Tuesday, August 11, 2015

Deep Fried and Pickled (The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles Book 1) by Paisley Ray



It’s ’86, the era of Pop Rocks, Jelly shoes, and big hair bands. Rachael O'Brien's freshman plan seems simple: Attend a southern college away from her hometown of Canton, Ohio, earn a degree, party, and meet cute guys—hopefully acing the latter two.

But being threatened by a jealous She-Devil, avoiding the advances of a thirty-something redneck, and discovering an art fraud scheme mess with her “to do” list. On top of her troubles at school, Rachael finds herself forging a new relationship with her emotionally shaken father after Mom abandons the family to pursue a psychic calling.

Bad decision-making, law-bending behavior, and surprise romances make freshman year challenging in Paisley Ray’s DEEP FRIED AND PICKLED quick-witted, south-of-the-Mason-Dixon romp.


Behind my back, Katie Lee asked, “What are you doing in my closet?”
Like a hound flushing out a quail, I dug deep to contain my nervous energy. I held my stance and pointed. “Is that Nash’s?”
She didn’t even look at me when she said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
It wasn’t my business, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was furious that she hid something for him in our room. For all I knew, he was a serial killer and body parts were fermenting in our closet. Before she could slam the door, I pulled on the suitcase, tumbling the plastic zip bags that rested on top into a heap.
She grabbed the side handle and snapped at me, “What are you doing?”
“I’m opening it.”
She hung on. “It’s not yours to open.”
In a tug of war, I yanked then let go. Katie Lee toppled to the floor and clunked her head on a desk leg.
Macy appeared in the doorway. Not sure how much she’d seen, I didn’t care. My roommate wasn’t bleeding, and even if she were, I wouldn’t have noticed. I was obsessed with the case that lay equidistant between us.
Dropping to my knees, I applied pressure to the lock until it clicked.
Katie Lee sat on the floor and shot me a look of pissed-off defeat.
Macy didn’t interfere or pick sides, but closed in behind my back.
Turning the heavy case to face me, I slid the zipper around the track and opened the flap.
Macy pitched a shrill whistle.
Bridget joined the gawking audience and yelled, “Holy shit.”
Seeing all the twenties neatly stacked and bound by rubber bands, I told Katie Lee, “This is a problem.”    

No comments:

Post a Comment

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...