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roof. He said you couldn’t break a leg from a 12-foot jump.
(You can also break a collarbone, which served him right as far as I was
I wish I could say it was the last dare I ever took from him, the last bet
I ever made with him, the last time I ever *trusted* Oliver Ford Pemberton.
But it wasn’t.
Because he had the nerve to grow up gorgeous, charming, and sexy. And as we
got older, the dares only got dirtier—and the betting stakes higher—until
finally, he left me in pieces.
I swore I’d never talk to him again.
But twenty years after I took that flying leap, he’s back in my life,
daring me to risk everything for him: my job, my self-worth, and my heart.
How many chances does true love deserve?