Dave and I listen to audio books. We both spend a lot of time in our cars and we enjoy “reading,” sometimes swapping, always discussing. He prefers action stuff like Clive Cussler and Douglas Preston. I like pretty much anything. I thought.

For our recent road trip to the Furniture Mart in North Carolina, he ordered a couple of audio books. We listened to Casino Royale on the way there, the original Bond by Ian Flemming, and were prepared to listen to The Dead Town, Book Five of the Frankenstein series by Dean Koontz on the way back.

I unwrapped the factory sealed packaging, popped open the case and put the cd in the player. “We hope you enjoy this Brilliance recording of Debbie Macomber’s Sooner or Later,” was what we heard. Huh? Pop it out, check the labeling, stick it back in, same thing. What the hell?!

So I look up Debbie Macomber on my phone thinking, cool, maybe we found a new author.
Um, no.
She is a prolific romance writer.
Not my thing. Definitely NOT Dave’s thing.
How could the mix-up be so completely disparate?!

We’d have been disappointed if it had been a copy of Frankenstein Book Four since we’ve already read that, but at least they’re in the same “family.” We’d have been intrigued had it been a new author in the same genre. But book 2 in a romance series, how exactly does that happen?

We stopped at one of the many malls and picked up Raging Heat, the latest novel by Rick Castle, which may sound naughty, but isn’t.

Once home again, I was ready for a new story in my car. I thought I’d give the misprint a try. If you’ll remember, I admitted to reading Danielle Steel a million years ago, but that is the extent of my “romance” experience. I like to consider myself an eclectic reader, so I figured, what the heck?

The author was building an interesting story. I was invested—the small town postmistress needs to rescue her missionary twin brother from a foreign country under hostile coup. Then she lost me.

About twenty minutes into the story, as I was turning into my driveway, I blurted, “Who talks like that?!”

“I know you’re a virgin.”
You have GOT to be kidding me.
Okay, so now I have to listen, right?

The next day I’m driving, as usual, and I’m listening, as usual, and I am sniggering, which is new to my commute.
*SPOILER ALERT*
She is a virgin, how did he know?
He’s willing to trade one night with her, a full night, all night long, in bed with her, for his mercenary services to rescue her brother.
And she agrees.
Oh no she di’int. 
Oh yes she did.

I stuck it out through the *ahem* scene. Which was pretty graphic for not actually using, you know, any scientific terminology.

Erotic-ah?
Erotic-eh.

I told you, I don’t read romance. I’ve never read JD Robb or Nora Roberts (wink, nod, I do know they’re the same person). I am one of the few who jumped out of the way of the Fifty Shades bandwagon, er, should I say bondagewagon.

True Confession time, I was a bi-beta reader for a good friend’s new erotica novel—and she was my first! I blush as I write this, I mean, I’m no longer an explicit content virgin. Could you tell? But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to go all the way with other novels.

A close friend had a really bad day the other day. I texted her and hoped her new day was better. She replied, “slept in and reading all day.” I said, “As long as you’re not reading something feel-bad like Gone Girl.” She texted back, “Nope. All smut.”

I literally laughed out loud.

I called Brilliance Audio and spoke with a person who promised to rectify the error. Two days later we received a new MP3 of The Dead Town, Book Five of Dean Koontz’s Frankenstein series. Except that it wasn’t. It was Debbie Macomber’s Sooner or Later.

I’m beginning to think it’s more than a title, it’s a challenge.

Postscript:
The research for this blog is totally going to mess with my Amazon recommendations.