I’ve already written this once. Hopefully, the blog gods won’t zap it into the ethers this time.
I wanted to tell you all about Tucker Darroch, the man in my life. Unlike Nick, he’s alive, which is a big plus. He’s an undercover cop–when I met him, he was posing as a biker, complete with motorbike. He’s in his early thirties, with honey-colored hair that’s always a little too long, green eyes that miss very little, and he’s built in a way that assures the continuation of the species. He’s funny and smart, and he’s an expert on body language, which is probably why he can get me into bed even when I’m ready to rip his lips off.
Tucker’s not perfect. He has a history–so do I. The main thing that keeps us from getting really serious is this: he has an ex-wife, Allison, and two great kids, Daisy and Danny, seven-year-old twins. Allison still clings a little–make that a lot–even though she and Tuck were already divorced when I met him. I want it known, right up front, that I’m no homewrecker. He loves his kids, and he’s determined to be there for them. How could I fault him for that?
