The Other Brother by Meghan Quinn will be released on November 2. Get ready with this exclusive excerpt from the book.
About ‘The Other Brother’ by Meghan Quinn:
I got the call. The dreaded call every child fears. My dad wasn’t well, and the man who had always been my everything needed me.
There was only one thing to do; pack up and head back to my hometown. I had finally made my dream life in the city with the great job and loving boyfriend. But was there really a choice not to go?
I found a wonderful job, a quaint house to rent, my boyfriend was working on joining me in Binghamton, and my favorite pizza place was only miles away. Life was good.
Until I met my neighbor.
It’s been three years since I’d seen Aaron Walters, and my God is he all kinds of sexy gorgeous. Figures. He was supposed to be my forever, the man I grew old with, but he had different plans. How can a man who ripped my heart apart still trip me up? How can he make me still want him now more than ever?
I’m tempted, I’m drawn toward him, I’m completely and utterly unaware that I’m dating his biological brother.
Now two men own my heart. The question is, which brother will I choose?
‘The Other Brother’ by Meghan Quinn exclusive:
“Looks the same,” I say as I exit off I-81. Thankfully my phone is hooked up to my car through wireless Bluetooth so for the last hour, I’ve been able to talk to my best friend, Amanda.
The playlist Trey made kept me distracted for two hours. I laughed, cried, and sang my heart out to every song. Some songs had meaning behind them, some were just silly, and some I completely hated but I listened to them anyway because Trey picked them for a reason.
“Have you passed Nirchi’s yet? Did you roll down the windows and take a deep sniff?”
I chuckle. “No, no Nirchi’s Pizza spotted yet.”
“Damn, when you do see one, can you please take a picture of you eating a bacon, chicken, ranch slice and send it to me? I want to live vicariously through you.”
“You know I don’t like that. How about the Buffalo chicken? Will that do?”
She huffs on the other end of the phone. “I guess so.”
Amanda and I grew up together in Binghamton, graduated together, and then fled to the city for college because we couldn’t wait to get out of Binghamton. There are aspects of the town we miss, but we wanted more opportunity and to part from our past. Now Amanda works in Albany for the governor as his personal assistant. Fancy, I know. So this move has actually brought us a little closer. Thirty minutes closer to be exact, not much, but hey, we’re counting it.
I take in the old houses, rundown businesses, and weeds growing out of the sidewalks. The town might not be the prettiest at times, but it’s still home, and there’s beauty in that.
“Where are you staying again?”
“Hillcrest. Right off I-81 actually so it will be an easy on and off when you come to visit.”
“And what about you visiting me?”
I make a right like the GPS tells me to and answer, “I have Nirchi’s.”
“Devil, you’re right. When I go down there, I’m going to buy four pies and freeze them, live off pizza for a few weeks.”
“Your trainer will love that, I’m sure.”
“Ugh, he’s such a tool.” Not the first time I’ve heard her say that. “Yesterday, he pulled his tank top to the side and started flexing his pec in the mirror, talking to himself while I was sweating like a pig on the treadmill at a preposterous speed.”
“Legs almost fly off?” The visual of Amanda on the treadmill, legs flying about makes me chuckle.
“That and my boobs. Damn things were bouncing right off my chest.”
“Amanda . . .”
“What?” There is humor in her voice.
“You and I both know you barely fill your B-cup. There is no way your boobs were about to bounce off your chest.”
“Don’t you dare discredit small breasts; they bounce and fly about just as much as your Salma Hayek tits.”
“You can wear an Ace bandage around your chest and get away with not wearing a bra.”
Amanda pauses for a second and then says, “And you were wanting me to visit when?”
Laughing, I turn onto Franklin Ave and slow down as I start counting the houses, looking for mine. “I’m sorry, you have the biggest boobs ever.”
“Now you’re lying, that won’t get you anywhere.”
Thirty-five. Thirty-seven. Thirty-nine.
“I’m here,” I announce, pulling into the driveway.
“What does it look like? Are there murderers around you? Any psychopaths?”
“No.” I laugh, putting the car in park. “It’s a quaint little neighborhood actually, full of Cape Cod houses. Looks like my street is a dead end so that’s nice, no unnecessary traffic coming down here.”
I take in the small two-story house in front of me. White with green trim, a cobblestone walkway to the front door, and thankfully a detached garage. Hopefully there is room to park my car because brushing off snow in winter is not my favorite thing to do. The house and surrounding houses look well kept.
“It’s very nice actually.”
“Good. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to help you unpack.”
I sit in my car in the driveway, taking everything in. “It’s no big deal. I only have clothes and random things, no big furniture pieces. Thankfully the house comes furnished. I think I’ll go to Target later to pick up some necessities, but I should be good.” Trey insisted on coming to help me, but since I drove up during a workday, I told him not to worry about it. My refusal didn’t sit well with his well-mannered self.
“Well, that makes me feel better.” She’s silent for a second before asking, “When are you going to visit your dad?”
“First thing tomorrow morning. I plan on taking him some doughnuts and coffee from Dunkin’. Hopefully that will brighten his day.”
“Call me after your visit, and let me know how he’s doing. And tell him I said hi.”
“I will.” Hopefully he remembers who Amanda is. Hell, hopefully he remembers who I am if we’re hoping for things. “Okay, I’m going so I can unpack, run by Price Chopper for some food, and get settled.”
“Smart idea.”
I gather my purse from the passenger side and look at the piece of paper with all the rental information on it. The neighbor to the right will deliver the key.
To the right, is that the right when I’m looking at the house, or the right when I’m looking at the street? A house number would have been nice.
“You still there?” Amanda asks.
“Yeah, sorry. I’m trying to figure out which neighbor has the key.”
“That might be helpful.”
From the corner of my eye, to my right, I see a flash of someone walking toward my car. That must be the neighbor. Wanting to make sure, not that I really know what they look like, I bend my head down and look out the passenger window. The air around me stills and my body goes ramrod straight when I connect with a pair of intense eyes I haven’t seen in three years.
“Oh my God,” I say in nervous awe.
“What?” Amanda squawks. “Is it a psychopath? Lock your doors. Does the neighbor have a gun? Is he wearing hunting camo? Tell him it never looks good, even if you’re in the woods.”
“Amanda, I have to go.”
“What? No way. What’s going on?”
I only have to say two words, two words that hold the weight of a thousand heartbreaks.
Almost on a whisper, I breathe out, “Aaron Walters.”
“Oh shit,” Amanda responds.
Oh shit is exactly right.
About Meghan Quinn:
Born in New York and raised in Southern California, Meghan has grown into a sassy, peanut butter eating, blonde haired swearing, animal hoarding lady. She is known to bust out and dance if “It’s Raining Men” starts beating through the air and heaven forbid you get a margarita in her, protect your legs because they may be humped.
Once she started commuting for an hour and twenty minutes every day to work for three years, she began to have conversations play in her head, real life, deep male voices and dainty lady coos kind of conversations. Perturbed and confused, she decided to either see a therapist about the hot and steamy voices running through her head or start writing them down. She decided to go with the cheaper option and started writing… enter her first novel, Caught Looking.
Now you can find the spicy, most definitely on the border of lunacy, kind of crazy lady residing in Colorado with the love of her life and her five, furry four legged children, hiking a trail or hiding behind shelves at grocery stores, wondering what kind of lube the nervous stranger will bring home to his wife. Oh and she loves a good boob squeeze!
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