There was a dark period during my pregnancy where the weight of all my loss and the path my life had taken began to weigh on me. I fell into a slump and spent a while feeling sorry for myself. It was an ugly sight to behold, mainly the fault of pregnancy hormones, and it took a while for me to pull myself out of it. Finally, after the months’ long pity party where I lamented the fact that returning to school to finish my degree wasn’t in the cards, I sucked it up, pulled up my big girl panties, and decided to try on my own. I had so many stories bouncing around in my head, and it was time for me to sit down and actually put words on paper. I found writing to be rather cathartic. I bled everything I was feeling onto those pages, my pain and anger and sorrow. Everything I’d kept bottled up poured out, and I was finally able to let some of it go.

With Liddy on a playdate with another little girl from her daycare class, and me having a rare day off with nothing to do, I decided the best way to fill my time was to work on the book I’d slowly been writing for the past three years. Between motherhood, the coffee shop, and the usual chaos that came with everyday life, I rarely had time to work on making it good enough to send out, so I had to take every opportunity when it presented itself. I was going to finish my story if it killed me, and hopefully get my words out for everyone to read one day.

I turned on my favorite playlist, blasting the music through the apartment, and spilled all the pent-up, unwanted sexual frustration Garrett had made me feel into my manuscript. Shawn Mendes had just started singing about nothing holding him back when I lifted my eyes from my document to the tiny digital clock in the corner of the screen. Three hours had passed in what felt like just minutes, but that would explain the gnawing sensation of my stomach eating through to my backbone. I was starving.

Setting the computer on the couch cushion, I headed for the kitchen to rummage around for something to eat, dancing and bouncing around to the upbeat song as I searched. I had the music up loud and was singing along—badly—as I opened and closed cabinet doors. I’d just dropped it like it was hot and was on my way back up when the music suddenly cut off and a deep voice proclaimed, “I pray my girl gets her musical tastes and talent from me, ’cause you listen to shit, babe.”

I screamed, dropping the bag of tortilla chips in my hand as I whipped around. “Ohmigod!” I shouted at a smirking Garrett. “You scared the hell out of me!”

Lifting his hands in surrender, he offered an insincere “Sorry.”

Unable to process the fact that Garrett seemed to materialize out of thin air into the middle of my living room, I continued to snap, “And my musical tastes aren’t shit. I’ll have you know that’s a very popular song right now.”

“Mmhmm,” he muttered, unconvinced before taking a look around. “Liddy here?”

I fiddled with the hem of my shirt uncomfortably. “She’s at a playdate. How did you even get in here?”

“Front door was unlocked. Not smart in this neighborhood, babe.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the long sleeves of his olive-green Henley stretching tightly over his shoulders and biceps. That smirk stretched into a shit-eating grin as he leaned his hip against the rickety entertainment center that housed my smallish TV, iPhone dock, and several framed pictures of my little girl. Once my heart rate returned to normal and the start he’d given me wore off, I became acutely aware that Garrett Wilder, famous drummer for Civil Corruption, was standing in my tiny apartment for the first time ever. And that knowledge didn’t give me the warm and fuzzies.

I was suddenly anxious about what my home looked like through his eyes. To say it was beneath the standards he was used to would have been the understatement of the century.

I did the best I could to make the apartment feel like a home, but there was no denying my old, secondhand furniture had seen better days, and the décor was best described as Target-chic. The carpet was ratty and threadbare in high-traffic places, and the paint on the walls was in serious need of a touch-up. From the living room, you could see straight into the kitchen to the chipped Formica countertops. But at least it was spotless. I worked hard to keep our little place clean.

I could only hope he didn’t inspect too closely. I didn’t want him to see the holes in the drywall from where Liddy had opened a door too quickly, sending the knob through the paper-thin plaster, or the water stains on the ceiling that the landlord hadn’t gotten around to fixing from when the apartment upstairs flooded.

Then, as if the anxiety over having him in my home wasn’t enough, I remembered that I’d woken up that morning and thrown on my “lounge around” clothes, meaning I was in a pair of short cotton shorts and my Buy Me Tacos and I’ll Love You Forever tank top. My face was void of all makeup, and I’d thrown my hair in a ratty bun without bothering to brush it first.

I probably looked like I belonged with the group of homeless people who lived a few blocks away. Just perfect.

Garrett’s eyes did a sweep of my body, and I silently thanked God I’d remembered to put on a bra that morning as my nipples began to harden under his heated perusal.

His eyes landed on the words on my shirt, and he said, “Good to know all it takes to win you over is tacos.”

I crossed my arms over my chest to block the letters and my nipples, then scowled at him, my earlier calm shot to hell by my traitorous body’s reaction to his unexpected arrival. “What are you doing here?”

Pushing off the entertainment center and moving in my direction, he stated, “I needed to talk to you. I’ve seen you more the past few days than I have in all the time we’ve known each other, but instead of me saying what I need to say, you throw attitude, I get pissed, and we end up fighting until you storm off.”

“I do not throw attitude!” I exclaimed, effectively throwing attitude. Garrett chuckled and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep any more venom from spewing out.

“You don’t, huh?”

“Sorry,” I replied guiltily. “It’s a knee-jerk reaction when it comes to you. If you promise not to act like a selfish dick, I promise not to throw anymore attitude.”

My breath caught in my throat as he stopped just inches away from me, the spicy manliness of his cologne overwhelming my senses. “Hmm,” he hummed. “Not sure I can make that deal. See, I think you’re fuckin’ cute as hell when you get all riled up.”

My eyes narrowed as I looked up, up, up. “I feel that attitude bubbling up again,” I warned, and to my bewilderment, he laughed, moving in even closer.

“And it’s fuckin’ cute,” he said in a hushed voice, reaching up to tug at a strand of my hair that had fallen loose.

“What…?” I swallowed thickly past the dryness in my throat. Taking a step back, I bumped into the counter and braced my hands behind me on the edge. “What are you doing?” I asked on a breathless whisper, hating how off-kilter I felt when he got close.

“You know, you’ve always been gorgeous, sweetness.” He rubbed his thumb along my cheekbone and trailed down to my jaw. “But I think I like you without makeup more. I can see how pink your cheeks get when I touch you.”

Nope. No. No way. Nuh-uh. Not happening.

I quickly sidestepped, prepared to flee the suffocating confines of my itty-bitty kitchen, but my toe snagged on the linoleum flooring that had warped and lifted—another fix my landlord hadn’t gotten around to yet—and I started going down, the ground coming at my face at a startling speed.

If not for Garrett’s quick action, I’d have face-planted on the ugly, jacked-up floor. “Jesus Christ, sweetness,” he grunted as his arms clamped around my waist like steel bands and he pulled my back against his strong… solid… rock-hard front… Focus, Gwen! “Careful, yeah?”

“Don’t call me sweetness,” I replied instantly, like it was second nature. I tried to pull from his arms but they didn’t budge. I continued to struggle, thinking I’d need the Jaws of Life to get out of his hold. “You can let me go now. I’m fine. I just tripped on the stupid linoleum. I keep meaning to fix it but I always forget.”

His hair brushed against my shoulder as he looked down at the stupid wonky strip of vinyl flooring that I battled with almost daily. His head lifted a second later, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder, and I knew he was finally giving my apartment the attention I didn’t want when his arms grew even tighter.

“Fuck me, baby. This place is a goddamn death trap.”

With a renewed sense of pride, I began struggling against his hold once more. “It is not! There are just a few things that need to be fixed. Nothing major.”

“Nothin’ major?” he asked, sarcasm turning his tone biting as he released me and began to move about. “Then what’s this?” Uh-oh. He moved to the piece of cardboard I’d duct-taped to the ceiling and ripped it down. “You have a goddamn hole in your ceiling!” I might have downplayed the water damage that had happened after the flood upstairs.

“It’s not a big deal, Garrett. Really. There was a tiny flood upstairs, that’s all. The landlord’s going to fix it soon.”

He poked and prodded at the ceiling around the hole. “It’s completely dry. When the hell did this happen?”

I began to shuffle from foot to foot and twisted my fingers together as I mumbled, “Summer.”

“This past summer? Christ, Gwen, that was months ago.” He wasn’t wrong.

I cleared my throat and averted my eyes. “Uh… actually, I mean the summer before last.”

He threw his hands up in exasperation. Then, to my horror, he started stomping through the rest of my apartment, undoubtedly looking for more damage to prove his point—not that he’d have to look too hard. Management really dropped the ball sometimes.

“For fuck’s sake,” I heard him grunt as he came back into the living room. “You gave Liddy the master?” he asked in an accusatory tone. “Not that it’s much better than the rest. But your room’s smaller than my fuckin’ closet.”

I propped my hands on my hips and tried to beat down the humiliation. “Not all of us can afford to live in a mansion five times too big for one person,” I bit. “Liddy has the master because it’s big enough for all her toys. And this place has worked just fine for us for years. You have no business coming in here and insulting our home.”

“You’d have more than enough money if you’d just cash. Those. Fucking. Checks!”

Closing my eyes, I did my best to keep calm, pulling in several deep breaths before finally saying, “Once again, you’re getting off topic, and once again, you’re pissing me off.”

“Actually, this works perfectly. The tour’s over, and me and the guys have agreed that we need a break from traveling and shit. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about seeing Liddy more, but now that I know my kid and her mom are living in a goddamn hovel, this’ll work perfectly. You two will move in with me. I’ll get to see Liddy more, and you won’t have to live in this cesspool you call an apartment anymore.”

I couldn’t even begin to comprehend what he’d just said, not a single word of it. My jaw dropped and I had to give my head a violent shake. “I’m sorry… are you high?”

“It’s the perfect solution,” he exclaimed with a pleased grin. “It’s a win-win for everybody.”

Like hell! “Uh… no. It’s a recipe for bloodshed. Have you lost your mind?” I laughed a bit maniacally. “Garrett, we hate each other. How could you possibly think living together is a good idea? I’d end up murdering you in your sleep!”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m speaking the truth,” I shot back.

Garrett paused and examined me critically, causing my skin to tingle. “Thing is, sweetness, I don’t think you hate me as much as you claim to.”

“Oh!” I laughed. “But I do. I hate you exactly as much as I claim. And don’t call me sweetness!”

“And I don’t hate you at all,” he continued like he hadn’t heard me. “I don’t make a habit of banging chicks I hate.”

“You bang any woman with a pulse,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes to the ceiling. Before they had a chance to circle back around, Garrett moved, startling me with how quick he was.

“That’s where you’re wrong, baby. I’m very selective. And I knew the minute you walked out on that balcony that I wanted you underneath me.”

“You’re disgusting,” I said in a hushed voice, even though his words and his closeness made my blood sizzle.

“Just being honest,” he replied.

I took a step back to break the weird hold he had on me. “See? This is what I’m talking about. You saying that kind of shit is what makes me hate you. You’re a chauvinistic asshole.”

He laughed, undeterred. “Chauvinistic asshole or not, you know I’m right. You and Liddy would be better off at my place, and that just kills you.”

“I know no such thing,” I responded, defiance strong in my tone and body language. “And it’s not happening.”

“Fuck, you’re a pain in my ass,” he grunted, running a hand through his glossy hair. “Look, if you’re worried about us stepping on each other’s toes, it’s a nonissue. The place is huge, and I’m hardly ever there anyway. I’d feel a lot better knowing you and Liddy were safe. And face it, babe, this place is not safe.”

I wanted to argue but I knew I couldn’t. As much as I hated admitting it, the area of town we lived in wasn’t exactly known for being a big tourist attraction. It was more like the place the tourists drove through with their doors locked and their windows up when they got lost on their way somewhere nicer.

“I know I’ve been a shitty excuse for a father,” he continued, the frankness in his voice and expression tugging at my heartstrings. Damn it, but I was weak. “If you won’t do it for yourself, then do it for our girl. I’ve missed so much of her life already, and I know that’s my fault, but I want to do better. I miss her like fuckin’ crazy, Gwen.”

I looked away, unable to meet the sincerity in his eyes as I let out a beleaguered sigh. “What about the parties?” I asked several seconds later. “I won’t let Liddy—”

“Consider them done,” he interrupted.

I felt myself wavering. I knew it was a mistake, but as he continued to plead his case, I felt that hard, protective shield around me being to falter. I opened my mouth—to say what, I hadn’t a damn clue—but before any words could slide out, a knock on the front door interrupted.

“Shit!” I hissed, looking back and forth between the door and Garrett with wide eyes. “That’s Liddy back from her playdate.” I began to panic at the thought of someone finding out who my daughter’s father really was, and the media shit storm that would conjure up. “You need to hide. Please. They can’t see you. If they find out who you are, photographers will camp out in front of her daycare.”

Garrett’s forehead wrinkled in consternation. “Are you serious?”

“Please!” I begged. “You don’t get it. The parents at that daycare are worse gossips than high school kids.” I began pushing his shoulders, trying to shove him out of sight. “Just… hide in my bedroom. Just for a minute. I promise.”

“This is fuckin’ ridiculous.”

“Please, Garrett.”

He spun on his heels and looked down at me with determination as another knock came at the door. “Say you’ll move in with me.”

“What?” I whisper-yelled.

“Say it and I’ll hide. That’s the deal, Gwen.”

Another knock, followed by Liddy shouting through the door. “Mommy! Open up! I wanna show you what I got!”

“Move in with me or I’m staying right here.”

“Fine!” I whispered frantically. “Fine! Yes! We’ll move in with you. Just hide!”

With a triumphant grin, he headed down the short hall, his motorcycle boots clomping against the thin carpet with each step.