When Eliza Daly isn’t traveling for her job as an event planner or tracing her ancestry roots through Ireland, she’s at home working on her next novel, bouncing ideas off her husband, Mark, and her cats Quigley, Frankie, and Sammy. Find Eliza Daly at ElizaDaly.com, on Facebook at Facebook.com/ElizaDalyAuthor, and on Twitter @ElizasBooks.
I was that girl.
You know, the highly intoxicated chick celebrating her thirtieth birthday with her two best friends—who are happily married. And the more I drank, the more I wanted to do something reckless to celebrate.
By reckless, I mean the sexy and alluring man dressed in a business suit standing near the bar. You know his type—tall, dark, handsome. I was sure he was out of my league, but I’d had just enough alcohol that things like that no longer seemed to matter. I’m not fat, mind you, but you can tell I like french fries, so there’s that.
He took me home, and I enjoyed the hottest birthday sex of my life. Well, until it came to a screeching and rather unwelcome halt.
There’s nothing quite like being interrupted mid-ride with a little voice asking, “What are you doing to my daddy?”
Just kill me now . . . or so I thought.
Come to find out, the man I rode like a bull at the rodeo is my new landlord.