Back in the Game by Lori Wilde

What I thought this book was about: a small town sports romance. Cute, quirky, hopefully funny, almost definitely sexy. But, uh…unfortunately Back in the Game was not that. Not even close. Also it’s just not well-written, but even if that wasn’t a consideration, the story is kinda hokey all on its own. It did start off okay at least! Breeanne is a sheltered, virginal bookworm with a long-standing crush on star pitcher Rowdy Blanton. She is Cute and Delicate and says “nut bunnies” instead of actual swear words because she is Too Pure. She meets Rowdy in person at an estate sale and makes a memorable first impression. Also, Breeanne buys a magical, wish-granting hope chest from an old lady who disappears without a trace.

Yep, that’s right. A hope chest that grants wishes. I don’t even know, fam.

But anyways, Breeanne becomes Rowdy’s ghostwriter and lusts after him quite a bit, because apparently he’s super gorgeous and has a Gigantic Dick. Of course. Now, she knows Rowdy doesn’t do commitment, but she’s okay with having her heart broken. She just wants to have her first orgasm. So, she sets up this big seduction scene, which unnecessarily spans over three or four chapters, featuring chocolate-covered strawberries and lingerie and champagne and sexy music…and Rowdy turns her down. Why? Oh, well, you see….

Rowdy refuses to have sex with Breeanne because, as we all know, female virgins “imprint” (his words) upon the first guy they have sex with and it ruins them forever. Also, apparently all women must lose their virginity to a man they’re in love with. It is known. Never mind that Breeanne is a grown-up human who understands and accepts the concept of casual sex and isn’t asking Rowdy for anything more than a good time.

“Were you in love with the woman who took your virginity?” She took another step.

“No.”

“Then why do you think I have to be?”

“It’s different. You’re a woman.”

Men know best, right?

Right.

So, at that point I got screamingly angry at the book and really wanted nothing more to do with Rowdy as a concept. He did let Breeanne down easy by giving her oral, so I guess that was gentlemanly of him? Y’know, he wouldn’t have PIV sex with her because that would make her “imprint with me like a baby duck” but it’s okay to make her come without your Magical Penis involved? Sure, Rowdy. Sure.

(Also can we please discuss how realistic it isn’t for a 25-year-old woman to have never, ever, ever masturbated in her lifetime? Really? Seriously? Breeanne didn’t need some good-for-nothing baseball player to figure out what her clitoris was for. Jesus Christ.)

But anyways, this is all supposed to be very romantic. At least, Breeanne thought so, because she wakes up the next morning head over heels in love with the man who condescendingly told her how her own sexuality functioned. As you do, I suppose.

How she burned for him!

He was funny and charming and full of life. Like a prism, he dazzled… He was the color she’d always lacked. He was a glorious peacock and she a dull, drab peahen.

Oh jeez, girl. Have some self-respect. You’re just fine. Be your own damn peacock!

Anyways, at this point there’s some kind of drama about Rowdy’s baseball career. Something about him getting beat up in a bar fight and sustaining a career-ending injury, some kind of super secret scandal, and a rivalry with Rowdy’s little brother. I’m honestly a little hazy on the details because it just didn’t seem to be important. All of this featured a villain who is described exactly as one would expect a villain to be described:

…a squat silver-haired man with an unlit cigar clamped in the corner of his mouth… He had eyes like a Boston terrier, chubby hamster cheeks, a potbelly hanging over his belt, and a low-slung, bowlegged gait.

Yeesh.

This drama takes up roughly the last third of the book and is kind of irrelevant, speaking retrospectively. Actually, almost all of Back in the Game felt irrelevant. I forgot all about it as soon as the book was over. The entire first half of the book was summarized in the sentence “Breeanne becomes Rowdy’s ghostwriter and lusts after him.” (True facts: I sat down to write this review and couldn’t even remember that the protagonist’s name was Breeanne, that’s how unimportant the whole book was.) Everything just felt like filler, needless fluff as Wilde met her wordcount quota on the way to the inevitable HEA. It was also badly written fluff, if you haven’t seen from the quotes I’ve provided thus far. Take this one for example:

He flopped over in bed, the rich scent of her femininity rising up from his chest, and making him have an erection.

That’s…that’s just bad writing, okay? WTF.

Overall, I have very little use for this book. Back in the Game is a classic example of in one ear and out the other. I read it, my brain absorbed the words, but they didn’t make an impression. I couldn’t even remember the main character’s name an hour after I read the epilogue, okay? That’s…not good. I mean it’s an okay book, but it doesn’t really have much to recommend itself. I’ve read better small town romances, for sure.

Plus the wish-granting hope chest was just whack.

Also relevant: transgender women are described as “men dressed in women’s clothing” and “trannies” in this book. Yeah, no. That’s not okay. Bye.

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