Ave Michaels is an out-and-proud cynical romantic who never had her heart broken (considering she has to fall in love first.)
That is until, in order to get published, she has to prove she's a versatile writer by writing a romance novel.
Throw in a...
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"In Which Reality is the Calm Before a Clusterf*ck Storm"
(Pt. 1)
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"No trouble ever got fixed late at night," he said. "Midnight is for regrets."
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Holly Black, Red Glove
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(Still) The Arm Bar (gym), Behind The Garage
9:32PM-ish
"So that's what it feels like to meet the Pokémon Evolution* of yourself," Deck says in quiet contemplation, his chin propped on one hand with his pinky finger wedged between his lips.
I shoot him a wry, disbelieving look. "I don't see it, Carrot Top."
Deck ignores it, his eyes are still busy drinking in the bedeviled sight of the shop's latest ultimate eye candy.*
Of course, said eye candy just had to flex and expose the rippling sinewy muscles in his arms while he tested some of the weights lying around under Pops's and Jack's encouragement, causing more side-drool to drop from Deck's mouth.
It didn't help that he kept glancing in our direction every once in a while and making us look like a trio of worn-out nosey ass pervs, either. What's worse was the cold piercing look he kept aiming directly at me in a silent warning, distracting me from fully enjoying (moaning at) Dax's magical healing hands on my back.
Whatever, I shut my eyes, swallowing another deep guttural groan as I lean back towards Dax's knee. "Harder."
As if on cue, I could feel Ciaran's arctic gaze snap in my direction like a blast freezer* in the middle of summer.
Dax, who's been perfectly silent and resting his chin on top of my head, hovers his face above mine and effectively cuts the blonde giant from my line of sight.
"So-o-o-o," Dax starts slowly, his large meaty palms kneading the knots between my shoulder blades. "Whaddya think?"*
I grudgingly crack one eye open. "What do I think about 'what'?"
His brown eyes dart back and forth between the muscle show and me. "Do you"— his eyes resemble two crescent moons as he makes a weird pervy smile — "'wike' him?"
I snort, repositioning my jacket to drape all over my torso and lap. "Do I like him? Get real! A six-pack doesn't count as a personality."
Dax simply grins wider, pressing his knuckles down my spine. "I was referring to the dog, but since you're single-mindedly fixated on the guy-y-y"— he trails off as I give him the eye.
