"Clay, Book 1.5 of the Punk Series" by P.J. Post (New Adult Romance)

Genre:  New Adult Romance

Summary:  Clay is the second book of a New Adult Romance Series - Punk, and is a Novella running approximately 50 print pages long.

Why did she get in that truck?

Bethany Warner is graduating from high school and is looking forward to college and the gymnastics team with few regrets, except for maybe Tommy - her possessive ex-boyfriend.

And as the last party of high school is turning into a dangerous and unforgettable nightmare, she meets Connor Clay, a punk and musician with a reputation for violence.

Clay retells the opening chapter of Ache from Bethany’s point of view, showing us not only her perceptions of the events of that fateful evening, but also much more about who she is and most importantly – why.

Note: This Book is intended for 18+ audiences due to pervasive language and adult themes and situations.

Excerpt:

I’m sick to death of all of it.

But now I’m finally getting some independence and no one is going to know me at State. Appearances can go fly a kite. They won’t know who my Mom is or who Daddy is: they won’t constantly remind me about those embarrassing stories from freshman and sophomore year: they won’t care who I was seen with last weekend or even if I wear my pajamas to class — none of it will matter.

I can totally start over, maybe even find a bad boy to date for a change, someone exciting, someone that’s unpredictable and not so preoccupied with what everyone else thinks or especially with what everyone else is doing.

Maybe an art major.

Some dark guy with mysterious eyes who caresses his beatnik beard with experienced fingers while he smokes clove cigarettes and quotes Dostoyevsky and Shelley, alluding to the greater beauty and purity of our impending transgressions. And all the while, he’ll be mesmerized, unable to avoid staring at me, beguiled by my enchanting full, inviting and impatient lips, and I shall offer him up nothing but the most modest hint of interest — but he’ll see the longing and passion in my eyes, emotions that I can’t hide from him and he’ll know we were meant to be together.

Wishful thinking, perhaps.

Hell, I’d take a guitarist from some local cover band as long as he can string two sentences together; just please, God, no more jocks or mindless morons.

I mean, I’ll miss it here, but college is going to be so cool, with or without my fantasy bad boy.
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