I like my men the way I like my drinks: tall, stiff, with a few aches the only proof I pounded them the night before. I don’t do relationships. I don’t do romance. I do kinky AF strangers I never speak to again. Or I did, until Cris Ardmore comes along. Handsome, charming, and cooks almost as well as he f*cks—which is to say phenomenally—Cris makes me want to break all my carefully cultivated rules. I don’t want to like him and I definitely can’t afford to trust him. Not after what happened the last time I fell in love. The only thing Cris is supposed to be in charge of during our dirty weekends is my body, he needs to keep his too-talented hands off my heart.