Blog Tour: Cleat Catcher by Celia Aaron & Sloane Howell

Posted July 4, 2016 by StaceyisSassy in Release Blitz/Blog Tours, Reviews, Sports Romance / 0 Comments

Stacey is Sassy received a complimentary copy of this story. The copy provided was not the final version and may be subject to edits and changes

This book may be unsuitable for people under 17 years of age due to its use of sexual content, drug and alcohol use, and/or violence.
Blog Tour:  Cleat Catcher by Celia Aaron & Sloane HowellCleat Catcher by Celia Aaron, Sloane Howell
Published by Self-Published on June 28, 2016
Genres: Sports Romance
Pages: 328
Format: eARC
Source: Ardent Prose

What happens when an unrepentant Cleat Chaser meets the player of her dreams?
Nikki Graves has a history of going through the baseball roster with an eye for talent--the kind of talent that keeps things spicy between the sheets. But, once she meets Braden Bradford, catcher for the Ravens, her talent scout days are done. He's the one.
Braden has never met a woman like Nikki, and he can't get enough of her smart mouth and big heart. But life isn't always as direct and certain as the connection between Braden and Nikki. When family objections and career trajectories begin to crowd the plate, will Braden be able to keep his catch of a lifetime?
Content Note: This book is a hilarious, crude, and irreverent novel with long bats, dirty mouths, and big balls. Here's a litmus test so you can figure out if this is a book you might enjoy. Give the following sample sentence a look. If it makes you clutch your pearls, this isn't the book for you. Ready? Here goes:
"Hey, Braden, do me a favor and shut your crusty c#$%&flaps for a minute. I'm trying to attend a high quality clambake here, and your c%$&-blocking ways are doing nothing for my p$#%@-slaying abilities."
If you laughed, smirked, snorted, or generally thought "that's filthy, and I like it" then go ahead and give Cleat Catcher a one-click; you won't regret it.

Cleat Catcher review


Cleat Catcher (The Cleat Chaser Duet #2)

By Celia Aaron and Sloane Howell

This time, I didn’t even blush at the language.

I’m having a bit of a bad run with psycho chicken Mum’s and Cleat Catcher had one of the best. She’s not as nasty as some of the others but she is in her own head when it comes to thinking she knows what’s best for her child. Bringing in ex-boyfriends as a nice surprise was tasteless and crass. Considering Mum was of the snooty, snotty variety it was definitely her thinking that her choice of man was better that her daughters. Now, see my problem with all this is that I haven’t had a lot of experience with Mum’s who take pleasure in their daughter’s unhappiness. Oh, I’ve definitely seen the Mum who thinks she knows what’s best (hey Mummy dearest, LOVE YOU!!) but in my experience, Mum’s try to take away conflict, pain and unhappiness. It shouldn’t have taken an ultimatum to stop her foisting the ex on her daughter. Sorry, but I’ll have to take a point away from Missy Moo (Nikki) too. She should not have let her family treat the man she loved so badly. She shouldn’t have left him to deal with the ex, knowing it could end up similar to a pistol duel at dawn. Anyways, I’m hoping my next book doesn’t have any meddling by Mummy dear, because I’m way, way over them. Pull your head in Mum.

Seriously, this book was an absolute crack up. Yes, there were some serious bits and a couple of times that a tear hovered on my eyelash, but most of it had me busting a gut laughing. The first book in the series was a little OTT and I struggled with the swearing for the sake of swearing. In this case, the authors pulled the reigns in a little. Yes, the talk is feral, the swearing is in abundance and the sexual connotations aplenty. This time, it was in context. I got it and never once rolled my eyes at it.

The sexy times were…WoW!! These two really, really love each other and like to show and tell it often. Braden’s dirty mouth borders on offensive, but Nikki really gets off on it so you can’t help but take it in its stride. Each to their own and all that jazz, but who am I to judge what works for others.

Now, there were two characters who stole the show for me. The first was lesbian, sex bomb, Kasey, who we met in Cleat Chaser as she is Braden’s best mate’s sister. This chick is one of the funniest characters I have EVER read. Her mouth is FOUL and I mean REALLY, REALLY FOUL. She’s by far the worst out of all of the characters we meet male or female. Her advice to Braden was hilarious and when she took him shopping to buy a present for Nikki, I had tears from laughing so hard. The second show stealer was newbie Cyrus or Cyrano as he’s also known. I won’t tell you any more about him because you should read it first hand to appreciate him. I really, really want a story for him.

Now, Cleat Catcher is not all about sex. There’s a storyline and some dramas for the couple. Most of the time it was on the outside, but when it was between the two of them I never once doubted their love for each other. To me, that is a HUGE WIN. Isn’t that what we all want in a relationship? When the chips are down we want to know that our loved ones will still love us after we’ve taken a swing (figuratively not literally, of course) or been under attack. It’s all good.

Cleat Catcher was a definite win for me and I think the author really stepped up to the plate (pun intended) with this story. I loved seeing the dynamics of a baseball team and I really got a kick out of seeing big blokes sucking up when they’ve stuffed up and done wrong. I’m definitely keen to read more from these authors in the future.



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What happens when an unrepentant Cleat Chaser meets the player of her dreams?


Nikki Graves has a history of going through the baseball roster with an eye for talent–the kind of talent that keeps things spicy between the sheets. But, once she meets Braden Bradford, catcher for the Ravens, her talent scout days are done. He’s the one.


Braden has never met a woman like Nikki, and he can’t get enough of her smart mouth and big heart. But life isn’t always as direct and certain as the connection between Braden and Nikki. When family objections and career trajectories begin to crowd the plate, will Braden be able to keep his catch of a lifetime?


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“This is so not my color.” I spun in the dressing room mirrors, all three reflecting the pink confection of a dress my mother had picked.

Over the years, the Graves had suffered plenty of hardships—when the good caviar was out of season, when that one maid failed to do proper hospital corners when she made the beds, or even that time when Kerfuffles, Mom’s prized Dandie Dinmont Terrier, destroyed my father’s autographed baseball from the ’56 World Series where Don Larsen threw a perfect game. Each time there was a setback, the Graves rallied in the only way we knew how. We shopped.

I wasn’t into it like Mom, but if buying me new clothes got her off my back about Braden—and finally gave me some breathing room—I was all for it. I couldn’t go back to the apartment, not until I knew what my course of action would be. So, a day of shopping didn’t sound so bad while I mulled things over.

“I think you look lovely in it.” My mother walked around, her critical eye examining it from every angle.

“What will I wear it to? My quinceañera?”

“I’m sure you have plenty of weddings to attend next spring. In this, you’ll outshine the bride.” She smiled.

“Yes, Mom, because my goal is always to ruin the bride’s special day by flouncing around in a sherbet-colored dress and flashing my panties at all the boys, including the groom.” I stepped down from the modeling podium and walked into my separate changing area. I didn’t mention that I had, on plenty of occasions, bagged a groomsman or two at my friends’ weddings, often using similar tactics to what I just described.

Mom gave an over-dramatic sigh. “Stop being difficult, and try on the next dress.”

“This one is the newest from the Valentino line.” The snooty shopping assistant reassured my mother that she was, for certain, buying the most expensive shit in all of Saks. “I wish I could have been at the runway show. It was faboosh, beyond transcendentine, positively luxotic.”

“Those aren’t words,” I muttered and fought the zipper on my mother’s next selection. This one wasn’t so bad. It was a sky blue sheath that fell mid-thigh and had an interesting peasant-top ruffle at the bust line.

I walked out and stood on the podium as the assistant—a man wearing more makeup than I owned—flittered about and crowed about the fit.

Mom took a swig of the complimentary champagne. “Cyrano, she looks like a barmaid.”

I smiled at myself in the mirror. “It’s my favorite one so far. Tit-tastic.” If a dress made it look like I had actual breasts that were bigger than a teacup, then I was sold.

“An excellent choice. The bodice is ahead of its time. I have a feeling peasant will be in three years from now.” Cyrano—if that was actually his name—twirled one side of his too-thick mustache and affected a lisp that screamed “flamer.” But he wasn’t fooling me. I’d seen him checking out my tits and ass while I modeled my dresses. He was straight, but likely knew that pretending to like the dick was the surest way to get commissions in a Saks dressing room.

Let’s test this theory. I smirked and headed back into the changing area. After yanking my zipper halfway down, I called, “My zipper is stuck. Cyrano, a little help?”

He pushed through the white curtain and let it fall behind him. His eyes took in my bare back and bra strap.

“I can’t quite get it.” I smiled at him in the mirror.

“Allow me, mademoiselle.” He gripped the zipper and pulled it down easily. “There we are.”

I let the dress fall to the floor and turned to face him. His gaze froze on my tits, then lowered to the lace over my pussy.

I plucked at the edge of my panties, pulling them away from my hip. Then I looked at him through my lashes. “Do you think I’d have to go without panties in that dress. Did you see a line?”

He licked his lips. “I-I think—” His voice had lowered two octaves in the space of ten seconds.

When I saw his boner at war with the front of his skinny pants, I laughed. “So busted. Quit ogling my pussy, and go entertain my mom.”

“What?” He cleared his throat and raised his voice into a nasal pitch again. “Oh, vaginas are so icky. I would never—”

“Tell it to your boner.” I crossed my arms over my chest and gave his crotch a pointed stare.

He dropped the act. “Look, I make good money this way, okay? When I played it straight, women never took my style advice. Style is my life, and this is the only way I can be around it and make money at it. Please don’t say anything.”

Guilt filtered through me, and I dropped my arms. “I’m not judging. Well, I’m not now, anyway. I was just messing with you.”

He smiled a little. “What gave me away?”

“Your roving eye.”

“I’ve been trying to work on that, but when I see a beautiful woman.” He gestured at me. “I can’t help it sometimes.”

An idea struck me like a wild pitch. “You get the inside scoop on designer clothes and what the customers come in here looking for all the time, right?”

He ran his thumbs up and down his bright pink suspenders. “Yeah. It’s kind of my job.”

“I’ll tell you what—wait, what’s your name?”


I rolled my eyes. “No, your real name.”

His shoulders drooped. “Cyrus.”

“Okay, Cyrus. You agree to let me interview you for my magazine, and I won’t tell everyone what a true pussy-fiend you are. Sound like a deal?”

“Magazine?” He twirled his mustache.

“I work for Style and Substance.”

His eyes lit up, and he grabbed my upper arms. “Are you shitting me?”

I shook my head. “Not even a little shitting. Not so much as a shart.”

“Yes!” He nearly shouted. Then he ran his hands down my arms. “Sorry about that. It’s just, that’s my favorite fashion mag. It’s so down-to-earth but also classy beyond belief.”

His enthusiasm had my mind whirling in all different directions, but first things first.

“Good.” I plucked one of his business cards from the front pocket of his plaid shirt. “I’ll be in touch, Cyrano.”


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Celia Aaron


Celia Aaron is the self-publishing pseudonym of a published romance and erotica author. She loves to write stories with hot heroes and heroines that are twisty and often dark. Thanks for reading.


Author Links

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Sloane Howell


Sloane Howell lives in the Midwest United States and writes dirty stories. When not reading or writing he enjoys hanging out with his family, watching sports, playing with the dogs, traveling, and engaging his readers on social media. You can almost always catch him on Twitter posting something goofy.


Visit his web page to sign up for his mailing list to get updates on new releases, promos, and giveaways. Thanks for reading.


Author Links

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