Check out this exclusive excerpt from Kendall Ryan’s newest standalone contemporary romance novel Junk Mail!
‘Junk Mail’ by Kendall Ryan synopsis:
It all started with a sexy selfie.
Texted to the wrong number.
Oops.
Not my finest moment—but I have nothing to be ashamed of.
She thought I was no better, and I quote, than the knuckle-dragging douche-bags she was never dating again.
It was a stupid dare from a girl I’d met online, but since she’d given me a fake number, I didn’t feel bad that my interests were suddenly focused elsewhere—on the fiery and sharp-tongued, Peyton that I found myself sparring with over text for the rest of the evening.
The following day, my case of mistaken identity came back to bite me in the banana.
When I strolled into the office, I was introduced to Peyton as the new client I needed to win over. The Peyton, in case you’re not tracking.
And let’s just say she had my full attention.
Brains? Check.
Beauty? Oh yeah.
And the best part? She hated me on sight.
Dear God, do I love a challenge.
Let the games begin.
‘Junk Mail’ by Kendall Ryan exclusive excerpt:
I should be offended. Unsolicited dick pics are aggressive, inappropriate, and downright rude. But strangely enough, I’m not offended. I’m kind of . . . intrigued.
My interest gets the better of me and I dare another glance at the offending member. My cheeks redden in a way that has nothing to do with the warm soup in my belly and everything to do with my lack of a sex life.
Confronted by that . . . thing staring back at me, I have so many questions.
Namely, how does he haul it around all day? Isn’t it uncomfortable? Loads of other inappropriate questions like Do you only date sword-swallowers? flit through my brain. But I refrain from actually typing them out in a text to Mr. Dick Pic.
Thank God.
My kitchen table is hardly the place to be musing over such things. I move to get up, but before I can, Gram enters the kitchen and glances over my shoulder.
“What’s that, a ham hock?” she asks.
I slam the phone screen-down on the table. “What? No.”
I shake my head firmly, hoping to end this conversation before it starts. But given that I’m the only thing of importance in Gram’s life, she’s bound to be on this like a dog with a bone.
“Leg of lamb?” She gives me a curious look as she heads to the counter to make herself a cup of tea.
“No, Gram. Don’t worry about it.”
She shrugs, setting a teacup into a matching saucer. “Whatever it was, it looked delicious. So juicy and tender, I bet it melts in your mouth. I thought you were looking up recipes to cook for me.”
Letting out a groan, I shove the phone inside my pocket and rise to my feet.
Gram eyes me curiously. “You’re flushed, dear. Are you feeling well?”
Nodding, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket and place my hand protectively over it, eager to get out of the kitchen. “I’m fine. It’s sort of warm in here, is all. I think I’m just a little anxious about tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. The biggest day of my life, and here I am sexting with some stranger.
“Get some rest. Maybe a nice warm bath. I’ll bring you some tea once you’re settled,” she says, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “While you’re in the tub, you should really look up some more meat recipes like what was in that picture. I think I’m going to dream about that side of beef, or whatever it was, instead of that vegetarian stuff you keep feeding me.”
I squeak out a nonsensical reply and scurry toward the stairs, taking them two at a time because I seriously need to get out of this room. And according to my own grandmother, I seriously need to get laid.
Safely inside my bedroom, I shut the door behind me and tug my phone from my jeans pocket. Sinking onto the edge of my mattress, I read the new message.
Unknown User: Shit, I’m so sorry. Despite the aforementioned erection, I promise I’m harmless. Please accept this photo of me from the third grade as proof. My apologies.
Staring down at the most adorable photo of an awkward eight-year-old with gapped teeth and a bowtie, I let out a snort laugh. Who the hell is this guy? Someone extremely bad at flirting, that’s who. Some poor girl clearly gave him a fake number, wanting him to fuck off, and now I’m the object of his attention. Lucky me.
Peyton: OMG. That just made this entire exchange ten times more awkward.
Unknown User: Yeah, I guess it did. Shit. Clearly, I’m not very good at this whole thing.
Peyton: What? Being human?
Unknown User: The name’s Josh. Seriously, I’m really sorry.
Peyton: My name’s Peyton. Apology accepted—as long as you don’t whip out that flesh wagon again and assault me with it.
Unknown User: Only if you ask nicely.
I laugh. How sad that this is the most flirting I’ve done in over a year.
Peyton: Well, good night then, Josh.
Unknown User: Good night, Peyton.
I decide against asking him how exactly he plans to sleep while World War III rages between his legs—because, holy hell, that erection looked painfully swollen, but I do no such thing.
Instead, I busy myself with having a mug of sleepy tea with Gram, brush my teeth, and then review my notes for tomorrow’s presentation before I climb into bed and dream of being devoured by a giant one-eyed python.
Junk Mail by Kendall Ryan will be released on April 23! Pre-order now from Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, or Kobo. And don’t forget to add it to your Goodreads!
Fan of our book coverage? Why not join our Hypable Books Facebook group!
We want to hear your thoughts on this topic!
Write a comment below or submit an article to Hypable.