I went to Vegas on a dare, woke up wearing a plastic ladybird ring, and a missing groom.

Fine. That was Book One of my disaster-filled life.

Now here’s Book Two.

The stick turned pink.

I’m pregnant, and the father of my child is a man I don’t even know —
not his real name,
not his address,
not his species at this point —
just “Stranger,” the nickname I gave him because… well… I didn’t ask.

Don’t judge me.