Men cheat and lie. They take more than they give. Promise the world and deliver dusty pocket lint. They're no good for the long haul of life. But sex? Sure, men are good for steamy romps and spicy hookups. I'm ready to accept that dating's for dummies, but I'm not giving up sex. No way. And look who just stopped to offer me a lift: a sexy mechanic with all sorts of skills. He's no knight in shining armor, and he's not offering a fairy-tale happily ever after. He's all about the here, the now, and the f*cking. I'm one hundred percent ready for that ride. I'm a liar. My friends think I'm screwing women left and right. The truth? I've been celibate for over a hundred years. The woman I picked up on the side of the road thinks I'm a mechanic. I'm not. I just happened to live through the invention of the horseless carriage and have a knack for repairs. She thinks I'm broke. Wrong again. Centuries of living lends itself to a fat bank account. I thought I gave away my heart years ago, but evidence suggests otherwise. That sad, disused organ beats faster for a foul-mouthed history professor who drives an unreliable, shiny red Volkswagen Bug. I want to be honest, but I'm sitting on so many secrets I'm not sure where to start. Worse, I don't think she wants the truth: I'm a dragon, she's a witch, and I might be falling in love with her.