I admit it. I read Fifty Shades of Grey recently. (Who hasn’t?) And I was totally sucked in. But, after book two, I decided that the only thing I actually liked about it was the sexy dominant who wasn’t really a dominant at all, but a guy who liked to beat the shit out of women that looked like his crack whore of a mother. Yes, really.
I never made it to the third book and wish I’d refrained from the second. (The only reason I even read it in the first place was because it had originated as Twilight fan fiction. Can you really blame me for being intrigued?) And because I don’t learn from my mistakes, I then read Bared to You. Because it was supposed to be a “better written” Fifty Shades.
What this means is that everyone is copying everyone else and I just want to reread Twilight. But clearly there’s something about these books that entertains me because here I am reading another book found on the “hot men with control issues and obsessive compulsive disorders” list. (No, not really.)
Except, for me, books are like food. I eat with my eyes first and book covers are important. This one (of the book I’m about to start) was all dark and angsty and I totally dug it.
And then I saw an alternative:
And I was all grossed out because at first glance it looks like a really filthy tongue. But then, horror of all horrors, I noticed that the J in the authors name is cut off and now I’m just not sure I can read this book after all.