The Skeptic's Playbook

<p><strong style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>**This is Book One of a Duet. This novel will end on a cliffhanger.**</strong></p><p></p><p><strong style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)><em>Merit</em></strong></p><p><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>Growing up my parents described me with four words: curious fun-loving silly and accident-prone.</span></p><p></p><p><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>My husband used four very different words: prying immature uncouth and irresponsible. I reckon that's one of the reasons he isn't my husband anymore. And because of that I've sworn off relationships. And dating. I spent years with someone who wanted to change me. Who </span><em style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>did</em><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)> change me. Only an insane person would want that again.</span></p><p></p><p><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>But then I meet </span><em style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>him</em><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>. The famous Holt Hill. Whom I didn't even know was famous. Well he wants to date me. And he refuses to take no for an answer.</span></p><p></p><p><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>But why would he want me? I'm... normal. And he's... not. In fact I watched a video clip where women-like a bunch of women a whole herd of them-threw their panties at him during one of the Super Bowls.</span></p><p></p><p><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>Well I happen to like my panties. Plus panties cost money so tossing them at some super-sexy super-handsome super-rich football player just seems like a waste.</span></p><p></p><p><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>Anyway it's all a moot point... because I don't date.</span></p><p></p><p><strong style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)><em>Holt</em></strong></p><p><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>I'm a love skeptic. Not of love in general. I've borne witness to many great relationships in my life. But it just so happens that none of those relationships involved me.</span></p><p></p><p><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>When I take stock of my dating history I reckon the best romance was the imaginary one where a woman I'd never even met told the tabloids I was the father of her triplets. At least that started a new round of gossip about me having super sperm.</span></p><p></p><p><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>Women always want my fame my wealth my notoriety. That is until I meet </span><em style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>her</em><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>. The second I meet Merit I can't stop thinking about her. She's gorgeous. And guarded.</span></p><p></p><p><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>But underneath that timid and tame façade I see someone curious fun-loving and silly. Oh and accident-prone.</span></p><p></p><p><span style=color: rgba(15 17 17 1); background-color: rgba(255 255 255 1)>Too bad she doesn't date.</span></p><p></p>