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338 pages, Kindle Edition
First published December 1, 2022
This is why I love her writing so much, she writes real people, living in the real world. It feels so intimate, like being wrapped up in a massive cozy blanket in the middle of a snow-storm, by the fire, with the best book in hands and hot chocolate. She turned one of the least popular tropes into the most comforting and passionate read out there. You guys are going to love this one.
“You’re sure you’re actually a doctor?” he asks, looking around. “Because you live like a teenage girl who just profited from a sex tape with Kanye.”
“What do we say to explain when we’re not together anymore?”
“Oh, you’ll have to dump me. I need to remain blameless. But don’t worry, they’ll all still secretly blame me.” She tilts her head"
“Unless I tell them you hit me.”
I stare at her in shock. “Keeley, no. You’re not telling them I hit you.”
She sighs. “Then you come up with a plan.”
“No one really likes museums or art galleries or churches, Graham. It’s just an excuse to get dinner and drinks. You know, ‘hey, let’s meet at the Getty, and grab a drink afterward.’”
“I’m pretty sure there are people who actually enjoy museums and galleries.”
“Boring people,” I reply"
"I then buy her more dog treats than she should eat in a year and feed her half of them on the way home, but again, she’s very little and probably needs food. Just as we reach the house, though, she vomits. Because of me."
"My plan is to attain the exact right amount of fame: the sweet spot where I get pretty clothes and Khloe and I are workout buddies, but where I can still do whatever I want and talk to whomever I want, and I’m only recognized when it’s convenient for me—like when I need to cut in a line or get a table somewhere. "
Audio book source: Audible
Story Rating: 4 stars
Narrators: Wen Ross & Samantha Brentmoor
Narration Rating: 4 stars
Genre: Romance
Length: 9h 41m
“Your fuck-up does not mean you get to police my spending habits.”
“My fuck-up? I’m pretty sure I didn’t create this situation on my own.”
“Look, my vagina is always right here,” I say, waving in its vicinity. “It’s your sperm that somehow were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m not sure how that’s my fault.”