Dear Jaclyn Perris

By Tracy Broemmer

December 30, 2015

Dear Jaclyn Perris:

 

I can't help it….Just…Lena. Really? Why? Why did you do that to Lena? I can't even…I mean…there's a formula, Jaclyn. Remember? The formula? Yeah, yeah, technically, you followed it, but…just. Poor Lena.

 

I threw that book. Just so you know. When I finished it, I threw it across the room. Okay, so, that made me feel really guilty, because books are BOOKS, ya know? But you frigging ripped my heart out when you did that.

 

Okay. Over it. I'm over it. Promise. I'll read more—who am I kidding? My plan is to work my way through your backlist, one delicious read at a time and devour your new releases as soon as they're available!

 

Yours,

Remi

 

But. I mean. I dreamt about her. Lena. Ripped. My. Heart. Out. It was kind of messy. The whole ugly cry thing…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tracy Broemmer
• Release date: Jun 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227228826

Book preview

1

JULY 25, 2015

Dear Jaclyn Perris,

Yeah, so I’m stuck in Podunk, Kentucky for a few days. It’s hot. Like I’m trying to breathe inside one of those old water tube things women used to fill and lay over their stomachs when they had their monthlies. Yeah. I’m talking like ancient times, here, because right here in this two by ten block of small southern town, people say things like women having monthlies. So, anyway, I’m stuck here—seriously, my car blew a rod or something (heh, in your books that would be the hero blew a rod and it would be sexy as hell, but here, it just means my car is dead and I’m fucked) and of course it happened on a Friday night, and so I’m stuck here until an unspecified day next week when they (Leo and Schmitty, who own the only garage here—they sell Furbies there. Seriously—) can actually look at the POS (my car) and determine what rod exactly it blew and if they can order the part and fix it. Judging from a look at Leo and Schmitty, I’m guessing they have a combined 200 years on this earth, and they move just faster than a dying sloth, so maybe I’ll be out of here by next June.

Anyway, I digress. I do that a lot, actually. So yeah. I’m stuck here, and the only motel in this place—okay, it’s not actually called Podunk. It’s Stagfield, Kentucky—is a ten-room rectangular building with threadbare gold carpet, brown corduroy comforters on full-sized beds, and bathrooms the size of a closet. They do have TVs in the room! But I think they’re from the 1970s, and the screens are small and blurry, and the cable service here offers, like, three channels. So I can learn from a woman named Alice how to cross-stitch, or I can watch the local auction (and apparently that runs on a loop, because I’ve watched the same guy buy the same ’89 Ford truck three times now), or a gospel music channel.

It’s okay. I’m not into TV much anyway. Well. I mean, it’s summer, so the good stuff is on hiatus, right? And I don’t do reruns. Ever. So, after I checked into the motel, (in Kentucky, that’s pronounced MO-tel) (I do love the accents here, by the way.) I walked to Gidget’s Market. It’s, like, two doors down from the Sleep-Inn. I do love to shop, and here in Stagfield, it’s either Gidget’s, Hales’ Sporting Goods (yeah, no. They were closed, anyway) or the drugstore.

Gidget’s is kind of a hodgepodge place that sells candy bars, an odd selection of cheap toys, pantyhose, and books. There’s a place called Pizza next door to Gidget’s, so I decided to grab a book and go get a pizza for dinner, and head back to the Sleep-Inn. Your book, Propositioned, was among the choices. I’d read three of the other seven romance novels on the shelves, and I wasn’t particularly interested in A View from The Tobacco Fields, which is apparently a farmer’s wife’s memoir. I grabbed Propositioned, paid the $7.82 and avoided the old lady clerk’s accusing eyes (this was the new edition with the sexy cover…the curve of a nude hip and the woman’s foot in the fire-engine red stiletto over the guy’s shoulder), and headed on my way.

I wasn’t exactly embarrassed about my purchase. I mean, I’m a writer, too. And while I don’t write romance, I have written graphic sex scenes, and even some graphic violence. Doesn’t mean I put on stilettos and strut my stuff so I can roll around in ecstasy for an hour (I’m not sure I even remember what sex is, to be honest) and I don’t murder people for fun, either. I used to read a lot of romance books when I was younger. Like, when I was in high school. My early college years. But then, you know how it goes, you’re in classes, and you have so much reading to do and studying and outlining and for some professors, answering stupid questions just to prove you read the assignment. The fun stuff kind of goes out the window. So, yeah, when I was getting my degree and working, too (all sorts of fun jobs, like the fast food industry and retail clothing stores and discount stores) I just gave up on reading.

Sad day, I know.

So, when I got out of school, I was writing freelance stuff for tourism journals and the local paper and some advertising copy, kind of a little bit of everything. I met this guy (no, trust me, just no) who was into horror stuff. Like he was into the old time stuff like Alfred Hitchcock and The Birds, and so I started watching old movies and reading a lot of stuff like Dracula and yep, eventually, I was writing stuff like that. I’ve since sold some stories to small time horror magazines and some mystery ezines and stuff. But the point is, I got so into reading stuff like that, and I did like reading historical fiction, too, that I only recently started reading romance again.

Like Lucinda Lisey’s stuff. Which is…okay. Oh, and I started reading Andrea Howard again. I always loved her books when I was younger. And yeah, now I’m reading Propositioned.

I ate my pizza at Pizza, and it was actually pretty good. But I read almost half of your book when I was sitting in that sad little joint with the red vinyl tablecloths. There were a few people in and out while I was there, but at no point was it ever busy, so the waitress told me I could just hang out if I wanted to. So I read and ate and pretended I was in Chicago having Chicago-style pizza and heading to meet friends for drinks later.

When I did leave, I went back to my room and I read a few more chapters, but I had to get up and move. So I took a walk. All of Main Street (no e on Main, I looked to make sure) and I got my laptop out to catch up on some emails. But…you guessed it, no wifi here at the Stagfield Sleep-Inn. So you know, just for kicks, I decided I’d write you a note to tell you I’m reading romance again.