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272 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2014
“Two under, DUI, speeding, no license, possibly stolen vehicle, resisting.”DNF @ 50%
“We. Are. Fucked,” Ro whispers.
“Yeah,” I whisper back, staring at Officer Hottie. “But it was so worth it.”


“You,” he says. “ID.”He is so not interested in Gia, because hello, she is 17.
I turn to look up at him and he looks back at me and something like the wattage they must use for the electric chair shoots through me from head to toe. Because the cop is about the hottest thing on the face of the universe, and I am ready to roll on my back—but I mean, a cop?
Michael is probably horny and feeling guilty and conflicted in his cop role, but more than that, scared shitless because I’m seventeen, not to mention the don’s daughter.So not only is Gia pursuing a cop who is uninterested in her, she is pursuing a cop while being the daughter of the city's biggest crime boss.
“Gia. Someone like you does not fall for a cop. He wants to fry your tail. He wants your whole family to fry. He’s probably up nights fantasizing about locking up your dad, so wake the fuck up.”Clearly, not the wisest idea. She has seen Michael for all of one time before convincing herself that he is her One Twoo Wuv. He may act uninterested in her, but he's just lying to himself, because Gia KNOWS in her guts that Michael wants her.
If there’s one thing I am sure of, it’s that I have an unfailingly sharp radar when it comes to picking up vibes on how men feel about me. And even though, yes, I might be completely deranged, I am convinced that I just have to work on Michael Cross.


I’m headed for a bar filled with lowlifes because I’m blind with longing for the cop who busted me.Michael swears left and right that he's uninterested in her. Gia doesn't listen.
“You never called,” I say.
“Right.”
“You didn’t want to?”
His eyes meet mine and he looks away first. “I didn’t want to,” he says robotically, looking back at me with a steady stare.
“Liar.”


“This is fucked up, Gia,” he hisses. “Can’t you see that?”Gia's Idiocy:
“It’s not, Michael. It’s real.”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “It’s wrong.”
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like we ditch school and go joyriding and get picked up by hot cops on a regular basis. This was singular.Not quite. Gia is an "A student" who works hard for her grades. Or so she tells us. It's not true. Gia demonstrates nothing of intelligence in the book. She doesn't know what a "prototype" is. She smokes. She drinks. She does drugs. She barely spends a moment on her schoolwork and yet completely shames every single girl in school for their idiocy. If you are going to sell me an "intelligent" character, you better provide some fucking proof.
And omigod. It is undoubtedly. The. Hottest. Dress. In. The. Universe.It is a designer dress for a photoshoot, and Gia wants it. The people at the Vogue photoshoot won't let her have it. It's a one-of-a-kind dress.
“Start talking to them about buying the dress,” I whisper, pointing to it hanging over a chair.So it's time to pull the Mafia name into play.
“No,” I hear them say when he asks. “No, it’s impossible, impossible. We have to FedEx it back to Paris.”
But Frankie keeps pushing and takes out his fat roll and starts counting out the hundreds, then adjusts the Glock in his ankle holster, getting impatient, cursing them out, and within a split second, they are exchanging looks and then packing up the dress, which he got for just under a thousand dollars.















They call me Gia. Just Gia. Even the teachers taking attendance. Never mind my last name with the operatic mouthful of syllables and vowels. Unless you need a dinner reservation in a place that’s booked, then doors open and you get comped with antipasti and fritto misto, and after the main course when you’re stuffed, Napoleons and cannoli appear when you didn’t order dessert, and then we act impressed and my dad overtips.This book has a shockingly abysmal rating on Goodreads (2.96/5; not even books with massive hate clubs–think Twilight–have average ratings that low!), which I don’t think it deserves.
[A]nd then the pumpkin and chocolate pecan pies and the sugar cookies and espresso and tea and then after-dinner drinks, and then Frankie drops to the floor because he has a massive heart attack.This book is also, in part, a romance. It was the only part that didn’t really work for me.
The ambulance screeches up and the EMT guys give Frankie oxygen and it takes three of them to carry him out on a stretcher. By then everyone has switched over to speaking Italian because that way they feel closer to God and then they’re praying and throwing their hands up and everybody heads for their cars to follow the ambulance. (148-9)