Today we have the release day blitz for Elle Aycart’s GREASE BABE! Check it out and be sure to grab your copy today!
Alden is not only home to the gorgeous Bowen brothers, but also to the OGs, three hilarious octogenarian grandmas who believe age is nothing but a number. After their success helping one grandchild find love, they’ve decided to move on to the next. Nothing will stop them. Not even jail…
Rachel’s upbringing was rough, but at 34, she loves the life she’s built for herself. She adores her grandmother, Alden, and her job as a mechanic. Now, if her grandma and her friends would just stop getting into trouble, everything would be perfect. She’s doing her best to keep them on the straight and narrow, but she spends more time arguing with the sheriff than working in her garage. Case in point the OGs’ latest stunt, which got all of them, Rachel included, sentenced to community service. So now she has to keep an eye on the crazy grannies and on the street teenage thugs she’s been court-ordered to teach mechanics to.
And all thanks to the sheriff and that huge, unbendable stick up his ass.
Adrian Skehan, a top-notch detective in Boston, enjoyed putting dangerous criminals and drug kingpins behind bars. He loved his fast-paced, glamorous city life, but after his estranged grandfather had a major stroke, he moved to Alden, became the sheriff and now he spends his days chasing after senior citizens and dealing with the OGs –the bane of his existence— and Rachel, their obnoxious defender.
Terrific career move, really. Way to screw up his life. And his mental wellbeing.
As if life wasn’t hard enough, now the OGs have decided to work on their bucket list… meaning the granddaughter and the sheriff must join forces to survive the mayhem.
He likes his women… ivory-tower delicate. Not loud, highly opinionated and smelling of gasoline.
She likes her men… easy-going. Not arrogant know-it-alls and sticklers for rules.
Keeping these two together is a recipe for disaster. Too bad the OGs don’t see it that way.
“Never seen this place from this point of view,” Wilma said, sitting on the holding cell’s bench and glancing around. “Rather inhospitable.”
Rebecca and Greta, both on the bench next to her, nodded.
“You know what’s missing? Curtains,” Greta suggested. “Some festive theme. In red. There would be no outside view, but the bars would stay hidden. Would boost morale.”
Wilma assented. “And pillows. This bench is too hard.”
And now that they were on the topic, an in-depth cleaning would do this place a world of good.
“In hindsight, it was a good decision to keep the bathing suits on,” Rebecca said.
Yep, it had been. Or they would have been facing charges for breaking and entering, indecent exposure, and giving an officer of the law a heart attack.
“He got mad this time,” Greta murmured. “The bottle of champagne didn’t help.” Neither did all the run-ins they’d had with Adrian lately.
“I can’t believe you arrested them,” they heard Rachel yelling from the office.
“Your granddaughter is here to rescue us,” Rebecca informed Wilma. Then she frowned. “We didn’t get a free phone call, like in the movies. Or did we get it and I spaced out?”
“I don’t remember calling anyone,” Greta mused, shaking her head.
Neither did she, but whoever had phoned Rachel had their best interest in mind. Rebecca’s grandson, Mike, would have bailed them out but would have given them a talk and taken the sheriff’s side. Greta’s son, Grady, would probably pay to keep them behind bars. Rachel was the only one carrying the senior flag. She always took their side, no matter what. Even when they were in the wrong.
She’d rushed to their defense when the sheriff tried to get Wilma’s driving license revoked, which, taking into consideration that they were driving twice the allowed speed and about to turn into oncoming traffic, kind of made sense. In their defense, though, Wilma hadn’t had her glasses on, so she hadn’t seen the speedometer. And the oncoming traffic consisted of an empty street with a couple of cars parked on it.
Rachel sounded outraged. “You can’t keep eighty-year-olds in a holding cell.”
“And I wouldn’t have if they didn’t try to convince one of my officers to release them.”
“Since when is it a crime to try to conv—”
“Slipping him money,” Adrian cut Rachel off.
“I told you it was a bad idea,” Rebecca mumbled to her friends. “A fifty-dollar bill was too little.”
“Trying to bribe an officer is illegal. Breaking and entering too,” Adrian stated, his voice calm. So far.
Rachel’s snort was loud. And rude. “There was nothing broken, and they didn’t enter the building. They just used the outdoors facilities. You could say they were rehearsing for the opening, making sure everything worked.”
Wilma looked at her friends. “Why didn’t we think of that?”
The conversation outside seemed to grow louder and louder. Rebecca lifted her shoulders. “In between the champagne and the chlorine I ended up guzzling, I was a bit fuzzy. Still am.”
Greta pointed at the toilet in the far corner. “It’s the smell coming from that. As soon as we get out of here, we’re organizing some fundraiser to get this place in tip-top shape.”
Wilma couldn’t stifle the laughter. “You plan on visiting often?” At her friend’s shrug, she dug into the pocket of her bathrobe and produced her cellphone. “Let’s immortalize the moment. Just in case.”
“You had your phone all this time?” Rebecca asked.
“I just remembered. Let’s do a selfie. With the bars as the backdrop. Ladies, get your duck faces on.”
“I really don’t understand it,” Greta said in a sigh. “All our lives being told small lips are beautiful, and look at us now. Right when we need them, they’ve deflated.”
“Like everything else,” Rebecca commiserated. “No lips, no boobs, no ass. Just shriveled-up skin.”
“It’s from all the time we spent in the pool, don’t worry,” Greta said.
Rebecca didn’t seem too convinced.
“Ready?” Wilma asked, interrupting. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, so she wasn’t sure the shot was centered, but she stretched out her hand, took the picture and hoped for the best. “Now let’s Tweet with the hashtags #campingwiththegirls #exploringnewfrontiers #nevertooOldtogetarapsheet.”
“Two months,” Adrian said sternly. Wilma could almost see him standing with his arms crossed on his chest. That handsome, young face of his, frowning and getting old and crinkled prematurely. What a waste. “The B&B opens in a couple of months. Couldn’t they wait?”
Rachel was raising her voice, sounding exasperated. “They don’t make long-term plans.”
“Two months is a long-term plan?”
“What do you think? They don’t even buy their bananas green,” her granddaughter all but yelled, her tone aggravated. Wilma could also see her in her mind, standing as tall as possible, on tiptoe, probably, facing off with Adrian. “This is an abuse of authority.”
Rebecca turned to Wilma. “I love your Rachel. You really got lucky in the grandchildren department.”
Wilma knew. She’d missed her granddaughter’s childhood because of the divorce, but Rachel had gotten in touch with her ten years ago, and when she decided to move to Alden, Wilma had been ecstatic.
“Like you can complain with Mike,” Greta said to Rebecca. “You’re both lucky. I struck out.”
Greta’s son was no fun. Her grandson, Connor, was a sweetheart, but he was in the military and was very seldom in the US.
“I remind you I’m already taking care of all the police cars’ maintenance.” Rachel’s voice was getting louder by the second.
“Three cars. Do I have to remind you what the OGs did to make that happen?”
Greta and Wilma stared at Rebecca, who whispered, “What?! That was an accident. It could happen to any one of us.”
“Wait a second.” There was a pause, and then Rachel cursed. “You have them in their bathing suits and wet robes? What are you thinking? They’re old. They could get a cold and die,” Rachel reprimanded him.
Good attempt at guilt tripping. It might have worked with other police officers, but Adrian was too seasoned. The OGs knew; they’d tried it before.
Adrian snorted. “They won’t. Viruses don’t dare mess with them. And it’s not my fault they decided to drive there in their bathing suits and without any spare clothes. Wait, how do you know…”
“They’re Tweeting from their cell, that’s why. You have them half-naked in there.”
Oops… and Wilma thought she’d pointed the camera at their faces.
“I’m going to sue you,” Rachel continued. “The whole department. This is misuse of power. Abuse of authority. Human rights violation. Whatever it’s called.”
From then on, Wilma couldn’t make out the words, because both were screaming. After a short while, the door from the corridor opened, and Rachel marched in, followed by Adrian.
“How good to see you, dear. You’re here to bail us out?” Wilma asked, as the sheriff began unlocking the cell.
Rachel had her arms crossed, her lips pursed, and was giving him the evil eye. “I’m afraid not, grandma.”
Adrian opened the cell and, to their surprise, pushed Rachel in and closed the door behind her. “She’s being charged with disorderly conduct.”
“Disorderly conduct, my ass,” she replied. “This is contempt of cop.”
The sheriff ignored Rachel. “The phone, ladies,” he demanded, stretching his hand out to them.
Wilma harrumphed but gave it to him. “Don’t take it out on poor Walter. He was scared of frisking me.”
“Have a great evening, ladies,” he said as he walked away. “See you tomorrow.”
“Now what?” Greta asked when they were alone again.
The four of them sat on the bench.
Wilma sighed. “Now we wait until Mike logs on to Twitter.”
About the Author
After a colorful array of jobs all over Europe ranging from translator to chocolatier to travel agent to sushi chef to flight dispatcher, Elle Aycart is certain of one thing and one thing only: aside from writing romances, she has abso-frigging-lutely no clue what she wants to do when she grows up. Not that it stops her from trying all sorts of crazy stuff. While she is probably now thinking of a new profession, her head never stops churning new plots for her romances. She lives currently in Barcelona, Spain, with her husband and two daughters, although who knows, in no time she could be living at the Arctic Circle in Finland, breeding reindeer.