I was done.
Done with men.
Women say it all the time; they get fed up, throw their hands in the air, and vow a life of celibacy—until the next chiseled chest comes into view and then they’re foaming at the mouth and wiping the drool from their chins. But this was different, I really meant it.
I’d been manhandled by the last pig that would ever bring his sausage near me. After one of the nastiest divorces in history, followed by some of the crudest and raunchiest dates, I’d decided to bat for the other team.
…At least I tried.
But creating the next Brat Pack hadn’t been on the agenda. Neither had my date's brother, Collier West. And I wasn’t prepared for finding true love at the end of my gal-pal tryst.