“Why don’t you write a fucking book?” he says. “You could call it: Perks of Dating a Female Sex Addict.” “Or you could write one,” I shoot back, rising to my feet. “Perks of Having the Hots for a Sixteen-Year-Old Supermodel and Having to Wait until She Turns Eighteen, Only to be Cock-Blocked by Your Bastard Half-Brother.” I flash a bitter smile. “That title needs some work,” Connor says, clipping on his Rolex watch. “And that’s if we all agree Ryke can write a full-length novel.”
