I have never in my life met an intellectual athlete and I've never dated a fellow introvert, so that's why I tried to read this book. I wanted to see if this is possible - even if it's just in someone's imagination.
This "best friend's sister" romance is told from the perspectives of both main characters so there's a lot of head-hopping...which is necessary to fully understand how two antisocial introverts hooked up. Allegedly, they're both physically attracted to each other, but they act like an old married couple who have run out of things to say to - and do with - each other...and they're still in their teens! Usually, there's some danger about the best friend, which makes him "off-limits" to the little sister, but there's no danger here whatsoever. He even reads the same romance novels as her like a gay bestie would!
And even though both of them are supposedly athletes, there's no competitive vibe between them (or any sports action sequences to break up the monotony of their bookworm ways), which is highly unrealistic. I attract competitive, athletic men...and even when they're many years out of playing their favorite sport in high school, they are still quick to challenge me physically. This football player who is super-hot because he's a trained athlete yet doesn't care about no longer being able to play the sport he loves (and hates basketball, which is the sport that the heroine plays?!) and always has his head in a book while also being an observant caretaker with the heroine only exists as a figment of the author's imagination.
Frankly, it's boring to read about two people who love to read so much that the hero reads while he's walking, at the movies, etc. and she feels like she's slacking because she only reads 1 or 2 books a DAY. So there isn't much dialogue (which I love to read!). There are many descriptions of how they're reading while "hanging out" together.
The author seems to confuse being boring (having no personality, multiple interests, etc.) with being an introvert (someone who recharges alone). As for the passion level, I would rate that a 1 on the scale of 1 (non-existent) to 5 (steamy). When they actually touch each other, it's like reading about siblings making out. Very cringe-worthy!
I would only recommend this book to people who are trying to understand how antisocial introverts think (the answer to that question is answered very early on in the book!) and/or who want to test their patience level with this slow, lukewarm "romance."
Excerpts:
Mackenzie:
"As much as I wasn’t interested in any of the college guys at the party, I can admit I was intrigued by the hulking football player who sat in the corner all night long with a mug of tea and a thick mystery novel. It wasn’t the same book he was reading earlier at dinner. He disappeared into his room not long after we got home from the party."
"Wes sips his tea and doesn’t speak. I don’t think he speaks much in general. I kind of like that about him. When he does talk, his words carry meaning.
Through the years, he’s been steady and silent, hovering in the shadows of my brother’s life. He’s usually reading, and one time, he recommended a book for me to read. It was not a good book, and I chewed him out the next time I saw him—and all he did was smile, and recommend another book to read."
"We sit in quiet silence, broken up only by the crackle of the dwindling fire. He’s restful company. He doesn’t push me to talk, doesn’t try to make me into someone that I’m not. He simply lets me be. It’s nearly an hour later when he moves, heaving himself out of his chair. He holds out a hand for my empty mug, and I let him take it. His calloused fingertips brush mine, and I jump again."
Wes:
"I’VE NEVER BEEN A man of many words. Even before everything happened, I was never particularly talkative. Since then, everything is different. Other people might have issues with it, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m perfectly capable of getting my point across. I reserve my words for when they matter."
"Rain pelts the flimsy windows, hovering between liquid ice and sleet. There’s no way I’m stepping foot outside in this downpour, even if I had someplace to go. I don’t. I don’t go to parties. I don’t drink. I go to class, I do my homework, and I read my books."
"There’s a knock on the door. Briefly I consider answering it. It’s nearly midnight. Nothing good happens in Athlete’s Village after midnight. I’m not expecting a pizza. There’s no cars allowed in A.V. after dark. I’m not expecting anyone. None of my roommates are home.
I turn the page in my book.
There’s another knock, followed by the doorbell. It rings twice in quick succession. Sighing, I mark my place with a bookmark and heave myself to my feet. My lower back twinges in protest. Everything hurts these days. It’s a different hurt than the everyday pain of playing football. It’s the ache of disuse, the ache of inactivity. More pounding on the door. Whoever this is, their intensity is really making me not want to deal with them. Grumbling to myself in the sanctity of my own head, I trudge to the entry and unlock the door. I pause two beats and then wrench it open.
Mackenzie Cavanaugh is standing on the doorstep, her fist raised as if to pound on the door some more. She looks like a drowned rat: her dark blonde hair hangs in limp strands nearly to her elbows, her wool coat is soaked a darker, angrier grey than usual, and her leggings and boots are soaked through. Makeup is creased in dark semi-circles beneath her eyes.
She’s absolutely fucking gorgeous.
She blinks at me. “Hey, Wes.”
I grunt."
...and this is where he lost credibility with me. She looks like a "drowned rat" but he still thinks she's "gorgeous?"
"This is as comfortable and familiar as breathing. I don’t think Mackenzie realizes how much I enjoy the time we spend together. We’re both occupied with our own books, our own beverages, but I like the reassuring familiarity of her company. We don’t need to talk. We simply co-exist."
Mackenzie:
Mackenzie WESLEY ALEXANDER BRADFORD IS one of the most interesting men I’ve ever met. He’s the definition of stoic; nothing fazes him. In the four and a half years I’ve known him, he’s probably said fifty words—total. The only time I’ve ever seen him without a book in his hands is when he’s on the football field. Sometimes, I even see him reading as he walks through campus. He reads through meals. He reads through movies. The only time he ever puts down his book is for Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy, which he watches religiously every night."
"We sit on the couch in comfortable silence. I drink my hot chocolate. He drinks his tea. We read our books. The fire crackles innocently in front of us. There are worse ways to spend a Saturday night.
This is not how I imagined college would be."
"He’s made this difficult year bearable. We’ve spent way too many Friday and Saturday nights in this room, reading and hanging out while the rest of his roommates filter in and out, partying or hooking up or playing video games. I relish my alone time. Living with someone that doesn’t know how to respect that is exhausting. Having someone who understands me so well… I’m really going to miss him, and I don’t know how to tell him that."
"Mackenzie shrugs, unfazed, and takes another bite of her lunch before returning her attention to her book. I make a mental note of the title, so I can look it up when I go to the library later. Although maybe this is one I should reserve for my e-reader…I’m man enough to read a book with a shirtless man on the cover. I don’t know that I want her to know I try to read every book she does.
We sit in quiet silence for the better part of half an hour. It’s easy being with her, peaceful. The itch in my soul is soothed when I’m in her presence.
Our completely non-romantic lunch is interrupted by her brother and my teammate and roommate, Miles. He frowns at the sight of us sitting together."
"I don’t like to be touched. I never have. She knows this. Everyone knows this. Yet at the same time, I yearn for her touch, for her smooth skin to be on mine in any possible way. I nod and she approaches closer, her long fingers closing around my wrist. Sparks shoot down my arm and coalesce into a ball of fury in my gut. My heart hammers a thousand beats a minute. She’s touching me. She’s touching me. She’s touching me."
___
Ecclesiastes 7:8 (NLT)
Finishing is better than starting. Patience is better than pride.
Proverbs 25:15 (NLT)
Patience can persuade a prince, and soft speech can break bones.
I received a free copy of this book via Booksprout and am voluntarily leaving a review.