Everyone enjoying our riveting return to Calendar Girl with riveting drama like Mia spending basically a whole chapter on “I can’t believe Wes bought art that I modeled for”? Yep. Seems pretty quaint after two books of Mia’s long-lost oil tycoon heir brother finding her and paying off her father’s gambling debts to her ex-boyfriend who kidnapped her best friend to try to win her back, huh?
Calendar Girl: October Chapter 2
Mia wakes up after her first night alone in Wes’s home – which is now her new home – to find herself not alone.
A hairy leg was clamped over my thighs. Wait. What?
It’s Wes. It’s obviously Wes.
As my brain came back online, everything within me stiffened. My heart started pounding so hard I worried it was a base drum on my chest, loud enough to wake the person who slept behind me. Instantly my skin became clammy
It’s obviously Wes, her loving, doting boyfriend who knows that she was suffering from PTSD after being sexually assaulted a few months ago and decided to surprise her with his return by sneaking into bed with her while she slept anyway. Classic Wes.
A male groan came from behind me and the extremities surrounding me locked even tighter. “I can hear you thinking.” […]
Just as I was about to strike […] that voice cut through the plan like a sharp blade through a satin ribbon.
Not that she’s mad about it. Remember how she fixed her PTSD in a month? Jesus, the recaps for Calendar Girl are fucking insane.
I was now face-to-face with the only man I wanted more than my next breath.
“Miss me?” He grinned and I lost it.
So, obviously, this chapter is mostly a sex scene.
A very impressive part of his body was eager to say hello too
Me earlier today: “Hey, does anyone want to go to a coffee shop later? I need to do some writing today.” Me right now: “WHY DO I ALWAYS DO THIS? NO ONE LOOK AT MY SCREEN.”
It’s a standard Mia+Wes sex scene, with all the codependent red flags we’ve all come to know and love.
[He] growl[ed] a fierce, “Need inside you, Mia. Make me whole.”
“ME WES. NEED INSIDE YOU. NEED PUSSY TO COPE WITH HORROR OF RECENT TRAUMATIC KIDNAPPING EXPERIENCE.”
Sex isn’t just a cure-all coping mechanism, though. Calendar Girl also continues to find ways to make sex sound deadass traumatic.
This was not making love, or fucking a person you missed after a long break. No, this was a straight claiming.
There’s a whole thing where Mia shouts at Wes not to close his eyes and he pauses, mid-boning, to get her to explain.
“Baby, in my dreams, our eyes are closed,” I said simply. It was an answer, vague, hiding the truth.
Wes somehow doesn’t get it because Wes is the worst.
“Did you dream about me a lot?” […] he stirred his dick within me, stroking in a circular pattern, making my clit throb […] “Did you come thinking of me?”
Then Mia’s like, lol, no, obviously I’m tormented because you got fucking kidnapped?
“Sometimes. Mostly, you’d vanish, and I’d be in a strange bed alone.” […]
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Wes lifted up and shoved himself back until his upper body rested against headboard. His dick went impossibly deep.
One of my favorite things that happens in basically every erotic novel we read for the blog is someone’s dick somehow magically going deeper than ever before, like everyone in these books either has a fucking non-Euclidean penis or just, like, forgot.
“This, sweetheart. What we have. You and me. It’s what kept me alive. I owe you my life. […] I’m going to marry you soon.” […]
“Was that a proposal?”
what no why are we doing this again?! You two already had the perfect proposal last book where Mia inexplicably said “give it to me harder” during the proposal don’t take this away from me
“I’m not proposing, because you haven’t the option to say no,” he said before swirling his tongue around the neglected breast.
“Is that right?” I sighed and circled my hips, attempting more friction.
He growled around my breast. “I own this body.”
Christ, I hate these two and their unhealthy af love/ownership.
“I own this heart. […] We own this love.”
It’s really telling what Calendar Girl thinks about love that “love” is what “we” own but the body is what the other person owns.
The chapter (thankfully) skips ahead to the next morning. Mia wakes up before Wes and talks with his housekeeper Judi, who 100% is going to eventually murder Mia in her sleep and wear her skin so she can finally be with Wes.
“My Sonny is home. Thank the Lord in heaven above.” Her tears mixed with her laughter while I held her. “Now we can be a family.”
Mia ignores how weird it is that Judi’s definition of family is somehow a “people who pay me to do their housework for them are my family” late capitalism nightmare, because, say, that reminds her that family is a theme of this story!
There it was again. That single word that had begun to mean more to me than anything else.
“If Wes has his way, that might happen sooner rather than later.”
Mia tells Judi that Wes told her he was going to marry her. Judi is delighted because everyone in this book is fucking insane.
The woman who’d spent the most time taking care of him other than his mother grinned. “I told you, when he sets his mind to something, he always gets his way.”
Wes wakes up and joins them. Turns out Wes’s stitches opened up – lest we forget he somehow survived a gunshot to the neck since we saw him last – and their sexytimes aren’t really helping. Wes is characteristically obtuse about how he’s doing.
I went to [kiss] one of [his wounds], he cupped my neck and shook his head.
“Don’t. I don’t want your perfection marred by this evil.”
It’s amazing how Wes speaks so extensively in terms of flattery and sexual desire, yet somehow is this story’s most inscrutable blank slate of a character.
“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea. I’ve survived on nothing but the thought of this body, your pink fucking lips wrapped around my dick, and the tight heat of your pussy locking down around me.”
Don’t forget Judi’s still, like, right there.
“You two going to neck all day, or are you going to eat the feast I’ve prepared?” Judi called from the other side of the kitchen, breaking through what was sure to be another round of hardcore fucking right where we stood.
Be right back, making an “everyone in these books needs therapy” mug since I say that so fucking often it’s probably my catchphrase by now.