I've been a single mom for sixteen years, and I know there's no place left in my life for fun. Right?
I grew up in the South, where there are three things you're never supposed to ask: A woman her age, a man his salary, and a single mother how the duck she's managing to juggle a job, a mortgage, and a teenage son who's suddenly become too big for his britches. I mean, where did my teensy little best bud go? Who is this bro who's so proud of his fledgling mustache and even fledgling-er biceps?
I realize exactly how much my son has changed when he sets me up with the hottest cop in town. This big city charmer is an incredibly shmexy orc who-for no discernable reason-seems to like me. What in the world could he see in an exhausted, overworked, desperate-to-throw-in-the-towel-and-hide-under-the-covers single mom? I'm ready to swear off men entirely, except . . . Simbel makes me laugh. And somehow, he makes life easier and more fun.
I've spent the last sixteen years protecting my heart and my baby, and "having fun" is what changed my life sixteen years ago. But can I give into the temptation Simbel represents and trust him not to hurt either of us? Or do I stick with my safe but lonely life?
