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Lucky and Patrick Swayze?

Who's ready for the time of their life? Or at least a few hours:)

Okay, so not the REAL Patrick Swayze, obviously. But if you're a fan of Patrick or Dirty Dancing or the 80s or just FUN, this book is for you! I wanted to give you a sneak peek of chapter one, not because of Patrick or dancing or the 80s, but just because Lucky makes me laugh. I hope she does you, too:)


“Let me get this straight. You’re going to let an old woman who can hardly walk and has the disposition of a cornered Tasmanian devil teach you how to shoot a gun?”

Regina looks positively horrified.

“Well, when you say it like that…”

“It’s the truth, though. That’s the scariest part.”

“Believe it or not, I bet Mrs. Snuffleupagus is the perfect person to teach me. Something tells me she was a bad-A in her younger years. She was probably instrumental in turning a war or something.”

Regina is my best friend, and she and I grew up creating nicknames for people based on their physical characteristics. You can just imagine the long, droopy nose of my landlady, Mrs. Stephanopoulos, to make a moniker such as Snuffleupagus feasible.

“Probably. Like the first World War.”

“She’s not that old.”

“Lucky, I’ve seen younger artifacts from the life of Jesus.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“I’ve learned from the best,” she quips, running her hand over the dress she brought me to wear.

“What’s with you tonight? Did something ruffle your pretty peacock feathers?”

Regina is the primpiest person I know. I think she puts on makeup both before and after her shower.

“Stop. I’m not that primpy.” From the mirror of my vanity, I tilt my head and shoot her a wry look. “Fine. I like to look nice. It’s not a crime.”

“It’s most certainly not. And you’re very good at it.” She’s effortlessly gorgeous. She’s as Cajun as my adopted grandmother, Beebee, and her coloring is similar. Smooth caramel skin, dark wavy hair, darker brown eyes.

While she normally has a great sense of style to go along with her beauty, tonight’s outfit is one of my favorites, but not for the reason one might think.

Regina is wearing a cream-colored sweater with brown polka dots. It makes me think of chocolate chip ice cream, which is basically two of my favorite favorite foods rolled into one— chocolate and ice cream. Then again, many things remind me of food because one of my favorite hobbies is eating.

Who am I kidding? It’s hands down my favorite thing to do.

“You shouldn’t wear that top around me,” I mumble distractedly.

“What? Why?”

“Because it reminds me of ice cream. With chocolate chips. Sugary decadence dunked in more sugary decadence. And I don’t need to be thinking about food anymore than I already do.” I lean to one side and smack my butt cheek. “This trunk doesn’t need any more junk in it.”

Regina is looking at me like I’m a toddler throwing a tantrum in the dairy aisle at the grocery store. Her tone matches that very scenario. It’s rife with barely-there tolerance. “So, what colors would you suggest I wear that would help to maximize your weight loss?”

“Maybe gray? It’s a great color on you. Plus, it might remind me of being outside on the sidewalk. Like, jogging or something. And you know how much I hate to exercise.”

Regina hangs her head and mutters, “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

“How is it any weirder than all the other stupid things we talk about in a week’s time?”

“Good point,” she acquiesces. “Okay, so back to these shooting lessons.”

“I’m not going to start strapping a pistol to my leg, Regina, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s just for safety, for the odd occasion when I might get in a bind. Like I did with Leopardo.”

That’s the name of the cartel guy who gave me a little scare a few weeks ago.

Okay, fine. It was more than a little.

“The odd occasion? You mean daily, right?”

“I’m not that prone to getting into trouble.”

“Lucky, you need a bigger security team than the President of the United States.”

I spin on my chair, one eye fully made up, the other not. “Okay, what gives?”

“I don’t know what you—”

“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

“It’s nothing. I—”


“It’s just… Alex asked me out again.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Alex is the nice guy she went out with right before her ex made an unexpected appearance in her life last month. She blew Alex off for coffee the next morning because she was…otherwise engaged.

“I just…I’m so embarrassed.” She drops her face into her hands.

“You’re being crazy. He will understand. Just be honest with him. Tell him someone showed up unexpectedly and you had to deal with some things.”

“I didn’t deal with anything. My vigilante, Calamity-Jane-wannabe best friend did.”

“He doesn’t need to know that.”

“So you think I should go back out with him?”

“Do you like him?” She nods. “Do you think he’s a pretty nice guy?” She nods again. “Is he hot enough for all your Cajun heat?”

At that she giggles. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

“Then, yes, I think you should go back out with him. See where it goes anyway. No one ever got anywhere by playing it safe.”

“If that’s not your life motto, I don’t know what is.”

“As a matter of fact, it is.” I wink my unmade-up eye at her.

She scrunches up her face. “Gross. Turn around and finish your face. That one eye thing is freaking me out. You look like Marilyn Manson.”

I narrow my eyes and then make the unmade-up one as big as I can, turning so it looks like I’m giving her the cursed eye. “What did you say, infidel?”

“Stop it! You’re gonna give me nightmares.” Regina actually shivers, which, of course, also makes me giggle.

“You’re too easy.”

“That’s what he said,” she rejoins with a snort.

“Nice.” I hold my hand up above my head, palm facing her. She leans over and smacks it for a high five.

As I’m putting the finishing touches on my face, I see my little pig, Gumbo, the newest addition to my pet menagerie, pop into my field of vision. He meets my eyes in the mirror, gives me a hearty oink, and then trots over to my purse where it’s lying on the floor. Gumbo loves to root around in pretty much anything, so if it’s low enough for him to stick his snout in, he makes a beeline for it.

Just before he can successfully bury his nose in the center pocket, I leap up. “Gumbo, no!” I lunge for my purse, swiping it up to get it out of his reach. Gumbo glares up at me. If a pig could frown, I’d swear he was frowning at me. “I’m sorry, buddy, but there’s a dangerous thing in here. You can’t be nudging a stun gun. It’s liable to turn your hide into pork rinds.”

I take it out and set my bag back down for him to play with. He immediately dives in. I stand and watch him, smiling down at the cute little guy. He’s much less destructive if I keep him occupied. He’s very smart and very curious, so as long as I have things around for him to investigate, he’s a happy porker.

Much like me.

“What’s that?” Regina asks.

“It’s the stun gun Mrs. S. let me borrow. I tried to give it back to her, but she made me keep it until she can get me trained on a real gun.”

“What does it do?”

“I’ve never used one, but evidently, you push this button and press these two little metal things into someone’s skin and—”

A jolt of electricity zings through me. I feel stiff as a board and tingly from head to toe.

The last thing I remember thinking is that I didn’t intend to actually hit the button.

To find out to what crazy lengths this story goes, you can grab your copy HERE, and I absolutely suggest that you do. Come on, laugh it up! You know you want to:)

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