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254 pages, Kindle Edition
First published May 20, 2013
“Kate Brooks is officially scratched off my list of potentials. She is forbidden, untouchable, a no-way-never. Right next to my friends’ ex-girlfriends, the boss’ daughter, and my sister’s best friends.
Well, that last category is a bit of a gray area.”
“Once again, to the ladies out there — here’s a fact for you: Men pretty much have sex on the brain twenty-four-seven. The exact figure is like every 5.2 seconds or some shit like that.
The point is, when you ask, “What do you want for dinner?” we’re thinking about screwing you on the kitchen counter. When you’re telling us about the sappy film you watched with your girlfriends last week, we’re thinking about the porno we saw on cable last night. When you show us the designer shoes you bought on sale, we’re thinking how nice they would look on our shoulders.
I just thought you’d want to know. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“If we’re going to work together, Drew, I think we’re should get a few things straight. I’m not your sweetheart. My name is Kate — Katherine. Use it. And I’m not a kiss-ass. I don’t have to be. My work speaks for itself.”
“It makes me want to kiss her and strangle her at the same time. I’ve never been into S&M, but I’m beginning to see its benefits.”
“Fuck, yeah. That’s good. Yeah, like that.“
See that guy—black suit, devilishly handsome? Yeah, the guy getting the blow job from the luscious redhead in the bathroom stall? That’s me. The real me. MBF: Me Before Flu.
So, like I said what you’re seeing right now isn’t the real me. I have the flu.
Influenza.
Have you ever noticed some of the worst sicknesses in history have a lyrical sound to them? Words like malaria, diarrhea, cholera. Do you think they do that on purpose? To make it a nice way to say you feel like something that dropped out of your dog’s ass?
But I have rules—standards, you might say. One of them is no screwing around at the office. I don’t shit where I eat, I don’t fuck where I work. Never mind the sexual harassment issues it would bring up; it’s just not good business. It’s unprofessional.
And she works here. In my office, where I have sworn to never…ever…screw around. Her warm, soft hand slides perfectly into mine, and two thoughts enter my head simultaneously.
The first is: God hates me. The second is: I have been a naughty, naughty boy for most of my life, and this is my payback. And you know what they say about payback, right?
Yep. She’s one hairy bitch.
“Well, you could do the noble thing and bow out.” Yeah—like that’ll happen.
“In your dreams.”
I smirk. „Actually my dreams involve you bending over something…not bowing.”
She makes a disgusted sound. “Could you be any more of a pig?”
“I was kidding. Why do you have to be so fucking serious all the time? You should learn how to take a joke.”
“I can take a joke,” she tells me, sounding insulted.
“Yeah? When?”
“When it’s not being delivered by a childish jackass who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
“I am not childish.”
God’s gift on the other hand? My record speaks for itself.
“Oh, bite me.”
I wish.
„Nice comeback, Kate. Very mature.“
“You’re a jerk.“
„You’re a…an Alexandra.”
She pauses a second and looks at me blankly.
“What the hell does that even mean?”
Think about it. It will come to you.
Kate walks into her office and closes the door, leaving me standing on the outside. This is where men got the shitty end of the stick, people. When God gave Eve that extra rib? He should have given us something extra too. Like mental telepathy.
I once heard my mother tell my father that she shouldn’t have to explain why she was pissed. That if he didn’t already know what he’d done wrong, then he wasn’t really sorry for it. What the fuck does that even mean? Newsflash, ladies: We can’t read your thoughts. And frankly, I’m not entirely sure I’d want to. The female mind is a scary place to be.
Oh yeah. Just one more little detail you should know: I haven’t gotten laid in twelve days.
Twelve days.
Two hundred and eighty-eight sex-free hours. I can’t calculate the minutes—it’s too depressing. Remember all work and no play makes Drew a cranky boy? Well, at this point, Drew is practically a goddamned psychopath, okay?
Because you know how some people have gay-dar? Well, I have dump-dar. That means I can pick out a recently dumped female a mile away. They’re easy pickings. All you have to tell them is that their ex is an idiot for letting them go, and they’ll be begging you to nail them.
now falls into the aforementioned dumped category. Should be a sure thing, right?
Just so you know, men don’t expect a woman to smell like Winter Pine or Niagara Falls or whatever the fuck those feminine products say. It’s a pussy—it’s supposed to smell like one. That’s the fucking turn on.
I read an article once that said having sex extends the human life span. At this rate, Kate and I are going to live forever. I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve done it. It’s like a mosquito bite—the more you scratch, the more it itches.
I’m just glad I bought the extra-large box of condoms at Costco.
Did you know that if you put a frog in boiling water, he'll jump out? But, if you put one in cold water and heat it slowly, he'll stay in. And boil to death. He won't even try to get out. He won't even know he's dying. Until it's too late.
Men are a lot like frogs.
If, by some catastrophe, I might as well shave my head and move to frigging Tibet. I hear the monks are hiring.
You have no idea how important regular sexual gratification is for us. It's crucial. Vital.
I'll explain.
In 2004, UCLA conducted a survey to determine how highly women valued getting off in relation to other daily activities. You know what they found? Eight in ten--that's eighty percent--said if given the choice between sex or sleep, they would choose sleep.
In that same year, NYU conducted its own study. With rats. They implanted electrodes in the brains of male rats and put two buttons in their cages. When the lucky little bastards pushed the blue button, the electrodes triggered an orgasm. When they pushed a red button, they were given food.
Care to guess what happened to all the rats?
They died.
They f@cking starved to death.
They never pushed the red button.
Need I say more?
Anyway, here I am. Stuck in my own little cage with no goddamn blue button. But…
Pussy whipped, thy name is Drew.
Yeah, I know. It's okay. I don't mind. 'Cause if this is the Dark Side? Sign me up. Seriously. Don't be surprised if I start skipping down the street singing, "Zip-a-Dee-fucking-Doo-Dah." I'm that happy.
FUN STORYLINE + HILARIOUS DIALOGUE + HOT HERO & KICKASS HEROINE = 5 STAR WORTHY WINNING COMBINATION.
And reading this story from the point of view of a guy like Drew? Pure fun and entertainment, I assure you! ;)
Let's meet the man of the hour shall we...
"See that guy - black suit, devilishly handsome? The guy getting the blow job from the luscious redhead in the bathroom stall? That's me. The real me. MBF: Me Before Flu."
"The first is: God hates me. The second is: I have been a naughty, naughty boy for most of my life, and this is my payback. And you know what they say about payback, right? Yep. She's one hairy bitch."
**
"Edward Cullen can take his stupid heroine and OD on it. Kate is my own personal brand of Viagra."
**
"Would he open his bedroom door and let some other guy screw his wife? Okay, that was too far. I take it back - considering his wife is my mother. Forget I ever referred to my mother and screwing in the same sentence. That's just wrong...on so many levels."
**
"For God's sake, don't let her watch Cinderella. What kind of example is that? A mindless twit who can't even remember where she left her damn shoe, so she has to wait for some douchebag in thights to bring it to her? Give me a friggin break."
**
"Kate, if I throw myself in front of a bus,
will you come visit me at the hospital?
Drew
PS - try not to feel guilty if I don't survive. Really."
Drew Evens is a typical womanizer. Girls line the streets for him and he's never had to seduce a woman before.
"I've never seduced a woman before. Shocking, I know. Let me clarify, I've never had to seduce a woman before, not In the typical sense. Usually it takes a look, a wink, a smile. A friendly greeting, maybe a drink or two. After that, the only verbal exchange involves short one-word phrases like harder, more, lower...you get the point."
"She's magnificent - angelic - gorgeous. Pick a word, any fucking word. The bottom line is, for a moment, I forgot how to breathe."
Not only can he not stop thinking about her, she's also become his new close co-worker and if there's one rule he's never, ever broken beofre, it's that he never mixes business with pleasure. But for Kate he might be prepared to make an exeption...
"Women fall in love quicker than men. Easier and more often. But when guys fall? We go down harder. And when things go bad? When it's not us who ends it? We don't get to walk away. We crawl."
Then Drew did some things that were just not okay...
He messed up, badly .
But in the end, after some swoon-worthy Notebook-like attempts on Drew's behalf to make things right, the story does have a HEA.... *sigh*
There isn't one thing I didn't love about this book, from the dialogue to the main chracters and all the unique and funny side chracters like Alexandra aka "The Bitch", Mackenzie and Dee-Dee, I just enjoyed every minute of this fun, unique and hilarious story and ended up devouring it in one day...
Men are visual. We wouldn’t be fucking you if we didn’t want to look at you. You can write that down.
I control my dick. My dick does not control me.
I sleep naked, by the way. You should try it. If you haven’t slept naked, you haven’t lived. But thats beside the point.
For those ladies out there who are listening, let me give you some free advice: If a guy who you just met at a club calls you baby, sweetheart, angel or any other generic endearment? Don’t make the mistake of thinking he’s so into you, he’s already thinking up pet names. It’s because he can’t or doesn’t care to remember your actual name.
Deep down- I’m a momma’s boy. I’m man enough to admit it. And trust me, I’m not the only one. Explains a lot, doesn’t it?
Here’s a fact for you – once I’m done, I’m done. I’m not the kind of guy who rides the same rollercoaster twice
It makes me want to kiss her and strangle her at the same time. I’ve never been into S&M. But I’m beginning to see its benefits.
Edward Cullen can take his stupid heroine and OD on it. Kate is my own personal brand of Viagra.
Twelve days. Its a frigging record. I haven’t had a drought like this since the winter of ninety-nine.
“God! Oh God!”
“God’s not the one fucking you, baby.”
“Drew... Drew... yes... Drew!”
Much better.
“You have no sense of self-preservation, do you?” “No, not at the moment. I’m too focused on... fornication.”
I blame Adam. Now theres a guy who had the world by the balls. Walking around naked, a hot chick to satisfy his every whim. I sure hope that apple was tasty, ‘cause he really fucked it up for the rest of us.
“Women fall in love quicker than men. Easier and more often. But when guys fall? We go down harder. And when things go bad? When it's not us who ends it? We don't get to walk away.
We crawl.”
“It makes me want to kiss her and strangle her at the same time. I’ve never been into S&M. But I’m beginning to see its benefits.”
“Because I had a life once. A life I loved. It was consistent. Fun. It was reliable. Safe. And then one night, a beautiful dark-haired girl came along and blew it all to kingdom come.”
“Newsflash, ladies: We can’t read your thoughts. And frankly, I’m not entirely sure I’d want to. The female mind is a scary place to be.”
“My stomach flips with regret and disappointment. What I wouldn’t give for a time machine.”
“So that’s it. That’s my story. The rise. The fall. The end.”
“I tell them how it is, give them a good time and then the cab fare home. Thank you, good night. Don’t call me, ’cause I sure as shit won’t be calling you.”
“Newsflash, ladies: We can’t read your thoughts. And frankly, I’m not entirely sure I’d want to. The female mind is a scary place to be.”
“I’m Drew, by the way.” I hold out my hand. “And you are?”
She holds up her hand. “Engaged.”
“Although my mind recognizes that Kate Brooks is now my rival, apparently my c~ck hasn’t gotten the memo.”
“I told you how I grew up. I never had to share my toys; I don’t plan on sharing my clients. Ask any four-year-old—sharing sucks.”
“I’ve gone cold turkey. Completely. I haven’t even jerked off. Not once. In nine frigging days. I think the buildup of semen is starting to affect my brain. Like sugar to a diabetic.”
"If a guy who you just met at a club calls you baby, sweetheart, angel,
or any other generic endearment? Don’t make the mistake of thinking he’s so
into you, he’s already thinking up pet names.
It’s because he can’t or doesn’t care to remember your actual name."
“Sally Jansen.”
I look at him blankly.
Who?
“Sally Jansen,” he says again, then clarifies, “Third grade.”
The picture of a small girl with light brown pigtails and thick glasses
comes to mind.
I nod. “What about her?”
“She was the first girl I ever loved.”
Wait. What?
“Didn’t you used to call her Smelly Sally?”
“Yes.” He nods solemnly. “Yes, I did. And I loved her.”
Still confused.
“Didn’t you get, like, the entire third grade to call her Smelly Sally?”
He nods again and, trying to sound sage, says, “Love makes you do some
stupid shit.”
I guess so, because…
“Didn’t she have to leave early twice a week to go to a therapist because
you ragged on her so much?”
He ponders this a moment. “Yes, that’s true. You know, there’s a fine
line between love and hate, Drew.”
“And didn’t Sally Jansen switch schools later that year because—”
“Look, the point here, man, is that I liked the girl. Loved her. I thought
she was awesome. But I couldn’t deal with those feelings. I didn’t know how
to express them the right way.”
Matthew’s not usually this in touch with his feminine side.
“So you picked on her instead?” I ask.
“Sadly, yes.”
"Just so you know, men don’t expect a woman to smell like Winter Pine
or Niagara Falls or whatever the fuck those feminine products say. It’s a pussy—it’s supposed to smell like one. That’s the fucking turn on."
"Actions win wars. Actions heal wounds. Not words. Words are cheap.
Mine, in particular, have the combined value of pocket lint at the moment."
"Assume nothing. Even if you think you know everything. Even if you're sure that you're right. Get confirmation. That whole "ass" cliché about assuming? It's right on the money. And if you're not careful, it could end costing you the best thing that's ever happen to you."
"Women fall in love quicker than men. Easier and more often. But when guys fall? We go down harder. And when things go bad? When it's not us who ends it? We don't get to walk away. We crawl."
"She's like a Rubik's Cube. So frustrating at times that you want to toss it out the goddamn window. But you don't. You can't. You're compelled to keep playing with it until you figure it out."
I will keep this short..
RESISTANCE IS FUTILE...
You need to read this book...
You will love him and his mind...
this was Earth shattering. Off the Richter Scale.
For those ladies out there who are listening, let me give you some free advice: If a guy who you just met at a club calls you baby, sweetheart, angel, or any other generic endearment? Don’t make the mistake of thinking he’s so into you, he’s already thinking up pet names. It’s because he can’t or doesn’t care to remember your actual name.
Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a bad guy. I don’t lie; I don’t sandbag women with flowery words about a future together and love at first sight. I’m a straight shooter. I’m looking for a good time—for one night—and I tell them so. That’s better than ninety percent of the other guys in here, believe me. And most of the girls in here are looking for the same thing I am. Okay, maybe that’s not exactly true. But I can’t help it if they see me, fuck me, and suddenly want to bear my children. That’s not my problem.
Old women have a thing for me. And I don’t mean a pinch-my-cheek, pat-me-on-the-head kind of thing. I mean a grab-my-ass, rub-my-junk, why-don’t-you-push-my-wheelchair-into-the-broom-closet-so-we-can-get-nasty kind of thing. It’s fucking disturbing.
No, I haven’t fucked her. Not that I wouldn’t love to. Trust me, if she didn’t work for me, I’d hit that harder than Mohammed Ali.
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The way I see it, I could still go for the gold. Technically speaking, I didn’t meet Kate at work; I met her in a bar. That means she could forgo the label of “coworker” and retain the “random hook-up” status with which she was originally designated. What? I’m a businessman; it’s my job to find loopholes.
✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻
As she starts to speak, my mind is suddenly filled with every hot-teacher fantasy I’ve ever had. They’re playing out in my mind right next to the ones about the seemingly sexually repressed librarian who’s really a leather-wearing, handcuff-bearing nymphomaniac.
✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻
Then I flip Kate the finger. Immature, I know, but apparently we’re now both functioning at the preschool level, so I’m guessing it’s okay. Kate sneers at me. Then she mouths, You wish. Well—she’s got me there, now doesn’t she?
✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻
"I can take a joke," she tells me, sounding insulted.
"Yeah? When?"
"When it’s not being delivered by a childish jackass who thinks he’s God’s gift to women."
"I am not childish."
God’s gift on the other hand? My record speaks for itself.
"Oh, bite me." I wish.
"Nice comeback, Kate. Very mature."
"You’re a jerk."
"You’re a…an Alexandra."
✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻✻
Mackenzie raises her hand proudly. “I have a bagina.” I smirk. “Yes, you do sweetheart. And someday, it’s gonna help you rule the world.” “Johnny Fitzgerald has a penis. He say his penis is better than my bagina.” “Johnny Fitzgerald’s an idiot. Vaginas beat penises every time. They’re like kryptonite. Penises are defenseless against them.”
No guy talks to his friends about sex with his girlfriend. Ever
“Women fall in love quicker than men. Easier and more often. But when guys fall? We go down harder. And when things go bad? When it's not us who ends it? We don't get to walk away.
We crawl.”
“God, she’s beautiful. I mean, look at her. She’s like a volcano going off—fierce and fiery and breathtaking. If she doesn’t find a way to ugly herself down, I’m going to be spending an awful lot of time pissing her off. Which might not be such a bad thing in the end. Angry sex is awesome.”
“It’s simple guy logic: If a woman is angry? It means she cares. If you’re in a relationship and a chick can’t even be bothered to yell at you? You’re screwed. Indifference is a woman’s kiss of death. It’s the equivalent of a man not interested in sex. In either case—it’s over. You’re done.”