Title: AUTO IN
Genre: Adult Romance
Word Count: 99,000.
Genre: Action movies a la Quentin Tarantino, because Dante’s snarky and A.D.D. mind doesn’t have the patience for anything slower. Plus, making himself watch people get blown up or thrown off high-rise buildings helps numb him from the pain of loss after the tragic death of his brother.
Twenty-three-year-old Dante drives as fast as he’ll hop into bed with a Pick-Me-Up Princess. But it’ll take exposing the heart behind his bad boy reputation to contend with the buried spouse of his long-coveted coworker.
My prized reputation for being a love ‘em and leave ‘em playboy disintegrates more with each step I take. Right toward the break room. Where Noelle is crying. I’d rather donate my dick to charity.
But Noelle is soft and innocent, practically spending all her time between car insurance claim phone calls looking at pictures of puppies and kittens on the internet. She always cries when people die, taking the fatalities hard and the rare assholes even harder. But never has she thrown her headset down and walked off.
Definitely doesn’t help that being a guy and seeing a girl do that makes me switch into a pre-determined setting where I have no idea what needs to happen. Other than maybe giving them tissues and being very quiet. I’m far better at the “Here’s your tequila shot, sweetheart. I’ll drive and where did you say you lived?” interactions.
The Sovereign of Sensitive Feelings is sitting on a couch with her one-inch heels abandoned and her feet curled under her demure gray pencil skirt when I find her: shoulders shaking and a roll of toilet paper in her lap.
So I am officially useless.
I stroll over to the vending machine like it’s where I was going all along, getting a package of Twizzlers. Neither of us says anything when I plop down on the opposite end of the couch, tilting the opened package of dye-and-chemical-laden candy toward her.
“Cancer?” I offer politely, and Noelle gapes at me before bursting into tears.
Yeah, so that sucks.