So, Forbidden Fruit. It was pretty... rotten.  Ha ha. Ok, before I rip it apart too much, I should say there were some positive things about it. One, it was a quick read. It was nice after the last few books I read to have something that was light and fast and didn't require... thinking. 

That's where the niceties end though. The characters were fairly one dimensional.  The dialogue made me cringe. It made me want to vomit. It was the kind of dialogue (and inner monologue type stuff too) that just makes you embarrassed for everyone involved. You, the character, the author. It's the type of stuff where halfway through a paragraph you actually look up from the book and exclaim to no one in particular "Nobody talks like this!" 

And the chins. Holy crap, with the chins in every single chapter. Every character in this book lifted, hoisted, adjusted, tilted and any other variety of verbs with their chins to convey every. single. emotion. Pissed off at your angst-filled, older love? Tilt your chin up and glare at him.  Frustrated that even after all these years the love of your life still gets under your skin? Raise your chin a bit and feign pride.  Visiting a sleezy sex club where people pay to be whipped and tortured? Why enter the club with your chin hoisted in... anonymity. Seriously?  That's how you show anonymity?

And if that wasn't enough, I give you this:  A situation featuring a hooker leaving a club called Club 69 was described as ironic.  I ask you this, internet, if one is to be a best selling author and make gobs and gobs of money doing what I'd give my left ovary to do, shouldn't one be able to describe/define/illustrate irony?

Ah.  On to my next read.