Stephanie Witter: Patch Up

Blurb:

Skye followed her long time boyfriend to Seattle for their first year of college, but he dumped her after only a week. The relationship brought only pain and destruction in Skye's life, and yet, she can't bring herself to open up and live her life.

"What if I am already broken into pieces?"

She hates to be touched, hiding under her oversized shirts and behind her wild frizzy hair. Even her bubbly roommate can't reach her. And yet ...

"I'm the guy who knows how you can hurt so much that your insides feel like they're cut and bleeding."

The tall, handsome, and tattooed TA in her psychology class changes everything when he literally collides with her and confronts her. For the first time in a long time, she wants to try and open up to this guy whose dark, intense eyes can't hide his own pain despite his dazzling smile getting to her.

However, just when she's starting to live again, her ex-boyfriend comes back, breaking her time and time again, making it all the more complicated.

She wants to fight for herself and for this building thing with the TA, even when he pushes her away, but can two broken people patch each other up?

"I never thought colliding with someone could change lives, but it is possible."

Out September 16th, 2013.

*Buy links:

~ Amazon US ~

http://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B00F54671C/ref=mp_s_a_1_9?qid=1379011175&sr=8-9&pi=AC_SX110_SY165

~ Amazon UK ~

http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/aw/d/B00F54671C/ref=mp_s_a_1_9?qid=1379011175&sr=8-9&pi=AC_SX110_SY165

~ B&N ~

http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/patch-up-stephanie-witter/1116887500?ean=2940148557869

~ Smashwords ~

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/356855

Quotes and Teasers:

“Wow, Skye.” He kneels in front of me, ready to put one of his huge, strong hands on my knees. I recoil suddenly before I catch myself. Someone normal doesn’t react like that at the mere possibility of an innocent touch. “Okay, I’m going to sit on your friend’s bed.” He does just that, his eyes locked with mine. I have the sense I’m trapped and I don’t like it. I don’t want to ever feel like that again.

“You should go,” I say, my voice wavering and barely above a whisper.

He takes a sip of his coffee absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving my face. I don’t drink mine. I don’t even feel the mug between my hands. I feel nothing besides the hammering of my heart in my chest. I’m having difficulty breathing, and my forehead and neck are sweaty under my hair.

“Can I say something before I go?” he asks me in a voice calmer than he must feel if I take into account his clenched fist and the shaking of his hand holding the mug of coffee. I just nod, not sure I’m able to mutter a word through the lump in my throat. “I’m not the enemy. I’m not the kind of guy who would try to hurt you more when I know you’re already hurting, but I’m someone willing to hear you and understand you. I want to be able to help.”