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Answer: Yes, girl. You’re a pervert. Embrace the fact.
Though it’s not entirely my fault. Let’s be fair here. It should be illegal for a dude to be this hot. What chance do us mere mortals even have in the face of such sweaty perfection? We must drool and stare. There is no other option. For certain, his daily workout sessions have fast become my favorite offline porn. Yes, siree. The panty forecast is damp for the foreseeable future. And a girl can dream. After all, a guy like that wouldn’t even notice an IT nerd like me in the real world. Not even in the most desperate of times such as these.
How did my ex describe me again? As being not only socially, but image-challenged too. And since that particular memory cuts like a knife, I haven’t forgotten a single damn word. Is it any wonder I’ve turned only to my steadfast and true personal massager for love and comfort over the past few months? Plug it in to charge once a week and it’s good to go whenever I am. No need for tedious conversations or awkward first dates. Not even a single unsolicited dick pic. It’s the truth. My vibrator loves and respects me for who I am while real men do little other than suck. And not even in the good way.
I’m much better off just admiring Eamon from afar. My hopes and dreams can’t be crushed if I never actually attempt to get to know the guy. Both my ego and heart can stay safe. In my mind he can be a masterful lover, a best friend, a hero. But in real life he probably has mommy issues and an unfortunate rash downstairs. You know I’m telling the truth.
No. I will not go out onto the balcony and introduce myself. I won’t even risk a conversation.My poor messy heroine, Katie, is so fucked. Literally and figuratively by the end of the book, God willing. Lucky thing. I toss a yellow M&M into my mouth. I’m like one of those trained seals. Years of practice throwing candy into the air and catching it with my mouth. If my writing career grinds to a halt, I can always join a travelling circus and take it on the road. The amazing mouth-catcher lady. Throw it high and watch her dodge and weave! Blue candy is her favorite. Watch what she can do when you offer a blue morsel of candy-coated chocolate!
Sounds great. Not.
Which is why this book is so important. I’m months behind on my business plan, what with the muse going AWOL and all of the anxiety that is life in the year 2020. The fact is, you need a certain number of releases per year to stay relevant in the indie publishing world. Competition is fierce and the market is flooded. Staying on top of writing, publicity, and running a small business is no mean feat. Though the words are flowing now, and that’s what matters. Thank God.
But back to the subject of Evan/Eamon. I’ve never actually gone for a jock. However, you’ve got to figure their stamina would feature heavily in any sex sessions—which can only be a positive. So long as they’re not a selfish lay, of course. And our hero could never be that. Who the hell wants to read about a man who doesn’t believe in the fundamental laws of foreplay or declines to go down on a lady? No. Way. There’s enough of that kind of asshole-ishness in the real-world dating scene, thank you.
That’s probably why I stayed with Sean so long. A whole eleven months out of my twenty-eight years due solely to the fact that the dude didn’t leave me hanging in bed. You’d think I was led around by my clitoris. But the sad truth is, finding someone you’re sexually compatible with can be hard. No pun intended. And despite my mistaken attempt, you can’t base a relationship around your partner’s ability to make you come. Occasionally, you have to converse with them. Discuss your day. Share your stories. Act like you’re in a relationship outside of the bedroom. Jesus, was Sean dull. The boy was bland through and through. It’s like he actively resisted having anything interesting to talk about. Only ever read the financial news. Never stepped beyond the borders of his nice, neat, sensible, organized life. Bleh.
Then there was the whole thing where he said he supported my career, but showed absolutely no interest in anything outside of sales figures and the like. Didn’t want to hear me talk about possible plot ideas or share a little industry gossip. And it didn’t just relate to my job, either. He wouldn’t even listen to me whine the time someone keyed my car. And while I get no one wants to hear you talk about yourself twenty-four/seven, it seems only polite to not let your eyes glaze over the minute your woman mentions something about her life. Because why would we talk about my life when we could talk about tax breaks? The excitement! Ugh.
