Page 74 of Money Shot

SIENNA

May 10th,2015

Throughout our relationship, I continued to one-click and read romance novels like an addict, my actions mirroring a meth-head hitting the pipe. I had always wondered if anyone on earth had the same problem with buying and reading books that I had, but at this point in my life I doubted anyone was as bad as I was.

I believed I initially started reading love stories to dream. The books were like fuel for my internal fire; giving me hope, providing me an outlet, and allowing me to live through the characters in the books in a manner I was incapable of living without them. Through the books, I was able to live in various places, experience exposure to a very diverse group of people, and do so in the comfort of my home without fear, worry, or ridicule. To me books were like magic, and the authors were nothing short of genius.

After I met Vince, I knew I was living a dream and had no real need to continue to read about it, so I wondered if my reading pace would slow. It didn’t. Reading the books now, I didn’t dream as much, but I made comparisons.

And none of the men in my love stories could compare to the reality of Vince.

But it was still fun letting them try.

I lifted the bottle to my lips, held it in place, and stared at the monitor.

Inside Vera, by Claire Puckett, is nothing short of a masterpiece.

I began the book and quickly found a down to earth relatable hero, and a heroine who didn’t whine, bitch or do dumb shit. With my interest piqued, I continued.

The story unfolded at a quick pace, following each of them through their respective lives in a first person alternating POV format.

Finding a different voice for each character must be a difficult task, because many authors simply change the name of the character at the beginning of the chapter, but in the absence of that one declaration, the characters seem to be the same. The personality, the speech, and the characteristics mimic the character in the previous chapter. Many male authors writing female leads are unaware of the female mind’s differences, and many female authors write male characters that seem feminine.

Claire hits it out of the fucking park.

A boxer running from his past meets a girl who should be running but isn’t (at least physically). She doesn’t realize it, but she is running farther and farther with each passing day, convinced she is loyal to her spouse.

She is loyal, but she’s fading fast.

The problem is that her husband is an abusive dick. Not the type of abuse that a woman soon recovers from; more the type that requires sunglasses to cover up.

The ancillary characters in the book are almost as interesting as the mains, with the exception of one. The best friend of the boxer needs a book of his own (Claire, I’m begging you…)

The book continues to follow the life of the boxer and the life of the abused woman, until their lives collide one day.

And collide they do.

I cheered, I screamed, I hid under my covers. I almost pissed my pants. I cheered again. I actually stood in the boxing ring. Yes, in the fucking ring; sweat dripping from my chin, my muscles aching, and waited for the opening to swing the perfect right cross into the jaw of my opponent.

The book detail sheet said three hundred pages. I was certain it was more like fifty pages. Hell, I’d finished it in thirty minutes, I was sure. I glanced at my watch and eight hours had passed.

And, as satisfied as I was, I wanted more.

*swallows heavily and takes drink of wine*

I grinned, took a long drink from the bottle, swallowed it, and took another. I hoped Claire herself would read the review and appreciate it, but I doubted that would be the case. What was more important to me was that everyone on Goodreads was able to understand my position on the book, and consider reading it. Hopefully, if they did they would enjoy it as much as I did.

I took another drink, set the bottle aside, and stared down at the keyboard. After a moment of thought, I continued.

So, I’ll close by saying this. The author made me fall in love with a bald-headed 220 pound hot-tempered thug who uses pruning shears to resolve his frustrations (read the book). I would have never guessed anyone could have caused me to feel this level of emotion for such a man, but she did.

For her ability to tell a story such as this, keeping my interest and making me cry the entire trip, all the while using characters that are clearly unconventional, I give five stars.

For making me fall in love with aforementioned bald guy, two more.

For the perfect ending, two more.

And, for taking me into a sport I know nothing of and making me feel like I know everything about boxing, another.