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361 pages, Paperback
First published January 10, 2023
"My bookstagram and BookTok accounts—niche corners of the internet where literature-obsessed folks bond over books—are thriving."
"I’ve been attempting to learn a TikTok dance for her, a painful endeavor I do not recommend to anyone over twenty years old."
"Indeed. And a secret baby too. My favorite.”
"When the meeting was adjourned, I overheard him updating another doctor in the lounge about my ex-boyfriend search after my latest social media update,"
"He went on to ramble about how embarrassing and unprofessional it is to post these things and how I must have “scared off the other nine.”
“I’ve always said your books and movies have filled your head with unrealistic expectations. Men aren’t like that in real life. And I think it’s time you finally accept the fact that life isn’t a fairy tale.” If I had a dollar for every time Seth whined that my books were tainting my expectations of real relationships, I’d be a baller."
"I stomp past him, back to the ballroom, imagining I’m in Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” music video, strutting out of the Seth hellfire that’s marked too many years of my life."
"I was supposed to get off on his skill set alone (lol)."
"to make themselves feel better (*cough* Seth *cough*)."
”Should I trust you, deliriously handsome stranger?”
His mouth shapes into a crooked smile as he stands, towering over me on the bathroom floor. “Nah. Probably not.”
I think I would sell my soul to have more of him, in any way I can.
”Okay, that got dark real fast. This is why you should never trust strangers with candy,” Trevor warns.
“Technically you’re a stranger, with Cheetos,” I remind him, fishing a rogue Cheeto from the floor. I toss it in the trash can next to the sink.
“You’re a stranger too. In my bathroom. Who knows what you’ve done to my toothbrush.”
”Trevor James Metcalfe,” I repeat, loving the way it rolls off my tongue.
“Say my name again,” he orders, his voice low and gravelly. I do as I’m told, three times over. “There is no one like you, Tara Li Chen.”
Every time he smiles or laughs (or, God forbid, both), I lose all circulation in my limbs. With every accidental touch or brush of skin when we’re on the couch or in our tiny kitchen, I’m spellbound to the point of doing just about anything he asks of me.
”I’ve never wanted someone so bad in my entire life. You’ve wrecked me.”
”That dress looked so fucking perfect on you,” he tells me, tossing the blue fabric aside.
I shiver as he unhooks my bra, trailing kisses along the underside of my jaw. “My followers wanted this.”
“None of your followers wanted it more than me.”
Instead, he moves a strand of hair behind my ear, more gently than I thought possible, breath coming down in pulsing waves against my neck. “Are you okay?” he whispers.
“More than okay.”
“You’re gonna be the death of me, Chen.”
“I’ve never wanted someone so bad in my entire life. You’ve wrecked me.”
He's [...] secure enough in his manhood to admit his fondness for Taylor Swift's latest album. Creatures like him are a romance reader's wet dream. The man just oozes soul mate potential, and I'm eagerly absorbing it like a ShamWow.
"You're a stranger too. In my bathroom. Who knows what you've done to my toothbrush."
Despite being objectively hot, tattooed bad boys like Trevor are not normally my type. It's the white-collar sort with front-pleated chinos, cross-country runner bods, and boy-next-door-turned-respectable-plant-daddy energy that usually make me feel some type of way.
He gave her his best flirty eyes, practically impregnating her on the spot, turning her cheeks to Red Delicious apples.
My entire life, I've been a notoriously picky eater. Dad used to make me sit at the table for hours until I finished my dinner. I'd hold out until he'd cave and make me something I liked, like nuggets. Even two weeks ago, Crystal and Scott tried to make me eat a piece of cooked asparagus and I almost cried because of the texture.
"Nah, bro," he says, like old-school Justin Bieber casually appropriating Black culture.
"When I asked why he stopped talking to me, he said it was because I was too 'clingy' and 'crazy.' Can you believe he called me crazy?" I demand. "In fact, he said, and I quote, 'The hotter the girl, the crazier she is.' He even tweeted about it. Hashtagged #CrazyExGirlfriend."
"If I were a spy, I wouldn't be living in our shitty apartment. And I most definitely wouldn't live with a roommate who never stops talking. You'd blow my cover for sure."
"Didn't he give you solid advice for grand-gesturing Scotty?" Last summer, Crystal broke up with Scott temporarily when a photo of the two of them went viral and a bunch of trolls fat-shamed her. Trevor helped her orchestrate a grand apology right here in the gym where they first met.
The corner of his mouth quirks up when he notices me blatantly ogling him like a tiger awaiting a hunk of raw, bloody meat to be tossed into its enclosure. I think I may have just ovulated.
I'm not entirely sure how we segued from a G-rated conversation about our old teachers to NSFW sexting.
Trevor pokes my shin under the water with his toe. "Don't lump all of us in with him. Not every guy is a cheater."
Have I really had a lifetime of rusted Honda Civic-equivalent kisses? Because comparatively, Trevor's kiss was like being behind the buttery leather wheel of Mel's Tesla. [...] It's taken every morsel of self-restraint I have (which isn't much) not to crumble like a rainbow chip cookie and demand a detailed explanation.
He peers up at me again. "Maybe you can be my therapist. I like talking to you."
My makeup is flirting dangerously close to raccoon chic. I resemble that meme of D.W. from Arthur, ominous purple circles shadowing her tired-AF eyes.
He’s not just the hero of my dreams. He’s the hero beyond my wildest imagination. The best part? He’s nonfiction.
❥ “If there’s anyone in this world I want to try for, it’s you,” he whispers.
❥ “Trevor, you are a million times better than any trope I could ever dream up.”
❥ "I needed to come home and tell you that I want all the things you want. That I’m capable of giving you everything. And I don’t want to go slow, because I can barely breathe when I think about living my life without you."