More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
WHEN THE MAN of her dreams ran a hand across his devastatingly handsome face and said, “I have to tell you something, and I don’t want you to freak out,” Clara Wheaton considered, for the first time, the alarming possibility that she could get dumped by someone she’d never managed to date.
No one would believe she’d earned two advanced degrees from Ivy League institutions only to end up this stupid.
“So this is how it feels to be well and truly fucked.” “I get that a lot,” said a low voice behind her.
He was cute but not quite handsome. Not like Everett, whose mere presence still made her speech falter after all these years. Clara accepted this small form of mercy from the universe. She’d always found it impossible to talk to handsome men.
“I’m fine. Just reckoning with the consequences of a multigenerational family curse. Pretend I’m not here.”
“Perhaps you could say something reassuring?” After a few seconds, he blew out a breath. “Your body destroys and replaces all of its cells every seven years.” Clara sat up slowly. “Okay, well”—she pursed her lips—“you tried. Thanks,” she said with dismissal. “I read that in a magazine at the dentist’s office.” He shot her a weak smile. “Thought it was kinda nice. I figure it means no matter how bad we mess up, eventually we get a clean slate.” “So you’re telling me in seven years, I’ll forget the fact that I uprooted my entire life and moved across the country because a guy who’s not even my
...more
“I work in the entertainment industry.” Figures. Clara immediately lost interest. The last thing she needed was some wannabe filmmaker asking her to read his screenplay.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but frankly, Everett didn’t tell me he had to go out of town until right now, and no offense, I’m sure you’re probably nice, but this”—she gestured to the space between them—“falls a little outside my comfort zone.” “Hey, me too.” He put his hand to his heart. “I’ve seen a lot of made-for-TV movies, you know. You’re exactly the kind of pint-sized, tightly wound socialite who goes crazy and paints the walls with chicken blood. How do I know I’m safe from you?”
“Haven’t you ever done something stupid to impress someone you liked?” Josh plopped down on the sofa, propped his feet on the coffee table, and crossed them at the ankles. “No. Never.” “I think you mean ‘Not yet.’”
“A sock is a nonessential clothing item.” Mischief entered his gaze. “Only until you’re playing strip poker.”
“So, grocery store?” Josh gestured to her abandoned mug. “I can’t drink black coffee to save my life.” “Wait. Did you make coffee, realize you didn’t have milk, and pawn off your leftovers on me?” A guilty grin cut across his face. “Can’t a man make a nice gesture and responsibly repurpose resources? Come on. I’ll drive.”
The guys from high school would love the idea that Clara “The Prude” Wheaton was sharing a shower with a man who had a penis more famous than his face.
Clara knew a lot of men who shied away from eye contact. The guys in her doctoral program at Columbia could stare at a painting of a wild orgy for hours but only managed to talk to her left ear at the bar afterward.
Pretending her mission served a higher purpose, like perhaps defending national security, made it easier to click on the first link she found, an article about how Josh stood out among the fabric of the porn industry.
Closing his eyes, he said a silent prayer to a God he didn’t believe in. Lord, give me the strength to not fuck my roommate.
“You’re right. I’m a terrible liar.” Clara straightened her shoulders as if steeling herself for battle. “I can’t believe I couldn’t come up with anything better than meditation. People assume I can think on my feet because I was All-State in debate, but it really is a very different skill set.”
“You didn’t think to use the name of your first pet and the street you grew up on?” “I’m not sure Dingus Winslow would have gone over well.” Josh warmed at the memory of his beloved hamster. “Probably not.”
“What’s the big deal? There’s no non-asshole way to say this, but I get about fifty women a week asking me to do this. It’ll be totally clinical. Scout’s honor.” He saluted her with three fingers. “Yeah. I’m going to go out on a limb and say this conversation is not sanctioned by the Boy Scouts of America.”
Josh didn’t waver in his conviction. “If I can’t get you off with my hands,” he said, his voice soft and incredibly kind, “that’s my problem. Not yours. And if that’s the case, we’ll figure something else out. Every body is different, but none of them are wrong.”
“What would you recommend for a woman scorned?” Frankie didn’t miss a beat. “Lemon scones.” “Are you saying that because scone sounds kind of like scorn?” “Absolutely.” While he couldn’t fault Frankie’s logic, Josh needed more.
“No. See, I don’t buy that. You claim to have come out here for a guy, but what if Everett Bloom was an excuse to abandon a life built around pleasing other people?” Why did people keep saying things like that to her? Sometimes a cross-country move didn’t represent a quest for adventure so much as a failed booty call.
“I figured we could start over. Wipe the slate clean, as it were.” “You decided to wipe the slate clean by making the kitchen incredibly messy?” She might have called the playful quirk of his lips shy if she didn’t know better. “I don’t actually have a ton of gastronomic experience. I thought breakfast for dinner would be easy.” She dabbed at the raw egg dribbling down the front of her apron with a wet paper towel. “I may have miscalculated.”
“Is this a trap?” Clara cut her pancake into tiny squares and concentrated on keeping her voice even. “Is what a trap?” Josh pointed at his brimming plate. “This is a lot of effort for someone you just met.” “You think I have an ominous agenda for making pancakes?” Clara tried not to blink. “You’re literally buttering me up.” He thrust his chin at the pat of butter she had carved off on her knife and moved to drop on his plate.
“You know, Josh, it’s nice to see you so passionate about something. You really love this old Camaro, huh?” “This is a Corvette,” he said, white-knuckling the armrest. “And she doesn’t appreciate being called old. Let’s get this over with.”
“I mean this whole situation, being the hero, the one who comes through in a damsel’s moment of need. It’s new for me. I’m finding it a bit unsettling.” “I’m not a damsel.” Clara’s sweaty palms threatened her grip on the steering wheel. She wiped them one by one on the shorts of her overalls. “Sure, you are. A young, unmarried woman of noble birth.” Clara shook her head as they approached a stoplight. “Did you just quote Merriam-Webster?” “My mom used to read us fairy tales when I was little. I looked up the words I didn’t know.”
“You’re a terrible singer.” “I’m sorry, what was that?” He cupped a hand over his ear. “Sing louder?”
“Speed is an action movie for the female gaze. Do you know how you can tell? The heroine has got on sensible shoes.” Josh squinted at the screen. “So you identify with Sandra Bullock’s character?” “I wish. Keanu falls for her as soon as she takes the wheel. I, on the other hand, would never recover from the embarrassment of Keanu calling me ma’am.”
“But Speed has a uniquely endearing ensemble. There’s that nerdy tourist in the blazer, you know? I relate to him. I, too, came to L.A. with big dreams only to wind up circling the airport on a bus with a bomb.” Josh raised his eyebrows as he returned to his seat. “A metaphorical bus, obviously.” “Wait.” He frowned and paused the movie. “Am I the bomb?” “Don’t be silly.” She grabbed the remote and hit resume. Josh was absolutely the bomb. He was a big tangle of hormones trying to lure her to an untimely end. A bomb masked by cheesy jokes and kind eyes. One that could blow up her whole life if
...more
Josh whistled under his breath as he entered the reception area of a nondescript office building in Burbank. He’d heard there was a lot of money in porn. Turned out, it had all ended up here.
“Okay, remember that thing you helped me with?” He raised a shoulder and frowned. “That thing.” She looked down at her lap. “Sorry, no.” “Ugh. Remember that time you gave me an orgasm?” “Ha. Yeah. I knew what you meant. I wanted to hear you say it.” Clara rolled her eyes. Jerk.
“Then don’t let the money thing make it weird. Women need this. No.” She corrected herself. “Women deserve this.” She stood up. This felt like the kind of moment when a person should stand up.
He’d attempted to be strategic with the location for extending his business proposal. Nothing corporate or fussy. Bowling seemed smart because it gave everyone something to do with their hands, but he hadn’t anticipated that the only available lane at two p.m. on a Sunday would be smack-dab between a middle school birthday party and league practice for seniors.
No one else in the industry had the lethal combination of talent, intellect, and business savvy that Naomi did. Unfortunately, she also alternately hated his guts and wanted to fuck his brains out, making negotiation rather treacherous.
“So far so good, Connecticut, but today the real fun starts. You nervous?” Clara thought about lying but decided that, like animals, Naomi could probably smell fear. “Yes.”
“Hey.” Naomi’s voice relaxed from granite to shale. “You can do this.” The vote of confidence was surprising but nice. Clara smiled. “Thanks.” “But if you can’t, I’d rather figure it out now.” Her smile died. “That was less reassuring.” Naomi shrugged and walked away.
“You think someday someone might accept that challenge?” Josh pulled his full bottom lip between his teeth and closed his eyes. “Hell yeah.” His eyes snapped open. “I mean, theoretically. Most likely someone with a vast collection of loafers and money clips.” Right. Someone the opposite of him. At this rate, Josh would try to set her up with his optometrist sometime next week.
Clara opened the door back to the studio. “I’ll go home and watch a ton of porn.” The way Josh’s mouth dropped to the ground made the whole embarrassing ordeal worthwhile. She tapped her foot. “You coming?” “I mean, I’m gonna try not to,” Josh muttered.
Josh dug his nails into his palm, hard enough to leave marks. His body didn’t care that she was describing pining for another man. He had no trouble pretending that all the hes in her sentences could be replaced with his name.
He hissed in a breath. “What I’m about to say is gonna sound like a line. But please believe me when I tell you that I’ve seen thousands of tits in my lifetime and I’ve never wanted to get my hands and my mouth and, if I’m being totally honest, my cock, on a pair as much as yours.”
“Never have I ever fucked ten times in one day.” Even Josh had lowered a finger on that one. But . . . that defied science. She wanted to call a doctor.
“Don’t stop.” “Whatever you say.” Josh grunted as he dragged her lower this time, across his unmistakable erection. “You know, it works even better if you take off your clothes,” Naomi said in a dry voice from inside the room. Josh and Clara both scrambled to their feet, or at least they tried to. Her feet slipped on the shiny laminate flooring and she waved her arms wildly, trying to regain her balance. “Fuck,” Josh said as Clara’s elbow slammed into his solar plexus. “Not quite.” Naomi examined her manicure. “But I’m sure if I’d shown up ten minutes later . . .” Clara opened her mouth to
...more
He closed his eyes and thought about sitting in traffic. He thought about getting his teeth cleaned. Sitting in traffic while getting his teeth cleaned. There we go. That did it.
“Sorry,” he said again around his thick tongue. “Overestimated my own endurance.” “What do you mean?” Her fragile voice broke through his lust stupor, at least for a moment. He finally took in the blue and purple splotches blooming on her neck. He straightened his shoulders with renewed resolve to take care of her. “Just that I should have prepared myself more before I came in so that I could help you without sporting a rampant erection.” Clara’s eyes wandered to his groin at his words. When she licked her top lip, the tiny gesture made him almost double over. “Jesus fucking Christ.” Traffic.
...more
“So this is what it feels like,” Clara said, so quiet he almost didn’t catch it. “It’s like someone shook a soda can and opened it inside my chest.” Josh winced. “Any chance that’s pleasant?” It sounded painful, but something in her eyes made him hope. She massaged below her clavicle, giving him a weak smile. “It’s amazing.”
“I’ve wanted to do that since the first moment we met.” “You said you thought I was a cat burglar.” Neither of them could quite catch their breath. “Yeah.” Josh ran his hand down her spine. “I was gonna let you burgle me.”
His molecules had rearranged to give him this shot at loving her. His seven years must be up.
“Almost any time someone compliments my work they follow it up by asking if I grew up in a household full of boys. You know how girls in movies who can change a tire or throw a football are always explaining their skills away as if talent transferred through proximity to testosterone?” “Ah, yes. Well, I’ve got a brother and I’m certain he wouldn’t have any idea what to do with your tool belt.”
Everything Naomi said came out sounding like a threat, but Clara now knew that she meant well.
“You think everything’s romantic. You tried to convince me that The Mummy was a love story.” “Of course The Mummy is a love story.” Clara thrust her hands on her hips. “You’re off your gourd.”
The Mummy 100% is romantic 😂
“Wow.” Jill’s eyebrows rose so high they almost kissed her hairline. “You used your trust fund to back a program dedicated to promoting equal-opportunity orgasms at scale?” Her aunt pursed her lips and nodded, impressed. “That’s cool.” “It’s got naked women masturbating on the landing page.” Jill choked on a bite of mini muffin, and the room filled with her hacking coughs for a full thirty seconds. Clara had reached an unexpected level of rebellion, even by Jill Wheaton’s generous standards.
