Stripping is her super power. Thirteen years after a glowing pond left Chloe Sanders with special abilities, she uses her “gift” to take out criminals when she can. If she’s got to be part of a freak show, she’s going to do some good while in the buff. You have the right to remain naked. Color blind detective, Jacob Greiff, has a few "gifts" of his own and would like to find a solution to his quirks, but his priority right now is busting the vigilante leaving burglars tied up with panty hose and women’s scarves. He wasn't ready for the petite, bare foot brunette in an enormous trench coat at his crime scenes--or seeing her in vivid color. A match made in nuclear waste.... Despite his own supernatural abilities and the raging lust between them, Greiff wonders if Chloe isn’t some kind of nut who gets off on public nudity. She insists she can disappear from view when naked, and that he’s the only one who can see her when she’s in disguise. ..or is it love? Their shared past comes to a treacherous intersection when a man shows up at Chloe’s apartment and informs them at gun point it’s time to report for duty—or else. A hero and his reluctant eye-witness will have to come to a truce, find a way to keep their clothes on, and save the world in the blink of color-blind eye.

I have the awesome Jennifer James back on the blog today! She’s out touring with Covert Craving now that it’s out. It’s an awesome book by a great author, so I hope y’all will go grab a copy if you haven’t already!

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Hi there. I’m Jennifer James. And I hate sand boxes.

I mean, who invented the sand box anyway? They’re dirty. All kinds of crap gets in there—leaves, sticks, cat poop, old food, dirt, stinky stranger feet, butt crust, grass….It’s just a veritable conglomeration of nasty butt cheese stew ingredients.

So I’d like to say to the person who thought the sand box was a good idea: Sir, you were sadly misinformed, and I would like to present to you this. The bottom of my shoe squarely in your ass. Eat disgusting, tiny, miniscule rocks captured in a wooden or plastic receptacle until my children come along and fling said material all over the ground.

Why am I writing about this? I’m at the park, watching my kids play. In the frakking sand box.

I hate the damn sand box. And they love it. Jumping around in all that gross, germ contaminated, tan crap. Then we’ll go home and it’ll be all over my house too. Cause you know sand isn’t polite enough to brush off and stay outside like any respectable outside debris would. Oh no. It’s gotta tag along. See the sights. Climb into crevices and cracks it has no business being in.

Kinda like a rotten house guest or mother in law, rooting in your private drawers.

I should yell at my kids and tell them to get outta the sand box, since I hate it and the mess it makes, but I have all these blog posts to write. And they’re not climbing on me, so I can concentrate on taking care of my work for once without a tiny hand pulling my pant leg or a larger hand thumping me in the shoulder. I mean, I know people need to be fed and stuff, but does it have to be on a regular basis? Geez. You’d think they’re growing or something.

I wish I could install a feeder bar on the front of my fridge, and they could press it and get tiny peanut butter and jelly sandwiches whenever they wanted. I’d get so much more done.

Hey, refrigerator design people! Get on that. And while you’re at it, kick the ass of the person who invented the sand box. Kthankxbye.

So, anyway, maybe I’m kinda a bad mom, not telling my kids to get out of the germ encrusted box of horror. But wow is it freeing to type without someone demanding attention. Later tonight I’ll be mad at myself for not stopping them, when I’m vacuuming the house and feeling grit under my feet. But right now, it’s pretty awesome. Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on the sand box inventor.

Eh…nah. I still hate the damn thing.

I’m having a giveaway, and to enter please answer my question: What do you think the most disgusting piece of playground equipment is?