Froggy Style by j.a. kazimer
Jean-Michel La Grenouille has a lot going for him. He’s a prince. Handsome. Filthy rich. And definitely charming. But he also spent his first few years as a fly-catching, pond-dwelling frog. All that saved him was the kiss of The One, the girl who saw nobility through his slimy form and fell into True Love. Okay, fine. Technically she was a toddler who tried to eat him, but whatever. The curse broke, and as long as he finds and marries her by his 30th birthday, he’s a free man.
Trouble is, he’s going to be 30 in ten days, and he’s getting some seriously cold-blooded feet. He’s pretty sure Princess Sleeping Beauty is The One. But his best man has some villain issues, his in-laws-to-be belong in a really special castle, and a smoking-hot lady biker named Lollie Bliss has him rethinking all this happily-ever-after stuff. Oh, and he may have accidentally put out a hit on his blushing bride. Oopsie.
Once upon a time (about twenty-two years, seven days, twelve hours, twenty-one minutes, and forty-seven seconds ago) in a land not so far away sat a forlorn frog, his lime-colored skin pale under his frogger’s tan.
“Ribbit,” he croaked halfheartedly, and then sighed, bored by his unending amphibianness, if not his shiny reflection in the khaki-colored water. His days passed in a jaded blur of flies, hopping, and the occasional real-life game of Frogger.
The most excitement he’d experienced in his eight years of frogitude was a questionable wart. He groaned again, closing his bug eyes against the harsh afternoon glare. Hours passed. The sun sank lower in the sky, shading it a princess-pink color.
The frog’s nose twitched. Something approached, something that smelled a lot like sugar and spice with just a hint of wet dog. Not unpleasant to his froggy sense.
From the enchanted underbrush tumbled a girl child. She clutched a tattered blanket coated with dirt and chocolate. The frog, surprised by his stubby visitor, did what frogs do. He croaked once and dove into the pond, sinking below the surface to avoid a confrontation with the seemingly sticky child. Frogs, and their toadish counterparts, were known for two things, double-sided sticky tongues and the ability to avoid any conflict. With the exception of the horny toad.
Those guys jumped anything.
The child bumbled her way toward the pond, closer to the hiding frog. Her blond hair burst from her head like a deranged troll, sticking up at odd and geometrically impossible angles.
The nearer she came to the edge of the water, the more nervous the frog became. What if she fell in? he pondered in his pea-sized brain. Or worse, what if she didn’t and the frog was once again left all alone to live his fly-eating existence?
The question proved moot. The girl child stopped at the rim of the pond, her purple lollipop eyes searching the watery depths. For what, the frog couldn’t say, but she piqued his interest.
Could she be the One?
Apparently finding what she desired, the child let out a small squeal, dropped her blankie, and jammed her hand into the murky water.
The frog’s head wobbled with disgust. If she was indeed the One, he was in trouble.
The girl shrieked and yanked her arm from the water. A miniature golden ball emerged in her mud-coated hand. She beamed at the ball and then stuffed it into her mouth.
Ew. The frog shivered with repulsion, and he was a frog who ate flies for three meals a day.
As soon as the golden ball passed the girl’s lips she began to choke, grabbing at her throat with chubby hands. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her lips turned the brightest shade of blue the frog had ever seen outside the reflection of his own gaze in the pond.
Panic set into the frog’s tiny brain. Was the blanket-carrying, golden-ball-eating, sticky girl about to drop dead in front of his very eyes? What if she was the One and she died? What would happen to him then?
Blinded with terror, the frog did the only thing his frog brain could think of. He jumped on the little girl, landing with enough force that she and her frog-stowaway tumbled to the swampy ground in a heap of child and amphibian parts.
The golden ball popped free from the girl’s mouth. It rolled down the embankment and into the murky water once again. The child watched it with a frown, which she then turned on her frog savior. Her fat fingers pointed at the pond. “Ball,” she muttered with a yawn.
The frog responded with a ribbit.
The child frowned harder, her brow wrinkling under the curls of her hair. The frog paused to watch the child. There was something about her. Something that he wasn’t sure boded well for either of them.
A second later, without warning, the girl scooped up her guardian froggy angel and stuffed his slimy body into her drool-coated mouth.
Thunder rumbled overhead. A flash of lightning lit the sky. With a shriek, the child abruptly spat the frog out. He tumbled downward, spinning faster and faster in the air until he hit the pond water with a loud splash. The sticky girl’s violet eyes widened two times their already bug-eyed size. Blackness quickly descended, turning day to night in the blink of a milky toad’s eye.
As quickly as it came the storm vanished, leaving the little girl standing at the edge of the pond, a confused look upon her chubby face. She glanced down at the eight-year-old boy in front of her. A very naked, slightly greenish eight-year-old boy, who was standing in three feet of stagnant pond water where the frog had dropped only moments before.
The boy gazed down at his naked arms, legs, and boyish parts with surprise. Free, free at last from the dreaded curse, he thought with a grin.
A grin that quickly faded under the little girl’s gaze. She slowly looked him up and down, and shook her head, nearly poking out her own eye with the point of her hair in the process.
The boy’s face flamed red and he quickly covered himself with a lily pad. “The water’s cold,” he said like a million men before him.
The little girl smiled.
The frog prince scowled.
And they lived happily ever after.
Or so the tale goes. . . .
Q: Tell our readers why you think they’ll enjoy Froggy Style
A: Part of the hot trend of revamped fairytales–from the films Mirror, Mirror and Snow White and the Huntsman to hit TV shows Once Upon a Time and Grimm–the second book in the F***ed Up Fairy Tale series puts a new spin on a French-kissing frog looking for his princess! The humor is irreverent, the romance twisted, as readers learn the truth behind the fairy tale.
Q: You may have noticed we like to include our favorite quote in our reviews of the books we read. What is your favorite quote from Froggy Style?
A: My favorite quote from Froggy Style is:
I said, “Someone hit me,” to Karl.
“What did you do to deserve it?”
“What!?” I nearly shouted, causing my head to throb even more than the bright sun burning overhead. I considered puking on Karl’s shoes, mostly out of revenge.
Yet my malicious manservant was far from finished. Crossing his arms over his chest, he made tsk, tsk sounds through his teeth. “Well, sir, it’s not surprising when one considers your personality. Heck, I’m amazed it doesn’t happen much more often.”
j.a. kazimer would like to give away a copy of Froggy Style. (print) To enter, leave a comment and answer her question:
Who is your favorite fairy tale prince?
Giveaway is open to US only. You have until end of day March 1 to enter, winner will be announced soon after.
Giveaway sponsored by: j.a. kazimer. No purchase necessary to win. You must be 18 or over to enter, void where prohibited. The number of eligible entries received determines the odds of winning. FVBR is not being compensated for this giveaway. If the winner declines to accept or fails to claim their prize within 72 hours of the announcement they forfeit their prize. Prize distribution is the sole responsibility of the giveaway sponsor. Fiction Vixen Book Reviews will not be held responsible for lost or misdirected prizes or for circumstances beyond our control. More information here.