Happy Release Day to Tara Sivec's "Just My Type"!

Just My Type by Tara Sivec

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Hooray, it's release day for Tara Sivec's latest book, "Just My Type"!

 

Bottom line: Tara Sivec is a rom-com genius, and "Just My Type" is AMAZEBALLS! :-) Every time I think I have found my favorite Sivec book, she releases a new one, and it's even better than the one before.

In "Just My Type," we are re-introduced to Ember Hastings, best friend of Brooklyn Manning from "The Simple Life." When we last saw Ember, she was happily married to the town pharmacist and they had a young son. Ember loved her life in small-town White Timber, where she worked on her family's pumpkin farm and was able to spend lots of time with friends and family. Her happy life in White Timber screeches to a halt when her husband accepts a job offer in Chicago and moves Ember and their son to the big city. A few months later, her husband announces that their marriage isn't working and walks out on Ember, forcing her to rebuild her life in a place that she hates, far from her beloved White Timber and everything she knows and loves.

Luckily, Ember is a fighter, so she doesn't let a pesky thing like divorce keep her down for long. She manages to find a work-from-home job as a transcriptionist and a small house for her and her son. She hasn't had sex in over a year, and isn't planning to try dating anytime soon in spite of Brooklyn's nagging, but overall, Ember thinks she's doing pretty OK for herself. That is, until one day when the company Ember works for experiences a "technical glitch" and accidentally releases confidential information to its clients, including internal notes on projects in progress and direct email addresses for its employees working on those projects. Ember receives a snarky email from Baker Matthews about an interview she's transcribing for him, and even though her company has specifically instructed its employees not to reply directly to clients, she can't resist writing back anyway. After all, what's the worst that can happen? Apparently, love can happen, and watching Ember's relationship with Baker unfold is both hilarious and delightful.

I read this whole book with a smile on my face (when I wasn't giggling or full-on laughing out loud). I loved the banter between Ember and Baker. It seemed like Ember was hiding the delightfully snarky side of herself during her marriage, but she allowed it to come out when she was with Baker, and he gave back as good as he got. Ember and Baker's chemistry was also incredible, and when they were finally able to be together, I thought my Kindle was going to combust! Finally, I really enjoyed Baker's growing relationship with Ember's son, Lincoln. They seemed like they had so much fun together, and the scenes with Ron Jeremy (yes, really, just read the book) were hilarious.

"Just My Type" is absolutely one of my favorite books of 2019 so far. My advice: just stop whatever you're doing and go read it now. You won't be sorry!

*ARC provided by the author in exchange for an honest review.

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 Read an Excerpt from "Just My Type"

“Well, I’m good and truly fucked.”

“If you can say the F-word all the time, I can say penis whenever I want,” Lincoln announces as I look up from my phone to find him standing in front of me with his backpack on and his teeth freshly brushed.

“Okay, fine.” I shrug, grabbing my keys from the counter and choosing to deal with this problem right now instead of the Shit Mouth one. “But since I’m the adult, I’ll test it out first, okay there, penis? Did you pack your penis in your backpack? Did you study for your penis test?”

“Moooom,” Lincoln whines as I usher him out the front door.

“What’s wrong, penis? I thought we were cool with penis,” I say as we get into my car and buckle up. “Turn on the penis and find a good song. I bet it will be a song about pe—”

“Okay!” Lincoln finally shouts with a laugh. “It’s not cool when you say it. It’s kind of gross. I won’t say it all the time anymore.”

Well, I’m not going to win Mother of the Year anytime soon, but that’s one problem solved.

We spend the rest of the car ride to school coming up with names for the dog I’m caving on more and more each day, none of which have anything to do with the male anatomy, thankfully. It’s not until I’ve dropped my car off at home and headed back out on foot for my Monday morning coffee ritual that I start worrying about problem number two.

“Jesus, just read the email, Ember. What’s the worst it could say?” I mutter to myself as I lock up my front door and walk down the porch to the sidewalk, my cell phone practically burning a hole in my back pocket with that unread email waiting for me.

I called the client Shit Mouth. I accused him of not having any balls. And steroid use, just because he owns a gym. He’s going to rip me a new asshole.

“It’s not like this was my fault. He never should have seen my notes. I did nothing wrong,” I mutter to myself again as I reach into my back pocket and pull my phone out when I get to the end of my front walkway and turn right.

You did so much wrong. He’s going to murder you. He has your email address now. He could hire himself a hacker and find out where you live. I really need to stop watching Dateline.

Before I can give myself any more time to freak out, I quickly open the email as I walk and hold my breath, wondering if he’ll just call me a bitch, or go right for the kill and whip out the old C U Next Tuesday. Honestly, for a guy who owns a gym and “looks like he works out,” he better bring the big guns, or I will have lost all faith in ’roid rage.

Dammit, Ember! That’s what got you into this mess in the first place.

My breath leaves me in a whoosh, and I come to a stop in the middle of the sidewalk when I read the email. And read it again. And one more time, just to make sure I’m not seeing things.

To: Ember Hastings
From: baker83@gmail.com
Subject: Shit Mouth Transcription

She twirls her hair around her finger every fucking time she laughs.

I said purple, clear as day. Get the shit out your ear.

My balls are where they always are. Slung over my shoulder, because they’re too big to carry. (GIGGLES)

I have never, nor will I ever, use steroids. Drugs are bad. Needles are scary. Shut up. Big, manly men can have fears too, GOD.

She is definitely not a professional interviewer. Does Dan Rather drop his pen every fifteen minutes so he can bend over and show people his cleavage? More importantly, does Dan Rather have cleavage?

But seriously, DO I sound like I have shit in my mouth? I feel like you’re lying. 

Not Necessarily Shit Mouth, a.k.a. Baker