I hate summer
Okay, I'll admit this up front. I'm kind of down these days. Reverse SAD? Actually, I looked it up and Seasonal Affective Disorder doesn't only afflict people in the winter—it can get you in the summer too. I find that reassuring, because I'm usually okay in the winter. I like the cold because you can just put on more clothes if you're uncomfortable, right? In the summer there's only so much you can do if there isn't a body of cold water nearby to jump into. Humidity makes me want to die. And yes, I know I should be living in the desert, but here I am in the nation's capital, which, if you didn't know, was built on a swamp. Which is exactly what it feels like in the summer.
At least I'm not in Florida, where, aside from being disgustingly humid, apparently there are Burmese pythons and giant alligators crawling around people's back yards trying to eat their pets. Eww! I went up to New England to cool off but the black flies bit my neck and eyelids and flew up my nose, so I raced back here where the bugs are too exhausted from the humidity to do any real damage. When I'm at home I fight with the air conditioner—too little and I'm limp, too much and I feel violated by the cold air blowing around my legs and drying out my eyes and nasal passages. In a pinch I blast it and wear sweats and wrap up in blankets while I drink Prosecco and do my crossword puzzles.
Oh, wait, I'm supposed be writing about my latest romantic suspense. Correction: I should be writing romantic suspense. Well, I'm not feeling romantic, and I'm too depressed to feel anything remotely like suspense. I tried picking up one of my keeper books to inspire me; you know the type, a big gorgeous alpha guy rescuing a beautiful kick-ass scientist on an archaeological dig…but it was set in the jungle!
Please, somebody, can you recommend a delicious, sexy book set in a very cold climate??