Yes, this is a girl-meets-boy story, but the boy is totally hot while the girl is, at best, average. (Except for my wild, Medusa-curls. Ugh.) And yes, there is a misunderstanding, and a villainous outlaw, and a timely confession of love...well, okay, fine. It's totally a romance novel. But please note, there is no scantily-clad woman on the cover wilting into the arms of a muscular pirate; I'm not that kind of girl.

I'm a normal, everyday girl. And I can't understand why Ben—who is hot as a Greek god—wants to be my friend. Is it because we both play the guitar? Like the same flavors of ice cream? Laugh at the same jokes? Or does he want to hang around strictly so I'll help him with his homework? I hope not because I've been there, done that, and gotten burned. Not interested, thanks.

But I am interested in Ben. He's a real gentleman—a true romance novel here. (It's like Mr. Darcy signed up for my art history class.) Is it possible that this is the real thing? Or have my ridiculous, romantic obsessions gotten the best of me—again?