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Hi I'm Janna and I am a book whore! I started this blog after being a part of another for years. While being a big blog may be nice I like to stay true to me having a love for books, that's why I blog. I love books and I want to share that love with my readers of this blog. I love to read, books are my escape and a huge part of my life besides my husband and two children. I am honest and sometimes sassy in my reviews but never mean. Some of my favorite authors include Kristen Ashley, Penelope Douglas, T.M. Frazier, M.N. Forgy, Rachel Van Dyken, Meghan March and Vi Keeland to only name a few!

Please note that I am the ONLY reviewer on the blog beyond a few guest reviews. It has been brought to my attention that people not associated with my blog have been requesting ARCs please if you ever question a request please email me at the blog's email.

Saturday, February 4, 2017

Release Blitz! The Failing Hours By Sara Ney

Zeke Daniels isn't just a douchebag; he's an asshole. 
A total and complete jerk, Zeke keeps people at a distance. He has no interest in relationships—most assholes don’t. 
Dating? Being part of a couple? Nope. Not for him.
He's never given any thought to what he wants in a girlfriend, because he's never had any intention of having one. 
Shit, he barely has a relationship with his family, and they're related; his own friends don’t even like him. 
So why does he keep thinking about Violet DeLuca? 
Sweet, quiet Violet—his opposite in every sense of the word.
The light to his dark, even her damn name sounds like rays of sunshine and happiness and shit.
And that pisses him off, too.

What is it about that real asshole or in this case douchebag hero that I can’t help but love? The Failing Hours does not disappoint of the asshole douchebag front, not at all.   Trust me Zeke fits both of those descriptions can probably a couple more if I felt like getting creative.  I wanted Zeke’s story since I read The Studying Hours.  Can I take a moment just to say exactly how much I absolutely love the series name, How To Date A Douchebag, I just love it and while I know some may not well they umm need to stop being so uptight.  Anyways back to my love of The Failing Hours.  This is one of my favorite books of the year so far.  It has the angst I crave, the humor, the sexiness, the asshole hero and the heroine who surprises you.  It is everything this book whore loves.

Zeke as mentioned above is an asshole and a douchebag combined.  The thing is, like every other hero like this, there is always a reason behind it and Zeke’s really had my heart breaking for him.  It’s his protective armor to lash out at everyone even if it means losing some friends along the way.  More than once my heart would hurt then a few sentences later I wanted to throat punch him, and repeat.  But once you get to know Zeke you really get a better understanding of how life can be so different for some many and on the outside everything is fine when in reality it is not.

Violet is sweet, she is kind and she also had my heart breaking for her and her life.  I wasn’t sure at first if she would be able to match up with Zeke but she surprised me.  She has a silent strength to her that I appreciated; she also isn’t as meek as she first may seem to be.  I really loved it when she stood up for herself, I wanting to clap my hands and be like I am so proud of you girl!  Violet ended up being the absolutely perfect balance for Zeke and was the perfect choice for him.

The Failing Hours is the second book in this series, and well this book whore really hopes that there will be more douchebags for us to fall in love with and want to at times throat punch.  For me, this series is a must read and one that I highly recommend, just be prepared though to love the douchebag.  

The clock on the wall counts the seconds, steady as the rhythm of my beating heart, which thumps wildly within my chest until the glass door to the library opens, propelled by a gust of wind.

Some new fallen leaves flutter in, the heavy doors slamming from the draft.

Along with them? Zeke Daniels.

He shuffles in, dark gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips, black Iowa Wrestling hoodie pulled up over his head, the university’s bright yellow mascot screen-printed across the chest. Backpack slung over one shoulder, black athletic flip-flops, and a pair of black sunglasses perched on the bridge of his strong nose complete the overall ensemble.
He is utterly…ridiculous. 



His arrogance knows no bounds; I can see it in his loose gait, the exaggerated swagger, and the too-casual way he’s dragging his flip-flops across the cold, marble tile floor. It’s noisy, irritating, and completely uncalled for. 

In the moment, my mind drifts to his personal life, and I theorize that he listens to heavy metal music to sooth his foul temperament, drinks his coffee black—as black as his soul—and his liquor straight up. I imagine once he’s had sex with someone, they’re never invited back. I go one step further and theorize that they’re never invited to spend the night at his place, either.

Zeke Daniels makes his way to a table at the far end of the room, near the periodicals, one out of the way with plenty of privacy.

Sets his bag down in one of the four wooden chairs. Flicks on the small study lamp. Plugs his laptop cord into the base and stands. 


Our eyes would have met then were it not for those ludicrous sunglasses. I choose the exact moment he lifts his gaze to look down at the ground. Busy myself with shuffling papers on the counter. Count to ten instead of chanting, Please don’t come over, please don’t come over, please don’t come over…

But luck isn’t on my side because he most decidedly does. 

Makes his way over like a predator at a pace so deliberate, I’m convinced he’s doing it on purpose. As if he suspects I’m watching from under my long lashes, dreading his imminent arrival.

He basks in my discomfort.

The distance between us closes, his strides purposeful.

Twenty feet.





His large hand reaches up, pushing down the hood of his sweatshirt, his fingertips pinching the earpiece of his sunglasses and pulling them off his face. My eyes follow the movements as he folds them closed, hanging them on the neckline of his hoodie. 

His gaze lingers—those clear gray eyes famous around campus—and finds the shiny silver bellhop bell perched on the counter with the sign next to it that reads, Ring for help.


The tip of his forefinger presses down on the small bell.


He hits it again, despite me standing not three feet in front of him.

What an ass.


Purveyor of all things witty & romantic, I love: iced latte's, traveling, and bright, bold colors. On any given day, you can find me in my office, lovingly gazing at my bookshelf or shuffling my Bic felt-tip pen collection. I love hand writing letters, and sarcasm. 

I live in the midwest, but "Will Write for Travel," and believe everyone should follow their dreams, no matter how big or small. My favorite authors include Cindy Miles, S Walden, Suzanne Enoch, Tessa Dare (to name a few). I am a glutton for Historical, RomCom, Sports and MC romance.
One husband. Two daughters. Plenty of chaos.


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