Confessions of a Klutz

Confession One: I was a klutz.

I thought I’d grow out of it, but evidently I didn't.

It's not fun to look like a fumbling toddler when you're twenty-six.

Confession Two: I had a standing appointment at the local ER.

It wasn't by choice that I knew all the doctors names—it was necessity.

But that was about to change.

Confession Three: I hated the sun yet I lived in LA where it always shone.

I supposed that was one plus to being sent to New York for the next eight weeks.

That was until I got there.

Arm veins, dimples, and THE sexiest voice known to man were my weakness,

and he had every single one of them.

Confession Four: He was my new boss.

I could control myself though, right?

The city of dreams…a klutz's worst nightmare.

Eight weeks. A klutz. And a drool worthy boss.

What did you get when you crossed a klutz with a GQ model lookalike?

I was about to find out.