Never make a bet with a man who plays to win . . .
Especially not a man like handsome, arrogant Connor Pratt. AKA the huge PITA who's currently crashing in my spare room. AKA my brother's best friend since they were about six. AKA the one guy who still makes me feel like an awkward tongue-tied loser.
But when Connor moved in, I got a glimpse of another side of him. Because, like me, Connor's going through a nasty break-up. And, like me, he's just doing whatever he can to get through it.
Unfortunately, his method involves drinking alarming amounts of whiskey and watching a lot of, um . . . movies . . . that make every inch of my skin flush. I'm just trying to be helpful when I tell him that he should try my method: copious amounts of baked goods, sappy romantic comedies, and late nights spent whining with girlfriends.
But I should have known Connor would take that as a challenge. Now, he says he'll try my way of dealing with a break-up . . . but only if I agree to try his. Six month's rent to the person whose method works best.
We call it the break-up bet. And I'm going to win. Except right now, it feels like there's a whole lot more at stake than just rent money . . .
Contains mature themes.
