His head whips back and he blinks in indignation. His lips pinch into such a small, tight O that they look like an asshole. One that’s clenching.

DNF after skimming to check out the big to-do about the feminization kink.

This is my third DNF by this author. I think the writing style isn't for me, it's first person present dual POV with *italics*, and lots of short sentences in a row describing the same thing 10 different ways for emphasis. I guess the pucked and pucking thing is not going away this year, LOL.

The sex euphemisms were abundant: winking hole, star hole, flooding his chute. And then: I fucked his throat with gay abandon.

I was not interested in the details of the decor of the meeting rooms, the walls, chairs, and whatnot. I read hundreds of pages about nothing.

The door is solid and heavy, made of dark timber, Eastern black walnut or ebony maybe, and it’s been varnished to a gleaming satin finish.

There’s a gold medallion inlaid into the wood. A shield and the letter S with a viper coiled loosely around it, head drawn back, jaws wide open, ready to strike.

A large oval room with a heavy- duty navy- blue carpet on the floor and the same almost- black timber for benches and stalls. It’s a dark, ominous space, broken only by the starkness of the white- and- gold practice jerseys hanging below each player’s number. Sorry, I don't care. Fantasy setting, historical setting, yes, that would be interesting.

By the time we get to the locker room, most of the rest of the team has already made tracks and the guys still here are in the final stages of getting dressed. Empty drink bottles are strewn all around and wet towels hang out of the big hamper near the shower. Steam from the showers has wafted into the locker room, thickening the air and making it stagnant. The strangely not- totally- unpleasant smell of sweat and soap sears my nostrils when I inhale. The shower has seen enough through traffic tonight that the mottled beige tiles are glossy and wet. Vapor has gathered and condensed, forming rivulets that run down the walls in tiny parallel lines. There are two rows of showerheads in the room, five on each side, with a hook and a shelf each for toiletries. I undress quickly, eager to get away from Decker as fast as I possibly can. He’s still getting out of his protective gear by the time I hang up my towel and flick the faucet on. I choose the spout farthest from the door and step back as I wait for the water to warm up. When it’s as hot as I can handle, I step in and almost groan from the instant relief the heat on sore muscles brings. So much detail for what? Ambience?

Everything about this book is why I DNFed The Step Bro Situation, same droning on in the inner monologues, short sentences, repeating things, immature/casual speech and behavior, I really cannot stand it. Oh, and like in Step Bro, there is a sunshiney perfect MC who everyone adores (side character dialogue and behavior is also awkward and strangely unrealistic) and is fawning over. I found it aggravating. Zero depth.

A sample of what drove me nuts:

For the first time in a long while, I feel like I shouldn’t be here. Like I’m in the wrong place. Like I’m trespassing.

The team that changed my life, my physiology, and made my heart pump ice.

In case you’re wondering, they’re close, but I’m better.

I shoulder the door, and as it opens, a discordance of sights and sounds envelops me.

I manage to suppress it with a constipated croak that almost sounds like my name.

The deep, breathy sound rises half an octave, warbling slightly, and ends with a sharp, clipped tss.

He moves like water. Sure and smooth. A force that’s harnessed the sun and tamed gravity.