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When my archenemy mistakenly sends me a text cancelling a date, I see my opportunity to have a little fun with the uptight realtor. It turns out, the joke’s on me. Because I never dreamed I’d fall in love with her.


My toes felt like water-logged raisins and the skin beneath my breasts had begun to chafe. Nothing like a wet bra to add another layer of misery to my oh-so stellar day.

As if my physical discomfort weren’t bad enough, Adam Martinez AKA Dance Douche, was batting his eyelashes at every woman in the studio. The man was a flirting machine.

And then there was the matter of his snack choice.

Since I couldn’t exactly call him out on his horndog-ness, I focused on the safer problem. “Cupcakes?”

“I’m surprised you recognize something that isn’t organic.” Adam didn’t as much as spare me a glance as he muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like orgasmic.

As in I needed one.

Rather than focus on the way my traitorous body tingled at the thought of orgasms with my archnemesis, I stuck to the matter at hand. “Do you really think that’s the healthiest choice for our girls?”

“If I know you as well as I think I do, you have a separate snack for Olivia in your giant purse.” He motioned to my bag as if challenging me to prove him wrong.

That smirk. It was one of the many reasons I couldn’t stand him. His cockiness and his oh-so-laid-back attitude infuriated me.

Would it kill him to take one thing seriously?

“As a matter of fact, I do, but I have enough for the entire team.” I matched him smirk for smirk. “And the girls love them.”

Adam raised his eyebrows. “Is that so? What do you say we let the girls decide? May the best snack win.”

“That’s ridiculous. They’re teenaged athletes. Their bodies go through so much during class. They need to stay healthy, otherwise they might get injured or get sick or—”

“Jenna. They’ll be okay. It’s one sugary treat.” The queen-bee dance mom stared at Adam as if he’d solved world hunger.

“But—” I stopped myself.

What was the point in arguing? If I were honest, my granola bars tasted like particle board. Besides, all he had to do was bat his long, luscious lashes and the other moms would take his side.

“What did you bring this time?” Adam folded his arms. “I’d like to see what my cupcakes are up against.”

I narrowed my eyes. He didn’t speak to me if he could help it. And he certainly didn’t bother to ask me questions. That would imply we were having an actual conversation, and Adam wasn’t interested in doing that.

“Granola bars.” I shrugged.

“Homemade?” He struggled to keep from grinning and failed.

“Of course.” I turned to look for my daughter. The sooner she took a break, the sooner I could get the heck out of there.

Adam took his sweet time laying the cupcakes out in neat rows on the snack table.

The queen bee mom cleared her throat.

“Hey.” He laughed at himself or pretended to. “Am I being too anal?”

“Just a little.” She flashed him a smile worthy of a toothpaste commercial.

“I don’t get to be snack dad very often; I want to do the job justice.” He glanced at me. “And I have a bet to win.”

“Don’t worry about that. The girls will flip when they see what you brought. Finally, something that’s not gluten-free.” She cast a quick glance in my direction, but I pretended I hadn’t heard the dig.

“Well, in that case…” Adam scooped a cupcake off the table and whisked it over to her. “For you, madam.”

She giggled and my stomach rolled.

“Hey, Jenna, do you want one?” Adam gave me his trademark smirk.

“No, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” His singsong voice made my stomach flip again, though this time it felt more like butterflies and less like nausea.

What the heck is wrong with me?

I waved him away. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, but remember, a little sugar never killed anyone.” He had the nerve to wink.

“Yeah? Tell that to my diabetic grandma.”

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