Hunches, horse races, and heartbreak
Ten years after Simone Payton broke his heart, all Roscoe Winston wants is a doughnut. He’d also like to forget her entirely, but that’s never going to happen. Roscoe Winston remembers everything—every look, every word, every single unrequited second—and the last thing he needs is another memory of Simone.
Unfortunately, after one chance encounter, Simone keeps popping up everywhere he happens to be . . .
Ten years after Roscoe Winston dropped out of her life, all Simone Payton wants is to exploit him. She’d also like some answers from her former best friend about why he ghosted her, but if she never gets those answers, that’s a-okay. Simone let go of the past a long time ago. Seriously, she has. She totally, totally has. She is definitely not still thinking about Roscoe. Nope. She’s more than happy to forget he exists.
But first, she needs just one teeny-tiny favor . . .
Dr. Strange Beard is a full-length romantic comedy novel, can be read as a stand-alone, and is the fifth book in the USA TODAY bestselling Winston Brothers series.
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EXCERPT #1 Stella Lilith used to have an adventurous side, but I think it’s been a while since she broke a few rules. “Will you climb out first?” There’s my girl. “Yep.” I press down on the sink, hoping it doesn’t fall off the wall. It looks old, so I’m not sure it can hold my weight. But it’s getting louder in the hall, so I climb up, grabbing an exposed pipe above the window, and maneuver my legs through the opening. Good thing we’re on the ground level. Pushing off, I land on my feet in the alley and turn around. “Stella?” She peeks out and by the way her lips are twisted and her eyes are looking at the cement, she’s nervous. “I don’t want to fall.” “I’d never let you. Not to the ground anyhow.” For a second, she looks confused, but her brow relaxes and a small smile appears. “You’ll catch me?” “Every time.” She disappears, and I can hear her climbing onto the sink. Her legs slide out the window until her ass rests on the metal sill. “Ready for me, Rivers?” “All my life.” “For real,” she says, her nerves causing a slight shake to her tone. “You’re going to catch me, right?” “Always.” I take her by the ass, and say, “Put your legs over my shoulders.” “What? No.” “Yes. I’ve got you. Then all I have to do is back up as you slip out.” “I’m not as light as I used to be. Are you sure you can handle me?” I work my way under her so her legs are over my shoulders. “Don’t worry about me, baby. I can handle you all right.” Her thighs squeeze my neck. I like to think it was the name I slipped in there, but it’s probably because she’s anxious to do this. She slips out a little more, and our eyes meet. “You’re sure you’re ready?” “All you have to do is let go. I have you.” Releasing the pipe, she ducks her head to the side while I support her back with my hands, holding her until she clears the glass. Helping her upright, my face is against the jeans that cover her vagina and she’s squeezing my head with her legs so tight I don’t know if I’m going to live. What a sweet fucking way to die. EXCERPT #2 I’m a skilled guitarist. I know how to make her come using all I’ve learned and playing her like an instrument. I’m just not sure if I’m ready to let her have a release. I’m thinking of keeping her on the brink so we can come together. Stella grinds against my hand, seeking relief. I pull out and replace my finger with my cock one big inch at a time. A gasp and then a harsh intake of air draws my attention to her pretty face. “How do I feel, baby?” “So good. So much.” Her eyes open lazily as she takes a slow deep breath and looks into my eyes as I hover over her. Her hands drift from my shoulders to my jaw. “I want all of you, Rivers. Your body, your love, this look in your eyes forever. Kiss me.” Fuck. Yes. Forever. I push in a little more, causing her eyes to close with the motion. My lips touch hers, and she whispers, “I was always here waiting for you. I was always yours . . .” I push in farther, her words driving me to take more. “To love.” Further, the feel of her engulfing me begins to cloud my thoughts. “To fuck.” Fuck. I thrust all the way, as deep as I can go. Her head goes back, her words cries of desire. I kiss the underside of her chin and fuck. Fuck. Love. Fuck. Not gentle. Driving home everything I’ve wanted to tell her since the day we broke up. “I love you.” I fuck her selfishly. I fuck her to satisfy my own needs. I fuck her into an apology. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.” “Don’t say sorry,” she manages between panting breaths. “You feel so good.” I rest on my forearms and take her wrists in hand before pulling them above her head. Our palms press together. Our fingers entwine. Her body is stretched beneath me when I kiss her lips, showing her how much I care about her. “I meant I’m sorry for what I’m about to do to you.” 
So you know I’m a writer. I write literary romances that are full of substance and romance. I tend to write in my head all the time, like when I sleep, breath, pet cats, am forced to make dinner, and even while doing my job as an adviser for students at an art college in the South— I mean…I—I—I write at other times too. I love international flights when they’re delayed and my Mac and I can dive into a bar. There’s nothing better than an hour or two lost (too quickly) in pages I didn’t know were waiting for me. I hate schedules, real life, cross-country skiing, and moodiness not inside of me. Not that I enjoy it in me. I’m just used to it, and it feeds scenes in my books, see? I giggle at everything. I don’t judge easily. People say I’m kind/genuine/shy/stubborn/annoying/aloof/boring, but above it all, I am passionate. A Dragon of the Chinese zodiac and an Aquarius with all-the-air and the brightest color palette. Incidentally, that last fact could be why no one wants to buy the house I’ve got for sale. But mostly, I love to write. 
