I was happy in my small town. In my life as a single, thirty-two year old woman. I had a good job, wonderful friends, my independence. I also hadn't got laid in three years. Hadn't been on a date in two. Had stopped counting calories and wearing makeup... a while ago. Then Brett Jacobs waltzed in. Caressed my thigh, dug rough fingers into my hair, lowered his soft mouth to my skin, took sexual control of my mind and stirred it all around with what he packed in his pants. He flipped my quiet life upside down and crawled into a place in my heart I thought was dead. The issue is his secret. The issue is her. The issue is that I don't even know she exists, and he thinks she's dead. The issue is that shit is about to hit the fan and I can't hold on to him tight enough.
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