3.75 - great one-sided pining! Free on the author's website if you sign up for the newsletter.
This was fun. By fun I mean, you get to sit and watch someone fall in love, obsess, pine, angst, and get hurt. 😂 Carefree sunshine/uptight judgemental obsessor pairing. Match made in heaven, those two!
What I loved about the book:
Simple straightforward thoughts, no messy metaphors. College-age roommates who became best friends. Talk about unfuckingrequited.
Bonus points for a great woman as a side character. The straight guy is hooking up with women and it isn't done in that typical defiling way, and it isn't out to make the women sleazy or petty, or the Enemy. Not really on-page, it happens, but you aren't getting details beyond moaning.
This is what I call fun pain, you know it's going to keep happening, and you know how much the MC is hurting, but neither MC is a dick, just real-life regular stuff. College kids hooking up, partying, being goofy, having a good time. Accidentally pulverizing someone's heart.
The book does age up the characters because it wouldn't be real torture unless it went on for TEN years. 😅
If you aren't a fan of idiots who refuse to communicate, and MCs having sex with other people, this book will absolutely not work for you. One gets married, the other goes through a fuck everyone phase and eventually has a nice relationship, etc.
It was worth the wait. Explosive sex scenes, fear and anxiety, love confessions, obsessive we don't want to leave the house situation once they are together. Both MCs had their idiotic moments, mistakes, and small painful stuff, but really at the end of the day, it was just two guys who didn't know what they were doing. I can relate!
So many highlights, but I've narrowed it down to:
• “Oh,” he says simply, “in that case, d’you want to come cruising for cock?” I must do a double take because he adds, as if to clarify, “Or trawling for ass?” I’m absolutely positive I do a double take at that. I can feel my jaw drop open slightly. He just smiles and shrugs, “Whatever you prefer.”
• Okay, fine. So he’s not homophobic. So what? He’s still a complete nightmare, that’s for sure.
• “Uh, um, West, this is, um, this is gay porn.” He looked at me as if I was mad. “No shit, Sherlock. I’ll just block out the dick and focus on the ass.” He had a big grin on his face. “After all, an ass is an ass.”
• Afterward, I hear him whispering to her. This is different, too. This time, he’s not asking her what she likes in bed; he’s asking who she is. He wants to know her. He wants to know everything about her. Fuck. This one is different. He wants her.
• “Andy,” says West, “this is Ashleigh.” He looks about as happy as someone who has just been announced as a Nobel Peace Prize winner. He motions to her proudly, as if she’s the trophy.
• “I’m telling you, West, this girl is bad news. She’s crazy.” He smiles at me patiently. “She’s all kinds of crazy. She’s totally wild,” he says it as if it’s some sort of special talent. I hate the way he looks when he talks about her. He looks like a fool. His green eyes glaze over as a helpless, toothy grin takes over his face.
• I stand back and take in the painting. It’s the best work I’ve ever done. I say that without ego. It’s just a fact. It’s the practical piece for my portraiture class. It’s a self-portrait. Though the face and body are purposefully blurred out, I’ve captured my likeness. You can see at a glance that it’s me. My expression and posture are perfect. Every nuance is there. I’m standing straight with one hand at my side. The other is raised in front of my gaping chest, holding my heart in my hand. I’ve painted the organ in a hyper-realistic style. The blood and membranes around the heart seem so lifelike that anyone looking at it is likely to feel that slight clench, that slight sense of dread you get when you see a car crash. I’ve named it Heart.
• She stands beside me. Not speaking for a while. I think she’s about to move on but then she looks at me. Her eyes are as sympathetic as mine are sad. “Unrequited,” she says softly. “There’s no worse way to love.”
• “You need a shower." He looks at me sheepishly, shrugging a little, showing me his bandaged wrist apologetically. “Uh, I think I might need a little help.”“Sure.”
• I spray the side of his face. I stroke his cheek with my thumb. Running my finger along his scar. Tracing the shape. Memorizing every minute detail. Trying my best to keep my mouth shut. Clenching my teeth. Trying my best not to lean down and run my tongue up the side of his face. It isn’t easy. I want him so much, I’m shaking inside.
• Everything hurts. There’s pain everywhere.
• I imagine the sound he’d have made. Like the sound he made that first time with Ashleigh. Better, though. I imagine he’d have made an even better sound, because it would have been him and me.
• “How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?”“Dunno,” I say, suddenly angry. Furious, even. “I do not know. Okay? I guess I’ll just keep doing it until it stops being such fun. I guess I’ll just keep doing it until I can’t take the pain anymore.” I’m speaking a little too loudly.
• I can’t tell you how much time I spend lying on my bed, shaking, staring up at the ceiling, thinking, What fresh hell is this? I must have been a mass murderer in a previous life to deserve this type of torment.
• I love him just as much as ever. I don’t want him to feel any pain. I only wish him well. I want everything for him. I want him to have everything he’s ever wanted, even if that leaves me with nothing at all.
• Dare I say it? I’m happy.
• “It will be fine. I’m ninety percent over West,” I say, with a determined nod. “Ninety percent, huh?”
• Shit, I think, as I pull away, I’m only eighty percent over West.
• It feels so good having his arm around me that I have no choice but to acknowledge, I’m less than fifty percent over West.
• “You’re no gentleman, though.” He’s slurring seriously now. “You’re just hard to get.” What did he just say? What the hell did he just say? “What was that, West?” I whisper. He doesn’t reply. He just breathes heavily through his mouth. He’s passed out cold.
• “Since when have you not been straight?” I demand. For some reason, I'm starting to feel annoyed.
• “I don’t know if I’ve ever been straight. For me, it’s not that cut and dried. I think in some ways, it’s always been there. I just didn’t know what it was. For me, I guess, it hasn’t been that easy to know what this thing in me is. It’s not that simple when you’re easily and often attracted to women. Because that’s the case, I guess I just thought, well, great. I’m into girls. That’s one less thing to worry about. But I think it’s always been there.”
• My lack of judgment might just have cost me the most important person in my life.
• I’ve cleaned up my act a lot and that’s all well and good, but when the chips are down, I’m still capable of making spectacularly idiotic decisions. There's no getting away from that fact.
• Wave after wave of panic hits me. It’s hot and it’s pure.
• I pace up and down the loft frantically. When that does nothing to help, I take to my bed. Lying down on my back, my arms and legs spread out like a starfish. For some reason, that makes me feel even worse. I feel like I’m being crushed. Suffocated. Like I can’t breathe.