She did it again.

Curse you, Cherry Adair!!!!!

Once again, I have been sucked in. This is what happened.

Don't groan like that. People will become unnerved.

Friday, I got to see the lovely and talented Cherry Adair. [Actually, I was just hanging out with my darling friend Cherry, who happens to be a Big Whoop-De-Doo Author. "Cherry Adair" wasn't actually there. Just Cherry. Just my friend.] It was so nice to see her. We laughed and chatted and I met the new puppy of the household. A nice lunch was had. My wee beastie was thrilled to see her godmother.

Yes, my dog has a godmother. Why?

Anyway, the new book by the marvelous Cherry Adair comes out next month. It's called Riptide and it's the second book in the Cutter Cay series. Undertow was the first and ohh, YUM. Was it fabulous! The series is based on a salvage company, but not just any salvage. Sunken treasure salvage. That's right. Jewels. Gold doubloons. Pieces of eight.

I have no idea why they're called pieces of eight. Hang on, must Google.

Oh! Okay, here's Wikipedia's answer:

The Spanish dollar (also known as the piece of eight, the real de a ocho or the eight-real coin) is a silver coin, of approximately 38 mm diameter, worth eight reales, that was minted in the Spanish Empire after a Spanish currency reform in 1497. Its purpose was to correspond to the German thaler.

feel so much better. Anyway. The Cutter brothers [why, yes, they are incredibly dreamy] salvage wrecked ships that carried glorious treasures from the past. Hot men! Bad guys! Hot men! Scuba diving! Hot men! Steamy sex scenes! Hot men! Bullets fired! Did I mention the hot men? Anyway, I will not spoil the story for you; it's not nice to do that and more importantly, it's not the point.

I do so have a point. I'm getting to it! Sheesh!

My point is this. I had a boatload of stuff I had to do this weekend. Cherry, darling woman that she is, had only a very few Advanced Readers Copies [ARCs] of Riptide, and in her lovely and generous way, gave one to me.

I did tell her she didn't have to! I did so. I'm not that hideous and greedy---okay, I am, but I try to hold it back with Cherry. She's so darn nice and I feel like I take advantage. But again, not the point.

So there I was, with a brand new ARC of Cherry's latest book. And all of this stuff to do. And I know myself. I know once I start a book of Cherry's, I can't stop. It's like drugs, I think. No, I don't know for sure, because the only real drug I've ever taken is alcohol. Ooo! It's like chocolate. I definitely have a chocolate addiction. That's it, that's exactly it. It's chocolate without the calories. Or the big smear around my mouth. But I can't stop.

I tried to hide the ARC from myself at first. This didn't work, sadly, because I told me where it was. Dammit. Then I tried ignoring it as I ran around most of the day, did a bunch of yard work and then went to dinner. But I could hear it calling me. Much the way chocolate does. Still, I resisted.

I held out until I crawled into bed last night, worn to a nub. Okay, not really, but I was pretty tired. And I knew--I knew--I had to work this morning. I reached over to turn off the bedside lamp and the ARC fluttered its cover at me flirtatiously.

It was all over.

I do not know how Cherry does it, how she sucks me in so quickly, but within two pages, the bargain I made with myself ["I'll just read two, no three, okay, five pages, then go to sleep."] was tossed out the window. And yes, I did have to work this morning.

Really, it was awfully unkind of her to write another oh-my-God-I-can't-put-this-down book.

I managed to stop myself eventually. I forced myself to mark my place with a bit of notepaper, set the book on the bedside table and turn off the light. I did not allow myself to roll back over and flip the light back on and dive greedily back into the story. Dive. Like the scuba bits. Heeheehee.

What?

But now I'm at work and the ARC is in my purse. This location tends to frown on lab rats reading while at the desk, so I have to wait until I go to lunch to read more. Yes, I am watching the clock. Tapping my foot. Writhing in impatience.

Curse you, Cherry Adair.