Smashed Nuts: Prequel – Excess Baggage Series
It’s something she finds out first-hand while navigating the murky waters of dating a married man. But is Hilton really worth risking life and limb over? If he’s the only thing between her, a decent meal, and not living in her car, then that's gotta be a ‘hell, yes!'.
Set in Surfers Paradise, Australia in 1977, against a heady backdrop of the sexual revolution, gold bikinis, and lots of sunshine, when a bloke could be rich enough to be viewed as attractive even if you had to wear a bag over your own head in case theirs fell off.
Hilton isn’t the only thing stopping Brenda from being hungry and homeless, but then working as a Surfers Paradise Meter Maid to make ends meet hadn’t been high on her list of life goals, either. She’s fine with strutting around town in a gold lamé bikini, tiara, and sash, but doing so while wearing high heels has her feet crying for relief. If it wasn’t for the excellent opportunities it provided for spotting ‘willing targets’, she’d have given it up long ago.
Smashed Nuts is a prequel novella to Andrene’s seventies-based Excess Baggage Series and is a no-holds-barred look at the less than salubrious parts of the Gold Coast.
What others are saying:
“I went into this book knowing it was only a short prequel. I knew that when I bought it. That doesn't mean that I'm happy about it being so short! GIVE ME MORE! I want more stories about being a meter maid wearing a gold bikini. I want more close calls. I want more disastrous liaisons. Damn it, I wanted this to be a longer book. It's too good to be so short. Funny, nostalgic, but too short... ;)”
“Lots of laughs from the Antics of a poor young woman who wants the good life and has a unique idea on how to get it without doing boring jobs. Life doesn't go to plan though. A fast paced short read. Can't wait to read the rest of the series.”
Best Book Bit:
Sleep is claiming Brenda when she experiences a total eclipse, with the complete lack of sun chilling her immediately. My god, if she’d thought Hilton’s stomach looked big behind a straining business shirt, au naturel it’s something else altogether.
The one thing not large about the bloke is his swimming trunks, but what they lack in size they make up for in volume, with the loud bright orange and yellow tropical print being far more suited to curtains. What is it about fat blokes that they have no shame? If she was carrying even half that much excess weight, the only thing she’d be seen dead in outside the house would be a @&#%ing iron lung.
“You’re looking bloody ripper,” says Hilton, his gaze all over her body. “And almost as hot as I am.”
For a moment Brenda thinks he’s saying he’s ‘hot’ as in attractive but his cannonball into the swimming pool puts paid to this. It also puts paid to her hoping to stay looking glamourous as Hilton’s bulk displaces a good third of the pool water. A large percentage hits her with as much oomph as if someone had upended a bucket over her, leaving her spluttering and muttering.
While he swims a couple of lazy lengths, Brenda dries herself as best she can. She didn’t even bring a towel with her and neither has Hilton for that matter. In the end she resorts to using her muslin shirt to avoid sitting there with water dripping off her. Damn it, even the insides of her sunglasses are wet. Thank god her waist-length dark hair is up in a high pony tail or else it’d be hanging in rats tails.
Swiping under her lower lashes, she inspects her finger. Damn it all to hell, she shouldn’t have needed waterproof mascara for their date. Thank god her bikini goes semi-transparent when wet, meaning Hilton will be looking everywhere but at her panda eyes. A couple more gentle swipes and her finger comes away reasonably clean. It’s not great, but it’s the best she can do for now.
She’s not long resumed a pose that sets her figure off to best advantage when Hilton clambers out of the pool with about as much finesse as a large bull seal mounting an ice floe, stands right next to her and proceeds to flip his head about wildly, deliberately showering her with more water.
What the hell? Does he think he’s five or something?
Apart from having him looking like a juvenile, no-one sporting a comb-over as cantilevered as his should shake-dry their hair like that. She’s seen less action on ceiling fans.