Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Ivy Vaughn is a fraud. The therapist turned podcaster tells tall tales about her flings with Spanish bullfighters while her nights remain dull. So when Romeo makes her a strange offer–a week of lessons in love if she plays his doting girlfriend–she agrees.
She used to playing a part. It should be easy, right?
Wrong. See, it’s one thing to fake wild stories.
It’s another to stare into Romeo’s dark eyes and whisper I adore you and not fall in love…
Pretty Woman meets Nobody Wants This is this witty, steamy romcom from USA Today bestseller Crystal Kaswell. For fans of Ali Hazlewood, Tessa Bailey, Helen Hoang, Emily Henry, Sally Thorne, Roxie Noir, Lauren Landish, and Christina Lauren
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
Ivy
Outside, the sun is shining. The sky is blue. The sort of blue that makes you feel at peace with the universe. Spring in the Mediterranean. Rebirth. Beauty in the world. Whatever.
But I'm not outside.
I'm inside, in a beautiful apartment in Barcelona. The sun shines through the big windows here. And it's so bright in my heart I can practically see the blue skies.
Because I'm here with a Spanish bullfighter. Naturally. It turns out Barcelona is full of Spanish men. Who would have guessed?
His apartment is in an old building, without an elevator, and the walk up the stairs is torture. We're that desperate to tear each other's clothes off.
It feels as if it takes him a million years to open the door. How can a door open this slowly. It must be the old architecture. Maybe Gaudi designed this building too. Maybe that was the only unique touch. Doors created solely to test the physical body.
Finally, he pushes the door open and whisks me inside—and against it all at once. And he whispers te quiero in my ear.
Te quiero.
Te necisisto.
Te—
I'm running out of Spanish dirty talk.
Which speaks to my own lack of learning. I've lived in Southern California for my entire life. How is it I don't speak this language? How is it I haven't at least had sex with a guy who whispered sweet nothings in Spanish in my ears?
I took three years of Spanish in high school. Surely, I can come up with something.
Dolce—
No, that's Italian. Or is it Latin? Or are they the same? Beso is kiss. Dammit. Meredith didn't write the rest of these lines.
Because that's the thing. I'm not really in Barcelona. And I'm certainly not alone with a bullfighter. I've never even been to Spain.
This story, like all my dirty stories, belongs solely to my producer Meredith.
Because I, Dr. O, host of the county-famous podcast Sex and the OC, am a liar.
Thankfully, podcasts aren't radio. We're not live. Meredith and I pause to go over the details, then we record the way we always do.
I finish the spicy story, in gritty detail. The way my body hummed when the bullfighter touched me. The feeling of my hands against his skin. The sound of his voice in my ear.
The thrill of sex with a stranger.
The silly role-play games we played. We took turns as the bull and the rider.
I'm not sure how that works, actually. The riding itself, I see that. Obviously. I can ride him. He can ride me.
But what about the flag? Did she really chase him around the room waving his t-shirt?
She must feel silly doing something like that.
Or maybe not. That's Meredith. She's an uninhibited freak (her words). I'm… a PhD. I know everything there is to know about sex and nothing about how to apply that knowledge.
But, hey, that's why I'm here, hosting a podcast, not there, in Barcelona, fucking bullfighters.
I'm good here. I'm really good here.
Finally, after we pull a few "tips and tricks" from the story, we move to my favorite part of the show. Caller questions.
I take a quick break to use the bathroom and fix a cup of tea—I need to keep my throat warm, so I don't wear out my vocal cords—then I settle into the studio.
The studio is a small space, one we rent by the day (a big upgrade from my closet), but, at this point, it feels like home. Blue walls, black egronomic chairs, fat microphones, glass walls.
Outside the "recording space," there's a big mixing board (that's where Meredith is, on a chair of her own), with a big couch, and a bunch of posters.
I feel like a rock star here. Like all my middle school dreams of singer-songwriter stardom came true. Only I'm sharing my best friend's secrets.
But that's a problem for another day. Now, it's my favorite part of the show:
Other people's problems.
I nod to Meredith, and she puts on the caller.
"Welcome to Sex and the OC. Tell me about your problem, Jane," I say. It's a little unusual, in this day and age, to actually line up callers. Most people use emails or Instagram messages or prerecorded emails. That's a lot easier, logistically speaking. But this is why we're the fastest growing sex and relationship podcast amongst women in their 20s.
This is why we're on the cusp of breaking into the mainstream.
Well, that and Meredith's special contribution.
That's the problem.
But a future problem.
"Well, uh," The caller speaks with a timid voice. One laced with a mix of shame and embarrassment. "The thing is. I can't come."
This is where I shine.
Shedding light on something most people would rather ignore.
Really, at this point, I've spouted the statistics so many times, my listeners should know them by heart. If Jane Doe (really, she gave the name Jane Doe), is a long-time listener, she should know most women struggle to come from penetration alone.