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Welcome to the Hank-pocalypse

I’m Jenny Banks and I’m pretty sure I should stop drinking mojitos now. Not that I can get one right this minute, but honestly, I’d settle for a beer. After a college party that is mostly a blur, I find myself stuck in a stranger’s house somewhere in South Dade, way too near the zoo, as hurricane Hank tries to take the roof off. Juan Ruiz—said stranger —is being a total jerk about it too. It’s bad enough that I have like the worst hangover in history, and I’m terrified of storms, but does he have to make such a big deal about finding me passed out on the couch in the small office behind the den? I mean, I don’t want to be here either.

But now there’s nowhere for me to go and I don’t just mean during the storm—which, oh my God, let’s never do that again—because we’re the last house standing for miles and my car flew away or somebody stole it. Now, I’m stuck here in the Hank-pocalypse with mister bossy pants— Juan—who has all these ideas about how I should live my life. Who asked him, anyway? Me. I’m the idiot who asked for this. In my defense, Juan is intense and hot, and he turns my legs to jelly. But now, every time he barks an order, I can’t help answering, ‘Yes, sir.’ It’s becoming a bad habit. Please send help.

This is book six in the Jerks of Miami series and can be enjoyed independently

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