Fortunately for my pride (as well as The Bean), I tend to crush on horses and books.
I stumbled across a new book during my internet forays this weekend, and now I can’t think of anything else. I MUST OWN THIS BOOK:
It’s a spoof on romance novels and the Twilight series. Need I say more?
Here is an excerpt:
“I wouldn’t drink that poison if I were you.”
He spoke with a slight accent, reminding Smella of a lonely soul from another place, another time. Or maybe just a British guy trying to sound like he was from nineteenth century Boston.
Smella’s eyes widened. Her gaze shot to the beer, then back to the stranger. “What poison?”
“You can’t pin anything on me!” The bartender hollered while stumbling backward, before falling against a shelf of beer mugs.
Locked in the stranger’s dark gaze, Smella ignored the sound of crashing glass. She was more interested in his perfectly kissable blood red lips and the cold, impenetrable aura that radiated off his stony features.
“Alcohol destroys your kidneys.” The stranger flashed a subdued smile, revealing pearly white, jagged teeth.
“You’re right.” Turning down her lips in disgust, Smella pushed away the offending glass. “Thank you for berating my choice of beverage. Throughout this novel, you may occasionally behave like a total control freak, but I know you are only concerned for my well-being, and because I am a woman, obviously I’m too stupid to act in my own best interest.”
Somewhere in the darkest recesses of her mind, she thought she heard the obese bartender scream, “Help me! I’m bleeding everywhere!” But she refused to let him ruin the romantic tension that she was trying to build with the tall pasty stranger. Leaning toward him, she playfully batted long lashes while twirling a lock of hair around her finger.
But the stranger didn’t respond to her flirtation. He was too busy pinching his nose and making a gagging sound.
She scooted back. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” He spoke through a wheeze. “I have to go.”
In a flash, he was gone.
Smella was confused, bewildered, frightened, rejected, vulnerable, hurt, self-conscious and irritated.
But never mind her PMS.
She was more concerned about her awkward encounter with the kind stranger.
It’s not the cleanest writing ever… but who cares? I think I may even want it just for the cover. I mean, kilts are sexy, right?