Infamous by Jenny Holiday Virtual Tour with Excerpt & #giveaway @RiptideBooks @jennyholi

Hello! I’m Jenny and I’m happy to be here to celebrate the release of Infamous. Infamous is book two in the Famous series, which mixes m/f and m/m romance. (And mixes famous musicians and regular people!) In Infamous, Jesse, our resident bad-boy rock star has to decide if he’s willing to risk his career to be with Hunter, a doctor he’s rapidly falling for. I hope you enjoy it!

All that up-and-coming musician Jesse Jamison has ever wanted is to be on the cover of Rolling Stone. When a gossip website nearly catches him kissing someone who isn’t his famous girlfriend—and also isn’t a girl—he considers the near miss a wake-up call. There’s a lot riding on his image as the super-straight rocker, and if he wants to realize his dreams, he’ll need to toe the line. Luckily, he’s into women too. Problem solved.

After a decade pretending to be his ex’s roommate, pediatrician Hunter Wyatt is done hiding. He might not know how to date in the Grindr world, how to make friends in a strange city, or whether his new job in Toronto is a mistake. But he does know that no one is worth the closet. Not even the world’s sexiest rock star.

As Jesse’s charity work at Hunter’s hospital brings the two closer together, a bromance develops. Soon, Hunter is all Jesse can think about. But when it comes down to a choice between Hunter and his career, he’s not sure he’s brave enough to follow his heart.

Buy links: Riptide | Amazon US | Amazon UK

Excerpt...

Chapter One

At the last second, Jesse changed his mind and sat next to the hot guy instead of the middle-aged businesswoman.

It was a breach of the rules. Jesse had been taking the Sunday afternoon Montreal-to-Toronto train once a month for the past four years, and he had a system, a well-honed methodology developed from painful trial and error.

And by painful, he meant, for example, five hours trapped next to a young mother holding a teething baby.

Most people liked to rush onto the train as soon as possible, and they aggressively went after empty rows, seating themselves alone. But this route always sold out. Since the train was going to fill, it was smarter to hang back a bit, to bide his time and get onto a car that looked like it was about half-full. That way, he could choose his seatmate, whereas all those hasty people alone in two-seater rows had to resign themselves to a journey with whoever happened to plop down next to them.

No, it was infinitely preferable to be in control of one’s own destiny.

And Jesse was nothing if not in control of his destiny.

So whenever Jesse got on a train, the first thing he always did was start profiling the hell out of potential seatmates.

Middle-aged women were the best. Even better if they looked like they were traveling on business. If they also wore wedding rings? Jackpot. Women in general tended not to initiate conversation and left him to pass the time in peace, the aforementioned mother-of-teether being emblematic of an exceptional subcategory: mothers desperately in need of adult conversation.

Another subcategory to avoid regardless of gender? The elderly, God bless them, were not ideal seatmates.

Neither were teenagers, the ultimate undesirable seatmates. They were starting to recognize him. Some people in their twenties and thirties did too, but they usually couldn’t remember from where—or if they did, it sparked a brief conversation and then they picked up on his not-so-subtle cues and left him alone. But if a teenaged girl recognized him, he was doomed. He generally didn’t like to think of teenagers as the band’s target demographic, but you never had any idea what the record label was going to do with your stuff. Before you knew it, you’d be appearing on Spotify playlists called “teen heartbreak” or some shit.

He was beginning to think it was time to arrange alternate transportation for his monthly trips back from Montreal. Things were happening faster on the career front than he’d anticipated. By the time he was on the cover of Rolling Stone, he wasn’t going to be taking the train anymore anyway. And what do they say? “Start as you mean to go on”?

Today, he ambled down the aisle, scanning the rows until he spied the perfect target: midforties, hair blown out into a perfect dark-brown helmet, business suit, laptop already fired up.

As he approached, he surveyed the rest of the car. The row across from the businesswoman was occupied by a man reading a book. He was dressed in an aqua button-down shirt and dark jeans. Salt-and-pepper hair, which was clearly premature—the guy couldn’t have been more than thirty-five—swooshed back into a messy pompadour that was shorter on the sides. His most prominent facial feature was a chiseled jaw dusted with a few days’ worth of beard growth that was more salt than pepper.

Well, shit. A baby silver fox.

The poor bastard would probably end up with some clingy woman sitting next to him, projecting all her hopes onto him for the duration of the trip.

Jesse should do a good deed and sit next to him.

He usually tried to ignore men who weren’t obviously working on something. You never knew with men. It was harder to make snap judgments about them. Sometimes they kept to themselves, but sometimes the newspaper they’d seemed so engrossed in would turn out to be a prop and they’d want to buddy up with you.

Someone was coming up the aisle behind him. Jesse was holding everyone up.

The woman was safer. Infinitely safer.

He set his bag down on the seat next to the man.

Jesse rummaged through it to pull out the items he’d need during the trip—phone, bottle of water, the latest issues of Billboard and Rolling Stone. It was hard not to sigh over the talentless, manufactured boy band on the cover of the latter. But he would have his turn someday.

As he reached up to stash his bag on the overhead shelf, the man looked up and caught his eye.

Jesse nodded as he sat. The man’s eyes were striking—a kind of light brown flecked with gold, bright enough to be visible behind his black horn-rimmed glasses. The silver hair and the almost-gold eyes were a weird but compelling combination, like clashing jewelry.

The man gave a slight smile and said, “Hey,” before returning his attention to his book. A second later, though, his phone dinged. He picked it up and eyed the screen. Jesse watched him key in his passcode and read a long text. His eyes seemed to darken in real time, becoming a little less gold, like the sun dimming. He dropped the phone carelessly into the seat pocket in front of him, closed his eyes, and mouthed, Fuck.

Some part of Jesse’s brain could sense some other part of his brain gearing up to speak.

Jenny Holiday started writing in fourth grade, when her aging-hippie teacher, between Pete Seeger songs, gave the kids notebooks and told them to write stories. Jenny’s featured poltergeist, alien invasions, or serial killers who managed to murder everyone except her and her mom. She showed early promise as a romance writer, though, because nearly every story had a happy ending: fictional Jenny woke up to find that the story had been a dream, and that her best friend, father, and sister had not, in fact, been axe-murdered. Today she is a USA Today bestselling author of historical and contemporary romance. She lives in London, Ontario.

Connect with Jenny:

Website: jennyholiday.com 

Blog: jennyholiday.com/blog 

Facebook: www.facebook.com/jennyholidaybooks/ 

Twitter: @jennyholi

To celebrate the release of Infamous, one lucky winner will receive a $20 Amazon gift card! Leave a comment with your contact info to enter the contest. Entries close at midnight, Eastern time, on December 2, 2017. Contest is NOT restricted to U.S. entries. Thanks for following the tour, and don’t forget to leave your contact info!