Reviewed by jamiereadthis on
Now, hurrah, I know I’m not broken. It’s just liking a different flavor of ice cream. I can enjoy the story without wondering what it says about me, or wanting what it offers, or better yet, worrying about what’s normal and what’s not. It’s fun, and there’s some great banter, and I love what it does with both sports and anxiety, and if it’s your flavor of ice cream you’ll find it smoking hot.
I was set to praise it too on the lack of possessiveness, but then Zaf did get all possessive and growly, which couldn’t be shown as a flaw because he has zero flaws. (This is one flaw with the book.) Le sigh. And I do get how that’s a popular flavor of ice cream, but I don’t care how many puppies and kittens you cuddle, growl “mine” at me and you’re out the door, buddy. So let’s say I knock off some points for that, but I’ll add some back for the narration, which was nice enough that I’d seek out Ione Butler so she can read me more books.
In sum. I love the genre. I’m happy I can like books like this one without stressing over why I’m not hot and bothered. It’s just one template of very, very many for what love, sex, and relationships look like. And for those who read it and find themselves represented— rock on.
P.S. Fair warning, the next thing I’m going to start pushing back on, after possessiveness, is the ingrained belief that you can’t care about [insert passion here, usually a job] unless you work around the clock and stress yourself sleepless to prove you are a Good Person. Even when that plot exists, like it does here, so people can show they care, I’m ready to get past that step and not even validate it as a thing in the first place. Like Schitt’s Creek and homophobia. Instead of responding to it, make a world where it doesn’t exist. Take a nap! Read twenty Nap Ministry posts. Even in books, the grind is exhausting.
Reading updates
- Started reading
- 5 July, 2020: Finished reading
- 5 July, 2020: Reviewed