|My parents' initials, permanently inked.|
This is how I began a conversation with my parents a few weeks ago. For the record, I really do have that tattoo.
I also have a new book coming releasing today that's . . . um . . . a little on the risqué side. Like, more risqué than normal. That's saying something.
My mother paused before answering. "Are you suggesting we not read your next book?"
"Uh, well . . . it's just . . . maybe I should tell you ahead of time which pages to skim?"
On second thought, that's an awful lot of pages. See, my new book, The List, is being billed as "erotic romantic comedy," which I didn't even know was a thing. Or maybe it's not a thing. Maybe we just made that up.
About That Fling and Now That It's You wouldn't sit down next to a co-worker in the break room at work with The List open on their Kindles, and find themselves blushing furiously over their egg salad sandwiches.
"You don't need a pen name," my agent assured me. "I'm sure the cover will clue people in about what kind of book this is."
So yeah, there's the cover. If the image itself weren't an indicator, there's the cover blurb from New York Times bestselling author Lauren Blakely, which says, "Tawna Fenske's hottest book ever! The List sizzles, and it's freaking hilarious, too!"
All that to say, this book is kinda dirty. If you want to preserve your wholesome, untarnished mind, you should maybe not buy it.
Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you.