When we were 11, Oliver Ford Pemberton dared me to jump off a barn roof. He said you couldn’t break a leg from a 12-foot jump. He lied.
(You can also break a collarbone, which served him right as far as I was concerned.)
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 20 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?