Title: Seven Ways to Lose Your Heart
Author: Tiffany Truitt
Genre: New Adult Romance
Release Date: July 18, 2017
Publisher: Entangled Publishing
Summary:In the span of seven days, Annabel Lee will lose her heart.
Kennedy Harrison, as reckless with life as Annabel is obsessed with order, never could commit to anything—not to a person, not to a job, not to a path. But he’s got a history with Annabel, and for once Kennedy doesn’t want to run. Determined to spend time with her before she leaves for college, Kennedy dares her to join him on a road trip to a music festival.
And neither of them could ever say no to a dare.
But Annabel’s got a plan. She’ll complete seven dares in seven days—if Kennedy applies for one writing internship per dare. Because Kennedy needs to be pushed just as much as she does.
What follows is a dizzying week of music, shady hotels, comical dares, and a passion neither one knew existed. But when it ends, Annabel and Kennedy will realize the biggest dare of all might just be falling for each other.
“You haven’t drowned in there, have you?” I yell to Annabel, noting that the sound of running water stopped about fifteen minutes ago.
“No, just relaxing,” she calls back.
Just relaxing. Naked. In a bath.
I scramble from the bed and knock gently on the door. “And would you like some company to help you, you know, relax?”
“Did you finish?” She sounds more like a scolding teacher than the girl who ravished me last night. But this is Annabel Lee we’re talking about. It’s all about priorities.
“Yes, I finished. Now, can I come in?” I ask, pulling off my shirt in anticipation.
“Read it to me.”
“Huh?” I ask, my shirt not completely removed from my head yet.
“I want you to read it to me.”
Of course she does. Why did I expect any less? I pull my shirt the rest of the way off on my walk back to get my computer. When I go to open the door, her voice halts me.
“I didn’t say come in. I said I wanted you to read it to me.”
“And may I come in when I’m done?”
“Only if it’s good,” she sings. She’s enjoying every bit of this torture. The lovable vixen.
And so I read it to her sitting on the floor outside the bathroom door. Even I have to admit it’s good. It’s, like, fucking fantastic. When I get to the part about us dancing up there together, the whole crowd making us feel like gods, she makes me read it again, and I smile knowing it meant as much to her as it did to me.
“You can come in now if you want,” she says, sounding a little shyer than I expected to hear. Gone is the bravado of the schoolteacher, replaced again by the girl who still doesn’t know the power she has over me. How does she not realize she’s had power over me since that first dare when she made me switch out Mrs. Peterson’s peanut butter sandwich with kitty litter?
My heart starts beating a little faster, knowing what’s waiting for me on the other side of this wall. My breath catches in my throat when I open the door and see her sitting there, staring up at me, and waiting.
Maybe it’s the melodic beating of the rain against the tent, or the deceptive quiet of a music festival campsite in the early-morning hours, but I swear I’m creating a song to the inhaling and exhaling breaths of the girl lying next to me. The impossible and stubborn girl lying next to me. Interspersed between the verses of her song slithers in the harsh words from last night, words I know are entirely true.
I am a selfish ass, and lying next to me is the most selfless girl I’ve ever met. She did a heavy as fuck thing when she let me back in her life after what I did, and I couldn’t even do the one little thing she asked me to do. Why? I dig writing, and maybe I’m not entirely crappy at it. I just can’t bear to see her watch me fail.
The rain beats quietly on the tent, and it’s like a whole new song starts playing on the record player. I kiss her under her ear. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I kiss her on the cheek. “I’m sorry,” I say again. I gently turn her, so she’s lying on her back. Her eyes look up at me, wet with unshed tears. I’m not sure what I’m sorry for. Continuously letting her down? Not being the man she deserves? “I’m sorry,” I repeat, kissing right underneath her eye.
“Me, too,” she says, her voice a bit hoarse from not being used in a while. She reaches up both of her hands and places them on my cheeks.
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” I say, looking down at her.
“Of course I do. Ninety percent of the time, I’m impossible to be with,” she says, her voice choked with emotion.
“That’s crap. One hundred percent of the time, I wouldn’t want to put up with anyone else,” I say before kissing those beautiful lips of hers.
Our kiss is slow. The kind of slow that could burn a man straight through.
“No, just relaxing,” she calls back.
I scramble from the bed and knock gently on the door. “And would you like some company to help you, you know, relax?”
“Did you finish?” She sounds more like a scolding teacher than the girl who ravished me last night. But this is Annabel Lee we’re talking about. It’s all about priorities.
“Yes, I finished. Now, can I come in?” I ask, pulling off my shirt in anticipation.
“Read it to me.”
“Huh?” I ask, my shirt not completely removed from my head yet.
“I want you to read it to me.”
“I didn’t say come in. I said I wanted you to read it to me.”
“And may I come in when I’m done?”
“Only if it’s good,” she sings. She’s enjoying every bit of this torture. The lovable vixen.
And so I read it to her sitting on the floor outside the bathroom door. Even I have to admit it’s good. It’s, like, fucking fantastic. When I get to the part about us dancing up there together, the whole crowd making us feel like gods, she makes me read it again, and I smile knowing it meant as much to her as it did to me.
“You can come in now if you want,” she says, sounding a little shyer than I expected to hear. Gone is the bravado of the schoolteacher, replaced again by the girl who still doesn’t know the power she has over me. How does she not realize she’s had power over me since that first dare when she made me switch out Mrs. Peterson’s peanut butter sandwich with kitty litter?
My heart starts beating a little faster, knowing what’s waiting for me on the other side of this wall. My breath catches in my throat when I open the door and see her sitting there, staring up at me, and waiting.
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Maybe it’s the melodic beating of the rain against the tent, or the deceptive quiet of a music festival campsite in the early-morning hours, but I swear I’m creating a song to the inhaling and exhaling breaths of the girl lying next to me. The impossible and stubborn girl lying next to me. Interspersed between the verses of her song slithers in the harsh words from last night, words I know are entirely true.
The rain beats quietly on the tent, and it’s like a whole new song starts playing on the record player. I kiss her under her ear. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I kiss her on the cheek. “I’m sorry,” I say again. I gently turn her, so she’s lying on her back. Her eyes look up at me, wet with unshed tears. I’m not sure what I’m sorry for. Continuously letting her down? Not being the man she deserves? “I’m sorry,” I repeat, kissing right underneath her eye.
“Me, too,” she says, her voice a bit hoarse from not being used in a while. She reaches up both of her hands and places them on my cheeks.“You have nothing to be sorry about,” I say, looking down at her.
“Of course I do. Ninety percent of the time, I’m impossible to be with,” she says, her voice choked with emotion.
“That’s crap. One hundred percent of the time, I wouldn’t want to put up with anyone else,” I say before kissing those beautiful lips of hers.
Our kiss is slow. The kind of slow that could burn a man straight through.
Tiffany Truitt was born in Peoria, Illinois. A self-proclaimed Navy brat, Tiffany spent most of her childhood living in Virginia, but don’t call her a Southerner. She also spent a few years living in Cuba. Since her time on the island of one McDonalds and Banana Rats (don't ask), she has been obsessed with traveling. Tiffany recently added China to her list of travels (hello inspiration for a new book).
Besides traveling, Tiffany has always been an avid reader. The earliest books she remembers reading belong to The Little House on the Prairie Series. First book she read in one day? Little Woman (5th grade). First author she fell in love with? Jane Austen in middle school. Tiffany spent most of her high school and college career as a literary snob. She refused to read anything considered "low brow" or outside the "classics."
Tiffany began teaching middle school in 2006. Her students introduced her to the wide, wonderful world of Young Adult literature. Today, Tiffany embraces popular Young Adult literature and uses it in her classroom.
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