Romance

Godammit, she thought as she punched the button of her iPhone in disgust. Why do they always have to be like that? "He was so handsome as his steely grey-blue eyes gazed down at her, he hardly seemed real." That's because he's not real. And neither was his pouty, mouse-like but also voluptuously gorgeous and tempting assistant that he knew he should stay away from but just couldn't, due to his burning loins. She rolled her eyes in disgust. Some day I'm going to write one of these where the people are butt-ugly, she smirked. Or at least ordinary. "Or frumped-out nobodies like you," the familiar voice she'd learned in therapy to call "The Critic," said. I have no business wishing to be the target of a romance novel, she answered, thinking of her reasonable, safe marriage to the good man who was her husband. Then the familiar feelings of longing and guilt descended.