A 44 Chapters Novel

4 homens em 44 capítulos é um irreverente e espirituoso livro de memórias que resultou de experiências malucas, recheado de episódios divertidos e cenas muito, muito quentes. Com narração de Penélope Nova.

In 1997, Ronald "Knight" McKnight was the meanest, most misunderstood boy at Peach State High School...perhaps on the entire planet. Knight hated everyone, except for me, BB - the perky, quirky punk chick with the locker next to his. I, on the other hand, liked everybody...except for Knight. I was scared to death of him, actually. All I wanted was to marry Prince Eric-lookalike and king of the Peach State High punk scene Lance Hightower and have a million of his babies. Unfortunately for me, Knight was even better at getting his way than I was.

Ronald "Knight" McKnight was obsessive. Possessive. Downright psychopathic. But that didn't stop me from falling in love with him...or falling apart when he joined the Marines. When he left, Knight told me to "find someone better", but I didn't. I found Harley instead. Harley James was a fun, flirty, tattooed mechanic whose face was as angelic as his secrets were sinful. He taught me how to live again. How to laugh again. But would he teach me how to love again?

In 1999, I met my Prince Charming. He was the tall, tattooed, wickedly handsome bass player for the up-and-coming rock band, Phantom Limb. But, more importantly, he was mine. I knew it the moment he flashed me that shy, dimpled smile. And he knew it too. Hansel "Hans" Oppenheimer wore his heart on one sleeve and scrawled lyrics about me on the other. Unlike the losers of my past, Hans showered me with tenderness, took me places I'd never been before, and showed me the type of all-consuming love I'd thought only existed in fairy tales.

"Since when are you into guys in ties? You only like guys who look like they rob guys in ties. At gunpoint." It was true. By 2003, my type had been well-established. There might as well have been a giant sign on my heart that said, "Good Guys Need Not Apply." Which is exactly why I had to friend-zone Ken Easton. The man was a former football star, smelled like fresh laundry instead of stale cigarettes, and had more ties in his closet than tattoos on his knuckles. Pssh. BOR-ING.