Drop Dead Gorgeous

by Lauren Landish

Beside me, Blake stiffens. Not in his pants, though to be honest, I can’t tell since I’m not looking at his crotch.

This books was a fun romp, but the language left a bit of cringe to be desired. This quote comes from a scene that was not remotely sexual.

My fingers curl into the super-protective, hard plastic case of my phone. It usually keeps it from a fate worse than death, aka a blue screen of inoperability, but though it guards against gravity, I don’t think it’s strong enough to fight off being squeezed like a toothpaste tube.

Is he trying to out-trivia me? Or trivia-flirting? Flirtriva? It’s like nerd-sexy to the max.

“Don’t talk to me in that tone of gasp,”

“More about anticipation than liking. Raisins are fine, but not when I’m expecting ooey, gooey, melty chocolate and instead get chewy, wrinkled, dried fruit.”

Used to this flying canine greeting, I drop to one knee to catch him in my arms and turn my face away so his messy, sloppy kisses hit my cheek and not my mouth because he’s a French kisser if given the opportunity.

“Of course, I am. Cats are weird. All the attitude and shenanigans.” I curl my hands into claws and give my best cat impersonation. “Hisssss.”

my ovaries are basically exploding—pew, pew, pew—like fireworks because you’re so good with Chunky

My man-ovaries are exploding too.

The cover says it’s an Oprah Book Club book, but I’ve never heard of the title. “You want to read?” “I thought we could take turns reading to each other?” he says quietly, but I can feel his heart racing beneath my cheek and he’s holding his breath. This sexy man is risking insecurities of his own, hoping that I’ll find the idea appealing, not weird. “I think that’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever wanted to do with me.”

I’m Louise. This here’s Thelma.

“Look, I’m not a kiss and tell sort, but rest assured, I wasn’t ‘using’ Zoey. I made sure she came . . . multiple times, and she was . . . into it.”