When we were eleven, 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 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?