Sand Dune Books, $0.99, ISBN 978-1-62237-497-7
Contemporary Romance, 2018
Just what is it with female drivers ramming their vehicles into some hot guy’s vehicle as a prelude to true love?
Sometimes, it’s hard to be mad about the stereotype of female drivers being total menaces on the street when you have an entire genre celebrating terrible female drivers as women worthy of love. Sometimes, I have to wonder if the genre were secretly sponsored by the car insurance people.
Anyway, that’s exactly the way Nora Patterson meets her true love in Maddie James’s Not This Christmas.
She had no business being out in this mess—in her shiny new red Camaro or in any vehicle. She should have headed out hours ago, quietly excusing herself and citing the weather. She should have called her father and told him she was on her way and would be at his home in Dalton Springs in time for Christmas Eve dinner—but she didn’t. And she should have double-checked her purse for her cell phone before leaving Sweet Hart Inn.
She knew right where it was, sitting on Suzie Hart Matthews’ side table in the living room. How could she forget it?
But she didn’t do any of those things.
Holy crap, that’s a new car? How many cars had she destroyed in the past? More importantly, how many children and old people had she brutally ram into and tear into pieces with her so adorable hee-hee-hee reckless driving is so cute when a romance heroine does it reign of terror on the roads?
If it hadn’t been for the fact that she was having such a great time at Suzie’s annual Christmas Eve open house, she wouldn’t have lost track of time. But getting the scoop on the chef’s latest and upcoming cookbook release, so Nora could pimp it for Suzie’s New Year’s Eve book signing at her shop, Nora’s Novel Niche, was just too much fun.
Still, paying more attention to the weather might have been a good idea.
Aww, how could anyone dislike such klutziness? Put a blood-soaked corpse of a dead grandma under the wheels of her vehicle and she would be the most adorable sweetheart ever.
Anyway, she rams her vehicle into that of Reverend Rock Peters—that name is not a double entendre, I’m sure—and blacks out, thus transforming herself into a delicate broken snowflake for Reverend Rock Hard Dong to get all concerned and sweet over.
With a cold and trembling hand, he brushed her long, silky hair back from her face. She moaned and moved a little at this touch. Perhaps that was good too, she was somewhat aware of him being there.
This is so sweet. It’s like a crescendo of screeching car wheels on tarmac morphing into a rousing orchestral version of Billy Ocean’s Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car as the rock hard peter looms over the unconscious reckless driver and… oh wait, this is a sweet romance, so we’ll just stick to the molestation of the hair of an unconscious demon driver.
Eventually, he helps her feel better, her father shows up and she assures him that everything is fine now because she has a rock hard dong to make sure that she will be safe from now on, and these two get married, the end.
I’m sorry but I can’t get over how the heroine isn’t held accountable in any way for her idiotic driving that could have killed someone unlucky enough to be in her way. It’s disconcerting how this recklessness is presented as some adorable prelude to a damsel in distress premise, all so for the hero with a weirdly porn star actor-ly name for a reverend to come in and save her from herself.
Has the author run out of ideas to get her heroes and heroines together? Why not have them meet while volunteering at some animal shelter?
