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?