Page 47 of My Rules

He rolls his eyes. “That’s a load of crap, and you know it.”

“Well, why haven’t we sold one? Not a single hit.”

“It’s early days.” He puts his pile of books down and flops onto my couch. “Relax.”

I let out a deep, deflated breath. “Maybe we need to do better photos?”

“Possibly.” He rubs the backs of his fingers over his stubble as he thinks. “Is there fisting in your books?”

“What?” I screw up my face in horror. “No.”

“What about fisting frenzies—any fisting frenzies?”

“I thought you wanted to learn how to be romantic?” I gasp.

“I do. I do.”

I widen my eyes. “A fisting frenzy is how you want to be romantic?”

“Yeah.” He widens his eyes back. “It is, actually.”

“Eww.”

“You don’t like fisting?” He raises an eyebrow in question.

“No. I do not.”

He sits forward, as if interested. “Ever tried it?”

“Never have. Never will.”

“Ha,” he huffs as he sits back. “Famous last words. You all say that.”

Did he fist Taryn?

The thought turns my stomach. “You’re repulsive.”

“Many women find me irresistible.”

“Yeah, well, they have giant, stretched-out vaginas, so they don’t count.”

He tilts his head to the side in silent agreement.

Knock, knock sounds at the front door.

“Who’s that?”

Blake rolls his eyes. “It will be Antony.”

“What does he want?” I begin to walk to the door.

“Probably some books.”

“He’s trying to learn how to be romantic too?” I squeak. What the hell is going on with these guys?

I open the door, and my face falls as I see John, my ex-husband; my hackles instantly rise. “What are you doing here?” I snap.

“Hi.” He gives me a lopsided smile as he brushes past me into the house, then stops suddenly when he sees Blake lying back on my couch.

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