Can't Think Straight:. Kiri Blakeley

Can't Think Straight: - Kiri Blakeley


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       CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT

      A Memoir of Mixed-up Love

      Kiri Blakeley

       All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

      CITADEL PRESS BOOKS are published by

      Kensington Publishing Corp.

      119 West 40th Street

      New York, NY 10018

      Copyright © 2011 Kiri Blakeley

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

      All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotions, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use. Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington special sales manager: Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40th Street, New York, NY 10018, attn: Special Sales Department; phone 1-800-221-2647.

      AUTHOR’S NOTE

      All names of people (except for the dead) and some identifying factors have been changed. There are no composite characters. With a couple of exceptions, scenes appear in the order in which they occurred.

      CITADEL PRESS and the Citadel logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

      First printing: January 2011

      10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

      Printed in the United States of America

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2010931891

      eISBN-13: 978-0-8065-3499-2

      eISBN-10: 0-8065-3499-0

      CONTENTS

      chapter one

      chapter two

      chapter three

      chapter four

      chapter five

      chapter six

      chapter seven

      chapter eight

       chapter fifteen

       chapter sixteen

       chapter seventeen

       chapter eighteen

       chapter nineteen

       chapter twenty

       chapter twenty-one

       chapter twenty-two

       chapter twenty-three

       chapter twenty-four

       chapter twenty-five

       chapter twenty-six

       chapter twenty-seven

       chapter twenty-eight

       chapter twenty-nine

       chapter thirty

       chapter thirty-one

       chapter thirty-two

       chapter thirty-three

       chapter thirty-four

       chapter thirty-five

       chapter thirty-six

       chapter thirty-seven

       chapter thirty-eight

       chapter thirty-nine

       chapter forty

       chapter forty-one

       chapter forty-two

       chapter forty-three

       chapter forty-four

       chapter forty-five

       chapter forty-six

       chapter forty-seven

       chapter forty-eight

       chapter forty-nine

       chapter fifty

       chapter fifty-one

       chapter fifty-two

       chapter fifty-three

       chapter fifty-four

       chapter fifty-five

       chapter fifty-six

       chapter fifty-seven

       chapter fifty-eight

       chapter fifty-nine

       chapter sixty

       chapter sixty-one

       chapter sixty-two

       chapter sixty-three

       chapter sixty-four

       chapter sixty-five

       chapter sixty-six

       chapter sixty-seven

       chapter sixty-eight

       chapter sixty-nine

       chapter seventy

       Acknowledgements

       Praise for Kiri Blakeley and CAN’T THINK STRAIGHT

       chapter one

      I thought I had escaped it. The family curse: my grandmothers on both sides, my mother. All had grown old alone—victims of divorce and heartless men. I, on the other hand, had been in a relationship for ten years. A good, solid relationship. The kind you want, the kind all your friends want. The kind I never expected someone like me would have.

      Yet the lies we tell others pale in comparison to the lies we tell ourselves. And one night my fiancé decides to stop lying to both of us.

      “I think I’m confused about my sexuality,” Aaron says, as Sex and the City drones on the TV in the background.

      Just moments before, I’d been in our bedroom, living my normal life. Aaron had summoned me into the living room with a solemn, “We need to talk.”

      That’s the kind of opener that, in movies anyway, usually precedes some bad, or at least important, news. But I’d felt no flutter of fear. Ten years spent in a warm haze of reliably reciprocated love had left me without even a sliver of relationship anxiety.

      I was like the family dog coming for its usual belly rub and, instead, getting


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