Smarty Pants

The first time I met her, she was running away from her own wedding.

The second time I met her, she tried to get me fired from my job.

The third time? I had to haul her drunk self off the bar before she completed her amateur-and hot as hell-striptease.

She's messy, chaos in human form, and not at all who she claims to be. Everything I've worked so hard for depends on her not screwing things up for me. I should run, not walk, away from her, but all I want to do is strip her layers until I get to the . . . heart-yeah, that's what I was going to say-of who she really is.

I may be smart, but love might be the most clever of us all.