I think I just slept with Mr. Perfect. Too bad he turned out to be my brother's best friend.
The tattooed stranger rode a motorcycle while helping me collect stray cats. My boots gave me blisters and he carried me on his back. I needed help and he didn't ask questions before assisting me. Could there be a more perfect man? It just made sense to lick him and claim him as mine right then and there.
I probably should have asked him more questions before we slept together.
Like, what's your last name? Where've you been living before moving here to my hometown? Is my older brother your best friend?
You know. Those kinds of questions.
But sadly, I didn't. And now I'm staring at two pink lines and Mr. Perfect is nowhere to be found, leaving me brokenhearted and on my own. Even though I love my son with every fiber of my being, he's also a daily reminder that I've made the worst mistake of my life.
It's only years later when Mr. Perfect shows up in town again that I begin to see that I was never in love with him back then.
But I might be now.