nonfunctional.

Not my apartment though and since I’m essentially a freeloader, I have no right to say a word about it. I just accept that sleeping on a friend’s couch means rising early no matter how hungover I am.

After freeing my feet from the ratty old afghan Charmin’s great-grandmother or some such person crocheted, I roll slightly toward the coffee table to root around for my pack of cigarettes. The bright sun has me keeping my eyes clamped tightly shut, so I’m going by instinct alone.

Which sucks because my hand lands inside of the overflowing ashtray. I immediately jerk it backward before making another attempt, grab air for a moment, and then stick my hand right back into the pile of stale cigarette butts and powdery cinders.

Squinting at my ash-covered fingertips, I realize it’s nothing more than a metaphor for my life. Floundering around, landing in crap situations, not learning my lesson, and repeating.

Prying my eyes open further, I roll my head and zero in on the pack of cigarettes. I grab it, squeeze lightly, and determine it’s empty.

“Shit,” I mutter, tossing it down on the scarred wooden coffee table that’s littered with beer cans, a bong, and an empty bag of Doritos. I vaguely remember partying last night with a few guys from the bar.

Even more vaguely, I remember Charmin and her boyfriend Chuck coming in. They joined us for a few bong hits before they took their own personal party to the bedroom. The headboard knocking against the wall and Chuck’s oddly high-pitched yips of pleasure had me laughing so hard I was afraid I’d pee my pants.

Probably wouldn’t have been as funny if I wasn’t stoned, but any time I can laugh at Chuck behind his back is good times for me. The dude can’t stand me, and the feeling is mutual.

I push into a sitting position on the couch, intent on getting all the way up and making my way to the bathroom. My head swims and my stomach rolls, so I just slump backward against the lumpy cushion. I drag my fingers through my hair, promptly getting them caught in a mass of brittle knots before letting out an audible sigh because now I have clean fingers but cigarette soot coating my scalp.

I’m a fucking mess.

My shoulders go tense when I hear the bedroom door creak open. I know it’s the bedroom door because there are only two off the apartment’s short hallway. There’s the bathroom, which does not squeak but also does not close all the way because one of the hinges has been knocked loose.

And then there’s the bedroom. Its hinges are secure but rusted, making it sound like a screeching eagle every time the door moves. I once sprayed some PAM cooking spray on it because it was driving me nuts every time Charmin or Chuck would enter or exit their room, but that just didn’t have quite the lube power of WD-40. I wasn’t about to buy a can as my funds are limited and precious to me. I’d live with the squeak as well as the bright light in the morning.

“Hope you’re going to clean that shit up,” Chuck says as he enters the living room.

My shoulders tighten even more. I’ve been staying at Charmin’s apartment for almost three months now. It’d been a good deal for me as she was only charging me a hundred bucks a month plus half the utilities to squat on her uncomfortable couch. I couldn’t afford anything more than that and on my part-time bartender’s wages, it was a stretch as it was.

But she started dating Chuck last month, and he moved in after four days of wild, passionate, yipping sex. I have no room to judge her for pathetically latching onto the man so quickly, because I’ve been accused of doing the same. As of now, I’m on the prowl for the next Mr. Right Who Is Totally Wrong because I just do better when I have someone to help take care of me.

It’s the way it’s always been.

In fact, the three months I’ve been living at Charmin’s since my husband kicked me out of our house is the longest I’ve ever been single in my fourteen years of adulthood. I feel so very lost and yet, I’m just wise enough to know how lame that makes me.

I don’t bother giving Chuck my full attention as it’s too much effort to roll my head his way. Besides, the dude grosses me out, strutting around in his saggy boxers with his hairy stomach rolling over the waistband.

Closing my eyes, I merely point out, “You could help clean it up. You didn’t mind drinking the beer and taking hits off the bong last night.”

“Wasn’t your beer and dope, though, was it?” he replied.

Fair point. It wasn’t mine, but it was the dudes I invited over to party last night. They were only casual acquaintances from the bar but given the fact they were providing the booze and drugs, they were my bestest buds last night.

I don’t reply to Chuck. He’s the type of person who has to have the last word anyway. The man has an ego that’s overstretched and filled with a false sense of importance, meaning he’s always right.

Because it would be more painful and nauseating to attempt a civil discourse with the man, I push from the couch and suck down the bile that wells up in my throat. I never bothered to take my shoes off last night before I passed out, so I’m almost ready to roll out of here.

Once in the bathroom, I take a much-needed pee. I try to ignore my reflection in the mirror as I scrub my hands and teeth, but there’s no getting around the fact I look about as pathetic as I feel. My hair is a lank, dry mess and my roots are about three inches long, which corresponds quite nicely to the fact I haven’t been able to afford a discount box of hair color from the drugstore since my husband kicked me to the curb.

Asshole.

I try to creep my way to the front door while Chuck roots around in the refrigerator.

“Hazel,” Chuck yells as I open the front door. “You going to clean that mess up?”

“Later,” I mutter as I step over the threshold.

“Later as in you’ll clean it up later?” he presses, and I make the mistake of sliding my gaze over to him as I start to pull the door closed. I quickly snap my eyes shut, trying to block out the image of him exuberantly scratching himself between the legs.

Pivoting quickly, I call out just before I shoot out of the apartment, “I’ll clean it up later.”

Right now, I need cigarettes.

Maybe a cup of coffee.

Jamming my hand into the back pocket of my skinny jeans, which are falling off me because I’m not eating much these days, I pull out a crumpled pile of money. By the time I reach the sidewalk that runs along old Highway 17, I’ve got them smoothed out and determine I’m the proud owner of eight dollars. It’s a good thing I’m working tonight because after I buy a pack of cigarettes and a cup of coffee, I’m broke until I can collect tips.

Old Highway 17 is different than the new Highway 17. It’s just a small portion of the original that runs north and south through Jacksonville, North Carolina but was relegated to a service road once a new bypass was built last year. It’s roughly a quarter mile long and from said service road you can access three bars, the ghetto-styled apartment complex where I now live, a pawn shop, and a convenience store. In the seventies and into the early eighties, this part of Jacksonville and a few more miles of Highway 17 were densely populated with bars, strip clubs, pawn shops, and tattoo parlors catering specifically to young marines who had just arrived at Camp Geiger to begin infantry school from boot camp. The drinking age wasn’t raised to twenty-one until 1986, and those glory days made those types of business owners very rich.

It was the same on the north end of town where Camp Lejeune borders the stretch of Highway 24—also a multi-lane thoroughfare that was studded with all kinds of business that would provide mischief and mayhem to young marines recently graduated from Camp Geiger and moving over to the big base.

As the owner of the bar I currently work at tends to lament to me on a nightly basis, that all changed when the drinking age was raised. Highway 17 started to dry up and one by one, the businesses started going under. Those that hang on do so out of a sense of nostalgia and mostly because the bar owners have strong social ties to what few customers are left.

Plus, they like to drink a lot.

I walk south toward the 7-Eleven, rubbing my bare arms against the chilly morning air. The weather has been weird lately. We’re four days into spring, but it’s hardly breaking the forties in the early morning hours, which is definitely not typical of eastern North Carolina. I’d been so focused on getting out of Chuck’s notice that I forgot my jacket.

Not a biggie.

The 7-Eleven would be warm, and I could enjoy a cup of coffee there while shooting the shit with whoever is on duty. I’m a frequent customer there to buy cigs and/or beer. If I wait it out for at least half an hour, Chuck would be gone to work by the time I got back.

As I walk past a large culvert a quarter filled with rainwater and months of accumulated trash, a barely perceptible sound reaches my ears through the early rush-hour traffic. On weekday mornings, there’s a steady flow of cars filled with young jarheads heading to the Marine Corps Air Station. It’s home to the loud helicopters and Ospreys that fly over Onslow County daily, and it’s where most of my current bar patrons work since it takes up much of the southern part of Jacksonville.

My thoughts turning me away from whatever sound I thought I’d heard, I almost make it past the wide ditch before I hear it again. A tiny yip.

Completely different from Chuck’s orgasmic coyote sounds, and far more pitiful.

I stop, leaning over the edge of the culvert that’s probably a good three feet in depth and twice as wide. The wet bottom is lush with a weedy type of foliage, green grasses, and proud standing cattails, interspersed with empty McDonald’s bags, cigarette butts, discarded lumber, and beer bottles.

Something moves among the greenery, and the slimy water ripples. I take a step back, because in my experience, I’m the type of down-and-out person who would get bit by a poisonous snake.

Another yip and my brain finally recognize it as distinctly canine.

My curiosity gets the better of me. I start a careful descent down toward the water, holding my arms out wide for balance. It only takes two steps before I go down onto one knee, the soft dirt and long blades of dewy grass causing my foot to slip out from under me.

“Shit,” I curse, and get two resounding little barks back.

Keening, pleading cries for me to come even closer to take a look.

Resigned to the large, muddy wet spot on one knee and realizing I stand a good chance of toppling head-first into the brackish water if I continue down, I move closer to where I hear more whimpers.

Using my hands to peel back a curtain of long grass, I see the source of distress.

It’s a puppy of indeterminate breed and color. It’s covered in the blackish muck and struggling against a tangle of barbed wire wrapped around the lower half of its body that’s nailed to a splintered piece of two-by-four. It looks like the puppy tried to squirm through a loop or something and got caught up.

Or even worse, someone intentionally wrapped that poor thing up like that and threw it in the ditch to die.

Despite its precarious situation, the little mud-slicked tail wags furiously for a moment as its head swings to me, fully revealing that the dog has one brown eye and one blue eye. That one crystal eye stands stark against the mud, almost colorless closer to the pupil and darkening to a faded denim on the outer edge. I wonder if it’s blind in that eye as it seems rounder and wider than the other.

Perhaps it’s just fear making it stand out that way, but it looks wild and desperate as well as insanely happy that someone has answered its calls for aid.

My entire body shivers, partly from the cold but partly from recognizing the terrible predicament this little creature is in. When my husband kicked me out of the house three months ago, I spent a few brutal nights freezing my ass off in my car because I had nowhere to go and no one to help me. It was a mere four days before Christmas.

I’d swallowed my pride, and begged Charmin for a spot on her couch. My car has since broken down and I can’t afford to get it fixed, so I walk where I need to go. I muddle through my life working the measly hours I’m allotted at the bar because the owner doesn’t want any of his bartenders getting close to a forty-hour workweek and God forbid asking him for overtime.

And so far… I’ve survived.

Twisting my neck, I tear my gaze away from the dog and glance back out to the edge of the culvert. Just a mere thirty yards away from a hot cup of coffee and a relaxing cigarette.

A deep shudder ripples up my spine, reminding me that my life is shit. I have no business helping this dog. Even if I free it, the damn thing will probably wander out onto the service road. If it doesn’t get squashed by a lone car zooming by on this dead road, it’ll most definitely be killed quickly once it ventures onto Highway 17. I’d be dooming it to certain death, whereas if I just leave it alone, it might work its way free of the wire and I can forget about it.

Heck… someone else might even come along at any minute to help the stupid thing.

Or… it could die from the elements, which would probably take a few days and promises to be an unbearably cruel and painful end to its life.

“Damn it,” I mutter as I reach for the puppy. I’ll get it loose from the wire, after which it can take its chances on the highway. At least if it gets hit by a car, it will be a quick death.

An easy end to its suffering.

It’s the most I can do for the little pup.

The post Read the prologue and chapter one of ATTICUS now! appeared first on Sawyer Bennett.

 

 

 

A heart-warming and deliciously funny story about the world’s worst behaved dog and how he trained his human how to love herself again.

Through the haze of vodka and self-loathing, Hazel Roundtree saw the poor creature lying in a ditch.

One brown eye. One blue.

Covered in mud and crying from pain, the puppy was desperately trying to free itself from a hopeless situation.

She almost kept walking by. She had her own problems and besides… no one had ever stopped to help her.

Who we’re ultimately meant to be is a journey without end, but there’s always a defined start…

Hazel had no idea the dog would be her beginning, her second chance, the miracle she never saw coming. She named him Atticus. He grew up to be a very bad—and completely awesome—dog. He took Hazel on a life-changing journey filled with mischievous adventure and painful heartbreak. In the end, Hazel grew up to be completely awesome, too.

The post LIVE! Atticus is available now!! appeared first on Sawyer Bennett.

A heart-warming and deliciously funny story about the world’s worst behaved dog and how he trained his human how to love herself again.

Through the haze of vodka and self-loathing, Hazel Roundtree saw the poor creature lying in a ditch.

One brown eye. One blue.

Covered in mud and crying from pain, the puppy was desperately trying to free itself from a hopeless situation.

She almost kept walking by. She had her own problems and besides… no one had ever stopped to help her.

Who we’re ultimately meant to be is a journey without end, but there’s always a defined start…

Hazel had no idea the dog would be her beginning, her second chance, the miracle she never saw coming. She named him Atticus. He grew up to be a very bad—and completely awesome—dog. He took Hazel on a life-changing journey filled with mischievous adventure and painful heartbreak. In the end, Hazel grew up to be completely awesome, too.

The post Hear the prologue and chapter one of ATTICUS, performed by award-winning narrator Bahni Turpin! appeared first on Sawyer Bennett.

If you’ve been paying attention to the early reviews of Atticus which releases June 12th, you might see reviewers say things like:

➜ “I have a cold, black heart. I pride myself on it. But this book brought me to tears.”

➜ “Get a box of Kleenex. You’re going to need it.”

➜ “Oh, the emotion…”

It occurred to me that such reviews might scare you off like a rabid dog moving in for an attack. So I want to tell you… DO NOT BE AFRAID OF THIS BOOK!!! I can promise you that for every tear you might shed, you will have ten times the amount of laughter. I promise. Atticus is heart-warming and uplifting in its entirety.

For those that only crave my steamy romances and kinky sex clubs and hot, hockey hunks, hear me out as to why you might enjoy this book just as much.

Atticus is about LIFE. The life we live, the life we dream to live, the life we work day in and day out for.

And the relationships. Oh, the relationships. Atticus is about the relationships we have with those around us—friendships, our family, our pets (I’m looking at you, Atticus!), and romance…YES! There is a romance in this story and there are some moments that I hope will make you swoon.

Atticus will make you laugh, and yes, it might even make you cry. But you will walk away having taken a journey of self-discovery and love with Hazel and Atticus. From their broken beginning to their very happy ending.

And hey, you get to share in the absolutely ridiculous shenanigans of an adorably naughty dog. All of which are 100% true. That’s right, every sock stealing, pound cake swiping moment in Atticus has happened in real life. Honestly, I don’t think I have a vivid enough imagination to make up the great big personality (and ego) Atticus carries on a daily basis.

You can join Atticus and his human, Hazel, on their journey on June 12…

Amazon | Nook | iBooks | Kobo | Google Play | Paperback

Audio lovers —-> Barring any complications, the audiobook, narrated by Bahni Turpin, will release on the same day!!

The post DO NOT BE AFRAID OF THE DOG!!! appeared first on Sawyer Bennett.

Marek is available today! The eleventh hockey hunk to be featured in the Cold Fury series, Marek is the last Cold Fury release for 2018.

So…what happens now? Are the Cold Fury hanging up their skates?

Dry those tears, Cold Fury hockey fans. You haven’t seen the last of this team, or the men that make it so sinfully sexy! But first, we’re going to meet a new team…the Arizona Vengeance series launches in August!

Here are a couple things to expect going forward:

➜ The Arizona Vengeance series (releasing on August 14, 2018 with Bishop) will still feature the sexy alpha hockey hotties you’ve come to know and love throughout the Cold Fury series, but will feature more time on the ice, bigger drama, more alpha alphas, and a larger male POV.

➜ Get ready for some crossover! The great thing about having TWO hockey teams? Face-to-face time on the ice! Plus you never know, maybe we’ll see some trades down the road.

➜ While no new Cold Fury books are on the calendar, I have not ruled out writing additional books in the series. In a perfect, hockey-filled world, we would see releases in BOTH series!

Remember, the Arizona Vengeance series launches August 14 with the release of Bishop!

Now, let’s head back out there and get our Cold Fury on. Marek has a story to tell and he can’t wait to meet you! xoxo

The post Is this the END of the Cold Fury??

Marek is available today! The eleventh hockey hunk to be featured in the Cold Fury series, Marek is the last Cold Fury release for 2018.

So…what happens now? Are the Cold Fury hanging up their skates?

Dry those tears, Cold Fury hockey fans. You haven’t seen the last of this team, or the men that make it so sinfully sexy! But first, we’re going to meet a new team…the Arizona Vengeance series launches in August!

Here are a couple things to expect going forward:

➜ The Arizona Vengeance series (releasing on August 14, 2018 with Bishop) will still feature the sexy alpha hockey hotties you’ve come to know and love throughout the Cold Fury series, but will feature more time on the ice, bigger drama, more alpha alphas, and a larger male POV.

➜ Get ready for some crossover! The great thing about having TWO hockey teams? Face-to-face time on the ice! Plus you never know, maybe we’ll see some trades down the road.

➜ While no new Cold Fury books are on the calendar, I have not ruled out writing additional books in the series. In a perfect, hockey-filled world, we would see releases in BOTH series!

Remember, the Arizona Vengeance series launches August 14 with the release of Bishop!

Now, let’s head back out there and get our Cold Fury on. Marek has a story to tell and he can’t wait to meet you! xoxo

The post Is this the END of the Cold Fury??

Marek is available today! The eleventh hockey hunk to be featured in the Cold Fury series, Marek is the last Cold Fury release for 2018.

So…what happens now? Are the Cold Fury hanging up their skates?

Dry those tears, Cold Fury hockey fans. You haven’t seen the last of this team, or the men that make it so sinfully sexy! But first, we’re going to meet a new team…the Arizona Vengeance series launches in August!

Here are a couple things to expect going forward:

➜ The Arizona Vengeance series (releasing on August 14, 2018 with Bishop) will still feature the sexy alpha hockey hotties you’ve come to know and love throughout the Cold Fury series, but will feature more time on the ice, bigger drama, more alpha alphas, and a larger male POV.

➜ Get ready for some crossover! The great thing about having TWO hockey teams? Face-to-face time on the ice! Plus you never know, maybe we’ll see some trades down the road.

➜ While no new Cold Fury books are on the calendar, I have not ruled out writing additional books in the series. In a perfect, hockey-filled world, we would see releases in BOTH series!

Remember, the Arizona Vengeance series launches August 14 with the release of Bishop!

Now, let’s head back out there and get our Cold Fury on. Marek has a story to tell and he can’t wait to meet you! xoxo

The post Is this the END of the Cold Fury??