“Yeah, wow, goodness, proudly. Thank you for all of that, for this. For our lives together and for loving me and letting me love you. Thank you for my new grannies and a mother-in-law who likes me and for endless possibilities and the best of surprises.” Stella kisses me again. And again. Then one more time.
“You’re welcome for all of that. And I’m glad you finally came around and saw the light on what a good soul I was. And an orgasmsnizer.”
She punches me in the shoulder playfully, but she still drags my face back to hers for more kisses.
The End.
Book 2
HATING MY NEW ROOMMATE
Lindsey Hart
DESCRIPTION
What was my grandpa doing dumping a rich prick onto my lap?
Really, I didn't mind having a roommate.
But did it have to be this infuriatingly gorgeous guy?
CHAPTER 1
Wilder
Toys. They are my life. Yeah, I know. A grown man. Toys.
Well, toys were actually my dad’s passion before it became mine. Naturally, for a kid who grew up with inventions and oddities, testing out this or that and putting in his fair share of ideas, it follows that I’d grow up with some peculiarities.
Think about it. Toys practically drive the world. What kid doesn’t like toys? No kid, that’s what. I’ve never met one who doesn’t like some kind of toy or other. All those kids around the age of seven getting millions and millions of views online because they’re just unboxing toys and doing a review? They wouldn’t be getting all those views if people didn’t care. Not to mention the other elicit set of toys that are made for adults to enjoy.
Toys get shipped across the world every single day, and they circumnavigate the globe. Toys. Toys, toys, toys. Toys basically make the world go round. Well, they make mine go round because it’s how my family made our fortune, and I say that in the most archaic sense of the word.
My parents were never into living like they had a bunch of money. They hated that. They grew up with just about nothing themselves, and then, with just a couple of intuitive inventions, some patents here and there, and a few toys that changed the world, they were suddenly catapulted up amongst the rich and famous with six or more figures behind their names. That was a couple of decades ago. Now, the Johnson family name has way more. Figures, I mean. Definitely more than six. Anyway…
Toys have been in my blood since, well, before I was even conceived because that’s when my dad found his success—three years before I was ever even a thought, and by thought, I mean basic biology coming together. My two sisters followed two years after that. It’s strange, but now as adults, neither of them is a big fan of toys. They both went to college and are currently working at other things they like doing. Sandy is an architect—maybe she just plays with life-size models now—and Mary is an engineer, meaning she also basically plays with life-size models.
My sisters are both really smart. I guess I’m smart too, but I always knew I wasn’t going to be a doctor or a lawyer or an architect or an engineer. Ever since I was little, I’ve wanted to do what my dad did, which was create toys.
My passion is not just creating, producing, and putting toys out there that are different, helpful, unique, and world-changing. It’s old toys. I have a love—one bordering on obsession, as my sisters like to say—for antique toys, especially antique toy cars. That includes pedal cars, models, and die-cast. You name it; I have it. I live in a house that is a new construction of three thousand square feet. It’s pretty large with a four-car garage, but it’s a pretty normal neighborhood, and the neighbors around me are either doctors, lawyers, engineers, or architects—no movie stars or whatever as we’re practical here in Pittsburgh. Besides, I don’t like to flaunt. I just need enough space to keep all my toys, and that’s it.
I enjoy living in this city though my sisters moved away at the first chance they got. Sandy now lives in San Jose, and Mary lives in Phoenix. I generally get along with my sisters, and it’s always nice when I get to visit them, though I make sure to strategically plan my visits for the frigid months of the year.
So, back to the toys because it is where things get interesting, especially since I have what my sisters say is an obsession with collecting these toy cars. They don’t get it, which is fine with me. I like to collect, catalog, and display. I care about the condition, know the value, the rarity, and all that stuff, just like regular collectors. I really don’t think I have an obsession. Rather, I like to call it a passion. I think about collecting toy cars as a puzzle, where I don’t have the pieces, and I have to slowly acquire them to make it a whole picture. Money only goes so far. Yes, I can buy pretty much anything I want, but it’s not about the dollar signs. Some of these cars are so rare that they never come up for sale, and some of them only have one or two left in the known existence.