Introduction

Single thirty-something Marissa, though beautiful and talented, is becoming increasingly skeptical about romance because every man in her life has been a cheater.She creates a website dedicated to exposing serial cheaters, but instead her website ushers back into her life her first boyfriend from adolescence, and he is determined to show her that a man can be true.

Editorial Review

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Excerpt

“Cheaters never win, but they sure can piss you off.”

~ Marissa Kincaid

Chapter One

“Boxers or briefs?” Marissa Kincaid asked, keying in the information for this week’s AtlantaTellAll poll. She peered over the top of her computer monitor and wiggled her brows at her two best friends and business partners. “Johnny Depp. What do you say, boxers or briefs?”

“It depends.” Amy Brooks leaned her head against the back of the couch and fingered the tip of her brown ponytail with one hand, while her other palm caressed her son’s back. Bo, her three-year-old, stuck his rump in the air as he slept peacefully against his mother’s chest. “Johnny Depp,” Amy whispered, her mouth curving into an extremely wistful, yet satisfied grin. “Oh yeah, it definitely depends.” Smiling against Bo’s blond curls, she crossed one long leg over the other and let her blue rhinestone-embellished flip-flop dangle from her foot. “You never can tell what a guy might be hiding beneath his jeans.”

“You aren’t even talking about Johnny Depp, are you?” Marissa challenged. “You’re thinking about Landon.” No doubt about it, Landon Brooks was one hot cowboy, and Amy rarely had a thought about any male that didn’t somehow come back to her hubby.

“Well, yeah, I was.” Amy kissed Bo’s crown.

Candi Moody unclipped her hospital badge from the front of her blue scrubs, tucked it in her pocket and yawned. “Okay. I’m sorry, but after the day I had at work, I really don’t need to hear about the hunk you’ve got waiting at home. And what do you mean, it depends? It’s a simple question, and you just have to give her an answer so we can finish this poll then get some sleep. Some of us have day jobs, you know, and one of us hasn’t slept in, oh, two days.”

“I have a day job,” Amy argued. “Full-time motherhood. And it’s exciting, even more than designing sex toys.”

Previously a designer of unique vibrators for Adventurous Accessories, Amy decided to stay home and embrace motherhood with gusto the minute Bo was born. She put her all into motherhood the same way she put her all into her sex toy designs, one hundred percent, and she hadn’t regretted the decision one iota. But like Marissa and Candi, Amy hoped their webzine would continue growing in subscribers and that her weekly sex advice column for the site would eventually pay off in spades.

So far, AtlantaTellAll put a dab of cash in each of their pockets, but their readership was steadily increasing, and Marissa dreamed of the day when she could quit her computer programming position completely and run the magazine. Then she could be her own boss, work from home, and—she shot a glance at the little boy in Amy’s arms—perhaps have a little Bo of her own.

Candi mumbled, “Yeah, I guess you’re right. You do have a day job, but at least yours takes a nap every now and then, and probably lets you do the same. Now, come on and give Marissa your answer. We’ve promised our readers that the polls will go up every Monday. In an hour, we’ve missed that goal for this week. Johnny Depp, boxers or briefs? Answer.”

“I can’t,” Amy said. “Because it really does depend.”

“On what?” Marissa questioned, softly drumming her fingertips against the lower portion of the keyboard while she waited for Amy’s answer.

“If we’re talking Johnny Depp in Edward Scissorhands, then I’d say definitely boxers, but if it’s Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean, then briefs.”

“A pirate wearing briefs? Are you serious?” Candi rubbed her eyelids with her fingertips then informed Marissa, “My answer is boxers, whether it’s freaky Edward or yummy Jack Sparrow.”

“Gotcha,” Marissa said, stifling her laugh. “Okay, we’re using Johnny in Pirates, and that rounds out our poll of ten.”

Candi stretched her arms in a big V and yawned until her jaw popped. “I’m sleeping over. I’m too tired to drive home, and I’m not due back at the hospital until tomorrow night.” She yanked the white scrunchie out of her hair and let her ponytail fall free. Long sandy hair, straight except for the circular indention from the scrunchie, fell past her shoulders as her body sagged back down against the couch. “Man, I hope we have less stat patients tomorrow night. Let’s hope the fireworks have ended by then, totally. The Fourth of July is havoc on the ER. I can’t take another day like today.” Squinting through tired eyes, she asked, “Okay. Before I crash, go over the list one more time.”

“Orlando Bloom, Brad Pitt, Adrian Grenier, Viggo Mortensen, Denzel Washington, Tom Cruise, Usher, Jake Gyllenhaal, Matthew McConaughey and Johnny Depp—in Pirates of the Caribbean.”

Each week, AtlantaTellAll.com’s poll started with their answers, then other women logged on to the site and made their own selections, while a running total displayed the results throughout the week on the home page. Then the AtlantaTellAll message board allowed site visitors to discuss how they voted and why, and all the while, the number of hits skyrocketed, and the price for advertisers steadily increased, since they priced ads based on site visits.

Additionally, the three women produced juicy info on sex toys, Atlanta gossip and local events displayed in fun, romantic formats, typically hearts and flowers. Marissa covered the events for singles, since most of the computer programmers in her office were composed of young twenty-somethings without a care in the world beyond the next party. At thirty-two, she was practically ancient around them, but at least she stayed in-the-know on the party scene and was able to convey that prized info to AtlantaTellAll’s readers.

Amy, naturally, answered sex questions and explained the latest in sex toys. Her column, Adventures with Amy, was an instant hit, and she consequently promoted all of her husband’s famed massage oils, even including links for purchase. Candi’s gossip column, Society Sauce, dished about Atlanta’s and Gwinnett’s most notable residents, ranging from society queens to athletes. Her trauma nurse position at Grady Memorial had generated several friendships with Atlanta’s elite, who happened to find themselves in the ER occasionally and were happy to dish on the culprits who put them there, typically ex-spouses, lovers or rivals. All in all, they kept a wide range of interesting topics covered within the roses, lilacs, hearts and daffodils planted sporadically throughout their site.

Marissa quickly plugged in her own answers to the poll and smiled. “I guess that’s it for this week. We’ve got our gossip, our latest sex product recommendation—”

“Landon’s new edible massage oil in caramel apple, right?” Amy asked, while Marissa’s mouth watered.

“Yeah,” Marissa said, imagining someone licking her like a big, caramel-covered apple. Or even better, taking a bite. She swallowed. “We have our recommendation for shopping—the summer shoe sale at Nordstrom’s—and our poll. I think this is going to be one of our most successful ones yet. Boxers or briefs,” she mused. She leaned her head forward to stretch the bunched muscles in the back of her neck. Her black bangs hit her cheeks like a dark curtain between her eyes and the computer screen. Funny how the only part of her hair that seemed to grow was her bangs. She’d tried growing the remainder of her black mop into a shoulder-length bob, but as usual, gave up fighting the untamable mess and moved back to the short, dark pixie that had graced her head since she graduated from college. It suited her face, anyway, or so her hairdresser—and her mother—said. And speaking of her mother...

“Candi, you’re welcome to sleep over, but you know Mom will call at six a.m. sharp.”

Candi groaned. “Mona still does that, does she?”

“Even on my days off.”

“Want to unplug the phone?” Candi asked.

“Then she’ll show up to make sure I’m breathing.”

Candi turned her head and groaned into the pillow. “Gotcha. If I stay, I’ll ignore Mona’s morning ritual.” She frowned. “Bet that doesn’t do much for the morning after when you have sleepovers, hmm?”

“Hardly,” Marissa admitted. “Not that I’ve had many sleepovers in a while, so it hardly matters. But if things work out with Jamie...”

“You know, we could add one more category,” Amy said, patting Bo’s behind.

Marissa rolled her head from side to side then pushed her bangs out of her eyes. She kept her palm against the top of her forehead so she could massage her temples while she prayed Amy’s suggestion wouldn’t warrant a poll edit. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but I will. What category?”

“Straight or gay.” Amy started to laugh, but then stopped abruptly when Candi shot a look of warning her way.

Marissa knew that look. It was a don’t-tell-Marissa-what-you-know look, and it meant one thing. Marissa had to know—whatever it was—and the sooner the better. “What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Amy said, dropping the blue flip-flop from her pink painted toes. She stretched her foot toward the fallen shoe, but jostled Bo in the process. The three-year-old mumbled, “Come on, Mom,” then squished his nose as though smelling something rank before drifting back to sleep against her purple Adventurous Accessories T-shirt. Amy gave up on the shoe and forced a smile at Marissa. “Forget it. We don’t need any more categories. Hey, have you thought about adding our photos to the site? Did I show you the one I took of you by the pool? Of course, you’re probably not planning to put a bikini shot, huh? Then again, if you look that good in a bikini, why not? I’ll have to bring that picture over for you to see. Your hair is all curly in it too. I wish I could pull off that short, sassy look...”

Marissa glared at Amy, doing her best to ramble past the issue at hand and make Marissa forget her comment. It wasn’t going to work. “I don’t want to talk about photos now.” She turned to Candi, who she knew wouldn’t be able to sidetrack the issue. “Tell me. What is it?”

“What’s what?” Candi asked, but her clenched jaw gave her away.

“What’s with that look? And, more importantly, what does that look have to do with me?”

Amy shifted on the couch, moved Bo to the opposite shoulder and tossed the other flip-flop. Then she wiggled her feet into the crack between the brown leather sofa cushions and let Bo cover her side like a blanket. “We should tell her,” she said to Candi.

“Yes, you should,” Marissa agreed. “Tell me what?”

“It’s Jamie,” Candi said.

Marissa’s stomach knotted. Jamie Abernathy was the guy who’d effectively swept her off her feet for the past two weeks. They’d been out four times so far, and Marissa was seriously contemplating moving on to the next step, that is, the horizontal (or vertical—whatever worked) step on their next date, already scheduled for this Friday. Things had been progressing nicely. Very nicely. Too nicely, she suspected, when compared to her long line of monster mistakes. Unfortunately, Marissa had a knack for dating men of the serial nature. Not serial killers, but serial cheaters. Though she’d wager that both types of “serials” deserved the same punishment. So far, she’d played second fiddle to a mother, an ex-girlfriend, an additional girlfriend, a guy best friend, and a tuba. She didn’t even want to think about the tuba.

“What about Jamie?” she finally managed, dreading what she’d learn with that simple question.

Amy gave her one of her half-frowns then pushed her cheeks toward her eyes in a you-do-it gesture to Candi.

Resignedly, Candi leaned over the side of the couch and scooped up her purse, then dug through the contents until she found her phone. “Here,” she said, taking on the tone she used when she wanted Marissa to remember that she was the oldest of the three. At thirty-six, Candi had merely four years on Marissa and six on Amy, but occasionally, she still managed to turn all motherly. Right now, evidently, was one of those occasions. “They say a picture is worth a thousand words.” She flipped through the photos on her camera-phone, then winced when she got to the one she wanted. “I took this Friday night when I was out clubbing with Fiona, that new nurse at the hospital. She’s really cool, by the way. I think you’d like her, and she said she was already hooked on AtlantaTellAll.com even before she learned I was one of the contributors,” Candi said, stalling.

“Candi,” Marissa warned.

“I’m sorry.” Candi extended her hand.

A flood of apprehension, quite similar to the feeling she experienced prior to throwing up, washed down Marissa, starting with the top of her skull then fingering down her body with rapid urgency. She stood and reached for the small red and silver phone. Dreading what she knew she’d see, she turned it...and let her jaw fall. Jamie was in an intense all-out gropefest with a tall blond, a six-foot-plus blond with a close-shaved beard, an abundance of muscles and an even bigger abundance of testosterone. “Super.”

“He wasn’t the one for you,” Amy said, ever the optimist.

Raw, burning heat fisted in Marissa’s chest, then slowly, steadily spiraled outward. She fought the impulse to throw the phone—it wasn’t hers, after all—and wished like hell that she could throw Jamie...under a bus. A Greyhound. With a full capacity of passengers. All sumo wrestlers.

“You know, I kind of wondered if he was really straight after your second date,” Candi admitted sleepily, snuggling back into Marissa’s overstuffed couch. “Amy’s right, though, he wasn’t the one.”

“What about our second date?” What was wrong with their second date? They went to the Atlanta Botanical Gardens, and he held her hand as they admired all of the hot colors, cool sounds and wild abandon of Orchid Daze, the carnivale-themed celebration of orchids.

“He knew the plant profiles,” Amy reminded. “Isn’t that what you said? He told you all about them, in detail.”

“Yeah. So?” The fingers on Marissa’s right hand tapped harder against the edge of the keyboard. If she’d had fingernails, it would’ve made more of a satisfied clicking sound, but given she continually bit her nails into oblivion, she could produce no more than a dull drumming, which, for some reason, made the situation seem worse. And while her right fingers stung from her determination to make the damn nubs “click,” her left hand squeezed the blood-red cell phone currently showcasing Jamie in a tongue-tangle with another hunk as though she could pop him right out of the screen...and break his neck in the process.

It wasn’t a bad image.

“I’m betting not many straight guys know flower profiles,” Candi said, “if any.”

“And if they do, they probably don’t admit it,” Amy reasoned.

Did they actually think their analysis of yet another of her failed relationships would make her feel better? Marissa glanced again at the photo, then snapped the phone shut. If only she could snap Jamie. Like a twig. “How many is that?” she asked.

“How many is what?” Amy asked.

“Cheaters. Men who’ve cheated on me. How many? And why have they been so damn plentiful?” She’d been around cheating men the majority of her life, she realized. When she was a child, her father had filled that unwanted bill; and now, cheaters still kept finding her.

“Oh, it isn’t you,” Candi said, once again in her motherly, yet sleepy-motherly tone. “It happens to the best of us. I mean, look at me and Cal. We were married, what, eleven years, and he cheated three times. Third time’s a charm, I always say,” she muttered, her mouth smothered by the gold crocheted afghan Marissa’s grandmother had given her for college graduation.

“Why did you wait until the third time to dump him?” Amy asked. “I always wondered.”

“Who says I dumped him? I kept taking the sorry ass back. Believed him every time he said he’d changed. That last time, though, he didn’t come back. Ran off with a girl he met at my high school reunion. Always hated Betsy in school. Hate her more now.”

“He’ll do the same thing to her,” Amy said. “Wait and see.”

“I hope he does,” Candi said, her yawn twisting into a snide smile. “I really hope he does. And at the next reunion, I hope she’s fat. And single.”

“But that’s it,” Marissa said, tossing the phone at Candi and ignoring her muffled yelp of protest when it pinged against her arm. “They keep doing it, and there’s no way for any of us to know which ones are guilty.”

“Who?” Candi asked, rubbing her biceps.

“Cheaters,” Marissa said. She’d been around cheating men the majority of her life, she realized.

“Guilty?” Amy’s green eyes glittered as she obviously wondered where Marissa was headed in this conversation.

“Yeah.” Marissa’s mind churned with a new idea, an idea that she liked. Very much. “Guilty. Someone should warn women about serial cheaters. I mean, the cops have databases where you can find the location of sex offenders, don’t they? It only stands to reason that women should be able to find out the location, and the background, of serial cheaters. It’s a crime too, but a crime that hasn’t been punished. So far.”

Candi blinked, apparently trying to grasp this train of thought with her sleep-deprived brain. “Run that by me again.”

Marissa clicked keys on the computer and was oddly satisfied that she could generate a clicking noise, even if she couldn’t do it with her nails.

Amy stood and gently placed Bo on the couch. Then she took the afghan from Candi and draped it over her son.

“Good thing I like him,” Candi said, reaching for yet another blanket from the back of Marissa’s recliner. She draped the red fleece over herself and frowned. “This one isn’t nearly as soft.”

Amy simply laughed as she crossed the room and looked over Marissa’s shoulder. “Oh, I like where you’re heading,” she said, eyeing the Word file currently filling up the screen with Marissa’s rapidly growing list of bulleted notes. “A poll of cheaters? The biggest cheater of the week?” Amy read aloud.

“Not exactly,” Marissa said, collapsing the document to view the home page of their site, then squinting at the screen as she envisioned a new highly visible icon, one that would prompt a database completely devoted to ousting cheaters. She opened another Internet window. “Hold on while I check a domain name. We’re going to build another site. You up to creating a few logos for me?”

“Sure,” Amy said. Every now and then, Marissa found an additional use for Amy’s wildly creative mind. Not only could she design sex toys and talk about them in her column, but she was an artiste at web graphics. Consequently, the AtlantaTellAll site was gorgeous, due to Amy’s creation of the colorful floral theme.

Marissa accessed godaddy.com, entered her desired domain name and hoped it wasn’t already taken.

“I can start on it in the morning,” Amy said, grinning. “Bo can play with Petie while I work on the site.”

“Petie?” Candi looked at Marissa. “Dare I ask?”

“A miniature schnauzer,” said Marissa. “Bo bought him for me today, and he’s asleep on my bed.”

“You actually bought her a dog?” Candi asked Amy incredulously. “With her crazy work schedule?”

“Marissa said she wanted someone to keep her company when she sleeps,” Amy said. “Bo and I saw him in the pet store, and he thought I should buy him for ‘Aunt Rissi.’ He even named him Petie.”

Marissa looked at the sleeping boy, his mouth open in a kiss-like pucker and his hand fisted beneath his chin. “You know, it would make more sense for Bo to have his own dog.”

Amy swallowed, cleared her throat. “We’ve been discussing it,” she admitted. “But Landon and I thought it’d be better for him to, you know, be around one first.”

“And you decided to let me be guinea pig for this little training period?” Marissa asked.

“You did say that you hated sleeping alone,” Amy reminded.

“And you had to know I wasn’t planning on a canine filling the bill.”

“I can’t believe you bought her a dog,” Candi said, then audibly yawned. “But I’m still staying over. No way can I drive home this tired.” She looked at Amy. “Why don’t you let Bo take Petie to your apartment overnight? That way I won’t have to worry with a fur ball waking me up all night long wanting to play.”

“And Bo can practice learning how often to take him out,” Marissa added.

“Oh, never mind,” Candi huffed, settling into the couch for a good night’s sleep. “Petie can stay here. I don’t think even your mother’s pre-dawn wake-up call will rattle me, and I imagine I can sleep through you, Bo and Petie too.”

“Good,” Amy said. “Then Bo and I will come over in the morning, and I’ll work on the site, while he takes care of Petie.”

Marissa grabbed a spiral notebook from the side of her desk. “I’ll sketch some basic ideas for the design, but you can switch it out however you want. Then while I’m at work, you set it all up. After I get off, and after Candi has had some sleep, we’ll add the finishing touches and start our list of cheaters, beginning with everyone who has ever cheated on the three of us, then we’ll advertise the dickens out of the cheater database on our site.” She waited while the computer churned, then smiled sinisterly when she paid for the new domain through godaddy. “We got it,” she said triumphantly.

“Got what?” Candi asked from her cocoon of covers.

“Exactly what we need to make them all pay, or at least be recognized as the pigs that they are,” Marissa said. “And as soon as we get the graphics and links working, the world wide web is in for a real eye-opener of a site.”

“What’s the name?” Candi asked.

“TheGuyCheats.com,” Marissa said, as the door vibrated with a steady, familiar knock.

“I like it,” Amy said, hurrying toward the door. She opened it, and a six-foot-plus hunk of male entered, cowboy through and through, from the black Stetson on his gorgeous head to the just-as-black Ropers on his feet. Landon Brooks. Amy’s husband, and proof that dreams come true. Amy’s dreams, that is. “Hey, honey!” she exclaimed, jumping into his arms. Marissa turned away, not wanting to watch the way Amy’s hips naturally curved into his thighs, as if she knew what was coming later. “We’re going to start a new site to oust cheaters,” Amy said, after Landon planted a soft kiss on her lips, then smiled at their son, dozing peacefully on the sofa.

Landon grinned, and Marissa’s heart tripped a bit when she recognized that grin as the same cocky smile the three-year-old on the sofa gave her every time he wanted an extra cookie. Oh yeah, Landon and Amy were going to have to fight the girls off when Bo hit the teenage years.

“You know, from any other women, a database for cheaters would surprise me,” he said.

“But not us?” Candi asked, apparently rousing at the entrance of Amy’s cowboy.

“Not in the least.” He squeezed Amy, then released her with another impromptu kiss before walking toward the couch. “Sorry I had to work late. We were waiting for the numbers on the new massage oil.”

“Caramel apple?” Marissa asked.

Landon winked at Amy. “You’re advertising it in your webzine?”

“Like the good little wife I am,” she said, while her husband laughed.

He scooped Bo into his arms, then looked at Marissa. “Seems he’s taken a liking to your blanket.”

Marissa saw the tiny fists clutching the fabric. “No problem. Take it on home, and he can bring it back tomorrow, when he comes to play with Petie.”

“I take it that’s Petie?” Landon asked, indicating the doorway to Marissa’s bedroom, where the small gray schnauzer stood, looking sleepy-eyed and irritated.

“Bo picked him out at the pet store,” Amy said. “He said he wanted to give him to his Aunt Rissi, so he can help her take care of him.”

“I’m betting he had a little encouragement in making that decision,” Marissa said, “but I’ll take your word for it.” She scooped up the puppy. “It wouldn’t hurt to take you outside again, would it?” she asked the dog, who merely licked her hands in response.

“Glad Bo could help,” Landon said, chuckling. “So, how is my little tiger?”

“He’s perfect,” Amy said. “And your other tiger is doing fine too,” she added with a mischievous, wicked grin.

“Is that so?” Landon asked. “Well then, I’m thinking we’d best be getting on home.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Amy sang, leaving Marissa’s apartment with Landon and Bo in tow. “I’ve got to get home.”

“Sure thing.” Marissa followed them toward the door with Petie. She paused at the doorway and listened to Amy and Landon, laughing as they made their way to their apartment...and to their bed. What would that be like, to have a guy, a child, and a life like that?

Petie barked softly, reminding Marissa that he’d yet to feel grass beneath his feet and that his bladder was ready for that to happen, while Candi growled from the couch.

“What is it?” Marissa asked, cradling the puppy.

“Nothing,” Candi said. “It’s just nice to see people so damn happy.”

“Yeah,” Marissa whispered wistfully. “It is.” Then she took the newest male in her life—correction, the only male in her life—out to pee. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1) Marissa has developed a pattern for dating men who are “terminally unfaithful.” At the beginning of the book, what happens that makes her decide to break this pattern once and for all? What does she do about it?
2) Marissa starts TheGuyCheats.com to protect other women from going through the same kind of heartache and betrayal that she’s experienced. Her website allows women to search potential dates and learn whether they have a cheating history, and the site also allows women to report cheaters. Is Marissa doing this to be vindictive, or is she really trying to help other women? Could she be doing both?
3) Trent’s reputation is important to him, but he did lie to Marissa way back when. Did he deserve to be put in her cheater database?
4) Trent’s family has been extremely successful, yet he’s discontent to piggyback off of his father’s and grandfather’s success. What does this say about his character? Can you think of any modern examples of people who didn’t want their success based on the achievements of their family members, or perhaps even their last name? And on the other side of the coin, can you think of any modern examples of people who felt their own careers were hindered by the achievements (or lack of achievements) of their family members?
5) TO CATCH A CHEAT is set in the South (Atlanta). How do you feel the Southern setting affects the reaction the public has on the “World Wide Web War” between Trent and Marissa? Do you think radio personalities such as Coleman and Speedy would have seen the feuding pair as a potential ratings booster if they were located in another part of the country, say New York or Los Angeles? Why, or why not?
6) How do you think Trent and Marissa’s web feud would have fared if it hadn’t been picked up by the media? Would they have settled things quietly? Would they have ever spoken at all? And what kind of factor do you believe the media has on relationships now? Once a relationship goes “public,” is it doomed? What celebrity relationships can you think of that have fared poorly due to the media’s interference? What relationships have stood the test of media exposure?
7) I’ve never lived anywhere but the South, so I understand the way things are here—everybody’s business is everybody’s business. Family is TIGHT, as in “We’d better hear from you twice a week, and a Sunday visit is a necessity, not an option.” Or is that just my family? How would Marissa and Trent's story have altered if they were members of your family? Could you imagine being as understanding as Marissa if your mother implemented a 6:00 a.m. wakeup call ritual?
8) Regarding Marissa’s desire to have “everything Amy has” (the sexy, loving husband and an adorable little boy), is there anything wrong with wanting to have what her friend has already found? Does Marissa let her own desire hinder her relationship with her friend? Would most people?
9) This novel underscores a fundamental truth, i.e., children are imprinted by the behaviors of those who raise them. In Marissa’s case, Trent Jackson isn’t really the man who caused her pattern for choosing unfaithful men. That role belongs to her father. What does it take for her to rectify that relationship?
10) Is it possible for Marissa to move forward in a relationship with Trent if she hasn’t faced the original problem with her father?
11) Does Marissa blame her mother for her dad cheating? Do you believe that Marissa learned her pattern from her mother?
12) How does Marissa feel when Mona announces she’s found love again? Why is it such an issue for Marissa?
13) Obviously, at some point in everyone’s life, familial roles become blurred. Parents no longer take care of the child’s interests; on the contrary, the adult child takes care of the parent’s interests. Is Marissa comfortable in her new role of watching out for her mother’s easily-broken heart? Would you say Marissa is overprotective of her mother? Would you say Mona is overprotective of Marissa? Why would these two have a harder time letting go than a mother and daughter who haven’t shared their past with Marissa’s father?

Weblinks

»	Author Web Site
»	Publisher Book Web Site
»	Marrisa Kincaid

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