Bad Ex Karma

Why do the dating gods hate me?

My five-year anniversary was supposed to include a fancy dinner, incredible sex, and a proposal I wasn't quite ready for. Instead, it was the worst sex of my life. Then I got dumped before I could decide between the chicken and the salmon.

Now I've been cursed with Bad Ex Karma.

Every time I try dating, something goes horribly wrong. It's not just bad luck. I'm a one-woman health hazard. One guy ended up with a concussion. Another had his very first ambulance ride.

My inner "disaster consultants"—the constantly panicking What Ifs—missed all the warning signs before the breakup. Now they insist that finding love is much too risky—not only for my heart but anyone with a Y chromosome.

My two best friends swear their matchmaking won't put men on the endangered species list. But I know they're running out of prospects willing to roll the dice.

Then there's Jonathan. A ridiculously sexy chef who keeps popping up in my life.

Like at the local farm stand where he transformed cilantro into some kind of aphrodisiac. Or his visit to the winery I manage. A wine tasting has never made this girl so thirsty before. There was also the restaurant parking lot where I justifiably lost my shit…not my finest moment but he made it seem like it was.

He's charming, he's fascinating, and—most importantly—he's completely immune to my curse. In fact, he tells me Bad Ex Karma is a blessing. He wasn't looking, but he kept finding me, and I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him.

Maybe this was the dating gods' plan all along: turning an unexpected disaster into the perfect recipe for happily ever after.