This book is stick your hand down your pants in the middle of the day to flick the bean to hot!
This book isn’t a literary masterpiece, if that’s what you’re looking for this is not for you. There may even be times that you roll your eyes at the ridiculousness of this book, but let me tell you… I loved ever second of it! The goofy/outlandish nicknames and humor in this book is just what I needed.
Captain, my captain, is so over-the-top obsessed with Samantha/ Tessa that in real like I would be so completely freaked out over the extreme steps this man took to find her, but my fictional romantic heart sped up and had butterflies! I swooned and heart eyes.
This book was a classic case of missed connections, these two were right within each others reach and they didn’t know it and as other people figured out I was giggling out loud to myself because they were clueless. Gah… this book was perfection for me. I’m a huge fan of rom-coms, and this was a rom-com done right!
From, Lauren Rowe, the USA Today and International bestselling author of The Club Series and Ball Peen Hammer comes a sexy standalone romance: Captain.It wasn’t the way this kind of story was supposed to go . . . Insta-love isn’t supposed to turn into insta-hate.
But that’s exactly what happened when the hot-as-hell dreamboat I met in a bar turned out to be a lying, cheating scumbag-player-douche looking for nothing but a little side action. Jerk.
And he has the nerve to call me a liar and a “sociopath”? Assh*le.
And now, three months later, through a mind-blowing series of events I couldn’t have predicted in a million years, it turns out my boss is marrying his sister in Hawaii and I’ve got to play nice with him for an entire freaking week.
Okay, sure, I’ll put on a happy face this week and act like I’ve never even met the jerk before–did I mention his sister is marrying my boss?–but that doesn’t mean I’ll like it. And it certainly doesn’t mean I’ll stop secretly hating the cocky bastard’s guts.
Because I do.
I hate him.
I really do.
I just wish my brain would explain the situation to my body . . . because every time he flashes that panty-melting smile at me, it takes all my self-restraint not to jump the bastard’s hot-as-f*ck bones.