1 ALLIE

Three months ago…

Hey, Wren, it's me—the girl you fucked in Cancun seven years ago. By the way, you have a six-year-old daughter because of that night. I couldn't tell you then because you left me with a fake name, you asshole. But now I'm telling you. Even though I hate the very sight of you, you still need to be a father because Angel deserves one.

Yeah… That's probably not the way I need to tell him about my… I mean, our daughter.

Calm, Allie. Calm.

I groan while tossing the lettuce into the shopping cart, wishing there was a manual to tell me what to do. Do they have brochures for this screwed-up situation? Doubtful. Only my luck can be this bad.

For months I've been stewing over what to do since I found him by fluke.

I never thought I'd find him, and now I'm living in his city. How can I speak to him? What should I do?

On one hand, I should be an adult. I know that night wasn't supposed to turn out like it did, and he didn't deliberately impregnate me.

On the other hand, I can't help but loathe the very sight of him. And the bastard did give me a fake name!

Abhorrent as his actions were, I'm even more disgusted with myself for just jumping into bed with a guy that I only knew for a few hours. What did I expect?

No. I won't shoulder this blame. I won't. I refuse. I might have made a poor decision, but he made a worse one by lying about his name.

I would have contacted him immediately if I could have. Stupid, jackass liar. When did my life get even more complicated than it already was?

And Angel is caught right in the middle of our bad decisions. It's not her fault, and I don't have the right to deprive her of a father just because of my own pride and hurt.

As I move down the canned food aisle, I start running through everything that could go wrong. What if he wants to try and take her away from me? What if he breaks her heart? What if he doesn't want anything to do with her? What if…

Shit. I forgot to grab juice.

Abandoning my shopping cart in the aisle, I jog back to the end to grab the juice, but I slam into a hard body before I ever even get close.

"Holy shit!" I gasp when I start to fall, but strong arms wrap around me, tugging me toward that incredibly warm, strong body that I've just collided with.

"Easy now. Are you okay?" a soft, deep, almost familiar voice asks.

My body tingles against his touch, and I mentally count the days since I last enjoyed someone's touch this much… Shit. I can't count that far. Especially when I'm distracted by the strong chest in front of my eyes. Even though he's wearing a shirt, I can see lines of muscle, and I have to stop myself from running a hand up the stranger's body.

What the hell?

A strong, masculine scent mixed with some delicious cologne winds around me, and I get lost in two sensations—touch and smell. I've lost my mind, and I apparently miss sex more than I realized.

"You okay?" the voice prompts again, and I finally peer up from his chest, looking at him from under my lashes.

A subtle hint of sexy stubble lines the strong jaw above me. I normally don't like facial hair, but that jaw has me seriously reconsidering my stance. The second I take in his face, my color drains, my body stiffens, and my breathing stops.

This world can't be that small. It's not possible.

"Should I get some help?" he asks, concerned, and my gaze lingers on his lips. "I'm fine," I breathe, even though I'm not fine at all.

This can't be real. He'll remember me any second now, and I can't seem to put words together to explain things before he gets the wrong idea.

He continues holding me against him, tipping my chin up, and my breath catches in my throat when he gives me an easy grin. How can the snake look so tempting when I've felt the brutal sting of his venomous bite before?

"I'm Wren," he says, that smug look of his irritating me now.

"We've met," I say bitterly, stepping back. Okay… so stepping is not so easy. It's more of a wobble.

Internally, I curse my legs for turning to rubber.

"Is that so?" he asks, smiling bigger while propping up. "I doubt it. There's no way I would have forgotten you. What's your name?"

He's kidding, right?

"Allie," I say with a tense jaw, glaring at the bastard who continues to smile, seeming unaware of the fantasies running through my mind—fantasies of castration and throat punching, not dirty fantasies. Nothing dirty at all.

You hate him, Allie. Don't get fooled again by the skin.

"Hmm. I know a few girls with that name, but you're not one of them. Last name?"

Stupid, jackass, player! He knows a few girls by my name? He sleeps with so many people that he can't remember me? How many women named Allie has he been with?

"Allie Thrash. We met in Cancun seven years ago," I grind out, holding the fakest damn smile there has ever been.

He tilts his head, lazily eyeing me up and down. "And I guess I made an impression?" he asks, looking even cockier than he did five minutes ago.

"You left me with a daughter, so I'd say that's one hell of an impression, Wren Jacobs."

I'm not sure if I'm too pissed to be rational or if I have a case of verbal diarrhea, but the words fly out of my mouth all wrong. This was not supposed to happen in the supermarket next to canned peas, damn it. This was supposed to be mature and civil; I envisioned an office and a premeditated meeting. I was not going to lose my shit the way I am now. I'm not ready for this.

His face pales, but he shakes his head, taking a step back as though I've just slapped him.

I almost feel like I'm supposed to do some dramatic display of dropping a microphone and walking off right now.

"Prize. No. I'm not… You have me confused," he says, his words running together and turning almost incoherent. "My last name is Prize. Not Jacobs."

Now I really do want to slap him. Correction, that throat punch sounds more tempting than a mere slap.

"I know," I bite out. "I didn't know that seven years ago when I met you, though. You were with Tag Masters. Wish I could have remembered his last name, but considering he wasn't in my bed, his last name wasn't important. But, yeah, you're definitely the Wren. Obviously I made less of an impression on you."

He stumbles and grasps onto the side of the aisle, knocking over several cans of all sorts of things. If this wasn't a completely life-altering moment, it would be comical. But it is life-altering, and he's actually handling it better than I expected. There's no rage. I expected to be called a liar or something. I had a big speech lined up to counter any lying accusations, and I'm weird for wishing he'd give me a reason to say that speech.

"No," he whispers again, seeming horrified, distant, and definitely in denial, but it's more to himself than to me. I've definitely lost him. Damn it.

I really hope he doesn't go into emotional shock or something.

Sighing, I turn back and grab my purse, then I pull out a paper and pen. While he stares out into space, I jot down my name, address, and phone number. I'm not standing here another minute. I can't. I just… I can't. Especially not here and not like this.

"Here," I say, offering him the paper, but he's so spaced out that he doesn't seem to see it. Instead, I lay it in his lap before continuing. "There's my information. Call me when you're ready, and we'll set up a paternity test. We'll talk. We need to talk. If you don't want to, then have the decency to let me know."

I turn around, walking away, barely able to hold the tears back as I abandon the shopping cart and its contents, taking only my purse with me.

The second I reach the fresh air, it all hits me at once, and I hiccup out a sob that can't be contained. I just spent seven years of my life hating a man that doesn't even remember me.