Wicked By Jennifer Armentrout
Prologue: Sweat dotted my brow. Tendrils of red hair clung to my neck. My legs felt like I'd been sitting in a sauna. I was pretty sure there was a waterfall of sweat coursing between my breasts, and that alone put my mood somewhere between slapping someone and pushing them in front of a trolley. It was so hot and sticky humid that I was seriously beginning to believe that New Orleans was one of the seven circles of hell and the outdoor seating area of the Palace Café was the gateway. Or the waiting room. A fat drop of sweat slipped from the tip of my nose and smacked off my Philosophy of Human Person text, leaving a little damp circle in the middle of a paragraph I could barely see through the sheen of sweat blinding me. I always thought the title of my class was missing an 'A' somewhere in there. It should be Philosophy of A Human Person. But oh no, that wasn't how Loyola rolled.
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Wicked By Jennifer Armentrout
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Reviewed by Admin
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