It’s strange… Mike Haddican was a bit of an interloper for me in Heavy Issues and I had that weird meh feeling for him that you do for your brother’s friend that drives you nuts. I didn’t know if I liked him and I really had no clue he was getting a book. I think I may have been blinded by Max because he makes me melt and there is a desperately sad chance that all characters other than him paled or meh’ed in his stead. Continue Reading
Oh if I could have had a king size bar of James Reid back in the day, I’d have been socially acceptable in college. I had my own problems in my hay-days but my hazy days were not as bad as Fiona’s hazing days. It’s a long story… well actually it’s a book, but in a short summary: Fiona has decided that she is going to burn away the girl she once was in a blaze of glory in this new life known to all the normal people as higher education. At a concert where she is trying to push her way to the front row she encounters a great looking dude who challenges her rather devil-may-care stare with a try-me-sweet-thing look. This explodes into a fiery passionate hot time, in which Fiona finds herself in a locked closet with a stranger having the hottest sex of her life. Later to learn that he is the prize that she is not allowed to touch, talk to, know, acknowledge, look at, think of, or remember having ever having met due to the rules her sorority, Phi Delta Chi, have for winning a date with his magnificence with at the end of the year.
There is just one problem. James doesn’t want her to forget their interlude and he has no intention of letting her. Again, a problem I’d have given good money for during my days at Penn State. Continue Reading
I have a soft spot for college romances… most of mine weren’t worthy of putting crayon to paper but I love hearing people tell me of their cray-cray years in college when they sowed their oats, hops, and every other agricultural metaphor in use to say they ran wild in the sheets! I had a special sort of wild since I was bipolar and stupid–it made me a brilliant artwork of self destruction. I was a beautiful place to visit but you had to be nucking futs to live with me. So I think I love New Adult Romances because now I’m medicated and I can read these and go, “Is that how it was supposed to go? Well, shit!”
L.A. Rose is a beautiful place to visit and I would like to live here! I’ve read the second book in this place, James Games and I have Icy Pretty Love which I haven’t read but I highly doubt will be anything less than delicious. Why is L.A. Rose a locale that is so fine? I am a self-medicator where books are concerned. I like books that pull me out of my head and take me somewhere with a little less mental and usually the ones that make me laugh get extra mileage. The start to finish L.A. Rose owns it with this book. It’s not a surface story where you are hearing something being told… she is an amazekittens storyteller that brings you into that warm, funny, awkward, smexy space where you aren’t flipping pages–you have melded a little with Cleo Reynolds and you are feeling her hesitations, hearing her whisper her reminders in your own ears, and your heart is pounding when she is talking out that next love scene to Adrian. L.A. Rose is just that damn good! Continue Reading
Title: In Pursuit of Miriam
Author: Helen A. Grant
Release Date: August 6, 2014 (hard copy publication date: November 24, 2014)
Genre: Historical Regency Romance
You know all those things that girls and women with sand in their vaginas start yelling about not liking about books like this before you can say, ‘it’s really not like that’.
‘Porn? That guy is a slut.’
‘I don’t like books where there is cheating.’
‘It’s about the sex industry!’
I’m not here to argue with you. This book is just one of the ones that I loved most this year. Read it or don’t read it, you have sand in your crotch; I don’t care! This book is far better than all that silly crap you have been wibbly lipped, schmoozing about while being boozy over wine. It’s not worth it to me to convince you to read a fan-effin’-tastic book that has an INCREDIBLEFREAKINGSTORY that has spanked me twice and called me Sally, but then got it right and called me Ali. I know that there are just some dried up, sandy vaginas that wouldn’t know a good romance if it was strongly urged for them by a well informed book reviewer. I know no matter what I say you aren’t going to suck up your wrongly assumed preconceived notions to take the chance on it.
Sit back wino, and sip your Merlot. I’m sure you can find another Nicholas Sparks book that will be to your liking. He drops those like John Green drops facts, there will be something touching and monotonous in a few–I mean Nicholas Sparks is touching and monotonous, I find Mental Floss incredible titillating.
If there is one thing that can seduce me more than a hot body and all the sexy times that come with it is a snappy wit and finally tuned intelligence. I guess technically that is two things but for the sake of things let’s boil it down to BRAINS. It’s great and all to have eye candy but sooner or later you are going to have to look at your piece of heiney and talk to them and if they can’t get my mental vajay-jay stoked then it rolls over falls asleep and with boredom comes the inevitable shopping for a new plaything. Smarts are what make good partners hawt, hott, OUCH… sizzle! This goes for everything. Friends, lovers, books and people who want things from me. Word to the wise: Entertain me if you want something from me. I’m playful and appreciate banter, trivia, informality and originality. If you send me an email like you are emailing the CIA, I know you’ve never visited my website. Continue Reading
I do love the incorrigible young ladies who fail good manners. A young chit who steals into a library to nick a naughty diary of a courtesan? I’m sold! Miss Anne Middleton is not only my sort of woman, she is what I would hope my own daughters would aspire to be–well, were they not cats. Bunny is quite old fashion, she however would be a prudent feline and a wallkitten, never would she dally with anyone, nor steal a raunchy text or exchange titillating messages with an Earl–she would be a homekitten and I would have her with me into my dotage. Continue Reading
I picked this book up because it was in my Goodreads recommendations. I retain that fascination I’ve had since I was twelve for love affairs between Jane Doe and Famous Rocker/Actor/Model/PIRATE–And yes, whenever you encounter the word PIRATE, it must be spelled in all caps and said with a bit of a guttural growl and a look of grim constipation.
Most of the time books like Falling For the Ghost of You give me a few hours of happy. I get over it like all good things and I mellow back to that general, I might be bloating or it could be constipation feeling, then I read another book. This won’t be happening with this book. It was so hilarious that I was belly laughing so loud my husband thought I was emotionally unhinged and neck deep in psychotic hysterics. Continue Reading
Sometimes free books should cost millions of dinero… I don’t know do dinero have a decent value? Perhaps I should say millions of pounds, because the English pound is very high in value and this book is AMAZEKITTENS! It should cost you the price of a small, gorgeous island where you can drink endless mai-tais and sun bathe naked without fear of skin cancer. All hail Mimi Jean Pamfiloff because she has just become Queen of the Universe’s Best Library and Literary Babe of the Year! Fate Book was the best cost-me-nothing book that I’ve bought in the last few months. I’m not exaggerating, despite my enthusiasm–it’s just my natural state to be overly dramatic.
Okay, this is the last post of the Substitute Reviewer aka Melanie Ting. I feel that my hijacking of Ali’s blog may be causing her get better faster. She’s gasping, “Must get out of bed before that crazy author alienates all my readers.” And then dragging herself to the laptop and collapsing while dozens of cats lick her face and meow in sympathy. Meantime, here I am again.
I’m sure you have already committed my earlier review of Play The Man to memory. What? You haven’t? So, it’s only my mother who clips all my writing and pins it to the fridge? Darn. Well, here’s the 411 on Jaymee’s book: