Driven To Distraction
Lovestruck Librarians Series - Book #5
by Olivia Dade
Constance Chen is not the demure kind of librarian. Sure, her high-horsepower ride is Big Bertha the Bookmobile, but Con swears a blue streak, does her own home improvement, and wears steel-toed boots. She has a tight circle of friends, a demanding, beloved sprawl of a Chinese-American family, and a strict hookups-only policy when it comes to men. Her life is just how she wants it. Except for one maddeningly sexy footnote.
Sam Wolcott, her friend’s baby brother and the library’s IT star, has been throwing sparks with Con since he moved to town. To everybody else, he’s a thoughtful, sensitive sweetheart. To Con, he’s a cantankerous pedant, because if they don’t fight nonstop their clothes will spontaneously combust. Sam needs a commitment Con won’t—can’t—give. And neither of them will chance their hard-won bonds for pure lust.
Too bad Con and Sam have a whole week in a very tiny, very private space to sustain their dumb arguments. Alone. What happens in the Bookmobile might take their resistance right out of circulation ...
Some might argue that women would overestimate penis length because men have lied to them about it for generations. But in my opinion, women have known the truth all along and simply humored their various lovers.
As I understand it, poutine comes from Canada… Are there a lot of Canadian pirates? Wouldn’t they spend all their voyages apologizing instead of looting?
You should lecture your girlfriend about her salty language… and I’ve decided that doctors need to study your penis…All I’m saying is that any man who elicits this kind of trust and affection from Constance Chen… We need to study him. For the sake of science. So drop trou, Wolcott. I’m going in.
Like hell, woman. He’s mine. No one sees this lumberjack’s mighty oak but me.
I love her dearly. But she wakes us up between five and six every morning, Sam. Usually by shrieking that her stuffed turtle is misbehaving and needs a timeout. If you let me sleep late two weekend mornings in a row, I’ll build a small shrine in your honor.
Driven To Distraction was my first trip to the library to read Ms. Dade; I liked it so much I want a lifetime membership at her branch. The plot was unique and entertaining and the characters were adorable, quirky, and highly amusing. I instantly fell in love with Sam and his superhero t-shirts, and Con could be my twin with her creative use of profanity and opinions on family. The writing was humorous, engaging, clever, insightful, and loaded with expletives. The witty and bawdy bantering among the characters and their friends kept a near-constant smirk on my face and often had me barking aloud as well. In addition to my favorite type of mischievous humor, the creatively steamy sensual scenes caused me a bit of difficulty in catching my breath. I need to load up my library card with the rest of her shelf.
About the Author
While I was growing up, my mother kept a stack of books hidden in her closet. She told me I couldn’t read them. So, naturally, whenever she left me alone for any length of time, I took them out and flipped through them.
Those books raised quite a few questions in my prepubescent brain. Namely: 1) Why were there so many pirates? 2) Where did all the throbbing come from? 3) What was a “manhood”? 4) And why did the hero and heroine seem overcome by images of waves and fireworks every few pages, especially after an episode of mysterious throbbing in the hero’s manhood?
Thirty or so years later, I have a few answers.
1) Because my mom apparently fancied pirates at that time. Now she hoards romances involving cowboys and babies. If a book cover features a shirtless man in a Stetson cradling an infant, her ovaries basically explode and her credit card emerges. I have a similar reaction to romances involving spinsters, governesses, and librarians.
2) His manhood. Also, her womanhood.
3) It’s his “hard length,” sometimes compared in terms of rigidity to iron. I prefer to use other names for it in my own writing. However, I am not picky when it comes to descriptions of iron-hard lengths. At least in romances.
4) Because explaining how an orgasm feels can prove difficult. Or maybe the couples all had sex on New Year’s Eve at Cancun.
During those thirty years, I accomplished a few things. I graduated from Wake Forest University and earned my M.A. in American History from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. I worked at a variety of jobs that required me to bury my bawdiness and potty mouth under a demure exterior: costumed interpreter at Colonial Williamsburg, high school teacher, and librarian. But I always, always read romances. Funny, filthy, sweet—it didn’t matter. I loved them all.
Now I’m writing my own romances with the encouragement of my husband and daughter. I have my own stack of books in my closet that I’d rather my daughter not read, at least not for a few years. I can swear whenever I want, except around said daughter. And I get to spend all day writing about love and iron-hard lengths.