Oh, Racer McKay…You’re everything I could ever want in a book boyfriend. You’re funny, smart, good looking, sensitive, and just the right amount of cocky. Every word that comes out of your mouth either had me swooning or laughing. I’m so disappointed you’re not real. Although, I should probably be happy you’re not real because I would be a little scared of what Georgie would do with me drooling all over you.
That Georgie. She was Racer’s perfect match. I didn’t like her at first, but there was more to her than met the eye. Behind Georgie’s uppity, cool exterior was a down to Earth interior. She was one tough cookie. She could take what Racer dished out and give even more right back. They had one of the funnest hate to love stories that I’ve ever read. I don’t know when the last time I laughed so hard reading a book was.
I loved this book so hard. I knew I was going to because I haven’t met a Meghan Quinn book I haven’t loved. I have no idea where that woman comes up with the witty dialog and hilarious situations her character end up in, but it’s priceless! Her books are the perfect mix of sexy and funny. If you haven’t read one, you’re missing out.
“Thanks for lunch, I haven’t had a fine peanut butter and jelly sandwich in quite some time.” Racer takes a giant bite from one of three sandwiches I made him. The man can eat; I just want to know where he puts it all. “What is this, crunchy peanut butter?” He looks over the sandwich, studying it intently.
“Yes, it’s crunchy with mixed berry jam.”
He nods and takes another bite. He talks with his mouth full, which for some weird reason makes him oddly adorable. “Nice touch, George. The peanuts add a nice texture.”
“Are you going all food critic on my PB and J skills right now?”
Lifting his shirt, he dabs away some of the sweat that’s collecting on his forehead, beneath his backward hat. His abs flex with the movement, drawing my attention. Each divot calling out to me to touch, to examine . . . to lick.
“I think every human should be judged on their PB and J skills.”
I pull my eyes away from his stomach just in time not to get caught staring. “Why do you think that?”
“Because,” he takes another bite, “I think building a peanut butter and jelly sandwich is in everyone’s repertoire, but only the truly skilled know how to make a proper one. And I want to be friends with the truly skilled.”
“Is that so?” I take a drink of my green tea and study him for a second, watching the way the muscles in his jaw move with each bite and swallow. It’s sexy.
His neck is sexy? Is that possible?
“So where do I land on your scale of sandwich artists?”
He smiles from my term, and I realize how much I adore his boyish charm. Pulling his eyes away from me, he examines one of the sandwiches I made him and starts assessing it. “Good ratio of peanut butter to jelly. Nice choice in bread. The crunch you added has been a pleasant surprise, and the mixed berry jam is fucking delightful.” I giggle from his girly term. “But . . .”
I perk up; there’s a but? “But what?”
He quirks his mouth to the side, almost to say, “Sorry, but you’re not quite perfect.” “The bread, it should have been toasted. Toasting it would have taken you to boss level when it comes to the PB and J.”
He nods and takes another bite. “When you don’t toast a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, the peanut butter and bread form a paste on the roof of your mouth. Even though it tastes good, it can get quite irritating.”
“But I didn’t have a toaster.”
“Well, If I knew I was going to be critiqued, I would have sprung for bacon.”
He pauses mid bite and stares at me over his sandwich. “You’re a beast for bringing up the option.”
I polish off the rest of my sandwich and wipe my fingers. “Well, maybe next time you’ll communicate expectations better. I’m not a mind reader, Racer. Frankly, the fact I didn’t make boss level is on you, not me.”
I stand and gather my trash as he stares me down. “Don’t you turn this on me. You didn’t have a toaster. The toaster is what’s key. This is on you, Georgie. This is on you!” he calls out as I make my way to the back, laughing to myself the entire time.