A lead male who is not once referred to as a greek god? He doesn't have millions of dollars and drop designer names? A female who seems to think in the same fucked up way that I do? Shut. Up. It has been a very long time since I touched a book that had me putting myself in to the head of the character like I did this one. A very well-written story with excellent erotic scenes. Again, Cara McKenna proves you don't have to either write well or write erotica. One can do both. The story of two people just living in a regular hard world with fucked up childhoods that have effects on their adult lives (obviously) but aren't so overboard that one would label them suffering PTSD. It's refreshing to see people handling their shit and getting on with their lives the best they can. God, this was just a really, really, great story. And I hate when I say this, but it was... real. Gritty. No fancy bows. No Astin Martins. No Louboutins. No lame club grinding scenes with references to the author's favorite annoying song of the moment. Just some urban life in a torn down city with some regular people who didn't have fairy godmothers.