When Ali Kat Carter—America’s Sweetheart—wakes up in a jail cell with no memory of the night before, she thinks things can’t possibly get any worse.
SPOILER ALERT: They do!
Ali Kat Carter here, or as they’re now calling me—Trainwreck Tammy. God, I hate my birth name!
The tabloids say I need rehab, and to be honest, I’d much rather go there than where my publicist is bent on sending me—back to my family home in Nebraska.
I suppose most people would love a little vacation to spend time with family, but then again, most people haven’t been estranged from their parents for their entire adult life.
But things take a sharp turn for the better when I find out that my girlhood crush, tall, dark, and handsome Garrett Flint, is staying at the family farm.
Garrett has always made my blood race, and he could be the only thing capable of getting me through what can only be described as the WORST months of my life—except for the fact that once he sampled the goods, he turned into an ice-cold, Grade-A, nasty jerk face that was obviously in it for one thing only—bragging rights for bagging the ultimate ‘Girl Next Door.’
Now, I’m stuck with my family that resents me, and an ex-lover who loathes me—or so I think.
Maybe there’s more to podunk Nebraska and my family than I gave them credit for.
But there’s CERTAINLY not more to that no-manners, love ‘em and leave ‘em country boy.
Or is there?
It's sold 250 books and had 120,000 pages read.
Ali Kat
Why does my head hurt so badly? And why’s my mattress so hard?
I roll over, but my back hits a wall that shouldn’t be there.
That’s strange? Oh, no—did I go home with someone?
I think back to the night before, vaguely remembering the strobing lights of the nightclub. I’d gone to the grand unveiling of Saint Cloud in New York City, Derek Dallanger’s latest endeavor.
Did I go home with him?
Wait, no—that’s impossible. I was on a date with Alistair Whent. Ali & Ali is what everyone was calling us, like it was clever.
Admittedly, it was.
I keep my breathing steady as not to alert Alistair or any other potential lovers to my consciousness. There’s a certain finesse to waking up, and I, for one, do not intend to make myself out to be a train wreck.
The bed feels stiff, so there’s no way it could belong to Alistair, Derek, or anyone of note, for that matter. Maybe I’m in a college dorm?
What if there are pictures?
My stomach churns dramatically. A picture of me holding hands with someone wouldn’t be so bad. It might even nab a few headlines and add an air of mystery to my dating life. On the other hand, a picture of me groping or making out with someone could get me those same headlines, with a very different tone.
I cringe at the thought of sitting across from Ted, my publicist, as he puts together an action plan to get my reputation back on track—which is entirely unfair. It’s not like I’m an irresponsible teenager. I’m twenty-nine years old. I should be able to get laid without it making major headlines.
An acrid smell assaults my nose. It’s a potent mixture of urine and harsh chemical cleaner, if I had to guess.
Oh, God, please don’t let this be a college dorm room.
