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427 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2012
“Damn it. You really piss me off, you know that? Why can’t you go back into the house like a normal person? Come here,” he growls as he leans down and scoops her small body up off of the cold concrete floor and cradles her to his chest.
“Fuck,” he yells again. “Goddamn roof,” he bellows as he starts to try to move off the hood.
“Wait. Don’t move. Are you hurt anywhere?”
“Of course I’m hurt. I fell through a fucking roof. Are you stupid?”
“I came here cuz...” he says before he stops and stares intently at her mouth. “Cuz I wanna see your lips. Been thinking about them. Your lips. They’re beautiful, and red, and… wet. I came to say hello to your lips.” His eyes glaze over as he stares at her mouth. “Hello, lips,” he says in a husky voice.
“This is all your fault.” He holds her by the shoulders and glares down at her.
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
With his lip snarled, he looks up and down her body as he releases her shoulders. “Because you’re always looking all sexy and shit. If you weren’t so goddamn beautiful, this shit wouldn’t happen. Maybe I’d be able to control myself around you.”
“Hi,” she says to him with a soft smile.
A strange, warm feeling spreads over him. Like happiness or some shit. A smile breaks out on his face.
"He’ll talk to her over breakfast. He’ll tell her all about his past. He’ll tell her everything."
“I didn’t know you were such caveman.”
“I’m a damn contractor. Of course I’m a fucking caveman.”
"She doesn't recognize the reflection in the mirror. The sad, depressed woman she sees staring back at her has to be someone else. It can't be her. As she stares into the stranger's empty eyes reflecting back at her, she wishes she could make it all go away. Make the emptiness disappear. But he doesn't know how...
"I can't do this anymore," she whispers to the unknown person staring back at her..."
"This is all your fault." He holds her by the shoulders and glare down at her.
She frowns. "What do you mean?"
With his lips snarled, he looks up and down her body as he releases her shoulders. "Because you're always looking all sexy and shit. If you weren't so goddamn beautiful, this shit wouldn't happen. Maybe I'd be able to control myself around you..."
"You think I'm...sexy?" she asks as her heart pounds.
"Yes. Insanely sexy." His eyes narrow as he continues frowning. "It really fucking pisses me off. You need to do something about it..."
"Holy horse shit. That's your contractor? That's Dylan?"
"Yes, but don't forget you said he was a fucking asshole less than an hour ago," Myra hisses.
Susie looks back at Dylan, her eyes roaming up and down his body. He turns his head towards them and they both duck quickly behind the toilet paper.
"I did, didn't I?" Susie asks. "Damn it." She stares at Myra for a moment. "Well, all I can say is that he's one delicious fucking ass hole."
"Whoa. Back the trolley up. He carried you into the house? That's so damn romantic. Completely swoon-worthy. Like that's some Shrek and Fiona shit right there..."
"We both know he's a giant asshat, but I have to admit I wouldn't mind wearing his naked ass on my head..."
"No panty ripping? Damn. I totally had him pegged as a panty ripper. God, I'd love to have someone rip my panties from my body. But I think the only way Jeff could get my ginormous grandma undies shredded would be with some garden shears or a bush whacker."
One of my favorites quotes comes from a conversation between Myra and Trent.The situation escalates and Myra makes the difficult decision to leave Philly and her best friend, Susan, and return to her childhood home in Nyssa, Oregon. There, she plans to live in her grandfather’s run down house and start the book she’s always dreamed of writing. As she’s settling in she quickly realizes her Grampie’s house needs some major work to become livable. And this is where we meet (in Susan’s words) the “Scruffy, Greek god asshole,” contractor, Dylan Lawson.
"It's because he's an asshole. Asshole brains don't work the same as ours do. Too much brown sludge."
"You don't know what a PTA is? Susie asks, laughing. "It's the old Pussy, Tits, and Armpits bath; you know, where you scrub your PTA."