Outside the Lines
by Lisa Desrochers
Release date: January 19
Synopsis:
From the author of the USA Today bestselling A Little
Too Far series, the first in an edgy new contemporary romance series that
follows a family on the run...
As the oldest
son of a Chicago crime lord, Robert Delgado always knew how dangerous life
could be. With his mother dead and his father in prison, he’s taking charge of
his family’s safety—putting himself and his siblings in witness protection to
hide out in a backwater Florida town.
Fourth grade teacher
Adri Wilson is worried about the new boy in her class. Sherm is quiet and
evasive, especially when he’s around his even cagier older brother. Adri can’t
help her attraction to Rob, or the urge to help them both in whatever way she
can.
But the Delgados
have enemies on two sides of the mob—their father’s former crew and the rival
family he helped take down. It’s only a matter of time before someone finds
them. And if Rob isn’t careful, Adri could end up in the crossfire...
I received a copy in exchange for an honest review!
What I say: Outside the Lines is the first instalment in Lisa Desrycher's new series On the Run. The series begins with Rob and Adri's story. Rob Delgado and his family are hiding from the mob when they find themselves relocated to Adri's quiet town. Primary school teacher, Adri finds herself drawn to student Sherm's mysterious older brother Rob.
I really liked Adri, who reminded me of a naughty Miss Honey. Her relationship with Sherm is really endearing and sweet. I did find myself getting frustrated with Rob on Adri's behalf - he blows hot and cold, but I understand why. Rob is troubled - He has a bucket load of responsibility and MANY people relying on him, but he can't seem to stay away from Sherm's sassy teacher.
There are some pretty dark themes and topics covered in the story and as much as I shouldn't have liked Rob, I couldn't help myself. Yes he's done some terrible things, but he's trying so hard to be a better man and really cares about his siblings. There are some very naughty and rude moments - be prepared for saucy details.
I really enjoyed Lisa's A Little Too Far series and have been waiting for something new to sink my teeth into, which I definitely could with On the Run. I did find it a little hard to connect with the characters at times but I think this is because of the subject matter. The book does start off slow, but it builds to a dramatic conclusion. I felt as though the story improved as it developed and once we got to know more about the characters I really wanted to know how it would end. I'm looking forward to seeing what happens next...
3.5 Stars in my Sky!
Author Spotlight:
Lisa Desrochers is the author of the USA Today bestselling A Little Too Far series and the YA Personal Demons trilogy. She lives in northern California with her husband, two very busy daughters, and Shini the tarantula. There is never a time that she can be found without a book in her hand, and she adores stories that take her to new places and then take her by surprise. Connect with her online at on her blog at on Twitter and on Facebook.
Excerpt:
Chapter 2
Adri
“Is this straight?” Dad asks, peering in the mirror across
from the front door and messing with the badge on the breast pocket of his blue
shirt.
There is almost no crime on our little island because Dad is
legendary for taking down drug rings and poachers, but when it comes to the
little things, like pinning his badge on straight, he still needs help.
That’s why I’m here.
When Mom died last spring, I came back from Jacksonville so
I could live at home and help Dad. He and Mom were high school sweethearts and married
not long after graduation. He’s always been taken care of. I don’t want him to
be alone.
I move to where he is and turn him, unpinning the badge and
straightening it. I smooth his salt and pepper hair off his forehead and stretch
up on my toes to kiss the smooth patch of cheek above the line of his beard. “I
seriously doubt they’re going to send the Chief of Police home for a dress code
infraction.”
“We’ll see,” he chuckles, giving my blond ponytail a gentle
tug. “You ready for your first day influencing the youth of Port St. Mary?”
I was over the moon when I got the call three days ago that
Mrs. Martin had had surgery and they needed a long-term sub for her class. Not
that I’m happy they hacked out her gallbladder or anything, but her loss is my
gain, so to speak.
I come from a long line of educators. Mom was my first grade
teacher. Both of her sisters, her father, and her grandfather taught as well.
You could say it’s in my DNA. I resisted it for a while, thought I wanted to go
into finance, but by my junior year at Clemson I had to finally admit to myself
teaching was what I really wanted to do. I changed my major to Education and
finished my credential just before Mom died.
Since her death, it’s felt even more urgent to me to
teach—like maybe following in her footsteps will somehow keep her spirit alive.
But Port St. Mary and the surrounding communities are small, and teaching jobs
are pretty scarce. I was afraid I was going to have to try elsewhere come fall.
This was a prayer answered…which makes me a little afraid I might have had
something to do with poor Mrs. Martin’s gallbladder flaring up. And now it’s
starting to feel like one of those “be careful what you wish for” scenarios.
I rub my sweaty palms down my slacks. “What happens if they
hate me?”
Dad wraps me in his arms and squeezes me in a bear hug,
crushing the air out of my lungs. “They’re going to love you, punkin. Your mom
would be so proud of you right now,” he says, a catch in his voice. “I hope you
know that.”
I swallow back the lump in my throat and look up at him. I
can’t even remember the last time he’s brought her up out of the blue like
this. “I know, Dad, but thanks for saying so.” He lets me go and I shoulder my
messenger bag. “Time to face the music.”
We step out the back door to where my old electric blue Chevy Lumina is parked in the
driveway, next to Dad’s only slightly less conspicuous cruiser. Dad watches as
I slide in and turn the key. The engine chugs but doesn’t turn over.
I blow out a breath and pop the hood. By the time I grab the
monkey wrench on the floor of the passenger side and get out of the car, Dad
already has the hood propped up and is looking over the engine compartment.
“Don’t mess with Frank, Dad.” I point my finger in a circle at
the guts of my poor Frankencar. Me and my best friend Chuck rebuilt most of the
insides from junkyard parts when we took auto shop our senior year in high
school. “It’s a delicate balance.”
He grins and steps back, his hands in the air. “Wouldn’t
dream of it.”
I will always love Frank—he was my first—but I know I need a
new car. Dad’s offered me Mom’s T-Bird, but I’m twenty-three. I’m supposed to
be responsible for myself at this point. And besides, I’d rather he sold Mom’s
car and put the money towards his retirement. Even though Port St. Mary is
pretty sleepy most of the time, everyday he goes to work, I worry.
I reach between the radiator and the engine and give the
alternator a sharp rap with the wrench, then slip back into the driver’s seat.
When I turn the key, Frank chugs twice, same as always, then rumbles to life.
Dad ducks into the cruiser and gives me a little salute as I
pull out.
Port St. Mary Elementary is only about two miles from home.
It takes a grand total of eight minutes to drive there. Technically, it’s a one-room
schoolhouse. The tiny twelve-space parking lot butts up against an octagonal
building, which, in fact, is just one big room inside. In the exact center of
the building are the bathrooms and storage closets, and from there, folding accordion
partitions section off each wedge of the octagon. Each wedge is a grade level, kinder
through sixth, and a multipurpose room. To the right of the parking lot is a
doublewide “portable” that houses the school offices and small staff room.
Behind that, children are already gathering in the playground, which is really
just a weed-infested lot with a slide and jungle gym that has been there since
before I started kindergarten here.
When I walk around the octagon to the door marked with a big
yellow four and step inside, it’s like deja vu all over again. Mrs. Martin (she
told me to call her Pam when we talked on the phone about the lesson plan
yesterday, but I can’t bring myself to) has had the same posters on the walls
since the dawn of time. The presidential chart ends with Reagan. She had
already been teaching fourth grade in this same classroom for, like, twenty
years when I had her.
I move to her desk, to the right of the door, and set my bag
on it. And that’s when I see the note from Principal Richmond.
A new student.
I brush my palms down my slacks again, a fresh jolt of
nerves twisting my insides into knots. I was already going to be way over my head
with a classroom full of nine-year-olds fresh off Christmas vacation and all sugared
up on candy canes.
I look over the instructions. Sherman William Davidson needs
his reading comprehension assessment, writing and grammar evaluation, and his
math skills worksheet completed by the end of the week.
I blow a wisp of hair off my forehead and unpack my
toothpaste and toothbrush, my journal, and a few of my favorite colored pens
into Mrs. Martin’s desk, careful not to displace her things too much. I’m just
pulling the assessments for the new kid from the file cabinet when the
classroom door opens. I hear Principal Richmond’s gravel voice before I turn
around. “…and his classroom is here. We just got word a few days ago that our
regular fourth grade teacher is out on medical leave, but Sherman will be in
good hands with Ms. Wilson. She’s a very capable substitute.”
I take a deep breath as I turn and hope he’s not lying.
I substituted five times during fall semester. For the most
part, everything went great until I subbed for Mrs. Yetz’s eighth grade class
the week before winter break. Somehow, what started out as a math lab on
probability devolved into a liar’s dice tournament, complete with money
changing hands. I wasn’t sure they’d call me back after that.
But when I see Principal Richmond waddle his round frame through
the door, I straighten the scarf I tied over my favorite teal sweater and try
to look as confident in what he said as he does.
“Ms. Wilson,” he says, waving me over. “This is your new
student, Sherman.”
Sherman is a wiry little thing with unruly brown hair and
clothes that hang off him a little. He looks as if he’d vanish into himself if
given the chance.
“He goes by Sherm,” the man standing next to him says.
I look up into some of the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen.
Heavy dark brows curve over irises the color of honey with burgundy flecks
through them. Thick brown waves are loose around a strong face with angled
cheekbones, and a square jaw covered in two-day stubble. Set in flawless olive
skin are lips so firm and red they make me forget the frown that’s turning them
down slightly at the corners. He’s just so…gorgeous, like something out of a
magazine or a movie. And he’s tall—well over six feet of broad shoulders
tapering to narrow hips under his blue button-down shirt. The tails are loose
over pressed jeans that fit him just so. Everything about him is tailored and
cultured and nothing like any of the year-rounders who live on this bumpkin
island. But it’s not just the way he looks. A blend of confidence and something
else I can’t identify but makes him feel a little intimidating wafts off him
with the spicy cologne I keep catching hints of. He’s nothing like anyone I’ve
ever met, even at Clemson.
I feel my jaw dangling and snap it closed, pulling myself
together long enough to extend an arm. “I’m Adri.”
Principal Richmond clears his throat, and when I flick a
glance his direction, I know my ogling didn’t go unnoticed. His brow is deeply
furrowed and his frown curves so low it makes him look like one of those
marionettes, where their chin is a whole different piece of wood than the rest
of their face.
My eyes bulge and I shift my outstretched hand to Sherm. “I
mean, Miss Wilson. Welcome to Port St. Mary, Sherm.”
The boy just looks at me with sad eyes the color of his…father’s?
My gaze gravitates back to the guy towering over me. Could he
be Sherm’s dad? He looks way too young to have a nine-year-old. He also looks
all business. There’s nothing soft or nurturing in his cold, sharp gaze as it
flicks around the classroom, silently assessing.
“What’s on the other side of those partitions?” he asks
Principal Richmond.
“The third and fifth grade classrooms,” he answers.
The guy’s eyes continue to scan the room. “He’ll spend all
day in here?”
The principal nods. “Except when he’s on the playground.”
“Is there security on campus?”
Principal Richmond looks momentarily perplexed, rubbing his round
stomach as if he’s thinking with it. “Not as such. We have yard monitors during
recess and lunch, and the teachers are responsible for the children when
they’re here in class.”
“What about lunch?”
“He can bring his own lunch, or buy a bag lunch from
Nutritional Services for three dollars. Either way, if it’s nice weather, the
children eat outside at the picnic tables. On rainy days, we open the
partitions and they eat inside as a group.”
The guy reaches into his pocket, but Principal Richmond
holds up his hand to stop him when he comes out with a thick wad of cash. “We
don’t allow students to carry money on campus. When we’re done here, I’ll take
you to the office and have you purchase a scan card for Nutritional Services.”
The guy nods, then moves to the door and jiggles the knob.
“The exterior doors are left unlocked?”
“During school hours, yes.” Principal Richmond answers,
moving to my desk and shuffling through the papers I pulled for Sherm.
The guy’s full lips narrow into a tight line and he scowls
at the door. He spins and starts toward the door in the back of the room,
leaving no stone unturned.
I wipe my hands down my slacks again and decide just to ask.
“So, you’re Sherm’s father?”
His feet stall on the chipped linoleum and he seems to
finally notice I exist. “Brother,” he answers, and that one word seems to carry
the weight of the world with it as it falls from his mouth.
His eyes make a slow sweep of my face, and as they trail
down my neck, the front of my sweater, over my hips and down my legs, I’m
frozen in place, paralyzed by the intensity of his gaze.
Principal Richmond shoves some papers in my face, breaking
the spell. “You still have fifteen minutes until the bell. Maybe you can get
Sherman started on these.”
“Um…” I grab the papers out of his hand as Big Brother blinks,
some of the thickest lashes I’ve ever seen hiding those incredible eyes. “Yeah.
We’ll do that...”
Principal Richmond guides Big Brother to the door. “Let’s
get out of their way and let them get started. I’m sure Sherman will have a
positive experience here. Children his age tend to adjust quickly,” he’s saying
as the door swings closed behind them.
