It’s steamy in the Gulf town of Sea Breeze. Physical attraction is the only way to beat the heat in this second book of the Sea Breeze series from bestselling, previously self-published author Abbi Glines. Playboy Cage owns the apartment, and he hosts a revolving door of people, in and out, at all times. Most of them are long-legged hot girls who are never there more than a night or two. When Cage’s new roommate, Marcus, enters the picture, he’s just looking to nurse a broken heart. But there’s one particular semi-frequent regular who catches his eye. Willow—“Low”—is the one Cage wants to marry. But the two of them are night and day, and Marcus can’t see how Low puts up with all of Cage’s womanizing. What she really needs is a real man....like good-looking and sensible Marcus. But that’s going to get real complicated and real messy—real fast. Abbi Glines is the New York Times , USA TODAY , and Wall Street Journal bestselling author of the Rosemary Beach, Field Party, Sea Breeze, Vincent Boys, and Existence series. A devoted book lover, Abbi lives with her family in Alabama. She maintains a Twitter addiction at @AbbiGlines and can also be found at Facebook.com/AbbiGlinesAuthor and AbbiGlinesBooks.com. Because of Low Chapter One MARCUS Moving back home sucked. Everything about this town reminded me of why the hell I’d wanted to get away. I had a life in Tuscaloosa, and I needed that life to escape. Here, I was Marcus Hardy. No matter where I went, people knew me. They knew my family. And now . . . they were talking about my family. Which is why I had come home. Leaving my sister and mother here to face this alone was impossible. The scandal hovering over our heads took away all my choices and my freedom. Right now few people knew, but it was only a matter of time. Soon the entire coastal town of Sea Breeze, Alabama, would know what my dad was doing—or should I say, who my dad was doing. King of the Mercedes car dealerships along the Gulf Coast had been a high enough title for some little gold-digging whore only a few years older than me to jump into bed with my dear ol’ dad. The one time I’d seen the home wrecker working behind the desk right outside Dad’s office, I’d known something wasn’t right. She was young and smoking hot and apparently money hungry. Dad couldn’t keep it in his pants, and now my mom and sister would have to deal with the stigma it would cause. People would feel sorry for my mom. This was already devastating to her, and she didn’t even know yet that the other woman was barely a woman. My younger sister, Amanda, had caught them going at it late one evening when Mom had sent her over to the office to take Dad some dinner. She’d called me that night crying hysterically. I’d withdrawn from school, packed my things, and headed home. There was no other option. My family needed me. A knock at the door snapped me out of my internal tirade, and I went to see what chick was here looking for Cage this time. God knew the guy had an endless line of females parading through his life. My new roommate was a player. A major player. He put my best friend, Preston, to shame. I twisted the knob and swung the door open without peeking through the hole. The surprise was on me. I’d been prepared to tell whatever tall, willowy, large-but-obviously-fake-chested female dressed in almost nothing waiting outside the door that Cage was busy with another one very similar to her. Except a very natural, almost curvy redhead stood before me. Red-rimmed eyes and a tear-streaked face gazed up at me. There were no mascara lines running down her face. Her hair wasn’t styled, but pulled back in a ponytail. She wore jeans and what appeared to be an authentic Back in Black AC/DC concert T-shirt. No belly button drawing attention to a flat, tanned stomach, and her clothes weren’t skintight. Well, maybe the jeans were a little snug, but they hugged her hips nicely. My appreciation of her legs in the slim-fit jeans stopped, however, when I noticed the small beat-up suitcase clutched tightly in her hand. “Is Cage here?” Her voice sounded broken and musical at the same time. I was having a hard time digesting that this girl was here for Cage. She wasn’t anything like he veered toward. Nothing was enhanced. Everything from her thick dark-copper hair to the Chuck Taylors on her feet screamed “not Cage’s type.” And the fact that she was carrying a suitcase—well, that couldn’t be good. “Uh, um, no.” Her shoulders slumped and another sob escaped her. One small, dainty hand flew up in an attempt to mute the sound of her obvious distress. Her nails were even classy. Not too long, with a smooth, rounded tip and soft pink nail polish. “I left my cell phone”—she let out a sigh, then continued—“at my sister’s. I need to call him. Can I come in?” Cage was out with a swimsuit model who apparently had a thing for college baseball players. I knew from the way he talked he didn’t intend to come up for air much tonight. He’d