If I were to write a memoir, the title would be: Joan and The Multiple Times She Absolutely Did Not Need Ezra Harrison, But That Jerk Was There Anyway.
There was . . .
1) The time he saved my life (by forcing me in a compromising position).
2) The time he taught me how to wear a certain appendage (okay, so I probably should've just Googled it).
3) The time he helped me woo the woman of my dreams (after he slept with her first).
I do not need Ezra Harrison and his devil-may-care smile and his messy hair and his loud motorcycle and his huge, massive chip on his shoulder. I don't need him, but . . . I want him. I want them both.
Contains mature themes.
