Can you tell us a little bit about your book? When did it come out? Where can we get it?
The Reporter and The Girl MINUS The Super Man! One can purchase the e-copy at Smashwords or the paperback at Amazon.
The Reporter and The Girl is based on my award winning blog of the same name. Sabrien Collins is the main character and the readers follow her relationship with a reporter name Jon. There will be times where you get inside the character’s head and heart. Emotionally -- it’s up and down, and asks a lot of hard questions.
I was partly inspired by my past relationships and different stories of “incidences” I’d exchange with my friends. But I also did not want the storyline to be so cliché, where boy meets girl and they fall in love and live happily ever after. So this project started out as a blog, which is now my debut novel!
Dream big, reach far, and never give up! I know it’s been said before, but your future as an artist is and will be 90% solo, and only you can count on YOU to make those dreams happen. So get out of your own way, and do it!
Here is the blurb for The Reporter and The Girl.
Welcome to the rabbit hole...
I am the last person in New York City who would fall head over heels in love.
Independent. Self-possessed. Why would I want to f**k that up?
My online dating profile at bd-fet.com simply reads: “Just looking.”
So why am I obsessing about Jon Sudbury?
Jon, the reporter, is vanilla as a milkshake and has probably never tasted rice and beans on the same plate before we met.
At least that’s what I thought.
Why can’t people remain simple and predictable?
All I want is control, not to be sent hurtling at maximum speed into the unknown.
Nothing about our story makes sense.
The thing is, I can handle desire, lust, passion, even betrayal...But love is another world altogether.
And this is not a love story.
I teased him, “You’ll never get those handcuffs on me. I’m stronger than you, and I work out all the time.”
“No, you’re not,” he replied coolly. And this is how the bet was set. The first one to be tied up had to serve as the other’s slave for the week. Time for the other third, where’s my leash?
I grabbed my cocoa butter and straddled his back as he lay faced down on the recliner...I reached for the cuffs and quickly got one of his wrists.
But that was all I would get.
Before I knew it, Jon was laughing that same hypnotizing laugh he had on our first date. He pushed me off and had both hands behind my back. Soon I was on the floor and immobilized.
Damn. Wrong third.
*****Tonight, I came down the stairs to properly greet Master Jon on my knees, I kiss the top of his feet and say, “Good Evening, Sir.” He looks at me and immediately makes his way into the dining room on the just washed (while on my knees) hardwood floors without taking off his shoes.
At the table, it would be an overstatement to say that he feasted. Though a very slim build, he eats all the spinach, picking around the nuts and fruit, some of the vegetables but not the tofu, and barely breathes on the quinoa. Good home-cooked food that is consumed regularly with my family is now being sent back to the fridge. I don’t know if he is the typical spoiled White American or if he just didn’t enjoy the food I slaved over for him.
I look away not watching him “eat”...
But, as they say in France, ONE THING LED TO ANOTHER, and I find myself pinned in a damn awkward position over the table with the reporter on top. He takes his sweet time to reach into his travel bag and pull out the plastic bag of condoms I gave him. He throws it on the table, making sure that I see it. A clear signal of what is to happen next.
Not what I had in mind! I never tell Jon this, but I had fantasized about our first time: pictured a weekend, when he would come and stay the night. While he showers, I would prepare the room by dimming the lights and lighting my favorite scented candles, spraying the sheets in the perfume that he likes, and me patiently waiting… naked in bed for him to come in and find a delightful surprise….
There is no music or candlelight like I envisioned...
I do not have enough sense to keep my eyes locked on him; instead they ro-o-o-ll downwards. At the time, I naively thought that such a small natural occurrence due to the amount of…
S.C. Rhyne is a world traveler, blogger, and novelist based in New York City. When she isn't writing or exploring, she enjoys swimming, reading historical fiction, and discovering new music. Her first novel, The Reporter and The Girl blurs the lines of reality and imagination, and conjures the emotions that bind us together.