Not even a third of the way into this book and I have that love/hate thing going on that I relish.
There is angst aplenty, so there's that to love.
There is also that fine line between mis-communication and TSTL. (Too stupid to love) I know. I changed that last word. Did that on purpose.
Take two firends: both firefighters, both dancing the edge of PTSD and a death wish, and clearly (to me) in love with each other. Also, both straight. Whatever. That's relative.
So the story is told from Griff's POV and he has come to terms with the idea he's in love with his best friend, even if he has no idea what to do about it. So we get to watch things unfold from his POV, and wonder why he doesn't see. Dante needs to talk to him, tried to get him out of the bar, only to give in the moment Griff has an annoying chick hanging off him. That turns into a no-go, Dante tries A) get him into a threesome (Griff declines, horrified Dante will notice he doesn't give a rat's ass about the girl between them) B) get him drunk and take him home and talk to him. (brilliant plan, dimwit. Griff doesn't remember what happened and is horrified to find himself waking up naked in Dant's bed with the other man's arm across his chest and Griff's morning wood tenting the sheets) C) talk him into porn for money. (Griff just thinks this is bad, bad, bad idea and is, though he does't say so, heart-stopping jelous. (And fascinated that now he can see Dante beat his meat any time he wants, and that is more pervy and tempting than Griff can handle))
All classic "I'm-in-love-with-you-and-can't-say-it dumbass schemes. All doomed to failure.
I don't see this getting better for either of them any time soon.
Add to all this the zingingly fast prose, the raunchy voice, the down and dirty need oozing out of every thought Griff has, and smeared all over the page in gritty dialogue and plain, no-muss language, and I know I should be writing my own shit right now. I know I should. But it's so hard to not want to keep reading....