How’d I meet her?
Well, a gentleman never brags.
Thankfully, I’m no gentleman.
First, I paid for her cherry (pie, but that’s not the point),
Next, I deflowered her.
After that? I left my business card and walked out like I owned the place.
Yeah, you could say we hit it off.
How did I meet William?
He walked into my bakery, bought a cherry pie, stole a vase of flowers—I still have no idea what he wanted with them—and left his business card.
Before I say what I did with the business card, I should clarify something:
William couldn’t have walked into my life at a worse time.
My bakery was failing.
My creepy ex refused to leave me alone.
Oh, and I was a twenty-five-year-old virgin, a fact my friends refused to stop hassling me about.
Fixing my little virginity problem with William would be like swatting a fly with a hammer. Overkill, but the best kind.
William was stupid hot, the kind of hot that makes women do stupid things. The kind of hot that made me think crazy things. Like thinking the fly wouldn’t even mind getting hammered by William and his washboard abs. That makes two of us.
So I called him.
Maybe it was against my better judgment. Maybe I was stepping into a disaster waiting to happen.
I knew I was in trouble when he chuckled in that deep, sexy voice of his over the phone and said, “I’m still craving your cherry. Do you deliver?”