Cover Reveal: Waking Up in Vegas by Stevie Kisner

Check out the cover for Stevie Kisner's latest - Waking Up in Vegas.  It sounds great and the cover is definitely eye catching!

Title: Waking Up in Vegas
Author: Stevie Kisner

Release date: late December

I’m Tack Morgan, and I’m Las Vegas Magazine’s Sexiest Man. I’m the host of the most listened-to morning drive-time show on Vegas’s FM dial.

I’m also in therapy for sexual harassment.

My therapist is the one making me write this. The doc says it’ll help put things into perspective.

To be clear, I don’t have sexual harassment issues. I have sexual frustration issues.

And it’s totally not my fault.

That responsibility rests squarely with the person I’m being accused of harassing. I see her each and every weekday morning at the ungodly hour of 6 am.

Funny. I used to think that was the best time of the whole day. I lived for starting my mornings so early, not seeing my bed until many, many hours later.

Unless it was for recreation.

At the risk of sounding cocky, I recreated a lot.

Sex is my sport of choice. Or at least it was, until Jen waltzed through the station door and announced she was my new morning-show co-host.

I swear, she’s developed some sort of pheromone-canceling ESP that follows me around everywhere and cockblocks me at every turn. I haven’t gotten laid in… too long.

Honestly, I haven’t been keeping track.

Actually, yes, I have.

It’s been two months.

Coincidentally, that’s exactly how long Jensen McKenzie has been my co-host.

I don’t think my balls can get any bluer.

This is not an easy bit to write. Mostly because I don't find myself a interesting subject. I've known me too long to be fascinated. But you haven't, so here goes:

I fell in love with music early.
According to my mother, I knew all the words to The Archie's 'Sugar Sugar' when I was two.If that gives you a clue to my age, so be it. I won't 'fess up, as my brain thinks it's twenty-six, and I don't want it to catch on that it's not.

Reading followed shortly after that... my brother is two years older than I am (almost to the day) and I would sit next to him when he read. He let me because it was the only time I wasn't hitting him. I did it because I loved words (it's the fire-sign in me) and he would trace under the words with his finger as he read out loud. As he sounded out words, I did the same in my head, and after a few months, the wondrous world of all those funky symbols finally made sense. I took off with it, and never stopped.

('Aw, honey honey... you are my candy girl, and you've got me wanting you...') Sorry. Once the iPod in my head gets to playing, it doesn't shut off. And I mentioned a song, so it decided I needed to hear it. On repeat.

Fast-forward to now:
I live with my husband and grown son in a suburb of Albuquerque. How my son can be all grown up is beyond me. After all, I'm still twenty-six, right? A beautiful Golden Retriever own us, and thinks we live to give her turkey and throw balls endlessly. She's mostly right.

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