Book Spotlight: "Down the Shore" by T. Torrest

Down the Shore
by T. Torrest
Release Date: April 21, 2015

Blurb
Livia Chadwick is a photographer by day and a self-proclaimed rock slut by night.

Her dating life is a lackluster parade of evasive jerks and her boss is an unrelenting nightmare of a human being. What else can a girl do but rent a beach house with her girlfriends and blow off a little steam every weekend? But hey, she’s from Jersey. Barhopping down the shore all season is sort of mandatory. All is going according to plan… until she meets Jack.

Jack Tanner is a contractor-turned-musician in a small-town cover band suddenly thrust into the limelight. He’s already had enough of the rock-and-roll lifestyle, and groupies have never been his thing. Then again… there’s a gorgeous brunette in the audience tonight, checking him out with the most incredible green eyes he’s ever seen.

She's looking for a fling.
He's looking for forever.

It’s gonna be one helluva summer.


Set in the summer of 1995, Down the Shore takes the reader on a tour through some of the Jersey shore’s hottest hot spots over one, sleepless, flannel-clad summer. It’s a look back to a time when the music was groundbreaking, the rock clubs were king, and bar bands ruled the world. Read when you're in the mood for: something light, funny, romantic, beachy, and nostalgic. For ages 18+.

***Not recommended for anyone under the age of 18, and/or any readers who are slut-shamers, guido sympathizers, beach haters or anti-music. Other people who should walk away from this book immediately: Readers who have sticks up their butts regarding offensive language, those who don't like detailed sex in their stories, idiots who think "Jersey Shore" has anything to do with actual New Jerseyans, and anyone who can't appreciate pop-culture from the mother-effing nineties.***

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About the Author

T. Torrest is a New Adult fiction writer from the U.S. She has written many books, but prays that only a handful of them will ever see the light of day. Her stories are geared toward readers of any age that know how to enjoy a good laugh and a dreamy romance. 

Ms. Torrest was a child of the eighties, but has since traded in her Rubik's cube for a laptop and her Catholic school uniform for a comfy pair of yoga pants. She likes pina coladas and getting caught in the rain. She's not much into health food, but she does enjoy talking about herself in the third person. 

A lifelong Jersey girl, she currently resides there with her husband and two sons. 


Excerpt One
   Jack's lips purse together, as if he's literally trying to bite his tongue. Instead, his eyelids lower to half-mast as he says, “You’re not so tough, you know. You try to put up this big front, but your act is pretty transparent.”

   I put a hand to my hip. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m not putting on an act.”

   “Sure you are. This whole groupie thing you’ve got going on. I’m not buying it.”

   “I wasn’t trying to sell it.”

   At that, he cracks a small smile, and it makes me feel more vulnerable than had I been standing there completely naked. You know, kind of like how he almost is.

   The thing is, I almost don’t mind being called out by him, since most guys don’t bother to scratch beyond the surface. It’s flattering to think that Jack is intrigued enough to try. Because honestly? I was full of it when I said I wasn’t acting. I’m sort of impressed that he was able to figure me out so soon. Hell. I haven’t even figured me out yet. 

   Twenty-something is hard. Trying to discover who you are and who you’re going to be. Some people figure it out early, have it all together. And some people go a little off the deep end and wind up with multiple sex partners, trying to shut out the crushing trauma of trying to find their place in the world.

   That’s why his assessment isn’t necessarily a relief. No one likes having their walls torn down, having their shitty reality thrown in their face. I’m sure the unease is playing out on my face as I bite my lip during our awkward silence.

   Right now, all I want is to make my escape. “I should bring these down to Monty. He’s going to wonder what’s taking me so long.”

   He gives me a long, hard look at that, his lip curling into a dangerous smirk.

   “He can wait. I can’t.”

   Before I know it, I’m dropping the pans to the floor as he backs me against the wall, his lips crashing down on mine. I want to shove him away, but hot damn. He’s fucking way too good at making me fall to pieces. I kiss him back, because really, what the hell else can I be expected to do?

   I smooth my hands up his torso, feeling the muscles of his chest jumping under my palms. I slip my fingers into his hair and part my lips against his, sweeping my tongue inside, his cool, minty taste invading my senses. His insistent lips slant across my own as his hands pull me closer against his length. Despite my wishes to the contrary, my heart starts beating out of my goddamned chest. It triples in pace when I realize Jack’s is racing, too.

   He pulls back to take a much needed breath, shooting those mysterious gray eyes into mine. He runs a finger across my bottom lip, lightly brushing it back and forth. “Your mouth,” his aching voice scratches out. “I could lose myself against these lips.”

   My brain tumbles over itself as he comes back in for another kiss, wondering if this means he’s changed his mind about letting me do all sorts of crazy stuff to his peen.

   Because I totally will.

   Just as soon as he lets me.


Excerpt Two
   I test the waters, skimming a hand between us and sliding my palm against the front of his shorts.

   He doesn’t push me away.

   Instead, he groans against my mouth and drives his hips into my hand, gripping my ass closer to his body. It’s a fairly impressive piece of equipment he’s working with over there, and I am more than thrilled to have it writhing against my palm.

   Just as I tuck my thumbs into the waistband of his shorts, he tears his mouth from mine in a frustrated grunt, his hands braced against my shoulders.

   He can’t even meet my eyes as he says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have, uh...”

   Goddammit. This horseshit again? I can’t take it anymore.

   “What the hell, Jack? Why don’t you want to have sex with me?”

   I’m trying very hard not to let any hurt show. But hurt I am.

   He runs a hand through his hair and growls, “It’s not that I don’t want to. Believe me, I want to very much.”

   “So, what are you? Some sort of straight-edger or something?”

   Jack chuckles to himself and answers, “No.”

   “Closeted gay?"

   “No.”

   “A virgin?”

   “No. Not at all. Trust me, in the old days, there was never anything virtuous about me. But I’m done being that guy.”

   “Well, then you seriously misread this situation. Because I’m not done being that girl.”

   He crosses his arms over his chest and stares me down. “You don’t really mean that.”

   “You don’t know me well enough to make such an assessment.”

   “I know you’ve had boyfriends. It’s not always party time for you.”

   Huh. Looks as though someone has been doing his recon. I put my hands on my hips and give a huff. “So... what? You want to be my boyfriend?”

   A sly grin cracks his face at that. He steps too close, and I catch a whiff of his smoky, shaving-cream scent as he lowers his head and nudges his lips against my ear. “Are you asking?”


Excerpt Three
   "So, are you going to let me take you out or what?"

   I roll my eyes, busting his chops when I answer, “Why? It’s not like we’ll ever be having sex.”

   Jack lets out with an exasperated sigh. “That’s not what I said. I’m not planning to be celibate my whole life, for chrissakes.”

   “Just while you’re dating me.”

   “Yes, but not the whole time.”

   I dismiss him with a wave of my hand. “Jackson, you wouldn’t be able to hold out long enough to tell me no for even one night.”

   “Wanna bet?”

   “Wanna lose? Why? Whaddya got for me?”

   His brows furrow as he thinks. “Okay. It’s not really a bet. More like an arrangement.” I eye him skeptically, watching as he tries to contain an evil grin. “Ten dates. That’s all I ask. Ten dates is enough time for us to decide where we’re going to go from there, if we like each other enough to take things further.”

   “Further. You mean have sex.”

   “Yes.”

   “And you want me to agree not to push the issue in the meantime.”

   “Yes.”

   I think on that for a minute. “Can we do other stuff?”

   “Like what?”

   “Like kissing and touching and stuff.”

   He scratches at the tuft of hair on his chin as he considers my question. Most guys look like dicks with chin pubes, but Jack pulls it off without coming across as a soul-patched poser. “Kissing, yes. But let’s just play the other stuff by ear.”

   “I don’t know. You’re not really being clear about the rules with this proposition, here,” I fire back as I eye him warily.

   He takes a heavy breath. “Look, Lips. This is something new for me too, remember. We’ll just have to make up the rules as we go along.”

   My eyes tighten as I assess the situation. I still don’t understand this purity quest he’s on, but what the hell. If some stupid bet is going to be all it takes to get this guy into bed, I’m game. It’ll almost be a novelty, having to work that hard to get a guy to sleep with me. Men are so easy.

   Well, normally, anyway. 


Excerpt Four
   I give a peek back outside and finally see Jack pulling into the driveway. ‘Bout frigging time.

   My stomach does a quick flip when he knocks, and I can’t stop myself from sprinting for the door. I open it, busting his chops when I say, “You’re late.”

   Jack is standing there, sporting a sheepish grin and looking delicious as usual. But suddenly, his smile fades. “What the heck are you wearing?”

   He’d told me to dress casual, so I went with one of my standard uniforms: Black miniskirt, black Docs, and a lightweight flannel that I'm wearing unbuttoned over a tight-fitting concert tee. But his facial expression is suggesting I missed the mark, and I look down at my chest, feeling tacky. Not that I’d ever let him know it.

   “What, this?” I defend. “It’s my Van Halen T-shirt.”

   “Livia,” he sighs. “That is not a Van Halen T-shirt. That is a Van Hagar T-shirt. If anyone could make it look good, it would be you, but please, I’m begging you. Take it off.”

   Ah. The outfit isn’t the problem, just my choice of band. His exasperation and complete music snobbery brings a smile to my face. Temperamental rock star. Yeesh.

   “Right here?” I tease. “Because I should warn you, I’m wearing a matching Van Halen bra underneath this thing,” I laugh as I head off to my bedroom to go change.

   I get about five steps away before turning just enough to see his lip curl and his eyebrows rise. “Prove it.”

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