Excerpt: 'Quirks & Kinks' by Laurel Ulen Curtis

Laurel Ulen Curtis shares a scene from her romantic comedy Quirks & Kinks, which arrives tomorrow.

Laurel: Laurel Ulen Curtis is a 28-year-old author, wife, mother and over-user of sarcasm and emoticons. When she's not writing snarky heroines and the men to match, she can usually be found downing a Coke and fighting the urge to slip into RBF (resting b*tch face).

When she decided to write Quirks & Kinks, she thought it was going to go a very specific direction. Lighthearted. Fun. An easy read. What she got instead was the story of Easie and Anderson. Still chock full of laughs, Quirks & Kinks is so much more.

You're going to love it.

Or, if you're the type of person who itches to rebel against authority — who can't stand to do what you're told — I urge you to hate it. Seriously, I'm telling you to.

About the book:

"It's a new show, Quirks and Kinks. We've already selected a male reenactment actor to be your co-host, so you're the last piece of the puzzle. There's some seriously f***ed up s*** out there that people are into, and the two of you are going to be the face of it."

"I'm going to be the face of people's freakish fetishes?" I asked disbelievingly.

Larry shrugged his nonchalance, shoving it directly down the throat of my panic. "Half of it."

That conversation was the beginning of more than a show. It was the beginning of mystery, friendship, and love, and the outcome of mixing all three together with two unsuspecting victims.

Easie Reynolds and Anderson Evans were drawn to the same, simple thing—each other. But, sometimes, undeniable chemistry isn't enough. After all, how easy is it to get to know someone when they're constantly pretending to be someone else?

EXCERPT

"I'm still not even sure what we're doing here," I told Ashley as I glanced around at the cheap Tex Mex themed decor of El Loco Restaurant.

All around us, business-suit-clad, young singles chatted and laughed, sinking deeper into their margaritas and each other. A life untraveled stared me in the face, but it didn't make me feel bitter or regretful. All I felt was stupid for being out and spending money that we didn't have.

"You just landed a job," she cooed before sipping delicately from the free water.

Giving her my undivided attention, I narrowed my cat-like blue eyes.

"Granted, it's not a job you're exactly thrilled about, but it comes with money, and that's worth celebrating a little."

"Pff," I huffed. "So far, all it's come with is a bag of muffin mix and humiliation." Exaggeratedly, I checked my purse. "Nope, no money."

Ashley just shook her head. "We're eating one dollar tacos. Peanut butter and bread are more expensive. Relax."

My fingers itched for a cigarette, and astute twenty-three-year-old lady that she was, Ashley didn't miss it.

"Besides, if we're going to get on the money discussion, you're going to have to take a closer look at some of your other expensive habits."

Ashley had been trying to talk me into quitting for years, and I knew my lungs would thank me if I somehow managed to follow through. But as desirable as it sounded, I just…couldn't. It wasn't so much the addiction and the work it would take to kick a years-in-the-making habit. It was that smoking had become my emotional crutch. My timeout in any moment of need and my excuse to busy myself with something other than being a b*tch. I was scared of the chasm I'd fall into, the inescapable hole I'd create with my auger-like anxiety without it.

My sister didn't know any of that. No one did.

"I smoke for my career."

Her eyes practically rolled all the way out of her head. "This ought to be good."

"You know this industry is unbelievably vapid, and vapid means skinny. Smoking keeps me that way."

She shook her head in disdain.

"And it's cheaper than a gym membership."

"Global warming, anyone?" she called dramatically. "You're argument is balancing on some pretty thin ice."

"Shut up," I poked, shoving her in her petite, narrow shoulder with our usual sibling playfulness.

Suddenly, warmth wafted up into my face as our waiter shoved the toasty basket of complimentary chips into the center of our table. My eyes drifted naturally from the basket to the hand holding it, where a large, oval, heavy metal ring sat in blazing contrast to the tan expanse of his long ring finger, up the line of his muscular—deliciously veiny—forearm, to the cuff of his rolled up black sleeve. On a runaway mission of their own, my eyes wouldn't stop, eating up the expanse of his bicep in an instant, stutter-stepping up the corded column of his slender throat, and landing on one of the most attractive male mugs I've ever seen.

A mixing bowl of ethnicity, his naturally tanned skin and dark features stood in stark contrast with the minty green of his eyes. Directly on me and smirking, they were mesmerizing.

And mocking.

Ashley spoke, as I'd apparently lost all of my normal snarky ability.

"Thanks."

A small glance from me to her preceded his polite answer. "You're welcome."

She smiled her prettiest smile, the one that infused her entire being from chest to eyes, and the corner of his mouth notched higher in response.

A foreign heaviness settled in my chest as I watched, and its completely unwelcome presence nearly made me sick.