Who doesn’t love a modern rom-com. This friends to lovers romance that has as fun little comedic twist in that the main love interest is a stand up comedian! I have only been to a couple of standup comedy shows but I always wonder if the comedian is as funny in person as they are on the stage. Or if they are as charismatic as they appear on stage. I thought this book sounded really interesting for that very reason!
Author Emma Barry has written a number of romances that have developed quite a fan following and I was super excited to see what this book has in store for readers considering I haven’t read anything by her before. Friends to lovers isn’t my favorite romance troupe but after reading this summary and except I could easily be convinced to give it a go!
If you are a romance fan with a bit of a comedy twist then I think you are going to enjoy this book. I have a lovely excerpt to share with you guys today and I hope you enjoy it as much as I have! This book is out now so be sure to pick up a copy today! It’s already getting some great reviews and since it’s on the short side, I think it will be a quick and easy by the beach read for you!
Summary
From the author of Chick Magnet comes a heartfelt friends-to-lovers story about what can happen when a funny guy and his childhood best friend are stuck together in a small New York City apartment.
Sam can’t escape the smash hit “Lost Boy” because, well, he is the lost boy. His pop-singer ex immortalized him in a song about his childish ways, and now his comedy career is on the line.
At least he still has Bree, his best friend and confidante. Bree has always been there for Sam, but she’s never revealed her biggest secret: she’s in love with him. To help herself move on, Bree applies for her dream job across the country―and doesn’t say a thing to Sam.
But as Sam tries to resuscitate his career, he turns to Bree for support―and maybe more. In the confines of her tiny apartment, they share a different dynamic. A charged dynamic. But she’s his friend. He can’t be falling for her.
Except he is.
Are his feelings for Bree just funny business? Or is their smoldering attraction the real deal? (Summary from Goodreads)
Excerpt
When Bree entered the Comedy Hour writers’ room carrying a bag of subs, the first person she saw was Roxy.
Roxy stooped to give her a buss on the cheek. “You are the best.”
“No, I was just in the neighborhood.” And she was trying to apologize for the interview Sam knew nothing about. It had gone extremely well, which just made her feel even guiltier. “Where’s Sam?”
Roxy had unwrapped her grilled buffalo cauliflower sandwich and was digging in. “Pouting somewhere. Probably in the stairwell.”
“What’s he pouting about?”
“We’re doing a sketch about ‘Lost Boy.’”
“Oh.” Oh. “He didn’t write it?”
“Nope. Jane asked him to write it, and he declined, so . . . I did.”
Bree grimaced. She could imagine how that had gone. Sam did material about himself all the time, but that was the point: He did it. He wrote it. He planned it and decided what to put in or not and what the tone would be.
He probably felt as if Roxy had been disloyal or something. Honestly, Bree didn’t love the idea of the show doing the sketch if Sam hadn’t written or at least endorsed it, but she was equally sure he was being melodramatic. Sam could never manage to respond to the silly kinds of adversity with anything like restraint. When the chips were down, when you were actually near hunger or homelessness, Sam was stunningly calm. Stunningly resourceful. Maybe he’d used up his entire store of poise as a kid, and so now he indulged in tantrums over little things.
She didn’t want to think about how he’d feel if he knew about the interview, or that they’d said they’d reach out about a second interview soon. Nope, Bree didn’t want to contemplate how he would take that news at all.
“He was pretty awful about it, but he agreed in the end.” Roxy paused. “Do you think I shouldn’t have written it?”
“That’s not my call,” Bree said quickly.
Comedy Hour mocked people and institutions all the time. They often mocked them for good, to criticize serious social problems. But there was an ethic to what they did that Bree didn’t understand at all. She could parse the power dynamics of design: how you identified and reached out to the stakeholders, how you got everyone on board in a way that was fair, how to be transparent to reduce corruption. When it came to writing—who could write what and why, when it was okay to punch and when you needed to check yourself—well, she enjoyed debating all that with Sam, but it wasn’t Bree’s world.
“He’s so . . . proud,” she said to Roxy. And most people didn’t understand how bruised he could get.
“I wouldn’t have written it if I didn’t think it would make things better for him. No one’s going to shut up until he says something.”
“I’m sure you’re right. Where’s the stairwell?”
“Take a left. It’s at the end of the hall.”
“Thanks.”
Bree found the entrance to the stairs easily. They were the typical cinder block tube, designed to withstand a tornado, so Sam would likely be unable to demolish them.
“Sam?” she called. A grunt came from two flights up, and Bree jogged up the steps to find him in a heap on the landing. “Come here often?”
He pursed his lips, and it was unfair how kissable that made his mouth. “Don’t joke. This isn’t funny.”
“I have it on good authority everything is funny.” That was what he often said, anyhow, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t or couldn’t extend that to himself.
Or maybe it was “Lost Boy” specifically. He’d insisted he was over Salem, but it seemed more like a gaping wound to Bree. She tried not to be jealous of his obvious ongoing feelings for another woman. She did not succeed.
Sam shifted those intense eyes of his to her, and her knees went weak. If Sam hadn’t been funny, he could have been a dramatic actor or a model, she was certain. He never would have been able to keep a straight face, but he had the looks, the energy, to pull it off.
“What did Roxy say?” he finally asked.
“That you were pouting.”
He growled. “I’m not—okay, I am.” He was, and they both knew it. She wouldn’t put it past him to keep arguing out of sheer perversity, but that wasn’t his normal style. “Did she tell you what happened?”
“Roughly, that Jane asked you to write something, and you didn’t, so Roxy did. And now you’re pissed.” Bree omitted that “Lost Boy” was the subject. It wouldn’t help matters to remind him that all this was playing out in the larger context of Salem flaying him for the amusement of seemingly everyone in the world at the moment.
“Pretty much, yes. But with more betrayal.”
“Do you have to be so over the top?” Bree was trying to drag him back to reality, which she had to do not only because she wanted him to forgive Roxy but because someday very soon, she was going to need him to see that she wasn’t betraying him either.
Her self-interest was making her sound more desperate than she wanted to.
“Yes, actually. I’m an entertainer.” He let one arm drape across his face, hiding his expression from her. “It hurts, Smoosh.”
“What hurts?” She sat down several steps from the landing where he was sprawled, which put their faces level. She would have touched him if she thought it would help, but he didn’t like that kind of comfort, as much as he offered it to her freely. And with how everything between and around them was changing, she didn’t think it was a good idea to add physical contact to the mix.
“I don’t think I’m vain. Well, not that vain. I can laugh at myself. But usually I choose that, you know? I put myself out there or up there, and I decide where to put the knife.”
“Is it the engagement ending, or—”
“No.” He whipped his arm off his face so that she could see how serious he was. “I’m really not mad at Salem. Before last week, you wouldn’t believe how little I thought about it. I’m over her.”
“Good.” Bree didn’t know whether she meant that it was good for Sam that he wasn’t walking around carrying a lot of anger at his ex or whether it was good for her to know that he wasn’t still emotionally hung up on his ex.
“It just feels like the world is pointing and laughing at me.”
“When normally you’re the one doing the pointing and laughing?”
“Yes, I’m a hypocrite.”
“That’s not actually what I mean. Though—maybe a little.” Because it was difficult not to see that element of it. “But I’d guess the loss of control is . . . a lot.”
“Yup.”
“That’s maybe not a thing to process at work.”
“God”—he curled up, pressing his hands onto his ears—“I have to apologize to Roxy.”
“Yes. And Jane too.”
“Never her.” A pause. “Maybe her. Why do you put up with me?”
I love you.
As they so often were, the words were in the back of Bree’s throat. All she had to do was push air through them, and they would emerge right here, bouncing around the stairwell, making it nova bright.
Or at least it would be for one second. One brilliant moment of truth and feeling until Sam responded.
He would let her down gently, as gently as he knew how, but everything between them would shift. Become strained and awful, smothering what they had and cheapening every moment of the past. He’d never believe that she treasured their friendship as it was.
The Lit Bitch 