Curveball
Author: Mariah Dietz
Genre: Contemporary Romance
Release Date: May 18, 2017
Blurb
Shakespeare believed there was always humor in tragedy and
tragedy in humor.
My life proved his theory as fact.
At eighteen I was a single parent moving to this small town
to be with the man I loved. The one who was supposed to love and cherish me in
return.
Finding out he had a wife was tragic.
Remaining in love with him in spite of her was more tragic.
My mom and best friend setting me up on a long string of
blind dates was an ongoing tragedy.
Nine years later, I’ve learned to see the humor in most
situations.
My mom and best friend setting me up on disastrous blind
dates.
My son’s jokes.
The fire alarm going off each time I cook.
My constant bright spot always adding to the humor was my
son, Hayden. But when Hayden had a life-threatening allergic reaction, the man
who came to help my little boy became my own savior. His laugh, his smile, and
the way his eyes lit up when he spoke to my son made him a beacon of light in
both our lives.
But I wasn’t the only one who noticed him.
When I began having feelings for the man my best and only
friend had fallen for, I knew following my heart would once again lead to a fresh
round of heartbreak.
Love led me to this town.
Lies kept me there.
Would history repeat itself?
Or had life just thrown me another Curveball?
Purchase Links
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99c for a very limited time
Excerpt
“I don’t watch TV at night…” Her voice drifts off, and I know it’s because she realizes I’m going to ask why.
And I do.
“You're going to laugh.”
“Probably.”
“It's because I can't hear things.”
“What kinds of things are you trying to hear?”
“I don't know. Strange noises and things…”
“Strange noises?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you?” She’s trying to sound annoyed, but I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Apparently, because I have no idea what you're talking about. What kinds of strange noises are you going to hear? I usually turn my TV up to block out all the strange sounds like the neighbor’s kids and the lady behind me that sounds like Fran fucking Drescher.”
“You know who Fran Drescher is?”
“My mother was a big fan of that stupid show she was in. Stop changing the subject. What are you listening for? Hayden won’t sneak out.”
“What if someone breaks in?”
“You're not serious.”
“Of course I'm serious!”
“What do you do all night?” I ask.
“Work,” she admits. “Well, usually I clean, and then I work.”
“I’m coming over.”
“You can’t.”
The panic in her voice doesn’t make her sound upset about the idea, but afraid.
Is it because she likes me?
“Why not?” I ask.
“It’s like nine o'clock.”
“Are you about to turn orange and sprout a stem?”
“That and I'm not wearing a bra, if you must know.”
“So put it back on.”
“You don't understand. That's like saying put your jeans back on.”
“I am in jeans,” I lie just to get a reaction out of her.
“What is wrong with you?” she cries.
“What's wrong with jeans?”
“They're stiff and uncomfortable. Wearing jeans all day is basically equivalent to walking on sandpaper. But at least you guys have pockets that will actually hold something larger than a thimble and don’t ride up your ass.”
And I do.
“You're going to laugh.”
“Probably.”
“It's because I can't hear things.”
“What kinds of things are you trying to hear?”
“I don't know. Strange noises and things…”
“Strange noises?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you?” She’s trying to sound annoyed, but I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Apparently, because I have no idea what you're talking about. What kinds of strange noises are you going to hear? I usually turn my TV up to block out all the strange sounds like the neighbor’s kids and the lady behind me that sounds like Fran fucking Drescher.”
“You know who Fran Drescher is?”
“My mother was a big fan of that stupid show she was in. Stop changing the subject. What are you listening for? Hayden won’t sneak out.”
“What if someone breaks in?”
“You're not serious.”
“Of course I'm serious!”
“What do you do all night?” I ask.
“Work,” she admits. “Well, usually I clean, and then I work.”
“I’m coming over.”
“You can’t.”
The panic in her voice doesn’t make her sound upset about the idea, but afraid.
Is it because she likes me?
“Why not?” I ask.
“It’s like nine o'clock.”
“Are you about to turn orange and sprout a stem?”
“That and I'm not wearing a bra, if you must know.”
“So put it back on.”
“You don't understand. That's like saying put your jeans back on.”
“I am in jeans,” I lie just to get a reaction out of her.
“What is wrong with you?” she cries.
“What's wrong with jeans?”
“They're stiff and uncomfortable. Wearing jeans all day is basically equivalent to walking on sandpaper. But at least you guys have pockets that will actually hold something larger than a thimble and don’t ride up your ass.”
“If your bra is riding up your ass, we have bigger fish to fry than being afraid of the boogey man.”
Review
Life doesn't always go as you plan, sometimes the things you think you want aren't the thing you need.
When Ella moved into this town, she expected her life to go the way she envisioned with her rose colored glasses. However she learned a hard lesson. Now nine years later, she's till being mocked and ridiculed by the whole town but she doesn't leave because of her son and ex. But the new man in town is about to shake things up and open her eyes to a world filed with new possibles, hope, and dreams.
Coen has a rule... never date your neighbor. But the sexy single mom that leave a few blocks over intrigues him. The more he gets to know her and her son, the strong pull he has towards them. This new development has him breaking his rule because he can't fight this attraction any longer.
Ella's a complicated woman, can Coen handle that? And when Coen learns of her past, can he look past it to see the woman she truly is? Or will Ella's reservation cause her to put up a wall and push Coen away for good?
This was my first book by Mariah and want a stunning book it is. When I picked up Curveball I was first captivated by the blurb but I as got into the story I couldn't put it down because I felt so connected to Ella and Coen. Mariah weaved a story that keeps you on the edge of your seat and unable to put Curveball down.
The connection between Ella and Coen sizzles, but it's their friendship that tugs at the reader's heartstrings. It's how they get to know each other and understand their little quirks that endears them. And seriously, Coen is a hero you want to swoon over and over again.
What I loved most about Curveball is that Ella, despite her many quirks, is a strong, independent woman. She may not see herself that way, but when you take into consideration all that she's been through and everything she's put up with she really is an amazing person.
The angst is kept to a minimum making the romance the centerpiece of Curveball. It's a sweet, loving, heartwarming read that I would highly recommend. I couldn't put it down and more importantly, I didn't want to.
Author Bio
Mariah Dietz lives
with her husband, two sons, and two four-legged children who are the axis of
her crazy and wonderful world.
Mariah grew up in a tiny town outside of Portland, Oregon where she spent most of her time immersed in the pages of books that she both read and created.
She has a love for all things that include her family, good coffee, books, traveling, and dark chocolate. She’s also obsessed with Christmas ornaments and all things Disney.
Mariah grew up in a tiny town outside of Portland, Oregon where she spent most of her time immersed in the pages of books that she both read and created.
She has a love for all things that include her family, good coffee, books, traveling, and dark chocolate. She’s also obsessed with Christmas ornaments and all things Disney.
Author Links
Bookbub | Amazon | Website
I stand on her doorstep and knock. The window into her house shows there’s a light on in the family room, so I know she’s awake. Ella’s head pops around the wall, her short hair pulled back at her neck. Even with her glasses on, I can tell she’s squinting, working to recognize me. I wave as if that will help her place me, but she doesn’t until she’s halfway to the door. Her shoulders fall, and a smile replaces her frown that had been created by concern.
“Hey,” she says, opening the door.
She’s wearing a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized sweatshirt and socks, and with her glasses on and her hair pulled back, she looks like she could pass for being in college, maybe even high school.
“Sorry, are your parents home?” I ask.
“Shut up,” she mumbles, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear and taking a step back to invite me inside.
“Seriously though, how old are you?”
She eyes me, tilting her chin and narrowing her eyes like she does when she’s debating how to respond. “How old do you think I am?”
“I may not look very bright, but I do know better than to answer that question.”
“Are you sure?” she asks. “’Cause you did just ask me how old I am and I’m pretty certain there’s a golden rule about asking a woman that question.”
“Golden rule?”
“Unspoken rule. Common sense…”
“I’m thirty,” I volunteer.
“Twenty-seven,” she says.
“I bet you still get carded.”
“I bet you don’t.” Ella smiles as I cry out with feigned offense at her insult.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask.
“Making a mess of my living room.” Ella’s shoulders sag with her response. She leads me into the family room where the built-in shelves that line each side of her fireplace are sitting bare, the contents scattered around her living room.
“You prefer that just-robbed look?”
“I was rearranging some things,” she says.
“Why? It looked good before.” I look around, realizing it wasn’t just those shelves she cleared. The couches have been moved, and the bookshelf on the far wall has been cleared. “If you were bored, you should have come over. I have lots of stuff that needs organized.”
She laughs. “That’s because you just moved. I was just tired of looking at the same stuff.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m tired of looking at boxes and random crap in my house since moving, but I can’t think of a time that I’ve gotten tired of looking at things when they’ve been put away.”
Ella laughs, but it’s too high, and her eyes flit across the space, revealing it isn’t genuine but out of nerves. “Sometimes I just need change,” she admits.
“What else do you get tired of?” I ask.
The same nervous laugh clears her lips before she licks them. “Everything … I guess…” She scoffs, shocked she just admitted this to me. “I mean, don’t you ever just get tired of people and things?”
I chuckle. “You get tired of people too?”
One brow goes up as she nods while releasing a deep breath. “I’m so difficult. You’ll learn this quickly, so I may as well tell you.” She flashes a smile that is so honest and genuine it knocks me off balance and rids every sarcastic remark I’d been thinking. “I once stopped eating waffles for three years because I was so tired of eating them,” she admits. “Sometimes I feel like if I had the opportunity to do that with some of my co-workers, I may not see them again for a decade…” This time both of her brows go up, and her head tilts with thought before she purses her lips. “Or maybe ever.” She looks at me as she admits this, and for some reason the level of honesty she’s sharing makes me like her even more. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Rachel. She’s the sister I never had, but sometimes I even need breaks from her.” She shrugs again. “It’s no one’s fault. It’s just how I’m wired, I guess. I’ve always been fairly independent, and then after Hayden was born, I was forced to be. Now I’m probably too independent. It used to drive my ex absolutely crazy.” Her gaze sweeps to the floor, making me question if she meant to bring up the topic or if it’s painful for her to.
“Being independent is a good thing,” I tell her. “And like you said, you’ve had to be. I can’t imagine what it takes to be a single parent. You probably fear nothing.”
Her blue eyes are narrowed with hesitancy as they meet mine, but she smiles, and I know it’s simply to appease me. “The opposite actually. I fear way more now that I’m a mom because I know what I could lose.”
Excerpt #2
“Hey,” she says, opening the door.
She’s wearing a pair of pajama shorts and an oversized sweatshirt and socks, and with her glasses on and her hair pulled back, she looks like she could pass for being in college, maybe even high school.
“Sorry, are your parents home?” I ask.
“Shut up,” she mumbles, tucking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear and taking a step back to invite me inside.
“Seriously though, how old are you?”
She eyes me, tilting her chin and narrowing her eyes like she does when she’s debating how to respond. “How old do you think I am?”
“I may not look very bright, but I do know better than to answer that question.”
“Are you sure?” she asks. “’Cause you did just ask me how old I am and I’m pretty certain there’s a golden rule about asking a woman that question.”
“Golden rule?”
“Unspoken rule. Common sense…”
“I’m thirty,” I volunteer.
“Twenty-seven,” she says.
“I bet you still get carded.”
“I bet you don’t.” Ella smiles as I cry out with feigned offense at her insult.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask.
“Making a mess of my living room.” Ella’s shoulders sag with her response. She leads me into the family room where the built-in shelves that line each side of her fireplace are sitting bare, the contents scattered around her living room.
“You prefer that just-robbed look?”
“I was rearranging some things,” she says.
“Why? It looked good before.” I look around, realizing it wasn’t just those shelves she cleared. The couches have been moved, and the bookshelf on the far wall has been cleared. “If you were bored, you should have come over. I have lots of stuff that needs organized.”
She laughs. “That’s because you just moved. I was just tired of looking at the same stuff.”
I raise an eyebrow. “I’m tired of looking at boxes and random crap in my house since moving, but I can’t think of a time that I’ve gotten tired of looking at things when they’ve been put away.”
Ella laughs, but it’s too high, and her eyes flit across the space, revealing it isn’t genuine but out of nerves. “Sometimes I just need change,” she admits.
“What else do you get tired of?” I ask.
The same nervous laugh clears her lips before she licks them. “Everything … I guess…” She scoffs, shocked she just admitted this to me. “I mean, don’t you ever just get tired of people and things?”
I chuckle. “You get tired of people too?”
One brow goes up as she nods while releasing a deep breath. “I’m so difficult. You’ll learn this quickly, so I may as well tell you.” She flashes a smile that is so honest and genuine it knocks me off balance and rids every sarcastic remark I’d been thinking. “I once stopped eating waffles for three years because I was so tired of eating them,” she admits. “Sometimes I feel like if I had the opportunity to do that with some of my co-workers, I may not see them again for a decade…” This time both of her brows go up, and her head tilts with thought before she purses her lips. “Or maybe ever.” She looks at me as she admits this, and for some reason the level of honesty she’s sharing makes me like her even more. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Rachel. She’s the sister I never had, but sometimes I even need breaks from her.” She shrugs again. “It’s no one’s fault. It’s just how I’m wired, I guess. I’ve always been fairly independent, and then after Hayden was born, I was forced to be. Now I’m probably too independent. It used to drive my ex absolutely crazy.” Her gaze sweeps to the floor, making me question if she meant to bring up the topic or if it’s painful for her to.
“Being independent is a good thing,” I tell her. “And like you said, you’ve had to be. I can’t imagine what it takes to be a single parent. You probably fear nothing.”
Her blue eyes are narrowed with hesitancy as they meet mine, but she smiles, and I know it’s simply to appease me. “The opposite actually. I fear way more now that I’m a mom because I know what I could lose.”
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