What do you do when you wake up in a hotel room beside a tattooed man with a face that makes Tom Hardy look like the bottom of a shoe?
You fight through your tequila-induced haze, trip over his designer suit crumpled on the floor, and run. After all, you're 1,500 miles from home. It's not like you'll ever see him again. Unless you're me.
Six months later, I somehow find myself in the middle of a bet with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Tattooed that includes me owing him four dates. A handful of dates with an arrogantly charming man whom I know little about, what could possibly go wrong?
I'll tell you what's going wrong, my falling asleep in his arms on date three and realizing I'm in love with a man who doesn't even know my real name.
Once upon a time, while vacationing in Cancun, I let loose—I think. Limbo dancing and sunburns and some pretty foggy memories. But the one thing about Mexico I'll never forget is the guy with the rugged jawline, designer suits, and tattoos.
