Julia Kent's RANDOM ACTS OF FANTASY, book three in
her Random series hits all the same salaciously
hilarious notes as the previous two (and indeed as in many
of her other series.) Darla, Joe and Trevor are still
feeling their way in their relationship, when the band gets
a gig that may be the start of the big time. Think Spinal
Tap meets Fantasy Island.
Kent's series' tend to intertwine a bit, with characters
from one sometimes showing up in another but never to the
point to cause confusion. Although the character's reactions
tend to seem a bit overwrought, which is not unusual in the
New Adult genre, and in fact it seems to add to the
feeling of being pleasurably bounced from one shenanigan to
the next. RANDOM ACTS OF FANTASY is not all clowns and
balloons though. There are some deeper levels where issues
like a stalker ex and the vulnerability true love brings are
touched upon.
If you are looking for a substantial tome with vague
metaphors and angst-ridden everyman characters this is
definitely not the book for you. If you want something to
lift your day, give you some guffaws and plunge you into
some hot and steamy scenes, you can't go wrong buying
this series. RANDOM ACTS OF FANTASY is like a hot bag of
kettle corn; salty, sweet and great for a snack. Julia
Kent's unabashedly raunchy writing sparkles and never fails
to take me away for a bit, to come back with cheeks aching
from smiling.
You ever really think that you'll win the lottery? Meet Mr.
Right? How about two Mr. Rights?
Somehow the universe is handing me everything I want (except
for that lottery part...), and I don't like it. Not one
little bit. Because just when you get all your dreams handed
to you on a silver platter, that's when an airplane dumps
its sewage on your house. Or your mama's diabetes takes a
bad turn. Or your mobile phone gets stuck in your hoohaw.
(What? It happens...)
Boring old average me got everything I wanted already,
moving from small-town Ohio to big-city Boston to follow my
heart. So when the fancy invitation offering me a pile of
money to come with the band, Random Acts of Crazy, to
perform on an island resort and be their manager arrived, I
thought it was a cosmic joke. Enough money to help my mama
get what she needed, five days in sunny paradise, and a shot
at greatness for the band? Unreal. One big shoe was waiting
to drop. On my head.
Just like no one really ever finds a naked man wearing only
a guitar standing by the side of the road hitchhiking and
ends up falling in love with him and his friend and moving
halfway across the country for true love, no one gets an
invitation to come to what turns out to be a resort where
people make what me and Joe and Trevor do together look like
a chaste peck on the cheek. But...
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