New Release & ARC Review 🔥 Toy boy by Sarina Bowen & Tanya Eby

My review

⭐⭐⭐⭐

The story is very pleasant to read. Easy and hillarious. The single mother and the age gap are the main elementars of the whole story. And the story developes around these two great topics. It's a very tender story on various aspects, one of many, Liam's way of being and act around children. And this side makes him even more irresistible. imagine this: seeing a handsome man to take your breath away, read a fairy tale, or hold a small child in his strong arms. Well we must not ignore his sex appeal as a man. because even if much younger than the protagonist, Liam knows very well what he wants. I was pleasantly surprised by his protective side of Sadie and her girls. as well as his perspicacity to always guess her needs. To foresee, to break all doubts, and to put himself body& soul at her mercy, just to make her happy.
So Toy boy it's a very funny and so temptation book like the gorgeous hero, Liam.
*ARC kindly provided by the author in exchange for an honest review*

new romantic comedy from your favorite snort-laughing duo!

Liam
The moment Sadie Matthews walks through the daycare center door, I feel my world tilt in her direction. Again. I fell for her when I was fourteen, and I’m still not over her. Problem: she still thinks of me as a teen she used to babysit. But I’ve learned a few things about pleasing a woman in the last fifteen years. I can’t wait to show her how good it could be. I need to move quickly before I lose her again. This is more than a game to me, but I still plan to win.

Sadie
I’ve just survived the worst year of my life. As a single mom of twin toddlers, I don’t have time for a man. I barely have time to finish a thought. Who knew that Liam McAllister would grow up to be so devastating? He’s everything my husband was not: tall, built, and willing to have a tea party with my girls.

I can’t possibly get involved with him. He’s too young for me. Too handsome. But he’s so persuasive...

Excerpt

I messed up. Big time.

These are my thoughts as I rush into the bathroom for the world’s fastest shower. The 

hot spray of water judges me as I hastily wash Liam off my thighs.

A better mother wouldn’t let this happen. I shouldn’t have a younger lover. If I didn’t, 

he wouldn’t be so deliciously appealing. I couldn’t lose my mind, wake him up out of a sound 

sleep to ride him like a pony. And then collapse beside him in peaceful, sated slumber.

Seriously, how did I let that happen?

You know how, my hormones scold me. Because he’s the hottest thing you’ve ever 

tasted. Oh yeah. That.

After showering I get dressed at top speed. Poor Liam is currently shouldering all my 

parental responsibilities. Throwing on yesterday’s sundress, I pause for a moment to pop a birth 

control pill, because that’s one thing I won’t goof up.

Then I hurry downstairs. 

The sight in the kitchen gives me heart palpitations. But not because there’s flour 

dusting much of the countertop. Rather, it’s the hot, shirtless guy holding my toddler and 

making a dump truck sound as Amy tips the measuring spoon over a bowl.

“Yes! Well done, little miss,” he says, relieving her of the spoon. “Batter up!” he says, 

easing her to the floor and catching Kate, who’s trying to climb him like a tree.

Aren’t we all.Liam easily rests Kate on one of his perfect arms, measures a half teaspoon of baking 

powder one-handed and then hands the spoon to Kate. “Beep beep beep,” he says, making the 

sound of a truck backing up. “Look out below!”

Kate dumps the spoonful into the bowl and giggles.

“Awesome. Who wants to add the milk?”

“My do it!” Amy yells.

Boy, I need another minute of alone time to compose myself. Because I love this 

picture a little too much. I love Liam’s ease with my girls. I love how calm he is at the center of 

toddler-induced mayhem. 

It causes a little pain in my heart as I allow myself one more comparison to my former 

life. The truth is I never once saw Decker elbows-deep in kitchen chaos with a kid on one arm. 

Starting breakfast with twins in tow? He was more likely to captain a NASA expedition to Mars 

than he was to do this simple Saturday morning thing.

I feel like crying for no reason at all. Clearly I’m on some kind of emotional overload. 

Maybe coffee will help.

Sliding into the kitchen, I go right for the coffee grounds.

“Mama!” Amy says. “Wiam making pancakes.”

“That is amazing,” I say in a wobbly voice. “What a lucky girl you are.”

“Sorry about the mess,” he says, casting a glance in my direction. And I know he 

doesn’t just mean the flour on the counter, but the bigger mess of waking up naked in my bed.

“You know,” I say with a small sigh. “Messes shouldn’t scare me so much. It’s going to 

be fine.”

Liam’s smile is so filled with relief, that I now feel like an ogre. This man wants to make 

pancakes with us on Saturday morning, and I said no to that before? I’m clearly insane.

“Which frying pan should I use?” he asks, casting an eye on the cookware hanging from 

the rack over the sink.

“Oh, no. You want this.” I pull a double-burner griddle out of a lower cabinet.

“Oooh,” he says. “Mommy has the fancy pancake griddle.”

Kate giggles. She’s gazing at Liam as if he invented fun.

And in my life, I guess he did.

Here’s the tricky thing about being a shrink—sometimes you notice that you’re doing 

something that’s exactly contrary to the advice you’d give your patients.

I’m having one of those moments right now.

If I had a single mom in my office telling me there was a lovely guy in her life who was 

kind to her kids—and yet she was giving him the stiff arm? I’d tell her: “Be kind to yourself. 

Don’t push away the good people in your life, especially if you think you don’t deserve them. 

Let people surprise you.”

I’m such a hypocrite.

Also, I need caffeine.

Ten minutes later I’m sipping from a mug of coffee, but Liam’s is cooling on the 

countertop. The man has his hands full right now as he puts pancakes on the griddle with 

“help” from my daughters.

“How about a few of these?” he asks, holding up a bag of chocolate chips. Meanwhile, 

Kate waves the spatula around like a ninja. “A guy needs to make smiley faces in his pancakes 

sometimes.”

Good. Lord. It’s a miracle I’m not just a puddle of my former self right now. This is some 

serious mommy porn I’m watching. Shirtless guy feeds toddlers before eight a.m. I walk over to 

the high cabinet where I keep the ramekins. “We could make smiley faces with dried organic 

currants,” I say, just to be a pain in the ass.

Liam makes a face of disgust as I take the chocolate chips from his hand and pour some 

into a ramekin. “Joking! Here.”

He gives me a big, hot smile. Okay, it probably wasn’t meant to be hot, but I feel 

flutters down below.

“Choc-it!” Kate yells, grabbing for the ramekin.

“Easy,” Liam says with a laugh. “That’s for my artwork. Come here and I’ll show you.”

I set the table and pour the sippy cups of milk. And Liam manages to serve up two 

smiley pancakes—one for each girl—at exactly the same moment, in exactly the same size. This 

is a man who knows his way around toddlers.

“Not cut it!” Amy yells when I approach her plate with a knife. She picks up the pancake 

in two hands and takes a bite right out of the side of its face.

“Okay, right.” I back away. Forks are optional today, then. No big deal.

Liam takes advantage of this moment of quiet to quickly pour six more pancakes onto 

the griddle. He leans over his work, dotting them with chocolate chips. 

I step closer to him and put a hand on his lower back. “Thank you,” I whisper.

“For trashing your kitchen?”

“No.” He glances at me and I give him a shy smile. “For being so amazing all the time.”

His eyes get very warm, and I just want to stay right here in that blue-eyed gaze as long 

as I can. “This might be a good time to confess that I didn’t make smiley faces on my own 

pancakes.”

“No?” I look down at the griddle. Side by side, two of them have a different 

design—little bullseyes in their centers. “Those are…?”

“Boobs,” he whispers. “My inner fourteen-year-old has a dirty mind. He can’t shut it off 

sometimes.”

“Drink your coffee,” I whisper, handing him the mug. “Sit down. Let me finish these for 

you. Or go put on a shirt because my inner fourteen-year-old has her tongue hanging out all the 

time, too.”

He gives me a wicked, wicked smile and then runs upstairs to find his shirt.

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