Title: I Bet You
Author: Ilsa Madden -Mills
Genre: Contemporary Sports Romance
Publish Date: October 28,
2018
Review Source: Social Butterfly PR
She’s the one bet I can’t resist...
Wall Street
Journal bestselling author Ilsa Madden-Mills returns with an all-new swoon-fest
of a novel about what happens when you look beyond labels and take a chance on
love.
I Bet You, an
all-new sexy college romance standalone is available NOW!
Sexy Athlete: I bet you…
Penelope Graham:
Burn in hell, quarterback.
The late night
text is random but Penelope knows exactly who “Sexy Athlete” is. And why she
shouldn't take his wager.
Ryker Voss.
Football star.
Walks on water
and God's gift to women.
Just ask him.
His bet? He
promises Penelope he’ll win her the heart of the nerdy guy she’s been crushing
on. His plan—good old-fashioned jealousy. Once her crush sees her kissing
Ryker, he'll realize what he's missing. Sounds legit, right? The only question
is…why is Ryker being so nice to her?
Penelope Graham.
Virgin.
Lover of sparkly
vampires and calculus.
His mortal
enemy.
Penelope knows
she shouldn’t trust a jock, but what’s a girl to do when she needs a date to
Homecoming? And Ryker’s keeping a secret, another bet, one that could destroy
Penelope’s heart forever.
Will the
quarterback score the good girl or will his secret mean everyone loses at this
game of love?
Oh, how my cup
runneth over with love. I absolutely adored every single word and moment in
this book. I’m am almost certain that Ilsa was writing about me!! So many
instances in this book are me and my husband. Being called Red, my love for
Edward and Twilight and an all-consuming alpha man, who loves me like no other.
Therefore, I Bet You is a solid 5 for me. One of my favorite reads of the year
and it’s also my first, by this brilliant author. I am so happy that I was
chosen, but also that it is this book that has started my love for her
writing.
Everything about
I Bet You was brilliant. The characters, the writing, the back story, the
humor. Just ... everything. You’ll first fall in love with the retro feel of
the free-spirited Penelope and her bad ass sidekick, Charisma. Then, you have
the romantic, beautifully blond, alpha football player Ryker and his hilarious
and sexy best friend, Blaze. You are able to get to know each character’s
personality by the amazing details that Ilsa Madden-Mills gives us. You feel at
one with them and sympathize when going through rough times. This is a
touchdown for me. Again, 5 stars for this amazing read. I can’t wait to see
what she has in store for us next.
Penelope
I stand in front
of the mirror in the restroom and gasp. Holy moly, I’m a total disaster. Red is
on my shirt, my neck, my cheek, and there’s even a dab in my hair. I let out a
heavy sigh as I wipe at it with a wet paper towel. At least my hair is auburn
and the red will just blend right in. I scrub at the stain on my shirt, but all
I end up doing is making a giant wet spot.
“Forget it,” I
mutter to myself a few minutes later as I straighten my lopsided messy bun and
adjust my glasses. My makeup is faded, and I reach into my apron for a tube of
cherry red lipstick then quickly swipe it over my mouth. Like that’s going to
improve the situation. I need a makeover and new clothes stat.
I walk out of
the restroom and take in Sugar’s Bar and Grill, a restaurant in Magnolia,
Mississippi. The dinner rush is over, but a few stragglers will come in, mostly
college students. Only a block from campus, Sugar’s has a modern farmhouse feel
with galvanized steel light fixtures, pale pine floors, and straight-back metal
chairs, but the food…well, that’s what keeps the place hopping. It’s the only
restaurant near campus to get anything you want served up with a side of fresh
fried green tomatoes. Their menu also features Southern classics, such as
chicken and dumplings or macaroni and cheese with bacon sprinkled on top. Just
thinking about it makes my stomach rumble. I was so wrapped up in writing
during my break that I forgot to eat.
I sigh and head
to the football table, where they promptly hand over the money. “Nice doing
business with you, boys,” I say before flouncing off, feeling Ryker’s eyes on
me the entire time.
What’s his deal
with me?
I mean, you’d
think he’d want to avoid me because of the article, but it’s as if his mission
is to be around me as much as he can. In fact, I’m not even sure he knew who I
was before I wrote it since we don’t run in the same circles. I suspect he’s
torturing me.
I push him out
of my head and walk over to a table that needs bussing, picking up half-empty
soda glasses and putting them on my tray. The door chimes, signaling that
someone has come in, and I raise my head to see—
Whoa.
I freeze.
Bring out the
angels and cue the hallelujah chorus.
Now that’s the
kind of man I should be writing sexy scenes about.
Standing at the
door is Connor Dimpleshitz—yes, his surname is unfortunate, but his IQ makes up
for it. I’ve been crushing on him since our sociology class last semester.
Framed by a
golden halo of sunlight as it glints through the windows, I decide he’s what
would happen if Albert Einstein and Henry Cavill had a baby. “A hot genius. The
perfect unicorn,” I murmur to myself.
I chew on my
lip, debating on whether to mosey up to him and say hi or hide.
Hide wins. I
know, I’m a little ridiculous, especially since we have calculus together this
semester and he’ll obviously see me at some point in class.
But then I’ll
have good hair and ketchup-free clothes.
I quickly survey
the possibilities for my escape as the hostess seats him in another server’s
section. My eyes land on the right side of the restaurant, where I could make a
mad dash for the kitchen, but he’s bound to see me darting since I’d have to
walk past him. Plus, I want to hang around and watch him without him knowing.
I come to a
decision. Wrangling the tray of half-empty sodas I cleared, I quickstep it over
to the back left corner, the farthest away from the double doors of the
entrance. I maneuver my body into an awkward hunkering position behind a huge
potted plant with wide fan-shaped leaves. At least five feet tall with a gnarly
brown trunk, the green monster is perfect camouflage.
I peek around a
big leaf that’s in dire need of a good dusting,judging by the motes floating
around. Feeling paranoid that someone is a witness to my absurdity, I throw a
quick glance over my shoulder to make sure no one’s around.
Ryker. Shit.
He’s staring at
me from the football table, and there’s a glint in his gaze, as if he’s
wondering what I’m doing.
I scowl and
stick my tongue out at him. He makes me feel so rebellious and flustered
and…excited.
I can’t even
stop myself. Ugh.
His expression
deepens in amusement, and I grimace, realizing my butt is sticking out. His
annoying eyebrow jacks up and says, What the hell are you doing?
With eye
telepathy I tell him to mind his own freaking business.
I pointedly turn
my back on him and focus on The Unicorn.
A few seconds
later, a familiar deep voice resonates from behind me, making me start. “You
look a little flustered, Penelope. Spying on someone for your next story,
perhaps?”
I freeze. Blink.
His voice is husky and lower than before when he was calling me garçon, the
tone reminding me of languid summer nights under a starry Southern sky while he
gives me deep, passionate kisses—
Good Lord.Stop
your daydreaming.Must. Stop. Reading. Romances.
I heave out a
sigh and turn around to face Ryker.
What the hell
does he want now?
***
“I don’t submit
to the Wildcat Weekly anymore,” I say.
I worked for
them most of last year, covering the home games and a few random articles. With
a dad who was in the NFL, I know a lot about football, but when Sugar’s offered
me more hours, I took it.
“No more
football stories, huh?”
I shrug, my gaze
taking in his chiseled cheekbones, the curve of his full lips, the hint of
scruff on his jaw. Dammit, why is he so gorgeous? “What can I say? I covered
the most fascinating story last semester—you. Guess I went out on a high note.”
He nods, taking
that dig. “I always noticed you at the games.”
I scoff. “I
didn’t think girls like me were on your radar.”
“You sat near
the third row at the fifty-yard line taking notes at every home game.” His eyes
drift over me. “And I didn’t say you were on my radar.”
“Really? Sounds
like you did.”
“Trust me, I
have more discriminating tastes.” He shrugs.
“Why, how sweet
of you.” My Southern accent has thickened, the way it does when I’m sassy. It’s
one thing to know he doesn’t like me, but for him to say I’m not up to his
standards…well. “Did you pop over here just to be nice?”
He exhales and
rakes a hand through his hair, calling attention to the lighter strands that
have been bleached by the sun. “Honestly, I’m not sure why I came over here.” A
conflicted expression crosses his face as he tugs at his collar. My eyes stare
at the myriad of curly blond chest hairs that are poking out from the V-neck of
the light blue Oxford he’s wearing with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. “I
just wanted to make sure you were okay from the ketchup getting all over you,
but everything I’m saying is coming out wrong.”
Oh. This is
different. And not what I expected.
“I’m fine, Baby
Llama. No need to worry. You can go. Your girlfriends are waiting for you.” I
tilt my head back toward the football table.
He doesn’t
budge. “Baby Llama?” An amused grin flashes over his face.
I shrug. It’s
been my private nickname for him since sophomore year when I stumbled upon him
coming out of an upstairs bathroom at the Tau house after a shower with only a
white towel wrapped around his trim waist. Some jersey chaser was with him. His
hairy chest had both shocked my virgin sensibilities and excited me at the same
time. The unruly curls just made him seem more naked, as if I’d seen his cock.
Much to my dismay, I’d later dream about rolling around on that bed of golden
curls. Seriously, who takes a shower with a chick in the middle of a kegger?
Ryker Voss, that’s who. Because he can. And girls do whatever he wants.
But not this
one.
I respect the
game—even love it—but I don’t fall for football players, especially high and
mighty quarterbacks who think they walk on water. My dad was the star player at
Waylon twenty years ago, and trust me, I know how they operate. They get what
they want and then they walk out, leaving broken hearts everywhere.
“Have you ever
seen a real llama?” he asks, continuing our conversation. It’s as if he’s
actually trying to be nice. “I saw one at a safari park once. Little bugger
tried to eat my hand off when I fed him, but he was cute. Maybe you need a
poster of one in your room so when you see it, you’ll think about me. I’ll even
sign it for you.”
And there’s the
cocky again.
“Buy me one.
I’ll throw darts at it.”
“Damn, you never
stop.” He huffs out a laugh, his eyes lingering on my neck. “Oh, there’s a bit
of ketchup here too,” he says, reaching out to glide his finger across the top
of my collar, his knuckles barely brushing against my neck.
The
feather-light touch is brief and not sexual, yet my body hums, tendrils of
sparks racing over my skin. I suck in a breath and catch his scent, warm and
spicy with hints of leather and sandalwood.
He blinks and
clears his throat. “Um, I actually have this cleaner stuff that I spray on my
practice clothes. It’s a miracle worker. You’re welcome to borrow it. Of
course, you’d have to come by the football dorm to pick it up. We could even do
laundry together if you wanted?”
He says the
words softly, as if they’re nothing,and I’m staring at him full on.
Do our laundry
together?
I suspect Ryker
Voss is flirting with me, though not well. The pimply-faced checkout boy at Big
Star has better lines than this.
Yet…
Something warm
grows inside my stomach and then flutters around, the sputtering of newborn
butterflies. He is the hottest guy on campus. Still, I remind myself he’s a
player, gather my resolve, and shoot those butterflies down.
“You’re being
weird, Ryker.”
“Because I’m
being nice? Yeah. New year, new start. I want to forget all the bad stuff from
last semester.” He pauses. “And the article you wrote.”
“Is that right?
Even the part where I said you dishonored the sport and were a disgrace to
college players everywhere?”
He stares down
at his hands. “I had my reasons for what happened.”
So I heard. He
got involved in the fighting to help his friend and fellow teammate Maverick
save his disabled sister.
“Ah, well, I did
write a follow-up article, but it wasn’t nearly as popular as the first one.”
He shrugs, and
somehow, he’s closer now. I stare into his thickly lashed cerulean eyes and
blink at the force of them. His irises…God, someone should name a crayon after
them.
“So…do you want
to do laundry together sometime?”
This again? My
mouth parts. “What? Like a date?”
“Yeah.”
I blink rapidly,
my brain trying to wrap about this new Ryker. “No. I’m sure you already have
jersey chasers lined up outside your dorm vying to do your laundry. I’ve heard
they actually beg to rub your shoulders and do your homework. I imagine they
even fight to be the one to suck your sweet little toes.” I come to an abrupt
halt. Suck his toes? SUCK HIS TOES? OMG. Where did that random comment come
from? I don’t have a foot fetish. I blame it on his presence and carry on. “And
don’t worry about me—I don’t need your laundry advice. A little ketchup never
hurt anyone.”
Determination
crosses his face and with a flurry of movement, he drops a small piece of paper
onto the tray I’m holding.
I stare down at
it. Sexy as Hell Athlete is written in masculine handwriting with a phone
number after it. I look back up at him, my eyes tracing the enigmatic
half-smile on his face.
“I wrote it down
for you earlier and wanted to give it to you after the ketchup thing, but I
chickened out.”
Several seconds
go by.
“Will you give
me yours?” he asks after a few moments of us just standing here.
“My what?”
“Number.” He
grins.
I indicate the
tray and my obvious impediment. “I don’t have any paper on me.”
“Just tell me.
I’ll remember.”
I’m flustered,
and that’s the only reason I rattle off my phone number. He grins and repeats
it back to me.
He lowers his
voice in a conspiratorial way. “So…you’re watching someone, I take it. Anyone I
know?”
Feeling bemused
by his attention, I shake my head, quickly losing control of this situation.
“For a writer,
you seem to be at a loss for words. Do I make you speechless, Penelope?”
I scoff. “No.”
“I’m curious as
to what has your attention back here.” He slides in next to me behind the
plant, his shoulder brushing against mine. He’s a giant next to my slender
frame, and all at once, I feel protected and safe, which is entirely wrong.
It’s probably his male pheromones, lulling me into softness before the kill—and
damn if it isn’t working. He murmurs something about us hiding together and
spying on people, but I’m distracted because my face is up close and personal
with the chest hair that pokes out of his shirt. I want to trail my fingers
through it and see if it’s as soft as it looks. He smells like alpha male and
sex. Hard, passionate sex that makes you orgasm fast and furious.
Not that I have
any firsthand knowledge of that, of course, but I have my fantasies.
Gird your loins,
Penelope.
Resist the
quarterback.
But I’m getting
sucked in.
I blame it on
the dimple that appears when he smiles. My stomach does that fluttering thing
again, and this time, I can’t shoo the butterflies away. I’m weak. I move my
eyes up the strong column of his tanned throat to meet his gaze. At least ten
seconds go by as we take each other in.
What. Is.
Happening?
“You’re pretty,”
he murmurs. “Have I ever told you that?”
“We don’t
usually talk except for when I take your order.”
His hand reaches
up and briefly touches a piece of my hair that’s fallen out of my topknot. He
rubs it between his fingers. “Your hair…it’s—”
“Auburn,” I
manage, clearing my throat.
“It reminds me
of a new penny, the way the amber color catches the light…” His voice trails
off, and he bites his bottom lip. “God, that has to be the stupidest thing I’ve
ever said.”
“You have worse
lines. Tell me, is doing laundry code for sex?” I say, staring up at him. I’m
itching to straighten my glasses, a nervous reflex, but my hands are holding
the tray.
“I only use
lines on jersey chasers. You’re the kind of girl I have to work for.”
“What about your
discriminating tastes?”
“Pure bluff. I think we have a real
connection, Penelope.” His face is closer now, and I swallow, wondering how we
must look to everyone else in the restaurant. I realize that in the process of
talking, we’ve backed up to the wall behind the plant, and I figure the only
table we’re visible to is the football one, but I don’t tear my eyes away from
Ryker to check.
“You smell like
rainbows,” he says.
My chest rises.
I’m enjoying his full-court press. It’s…intoxicating. “What does a rainbow
smell like?”
“Sweet and
delicious.”
“It’s the
suckers.” His eyes land on my lips, and it almost feels as if he’s touched
them. Heat rushes over my skin. “The red ones are my favorite. I think they’re
cherry or strawberry or raspberry…definitely not cranberry…that’s disgusting,”
I say, rambling, feeling disoriented.
“It’s crazy, but
I really want to kiss you right now,” he murmurs.
My eyes drift over
his shoulder to where Connor’s table is. I can’t see his face, but I know he’s
there, and even though I’m drugged by Ryker’s proximity, I remind myself he’s
the one I should kiss.
Not Ryker.
Ryker is a
player—just like my dad was.
He watches the
direction of my gaze and follows it. “You’ve been watching Dimples hitz,
haven’t you?” he says, a frown line appearing on his forehead. “Are you into
him?”
My stomach dips.
“Why would you say that?”
“Because you
hightailed it over here when he walked in and you’ve been hiding ever since.
So, I figure he either did you wrong or you’re infatuated, and since I haven’t
heard any gossip about you and him, I’m guessing you must have a thing for
him.”
Abort! Abort!He
knows too much!
Sanity slowly
returns to my brain in small increments, and I take a deep breath, orienting
myself as questions race through my head. What if he uses my crush against me?
Maybe he wants revenge for the article. I don’t know!
Flustered and
unsure, my eyes dart around the restaurant, looking for an exit so I don’t have
to answer his question.
My gaze lands on
the football table he came from, and I notice Archer watching us with focused
interest, a calculating look on his face as he whips his eyes from me to Ryker.
He leans over and whispers to Blaze, who turns to peer in our direction. I
pause, my brain analyzing and decoding. Why is Archer suddenly interested in
what Ryker is doing over here with me—especially when there’s a pretty co-ed
sitting right next to him, tracing little circles on his bicep?
Yet Archer’s
eagle eyes are onus. Watchful.
I notice all
three players at the table have suddenly given us their attention, anticipation
evident on their faces.
Alarms go off in
my head and things start to click into place.
How nice he was
to me. How we ‘have a connection’. Yeah, right.
Mortification
washes over me.
How could I not
have seen it sooner?
God, I am an
idiot.I was so distracted…
I’m a bet. A
stupid freaking bet.
I feel like
someone just punched me in the gut.
My survival
instinct tells me to get away from Ryker, and obviously,I could just walk away
and hold my head high, but I want to make a point and show those football
players they can’t toy with me. I release the tray I’ve been balancing for what
seems like days in his direction. The contents of the glasses spill out and
crash to the floor, watered-down soda and ice drenching us before dripping down
to the floor. The plastic glasses make a horrible clattering noise on the
wooden floors, and I imagine most everyone in the restaurant heard it. I don’t
look to see their faces. I only glare at Ryker.
He jumps back
and stares down at the mess on his khaki pants then looks back at me. “Remind
me to never bring up Dimpleshitz again.”
“Stop your
games, Ryker.”
His face stills.
“What games?”
My teeth snap
together. Enough.
Wall Street
Journal, New York Times, and USA Today best-selling author Ilsa Madden-Mills
writes about strong heroines and sexy alpha males that sometimes you just want
to slap. She's best known for her angsty, heartfelt new adult college romances.
A former high
school English teacher, she adores all things Pride and Prejudice; Mr. Darcy is
her ultimate hero.
She's also
addicted to frothy coffee beverages, Vampire Diaries, and any kind of book
featuring unicorns and sword-wielding females.
Join her Unicorn
Girls FB group for special excerpts, prizes, and snarky fun!
https://www.facebook.com/groups/ilsasunicorngirls/



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