These women are good for one thing, and she seems more than ready to go.
I’d never take a woman to my place. Seems to me if a guy brings a woman home she suddenly feels like she can set up house. Before he knows it, she’s making breakfast and stuffing his bathroom drawers with tampons. Poor shmuck looking for a one-night stand finds himself with a live-in wife. When she finally does leave, the guy’s fucked because she knows where he lives. He never calls, but she doesn’t care. She’ll just show up at his house or, even worse, drive by or park across the street and stalk him.
Because the heroes are allowed to be ginormous assholes, and the reader is supposed to find them sexy.
“Yeah, bitch. Except it’s not a girl. It’s a mechanic who happens to be female.”
Because sexism is supposed to be funny. Or something. I honestly don't know anymore what its point is in these books.
Because this is different. And the reason why it’s different kept me up all night. Every time I closed my eyes all I could see was her face. I would have brushed it off as a simple case of the I-wanna-screw-yous, but if that were true, I’d be picturing some other part of her anatomy. Not her face.
Because the hero is supposedly romantic when he doesn't see every woman as a piece of ass that he can fuck.
A girl who looks like her can’t be all that innocent.
Because women are what they wear, and only certain types of clothing attire is allowed.
How can I say no? Jonah Slade asks for a sleepover, the answer is always yes. It’s in the female handbook. She says no, she gets her membership revoked, right? If not, she should.
Because it tries to keep the illusion that all women have the same sexuality, and that only one type of sexuality is accepted.
“You fucking talk to her again I’ll put you in a coma right here.”
Because random threats of violence for no reason are apparently okay.
I decided I’d rather be a virgin lesbian than the slut daughter of a prostitute.
And because, screw this.