More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
If this girl is sad enough to cuddle up to a stranger, then she must really be alone. Truly and completely and utterly alone. But that's okay, because so am I. In the end … aren't we all?
Michael stares at me like he wants to stab me in the eye with his French fry.
Looking at their accomplishments, I feel sick. What the hell have I done with my life? The answer is heartbreaking. Nothing. I've done nothing.
His offer sounds too good to be true, and I don't trust stuff like that. Life is never kind or friendly or easygoing; she's a raging bitch.
I fucking love romance novels. Erotic novels. Whatever you want to call anything fictional that has women and lovers and fucking and relationships. I feel like if every man on the planet sat down and just read a few of these, he'd understand the female side of the species so much better.
Books—even erotic ones … especially erotic ones—are simply reflections of the human soul. Sometimes they're silly and sometimes they're exaggerated, but it's through that enhancement of the world that we can see both its beauty and its flaws.
“Twenty-nine,” Cope says, drawing my attention back to him, to those stunning eyes of his. I could stare at those all day and never get tired of looking at them. “I'm the oldest one on this bus.” “Fucking ancient,” Pax mutters from his end of the couch. Still, he doesn't bother to look up from his phone screen. “Ransom is twenty-five; Michael and Pax are twenty-six, and Derek is twenty-one.”
I try not to hit her with a serious case of internalized misogyny, but I can't seem to help myself. She's being such a bitch.
He takes down a red leather flogger in his hands and snaps it tight between them. I try to tell myself that the sight doesn't turn me on at all … but it kind of does.
There's no way they'd do anything horrible to me. No, I trust them. But don't you dare try this shit at home. My life is … mine to risk.
For me, they'll be my night stars and I'll be their moon. It just wouldn't be night without all of us there to shimmer and shine.
And then … I'm completely fucking nude, so more sex I presume? I think.
Even from here, I can very distinctly read the word cock about a thousand times. Hmm. So long as the word moist is absent from that page, maybe I could get into a romance novel or two?
Well, shit. Look at that. Barely a week in and she's taming Ransom's demons.
When you fall in love, you disregard logic. Because logic and love are two sides of the same coin. Together, they make a beautiful sort of currency, but you can never look them both in the face at the same time.
I know in my heart that meeting this girl was just a random coincidence and that in the end, it'll probably amount to nothing, but for now, it feels really, really fucking good.
That is, in the act of tonguing the shit out of this strange girl that I really like for no apparent reason whatsoever. Because she cries a lot? Because she's sad? Because I want to save her, fix her, make her smile? I think I have a problem here.
My lonely traveler's met another lonely traveler, and he likes the company. Lilith has nobody; I have nobody. We could be each other's somebodies.
Why does it feel like I'm falling in love five times over when I've just met these guys?
Of course, even at the time I knew that it would take more than just my boys to save me from my pain, more than just me to save them from their own, but together we could fill the holes in each other's hearts, stop the bleeding long enough to recover, to open our eyes and realize that anything is possible if you believe, want, and try hard enough.
