New Release, Exclusive Excerpt, and My Review: Until It’s Right by Jamie Howard

New Release, Exclusive Excerpt, and My Review:  Until It’s Right by Jamie HowardUntil It's Right by Jamie Howard
Published by St. Martin's Swerve Publication Date: 1 March 2016
Genres: Contemporary, Romance
Pages: 242
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Haley Mitchell is tired of moping. With her broken heart repaired with a thick layer of duct tape, she's ready to put her ex behind her and move on. After a chance encounter in a club, she's convinced she's met Mr. Perfect. But when he accidentally gives her the wrong number, the stranger on the other end of her texts becomes her confidant.

Kyle Lawson has always had more luck with computers than women. So when the new temp, Haley, arrives, he has the misfortune of falling for her, only to land firmly in the friend zone. But when he learns the mysterious woman he's been texting is actually Haley, he keeps the entire thing a secret.

As things move straight from platonic to decidedly hot, Kyle must come clean about his secret texting identity and risk losing the woman he's fallen in love with.

I received this book for free from Author, NetGalley, Publisher in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review.

My Review

Until It’s Right is a new, standalone, contemporary romance novel by Author Jamie Howard.

“It wasn’t enough. I was never enough.”

Hayley is reeling from the end of a long-term relationship. She feels inadequate and inept at finding love. Her quest to find Mr. Right will require filtering through several men, two best friends, and more In the hopes that she will get it right.

“It was all real for me. I’ve never felt anything more real in my life.”

Told in dual points of view, Until It’s Right was a light and fun book.  Not too far into the book, there is the first “oh no, this cannot be happening” moment.  I saw it as a reader and wanted to jump through the pages to save Hayley from it.  Hayley Mitchell, a.k.a magnet for disaster, was such a great character. She was authentic and didn’t try to hide who she was from the world.  Kyle was the match of a lifetime. Awkward, sweet, smart.  He was like a lifesaver, thrown in the tumultuous sea surrounding Hayley, and brining her out. They were the classical coupling of peanut butter and jelly…so good apart, but the perfect combo when put together. Their story made me laugh, sigh, gasp, and beam with enjoyment.  It was a sweet and lovable novel that I was happy to have had the opportunity to read.

“If souls operate on wavelengths, then I’m a hundred percent certain that Hailey and I are on the exact same frequency.”

Exclusive Excerpt

Turns out, there’s not a whole lot you can do about getting a wrong number. My very rudimentary calculations inform me there are several billion different phone-number combinations. Even keeping the area code the same still leaves me with nearly a million possibilities. So, typing in random numbers? Not going to work.

After three weeks of hanging around Rodeo Jive on not only Thursday nights, but Friday and Saturday as well, I’ve come to one mojo-crushing, heart-deflating conclusion—he gave me the wrong number on purpose. Because really, if he didn’t, and he was as interested as he pretended to be, then wouldn’t he be swinging by the Jive to look for me too?

In a rare display of frustration, I spend my last night staking out the bar getting embarrassingly drunk. Given that I’m not really a drinker, nothing more than a glass of wine here or there, three frozen margaritas have me flat-out wasted. I think there might have been a few shots as well, but when I wake the next morning my memories are fuzzy. Full chunks of time are completely missing, like someone straight-up sliced them out of my brain.

Lifting my head from the pillow, I pry off a piece of hair that’s glued to my face with an unhealthy amount of drool. Yet, for the amount of saliva I produced in my sleep, my mouth’s dryer than a desert during a drought. I huff out a breath, but the stench of it gets caught on my pillow and I nearly die from the toxic smell.

“Oh my God.” Flipping onto my back, I scrub a hand over my face and try to rub out the throbbing headache that’s set up camp behind my eyes. It feels like there’s a person trapped behind my eyeballs and they’re trying to tunnel their way out straight through them. How do people do this all the time?

When I sit up, the room around me does a cartwheel, and I sink my teeth into my lower lip as my stomach heaves and curls in on itself. I’m just about to call out for Tara when the back of my thigh starts buzzing, making me jump. I go through the whole topsy-turvy-room and trying-not-to-spew-vomit-over-my-comforter thing one more time.

Hesitantly, my fingers search the mattress beneath me until they drag up my phone. As I squint at the too-bright screen and scroll through my messages, I clap a hand over my mouth.

Me: Are you sure this isn’t Bryce?

Not Bryce: Positive. Sorry.

Me: What kind of a guy would give the wrong number to a pretty girl?

Not Bryce: Umm . . . a stupid one?

Me: That’s right. Bryce is stupid. We could’ve been the real thing.

Not Bryce: You met the guy once, and you’re ready to start planning your happily-ever-after? Seems a little quick if you ask me.

Me: I don’t remember asking you.

Not Bryce: Right, sorry.

Me: You know, if we’re going to keep talking you should at least tell me your name. Right now you’re “Not Bryce” in my phone and seeing his name over and over is just making me sad.

Not Bryce: Oh, we’re still talking? Alright. You first.

Me: It’s fine, you don’t have to tell me. I’ll just call you . . . Bob.

Bob: C’mon, that’s so lame. You could at least come up with something cool. Like Thor.

Me: Didn’t you say your track record with women is a mess? That doesn’t sound very Thor-like.

Bob: That’s not very nice of you to point out.

Me: Oops. Sorry.

Me: I’m still not going to call you Thor.

Bob: How about Peter?

Me: Like Spiderman?

Me: Are you sitting at home in your Batman pajamas reading comic books right now?

Bob: You’re doing the mean thing again.

Me: Whoops. Let’s compromise. How about Clark?

Bob: Superman. I dig it.

Me: You are a guy, right? Because I can always change it to Clarkette.

Clark: Nope, definitely a guy. Don’t my texts come across as particularly manly to you?

Me: Not really.

Clark: Harsh, Lois. Harsh.

Me: Lois, huh? A little prsmtuos of you.

Me: Presumptuous* God that took me a long time to type out. Why are these keys so small?

Clark: Have they been getting smaller the more you drink?

Me: Now who’s being mean?

Clark: My apologies. You safe to get home?

Me: How sweet are you? I’d pinch your cheeks if I could.

Clark: Don’t do that. My grandma does that. You’re not as old as my grandma, right? Because if so I’m gonna be really skeeved out right now.

Me: I am two and twenty. Or twenty and two. Either way.

Me: Oh! I gotta go.

Clark: Bye, Lois.

Me: It was nice talking to you, Clark. Thanks for making my night not suck so bad.

Clark: Anytime.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry about the whole thing. How humiliating. Thank God I don’t actually know this person or I’d never be able to look them in the eye again.

More from Jamie Howard

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