Fireworks (True North, #6)

by Sarina Bowen

I’ve never mastered the art of getting what I want, because I can never figure out exactly what that is.

Apparently I’m not a very sexual person. I never saw fireworks.

The only man I’ve ever really loved is sitting beside me on the bed. No wonder Vermont still has such a hold on my soul.

I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’ve never figured out how to talk about sex, or even how to enjoy it. That’s probably why I rarely have any.

The year I was eighteen, I was a paragon of fucking virtue. No matter how badly I wanted Skye, I never let myself reach for her like I wanted to. I spent an entire year hard for her. But I didn’t break the seal. Now I’m thirty and obviously far dumber.

“You look like everything I ever wanted,”

“How come you’re the only single Rossi?” Her blue eyes study me. Because I was waiting for you.

I care too much and I know too little.