This story has its moments, at least, the protagonist could run for “best of bloopers” on YouTube, but while I love clever badinage (emphasis on clever) and hilarious, over-the-top romances, I'm not a fan of cringy insta-lust-insta-love-off-the-charts-libido stories.
When I pick a romance novel I want a quick read and a palate-cleanser, I’m not looking for the next literary masterpiece so as long as it's fun, grammatical, the sex scenes are decent and the heroine has a modicum of self-respect, I'm good to go.
I wasn't so lucky.
"When the elevator dinged its arrival, I lunged toward the doors, only to stop short when I took in the specimen before me. Oh my. If I had pearls, I’d clutch them. To describe this being as only but a mere man would be an egregious slight."
This should have been my first cue. The second wasn't long in coming:
“So,” I began against my better judgment. “You come here often?”
I tentatively lifted my hand to my forehead to see if I could actually feel the lobotomy scar. No one with a full brain said things like that.
“Do I come to this elevator often?” My wet dream incarnate asked. He laughed and it sounded like a combination of all the happy sounds ever. “No, I’m a first timer.”
“A virgin? Lucky for you, I can show you the ropes.”
This is not funny, not by a long shot. There’s more:
"“Sorry! I’m so sorry!” I was doing my best impression of Van Gogh’s The Scream."
....uh, verbatim. Then the two protagonists, stuck in the aforementioned elevator trade sibling stories and share food without a care in the world (and without raising tension or creating chemistry). If nothing else they wait for morning breath to get down to business:
“Well, if I had to get trapped in a decrepit elevator with anyone, I’m glad it was with you.” I smiled sweetly and brushed the hair out of my face, only to get my fingers stuck in a veritable rat’s nest. [...] Cole helped extract my hand from my hair with no small effort. “The feeling is mutual, and I think you look quite stunning.”"
Orly?
“I was wondering, since we’ve technically spent the night together, if it would be too forward of me to kiss you?”
I'm all aflutter.
"Cole leaned forward and moved his hand to the back of my neck. Time slowed to a snail’s pace. It was not without great restraint that I stifled a moan when our lips connected. I wanted to change my forwarding address to those lips."
Clearly the author was going for comical and, curious, I plodded along.
"He stopped kissing me abruptly and my lips started going through the five stages of grief.”
(hint: I should have stopped, too).
“I think I’m doing this backward.”
“Backward is good. I’m okay with backward.”
Oh, good, at least we’re going somewhere. It’s getting better! Not:
"I gently kissed the tip of his beef whistle, and it jerked at my touch."
A few lines later:
"Swallowing a mouthful of baby juice wasn’t the ideal ending for a location without access to running water"
I agree but is this supposed to be fun? I made it as far as "He shifted himself so that his flesh flute was aligned with my lady garden." then skimmed a few pages and all too soon my eyes landed on some “Fuck, baby, you feel amazing,” and “Oh, fuck, baby!”
... Well. I can't connect with this brand of humour. Bottom line, this is probably an entertaining book but not for me. DNF at 20%.