Can star-crossed lovers Drew and Fable find their way back to each other after past demons tore them apart? The exhilarating sequel to One Week Girlfriend from the New York Times bestselling author of Lonely for Only You and A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime Lost. Everything in my life can be summed up by that one sickening word. My football coach blames me for our season-ending losses. So does the rest of the team. I wasted two whole months drowning in my own despair, like a complete loser. And I lost my girlfriend—Fable Maguire, the only girl who ever mattered—because I was afraid that being with me would only hurt her. But now I realize that I’m the one who’s truly lost without her. And even though she acts like she’s moved on and everything’s fine, I know she still thinks about me just as much as I think about her. I know her too well. She’s so damn vulnerable, all I want to do is be there to help her . . . to hold her . . . to love her. I just need her to give me one more chance. We may be lost without each other, but together, we’re destined to find a love that lasts forever. Don’t miss any of Monica Murphy’s steamy One Week Girlfriend series: ONE WEEK GIRLFRIEND • SECOND CHANCE BOYFRIEND • THREE BROKEN PROMISES • FOUR YEARS LATER Monica Murphy is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of Lonely for You Only, A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime, One Week Girlfriend, Second Chance Boyfriend, Three Broken Promises, Four Years Later, Owning Violet, Stealing Rose, Taming Lily, Never Tear Us Apart, and the ebook novella Drew + Fable Forever . A native Californian, she lives in the foothills of Yosemite with her husband and three children. Chapter 1 Sometimes you have to stand alone, just to make sure you still can. —Unknown Fable Two months. I haven’t seen or heard from him in two freaking months. I mean, who does that to a person? Who spends the most intense week of his life with another human being and shares his most intimate thoughts, his craziest, darkest secrets, has sex with a person—and we’re talking amazing, earth-shattering sex—leaves her a note that says I love you, and then bails? I’ll tell you who. Drew I’m-going-to-kick-him-in-the-balls-next-time-I-see-him Callahan. I’ve moved on. Well, I tell myself that. But time doesn’t stop just because my heart does, so I take care of my responsibilities. I’ve stretched the three thousand dollars I earned for my one week of pretending to be the jerkwad’s girlfriend pretty well. I still have some money left in my savings account. I bought my brother, Owen, some cool Christmas gifts. I got my mom something for Christmas, too. She didn’t buy either of us anything. Not one thing. Owen made me a shallow bowl he created in his ceramics class at school. He was so proud to give it to me. A little embarrassed, too, especially when I gushed over it. The kid wrapped it in bright Christmas paper and everything. I was blown away that he took the time to actually create something for me. I keep that bowl on my dresser and leave my earrings in it. At least someone gives a crap about me, you know? He didn’t give Mom anything. Which—shallow witch that I am—pleased me to no end. January is supposedly a time of healing. New year, new goals, resolutions, whatever you want to call them, when a person should be hopeful with all that unchartered territory spread out before her. I tried my best to be positive when the new year came, but I cried. That clock struck twelve and I was all by myself, tears running down my face as I watched the ball drop on TV. Pitiful, lonely girl sobbing into her sweatshirt, missing the boy she loves. Most of the month is gone, and that’s fine. But the realization hit me last night. Instead of dreading every single day that comes my way, I need to savor it. I need to figure out what I’m going to do with my life and then actually do it. I’d leave if I could, but I can’t ditch Owen. Without me, I have no idea what would happen to him and I can’t risk it. So I stay. I vow to make the best of this life I have. I’m tired of living in misery. I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. I’m tired of wanting to shake my mom and make her see that she has children she should give two shits about. Oh, and that she also needs to find a job. Sleeping all day and partying all night with Larry the Loser isn’t the way to deal. And I’m tired of mourning the loss of a beautiful, fucked-up man who haunts my thoughts everywhere I go. Yeah, I’m most sick of that. Pushing all mopey thoughts out of my head, I go to the booth where a customer’s waiting for me to take his order. He came in a few minutes ago, a blur of a tall man who moved quickly, dressed too nicely for a Thursday mid-afternoon jaunt to La Salle’s. The bar is hopping at night, full of college kids drinking themselves into oblivion. But during the day? Mostly bum losers who have nowhere else to go and the occasional person coming in for lunch. The burgers are