On Outgrowing Squeaky Clean Romances

I picked up Julie Brannagh’s “Love and Football” series after Goodreads recommended them for me. I read about 100 pages of the first book, “Blitzing Emily,” thinking I’m gonna love this.

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Looked good, but not for me.

I was wrong.

While both the title and the book cover are sweet and alluring, I realized this: I have outgrown sweet romances. A hundred pages into “Blitzing” and I was dead bored. Yawning after reading every other word is NOT a good sign, I think, while reading a romance novel. Despite that, I still stubbornly held on to book #4.5 of the same series, “Holding Holly.”

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I heart the cover models

I love my interracial romances. I loved the cover models, and the book title is sweeter than a Southern pecan pie and baklava combined. I liked the story, loved the main characters (and the mama and grandmas), but there was just something missing… Some call it “the smut factor,” others call it “the dirty good stuff.” Me? I just call it excitement.

Would I read another Julie Brannagh? No, but don’t take my word for it. You might like it. Who knows? Maybe even my mama would.

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