NEW RELEASE: “Bad at Being Good” by A.L. Morrow.

Eric Huffbind

2 years ago

NEW RELEASE

Book Title: Bad at Being
Good

Author: A.L.
Morrow

Publisher: SourGirl
Books

Cover Artist: Morningstar
Ashley Designs

Release Date: November 28,
2023

Genre: Contemporary M/M romance, new adult

Tropes: brother’s best friend, friends to lovers, first love, bad
boy

Themes: coping with grief, forgiveness, hurt/comfort, found
family

Heat Rating: 4 flames

Length: 73 000
words

It is a standalone story and
does not end on a cliffhanger.

Goodreads | BookBub

Available on Amazon, Kobo, Apple Books, B&N, and
Smashwords

Universal Buy Link

No one is good all of the
time. Especially me.

Blurb

Six years ago, I promised my friend Kellan that I’d never
mess around with his little brother. I accepted it. I didn’t regret it, and I didn’t think twice
about it. Milo Sterling—the good student, perfect son, and promising dancer—was off
limits.

But that was before.

Before we went away to college. Before Kellan died. Before
I flunked out of school.

Now, I’m back home, and Milo’s different. He’s quieter and
colder, no longer a boy but a man. And that hurt in his eyes? I put it there the night I failed
to save Kellan. I have a lot to make up for. Falling for Milo, no matter how much I want him,
would be one more thing to add to my list.

But promises are meant to be broken, and if there’s one
thing I’m bad at, it’s being good.

Bad at Being Good is a best friend’s
brother/brother’s best friend (dual POV) M/M romance featuring hurt/comfort, found
family, coping with grief, and—of course—a happily ever after. Readers are advised to check
the Author’s Note for content sensitivities.

Excerpt

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

I ignore the next person who tries to talk to me, exactly like I
did the last. Dad’s eyes bore into me. When there’s a break in the people approaching, he
steps closer and leans over my shoulder.

“Milo, stand up,” he scolds. “These people are here to support
us. Snubbing them is rude.”

Mom comes between us immediately. She places her hand on
Dad’s arm, but her gaze is warm when it turns toward me. “David, leave him alone. He’s
going through enough right now. He shouldn’t have to worry about other people, too.”

At least Mom gets it.

Dad frowns but stands straight again. Sighing, he looks out
across the church.

Then, he scowls.

“I can’t believe that piece of shit showed up.”

I glance over my shoulder in the direction of his stare, and I see
him.

“Benji?” I whisper.

Our eyes lock, and I can barely breathe.

He came. I texted him the other night to make sure he knew
about the arrangements, but he never replied. Still, he’s here, standing way in the back
where people light votive candles. His hands are shoved in his pockets. He’s dressed in black.
And although he’ll always be my idea of gorgeous, right now he looks like hell. Gauze is
stuffed up his nostrils, and a bandage covers his nose. His bottom lip is split, and he’s got
stitches by his hairline and bruises on his cheeks. My dad really did a number on him.

“How did he even find out about the service?” Dad
grumbles.

Because I told him. I knew you wouldn’t, so I
did.

“David, let it go. He was Kellan’s best friend. He has every right
to be here.” Mom hooks her arm through Dad’s and takes his hand, holding him back before
we have a repeat performance of their fight in the ER.

But she doesn’t stop me.

I’m on my feet, making my way to the back of the church
before the next note on the organ plays. Unfortunately, Benji moves just as quickly. He
beelines toward the door, knowing he’s been spotted.

“Benji, wait!” I call.

Dad’s voice echoes behind me. “Milo, get back here. They’re
about to start. Milo!”

Fuck that. Kellan would want Benji to feel welcome. He’d want
him to know he doesn’t blame him for what happened. He’d want him to be all right.

And you know what? I want that, too.

I move faster, jogging down the aisle, taking off after him, but
he has too much of a head start. The door to the church swings open. He almost knocks over
one of Kellan’s former coaches, but he doesn’t excuse himself or stop.

“Benji!”

I know he can hear me. I know he saw me. If only he would
hold still for a second and give me a chance to explain, to apologize for my dad …

I follow him through the front door and make it down the front
steps of the church in time to watch his Range Rover pull out of the parking lot.

“Benji …”

No, he can’t go. He can’t leave me here. I have too much to
say.

He needs to know it’s not his fault.

He needs to know I love him—that I’m in love with
him.

But he’s gone.

About the Author

USA
Today bestselling author A.L. Morrow enjoys
dreaming up steamy scenes and spectacular settings—often along with a touch of magic or
myth. She believes that love is love and likes reading and writing various genres of
romance.

In her downtime (what’s
that?), A finds delight in scouring for secondhand designer fashions. She briefly lived in a
haunted mansion, once took a flight to visit Scotland for a day, and is prone to meeting
minor celebrities in random hotel elevators. She resides in the eastern US.

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