любовные романы

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Do you see that woman holding a foreclosure notice in her hand and a screaming toddler at her feet? She doesn&apos;t look happy, does she?
Spoiler alert: she&apos;s not. And it has nothing to do with the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she found in her couch cushions this morning, or that fact that her kid&apos;s favorite words is c$. I&apos;ll let you put the letters with the rest of that word, but, to fully to understand my frustration, you have to go back two weeks. That&apos;s when my husband of six years died of a heart attack. And I&apos;m not sad about it. Before you go thinking I&apos;m an emotionless shit, understand that I was sad. Was being the key word.
You see, dear friends, in those fifteen days since my husband died, I&apos;ve met his girlfriend, who&apos;s befriended me and to top it all off, it turns out, infidelity wasn&apos;t the only thing he&apos;s guilty of. He hadn&apos;t paid our bills in four months.
Now I&apos;m forced to rent out the room above our garage. But there&apos;s a hitch. The guy that rents it?
My one-night stand from the night I found out my deceased husband had been cheating on me.
The problem? He&apos;s a college baseball player. And let me tell you, sister. Cason Reins, his name should come with a surgeon general warning. He&apos;s everything I don&apos;t need in my life. Not only does he walk around shirtless, have a dirty mind, that&apos;s not the worst part. What is it, you ask? Other than him befriending my toddler? He knows how to throw a curve ball. He wants to… gulp. Date. Me.
Now what the hell am I supposed to do?

Shey Stahl

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