I usually just smile and say that my book boyfriends more than fulfill me. And, I mean, I’m not wrong. Most of them pass the list of “Cassie’s Dating Rules,” meaning if they were alive and willing to date me, they wouldn’t destroy me, mind, body, and soul. But the one thing that neither they nor I apparently can do is get me over the edge. Sure, reading gives me all the butterflies, but anytime I try a little self-love, it just ends up disappointing.
