So, I'm complaining about how hard it is to market my novels and going off on tangents that seem to have nothing to do with them. Enough of that. It's nice to vent but one can't do it all the time, right? Occasionally, we have to shift our focus onto the fun stuff. The spicy stuff.
Okay, let's get down to the nitty gritty. Remember Pretty Woman? This ain't that. Too formulaic. Too Julia Roberts. Anybody would fall in love with her in that latex miniskirt, you know?
She could have been the power suit and Richard Gere the prostitute. A simple story, either way, tied up in a pretty pink bow in 120 minutes on the silver screen to our "feel-good" satisfaction. This ain't that.
No, Christine Monroe may be a power suit and William Boone the sexy prostitute, but she doesn't fall in love with him. She's messed up, for one thing. And she's a lawyer, for another. Lawyers don't fraternize with the clientele. There's nothing formulaic about The Last Solo Roller.
No, William Boone has to work to get this customer between his sheets. At first, that's all he wants to do. Make a buck. Enjoy some sleazy sex. He loves sex. And he's fucking good at it. It's like a higher calling to him. A mission to make women happy, to raise their libidinal consciousness, to conquer the sexually dysfunctional world one vagina at a time.
And he meets his match in one very sexually dysfunctional woman. She twists his Jockey briefs into a tight bunch early on and he must spend the rest of The Last Solo Roller figuring out exactly how to get her to admit she loves him. Much less get her clothes off.
But, wait! The story doesn't end there. William Boone has a bunch of sexy secrets tucked down there in them Jockeys. He alludes to them in the first novel of the series, but I guarantee you'll enjoy the romp through that installment before you learn the truth about him in the second. And the third. And the fourth. And beyond.
You see, he's no ordinary midnight cowboy. Christine Monroe may be the ice maiden, but he's the god of love. And he will prevail.
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