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I’m not easily distracted, but if I could manifest my perfect distraction, it’d look a lot like her.
When did I say that? I’m a romance reader. I have a thing for assholes.
And why the fuck are there naked dudes on my bookshelf?
Her latest read sits on the coffee table in front of me. As usual, it displays a shirtless man right there on the cover. “What’s this one about?” I ask, holding it up. “The female main character hooks up with her ex-boyfriend’s dad.” “What the fuck?”
Ryan Shay is celibate. What did we, as the female population, do to deserve this?
“I’m sorry someone let you believe you were hard to love, because, Blue, it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Say that again for me.” “I’m heading to Michael’s.” “And who the fuck is Michael?”
“Why do you like reading fiction so much?” he asks without a hint of judgment. “How else would you get to live a thousand lives in the span of only one?
