Neglected, abandoned by a heroin-addicted mother, and placed in foster care at ten, Enzo Jordan has learned one thing…love hurts. At thirty-five, he has a successful tattoo shop and his choice of women. The one-night stands are getting old, and the love he holds for his best friend, Aibhlinn is impossible to hide. When the attraction between them reaches a boiling point, he's forced to choose between facing his fears and walking away.
Aibhlinn Leahy has been in love with her best friend for years. The Irish-born comic book artist has poured time, energy, and love into the wounded man. His choice to walk away breaks her heart but frees her to explore a new future.
Life is a cruel and amazing thing. An abandoned baby brings the two back together, and they’re forced to examine the love that has long existed between them. This is a story of pain, scars, and fear. We all have demons to battle. The real decision is who's in control…us or them?
*** Enzo is Book One in the Jinx Tattoos Series but is a STAND
ALONE novel***
Enzo Chapter One
Enzo
The alarm mocked
him as he woke to limbs tangled with his own. The blonde from the night before
snuggled into his side. He ran a hand through his hair and rested his head on
the pillow. Overnights weren’t his norm, but waking up alone on today of all
days wasn’t an option. He had a love-hate connection with the day of his birth,
and thirty-four was too old to deal with shit with liquor. So…he fucked in
excess and kept his liquor consumption to a minimum instead. Normally, he would
be ready to go for round three, but all he wanted was silence…some peace. He
moved away from the blonde and rolled from the bed, ready to wash away the
night before.
“Time to go home,
sweetheart,” he said.
She stretched her
arms above her head, letting her blanket fall to her lap. Her perky breasts
were perfection and obviously fake.
Still, Enzo took a
moment to appreciate her investments.
“You sure I can’t
tempt you into breakfast?” she purred.
“Positive, got
somewhere to be.”
She pouted her
plump red lips.
What kind of makeup
shit lasts overnight? The thought of the chemicals involved made him shudder.
“As amazing as you were last night, I’ll have to pass.”
She huffed and
tossed the blankets aside, swinging her shapely legs over the side of the bed
as she stood. She was petite, tanned, toned, and plastic. It made her easy to
look at, have a good time with, and say good-bye to.
Not that he ever
felt bad. She knew what she was getting into, they all did. He made it clear he
didn’t do seconds and wasn’t looking for more than a mutual exchange of
pleasure. Still, some of them seemed to think they would win some magical
lottery, and things would change in the morning. He’d seen Tracee around the
tattoo shop a million times. She was an ink chaser.
She wanted a tattoo
artist for an old man in the worst way. He made it clear she was barking up the
wrong tree, but she kept coming around. He wasn’t looking to have a significant
other, and her desperation to land someone who would take care of her made his
skin crawl. This would kill two birds with one stone.
“You’re a real ass,
Enzo, you know that?” Tracee asked as she poured her body back into her
skin-tight black dress.
“You already knew
that, though, Trace. We knew this wasn’t more than a night of fun.”
She cocked her hip
and narrowed her eyes. “You sure about that, sweetheart? We had a lot of fun.
Imagine that in your bed every night.”
“Not looking for
that, Trace,” he said with a shrug.
“Would you say the
same thing if I had my head stuck in a book and my body covered from head to
toe?” Tracee scoffed.
“What the fuck did
you say?” Enzo asked, stepping forward.
The color drained
from her face. She snatched up her sky-high heels and fled. “Nothing, see you
around,” she muttered, skittering out the door before he could respond.
People wondered about
him and his best friend, Aibhlinn. They didn’t think a man and a woman could be
friends without jumping in the bed together. His theory was the exact opposite.
Sex ruined things. It broke up lifelong relationships, made people paranoid,
and upset the natural order you first had before romance entered the picture.
No, his spitfire Irish lass with the piercing blue-green eyes and flowing
chestnut mane would remain off limits forever.
The very thought of
her made him smile. Even on his darkest day, she never failed to bring him a
little happiness. He walked to the front door of his house and locked the door
behind Tracee. A quick glance at the clock told him he had about thirty minutes
to get his ass into gear. He walked back over the maple hardwood floor and into
the bathroom. The white on white tiles and glass shower enclosure made the room
appear more open and easy to get into and out of, which made the space
tolerable.
Turning on the hot
water, he sank onto the bench at the far end of the massive stall and let the
gathering steam clear his pores and his muddled head. Lack of sleep and beer
had him feeling sluggish. After a few minutes, he rose to his feet, stepped
under the spray, quickly soaped down, and rinsed off.
He was pulling on
his plaid button up when the doorbell rang. A few moments later, the lock
turned.
“You decent,
birthday boy?” Aibhlinn called with that slight lilt he’d grown to love.
“Yeah, I’m coming
out now,” Enzo called back. He appeared in the doorway and smiled.
Dressed in a pair
of black skinny jeans that hugged her thick thighs, and large ass, she was
mouthwatering.
Off limits didn’t
mean he couldn’t admire her assets. An off the shoulder Pink Floyd sweater
displayed tantalizing porcelain flesh. She had her hair pulled up into a messy
bun that showed off her long, slender neck.
“You ready to go?”
she asked.
“What? No
breakfast?” he shot back.
She rolled her
eyes. “Smart ass. We’ll be back for that later. If you don’t hurry, we’ll miss
the sunrise.”
He nodded his head
and walked toward her, wrapping an arm around her waist as they hugged. He
pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Thanks for coming, Ave.”
“Where else would I
be?” she whispered.
Anywhere, with
someone worthy of your time and affection. It was his deepest fear. That she
would enter a romantic relationship and their friendship would go by the
wayside. It was selfish wanting her to remain his number one girl…she deserved
more. It worked for them now. They were both artists obsessed by the act of creating.
The years were
passing swiftly, and she’d gone from unknown to sought after in her career
field. First come loves, and then comes marriage. He snarled, pushing the
thought of the day she, too, left him far in the background of his brain.
“Come on, I’ll
drive,” she said, pulling him to the door.
He allowed her to
manipulate him.
At
five-foot-eleven, she still lacked the strength to move him if he resisted.
Along with fucking, he liked to workout. It kept his head from getting
overcrowded and allowed him a healthy way to work out his frustrations. Locking
the door behind them, he followed her to the black SUV.
She hit the fob and
unlocked the door.
Enzo was at the
driver’s side, opening her door before she could protest. He knew how to treat
a woman. He wasn’t so fucked up that he felt a sick need to use and abuse them.
His mother, the angel who adopted him and straightened his ass out, would skin
him alive if he ever went that route.
“Thanks, Enz,” she
said, climbing into her seat.
He made his way to
the passenger side then leaned his head back against the headrest, and zoned
out as she pulled out of his driveway and headed for their destination.
Fog hung in the
air, creating a thin layer of white. The haze turned the massive structure that
was their destination into something mystical, or creepy, depending on how one
looked at it. Bundled against the fall chill, they made their way from the car
and into Ault Park, in the direction of the pavilion.
After the climb,
his eyes drank in the frosted landscape. He shoved his hands in his pockets.
This park held good
and bad memories. His birth mother brought him here many times. Originally, he
thought it was because she was a good mother who loved the outdoors and knew he
loved to be among the beauty the park offered. As he grew, he understood it was
a public place to get her fix. No one thought twice of a man, a woman, and a
child walking through the woods.
He would never
forget the first time his brain registered the cash she gave Uncle Ian was for
drugs. The tiny brown squares were heroin. They’d found her body here on his
sixteenth birthday, needle still in her arm, eyes vacant, and body cold. She’d
turned a day he already loathed into something even worse.
He inhaled,
embracing the chilly air that crept down his throat and into his chest.
The ache meant he
was alive. That he’d survived against the odds. Thinking of the days scrounging
for food in garbage cans, stealing from the stores, and running drugs for dope
boys to feed his starving gut…he shuddered. She’d always saved the most fucked
up shit for his birthday, like an anti-birthday gift. That last day she’d left
and never returned was his twelfth birthday.
He bowed his head
in solemn remembrance. All the bullshit made it hard for a guy to feel joy on
the day he came into the world and landed in a pile of festering shit. But
that’s not where I am now. He glanced over at the woman standing beside him as
the sky yielded from an inky blue to a purple, and a dusky orange. The sun’s
rays turned everything golden, and for that moment in time, things were clean
and new. The world was a hopeful place. The darkness was banished.
“Nature’s first
green is gold, her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; but only so
an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, so dawn goes down
to day. Nothing gold can stay,” he whispered, quoting Robert Frost’s “Nothing
Gold Can Stay”. There was a man who understood how to live in the moments
before dawn ended. He hadn’t gotten there yet.
Ava tangled her
fingers with his, and he let her. She was a blazing white light in the
murkiness. His Irish angel on his shoulder, constantly encouraging him to do
better, insisting he reach for his dreams, and repeatedly telling him he was
worthy. She was the best present he’d ever received, on the same day his mother
left this Earth. Perhaps that’s why he liked having her with him on his
birthday.
Past
He sat in the back
of the room, sketching in the expensive pad Mrs. Jordan had purchased for him
as a birthday gift. As far as foster parents went, Karen and her husband Bill
were one of the rare ones. Not only were they decent, they seemed to enjoy
having him and the other boys there. The children who moved in and out were
more than a paycheck; they were a chance to change lives. He thought it was an
act at first. Now, he understood they were the genuine article. He’d been here
six months, and other than bumping heads on being accountable for his
whereabouts, it had been fairly smooth sailing. The high school was the same as
any other, but he dug the art teacher, Ms. Leahy. The Irish woman with bright
red hair, blue eyes, and a melodic accent encouraged him to hone his skills.
She said he had the
potential to be a great artist. It was something he’d never really heard
before. Writing and poetry were a means to escape from the shitty surroundings
he often found himself trapped in. Artists and writers understood pain in the
intimate way a boxing coach knew the mechanics of fighting.
“Hey, that’s good.”
He continued to
darken the area of the crow’s wing.
“Hey, did you hear
me?”
Peering up, he
found himself lost in an ocean of an intense blue-green gaze. He blinked and
took in the entire package.
The girl leaning
over his shoulder was dressed from head to toe in a black dress with black
tights and tall black boots. Her deep red lipstick stood out against her pale
face and made her hair look more red than brown.
“You talking to
me?” he asked.
“Yeah. I like the
way you’re shading that in,” she replied, gesturing toward the paper.
“Uhh, thanks?”
She laughed.
“That’s about the usual response to me.” She held out her hand. “Aibhlinn
Leahy, I’m Ms. Leahy’s daughter. I just transferred to this high school.”
So, she didn’t know
to stay away from the degenerate foster boy yet. “Enzo,” he said, quickly
shaking her hand.
“Ahh, it’s nice to
meet someone else around here with a unique name.”
He snorted. Heads
turned to glance back at them. He scowled, and they faced forward. “Look,
you’re new here, so you don’t know any better. But…I should warn you. Being
seen with me will get you labeled as an outcast.”
“And now, you’ve
intrigued me,” she said with a smile that showed the tiny dimple in her right
cheek.
He shook his head,
not willing to be the bad boy to some good girl gone wrong. “I should also
mention, I don’t like people.”
“Oh, you’ll like
me, I promise.” She sank onto the seat beside him and set down her pad. “You
like comics?”
He blinked, trying
to keep up with her crazy topic jumps. “Yeah.”
She opened her
page. “Me too.
The impressive
comic strip of Wolverine made him whistle. “You did this?”
“Yeah, need to work
on my shading in certain areas. Which is why your work caught my eye.”
So, it’d been a
self-serving thing. That he could understand. “Your detail is on point. I could
use some pointers.”
“Then I’ll help you
and you can help me,” she offered.
“Deal.”
He had no way of
knowing it was the start of a lifelong relationship that would in many ways
define him as a man.
Present
Aibhlinn
After they returned
from Ault Park, Aibhlinn studied Enzo from beneath her lashes. He seemed more
sullen this year than he had previously. “What’s wrong?” she asked, setting his
bowl of steel cut oats and toast in front of him.
“You know I hate my
birthday,” Enzo replied, and pushed the oats around with his spoon like a
petulant child.
His pouty
expression was adorable. She tried not to smile at the picture he presented. It
was all too easy to imagine what little Enzo looked like once upon a time. “No,
this feels like more than that,” she said, frowning.
He glanced up at
her and sighed. “We’re getting old.”
She snorted. “Speak
for yourself, grandpa. We’ve barely hit our thirties.”
“Yeah, but you know
how fast time flies. We’ll blink, and it’ll be our forties.”
“So?” she asked,
shaking her head.
He shrugged. “Makes
a person wonder what their contribution to the world is, or why they were
brought here in the first place.”
“What about Jinx
Tattoos? You guys are taking names and kicking ass. You just did an interview
with the local paper. That’s not something a mediocre shop does,” she said.
“Yeah, I mean,
business wise I’m doing okay, just…”
“Ahh, so we’re
talking about an ailment of a spiritual nature, then?”
“Ave.”
“What? If it’s not
logical, it’s of the heart. Why do you always get antsy when I mention this?”
“Because I don’t
know if I believe in this shit. I mean, what kind of God lets all this crap
happen to innocent people”
“One who believes
in free will. He allows us to do what we choose, even when it’s soul killing
and bat shit crazy acts.”
“Why?”
“Because, if He
didn’t, we’d be nothing more than puppets. This forces us to be accountable for
our actions.”
“You believe that?
After everything?” he asked.
She sighed. “After
what happened to my father you mean? Yes. He made bad decisions, and it cost
him his life. Catalyst being, my mother got out of there and made a better life
for us.” Her heart turned to lead as she thought about her father and his
obsession with purifying Ireland. They’d lost him to a bomb. He lived by the
gun, and he died by it. Her mother had distanced herself from his associates
and casually applied for a working visa. The rest was history.
“I’m sorry.” He set
his spoon down and placed his hand over hers. “That was shitty of me.”
She shook her head.
“No, it’s okay. You asked an honest question. I try not to think about that too
much, Enzo. It’s no use rehashing a past none of us can change. If anything, I
used it as a model for what not to do. We can’t control the things that happen
to us. But we can decide what to do with the rest of our life afterward.”
“You make it sound
so damn easy, Ave.”
“Ack, I never said
that. I’m a bag full of crazy on a good day and fully aware I’m a
thirty-four-year-old comic book author who has a sorely lacking social life, a
D.O.A. love life, and very few friends.”
“You’re brilliant,
and you know it,” Enzo countered.
She laughed. “To
you maybe.”
“More than me. I’ve
watched you work your ass off to get where you are. I remember when you were
pounding the pavement submitting your resume everywhere, doing any sort of pro
bono work you could to get your name out there. You worked a bevy of craptastic
jobs to support yourself while you went after your dream. Now, you’re well on
your way to achieving them. Own that shit.”
Heat rushed to her
cheeks, and she glanced away. She would never possess his swagger. Some days
her plentiful contracts felt like a streak of good luck, though she had the work
history to prove it to be anything but that.
“One day some man
is going to swoop in and whisk you away from me. Then who’ll be here to call me
on my shit?”
“Your mother, and
come on, you know that’s never going to happen. I’ll always have time for you.”
It could be you if you’d let yourself try with me.
“Even after you get
hitched and pop out a few babies?” He met her gaze, pinning her to the spot
with his thoughtful expression.
Something she
couldn’t name crossed his face.
“Well, thank you
for marrying me off and knocking me up.”
“What? We both know
you’re dying to have kids.”
“With the right
man…someday, yes. At this point, I’ve never had a relationship make it to the
one year mark. I’m a lot to handle, and it’s going to take one hell of a man to
get me even half as well as you do.” She willed him to finally see what was in
front of him. They were a key and lock, made to fit and always working in
tandem. It was a rarity.
“We’re not getting
any younger, Ave. That day is coming around the corner.”
Unless you step up
to the plate. She glanced out the window, afraid he would see the longing in
her eyes. Maybe he’s trying to tell me we are never going to happen and I need
to move on without him. And my ass is too stupid to realize it. “I don’t feel
the crush of age the way you do. I think it’ll happen organically. Life has a
way of putting you on the right path eventually. For now, I’m in love with my
life. I love my vintage two-bedroom apartment in the charming historic
building. The freedom of being a freelancer, and the point I’ve reached in my
career. Why borrow trouble worrying about what may or may not happen?”
“Just like that?”
Enzo snapped.
“No, it’s a
conscious choice I make daily. You know I live in my head. I’ve been in the
dark before…really deep. I’m trying not to return there. I didn’t like it much
the first time.”
Enzo nodded and
shoveled a spoonful of oats into his mouth. He was a brooding thinker, her
creative best friend. Most only saw the successful tattoo artist with a hot
bod, and what they took for a short fuse. While he might have some anger issues
about certain events, he never flew off the handle or did anything impulsive.
He was a brooder. A deep thinking individual who camouflaged his sensitivity
with humor, crassness, and walls.
She’d scaled them
one by one over the years, but an unbreakable obstacle remained. She forced
herself to eat her breakfast. Times like this, it was best to let the silence
remain between them. His birthdate was always rough. She never really
understood why he wanted her with him. He never went into detail, simply saying
it made him feel better.
She was a
sucker that way, not wanting to bring up painful memories of his past. Maybe I
should practice tough love? How could she when the majority of his formative
years had been hell? The things that happened to you in the first five years
shaped your life forever, she knew that more than most.
They finished their
meal, and she took the plates away, washing them by hand to give herself time
to figure out how to best approach him.
“So what movie are
we starting with?” she asked, wiping the kitchen island down. The horror movie
marathon had grown legendary. People would show up with birthday offerings,
popcorn, candy, and snacks. He celebrated the traditional way with family the
day after his birthday. This day was just for them.
“The bloodier, the better,”
he answered.
“Hmmm, classic or
modern?”
He leaned in
closer. “That depends on what you have in mind.”
“Dead Alive or Saw,
the first film.”
“Hmmm. Dead Alive.
I could use a bit of laughter with my gore.”
“Excellent choice.
Morning margaritas?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow up.
He laughed. “Yeah
right.”
She laughed with
him and retrieved a bottle of scotch and two glass tumblers. Setting the
personalized glasses onto the counter that she’d brought back from Ireland on a
visit, she moved to the fridge for the ice. “You get the movie cued up, and
I’ll be in a minute,” she said.
“On it.”
Aibhlinn then
pulled out the plastic black ice tray and cracked the round ball of ice out of
its mold. Setting one gently into a glass, she repeated the process, proud of
the habits Enzo picked up from her. Her love of fine whiskey was another trait
she’d inherited from her father. Back home, people took their drinks quite
seriously. While her mother could drink with the best of them, she wasn’t as
particular on her pick of poison.
She poured them
both a healthy dollop and placed them—along with the bottle—onto a chocolate
wood breakfast tray she’d bought. It was amazing how many of her touches she
could see throughout his house. If she’d left it up to him, the place would
still be a barren bachelor’s pad. The man could be his own worst enemy. It was
like he didn’t believe he deserved happiness. She entered the room, set the
tray on the black table in front of the couch, and sank onto the soft grey
cushion.
“You ready?” he
asked.
“Let the
horrorathon begin,” she replied solemnly with a nod.
He snickered and
pressed play.
As the movie began,
she tucked her legs under her and leaned into his side. It was the only time
she could get this close casually. His body exuded heat, and the scent of
something dark and delicious seeped from his pores. She knew the brand of body
wash he used, but it was something about his chemistry that turned the scent
into an indescribable buffet for the senses. Content, she let herself get lost
in the movie.
“The nineties gave
us such great one liners,” Enzo noted as the priest showed off his ninja
assassin skills while claiming to kick ass for the Lord.
She laughed. “Well,
yeah, but so did Peter Jackson. He’s a special kind of sick and twisted, though
he hides it well these days. I mean, Meet the Feebles?”
“Truth. I’d like to
see him do another horror movie.”
“It’ll never
happen. He knows where his bread and butter lies,” she said.
“That’s the double
edge sword of fame I suppose. When you’re just making a name, you’re not
expected to do anything in particular. The world is your playground, and the
only limitation is your imagination. Then you get recognition, get labeled, and
wind up stuck in a box. He’s still making Lord of the Ring films how many years
later?”
“I don’t know, he
has a cult film following, too, though. That’s something to be proud of. Plus,
there was District 9. That was a step back toward those movies where he really
flexed his creative muscles and stepped ‘outside of the box’,” she said using
air quotes.
“Yeah, that’s true.
I forgot about that one. I actually liked it a lot.”
“I know. I did,
too.” She smiled up at him.
“Well, you do tend
to have pretty good taste.”
“Shut up, I’m
awesome,” she retorted.
“Yeah, you are.
Thanks for hanging with me.”
“Hey, traditions
are meant to be kept,” she replied, careful to keep things light.
They returned their
attention to the movie, and she allowed herself to enjoy his closeness.
A knock sounded on
the door halfway through the movie.
Enzo pressed pause.
“Got to be Rhys. No one else gets up this early.”
“I’ll get it,”
Aibhlinn said, eager to put some distance between the two of them. It was a
little too easy to pretend things between them could be romantic behavior. She
peered out the window above the door and grinned at the sight of the blond male
with green eyes. The baby of the brothers, he had a lightheartedness about him.
She opened the door. “Rhys.”
“Aibhlinn,” Rhys
cried, sweeping her up into his arms.
“I told you about
treating her like a doll,” Enzo barked from the couch.
Aibhlinn giggled.
“Should we royally
piss him off, then?” Rhys asked.
She nodded her
head.
“When are you going
to let me make an honest woman out of you?” Rhys asked, loud enough for Enzo to
hear.
“I don’t know. What
do you have to offer?” Aibhlinn asked in a sultry voice.
“Okay, seriously?”
Enzo grumbled.
She and Rhys
laughed.
“What? I only came
here to see Aibhlinn,” Rhys defended.
“No way, man, it’s
my day. Get your own girl,” Enzo growled.
Rhys’ eyes widened.
Aibhlinn quickly
looked away, ignoring the blood that rushed to her face.
“I am,” Rhys said.
“Pain in my ass,”
Enzo stated as his voice drew near. He entered the living room and scowled at
his brother who held out a bag.
“Don’t shoot the
messenger. It’s from Mom.”
“And she told you
to bring it to me at the ass crack of dawn?” Enzo asked.
“She said first
thing, and then proceeded to call me to make sure.”
“What is it?” Enzo
asked.
“No clue, bro. She
gave it to me last night when I was over there for dinner. Happy womb
liberation day.”
“Thanks,” Enzo
grumbled.
“Well, I’ll let you
two do whatever it is you do when you’re together,” Rhys said.
Enzo rolled his
eyes. “I’m starting to think you have a crush on my girl for real,” Enzo
accused, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
“All I’m saying is,
Netflix and Chill has led to many babies, so please be safe,” Rhys teased.
Enzo stepped
forward.
Rhys moved back,
laughing. “I’m headed to the gym now. I got an early appointment that’ll take a
good chunk of my day up.”
“Where do they want
it?” Enzo asked.
“A back piece.
Luckily, it’s not their first. I always cringe when first times come in and try
to do a back piece in one sitting.” Rhys shook his head.
Enzo snorted. “Call
me if you need anything.”
“We won’t, and if
we do, I’m calling Noah. It’s your day.” Rhys and Enzo fist bumped. “See you
soon, pretty girl,” Rhys said, giving her a hug before he disappeared out the
door.
She spun around.
“Open the bag.”
He laughed and
removed the red tissue paper. “Oh, man, she did good.” He pulled out a bulky
box set. “We are watching Kill Bill next.”
She leaned in and
read the description. It was a gift set featuring Quentin Tarantino’s best and
bloodiest. “I love your mom. She’s so cool.”
“Trust me, the
feeling is mutual with your mom. Come on, let’s finish our movie before we’re
interrupted again.” Enzo led her back into the living room.
Once again, she was
lost to her thoughts of what if. Enzo was the sun. She had no choice but to
keep circling him.
We fight it down,
and we live it down, or we bear it bravely well,
But the best men
die of a broken heart for the things they cannot tell.
“Things We Dare Not
Tell” ~Henry Lawson
Translations:
A leanbuh (uh
LAN-uv): My child
Shyla Colt grew up in Cincinnati, Ohio, but has lived a variety of different places thanks to her wanderlust, interesting careers, and marriage to a United States Marine. She's always loved books and wrote her very first novel at the age of fifteen. She keeps a copy of her first submission letter on her desk for inspiration. After a lifetime of traveling, she settled down and knew her time had come to write. Diving into her new career like she does everything else, with enthusiasm, research and a lot of prayers, she had her first book published in June of 2011. As a full-time writer, stay at home mother, and wife, there's never a dull moment in her household. She weaves her tales in spare moments and the evenings with a cup of coffee or tea at her side and the characters in her head for company. A self-professed rebel with a pen. Her goal is to diversify romance as she continues to genre hop, and offer up strong female characters.
No comments:
Post a Comment