Tell us a little about yourself and your background?
Amiee Smith. Author of the Smart Girl Mafia Series. I write sexy, contemporary romance novels about book smart women and hot men. I started the series on the day of the first Women’s March in 2017. I thought: “Women are going to need something good to read for the next four years.”
All my books are set in California and west coast culture is an integral part of each story.
How do you make time to write?
I stick to a small daily word count goal and plan binge-writing weekends.
Do you believe in writer’s block?
No. Not for me anyway.
Tell us a bit about the genre you write and why you love it.
Romance will heal the world. Now more than ever, we need to believe in happily-ever-after. Also, pleasure (in all forms) alleviates pain and suffering. Curling up with a sexy romance novel has got me through some of the most difficult times in my life. Writing and publishing my loving tales is my way of giving back to the genre that has given me so much relief… joy.
How are you publishing your recent book and why? (*e.g. Indie, traditional or both)
I’m an Indie. Part business mind, part creative; being my own publisher integrates both sides of me.
Are you an Introvert or Extrovert? How does this affect your work?
Introvert. I’m energized by my time alone. I’m not sure if it affects my work. It’s who I am.
What is your favorite motivational phrase?
All things are possible. OR Miracles are normal.
What advice would you give to aspiring writers?
Write [about] what you absolutely love. Polish and make it pretty. Put it out into the world. Repeat. The world needs your unique expression now more than ever.
Where can readers find you on the World Wide Web?
Do you have an excerpt you’d like to share with us?
Excerpt from Break Free, Smart Girl Mafia Series: Book One
“We should fuck,” Nick says.
Sugar Ray’s “Fly” streams from the speakers in the backyard a decibel louder than the muffled voices at the party. Jon’s thirty-third birthday celebration, in full swing.
Nick and I are sharing a cigarette in front of our friends’ expansive Craftsman house in the most exclusive neighborhood in Pasadena. The big tree above our heads is decorated in thousands of white lights, illuminating our faces.
Elation. Excitement. Joy forms at the corners of my mouth, but my eyes narrow as I receive the cigarette from his olive-skinned hand.
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“You heard me, Lynn.”
The American Spirit dangles from my brown fingers. Taking the cigarette from me, Nick’s hazel green eyes meet mine. My heart races.
Nick Willingham was my high school crush. He’s the hottest guy I’ve ever seen (like, really). He was the leading man in my schoolgirl fantasies. I taught myself to masturbate using his eleventh-grade yearbook photo.
Back then, we hung out in different cliques. Three years ago, his best friend, Jon, married my best friend, Jen. Since their wedding reception, he and I always share a cigarette during a J + J organized event. During each encounter, we’re cordial. Polite. Responsive in the way friends of friends are, but never anything more… until tonight. In the fifteen years since graduation, I’ve had many dreams come true. But never one as thrilling as the athletic man standing in front of me, initiating a hook-up.
“When?” I whisper.
Nick comes within inches of my face. He’s at least a foot taller than me. I lick my lips. The need to lean into his mouth is intense. I will my hands to stay by my side, fighting the desire to caress his jawline. I can almost feel the dark stubble against my fingertips.
“Now,” Nick says.
Withholding a moan, I long to wrap my arms around his neck and rub my body against his muscular torso. I resist the arousal rooting and sprouting throughout my body— an urge as natural, wild, and organic as bright orange California poppies.
“I’m not having sex with you in the house. And I can’t leave. I have cake duty,” I say, battling every desire within.
J + J assigned all their closest friends a job to do tonight. I can’t skip out on my commitment, even if my impulsive mind would prefer being naked with super-hot Nick Willingham.
“I’m on cake duty too. We have forty-five minutes. How about the back seat of my car?” Nick asks.
An early autumn breeze rustles the leaves in the tree above our heads. The sound beckons my body to proceed. I’ve lost fifty pounds over the last seven months, abstaining from hook-ups to stay focused on my goal. Three weeks ago, I saw my dream number on the scale. I’ve been waiting for the perfect opportunity to relaunch my dirty flirty life with my smaller, fitter body. And he is beyond perfect.
Hooking up with Nick Willingham on a Friday night is a dream come true.
“Let’s go,” I say.