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I envied Clint’s ability to wash me away. I’d never been one to easily forget things. I remembered each scar given and taken. Every bit of pain received and dished out. Every ounce of high-octane love inflicted on my heart.
Clint and I were like hot oil kissing water. Gasoline crooking its finger at an open flame. We came together like animals in heat, marking and pissing over our territory. And love had everything, yet nothing, to do with it.
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Without a chance to explain or fight. Without an opportunity to clean up the last of the ugliness he’d spilled on me.
I had vanished into the night with only the clothes on my back, then burned them as soon as I had the chance, because everything I owned reminded me of him.
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A night of sleep wouldn’t change anything. Tomorrow would come, and I’d wake up to find every exit nailed shut.
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He didn’t know if I was dead or living—living because I hadn’t been alive, not really. If the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t have survived that. I’d deserted Mansfield before he and I had reached an agreed upon conclusion. And in addition to denying Clint closure, I’d also denied him peace.
He’d hated himself for what we had become, for the lies we had to tell, even the ones by omission. We’d turned each other into poisoned goods, and I’d taken the brunt of the blame—as I should have.
Author: tee-hee I bet you wish there was any explanation for what was happening in the book you just paid for
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his fat cockhead touched my willing hole, entering my body before it was ready for him. The smooth and bare tip of him warm against a place that had been cold for far too long.
A second asshole temperature reading in the first chapter. I expect regular updates on the flame to cold asshole temperature range throughout the book now.
He wanted to leave the imprint of his obscene manhood behind, rendering me incapable of moving, let alone walking through the door come morning. Tiny flurries of plaster rained down around us like snowfall as the headboard drilled into the sheetrock as if it, too, wanted to run from this.
“We’re so toxic even the wall we hit is damaged because of our toxicity not physics” uh nah dude chill out
I wasn’t stupid. Far from it. I’d just missed too much school because of my shitty life, and it had left me a step behind. I was small for nine-years-old, but strong. I had to be.
Start of chapter 2: fuck you he’s 9 years old now. In chapter 1 he was 8 years after a falling out, good luck figuring out the timeline
I peered down at my insignificant limbs, hiding my legs under the table. The result of poor nutrition even from within the womb.
Um, make up your mind if you are going to think like a 9 year old or not. You could phrase this like a kid of “the nurse said I would grow more if I always ate until I was full” or something like that
By high school, it was clear Mom wouldn’t change, and so Clint hired an attorney. A hippy lawyer in board shorts and a briefcase held together by tape. The best Clint’s money could buy. Clint petitioned the court for legal guardianship and won. Mom didn’t even put up a fight. Finally, I was his, and he was mine.
I didn’t realize he was basically his dad from age 9 before starting this. Way more taboo than the advertised “Best Friend’s Dad.”
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Joey was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy. Good to everyone he met, but inside him, a battle raged. One only I knew the details of. One he had to win on his own. Every now and then, the pressure of what he wanted from life and the parts of himself he didn’t know yet—or didn’t want to face—bumped heads.
he was coming into the latex,
Small mercies, at least Joey uses contraceptives and understands consent. Apparently he didn’t learn either from his dad.
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my cheap porcelain lamp sloping to the side and shattering loudly on top of the wood.
okay Joey and Raven broke a lamp wrestling after fucking, this whole breaking furniture thing when you orgasm is definitely genetic
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Clint was a scruff wearing, threadbare jeans and T-shirt kind of guy. He made the act of couldn’t-care-less look intentional. An old school caveman stuck in the modern world, and I had a hunch civility didn’t live under his skin.
I always call people wearing tee shirts and jeans Old Caveman, this totally makes sense.
Also WTF he raised you and made you and your bestie his son breakfast just now. He’s the most civil character in this book you weirdo.
“You used to call me Dad. Took you a while, and I didn’t make a big deal about it when you first said it because I didn’t want you to take it back, but damn, did it hurt in the best of ways.” He hit me with a side glance. “And then one day you stopped. Out of nowhere. And that hurt, too, but in the worst of ways.” I remembered the year, month, day, and second Clint referred to. The night I shot my rope all over his bedroom door, marking my territory, manifesting the future. No longer was he the pseudo father I’d come to know him as. He was more. And calling him Dad after that made me queasy.
“Let me be your friend, Clint, and I’ll let you be mine.” “Friends.” He tasted the word. “I’ve been a father for twenty-two years. Is there a book on how to turn that killer protective instinct off and become a friend?” “I don’t know. If not, we can write it. Together.”
Bobby barely skirted my elbow, but her tough-as-nails attitude and platinum-blonde buzz cut made her scary as hell. Her most dangerous weapon, though, was her outlandish tongue.
All the 5’0” women that aren’t the FMC in MF Romances are partner cops in MM romances with law enforcement or nurses or whatever
After reaching our destination and securing the canoe, we watched the sunset sitting side by side on a boulder in the sexiest moment of silence. The kind where you grew, both separately and together. The kind of silence that forced you to take a deep breath afterward and look to the person you were with for confirmation that they’d felt the connection to something greater, too. We’d shared a shy smile of gratitude for not having to experience the moment alone, knowing in that short span of time we’d both become something different, something more fearless. And without saying a word, we knew
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he’d never truly see me because there’d always be a part of me hidden from him. The part that wanted us writhing in the pit of our ugly because I wanted him too much to ever settle for something as superficial as pleasant with him. Fuck pleasant. I wanted the kind of passion that left us standing in a pile of rubble.
New underground emo band, “In the Pit of Our Ugly” with their new hit single, “I’ve been haunted by jizzing on your door for 6 years.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Clint gave the same nod I offered when he’d tell me my mother’s addiction wasn’t about her not loving me. The thank-you-for-trying-but-you’ll-never-convince-me-otherwise nod.
“If I was content to continue fucking my fuckbuddy behind dumpsters specifically, my younger brother would still be alive”
I can’t with how specific that is. How is this part of your tragic backstory to specify you fuck behind dumpsters 😂😂😂 It’s not like the dumpster killed him
I was rolling in ecstasy the moment the 18-wheeler struck Brandon’s side of Dad’s car. They took their last breath as I was trying to catch mine. I didn’t even feel it. Too busy being selfish to notice my heart being torn down the middle.”
I mean you aren’t psychic dude, it’d be creepy if you were finally banging some chick in a bed instead of a dumpster and screamed “MY BROTHER DIED”
“Saving my mother was the most selfish thing I’d ever done. Not one part of it was for her. It served my fears, my trauma, my need to have something,”—no matter how bad it was—“than to have nothing.” “You were a kid.” “I’m not a kid now, Clint. And I’m telling you, it was purely self-serving. Made it easier to accept all the fucked-up shit that happened afterward because I’d made sure I was now deserving of it.” “You never told me this before.” “I didn’t want you to think less of me,” I said. “And now?” “You coughed up your pain for me, and now I think more of you. And I’m gambling that
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I swore I’d spend the rest of my days falling asleep with that mural watching me, and when the time came for me to leave Clint’s, another one would go up at my next destination. I peered down at the expanse of skin on my rib cage, then back at my work in progress. A wall wouldn’t be enough. I needed Clint seared into my flesh. I wanted to pay tribute to him with my body. I wanted him with me forever.