Chapter 1

The winter of my senior year of college I fell in love with him. He helped me to calm down when I was stressed out. He made me smile and dance. He made everything I did more enjoyable. My family and friends quickly grew tired of hearing him, but I never did. The longer I knew him, the more I loved him. He could do no wrong.

It wasn't until a few years later in my life that I realized what an impact Adam Levine was to have on my life.

I met Dylan when I began working as an intern at Random House, a publishing house in New York City. He was sweet, handsome and charming, and I fell for him quickly and harder than I would have liked. Two years later, I moved in with him and we were more serious than I had been with any boyfriend I had heretofore had. He was also the only person I had met since the publication of my surprisingly and overwhelmingly successful book, The Garden that had not been overly impressed with my success. He treated me like a normal person, not a celebrity, and there was something exceedingly refreshing about that.

Truth be told, I didn't have to work for financial stability after I published that book, but I liked to have a certain consistency in my life and by continuing to work while I also wrote at the same time made me feel like I was still in some way contributing to society. My friends all thought I was crazy continuing to work, but I liked it. I loved the possibility tangible in each manuscript that came through the door of the publishing house. I loved seeing the realm of creativity still apparent in the minds of so many people. And, thanks to the success of my book, I got to have a nice apartment in New York City, a stable job that excited me, and a feeling of purpose in my life.

Everything in my life was as comfortable and happy as I could possibly have hoped for.

So when Dylan found out that his sickly mother's health had taken a turn for the worse, and that he had to move to California to take care of her, I was a little bit jarred. Sure there were publishing houses in California, in fact there was a branch of Random House not far from where we would have to live, but California was just not the same as New York City, which I had come to love dearly. I would miss the hustle-and-bustle atmosphere of the city, but California seemed like an exciting adventure, and the warm weather was definitely a perk.

Dylan's mother lived in Beverly Hills, so we would have to find a house or apartment in that general vicinity. I suppose I forgot to mention that Dylan came from money.

We made the move in June – a slow month for the publishing company, which gave us both time to settle in comfortably without too much work to worry about in the meantime. We found a decent apartment, about the same size as the one we left in New York City, and for about the same price, that was within easy travelling distance of both the city of Los Angeles and the nursing home where Dylan's mom was living. It didn't take long for us to settle in.

Soon, Dylan and I had made some friends at work, and one night they offered to take us out to a club that they knew was often frequented by Hollywood stars. Of course we agreed. That was the beginning of the end. And the beginning of the beginning. It sounds confusing, but you'll see.

Dylan and I walked into the bar and found a booth in a dark, relatively quiet corner (and by relatively quiet I mean that if we screamed to each other, we could probably hear what the other was saying). Our friends, Layla and Jaden hadn't yet arrived, so when we sat on the same side of our booth, it looked like we were being lovey-dovey, even though we really weren't. Dylan had been a little less than affectionate recently, but I blamed it more on the stress of the move and his mother's ever-depleting health rather than problems in our relationship.

I scanned the crowd from the moment we walked into the club, trying my best to see if I could spot a celebrity. Unfortunately, the flashing lights in the otherwise dark room and the sheer mass amount of people in the club made it nearly impossible to distinguish anyone's face. No wonder the celebrities liked to come here. It would be easy to hang out here without being recognized.

"I'm going to go get a drink. Do you want one?" I asked Dylan.

"I can get one for us," he offered.

"It's fine. I'm sitting on the outside anyway," I replied easily. Really I just wanted to get a closer look at the faces in the shadows.

"Okay. Can you get me a Budweiser?" he asked.

"No prob, Bob," I said easily, and was crossing the club to the bar in the middle before Dylan could say anything else.

I sat down on an empty stool and waited for the bartender to come over to me. A man sat three stools away on my left immersed in his iPhone and a scantily clad blondie sat to my right, twirling her hair and all but screaming, "Come hit on me!" as she glanced 'innocently' around the club.

Not long after I sat down, the bartender came over. He was a scruffy looking man with long, curly hair and a button-down shirt that was open at the top, revealing an extremely hairy chest. Just who I wanted mixing something I was going to drink.

"What can I get you, pretty lady?" the bartender asked me, a predatory grin stretched across his face.

"I'll have a gin and tonic on the rocks and a Budweiser," I said.

"Coming right up," he answered, turned around and began mixing ingredients.

The man to my left glanced over at me. I tried not to look in his direction. Maybe going to the bar by myself wasn't the best idea. Everyone was starting to get the idea that I was single and ready to mingle. Not true. In my peripheral vision, I could see the man slowly stand up and seat himself on the stool next to mine.

Dear God. What should I do? I glanced back at the booth where I had left Dylan. He was on his cell phone, not looking in my direction at all, completely unaware that I wanted his attention. Great.

And then the stranger started talking. "So what is a beautiful woman like yourself doing at a bar all alone on a Friday night?" he said in a voice that I could swear sounded achingly familiar.

I turned slowly to my left to look at the man.

No way.

Oh my God.

Was this real life?

Holy shit.

There was no way this was real life.

I think my face must have shown that I registered just who had hit on me. Adam Levine was the man sitting next to me, grinning devilishly. Holy sweet Jesus, he was even more gorgeous in real life than he was in all of the pictures I had gazed at of him. His thick, tousled dark hair just begged to have my fingers run through it. Those green eyes twinkled mischievously as he took in my stunned expression, and his scruff-covered face stretched into that breath-taking crooked smile I had seen so often on TV, magazine covers and the Internet.

After a few moments, I realized what a freak I was being and that I should start speaking. I closed my mouth, shook my head quickly, and replied, "I'm not alone."

How I managed to form a coherent response to his question is beyond me. Cool and collected, Jenna. Remember what Aunt Juli always tells you. It's all about attitude.

"So where are your friends?" he asked, his unfaltering grin showing that he didn't believe me that I was here with someone.

"Well, they haven't gotten here yet. But my boyfriend is at our booth over there," I said, inclining my head in the general direction of the booth.

"Your boyfriend?" he repeated as if he still didn't believe me. What a dick.

"Yes, my boyfriend," I replied, a note of indignation coloring my voice. Why didn't he believe me that I had a boyfriend?

"I don't believe you," he said easily, folding his arms on the bar closer to me and leaning forward, his face now inches from my own.

"Why not?" I asked, completely indignant now.

"If he were really your boyfriend, he would have been a gentleman and come to the bar himself to get you two drinks," he reasoned, those eyes boring into mine, a hint of amusement still hidden behind his blank face.

"I offered to get them. I couldn't stand to just sit still," I explained.

"Ah, but a real gentleman who values his girlfriend would have insisted on at least coming with her so that she wouldn't be left alone and vulnerable to the preying of lonely men like me looking for company with a beautiful woman like yourself," he replied smoothly, making my face go red. Thank goodness it was dark in there. Maybe he couldn't see the color flooding my face.

"Or maybe he just knows that I can handle myself and a quick trip to the bar to get us some drinks isn't a threat to our relationship," I shot back just as smoothly, my voice remaining level while my blood boiled inside me. I couldn't decide if I was overjoyed that Adam Levine was hitting on me or furious that he was being such a dick.

"Let me guess, this is one of the first dates you two have been on?" he asked as if he knew Dylan and me. Bitch, you don't know me. You don't know what I beeeen through.

"We've been dating for two years actually," I replied coolly.

He grimaced. "Ooh, then things aren't going so well, are they?"

Oh my God. I couldn't believe the nerve of this guy. So maybe we hadn't had sex in over a month and maybe he seemed a little more distant than usual lately. We had just made a huge change in our lives and his mom was dying. It wasn't anything to be worried about. We were fine. Just because he was the lead singer of a highly successful band didn't give him the right to intrude on my personal life.

It just so happened that my drinks were done at that point. I slid a fifty across the bar to Mr. Hairy Man without breaking eye contact with Adam. "Listen, Dr. Phil. My boyfriend and I are perfectly happy and he treats me much better than some inconsiderate, self-absorbed egomaniac who hits on strangers at a bar and is way more impressed with himself than anyone else in this club," I snapped, gathered my drinks, spun on my heel, and walked back to our booth in a huff.

Layla and Jalen had just arrived when I got to the booth. In the excitement of seeing them, followed shortly thereafter by a false alarm Brad Pitt sighting, I forgot the encounter with Adam Levine and simply enjoyed the rest of the night.

When Dylan and I got back home, I decided that I was going to prove Adam wrong whether he knew about it or not. I changed into some sexy lingerie that I hadn't worn since Valentine's Day and crawled into bed next to Dylan, who was watching TV. I slid the remote out of his fingers and kissed him slowly, turning off the TV at the same time.

When we broke apart, he looked up and down at me, raising his eyebrows at the sight of my attire. "What's the occasion?" he asked.

"Do we need an occasion?" I replied, sitting on his lap with one leg on either side of him. I ran my fingers through his curly black hair and kissed him again.

"I think you had a little bit too much to drink tonight," he mumbled when we separated, but ran his hands up my back anyway.

I ignored his comment, and kissed his jaw, neck and chest. I had forgotten how perfectly sculpted his body was. Who needed Adam Levine anyway?

His ran his fingers across my back, stroking and squeezing me.

I returned to his face, kissing him again, harder this time, more fervently. Soon the lingerie was gone, as were his boxers. Oh yes, Adam was wrong. We were just fine.