“I’m equally mortified and impressed that Bridget wrote this.” Cassia giggled, leaning over his bare shoulder to steal the tattered paperback from his hand. Then she made sure all of the pages were smooth before returning it to her nightstand. “I can’t believe you didn’t know.” “That my pseudo-grandmother wrote trashy romance novels? I can’t believe it either. She had this entirely different life.” He relaxed into the pillows, staring up at Cassia’s ceiling. Then he cringed. “I’m trying really hard not to picture Bridget and my grandfather using anal vibrators.”
