Ripped and Shipped

If you had asked me if I'd ever be dating Chris St. James, well, let's just say it's more likely Jimmy Choo would name a shoe after me, which, Jimmy, if you're out there, the Ella Mae would definitely be a big seller. Call me, Mkay? But, back to Chris. Sure, he's handsome. I mean, his arms are as big as my legs! He's got those lips that would make Michelangelo pause and grab a rock to start sculpting. And when you top his looks off with the whole hero-vibe he has going for him, yes, he's a fine specimen of manhood. But Chris is closed off and judgy. And even if he weren't, we're from two separate sides of our town. Remember Romeo and Juliet? That didn't end so well, did it? Besides, Chris and I don't have any desire to date, or even talk to one another most days. We're not exactly what you'd call friends. But here's the thing. You never know what situations life is going to throw at you. And right now, I'm in a doozie. And that means Chris St. James—yes, that brawny, broody man—is now my boyfriend. Well...he's not really my boyfriend. But don't tell anyone.

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