Dr. Strange Beard (Winston Brothers, #5)

by Penny Reid

Oh for fuck’s sake. I’m not opposed to feelings, in general. I’m sure feelings are great for other people, and I’m happy for those other people and their feelings. I hope they lived a nice life together. Don’t get me wrong, I have feelings. I just choose not to be preoccupied by, ensnared by, or guided by them.

But time, as they say, heals all wounds that aren’t affected by sepsis or gangrene.

Okay. Don’t hate on me, but tall men are my thing. Every girl has a thing, whether it be abs or beards or hands or jaws or eyes or muscular thighs or soft middles or red hair or hairy chests. You can’t help your thing, it just is. Love it. Own it. Thing it.

All men are fugly as soon as they demonstrate an inability to carry on a conversation about issues that matter. Or if they don’t empty the dishwasher. Or if they poop with the bathroom door open.

Motherfucker. That’s right, go clutch your damn pearls and take a powder. That word was the worst, most heinous curse as far as I was concerned, and this moment required it.

Again, the urge to clap was intense. I didn’t think I’d ever get a chance to see a bullshitter bullshitting another bullshitter at this level. The bullshit was strong with this family. We’re talking bullshitting Olympics, and they’d both tied for first place.

Cake without milk is like drunk without disorderly. Where’s the fun in that?

I mean, ladies. Holy cow. Get thee a Winston, stat!