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Mark Twain once said, “Eat a live frog first thing in the morning and nothing worse will happen to you the rest of the day.”
I don’t know about tasting squishy guts from a biology project literally, but I am an expert in the exercise metaphorically. I’ve been training with Claude O’Connor at Shamrock Boxing Club first thing in the morning for the past five years, and I’ve yet to leave his gym without at least two new and mysterious pains.
About: This is a steamy and sweet enemies-to-lovers full of witty banter and snark. I loved everything about it. Here are a few of my favorite quotes from Best Frenemies:
When I look across the table, Anna is nodding at me. “Yes, Katy. Whatever you’re thinking right now, yes.”
“You don’t even know what I’m thinking,” I snap. “I could be plotting someone’s murder, and you’re just sitting there and encouraging it.”
She eyes me knowingly. “The only murder you’re plotting is of your vagina, and it’ll be from Mack Houston’s massively huge cock.”
Anna: If you tell me you’re with Mack, I will be so proud of you. Hell, I might have to send you a fucking Edible Arrangement or some shit to celebrate you finally realizing you should always take my advice.
An I-told-you-the-dick-was-big Edible Arrangement? That might be a new category for them.
“You want us to plan it?” Katy’s jaw looks like it wants to unhinge itself from her face. “Together?” Clearly, I am a demon, and Katy’s desperately searching for the number for an exorcist.
Going tit for tat with the man you hate is all fun and games until things get literal…and the jerk sees you naked.
My beach getaway was only supposed to include three things: relaxation, wine, and fun in the sun.
Mack Houston, on the other hand, should have never—ever—been involved.
In no uncertain terms, he’s the bane of my existence.
The thorn in my side.
The sexy Mr. Good-Time Guy who drives me up the wall and my work archnemesis for the past five years.
He’s the last person I want to get stuck anywhere with—it’s bad enough that I have to see him every day at work—and yet, because of a booking error (or curse of the universe, as I like to call it), I’m stuck in the same vacation rental with him for an entire week.
I’m going to end up in jail.
Or worse, I might just give in to the insane urge to find out if his lips are really as kissable as they look.
One way or the other, disaster feels imminent.