Blind Date With a Book (Small town Celebrity Crushes--Signed by the Author)

I can't tell you that! It'll ruin the blind date aspect of this whole thing happening here.

CAUTION! Possible Blind Date spoilers ahead. Do not read on if you want a surprise. But if you are worried you're going to buy a book you've already read then proceed with caution.
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Okay, so you're the type who ruins your own surprise parties (welcome to the club, my friend...)
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Last chance to back out and not ruin your own blind date surprise!
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SNEAK PEEK:

The photographer.
She was back.
Finn spun back to the bar, sucking his lower lip into his mouth as he rubbed his cheek absently. Hours later, he swore he could still feel the imprint of her slender palm. He lifted his cold glass to the handprint and turned farther from the door. The condensation seeped through his five o’clock shadow, the coolness a comfort.
Why hadn’t his stubble been irresistible to her? He knew his blue eyes shone straight out from his face when he was unshaved. He was primal. Real. As irresistible as a plate of fresh chocolate chip cookies outside a pothouse.
Sexy. And yet she’d rejected him as if he was a high school loser and she was the prom queen.
He was supposed to be the prom king, making her weak at the knees. She was supposed to be just some girl who was happy he’d looked her way. But instead, she’d balked when he’d acted like a pushy alpha who was hungry for one thing and expected to get it.
But there’d been something about the way Nature Nut had reacted that stirred his blood in a way Finn’s ex-girlfriend never had. Was it the challenge? The fire within her? The lack of vapidness? This photographer was nothing like Jessica. At first Jess’s plastic perfect appearance had thrilled him. She wanted him. But as time wore on, her fake breasts and piles of makeup had started to repulse him. Yet everyone else found her beautiful.
Maybe that’s why he was so turned on by his nature nut. It was her realness. She was the opposite of Hollywood, and every emotion played across her face like a Hot List actor earning her Oscar.
Wait…
His nature nut?
He rubbed his jaw. Canada was getting to him.
She settled beside him, making him sympathize with the way Miss Muffet felt when the spider sat down beside her.
“I’m not going to slap you,” she announced, after ordering a draft beer.
“Okay.”
He had to play a role. Be cool. Intriguing. Debonair.
But she hadn’t liked Mr. Hotshot earlier, and chances were she’d hate any role he put on--anything that was less than real.
Finn gripped the bar and rubbed his jaw again. He was screwed.
“I came to apologize,” she said, her voice flat.
He spun on his stool to face her. She looked lost, defeated, rejected. Not at all like the fiery woman who had escaped him earlier. He wanted to pull her into a hug to feel her against him and make her smile. Make those worries not quite hidden in her eyes flit away like a cloud of butterflies.
“I should be the one apologizing,” he said. He placed a hand on the bar and leaned toward her. “I’m not the man you’ve seen in the tabloids. I’m not the man you met hours ago.” He turned away. He was already blowing this chance. Obviously there was something wrong with him. Seriously wrong.
“Don’t play me,” she said, staring at him with serious blue eyes. “I know you don’t have a twin brother.”
He scratched his head warily, buying for time as he worked to hide the emotions associated with him having a twin brother. The public didn’t know about his twin, Julian, and they certainly didn’t know about that fateful night when, just a block from home, Finn had lost the man he’d shared a womb with for nine months and a bedroom for sixteen and a half years. “Sorry?”
“Don’t lie to me and don’t play the role of caring gentleman. I can see it coming and I don’t like it. I’d prefer you be straight-up honest. Be who you really are.”
“Oh.” He pushed his sweaty glass away, contemplating her words. That should be easy. Except he didn’t know who he was. He knew who he used to be and who he was becoming, thanks to Derek’s hard work. But who he was at this exact point in time…that was difficult to pin down.
“So, I’m sorry.” She pushed away from the bar, her beer in hand. A pang of loneliness hit Finn harder than a Jean-Claude Van Damme punch to the gut.
“No.” He grabbed her arm a little too tightly. “I’m sorry. Please. Stay.” He gestured to the stool she’d slipped off. “Finish your beer. I promise I won’t manhandle you.”
She cautiously slid back onto it.
He grinned and leaned toward her as though sharing a secret. “Unless you ask me to.”

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