After one too many failed relationships, I promised myself I was done with men…Then Tyler pressed his muscular mountain man body against mine and that vow I made?
It went out the window.
He rescued me from the hell I was living in.
Made me feel wanted, needed, safe from the heartache that came along with raising myself.
And I fell for him. Hard.
Then he left with no explanation other than a pathetic goodbye note.
Now he’s back and at my best friend's wedding of all the damn places, demanding a second chance.
I’m so done with him.
Except, I can’t stop thinking about ripping that suit off his delicious body.
But it’s fine, I’m fine.
As long as he doesn’t kiss me or touch me or look at me, I’ll be fine!
Scratch what I said before because I'm so screwed.