Coloring in the lines isn’t for me. Neither is the quiet life. I party hard every step of the way. Maybe a little too hard. Now I’m in quite the pickle, and my family is desperate to wrangle me in. I guess the law is too, judging by the sexy ankle bracelet I’m rocking for the next few months. I’ve traded in groupie life for group therapy, where I met the man whose motorcycle and tats haunt daddies’ dreams everywhere. The man who’s as infuriating as he is sexy. In Lev Rebel, I might’ve finally met my wild child match. Every day I spend with him, I lose my mind a little more. But in the end, I might lose my heart, too.