#Excerpt: MR RIGHT AND MR WRONG by Grigory Ryzhakov

Book & Author Details:

Mr Right and Mr Wrong by Grigory Ryzhakov
      Publication date: September 1st 2013
      Genres: Adult, Comedy, Romance

Synopsis:

Having two admirers can be a real headache, especially when a tough agronomy course at Imperial College comes on top of that, not forgetting a part-time job at a florist’s and a mother desperate to marry you off.

Have I mentioned a stalker who keeps sending roses, and a Professor who thinks it’s fine to bury you under an extra pile of academic papers? Arrrgh!

Blake may be cute and charming, but Terrence is no less attractive in his business suits. What is a poor girl to do? Dating both of them is the right thing if you listen to Trish and that’s exactly the way Kurt handles his men.

Party after party, you have to deal with these bouts of guilt mixed with hangovers while mulling over the same dilemma over and over again – Blake or Terrence? Terrence or Blake?
Think, Chloe, think!

Mr Right & Mr Wrong is a wonderfully warm and witty yet thoughtful romantic comedy, from which you will not only pick up tips on the intricacies of London dating, but also discover a few moral and ethical aspects of plant neurobiology. Not so much chick lit as chic lit, offering sophistication alongside Chloe’s amusing complications.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17731438-mr-right-and-mr-wrong?ac=1

Purchase:

--Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Mr-Right-Wrong-romantic-comedy/dp/1490417044/ref=twoen-20

--B&N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/mr-right-and-mr-wrong-grigory-ryzhakov/1115078183

AUTHOR BIO:

Grigory (a.k.a Grisha) Ryzhakov grew up in the Russian Far East, bathing in the icy waters of Seas of Okhotsk and Japan and playing hide-and-seek in the snowdrifts that carpeted his native town of Korsakov.

He later travelled thousands of miles to vibrant London, on the way collecting his MSc degree in biochemistry at Moscow State and PhD in molecular biology at Cambridge University.

Meanwhile, Grigory has been ceaselessly creating poems, songs and prose until eventually he wrote his debut novel "Mr Right & Mr Wrong". "Usher Syndrome" was his first published story, also adapted for the stage and performed at London's Barons Court Theatre in 2010.

To connect with Grigory, please visit his blog: http://www.ryzhakov.co.uk

You can also find him on Twitter/Facebook - @GrigoryRyzhakov
     His songs are available on SoundCloud - http://soundcloud.com/grishamcarrow

Excerpt:

Chloe wakes up in someone’s bed ... in someone’s house

Don’t panic, Chloe.

I try to lift myself up, but a wave of nausea overwhelms me. It will be better if I keep my head on the pillow for now.

The good news is that I presumably didn’t have sex while I was knocked out, because I’m still dressed: my skirt, tights and undies are all in place. I’d have loved to get rid of them now if I was at home.

Now that my biggest worry is resolved, I’m considering going back to sleep, but I can hear someone else breathing nearby. Trying to make as little noise as possible I slowly roll around to the left and face a sleeping man.

It’s Blake. Thank God! He must’ve brought me here.

I look at his gorgeous facial profile. If I wasn’t in this wretched state, I might be able to gather enough bravery and kiss my saviour.

Blake is sleeping on his back, his right arm behind his head like a prop. His bare armpit is shaved, and I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not.

Speaking of bare, Blake’s not covered since I’ve hogged his blanket. My gaze travels further down his body and stops.

He’s got a stiffy. Though the Calvin Klein trunks cover Blake’s manhood, they fail to conceal his size. I’m impressed and I don’t feel ashamed at all to inspect him, since I’m feeling extremely nauseous.

At least I distract myself with Blake.

God, Trish was right, he is so fit. I want to touch his pecs and belly muscles, they look so fine. He’s like some sort of living sculpture.

Another wave of nausea interrupts my admiration. I have to do something about it; the way my stomach is turning now can only mean one thing. Where’s the loo, I wonder.

I roll back to the bed edge, look down and see a large plastic basket full of laundry two metres from me. As fast I can I slip off the bed, holding my mouth with my right hand.