The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (The Grumpy Devils, #2)

by Elizabeth O'Roark

A love story is like a bus ride. You can take the express—short and to the point, not exciting but it gets you where you need to go—or you can make it a road trip. Lots of transfers and stops, operating with blind hope in search of the extraordinary.

It leaves me wondering if maybe I haven’t gone far enough. If maybe I’ve been letting a lot of people walk on me for a very long time, because the worst things they say about me aren’t nearly as bad as the things I say about myself.

We view men like wayward little boys, but we judge women the way we do ourselves: as harshly as possible.