The only thing that I can add to my recent review of the book from when I read it with my eyes, is to say what a wonderful job Alexander Cendese has done bringing all of the books and characters to life. After reading a Lane Hayes book I always say that the only thing that can make it better is to listen to it as an audiobook and this one certainly did not change my mind about that statement! 😊 ❤

Original review below:
The Script Club has been another great series from Lane Hayes. Each of the books has pretty much featured a jock and a nerd but each of the stories were very different – except for the falling in love part – and the stories never felt repetitive at all. One-by-one we’ve gotten to know the young men sharing a house and I’ve enjoyed reading about all of them. Now it’s Holden’s turn…

Holden and Ezra snipe at each other all the time and the other roommates think they can’t stand each other; even Holden and Ezra think they can’t stand each other until… they make a bet and then things start to happen.

Love and History isn’t really an enemies-to-lovers story – although it sort of has that vibe in the beginning – because Holden and Ezra don’t hate each other, they just seriously get on each other’s nerves. I really enjoyed watching them dance around each other and gradually come to the realization that they want to have sexy time together.

Holden helps Ezra finally admit that he’s bi and has been hiding that part of himself for too long. Ezra helps Holden lighten up a bit and not always be so serious. They really work together even though maybe they shouldn’t. Both of them have secrets from their past that impact how they interact with people and Lane Hayes did a great job of hinting at things before everything was revealed.

I love Lane Hayes writing and while this is the last book in The Script Club series, she’s hinted at another series that might allow us to revisit some of the club’s characters. I’m here for whatever she writes next.

Reviews for Lane Hayes

Reviews for Alexander Cendese

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Holden mumbled a greeting to Cole, who’d shuffled bleary-eyed to the coffee machine, then leaned toward me. “What are you doing with your spoon?”

I held up the spoon in question and shrugged. “Nothing. Why?”

“You’re licking it,” he whispered, adding, “suggestively.”

I barked a strangled half laugh. “Spoon porn? Is that a thing?”

“Don’t ask me. I don’t know anything about porn.”

I arched my brow dubiously. “Really?”

“Really,” he assured me.

“Why not?”

“It’s not interesting to me.”

“Bullshit,” I coughed into my hand, snickering at his outraged expression. “Don’t tell me you’ve never imagined a ‘Robin Hood getting freaky in the forest’ scenario.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You know…hanky-panky in tights and those weird hats with feathers on ’em.” I dipped my spoon into my bowl of yogurt and licked it clean again. “I bet they got down to some kinky shenanigans in the Sherman Forest in Renaissance times.”

Holden pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose, which I’d learned months ago signaled an oncoming lecture. I was right.

“That’s Sherwood Forest, not Sherman, and Robin Hood is a folktale set in medieval times, not the Renaissance.”

“Same difference.” I teased, rubbing my calf against his.

He narrowed his eyes. “I suspect this is tomfoolery, but I’ll explain the difference nonetheless.”

I set my hand on his knee and smiled. “Please do.”

He blushed, then went into more detail about the difference between the medieval and the Renaissance period than my brain could process at seven a.m. But I liked it.

I polished off my yogurt, listening with half an ear as I surreptitiously studied his details—his squared shoulders, his sharp gaze, and the proud tilt of his chin. Holden was all angles and edges with smiling eyes and unconscious charisma.

When I first moved in, I’d wondered if I could handle living with a guy who spouted random bits of historic or scientific intel like an audiobook version of a dull Wikipedia entry. Funny enough, I didn’t mind at all. I learned something new every day.

For example, a few months ago, he called me a “tallow-catch” when he tripped over the shoes I’d left on the landing. I didn’t have a comeback. I literally had no idea what the fuck that meant, so I consulted Merriam-Webster. Turns out a “tallow-catch” was a lump of animal fat that butchers used to make candles in olden days. Hey, I’d been called worse. I actually appreciated that he never resorted to basic insults and rarely swore.

Holden was a true gentleman. I wasn’t. And that might never change. However, I found myself wanting to try a little harder, and maybe use this newfound supersonic power to figure out what made him tick. ’Cause it occurred to me that his quest to soak up knowledge had a manic edge. As if he used his smarts to avoid…something.

Hell, I knew all about avoiding shit. And I knew that a couple of BJs didn’t give me the right to his secrets. But I wanted them anyway.

“…the invention of the printing press changed the world forever and—” Holden paused for air and gave a self-conscious shrug. “Sorry. I get a little carried away sometimes. I didn’t mean to bore you with a history lesson.”

“You’re not boring me. I think you’re fascinating,” I commented, unthinking.

He shook his head and snickered. “I don’t think you’re fascinated with my mind, Ezra.”

He was so wrong.

The Script Club Series

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