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To everyone who doesn’t believe in global warming, suck it! That smell? It’s my skin burning. I bet it resembles a hog roast. Someone, please give me a quarter turn.
“How long have you climbed?” he asks while shoving his bare feet into his climbing shoes. I return a blink. That’s all he’s getting from me—a slow, lifeless blink. “I’ve climbed since I was fourteen,” he says. Here you go, buddy … another no-shit-given blink. “Thanks for asking.” His kissable— Gah! NOT kissable. His dry, cracked, pus and blood-oozing lips curl into a psycho’s smirk. Much better, Anna. Stay focused. “I didn’t ask.” I shrug.
Eric lowers his voice. “The skittish female Homo sapiens’ face flushes as she drops her chin to disguise her attraction to the rather well-endowed male as he makes his advance. She’s stubborn but not immune to his mating dance. It’s only a matter of time before he imparts his scent onto her, marking her for life.”
“Don’t ever surrender.” He hands me a menu. “Promise me you’ll always make me work for it.” It’s hard not to surrender to that smile. “Work for what?” I hide behind the menu before he melts me into a puddle of mush with one look. Fucking mating dance … “You.”
“Do you want kids?” “Of course. How many should we have?”
Things we can’t resist are usually not good for us. Who lacks the willpower to avoid rainbow chard, five-mile jogs, and pap smears?
Eric is an ice cream sundae with extra chocolate and a jar of maraschino cherries on the first day of my period and the day I need to fit into a tight bridesmaid’s dress.
“I don’t want you dating anyone else.” “Eric, are you asking me to go steady? I think my parents did that in college.” He sits up, forcing me to stand straight. “I’m asking your vagina to go steady with my dick.” I snort while he stands, giving me a serious look and a single lifted eyebrow. “You want me to be your girlfriend?” “That’s what I just said.” He saunters to the bathroom.
Eric ignores the possessive move on Carson’s part, keeping his gaze locked on mine. “We had sex in the bathroom of the bouldering gym earlier today. No condom. I’m just saying … proceed with caution. You don’t know where my dick has been. Have a good night.” He takes a step back. After a final ruling, the door shuts like a gavel: my life sucks. Kill me now.
“I’m not sharing you,” he whispers in my ear, a breath before biting the skin along my neck. I have no desire to be shared. His body moves above mine on the sofa. One of his hands pins both of mine above my head while he drives into me repeatedly. It’s sexy. He’s sexy.
The human brain is terrible. Thoughts are the worst poison. I’m fucking toxic to myself, and I can’t stop it.
“You’re flying to Nashville to get laid? Surely you can get laid locally. It’s better for the environment.”
“Anna?” He cups my cheek with his hand. I shift my gaze from the T-shirt to him. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be nice to you.”
“She loved the explicit novels. What did Mike use to call it? Mommy porn?” “Yeah, I don’t think the adult romance community warmly accepts that term.” He waves his hand in the air. “You know what I’m talking about. Lots of nipples, clits, and cocks. Moaning. Multiple orgasms. That shit’s ruining marriages. Setting the bar impossibly high for men.”
I think of the time I reenacted the sex scene from Anna’s book. She was all in. I didn’t feel like the bar was set too high. I felt like she gave me a ladder and a clear map of how to reach said bar. “Maybe you should read some of those books. They’re much different from those videos you watch on your computer.” He grumbles. “You know, after getting out of the shower, she asked me to talk dirty to her—” “Dad, no. Please. I don’t need to—” “I told her to bend over and clean the toilet. I slept on the sofa that night.”
Death isn’t a test or a lesson of anything. It’s the worst part of life. Period.
“What’s that saying about hiding treasures in plain sight and no one will find them? That’s those damn books. Men have been trying to figure out women since the beginning of time, and women decided to hide their secrets in the very books that make us roll our eyes at them when they read them.”
The perfect mating dance takes practice.
If you focus on the central underlying theme of romances that have happily ever afters, there’s one simple thing the heroine wants—for the hero never to let go. She wants to feel pursued, irreplaceable and understood. She doesn’t want to feel less than anything or anyone. She wants you to walk beside her and have her back. And some days, she might need you to catch her if she starts to fall. And if you can love her flaws, she will make you her world.
And I may never find a job that feels like my calling. But I’ve figured out what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be in her world in whatever capacity she’ll have me.
Anna: I’m in love Anna: Not pregnant Anna: No STDs Anna: But if he asks me to marry him, I’m saying yes Anna: Plan accordingly Mom: Is this a joke? Anna: No joke
“Baby, we can’t die at the end. Romance readers are too fickle. They need their HEA.”
“This is the ring my grandfather gave my grandmother when she published her first poem. My mom thought I should give it to my wife someday.” Once upon a time …
“Will you do me the honor of being Mrs. Eric Fucking Steinmann?” Of course, he proposes in a way that makes me laugh. I think it’s his only goal in life.
Eric gets the girl. Anna gets a lifetime of mating dances. On their wedding day, he gives her the only copy of their love story. It’s a beautiful clothbound book titled Almost Perfect.
