Ever fallen so hard for a guy, you forget your own name? Neither have I, not that I can remember. But that’s the problem—I remember nothing. Not why I crave sugary drinks and candy. No clue why I have a minor obsession with telling bad jokes. And I especially have no idea why a motorcycle club has decided I need a babysitter. I’m actually not even complaining about the last one. My babysitter is fine with a capital F. If I had to lose my mind to find him, I’m not even mad about it. I screwed up, and now I’ve got to pay up. I never expected the payment to come in the form of a walking disaster. But if the debt to get back into the club’s good graces is watching over some amnesia chick, no matter how cute she is when she curses at me, I’ll do it. I’ll even find a way to get her memory back. Don’t care how long it takes—weeks, even—I’m willing to play the babysitter if she keeps doing things that keep me on my toes and my heart beating for the first time in a long while. While I might be in this for the long haul to figure out this girl’s mystery, the rest of the world isn’t. Or at least not the ones trying to kill her before she remembers what she doesn’t know. I made a mistake once; I’m not about to make another. Having this chick lose her life might just be the biggest mistake of mine.
