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“You look great in purple, Brooke.” “T-thank you.” Your tongue would look great on my nipples.
“Honestly, their sex is some of the hottest I’ve ever read in my life,” Chase adds, and yeah… I’m gone.
The explicit book I wrote about myself and my editor while he has no freaking idea he’s the protagonist is the best book he’s ever read? That’s what I was afraid of.
This. This is great literature. It’s not highbrow or intellectual, but it’s an experience. It makes the reader live and breathe and cry and mourn the losses of its characters before they celebrate the victories. It touches on passion and personal poignancy. There’s a reason romance is one of the most popular genres in the world, whether snooty-falooty people want to believe it or not.
“She’s nice, okay? Funny.” I pick up my head from the back and meet her eyes again, shrugging. “Very funny, actually. Both in her writing and in person. And she’s…well, she’s beautiful. Big, honest, green eyes and perfect skin and teeth. Everything I know about her is pretty much…perfect.”
At this point in my monthly hormonal cycle, I could easily cry. My period is just one big sneeze away,
If working on a contemporary romance book while simultaneously living through a real-life forced-proximity trope isn’t irony, then I don’t know what is.
