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360 pages, Paperback
First published February 4, 2014

Pretty enough shell, empty insides. Now my shell wasn't so pretty anymore, yet I still used it to accomplish what I needed to.



I bruised faces and occasionally broke bones for a living, but I'd never left a woman feeling bad about herself. My dignified Long Island upbringing hadn't left me even though I now lived in a walkup in Brooklyn.

Guys like you, you think you know everything. You've got the world by a string, and it only ever unwinds the way you want it to. That's not how it is for the rest of us. We have to fight for what we want. We have to bleed.


My lungs seized up and I couldn't haul in enough oxygen. She surrounded me, drenching me in everything she was...that had somehow become all I wanted.

I wore my scars on my body because the internal ones had scabbed over and gone numb. If all I was destined to feel was pain, at least it was mine. This wasn't real. It couldn't be. Stuff like this didn't happen to girls like me.



“Welcome to this century. Women can do everything men can. Including fight.”
I wasn’t some quivery female caught in the storm of my emotions.
My knowledge of the thought processes of females was practically nonexistent.
I’d kill for her in reality, maybe because no one else ever had.
“I can deal with Sandra Bullock,” I muttered, grateful that Slater wasn’t around to hear me turn in my man card.
How could I be ready to listen to her talk about being hurt? How could I ever let her put her mouth on me and not think she was imagining a money transaction afterward?
By the time Mia emerged in her sports bra and a pair of tiny bike shorts that made her ass look like a pair of puffed-up marshmallows suspended on two sexy sticks, I was considering a number of sexual harassment suits.



