Of course, we want to thank the fandom, because it’s where we met and where we remain. In the past nearly five years, you’ve become more than a community we joined to read and write fanfic. Collectively, you have become some of our closest friends and a group of women about whom we care very deeply. Thanks for being excited for us and for sharing your own victories with us along the way. We hope you feel pride in our happiest moments the way we feel it in each of yours. We adore you all.

Our families and friends have listened to us speak about almost nothing else for the past year, and not once have you been anything other than excited and supportive. We’re grateful, and we’re lucky. Thanks for being proud of us, and seeming to enjoy the ride as much as we have. You’re either completely adorable in your excitement, or very good actors.

Husbands: we love you. We’ll do a better job telling you in person. Hell, maybe we’ll even show you. (On that note, thanks for giving us such cute and wonderful kiddos.)

To Christina, {insert sentimental quote here, really just an excuse to smell your hair}

To Lo, {insert sappy, adoring thoughts here, including how I could watch you make tabbed and color-coded spreadsheets all day}

‘Sweet Filthy Boy’ Excerpt

Turn the page for a sneak peek of

Sweet Filthy Boy

Book One in the new

Wild Seasons series

from Christina Lauren

Coming June 3, 2014

Sweet Filthy Boy

Book One of the Wild Seasons series

© 2013 Lauren Billings and Christina Hobbs

Ansel pulls the door open and breaks into an enormous smile, which slowly fades as he sees I’ve come empty-handed, no suitcase. Nothing but a tiny crossbody bag slung over my chest.

“I can’t come to France with you,” I start, looking up at him with wide eyes. My pulse feels like a heavy drum in my throat. “But I didn’t want to go home, either.”

He steps to the side to let me in and I drop my bag on the floor and turn to watch him. There’s really only one reason I’m here, in this hotel room, and I think we both know it. It’s easy to pretend to be the lover in a movie, coming to the hotel for one last night together. I don’t have to work to be brave when it’s safe like this: he’s leaving. It becomes almost like a game. A play. A role.

I don’t know which Mia is taking over my body, but I’m shutting out everything but how it feels to be so close to this boy. I only have to take one step closer and he meets me halfway, sliding both hands into my hair and covering my mouth with his. Ocean and green and still the lingering scent of me on his clothes.