Go Luck Yourself (Royals and Romance, #2)

by Sara Raasch

“What kind of cologne is that, boyo?” Boyo? “Eau de mind your own business.”

I might as well find out what the full depth of my rock bottom looks like. Maybe there’s something interesting down here, like my dignity.

I don’t get livid in a way that doesn’t turn into depression.

“Was that the apology you had in mind?” I whisper up at him. “Or should I go on about how all the rainbows in Ireland point to the pot of gold in your asshole?”

“You’re in Ireland. That’s what we got here, repentance and Guinness.”

“Are you sure your magic isn’t narcissism instead of luck?”

I’m going to commit a murder at a charity 5k family fun run. That is not how I thought I’d ruin my life. But I’m good with it.

I thought the balance to being in a constant state of anxiety was peace; but what if it’s chaos?

I was so innocent in my joy, and that’s what I miss more than anything. To be happy and not analyze why.

we end up at one pub that’s playing the greatest hits of Irish musicians, and the crowd belts out each one like singing is giving their livers a pep talk.