With Any Luck (The Improbable Meet-Cute, #5)

by Ashley Poston

I sucked in a breath between my teeth. “Oof, sorry, can’t do, champ. You just friended the wrong girl. This brain? Full of Twilight quotes and omegaverse lore, not math.”

The crick in my back tells me no. I’m too young to be too old for this.

Theodore Luck is like a cardboard cutout of a man—all sharp edges and paper-thin emotions.

If beige were a person, he’d be the premier paint color.

“You’re a copyeditor. You always write in a green pen. Your favorite food is a s’more, and your favorite word is ‘susurrus.’”

Because the way he kisses feels like the way I fall in love, sharp and quick and deep.