Mr. All Wrong
The first time I met Evie Harper, she threw a cream pie at my face. I actually hadn’t met her, just saw her. It was more like she hated everything I stood for and showed me her opinion with an airborne cream pie. Yes, she smacked me front and center on my face. The second time I saw Evie, I didn’t realize she was the cream-pie-throwing bandit, and she took my breath away in a flowing red gown at a gala.
Of course I couldn’t resist her looks, so I asked her to dance. She called me a schmuck and stalked off.
My own Cinderella ran away from me. I shouldn’t have chased her down. We were all wrong for each other. But her fire red hair and feisty personality reeled me in, and I was hooked. Chicago’s most renowned playboy was finally falling head over loafers. At least it felt that way because she was like no other woman I’d met before . . . Evie was special . . .
Problem was I had trust issues when it came to women. Freud would’ve probably said it was my mother’s doing. Somehow Evie made me believe in her . . . trust her . . .
Big damn mistake!
One I hope I won’t live to regret . . .
But then again how could someone so wrong for me turn out to be so damn perfect?