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Don’t judge me. My life’s falling apart. Liquor is the answer.” “Liquor is never the answer. Especially at ten o’clock on a Friday morning.” “Ha! Says the infant with no problems.” She looks insulted. “Twenty isn’t an infant.” “Pfft. Get back to me in a decade and we’ll talk.”
Doesn’t anyone around here have healthy stress management skills?” “They didn’t teach that back in the dark ages when we went to school.
curmudgeon
Just learned a new word and i like it lol
Taylor says, “To the death of soulless corporations. May they all rot in hell.” She takes a gulp of her martini, then swallows and makes a face. “Fuck, that tastes like ass. I should’ve ordered a beer.”
My vagina wakes up from her six-month nap and screams at me that though this man looks like the emotionally unavailable type with major control issues, she would very much like to be wrecked by him.
I cross my arms over my chest and say sarcastically, “Sure. And next you’ll tell me you’re a billionaire book lover who wants to help save my store.” “That’s correct.”
His unblinking intensity is intimidating. I can’t decide if this hot supermodel has a side gig as an assassin or if he just has no personality other than a good staring game.
There’s something unusual about the intensity of his stare. Something unsettling. The faintest stirring of fear tightens my stomach. When I glance nervously at the front door, he says, “You’re not in danger.”
“I’m not here to buy a book. I’m here to offer you a deal. Marry me and I’ll make sure your bookstore stays open, no matter what.” Stunned and trying to process what’s happening, I take a step back. “What do you mean? Why would you want to marry me?
If my vagina could detach from my body and fling itself right onto his face, it would.
Yes, the man is all sorts of hot, but I can already tell he’ll be getting on my last nerve regularly.
A note of darkness creeps into his voice. “If I were looking at you like you were my next meal, you’d already be eaten.”
How am I going to get through an entire lunch with this man without having a spontaneous orgasm? It’s impossible. I might have multiple orgasms just sitting next to him. His sexual magnetism is astonishing.
Honestly, at this point he could tell me I said I’d like to throw a saddle on him and go for a ride, and I’d believe it.
That earns me a smile, his first of the day. To say it’s gorgeous would be a massive understatement. It is, in fact, dazzling.
“Women are lion tamers, he says. Can you believe that?” What I can believe is that my underwear is no match for the throaty tone of his voice.
“Okay. I have some observations to share. Don’t interrupt, please. I have the attention span of a puppy, and I’ll forget what I was saying.”
It’s amazing how someone I find so attractive can also make me want to bash him over the head with my shoe.
His tone gently mocking, he says, “I’ve been obsessed with you for years. I’ve watched you from afar, planning, scheming, waiting for exactly the right moment to make you mine. Now all my planning has paid off, and the moment is here.” His mysterious smile grows wider. “Hello, little lamb. Welcome to the lion’s den.”
It’s just not every day that a billionaire with an eating disorder proposes marriage to me.
“Your shop? The little bohemian bookstore with all the stray cats and shabby furniture? Why the hell would a billionaire go in there?” “Oh my God. Thanks for the support. Why are we even friends?”
“Listen, just tell me the damn story, starting from the beginning and ending at the part where you’re on your knees somewhere with his big billionaire dick down your throat.” The driver’s gaze meets mine in the rearview mirror. He looks eager for a juicy story. I say to both of them, “That didn’t happen.”
“You’re still losing this argument. We both know that I’m five-feet-two inches of bad attitude, high anxiety, and no filter. Nobody’s jealous of that.
“I can’t see anything! Emery, what the fuck is happening? Are you riding his dick or what?” If a person could die of embarrassment, I’d already be six feet under.
They’re all beautiful. It’s unnatural. I bet they made a pact with the devil.
I stare at Ryan in outrage. “Awkward social skills?” He grins at me. “You burped in my dad’s face at our wedding reception.”
Dani says, “And let’s not forget the time you laughed at your grandma’s funeral.” “I was eight. And corpses are funny!”
You’re something much better than beautiful. And when we’re married, I’ll tell you what it is.”
Even Taylor looks dazzled, blinking like a vampire in daylight.
Today, he’s in a deep blue suit that was probably handmade in Italy by a group of virgin monks and flown across the Atlantic on the back of a unicorn.
In a hot, dark voice, he says, “Because my wife asked me to. And I’ll give her anything she wants.”
“No. I don’t care what other women think of me. Because they’re not you.”
I swallow nervously and fidget in my chair. “I have something to say.” “You can just say it. You don’t have to make an announcement first.”
The way he’s smiling at me is disturbing. I suspect he’s about to ask me if I have a personal relationship with Jesus.
“I said ‘sleeping in my bed,’ and you melted.” “I’m not butter. I don’t melt.”
“You never have to be afraid of anything again. If you have a problem, I’ll fix it. If you need something, I’ll give it to you. If anyone bothers you, I’ll make them wish they hadn’t. Whatever you want or need, you tell me, and you’ll have it. You’re mine now.”
Then I have my Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman moment, going from one expensive boutique to the next while every salesperson looks at me in horror as if I’m wearing a dress made of fresh turds.
When I remain silent, he prompts, “Why aren’t you saying anything?” “I’m too busy patting myself on the back for how well I’m adjusting to being married to a psychopath. I’m not even crying or anything.”
“Oh, look,” says Sabine. “The warlock is back. And judging by his expression, you’re about to practice all that fun new patience of yours.”
I know I’m not perfect, but you don’t have to play games to try to get me to change my behavior. Tell me, and give me the opportunity to correct it myself.”
“Thank you. I need to fuck you now.” That’s so unexpected, I start to laugh. “Oh my God, Callum. You’re absolutely insane.” “Yes. Get used to it.”
“You’re the only man I’ve ever met who can be so sweet and so annoying with so few words.
He snaps, “You made me a baby shit sandwich!” “With love, darling. With oodles of love.” I sigh in satisfaction. “And the next time you think about handcuffing me to the furniture again, remember that an angry wife is a dangerous thing. Tread carefully.”
So do the male population of Los Angeles a favor and keep your smiles for your husband, or you might find yourself standing in a pool of someone else’s blood.”
“Callum, I know I give you tons of shit, but I honestly think you’re an amazing person. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”
In the morning, I wake in his arms, feeling like I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Smiling and snuggling closer to his warmth, I whisper, “Hi there.”
I’m serious. I don’t want fruit stored in my vadge. It’s not Tupperware.”
“Because I’m yours. You’ve tattooed your name on everything inside me. The least I can do is make the outside match.”
“I know you think we should’ve gone slow. But I know nothing of slowness. I dove into you like the ocean, headfirst, not caring if I’d drown.”
“I assure you, I’m not calm. But shouting won’t change anything.”
