Ava Gilmore has the perfect life. She’s surrounded by people who love her, she’s having sex on a regular basis and her Coach bag collection just grew by three. The problem? She’s expected to follow in her family’s footsteps at Seduction and Snacks, working with sex toys and baked goods.
Ava loves vibrators and cupcakes as much as the next person, she’d just rather play with them than sell them. With her shopping addiction reaching an all time high and her credit card bills piling up, Ava decides to put her obsession to good use and start a fashion blog. But she has one other problem - the guy she’s having sex with has a My Little Pony addiction.
While dealing with her family’s disappointment and confusion over her choices, she finds support in the unlikeliest of places – Tyler Branson. Tyler has slowly wormed his way into her bed, her a$$ and her heart and he refuses to leave. Tyler has his own family problems to deal with and for the first time ever, Ava finds herself feeling bad for the annoying, immature guy and chanting “Friendship is magic!” during the sex she’d swore to stop having with him.
Ava needs to get her life in order once and for all before she finds herself doing something she never wanted to do – fall in love with a Brony.
Chocoholics, Tome 2 : Passion and Ponies
My eyes suddenly jerk open when I feel the subtle shaking of my bed. For a minute, my sleep-addled brain wonders if we’re having an earthquake and panic sets in. Then I remember I live in Ohio and the house is probably not preparing to crumble down around me. As my eyes adjust to the darkness in my childhood bedroom, I listen intently for sounds of heavy breathing or the distinct metallic clang of a knife sharpening, certain the shaking of my bed is a not-so-stealthy axe murderer preparing to slit my throat.
What? That could totally happen. Some dude could have broken into my parent’s home and now he’s sitting on the edge of my bed, sharpening his giant knife.
I hold my breath in fear. I begin to slowly turn my head and prepare to come face-to-face with a homicidal maniac when something kicks the back of my leg with the force of a two-by-four.
“Ouch! Son of a bitch!” I shout as I quickly flop over in bed. Unfortunately, I don’t come face-to-face with a killer. What I do find in my bed next to me is much worse.
“Tyler! What the f**k are you still doing in my bed?” I whisper-yell, hoping my initial outburst didn’t wake my parents, who are sleeping down the hall.
Tyler Branson, man-child extraordinaire and the guy I’ve been shame f**king for the past few months, doesn’t even bat an eye at me. I listen in irritation as he lightly snores and watch as his legs jerk forward every couple of seconds. Pretty soon, his arms join in, reminding me of those stupid YouTube videos of dogs dreaming that they’re running.
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