Bootscootin' Blahniks, by D.D Scott

     I met D.D Scott on The Naked Hero and The Writer’s Guide to E-Publishing, where she blogs every week. So I decided to pick up one of her books. I love to read books when I know the authors. I don’t know many authors, so the ones I know are very special to me. So when she asked me to review her book, I was so honored and it came when I needed a good laugh. I could totally relate to Roxy and her absolute worship of shoes and her car problems.

     There I am at Sunday dinner at my Nona’s as usual. Not to make a appearance is number eight of the seven deadly sins. So as to avoid getting the stink eye, a good old fashion Italian curse, or have Tony the Squid add cement shoes to my wardrobe, I bear the arguments over sauce. Especially when my mom’s parents are visiting from Florida. My grandma Boyle’s family is from Florence. According to Nona, the Tuscan’s don’t have a clue how to make sauce. Nona’s from Naples, a whole different creature. Really, ones from earth, the other from the moon. Guess which is which.

     But anyhoo, I did my duty, and showed up. When it’s time to leave, which for me is right after the last dish hits the dishwasher, I climb in my little car and start it. It clicks over, nothing. More clicking. So I go into the house to get my Pop, Uncle Mike, my brothers, and grandpa Boyle. I really only wanted Pop, but everyone else decided to follow. How many Russo’s does it take to figure out I have a dead battery? Aye! There they are bent over under the hood of my car, all I can see is ass. One too many butt cracks, some bigger than others. Eeee….

     Pop comes to the conclusion my battery is dead. Again, how many Russo’s?

     Men love complications in everything, so they can fix it. I swear, they’ll take something so simple as a dead battery and it turns into a big hand waving, loud talking, discussion over the fact my car won’t start. Yo, my battery is dead! One more Russo in the mix.

    My brother Gino, who is working Narco, and looks a lot like Serpico, pulls his equally junky car up to mine, to give me a jump, with a lecture on how I need to get a new battery in the morning. He buys drugs for a living, which means he has flex hours. I work for a living, with no drugs involved, or flex hours. The battery was going to have to wait.

     The cables are hooked up, Pop gets in my car turns the key, and BOOOOM!!! I do mean BOOOOM!!! My battery blew right out of the engine, whistling like a missile straight up. The hood of my car flew back, slamming into my windshield shattering it. My battery on takeoff knocked Grandpa Boyle on his ass, with Uncle Mike staggering back screaming like a girl, and my brother Mario clutching his chest. Serpico, looked like he saw a ghost, and had to check the front of his pants to make sure he didn't pee himself.  

     What goes up must come down. It’s the law of physics. And that baby came down, to slam right into the hood of a patroling cop car down the street. The front end dipped into the street, while the back flew up, popping the trunk. It's amazing how much oil and water those cars hold in their engine.

     My mother came out of the house screaming, something about being attacked. Nona appeared waving my granddad Russo’s old six shooter, ready to take on any terrorist visiting our oh so important neighborhood. Dio perché mi puniscono?

     When the cop managed to collect himself enough to get out of the car, he was greeted by a barrage of badges. Since every male in my family is a cop or retired, they found it necessary to wave their badges around in the face of a shocked senseless very cute cop. My sisters stood on the stoop, smoothing their hair, checking their lipstick in a knife Lucinda was holding when the battery took flight.

      A report was taken, again with my name on it. I'm getting a quit a collection of police reports. The cop said he talked to me when I was at the corner store during a shooting. I didn’t remember him, not because I was in shock, but because my sight was blinded by Firemen Frank. It wasn’t blinded now. So he slipped me his card, with a cute little smile, with beautiful dark eyes. Officer Javier. Essere tuttavia il mio cuore di botte!

      Oh, but I digress. As I mentioned, I could relate to Roxy and her love of shoes, fashion, and car problems that brings her and Zayne together. Roxy is old New York money, she ran away from. Take it from me, run and don’t look back. She did, right to Nashville Tennessee, to build her own fashion business away from the influences of her families money and control. Zayne has his own family issues, with the memory of his over baring father’s influence haunting him and a meddling mother. His passion is tomatoes, and winning a contest from his father’s seeds.

     Roxy and Zayne’s relationship begins with a sick dog in Roxy’s Mercedes. Distracted she slams into Zayne’s truck. Instant sparks, especially when Zayne wants payment of the damages, from Roxy in the form of dancing with him in his saloon. More sparks and a lot funny situations that continues to fuel a attraction between to the two opposites. This is a funny cute story of two people overcoming family issues, and making their own way through the world on their own terms. Both are strong willed, and pig headed, and as much as one wouldn’t think they are a perfect match, they don't disappoint. I won’t give away this story, but it is a fun read, that made me smile, smirk and laugh out loud.

I give it a big number #8 Pretty darn Bitch’n. This is a great beach read…


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