{"id":26466,"date":"2017-10-04T11:30:26","date_gmt":"2017-10-04T15:30:26","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/?p=26466"},"modified":"2019-07-11T17:31:31","modified_gmt":"2019-07-11T21:31:31","slug":"chapter-reveal-hooking-up-by-helena-hunting","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/?p=26466","title":{"rendered":"Chapter Reveal: Hooking Up (Shacking Up, #2) by Helena Hunting"},"content":{"rendered":"

HOOKING UP<\/strong><\/h4>\n

by Helena Hunting<\/strong><\/h4>\n

\u00a0Pre-order today!!<\/strong>
\nAmazon US<\/a>\u00a0| Amazon UK<\/a> | Amazon CA<\/a>\u00a0| Amazon AU<\/a>
\niBooks<\/a> | B&N<\/a> | Kobo<\/a> | GooglePlay<\/a>\u00a0| Paperback<\/a><\/strong><\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

*Teaser\u00a0courtesy of Helena Hunting<\/a>*<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Blurb<\/strong><\/h4>\n

Amalie Whitfield is the picture of a blushing bride during her wedding reception\u2013but for all the wrong reasons. Instead of proclaiming his undying love, her husband can be heard, by Amalie and their guests, getting off with someone else. She has every reason to freak out, and in a moment of insanity, she throws herself at the first hot-blooded male she sees. But he\u2019s not interested in becoming her revenge screw.<\/p>\n

Mortified and desperate to escape the post-wedding drama, Amalie decides to go on her honeymoon alone, only to find the man who rejected her also heading to the same tiny island for work. But this time he isn\u2019t holding back. She should know better than to sleep with someone she knows, but she can\u2019t seem to resist him.<\/p>\n

They might agree that what happens on the island should stay on the island, but neither one can deny that their attraction is more than just physical.<\/p>\n

Filled with hilariously scandalous situations and enough sexual chemistry to power an airplane from New York City to the South Pacific,\u00a0Hooking Up<\/i>\u00a0is the next standalone, laugh-out-loud romantic comedy from Helena Hunting, the New York Times bestselling author of the Pucked<\/a> series and\u00a0Shacking Up<\/i><\/a>.<\/p>\n

Find Hooking<\/em>\u00a0Up\u00a0<\/em>on GOODREADS<\/a><\/strong><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

Chapter One<\/strong><\/h4>\n

Wedding Unbliss<\/span><\/h4>\n

Amie<\/span><\/p>\n

This is the happiest day of my life<\/span><\/i>. I allow that thought to roll around in my head, trying to figure out why it doesn\u2019t seem to resonate the way it should. This <\/span>should<\/span><\/i> be the happiest day of my life. So I\u2019m not exactly certain why the uneasy feeling I associate with cold feet is getting worse rather than dissipating. I\u2019ve already done the hard part; walked down the aisle and said \u201cI do.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

My husband excused himself to go to the bathroom several minutes ago and, based on Armstrong\u2019s itinerary for the day, speeches are supposed to begin promptly at eight-thirty. According to my phone, that\u2019s less than two minutes from now, and he\u2019s not here. The emcee for the evening is awaiting Armstrong\u2019s return before he begins. And then the real party can start. The one where we get to celebrate our commitment to each other as partners for life. As in the rest of my breathing days. Dear God, why does that make my stomach twist?<\/span><\/p>\n

I sip my white wine. Armstrong pointed out that red is not a good idea with my dress, even though it\u2019s my preference. Besides, I don\u2019t want it to stain my teeth. That would make for bad pictures.<\/span><\/p>\n

I glance around the hall and see my parents, who are probably celebrating the fact that I didn\u2019t walk down the aisle with a convicted felon. And frankly, so am I. My dating history pre-Armstrong wasn\u2019t fabulous.<\/span><\/p>\n

The sheer number of people in attendance spikes my anxiety. Speaking in front of all of these people makes me want to drink more, which is a bad idea. Tipsy speeches could lead to saying the wrong thing. I check my phone under the table again. It\u2019s after eight-thirty. The longer Armstrong takes to return, the further behind we\u2019ll get. The music playlist, devised by Armstrong with painstaking efficiency, leaves no room for tardiness. If we don\u2019t start on time I\u2019ll have to take out a song, or possibly two, to compensate for his delay and he\u2019s selected the order in such a way as to make that difficult and that will annoy him. I just want today to be perfect. I want it to be reflective of my decision to marry Armstrong. That I, Amalie Whitfield, can make good choices and am not a disgrace to my family.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhere the hell is he?\u201d I scan the room and take another small sip of my wine. I should switch to water soon so I don\u2019t end up drunk, especially later, when all of this is over and we can celebrate our lifelong commitment to each other without clothes on. I\u2019m hopeful it will last more than five minutes.<\/span><\/p>\n

Ruby, my maid of honor and best friend for the past decade, puts a hand on my shoulder. \u201cWould you like Bancroft to find Armstrong?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Bancroft, or Bane for short, is Ruby\u2019s boyfriend who she\u2019s been living with for several months. Recently I find myself getting a little jealous of how affectionate they still are with each other, even after all this time. Cohabitation hasn\u2019t slowed them down on the sex or their PDA. I have hope that Armstrong and I will be more like Bane and Ruby now that we\u2019ll be sharing the same bed every night.<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019m about to tell Ruby to give him another minute when a low buzz suddenly fills the hall. It sounds like a school PA system. I start to panic\u2014they can\u2019t start the speeches without Armstrong at my side. What\u2019s the point of speeches if the groom isn\u2019t present?<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019m halfway out of my seat, ready to tell the deejay, or whoever is behind the mic, he needs to wait, when a very loud moan echoes through the room. The acoustics are phenomenal in here, it\u2019s why we chose this venue.<\/span><\/p>\n

I glance at Ruby to make sure I\u2019m not hearing things. Her eyes are wide. The kind of wide associated with shock. The same shock I\u2019m feeling.<\/span><\/p>\n

Another moan reverberates through the sound system, followed by the words, \u201cOh, fuuuck.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

A collective gasp ripples through the now-silent crowd. While the words themselves are scandalous among these guests, it\u2019s the voice groaning them that makes me sit up straighter, and simultaneously consider hiding under the table.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cFuck yeah. Ah, suck it. That\u2019s it. Deep throat it like a good little slut. Fuuuuuccckkkkk.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

My mouth drops and I look to Ruby to ensure I have not completely lost my mind. \u201cIs that\u2014\u201d I don\u2019t finish the sentence. I already know the answer to the question, so it\u2019s pointless to ask. Besides, I\u2019m cut off by yet another loud groan. I clap a hand over my mouth because I\u2019m not sure I\u2019m able to close it, my disbelief is as vast as the ocean.<\/span><\/p>\n

Ruby\u2019s expression mirrors mine, except hers is incredibly animated since she\u2019s an actress. \u201cOh my God. Is that Armstrong?\u201d Her words are no more than a whisper, but they sound very much like a scream. Oh no, wait, that\u2019s just Armstrong on the verge of an orgasm. But these sounds are nothing like the ones he makes when he\u2019s in the throes of passion with me.<\/span><\/p>\n

I clutch Ruby\u2019s hand. The next sound that comes from him is a hybrid between a hyena laugh and a wolf baying at the moon. And every guest at our wedding is hearing the same thing I am. <\/span>Our wedding<\/span><\/i>. Someone other than me is blowing my husband at my own wedding. My mortification knows no end.<\/span><\/p>\n

I grab the closest bottle of wine and dump the contents into my glass. Some of it sloshes over the edge and onto the crisp white tablecloth. It doesn\u2019t matter. There\u2019s plenty more where it came from. I chug the glass, then grab Ruby\u2019s.<\/span><\/p>\n

People lean in and whisper to each other, eyes lift to the speakers. A few people, the ones who are probably just here for the social-ladder-climbing potential, question who it is.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIs the deejay watching porn?\u201d That comment comes from a table full of mostly drunk singles in their early twenties.<\/span><\/p>\n

Several eyes shift my way as I carelessly down Ruby\u2019s wine and someone asks where the groom has disappeared to.<\/span><\/p>\n

The grunts and groans grow terrifyingly louder. This is <\/span>nothing<\/span><\/i> like what I\u2019m used to in bed with Armstrong. The dirty words aren\u2019t something he ever uses with me, mostly it\u2019s just noises and sometimes a \u201cRight there\u201d or \u201cI\u2019m close,\u201d but that\u2019s about it. He\u2019s never talked to me like he is to the woman currently providing oral pleasure. And I\u2019m very adept at oral. Although with Armstrong it\u2019s very polite, neat oral, with no sounds other than the occasional hum. Slurping is uncivilized and a definite no-no.<\/span><\/p>\n

I reach past Ruby for the bottle of red since I don\u2019t really give a flying fuck about purple teeth right now. As I sink low in my seat I pour another glass of wine, surveying the people in the ballroom from behind the cover of the centerpiece. The centerpieces are huge and excessive and I don\u2019t like them at all, but at least provides a protective barrier between the guests and my disgust, which I\u2019m certain they must share. He sounds like a wild animal rutting. It is entirely unsexy. I have no idea who he\u2019s getting intimate with, but I\u2019m suddenly very glad it\u2019s not me.<\/span><\/p>\n

And doesn\u2019t that tell me more about our relationship than it should.<\/span><\/p>\n

It\u2019s only been about thirty seconds\u2014the most humiliating thirty seconds of my life\u2014before Armstrong comes. How do I know this? Because he says, very clearly, \u201cKeep sucking, baby, I\u2019m coming.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

And \u201cbaby,\u201d whoever she is, makes these horrific gurgling noises. It sounds like some form of alien communication. It\u2019s way over the top, and apparently Armstrong is loving it, based on the string of vile profanity that spews from his asshole mouth.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cHoly crap. Is this for real? That was really fast,\u201d Ruby mutters.<\/span><\/p>\n

I guzzle my glass of wine. Then decide the glass is unnecessary and take a long swig from the bottle before Ruby snatches it away. Wine dribbles down my chin and onto my chest, staining the white satin purple. My dress is ruined. I should be freaking out. But I really don\u2019t care.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCome on,\u201d Ruby tugs on my hand. \u201cWe need to get you out of here while people are still distracted.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

My older brother Pierce and the emcee are standing in the middle of the hall, gesturing wildly to the speakers above us. My other brother, Lawson, is on his way toward the podium in an attempt to do something. I don\u2019t think there\u2019s anything he can do to stop this train wreck from there.<\/span><\/p>\n

Ruby tugs again, but I\u2019m frozen, still trying to figure out what exactly just happened. Well, I know what\u2019s happened. I just can\u2019t believe it.<\/span><\/p>\n

The sound of a zipper and the rustle of clothes follows. \u201cThanks for that, now I\u2019ll be able to last later tonight,\u201d Armstrong says.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about me?\u201d A female asks. Her voice is nasally and whiny.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat about you?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell I helped you, aren\u2019t you going to help me?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cDidn\u2019t you come with a date?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWell, yes, but\u2014\u201d God her voice is familiar. I just can\u2019t figure out where I know it from.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMy cousin, right? He loves my sloppy seconds. Speeches are starting. I gotta get back to my ball and chain.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Gasps of horror ripple through the room, followed by a few giggles. These people really are assholes.<\/span><\/p>\n

I think I\u2019m going to throw up. I can\u2019t believe he\u2019s going to come out here and pretend nothing just happened. Like some other woman didn\u2019t just have her lips around his cock. His distinctly average cock. Maybe even slightly below average in length, if I\u2019m being one hundred percent honest.<\/span><\/p>\n

A door opens and closes.<\/span><\/p>\n

Lawson turns on the mic behind the podium and taps it, sending screeching feedback through the room, making people cringe. Too bad no one did that a minute ago.<\/span><\/p>\n

Murmuring grows louder and glances flicker to the head table and then away as Brittany Thorton, a seriously skanky debutante, comes strutting through the doors, using a compact to check her lipstick. She\u2019s made it her mission to attempt to get into the pants of half the eligible men in this room. She\u2019s followed, not five seconds later, by a very smug-looking Armstrong.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m going to kill him.\u201d I grab the closest steak knife, but it appears my hasty, and possibly felonious, plan is unnecessary. My brothers leave their respective posts and stalk toward him. Across the room my mother is gripping my father\u2019s arm, whispering furiously in his ear. Great. Just what I need, additional family drama.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cOh shit,\u201d Ruby gasps.<\/span><\/p>\n

I follow her gaze to find Bane converging on Armstrong with my brothers. Bancroft is a tank and he used to play professional rugby. I\u2019ve seen him with his shirt off, he\u2019s built like a superhero and he\u2019ll probably crush Armstrong, or at least break something. Possibly multiple somethings.<\/span><\/p>\n

For a second I consider that Ruby should probably stop Bane from destroying Armstrong\u2019s pretty, regal face, but then I realize I don\u2019t actually care. In fact, the possibility that he might break Armstrong\u2019s perfectly straight nose fills me with glee. Armstrong\u2019s wellbeing is no longer my concern, it\u2019s more about Bane ending up in prison for murder.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI hope Armstrong has a good plastic surgeon, he\u2019s going to need it once Bane is done with him.\u201d Ruby echoes my internal hopes and her chair tips as she jumps up. \u201cCome on, let\u2019s get you out of here.\u201d She nods to the right.<\/span><\/p>\n

I notice my mother and father engaged in a heated discussion with Armstrong\u2019s parents. I really don\u2019t need this right now. Not the drama. Not the humiliation. All I wanted was a nice wedding. Instead I end up with a husband who gets a blow job during our reception\u2014and it\u2019s broadcast to everyone attending.<\/span><\/p>\n

Ruby urges me into action. \u201cDon\u2019t worry about them. Get your stuff and we\u2019ll get you the hell out of here. I\u2019ll have the limo meet you by the entrance near your bridal suite as soon as I can.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I nod and stumble unsteadily to my feet, thanks to having consumed the better part of a bottle of wine in the last minute and a half. It\u2019s amazing how ninety seconds can change a person\u2019s entire life.<\/span><\/p>\n

All hell breaks loose as more men jump in to either pummel or extract Armstrong from the pummeling. I grab my clutch and phone from the table, gather up my stupid, too puffy gown, and head for the bridal suite, where I had prepared for what was supposed to be the most amazing day of my life. And now it\u2019s likely the worst, at least I hope the mortification level I\u2019m experiencing can\u2019t exceed this. I feel like the foulest version of Cinderella ever.<\/span><\/p>\n

I rush down the empty hall and grab the doorknob as I fumble around in my clutch for the key. I\u2019m surprised when it turns. I thought I\u2019d locked it before we left for the ceremony. Regardless, I need to get away from everyone before I either lose it or commit a felony. Maybe both. Murder in the first. Armstrong will be my victim. And maybe that horrible skank, Brittany.<\/span><\/p>\n

I thrust the door open and slam it closed behind me, locking it from the inside. Tears threaten to spill over and ruin my makeup. Not that it matters since there\u2019s no way I\u2019m going out there again. I can\u2019t believe my forever lasted less than twelve hours. I can\u2019t believe the man I\u2019m supposed to spend the rest of my life loving couldn\u2019t be faithful to me for even one day. What the hell is wrong with me? With him? I\u2019m as devastated as I am angry and embarrassed. Once I annul this farce of a marriage I\u2019ll become a spinster. I should probably go ahead and adopt six or seven cats tonight.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI need to get out of this dress,\u201d I say to myself. I reach behind me and pull the bow at the base of my spine. Instead of unfurling, it knots and I only succeed in pulling it tighter. Of course my dress has to be difficult. I growl my annoyance and rush over to my dressing table where my makeup and perfume are scattered from earlier today. Half a mimosa sits unconsumed beside the vase of red roses Armstrong had delivered.<\/span><\/p>\n

The card read: <\/span>I can\u2019t wait to spend forever loving you.<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

What a load of bullshit. I drain the contents of the champagne flute, not caring that the drink is warm and flat. Then I throw the glass, because it feels good and the sound of shattering crystal is satisfying. Next I heave the vase of roses, which explodes impressively against the wall, splattering water and shards of glass across the floor.<\/span><\/p>\n

I yank out a couple of the drawers and find a pair of scissors. They actually look more like gardening shears and seem rather out of place, but I don\u2019t question it. Instead I reach behind me with my back to the mirror and awkwardly try to cut myself free. It\u2019s not easy with the way I have to crane my neck.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cGoddammit! I need to get out of this stupid dress!\u201d I yell at my reflection. I think I might actually be losing it just a touch now. I stop messing around with the laces in the back and shove the scissors down the front. I nearly nick myself with the blade\u2014they\u2019re a lot sharper than I realized\u2014but that doesn\u2019t slow me down. I start hacking my way through the bodice; layers of satin, lace, and intricate beading sliced apart with every vicious snip.<\/span><\/p>\n

I just want out of this nightmare.<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/div>\n
<\/div>\n
\n

About the Author<\/strong><\/h4>\n

New York Times\u00a0<\/i>and\u00a0USA Today<\/i>\u00a0bestselling author of the PUCKED<\/a>\u00a0series, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She’s writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

WEBSITE<\/a> | FACEBOOK<\/a> | TWITTER<\/a>\u00a0| AMAZON<\/a><\/strong><\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

HOOKING UP by Helena Hunting \u00a0Pre-order today!! Amazon US\u00a0| Amazon UK | Amazon CA\u00a0| Amazon AU iBooks | B&N | Kobo | GooglePlay\u00a0| Paperback   *Teaser\u00a0courtesy of Helena Hunting*   Blurb Amalie Whitfield is the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":24277,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","yasr_overall_rating":0,"yasr_post_is_review":"","yasr_auto_insert_disabled":"","yasr_review_type":"","_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[290],"tags":[439,157],"class_list":["post-26466","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-book-news","tag-chapter-reveal","tag-helena-hunting"],"yasr_visitor_votes":{"stars_attributes":{"read_only":false,"span_bottom":false},"number_of_votes":0,"sum_votes":0},"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/08\/Hooking-Up-2.jpg?fit=150%2C234&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p7gaNL-6SS","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26466","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=26466"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/26466\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/24277"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=26466"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=26466"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.escapistbookblog.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=26466"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}