Saint by Lisa Lang Blakeney

“In front of me, you can do anything. Say anything. Don’t hide from me. Ever.” -Saint Stevenson

I hate sports and he is football royalty.
I like quiet and predictable, but he’s sex and swagger personified.
I didn’t particularly care for Saint Stevenson the first moment I laid eyes on him.
But his warped brain seemed to process our initial meeting as foreplay.
I don’t care that he’s filthy rich.
Or that I can’t stop staring at him.
Or that I need to remember to breathe when he’s in my presence.
He is nothing but a distraction.
From my five-year master plan.
That’s why I’m going to hate every minute of this.
Right?