My name is Hugo Dennings.

Or maybe it's Taylor Spitz.

Or maybe it's Joey Aldana.

Or maybe it's nothing.

I wake up and pour myself a glass of orange juice because apple makes my breath smell like s*, and then I take a shower and decide not to brush my teeth before slipping on some day old clothes, a tank top and jeans that hug my a and make it look better than it actually does, although make no mistake that my a** is a work of art. If Michelangelo bore witness to every taut muscle there he'd cream his pants and beg me to let him suck on both my cheeks for hours on end, that's how great it is.

But why the f*** am I telling you that?

I'll let the kid downstairs show you.

Autorentext

Isabella Monet isn't your typical sweet girl next door. Sure, she's kind, empathetic, and loves to bake, but when shit hits the fan she's the ally you want. Able to go from Martha Stewart to Sarah Connor on a dime, you can bet your sweet ass she'll bust a cap in anyone who threatens those she loves most before reading them one of her titillating erotic stories while they recover in a hospital.