Sparks Fly

To prove his exes wrong. But just because he didn’t want to marry any of them didn’t make him an emotionally crippled commitment-phobe.
    He certainly didn’t want to date and get married in front of millions of people. But now, sitting in the studio, he wondered if his exes were right. Could he ever let any woman get close enough to him to get married and have a family like the rest of his friends and coworkers?
    If he were to sign a contract that made it so he had to get married, there would be no way out.
    And since he didn’t believe in true love—the lie that there was actually one person out there for him that would complete him and give his life meaning—being “Mr. Right” would be the optimal way to check marriage off his list of life goals. He would put his criteria down for the perfect woman, and Joe’s staff would hunt her down.
    It was the perfect, easy solution to his marriage problem. No long courtship. No games. Just a selection of thirty beautiful, available, marriage-minded women to choose from.
    He flipped to the last page of the contract and said, “You got a pen handy? Let’s get this ball rolling.”

    SEATTLE GIRL (A young adult romance about love, sex ... and my really big mouth) The first time Georgia Fulton gets behind a microphone at her college radio station (because of a guy, of course), she’s hooked. Who would have thought she’d ever find a potential job where a boss would appreciate her big mouth? Unfortunately, being a smart-mouth doesn’t necessarily keep her from getting hurt by one guy after another. With help from her friends—and loyal listeners—will Georgia finally figure out the real deal about sex, love ... and maybe even herself?
    Please enjoy the following excerpt from SEATTLE GIRL © 2011 by Lucy Kevin.
    The official biography that KSEA sends out reads:
    Georgia Fulton, popular host of Seattle Girl , says she got into talk radio because, “I have a really big mouth and I could never find any other job where my boss appreciated that skill.”
    But while I’ll admit that I rarely do shut up and that I can’t keep an opinion to myself even if it’s gonna get me lynched, the simple truth is that I got started in talk radio because of a guy.
    Six guys to be precise.
    (Hey! Watch who you’re calling a slut. It’s not like that, I swear. Well, mostly not like that, anyway.)
    And if I ever get the chance to write my biography, it’ll read more like this...

    * * *
    When I was a little girl my mother told me repeatedly, “Georgia, boys don’t like girls who talk too much.”
    I think she got her greatest pleasure from making proclamations like this during breakfast.
    Really, who wouldn’t?
    Later, when I was living at home one summer in college, she announced, “Georgia, boys don’t pay for the cow when they are getting the milk for free.”
    So much for the great strides of feminism.
    And that was when I figured out that it’s not the establishment holding us down.
    It’s not the Man holding us back.
    It’s the Mom.
    But after giving it some more thought, I can see that since my mother endured twenty hours of excruciating labor to push me out into the world, suffering the indignity of a ripped hoo-ha while she was at it, she very well might feel that giving me such charming motherly advice is only her due.
    And that I should listen to it.
    As if!
    Thanks Mom, I’ll be sure to file that beefy black and white farm animal tip away. Pass the Fruit Loops, would you?
    I don’t mean to give you the wrong impression. It’s not that my childhood was particularly bad.
    My parents certainly didn’t beat me or anything. We were comfortably middle-class in a nice suburban neighborhood and there was always enough food on the table and a trip to Disneyland every summer.
    My childhood was sort of weird, that’s all.
    Like we lived just down the block from normal.
    To be fair, though, I think I’ve always been a bit of a freak. Take my brother, for instance.
    Same parents, yet John is a perfectly normal high paid executive, white picket fence in the suburbs, great wife, two kids, and golden retriever kind of guy.

    But me, I’m a whole different ball game. And the fact is that no matter what anyone ever said to try to get me to quiet down or button up—and kids and teachers and parents said a whole lot of stuff, like “Shut up,” and “Don’t be so loud all the time,” and “How many times do I need to tell you to settle down young lady?”—I was