Rhett Morgan couldn't have been more wrong for me. The guy drank beer in the shower, for crying out loud. He had no prospects for the future, had slept with half the women in our beach town of Kill Devil Hills, and had no desire to change his manwhore ways.

And when Ben Turner, the guy I had loved from afar for the past four years, died and I couldn't get over his death, I desperately needed a distraction. A distraction like Rhett. So I used him for a one-night stand. Because, after all, that's the only thing a guy like Rhett is good for...right?