You can take the girl out of the south, but you can't take the south out of the girl. That's why Crash McClanahan is all wrong for me. The sexy, growly biker is just a big walking nope. Not going to happen. Never in a million years.
Sure, his kisses are sweeter than iced tea in July. But I'm monograms and mimosas. He's bar fights and beer. I never wear white after Labor Day. He never leaves the house without his leathers. You get the idea.
But when my new life in New York is upended and I have to go on the run, Crash is the only one who's there for me. He's the only one who has my back. He's the only man who drives me so crazy that I don't know if I want him to kiss me till I see stars or hop on his bike and disappear in a cloud of road dust. I know he's all wrong for me, so why does being with him feel so right?
