Realism

Ordinary, typical, conformed are words never used to describe me.

I've never been one to play by the rules. It's my world, my life, and I do things my way. I see the way they stare at my body covered in tattoos and my lavender hair; I just don't give a damn.

There is only one thing in this world that can get me fired up: that's screwing with my daughter. As a single mum, it's my job to protect her, fight for her. She is and will always be my top priority.

So, when I get a call that she's in trouble at school, with a boy—no less, my claws are out and ready to strike. And the boy's father, some high society stockbroker, isn't about to deter me. I don't care how sexy, smart, and rugged he is. Opposites may attract, and I've been down that road before, but it's one I never plan to travel again. A man like that would never be interested in a woman like me.

That I know for certain, after all, I'm a realist.