Try

Lily Burana was one of my all-time heroines before I even met her. Strip City, as a lot of you are aware, is one of the most engaging, whip-smart memoirs ever written, and not merely because it's about you-know-what. Lily spits color and light as effortlessly as a Roman candle. Her writing is simply pyrotechnic. She could write about dental adhesive and I'd still sweat every paragraph.

(And obviously, without the original Miss Nude Wyoming, this hapless Candy Girl wouldn't have a red leather coattail to cling to.)

Which is why I'm so psyched about Lily's new novel, Try. When you become incredibly attached to an author's first book ( my copy of Strip City has been literally loved to death), you wonder if the follow-up is going to deliver. Especially when said author is boldly switching to fiction, leaving behind all us bang-n'-dent memoirists for the ranks of the Real! Writers! I can't even imagine being shelved under Literature at B&N. My ego would go supernova.

You're all like, "Get to it. Is the book any good?"

Folks, it's more than good. Lily delivered like Domino's. Try is an incredibly tight, well-crafted, evocative, dead-sexy romance about rodeo cowboys, bad girls, good girls, injured families, the moonlight-and-sagebrush mystique that still endures out West, and the way New West ranch kids both deride and take pride in that heritage. You'd think Lily was a lifelong cowgirl based on her exhaustive knowledge of the rodeo scene. And as always, her descriptive language plunks you squarely in the midst of whatever tale she's telling. Bring your boots, kids-- we're hittin' the trail!

And the SEX...sweet Lord, the sex scenes will put you temporarily out of commission, girls. This shit is hot. You are so going to want to fuck the main guy (or the protaganist, for that matter).

Congratulations, Lily! You have somehow, impossibly, exceeded my expectations, darling.

Now, everyone go buy it. When was the last time you read a juicy-sweet novel that was also masterfully written?