TABLE OF CONTENTS

Two More Days

Foreword
Tequila Mate | Katie Ashley
About the Author
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Also in the Running Mate series
Always Cake | Max Monroe
Part One: Emily
Part Two: Austin
Confessions | Lora Richardson
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Lora Richardson
Heels Over Head In Love | Willow Aster
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Second Summer | Laurelin Paige
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
About Laurelin Paige
Protected by Dr. Rebecca Sharp
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
The Vanished | Jennifer Wilson
About Jennifer WIlson
The Shelby | Jewel E. Ann
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
About the Author
Sunshine Rae | Kandi Steiner
From Friends To This | Dominique Laura
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Books By Dominique Laura
About Dominique Laura
The Kiss | M. Robinson
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Meet M. Robinson
More Books By M
Stone Heart | S.J. West
About the Author
Books by SJ West
Without Yesterday | Lexi Ryan
Good Girl Gone Bad | R.K. Lilley
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Other Books By R.K. Lilley
Of Potions and Poison | Chanda Hahn
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Breaking the Rules | Charleigh Rose
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About the Author
Other books by Charleigh Rose
Stray | Jessica Hawkins
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
More from Jessica Hawkins
About the Author
A Home for Hobgoblins | Eric R. Asher
Falling for my Stepbrother | Kelsie Stelting
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
When Fire Strikes | Marni Mann
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Also by Marni Mann
About the Author
Armageddon, Again | Aileen Erin
Strike One | Meagan Brandy
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Office Hours | Alessandra Torre
HER
HIM
HER
About Alessandra Torre
Pineapple | Leia Stone
Sincerely, Dane | Ilsa Madden-Mills
Chapter One
Also by Ilsa Madden-Mills
About the Author
Dark Eyes by Karina Halle
What If... | K. Bromberg
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
When It Happens | Micalea Smeltzer
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Four
Chapter Three
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Epilogue
F*ck | Tijan
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
The Dress | Colleen Hoover
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
About Colleen Hoover
 
 
  
 
 
Edited by Lillian Schneider, LS King, Kristin Phillips and Murphy Rae
Cover design by Murphy Rae
Formatting by Alyssa Garcia at Uplifting Author Services
 A NOTE FROM COLLEEN HOOVER
Because of the support from authors and readers for our first
anthology release in 2020, we are excited to bring you an all-new
anthology from our 2020 author lineup!
We owe a huge thank you to every person who supports our
charity The Bookworm Box, whether you’re new to us or you’ve been
with us since day one. With your support and purchase of this
anthology, we have been able to help hundreds of charities since we
opened in 2015.
The idea for this anthology series came to me several years ago,
but last year The Bookworm Box team put it into motion and One
More Step was released into the world. It was so much fun, we
decided to do it again!
This year we are proud to present Two More Days. The concept is
the same as the first anthology. Each author is given the same first
sentence. Where they take that sentence is completely up to them.
It’s so much fun to see all the different directions these authors can
take these stories.
The authors who contributed to this anthology are some of the
authors who were featured in our subscription boxes in 2020. We
can’t thank them enough for the contribution of their time to craft
these stories and get them in your hands.
We hope you enjoy them! Thank you for your continued support.
 
Sincerely,
Colleen Hoover and The Bookworm Box team
 
 
 TEQUILA MATE
A Short Story in the Running Mate World
 

 
KATIE ASHLEY
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Katie Ashley is a New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon Top
Three Best-Selling author of both Indie and Traditionally published
books. She’s written rockers, bikers, manwhores with hearts of gold,
New Adult, and Young Adult. She lives outside of Atlanta, Georgia
with her precocious six-year-old-daughter, Olivia, her rescue mutts,
Belle and Elsa, and rescue cats, Luna, Ella, Sassy, and Mama Kitty.
She has a slight obsession The Golden Girls, Harry Potter, and Star
Wars.
With a BA in English, a BS in Secondary English Education, and a
Masters in Adolescent English Education, she spent twelve years
teaching both middle and high school English, as well as a few
adjunct college English classes. As of January 2013, she became a
full-time writer.
Although she is a life-long Georgia peach, she loves traveling the
country and world meeting readers. Most days, you can find her
being a hermit, styling leggings, and binging on Netflix or wasting
time on Tic Tok.
CONNECT WITH KATIE
➜ NEWSLETTER
➜ FACEBOOK
➜ FACEBOOK READER GROUP (ASHLEY’S ANGELS):
➜ WEBSITE
➜ INSTAGRAM
➜ TWITTER
➜ PINTEREST
 CHAPTER ONE

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.

Just two measly days. Forty-eight hours. Two thousand, eight
hundred, eighty minutes…
And then I would be in the presence of the man who was both my
personal hero and my vagina’s.
With an exasperated sigh, I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. Jesus,
Selah, would you get over yourself and the theatrics? He’s just a
man. Never forget that you are an accomplished, modern woman
who shouldn’t be acting like a prepubescent girl with her first crush.
So what if he gave you the best sex ever? Get over it!
There’s also the pesky little fact that he saved your life. It’s kinda
hard to forget that one.
I guess you could say mine was a tale as old as time. After all, the
hero who saves the damsel in distress has been a staple of fairy
tales for centuries. Trust me when I say that Stuart Issacson could’ve
walked right out of the pages of an epic romance. He was six three,
dark-haired, broad-shouldered, had cast-iron pecs, and thighs that
could choke a bear…
Sorry, where was I?
Right. My fractured fairy tale. After we’d both looked death in the
eye, we’d lost ourselves in a bottle of expensive tequila and then a
night of mind-altering sexual healing. In a way, one of those fairy-tale
tropes had come to bite us both in the ass, because it was our
fucking honor that had done us in. And therefore, mine hadn’t ended
with us riding off into the sunset together.
However, somehow I fell just the teensiest bit in love with Stuart.
 You see, we weren’t two random ships passing in the night
brought together by tragic circumstance. Stuart was Agent Issacson
of the United States Secret Service. He was assigned to my best
friend and boss, Caroline Callahan, whose father just happened to
be the leader of the free world.
As a member of Caroline’s protection team, I’d even been in
Stuart’s presence multiple times. He and the agents of her protection
team had an apartment just down the hall in Caroline’s and my
apartment building.
Sure, I’d found him attractive, but he wasn’t my type. Maybe it
was because he was at least a decade older than me. Or maybe it
was he always seemed to be acting like an overprotective big
brother. I’d probably even called him a killjoy from time to time,
because he was always putting the kibosh on any plans Caroline
and I might’ve had out on the town. But that was before…
At the knock on my dressing room door, I paused my thoughts.
Normally, I didn’t find myself outfitted in a designer evening gown in
the middle of a Thursday afternoon. Usually, I would be holed up in
our Charleston office, but that morning, I’d left on an early flight to
DC.
“Is there a problem with the dress, Ms. Macallister?” a snooty
voice questioned.
“Um, no, sorry.” I threw open the door and met the pretentious
stare of a designer I’d never heard of until a month ago. In fact, it
was my first time even being inside a fancy-schmancy boutique. I’d
always bought my clothing off the rack. Growing up in Jersey, I’d
often bought off clearance racks.
For my original fitting, the designer’s assistant had come to
Caroline’s apartment in Charleston, but today I had to face the music
with the designer. When the pins hadn’t strained too much against
my skin, I was relieved that the last few weeks of stress eating and
emotional wine bingeing at the prospect of seeing Stuart hadn’t
affected the sizing.
 I’d originally imagined the designer being French or Italian, but I’d
forgotten how Caroline and her family always wore American
designers’ dresses to domestic events. Harrison Dellinger had
worked with the First Lady for many events. With the flick of his wrist,
he pretentiously commanded, “Stand over there.”
As I made my way in front of an enormous tri-fold mirror, a squeal
of delight erupted from Caroline as she rushed into the room. “Oh,
Selah, you look positively stunning,” she gushed.
Normally, I would’ve agreed with her, but I found myself out of my
element. “Isn’t it a little much?” I asked, to which Harrison grunted.
“You’re attending a formal reception at the White House, are you
not?” he asked.
“Well, yes.”
“I can assure you it’s not too much.”
I wanted to tell him that my wallet said it was extremely too much.
Not that Caroline didn’t pay well. I just wasn’t used to shelling out
thousands for an article of clothing, even if it would be on display to
potentially millions of people. While I had originally planned on just
grabbing something off the rack, Caroline insisted on the VIP
treatment. I bit my tongue from saying with equal snootiness to
Harrison that I had been to the White House before, so I knew what
everything entailed. Of course, if I mentioned that, then I would have
to admit that I’d worn some of Caroline’s designer dresses to both
the inauguration and the balls, rather than my own.
“I just don’t want to draw too much attention to myself,” I stated
diplomatically.
With a snort, Caroline replied, “Since when have you ever not
wanted to have all the eyes in the room on you?”
So, she had me there. When it came to social situations, I was no
wallflower. I loved dressing to the nines with my hair professionally
done and the best makeup. But for this social engagement, I wanted
to fade into the crowd. Moreover, I didn’t want to seem like I was
trying too hard for him.
 “Maybe because it’s an award ceremony where I’m guaranteed
not to come home with any trophies,” I teased.
Caroline stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “Seriously, Selah?
That ceremony is for Ty and Stuart, and the other agents who saved
our lives. Of course you would be included.”
Fuck. She had said his name. For months, she had said his
name, and it hadn’t had any effect on me whatsoever. But today was
a different story. Because of two thousand, eight hundred, seventy-
five minutes.
“But you were the target of the gunman, not me,” I protested.
As someone who enjoyed True Crime podcasts, I was well versed
in stories about stalkers. I just never thought I would actually know
someone who was being stalked, least of all that that person would
be my best friend.
Back in undergrad, Caroline had just been a senator’s daughter.
After graduation, I’d started my job in public relations in New York
City, and she’d headed to London for graduate school. The distance
hadn’t hurt our friendship, nor had the fact she had been thrust into
the world’s view when her father became the first Independent
candidate to win the presidency. Caroline didn’t let the fact she was
the First Daughter go to her head. When she decided to start a non-
profit, Read 4 Life, to piggyback on the First Lady’s, aka her mom’s,
literacy initiative, Caroline had asked me to go with her to
Charleston, West Virginia as her right hand.
At first, it had been quite a culture shock leaving my job and my
life in New York City. I mean, we got our groceries at a place called
The Piggly Wiggly for goodness sake, not to mention not having a
Starbucks on every corner. Don’t even get me started on the dating
scene there. But in spite of all its deficits, there wasn’t anything I
wouldn’t do for Caroline. Especially considering the fucked-up
situation she currently found herself in.
After she returned to the States, though, Caroline began receiving
threatening letters and packages. Determined to keep her as safe as
possible, President Callahan had moved one of his agents, Ty
Fraser, from protecting his son, Thorn, to protecting Caroline. Ty not
only had five years of service in the British Army, but he’d spent his
early days working for a major security company in London.
Although I’d known Caroline was being stalked and we were
always in the presence of an agent, I really never imagined it
culminating in a shootout. Especially at Barnes & Noble. In theory, a
children’s book signing should be low-key, right? One Caroline had
penned about Satchel and Babe—the First Family’s dogs—even
more so.
One minute I’d been a dutiful PA, handing copies to Caroline to
sign. The next minute people were screaming. A man stood pointing
a gun at Caroline. The books I was holding fell from my hands and
clattered to the floor. Panic rocketed through me, leaving me
immobile. My brain screamed at my body to move, but it remained
frozen.
At the crack of the gun, Ty launched himself at the table—his
body skidding across the surface. He plowed into Caroline, toppling
over both her and a chair, and then they’d slammed to the ground.
My mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out. I remained
rooted to the ground until strong arms gripped my waist. I didn’t have
a moment to process before I was slung to the ground as if I was a
ragdoll. Blinking in shock, I glanced up to see Stuart towering over
me.
“Stay down!” he commanded. He didn’t have to tell me twice.
While Ty whirled the chair around as a shield for Caroline, fear sent
me rolling into a fetal position with my chin tucked to my chest and
my arms over my head.
While it might sound cliché, in those terrifying moments I did
experience my life flashing before my eyes. There were the kind
faces of my parents. My mother in her apron pulling another one of
her delicious culinary concoctions from the oven. My father in his
robes and “dog collar,” as we called his Episcopal priest’s robes,
standing in the pulpit of his church. My two older brothers, Josh and
Timothy, playing basketball with me in our driveway. Caroline and me
with red Solo cups in hand as we attended our very first fraternity
party.
At twenty-six, I had so much life left to live. I wanted to travel to all
the places on my bucket list. I wanted to see more of Caroline’s
vision for her Read 4 Life non-profit come to fruition. And as much as
I loved not being tied down and avoiding commitment, I eventually
wanted a husband and children.
In that moment, it hadn’t mattered that I had a graduate degree or
a successful career. My greatest regret was not having someone to
love.
Through all the chaos and mayhem surrounding me, I kept myself
firmly coiled into a ball. Voices filled with both fear and anger
shrieked and shouted around me. Caroline cried out for help before
she began arguing with Stuart. Then her voice grew fainter, as if she
was being carried away. At the feel of a hand on my back, I jumped.
“Selah?”
I blinked at the sound of my name. I wasn’t on the floor of the
Barnes & Noble. Instead, I stood in front the mirror in my beautiful
royal-blue dress.
Caroline knitted her brows in concern. “Are you okay?”
Actually, I’m a fucking wreck. I’m pretty sure I’m battling some
form of PTSD, but I’ll feel like an ass if I bring it up since you were
almost killed and your agent/boyfriend took two bullets.
Then there’s the fact that I let the best man that’s come across my
path in years walk away.
“I’m fine,” I insisted, because there were times when lying to your
best friend was necessary. And right now was definitely one of them.
Caroline’s expression told me she didn’t buy it. I knew I needed to
get out of there before I had to face anymore of her inquisition.
Turning to Harrison, I asked, “Am I good to go? I have a lunch
meeting to get to.”
While Harrison nodded, Caroline said, “I didn’t know you had a
meeting.”
 Jesus Christ, she missed her calling as a lawyer. I waved my
hand absently. “It’s not so much a meeting as a few old friends
getting together.”
Although she still looked skeptical, Caroline didn’t press me any
further. “Well, okay, then. You’re all set at the hotel for tonight and
tomorrow night, and then you’ll be staying at the White House after
the ceremony.”
Now that wasn’t a sentence you heard every day, was it? “Yep. All
set.” I leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’ll call you later.”
“Okay. Be careful.”
“Yes, Mom,” I teased over my shoulder. I then hot-footed it over to
the dressing room. Of course, I would be in a stupid dress which
required someone else to get me out of it. When one of Harrison’s
minions appeared, I peeked behind them to see if Caroline was still
out there. Thankfully, she wasn’t.
As soon as I was free of my dress, I threw on my jeans and top. I
grabbed my purse and shades and hustled out of the dressing room.
But like so many days and weeks before, I couldn’t run away from
my memories of what had happened.
 CHAPTER TWO

THAT DAY
I don’t know how long I was on the floor. Fear, along with Stuart’s
command, kept me from moving to survey the scene. But then,
through all the chaos, someone started to help me up. When I raised
my head, I was strangely surprised at my disappointment that it
wasn’t Stuart.
“Come on, Ms. Macallister. Let’s get you out of here,” said
Beverly, one of the female agents.
“Okay,” I croaked. Of course, that was easier said than done. My
legs had long since gone numb, and when I tried to put weight on
them, I flailed around like a newborn colt.
“Here. Let me help,” Beverly suggested as she slid her arms
underneath what I could only imagine were my very stress-induced-
sweaty armpits. Although her tall, lanky form didn’t compare to the
other bulkier agents, she managed sweep me onto to my feet like I
was weightless.
“Thanks.” Once I’d regained my footing, I stared wide-eyed at the
practically empty store. “Where’s Caroline?”
“Agent Isaacson got her safely out, and the ambulance with Agent
Fraser just left for the hospital.”
“Is Ty going to be okay?”
“The paramedics said he would need surgery for the bullet they
believe is still lodged inside him, so it’s still touch and go.”
I swept my hand over my mouth. “Oh God.” Poor Ty. Poor
Caroline. I couldn’t imagine what she was going through at the
moment.
 Tears streaked down my cheeks as Beverly helped me hobble
toward the exit. My gaze bounced around the store. “Jesus, what a
mess,” I remarked. While it was directed at the sight of overturned
shelves and books littering the floor, I also meant the course the day
had taken.
Nodding, Beverly replied, “It was sheer pandemonium once the
shots were fired. People storming to the exits while we tried to get
inside along with law enforcement.”
“Were you not close to the shooter?”
“No. I’d been sent to inspect the mysterious package at the back
of the store.”
My brows shot up. “The what?”
“Don’t worry. It just turned out to be a false flag planted by the
stalker to distract us.”
At what must’ve been fear and horror sweeping across my face,
Beverly squeezed me tight. “The shooter’s been taken into custody,
and based on his confession, we’re almost a hundred percent sure
he acted alone. The ATF is on route to his house now.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Yes. The Callahans can all breathe a sigh of relief where that is
concerned.”
As I was loaded into the backseat of the Secret Service’s black
SUV, I couldn’t help reflecting on the difference between that
morning, when we’d come in, versus how we were leaving. Ty and I
had been reassuring a nervous Caroline that she was going to do
fine at the signing while the air hummed with optimistic energy. Now
the energy was subdued—fearful—while the air was weighted down.
Luckily, we weren’t too far from the hospital. When we got to the
entrance of the ER, I hopped out and waited on Beverly. After
receiving a quick briefing from some of the other agents, she came
over to me. “They took Caroline the long way around in case
someone was following them. Her ETA is two minutes.”
I nodded in acknowledgment. It hardly felt like any time had
passed when I caught sight of Caroline’s SUV barreling into the
parking lot. As soon as it screeched up, the door flung open, and
Stuart hopped out. He then helped Caroline down. I rushed forward
to throw myself at her. “Oh, Selah!” she cried before wrapping her
arms around me. I didn’t bother trying to be strong or holding back
my tears. Instead, I let them flow as freely as Caroline’s.
“Come on, ladies. We have to get inside,” Stuart ordered. His tone
was less gruff than usual. We remained shoulder to shoulder, our
hands intertwined. When I glanced down, I couldn’t help noticing the
blood on her hand.
At what must’ve been horror on my face, she replied, “It isn’t mine
—it’s Ty’s.”
“Oh,” I murmured. I wasn’t sure what to say in that moment. I
imagined there weren’t significant words, so I merely wrapped my
arm around her shoulder.
After we got upstairs to the surgical waiting room, the rest of the
afternoon was a blur. That was partly because one of the ER doctors
administered a valium shot to both Caroline and me. Through my
haze, I watched President and Mrs. Callahan, along with Caroline’s
brothers, Barret and Thorn, arrive with even more Secret Service
agents. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Ty remained in surgery.
From time to time, I’d look up to find Stuart standing beside me.
Each time he’d ask me if I would like something to drink or eat, but
I’d refuse him. Finally, he stopped asking me, instead appearing with
a bottle of water. When I started to protested, he commanded me to
drink. “You have to stay hydrated.”
With a nod, I took the bottle from him. As he kept his eyes on me,
I drank it down, and couldn’t help notice how pleased he seemed
once I was finished.
I don’t know how much time had passed when the surgeon came
out to inform us Ty was going to be fine. A whoop of joy and relief
went up among the waiting room. I even hugged Stuart after I’d
hugged Caroline. When Caroline was able to go back to see him, I
remained in one of the waiting room chairs with my knees drawn to
my chest.
 When Caroline reappeared in the waiting room, the sun had set.
She was grinning ear to ear, which was more of a relief than I’d
imagined possible. It was as if I could finally take a full breath.
“They’re okay with us, Selah. Mom and Dad,” she whispered as she
hugged me again. “They know, and they’re happy for us.”
“Oh Caroline. I’m so glad.” And I was. She deserved a good man
like Ty Fraser, and he deserved her.
Her eyes turned serious. “I’m going to stay a little longer with Ty.”
“That’s fine.”
She then turned to Stuart. “Will you please get Selah back to the
hotel?”
While he nodded, I shook my head. “That isn’t necessary. I can
totally get an Uber.”
“Are you insane? I’m not letting you do that,” Caroline huffed.
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“You won’t be,” Stuart replied before Caroline could.
The look in Stuart’s eyes sent a shiver of anticipation down my
spine. Maybe I did want to be a little trouble tonight.
 CHAPTER THREE

AFTER SAYING OUR goodbyes to Caroline and the Callahans, Sturt

and I headed downstairs to the ER. We both must’ve been drained
because we made the trip in silence. After walking out the
mechanized doors, Stuart arrived at the SUV I’d arrived in. When he
opened the passenger side door for me. I couldn’t hide my surprise.
He cocked his brows at me. “Did you expect the chauffer treatment?”
I laughed, and man, did it feel good to do something so natural
after such an unnatural day. “No. I’m just used to riding in the back
when I’m with you.”
After I hopped up into the passenger seat, Stuart closed the door
for me. I got buckled in as he made his way around the front of the
car. Even though we’d been in close proximity before, something felt
different about this time. I tried to push the thought from head as I
turned my head to stare out the window.
We drove through the darkened streets in silence. After the day I’d
experienced, I should’ve appreciated the quiet, but somehow it made
me feel cagey. Turning toward Stuart, I went for an easy yet
incredibly lame conversation starter. “Some day, huh?” I mused.
His lips quirked up. “Yeah. I’d say a hell of a day.”
“I mean, I guess as an agent you’re used to stuff like this.”
Stuart shook his head. “Five years with the Secret Service, and
this is my first shooting.”
“Seriously?”
He threw at glance at me. “You seem surprised. Were you not a
fan of the previous two presidents?”
I barked out a laugh. “No. It’s nothing like that at all.” With a smile,
I added, “I even voted for the first one you served under.”
 “I’m glad to hear you exercise your civic duty by voting.”
“Oh, now, wait a minute. From your tone, you sound surprised I
even voted back then.”
“Well, young people can be fickle when it comes to adult
responsibility.”
My mouth gaped open. “Who are you calling young? You act like
you’re middle-aged or something.”
He chuckled. “Somedays I feel it.”
“You can’t be past forty.”
“How do you know?”
“Because my brother Tim is forty, and you look younger than him.”
Stuart glanced over at me with a grin. “Poor Tim. He must really
be decrepit.”
I playfully swatted his arm. “Stop it. That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
“Then answer the question.”
“Which one?”
Rolling my eyes, I replied, “How old are you?”
“I’ll be thirty-eight next month.”
“You’re just a decade older than me.”
With a groan, he replied, “Just a decade.”
“We’re still both part of the same generation.”
“What?”
“You know, we’re both Gen Y.”
“I had no idea.”
“Good thing I told you, so you can stop putting yourself down.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” Stuart replied with a grin.
At the sight of the hotel looming before us, my heart sank a little. I
didn’t know why exactly, but I wasn’t ready for our time to be over. In
some ways, Stuart was somewhat of a stranger to me, but at the
same time, he was the only one I wanted to be with after my
emotional roller coaster of a day. I needed his calming, protective
presence. When Stuart eased the SUV into a reserved parking
space in the hotel’s parking garage, I cut my eyes over to him in
surprise. “You’re coming with me?”
He slid the gear into park. “I’ve been relieved of duty for the
evening.”
“Oh. Okay.” With Caroline and me staying at the hotel, I knew the
agent contingency had hotel rooms there as well. I’d barely closed
the SUV’s door before Stuart joined me at my side. When he led me
through the hotel’s VIP entrance, his hand came to rest at the small
of my back. The heat of his touch burned through my silky blouse to
my skin.
What the hell was happening to me? I’d come close to being shot
today, and suddenly, this completely nonsexual touch of a man had
my blood pumping.
As Stuart started for the bank of elevators, I couldn’t help
dreading the empty suite that awaited me. I had no idea when or if
Caroline would be coming back from the hospital. At the continued
thoughts of the silence of the room and the walls closing in on me, I
shook my head. I didn’t want to be alone tonight. “You can see me to
the bar.”
He grimaced. “I promised Caroline I would see you to your room.”
My lips quirked. “Do you always do everything a woman tells
you?”
“I do when that woman is my boss’s daughter.”
“Considering we both could’ve been shot or killed today, I think we
can bend the rules a bit, don’t you think?”
“I suppose.”
“Good. I’m glad you could see it my way,” I replied as I made my
way across the lobby to the bar.
“Like I had much of a choice,” Stuart grumbled as he fell in step
beside me.
“Come on, we have so much to celebrate. The stalker has been
caught, and Caroline is no longer in any danger. Ty’s going to make
a complete recovery. And the Callahans know about Caroline and Ty,
and no blood was shed.”
Chuckling, Stuart replied, “Yeah, that last bit was pretty
impressive. I thought for sure Barrett or Thorn would’ve chopped off
Ty’s dick.”
“So, we’re celebrating, right?”
“Yep.”
“Good. First round is on me.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Stuart protested as he lumbered up onto
one of the bar stools.
“Oh please. It’s the least I can do for the man who saved my life
today.”
“I was merely doing my job.”
“Ouch, is that all I am? A job?”
The intensity of his stare burned like wildfire through me. “No,
Selah. You’re much more than a job.”
Now I really needed a fucking drink.
“What can I get you?” the bartender questioned.
As Stuart opened his mouth to answer, I quickly replied, “We’ll
start with two shots of your most expensive tequila.”
When the bartender left to fill our order, Stuart cocked his brows
at me. “Do you always order for others?”
“Who is to say any of that tequila is for you?” I teased.
Stuart barked out a laugh. “It fucking better be.”
“I’ll be happy to share.”
The bartender returned. As soon as he poured the tequila, Stuart
and I grabbed a glass each. I didn’t even bother waiting on him.
Instead, I threw back the contents in one fiery gulp.
After Stuart followed suit, he quirked his brows. “You ruined my
toast.”
“My bad.” I grabbed the bottle the bartender had left and quickly
refilled our glasses. “By all means, let’s celebrate.”
 Stuart raised his tequila. “Here’s to Ty making a quick recovery.”
“Yes. Here’s to Ty.” I started to bring the glass to my lips, but
Stuart stopped me.
“I wasn’t finished.”
“My apologies.”
“I would also like toast to the capture of Caroline’s stalker.”
I nodded. “Yes, may the fucker rot in prison for many, many
years!”
Stuart snorted. “You capture my sentiments exactly.”
“With the suspect apprehended, does that mean things will
change with her protection?” The real question I wanted to ask was
whether he would be still be around now that the threat was gone.
Shaking his head, Stuart replied, “It shouldn’t. I’ve been a part of
Caroline’s team since President Callahan began campaigning.”
Inwardly, I exhaled a relieved breath. “Then here’s to Caroline and
her protection team.”
“Yes. Hear, hear to my fellow agents.”
“And you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Fine. And me.”
“Are we drinking now?”
Start laughed. “We better, before this becomes the longest fucking
toast in history.”
We then threw back our second shots. With the liquid beginning to
hum through me, I reached once again for the bottle. When I glanced
up, I found Stuart’s head shaking slowly back and forth. “What?”
“Don’t you think you should pace yourself?”
“Three shots are the charm,” I replied as I threw back the glass’s
contents. At Stuart’s continued look of concern, I patted his cheek.
“Don’t worry yourself, Agent Isaacson. I’ve had a lot of practice
holding my liquor.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
 “Ah, that’s right. You’ve had the misfortune to see me inebriated
before. In my defense, on that occasion I was merely trying to be
supportive of Caroline in her breakup with that douchebag Perry.”
Grinning, Stuart replied, “I see we’re both in agreement on him.”
“Total prick.”
“Although I hated to see her heartbroken, I was thrilled to see him
go.” He took me by surprise by leaning closer to me. “You’re actually
pretty funny when you’re drunk, though.”
Warmth flooded me at the thoughts of what I might’ve said or
done that night. “I vaguely remember you and Ty having to carry us
out of a bar.”
He flashed me a wicked smile. “Yes, we did.”
I rubbed my forehead as I tried desperately to remember more of
that night. “Oh God, did I sing to you?”
“You did.”
“I can’t sing,” I croaked.
“Yes, I know,” Stuart teased.
Swatting his arm, I replied, “Asshole.”
“Easy, Rambo. I’m just calling it as I saw it.” He winked. “Or
maybe I should say, unfortunately, heard it.”
“My mother always sang in the choir at my dad’s church. She had
such high hopes that I would join in her footsteps, but I just didn’t
inherit her voice.”
“Your father has a church?”
“He’s a Lutheran minister.”
Stuart rubbed his chin. “Now that’s interesting.”
“Not really. My parents are pretty boring when it comes down to
it.”
“No. I meant the fact that you are a minister’s daughter.”
“Ah, I see where you’re going with this, and you’re right. I’m the
cliché minister’s wild child.”
“I didn’t say that.”
 I laughed. “It doesn’t bother me if you thought it. While I might not
be as pious as my parents, I do make it to mass every Sunday.”
“That’s right. I remember your car leaving early those mornings.”
Cocking my brows at him, I said, “You know, if you weren’t an
agent, that statement would sound incredibly creepy.”
Stuart chuckled. “I think a few times you just made it home before
heading back out to church.”
I gasped. “You really saw all of that?”
“When I had camera duty. Beverly and Arjun would’ve seen the
rest.”
Slowly, I shook my head at him. “You know, even though we’ve
spent so much time together over the last year, I really don’t feel like
I know you. I mean, in spite of you carrying me out of a bar and
saving my life. Oh, and living next door to me.”
“What is it you want to know?” Stuart asked.
I shrugged. “Basic things. Your favorite book.”
“Anything by David McCullough.”
“I would’ve guessed you liked American history and political
figures.”
“Because I’m an old fart?”
Giggling, I replied, “No, that’s not why.”
“Then it must be you’re just very intuitive?”
“Mm, I think it’s more the fact you’re a Secret Service agent.
Anyone who serves their country probably has an appreciation for
said country’s history.”
“Good point.” He tilted his head at me. “What about you?”
“It’s not quite as intellectual as yours.”
“Is it a tawdry bodice-ripper?”
“I know you didn’t just dis me like that.”
Stuart grinned. “My mother loves those books.” With a wink, he
added, “I learned a lot from them.”
 A shiver echoed through me. What I would give to experience his
knowledge in the bedroom. “Can I add Regency porn to your
repertoire along with historical fiction?”
“That isn’t necessary.” He gave me a pointed look. “Now answer
the question.”
“Okay, fine. It’s Anne of Green Gables.”
Furrowing his brows, Stuart replied, “What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s a children’s book.”
“It’s a fine piece of literature.”
“You’re right, it is.” With my buzz slightly receding, I poured
another glass of tequila. “Everything I’ve read in the past eight years
has been about marketing and PR. All those lovely little self-help
books about getting ahead.”
“I’d say you’ve done very well for yourself.”
“Thank you. Some people would claim it’s only because of who
I’m friends with, but Caroline had nothing to do with my job in New
York.”
With a grin, Stuart said, “I’d say you need no one’s help to be a
ball-buster.”
I laughed. “You’re right on that one.” Running my finger over the
rim of my glass, I said, “But we’re not talking about me, remember?
You already know too much.”
“Fine. What else do you want to know about me?”
Before I asked my next question, I downed my glass. “I want to
know about the women in your life.”
Stuart blinked at me. Then he reached for the tequila and poured
an enormously full glass. After throwing back a bit, he replied, “I
plead the fifth.”
“Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy. I’ve lived my love life in
your cameras somewhat without my consent, so it’s your turn to
pony up.”
“Fine. I’ll answer.” With a pointed look, he added, “A few.”
“I’ve never seen a ring on your finger.”
 “An astute observation.”
“Have you ever been married?”
“Yeah.”
That was an interesting development. While I might’ve pegged
him for a playboy, he had actually made the biggest of commitments.
“How long have you been divorced?”
“You’re really not letting up, are you?” he grunted.
“Nope.”
“We got married when we were thirty. She worked for the Defense
Department. We were married five years.”
Although I shouldn’t have, I couldn’t help asking, “What
happened?”
“At first, I thought it was the distance when I got sent to Oxford
with Caroline. But there was other shit, too.” He pinned me with a
hard look that said that was all I was getting. Man, that hard look was
so incredibly sexy.
“Got a girlfriend now?”
“No.”
“I can’t imagine there’s a boyfriend.”
He chuckled. “Just because I’m not married or don’t have a
girlfriend, you automatically assume I’m gay?”
“No, I didn’t even consider it.”
“Why is that?”
I flashed him a wicked smile. “Because I’ve caught you checking
out my tits before.”
Stuart choked on his drink. “Jesus,” he sputtered. After dabbing
his chin with a napkin, he shook his head at me. “Fucking hell, you’re
observant.”
“Always when it comes to handsome men.”
Lust glittered in his eyes as he leaned in closer to me. “I can’t help
appreciating a gorgeous pair of tits.”
 I threw my head back with a laugh. “You’re right. I have been
blessed.” I could’ve blamed my next action on the tequila coursing
through me, but it was likely I would’ve done the same even without
alcohol. I’d pretty much made my decision about how this night was
going to end when I’d thrown back my first shot.
I reached out one of my hands to grip Stuart’s tie. As I ran my
thumb down the silky material, I said, “I’m glad you noticed.”
A growl rumbled from deep within his chest, which sent heat
scorching between my legs. “You’re a fucking tease.” When I opened
my mouth to protest, he shook his head. “You love forgetting you
have the top three buttons on your blouse undone. Your plunging
necklines.” I did. But I was done playing now.
“I’m through with teasing you.”
“Is that right?”
“Well, unless you ask me to.”
“What are you proposing?”
With a jerk of his tie, I pulled his face to within inches of mine.
“That we go upstairs to my hotel room and fuck our brains out.”
His nostrils flared. “You and that mouth.”
“I’d like to do things to you with my mouth.”
“Is it the near-death experience, or are you always this direct?”
“When I know what I want.” I arched my brows at him. “And I want
you.”
“Same.”
“Then let’s go upstairs.”
“Everything within me is saying this is a bad idea. Well, everything
except my cock.”
I laughed. “Come on, Isaacson. Let’s live in the moment. We
deserve it after what we went through today.”
His gaze stayed firmly on mine as he raised his hand to signal the
bartender. “Check, please.”
“Just put it on my room tab,” I instructed the bartender.
 “Nonsense. I’ll put it on mine.” When I started to protest, he shook
his head. “I think the government owes us a nice bottle of tequila
after the day we’ve had.”
I laughed. “I won’t argue with that.” After rising out of my chair, I
caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. “Holy shit. I’m a mess.”
“You’re gorgeous, and you know it,” Stuart replied, taking the bill
from the bartender.
“I think you must be in some sort of shock,” I muttered as I tried
fluffing out my hair.
Stuart stood up and came behind me. I sucked in a breath when
his hands came to my waist. Leaning in, he whispered into my ear.
“Stop fishing for compliments. You are one of the most beautiful
women I’ve ever laid eyes on. Not to mention the sexiest.”
“You’re a charmer, Agent Isaacson,” I said breathlessly. “Take me
upstairs.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
 CHAPTER FOUR

SLIDING ONE OF his arms around my waist, Stuart drew me to his

side. We then began making our way to the elevator. When we found
ourselves alone in the darkened alcove, Stuart dipped his head and
brought his lips to mine. As his tongue delved into my mouth, I
moaned. Fuck me, the man was one hell of a kisser. I’m not sure
why I was so surprised. Maybe it was because he also seemed like
such a stuffed shirt. And speaking of his literal stuffed shirt, the man
was packing a rock-hard chest. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on his
pecs.
At the ding of the elevator arriving, Stuart pulled me flush against
him before dragging us onto the car.
“Wait, I think we need to discuss this.”
Grinding myself against his growing erection, I replied, “I’ve got
protection if you don’t.”
Stuart snorted. “While I’m not surprised, that’s not what I meant.”
“We’re two consenting adults acting responsibly with protection.
What else is there to discuss?”
Stuart placed his hands on my shoulder. “Selah, we really need to
talk this through.”
“You are such a buzzkill, Agent Isaacson.” With a frustrated grunt,
I rolled away from him to the opposite side of the elevator. After
swiping my disheveled hair out of my face, I flicked my wrist at him.
“Discuss.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, Stuart said, “I think before we
do this there should be clear parameters in place for what happens
afterwards.”
 “Are you always this charmingly tactical when it comes to
fucking?”
He glowered at me. “No, smartass, I’m not. It’s just I’m not used to
fucking the best friend of my boss’s daughter.”
“Such sweet words,” I teased.
“Dammit, Selah, would you take this seriously?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought after we both came close to being shot
today, we weren’t taking anything too seriously and living in the
moment.”
The elevator door dinged open, but neither one of us made a
move to get off. Stuart exhaled a long breath as the doors closed
again. “This isn’t typical one-night stand territory. With me working
with the Service and you being with Caroline, it’s inevitable that we’ll
see each other again.”
“Apparently, you’ve never had a friends-with-benefits arrangement
before, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. I’m either committed, or I’m never seeing you
again.”
I threw up my hands. “Enough with the talking. You’re killing both
my alcohol and sexual buzz. I’m pretty sure we’re both mature
enough to handle this.”
“And what exactly is this?”
“A night of sexual healing and nothing more.”
Stuart seemed to survey my words before bobbing his head. “That
works.”
“Of course, I’m sure it’s going to be hard for you to see me again
and keep your hands off me.”
He snorted. “I’m sure it will.”
I edged back over to him. “Although I have to say, with your hot
bod, it’s going to be agony for me.”
Stuart dipped his head, his mouth hovering over mine. “I’m sure
you’ll find the strength to bear it somehow.”
 Grabbing both sides of his face, I crushed my lips to his. He
tasted of desire and the tequila we’d shared. My hands were
everywhere—in his hair, running down his chest and then up his
back. With one hand on my breast, Stuart used his free hand to jab
the button for our floor again. When the doors dinged open, we
practically fell out of them. An older couple eyed us with disdain, but
we ignored them and kept right on battling each other’s tongues. We
didn’t pull apart until we reached my room. Reluctantly, I peeled
myself away to dig my keycard out of my purse. My hands fumbled
as I tried getting the keycard in. Finally, I got it unlocked, and Stuart
ushered me into the room.
After tossing the keycard to the floor, my fingers went to the
buttons on his shirt. In my inebriated state, I couldn’t quite get them
unbuttoned fast enough. “Fuck it,” I muttered before gripping seams
of the shirt and ripping them apart. The buttons flew off and clattered
onto the floor.
Stuart’s eyes widened with amusement. “How the fuck am I going
to explain that to my superiors?”
“Tell them you lost it in the line of duty.”
He chuckled. “Sex isn’t part of my job description.”
“It is tonight. Instead of serving the populace, you’re going to be
serving my vagina.”
Stuart brought his hand up to run his thumb over my lip. “That
mouth.”
“I could’ve really been bad and said pussy, rather than vagina.”
His dark eyes rolled back into his head. “You’re going to be the
death of me, Selah.”
He then made quick work of unbuttoning my shirt and sliding it off
my body. As Stuart pulled free of the kiss, his gaze zoomed in on my
bra-clad breasts before his hands moved to undo my bra. Just when
I thought he was going to touch my breasts, his hands gripped my
forearms instead.
At what must’ve been my surprised expression, Stuart winked
before jerking my arms above my head and pinning them against the
wall. I quirked my brows at him. “Did they teach you that disarming
technique at Quantico?” I asked.
“They did. But never on a gorgeous woman with amazing tits.”
Giggling, I replied, “Is that right?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Since his hands were occupied with mine, it left his deliciously
talented mouth free. After briefly kissing my lips, Stuart began trailing
kisses over my chin, along my neck, and then down my breastbone.
As his tongue skirted over the tops of my breasts, my nipples
tightened even further. They were already erect from both the chill in
the room and the heat of Stuart’s actions, and they ached to be
licked and sucked.
But Stuart continued to tease them and me. He kissed my all
around my breasts, tonguing the undersides. Arching my back, I tried
a different strategy by thrusting my nipples closer to his mouth,
huffing out a frustrated breath. “Okay, Agent Isaacson, is this some
other form of torture you learned?” I panted.
When he had the nerve to laugh, I started to pull my arms free,
but his strong forearm kept me pinned in place. “You’re not going
anywhere until I let you.”
Normally, I wasn’t one to like being bossed around during sex. I
wasn’t submissive in life or in the bedroom. But there was something
about the way he said it that made me hot as hell. “What are you
going to do to me?”
Stuart didn’t reply. Without taking his eyes from mine, he brought
one hand down to jerk down the straps of my bra. The minute
Stuart’s warm mouth closed over my right nipple, I groaned with
pleasure. One of his hands came up to cup my other breast while his
tongue flicked against my hard bud before his teeth grazed it. The
sensation caused me to thrust my hips forward to rub against
Stuart’s erection. “You keep doing that and I won’t even last two
seconds inside you,” he groaned.
“I don’t care. I just want your dick inside me—now.”
 “My pleasure.” Stuart’s hand left my breast and slid down my
abdomen to unbutton my dress pants. When his hands dipped into
the waistband of my panties, I sucked in a breath. As he slid his
fingers against my clit, he said, “Mm, you’re soaked.”
Arching against his hand, I murmured, “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Make me come.”
Stuart’s answer was to slip not just one but two fingers deep
inside me. As he pumped them in and out, his thumb rubbed against
my clit, and I began frantically moving my hips. I panted and moaned
as I worked toward coming. When Stuart pushed in a third finger and
swirled them to my G-spot, I came undone. Throwing my head back,
I shrieked and screamed as my walls convulsed violently.
As I came back to myself, Stuart was sliding off my jeans and
panties. When he started to leave me, I grabbed his arm to stop him,
but he shook his head. “Protection time,” he replied with a grin.
“I see.”
Stuart went over to the coffee table to retrieve his wallet from his
pants pocket. When he came back, he waved the gold wrapper at
me. “For the record, there’s plenty more with this came from.”
With a laugh, I replied, “That’s good to know.”
My laughter died at Stuart’s intense gaze. His eyes raked over my
body, warming me from head to toe. When he bent over to slide off
his underwear, it was my turn to see all of him. “Holy shit,” I muttered
as I licked my lips at the sight of his long erection jutting out from a
smattering of dark hair.
With a smirk, Stuart said, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As you should, Mr. Cocky.”
“You’re going to make me blush,” he teased.
“Oh please, you know you’re eating this up.”
A wicked gleam burned in his eyes. “I’d like to eat your pussy up.”
Shuddering, I replied, “You’ll get no arguments from me.”
 “I didn’t realize you were so greedy. You’ve already had one
orgasm and now you’re demanding another before I’ve even had
one.”
“Then put it on the menu for the next round.”
He chuckled as he ripped open the condom wrapper. “Works for
me.”
He slid the condom down his length, and then just stood there
staring at me. “What is it?”
“I’m a bastard for even admitting this.”
Anxiety pricked over my skin. “What?”
“I’ve fantasized about this for weeks.”
Lust washed away any of the anxiety I was feeling. All this time
we’d been together, and he’d barely acted like I existed. “You
fantasized about me?”
“Fuck yeah.”
“I didn’t think you even thought of me like that,” I admitted.
“Oh, I did. I thought of you in lots of positions. With your mouth full
of my cock. On your knees as I took you from behind. In the—”
“Stop talking and start doing!” I commanded as I pounced on him.
In a tangle of arms and legs, we crashed back against the
wall. Stuart’s strong hands gripped my hips. When he lifted me up, I
wrapped my legs around his waist, my feet resting against the hard
muscles of his ass. Taking his cock in his hand, Stuart guided it
between my legs. When he rubbed the head against my slick
opening, I dug my fingernails into his back. “Please!”
This time he didn’t argue about being in charge. He slammed into
me. As I shrieked with pleasure, Stuart groaned. He began pumping
hard and fast inside me. With each thrust, my back banged against
the wall. While his arms held me tight, his mouth seemed to be
everywhere—on my lips, on my neck, on the tops of my breasts.
Just as my back started to get banged up in the best possible
way, Stuart gripped my waist tight and stilled his movements. With
him still buried deep inside me, he walked us over to the bed. God,
that felt really good. Gently, he eased out of me before laying me
down on the bed. He then climbed on top of me.
“Haven’t finished with you yet,” he growled. I think I almost came
again. I’d forgotten how good his growly voice was.
After he once again filled me with his length, he pulled back out
before slamming back inside me, causing the both of us to moan.
Sliding my hands down his back, I smacked one of the globes of
his ass. Stuart’s response was to thrust even harder. We kept our
gaze locked on each other as he worked hard to bring us both
pleasure.
Gripping my waist, Stuart rolled over onto his back, bringing me
up to straddle his thighs. He gripped my hips and ground me hard
against his dick.
“Do you want me to ride you hard?” I panted.
“Hell yeah.” And I did, because I’d wanted this. Him.
I then began rolling my hips faster back and forth. As my breasts
bounced with my exertions, Stuart slid his hands up my ribcage to
cup them. Closing my eyes, I bit down on my lip as Stuart alternated
between tugging and pinching my sensitive nipples and squeezing
my breasts.
When I tightened my walls around his dick, Stuart stilled his
hands. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”
“Mm, you too,” I panted.
“Are you getting close?”
“Yes, oh yes.”
To help send me over the edge, Stuart brought his hand between
my legs to rub my clit. “Yes, oh, yes,” I murmured as my eyes rolled
back in my head. He knew my body too well. How, I didn’t know.
“Stuart!” I cried as the first waves of my orgasm began pulsing
through me. His fingers continued rubbing my clit as I rode out the
sensations. When I started to come back to myself, his hands went
to my hips. And then, as his heels dug into the mattress, Stuart
began lifting me on and off of his dick. At the same time, he pumped
his hips to slam into me. The sound of our sweat-slickened flesh
smacking together filled the room and drove him on.
A loud groan rumbled from deep within his chest as he started to
come. His hips continued pumping as he emptied into me.
Exhausted from both my exertions and my third release, my body
collapsed onto his chest. After wrapping his arms protectively around
me, Stuart nuzzled my hair. “That was fucking amazing,” he
murmured.
“It sure was,” I replied.
We lay there for a few moments. “Is this about the time you do
your walk of shame back to your room?”
He chuckled. “Are you trying to kick me out?”
“Hell no.” I ran my fingers over his chest. “I was deviously
planning on letting you stay to squeeze another round out of you.”
Wagging his brows, Stuart replied, “Works for me.”
It was at that moment my stomach let out an enormous growl.
With a grin, I suggested, “Room service?”
“Yeah. I’m starved too. Order.” He kissed the top of my head.
“Then how about a shower while we wait?”
Somewhere between his gesture, his suggestion, and the way he
treated me like something precious worth savoring, I realized I’d
fallen for Stuart, and because of who he was and who I was, there
wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.
Because this could go nowhere.
Fuck.
 CHAPTER FIVE

The Present
IT WAS OFFICIALLY time to face the music, and I wasn’t talking
about the small ensemble from the United States Marine Band. It
was time to face Stuart. Or rather, Agent Isaacson. It was time to put
on my game face and give an Oscar winning performance in which
our night together had never happened. He was just an agent, and I
was just his former target’s best friend.
I was back in my blue dress, but this time I had my hair and
makeup professionally done. The moment I’d entered the White
House, I’d been on high alert for any sightings of him. After all, it was
his new post. All the agents in Caroline’s team had been sent to the
White House. Caroline had explained it was a way for them to take
some recovery time while still staying in the field, so to speak.
We were having drinks in the residence when I noticed Caroline
appeared a little green. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m scared to death I’m going to make a fool out of myself when I
make my speech.”
“Don’t go fishing for compliments. You know you’ll rock the hell out
of it like you always do.”
Wrinkling her nose, Caroline asked, “Would I be a total pain in the
ass if I asked you to watch as I practiced really quick?”
Since I was all about looking out for my friend—and dodging
Stuart for as long as possible—I nodded. “I’d be happy to.”
We headed downstairs from the residence to the State Dining
Room. Round tables were set up all through the room along with a
small stage. “Where do you want me?” I asked as I made my way
through the maze of tables.
 “One sec,” Caroline called. After glancing at the seating chart, she
motioned me to a table right in front of the stage. “That’s where you’ll
be sitting, so you’ll know exactly how it will be later.”
“Gotcha, you little Type-A freak,” I teased.
“Shut up.” She laughed before heading up the stairs of the stage.
As Caroline readied herself at the podium, I glanced down at the
glittering display of crystal and fine china on the table. My gaze took
in the antique silverware along with the intricately designed flower
displays in red, white, and blue. Everything was so beautiful and
posh. Even the embossed place cards.
When my vision focused on a particular card, my lungs sucked in
a ragged gasp. Oh no. This couldn’t be happening. Mr. Stuart
Isaacson. And apparently, he wasn’t coming alone, because I didn’t
know the name next to his. The female name next to his. He was
bringing a date?
This was even worse than I thought. Snatching up the card, I
rushed over to the stage. After pounding the stairs, I demanded,
“Who put Stuart next to me?”
Without looking up from her cards, Caroline replied, “I guess one
of the social secretaries.”
“Well, I’m changing that. Now.”
Caroline peered up at me. “What, why?”
“Because I don’t want to be near him.”
“Selah, you aren’t making any sense.”
No shit. My life hadn’t been making sense since I’d let Stuart walk
away. “Look, I’m aware I’m acting like a deranged high school girl at
the moment.”
“You really are. I mean, Stuart helped save your life.”
“Yes, I—”
“And the two of you always got along so well when he was on my
team.”
“I know.”
“Then what could possibly be the problem?”
 Shaking my head, I replied, “I can’t.” It wasn’t the first time I’d
worried what Caroline might think about my tryst with Stuart. It was
also something I didn’t want to get into on such a celebratory night.
Caroline narrowed her blue eyes at me. “Well, you’re going to
have to tell me.”
With time ticking down until the ceremony and my patience at an
all-time low, I finally snapped. I threw my arms wide, sending my
hand knocking painfully into a silver switch on the podium. Ignoring
the pain, I threw my head back and hissed, “Because Stuart and I
fucked the night of the shooting!”
When my voice echoed through the ballroom, I knew something
had gone terribly, terribly wrong. Somehow my theatrical hand move
had turned on the microphone on the podium. That. Shouldn’t.
Happen. Caroline’s mouth dropped open as her eyes widened in
horror. The previous buzz in the dining room silenced. When I dared
to swivel my head to stare out at the tables, all of the waitstaff had
frozen, not to mention some of the guests milling around at the back.
Mortification rocketed through me so hard I stumbled back. It
wasn’t just the heated stares of the strangers that got to me, it was
also Caroline’s. Without another word, I grabbed up the hem of my
dress and broke into a sprint. Regardless of my designer shoes, I
still managed to haul ass. “Selah, wait!” Caroline called.
But I ignored her and rocketed out of the ballroom. I didn’t know
where I was going. Maybe I was just going to run out the exit and
down Pennsylvania Avenue. Anywhere but where I was right now
would be fine.
I didn’t get long to contemplate my plans. I’d barely made it
around the corner before I smashed into a wall of flesh. Apparently,
my surprise attack, plus the speed at which I was running, had the
same effect as if I was tackling him. We both crashed onto the
marbled floor. At another time, I would’ve been proud of myself for
taking a man down, but this was not that moment. Especially since
I’d somehow slid in my heels and was presently straddling him. Each
time I tried standing up, I couldn’t get enough traction.
 “Selah?” Stuart grunted.
I jerked my head up from eying one of my heels. “This cannot not
be fucking happening,” I panted.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I replied.
To add insult to injury, a chorus of snickering drew my attention
over my shoulder. President Callahan, along with Thorn and Barrett,
stood surveying us with great amusement. At the same moment,
Caroline came rushing up from the opposite direction.
She took one look at us and murmured, “What in the hell?”
Yes, you’re right. I am in hell for everything that has just transpired
in the last five minutes. “I’m sorry for all the commotion. I just a need
a moment to get some air, and then I’ll be fine.”
“Agent Isaacson, why don’t you take Ms. Macallister out to the
Truman Balcony,” President Callahan suggested with a knowing
twinkle in his eyes.
Before I could protest that that was the last thing on earth I
wanted to do, Stuart replied, “Yes, sir.”
After smoothing down my dress and hair, I tried regaining some
semblance of my dignity. I started down the hallway beside Stuart
with my head held high in spite of the fact I’d just told an entire room
of strangers about my one-night stand and mowed down the man I
cared for in front of the President of the United States.
Always the gentleman, Stuart opened the door for me. My heels
clicked along the marble flooring. Although I’d been out on the
balcony once before, at the inauguration, nothing could quite
describe standing there in the shadow of the Washington Monument,
surrounded by all the history and beauty of the city.
“Such a gorgeous view,” I murmured.
“I would agree.”
My gaze whipped over my shoulder at Stuart. “Excuse me?”
“Jesus, Selah, you look stunning tonight.”
Pinching my eyes shut, I whispered. “Please don’t.”
 “Why not?”
“Because it’s too hard.”
“I don’t understand.”
My eyes popped open to glare at him. “No, I guess you don’t.”
Stuart ran a hand through his jet-black hair. “For the fucking life of
me, I will never figure women out.”
A somewhat maniacal laugh escaped my lips. “Trust me. I don’t
know anything anymore either.” I shook my head. I didn’t really owe
him the truth, because obviously the night we’d shared meant more
to me than him, but I think I needed to vent. Or needed to explain my
crazy behavior. You pick. “You were just supposed to be a night of
sexual healing. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve been a
fucking wreck, thinking about seeing you again and how I was going
to pretend that I didn’t have feelings for you.” Exhaling a sad sigh, I
leaned back against the marble banister. “And then I saw your name
with a plus-one, and then I really freaked out, because it’s obvious
you’ve moved on and I haven’t.” I hated feeling this vulnerable. This
exposed.
Stuart stared at me, positively dumbfounded. And then he did
something that shocked the hell out of me. He started to laugh. Like
bent over, belly-rolling laughs.
“I’m glad one of us finds this funny,” I huffed.
Swiping his eyes, Stuart shook his head at me. “Selah, I didn’t
bring a date with me.”
“But the card—”
“Is for my grandmother.”
“Your grandmother,” I repeated dumbly.
Stuart nodded. “My parents were invited together, and then I
decided to use my other ticket to bring my grandmother. This is a big
night for her. Something she’s never experienced.”
I swept my hands over my mouth. And if she was standing in the
dining room earlier, she knows he fucked a crazy woman. “Oh, my
God.” As a reel of the night’s events flashed through my mind, I
groaned. “I’m such an idiot.”
“It was an honest mistake.”
“Trust me, there was nothing remotely sane about any of my
behavior after I saw that card.”
“They’re in the Yellow Room with Ty’s family.” With a hesitant
smile, he added, “I’d like to introduce you to them.”
“You would?” They didn’t hear me? Praise God!
“Of course I would.” He smiled down at me. “Because if there’s
anything the last few weeks has taught me, it’s that life shouldn’t be
taken for granted. I haven’t stopped thinking about you either. That
night between us wasn’t enough. I want you in my life, Selah.”
My heart thrummed so wildly in my chest. “I do, too. I mean, I
want you in my life.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
When I thought my chest might explode with emotion, Stuart
placed his hands on the sides of my neck. He then dipped his head
and brought his lips to mine. And just like that, Stuart had saved my
life once more.
Oh, and my vagina’s as well.
Just like that, he became more than just my tequila mate. He
became my more.
 ALSO IN THE RUNNING MATE SERIES

ROOM MATE
Ty
From the time I was a kid, I knew I wanted a job helping people.
After serving in the Rifles regiment of the British Army, I focused my
civilian career on becoming a bodyguard to the rich and famous. For
a Cockney Brit, I never imagined a twist of fate landing me a position
in the United States Secret Service and protecting the President’s
son. But then my boss made an unexpected request: leave my
current placement to move in with his only daughter to give an added
layer of protection against the threats she had been receiving. I’d
never lived with a woman who was off-limits to me. It wasn’t just that
Caroline had a boyfriend. She was my best friend’s sister, and my
boss’s daughter. But the longer we’re in such close quarters
together, the greater the temptation grows, but I know I’ll lose
everything if I pursue her.
 
Caroline
Growing up as the only girl with two overbearing older brothers,
I’m no stranger to being overprotected. Just as I finished up college
and prepared to truly dip my toes into the adult world, my father was
elected President of the United States, which added a whole new
level of protection with the Secret Service team attached to me. Just
when I thought I couldn’t possibly be more smothered, I began
receiving threats, and my family decided it wasn’t enough to just
have an agent living down the hall from me. Nope, I was to have one
move in with me, and not just any agent, but Ty Frasier—my brother,
Barrett’s best friend, and my brother, Ty’s, head agent. While most
women would enjoy living with a sexy, buff Brit, having a roommate
threw a wrench into all my plans. Especially when I began noticing
Ty was so much more than a hot guy—he was someone I could fall
for.
  
OFFICE MATE
Thorn
From the first time I played army as a kid, the military has been
my life. As an Airborne Major, I’d led my men through two tours in
Afghanistan. But when my father was elected president, I became an
even greater target for the enemy—a prize for someone to take out.
To ensure not only the safety of myself, but of my men, I got stripped
of my cammies, shoved into an Armani suit, and placed into a
management position at my father’s company. After years of trekking
through the desert with an assault rifle, I was way out of my area of
expertise, which my transition coordinator was more than happy to
let me know on a daily, if not hourly basis. The brunette bombshell
would be the death of me in more ways than one, especially since I
hadn’t been with a woman since my last deployment. She’s turning
out to be one of the greatest foes I’ve ever done battle with.
 
Isabel
In the backwoods Georgia town I was born in, you either married
right out of high school or got the hell out of town. I chose the second
and never looked back. After graduating top in my class, I started
working for The Callahan Corporation. Fast forward five years and I
was about to become the youngest female manager in the history of
my department. And then all the blood, sweat, and tears I’d put into
my career were for nothing when the boss’s billionaire son was
handed my position on a silver platter. Not only that, I was expected
to help transition him into the job that was supposed to be mine.
Sure, he’s easy on the eyes with his chiseled good-looks and
impossibly built physique, but I’m not going to let that distract me. I
hope soldier boy is good at military strategy because sabotage is the
name of the game I’ll be playing.
 
RUNNING MATE
 Barrett
The name’s Barrett Callahan. Yeah, that Barrett Callahan—the
one the press dubbed “Bare” after those naked sexting pictures
surfaced. At twenty-five, I was armed with an MBA from Harvard, an
executive position at my father’s Fortune 500 company, a penthouse,
and a different piece of delectable eye candy in my bed every
weekend. I had a life most men dreamed of. But then my father
decided to run for president, and my playboy lifestyle became a
liability to his campaign that was built on family values. My
“makeover” comes in the form of a fake fiancée who I don’t even get
to choose--one who is an uptight, choirgirl acting priss but also sexy-
as-hell.
 
Addison
My latest relationship had gone down in flames, and I was
drowning in a sea of student loans when in true Godfather status,
James Callahan made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Seven figures
for seven months on the campaign trail pretending to be the adoring
fiancée of his son, Barrett. As soon as he won the election, our
engagement would be dissolved amicably for the press, I was free to
ride off into the sunset a million dollars richer, and because of the
NDA, no one would be the wiser. Sure, I’d never met the guy, but I’d
been a theater nerd in high school. I could pull off any role from Lady
Macbeth to Maria Von Trapp. But that was before I met my fake
fiancé—the infuriating, self-absorbed, egotistical, drop-dead-sexy
King of the Manwhores.
The race will be a fight to the death finish, and that’s not even the
actual campaign.
ALWAYS CAKE

 
MAX MONROE
  
 
Always Cake
Written by Max Monroe LLC © 2021, Max Monroe
 
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of
this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a
retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means
(electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise)
without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and
the above publisher of this book.
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media,
and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked
status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this
work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The
publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated
with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
 
Editing by Silently Correcting Your Grammar
 PART ONE: EMILY
I Don’t Want to Be Julia Roberts

“TWO MORE DAYS until it happens,” I say and lift my glass to my

lips to take a long drink of my white wine. “Can you believe that?
Two more freaking days until D-Day. Or should I be calling it P-Day?
Or maybe just B-Day?”
Doug just stares at me and tilts his head to the right.
“Do you think he remembers?”
He tilts his head to the left.
“That’s not something you forget, right?” I question and take
another hearty drink. “Even if it happened fourteen years ago?
There’s no way someone would forget something like that…would
they?” I set down my wineglass to place my hands on either side of
Doug’s face to make sure he’s listening. “I mean, you wouldn’t forget
something like that, would you?”
He looks at me for all of five seconds before snorting in my face
and wiggling his way out of my gentle hold.
Despite my multiple attempts at getting reassurance from my
French bulldog, he still refuses to cooperate. More than that, he’s
declared pretty clearly that he’s done with my needy, anxious bullshit
by hopping off the couch to go lie down in his dog bed located on the
other side of my living room.
“Aren’t dogs supposed to be, like, helpful to their owners during
their emotional times of need?” I call toward him, but he just huffs out
a sigh from his smushed-in nose and snuggles himself farther into
his bed.
Obviously, Doug couldn’t care less that I’m in the middle of a
pseudo-mental breakdown. It’s a pretty risky stance, considering I’m
his only source of food and shelter, but I don’t think the doggy school
I sent him to when he was a puppy had any required psychology
courses, so it’s not all that surprising.
Traitorous, of course, but expected.
“Thanks for nothing,” I mutter, tipping my glass up to my lips only
to realize my empty glass is in need of a refill.
Off the couch and straight into my kitchen, I grab the bottle of
Riesling I picked up on my way home from the office this evening
and fill my glass back up with the kind of healthy pour you’d never
receive in a fancy-schmancy French restaurant.
It’s also the kind of pour that only requires you to drink two
glasses before you finish off a bottle of wine by yourself on a
Wednesday night because you’re freaking out, you lush.
I sigh, toss the now-empty bottle of wine in the recycling bin, and
take another drink while I stare at my fully packed suitcase that sits
by the doorway.
The countdown is officially dwindling.
Tomorrow, I’ll head to New York to celebrate turning thirty-five with
Austin, my best friend and birthday buddy.
But this trip isn’t just about birthdays.
It’s about far more than that. And it all revolves around a pact we
made on the night we turned twenty-one.
I lift the glass of wine to my lips, shut my eyes, and guzzle half of
it down.
Just two more days, Em.
Forty-eight hours until you quite literally flip your world upside
down.

•••

I shuffle behind the family of four as they make their way down the
jetway toward the plane, the two toddlers in front of their parents
running like a couple rabid animals on their leashes.
I’m not a mom, obviously, so I can’t really speak to parenting
standards and norms, but with the way they’re acting, I’m pretty sure
I’d have the maniacs leashed too. It’s not like they’re the retractable
ones made of cord I use for Doug—I’m not a heathen—they’re cute
little character backpacks with nylon attached.
Though, with the strain the little boy is putting on his Curious
George pack, the poor monkey looks like he’s going to pop an eye
out of its socket.
“Welcome aboard,” the flight attendant says into her little phone-
shaped microphone as I near the entrance of the plane. I’m one of
the last to board, despite the fact that I paid the extra charge to
upgrade to Comfort Plus on impulse at check-in, and it’s all because
it took me that much time to gain the courage to leave the bathroom
and not throw up somewhere inconvenient. The airport floor, the
front of my shirt, on the nearest stranger…to be honest, they’re all
still a little bit of a possibility.
The combination of nerves and a whole bottle of wine last night
are evidently not the way to settle a stomach.
“This is Flight 7640, and we’re New York-bound. I sure hope that’s
where you intended to go,” she says with a giggle that makes me roll
my eyes. “This crew is based here in Austin, so we really mean it
when we say, if you need anything, just ask.”
I sigh. She’s nice. Really. That’s obvious. It’s just…my mood is not
all that amenable to her kind of cheer. In fact, all I can really focus on
is the irony that I’m leaving my hometown of Austin, Texas, to head
to New York, to see my best friend Austin Wells—aka the love of my
life.
Though, I’m the only person on planet earth who is aware of that
fact.
Of course, my best gal pals have a general idea of how I feel
about Austin, but they aren’t fully aware of just how deep my feelings
go. Or the reality that I’ve been keeping them pent-up for the last
decade.
 Frankly, it’s probably why I’m starting to see the evidence of aging
in the wrinkles on my forehead. There’s no way keeping something
like this locked tight inside of myself for this many years wouldn’t
start to reveal itself on the outside, too.
I feel a bit like I’m inside a music video for an old Blake Shelton
song, “Austin”—a kick-ass song, I’ll admit—except I have no earthly
clue if there’s a happy ending to be had. Because for as much as I
know I’m head over heels in love with Austin, he has no freaking
idea.
I step into the main aisle of the plane, and my phone buzzes with
a text or email or social media notification in the pocket of what I
affectionately call my Mr. Rogers sweater.
It’s fluffy and chenille and comfy and so damn ugly, I’m probably
going to have to ditch it as soon as the dang plane lands if I want
any of this to work out the way I’m hoping.
Sure, over the years, Austin has seen me at my absolute worst,
but this is different.
I want him to see me the way I see him.
More than just best friends. More than happy memories of past
and present.
When I think of Austin, I think of the future. Of us. Together.
I shuffle the belongings in my arms, swinging my purse back out
of the way, and accidentally hit one of the first-class passengers in
the shoulder.
He looks up from his newspaper with a glare.
“Sorry,” I mouth, turning sideways while I reach inside my pocket
in the hopes that I don’t assault anyone else. The screen of my
phone is still alight from the notification, and right there in the center,
a message from Austin himself sits waiting.
Austin: HAHA. Don’t tell me you got started celebrating our
birthday weekend without me, Em?
What? What’s he laughing about? And why does he think I’m
celebrating? It’s only eight a.m., for heaven’s sake, and I didn’t say
anything.
My eyebrows draw together, and I search the recesses of my
mind for what he could be talking about.
There’s no way I texted him before I fell asleep last night…right?
Eyes widening as a huge gap in my memory becomes apparent, I
scroll up through our thread to find three messages, all sent by yours
truly, about eight hours ago, before I went to sleep.
Three freaking texts.
God, Emily. A whole life of mediocrity—grades, jobs, relationships
—and you choose NOW to become an overachiever?
I sink my head into my hands as the people in front of me step
forward to their seats, and I resolve to wait to read what I sent until I
sit down. I don’t think having a breakdown in the middle of the aisle
is going to help this plane get off the ground on time, and Lord
knows, I don’t want to be that person.
Row eight in my sights, I peep past the gray-bob-sporting woman
in the aisle seat, and beside her, I locate the empty window one
meant for me.
When she glances up and meets my eyes, I do the head nod that
goes along with my words. “Hi. I’m, um, in there.” I point to the seat
like there’s anything else I could mean, and her eyes instantly glass
over with disdain.
The people pleaser in me finds it necessary to apologize. “I’m
sorry.”
She snorts then and shakes her head, her voice louder than I
expected by about ten times. Her projection is so good, it’s almost
otherworldly.
“Oh, honey, it’s fine. Sorry if I gave you a look, but I was hoping
this seat was going to stay empty, is all. I like a little room to spread,
you know?”
I nod. I do know. I definitely know. The empty seat jackpot is
universally relatable.
 “Thanks,” I say as she climbs out of her seat to let me in, and I
settle into my spot quickly, kicking my backpack and purse under the
chair in front of mine.
Once my seat belt is buckled, I force a deep inhale and exhale of
oxygen into my lungs.
Okay, now it’s time to assess the damage…
My hands shake when I pull my phone back out of my pocket, and
I bite my bottom lip as I open up the message thread with Austin to
find out what inspired his latest text.
Me: Hot dudes reading is a joke compsred to you you no.
I gasp, covering my mouth with one hand and move on to
the next one.
Me: Its like theyre trying soon hard. but you cant need to
try.
Me: Staabler and Mariska are prob gonna investigate DUH
DUH lol
The texts are all rooted in truth, but mostly incoherent and riddled
with the kind of grammar and spelling errors that would make my
aunt Lisa—an English professor—have a freaking stroke.
Oh my God. What a disaster of a drunken ramble.
I sink my head into my hands and cry out with a wail that I’m
pretty sure resembles that of a dying rabbit. The kind woman next to
me takes notice.
“Is everything okay, hun?”
I nod mutely and type out the most innocuous message I can
think of in reply.
Me: Haha whoops. I obviously shouldn’t text and take
allergy medication at the same time. And, I’m about to take
off now. See you in a few hours!
Not wanting to face any more embarrassment, I turn off my phone
immediately and tuck it back into the pocket of my ugly green
chenille sweater. I fidget and squirm in my seat, huffing through my
nose a few times to try to calm down.
You’re peacefully floating in the ocean, I coach myself. You have
nothing to worry about, nothing to fear.
When I finally get my breathing under control, I open my eyes and
jump as the passenger next to me pats my arm and begins to talk.
“You look about ready to lose your cookies, doll. Do me a favor, and
point your spout the other way if you’re gonna blow, okay?”
I nod with a cringe, and her eyes narrow.
“What’s got you so worked up? On the lam from the Feds?”
“What?” I shake my head. “No. Nothing like that.”
“Oh.” She waves her hand. “So, no big deal, then?”
I bite on my bottom lip again and raise my eyebrows and do my
best to force another nod, but apparently, my new airplane buddy
has X-ray vision for bullshit.
“Ohh. So, it is a big deal?” She laughs and looks me up and down
before boldly asserting, “Let me guess. Man trouble?”
I self-consciously rub at my neck and tug my sweater tighter
around myself. My God, am I that obvious?
She laughs, even without my saying anything and sticks out a
hand. “I’ll take that as a yes. I’m Evelyn, by the way. I’m a lover, not a
fighter. A drinker, not a brawler. And all of my friends know me as a
very good listener and advice-giver.” She flashes a knowing smile.
“What’s your name, doll?”
It’s safe to say the reasons for my current state have her more
than curious.
And, normally, I’d be hesitant to engage with a complete stranger
like this—especially with all the “I’m in love with my best friend, but
I’ve been keeping it a secret for a decade” dirty laundry I carry
around in my private life—but getting some of the weight of this off
my shoulders feels like the only way I won’t break through the
bottom of the plane like a big tub of lead.
“I’m Emily.”
 “Well, Emily, I was all prepared to take out a vodka nip and get
cozy with the new issue of Cosmo for this ride, but it seems to me
like what you’ve got to get off your chest might be even more
entertaining and important. So, lay it on me, girl. What’s the
situation?”
A vodka nip at eight in the morning? Sweet baby kittens, Evelyn
doesn’t play, y’all.
Maybe she’s the kind of sounding board that I need right now.
A complete stranger.
Someone I’ll never see again.
And someone who doesn’t know Austin.
I can’t deny that it sounds like a win-win situation, and before I
know it, I’m opening my mouth and running with the prospect of
having a completely unbiased person give me an objective view.
“Okay, well…I’m headed to see my best friend, Austin, in New
York,” I begin to explain, fiddling with a loose string on my sweater
with my fingers. “We’ve been friends since the womb, pretty much.
Our moms took Lamaze class together, very Sisterhood of the
Traveling Pants of them, I know, but we grew up like two peas in a
pod after they went into labor and had us on the same day.”
Evelyn throws back some of her vodka nip and then grins.
“Sounds like fun…but I’m betting there’s a punch line.”
“Yeah.” I blow out a breath. “We’re both turning thirty-five this
weekend, and we always celebrate together. Not always something
big, but this year, given the milestone, we’re doing a huge party.”
“Is it going to have vodka?” she asks seriously, and for some
reason, I get the feeling that if I say no, she’s going to cut off all of
her support. Maybe even throw me off the plane herself.
“Yes. I’m sure there will be vodka.”
She winks and clicks her tongue at the same time as doing a
finger gun point, and I start to wonder if maybe Evelyn has already
had a couple of vodka nips this morning. Nevertheless, she’s all I
have right now, so I continue on with my story.
 I tell her how Austin and I went to the same high school.
How we went to the same college in New York.
How ten years ago, we shared one incredible night together but
were too scared to fuck up our friendship to let it happen again.
I even tell her how, two years ago, I moved back to our hometown
of Austin for a job at a marketing firm that was great in the beginning
but ended up closing its doors, and even though it really sucked at
the time, it gave me the push I needed.
Since then, I’ve started my own marketing firm that focuses solely
on small business owners trying to grow their brands in the online
forum.
And all this time, even with Austin still living in New York full time,
kicking ass on Wall Street, we’re still as close as we’ve ever been.
“Okay…so what happens tomorrow? That’s the day of your
birthdays, right? And you’re having the party with all the vodka?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “But there’s a backstory to why this
birthday, in particular, is such a big deal.”
“And I’m still all ears, doll,” Evelyn comments, taking another drink
of her vodka.
“This is going to sound crazy, I know, but…okay…here goes
nothing…” I pause, take a deep breath, and give her the most
important details of the story. “Fourteen years ago, on our twenty-
first birthday, Austin and I made a pact that we’d marry each other if
neither one of us was with someone else by the time we turned
thirty-five.”
Her eyes go wide. “And tomorrow is that day, huh?”
“Yes.” I nod again with wide eyes. “Tomorrow is the big day, and I
don’t even know if he remembers the pact or not.” I pause for the
briefest of moments, close my eyes, and then reveal the most
important detail of all. “Oh. And I’m also kind of, sort of, a little bit,
possibly entirely, head over heels in love with him. Have been for the
past decade, actually. But he doesn’t know. No one knows.”
“Holy shit, girl!” she hoots and slaps her hand on her knee. “This
is a full-on My Best Friend’s Wedding situation, and Cameron Diaz
isn’t even in showbiz anymore. Tell me there’s a leggy blonde waiting
with him at the airport and it’s gonna send me, girl!”
“I…” I pause and blink several times as I process her words. “I…I
don’t think there’s a leggy blonde. Oh God, what if there’s a leggy
blonde?” I nearly shriek.
Evelyn shrugs. “Wasn’t good for Julia Roberts. Probably won’t be
good for you.”
“Oh my God!” I whisper-yell, and despite my initial thoughts that
laying it all out there to a complete stranger was a good plan, it
appears it was the absolute worst thing I could’ve done.
Not to mention, she said she was a good listener and advice-
giver.
I’m not sure if all the vodka nips have her off her game, but
Evelyn’s so-called advice downright blows.
Now, not only am I freaking out about telling Austin I’m in love with
him, I’m also freaking out that he’s in a full-blown relationship with
Cameron freaking Diaz and his big surprise this weekend is the
news of their engagement and that he’s moving to Hollywood and he
wants me to be in his fucking wedding and I’m going to end up
chasing him down in a bread van, only to have my heart completely
broken.
Gah! I don’t want to be Julia Roberts!
Oh my God. Could Austin really be dating someone?
He’s never mentioned it, but he did say he had a surprise for me
this weekend…
Holy schnikes, what if it’s not a good one?

•••

“Good luck, honey,” Evelyn says as she snags her carry-on from the
overhead bin. “Fingers and toes crossed you’re Cameron in this
scenario.”
 “Ha. Thanks.” I force a smile to my lips, even though all of a
sudden I feel like my heart is going to jump out of my throat and
smack Evelyn in the face.
Once I finished my story and my seatmate put even more doubt in
my head, she finished off god-only-knows what number vodka and
conked the fuck out, and I was left running a mental marathon
sponsored by anxiety for the rest of the flight.
For three-plus hours, my brain ran in circles, and I achieved
exactly zero clarity.
If anything, I’m more freaked out than when I started.
No offense, Evelyn, but you really fucked me.
Once the aisle clears, I stand up from my seat, shrug my
backpack and purse onto my shoulders, and head off the plane. The
fear of the unknown sits like a rock in my gut as I step out of the gate
and into JFK and walk in the direction of baggage claim.
It’s not long before I’m standing in front of Claim Number 4,
waiting for my checked luggage to appear on the carousel while
simultaneously looking around to see if I spot my best friend.
Phone out of my pocket, I multitask and start to send Austin a text
to see where he is, but I stop myself when I notice the ugly green
sweater still on my body.
“Shit,” I mutter and quickly try to take it off but forget about the
backpack strapped onto my shoulders. I’m half in, half out and
hunched over like Quasimodo when a familiar voice fills my ears.
“Need a little help?”
I look up to find the warm, familiar brown eyes that I’ve known for
what feels like my whole life.
Austin.
The swoop of his sun-kissed brown hair glows like a damn halo,
even in the unflattering airport lights, and the dimple in his left cheek
looks just as it always does—like it was pricked perfectly by the hand
of God Himself. He’s even dreamier than I remembered, and with the
way I’ve fantasized about every facet of my friend over the years,
that’s really saying something.
 Of course, he had to find me like this—all twisted up in my damn
ugly sweater and backpack. Ugh. My cheeks flush red in
embarrassment, and a loud, very unladylike snort escapes my nose.
He flashes a smile at me—a smile I’ve seen a million times but
still makes my heart kick-start into a rhythm that sets off a series of
chest spasms a woman who didn’t know better might mistake for
cardiac arrest, and my breath gets all tangled up in my lungs.
Holy hell. Get it together, Em. You’ve known him your whole life.
There is no reason for you to start acting all weird around him now.
I swallow hard against the irrational nerves and focus on
responding to his question. “A little help would be nice. Yeah.”
Austin steps forward, takes the backpack off my shoulders and
slings it over his own. Free from its bounds, I finish taking off the
sweater and tying it around my waist.
“Better?” he asks, and I grin.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
“Now, can I get a proper hello from my best friend?”
I giggle at that, and between one breath and the next, Austin has
me wrapped up in his arms in a big, tight hug.
When he lifts my feet off the ground, I squeal, but he just chuckles
and spins us around in a circle.
“Damn, I missed my girl,” he whispers into my ear.
Gah. Be still my heart.
“Missed you, too.”
Gently, he sets me back on my feet and grins down at me with the
kind of affectionate smile that reminds me why he’s been my best
friend for all these years. And why I fell in love with him in the first
place. He’s one of the good ones. The funny, fun-to-be-around type
of guy that will always go to the end of the earth to make you feel
worthy.
“Did you check a bag?” he asks, and I nod. “Don’t tell me you
brought the old brown relic I’ve been telling you to replace for the
past five years.”
 I smile sweetly. “You bet your sweet ass I did. She’s still got a little
life in her.”
Austin chuckles, shakes his head, and when he spots my familiar
bag, does the gentlemanly task of snagging it from the carousel and
dragging it behind him.
“Tell me, are you ready to spend a weekend in New York,
celebrating your birthday with your best friend?” he asks, and I grin.
“I am.” He has no idea how ready.
“Thirty-five, Em,” he states with wide, shocked eyes. “We’re
getting old.”
“Speak for yourself,” I tease. “I look just as good as I did when I
was twenty-one.”
He smirks at that and reaches out to tuck a piece of my brown
hair behind my ear. “Nah. You look better.”
He winks, and I just about swoon right out of my favorite sandals.
“Well, let’s get this show on the road, babe,” he says and wraps
one strong, muscular arm around my shoulders. “I have lots of
errands to run to prepare for tomorrow’s main event.”
I follow his lead, and as we step out of JFK and into the sun,
Austin smirks down at me.
“Just so you know, I have a pretty awesome surprise planned for
you.”
I quirk a brow. “Yeah?”
“Oh yeah, Em. Prepare to be wowed.”
I giggle. “I hope this is nothing like the surprise you planned on
our twenty-fourth birthdays.”
“What?” He feigns offense. “That was a good surprise.”
“Austin, you filled my apartment with balloons.”
“Because you fucking love balloons!”
“I love a few balloons, not three hundred balloons!” I burst into
laughter. “I couldn’t even open my front door without them flying out
into the hallway. It took hours to pop them all.”
“Yeah, but we had a good fucking time doing it.”
 I can’t really deny that. After I’d bitched at him for being a lunatic,
we spent the rest of the night drinking beer, listening to music, and
popping balloons. My neighbors pretty much hated me that night,
sent a hundred complaints to my landlord, but it was worth it.
“See? It was a good surprise,” he adds and squeezes my
shoulder as he leads us down the sidewalk, carefully weaving in out
and of the pedestrian traffic.
I snort and roll my eyes. “Whatever you say.”
“Oh!” he exclaims and smiles down at me. “Not only do I have a
surprise for you, but I also have someone really important that I want
you to meet.”
Panic seizes my chest and nearly locks my jaw closed entirely.
Out of necessity, though, I manage to force out one word of
questioning. “Who?”
“I’m not telling, but just trust me, you’re going to love her.”
Fuuuck, I knew it. Evelyn knew it! Evelyn’s freaking vodka
manufacturer knew it, and I’m going to turn out to be Julia freaking
Roberts after all.
“W-when am I going to meet her?”
“At the party. Tomorrow night.” He grins down at me again and
squeezes my shoulder. “Hungry?” he asks, like he didn’t just drop a
fucking bomb from a fighter jet above, leaving me with nothing to do
but wait for it to go off. “We could grab a bite at Buddy’s,” he
singsongs, referencing my favorite New York diner, but the mere idea
of food right now makes me want to puke.
Or maybe it’s not so much the food, but the reality that all of my
biggest fears might be coming true.
“Em?” he questions, tilting his head to the side a little. “You okay?”
“Uh-huh,” I power out. “Just peachy.”
Just peachy, all right. A peach chiffon bridesmaid’s dress for the
love of my life’s wedding to Cameron Diaz, I’m afraid.
 PART TWO: AUSTIN
Very Important Context

“SO, THAT’S EMILY?” A familiar female voice fills my ears, and I

drag my eyes away from the dance floor of Mahoney’s Bar, where
my best friend is enjoying herself with Corinne and Monica—her
favorite New York gal pals, as she calls them—to find Michelle.
She hitches a hip against the bar, settling in beside me.
“Yeah. That’s her,” I answer and smile over at her.
She reaches into her purse and pulls out lipstick, quickly applying
a fresh coat to her lips. “So…” She pauses, and I offer a curious
smile.
“So…?”
“God, Austin.” Michelle laughs and squeezes my arm. “When do I
get to officially meet the famous best friend I’ve heard so much
about?”
“Soon,” I answer, chuckling at her enthusiasm. “But first, how
about I buy you a drink?”
She grins. “Vodka tonic, please.”
I wave down the bartender and tell him our order—beer for me,
white wine for Em, and a vodka tonic for Michelle.
Once three drinks are added to my ongoing tab and set in front of
me, I toss a few bucks into the tip jar, hand the vodka to Michelle,
and take the beer and wine into both of my hands.
“Is it finally time to make the big introduction and announcement?”
she asks, her smile mischievous, and I shrug.
“I guess it’s now or never, huh?”
 Michelle laughs, and I inhale a deep breath as I turn to face the
dance floor again.
I spot Emily right away, dressed in a hot little gold dress that
sparkles every time she shakes her hips. She’s laughing and smiling
and having fun with her friends, and when I look around the bar that I
rented out for tonight’s big birthday extravaganza, I can’t help but
smile.
All of our New York nearest and dearest are here, ready to
celebrate my best friend’s and my thirty-fifth birthday.
Frankly, the night is going exactly as I’d hoped.
The turnout is fantastic. Everyone is having fun. And my best
friend is enjoying the hell out of our birthday party.
But now, it’s high time for me to man the fuck up and announce
some very big news.
Huge news, actually.
Life-changing news.
Michelle places her free hand on my shoulder and squeezes it,
offering a reassuring smile that I didn’t know I needed. But fuck, I
did.
Here goes nothing…
I head toward the dance floor, catch Emily’s attention, and when
she’s within touching distance, hand her the glass of white wine.
She smiles gratefully, taking a quick sip, and before I can stop
them, both Monica and Corinne are trying to reel me into the dancing
fun.
I shake my head on a laugh. “Sorry to break up the fun, ladies, but
I need to steal Em for a minute.”
Corinne just smiles.
“What?” Monica fake pouts. “Where are you taking my girl?”
“I promise, I’ll bring her back when we’re done.”
“Whatever, Austin.” Monica sticks out her tongue at me, but she
also offers a secret smile.
 “C’mon, Em,” I say, wrapping my free arm around her shoulder,
leading her toward the stage that sits to the left of where the DJ I
hired for this party has his booth set up.
When I meet his eyes and offer a pointed nod toward the stage,
he gets my drift and begins the process of shutting off the music.
“Wait…what the hell?” Em questions when she notices where
we’re headed, digging her heels to a stop. “What are you doing?”
She hates a scene, so this is no surprise, but I also happen to
know that, when it’s the right occasion, making a scene is the only
thing that makes Emily believe something is real.
It takes a lot of years of friendship to know someone the way I
know Emily, but if I’m honest, it takes a little something else too.
“Relax. I have an announcement to make,” I explain and gently
pull her up the stage steps until we’re standing in front of the
microphone.
The room goes silent, all eyes now focused on the two of us.
“Good evening, everyone!” I exclaim into the microphone. “Em
and I would like to thank you for coming out tonight to celebrate with
us.”
Our friends cheer, but beside me, Emily sighs, already annoyed
that I’m forcing her to be the center of attention.
“Thirty-five, Em,” I say into the mic, repeating my words from the
airport as I glance over at her. “Can you believe we’re this old?”
She just rolls her eyes but makes no move to step forward and
respond. I can practically hear her voice in my head, telling me that
just because I choose to be a show pony, doesn’t mean she has to,
too.
“So, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m up here, what I’m going to
say, what I’m trying to achieve…and I’m certain Em is pissed that
I’ve forced her onto this stage.”
Emily nods.
The crowd laughs and hoots and hollers.
 “Well, I have some big news,” I announce, and the room goes
quiet again. I look down toward the edge of the stage, spotting
Michelle, and gesture for her to come stand up here with us.
When she shakes her head, I refuse to take no for an answer.
“Michelle, get your ass up here. You know I wouldn’t be making this
announcement if it weren’t for you.”
She rolls her eyes but eventually listens and walks up the steps to
stand beside us.
Before I continue, I make a point to lean away from the
microphone and quickly introduce the two of them. I know it probably
would have been less awkward if I’d taken this one step at a time,
but frankly, I was just too excited to wait.
“Em, this is Michelle Lankin, the woman I wanted you to meet.”
Emily’s brow furrows, but I don’t miss the way she quickly swipes
it from her face and replaces it with a half smile. “It’s…uh…it’s nice to
meet you.”
“You too,” Michelle answers, and when Emily awkwardly holds out
her hand to shake, she grins, shakes her head, and pulls my best
friend into a big hug. “Hugs only, sweetie. Austin has told me so
much about you, I basically feel like you’re already family.”
“Uh…thank you,” Em responds, her gorgeous blue eyes big and
wide, and honestly, a little bit moist, I think.
Shit. Is she okay? Instantly, an intense combination of nerves and
concern and worry makes itself known in my stomach. God, I really
wanted this to be perfect.
“Yo, Aus!” my buddy Gavin shouts from his spot at the bar. “Are
you going to tell us the big announcement, or can we go ahead and
get back to partying?”
Fuck. Just get it together, man, and say what you need to say.
Quite frankly, that’ll probably be better for whatever is bothering
Emily too.
On a deep inhale, I force myself to relax and turn to the mic again.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet Michelle. We haven’t known each
other all that long, but I knew the moment I met her, she was the
answer I’d been searching for.” I chuckle. “She’s my—”
“Wait!” Em shouts so loud it startles both Michelle and me, ringing
out through the big bar like a crack of thunder. She stumbles in
embarrassment, her cheeks pinkening more and more by the
second, and accidentally knocks the microphone from my hands,
sending it careening toward the stage with a thunk. Her eyes are wild
as she rambles. “Uh…I-I think I need to go to the bathroom. Oh
yeah, definitely need to pee.” She stoops down as gracefully as she
can in her dress and hands the microphone back to me, her grasp,
however, hesitant to really let it go. “But…uh…just go ahead and do
what you need to do and tell everyone about Michelle and I’m sure
it’s all really great and you’re super happy together and I’m super
happy for you! And yay! Okay! I’m…yeah…” She pauses, looks at
me, looks at Michelle, looks at the crowd, and eventually, my brain
catches up with her words.
Super happy together?
What the hell? She thinks I’m in a relationship with Michelle?
Oh fuck. I replay my words back through my head, listening to
them with an ear that lacks the very important context I, as the
person central to the situation, have in spades. Emily, though, she
doesn’t know any of it. And yeah, it doesn’t sound good. For Christ’s
sake, Austin. She has it all wrong.
All. Fucking. Wrong.
Shit.
Before I can intervene, before I can explain, Emily’s shoving the
microphone back into my chest and jogging down the steps of the
stage in her heels, wine sloshing out of her glass with each step.
“Em! Stop!” I shout into the microphone, but she just keeps going,
so fast she nearly trips on those sky-fucking-high heels of hers.
It’s not until I say, “Michelle isn’t my girlfriend! She’s my new
boss,” that she stops her progress through the crowd.
Slowly, Emily turns on her heels and meets my eyes.
 “Michelle owns a big investment company. In Austin. Where I’m
going to work. For her. With her as my boss,” I carry on, hoping the
more I say, the more my words will sink in. “She’s actually married.”
“Very happily married,” Michelle leans forward and kindly offers
into the microphone. “With three kids, too.”
Em blinks several times. “You’re taking a job in Austin?”
“Yeah.” I nod, and I know it’s literally now or never. I need to tell
her how I really feel.
I need to lay it all out there.
“See, I made this pact with my best friend when we were twenty-
one,” I say and clear the nerves from my throat. “I don’t know if you
know my best friend, but she’s fucking incredible. Beautiful.
Intelligent. Hilarious. Basically, she’s everything to me.
“I know her better than anyone knows her, and she knows me
better than anyone knows me. We’re the best of friends, you know,
but the truth is, I think the reason we really know each other so well
is because we’re in love.”
Em’s delicate jaw drops at my words, widening the tumultuous
blue seas in her eyes and making her perfect pink lips round into a
circle. But I don’t stop there.
No. This isn’t the kind of thing you wait your whole life to do and
then do halfway.
Instead, I take the microphone into my hands and walk down the
stage steps.
Thankfully, the crowd parts as I head straight for the most
important person in this room.
The only person I have eyes for.
“I don’t know if my best friend remembers, but it just so happens,
on our twenty-first birthdays, the girl I love and I made a pact…” I
pause, stopping right in front of her. “A pact that comes due tonight.”
I do, she mouths, and hope and courage bloom inside my chest.
“Emily Jane Banks, I am in love with you,” I tell her. They’re words
I should’ve said years ago, but when it comes to matters of the heart,
it’s never too late. “I’ve been in love with you for a very long time…” I
pause and hand the microphone off to a random person in the crowd
to take Emily’s left hand into mine.
“Austin.” She stares down at our hands, and I get down on one
knee.
“We’re thirty-five now, babe,” I continue and look up at her,
knowing full well that my heart is in my eyes right now and my life is
in her hands. “And, honestly, I can’t believe I waited this long. I took
a job in Austin because I’m tired of you being so far away. I want to
be with you. Forever.”
“Austin.”
“Will you marry me, Emily?” I ask, pulling the ring box out of my
pocket and opening it up to reveal an engagement ring I’ve been
holding on to for the last three months, waiting for this moment.
“Babe, there is nothing more in the world that I want than to spend
the rest of my life with you.”
She stares at me for what feels like a lifetime, her right hand
covering her lips, and my heart pounds furiously inside my chest with
each passing second. But eventually, she nods.
And then she nods again.
And then tears stream down her cheeks as she says, “Yes.”
Thank fuck.
Everyone in the bar, every single one of our New York friends, is
cheering and shouting and being so loud, my insides shake. But
other than that, I don’t even notice them.
I only see her. My Emily.
I slide the ring down her finger and waste no time pulling her into
my arms. “I love you,” I whisper into her ear, and she leans back,
more tears spilling down her cheeks. “So. Fucking. Much.”
“I love you too.”
And then, I kiss her.
It’s been ten years since we had our first kiss.
 A decade since we spent one insanely perfect night together that
we later freaked out over and thought was some kind of weird fluke
because we were too afraid to mess up our friendship.
A night I’ve never stopped thinking about.
And now, I get to do that night all over again.
Over and over and over again.
For the rest of forever.
Talk about winning the birthday lottery. Knowing I’ll have Emily
around as my wife to celebrate the rest of our birthdays together is
like knowing there will always be cake.
 
 
THE END
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 CONFESSIONS

 
LORA RICHARDSON
 CHAPTER ONE

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens. Once the trial is over, I can
figure out how to put my life back together.
I place my hands on the plastic table top, and drum my fingers.
My pinky encounters something sticky, so I return my hands to my
lap and try to wait without fidgeting. I glance at the couple in the
corner, who are whispering to each other, and occasionally kissing
across the table.
The heavy door thunders as it opens, and I flinch. I will never feel
comfortable being here. Arlo, my brother, walks in. I ignore the guard
at his side and focus only on his face. I smile at him, but his
expression is somber—the same way it’s been every time I’ve visited
him this year.
In two days, he will face a jury and be tried for murder. Since it
was an accident, Mom and Dad are confident he will be found
innocent. I’m not so certain. I’ve tied myself in knots researching
cases like his. I think it’s more likely he’ll be found guilty of
manslaughter or second-degree murder, but I keep these thoughts to
myself.
Arlo crosses the room and sits at the table with me. His orange
jumpsuit makes his skin look sallow.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hey.” He avoids my eyes, staring instead at the window over my
shoulder.
“How’ve you been?”
He runs a hand through his hair, sighing loudly. “Iris, stop.”
I frown. “Stop what?”
“Stop making small talk. Stop visiting me. Just stop.”
 He doesn’t like that I visit him every Saturday afternoon. He thinks
I should be living my life instead of spending my time in this
depressing visitation room. But he’s my brother, and I love him.
Besides, I don’t really have a life anymore.
“Seeing you makes me feel better. My motives are purely selfish.”
I wince at my word choice. Motive. He sighs again, and I force a
smile. “Well, by this time next week you’ll be home, and I won’t have
any reason to come here again.”
The hardness in his eyes is replaced with sadness. He blinks
rapidly, then rests his forehead on the table. “No, I won’t.”
My heart thumps in my chest. Is he worrying he won’t be found
innocent? I don’t tell him that’s not true or he has to stay positive. He
hears that kind of thing from Mom all the time. “Why not?”
He lifts his head. His face is red and filled with anguish. “Because
I don’t deserve to come home.”
My heart sinks.
Arlo watches me carefully. After a moment, he leans close and
whispers, “I’m sorry.”
His eyes hold mine, scared but firm, and I see the truth. I gasp
softly and put a hand over my mouth. “No.”
He stifles a groan, then whispers, “I knew Lucas was
unconscious. He wasn’t moving, and I kept hitting him. I didn’t stop,
Iris. I could have, and I didn’t.”
The color drains from my face. I want to pretend I didn’t hear him.
I want to run to my car and speed away and never stop until I
convince myself he didn’t say that. “Stop. Don’t tell me this.”
“You already knew.”
“No, I—”
“You’ve always been able to see inside me, and I’ve always been
able to read your face. You knew.”
I pull in a lungful of air and hold it. My chest begins to burn, and I
think I might suffocate, but I hold it. If my chest is full of air, there
won’t be any room for pain. Finally, my body forces me to breathe.
 Things are dropping into place. He didn’t accept the bail money
Mom and Dad offered. He has never been optimistic about his
chances during a trial. I glance at the couple in the corner, but
they’re paying no attention to us. “It wasn’t an accident.”
He seems relieved that I’ve acknowledged it. “I want to be
punished. It’s the only way I can live with what I did.”
But how do I live with it? I need my brother, and I want to tell him
he has to come home. I’m also furious and sick to my stomach. I do
the only thing I can think of. I pull him into a tight hug.
His voice is a rough whisper in my ear. “I told my lawyer I’m
changing my plea. Don’t tell Mom and Dad, okay? I want to talk to
them myself.”
“I won’t.” I squeeze him tighter. “Arlo?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
He relaxes against me. “Even now?”
“Even now.”
Ten minutes later I’m in the parking lot, sitting in my car, feeling
like a piano fell from the sky and landed on me. I can’t go home.
How can I face our parents without them guessing something is
wrong?
My phone rings and I pull it out of my purse, relieved to see it’s
Mallory and not Mom. “Hi, Mal.”
“Can you come over? I need you.”
I start the car. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Thank god. There’s a snail emergency.”
Only Mallory could make me smile at a time like this. “I’m on my
way.” I don’t know if this emergency is legitimate or if it’s another way
my sweet friend is trying to keep my mind off things, but I end the
call and head toward her house.
 
 CHAPTER TWO

DRIVING DOWN THE back roads, I keep replaying what Arlo said. It
wasn’t an accident that he killed Lucas Lancaster. He knew what he
was doing while it was happening. A terrible thought occurs to me.
Did he go there that night planning to do it? I stop that line of thinking
immediately. Of course he didn’t.
He’s pleading guilty. Pain rips through me, and guilt threatens to
swallow me whole. Lucas’s death wasn’t an accident, and yet I still
love Arlo. Some people think I shouldn’t—the ones who stare and
whisper behind my back. They want him to pay, and they want my
family to pay, too. I worry about it. Are they right? Should I love him?
Is loving him a choice?
Arlo took so much from so many people. Finn Lancaster’s face
pops into my mind. What will he think of Arlo pleading guilty? I push
the thought away. I haven’t let any thoughts of Finn linger in my head
for the last year, and I don’t intend to start now. I haven’t spoken a
single word to him since my brother killed his brother. I don’t look at
him when we pass each other in the halls at school or on the roads
in town. Because of Arlo, I lost Finn, and I have to move on.
I grip the steering wheel tightly and remind myself that losing Finn
is the smallest part of this whole mess. Other people lost a whole lot
more. Besides, I lost Finn before I really had him. I never got to kiss
him. I never got to ask him all those questions I have. My stomach
dips as I remember his fingertips whispering across the bare skin of
my inner elbow that night at the ridge. No. I have to stop torturing
myself. I turn the radio up to drown out the thoughts.
I park at Mallory’s house and walk up her driveway slowly, taking
time to collect myself. The gravel is lumpy beneath my thin-soled
sandals. I catch the scent of recently cut grass. Calmer now, I reach
into my purse for a mint and pop it in my mouth, focusing on its
sweetness. I will be okay. I am okay, and I will not give anyone cause
to think otherwise.
I walk into her house without knocking, and take the stairs to her
room. Turns out there is indeed a snail situation. I stop in her
doorway and watch as she gazes into her aquarium. “Hey,” I say.
She gives me a stricken look. “Iris, it’s terrible.”
Fearing the worst, and wondering if dead snails float the way
dead fish do, I join her in front of the aquarium. I’m shocked at what I
see. There are so many snails. Possibly hundreds. Tiny bodies with
little, pointed shells are burrowing into the detritus at the bottom of
the tank, crawling in the plants, stuck to the glass, and bobbing on
the surface. The water is thick with snails. A laugh escapes before I
can stop it.
Mallory glares at me, which makes me laugh again. She puts a
hand to her forehead. Finally, she laughs a little, too. “How can there
possibly be this many?”
“Yeah, this is...wow. This is a lot of snails.”
I was with her when she bought two snails from Aquarium Guy.
She randomly came across his advertisement online and suddenly,
unequivocally, she needed snails. The guy was selling them from his
house, and she wisely didn’t want to go alone.
We got there early on a Saturday morning. Aquarium Guy, whose
real name I’ve since forgotten, had tanks lining an entire wall of his
dining room. He told us Malaysian trumpet snails were perfect for a
beginner, and he was giving her two females. The snails were rather
affectionate with each other, so we decided Mallory was playing host
to a lesbian snail couple, Mary and Sherry.
“Stupid Aquarium Guy,” Mallory says. “But I don’t know how you
tell if a snail is a male or a female, and I just believed him, so maybe
I’m the idiot.”
I sit on her bed and pull her purring orange cat into my lap,
charmed by my friend and her menagerie.
 “Clearly I can’t keep them. They’ll just keep breeding. What am I
supposed to do?”
“We’ll scoop them out and pay Aquarium Guy a visit.”
She spins around. “You’ll go with me?”
“Of course.”
“Even though his house smells like canned tuna?”
“Yep.”
“What if he refuses to take them?”
“Mallory, I will bring Aquarium Guy to justice. I’ll see that he takes
the baby snails. Then we’ll get separate tanks for Mary and Sherry. I
will do anything you need.” My eyes burn suddenly, and I blink
rapidly to keep tears from falling. Mallory is the sweetest person
alive. She does so much for me. It’s like she can sense when I need
her, and she’ll show up with cookies or an adventure, or best of all,
she’ll need my help. It is satisfying to be able to do something for
her. I relish the task of handling Aquarium Guy.
“Okay. Thank you.” She smiles and turns back to her snails.
“They’re pretty cute, aren’t they? I better put another algae pellet in.
Maybe two. I wonder how much five bazillion snail babies eat?”
When she’s done fretting over them, she sits beside me on the
bed. “How are you really doing?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay, but it would be totally natural if you were a little anxious.
I’m getting a vibe.”
I press my lips together. I don’t talk to anyone about Arlo, not even
Mallory. She’s been watching me closely since the trial date was set,
but I can’t tell her the things I’m worried about. I can’t tell her what
Arlo just confessed. If I say one word, I’ll cry, and I might never stop.
I shake my head.
Mallory’s phone rings, and I recognize the ring tone. It’s Blake, her
boyfriend. She ignores it, but I stand while carefully sliding her cat off
my legs and onto hers. “Take the call. I should go. But can I stop by
the barn and see Caspian?”
 “Of course, but you just got here. You don’t have to go. I can talk
to Blake later.”
I’m restless. I need to move, to be outside. I force a smile and
wave her off. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
She furrows her brow and looks at me hesitantly as her phone
continues to ring. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“Give Caspian extra kisses for me.”
 CHAPTER THREE

I STEP OUTSIDE into the heavy August air. Lifting my hair off my
neck to let the breeze cool me, I cross the yard to Mallory’s barn. I lift
the latch on the door and walk in, leaving the door open behind me
since I’ll only be a minute. My eyes adjust to the dim light, the scent
of hay robust in my nose. I give Mallory’s goat a pat on the head as I
pass, making a beeline for Caspian.
Caspian, a white horse with brown speckles, nickers as I draw
near, and lowers his head for me. He’s such a sucker for having his
neck rubbed. I scratch him where he likes it best and lay a few
kisses on his fuzzy nose. He makes a noise of appreciation, lolling
his head to one side.
He trusts me, I realize. Not many people do, these days. I’m not
the one who killed Lucas Lancaster, but some people act like murder
is catching. Or like it’s in my genes. My chest gets tight as I
contemplate this, so I don’t let the feeling settle.
I run my fingers through Caspian’s mane and along the side of his
face, resting a finger on a small, brown patch of fur below his eye. I
press it gently.
The memory that emerges is visceral. I shut my eyes, and see the
freckle on the back of Arlo’s left hand, between the knuckles of his
first two fingers. I’m four years old, and he’s eight. I grip his hand
tightly, pressing that freckle as we dash across the street after Mom,
her yellow skirt swishing.
I long to press my finger to that freckle on his hand. Countless
times he was there for me, giving me his hand, being my protector
and my confidant. Until he removed himself with his rage and his
jealousy over a girl.
“Iris?”
 I jump at the deep, familiar voice. Why is Finn here? I turn. His
tall, broad body is a silhouette in the open barn door.
“I saw you come in here,” he says.
The Lancasters live a couple houses down from Mallory. At one
time it seemed lucky that my best friend lived so near the cutest guy
I’d ever seen. I used to beg her to sit outside with me on her back
deck, hoping to catch a glimpse of Finn in his yard. Now, though, it
would be helpful if I never laid eyes on him again.
I don’t respond. I’m not supposed to talk to him. That’s what the
lawyers say is best for Arlo. Abiding by this rule has been easy,
because what could I possibly say to him?
Finn moves toward me hesitantly. There’s no room to retreat, and
I fight the urge to run past him and straight out of the barn.
He leans against the stall on the other side of Caspian. The horse
pushes his nose against Finn’s shoulder, nudging him until he
strokes his neck.
I stand stiffly, arms at my sides, hoping I look calm even though a
storm is raging inside me. I can’t handle this tonight. It’s too much. I
haven’t stood this close to Finn in ages. My heart pounds so loudly in
my ears he can surely hear it, too.
“Where’d you go, Iris?” he asks, his eyes on Caspian.
I know what he means, but I deflect. “Nowhere.”
He doesn’t respond right away, and just as I think I might be able
to make an excuse and leave, he steps around Caspian to stand
right in front of me. A beam of evening light from the small window
above lands on his head, a golden slash across his dark hair.
“Nowhere near me. You’re avoiding me.”
I cross my arms, an act I realize must look defensive, and
immediately drop them. He’s standing so close I can smell the faint
scent of his laundry detergent. He always smells so clean. My heart
stutters as I think again of that night on the ridge.
 
 
THE RIDGE, ONE WEEK BEFORE THE MURDER
“Follow me,” Finn says, nodding to a path through the trees, a
gleam of mischief in his eye.
I look back. Mallory, Blake, and a couple of our other friends are
laughing as one of the guys tries to climb a tree. “Should we get too
far ahead of them?”
“Why not?”
I bite my lower lip, excited and nervous at the prospect of being
alone with him. “I don’t know.”
“Just come,” he says, smiling confidently, as sure of himself as
always.
I hesitate, but when he steps onto the path, I follow him. On the
other side of the trees is the ridge—a clearing atop the hill with a
beautiful view of our small town below.
He stops by a boulder at the end of the path, but I go to the edge
of the ridge and sit close enough to make my heart skip a beat. He
sits right beside me, his leg occasionally brushing against mine. “You
smell like soap,” I say.
He laughs softly, a low rumble in his throat. “Is that good?”
“Yeah,” I say, feeling bold. “Really good.” The more we talk, the
easier it gets to tell him whatever’s on my mind. Little things, mostly,
as we feel our way through the fog of unknowns to see each other
clearly.
“You always smell like mint,” he says.
I smile and pull the ever-present tin of mints from my pocket. “I’m
addicted.”
He takes a mint, and for a while we talk about nothing of much
consequence, and then out of nowhere he says, “What scares you,
Iris?”
It catches me off guard and, to my regret, I make a joke of it.
“Closed shower curtains.”
 He laughs. “Me too, actually. I always check behind them before I
do my business.”
The conversation stalls for a moment, as I try not to picture him
doing his business, but he dives back in, not shying away from the
topic. “But what are you afraid of? I mean real fear, not a spooky
feeling.”
The air between us grows thick. Desperate to be close to this boy,
I push away my nerves and tell him something I think about a lot but
have never told anyone. “There’s this lonely place inside me.” I put a
hand over my heart. “I’m the only one in here. I worry if anyone will
ever truly know me, deep down. Does that make sense?” I shrug and
look at the lights twinkling below us, putting some distance between
my confession and his intense gaze. Will he think I’m silly?
“You put it into words,” he whispers. There is a small smile on his
face.“I have that feeling, too. Especially when it’s late at night, or
anytime I’m alone in the dark. It is scary.”
I bite my lip so I won’t smile. I don’t want him to know how much I
like that he understands. I don’t know where this thing between us is
going, or how he really feels about me, or what he wants. I’m sure
about what I want, but I’m not jumping in first. “What’s your deepest
fear, Finn?”
He clears his throat and taps his fingers on his thigh. “That my
mom’s cancer will come back.”
When we were in middle school, his mom was in treatment for
breast cancer. My family was friendly with his back then. Not the type
of friends who play cards every Friday night, but Mom made a few
dinners for them when Mrs. Lancaster was going through chemo. I
went with her once to drop off a meal. Finn’s mom was pale and thin,
and wearing a bathrobe, but she answered the door. She was very
affectionate. She hugged both Mom and me, even though she didn’t
know us that well. And when Finn came into the room and stood
beside her, she ran her fingers through his hair absentmindedly while
she chatted with us. He wasn’t embarrassed by her affection, he
leaned into it. That nugget of information only intensified my crush on
him. “Is it likely that it will come back?”
 “I don’t know. But every time she says she’s tired, I worry for
days.”
This makes my chest ache. “Next time you’re worried, call me.”
His mouth curves in a sweet smile. “Yeah?”
“Sure.”
“What will you do?”
“I’ll bring you up here and we’ll talk about what scares us and
what makes us feel alive.”
He brushes his fingers across my arm, a light touch that leaves a
deep impression.
 
That night feels like a million years ago as we stand together in the
barn. Softened by the memory, I can’t help but hold his eyes and
relent. “Of course I’ve been avoiding you.”
“Why?”
My mouth drops open. “Because it’s the right thing to do. Because
it’s what your family wants.” There is no question about this. It is
absolutely what his family wants.
A few weeks after the murder, before I’d gone back to school or
even accepted a call from Mallory, Mom and I went grocery
shopping. I didn’t want to go, but she told me she was worried about
me and that I needed to take a shower and get out of the house. I
didn’t want to add any worries to her load, so I took a shower and put
my leggings right back on.
Hair still wet, I pushed the cart and pretended people weren’t
staring at us, while Mom tossed things in as fast as she could. We
rounded an aisle, and there was Mrs. Lancaster, holding a gallon of
milk. For a strange second, I wanted to hug her again, like I had all
those years ago. I wanted to comfort her, or for her to comfort me.
Her nostrils flared and tears sprang to her eyes. “Get out,” she
said through gritted teeth. Mom and I stood frozen in shock. Mrs.
Lancaster lifted her chin and put steel in her voice. “Get away from
me. I never want to see your faces again. I hate you.”
 We left our half-full cart where it was and hightailed it out of the
store. Mom cried the whole way home. It took me two days to catch
my breath.
Finn doesn’t seem to like my explanation. He gazes at me fiercely,
jaw muscles jumping under his skin, eyes burning into mine. “Come
with me.”
“What?”
He tips his head to the door. “Come on. Let’s go somewhere.”
I swallow hard and shake my head, confused. We are not the
same people we were a year ago. “I can’t.”
“Yes you can.”
I look around the barn as if someone will be there to tell me what
to do. Caspian nudges me with his nose. “Why?” That’s the one
thing I can’t understand. Why would he want to go anywhere with
me?
“Just come.”
The familiar words, like ghosts from my life before, make my
breath hitch in my throat. What does he want from me? I shake my
head again.
“Why do you always need to be convinced?” His tone is half
teasing and half frustrated.
He heads toward the barn door. I hesitate, but when he steps
outside, I follow him.
 CHAPTER FOUR

FINN LATCHES THE door of the barn behind us and crosses the
grass toward the woods. I stay half a step behind him. I don’t ask
where we’re going, since he’s clearly not in the mood to give me any
answers. The grass gets taller the farther we go, brushing against
my calves and making my legs itch.
We reach the trees, and he bends down to pick up a stick. He
uses it to push back the brush, and we make our way into the
woods. We walk for a long time, and while it isn’t an easy hike, the
exertion is exactly what I need.
We don’t say a word the entire time. Our silence is charged,
uncomfortable. There’s too much unsaid between us. Too much has
happened for small talk.
We emerge into a clearing, and he trips over a tree root. He looks
back at me with a smile, clearly remembering that I absolutely
cannot help but laugh whenever someone trips or falls. Some things
don’t change, no matter what, and I stop trying to hold in the laugh,
and free it. He laughs a little, too, and for one moment, things feel
okay between us. It breaks my heart, and I sober, because things
are not okay, and I don’t know if they’ll ever be.
In the clearing is a small pond. “I had no idea this was here.”
He walks to the water’s edge and whips off his shirt and shoes.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “I mean, I can see what you’re doing,
but why are you doing it?”
He turns to face me, hands on his hips. I will not look at his chest.
I won’t. I refuse. He looks me right in the eye, as if he knows what
I’m thinking and is keeping score.
He leans down and pulls off a sock. “We’re going swimming.”
 “You can if you want, but I’m not.”
“Aren’t you hot? That hike was brutal.”
I shrug.
“Iris?”
“Yes, I’m hot, but I’m not swimming with you because I don’t know
why we’re here. I don’t know what you want, I don’t know if—” I stop
speaking abruptly, right before I go too far.
“You don’t know if what?”
I glare at him, but my heart isn’t in it. I’m not mad at him, and I
admit to myself that I’m acting like this because it’s easier than
showing him what I really feel, which is a tangle of guilt and sorrow
and nerves and...longing. “Will you please just tell me why you
wanted me to come here with you?”
He steps closer. It’s hard to look at him. I’m afraid of what I might
see. Does he hate me, like his mom does? I force my gaze to his.
“We’re going swimming,” he says, his eyes on fire, “and we’re
going to talk.”
I challenge him, because he still hasn’t clarified anything. “We
shouldn’t be here. We shouldn’t be...together.”
He studies me carefully before speaking. His voice is gentle, but
the fire is still blazing in his eyes. “You don’t have to stay. You don’t
have to talk to me. You can keep on ignoring me forever if you want,
but I have some things to say to you, and I’m asking you to hear
them.”
He walks to the water. I pull in a breath as he steps out of his
jeans. Wearing only a pair of green boxer shorts, he steps into the
pond. I watch his broad back until he disappears completely under
the surface, leaving ripples behind.
Those were just about the only words he could say that would
guarantee I stay.
I slowly walk toward the water, my legs like jelly. A strange mix of
things is happening inside me. Am I going to take off my clothes,
too? A thrill shoots up my spine, followed quickly by a pang of guilt. I
shouldn’t be feeling any thrills. He’s upset. I’ve upset him.
When he emerges, treading water and gazing up at me, I
unbuckle my sandals and kick them off. I unbutton my jean shorts
and step out of them. I grab the hem of my tank top, but then I stop.
He’s about to tell me a list of things I’ve done wrong, to explain how
badly I’ve hurt him. I can’t hear that while I’m wearing only my bra
and underwear. I drop my hands to my sides and walk to the water’s
edge.
I swirl a toe in the water. It’s warm, and I can’t see the bottom.
“Are there snakes in here?”
He nods. “Almost certainly.”
I just won’t think about them. I have plenty of practice pretending
things don’t exist if I don’t think about them.
I step into the water, the mud on the bottom of the pond squishing
between my toes. Finn is farther out, still treading water, still
watching me. I move toward him, swimming once the bottom
disappears from beneath my feet.
I hope he doesn’t mind that I think he’s beautiful. The orange
sunset, broken up by the trees, makes his skin glow in the golden
light. Drops of water cling to his face, and his eyes hold a warmth
that draws me closer. I’ve missed him. I haven’t let myself feel how
much, but I feel it now. I’ve missed him desperately. I tread water
and hope he can’t see how he’s affecting me.
“There’s a huge limestone slab under the water we can stand on.”
He leads me a little farther out, and sure enough, there’s a smooth
block of limestone that gives my feet purchase. The slab angles up,
and I climb it. One end of it is only a couple of feet under the water,
so I sit, the water lapping around my rib cage.
Finn swims for a while longer before sitting on the limestone
beside me. I brace myself, waiting to hear what he has to say.
 CHAPTER FIVE

FINN’S GAZE TRAVELS over my hair—only the ends are wet— to

my eyebrows, and stops on my eyes. Just as I think I can’t take the
silence any longer, he says, “I miss you, Iris.”
For a second, relief spreads through me, but then his face shifts.
A flash of pain crosses his eyes and furrows his brow. “I needed you,
and you disappeared on me.”
My chest grows tight, like I can’t get enough air. I feel myself
grasping for the numbness I rely on, but I open my hands, reminding
myself to feel this. I owe him that much. A dull ache throbs in my
chest. I don’t speak; I listen.
“When I lost Lucas, I lost my family. It’s not the same anymore. My
parents are—” his voice breaks and he pauses to clear his throat. “I
called you. I sent you a thousand texts and you didn’t answer. You
won’t even look at me. I would like to know why.”
I realize my gaze has dropped down in shame, and I force my
eyes to his. He called me? He wanted to talk to me? I had no idea,
but it wouldn’t have changed anything if I had known. I wouldn’t have
called him back, and it has nothing to do with the advice of the
lawyers.
His mom hates me, and my family has hurt her enough. I can’t tell
him about our encounter in the grocery store. It wouldn’t be right to
burden him with it. She was hurting, and I don’t hold it against her.
But she also meant it. She wants me to stay away from her family. A
tear rolls down my cheek and I turn my head to brush it away, hoping
Finn doesn’t see it. “I didn’t know you called.”
He breathes in deeply through his nose, trying to keep his
composure. “I want the truth, Iris.”
 “That is the truth. I got some nasty messages. So I gave my
phone to my mom, and I asked her to keep it. Later I had her delete
everything before she gave it back. I was afraid to find out what
people were thinking. I...I never thought you’d call.” My voice is limp
and breathy. I hate it. Why can’t I ever handle conversations like this
without feeling like I might faint?
His confusion is obvious. “You didn’t think I’d want to talk to you?”
I don’t respond. I didn’t think he’d want to talk to me, and after
what Arlo told me tonight, he certainly won’t want to.
“Back at the barn, you said staying away from me was the right
thing to do. But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t.” His voice cracks again,
emotion rising to the surface.
My lower lip trembles and tears spill out, and suddenly his hands
land on either side of my head. He presses his mouth firmly to my
forehead, at my hairline. He leaves it there, a paused kiss, and his
hands are trembling, and my whole body shakes.
After a minute, he pulls away and rubs his hands over his face
and through his hair. “You hid your phone from yourself. Okay. But
why? Why did you think shutting me out was the right thing to do?”
“Finn.” I can hear the anguish in my voice.
“I don’t care if the truth is ugly. I want it.”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
He closes his eyes and releases a breath, like he’s asking the
world for more patience.
“You won’t like it,” I add.
“I don’t like this either,” he says sharply.
I give him what he’s asked for. I pull my knees to my chest and
wrap my arms around them, holding myself in a tight ball. “Your mom
never wants to see my face again. She hates me.”
He flinches. “What?”
“You got me to say it once. I’m not repeating it.”
He faces forward and several minutes pass while he processes
what I said.
 “Don’t be mad at her. She has every right to despise my family,
and to not want us to see each other. I refuse to cause her any more
pain. She shouldn’t have to see me, or anyone else that reminds her
she lost a son.”
“She doesn’t need anything to remind her, Iris.” His voice is low.
“She feels it every second of every day.”
I take in a shaky breath, and cover my face with my hands.
Finn’s hands, warm in spite of the water, close around my wrists.
He gently peels my hands away and holds them in his lap. He
searches my eyes, but I stay silent. “She doesn’t hate you. Well, she
hated everyone and everything for a while, but not really. Actually,
Mom and I talk about you sometimes. You know what she told me
once?”
“What?”
“She said you lost all the same things I did. A brother. A family. I’m
sure your parents aren’t the same, either.”
I hold in a sob, shaking with the effort.
“That’s why I wanted to talk to you so badly. You’re the only one
who understands exactly what I lost.”
I blink. Most people don’t seem to consider what I’ve lost. We’re
the bad ones, not the ones anyone would bring a casserole or check
on to make sure we’re okay. I pull my hands from his. “Not exactly,” I
protest. “Maybe we lost the same things, but it’s different. My brother
is still breathing, and that’s the trade-off. Things aren’t great,
obviously, but we still came out ahead.”
He frowns. “Nobody came out ahead. Of course I wish my brother
were still alive, but I don’t think it’d be better if he killed Arlo instead.
It doesn’t do any good to compare our losses. I don’t blame you for
what happened.”
I keep my head down as I whisper, “You shouldn’t comfort me.” I
pause. My eyes burn and the tears well up all over again. My voice
comes out choked. “I want you to blame me.”
He scoots a little closer. “Why?”
 My hair falls forward as I tip my head lower. “Finn, I know
something.”
He goes still. “What do you know?”
“Arlo’s changing his plea. He told me this afternoon. He said…” I
pause here, trying to decide if I’m telling him because it’s the right
thing to do or because I need to unload on someone.
“Tell me what he said, Iris.”
I let it all out. “He knew when he was hitting Lucas that it was
over, but he kept hitting him. It wasn’t an accident. Or maybe it was,
at first, and then he just couldn’t stop, I don’t know.”
Finn’s face is hard, his eyes unreadable. A humorless laugh
escapes him and he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I
can’t believe he’s admitting it.”
He doesn’t seem surprised. I should have expected that, but it’s a
blow. “You already knew he was guilty.”
“Yes. Honestly, it’s a relief that he’s changing his plea. I’ve been
worrying he’ll be found innocent. I wasn’t sure I could live with that.”
Another blow, but in some way, I feel lighter. Arlo’s confession
removes an obstacle between us. We’re finally being honest, and if
he wants the truth, he’s getting it all. “As awful as this is, as horrified
and upset as I am, I can’t stop loving Arlo.” There it is—the
confession that will turn him away forever.
He’s quiet. He’s probably seething. He’s probably going to leave.
He’ll be avoiding me now.
“I wouldn’t expect you to stop.”
I’m surprised for a moment, then I frown. Doesn’t he see? “No,
Finn, I love someone you hate.”
“I know.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say about it? It’s just fine with
you? How can you even look at me?”
Finn holds my gaze for a while, making the point that he can look
at me, then he leans back on his hands and looks up at the sky. “I
remember this one day in seventh grade. Mom was really sick. I had
to get out of the house, so I went for a walk and ended up behind the
buildings downtown, in the alleys by the dumpsters. There was all
this broken glass. It made me mad. Why would people do that?
Pieces of it were getting stuck in the soles of my shoes. It made an
awful scraping sound on the pavement. I was crying.”
I slide my hand under the water and lay it on his forearm.
“Arlo came out the back door of your grandpa’s restaurant
carrying a trash bag. He flung it into the dumpster, and then he saw
me. I kept walking on the broken glass. Arlo called out, asking if I
was okay. I said I wasn’t.
“He reached into the recycling bin and pulled out a wine bottle. He
handed it to me and said, “Smash it.”
“So I did. I let out this yell when it hit the ground, and it felt so
good. Arlo handed me two more bottles, and I smashed them, too.
After that I understood why somebody might want to break glass. To
destroy something. I wanted to make the world awful to match how
awful I felt inside.
“Arlo and I swept the whole alley, cleaning up my mess and then
some.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I know Arlo is more than
what he did in that one moment. I understand it’s complicated for
you. Nothing is black and white. It’s more straightforward for me. I
liked Arlo back then. I don’t like him anymore. He cleaned up the
alley, but he can’t clean up this. I’m angry. But I’m not angry at you.
That part isn’t complicated.”
“Even if I—”
He cuts me off. “Don’t say it. There are no conditions placed on
my feelings about you.”
I stare at him. “But how can—”
He holds up a hand. “I’ve had a lot of therapy.”
“You have?”
“Tons. Hours upon hours. Family therapy, group therapy,
individual. I recommend it.”
“I don’t talk about this with anyone.”
 “You’re talking about it with me.”
I test out a tentative smile.
He smiles back. And then he splashes me. Not a flirty, playful
splash. No, just like he used to last summer, he uses both hands to
shove a huge wave of water over me. Spluttering, I wipe my eyes.
“Finn Lancaster, you are in big trouble.”
While I’m trying to get my hair out of my face, he takes the
opportunity to leap off the limestone slab and swim away.
I go after him. I’ve always been a better swimmer, and he knows
it, which is why he implemented the splash and dash, a term coined
by Mallory.
He looks at me mischievously. I chase him around the pond for a
while, but I can’t seem to catch up. I just keep getting more and more
out of breath. Finally I have to stop, standing in waist deep water
with my hands on my hips. “Okay, I give. You win.”
“I win? How can this be?” he teases.
I shrug. “I’ve had a sedentary year.”
He laughs and makes his way toward me. “I did the opposite. I
started running. It helps.”
“Look at you with all the healthy coping mechanisms, and me with
all the bad ones.”
He stops in front of me, his hands spread flat on the surface of the
water. We watch each other, taking the measure of the moment. He
moves closer. I tense.
I try to relax, swirling my hands in the water. “I’m sorry, Finn.”
His hand finds my arm under the water, and he runs his fingertips
down the sensitive inner skin of my wrist, glides them across my
palm, and slides his fingers between mine. The press of our palms
sends shivers up my arm.
With his other hand, he lifts my chin until our eyes meet. “What
scares you, Iris?” he asks, his voice a rough whisper.
This time, I know what this question is. He’s asking permission to
enter that secret place inside me where I’m always alone. He’s
asking to know me, as much as anyone can. I hold his eyes. “I don’t
know if there will be a trial now, but I’m scared of it. And I’m scared
of going to his sentencing.”
He squeezes my hand. “Then don’t go. I’m not going.”
I tilt my head, my brows furrowing. “That’s an option?”
“Yes. Dad isn’t pleased by my decision, but I don’t want to go, so
I’m not. Not every awful thing has to be faced head on. It’s okay to
protect yourself.”
I blink, trying to find my balance. Nothing feels like it did when I
woke up this morning. Is it as simple as that? I just don’t have to go?
It hits me. Finn’s right. I don’t have to walk into the courtroom and
sit on the side of the room behind my brother, with the Lancasters on
the other side, hurting. I don’t have to spend the day trying not to cry,
because Mom told me we’re going to project confidence to the jury.
Will there even be a jury now? I don’t have to sit there and listen to
his sentence.
Arlo will be glad I’m not there. He doesn’t like me to see him in
jail. I’ll never stop visiting him, but he’ll feel better knowing I’m not
there to witness this. “Well then, I’m not going either.”
His gaze drops to my mouth. “Want to spend the day with me
instead?”
I place my hand on his chest, over his heart. “Yes. I’ll spend it with
you.” My pulse thrums in my ears as he presses his fingers into the
skin just under the hem of my wet tank top.
I drift toward him until my body is flush against his, and put my
arms around his neck, playing with the hair at his nape. My stomach
spins deliciously when my bare leg brushes his. He doesn’t take his
eyes from mine. “What scares you, Finn?”
The corner of his mouth lifts in a slight smile. “That you might
never understand how I feel about you.”
“How do you feel?” I hold my breath and curl my toes into the
mud.
He lowers his head, resting his forehead on mine. His chest rises
and falls rapidly, and I tip my face up. His hand goes to my neck,
landing on my jaw. Tilting my head back, he presses a kiss to my
brow, then moves lower. He kisses my cheek, the corner of my
mouth.
He hovers there, as if to give me a chance to push him away, but I
fist one hand in his hair and grip his shoulder with the other, pulling
him closer. “Finn,” I breathe, my lips barely brushing his, wanting,
wanting, wanting.
He takes a slow breath in, and sets his mouth on mine, releasing
a low groan deep in his throat. I open my mouth under his, and the
world falls away.
Eventually he pulls back, breathing hard. He looks me over,
scanning my face and stopping on my eyes. He’s checking if I’m
okay. I give him a genuine smile, a rare and precious thing these
days.
“Like that,” he says. “I feel like that.”
 LORA RICHARDSON
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HEELS OVER HEAD IN LOVE

 
WILLOW ASTER
 PROLOGUE

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.

I’ll kiss his ass to the curb.
Did I say kiss? Ugh. I meant to say kick—kick his ass to the curb!
—but that right there shows the complication that is my relationship
with Brady Barnes.
Even his name sounds like a Marvel character, right? Which is
annoying in itself, but then he has to go and look like one too. He
has the ego of a superhero who’s never had anything go wrong in
his life, while also being the kindest, most compassionate human
being I’ve ever met.
I can’t keep up with his endless optimism, the way he doesn’t
know the meaning of failure, and how his confidence never lulls
because everything just always works out the way he wants.
At first it was alluring and addictive—that someone that beautiful
and self-assured could want someone like me, because I am none of
those things—but then it became increasingly clear that I will only
disappoint him.
And so in two days, after I make sure to give him the ride of his
life, I will go out on a high note and then ghost him.
It’s the only way I can survive Brady Barnes.
 CHAPTER ONE

Two weeks earlier…

YOU KNOW THOSE days when everything goes wrong? From the
alarm not going off, to the heel breaking on your shoe, to tripping
down the steps of the entrance to your office building due to said
heel breakage, to the coffee spilling down the front of a white blouse
you don’t really like anyway but thought would help polish your look
for your meeting with new clients…it’s been one of those days, and it
isn’t even nine o’clock.
I’m about to throw a fit if one more thing happens, so I distract
myself by sucking the drops of coffee left in my cup like it’s my
lifeline. There isn’t enough coffee left to dull the headache that’s
beginning to pound behind my eyes, and I’m not watching where I’m
going as I walk down the hall of Schuster & Sons. I should know by
the name, the “Sons” part, that I’m never going to advance at
Schuster & Sons, but I’ve been giving it my hundred and fifty
percent.
When I round the corner, disoriented and hobbly with my one-
heeled and one non-heeled shoes, my file goes flying as I come this
close to colliding with one of the suits. The suits are what Jess and I
call the high-profile clients, the ones with the custom-ordered suits
dripping in expensive taste and the watches on the wrists that you
wouldn’t spot at a mall.
A hand steadies me as I look up into the most piercing eyes I’ve
ever seen. Blue and grey and green swirl together like a crayon box
gone rogue. And the best part—if there could be a best part to my
utter humiliation—is the way they are smiling at me. His eyes smile
as much as his full lips, if not more, and the result is dizzying.
 His hands on my arms feel like the calm in a tornado, despite my
reddening cheeks, stuttering heart, and sudden need for a hole in
the ground to fall into.
“Next time, we’ll have to plan this better,” he says. “You can knock
me down while trying to hold onto your file, and I’ll sprain my ankle in
my attempt to keep you from going down with me.”
And the smirk I see peeking through? With his black waves of hair
and perfect skin and the just-right amount of stubble…I am struck
speechless for a moment, and it takes a little too long to get my
bearings.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, bending down to pick up my papers. “It’s been
a morning.”
“Best morning I can remember in a long time,” he says.
I almost roll my eyes at that. “You make it a habit of making
women drop everything when they see you?” My face boils—I can’t
believe that came out of my mouth.
He chuckles and the sound curls in my belly like he’s physically
pulling me closer to him. “That would be quite a skill, wouldn’t it?
Can’t say I would mind that if they all looked like you.” He leans
close to my face as I hold the papers with a death grip to keep from
shaking. “Sadly, I’ve never seen anyone who looked like you until
today.” His voice is the softest caress and I have trouble
remembering my name. Who am I? What am I doing here?”
He helps me up, his hands gently guiding me to an upright
position and then dropping.
“Brady Barnes,” he says. “And you are?”
I stare at him for long seconds as I try to snap out of it. Finally:
“Hazel Taylor.”
My name is so dull next to his.
But when he reaches out his hand to shake mine and says with a
reverent tone, “Hazel Taylor…”
I think maybe, maybe I could live up to the sound in his voice.
 And then there are more suits gathered around, more
introductions made, and he’s one of the clients from the Resten
group. The clients Mr. Schuster (and sons) have been drooling over
for the past few months. To say I am off my game is an
understatement. I manage to hobble into the conference room, going
for as much dignity as possible. Why oh why don’t I prepare for
things like this with an extra pair of shoes in my desk? I’m just not
that kind of girl.
On my planner, I jot down: Prepare for every circumstance. Leave
an extra pair of shoes at work.
I usually count on the inner reserve of confidence that typically
comes when I give presentations, but I’m so flustered by Brady’s
attentive stare. The other men and one woman from their group
barely register, even as I try to divide my attention to each one in the
room. I have tunnel vision for Brady, and the result is a lot of
stammering, sweat pouring out of me like a faucet, and a shaky
voice. As soon as the presentation is done and I can leave, I bolt out
of there and take my lunch early.
I sit at my favorite bench overlooking the river. I want to cry, but I
suck it up and eat my sandwich instead. The ducks float past and I
try to clear my mind of the mess I’ve made, but I keep going back to
Brady Barnes. He managed to catch me on an extra rough day, but
when it comes down to it, I’m accident-prone on a normal day. I’ve
been waiting for them to realize I’m an imposter at Schuster & Sons.
Every day I feel like I’m faking my way into being successful. They
surely received the memo after this morning.
My phone buzzes and I look at it, my heart thudding when I see
Mr. Schuster’s name scroll across the screen. He didn’t even send
one of his sons to let me down easily—he’s coming after me himself.
I sigh and answer the call. I can’t avoid this any longer. May as
well get it over with.
“Hello?”
“Hazel, where are you? We want to celebrate, and it wouldn’t be
right to celebrate without you.”
 “Celebrate?” My voice has a slight edge.
“Resten wants to work with us. We did it. You did it!” He hollers
the last words, and it’s so unlike the elderly Schuster, I hold the
phone away and double-check that it’s really him. It is.
“They’re in?” I can’t hide the shock in my voice.
“Yes,” he laughs, “and you need to drink this champagne with us.
I’ve opened up the good stuff.”
I stand up and clear my lap of crumbs, hustling down the path
toward the office building. Standing outside the gleaming glass doors
stands Brady Barnes. His face lights up when he sees me and I
choose that moment to get the one heel I have left stuck in the grate.
The alarm on his face before I fall this time both terrifies me and
warms my heart. But then everything goes black, and it doesn’t
matter whether I’m scared or toasty.
 CHAPTER TWO

I WAKE UP in the hospital, feeling the warmth of a hand in mine

before I open my eyes. And when I do open them, Brady Barnes is
staring at me intently, his concern quickly giving way to relief.
“Brady Barnes,” I whisper. His name goes together like peanut
butter and jelly. Like Peter Parker, only he’s way more handsome
than any of the actors who have ever been chosen to play Peter
Parker.
“You scared me,” he whispers back, still holding my hand. “First
thing I’d like to do when we’re out of here is buy you some new
shoes. What is going on with those things?”
“I had a morning…” I begin.
“So you said. I’m just hoping you don’t associate me with your
morning.”
“Only the good parts.” I smile and then look up at the IV next to
me. “Is all this really necessary?”
“You went down hard, got a bump on the head…how are you
feeling?”
“Kinda beat up, but what else is new?”
Just then Rhonda walks in, her frizzy white hair bouncing around
her face. “Hazel, I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you again.
At least for another year…unless it’s a social visit.”
Brady looks between me and the doctor in surprise, and I make a
face. “I’m somewhat of a regular. Doc Rhonda is my least favorite
around here.”
Rhonda laughs. “Somewhat, ha.” She snorts. “I’m her favorite,
and don’t let her tell you otherwise. This girl is more accident-prone
than a drunk guy on roller skates and I stitch her up to perfection
every time.” She checks me out, never missing a beat. “No broken
bones this time, just a twisted ankle and a nasty bump on the head.
Most likely another concussion. We’ll wrap up this ankle and keep an
eye on you for a few hours. How you feeling?”
“Oh you know, pretty good,” I say. That gets a laugh out of both of
them.
Rhonda’s eyelashes flutter when she looks at Brady. “And who
might you be?”
“I’m aiming to be her next date, if she’ll say yes.” Both Brady and
Rhonda turn to look at me and I’m glad I’m already lying down.
“Well, look at you, getting a date on a Monday in the hospital,”
Rhonda says. “Of course she’s saying yes. She needs a date more
than a donkey needs a swift kick in the ass.” She cackles and points
at Brady. “See what I did there?”
Brady’s eyes lift as he smiles at Rhonda. “Good one,” he says. His
focus turns back to me like he’s waiting on me to say something.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” I ask.
“Oh mercy, she’s hit her head harder than I thought. On a good
day, she wouldn’t be able to forget being asked out by a looker like
you,” Rhonda says.
“You really want to go out with me?” This can’t be right. I get the
guys who wear thick glasses—not a thing wrong with them…unless
you keep taping them with masking tape and the tape gets stuck to
your nose every time you kiss. The guys who would rather make a
spreadsheet than spread out on the sheets, if you know what I’m
saying.
“I really do,” he says.
“If you want a date with me after you’ve seen what a mess I am,
then by all means, sure.”
“Sure?” His eyebrows lift. “Don’t you mean, ‘I’d love to go out with
you, Brady! I’ve been dying to go out with you since I saw you for the
first time. I can’t wait to—’”
 I hold up a hand. “I never ever say I’m dying to do anything
because that would be too hazardous to my survival. And I just saw
you for the first time this morning, so since there’s not a lot of time to
work with, I guess I could say I can’t wait…although I’m not really
one to get ahead of myself with—”
“Great,” he interrupts. “I can’t wait either.” He leans in and plants a
kiss on my hand which he is still holding and I really do nearly die
right then and there.
Rhonda lifts her fist in the air like she’s won a gold medal and
does a little two-step at the end of my hospital bed. “I take it back.
I’m glad you fell and hurt yourself today since I got to witness all this.
I’ll have Judy come do your vitals again shortly, but you’re gonna be
okay, kid. Just please, be more careful. I worry about that head of
yours.”
I grin at her, pressing my lips together in excitement. I have a
date! It’s been nine months since I’ve had a date and that one was a
disaster. Another story for another time, but it cured me of dates for
the past nine months, so there’s that. I sneak a look at Brady and he
looks so sweet, so hopeful … it makes me wonder if there is a streak
of good luck heading my way.

•••

I thought he might bail once Rhonda left, but he leans back in his
chair like he’s in it for the long haul.
“Don’t you need to get back to work?” I ask.
“No. As I told your boss, I want to make sure you’re okay.” He
holds up his phone. “Mr. Schuster and Ray have both called and
texted several times, by the way. I thought I’d wait to see what the
doctor said before letting them know anything.”
“I usually manage to avoid them knowing about my hospital
endeavors. I wait until after hours, or I sneak out of work and come
up with a good excuse without letting them know. Shame I didn’t pull
that off today.”
“They’re very concerned. Would you like me to say something
specific?”
“Tell them I’m fine. A little dehydrated and a twisted ankle.”
“And the concussion?”
My eyes widen. “No!” I try to soften my tone so I don’t sound
unhinged on top of everything else. “They won’t trust me to do
anything if I tell them I have a concussion. They take the ‘Sons’ very
seriously, and I will never be able to fill that role in any way, shape, or
form. Do you know how long it’s taken for them to trust me with a
presentation? I thought I botched the one this morning, too…” I
watch as his expression tightens and then relaxes. “What did you
have to do with Resten working with us? Because that was the worst
presentation in the history of presentations.”
He frowns. “I thought it was quite good. And I might have said a
word or two on behalf of your company, but really, you know your
stuff. That came through.”
I look at him out of the corner of my eye, still shocked that this
man is by my side. Am I in an alternate universe? He is a Marvel
character and I’m trapped in another world where I need to make
sure I’ll stay! Except why would I be as clumsy in this one as I am in
the old one? I sigh.
He leans closer again. “Can I get you anything? Some food? A
drink? Flowers?”
“Who are you? Because you can’t be real.”
“I think maybe I’m the one who got a concussion when I nearly
collided with you this morning. Your beauty gives me whiplash.” The
words fall from his lips like a sweet caress and I would swoon if it
wasn’t all so ridiculous.
“Are we seeing the same things?” I glance in the mirror across
from the bed. My red hair is in disarray. My skin looks translucent
except for the pronounced circles under my eyes.
 My phone buzzes. It’s closer to him. “Do you mind seeing who
that is?” Not my normal MO, letting anyone see my private text
messages, but my head has started pounding again and I have
nothing interesting happening in my life to hide.
I close my eyes and then open one eye when he’s quiet. He’s
frowning at the phone.
“Hot Hair?” he asks. “You know someone named Hot Hair?”
I grin but am too sleepy to answer.
“It says, ‘Where are you? Weren’t we going out tonight?’” He
clears his throat and his tone is different when he says, “So you have
a boyfriend?”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he sounds hurt. I laugh at the
idea of a boyfriend. “Hot Hair is what my cousin Jesse’s girlfriend
calls him and it’s stuck in the family. I forgot I was supposed to meet
up with them at this pub we love after dinner.”
“Oh, okay.” He sags back into his chair. “Had me scared there for
a minute.”
“Do you always say exactly what you think?”
“Yes, don’t you?” he asks.
And it’s like a bolt from heaven comes down and splices me open
right down the middle of my chest. I sit straighter in bed, eyes
focused on him, all pain dulling when I look at this man in front of
me.
Because I think I might have just found my other half.
 CHAPTER THREE

AND THAT’S HOW the next week continues. That level of perfection
doesn’t go away. He takes me home from the hospital and makes
sure I’m comfortable before he leaves. He brings me doughnuts at
work and makes sure I get two of the powdered custard-filled ones…
my favorite. Flowers show up on my desk, and not boring ones either
—this bouquet is massive, with hydrangeas and dahlias and roses. I
sigh and stick my nose into it before sneezing five times in a row.
Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t sniff it, but it is gorgeous. I wake up
every day and think I must have been dreaming, but then there’s a
text that says:
I just thought the day you FELL FOR ME—see what I did
there? Thanks, Doc Rhonda—was my favorite, but
yesterday, when you had spreadsheets for the
spreadsheets that were spreadsheeted? Spreadshot? You
know, the spreading.
Anyway, that’s when I knew I had to get you to go out on a
date with me. Well, actually I knew that on the first day,
but…would you go out with me? Tonight? Tomorrow?
Now?
 
See what I mean? I can’t stop smiling.
Is it possible he really is interested?
Because I’m the one who falls hard in every relationship. I’m the
one who goes too fast and likes the guy more than he likes me. And
I’m the one who gets hurt every damn time.
My smile drops along with my heart and I don’t answer his text.
 I don’t expect to see him at work. We’ve been wrapping up our
meetings with his company and I should technically only see him
sparingly from here on out. But he’s outside my office when I return
from lunch, his eyes troubled.
“Did I push too hard?” he asks.
“What?” I frown. “No.”
His shoulders sag as he exhales. “Oh good. I thought maybe I
came on too strong and that you weren’t interested at all and that I
had misread all this”—he waves his hand back and forth between us
—“insanely hot chemistry we have going on.”
My mouth suddenly feels dry. I step inside my office and motion
for him to come in.
“Insanely hot chemistry?” I chirp, sounding like a bird in heat.
Whatever the hell that sounds like.
He takes a step closer to me and my heart rate skyrockets. I inch
closer to him. And the next thing I know, his hands are on my waist
and his lips are on mine. The heavens part and I hear a choir singing
“Physical” by Dua Lipa because this girl has had her sexy missing
since that song came out, but holy fire, I am back.
He kisses me until I feel weak in the knees.
Until I forget my name.
Until I can’t think about anything but Brady, Brady, Brady, and his
lips and tongue which are working some of the best kind of magic on
me.
See? I don’t even have the right words.
When I pull away, not because I want to but because I’m afraid I
won’t have any brain cells left if I don’t, both of us are breathing hard,
our eyes glassy, and we have sex hair minus the sex. I have a
feeling that if we weren’t in this office, our clothes would be strewn
across the floor.
I walk behind my desk to catch my breath and to put a healthy
distance between us. When I look at him, I almost stalk back to him
and jump him. He’s grinning like he knows it, too.
 “Go out with me tonight?” he says, his voice laced with need.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Now get out before I do something crazy!”
He takes a step closer to my desk, all smirk and charm. “Like
what?” He leans over the desk and kisses me again. This time is soft
and I turn into a puddle.
“Like never letting you go.” My eyes widen when I say that and I
jump back. Shit, shit, shit. There I go.
And there he’ll run.
Except he doesn’t.
He steps back, looking all kinds of pleased. “I’ll pick you up at
your place. Does seven work?”
I can’t speak. He’s robbed me of all thought. I nod.
And he looks so happy, I turn around to see if maybe someone in
the building across the way is showing through the window and he’s
looking at them instead of me. But all I see is sunshine and shiny
glass.
When I turn back around, he smiles and lifts his hand, going out
the door and taking my good sense with him.
As soon as I catch my breath, I’m tempted to message my
siblings, but no, they’d never let me hear the end of it. I need
someone who won’t dredge this up every time we see each other,
which is exactly what they would all do. I pull up a group text
between my cousins—the G.D. Taylors.
My side of the family is the B.S. Taylors.
I know. It’s too nuts to be real, but welcome to my life.
My grandparents swear they didn’t do that on purpose, but my
grandpa’s eyes twinkle every time he talks about naming his boys. If
he were to tell the truth, it started with him. His name is Monty
Franklin. So. Therein lies the history-repeating-itself saga, tale as old
as time.
My uncle, Garrett Davis, and my dad, Baxter Samuel, did not
carry on the tradition with their kids. Too GD bad, right? But let me
tell you, we get mileage out of it whenever we’re all together.
I type out a quick sentence before I can talk myself out of it.
 
I’ve met a guy I could get crazy over and I need someone to
talk me down.
 
Caden texts back first. He’s pure heart and goodness.
 
Does he feel the same about you?
 
He’s acting like it, which is throwing me off. You know I
don’t have the best track record of picking guys.
 
Gus, the one who has no filter, says:
 
As long as he’s not like that dickdoodle who kept calling
you Hazy.
 
And then Jesse, AKA Hot Hair:
 
Let us meet him!
 
I haven’t even gone out with him yet. But he did kiss me
today, and…
 
I knew that would get Penelope.
 
Don’t stop there! And then what? AND THEN WHAT???
 
 I’m laughing at my phone and still haven’t answered when Spence
weighs in.
 
Does he make your heart pound? If he doesn’t, kiss his ass
to the other side of New York.
 
I’m going out with him tonight. I’ll let you know how it goes.
He’s seen me at my worst already—I practically cracked my
head open the day I met him and he stuck around.
 
The messages flow then. Shit. I knew better than to say anything
about getting hurt. My family already follows me around like they’re
afraid I’m going to break when we’re together.
 
What happened?
 
Are you okay?
 
Concussion? What is this—number six?
 
Why didn’t you tell us? We have to stick together.
 
I wish I was there, I’d help you get ready tonight.
 
I respond to Pen’s first.
 
I wish you were too, Pen. I miss you. When are you moving
to New York?
 
 And before they can all pile on more:
 
I’m fine. It was barely anything. I was in and out of the
hospital in no time.
 
My phone is ringing practically before I hit send. Spence. The
oldest of the cousins and the gruffest teddy bear in the world.
“The fuck, Hazel?” he says.
“Hi, Spence. Whatcha doin’?”
“Don’t ignore me. What happened?”
“Oh, I did get another concussion, a little bit of an ankle injury, but
I barely even notice now. I’m fine, I swear.”
“You swore last time you’d tell us if anything happened to you,” he
says, swearing again.
I don’t tell him I’ve had at least five incidents since then. “I’ll let
you know if anything serious ever happens. You know me, I patch up
well.”
He sighs into the phone. “So where is this guy taking you?”
“I don’t know. He kissed me and then got sorta PG-alpha on me.
I’ll pick you up, blah blah, and it was all kinds of hot. I think it
would’ve been R if we hadn’t been at work.”
“He kissed you at work? Ballsy. So what has you worried?”
“I’m just not used to guys sticking around after what he’s seen so
far.”
“Hazel, you are beautiful. Smart. More fucking accident-prone
than anyone I’ve seen in my life, but…any guy would be lucky to
have you.”
“Thanks, Spence. That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to
me.”
“I gotta go. That movie is coming on—the one where the guy buys
the coffee shop in a small town and everything goes wrong and only
the girl who lives across the street can figure out how to make it
work…”
I giggle. Spence claims he only watches whatever is on the
channel, but the Hallmark channel happens to be the only channel
that’s ever on.
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you too. Hey, I’ll see you at Jesse’s birthday party, if not
before then.”
“Can’t wait.” I hang up and feel like a weight has lifted.
I even finish all the work I have to get done for the day and make
it home in time to get ready for my date.
I have a date with Brady Barnes. Eek.
 CHAPTER FOUR

I HAVE NO idea what to wear but settle on a short, colorful skirt, a

white T-shirt, and my Wonder Woman Converse. I think my mom
gave me these shoes in hopes that some wonder would rub off on
this woman, but so far, they’ve only seemed to ensure that I don’t fall
quite as often as I do when I wear heels. I smooth a dab of defrizzer
on my waves and hope for the best. A little bit of MAC Ruby Woo
lipstick that complements my hair and Library of Flowers perfumed
creme in true vanilla on my hands and pulse points and I’m ready to
go.
The door buzzes at 6:59 and I push the button. “I’ll be right down,”
I tell him.
“Oh, okay.”
I don’t give him time to think about coming up. After that kiss
earlier today, I’m not sure we’d get out of here if I let him into my
cozy postage stamp apartment.
I see him through the glass doors of my building, smiling before I
ever get out there. And when I open the door and he looks at me, his
smile widens. He’s so cute I nearly pass out.
“You look incredible,” he says. “And your outfit is perfect for what I
have planned. Well, if you’re okay with your white shirt getting a little
more colorful.”
“Okay, I’m intrigued.”
We hop in an Uber and pull in front of a cute Italian restaurant.
“Italian food okay with you?”
“I love it.”
“Great. It was this or that place across the street.” He points to the
Greek place and I’m torn.
 “Hard choice. But I think pasta sounds perfect right about now.”
“I think so too. We need your strength up for later,” he says, taking
my hand and leaning into my ear.
My face goes hot, and if he looks at me he’ll know I’m imagining
all kinds of reasons I’ll need my strength for later.
He kisses my hand and I melt a little more. There must be
something wrong with him.
“You’re married, aren’t you?” I say when we step inside.
The horror on his face almost makes me feel bad, but I’m
determined to get to the bottom of it.
“Never been married,” he says. “Why would you say such a
thing?”
“So you’re a commitment-phobe?”
His mouth drops a little just as the hostess says, “Table for two?”
We’re walking to our table, which is tucked beneath white
twinkling lights and greenery. He pulls my chair out for me and says,
“What’s happening right now?”
“Just trying to figure out what your secret is.”
“Secret about what?” He frowns, sitting across from me.
“That’s what I wanna know.” I lean in and so does he as we do the
great staredown of all staredowns. Pretty soon, his lips curve up and
he’s laughing but also fighting not to blink.
“The only secret I have right now is that I haven’t been able to
stop thinking about you since the day we met. I’ve never wanted to
hold a girl’s hand in public—or at all—as bad as I wanted to hold
yours just now, and the kiss in your office will be starring in all my
fantasies from now on.”
He picks up his menu and looks at it, totally annihilating my heart
with everything he just said.
“Anything look good?” he asks.
As if I would be able to focus on a menu right now.
He glances at me over his menu and grins, the smug bastard.
 “You’re super messy, right? Your room probably has things strewn
all over the floor, and your bathroom—” I shake my head, imagining
the most disgusting bathroom I can. It’s not that I’m a type-A
personality, but with the way I can trip over nothing, keeping things
tidy is a necessity.
He grins and looks up at the waiter when he walks to our table.
“Do we need another minute?” the waiter asks.
I nod, my head spinning in a thousand directions.
“What’s going on, Hazel? You seem to be intent on finding
something wrong with me.”
“It isn’t that. More the opposite of that. It’s just…I’m not sure why
you’d like me. I mean, look at the way we met. I’m not going to get
any more together than this right here.” I wave a hand over my body
that is barely hanging on by a thread.
He laughs like I’m making a joke. “I think your eccentricities are
what I like most about you. That and your red hair and your smile
and the way you can get right to the point in a business meeting
instead of taking two hours to repeat everything a dozen times like
everyone else in your office.”
I sit up a little taller. I do try to excel in getting the point across at
work…it’s in my personal life that I seem to come at things unhinged.
“Listen, let me enjoy you. Okay? I know you’re not an insecure
person. I’ve seen you in action. So whatever this wall you keep trying
to put up with me is about, how about you drop that and let’s have
fun.”
Wow.
I smile at him, a little flustered but a smile nonetheless. He makes
some good points.
“I think I know what I want,” I say, pointing to the menu.
Brady motions for the waiter to come back since he’s been
lingering close to our table. “The lady knows what she wants.”
I want you, I nearly scream from the rafters.
 We place our orders and then he leans in closer, as if he’s
divulging a great secret. “So what has you so relationship-shy?” he
asks.
“Oh, this is my favorite topic.” The sarcasm is not lost on him. He
shrugs and waits for me to start talking.
“My relationships start out strong and then the guys run when they
realize my klutziness isn’t going anywhere. They seem to equate my
accidents with my inability to take care of anything, which means I
shouldn’t be driving—can’t really argue with them there—and that I
would probably be a sucky mom.”
“That’s unfair.” He frowns and rubs his chin in a way that’s entirely
distracting.
“I don’t know. I’ve considered the same thoughts. The one positive
is that I’ve never hurt anyone else. I’ve never had a car accident. I’ve
never knocked someone else over. I’ve only ever hurt myself, so I’m
hopeful.”
He grins. “There you go. It’s as simple as that. I don’t think you
should give it another thought. I do think you should go to an eye
specialist and see if there’s something off with your depth
perception.”
“You know…that’s a good idea. No one has ever said that in any
of my emergency visits. Not sure why I haven’t thought of that
myself.”
“See? We were meant to meet.”
“I’m starting to think you might be right.” I press my lips together to
keep from smiling so hard that my face hurts.
Our food comes and conversation continues in that same sweet,
open, relaxing way, and by the time we leave the restaurant, I’ve
fallen even harder for Brady Barnes.
His energy amps up when we step outside. “I hope what I have
planned is okay. It seemed like a perfect idea, but I’m second-
guessing myself now. You look so cute in that outfit…I don’t want to
mess it up.”
“I’m so curious right now. What are you up to?”
 He grabs my hand and we walk several blocks, going further into
the city where there are beautiful murals on the walls of the
buildings. Well, beautiful might be a stretch in some cases, but even
the slightly-less-than-great artwork looks pretty sweet in the twilight.
There’s a guy standing out in front of a bare wall, and there are a
few people surrounding him. Cans of spray paint are lined up on the
ground next to him, and when he sees Brady, he holds his hand out
and they bump fists.
“Hey, I’m Jethro,” he says to me. “So glad you could make it.”
I’m still confused about what this even is, but I nod and say
thanks.
Jethro proceeds to give us the quickest lesson ever on graffiti
techniques and then gives us each a pallet of our own spray paint.
“Have at it,” he yells, and the people next to us cheer.
I look up at Brady. “Is this legal?” I whisper.
He smirks and I turn to butter. “If I say no, does it make it more
exciting?”
“No, that would make me want to run.”
“Okay, it’s one hundred percent legal.” He laughs. “Come on,
Jailbait, let’s create some magic.”
We go to our own walls and I stare at mine, overwhelmed. And
then I see it, what I’d like to try. I start with the face, and it’s not the
best, but not terrible either. When I get to the hands and feet, that
takes a little more time. Reds and blues and yellows, blacks and
whites dot my skin until I’m sure I have as much paint on me as the
wall. I do a swirling cape last and then step back, taking a long look.
Brady steps beside me and puts his hand on my waist, making my
heart flutter a little too quickly for comfort.
“She’s perfect,” he says.
She has two left feet, two left thumbs, bandages on both knees,
and an eyepatch across one eye. The eyepatch looks more like a
black eye—what can I say? But her cape ensures that she’s still a
superhero.
 I look over at his and gasp. It’s me, but not the me I’ve created of
myself. It’s like I’m looking at a better version of myself. My eyes are
a brilliant green and have a light in them that I can’t believe he
created with spray paint. My hair is the best part, the waves going
down my back with reds and golds swirled together…and my smile
has the same mischief that makes it mine.
“They’re both beautiful,” he says. “Both sides of you. I may not
know you very well yet, but I know enough to know that I like both.”
 CHAPTER FIVE

SO I HAVE to break up with him, right?

Because someone this perfect needs to be with an angel.
That’s all there is to it.
Since our first date, he’s sent more fantastic flowers. The man has
taste. He’s sent Wonder Woman cookies—better than any flower, let
me tell you. And we’ve gone out to lunch and another dinner. We’ve
kissed a lot, and with how explosive we are together, I think sex is
definitely on the table.
Soon.
Like, tonight.
Unless I come to my senses first.
Which I keep thinking I’m going to—I’m going to end this before it
really gets started, I’m going to say goodbye and move on because
this can only lead to heartache for me…but maybe I should enjoy
one night with him first.
Because every girl needs one night with a man like him, right?
I know my thinking is faulty. I should run faster than the bulls
chasing the red, but I just can’t seem to when it comes to Brady.
It’s been two weeks of heaven.
And now I’m here to seal the deal, in more ways than one.
He’s offered to make me dinner tonight at his place. I haven’t
been there yet, but it will be nice to picture where he is when I’m
drowning in my sorrows.
After I let him go.
I pick out a bottle of wine and wear a new dress I bought for the
occasion. I might’ve splurged on new underwear too…and I knock
on his door a minute before it’s time.
 He answers the door with the smile he seems to only share with
me. And then his mouth drops. “Wow. Have you seen yourself
tonight?” he asks.
I grin and shake my head. Because I can’t even look at myself
right now. Not knowing what I’m about to do.
He pulls me in and holds my body flush against his. “Well, let me
tell you, you look like a dream.” He kisses me and I feel it from the
top of my head to the tips of my toes.
The timer goes off and I jump back like a scalded cat. He grins
and squeezes my hand before moving to the oven.
“So jumpy,” he says.
Instead of taking the food out, he turns the oven off and pulls me
to him again, taking his time kissing me.
And I forget about food and everything else but the feel of his
mouth on mine, the way he kisses down my neck, heat and chills
colliding. I need this more than my next breath.
I push him back against the wall and he groans, pulling my legs
up around his waist until I’m squirming against him.
And that’s when I know…I’m not going anywhere. If I lose him, I
lose him, and I’ll deal with that then, but this…if there’s any hope of
having more moments like this, with him, I will gladly risk the future
devastation to live in this heaven right now. Maybe he’ll show some
less-than-perfect side of himself later, and I will be there for every
glorious second.
Because I’m not perfect either, but I think I might be for him.
  
 
If you want to get to know the Taylor family better, I’ve co-written a
series with Laura Pavlov!
 
The G.D. Taylors Series:
 
Wanted Wed or Alive
The Bold and the Bullheaded
Another Motherfaker
Don’t Cry Over Spilled MILF
Friends with Benefactors
 
To stay up-to-date with all my new releases and to receive free
books each month, sign up to my newsletter!
 
Instagram is my favorite: @willowaster
 
But you can also find me on Facebook
 
XO, Willow
SECOND SUMMER

 
LAURELIN PAIGE
 CHAPTER ONE

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.

I read the subject line before opening the email.
 
Alison Cornell
To: me
RE: Two more days until it happens.
 
As I’m sure you’re aware, Dr. Stone is a busy man.
Therefore, I’m taking time away from my other office
duties to tend to you at his request. It’s fine. I’ll just have
an early dinner instead of lunch. Speaking of dinner,
below you’ll find your date details.
 
Pickup: 6:30 p.m.
Dinner: 7:00 p.m.
Location: Bodega Ballroom
Attire: Formal
 
Best,
Alison Cornell
Executive Assistant to Dr. Matthew Stone, World
Renowned Sleep Specialist
 
 A ballroom. I’ve never had a date take me to a ballroom before.
Never had a third party send a confirmation for a date, either, for that
matter. But I’ve also never dated a wealthy man older than me.
Twenty-seven and thirty-nine seem eons apart. This must be how
the mature and professional live.
So I send a mature reply.
 
Thank you, Alison. It’s on my calendar.
 
Best and then some,
 
Chloe
Owner, Mae’d With Love
 
P.S. Sorry you missed lunch!!!
 
Wait, should I have pretended to be my own assistant? Before I
can search how to unsend an email, Francesca returns to check the
progress of my highlights. I’d requested a change, because I really
needed one. But as my head began to look more and more like I was
hiding from a UFO, I’d gotten nervous that I’d have regrets. So I
amended my request to a change that people wouldn’t notice.
“Looks like you’re ready. Don’t worry, it’ll be subtle. Like you’ve
done nothing at all.”
“Speaking of that, how do you unsend an email?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Why?”
While she strips the foil from my hair, I explain my regrets. A
business owner who sends her own emails, complete with not one
but three unprofessional extra exclamation points, is not the sort of
mature professional I’ve presented myself as.
“Don’t worry about it,” she assures me, after reading both emails.
“‘Two more days until it happens?’ Why does that sound so…
ominous?”
Because it is.
Two days is not near enough time to prepare for my first date with
Doctor Matthew Stone, World Renowned Sleep Specialist and
Busiest Man Alive. It’s only one day if you subtract sixteen hours of
sleeping, which is what Dr. Matthew recommends.
“Don’t jinx me. It’s going well.” Alison skipped lunch to tend to me,
after all.
“Chloe,” Francesca says, meeting my gaze in the mirror, “based
on what you’ve told me, I’m pretty sure you’re already jinxed. You’re
the spokesperson for dating don’ts.”
That seems harsh, but it’s true. She leads me to the sink for a
shampoo, and I sit in the leather chair, my shoulders slumped
beneath the black smock. It’s my own fault. If I didn’t want to hear
harsh truths while my neck suffered equally harsh treatment on the
shampoo bowl, maybe I shouldn’t have spent the entire appointment
telling her all the gory details of my dating debacles.
In my defense, hair stylists are like therapists, so when she asked
“How’s life?” all my recent mistakes tumbled from my mouth faster
than split ends drifting to the tile floor.
I spilled it all to Francesca.
She knows how I let my best friend, Charlotte, convince me to join
the FriendsOfFriends dating site six months ago. While she mixed
the bleach for my highlights, I’d told her about my spring fling with
Finn. As she painted it on, I’d moved into my daring summer
freckling with Dune. To my credit, I did leave out the part about my
crush on my roommate Austin that I am definitely over. I’ll save that
for my next appointment.
And to her credit, she only made a few pointed remarks about
going six months between hair appointments and still thinking I was
going to hold down a man. She just asked that I rebook my next one
today.
“This time, I’m going to do everything right and follow all the
internet experts’ advice,” I say as she massages my scalp. “Do you
know some people can’t feel love? What if that’s me?”
This pseudo-therapy in her hair-chair is probably more than
Francesca expected when I booked a highlight appointment, but I
need a professional. I’m beyond stressed about our maturity gap. I
make pottery while he saves lives. I have a roommate and he owns
his own practice. Dune’s cat was too much for me, and he has an
executive assistant.
“I dated an older guy once.” She rinses my hair. “They’re a
different breed. Maybe I need to sign up for that dating site.”
“You should.”
Dr. Matthew is certainly a rare species. The man works endless
hours. To say it surprised me to see his months-later response to the
night Charlotte and I tipsily set up my profile is an understatement.
Busy with clients, I’m sure. Who knew my friends knew someone so
successful in real life?
Some might say it’s too soon after my breakup with Dune.
I say that the thing I’ve always wanted, my barometer of The
Perfect Afternoon—a nap date—is finally within my reach, and I’m
going for it.
Francesca finishes rinsing out the toner and wraps my head in a
towel.
“Let me go grab some finishing spray,” she says when we return
to her station.
She scuttles off, and when I check my phone, I have a missed
message from Dr. Matthew.
Tell me one of your cute facts while I’m between clients.
The pressure to reply with something witty is enormous. It’s been
a week since Dr. Matthew responded to me, but because of his
hectic schedule, we’ve been flirting strictly online. His being busy
makes me more nervous because that means time he spends with
me is valuable. Every second we flirt is worth like…twenty dollars, or
something.
 Otters hold hands so they don’t drift away while sleeping.
It’s all I can come up with. Maybe I should just Venmo him a
twenty. But then…
That’s adorable. Are you a hand-holding girl?
Maybe. If the hand is right.
I’m horrible at flirting. Who says that? Francesca won’t be
pleased. But Dr. Matthew doesn’t seem to mind.
I’m good with my hands. My next client is here. Talk soon.
When Francesca returns, I let her know I want an add-on lip
wax…and not for my face. The other lips. Not that I’m planning on
sex on our first date, but you never know if a gust of wind will blow
my dress up and rip my panties off. If that happens, it’s best to be
prepared.

•••

For Chloe~
 
One more day until it happens. Enjoy the flowers. Looking
forward to our first date.
Dr. Matthew Stone
 
Sent on his behalf by Alison Cornell, Executive Assistant
to Dr. Matthew Stone, World Renowned Sleep Specialist,
instead of her usual coffee break
 
An excuse tumbles past my lips before Charlotte can say what I
know she’s thinking.
 “It’s no big deal he had his assistant send me flowers.” I toss the
card on the counter and sniff the gorgeous bouquet of pink roses.
“He’s a doctor, so he’s extremely busy. He may be the busiest man
alive, actually. Between his world-renowned practice and his sixteen-
hour sleep schedule, he barely has time for anything else. Hence us
meeting on a dating site.”
“Well, it’s more that she let you know she sent them. That seems
weird,” Charlotte says. “Also, when did you start saying ‘hence?’”
I reposition the heavy crystal vase on the small island in the
kitchen. “Well, he’s older than me, and it makes me nervous. I found
this website that distinguished between five-dollar words and fifty-
cent words, so I’m just trying some out.”
“Is that why you told the girl at the mall you were ready to
commence with your purchase?”
“I needed a more expensive vocabulary! And unlike a more
expensive wardrobe, I can afford words.”
She laughs. “Chloe, you’re putting too much pressure on yourself.
Thirty-nine isn’t that much older than you. Eleven years is nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. It’s over a decade. Do you know how much life
he’s lived in those eleven years?”
“None of that matters. Do you have chemistry?”
“I think? His messages excite me.” I pick up my phone and log
into the FriendsOfFriends site to send a ten-dollar message to Dr.
Matthew. And not an exclamation point in sight.
All my gratitude for the flowers. They’re beautiful and so
aromatic.
A few minutes later, he replies.
I’m glad you like them. They’re a prelude of what’s coming.
I’m very generous. Are you well rested?
Wouldn’t you know, I had always slept like a champion until I
accepted a date with a world-renowned sleep doctor. Now all I can
do is obsess about the importance of sleep as I experience insomnia
for the first time. Oh, the irony.
 I’m aware that internet experts agree it’s bad to start a relationship
with lies, but I am who I am.
So unfatigued, I five-dollar fib, not wanting to add to his world-
renowned burden with my sleep troubles.
Mm. That’s my good girl. I have a client coming in to talk
about sleepwalking issues. Talk soon.
“Are you blushing?” Charlotte asks as I stare at Dr. Matthew’s
Mm.
“Shh. Let me have my cliché moment.” With a smile, I grab the
vase and cross to the breakfast table so the flowers can bask in the
sunlight.
“Why are you walking funny?” Austin asks, striding into the
kitchen. “Did you do something to your hair?”
“Just needed some extra glow in my hair for my date.” I avoid
explaining that walking funny is not a result of the highlight, because
I’m not about to disclose anything about the excruciating wax. Or the
irritation Francesca has assured me will be gone by my date.
Although she also assured me no one would notice my hair. Maybe
he just finds it extra shiny? His girlfriend has extremely shiny hair.
His dark eyes narrow, as they often do regarding my dates. “Your
hair was fine. Did he get highlights for you?” Not the shine, then.
“He sent flowers.”
He picks up the card and reads it. “His assistant sent flowers. Just
make sure he puts as much effort into you.”
This is why you shouldn’t have a male roommate. They don’t
understand the importance of glow. I won’t let Austin ruin this for me.
It’s his fault I fantasize about nap dates in the first place, ever since I
discovered he has them with his girlfriend.
If things work out with Dr. Matthew, I’ll have his assistant let Austin
know that plenty of effort is getting given.
 CHAPTER TWO

ONE THING MY research about dating older men failed to mention

—their hotness. Dr. Matthew is straight up lava walking toward me in
a slim-fitting black suit over a crisp white shirt. I promised myself I
would spend this date focused on mature, intellectual things—his
mind, his life experiences, things worthy of a brilliant doctor. But
damn, even his dark hair is sensual. It swoops back from his
forehead like Aphrodite herself licked it into place.
My pink-tipped toes curl in my strappy heels when his aqua eyes
drift over the blush-colored cocktail dress that stops just above my
knees.
“You look stunning,” Dr. Matthew says, wetting my smooth-as-silk
vagina.
“Thank you. So do you.”
The sexy smattering of gray in the beard surrounding his smirk
flaunts wisdom I’ve yet to gain. He’s poised and confident, leaning
down to brush his lips against my cheek. My skin sizzles, but I
remind myself not to announce that and blow this. Nap dates are
finally within my grasp.
“Ready?” He nods to his black BMW.
“Indubitably.”
He places a large hand on my lower back, guiding me to the car
and opening the door like a gentleman. As I slide onto the supple
leather seat, I see the shades shift over the living room window.
Austin will be hard-pressed to find something wrong with my doctor.
Matthew strides around the hood and slips his world-renowned
legs into the car.
“Did you receive your itinerary?” he asks me.
 “No?”
“The sleep symposium will only be a few hours. We’ll mingle with
my colleagues over cocktails and have dinner afterward.”
All the things I studied for conversation float out of the sunroof. It
will be harder to fake my maturity and professionalism in a crowd,
but internet dating experts advise rolling with the punches. “Oh, I
didn’t get the message about a symposium.”
He glances over at me with a frown as he pulls onto the road.
“Really? Sorry if Alison didn’t make that clear. I try to multitask when
I can.”
“It’s okay.” To ensure he knows I’m definitely into him, I cross my
legs toward him as best I can without strangling myself in the
seatbelt. “She was probably hungry.”
“I had a light lunch.” He glances at my breasts. “I’m starved
myself.”
That was a definite innuendo, but flirting is a fine line and I run my
hand along my inch-line tattoo to remind myself to not cross any
lines just yet. Having that reminder is very nearly worth all the
mockery Charlotte gave me for chickening out thirty seconds into my
ink session.
“It’s strange,” I say. “In some ways, I feel as if I already know you,
since we’ve talked online.”
“Me too. I’m glad you accept the constraints on my time.”
We discuss his busy day for a bit and then he asks, “How is the
pottery going?”
As I launch into the details about my fledgling business, his phone
rings.
“Sorry. I’m working on a business project and my partner is
overseas, so I need to take this.”
“Of course.”
He presses a button, and a deep voice fills the space. While they
discuss the details of what sounds like a sleep aid hotline, he
navigates through the light downtown Boulder traffic. Frankly, I think
either of them could man a hotline and become world-renowned
“sleep” aids.
“My date is here,” Matthew says. “Let’s get her opinion.” He looks
over at me. “What’s your opinion on masks, Chloe?”
I’m guessing he doesn’t mean the one I’ve learned I wear in
relationships. “Advantageous.”
They continue their conversation for the rest of the drive until
Matthew pulls up to the front of the St. Julian. A suited valet opens
my door. Matthew hands his keys to the lanky blonde man and we
enter the lobby. His warm hand feels like fire on my lower back as he
leads me around the copper-toned foyer, down the hall, and into the
ballroom filled with twinkling lights and elegant people.
He leans down to whisper against my ear, “Once this is done, we
can head to my place and relax.”
Goosebumps skitter across my shoulders and I already know I’m
going to break the internet’s first rule: to keep the first date in a
public setting.
Curious eyes focus on us as he leads me to a cluster of smiles.
Names and polite hellos are exchanged while he snags two flutes of
champagne from a passing server. The group drones on about
studies and papers. It’s extremely professional.
I’ve never been more bored.
I could fall asleep standing up, if not for the zap I get occasionally
from Matthew’s surreptitious touches. It’s not so awful, really. The
appetizers are freaking delicious, and no one is including me in the
conversation. It’s almost like I’m an accessory. All I have to do is
pretend to be interested and nod my head. Until someone includes
me.
“Forgive us, Chloe. We must bore you with our sleep talk,” says a
dapper man with a big mustache says. “Sometimes we forget that
not everyone understands what we’re saying or knows anything
about sleep.”
I’m sure he doesn’t mean it to sound condescending, but it
sounds condescending. Don’t we all sleep? But the joke is on him,
because I know more than the average sleeper. “Oh, I have a little
dormant knowledge.”
“And what do you know?”
“Just obscure things.” I sip my champagne. “Humans spend one
third of their life sleeping, while two thirds of a cat’s life is spent
asleep. Fifteen percent of people are sleepwalkers, which is kind of
terrifying.”
“I’m impressed.” Dr. Matthew’s gaze burns into mine and his
thumb swipes across the swell of my ass. “What else do you know?”
“The perfect nap lasts for twenty-six minutes.”
The embers smoldering in his gaze turn to a raging wildfire. He
ravishes me with his eyes until my pulse races. Maybe the good
doctor prefers knowledge to five-dollar words after all. But then
Mustache Man pulls him into a conversation which leads to a group
debate about snoring.
During a heated discussion about REM sleep, Dr. Matthew leans
into me. “Why don’t we skip dinner and head back to my place? I’ll
have my chef cook us something.”
“I’d love that,” I say. Something akin to pride washes through me
at my skills of seduction. I’m a nymph. I’m a goddess. I’m going to
open his eyes. Take him wonder by wonder. Then I’ll go home and
eat ice cream in my pajamas, like all mature sexual wünderkinds.
 CHAPTER THREE

I’M THOROUGHLY PREPARED to put out. Sex time is precious in

Matthew’s busy schedule, so who knows if the opportunity will arise
again? Plus, he’s a fantastic kisser. And I got the wax. After the pain
of having hair ripped from my body, my nether region deserves its
moment to shine.
Dr. Matthew wrenches his lips from mine and loosens his tie with
a forceful jerk. “I want to see if your pussy is as pink as your dress.”
A dirty doctor. Yum.
“Are you a good girl, Chloe?”
“Not really. I mean…I’m probably selfish at times and should pay
more attention to my friends.”
He braces his hands on the granite. “Do you like to be
dominated?”
Well, this is a problem, because based on experience, I’m not into
pain.
“Define dominated.”
“BDSM.”
I was afraid he would say that. Why can I not catch a break? On
some dating sites, people tell you what kind of kinks they’re into.
Then again, those sites aren’t hooking people up with
FriendsOfFriends who may not be prepared to field questions.
I soften my words with a trail of my tongue along his earlobe,
because I hope this isn’t a dealbreaker for the evening. “Not really?”
He palms my breast. “That’s a shame, because I really want to
show you things you’ve never experienced. Worship your body.” He
glides his hands up my thighs, beneath my dress. “I want to give you
the strongest orgasm of your life.”
 When you put it like that, I guess I can give it another shot. “Okay.
Do that, please.”
“Fuck, yeah.” He scoops me up from the counter in an amazing
display of mature man strength and stalks out of the kitchen. “I’m
going to tie you up. You do not know how you drove me crazy with
those sleep facts.”
“I did some research,” I say, clinging to his shoulders as he vaults
up the fancy staircase to the second floor.
“I like a woman who makes an effort.”
He stops outside of some double doors, and I earn bonus effort
points by turning the knob for him.
Inside the gigantic room, he sets me down by the bed and drops
to his knees. “I need to know what color your panties are.” He inches
up my skirt. “Pink. I can hardly restrain myself from diving my face
between your thighs.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t?”
Those words are a catalyst for our clothes to fly off like magic.
He’s ripped, with abs and etches, and I have no idea how he finds
the time in his busy schedule to exercise.
“On the bed.”
I do as he says, and my god, his bed is like a cloud hugging me.
Soft yet firm, with satin sheets beneath the plump comforter. So this
is how the other half lives. My bravado falters when he releases
restraints from the headboard and binds my wrists. It’s not so bad,
though. They’re silky and don’t chafe like Dune’s did.
“God, you look so hot tied to my bed. I want to possess you and
let everyone know you’re mine.” His phone rings. “Shit. Hold on.”
Like a panther, he prowls to the dresser to put his phone on
speaker. “Dr. Stone.”
He trails a finger up my stomach as he listens to whoever is on
the other end. A naked doctor with his date tied to the bed must
violate many HIPAA rules, so I do my best not to listen in on the
snoring problem he’s trying to fix. This is awkward, but I really can’t
complain it’s taking so long, because he’s saving lives.
 Finally he ends the call, and I chew my lip, wondering if the
moment is lost between us. It’s not. His cock springs to life, jutting
forward.
“Are you ready for me?”
“Yeah.” My voice drops to a hush as he climbs onto the bed and
straddles my body, a knee on each side of me.
“I’m in control here,” he says, sliding his hands around the curves
of my breasts.
My heart pounds in my chest when he leans down to lick my
nipple before sucking it into his mouth. I moan just as his phone
rings again.
“Fuck,” he grits out and climbs off the bed, nearly stomping to the
dresser to stab a finger at his phone. “Dr. Stone.”
Apparently he’s not in control. The irony nearly makes me giggle,
but I stifle it and try to stay in sexy mode as he advises someone to
come into the office to discuss their sleep apnea.
After hanging up, he’s back in a flash. The bed dips under his
weight. “Goddamn, you’re sexy,” he says, running his cock between
my breasts.
“I’m going to release you, because I want your hands on me. Plus,
the phone keeps fucking ringing. I’m afraid we’ll have to train you
another time.”
Train me? I let that slide, and once he’s sheathed himself with a
condom, my freed hands fist into his hair, tugging him closer for a
kiss to ignite the flames in me again. They’re a little extinguished
with the interruptions, and now I’m thinking about Austin’s comment
about the effort I put into this and I really don’t want to think about
Austin, but…couldn’t Dr. Matthew have found an on-call replacement
for tonight?
Strong hands flip me over and pull me up on my knees, ass in the
air. All thoughts vanish except ones of Matthew’s husky groan when
he runs the tip of his cock down my ass and between my bare pussy
lips.
“You’re dripping wet. You want this?”
 “Yes.” My fingers clutch the luxurious comforter, trying to gain
leverage on the slippery fabric as I push back against him.
When he eases the head in, I groan.
“Say my name,” he says, easing in and slapping my ass. “Say Dr.
Stone.”
“Dr. Stone,” I cry out when he pushes deep inside.
A hiss escapes him, and my thighs tremble with the effort it takes
to stay upright as he drives into me, over and over. His phone rings
and I look over my shoulder and plead, “Don’t stop.”
With haste, he rocks his hips back and forth, sliding a hand down
to circle my clit. The phone continues ringing, and now I feel guilty
that someone might die because of me. My breasts bounce with the
ferocity of his thrusts and I make a decision for the good of humanity.
The mature decision. I will sacrifice my orgasm to save a life.
“I’m going to come,” I whisper, hoping the lie doesn’t reach God’s
ears.
“Do it,” he commands. Ashamed to say, I put on a convincing
display so he can help whoever keeps calling. Then Matthew’s
orgasm tears through him with a powerful shudder, and then he rolls
off, discards the condom, and answers the phone, all in one smooth
movement.
Nothing about tonight went as planned, but I’m rolling with the
punches.
 CHAPTER FOUR

WHEN I WOKE, I found a note on my pillow and no Dr. Matthew.

Hope you slept well. Remind me to discuss your drooling with
you. There’s a simple fix—my cock in your mouth. I have a busy
day today, but we’ll talk soon. My driver will take you home.
Thank God Alison hadn’t written that one out for him.
A true oversight in the romance novels I’ve read: no one warned
me that a mansion is not the ideal place for a walk of shame. So far,
I’ve found my way to the first floor, but there are so many people
here. Why does one person need so much staff? There’s a cook,
butler, maid, chef, and gardener, even though Dr. Stone’s front yard
is xeriscaped.
My brow remains furrowed in what will no doubt be an early
wrinkle, because as I wander these halls and rooms, I realize a note
seems a little impersonal. All of it seems impersonal.
When he finally ended his call last night, I was already fast
asleep, thanks to his heavenly bed. Still. He couldn’t wake me before
he left this morning? You’d think an older man would realize no
woman wants to be left in bed and have a stranger drive her home.
And that begs the question: does age really show wisdom?
Austin would say no, I’m sure.
A few people look at me with curiosity, but not one asks if I need
help. It’s as if it’s normal for strange women to wander the house.
Oh. Oh, dear.
I can’t bring myself to ask for help, so I continue my self-guided
tour, with my frazzled hair and wrinkled dress, while I figure out who
is the driver. How does one recognize a driver? Will I find someone
dangling keys from their fingers? Will he have a steering wheel?
Perhaps it’s a she and not he. I wouldn’t know, because Matthew
was too busy to give me details and is much too busy to answer my
text. Ugh.
Everyone knows what we did, and I’d rather walk home than have
his driver take me. I slip into the immense library and call Charlotte.
She doesn’t answer. There’s only one thing to do, even though I
very much do not want to do it. If only I had Francesca’s personal
number.
But Austin answers on the first ring.
“What’s up? You didn’t come home last night.”
“I did a, ah, sleep study at Dr. Matthew’s.”
“Ah,” he says.
“Could you pick me up? Don’t ask questions.”
“Give me the address.”
“Hold on.” I’m too embarrassed to admit I don’t have the address,
so I poke my head out of the library to see if any staff are in the
vicinity. A woman with red hair wound tight in a bun atop her head
turns a corner.
“Excuse me,” I call out. She stops. “Could you tell me the address
here?”
She strides toward me in a rapid staccato of heels on marble.
“331 Hummingbird Lane.”
“Thank you.” I relay the information to Austin and we disconnect.
“You must be Chloe. I’m Allison. I had to drop off Dr. Stone’s dry
cleaning.”
“Oh. Hi. I…um…” My cheeks heat as I trail off, because it’s clear
why I’m here.
“No need to explain,” she says with a strained smile. “Been there,
done this.”
Well, alrighty then. “My friend is picking me up.” I thumb over my
shoulder. “I’ll just wait in the foyer.”
“Let’s get this part over with, then, shall we? Tell me what kind of
jewelry you like, because it will make my day a lot easier.”
 “Jewelry?”
“Listen, I think you’re nice. You’re the only woman who has ever
acknowledged my missed lunch break. You stayed the night, so
flowers won’t suffice. Jewelry is next, and instead of spending hours
searching for the perfect gift to send, it would help if you just told me
what to sign his name to.”
My mouth drops open. “I can’t accept gifts from you.”
“But Dr. Stone always sends a gift.”
I decide not to belabor the point. “No need. I’ve already decided
this won’t work out.” Her brows raise. “Just send yourself something
nice and say you sent it to me. You deserve it.”
She grins. “I like your thinking. Us businesswomen have to stick
together, huh?”
We head off in opposite directions, and as I stand on the wide
front steps, staring at the mountain view across the drive, I mourn
my lost nap date but commend myself for recognizing that there’s no
point in dragging it out. I can already see the future with Dr. Matthew,
and it involves being a world-renowned second place to his job.
Austin pulls into the circular drive and I hop into the car, avoiding
his gaze. “Thank you so much for coming to pick me up.”
“Damn.” He whistles low, looking at the house. “I take it your date
went well?”
I shrug. “It was good, I guess.”
“Will you see him again?”
I pretend there’s a hint of jealousy in the question, and in the five-
second pause I spiral-fantasize a whole relationship with him—never
having to go on a first date again, already knowing each other’s
favorite things, gourmet food without a paid private chef, so many
nap dates.
But reality is that it’s just a polite question. There is no jealousy.
And I have to stop comparing every date I go on with Austin because
he’s taken, and there is nothing between me and my roommate
beyond friendship.
 Even without Austin, I don’t think Dr. Stone is the one. “Nah.
There were no exclamation points, you know?”
He doesn’t question me further. And surprisingly, I don’t second-
guess my decision. I’m not a possession, nor do I want to be.
Matthew may have the more mature bank account, but I feel pretty
rich sitting here with Austin, listening to him hum along to Scarlet
Letter, knowing that we’re going home together.
Even if he’s just a friend.

•••

Read more of Chloe’s search for love and her (fumbling) quest
to get over her crush on her best friend in Dating Season, a
humorous contemporary series written by Laurelin Paige and
Kayti McGee.
 
They say the best way to get over one man is to get under
another one… and another. And another.
Chloe is on the wrong side of her quarter-life crisis. Dead-end job,
lease ending, and single AF. It’s made all the harder by knowing
exactly who the perfect man for her is: her super hot, incredibly kind,
and extremely taken friend Austin. What’s a girl to do but drown her
troubles in pinot and let her bestie open her an account on a dating
app?
If there are other perfect men out there, she’s determined to find
them.
Her ensuing series of boyfriends spark several revelations for
Chloe:
Never date a man with step-mommy issues.
Always ask about criminal records on the first date.
Swimsuits were never intended to be made from leather.
Maybe perfection is as overrated as her new app.
 
Start the series with Spring Fling
 
 ABOUT LAURELIN PAIGE
With millions of books sold worldwide, Laurelin Paige is a New York
Times, Wall Street Journal and USA Today Bestselling Author. She
is a sucker for a good romance and gets giddy anytime there’s
kissing, much to the embarrassment of her three daughters. Her
husband doesn’t seem to complain, however. When she isn’t reading
or writing sexy stories, she’s probably singing, watching Killing Eve,
Letterkenny, or Discovery of Witches, or dreaming of Michael
Fassbender. Besides publishing her own work, Laurelin owns Paige
Press, a development company as well as indie publisher committed
to crafting stories in a collaborative process and finding the best
audience for each one. She is represented by Rebecca Friedman of
Friedman Literary.
 PROTECTED

 
DR. REBECCA SHARP
  
 
Protected
Published by Dr. Rebecca Sharp
Copyright © 2021 Dr. Rebecca Sharp
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval
systems, photocopying, or recording, without permission in writing
from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief
passages in a review and certain other noncommercial uses
permitted by copyright law.
 
This is a work of fiction. Resemblance to actual persons, things,
living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
 
•••
 
Editing:
 
Ellie McLove, My Brother’s Editor
https://mybrotherseditor.net/
 
Printed in the United States of America.
Visit www.drrebeccasharp.com
 CHAPTER ONE
Keira

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.

Two more days until we would finally stop running.
I twirled a strand of dark brown hair between my fingers, trying to
remember when was the last time I’d seen my natural strawberry-
blonde shade that lay underneath.
Mississippi.
No. Missouri.
My gaze flicked up to the mirror in front of me, a girl I hardly
recognized staring back.
I took in the different but all-too-similar surroundings of the motel
room. Neutral walls. Neutral bedding. Neutral artwork. Nothing new
when it came to temporary stays with the marshals in tow. The only
difference this time was my dad wasn’t in a room next door; he’d
been at a separate location in Boston for the two and a half weeks
since the trial had begun.
A bitter smile tugged on my lips.
Begun.
A funny word to describe something that had consumed our lives
for the last three years. No, this life on the run—in hiding had begun
long before that.
It had begun before my dad agreed to testify.
It had begun before my dad, an enforcer for the Irish mob, walked
into the FBI wanting to inform on the Irish Kings.
It had begun the day that Sean thought he could touch me just
because he was James Maloney’s son—the son of the mob boss.
 My dad had always put the organization before everything in his
life. In many cases, it even came before me. Before wanting to give
me a normal childhood that wasn’t rife with criminals. Before wanting
to give me a home that didn’t contain more weapons than silverware.
Before wanting to give me a normal father whose fingernails weren’t
stained with blood. But it never came before his love for me.
We were a team, my dad and me. He was my dad, of course, but
he was also my friend. My protector. My confidante. I’d call him my
partner in crime, but if there was one thing he’d never let me do, it
was be a party to his crimes. I was kept above the law while he toiled
in the thicket of thieves.
And I, Keira McKenna, was where Patrick ‘Patty the Punisher’
McKenna drew the line. Anyone who tried to harm me—it didn’t
matter who they were or what they were a part of—it would be the
end of them.
And in this case, it was the end of Jimmy Maloney and the reign
of the Irish Kings.
I picked up the pen from the desk again, drawing out my new
name on the last piece of the motel’s notepaper.
Keira Murphy.
Keira Murphy.
I’d been a lot of people since we’d been placed in witness
protection. Keira Miller. Keira Montgomery. Keira Madison. I couldn’t
remember the last time I’d written or even uttered my real name.
Keira McKenna.
The marshals insisted I keep my first name when we entered the
program; they thought it would be easier to keep my story straight if
my first name and initials were still the same. And they suggested I
practice writing it over and over again so I wouldn’t forget.
Keira Murphy.
The pen moved with the same bitter arc of my smile.
I didn’t need to practice. My whole life had taught me that
adaptation was the key to survival. Evolution.
 The marshals never expected the Kings to come after my father
with such vengeance and persistence. The first time we’d started
over in Indiana was the longest it took the Kings to find us. Nine
months before our car blew up in our driveway. After that, each new
life promised only a few months of safety before our cover was
compromised.
My father insisted there was a leak. Of course, the Feds denied it.
They’d never admit a failure on their part no matter how many times
it had almost cost us our lives. But this time... This time, Special
Agent Lattimore swore the plan he and my dad had devised would
work.
Two more days until I was no longer Keira Marks. Two more days
until Keira Murphy was born. Two more days until my dad and I had
a shot at whatever a normal life looked like.
I wasn’t one to hope for things. Not with the kind of life I’d had. But
for this, I couldn’t extinguish the tiny flicker in my chest.
I set the pen down, hearing voices in the hallway.
My dad had been a witness in several trials against other
members of the mob. His vengeance for me hadn’t been a sprint but
a steady marathon to cripple the organization until the Feds were
finally able to arrest Maloney himself. And this trial was my dad’s
final betrayal against the Kings—testifying against Maloney.
But when he was done, this would finally be over.
As far as WITSEC knew, I’d never been a target of the Kings. As
far as WITSEC knew, it was a miraculous change of heart that sent
my dad to contact the FBI’s Organized Crime Unit. They didn’t know
about the assault; they would never know what really happened.
So, they stuck me in a different motel outside the city and
assigned a rotation of Boston PD to guard me until the trial ended.
The local police had no idea who they were protecting. To them, I
was just Keira, the unfortunate daughter of a witness testifying in a
federal case. They were given a job to do with the bare minimum of
information to do it: Keep her in the room. Make sure no one enters.
Make sure she’s protected. And, above all, don’t ask questions.
 Pulling my hair up in a messy knot on top of my head, I quickly
examined myself in the mirror, my heart rate rising to a steady thrum.
Baggy gray sweatpants and a tight black tank highlighted my
hourglass form, the edges of my white lace bra peeking out. With big
green eyes, full pink lips, and freckles, not only did my dark hair
seem out of place, but I also appeared older than nineteen.
It was wrong, but I wanted him to notice me. The young detective.
The hot one.
I’d spent so many years—all my teenage years—perfecting the art
of remaining hidden. Of not drawing attention. Of not being seen or
stared at for too long. Of not talking to people or making any close
friends. Of not flirting with boys or trying to draw their attention. I did
my best because I was tired of living on the run. I was tired of
starting over. And over. And over. And I would continue to do so
when we left.
But when I opened the motel door two-and-a-half weeks ago and
saw the hot cop with the smoky green eyes and wide, tipped smile—
the one who looked like he cared, like I wasn’t just another day on
the job—all I wanted was to be seen.
All I wanted was for him to see me—the real me.
And since I’d only ever know him for these few weeks, I decided
to let him.
Detective Reynolds.
Detective Archer Reynolds.
It was wrong. He was a cop, and I was the daughter of a criminal.
He wasn’t really that young, I’d guess in his late twenties, and I was
only nineteen. But I’d lived a lifetime at nineteen. Death. Murder.
Drug crimes... and every kind of exploitation in between. I’d grown
up among the very worst of society—in an organized and deadly
band of thieves.
And Detective Reynolds... he was everything opposite.
From the way he was respectful to his fellow officers, even when
they gave him shit for being such a young detective. From the way
he didn’t just stand outside my door and drop off food at the
appropriate times. He cared to make conversation—to get to know
me and make me laugh—when the rest of them treated me like I was
a prized zoo animal, meant to be protected behind their bars but not
given second thought.
He was the kind of good thing that Keira Murphy would find in her
new life. Too bad I’d met him in the old life I had to leave behind.
“Seriously, Reynolds? Kelly’s roast beef sandwiches? She’s the
daughter of a criminal, you shouldn’t be wasting funds on her,” the
snarky Officer Hanover jeered.
It took all of three days to know that the chubby afternoon guard
resented Detective Reynolds, who, younger and with less
experience, had made detective and not him.
“I picked up some for you, too, Hanover,” Reynolds replied, and
the surly cop quickly changed his tune.
“Well why the hell didn’t you say that?” the other man replied.
“Always looking to kiss ass, but this time I can’t complain.”
My eyes rolled.
Their brief exchange continued for another minute before I heard
Officer Hanover’s heavy footsteps drag down the hallway; he was
supposed to be on duty for another twenty minutes but always cut
out as soon as Reynolds got here.
I held my breath, the seconds seeming to slow while I waited.
While we both waited. And when the lazy footfalls finally faded into
nothing, a confident knock sounded on the door.
“Keira? It’s Detective Reynolds. I’ve got dinner.”
My pulse sped up.
That was the other thing I liked about Detective Reynolds—his
voice. He had a low, raspy mid-western drawl, and it was so different
from the hard Boston-Irish accent I’d grown up around. His voice
reminded me of mountains and open fields. Of wild freedom. All
things I ached to have.
And in two more days, I just might.
“Coming!”
 I opened the door, biting my lip to stop my quick inhale.
I shouldn’t have been so attracted to a man in uniform—it was a
complete turnabout from a life raised to view them with at best
skepticism and at worse disdain. But maybe this was my rebellion.
My single unlawful act. Criminals—and daughters of them—shouldn’t
be attracted to law enforcement.
“Evenin’.” He dipped his chin, but not in greeting—it was because
he could never stop his gaze from raking over me, so his head
chased it in an attempt to hide the moment of unprofessional
admiration.
Heat and goose bumps scattered over my body, and my nipples
pebbled so hard against my bra there was no way the material could
hide how they ached.
“Hi.” I inhaled deeply, hit first with the unmistakable aroma of the
roast beef sandwiches in the bag, but then by the masculine scent of
him. He smelled of woods and evergreens. “Come in.”
“Thank you.” He nodded, only then proceeding inside.
“You know, you always wait for me to invite you in,” I mused with a
small smile. “I’m starting to think you’re a vampire.”
He arched an eyebrow, walking past me, an air of confidence and
security following him like a warm cloud.
“I’m not sure what worries me more,” he began. “That the idea of
a gentleman is so foreign, I’m more likely to be a vampire.” He
stopped by the small table in the room and turned to me. “Or that the
idea of inviting a vampire into your room is now appealing to you.”
 CHAPTER TWO
Keira

I LAUGHED, WANTING to tell him that vampires were nothing

compared to the demons I’d met—that only men were capable of the
kind of horrors that monsters hoped to achieve.
Instead, I nudged the door shut and returned saucily, “How could
it not be appealing to let a glittering, gorgeous man into my room
when pop culture has done such a good job romanticizing them?”
My whole body jolted as soon as the words were out, realizing
what I’d implied.
He was definitely gorgeous. Beyond gorgeous. The way he stood
there, his broad chest filling out every spare inch—and then some—
of his deep blue uniform. His arms thick and muscled. Detective
Reynolds was the kind of handsome that should be illegal. And
though his skin might not have glittered, the duty to his badge, the
respect in his eyes, and the honor of his character certainly did.
But none of that mattered because what I’d said bordered on the
edge of inappropriate. And suddenly, I was petrified he was going to
leave the food and quickly retreat back outside my room and back
behind the bounds of duty.
My eyes locked with his, finding dark swirls of heat flickering in
their depths. But before I could see the fire, it was gone.
“Good thing I’ve always been Team Jacob,” he replied easily.
“I know, I know.” I relaxed and approached the table.
Everyone knew that Jacob was made out to be the right choice—
the good guy, and Edward, the bad one.
And Detective Reynolds was definitely one of the good guys.
Another reason he wasn’t for me. After living in a world of
vampires... or villains... it was hard to believe I’d end up with
someone who didn’t need to hurt others to survive.
“And here I was hoping you’d side with me and Ranger and even
out the teams...” He shook his head and chuckled, reaching in the
bag and pulling out the wrapped roast beef sandwiches.
I loved hearing him talk about his family—his three younger
brothers—Hunter, Gunner, and Ranger—and their sister, Gwen. I
loved hearing about normal people with normal, loving families. It
was hard not to when my childhood had been a million miles from it.
Just before my eleventh birthday, my dad had told me what he did
—what he was.
“Keira, sweetheart, I need you to know that your dad is one of the
bad guys. I do bad things to people because it’s my job. I might be a
bad guy, but I promise that for you, I’ll always be a good dad and
good man.”
And he was. Most people would still only see him as a criminal,
but he’d done—he did—the best he could. And now he risked
everything to keep me safe, bring me justice, and give us a better
life.
“I might still be able to be swayed,” I replied, my grumbling
stomach causing me to reach for one of the sandwiches before he
was able to set it down.
My fingers brushed his—it was impossible not to when his hands
were so big. A small tremor ran up my spine like a hot stone skipping
over calm waters.
“Maybe the roast beef will do the trick.” He peeled open his
sandwich, and I began to do the same.
“I wish I had siblings,” I confessed.
He knew I was an only child. I’d admitted early on that it was only
my dad and me—that I’d been six when my mom was diagnosed
with advanced breast cancer and passed away soon after. My aunt
Patricia came to live with us after that for a little while, but eventually
she got tired of my dad’s work, worried I would see—worried it would
put me in danger.
 She left when I was ten. The next day, my dad told me he was
both a killer and a good man. That was the day my childhood ended.
“They’re not all they’re cracked up to be,” he said wryly.
I licked my lips and took a huge bite of my sandwich, a moan
sliding from my lips almost instantly as the rich roast beef flavor burst
over my tongue.
It had been so long since I’d had Kelly’s.
Several seconds passed before I peeled my eyes open to find
Detective Reynolds staring at me with a kind of horrified and heated
tension that made me stop and swallow so I could speak.
“What? What is it?”
His lip twitched and then, adjusting his seat, he grunted, “You’re a
loud eater.”
“But it’s so good,” I gushed and then dove in for another bite with
a smile.
He watched me with eyes that, if they could make a sound,
would’ve growled in warning. We continued to eat, and I did my best
to stop the sounds of my enjoyment, but wasn’t completely
successful.
I didn’t want to be.
The way each little mewl of pleasure made his body tense did
something to me that was hard to describe—like it added more
kindling to the fire or fanned the flame of want that burned low in my
stomach.
“I held up my end of the bargain. Kelly’s roast beef sandwiches,”
he said with a rough voice once we finished eating. “So what else is
on your list?”
My list.
The first day I’d met him, after a brief introduction in the doorway,
he asked if he could do anything for me?
Anything. For me.
That was when I knew he was different. No one wanted to do
things for me—they were already having to do things for me. Like
feed me and protect me. No one wanted to do more than was
required for their job, and I understood.
But when it felt like I’d spent a lifetime protected—cared for out of
duty—there was something forbidden and breathtaking about
someone wanting to do something for me. To ease my mind. To
make my situation a little less strained.
So, I asked him to come inside and talk with me.
It seemed like a dumb request but for the last three years, I hadn’t
really talked to anyone except my father because no one could be
trusted.
Partners in crime.
Partners in protection.
Partners in solitude.
I’d never tell my dad how the seclusion ate at me. I couldn’t. I
knew he was doing the right thing for both of us. But that didn’t
change how lonely it felt.
And maybe it was because I never really had someone to confide
in that when Detective Reynolds agreed to stay and keep me
company, I started to tell him things I never thought I’d admit to
anyone.
Not the hard facts. Not who I was—or who my dad was. Not about
the trial. Not that we were in WITSEC. I knew what things I could and
couldn’t reveal.
But what I could reveal was that I was scared—scared to start
over.
Again.
Scared to cling to the lifeline of hope that this would be the last
time when that line had been cut so many times before.
“Where are you moving to?” he’d asked.
I shrugged and answered honestly, “Hopefully to the middle of
nowhere where no one knows my name.”
He chuckled. “I’m from one of those places and trust me—
everyone will know your name.”
 “Do you miss it?”
“Certain things,” he replied, and then told me about his family,
ending with, “I always wanted to move away—to work in the big city.”
I hummed. “You could always go back.”
“I could.” He laughed and nodded. “And what about you? Will you
miss Boston?”
He didn’t know I hadn’t lived in Boston for several years.
“Certain things,” I repeated his words with a small nod. I’d miss
being able to be myself. I’d miss having people I knew—even if they
were bad people. And after the last three years, I’d miss the sense
that this place was the only place that felt like home.
“Any regrets?”
I remained silent, thinking about my answer.
“Don’t leave with regrets,” he advised. “Regrets are rocky. It’s hard
to build a fresh start on them.”
My chest tightened.
“I regret not having one last chance to do certain things before
we... leave.”
Little, dumb things. But we’d been rushed out of the city last time
—hardly hours after going to the Feds with what he knew, we were
tucked in a black car and Boston was in our rearview. And I didn’t
realize how much I regretted them until we were gone and there was
no coming back.
“What things?” he prompted, my eyebrows lifting in surprise.
He wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to care about
any of this. He was here to do a job. He wasn’t supposed to take an
interest in his charge nor was he supposed to be so handsome.
“Having one last T-Rex sandwich from Bagelsaurus. Or a roast
beef sandwich from Kelly’s,” I answered with a small laugh.
I was an alright cook most nights of the week, but there were
nights when my dad told me to treat myself to a favorite; it was code
for ‘I’m not going to be home for dinner but don’t worry.’
“Are all your regrets food-oriented?”
 I pursed my lips. “Or going to one more game at Fenway Park.” I
sighed. “Or walking the Freedom Trail.”
Freedom.
A strange word for what we were hoping for.
“Or watching the Twilight movies.”
He chuckled, a rich rumbling sound. Like caramel-covered
popcorn, it was a little sweet, a little salty, and a whole lot of
something I wanted more of.
“You know you can watch Twilight after you move. It streams
anywhere in the country.”
“Wow, Detective. They must pay you the big bucks for those
detecting skills,” I teased.
“So then tell me why you’d regret not watching it here?”
My tongue darted out and licked my lips, hesitant to explain
myself.
“Because leaving Boston feels like the end of something.”
“The end of your childhood?”
I shot him a sharp stare. Straightening, I extended my hands to
my sides, daring him to take a good look at me. “I’m not a child.”
And for a split unexpected second, he did. His gaze devoured me,
and I’d never felt such heat. The muscle in his jaw ticked, and he
forced his chin higher. Our eyes locked, smoke and fire swirling in
their crash.
It was something like I’d never felt before.
“Fair enough,” he finally grunted and slid his gaze away.
I wasn’t a child. Not in looks. Not in knowledge. Not in demeanor.
“Is that all?”
I folded my arms, letting them push my breasts together, craving
the warmth of his gaze over me again.
My heart thumped in my chest, a knot of desire twisting in my
stomach.
 His eyes stayed steady on mine, and I recoiled slightly under the
subtlest of assaults. He might sit and talk. He might ask questions
and joke. But I was still a job to him. I was still the daughter of a
criminal, and he a creature of the law.
But still, I craved him. And because his gaze sparked something
his purpose wasn’t able to extinguish, I taunted him with my reply. I
drew a very thin line between us to see just how far he’d dare to
cross—if he’d dare at all.
“I’m afraid I can only tell you more once I’ve checked off some of
the things I’ve already mentioned.”
And that was where the list began.
And so far, Detective Reynolds had, within limits, made almost
everything on my list a reality. From the various food cravings to the
night he brought in his huge flat-screen TV along with concession
stand food from Fenway Park while we watched the Red Sox play
the Yankees.
From there, he taught me how to play poker—a game my father
insisted was only for crooks, an irony that wasn’t lost on me. And
though he’d been reluctant at first, my gorgeous guardian finally
caved, and we started the Twilight movies.
My attention snapped back, seeing him collect the garbage from
dinner and take it to the trash.
My throat constricted. He always brought food and cleaned up.
Little things—little things I was always responsible for with my dad.
Things I didn’t mind... didn’t resent. But Detective Reynolds... he just
did them. For me.
“So what else is there, Keira? You’ve got two more days.”
I didn’t need reminding.
I’d been looking forward to the end of this trial from the day they’d
arrested Maloney, and I was still looking forward to it. But I wasn’t
looking forward to letting Detective Reynolds go.
The thought hardened my chest, making it painful to breathe.
I stood, unable to sit still, and walked to the window—a window I
always hesitated to look out of.
 “What’s wrong?”
I spun, gasping to find him behind me, concern etched over his
face.
“What is it?” His voice was a steady rumble, massaging through
all the knots of my life—knots I needed in order to hold myself
together.
His eyes were so hazy, I just wanted to lose myself in them. I
wanted to disappear into the fog and trust him to lead me through.
“Keira...”
My gaze dropped to his lips. Full. Curved. And quite possibly the
only thing criminal about him. And my own lips parted, wondering
if kissing him would taste as wrong as being attracted to him felt.
The daughter of a mobster shouldn’t be thinking about kissing law
enforcement.
But I couldn’t stop myself. I pulled my lips between my teeth,
rubbing them together like the friction would help protect me from the
words I was about to say.
“I want to be kissed.”
My declaration was bold and imprudent. It stepped us right up to
the No Trespassing line. But I didn’t have a choice. I was running out
of time.
“Fuck.”
His eyes locked on my lips, like an arrow aimed at its target. It felt
like every part of him pulsed—from his angry breaths to his taut body
to his racing heartbeat.
He tipped his head, and I froze, poised in the moment, hoping for
the one thing I really wanted—for him to want me.
But then he shoved himself back so forcefully he stumbled. He
speared his fingers through his hair, the thick locks breaking from
order into disarray.
“I’m sorry.” He rubbed his hand over his mouth, clearing his throat
twice before adding, “I should go.”
 Words were more effective than bullets. Bullets were a quick kill.
Words buried deep in your consciousness and held you hostage
forever. And these, I would carry with me wherever I went. Words
from the first person I let in choosing to walk away.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I didn’t even feel foolish for telling
him, just barren.
“I’ll be outside if you need anything,” he muttered in a low voice.
I shouldn’t have said anything. But I was my father’s daughter. I
was steady and controlled just as easily as I was fire and fury.
He’d just reached for the doorknob when my voice carried like a
shot through the silent space.
“I don’t need anything,” I clipped harshly, my meaning
unmistakable. “Not from you.”
His shoulders locked tight like the cocking of a gun about to fire—
on the brink of coming back and finishing the task he set for himself.
But then his control disarmed his desire, holstering it back inside
where I would never see it and he would never admit to it.
And then, I was alone again.
Protected.
But alone.
 CHAPTER THREE
Archer

ARCHER FUCKING REYNOLDS, you have no idea what the hell

you are doing.
I stood, toes to wood, in front of Keira’s door. The few strained
tethers of sanity I’d found last night to step away from her upturned,
full lips, the wanting catch in her breath, and the heat in her eyes,
had split and frayed in the sleepless hours I’d spent playing guard
from the room next door.
Forget the wicked, there was no sleep for the wanting.
Somewhere between deciding to offer a warm smile and friendly
companion to the young girl we’d been tasked to watch, I’d realized
too late she wasn’t a girl. Far from it.
They hadn’t told us much about who she was or the federal case
her father was a part of, but I assumed it was some sort of white-
collar crime. It usually was.
I knocked on the door that first time unsure what to expect, but
nothing could’ve prepared me for her.
Long, dark hair. Pale skin with freckles. Vibrant green eyes that
looked much older than I knew her to be. And curves that many
women would pay for. I’d been taken aback—wondering if all
nineteen-year-olds nowadays looked like she did.
She surprised me. Everything about her surprised me.
This is what happens when you don’t get laid on the regular. My
brother Gunner’s voice rang through my head.
Gunner was the third sibling, and after the level-headed
responsibility that characterized both me and Hunter, the second-
oldest, Gunner was the wild child. And somehow still the one that
fortune favored. And if someone had a comment to make about a
woman or my sex life, it would be Gunner, the man who would never
spend two nights with the same woman unless he was handcuffed to
her. And even then—
I thought we were pointing out your mistakes, Archie, not mine.
I groaned. He was also the only one who called me Archie, and if
he hadn’t been doing it since he was young, I would’ve put an end to
it long ago.
This was what happened when you were the oldest of four
brothers and one sister in a household who’d lost their father; I heard
all my siblings’ voices from time to time. Probably because I missed
them like hell.
I’d left Wyoming and came to Boston and joined the force seven
years ago, and if I was lucky, I went back once a year for the
holidays. But talking to Keira about them, joking about the things we
did... I realized I’d been away from home too long—realized I’d been
so focused on making my dad proud, I forgot the thing he prided
himself most on wasn’t being the local sheriff, it was being there for
his family.
But that wasn’t the only thing I’d fucked up.
I’d crossed so many lines I hadn’t even realized I was fucking
crossing them until she’d been standing in front of me, asking me to
kiss her.
And if that wasn’t bad enough, it was nothing compared to the
knowledge that I really fuckin’ wanted to.
Not just because she was gorgeous. I wanted to kiss her because
she was so damn strong for being so young. Like the weight of the
world was on her shoulders, and it wasn’t even heavy.
She had so many regrets that were simple things—easy things for
me to jump in and play the hero. And yeah, I was a cop and I wasn’t
ashamed to admit that I liked being the hero. I liked going above the
call of duty.
But this... this wasn’t above. Hell, this wasn’t in the same universe
as duty. This was all desire.
 And I had no business kissing the woman I’d been ordered to
protect.
And I should’ve just let it go. I should’ve just left her and her anger
alone until tomorrow. It was best for her and her new life. It was best
for me and my fucking career. It was best all around.
But it also felt so damn wrong.
It wasn’t even the hurt in her eyes that got me. It was the way she
wasn’t surprised—like she knew she couldn’t count on anyone to
care about what she wanted. Someone should care... someone
should fucking care.
And that was why I was standing here, toe-to-temptation,
knocking on the door that could lead to potential career suicide.
Hanover had already given me shit when I told him not to bother
with his shift today, that I would handle ‘babysitting duty.’
She didn’t answer the door, so I knocked again.
“Keira, open up.”
Seconds later, the door cracked open to reveal her expressionless
face.
This. This was the mark of someone who was no longer a child or
a teen—the ability to remain unaffected in the face of hurt.
“What are you doing here?” she asked simply.
My jaw tightened. “I told Officer Hanover I’d take his shift today.”
Her eyes widened ever so slightly. “Okay, well, I’m fine. I don’t
need anything.”
She went to shut the door, so I flattened my palm against it to stop
her.
“What is it?” she demanded.
I swallowed hard. This was it—the moment when I was about to
do something so fucking stupid. But at least I wasn’t kissing her,
which was the only other alternative I had.
“There’s one more thing to tackle on your list,” I said, my voice
hoarse.
 Her lips parted, the pink tip of her tongue darting out over the full
swells, and then she hurriedly unlocked the deadbolt to open the
door.
She didn’t step back though, blocking the opening with her body.
Desire torched through my veins, seeing her in just a plain white
tank top with no bra. The shadows of her nipples peaked against the
fabric and my fist tightened against the clothes I had in my hand,
trying to fight through the way I wanted to fill my grasp with the
weight of her pert, perfect breast.
“I don’t think there’s anything left on my list you can help with,”
she said firmly, wearing her independence as a shield.
My lip twitched, my head sinking closer to hers. “One thing.”
I felt her inhale steal the oxygen resting against my lips. “What’s
that?”
Taking one last deep breath, I locked the sweet scent of her deep
down in my chest—the only part of her I’d allow myself to take. And
then I drew back and extended my hand between us, a T-shirt and
ball cap in my grasp.
“We’re walking the Freedom Trail,” I declared roughly. “But you’re
going to have to wear these.”
“You’re... breaking me out?”
I’d really shocked her this time.
I wondered how shocked she’d be if she knew how fucking badly I
wanted to kiss her.
Fuck.
I shifted my weight, mentally threatening to castrate myself if my
dick didn’t get in line with the whole no-fucking-touching-our-charge
mandate.
“Technically not breaking you out when I’m the one protecting
you.” I cleared my throat. “Just taking you out for a brief walk.”
She held my gaze and gingerly reached her hand out for the Red
Sox cap and Boston tee I’d pulled from my bag.
“They’re clean. Just going to be a little big,” I said gruffly.
 “Is there something wrong with my own clothes?”
“Yes.”
She drew back, startled by how quickly I answered.
“The way they fit you,” I explained tightly, doing my best to sweep
up any desire that wandered onto my face—and knowing I did a poor
job.
It didn’t matter how normal her clothes were, her body was what
made them stand out. Not that wearing my old tee was going to be
much better, but hopefully the excess fabric was enough to stop her
from drawing attention.
I was already taking a risk. Anyone testifying in a federal case
who needed protection for him and his family was up against the
kind of people who liked to tamper... and had the money to do it.
Her mouth formed a little ‘o’ but she didn’t say anything; she
wouldn’t question an afternoon of freedom. Not when the most she’d
been outside in these last two and a half weeks was for a walk
around the motel courtyard.
“Get changed,” I ordered in a low voice. “We don’t have all day.”

•••

In some twisted way, I realized having her wear my shirt was a

completely selfish move.
I wanted something of mine to touch her since I couldn’t. I wanted
to look at her and see mine even though that wasn’t the truth—and it
never could be.
“Wait,” she said and grabbed my arm to stop me.
I hissed at the contact of her fingers on my bare skin. Looking
over my shoulder, I saw her focus was on the church in front of us.
And I realized she’d stopped to listen.
It was noon, and the bells of the Park Street Church had begun to
toll, a hymn rolling out over the Boston Commons, the oldest city
park in the United States.
“The man who plays the bells at noon is the best one,” she
murmured softly.
I clenched my teeth and watched how she listened.
Her face was upturned, the visor of my cap lifting enough for the
sun to warm her cheeks. Her eyes were shut and her lips slightly
parted. She listened to the music like it was about to kiss her—letting
it consume her senses instead of me.
The song ended a minute later, and her eyes popped open,
catching me staring at her rather than the church.
“We should keep going,” I said gruffly, placing my hand on her
shoulder to direct her along our path.
She ducked her chin and complied.
“How did you know?” I asked as we approached the Granary
Burying Ground. “About who was playing the bells.”
“You know too much about evil, somebody should teach you
about grace,” she said with a voice that told me she was repeating
words spoken to her. “My dad isn’t a very religious guy”—she
paused here with a little smile like something about that was ironic to
her—“but he still took me to church on Sundays. It also probably
helped that the minister is one of his childhood friends.”
She climbed the few narrow steps and walked through the
wrought-iron gate while I took the offered map that marked the
gravesites of some of Boston’s most famous residents and followed
a safe distance behind.
Even though my shirt was too big and too long for her, she’d taken
it and made it her own—twisting the bottom and knotting it up until it
fit snug to the dip in her waist, revealing the perfect globes of her ass
wrapped up in her light blue jeans.
I lifted the map in front of my face, physically blocking myself at
the way her hips moved.
Too young. Too wrong.
Too dangerous.
 “Hey.” She lowered her hand over the edge of the map, pulling it
down so we were face to face.
“Yeah?”
“You have the map,” she said bluntly, stepping to the side and
sliding up right next to me. “I need to see where we’re going.”
Her chest pressed against my arm as she grabbed the edge of
the paper so we were both holding it, but I was no longer focused on
it like she was; the feel of her softness so close to my skin sent a bolt
of lust straight down to my dick.
I’d thought this would be safe. In public. In the open. I was wrong.
It was only the thin blue line of duty that held me back from dragging
her into my arms and kissing her the way I wanted.
You’ve got problems, Archer. Serious fucking problems. I heard
Ranger’s voice chastise me in my mind—the youngest of us who
always acted not only the oldest, but just plain fucking old, and the
only one of my siblings to call me Archer.
Meanwhile, Gunner’s voice came through immediately after, Sex
in a graveyard? Seven out of ten would recommend though out of all
the sevens, it’s not my favorite. I shook my head. Gunner was
trouble. At any age.
“Detective Reynolds?”
My attention snapped back to Keira, her green eyes flecked with
gold from the sun as she looked up at me. Shit.
Double fucking shit.
“Sorry,” I said, adding with a lower, rougher voice. “You shouldn’t
call me that while we’re out here,” I grunted. “Just call me Archer.”
She inhaled sharply, the breeze blowing a strand of hair in front of
her face.
“Okay.” Her throat bobbed. “Archer.”
The runaway lock clung to her lips as they moved over my name,
marking one more piece of her with a possession I couldn’t
take. Before I knew what I was doing, I reached up and carefully
peeled the dark strands from her mouth, my finger brushing over the
soft pillows of her lips, and then tucked the strands back behind her
ear.
Clearing my throat, I released the map to her hold and took a step
back, too close to crossing every kind of line there was.
“I was saying the first grave is over there.” She nodded to where
the worn path curved along the left side of the graveyard.
“And whose is that?”
Folding the map, she adjusted the visor on my hat she was
wearing and informed me with a grin. “John Hancock.”
Fuck.
The only Hancock you want to see is her hand on your cock. With
a muttered curse, I buried my brother’s voice back into the recesses
of my mind. Shut up, Gunner.

•••

“How do you think they felt, Archer?” she turned and asked me,
standing on the large rimmed circle of old cobblestones outside of
the old Customs House that marked the site of the Boston Massacre.
Is it better or worse that she called you Archer instead of Arch?
Hunter never had too much to say because he and I were the most
alike; from the time we were young, he was always my second in
command—always agreeing to anything I wanted to do without
question, even if it was the wrong plan; and he called me Arch.
It was bad she called me Archer. It would be equally bad if she
called me Arch. At this point, anything she decided to call me
besides Detective led to thoughts and feelings I shouldn’t be having.
I locked my gaze on my charge. I never really thought about how
the colonists felt when they’d confronted the British soldiers standing
guard outside the building in 1770.
“Angry,” I answered. “They were being taxed. Taken advantage of.
They were pissed.” I folded my arms. “Although it’s never smart to
provoke someone who has a gun.”
She nodded slowly, her gaze drifting down to where her gray
tennis sneakers rested over the star granite paver in the center of
the monument.
A slight breeze blew through the small square, and I scanned our
surroundings looking for any sign of danger, but there was none.
Even if there was retaliation against her for her father’s testimony, it
was unlikely for someone to come for her here, in such a public,
tourist-laden area.
Still doesn’t make your choice smart, Ranger reminded me.
“I think they felt trapped.”
My head tipped, intrigued by her perception. “How do you mean?”
“I think the very people—the very government—who was
supposed to be protecting them instead kept failing them, kept
abusing their power.” She sighed, and I felt myself drawn to her—
drawn to what she was saying because I could feel there was a
deeper truth buried underneath it. “I think they felt trapped by the
very system that was supposed to fight for them... and anger is just
one symptom of becoming a prisoner.”
By the time she finished, I was standing in front of her, searching
her stormy eyes for answers.
“And what are the other symptoms?” I rasped.
“Imprudence. The attempt to reach out and take what you want
before it’s gone.” Her throat bobbed. “Regret. Knowing no matter
what you do, you can’t unring a bell... or unfire a shot.”
Or unkiss a girl.
We weren’t talking history anymore, we were talking about her.
And there was something missing about her story. Something I’d
spent this entire time trying to figure out.
“Do you feel trapped, Keira?” I asked with a low voice, crowding
her and shielding her with my size. “Because I can help.”
I had no idea how I could help, but I would. In that moment, I
realized I’d move mountains—I’d confront the fucking armed
Redcoats if that was what it took to break her free.
“Archer...” Her palm came up to rest on my chest. It looked so
small—half the size of my one pec—yet it carried so much strength
and so much weight.
And it threw more kindling on a pyre that couldn’t be ignited.
She swayed toward me, both of us tethered together for a long
second waiting for her answer. But then the bells of the church up
the street tolled, and they shattered the words she’d been about to
say.
“No,” she answered with a small shake of her head. “I’m just very
protected.”
“You could be in danger.”
“I know.” She dropped her hand, adding with a sad smile. “I guess
I should be grateful it’s almost over, then?”
There was no reason for her not to be grateful. No reason for her
to want to remain in a place where she needed constant protection.
No reason except for me.
And I couldn’t be a reason.
“You should,” I told her. “And we should keep moving.”
 CHAPTER FOUR
Keira

THE CLICK OF the lock on the door was the sound of my cage
being closed again.
My feet were sore. My legs tired. We’d walked the whole of the
Freedom Trail this afternoon, stopping at Faneuil Hall for lunch
before heading to Paul Revere’s House, the North Church, and
ending at the Bunker Hill Monument. Our conversation had turned
lighter after those minutes spent at the site of the massacre, but the
shadow of what was said—what was felt—still followed.
“You should get some sleep. Tomorrow’s a big day.” Archer
sounded strained, like it was unbearable to be in the same room with
me.
Tomorrow was the big day. Tomorrow was freedom. And these last
few days of the trial should’ve dragged. They should’ve felt like time
crawled at a snail’s pace toward the finish line. Instead they’d flown,
the days shedding seconds like they were dead weight.
And it was because of him.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, but I wouldn’t cry.
“Why did you do this?” I demanded, my voice thick.
“Do what?” He looked at me cautiously. “Take you on the walk?”
“All of it. Bring me food. The games. The movies. The walk. Why
do all of this for me?” I shuddered, trying to swallow but finding it
impossible.
The enormity of what was happening tomorrow hit me like a
wrecking ball, knocking all ideas of sense and relief from my mind.
Protected. Captive.
In my world, good and bad were so inextricably intertwined, I’d
never know one without the other. My father was a good man but
also a bad guy. I was protected, my life safe, but only because I was
shielded from the rest of the world and any relationships in it. We
were leaving Boston with our best shot at a brand new life, but it
meant leaving everything behind. And finally, I’d met Archer
Reynolds, I’d opened up to him and found something I never
expected in someone I could never see or talk to again.
He stood still for a moment, processing my question.
“Because your last memories of this place shouldn’t be of a motel
room,” he finally replied. “They shouldn’t be of being locked away
alone and safe, waiting to leave the place that’s your home.”
Two traitor tears slid free.
“You shouldn’t leave here with regrets,” he finished carefully.
I hadn’t told him the truth earlier. I was trapped. Trapped by
circumstance. Trapped by who I was—who my father was—what
we’d been through. Trapped by a life of learning to never trust
anyone, to never let anyone in. But then he’d shown up.
And now, I was nothing more than a revolutionary provoking the
man who had the power to destroy me with a single shot.
I folded my arms over my chest—over his shirt—and met his
gaze. I burrowed so deep in his dusky green eyes and held on for
dear life.
“I’m going to leave here regretting I never got to kiss you,” I said
brokenly.
He flinched like the words had attacked him.
“I can’t, Keira. We can’t,” he declared, his body vibrating.
“Because I’m your job or because I’m a criminal’s daughter?” I
charged in frustration.
I could see he wanted me. I could see it in every look we’d shared
today. I could feel it in the way my cells turned into beautiful
constellations every time we touched.
I was Keira McKenna. Daughter of a mob enforcer who made
sure she went to church on Sundays. And I’d been raised to know
the very distinct difference between something that was bad and
wrong and something that was good and wrong.
And this—kissing Archer Reynolds was something that was both
good and wrong.
“Because I’m here to protect you—”
“I don’t want your protection, Archer,” I broke in. “I don’t need to
be protected from you.”
“Goddammit,” he swore and came toward me, gripping my
shoulders like I’d tempted him to shake some sense into me. “And
what kind of regret is a kiss going to burden you with?”
He tightened his hold on me.
“Not as big of one as not kissing me will leave,” I argued.
“You’re too young for me to kiss you the way I want.” His
expression was feral.
My chest inflated with hot hope.
“And you’re too smart to believe an excuse like that.”
His growl shed the last of his armor—the last of his staunch duty
that shielded the man underneath. But it was the man I wanted.
And it was the man I got.
He grabbed my hat and flung it onto the floor. His fingers speared
along the sides of my face, imprisoning it tightly in his grasp so I had
no choice but to let him move me like a marionette. His grip was
rough as he tipped my head up, but I loved it. I wanted it. I wanted
the good man. And I wanted him to be bad for me.
“Fuck.”
And then his lips slashed over mine. Hot and unyielding.
I’d never been kissed before; I didn’t count Sean’s attempt. But
this was no first kiss. This wasn’t even a tenth kiss. This was a
world-ending, if-we’re-going-down-we’re-going-down-swinging kind
of kiss.
His tongue broke through the barrier of my lips and teeth. It raided
my mouth, leaving trails of fire after every stroke. There was no
learning curve. Like most things in my life, it was either adapt or die.
So, I kissed him back just as wildly.
Heat ripped through my body like a flame-soaked arrow before it
landed deep between my thighs, right into the desire that was
packed like dynamite into my core. My sex ached. It dripped and
soaked my underwear with how badly I wanted this man.
The one who cared about what I wanted—who put it above his
duty.
And I felt how he wanted to.
Every groan of desire vibrated his chest against my sensitive
nipples. I curled my hands into his shirt, yanking me as tight as I
could to his front, fitting my softness against the hard planes of him.
But my stomach, that was where I really felt him—the thick length of
him. It made my toes curl and my core clench to feel how hard his
cock was for me.
I whimpered against his lips, needing more. Needing him.
“Archer,” I pleaded.
“If we weren’t here,” he began roughly. “If we weren’t us... I’d take
you over my knee, little girl, and spank you until you came.”
I gasped, my core tightening like a hot coil. “I’m not a little girl,” I
found the strength to insist.
“No, you’re not,” he agreed with a harsh chuckle. “But your pussy
would be. Little and tight and full of fire.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but hang
on to his words like they were the only thing keeping me alive.
“Which is why I’d finish by splitting her open with my fat cock,” he
went on, grinding that part of him against me. “And because you’re
not a little girl, you’d take it. All of it. And you’d come screaming my
name.”
I cried out, pleasure lashing so severely over me, my knees
weakened.
“I want that,” I blurted out. “I want you.” Forget the kiss. Fuck the
kiss. I wanted him. “Please, Archer.”
 There was a loud bang on the door and Archer pulled back,
shoving me behind him like shots had been fired.
They hadn’t.
We weren’t under attack.
But we were wounded all the same.
I was afraid to move. Afraid to touch him. Afraid I would
disintegrate on the spot as my cells threatened to explode.
Something had been building in my body—something consuming
and practically unstoppable. But it had been stopped, and the pain in
my chest said there was no going back.
“Pizza!” the delivery guy on the other side of the door hollered.
I’d forgotten that Archer had ordered pizza just before we got back
to the room. And just like that, one knock ended everything I wanted
—it ended my one night with the only man who knew me, one night
with the man who cared about what I wanted not because he had to,
but because he wanted to.
“I’m sorry, Keira,” Archer said, his voice rough and angry. “That
never should’ve happened.”
And I would’ve preferred starvation had I known what that pizza
would cost me.
 CHAPTER FOUR
Keira

THE FIRST DAY of May was both the best and worst day of my life.
“Ready?” Special Agent Lattimore asked as he held open the door
to the blacked-out SUV in front of the motel.
Today was the start of my future... and it was also the first day I
didn’t want to let go of my past. Because letting go of my past meant
letting go of Archer. And even though we’d parted ways with a
cordial goodbye, it was the way he looked at me as I climbed into the
back of the SUV that I’d never forget.
Like he wasn’t ready to let me go, but was too guilt-ridden and
duty-bound to do anything about it.
I took a deep breath and nodded, sliding out the door and allowing
him to escort me inside the courthouse.
Two days had dwindled into two minutes. Thirty-two breaths. And
then I would be breathing new air with a new life.
I’d left my hair down as instructed, allowing it to better shield my
face. We were criminals, not actors, after all.
We walked through to the front hall of the courthouse, my pace
slowing when I saw my dad in his suit next to two more agents.
He looked over his shoulder and saw me, relief flooding his worn
and scarred face.
My dad looked like a hitman. And he looked like he was done.
His brave smile accompanied the sag of his shoulders and, when
he held his arms out, I ran for him and launched into his hug.
It had only ever been the two of us. He was all I had.
So I held on extra tight.
 “You alright, my girl?” he rumbled, kissing my head. “It’s finally
time.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to wring the past from my
memory so I could only look forward. I’d looked forward to this for so
long, and now that I was here, all my mind wanted to do was look
back. Think back. And remember Archer.
I nodded, unable to speak.
He set me down slowly. “They take care of you?”
Too well.
My small, pained whimper was concealed by Agent Lattimore who
demanded my dad’s attention.
When my dad turned to speak to him, my eyes caught on one of
the courtroom doors opening. I recognized the large man that came
out first. Connor Walsh. And Connor only guarded one man.
Sean Maloney.
His soulless black eyes instantly locked on mine, rage flaring so
strongly in their depths, I felt the burn of it on my skin. Even at
almost thirty feet away, I didn’t feel safe from him.
He’d tried to rape me and now, he was forced to watch the
organization he’d been bred to lead, the father whose footsteps he’d
tried to follow, all fall under the weight of my father’s words... maybe
that was punishment enough.
“Time to go,” my father said, not seeing Sean.
I turned and tried to hide, but it wasn’t enough.
“Hey!” Sean’s shout caught the attention of the whole lobby.
Both my father and Lattimore stepped in front of me protectively,
but it only made Sean’s snarl widen.
“I’ll find you, Keira,” he promised with a loud, calm voice.
“And that will be the end of you, Seany-boy,” my dad swore, his lilt
clinging to the very end of the threat.
“Patrick. Time to go.” Agent Lattimore stepped up and broke in.
And that was how we left the courthouse, my dad ready to murder
the last of the Kings leadership, and Sean Maloney smiling because
he was an arrogant prick who thought he’d one day have his
revenge.

•••

The sun was bright on the front of the courthouse. Warm. Inviting.
But we couldn’t stay.
My heart pumped as we walked out into the open, so close to
freedom my mouth began to water. I reached up and adjusted the
collar of my white blouse.
“Hands down, Keira,” Lattimore said under his breath, and I
quickly dropped my arms back to my sides. “The car is right over
there.” He pointed slightly to his right.
We reached the steps. At the base stood pockets of reporters
behind barricades waiting to get statements from anyone exiting the
building, everyone on their toes to hear if the head of the Irish Kings
would be cut off today.
I was on the fourth step down when I saw him. My dad was on my
left, one step ahead of me. Agent Lattimore two steps ahead on my
right. I scanned the sidewalk without breathing until I saw him, and I
knew.
Banks.
Banks the Butcher.
Another enforcer for the Kings, known for his statement kills rather
than his finesse, stalked toward us, his intent unmistakable.
My heart thudded so loud, the sounds of the world disappeared. I
reached for my dad’s arm, drawing his gaze a split second before
the massive hit man reached the steps and shouted.
I couldn’t hear what he said even though he was yelling.
Adrenaline blotted out everything except the space between racing
heartbeats.
He shouted, and my dad grabbed my hand.
 Banks lifted his arm, revealing a gun.
My chest inflated and I felt my dad tighten his hold. Reassuring
me.
But even when the gun fired, I didn’t hear the shots. I heard bells.
I heard the bells of the church toll with each bullet he fired.
One. Two. They hit my dad in the chest twice, and I saw his body
jerk back, only vaguely feeling the tug on my arm.
I screamed as chaos erupted, but I felt none of it. I saw none of it.
I looked up and waited for my turn, catching the dip in Banks’ chin
that was so slight, it could’ve been caused by the breeze—except
the breeze would never affect a man of his size.
And then he fired again.
A single shot.
And when it hit my left chest, the protected bubble adrenaline
formed around me shattered, and the world flooded back in. The
screams. The sirens. The pain. The panic.
“Get him!” I heard Lattimore yell before more shots were fired,
agents rushing toward the man who’d attacked us.
“You’re going to be okay,” he said to me, sliding his arms under
my knees and back. “Almost there.”
My gaze dipped down to my chest, red bursting on the front of my
shirt like a blooming carnation. There was a dull pain, but it was hard
to focus on. I looked to the side, seeing two more agents come for
my father, hoisting him in their arms just as the ambulance swung
onto the sidewalk behind the FBI’s SUV.
The media went into a frenzy. Reporters carelessly clamored to
get closer to the assassination scene, their cameras flashing with
shots of their own, trying to capture the story.
Longtime mob enforcer and daughter shot on front steps of the
courthouse after ending the Irish Kings.
I blinked slowly and when I opened my eyes, we were inside the
ambulance with Lattimore, one more agent, and two nurses.
 “Almost there,” Lattimore repeated, and I fought to keep my
breath steady.
Everything felt tight and aching. My chest felt bruised and broken
open—just like my heart.
And instead of thinking about my life—or my future. I was still
thinking about him. About Archer.
I wondered if he’d ever see what happened today—if he’d ever
realize who he’d been protecting. Who he’d kissed. And I wondered
if watching me die would make him feel even a shadow of the pain
I’d felt when he’d pulled away from me.
The sirens were loud—a loud finale to long years of fleeing.
The ambulance pulled into the back entrance of the hospital, tires
squealing as it backed up next to an old black Toyota.
“Time to go,” Lattimore instructed, hitting the back door as soon
as the ambulance stopped.
And then what had been a few minutes of baited stillness, cracked
open into rapid, planned movements.
My dad sat up, unbuttoning his bloody shirt and, yanking it off him,
handed it to the male nurse who was removing his uniform. I moved
a little slower to do the same, the younger female nurse helping to sit
me up.
“The rubber ones pack a punch,” the nurse who really wasn’t a
nurse reassured me quietly.
She was putting my shirt on an instant later while I finished
removing the blood bag I’d taped to my chest on the way to the
courthouse in the back of Lattimore’s SUV, the rubber bullets
piercing the plastic.
The agents who were now wearing our bloodied clothes climbed
onto waiting gurneys, the other agents standing by their side, waited
for Lattimore.
“New identities are in the bag under the front seat,” he said to my
dad. “Don’t tell me where you’re going. Don’t tell me when you get
there. If you’re in danger, you know how to find me.”
 This was the only way.
The only way to stop running was to let the Kings think they finally
won—that my dad and I were dead. And the only way for that to be
convincing was for someone from the Kings to do it. So, Lattimore
arrested Banks on my father’s testimony and offered him a deal;
they’d make it look like the charges couldn’t stick, if he agreed to kill
my dad and me. And why wouldn’t he? He got freedom and the glory
of taking out the man who’d ratted on the entire organization.
No one else knew. No one else except Lattimore knew our new
identities. We were still in WITSEC, but we were in the wind. On our
own.
I climbed into the front seat of the old Toyota, my heart still
pounding when I pulled the bag out from under me. Licenses.
Passports. And cash.
Keira Murphy.
My body was tense while my dad drove, but I wasn’t looking
forward; I wasn’t waiting for the next turn or the next exit that would
take us out of Boston. I was looking behind me. In the rearview. In
the side-view.
“They aren’t following, Keira,” my dad promised with a steady
voice, a lifetime of killing giving him a perpetually eerie sense of
calm. “By now, they all think we’re dead.”
That was what I was afraid of.
A tear leaked down my cheek.
For weeks, Archer had worked to make sure I made it to this
moment with no regrets. The irony was, he’d cleared my list... only to
have his name added to it.
I regretted not trusting him with the truth when I had the chance. I
regretted leaving him—the man who’d protected me—thinking that
I’d died.
And I already regretted that my future could never have Archer
Reynolds in it.
The detective in my doorway. The man who’d protected me. The
man who’d kissed me. And the man I’d never see again.
•••
 Archer

“You see the news?” Brad Hanover shuffled over to my desk and
asked, taking a guzzling swallow of his afternoon milkshake.
I shook my head, my focus completely shattered after having to
say goodbye to Keira. “No.”
It shouldn’t have ended like that.
It had taken all of five minutes of her being gone to know I’d made
a mistake and, no matter how wrong it had been, it hadn’t been right
to let her go, either.
I was halfway through the paperwork for her protection detail
when I’d decided that I was going to find her. I was going to ask the
chief who her father was, and I was going to find where they’d
moved to. She wasn’t part of the job anymore, so they couldn’t argue
that it was a problem.
“That old mob guy, McKenna, and his daughter were shot at the
courthouse this morning,” he went on like I’d asked him to. “After all
that... last day of the trial and first day of freedom.”
I dropped the pen in my hand, his last word slicing into my chest.
Freedom.
And then I was up, shoving away from my desk and stalking into
the nearest conference room to turn on the TV.
“Former hitman for the Irish Kings, Patrick McKenna, and his
daughter were shot on the steps to the courthouse by a member of
the mob about an hour ago,” the reporter said, standing in front of
the Massachusetts General Hospital.
A vise tightened around my chest.
The image flipped to footage from the shooting, cameras zooming
in on the man and his daughter, and several agents, escorting them
from the courthouse.
Keira.
The world fell away around me, recognizing her as the shots fired.
They hit her father first, but when I saw her smaller form jerk back,
red marring the white of her shirt, I reached for the table, needing
support.
God, no.
But I had no time to recover. The footage flipped back.
“We’ve just been informed by the FBI that both victims have
passed away from the injuries they sustained earlier at the
courthouse.”
No.
No. No. No.
The remote dropped from my hand, and I turned and bent over
the table, losing my mind—losing my control.
I was supposed to protect her. And now she was dead.
And of all the painful thoughts ricocheting around my mind, it only
took one to change my life forever.
This was my fault.
I’d taken her for that walk. I’d exposed her—put her at risk.
My vision faded into a bleak, red fog. Anger and pain lancing my
chest in a way I hadn’t felt since my dad had died.
I’d crossed the line. Disobeyed orders. Broken the rules.
I’d fucked up, and it had cost her her life.
But I was a Reynolds, and I’d been raised to fix my mistakes. And
there was only one way to fix this one.
I opened my top drawer, pulled out my gun, and then unclipped
my badge from my waist.
I’d failed my job. I’d failed my duty. And I’d failed her.
Taking the folder for Keira’s case, my weapon, and my badge, I
walked into my chief’s office. My confession and the subsequent
conversation were brief, his words unable to affect my decision.
It wasn’t until I’d gathered the few possessions from my desk and
was standing outside our precinct that I reached for my cell.
“Ma,” I rasped when she answered. “I’m coming home.”
 I didn’t know if the pain in my chest would ever go away. But the
only shot I had was back home with my family. In Wyoming.

•••
 Keira

“The world is ours,” my dad said with a smile as we crossed into

Connecticut. “We can go anywhere. Start fresh anywhere.”
I stared out the window—at the side-view—as though I could still
see Boston in the reflection.
“We’re finally free, my girl. No more strings tying us to Boston.”
I nodded, feeling my throat thicken with tears I couldn’t shed.
“Where should we go?” he prompted again, drawing my attention
to what he wanted to know.
We might not have ties to Boston, but there was still a very real
string attaching me to Archer.
And maybe if I couldn’t have him, I could at least have the kind of
life he’d told me about.
I gave my dad a brave smile and replied, “Wyoming.”
 
Archer and Keira’s story continues in the first book of my Reynolds
Protective series, ARCHER.
 
Grab your copy here.

__

Keira McKenna has lived her life protected—that’s what happens

when your father testifies against Boston’s Irish mob.
After years of moving from state to state, witness protection
settled her in Wyoming. Unfortunately, while Keira embraced her
new small-town life, her larger-than-life past wouldn’t stay away. And
with it, the one man she’d never forget.
Four years ago, one massive mistake made Archer Reynolds
resign from the force. Moving home, he opened Reynolds Protective
Group—an elite bodyguard agency—to atone for his failure. And
when a series of crimes occur in town, he comes face-to-face with
the woman whose name was apparently as fake as her death.
Archer can’t believe Kiera is alive, more beautiful—and fiery—
than he remembered, and still in danger.
The police insist the crimes were random, but Keira knows the
mob has found her. Archer is determined to protect her, but after her
last lie, Keira isn’t sure she can trust him with the truth. As their
desire mounts, so does the danger they face. And once Archer
uncovers the truth about her past, he’ll stop at nothing to keep her
safe—and make her his.

__

For more information about Dr. Rebecca Sharp and her books,
please visit: www.drrebeccasharp.com or email her directly at
author@drrebeccasharp.com
The best place to keep up with new book news is by subscribing to
her newsletter or joining her Facebook Group.
 THE VANISHED

 
JENNIFER WILSON
TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.
Until Odette Broussard would be dead, again.
At least this time it would be as simple as fading back into the veil.
She would hardly feel a thing. Hopefully. If the plan didn’t go well, it
would be her first death all over again. And that death was…
unpleasant. A term she frequently used to soften the gruesome
event. Even now, over one hundred years later, the memory sent a
ripple of anxiety.
Javier flickered impatiently next to Odette. His faded red high-top
sneaker popped in and out of view as he attempted to kick the
mausoleum they were hiding behind. “How long is that creep going
to stand there blocking our exit?”
“Too long.” Odette tucked deeper into the brick, her legs vanishing
as the dark shadow poised at the cemetery’s gate shifted, head
twisting like an alert dog. The Big Easy was filled with wicked tales,
chilling ghost stories and scandalous secrets, and the man standing
at the gate was one of the city’s darkest mysteries. The Voodoo
community knew him as a malignant inheritance, an undying cancer
to be kept jailed. The Traveler, they called him, a walker of time
who’d killed for over two centuries before being trapped in the veil.
But to Odette, he was the man who slit her throat.
Javier moved to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, both
spirits sighing as it slid through.
“Thanks,” Odette whispered. Gestures were all they had in the
veil.
“I’ll give you a genuine hug once he moves his ass out of the
way.” Javier’s teeth clenched, revealing the dimple in his left cheek.
A dark wisp of translucent hair fluttered near the young girl’s chin,
perpetually caught in a ghostly breeze. She batted at it uselessly.
One of the first things Odette would seek on the other side was a
modern marvel, the elastic hair tie. A tingle spread over her skull, an
echo of the hairpin-induced headaches once suffered after her
mother’s poking and primping. But she would take that discomfort
any day—suffer smothering corsets, unnecessarily heavy skirts,
even embrace her father’s drunken scorn to stay alive this time. But
that’s not how the loa’s gift of Resurrection worked. As with all deals,
there were limitations.
Two short days on the earthly plane to fulfill your unfinished
business and a year in exile when you failed. That was the deal the
loa struck with the lingering dead, no contract needed. The day
Odette didn’t go toward that damned light, she inadvertently signed
on the dotted line. But to take that first stiff breath, to feel someone’s
skin against hers, to scald her tongue on the best damn beignets in
New Orleans, it was nearly worth a year spent wandering, trapped
on the other side.
Javier glared up at the sallow sun, already halfway in the sky.
“He’s wasting precious time.”
“Maybe letting him out is a mistake. We could go to the other gate,
see if it’s open, call this whole thing off— ”
“Too late,” Javier interrupted.
Odette’s neck craned for a hesitant peek. Too late indeed. Fingers
curling at his side, the man known only as the Traveler lurched
forward, pressing against the barrier. There was a beat of hesitation,
a second where the two friends prayed he wouldn’t be able to pass
through.
“He’s out.” The words fell loosely from her tongue, equally relieved
and horrified. One second, the Traveler was a harmless ghost, the
next a hunter made flesh and for the first time since the night of her
death, Odette’s murderer was free.
“I forgot how good looking he was.” Javier admired the man
lingering just over the threshold to the cemetery.
“I haven’t, not for one second.” Odette stepped forward, courage
blossoming as the veil now concealed them like a two-way mirror.
A young woman in a vibrant pink dress bumped into the Traveler.
She teetered on the stilts today’s youth called shoes, giggling madly
when the man’s arm slung around her waist in support. Dark hair
swept over his eyes, the accompanying grin radiant.
“Apologies.” He purred.
“Nice costume,” the woman complimented, extracting herself to
catch up with her friends. The Traveler’s gaze swept over his
outdated attire. The young woman didn’t look back. If she had, she
might have noticed the glint in the Traveler’s eye. Or heard the steps
slowly trailing hers.
“If only she knew the true depths of his costume.” Odette croaked,
going almost completely transparent. Pale eyes, winsome smile,
defined jaw—the perfect disguise for a serial killer.
“He should never have been allowed through in the first place.”
Javier growled, fists clenched as he stepped through the iron-clad
gateway.
“Should any of us?” Odette questioned, though her feet moved
hungrily after Javier’s. A hissing pop filled her ears, followed by a
shiver of delight as a light breeze caressed her face. Odette had
barely sucked in a breath before Javier’s muscular arms snuffed it
out.
Voice booming, he shouted, “To seek love - yes! Everyone
deserves love. Especially the dead!”
An elderly couple passed by, casting a wary side eye.
“I wouldn’t say that so loud. People are going to think you’re a
necrophiliac.”
“Well, technically we’re not the necrophiliacs, the men we sleep
with are.”
“You’re a disgusting ass.” Odette poked him hard in the stomach,
but refused to let go, savoring the skin contact.
“What happened to the demure girl your mother raised?”
“She died alone in an alley then befriended a foul-mouthed party
boy.”
“Said almost like a modern woman.” Javier hugged her tighter
before finally letting go.
 “I may be old-fashioned, but I adapt.” She scolded and looking
down at her dress, added, “Speaking of old-fashioned, I will kick you
in the shin if you don’t help me get out of this.” The white lace dress
Odette’s mother had carefully chosen to best accentuate her
daughter’s features had a stranglehold around her neck. Like her
body, the fresh cream bodice bore no signs of her violent end, but
was still a terrible reminder.
Javier’s hand slid quickly to the buttons at her nape, freeing the
catches. He knew the emotional weight the dress carried. Much like
the way he flinched every time a car passed. Thirty years in the
afterlife together held few secrets between the friends. “Sorry, should
have done that first.”
Odette took a grateful breath, pushing Javier toward the inside of
the sidewalk and away from the car-filled street. “How did I ever do
this without you?” She asked. Tucking an arm through his, the two
fell into step toward the heart of the French Quarter, Odette
massaging her freed neck.
As they neared Bourbon Street, the sidewalks swelled with
tourists, many in costume, many more inebriated. Most people pulled
away from one another, avoiding unfamiliar physical contact. Javier
and Odette leaned into it. Intoxicated by the overwhelming aromas of
spiced foods, sweet drinks and lingering perfumes.
Odette’s favorite historic hotel had hardly changed in the last one
hundred years, the white pillars freshly painted. As the two stepped
under the building’s narrow terrace, a group of twenty-somethings
poured out the gold trimmed doors. With practiced precision, Odette
collided into a girl about her size, apologizing profusely as the red
wallet slipped unseen under the folds of her skirt.
Stepping through the lobby door, she waved the wallet at Javier.
“Still got it.”
“Yeah, yeah. But I win!” Javier’s hand came up, not holding a
wallet but an engraved flask. It read: Laura. The woman. The myth.
The legend. Twisting the top off, he took a tentative sniff. Javier’s
eyes slid shut as he let out a low moan. “Cognac. Laura, you are a
legend.” He took a pull before offering the flask to Odette, who
waved it away, focused on the wallet.
A few credit cards, about two hundred in cash, a condom and the
one thing Odette wanted—two room cards still tucked in their official
hotel sleeve with the number 235 written clearly on the front.
Sliding one room card free, Odette headed to the front desk.
“Excuse me, but I believe someone dropped this.” She offered the
stolen wallet to the concierge. The tall man behind the counter
looked up, barely blinking at her attire, having seen far stranger.
“Thanks, we’ll see if we can contact the owner.” He immediately
began searching for an ID. By the time he looked up, the young
woman and her friend were gone. It was the first trick of Resurrection
Odette had taught Javier. People panicked about theft, especially
money, and spending your only two Resurrection days in jail bit
harder than a donkey. But take an outfit or two, and people rarely
noticed.
For the first time today, luck was on Odette’s side. The girl’s room
was strewn with clothing. Javier picked through the outfits, tossing
the rejects back to the floor. A mirror caught his eye. Fingering the
pomp of curly hair peaked at the top of his head, he admired his still
clean jawline. Thank God he didn’t have to shave every time they
came back, unlike Odette whose legs had never seen the light of day
much less a razor. “Hurry it up, chica.”
The water running in the bathroom snapped off. “Easy for you to
say, you’re lucky your fashion has come back around. You don’t
even have to change your clothing these days.” Her voice filtered
through the crack in the bathroom door. Javier smoothed his favorite
leather jacket. Damn, it still looked good on his forever twenty-four-
year-old body. The dead couldn’t interact with the living, but they
certainly watched, and seeing his beloved 80s fashion come back
over the past few years had been epic. If it hadn’t been for that
stupid car crash, Javier imagined himself as a fashion designer. Not
that his father would have allowed it.
“Did you find anything?” Odette called.
 Grabbing a pair of black shorts and a loose top with a
scandalously low back, he shoved them in the opening. The fabric
tugged from his hand, followed by silence.
“No way.”
“You promised I could pick this year.” He reminded.
“I rescind that agreement.”
“The boy toy you pick up tonight will love it.” The silence
lengthened, Javier’s lips pulling up when the door opened. Odette’s
olive skin glowed from the fresh shave, her chestnut curls falling in
waves at her waist. The short’s clinging fabric emphasized the curve
of her hips, while the borrowed shirt dipped down to expose soft skin
of her low back. Javier fanned himself. “Sexy.”
“I feel far too exposed.” She said, thin arms crossed over her
chest.
“Try this,” Javier snagged a bralette off the bed tossing it to her.
“Keeps the girls in place.”
Odette scowled.
“You owe me. Especially if we pull this shit off tomorrow,” he
reminded. She shut the door in his face, muttering something about
deals with the devil.

•••

Amber hues painted the sky when the city’s two most recently
undead patrons stepped back onto the cobblestone street. The
crowds had slowly gathered, filling the night air with raucous sounds
of laughter and animated chatter. Live jazz poured from open
restaurant doors, pulsing in Odette’s chest like the rhythm of her
renewed heart. Javier sighed, catching her arm as they moved away
from the blossoming night life, two fish swimming upstream.
The sounds dulled as the neon lights faded. The bustling tourist
trap gave way to residences and darkened alleys. Odette’s home
wasn’t far from here. She’d watched from the veil as her parents’
marriage crumbled. Her murder had graced the front page of every
news periodical for miles. Like her parents, the small two-story
building fell into disrepair, eventually imploding. Odette’s entire life
and death had been here. At least Javier had seen the world beyond
the French Quarter.
Odette let Javier steer them down the mouth of an alley, curling
under his protective arm as it fell over her shoulders. This wasn’t the
alley. But for Odette, every alley was the alley. A door was nearly
invisible in the gloom. Flecks of green paint flaked off, landing on
Javier’s pristine vintage sneakers with each rap of his knuckles. The
wooden door sprung open with a begrudging creak. A handsome
young man with wide-set pepper-green eyes, midnight skin and full
lips that pulled up into an elated grin stood in the opening.
“You’re late.” He reprimanded before yanking Odette from Javier’s
side. Luke pulled her into a fierce hug, placing a kiss on each cheek.
“It’s good to see you, sé.”
The kiss for Javier was far less delicate. The two collided like
storm clouds over the desert, quenching a year of drought. Odette
walked down the narrow hallway, allowing them a moment of privacy.
The old house looked nearly unchanged from the day she first
stepped inside. Luke had brightened the walls with rich teal paint and
replaced the classic furniture with modern lines and an oversized TV,
but its bones were the same and the family photos that had once
been few, now covered the walls. Ownership had passed from one
generation’s hands to the next, but the sense of spirituality remained.
Luke’s ancestors had been waiting outside the gates the first time
Odette crossed over, passing the Resurrected girl’s care down to
each generation much like the house. Tonight’s plan had started with
Luke’s great-great-great-great-grandmother setting the stage, and
tomorrow, the high Priestess’ heir would enact the finale.
Odette poked her head through an open door, following the sweet
scent of fresh tea and smothering incense. The front room of the
shotgun house was swathed in scarves, the dim lighting casting an
ominous burnt glow. Gold trimmed Tarot cards scattered the table
along with a stale cup of soggy tea leaves.
“A bit heavy on the excess, but damn the tourists love it.” Luke’s
voice trailed from the hallway.
“Your grandmother would roll over if she saw this. New Orleans’
most powerful Voodoo Priest, reading fortunes.”
“Gran Grann would be pleased her baby boy is eating well. Too
many people have lost faith in the old ways, and keeping curses in
check doesn’t pay shit these days.” Luke leaned past Odette,
tugging the door shut. “You forget, the living gotta eat, cher. Besides,
the legit work I do shouldn’t be wasted on tourists.”
“Speaking of food, please tell me you have something delicious in
this home. I’ve been waiting a whole damn year for your momma’s
cooking.”
“Sometimes I swear you only love me for my momma’s food.”
“That and your body — if a man’s only gonna live two days at a
time, he can’t just hook up with some hot bod that can’t provide good
food.” Javier reached playfully for Luke’s backside.
“Her famous baked chicken is in the oven,” Luke slapped Javi’s
wiggling fingers away, grinning like an idiot.
One hundred years had passed, and flirting was by far one of
Odette’s favorite modern revolutions. In her time, courting consisted
of maybe sharing flirtatious words, and that was usually with a
chaperone in tow. Had the untimely slicing of her throat not occurred,
Odette’s only chance at love would have been a hopeful side effect
of the marriage her father had so carefully brokered for her. Love
hadn’t been a part of her life before death, only after. The one benefit
of being dead was constantly getting to watch the living—learning to
imitate them. For decades, she had scrutinized, mimicking those her
age from beyond the veil. But it wasn’t until Javier’s death brought
the two together that the young maiden mustered up the courage to
try flirting during their shared Resurrection days.
“Don’t burn your fingers!” Luke hollered as the oven door
screeched.
 “Worth it!” Javier’s disembodied voice shouted back.
A large leather-bound book sat on the coffee table, splayed open.
The aged pages and looping scrawl ominously out of place against
the modern furniture. Odette glanced at the binding spells mixed with
scrawled notes on how to remove them.
Luke stepped behind a heavily stocked bar cart pushed into the
corner. “Drink?”
“Please.” Odette sank into the sofa, tucking up her knees to hide
their quivering. A glass appeared, and she threw back the contents,
wheezing. “Did we make a mistake? Letting him out?”
Luke sank down beside her, jaw working as he took the now
empty glass. “I’ve been asking myself that same thing. I had to take
three showers to get the stink of magic off me; removing the wards
set by my ancestors was harder than expected.” Luke admitted, eyes
going hollow before he could blink the life back into them. “But we
agreed, this was the best plan. The only plan. The Gift can skip a
generation, like my mom. And when I die, who will keep The Traveler
in? Someone has to take responsibility for that monster. My
ancestors mistakenly let him out once before and look what
happened.”
Odette touched her throat, “Do not remind me.”
Ghosts could cross over when they had fulfilled their unfinished
business. But the Traveler was different. Unlike those who
Resurrected every year seeking love or forgiveness or a sense of
peace, he came back to kill. It was the reason, like so many others
before, Odette’s death had gone unsolved. The law couldn’t track a
serial killer who was already dead. He would hunt and slaughter,
then the sun would rise on his second day and he would vanish
without a trace. Watching her murderer walk away had ripped at
Odette. Yes, the Traveler was being tracked by five of Luke’s fellow
practitioners, but it still felt wrong loosing that monster back into the
world.
“Where is he now?” Odette asked.
 Luke fished in his pocket, pulling out a cell phone. Odette stared
at the foreign device. They changed so drastically every year she
returned. Tapping the screen, he called up a map with a blinking dot.
“Lurking outside the Old Absinthe House. He’ll be under control until
we’re ready.”
Odette’s fingers twisted in her lap. “You didn’t see the look on his
face when he stepped through, Luke. The bloodlust in his eyes.”
Luke’s hand fell over hers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when you
three came through, but one whiff of a houngan like me and he might
not have tried to get out. But trust me, that piece of stab-happy-crap
won’t be finding any victims until we’re ready.”
“Amen!” Javier glided out of the kitchen holding two heaping
plates. Though the food smelled delicious, Odette’s stomach
knotted.
“We’ve got this. I promise. You and my family have been planning
this day for nearly a century.” Luke took up Odette’s icy hands,
rubbing the warmth back into them. “Plus, these things are better
than any tracking spell.” He tapped the phone sitting in his lap.
“And if it doesn’t work? If the spirits don’t listen to your call?” She
had pushed this question at his family for a decade. Everything had
to be perfectly in line—the moon, the stars, the spell work—too many
things had to go right, when everything could easily go wrong.
“Then there’s always next year. That’s the beauty of you undead
stubborn souls—you just keep coming back.”
Odette frowned.
“We won’t let the Traveler hurt anyone else. Okay?” Luke
promised. “Now eat some of this food or my mother will be insulted.”

•••

Bourbon Street transformed in the darkness. Even in Odette’s

lifetime, the lanes that teemed with peddlers and patrons during the
daylight, were swallowed by gamblers and drunken debauchery at
night. It hadn’t always been that way. Once predominately homes
when she was a child, hardly a soul lived there now. The street had
changed drastically in her brief life but her father had remained the
same. Monsieur Broussard was a hard worker, a terrible gambler,
and a drunk. It was his fault she had been here that fated night. If
she hadn’t been sent to collect him from the local den, Odette
wouldn’t have caught the eye of a tall dark stranger. Wouldn’t have
been stalked down the alley where it would take police until morning
to find her body.
When she first came back, Odette refused to visit the place of her
death. As if ignoring the location could undo the violence. But that
was foolish. An alley didn’t hold the key to one’s death, it was only a
place. And technically being the walking dead herself, she was one
of the scarier things roaming the night. Javier had died here too, hit
by a drunk driver close to the main drag, and yet he returned
fearlessly every year, looking for the night of frivolity stolen from him.
The plastic phone Luke had given her tapped heavily against her
thigh, plodding out an uneven rhythm. Tucked in with it was a fake
ID, a lighter, and a fold of “spending cash,” as the boys had called it.
Javier had briskly asked where his spending cash was, to which
Luke replied, “Baby, when you party with me, we never pay for
anything. Too many fools around here owe me favors.”
Odette took an erratic breath. She hated the idea of going out to a
club, they should have been at home preparing for the ritual. But
Luke insisted this was preparing. They needed to be in a positive
mindset, especially Javier, and partying was his happy place. Tonight
was their last hurrah before battle, and not negotiable.
Tomorrow night, she was going to be the bait for the man who had
murdered her. It was the last thing Odette wanted to do and wasn’t
what she would call an ideal plan. Or as Javier liked to say, “It
sucked balls.” A term that Odette still flushed at thinking about his
explanation of the phrase. Sex, she had learned, was amazing.
Something to be shared between two souls and celebrated, but that
never stopped the old-fashioned blush from creeping into her
cheeks.
 Luke walked up to the busiest bar in town, ignoring the string of
jeers as he sauntered past the line of people waiting to get inside.
The hulking man at the door broke into a wide smile, stepping aside
to admit them.
“What the hell, we’ve been waiting for an hour!” A heavily
cologned tourist slurred, flipping up a middle finger.
The bouncer’s smile fell. “And now you can wait three. Back of the
line.”
“Are you freaking kidding me?!”
Luke jerked his thumb at the enormous man guarding the door.
“Does he look like a guy that makes jokes?”
“Move your ass to the back, before I move it for you.” The
bouncer’s arm flexed, thicker around than Odette’s thigh.
The drunk man’s mouth twisted, possibly to muster a shout or
puke. Swaying, he finally wobbled out of line, a rail thin girl gently
guiding him. “Screw this shit hole.”
“Classy,” Odette muttered.
“Class doesn’t have a thing to do with it. That’s a modern shithead
at his finest.” Luke pressed lightly against her low back, guiding her
through the door. “Thanks, Mac. Tell your momma I got the next
batch ready for her.” The two bumped fists.
Odette glanced back at the drunk, who was now fumbling with his
cell phone and pushing the girl’s hand off his arm. How many times
had her father done that same thing, first to her mother, then her?
“We had our fair share of shitheads too.”
Javier let out a bubbling laugh. “God, I still love it when you
swear.”
His words were drowned out by the pulsing beat of what Javier
solemnly swore to Odette was, in fact, music. Heads swiveled as the
three approached the bar, all eyes not on the extreme amount of skin
exposed by Odette’s borrowed shorts, but toward the tall undead
young man decked out in a purple tailcoat and black pin-striped
pants.
Fussing with the lapel, Javier asked coyly, “Too much?”
 “I swear if this fulfills your unfinished business to find love and you
cross over tonight, I will kill you right now.” Odette poked a bony
finger at her friend’s gut, marveling at the squish of flesh.
“Please, a few swooning boys are not going to tip my scales. I
require at least a few million adoring fans for that.” Javier winked,
snatching a glass from Luke, who managed to procure three drinks
somewhere between the door and the edge of the dance floor.
“What about one adoring fan?” Luke placed a light kiss on Javier’s
neck.
“I think your mother’s cooking is about to make a reappearance.”
Odette pulled a face, if only to hide the underlying smile. Javier
shone in a way people tried to emulate. If there had not been a
century separating their lives, Odette was sure she would have
found Javi somehow. It was after years of drifting in and out of death
with this vivacious boy that Odette finally learned not all soulmates
were of a romantic nature.
Sipping at his hot pink drink, Javier’s hips swayed in a way that
Odette could never accomplish. Not even two tequila shots in and
definitely not after four. Their death day in 1992 had also taught
Odette spending one of your two days hung over was almost worse
than being stuck in the void.
“You had better get him on the dance floor before he ditches you
for one of those admirers,” Odette warned Luke.
“I would never!” Javier glared over the bright red cherries rimming
his mostly empty glass.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” grabbing his boyfriend’s hand, Luke
turned mouthing to Odette. Yes, he would.
Odette trailed Javier’s raised glass as it cut through the sea of
party goers. Her body moved with the pulsing rhythm—admittedly
awkward at first, like a sailor finding her legs. Closing her eyes, she
surrendered to the tide of bodies, each wave sending her crashing
against some and flowing with others. Every brush of skin against
her bare arms sent a zing of life, pleasantly raising gooseflesh along
her spine. She was alive. Odette’s temples tingled, the alcohol
warming in her belly. A hand slid around her waist, the light pressure
of fingertips urging her to turn into the hard chest pressed against
her back. Eyes still closed, she complied, sipping in the sweet smell
of the man holding her close. Two nights to live, only one to feel
loved. A thumb gently traced her lower lip, coaxing her eyes open. A
strong jaw loomed over her, lips turned up in a hungry smile. Raven
hair swallowed the changing lights strobing over the crowd, reflecting
in his blue eyes.
Air sucked from Odette’s lungs as she reared back, choking on a
scream.
The Traveler.
Elbows slammed into her back as she retreated, shouts
emanating when spilled drinks sloshed against bare toes. Fear
spiraled. He’d found her. He knew about their plan and he was going
to kill her first and he was… he was holding up his hands and
backing away? He was saying something, but the panic had filled
her ears with white noise. Slowly, with each blink, the man’s face
came into focus and her cheeks reddened with shame. This was not
the Traveler. Just a boy. A boy who would have likely shared her bed
had Odette offered.
A circle opened around them, heads swiveling at the commotion.
The bodies, the music, the glitter still sparkling in the air turned
suffocating. Like any rational dead girl in a room packed with the
living, Odette bolted.
With the exit in sight, a hand caught hers, holding tight when fear
caused her to jerk away. Sweat glistened over Javier’s forehead, his
russet skin flushed a luscious red. Eyes wide with concern, he
guided Odette to a nook away from prying eyes.
Before he could ask all the right questions she didn’t want to
answer—like could dead people still lose their mind—Odette
reassured her dearest friend. “I just need air. Feeling light-headed.
You know how frail women of my era are.”
“Bullshit,” Javier’s brows formed a deep V. “You’re not wearing a
corset anymore, that excuse doesn’t play.”
 “Really, I’m fine. Just twitchy. I’ll be back as soon as my head
clears up.”
“Do you have the phone Luke gave you?”
Odette tapped her pocket. “Yes,” quickly adding, “And I can use it
all by myself. Press Luke’s name and hold it to my ear. Any child
could do it.”
“Yeah, well you’re more like my great-great-great grandma’s age
and old folks suck with tech.” Javier grinned.
“Then learn to respect your elders when they tell you to shut your
mouth and go back to the dance floor.”
The two glared at each other, Odette thawing first. “Javi, I’m fine. I
just need a moment.”
It was a phrase the two had used frequently when stuck together
in the afterlife. A phrase Javier had coined. No questions asked, one
had to respect the other’s need for space. Each time he said the
words, Odette had obliged. When his siblings grew up without him,
when his mother was diagnosed with cancer and he couldn’t comfort
her in her final days, and when he mourned her loss as she passed
on, leaving her son alone in the veil. Each time he spoke those
words, Odette respected them.
Sighing, Javier placed a sweaty kiss on her forehead, whispering
back the words Odette had always said to him in response. “Stay
close.”
The words “thank you” stuck to Odette’s tongue as she left her
friend standing in the dark corner. The bouncer nodded as she
passed, signaling he would let her back in whenever she wanted.
Luke’s pull with the locals was impressive. The night air stung
against her flushed skin. Feet barely carrying her away from the
growing line, Odette ducked behind a pillar, dropping her head
between her knees.
“It wasn’t him,” she mumbled to herself repeatedly. But tomorrow
night it would be. The plan the trio had been developing over the last
decade suddenly sounded foolish. It was a bet her father would
make, and he always lost. Yes, technically if killed, Odette would
return to the veil with little else than new emotional scars. But they
had broken a barrier placed one hundred years ago by seven strong
Voodoo Priests and Priestesses. If they failed, Odette would
continue to exist, coming back to life every year, but so would the
Traveler and every death at his hands would be her fault.
Yellow high heels tapped close to Odette’s hiding spot, the owner
wobbling. The girl had on a purple wig and a salaciously tight—as
Javier would say—black dress. The girl paused, balancing herself
against Odette’s pillar. She eyed the line at the club, muttering
something about needing to pee, before teetering onward.
Something niggled at the back of Odette’s skull as she watched
the girl go. Like the drip of cold water down one’s spine. Craning
around the column, her gaze swept the quarter, searching for
something out of place. A man was lingering on the other side of the
street. A hook-nosed mask covered half his face, the elongated beak
casting odd shadows. It was impossible from this distance to be
sure, but there was something in the man’s movement that
screamed predator. Though his eyes were hidden behind the
elaborate mask, there was a familiar tilt to his head. He was
watching the girl that had just passed Odette’s hiding spot. As the
girl advanced, so did the man. No, he wasn’t just watching the girl;
he was stalking her. Just as he had done to Odette.
Rising to a crouch, Odette slid out from her spot, keeping an eye
on the masked man, jumping when her pocket buzzed. Pulling out
the phone, Luke’s name flashed back. As instructed, she pressed
the green button and held the phone to her ear. The music of the
club beat through the speaker, threatening to devour Luke’s voice.
“We have a problem.”
“Your friends lost the Traveler.”
“How did you know that?” Luke shouted back.
“Because I’m looking at him. He’s hunting, Luke.”
The string of curses lit up her eardrum. “We’re coming to you.
Stall him.”
The line cut off.
 Hoping the tracker Luke put on her phone worked better than the
people he had following the Traveler, Odette set off after the
stumbling girl. It looked like tomorrow’s plan had become tonight’s.

•••

The progression was horrifically slow, the girl pausing periodically to

gather herself, or take a drag from her technologically advanced
cigarette. With each pause the Traveler moved a little closer, his
patience waning. Killing in the Quarter wasn’t as easy as it had been.
The women moved in packs, making them harder to pick off, while
people swarmed the streets, tapping at screens and crowding what
had once been the Traveler’s playground. They were a nuisance,
flies buzzing around his kill.
Finally, the girl stepped into an alley, darkness swallowing her.
The Traveler took an impatient step forward, only to find an arm
barring his path. Shooting a glare at the man blocking his way, the
Traveler quickly realized his mistake. A band was coming down the
street, the musicians dancing in step with the rhythm. The crowd
gathered, swelling up to the human barricade to enjoy the free
entertainment. The knife handle warmed in the Traveler’s hand. He
could cut the arm impeding his path and manage to slip away before
those nearest knew what happened.
But then, a glint of purple. His prey was back on the street, yellow
shoes now dangling loosely from her fingertips. A tick flickered at the
corner of the Traveler’s eye at the missed opportunity. With a snarl,
he pushed back into the crowd, trailing the purple wig as it headed
farther away from the main attractions. As the crowd thinned, there
was nowhere for the stalker to hide. But a thinner crowd also meant
fewer people to hear the girl’s screams and ruin his fun.
When the band finally passed, the stalker shifted to the opposite
side of the street, slowly closing the gap. The girl took an unsteady
right, stumbling down another alley. The Traveler’s heart quickened.
A century he had been waiting for this, to add another life to the
ranks of perfect kills. Every act of violence was relished, every victim
chosen with intent. Each face was almost the same, blending
together through the years, but each soul was unique, quenching an
insatiable thirst. Sixty-six before those Voodoo whores had locked
him up, New Orleans’ most accomplished serial killer, even after
death. He was a god among men, death incarnate, and nothing
could stop him.
The light was dim, but as his eyes adjusted, a brick wall came into
focus at the end of the long corridor. It was perfect. But the girl was
nowhere to be seen. Careful to keep his step light on the
disintegrating pavers, the Traveler glided deeper into the alley,
pulling off the ridiculous mask. A shuffling came from farther down. A
glimpse of purple hair peaked out over the top of a green bin. The
knife stolen from a distracted vendor slipped smoothly from beneath
his wool jacket. A crackle of laughter exploded from the street,
halting his steps. The group passed by the alley slowly, but not a
single one noticed the man easing into the shadows. But he took
notice of them. The modern world complicated the task at hand.
There were too many prying eyes and listening ears. He wouldn’t get
to enjoy his kills like he used to. This would have to be quick and
neat. One slice across a bare throat and the girl’s screams would be
permanently silenced. Deep enough to quiet the lamb, but light
enough to prolong death. The purple wig shifted behind the bin
again, the girl humming to herself. A small smile pulled upward as
his voice cut through the night, richly smooth and sickly sweet,
“Sacrifices must be made.”
Stepping silently around the green container, knife poised, the
Traveler froze. The girl was facing him, lips twisted in a snarl
matching the sharpness of the knife she pointed toward his chest.
“Still peddling that same old line.” Odette pulled off the stolen
purple wig, forcing the Traveler back with a thrust of her weapon.
Even after all these years he smelled the same, like caramel and
violence.
 Confusion melted into recognition. The Traveler’s body relaxed,
fingers quick to twirl his blade like a child with a toy. “Well, lucky
number sixty-six.” He eyed the wicked-looking knife held in Odette’s
white knuckles. “Not quite the skittish little rabbit I remember. A
century has served you well. The immortality I bestowed suits you.”
Odette snarled, “Murder is not a gift.”
“We are gods among men. Even now, after I gut you for a second
time, you will still return. For all eternity.” He took a step closer and
despite her resolve, Odette flinched, earning a wicked grin.
“Killing the same girl every year doesn’t add to your count.”
Odette took a deliberate step farther down the alley, forcing her feet
to move frustratingly slow.
The Traveler frowned, following her like a magnet. “I suppose not.
Speaking of, where is my little lamb?”
“Safe.” Odette took another step toward the dead end.
He paused, tapping the tip of his knife against his lips. “Let me
guess, it was in that first alley she ducked down. Did you leave her
any clothing when you stole hers? It’s careless if you didn’t. You
know there are all kinds of monsters out there who could take
advantage of a vulnerable woman.”
Odette had in fact left her clothing, tugging it quickly over the girl’s
limp body in a rather disgraceful wardrobe swap. When the girl rose
from relieving herself behind some trash cans, Odette had forced a
hex pouch—courtesy of Luke in case a suiter became too fresh—
under the poor thing’s nose, rendering her unconscious almost
immediately. Luke had promised to send a friend to take her
somewhere safe, preferably before the Traveler could slit Odette’s
throat and double back for his prize.
“So this was your plan? Lure me here and what, beg for mercy
again?” The Traveler prowled, pacing the width of the narrow space.
“Not just any alley. Don’t you recognize it?”
The Traveler’s eyes gleamed, scanning the barren brick walls,
“Well, I’ll be. How poetic.”
 Two shadows stepped into the alley’s mouth, momentarily drawing
the hunter’s attention. Which was all Odette needed. Metal flashed
as sparks snicked to life. A flame grew from the lighter held loosely
in her shaking fingers. Crouching, she touched it to the wet trails
painted on the ground. Like a fiery serpent, the flames twisted and
swirled, tracing intricate patterns before ultimately encircling her
murderer. With a yelp, the Traveler lunged to escape the flaming
ring, only to be thrown back, as though colliding with an invisible
surface.
“Witchcraft,” the Traveler snarled, recoiling.
“Louisiana Voodoo,” Javier’s voice corrected, booming down the
alley with a chilling force. There was an odd sway to his step. And
Luke, who usually stood inappropriately close, fell respectfully back.
The loving gaze that had lingered between them morphed into
concern. Luke’s fingers tapped against his sides, before being
shoved into pockets.
Odette’s heart sputtered. That wasn’t Javier. The ritual had
worked. It was a day early, yet Luke had somehow managed to call
the one Voodoo loa who could help them, and unlike the two
decades prior, the spirit had answered. Javier’s body was here, but
only as a vessel.
A glass sparkled in Javier’s puppeteered hand, the amber liquid
sloshing with each swaying step. Music filtered in from the street.
With a flick of the wrist, the spirit conjured a wall of grey haze,
barricading them in and dropping the alley into utter silence.
“Apologies, priest. But this is a matter for the dead.” With a
second flick, Luke slid backward, shoes grinding against the bricks
until he too was on the other side of the conjured wall. The outline of
his broad shoulders paced the barrier. Odette and Javier were on
their own.
“I was never one for unwanted guests. They walk in and ruin the
fun before it can begin,” The loa toasted Odette before sipping the
amber liquid. “But good rum and a beautiful lady, now those two
things are always welcome in my presence, or better yet my bed.”
 Odette flushed, slipping into an awkward curtsy, unsure how to
respectfully welcome the spirit of resurrection. “Baron Samedi,” she
said his name with what hopefully sounded like reverence and not
fear.
“Please child, I’m not a fucking king.” He shrugged off her bow,
coming to a stop just outside of the Traveler’s fiery cage. Pulling out
a cigar, he lit it on the flames, taking a long draw. The smoke swirled
around his words. “Someone has been a disrespectful shit with my
gift of life.”
The Traveler stood toe to toe with the loa, a sneer twisting his
features to mirror the monster within. “I am a god of my making, you
can’t touch me. I don’t believe in your kind.”
“Oh, but we believe in you.” Baron Samedi smiled wickedly. The
ghost of a skull flashed over his features, snapping its teeth at the
Traveler, before Javier’s face reappeared. Extending a long leg, the
loa stepped into the circle, untouched by the flames. The Traveler
staggered back, wincing as the fire nipped a pant leg.
“I’ve been offered a deal for you.”
“I’ve already made a deal with the devil. I will be the greatest killer
in the world’s history, I will take more lives than any man before. I’m
the God of death. I am eternity!” The Traveler cackled, eyes
widening with manic determination. The knife still clutched in his
hand gesticulated each word, the point tapping his own chest until a
red dot bloomed on the white undershirt.
Baron Samedi clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Oh child, you
are a God of nothing. I am not here to make a deal with you. I said, I
was offered a deal for you.” Javier’s body seemed to grow in height.
“The spirit realm is mine to command, as is anything lurking within.
Devil be damned, I own your ass.”
“You cannot pass on an unwilling soul,” the Traveler sneered
triumphantly, but Baron Samedi only cocked his head.
“Well, ain’t that a bitch? I suppose that leaves me with only one
choice.” Clenching his fists, the flames surrounding the two leapt to
command, snaking from the entrapment symbols Odette had hastily
poured. The fiery tendrils wove around the Traveler’s legs, climbing
up to his heaving torso, biding him like rope. The Traveler shrieked
as the ribbons of flames spread, pausing to lick around his neck.
Javier swiveled to Odette, his once brown eyes inky black. “It’s
rare a resurrected is willing to give up a precious night of freedom to
a loa,” he gestured to Javier’s body, pausing to finger the velvet lapel
of the purple tailcoat. “It was an unexpected invitation. And your
priest will be indebted to me until he joins you in the afterlife, as were
many of his ancestors before him. But you my sweet Odette, what
will you trade to expunge this soul from all planes?”
Odette took a shaky breath, relishing the air flowing in her lungs
for possibly the last time. She thought of the sixty-five women before
her. Of all the women who could come after. “You have given us—all
the dead—a gift, a chance to return and fill the void death left in our
souls. But letting him Resurrect was a mistake. Sixty-six women died
at this monster’s hand, and I will trade everything to be his last. I
already gave my life. And if that is not enough, then I will give you
my death as well.”
“You would walk away with me right now, unfulfilled and
condemned to a pain-filled restless afterlife, all to stop this man?”
“To stop this monster. Yes.”
The loa smiled, “Then we are in agreement. And you,” he turned
back to the writhing Traveler, “you’ve outstayed your welcome in my
realm.” Javier’s fingers snapped together, bringing the flames back
to life. Surging, the blackening fire consumed the Traveler’s head,
dousing his screams. The coils twisted in on themselves, shrinking to
an impossible size before snuffing out with a hiss and puff of smoke.
A speck of ash fell to the ground, and the man Odette had feared
for her entire afterlife was gone.
“Where did you send him?” She asked.
“Nowhere. He is undone. A destroyed soul is an unfortunate loss,
but as the man said, sacrifices must be made.”
“So I will be undone too?” The quiver in her voice was mercifully
less than expected.
 “Not in the way you’re thinking.” The loa smiled, offering her a
hand, looking so like her best friend, tears pricked her eyes. As her
hand slipped into his, a light blossomed behind the spirit. “You’ve
found your justice.”
Justice. The word rattled through Odette’s bones. Is that what she
had wanted all these years?
“If you choose, you can move on,” he said, gesturing to the
blooming glow.
“I thought you wanted my soul?”
He patted her hand. “I am the guide to the realm of the dead, not
a collector of souls. I only wanted your soul to find peace, but you
needed to want that too.”
The light spread a warmth unlike anything she had ever felt
before. Odette took a step forward, but movement caught her eye.
Luke was still pacing outside the barrier. She stared up at the spirit
wearing her friend’s face. If she left now, Javier would be alone. The
two days he got with Luke wouldn’t be forever. Eventually, Luke
would leave him as the living always did with the dead. Would he
have to wait nearly a century as she did for a soulmate to share a
death day? She would miss seeing the joy on his face when they
took that first breath each year. But what she wouldn’t see was the
pain her passing would cause him. Odette had needed justice, but
Javier needed to be loved.
Pulling her hand back, Odette asked, “And if I choose to stay? Will
I be trapped here forever?”
“No child. When you are ready, I’ll be back to help you cross over.”
“Then I’m not ready,” Odette admitted.
The Baron gave a gentle nod, the light fading behind him.
“Why only give us two days?” She blurted out.
Baron gave a lopsided grin and tapped over her heart. “Finding
what’s missing here, starts here.” He tapped her forehead. “I don’t
give you two days to desperately act out the life you lost, I give you
363 days of peace to decide how you want to say goodbye.”
 Javier’s body then gave a violent shudder before dropping to the
ground, eyes fluttering open to reveal perfect chocolate irises.
Throwing her arms around Javier, Odette hugged her best friend
close. Tomorrow night they would be dead again, but they would be
dead together.
 ABOUT JENNIFER WILSON
Jennifer Wilson is a bestselling author of the New World Series –
Rising, Ashes and Inferno. When Jennifer is not writing, she is
enjoying life in Colorado, rock climbing, camping, exploring new
foods, playing with her golden retriever, Duke, and sharing her life
with her wonderfully supportive husband. You can find her at
jenniferkaywilson.com and on Instagram at @jkwilson29.
THE SHELBY

 
JEWEL E. ANN
 CHAPTER ONE

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.

“Are you ready, Dr. Lund?” Young Dr. Winnsfield gazes over my
shoulder at the images on the screen. His jealousy reeks. It’s as
pathetic as the patch of hair on his chin.
“Does it ever get old? Flying around the globe, performing
surgeries no one else in the world would ever consider doing? Do
you feel godlike knowing that you can save a life when no one else
can?”
“Godlike?” I cant my head as I slowly swivel in my desk chair to
face him. “No. Gifted? In demand? Wealthy? Of course.” I smile,
basking in the glow of his envy. It’s not just that I’m a world-
renowned neurosurgeon. It’s that I’m a woman. I’m a woman in a
field still dominated by men. It’s not simply that I’m good at what I do
… it’s that I’m the best at what I do. I am the best because it’s all I
do.
No family.
No love life.
No hobbies.
No television.
Being at the top takes sacrifice and discipline every waking hour.
Dr. Winnsfield has a fiancée and a miniature schnauzer, therefore
he can never be the best. His life will involve dinners with his wife,
dog walks in the park, and likely a child or two, whether they are
planned or unplanned. To have that life, he will sacrifice being the
best neurosurgeon in the world.
No one can truly have it all. A lot? Sure. Excess? Absolutely.
Everything? No. It’s not possible.
 The problem with Dr. Winnsfield is he doesn’t get it. He’s had
enough people stroke his ego into thinking he’s something special in
his field. They’re right. He’s gifted. But he will never be sought after
for being someone who can do what no one else can do. His
consolation prize, depending on how you look at it, will be a wife,
kids, and a pretty good job.
My motivation isn’t money. It’s borrowed time. I shouldn’t really be
here, so I don’t waste a second of any day being complacent with my
beating heart. I don’t take patients based on their bank account
balance, their perceived power, or any sort of influence. I take cases
based on instinct. You can be the richest person in the world. You
can be a president or a queen. But if I don’t feel it in my gut, no
amount of money or power will convince me to put you on my
operating table.
Here’s the big fat asterisk to all of that: In two days, I will break
this rule.
“I have a plane waiting for me. Do you have any questions about
my patients before I leave?” I slide open the drawer to my right.
Unraveling a gold chain from its velvet pouch, I snake it round my
neck and latch it.
“Have you ever not worn that during a surgery?” Dr. Winnsfield
asks.
The pad of my index finger slides along the shark tooth dangling
in the concavity of my clavicle.
“No.”
“Is it true? The rumor?”
“Is what rumor true?”
He eases into the chair on the other side of my desk. I’m not sure
why. He needs to get to work. I need to catch a flight to the U.S.
“I heard you were attacked by a shark when you were younger.
And when they saved you … and your leg … that tooth was lodged
into your femur. Now you wear it for good luck.”
“Randall.” I lace my fingers together and rest my chin on my
steepled index fingers. “Do you honestly believe my success is from
luck?”
He laughs his irritatingly nervous laugh and flashes me a smile
that I’m sure has worked on many women, but I’m not laughing. “If
not for luck, then why do you wear it?”
Randall Winnsfield came to Toronto just to work beside me. His
fiancée quit her job to come with him. I suppose the least I can do is
pretend that we are friends. Maybe after I’m done giving him an
explanation, he can braid my hair. Oh, that’s right. I don’t have long
hair.
Or painted nails.
Or fake eyelashes.
Or anything that requires maintenance beyond the forty-five
minutes I spend on my stationary bike each morning before I shower.
“I wear it to remind me that the shark didn’t kill me, but he got
away. So I wear it as a reminder that I have unfinished business with
said shark.”
While I don’t take the time to have hobbies, I do enjoy fucking with
people’s brains, inside and outside of the operating room. I get a lot
of satisfaction from watching people struggle to decipher meaning
from the things I say. Maybe I have a sadistic side that enjoys
belittling men especially, talking in riddles they can’t solve because
I’ve never let anyone really know me.
I am a true human enigma.
Randall doesn’t disappoint. He nods slowly like he understands.
And in return, I smile with my eyes slightly squinted, always keeping
my cards close to my vest.
“Are we done?” I ask, aware of the fact that I should have left for
the airport twenty minutes ago. That too gives me satisfaction—
knowing there is a patient across the border awaiting my arrival.
Dare I say dying to see me?

•••
 Thirty years earlier…
Shelby Robinson turned twenty-two three days before spring break.
Three days before boarding a plane to Florida with her college
friends, Cami and Trinity. Three days before meeting Samuel
Thatcher III.
I liked Shelby Robinson, although that wasn’t her real name. She
chased adventure, dreamed of love, and lived by signs. Everything
was a sign to Shelby.
“Look. At. This …” Shelby grinned when all three of their suitcases
came around the bend of the luggage return at the same time—all in
a row. “It’s a sign. This will be the best spring break ever!”
Cami and Trinity fed off of Shelby’s enthusiasm and her
interpreting everything as a sign as if she could predict the future
from a lineup of luggage. They grabbed a cab to the resort and had
their bikini-clad asses on the beach before noon.
“Screw college. I’m going to get a job working at a resort like this
so I can spend my days off right here, soaking up the sun,” Trinity
said, slathering baby oil onto her already leathery skin. She’d spent
months in a tanning bed preparing for spring break.
Cami, with her red hair and whiteout complexion, required the
highest SPF, sunglasses covering half her face, a hat with an
embarrassingly wide brim, and an umbrella casting a shadow a good
two yards in every direction.
“I’m going to find a rich guy who wants to worship my body in
exchange for college tuition,” Shelby announced, tying her wavy
blond hair into a high ponytail.
“Sounds like you’re whoring yourself out, Shelby.” Trinity giggled,
sipping some overpriced fruity drink. Trinity wasn’t really named
Trinity. And … you guessed it … Cami was a spring break name as
well. Mischief required fake names.
“Kinda did sound that way,” Shelby smirked, closing her eyes
against the sun in the cloudless sky. “Let me rephrase … I’m going
to find a sexy guy who’s good in bed. We’re going to fall in love in a
star-crossed lovers sort of way, and he’s going to insist on paying for
my college tuition because we’re so in love … in a non-whoring-
myself-out kind of way.”
Cami and Trinity laughed at Shelby’s intentions for herself, but at
the same time, they knew if anyone were to have that happen, it
would be Shelby Robinson and all of her signs.
Later that night, the boy-crazed girls, all shaved, plucked, and
primped for the beach party, grabbed drinks and flaunted their stuff
to the beat of live music.
“Shelby! Your dress!” Cami pointed to the back of Shelby’s white
strapless dress.
Shelby tried to see what seemed to be horrifying Cami, but it was
like a dog chasing her tail. “What is it? Just tell me.”
“I think you sat in something orange. It’s all over the butt area of
your dress. Maybe someone spilled something on you and you didn’t
feel it,” Trinity offered her helpful analysis.
“Oh my god … I have to change. This is …” Of course Shelby
tried to reason out why this had happened to her. What were the
stars saying?
“I’ll come with you,” Cami offered.
“No. It’s fine. I won’t be long. Here.” Shelby handed her drink to
Cami and attempted to cover her butt as she waddled in her tight
dress and high heels toward the hotel. As she passed the entrance,
a loud whistle caught her attention. Shelby turned toward the sound,
keeping her hands firmly planted on her ass.
“Damn …” The man leaning against the black convertible whistled
again. “That’s quite the mess you got into.”
Shelby blushed because he was devastatingly handsome,
wearing the most self-assured smile she had ever seen, and she’d
been caught skittering to her room like a toddler who shit through her
diaper. “Yeah.” She returned a nervous laugh. “I guess I did.” Dipping
her chin, she turned away from him and waddled a few more steps
toward the entrance.
“But who gives a fuck. It’s still a fine ass,” he said.
 She grinned, even though he couldn’t see it. As soon as she
made it to the tenth floor and closed the hotel room door, Shelby
stripped and got her first good look at the dress. “Oh my god.” It was
worse than she’d thought. Tossing the dress in the trash, she dug
through her suitcase and found a pink dress that wasn’t as sexy—it
hit closer to her knees and didn’t hug her curves as much.
After a quick check of her makeup, she headed back down to the
lobby. Breezing through the automatic doors, Mr. Nice Ass
Compliment guy was still there.
Still leaned against the black convertible—a Mercedes.
Still wearing that smug smile that made her knees falter just a bit.
Still eyeing her like dinner.
“I like that dress better anyway. Leaves more to the imagination.”
He pushed off the car, unfolding his arms and sliding his hands into
the pockets of his shorts while his stark white canvas loafers made
their way toward her.
Shelby needed to get her ass back to the innocent beach party
with her friends, but she had a nose for trouble. The man with
slicked-back dark hair, parted like a rich preppy boy’s on the side,
and a smile almost as white and perfect as his shoes closed in on
her, bringing all kinds of trouble.
“Please don’t tell me you’re wasting that dress and those heels on
a silly little beach party with giggly college girls hoping to get their
cherries popped by random guys with cheesy pick-up lines.”
Yes. That’s exactly where her dress and heels were headed. Only
her cherry had been popped, and so had her friends’. The random
guys with cheesy pick-up lines were entirely possible, though.
“Are you not some random guy delivering your own cheesy pick-
up line about me wasting this dress and heels on someone that’s not
you?”
He shrugged, rubbing his lips together while rocking back and
forth on his heels. “No pick-up lines. Just a car waiting behind me
and a yacht waiting at the marina. Have you ever been on a yacht?”
 Shelby hugged her arms to her waist, feeling a little wobbly in her
heels. He made her nervous in the most exhilarating way. “My friend
Andy has a fishing boat. Does that count?” She batted her eyelashes
like only a stupid girl looking for trouble would do.
He chuckled, a predator readying to capture his prey with no effort
at all. “I don’t know. Why don’t you come see if my yacht compares
to Andy’s fishing boat?”
“My friends are waiting for me.”
“Bring them with you.”
She twisted her lips. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Sam.”
“Really?”
He laughed and Shelby liked his laugh. It wasn’t planned or
rehearsed like everything else he did and said. “Really. It’s Samuel,
but only my mom calls me that.”
In a messed-up way, Sam talking about his mom put Shelby at
ease. The guy had a mom who called him Samuel. How dangerous
could he be?
Sure, there had been a serial killer named Son of Sam, but his
real name was David. Shelby knew she’d never date a David, Jack,
Jeffery, or Ted.
“Do you have a last name?”
He laughed. “As a matter of fact, I do. But you haven’t given me
your name.”
“Shelby.”
“Do you have a last name?” Sam asked, taking yet another step
toward Shelby, making her knees knock a bit.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” She could play his game. “Samuel …”
She waited for him to elaborate first.
He glanced away, cheeks turning a little pink. Was he blushing?
Shelby wondered. Samuel looked adorable when he blushed, and
sexy.
 “Samuel Thatcher…” He pinched the bridge of his nose and
sighed. “The Third,” he mumbled.
“Samuel Thatcher the Third?” she repeated with an incredulous
grin splitting her face in two. “Well, Samuel Thatcher the Third … I’m
Shelby Robinson the First. And I’d love to see your fancy yacht. Just
let me tell my friends.”
With another, almost bashful, smile, Sam rubbed the back of his
neck and nodded. “They’re invited too.”
Shelby sauntered toward the beach party, tossing Sam a flirty
glance over her shoulder. “That would mean I’d have to share you,
Samuel Thatcher the Third, and I don’t think I want to do that
tonight.”
That Shelby girl had a master’s degree in flirting. Her sass and
innocence weren’t only endearing, they were sexy. Oh, to be young
and stupid.
I miss that Shelby girl.
By the time she returned to the beach party, her sidekicks were
well on their way to full intoxication and hanging all over every guy
who didn’t already have a girlfriend fawning over him.
“I met someone, and I’m going to take a ride in his car,” she yelled
over the music to Cami. She failed to tell her about the yacht. That
secret she wanted to keep as a surprise until she had all the details
about it and him.
Cami bobbed her head to the beat and snaked her arms up her
body, closing her eyes while swaying her body in the crowd of young
and dumb ones doing their spring break thing.
“Okay, use protection.” Cami giggled.
“Stay with Trinity.”
Cami nodded.
Sure, Shelby wasn’t staying with her friends, but she wasn’t
drunk, either. And momma’s boy Samuel Thatcher the Third seemed
like a perfect gentleman in all the ways that mattered.
 As though it was fate—one of those signs—Sam was still waiting
for her next to his black Mercedes.
“Am I all yours?” he asked, leading Shelby to the passenger side
and opening the door for her.
She gobbled up his chivalry like an entire package of Oreos
during her menstrual cycle. “That depends on the size of your yacht.”
She hiked her dress up enough to get into the car, watching Sam’s
eyes flare at the sight of her long legs in high heels.
“Oh, Shelby … I assure you, my vessel is quite impressive.”
 CHAPTER TWO

SAM WASN’T LYING.

“Oh my god …” Shelby’s cool façade crumbled the moment Sam
pointed to the luxury yacht as they made their way around the
floating boardwalk. “You can’t be serious.”
“Serious.” He smirked, stepping onto the yacht and holding out his
hand for her.
It’s worth mentioning that Miss Shelby was mere months away
from getting her undergraduate degree with straight A’s in all of her
classes. At the time, she never would have admitted it, but there was
some truth to the notion that book smart people often lacked real
world common sense—the kind that couldn’t be artificially
manufactured with all the self-confidence in the world. That girl
unknowingly, yet confidently, owned every ounce of her stupidity
when it came to picking the wrong men.
“Shelby Robinson, can I give you a tour?”
Biting her lower lip, eyes wide with excitement, she nodded
several times. He showed her around the yacht while the last sliver
of daylight said goodbye.
“Wine? Martini? Beer? Sex? What can I offer you?” He wet his lips
while pouring himself a few ounces of tequila.
Sex.
He said that? She wasn’t crazy. But she was wrong. Sam didn’t
use all the cheesy pick-up lines that she’d heard a million times
before.
Brimming with confidence and an uncontrollable desire to make
her final spring break before graduation really count, she picked two.
 “Number four.” She rubbed her glossed lips together to mask her
grin. “And I’ll have what you’re having.” In a bold move, she stepped
closer, wrapping her hand around his, bringing the tumbler to her
lips.
It burned going down, but she welcomed the warmth spreading
along her skin, or maybe that was Sam’s gaze. Whatever it was, the
thrill intoxicated her more than the alcohol.
It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in her own signs, but really …
what were the chances of her meeting a sexy, wealthy man on her
first night?
“How old are you, Shelby?” He sipped the earthy, slightly sweet
liquid and eyed her.
“Twenty-two. How old are you?” She felt wobbly on her heels; his
gaze elicited physical tremors in her body.
“Older.” He set the glass on the cart.
“What were you doing at the hotel? Clearly not staying there if this
is your yacht.”
“Dropping my wife off to use the hotel’s spa.”
Shelby gulped, more like choked.
Sam smirked, taking a seat on the white sofa, arms spread in both
directions across the back of it.
“Are you trying to be funny?”
“What?” He gave her a synthetic pouty face. “Do I not look like
marriage material to you? Is it the name? What woman in her right
mind would want to be Mrs. Samuel Thatcher the Third?”
Shelby’s gaze shifted to his left ring finger.
No ring.
No white tan line.
He was playing her. She just wasn’t privy to the rules of the game.
Was it a test? Did he want to see if she’d have sex with a married
man?
No. She wasn’t having sex with a married man. Fun, flirty, one-
night stand? Absolutely. Home-wrecker? No way.
 He grinned a little bigger, and it grew into a laugh, head tipped
back a fraction. Shelby didn’t know whether to laugh or run.
“The look on your face right now is priceless. So innocent.”
“Are you playing me?” She crossed her arms over her chest.
He sat up, leaning forward just enough to hook his finger to hers,
pulling her closer. “Do you believe in fate, Shel?” he whispered.
On the outside, it was an innocuous question. He had no idea
how she took that question as a sign.
“Should we have some more tequila?” she asked with the tremors
in her body releasing into her words like little staccatos.
“No.” He released her hand and ghosted his fingers along her
bare calves, behind her knees, and up the back of her dress along
her thighs. “I want to be sober for this.”
For this …
Her confidence waned, but she couldn’t say no. Beneath the
makeup, long hair, and perfect little breasts lived a strong woman, a
risk-taker. She didn’t want to scurry off in a mess of nerves only to
look back years later and wonder why she didn’t go through with it, if
for no other reason than to make a memory and say she was a wild
child no one could tame. Shelby had the rest of her life to be
responsible and boring.
Sam wasted no time building back what little confidence she lost
in her tiny moment of hesitation. His hands reached her pink thong,
fingers curling around the material as he slid it down her legs. She
lifted one foot and then the other. He brought the thin material to his
nose and inhaled, his eyes drifting shut as if something about her
scent drugged him.
“Shel …” he murmured, accompanied by a soft moan.
Her heart sprinted as she anticipated his next move.
Unzipping her dress.
Gazing at her naked body, sans her high heels.
She shivered while he remained idle, admiring her for the longest
time.
 It felt a little taboo when he asked her to touch herself … when he
unbuttoned his pants and began touching himself too. Shelby’s gaze
remained attached to the hand gripping his erection, and Sam’s
glassy-eyed gaze focused on her two fingers sliding between her
legs.
This was a different kind of sex than Shelby had ever
experienced, a different kind of thrill. With his other hand, Sam
reached forward and cupped her breast. Shelby’s breath hitched. He
didn’t stay there long before he reached high, cupping the back of
her neck and bringing her head down to his. They kissed. Slow and
teasingly.
Then Sam pulled Shelby’s hand out from between her legs and
guided it between his, coaxing her fingers around him before teasing
her where her fingers had been just seconds earlier.
I liked that Shelby Robinson. She lived in the moment, unshackled
from expectations and responsibilities. Her body gave and received
the most basic human pleasure. And while she’d jokingly talked
about finding some rich guy to pay her college tuition, she knew Sam
was a fling, a check off her first of many bucket lists.
When it mattered most, she made sure he donned a condom
before she straddled his lap, still in her heels. Shelby kept her mind
focused on the sex, not letting it wander in the direction of white
knights in big yachts, declarations of love, and complete submission
—relinquishment—of her future to be something as simplistic as a
wife doing charity work and getting weekly manicures and pedicures.
And it wasn’t easy. Sam gave her toe-curling pleasure. He
showered her with compliments, and carried her to the bed after they
were done, spooning her into his body where they were lulled to
sleep by the soft rocking of the boat.
“Where are you going, beautiful girl?” He laced his hands behind
his head as she slipped back into her clothes just after sunrise.
She jumped, not having realized he was awake. “Oh. Hi. Good
morning.” She gave him a nervous, day-after-sex-with-a-stranger
smile as she zipped the back of her dress. “Figured I should get back
to the hotel. I’m sure you have things to do.”
“I’m taking her out today. We could find a nice spot in the middle
of nowhere to soak up some sun … let it hit our bodies in places we
can’t expose at the local beach.” Mischief bent his perfect lips.
“You want me to spend the day with you?”
“I want you to spend the whole week with me. I’ll make sure you
don’t miss your flight home.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to abandon my friends.”
“Invite them.” He shrugged.
Again, Shelby didn’t want to ditch her friends, but she also didn’t
want to bring them along. Three young women and Samuel Thatcher
the Third on his yacht for a week?
“I’m going to jump in the shower. You can think about it. If you
want to go back, I’ll drive you.” Sam threw back the sheets, exposing
his glorious naked self.
Shelby tried not to stare, but she failed.
It was that exact moment that I lost faith in Shelby.
“Do you have a phone? I could call and leave a message for my
friends. I mean … I see them all the time. They’ll have each other.
Do they really need me this week, too?” She grinned. “But …” Her
smile faded. “I don’t have my stuff. Clothes. Toiletries.”
“Oh, Shel …” Sam stood, closing in on her. “It’s adorable that you
think you’ll need clothes this week.” He brushed her cheek with his
knuckles.
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll need something besides this dress.”
“I have clothes. You can wear my shirts if you need to cover up for
whatever ridiculous reason.”
Shelby gulped. “I …” Her breaths came out a little ragged as he
unzipped her dress. “I might need underwear.”
“No, Shel …” He kissed her, palming her breasts after her dress
pooled at her feet. “You won’t.”
 •••

Shelby and Sam spent the next three days on the yacht, miles away
from another soul. Aside from sunbathing in the nude and humping
each other nonstop, they did discuss some real life.
Shelby opened up to Sam about her lofty career aspirations, her
family (Dad was a teacher and a coach, Mom was a nurse) and her
failed relationships. Sam gave her a glimpse into the life of a
politician’s son. His mom was a Republican senator and his dad
made a shitload of money in real estate, as did his grandfather—
Samuel Thatcher the First.
In the early morning hours of the fourth day, Shelby woke alone,
the yacht moving for the first time in over two days. Swinging her
legs over the side of the bed, she hopped down. Her foot landed on
something and she stumbled a step or two.
Sam’s wallet.
She set the sleek leather wallet on the nightstand and opened the
curtains, squinting against the light. Then she glanced at the wallet
again, curiosity giving her a slight nudge back in that direction. He
still hadn’t told her his age, although she guessed early thirties.
Giving the doorway a quick check, she opened his wallet.
“So serious,” she whispered while smiling at his driver’s license
and the picture of him frowning.
Thirty-one. Sam was thirty-one. Less than ten years her senior.
That made her feel a little better. Shelby could envision herself
marrying someone older than she was. For a few stolen moments,
she even imagined marrying Sam. She opened the wallet the whole
way, dying to know how much cash a rich guy like Sam had on hand.
A lot.
She stopped counting after ten one-hundred-dollar bills. Not
because that’s all he had. Nope. She stopped when she saw a small
photo, the long strip kind you’d get at a carnival photobooth. There
were three shots.
 Three shots of Sam with a beautiful dark-haired woman and two
young girls. Both looked under five.
Smiling.
Kissing.
Sticking their tongues out.
After swallowing the bile that kept creeping up her throat, she
snagged his T-shirt at the end of the bed, slipped it over her naked
body, and marched up the stairs. Sam sat at his captain’s post with a
content smile on his face that seemed to double when he saw
Shelby.
“Good morning, beautiful. Thought we should start making our
way back. But don’t worry. We’ll make one more stop, maybe do
some snorkeling.”
“Snorkeling in the nude?” She canted her head, surprised by her
ability to keep her voice steady.
Sam shrugged. Then he smirked while waggling his eyebrows.
“Or is there a bikini in one of those drawers down below, maybe
one that belongs to your wife?” She held up the strip of three photos.
That smirk vanished from his face in less than a second as he
stared at the photos, jaw tense, eyes filled with something a little less
kind. “Stealing money from me?”
“You’re going to wish all I did was steal money from your wallet,
you lying bastard.” Each word she spoke fought for control, teeth
clenched to keep from completely losing it.
“Shel …” He shook his head and returned his attention to the
water in front of them. Then he chuckled. “I didn’t lie to you. I told
you the fucking truth, and you still spread your legs for me. I’m pretty
sure that’s your problem, not mine.”
“Liar!” She ripped the photos up.
Sam hid most of his reaction, trying to keep his cool, but she
didn’t miss the slight wince when she shredded the photos. “I told
you I was dropping my wife off at the hotel to use the spa. That was
the truth. She was meeting a few friends there, then they were
headed to Costa Rica for some retreat.”
“You have kids …” Shelby whispered in complete disbelief as her
head eased side to side.
“I do. They’re with my in-laws. I had the week to myself. My own
retreat of sorts. And what a treat it’s been.” He eyed her again, like
they were back to being lovers, like he was seconds away from
ridding her of his shirt and burying his face between her legs while
she ripped at his hair and lost her ever-loving mind.
She was speechless. Angry tears pooled in her eyes.
“Don’t give me that look. You knew it was just for the week. And
as much as you seem to enjoy playing the scorned lover role,
nobody will buy it. I told you I was married. You chose not to believe
me because you wanted this to happen.”
Fisting her hands, entire body shaking, Shelby narrowed her
eyes. “You will pay for this. Mark my words. You will lose every
fucking thing you own because you chose to cheat on your wife.
Because you think you’re entitled.”
Whack!
It took Shelby a few seconds to register what happened.
Sam hit her. He backhanded her so hard it made her lip and nose
bleed. It made the vision in her eye blur for a few seconds as she
stumbled backwards.
“Jesus …” He grabbed her arms and hugged her to him. “I’m so
sorry, Shel. I’m so sorry.”
“Let go,” she whispered, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.
He held her tighter, kissing the top of her head while she bled onto
his shirt.
“Let go!” She pounded at his chest, breaking free and turning to
run down below.
He grabbed her arm. “Shelby.”
“Let me go!”
Sam tightened his grip. “What are you going to do?”
 “Ruin your fucking life, you asshole! Now, let go of me!”
He didn’t let go. They struggled, she trying to head toward the
bedroom, he trying to keep her on the deck. She scratched at his
arms, drawing blood. Sam instinctively hit her again and again.
Shelby stumbled backward and fell over the low railing into the
water. The salt burned her wounds and her eyes, the unexpected
water in her lungs making them ache as she gasped for a breath and
smacked her hands on the surface of the water trying to stay afloat.
He’d hit her too hard. She couldn’t see well. Everything spun around
her, including the image of Sam on the deck holding a white ring
buoy in his hands.
“Help …” she called through a cough.
He shook his head. “It won’t reach,” he said in an eerily calm tone.
“Sorry … it won’t reach.” The tide carried her farther and farther
away from the boat until Sam became nothing but a tiny blip in her
vision. Minutes later, the yacht was no longer in sight.
 CHAPTER THREE

AFTER MY FLIGHT to Washington D.C., thinking about that Shelby

girl, I fall asleep early. The next morning, I run five miles, grab a
fresh pressed juice, and shower. Less than thirty minutes later, I
arrive at the hospital to meet my team for tomorrow’s surgery and
review the most recent tests and scans.
“Do you want to meet the patient and his family now?” one of the
other doctors asks me as I unpack my computer in his office and
claim his desk space.
“What time is the surgery in the morning?”
“Eight.”
“I’ll visit with them in the morning. Six o’clock.”
“Uh … you’re going to wait until two hours before the surgery to
meet with them? Do you know who you’re operating on?”
I turn on my computer. “Yes. I do. And I’ll talk with him and his
family tomorrow at six in the morning.”
“I don’t think they’re going to be okay with that.” Dr. West is a
good neurosurgeon, but he’s not me. Part of the reason is he makes
things too personal.
All that personal shit is distracting. I can save lives or be BFFs
with my patients, but not both. “Maybe you should check out their
level of ‘okay-ness’ and let me know if the surgery is off. I have
plenty of things to do back home. Patients who want me paying more
attention to their brains and less time coddling them. Report back
soon while I can still grab a flight back to Toronto.”
Dr. West replies with a nervous laugh.
I glance up at him. “Do you want to do the surgery, Dr. West?”
 He slowly shakes his head. I know he thinks I’m an arrogant bitch
with the world’s biggest God complex. He might be right.
Twenty minutes later, Dr. West returns. “They’re not happy, at all. I
don’t think they’re used to people refusing their requests.”
I nod. “So I’ve been dismissed?” I close my computer and pack it
back in my bag.
“No. They’ll be ready to meet with you tomorrow at six.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder. “Lucky them.” I wink at Dr. West
and brush past him. “See you bright and early.”
“You’re leaving already?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to grab dinner with me later?”
“No.” I step into the elevator just as the door opens.

•••

That night I dream of Shelby. It’s always the same dream, the one
where she awakens in a hospital, groggy and disoriented—a
stranger holding her hand, his kind, dark-eyed gaze cast upon her.
“There’s my mermaid.” His full lips parted, exposing white teeth
and accentuating his high cheekbones with taut brown skin stretched
over them. A beautiful man. Surely a dream, she thought.
“What happened?” Shelby asked in a groggy voice as she winced
from the pain in her left leg.
“I’m not sure. You tell me, my beautiful mermaid. I was diving
when I saw that shark claim your leg. I had to kill him with my
speargun. And even then, he didn’t want to let go.”
Shelby tried to move her leg as she reached for it. Was it gone?
What happened? She couldn’t remember anything.
“Calm down,” he said in a soothing voice. “Your leg is fine. The
doctor … she fixed you up. Now, we’re trying to determine who you
are. Do you have family we can call?”
 “My mom and dad.” Shelby fought to recall her last clear memory.
It was the airport. She remembered the airport and all three bags
lining up at the luggage return. That was her last clear memory.
A woman in a white coat appeared, introducing herself and asking
Shelby questions. She couldn’t answer the woman’s questions.
There was too much pain for her mind to focus on anything else. A
few minutes later, the doctor gave her something and the pain
subsided, and the story sounded like a nightmare, not reality.
Shark attack.
Rescued.
Leg.
Surgery.
Recovery.
Tooth.
The woman in the white coat smiled. She’d saved Shelby’s leg,
and she was proud of it. “You might always walk with a limp. But
you’ll walk,” the woman in the white coat said with a confident smile
on her face, shoulders back, an aura of a savior.
Shelby knew that when she walked again, she wanted to be the
woman in the white coat.
“We’ll get ahold of your family and friends right away,” the doctor
said after Shelby gave her their information. “In the meantime, you
can thank Hennrick for saving your life. It’s a true miracle.”
After the doctor left the room, Shelby eyed Hennrick. “Thank you.
I … I wish I knew what happened. I … I don’t know why I was in the
water alone.” Whatever the doctor had given her for the pain only
made her fuzzier in the head.
“I don’t know either, but it was fate that I was there.”
Fate …
“It wasn’t my day to have the boat, but my friend got sick. Maybe
you should thank my friend for drinking too much.” He laughed.
Shelby knew she would never forget his face or his soothing
voice. She would never forget Hennrick. And she didn’t. To this day,
she still talks to Hennrick once a month. His wife died several years
ago. And he’s tried to convince his “mermaid” to retire, move to
Costa Rica with him, and buy a yacht with all of her “fancy doctor
money.” Had she gone the route of being an ordinary doctor, she
would have married Hennrick. He’s the only man she’s truly loved.
The memories of that day in the water didn’t come back for years,
but they did come back.
I wake from my dream fifteen minutes before my alarm’s set time.
“Breathe …” I whisper to myself, staring at the ceiling.
After my pulse finds its normal range, I go down to the hotel’s
gym, cycle, shower, and get to the hospital to meet my patient and
his family—to don my white coat, pull my shoulders back, present a
smile that’s dripping with confidence, and stand in my hard-earned
savior’s aura.
“Good morning, Dr. Lund.” Dr. West greets me with a cup of coffee
the second I step off the elevator.
I smile as best as I can and give a slight head shake to his
proffered coffee. “Good morning Dr. West.”
“They’re ready to see you.”
I follow his lead to the patient’s room. “I’m sure they are.”
“His wife’s a little nervous this morning. She had a bad dream last
night, and now she’s worried it’s a sign.” Dr. West laughs.
“She believes in signs? That’s interesting.” Fitting.
Outside of the room, there are two security guards.
“Is this necessary?” I ask.
“He’s a senator and likely a candidate in the next presidential
election,” Dr. West says, like I’m crazy to even ask.
President?
Clearly, his family thinks I’m not only going to save his life, they
think I’m going to keep every part of his brain functioning to its
normal capacity. How kind of Dr. West to not explain the realistic
outcomes of this surgery. I’m here, but it’s still an inoperable tumor
by every definition.
 “Good morning.” Dr. West enters the room first. “Senator … Mrs.
Thatcher.” He smiles at the patient and the patient’s wife. “This is Dr.
Lund.”
Mrs. Thatcher smiles at me. “Thank you so much for agreeing to
do this. You really are our last hope.”
I give her a polite smile in return and a nod before giving my full
attention to the patient.
“Doc. Did you get a good night’s sleep?” Senator Thatcher asks
with a nervous laugh.
“Sufficient,” I say, eyeing him, waiting for a hint of recognition.
Nothing.
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.” He does that nervous laugh
thing again. “Maybe we should reschedule the surgery until this
afternoon, and you can get a good nap in first.”
“Perhaps, but I’m not available this afternoon. So unless you want
Dr. West doing the surgery, I guess you’re stuck with me and my
sufficient night’s sleep.”
“No, no. Everyone says you’re the best. I want you.”
I slip my hands into the pockets of my white coat. “I know Dr. West
has explained everything to you, including possible risks and
complications. Do you have any questions for me?”
“If you’re as good as they say you are, there shouldn’t be any
complications, right?”
“Um, that’s not what I said,” Dr. West jumps in to save his ass. “I
said Dr. Lund is your best chance at living, but that there is a high
probability of some complications including cognitive and behavioral
changes, lack of coordination, speech issues, seizures, loss of bowel
control, sexual dysfunction …”
“Listen, Doc, if you anticipate loss of bowel control and sexual
dysfunction, just let me die on the table. Okay?”
“Sam,” Mrs. Thatcher says with emotion in her eyes.
“Honey, I’m not going to live the rest of my life impotent and
shitting my pants.”
 “You’d have a colostomy bag, Senator. No need to shit your
pants.” I offer a half smile.
He nods at my neck. “Is that a shark tooth?”
My hand goes to the tooth, and my fingers trace it as I stare at
Samuel Thatcher the Third. “It is.”
“Why would a world-class surgeon wear a shark tooth around her
neck? Did you save its life too?” He laughs again.
I didn’t know how pleasurable this would be. It was only
something I’d imagined in my wildest dreams. Yet, here I am … living
this moment after all these years. “I was attacked by a shark.
Someone rescued me but had to kill the shark. The surgeon who
saved my leg removed this tooth from my femur.”
“Damn … that’s …” Sam slowly shakes his head and whistles. His
hair is no longer jet black. It’s gray, with a pronounced widow’s peak.
Soon he’ll be bald with a massive terrain of staples holding
everything together. “Were you surfing? Diving?”
“Funny you should ask.” Thirty years can make someone
unrecognizable. Shelby had long blond hair. I have very short hair
that’s darkened a lot in thirty years, and it’s sprinkled with gray.
Shelby wore lots of makeup and smiled through her nerves. My
face is naked. I wear wrinkles and a confident smirk. But the eyes …
they never change. Had Samuel Thatcher III looked into Shelby’s
eyes—really looked into her eyes—he’d see her standing before him
now.
“I was just a young woman on a spring break trip in Florida. I met
a man who took me out on his yacht.”
The senator’s smile fades a fraction. I wouldn’t call it recognition,
yet, just a case of old memories wiggling in his tumor-infested brain.
“We did things that a married man should not do with another
woman. Then I found a picture of his family in his wallet. One of
those strips from a photobooth.”
“Oh, Sam used to carry around one of those in his wallet. It was
us and our girls.” Mrs. Thatcher nods her clueless head.
 All the color drains from Sam’s face and his heart monitor goes a
little haywire, making Dr. West frown and slip on his stethoscope to
check him out even though I’m standing right here. But my hands
remain idle in my pockets.
“He lost it when he saw I had his pictures. I tried to escape, and
he hit me over and over again until I fell off his yacht. Then he just …
disappeared. Leaving me in the middle of the ocean to die.”
“Oh my god! Who would do such a thing?” Mrs. Thatcher asks.
“Who indeed …” I keep my gaze glued to Sam’s.
“Is he okay?” Mrs. Thatcher asks Dr. West.
“His blood pressure spiked. I don’t know why? Senator, are you
feeling okay?”
Sam’s dry lips part as he shakes his head.
“It’s nerves. Anxiety. I’ll check him over. Could you give us a
moment?” I ask.
“Dr. Lund, maybe we should—”
“I’ve got this, Dr. West. Please escort Mrs. Thatcher to the waiting
area. Thank you.” My hands remain in my pockets, giving no
indication that I’m at all concerned … because I’m not.
I have no time to care about Dr. West’s disdain for me. I only care
that he does what I just asked him to do.
And he does.
When they’ve left the room, I smile at Sam. “If you don’t calm
down, I can’t do this surgery, Sam. And if I can’t do this surgery,
you’re going to die.”
“H-how …” he whispers, eyes bulging. “Y-your name is Abigail.
Abigail Lund.”
“It is. It was thirty years ago, too. But on spring break, my friends
and I used aliases.” I shrug. “I’m not sure why. I think we thought it
was for safety. Clearly, it didn’t keep that Shelby girl safe.”
“I … I didn’t mean …”
“To lie? To fuck my body and then my head? To hit me? To feed
me to the sharks?”
 “Get … get my wife. I’m … not having this surgery.”
“Calm down, Samuel.” I press the button to call for a nurse.
“What are you doing?” He starts to panic more.
When the nurse pops her head in the room, I order a sedative.
“What’s that? No … I need out of here.” Sam tries to sit up.
“Don’t make me restrain you, Senator.” I press my hand against
his chest to push him back down. “Although, I’ve thought about
restraining you for years … literally years.”
When the nurse returns, I smile at her and hold out my hand.
“Thank you.”
“Oh, you’re going to administer it?” She looks shocked.
“Get my wife!” Sam makes a weak attempt to call for help, but it
fails to draw much attention because he’s breathing so heavily.
The nurse narrows her eyes and looks to me for an explanation.
“The senator is panicking. And yes, I’m going to do it.”
She hands me the syringe.
“Thank you. That’s all.”
I administer the sedative and sit on the edge of his bed, resting
my hand on his. Within seconds his eyelids blink a little heavier.
“Listen, Sam. No hard feelings. Okay? I’m the woman I am today
because of you. It’s fate, I suppose. Had you not fed me to the
sharks, I would not have been so driven to be the best. Then who
would save your miserable little life? So … I’m going to go prep for
surgery. If you need another surgeon, you can tell your wife you’re
the dumb fuck who cheated on her and tried to kill me. Otherwise, I’ll
see you and your colostomy bag on the other side.” I pat his hand
and exit the room.
Awhile later, I scrub in for surgery with Dr. West and a gallery full
of residents and other doctors including the Chief of Surgery.
“Dr. Lund, Senator Thatcher has asked to speak to you,” one of
the nurses says over the intercom from the operating room.
Dr. West gives me a funny look as he continues scrubbing. I walk
through the door as they cover me in a gown, mask, and gloves. The
anesthesiologist moves aside when I approach Sam’s head.
“Closer,” Sam whispers.
I lean down and angle my ear toward his face.
“If I live, I will kill you,” he whispers.
Under my mask, my lips curl into a huge grin, and I turn my head
so I can whisper back to him, “Funny, I said the same thing thirty
years ago when you didn’t toss me the buoy. You’ll live, Sam, but not
until I fuck with your brain for a few hours. Nighty night.” I nod to the
anesthesiologist, who covers Sam’s face with a mask.

•••

Senator Samuel Thatcher III survived what all but one doctor called
an impossible surgery. The tumor was successfully removed with
“minor” complications according to representatives for the family.
Some news sources have reported he’s suffering from speech and
other neurologic issues, as well as undisclosed physical limitations.
He will require full-time care at his home in Palm Beach for the
unforeseeable future.
Dr. Abigail Lund retired after Senator Thatcher’s surgery, shocking
the medical world. She said she’d accomplished all she’d set out to
do in her career. It’s been reported that she bought a five-million-
dollar yacht named The Shelby. She was last spotted near Costa
Rica, married to Hennrick Allen, a local.
 
THE END
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jewel is a free-spirited romance junkie with a quirky sense of
humor.
With 10 years of flossing lectures under her belt, she took early
retirement from her dental hygiene career to stay home with her
three awesome boys and manage the family business.
After her best friend of nearly 30 years suggested a few books
from the Contemporary Romance genre, Jewel was hooked.
Devouring two and three books a week but still craving more, she
decided to practice sustainable reading, AKA writing.
When she’s not donning her cape and saving the planet one tree
at a time, she enjoys yoga with friends, good food with family, rock
climbing with her kids, watching How I Met Your Mother reruns, and
of course…heart-wrenching, tear-jerking, panty-scorching novels.
Receive a FREE book and stay informed of new releases, sales,
and exclusive stories at:
www.jeweleann.com
SUNSHINE RAE

 
KANDI STEINER
“TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.”
Those were the words my best friend said to me at our spot, his
face split in a wide grin, brown eyes a little glossy as he stared at the
two-carat monstrosity propped in a boxed cushion in his hands.
Our spot was a hidden gem outside our hometown of Savannah,
Georgia, an old, beaten-down bridge that overlooked a swampy
meadow with an oak tree perimeter. The bridge itself was shaded by
the old oaks, too, Spanish moss drooping down romantically
overhead. On this crisp fall day, the setting sun cast that meadow in
a golden glow, the tall grass swaying in the breeze.
The first time we came here, we were just thirteen years old.
We were twenty-four now, and while we had changed in many
ways, this spot had stayed the same.
“Two days, huh?” I asked, my heart sticking in my throat as I
struggled to get the words out. I reached for the heavy black box that
held the ring, feeling the weight of it in my soul when Parker handed
it over.
“If I can wait that long,” he joked.
At least I hoped he was joking. Two days was already too short a
timeframe in my eyes. Two days was just forty-eight hours. Two days
was only a couple sleeps away.
Two days, and my best friend would propose to his girlfriend.
Two days, and I’d lose my shot with him forever.
“It’s a beautiful ring, PJ,” I said, hoping like hell he couldn’t hear
how loud and fast my heart was racing. The white gold of the ring
seemed to mock me with how it sparkled, the pear-shaped diamond
encased in it like a wicked smile of victory.
“It’s her dream ring. Took me forever to save up for it.” He
chuckled, leaning back on his palms and gazing out over the
meadow. “Had to give up my savings for that truck I’ve had my eye
on, but she’s worth it.”
 His jean-clad legs hung off the edge of the bridge, swinging back
and forth, the brown boots on his feet as familiar to me as my own. I
glanced at him from the corner of my eye, taking in the strong line of
his jaw, the bend in his nose, the scruffy beard he couldn’t grow in
until after his first year of college, no matter how he tried. His maple-
colored hair used to be boyish and long, but he wore it short now,
styled in an adult way that made me long to run my hands through
the tendrils and mess it all up in an attempt to preserve our youth.
His chest and arms had filled out over the years, my scrawny best
friend turning into a hunk before my very eyes.
Though I’d always seen the best in him, even when he couldn’t.
I cleared my throat, closed the box, and handed it back to him.
“You’re sure about this?”
“Of course, I am,” he said, tucking the box into his coat pocket.
“Why would you ask that?” He went ashen. “Ah, shit, Rae, is there
something you know that I don’t? Is she a bitch when I’m not
around? Does my mom not like her?” He swallowed. “Did she… did
she cheat on me or something?”
“No, no.” I shook my head vigorously, smiling to cover up the fact
that I wished his girlfriend had messed up in some way. That would
make it a hell of a lot easier to beg him not to go through with
proposing. “Melody would never do that to you.” The next words
burned my throat. “She loves you.”
He smiled and leaned back on his palms again. “God, she does,
doesn’t she? How the hell did I get so lucky?”
I smiled in lieu of an answer. Tall, golden grass swayed in the
breeze. It was the kind of chilly fall day that sent a shiver right down
to the bone.
I mourned along with the dying summer, knowing this was a death
for me, too.
“Have things between you two been better?” I asked, the question
sounded casual and not the thinly veiled I don’t think you’re ready
that it felt like.
 Parker shrugged. “Yes and no. I mean, we still fight like crazy,
especially when I work too much, but hey”—he nudged me—“we
make up like crazy, too, if you know what I mean.”
“Gross!” I shoved him but couldn’t hide my smile. “I’m on a need-
to-know basis when it comes to you two, and that’s definitely
something I do not need to know.”
He snickered, then fell silent for a while before he said, “I think
this will prove to her I’m serious. She’s been wanting to get married
and start a family for years.”
“And do you?”
He tilted his head. “Yeah. Of course.” I didn’t miss the way his
Adam’s apple bobbed hard in his throat, though. “I mean, I wouldn’t
mind waiting a few more years before kids, but… getting married?”
He shrugged. “I love her. I want to be with her. So, I guess adding a
legal document to that won’t be so bad.”
I smiled. At least I tried to smile. I wasn’t sure if I actually achieved
it.
“You have to be there,” he said suddenly. “When I ask her.”
I blanched. “That should be a private thing between the two of
you.”
“I need you there. I can’t do this without you.” He covered my
hand in his. “You could hide and take pictures. Or a video. She’d
love that, something to post afterward.”
I chewed my bottom lip, looking at where his calloused, tan hand
covered my soft, pale one. It was a simple touch, friendly as always,
and yet it set off a stampede of butterflies deep in my gut. “If you
want me there, I’ll be there.”
“I can always count on you,” Parker said and then crushed me to
his chest and pressed a kiss to my temple. “My little Rae of
sunshine.”
I leaned into his warmth and familiar scent, into the boy who had
grown into a man right before my eyes.
“Two more days,” he said again.
 And I felt the countdown start with the next thud of my heart.

•••

Parker Jameson saved my life when I was thirteen years old.

Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but when you’re thirteen, the most
important thing is being popular or, at the very least, being tolerated,
which was all I was really after in middle school. I didn’t mind not
being the prettiest girl in school, or the smartest, or the most fun, or
the most athletic. I didn’t need a lot of attention.
Mostly I just wanted to be able to make it to high school without
getting my hair pulled or suffer a massive wedgy every day.
It shouldn’t have been that difficult a goal, considering our middle
school wasn’t small. There were two-hundred kids in our class alone;
I should have been able to fly under the radar.
Unfortunately, I sprouted boobs earlier than every other girl, and
they weren’t little bee stings, either. Along with my full-framed figure
came a massive set of jugs the summer after seventh grade.
My mom had passed away when I was a baby, and my father,
bless his heart, had no idea what to do with a teenage girl, so I took
my allowance and braved bra shopping alone. I had no idea what I
was doing, and apparently buying a padded bra with underwire was
the wrong move.
When I showed up for the first day of eighth grade, there were
more eyes on me than there’d ever been in my entire life. Boys
gawked and made inappropriate gestures with their hands or
mouths. Girls narrowed their eyes and shook their heads, like I was
a snake in the grass, as opposed to a nerdy, plus-sized girl who
played with Lego sets more than she ever thought about boys.
It didn’t make sense. I was thick and pale and still had braces. My
long dark blonde hair was about the only thing I’d loved about myself
at that age. And where most girls were heavy into their boy-crazy
stage at that point, I spent my weekends rearranging my room or
convincing Dad to take me to yard sales so I could find treasures to
fill our home with.
When I say I wasn’t a threat, I mean it in the truest sense, but
thanks to my boobs, overnight I went from a nobody to the only thing
anyone could talk about. Along with that attention came a slew of
rumors I wasn’t ready for.
The first one wasn’t so bad. They said I was a witch, and I’d cast
a spell to make my breasts grow. I could have lived with that. I even
dressed in all black for a week to play the part. But after that the
rumors got a little more sinister.
They claimed I’d had plastic surgery, because I could totally afford
that at thirteen. Then they said I’d let some college kid take my
virginity, and that made them grow. Then it wasn’t just one college
kid but a whole fleet of them, and I’d had sex with all of them in the
same night. The more complex the rumors became, the less I knew
how to handle them.
It was Parker’s best friend at the time who I thought was my
savior.
His name was Trey McCoy, and he asked me to be his girlfriend
by passing me a note in the hallway between fourth and fifth period.
Being Trey’s girlfriend was a big deal, because he’d been “dating”
Layla Basset, the prettiest girl in our grade, who’d been a flyer for the
cheerleader squad since forever. When he laid claim to me,
everyone else left me alone. I wasn’t someone to be made fun of
anymore.
I was cool until Trey took me on our first real date to the movie
theater and tried to stick his hand up my shirt after the opening
credits. I told him to stop, he didn’t, and I slapped him across the
face before promptly exiting the theater.
Monday at school an even worse rumor was circulating. Trey said
he’d had sex with me at the movies.
It’s strange to be a virgin and be accused of being a whore.
There’s no defending it. There’s no possible chance of anyone taking
your word over the boy’s. Someone says you did something? You
did it, even if there’s no proof.
But Parker knew Trey was lying.
He knew it, and instead of chastising him in private, he waited
until the school assembly later that week and embarrassed him in
front of everyone. Parker was in the A/V club, and he was in charge
of showing the pep rally video. Trey was on the basketball team, so
there was a whole section of the video on him.
It showed his layups and three-pointers, his defensive blocks and
charges, and then, at the very end, a screenshot of him and Parker
texting about me, where Trey admitted I’d slapped him and run out of
the theater.
Trey and Parker weren’t friends after that day, and out of the
death of that rumor came the birth of the last thing I ever expected:
a friendship between me and Parker Jameson.
We’d had each other’s backs ever since.

•••

One day until it happens.

I woke from a nightmare I couldn’t remember, sweaty and panting
in my damp sheets. Bits and pieces of the dream flittered in my
confused mind, but there wasn’t enough for me to figure it out.
Instead, I calmed my breathing and padded down the hallway of the
old house I was renting to get some water.
The dark wood floorboards creaked with every step, the hallway
slightly slanted where it met the kitchen entryway. The house was
built in the 1920s, and though it gave me plenty of trouble that the
landlord ignored and forced me to either live with or handle on my
own, it had character and charm. I loved the wood frame, its Tiffany
blue paint and sunshine-yellow door, the wide front porch with the
swing Parker had helped me put up, and the cramped, maze-like
rooms. With a little paint, deep scrubbing, TLC, and much-needed
interior design, I’d turned it into a cozy home.
Feeling better after chugging a glass of cold water, , I put on a
kettle for tea, then leaned a hip against the kitchen counter, looking
out the window at the backyard.
One day until it happens.
My stomach rolled violently.
I hated that I was upset. I hated that I wasn’t filled with joy and
excitement for my best friend that he’d found someone to share his
life with. I hated that in the moment I should have been supporting
him, all I could think about was how to stop him.
What I hated most was that I had no one to be angry at or
disappointed with other than myself.
I poured a steaming mug of tea and sat at the kitchen table to
watch the birds at the feeder. It was my favorite place to think before
work in the morning or journal on the weekend.
It was Saturday, but I didn’t have it in me to journal.
It was too painful to write down my thoughts.
When Parker and I became friends, I developed the biggest crush
on him. I never told him because was my first best friend, and there
was no way I wanted to lose that.
It wasn’t until our senior year of high school that the line between
just friends and something more blurred.
We were at the senior bonfire, both of us wearing our Savannah
College of Art and Design hoodies and celebrating the end of an era
with our classmates. We were drunk on cowboy punch and sitting
too closely together on a log at the edge of the fire. I was so tipsy all
I remember was we were laughing about something and then he
stopped laughing, swept my hair out of my face, and said, “I love it
when you laugh.”
Then he kissed me.
He kissed me like it was the most natural thing in the world, like
we’d done it a million times before, like that kiss wouldn’t flip our
lives upside down and change everything between us.
When he’d pulled back, his eyes were heavy and sated before
they shot wide open. I was still leaning into him, wishing for another
kiss, my heart beating fast.
He laughed so hard, tears pricked his eyes. Worse, he
apologized.
To him it was just a stupid, drunken kiss.
To me it was the realization of a truth I’d always known but tried to
deny.
Parker didn’t want me the way I wanted him.
I shelved my feelings for him and placed him firmly in the friend
zone
But life is never easy. It didn’t stay that way.
I was two years into my first real relationship in college when
Parker confessed he had feelings for me.
It rocked me to my core, but at the time, I was convinced I was
with the man I was supposed to be with. I loved him. I couldn’t throw
that all away because now Parker wanted me.
And so, for the second time, we reminded ourselves that we were
best friends — and that was all.
And on the same night that guy broke up with me to move to
California, Parker met Melody.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of it all, how timing seemed to
love playing tricks on us. Time would throw us into each other with a
chemistry so powerful neither of us could deny it, all the while artfully
designing reasons we could never be together.
Parker was the best thing in my life and the worst thing all at
once.
He brought me just as much love and comfort as he did pain.
My phone pinging on the kitchen table shook me from my
thoughts, and my throat tightened at the sight of PJ’s name on the
screen.
PJ: I barely slept last night, I’m so excited.
 I blew out a breath.
Me: Those butterflies will getcha.
PJ: What are you doing today? Melody gets in tomorrow
morning. Spend the day with me so I don’t drive myself insane?
My heart kicked in my chest with a thud, my rib cage tightened
around my labored lungs, sweat prickled the back of my neck, and
even my feet went numb in protest.
Everything inside me warned that it was a bad idea to say yes to
that request.
But it was Parker.
I could never say no to him.
Me: Come have tea with me and let’s make a plan.
Parker: Be there in twenty.

•••

“Thank you,” Parker said as soon as he walked through my front

door. He wrapped me in a tight hug, the kind only he could give, the
kind that had been my favorite kind of hug since I was a teenager. “I
would go crazy if I had to sit around by myself today.”
“You know you’ve always got me,” I promised. “So,” I said, pulling
back and flicking the bill of his ball cap. “What do you want to do?”
“I was kind of hoping you’d have the answer to that.”
I chuckled. “You are the literal worst when it comes to decision
making.”
“Don’t pick on me today. After tomorrow, I’m fair game again, but
right now, I need you to plan our day and tell me how awesome I am
and take my mind off how I can’t stop my hands from shaking.”
He held them out as proof, and I rolled my eyes, slapping them
away before I crossed the living room back into the kitchen. I poured
him a cup of tea while he took a seat at the kitchen table, and I knew
before I turned back around that he was already digging through my
sketchbook.
“Is this for the new show?” he asked, taking the tea when I
handed it to him but keeping his eyes on my drawings.
I nodded, sliding into the seat across from him. “I read through the
script on Thursday. These are just the first thumbnail sketches, but I
think I’ve got a pretty good feel to start on the white models this
week.”
The smile that spread on Parker’s lips was one I’d seen a hundred
times, the slow-rising smirk and crinkle of his eyes as he lit up with
appreciation. “I love this,” he said, pointing to one of the scenes.
“Treehouse?”
“A floating treehouse. It’s a dream the main character is having,
so I wanted it to feel whimsical while still appealing to real memories.
A treehouse without a tree, a river running vertically from the sky to a
hole in the ground, stars in the grass and a dark purple sky with
mountains in the clouds.”
“What drugs were you on when you sketched this?”
I pegged his arm.
Parker chuckled. “I’m kidding, Rae. This is… incredible.” His eyes
found mine then. “Not that I’m surprised. Everything you do is.”
Butterflies.
So many butterflies.
I shrugged off the compliment and hoped my blush wasn’t as
furious as it felt. “We’ll see what the final product looks like.” I sipped
my tea. “How’s it going with the web series?”
Parker had been into film ever since I met him. What started out
as just a kid in the A/V club escalated to production and editing as
we got older. When we both found our groove at SCAD, I watched
my scatterbrained best friend step into a more mature line of focus,
and he quickly became the best video editor on campus.
When we graduated, he signed on with a young director working
out of Atlanta on a web series. It’s documentary style and details the
human condition through the eyes of addicts who have found
themselves lost and alone. They find themselves again through
doing whatever it takes to knock off the top item on their bucket list.
Sometimes that means learning an instrument. Sometimes it means
climbing a mountain. The catch?
They only have thirty days.
It’s amazing what achieving a goal in thirty days can do for your
inner growth, confidence, and strength.
The show follows the addict through the journey, and a new
episode airs every month. I could still remember the pilot episode,
how nervous Parker had been, and how it only had a couple hundred
views.
But by the fourth episode, the series had a steady following.
By the end of the first season, they had a million subscribers.
And now, they were one of the top-watched series on YouTube.
“Well, actually… there’s some pretty big news I’ve been meaning
to tell you.” Parker laughed. “Aside from me proposing.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”
“What, you don’t want to be a godmother?”
Parker did a fake pout while I arched a brow on a smile. “Okay…
do I have to guess or are you going to tell me?”
“Guess.”
I sighed. Parker loved to do this.
“Um… you landed a big sponsor?”
“Nope. Try again.”
“You finally got the rights to use a John Mayer song in post?”
Parker sighed dreamily. “I wish. Guess again.”
“You got picked up by a network.”
Parker’s smile doubled in size, and my jaw dropped.
“Wait… you got picked up by a network?!”
“Not just any network,” he said, reaching across the table for my
hand. He squeezed it, leaning over with his wide grin. “HBO.”
 “Shut up!” I screamed, shoving him away before I jumped up from
the table. “No! Are you serious?”
“As serious as a mall cop.”
“PJ!” I screamed again, ripping him up from his chair to wrap him
in a hug. He laughed in my ear as I held him tight. “Congratulations. I
am so proud of you!”
“Thank you,” he whispered, and when we pulled back from the
hug, he kept his hands around my waist. “I wouldn’t be here without
you. You always believed in me, even when I was living off Top
Ramen and sleeping on your couch.”
I smiled. “And now look at you. About to be a video editor for
HBO.”
He blew out a breath, shaking his head. “About to be a little fish in
a big city.”
My smile slipped at that. “You’re moving to New York,” I said, not
as a question but as a distant realization. “Wow. Have you told
Melody yet?”
“I plan to… after she says yes, I hope.”
My tongue was sandpaper in my mouth, and I pulled away with a
smile I hoped Parker couldn’t tell was forced. “Well, I think the plan
for this day just changed.”
“How so?”
“Before, it was a day of distracting you. But now,” I said with a
grin. “It’s a day of celebration.”
Parker narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got that look on your face.”
“What look?”
“The one that tells me I’m going to wake up somewhere that’s not
my bed with a pounding head and someone else’s clothes on.”
“What? I just want to stroll the river walk and eat Byrd’s cookies.”
Parker folded his arms over his chest and arched a brow.
“And maybe do some shots of tequila,” I added with a shrug,
avoiding his eyes as I gathered our cups from the table.
“Rae…” he warned.
 But I just smiled and skipped over to the sink, dumping what was
left of our tea before I floated down the hall to get dressed.

•••

In my defense, we did start the afternoon off with a stroll along the
river walk, each of us housing our own bag of Byrd’s cookies. They
were a Savannah staple, crunchy little bite size bits of heaven that
came in a dozen different flavors. My personal favorite was the
lemon cooler, while Parker always went for classic chocolate chip.
In his defense, I did lead us straight to my favorite dive bar on the
river and order two shots of tequila immediately after.
“Seriously, I’m so proud of you,” I said to him after the second one
— which he ordered, not me, to be clear. “But I’m sad, too.”
“Sad?” he asked, sucking the lime with a sour face as the tequila
burned down. “Why sad?”
“You’re moving to New York,” I reminded him with a shrug.
“You can visit, you know. It’s not like I’m moving to Japan.”
I smiled, but my eyes stayed focused on the empty shot glass in
front of me. We’d secured a little booth in the back corner of the bar,
giving us the perfect view of all its patrons and the door that led out
to the busy river walk.
“I guess. But… it just won’t be the same, you know? Ever since
we were kids, this has been our place.” I gestured to the bar, but
really, I was waving my hands over the entire city with that motion.
“It really has been, huh?” Parker asked with a grin, looking around
the bar. “God, I remember the first time we came here. Do you
remember?”
“No,” I deflected quickly.
“No?” he asked, his grin growing wider. “That’s funny, because I
remember everything. We were nineteen. College freshmen. You got
us those sketchy, fake IDs.”
 I buried my face in my hands. “PJ, we do not need to relive it.”
“Oh, so she does remember?”
“Shhhh.”
“I’ll drop it if you just prove that you remember.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, but he just arched a brow with a smirk
and waited.
“I danced on the bar and made out with a stranger.”
“Oh, come on, be a little more detailed. Was there anything
interesting about that stranger?”
I ground my teeth together. “He may or may not have had a
permanent residence.”
“Pretty sure it’s more in the may not have category.”
I leaned over the table and socked Parker’s arm, which made him
laugh, but he rubbed the spot, nonetheless.
“It’s okay, Rae. Homeless men need love, too.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” Parker said.
And I sighed, my heart squeezing painfully in my chest as I looked
at him.
“No,” I whispered. “No, I don’t.”
Parker smiled, oblivious to what lay under that statement, then he
popped up and went to the bar to get us a couple beers. When he
was back, we toasted to his new venture, and then he fell quiet.
“Whatcha thinking about?” I asked after my first sip.
Parker shook his head, a distant smile on his lips. “Just thinking
about tomorrow.”
I swallowed. “What’s your plan?”
“She’s driving over from Atlanta after church, so she’ll be here
around one or so. I was going to have lunch ready like usual, and
then ask her if she wants to go for a walk in the park. We met there,
remember?”
“I do,” I regretfully admitted.
 “So, I was going to walk her over to the bench where we first met,
and talk a little about how much I love her and stuff, and then…” He
splayed his hands out, like I could fill in the blanks from there.
And boy, could I.
“And then you say oh, by the way, we’re also moving to New York
for my job, and she says, ‘YES, YES, a thousand times yes!’ and
then you hug and dance and make out in front of a cheering crowd.”
Parker leveled his gaze. “Don’t be a brat.”
I stuck my tongue out.
“I do hope that’s how it goes, though,” he said with another swig of
beer. “Especially in regard to the moving to New York thing. I mean, I
know she’s never been a huge fan of the web series, but now, it’s a
show. A real show. On a real network.” He smiled. “This is what I’ve
been working so hard for. This is what all the long days and nights
have led to. It’s finally paying off.”
“And what happens if you go to New York and end up having to
work even more?” I asked. “Will she support you through that?”
“Of course, she will,” Parker said, confusion bending his brows as
he watched me. “Why would you even ask that?”
Because she’s fought you about your career ever since we were
in college and would prefer you get what she considers a “real job.”
“I was just kidding,” I said instead. “Picking on you is my favorite
way to reduce your anxiety.”
Parker shook his head on a smile.
“Oh! And,” he added after a moment, pointing at me. “You’ll be
hiding out on one of the other benches or behind a tree and get the
whole thing on video.”
“I will, huh?”
“I’m using my best friend card on this one, Rae,” he said, flipping
open his wallet and taking out a bent, cheaply laminated, neon
orange card that I’d know anywhere.
It said BEST FRIEND CARD in Comic Sans font, and though the
print underneath it was too small for me to read at this distance, I
knew exactly what it said. Whenever this card is pulled, the other
person must adhere to whatever the cardholder’s request is. Card
may not be used more than twice a year.
I tongued my cheek. “I really think this should be a moment for
just the two of you.”
“Rae, please,” he begged earnestly, reaching across the table to
take my hand in his. He waited until I lifted my gaze to his, and when
I did, my chest felt like it was on fire and his eyes were the match
that lit the flames. “I need you.”
I closed my eyes on a sigh, but then smiled, nodding when I
opened my eyes once more. “I’m always here.”

•••

Fourteen hours until it happens.

That was a guess, of course. But being that it was just after one in
the morning now, I figured it was a pretty close estimate.
Parker was hammered.
It wasn’t my intention to get him that way. In fact, I was the one
who made sure we had dinner, and I encouraged him to slow down,
to drink water, to stop while he was ahead.
But I knew how Parker got when he was nervous, and I should
have known better than to agree when he said he wanted to stay
out. I should have had him home hours ago. He should have been
asleep by now, resting and preparing for tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
My stomach soured.
“You did this to me,” Parker said on a hiccup, pointing his finger
right into my chest. He stumbled a bit with the motion, nearly taking
us down as I half-carried him back to his place.
“Hey, I was the one who tried to take you home after dinner,” I
reminded him, adjusting where his arm was over my shoulder. He
wasn’t really putting all his weight on me, but he was leaning into me
pretty heavily with each step.
Parker blew out a long breath through his mouth, letting his lips
flutter and making a horse-like sound. “You’re right. I did this to
myself.”
I chuckled. “You’ll be fine. We just need you to chug some
Pedialyte and pop a few Advil and you’ll be good as new in the
morning.”
Parker nodded, and then hung his head as we walked the rest of
the way. Where I was in an old house on the outskirts of town,
Parker’s web series had taken off enough for him to be able to afford
an apartment in the Historic District not too far from Forsyth Park. I
was thankful I didn’t have to pour him into a cab — mostly because I
couldn’t be one hundred percent sure he wouldn’t forfeit his dinner in
the process.
By some miracle, we made it to his place in one piece, and after
he fumbled with his keys and got us through the front door, I happily
deposited him on his couch.
He slumped into it with his legs sprawled out, head on the back
cushion, eyes closed as he made the horse noise again.
I chuckled, leaning down and grabbing his hands so I could pull
him upright. “Okay, sit up a little so you don’t get the spins. I’m going
to make you an electrolyte cocktail and grab a couple Advil.”
“Mmkay,” he said.
“Eyes open,” I warned as I walked away, and he held up his hands
with a grin like I was a police officer and he was a bandit ready to
bolt.
I laughed to myself as I made my way into his kitchen. I knew my
way around it as if it were my own. Once I had a full water bottle
mixed with a Pedialyte packet, I joined Parker in the living room
again and handed him the pills.
“Take these,” I said, waiting until he popped them in his mouth.
“Now drink this.”
 He took the first sip, wrinkling his nose before he pulled the bottle
away from his mouth. “Ugh. This is so gross.”
“Drink it.”
He took a few more sips.
“All of it,” I said, tilting the bottom of the bottle up with my fingertip.
He chugged most of it in one go, then took a breath, balancing the
bottle on his knee. “You’re the best human in the whole world.”
I laughed. “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.”
“No,” he said sincerely, his eyes steady when they met mine. “I’m
saying it because it’s true.”
I swallowed, tucking my hair behind one ear on a shrug. “Alright.
Rest up, pal. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
“Wait,” he said, his hand shooting out to cover my knee before I
could stand. “Can you stay?” His brows furrowed when he saw my
protest already building. “Please?”
I sighed, but nodded, settling back into the couch. “Okay.”
Parker set the water bottle to the side and let his head fall back
against the cushion again, a lazy smile playing on his lips.
“So,” he said after a minute. “Are you dating anyone?”
I rolled my eyes. “You already know the answer to that.”
“I don’t get it, though,” he said, shaking his head. “How? How is
there not some guy at the theater tripping over himself to make you
fall in love with him? How has some stranger at the coffee shop not
offered to buy your order?”
“Well, I don’t live in a rom com, for one thing.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” I said with a laugh.
Parker didn’t laugh with me, though. He just shook his head
again, brows bent as he watched me. “You’re so oblivious to how
amazing you are.”
My chest ached as I folded my hands together in my lap and kept
my gaze there.
 “And how beautiful you are, too,” he added.
He tilted my chin with his knuckles until I looked at him, and when
I did, I wished I’d have left.
I wished I’d have sent him home after dinner and I was in my own
bed now.
I wished I didn’t love the way his eyes searched mine, the way he
swallowed hard, the way his breathing shallowed out like he wanted
to kiss me.
“You have to say that,” I whispered, trying to smile. “You’re my
best friend.”
Parker slid his hand to frame my cheek, his fingertips brushing my
hair, thumb running the line of my jaw. “I’m not saying anything that
isn’t true.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, leaning into his palm and inhaling a
breath that burned my lungs. “Parker…”
But I couldn’t say another word.
Because in the next breath, Parker pressed his lips to mine.
My eyes shot open in shock at the contact, at the feel of his hand
gripping behind my neck, the other wrapping around my waist and
pulling me closer as he inhaled a stiff breath and kissed me harder.
My heart thudded hard in my chest, once as a warning, twice as a
plea, and a third time as a desperate wish for me to ignore the fact
that it was wrong to kiss him back.
And so I did.
I reached for him in equal earnest, both of us gasping as I opened
my mouth and let his tongue sweep inside. I whimpered on a moan
of pleasure, and Parker cursed under his breath, pulling me in even
more.
I wanted that kiss to consume me.
I wanted to remember the way his mouth moved with mine
forever, the way his hand felt gripping my hair, the way he tugged
just enough to tilt my chin up and devour me like he’d wanted to his
entire life.
 I gave in to that moment, to that man, to the fantasy I’d always
had in my soul.
For approximately sixty seconds.
Then, with a painful cry, I pressed my hands into his chest and
shoved him away.
Parker panted like we’d just sprinted four miles, his eyes wild as
they searched mine, chest heaving. He looked like he was going to
kiss me again, like he was about to say fuck it all and devour me
until the sun came up.
But then he blew out a breath and ran his hands back through his
hair. “Shit, Rae.”
I cleared my throat and shook my head instantly. “It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t—“
I smiled, still shaking my head. “It’s okay. It’s fine. You’re just
drunk.”
He reached for me, then, but I stood abruptly, swiping my purse
off the coffee table. “I’m going to go.”
“Rae, please. Just… just stay. I’ll sleep on the couch, you can
have the bed.”
I was still shaking my head, tears blurring my vision when he
reached out and grabbed my hand.
“It’s late. I don’t want you in an Uber by yourself. Please,” he
begged. “Stay.”
I chewed my cheek, knowing it was a bad idea but nodding in
agreement all the same. “I want the couch.”
“Whatever you want,” he said, and he jumped up, waving a hand
over the cushions. “I’ll grab you a pillow and blanket.”
When he disappeared in the back hallway, I folded my arms over
my stomach, fighting against the urge to cry. But as much as I knew I
should have left, I didn’t want to — not after what just happened.
Parker was drunk. I knew it.
But it didn’t change the fact that he kissed me.
And in the morning, when he was sober, I’d make him tell me why.
 •••

Six hours until it happens.

I woke up with a headache even though I’d stopped drinking after
dinner the night before. My back was stiff from sleeping on the
couch, and I groaned as I sat up and blinked against the sunlight
streaming into Parker’s apartment.
“Morning,” he said cheerily from the kitchen, where he was
already making more noise than I preferred with all the dish
clattering of making breakfast.
Still, there was coffee roasting and the smell of bacon in the air, so
I didn’t stay mad for long.
“Morning,” I croaked back, taking a seat at one of the bar stools at
the kitchen island.
“Black, like your soul,” he said when he handed me the first cup of
coffee.
I tried to smile at the joke, but it fell flat.
“So, Melody will be here in…” Parker checked the time on the
stove. “Four hours, give or take. I figured I’d just make lunch here so
she doesn’t suspect anything. And then if you want to just be ready
in place at the park around—”
“You can’t be serious.”
My cheeks were hot as the words rolled off my tongue, and when
Parker looked at me with genuine confusion from where he was
flipping the bacon on the stove, an incredulous laugh barreled out of
my chest.
“Wow,” I said, throwing my hands up before I let them slap the
counter. “You really are serious.”
Parker arched a brow. “Did I miss something?”
“Apparently. Do you not remember last night at all?”
His cheeks flamed then, and he tore his gaze from mine and back
to the bacon. “I remember.”
 “Clearly not all of it.”
He dropped the spatula then, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I
remember, Rae, okay? I remember. I… I…”
“Kissed me,” I finished for him. “You kissed me, Parker.”
He swallowed, nodding, glancing at me for only a split second
before he was working on the bacon again.
Then, he laughed.
I’d never wanted to punch someone more in my life.
“Like you said when it happened, I was drunk. It’s not like we
haven’t had that happen before.”
“We haven’t. Not like that.” I stood. “Not on the night before you’re
supposed to propose to another woman.”
“It was just a kiss.”
“Was it?!”
The words ripped from me so loud they surprised even me, and
the shocked look on Parker’s face when he saw the emotion in my
eyes nearly killed me.
“Was that all it was?” I asked, calmer, though my eyes were
welling with tears now. “Did you just kiss me because you were
drunk? Or was it because you feel something for me?”
Parker swallowed hard then, rolling his lips together as he
watched me round the counter and walk toward him.
“Was it maybe because you’ve been in love with me since we
were thirteen?” I asked softly, and then I shrugged as the first tear
slipped free. “Because that’s where I’m at.”
Parker shook his head, tearing his gaze from me as his own eyes
glossed over.
But I didn’t back down.
I didn’t take it back.
It was now or never, I realized.
And if now was all I had, I wouldn’t waste it.
 “Why would you say that to me, Rae?” Parker asked, tongue in
his cheek as he continued shaking his head over and over. It
seemed the more time passed, the angrier he became. When his
eyes found mine again, they were laced with rage.
We both ignored the bacon burning on the stove.
“Why would you say that?” he asked again. “Why now? Why
today?”
“Why would you kiss me? And touch me? And say those things
you said to me?”
“I was—”
“Don’t say drunk,” I warned him, holding up one finger. “I don’t
care how much alcohol you had, you knew what you were doing.
You don’t kiss someone like that unless you feel something for
them.”
His mouth clamped shut at that, another bob of his Adam’s apple
and a flare of his nose the only answer he gave.
“I know it’s shitty timing. I know I should have said something
forever ago but… well, it was always something, wasn’t it?” I held up
my hands, desperate for him to see. “It was either the wrong time or
there was someone else — for you or for me or for both.” I
swallowed. “It’s never been the right time, and now is no different.
But now is all I have, PJ. So, here it is. The truth.” One shallow
breath left my lungs. “I love you. And I want you.”
He closed his eyes, looking away from me like I’d just caused him
more pain with those seven words than he’d felt in his entire life.
“Don’t propose to Melody today.”
“How dare you ask that of me!” Parker fumed. “I love her. We’ve
been together for four years now. Four years.” He ran his hands
back through his hair, shaking his head. “I… I don’t even know what
to say right now.”
I closed my eyes as another tear slipped free, a calm and in-
control façade.
On the inside, everything I was shattered into a million tiny pieces.
 “Okay,” I said on a breath.
Parker’s eyes shot to me then. “Okay?”
“If she’s what you want, okay. I’m not going to beg you.” I
shrugged, a smile finding my lips as I fought back another wave of
tears. “I just had to try. I had to tell you.” My bottom lip quivered. “I
had to make sure you knew.”
And with my best friend’s mind made up, I sniffed, wiped my face,
and grabbed my purse off the coffee table as I made my way toward
the front door.
“I’m sorry, PJ. I know you pulled the card but…” I stopped by the
door and gave him another shrug. “I think you need to find someone
else to be your photographer.”
Parker’s shoulders wilted then, and he took three strides toward
me before he stopped dead. “Rae…”
“Good luck,” I told him. Then, I gave the last smile I could
manage. “And goodbye.”
The door shut with a quiet snick behind me.
Parker didn’t follow.

•••

It was happening.
Or maybe it had already happened.
Maybe he was on one knee right now, or maybe they were
already driving across town to his parents’ place to break the good
news.
Maybe it was already posted online, an emotional, romantic video
for all to see.
In all honesty, I didn’t really want to know. I much preferred to sit
in denial at our spot, my legs dangling from the bridge as I listened to
the wind blow through the grass and watched the Spanish moss
wave in the breeze.
 It was even colder today than it had been when Parker and I were
here on Friday, an overcast sky making it truly feel like fall.
Like death.
How perfect.
My chest ached so fiercely, I would have sworn my rib cage was
two seconds away from collapsing and crushing my lungs and heart
in the process. I found it difficult to breathe without crying, found it
damn near impossible to think about anything other than the fact that
Parker didn’t want me the way I wanted him.
He didn’t feel the same.
Part of me wondered why I was surprised. The other part of me
wanted to slam my hands against his chest and demand that he
wake up and tell the truth.
I wanted to believe he loved me, too. I wanted to believe it wasn’t
all in my head, that all these years of a friendship that always felt like
so much more wasn’t just a fantasy.
The truth hurt too much to admit.
So, I gave myself permission to take one day. Just one day of
pretending like it didn’t happen, like I didn’t confess my feelings only
to be shot down, like my best friend and the only boy I’d ever truly
loved wasn’t proposing to another woman at this very moment.
Tomorrow, I’d face reality. I’d start picking up the pieces and move
on.
Today, I just wanted to pretend a little while longer.
I was in a sort of numb trance sitting there on that quiet bridge, so
much so that I didn’t notice how the sky darkened overhead, how the
breeze turned to a strong wind, how the oaks groaned against its
force with a warning for me to leave before the storm could fully
move in.
But I stayed rooted, succumbing to the strange purgatory I’d found
myself in where my heart ached with the truth I was trying to ignore.
And then suddenly, over the howl of the wind, I heard footsteps on
the bridge.
 My head snapped in the direction of the noise, hair flying in a wild
tornado all around my face.
Through the golden tendrils, I saw Parker.
He stood there at the edge of the bridge with his hands in his
pockets, his brows bent together, and he didn’t take another step
once I looked at him. He just laughed to himself, let his gaze wander
over the meadow, and then he shrugged again when his eyes found
mine. “You were right.”
My heart thumped hard in my chest, the force enough to bring me
to my feet, though I didn’t dare take a step toward Parker.
Not yet.
Not until I knew I wasn’t dreaming.
“You can’t kiss someone like that without having feelings for
them,” he shouted over the wind. “And damn it if I haven’t loved you
since we were thirteen, though I tried so desperately to deny it.”
I choked on a sob, covering my mouth with my hands, and that
was his cue to walk slowly toward me.
“I was so scared of losing you as a friend that I never told you how
I really felt. And the few times I thought I might have the balls to
actually say something, you were with someone else, or I was, or…”
He threw his hands up. “Insert a million other excuses here.”
I chuckled, nodding, knowing the feeling all too well.
“But the truth,” he said softly when he reached me, so softly I
almost didn’t hear it over the next gust of wind. “Is that I love you, my
little Rae of sunshine.”
Tears streamed down my cheek as he reached up to frame my
face in his hands, and I leaned into his warm palm, closing my eyes
as my heart raced like a stampede of horses.
“This timing sucks,” he added with a laugh that I matched with one
of my own. “It hurt me to admit the truth to Melody.”
I nodded in understanding, reaching out for him and pulling him
closer.
 Parker shook his head, sweeping my wind-blown hair out of my
face as best he could as he searched my eyes. “But it would kill me
to lose you.”
“You never could,” I whispered. “I’m yours. I always have been.”
“Well, I won’t waste another minute being too dumb and blind to
realize it.”
With that, he slid his hands back into my hair and pulled me to
him, his mouth finding mine in a desperate kiss that seemed to
explode like a box of dynamite in the middle of the meadow.
A crack of thunder boomed overhead when our lips met, and the
soft sound of rain through the trees found my ears first before I felt
the cold droplets on my skin.
I didn’t care.
Neither of us did.
Parker held me even tighter, pressing his lips to mine so hard I
thought they’d bruise before I opened my mouth and he swept his
tongue inside. I threw my arms around his neck and he wrapped his
around my waist, our bodies melding together, souls coming home to
one another after years of aching for this very moment.
The storm raged on around us, lightning splitting the sky and rain
soaking us to the bone as my best friend kissed me like he’d never,
ever stop.
But I wasn’t scared.
Not anymore.
I knew that now, no matter what, we’d get through.
Together.
 
THE END
If you enjoyed this short story, you’ll love Kandi Steiner’s angsty
bestsellers: A Love Letter to Whiskey, Weightless, and Make Me
Hate You. Read all three in The Pain in Loving You box set, available
to read in Kindle Unlimited, or get all three audiobooks for one
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FROM FRIENDS TO THIS

 
DOMINIQUE LAURA
 CHAPTER ONE

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens. Two more days until I reunite
with my high school best friend at our ten-year reunion.
I groan, fingers running through my hair and further messing up
my bun as I try to keep it together. “It’s fine, everything’s going to be
fine.”
It hasn’t been that long since I last saw him, but it definitely feels
like it. We lost touch a few years back. What started as frequent calls
and texts to each other to check in slowly dwindled to one or two a
month until we both just stopped reaching out. Our friendship fizzled
out. Nothing bad happened, and no blood was drawn. We just grew
apart, which is the one thing we said we’d never let happen, no
matter how many obstacles life and time threw our way.
We still like each other’s posts on social media and share the
occasional emoji in place of words in the comments section, but
there’s been no sliding into each other’s DMs or taking it any further
than that. Though as a result of those friendly public interactions, I
was forced to make all of my accounts private because the millions
of followers and fans that dissect his every move were trying to do
the same to me in hopes of a breadcrumb from him.
That’s right. Robbie Olsen, my goofy, animal-loving, talented
theater best friend from high school went on to become one of the
most-loved actors out there, and his career is still soaring. Eliza
Moreno—that’s me—on the other hand, went on to become a
freelance copywriter, which basically means I spend ninety-nine
percent of my time working in the comfort of my own home in sweats
with a messy bun atop my head. As an extroverted introvert, it’s the
perfect situation for me. I spend my weekdays working in isolation
and my weekends being a social butterfly. It’s balance, really. I look
forward to the weekends, but not this one, not fully. My stomach has
been in constant knots since I found out Robbie had RSVPed to go. I
knew there was a high probability he would. I mean, why wouldn’t
he? High school was actually pretty great for us. I just, I don’t know,
despite our history, that’s all it is. It’s history, and we’re not who we
were a few years ago, which is when the friendship finished its
course.
Will he bring a date? Will I? Will we sit at the same table and
make awkward small talk and catch each other up on our lives? Or
will everything come rushing forward the moment I see him and we’ll
jump right back in like no time has passed? Who. Freaking. Knows.
What I do know is that it’s Thursday and I’ve gotten absolutely no
work done today because every time I try to focus on something
productive, my mind shifts back to him and the friendship we once
shared. And, of course, the fact that I’ll be reuniting with him in two
days’ time at the reunion, which really is fitting now that I think about
it.
And it’s true, because really, what’s the worst that can happen?
Extreme awkwardness and maybe some embarrassment? Story of
my life. There’s really nothing to lose here. He’s someone I loved
more than anything once, someone I still support and adore even
now—even though it’s from a distance.
Yeah, words are great and all, like the ones I’m using against
myself right now, but these nerves are ruling me, so it’s definitely
time for a drink. I’ve never felt the phrase It’s five o’clock somewhere
more strongly than I do now. Actually, a quick glance at the clock
confirms that it is in fact five o’clock here now, so somewhere is here
and vice versa and—okay, yeah, I’m just gonna go get that drink
now.

•••
By some miracle, I managed to change, slap on a bit of makeup, and
make myself a tad more presentable before nearly running to Insert
Bar Name Here, the local bar downtown that serves the best
mimosas. Champagne and orange juice are a go-to combination any
time of day, let’s be honest. It’s what my bestie Lacey and I always
order whenever we get together like this. Speaking of, she should be
here by now.
I peek out from where I sit in the dimly lit corner booth, squinting
at the entrance like that’ll magically make her appear or improve my
eyesight. It does neither, by the way. The mimosas are placed in
front of me, and a few minutes later, with no sign of Lacey, I shoot
her a text. I mean, it was spur of the moment, so maybe she got
stuck at work and couldn’t get off any earlier after all.
 
Me: Lukewarm mimosas just don’t hit the same. Are you almost
here?
Lacey: Don’t be mad, but no.
 
I narrow my eyes, immediately replying even as the text bubble
appears, indicating she’s currently typing.
 
Me: It isn’t April Fools’ day yet, so please tell me you’re on your
way.
Lacey: I could, but then I’d be lying. I’m not the one you’re
meeting for drinks right now.
Me: WHAT?
 
Before she can text back again, I’m calling her. But after three
rings, it goes straight to voicemail. I’m about to revoke this woman’s
friendship card if she ignores me one more time, so I tell her just that
with an all-capitalized-letter text. And like magic, my phone rings two
seconds later with her name flashing across the screen.
 “Lace, who am I supposedly meeting for drinks? Your drunk alter
ego? Did you pregame at home?” That would actually make a lot of
sense, because when Lacey goes hard, she goes hard, and so she’s
deemed that version of her, the alcohol-fueled one, Lacey 2.0.
She laughs nervously. “No, I’m sober as can be, but I may or may
not have reached out to Robbie because, as fate would have it, he
was at his parents’ place while I was at mine, and you know how our
families are close and all…”
After one, two, three seconds of silence, my stomach somersaults
and my heartrate picks up speed. I ask the question I already know
the answer to because I need to hear her say it. “Lacey, what did you
do?”
She breathes out, “He mentioned wanting to see you, so when
you brought up drinks, I had the grand idea to tell him about it and
then not show. The grand setup that all besties pull in movies or
whatever. A classic, really.”
She sounds so proud of herself, so proud and innocent and
genuine, and I know she wants us to reconnect just as much as I
used to, but no, not like this.
“The reason I wanted to get drinks in the first place, dear friend of
mine, is because I am a ball of nerves and overthinking about seeing
him again, so please explain to me why you thought this was a good
idea, truly.”
“Okay, that’s fair,” she starts, “but seeing each other in person for
the first time in years one-on-one is way better than doing it in a
room full of people who are going to be vying for his attention and
also interrupting any chance you two would have at properly
speaking. Soooo, drinks a couple days beforehand. And it shouldn’t
be too awkward, because you two didn’t end on bad terms…you just
fell off.”
She has a point, she does. Logically, I’m well aware of that. But
logic has no strength against my nerves, none at all. I grab the
mimosa in front of me and gulp it down, eyes closed while I savor the
taste and attempt to ground myself.
 “Eliza?” Lacey calls, a hitch of worry in her voice now. “I’m sorry,
okay? Actually, not really, because I thought I was doing the right
thing, but I’m sure there’s still time to leave before he gets there if
you want to bail.”
I sigh, shaking my head even though she can’t see me. Decision
made. “No, I’m already here, he’s already maybe on his way, so I
might as well stick it out. I can do this. He’s just a guy.”
“He’s more than that,” she gently reminds me.
“Yeah,” I breathe out. “Yeah, you’re right. He is more, or he used
to be, but reunions are fun, right? Whether at a bar or formal event. I
can do this. It’ll be fine.”
Fine. Fine. Fine. The word of the night, it seems.
I hang up, not bothering to give a proper parting—I’m being
partially petty at the moment—and start to drink the second mimosa,
knowing it’s arguably one of Robbie’s least favorite drinks anyway,
so there’s no need to save it for him. Or it used to be anyway. Who
knows now.
“Eliza Moreno, it’s been awhile.”
 CHAPTER TWO

THE SECOND MY name leaves his lips, my eyes close of their own
accord, and I’m taken back to younger me, the teenage girl I was ten
years ago. His smooth voice drags me back to when we’d spend all
night talking and swapping dreams and memories.
I hear him slide into the seat across from me, and I’m so
overwhelmed by his presence that my hands start to shake. I move
to pull them from the table when his hands land on mine, keeping
them there.
My eyes fly open, and once they land on him, I can’t shift my
focus anywhere else. He looks good. Healthy, happy, grown up. Way
better than he does in his social media posts and on the big screen,
if that’s even possible. I don’t miss the baseball hat pulled low over
his brows, presumably in a poor attempt to conceal his identity.
Though I’m not sure what good that’ll do here. He’s a local celebrity
—literally. Hometown boy makes it big. He’s a walking headline.
A wave of emotions rolls through me, and it’s so potent that I start
fighting back tears right then and there. I call it my curse. When I feel
too much of anything, happiness or anger or whatever lies between,
I cry.
His head tilts to the side, and he gives me a small smile, hands
squeezing mine gently.
“Robbie,” I manage through a deep breath, laughing at how
ridiculous I’m being. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happening right
now. I mean, I do. It’s just a lot, seeing you, touching you. It’s almost
surreal, like a dream, as shameful as that is to admit.”
I blink rapidly, willing the thick buildup of emotions in my throat to
cease and failing miserably.
 What was supposed to be drinks with my best friend has turned
into something completely different, but the humiliation I started to
feel a few seconds ago disappears the longer Robbie’s ocean-blue
eyes clash with my poop-brown ones.
I might be twenty-eight years old now, but the way my body is
reacting, you’d think I was eighteen again and a senior in high
school. That’s the year we vowed to stay close and in touch forever;
to never leave each other’s lives. Look how well that turned out. That
realization makes my chest ache harder. We are still in each other’s
lives on some level, sure, but not in the way either of us thought we’d
be.
I finally rid the monstrous ball of feelings from my throat and
slowly pull my hands from his, running them along the tops of my
jean-clad thighs to—what? Wipe him off somehow? I need another
drink, something stronger this time.
An encounter that was supposed to happen in two days is
happening now, and to be honest, I’m not sure the extra time would
have made it any less than, well, whatever this is right now.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently, his own hands
locking together on top of the table.
“Talk about what?” I ask through another deep breath, grateful
that the start of my emotional breakdown has stopped. He probably
wants to know what the heck is wrong with me at the moment, why
my usually confident demeanor is crumbling at his mere presence.
Knowing me as well as he used to, he has to know crying is a
symptom of my existence. It’s something else, though, the power
that another person can have over you. Everything in his presence is
somehow heightened by a thousand. Even time didn’t take that
away, it seems. Some things really never change.
“About how much you hate me.”
Wait, what? That’s definitely not the clarification I was expecting.
“Okay, we’re diving right into this, I guess. But where did that
come from? Hate you, Robbie?” I shake my head, sitting up
straighter. “I don’t hate you. Why would you think I hate you?
Actually, don’t answer that question just yet because I’m, uh, really
parched and in desperate need of a drink right now. Something
strong and burn-like.”
His eyes shift to the two empty flutes in front of me before he
laughs to himself and signals the waiter over. After ordering a Jack
and 7UP for him and a classic margarita for me, we focus our
attentions back on each other.
He stares at me expectantly as he waits for me to continue the
conversation.
“I don’t hate you,” I tell him, eyes holding onto his so he knows I
mean it. “Why do you think that?”
“Well, for one, every time we’re in the same town together, you
never want to meet up,” he says matter-of-factly. “No matter how
much advance notice I’d give you, you always have one excuse or
another.”
Okay, so I may have forgotten that detail when reminiscing about
how we’d lost touch at some point. I feel caught somehow,
confronted, even though I’d always been honest with him about the
why.
“They weren’t excuses, they were reasons, and it only happened
a few times,” I rush out. “I knew I wouldn’t feel comfortable in your
Hollywood crowd, and no matter how many times I expressed that to
you, the only things you ever wanted to do with me included this
event or that, and it’s just not me. And then we lost touch, and our
check-ins with each other were few and far between until they
weren’t even existent anymore. It happens.”
“It happens, yeah, but it was never supposed to happen to you
and me, Eliza. I wanted to hang out with you, and the majority of the
time we were in the same city, I was working damn near twenty-four
seven.” His voice remains low but strong, disbelief creeping in every
few words. “And it wasn’t always a Hollywood crowd. Anytime I’d
reach out, you’d decline my invitation.”
“That’s not true,” I object, hands clenching together to center the
reactive anger building. “It wasn’t just me declining your invites. You
were doing the same to me, and then at some point we both stopped
trying to meet up and then everything else stopped too. No texts, no
calls, no random FaceTimes just to see each other’s face. It was a
two-way street, our friendship, and we both failed to keep it alive.”
“Are you saying we killed our friendship? Like it was a Tamagotchi
we forgot to feed and water before it finally died?” There’s laughter in
his voice, and it lessens the tension that had started to knife itself
into my chest.
“I mean, if we’re going to equate our friendship to a Tamagotchi,
then yes, that’s exactly what happened.”
We both openly laugh now, and the air around us becomes easier
to breathe somehow.
“I forgot how easy it is with you, ya know, if we take out all of the
years lost and growing apart and just hang out,” I admit, taking a
gracious gulp of my drink once it’s placed in front of me. “You and
Lacey were like my anchors, as cheesy as that comparison is. I
wouldn’t be who I am now without you, and it’s really sucky that life
took us in the direction it did.”
Robbie sighs, nodding in agreement to that last sentiment as he
takes a drink from his own glass.
“Every time you react to my Instagram story or comment an emoji
on a post, I want to reach out, to call or text you and properly
communicate, because we were always so good at that,” he shares
with a shrug of his shoulders, seemingly frustrated with himself for
not doing just that.
“We were really good at that,” I agree with a smile at the reminder.
“It was one of the reasons we grew so close. We weren’t about the
bullshit or catty behavior that some of the people around us were
exuding. It was a much appreciated change.”
“Why did that stop, do you think?” he asks, placing his elbows
onto the table and leaning forward.
“I’ve thought about this quite a lot over the last few years, when
we really started losing touch,” I say softly, searching for the right
words to adequately express it all. “I’ve convinced myself that it was
this natural thing, and maybe it was on some level, but another part
of me also feels that it was us growing in different directions and me
not feeling like I had a place in your life. And that’s not a knock
toward you, it’s just how it is sometimes. It happens all the time. For
us, I think we were building our respective careers and lifestyles and
inner circles and worlds, and we somehow ended up on the outskirts
of each other’s lives…” I pause, nervously clearing my throat. “And
I’m probably not making any sense, but I feel really nervous right
now, like my entire body is about to burst. So yeah.”
“No, you’re making sense,” he says gently, hands gripping his
glass and blue eyes never leaving mine. He was always really good
at eye contact, and it comforts me that that hasn’t changed. “It was
something that just happened, yeah, but I also think it’s something
we let happen. We didn’t fight to be present and active together, we
just let ourselves drift apart until we became little more than
memories and one-off acknowledgements to one another.”
“We were strangers, then best friends, then family, and then
overnight we became distant relatives.” I laugh, the nervous energy
building and the openness of this conversation making the air around
us feel thick once again. “We’ve played a lot of roles in each other’s
lives, haven’t we?”
His top lip lifts slowly, transforming into a well-practiced smirk.
“You forgot lovers.”
“Sorry?” I play off, knowing damn well what he’s referring to as
memories from that time jump to the forefront of my mind.
“You were saying all of the things we’ve been to each other, but
you forgot lovers,” he reminds me, his smirk transforming into a
knowing smile.
“One-time lovers, Robbie,” I sass. “But also, does losing our
virginities to each other really count as us being lovers? I mean, we
figured a trial run as best friends was the safest bet, and it definitely
was, but if we’re going to label it as being one-time lovers, we’re
basically equating us to a one-night stand. Which I suppose is also
true.”
 Robbie chuckles, eyes widening in mock offense. “First, best one
time of my life, I can tell you that, and second, by definition, yeah, I
guess it was a one-night stand of sorts.”
“Oh yeah? Best one time of your life, huh? Well, if I remember
correctly, we had promised each other a redo, and redos are
typically given for improvements.” I’m not sure why I say it or why the
thought brings tingles up my spine, but once the words are out,
there’s no taking them back.
“Redos are also given to relive the best times of our lives,” he
counters confidently, smirking.
I hate that he’s not wrong. For the umpteenth time since Robbie
joined me in this booth, the air changes, only now it feels charged
with repressed sexual tension and unspoken memories.
I finish off my drink, and he does the same, neither one of us
breaking eye contact or speaking another word. This could go one of
two directions, and the one my body is leaning toward is the one my
heart and mind are cautioning against.
“The ball is in your court, Eliza,” Robbie remarks, and he doesn’t
need to elaborate because I know exactly what he’s referring to—the
two directions I’m currently grappling with.
I breathe in and out slowly, gathering my wits, but it does nothing
to comfort the situation. I could blame this next decision on the
alcohol settling into my bloodstream, but it would be misplaced
because this is all me.
I push the lost years to the back of my mind, and the guy staring
across from me isn’t the stranger he’s grown into. No, he’s my best
friend, my favorite guy. He’s everything.
It’s rhetorical, but I bravely pose a question, not letting myself
dwell on what this’ll mean. “As timing goes, what better time to
reconnect and have a redo than the weekend of our high school
reunion?”
 CHAPTER THREE

“IT’S SO SURREAL,” I say quietly, watching him watch me in

anticipation of what we both know is going to happen tonight. “I
never thought I’d see you standing in my apartment, let alone my
bedroom again.”
Robbie smiles knowingly, walking the distance from my bedroom
door to where I stand in front of my bed so that he’s standing before
me. “I always knew we’d end up back here.”
I quirk a brow, a teasing retort on my tongue before he shakes his
head and says, “Not like that. I just—I know we’ve fallen out a bit, but
you’re still my number one person, ya know? I knew the fallout
wouldn’t be forever. I hoped, at least.”
“No, I get what you mean.” I place a cautious hand against his
chest, curving against the fabric of his shirt. “There’s no me without
you and all that. I’ve…I’ve missed you, Robbie. I’ve missed this. With
you. I’ve missed all of it. And it might be that I’m feeling bold after the
small bit of alcohol I’ve had tonight, but those effects have already
faded. We’ve always been really good at honesty with each other.”
I pause, shaking my head to clear the thoughts rushing forward
and out of my mouth. “I know I’m sort of rambling, I’m just nervous
and relieved and so many things.”
Robbie’s hand wraps around mine, pulling it from his chest to his
lips, and he presses a gentle kiss against the corner of my palm.
And just like that, I’m more centered, focused on nothing but him
and this moment, until he breaks it with, “Would you have reached
out before the reunion if Lacey hadn’t meddled?”
I sigh, shrugging. “Truthfully? I think I was going to wait until the
reunion, where I would have either hid and avoided you at all costs
or I would have done everything to capture your attention without
being too obvious about it. There wouldn’t have been any in
between.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but I shake my head, using my
free hand to grab the back of his neck lightly and pull his lips toward
mine, kissing him fiercely.
I melt into him. After so many years apart and even longer since
our lips last touched, this one feels more confident and sexy
somehow. It even feels a little nostalgic, because although it’s more,
it’s also the same, and that realization ignites my body.
“I know there’s a lot we need to talk about and unpack, but can we
put that all on pause?” I whisper against his mouth in a rush. “We’ve
got a redo to get to.”
The word redo takes me back to the days leading up to our first
time together. I always liked him as a little bit more than a friend and
crushed on him hard, but I was too afraid to ask if he felt the same
and even more afraid of ruining our friendship if he didn’t reciprocate
those feelings. But he did, as I later learned, though we never acted
on them or took it further because we were both going away to
college and the timing didn’t seem fair.
He chuckles, blue eyes darkening as they hold mine. “Was our
first and only time really that bad?”
“I don’t know if bad is the word I’d use.” I laugh. “It was definitely
memorable and awkward and also really, really good. And shortly
after, I definitely questioned why it only happened once.”
“At the risk of sounding cheesy, the memories we made that night
are burned into my brain forever,” he recollects before his lips crash
into mine again in a searing kiss.
“No, not cheesy. Just honest, and that is my favorite quality about
you, for sure,” I say a little breathily, my body heating up with lust as
our hookup from nearly ten years ago becomes more vivid.
I move both hands up and down his shoulders before linking my
fingers together behind his neck, lips reconnecting with his once
again. This kiss is more heated than the others, and the butterflies
assaulting my stomach and the tingles spreading throughout my
body are a testament to that. Robbie smiles against my mouth, the
pressure of his lips on mine hard and insistent and filled with need.
We fumble with each other’s clothes, lips never leaving the other’s
for longer than a millisecond or two. And it’s like the last few years
without any real communication never happened. They fade away
and are replaced with this moment right here, along with the
memories we made before life drifted us apart.
When I’m left in a simple lingerie set—I wanted to feel sexy while
out tonight—I’ve never been more thankful for Target and their
affordable clothing. I know I look good. Does the elastic of my
panties dig into my foopa a bit and make it hang over slightly? Yes.
Are my boobs a little uneven in the cups that hold them? Absolutely.
But with the way Robbie is eyeing my body as I lie back on the bed
just cements my previous statement—I look good. And I feel
confident and wanted and sexy in my own skin, and when Robbie
leans his body over mine, just barely resting his weight on mine, I
suck in a breath as arousal and need light my body on fire.
“You’re so beautiful,” Robbie says, smiling down at me just before
his lips meet the top of my left breast and his mouth sucks gently on
my skin.
I arch my back in response, moaning quietly at the feel of his wet
tongue and lips against my bare skin. It’s sensual, and the need in
me continues to build higher and higher as his lips move against my
skin. And although I want them all over me, I need them back on my
mouth.
“Kiss me,” I groan, hips meeting his as my arch deepens and his
weight lowers further onto mine. It doesn’t feel suffocating, not like
with some other partners I’ve been with. No, this feels right, like a
weighted blanket cocooning your body for a sleep-filled night. Like
Goldilocks finding the perfect bed or meal or whatever else she
discovered that day in the three bears’ home. He makes me feel
chaotic and calm and more. But I push those deeper feelings aside
and focus on the moment in front of me; focus on him.
He doesn’t acknowledge my demand with words of his own.
Instead he gives me what I want, his mouth meeting mine soft and
hard. He trails a hand down the side of my body, changing directions
and roaming inward over my belly button and toward my most
intimate spot. I hitch a breath, his kisses pulling from mine to silently
ask my permission. I nod, biting my bottom lip.
“Yes,” I breathe out. “Yes, please.”
He toys with the elastic top of my underwear before moving down
my body and sliding them off as he does, his own joining mine on the
floor shortly after where they lie discarded.
He places an open-mouthed kiss on one ankle then the other,
making his way up my legs until he reaches my inner thigh, where he
trails a lazy lick before cementing it with a kiss and moving up until
his eyes are level with mine.
“Do you have any condoms?” Robbie questions, a hand gripping
my hip.
“I do,” I answer. “It’s probably best we don’t risk it all with the pull-
out game this time. We might not get as lucky.”
He visibly cringes at the reminder of our time together as
teenagers, and I can’t help but laugh.
“We were wildly irresponsible with that, weren’t we?” he asks
warily, though there’s laughter in his eyes.
I reach my hand down to the side of my bed, digging around in the
open box I have beneath it with my most essential bedroom items—
lube, plugs, clamps, various vibrators and dildos, and of course,
condoms. I pull one out and hold it up to him between two fingers,
just as anxious as he clearly is for us to do this.
I watch as he unwraps and slides the condom on effortlessly
before lining his pelvis up with mine and returning his lips to my own.
I giggle as the tip of him nudges against my opening, and I spread
my legs wider on either side of his body to give him easier access,
breathing in deeply to calm the bundle of excitement coursing
through my veins.
“Are you laughing right now?” he asks, unable to hold back a
laugh of his own as he stares me down.
 “No, no,” I say with another giggle, more excited than anything
else because, well, it’s Robbie. And me. Together. And that makes
me happy right now. So I tell him just that. “I’m just happy.”
“I know I’ve already asked, but are you sure?” he questions, voice
low and considerate and kind, and I nod, grinning wide.
“It’s cliche, but I’ve really never been more sure of anything. Oh,
take me, Robbie Olsen!” I exclaim with exaggeration, like the voices
of the actors in the sex scenes he’s done—yes, I’ve watched every
single one with mild envy.
His chest rumbles with laughter, and he grabs my mouth with his,
kissing me hard as he plunges inside my body as deep as he can in
one go. I moan against his mouth at the welcome intrusion, wrapping
one arm around his shoulder, the other gripping the comforter
beneath us as he continues to pound into me. One thrust after the
other, my body comes alive, and so does his. I can feel it in the way
his eyes hold mine, in the way his lips move from my mouth to my
neck to my cheek to any part of my body he can get to at this angle.
It’s intimate and raw and sexy—it’s Robbie.
“Best redo ever,” I manage between thrusts, my hips colliding with
his in a chaotic, unorganized dance that’s hitting all the right spots.
He grunts, eyes rolling as he buries his face in the crook of my
neck and gives it a gentle bite. “Yeah, yeah.”
“Eighteen-year-old you and me could never have imagined this
happening,” I say through quick pants. “Never in my wildest dreams.”
“Speak for yourself,” Robbie says, picking up speed.
And I laugh and moan and groan and pant some more and lose
myself in this moment with him because it’s perfect on all fronts—
mind, body, heart, all of it.
 CHAPTER FOUR

“IT’S REUNION DAY!” I hear Lacey announce cheerily as she walks

into my apartment after letting herself in. “And because your texts
have been vague AF, and I figure you’re still a little peeved with me
over the whole Robbie sneak attack thing at the bar the other night, I
decided to take matters into my own hands.”
I rush to throw some clothes on, not caring which items of clothing
I manage to cover my body with. I eye my open bathroom door,
grateful that the door conceals the shower, so if we make this quick
and Robbie manages to stay hidden, Lacey doesn’t have to know
about this, at least not yet. As my best friend, she’s privy to damn
near every detail of my life, yes, but on my own terms, and this is
definitely not the way I wanted her to find out that Robbie and I have,
uh, reconciled.
“You look…” she starts slowly once she’s standing in my doorway,
but then her eyes narrow and her head tilts, and she’s zoning her full
attention toward the bathroom door just as the shower shuts off.
“Well, well, you look like you’ve spent an entire day or two in bed.”
I laugh nervously, arms crossing over my chest while hers do the
same, eyeing me curiously. “I’m an adult. Spending full days in bed
are, like, key mental health days for me.”
“Uh-huh, is that code for something?” And as we hear the shower
door open and someone’s deep voice clearing their throat, her eyes
widen in recognition and potentially some shock. “Oh my gosh, you
did not—you totally did! Hey, Robbie!”
That last bit is thrown toward the bathroom, where a very wet
Robbie stands with only a towel wrapped around his waist. I can’t
help it then, I laugh out loud at the situation, only cracking up more
as Lacey’s eyes widen each time they pass between Robbie and
me, no doubt further connecting the dots.
“Lacey, nice to see you again,” Robbie says casually, running a
hand through his wet, disheveled hair and giving me a sheepish
smile, likely at being caught. Not that we’re in hiding, but these last
however many hours together have been incredible.
“So I’m going to take a wild guess and say you’re not peeved with
me about sending him to the bar instead of me?” Lacey asks,
already knowing the answer to that question based on the self-
satisfied glint in her eye.
“Not at all,” I answer easily. “It’s been nice to…reconnect.”
They both snicker at my choice of words.
“That’s one way of phrasing it,” Robbie comments, walking over to
stand beside me and placing a hand on my lower back supportively.
He probably knows Lacey is two seconds away from bombarding me
with question after question followed by some opinions. She’s bold
and lives life with zero filter, a lot like me eighty-five percent of the
time. It’s why we’re the best of friends, and I love that about her,
except in situations like this where I’m on the receiving end of it.
I’m debating what to say next when she speaks first, saying, “You
two totally spent the last day and however many hours banging,
didn’t you?”
I gasp, feigning shock and innocence before smiling at the
memories. “I could act further offended and give you some teasing
retort, but knowing you, that won’t get me very far, so yes, yes, we
have totally spent our time together in bed and other places.”
“So, what does this mean?” she asks, smiling way too big, eyes
shifting between Robbie and me
I look over at Robbie, brows raised, curious to see if he’s got a
response to that one, because I sure don’t.
He clears his throat, taking my cue and pulling his eyes from
mine. “It means that we’ve got some things to figure out, I guess, but
for me it also means that we’re done playing the non-communication
game of only corresponding through emojis on the occasional social
media post. I can’t go back to that, Eliza, not now that it feels like I’ve
got you back, at least in some part.”
Something that feels a lot like hope mixed with relief expands in
my chest. “I can’t go back to that either.”
“Okay, it feels like I’m intruding on something long overdue and far
more intimate now, so I’m going to leave,” Lacey says, backing out of
my room slowly. “Just know I’m dying from happiness on the inside
because I’ve been rooting for you two since what feels like the
beginning of time.”
“Jumping the gun just a little bit, but I’m loving the enthusiasm,” I
tell her with a laugh.
Robbie’s hand moves from my back to my hand, wrapping his
fingers around mine firmly, and I bite my inner cheek to conceal a
wide smile.
“Okay, okay, I’m going, but are you two still planning on going to
the reunion tonight?” Lacey asks us. “I know it’s taking place at the
gym on campus, where several dances happened, for nostalgia
reasons, but I’m sure we can convince everyone to join us at Insert
Bar Name Here or somewhere equally as grown-up and cool.”
“We haven’t quite discussed it yet, but speaking for both of us, the
only reason we were going to the reunion was to see each other, and
now that we’ve done more than that, I’m not sure we’re going,” I say
truthfully.
Robbie and I actually discussed it briefly last night, but as he
voices his agreement, Lacey shakes her head.
“Oh, no, I asked if you were still coming to be courteous, but as
my best friend, you’re definitely coming tonight, even if it’s for five
minutes,” Lacey declares. “I had a large hand in setting this thing up,
so we’re all going, okay? I’ll even add in a please. So, please.”
Lacey turns and leaves without a word, throwing a peace sign at
us as she leaves from our vision and out the door.
“I’ve gotta figure out what I’m going to wear,” is all I say.
“Oh yeah, me too,” Robbie jokes. “Big night and all.”
 I playfully hit his side. And just like that, we’re one-thousand
percent going tonight.

•••

“This counts as making an appearance, right?” I ask Robbie as we

settle in under the bleachers of one of the school’s practice fields
together.
“Sure.” Robbie nods thoughtfully. “I mean, no one can see us, but
we’re here in the general vicinity. Sort of.”
“A makeout session beneath the school bleachers,” I say
sensually. “You were right, what better way to ring in ten years post-
high school than doing something cliche and stereotypical?”
“Told you.” He laughs. “It’s really the one thing I always wanted to
do with you, but I was never confident enough to pursue it, especially
after that hookup we had. I know we mentioned it was awkward, but
looking back, it really was.”
“Well, we’ve more than made up for it now, don’t you think?” I flirt.
He smiles his agreement and leans forward to press a quick kiss
to my lips. “Eliza Moreno, you are the best kind of something else.”
“That actually means a lot.” I laugh. “Typically when people have
said You’re something else to me, it’s had a negative connotation.”
“Oh, I remember, I saw your yearbook quote,” he recollects.
“Something about how being something else was better than being
something normal.”
“‘I’d rather be something else than your version of something
normal any day,’” I recite, rolling my eyes at younger me. “I thought I
was so clever with that. Gosh, is it bad that I still stand by that,
though? I’ve gotta get it painted on my living room wall or something
for motivation.”
He places his hands on either side of my face, eyes shining with
happiness, direct mirrors of my own, I’m sure.
 “How we got from friends to—” He pauses mid-sentence,
seemingly searching for the right word.
“—whatever this is?” I supply, body closing the distance between
his until we’re chest to chest.
“Yeah.” He smiles, and my stomach does a somersault in
response. “How we got from friends to whatever this is, I’ll never
know. But I sure am grateful.”
“Me too.”
Our lips clash in a desperate kiss as we make good on the
intended makeout session we came here for.
We have some things to work through, like the matter of all that
lost time when we fell out of touch and a continued honest
conversation about the why. And we’re going to have to make our
way back to what we were before, only better, but judging by the little
time we’ve spent together, it won’t take long.
My adolescent heart is screaming right now, I just know it. We’ve
crossed the friendship boundary again, and this time it feels like it’ll
stick. And if not, well, then that’ll suck. But regardless, if it doesn’t,
I’m going to enjoy it and hope that it does.
“Get out of that head of yours, Eliza,” Robbie says, quickly
breaking our kiss before jumping right back into it.
I melt against his body, rushing out an apology. “I’m out, I’m out.”
Forget high school reunions, the days leading up to it are the most
memorable if you ask me…Okay, fine, the day of is pretty great too.
 
THE END
BOOKS BY DOMINIQUE LAURA
Stand-alone books
Don’t Let Me Be Yours

(co-written with Kimberly Reese)

When A Heart Trips
Attempt at Honesty
Here I’ll Stay
Even If It Breaks Me
This Life Isn’t Mine
By the Grace of You

(a worship novelette)
 
Beautiful Tragedy series
Your Version of Beauty
Your Version of Perfect
 ABOUT DOMINIQUE LAURA
Dominique Laura is an advocate for love, mental health, and
happily ever afters. She’s sarcastic and bubbly, and she lives in
sunny Los Angeles with her dog, Lynn, who she’s slightly obsessed
with. When she isn’t writing, she’s either reading or swooning over
animals. You can connect with her at the following places:
Reader Group on Facebook: Dom’s Reading Daisies
Instagram: dominiquelaurawrites
 THE KISS
Bookworm Anthology Scene
 

 
WALL STREET JOURNAL & USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR
M. ROBINSON
 
 
 
COPYRIGHT© 2021 by M. Robinson
 
All rights Reserved.
 
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission of the author.
 
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events,
establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to
provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All other
characters, dead or alive, are a figment of the author’s imagination,
and all incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s mind’s
eye and are not to be interpreted as real. Though several people,
places, and events portrayed in this book are historically correct, the
story is fiction that the author has made up for entertainment
purposes only.
 CHAPTER ONE
—Leo—

“TWO MORE DAYS until it happens. You’re in your third trimester!

How exciting!”
I didn’t know what to say or how to even respond to the
receptionist at the clinic of the birthing class we were about to take.
After knowing my wife our entire lives, we went from neighbors to
childhood best friends in the blink of an eye. I didn’t know a life
without my girl. She knew everything about me.
There were no secrets between us.
No stories untold.
She’d seen me at my best and my worst.
We’d experienced so many firsts together, and now here we were,
about to embark on yet another first, side by side.
A baby.
I swallowed the saliva that had suddenly pooled in my mouth.
“You’re nervous?” the receptionist stated as a question, and an
understanding expression quickly appeared on her face.
“You could”—I cleared my throat—“say that.” My hands were
getting sweaty, my face clammy, and my stomach was in knots.
Could she smell fear?
I didn’t know what we were about to experience in this birthing
class, and I was desperately trying to keep my shit together. I’d seen
enough movies to know that no good could come of this.
All I could do was silently panic.
Don’t get me wrong: I was excited and extremely happy that in a
few short months I’d be meeting the human I’d created with the love
of my life.
 However, when my wife, Mila, told me she was pregnant almost a
year after our wedding last fall, I may or may not have felt like she’d
aimed a loaded gun right at my cock. I was almost twenty-five-years-
old, and in logical terms, it seemed like I was old enough to be
responsible for another life.
Although in reality, I still played helicopter with my dick, because
why not?
“It’s normal to be nervous. Especially for the new fathers.”
I nodded, unable to form real words other than, “Holy shit! I’m
going to be a dad! I hope I don’t fuck it up!”
Considering Mila was walking over to us from the bathroom, I
decided it wasn’t a good time to express my concerns about whether
or not I’d pass out in the delivery room from witnessing a baby come
out of one of my favorite places in all the world.
My wife’s pussy.
“Oh my God!” Mila exclaimed, standing next to me as I continued
checking us into the class that her OBGYN had recommended for
new parents. “This baby is just sitting on my bladder.”
Our eyes locked.
There were a few things that I appreciated about Mila’s
pregnancy. First and foremost, it made her horny as fuck. My dick
basically lived inside of her since she’d announced she was
pregnant to me. Again, I had to hide the fact that the bigger her
stomach became, the more I internally freaked out that my cock
might cause brain damage to my unborn child.
That could happen, right?
By normal standards, my dick was above average. I had about a
nine, nine and a half on good days. I knew the length of my cock
because I’d measured it, and if a guy ever tells you that he has never
measured his dick…
Well, he was full of shit.
“What?” She smiled, glowing from the inside out.
 Brushing a piece of her hair away from her face, I placed it behind
her ear. Calling her by my childhood nickname for her, I said, “You
look beautiful, Lala.”
She beamed, a beacon of radiance. Over the years, Mila took my
breath away for an endless number of reasons. She was all belly, but
you couldn’t even tell she was pregnant unless you were facing her.
My pregnant wife was sexy as fuck, and I for one appreciated that
fact.
Now, as for the things I didn’t appreciate about her pregnancy: the
constant weird ass food cravings. Peanut butter and pickle
sandwiches were a thing of the norm, watermelon and pizza—she
was all over that shit. Don’t get me started on the cream cheese and
pickles on Ritz crackers. Overnight, she’d become horny and hungry
all at the same time. I caught her eating pickled eggs out of the jar at
three in the morning. Just sitting in the kitchen like a kid at
Christmas, munching on shit that smelt like sewage. Oh, and the
peeing—oh my fuck the peeing. She accidentally pissed the bed one
night.
Which, naturally, led to me bringing up an unfortunate day years
earlier when I’d witnessed another first: Mila going full ninja on a
door when she had nearly shit her pants. Not to mention, a cop who
almost made her shit her pants yet again. All in the matter of a few
hours.
Despite me telling her it wasn’t a big deal to pee the bed, she still
cried herself to sleep, claiming an alien had taken over her body.
“Are you ready?” the receptionist interrupted, making me
remember I was about to witness things a man just shouldn’t know.
First and foremost, what it looked like when a baby that wasn’t
even mine was ripping open a woman I didn’t even know. I could get
on board with the idea of watching my own flesh and blood rip open
my wife from my happy place, but a stranger?
Not so much.
“Are you all right?” Mila asked as we followed the receptionist
down the hall into what would now be called the room where Mila
would learn how to breathe, and I would learn how to not pass out.
I lied, “I’m fine.”
“You’re squeezing my hand awfully hard for someone who is
claiming to be alright. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
This was my wife to a T. She knew me like the back of her hand
and was never shy about calling me out on my bullshit.
“Are you worried about this class?”
Always the perceptive one. “Maybe.”
“Do you think the big bad boogeyman is going to find you in there
or something?”
“Or something.”
“Leo! Come on, tell me.”
The receptionist pushed open the double doors, and I swear to
God it felt as if we were walking into the execution of my man card.
In every sense of the words.
I smiled at Mila, squeezing her hand again. “Yep, I’m great. So
excited.”
Could she smell fear? Could all the women in this room smell
fear? Holy fuck! How many women were going to have a baby soon?
The room was packed to the brim with couples, women sitting
spread-eagle on yoga mats while their husbands sat behind them
wearing the same expression that I was.
Awesome! So I’m not the only one who is sweating bullets!
We all eyed each other knowingly.
Yeah, man, I don’t want to pass out either.
Like a lost puppy, I followed Mila to our spot. I’d seen her on a
similar yoga mat almost daily from the comfort of our home before
she’d gotten pregnant. She was an active yoga participant. It was
her exercise of choice.
Have you seen women do yoga lately?
Yeah, let’s just say I may or may not have gotten a half chub when
she sat down and went right into the spread-eagle position.
 Fuck. My. Life.
“Dude, babe, relax. It’s just a class. I’m not in labor.”
Shit! She could smell fear!
Before I could say a word, the instructor of the class stood up in
front of the whole room.
“Hello, everyone! I’m so excited to be sharing this experience with
you,” she announced, smiling. “My name is Angie, and I’ll be your
guide for the next two hours.”
Two hours? Dafuq did I sign up for?
“Now, to get comfortable and acquainted with each other, because
we’re all in this together, I’m going to start with you. Sir?”
Did she just point to me?
“Yes, you, sir.” She nodded. “Please state your name and how
you’re feeling.”
Oh my shit … I’m going to pass out before the class even starts.
“Leo, she’s talking to you,” Mila muttered into the side of my face.
Not only did I hate public speaking, but how did I answer that
question without looking like the pussy I felt in that moment?
I’m a man.
Men should be able to handle these things. Standing my ground, I
swallowed the lump in my throat and answered, “Hi, I’m Leo, and I’m
a first-time dad.”
“Hi, Leo,” the class exclaimed together.
Jesus, what is this? AA?
“Leo…” Mila reprimanded.
“Shit, did I say that out loud?”
The class laughed, and Angie quickly chimed in, “It’s all right to be
nervous as a first-time father.”
“Wow, so you can smell fear?”
Everyone laughed again, and Mila shook her head in a loving
manner. I kissed her cheek, whispering, “I’m just going to apologize
now for what I haven’t said yet.”
 She giggled.
“Trust me, it’s coming.”
Mila smiled. And my wife, being the best wing-woman ever to
exist, introduced herself next. “Hi, my name is Mila. Like my husband
said, this is our first baby, and I’m nervous and excited. All I can think
about is…” She paused as a hint of hesitation crossed her face
before she declared, loud and proud, “I just don’t want to poop
myself during delivery.”
Never the one to have a filter, especially when she was nervous.
I busted out laughing, as did the room. I couldn’t help it—she
couldn’t say shit like that without thinking I was going to one, laugh,
and two, think she was adorable as fuck.
She blushed.
“You two are quite the pair,” Angie stated, chuckling. “Now, that
fear is probably the most common among women, Mila. I hear it all
the time, but ease your mind. If it happens, we’ve seen it all.”
“Wait, what?” I blurted. “That’s a thing? It can really happen?”
“Let’s not focus on that, okay?”
Let’s not focus on that? You basically just dropped a turd on my
door, lit it on fire, and ran.
Laughter once again erupted in the closed space.
“Shit … I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”
Mila smirked. “Now who’s the one with no filter, Leo? And I’m the
one who has to worry about pooping myself, husband.”
“Hey, you could have done it years ago, and I would have gotten
you a leaf, remember?”
Her face turned ten different shades of red. Angie continued going
around the room, asking all the couples their names and how they
were feeling. From there we went into an open discussion about the
changes a woman’s body goes through during pregnancy and labor.
In less than an hour, I learned more than I needed to know about
women.
“Why are my nipples so big and dark?”
 I made a mental note to take another extensive look at Mila’s
nipples.
“Will I have to give birth to the placenta too?”
What the fuck is a placenta?
“How can I tell the difference between my water breaking or
peeing my pants?”
That question was from my wife. Fair, considering she’d wet the
bed while she was sleeping, and I was still in it.
“Is tearing common?”
Oh my God! They can tear! Not only is our child coming out of my
sanctuary, they’re destroying it on the way out, too!
“Are emergency C-sections safe?”
No, lady. It’s an emergency.
“How many people will be in the room during delivery?”
Holy shit! That many?! What is this, an exhibition show?
“Is videotaping allowed?”
People actually want documentation of their wives possibly
shitting on the table? Talk about home movies.
“Is my younger son allowed in the room during delivery?”
Only if you want to scar him for life.
“How long does it take for the umbilical cord to come off my
baby?”
I’m sorry, what? It doesn’t come off during labor?
“Is it normal if my baby’s poop looks like tar?”
Are you giving birth to a human or an elephant?
Now, the men—the men, I could understand their concerns.
“Will my dick cause brain damage if we have sex in her last
trimester?”
See, totally makes sense. I nodded, waiting for the response to
that question.
“What happens if I pass out? Do they just leave me there? Or
does someone help me?”
 I paid close attention to that answer.
“Does my wife’s vagina go back to the same size?”
I listened carefully to that reply as well.
“How much bleeding will there be during delivery?”
Awesome, so it’s like a massacre.
“How soon can we have sex again?”
Six weeks! I hadn’t gone six weeks without having sex since I
started having sex at fifteen. Damn. Blowjobs for me it is, then.
“Can I still suck on her nipples if she’s breastfeeding?”
Not unless you want a mouthful of milk. Even I know that one.
“Is it normal for my wife’s boobs to leak during sex?”
Oh my God, it’s like she turns into a human cow.
“Do I really have to cut the umbilical cord?”
Nope. I’m good.
“Can I watch while my son is being born?”
That question made me react into Mila’s ear. “Lala, I love you
more than life itself, and I will love our child the same way. You can
squeeze my hand until I have no circulation left, but I’m staying by
your head in the delivery room because…” I wavered for a moment,
adding, “I don’t want to pass the fuck out.”
 CHAPTER TWO
—Mila—

I PEERED INTO Leo’s worried eyes. “Thank God.”

The worry instantly dissolved, and I was grateful that Leo didn’t
want to watch the not-so-beautiful part of childbirth.
He’d never want to have sex with me again!
I knew it was silly to have that thought; he loved me no matter
what. However, it was still there. I had several thoughts that were
ridiculous.
We made a human together.
A baby.
I’d never felt more connected to him than I did when I found out I
was pregnant. All my life he’d been my best friend, and it took me
moving across the world to St. Thomas to realize I couldn’t live
without him.
We kissed, and the class proceeded until we got to the part when
we’d watch a delivery in all its true form. Angie pressed play, and the
whole room became quiet, like we were all suddenly on this very tiny
life raft, hanging on for dear life.
“I’m Sadie and this is my birth story.” A woman appeared on the
screen, talking about the day her water broke. “The day was like any
other. I decided to hop in the shower and let the warm water run over
my aching body while my husband ran some errands for me. And of
course! That’s when it happened. My water broke as I was getting
out of the shower, instantly bringing on the labor pains.”
I felt as if she was talking directly to me instead of a room full of
strangers.
 “I panicked, got out and grabbed my cell phone, needing to call
my list of people. First I phoned my husband, and he didn’t answer.
His phone went straight to voicemail, simply bringing on more panic.
I called my mom next, who thank God was only a phone call away,
and then I called my midwife. I was going to have this baby at home,
naturally.”
Oh God! Did Leo expect me to have our baby naturally? I cried
when I got a paper cut. There was no way in hell I’d be able to push
out a whole-ass human.
I need drugs! Give me all the drugs!
“Within twenty minutes, I was surrounded by my mom and
midwife, minus the most important person. Lying on my makeshift
bed on the living room floor, I tried to the best of my ability to keep
our baby inside of me until my husband arrived back home.”
I vigilantly paid attention to everything this woman was sharing.
Should I have my mom in the delivery room too? My dad? Leo’s
parents? Who makes these decisions? I don’t want my parents and
in-laws to see my vagina! Does that make me a horrible
daughter/daughter-in-law? Did they expect to watch their first
grandchild being born?
An endless amount of guilt and questions assaulted my mind as I
continued to watch and listen to this woman’s story. Then, before
another question could cross my mind, the scene changed to the
same woman on her back, spread-eagle like I was now.
“Sadie?!” a man’s voice shouted in a panic-laced tone through the
screen, and the camera shifted toward the door, showing the
husband for the first time.
Oh my God, they had a cameraman?! Who voluntarily signs up for
this?
“Babe!” she called out. “I’m in here!”
The husband rushed into the living room, falling to his knees
behind her. The following thirty minutes was nothing but her
breathing heavily, in and out, while she attempted to push out their
baby.
 “Ahhhh, ahhhhh, ahhh!” she screeched, huffing and puffing
through her agony. “Aaarrrggghhh…”
I watched with a tormented gaze. Her pain was consuming me.
Could I do this? What if I couldn’t? What then?
“Push!” the midwife cheered. “You’re doing great. Keep pushing,
pushing, pushing. And relax. The baby is finally crowning. A few
more of those and you can meet your baby.”
Her husband brushed her hair away from her damp forehead and
kissed her lips. “You’re doing great, baby. I’m so proud of you. You’re
doing amazing.”
My heart fell into a fit of flutters as I envisioned Leo being the
same way with me. The woman didn’t appreciate her husband’s
sentiments as much as the pregnant, overly emotional women in the
room did; she gripped onto his collared shirt and roared, “This is all
your fault! You did this to me!”
My eyes widened in shock as she turned into a beast.
“I want drugs! Give me the fucking drugs!”
The mother wiped her forehead. “It’s too late for that, sweetie.
Remember, you said you didn’t want drugs. You wanted to have him
naturally. Just breathe through the contractions, Sadie. You can do
this.”
“Mom! You’re supposed to be on my side!”
Was this video supposed to help us with the delivery of our
unborn babies, or traumatize us?
For the first time since the video had started, my eyes shifted
toward Leo, who was staring at the screen in terror.
He’s never going to have sex with me again! I know it!
I resisted the urge to scream exactly that. When I reached for his
hand, his fist was tight in a deathlike grip, and his eyes locked with
mine.
“Are we watching a horror movie?” he whispered, his eyes big as
saucers as they stared at me.
“I don’t know. Do you think it’s too late to leave?”
 “What are we supposed to do? Just get up and run? I already
know you may shit yourself, so there’s no coming back from that.”
“Oh my God, you’re never going to have sex with me again.”
“You want me to have sex with you again after watching this
woman bleed out a baby?”
I went to open my mouth, but Sadie screamed, “I hate you! Do
you hear me? I hate you! This is all your fault!”
“Sadie, push! You’re almost there! A few more pushes and we’re
past the shoulders, and it will be smooth sailing,” the midwife
assured her.
There was absolutely no time to prepare for what happened next.
Not. One. Second.
The camera angle moved, and right there in front of us was what
could only be described as the most beautiful yet horrifying scene I’d
ever witnessed. My hands shot to my mouth, holding back my desire
to scream right along with her.
“I can’t watch this.” I frantically shook my head.
“Lala, if I’m watching this, then you’re watching it too.”
“Leo, that’s not right. Her vagina—oh my God, look at all that
blood. This is like that scene in the movie Alien with Sigourney
Weaver. She’s having an alien baby.”
He didn’t say a word.
“Babe, say something, please…”
“I can’t. I can only focus on one thing right now.”
“What’s that?”
“Not passing out.”
Her pain was clearly getting worse as the minutes ticked by.
“Push, push, push, push,” the midwife guided. “Good. And relax.
Okay, you’re doing great. Are you ready to meet your baby? Here we
go again. Push, push, push, push.”
I’d never forget the look on their faces when they heard their
baby’s wails for the first time. All of a sudden, the traumatic scene in
front of us turned into a Disney movie. The baby was placed onto the
mother’s chest, and all seemed right in the world. I tried to listen to
everything they were saying, but I was beyond enraptured by the
little person in her arms. They looked like the perfect family, and
everything we had witnessed moments earlier didn’t matter anymore.
“You’re not allowed to video any of my birth, and you are not to
speak a word to your friends. They’ll never have kids of their own,
and then our baby won’t have any friends.”
I didn’t have many girlfriends growing up; four boys ruined it for
me. Leo and his three best friends, Ashton, Cain, and Sawyer. All of
them eternal bachelors and womanizers in their own ways. They
even made a stupid pact when they were sixteen years old to stay
single and never fall in love.
The Playboy Pact.
“Lala, Sawyer is literally going to be a gynecologist.”
“Yeah, Cain and Ashton are idiots.”
He laughed, never letting go of my hand. He brought it up toward
his face and kissed it, allowing his lips to linger for a few seconds.
“I love you, Mila.”
“Are you still going to love me when you see an alien come out of
my vagina?”
“I’d love you if ten aliens came out of your pussy, babe.”
“Ten?” I jerked back. “We are not having ten kids.”
“How about five?”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“I was the only child, and if it weren’t for you and the boys, I would
have been very lonely.”
I smiled. “Maybe it will be the same for our baby.”
We didn’t know the sex; we wanted it to be a surprise.
“Babe, I highly doubt any of the boys will be having kids anytime
soon.”
“You don’t know that. Ashton and Cain have fallen in love. Sawyer
won’t want to be left behind.”
 “I love that not only do you own my balls, but you’re trying to own
the boys’ balls too.”
I giggled against his lips as he kissed mine. “I love you, Leo. I
can’t wait to have this baby. I know you’re going to be the best
daddy.”
“Let’s pray we have a boy.”
“Why not a girl?”
“Because I’d end up getting arrested the first time a little shit
called the house.”
“Is this why you suggested it be a surprise?”
“Yes, I needed more time to come up with an alibi.”
“So you’re not traumatized by what we just saw?”
“Of course I am, and I may have also blacked out.”
“That’s much better than passing out, right?”
“Oh, babe…” He pecked my lips. “We haven’t had our baby yet.”
Smiling from ear to ear, he simply added, “There’s still time.”
 
Read Leo and Mila’s full story in The Kiss.
 MEET M. ROBINSON
Wall Street Journal & USA Today Bestselling Author M. Robinson
loves her readers more than anything! They have given her the title
of the ‘Queen of Angst.’ She loves to connect with her following
through all her social media platforms and also through email!
Please keep in touch in her reader group VIP on Facebook, if she’s
not in there than she is on Instagram.
She lives in Brandon Fl with the love of her life, her lobster, and
husband Bossman. They have two German shepherd mixes, a
gordito Wheaten Terrier and a user Tabby cat. She is extremely
close to her family, and when she isn’t living the cave life writing her
epic love stories, she is spending money shopping. Anywhere and
everywhere. She loves reading and spending time with her family
and friends whenever she can.
CONNECT WITH M.
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 MORE BOOKS BY M
ANGSTY ROM-COM
The Kiss
The Fling
The Catch: Aug 24, 2021
The Lover: Nov 16, 2021
 
SMALL TOWN ROMANCE
Complicate Me
Forbid Me
Undo Me
Crave Me
 
MAFIA/ORGANIZED CRIME ROMANCE
El Diablo
El Santo
El Pecador
Sinful Arrangement
Mafia Casanova: Co-written with Rachel Van Dyken
 
SINGLE DAD/NANNY ROMANCE
Choosing Us
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ENEMIES TO LOVERS ROMANCE
Hated You Then
Love You Now
 
MC ROMANCE
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Ends Here
 
MMA FIGHTER ROMANCE
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ROCK STAR ROMANCE
 From the First Verse
‘Til the Last Lyric
 
BUNDLES
VIP Trilogy
Good Ol’ Boys
Road to Nowhere/Ends Here
Jameson Brothers
Sinner/Saint Duet
Pierced Hearts Duet
Love Hurts Duet
Life of Debauchery Duet
 
EROTIC ROMANCE
VIP
The Madam
MVP
Two Sides
Tempting Bad
STONE HEART

 
S.J. WEST
TWO MORE DAYS until it happens. Two more days until I have to
decide if my life is still worth living or if it’s time to shuffle off this
mortal coil, as Shakespeare put it. Considering that I purposely
sought a way to finally end my existence, I suppose I have my
answer. The only problem is that I’m immortal, making a true death
impossible.
Being the first man cursed to live the life of a gargoyle, I’ve earned
the right to put an end to the unfeeling monster I’ve become and
finally find peace, even if death isn’t exactly within my grasp. A
vampire, one of only a few left in the world and someone I consider a
friend, has promised to help me find peace the only way I know how:
trapped inside a sarcophagus at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. I
won’t be dead, but for someone who can’t die, it’s the closest I’ll ever
get. My life as an assassin has lost its appeal and has taken a toll on
whatever is left of my soul.
My cell phone rings. It vibrates in my hand as a reminder that I
have one last promise to keep before I can leave this world. I look at
the screen and see Jiro’s name on the display. Jiro Nakada, real-life
ninja, leader of the Shadow Warrior Clan, and one of the few people
I consider a friend. Only for him would I leave the tranquility of my
seaside home in France to travel to a small, barely-on-the-map
village in South Korea.
I take my eyes off the unlit, narrow dirt road I’m driving on long
enough to tap the speaker button. “I’m on my way. Stop calling me
every ten minutes.”
I may be annoyed by his persistence, but I also understand his
impatience. If the life of my unborn son was at stake, I’m sure my
nerves would be just as frayed as his.
“I know, I know,” he says before taking a deep breath and slowly
letting it out. “I can’t help but worry that something will cause a delay
in your journey here, my friend.”
His concern gives me pause. “Something or someone?”
 “Under the circumstances? Both.” He sighs again, but this time I
can practically feel his nervous tension over the phone.
“According to this car’s navigation system, I should reach the
village in about ten minutes. Just hold on a little longer.”
“Thank you, Roman. I’ll owe you more than I can ever repay for
what you’re about to do for me and my family.”
“You owe me nothing,” I assure him. I won’t live long enough to
call in such a favor, but I don’t tell him that. If he knew what I planned
to do, he would try to talk me out of it or hold me prisoner to stop me.
I end the call, increase the speed of the rented Camry, and slip my
phone into the inside pocket of my gray wool coat. In the split-
second it takes to perform such a simple task, the car dips hard to
the right as a large pothole practically swallows the front tire on that
side. I have to grip the steering wheel with both hands to regain
control of the car, but the damage has already been done.
I bring the vehicle to a wobbly stop and quickly lean over to
search the glove box for a flashlight. After I step out of the car, I walk
over to check the damage. The pothole has bent the front
suspension and the wheel is tilted slightly inward.
“Damn it.” I lightly kick the tire as if punishing it for my own
stupidity. The damage isn’t severe enough to stop me from driving
the rest of the way, but I’ll definitely need to go a lot slower and avoid
hitting any more potholes if I want to reach my destination.
Back in the driver’s seat, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the
rearview mirror. I comb my fingers through my brown, shoulder-
length curly hair, pulling it away from my face.
“No more mistakes,” I tell the fairly handsome reflection staring
back at me.
I slip the car’s transmission into drive and make sure to keep my
speed well under twenty mph. At this rate it’ll take me twenty or thirty
minutes instead of ten to reach the village. I consider calling Jiro
back to let him know about the delay but decide against it. He’ll call
me soon enough to ask where I am.
 As predictable as the sun rising in the east, he calls me ten
minutes later.
“I’m still on my way,” I say before he has a chance to say a word.
“I had a little car trouble, but it’s nothing to worry about.”
He says a string of words in Japanese I don’t understand, but
considering the inflection, I guess he’s cursing my luck. “It’s him,” he
says with disgust. “I don’t know how he did it, but I know he did.”
“I can’t say I know a lot about ghosts, but I’m pretty sure what
happened was my fault.”
“That’s what that chikusho-me wants you to believe!” The madder
he gets, the more pronounced his accent becomes. Jiro takes in a
deep breath and slowly lets it out. I don’t think this particular
breathing technique is working for him, but maybe it’s keeping him
from completely losing his mind. “I’m sorry. Just get here as soon as
you can. The shaman has almost everything set up for the ritual. All
she needs now is you before she can start.”
“I’ll be there,” I say with conviction. “Don’t worry. We won’t let him
take your son’s body. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. That’s a
promise, and you know I never break my promises.”
“I know.” He sounds anything but convinced. I don’t take offense.
His lack of faith isn’t directed toward me. It’s the uncertainty about
what will happen during the ritual that he’s not sure about. “I’ll see
you when you get here.”
He ends the call, and it’s the first time I wish he had stayed on the
line to talk things out.
When Jiro first approached me about helping him and his family, I
immediately said I would. The world we live in is made up of
monsters most people don’t even know exist. When he told me the
evil spirit of one of his wife’s ancestors was trying to possess the
body of his unborn son, I didn’t doubt his claim. During my long life,
I’ve seen spirits do far worse and get away with unspeakable
horrors. If my last act on this earth is preventing him from having to
endure the loss of his son, I’ll consider my life one that was worth
living.
 After another twenty minutes of avoiding a plethora of potholes, I
finally make it to the village, but I only know that because Jiro is
standing in the middle of the road, waving his arms over his head to
flag me down. I stop the car a few feet away from him and retrieve
the flashlight I tossed on the passenger seat.
As I pull the car door open, he walks over to greet me.
“I had my doubts you would be allowed to make it here.” In the
dim illumination given off by the car’s interior lights, I see hope enter
Jiro’s eyes.
“I told you I would,” I say, stepping out. He pushes the door shut
for me as I switch on the flashlight, beating back the darkness
surrounding us. Even the cloud cover seems to be determined to
deny us any light from moon or stars. “I never break a promise. You
should know that about me by now. I almost feel offended.”
He laughs nervously. “I never doubted your heart. Only the spirits
who will undoubtedly try to stop us tonight.”
“Spirits?” I cock my head and consider him. “I thought we only had
to worry about one ghost.”
“Soura’s uncle, Ji-hoon, is trying to take possession of our son,”
he says with a nod, confirming what I already know, “but there are
always spirits trying to influence the living world, for good and bad.
The shaman helping us, Nari, says that Ji-hoon has a host of evil
spirits around him. I guess you could say he’s their leader in the
spirit world. He’s preventing them from passing on by promising to
show them how to possess others so they can live a second life on
earth.”
“Your wife’s uncle sounds like a real bastard.”
He laughs, and I feel his pent-up tension ease a bit. Good. That’s
what I was hoping for. If I’ve learned anything about evil spirits over
the years, it’s that they feed on worry and sorrow. Hopefully I can
prevent him from feeling either and inadvertently making his wife’s
uncle stronger.
“You’re lucky you never had the displeasure of meeting him,” he
says with a look of total revulsion and spits on the ground as if he’s
spewing on Ji-hoon’s memory. “He gained wealth by causing others
misery, and I think he treasured their pain more than he did their
money.” He grabs my upper arm with his free hand and squeezes
hard. “I can’t allow him to possess my son, Roman. I just can’t. I’ll do
anything to prevent it. Anything!”
If it came down to it, he would sacrifice his soul to prevent his
son’s from being defiled and pushed out into the ether, forever lost
and wandering.
“It won’t come to that.” I place my hand over the one he has on
my arm. “As long as the shaman you found is as good as you say,
we’ll be able to stop him. Now that I’m here, can you tell me why we
had to come all the way out to this place to perform the ritual and
why you needed me specifically?”
He releases my arm, and we stroll away from my car and down
the dirt road. “This place is where my wife’s family originated and
where most of her ancestors are buried. Nari wants to use the
sacred tree here as a focal point to draw in as much positive energy
as possible to combat the evil surrounding Ji-hoon. He was a
murderer and a thief in his first life. It’s no wonder he’s trying to find a
way to remain in the earthly plane. If he moves on, he’ll probably be
reincarnated as a worm and spend his second life eating horse shit.”
I can’t help but chuckle. Still, he has one more question to answer
to satisfy my curiosity. “Why me though?
“As I told you over the phone, Nari needs to siphon some of your
supernatural energy so she can keep the evil spirits surrounding Ji-
hoon at bay while forcing his soul into the afterlife.” Jiro tugs my arm
so I follow him off the dirt road and up the incline of a grassy hill.
From here, I can see a faint glow of light at the top of the knoll. “And
you, my friend,” he says, slapping me on the back, “are the only one
in the world who can withstand Nari’s curse.”
I stop walking. “Curse? What curse? You didn’t say anything
about a curse. I have a bad enough curse to deal with without adding
another one to it.”
 He laughs and shakes his head. “Her curse shouldn’t affect you.
At least, that’s the theory.”
“What do you mean?”
“When Nari was a teenager, she was arrogant about her powers
and flaunted them in the faces of the elder shamans. One of them
decided to teach her a lesson and cursed her to never know true
love. Sound familiar?”
“Are you saying she’s like me?” I ask in surprise.
“Yes and no.”
We continue our climb, and I remain silent in hopes he’ll explain
his cryptic answer.
“You were cursed to be a gargoyle with a stone heart by the
dragon your village killed. You’re unable to feel love for someone
else. That isn’t the case with Nari. She can love others, but her curse
prevents her from ever knowing if someone truly loves her in return.”
“I’m not quite sure I understand what you’re saying.”
“Anyone who touches Nari instantly falls madly in love with her to
the point of obsession. So Nari will never know if someone loves her
for who she is or if it’s simply because they’ve fallen victim to the
spell around her. You are the only person who can help us, because
your heart is resistant to her curse. It’s almost as if fate brought you
into my life for just this moment.”
“I’m pretty sure it was a couple of vampires that introduced us to
one another, mon ami, but if you want to call them fate’s emissaries,
I suppose they wouldn’t mind.”
He smiles. “True, but do you understand why you are the perfect
man for this job?”
“Yes. I never thought my curse would be useful to anyone, but it
will come in handy in this instance.” We continue through the lush
green grass to the top of the hill. Before we reach it, I think of one
more question to ask. “How did you figure out that Soura’s uncle was
attempting to possess your son’s body?”
“Soura caught him standing over her one night,” he reveals,
visibly shaken about the ghostly encounter. “His hand rested on her
belly, and he smiled at her. That man never smiled about anything
unless it was something that would benefit him in some way. The
Clan warned me not to fall in love with a Korean woman. They all
told me I should settle down with a nice Japanese woman, but the
heart wants what the heart wants. The moment I met Soura, I knew
we were destined to be together.”
For a moment I envy him. Love is the one thing I’ve been denied
because of my sins. It’s a state of being that seems to come so
easily to others, but for me it will always be the one thing I can never
have. Without the ability to feel that connection to another person,
my existence has lost meaning. Without the hope of finding someone
to share myself with, I see no reason to go on.
When we reach the top of the hill, the glow of light I saw from the
road is explained. A sixty-foot Korean elm tree stands at the center
of the hilltop. A twisted straw rope surrounds its thick trunk, and
strips of white cloth festoon its long, outstretched limbs like
streamers at a party. Hundreds of white candles surround a wooden
platform, where Jiro’s pregnant wife lies with her eyes closed and
fingers laced protectively over her belly. The shaman is dressed in
white silk robes with a matching headpiece bordered with red trim.
She’s kneeling beside Soura in silent prayer.
“Is Soura okay?” I whisper.
“She’s under Nira’s sleeping spell. Nothing to worry about.” His
strained smile falls short of reassuring, but I decide not to ask any
more questions. If he thought his wife was in any danger, he would
have already whisked her far away from the strange happenings
here.
The air becomes colder. Since the wind isn’t blowing, I can only
assume the change in temperature is being caused by the gathering
of spirits. Ghosts are strange creatures. You can be standing on a
dune in the sweltering heat of the Sahara Desert at midday, but if
there is a ghost nearby, it will make the air it travels in as cold as a
nor’easter.
After about five minutes of waiting, the shaman stands and turns
around, giving me my first glimpse of her face.
 Her bright amber eyes immediately draw my attention. I’ve lived
for hundreds of years, but I’ve never met someone with eyes that
striking. Her pale, flawless skin highlights her high cheekbones, slim
nose, and full lips. There isn’t even a hint of makeup, which is good
because it would only mar her natural beauty.
“I can see why people fall in love with her so easily,” I say, unable
to take my eyes off her as she steps off the platform and comes our
way.
“Nira’s beauty and pride were her downfall. Maybe if she hadn’t
been so overconfident, the other shaman wouldn’t have cursed her.”
Nira seems to glide, not walk, across the ground. She’s wearing a
ceremonial red sash embroidered with feathers and colorful
phoenixes at both ends. Around her neck are several strands of red
wooden beads. She stops three feet away from us, glancing at Jiro
before settling on me.
“I assume this is the gargoyle you mentioned?” she says, lifting a
judgmental eyebrow as she looks me up and down.
He clears his throat. “Nira, I would like to introduce you to Roman.
As we discussed, he should be immune to your curse because of his
own.”
Nira raises her head a notch. “Jiro tells me it’s impossible for you
to fall in love because of your curse.” She sounds skeptical. I wonder
why?
“And he tells me that anyone who touches you falls madly in love
to the point of insanity,” I reply with the same amount of incredulity.
“I assure you my curse is real. Are you willing to bet your heart
and soul on it being a joke?”
“I have neither of those,” I inform her nonchalantly. “That’s what
makes me the perfect person for this job.”
“We’ll see.” She quickly shifts her attention to Jiro. “You should go
back down to the road. No matter what you hear or see, don’t come
back here until the ritual is complete. Is that clear?”
“Yes, but—”
 “Don’t question my directions and don’t come any closer to me,”
she orders. She returns to the platform.
“Not exactly a people person, is she?” I jest.
He chuckles. “Nira may seem cold, but she cares more than she
lets on. Her curse forces her to keep her distance from others, and
it’s easier to do that if you make people dislike you.”
Nira turns her head and looks directly at me. “Are you coming or
not?” she asks, clearly irritated with my lack of progress toward the
ritual site.
“Good luck.” Jiro places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.
“And thank you.”
After he goes back down the hill, I turn my attention to Nira. She’s
still gazing at me with contempt and irritation.
“If we’re going to be working together,” I say, joining her, “I think
we need to clear the air between us.”
“That isn’t necessary.” She looks at Soura. “All I need is for you to
stand still and be quiet. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Do you think you can take that stick out of your ass and be nice?”
Nira whips her head in my direction, and I give her my best
disarming smile.
“You do understand I’m here to help Jiro and his family, right?
There’s no reason for you to be rude. I promise I won’t fall in love
with you. Right now, I barely like you. Your only redeeming quality is
that you’re helping my friend protect his family.” I hold my hand out.
“I say we start this acquaintance over and act like adults. What do
you say?”
She glares at my hand like I’m offering her a viper. I’m not sure if
she’s going to stay or run away.
I wiggle my fingers to encourage her to shake hands with me.
“You have nothing to worry about. I have no heart. I’m not even sure
I still have a soul. Out of everyone on this planet, I’m probably the
only person you can’t hurt with your curse, so you can drop the rude
act to keep me at arm’s length.”
 She looks surprised, and I know Jiro’s assessment of her
dislikable attitude was correct. Her brusqueness with me was a
means of self-defense. I have no doubt she’s used it often. I’m not
sure what’s worse: not being able to feel love at all or knowing that
an accidental brush against someone will cause them to lose their
free will.
Cautiously, she raises her hand and gently shakes mine.
I look deeply into her eyes. Before she can pull her hand away, I
place it over my heart. “Nira, I love you. Where have you been all my
life?”
She gasps in horror and yanks her hand out of mine.
Unable to keep a straight face, I laugh. “I can’t believe you fell for
that. Seriously, you made that way too easy.”
At first she looks confused, but she quickly catches on and she is
angry. The next thing I know, she’s pushing me back with all her
might. “You jabjong!” she yells, but there’s a hint of a smile on her
lips.
“I may not understand Korean,” I say, still chuckling, “but I’m pretty
sure you just called me a bastard.”
“Your guess is absolutely right!” She says a few other words in
Korean that are more than likely curses. Then she laughs and throws
her hands in the air, and I know I’m forgiven for my little joke. The
tension is broken, and I see the real Nira appear.
She eyes me curiously, and I sense she wants to ask me
something. “Go on. Ask your question.”
She clears her throat nervously. “Jiro didn’t tell me exactly how
you became the way you are. I was expecting you to look more like a
stone creature than a man.”
“I’m not that kind of gargoyle.” I stuff my hands in the pockets of
my coat, uncharacteristically uncomfortable with the turn of the
conversation. I’m not sure why. This isn’t the first time I’ve told this
particular story to someone, but I don’t want to admit my sin to Nira.
Maybe it’s because she looks so pristine and pure in her shaman
outfit or her amber eyes are digging into what’s left of my soul for
answers. Nevertheless, she wants an explanation, and the sooner I
tell her, the sooner we can get all of this over with, and I can go
about my business.
“During the seventh century, I lived in a small town in France
called Rouen,” I say. “Back then I was a bit of a scoundrel and ended
up imprisoned. An archbishop came to town one day and asked for
volunteers to kill a dragon that lived nearby. I was the only one who
offered to go with him. I regret making that decision now, but how
was I to know what would happen?” I decide to make the last part of
my tale short and sweet. “After we killed the dragon, the townsfolk
tried to burn the remains, but the head and neck wouldn’t catch fire.
In all their barbaric wisdom, they decided to mount it on the side of a
building. Shortly after, it began to rain, and we thought drinking the
water that spouted from the dragon’s dead mouth would bring us
good luck.”
“I assume the opposite was true,” she says.
“You assume correctly. We were cursed. Some of us were made
to live inside grotesquely shaped stone bodies for all eternity and
others were forced to live with a heart as hard as stone and never
know love. I always thought I lucked out, but lately I’ve been second-
guessing that opinion.”
“We are two sides of the same coin then,” she says thoughtfully.
“I’m sorry for the way you are, but maybe fate coaxed you down this
path to help Jiro and his family.”
I smile. “You know, those were my exact thoughts while I was
driving here.” I look over at Soura. Her long brown hair is braided
and resting over her shoulder. The last time I saw her, she only had
a small baby bump, but now she looks like she’s ready to give birth
at any moment. “What do you need me to do, Nira? How do we
protect the baby from that bastard’s ghost?”
Nira holds her hand out to me without any hesitation this time. I
retake my place by her side and twine my fingers tightly with hers.
“I’ve contacted the souls of Soura’s ancestors,” she says. “They’re
all around us. Can you feel their presence?”
 I nod. “I felt them as soon as Jiro and I walked up here.”
“Once I start to siphon your supernatural energy, I will transfer it to
them, and they will force Ji-hoon’s spirit to show itself. After that, I
will open a portal to the afterlife and push him through it to finally
meet his judgment.”
“Why do you need Soura here? If her ancestors are summoning
Ji-hoon’s spirit, wouldn’t it be safer to have her and the baby
somewhere else during all of this?”
She shakes her head. “The safest place for Soura is here by the
sacred tree of her ancestors. Her uncle’s spirit has attached itself to
the baby, so he never travels far from where he is. I believe he was a
shaman in his former life and still retains some of that magic—
enough to keep himself hidden from me when I’ve tried to summon
him before. He won’t be able to hide from me when the spirits of her
relatives make Ji-hoon show himself.”
“I’m ready when you are.” I tighten my hold on her hand.
She picks up a brass shaft with an open circle at the bottom and a
forked top with two clusters of jingle bells on either side. From the
research I did on Korean shamanism before I came here, I know
they’re mudang bells and often used to keep evil spirits at bay. She
closes her eyes and chants something in Korean I don’t understand.
The air around us swirls with an otherworldly coldness that seeps
deep into my bones. Energy crackles like free floating tendrils of
electricity causing my skin to tingle and my hair to stand on end.
As her chanting becomes louder and more demanding, she
shakes the mudang bells so fast the motion becomes a blur. The
moment she starts to siphon my energy, our hands suddenly feel like
two magnets drawn together by an inhuman force. Whatever spell
she’s weaving has combined our supernatural powers into one tight
vortex of spiritual energy I never knew could be called upon until
now.
One by one, people materialize around the base of the tree. Their
pale, translucent forms and old-fashioned clothing tell me these are
some of Soura’s oldest ancestors. They’ve answered her call for
help and have chosen to lend their strength in her fight against Ji-
hoon’s ghost. I’m not sure how I’m able to see them, but I assume it
has something to do with being linked to Nira’s power. Does she see
ghosts all the time? If she does, I’m not sure how she’s kept her
sanity.
Abruptly, she stops shaking the bells. “Ji-hoon, show yourself to
us! Face your fate and release your hold on your niece’s unborn
child.”
At first nothing happens, and I doubt we’ve harnessed enough
power to bring Ji-hoon out of hiding. She continues to mercilessly
taunt Soura’s uncle, calling him every name in the book. After a few
minutes of this, I’m leaning over to ask if we have a backup plan in
case this one doesn’t work when a ball of blue light appears over
Soura, hovering directly above her protruding belly.
She shakes her bells again, faster than before. It must be a signal
to the host of ghostly ancestors present, because they converge on
the light and disappear into it. Her chanting halts and she gasps. The
mudang bells fall to the ground.
She lets go of my hand and screams, “Run!”
I stubbornly stay by her side. Before I can ask what’s happening,
the blue orb of light above Soura bursts into a blinding flash of pure
energy. The shockwave throws us unceremoniously off the platform
and onto the ground several feet away.
It takes a moment to regain my bearings, but then I immediately
get to my feet. Nira lays unconscious five feet away from me.
I’m moving toward her when a thunderous voice pierces the quiet.
“Stop!”
Someone is standing on the platform. He looks like a
distinguished older gentleman dressed in a nice suit instead of a
ghost. Unlike Soura’s other ancestors, the spirit I assume to be Ji-
hoon is only semi-transparent.
“If you want the shaman to live,” he says as if determining her fate
is his decision to make, “let her be.” His English is impeccable,
reminding me that Jiro told me Ji-hoon was raised in the States as a
child.
Unsure if he has the power to kill Nari, I decide to err on the side
of caution. “What do you want? What did you do to Soura’s
ancestors?”
Ji-hoon’s smile is wickedly happy. “I ate their souls. I really must
thank the shaman for serving them up to me on a silver platter like
that. They made me even more powerful than I was before she
started this ridiculous charade of a ritual.”
Well, that’s not good. I will Nira to wake up, but I’ll have to figure
things out on my own until she does.
Ji-hoon kneels behind Soura and places a possessive hand on
her belly. A plan to save Jiro’s son forms in my mind, but I’m not sure
it’ll work. I decide doing something is better than doing nothing.
“Why would you want to enter the body of a frail human baby?” I
ask.
“The soul of a baby is easier to push out of the host body than
that of someone older. After a person is born, their bond to the living
world is practically unbreakable. I’ve tried possessing adults, but
their soul’s zest for life is too strong. Besides, I know Soura and Jiro
will never let anything happen to their son, even if it’s my soul that
dwells in his body.”
“What if you could inhabit someone fully grown?” I ask, hoping he
takes the bait. “What if you could inhabit not only an adult body but
one that’s also immortal?”
I’ve piqued his interest. He stands and stares at me hard. “Are
you saying you’re immortal? How can that be true?”
“I’m a gargoyle.” I extend my hands as if my state of being should
be obvious to someone like him. “I was cursed to walk the earth
forever with a heart made of stone. I can’t fall in love. I barely feel
anything for anyone. Doesn’t that sound more like the type of body
someone like you would enjoy inhabiting? Surely one that can never
die is better than living in one that’s as fragile as a baby’s.”
 He materializes right in front of me. His gaze is penetrating as he
looks me up and down. “That mustache and goatee have to go,” he
says in disdain. He walks around me as if inspecting me from all
angles. “I suppose it could be worse. Women probably find your
dark, wavy hair and accent attractive, even if you are on the slim
side. With a little work, I can build up your physique.”
“I’ve never had any complaints from the fairer sex about the way I
look,” I say, offended by his assessment and future plans for my
body.
Ji-hoon stops in front of me. “I accept your sacrifice,” he says
graciously, “but what guarantee do I have that your soul won’t fight
mine for control over your body?”
“I don’t have a soul you need to worry about. I’m practically an
empty shell.”
“Ahh, yes. Your curse.” Ji-hoon smiles at me arrogantly. “I
overheard you explain it to the shaman. If I had been the dragon you
killed, I would have found a better way to punish you, but I’m a
sadistic bastard and enjoy seeing others suffer.”
“There’s only one thing I ask. Leave Jiro, his family, and Nira
alone. Never try to contact them after tonight. In fact, leave this
country and never return. Give me your word you can do those
things, and if I do happen to have a soul left, it will leave you in
peace.”
“I accept your terms of surrender.” His haughty attitude turns my
stomach. I hate losing, especially to someone as detestable as him.
“I was planning to leave this country anyway. There are plenty of
people in the world who haven’t had the misfortune of meeting me
yet.”
“You can never tell Nira who you are, or she’ll try to exorcise your
soul from my body. I have a feeling she would make it her life’s
mission to put right what she would see as her failure.”
“I have no intention of telling that no-talent shaman she royally
botched things up this evening,” he says scornfully. “She should
have known that coming here would make me stronger, since these
are my family grounds, too. I should thank her for making it so easy
for me.”
“Don’t,” I warn sharply. “Nira doesn’t seem like the type of person
who takes defeat graciously. Simply tell her that her spell worked, so
she can leave here feeling good about herself.”
“You’re making a lot of demands for someone whose soul is about
to be ejected from his body,” Ji-hoon says testily.
“If I still have one, I’ll haunt you for all eternity if you don’t do as I
say.”
“Let’s get this over with.” He’s bored with our conversation. “I’ve
waited long enough to live my second life.”
This is what I wanted. I was looking for a way to end my life, and it
fell into my lap. Mentally, I let go of my past, say goodbye to my
present, and make a wish for a better future. I close my eyes. “I’m
ready.”
A tingling sensation courses down my spine as Ji-hoon’s spirit
enters me. As I wait for the verdict on whether or not I still have a
soul, I expect my world to come to a complete end or feel my spirit
finally be set free.
Neither happens.
I open my eyes, half expecting Ji-hoon’s spirit to still be standing
in front of me. I glance around but see no ghost.
Of course you don’t, you fool! I’m stuck inside you like a tick riding
on the back of a dog’s ass!
I place a hand over my heart. “Ji-hoon?” I whisper.
Who else would be talking inside your head?
“Would you mind not yelling so loud? You’re going to give me a
headache.”
Good! You deserve it, you two-timing bastard! I don’t know how
you did it, but you trapped me, and I can’t get out!
I want to laugh at his predicament until I realize I might have to
listen to him scream inside my head forever.
Maniacal laughter reverberates against the walls of my mind.
 That’s not even the worst of it. I know all your thoughts, too. You’ll
never be able to keep a secret from me. Never!
“I can’t say I like that idea, but at least you’ll never be able to hurt
Jiro and his family again.”
But you’ll never be safe from me either. Eventually you’ll be as
warped as I am. When we truly become one, who knows what fun
we’ll be able to have together? You think you’re a monster now, but
just you wait. I’ll make you into a real one.
“What happened?” Nira slowly sits up with one hand pressed to
her right temple as if she’s in pain.
I go over and lend her my support by putting an arm around her
waist.
That was a mistake, one I will regret making for the rest of my life.
Whatever magic trapped Ji-hoon’s soul inside me must have also
bestowed some of his humanity into me. However miniscule that
intrusion was, my heart of stone cracked. When I touched Nira, her
curse wiggled its way inside my heart.
When I was fully human, I’m not sure I knew what it felt like to
love someone more than I did myself. I was a selfish lout who always
did whatever the hell he wanted, no matter who it hurt. I look at Nira
and know I would die for her. Just being near her feels like I’ve
walked into the sun after spending a lifetime imprisoned in a cave,
and I can’t imagine my life without her. She makes me realize how
precious life is. I want to spend every second of every minute of
every day in her presence.
Laughter rings inside my head. Well, well, well . . . isn’t this
something? Just when you regain a small bit of your humanity, I
seem to be the one who retains what little common sense you have
left. Strange that my soul isn’t affected by her curse like yours is, but
maybe that’s karma biting you in the ass for trapping me inside you.
“I didn’t trap you.” I realize I’ve spoken aloud too late. She looks at
me oddly. In point of fact, I have lost my mind to a gloating Ji-hoon,
who is chortling his fool head off at what is the most wonderful and
most awful moment of my life.
 I’m finally able to feel love for someone else, but it will always be
one-sided. I’ll never be able to tell her how I feel, because she would
see my blessing as her misfortune. Even though I know I’m cursed—
even though what I feel for her isn’t true in any real sense—I can’t
prevent the joy I feel, looking into her beautiful amber eyes. I itch to
caress her porcelain-like skin and kiss her sweet strawberry-red lips.
Flashes of her lying at my feet in a pool of blood cut through my
thoughts like a knife. Her screams as I mercilessly cut her flesh with
a butcher’s blade invade my mind. These aren’t my thoughts.
They’re images of what Ji-hoon wants to do to her.
I don’t know how much control I have over his spirit or how much
control he can gain over my body, but I have to leave this place and
never see her again.
“Are you all right?” she asks. “Did you hit your head on the ground
a little too hard?”
“I’m fine.” I want nothing more than to hold her in my arms and
whisper sweet nothings in her ear until she surrenders to me. I’m not
sure I’m strong enough to turn my back on her, but if I don’t… well.
I realize you’re under a spell, but either get yourself under control
or leave. Don’t embarrass us by getting all sappy with her.
“I have to go.” I slowly back away from her.
“Wait!” she says, lunging forward to stop me. “I don’t know if my
spell worked. Ji-hoon’s spirit may still be here.”
“You destroyed it,” I say. “I saw his ghost vanish after that flash of
energy that knocked us to the ground.”
“Are you sure?” Before we started, she said she’d have to lead his
ghost to the afterlife, but that isn’t the way things played out. I refuse
to leave her doubting herself or her skills as a shaman.
“He’s gone. Soura’s ancestors did what you wanted them to do.
He won’t be bothering Jiro or his family again.” I tug free of her hold,
finding the action one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
“Goodbye, Nira. I wish you a wonderful life.” I practically run back
down the hill to the road.
 An anxious Jiro meets me there. “Where are you going? Is it
over? Are Soura and the baby safe?”
“They’re both fine. Ji-hoon won’t be bothering any of you again.”
He sighs heavily with relief and then unexpectedly throws his
arms around me. “Thank you, my friend. Thank you for helping us.”
“Go up and get your family.” I gently push him away. “Take care of
one another. Goodbye, Jiro.” I dash to my car, no doubt leaving him
confused.
I drive back the way I came as fast as I can, not even considering
the damaged front end, and it still feels like I’m traveling at a snail’s
pace. I grip the wheel so tightly, my hands feel welded to it. The pull I
feel to go back to her is stronger than any force I’ve ever
encountered. Since I was cursed, I felt like I lived in hell, but now I
know what that really feels like, and it is a hell of my own making. I
can never be with the only woman I’ll ever love because of the
tainted soul I carry inside me.
Ji-hoon laughs at my predicament, proving how much of a bastard
he really is.
I once considered myself a monster. I’d wanted to end my life and
release myself from the torment of my existence. Now I have to live
to keep a real monster away from those I care about most. I’ve
entered into a battle of wills against a soul that will do everything he
can to find a way to escape me, but I have no intention of losing this
fight.
Neither do I, Roman, Ji-hoon says determinedly. Neither do I.
Game, set, but not quite match. This has just begun. To the victor
go the spoils.
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
S. J. West is a writer of all things paranormal and romantic. She’s
a girl with deep southern roots and a lot of her books are set in the
south. After finding her Prince Charming, she gave birth to a
wondrous baby girl and adopted three fur babies who keep her
company while she writes.
As always, you can learn about the progress of her books, get
news about new releases, new projects and participate in amazing
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BOOKS BY SJ WEST
THE WATCHER SERIES
The Watchers Trilogy
Cursed
Blessed
Forgiven
 
The Watcher Chronicles
Broken
Kindred
Oblivion
Ascension
 
Caylin’s Story
Timeless
Devoted
Aiden’s Story
 
The Alternate Earth Series
Cataclysm
Uprising
Judgment
 
The Redemption Series
Malcolm
Anna
Lucifer
Redemption
 
The Dominion Series
Awakening
Reckoning
Enduring
 
The Everlasting Fire Series
War Angel
 Between Worlds
Shattered Souls
 
Lucifer and Amalie’s Story
Surrendering the Dark
Descending into the Abyss
 
Guardians of the Void
Restoration
Atonement
Exodus
 
War Angel Academy
Harbinger
Nemesis
Champion
 
***
 
Other Books By S.J. West
 
The Harvester of Light Trilogy
Harvester
Hope
Dawn
 
The Vankara Saga
Vankara
Dragon Alliance
War of Atonement
 
Vampire Conclave Series
Moonshade
Sentinel
Conclave
Requiem
 
 Circle of the Rose Chronicles
Cin d’Rella and the Water of Life
Cin d’Rella and the Golden Apple
Cin d’Rella and the Lonely Tower
Cin d’Rella and the Messengers of Death
 
***
 
Multi-Author Anthologies
 
The Monster Ball Year 3:
A Paranormal Romance Anthology
Second Chances
 WITHOUT YESTERDAY

 
LEXI RYAN

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.

I’ve been counting down for weeks. Gathering my courage.
Nobody knows where I am. My sisters think I’m in French Lick,
taking some time for myself at the spa, but I’m really in Florida,
drinking at a beachside bar and trying to pretend I’m not spazzing
out about this weekend.
“Which one’s the groom?” the tatted bartender asks. She nods to
the group clustered behind me.
I glance over my shoulder and spot Tyler’s dark hair and easy
smile. “The one in the Miami T-shirt.”
“Damn. He’s a looker.”
“And a really good guy,” I say, though I’m not sure why it matters
to me that our twenty-something bartender knows that Tyler has
more to offer than a pretty face.
Tyler catches me staring and winks. I smile back.
“You need another drink?” the bartender asks.
Is it that obvious? I shake my head. “I’m good.”
I reach into my purse and finger the old note I tucked away in
there. I resist the urge to pull it out and read it, as if I haven’t already
memorized every word in the last six years. As if I don’t already
know the exact angle of every letter. The ink has faded with time,
and the paper’s been folded and unfolded so many times that it’s
torn at some of the creases.
Two days.
 •••

Six years ago

Maybe I’m overreacting.
I throw back the shot and grimace when it hits my throat.
Maybe, if I get drunk enough, I’ll find the courage to tell Tyler
exactly how I feel.
Hey, Ty. You know I love you, right? And yeah, when I decided to
move down here with you, we both thought we wanted to spend our
lives together, but now I realize I was wrong about that, and it was a
mistake.
“That’s quite a sour look you have on your face,” the guy next to
me says as he leans against the bar.
I blink him into focus. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair, and
stunning blue eyes that remind me of the water in the Gulf of Mexico
after a storm has passed and the waves have calmed.
“Because tequila’s disgusting,” I say, and the words come out way
too flirty. Like I’m a drunk sorority girl looking for a guy to buy her
drinks for the night and not a grown-ass woman who’s made a mess
of her life.
“I can help with that.” He signals the bartender, the big muscles in
his shoulder flexing as he lifts his arm. He’s familiar somehow, but I
scour my memory and come up empty. He’s familiar in the way
actors are when you watch a new TV show. That feeling that you’ve
seen their face before, not that you know them. Probably because he
looks like he walked off a movie set. People in real life don’t have
features that finely chiseled or eyes that blue. This guy belongs in
Hollywood, not in the tourist area my snobby mother refers to as the
Redneck Riviera. “What you need is the good stuff.”
What I need is someone to save me.
His smile falls away. “Excuse me?”
 Shit. I just said that out loud. “I’m a little drunk. It makes me
dramatic.”
“Double Jameson, rocks, and a Don Julio for her,” he tells the
bartender, barely taking those scrutinizing eyes off me. He folds his
arms. “People don’t say they need to be saved because they’re
being dramatic. They say it because they’re scared or stuck. Which
are you?”
I tilt my face up and stare at the ceiling. “Selfish little rich girls who
are too spoiled to think of anyone but themselves say it for dramatic
effect.”
He hums. “Maybe you should tell me why you need saving, and I’ll
decide.”
I open my mouth, then snap it shut again. I’m drunk. I should not
be talking to a stranger about my problems. I should be talking to
Tyler. I should be telling him how I feel and how panicked I am about
that charge on our account.
But Tyler’s playing poker with his friends at our house forty-five
minutes away, and by the time a cab could get me there, I’ll have
sobered up and lost my courage.
Maybe that $2,000 charge to our checking account from the local
jeweler has nothing to do with me. Or maybe there’s a reason he’s
been so worked up about this weekend.
Tomorrow is Tyler’s birthday, and his parents will be visiting us
from Indiana and seeing our new home for the first time.
I didn’t think much of it when he invited them, but their visit,
combined with the $2,098.32 to Bradford Fine Jewelry? Right there
in our shared checking account? Did he want me to see that?
The truth is too obvious. The man I love is going to propose, and I
would do almost anything to keep it from happening.
I should be thrilled. I should be so excited that all the mistakes I
made along the way still somehow led me here, to our beautiful
home in an adorable Florida tourist town on the Gulf, where I was
given a chance to start over and leave the embarrassments of my
past behind.
 But instead of feeling gleeful and content, knowing I get to spend
the rest of my life with him, I saw that charge and ran.
Am I broken? Is there something inside me that’s incapable of
accepting a real relationship? I don’t expect perfection, and yet my
first instinct was to run. And that’s a problem.
I told Tyler I was going to spend the night at my friend Daphne’s in
Destin—not bothering to mention she’s at her boyfriend’s this
weekend. I’m crashing at her tiny condo by the beach so I can figure
out what I think about the question that surely comes with a jewelry
purchase like that.
“I’m in over my head,” I admit, the words out of my mouth before I
can stop them.
“With what?”
“My boyfriend’s going to propose.” Hearing it out loud is even
worse, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “I don’t want to say no, but I
can’t say yes.”
He rocks back on his heels and whistles low. “If you feel that way,
you can’t marry him.”
“I know, but . . .” I tug on a lock of my hair. “I don’t want to hurt
him.”
The bartender slides Mr. Hollywood’s drink on the counter and
hands me the shot of Don Julio. Whatever that is.
Normally I’d balk at a stranger ordering me a shot, would balk
harder at the thought of sharing my problems with him, but these
aren’t normal circumstances. As he watches me lift the glass to my
lips, I can’t pretend his gaze isn’t on my mouth. His attention sends a
buzz through me stronger than any amount of booze can deliver.
I shoot it back, only wincing on instinct. Maybe it’s better than
Cuervo, maybe not. After my first three shots, I can barely taste this
one.
“Why don’t you want to marry him?” he asks.
“He doesn’t make my heart race.” The confession feels
simultaneously petty and profound, and I want to follow it with a
thousand caveats. It’s not his fault. He tries. He’s more than I
deserve. Instead, like a traitor, I say, “He hasn’t even noticed how
lonely I am.”
He sips his drink, patiently waiting for me to say more.
“That’s it. That’s all. I’m a horrible trash human, and I don’t
deserve him.” I force a self-deprecating smile, but it’s too tight. A
rubber band ready to snap. “Obviously.”
“Well, would you rather tell him now or right before the wedding?”
I cough on a laugh that might be a sob. I’ve already done that—
the engagement that was all wrong, the last-minute panic,
sabotaging my wedding because I knew it was a mistake. Poor Will.
Tyler should’ve thought about what a mess I made of my last
relationship and shut the door in my face when I went to him last
year. Instead, he pulled me into his arms, kissed my neck, and told
me everything would be okay. He was my safe harbor from the worst
storm of my life.
“What’s your name?”
I swallow hard. I come from a small town where drama spreads
like wildfire, so it’s sheer self-preservation that has me hesitating
before answering. “Krystal.”
“Krystal.” He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth as he scrapes
his gaze over me. The corner of his mouth turns up. “Yeah, that suits
you. You have a certain sparkle to you.”
The sudden, unexpected shimmer of butterflies in the pit of my
stomach makes me gasp. It’s the first I’ve heard from those bitches
in years. In high school, Tyler gave me butterflies. But when we got
back together after my canceled wedding, after Will, there were no
fluttering wings in sight. I blamed my broken heart. My humiliation. I
thought I was too damaged and jaded to get butterflies, but here they
are, flapping about for an absolute stranger.
Great timing, hussies.
“I’m James. It’s nice to meet you, Krystal.” He offers me his hand,
and I stare at it for a long beat before giving him mine. I don’t want to
feel what I know I will when his hand closes over mine. His warm
skin zaps heat and want through me. Those butterflies aren’t just
fluttering. The little sluts are doing a striptease.
The tequila. We’re definitely blaming the tequila for this.
“You know what I like about this place?” I ask, hopping off my
barstool. I back toward the big accordion doors, open to the beach
air. “I like the view.” I turn and jog out toward the beach and the
crashing waves.
It’s dark, but the moon is bright and high, and the bar has several
firepits in the sand with glowing fires surrounded by beach chairs.
I pull off my sandals and run to the water. The cool waves lap at
my feet. I pray they’ll remind me why I moved to Florida to begin with
—the rightness and peace I felt when I told Tyler I wanted to start a
life here with him. How could a choice that was so right for me just
over a year ago be so wrong for me now?
The answer echoes in my mind. Harbors are for respite. They
aren’t meant to hold you forever.
Mr. Hollywood—James—has followed me to the water. I glance
over my shoulder to see him strolling toward me, boat shoes
dangling from his hooked fingers. He’s cuffed his dark jeans so they
don’t drag in the sand. There’s something sexy about his bare feet.
“Are you from around here?” he asks.
“Not originally. Where I come from, you have to drive hours to get
to big water.”
He comes to stand by my side and nods, staring out at the ocean.
“Let me guess. You moved here for the view?”
Probably more for the view than the man. Guilt dogs me. “Is there
another reason?” I study the waves and the artful way they roll to
shore, led by nothing but the moon. Every moment is a picture worth
taking. Every crashing wave is a song.
“I was a military kid,” he says. “We lived a little bit of everywhere,
but my favorite places were always the ones that flew under the
radar.”
“What do you mean by that?”
 He shrugs. “Tourist locations are tourist locations for a reason.
Everyone wants to see the beautiful thing.” He turns up a palm and
gestures toward the Gulf. “You can’t blame them. It’s lovely. But I
don’t know. Maybe it’s because we moved around so much that I
always liked the quiet places better. Middle America is my jam.
Pennsylvania, Kansas, Illinois.”
“Indiana,” I whisper, thinking of home.
“Sure. That works too.”
“But you’re here,” I say. The cool air is sobering me up, and I’m
not sure how I feel about that.
“Just visiting. I live in D.C. right now, but it’s temporary.”
“And you’ll settle somewhere boring after that?”
“Not right away but as soon as I can.”
I want to know what that means. Why can’t he find a home in
Middle America and stay there? Why is it that even in the moonlight,
I can barely look away from those eyes? But I haven’t asked Tyler
that many questions in months, so guilt keeps me quiet.
“Do you want to talk about it? The boyfriend? The proposal?”
“I don’t want to talk about anything.”
“Okay, well, let’s talk about me, then.”
I try to scoff, but my body betrays me, and it comes out as a full-
bellied laugh. “What about you? Tell me all your problems. Let me fix
you, since I can no longer be fixed.”
The corner of his mouth hitches into a smirk. “What makes you
think I have problems?”
All my amusement fades. “Everyone has problems. If you find
someone who doesn’t, all you’ve really found is the best actor in the
room.”
“And you’ve known a lot of good actors? Is that what you’re
saying?”
“I’m saying I’m one of them.” I close my eyes and let the threads
of drunkenness and sobriety go to war in my blood, fighting for the
right to control my words. “I’ve given my boyfriend every reason to
believe I want to marry him. This is where we’ve been headed; this is
what we had planned. It’d be unfair for me to change the rules now.”
“You’re not allowed to change your mind?”
“Of course I am.” Only it’s beginning to be a pattern, and I don’t
like that. I don’t want to be that girl.
“Will you humor me for a minute?” James asks, tilting his head.
I narrow my eyes at him. “I guess that depends.”
He holds up his hands. “I’m not a creep, I swear. I have this little
exercise that someone went through with me when I had to make a
tough decision. It helped.”
“Okay,” I say tentatively. “But I’m buzzing, so I don’t take
responsibility for any idiotic thing that comes out of my mouth.”
“Got it. Now close your eyes.”
Sighing, I obey. “What now?”
“I want you to let go of what your life is as you know it. Instead,
imagine that you’re living one that brings you the most peace and
contentment. You’re happy more days than not. You’re not lonely
anymore. You’ve just had a full night’s sleep. Your bed is
comfortable, your sheets are clean and soft, and the air in the room
is cool but not too cool. This is your day off sometime in the future.”
“How far?” I ask. “Am I an old lady?”
He chuckles. “Say six years from now. Your life has finally come
together. Picture it.”
I exhale slowly and try to imagine what my ideal life would look
like in six years. I’m in an old house in downtown New Hope. My
husband and I live here, and we’ve been working hard to fix it up.
Every time my sisters come over, I show off the latest completed
project. New paint, the new pulls for the drawers in the bathroom, the
freshly refinished hardwood floors in the office. It reminds me of my
grandmother’s house, but my personal touches make it feel like
home.
“You wake up and stretch. You hear noises in the kitchen.
Someone’s in there making breakfast. Who is it?”
 “My husband,” I say without hesitating. Yep, still drunk.
“Is he the only one you hear?”
“Yeah,” I say softly, but in my visualization, I run my hand down to
my stomach. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. “I’m pregnant.”
His ragged breath almost makes me open my eyes. “How’s it feel
to be pregnant?”
“Amazing. I’ve always wanted this, but at the right time and with
the right person. I never wanted to raise a family anywhere but
home. My sisters all live within a twenty-minute walk, and my mom is
close. I know this baby is going to be so loved.” I shouldn’t be
sharing this. He’s going to think I’m nuts. But between the booze, the
breeze, and the sound of the ocean, I’m too loose and relaxed to
care.
“Can you get out of bed and walk into the kitchen?”
I play along, imagining my big-bellied self getting out of bed, the
feel of the wooden floors beneath my feet. I’m in a purple nightgown
with thin straps, because it’s spring, and I like to sleep with the
windows open, but I get hot easily.
My house isn’t fancy, but it’s clean and warm, and it feels like a
place kids can play. My nieces and nephews come here—my sisters’
kids. They love visiting Aunt Krystal. Everyone feels safe here,
including me.
I walk into the kitchen, a bright, airy space, and a man stands at
the counter. I feel whole, knowing he’s there. My husband. I imagine
it’s Mr. Hollywood, his deep blue eyes looking me over, his lips
quirked into that lopsided smile as he pours himself a cup of coffee.
Ridiculous.
“Who’s in the kitchen?” James asks.
“I don’t know him,” I answer, and it’s true. I know nothing about
James. Nothing about the pretty face my drunken brain is so happy
to insert into this vision of my unsure future.
When I open my eyes, he’s gazing at me. That’s the moment the
truth hits me like a blow.
 It should’ve been Tyler standing there.
If it wasn’t, I have no business considering a marriage proposal.
“What did you learn?” he asks softly.
I swallow. I learned I want my life to happen at home in New
Hope, where I was raised. I don’t picture myself waking up to Tyler in
six years. I don’t picture myself having Tyler’s babies.
I’m not going to admit any of that to a stranger, so I shake my
head and let the hot tears roll down my cheeks.
He cups my face, and the gesture should feel way too intimate,
but it doesn’t. I blame the tequila and the panic.
I want to melt into his arms. I want to let him save me, let him
carry me away from the mess I’ve made of my life. Because I did
this. I thought I knew what I wanted, and I fell too deeply into a
relationship that wasn’t right for me. Again.
As if he suddenly realizes what he’s doing, James pulls away.
“Sorry. I can’t stand knowing I made you so sad.”
He turns away and shoves his hands in his pockets. I swallow the
tears threatening to drown me.
I can’t take it back—the things I admitted tonight, the fact that
James knows something I should’ve told Tyler before anyone else. I
turn back to the bar. “I’ve gotta go.”
He frowns at me. “You have a ride?”
“No. I’ll walk. It’s fine. I’m not far.”
“It’s the middle of the night. I’ll walk with you.”
I shouldn’t let him, but the truth is I’m more worried about what I
might do than any danger he poses to me. I’m in a tailspin. The last
time I panicked like this, I sabotaged my own wedding. “It’s only a
few blocks away. It’s fine. I’m fine.” I’m not fine. I’m a mess, and I’m
afraid that the second I’m alone, I’ll fall apart.
“I’m not going to let you walk home alone in the dark.” He follows
me into the bar and hands the bartender some cash while I sign to
close out my tab.
 When I head out the front and down the sidewalk toward my
friend’s condo, James is by my side. I don’t talk to him. I’ve said too
much already. I’ve let him see secret corners of my mind, let him
catch a glimpse of the skeletons lurking in my closet.
And yet, when the only sound is the slap of my sandals against
the concrete and the rumble of the ocean in the distance, I’m the one
who breaks the silence. “I’m not a good person.” I don’t look at him. I
feel like I have to tear the words out of me. Rip them from the dark
place deep inside, where I hide my ugliest pieces. “Just before I
moved here, I called off my wedding to another guy. An amazing
guy.”
He shrugs as if this means nothing. As if women call off their
weddings to incredible men all the time. “All the more reason not to
get engaged again if you’re not sure about it.”
“You don’t understand.” I stare at the sidewalk, at the shadows
thrown by the streetlamps. “Before my fiancé was engaged to me, he
was engaged to my sister.” I look away. I haven’t told this story to
anyone since moving here. “He was supposed to marry Maggie, but
she called it off and skipped town. He was a heartbroken mess, and
he needed someone to put him back together. I couldn’t run to his
side fast enough. I needed to make sure I was that person, and it
worked. He fell for me, though not enough. Not as much as he loved
her, but enough that he would’ve married me.” Shame makes my
face warm. “Is anyone better off with someone they kind of love?”
He sighs, and our steps slow. “You know the answer to that
already.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. I do, and that’s why I can’t marry Tyler.
“It sounds like you’re still processing everything with the ex. Why
do you think your boyfriend is rushing this?”
Good question. “Because he knows I want to get married. He
knows I want a big family, and he wants to give me everything. He
wants to be my everything.” My voice cracks. “I know what that’s like.
I wanted to do that for my ex. To be that for him.” Thanks to James’s
little exercise, I know Tyler can’t be that. But maybe I’ve known all
along. “Is love always so uneven? With one person doing all the
emotional heavy lifting and the other just going along for the ride?”
“Not when it’s right,” he says, his words measured. “I imagine the
love parents feel for their children might be like that, but romantic
love? Isn’t that supposed to be all about sharing the load?”
“I don’t know. It’s never been like that for me.”
His full lips press together. “Is the ex back with your sister?”
“No. She’s with someone else. I don’t know what he’s doing now,
but I hope he’s happy. That he’s found someone amazing he loves
as much as they love him. That’s all I want for him.”
“Are you still in love with him?”
I stop in front of Daphne’s building and glance at the ice cream
parlor and fitness center on either side of the stairs leading up to her
unit. “I had to let him go.” And I lost part of myself, I realize. Cut out a
piece of my heart to make it happen.
He bows his head and studies his feet for a beat. “Are you still in
love with your boyfriend?”
I open my mouth to say, “Of course.” Only I’m not so sure
anymore, and he’s watching me so intently that I know I can’t get
away with a lie. “I used to think there was no difference between
loving and being in love, but I love a lot of people. I was in love with
my fiancé, and I love my boyfriend. I can still love. But my heart
might be too fragmented to survive being in love. Like a frayed cord,
it’d be too dangerous.”
I risk a glance at him to see if I sound as crazy as I feel, but
there’s nothing but sympathy in his eyes. “So you’re keeping yourself
at a distance,” he says.
“Does it matter that he doesn’t give me butterflies? Marriage isn’t
about butterflies and swooning, is it? Does it really matter if I’m not in
love?”
When he speaks, he’s looking at me, and his voice is as gentle as
his eyes. “You already know the answer to that too.”
I look at the sky, but it doesn’t stop my eyes from filling with tears.
I should go in, but I’m dreading being alone.
 “You know what I want to do?” he asks.
“What?”
“I want to walk on the beach.”
A laugh slips out. “In the dark?”
“Why not?” Our eyes lock for a beat, and there’s nothing between
us but this invisible connection. “Come with me?”
I already know I don’t want this night to end. Tomorrow, everything
changes, and tonight . . . Tonight I want to talk to this beautiful
stranger who seems to see me better than anyone else has. Even in
the dark. “Sure.”
His grin feels like a gift, and we head back to the shore. He tells
me he’s in the middle of his medical residency and shares stories
from the hospital. He tells me how he’s wanted to be a doctor since
he was six when a heart transplant saved his grandmother’s life.
I tell him about my sisters and how close they are. How I’ve never
clicked with them the way they click with each other. I describe what
it was like to lose my dad.
We use the flashlights on our cell phones to spot white crabs
skittering across the sand and let the ocean water lick at our toes.
We laugh and share everything and nothing while the moon travels
across the sky.

•••

Sunrise is close when we make it back to Daphne’s condo, and as

reluctant as I am to say goodbye, it’s time.
“I want to see you again,” James says. His words are a raspy
rumble that make something shimmy low in my belly.
“James,” I whisper, trying to stomp down the little part of me that
feels more for him than I’ve felt for anyone in too long. I resigned
myself to something too similar to numbness. My selfish mistakes
broke something essential in me, and I thought the distant echo of
emotion was the best I could expect from my heart, but he is
challenging that assumption. “Have you heard a thing I’ve said? I
have a boyfriend.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets as if he’s trying to keep from
reaching for me. I take a step back. “I don’t do this.” He looks away.
“I’ve never thrown myself at a stranger, let alone tried to swoop in on
another man’s woman.” Slowly his gaze returns to me. “I knew from
the moment I set eyes on you, I needed to get to know you, and now
that I feel like I have, it’s not enough.”
I imagine Tyler’s face, his easy smile. Then I imagine how much it
will hurt him if I reject his proposal. “We have different lives.”
“He doesn’t make you happy. Don’t shut this down to protect a
relationship that’s already over.”
“Please go,” I whisper, and the words are as weak as I feel.
He opens his mouth, and I think he’s going to object again, but
then he nods, straightens his shoulders, and walks away.

•••

Ten hours later, I’m staring at the spinning bedroom ceiling fan while
I listen to Tyler stomping around the kitchen. He slams cabinet doors
shut and mutters.
At least we’re fighting this time, something we almost never do. All
the passion and heat between us when we were younger has been
snuffed out by real life. There’s rent to pay and a house to keep up.
Relationships take effort, and I’m beginning to see I’ve never been
invested enough in this one to make it work. But maybe that’s just
my emotions talking. Maybe that’s just my guilt about last night,
rearing its ugly head.
When I woke up at Daphne’s a few hours after falling into bed,
there was an envelope taped to the front door with my name on it.
Well, a version of my name. It was spelled Crystal, with a C, but
there was no doubt who it was for.
 And no doubt who it was from.
I tucked it into my purse without reading it and went home to Tyler,
the birthday boy. The man I love and can’t marry. The man who
deserves better.
I haven’t told him I can’t marry him. I haven’t decided for sure
myself yet, but I feel like I’ve hit the point of no return. If he asks me
in front of his parents? I can’t say no. I can’t humiliate him like that.
So why does my mind keep going back to the guy I met at the
bar? James, with his blue eyes and soft smile, with his visualization
exercise and sweet words.
There’s a soft knock on the door, and Tyler pokes his head in.
“Krys?” He crawls onto the bed and over me, hooking my knee under
his arm so he can settle between my thighs. We haven’t been this
close in weeks, and it feels good. I like him there, but I know better
than to expect a moment of physical affection to chase the loneliness
away. “Forgive me. I’m . . . My family will be here any minute, and
I’m stressed about it, okay?”
I meet his eyes. “You can be stressed without trying to control
me.”
“I’m not.” He closes his eyes and sighs. “I’m sorry I told you what
to wear. I just don’t want to hear it from my mom. You know how she
is.”
I do. She’s a lot like my mom. Religious, conservative, and
controlling enough that it sabotages her relationships—especially the
ones with her children. “I’ll wear jeans.” I don’t think there’s anything
wrong with my white shorts, but I’ll do it for him. I’ll do it to prove to
myself that I’m invested in this relationship. That I’m willing to meet
him halfway.
He sweeps his lips over mine, moves a hand to my hip, and
squeezes. “Thank you.” For a moment I think he might feel me up a
bit, might deepen the kiss and remind us both why we’re here, why
we ever believed we could last, but he doesn’t. He rolls off me.
“Ty?”
He stops in the doorway. “What?”
 “You know I love you, right?”
“Love you too.” His smile’s perfect. Wide and genuine, showing off
his straight white teeth. Look at this man, I tell the butterflies, which
have been MIA since I saw the note taped to the door this morning.
He loves us. They remain dormant.
“I know tonight is special, with your parents visiting and
everything, but if there’s something important you want to ask me,
don’t do it in front of them. Okay? I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”
His brow furrows, then he draws in a gasping breath when my
meaning sinks in. “Krys, I . . .” He chuckles softly. “You thought I was
going to propose?”
Relief laps at my heels, but I’m too confused to enjoy it. “There
was a charge on the checking account?”
“That was a favor for my dad. He got Mom’s wedding band re-set
and wanted it to be a surprise.” He flashes me a lopsided grin. “I’m
not ready for that either. I mean, what’s the rush, right? We’ll get
there eventually.”
Will we, though? I push aside the thought and let the relief in. He’s
not going to propose tonight. Crisis averted.
Except it’s not. Because now that I’ve had the scare, I know we
can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep fooling myself into thinking a life
with Tyler is what I want. Not now that I’ve pictured my future. Now
that I’ve had one of the best nights of my life, and it happened next
to someone else.
“I forgot to tell you, Coop’s in town. He showed up at my poker
game last night and surprised me. Remember him?”
I shove off the bed and move to the closet. “I remember your
stories, but I’ve never met him.” I smile at the mention of Tyler’s best
friend from college. They played football together at Ohio State. I’ve
heard so many stories about the trouble they used to get into. “I
thought he was doing his residency in Baltimore or something?”
See? I listen.
“D.C.,” he corrects.
 A residency in D.C. I wonder if he knows James? The thought is
accompanied by a stab of guilt.
“Apparently they give them a couple of days off now and then. He
flew down for the weekend, stayed with a buddy in Fort Walton last
night. I invited him for dinner.”
I pull out a pair of jeans, already knowing they’ll be uncomfortable
in this heat. A dress would probably be a better idea, but I don’t like
being told what to wear. Gives me flashbacks to my childhood and
my strict parents. “We have plenty of food.”
Tyler smacks the doorframe and goes to the kitchen, where he’s
prepping dinner.
He’s still there ten minutes later when the doorbell rings. “Could
you get that, babe? I need to throw the chicken on the grill.”
“Sure!” Even knowing there’s no proposal coming, I can’t shake
this feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach. Is it because
something changed when I realized I didn’t want Tyler to propose?
Or is it guilt, because I can’t stop thinking about a certain blue-eyed
stranger?
When I open the door, it’s not Tyler’s parents. Seeing James’s
face in the light of day is like feeling my relationship with Tyler being
yanked out from under my feet. I’m not sure I’m ready.
“What are you doing here?” My words are cold and hard, as if it’s
his fault I felt more lust and want from one conversation with him
than I ever have from one of Tyler’s kisses.
James cocks his head, brow furrowed. “What are you doing
here?”
“I live here.”
He scoffs. “You live in Destin. I walked you home last night.”
“You walked me to my friend’s, where I was spending the night.” I
risk a glance over my shoulder to make sure Tyler’s still outside, then
lower my voice. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”
In a flash, his face transforms. The confusion falls away, and
horror takes its place. “You’re Krys. With a K. Tyler’s Krys. Krystal.”
He turns around and scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck. Fucking
damn it all to hell.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I didn’t know.” He turns back to me and holds his hands up in
surrender. “I swear I didn’t know. Tyler always calls you Krys, and it
just didn’t connect when you introduced yourself.”
“And who are you?”
“I’m James.” He presses a big hand to his chest. “I’m Tyler’s
fucking best friend. Surely he told you I was coming to dinner.”
“Tyler’s best friend is Cooper.”
He closes his eyes. “Cooper is my last name. James Cooper.”
The air leaves my lungs and refuses to return. No. There’s no
way. “You didn’t tell me your last name.” Panic feels like a hundred
spiders skittering up my throat.
“I did. I put it in the note I left for you this morning.” His eyes
widen. “Shit. Please tell me you didn’t show him that note.”
The note I haven’t read. “Is this some sort of sick joke?”
“I swear to you, it’s not.”
The click of heels on concrete floats toward us, and James looks
over his shoulder.
I already know who’s coming, and I want to hide. “We didn’t do
anything wrong,” I blurt, but it sounds like I’m trying to convince
myself. This guy knows my biggest secret, and if he tells Tyler, if he
— “You cannot say anything,” I whisper.
“Krys!” Tyler’s mom, Annette, rushes toward me with a wide smile.
I step into her arms and hug her. “It’s so good to see you.” I’m a
liar. I wish she weren’t here.
“We’ve missed you, honey.”
Her husband, Edward, appears behind her, large gift bags in each
hand. “Where can I put Tyler’s gifts?”
I step back. This is a disaster. James is still staring at me. I feel it.
“Everyone come inside. You can put those in the living room. Tyler’s
out back at the grill, and we have drinks and everything out there.”
 Tyler’s parents go into the house, and Edward puts the gifts down
by the sofa.
I give James one last look. This guy holds my fate in his hands.
Shame eats at me. I didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing wrong
with feeling attraction to another person. There’s nothing wrong with
sharing your thoughts and feelings.
But there’s something wrong with having an emotional connection
to someone else when you’re struggling to maintain one with your
boyfriend.
Emotional infidelity is the least of my concerns right now. This is
Tyler’s best friend. He knows things that would kill Tyler.
He wanted me, and he knew I wanted him in return. He knew the
only reason I turned him down last night was because I have a
boyfriend. He knew I asked him to leave because I was afraid of
what would happen if he didn’t.
I spin around and follow Tyler’s parents through the house and out
to the patio.
“Krys, you met Coop!” Tyler says.
“I did,” I say, a little breathless. I bite my bottom lip and nod. “I
didn’t know his name was James, though.”
Tyler waves away my complaint. “Nobody calls him that.”
“Some people do,” James says, a little defensively.
“Whatever.” Tyler grins and tilts his head toward me. “I told you
she was the most beautiful thing in the world, didn’t I?”
My stomach clenches, and James uses that moment to drag his
gaze over me. “Yes, she is,” he says, voice gruff. “You’re a lucky
man.”
“I know, right?” Tyler’s grinning ear to ear.
James’s eyes meet mine for a beat, and there’s a world of
meaning in those blue depths. I only wish I could read it all.
I make sure everyone has a drink while Tyler handles the chicken
on the grill. We stuck with a simple dinner—grilled chicken, pasta
salad, fruit, and fresh focaccia from the bakery down the street—
even though I enjoy cooking elaborate meals with rich sauces and
complex sides. Gourmet is almost a hobby for me. Suddenly the
contrasting simplicity of this meal seems like evidence of how little
I’m invested in my relationship with Tyler. I didn’t plan to make the
dinner a big deal. Is that a sign of how comfortable I am around his
parents, or proof that I didn’t care enough to make an extra effort for
his birthday?
I keep catching myself looking at James to see if he’s looking at
me, but to his credit, he’s not. He and Tyler are catching up, and
Annette is regaling me with all the gossip from home.
Dinner drags on, but I make it through, and soon enough Annette
and Edward excuse themselves so they can head back to their hotel.
I expect James to use it as an excuse to leave, but he doesn’t. It’s
like he wants to watch me and Tyler alone, like he wants proof of
what he already knows. Our relationship is dead in the water.
Even after last night, James couldn’t possibly understand why I
cling to this. Why Tyler might be the best I could hope for. If he
understood, he wouldn’t have asked to see me again last night.
Tyler drinks and drinks some more. He’s with his old buddy,
having a great time, totally unaware of the tension zapping across
the backyard every time James and I look at each other.
“I’m tired.” I push away from the table and wipe my hands on my
jeans. “I’m going to bed.”
James stands too. “I think that’s my cue.” He offers his fist to
Tyler, and they bump knuckles before James turns to me. “Would
you walk me out?”
“Would you, Krys?” Tyler asks. “I might fall on my ass if I get up
right now.”
Closing my eyes, I force a deep breath into my lungs. “Sure.” I
don’t bother with shoes. I follow James out front, walking straight
across the lawn to a truck I assume is his. The night breeze is cool,
but the ground is warm beneath my feet, as if the earth sucked up
the heat from the day.
 When James turns to me, his eyes land on my naked ring finger,
his expression alternating between relief and frustration. “Are you
gonna marry him?”
I shrug, avoiding his eyes. “I was wrong. He didn’t buy me a ring.”
His breath leaves him in a whoosh. “Last night—”
“Don’t. It was a mistake. You didn’t know who I was.” I didn’t know
who you were. In the porch light, I spot a brown patch in the grass,
amid the lush green. I focus on it because I don’t want to look at him.
I don’t want to see my mistakes reflected back at me in James’s blue
eyes.
“I didn’t,” he says softly, “but I’m not sure it would’ve mattered.”
“What?” My stomach flips, panic and elation all in one.
“It wasn’t just me. You felt something.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Tequila.”
“Bullshit. You felt something, and it wasn’t just the tequila, Krys.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Krystal.”
My name on his lips is like the answer to a question I’ve been
asking my whole life. But this man isn’t for me. And the loneliness of
that truth is enough to break my chest open.
“I fly out tomorrow. I have two years left in my residency, and then
I serve four years active duty to pay the army back for my schooling
before—”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“I know it’s crazy. We barely know each other, and you’re with
Tyler, but we both know he’s not right for you. You don’t want a future
with him, so what are you doing here?”
A punch to the gut would’ve hurt less. “That has nothing to do with
you.”
“Maybe not, but this?” He tilts my chin up with his thumb and
looks into my eyes.
That connection from last night is still there, stronger than ever.
Part of me wants to ignore it. Another part wants to cling to it forever.
 “The way I feel when I’m looking at you? That means something.
Tell me you don’t feel it too, and I’ll walk away. Tell me you don’t feel
it too, and I’ll never say another word.”
“It doesn’t matter what I feel. You’re his best friend.”
“So we’ll give it time. I’m not saying we need to jump right in. I’m
saying this is real, and I don’t want this to be the last time I see your
face.”
I scoff, even while that little piece of my heart begs me to leap on
what he’s offering, to give whatever this is a chance. “You don’t even
know me.”
“I do, though. After last night, I do. And I know what I feel.” He
searches my face. “I know I’ve never felt this before. I know enough
that I’d wait for you. I’d wait until you were ready.”
“Did you even hear me last night, when I told you about my ex?
I’ve hurt people before.” I stifle a sob. “I can’t do that again. I won’t
be that person again. If you wait, it’ll be for nothing.” I’m not worth it.
His gaze drops to my mouth. “I can’t just walk away.”
“But you should.”
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, he cups my
face, but this time when our eyes meet, he doesn’t pull away. He
moves closer and touches my lips with his.
I gasp at the contact. I forgot the way a kiss can pull the ground
out from under my feet. Forgot how good it feels to have lust zip
through my blood and anticipation curl in my stomach.
Shock parts my lips long enough for him to taste me. I don’t have
the chance to consider tasting him back before Tyler’s voice rings in
my ears.
“You wanna take your mouth off my girl, Cooper?”
James’s gaze snaps to the house, but he doesn’t move his hand
from my face, so I do it for him. I back away until his hand drops.
“Go,” I whisper.
James searches my face. “Krystal—”
 “Get the fuck out of here,” Tyler calls, striding across the front
lawn. His anger is a palpable thing, rolling off him in waves that
threaten to knock me off my feet.
His best friend spins on him. “Can’t you see she’s not happy?”
“What the fuck do you know?” Tyler growls.
“I know she doesn’t want to live here. That she doesn’t want this
life.”
It’s like being stripped bare. Tyler should hear this from me.
“James, shut up,” I cry.
Tyler’s gaze snaps to me.
“You deserve better,” James says.
I rush to Tyler’s side. “Let’s go in. We’re all tired. We’ve had too
much to drink.” I can’t let this happen. I can’t be the reason Tyler
loses his best friend. I won’t be the villain in another story.
“He’s the only one who drank too much,” James says. “Why don’t
you tell him how you really feel, Krystal?”
Tyler flinches and turns accusing eyes on me. “I thought you said
you hadn’t met him before.”
“I didn’t realize who he was,” I confess, knowing the words raise
more questions than they answer.
Tyler looks back and forth between us, then holds out his phone
to me. “I don’t know what this is about, but Maggie’s blowing up your
phone. Your sister was in some sort of accident, and she’s in the
hospital.”

•••

Present Day
Almost six years ago, I walked away from James Cooper, packed a
bag, and flew home to be by my sister’s side as she recovered from
her accident. Tyler and I were over after that—not officially at first,
but after I moved back to New Hope, we knew we had to let it go. I’m
so grateful we did.
In two days, he’ll marry the love of his life, and I’ve never seen
him happier.
I never let myself call James. When he tracked down my number
and left me a voicemail, apologizing for the way he handled
everything, I didn’t call him back. I tried to move on.
But I kept the letter he taped to Daphne’s door.
In two days, I’ll see James again at Tyler’s wedding, because
while I never took his calls, Tyler did, and they reconciled within
months of my departure.
I read the words in his neat, slanted print for the thousandth time.
Sometimes you just know.
You know you have to cancel your wedding.
You know you have to turn down the proposal.
You know you have to give the girl your number.
Last night, I had you imagine your life in six years, because in a
lot of ways I don’t bother imagining mine until the next six are over. I
have two years of residency and then four years of active duty to pay
the military back for my medical degree, and then I can start my life.
Somewhere quiet. With someone amazing.
I should’ve told you last night, but I’ve called off a wedding before
too. That’s when I first did that visualization exercise. It was four
years ago and my wedding day was fast approaching. I kept putting
off sending out the invites, and my friend had me imagine my life in
ten years.
Just like you, I didn’t see my fiancée. It was hard, but I knew we
both deserved better than to settle.
So do you. You shouldn’t settle for someone who doesn’t make
your heart race, and I hope you’ll call me when you figure that out.
He scrawled his name and phone number at the bottom of the
note, and I trace the letters.
 The seeming accessibility of others’ lives on social media is both
a blessing and a curse. But James is one of those guys who has
accounts and either never posts or has all his content locked down
tight. I’ve thought about him a lot. I wonder if he found someone who
makes his heart race. If he’ll bring her to Tyler’s wedding.
“That’s quite a sour look you have on your face.”
My head snaps up at the familiar voice, and my breath leaves me
in a rush. James Cooper stands at the bar beside me, a crooked
smile on his face. He has a beard now and a few lines around his
eyes I don’t remember from before, but that old self-assurance
oozes off him. “James.” I wait for my mouth to form more words, a
million possibilities shooting through my mind, but I can only stare.
“The guy who wrote that was either an idiot or a hopeless
romantic.” He scans my face as if he’s trying to catalogue every inch.
“Which is it?”
His grin grows wider, and it helps, honestly. It breaks up the
perfection of his face. When he smiles, he’s less patrician perfection
and more hot guy next door. “That’s what I’m here to find out.”
I shake my head, trying to chase away my jumbled thoughts and
make way for whatever neurons need to travel from my mouth to my
brain. Say something.
I ran away from Florida because of you. I walked away from my
best chance at happiness because Tyler deserved better than a girl
who couldn’t stop thinking about his best friend. I’ve never stopped
waiting for you, even when I wanted to.
I take a long swallow from my drink. If liquid courage is a thing, I
hope I find it before I hit the bottom of this martini.
He tilts his head. “In town for the wedding?”
Vodka tries to go down the wrong pipe, and I cough. “Yeah.”
“I’m glad you and Tyler are still friends.”
“Me too.” I’m a mess. I’ve spent so many days wanting to see him
again, wanting to stand shoulder to shoulder with him on the beach,
needing to know if I’d feel the way I felt that night. But I thought I had
two more days.
 James asks, “Are you here with someone?”
“No. You?”
He grazes his tongue over his bottom lip in an old habit I’ve
mentally recalled a few times too many. A hundred. A thousand. “I’ve
got my eye on someone. If she’ll give me a chance this weekend.”
The butterflies in my stomach wake up from their long slumber
and stretch their wings. “Maybe.”
He glances at the patio and the ocean beyond before turning back
to me, those deep blue eyes settling on my mouth. “I never meant to
fuck things up for you and Tyler.”
“You didn’t.”
“Good. Because I’m not sorry.” His expression is somber. “I didn’t
mean for things to happen that way, but I wanted to kiss you. I
needed to.”
The butterflies dance and tumble. I’ve been searching for
someone who makes me feel like this. I tried so hard. “Do you ever
think what we felt that day was stronger because we both knew we
couldn’t have it?”
He takes my drink and sets it on the bar. “Why don’t you tell me?”
he asks, then lowers his mouth to mine.

•••

Find Lexi on her website at www.lexiryan.com and learn more about

Krystal’s past and New Hope in the Love Unbound books! Sign up
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 GOOD GIRL GONE BAD

 
R.K. LILLEY
 CHAPTER ONE
LEONA

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.

Just forty-eight hours until I had to face my ex again. Work with
him again. In some cruel twist of fate, my schedule as a flight
attendant and his as a pilot had placed us on the same route for the
upcoming month. That meant that almost every flight I worked and
every plane he flew, we’d have to work together. Communicating
with him constantly. Serving him meals. Flying to the same cities.
Staying in the same hotels.
It was just how we’d met a few years ago. At the time it’d been
convenient and even romantic to get to spend practically every
second together as we fell for each other. At the moment it was an
absolute nightmare. I’d gone from thinking he was the one and
suspecting he was about to propose to finding out that the time I’d
happened to walk by him shopping at Tiffany’s he was actually
buying a ring for someone else. In fact, I’d soon find out it had been
for a nineteen-year-old Instagram model he’d met mere weeks
before.
I was only twenty-nine. I’d never felt old in my young life until I’d
found out I wasn’t young enough for my thirty-nine year-old pilot
boyfriend to want to marry and have kids with. It was demoralizing
and infuriating at the same time. I was almost as mad at myself as I
was at him. There was nothing wrong with me. It was not my fault he
was a faithless dog. I kept telling myself that, but it didn’t make me
feel like less of a failure at life. I figured nothing but time would do
that.
I was in no mood to celebrate but I found myself obligated to
attend a wrap party for my best friend, Scarlett’s, latest movie
anyway. The bar was free and conveniently set up right as you
walked in the door. I ordered a Painkiller before I scoped out the
large ballroom. When I did I spotted Scarlett right away. She was
standing at a crowded table charming the socks off of some besotted
admirers, but as soon as she saw me looking she seemed to forget
they even existed. A few of them looked a little crushed but she
didn’t notice. She was already making her way toward me with a soft
smile she reserved for less than a handful of people on the planet. I
considered myself out-of-this world lucky to be one of them.
Scarlett was the kind of woman people either loved or hated. With
her bombshell looks and the way her every raw emotion seemed to
bleed out of her, it was no surprise she’d made it solidly onto the A-
list as an actress.
Her beauty was a rare and conflicting kind of beauty, so sensual
and undeniable that it often evoked a reaction. Women either wanted
to be her or were too jealous to tolerate her presence. And men,
well, men worshipped her. None more so than her doting husband.
She pulled me into a hard hug the second we were in reach. “How
are you, sweetie?” she said into my ear. The love and sympathy in
her voice nearly made me burst into tears on the spot.
I held myself together, but only just. “I’ll be fine,” I told her
honestly. I was sure of it, it was only the matter of when that was in
question. “Eventually.”
“Fucking pilots,” she said.
“Fucking pilots,” I agreed.
“I always hated that fucker,” she said with her customary honesty.
It surprised a laugh out of me. “I know. You tried to warn me, and
your instincts were right on point. Next time I won’t ignore them. If
you tell me a guy’s a dog, I’m dumping him on the spot.”
“You know what would help you forget about him? You need to get
yourself a solid fuckboy.”
That surprised another laugh out of me. “I don’t think there are
any solid fuckboys. Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose?”
 “Touché. What I really mean to say is you should find yourself a
fun little one-night stand. You’ve always been so good. Try on how
the other half lives for a change. Have yourself a bad girl season. I
think it would be a fun distraction for you.”
“A one-night stand?” I repeated dubiously.
“Yeah. Just hit it and quit it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Have you heard this one? Nut and bolt.”
“That’s new,” she returned then seemed to think for a moment. “I
guess it’s better than toot it and boot it.”
We were both still laughing when a deep voice spoke from behind
me. “What on earth are you two talking about?”
I glanced back. The tall devastation that was Dante Durant stood
staring at his wife, one sardonic brow lifted imperiously.
Scarlett giggled as she would only do for him. “Believe me, baby,
you don’t even want to know.”
He drew her in for a long kiss, saying as he drew back, “I believe
you. Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything?”
“Not a thing,” she said, then added casually, “I thought you were
bringing Fitz?”
“I was. That’s why I’m late. His flight was delayed. He went to the
restroom to freshen up but he’ll be along in a few.”
“Fitz?” I asked. The name rang a bell but it didn’t fit into this
conversation or circumstance as far as I could tell.
Scarlett smiled at me like she’d eaten a damn canary, and I just
knew she was up to something.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “What’s going on, Scarlett?” I asked.
She didn’t answer, but she was taking inventory of me. “You look
fantastic, by the way. Banging hot. Breaking up with that old lech
agrees with you.”
It was a classic best friend move. My wound was still raw enough
that just her pretending that I’d done the breaking up instead of being
unceremoniously dumped was somehow even more flattering to me
than the looking fantastic part.
 Although I had gone to some trouble, curling my long blonde hair,
wearing my highest nude heels that set off my California tan, and my
most flattering, form-fitting LBD. It felt good to have my efforts
rewarded with praise from the most fashionable woman I’d ever
known in real life.
“Who’s Fitz?” I asked her again.
“It’s short for Fitzwilliam,” a low, rough voice spoke up. I glanced
to my left and almost swallowed my tongue.
Scarlett didn’t miss a beat. She gave the newcomer a pleased
smile. “So happy you could make it, Fitz. Why don’t you two
reintroduce yourselves? I need to take Dante for a spin around the
room. I like for all of the horny old executive producers to see how
much better looking my husband is than they are. And then I like to
slip in that he’s also filthy rich. It makes the rejection that much
easier for them to swallow if they ever try to hit on me.”
Scarlett and Dante left us alone without another backward glance.
I knew a setup when its huge, gorgeous ass was dropped right in
my lap.
“Scarlett’s not subtle,” I said, shifting my feet a little, taking a sip of
my cocktail. Super-good-looking people make me a little nervous.
Fitz laughed. “Neither is a spider weaving a web, but we are who
we are.”
That surprised a deep laugh out of me. He’d said it with some
affection so I wasn’t offended on her behalf. “We are who we are,” I
agreed.
“We’ve met before,” he pointed out conversationally, making such
solid eye contact with me that I couldn’t hold it and looked away.
“I remember,” I said, taking a long, deep drink from my Painkiller.
And it was true. I did remember. I hadn’t been single at the time,
but boy did I still remember this one. He wasn’t the type a woman
forgot. He was a different level of huge and muscular, which wasn’t
surprising since he was a linebacker on a pro football team. His size
was mouthwatering and fantasy-inducing on its own, but it was far
from the most appealing thing about him. Even without it he would’ve
been striking, with his black hair shaved short enough to set off a
perfect face. Add to that his light brown skin and pale green eyes
that it was an effort not to get lost in and you had yourself one
unforgettable man.
“You said we went to the same high school, right?” I asked, like I
could have forgotten. “But it couldn’t have been at the same time. I
feel like I’d have remembered you.”
He winced a bit. “It’s true. We went to the same high school. And I
remember you well.”
“So explain to me how that could that be if I don’t remember you?
You hardly blend in.” I remembered it being some sort of big deal
that a boy from our school made it big in the NFL but for my part I’d
never actually seen a game so I hadn’t recognized him on sight
when we’d met at Scarlett and Dante’s wedding.
“You were the hottest girl in school. If you want to know the
embarrassing truth of it, I was a sophomore when you were a senior,
but I had the biggest crush on you and you definitely didn’t know I
was alive.”
This time it was my turn to wince at realizing this huge hot guy
was younger than me. Oh well. Silly high school crushes aside, I
knew he was out of my league. If a pilot for a second-rate airline
could crush my heart like a gnat, I didn’t even want to imagine what
this perfect hunk of a man could do.
“Well, that was clearly my loss,” I told him honestly. “I’m gonna bet
you got over it,” I added and finished the rest of my drink in one go.
He nodded at it, still slaying me with his intense eye contact.
“Want another?”
“Probably. Are you drinking?”
He gave a deep sigh. “I really shouldn’t. I’m training, and I try to
stay disciplined, but I’ll admit you could probably talk me into just
about anything.”
I smiled big, drowning in his eyes. All of the confused, frustrated
energy that had followed me since I was dumped and my world
turned upside down seemed to drain away right there.
 “I wouldn’t want to be a bad influence on you,” I said, my voice
low and purring.
He smiled at me like he was drowning right back.
Oh no, I thought to myself. Only one drink deep and already I was
doing my best Scarlett in her femme fatale days impression.
“I have a feeling you could influence me any way you pleased,” he
said, his low raspy voice soft and intimate like we were old friends or
new lovers. “Use your powers wisely.”
“I don’t feel like doing anything wisely at the moment.”
He laughed like I’d said something funny. He had a beautiful
laugh, a beautiful smile, perfect teeth, a bright soul. I decided right
then and there that I needed to have him. I was half-surprised, half-
mortified to find myself telling him so.
He stopped laughing, but his eyes were hot and positively
beaming at me as he said, “What makes you think I’m that easy to
take home?”
“Don’t tell me you’re saving yourself for marriage.” Again I had the
thought that my vampy best friend had taken over my speech for the
night.
He laughed like he loved it and I loved that laugh.
Next thing I knew we were taking tequila shots together, and
Scarlett and Dante were suddenly back and joining in.
“Because tequila!” we toasted.
It was like someone else had taken over my body, someone with
fewer inhibitions. I just couldn’t seem to help myself. I was standing
too close to Fitz, touching his arm, then going back for seconds,
feeling his bicep, trying to circle it with both hands. I couldn’t, of
course. He was built solid as a Mack truck.
He didn’t seem to mind, though at one point he did mention,
“Don’t have too much fun too fast or the night might have to end
before either of us wants it to.”
I took that as solid ‘one-night stand’ advice. And I heeded it.
Scarlett was right. I’d been good for so long, and what had it gotten
me? Nothing as delicious as the man standing in front of me, clearly
up for anything but the commitment I normally required.
Still, I let myself indulge in one last shot, licking the salt off his
neck. I might as well have signed my body on the dotted line.
 CHAPTER TWO

I WOKE FROM one of the deepest sleeps of my life but without even
an ounce of the telltale hangover that could’ve excused me from my
actions of the night before. And none of the forgetfulness. Just the
opposite. I remembered every single detail.
I hadn’t messed around with my very first one-night stand. I’d
gone full-stop for a big-time pro and it had been everything I could’ve
fantasized about. More. I didn’t have that good of an imagination.
I’d had my mind blown repeatedly and came to in the morning
with a blush on my face. Last night I’d lost my inhibitions, lost myself
in a way I wasn’t entirely comfortable with.
I blinked and was flooded with sensory memories from mere
hours before. His massive form over mine; his big, beautiful hands
all over my body. His full mouth on mine. I loved that mouth. So well
defined but so soft on contact. And the way he kissed. With barely
restrained ferocity. Like he’d gone mad, and I had made him that
way.
I didn’t have to rack my mind and compare for so much as one
second to know that he was the best lay of my life. The man could
fuck like a machine. Like he was built for my own personal
satisfaction. Apparently football wasn’t the only thing he’d trained like
a pro for.
I stretched and found my back rubbing against the most delicious
wall of hard male flesh I’d ever had the fortune to be near enough to
touch. And I had. God, had I. More sensory memories flooded me.
My lips on his flesh, my tongue running reverently down the hard
ridges in his abdomen and then lower over his sides, down his V line
to his magnificent cock that was more than I could fit in a mouthful,
but boy had I given it my best shot.
 Soft, warm lips on my cool neck brought me out of my giddy
recollections.
The warmest, most delicious growl of a voice spoke into my ear.
“That was unbelievable. Better than I imagined, and I’ve imagined it
a lot. I could get used to waking up to this.”
I supposed it made sense that the world of one-night stands
would be full of brash praise and empty promises, and this guy was
clearly good at the game. I didn’t mind. Not one bit. If the point was
to get me to leave with a smile still on my face, he was hitting his
target dead center.
“Can I tell you another embarrassing story?” he asked me in a
hoarse whisper. I would have answered yes to anything he asked in
that delectable voice, so I hummed a swift assent.
“Image a fifteen-year-old me watching you sit on the lifeguard
tower.” He had his hands running over me as he spoke, one gripping
my breast with utter care, the other slipping inexorably lower,
manipulating my clit with delicate precision. “I half-toyed with the
idea of trying to drown just to get you to touch me. I’ll forever have a
thing for white one-piece swimsuits with little red crosses on the left
breast, and it’s all your fault.” He was panting in my ear, his thick
member pushing harder against my backside by the second. I was
right there with him, my breath leaving me in short, hard bursts. “And
now here we are,” he continued, “you silky wet and panting, me
ready to have you any way you want it. Isn’t life great?”
It took me a few laborious moments to get out my breathless
reply. “I can’t believe you can really go again after last night,” was all
I could manage.
He laughed softly, carelessly, but his movements were more
purposeful. He was adjusting us both, positioning me to take him
from behind. Finally, at last, he pushed into me with one sure motion,
letting out a satisfied grunt when he’d seated himself fully then swiftly
proceeded to rock my world one last time.
Afterward I felt a strange wave of dissatisfaction wash over me.
Particularly strange considering how much satisfaction I’d given and
received over the evening behind me, which was undoubtedly a
personal record. And that was maybe the crux of it. It was far and
away a record for me but hardly so for him. How often did he do
this? Which number was I for him this month, hell, this week?
Jumping this swiftly into bed with a guy was an anomaly for me but it
was highly unlikely that the same could be said for him, and I didn’t
like it.
And I had no right to feel that way.
I didn’t like that either.
The night had understandably worn Fitz out and he fell asleep
again about a second after he finished, gripping my hip in a tender
caress for a moment before going limp. He even started snoring
softly. It was kind of adorable.
I watched him with no small amount of fondness, mustered up
some anger at myself for feeling the things I was feeling for a guy I
barely knew, telling myself the affection was just a natural reaction to
anyone that could make me come that many times in one night. And
while he was still out cold, before I embarrassed myself with any
casual-sex morning-after faux pas, I fumbled into last night’s clothes
and got the hell out of there.
I was all of thirty seconds into my Uber ride home when I called
Scarlett.
She answered with, “Tell me everything.”
“This one-night-stand thing isn’t working for me,” I promptly
began.
“How so?”
“Well, he was so amazing and now I think I want to have his
babies,” I sighed heavily. “Like five of them. I might settle for only
four.”
She gave a low whistle through the phone. “That’s a lot of babies.
I think you should do it.”
I put my hand over my eyes and laughed. Only Scarlett. “Excuse
me? I thought you were pushing the one-night-stand thing? Now
you’re telling me to have babies with a guy I barely know?”
 “To be fair, you brought up the babies. But I know the guy. The
guy is solid, and he’s crazy about you. I’m liking this for you.”
“What was with the one-night-stand talk last night then?”
“I was trying to streamline your usual painstaking dating process.
Sue me. Isn’t Fitz great, though?”
“He’s amazing and beautiful and talented, but I think we’re getting
ahead of ourselves here. If he heard us right now, I’m pretty sure
he’d run screaming in the opposite direction.
“He’s made of sterner stuff than that. Give him a shot. Tell him
how you feel. Are you still with him?”
I winced. “Actually I caught a ride home when he fell asleep again.
That man earned his rest.”
“You left while he was unconscious? You caught a ride? Like a
bonafide walk of shame? Leona, I’m so proud of you! And so
scandalized. Who are you? Has my favorite good girl finally gone
bad?”
“Listen, it’s been a strange couple of weeks.”
“I get it. Let me ask you one question though.”
“Shoot.”
“Have you given so much as a thought to your pilot in the last
twelve hours?”
Scarlett was a savage, but she made a fair point.
It was the next morning at six a.m. I was in the first class galley
prepping for my flight, and I was still thinking about the night before. I
didn’t have the foresight to appreciate that fact until a familiar, genial
voice spoke from behind my deeply bent-over form.
“Well, this was a better reunion than I could have hoped for,” my
ex said.
I straightened from taking inventory of the wine drawer at the
bottom of the liquor cart, glancing behind my shoulder. “Hello, Ed,” I
said coolly. “I’m pretty sure you lost the right to talk to my ass like
that when you got yourself engaged to a teenager while you were
still dating me.”
 He laughed, and we’d been together long enough for me to read a
lot into it. He was still attracted to me, and still receptive to a hook-
up. The breakup had given me a crash course in what that meant
too, though. He wanted to have his child bride, but he’d be all too
happy to keep me as a side piece.
In his fucking dreams.
I handed him the flight paperwork and kept it professional when a
part of me (a big part) wanted to punch him in the face and kick him
in the junk.
It was unbelievable but I knew without a doubt that my ex was
wholly unrepentant. How could I have missed it for so long? He had
never been the man I’d thought he was. I’d created some ideal of
him in my head, but it wasn’t who he was. It was who I thought he
should be. He’d never cared about me.
I used it as fuel, and it made it that much easier to let him go.
What a rat bastard. I could do better.
I shook off the disturbing meeting and went about my work. He
kept finding excuses to pop his head out of the cockpit, trying to get
my attention, trying to flirt, to make me smile, to soften me toward
him again, but I found that I wasn’t even a little bit tempted.
Well, there you go. A one-night stand as closure. Scarlett must
have been on to something.
The flight was half boarded, the second bottle of champagne
popped when I realized there was a Fitz in my cabin.
He sat his gorgeous, superb ass in seat 2D like it was the most
natural thing in the world, waving at me, giving me his handsome,
hot smile like we’d planned the whole thing.
It was beyond a shock to find him at my place of work,
considering I thought I’d never see him again.
I went to check his ticket and take his drink order, watching him
suspiciously. “What on earth are you doing here?” I asked him in a
low voice.
He was eyeing me head to toe with a good deal of lust, not
looking the least bit embarrassed about the fact that he was basically
stalking me at work. “Scarlett told me what flight you’d be working.
And she gave me her stamp of approval, said she’s never done that
before.”
Wasn’t that the truth. My best friend didn’t think anyone in the
world was good enough for me. The exception apparently being this
huge, beautiful hunk of a man.
“How’d you manage that?” I asked him. I was honestly curious.
“I convinced her that I was interested in you and that my
intentions were honorable.” He sounded proud and pleased as
punch with himself.
Honorable? What did that even mean? “That doesn’t sound very
fun.” I barely recognized the smoky voice that breathed those words
out like an invitation.
“Oh, trust me, I’ll make it fun for you,” he breathed back. The way
he emphasized the word fun, adding a little bite to it made my mind
go instantly to the two of us writhing naked in bed. Our deliciously
erotic night in bed still way too vivid and fresh in my mind.
Oh, he was good. I hurried away to finish the twenty tasks I
needed to get out of the way before the flight took off, but my
thoughts managed to stay firmly with my own personal linebacker
stud in 2D. Whatever was I going to do with him?
 CHAPTER THREE

“YOU LEFT WITHOUT saying goodbye. I didn’t like it,” Fitz spoke
the words quietly as I handed him a hot towelette.
Our flight had taken off without a hitch and I was trying to stay
firmly in work mode, performing the usual tasks, but this guy was
really something.
I shot him a look out of the corner of my eye, a dubious one, but
inside his words sent a sharp little thrill right through me. “You
could’ve called or texted me,” I told him, trying to keep it cool. “You
hardly had to hunt me down on a flight just to tell me that.”
“I didn’t have your number. You never gave it to me.”
He had a good point. “You never asked for it.”
He arched one thick black brow at me, looking good enough to
eat. “I did, actually.”
I did remember that, but we’d been a bit too busy at the time to
bother finding our phones. Still. “You could’ve just gotten it from
Scarlett.”
“I tried. Instead of your phone number she gave me this flight
number.”
That was about the most Scarlett thing I’d ever heard. “She’s
messing with you. I hardly think she meant for you to actually book
this flight and follow me to New York to get it yourself.”
“Oh, is that where we’re going? I hardly noticed. And you’re worth
it.” He followed up that bombshell with a dazzling white smile. God,
he was beautiful. And so big and imposing it felt like he dominated
the whole cabin. He pretty much had to sit in first class. I doubted
he’d even fit into one of those normal-sized seats in coach.
 I almost tripped over my own feet walking away. Was this guy for
real? I didn’t know how to react to him. Did I take him seriously? Of
course not. Men would say anything to get into your pants. The
confusing part was he’d already gotten in and still he was laying it on
like he hadn’t. I’d never run into anything like it.
I was afraid to even let myself enjoy it. But I knew as soon as I
had the feeling that it was an infuriating piece of bullshit. It was high
time I lived a little.
One of Scarlett’s favorite sayings was that courage wasn’t a
talent, it was a choice. I tried to take those words to heart and let
myself bask in his dazzling attentions, as temporary as they
undoubtedly were.
The inflight phone dinged at me, and I answered it without
thinking.
“God, it’s nice to hear your voice,” my ex mused over the line. He
sounded phony and slimy to me, and I wondered if he’d always
sounded so fake. “I missed this, us working together.”
All the things inside of me that Fitz had softened went steely in a
heartbeat. “Did you need something?” I asked him coolly.
“What exactly are you offering?” he shot back.
I hung up, taking a few deep breaths to calm my temper. The
phone dinged again.
I was the lead flight attendant, and I looked at my cabin partner,
Carly, nodding at the phone. “Will you get that? I need to do a sweep
through the cabin.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. She was new to first class, but she
knew the phone was the easier job.
I nodded decisively. “I’ll serve the cabin if you can take care of the
pilots?” I offered.
She beamed. “Thanks. That takes a load off. I was so nervous. I
haven’t done a first-class service on a real flight before.”
“It’s my pleasure. You’re doing me a favor. The F/O is my ex.”
 She looked properly sympathetic. “Ohhh, that suuucks. Is it
recent?”
I nodded. “It does and it is. I’d like to avoid as much of his bullshit
as possible if you know what I mean.”
“I do. I got this. I’ll take the flight deck. Let me know if you need
any help in the cabin.”
I waved her off. “It’s not even a full flight. I’ve got it. I’ll be done in
a hot second.”
She gushed a bit at me. “I heard you were super nice and cool
and I totally see it.”
I felt myself blushing. I didn’t take compliments well but I always
enjoyed them. “You’re sweet. Thank you.”
I went through first class, taking a round of drink orders, collecting
discarded hot towelettes as I went.
Fitz only wanted water and I was disappointed. He was fun when
he drank. I told him so.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll drink when you can have a drink with me. Any
time, any place.”
“Don’t you have to fly to Seattle for training or something?” I
asked him. I remembered him talking about it with Dante at some
point during our infamous evening together.
He shrugged. “Sometime soon. To be honest, training seems way
less important than getting you to go out with me again.”
I rolled my eyes. I would not take him seriously. He was teasing
me. Surely there was no way he was as susceptible to me as I was
to him. This had to be a game to him. And clearly he was a pro at
more than one game.
I was done with the meal service, stashing away the last of the
dishes when Ed decided to stop trying to reach me over the phone
and stepped out of the flight deck and into the galley to harass me in
person.
“C’mon, Leona. We can’t be like this. We know each other too well
to try the avoidance thing. Can’t we at least be friends?”
 The guy who’d proposed to someone else and then returned to
my bed the same night without telling me he had a new fiancée
wanted to stay friends? How nice of him.
I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm and mature. “You lied,
you cheated, you schemed to string me along for God knows how
long and I’m moving on, but is it really too much to ask for you to do
the decent thing here and just stay away from me?”
He smiled in a way I used to find endearing. Now it was just cruel.
“C’mon, Ell,” he used a nickname he no longer had the right to use
on me. “You know I can’t take it when you’re mad at me.”
“Mad?” I questioned, mulling the term over. “I’m not mad at you,
Ed. I’m disgusted. And while I will get over you, I won’t get over that
disgust. It’s going to linger. Now, have the decency to stay out of my
way.”
The creep didn’t take the hint and walk away. Instead, he moved
closer, crowding me against the door. “You don’t mean it,” he said
softly.
“She means it,” a soft, deep, sexier-than-hell voice spoke from
behind him. I looked over Ed’s shoulder to see a fuming Fitz
looming. His voice was calm. His eyes were not. He looked like he
was ready to go on a rampage against a pilot on an active flight.
Oh shit. I moved around Ed, putting both my hands on Fitz’s
chest, pushing him gently back. God, he felt good, his chest hard
and soft in all the best ways. Even with my ex polluting the air
directly behind me, touching Fitz was pure pleasure.
Of course I couldn’t have moved him an inch if he didn’t want it,
but he acquiesced without a fuss, his mean glare never leaving my
scumbag ex’s face.
“Buddy, you need to return to your seat and stay there,” Ed said,
going full-on pilot God complex.
“Why don’t you make me?” Fitz returned in a deadly drawl.
Oh dear. If Fitz and Ed fought, there was no doubt in my mind Fitz
would squash him like a bug.
 “Mind your own business,” Ed said, still thinking that the pilot thing
could save him. “Unless you’d like to be met at the gate by the
police? Do you have any idea how much it would mess up your life
to be charged with interfering with a flight crew?”
That did it. My spine snapped up straight and I glared back at Ed,
my hands still squarely on Fitz’s chest. “He’s with me. Go back to the
cockpit. You’ve been out here too long anyway, and you know it.”
Ed had the gall to look betrayed by my intervention. “He’s with
you? Who is this guy?”
I refused to answer, tugging Fitz with me into the lavatory and
locking the door.
That lasted about five seconds. “I like where your head’s at,” Fitz
said into my ear. “But I think I’m too big for this.”
I let us out, and thank god Ed had gone back into the flight deck.
But now Carly was in the galley, looking a little lost, and I asked her
to go check if the main cabin needed some help. She left reluctantly,
her curious glances between Fitz and me letting me know she
wouldn’t mind knowing what was up with the gorgeous linebacker
holding my hand.
“Just give us fifteen minutes,” I told her, retreating back. She shot
me a grin. I liked that girl.
When we were alone, I shut the curtain, closing us off from sight
of the cabin.
Fitz gave me a smoldering look. “You’re going to have to tell me
the best way to do this. I’ve never joined the mile high club.”
I laughed. The idea of me teaching him, the best sex I’d ever had,
some tricks was just too delicious, but at least I had something on
him.
I hopped up onto the edge of the metal counter. There wasn’t
much space to work with but every flight attendant worth their salt
knew what to do with it.
I smiled at Fitz, my best impression of a good-girl-gone-bad
siren’s smile, and it reeled him right in, which did wonders for my
wounded ego and my bruised heart.
 “Won’t everyone hear us?” he asked, but he was moving closer,
crowding into me as he did it.
I bit my lip and he watched the motion like it was particularly
fascinating.
“The engines are pretty loud, so if we’re quiet we should be able
to pull it off,” I explained.
He smirked in a way that warmed my insides. “As I recall, you’re
not that good at being quiet.” As he spoke, he gripped my hips with
his huge hands, stroking down to the hem of my skirt and inching it
slowly up. He sucked in a breath as my skin was bared and I parted
my legs to make room for him. He pushed his hips into the space as
soon as there was room for him.
I blushed even as I wound my arms around his neck. “I’ll be good
this time,” I told him breathlessly.
“You being good was never in question,” he told me with quiet
intensity. “You’re the absolute best, babe.”
Well, damn. Even if it was a lie it was nice to hear.
“You’re not on Instagram, are you?” I asked hopefully.
He laughed at the random question. “Why?”
“That’s where my last boyfriend found his teenage fiancée. He
slipped into her DMs.”
He looked appalled and I liked that. “I do have an Instagram
account for football content, but you don’t have to worry about that
sort of thing with me. I don’t lie, I don’t cheat, and I can’t even
remember the last time I checked my messages on there.” The
earnest look in his eyes as he spoke held a steady kind of decency I
had a hard time telling myself was a lie.
“You sound too good to be true,” I breathed at him softly as he
bent close.
“I’ve always thought the same thing about you,” he breathed back,
and kissed me.
He had me against the counter in a slam bam airplane quickie,
but he did it with such skill he redefined the very notion for me.
 “I hate that you’ve ever done this with anyone else,” I panted in
his ear after, then stiffened and immediately started apologizing.
Surely saying something like that was against the one-night-stand
rules.
Amazingly, he didn’t take exception though. “I haven’t, though. At
least not in an airplane kitchen.”
That surprised an actual giggle out of me. “We call it a galley.”
We straightened our clothes and took turns cleaning ourselves up
in the bathroom before I shooed him back to his seat.
It was nearing the end of the flight, our descent about to begin,
when I did yet another sweep through first class.
Fitz was deeply asleep and I paused beside him.
I glanced around the cabin. No one in first class was looking up
and the curtain was blocking any views from the main cabin. I
perched on Fitz’s armrest, placing a hand on his firm, warm chest. I
pressed, and the resilient flesh seemed to push back at me in
invitation. I cast another furtive glance to assure our privacy and
gave his chest a caress, my thumb ending on his nipple.
His eyes opened slowly and he smiled at me like I was just the
sight he’d wanted to wake up to.
“We’ll be landing soon,” I told him. “What are your plans in New
York?” I asked casually.
“What are yours?”
“My layover’s only eighteen hours and then I’m flying back to L.A.”
“What a coincidence. So am I.”
I found myself smiling and blushing like we were in high school.
“Where are you staying?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Where are you staying?”
“The HoJos right by Central Park. I have to take the crew shuttle,
but you can meet me there if you want.”
“I want. Have I done enough good deeds to earn your phone
number yet?”
 I tried out my best tempting witchery smile on him, and it worked.
“Let’s say you’ve made an adequate down payment so far.”
 CHAPTER FOUR

I LET FITZ into my hotel room in a considerably worse mood than

the last time I’d seen him.
I’d just received a text from Ed with his room number, like he
assumed I was that kind of woman. Like I was someone he could
just throw away and then pick up again like it was nothing. It was
more the thought that someone who’d known me for years could
think so low of me that brought tears to my eyes than any feeling for
Ed himself.
I was sniffling as I said, “I never cry.”
Fitz pulled me into his big, warm arms. “I don’t see anyone crying.
Your ex messing with you again? Can I kick his ass for you?”
“That wouldn’t help, but thank you for offering. I just can’t believe I
invested two years in that guy.”
“You see the best in people. That’s not a character flaw. Even that
jackass has some good qualities, I’m sure. It just took an angel like
you find them.”
That pulled a tremulous smile out of me. “You’ve been really nice.
I appreciate it. It was a tough breakup. He managed to make me feel
like I was nothing. Thank you for showing me that I deserve to be
treated better than that. If you’re not a little more careful I might start
stalking you back.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for. Now tell me how to be even less
careful.”
“That thing you did the other night . . . with your tongue and those
sharp little breaths on my . . .”
His grin was hungry and hot and irresistible. “Go ahead, finish the
sentence.”
 “You know what I mean. That thing you did in the shower. Not all
of us are fluent in deliciously dirty verbal smut fests like you.” Some
of the things he’d said that night were still making me blush.
He was unfazed. “I’d be happy to teach you everything I know.”
I’d stopped crying, but he hadn’t stopped holding me. It was the
nicest feeling I could remember in a very long time. My whole body
felt warm. I wanted someone to pinch me. This felt way too good to
be true.
“You make this thing sound so permanent,” I said carefully. “What
happened to this being a one-night stand?”
“That was your idea. I never agreed to that. When I look at you, I
see a future. Marriage, babies. Not to scare you off, but that’s what I
see with me and you. That’s what I’m hoping for. I’m falling hard for
you. I know it’s too soon for you to think of that stuff with me, but I
figure I’ll enjoy changing your mind.”
I knew it would take a lot less work than he thought, but I didn’t
ruin any of the fun by telling him so.
 
Thanks for reading! If you want to read more about Scarlett and
Dante, please check out Breaking Him and Breaking Her.
 OTHER BOOKS BY R.K. LILLEY
THE LOVE IS WAR SAGA
BREAKING HIM
BREAKING HER
SAVAGES - COMING SOON
 
THE WILD SIDE SERIES
THE WILD SIDE
IRIS
DAIR
THE OTHER MAN
 
THE UP IN THE AIR SERIES
IN FLIGHT
MILE HIGH
GROUNDED
MR. BEAUTIFUL
LANA (AN UP IN THE AIR COMPANION NOVELLA)
 
THE TRISTAN & DANIKA SERIES
BAD THINGS
ROCK BOTTOM
LOVELY TRIGGER
 
THE HERETIC DAUGHTERS SERIES
BREATHING FIRE
CROSSING FIRE - COMING SOON
OF POTIONS AND POISON

 
CHANDA HAHN
 PROLOGUE

“TWO MORE DAYS until it happens,” he said, his gravelly voice filled
with anticipation. A shiver of fear ran up my spine as the executioner
slid the whetstone across the blade of his axe. He was speaking to
the lone guard standing outside my cell. “Then she’ll be executed for
the murder of Bryce Collinsworth.”
“I hear there’s a stay on the order,” the guard spoke up.
The scraping paused. “What did you say?”
I craned my neck, my face pressing against the cold steel bars of
my cell. Praying that what I’d heard was correct.
The guard, hidden by the shadows, cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah. I
heard that Lord Crowell has appealed the conviction. He wants the
girl for himself.”
My glimmer of hope snuffed out like a candle. If Lord Crowell was
involved, then it would be better if I went to the executioner’s block.
In fact, I would run there, and willingly lay down without ties, if it
meant avoiding marriage to the man old enough to be my
grandfather.
The imported silk of my ball gown did little to keep out the damp
chill that sank into my bones. Once it was a glorious periwinkle blue,
but sitting in the dirt had changed its hue to a burnt umber. Straw
was embedded in my tangled golden locks.
How could I have fallen so far?
Once I was engaged to the prince, and now I was awaiting my
execution.
“It was only a drink,” I whispered, speaking to no one. Leaning my
head against the metal bars. “How could one drink kill a man?”
 The guard overheard me and answered back. “Easily, if the drink
was poisoned.”
My eyes narrowed, and I glared at the young sentry. He was
backlit by the torch on the wall and stood facing away from me.
Sometimes I could only see the outline of his profile; I’d noted the
strong shoulders and an angled jaw. He was probably a low-ranking
city guard if they’d assigned him to prison duty.
“It wasn’t,” I said firmly before hesitating. “Or at least I don’t
believe it was.”
“What was it, then?” the guard asked accusingly, his anger rising.
“Yasmin Nueva, how did you kill Bryce Collinsworth?”
A tear slid down my cheek in remorse. I couldn’t admit what I had
done, could I? It was too embarrassing. No one would believe me if I
told them. I would rather take my secret to the grave than to admit I
stooped so low as to use a potion…one I had thought was a love
potion.
I turned my head away to stare up at the ceiling and cursed the
stars. I wanted to say it was her fault for having stolen my wedding,
my husband, and my future. But I knew that everything happened
because of my jealousy. It didn’t matter, anyway. I took a deep breath
and explained my story.
 CHAPTER ONE

“WHAT DO YOU mean she returned?” I screamed in a childish

tantrum. The hairbrush flew across the room and struck the wall,
clattering to the floor and missing my servant, Audrey, by a good five
feet. I wasn’t aiming for her, but that wouldn’t matter. The rumors
would spread about my temper and abuse of my servants,
regardless.
It was almost a year since Prince Xander and Rosalie Eville had
married. Almost a year since she was taken from him and brought as
a captive to Florin. I’d heard the tale of Prince Xander bringing all the
troops to Florin’s gate, declaring war if he didn’t get his bride back.
What happened next was varied and confusing. Some say a magical
battle ensued, killing the king. Others say that Rosalie was in fact the
long-lost Princess of Florin, but no matter the rumors, Rosalie had
disappeared into thin air, sending both kingdoms into a frenzy
looking for her. I wasn’t worried, because I’d heard of Xander and
Rosalie’s secret pact. That after a year, they would divorce, and he
would be free to marry whomever he chose. It was that deal that
kept my hopes up. That our own courtship could be renewed.
Until my maid brought me news of her glorious return.
“And she’s heavy with child. His child.” Audrey’s gaze was glued
to the floor as she told me the words I was dreading. “They are
happy.”
“No.” I slid onto the padded chair and stared at my reflection in my
dressing-table mirror. My golden hair was tied back with a light blue
ribbon that matched my eyes. “It was all for naught.” I sighed.
Undoing the clasp, I removed my favorite sapphire necklace and
stared listlessly into the mirror. Ever since I met Xander, all I wanted
was to marry him. He didn’t remember, but I had met him eight
winters prior, when his sister, Princess Ameline, was christened. It
was there that I saw him standing next to his father in the throne
room. He was a young, handsome man, and his eyes were filled with
such sorrow.
I curtseyed before the king and queen, my gaze never leaving the
somber prince who stared at the buckle on his shoes. Feeling bold
and brave, I whispered under my breath, “I like your shoes.”
He blinked and looked up at me, noticing me for the first time. A
half smile formed on his lips. A twinkle appeared in his eyes, and
that sadness disappeared for a split second. “I like your necklace.”
At that moment, I fell in love. When I came of age, I begged my
father to use every asset our family possessed to arrange a
marriage. He bargained with the king using our affluence and the
promise of troops to protect the border into Florin.
Then the day came: a single missive arrived from the palace and
it was the news I waited for. A betrothal between our families. I spent
the next year trying to become a bright beacon of light. Adorning
myself with pastel silks, jewels, combs and pins, all with the desire to
impress Prince Xander and hear him declare, “I like you.”
I didn’t grow up on stories of true love. I understood all too well
the importance of a marriage of conveniences, but I wanted to at
least have a say in who I married, and the Prince of Baist was a
splendid choice.
But those longed-for words never came. On the day before our
wedding I watched helplessly as Lady Eville, the sorceress,
appeared with her beautiful daughter. She claimed to have a prior
agreement with King Gerard of Baist regarding Prince Xander’s
betrothal, and within a candle mark, the girl replaced me.
From the front row in the chapel, I bore witness as another
woman wore my dress and my shoes, and wed my childhood love.
I wasn’t willing to give up. Even after they were wed, I saw the
contempt Xander had for his new bride. He hated her as much as I
did. Some say I was selfish, but I wanted to fight for what was mine.
Despite my attempts to woo him away, his new wife slowly took the
place in his heart that had been meant for me, and they fell in love. I
was bitter, filled with hate, and didn’t trust myself anymore. Once
known far and wide as the flower of the Busan province, now I was
the Prince’s castoff. The second choice. The rejected one.
Before, I’d had suitors lining up to visit me and ask for my hand in
marriage. Now, proposals were nonexistent. After the rumors spread
of my rejection, I only received one. A marriage proposal from a
persistent eighty-year-old Lord Crowell, whom I had met on one
occasion at a party. He was skin and bones, with so many age spots
he resembled a leopard. No, I couldn’t marry Lord Crowell.
I retreated into my home, never leaving, spending my days
wistfully wishing for another chance to find love. Every week a letter
of proposal came from the decrepit Lord Crowell, and with a hate-
filled heart, I burned it in the fireplace.

•••

“She’s here.” Audrey rushed into my room two weeks later, pulling
back the heavy curtains, letting the sun breach the darkness of my
room.
“Who is?” I slurred into my pillow, refusing to rise for any
occasion.
“The princess,” Audrey announced.
“Yeah, I know. Xander brought the witch back to his palace weeks
ago,” I grumbled.
“No, the royal baby,” she gently corrected.
My heart burst as a stabbing pain filled my chest. That should
have been my child. I should be celebrating the birth of Xander’s and
my baby.
“Go away,” I whispered. It hurt to breathe; my chest constricted
with grief.
 “You are invited to the princess’s christening, which is to be held
in a week’s time.”
Instead of a brush, it was a pillow that sailed across the room and
dropped feet in front of the excited maid.
“I can’t go. It will be too painful.”
“You must.” Audrey shifted her weight and cleared her throat.
“Your father commanded it. He said you’re embarrassing the family
by not accepting Lord Crowell’s proposal. He said you will go and
gain Their Majesties’ good graces again…or else.”
It was the or else. I knew what it meant to disappoint my father,
Yassa. To the world it looked like he doted on me, but really, I was
his tool. He blamed me for the broken engagement and the
embarrassment to our family name.
“Leave,” I commanded. As soon as the door closed, I flung a
pillow over my face and wondered if I could smother myself. End the
misery that plagued my heart. For great sobs filled the room as I
grieved once again over the loss of my future.

•••

“Great stars above!” I cried in exasperation as the carriage came to a

sudden halt and I was thrown from the bench seat to the floor.
A half a day’s ride from the palace, my coach had broken a wheel
and was left stranded on the side of the road. The sun was setting,
and it had been raining for most of the day, turning the once dry and
solid road into a muddy waste of ruts and grooves.
“Lady Yasmin, get back in the coach. You’ll ruin your dress,”
Audrey warned as I stepped out into the road.
“There’s no one to impress here,” I argued. My slipper
immediately sunk four inches into soft earth. As I wrestled it free, the
mud claimed my shoe and left me with only my stocking.
 The soldiers gathered around the broken rear wheel that had
become trapped in a puddle. Trask, the commander of my retinue,
measured its depth with a branch and it easily sunk two feet into the
ground. Our coach had ridden through the deceptive puddle and split
the wheel.
Trask’s gaze met mine, and we both looked to the copse of trees
surrounding us, and I knew what he was thinking.
“It’s a trap,” I said.
He nodded. “Man-made. Filled with water, meant to maim a horse
or strand a carriage.” He stood up. “Men, at the ready!”
Trask’s warning cry was cut short as an arrow pierced his chest.
He fell forward into the mud and didn’t move.
I screamed and dove under the muddy wagon as more arrows
rained down from the sky. Two more of my guards fell to the arrows
shot from within the cover of the woods. The second wave of attack
followed as six men on horseback charged us from the shadows.
The clash of swords and screams filled the air. My father had chosen
my small retinue of soldiers for their looks, not their skill with the
swords. We had come intending to impress, and most didn’t know
what to do with the shiny metal weapons at their side.
One by one they were falling to the bandits. Audrey’s terrified
cries were muffled from above. My terror kept me silent as I knelt,
frozen, in the mud under the coach. A hand grabbed my hair from
behind and someone yanked me from under the wagon. Kicking and
screaming, I tried to fight off my attacker.
“Well, look at what I caught.” The bandit’s teeth were stained with
tobacco, his eyes hidden behind bushy eyebrows. I cringed as he
pulled out a dagger and held it up to my neck, just beneath my chin.
“Please, take the small trunk strapped to the back of the coach.
It’s filled with coins and gifts for the new princess. Take it and let us
go,” I begged.
“Oh, we will. But gold can only satisfy a man so much. I hunger for
something else.” The tip of the dagger plunged under my neckline
and I felt the sting across my collarbone as its blade dug into my
skin. A ripping sound followed, and I held back a cry of pain as he
cut through the outer layer of my dress.
He repositioned the knife and cut through the laces of my corset.
A whimper escaped my lips. I closed my eyes as I awaited what was
coming next.
The rainfall picked up and the rumble of thunder grew louder.
“Gah!” the bandit cried out as he was roughly pulled away from
me. Opening my eyes, I glimpsed the dark outline of a man pulling
the bandit from me. His fist pulled back, and a crack of lightning
followed. No, not lightning…the sound of his fist breaking the
bandit’s jaw. The thunder I had heard was instead the hooves of
horses pounding the ground.
The rain blurred the shapes as the fighting continued, my rescuer
slashing right and left with a sword until all was still. A shadow
appeared in front of me.
I cried out and backed away, digging my heels into the mud to
escape.
“Yasmin, it’s okay, you’re safe.”
He carefully scooped me out of the mud as if I weighed nothing
and carried me to his waiting coach. As we passed the carnage, I
buried my face in his shoulder, trying not to see the lifeless faces
staring up at me. Audrey was safe and being settled into a second
carriage farther back.
He set me down on the green velvet bench seat in his personal
carriage. His enormous frame easily took up the other seat across
from me.
“I’m ruining your seats,” I muttered, looking at the mud that
covered me from head to toe. Mud which now seeped into the carpet
and bench.
“A coach can be replaced, but not your life.” His voice was filled
with assurance. “Are you okay?”
I nodded and tried to hold the frayed edges of my corset together
in an effort to keep some amount of modesty.
 My rescuer noticed my distress. In one fluid motion, his dress
jacket was off. He swept it around my shoulders and buttoned it
around my arms, cocooning me in the soft wool. The jacket smelled
of rain and pine.
“Thank you,” I said meekly. “Do I know you?”
He shook his head. “Bryce Collinsworth. We haven’t officially met,
but I know you.” I waited for the pity. The snide comments about
being the prince’s rejected fiancé. “You’re Yasmin Nueva, Yassa’s
daughter.”
“Yes.” I buried my chin farther into the wool jacket. My head felt
heavy, and I wanted to sleep.
“I’d heard—” he said.
The rumor was coming.
“—that she’s known for—”
I can’t take the stress.
“—being the most beautiful flower in the kingdom. You wouldn’t
know, seeing the mud flower I just rescued.” The corner of his mouth
crept up and his eyes twinkled mischievously.
“Mud flower? Mud flower?” I seethed. “You dare to make fun of
me after what happened moments ago. I lost men, and I was almost
raped.”
The smile disappeared. “I lost men as well. I had only hoped to
lighten the mood and chase away the fear in your eyes.”
“By calling me names?”
He shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out. “I called you a
flower.”
“A muddy flower,” I whined, but didn’t have the energy to fight. I
was tired…so tired. My head drooped forward.
Bryce moved across the bench to sit by me and pulled me into the
crook of his arm. “Here, you can rest against me. I will watch over
you.” He pulled the jacket close over my chest.
A year ago, I would have simpered, batted my eyelashes, clung to
him, and wept profusely. I would have used all the powers available
to a female. But that was the way of a desperate woman. Now I was
a broken vessel that barely had the will to hold herself together.
Bryce lifted my chin from beneath the edge of his jacket. Taking a
clean handkerchief, he carefully wiped the mud and tearstains from
my face. I held as still as a baby doe as the cloth touched my skin.
He wiped downward under my chin, and when he lifted the
handkerchief, it was covered in blood.
“You’re injured…” His face paled, and he ripped open the jacket,
popping the buttons off. He surveyed the cut along my collarbone
and down my rib cage that had been masked by the mud.
“No.” I batted out weakly, trying to cover myself, but he ignored my
hands. He pressed the kerchief to my bleeding neck and shoulder
and scanned the rest of the damage.
“This is my fault. I should have checked myself.” He pounded on
the roof of the coach. “Dominic, where are we?”
“Just outside of Herth Woods.”
“Pull over.”
“Yes, sir.”
The carriage pulled to a stop, and the voices came in and out.
The coach door opened and Bryce exited.
“How far is it to the witch?”
“The carriage can’t make it down the narrow path,” the driver
cautioned. “We won’t make it in time.”
“Bring a horse around. I have to chance it.”
My vision swam in and out. I had no memories of how I ended up
in Bryce’s lap, my head pressed against his chest. Fear washed over
me as my body grew cold.
“I’m scared,” I whispered. I had not meant to confess my deepest
fear to him.
“Yasmin, I promise I won’t leave you.”
The rain pinged against my flesh, dulling the pain as he raced
through the forest. Shadows of trees flashed past us, but I was
fading fast.
“Please, stay with me,” I begged, knowing it was the end.
“Forever,” he murmured, as darkness swallowed me.
 CHAPTER TWO

MY EYELIDS FLUTTERED open, and I winced. The candlelight

burned my eyes. My chest and neck felt like they were on fire. In
fact, everything hurt and itched.
I tried to stir. But my limbs were like lead weights. The straw
mattress I was recovering on poked and prodded my back, and a
makeshift screen closed off half the room. From where I lay, I could
make out part of the round hut; drying herbs filled the rafters above.
A long worktable sat covered with various cauldrons, beakers,
mortars and pestles. A welcoming aroma bubbled from the pot over
the fireplace, and next to it were Bryce and an old woman in a
patchwork dress and a knitted gray shawl.
“Are you sure this is what you want? What if she refuses?” the
witch said.
“I hope she doesn’t. But I want to know—”
“Wh-where?” I spoke up.
“Don’t move,” Bryce warned, moving to my side.
The morning light revealed the most handsome man I’d ever
seen. His eyes were a deep green, the color akin to a turbulent
storm on the ocean. His hair, which I’d thought was dark brown, was
actually a medium blond. His white shirt covered with blood. My
blood.
“We are at Hezra’s. She’s a hedge witch, and she saved your life
and stitched you up,” he said.
My hand went to my throat, and I felt the bandage and followed it
down to my rib cage. Bryce must have read the panic in my face, for
he quickly added, “Only the neck wound was deep. The rest was
superficial. You will heal with little scarring.”
 I nodded, holding back the flood of emotions that were building.
The exhaustion of the night before, losing Trask and the men, and
now I was terrified that I would be permanently scarred.
“Mirror,” I demanded.
He nodded and turned to the hedge witch, who handed him an
aged and faded hand mirror. Through the rough surface, I could see
my reflection and didn’t recognize the pale and half-crazed woman
staring back at me. My face had been cleaned, but dried mud still
clung to my hair. Gently pulling the bandage away, I could see the
precise and neat stitches the witch had made. I followed the trail with
my fingers. From just under my chin, jagged across my throat. A
second line went from my collarbone six inches down my chest. It
wouldn’t matter how neat the stitches were, I would have to wear
high neck dresses for the rest of my life.
“It’s not so bad,” he soothed.
Handing the mirror back to Bryce, I couldn’t meet his eyes, for I
heard the pity in his words.
“Thank you for saving me,” I said, proud that my voice barely
trembled.
Bryce reached for my hands and clasped them between his.
Someone had taken the trouble to wash most of the dirt away from
my fingers, but I could still see it under my nailbeds. A reminder of
last night’s scuffle. My stomach dropped as the memory of the
attempted rape came flooding back. The bandit’s breath on me, his
knife at my throat, his wet hands on my skin searching my body. I
shivered, and Bryce mistook my reaction for disgust and pulled
away.
A pounding came at the door of Hezra’s hut and Bryce rose to
answer it, leaving me alone with the old woman.
“Your man is special, that one.” She gave a grin, revealing a few
missing teeth. She had matted gray hair with bits of bone and feather
braided throughout. “He broke my door down, begging me to treat
you. Make no mistake: if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have made it. The
cut—” she pointed to my neck “—was deep.”
 “He’s not mine,” I said, heat rushing to my cheeks as I glanced at
Bryce’s back. He was the epitome of everything I wanted in a
husband: kind, caring, and protective. “I don’t think he would ever
want someone like me.”
“That one will.” She gave me a wink and reached for my hands,
pressing a small vial full of clear liquid between them. “Two drops of
this potion and he will be yours forever.”
“What do you mean?”
Before she could answer, Bryce came back inside and I hid the
potion under the cover of the blanket. The witch shuffled away to her
table, humming an eerie song under her breath. I gazed at him with
a feeling of guilt and wondered if he’d seen our exchange. Did he
know what she gave me?
“It’s time to go. The men have brought a carriage around. Your
trunks and belongings have been collected, and we can make way to
the palace, where Audrey is waiting for you. Do you think you will be
up to travelling? ”
“The sooner I get clean, the better I will feel.”
“No doubt,” Bryce answered.
I shot him an annoyed look, and he dared to laugh.
Within a candle mark, we were on the road, and I was tucked
safely in the carriage with a blanket over my lap and the vial tucked
into my repaired corset. Someone had hastily cleaned the bench
seat of mud and blood from the night before, but not fully. I couldn’t
help but stare at the red stain as I sat with my side pressed into the
window. I was too tired to complain of my aches and pain, too
exhausted to try to win him over with my beauty, for I saw how I
looked in the mirror. Pitiful. Tears slowly filled my eyes, and I tried to
hold them back.
“Yasmin,” he whispered. “It’s okay to cry.”
“I don’t need your permission to express how I feel,” I snapped.
He smirked. “Obviously not.”
That smile bothered me. “I don’t want your pity, either.”
 “Pity? How so?” His brows knit together.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the stories of how the prince left me at the
altar to wed someone else.” I couldn’t hold back the disdain in my
voice, my fingers twisting into nervous knots in my lap.
He looked uncomfortable. “I’ve been out of the kingdom for quite
some time, and I don’t really pay attention to the rumors.”
“It wasn’t a rumor. We were engaged. I should have been queen.”
“And now you’re not.”
Bryce leaned back in his seat, his green eyes studying me. He
didn’t reprimand me for my outburst; just watched as the angry tears
fell down my cheeks. I tried to wipe them away with the sleeve of my
dress, but couldn’t find a section not marred by a brown stain.
“Did he love you?” His voice was soft, questioning.
“What do you mean did he love me?” I scoffed. “He’s the prince,
and I loved him, so that should have been enough.”
“If he didn’t love you, then why are you mourning him? You should
be happy to be free to marry someone who loves you—for you. I’m
sure you get plenty of offers.”
“I did,” I snapped. “Now…only one.”
Bryce’s eyes narrowed. “I see no ring on your finger. Was he not
good enough for you?”
His accusation hurt. “No. It’s just…no one could compare to
Prince Xander.”
“Because of his money and his title?” His voice was stern.
“It’s not.”
“Then why?” he asked, leaning forward on his seat, his elbows on
his knees, bringing his body ever so close to me. His eyes searching
mine for the truth.
I hesitated in my answer. I didn’t like Bryce’s line of questioning
because with just a few direct questions, he was rewriting my entire
love life, making it seem like it was trivial. “Because I enjoyed making
him smile.”
 “That’s it?” He leaned back and crossed his arms. He shook his
head in disbelief. “You fell in love because of his smile.”
“No,” I said vehemently. “I loved making him smile. When I saw
him, I saw a man in pain, full of sorrow. I wanted to be the end of that
pain; bring him joy and light. I knew if I just married him, I would be
enough for him.”
“You were selfish to believe so.”
“Do you mock my love?” I retorted.
The carriage began the long trek up the mountain. Unlike other
kingdoms, Baist was far away from the central towns, its palace on
the cliffside overlooking everything and everyone.
“Yes, I mock it, because it’s nothing more than a childish
infatuation. And I will prove it right now.” He reached across the seat
and pulled me into his lap.
“How—?”
Bryce silenced my outburst with a kiss. At first, I resisted, but then
knew it for what it was. A challenge. And I hated losing. I parted my
lips and our kiss deepened. Fighting back the best way I knew how.
A deep churning of desire began in my stomach and I met his
passion with my own. He nibbled on my lip and I moaned. I had
never been kissed so intensely, and I feared it would end. When he
broke away, we were both left breathing heavily. His eyes were filled
with heat, and I knew it was a draw. He was just as affected as I
was.
“How was that?” His eyes locked onto my wet and parted lips.
“You are impossible,” I said.
“And you’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he said huskily.
“Stop making fun of me.” I sighed. “You don’t even see the real
me under the dirt.” The carriage came to a stop.
“Oh, I think I’m getting a good idea of the real Yasmin right now.”
He lifted me up and set me on the bench across from him. He toyed
with my feelings just to prove he could make me feel something for
him and then pushed me away.
 “You, Yasmin, are a fiery and passionate woman. He would never
have been enough for you.”
The door opened, and he stepped out to the waiting servants.
And you could? I wondered.
 CHAPTER THREE

THE CEREMONY WAS too long. I fidgeted in line as I waited to

present my gifts to the baby. I couldn’t even focus on King Xander or
Queen Rosalie or the beautiful girl in her arms.
Violet Anne was her name. I curtseyed, presented the gifts from
my family, but when I looked up at the handsome Xander, now king, I
found I felt nothing. Had I already replaced him in my heart so
easily? I met Queen Rosalie’s gaze and felt a small smile rise to my
lips. Her face glowed with love when she looked at her husband. Did
I have blinders on my eyes before? I didn’t see a cruel witch who
had bespelled my childhood love, but instead saw a kindhearted
queen.
“Blessings to you, King Xander and Queen Rosalie, and blessings
to Princess Violet from the Nueva family. May your family’s reign be
long and your lives be filled with love and laughter.” My greeting was
sincere. Shock registered on Queen Rosalie’s and King Xander’s
faces.
King Xander spoke up. “I heard about the attack last night on your
way here. My sincerest apologies. It seems that you are well?”
My heart didn’t flutter when he spoke. “I’m very well, thanks to
your man Bryce Collinsworth for stepping in to rescue me and my
maid.”
King Xander frowned. “I admit, I know of no man by that name.”
“It’s no lie, Your Majesty, I swear,” I answered quickly, knowing
that lies used to flow from my mouth easily.
“I will look into this matter further.” He stepped back up to the
throne, and Queen Rosalie passed off her daughter to her husband
and came to speak to me.
 She laid a hand on my shoulder and whispered into my ear.
“Yasmin, once I thought us to be enemies, and even now as you
walked into my hall, I believed you would carry nothing but hate
toward me. But I see a different woman before me today.”
“I’ve grown, Your Majesty. I’m not the spoiled, selfish girl I once
was.”
“I can see that. I know that if the circumstances were reversed, I
would have hated me as well. I don’t think we can be friends, but
maybe acquaintances.”
I nodded as she stepped back to her golden chair. I turned to walk
back toward the doors as the next person came to give their gift.
People were pointing to me as I passed, and I gently touched my
perfectly coiffed curls. Were they saying that I was a liar? Talking
about how I was the one who had been cast off? My heart was
racing, and I wanted to run away from the rumors.
The whole procession passed, and Bryce never made an
appearance. Even when we moved to the ballroom to continue the
celebration, he never showed. The periwinkle blue silk dress I wore
complemented my eyes, making them look big and doe-like. Audrey
had spent hours doing my hair, putting each curl into its proper
place. My dresses were all low and revealing, but I had found a
matching blue silk scarf and wrapped it around my neck, letting the
bow ends drape down my chest, hiding the bandages. Maybe it
would be enough to get a proposal from Bryce. Would I accept?
I smiled when I thought of being married to someone with whom I
could argue, who challenged me and made my heart beat with
excitement. I could learn to love him. We would never lack passion,
that’s for sure. My future wholeheartedly would be better with Bryce
in it.
I sipped a glass of wine to calm my nerves as I wondered how I
could convince him to propose to me. Lost in thought, I headed out
to the eastern balcony that overlooked a cliff. The other balconies
had better views of the gardens and fountains, but I enjoyed looking
toward the mountains and my home.
 “There you are, mud flower. I almost didn’t recognize you all
cleaned up.” Bryce came up from behind me, his voice teasing.
He looked handsome in his deep green jacket with gold buttons,
his blond hair slicked back, his eyes devouring me from head to toe.
He pressed a kiss into my hair. My heart leapt at seeing him in the
moonlight.
“And you, Bryce, have made yourself scarce today. Were you
avoiding me?” I flashed him my most brilliant smile.
“I had other business to attend to that didn’t have to do with
christening.”
“Yes, I should also use this time wisely. My father is becoming
impatient with me. He wishes for me to use my beauty and woo
someone into a marriage proposal,” I said, trying to drop a hint.
“Beauty is not a reason to marry nor be tied to someone for
eternity. Beautiful people can be ugly on the inside.” His eyes
twinkled with mischief. “Though it helps on a cold winter’s night.” He
placed his glass on the stone railing next to mine.
“I hope you freeze to death from loneliness,” I taunted.
Bryce gripped my elbow and pulled me close, his breath warm on
my cheek. “Your fiery temper is enough to keep any man warm.”
I inhaled at the suggestion. His green eyes locked on my lips and
my desire had me leaning in toward him, closing the distance. His
lips claimed mine, and the slow ember that was burning between us
ignited, threatening to devour us both. He moaned, and I parted my
lips, heat sweeping through me like never before. Bryce lifted me up,
pressing me against the length of his body. He kissed my chin and
along my neck.
I gasped when he brushed against the stitches, and he pulled
away. Setting me down gently on the stone floor, his eyes filled with
regret.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He backed away and ran
his hands through his hair.
One of his footmen appeared, clearing his throat. “Excuse me, but
I have the answer to your earlier request, sir.” He held out a rolled
parchment.
Bryce glanced at me, then back to his footman. He cursed under
his breath and walked away to speak with him. I moved toward the
door and listened as bits of conversation floated over the music.
“Now’s not the time,” Bryce warned.
The footman’s voice faded in and out. “But it’s about…your fiancé
…married by the year’s end.”
I stepped back as if someone had slapped me. I turned to hide my
face, my features filled with shock and disappointment. He was
already engaged.
It was happening again. I was losing someone I cared about. My
future happiness was slipping through my fingers and I was
powerless to stop it.
Unless…I used the potion.
I looked at our two glasses that were left on the stone balcony. My
hand trembled as I reached for the vial in my corset.
What was I doing?
This was wrong…
You can’t make someone love you.
But if I don’t, no one ever will. I will always get replaced.
Tears filled my eyes as I decided.
I removed the stopper and emptied the potion into his drink. It
looked the same as before.
“Yasmin,” Bryce called.
I spun and jumped back in surprise. “Yes?” I asked, palming the
vial. Did he see what I had done?
“This isn’t going to work. I can’t lead you on. I have to tell you the
truth,” he began.
“There’s someone else,” I said, finishing for him, my heart
breaking once again.
He took a deep breath. “I love her.”
 I nodded. “Of course, and then what happened between us was
nothing more than a mere distraction.”
“Yasmin, I must explain—”
I shook my head. “Please, don’t. I don’t think my heart can handle
another rejection. At least it wasn’t at the altar this time.”
He grimaced. “I’m sorry.”
My smile faltered, and I was losing my nerve. “Here, let’s drink in
celebration of your engagement.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, watching me closely. Was that sadness
I saw in his eyes, or regret? “You want to…celebrate?”
“I’m sure.”
He held out his hand for a glass.
The one in my right hand felt heavy. I trembled. He reached for it,
and at the last second I pulled it away, giving him the untainted drink.
“This one is yours,” I said firmly.
His brows furrowed in confusion, but he took the proffered glass.
“To your future wife…” I began.
He drank, his eyes never leaving mine. Accusing me, almost.
“…may she love you….as much as I will,” I added with a
whispered breath, lifting the glass to my lips.
Bryce paled and knocked the cup from my hands.
“No!” I cried as my cup shattered, the potion seeping into the
stone.
He stared at me in shock before he pulled the vial out of my
clutched palm.
“Yasmin, w-what did you do?” he gasped, holding up the evidence
of my deceit.
“N-nothing. I swear!”
Bryce’s eyes went wide, and he clutched his chest. “You put
something in my drink.” He staggered and took a step backwards.
He looked right into my eyes. “Yasmin, I love you,” he breathed out
and stumbled again.
 I froze. What happened? Why was he acting this way?
“No. I didn’t give you anything, I swear,” I cried, my eyes filling
with unshed tears. He didn’t look well. He was swaying and
struggling to stand.
“Bryce!” I rushed forward as he staggered backwards and
bumped into the balcony railing. I watched in horror as his arms
pinwheeled and he fell backwards. He cried out as he went over the
railing and fell down the cliff.
I screamed, rushing to the edge, and peering deep into the foggy
forest below.
“Bryce,” I yelled, my voice echoing off the valley. “Bryce!”
No answer came.
“Did you see that?” a servant cried out, pointing toward me. “She
poisoned him. I heard him with his last breath.”
“No, I didn’t…”
“Arrest her!”

•••

“So, you say there wasn’t poison in the glass you gave him?” the
guard said, continuing his interrogation.
“I swear on my life.” I sniffed as I relived Bryce’s death in my mind
all over again. “I thought it was a love potion. Hezra said it would
make him mine.”
“But you yourself admitted that the man was engaged. Were you
planning to steal him from someone else…again?”
“At first, yes.” I hesitated. “But then I realized it would only be an
illusion of love, and that’s why I couldn’t use the potion. He wouldn’t
love me for real.”
“And you loved him?”
“I believe I did. But now I’ll never know what would have
happened.”
 “Because you murdered him,” he said.
“Ask the queen. She can prove it. She has the death seeker gift.
All she has to do is touch the dead and she can see how they died.”
“The queen has already investigated his death,” he said.
“Then why am I still here? I’m innocent,” I cried.
“Not of intent,” the guard said.
“But aren’t you listening?” I slammed my palm against the bars. It
stung. “I didn’t give it to him. I swear.”
The guard sighed. “That’s quite a story. It doesn’t matter what I
believe happened. There’s nothing I can do. The decision to let you
out of here isn’t mine.”
I wiped at the tears of frustration and sighed in defeat. “I
overheard you say something about a stay of execution.”
“Yes, it seems someone has spoken to the king and queen on
your behalf, and they agreed to remove the death sentence if you
marry some lord.”
“Lord Crowell, you mean?” My stomach dropped again, and I
shuddered. “I feel that is a far worse punishment than death,” I
whispered, turning away from the guard.
A rustle of paper followed, and the guard slipped a rolled-up scroll
through the bars to me. “Your father has already signed the contract
on your behalf.”
I unrolled the parchment as tears blurred my vision, but I
recognized it. My father’s signature. He would have signed it shortly
after I left, sealing my fate, and ridding himself of the
embarrassment.
“Would it really be so bad to marry a lord?” the guard asked, his
voice low. “You would get to live in a large manor, with silk dresses
and servants to wait on your every whim.”
“I don’t care about any of that.”
“Then what do you want?”
Thinking back to the way Queen Rosalie looked at the king with
such adoration, recalling the genuine care and concern Bryce
showed me when he saved my life, I said, “I would live in a hovel as
long as I married someone that truly loved me.” I sighed and slid
down the bars to sit on the floor in defeat. “You’re right. I must have
made a mistake. I must have subconsciously given him the poison
when I thought it was a love potion.” My hands shook, and the tears
fell freely.
The guard nodded and turned away. “An admission of guilt. Then
shall I tell Lord Crowell that you will marry him in two days’ time?”
“N-no,” I stuttered, wiping at my tears.
“No?” he said in surprise.
“In two days, I will be dead.” I moved across the cell to sit in the
far corner facing the wall.
“Don’t be absurd. You have an out. You can marry the man and
live.” The guard rattled the bars in frustration.
“Go away,” I said. “Leave me be.”
“Why won’t you just marry him and save yourself?” His voice was
full of disdain.
“I won’t marry him because I don’t love him.”
“Now you’re being a martyr.”
“Why are you being so cruel to me?” I said. “Lord Crowell is eighty
years old. What could he possibly want with me? Even you know the
answer. Maybe a year ago I could have easily married the old man
and selfishly lived a life of luxury and ease without a second thought.
But I’m not the same person. I want better. I want love, and I can’t
live with the guilt of what I’ve done. If the queen’s gift concluded that
I murdered him, then it must be the truth, for there’s no other viable
explanation for Bryce’s death.” My heart broke as I realized what I
had done. “I killed the man I love, and I should pay for that crime.”
“Yasmin,” the guard spoke my name.
The cell door unlocked, and he stepped inside, stopping under the
ray of moonlight as it illuminated his face.
“You really love me?” Bryce asked softly.
 “What? How?” I gasped, tears of joy now making my vision swim.
“I thought you died.”
He kneeled in the dirt in front of me and took my hands in his.
“No, I didn’t die. A ward caught me.”
“A ward?”
He smiled. “Queen Rosalie feared her child one day falling off the
balcony and placed magical safety wards all around the palace to
catch people midair. I had just learned about them earlier.”
“You knew about the potion, then,” I accused. “That I would use it
on you.”
“I asked the hedge witch to give it to you. I wanted you to use it on
me. Except you didn’t. You changed your mind, and I saw you switch
the cups. I had to think fast and put on the greatest performance of
my life.”
“Why go to such great lengths to fool me?”
“I already loved you and was assured the potion would do little to
change how I felt. It would only have lasted a week at most. If you
had taken it, I wouldn’t know the truth of how you felt. I was tired of
waiting for an answer on whether you would marry me.”
“But you never proposed. I would have remembered.”
He laughed. “I did. Many times.” Bryce pulled the contract out and
waved it in front of my face. “I’m Lord Crowell.”
“No…I’ve met Lord Crowell…”
“Yes, you met the late Lord Crowell, my grandfather. I inherited his
estate and title when he passed away, shortly after the king and
queen wed. Today, after the christening, I introduced myself to King
Xander and told him of my many proposals to you that had gone
unanswered. I even shared my plan to get an answer by getting you
to use a love potion on me.” Bryce blushed and rubbed the back of
his head. “He thought it quite amusing, gave me his blessing, and
even told me about the wards in case the plan went awry. Which it
did. It seems he knows you quite well.”
“But I overheard your footmen. You’re engaged.”
 He pointed to the scroll. “To you. Your father signed the contract
shortly after you left for the palace. It just arrived at the banquet, but I
never wanted an arranged marriage. I wanted you to choose me.”
“Why?” I said. “You’ve heard the rumors. I’m shallow, selfish,
angry, and have a temper.”
“That’s not what I see when I look at you. I see a fighter, a
survivor, and someone not willing to give up on a dream.”
I blushed. “Why propose to someone you’ve never met?”
“I met you the day of your wedding—I mean, what would have
been your wedding. I was there with my grandfather. We were
introduced but you were overcome with grief; I doubt you remember.
I fell in love with you then and vowed to do everything in my power to
take the pain away. Does this story sound familiar?”
I winced. It sounded like my love for Xander.
“You said yourself that’s not true love. That I was a fool to feel that
way about Xander,” I said.
“Yes, well, I’m the biggest fool of all.” He grinned. “I can’t tell you
the fear I felt when we came upon your coach being attacked, or the
agonizing pain I felt when I knew your life was slipping away. I
prayed for you to pull through. I begged for another chance to show
you how much I cared. I wanted to tell you the truth. I wanted you to
love me for me, and not my title or money. I was even willing to give
you the power to force my hand and choose me.”
“I almost did,” I sniffed.
“Would you choose me now, despite all that happened?”
“I would. For the only other person crazy enough to pull off a stunt
like that would be me.”
He laughed and pulled me into an embrace, kissing the top of my
hair. “I love you, Yasmin. You are mine and I am yours. If you want
me.”
I looked at the executioner, who had stopped sharpening his axe
and was leaning on his fist, invested in our story.
 “You won’t be disappointed if I skip this appointment?” I asked
him.
He shook his head and raised a finger in question. “Can I come to
your wedding? I never get invited to weddings.”
“I wonder why.” I laughed.
Bryce gave me a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know if I heard an
answer?”
“To what? Whether I will forgive you for tricking me into a
marriage, or for making me sit in a cell for two days?” Bryce frowned,
and I quickly pressed my lips to his in a heated kiss. When we broke
apart, I answered. “I will forgive you, if you forgive me for being
selfish one last time.”
“What?”
“I want you to marry me. Today, right now. For I don’t dare let you
go, in case you change your mind.”
Bryce grinned and kissed me again. “I think that can be arranged.
I know that true love takes time, but I will chase away the darkness
and promise to make you smile. If you do the same for me.”
“I will.”
 
THE END.
Chanda Hahn is a NYT & USA Today Bestselling author of The
Unfortunate Fairy Tale series. She uses her experience as a
children’s pastor, children’s librarian and bookseller to write
compelling and popular fiction for teens. She was born in Seattle,
WA, grew up in Nebraska, and currently resides in Waukesha, WI,
with her husband and their twin children; Aiden and Ashley.
 
Visit Chanda Hahn’s website to learn more about her other
forthcoming books.
www.chandahahn.com
BREAKING THE RULES

 
CHARLEIGH ROSE
 CHAPTER ONE
Cameron Reid

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens. Two more days until I bite the
bullet and come clean, risking losing Coop in the process. Forever
this time. Her. The best fuck—hell, the best friend I’ve had in a long
time. Two. More. Days. Maybe she’ll understand that it was all a big
misunderstanding. Maybe she won’t care at all. At least that’s what I
tell myself as I gaze down at her sleeping form. She’s here. In my
shithole apartment, in my bed. It wasn’t supposed to be this
complicated. We weren’t even supposed to meet. But we did. And
that…was the beginning of the end.
 CHAPTER TWO
Alexis Cooper

One month earlier…

“IT’S TOO HOT to be alive,” my best friend Chloe complains, fanning
herself from the lawn chair next to me. “I swear to God, Cooper. I
can’t take another Arizona summer. I’m officially moving somewhere
gloomy. Like…Seattle.”
“There’s a pool not even two feet from you,” I state the obvious,
not bothering to take out my wireless earbuds, let alone open my
eyes. I’m blissfully relaxed, on the verge of drifting to sleep. “Use it.”
“Oh my God, who is texting you?” Chloe shrieks. I pull myself into
a sitting position, taking one of my earbuds out before pushing my
sunglasses up onto the top of my head.
“You tell me. You’re the one holding my phone.”
“I don’t know, the number isn’t saved.”
“Well, what’s it say?”
“It says my best friend is living a double life and having sextual
relations without telling me!”
I roll my eyes at her play on words. “Let me see.” She flashes the
screen my way, and I can’t help but laugh when I read the message.
Looking 4 a tight pink pussy? I’m a real girl loocking 4 a
nice cock.
A clickable link follows. The “real girl” comment, along with the
fact that it looks like it was sent to about twenty other recipients, is a
dead giveaway. Spam. Again.
“Ugh,” I groan. “Are you telling me you don’t get these, too?”
Every week, without fail, I get at least three of these porny,
grammatically incorrect text messages.
“My social life would be a lot more exciting if I did,” she snorts.
“It’s some kind of scam, apparently,” I explain. “I called the phone
company. They said it’s an ongoing issue, but they can’t do anything
about it, other than offer to change my number for free.”
“Hand it over,” she says, snatching my phone from my hand. She
taps the screen for a few seconds before handing it back, an
amused smile on her face. “There. Problem solved.”
You’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m the proud owner of a
tight pink pussy myself, so unless you’ve got something
slightly more phallic to offer, lose my number.
I pin her with a blank stare.
“What?”
“Do you honestly think you accomplished something?” I laugh.
“Well, now they know you’re not interested,” she deadpans, like it
should be obvious.
I’m not sure that’s how it works, but Chloe looks so pleased with
herself that I don’t bother to tell her that if anything, she did more
harm than good. I’ve never responded before. Never, ever clicked on
the links. I simply delete them and move on with my life. But now,
they’ll know this is a working number and they’ll never give it up. At
least that’s what the phone company dude said.
I delete said messages, tossing my phone onto a pile of towels,
making a mental note to change my number Monday. I’ve been
putting it off long enough.
“We should get ready,” Chloe says with a sigh. “Lara will kick both
our asses if we’re late on her birthday.” It’s been Chloe, Lara, and I
since the sixth grade. The only reason she isn’t here right now is
because, unlike Chloe and me, Lara has parents that actually give a
shit about her and want to spend time with her on her birthday. Okay,
that’s not exactly fair. It’s not that my parents don’t care. It’s that
they’re, well…too old to give a shit.
 I have four older half-siblings from my parents’ previous
marriages, all in their thirties and forties with kids of their own. None
of them living anywhere near the Grand Canyon state. My mom is in
her sixties, but my dad is in his late seventies. Suffice it to say,
they’re tired. I don’t really blame them. They thought they were done
having kids when surprise! here comes baby Alex to shake shit up.
All thoughts of retiring and traveling the world were put on hold. They
loved me, sure, and made sure I was cared for—by nannies, mostly,
but still. I’ve never wanted for anything in the material sense. But I’ve
been doing my own thing, making my own decisions for a long time
now. By the time I got my license, I may as well have been an adult
in their eyes. Now, I’m about to start my freshman year of college
and my dad doesn’t even remember my name half the time.
Getting old sucks. Watching the people you love get old is
arguably worse.
I stand from the chaise lounge, flinging my towel over my shoulder
as we head into Chloe’s parents’ house. “Where are we meeting
her?” I ask. She was deciding between two bars, last I knew. None of
us are twenty-one, but that won’t stop Lara from forcing all of us to
bust out our fake IDs for the occasion. One fake ID might fly under
the radar, but three girls in one group? I don’t like those odds.
“Outlaws. She wants to ride the bull,” Chloe says, an amused
smirk tugging at her lips.
This should be fun.

•••

Four hours later, we’re full of some delicious blue drink that I can’t
remember the name of and greasy bar food. Lara throws her arms
around mine and Chloe’s shoulders, bringing us in for a sloppy hug.
Strands of her pastel pink hair stick to my glossed lips, but she’s
oblivious.
“I love you guys.”
 Chloe and I exchange a knowing look. When Lara starts
proclaiming her love for us, it’s time to call it a night. In another thirty
minutes, she’ll be throwing up her onion rings.
“Ian!” I shout, waving her boyfriend over from where he stands
with the rest of our group next to the bar. We’re outside on the patio
area, so I’m surprised he can hear me from inside. He takes one
look at Lara, flags the bartender down for a glass of water, and says
his goodbyes before making his way through the clusters of people
between us.
Lara releases us and snatches a half-empty drink from the table
next to us.
“That’s not even your—” I start, but Ian swoops in just in time,
casually swapping out the stranger’s drink with the glass of ice water.
“I was drinking that!” she complains.
“Time to go, birthday girl,” he says without a hint of annoyance in
his tone. He’s nice. A little too nice for my liking, but he’s perfect for
Lara. Where Chloe is all sarcasm and cynicism, Lara is the
sweetheart of the group. The one who ends up in the corner petting
the family dog at every party she attends. People can’t help but love
her. I guess that leaves me somewhere in the middle of the two of
them.
“But I’m not ready to leave,” Lara whines, poking her bottom lip
out. Ian picks her up and tosses her over his shoulder and she lets
out a giggle, her wristlet dangling from her hand.
“Call me in the morning,” I say, giving her ass a love pat.
“Young love. Makes me sick,” Chloe mutters, her arms folded
across her chest as she watches Ian make his way toward the patio
exit, Lara bouncing with each step.
“Shut up.” I laugh.
“Ready to go?”
“Yep.” I grab my purse and phone, seeing that I have a text from a
number I don’t recognize.
Prove it.
 Prove what?
There are no other texts in the thread. It takes my hazy brain a
second to realize what must have happened. The spam from earlier.
Sometimes when someone responds to the sender, they come in as
a separate text. Usually, it’s something along the lines of STOP
TEXTING ME or I’ve called the police!
“Oh my God.” I laugh, showing the message to Chloe. “Look what
you’ve done.”
“Who is that?” she asks, squinting at the screen.
“Someone who wants me to prove to them that I’m the proud
owner of a tight pink pussy as you so eloquently put it.”
“Is he hot?” she asks, shoving a couple nachos into her mouth for
the road.
“How should I know, dumbass?”
“Ask him,” she mumbles around a mouthful of food.
“Ew, what if he’s old?”
“But what if he’s hot?”
What if he’s not even a he? I don’t know if it’s the alcohol giving
me liquid courage or pure curiosity that makes me want to respond
to this stranger, but before I can talk myself out of it, my fingers are
tapping out a response.
First, how old are you? Second, are you hot?
Chloe barks out a laugh when she reads what I sent, probably
surprised that I’m entertaining her shenanigans. That makes two of
us. Figuring they probably won’t text back right away, or at all, I close
out my messages and pull up my rideshare app . There are no less
than twenty drivers of various rideshare apps in this area, maybe
more on weekends, so I know we won’t have to wait long. Sure
enough, the estimated arrival time is two minutes.
Chloe and I make our way out of the bar and over to the
designated pick-up spot next to the parking area. I gather my hair,
lifting it off my neck and fan myself with my free hand as we walk.
Even at close to one in the morning, it still feels like it’s ninety-five
degrees. I lean against a palm tree while Chloe opts to pop a squat
on the curb to wait for our ride.
“My house?” she asks, leaning back on her palms and tipping her
head backward to meet my eyes. But she already knows the answer.
I don’t stay at my house any more than is absolutely necessary. I just
need to get through the last month of summer, and then I’ll be at the
dorms.
“Yup.”
I look back down at my phone to remind myself of what vehicle
we’re supposed to be watching for and smile when another text
comes through.
“He responded.”
 CHAPTER THREE
Reid

“GET BACK TO work,” my uncle-slash-boss says, whipping me in

the back of the head with a bar rag as he walks by. If it were anyone
else, I’d put my foot up their ass. But for him, I let it slide. I owe him
that much. He owns The Loft, and according to him, one day, I’ll own
it. Along with my cousin, Ethan. I’m still not sure if that’s something I
even want. I don’t know if I plan on staying in Arizona at all. Stuffing
my phone back into my pocket, I approach the bar, checking on the
pair of cougars drinking their martinis.
“Can I get you ladies anything else?”
“I’ll take a side of you,” one says, fingering the rim of her glass in
what I’m sure she thinks is a seductive manner. I humor her with a
smile but don’t give her an answer otherwise. Her friend elbows her,
blushing so hard I can see it even in the dimly lit bar. I wouldn’t think
a six-foot-two dude with a nose ring and tattoos would be particularly
appealing to their demographic, but hey, nothing surprises me
anymore. I’ll take that over being told I’m going to hell any day. Or
worse, a Bible verse in place of a tip.
“Oh, he’s used to it,” lady number one says, waving off her friend
before turning to me. “Isn’t that right? You’ve got that quiet bad boy
thing going on that makes ladies of all ages fall all over themselves
to be the one to fix you.”
I inwardly scoff, feeling like I should be offended by the fact that
she’s deemed me damaged in the hour she’s been here. “That, or
they just want to piss off their parents.”
At that, she throws her head back, laughing loudly. “Touché.”
 I slide the bill toward them before checking on another group of
customers. And another. And another. As the end of the night is
nearing, it slows down enough to check my phone again. There are
a few stragglers smoking cigarettes out front, but the only person
inside happens to be my cousin, Ethan. I pull up the text again,
making sure I read it correctly earlier. I’ve been getting those fucking
phishing texts—I assume from my questionable choice in online
viewing material—but they usually come from an email address. This
one is from a local number. Someone with a sense of humor, it
seems.
I don’t know what possessed me to fuck with her when I said
prove it, but I didn’t expect her to respond.
Her: First, how old are you? Second, are you hot?
Me: 1. Old enough to drink legally, but not old enough to
become the president. 2. I guess that depends.
Her response comes a few seconds later.
Her: On what?
Me: If you have taste.
Her: Cocky, are we?
I suppress the urge to make a cock joke. I could be talking to a
dude. Or someone’s grandma. Oh fuck, what if it’s a kid? Common
sense tells me that a kid wouldn’t talk like that, but I should probably
find out before I continue the conversation.
Me: Your turn. How old are you?
Her: Old enough to vote.
Thank fuck.
Another text follows after a couple seconds.
Her: Aren’t you going to ask if I’m hot?
I consider my options. I could ask for a picture. It’s tempting, for
sure, but that’s probably exactly what she’s expecting. Typical
douchebag shit.
 Me: I’d rather know your name.
Solid response, if you ask me. It tells her I’m interested in more
than her looks, but it will also serve as confirmation that she is, in
fact, a woman.
Her: Smooooth. You can call me Cooper. :)
Okay, maybe not.
Me: I gotta tell you, Coop. You’re not really selling this
whole I’m-not-a-dude thing.
Her: Oh, is that what I’m supposed to be doing?
Me: I’d feel a hell of a lot better if you did.
“Did you pick up a drug habit?” Ethan asks, eyeing me
suspiciously.
“Come again?”
“I’ve only ever seen a guy that interested in his phone for two
reasons: A. He’s talking to his plug. Or B. He’s trying to get laid.”
“What makes you think I’m not trying to get laid?” I arch an
eyebrow.
“Are you?”
“No.” Not tonight.
Her: Okay, 100% honesty? My friend was the one who
texted you. She thought replying to one of those scammy
group messages would be helpful…somehow. Sorry to
bother you.
Yeah, I gathered that much. About the porn texts, not the friend.
Me: So, you telling me that you’re not the ‘proud owner of a
tight pink pussy’?
She doesn’t text back immediately, so I assume she’s over this
game. That, or I’ve managed to offend her with that last message. I
meant to be funny more than perverted, but it’s easy to misconstrue
tone in text messages. Especially when you don’t know the person.
 Stuffing my phone back into my jeans pocket, I start on closing
duties. I take out the trash, get rid of the leftover ice and garnishes,
then wipe everything down. All while Ethan enjoys beer after beer
without lifting a finger like the asshole he is. I say goodnight to my
uncle before I start the five-minute drive to my apartment. I’ve all but
forgotten about my mystery girl when I’m climbing into bed and my
phone buzzes again.
Her: Oh, I am. I just don’t usually lead with that. ;)
I chuckle at her response, debating how I want to respond when
she texts again.
Her: So, what do I call you?
Me: Reid.
Her: Well, have a nice night, Reid.
Me: Have a nice life, Coop.
 CHAPTER FOUR
Cooper

“WHAT THE HELL do you think you’re doing?” my dad growls in a

voice unlike the one I knew as a kid. His fingers dig into my forearms
so hard that I know it will bruise. He’s surprisingly strong for his age.
“I’m just switching out your blanket. This one needs to be
washed.”
“Bullshit,” he spits. Literally spits. “I saw you stealing her stuff.
She’s going to get you, you know.”
I frown when the realization hits me. I search his eyes for any sign
of recognition, but all I see is malice. He’s spaced on my name
before, and sometimes he looks at me like he can’t quite place me,
but this feels different. Like he’s hallucinating or something. It’s
happening more and more lately. A sinking feeling hits my gut. He’s
getting worse. The good days are few and far between, now.
“Dad, it’s me. Alex,” I say, trying to keep my tone gentle. “It’s
okay.”
He scowls even harder before his hand darts out, fisting a handful
of my hair.
“Ow!” I yelp. He only pulls harder.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” he yells.
“Mom!” I scream, trying to untangle my hair from his grip. She
comes running in, her eyes wide with shock when she takes in the
scene in front of her. She rushes over, dropping the dish towel she
had in her hands in her haste.
“Let her go, honey. I’ll take care of it,” she says to him, keeping
her voice soft, but I can hear the urgency she’s trying to conceal.
The worry. She gently pries his fist open, then cups his hand with
both of hers in a comforting gesture. Apologetic, watery blue eyes
meet mine.
“You should go, Lex. I’ll calm him down.”
It shouldn’t sting like it does. I know she’s only trying to keep the
peace and do what’s best for him. But I live here, too. And though I
haven’t felt wanted here in a long time, this is the first time she’s
actually told me to leave.
I nod wordlessly as I stand, smoothing out my hair.
“It’s his new meds. They’re making him irritable.”
“Yeah, it’s fine,” I say dismissively. “I shouldn’t have bothered
him.” It isn’t until the words are out of my mouth that I realize how
ridiculous that sounds. I shouldn’t have bothered my own father? But
it’s true. I know better. Right before he was first diagnosed, his
personality changed drastically. And this new personality of his
happens to strongly dislike me. He’s easily confused, he wanders a
lot, and he constantly asks to go home. I only made the mistake of
informing him that he was home once. Spoiler alert: it didn’t end well.
“Alexis—”
“I’ll call you later.” I swipe my keys off the coffee table and head
for the door, saving her from having to respond. I don’t want to hear
it anyway. She looks remorseful, but I see the hint of underlying relief
there, too. I don’t blame my dad. How can I? It’s not his fault. But
that doesn’t make it any easier.
Once I’m in my car, I start the engine, crank up the AC, and call
Chloe. She was asleep when I left this morning and her phone goes
straight to voicemail, which tells me she’s probably still passed out. I
check the time. Twelve thirty-seven. The girl would sleep until two in
the afternoon every day if she could. I consider calling Lara, but
she’s probably still in post-birthday coital bliss with Ian.
I scroll through my texts, trying to figure out what I should do
today when I see the messages from last night. Reid. I wonder if
that’s his real name. I wonder what he’s doing right now. I could use
a distraction.
Screw it.
 Me: So, when you said ‘have a nice life’…
Reid: Miss me already, Coop?
I bite down on my lip to smother a smile. Coop. He doesn’t even
know me and already has a nickname for me. Most of my friends call
me Cooper. There were two other girls named Alexis in elementary
school, so I went by Alex or Cooper instead, and Cooper just kind of
stuck. Another text comes in before I can respond.
Reid: I didn’t mean goodbye forever, if that’s what you’re
asking.
Me: Just playing hard to get?
Reid: Something like that. Did it work?
Me: I’m texting you not even twelve hours later, soo…
Reid: So that’s a yes. What are you doing right now?
Besides thinking of me.
Me: Sooo cocky. Don’t lie, you thought about me, too.
Reid: Guilty as charged. Which is awkward as fuck,
considering I don’t even know what you look like.
Me: Why, Reid, are you asking me for a picture?
Reid: Fuck yeah, I am.
Me: Where’s the fun in that? I kind of like the anonymity.
Reid: Solid point.
Me: Let’s make a deal.
Reid: Lay it on me.
Me: We get to know each other for a month. If we’re still
talking when the thirty days are up, we’ll exchange pictures.
I see the typing bubbles pop up, disappear, come back, then
disappear again, like he doesn’t know how to respond. Bold
assumption that he’d want to carry on a month-long conversation
with a complete stranger.
Reid: You’ve got yourself a deal. What are the rules?
Me: Rules?
Reid: I assume we need some ground rules here.
Me: Agreed. You go first.
Reid: No full names, for example.
Me: And no looking each other up on social media, of
course.
Reid: Obviously.
Me: No phone calls.
Reid: Do people still do that?
Me: There’s really no excuse.
Reid: Unless you’re visually impaired.
Me: Or if it’s an emergency, but even then…call 911. Not me.
Reid: Good to know I can count on you in a crisis.
The next morning, we start off with the basics.
Reid: Favorite color?
Me: Whoa, way to jump right to the hard-hitting questions.
Ummm, I’d say black. You?
Reid: Same.
Me: Favorite song?
Reid: That’s an impossible question.
Me: Think hard.
Reid: I’ll come back to it. What about you?
Me: Hmmm. Boyz-n-the-Hood. But the Dynamite Hack
version.
Reid: Interesting choice.
Me: What can I say? It’s a classic.
Reid: If you were on death row, what would your last meal
be?
Me: A giant baked potato. Loaded with all the fixings. You?
Reid: Lasagna and garlic bread. And a fat-ass Sprite from
McDonald’s.
Me: McDonald’s Sprite does hit different. Do you have a
girlfriend?
Reid: Would I be talking to you if I did?
Me: That’s not an answer.
Reid: No girlfriend. You?
Me: No girlfriend for me. No boyfriend, either.
Reid: Good to know. Favorite actor?
Me: This one’s easy. Adam Sandler.
Reid: Are you fucking with me?
Me: If you don’t like Adam Sandler, this friendship ends
right here, right now.
Reid: Quite the opposite. He’s my favorite, too.
Me: Look at us. Practically sharing a brain.
Reid: Best Adam Sandler movie on the count of 3…
Reid: 1, 2…
Me: Big Daddy.
Reid: Happy Gilmore. Billy Madison is a close second.
Reid: No way is Big Daddy better than Happy Gilmore!
Me: Are you high? I love HG, but there’s no competition.
Reid: There’s only one way to settle this.
 Me: I’m listening…
Reid: An Adam Sandler movie marathon.
Me: And how do you propose we do that?
Reid: Easy. We’ll watch all the movies at the same time.
Then discuss.
Me: That’s a lot of movies. Could take months.
Reid: Got something better to do?
Me: Not until school starts back up.
Reid: Where do you go?
Me: ASU.
Reid: Ah, party central. My cousin goes there.
Me: It was either that or Tucson.
Reid: What’s your major?
Me: Good question. *dramatic sigh* I’m undeclared.
So, that’s how it goes. For the next couple of weeks, we ask each
other questions, everything from mundane to deep. We make each
other laugh. We watch movies. Twelve Adam Sandler movies, to be
exact. He tells me about working at his aunt and uncle’s bar. I tell
him about my prehistoric parents. Every night, I fall asleep with my
phone clutched tightly in my hand, and every morning when I wake
up, Reid’s my first thought. Even Lara and Chloe are suspicious.
They don’t know, of course, but they’ve noticed I’m not as present,
and I’ve been caught smiling at my phone more times than I care to
admit. I’m sure I’ll tell them eventually, but for now, I like having this
be our little secret. Plus, I’ll never hear the end of it if I tell them that I
might have managed to develop a teensy-weensy crush on someone
I’ve never even seen a picture of.
I’m dying to know what he looks like—to see if the image I’ve
conjured up in my mind is anywhere close to the real thing. He’s
confident, but not obnoxiously so. The kind of confidence that tells
me he’s used to female attention but doesn’t really give a shit. At
first, our deal seemed fun, but the more time passes, the more
nervous I get. Whether I want to admit it or not, I’ve become
attached to our unconventional friendship. I just hope it doesn’t blow
up in our faces.
 CHAPTER FIVE
Reid

“HEY, SEXY.”
I turn around to see Liv sliding onto a barstool. She’s been a
friend of Ethan’s since we were kids, and we’ve hooked up here and
there over the years, but it’s never been anything more than that. It
started when she was on the rebound and I was…well, horny.
“Hey,” I say, scanning the crowd behind her to see if she’s here
solo or with friends to gauge her motive. If she’s here alone, she’s
here for me.
“You haven’t answered my calls.”
I arch a brow, surprised. We don’t have that type of relationship.
Her tone is light, but I can tell that it’s upset her more than she’s
letting on.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve had a lot going on.” It’s a lame
excuse, and she knows it. But it’s nicer than the alternative. There
was a time, not so long ago, that I would’ve taken her up on her offer
without a second thought. We’d sometimes go months without
seeing each other. Zero expectations. Zero commitment. That was
the deal. We had a good thing going for a minute, but as with all
casual hookups, it’s run its course.
It has nothing to do with the fact that I’ve been texting Cooper
every spare moment of every day. Nothing at all. At least that’s what
I tell myself.
“Want some company later?”
“Ah,” I hesitate, scratching the back of my neck. “I don’t think
that’s a good idea.”
 Now it’s her turn to look surprised. I thought we were on the same
page. If anything, she was just as adamant as I was that we keep it
casual. It’s not like she was under the illusion that I’d suddenly
become boyfriend material.
Liv’s features morph from shocked to insulted, her nostrils flaring
slightly. “Oh.”
Oh. That’s all she says.
“Excuse me!” a voice yells from the other side of the bar. I follow
the voice, finding a girl waving me over to take her drink order.
“One sec,” I say to Liv, holding up a finger.
“Two Bud Light drafts,” she shouts over the music.
I nod, grabbing two glasses and filling them up. She slides a ten
and five ones toward me before taking her drinks and walking back
to her table. By the time I walk back over to the other side, Liv is
gone. Huh. Well, that was easier than I expected. It could’ve been an
awkward conversation, so I’m glad to have dodged that bullet. For
now.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I fish it out, already knowing
it’s Cooper.
Coop: I’m bored. Tell me a story.
Me: What kind of story?
Coop: Your story.
Me: You really want to know?
Coop: Obviously.
Me: Okay, so I played hockey growing up, right?
Coop: You did? You never mentioned that.
Me: Well, that’s because I wasn’t very good at it. I did,
however, discover that I was pretty good at golf. When my
grandma lost her home, I joined a golf tournament to buy it
back and rescue her from the shitty nursing home she was
forced to live in.
 Coop: Oh, fuck you. The plot of Happy Gilmore? Really?
I laugh, glancing up to make sure no one’s trying to flag me down
for a drink. I must have missed Ethan coming in, because he’s now
manning the other side of the bar.
Me: Still a better movie than Big Daddy.
Coop: You’re still wrong. But now you owe me your story.
Your real story.
I hesitate, debating how much I want to share. If I’m going to tell
my sob story to anyone, it might as well be a stranger. Except Coop
isn’t really a stranger, is she? She already feels more real to me than
people I’ve known for years.
Fuck it.
Me: It’s kind of a buzzkill.
Coop: But it’s yours. I want to know you.
Me: Gimme a few. Finishing up at work first.
Coop: I’ll be here.

•••

Later that night.

Me: You up?
Coop: You’re not getting off that easy…
Me: There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere.
Coop: No changing the subject.
Me: Fine. What do you want to know?
Coop: Everything. Start from the beginning.
I blow out a breath, deciding to get it all out at once instead of
dragging it out, making it more dramatic than it needs to be.
 Me: I don’t really have a lot of childhood memories, which
is probably a good thing. My parents were addicts. We lived
in an isolated area, so they were able to get away with it for
longer than they should have. My mom ended up nodding
off at the wheel one day and crashed her car into a ditch,
dying instantly. Dad got sober, found a new girlfriend. She
had kids of her own and wasn’t looking for another one, so
he moved in with her and pretty much left me to fend for
myself. My uncle came to check on me when he hadn’t
heard from my dad, took one look at how I was living, and
brought me home with him that day. I never saw that house
again.
I can see Cooper typing and deleting, typing and deleting. This is
why I don’t like talking about this shit. I’m not looking for sympathy or
pity. I decide to send another text before she responds in an attempt
to bring a little levity to the situation.
Me: And then I lived happily ever after. Moral of the story?
Don’t do drugs, kids.
Coop: That’s fucking terrible.
Me: Some might say it’s ‘methed up’.
Coop: I’m ignoring that terrible pun. How old were you? Do
you ever talk to your dad?
Me: 6 or 7? And that’s a hard pass. I don’t even know if the
asshole’s still alive.
Coop: If he is, I’ll kill him myself.
I crack a smile at that. It feels weird to have someone give a shit
about me. Weird, but not bad.
Me: Your turn.
Coop: Well, now mine seems boring. *eye roll*
Me: Boring is good. Give it to me.
 Coop: I told you before that my parents are older. They had
kids from previous marriages that I really only see on the
occasional holiday. Mom was a successful artist. Dad was
an investment banker. They moved to Arizona to retire and
then I came along. I never really felt like I belonged. I felt
like they resented me for fucking up their plans…Blah blah
blah. They loved me and took care of me, though, so I can’t
complain.
Me: Wow. We’re depressing as fuck, Coop.
Coop: You know the cure for depression?
Me: Sandler?
Coop: Precisely. What’s up next on the roster?
Me: The Wedding Singer. I gotta take a leak. Back in 5
minutes?
Coop: It’s a date.

•••

Three nights later, I’m working. Again. I’m irritable as fuck, my

throbbing head exacerbated by the loud-ass music and screaming
drunk girls. If there’s one thing I can’t handle, it’s bachelorette
parties. I haven’t talked to Coop since the other night, either. She
was busy doing whatever the fuck girls do with their friends, and I’ve
been working almost non-stop. I need the extra money, so I shouldn’t
complain. Suffice it to say, the night can’t end soon enough.
Coop: I miss you. Is that weird?
Me: It’s definitely weird.
Me: But I miss you, too, so I guess we’re both freaks.
Coop: Can you talk?
Me: At work, but I should be off soon.
 I shove my phone back into my pocket, scanning the room for any
sign of Ethan. I’ve got another bartender with me tonight, but I can’t
leave the dude by himself. Ethan was supposed to come in an hour
ago, but of course, the asshole hasn’t shown. I even tried using the
bachelorette party to entice him into coming earlier, because unlike
me, they’re his favorite. Last time, I found him and one of the
bridesmaids passed out in a very compromising position on one of
the couches when I came in to open the following day. Thank fuck
they’re leather.
My phone buzzes again, but I don’t check it right away. I’ve got
two frat-bro-looking guys wearing maroon and gold Arizona State
hats, giving me the death stare from the other side of the bar. These
are the types of tools Coop goes to school with. I briefly wonder if
they’re her usual type before I shake away that train of thought. After
refilling their pitcher of Miller, because of course they drink Miller
High Life, I slink off to the back room to check my phone. Whatever I
was expecting, this was not it.
She sent me a picture.
“Holy fuck,” I say out loud, taking in the image on my screen. It’s
her, lying in bed on top of white sheets that look more expensive
than my whole apartment. She’s holding the phone above her, only
showing her lips down to her stomach. She’s wearing some type of
nude-colored bra, or maybe a crop top, I don’t know the fucking
difference. All I know is her tits are perfect. I can tell she has blonde
hair and little gold hoop earrings. Her skin looks sun-kissed and
warm as fuck. Her pink lips are puckered, like she’s sending a kiss,
and the caption reads I’ll be waiting. I reach down to adjust my pants
that suddenly feel a hell of a lot tighter. It’s an innocent picture,
nothing explicit about it, but it’s probably the hottest thing I’ve ever
seen.
Me: You’re breaking the rules, Coop.
Coop: Technically, you can’t see my face…
Me: Are you trying to kill me?
Coop: Why, is it working?
 Me: I’m sporting a boner in the middle of my shift, so yeah,
I’d say it worked.
Coop: Bahaha, I’d apologize, but that would be a lie. I’m not
sorry.
Coop: I wish you were here.
“I have arrived,” Ethan announces, walking in with his arms
spread wide like he’s here to save the day.
I shove past him, slapping him on the shoulder. “It’s about fucking
time.” I don’t waste another second. I head toward the back exit
without so much as closing out my tabs.
“Yeah, yeah. So where are these bachelorettes I was prom—” he
cuts off mid-sentence, turning on his heels when he realizes I’m
already halfway out the door. “What about your tips?” he yells at my
retreating back.
“I’ll get them tomorrow,” I shout back. Coop is in bed, sending me
pictures, telling me she wishes I were there, and my dick is
threatening to burst through my zipper. A crowded bar is not exactly
where I want to be right now. I don’t know what’s gotten into her, but
I can tell something has shifted. Sure, we flirt. We toe the line. But
this feels like new territory.
Ten minutes later, I’m home. I toss my keys onto the counter and
pull a bottle of beer from the fridge. I crack it open and take a swig
as I send her another message.
Me: I’m home.
Coop: That was fast.
Me: Not fast enough. What are you doing?
Coop: Thinking.
Me: About?
Coop: Do you think we’ll meet? After our month is up, I
mean.
Me: I can’t imagine not meeting you at this point.
 Coop: If you were here right now, what would you do?
Me: If you want to have phone sex, all you gotta do is say
so.
She doesn’t answer right away, but I can feel the tension, even
through text. Cooper’s horny. That makes two of us.
Me: Is that what you want? You want me to say dirty things
to you while you play with your pussy?
My heart stalls in my chest, hoping like fuck I’m not reading the
situation wrong.
Coop: What if I already am?
Game on. I take the three steps necessary to make it to my couch
and pull my shirt over my head. The jeans are next. I kick them off,
along with my shoes, before I drop onto my couch.
Me: Are you teasing me, Coop?
My gut tells me she isn’t, but I have to be sure before I make a
fucking fool of myself.
Coop: Do you want me to?
Me: What I want is to make you come with my tongue, but
since I’m here and you’re there, you’re going to have to do
it for me.
Coop: Tell me how you’d do it…
Me: I know exactly how I’d do it. I’ve imagined it a thousand
times.
Coop: So tell me. Please.
The ‘please’ does it for me. I’m hard as hell knowing she’s
touching herself, thinking of me.
Me: I start by kissing those pretty pink lips before slowly
moving down to your neck. Then I slip my hand inside your
shorts, finding you already wet. I rub you there, working
you up until you’re practically riding my hand.
 Me: Then when you’re close to the edge, I pull back.
Coop: Don’t you dare stop.
Me: I push you against the wall and unzip your shorts,
pulling them down just enough to see you, along with your
underwear. I drop to my knees in front of you and you
squirm, shifting your hips closer to my face. Then I ask you
to tell me what you want me to do. I want to hear you say
the words.
Coop: Reid…
Me: You say you want to feel my tongue, so I lean forward,
spreading your lips with my thumbs. I flatten my tongue,
giving soft licks at first. Your hips jerk forward, wanting
more as your hands grip my head, your fingers curling to
fist my hair.
Coop: I want that so bad…
Me: Are you close?
Coop: So close.
Me: I want to break another rule. I want to hear you come.
Coop: Oh, God.
Me: You don’t have to say a word. Just pick up.
I was already attracted to her personality, but I had a feeling Coop
was fucking hot, too. Her picture all but confirmed it. Granted, I only
saw the bottom half of her face, but it was enough to know. Unable
to resist a second longer, I pull my dick out, stroking it while I wait for
her answer. I close my eyes, imagining what it would be like to sink
inside her. My phone vibrates on my thigh, pulling me from my
thoughts.
Coop: Okay.
It’s all the permission I need. I don’t give myself a chance to
consider how potentially awkward this could be before hitting call.
She picks up after the second ring, but she doesn’t say a word. It’s
quiet for a minute, but then I hear her. Propping my phone between
my head and shoulder, I listen closely. Her breathing picks up after a
few seconds, and I can tell she’s getting close. She doesn’t put on a
show. There are no exaggerated, fake porn-star screams. It’s all soft
moans and shallow breathing, and the sound goes straight to my
dick.
“That’s it,” I coax, pumping myself faster. I wasn’t planning on
talking, but the words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I
want to know what you sound like when you come.”
Cooper cries out, and the sound is so fucking sweet. It can only
be described as something between a whimper and a soft grunt. “I’m
coming,” she breathes, and that’s all it takes. My abs tighten just
before the orgasm hits me hard and fast. I clamp down on my bottom
lip, stifling a groan as I come.
I slow my hand, giving a couple last pumps, our shallow pants the
only sound between us. Once both of our breathing returns to
normal, I reach down for my shirt, haphazardly swiping at the cum on
my stomach.
“Goodnight, Coop.”
 CHAPTER SIX
Cooper

GOODNIGHT, COOP.
Reid’s voice plays in my head as I lie here replaying the last
twenty minutes. Now that I’m coming out of my post-orgasmic haze, I
cringe internally, feeling slightly embarrassed. You weren’t
embarrassed five seconds ago when you sent him a selfie and
initiated phone sex. I groan, rolling onto my back. I knew exactly
what I was doing when I sent that picture. I don’t know what it was
about today that had me feeling so…turned on. Maybe it’s the fact
that I haven’t been able to talk to him in a few days. Maybe it was
simply due to the fact that I haven’t had sex in months. Even that
didn’t compare to how it felt tonight, and Reid didn’t even have to
touch me. I hold my phone up above me, tapping out a text to Reid.
Me: That didn’t happen.
Reid: Sure, it didn’t. Just like it’s not going to happen again
tomorrow night, either.
Me: I hate you.
Reid: I find that hard to believe after what I just heard.
Reid: Aw, come on, Coop. Don’t be embarrassed. If it makes
you feel any better, it was the best night I’ve had in a long
time.
Me: Goodnight, Reid. <3
Reid: Sweet dreams.
The next morning, I’m still lying in bed when I get a text from Reid.
Reid: You broke the rules.
 Me: So did you.
Reid: Worth it.
Me: I feel like you need to send me a picture now. You
know, to make things fair.
Reid: Are you asking me for a dick pic, Coop?
Me: No!
Reid: Because if you wanna see it…
Me: Shut up and send me a picture.
Reid: So demanding. Just so you know, I’ve never taken a
selfie in my life…
Me: I’m honored to be your first. *angel emoji*
I drop my phone facedown onto my chest and throw an arm over
my eyes. My heart is racing waiting for his response, my stomach
swirling with nerves. I didn’t think he would agree, and now that he
has, I feel inexplicably nervous. Up until last night, this flirtationship
never crossed that proverbial line. When my phone vibrates on my
chest, my heart kicks into high gear. I pick it up, swiping Reid’s text
to open it.
The butterflies in my stomach take flight when I see the picture on
my screen. It’s a mirror selfie, of all things. His phone covers most of
his face, his head tilted to the side, but I can make out a piece of
dark hair flipping out near his ear, half an eyebrow, and a jawline that
could cut glass. I take in every detail, from his Adam’s apple and the
veins in his neck down to the way his large hand seems to dwarf his
phone. Tragically, the picture cuts off at his bare shoulder, preventing
me from seeing the rest of his body.
Oh my God. This is who I’ve been talking to this whole time? I
haven’t even seen his face, but I just know he’s hot.
Me: Wow.
Reid: “Wow”? That’s all I get?
 Me: Wow, Reid, you’re like totally hot. *twirls hair*
Reid: Lacking enthusiasm, but I’ll accept.
Reid: I hope you know you owe me.
Me: Excuse me? We’re even now.
Reid: Last night I told you my dirty little fantasy. Now you
have to tell me yours.
Me: I’ll think about it.
Reid: What were you saying earlier about making things
fair?
Me: Fine. You’re lucky I like you.
Reid: I can’t wait to like you in person. All night long.
And that’s how the last two weeks of our deal go. We text all day
and dirty talk at night. And sometimes in the mornings. We don’t
send any more pictures or talk on the phone, though. The closer we
get to our one-month mark, the more anxious I get. Instead of
exchanging pictures on the last day of our deal, we decided to take it
a step further and meet in person. There’s so much anticipation
building, I feel like I could burst. I don’t know how this thing with Reid
will pan out. Sometimes, I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to
drop. I worry that I’m starting to depend on him too much. That I’m
getting attached to someone who I don’t really know. What if we
don’t click in person? What if he’s completely different in real life?
But I can’t quit him, not yet. He’s like an addiction. So I’ll deal with
consequences when the time comes. If the time comes, I remind
myself. If.

•••

It’s officially move-in day. I waited as long as I could for my mom to

show, but she never did. Shocker. I must have called fifteen times,
but alas, no answer. After getting directions and a giant cart to lug
my stuff around in from the office, I wander around trying to find the
right place for a solid twenty minutes. By the time I make it down the
crowded, never-ending hallway to my room, I’m out of breath and
sweaty as hell. I roll my cart in, closing the door behind me. Pushing
my sunglasses on top of my head, I prop my hands on my hips,
taking in my new living quarters. It’s bigger than I thought it would
be. Two twin beds and two desks. A sink. And a giant window…
without curtains or blinds. That’s project number one.
I plop down on one of the beds, feeling a weird mixture of both
excitement for this new chapter and sadness that I have no one here
to experience it with me. The halls are teeming with girls and their
parents. Some are giggling, some are already decorating, and some
are engaged in a tearful embrace, saying their goodbyes in the
doorways. I know it’s not a big deal in the grand scheme of things,
but it’s just another addition to a lifetime of feeling like I’m not a
priority. A perpetual afterthought, in every sense of the word.
Digging my phone out of my shorts pocket, I check to see if I have
a text from Reid. I haven’t heard from him today yet, which is weird.
On a whim, I decide to call him. I need someone to be excited with
me. Technically, it’s breaking a rule—again—but our deal ends in a
matter of days. The rules are irrelevant at this point.
Before I can chicken out, I find his name and hit the call button.
My heart kicks up a notch as I hear the first ring. I once told him not
to call me even if he was dying, and here I am, calling for no reason
at all. It rings again, and again… Just when I’m about to hang up, a
female voice comes through the line.
“Hello?” Her voice is sweet as honey. I pull the phone away,
frowning at the screen as if I somehow called the wrong person,
even though I know it isn’t possible. “Hello?” she says again.
Snapping out of it, I bring the phone back to my ear. “Uh, hi, sorry,
I think I have the wrong number.” It comes out sounding more like a
question.
“Oh, no, he’s just in the shower. Do you want me to give him a
message?”
 “I’m sorry, who’s this?” I don’t know why I ask, as if I have the
right, but dread creeps in, some instinct telling me that this isn’t
Reid’s long-lost sister I’m talking to.
“Liv,” she supplies, continuing when I hesitate a beat too long.
“His…girlfriend. Actually, I think he’s getting out now. Hang on.”
I end the call, dropping my phone to my bed, the word girlfriend
still hanging in the air. His girlfriend? My stomach rolls, my insides
going cold. When we first started talking, I worried about a lot of
things. What if he wasn’t who he said he was? Like some creepy old
man living in his mom’s basement? What if he lied about stupid
things like his height or his age? Never once did I consider he’d be
lying about having a girlfriend. The tears I’ve been keeping at bay
since I got here don’t stand a chance, now. They roll down my face,
uncaring of all the things I’m already telling myself. You don’t even
know him. You’ve only been talking for a month. It’s not that serious.
Just cut your losses and move on. It doesn’t make sense for me to
be this upset, but as stupid as it makes me…I fell for Reid, and I fell
hard.
Hello, consequences.
 CHAPTER SEVEN
Reid

COOP’S GONE MISSING in action. Yesterday was a shit show, and

when I finally got a minute to talk to her, she was nowhere to be
found. It started off with finding Liv in my kitchen after my shower.
Apparently, she let herself in. Her eyes were red and rimmed with
tears, and I knew it was time to have a conversation. I’ve always
been straight up with her, and this morning was no different. I told
her that I wasn’t interested in having a relationship, and she admitted
that she had been playing it cool, hoping I’d eventually change my
mind.
I still don’t know why Liv chose now to make her feelings known,
especially when she never seemed to have an issue with our little
arrangement before. No one knows about Coop, but it’s as if Liv
sensed the threat. Chicks must have a sixth sense for these things.
During my shift at The Loft, I kept checking my phone to see if
Cooper had returned my texts. Fucking crickets. It wasn’t until this
morning when I realized that something might be wrong.
“Don’t forget, the twenty-fourth is Pops’ birthday,” Ethan says by
way of greeting. “Mom wants to make sure we’re both there for
dinner.”
The twenty-fourth. Our one-month deal is up on the twenty-fourth.
And that’s when it occurs to me. Is that why? Is she chickening out?
Or is it more than that? Did she lie about who she is? I mean, how
hard is it to steal someone else’s picture and pass it off as her own?
My head is fucking spinning.
I slide into one of the barstools, motioning for Ethan to grab me a
beer. He arches a brow but doesn’t say anything. We’re not open
yet, anyway. I pull my phone out once again, finding nothing but a
slew of unanswered messages.
Me: Bradley Cooper, where are you?
Me: Oh shit, today’s move-in day, right?
Me: You good?
Me: Don’t make me call you…
Clearly, she’s ignoring me. I decide to text her one last time.
Me: At least let me know you’re okay. Then I’ll leave you
alone if that’s what you want.
After a minute or two of waiting for a response, I shove my phone
back into my pocket. Hours pass. We open. Customers pour in. I do
my job. We close. I pull my phone out to check again.
Coop: I’m fine. Lose my number.
My eyebrows shoot up as I read the words on the screen. Lose
her number? What the fuck could have possibly happened to make
her go from sweet and horny to sour and hostile in the span of
twenty-four hours? I fight the urge to call her and get to the bottom of
it. She’s made it abundantly clear that this was all just some game,
and she’s done playing.

•••

Why do people always say the days go by in a blur whenever they’re

going through some shit? For me, it’s the total fucking opposite. The
days seem to drag on forever, a never-ending monotony of eat,
work, sleep, repeat. Somehow, Coop has managed to even ruin my
apartment for me. Before, I enjoyed living alone. Being alone. But
now, going home and not having Coop to talk to has forced me to
face an ugly truth. I’m fucking lonely. She gave me a taste of
something I never knew I was missing and then just took it away.
Another truth—I’m pissed. Pissed at Cooper for making me give a
shit about her. Pissed at myself for giving a shit about someone I’ve
known for a month.
“So it’s definitely a girl, then,” Ethan remarks. I scowl up at him
from my place on the couch. He’s in my living room, standing over
me, looking mildly amused.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I was still debating on whether you were on drugs or got yourself
a girlfriend. There’s not a huge difference, really. They both make
you batshit crazy. But now I know it’s a girl.”
“What makes you say that?” I push up off the couch, going to the
fridge for a beer just so I have something to do other than sit here
while he blabs.
“Because you’re moping around looking like a kicked puppy. It’s
pathetic.”
“I don’t mope.”
“Maybe mope wasn’t the right word. I mean, you’re always kind of
a dick, but now you’re insufferable.”
“Maybe I’m just tired of seeing your ugly face every day, you ever
think of that?”
Ethan laughs, joining me in the kitchen. He helps himself to a
bottle of beer before taking a seat at one of the stools on the other
side of the counter. “Well, there’s also the fact that Liv told me you
broke things off with her. Only one reason you end things with a
dime piece like that. You’re cuffed.”
“Do you see a girl?” I spread my arms wide, gesturing around the
apartment.
“Whatever. Keep your secrets. But you’re coming over tonight. I’m
having some people over.”
“I’m good.”
“I’ll take your shifts for the next week.”
I narrow my eyes, suspicion creeping in. “What’s in it for you?”
“Am I not allowed to care about my brother from another?”
I pin him with a hard stare. “No.”
“Take the deal, Cameron.”
“No thanks.”
I think I’m done with deals for the foreseeable future.
 CHAPTER EIGHT
Cooper

“WHOSE PLACE IS this, again?” I ask as Chloe pulls me through

the clusters of people in some random person’s living room, my
boots sticking to the floor with every step. Lara’s leading the way, her
head of pink hair bobbing and weaving in front of us.
“Lara’s boyfriend’s friend…or something. He goes to ASU, too.
Who cares? It’s a party. There’s beer and boys.”
I smile, rolling my eyes. It’s been over a week since I’ve talked to
Reid, and I miss him more than I thought I would. The night I found
out, I drove over to Chloe’s and told her everything. I wasn’t planning
on it. It’s embarrassing to admit that I got played by a boy I didn’t
even know in person. Even more embarrassing to admit I had real
feelings for him. But, as Chloe pointed out, he should be the
embarrassed one. Not me. I didn’t do anything wrong. My temper
flares when I think about the fact that not only did he cheat on his
girlfriend, but in doing so, he made me a cheater, too.
Asshole.
I should hate him. I do hate what he did, I can’t help but miss him.
Or who I thought he was, at least. Confused doesn’t even begin to
cover it. After I told him to lose my number, he texted me exactly one
time a few days later. And it was a song, of all things. I didn’t know
what it was until I googled it. “Letters to You” by Finch. I listened. Of
course I listened. Because I’m a glutton for pain, apparently. It was a
song about being alone and missing someone. After listening,
I felt more confused than ever.
It’s not the type of music I usually listen to, but to my surprise, I
kind of loved it. I didn’t respond, but I did download the rest of the
album to listen to in secrecy. After a week or so, Chloe and Lara
were sick of my sulking and showed up at my dorm. I was sitting on
my bed with my earbuds in, my chin resting on my knee, when they
burst through the door, all dressed up and ready to party. “We let you
have your sad girl moment, but it’s time to rejoin civilization,” Chloe
said, plopping down beside me.
“Yeah,” Lara agreed, coming to sit next to us on my tiny twin bed.
They both put their arms around me and tackled me until I was flat
on my back. “It’s the last weekend before classes start. Get your chin
up and your tits out. We’re going out.”
“Fine, just get off me.” I laughed. I didn’t put up a fight. Maybe a
night out was exactly what I needed, especially with school starting.
Soon, we’ll all be too busy with classes to hang out as much as
before. Leaving my hair down and wavy, I quickly applied some
mascara and lip gloss. After throwing on a sage-green knit mini skirt,
a black lacy corset tank, and my black Doc Martens, I was ready to
go.
“And she’s back, baby,” Chloe said, making a show of looking me
up and down while Lara whistled. I shook my head, even though a
smile tugged at my lips.
Thirty minutes later, here we are in a house right off campus. The
second we come to a stop in the kitchen, red cups are placed in our
hands.
“Ladies, this is Ethan,” Ian, Lara’s boyfriend says, making the
introductions. “This is his house.”
He smiles, checking us both out. “Make yourselves at home. If
you don’t want keg beer, there’s shit in the fridge. Pool’s out ba—”
He doesn’t get to finish his sentence before a blur of something
flashes in my peripheral followed by a splash and loud applause.
Someone just jumped off the roof.
Drinks in hand, we all head out back. Lara finds us a spot, three
lawn chairs right next to the pool. We get splashed pretty much
anytime someone jumps in, but it’s hotter than hell, so I don’t mind.
Three beers later, that warm and fuzzy feeling that comes from just
the right amount of alcohol hits me. I’m glad I came, but as usual
lately, my thoughts keep drifting back to Reid.
God, get over it already.
“I’ve gotta pee,” Chloe announces, standing to her feet. “Who’s
coming?”
“I will. Then I’m going to find Ian,” Lara says.
“Cooper?”
“I’m going to get another beer. Want one?”
“Hell yes. Meet you back here?” Chloe asks, handing me her
near-empty cup.
“Deal.” They skip off to the bathroom while I head inside to fill up
our cups. When I approach the keg in the kitchen, I don’t recognize a
soul, save for the guy who lives here.
“Double fisting,” he says, nodding his approval at the two cups in
my hands. “Cam, give the girl a hand, would you?”
I turn toward the keg, stopping in my tracks when I see the guy
standing there with the nozzle in his hand. He’s gorgeous with his
dark brown hair, one arm decorated with tattoos, and a hoop ring in
his nose. He doesn’t look like the rest of them. Something inside me
perks up at the sight of him. He frowns at me, like he doesn’t
understand why I’m gawking. That makes two of us.
“Hi,” I say quickly, holding out my cup.
“What was your name again?” Ethan asks, even though I never
told him my name in the first place.
“Alex.”
“Right, you’re a friend of Ian’s girl,” he says. “Alex, this is
Cameron. Don’t mind him. He’s a little grumpy from having his heart
broken.”
“Fuck off,” Cameron says, and I try to smother a smile because he
kind of just proved his point with the whole grumpy thing. He catches
it before I’m able to wipe it away, arching an eyebrow at me.
Oh, fuck. Why was that so hot?
 Cameron takes the second cup from me, his fingers grazing mine,
before he fills that one up, too.
“Thanks.” I hold out my hand to take the cup from him, but Ethan
chimes in before I can grab it.
“Don’t be a dick. Help the girl outside.”
“Uh, that’s not necessary,” I insist, reaching for the cup once
more. Cameron holds it out of reach, flicking his chin toward the
back door as if to say lead the way. He follows me out, earning a few
curious glances along the way. “You really don’t need to do that,” I
say again once we’re outside.
“Trust me. You’re doing me a favor.”
“Not much of a social butterfly?”
He snorts out a laugh and really looks at me for the first time, I
think. “Do I look like a social butterfly? I’m more of a black sheep, if
anything.”
“I don’t know, I’m picking up lone wolf vibes myself.”
He cocks his head to the side, regarding me with a look I can’t
place. “What does that make you?”
“Here against my will,” I say matter-of-factly.
“That makes two of us.”
“On account of the broken heart?”
He opens his mouth to respond, but then his eyes focus on
something over my shoulder and whatever retort he had dies on his
lips. I turn to see what, or who, is the cause of that reaction when I
see a girl quickly approaching. She’s gorgeous in that girl-next-door
way. Long, light brown hair. Big, beautiful smile.
“Hey,” she breathes, her eyes briefly catching on me before
focusing back on him. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Yeah, well, here I am.”
I stand awkwardly between them, feeling like an intruder. She
glances at me once more, deciding to introduce herself.
“I’m Liv,” she says, waiting for me to let her know who I am. If I
had to guess, I’d say she’s looking for some type of reassurance
from Cameron. Reassurance that he is not providing.
“Alex,” I say.
“Nice to meet you,” she says before addressing Cameron again.
“Can we talk?”
“I’m not in the mood, Liv.”
This is beyond awkward. Where the hell is Chloe? I look over my
shoulder for any sign of her.
“It’ll only take a minute—”
“Not tonight.”
“I’m just gonna...” I start, hitching a thumb behind me. “I should
find my friend.”
“I’ll help,” Cameron offers, surprising the both of us if the look on
her face is anything to go by. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,
so I simply nod.
“It was nice meeting you,” I say, giving a little wave. She gives me
a polite, close-mouthed smile as I walk away.
Cameron opens the door, gesturing for me to go through first.
Instead of looking for Chloe, he heads straight for the front door,
everyone parting to make room for him, and out onto the lawn. Some
guy retches in a bush next to the porch, but other than that, we’re all
alone.
“Let me guess…the heartbreaker?”
“Who, Liv? No,” he says dismissively. “Definitely not.”
“Oh.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “That’s twice I’ve used you as an
out in less than an hour. I’m starting to think you’re my good luck
charm.”
“Glad to be of service,” I say before taking a drink of my
untouched beer.
“Do you really need to find your friend?” he asks knowingly.
“No. But I should text her.”
I hand him my cup so I can dig my phone from my purse.
 Me: Where are you? Did you fall in?
Chloe: Lara and I are getting in the pool. I saw you with that
HOTTIE and didn’t want to interrupt.
Me: It’s not like that.
Chloe: Then make it like that. He’s hot. So are you. Go have
fun. Don’t overthink it.
Chloe: Lara’s boyfriend said he’s a “solid dude.” Whatever
that means.
I drop my phone back into my purse and take my cup back.
Cameron looks at me, his expression intense.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
I hesitate, unsure. I want to. I feel inexplicably drawn to him, and
let’s be honest…he could be the perfect distraction. But he’s not
Reid.
Don’t overthink it.
I dump the contents of my drink onto the lawn. “Let’s go.”
 CHAPTER NINE
Reid

I DON’T KNOW what the fuck I’m trying to prove by asking Alex to
come over. That I’m not some lovesick, heartbroken pussy, I guess.
But it’s more than that. There’s something about her that feels
familiar. Then again, I’ve looked at every blonde chick sideways
since Cooper sent that infamous picture. I see her in all of them.
Once we’re inside my apartment, I pause in the entryway, turning
to face her. “We don’t have to do—”
Alex surprises me by shutting the door behind her. “Look. I think
it’s clear that we’re both looking for a distraction. I just found out the
guy I was falling for had a girlfriend the entire time. You’ve got that
whole broken heart issue. So, can we just…help each other forget?”
“How old are you again?”
“Old enough.”
“And how much have you had to drink?”
She rolls her eyes, annoyed by my line of questioning. “I’ve had
three beers in the span of two hours. Tragically, I’m sober as a
judge.”
“Then get your pretty little ass over here.”
We both move toward each other at the same time. Alex drops
her purse to the floor on the way. She stops right in front of me,
looking up at me with big, innocent green eyes. She wants this. She
just doesn’t know how to initiate it. I slide my fingers down the side of
her cheek, tipping her chin up. Her eyes fall shut as I dip down,
bringing my lips to hers. She opens for me, her tongue sliding along
mine. I’m hard instantly. My hand finds its way under her skirt and I
rub her through the damp spot in her underwear and she gasps into
my mouth, leaning into me, her hands shooting up to grasp my
shoulders for balance. Grabbing her ass, I lift her up. Her legs
automatically lock around my waist as I walk her to the couch.
Still holding her, I drop down onto the couch. Alex straddles me
now, staring down at me while my palms flatten against the tops of
her bare thighs. She leans back enough to pull her black top over
her head before letting it fall to the floor behind her, revealing a
perfect set of tits. A look I can’t decipher crosses her features as she
brings her fingertips to ghost along my jawline before she seems to
shake the thought away.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, surprising myself. But the words are true,
nonetheless.
“Then fuck me,” she whispers, tucking her blonde hair behind her
ear, the innocent gesture a stark contrast from the words coming out
of her mouth.
Lifting my hips, I pull my wallet from my pocket, fishing out a
condom while Alex unbuttons my jeans. I shove them down my
thighs, my boxers going with them, just low enough to free myself.
Alex swallows hard when she sees me, her delicate hand reaching
out to circle my cock. I groan at the feeling, my hips flexing. I tear the
foil wrapper with my teeth then hand the condom to Alex, letting her
roll it down my length as I lean forward to taste one of her nipples.
Her hands circle my neck, fingers curling in my hair as she arches
into me. I tease her for a bit, alternating between light sucking and
soft licks, and when I can’t physically take it any longer, I pull the
flimsy scrap of underwear to the side, line myself up with her slick
opening, and push inside.
Alex sucks in a breath, and I stay still, letting her adjust to the
fullness. My thumb finds her clit, rubbing it in circular motions until
she starts to grind on my lap. Her skirt is pushed up her hips,
allowing me a perfect view of her pussy around my cock, her hair
brushing the tops of my thighs as she tilts her head back, slowly
rolling her hips.
 “Oh, fuck,” I groan, somehow unprepared for how good it would
feel. She’s tight, warm, and wet as hell. My thoughts try to drift back
to a conversation I had with Cooper about this very thing, but my
mind is quickly wiped of all thought when Alex starts to really ride
me. She rises onto her knees before sinking back down, making it
feel impossibly deep. She repeats the motion, my head falling
against the back of the couch as she moves.
Unable to hold back any longer, I grip her hips and thrust up into
her, her tits bouncing with each hit. Alex’s mouth falls open in a silent
scream, her eyebrows pulling together. I’m not going to last much
longer. Not when it feels this good. I fuck her harder, as she pushes
her hair out of her face, and I notice for the first time, a small, gold
hoop earring dangling from her ear.
Everything seems to go in slow motion as my mind struggles to
piece together what my body has already seemed to figure out. I
smooth my hands up her back, bringing her in close as she starts to
tighten around me. Her hips move faster, almost frantic, grinding into
me as she gets closer.
“I’m coming,” she breathes, and it’s a lot like deja vu. I freeze, but
she’s too lost in her impending orgasm to notice. And it’s only when
she moans that sweet sound—the one somewhere between a whine
and a grunt—that I know for sure. That sound has been burned into
my memory since the night I heard it.
Alex is Cooper. I’m fucking Cooper. It can’t be.
Her pussy squeezes me as she comes, and before I know it’s
happening, my stomach tightens and I’m coming harder than I ever
have. Between the sex and the revelation, I’m feeling straight up
drugged. My pulse pounds in my ears, heart threatening to burst
through my fucking chest.
How?
“Oh my God,” she says, collapsing against my chest. “That…was
amazing.”
I have no words. Not the slightest fucking clue as to what I’m
supposed to do now. Alex—or Coop—fuck if I know, presses a kiss
into my neck before she lifts off of me. My dick slides out, and I pull
the condom off, tying it off as she pulls her skirt back into place.
“I should go,” she says, bending over to pluck her shirt from the
floor.
“Stay,” I say, causing her to freeze. Confused eyes meet mine,
waiting for me to elaborate. “It’s late,” I explain. “I can take you home
in the morning.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, skepticism lacing her tone.
“Positive.”
I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I do know that I can’t let her
leave until I know for sure.

•••

Alex walks out of my bathroom wrapped in a towel, her blonde hair

still dripping with water. I offered her a shower, needing to buy myself
a few minutes to think. She was in there for probably twenty minutes,
and I’m still no closer to knowing what to do. It’s not like I can just
ask her.
“Do you have anything I could wear?” she asks, seeming sort of
shy, considering what we just did.
I push myself off the edge of my bed and walk over to my dresser
that consists of nothing but band tees and plain black t-shirts. I
blindly grab one, then find the smallest pair of boxers I own before
handing them both to her.
“Thanks.” She turns for the bathroom when a thought occurs to
me out of nowhere.
“That guy you were seeing…”
“Yeah?” she asks, halting her steps.
“You said he has a girlfriend?”
Sadness fills her eyes, and I instantly feel like a dick for putting it
there. But I have to know.
 “Yep.”
“How’d you find out?”
She sighs. “I called him, and she answered his phone.”
“Brutal,” I say, walking back over to my bed, but now I’m even
more confused. That couldn’t have happened. Maybe it’s not Coop.
Maybe I just wanted it to be her. “And you’re sure? That it was his
girlfriend, I mean. Maybe it was a friend, or his mom.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “She literally said, ‘This is his
girlfriend,’ so it’s pretty cut and dry.”
Huh.
“What a dick.”
She goes into the bathroom to change, then comes back out, my
t-shirt almost reaching her knees. She folds her bare legs, sitting
cross-legged next to me at the foot of my bed. She smells like my
soap and a hint of something sweet that I don’t recognize. “So.
What’s the deal with Heartbreaker?”
“That’s the million-dollar question,” I say, watching her closely for
a reaction. “She ghosted me. No explanation.”
She frowns. “Maybe she had a reason.”
“Maybe she should tell me.”
Alex’s eyes shoot to mine, wide and searching. I hold my breath,
wondering if she’s suspecting it, too. But then she swings her leg
over mine, straddling my lap. My hands find her waist, waiting for her
next move as she brings her hands to rest on the tops of my
shoulders. She bites down on her bottom lip, making her intentions
clear with one look.
“Maybe they’re the ones missing out.” She pushes against my
chest, forcing me to lie back as she slides down, dropping to her
knees in front of me. I press the palms of my hands into my eyes,
conflicted. I shouldn’t let this happen, not now that I know she could
be Coop. But when she takes me out of my boxers, wrapping her
warm mouth around my cock, I lose all ability to think rationally.
Fuck it. I’m already going to Hell. Might as well enjoy the ride.
 •••

Two more days until it happens. Two more days until I bite the bullet
and come clean, risking losing Coop in the process. Forever this
time. Her. The best fuck—hell, the best friend I’ve had in a long time.
Two. More. Days. Maybe she’ll understand that it was all a big
misunderstanding. Maybe she won’t care at all. At least that’s what I
tell myself as I gaze down at her sleeping form. She’s here. In my
shithole apartment, in my bed. It wasn’t supposed to be this
complicated. We weren’t even supposed to meet. But we did. And
that…was the beginning of the end.
After Alex made me come with her mouth, I returned the favor.
Because I’m a gentleman like that. We ended up talking for a while,
and the more she talked, the more convinced I became. She felt like
Cooper. She had the same quick wit and vulnerability. The same
sense of humor. I still wasn’t sure if I was drawing parallels where
there were none, so once I was sure she was sound asleep, I quietly
left my room to find her purse that was still lying in the entryway.
Was it an invasion of privacy? Yes. Was it necessary? Also yes. I
found her wallet and wasted no time, opening it up to see the truth
right there in black and white.
Alexis Cooper.
Now, I stand over her like a fucking creep, watching her sleep.
She looks so innocent, curled up on her side, breathing softly. She’s
even more beautiful than I thought she’d be. Giving her up before
was hard. Giving her up now would be impossible. I lift my gaze,
staring out the window, the sky that shade of dark blue that tells me
the sun is about to come up, as I try to put the pieces together. What
are the fucking odds that we’d end up meeting by chance?
I should tell her now. That would be the right thing to do. But I’ll
give myself two days to get my shit together, to figure out how to tell
her. I need a plan. And it starts with talking to Liv.
 CHAPTER TEN
Cooper

“ARE YOU GOING to see him again?” Chloe asks as we walk into
my dorm room, stopping in her tracks when she sees the pile of
trash bags and boxes on the right side of the room. My roommate
briefly came by to dump her stuff off, but she hasn’t been back since.
“She’s coming back tomorrow,” I explain, waving her off.
Chloe nods, waltzing over to set her venti iced caramel macchiato
with extra caramel drizzle on my desk before making herself
comfortable on my bed. “So.” She claps her hands once. “Cameron.
Are you seeing him again?”
“I don’t know,” I groan, plopping down onto my bed.
“Care to elaborate?”
“You’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“If this has anything to do with Reid, I swear to God…”
“Never mind.” I flop backward onto the bed, staring at the popcorn
ceiling. Chloe follows suit, her head right next to mine.
“Fine. Lay it on me. I won’t judge…”
I turn my head, cutting her a skeptical look.
“Out loud,” she clarifies. “Just tell me.”
I blow out a breath, refocusing my attention on the ceiling. “The
second I met him, I felt like I’d known him for years. There was
something so…familiar about him, you know?”
“That’s good, right?”
“There was this moment, right before we had sex, when I thought
he might actually be Reid.” I touched his jaw, thinking back to the
picture Reid sent me.
 “Cooper…”
“I know, I know.” I roll my eyes. “I know it wasn’t actually him. But
the fact I was thinking about Reid when I was in the middle of having
sex with Cameron…that can’t be a good sign.”
What I don’t admit is that I fantasized about Reid while Cameron
was inside me. I don’t know how it happened, but it’s as if my senses
were confused, my mind morphing the two of them together.
Cameron’s face and Reid’s personality. I guess that’s what happens
when you don’t have a face to put to the name. Your brain fills in the
gaps.
“And anyway, it doesn’t matter because it was a one-time thing.
He’s hung up on someone else. It was just fun.” And fun it was.
Really, really fun. It’s a shame I won’t get to experience that again. I
turn my head to look at Chloe. She nods, agreeing.
“I think that’s good. As long as you’re happy.”
“I am.”
After another hour or so of talking, Chloe takes off. I decide to stay
in the rest of the night and watch movies on my laptop, taking
advantage of having the dorm to myself. By eleven, I’m dozing off,
but my phone vibrates, jolting me awake.
Reid: I need to talk to you.
My heart pounds wildly in my chest, my stomach doing a
somersault. I stare at my phone, debating how to respond, if at all,
when another text comes through.
Reid: I know I hurt you, Coop. But if you can meet me
tomorrow, I can explain everything.
Meet him? He wants to meet in person?
Reid: The Loft. 2242 S. Mill Ave. I’ll be there all day before
my shift.
Sighing, I put my phone in airplane mode before tossing it onto
the nightstand next to my bed.
 •••

“I must be out of my mind,” I mutter to myself, standing outside the

door to the bar where Reid works. Call it curiosity, call it closure, but I
know that I’d always wonder if I didn’t at least hear him out. Even
after everything, there’s still a level of excitement somewhere in me,
too. Taking a deep breath, I walk inside, scanning my surroundings.
There are a few tables scattered around and a staircase that leads to
a second floor lined with couches, but the place is empty, save for a
couple employees that seem to be getting ready to open.
“You came,” a familiar voice says. I whip my head around to see
Cameron standing there in a black t-shirt and black jeans, hands
stuffed into his front pockets. Cameron. Not Reid. It takes my brain a
second to catch up, to make sense of the situation. My mouth drops
open, and I turn around abruptly, heading for the door. My stomach
roils, and I can hear my pulse in my ears.
“Wait,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of panic, as he runs over
to block my exit.
“I shouldn’t have come,” is all I can think to say.
“But you did. Hear me out, Coop.”
Tears pool in my eyes, hearing him say Reid’s nickname for me.
“Don’t call me that.”
“I can explain,” he says, his tone gentle, as if he’s trying to tame a
wild animal.
“Explain what?” I say in a harsh whisper. “Explain how you lied to
me? Tricked me? Fucked me?”
“It wasn’t like that,” he insists. “I didn’t—”
“I don’t understand,” I cut him off, talking to myself more than him
at this point. I don’t understand any of it. Not the why, not the how,
only the who.
“I was going to tell you…”
“After you fucked me—”
 “I didn’t know!” he shouts, causing my mouth to snap shut. “I
swear to fuck, I didn’t know it was you.”
I shake my head in disbelief, not understanding how that’s
possible. “How?”
Leaning in closer, he dips his head, lowering his mouth next to my
ear. “I know what you sound like when you come, Coop. I recognized
it from that night on the phone, but it was already too late.”
I fight a shiver that threatens to roll through me at his words,
taking a step back to put some space between us. “How is this
possible?”
“I don’t know, Coop, but it’s the truth. Ethan’s my cousin. His
parents are the ones who took me in. I went to his stupid party and
felt a connection to you without even knowing it was you. That has to
count for something.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? When you, uh, realized.” I feel my cheeks
heat, thinking about the fact my moan of all things is what gave me
away.
A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “I was a little busy.”
“I mean after,” I clarify, rolling my eyes.
The playfulness slips away. “Losing you once was hard enough.”
He shrugs, the casual gesture belying the sincerity of his words. “I
knew I had to tell you, but selfishly, I wanted one night with you
before…” he trails off.
“Before I knew the truth,” I finish for him, lifting a brow. He
scratches the back of his neck, uncomfortable. I want to believe him.
If I’m honest, I feel almost…relieved. It explains so many things, but I
still have questions. A thought occurs to me suddenly, and I take a
couple steps backward.
“What?” Cameron frowns. Or is it Reid?
“Even if I believed you, this changes nothing. You have a
girlfriend, or did you forget that minor detail?”
His expression morphs into one of annoyance. “Olivia!” he
bellows, tilting his head back. The girl from the party the other night
appears at the top of the staircase.
 “Hi,” she says sheepishly, making her way down the stairs.
I fold my arms across my chest, wondering where this is going.
“You remember Liv,” he says to me.
How could I forget? I nod my answer, not feeling particularly
talkative. “Liv, tell her what you did.”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. “I sort of…lied?” It comes
out sounding more like a question. “About being his girlfriend.”
“So you’re not together?”
“No,” they both answer in unison.
“I went over to Cameron’s house that night, but when I got there,
he was in the shower. I saw his phone on the counter, read a few
texts between you guys, and then all of a sudden you were calling.
Jealousy got the best of me, so I told you that we were together, then
deleted the call.”
I gape at her. All of this because she was jealous? People do this
stuff on Gossip Girl. Not in real life.
“For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” she says, sounding genuine. “My
conscience kicked in and I tried to tell him at the party, but...”
“You can go now, Liv.”
Once she’s gone, his amber eyes meet mine. “Full disclosure, I’ve
hooked up with Liv, but we weren’t ever in a relationship, and it’s
been months since we—”
“I don’t need to know,” I say, stopping him from finishing that
sentence.
“I need you to know, Coop. I need you to know that I have never
wanted anything with anyone before you. For as long as I can
remember, I’ve never felt like I belonged. Like I could pick up and
leave any day, because I have nothing for me here. I never felt
connected to anyone. Until one day, when a girl texted me about
tight pink pussies and her love for Adam Sandler.”
I huff out a laugh.
“I’m not asking for your hand in marriage, Coop. I just want a
chance to see—”
 I cut him off when I close the distance between us, pushing up
onto my toes to bring my lips to his. My hands cradle his face, and
his arms are around me in an instant, one cradling my head, the
other at the small of my back. This kiss is different from the other
night. It’s full of longing and lust and hope and desperation.
Eventually, I pull away, remembering where we are.
“I think deep down, I knew it was you,” I whisper. “I thought I was
crazy. That I wanted it to be you, so I tricked myself into believing it.”
His lips pull into a grin, arrogant, with a hint of relief. “Is that a
yes?”
“On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You admit that Big Daddy is the best Adam Sandler movie.”
“Fine. You win. Whatever you say.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I kiss you now?”
“A kiss? That’s all?”
His eyes darken, pulling me closer by the belt loop of my shorts.
“What do you have in mind?”
“I was just thinking that I’ve already had Cameron inside me, but
I’m really craving Reid right now.”
Before I can blink, Reid scoops me up, throwing me over his
shoulder. I squeal, not expecting that. “Ethan! I’m leaving with Coop.”
Ethan comes into view, a confused look on his face. “Fuck that.
Your shift is about to start.”
“Remember when you said you’d take my shifts for a week? Night
one starts now.”
Without another word, he carries me toward the door, Ethan’s
voice trailing behind us.
“Who the fuck is Coop?”
We’re both laughing when Reid comes to a stop on the sidewalk
outside the bar. I slide down his body, taking a step back.
“I have one more confession,” he admits.
 I cross my arms over my chest, pinning him with an expectant
look.
“Adam Sandler isn’t really my favorite actor. I think his movies are
subpar at best.”
Keeping a straight face, I turn on my heels, walking in the
opposite direction without a word. Reid’s hand darts out to grab
mine, spinning me back around.
“Unforgiveable. Take it back.”
“That’s your hill to die on?”
“I can handle a lot of things, but Sandler slander is not one of th
—”
Reid’s hand slides into my hair as he pulls me in, silencing me
with a kiss. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, intense, hungry, and
unhurried. My fingers clench his t-shirt as I push up onto my toes,
kissing him back with the same enthusiasm. He groans into my
mouth before abruptly pulling away.
“Want to finish this argument at my place?”
“Yep,” I agree quickly, eliciting a smirk from him.
Second chances are rare, but the universe threw us at each other
twice because we were too stubborn to realize it the first time. I don’t
know what’s going to happen between us. I don’t even know what to
call him. But I want this. At the end of the day, if you want true
happiness, sometimes you just have to break the rules.
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Charleigh Rose lives in Narnia with her husband and two young
children. She’s hopelessly devoted to unconventional love and pizza.
When she isn’t reading or mom-ing, she’s writing moody, broody,
swoony romance.
 
Stay in touch!
Website: authorcharleighrose.com
Facebook page: www.facebook.com/charleighroseprose
Facebook group: www.facebook.com/groups/1120926904664447
Instagram: www.instagram.com/charleighrose/
Newsletter: bit.ly/2hzVQy4
OTHER BOOKS BY CHARLEIGH ROSE
Tell Me Pretty Lies: https://amzn.to/2Sh50Fv
Bad Habit: bit.ly/BadHabitbook
Bad Intentions: amzn.to/2LK7Ppm
 
Bad Influence:
Yard Sale: amzn.to/2wycwxL
Misbehaved: bit.ly/Misbehaved
Rewrite the Stars:bit.ly/RewritetheStars
 STRAY

 
JESSICA HAWKINS
 CHAPTER ONE

“TWO MORE DAYS until it happens,” Jillian said as she trotted up

the subway steps to meet me on the sidewalk. The 6 train left the
platform with a familiar screech of metal on metal, and eau de Hot
City Trash wafted up with her.
I tugged on my black skirt as I internally cursed—and made note
of—such an impractical catering uniform. “Until what happens?” I
asked, steering us toward Park Avenue.
“Seriously, Kit?” She took a pack of smokes from her handbag.
“Have you heard anything I’ve said the past few months?”
“Yes,” I said and sighed. “I just don’t want to face the truth. You’re
leaving me to make it big in Hollywood.” It wasn’t really fair to guilt-
trip her. I was the one who’d lived in myriad places in my twenty-six
years. But I was losing the closest friend I had here. “This is my
punishment for always being the one who leaves.”
She lit a cigarette and nudged me with her elbow. “You could
always come with me.”
Old urges clawed their way up to the surface.
Run. Flee.
Before someone else gets hurt.
Except I’d formed an unfortunate attachment to the city’s small
charms, like smelly subways that were constantly delayed.
And an even more unfortunate attachment to Benjamin Pierce.
Even though I couldn’t be sure he still lived in Manhattan, I sensed
him here. And being in the same city soothed me. The way smoking
took me back to him.
In a moment of weakness, I pinched Jillian’s cigarette from her
lips and indulged in one satisfying drag to get me through the
feelings threatening to surface.
“Hey,” she protested. “You quit, remember?”
Oh, how I tried to forget, but scent was both a blessing and a
curse that way. It recalled pain the fastest, traveling a direct path to
the amygdala and hippocampus, the emotion and memory centers of
the brain. I’d quit smoking, yes, but this wasn’t smoking. It was
punishment.
“It doesn’t matter if I get canned—it’s my last night,” Jillian said as
we stopped at the address we’d been assigned. “But I won’t let you
get fired, too.”
She was right. My rent, at least, was covered for now. But Dana
Fong of Dana Fong Events was the best at what she did, and I still
had things to learn from her.
Fortunately, I stashed a tin of mints in my handbag for this
purpose. On the elevator ride to the top floor, after I’d wrestled my
wild mane into a ponytail, I searched my purse. The doors parted,
and we stepped into an upscale event space that buzzed with the
energy of a party about to start.
“What is this gig anyway?” Jillian asked as we passed before
unobstructed views of Central Park and mid-Manhattan on our way
to the kitchen.
A fellow caterer arranged a display of tiny cupcakes printed with
Bon Voyage. “A going away party, apparently,” I said and popped a
mint. And immediately tasted him.
The memory struck me like another lashing.
Pierce’s smokey fingers holding my jaw in place the first time we’d
kissed, hiding in one dark corner of his apartment, even though we’d
been alone. Minty breath masking the taste of cigarettes. His grip
strong, but his lips soft. Inviting. And then hard. Demanding.
I needed to push the memory away. I was here to work, not relive
lost love.
In the kitchen, I tied on a waist apron and picked up a tray to
make my first round with hors d’oeuvres.
Guests crowded in, and the din grew.
 Cool, lingering mint melted on my warm tongue, gone too soon.
It was true that scent brought on memories quickly, sharply—but
like taste, there were other routes, too.
I could put in my earbuds, listen to Eric Clapton, and remember
how Pierce had slow-fucked me for the entire nine minutes of
“Wonderful Tonight”—the live version—even as I’d begged for faster,
harder.
But songs ended. Smoke would fade.
I could spit out the mint if it got to be too much.
I could ash the embers, stop the record.
I couldn’t blot out Pierce’s rumbling voice as he said, “There’s no
turning back now.”
My heart stopped, along with my feet. The words vibrated around
me. I’d imagined that, hadn’t I? I lifted my head, my eyes scanning.
The voice came again. Less rumbling. More monotonous, as if
he’d said it a hundred times. “Paris is the right move.”
And then, her voice, agreeing. “Well, either way, everything’s
packed and en route. Are you ready for tomorrow’s flight?”
I turned.
It was him.
It was them.
His large hand rested at her lower back. One slinky, cream-
colored strap fell over Monica’s shoulder. Pierce fixed it just beneath
her highlighted hair and answered her with a nod. She smiled, kissed
his cheek, and wiped red lipstick away.
Jillian approached them with champagne. Pierce passed Monica
a flute, then took one for himself.
I barely registered Jillian walk toward me, an eyebrow raised.
“That man is a piece of art.”
I know. I’ve seen him. All of him.
I didn’t need him to turn around for my body to recognize his—a
sculpture of hard lines and lean muscle; a masculine physique by
which to model all others. Or to remember strong features chiseled
from the world’s finest marble. A brushstroke of the richest, gold-
flecked green to paint deep-set eyes. A full head of hair the color of
wet sand smoothed by the tide.
Glass chimed. Everyone’s attention turned to Monica. “Benji has
something to say. Oops—I mean Benjamin. Or Pierce as many of
you know him. Isn’t it funny how a man with a single solemn
expression can have so many amusing names?”
The crowd laughed. Even Pierce smiled a little. Just because he
looked perpetually stern didn’t mean he was without a sense of
humor. I’d seen it. In one weekend, I’d seen more of him than
Monica ever had. I had to believe that.
She touched the corner of Pierce’s tilted mouth. “Well, that got me
a smile.”
“That’s Benjamin Pierce?” Jillian whispered to me. “Your ex? So
that woman is your ex-best friend?”
And Pierce’s girlfriend.
They’d stayed together. I’d assumed they wouldn’t, perhaps
naively. Monica hadn’t become a top New York attorney by letting
others get in her way. Pierce, not even forty, was a highly sought-
after neuroscientist—because he was a careful and precise student
of the human brain. Not a slave to the heart’s whims.
What did I think, that Monica would cut him loose? That Pierce
would be changed after one weekend?
It’d been a year. Why should he pass up Paris just to stay and feel
close to me?
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said as panic started to seep in.
“You say that a lot.”
That was because I met Jillian after. And while she was the
closest thing I had to a best friend these days, I kept the people I met
after at a distance. They only got pieces of me. The ones Pierce
hadn’t kept. Those Monica hadn’t shredded with one withering look.
Anything that’d survived the betrayal.
“Your boyfriend and your best friend.” Jillian shook her head. “It’s
just so wrong.”
 What was wrong was that I hadn’t been entirely honest with
Jillian. I was the guilty one. But admitting that would’ve certainly
ended our friendship.
Run. Flee.
Before they see you.
Before Monica looks at you that way again.
It’s what my mother would’ve done. I’d decided that this time,
though, I wouldn’t repeat her pattern of starting over in a new place
whenever she got dumped, lost her job, stubbed her toe . . . et
cetera. But that’d been an easy promise to make myself when I
didn’t think I’d have to face them again.
Pierce raised his flute and glanced around the room from behind
black-rimmed glasses. “When I learned about the Paris job offer—”
His eyes landed on me, as flat as his tone, even as it faltered.
Shocking him was never easy, but when our gazes met, life
flashed in him—surprise and then lust. He stepped forward and
whipped off his glasses, probing depths with one look that hadn’t
been touched since our last encounter.
Monica followed his line of sight to me. Her gaze was less familiar.
It used to be friendly. Now, she just glared.
Guests waited patiently for Pierce to finish his sentence.
The beautiful couple stood frozen and unsmiling in suit and gown,
like movie stars posing for paparazzi. They had their shit together in
ways I never would. I remembered crashing at their place, watching
movies until well past midnight. They’d be glossy again the next
morning, while I’d wake up on the couch with smudged eye makeup
and popcorn in my hair.
“Oh, look who’s here, everyone,” Monica said slowly. “It’s
Christine Kitson.”
Warmth rushed to my cheeks as one by one, guests turned. What
was Monica doing? I didn’t know these people. Surely, they had no
idea who I was. Confusion fell over the crowd as they took in my tray
of crostini, my pressed white shirt and sagging bowtie. My short,
slutty skirt.
 “Monica,” Pierce warned with all the impatience he was known for.
“What?” Monica asked, raising a flute in my direction. “I just want
to publicly thank our dear friend Kit. Without her, I doubt this sendoff
would be happening. You see, a year ago, she and Pierce had an
affair.”
I took a step back as my throat closed. The amygdala was also
responsible for sending out a distress signal.
For triggering the fight-or-flight response.
Pierce stared at me, as if waiting to see what I’d do. But he knew
better than anyone—it’d always been flight for me.
 CHAPTER TWO

I BRACED MYSELF against the edge of a washing station and tried

to remember how to breathe. The event’s kitchen space wasn’t an
ideal place for a meltdown, but that was where Jillian had dragged
me while a roomful of guests had watched in stunned silence.
“Why would Monica say you and Pierce had an affair?” Jillian
asked. “You told me she stole him from you.”
Screw it. What did it matter if she thought I was the worst friend
on the planet? She was Hollywood-bound in two days. “I might’ve left
out some details.” A caterer hurried by, too busy or indifferent to care
that I was hyperventilating. “Monica knew Pierce and I had feelings
for each other,” I continued. “She didn’t care. Actually, she enjoyed
flaunting their relationship.”
“But he was her boyfriend?” Jillian asked. “Not yours?”
Monica always had to be the best in the room. The most beautiful,
charming, and fabulous. Where she and Pierce were the perfect
couple, Monica and I were opposites. But perhaps that was why
she’d taken me under her wing. I was never going to upstage her. I
was a safe friend.
Until I wasn’t.
As spots colored my vision, I gripped the cool metal ledge.
“Technically, yes. They were dating. Pierce and I slept together.
Once. She found out. He chose her. End of story.”
Following the deliberate click clack of dress shoes on tile, a large,
masculine hand wrapped around the nape of my neck. “Your story is
conveniently missing some facts.” My shoulders eased with Pierce’s
deep voice and gentle squeeze. “You never gave me a choice—you
just ran out the door.”
 “Because she walked in on us!” I said to the sink, unable to bear
looking at him, even though I welcomed the soothing pressure of his
palm.
“Breathe, Kit.” Pierce massaged me. “And you and I didn’t sleep
together once. It was one weekend. I lost track of . . . can you
excuse us?”
Confused, I glanced up and realized he was talking to Jillian.
I couldn’t read her expression as she looked between us.
Probably judging me. Fine. She was leaving anyway.
Jillian turned and walked out. By the silence around us, everyone
but the sous chef around the corner had left.
“Tell me our story,” Pierce said.
“Why?”
“Because I need to know that you remember it the way it actually
went, Kit. Do not rewrite history.”
My heartbeat slowed under his grip and his firm words spoken
gently. “We met outside during intermission at a Broadway show,” I
said. “You joked that we were the only two smokers left in
Manhattan. But I said I’d only just moved here.”
“I wanted to know why New York,” he interjected. “You said you
were a Sex and the City fan. I called bullshit.”
It wasn’t a total lie. I’d seen the show. I loved and hated how
messy Carrie could be, just like me. And I had similar tousled locks,
just brunette, not blonde.
“I needed a new start after a breakup,” I said. “I started to tell you
that when your girlfriend came out to get you for the second half.”
We were back on the sidewalk, tucked in the shadows between
construction site floodlights and the theater awning’s yellow bulbs.
“Monica introduced herself. We went out for drinks after and bonded
over theater, art, music. You were my first friends in New York. My
only friends.”
“I was so taken with you,” Pierce said with the same grit in his
voice he’d had that weekend when we were doing something wrong.
“But so was Monica. She called you a great girl.”
 The words stung. It’d been confusing, that first year we’d all
become close. Monica and I were different. She’d grown up a
Manhattan socialite who summered in the Hamptons. I was the only
daughter of a single mother, and my summer breaks had been spent
adjusting to the latest place we’d settled. While Monica was slender
and leggy with fine blonde hair, my thick, brown waves threatened to
overpower my small, curvy frame.
But we’d gotten along. She’d treated me to luxurious experiences
I hadn’t dreamed—a tasting menu and wine pairing at Per Se, an
appointment with her booked-up hairdresser before my business
school mixer, a front row seat to Oscar de la Renta during New York
Fashion Week. She’d gifted me precious hand-me-downs from
Bergdorf’s after teasing me about my fast-fashion wardrobe. It hadn’t
felt like mockery at the time—unless, of course, she’d done it in front
of Pierce. And I hadn’t really been able to confront her about that. I’d
be admitting that I wanted him to be mine, while he was hers.
The three of us spent countless hours over many dinners talking
about everything . . . everything except my feelings for Pierce. It was
hard to deny our chemistry, but easy to ignore. She’d known I was
falling for her boyfriend and had delighted in peppering me with
questions about my love life in his presence.
Pierce had always surrounded me with calm. It was because of
his hand on me that I was able to finally look up and face him.
He had the same smooth, angular jawline. It’d been the second
thing I’d noticed on that sidewalk in the Theater District as steam had
billowed from manhole covers. The first was the open playbill in his
hand. A handsome man with a long jaw, engrossed not in a phone
screen like the other theatergoers, but in the program. I’d had mine
with me, too.
He’d looked over with a curious gaze. He hadn’t been wearing his
glasses then, and he wasn’t now. He didn’t need them while we were
this close.
I met his green eyes, also the same but different. Fine lines
around them had deepened. He’d aged in the time since I’d seen
him, but that made him somehow, impossibly, more handsome.
 And the dull, monotonous tone and brooding glare he’d had out
there? In here, it was gone.
In here, it was fire.
“I looked for you,” he said between gritted teeth. “For months, I
looked. I went to your apartment. Your roommates didn’t know a
damn thing. You dropped out of school. You never showed up at
your job again. I know, because I ate at the restaurant twice a week,
waiting for you to come to my table and take my order.”
I loved this side of Pierce, the unfairly possessive side, the one
that got angry over something that didn’t belong to him. It
emboldened me. “And how’d Monica feel about that?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Were you always here in the city? Right
under my nose?”
“I left for a while. But I missed . . . this. The city. My life here. I
missed . . .” I’d told myself I’d returned to be near him, but that was
all. I’d never admitted the entire truth to myself. I was forced to now.
I’d come back for him.
Pierce was why I’d returned, and why I stayed.
Perhaps I was even setting up a life here, just so I could one day
find him and say: Look. I’ve put down roots. I’m staying.
But I was too late. I hadn’t considered he might be the one moving
away.
 CHAPTER THREE

KNOWING HOW THE story ended, it was painful to relive our past.
But Pierce knew that. He liked it.
And so did I. I craved the punishment. Pierce knew and liked that,
too.
“Finish the story, Kit,” Pierce said. His jaw squared with his firm
tone, but he continued to knead my neck as I kept a hand on the
kitchen sink.
“It was about a year after we met. You and Monica were having
trouble. She left town for a case. I met you after work with takeout.”
We took our time walking to his place despite the storm. Sharing an
umbrella and a cigarette and some mints.
“The elevator was down,” Pierce said. “So we took the stairs.”
“I don’t know why it happened . . . it’s not like you and I had never
been alone together. Maybe it was the storm, or being out of breath
from hiking to the tenth floor, but as soon as we walked in the door to
your apartment, we were kissing. We didn’t even turn on the lights.”
“And then?”
Our gazes held. Burned. “And then we finally fucked.” My naked
back against the cold front door. The clang of the metal chain lock
each time Pierce drove into me. “All weekend. Everywhere.
Subsisting only on that takeout. And on each other.”
He inhaled sharply and stepped closer. “A feat, considering our
appetites. It was everything I thought it would be and more. By
Sunday, I was ready to leave Monica for you.”
My heart thumped. The words terrified me as much now as they
had back then.
 I looked at the ground and kept talking to avoid acknowledging
what he’d said. “She came home on an earlier flight. I was tied to
each corner of your bed.” I’d been exposed, literally, and completely
at Monica’s mercy as she’d pinned me with The Look.
Cold betrayal.
Heartbroken.
Furious, smug, disdainful. All of it packed into the long, agonizing
minute it took Pierce to untie me. She’d openly stared at my spread
legs while shame had burned a course up my naked skin. She hadn’t
yelled or thrown things like a normal person might’ve. As soon as
Pierce finally had my wrists and ankles free, I’d grabbed some
clothing off the ground and run, even as he’d called me back.
“You were scared.” His voice hardened. “You didn’t come back. I
guess for you, it wasn’t real.”
I snapped my gaze back to his. “Of course it was real.”
“Then you should’ve fought.”
Against stunning, well-educated, confident Monica? She had
everything a man could want. “You weren’t mine to fight for,” I said,
embarrassed by how my voice cracked. “I—I didn’t know you wanted
me to.”
“I told you how I felt. It wasn’t enough.” Pierce was so close now,
our breath mingled. He said it almost clinically but licked his lips as if
he was a starving man, moments from devouring his dinner. “You
were in business school. Why are you wearing a caterer’s uniform?”
I blinked, catching up with the shift in conversation. “I’m a caterer.”
He flinched, though I wasn’t sure why. He’d known it for the past
half hour. And even if he hadn’t, there were more egregious crimes
to try. “Right,” he said. “Because when you have the world at your
fingertips, self-sabotage is the way.” He pinched the bridge of his
nose before turning his back to me. “I shouldn’t even . . . Monica
sent me in here to tell you to leave.”
Afraid these were our final moments, I grabbed his arm, and I
didn’t release him, even as a charged current coursed between us. “I
didn’t self-sabotage,” I said. “Grammy died.”
 Pierce turned back, his hard eyes softer. His large body and broad
shoulders mercifully blocked out everything around us. “I’m sorry,
Kitty.”
My heart fluttered at the endearment only he called me, a relic
from the weekend we’d spent together. He’d teased me for climbing
up on the counter like a cat to get things I couldn’t reach, like
wineglasses or a fresh roll of paper towels. Then for climbing him,
nuzzling his neck or cheek any chance I got, like a kitten marking her
territory with pheromones.
“She left me some money.” I couldn’t say more than that, or I’d get
emotional. Mom would drop me off with Grammy for months at a
time. Our relationship was more stable than mine with my mother. I
would’ve stayed with my grandma for good, but Mom always came
back to whisk me away somewhere new. “I’m opening my own
catering and crafts services business. I’m just working for Dana as
research. I didn’t quit school; I transferred. I’m starting at the bottom
to learn. I don’t want to leave again.”
His shoulders eased as if I’d removed some of his burden. “You
don’t want to?” he asked. “Or you won’t?”
I could’ve sworn up and down that I wouldn’t, but I feared my
words didn’t hold the same weight they once had. “It doesn’t matter
anyway. Evidently, you and Monica are going to Paris.”
Pierce’s eyebrows drew together as his muscle flexed under my
hand. It was such a small thing, but God, desire coiled in me. What I
wouldn’t have given to have his strong arms trapping me to the
mattress one more time. His body rippling with strength as he thrust
into me, all at once, too much. Never enough.
That weekend, I’d taken all he’d had to give.
That weekend, he’d done things to me I’d only read about. It had
started with my scarf as a blindfold. Then escalated to a spanking
that’d tipped me into my orgasm. To him tying me to the bed and
taking his sweet, torturous time kissing me all over. Hours fucking
me to the point of climax and stopping right as I was about to come.
He hadn’t allowed it until I was near tears aching for release.
 Excitement flickered in his eyes. He was also thinking of those
days and hours before I’d left.
“You want to punish me right now,” I whispered. “Because I hurt
you.”
The tendons in his neck tautened. “That was the only time I’ve
ever indulged that urge, and it drove you away. It disgusted Monica.”
When she’d walked in, I’d been secured to the bedframe with his
work ties. I wasn’t sure how long she’d stood there before we’d
noticed her. She must’ve seen him drag a spatula down my tummy
and then gently slap it on my bare pussy.
“Shame drove me away, yes. But I loved everything you did to
me.”
“What are you asking for, Kit?” He tilted my chin up with his
knuckle. “A spanking right here in the kitchen? With the staff coming
in and out, and Monica out front?”
Yes. “No, of course not,” I said through a stuttered breath.
“That’s too bad. The way you’re arching your tits toward me, I
thought maybe you were begging for something.”
I hadn’t even realized I’d bowed my back, driven by the
blossoming of my ever-present, sleeping ache for him. “Something,”
I repeated. “Anything. There’s almost nothing I wouldn’t let you do to
my body.”
His chest rumbled right before he took my shoulders and spun me
around. I didn’t have even a moment to relish his dominant grip
before he’d yanked my tight skirt up to my waist. A second later, my
thong shackled my thighs. A hard slap landed on my ass cheek, and
the sting was so long desired, so delicious, that I couldn’t help but
cry out.
“Mmm. I miss a woman who makes as much noise as you,” he
said in my ear.
Pleasure flooded me. This was where I’d wanted to be for so long
—back in Pierce’s possession. My thighs already trembled with
need.
 But . . . Monica. This wasn’t fair to her. She could walk in any
moment. “Please . . .”
“What are you asking for?”
“I don’t know.”
Pierce tugged the hem of my skirt back into place.
Disappointment warred with my conscience. He’d been overcome
just now, willing to risk everything. He still wanted me—but not as
badly as he used to.
My breath caught as his hand slipped between my legs and
moved down my inner thigh. The tantalizing scrape of his palm
against my sensitive skin made me squirm. I bit my bottom lip to
keep from degrading myself with pleas. His fist wrapped around the
crotch of my thong. I expected him to put it back in place, too, but
instead, he slipped it down around my ankles. “Step out.”
I looked back as I did, and he stuck my underwear in his pocket,
then stood. “These would make a good restraint.”
“You said it disgusted her.”
“Her?” he asked. “There is no her. No one else makes me like
this. Only you.”
As if the tremor in his voice didn’t make his arousal clear, he
moved his hips forward, probing my ass cheek with the hard,
enormous dick I regularly dreamed of.
He growled in my ear for the first time in too long. Under the
fluorescent lights, his hair alternated between smooth chestnut
brown and gritty dark blond. I fought the urge to wind my fingers
through it.
“Fuck,” he said, stepping back and making a fist against his scalp.
“It has to come from you, Kit. I won’t beg.”
In his eyes, I saw the same vulnerability he’d given me during our
illicit weekend together. Friday night, after we’d fucked in the kitchen,
we’d stood at the counter and pinched lo mein noodles from a
takeout box while swapping obscure movie memes. That might’ve
been the last time I’d seen him laugh. There’d been moans, mewls,
commands, smiles, licks, kisses—but as we’d lazed in his messy
sheets under a post-fuck haze of satisfaction and guilt, he hadn’t
laughed again. The weekend had drawn on, and it’d become too
heavy and real. Saturday, we’d made love. Night had fallen, the
clock had ticked down, and it’d turned to desperate fucking.
 
“I can’t let you go,” Pierce said in the early hours of Sunday
morning, somewhere between coming and sleeping. He hugged me
from behind. “I’m going to leave her. Stay, and we’ll tell her together.”
My heart leaped into my throat. If he left her, he and I would be
real. And I’d fuck it up. I’d break my closest friend’s heart and then
ruin the only man I’d ever truly loved. I could use all of that to justify
running away, but I’d never been this happy. So, I turned in Pierce’s
arms and touched his cheek. “Okay. I’ll stay.”
Betraying Monica wasn’t my worst crime. It was abandoning
Pierce in that apartment with her the moment things got hard. It was
letting the judgment on her face keep me away. I’d forced myself to
recall it many times as punishment. But while I’d once run from that
look, from Pierce, driven by fear—more terrifying was this dawning
realization that I never wanted to leave his orbit again.
Pierce stood a few feet away from me, hair disheveled, eyes
tormented as if he fought himself. Finally, his composure had
fissured. Finally, it wasn’t just my pathetic need filling the room.
This was the Pierce I’d gotten for an entire weekend, not the robot
out there.
“You won’t beg for what?” I asked. “What do you want?”
“A smoke,” he said, exhaling a sigh. “But I quit.”
“So did I.”
“Yet, I smell it on you. And it makes the memories so vivid, all but
erasing our year apart. What do I want?” he asked darkly. “I want to
come home and find you in the exact position I last had you.”
I inhaled deeply. Spread out on his bed, stripped of clothing,
undergarments, propriety, control. I could easily walk the few blocks
to his place and give him that, but he wouldn’t come through the
door alone. “I want that, too, Pierce,” I admitted, even though it was
hard to say. “But it’s also Monica’s bed. And I won’t do that to her
again.”
He frowned and opened his mouth. “What?”
I’d made many mistakes in how I’d handled things, none that I
wanted to repeat. But I’d never regretted being with Pierce. Even if
he doubted my faith in us, even if he and Monica were able to brush
the fact that he’d strayed under the rug and move on, I knew what
we’d had was real.
“I can’t betray Monica again,” I repeated. “But I can ask you to end
things with her. For real. For good.” I swallowed. “Stay in New York
with me, Pierce.”
Maybe it was the hypothalamus that made me say it. In response
to painful stimuli, it was a primary producer of endorphins, which
acted as a sort of anesthesia.
They masked pain long enough to clear the way for pleasure.
And perhaps hope.
Every moment Pierce didn’t send me away, he was more at risk of
enduring Monica’s wrath. To him, it was worth it. And I had to show
him that to me, he was worth fighting for.
My heart raced as I took a pen and pad from my apron and wrote
down my new phone number.
“You’re leaving,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
I ripped off the paper and handed it to him. “Find me when you’ve
decided. Choose me, Pierce, and I promise I’ll be yours.” I closed my
eyes a brief moment. “Even if you don’t pick me, and you leave with
her tomorrow—I’ll always be yours.”
He stared at the number. “Kit,” he said, but I was already walking
out of the kitchen, back into the party. Back to Monica.
 CHAPTER FOUR

MONICA PERCHED ON the sill of a large window on the opposite

side of the event space. I’d have to pay public penance to get to her.
Partygoers quieted as I wound through the crowd, exposed.
Emotionally, yes—Monica had seen to that. But my pussy, too.
Pierce had made sure of that. Though he’d barely touched me, I was
wet.
When I neared, Monica stood and brushed the seat of her dress
as if she’d been sitting in filth. At her back, the sun set over the
Manhattan skyline, bathing her blonde hair and cream satin dress in
shades of pink and orange.
She lifted her chin, and I braced myself for fury, irritation,
reprimand.
Suddenly, I wished I’d gone out the back. This was it, the
confrontation from which I’d run away and stayed away. I hadn’t
known how to deal with the fact that I’d deceived someone I’d called
a friend. But guilt had held me back too long. I had to do this for
Pierce, regardless of who he chose.
I stopped in front of her, my heart pounding. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” she asked. “Ruining my evening? Or fucking my
boyfriend?”
Ruining her evening? Hardly. I stopped myself from pointing out
that she relished any opportunity to feel superior. It hit me, then, that
I didn’t have any reasons left to be intimidated by or indebted to
Monica. She could no longer kick me to the curb or out my secret
crush on Pierce. Both things had already happened.
I actually wasn’t doing this for Pierce—but for myself. To forgive
myself. To recognize that with three people involved, it’d been unfair
of me to put all the blame on my own shoulders.
 “Consider our chance encounter a parting gift,” I said plainly. “You
got your spectacle, and you’re the victim in the eyes of all your
friends. But you’re not entirely blameless here.”
She pursed her lips in a way that elongated her high cheekbones.
“Well, Kit. You’ve changed. I don’t think for the better.”
To her, better would mean making myself even smaller. I wouldn’t
have said, before tonight, that the last year had changed me for the
better. But maybe my standing here was proof it had. “I didn’t know
this was your event, but I’m glad it is.”
“You’re glad?”
I shifted feet, wishing I could open the window and get a
September breeze. “Things went too far with Pierce last year. I didn’t
plan it, but I didn’t stop it, either. We shouldn’t have gone behind
your back.” I balled my fists to hide my slight trembling. I wished for
Pierce’s comforting grip on some part of me—my neck, my biceps,
my waist, wrist, ankle—anything. “I’m not sorry it happened, though.
I love Pierce, and I have for a long time.”
She blinked mascara-heavy lashes but didn’t look shocked by the
admission. “You call that an apology?”
“I don’t know. It’s just the truth.” At only the thought of Pierce’s
hands on me, with just the sliver of hope that I might get that again,
my heart rate stabilized. “I wish I’d been brave enough to stay and
face you both. I should’ve talked to you that morning like an adult,
but I was so ashamed. It kept me from coming back and
apologizing.”
She glanced to the side. “Well, you’ll be happy to hear I barely
thought of you after that day.”
I doubted that was true, but it could’ve been, because there was
no hurt on her face. Only contempt. As if she’d predicted all of this
would happen. I found it more likely that she had thought of me,
though, and fantasized about the moment she’d get to revel in my
repentance.
Maybe that was partly why I’d been so fearful of her. She’d acted
better than me, and she’d had what I’d wanted. It was easier to
believe I was the sole villain and slip quietly away.
“Well, I thought of you,” I said. “I wondered why you never
acknowledged what was happening between Pierce and me.
Whether you were in denial, or if you just enjoyed toying with me to
watch me squirm. Maybe both.”
“Nonsense,” she said but had the decency to blush a little. She
picked up her wine from the windowsill. “Is that all? I have guests to
attend to.”
“No. One more thing,” I blurted.
Silence crackled as she waited for me to continue, and I worked
up the nerve to fight for Pierce the way he and I, and even Monica,
deserved.
“Back then, I kept my feelings to myself thinking that was the right
thing,” I said. “It wasn’t. Painful truths heal faster than the untreated
wounds left by comforting lies. I see that now, and I’ve asked Pierce
not to go to Paris. To choose me. And if he doesn’t, I’ll keep fighting
for him. I love him.”
Her eyebrows shot up. Finally, it would come—her overdue wrath.
But she only lifted one slender shoulder. “Pierce is a grown man. It’s
his decision if he wants to adopt a stray.”
Because I half-expected the insult, I refrained from flinching, even
though she cut deep. She knew I’d been moved around often as a
child, and had sought acceptance anywhere I could get it, like some
kind of stray animal. A demeaning exercise that’d persisted into
adulthood, especially once glamorous Monica had taken me in. But
Pierce—equally as dazzling and with the same capability to
intimidate—had never made me feel like an outsider. And I realized I
didn’t have to endure it from her anymore. I’d said what I’d needed
to. I’d apologized, and I’d been honest.
Adrenaline coursed through me, but not with the urge to flee—
only the knowledge that I wasn’t going to.
And ironically, that meant I could go. So I turned and left the party.
 •••

After walking through my front door, I exhaled with relief and

removed my aching feet from my heels. The rush I’d gotten from
asking Pierce to stay and confronting Monica began to wear off, but
my hands still shook as I unbuttoned my stiff white shirt. I’d never
needed a cigarette more. I crossed my studio apartment, unclasped
my bra, unzipped my skirt, and tossed everything in the direction of
the hamper.
Naked, not a shred of clothing on me, I recalled Pierce’s words
from earlier.
“I want to come home and find you in the exact position I last had
you.”
I stared at my bed with a senseless urge to do as he wished, even
though he’d never know.
Instead, I grabbed a pack of smokes hidden in my closet for
emergencies and opened my one and only window. Instead of going
onto the fire escape, I sat my bare ass lengthwise on the roomy
ledge, one naked half in my apartment, the other exposed to
Manhattan. I’d never sat out here nude, but if my neighbors cared
enough to look, well . . . whatever. They’d seen weirder things living
in this city.
After lighting a cigarette, I pulled my knees to my chest. I nearly
whimpered remembering that Pierce still had my thong in his pocket.
Perhaps tucked into his palm as he made small talk with guests. He
knew just how to own me when we weren’t even in the same room.
I glanced at my basic metal bedframe. It didn’t even have posts to
be tied to. Would my twin mattress even allow me to spread my legs
wide enough for Pierce’s viewing pleasure? I could test that in
seconds.
More senseless urges.
That was what made everything about Pierce terrifying. I could
recall him through sight, sound, smell, taste, and touch. But giving in
to love turned a person utterly senseless. How could I feel safe in a
space where the ground under my feet might disappear at any
moment? I supposed safety wasn’t the point. It was surrender to the
unknown. It was faith. It was love.
Pierce couldn’t walk through the door tonight; he didn’t even know
where I lived now. I had no reason to get into the position he wanted
me. Not that I hadn’t done stupider things in his absence—mainly,
not being able to completely kick my smoking habit, just so I could
occasionally feel close to him.
I held out my cigarette. Ashes formed at the tip. I had to quit for
good, regardless of Pierce’s decision. It was time. Tonight’s hit of
painful memories would be the last. They would help me fake my
faith in love until the morning.
When my front door slammed, I whipped my gaze inside. My
heart stopped with a silhouette in the entryway, feet apart in a
predatorial stance. Even recognizing the broad shoulders and sharp
jawline, my amygdala signaled danger.
But my instinct wasn’t to run.
For once, it was a thrill to be cornered.
 CHAPTER FIVE

PIERCE WAS HERE. In my apartment. Real, solid, towering . . .

angry?
“You left again,” he grated out.
When I overcame the shock of an intruder and caught my breath,
I shook my head. “I wasn’t—that wasn’t running away. I was giving
you space to decide—”
“Bullshit.”
I swallowed through a mix of excitement and fear as he advanced,
slipping his glasses into his suit jacket.
“You were almost there,” he said. “You stayed, asked me to stay.
You strapped on your boxing gloves, confronted Monica—and you
fled. You’re scared, even now, a shivering little kitten halfway out the
door.”
Fuck him for always being able to read me, even in the dark.
“What else could I have done?” I asked. “Should I throw myself at
your feet and beg you to pick me?”
“If that’s what it takes.”
“I would. That’s what scares me,” I said quietly. One command
from him, and I’d fall to my knees. “It’s too easy to be with a man
who isn’t mine. Too easy and too hard.”
He stopped inches from me. “Is it easy or hard to be with me
now?”
I couldn’t help my gaze from falling to the outline that bulged
against the fly of his trousers. Hard. Very hard. I knew how
unrelentingly hard he could get, how hard he could shove that huge
cock into me. My insides coiled nice and tight at the thought. “How’d
you find me?”
 “Your friend Jillian. I wasn’t going to let you escape again.” He
took the cigarette from me and, after a drag, leaned past me to stub
it out on the mesh frame. His suit fabric brushed my arm as he spoke
close to my ear. “Should’ve been in position, waiting for me.”
My nipples hardened. Pierce could’ve found me legs open, ready
to be used.
“I promised myself I wouldn’t chase you,” he said, righting himself.
Standing over me. “Right up until the moment I walked out of the
party. I couldn’t be there knowing you were here. Waiting.”
He was right. Senselessly, without reason, I’d been hoping for a
man who wasn’t mine to show up at an address he didn’t know.
“And yes,” he added, scanning my bare body. “I know you’ve been
waiting. I can practically smell your arousal, and I’d stake my life on
the fact that you’re wet.”
I lost my breath. “I have been since you spanked me.”
“I know, Kitty. I’d slide right in, wouldn’t I?”
The tender ache between my legs grew. He probably knew that,
too, considering the rare but dangerously easy smirk on his face.
“No. You won’t,” I said through a rasp. “Because if you walked out
in the middle of the party, that means you didn’t break up with
Monica.”
“Hmm. Are you close with Jillian?” he asked, reminding me with
the subject change that he was in charge of this conversation.
“Yes . . .”
“But?” he asked. “You’re holding something back.”
I glanced at the dying embers on the fire escape. “It’s . . . difficult.
To get close to anyone.”
“I may be hurt, Kit, but I don’t want that for you. I . . .” As his words
trailed off, I raised my eyes back to his. He started to reach out, but
stopped and cleared his throat. “Jillian also said she’s leaving for
Hollywood in two days, and you’re invited to go with her.”
Ah. Bringing up Jillian wasn’t a shift in topic after all. Pierce
needed more reassurance before he ended things with Monica. His
faith, too, was shaky. It frustrated me that he’d stayed with her in the
first place, but regardless, I was ready to commit, without wavering,
for once in my life. “My mom dragged me all over the country looking
for home. You’re it, Pierce. Whether you want to be or not. Whether
you shut me out in the cold and make me beg for scraps—even if
you leave with Monica, and I never see you again. You’re my home.”
His jaw worked side to side. “Well, had you stayed at the party,
you would’ve learned that Monica and I are not together. Had you
stayed a year ago, you would’ve known that she moved out the day
she found you in our bed.”
Moved out? For a year? My heart skipped. “You . . . you broke
up?”
“It pains me that you thought I could stay with her after the time
you and I spent together,” he said with a scowl. “The affair was the
catalyst, but it opened a long overdue conversation between Monica
and me. It was mutual.”
I tried to temper my impending excitement. Surely, I was missing
something. I hadn’t fantasized them together earlier. “But the party.
You were there together. She kissed you.”
“When?” he asked, eyebrows lowering. “On the cheek? We’re still
friends, Kit. Closer now than we were as a couple. More honest,
anyway.”
Seeing them together at the party had been surprising. This made
more sense. Until I remembered the theme. Bon Voyage. According
to Monica, Pierce had a flight tomorrow. “But what about Paris?”
“I won’t go.”
Just like that? Before I could press him on it, a light switched on in
the next apartment building, and a man peered through the window.
“Don’t let your neighbors look at what’s mine,” Pierce rumbled.
“Turn, and keep your knees to your chest.”
My stomach fluttered to hear him call me his. I swiveled to face
him and uncrossed just my ankles. “Now what?”
“Now, I look at you,” he said. “I love just looking at you. I haven’t
gotten to do enough of that.”
 I knew what he meant. I could picture Pierce naked and tall with
that menacing thing between his legs, even at rest. But I’d only
actually seen him that way for a brief moment in time. I loved him in
his urbane, tailored black suit, but asked, “Will you undress, too?”
“No.”
Chills lit over my skin. He probably liked how his suit made him
seem bigger, while I was completely nude. Out on a limb, waiting for
him to shove me off. To drag the tip of a blade between my breasts
before he slipped it between my ribs. Hurt me like I’d hurt him.
Maybe he didn’t know that I’d also broken my own heart by leaving.
Pierce watched me with dark, dancing eyes. He read the thoughts
in my head. Vulnerability did not come easily to me. It was torture to
sit here and stew in it. But he knew that.
“You go out there naked, where others can see,” he said. “You
come home after dark and forget to lock your front door. I worry,
Christine. I worry about you all the time.”
If his thickened tone and drawn eyebrows weren’t indication
enough of his sincerity, his use of my given name told me he was
serious.
I tilted my head back, looked up his long body, and met his eyes.
“You don’t need to worry. I’m not your problem.”
His eyebrows lowered even more. “You are my fucking problem.”
God, it almost sounded like begging. As if he needed me. As if I
was his to worry about, and he was mine to take care of. I wanted to
ease the pain in his eyes—pain I had caused.
I still had questions. Had he meant what he’d said, that he
wouldn’t go to Paris? Why was he moving there in the first place?
Monica certainly wasn’t the one accepting a job offer. She had a
thriving law career in America, and she’d have to start all over again
in another country. So, the party wasn’t for her, and it wasn’t for
them. That left Pierce on a flight out tomorrow.
But right now he was here. And maybe leaving me with
unanswered questions was the point. I would have to let go and let
love without guarantees.
 “If you go to Paris, I’ll keep fighting for us,” I said. “I’ll find a way.”
“Kitty.” He took my chin in one large hand the way he used to. I
wanted my hair wrapped around his fist. Those long fingers thrusting
inside me. Pushing into my mouth, making me taste myself. “I just
told you. If it means that much to you, I won’t go to Paris.”
I didn’t expect him to make the decision now, in the heat of the
moment, but oh, how I hoped that was true. Because every nerve in
me vibrated with need. Starved for him, I blindly unzipped his slacks,
holding his gaze until I could no longer resist looking. The naked,
unsheathed beast strained to be released. I let it free, and he inhaled
sharply.
I’d only sucked him off twice in my life, but I’d recounted the
details over and over after I’d left so I wouldn’t forget. The second
time, he’d ordered my hands behind my back. Now, I clasped them
at the base of my spine. My nipples, already hard, turned to stone as
I met his ravenous gaze.
Gently, he squeezed my jaw, and my lips parted. He slid the tip of
himself between them, over my tongue. I tried to get more, but he
held me firmly in place. Once he was halfway in, I closed my mouth
on him, and he groaned. “Good. Good girl.”
He released me, and I took him deeper.
“Christine,” he said with all the yearning and hurt he could pack
into my name. “It’s been too long.”
I’d make it all up to him by sucking him dry. I bobbed my head on
him, flattened my tongue for his shaft, gripped my hands so tightly
behind my back, there couldn’t have been a drop of blood left in
them. It was an art, giving a blowjob without anything to hold on to,
and he knew it. He liked my struggle.
He grasped my cheeks and took over, thrusting to the back of my
throat, deeper than I could get on my own. So deep that my
obedience broke, and I grabbed onto his wool pants. Finally, he was
back inside me for real. Consuming me outwardly the way he had
inwardly for so long. I loved his domination of my mouth, the bold
way he’d waltzed through the front door knowing I’d let him take
what he wanted.
His hands slid into my hair. He cradled my head like he was
preparing to study my brain. Instead, the composed, heralded,
serious neuroscientist that I loved thrust his cock in my mouth until I
gagged. “I have dreamed of fucking your mouth again,” he said. My
throat constricted around his crown before he jerked and withdrew.
“If you’re trying to make me come before you, you know that won’t
work.”
Gasping for air, saliva on my chin, I stared up at him, all broad
and big, sheathed in his perfect suit as I sat there waiting for his
command.
But I knew what he wanted next.
Where he wanted to bury himself and finish.
I coughed a little, working out my jaw. “Did you bring a condom?”
“No.”
Disappointment was instant. I wanted it as much as he did, if not
more. “I don’t have any.”
He tilted his head. “Why not? Some undeserving bastard took the
last one?”
I shook my head. “I haven’t been with anyone since you.”
“What?” He stooped to take my waist and hoisted me over his
shoulder.
“Pierce,” I exclaimed as my eyes met his tight ass in suit trousers.
“You’ve been waiting that long?” he asked. “That’s a crime, Kitty. I
need something to fuck you on now.” He wandered around the
studio. “Your tiny bed’s not big or tall enough.”
“But the condom.” He’d been fastidious about using one the last
time we’d been together. “You’re going to pull out?”
“I’ve half a mind to knock you up and bind you to me for good.”
I bit my bottom lip hard as desire ripped through me. I’d never
heard him say such a thing. It was wrong, but the ache inside me
gaped wider, hungrier.
 He chose the bathroom, setting my ass on the sink. Maybe
because it was the ugliest place for us to sin. Or maybe, I realized as
he flipped on a light, because there was a full-length mirror on one
wall. I could watch as he hooked large hands under my knees and
spread them wide. As he slid me to the edge, lining me up perfectly
for his utter destruction.
He glanced at our reflection, too. With my hips pulled forward on
the small counter, my back rested against the wall. He had me
pinned there, a helpless, naked girl, waiting to be impaled by a fully
dressed man. Only his huge dick was out, pink and veiny and
throbbing as he began to push it inside me. Slow.
Too slow.
“Oh.” I writhed to try to get him deeper. “Oh, God. Pierce.”
“What is it?” he asked. “Why are you mewling like a little cat?”
I looked him in the eye, grateful I could finally see his beautiful
face with the lights on. “It’s been so long. Just do it.”
His hands moved to my hips, where he dug his fingers into my
skin and pulled me onto him with a punishing thrust.
Finally.
“Yes.” I moaned, filled by him. “More.”
He gripped me and drove hard, deep, again and again. It was so
good, so, so good—too good. Without thinking, I fisted his lapels and
brought him to me.
He dipped his head and froze, his mouth hovering over mine.
Please, I silently begged. One small kiss, and I’ll never ask for
anything again.
He didn’t have to give it to me, but I could see he wanted to.
I put my palm to his face.
His jaw clenched under my touch, and he pressed his mouth to
mine. He parted the seam of my lips with the tip of his tongue, and
we opened to each other.
I’d never not recognize the inside of his mouth, the flavor of our
mingling saliva. I sighed into his warm, hungry kiss.
 Our tongues searched, plunged, mapped—familiar territory to be
recharted while I deftly undid his tie. Slid it off. Unbuttoned his shirt
and ran my palms through the curls on his broad chest. I had to
pause a moment as I got choked up. It was one thing to submit, to
be fucked by him. But to kiss him? Touch his hot skin? They were
gifts worth savoring.
“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” he murmured with tenderness I’d
been missing for a year.
I kept my eyes closed, and my mouth where I could feel his warm
breath. “Maybe it’s too soon to say this, but I really did love you, and
I still do.”
He hesitated. “How could it be too soon, when it’s the only thing
I’ve wanted to hear for so long?”
That answer should’ve sufficed. And yet, unfairly, I hoped he’d say
it back now that I’d put everything on the line for him. My chin
wobbled as I opened my eyes and finished unbuttoning his shirt. I
pushed it off with his blazer, then opened his belt. “Please, be naked
with me.”
Without pulling out, he managed to shed his pants. I hugged his
neck and watched in the mirror as he rolled his hips. I wrapped my
legs around him to pull him deeper. I craved him this way, leaning his
hands on the counter, dropping his forehead to my shoulder as he
picked up his pace, his ass clenching deliciously with each thrust.
My orgasm was already close to the edge. It’d lived there since
his last touch, waiting for him. Watching us fuck brought it on fast. He
drew back to look me in the face, his gold-flecked eyes reading me
clearly.
“Please, Benjamin,” I begged, remembering I’d once gotten him to
relent by using his name in my most excruciating throes of
desperation. “Let me have it.”
“Mmm. I’ll give it to you this time, since you’ve been so patient
and so clearly deprived,” he said. “But you’re going to have to work
for the next one.”
 He kissed me hard. Knowing what was coming, I gripped his
shoulders and held on. His fucking took on a new fervor. A new
purpose. Make me come. I swallowed his groans. He picked me up,
pinned me against a wall, and nailed me to it, fast and relentless,
until my tightly coiled body sprang open, my orgasm blossoming
from where we connected, spreading out to every part of me.
“You’re so fucking open when you come,” he uttered as my climax
peaked. “So soft, yet so tight. So giving, yet so greedy. I can’t wait
much longer.”
“Don’t wait,” I breathed.
“Where do you want it?” he asked in my ear, his voice full of
gravel as he continued to pound into me. “Tits? Stomach? Face? Tell
me quick.”
“No, no, no.” I gripped his cheeks and drew back to look him in
the eye. “I want it in me.”
My pussy spasmed again, as if I could come just at saying the
words. The thought of claiming me must’ve done something to him,
too. His whole body jerked, and with another plunge, he came fast
and slippery, filling me with liquid heat.
“Fuck. I didn’t mean to . . .” His face fell into the crook of my neck,
his breath warming my skin. “Fuck.”
We stayed that way a few moments. Every now and then he’d
draw back and thrust again, as if milking every last drop into me.
Once he’d softened, he kissed my temple. My cheek. The corner of
my mouth. “I haven’t been with anyone either,” he said quietly.
That seemed both a given and impossible. How could a man like
him go hungry? Yet how could either of us fathom touching someone
else? The wait was undoubtedly worth it. I knew he felt the same, but
I was too afraid to ask if he also regretted it. Any of it . . . all of it. His
inability to stay away, the impulsive declaration that he’d stay in New
York, his abstinence, our unprotected sex.
Voiced regrets might put an end to this, and I wanted to stay
intertwined with him as long as possible.
 He carried me to the bed and settled on top of me. He didn’t tell
me again that he’d stay, but he didn’t leave, either. We made love
over and over, until light crept in, and we could no longer keep our
eyes open.
 CHAPTER SIX

I AWOKE IN a panic as dawn broke through my window. My brain,

miles ahead of my body, feared Pierce had gone. But strong arms
clutched me to a warm body, so close that neither of us hit the edge
of the twin mattress. The late-summer sunrise turned the room
orange, bright enough that I could count every one of Pierce’s long,
fluttering lashes if I wanted. But I only got to five before I dozed
again.
And when I next woke, I was calm. Relaxed. Sated.
Alone.
The room wasn’t orange anymore, but a dull gray-blue as the
building across the street already blocked the sun.
I sat up, cleaning sleep from my eyes as I looked for a note. There
wasn’t one. Not on the pillow or the nightstand. No trace of Pierce
anywhere, as if I’d dreamed the whole thing.
My sore pussy and stiff limbs told me I hadn’t.
My aching heart swore it’d been real. A fresh start for us.
But could it have been the closure he’d needed?
No. I wouldn’t accept that. If Pierce had changed his mind about
Paris, if he needed more faith in us, then I only had one option. I had
to find him before he left.
I grabbed my phone and called what I hoped was still Pierce’s
number. Voicemail. My heart dropped. I leaped out of the bed, pulled
on the first t-shirt and jeans I saw, and grabbed my wallet before
running downstairs to hail a taxi.
Once in the backseat, the driver stared at me in the rearview
mirror. “Address?”
 I didn’t know the details of Pierce’s flight, except that it was
sometime today. It wouldn’t make sense to randomly pick between
JFK or LaGuardia airport so I relayed Pierce’s address, hoping to
catch him before he left.
The driver threw me a wary glance before pulling away from the
curb. Perhaps I’d left too hastily. I could’ve probably afforded a
minute to pee. To fix the havoc last night’s makeup had surely
wreaked. To grab a bra. And maybe some coffee.
Should’ve also charged my phone. Apparently, I’d used the last of
my battery on the call, because it was dead. Swept up in Pierce, I’d
forgotten to charge it overnight. He had, too—maybe that was why
I’d gotten his voicemail, I thought, grasping at shreds of hope. At
least the line wasn’t disconnected.
As we stopped at a building I knew well, I handed the cabbie a
twenty and entered the lobby.
The doorman, Terry, jumped up from his seat. “If it isn’t Christine!”
He was my age, and we’d become friendly over the times I’d hung
out at Monica and Pierce’s place. “In the flesh.”
“I kept thinking I’d see you again after Monica left.” He grinned.
“Looks like Mr. Pierce finally came to his senses.”
My cheeks heated. Had our connection really been that obvious
back then? “Is he upstairs?”
“Nah.” Terry shrugged. “Left for the airport already.”
Blood drained from my face as my heart plummeted. Pierce was
gone?
Twenty-four hours ago, having him wasn’t even a possibility. Yet I
felt the loss acutely. I couldn’t give up, though.
I pinched the bridge of my nose to stem a wave of tears. Before I
could ask Terry if he knew which airport, he held out a key.
“But don’t worry. Mr. Pierce said you might stop by.”
What? That made no sense.
Maybe seeing my confusion, Terry said, “It’s a spare. Go on up.”
 My stomach churned as I walked to the elevator. A rush of old
emotions came over me while I rode to the tenth floor as I’d done
many times with Pierce and Monica.
Longing for a man who was turning out to be everything I wanted.
Guilt for wishing he was mine as I shared meals, opinions, and
friendship with his girlfriend.
Shame that I was envious of her.
That was all over now, though. Wasn’t it? I was working through
those feelings instead of avoiding them. That wouldn’t change just
because I had to continue alone.
I didn’t know what I’d find in Pierce’s apartment—if anything. It
should’ve been empty.
But although Monica’s presence had been erased, his belongings
remained. I walked into the warmly lit, two-bedroom penthouse that
had a brick fireplace, herringbone wood floors, and a balcony with a
Park Avenue view. A space that was surprisingly cozy for a
penthouse and not nearly as pretentious as it could’ve been
considering Pierce’s salary.
A note sat squarely on the dining table.
Make yourself at home.
Was it for me? Terry seemed to think so. In the kitchen, I found a
pot of coffee, still warm. Hmm. Well, I never turned down caffeine. I
poured myself a mug and added milk from a half-full bottle. Either
Pierce was horrible at leaving the country or he was coming back.
Soon. I selfishly hoped both were true.
After a few sips of coffee, I worked up the courage to go into the
master. Partly to look for a phone charger, and partly to . . .
remember.
I confronted the bed with sheets I’d once sullied by wantonly
fucking its owner. It thrilled me to know the made bed had gone
undisturbed all night. Pierce hadn’t come home to sleep. I could still
feel his arms tightly around me not hours ago. I set down my coffee
and phone, stripped down, and lay on my back, hoping to feel close
to Pierce. Reaching behind me, I wrapped my fingers around the
cool metal posts at both corners, knowing already that they were
solid enough to restrain a lover squirming for relief.
When a key slid in the front door, old fears reared in me, close to
the surface in my current state. It was irrational to think it could be
Monica, but she’d been the last person I’d known to come through
that door.
Maybe she was housesitting while Pierce was away. Maybe the
note and coffee had been for her.
But what if Pierce wasn’t on his way to Paris? On the remote
chance it was his keys I heard hitting the counter, I stayed where I
was. Gripping the bedframe. Legs spread to each corner. Tits and
eyes aimed at the ceiling.
My stomach quivered with each heartbeat as footsteps
approached the bedroom.
His presence filled the room before I even let myself look. Thank
God.
My eyes traveled from the ceiling to meet Pierce’s hungry, naked
gaze. “You’re here,” he said, his voice deeper than usual. “Just as I
last had you.”
It hit me all at once. Pierce had my entire body and heart in his
hands. And perhaps most anxiety-inducing, the thoughts in my brain
—an organ he knew better than nearly anyone else in the world.
“Where were you?” I asked as my limbs fatigued and trembled with
relief. “I woke up and you were gone. Terry said you went to the
airport.”
“Hush.” Pierce strode to sit at the edge of the bed. “Come here.”
“You said you wanted to find me like this.”
“And now I want you in my arms.”
I wanted that, too. So much. But I needed to know once his arms
surrounded me, they’d stay there. I sat up and pulled my t-shirt back
on. “Not until you tell me what’s going on,” I said. “I was worried
you’d changed your mind and left.”
“For Paris?” He cocked his head. “I told you I wouldn’t.”
 “But how can you undo such a huge life decision just like that?” I
frowned. “Why isn’t your apartment packed? What about the job
offer?”
Wrinkles formed between Pierce’s brows as he searched my
eyes. “I’m lost, Kit. Did you think it was my job offer? That I was
moving to Paris?”
Relief began to filter in with the hope that I’d been terribly wrong.
“You’re not?”
The lines in his face eased as he gave me a rare smile. “No, Kitty.
Just Monica. She got a position in-house with a French corporation,
and—you really don’t know any of this?”
I shook my head. “How would I? I showed up last night to work a
Bon Voyage party, and there you were, giving a toast about Paris.”
He took my hand and squeezed. “I wish you’d asked. Monica
debated over the decision for months. She’d been
uncharacteristically nervous about such a big move and career shift,
so I put together a party to see her off.” He arched a brow. “And also
offered to help her move in. I was set to fly to Paris with her this
morning and spend next week getting her adjusted—”
I covered my mouth. “That’s why you were going to the airport?”
He brought my palm to his lips. “When you asked me to stay in
New York,” he said, warm breath on the inside of my hand, “I just
thought you didn’t want me traveling with an ex. So I only took her as
far as the airport.”
I’d assumed so much worse. I groaned with embarrassment. “She
was counting on you.”
“She’s a big girl. She understood.” He nipped the meat of my palm
and winked. “Not to say she’s not resentful and perhaps a bit
envious.”
“Monica. Envious,” I said, stunned. “Of me.”
“As anyone should be of my perfect little cat.”
I nearly purred with his adulation. “Pierce—”
 “Hearing you practically demand that I stay with you instead . . .”
He tugged me closer by my wrist, until our faces were inches apart.
“It’s made me the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”
I brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “You have a weird way
of showing it.”
He chuckled darkly. “You knew that about me. Didn’t you see my
note this morning?”
“No. I looked everywhere.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I left it the one place I knew you’d see it.
The coffeemaker.”
Damn. I knew I should’ve grabbed a cup to go. “What’d it say?”
He thumbed the corner of my mouth and bit his lip as if resisting a
kiss. “To meet at my place when you woke up. I would’ve texted
sooner, but my phone died.”
“So did mine.”
“Ah. Then if you didn’t see my note or text, why’d you come?”
“To stop you from leaving.”
A glimmer sparked in his ever-solemn gaze. “How can I leave
someone I’m hopelessly in love with?”
Love. My heart filled, recognizing the sincerity in his words. He
loved me. I touched his stubbly face with wonder. “I’m asking myself
the same thing. But that reminds me. Jillian—”
He frowned. “That’s what you’re thinking of as I declare my love?”
I grinned. “I’m supposed to take her to the airport tomorrow, and
it’s a promise I refuse to break. But you have my word, I’m not—”
His lips landed on mine, shutting me up with a hard kiss. “You’re
not going anywhere, Christine Kitson,” he said against my mouth.
His fingers twined in my hair. “Neither am I.”
I simultaneously shuddered and smiled with the grit in his voice.
“You only use my full name when you’re serious.” I drew back to take
in the man I’d loved for so long, and who was finally mine. “I love
you, Benjamin Pierce. What now?”
 “Now, I look at you,” he said. “I love just looking at you. I haven’t
gotten to do enough of that.”
Whether he’d meant to or not—and I suspected he did, as he
always acted with purpose—Pierce had taught me to stay and fight.
To push through the bad so the good could keep getting better. To
slow down, stop, and smell the roses. So I inhaled deeply and
committed the scent to memory.

•••

To read a bonus scene with Pierce and Kit, visit

www.jessicahawkins.net/twomoredays
 MORE FROM JESSICA HAWKINS
If you enjoyed Stray, you’re probably an angstophile. Get your angst
fix with more forbidden love, age-gap romance, and slow burn
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 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jessica Hawkins is a USA Today bestselling author known for her
“emotionally gripping” and “off-the-charts hot” romance. Dubbed
“queen of angst” by both peers and readers for her smart and
provocative work, she’s garnered a cult-like following of fans who
love to be torn apart…and put back together.
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 A HOME FOR HOBGOBLINS

 
ERIC R. ASHER
TWO MORE DAYS until it happens. That’s what Vicky had told
herself. Two days was a long time. She’d survived a few years as a
ghost—well, maybe survived wasn’t the right word, but two days felt
like an eternity. Instead, two days vanished in the blink of an eye,
and she knew it was time to see a vampire about a hobgoblin
problem.
They’d all been through hell and back in the past weeks, traveling
between worlds, losing friends, and finally pulling that stubborn-ass
necromancer back from the Abyss. Things wouldn’t be the same,
Vicky knew, but she couldn’t leave Damian behind. Not to die in
darkness and shadow. Not when he’d been the one to give her a
new life.
The amorphous blob of black fur sitting on her shoulder rumbled
and butted up against her cheek. Commoners, the non-magic folk of
the world, would never suspect Jasper was a shapeshifting dragon,
and an impatient dragon at that.
“I know, I know.” She scratched Jasper between his two huge
black eyes.
Sam, Damian’s sister, wouldn’t have requested Vicky’s help if she
didn’t need it, and Vicky didn’t want to let her down. She’d never
personally dealt with hobgoblins, but Sam was adamant the ones
who had invaded her home had all but asked for Vicky by name.
That didn’t make much sense, being that she wasn’t Fae herself,
and as far as she knew, hobgoblins didn’t have an interest in her
history with the Burning Lands. But Sam hadn’t been able to tell her
more—they only wanted to speak to the dragon rider.
Vicky took a deep breath and rang the doorbell on the front of the
old two-story mansion. It wasn’t that the vampires who lived there
were overly ostentatious, for the most part, but something about the
shadowy windows above the garage, and the looming columns that
framed the porch, gave her the creeps. It didn’t matter. A deal was a
deal, and she’d promised Sam she’d come by.
 The deadbolt snapped and the door creaked open, exposing a
shadowy interior. One of the vampires’ enforcers stood just inside, a
somewhat threatening expression etched across his pale face
beneath closely buzzed hair.
“Hey, Dominic!”
The steel in the vampire’s gaze softened, then he looked around.
“Are you alone?”
“It’s just me and Jasper. I’m supposed to meet Sam here. Is she
in?”
Dominic stepped to the side. As heavily muscled as he was, he
might as well have been a wall. “Come in. I am sure she will be
happy to see you.”
“How’s Vik doing?”
Dominic closed the door behind Vicky and grunted in response.
She understood. The vampire lord had nearly died in battle a few
days earlier. It had cost him an arm and left him a little grumpy.
“Graybeard is here as well,” Dominic said, his voice echoing
around the sweeping staircase as they made their way to the
basement. “I admit the rum he brought was a kind gift for Vik.”
Vicky grinned at that. Graybeard was a parrot. Well, a dead
parrot. And a dead pirate. One of Damian’s necromantic mishaps
when he was young. Stuffing the soul of a pirate into a dead parrot
hadn’t pleased his family much. It amused Vicky greatly that
Damian’s mom, a commoner, still often referred to Graybeard as “the
bird.”
As if on cue, Vicky heard the undead bird’s stuttering cackle.
“Graybeard couldn’t help with the hobgoblins?”
Dominic let out a long sigh. “They refuse to speak to anyone but
the dragon rider, and Vik said it is bad luck to simply eat them all.”
Vicky nodded as she eyed the silver coat of arms hung on one of
the walls, intricate letters carved into the blades in a language she
didn’t recognize, much less understand. “Why here? Why not come
to my house if they wanted to speak to me?”
 A blur sped down the hall and stopped just in front of her. “Thank
God you’re here. If I have to live with these bastards knocking on the
walls at all hours, I’m going to—”
“Hi,” Vicky said, interrupting Sam and giving her an awkward
smile.
Sam ran her fingers through her dark hair, and for a moment,
Vicky thought the vampire was about to rip half of that hair out. “It’s
been a rough couple days. I have hobgoblins in my room, Vicky.”
“Why? How?”
Sam rubbed her forehead. “I don’t know. They came through the
wall and, well, I may have punted one of them across the room
before I realized they weren’t attacking me.”
“They are quite durable,” Dominic said. “Unlike the garden
statuary.”
Vicky frowned at the enforcer, unsure what, exactly, he was
referring to.
“Come on, come on,” Sam said, taking Vicky’s wrist and dragging
her down the hall. They stopped at the door to Sam’s room, and
Vicky could just make out the low chatter coming from inside before
Sam pushed the door open.
Vicky blinked as she took a hesitant step into the bright yellow
room lined with cat posters. She was fairly sure every cat meme
from the past decade was on display, and the cheery paint felt
remarkably out of place in a Pit of vampires.
It was almost enough to distract her from the garden gnomes
socializing all around the room. The walking, talking, shouting
garden gnomes.
“What … the … fuck?” Vicky whispered. “Garden gnomes?”
“Excuse me?” the tallest of them asked, the top of his brilliant red
hat not standing more than two feet off the ground. “We are
hobgoblins, thank you very much.”
The garden gnomes, err, hobgoblins fell silent and turned their
attention to Vicky. She gave them an awkward wave.
 “Not only the dragon rider, but the dragon himself!” The hobgoblin
took off his cap and held it over his heart. “An honor, it is. If you be
needing a sacrifice, I will volunteer.”
“A sacrifice?”
“Aye, for your dragon, of course.”
Vicky looked at the furball perched on her shoulder. Jasper
flashed a wide maw of silver fangs until she scowled at him. Then he
closed his mouth and went back to purring like a kitten.
Vicky looked down at the tallest of the hobgoblins again. “Why do
you need me?”
“The Demon Sword, valiant as he may be, could not tear himself
away from his nap to assist us!”
“Foster?”
“Foster? Nay, Lady Dragon Rider. The knight named Drake.”
“Drake?” Sam asked, and Vicky didn’t miss the note of
exasperation. “If this is some joke that son of a bitch decided to play
on the Pit …”
“You see what we have been dealing with, Lady Dragon Rider?
This vampire does not know when to listen instead of speak.”
“I will eat you,” Sam growled.
“Rude. And impatient. I expect rudeness from the undead, but the
lack of patience is unusual. Perhaps that is why we are drawn to her.
An anomaly among the vampires.”
“Woo boy.” Vicky rubbed her hands together. “See, that’s
considered rude, saying things like that.”
The hobgoblin raised an eyebrow as he put his hat back on.
“Truly?” He placed both hands over his heart. “I, Nog, leader of these
fine hobgoblins, offer my deepest apologies.”
His apology was so dry, Vicky wasn’t sure if he was being sincere,
or just trying to die by sending Sam into a violent rage.
“Okay, I’m sure Sam is silently thanking you and not plotting your
violent murder. But please, why are you here?”
“You will treat with us?” Nog asked.
 “Yes …” Vicky said, drawing out the word.
The entire room of hobgoblins clapped, and Vicky couldn’t shake
the reminder of a quiet golf clap. It was … creepy.
Vicky looked around at the hobgoblins, each wearing slouched
caps of various colors, overalls, and carrying lanterns, pickaxes,
canvas sacks, and what appeared to be a rather large slice of cake.
“Just tell me what you’re doing here,” she said.
“We have been living in the cabin at the edge of this property for
some time now.”
Sam leaned closer to her. “He means the pool shed.”
Vicky started to say something and then exchanged a silent look
with Sam. The pool shed?
“And they’ve only been living there for a week. About gave the
pool boy a heart attack. That part was actually kind of funny.”
Nog blew out a breath and stomped his foot, and Vicky did
everything she could not to laugh. “We claimed it for our own. It is
our right to claim an empty home, and we need the dragon rider to
expel the usurpers.”
Vicky crouched so she was almost eye to eye with Nog. “Like the
Eldritch gods, or someone who stole your seat?”
“The latter.”
“Have you asked Vik for permission? The vampire lord who rules
this place?”
“We do not answer to vampires! We seek an alliance with the
dragon rider so she may smite our enemies!”
“You may not answer to the vampires, but I do. Let me talk to Vik,
okay? Can you wait here for a few minutes?”
“Being our house has been overrun, I believe we can.”
“Five minutes,” Vicky said. “Jasper, keep an eye on them.”
The dragon chuffed and expanded as he hopped off her shoulder.
The amorphous furball shimmered and grew, feet thudding into the
floor as a scaly neck extended, looming over the hobgoblins and
cracking the ceiling.
 “Jasper,” Sam growled.
Jasper lifted his snout at Sam and poked her in the chest, as if
telling her to leave.
She scratched at the dragon’s snout, despite her apparent
annoyance, and followed Vicky out of the room. They walked to the
end of the hall, where Vicky heard Graybeard talking. She was about
to knock on the door when Sam stepped in front of her and barged
in.
The conversation died between the vampire lord, nestled under a
red velvet blanket and supported by a veritable fortress of pillows,
and the half-rotted parrot standing on his end table.
“Hi,” Vicky said.
“Vicky, it is good to see you,” Vik said. “You have come to
negotiate with Samantha’s roommates?”
“They aren’t my goddamned roommates, Vik.”
The older vampire showed his fangs as he laughed, a sound that
gave Vicky hope at how his recovery was going.
“Apparently, they’d like to live in your pool shed,” Vicky said. “I
wanted to ask if you were okay with that before I agreed to help
them.”
Graybeard danced back and forth, from one good leg to one peg
leg, an odd sight on a bird. “Did you leave them alone? Never good
to leave hobgoblins alone.”
“Jasper’s watching them,” Sam said.
“Watching?” Graybeard squawked. “Could have eaten them
yourself.”
Vicky let out a somewhat hesitant laugh. “But they said someone
stole their pool shed? Well, they said usurpers moved in, but I asked,
and they didn’t mean Eldritch things.”
Vik smiled and sat up straighter, the blanket falling away to show
a bandage ending a few inches from his shoulder. The rest of his
arm was gone, and Vicky couldn’t stop a pang of guilt. Like she
should have been there to stop it. It could have been worse, that she
knew.
“I’m good, Vicky,” Vik said, patting the bandage. “A bit sore still,
but time should help with that. And one of Graybeard’s crew has
offered to help.”
Vicky blinked. Graybeard’s crew were all skeletons. Living
skeletons, but she wasn’t entirely sure what the undead had to offer
the … well, the also undead.
“Now, as to our hobgoblins … I am fine with them taking up
residence in our pool shed. But they are quite right that the shed has
been claimed.”
Graybeard squawked. “I’ve seen the little devils scurrying about.”
“Scurrying?” Vicky asked. “You mean like mice?”
“Oh, no lass, much worse than mice. Chipmunks.”
Vicky couldn’t help it. She absolutely exploded into laughter.
Graybeard said chipmunks as if they were the greatest scourge ever
to grace the face of the earth.
“Oh, ye be laughing now, but wait until you’re bones. Do you know
they’ll eat bones, lass? Right nasty animal that.”
Vicky chuckled and rubbed her cheek before turning her attention
to Vik. “So, if I can evict your chipmunks, the hobgoblins can move
in?”
“Absolutely.”
“Why would they want to live here, anyway?”
“Ask them,” Vik said. “It is not uncommon for hobgoblins to remain
close to vampires. I suspect they will be happy to enlighten you to
some of their older traditions.”
She nodded and turned to leave before glancing back at the
vampire lord. “It’s good to see you, Vik. I’m glad you’re doing okay.”
“Much obliged, Vicky.” He offered a friendly smile with no hint of
his fangs behind it. “It is kind of you to say so. Now go, see if you
can free Samantha from her burden.”
 She couldn’t quite make out what Sam was grumbling under her
breath, but judging by Vik’s laughter, she figured it probably wasn’t
very nice.
***
Vicky made her way back down the hall, Sam trailing close
behind. She pushed open the door to Sam’s room and tried to
understand what she was seeing. Hobgoblins jumped up and down
on the bed while a row of them on the floor bowed to Jasper.
And the dragon, much to Vicky’s horror, had Nog clutched in his
jaws.
“Jasper! You spit that out right now!”
“No!” Nog cried. “This is my destiny!”
Vicky stalked forward and grabbed Jasper by the snout and jaws.
“You put him down this instant. I leave you alone for five minutes,
and you try to eat a garden gnome?”
“Hobgoblin!” Nog shouted, his voice somewhat muffled from being
wrapped in the dragon’s tongue.
But Jasper was either done with the idea of eating Nog, or didn’t
like the taste. His curled tongue unraveled, spinning the hobgoblin
like an aerial acrobat before letting him splat onto the floor in a pool
of dragon slobber.
Vicky patted Jasper’s neck. “Good dragon.” She turned her
attention back to Nog as he tried in vain to wipe himself off on the
carpet. “You. I spoke to the vampire lord who owns these lands. He’s
agreed to let you stay. But I want to know why. Why do you want to
live here when you know vampires are all around you?”
Nog paused in his attempt to dry off. “Why? The answer is in your
question, dragon rider. They are vampires! They do not like the sun,
which leaves us free to go about our duties in the daylight.”
“Oh my God,” Vicky muttered. “You want to live here because you
can cause mischief during the day?”
“Or prepare for mischief at night! Half the day for planning, half
the day for exercises.”
 Vicky glanced at Sam.
“As long as they aren’t in my room, I don’t care.” Sam crossed her
arms and glared at Nog. Vicky imagined Sam had used that look on
Damian more than once growing up with the necromancer. And it
was a look she was likely going to be using on Drake the next time
she saw the fairy.
“Nog, meet me by the pool shed. I’ll help you get rid of the
chipmunks, but you have to stay out of this room.”
“For how long?”
“Until this vampire moves out.”
Nog huffed. “That could be a very long time, dragon rider.”
“Or not long at all,” Sam muttered.
Nog eyed the vampire before nodding to Vicky. “It is agreed. We
will stay clear of this room.”
She thought about arguing to keep them out of the house
altogether, but the thought of the hobgoblins pestering the vampires
pleased a small sadistic streak in her.
“Let’s go.”

•••

Out back, a well-worn brick path framed in moss led the way to a
short white fence. Vicky lifted the lock on the gate and stepped into
the pool area. The in-ground pool wasn’t particularly large, but it was
always clean and clear, and the scent of chlorine reminded Vicky of
swim lessons she’d once had.
She walked to the pool shed, Sam and Nog trailing close behind
while Jasper rolled across the top of the fence.
“How are you going to get rid of the chipmunks?” Sam asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I could blow them up like Damian did
those pigeons.”
“No,” Sam said flatly.
 “I guess they are a little too cute for that.”
“And furry. And … let’s just not talk about the pigeon incident,
okay?”
Vicky grinned at Sam before reaching out to the door to the pool
shed. She was expecting to find signs of a chipmunk, or if she was
lucky, a glimpse of the adorable rodents. What she hadn’t expected
to find was four chipmunks standing on their hind legs, carrying
shields and spears, which they now leveled at her ankles.
She took a step back. “What … the … hell?”
The chipmunks started chucking, a staccato sound like a wooden
duck call. Vicky frowned when the closest chipmunk slammed its
spear against the ground, the first indication all was not what it
seemed, and it had already seemed fairly strange. The chipmunk’s
belly fluttered open, revealing the small body of an armored Fae
underneath it.
“Why do the chipmunks have spears?” Sam asked.
“They aren’t chipmunks. They’re Fae wearing pelts.”
“Pixies!” Nog wailed at Vicky’s feet. “I thought we’d been driven
away by devilish chipmunks. But pixies? I am ashamed. My
descendants will be marked by this shame for all time.”
“Calm down,” Vicky said. “You offered yourself up as a dragon
snack, didn’t you? That has to count for something?”
The pixies taunted Nog, thrusting their spears into the air and
raising their wings, translucent like a dragonfly. Something about
them unsettled Vicky, and she was fairly certain it was because
those wings reminded her of some rather unpleasant Unseelie Fae
she’d dealt with.
It was about that moment she wished she’d spent as much time
reading as Damian did. He’d know if they were Unseelie, or
shapeshifters, or a threat at all. Well, she was pretty sure on that last
point that all Fae were a threat to some degree.
More of the hobgoblins slipped out of the shadows around the
pool house, forming a half circle behind Sam and Vicky, leaving Nog
beside Vicky.
 “I thought you were going to wait inside,” Vicky hissed.
“And leave Nog to die on the end of a pixie’s spear?” a hobgoblin
cried. “Never!”
“You didn’t even know they were pixies!” Vicky looked down at the
blue-capped hobgoblin when he raised a lantern in the air. She
recognized him from Sam’s room, where he’d been bowing to
Jasper. “Weren’t you just celebrating Nog feeding himself to the
dragon?”
“A sacrifice is not feeding!”
“Snack time,” Sam muttered. “Jasper’s a bottomless pit. There’s
no end to feeding him, no matter how many hobgoblins go down that
gullet. We could just feed all of them to the dragon. That’d sort things
out.”
Jasper chuffed and took up a perch on Vicky’s shoulder before
baring a maw of silver teeth.
For the first time, the pixies’ brazen threats and posturing ceased.
That was an unusual response from Fae, as most of the Fae Vicky
knew tended to explode into seven-foot-tall sword-swinging murder
machines.
Instead, the pixies took a step back.
“Do you have names?” she asked. “Names you’d be willing to
share with me?”
“You may call me Kier,” the pixie said, pushing the chipmunk pelt
off his head so it flopped onto his back. Underneath, Kier had short
dark hair plastered to his head and the longest, pointiest ears Vicky
had ever seen.
“Kier, I’m Vicky. This is Sam. Sam lives here, so she has more
authority than I do. But she tends to negotiate by killing things, so it’s
probably best to talk to me.”
Nog and the hobgoblins whispered in agreement. Whoever Sam
had punted across her bedroom, she’d apparently made an
impression.
“Very well,” Kier said.
 “I don’t suppose you can all live here in peace?” Vicky asked.
Nog and Kier exchanged a glance before looking back to Vicky
without speaking.
“Right then. Well, you can’t stay in Sam’s room. Okay, Nog?”
The hobgoblin let out a dramatic sigh. “As we agreed.”
“How would you normally decide who gets to stay in the pool
shed?” she asked.
“A battle to the death,” Kier said. “Last one alive wins.”
“That’s … let’s not do that.” Vicky looked at the far fence, and the
long stretch of lawn running all the way to the outer road. “How about
a race?”
“A race, you say?” Nog asked. “We have no wings like the pixies.
That would surely put us at a disadvantage.”
“As quickly as you can move through the earth?” Vicky said. “I
don’t think you’re at a large disadvantage.”
“You can ride the dragon,” Sam said.
“I would be honored! Should Kier permit it, of course. It is …
somewhat outside tradition for a race.”
Kier tapped his spear on the concrete and stood a little straighter.
“We can outrun a dragon well enough. Use whatever means you
want to outrun us. We will be victorious.”
“I am agreed,” Nog said.
Chatter rose among the hobgoblins. Vicky got the idea many of
them weren’t happy about Nog gambling their new home on a race.
“What is our destination?” the pixie asked.
“To the highway overpass and back.” Vicky pointed to the steel
and concrete bridge. “First one back wins. Loser moves somewhere
else. And no killing.”
Kier grunted. “Agreed.”
Nog stepped forward and bowed to Vicky. “It is agreed.”
“When this is over, I will bring a clan to this place. It will become a
new mound. A new home to many, and the pool shall welcome
none.”
 Vicky leaned down to Kier. “You’re not very nice, are you?”
“What care have I for the commoner blood and the hobgoblins?”
“Should have let Jasper eat him,” Sam muttered.
Vicky stood and moved closer to Sam so she could whisper. “Why
don’t you give Nog a “head start” when the race begins?”
Sam raised an eyebrow.
“Not the same as being eaten by a dragon, but still,” Vicky said.
A slow smile crawled across Sam’s lips.
Vicky turned back to Nog and Kier. “I’ll count down from three.
When I say go, you go. Not a minute before, or Jasper will incinerate
you both.”
Nog immediately went into a lunge like he was stretching for a
track meet. It was bizarre to see a little garden gnome taking his
stretches so seriously.
“Three.”
Kier’s wings buzzed and lifted the fairy a fraction of an inch off the
ground.
“Two.”
Nog stretched his other leg and started doing squats.
“One.”
Kier flashed a smirk that immediately made Vicky wish for a
flyswatter.
“Go!”
Kier was gone in a flash. Nog squealed when Sam scooped him
up off the ground and executed a low-arc punt that sent him
screaming into the distance.
Vicky picked up Jasper and whispered, “Go get him.” She tossed
the furball into the air.
Jasper exploded into his dragon form, gray scales blossoming
from the soft furball until a beast out of legend streaked across the
lawn. Vicky could still hear Nog’s scream by the time Jasper
pounced on the overpass and shot back toward them.
 She didn’t miss the violent flap of a wing that sent the smaller
pixie spiraling off into a pine tree. Maybe it wasn’t the most
honorable victory, but it was honestly worth it just to see Sam
laughing hysterically as Jasper glided back over the pool, the
screeching Nog delicately clutched in his claws.
Jasper set the hobgoblin on the smooth stone outside the pool
shed. Almost in unison, the other hobgoblins bowed, humbly
whispering, “Dragon rider.”
“God help me,” Sam whispered. “I think I like them.”
An angry buzz of wings shot past Vicky, circled twice, and then
Kier dropped to the concrete. “A deceitful ploy I had not expected
from one associated with the Demon Sword.”
Vicky blinked. “Are you serious? Have you met Drake?”
“Or do you mean Foster?” Sam asked. “Not that it matters,
because same question.”
“I have not had such an honor,” Kier said with some reverence.
“Perhaps one day.”
“If you hang around the city long enough, I’m sure you’ll meet
Foster,” Sam said.
“Why don’t you go back to Faerie?” Vicky asked. “With the king
gone, you could find a new home there.”
Kier spat on the ground. “Good riddance.”
Nog nodded. “That we can agree on. A poison he was.” Nog
hesitated and turned to the other hobgoblins, whispering to the group
quietly enough that Vicky couldn’t make out what they were saying.
“I will offer,” Nog said as he turned to face Kier. He gestured to a
garden shed at the far end of the property. “Should your people wish
to stay on these lands, we will not attack you. All who stood against
the king should be allies. We will tolerate your presence so long as
you stay clear of the pool shed.”
“But not the pool itself?” Kier asked, raising a tiny eyebrow.
“No. Join us by the waters and we will speak of times past, and
perhaps better times to come.”
 Vicky eyed the two Fae. “So we’re good here? No one needs to
get eaten by the dragon? Or the vampire?”
Sam flashed her fangs.
“Perhaps one day,” Nog said. “For now, I will lead my clan as it
has been decided.”
Jasper reached a claw out and dropped a small red hat onto
Nog’s head.
“My gratitude,” Nog said. “This cap has long been in my family.
We will leave you in peace. Should you wish to visit, you are, of
course, welcome.”
“Just stay out of my room,” Sam said, pointing at Nog.
The hobgoblin grinned.
Vicky led the dragon away from the pool, scratching his flank as
they traipsed after Sam. There were times the only way to resolve an
issue with the Fae was to fight, but sometimes you just needed to
punt a hobgoblin across the yard.
 
This story featured characters and creatures from the Vesik urban
fantasy series.
 
Connect with Eric R. Asher Online:
Instagram: @ericrasher
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www.ericrasher.com
eric@ericrasher.com
FALLING FOR MY STEPBROTHER

 
KELSIE STELTING
 CHAPTER ONE

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens—my mother’s wedding to the

man of her dreams.
The story of how Mom and Luke met and fell in love was like
something straight out of a movie, but it hadn’t given me a lot of time
to get to know Luke or his children.
Mom’s art had been displayed at a local art gallery. Luke had
taken an interest in her and bought every single piece. To thank him,
she’d taken him out for drinks afterward. Then drinks had turned into
dancing had turned into sitting up all night talking, to realizing at
sunrise they were in love.
In less than three months, they’d been engaged with a wedding
date set for the week after my high school graduation.
It was just as she’d always promised me. She wouldn’t get
married or even bring a man around until after I graduated.
But here I was, just a day after graduation, surrounded by a bunch
of people I didn’t know at Mom and Luke’s last-minute engagement
party. (Since they were keeping the ceremony and reception small,
the entire town came together to celebrate Mom and Luke a little
early.) It had all happened so fast I hadn’t even been able to meet
his three sons, or even see his house in the next town over where
Mom would be moving after the wedding. (Of course, she would still
keep our house for her art studio and for me to visit when I came
back home from college.)
As soon as we entered the dance hall—the only place big enough
in town to fit everyone who wanted to come—Mom got swept away
by friends.
Everyone in our town loved Mom. When she wasn’t selling art,
she volunteered at our school. Designing every set for the high
school musicals. Painting murals in the halls. Teaching classes at the
local retirement home. She was amazing, and it was no wonder Luke
loved her.
If only I could be half as amazing as her. Where my mom was
voluptuous, I was plump. Where she was graceful, I was clumsy.
Where she had sleek red hair, mine was frizzy and orange.
She’d even named me for my hair. Clementine. She said when I
was born, my red hair made me look like a Cutie. (The Demerol
might have had something to do with that, though.)
It had always been the two of us, but now that she was off
celebrating, I couldn’t help but feel a little lonely—a little sad.
Everyone around me seemed so cheerful, and yeah, I was happy
for Mom, but I wanted my own happily ever after too. I’d gone
through four years of high school never having a date for a dance.
Never having a special valentine in my locker. Never having a first
kiss.
Now I wouldn’t even have a date to my mom’s wedding, and I’d go
to college, a theater nerd/kiss-virgin, just as hopeless and socially
awkward there as I’d been in high school.
Mom always told me I was a late bloomer, but I’d gardened
enough with her to know that some bulbs were simply duds. They
never bloomed at all and just fertilized every other plant’s growth.
Someone bumped into me, making their drink slosh over their
cup, and the pink drink hit the front of my light blue dress.
“I’m so sorry!” the woman said, her manicured hands covering her
mouth.
“No worries,” I said, turning to find the bathroom. This was
actually a pretty good excuse to get away from the pounding music
and the crush of people that would make up my mom’s new life once
I left for college in New York. In fact, my energy was probably taking
away from the party’s vibe.
I made it to the bathroom and stood at the sink, using a wet,
fraying paper towel to dab at my dress.
“Hi honey!” my best friend’s mom said.
 “Hey,” I said, frowning at my shirt, then looking back at her as she
stood by a stall. “Did Madison make it to Costa Rica alright?” She
was spending the summer there to hone her Spanish before starting
college.
Mrs. Ayers nodded. “Got in around eight last night and is already
in love with her host parents—an adorable older couple.”
“I should charge my phone so I can call her,” I said.
Mrs. Ayers chuckled. “Madison would like that.” She excused
herself into the stall, and I continued scrubbing at my dress.
When it was sufficiently clean—but wet—I looked around. There
weren’t air dryers I could stand underneath to dry off. I couldn’t go to
the party looking like this. Mrs. Ayers had already said hi, and there
was sure to be an endless onslaught of people congratulating me
and expecting me to be over-the-moon happy for my mom.
I just didn’t feel like it. Not when my own love life was so epically
and permanently helpless.
So, I did what any sensible girl would do.
I went to find a place to hide.
The bathroom wouldn’t work because someone would inevitably
notice my feet under a locked stall—plus, bathrooms were a stinky
and cramped place to pass a few hours. I thought about waiting out
in my car, but then I wouldn’t hear when it was time for my speech
on the excessively loudspeakers.
Then I remembered. The coat closet. In the winter, it held coats
for everyone who came to the community “barn dances.” Now
though, in the early summer, it was sure to be empty and out of use.
I found the door near the entrance, and in between bursts of
guests, I slipped inside. Except, I wasn’t alone.
 CHAPTER TWO

MY HEART JUMPED for more reasons than one as I took in the guy
leaning against the back wall. He was the kind of attractive girls
wrote love poems about, with chestnut hair that swept over his
forehead and deep brown eyes that seemed to have a spark all their
own. His cheeks were angular and his jaw strong, and holy cow, I
was standing here in a wet dress with my mouth hanging open.
“Sorry to scare you,” he said, his voice just as enticing as his
looks—all warm, but with an edge like the spiked apple cider Mom
always lets me have around Christmastime.
“You did,” I said, letting my hand fall from the knob. Standing
across from him, I was acutely aware of myself and my bright red
hair and my freckles and the bulge of my stomach no dress could
hide. I lifted my chin and said, “What are you doing here?”
He smirked, and it was an entirely new experience of his face.
Like the sequel to a movie you loved before you even made it all the
way to the end. “Same reason you are. Ditching the party.”
I swallowed, finding my voice. “Is it that obvious?”
“That this party is a drag to you too?” He patted a space on the
wall next to him. “Join the club. We’re thinking about getting bumper
stickers.”
I giggled. Giggled. And tried to stop the smile that was already
hurting my cheeks. “I’d love a bumper sticker—except for the fact
that I don’t have a car.”
“Me neither. Maybe bumper stickers aren’t a good idea. Hey, it
could go on our laptops?” he suggested, pushing himself off the wall.
I suddenly realized how small the room was. A proper closet, it
couldn’t have been more than six feet deep and four feet wide. How
long would it take for him to breathe in the air I breathed? For me to
breathe his? Ever since the coronavirus pandemic, I never took for
granted how precious breathing the same air as someone else could
be.
He looked at me like he was waiting for an answer, and I realized
I’d already forgotten the question. I decided to ask a question of my
own, stepping slightly forward. “What are you hiding out from?”
He shrugged. “Parties aren’t my thing.”
“How?” I asked, not hiding my surprise. “Aren’t parties a requisite
of being a teenage boy?”
A small chuckle fell from his lips. The first laugh of his I’d heard.
For some reason, it felt special. Like a first day at school... a first
kiss. My heart already had the sound memorized, and I tried to
shove down how much of an effect this boy had on me.
Most boys in high school were annoying at best, cruel at worst.
But this boy had a different air about him. This boy. I didn’t even
know his name. But he hadn’t offered it, and I hadn’t asked. Asking
felt like it would ruin the magic I could feel in the air just as surely as
I felt the dampness on the front of my dress.
My heart immediately sank. Why was I letting my heart get away
from me when I walked into the closet looking like this? Between the
extra chins on my neck and the giant wet splotch on my dress, I
didn’t have a chance in hell with a guy like this.
“Want to sit?” he asked.
Slowly, I nodded. “But I should probably lock this door so no one
finds us... right?”
“It only stands to reason,” he answered, sliding down the wall to
sit. “You found me, after all.”
I nodded, turning away from him and feeling completely
vulnerable at his view of me. Thankfully, the knob was the old kind
you had to push in to lock. I did just that and twisted until I was sure
no one could easily get in.
I turned back to him, and he smiled softly up at me. I went and sat
along the wall beside him, two feet separating our shoulders. It felt
like much less.
 After a moment, he rubbed his hands over his dark-wash jeans
and asked, “So, what does one do when avoiding a rehearsal
dinner?”
I shrugged. “I’ve only made it to step one—hide.”
“Same. I was going to mess around on my phone until the toasts,
but...” He held it up and pressed the side button, showing an empty
battery screen.
My cheeks went pink as I reached for my own phone and showed
him the empty battery. “It used to annoy my mom, but I think she’s
come to accept it.”
“Same with me and my dad,” he said. “Although, he did get me a
battery pack for graduation.”
So he’d just graduated like me...
I didn’t ask about his mom, even though I wanted to know. I
wanted him to tell me his story so I could write about it in the pad
beside my bed reserved for scribbling down dreams. Something
about turning reality in to fiction set my soul on fire.
“He does know the pack will just die too?” I asked. “My mom
learned that one the hard way after the solar-powered battery pack
attempt.”
“What?” He chuckled. “How does a solar-powered pack run out?”
I gestured at my pale skin. “Does it look like I tolerate the sun
well?”
“Vampire?”
“Three-fourths Irish.”
He shrugged. “Same difference.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Talking with him felt so natural, unlike the
stilted “conversations” I had with most of my classmates. Madison
and my mom were the only people I could spend hours talking with,
but I thought he might just make it on the list.
He shook his head. “I know we ditched the party, but maybe we
could bring some of the party in here?”
 I tried not to seem as disappointed as I felt. He wanted to bring
other people in here—probably other girls and boys our age who
would be way less awkward and way more beautiful than me. Part of
me wondered if he knew my new stepbrother who I was supposed to
be meeting tonight. I could get meeting him out of the way before
what was sure to be an awkward lunch tomorrow.
Before I could ask him about Luke’s son, he said, “The food out
there on the buffet table looks amazing, and I’m pretty sure I could
snag a couple beers if you wanted.”
My eyes perked at the idea. It was way better than what I’d been
fearing. “I’m game.”
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” I nodded and watched as
he left the room.
I wrapped my arms around myself, wishing my phone wasn’t dead
so I could text Madison about this crazy hot guy and my once-in-a-
lifetime good fortune. Most guys would have made an awkward exit
at the first chance.
But then I worried, was that what that had been? An excuse to get
away from the fat girl?
My stomach tied into knots that didn’t unravel until he slipped
back through the door carrying a plate and two brown bottles.
My eyes lit up as I took in him and the food. Which was better?
He handed me a beer, and I decided him, definitely him. I took a
sip of mine, and he took a sip of his, and quiet settled over us.
“Okay, question,” he said, sitting cross legged and facing me.
“Yeah?” I asked, thankful I’d gone for a maxi dress so I wouldn’t
have to sit awkwardly all night.
“What’s something you’re weirdly good at?”
I laughed at the unexpected question. “Um... you know that game
everyone plays at the beginning of the year—two truths and a lie?”
“Uh huh.”
“That’s it. I always guess it right.”
“Well, statistically you have a thirty-three percent chance.”
 I groaned, setting my beer down. “Don’t tell me you’re one of
those people.”
“What people?” he asked, his dark brows drawing together.
“The kind that actually likes math,” I said, studying him. “You did
that in your head in like two seconds.”
He laughed out loud, and the sound tickled the inside of my
stomach like butterfly wings. “It’s one third; that’s a simple
calculation.”
“But you’re not denying it,” I said, dipping a tortilla chip in a puddle
of queso on the plate. “You’re probably going to major in calculus in
college.”
“Statistics, actually,” he said quietly.
I laughed. “I knew it!”
“Statistics is very different from calculus.”
“Uh huh.”
“It is.”
“Sure.”
He smiled, shaking his head. “So, two truths and a lie, huh?
You’re going to be a detective?”
“A writer.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “So, you’re going to lie for a living?”
“I never said what kind of writing I’m going to do. I could be a
journalist.”
“So, you’re going to lie for a living,” he repeated flatly.
I snorted. “Whatever.”
“What kind of writer?”
My cheeks flushed. “Fiction—but that’s not always a lie!
Sometimes fiction is truer than reality.”
He leaned in, seemingly rapt. “How so?”
I glanced toward the foam square ceiling, trying to find the right
words. I was always better on paper than I was out loud. There was
no editing when you spoke, only in writing. “I think sometimes people
miss the realest parts of their lives in the everyday of school and
work and chores. It isn’t until you write it down that you see the
magic was around you all the time.”
His lips curved slightly as he sat back. “You are a writer.”
“Going to be,” I corrected.
“Agree to disagree... I still want to know about this two truths and
a lie game,” he said. “I bet I could stump you.”
“Game on.” I took another bite of a chip and queso. That was my
weakness. That and boys with chestnut hair, apparently.
“Okay,” he said, rubbing his smooth chin. “I’ve got it.” He met my
eyes again, looking me head-on.
First mistake. I could always tell by their expression. They either
couldn’t keep their eyes on me during the lie, blinked way too much,
or tried too hard to keep eye contact.
“I’m going to college at NYU,” he began.
That was the truth, I could already tell, and my heart was already
fluttering excitedly. We’d be at the same college, and the possibility
of that gave me a head rush.
“My mom passed away when I was thirteen.” He voice was
quieter now, the light in his eyes dimmer.
Truth.
“I’m glad I came to this party tonight.” His eyes met mine, a
charge there I couldn’t quite place. But it wasn’t a lie. He was telling
the truth.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “It only works if you actually tell a lie.”
“Damn!” he said. “You are good.”
I gave a satisfied smile, but then my gladness quickly faded. “Your
mom?”
He nodded, looking down at his beer and drinking again. “She got
breast cancer when I was twelve. And she fought. Damn, she
fought.”
His words, the emotion behind them, nearly tore me in two. And
when someone else is bleeding, sometimes, it feels best to let them
know they’re not alone in their woundedness.
“My dad left my mom and me in the hospital,” I whispered. “Said
he couldn’t be a father and we haven’t heard from him since.”
We sat quietly in our brokenness for a moment, and he slid his
hand forward on the floor, slightly touching my pinky with his. I met
his eyes, something sparking there, and he smiled. “I think she
would have liked you.”
I smiled too.
“Now,” he said, “your turn.”
“What?”
“Two truths and a lie. You go.”
A loud roar of applause and cheering sounded outside, and for a
moment I wondered what had happened. The noises outside the
door couldn’t distract me for very long, though. Not with his hand
lightly brushing mine and his eyes studying me.
My voice came out breathy as I spoke my truths.
“I’ve known my best friend since we were in diapers. Her name is
Madison.” And another truth. “I want to write novels for girls like me
—plus sized—so they’ll feel beautiful.” I took a deep breath. If he
could tell three truths, so could I. “I’ve never had my first kiss.”
Besides, this room didn’t feel like the place for lying. Like one false
phrase would turn it back into a coat closet instead of our escape.
He smiled, taking me in. “You are beautiful.”
The words almost didn’t register. He said them as plainly as if he
was calling the sky blue or the grass green. Not like his words were
contradictory to societal opinions, or to what every other boy thought
of me. I blinked, running the phrase over again in my mind, like
sifting for gold. But instead of gold, I was looking for the hints of a
joke. The hints of a lie.
I came up with nothing.
“You think I’m beautiful?” I asked.
He nodded, his hand twitching like he wanted to touch me, but it
stayed on the ground next to me. “Your hair reminds me of a sunset.”
 I’d heard it all before—fire, oranges, flowers. But the sunset?
Something about the description seemed special—unique. “And your
eyes are like the sky above a sunset.”
Is that what he saw when he looked at me? Not a body to be
loved in spite of, but a beauty to be adored? Because that’s the way
he was looking at me now. And his fingers trailed from my fingertips,
up my arm, tracing a faint pattern on my forearm.
“That’s the lie,” he said, “that you haven’t had your first kiss.” His
eyes went from mine to my lips and back again.
I shook my head, whispering for some reason. “I said three truths
too. I’ve never been kissed before.”
His lips parted, surprised.
The surprise was oddly flattering. Like the fact he could be
shocked no one wanted to kiss me somehow meant someone
should. Someone like him.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving in his throat, and his
eyes were on my lips. “If I had the chance, I would kiss you. I
wouldn’t be able to stop.”
His words sent an unfamiliar zing of heat to my stomach. My
breath caught in my chest as I realized what he had said. That he,
this handsome, kind, amazing guy across from me wanted to do the
very thing I’d been longing for myself.
“Why don’t you?” I asked, my voice barely rising above a whisper.
Instead of answering, he moved the plate of food between us
aside. My heart hitched as he moved closer on the floor, the muscles
in his arms showing through his buttoned shirt. And then he knelt in
front of me, looking at me like guys looked at beautiful girls. The girls
who wore clothes in single-digit sizes and had hair shiny enough for
conditioner commercials and knew how to operate an eyeliner pen
with the precision of an airline pilot.
But it was me he was looking at. My curly hair he was brushing
back with a careful sweep of his fingers. My cheek he cupped
tenderly.
And then, it was my lips he caressed with his.
 An explosion of sensation went from every nerve ending in my lips
and short-circuited my brain so all I could feel was the point where
he and I collided. In the absence of brain function, my body knew
what to do.
I tilted my head slightly, feeling his lips move against mine. His
tongue slid over my lips, and my mouth parted slightly to let him in. A
small moan arched from a visceral part of my vocal cords I hadn’t
known existed, and that encouraged him more.
He weaved his fingers through my hair, and my hands met around
the muscles of his torso. Everything around us disappeared except
for the rhythm of our breaths, the proof of the air we shared.
A loud noise followed by cheering sounded outside the door, and
he smiled against my mouth. Breathlessly, he said, “They must have
felt how amazing of a kiss that was.”
I couldn’t help but smile back, and wanting more, I kissed him
again.
And then I heard someone on the speaker say, “It’s time for the
toasts!”
My eyes widened and I pulled back. “I should probably get out
there.” I began getting to my feet, smoothing out my dress which was
now blissfully dry.
“Me too,” he replied, straightening his own shirt, checking his
sleeves were still rolled.
I gave him and the room a wistful smile before turning toward the
door.
“Wait,” he said, taking my hand like he’d done it a million times
before. “Can I get your number? I want to see you again.”
“Sure,” I said, but my heart fell as soon as I realized I didn’t have
my phone or anything to write a number with. “Do you have a pen?”
Ruefully, he shook his head.
“Will you be in town tomorrow?”
He nodded. “I can be.”
 “Come to Orchards Coffee Shop? Maybe around ten?” I wasn’t
supposed to have lunch with Mom and her fiancé’s family until noon.
“I’ll be there.”
 CHAPTER THREE

KNOWING I WOULD see him again the next day made it easier to
leave. But there was also a heaviness in my chest. What if he
wouldn’t meet me the next day? What if this had just been a fun way
to pass a party, but the night would bring the party and my chances
with him to an end. I didn’t even know his name. It wasn’t like I could
just add him on Facebook at the end of the night to stay in touch.
But as I weaved through the crowd, I thought, there had to be
something to the way we met. Fate or the universe or magic or
whatever you wanted to call it. That was what had brought my mom
and Luke together. Maybe the same thing would happen to me.
I found my mom and Luke sitting at a table along the front of the
dance hall, in front of the DJ’s stand, and Mom waved me over. I
hurried to her and she passed me the microphone, whispering,
“Where were you.”
I smiled ear-to-ear at her. “I’ll tell you tonight.”
With a nod, she turned the microphone to switch it on, and I gently
tapped on it, making the muffled thump echo throughout the room.
I’d written my speech on a paper and practiced it a million times at
home, but now that the day was here and almost everyone from our
small Connecticut town and half the next town over stood waiting,
nerves rattled in my chest.
I took in a deep, steadying breath, and began to speak, holding
the mic with both hands.
“My mom is everything to me—my parent, my best friend, my
hero... And she—we—have had a lot of things happen we didn’t
deserve. As a little girl, I used to hope my dad would realize what a
mistake he’d made and come back to us. That he’d take me to
daddy-daughter dances and dress up to go on dates with my mom.
She always looks so pretty in her pearls. As I grew up, I saw my
mom step in and help everyone she could. I’m pretty sure I’ve won
every costume contest there’s ever been because of her talents with
a sewing machine. And the school play wouldn’t have happened
each year without the hours she spent on set. And every time I
walked down the hallway to my locker, I saw the mural she did to
save the school money on repairing the crack in the wall two
meathead football players made... and I realized, she doesn’t
deserve for someone who ran away to come back. She deserves
someone who will run to her and never leave.”
I looked at my mom, at the moisture in her eyes.
“She deserves everything,” I said to her. “And I’m so glad Luke is
going to finally give you exactly what you deserve.” I reached
forward and picked up a full glass on the table that had clearly been
meant for me. “To Mom and Luke.”
The crowd echoed the cheer, and mom hugged me. Beside her,
Luke reached over and squeezed my hand. “Thank you,” he
mouthed.
“You’re—” I almost said welcome. That was until I saw who was
standing beside Luke, his face gone pale.
Him.
My first kiss.
Mom took the microphone from me and handed it to him.
Not meeting my eyes, he turned on the microphone and held it to
his lips. “My dad...” he began, but I couldn’t hear anything after that.
Not with the blood rushing through my air and my stomach sinking
and my heart freezing.
I thought I’d felt a million sensations during our kiss, but now I felt
a million and one that all screamed wrong.
He was Will? My future stepbrother?
How could it be? The one person in the closet was him? And how
had it not come up that the party we were escaping from was for our
parents. The ones two days away from tying the knot and making us
siblings.
 My mouth was so dry and my tongue so thick I couldn’t swallow
down the acid rising in my throat. It just pooled there, reminding how
cursed I was. How destined I was to forever be alone.
My first kiss had been with my stepbrother.
I nearly gagged.
Clapping and cheers sounded around me, and I realized it was
time to drink. Mechanically, I raised my glass and tasteless liquid
slipped down my throat with all the ease of molasses mixed with
chewing gum.
Mom turned to me and said, “Are you okay?”
I shook my head. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Concern brought her beautifully arched brows together, and she
placed her wrist on my forehead. “Do you need to go home, honey?”
“Is that okay?” I asked, upset for more reasons than one. Not only
had I snogged my soon-to-be brother, I’d be letting my mom down on
her day.
“Go,” she said gently. “The party’s almost over anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
“Go. I’ll see you at home?”
I wrapped my arms around her, trying not to let her see me cry.
This was exactly my luck. I had been silly to think a clandestine
meeting in a coat closet could ever turn into happily ever after. That
wasn’t my life. I was Clementine, round as the fruit I was named for.
And I would come to terms with it.
Tomorrow.
Because tonight, I was going to cry.
 CHAPTER FOUR

I STAYED UP half the night worrying about the next day and spent
the rest of the night tossing and turning until the rays of morning
panned across my room and hit the golden wall my mom had
painted for me.
I didn’t even want to think of the humiliation I’d endure the next
day at lunch when Mom and Luke would introduce Will and me.
Would we pretend we’d never met before? That he hadn’t told me I
looked like a sunset in his eyes? That I hadn’t fallen apart and been
put back together in the space of a kiss?
As I got up and dressed, I was painfully aware of the clock. Of the
minutes that ticked up to ten o’clock and the minutes that passed
after. Will and I should have been meeting in the coffee shop. Having
a date. Holding hands and seeing if the coat closet held the magic or
if we’d created it all our own.
Instead, he’d be coming to my house. With his dad—my new
stepdad, a day before the wedding. How had I not put the pieces
together that he’d given me?
“Are you ready?” Mom called from the kitchen where she was
making lunch for all of us. Italian herbs and spices drifted through the
air, making my stomach churn.
“Yes,” I said, leaving my room and going to face my demise.
Our home was small—a two-bedroom with a garage Mom had
insulated and made into her studio, but it was beautiful. She’d
painted the walls in a watercolor look, had bohemian furniture
throughout, and it had been something I was always proud of.
But now, I felt self-conscious. Not only did I feel fat in the tank top
and shorts I wore, I felt stupid. I’d let my heart get away from me in a
matter of hours before even asking the important questions, like ARE
YOU ABOUT TO BE MY BROTHER.
And now, as Luke’s car pulled into our driveway, I thought this was
the worst kind of torture. Will’s two younger brothers, Thomas and
Mark, got out of the back seat, moving like baby colts with their
middle school energy. But then there was Will. All long legs and lean
arms and side-swept hair, and dark clothes, and I couldn’t even find
the energy to wish I’d never kissed him, because that would have
been a lie.
My lips still tingled from his touch, like he’d left more than a
memory with his kiss.
Mom looked around the me through the window. “That’s will. He’s
been at a boarding school in London all year. Just got back for the
engagement party yesterday.”
“London?” I asked incredulously. How was that fair? He was
attractive, a good kisser, and cultured? More than a few curse words
flew through my mind like the dirty needlepoints Mom and I had done
for fun last Christmas.
“Mhmm,” Mom answered. “He’s going to NYU in the fall too. You’ll
like him.”
The problem was that I already did.
They came inside, and the second Will entered the room, it was
as if we’d been surrounded by an electric charge. He met my eyes
and held my gaze, but I couldn’t look away.
Luke introduced us all, although I only heard about half of what he
said. The younger two boys were nice enough, but Will outstretched
his hand.
I didn’t want to shake it. Didn’t want to feel his forbidden touch
again, but here we were.
I put my fingers in his outstretched palm, and it was so much
worse—and so much better—than I imagined it would be. The
simple contact sent chills up my arm and heat down my spine and
made my eyelids flutter with delight.
 He smiled at me. And the smile did more than his touch did to
make me come undone.
“Dad, is it okay if Clementine shows me around the
neighborhood?” Will asked. “If we have enough time before lunch?”
“Sure,” Luke said happily. “There’s a park nearby if you want to
show your brothers too.”
“Okay,” Will said, almost hiding the disappointment in his voice.
Me? I was grateful. What was I supposed to do with a moment
alone with Will? Wish for all the things we could never have?
I slipped on my sandals and stepped outside with the three boys
in tow. As we walked the two blocks to the park, I pointed out our
neighbor who kept chickens in their back yard and the one who had
a massive pet rabbit bigger than my best friend’s fat cat.
And then we reached the playground that was completely empty
—probably because of the heat. Sweat beaded around my hairline,
my shirt stuck to my back, and my thighs burned where they’d been
rubbing together. I was embarrassed, but maybe it was good for Will
to see me like this. Maybe then he’d remember why it was better we
didn’t have a repeat of the night before ever again.
But when the younger two raced toward the slides, leaving Will
and me standing awkwardly on the sidewalk, he didn’t look at me like
he was repulsed. No, he looked hurt.
“Why didn’t you come to the coffee shop today?” he asked.
My lips parted. “What?”
“I waited for you for an hour.” The vulnerability behind his words
mesmerized and shocked me at the same time.
Stammering, I said, “We’re almost siblings, Will.”
He quirked his lips. “You mean our parents are almost married.”
“Making us step-siblings.”
He rolled his eyes toward the sky. “We’re both eighteen. We didn’t
even know our parents were getting together. It’s not like we’re going
to be living in the same house or anything.”
 “Yeah, but...” All my arguments were beginning to fade as they
were replaced with memories of our kiss.
“But what?”
“Won’t it be weird?” I asked. “What will people think?”
“Maybe that I can’t stop thinking about you?” He trailed his
fingertips over my arm on the side his brothers couldn’t see.
Goosebumps rose on my arm despite the summer heat. “Really?”
I breathed.
He smiled and nodded.
“I—” I looked from him to his brothers playing to this neighborhood
that had always been home. “I need to talk to my mom about it.”
“When?” he asked.
“Tonight.”
“In the meantime...” He reached into his pocket and got out his
phone. As he faced the screen toward me, I looked at it, trying to
figure out what he was trying to show me. Surely not the wallpaper of
Big Ben. Then I noticed it. A fully charged battery.
“What’s your number?” he asked. “I’ll text you tonight.”
I smiled and took his phone, typing my number into a blank
message, then adding my name.
As I handed it back, his phone vibrated with a new message from
his dad. It was time for lunch.
 CHAPTER FIVE

LUNCH WITH LUKE and his family was like being at a family
reunion. You knew the people there were supposed to matter to you,
but they were ultimately strangers. I liked Luke because Mom did.
His younger two sons were typical middle school boys. (Shudder.)
And Will... Well, I liked him a lot, but even as he sent me glances
across the table, I couldn’t help but get the feeling we were doing
something illicit.
Around three, Luke said they should get going, and Mom agreed.
Since the wedding was the next day, it was time to commence our
mother-daughter sleepover/bachelorette party where we would stay
up drinking wine coolers and watching movies together.
As soon as they left, Mom got on the phone and ordered
mountains of takeout while I went to my bedroom to change into
pajamas—the dress code for our party of two.
In my room, I got a text message.
Can’t wait to hear how the talk with your mom goes.
It was from Will. I smiled at the words. He was so open, unlike the
guys I’d seen Madison play games with.
I sent him a message back, saying I’d let him know as soon as I
knew.
When I walked into the living room, Mom was already on the
couch, buried under a pile of blankets with the AC cranked and the
curtains drawn. “Can you believe I’m getting married tomorrow?” she
asked.
I shook my head. She’d never been married before, and after
eighteen years of seeing her not go on a single date, I kind of
thought she’d be a lone wolf forever. “Are you nervous?”
 She shook her head too. “Not at all. I would have married Luke at
lunch if all our friends wouldn’t have been mad at me.”
I smiled, happy for her, and leaned on her shoulder as she started
the first movie. The Wedding Planner. We’d decided to work our way
through only wedding-themed movies in preparation for tomorrow,
since her best friend was an event planner and had everything
handled.
Halfway through the film, our food arrived, and we began picking
our way through a tour of the world. Chinese. Italian. Mexican.
Greece. Any other countries, and my stomach might burst.
After The Wedding Planner, we watched My Best Friend’s
Wedding, then Bride Wars, then an episode of Bridezilla, then Four
Weddings and a Funeral.
The sun had gone down outside and I was starting to get tired, but
I couldn’t go to sleep without talking to Mom about Will, no matter
now nervous I was to hear her answer.
“Mom,” I said, holding my popcorn bowl and shifting on the couch
so I could face her.
Sensing the seriousness of the conversation, she paused the TV
and turned to me too. “What’s up, honey?”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, my stomach feeling squirmy
from all the food and from what I was about to ask. “I met someone
at the engagement party,” I began.
Her eyes flew open and she grinned wide. “What? A boy! That’s
amazing.”
She was so genuinely happy for me, but I shook my head. “Don’t
get too excited.”
Drawing her eyebrows together, she asked, “Why not?”
“Because I’m not sure if it’s allowed.”
“What do you mean?”
I took a breath, even though the air wanted to freeze in my lungs.
“Mom, it’s Will. I met him before I even knew who he was, and we
like each other, and now it’s weird because he’s going to be my
stepbrother, and he’s fine with it, but I don’t know how to feel, and I
said I needed to talk to you first.”
She cupped my cheeks with her hands. “Honey, breathe.”
Realizing I hadn’t taken a breath, I gasped for air. But I was even
more desperate for her answer than I was for oxygen. “So?” I asked.
“Is that allowed? Is it weird?”
“It’s...” She paused, pressing her lips together like she always did
when she was deep in thought. “Different.” Her lips lifted into a smile.
“And he is really a cute kid.”
I smiled myself. I hadn’t been able to get his eyes off my mind. It
was like they were always there, beautiful and sparking. “He is.”
“Do you mind if I check with Luke tomorrow, just to make sure it’s
okay?”
My heart sank, for more reasons than one. I didn’t like that she
wasn’t the end all be all in my life anymore. And I really didn’t want
my mom to spend her wedding day worrying about my crush. “It can
wait, Mom. Tomorrow’s your day.”
“Oh, honey.” She brushed the frizzy curl that always seemed
stronger than any kind of hair spray behind my ear. “Tomorrow might
be my ‘day,’ but you are my life.” She pressed her forehead to mine.
“You’ll always be the love of my life.”
My eyes stung. I felt the exact same way. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, Clem.” She put her arm around me, and we nestled
against each other on the couch until I fell asleep to the sound of
wedding bells.
 CHAPTER SIX

IN THE MORNING, I woke to my mom singing and a new text

message on my phone. I pushed up from the couch and squinted at
the bright phone screen and the light pouring through the windows.
How did it go?
I swiped the message open and texted him back before the
flashing battery on my phone would give out.
Good. I think. I’ll know more after the wedding.
From the kitchen, Mom called, “Breakfast is ready, sweet potato!”
I smiled and said, “Coming.”
As I sat at the table, she told me we had to be at the hair salon in
an hour for hair and makeup and then to the hotel in the next town
over with the ballroom where the wedding would take place. But
while my nerves vibrated, Mom seemed free as a bird, happy as a
clam, cool as a cucumber.
I barely had two bites of breakfast while she finished her plate and
sea-gulled pieces of bacon off mine.
As she rinsed off the dishes, she said, “Go ahead and grab the
things you’ll need for today. We may not have time to come back and
get them.”
Knowing me, we definitely wouldn’t. While my mom was punctual,
I ran on European time. I heard that they weren’t as strict about
showing up on the minute, and it made me that much more jealous
that Will had lived in London. I wanted to ask him all about it. I hoped
I would have the chance.
With my bags packed for the day and Mom’s packed for her
honeymoon in Jamaica, we left the house and went to the salon for a
day of pampering.
 Mom’s two friends were already there when we arrived. Her
wedding planner friend was on the phone half the time hashing out
details, and her other friend talked a mile a minute with mom—like
they usually did when they were together.
I wished I hadn’t let my phone die. With curlers resting in in my
hair, I dug through my bag and finally found the holy grail: a charging
cord.
It was a short one—only a few inches long—but it would do. I
plugged my phone in along the wall and hoped it would charge
quickly.
The manicurist called me over, saying she was ready for me, and
I joined her, getting beautiful purple nails painted on my fingertips.
With our hair and nails done, we went to the hotel and got
dressed. By the time we were done, I felt beautiful and Mom looked
incredible. Seeing her in her wedding dress only amplified the effect.
She wore a blush pink gown with lacy sleeves and layers of a flowing
sheer skirt. It was stunning.
I’d gotten to choose my own dress in plum and I felt surprisingly
good about how I looked. I knew I shouldn’t have been obsessing
about Will, but I couldn’t help but think that he would see me in this
dress. And I hoped he’d like what he saw.
“It’s time,” the wedding planner said.
Mom smiled and looped her arm through mine. “Ready to walk me
down the aisle?”
I hugged her tight. “It’s time for happily ever after.”
 CHAPTER SEVEN

THE CEREMONY WAS everything I’d dreamed my mom’s wedding

would be. The minister mixed levity throughout the depth of the
occasion. Mom and Luke read their own vows that brought tears to
my eyes. And across the aisle, standing next to his dad, was a
handsome guy who shot me heart-melting smiles.
Mom and Luke had just cut the cake, and shoved it in each
other’s faces, and now the DJ was playing music. The dancefloor
filled with people, and I felt a tap on my shoulder.
Will gave me a dazzling smile and asked, “May I have this
dance?”
I hesitated for a moment. Mom hadn’t given me the go-ahead to
pursue my feelings for him. But what harm could a dance do?
I slipped my hand in his—an action that felt as natural as
breathing—and he led me to the dancefloor. We took our own piece
of paradise as he held me close, swaying to the band’s cover music.
“It was a nice wedding,” he said.
I glanced over to where Mom and Luke danced, seeming
oblivious to the world around them. “They’re so happy.”
“And you?” he asked.
For some reason, the question made my lips quiver, and I
nodded. “It’s hard to share her.”
“She danced with me for the mother-son dance,” Will said, looking
into a memory I couldn’t see. “My mom would have liked her.”
I leaned my head against Will’s shoulder. “I’m glad.”
For a moment, we danced silently in our own bubble. Mom said
once that those who believed in reincarnation thought souls could
meet in separate lifetimes. That when they met, they recognized
each other.
I wondered if Mom’s and Luke’s souls had met before.
If mine and Will’s had.
It was beautiful, thinking that what had been separated could
always find its way back together.
I hoped that was in my destiny. That what I shared with Will hadn’t
been a shooting star, only to fade away. That it would last and
twinkle, casting a light of its own.
A soft tap landed on my shoulder, and I looked up to see Mom
and Luke together. My cheeks flushed, and I immediately felt like a
kid in a candy jar—daydreaming about forever with something that
wasn’t really mine.
Will put his fingers through mine, a sign that he wasn’t giving up. I
held his hand tightly. Held on to hope.
Mom glanced at Luke, and he nodded.
“It looks like love is in the air,” she said with a smile.
Luke chuckled. “It looks like the Barton boys can’t get enough of
the Walter girls.”
My eyes bounced between them. What were they saying?
Mom said, “We know it’s not conventional, being in your situation,
but then again neither is getting married at forty-five after knowing
each other for three months.”
Luke put his hand on Will’s shoulder. “You have my blessing.”
“And mine,” Mom said, gripping my hand. “Just don’t call him your
brother.”
All the tension in my shoulders broke into a laugh, and soon the
four of us were laughing, dancing, rejoicing in the possibilities of new
marriage and new love.
The DJ came over the speakers. “It’s time to see our couple off on
their honeymoon!”
Mom grinned at me, giving me a hug and handing me her
bouquet.
 “Have fun,” I said.
With a knowing smile, she kissed my cheek. “Have an adventure.”
The entire crowd formed two lines outside the hall, lighting
sparklers to wave as Mom and Luke walked to the car waiting.
As the sparklers faded and the tin cans rattled over the road, my
eyes landed on Will. His shirts sleeves were rolled up and his hair
was perfectly messy, and his eyes were just as bright as the
sparklers had been.
He took my hands in his, and said, “What now?”
“An adventure.”
His lips quirked into the most adorable smirk. “And how would you
like it to start?”
To answer, I rose onto my toes and pressed my lips to his.
 WHEN FIRE STRIKES

 
MARNI MANN
 CHAPTER ONE
Rose

“TWO MORE DAYS until it happens,” my best friend, Alix, said while
she sat next to me on our couch, a pinot grigio in my hand, pinot noir
in hers. “Cheers, girlfriend.”
We had everything in common. The color of wine we preferred,
not so much.
“Oh yeah,” I groaned after taking a long sip. “Two more days until
I do the stupidest thing in the entire world. Thanks for reminding me,
dick.”
“Nonsense.” Her hand went to my shoulder, shaking me until my
eyes met hers. “If it was stupid, I would have stopped you long
before you committed to this date. But I’ve been encouraging your
sexy ass to do this, so that should tell you something.”
“It tells me you’re as much of a lunatic as I am, which I’ve known
since college, so I’m not surprised one bit.”
As she laughed, her long, dark hair fell into her face. “You’re just
nervous and that’s understandable. I would be, too.” She pulled the
strands back and secured an elastic around her messy bun.
“Why should I be nervous? Because I’m going out on a date with
my roommate?” I huffed. “Like I said, dumbest idea ever.” I downed
the rest of my wine and reached for the bottle to refill my glass.
While sharing an apartment in Boston that neither of us could
afford, Alix and I had begun looking for roommates a few months
before our lease ended. Alix found us a place almost immediately.
Two of the firemen who worked with her at the station, where she
was a badass paramedic, mentioned they were also looking for
roommates. Since their place had extra bedrooms, we moved in with
them.
What I hadn’t anticipated was for Terry—the firefighter whose
bedroom was next to mine—to be so incredibly handsome, with a
body so delicious he deserved his own billboard.
On the day Alix and I had signed his one-year lease, he was
wearing a white T-shirt and I could see the definition of his pecs and
abs through the thin material. He was so sexy, my hands shook
while I’d scratched my signature across the bottom of the paper. The
very next morning, he’d rendered me speechless when he’d come
out of the bathroom in just a towel, his skin still wet from the shower,
his scruff thick and yummy. It was only a few weeks later that he’d
asked me out while I was at the table eating breakfast.
I had no idea what I’d do if things didn’t work out between us.
What if we lack chemistry when we’re alone? What if I don’t
connect with his personality?
What will I do for the next eleven months?
I would have to move, find someone to sublease my bedroom.
And it would be all Alix’s fault.
She found us this apartment, she knew I wouldn’t be able to resist
someone as hot as Terry, that I’d be drooling the moment I saw him
with his shirt off.
Now, our date was in two days and I couldn’t help but feel …
fucked.
“Listen to me,” Alix said, our fluffy slippers brushing against each
other as she turned her whole body toward me. “I’ve worked with
Terry for a while, and over the years I’ve gotten to know him fairly
well. If I didn’t think you guys would be a perfect match, I never
would have let him ask you out.”
“The what-if-this-doesn’t-work-out concerns are piling up so fast in
my head, I can’t even think straight.”
She sighed, muting the episode of Sex and the City playing in the
background, one we’d seen at least fifty times in the ten years we’d
lived together. “Rose—”
 “Don’t Rose me. We both know I’m confident when it comes to
most things, but this situation is way out of the norm and my track
record with men isn’t exactly worth bragging about.”
Her hand returned to my shoulder, this time petting me as if I was
a golden retriever. “You’ve just picked the wrong guys. But you didn’t
choose this one—I did.” She lifted the bottle of wine from the table
and added more to my glass, since it was almost empty again. I
barely remembered sipping it. “We’ll have a drink before you go to
dinner, so you can loosen up. The good news is you already know
the meaty stuff, like everything about his job and where he lives.
You’ll just have to fill in the potatoes.” She gave me that look. The
one that told me I needed to trust her. “You’re absolutely going to
love dinner, and you’re especially going to love him.”
“How do you know I’m going to looove dinner?” It was easier to
talk about food than my heart. When her eyes widened, I saw the
answer on her face. “Alix Rayne, you have five seconds to tell me
everything you know.”
She laughed, leaning back, her cheeks reddening, the movement
almost spilling her wine. “I only know he’s taking you for sushi,
because I told him that was your favorite.” She winked. “You’re
welcome.”
My brows rose high on my forehead. “You’re sure that’s all you
know?”
She smiled. “If there was more, do you really think I’d be able to
keep it a secret?”
I let out a long, shuddering exhale. “The man is taking me for
spicy tuna.”
“You’ve already fallen in love with him, haven’t you?”
I held up two fingers, pinching the air as though it was skin. “A tiny
bit.”
“Just wait until you guys are alone …” She twirled a chunk of my
hair around her hand. “If you’re not married to him in the next couple
of years, I’d be shocked.”
 My eyes widened, my mouth opening, the words taking several
seconds to formulate. “You’re … kidding?”
“Nope. Not even close.” Her grin grew so wide, I was worried the
smile lines would be permanent. “Just wait, you’ll be Terry-
mesmerized very soon.”
 CHAPTER TWO
Terry

I’D DATED MANY women in the past. Most never made it to a

second dinner. A few lasted several months. I had a girlfriend my
senior year in college and things ended between us after we
graduated; she moved back home to California, and I stayed in
Boston, where I was from. Since graduating from the firefighting
academy, where I’d enrolled shortly after getting my bachelor’s
degree, it became apparent that girls were after one thing.
My uniform.
Women had a fantasy of being rescued, carried down the firepole,
clinging to my thick suspenders, and feeling the hard plastic of my
hat while I fucked them against the brick wall of the firehouse.
I was more than happy to fulfill those dreams.
But there came a time when you craved something different, when
you wanted a connection deeper than the one between her legs.
When you wanted to find a woman who made you a better man.
I didn’t expect anything special to happen when I met Alix’s best
friend, Rose, especially not when she was coming over to my place
to see if she’d like to move in. Where Alix was more conservative
and laid back, Rose was fire. Snarky. Someone who would
constantly challenge me and keep me on my fucking toes.
I needed that.
After a few weeks of watching her sexy ass come and go from our
apartment, admiring her when she kicked back on the couch in
pajamas with a glass of wine, and when she dressed in gym gear to
work out, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to ask her out, but I ran it
by Alix first. Her response was exactly what I wanted to hear, so I
waited until the moment felt right before I approached Rose.
It happened one morning while she was shoving a forkful of egg
whites into her mouth. She immediately said yes, and seconds later,
the look of what-the-fuck-did-I-just-do covered her beautiful face. I’d
laughed at her expression, and she stole a piece of bacon off my
plate.
If there was any doubt she was the girl for me, the bacon solidified
it.
Once Alix told me Rose’s favorite food was sushi, I made a
reservation at the top-rated place in Boston. I got off work an hour
before dinner, so I showered at the firehouse and told her I’d meet
her at the restaurant. Fortunately, I’d gotten there a few minutes
early, and wanting to watch her arrive, I sat in the chair that faced the
entrance.
When the signals went off at the firehouse, and we loaded into the
truck, adrenaline surged through me. The intensity began in my
chest and spread to my limbs. When I finally saw the flames, the
sight of something so powerful and deadly made me want to go to
war.
Women were similar to fires. They caused heat, destruction. They
triggered your fight or flight impulse.
The moment my eyes connected with hers, I would know how
damaging she might be.
At eight o’clock on the dot, I got my answer.
There was a flicker in the pit of my stomach as the hostess led her
through the dining room, the flames licking the boundaries of my
chest and teasing the back of my throat.
Her fire was hotter than I expected. Her wreckage could be
fucking devastating.
Because, goddamn it, this girl was gorgeous.
She had dark hair and deep, passionate eyes. Her athletic body
told me if I wasn’t careful, she could race me up all sixty stories of
the John Hancock Tower—the tallest building in Boston—and win.
But she still had plenty of delicious curves and long, lean legs I could
get lost between.
I stood and pulled her chair back from the table.
“Terry,” she voiced only feet away where the hostess had left her.
I kept my hands gripped to the top of her chair, stopping myself
from reaching for her. “Rose …”
I wanted to test out her name, see how it felt on my tongue.
I liked it.
Too much.
“Hi, roommate. I don’t know if I should hug you or run back home
and pretend this never happened, saving us from making a horrible
mistake.”
A smile slipped across my lips before I made the decision for her,
closing the space between us. As I clenched the narrowness of her
waist, the scent of fresh pears filled my nose.
“I don’t remember you being this tall,” she said. “Did you grow
overnight?”
“You mean my height wasn’t the first thing you noticed when you
saw me in a towel?”
She sat. “In that moment, I didn’t even know you had a face.”
Spicy. Like the wasabi I’d soon mix with my soy sauce.
Before I could respond, a waitress came to our table to take our
drink orders. Rose asked for a glass of wine, and I requested a beer.
When we were alone again, she placed her elbows on the table.
“I’m a professional finder. If someone is walking this earth, I can
locate them online. But you, mister—you’re impossible to stalk.
Aside from the articles in the Boston Globe that mention your
heroism—which I must say is extremely impressive; you’re one hell
of a firefighter—you don’t exist. I’ve tried every trick I have up my
sleeve and come up short each time. How does a twenty-something-
year-old man have a private Instagram account and no Facebook?
How’s a girl supposed to find out everything she can when you keep
your photos locked up?”
 “You could request to follow me.”
She let out a huff of air. “So I’ll have to move out and unfollow you
if things don’t work between us.” She glanced around, as though
making sure no one was listening. “You know, we’re completely
insane to be testing the waters of a roommate-ship. I could have just
kept appreciating your chiseled body and never let things move
beyond that.”
I put my hand on top of hers. “You’re sure about that?”
As my skin touched hers, the sensation in my stomach took me by
surprise. So did the way she quietly gasped.
From the first day I’d met her, I knew Rose was going to be
different than all the others.
I released a long, drawn-out sigh and brushed my thumb across
the back of her hand. “Something tells me that’s not true at all. I think
seeing me in that towel wouldn’t be enough and eventually you’d
want more.”
“Fuck.” She breathed, shivering after each pass of my finger. “Alix
was right.”
 CHAPTER THREE
Rose

I SET DOWN my chopsticks and took another sip of wine before

asking Terry, “Favorite food?”
“Steak.”
“I can hang with that.”
“Sport?”
“Hmmm.” I considered his question, weighing the team that meant
the most to me. “Red Sox.”
“Good answer.”
“Band?”
“Easy one. Pearl Jam.”
Now that the waitress had cleared away our plates, leaving the
table empty, I rested my arms across the space in front of me. “I’m
not opposed to some Pearl Jam, but that is an interesting choice.”
“If I’m getting pumped up for work or relaxing in the shower or
questioning my place in this world, they have a song for every mood.
But if I want to party and go hard, Jay Z all the way. If I want to slow
things down and chill, I listen to Sam Smith.”
“Who are you? And where have you been all my life?”
He laughed, and I loved the sound and the way his lips spread so
perfectly into an incredibly handsome smile. But there was so much
more to Terry than just his looks, and I was learning that as the night
went on. There was deep kindness, generosity, protectiveness, and
a profound love for his job and family.
“I’m able to read people. Call me intuitive, a good listener,
however you want to label it, but I get a sense of someone within a
few seconds of meeting them.”
My heart pounded harder, and I clasped my hands under the table
to keep them steady. “What is your gut telling you about me?”
He let out a slow, sexy breath. “You’re not ready to hear those
words yet.”
“What if I am?”
The waitress was suddenly at our table with the check, and Terry
handed her his credit card without glancing at the bill.
With his eyes still on mine, I said, “Where were we? Oh, right, you
were about to tell me something epic.”
His gaze intensified and he stayed silent while he took me in, the
waitress setting down the receipt. He added the tip and signed his
name, and was suddenly standing. He came over to my side of the
table and held out his hand. “Are you ready to get out of here?”
I let him pull me to my feet, our fingers still clung together, and he
led me out of the restaurant. Outside, he stopped on the sidewalk,
positioning me in front of him, his arms resting on my shoulders. His
touch sent so many tingles through my body, I knew this was the
beginning of something huge.
“We’re not going home,” he informed me.
“Because?”
“I don’t want to walk you to your room and tell you to lock your
door and then do the same, knowing I won’t see you again until
morning.” He licked his bottom lip. “That’s what will happen if we go
home, and I’m not ready for that yet.”
“You continue to surprise me.”
His hand went to my chin, and the air in my lungs tightened to the
point where it wasn’t easy to breathe.
“You’re different, Rose. You’re not someone you sleep with on the
first date. You’re someone I want to savor.”
His admission was flattering, but I still wondered if that had
anything to do with being roommates and the awkwardness that
would follow if it didn’t work out.
 “I know something about us, something about our future, and that
means more to me than carrying you to my bed.” He cupped my
face. “Don’t get me wrong, getting you naked in my bed is one of the
many things on my mind right now, but that isn’t where this is going
tonight.”
I was consumed with feelings and a throbbing that pulsed through
me. “Tell me about our future.”
His grip tightened, and for a moment I thought he was going to
kiss me. But his lips stayed right where they were, his gaze
deepening instead.
Something told me he was waiting until the perfect moment to put
his mouth on me.
“Full of questions, and I’m giving you nothing.”
“I’ll start begging soon, I’m sure.”
“Rose …” His voice was mesmerizing, deep, guttural. I could
never grow tired of it. “You won’t have to, trust me.”
We were only about seven blocks from our apartment, but when
he started walking, I realized we were moving in the other direction.
With his hand linked through mine, I couldn’t feel the frosty chill in
the air, even though my jacket was unzipped. I couldn’t feel the way
my boots squeezed my toes. I couldn’t feel the fullness in my
stomach from all the rolls of sushi we’d shared.
The only thing I felt was him.
“Where are we going?” I asked after a few blocks.
Not that it mattered—if we were headed for dessert, a basketball
game, or even a red room, I would have followed him anywhere at
this point.
He gave me a quick glance over his shoulder before maneuvering
us through a thick crowd of pedestrians. “You’ll see.”
After a few more blocks, we arrived at the entrance of the Public
Garden and that was when he finally slowed down.
“I love it here,” I told him as he slipped his arm around my
shoulders. We followed a wide path that took us past where the
flowers were planted in summer. Now the grounds were covered in a
light dusting of snow. “Alix and I come here a lot when the weather is
warm. It’s one of our favorite spots in the city.”
The streetlamp we passed showed his eyes were fixed on mine.
“Why am I not shocked to hear that we share a love for this place?”
I smiled, and we continued toward the large pond, where we sat
on one of the benches overlooking it.
When Alix and I came here, the ducks swam across the water and
visitors fed them breadcrumbs. We’d find a spot on the grass, stretch
out on a blanket, and sip wine from our insulated mugs, reading from
books or discussing work and life.
I turned to him. “Why is this place special to you?”
He gazed at the black, icy water, the skyline of Boston hugging us
and stars lighting up the darkness above. “I was about three weeks
into my job, just having graduated firefighting academy, and I was
working a forty-eight-hour stretch. It was around three o’clock in the
morning when the alarms went off, dispatch telling us how horrific
the fire was, spreading through a ten-story building on
Commonwealth Ave, already killing half the top floor before we even
arrived.” He shook his head. “That was one of the worst fires the city
had seen in a long time.”
“I remember that night.” I took in his profile, his chocolate-colored
scruff so delicious looking as it peppered his jawline. “Alix told me all
about it. She happened to be working that shift.”
He exhaled, clouds of smoke forming in the air from his hot breath
hitting the cold. “We lost two of our own in that fire. I was with them,
and we had separated at the second floor. I should have gone west
with them, but I heard someone shouting for help and darted east
instead. They fell through the floor and died.” There was pain in his
beautiful eyes. “After we got back to the station, I didn’t even shower.
I just started walking. Wandering, really. I needed to clear my
thoughts, and I ended up here.” He paused. “Now, whenever
something significant happens in my life, or when fire strikes in my
head, I find myself on this bench, looking at this view, grateful for
what I have been given.”
I squeezed his hand. “What are you grateful for tonight?”
“You.” He took a breath. “You’re my fire, Rose.”
He stood and led me closer to the water, our feet leaving tracks in
the snow. He turned, so we faced each other, a warmth dipping
straight into my chest.
“I’m going to tell you something and I don’t want it to scare you.”
“That’s impossible to do, I assure you.”
His hand returned to my face, this time in an even more intimate
way. A way where, no matter what, I wouldn’t be able to move,
because this man’s eyes were keeping me locked in place.
“I haven’t kissed you yet. I haven’t spent more than a handful of
hours with you. I don’t even know how you like your coffee, but
there’s something I’m absolutely sure of.”
“What’s that, Terry?”
He pointed to a place only a few feet from us that had the most
beautiful elm tree, its long, wintered branches weeping onto the
ground. “That’s the spot where you’re going to become my wife.”
 
If you would like to read more about Rose, check out When Ashes
Fall, which is available now.
 ALSO BY MARNI MANN
Stand-Alone Novels
Before You (Contemporary Romance)
The Assistant (Psychological Thriller)
The Unblocked Collection (Erotic Romance)
Wild Aces (Erotic Romance)
 
The moments in boston series—contemporary romance
When Ashes Fall
When We Met
When Darkness Ends
 
The agency series (stand-alone novels)—Erotic Romance
Signed
Endorsed
Contracted
Negotiated
 
The Prisoned SERIES—Dark Erotic Thriller
Prisoned (Dark Erotic Thriller)
Animal—Book Two
Monster—Book Three
The Shadows Series—Erotica
Seductive Shadows—Book One
Seductive Secrecy—Book Two
 
The BAR HARBOR SERIES—NEW ADULT
Pulled Beneath—Book One
Pulled Within—Book Two
 
The Memoir Series—Dark Fiction
Memoirs Aren’t Fairytales—Book One
Scars from a Memoir—Book Two
 
Novels Co-written with Gia Riley
Lover (Erotic Romance)
Drowning (Contemporary Romance)
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today best-selling author Marni Mann knew she was going to
be a writer since middle school. While other girls her age were
daydreaming about teenage pop stars, Marni was fantasizing about
penning her first novel. She crafts unique stories that weave together
her love of darkness, mystery, passion, and human emotions. A New
Englander at heart, she now lives in Sarasota, Florida, with her
husband and their yellow Lab. When she’s not nose deep in her
laptop, working on her next novel, she’s scouring for chocolate,
sipping wine, traveling, or devouring fabulous books.
 
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 ARMAGEDDON, AGAIN

 
AILEEN ERIN

“TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.” God’s booming voice made my

teeth rattle.
I looked up at the cavern’s black rock ceiling. Lava dripped down
stalactites, a fun surprise for anyone who walked under them. Not
that anyone here would die from it, but pain still existed. Pain was
Hell’s favorite tool.
Wait. Two more days? I could’ve sworn it was five days.
No. That’s right. Time was slower down here. “Maybe a little more
information could help? Like a hint of where the key to stopping
armageddon might be located. Or even if I’m in the right realm.”
Thunder rolled through the acre of cavern, and lightning cracked
the ground at my feet.
I bowed my head to God’s usual get-it-done-now reminder. “My
apologies, Lord. I will do as You will it.” I still wanted a hint, but I
knew I wouldn’t get one. It was my eternal job to find a trustworthy
mortal to watch over the key that opened the gates of Hell. If a
mortal held the key, I could find it easily.
Two more days until armageddon.
Again.
I wiped a hand down my face. Archons shouldn’t sweat, but I was
in the worst part of Hell. Pits of lava broke up the black rock ground
of the cavern. Fire lit in the pits from time to time, shooting out puffs
of flames into the cavern.
 The black rocks under my feet trembled—a sign that something
was heading my way. Fantastic. Fighting demons took precious time
away from stopping armageddon, and that meant I had even less
chance of getting to Samantha’s birthday party, which I could not
afford to miss.
Key. I yelled through the void. Keeeeey! It was silly to call it like a
puppy, but it worked. Sometimes.
There were too many places to look this time. The key could be
anywhere.
Why would one make a key that could end the world?
It wasn’t my place to question God, and I knew the answer, but I
didn’t like the answer.
This stupid key was a test. For everyone. Mortals, angels,
demons, and me. One of the seven archons. But to be fair, I was
getting sick of stopping armageddons. If the humans chosen to
guard the key would stop losing it, maybe I could have a nice
vacation.
The fact that this was my fault didn’t make it less annoying. Yes, I
gave it to that boy. Yes, he seemed worthy. No, it didn’t end well.
Again.
But it didn’t always end well. The mortals often failed the test, and
then I would hustle to find the key and entrust it to someone new
before the world ended.
I was going to need to find a better mortal next time. If there was a
next time.
Maybe the world should just end. End my few thousand-year
existence. That was long enough. It’d been a pretty good run.
“Why are you down here again?” A familiar, bored voice asked
from beside me.
I looked over as Samael, my archon colleague, slowly appeared—
at first a glowing ball of white until he was fully there, looking fresh
and pristine as usual. He favored the white-on-white angelic look—
pants and tunic—letting his long blond hair float freely around his
face as if a gentle breeze were brushing against him, but there was
no breeze in Hell.
I rolled my eyes at him. We could change our looks and how
much of His Light we had in us depending on our needs. We could
even make our wings disappear from view, but here he was with
bright white iridescent wings, Light at a ten out of ten, powers given
to us by God on the highest setting. Every alarm in Hell must be
sounding.
Was he trying to make this worse? “You couldn’t tone it down a
few notches before showing up?”
“I didn’t have to show up at all. I heard your incessant calls from
Heaven.” He crinkled his nose as if he were smelling something foul,
and to be fair, he was. “Really, Elilaios? It’s almost as if you enjoy
being here.”
“What’s not to love? It’s hot and stinks like sulfur, death, and the
misery of untold hordes of sinner souls. I find it exceedingly relaxing.
I’m not sure if it’s the screaming or the general perfume that really
makes this place fantastic.” What was I doing? Samael didn’t get
sarcasm. “Does it look like I’m having a nice holiday? And for the
love, call me Eli. I dropped the rest of it five centuries ago.”
“Elilaios is your God-given name, and honestly, it looks like you’re
down here killing demons for sport. And while it’s an honorable
endeavor, it would be more worthwhile if done up there—” He
pointed up. “—where the mortals need help. As long as the demons
are down here, what’s the difference?”
I stopped myself before I could say something rude. I’d been
down here for days, and I was in the worst mood. It was going to
take days to get rid of this level of stench from my jeans. My once-
white T-shirt would never be clean again.
“Don’t be so dramatic. Ask God for a cleansing, and it will
certainly be clean again.”
I closed my eyes. “It’s rude to read my mind.”
“If that was so, then why would God give us that ability? And
might I point out that you love to look in the minds of mortals?”
 He had a point, but I wasn’t a mortal. “I believe Astaroth has the
key.” Astaroth was one of Satan’s second-in-commands. Satan had
many seconds vying for top billing, but Astaroth was arguably the
one that gave me the most trouble. Of the nearly two hundred
attempted armageddons I’d stopped, Astaroth was responsible for
over half. “I was informed by God a week ago that the clock was
ticking, and it’s not going well. A little help. If you could spare the
time.”
“I could. I am here after all, but armageddon? Again?”
I gritted my teeth. “Yes.”
“Well, this certainly sounds like you have a problem. You should
find the key. It’s honestly surprising how bad you are at keeping track
of it.”
I wanted to scream at my fellow archon, but I couldn’t. Yelling at
him would accomplish exactly nothing. It wouldn’t even make him
mad. I was pretty sure he had no emotions or feelings. “I’m trying to
find it right now. That’s why I’m here.” I spread my arms out to the
hellscape around us.
“Ah. This makes more sense.” He paused. “How much more time
do you have?”
I waved a hand, and a countdown clock appeared. “A little less
than two days now.”
“Plenty of time yet.”
Was it? Probably. Given my history of exactly zero armageddons
coming to pass, these things had a way of working out. Except for
one complication. “Samantha’s birthday party is soon, and I need to
get back in time for it.”
“You’re worried about a mortal-ish girl’s birthday party when the
apocalypse is about to commence?”
“It’s Samantha.” When he said nothing, I repeated it. “Samantha.”
“I know who she is.” He looked around. “She should help us look.
She’d be good at it.”
“She’s five.” When he didn’t say anything, I repeated it. “Five.”
 He looked at me as if he didn’t understand.
“She’s not ready.” He wouldn’t understand about her being too
young for a trip to Hell. Not because he didn’t get the concept, but
when you got to be our age, the difference between five and twenty-
five seemed to disappear. At least to Samael, it did, but I chose to
enmesh my life with the lives of the mortals I was charged with
watching over. The other archons disagreed with the role I played
and how much I “meddled” in the mortal realm, but that was the only
way I could do my job.
“Do you not want your Samantha to be ready? This is the exact
kind of experience a pivotal being needs to mature their soul, and—”
Samael kept talking, but I couldn’t listen to him anymore. I was
going to strangle him. It wouldn’t kill him—it would take a lot more
than that to do the job—but it would be an excellent way to burn off
some steam.
There was a dark flash, and I turned to the back of the cavern.
Astaroth had arrived.
I glanced back at Samael’s glowing form. I’d been here for days—
days—without discovery, and now Astaroth shows?
God, help me.
I let out a breath and turned back to Astaroth. Today, he was
wearing the guise of a child in a ski jacket. I loathed this form the
most. He smiled, and his mouth yawned open. It was so similar to a
lesser demon’s smile that I wanted to laugh. Why did he always
choose to mimic his lesser beings?
I was tempted to fight him, but I was in Hell—Astaroth’s domain—
and I needed more time before facing him. I needed the key first.
And yet…
Maybe fighting him now would save time. The direct approach
sometimes worked out, and I had Samael with me today.
I flicked my wrist, and my flaming sword appeared. Ready.
I glanced over at Samael, who was standing there looking bored.
Was he not going to help?
 I glanced back at Astaroth, who was now surrounded by a legion
of lesser demons.
Perfect. Just great. This day just kept getting worse.
I turned to Samael, who was still standing there as if we were not
about to run straight into a battle that he’d caused. “Where’s your
sword?”
“I gave it to my daughter.”
I looked at him for a second as I tried to process what he’d said.
He had to be joking. It was a joke?
Astaroth yelled something in their sickening demonic language,
and the legion rushed toward us.
But still, Samael didn’t pull his sword.
We couldn’t fight without it. I could try, but fighting a legion of
demons and Astaroth? It would be an even match. Which meant I
could lose. And then who would be left to find the key?
We had moments to make a choice—stand and fight or flee.
I wanted to fight.
“Where’s. Your. Sword?” I hissed the words at Samael.
He widened his eyes a bit. “I. Gave. It. To. My. Daughter.”
I wiped a hand down my face. “When did you do that?”
He shrugged. “Two hundred years ago. I think. Maybe it was one
hundred and forty years ago? Who can ever tell how much time has
passed?”
“Everyone can. Everyone.” Samael just didn’t care enough to
keep track.
“Cosette needed it more than I did.” He gave a shrug like this
wasn’t a massive problem.
I glanced at the legion. We had a second. I flicked my wrist, letting
the sword disappear, and crossed my arms. “I’m sorry, but is this the
daughter you refuse to visit?”
“Yes.”
 “You do realize that you have a job that requires said sword, don’t
you?”
He gave me a flat stare—the only expression that ever graced his
face—that said he wasn’t amused. “You do realize if Astaroth’s here
and you’re here, then the—”
“Key is not here.” Yes, I’d realized that before I put my sword
away.
“We should leave before the legion reaches us.” And then Samael
was gone. No flash or glowing orb or anything this time. Just gone.
Astaroth yelled something demonic from two lava pits away, and
that was my cue.
Samael was a ten out of ten always, but I only used the Light
when I needed to. Like right now. I spread my wings wide. They were
a pale ash gray with tips of white, but I put Light in them, knowing it
would blind the demons for a moment to see something so pure.
I wiggled my fingers at Astaroth, the only demon out there still
able to look at me. “See you later.” Instead of turning into a ball of
light to move directly into the mortal realm, I flew in my current form.
It was showy and would piss everyone in Hell off, but I didn’t care.
They’d given me a headache, and I was paying them back for all the
time I’d spent suffering down there while searching for the key. I flew
through the pits of hell, spreading Light through each level of Hell,
then through the top of the Hell dimension and into the mortal realm.
I spun as I hit the sky and flipped to stare down at the ground. No
one could see me unless I wanted them to see me. It was also night
in the mortal realm, which meant it was later than I thought. I’d
wasted time by taking the showy exit from Hell to the mortal plane.
But how much time?
I flicked my hand and checked the clock.
Three hours left.
Wait. That couldn’t be right.
Three hours.
I’d already missed Samantha’s party. This was a disaster.
 Focus, Eli. Focus.
I could do this. I’d done it before. Sure, not with this kind of a time
frame and no leads—if only a mortal possessed the key right now—
but I could find it. Eventually.
Impossible. This was impossible.
No. No, it wasn’t. I just needed to not think about the three-hour
deadline. Or armageddon. Or Samantha.
If the key was in this realm, then I could track it. I pictured the key
with its last guard and focused on the last moment that they held it.
There was a blip when it was gone—that was when it was in Hell
—but then it appeared again. A mortal had it for a second. I saw a
club and a door, and then it was gone. Which meant it had been
given to someone else. Someone supernatural. Angel or demon or
other, I wasn’t sure which. But someone had it, and the club was my
best shot for a clue.
I focused on the club. The images. The scents. I played the last
little bit when the key had been in mortal hands over and over in my
head until I found the right spot.
Down there.
Right down there.
I made sure that I was still unseen from mortal eyes, and then I
dove, diving down, down, down, until I reached the street.
I touched the sidewalk and folded my wings. Around the corner,
into an alley, and there was the entrance to a club. The door was a
dark metal with no window. If it weren’t for the spray-painted angelic
script on the door warding away mortal eyes, I would’ve passed it by.
But those kinds of angelic script were like beacons for me.
The alley was empty and deserted except for the lost souls—both
dead and barely living, hiding in the shadows as if they knew I was
there. I said a prayer that they would find their way, then knocked on
the club door.
I could’ve gone inside. Nothing could keep me out of a place that I
wanted to enter. That was the joy of being an archon. One of the
bonuses. There were many costs, but that locked metal door wasn’t
keeping me outside. And yet, I wasn’t sure what I was walking into.
No mortal thoughts flitted inside. Which meant it was either empty, or
it was filled with supernaturals that I couldn’t read. Which wasn’t
exactly dangerous but going in there with my flaming sword in my
hand wouldn’t exactly help me find the key.
I needed a lead, and I needed it fast.
I breathed, let myself relax, and became visible to any
supernaturals around me—wings and an eight out of ten for Light.
There were running footsteps, and I looked down the alley. The
lost were running. Sometimes they could see what I was, especially
when their minds were altered. I was sure it would be a scary sight
for some, but I wasn’t the Archangel of Death.
I was the Archon of Protection. I was the mooring-rope between
Heaven and Earth. I watched out for the mortals. I wouldn’t hurt
them. Not unless it served a greater purpose. My goal was singular
—to keep the world a good place. A place where lives had the
chance to thrive. And to do that, I had to protect and watch out for a
few essential individuals whose impact on the world could make or
break the world and to keep a close watch on the key to Hell.
Although these days, it felt like I was mostly failing. Evil was
winning, and it was too great to fight alone.
But I wouldn’t be alone forever. Soon, there would be others. My
next group of charges had already been born. I just needed to keep
it together for one more decade, give or take.
And then they would be ready.
And so would she.
After a minute, the lock clicked.
A man of averages stared at me—average height, weight, mettle
—but his eyes were red. Demon red.
Yes. This was the right place.
Time for some fun.
I relaxed a little—just enough to let my wings expand—and gently
used them to rise a few inches off the ground.
 The man who’d stupidly sold his soul to a demon for a piteously
small sum of money stumbled back. The demon in him was
screaming, but the withered bit of his soul that was left leaned
toward me. And that was my cue. The mortal wouldn’t put up a fight,
and the demon couldn’t.
I floated through the door and took in the club. It was mostly
empty. There were a few booths along the wall, all empty. A few
tables, also empty. And then the bartender behind the bar along the
sidewall.
He didn’t spare me a glance as he stood behind the bar, drying
glasses with a dingy-looking towel. It took me a second to recognize
him, and then I let my feet drop to the ground.
He wasn’t looking like himself. His dark hair was shaved short, his
T-shirt was black, and he wore dark pants. There were tattoos on his
arms that shouldn’t have been there. But that was him. I’d known
him for as long as I’d been alive. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Sit down, Elilaios,” the bartender said, except he wasn’t a
bartender. Not really.
I dropped my head for a moment, praying for guidance. I was
brought here for a reason, but what?
What was I supposed to see? Other than Seth not doing his job?
He was here with a demonized mortal?
That’s not what we’re supposed to do.
We help the mortals. We can’t cure their afflictions, but we can
lead them to help. Lead them to someone who could either break
their tie with the demon they aligned themselves with or—if the
demon is using them as a host—lead them to an exorcist. Someone
who can properly send the demon back to Hell. Because once the
demon is inside a mortal, an archon cannot kill it without killing the
host.
I had to ask him. “What are you doing here with a demonized
mortal at the door?”
“Of all the archons, you should know how close the edge is
between light and dark.” Seth set the glass down behind the bar and
then turned, reaching for another glass without looking at me.
“No.” I moved to stand in front of him. There was no excuse for
letting a mortal suffer that way. He was an archon. An archon. By not
acting, he was complacent. “No, it’s unacceptable to let a person
with that affliction—”
He reached for another glass without looking at me. “Is that what
you tell your charge?”
My charge? I didn’t have to read Seth’s mind to know who he
meant. Him being here with a demonized mortal wasn’t the same as
taking Samantha on as a charge. She wasn’t a demon, and she
didn’t have a demon parasite living inside her. She was other. She
could be great with the right help.
“Samantha’s lineage is dual,” I said. “Which side she falls on is up
to us. We owe it to her—”
“Do we?”
He didn’t know. He’d never met her, so he could never understand
what Samantha was or the good within her. And if it were up to me,
I’d never let him near her.
This was a distraction. “I need the key.”
Seth finally set down the glass and looked at me. “Do you now?”
If I could pull a flaming sword on him and scare him into telling me
what he knew, I’d have done it already. But he had a sword of his
own. Or he should, unless he stupidly gave it away like Samael.
Seth was the Archon of Order. Meaning above all, he wanted
everyone to stay where they were supposed to stay. Which meant
that he’d want me to have the key as much as I needed it.
And then I knew.
Damn it. I couldn’t locate the key because Seth had it. I saw it
clearly in his mind’s eye.
I strode to the bar and held out my hand. “Give it to me.”
“I can’t. Not until you help me.”
Seth never asked for help. “Help you with what?”
“The man at the door.”
 I looked back at the man, squatting by the door with his hands
over his ears and his eyes tightly shut. The demon inside him was
still ranting in one of the demonic languages that made my ears
ache. But the more I looked at him, the more I knew the man was
almost dead. He was still breathing, but he was beyond saving at
this point.
I sighed as I turned back to Seth. “You know we can’t do anything
about him. We can lead him to help, but he has to want to fight the
demon that—”
“He won’t accept help anymore. It’s too late and the demon’s hold
is too strong, but they can’t have him. Not him.”
There was something I was missing here. “What’s his relation to
you?”
He turned away, and his shoulders hunched, and I knew whatever
came next was going to be a shock. Because the man at the door
looked like a sickly version of the archon in front of me.
“Yes. He’s of my lineage.”
Every once in a hundred years, I found that I hated being right.
“For the Lord’s sake, even you? Really, Seth?” Bad things happened
when mortals and archons mixed. At least Samael mated with
another powerful supernatural. But this? This was a mortal line. The
only thing that happens when a mortal and an archon mixed was
misery. For everyone. Any offspring would be chased by Hell until
they were caught.
Which was exactly why that man at the door was in this state.
Seth was an idiot. “You’re the one who’s supposed to keep this
exact thing from happening.”
“It was a long time ago. My link to him is distant and diluted. I’ve
been trying to guide him, but I need him to be okay.”
“Why?”
“He’ll be essential in the future.” He pulled a thick gold chain from
around his neck. On it was a black key.
The same key I’d been looking for.
 “How did you get it?”
Seth raised a dark brow. “Does it matter?”
“Only if that man killed my former charge.”
The look on Seth’s face was everything. His many-greats-
grandkid murdered my charge to get the key and started
armageddon.
How did this keep getting worse? “If he cannot repent for his sin,
then he cannot be forgiven. His soul is lost to—”
Seth’s wings—mostly a flat bright white—spread wide, ready for a
fight. “It was while he was under the demonic influence. He can still
be saved. He can repent for what brought him to this point. There’s
always a chance for forgiveness. Just, please. Call your charge.
Lead her here. She can help him. She’s done it before. I’ve seen it.
This is allowed.” He pulled the chain over his head and held it out to
me. “Please, make the right choice.”
I dropped my head again. He was right, but it was my job to
protect her. To guide her. To lead her to the side of righteousness. I
knew that meant that she’d be fighting demons for a long, long time.
I just didn’t want it to start now.
But there was that ticking clock. The fate of the mortal realm.
There was always a choice.
I ran through the possibilities of who this mortal was, what he
could be, and Seth wasn’t lying. Not that I ever thought he was, but I
had to be sure. So, saving him made sense. If it worked.
Not just any exorcist could do this. The demon was so deeply
ingrained in the man that he was almost dead. Performing an
exorcism on him now was dangerous. It needed a soft, careful hand.
Samantha was the only one.
I needed to consider Samantha and the damage it could do to her.
But it would do none because Seth was right. She’d done it before.
Many times. It was ingrained in her already. She saw a demon, she
sent it back to Hell. She saw a troubled soul, she healed it. She cut
ties that spiritual entities had on mortals whenever she saw them.
 But Samantha was a young child, and it was mostly instinct right
now. She didn’t see much beyond “this is bad” and “I should help
them.” She was innocent now, but one day that would change.
But not today. It wouldn’t affect Samantha if I asked her to do this.
It would affect me. I didn’t want her doing this type of thing yet, but
that wasn’t up to me. This was the path God had set her on. But I
hated asking a favor after missing her birthday party.
Without answering Seth, I snatched the key from him and closed
my eyes. I could’ve gone to the gates of Hell and locked them again,
but I would help Seth first. I had time.
I pictured Samantha’s apartment. The small one she shared with
her mother in a terrible part of Los Angeles. I hated that she would
suffer so much in her youth, but I knew her suffering would serve a
purpose.
Samantha would rise above it, and when she did, she’d have the
strength to face anything and the faith to do what was right even
when it was hard.
When I opened my eyes, I was inside her tiny living room.
“Samantha?”
Little feet came running. “Hi! Hi! Hi!” She didn’t stop. Instead, she
kept running at me and leaped.
I lifted her into my arms, balancing her on my hip. Samantha
wasn’t just a charge to me. She was linked to my soul. Her mother
had been my charge, and it was partly my fault that she’d been
attacked by a fallen one. I stayed by her side as she healed, found
out she was pregnant, and I would stay by them as much as God
allowed.
Some might not understand what Samantha was right now, but
eventually, all would see that she was a gift to the world.
Samantha placed her small hands on my cheeks. “Hi, Uncle Eli. I
missed you.” She rubbed her nose against mine and then pulled
quickly away.
I laughed at the way she pinched her nose shut.
“Uncle Eli?” She whispered, eyes wide and round.
 “Yes, angel?”
“Did you know that you smell?” She cringed as she said it like she
didn’t want to hurt my feelings but also wanted me to know that I
needed a shower and a change of clothes.
I rested my forehead on hers. “It’s been a long day.” I held her for
one more second and then set her down. “Where’s your mother?”
“She ran to the store.”
I fought the anger that started to rise. “Your mother left you
alone?” I knew Ana was alone and struggling, but this wasn’t okay.
“I’m a big girl now, and it’s safer for me to be here. I don’t see so
many things and don’t scare anyone, and mama said it was safe and
to call her if I needed her.” There was too much wisdom in her words
for a five-year-old. Too much logic and pain and a burden of power
that was put on her shoulders.
He gifted her the wisdom to deal with everything, but I hated the
necessity of it.
I forced my anger and outrage away. It wasn’t for Samantha, and I
would talk to Ana. Maybe she would accept more help if I offered
again. “Alright. When is she going to be back?”
“When the second number on the clock has a three. It’s still a
two.”
I glanced at the clock. It was 9:27PM. She was due back in three
minutes. Then we were going to talk.
“Eli?”
“Yes, angel?”
“Don’t be angry. Trust that we will be okay.”
That cut me down to size. A child telling me what was what.
“Thank you for the reminder.”
“You came for my birthday or for help? Because my party was
yesterday, and you missed it.” There was a sadness in her eyes, and
I hated that I’d been the cause of it.
“I’m sorry. I was—”
 “In my father’s realm. I know. I can smell him on you. I’m glad you
didn’t have to stay down there. It’s really yucky and so, so loud. It
hurts my ears.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, but I didn’t have time to say
anything. The door opened, and Ana stepped into the apartment.
Her brown hair was tied back. She wore no makeup and loose,
unassuming clothes that hid her true beauty.
She held a couple grocery sacks in her hands. I rushed forward,
taking them.
“Eli?” Ana smiled but looked confused, especially when she
looked at my clothes. “We weren’t expecting you tonight. Are you
okay? You didn’t show for the party, but you look—”
“I need her help, Ana.” I took the groceries to the kitchen and
started to put them away.
“Not again.” Ana gripped the keys to the apartment in her hands,
twisting them back and forth as she watched me move around her
kitchen. “We’ve talked about this before. She’s still a baby and—”
I picked up the last thing—milk—and walked to the fridge. “She’s
old enough for you to leave alone and apparently old enough for her
to know what Hell is.” I opened the fridge and winced. There was
mustard, pickles, an open not-quite-half full carton of eggs, some off-
brand American singles, and the ends of three loaves of bread.
This wasn’t enough for a growing child or an adult. I put the milk in
the fridge and closed it.
Ana was wondering if I noticed how little food that she had and if I
was going to be angry, and I was, but I said nothing. My anger at her
situation wouldn’t help, and I wasn’t allowed to do much. But I could
drop by the local church and ask them to bring her some food.
I turned to look at her, and she shrugged. I heard the I’m doing my
best that she thought to herself, and she was. I knew she was.
“I can’t help that she knows what Hell is. She sees more than she
should, and I—”
“I’m not a baby.” There was so much outrage in those words.
Samantha thrust her chin out in defiance. “If Eli needs help, I will
help.”
Ana shot me a do-you-see-what-you’ve-done-now look and knelt.
“Let me talk to Eli first and see—”
“No, mama. That’s not what we do. If someone needs help, we
help. That’s what God wants. If we can help, we have to help.” I had
no place to have pride over her wise words, but I did. I was proud of
little Samantha and the choices she was starting to make for herself.
Samantha was wise beyond her handful of years, and it made my
heart ache. But I did need help.
“The key has been turned, but I have it now. I still need to fix
what’s been started,” I said, hoping that Ana would understand my
vague terms. “But the one who held it safely for me asked for a favor.
Help for a lost soul.”
Ana crossed her arms, and I knew what she was going to say. “It’s
too dangerous for her. If he finds us again—” Then where will we go?
I can’t fight him, and—
She stopped speaking, but I heard her continued fears. “You won’t
have to. The protections are in place. He cannot find you or her
here.”
Ana looked at me for a long second, and then she pulled
something from her pocket. A rosary. She wove it between her
fingers, clasped her hands, and bowed her head.
A second later she was glowing. Praying. Asking God for
guidance. It only took a moment before she looked up at me again.
“Okay. Take her, but bring her back in one piece, soul intact. I can
withstand a lot, but I will crumble if something happens to her.”
I knelt at her feet and spread my wings wide, taking Ana’s hands
in mine. “I would never let her be harmed.” It was my oath to her—
one I wouldn’t break.
“Don’t lead him here. Please.” A single tear slid down her cheek.
“We’ve fought so hard to hide.”
I rose, wrapping her in my arms, folding my wings around her.
“She will be okay, and so will you,” I whispered in her ear. “Have
faith.”
 “Faith is the only thing keeping me going, but I’m still scared.”
“He won’t find you. Not for years.”
There was a hitch in her breath as she heard what I’d left unsaid.
I couldn’t tell her a lie. It wasn’t something I was able to do, not
without falling from grace. But I could give her hope for some short-
term safety.
Ana stepped out of my embrace. “How long?”
“If everything stays on the current track, she will be on the cusp of
adulthood.”
Ana exhaled a shaky breath. “Keep her safe.”
“As God wills it.” I moved to Samantha and squatted so that I
could look into her big brown eyes. “You want to go on an adventure
with me?”
“I’ll help, but can we travel through the good place?”
I grinned. “Sure, we can.”
“It’s so much nicer than the bad place.” Her grin was joyful. “I love
it there.”
I tapped her nose and forced myself not to ask when she’d seen
the bad place. “Me, too.” I picked her up. “Be back soon,” I said to
Ana, and then I flew up, up, up. Until we were surrounded by lights
and angels and the harmonic hum of Heaven.
It was quick, only a few moments to go from her apartment to the
bar. But the peace of Heaven would last in Samantha’s heart for a
while. I hoped that offset what she was about to see.
I dove back down. This time aiming inside the club. Samantha
didn’t need to see anything in that alley.
Seth was pacing the room while the demonized man sat
struggling, tied to a chair.
“He’s not good,” Samantha whispered with worry in her voice.
“He’s marked for my father.”
I set her down and squatted next to her again. “Can you undo the
marking?”
 She bit her lip as she stared at him. I wasn’t sure what she was
seeing. I couldn’t see it, and I could see most everything in any
realm. But this gift was hers and hers alone.
“I can erase the mark, but only if he wants me to,” she said with
confidence.
I glanced up at Seth. “Did you hear that? The mortal must be
willing.”
“He will be willing and thankful when it’s done.”
I rolled my eyes. That wasn’t what Samantha said, but I turned to
her anyway. “Will you try?”
“Okay.”
She started walking toward the man, but he yelled something
demonic at her.
I rose, intending to drag her behind me. As an archon, order of the
highest angels, I couldn’t learn the demonic language. I wasn’t sure
what he’d said, but I wasn’t taking any chances.
But then she answered him.
She answered him?
Seth looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, but then she started to
glow. And it wasn’t just any glow. It was the Holy Spirit.
She shouldn’t have that and be able to speak demonic languages,
but that was Samantha’s unique dual heritage.
The man started convulsing. Shouting. Screaming. Spitting out
demonic words that made every ounce of my soul tell me to prepare
for a fight, but little Samantha climbed up on his lap, rising on her
knees, and took his face in her hands.
She said something to him, and his voice fractured into a
thousand different voices.
She turned to me. “Do you have a mirror, Uncle?”
I could get one, but I didn’t want to hold it. I needed my hands free
to protect her. I looked at Seth.
He snapped his fingers, and instantly a large mirror with an ornate
golden frame appeared in his hands. “Will this do?”
 “Hold it between us, please.”
“Does it matter how?”
“No, but I have to pull the demon out through the mirror.”
Seth rose from the ground with a single small pulse from his
wings. He held the mirror between them so that Samantha was
looking at the smooth back of the mirror.
She started speaking in demonic tongue.
I flicked my wrist, and my sword appeared.
I wasn’t sure what she was doing or how she was doing it. She’d
never done it like this. I didn’t know if it was instinct or if someone
from the other side was speaking through her now.
If the first, then we’d be okay.
If the second, then something very, very bad might come through
that mirror.
The scent of sulfur and ash grew. The sounds of Hell filled the
room, and for a second, I thought she’d transported us to Hell by
herself, but then I saw the mirror’s back flicker and wave.
I walked around to the mirror’s front and nearly dropped the
flaming sword.
I’d never dropped it, but I almost did.
On the mirror’s reflective surface, I saw the mortal man in the
center, but the rest...
I didn’t see the bar. Instead, I saw him standing among black
rocks, steam coming off the lava as it wove through the pits, writhing
souls in pain, and scampering demons that tortured every poor soul
trapped in Hell.
She’d opened a portal to Hell. With no key. With just a mirror and
some words and her power.
And she was only five.
God, help us.
I felt His power tingle along my skin. It started at my head, then
flowed down my body until it felt like a million little champagne
bubbles along my body, each filled with Light.
 I heard His power commanding me to watch and not be afraid, but
I was afraid, and I didn’t want to watch. But I did anyway.
Samantha reached through the mirror with one hand and touched
the mortal’s head. “Adjure te, spiritus nequissime, per Deum
omnipotentem.” Samantha’s hand grew white with light, and then
she clenched her hand into a fist and slowly pulled away from his
head.
At first, nothing happened, but then I saw it.
A lesser demon with its mouth too wide, too many teeth, too many
joints in its legs. It was pulled from the man’s body as if Samantha
gripped it. But she didn’t. She just kept slowly, steadily pulling her
hand away as she prayed in Latin, and the demon followed. It
screeched and scrambled to get back toward the mortal, but then
Samantha pulled her hand back through the mirror, and it
disappeared.
Except it didn’t. It was screaming and scampering back through
the lava pits, disappearing into the distance as it ran through Hell to
its master.
Her little shoulders sagged, and she let out a breath. “There’s
more.”
She started the process again. And again. Over and over until the
hour wore on and her color grew duller.
This was costing her.
It was my price to pay for the key, but it was costing her. The truth
of it burned in my stomach, and I knew that this was a debt I would
do my best to repay. I wasn’t sure how, but I would find a way.
When she pulled the last demon from the body, she said another
word—another word I didn’t know—and the mirror shattered,
exploding into shards.
And then the shards froze for a second.
The screams of Hell grew louder, and Samantha turned to me,
eyes wide with fear.
“Stop him. Stop him.”
 “Let God arise and let His enemies be scattered,” I said, pushing
the Light at the bits of mirror in the air. “And let them that hate Him
flee from before His Face!”
The shards turned to fire and then the fire to light and then the
light to dark and then to nothingness.
The room plunged into quiet for the first time in hours.
The mortal man was still, and I wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead
and I didn’t care.
I didn’t care because Samantha was falling, head lolled back,
eyes dark.
I caught her before she hit the ground, cradling her to my chest.
“Never again. Ever,” I said to Seth. “My debt is paid.”
His eyes never wavered from her. “What is she?”
“You know what she is.”
The living key.
Seth kept staring at Samantha, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. I wasn’t
sure I liked the look on his face.
“Seth.” I put the force of God in my voice, snapping Seth from his
thoughts. “I need a place for her to rest for a moment while I finish
my mission, and then I’ll be back for her.”
“There’s a place. Follow me.” He led us down a hallway to an
office with a small couch. It looked dirty, but it was the best I could do
right now.
I laid her on the couch, then knelt. “I’ll be right back for you, and
then I’ll take you home.” I kissed her cheek, but she didn’t stir. “Seth,
the Archon of Order, is watching over you. You are safe.” Even if she
were dreaming, she might still hear me.
I rose and turned to Seth. “Watch her. Protect her. Do not let any
evil come for her. She put herself in grave danger for one of yours.”
He bowed his head, and in an instant, he was transformed into
the archon of old. He wore armor of gleaming gold. His dark hair was
long again and flowing, and his skin free of any markings. A flaming
spear in one hand, he stood in front of Samantha. “She will be under
my care. Do what must be done.”
I didn’t hesitate. I closed my eyes and went back to the gates of
Hell. The demons that guarded it ran from me, for I wasn’t hiding the
Light anymore. I slid the key in place and turned.
Done.
Another armageddon thwarted, and I hoped I’d have years before
I had to come back again. But I knew that wasn’t the case.
I wanted to be proud and celebratory, but I was...exhausted. The
years were a heavy weight, and I had more to go. So much more to
do.
And for some time to come, I had to make sure that Samantha
was safe. Hard choices were coming, but for now, I would stay close
to her.
When I got back to the club’s office, Seth was still there standing
guard. I picked up Samantha without a word to him.
“Elilaios?”
I looked over at him. “Yes?”
“Is she good?” He glanced down at her, and I could hear his
thoughts debating if she would be our enemy one day.
That was the question.
There were always choices, and Samantha would make hers.
I stared down at her sleeping form. She looked like a tiny angel to
me, but only time would tell what she would grow into. I couldn’t
interfere, only help and watch and guard. “She is good now, and if I
can help it, she will stay that way. But there is time and a lot of life for
her to live. I will do my best in the way that we are able.”
I started to leave, but his hand gripped my shoulder, keeping me
firmly in this realm, in this place.
“You’re not going to give her the key, are you?”
I gave him a look. That wasn’t his decision. It was mine.
“Don’t make another mistake. This one—if she… You cannot trust
her with that. Making a mistake with a mortal is different than with
her.”
“If I make a mistake, it is mine to make.” I shook off his hand and
left. I wasn’t going to argue with him, not when she’d done exactly
what was asked of her. Not when she’d helped him, and now he was
condemning her for her methods because they scared him.
I appeared in her room and found Ana kneeling on the floor,
praying. She looked up at me with tear-filled eyes and then let out a
shuttered breath.
She bowed her head. “Thank you, Lord.” She crossed herself and
stood, shoving her rosary in her pocket again. “Is she okay?”
I placed Samantha in her bed and pulled the covers over her. I
leaned down and gave her a kiss, one that was filled with God’s Will.
I wasn’t supposed to use it often, but it felt important to do it now, for
Samantha, but also for Ana.
As I pulled away, Samantha took in a big breath and then relaxed
into the bed, but she never woke. Her color grew better, and I knew
she’d be okay.
“Yes. She’s okay. God is good, and she has done good work
tonight.”
Ana sat beside Samantha, running her hand down Sam’s face.
“She is good.”
“I know.”
“I just wished her life was easier. To be called to do her work so
early…”
“I will stand guard for the next fortnight. I will make sure none
come because of this.” I squeezed her shoulder. “Both of you are
safe.”
Her eyes looked up at me with such hope. “For how long?”
I couldn’t lie. “As I said before, she will be safe from him until she
nears adulthood. He’s her father. He will come for her.”
“And we will teach her,” Ana said. “When the time comes, she will
be more prepared than I was.” Ana rose from the bed and left
without another word, not knowing or maybe not caring that she’d
broken my heart a little.
I collapsed on the floor next to Samantha’s bed, leaning my back
against the frame, and bowed my head.
I prayed that God would give me enough time to prepare
Samantha before he made me step away from her.
Because there would come a time when the forces of Hell came
for her, and when they did, if they took her, then the mortal realm
would fall.
And if it fell, there would be a second war in Heaven.
And that would truly be a disaster.
 
Eli and Samantha from Armageddon, Again appear briefly in
Aileen’s Alpha Girl series—specifically in Being Alpha, Lunar
Court, and Alpha Erased. Although she definitely recommends
reading the series from the start—AKA Becoming Alpha. ;)
 
Want to know more about what’s going to happen to Samantha
when she’s grown up? Invocation will be coming out
Spring/Summer of 2022!
 
Find out more about Aileen and her books on her website, or
via Facebook and Instagram. Don’t be shy (even though Aileen
is!), drop her a line. She loves hearing from readers. <3
 STRIKE ONE

 
MEAGAN BRANDY
  
 
Copyright © 2021 Meagan Brandy
 
All rights reserved. This book, or any portion thereof, may not be
reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express
written permission of the publisher, except for the use of brief
quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the
products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events
is purely coincidental.
 
No copyright infringement intended. No claims have been made over
songs and/or lyrics written. All credit goes to original owner.
 
Edited by Ellie McLove, My Brother’s Editor
 CHAPTER ONE
Xavier

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.

Two more days and she’ll be gone, back home where she
belongs, and away from all these assholes.
A short huff leaves me, and I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Fuck me...
That’s still forty-eight, long, torturous hours, and I’ve already been
feeding myself the timeline for the last twenty-four. This is fucking
crazy.
What the hell was Franky thinking, inviting her to stay for three
goddamn days, at a frat house full of grown-ass men.
At the thought, my eyes make their way forward again and without
a hint of fucking permission.
All I see are hips.
Wide and swaying and far more appealing than should be
allowed.
And grown.
So fucking grown.
I try to remember the last time we were in the same room before
this weekend, and a frown pulls at my brows.
She wasn’t around when I was lucky enough to go home for
Christmas and I never made it back for spring break like I’d
promised, but I remember she stood near the door and waved the
day Neo and I headed back to campus last summer. With Baseball,
we don’t have a lot of free time that allows us to leave school. I
guess I never really stop to think about how busy I am but being a
part of this team is more than I ever thought I’d accomplish, and I
can’t say I’m sorry for it.
Has it really been a year?
“I should go dance with her.”
I glance at my buddy, Tobias, following his line of sight back to the
little mischief-maker commanding attention from across the room.
“Don’t even think about it.” I cut the man’s hopes at the start.
“Why not?” He pauses. “It’s not like you’ve claimed her.”
My head snaps his way. “Why you asking, playboy? Aren’t you hot
for your tutor or something?”
“Man, fuck you.” He glares, his response grumbled with
annoyance, and it’s solely with himself. “And no, I don’t like my
tutor... she’s... all right, maybe, fuck I don’t know, but don’t be tellin’
people.”
“Why not?” I tease. “‘Cause she shot you down and you don’t
know how to act about it?”
He pushes the tip of his bottle into my bicep. “I have a key to your
house, dick, so shut the fuck up.”
I chuckle, but it quickly falls off in a sigh when Nova’s eyes flick
this way again.
“Bro, for real. You need to stamp that ass or someone else is
definitely going to.”
I pull in a deep breath. “Can’t, that’s Neo’s sister.”
“And?” He grins. “Sisters grow up.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
He laughs when I throw his words right back, and he glances her
way again. “Whatever you say, Sanchez.” His eyes come back to
mine. “But it’s that little sister’s birthday, and I’m thinking she’s
looking for an X-sized present, feel me?”
“Her brother would murder me.”
“Then I’ll drop a flower on your grave, my man.” He grins. “‘Cause
what a way to go.”
“I’m about to deck you.”
 “Do it quick, ‘cause that brother you speak of went upstairs with
his girl about five minutes ago. Window’s gonna close, brother.” He
does a stupid little dance, laughing as he walks away.
I glare at his back, bringing my beer to my lips and take a slow
drink.
I tell myself not to look, but it’s futile.
My eyes move back to the little problem I left behind and sure as
shit, hers are glued on me.
She stares straight on, standing completely still in the middle of
the dance floor in the tiniest fucking dress, a fire in her eyes I’ve
never seen, and a smirk that sends uncontrollable heat to my groin.
What are you doing, girl?
She slips behind a partygoer, only to give a small glimpse of
herself peeking from behind another, then another, before she
disappears altogether.
Like the fool I am, I fucking bite.
As quick as she’s gone, I’m standing, searching, until I’m planted
right in-fucking-front of her—in my bedroom.
I open my mouth to speak, but the pads of her fingers swiftly rise
to cover my mouth, the heat of her skin causing my muscles to
tighten.
She reaches out, her hand suddenly tugging on mine as she
takes slow, backward steps, navigating the room like she’s been in
here a thousand times.
She hasn’t.
She shouldn’t be now.
Her skin flushed as she stares up at me.
“It’s past midnight,” she whispers.
My brows draw in, my gaze sliding to the alarm clock on my
dresser briefly.
“Nova...” I lick my lips.
Her chest rises with a deep inhale as she shifts closer, the ends of
her long, red hair teasing my forearms, and my dick strains against
my jeans even more.
“Eighteen, Xavier.”
It takes a second for me to understand what she’s telling me, and
my pulse jumps to meet the bass of the music vibrating beneath our
feet.
Eighteen.
Only two years shy of my twenty and completely fucking legal to
be with. To play with.
Son of a bitch.
It was tough to ignore her before, but there was always her age
that kept the line where it belonged, right fucking between us.
She puts my hand on her hip, flattening my palm there, and I test
the feeling, my fingers spanning across the stretchy material
covering her skin, skin I have an overwhelming urge to feel.
My free hand comes up to skim across her bottom lip, and a
groan leaves me when the little vixen opens up the slightest bit,
allowing her tongue to brush across the pad of my thumb.
I don’t know why, but I tug her closer, an unknown satisfaction
flaring in me when she whimpers as my hard-on presses against her
stomach.
She runs her fingertips up my chest and neck until she can pull
my face closer to hers, but she pauses after aligning her mouth with
mine. “I’m going to kiss you, X, and then you’re going to give me
what you promised before you left, and we won’t tell a soul.”
Tell a soul...
Fuck.
I jump away from her, quickly wiping my hands down my face as I
pretty much try to disappear through the fucking wall.
“Nova, fuck.” I shake my head, my eyes flying around the room
before landing back on her. “You gotta get outta here.”
“I’m not leaving,” she says, lowering herself onto my bed.
Fuck me, if she doesn’t look good there.
No!
 “Yes, you are. If your brother—”
“If my brother wasn’t your friend, if he didn’t exist or didn’t care...
would you walk away from me right now?” Her words are strong, her
head held high, but she can’t hide the vulnerability woven in her
words.
Not from me.
I’ve always been able to guess what she’s thinking, even when I
wished I couldn’t.
“That’s not fair, and you know it.”
“But it’s fair for the question to exist in the first place? To be a
barrier between what we want?”
My arms fall to my sides, and I’m unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t
know what to say.”
“Say nothing,” she whispers her little plea, drawing my gaze back
to hers. “Not a word. I’m not asking for anything other than this. Let’s
not talk it through, not mention it after.”
My eyes move between hers, and an ache forms in the pit of my
chest.
Novalee Calavera.
Strong and beautiful and better than I’ll ever be.
The only girl in the world I trust, the only girl I’d die for.
The only kid sister to my best friend.
It doesn’t seem like she’s asking for much, but she’s asking for a
fuck ton.
Do I want her? Hell yeah.
Should I take her? Fuck no.
But those aren’t the daunting questions.
This is the one girl I’m not allowed to want but have craved for
years, regardless. I could stand here and agree right this second,
sleep with her tonight. Now. That would be easy, but could I pretend
to forget it tomorrow?
Never speak of it? Not crave more? Need more?
 Not want so much fucking more?
Pretty sure the answer to each is a solid hell no, and yet...
My hand slides along the wooden door until the cool metal is
between my fingers, and I lift my eyes to hers.
The click of the lock seals our night.
I’m about to fuck my best friend’s little sister.
 CHAPTER TWO

THE SECOND MY hand falls from the doorknob, thick, pink-painted

lips part.
“Princesa...” I call her by the nickname I gave her years ago, and
waste no time, because even a moment’s pause could ruin this.
I’m not about to let that happen.
“Stand up for me.”
If I’m getting what I’ve wanted, it’s going to be nice and fucking
thorough.
Nova doesn’t hesitate, her hands sliding along my comforter as
she pushes to her feet.
I let my eyes travel over her in a way I’d only done behind the tint
of sunglasses when I was sure nobody could see.
She’s tiny, a little over five feet, and shaped like an hourglass I
want to pour all my time into. Long red hair curled and laying over
her shoulders, her eyes a bright, unreal green, so vibrant it’s hard to
look away once they’re held on you.
The black dress, while small, gives no hints as to what I’ll find
beneath it, but the labored way she’s breathing, and with how her
fingertips keep skating down the length, I’d say she’s ready to show
me.
I reach over my head, tugging my shirt off in one swift move,
letting it fall to the floor, and Nova lifts, taking a step toward me, but I
shake my head, halting her advance.
“Tell me the truth,” I rasp, kicking off one shoe and then the next.
“Did you show up this weekend for this?”
“Define this,” she teases, her voice a sassy little whisper.
 A light chuckle leaves me, and I unsnap my belt, letting the front
of my jeans fall open the slightest bit. “Me, Nova. You come here
tonight, the night you turned eighteen, for me?”
“I mean, for me, but...” she jokes, her eyes stuck on my briefs
before she smiles and brings them up to mine. “Yes, I did... but also
because I’ll be here in the fall, so I wanted to see the place
beforehand.”
“Uh-huh.” Yeah right, she’s been before, granted I happened to
miss both her visits.
I kick my jeans off and step toward her, my focus locked on her as
she scans my body with greed.
“What would you do if I told you no?”
Her eyes snap to mine, a softness blanketing her features.
That’s what I thought.
I step in front of her, keeping my chest from brushing hers, and
slide my hand into her hair.
“You came here, intending to play dirty, and you know it.”
She leans into my hand. “If I had to, yes.”
“But you knew I wouldn’t turn you away.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I knew you couldn’t turn me away...”
My brows lift and she chuckles lightly.
Finally, her palms come up, flattening against my chest and my
dick jumps.
“You want me, Xavier,” she whispers. “I want you. There’s nothing
wrong with that.”
“You sure?” I ask, my grip tightening, and her chin tips the
slightest bit.
Nova pushes up as much as her heels allow, her nose brushing
with mine she’s so close. Her pulse beats wildly beneath my
fingertips and I’m positive she’s holding her breath, but in
anticipation. She smiles, and all my muscles seem to like it, easing.
“I’m positive.”
 I groan, swearing to myself I’ll take care of her, and knowing she
knows it without my speaking the words out loud.
“Then put your mouth on mine. Now. There’re only so many hours
left tonight, and I plan to use each one.”
If I’m going to hell for this, I’m doing it good and winded.
She smirks. “Are you as bossy in bed as you are in real life?”
I let my hard-on brush her stomach and she sucks in a breath.
“You ready to find out?”
“More than.”
“Then open that pretty mouth I might have to fill sometime tonight
and kiss me.”
Without a second’s hesitation, she does.
Nova’s lush, full lips press into mine with more need than I was
ready for.
I thought she’d come in slow, get a feel for me and then lose
control.
I didn’t anticipate the girl would have none, as if she’s been as
desperate for this as I feel right now.
Her kiss is rougher than I’d think her capable of, demanding and
fluid, and my dick couldn’t get any harder from the taste of her greed.
From the taste of her, period.
Her arms wrap around my neck while mine scoop her from under
her ass and then we’re falling onto the mattress behind her.
A husky laugh leaves her, but it’s quickly cut off when I push the
fabric of her dress up and over her panty line so I can skim my
fingers across her center, teasing her into a tailspin.
She moans into my mouth, pressing into my hand as hers move
to grip my shoulders, but I lift her, and they quickly latch around my
neck.
I spin us and fall back onto the comforter, bringing her down on
top of me.
She laughs, peeling her shoes off and tossing them to the floor.
The times I couldn’t push her from my mind, and gave in, letting it
run as wild as it wished, she played a shy little part. I was the guy
who brought her quiet little self to life, but it seems I was wrong as
she needs no prompting, and has her dress off the next second and
is gliding down my body, sans bra.
Her nipples are hard, grazing along my skin, and she giggles to
herself when my muscles twitch the slightest bit.
With the tips of her fingers just above the band of my briefs, her
eyes pop up to mine.
I bend the slightest bit so I can grab a piece of her fiery hair
between my fingers, ever so slowly, her nails begin to dig into my
skin.
“If you’re waiting for permission, you don’t need any.” I tug gently
and let the curl fall. “You want something from me, Nova, take it. I’m
all yours.”
I’m a little struck at how easily the words come out.
Nova surprises me when her lips curl into a smirk as she slips her
fingers under my briefs, prepared to tug them down. “For tonight.”
Right.
That’s what we agreed to.
That’s what it has to be.
I lose my train of thought when the softest lips fall onto the head
of my dick. My legs jerk and my eyes slice to the action, watching
with heat doubling in my groin as she tastes me.
Her eyes are closed as she runs her lips down my length, all to
come back up and slip the tip inside her warm mouth. She sucks me,
gently at first, but then takes me in more, and she speeds up,
pumping me with her mouth and damn near taking my skin with her
as she bobs on me.
My head falls to the pillow with a low groan and I feel her lips
curve around me.
“Fuck, Nova.” I stretch out, reaching down to grip her head, but
leaving her to move as she wishes. “You’re fucking rocking me right
now. Keep...” I moan, her tongue playing tricks on the throbbing vein
in my cock. “Keep that up and I’m going to come.”
“That’s the point.” Her voice is muffled with me half in her mouth.
But I don’t want to come in her mouth.
Or I do, fuck yeah, I do, but not yet.
I want to feel her.
I drag my hands to her cheeks, running the pads of my thumbs
over her upper lip, brushing along my cock at the same time, and her
eyes lift, hitting mine. Fuck me, I almost forget what I was about to
say.
That green in her eyes is dark, hungry hunter green, and her
chest bounces with her short, stimulated breaths. She’s fucking
stunning.
Gorgeous.
Mine.
Mine tonight...
“Come here, baby,” I rasp.
Nova inhales long and deep as she lifts from me, slowly crawling
up my body, her eyes never leaving mine.
Not when she’s eye to eye.
Not when I reach between us to align myself with her center.
And sure as fuck not when she slides right down, painfully slow.
She winces, a small frown building on her forehead, but she
lowers her lips to mine, and I don’t wait for her kiss.
I take it, tear my head from the pillow and grip her face, kissing
her plush, orange cream lips, and lifting my hips into her.
She whimpers into my mouth, and pushes down farther, her ass
now flush against my skin and calling one of my hands to it.
I squeeze her, smack it gently, and she chuckles into my mouth,
but it’s cut off with a moan when I start rocking beneath her.
Slowly, she follows, finding her rhythm, and my muscles clench,
my dick straining inside her, and she rips her mouth from mine,
pushes off my chest, but keeps her hands flat on me.
She rides me in perfect beat with the bass creeping in from under
the door, never once looking away.
I reach up, gripping her breasts and groaning at how perfectly
they fit into my palms.
Her hair falls over us both and I’m hit with a heavy sense of... I
don’t even fucking know.
But it leads me to push off the bed, pausing her movements
altogether as I grip her face and hold it there.
Concern pulls her brows together, but as she looks at me, they
smooth, and her hands come up. One runs through my fade while
the other brushes along my jaw.
“Hi, Nova,” I breathe and I don’t know why.
But I don’t care, because she smiles, and it’s not a smile I’ve seen
from her.
It’s tender, a sexy shy smile, but more pleased or aware, maybe of
something I’m not.
Maybe because she knew what this, us, together would be like
when I didn’t allow myself to consider it.
This is the girl who asked me to kiss her so she’d know what to do
when she was asked on her first date.
I’m the guy who gave her what she wanted, pretending I didn’t
want it too.
She’s the girl who came to me when her heart was broken by a
punk at a freshman high school dance.
I’m the guy who broke said guy’s nose, secretly.
She’s the only one who cried the day I got accepted to Avix U, a
college thousands of miles away from where she’d be. Her brother
was accepted the same day, and for him, she shed happy tears. For
me, they were sad. I saw it, though she denied it then. I knew that
day I had to stay away from her.
I had to stay away from her because I liked it, her crying for me.
Her doing anything for me I liked. Craved.
 Fact is I craved her.
First it was Neo in our way, and then it was our age.
Now, nothing sits between us.
At least, not right now.
Tonight only...
Her fingers come up, smoothing the frown from my face I didn’t
know had crossed over it.
Gently, I turn us, laying her flat on the mattress and crawl on top
of her.
She smiles up at me, her arms wrapping around my neck and
tugging me down.
I start moving, in and out, in slow motion and she bites into her
bottom lip, making me want to do the same.
So I do.
I kiss her, nibbling where she did, and then dip into her neck.
“Xavier,” she moans my name, and it’s fucking done.
Every nerve in my body sounds off, twitching and tingling, and I
feel her in my toes.
Her knees come up beside us and she rocks with me.
“You’re a fucking dream, Nova. So soft,” I groan. “So fucking
good, baby.”
She’s panting, gasping into the air, her head thrashing around and
nails digging into my back.
“You’re going to come, aren’t you, baby?”
“Yes... mmm, X.”
She squeezes me with her walls, lifting her hips up and begging
for more, deeper, so I give it to her.
Nova cries out beneath me, her body twitching and I’m right
behind her, pushing to the hilt and jerking, coming inside her tight,
pulsing pussy.
“Oh, fuck me,” I growl, flexing and giving her my weight.
She pants, breathless in my ear and has my pulse leaping.
 I turn my head, capturing her lips and kissing her hard, and she is
shaking again, so I push in as far as I can, barely moving at all and
she clutches me tight, her body a rock wall until it again shatters and
she shakes wildly.
Her hand comes up, running through the short hairs at the base of
my skull and she scratches there, biting on my earlobe as she
begins to laugh.
“Oh my god.” She pauses for air. “That was more than my
fantasies allowed.”
I chuckle, slowly pulling out of her and drop beside her, tugging
her naked chest into mine and keeping her right on me.
She blinks long and slow, her gaze low and satisfied. Content.
That’s what I feel right now, contentment.
I’ve been searching for a fucking break from my problems for
years now, and never once have they felt as far as they do right now.
Shit.
 CHAPTER THREE

WE’VE GONE FOR two already and explored a little more of each
other. Each time I think to myself I’m supposed to stand now, to help
her back into her dress, kiss her well, and tell her good night. That
I’m to leave this room with a secret the two of us will forever share,
but instead I find my mind racing, trying to decide what I want to do
to her next... and after that, and after that.
She responds well to me, demands the way I like, and her
sounds... fuck.
She doesn’t hide or fight what she’s feeling, she lets her body
climb as it wishes, fire off when it’s ready.
She’s a firecracker, as I’ve always known her to be, but in a
completely different way than before.
I want to know more about the person she’s become since I’ve
been gone.
“You’re quiet,” she whispers, her voice thick with exhaustion.
I link my fingers with hers, bringing her knuckles to my lips and
dragging them across my mouth. “Did you say you were coming here
next year?”
She smirks to herself. “You caught that, did you?”
I nod, my eyes falling to where our hands are connected, and a
sense of possession sparks in my mind. It’s strong.
Stupid, but strong.
“Why did I not know this?”
She shrugs against the pillow. My pillow.
Fuck.
“I thought Neo would have told you.” Hesitantly, her eyes come up
to mine. “I thought you might have asked him...”
 “I should have.” Guilt weighs in my chest, but I own it, meeting her
gaze.
There’s no anger there, maybe a little disappointment, but she
smiles through it.
“No, you shouldn’t have. You came here to start a life, to do better
than your parents did, to focus on school and baseball. You’re doing
everything you wanted. In a few short years, you’ll graduate from
college and have the world at your fingertips. You’re going to make
something of yourself.” She kisses my shoulder, holding my eyes
with a smile in hers. “I’m so happy for you, Xavier. I know how hard it
was.”
A heaviness falls over me as I think about the road it took to get to
where I am. About all the sleepless nights and cries I listened to
coming from down the hall.
I’ll never be what my mother was, forced to depend on anyone
else, and fucked when you learn the hard way, that you can’t.
Nothing will get in my way of becoming someone I’m proud of,
because to have those you care about say it and mean it is one
thing, to feel it within yourself is another.
Two more years is all I have, and I know I can do it.
I just have to stay focused and out of trouble. And I will.
“Your family was there for me,” I tell her. “You were there.”
She smiles, pushing up on her elbow, the sheet falling from her
body and exposing one of her breasts. “Trying to get you to notice
me, like an annoying teenage girl.” She chuckles.
“Nah, you were cute when you tried to flirt,” I tease her and she
smacks at my chest, but I grab her hand before she can pull away,
and then I’m pulling myself onto her.
She falls back nice and easy, eager, smiling softly with those big
green eyes on me.
Beneath me.
“I’m glad you’re here tonight.”
She smiles. “I knew I wanted to spend my birthday here.”
 I shake my head, my knuckles trailing along her high cheekbone.
“No, not here, here.” My gaze locks with hers. “Here, in my bed.”
Why do I feel like I was missing something before, and I didn’t
realize it until right now? Tonight?
I kiss her gently, and she allows her legs to fall open around me,
welcoming me.
Waiting for me.
Slowly, I push inside her heat, and her back bows off the bed.
I bury my head in her neck, kissing her there.
“Stay with me tonight, Princesa.” The words leave me before I
mean for them to and her muscles clench.
I pull back, looking down at her, and while she hesitates a
moment, Nova nods in the next. And then she kisses me.
It’s not too long later that she falls asleep, but I can’t. I lie awake,
holding on to the girl I’m not supposed to have but did, and will
again.
If it’s up to me...
I’ve got a feeling it will be.

•••

I must fall asleep at some point because when I wake, I’m alone in
my bed.
And when I step into the living room, Neo is walking through the
front door, as if he just rolled out of bed, but I know he just walked
his baby sister to her car.
She got what she wanted, her one night, and just like that,
Novalee is gone without a word to me.
Frustrated, I offer only a nod to his good morning and step out into
the backyard for some fresh air.
I know we said ‘tonight’ last night, but that was before the night
got started, and she up and left? Just like that?
 As if she was able to wash it all away with a few, and I’m talking
maybe two, hours of sleep?
“Hey, man.” Tobias joins me on the balcony, a look of regret and
confusion blanketing his face. As he gets a glance at mine, he nods,
offering me a water bottle after downing the one in his hands. With a
sigh, he drops into a lawn chair and I fall into one beside to him.
“Morning always comes with some fucked-up reality, huh?” He
glares at the sun.
“I take it you fucked up, and a certain little tutor is going to be
pissed?”
He scoffs. “I wish.”
Curious, I look at him.
His face pinches and he looks away. “How is it the one girl I want
doesn’t want me?”
My eyes fall to the grass.
Is that what I’m dealing with?
Do I want Nova now, for more?
For fucking keeps?
Am I really supposed to pretend I can forget about this starting
right now?
There’s no fucking way...
I look to Tobias and he me.
“Are we fucked?”
He smirks, and we both chuckle when he says, “For now.”

•••

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 OFFICE HOURS

 
ALESSANDRA TORRE
 HER

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens: the end of my college career.

Goodbye, grad school. Goodbye, Dean’s list. Goodbye to everything
that I’d worked so hard on, and all because of Mr. Miller.
Mr. Miller, who, in typical fashion, decided to schedule our fall mid-
terms on the Friday before Spring Break. The same Friday that I was
scheduled to fly to Cancún with my roommates. I’d called to try and
change the flights, but there were no other flights available on Friday
or over the weekend, and my tickets were non-refundable.
I’d emailed him about rescheduling and gotten a terse one-
sentence response.
Rescheduling will trigger a 25% grade penalty. No exceptions.
It was a bullshit response, especially since I’d worked my ass off
every single day in this class. I’d done extra case studies,
contributed in discussions with well-thought-out points, and hadn’t
gotten so much as a nod of approval from him. Instead, he
constantly glared at me as if I was the biggest waste of space in his
economics department.
But… there had been that one time when I’d caught his stare on
my ass. I was banking on that rare moment of appreciation and
doubling down on it being my ticket to Cancún. After all, I wasn’t
above using any tool—including my body—to get that exam
rescheduled. I needed that week on the beach, guzzling ice cold
beer and dancing to reggae music, and if I needed to seduce Mr.
Miller to accomplish it, then fine.
Also, let’s be frank—I’ve been drooling over that man since the
first day I walked into econ and saw his deliciously sexy scowl.
Apparently, I’m not the first coed to try to get into his dark gray
dress slacks. Rumors are that he broke it off with his serious
girlfriend who worked at Goldman Sachs and had a permanent stick
up her ass. I saw a blonde matching that description in the back row
during the first class. I’d waited after class to ask Mr. Miller about the
syllabus, and she’d stared me down as if I’d offered him a lap dance.
He was newly single and I had a perfect attendance record,
spotless course work, and a suitcase already packed with sunscreen
and bikinis. I didn’t need the man to sleep with me, I just needed him
to agree to one measly exam reschedule. ONE.
And, on the off chance that Mr. Miller did want to sleep with me… I
was prepared. Like, prom night 2010 prepared. Freshly shaved.
Loofahed within an inch of my life. Misted with a new Bath & Body
Works scent that my gay roommate called Apple Whoredom but
smelled so delicious that I was tempted to chug it from the bottle. I
had my hair down, a tight white tank top sans bra, and a navy skirt
that fell mid-thigh and could easily be pushed out of the way.
Mr. Miller’s office hours were Tuesdays from three to five, which
was why I was perched outside his office at 4:45, trying to eavesdrop
on what was happening inside.
I could only hear murmurs through the wall, but I was pretty sure
the student inside was crying. No big surprise: Mr. Miller was being a
dick. I don’t know what about that trait turned me on, but every time
his jaw tightened, and his eyes blazed with irritation… ahhh. It was
like turning up the temperature dial for my body. Skin flushing, palms
sweating, loins—did I really just say loins?—aching. And now, even
though I could only catch every fifth word, I could hear the bite in his
voice, rising in octave as he berated whoever was on the other side
of his desk. I caught the word “responsibilities” and had to pin my
knees together to keep myself from squirming.
My last boyfriend said I had something wrong with me—the way I
gravitated to older men. He’d insisted, in that annoying Boston
accent that hit strong when he got drunk, that I must have Daddy
issues and that it was “really creepy” that I found forty-year-old men
attractive when they were twice my age.
I hadn’t bothered to respond. I was already bored with him, my
interest in preppy boys in too-short shorts waning when compared to
the salt-and-pepper haired cop who checked IDs at The Grove, or
the polished indifference of Mr. Miller, who ran a hedge fund when he
wasn’t an adjunct professor.
I’m completely unashamed to say I followed him to his car one
day, my books tucked against my chest, my ears perked, my tennis
shoes quiet on the sidewalk, and watched as he ducked into a low-
slung Mercedes, his phone to his ear, his voice a low growl as he
tore into whoever was on the other end. I almost stopped him then
and dropped to my knees in the middle of the parking lot. I wanted to
undo his polished belt, looked up into his face, and reveal all of the
filthy things I wanted him to do to me.
Of course, I didn’t. I hovered in the background like a stray cat as
he backed his coupe into reverse and screeched out of the parking
lot.
But now… maybe this was my time. With just a week left in the
semester, it needed to be. My opportunities were dwindling fast.
The door to his office creaked open and SanSan, a junior who I’d
once done shots with, shuffled out, her cheeks pink and wet. She
glanced at me and sniffed. “Hey, Laney.”
“Hey.” I gave a tentative wave.
“Good luck.” She raised her middle finger in the direction of his
door.
“Thanks.” I glanced at my watch. 4:55 p.m. Looking down the
wide hall, I was relieved to see it was empty, no other students
rushing to make his final minutes of office hours. Mr. M had been
exceedingly clear that his office hours stopped promptly at 5:00, just
as his classes always began and ended with crisp punctuality.
Watching her leave, I eased through the narrow opening of the
door and pulled it shut behind me, reassured by the strong click of
the tumbler in the latch.
His office was small, with white walls and a tall faux plant in the
corner. Mr. Miller’s large desk straddled the middle of the space,
papers stacked across its surface in perfect neat order, a pen at a
sharp right angle to the phone, his laptop open on one corner. A
Starbucks coffee cup was next to the phone, and I wondered if he
went to the one on Colonial or in the Quad.
I was looking everywhere but at him and forced my eyes up,
tracing over the fingers braced on the desk, the watch heavy on his
wrist, his pale blue dress shirt tight around shoulders that pushed off
the desk and straightened to their full height.
“Miss Flick.” He’d shaved, his strong jaw bare, his eyes wary as
they swept over me. It was a long canvas, one that thoroughly
examined my thin tank top and bare legs. I swept a nervous hand
through my hair and tucked it behind one ear.
He lifted his wrist and consulted the expensive watch. “You have
four minutes, Miss Flick.”
The desk between us was a problem, one I hadn’t factored into
my seduction planning. Professor M was also standing, his height
giving him a distinct advantage and putting me on edge. The last
older man I’d been with had been a bubbling mess of excitement,
barely able to keep his jaw from hitting his knees when I’d pulled up
my shirt and showed him my tits. This man… Mr. Miller… my mind
went blank.
He growled. “Please tell me you have something to say.”
“Yes.” I swallowed. “I’m, uh, here to talk about my testing date.”
“You already emailed me about that, and I made the policy clear
at that time. I don’t care if you have a death in the family, a sick pet,
or a doctor’s appointment. This exam has been on the syllabus for
three months.” He sat in the rolling chair behind his desk, his voice
final and dismissive.
“Well.” I wet my lips, my laundry list of excuses now depleted.
“I’ve had four students today try to get out of this exam date, so
please, Miss Flick, tell me why you are special.”
I should have taken a shot of tequila before I came in. Eaten an
energy bar. Prayed to some pagan God of sexuality. Something to
give me a boost of confidence because I was drawing a complete
blank.
 Silence stretched. I stared at the bookcase behind his desk just to
avoid the piercing contact of his gaze.
“Three minutes, Laney.”
The casual familiarity of my name, said in an almost tender
fashion, broke me out of my stupor. I cleared my throat. “NFTs.”
His brow furrowed. “What about NFTs?”
“You taught us about them last week. They’re non-fungible, right?
Items of unique value given their unique nature.”
“I know what an NFT is, Miss Flick. I’m wondering why you’re
bringing them up to me.”
“I’d like to barter for a different exam date.”
Something that could possibly be amusement entered his eyes. It
was hard to say. Breaking the ice with him had never before been
done, at least not that I’d ever seen. “You want to barter with an
NFT?”
“Well…” I set my books down on the chair just inside his door.
“You taught us that an NFT could be anything, right? A file, or a
character in a movie, or a physical thing, like an actual piece of art or
a rare coin.”
“Right…” He regarded me with curiosity, and now I had to do the
hard part. The thing that would either get me expelled, shot down,
or… maybe… get me a new exam date and an end to the mounting
desire that had been building for him ever since I’d first entered his
class.
I brought my hands up and under the loose hem of my skirt until I
felt the cotton band of my boy shorts.
Could I seriously do this? My insecurities battled with my
maddeningly intense crush.
I went for it, looping my fingers in the panties and working the
stretchy fabric over my hips until they fell. I held eye contact with Mr.
M as I stepped out of them.
His gaze didn’t follow the path of my underwear. Instead, it held
tight to my face, which was beginning to burn despite the cool room.
He cleared his throat. “In the interest of a proper negotiation, Miss
Flick, lock that door.”
 HIM

FUCK ME, THIS woman was going to burn down my life.

Laney Flick, whose parents were—fuck me deeper into hell—
clients of my brokerage, twisted on her pale pink sandals and flipped
the lock on my door without hesitation. When she turned back to me,
I saw the flash of uncertainty on her face. The tell was quick but
present, her nervousness further broadcasted by how she smoothed
her skirt into place.
This wasn’t a huge surprise. I had known, the minute she’d
strolled into my classroom, her cell phone to her ear, her gaze
locking on me like a cat spotting a mouse—that she would be a
problem. Her glossy pink lips had curled up a little as she’d ended
the call without saying goodbye, then slid into her seat in a way that
had made her sundress rise higher on her thighs.
I’d only been a few days into this adjunct thing and had already
decided I would never do it again. Way too much pussy, and all of it
seemed to be focused on me. It was annoying and unwelcome, and I
immediately shelved Laney into the pile with all of the others.
That had been a mistake, and she’d been clawing her way out of
that pile and higher on my mind ever since that first knowing smile.
For one, she was smart, wickedly so. And she had a mouth on
her, one that wasn’t afraid to push back on a concept or volley out
criticism when it was warranted. For another, she was frustratingly
tempting. It was her movements that had done me in. The casual
bite of her bottom lip as she studied a quiz question. The slow roll of
her knee, back and forth as she slouched in her seat, each outward
pass showing me a flash of her upper thigh. The knowing way that
she met my eyes, without faltering, as if challenging me to do
something.
 The second time I fucked Caitlin while thinking of Laney, I broke
up with her. Ever since then, I’d been counting down the days for this
torturous semester to end so that I could get the hell off of this
campus and never have to see Laney Flick again. In my mind, in my
shower, in my bed, my hand wrapped around my cock… I’d already
fucked her nine ways to Sunday. I was almost to the finish line and
didn’t need to trip and fall now, yet that was precisely what I was
about to do.
I pushed on the edge of my desk, rolling my chair back until it hit
the bookshelf against the wall. I gestured to her. “Come here.”
Five steps and she was there, close enough that the edge of her
skirt brushed against my knee. I pointed to the desk. “Sit on the edge
and face me.”
She perched on it so willingly that I almost smiled. Almost. I was
too busy gripping the pen in my hand so tightly that the metal
threatened to bend.
The desk was high, so much so that her feet hung, her sandals
dangling. If I fucked her, they’d fall off. I tried not to think about that
because I couldn’t, wouldn’t do that. This was just a game. A test.
Something to give me a year’s worth of jack-off fantasies before I left
this tiny office and the life of academia behind.
“What do you want out of this negotiation, Miss Flick?” I rolled the
chair toward her and went for my agenda book. The movement
startled her, and she flinched as my tie brushed against her knees,
my face almost to her small breasts, as I reached past her to grab
the small leather portfolio. I fought the urge not to inhale the candy
scent of whatever she was wearing and sat back, putting at least
three, maybe four feet between us. “You mentioned your exam
date?”
She faltered, and it was surprising how affected she was by
proximity. That was unexpected. My previous interactions with her
had led me to believe that she’d be an aggressive tiger in bed, but
this hesitance, these nerves… it was causing my dick to swell and
my own self-control to waver.
 “Yes.” She swallowed. “If you have something the following week
—the one after Spring Break.”
I opened the leather portfolio and flipped to the suggested week
on my calendar. It was packed full, as it always was. A one-off exam
retake would be a complete pain in the ass, which is why I’d refused
it to every student who’d pleaded and begged.
“Anything else?”
Her forehead scrunched into a sea of lines. “What?”
It was a good thing that this calendar was covering the increasing
bulge of my dick. “Is there anything else you want from me?”
She got it then, her cheeks tinting darker, her eyes widening a
little as her gaze darted around the room and then back to me. “No,
that’s it.”
I cocked my head. “Are you sure?”
She let out a huff of air that was a bit belligerent in tone. “You’re
old, you know.”
I laughed despite myself, a reaction that surprised us both. “Am
I?”
“Ancient,” she drawled, and it was clear the moment she found
her mental footing. “So ancient that if you expect anything sexual out
of this negotiation, I’m going to need more than just an exam
appointment.”
Ah, the art of the negotiation. Impressive. I forced the smile from
my face and gave her my sternest look, the one that generally ended
all discussions. “Open your knees.”
She obeyed without hesitation, but not far enough. Her skirt now
lay high on her thighs, the drape of it keeping her modest.
“Wider.” My voice didn’t behave. It rasped on the word as if my
self-control was waning. It was right. I’d broken off my engagement
with Caitlin two months ago, and this woman now spreading herself
on my desk was the only person I’d been able to get off on since. I’d
almost made it through this semester, and now it was all about to go
to shit.
 I should have stood up and left. Stuck to my exam schedule and
let her figure out a way to make it happen. I could have kept my
dignity and reputation intact, maintained some semblance of self-
control, and just gotten in my car and driven away. “You took off your
underwear for a reason, Miss Flick. If you had something to
negotiate with, now is the time to show it to me.”
I was going to hell, yet every piece of my body wanted this; every
nerve stood at attention as her pale pink nails trailed along the
scalloped edge of her skirt and then gripped the fabric.
I lifted my gaze to her face. Her cheeks were still pink, but her
eyes were bold on mine, the confident play of a smile pulling at that
mouth. She knew she had me. She knew that I wanted this. Hell,
from the tight grip of my hand on my portfolio, she’d probably
guessed why I was covering up my lap.
“Is this what you want, Mr. Miller?” She brought her fists up to her
breasts, the dark navy of the skirt twisted in her grip as she lifted it
fully up, exposing everything.
Fuck. Me. I ground my teeth as I fought the urge to look down,
fought the urge to react, to gawk, to do anything other than maintain
an air of cool aloofness. I was a grown fucking man. I had fucked a
dozen women before her. I would not be affected by this.
I looked down. No man on the planet would have been able to
resist. I swore under my breath.
She looked fucking delectable, her creamy skin exposed, legs
wide, her lips hidden by the polished wood surface of my desk and
one thin stripe of light red hair.
I rolled forward and used the tip of my pen to brush the fabric of
her skirt further out of the way. The cool metal tip scraped along her
skin and she let out a small gasp.
 HER

I HAD GOTTEN in too deep. Mr. Miller hadn’t even touched me and I
was already starting to fall apart. My thighs trembled as the smooth
tip of his pen moved across my mound. My hands sagged, lowering
the skirt, and he made a tutting sound.
“Keep it up.” He rolled his chair so close that his shirt sleeve
brushed against my knee. I expected him to reach for me, but he
didn’t. Not just yet.
“Pull your knees up, feet on the desk.”
“My feet?” I repeated dumbly.
“Yes, Laney.” He turned and tossed the datebook and pen onto
the floor. He ran his palm up my thigh and squeezed gently. His hand
was warm, slightly rough, and I stared at it as I processed what was
actually happening here.
Mr. Miller is touching my thigh. I was bare against his desk. He
wanted me to put my feet on the desk, which would open me up—
completely—to his eyes.
I shook my head. “I can’t. I—”
“You can.” His eyes met mine, and he was only a foot or two
away, looking slightly up at me. If I moved my feet, raised my
knees… his face would be right there. He’d see exactly how wet I
was, exactly how much I needed him. He’d see every glisten of
moisture, fold of skin, curl of hair.
I was confident, but I wasn’t that confident.
“Close your eyes.”
I frowned. “What? Why?”
“Just do it. Just for the next few minutes. Trust me.”
 I obeyed just so he wouldn’t see the insecurity in them. Everything
went dark. No more office, credenza, or window. And more notably,
no more view of his face. That thick dark hair with streaks of silver.
The intense heat of his eyes. The tight clench of his jaw. Those lips.
Everything disappeared, and I allowed myself to relax enough that
when he lifted my thigh, I didn’t fight it. He pulled the pink sandal off
and placed my foot on the desk. Something clattered to the floor, and
I ignored it, leaning back on my elbows, on top of his papers. I
waited for him to complain, but he was already placing my other foot
in the opposite position. His movements were quick and confident
and didn’t give me room to question or second-guess the fact that
my hips were now being pulled to the edge of the desk, where I was
on full display before him.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “You’re beautiful, Laney. Just stay just like
that for a moment. Keep your eyes closed.”
I obeyed, forcing myself to relax and appreciating the release of
pressure that came with the simple act of closing my eyes and
surrendering myself to him. The air conditioner hummed, and
someone yelled something in the hall, reminding me of where we
were.
On campus. In his office. The stacks of papers cushioning my
elbows were probably the economics reports from my fellow
classmates. His palms swept down my open thighs, and I inhaled
when I felt his hot breath pass over my exposed pussy.
“You’re dripping onto my desk.” One of his fingers dipped into me,
then drug over my clit, and then pushed back in. He repeated the
action, his touch gentle as it traveled over my most sensitive area,
then bolder as it thrust inside of me. A moan rattled out of me, and I
fought the urge not to rock my hips into his hand.
I felt his mouth, wet and hot, settle on me, and I lost all
reasonable thought. A page crinkled under one hand as I clawed out,
my back hitting the desk as my eyes snapped open and the popcorn
ceiling of the office came into view. He pinned me down with his
hands and focused deeper on the task. And the man had talent. I
groaned aloud, a coil of pleasure winding outward from his mouth as
his tongue moved and played against me in some sort of tantric
harmony.
It built, and I cursed. I trembled. I clawed his shoulders and fisted
his hair, and pulled him tighter against me. An animalistic mew
ripped from my throat, and he slid his hands under my ass and
gripped one cheek in each, lifting me off of the desk and up for his
mouth like I was a bowl of water he was drinking from.
“Don’t stop.” I panted the words as my knees looped over his
shoulders and my skirt bunched around my waist.
He chuckled, and the sound vibrated against me. “Don’t worry.”
I wasn’t sexually inexperienced. I’d found my first orgasm myself,
then taught my second boyfriend how to deliver the same. The last
older guy I dated lasted over five minutes, twice as long as any
college guy before him, and just long enough to give me what I
needed. I’d had a half dozen guys go down on me, and each had
been an awkward wince-inducing instruction session that had
resulted in me rolling away and onto all fours. But this was a man
who knew exactly what he was doing. This was an experience in
itself, one that I wasn’t prepared to end anytime soon.
He was greedy but controlled—burying his face in me with no
doubt that he loved what he was doing and wasn’t afraid to be
intimate with every inch of me. He squeezed my butt cheeks, and
when a firm finger pressed against and into the tight pucker of my
ass, I lost my objection in the twist of dark pleasure that the intrusion
brought.
Holy fuck. Screw my spring break. Screw my GPA. All I wanted,
from this millisecond forth, was to worship at the throne of this man’s
sexual skills for the—a cry broke free of my chest as an intense
wave of pleasure erupted between my legs, my orgasm building,
tripling and unfolding in a tightly packed blossom of pleasure that
had me screaming one long hard vowel.
He kept his mouth on me, but clamped one of his hands over my
mouth, muffling the sound. Trembling to a stop, I greedily sucked his
fingers in as he lowered me to the desk and straightened, wiping his
mouth with the back of a shirt sleeve and reaching for his belt
buckle. “Tell me what you want.”
My knees were open, my legs lazy and unusable, my body still
under the effect of the orgasm. Through my haze, I could see the
stiff poke of his cock against his dress pants and grew bold at the
raw desire in his eyes and the thick coat of need in the words.
“Everything.”
He yanked his belt open and unzipped his pants. ‘You’re going to
have to be more specific than that.”
I worked myself back onto my elbows and pointed my knees to
the ceiling, resuming the position he had first put me in. “I want you
to fuck me, Mr. Miller.”
He briefly closed his eyes as he swore under his breath. “Don’t
test me, Laney. I’m willing to bet you’ve never been properly fucked
in your life.”
He reached forward, and I stiffened with expectation, disappointed
when he pulled at the desk drawer instead of for me. The drawer
opened, unveiling pens, notepads, and a calculator, all laid out in
perfect and precise order. He reached for a foil square at the back.
I hummed in appreciation at the foresight. “Dirty professor.”
“Only with certain students.”
I scowled at this, suddenly not so confident it was a joke. “How
many students?”
He tore open the package and reached into the open fly of his
pants. “Does it matter?”
It shouldn’t have, but suddenly it did. I went to close my knees,
and he blocked the motion. Holding my gaze, he rolled a condom
onto his cock with an ease that both turned me on and unnerved me.
“It matters,” I snapped.
“How many of your professors have you opened these legs for?”
He ran a hand possessively over my mound, and I fought to maintain
my composure when he pushed his thumb into me. A man shouldn’t
have these skills. Women were the ones who were supposed to
bring men to their knees, to destroy their composure, to tease them
into submission. Instead, I was all but quaking at just the casual
touch of his hand. “Hmmm?” he nudged.
“You tell me first.” I glared at him, my irritation tempered by the
growing need and satisfaction caused by one of his fingers, then
two. I inhaled at three, and his mouth crooked into a smile.
“I’ve never fucked a student, Laney.” He positioned himself at my
entrance, and I tried not to stare at his size. “Honestly, girls your age
never interested me.”
“Oh yeah, twenty-year-olds with tight pussies are sooo boring,” I
drawled.
“It’s more that they can’t take a proper fucking.” He pushed his
head in, and I let out a soft grunt. He thrust deeper, and my head
dropped back on its own. Shit, he felt good. Thicker than I was used
to. I was so wet, so ready, and I squeezed my inner muscles as he
buried himself fully in.
“I can take it,” I breathed, lifting my head and meeting his eyes.
He pulled me forward until I was upright, our bodies fitting together,
my chest to his, and withdrew, then pushed back in.
“You think you can?” he asked gruffly, his mouth inches from
mine.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, tightening our fit. “Fuck me
faster,” I demanded.
“In a minute. Pull off your shirt. I want to see you.”
There was a tangle of arms and bodies as I navigated out of the
tank top without falling back on the desk. I tossed it to the side, and
he stared down at me as his hips moved deliberately against me.
“Jesus, Laney.”
He cupped my left breast with one hand as he supported my back
with the other and ran his thumb reverently over my nipple. “You’re
fucking kryptonite, you know that?”
I rocked into him, needing more.
He twisted his fingers through my hair and pulled on the strands,
tilting my head back. He kissed me softly at first, almost sweetly.
Then deeper, in concert with the increased movements of his hips. I
moaned against his mouth and scraped my fingers through his hair.
Locked my heels around the stiff fabric of his dress shirt and
competed back against his kiss. At some point, our mouths broke
apart, and I let out an unintelligible string of begs. He responded with
a perfect staccato of thrusts that took me onto a new plane of
pleasure that twisted, rolled, and broke into a wave of ecstasy.
I bit into the shoulder of his shirt to muffle the sound of my
scream. He continued, hard and fast, my bones shaking, my orgasm
waning as he kept on for another minute before he tightened his
hand on my neck, and he grunted out my name, his strokes slowing
before he finally pressed fully in and stopped.
He lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me deeply. “That was
not how I expected today’s office hours to go.”
I grinned. “It went better than I expected.”
He dropped the condom into the trash can before retrieving my
shirt and passing it to me as he zipped up his pants. “This is
awkward.”
“Is it?” I pulled the tank top over my head slowly, my limbs still lazy
with pleasure.
“Isn’t it?” He studied me with interest as I pushed myself off the
desk and to my feet.
“I don’t think it’s awkward. I think it was hot.”
“You never answered my question about how many of your
professors you’ve slept with.”
I put my right sandal on and looked around for the left. “You would
be the first.”
He said nothing, and I glanced over at him. “Pleased or
disappointed?”
“It’s under the file cabinet.” Ignoring the question, he pointed to a
low file dresser, and I bent forward, scooping it up.
He groaned at the view. “Don’t tempt me, Miss Flick.”
“Ah, so it’s Miss Flick now?” I slid it on and looked for my panties,
which were still on the floor on the other side of my desk.
 “Email me your preferred exam dates, and I’ll see if any of them
work for me.”
Huh. A negotiation: complete. I tried not to let the comment hurt.
After all, that was what I had come in for. At least, what I had
convinced myself I was coming in for. “Sure. Whatever.”
“Given that this is a special exception, we’ll have to book the
testing center for the rescheduled exam. Unless you’re comfortable
taking the test somewhere else.”
I stepped into the left leg of my panties, then the right.
“Somewhere else? Like where?”
“There’s a conference room at my office we can use. Or the library
here at the school. It can be anywhere. Depending on the date, I
may need you to come to my house.”
I pulled the panties up my legs and grinned. “Your house sounds
good.”
“I cook one hell of a steak.”
“You give one hell of a fuck.”
His professional scowl was back, but now I could see the
amusement in it, the toy of features, the game behind his stony
stare. “Watch your language, Miss Flick.”
“Yes, Mr. Miller.” I retrieved my notebook and reached for the door
handle, flipping the lock open before glancing back at him. “Will there
be anything else?”
“No.” His gaze trailed over my ass before returning to my face. “I
suggest you study and rest up. The final exam is very long and
extremely hard.”
I grinned. “I think I can take it.” I pulled open the door. “Thanks,
Mr. Miller.”
“Miss Flick?”
I raised my brow in question.
“I’ll see you in class.”
 ABOUT ALESSANDRA TORRE
Alessandra Torre is a romance and suspense author of over twenty
novels. If you enjoyed this short story, you’d probably like some of
her sexier novels, which include a few New York Times bestsellers.
To get a free erotic scene emailed to you, click here or visit
alessandratorre.com/erotica.
If you’re ready to dive into a full novel, here are a few suggestions:
 
Undertow (standalone, love triangle): Madison loves the beach,
books, and the two men in her life—Stewart, a workaholic
businessman, and Paul, a laidback pro surfer. Her two lives work
well until the moment they come crashing together. This book was
nominated for Book of the Year and was awarded “Best Plot Twist.”
Available here: http://smarturl.it/undertowaz
 
Black Lies (standalone, love triangle): Lana has the perfect man…
but she can’t stop thinking about someone else. This twisted and
erotic New York Times bestseller will have you tied into knots, trying
to figure out everyone’s secrets. Trust me, this is a love story you
HAVE to read! Available here: http://smarturl.it/BlackLies
 
Trophy Wife (standalone, fake marriage, romantic suspense): Most
women dream of their future husbands… but Candace should have
done more research on hers. When a stranger proposes to the
down-on-her-luck stripper, she signs a marriage contract and moves
into his mansion. Only… the perfect life isn’t what she expected.
Warning: This book is so hot it will burn your fingers! Available here:
http://smarturl.it/Trophy_Wife
 
Filthy Vows (standalone, married couple, threesomes): Elle and
Easton have a great marriage, except for the secret fantasies that
Elle is experiencing. When she confesses them to her husband,
things take an interesting and erotic turn. Available here:
http://smarturl.it/Filthy-Vows
 
Hollywood Dirt (standalone, contemporary romance, celebrity
enemies to lovers): Summer isn’t impressed when Hollywood’s
biggest star comes to her small town—but then she’s cast in his
movie. Their chemistry sizzles despite their fights in this entertaining,
steamy, and funny New York Times bestseller about opposites that
can’t help but attract. Available here: http://smarturl.it/HollywoodDirt
 PINEAPPLE

 
LEIA STONE

TWO MORE DAYS until it happens. Two more days until my best
friend marries his fiancée Isabelle. That would be totally fine of
course… if I weren’t hopelessly in love with him.
“You going to wait until they ask, ‘does anyone object?’ before you
tell him how you feel?” Kat said as I threw more chicken feed down
onto the grass. The chickens pecked at the grain wildly while I sifted
through my thoughts.
“He’s a vampire. I’m human. It’s totally illegal, not to mention we
live in two different worlds.” I frowned.
Luke and I were practically raised in the same crib, but he was the
prince of the most powerful vampire coven in the Pacific Northwest,
and I was his human feeder. My mom said the day she got the job as
his nanny and the lead house maid to his father, was the day things
turned around for us. My dad was abusive to her and went to jail
when I was just a few months old. Shortly after, the Vampire King
gave her a job and took us in. We grew up in the guest quarters on
the King’s large estate, Havenwood Mansion.
I looked out at the expansive rolling hills. The well-manicured
lawns gave way to a small orchard, and beyond that were the horse
barns. The Vampire King bred and sold Arabian horses and made
millions doing it. I’d learned to ride at a young age and was quickly
hired as horse trainer and farm hand… when I wasn’t Luke’s blood
donor of course. It was a good life, but… something was missing.
“Hello, Earth to Ellie!” Kat ran her hand in front of my face.
I shook myself. “What?”
 “I said, what about that kiss?” She gave me a devilish grin,
making her already upturned nose look even sharper.
My head jerked left and right to make sure no one else was
around. Relief washed over me when I saw that we were alone, just
us and the chickens.
“I never should have told you about that,” I hissed, emptying the
rest of the bucket over the chickens and stalking off towards the
coop to fetch the eggs for the cook. I needed to make sure James,
the baker, had three dozen eggs to bake a giant six-tiered cake for
Luke’s wedding guests. Contrary to popular fictional belief, vampires
actually enjoyed eating. They didn’t need to, of course, but
something about it made them feel alive, and so they wined and
dined often.
Kat ran after me, like a relentless pit bull. Her red hair shook
behind her as she struggled to catch up. “You said it was earth-
shattering. You said he moaned your name, Ellie.”
I spun, eyes wide and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Kat,
seriously. Stop.” I loved my bestie, another feeder to the large
Havenwood family, but sometimes she didn’t know when to shut up.
“He’s marrying Princess Isabelle. I’m a stupid human, and the kiss
was like five years ago. It was a mistake. He said so himself.”
My heart panged when I thought of that kiss, of his hurtful words
after. I’d only been sixteen and at the height of my crush on him.
Once a week we met in the feeding room so that he could drink from
me. It was your standard vampire-human-feeder contract. I was paid
handsomely and consented willingly. He drank from my wrist to keep
things from being sexual, and I only allowed it once a week so that I
didn’t have any negative health effects. It was fine, totally normal,
and all of the humans here at the coven estate did it.
It was fine… except when it wasn’t.
Except when it felt good, and he kissed me.
Luke and I were best friends all through elementary, middle and
high school, and then at sixteen he’d brought me the contract and
asked if I would be his personal feeder. He’d wanted me and my
mom to benefit from the money and we hung out all the time anyway.
What would be the big deal?
Everything changed that day… the second his teeth punctured my
wrist, I’d moaned like an idiot. His grip had tightened, and before I
knew what was happening… he’d kissed me. Tasting my own blood
on his pointed teeth had actually aroused me and I’d deepened the
kiss as he moaned my name.
Then, reality came crashing down. Someone had knocked on the
door, causing him to jump to the other side of the room. Now, it was
a distant memory, and he was marrying the Princess of some coven
in Canada.
As he should. Vampires didn’t marry humans. I needed to find a
healthy crush on a guy with a pulse.
“Let’s go out tonight!” I told Kat. “Human dance club. Oohh, Piano
Bar!” I thought of the club in downtown Seattle.
Tonight was Luke’s Bachelor party and I wanted to go somewhere
I knew he would have no chance of being.
“Okay,” Kat offered, but I could see it in her gaze; she wasn’t
going to let this go.

•••

“Holy human hottie. You ladies look amazing,” Rex catcalled from the
kitchen, as Kat and I tried to sneak out the side door without being
seen.
I froze at the sound of Rex’s voice, spinning on my black leather
studded ankle boots, and walked into the kitchen. “Hey guys.” I said
to Rex, Luke was also there, but I only made eye contact with his
best friend, nervous about what would happen when my gaze landed
on the groom to be. Luke and I had been avoiding each other lately.
He’d done the one thing he’d vehemently denied he would ever do –
an arranged marriage, set up by his father. Not that you’d have to
twist a guy’s arm to marry Isabelle. She was insanely beautiful and
tall and graceful, but he didn’t know her. I think now that he was
engaged, it was weird to have a girl best friend, and I got the not-so-
subtle hint that it made his new fiancée jealous.
Everything was different now, and I wasn’t ready to confront that.
My best friend was getting married and moving into his own house,
and I would live here and take care of his father and uncles and
brothers until I died, just like my mother.
Oh God, that was depressing.
“You realize this is a guys only night, right?” Maximus, the broody
asshole of the group, said from the corner of the kitchen as he
looked me up and down with a thirsty expression.
I pinned him with a feral gaze.
“I wouldn’t be caught dead crashing Luke’s bachelor party. Trust
me,” I growled.
That’s when he moved, with all the lithe and grace of a cheetah.
One second, Luke was leaning against the wall, and the next, he
was before me.
“Why not?” His voice was husky.
My heart jumped into my throat. He knew I hated when he moved
that fast around me. It wasn’t fair.
I finally looked up into his piercing green gaze, and I froze when I
recognized the look in his eyes. Hunger. Need. He looked that way
before feeding times. Luke was the most attractive male I had ever
seen, like an air-brushed guy from a magazine ad that was standing
right in front of you. Straight white teeth, chiseled jaw and sexy eyes;
hell, he even had dimples when he smiled, which was rare.
“Have you fed today?” I frowned. When he didn’t feed from me, he
drank from the bottle. But since it was seen as uncouth for a prince
to do so often, he had a few other feeders, Kat being one of them.
He licked his lips ignoring my question. “Why wouldn’t you be
caught dead crashing my bachelor party?”
What the hell was with the intense questioning? We hadn’t spoken
much since the engagement party last month, when he’d given
Isabelle a giant rock and proposed to her after knowing her all of one
hour. I shoved him backward playfully and he grinned, the points of
his canines pressing onto his plump bottom lip. He loved it when I
got sassy.
“Because it’s a guy’s night, you doofus, and I have a vagina.”
I can’t believe I just said that.
His eyes flashed yellow and the hunger in his gaze intensified.
“Mmm, thanks for reminding us all of that,” Rex purred from
somewhere at the kitchen table.
Luke was a blur of movement and then Rex had his face shoved
into a bowl of guacamole. “What’s rule number one?” Luke hissed
into Rex’s ear.
“Don’t hit on Ellie or Kat,” Rex growled.
Luke nodded and then let him go, releasing his neck and facing
me with a predatorial gaze.
What the hell was with him? He was acting like an over-protective
brother, something he hadn’t done since I was twelve and started
getting boobs.
“Come on, I’ve got some guys meeting us and we’re going to be
late,” Kat interrupted and tugged my arm.
Guys meeting us?
Luke’s whole body tensed when she said that. “Where are you
going? We can give you a ride on our way out.” His voice could cut
glass, it was so sharp.
I shook my head. “We’re leaving the compound, going into the
city. Piano Bar. Humans only.” I spit out my tongue in the hopes that
some immature behavior would squash this fire building between us.
“Oh,” was all Luke said, his eyes growing black. “Have fun.” The
word fun sounded like a threat coming from him.
I nodded, swallowing hard, trying not to study the sharp angles of
his face. “Enjoy your last night as a free man.” I winked and then
spun, letting Kat pull me out of the room. I was halfway down the hall
when a blur of black zoomed past me, and I halted just before
slamming into Luke’s chest.
 “Don’t sneak up on me!” I growled at him, swinging to punch him
in the peck. He caught my hand midair, eyes blazing into mine.
“Remember pineapple?” he asked suddenly, and my legs went
weak. The room spun, and it felt like my heart leapt into my throat.
All I could do was nod.
“Me too. I remember… Bye, Ellie.” His voice held such a sadness
that I wasn’t prepared for it. Stepping away from me, he zoomed
back down the hall leaving me breathless and with Kat giving me a
what-the-hell-was-that look.
Pineapple. The code word we made up when we were sixteen, to
be used if his father ever forced him into an arranged marriage and
he wanted to back out of the wedding. I’d told him I would have a car
waiting to drive him away. All he would need to do would be to text
me the word ‘pineapple,’ his least favorite fruit.
I’d totally forgotten that until now… and here he was on the eve of
his wedding, reminding me about pineapple.
What the fuck was I supposed to do with that? And why had he
said goodbye and not good night? Then it hit me like a ton of bricks.
He was letting me go.
Our friendship, whatever that kiss may have led to, all of it, letting
it all go because pineapple was never going to happen with perfect
and gorgeous Isabelle. That’s why he said goodbye.
Pineapple? Kat mouthed, knowing those bastards could hear us
even from here.
“Let’s go. I need a drink,” was all I said.

•••

When we pulled up to the human guard gate at the edge of the

vampire compound, they asked for our IDs. Then they did a finger
prick test to make sure we were, in fact, human, before letting us out
into town. Vampires were only permitted to travel outside of the
compound with a special permit from the Washington State
Government.
Once we were cleared, Kat drove us into downtown Seattle and
towards the Piano Bar.
“Wow, the sexual tension between you and Luke was thick
tonight,” she offered.
“I don’t wanna talk about Luke,” I grumbled. Why had I not gone to
college? Now, all I was good for was a farm hand or blood slave. I
needed to leave the compound and get a human job. Staying there
and watching Luke marry Isabelle and start a life with her was going
to kill me.
“We should move to the city. Go to college,” I told Kat.
She glanced at me with wide eyes before focusing back on the
road. “Girl, I make six figures a year as a feeder. Why on earth would
I go to college to make thirty grand a year and work fifty hours a
week?”
Dammit, she was right. I would be able to have my mom retire
soon on the money I made as a feeder, and once Luke got married,
I’m sure Isabelle would have me reassigned to a new vampire.
Wives were notorious for picking old frumpy feeders for their new
husbands. I would go to a single young guy and get tossed around
until I either decided to quit, or my platelets got too low.
“Ellie,” Kat pulled her jeep into the Piano Bar parking lot and
placed her hand on mine, turning to face me. “I know you. If you
don’t tell him how you feel, it will eat at you forever.”
I looked her in the eyes, squirming under my best friend’s gaze,
and shrugged. “I feel nothing. I’m fine.”
One hour and six vodka shots later, I blurted out the truth as Kat
stared at me from across our small cocktail table. “Fine, I love him!” I
cried out, a slight slur to my speech. “Okay, bitch? Are you happy
now?”
Kat grinned over her dirty martini, shaking her head slightly. “Just
tell him. If you don’t tell him, you will always wonder what would have
become of—”
 I burst into laughter as the warmth of the buzz spread throughout
my limbs. “Tell the richest eligible bachelor in the vampire community
that a human is in love with him?” My laughter grew into a howl, as
depression settled fully over me like a heavy blanket. “No. I need to
move on.” I stood, bumping clumsily into the table and swaying to
the dancefloor on a mission.
A weird hip-hop remix of Thunderstruck by AC/DC blared out of
the speaker as I started to sway my hips and search for the nearest
single male. When my eyes locked onto a tall lanky dude with a
decent looking face, I sashayed over to him. He looked up at me,
and I got a better look at his face. Eh, less than decent, but
whatever. A few pelvic thrusts later and we were locked in a raunchy
dry hump.
This was the answer; I was going to leg grind my way to getting
over Luke, one sweaty semi-okay looking human male at a time.
“You’re so sexy!” he shouted in my ear, his hands on my lower
back, sliding down towards my ass. I reached behind me and
pushed his hands upward, back to my lower back. “Thanks!” I yelled,
suddenly wondering what the hell I was doing. I wasn’t sexually
attracted to this guy. I was just using him to get my mind off Luke,
and it wasn’t working.
Maybe if I kissed him. Just one kiss with my eyes closed. He
could be anyone. Nick Jonas, Keanu Reeves… Luke.
Reaching out, I grabbed his chin and pulled him towards me as
the alcohol took the reins of this shit show and drove me fully into
crazy town.
Closing my eyes, I pressed my lips to his, just as his hands
slipped down and gripped my ass hard. I sucked in a breath, and
then he was gone.
His lips, his body, his heat, his hands, they were... gone. I popped
my eyes open to see that the dude was nowhere to be found. The
music stopped and I jerked my head to the left where there was a
commotion. Luke hovered over the dude who cowered on the ground
in fear.
 “Vampire!” someone screamed, as the people started a stampede
to get out of the club.
Shit. I instantly sobered up to a three-shots-of-vodka level.
“Luke!” I shouted, running across the dancefloor and throwing
myself in front of him to protect the dude who had now broken into
sobs.
What the hell was he doing here?
Luke’s eyes were black, fangs distended, as his chest rose and
fell rapidly.
“He had my permission,” I told him, thinking maybe he thought
that the dude was taking advantage of me or something.
Luke shook his head. “He tried to grab your ass earlier and you
pulled his hands up. You didn’t want that.” Luke’s voice was deadly
calm and I was shocked by his words. How long had he been here
watching me? How was he here? And why…
I grasped Luke’s jaw, forcing him to look at me. “He had my
permission. I wanted it.”
The pain that crossed Luke’s face then confused me.
He cleared his throat. “You’re drunk. I’m taking you home.”
I looked down at the guy, who I’m pretty sure had pissed himself,
and nodded for him to leave while he still could. Kat and Rex were
standing against the far wall, arms crossed and with scowls of
disapproval, as we approached them.
“We better go before the cops come,” Rex said and shook his
head at Luke. Rex was Luke’s ride-or-die, and we got along about
fifty percent of the time, the amount of time he wasn’t trying to have
sex with me or Kat.
“Can you destroy the security footage?” Luke asked Rex.
“Already done.” A voice called from behind us as Luke’s
bodyguard, Daniel, stepped up to open the door for us. “Sorry again
about the trouble,” Daniel said to the bartender, who looked at us
with a cold fury. There was a stack of money on the bar top, which, I
assumed, was Daniel’s ‘sorry’ gift.
 “Get out!” the bartender yelled.
“How did you get off the compound?” I stared at Luke with
scrutiny, still shocked by the incident. What the hell was Luke doing
in a human bar babysitting me?
He just gave me a side glance. “Don’t worry about it.”
That meant he probably killed someone or paid them off.
Luke reached out and pressed his open palm to my lower back,
leading me out to his stretch limo Hummer, while Kat shot me a
lopsided grin. I hated that I leaned into his touch. I hated that my
lower back pulsed with a burning fire that could only be quenched
with more touches from Luke. I hated that I was confused as to
whether Luke’s protective behavior was because I was his feeder
and best friend… or something more.
“Fucking buzz kill!” Maximus shouted out the limo window as we
approached.
“Shut up,” Luke growled at his younger brother, opening the door
and gesturing that I get inside. I was still a bit tipsy, although not
nearly as much as before. Luke showing up to a human bar and
tossing my dry hump date across the room had sobered me up
good. I was at a two-shots-of-vodka level now.
“We’ll grab an Uber.” I gestured to my bestie. I didn’t want to get in
the limo. I needed to be away from Luke’s touch.
Luke reached out and snatched Kat’s keys from her hand, tossing
them to Daniel. “In. Both of you.”
Not wanting to deal with his dark mood and pick a fight here, I
climbed in, giving everyone behind me a good view of my ass. Kat
slipped in next, and then Luke, and finally Rex. The limo pulled
away, music blaring, as the six vampires crammed inside stared at
Kat and I like we were champagne glasses full of warm blood. They
looked hungry, aroused, and slightly feral. I swallowed hard, leaning
into Luke as the Limo sped down the interstate and back to the
vampire compound.
It was a tense few minutes in the car, I swear Luke was watching
the pulse in my neck, something he only did when he was hungry.
 “Have any of you eaten?” I blurted out.
The guys cleared their throats, looking out the window as if I’d
broken a spell.
“We were on our way to a feeder bar,” Luke said, his voice colored
with embarrassment.
Gross. A feeder bar was basically a strip club. The vampire men
starved themselves and then paid women to be able to feed off
them. Usually it turned sexual. Okay, it always turned sexual. It was
basically a brothel.
Kat stiffened, and Luke’s arm came across both of our laps to tuck
Kat into my side and me closer to him.
“Don’t worry. If any of them touch either of you, I’ll rip their hearts
out with my teeth,” Luke declared.
A few of the dudes laughed, but not Rex and Maximus, the two
who knew him best. They knew, as I did, that he was dead serious.
Luke protected his feeders, and he didn’t share.
The driver went through the compound gates and then up the
driveway to Havenwood Mansion. The door opened and Luke
stepped out, then me and finally Kat.
“All right, we dropped them off, let’s go party,” Someone growled
from deep inside the car.
Luke looked at me, something smoldering in his eyes, a fire that
he looked like he was trying to extinguish, but couldn’t be put out. He
leaned forward suddenly, using his supernatural speed, and then he
was breathing against my neck. “Why did you kiss that prick?” he
whispered.
His hot breath fluttered over my skin, and for a second, I didn’t
know what he was talking about. Oh… the sweaty guy with a meh
face. I decided then that Kat was right. It was time for a little truth. I
leaned into him, brushing my cheek across his face. “Pineapple,” I
whispered, letting my lips touch his ear as I felt his body shudder
against me. “Goodbye Luke.”
Then I turned and walked away, forcing myself not to cry.
 I walked quickly inside and bid Kat goodnight before heading
down the hall to my quarters. All feeders of the Havenwood family
were housed in the feeder apartments on site. This kept us close by
in case one of the members of the family was seriously injured, in
which case, only fresh blood would help them heal fast enough to
avoid serious injury. We couldn’t save a vamp from a stake through
the chest, but we could keep them from bleeding out or becoming
too weak to regenerate. Each feeder had to match the blood type of
the family member. Kat, Luke and myself were all AB negative.
The feeder apartments were far enough away from the family that
we had complete privacy. My mom lived in the servant quarters
down the hall and to the right. Less fancy than feeder living, but I got
to visit her often, which was cool. Kat and I had offered to share an
apartment, but they’d insisted we each have our own. I wasn’t going
to complain, it was like living in a four star hotel. I could pick up a
phone and get anything I wanted delivered. I had access to a free
gym and pool twenty four seven.
Entering my apartment, I kicked off my dress and heels, unclipped
my bra, and sighed as I released the girls from their cage. Being
busty was super cool when I was a young teen and vying for
attention from boys, but now it was just a nuisance. I often
contemplated a breast reduction, but was too scared of going under
the knife. Ironic, considering a lethal predator drank blood from my
wrist once a week. I slipped into a tight tank top, low-slung baggy
sweat pants, and brushed my teeth before washing off my make-up.
Tonight was a shit show. The wedding was in two days and I was
beginning to wonder if I would be able to sit through it. Maybe I could
feign sickness that morning and just get out of it. Maybe I should—
There was a soft knock at the door. Padding across the
apartment, I yanked the door open, expecting to see Kat with some
chocolate ice cream, which would be very much appreciated right
now.
Instead, Luke stood there, black eyes boring into me as he leaned
against the doorframe.
“Uhh… hi… aren’t you supposed to be at a feeder bar?” I gulped.
 He pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer to me, so close
that I could feel his body brush against mine.
“Can I come in, Ellie?”
My stomach dropped at the way he said it, in his deep sexy
bedroom voice that he used with other girls, but never me.
I swallowed hard and nodded, backing up to give him room. He
stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and locked it.
Locked it.
I was locked in my apartment with Luke Havenwood, who looked
hungrier than a lion before a feeding frenzy.
“What’s up?” My voice cracked. Stupid voice.
“Let’s each tell each other a secret,” Luke said, stepping closer to
me like a predator sizing up its prey. “Something we’ve wanted to
say to the other, but haven’t yet.”
My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my face.
A secret. Luke had a secret he wanted to tell me.
I nodded. “You first.”
Luke’s gaze roamed down my body from my neck to my chest,
dipping down my stomach and stopping at my thighs. His fangs
distended and he shook his head before sighing deeply. “I’ve wanted
you for so long. I’ve fanaticized about making love to you for years.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Luke Havenwood fantasized about me.
Me.
The air sucked from the room until it was just Luke and me in our
truth vacuum.
Make love. He wanted to make love to me.
“Ditto,” was all I could manage.
He reached out then, trailing his fingers across my neck and then
down to my collar bone. “I thought so. But Ellie… I have to marry
Isabelle. It’s my duty to my family, my people, but I wonder… what if
we had just one night together.”
 Just one night together. It was heartbreaking and exciting all at
once. Vampires and humans didn’t date, they didn’t marry. The
human got older while the vampire looked mid-thirties forever. It
wasn’t pretty, not done, never going to happen. But they did have
affairs, stolen kisses, one night stands, hidden affections. A sad
reality.
If I wanted Luke, this was all he could offer. Isabelle and Luke met
for all of one hour before their families decided they were a good
match and the wedding was set. They hadn’t slept together yet and
weren’t permitted much time together until it was official. It wouldn’t
really be cheating, not tonight. After the wedding, yes, but… tonight
could be ours.
“Okay.” The words barely left my lips before he crashed into me. A
whimper of pleasure burst from my throat as he lifted me up so that I
could straddle him, his hands on my ass. I looked down at him, my
blonde hair falling in a curtain around us as he looked up hungrily at
me.
The kiss.
The kiss we shared when we were sixteen, we were both thinking
of it then, I knew it. I’d thought about that kiss for weeks after,
touching my lips when the memory surfaced. It was mind numbing,
soul melting, firework producing. Would another kiss be the same?
Or just subpar?
Only one way to find out. Reaching up, I cradled his strong jaw
and then dragged my fingernails down his neck before resting at his
pecs. He grinned, and holy hell, he was so sexy my stomach did a
full on Olympic worthy summersault. I leaned down, brushing my lips
across his lightly at first, until a fiery inferno exploded between us.
He growled throatily and I opened my mouth to deepen the kiss. His
tongue, sweet and wet, brushed against mine slowly. We were
tasting each other, savoring this moment. He released one of his
hands from my butt and dragged it across my back to the front,
tucking it under my shirt. I moaned as he grabbed my breast and I
took his bottom lip into my mouth.
Fireworks. Again. Always firework kisses with him.
 What if it could always be like this? What if we had more than one
night? I pushed those dangerous thoughts aside and brought myself
back to the present. Luke carried me into the bedroom and lay me
gently on the bed, his eyes roaming over my body slowly like he was
savoring this. Reaching up, he pulled his shirt off, and I did the
same, my skin heating up under his gaze. Then went his pants, and I
mirrored his movements, both of us watching each other with hungry
expressions.
His boxers were tented, which made me grin, and I was the first to
pull off my panties. He was a blur of motion, before me in black
boxers one second and then fully naked on top of me the next.
“Ellie?” he huffed, holding himself up on top of me as warmth
pooled between my legs. My body ached to be closer to him. I
opened my thighs, arching my hips upward. “Yes?” I looked into his
black eyes, green lined at the very rim.
“You never told me your secret.” He looked down at me with such
intense fascination, I knew it was now or never. Kat was right. Even if
it ruined everything, I had to tell him.
“I’m in love with you,” I said boldly.
A slow, halfcocked grin graced his face. Leaning forward, he
trailed the points of his teeth across my neck, leaving a trail of fire in
their wake. “Ditto,” he breathed as our bodies came together as one,
his pelvis and my hips crashed into each other as I cried out in
pleasure while he swallowed my sounds.
The pulse in my neck throbbed as he trailed his tongue down my
collarbone and took my nipple into his mouth. I gasped in pleasure
as he rocked on top of me and my nails trailed down his back
eliciting a growl. Pressing himself harder into me, a huff of
gratification rushed from my lips as he plunged deeper inside of me.
“Bite me.” I panted as delicious warmth pulsed between us.
He reeled back to look at me, eyes black and hungry. “Are you
sure?”
I’d heard biting during sex was orgasmic, but it was also seen as
dirty. I didn’t care, I wanted that with him, I wanted everything with
him.
I nodded and he licked his lips. Leaning closer to me, he grazed
my ear lobe and then trailed his teeth down my neck. I could feel the
deep inhale of his breath feather across my skin and then the
puncture of his teeth. There was a sharp pinch before it was quickly
replaced with ecstasy. My back arched as I pressed myself harder
into him and we both cried out. A deep throaty groan ripped from his
lips only to be smothered by my own skin as he fed from me. I
worked my hips faster, aching with need as his hand slipped
between us to rub circles over my most sensitive spot.
Pleasure radiated from my entire core as the mother of all
orgasms rocked my body then. Luke pulled away from my neck,
capturing my open mouth in a kiss. As the coppery tang of my blood
hit my tongue, with both moaned. His body seized over mine and I
could think of only one thing.
He loved me too. Whatever this night held, and the nights after
that without him, he loved me too.

•••

The next day, I awoke with a smile on my face, reaching deeper into
my bed to pull Luke closer to me. We’d made love three times before
I finally passed out in his arms. It was the best night of my life, a
night that told me I wasn’t crazy, and that I didn’t have some
unrequited obsession all these years. Each time he screamed my
name, they’d imprinted on my heart in scarred cursive letters.
He loved me.
My eyes snapped open when my fingers reached the edge of the
bed and came up empty. I sat up, the blanket falling to my waist as I
sat naked in my room.
“Luke?” I called out into my apartment.
It was past noon, which meant in vampire time it was the middle
of the night and he should be sound asleep. There was a soft knock
at the door and I grinned. Probably went to get us breakfast. I
slipped into my robe and crossed the apartment quickly before
pulling the door back. “Hey Casanova—”
The words died in my throat when I noticed Margie from human
relations. “Oh, hey Margie.”
She was a hard ass, ran a tight ship, and was in charge of hiring,
firing, sexual harassment, and all of that stuff. Her lips were pursed
into a thin white line, hair pulled back into a tight bun. “You’ve been
reassigned. Butler family, Portland compound. Pack your things and
be ready to leave by the end of the week.”
My mouth dropped open at her words. She was holding out a
piece of paper, but I couldn’t will my hand to take it.
“What?” I said.
She sighed. “Luke’s getting married tomorrow honey. It’s not
appropriate that you be his feeder anymore.”
Not appropriate.
“Did… Isabelle…” My mind was reeling. I expected the
reassignment, but so soon? Portland? Why couldn’t I stay in Seattle
and go to one of Luke’s brothers or uncles?
Margie looked confused for a second. “Oh, no. Luke stopped by
this morning and ordered it himself. It’s the proper thing to do.”
She dropped the paper at my feet and I took it with shaky hands.
Name: Ellie Hasten
Blood type: AB-
Severance pay: Two months.
Transferred to Butler household, Portland, Oregon, on
receipt of feeder signature. All other contract details to be
the same.
Authorized by Luke Havenwood.
He… after last night, he went and did this? A sob formed in my
throat, but I swallowed it down and ripped up the letter. I was done
being a feeder. I didn’t care about the money, I never wanted to look
at another vampire again.

•••

That night, after I’d finished packing my personal belongings, there

was a knock on the door. Thank God, Kat was here to drive me to
my hotel. I’d been crying all day after explaining to my mom and Kat
why I had to leave the compound as soon as possible and live a
normal human life in Seattle. I couldn’t do this anymore.
I stalked across the hall and yanked the door open to see Luke
standing there. His hair was rumpled, and he had deep bags under
his eyes. Had he slept at all? Vampires needed a few hours,
otherwise they’d need to consume more blood than normal to stay
awake. I didn’t care though, let him never sleep again. He was dead
to me after that transfer stunt. I glared at him as he stood in my
doorway, and I swear I was capable of murder in that moment. “Get
out.”
He frowned, a painful expression crossing his face. “Margie said
you denied the transfer. You’re leaving?”
“Fuck you, Luke,” I growled.
He recoiled and I knew I was being slightly unreasonable. He said
we were only going to have one night, he said he would marry
Isabelle out of duty. But he also said he loved me. He also screamed
my name into a pillow as I clawed his back. I just wanted a nice
breakfast, a sweet goodbye, not an empty bed and a fucking
transfer. Not after loving him for six years, not like this.
“I came to explain.” He stepped towards me, and I flicked him a
murderous glare, daring him to come closer.
He stopped.
“Explain and go. You’re getting married tomorrow, and I’ve got a
hotel to check into.”
 He flinched. “Ellie… last night was… more than I ever imagined it
could be. More than I was prepared for. I… I asked for the transfer
because I knew that if I had you close by, I would never stop coming
over and asking for nights like the last… and I won’t do that to
Isabelle. It’s not right.”
Always a gentleman. Just to the wrong girl.
I sighed.
He was right. If I stayed, even with another house in the
compound or one of his brothers, he would find me. We would have
stolen nights, and I would become a mistress, something I despised.
I nodded, tears filling my eyes, as I zipped up my duffle bag and
threw it over my shoulder. “I wish you a happy life with Isabelle Luke.
I really do.”
It was as if those words were poison, his face scrunched up and
he swallowed hard.
“Ellie, I—”
“Goodbye, Luke.” I blasted past him, knocking into his shoulder as
I beelined it for the outside, where Kat was hopefully waiting for me
by her car.
A vampire and a human being together wasn’t done, but that
didn’t mean it wasn’t impossible. Somewhere, deep down inside of
me, I’d hoped last night would have changed something in him,
made him want to break the rules or call off the wedding, but that just
wasn’t reality. Girls like me didn’t get guys like Luke Havenwood, and
Luke Havenwood didn’t break rules for girls like me.
As I got into Kat’s Jeep to head for the hotel in downtown Seattle,
I turned to look behind me.
Luke stood in the driveway, eyes the color of honey and thinned to
slits as he watched me drive away.

•••
“It’s nice huh?” I pointed to the shitty view of an alley, and Kat
nodded encouragingly.
I decided to take Kat apartment shopping with me all day to forget
about Luke’s impending wedding, which was going on as we spoke.
I’d be able to afford the apartment with my severance money, but I’d
need to get something cheap, in case I needed to make the cash last
me a year. I wasn’t qualified to do much else, and being a feeder
wasn’t exactly what you put on a job application in the real world.
“Yeah, it’s okay.” Kat pulled at her shirt.
I sighed. “You want to talk about it, don’t you?” I growled at her as
we circled the pink formica island. The manager had left the key on
the counter and told us to drop it back off at the management office
before we left.
Kat relaxed her shoulders. “I do. I want to know why the hell we
are looking at apartments and not sabotaging the wedding.”
I barked out in laughter. “Because I have a pulse, Kat! I’m human.
I’m a one night stand, a mistress, I’m nothi—”
My phone buzzed several times.
I frowned.
It kept on buzzing with alert after alert.
Buzz, buzz, buzz.
“What the fucking amber alert is going on?” Kat peered at my
phone as I looked at the screen and my heart dropped into my
stomach.
Luke: Pineapple.
Luke: Pineapple.
Luke: Pineapple.
Luke: Pineapple.
Luke: Fucking pineapple.
Luke: I just ran out of the wedding. I love you. I choose you.
Come get me before Isabelle’s dad stakes my ass.
 Luke: Pineapple!!!
I grinned, joy spreading through my limps like a balm to my
internal wounds.
“You drive,” I told her, and we ran out the door and into her Jeep
as fast as humanly possible.
I shot a text back.
Ellie: Coming.
Kat zipped in and out of traffic, screeching up to the compound
gates where Luke stood, tuxedo collar loose, panting from running. I
stood, looking over the top of the open Jeep roof at him.
“Pineapple?” I wanted to be sure.
There was a blur and then Luke was in the back seat, standing
right beside me with that signature halfcocked grin.
“Pineapple,” he said.
Kat whooped into the air. I’d explained what pineapple meant on
the way over.
“Where to?” she called, and suddenly Rex was there with two
duffle bags and two government issued passes for vampire travel.
“I hear Santa Barbara is nice this time of year.” Luke reached out
and pulled my lips to his, capturing my mouth in a kiss.
Fireworks. Always fireworks.
I could get use to this.
We didn’t have a plan and we didn’t need one. We just needed
pineapples.
 

THE END
If you would like to read more books from Leia Stone, you can
find them here on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/Leia-
Stone/e/B00KBXMBDA
Or simply visit www.LeiaStone.Com
 SINCERELY, DANE

 
ILSA MADDEN-MILLS
 CHAPTER ONE
Piper

IT’S TWO MORE DAYS until it happens, and by that, I mean

Halloween, so why is there a werewolf at my door?
I lean back from the peephole and frown. What the heck? I don’t
even have candy! Between working at the Blair Preschool and
waiting tables here in Manhattan, I barely have time to get to the
market. Dammit. I need Skittles and Snickers and—
“Yo, Piper! I know you’re in there. Open the door,” says the
monster.
“Dane?”
The last time I heard from him was two days ago, when he sent
one of his strange text messages. I’ve read it a hundred times.
 
Pipes. Remember that film class we had senior year at
Camden Prep? You wore these butterfly clips in your hair. I
don’t know why I remember them. You hated me. So many
eyerolls from you, especially when I didn’t want to watch
Charlotte’s Web. You laughed when I cried. Do you think it
had anything to do with that time I kissed you in 7th grade
before the pep rally? It WAS a disgusting kiss. Lots of spit.
Too much tongue. Yeah? BTW, I broke up with Ari.
Sincerely,
Dane
 
For real. What person signs their texts with “Sincerely” then drops
a bomb? Dane. Weirdo.
 Still…
I can’t stop a curl of excitement that they’re over. Ugh. I’m a
terrible person. I like Ari. We’re friends; all of us have been hanging
out together since I moved here a year ago. Plus, she came to all the
family and friend functions Ava and Knox had. She’s really sweet.
“Piper, let me in.”
I swing the door open, feigning nonchalance.
He leans against my doorjamb and flashes a smile, showing fake
teeth with sharp fangs.
He pops them out to talk. “Check it. I look lit, yeah?” He shakes
his mane of long slicked-back mahogany-colored hair, which is
shoulder-length normally, but tonight it reaches his midback—
“I got extensions and highlights.”
“Of course, you did,” I say with a smile.
He flicks a strand over his shoulder and shows me his profile, and
I inhale at the beauty of him. His blade of a nose, his strong angular
jawline, those lush lips that I did indeed kiss in seventh grade.
There was another time we almost kissed, three months ago at a
club called Bosh. Ari was in the restroom, my date was buying drinks
at the bar, and Dane pulled me out to dance. Which wasn’t unusual.
We danced all the time, but never to a slow song.
When the fast song ended, “They Don’t Know About Us” by One
Direction came on. When I tried to head back to our booth, he pulled
me back, pressed me against him, and sang the words in my ear.
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. He was holding me. I was holding
him. When the song ended, he tilted my face up. The strobe lights hit
his flushed face, and I saw him struggling, emotions flitting over his
face. He whispered my name and pressed his forehead to mine. I
couldn’t breathe. His lips hovered over mine—then he shut his eyes
and abruptly walked away.
I come back to the present.
We are just friends. I shove the emotion down. “No way,” I say.
“Extensions?”
 “I know this girl who did them for free.”
Here’s the thing about Dane: he’s hot, he’s charming, he’s
spontaneous, and everyone loves him.
“You look great,” I say.
He’s wearing an unbuttoned white Oxford shirt to reveal his broad
chest with tufts of fake fur sticking out, and his black leather jacket
features a myriad of zippers and buckles. His pants—I bite my lip—
are skin-tight black leather motorcycle style, showcasing muscular
thighs and calves. Fur sticks out at his wrists and out of the black
motorcycle boots. He even has claws on the ends of his fingers.
He preens and walks my hallway like he’s on a runway, and I
giggle.
“Wow.” I put my hand on my hip. “I don’t have any candy. What’s
going on?”
He walks to me, gray eyes searching my face. “The party I
mentioned. Pipes. Don’t you read your texts from me?”
Nightly. In total, I have two thousand and fifteen of them, but this
morning my phone went on the fritz. “No, my phone is weird. I
charged it, but it wouldn’t come back on. I need a new one. What’s
going on? What party?”
He ignores that, his eyes draping over me, lingering on my throat,
then my lips. My heart does a little flip-flop. I’ve caught him staring a
lot lately. A long sigh comes from my chest. No. I have feelings for
him and they’re not returned. It’s just my imagination…
“Maybe that can be your outfit?” he says, then, “Um…no…you
look like you’re going to a slumber party.”
I look down at my booty shorts and a cat shirt that say Fluff You,
You Fluffin’ Fluff. “I look like a child?” I’m petite, around five foot five.
My boobs aren’t anything spectacular, just B cups, but I’ve never had
any complaints from my boyfriends.
He pushes past me and moves through my apartment.
I groan. The cluttered state of my place is more embarrassing
than my outfit. I grab empty takeout boxes off the table and stuff
them into the garbage. My roomie moved out recently, so I live by
myself and hadn’t been planning on having any visitors. I’ve dated a
few guys in the city, most of whom I met online, but I never bring
them back to my place.
He heads down the hallway to my bedroom.
“Hello, jockass. Boundaries!” I call out, following him.
He stops and throws me a grin. “I like it when you call me that.
Reminds me of when we sat together in class.” Then, “You need a
costume.”
We enter my bedroom, and I mutter under my breath as I grab
dirty clothes off the floor and toss them behind a chair.
He opens my drawers, pulls out a lacy black bra, and cocks an
eyebrow. “Pipes. Whoa. Nice.”
I jerk it away from him and blow out a breath. “You’re ridiculous.”
He frowns. “Did you wear that when you went out with that Wall
Street guy? He looked slimy. I didn’t like the way he stared at your
chest.”
“You are not my father, and that was like three months ago!”
When we almost kissed.
“I’m your friend. I’m allowed to tell you when I think someone is a
douche—”
“Which you did. Several times.”
“Did you fuck him?”
I glower at him for several moments. Tension fills the room as he
holds my gaze.
I stuff the bra back in my dresser. “Why are you here?”
He lets out an exhale. “Remember the Director’s Guild Halloween
party I told you about?”
“The super-secret party for members only—that you aren’t invited
to?”
“Exactly. It’s the party and everyone is dying to go. I mean, it’s a
chance to rub shoulders with some cool people in the film world,
make connections, you know?”
 I nod. Dane is wrapping up his third year in grad school at NYU
for film.
“They make up these weird rules and only a select few people can
get in, even the ones they invited. So, this documentary friend of
mine got an invite, but he can’t go. He called me and gave me his
invitation.”
I sit on my bed. “What are these rules?”
He grins. “We’re required to film a scavenger hunt to get in. But,
Pipes, you need a costume to join our team. You’re our fourth.”
“You just barge in here on a Saturday night and expect me to not
have plans?”
He smirks. “Sorry for not asking. Let me start over. Piper, do you
have plans tonight, or would you like to go on an epic scavenger
hunt and Halloween party with Benji, Rick, Spike, and I?”
I consider for a second. “I would love to go. Thank you for inviting
me and giving me plenty of notice.”
He moves to my closet, moving through the hangers, pulls some
clothes out and dumps them on the bed.
“Is there a theme?” I ask.
Dane holds up a shirt and tosses it back down. “Yes. We picked
nursery rhymes. I’m the Big Bad Wolf. The guys will be the three little
pigs, and you will be…”
He pulls a hooded red sweatshirt off the bed and holds it up in
front of me. “You’ll be our sexy Red Riding Hood.”
“Why is the word ‘sexy’ only associated with my costume? Why
aren’t you a Sexy Big Bad Wolf?”
Dane stops, his head tilted to one side. His eyes dance. “Come
on! Tell me this isn’t sexy?” He shakes his hair.
“Fair enough,” I grouse.
He moves back to my dresser—avoiding the lingerie drawer—and
pulls out clothes. I let him. It’s hard to resist his exuberance.
I clear my throat. “Um, you texted me about Ari. Are you doing
okay?”
 “We…well, you know…we were on and off for years…” He pauses
and turns to look at me, his gaze unreadable. “I met her when I was
fragile, a different person, and I don’t know, we’d been having these
fights over the dumbest stuff—what to watch on TV, what to eat,
something she said, something I said… You.”
I start. “Me?”
“She saw us dancing that night at Bosh.”
A blush rises up my face. “Uh, well, nothing happened, we just
slow danced, so I don’t see…”
He drops my gaze and chews on his lips. “Right. Nothing
happened, but…”
“But?”
“It could have. I wanted…” He stops and rakes a hand through his
hair.
I blink rapidly, my thoughts tumbling. “What?”
“Nothing. We need to hurry,” he says as he picks out a denim skirt
and grimaces. “Do you have any shorter skirts?”
I walk over to my bed and pull out a box of clothes I had planned
for donation. I search through and pull out a black leather miniskirt
that’s a tad too tight around my mid-section. “You mean like this?”
“Bingo.” He tosses the sweatshirt to me and grins. “Get ready,
beautiful. You have ten minutes to do your hair and makeup.”
Fifteen minutes later I’m walking down the hall of my building with
him. My strawberry blonde hair is in two pigtails that hang down over
each shoulder. The hood is up on the sweatshirt that Dane cropped
to reveal my belly button. I added a pair of red platform boots and
overdid the black eyeliner and red lipstick. I switched out my pink
glasses with a cherry-red pair.
Outside on the front stoop we find the rest of our team. Two guys
are wearing denim overalls, red flannel shirts, and pig noses.
Rick, whom I’ve met, is short and wears his hair in his signature
pompadour. He’s Dane’s co-producer on a documentary they’re
working on about the affordable housing crisis in New York. He’s the
cinematographer and Dane’s the director and writer. I glance over at
Dane, my heart swelling. I’m proud of the hard work he’s doing to
help others.
The other guy I don’t know. He’s as tall as Dane, a few inches
over six feet, with longish blond hair and blue eyes. His tan skin
reminds me of a classic surfer from the seventies.
I smile at him. I do love meeting new people. “This is only two
pigs. Have you already blown the house down on one of them?” I
ask Dane.
“Nope,” answers the blonde guy with big grin. “You didn’t count
Spike.”
He reaches up to his shoulder and pulls down a large brown lizard
dressed in a tiny pink shirt with the word Oink on the back. Whoa. I
take a step back.
“He’s a bearded dragon, and you’re welcome for the introduction
to the best pet ever. I’m Benji, by the way, Rick’s cousin from LA.” He
settles Spike back on his shoulder, and his tail curls around Benji’s
neck, then he licks his neck. Ew.
“You guys look great,” Dane says, giving Benji a fist bump. “Good
to see you again, man.”
Benji shrugs. “I can’t believe I’m dressed like this.”
Rick snorts. “You were in as soon as I said I wanted Spike to
dress up. You nearly peed your pants when we picked up his outfit.”
Benji laughs. “I do like to keep his look fresh. Spike has a hundred
thousand followers on Insta. I only have five thousand.”
“Girrrrrrrrl, do a spin for me,” Rick exclaims.
I twirl around, laughing.
He tucks his tablet under his arm and gives me a slow clap, “You
look fabulous. Love the shoes. You ready for this film we’re gonna
make?”
“Hell yeah!” I call out.
“You’re our navigator, Rick,” Dane says. “Where are we off to
first?”
 Rick pulls a piece of paper from his overalls and waves it in the
air. “Pay attention, team, because this is our challenge. We need to
film all four scavenger events then edit it into one movie that can be
shown at the party. The party itself is in a warehouse near the docks
in Hell’s Kitchen. The four things we need to film: one, a boastful
pizza place in New York; two, one of us to sing a song at a fancy
restaurant; three, read aloud a passage from a sexy book that none
of us own; and finally, film two team members kissing on a tall
building.”
“Where are we going first?” I ask.
“Boastful pizza is easy,” says Rick. “Flora’s pizza is near the Met.
It was rated the best pizza in the city by New York Magazine.”
Dane shakes his head. “The challenge isn’t to find the best pizza,
it’s to find the most boastful. We need someplace that has one of
those signs in the window, ‘Best Pizza in New York’ kind of thing.”
I smile. “I know the perfect place, and it’s just around the corner.”
“What are we waiting for y’all? Let’s follow Little Red,” Rick says
as he grabs a backpack full of their equipment.
We walk for five minutes, then turn the corner where Cosmic
Pizza sits, a run-down diner with yellow siding and a takeout menu
posted on the door. A faded sign proclaims the pizza’s importance.
“Tada! Welcome to the ‘Best Pizza in All Five Galaxies!’” I say and
Dane grins and gives me a fist bump.
“You’re the best, babe,” he whispers in my ear.
I swallow thickly. First, he called me ‘beautiful’ and now ‘babe’…
“What does it mean by ‘five galaxies’?” Benji asks. “Dude. There’s
more than that.”
I jump up and down because I know the answer. I came in for a
slice and got chatty with the owner once. “The guy who owns the
place claims he was abducted by a UFO. The aliens told him that
there’s a wormhole at the center of the Milky Way connecting four
other galaxies. He also says they gave him the pizza recipe.”
“It’s a crazy city, but I love it. Don’t you?” Dane gazes down at me,
a soft look in his eyes. His hand brushes against mine.
 “Mmhmm,” I breathe.
Benji tells us a story about a friend of his back in Georgia, an
older guy named Carl who believes in aliens. “He’s awesome,” he
says. “The town where I went to college is an alien hot spot. We
even have a museum.”
Dane and Rick confer about what kind of shot they want.
Rick films as the three of us head inside and buy slices. We come
outside, and all together we each take a big bite with the sign in the
background. Dane puts his arm around me, and I put mine around
Benji.
“Cut,” Rick says and puts the camera down. “Should we do the
kiss on a tall building next? The Bank of America Tower is near
here.”
Dane frowns. “We can do that one last. I want to do the Empire
State Building.”
“Why Empire State?” I ask.
“It’s the most romantic,” he says.
I smirk. “It didn’t say a romantic building. Just a tall building.”
“It if involves a kiss, it’s gotta be the Empire State,” Dane insists.
Rick shrugs. “Empire State it is. Let’s do the song in a fancy
restaurant.” He scrolls on his phone. “Le Lavandou is two subway
stops from here. I have a connection with the maître d’.”
“To the subway,” Dane says.
We rush to the station and reach the platform right as a train
arrives.
Dane and Rick sit down and look at the video footage. I grab a
seat across from them and Benji sits with me. The bearded dragon
sitting on his shoulder turns its head and looks directly into my eyes.
“I kind of love the pig-lizard,” I murmur.
Benji puts the dragon on his leg, and I reach out to pet him. Spike
gives me a glare, so I ease my hand back.
“So, you’re the famous Piper?” Benji says.
“I guess.”
 “Dane talks about you a lot.”
“Oh?” I throw a look at Rick and Dane as they confer about angles
and filtering. “What did he say?”
“Just that you and he have been friends since high school. That
you’ve grown closer over the years since his brother married your
best friend.” He winks. “He might have said you were hot and to
keep my hands to myself, but no worries. I have a girlfriend in LA.”
He pauses. “You’re much better than Ari. The last time I was here,
she didn’t want Dane hanging out with us.”
“Hmmm. Really?” I guess Dane and Ari had a lot of problems, and
I will pump Benji for any and all info.
He shrugs. “She didn’t seem to be on the same wavelength as
Dane.”
Dane glances over at me, and I stiffen. Shit, can he hear us?
I clear my throat. “Are you staying with Rick?”
“No, Lila and I usually stay with our college friends. They live in
Brooklyn. Ever hear of River Tate?”
My eyes flare. “Wait. You mean River Tate, the wide receiver for
the Pythons, is your friend?”
Benji rolls his eyes. “Yeah. I have a famous friend. You could say I
made him the man he is. I mean, he might not say that, but he
should…”
I lean in. “If you ever want to meet up, me and Dane, and you and
them…” I clap with glee. “I would love that!”
Benji smiles. “Sure. It’s a date.”
“Who has a date?” Dane says. His steel-gray eyes land on me.
Before we can reply, Rick stands up. “This is our stop, guys.”
We get off the train and walk to the restaurant and stand outside.
Le Lavandou sits on the ground floor of a skyscraper. We see
linen-covered tables with diners in black suits and cocktail dresses.
A raised platform with an impressive grand piano sits in the middle of
the dining area. The pianist, in a white tuxedo, plays a classical
piece with a stuffy expression. A huge goldfish-style bowl on top of
the piano is filled with bills.
“There’s no way they’ll let us inside,” I say.
Rick looks us up and down. “I said I got this. My friend Armand is
the maître d’. Who’s our singer?”
“Not me,” Benji and I say at the same time, then laugh.
“Me,” Dane murmurs.
“Makes sense.” Rick nods and opens the door and approaches
the maître d’. They step into a slice of a shadow in the entry to talk.
Rick slips him some bills, then waves to us. Once inside, Armand
ushers us to the side of the restaurant, near the kitchen. He frowns
at Benji. “Oh, no. I told you I could get you on stage for one song, but
that is a live lizard, a clear health code violation.” He points a finger
in Benji’s direction and sniffs. “You need to wait outside.”
“They didn’t mind me going in at Cosmic Pizza,” Benji mutters.
“This is not a pizza joint. Out, please,” Armand says and waves
his hands at him.
“Come on, Spike. Don’t let the fancy waiter get to you.” He pets
Spike’s head like the lizard’s feelings are hurt, steps back outside,
and pouts at us through the glass.
I wave. Benji laughs.
Rick and Dane explain what they want to film. Armand looks
intently at Dane, then back to Rick. “Just one verse. Short and
sweet. Nothing more. Wait until the pianist is done, go up there like
you’re supposed to, put a tip in the bowl and tell him I sent you. Got
it?”
We nod.
Dane checks out the diners. I lean over. “Might be an uptight
crowd.”
“We’ll see,” he murmurs.
Armand leaves, winding his way through the tables to get to the
podium.
 The pianist finishes and gives a slight bow to the crowd. There is
no applause.
Dane walks through the tables like he owns the place, steps up to
the small stage, drops a few bills in the bowl, then whispers to the
pianist.
Rick positions himself to get a good view with the camera.
The piano player cracks his knuckles over the keys and starts to
pound out the intro to “Werewolves of London” by Warren Zevon.
Dane leaves his head down, tapping his foot to the beat. He snaps
up and sings the first verse, his voice deep and rough. He struts
back and forth on the podium, making eye contact with diners. The
servers stop to watch. At the end of the chorus, I expect them to
stop, but the pianist keeps playing and Dane sings the second verse.
He howls out the werewolf call, and one diner howls back. The
pianist does a solo, one hand playing the standard melody while the
other flies over the keys in a contrasting improv. Dane dances
around doing a weird mix of Michael Jackson Thriller moves and the
robot.
Dane begins the last verse, and when he gets to the line “And his
hair was perfect,” he shakes his mane as a diner whistles at him.
When they end the song, Dane bows and shakes the pianist’s
hand, then steps off the podium. The piano player’s expression
grows stoic again and he reverts to classical songs. The din of the
crowd returns to its normal volume.
Dane approaches us, a sheen in his eyes.
“I hope you got that. I don’t think they’ll let me do it again,” he
says, casually wiping his face.
“Oh yeah, that was perfect,” Rick says, then stops to give Armand
a hug as we walk out the door.
“You okay?” I ask Dane.
“Sure, just…adrenaline from the crowd.”
I give him a wry smile. “You sang that song with your mom. I
remember you telling me.”
 “Yeah, that was ours. Mom would play ‘Piano Man’ for Knox and
‘Werewolves of London’ for me. It was our thing.” He smiles, a
faraway look on his face. “Whenever she played, it filled the house
with joy. After what happened to her, the playing stopped, and so did
the joy…you know.”
I curl my arm around his waist and lean my head on his shoulder.
I know how much losing his mother affected him as a kid. It sent him
down a spiral of drugs and alcohol. He hit rock bottom when he
remembered what happened to Ava.
He hugs me back, his hand grazing down my back. His voice is
husky in my ear. “Pipes. You are…the best human.”
“Hmmm.”
Then he picks me up and swings me around as I laugh and flap
my arms at him to set me down.
Rick’s voice breaks us up. “Okay, you two. Let’s focus on the next
challenge.”
Benji raises a hand. “Me and Spike checked Google for a
bookstore while y’all were inside. Have you heard of Strand Books?”
Rick smirks. “Little pig, please. That is only the most famous
bookstore in the city.”
We leave and a few minutes later reach Strand Bookstore.
Walking inside, we take it in. The store smells like an old library,
dusty but comforting.
“We’re supposed to read a racy section from an old book,” Dane
reminds us.
We head to the romance section and look around. I find a
Harlequin romance from the eighties with Fabio on the cover.
“How about this?” I ask.
“I have one better,” Benji says.
He holds a copy of Lady Chatterley’s Lover. “Ana and River wrote
a paper on this. Pretty steamy stuff.”
Dane nods. “Great. Benji, find a passage and we’ll let you read it.
We’ll set up over there in front of the Strand’s Romance sign.”
 “Do you want Spike on my shoulder?”
“Dude. Of course,” Dane says. “We’ll get him looking at the pages
like you’re reading to him. Perfect.”
As Dane sets the scene, moving Benji around and telling him how
to stand and read, Benji flips through pages. “Where’s the dirty bits?”
he asks no one in particular. “Dammit. I should have paid attention in
that class.”
“Benji seems like a cool guy. How long have you known him?” I
ask Dane when he comes back to where I stand.
“He’s taken,” he says, giving me a pointed look.
“He told me, jockass.”
He narrows his eyes. “I thought he was asking you out on the
subway.”
“Eavesdropping, huh?”
“When it comes to you, yes.”
Oh.
“All quiet on the set,” Rick says. “Camera is rolling…”
Benji smiles as he looks down at the book, then looks up at the
camera. His pig nose is off, and his voice is deep. With one eyebrow
raised, he starts, “This is a dramatic reading from a great erotic tale,
the story about a bored, wealthy Englishwoman and her down and
dirty gamekeeper. I give you, Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D. H.
Lawrence.”
‘“Then as he began to move, in the sudden helpless orgasm,
there awoke in her new strange trills rippling inside her. Rippling,
rippling, rippling, like a flapping overlapping of soft flames, soft as
feathers, running to points of brilliance, exquisite, exquisite and
melting her all molten inside. It was like bells rippling up and up to
culmination. She lay unconscious of the wild little cries she uttered at
the last. But it was over too soon, too soon, and she could no longer
force her own conclusion with her own activity…”’
As Benji reads the passage, Dane moves to stand next to me. His
hand reaches out and toys with mine, our pinkies entangling. My
breath hitches. I’m sure he should be doing more “directing” or
something, but he seems to be giving me more attention than his
work.
“Perfect,” Rick says.
Like a spell is broken, we separate.
“One challenge left, team. Let’s head to the top of New York,” Rick
cries out as we head to the subway again.
I sit next to Dane on the train. “Thanks for getting me out tonight.
This has been fun.”
“We haven’t even gotten to the party yet. Are we going to dance?”
“Yeah. Um, do you want to talk about the Ari thing?”
He clasps my hand in his. His thumb brushes over the top of my
hand. Whoa. Fucking whoa. I nod and pretend like we do this all the
time.
“Don’t worry about Ari. Long time coming, actually. It was like…
our journey was done, you know? Like we’d had a great time, and
we’d been together for so long that it’s tough to realize when it’s
over, but you can feel something is different. I-I wasn’t being a good
boyfriend. For months, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about…”
He winces.
“What?”
“Our almost kiss.” His eyes capture mine, his grip on my hand
tightening.
“Oh.”
A long exhale comes from him. “Shit, Pipes, the subway isn’t
where I want to…”
“Our stop,” calls Rick.
Dane clams up and we follow Rick and Benji out of the subway.
We arrive at the building. Dane looks through the windows into the
lobby, then comes back.
“I texted a guard I know to make sure he was here. I told him I
was planning a proposal tonight to someone and needed to get past
the line and to the top. He agreed,” Dane says.
 “Aw, that’s romantic of him,” I say.
“He also asked for a hundred bucks, which I sent electronically.”
“That’s less romantic of him,” I reply.
A few minutes later the guard, Terrance, waves us in and ushers
us to an elevator away from the long line of tourists.
“Aren’t you worried you might get in trouble?” I ask Terrance.
“Nah. We do this bullshit all the time. It’ll be fine,” he replies.
As we rush by one hundred stories to the top of the building, I ask
the question that has been on my mind since this night began.
“Who’s kissing?”
Dane gives me a smile. “I thought it should be the two in our
group that are really in love, whether they admit it or not.” He looks
down at me, then shifts to Benji. “Benji and Spike.”
My stomach drops. For a second, I thought he was going to say
something else. I lean back into the corner, emotion tugging at me.
My hands clench.
The doors open on the observation deck, and Terrance holds
them for us. “Top of the world, folks. Just come down with all the
other guests when you’re done.”
We exit and Rick and Dane start scouting spots for the big finale.
The chill October wind hits me, and I wish my sweatshirt and skirt
were longer. I cross my arms in front of me and wander over to the
rail to look out over the city full of lights. It’s such a clear night and
the city is laid out in all directions with endless opportunity—and
people.
Why do I keep holding out for just one person? I’ve gone through
a series of guys, brief sexual interactions that are meaningless. No
one can live up to Dane and our almost kiss as long as we’re friends.
Perhaps it’s time I distanced myself from him…
“Hey.” I hear his low voice behind me. “What’s wrong?”
I turn and he’s looking down at me, his frown furrowed. Behind
him, Rick films Benji kissing Spike. They reset and shoot different
angles.
 “It feels like there’s something between us…Your constant texts,
the way you sign them with ‘sincerely.’ Do you do that for everyone?”
“No.” He steps closer, and I inhale his scent, leather and
something woodsy.
“If you almost kissed me but didn’t, what does that mean? If you
and Ari argued over me, why is that? I need to know, Dane.” My
throat prickles with emotion. I’m kind of putting it all out there, but I
need his honesty…
He slowly lowers his head. “Pipes, since the moment I picked you
up from the airport a year ago, I lost my breath at how much I’d
missed seeing you. And I was so damn excited to have you in my
city.”
For years, we’ve spent summers at the beach house together,
and every Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s Eve in Nashville
with Knox and Ava. We’ve laughed and cried together. He’s consoled
me through every relationship breakup over the years. He’s sent me
lilies on every birthday. Since our first year out of high school, he’s
never gone a week without texting me. I’m closer to him than I am to
anyone except Ava.
His throat bobs. “You’ve seen me at my worst, at my best. You
know me. I know you. We have roots that run deep. And every time I
saw you…it just…I don’t know, something inside me ached…I don’t
even know if you feel the same way—”
“I do.” Before he can finish, I reach up and twine my hands around
his neck.
“Pipes.” His mouth parts as his hands move up my throat to my
face. He bends his head and meshes his mouth with mine. He eats
at me hungrily, tasting the dips and valleys of my lips, our tongues
tangling, searching and exploring. We part, our chests heaving in
sync.
His face is flushed, his pupils blown as he searches my face. His
thumb brushes over my bottom lip. “Was that better than seventh
grade?”
“No comparison,” I murmur. “You were my first kiss.”
 He presses his forehead against mine. “Don’t tell Knox, but you
were my first. He thinks I kissed the hot lifeguard at the pool when I
was ten. I didn’t, but we must let the legend continue.”
He smiles at me. “You know, the kiss at the tallest building might
be on the scavenger list, but I knew as soon as I saw it, that I wanted
you up here…to ask you…if you want to go on a date?”
I press my face into his chest. “I think the answer is yes. The most
romantic date proposal ever.”
He looks back at Benji and Rick as they do another round of
shots. We laugh at how funny it is to see Benji kissing Spike.
“They’re taking care of the scavenger list, but this is for us, not for
anyone else. Just you and me together.”
“Where will we go?” I ask. “For our first date?”
His lips quirk. “Cosmic Pizza or the fancy place?”
“My apartment. You cook your famous pasta and I’ll help.”
“You read my mind.” His gaze heats. “You and me in the city. Want
me to wear the wolf outfit?”
I smile. “No. But leave the extensions.”
“Anything for you, Pipes.”
My heart chimes as he dips his head to slant his mouth over mine,
soft and gentle and slow. This is our beginning. I can feel it. The
perfectness, the rightness, the future…

•••

Thank you for reading Dane and Piper’s short story. I hope you
enjoyed seeing a little bit more about these amazing complimentary
characters that originated in other books. To see how Dane and
Piper studied the emotionally draining film Charlotte’s Web in high
school, check out Dear Ava. To see how Benji and Spike helped (or
didn’t help) River Tate achieve greatness, check out The Revenge
Pact. Both are standalone stories about original couples.
 
XOXO - Ilsa
 ALSO BY ILSA MADDEN-MILLS
All books are standalone stories with brand new couples and are
currently FREE in Kindle Unlimited.
Very Bad Things
Very Wicked Beginnings
Very Wicked Things
Very Twisted Things
Dirty English
Filthy English
Spider
Fake Fiancée
I Dare You
I Bet You
I Hate You
I Promise You
The Revenge Pact
Boyfriend Bargain
Dear Ava
Not My Romeo
Not My Match
The Last Guy (w/Tia Louise)
The Right Stud (w/Tia Louise)
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Wall Street Journal, New York Times, and USA Today bestselling
author Ilsa Madden-Mills writes about strong heroines and sexy
alpha males that sometimes you just want to slap. A former high
school English teacher and elementary librarian, she adores all
things Pride and Prejudice; Mr. Darcy is her ultimate hero. She loves
unicorns, frothy coffee beverages, vampire books, and any book
featuring sword-wielding females.
 
*Please join her FB readers group, Unicorn Girls, to get the latest
scoop as well as talk about books, wine, and Netflix:
www.facebook.com/groups/ilsasunicorngirls
 
You can also find Ilsa at these places:
Website:
www.ilsamaddenmills.com
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www.ilsamaddenmills.com/contact
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 DARK EYES

 
KARINA HALLE

“TWO MORE DAYS until it happens,” Shannon says to me as she

raises her glass of amber-colored beer, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
“Two more days until we go back to Dark Eyes.”
I pick up my margarita and clink the glass against hers, the foam
on her beer spilling over onto the table. She quickly mops it up with a
cocktail napkin before we both sip our drinks. I end up taking a
bigger gulp than I should, almost choking on the tequila. Bless the
bartender for making this so strong.
She narrows her eyes over the glass. “Don’t tell me you’re having
second thoughts.”
I shrug and swallow, avoiding her gaze, bringing my attention to
the seagull who is darting between the patio tables. It’s a hot and
sunny October day, our usual delayed summer here in San
Francisco, and we’re at a bar on the Embarcadero, watching the
boats in the bay while day drinking. I worked non-stop all week at my
bartending job, and this is the first chance I’ve had to breathe and
get some fresh air.
“Amethyst,” she says.
“Shannon,” I say to her, taking the lime off the rim and sticking it in
my mouth before smiling at her like a goof.
“Look, you don’t have to come inside the club if you don’t want to,”
she says to me, a sympathetic twist to her lips. “I get it. It’s scary. I
was…terrified. Really, I was. I’ve been having crazy dreams ever
since I stepped in that place.”
 “You’re really selling it, Shannon,” I tell her dryly, putting the lime
in my drink and mashing my straw into it.
“Just being honest,” she says, having another sip. Then that
gleam in her eyes returns, brighter than before. “But it was also the
most thrilling thing I’ve ever done. I’ve never felt so alive. Ames, you
don’t know what it’s like until you do it. Until you look into their eyes
while you’re at their mercy, knowing how you have all the power, that
you have what they need. Even when the pain comes and they…
well…”
I swallow hard, thinking it over. I’ve been waffling back and forth
over my return visit ever since we first went to Dark Eyes. I’m
scared, for sure, but curiosity is getting the better of me.
It all started about three weeks ago. Shannon told me all about
this hot guy named Ezra that she ran into at a party. She said Ezra
was like unlike any guy she’s ever known and was instantly smitten.
Now, Shannon is pretty shy around guys and even though we’ve
known each other since high school, I can count on one hand the
number of boyfriends she’s had, so the fact that she was so
obsessed with some new dude, especially an older guy, was
definitely out of the ordinary.
Then I guess she and Ezra exchanged numbers and they got to
talking and he wanted to bring her to a place called Dark Eyes. I
thought it sounded familiar, so I looked it up.
The reason Dark Eyes sounded so familiar is because it’s this
secret underground nightclub. So, how is it a secret if you can just
Google it? Well, the thing is, the club used to be in operation but isn’t
anymore. Back in the 1930s when a bunch of Russian Czars lived in
the infamous Westerfeld House, the downstairs ballroom was turned
into a private club, Dark Eyes, nicknamed “The Russian Embassy.”
The Westerfeld House itself is famous in the city. Not only for
being this spooky-looking Victorian that ticks off all the boxes in my
macabre-loving heart, but for having a sordid history. Keith Anger, a
60s occult filmmaker, took up residence there, and a whole lot of
nefarious deeds took place, along with visits from people like
Charles Manson (no introduction needed) and Anton Levy, who
founded the Church of Satan. Nowadays they say one man owns the
place and he hopes to turn it into a museum at some point, but
Shannon was adamant that it operated not only as a nightclub but as
a meeting house for a cult of sorts.
A very particular type of cult that Ezra belongs to.
One that I’m still not sure is real or not.
You see, when I took Shannon to the nightclub, I didn’t go inside
with her. I stood outside the back door of the Westerfeld house,
hearing the music thumping faintly from inside, and watched as the
door opened and a good-looking guy with sharp eyes and dark hair
that fell across his forehead came out.
Ezra.
He didn’t expect to see me, that much I could tell, and there was
something about his presence that made cold rivers run down my
spine. It wasn’t just the ice in his dark gaze, it was this feeling of
danger…but the kind you want to run to, not away from.
Ezra whispered something to Shannon and then she told me I
couldn’t come in. That I should go home.
I argued with her, telling her that she shouldn’t go in if I couldn’t. I
just wanted to make sure she was okay. After all, we’re only twenty-
two, and while she was smitten with Ezra, I didn’t know him at all,
and certainly didn’t trust him—not in that spooky old house with the
supposed nightclub where I was getting the impression that weird
shit went down.
But Shannon is as stubborn as I am.
She went inside.
And I didn’t go home.
I waited outside the house for hours, in the fog and cold mist that
enveloped the hill as the night wore on. I waited and I worried until
finally Shannon came back out.
Her forearm bandaged up with mounds of gauze.
And the most blissful look on her face, one that went between the
kind of satiety you get after good sex, and the kind of adrenaline-
high you get from a tattoo.
That’s when I realized what Shannon had told me about Dark
Eyes was true.
That the rumors I had read online were true too.
Dark Eyes was in fact a club. A club in need of volunteers like
Shannon.
Volunteers who would go inside and give up their blood to those
who need it.
Those who survived on it.
See the “cult” inside of the Westerfeld house is real.
But apparently, it’s not a cult of people.
It’s a cult of vampires.
Yes.
Vampires.
And Dark Eyes is where they feed.
Like a kinky blood bank.
“Why do you think I’ll even be allowed inside next time?” I say to
Shannon before swallowing back the rest of my drink and licking the
salt off the rim.
“I’ve talked to Ezra,” she says. “It’s all good. You know he was just
surprised last time and they don’t accept just anyone. They only take
people they can make sure won’t talk.”
I rub my lips together, still weighing it. “I’m still not sure I even…
understand what happens inside there. I still don’t know if I believe
it.”
She gives me a knowing smile. “You’ll believe it when you see it.
When you experience it. Then you’ll know, without a doubt.”
“Yeah but how do you really know that these aren’t just some
fucking weirdos who think they’re vampires? Because…well,
vampires don’t really exist. They can’t, Shannon.”
“They do, Ames. You’ll see.” She frowns. “And what’s all this they
can’t exist stuff? You’re the one always watching those ghost hunting
shows. You’ve always gone on about the supernatural and that woo
woo stuff. You even said your grandmother was a witch.”
“Well, she practiced witchcraft. Like the harmless stuff.
Worshipped the moon, made lots of teas and tinctures, had a little
altar and sat outside in her garden a lot. But she had no power. She
had no magic. No one does. She was just a person.”
In fact, I have memories of walking through the forest outside my
grandmother’s house, up in Oregon by the Rogue River, asking my
grandmother if she could fly, or cast spells. She always told me that
she had no more power inside her than I did, that the true power we
always have is the power of intention. Of course, I was too young to
understand what that really meant at the time. I just remember being
severely disappointed she didn’t fly around on a broomstick under
full moons.
But vampires? Even for someone as open-minded as I am, that’s
pushing it.
Though, according to weird chat rooms on the internet, vampires
do exist, and especially in San Francisco. That house is the
epicenter of them all.
And yet even though I believe Shannon, even though I know
there’s something so fucked up about the whole thing, my mind just
can’t come to terms with it.
It’s not that it doesn’t want to. I’ve been obsessed with vampires
and ghosts and all that sort of stuff most of my life and I definitely
have goth tendencies. But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to just
accept things at face value. Anyone can lie. Anyone can drink blood
and believe it sustains them. There are all types out there.
“Look,” she says. “You don’t have to give blood. You can just
watch. That’s all. Then you’ll see. These aren’t just some people with
a blood fetish. It’s so much more than that.”
I sigh, wanting another drink. Even with the hot sun and the fresh
air, I’m starting to get a bit creeped out about the whole thing.
Two days.
Two days until I find out if vampires are real or not.
 •••

Those two days go fast.

Too fast.
I had an evening shift at the bar last night, a rowdy place near my
home in Laurel Heights, a small house that I share with my mother
(my father walked out on us a long time ago). Today I just finished a
quick and easy four-hour afternoon shift, and now I’m in my room,
trying to figure out what to wear.
I mean, what do you wear to a nightclub run by supposed
vampires? Shannon was in a dress last time but I’m a pants kind of
gal. Ezra was wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, nothing fancy at all. I
got the impression from Shannon that there weren’t that many
people in the club at all, so it’s not like some sort of special event
that you have to dress up for.
Then again, Shannon has refused to give me any details about
what actually went down during the blood-giving part. She just gets
that gleam in her eyes and talks about how it made her feel rather
than what really happened. Maybe that’s for the best.
Anyway, I don’t think I’ll be a volunteer. Sure, I’ve always been
fascinated with blood and vampires and the whole idea of them, but
again, if this is just a bunch of dudes getting off on some blood play
kink fetish, then no thank you.
“And where are you off to tonight?” my mother asks, leaning
against my bedroom doorway.
I shove a sweater back into my overflowing closet and give her a
quick smile.
“Just going out with Shannon,” I tell her. “Did you want me to stay
in? We could watch a movie.”
She shakes her head, waving at me dismissively. She looks tired,
as always, and my heart feels heavy. My mother is a housekeeper at
the Westin hotel, but it doesn’t bring in a lot of money, so I do what I
can to work as often as I can. I don’t mind; I like bartending, I like
interacting with people, and my boss treats me okay. But my mother
works even harder than I do and it’s rare that we both have a night
off together. I probably should cancel plans and just spend time with
her.
“No, I’m just going to take a bath and go to bed early,” she says
with a sigh. “You have fun, though. Just don’t stay out too late.”
She leaves and I immediately feel guilty. My mother is as open-
minded as I am, but if she knew why I was really going out there
she’d have my head. There’s no way she’d actually believe in
vampires, but like me, she’d definitely believe there’s a weird blood-
sucking cult in the Western Addition.
I sigh and turn my attention back to what I’m going to wear to the
blood-sucking cult. I decide on a pair of black jeans, a blousy dark
top with loose long sleeves, and a burgundy leather jacket. I pull my
long black hair back into a ponytail and then put in the extra effort
with my makeup; lots of winged eyeliner, mauve liquid lipstick that
makes my skin look even more pale. In a way I kind of look like a
vampire myself.
A shiver runs through me. What the hell am I getting myself into?
At eight p.m. Shannon takes an Uber to my house and we walk
down the street in the growing mist, the fog extra thick tonight,
making everything look like an ominous shadow. We’re due to meet
Ezra at the club at ten but I’m so nervous that we decide to go into a
bar on the way and have a couple of drinks. I’m not sure if there’s a
rule about drinking before donating blood, but I’m pretty sure it
doesn’t matter.
In fact, when we’re done with our drinks, my nerves calmed only a
little as we walk down Fulton toward the house, I decide that there’s
no way I’m taking part in what’s going on tonight. I mean, who in
their right mind would willingly donate blood to anyone other than an
actual hospital?
Well, Shannon, apparently. The more nervous I get, the more
excited she gets. By the time we come to the corner of Fulton and
Scott, right beside Alamo Park and the Painted Ladies, she’s
practically giddy, talking non-stop, that weird gleam in her eyes
having returned.
We walk around the side of the towering house, the top half-
covered in the mist that streams on by, curling around the tower.
Everything seems extra murky, dark, like we’ve stumbled onto the
set of a horror film.
But if it’s spooky, I’m the only one scared. Brimming with
confidence this time, Shannon strides past the row of parked luxury
vehicles—all black—and goes to the back door. She sends a text
from her phone before knocking three times. If that’s supposed to be
some sort of secret knock, it’s not very imaginative.
I hang out in the background, remembering all too well the look
that Ezra gave me the last time. It was like he wanted to kill me on
the spot, and given what I know now, there’s a chance he would
have.
But when the door opens, faint jazz music spilling out, it’s not Ezra
at all.
Instead, it’s the most intriguing man I’ve ever seen.
He’s hella tall, at least six three, wearing an olive-green Henley
(my fave shirt on a man) that shows off extremely broad shoulders.
His biceps are the size of my leg, straining against the material of his
shirt, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows to showcase massive,
ropey forearms, his veins visible against his pale skin. I’m not
normally one to fawn over guys with lighter hair, but his is this thick,
shiny brown that borders on dark blond, longer on top, shorter on the
sides. His face looks sculpted and angular, with a strong jaw and the
kind of high cheekbones that belong on a Nordic God.
Then there are his eyes. Sharp, deep, a golden green color, like a
leaf kissed by autumn. They hold me in place, stealing my breath,
conveying a million things to me in a language I don’t understand.
“Hi, Wolf,” Shannon says to the mystery man, like she’s known
him her whole life.
Also, Wolf? This guy’s name is Wolf?
Of course it is.
 “This must be Amethyst,” Wolf says to me. He has a light accent,
maybe Danish or Norwegian. He comes over to me and extends his
hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”
I stare at Wolf, completely dumbfounded.
For one, I’m lost in his gaze still, in a way that’s not even natural.
Like, I can feel in the very marrow of my bones that he’s pulling me
toward him, like my soul wants to join his, like I’ll willingly do
whatever he asks of me.
For two, he’s smiling at me and that alone has my heart skipping
several beats. He’s got fucking dimples beneath those cheekbones
and it’s turning me into a puddle of swoon. Suddenly I wonder what I
was ever afraid of.
“Amethyst,” Shannon hisses at me and I realize I’ve been
standing here like an idiot while he’s politely extending his hand.
I manage a lopsided smile and put my hand in his and fuck.
Though his skin is cool to touch, his grip is strong and it’s sending
warm shockwaves down my spine.
Why didn’t Shannon tell me there was someone like Wolf in this
place?
But then…wait a minute…that would make him a vampire?
“Glad you could make it,” Wolf says to me, reluctantly letting go of
my hand. Or perhaps I’m the reluctant one. I could hold on to him all
night. “Come on, I’ll show you around. This is your first time here, I
bet you have many questions.”
I nod, feeling dumb and dizzy as I follow Shannon and Wolf into
the house. It’s only when Wolf isn’t looking into my eyes that my
brain seems to come back online.
But it’s immediately swept away by my surroundings.
Dark Eyes isn’t at all like I thought it was going to be.
While the jazz music flows from the speakers, I realize that there’s
only a handful of people in here and they’re all sitting at the bar,
talking to the bartender, who happens to be Ezra.
 All of their heads swivel our way once we enter, but I’m not even
paying attention to them anymore. Instead, I’m taken by the décor.
With a high, frescoed ceiling, lush leather couches, expensive-
looking Turkish rugs brightening up the dark floors and gold-rimmed
paintings adding warmth to the wood-paneled walls, this place looks
straight out of a 1940s film noir. A throwback to the day when time
was slower, decadent, and things were built to last out of the finest
materials. Makes me wonder if this is how it looked when it was
called the “Russian Embassy.”
“This is Dark Eyes,” Wolf says to me. “I take it you know about the
history.”
“From what I got on Google,” I admit.
“There’s a lot that’s left out,” he tells me. “And it’s changed a lot
since the old days.”
“Can we show Amethyst the dark room?” Shannon asks excitedly.
Wolf frowns at her, then eyes me. My stomach flips again.
“Show?” he asks me. “You’re not volunteering?”
I shake my head while Shannon says, “She doesn’t believe in any
of this. She doesn’t believe you’re a vampire.”
I can’t argue with that. Still, I feel on the spot and give Wolf a
shaky smile. I know how fucking weird this situation is, and even with
her saying the word it feels both wrong and dangerous.
“You don’t?” Wolf asks, turning away from Shannon to face me,
until he’s all I see. Suddenly there’s an undercurrent of fear running
through me, fear that spikes as he reaches out and touches my
cheek, his fingers cold. “Do you believe it now?”
Part of me wants to laugh. It wants to move my face away from
his touch. It wants to tell him what I’ve thought all this time, that there
are no such things as vampires, that this is just some blood fetish
club, and that’s totally fine, no kink shaming here, but that he can’t
possibly be a fucking vampire.
But there’s another part of me. A part deep down, past my gut, to
the place where my instincts make their judgements from, a part that
say he’s telling the truth.
 He’s telling the truth, as unbelievable as the truth sounds.
This man is a vampire.
In fact, everyone in this place except for Shannon and me are
vampires.
Suddenly, I know that with every fibre of my being.
“Don’t fight it,” Wolf says, his voice low, his golden gaze still
keeping me in his thrall. “Humans are conditioned to push away
things that science can’t explain. Don’t fight it. Accept it. Welcome it
in. Take hold of the truth and make it your own.”
I find myself nodding. Smiling, even. Just a little.
And that’s when I realize that not only is Wolf a vampire, but that
he’s compelling me.
As vampires do.
Oh my fucking god.
“There you go,” he says with a twist to his lips, his eyes crinkling
at the corners. He takes his hand away. “Now you’ve got it. And by
the way, I don’t make a habit of compelling humans unless I want
something. Now that you know what I am, I’ll try to be more open
with you. If I want something…I’ll ask.” He winks at me.
I blink at him. Then I manage to look over at Shannon, my mouth
open in surprise.
She’s smiling like the cat that’s got the canary.
Oh, she knew. She was just waiting for me to accept it, to believe
it. Before I thought Shannon was just choosing to believe something
outlandish, but now I know the fantastical, mind-blowing truth.
“You still don’t want to volunteer?” Shannon asks.
I shake my head. I had a hard time with the idea of letting
someone drink my blood just to get off on it.
“Pass,” I say. “I’ll just watch.”
Wolf gives me a quick, apologetic smile. “Unless they’re
volunteering, we don’t let people watch the process,” he explains
kindly. “Especially someone new. It’s a very…intimate experience
and one really has to know the hows and whys of the transaction
first. But I’ll be happy to tell you all about it.”
Wolf looks over at Ezra at the bar. “Ezra. Is the dark room empty?”
Ezra nods at him, then gestures to the people sitting at the bar.
“They’re waiting for you.”
I look again at the people. They’re all dressed fairly well, three
men, one woman. The woman looks around my age, early twenties,
but the men are older, in their thirties, the same as Wolf and Ezra. As
I meet their eyes, I’m struck with a faint but similar feeling of
enthrallment to what I felt with Wolf. They’re trying to compel me.
They’re vampires, of course.
But now I know their purpose.
And it’s not to have a drink at the bar.
Oh god.
“Hey,” I say to Wolf as he and Shannon walk toward a door at the
end of the room. “Are those, uh, people…vampires? Meaning, are
they the ones…that Shannon will…uh…”
God, it’s hard to say this all out loud. As much as I believe it now,
it’s like my mouth doesn’t want to come out with it. Like it can’t
believe what my gut knows to be true now.
“Yes,” Wolf says, knowing what I mean. I’m starting to think he
can literally read my mind. That or he really seems to get me.
“They’re here for Shannon and a couple of other volunteers who are
coming later. Come, I’ll show you how it all works so you don’t have
to look so worried.”
Wolf takes us to the door and opens it.
Inside is a large room. Black walls. Metal floor. Chains attached to
the walls, with black leather mats underneath.
“What the?” I ask, looking around. It looks like a torture chamber.
This isn’t making me worry any less.
“Don’t be so alarmed,” Wolf says to me. “It looks worse than it is.”
He walks over to the chains and picks them up. “This goes around
the neck,” he says, holding a collar. “While the others go around the
hands. They’re held in place.”
I stare at it aghast and look at Shannon. “You willingly go in that?”
I exclaim.
She shakes her head. “No. The vampires go in that. I sit on a
chair.” She gestures to some leather ottomans and chairs stacked in
the corner.
“It’s the safest way to do this,” Wolf explains. “For everyone
involved. When vampires are feeding, they can get carried away. By
chaining them, this prevents the recipient from hurting the volunteer.
The volunteer, meanwhile, remains in control. Plus, there’s always a
guard in here to make sure everyone is behaving, just in case.
Tonight, that’s my role. Usually it’s Ezra, but he’s playing bartender
tonight. We can be short-staffed sometimes.”
He says all of that with a twinkle in his gorgeous eyes, as if it isn’t
both utterly macabre and absurd. But just like the idea of a vampire
is slowly becoming part of my reality, I guess the absurdity of it all
makes sense.
“Wolf,” a low, rich voice with a slight British accent says from
behind us.
My skin automatically prickles, goosebumps spreading through
my body.
I turn around to see a man in the doorway.
He literally takes my breath away.
He’s tall, dressed in a sharp charcoal suit that fits him like a glove.
His face is striking with intensely shadowed eyes the color of the
ocean. He has dark, wavy, chin-length hair, brows black and arched,
skin pale and luminous, and a jaw peppered with facial hair. He looks
every inch a vampire, both sinister and sexy all at once.
“Yes?” Wolf says as the man looks at me, a note of respect in his
voice.
Again I feel compelled, only now it’s mixed with fear. When I look
at Wolf it’s like I’m pulled into this comfortable sexual attraction to
him, but when I look at this man, this vampire, I feel like I’m staring at
something I shouldn’t be, like if I want to live, I need to look away.
Yet I can’t. No matter what I do, I can’t break this man’s gaze.
And the more he stares at me, the more I see this strange
recognition flit through his sharp gaze.
“She’s the new one,” the man says carefully, nodding at me. “Is
she a volunteer?”
“Her name is Amethyst,” Wolf says in such a way that my stomach
does a little dance. “And no. She’s just here to support her friend.”
The man narrows his eyes enough to make me want to run. “You
know we don’t allow that.”
Silence falls in the torture chamber.
“I think she’s okay,” Wolf says after a moment. “We can trust her.”
I don’t know how Wolf thinks that of me already, but I have to say
it makes me feel warm inside. Quite the juxtaposition, considering
how cold this other vampire is making me feel.
The man stares at me for a moment and then walks into the room,
his slick, expensive-looking shoes clicking on the metal floor. He
stops right in front of me and I suck in my breath, afraid to breathe
around him.
He stares down at me, studying me now, and I’m still unable to
look away.
“My name is Absolon Stavig,” he says to me. “I’m the owner of
this place. Tell me, Amethyst, why should I let you stay inside Dark
Eyes if you’re not going to give us anything in return?”
I press my lips together, trying to find my voice. “Because I’m
being a good friend.”
“No.” He tilts his head slightly. “Because you’re curious. That’s
why every human comes here. Because they don’t believe it until
they see it with their own eyes. Well, Amethyst. Do you believe it?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “I do.”
“And why should I trust you with such a secret? After all, there’s a
reason that this place is only talked about in whispers. It’s because
everyone who has ever been here has sworn an oath to never talk
about it. An oath that can’t be broken. Does that sound like
something you can do?” He pauses, eyes searching my face intently.
“Because if it doesn’t…”
He doesn’t have to finish his sentence to get his meaning across.
That was a threat.
If I talk, I’m dead.
And I fucking believe it.
But I won’t let that fear get the best of me.
I square my shoulders and raise my chin. “I’m a vault, Mr. Stavig.”
“Please, call me Absolon.”
“Absolon.”
“And what if someone were to try to break open the vault?” he
asks delicately.
“I’m sure you’d find a way to kill me,” I manage to say.
The corner or his mouth lifts in amusement. “I would,” he says.
Then he tears his eyes away from mine and suddenly I feel free
again, all the air returning to my lungs. He looks to Wolf. “I trust your
judgement, Wolf. If you say Amethyst is good for it, then I believe
you.” He gives me a quick, furtive glance. “I might even believe it
myself.”
Then he turns on his heel and walks out of the room, head held
high, the feeling of danger going with him.
I look at Wolf and Shannon, brows raised. “I’m going to take it that
he’s the head honcho.”
“More than you know,” Wolf says. He smiles at Shannon. “Well, I
suppose you should stay in here. I’ll take Amethyst back to the bar
and bring you your recipient.”
Shannon beams, practically wriggling where she stands, like a
puppy.
I raise my hand in goodbye and she just keeps grinning.
This is so fucking weird.
 Wolf places his hand at my lower back, a gesture that makes my
blood run both cold and hot, and he gently guides me out of the
room. “I hope you understand why you can’t watch. Not yet, anyway.
Vampires in pop culture have gotten an ugly rap, painting us all as
monsters. But it’s not quite our fault that we rely on human blood to
survive. This way, through Dark Eyes, we have a safe refuge for
vampires to convene and we provide a safe place for them to feed,
without any humans getting hurt.”
“I’m just surprised you find volunteers,” I tell him as we approach
the bar.
“Honestly, so am I,” he says to me. “But some people have a
blood fetish, or just want to be part of something like that, and then
there are those like Shannon who, well…I can’t say I’ve quite
experienced it since no one has fed off me before, but I hear it can
be comparable to sex.”
The way Wolf says the word sex makes me flush from head to
toe. My god, I need to get a grip. Especially here.
“Take a seat,” Wolf says, gesturing to a stool at the end of the bar,
conveniently away from the rest of the vampires who are trying hard
not to look at me. With the way their nostrils are flaring, though, I can
tell they’re at least smelling me.
Good lord, I hope they can’t tell I’m turned on.
Wolf leans in closer. Good lord, I hope he can’t tell I’m turned on
either because I swear he’s smelling me.
“Don’t worry about them,” Wolf whispers into my ear. “Ezra will
keep an eye on you. Order whatever you like from him. Drinks are on
the house.” Wolf then places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a
comforting squeeze that makes my toes curl.
Then he gestures to the woman at the end of the bar and she gets
off her stool and follows him. Both of them disappear into the room
where Shannon is waiting.
One of the male vampires, dressed in jeans and a denim jacket,
looks over at me. “First time around vampires?” he asks.
I nod, unable to speak.
 The vampire grins at me. “I can tell. You look like you need a
strong drink. Of the alcoholic kind, of course.”
Of course.

•••

It’s been a month since I started going to Dark Eyes on a regular

basis, which basically means I’m there every time I’m not bartending.
In fact, Wolf said that I’m welcome to a job bartending there since it
gets really busy some nights, if I want, though I still have to think
about it.
For one, even though I’ve gotten to know Wolf pretty well, Ezra is
still stand-offish and Absolon is intimidating to the extreme and a bit
of a mystery. Or a lot of a mystery. I know he’s the head honcho of
the whole thing, and everyone I’ve seen enter Dark Eyes treats him
with a combination of fear and reverence. But I’m still not sure I
belong there enough to bartend, even though I want to. I mean, I’m
used to unruly customers at my current job, but when those unruly
customers also happen to be actual vampires, that’s a little much.
Then there’s my mother.
Eventually I had to tell her where I was going all the time. I guess I
could have (and probably should have) kept it a secret in the long
run, but we’re close and I hate keeping stuff from her. I knew that
she probably wouldn’t believe me when I told her the truth about
Dark Eyes and the fact that vampires exist, but she took it in stride. A
little too much. I guess her mother left her more open-minded than I
thought.
But with that came her overprotectiveness.
See, my mother has pretty much forbidden me from going back to
Dark Eyes, and yet I’ve kept going against her wishes. I can’t stay
away, and besides, it’s nowhere near as dangerous as she thinks.
I’ve told her time and time again, I’m not an actual volunteer. I don’t
let any of them feed on me, and from what I can tell, none of them
particularly want to.
Okay, well that’s not exactly true.
Sometimes I think I catch Wolf staring at me in a certain way. It’s
something hot and calculating and I can’t figure out if it’s because he
wants to drink my blood or if he wants to fuck me. But given the
immense crush I have on the man—er, vampire—I know I’m just
seeing what I want to see. Aside from a few furtive glances, Wolf has
been nothing but a respectful gentleman with me and the longer I’m
with him, the more natural our friendship seems to become.
But friendship with an emphasis on friends.
“Amethyst?”
Absolon’s rich, deep voice comes from behind me.
I twist around in the leather chair and look up at him. As usual, I
feel my limbs turn to lead, trails of snowflakes along my scalp. To
look at Absolon is to look into the eyes of something mythical,
something otherworldly and more powerful than you can ever
imagine. I don’t even know if he’s compelling me half the time, it’s
just he has this way that immediately makes you feel small in
presence.
“Yes, sir?” I say.
His glacial eyes soften for a moment. “You know you don’t have to
call me sir.”
I nod, swallowing hard, feeling dumb. Sometimes Wolf calls him
sir, so I’ve picked up on it.
Absolon looks across Dark Eyes and I follow his gaze to the
corner of the bar where a group of vampires are sitting around and
laughing about something. Every now and then one of them will look
over at Absolon in curiosity, then quickly look away, as if they too
can’t stare at him for too long.
Absolon keeps his eyes on them as he speaks to me. “I heard
from Wolf that you aren’t interested in working here.”
Shit. Wolf already told him. He only sprung the idea on me the
other day.
 “To be honest, I’m still thinking about it,” I tell him.
Finally he brings his eyes to mine. I’m hit with the dizzying feeling
of being too close to the edge of something. “What is there to think
about?”
I stare at him for a moment, partly because I can’t look away,
partly because I don’t understand. “There’s a lot to think about. And
why me? There are a ton of other people out there who would be
good at this job. I mean, look at all the vampires that come in here.
Surely you could hire one of them?”
“I don’t want a vampire running this place,” he says to me, gaze
sharp, an edge to his voice that makes my nerves tingle. “As if you
haven’t noticed, I’m polarizing to my own kind. I want someone who
is unbiased and impartial. Someone with nothing at stake.”
I try not to snicker over a vampire using the word “stake,” though
from the way his jaw tightens, I can tell he knows what I’m thinking.
And he isn’t amused.
“Besides,” he goes on, his voice calmer now, “I have a feeling
about you. We all do. We’ve been on this earth a long time, and with
that experience you learn when you can trust someone, and how
much you should. You’re one of those people that we need here,
Amethyst. I’ll pay you as much as you want.”
I blink. I know Absolon is absolutely loaded (living for centuries
can amass a lot of wealth), but Wolf never brought up salary. I
suppose it wasn’t his place to.
“I don’t know.”
He takes a step closer so that he’s right up against the back of my
chair and I’m utterly lost in the depths of his eyes. “Are you afraid?
Of us?” He peers down at me for a moment, reading my mind, and
then gives a faint, close-lipped smile, the most I’ve ever seen him
from him. “I give you my word that you will be protected, both inside
these walls and outside of them. Wherever you go, whatever you do,
you will be safe, Amethyst. And my word is binding.”
He places a hand on my shoulder, a sharp cold sinking through
my skin until it makes my veins run hot. “Think about it some more. I
will not pressure you. But know that we can give you a new life,
Amethyst. A better one for you and your mother.”
He walks away toward the cigar lounge and I gulp. I’ve definitely
talked to Wolf about my mom, but never Absolon. I guess there are
no secrets in this house, at least not when it comes to me.
I end up leaving Dark Eyes fairly soon after that, saying a quick
goodbye to Wolf. I need to be alone, need time to think about it all,
about how much my life will change if I accept the job.
Because it has to. There’s no way a human being can work in a
house full of vampires, handing out drinks when what the customers
really want is a chaser of your blood along with the vodka. I know
Absolon said I would be safe, but I still have a hard time believing it
when I’m prey. Sure, people like Shannon will go into the “Dark
Room” as a volunteer, a safe way for the vampires to feed without
killing anyone, but what happens if one of the vampires wants
something they aren’t allowed? Absolon himself says that he’s
polarizing. I don’t know why exactly, but I can feel it, like some of the
vamps both fear and hate him. What if one of the vampires wants to
piss him off? Going after someone he’d sworn to protect seems like
an easy choice.
I sigh and tighten my coat around me, the night chilly.
I know it’s late and I should have probably taken an Uber home,
but I’m low on funds. It’s not long before I’m walking past the
University of San Francisco campus, lost in my thoughts over what I
should do, wondering if I can really take on a job that will give so
much yet potentially take so much away.
The fog is as thick as stew tonight, making the buildings look like
ghostly shapes, and the street is as quiet as can be. A little too quiet.
Suddenly I get a prickle at the back of my neck.
I stop and turn around.
There’s a man behind me.
Walking fast.
Toward me.
Fear grips my throat.
 In the fog, with the closest streetlight far off, I can’t make out his
face; I can only see his silhouette. Since my time at Dark Eyes, I’ve
learned to pick up on how a vampire feels. Once you know what it’s
like to be in their presence, it’s impossible to ignore the signs.
But here, now, with this stranger rapidly approaching, I’m not
picking up on anything. Which tells me that this isn’t a vampire.
Just a human.
Nothing to fear.
I relax for a moment.
I shouldn’t have.
It takes just a few seconds for the man to start running and close
in.
Oh my god! He’s coming for me.
He winds up and before I can scream, he hits me and my jaw
explodes in a cascade of pain and I’m falling backward onto the
pavement, my vision going black as my eyes pinch shut.
I can’t even think, can’t move. I’m in so much pain, so stunned,
that it takes me too long to put everything together.
Then the man is grabbing me by my hair and dragging me
backward across a lawn and I’m shrieking from the pain, trying to
yell, knowing I have to scream and fight and do everything I can to
try and escape.
But before I can, he’s kicking me in the stomach and now I’m just
this shell of the person I was. No air in my lungs, no strength in my
limbs. I’m muttering nonsense, the pain overwhelming me, the panic
clawing at me, telling me I have to keep trying, I have to get up, I
have to fight, but all I can do is curl up into a ball, trying to protect
myself.
And then the man is on top of me, opening my arms, his weight
making my chest cave in, his hand pressed over my mouth. I open
my eyes because I want to see him, and even though it’s dark and
my vision is going hazy at the corners, I can make out an ugly white
face, someone in their forties, graying facial hair.
 I don’t know this person.
But I know he means to kill me.
Then his hands go down to my jeans and he’s trying to get them
off and I know what else he means to do. I’m trying to get up, trying
to work through the pain in my chest, the way I can’t breathe, but
then he’s pushing me down until my head is smashed back against
the ground.
I open my mouth and manage to bite his hand. It tastes like
grease and salt, and the man responds by punching me in the face
again. Stars explode behind my eyes, my body sinking into the
ground as I lose the will to move, to stop him, to fight back.
Please stop, please stop, I keep repeating in my head as he pulls
my jeans down over my hips and I hear his zipper go down and—
Suddenly the weight is gone.
He’s off me.
I hear him yelp, “What the fuck?”
I manage to open one eye, the other one swelling shut, and see
the man being held by the throat, toes dangling above the ground.
And the person holding my attacker is none other than Absolon,
wearing a long dark coat, looking menacing in the fog. Absolon’s
eyes are boring straight at the man, swimming with vengeance, his
fingers gripping the man’s throat and holding him up like he weighs
nothing more than a feather.
“You’re more afraid of us than your fellow man,” Absolon says to
me in a cold, hard voice, keeping his eyes on my attacker as he
chokes him. “That’s the biggest mistake you could ever make,
Amethyst.”
I can’t even find my voice, let alone my breath. I can only let out a
whimper as Absolon strangles the man with one hand.
Then it happens all so fast.
Absolon twitches his hand, a simple but incredibly strong
movement that produces a loud SNAP as the man’s neck breaks.
Jesus!
 Absolon brings the broken neck to his mouth, fangs glinting in the
waning street light, then he savagely bites the man, breaking skin.
Blood spills and he’s practically ripping the man’s throat out right in
front of me, all tendons and muscle and veins.
I gasp for air, both awed and horrified, watching as Absolon rips
open even more skin, his teeth working fast as he tears and sucks
back the blood. I know what happens in the Dark Room, but this is
the first time I’m realizing that Absolon is a true, real-life monster. All
of them are, even Wolf.
And yet he’s a monster that has sworn to protect me, to keep me
safe, and he’s right here, doing just that. If Absolson hadn’t stepped
in when he did…
Before I can let my brain dwell on that, Absolon pulls my dead
attacker away from his bloodied mouth and then moves a hand
through the air. Flames suddenly appear in the space in front of him,
making the outline of a door. The world on the other side of the door
looks the same as here, but gray without any fog.
Absolon throws the man’s lifeless, bleeding body through the
doorway and then quickly moves his hands around, the motion
sealing the door shut until the flames disappear. The man does too,
like he was never here to begin with.
We’re alone on the street.
Then, before I can blink, Absolon’s in front of me, grabbing me
gently by the elbows and pulling me to my feet. I quickly try to pull up
my jeans.
“Are you hurt?” he asks me, holding me by the shoulders to keep
me steady. His dark arched brows come together as he peers at my
face. He snarls. “What are you doing, walking home by yourself?”
I know I should be mad at myself. But I can’t feel anything but
gratitude, knowing how close I came to losing my life.
I questioned working at Dark Eyes because I didn’t know if I would
be safe. I didn’t trust that Absolon meant what he said when he said
he’d protect me.
But now he’s proven it.
 I lick my lips, my head pounding. “How did you find me?”
His expression remains grim. “I have my ways.”
“But you knew I was in trouble…”
The look in his eyes tells me his answer is the same.
He has his ways.
And it probably has something to do with that flaming door that he
conjured out of thin air. God, to think…to think…if he hadn’t shown
up…
I start crying. I can’t help it. It’s not even the pain, it’s the fear and
the gratitude and the relief that I’m alive. Bruised and beaten but
alive.
Absolon stares at me for a moment, looking slightly
uncomfortable. I’m not sure he’s all that used to women crying
around him.
But then he pulls me to him, a light, tentative embrace, and I let it
all out.
He kept his word.
This vampire kept his word that he would keep me safe, that I had
his protection.
And now I know his word is law.
Now I know that I am in debt to him.
That I will always be in debt to Absolon Stavig for saving my life.
Forever at his service.
My life has been forever altered. It will never ever be the same
now.
And I don’t think I even want it to be.
 
THE END
 
Thank you for reading Dark Eyes! If you were intrigued by this
contemporary paranormal romance set in San Francisco, you can
 read more about Amethyst, Wolf, Absolon and Ezra in the dark &
sexy vampire romances BLACK SUNSHINE and NIGHTWOLF, also
by Karina Halle.
 WHAT IF . . .

 
K. BROMBERG
 CHAPTER ONE

“TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.”

“Two more days until what happens?” I ask the lady sitting across
the table from me. Her head is covered in a black, knit shroud, and
the gaudy rings adorning every one of her fingers clink against each
other as she moves her hands over mine.
Talk about cheesy and stereotypical. I can’t believe I was talked
into walking in here and getting my fortune read.
Her smile is genuine, but I wonder if it’s only because she’s just
netted a hundred dollars from a group of somewhat tipsy women
who just happened upon her storefront. Her startling brown eyes
meet mine, and maybe it’s the copious amount of wine I’ve drank or
that I’m slightly spooked by sitting before her, but I can’t bring myself
to look away.
“Two more days until you and your one true love start your life
together, Shyloh.” My eyes flicker down to her lips where the red
lipstick has bled into the wrinkles lining them, and I try to hold back
my snicker.
Jenny doesn’t. She snorts loudly behind me, causing me to
glance back at the head troublemaker in my bridal party and give a
roll of my eyes.
We diverted from our night of reckless fun, one of my last as a
single woman, to waste money on a fortune teller who is so horribly
bad that she’s already forgotten that I’m getting married in four days.
Not two. That my life will begin with my one true love then.
“I see,” I say, turning back to her and her hocus pocus. “Thanks.”
My smile is tight as I begin to rise from my seat, but I startle when
she reaches out and firmly grabs my hand.
 “You will live a long life with him. One full of laughter and love and
friendship. I can tell you that much,” she says in her soft voice. “But
you will only have this one chance with him. When he asks you the
question, make sure you hear him and answer with your heart. If you
make the wrong decision, it will lead to heartache and the loss of so
much happiness.”
“She means say I do when the pastor says Do you take this man,”
Paris says to a round of snickers.
And the look in the fortune teller’s eyes, the warning that I can
mess this up, unnerves me to the point that I take my hand back,
desperate to leave the dimmed room and the nondescript storefront.
“Thanks. Thank you,” I stutter as I meet the eyes of my friends.
We all shuffle toward the door, anxious to leave this place and carry
on celebrating one of my last nights as a single woman.
When I push open the door, I gulp in the cool night air, suddenly
desperate to get as far away from this place as possible.
“Well, that was crap,” Faith says with a flicker of her fingers and a
roll of her eyes. “One, you’ve already met your true love and two,
your life starts with him in four days, not two.”
“It was your idea.” I laugh and shrug off the uneasiness the
woman’s words caused. “And you’re right, four more days.”
“Worst hundred bucks we’ve ever spent.” Paris giggles and pulls a
flask out of her purse.
“Whatever,” Whitney says and links her arm with mine. “We’ve got
plenty more where that came from.”
Another round of laughter sounds off as we walk down the
sidewalk toward the next bar in our sight.
“Here,” Paris says and holds the flask to my lips. “Erase the taste
of that whole experience from your mouth, because we’re going to
go drop some coin on some guaranteed fun tonight, followed by
some serious shopping tomorrow.”
My smile is there but my words aren’t as I look around at the
women Chandler brought into my life. Women I now consider my
friends but whose close-knit circle I still feel on the outside of.
 I take a sip from the flask and hiss as I shrug away the imposter
syndrome I feel every once in a while.
I belong here.
I do.
“Let’s go have some fun,” I say to erase any remaining doubt.
 CHAPTER TWO

“THAT’S DEACON HASTINGS,” Chandler murmurs in my ear. “He’s

a harmless flirt but has serious connections at the country club, so
just play along and laugh when required. You’ll have no problem
charming him.”
My smile is tight as I look at my fiancé in his expensive, perfectly
tailored suit. He’s classically handsome in every sense of the word
while being attentive and loving. He’s charming and well-mannered,
no doubt from the numerous Cotillion classes he’s attended over the
years—a Rothschild family requirement.
The perfect catch.
Or at least that’s what almost every woman in this ridiculously
large room tonight has made sure to reiterate to me.
What a lucky girl I am.
How well I’ve learned to play the part.
What family was I from again?
How did I happen to snag Chandler Rothschild?
The Rothschild family.
The family I will become a part of in the coming days.
I draw in an uneven breath and give the slightest of nods to
Chandler to let him know I heard him.
And I did. I heard loud and clear that for the umpteenth time
tonight I’m supposed to grin and bear it while a pretentious prick
makes comments that probably are inappropriate.
Do I care what connections Deacon Hastings can make for
Chandler? Of course not. Chandler’s family’s money is so deep-
deep-rooted and old that a silly connection at The Club isn’t going to
change things much.
 Chandler presses a chaste kiss to my lips, and I hate the feeling
that he’s doing it more as a display for our guests than because he
really wants to.
I glance around at the sea of people in the room and feel
completely out of place despite the Dior suit Chandler had my new
personal shoppers help me pick out. Because while tomorrow might
be the rehearsal dinner, tonight is Chandler’s show-me-off-to-the-
world dinner where it feels like I’m the one rehearsing to be
everything I’m not: pretentious, affluent, shallow, and comfortable
with the money and connections of the people in his circle of friends.
On the outside I look every bit the part of the future Mrs.
Rothschild, but on the inside I feel like a phony.
This isn’t what I signed up for when I said yes to marrying
Chandler. What I hoped for was to marry the man I’d fallen in love
with over a plate of sushi.
“Oh my God.”
It’s the first thought out of my mouth when I turn with my plate of
sushi and run smack dab into the man behind me. A curse flies out
of my mouth—not a very ladylike one at that—as I stare at my plate,
smashed against my stomach, and slowly pull it away. My dragon
rolls plop one by one to my feet on the concrete floor leaving a
smear of unagi sauce across my white sweatshirt.
“I’m so sorry. Let me help.” Hands try to grab the empty plate from
me and I yank it back, uncertain if the tears are filling my eyes
because I just spent the last of my money on this treat of a dinner or
because now I can’t buy more.
“Please. You’ve done enough. You…” But when I look up and
meet the eyes of the man who ran into me, I can’t seem to find the
words to finish the sentence.
Hazel eyes filled with apology meet mine as a reticent smile pulls
up one corner of his perfectly sculpted lips.
I stutter and coherent words don’t come out. So not only am I
standing with fish sauce all over my shirt, now I can’t speak.
“It’s my fault. Let me get you another plate.”
 And that’s how it started. How our courtship began—over spilt
sushi and several glasses of sake. The two of us sat huddled at a
small table in the crowded sushi joint as the rain poured down onto
the city streets outside. We laughed until we cried. We slid coy
smiles each other’s way. We talked while the staff cleaned around us
up until they asked us to leave.
I had no idea he was Chandler Rothschild of Austin, Texas, or that
he had plans to take over the family business someday. It was just
me, an orphaned dancer from Savannah trying to make a name for
herself somehow, and him, a grad student who didn’t give me a clue
that his last name was a resume in and of itself for how his life was
already planned out.
I didn’t know about any of this—the pomp and circumstance, the
tradition, the expectations—until the first time he took me home to
meet Mr. and Mrs. Rothschild (who politely informed me upon our
first meeting that they are to be addressed as such at all times) after
our two-year courtship and engagement.
But since we’ve moved back to his hometown of Austin, I can’t
help but miss the man he was and hope that the Chandler from our
early courtship will return.
I’m sure that once all the wedding chaos has died down, he will.
He has to.
“Do you think anyone would notice if we snuck out the back door
and went to get some sushi and sake?” I whisper in Chandler’s ear.
“Why would we do that when we can have caviar and Cristal?” His
smile stays bright to everyone looking, but his tone is almost
patronizing.
“I know, but I feel like so much of this whole thing”—I wave my
hands around to denote the wedding, the country club, the people
constantly surrounding us— “is crazy, and I just wanted some time
alone with you.”
A smile plays at the corners of his mouth, and for a moment, I see
the old Chandler. The one who I thought was a guy struggling to find
his way much like I was.
 It’s a glimpse of him.
Fleeting, but it’s there.
“Don’t you ever want to be like we were before?”
“Before?”
“In New York,” I state, frustrated that he’s not even listening to me.
“Um. No.” He laughs without realizing I’m serious. “We’re here
now. Father is going to retire in a year, and I’ll be running the
company. This—being seen and in the right places—is what’s
expected of me, of us, now.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Why has he never said this before?
“Of course. We’re Rothschilds. That’s what we do.”
But I’m a Lullivier.
And I hate that the thought keeps repeating in my head over and
over as I politely sip my wine and listen to toasts being made from
people he knows who don’t even know me.
Chandler’s sigh is heavy. “C’mon. We’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. This
will all be fine. Let’s just get through the next couple of days.” He
presses a kiss to my temple before pulling me in tighter against him
and turning to talk to another one of his associates or country club
friends or whoever.
Let’s just get through the next couple of days.
Like our wedding?
And for the first time, I feel like I can’t breathe.
I look out at the room. My bridesmaids are all chatting up a storm,
but aren’t they part of the props Chandler has created to manifest
this image of me? Sure, they’re nice and they’ve taken me in as one
of theirs, but not a single one knows the real me.
And why is that suddenly such a big deal to me? To feel seen? To
be known for the person I was before I became the future Mrs.
Rothschild?
Maybe because when I look out at the crowd in front of me, all I
see are people thinking I’m someone I’m not.
Have I made myself into this person? Of course I have.
 But the shoes are ill-fitting.
“You okay?” Chandler murmurs in my ear.
“Yes.” I smile as I meet his eyes. This is just cold feet. I’m just
overwhelmed. Most people have one rehearsal dinner. The
Rothschilds have a society rehearsal dinner and then a family one. “I
was just thinking of how this all started and was feeling a little
nostalgic, is all.”
“The best is yet to come.” He presses a kiss to my lips and winks.
“Now make sure to wow Deacon Hastings for me, will you?”
Chandler pats my ass and then turns to walk off as I straighten my
shoulders and prepare for good ol’ Deacon.
“Deacon. Nice to finally meet you. Chandler always speaks so
highly of you,” I say, but he’s not meeting my eyes because his are
busy roaming the length of my body as if I’m a prize filly.
“Chandler did say you had quite the dancer’s body,” he murmurs
as he finally takes my hand and presses a kiss to the top of it, from
which I politely pull away.
I take a sip of my wine when his eyes meet mine while I quietly
plan my escape. “I’m assuming a thank you is what you’re looking
for, but for some reason I’m thinking there’s more behind your
comments than intended.”
He waves a hand at me. “Nothing more than admiration. I’m sure
it’ll be hard to keep that physique up, though, without the assistance
of a great plastic surgeon as time moves forward.” I all but choke on
my wine as he continues. “Because let’s face it, the Rothschild family
will have you so busy with charity events and the women’s society
and doing that whole Stepford Wife thing that those auditions you
were told you’d be able to fly back and forth to in Manhattan won’t be
happening.”
“How nice of you to assume to know my circumstances, Mr.
Hastings, but pursuing my career isn’t an option. It’s a necessity.”
“That’s what they all say.” He reaches out and grabs my hand to
squeeze without asking. It takes everything I have not to flinch.
“You’re going to be a Rothschild, darling. Your say won’t matter
much anymore.”
“I see,” I murmur, certain he’s trying to rattle me just to see if he
can. A game of sorts to see how strong Chandler’s future wife’s
backbone is. “If you’ll excuse me, Chandler is motioning for me to
head his way,” I lie.
But when I turn, the tight smile on my lips grows to epic
proportions as I’m met by a face that I know better than anyone
else’s in the world.
“Jake?” I shriek, not caring about decorum or what’s proper or
what’s expected.
And before I can thoroughly process that he is here in front of me,
I launch myself into his arms, desperate to have a little part of my
past here in my present.
We hug tightly and I feel stupid that tears are stinging my eyes.
When we step back to look at one another, I’m oblivious to the
numerous pairs of eyes staring at us because I can only stare at him.
At my childhood best friend.
At my first love.
At the only heartbreak I’ve had so far in my life.
“Let me look at you,” I say with complete and utter shock.
The teenage boy who left me behind for college and never looked
back is all man now. His dark hair has a slight curl to it and his dark
blue eyes are framed by thick lashes. His shoulders are broader
now, his body more filled out, yet he’s still the same. Whereas
Chandler is classically handsome, Jake is more boy next door meets
the outdoorsy, athletic kind of handsome.
“What are you doing here? How did you know—”
“You didn’t think I was going to let you get hitched without having
a single person from your family here, now did you?” His smile
warms everything inside of me.
“But how did you—”
 “I went looking for you at the last address I had for you in New
York. I followed the trail from there.”
“And now you’re here,” I murmur, unable to take my eyes off of
him or ignore the punch in the gut that seeing him has caused.
“Now I’m here.”
We stand staring at each other, grinning like loons as if no time
has passed or as if we’re not in the middle of a room full of people
wondering what the heck is going on.
“And this is?” Chandler says as if on cue as he steps up and puts
an arm possessively around my shoulders, eyeing Jake.
“This is Jake. We grew up together. He was…” everything. Luckily,
I catch the word from falling out.
“We grew up together. Jake Lyons.” Jake holds his hand out to
Chandler, and the two eye each other before Chandler reluctantly
takes it. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” Chandler says as he looks around, curious eyes
averting the minute his gaze looks their way. “This is an exclusive
club. How exactly did you get in?”
Jake’s grin is wide and challenging. “One of the bridesmaids
vouched for me. Thought it might be nice for Shy to have a close
friend of her own here tonight. I was more than appreciative.”
His charm is still the same. So is his uncanny ability to piss off
people with a simple smile.
“Good. Great,” Chandler says curtly. “Shyloh is needed right now,
but I’m sure we can carve out a minute or two later tonight for you
two to catch up.”
“Chandler. Can’t it wait? I haven’t seen Jake in—”
“No, it can’t. You’re about to be a Rothschild for God’s sake.
There are things that are more important.” I stare at Chandler as he
grabs my hand and begins to walk away. “Do not make a scene,” he
grits between his teeth as my feet stand still.
Funny. Deacon Hastings can say and do whatever he wants and
it’s okay, but I’m not allowed to hug and see an old friend?
 I glance over my shoulder to Jake, who just smiles bittersweetly
and says, “I’ll be here when you have time.”
 CHAPTER THREE

THE COOL NIGHT AIr swirls around us, rustling the leaves in the
trees and adding a ripple to the still water of the lake in front of us.
“Remember when we’d sneak out of your house on Hill Street and
head down to the lake?” Jake asks.
I smile at the memory. At how Jake would sense when things
were getting unbearable with my foster family. How he’d knock three
times on my window after my guardians (I won’t call them foster
parents since they only seemed into the fostering part for the
monthly checks) fell asleep, and we’d spend hours watching the
water.
He always knew when I needed to talk and when I just needed
some silence.
And then at some point, those nights spent in silence turned to
nights holding hands, then falling in love.
“I do remember,” I murmur, meaning to glance his way, but my
eyes falter and look away when they meet his. “What?”
And for the briefest of seconds, I wonder if he’s asking about way
back when to remind me of what we once had. Of how close we
used to be.
But there’s no way.
That was a wish I’d wished for months after he left—that he’d
come back for me and tell me he was wrong. That time has passed.
“Nothing. I don’t know.” He blows out a breath, lifts the bottle of
beer to his lips, and lifts his chin to the lights of the ballroom behind
us. “How did you escape the soiree?”
“Chandler had more than enough to drink, and I suggested that he
go out and have some fun with the boys.” I shrug to reinforce the lie
because there was a bit more persuading than that. And a little bit of
arguing with a touch of his jealousy feeding it.
“What about the wicked step-sisters?” he asks.
“Who?” I laugh.
“Your bridesmaids.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Never mind.” He shakes his head.
“No. Tell me.” I reach out and squeeze his forearm, and for some
reason, I don’t take my hand away.
“If they were true friends, they would have been by your side
tonight, saving you from assholes like that Hastings dude who was
commenting on your body.” He mock-shivers. “That’s what real
friends, not props picked out to make you who they want you to be,
do.”
“Who is this ‘they’ you speak of?” I ask with a bite to my tone.
“Forget I said anything,” he says. “They just don’t seem like your
type.”
I cough out a laugh to hide my irritation. “You don’t even know me
anymore. How can you say that?”
He stares at me with an intensity that unnerves me but I refuse to
look away. “You’re right.” He waves his hand in front of him. “Maybe I
don’t know this version of Shyloh Lullivier anymore, but you never
were a person who changed or even cared about shit like this.
Apparently, I was wrong.”
His words irritate me more than they should. “Apparently you
were, but then again, you’re the one who walked away and lost the
right to have any opinion about my life.” I draw in a ragged breath,
hating that I love that he’s here and hate that he’s here all at the
same time. “Why are you here, Jake? Because if you came to be
here to support me, then that’s the coolest thing anyone’s ever done
for me. But if you’re here to judge or assert your opinions, they really
aren’t wanted.”
 He nods his head slowly, lips pursed, eyes searching mine. “Do
you love him?”
“Of course, I love him.” I cough the words out. “I’m going to marry
him, aren’t I?”
“Huh.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Does he know you? The real you? The girl who snorts when she
laughs too hard, who I guarantee still has her stuffed bear, Sluffy,
hidden somewhere in her belongings, and who loves to eat
crawdads with her hands. The same woman who can recite every
line from the movie Pretty Woman because that was her escape
from all the bad things that happened in her house, who secretly
loves yellow Starbursts, and who loves with all of her heart even
when someone doesn’t deserve it.”
I hate that tears well in my eyes at his words and have to look
away when he won’t. The breeze has picked up and there are more
ripples on the water.
“That was the old me.” I say the words but hate that there is no
conviction in them.
“That’s bullshit. The old you is still there. Chandler and the women
he’s surrounded you with are busy trying to make you into something
you’re not.”
“Jake—”
“Stop selling yourself the lie, Shy. Or am I not allowed to call you
that anymore because Shy isn’t fancy enough to be a Rothschild?”
“You’re not being fair. In fact, you’re being a jerk.”
“Fine. I’ll own it. But Christ, Shy, do you love him enough to give
up the one and only constant you’ve had your whole life—your
dancing? Because that’s what sounds like is being asked of you.
Why should you have to give up the one thing that has kept you
whole and sane through the years while he gives up nothing in
compromise? Because I don’t see you living, thriving, happy, without
it.” He shoves up from his seat and paces before looking back at me.
“So I’ll ask you again—do you love him?”
 “Of course I do. I’m going to marry him,” I repeat.
“A lot of marriages aren’t based on love, Shy.”
“Well, mine will be.”
“I hate to tell you but…I just don’t see it.” He shoves his hands in
his pockets and his eyes demand a response I’m not wanting to give.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I hate that his words annoy me
more than they should. “We’ve been planning this for months.”
“We? Is that you and Chandler or is that Chandler and his mom
who are making sure it meets their ridiculous upper crust
standards?”
“We. My new family. His mom has had peonies shipped in from—”
“Since when do you care about shit like that?” He shakes his head
and the disappointment of it owns me.
“I don’t. I was just making a statement.” I was just trying to justify
that I’ve been a part of this process.
“Nah. From what I see, you’re just trying to convince yourself as
well as me of the lies.”
“Lies?”
“That you want this. That this is the new you.”
Tears well in my eyes again, and I hate myself for the words I’m
about to say. “I think it’s time you left.”
“Typical Shy. It’s easier to run than to face the hard questions with
the real truth.”
“Fuck you,” I grit out in a whisper.
He nods and his nonchalance is infuriating. “I deserve that.”
“Why are you here? Why did you come to rain on my parade?
Why did—”
“Because it should be me you’re marrying, not him.”
And I don’t care that I’m standing outside in the fresh air: his
words make me feel like all of the oxygen has been sucked out of my
lungs. I stagger backwards, trying to hear his words.
“You don’t get to say that,” I whisper.
 “I just did.”
“Do you know how many nights I laid awake praying you’d come
back for me and say something like that?” I shout. “Do you? Do you
know what it felt like for my everything to walk away and make me
feel like I was the problem? Like I was unlovable?” I walk toward him
and shove him. “So no, you don’t get to waltz into my life now, my life
that is different and better than it’s ever been, and tell me that.”
“You have every right to feel that way. I would if I were in your
shoes, but I also know I’m in my shoes, Shy. And I’d live the rest of
my life wondering what if if I didn’t come here and tell you how I feel.
I love you.” Jake steps toward me and reaches out to touch the side
of my face, but I step back. And I’m not sure if it’s because I don’t
want him to touch me or because I do. “I’ve always loved you. And
seeing you tonight standing there was like a punch in the gut and the
biggest affirmation I’ve ever had that I was doing the right thing by
being here.”
“I’m about to get married, Jake.”
“The timing sucks but it is what it is. I know you.” He lifts his hand
again to touch me but then drops it. “I know the real you, Shy. I can’t
give you all of this,” he says, motioning to the expensive country club
behind me, “but I can give you a lifetime of laughter and love and a
history that no one else can understand but us. What if you picked
me?”
I put my hands to both sides of my head and shake it. “I need to
go,” I say, taking a few steps backwards.
“What kind of life do you want to live, Shy? One where you’re
willing to give up every part of yourself to be something they want, or
a life with me where you can simply be yourself and know I loved
you back then when you were a rebellious mess and even now when
you’re a beautiful one?”
The first tear slips down my cheek as I take another step back,
needing the distance. “I can’t do this.” My words are barely audible.
“Understood.” He nods again, his smile soft, his eyes a mix of
emotions. “I’ll be there for you on Sunday regardless. You deserve to
have family here too.”
And with that, Jake takes two steps toward me, places his hands
on both sides of my cheeks to hold my head still before slanting his
lips over mine in a bruising and desperate and incredible kiss.
Before I can even process that I need to push him away or that I
want more, he steps back, tearing his lips from mine. “For old times’
sake,” he murmurs, his eyes intense, the taste of his beer on my lips,
before turning on his heel and walking into the darkness from
whence he came.
And I stand there with my fingertips to my lips, staring at where he
disappeared, hating and loving and questioning everything I feel
inside.
 CHAPTER FOUR

“BAGS UNDER YOUR eyes are not a becoming look the day before
your wedding,” Paris says with a playful push to my shoulder.
“Not unless those bags are because Chandler was busy keeping
her up all night with some pre-marital sex.” Jenny laughs.
I smile at them but secretly welcome the esthetician pushing me
back in her chair to begin my spa treatments. The distraction is
perfectly timed.
Because the bags under my eyes aren’t from Chandler. In fact, I
have no idea when he stumbled into the suite where we’re staying
and passed out on the couch. I was too busy thinking about and then
being angry at Jake for showing up here and saying all that he said.
And then I was even angrier at myself for reliving the kiss and
replaying his confession over and over and giving it the time that I
did.
Funnier is the fact that not a single one of them has even
mentioned the presence of Jake at the party last night. Not one.
Have they been instructed not to, or are they simply writing him off
as they would write me off if they knew the real me? If they knew I
didn’t have a penny to my name and I like to eat crawfish with my
hands?
I swallow over the sudden lump in my throat.
Have I gotten too caught up in all of this? Am I selling out? Are
these women around me truly my friends or were they handpicked
by Chandler to help mold me into the woman he wants me to be?
Mind games.
All night.
All morning.
 Even now.
“Just think,” Jenny says, “at this time tomorrow, you’ll be Mrs.
Chandler Rothschild.” She sighs as if it’s a life goal of every woman
everywhere. I shrug off my sudden annoyance at it.
“You should have invited that fortune teller to the wedding.” Faith
snickers. “Just to prove that she was wrong.”
Laughter floats around the room followed by the clink of a
champagne bottle against the rim of a glass.
But it’s Faith’s words that hit my ears. It’s Faith’s comment that
makes me think of that stupid fortune teller for the first time since we
left her little shop.
When he asks you the question, make sure you hear him and
answer with your heart. If you make the wrong decision, it will lead to
heartache and the loss of so much happiness.
Two days.
Not four.
The looming question I thought she was talking about at the time
was: Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?
That was the one that had been spinning around in my head over
and over.
But Jake showed up on the second day.
Jake asked me a question.
 CHAPTER FIVE

“HOW DID YOU sleep, dear?”

“Fine. Thank you, Mrs. Rothschild,” I lie and force a smile as
nerves own my every thought and movement. As questions that
Jake asked me still linger unanswered in my mind. As his assertion
that it’s easier for me to run than to face the real truth eats away at
me.
Pulling the tie of my robe around me, I look around my wedding
suite. My designer gown is hanging from a hanger with its train all
laid out, my bridesmaids are all sitting getting their hair and makeup
done, and Mrs. Rothschild, my soon-to-be mother-in-law, is patrolling
the room like a controlling drill sergeant.
I never think much about the people who made me but didn’t love
me enough to keep me. About the woman who was too addicted to
crack to care about her infant, so much so that Child Protective
Services took me into the foster system where I was never loved and
never truly experienced happiness.
But right now, I wish I had someone who knew that messed-up kid
and not the immaculate, polished one whose reflection is looking
back at me in the mirror.
“Here, darling. This is from Chandler.” Mrs. Rothschild hands me
the unmistakable teal box.
I don’t know why I’m disappointed that there’s no card, no
reassuring words that he’ll see me soon, or some silly thing like that,
but I am. Instead of words, Chandler has given me a pair of diamond
earrings, cold but beautiful, enormous and overstated.
“They’re gorgeous,” I whisper as everyone oohs and aahs at them
and I slip them on.
 “There’s your something new,” Faith says and takes another sip of
champagne.
We all jump at a knock on the door.
“I bet here comes your something blue,” Paris says in a sing-song
voice, although I’m already wearing my something blue in the seams
of my stockings.
“What is this?” Mrs. Rothschild asks as she holds up a box,
confused because she obviously didn’t buy it like she did the
earrings.
She hands it to me and before I even look at my name on the lid
of the box, I already know who it’s from.
When I open the lid, there is a card inside.
Wishing you a lifetime full of sunshine as bright as all the yellow
Starbursts in the world.
-J
Tears fill and blur my eyes as I remember the first card he ever
sent me. The one that appeared on my windowsill after I had to
make a really tough decision between going back into the foster
system or staying with my non-existent foster family. The card that
said the exact same words and sat atop a hundred yellow Starbursts
that Jake had later admitted to buying pack after pack of from the
local store until he could get enough yellow ones to fill the box.
I don’t hide the tears that fall as I move the card and find a similar
stash of yellow candy cubes.
I don’t answer their questions as I rise from my seat, my heart in
my chest, but the answer is truer than one I’ve ever known before.
“Shyloh, dear, where are you going?” Mrs. Rothschild asks.
“It’s Shy. My name is Shy,” I mutter for some reason as I clutch
the box to my chest and walk toward the door of the suite. “I just
need a minute.”
But I’m lying.
I don’t need a minute.
 I need a lifetime.
A lifetime with a man who’ll buy pack after pack of Starbursts to
give me my favorite color. An eternity with a man who calls me on
the carpet and loves me despite knowing all of me.
Not the manufactured me. The real me.
Jake told me I run from everything hard.
But this time I’m running to him.
Because isn’t that the answer to the question?
If I pick him, I get all of this.
Maybe that fortune teller was right after all.
 
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 WHEN IT HAPPENS

 
MICALEA SMELTZER
 CHAPTER ONE
Noa

“TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.”

I stop walking, my feet slamming to a halt on the sidewalk outside
the tarot shop in my small town. “Huh?” I turn to the woman I’ve seen
around town, the one many keep a wide berth from just because
they deem her weird or different. That’s small towns for you. Her
small body is swathed in enough fabric to cover three others and her
wild black and white hair is barely contained by a brightly colored
bandana. “Are you talking to me?”
She smiles, her dark brown eyes catching my light blue ones.
“Yes, dear.”
“W-What did you mean?”
“Two more days until it happens,” she repeats, eyes crinkling at
the corner.
“What does that mean?” I whisper, noting the people also
gathered around on the streets starting to take notice. Nosy
busybodies, all of them.
Her cryptic message could mean anything.
Two more days and aliens invade.
Two more days and I fall down the stairs and break my neck.
Two more days and pigs fly.
I don’t know why my brain goes to all those outlandish things, but
it does.
“Nothing bad … I think.” Her lips downturn with deep thought.
“That’s for you to find out.”
 I blink at her. Maybe she really is the quack everyone thinks she
is. “Um … okay. Thank you.”
I have no idea what I’m thanking her for as I start to walk away.
I’ve only taken a few steps when she speaks again. “Trust your
heart, young one. Our eyes and ears tend to betray us.”
I look at her over my shoulder, hesitating, before I walk away for
good and into the pharmacy I was originally headed to.
“Hey, Noa,” the manager, Linda, calls out to me with a smile
where she bags up a usually weekly purchase for one of our
regulars, Mr. Hastings.
“Hi.” I wave back and head toward the Employees Only door. I put
my backpack in my employee locker and shrug on my bright blue
vest with my nametag attached.
Working at the local pharmacy is far from a glorious job, but as a
high school senior my options are limited and it was this or the local
ice cream shop where the popular kids tend to work and since I
didn’t want to deal with their social politics, here I am.
I clock in and immediately go to the registers, my usual posting,
still a bit shaken from my conversation on the street with the woman.
No one really even knows her real name. She goes by Lady Night.
Thankfully work helps push my unease aside and when I finish for
the evening I walk home, smiling as soon as I enter my house and
smell the heavenly scent of the pot roast my mom cooked for dinner.
Setting down my bag, I wash my hands and greet my parents with
smiles and hellos since we haven’t seen each other this morning,
and ruffle my younger brother’s hair. He’s thirteen but he’ll always be
a kid to me.
We sit down for dinner and when my mom asks me about my day
I don’t mention my encounter with Lady Night, instead just telling her
it was a normal, boring day.
But as I drift off to sleep that night, I keep thinking about her
words.
Two more days until it happens.
 CHAPTER TWO
Noa

THE SCHOOL HALLS are buzzing with conversation, even more

than normal, when I walk in the next morning. I look around
curiously, trying to pick up on hints of conversation but none of it
makes any sense to me.
I’m at my locker, switching out my books for my first class when
my best friend, Katie, appears. Her blonde hair is streaked with
shades of pink, blue, and purple. Unusual around here, but it suits
her and her bright personality.
“Did you hear the news?”
“No,” I drawl, shouldering my backpack and closing my locker.
“Apparently,” she pulls her hair back, securing it with a band,
“they’re going to be filming some movie here. Some teen version of
something along those lines of those sappy but gut-punching
Nicholas Sparks ones.”
“Interesting.”
“Yeah, they roll into town tomorrow. Apparently, Roman Adams is
the lead.”
My eyes widen at the name. You’d be an idiot not to know who he
is. He might’ve been on a poster in my room at one point.
“Interesting,” is all I say, but then I realize this could be what Lady
Night was referring to. Maybe it wasn’t some sort of premonition but
common knowledge. “When was this announced?”
“This morning, obviously.” She snorts at my obliviousness as we
walk down the hall to our shared homeroom in the science
department.
“But some people knew about it before then, right?”
 She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. I mean, obviously the
mayor and higher ups, but no one else. The company apparently
wants to keep it on the down low that they’re filming here. They want
that authentic small-town America feel.”
I bite my tongue, so I don’t say interesting again.
“But everyone knows now,” I muse.
“Yeah, but I mean it would’ve been obvious when they rolled in
with trucks tomorrow. Well, I assume there would be trucks.” She
slides into her seat and I do the same. “It’ll be cool to see a movie
being filmed. And think, when we see it on the big screen that will be
our town we’re seeing too.”
I tap my pen against the desk. “It’ll definitely be something.”
“You seem really out of it.” She scrunches her face as she studies
me. “You didn’t eat a toaster pastry for breakfast, did you? You know
those give you gas.”
Someone laughs behind us and I glare at my best friend.
“Katie,” I hiss.
“Sorry,” she giggles. “But did you?”
“No.”
“Then what’s wrong?” She starts examining me like a doctor.
Thankfully, I’m saved from any more questioning because Mr.
Orville—yeah, like the popcorn—enters the classroom and starts
calling roll.

•••

The entire school day is filled with chatter about the movie and the
cast that will be rolling into town. My fellow classmates make plans
for how they might meet the cast or sneak into a shot. The whole
thing makes me roll my eyes.
It’s a welcome relief to spend a few hours at the pharmacy—but
then even that is filled with gossip. I should’ve known.
 By the time I get home, I want nothing more than to drag my tired
body to bed, but I know it’d worry my parents if I didn’t have dinner
like usual.
“How was school?” My mom asks my brother and me.
“Fine,” he retorts with an irritated sigh. He’s at the age where even
looking him in the eye makes him mad.
“It was okay. Everyone’s talking about the movie they’re going to
be filming.”
“I read that in the paper,” my dad pipes in. “It’ll help drum up
business around here, but I don’t like the idea of all these Hollywood
people taking over our small town.”
My mom makes a sound of agreement. I have to admit, I feel the
same way. After listening to how gaga everyone was today, as much
as small-town life can be exhausting, I don’t like the idea of the
status quo being disrupted.
“It says filming will last through the summer,” my mom adds.
School is out in just a few weeks and realizing our entire summer
will be disrupted by these people makes me wrinkle my nose. Ugh. I
wrinkle my nose again when I realize I sound exactly like my
grandma Betty who absolutely abhors any sort of change or
inconvenience.
“Do you think I can get someone’s autograph?” my brother asks,
enthusiasm filling his question. “I bet I could sell it on eBay for a lot
of money. Maybe even enough to get the new Xbox.”
My mom lowers her fork to her plate. “Honey,” she says slowly,
carefully. “We’re not going to bug these people. They’re here to do a
job.”
“Don’t worry.” My dad tries to hide a grin. “I can find plenty of work
for you on the farm.”
Our family farm is small, nothing like it used to be in my great-
grandfather’s care, and for the most part now we only have a few
cows, goats, and sheep. But what we do have a lot of is horses. Both
my parents have a soft spot for rescuing them and now I do too. I
don’t get to spend as much time out on the farm as I used to, not
with school and the pharmacy taking up so much of my time, but the
barn has been my happy place for as long as I can remember.
As we finish up with dinner, and I help wash the dishes I make a
silent vow that tomorrow I’ll venture out to the barn and tend to the
horses.
 CHAPTER FOUR
Noa

I WAKE UP before the alarm I set and jump in the shower despite
the fact I’ll be drenched in sweat by the time we finish his lesson. I
braid my damp hair so it hangs across my shoulder, the dirty-blonde
strands looking darker than normal.
Everyone else is still asleep; the sun won’t even rise for another
thirty minutes. Before he left after dinner, he asked if we could do our
lessons in the early mornings since he has to be on set by nine. I
agreed, despite the atrocious time. There was no way I could let him
down.
Downstairs, I grab a blueberry muffin and eat half of it in one bite.
I take another for Roman and I’ve just set foot on the front porch
when the red Mustang pulls into our gravel drive. He gets out, an
easy smile already on his face, carrying two coffees.
“Noa,” he greets. “I have no idea if you drink coffee, but I thought
I’d get you one in case. As a thank-you.”
“That’s nice of you.” I take it from him, giving it a tentative sip.
“Mmm, that’s good. Do you want a muffin?” I hold it out for him.
“That looks delicious.”
“My mom made them fresh.”
Roman’s smile dims a tiny bit and he ducks his head, toeing his
sneaker against the worn wood on the porch steps. “Your family is
great.”
I laugh. “They’re just okay. But I love them.”
“That’s … that’s wonderful.”
“I don’t mean to pry.” I hesitate. “But I take it your family isn’t like
mine?”
 He sits down on the top step and I join him. There’s the barest hint
of the sun rising over the grassy hills. “Not at all.”
A moment of silence stretches between us.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” His tone is rather sharp and I sit up straighter. He curses
softly under his breath. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out that
way. It’s not something I want to talk about, but I know if I wanted to I
could trust you.”
His eyes meet mine, that beautiful hazel color framed by thick
black lashes. “You don’t even know me.”
He cocks his head to the side, full lips rubbing together as he
appraises me. “Technically, no, but sometimes you meet people and
you just know they’re someone you can trust and that’s how I feel
with you. It’s weird, I know. But I’ve always had a sense for that sort
of thing. It certainly helps in the industry I work in.”
“I’m sure.” The sun creeps higher in the sky. “We better get
started.”

•••

Sweat drips down Roman’s cheek as we walk out of the barn at

8:45. He wipes it away with the back of his hand.
“Thanks for the lesson, Noa.”
“It’s no problem.” I shove my hands into the back pockets of my
jeans, my elbow brushing his as we head for the driveway.
“You didn’t have to agree to help me. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome, but seriously I’d do it for anyone.”
He squints against the sun that now shines high in the sky, the
temperature already soaring. A small grin tugs at his lips. “Are you
saying I’m not special?” I stumble on a rock and he grabs my arm,
steadying me so I don’t face plant in the dirt. “You okay?”
“F-Fine,” I stutter.
 “You didn’t answer my question,” he prompts once he’s certain I’m
steady and not going to take a tumble.
“Oh.” I brush an errant hair off my forehead as we reach the
driveway, that shiny red Mustang like a beacon. “Um … I’m not
saying you’re not special or that you are just that I haven’t decided
yet.”
He stops beside the car, hands in his pockets. “Let me know when
you decide.”
He gets in the car and I stand there, watching him drive away.
 CHAPTER THREE
Noa

THE SCHOOL DAY ends, and I’ve never been so grateful that it’s my
day off as I am today. All everyone is talking about is the movie and
trying to get a glimpse of one of the actors downtown. I know I won’t
be able to avoid this madness the entire time, but I’ll gladly take this
reprieve on the first day of it.
I ride my bike home, listening to music in my earbuds as I go. It’s
such a small town that it’s entirely unnecessary to have a car to get
to and from school. Besides, I like my bike rides.
At home, I rest my bike against the side of the house and make
the trek through the yard to the barn, humming as I go. My sneakers
sink into the slightly muddy ground, dirtying them further.
It’s a warm day, but not blaringly hot. The door creaks when I
push it open. I call out for my dad, but there’s no response.
I inhale the smell, nasty to some but home to me, and head to the
stall that houses my favorite horse, a speckled gray mare named
Silver. Scars run along her back from the abuse she endured at the
hands of her previous owner. She came to us when I was eleven.
She was skittish and didn’t allow any of us near her at first. But I
would come out here and sit on a stool and just talk to her, slowly
gaining her trust. Silver is as much my best friend as Katie is.
“Hey, pretty girl,” I murmur, rubbing her side.
She gazes at me with wise eyes that I swear see and know too
much to be only animal.
“I missed you. I’m sorry I haven’t been out here as much.” I used
to be out here every day. I’d have to be dragged back inside. And
now as I’m standing here, I realize how limited my time is. In the fall,
I’m leaving for college.
 A single tear falls and I wipe it away, mad at myself for getting
emotional.
It’s natural to grow up and move on, but…
“Um, hello. The door was open and I—”
I whip around at the sound of the male voice, one that’s unfamiliar
and I immediately am on alert. My unease only grows when I take
him in.
Shaggy blond hair to his chin. Sun-kissed golden skin. Sinewy
muscles. Slanted hazel eyes. An aristocratic nose. And lips that
would somehow be slightly feminine on anyone else, but on the male
before me they’re absolute perfection.
Roman Adams—Hollywood’s favorite teen heartthrob—is standing
in my family’s old barn, slowly approaching me.
What. The. Ever. Loving. Heck.
I nervously tuck my dirty-blonde hair behind my ears.
“Hi.” My voice is higher than normal. “What can I help you with?”
He stops when he’s a mere foot from me, close enough that I can
see the freckles sprinkling his nose.
He shoves elegant, long fingers—a pianist’s fingers, I note—
through his shaggy hair.
“Do you … uh … know who I am?” He doesn’t say it in an
arrogant way, but as if he hopes I do merely so he doesn’t have to
give some awkward explanation.
“I know of you,” I reply, tapping my fingers against my jean-clad
thighs. “But technically speaking, I don’t know who you are.”
“Right.” He cracks a grin. It’s not cocky like I would expect. In fact,
it’s endearingly awkward, like maybe this famous actor is actually
sort of shy. “Well, I’m Roman.” He holds out a large hand for me to
take so I do.
“Noa.”
“Noa,” he repeats. “I don’t think I’ve ever known a girl to have that
name.”
 I shrug. “My parents thought I was a boy. Surprise, I wasn’t.” I
sway my hands in a pathetic attempt at jazz hands. “They liked the
name so much they dropped the h on the end because they thought
that spelling made it seem more feminine. And,” I draw a breath, “I’m
talking too much. Sorry about that.”
He chuckles, looking toward Silver. “I’m here because I may have
lied to the director of the movie we’re filming and said I was an avid
horseback rider, when in fact I’ve never been on one.”
My brows furrow. “How’d you end up here then?”
“I asked around and a few people pointed me to this farm for
lessons.”
“It’s not something we do regularly,” I admit, biting my lip.
Beside me, Silver huffs a breath like she’s trying to say to
me, “Girl, there’s a smoking hot boy talking to you. Don’t give him a
reason to leave.”
“But I’m sure we can work something out,” I quickly add.
His smile grows. “Cool. I’d appreciate it. Does one of your parents
give the lessons or…?” He arches a brow, waiting for a response.
“Me, actually. Normally it’s just for little kids, but I think I can
handle teaching you.”
He laughs. “Good. I think.” He looks from Silver to the mare
housed beside her, a chocolate-colored horse named Debra. She
came with the name and is stubborn as all get out.
“Watch out for Debra,” I warn him, pointing at her. “She can be a
real piece of work.”
He eyes her warily. “What does she do?”
“Right now she’s contained, so it’s not an issue, but she likes to
kick.”
He takes a step closer to me, frowning at Debra, and despite the
smell of the barn somehow his cologne, like a salty ocean mist,
manages to reach my lungs.
I’m surprised I’m not freaking out more. Roman is not only the
best-looking guy I’ve ever seen, but he’s famous. I’ve seen him on
TV and now he’s here in the flesh. But I think it’s his endearing
awkwardness that puts me at ease.
“When can I start?” He reaches out, tentatively petting Silver.
“Huh?” I blink at him in confusion.
“Lessons.” His eyes sparkle with humor.
“Oh, right.” My cheeks pinken from embarrassment. “Um, we can
start now I guess? If you want.”
He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet. “How
much?”
“Oh,” I wave my hand, “don’t worry about it?”
“Noa.” The way he says my name feels like a caress down my
spine. “I’m not taking lessons for free.”
“R-Right. Um, I’ll have to ask my dad about cost. He always
handles that part.”
“Okay.” Still smiling, he puts his wallet back into his pocket. “Let’s
get started, then?”

•••

I stifle a laugh watching Roman walk a few steps after dismounting

from Silver. I knew she’d be the gentlest for him to learn how to
handle.
“Is it supposed to hurt like this?” He looks down at his legs like
they’ve offended him.
“You have to get used to it.”
“This is horrible.”
“Aw, poor baby,” I joke. I’m surprised by how easy it is to talk to
him. “Pick up some Epsom salts and take a bath tonight. It’ll help.”
“A bath?” He wrinkles his nose with distaste.
I work on getting everything returned to where it belongs. “Suck it
up, buttercup. Your body will thank you.”
 “If you say so.”
“Noa?” my mom calls, and a second later she rounds into the
barn, startling when she finds Roman and me. “Oh.” She rears back.
“Hello.”
“Mom, this is Roman. He just finished his first horseback riding
lesson. Roman, this is my mom.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” To me, she says, “I was going to see if you
could help with dinner.”
“Yeah, of course.”
Turning to Roman, she asks, “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
Roman looks to me, gauging my reaction to see if I care. I give
him a shrug, letting him know it’s up to him.
“I’d love to, actually. That sounds great. Thank you.” His eyes take
on an expression I can’t quite decipher, something almost
melancholy with longing in them.
We head back to the house and wash up before even Roman
hops in to help with dinner.
I would’ve expected to be starry-eyed in the presence of such a
major celebrity, but Roman seems so normal. There’s nothing about
him that screams famous person and I think it makes him that much
more endearing.
He laughs easily with my mom, stirring the sauce for chicken
alfredo. She instructs him on what to do while I lay the garlic bread
onto a sheet pan for the oven.
The backdoor bangs against the wall, the screen door creaking as
well to announce my brother’s entrance.
“Is dinner almost ready? I’m starving. Whoa.” His eyes grow wide.
“R-Roman Adams?”
Roman smiles, holding out a hand. “Yeah, that’s me. You must be
Noa’s brother?”
“You know my sister?” He gasps, taking Roman’s outstretched
hand. “My sister knows you? Wow.” He lets go of Roman’s hand and
pales. “Oh, right. I’m Benji.”
 “Benji, it’s nice to meet you and yes, I know your sister. She’s
giving me horseback riding lessons.”
“I … whoa.”
Before my brother can start fawning or spew something that might
embarrass me, I ask my mom, “Where’s Dad?”
It’s unusual for him to be home late from work, but it does happen.
“Out with his friends tonight. He got a promotion, so the guys
wanted to celebrate.”
“Oh, wow. Good for him.”
When we finally sit down for dinner, I can’t help but glance at
Roman every few seconds, not because of who he is, but because
the awe on his face, how happy he seems to be to have a sit-down
dinner with my family that he’s just met, is something I never ever
want to forget. It’s so easy to take the simple things for granted, but
those are the very things that make life worthwhile.
 CHAPTER FIVE
Roman

WE’RE TWO WEEKS into our twelve-week shoot and the small town
is starting to almost feel like … home.
The townspeople have stopped gawking, the cast and crew’s
presence becoming normal, though I occasionally still get stopped
for a picture or autograph. But it’s not how it was in L.A. I’m not
hounded or chased, people simply just … ask, and it’s sad that
something so simple as a question has become a luxury.
It’s the end of the day, and instead of heading out to dinner with
the cast and crew or back to my hotel, I’m going to Noa’s instead.
In two short weeks I’ve grown attached to not only her, but her
family as well.
When I pull into the driveway, her brother Benji hops down from
the porch stairs and runs over.
“You have to take me for a ride in this thing one day.” His eyes
glow as he admires the Mustang.
“Sure thing. Is dinner ready? I’m starving.” I don’t know if he hears
it, but my stomach rumbles, desperate for sustenance. When I’m
working I find it difficult to eat. It makes me lose focus.
“Yeah, my dad’s grilling burgers out back.”
I follow him around the house, stilling when I see Noa sitting in a
chair, her legs curled beneath her and a book clasped in her hands.
It’s one of those moments where everything else goes still and all
I see is her. Her dirty-blonde hair hangs in curls over her shoulders
and she’s wearing a yellow sundress that makes her skin appear
golden.
 “Come on,” Benji calls from where he walked ahead, waving me
forward.
I shake myself free of my stupor and follow him into the yard
where Noa and her mom lounge around a fire pit.
“Hi,” she says softly, closing her book and laying it in her lap. Her
smile is just for me as I sit down on the ground beside her seat. I
could sit across from her in an empty chair, but I want to be closer
since I didn’t get a lesson in with her this morning. Not that I really
need any more. I have enough of a hang of it to finish shooting the
movie, but I’ll take any excuse to be near her. “How was your day?”
“Busy.” I push my hair out of my eyes with my fingers, settling
against the side of her chair.
“And you still wanted to hang out? You don’t have to come over,
my feelings won’t be hurt.”
“I know I don’t.” I draw circles on her exposed knee, watching as
she shivers from my touch. “But I wanted to hang out with you guys.”
“I’m beginning to think you’re using me for my family,” she jokes,
her lips upturning into a smile.
“They are pretty great.”
“Yeah.” She gets a sad look in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I prompt, wanting to know what gave her that
look.
She pauses, the fire crackling and popping in front of her, bringing
an orange glow to the warm brown of her eyes.
“I’m leaving for college in August and I’m excited for that
adventure, I really am, but it’s a big change and I’ll miss them.”
“Where are you going?”
“NYU.”
“Wow, congratulations. It’s a great school. I went last year.”
“Really?”
I nod. “I want to get my degree, but it’s hard with work. I’m hoping
I can finish one day.”
“I’m sure you can.”
 “What are you going to study?”
“Journalism. I like writing.” A small smile appears on her face. “I
guess it seems weird. Journalism is a world away from all of this.”
She waves a hand to encompass the land and farm.
“We all have dreams, Noa. Some dreams keep us close to home
and others take us far away.”
“I guess you know all about that.”
“Acting wasn’t my dream,” I admit. “My mom pushed me into it.
But I am good at it and I like it … sometimes. I guess I can’t imagine
my life without it now.”
“Do you ever think about doing anything else?”
I think about my answer for a moment. “Not really. I don’t think it’s
ever occurred to me that I have a choice.”
“That’s … sad.”
I don’t have a chance to respond because the burgers are ready,
and her parents are calling us over to eat. After dinner, we hang
around the fire pit and make s’mores. It’s so simple, so normal, and
it’s one of my favorite nights I’ve ever had.
Noa, her family, they’re showing me everything I’ve missed out on
without even realizing it.  I’m not saying my life has been awful, but I
was lonely while never actually being alone, and I think that might be
worst kind of loneliness to exist.
 CHAPTER SIX
Roman

“CUT!”
I wince at the director’s tone. “Roman. Gigi,” he admonishes my
costar and me. “Why do I feel like you two would have more
chemistry with a cardboard box than each other?” He doesn’t wait for
either of us to reply. “We’re taking a break. Be back here in ten
minutes.”
The director is gone, stalking off set while muttering under his
breath.
Gigi turns to me with a cringe. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s
wrong with me today.”
“It’s not just you.”
My heart isn’t in this role and my mind is focused on Noa, which is
the last thing I should be thinking about when we’re filming the first
kiss scene.
One month. One month in this small town and my life has become
twined with Noa’s. I find myself wondering what my feelings actually
are, what they mean for me, for her, and trying to figure out what
happens when this ends. And by this, I mean the film wraps and she
goes off to college.
Gigi follows me off the set and we sit down in the grass. “You
seem tired,” she remarks hesitantly, not wanting to pry. “And not the
you-need-more-sleep kind of tired.”
“I have a lot on my mind,” I admit. “I’m questioning a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
I’m not sure how deep I should get with this, but I figure it won’t
hurt to be honest with someone who’s in the same industry and
shares a similar path. “Like does this really make me happy”—I wave
my fingers toward the set—“or am I just going through the motions
because it’s all I know?”
She rubs her lips together, contemplating. “You’re extremely
talented. But talent and passion don’t always coexist, and if you’re
not truly passionate about something, can you ever be happy?”
“That’s exactly what I’m questioning. This is … all I know.”
“It’s okay, though.” She knocks her knee against mine. “If you
decide this isn’t what you want. And it’s okay, too, if you decide it is.
It doesn’t have to be a permanent decision. We’re all human, we’re
allowed to change our mind.”
“Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime, Adams.”

•••

The chime above the door signals my arrival into the coffee shop.
People glance over but go back to their conversations. It’s been such
a relief how after the initial first few days, people no longer are
impressed by my appearance.
I place an order for a coffee and then join Noa and her friend Katie
at a table in the back.
Katie might be one of the few people still processing the fact that
I’m … well, me … because she stares at me with a slack-jawed
expression as I sit down beside Noa.
Noa reaches across the table and shuts her friend’s mouth with a
finger on her chin. Giggling, she says, “Come on, Katie. You should
be used to him by now.”
“I know, but like … he’s … you’re…” she meets my eyes “…
famous. Anyway.” She reaches for a bag. “I have to get going.”
She rushes out the door like her butt is on fire.
“What did I do?” I ask Noa.
 “She’s intimidated by you.”
“By me? Why?”
“Because you’re famous,” she whispers conspiratorially, her eyes
twinkling. “She hasn’t figured out yet that you’re boringly normal.”
I snort. “Thanks for keeping it real.”
“Always.”
She smiles up at me and I think about how natural it would be to
cup her cheek, kiss her lips. But I don’t make a move.
Why?
Because I’m afraid of my feelings and don’t want to let them own
me. For years I’ve stayed away from attachments. Any dating I’ve
done has been purely PR related. I’ve never had anything real that’s
just mine.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Is there something on my
face?” She starts rubbing around her mouth, even as I shake my
head.
“No, there’s nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” I clear my throat, looking away from her.
“You know,” she starts, hesitantly. “You don’t have to keep
hanging out with me now that your lessons are done. My feelings
won’t be hurt. I promise.”
I tighten my grip on the coffee cup. “I know I don’t have to. I want
to. You’re my friend, Noa.”
One of my few real friends, but I don’t say that.
“I don’t want you to feel obligated to hang out with me.”
I narrow my eyes. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”
“Okay.” She stretches her fingers on top of the table, looking at
them intently so she can avoid me. “Just checking.”
“Is it so hard to believe I enjoy spending time with you?”
I don’t know why I feel offended. I guess it’s that insecure
sensitive part of myself that craves to be recognized for who I am,
not what I am.
Hesitant, brown eyes flit up to meet mine. “Yes, it is. I just
graduated high school. I’m quiet and boring. I work at a pharmacy
and ride horses. I don’t party. I’d rather stay home and watch a
movie. There’s nothing special about me.”
I blink at her. “You really don’t see it, do you?”
“See what?”
“How you shine brighter than anyone I’ve ever met.”
I don’t give her a chance to respond. I lean in, making my intent
clear in case she doesn’t want this as much as I do. Her eyes widen,
lips parting, but she doesn’t back away. And then my lips are upon
hers and nothing in this world has felt righter than that.
I curl my fingers around the back of her neck, deepening the kiss
for a moment—imprinting the feel of her lips on mine so I never
forget this.
Then, as quickly as our mouths came together, I break apart, and
without looking at her I get up and leave before I have to face her
rejection.
 CHAPTER SEVEN
Noa

HOURS HAVE PASSED since the surprise of Roman’s kiss in the

coffee shop and I can still feel the tingle of his lips on mine, even as I
lie in bed.
I keep touching my lips, as if I expect to find them somehow
changed. But they feel as they always have. It’s me that’s different.
My first kiss.
Staring up at my ceiling, I blindly reach for my cellphone beside
my bed and text Roman.
Me: You kissed me.
I don’t expect him to reply. It’s late, after one in the morning. But
apparently, he can’t sleep either because his reply is almost instant.
Roman: I did.
Me: Why?
Roman: The same reason most people kiss another.
Because I wanted to.
My breath catches in my throat.
Me: But why?
Roman: Because I like who you are. I wish you could see
yourself like I do.
I frown at the glowing phone screen lighting up my bedroom.
Me: I’m not special.
Roman: That’s where you’re wrong.
I bite my lip, thinking about my response.
 Before I can come up with anything, he sends another message.
Roman: Get some rest, Noa. I’ll see you tomorrow.
Me: Okay. Sleep well.
I put my phone back on the nightstand, tuck my hands beneath
my head, and surprisingly fall right to sleep.

•••

I don’t expect the early morning knock on the door. Despite falling
asleep after my text conversation with Roman, I woke up a few short
hours later and was unable to drift back to sleep. I’m the only one up,
so I hesitantly walk over to the door, peering through the blinds onto
the front porch.
It’s Roman.
I open the main door, leaving the screen door between us.
He arches a brow. “Can I come in?” He shoves his fingers through
his chin-length blond hair, looking rattled in a way I’ve never seen
before.
I bite my lip. “I’d rather go for a walk.”
“Okay.” He nods stiffly. “That’s okay.”
“Give me a sec.”
I slip my feet into a pair of shoes and join him outside. We’re silent
for a few minutes, walking through the fields of my family’s property.
The tall grasses rub against my bare legs, making me itch, but I
resist the need to scratch. I lead Roman to a set of chairs placed
near the end of our property that overlooks a winding creek.
Roman takes one of the chairs and I take the other.
Neither of us speaks, but the silence isn’t awkward, only a little
tense.
I’m the first one to break it.
 “That was my first kiss.” Shocked hazel eyes meet mine. “I liked
it,” I admit softly. “A lot. I like you. And that…” I squeeze my hands
together, exhaling a weighted breath. “Scares me.”
“It scares me too. I’ve never had something, felt something, that’s
real before.” He reaches over, gripping my hand. I stare at our
entwined fingers. His freckled golden skin against my paler hue.
“Let’s just see where these feelings lead us. We don’t have to put a
label on it if you don’t want to. We have the summer together and
then…”
And then I go to NYU and he goes back to L.A.
“We’ll figure it out, right?”
He grins, leaning over to kiss me. “Right.”
 EPILOGUE
Noa

Two years later

I HAD NO idea how profoundly that summer would change me.
Roman was my first love, a great love, and sometimes I still think
the best thing that ever happened to me.
But six months after I went to NYU, we broke up. Between my
schooling and his career, there was so little time to be together and
the media was determined to drive a wedge between us. I swear,
every other week they were declaring one of us was cheating on the
other. It was exhausting.
I was the one who called it off, when my grades started dropping.
Despite my love for him, I refused to have everything I’d worked
so hard for fall apart because of a guy.
It doesn’t mean I haven’t regretted my decision every day since,
and haven’t wondered if there was more to the two of us, to Lady
Night’s declaration that spring day when Roman walked into my life
two days later.
None of it matters, though. Not anymore. I ended things and it’s
my own damn fault.
“Noa, are you coming?” my dormmate, Lena, asks.
“Yeah, hold on.” I close the lid on my laptop and grab my wallet so
we can head down the street to our favorite coffee shop near
campus.
We’re laughing and giggling as we exit onto the street, and then
my heart jolts and I feel him.
My gaze darts across the street and my lips part on a gasp.
 “What? What is it?” Lena asks, her eyes following mine. “Oh my
God.”
She knows about Roman. She’s been my roommate and friend
since freshman year. She knows how I still think of him and there he
is, as if conjured by my earlier thoughts.
“Roman,” I mouth, cars flying between us on the bustling streets.
I want to run across to him, but I know I can’t.
He holds up a hand, telling me to wait. And then he crosses the
street. As soon as he’s on the same side I barrel toward him.
I don’t think about the fact that we broke up. That it’s been a year
and a half since I last saw him.
I just crash into his arms, inhaling his familiar scent. Home. He
smells like home.
“Roman,” I breathe his name into his neck.
He hugs me back, burying his head against mine. “Did you miss
me?” he asks. He pulls away, setting me down. His eyes show a
hesitancy, a fear.
I don’t know what I should admit, but it doesn’t matter because I
blurt out, “Every day.” Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I ask
him, “What are you doing here?”
“Re-enrolling.” He shrugs, shoving his hands into the pockets of
his jeans.
“What about your career?”
He squints from the blinding sun. “It’s just a job, Noa. It’ll be
waiting if I want to go back. But some things are more important. You
are more important.”
“It’s been so long,” I protest. “I thought—”
“That I’d forget you?” He shakes his head as people maneuver
around us, annoyed that we’re taking up precious space on the
sidewalk. “I could never forget you. And…” He swallows thickly. “If
you’ve moved on, that’s … it’s okay. I’ll be happy if I can at least be
your friend.”
 I bite my lip, already shaking my head. Standing on my tiptoes, I
wrap my hand around his neck. “Don’t be silly.”
And then I kiss him.
I don’t think about our time apart. Or what the future might hold.
Or anything else.
I just think about the here and now, and how the love of my life is
standing in front of me again.
And this time I won’t be letting him go.
  
Micalea Smeltzer is a twenty-something author from Northern
Virginia. She has four dogs, which is as crazy as it sounds. As a
recent kidney transplant recipient she’s dedicated to raising
awareness around the effects of kidney disease, dialysis, and
transplant as well as educating people on living donation.When she’s
not writing you can catch her with her nose buried in a book.
 
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 Check out her other books!
Fallen Series
Fallen
Forbidden
Forever
Outsider Series
Outsider
Insider
Fighter
Avenger
Second Chances Standalone Series
Unraveling
Undeniable
Trace + Olivia Series
Finding Olivia
Chasing Olivia
Tempting Rowan
Saving Tatum
Trace + Olivia Box Set
Willow Creek Series
Last To Know
Never Too Late
In Your Heart
Take A Chance
Willow Creek Box Set
Always Too Late Short Story
Willow Creek Bonus Content
Home For Christmas
Light in the Dark Series
Rae of Sunshine
When Stars Collide
 Dark Hearts
When Constellations Form
Broken Hearts
Stars & Constellations Bundle
The Us Series
The Road That Leads To Us
The Lies That Define Us
The Game That Break Us
Wild Collision
The Wild Series
Wild Collision
Wild Flame
The Enchanted Series
Enchant
Covet
Standalones
Beauty in the Ashes
Bring Me Back
Temptation
A Love Like Ours
The Other Side of Tomorrow
Jump (A 90s novella)
Desperately Seeking Roommate
Desperately Seeking Landlord
Whatever Happens
Sweet Dandelion
Bad Boys Break Hearts
Say When
 F*CK

 
TIJAN
 CHAPTER ONE
TYSAN

“TWO MORE DAYS until it happens.”

Wait. I looked up. “What?”
“Huh?”
I was breathless, sweating, and panting, and almost bursting
because I was about to climax with Aiden poised above me, his dick
inside me and his forehead scrunched up as I wasn’t going to be
alone in coming soon. But then he said those words, and a chill went
down my spine because I knew, I just knew.
I wasn’t meant to hear them.
He froze while I was still throbbing, and dammit, I wanted him to
finish, but what the hell?
“What did you just say?”
He groaned, grinding in and against me, holding himself up with
his arms on the bed beside me. “What?”
Oh, no. No way, buddy.
I shook my head. “You said, ‘Two more days until it happens.’”
He froze again.
That shiver down my back doubled because this wasn’t good.
This was so not good.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You did.” And now we were fighting. We were fighting while
fucking, and I was about to come. What. The. Hell. But I couldn’t let it
go. Aiden was always so controlled and tight. He was a great
boyfriend, but that was my only complaint. We started dating early in
our freshman year—actually, it was the end of eighth grade, during
the summer. Aiden grew up to be the typical popular guy. Great in
sports, captain of track and basketball. He was nice to everyone.
Hella hot with a dimple in his chin, hazel eyes, tawny-blond hair that
had a slight flip over his forehead. It was adorable. He lifted weights
and kept a six-pack. He wasn’t the most ripped guy in our grade, but
he was close to it.
Did I mention he was nice?
Nice to everyone. The guy who some might’ve considered boring,
but I didn’t. I had an appreciation for a guy who was reliable and had
his shit together. Aiden Garner had his shit together. He was
graduating valedictorian, headed to Columbia, and he had plans. He
hadn’t shared with me, but I had a feeling he wanted to go into
politics, following in the footsteps of his father, the mayor. I also had
a feeling Aiden wanted more. He wanted to head to Washington, and
I was down for the ride.
I loved Aiden. I had since the first day he roller-bladed up to me at
the park, took my hand, and we skated off together. It’d been the
highlight of my eighth grade.
We’d been together ever since.
He was staring at me now, horrified, and I felt him pulling away
before he even moved.
I tried clenching down on him, not wanting to let him go, but then
he was sliding out of me, his head down, his eyes not looking at me.
“I’m so sorry to do this. So sorry.”
“Hey.”
He wouldn’t look at me, and he was all the way out and climbing
off the bed, standing.
The condom was pulled off as he went into the bathroom. He
came back and still wouldn’t look at me.
“Aiden.”
I sat up, but my chest was heaving.
We’d had an active sex life, for maybe longer than we should
have, but I loved him. Always had. He was the one for me, and why
not? I also just liked sex. I was used to getting attention. I did some
modeling, so girls already didn’t like me because of that. I was tall,
with long legs, dusty-blonde hair, high-set cheekbones, and smoky
grey eyes that photographed well. So, yeah. Attention. I was used to
it, but while I endured most of the gossip and the whispers about me,
I drew the line at my sex life. I never let anything or anyone shame
me because fuck them for doing that. This was private and no one’s
business. All that was to explain that I enjoyed sex and I didn’t feel
guilty about it and because of that, I was hella frustrated.
I still wanted to climax!
He pulled on his boxers, then bent, bunching the rest of his
clothes in his hands.
He turned, his shoulders tensed, and he started for the door.
“HEY!” I bolted upright. “What the hell!”
His went head up, his shoulders back, so rigid, and then, slowly,
he turned to me.
A cold feeling went through me, slicing right to my gut.
His whole face was twisted, his eyes anguished. “I can’t do this
anymore, Ty.”
“Do what?” I tried to reach toward him, but I couldn’t. We went
with slight-kink for this round and tied my wrists up against the
headboard. There was some slack in the rope, but not enough. I was
fully exposed. Normally I didn’t give a shit because I was fine with all
that, but with him being how he was, yeah… I was feeling a bit self-
conscious here.
And panicky. And I wasn’t used to being panicky. I either handled
shit or I didn’t. There was no in-between for me, but this, him now,
what was happening? I was starting to hyperventilate.
He shook his head, taking an abrupt step back, and I paused, still
on the bed.
He swallowed, and it looked painful. Then, everything settled. His
face cleared. His shoulders fell back down, and the resignation was
palpable, but also the relief. I felt slapped by it, a sense of impending
doom right on its tail because I heard him say, “I’m in love with
Sadie.” His eyes were getting shiny, and his voice got choked up. “I
was going to tell you in two days, but … I can’t be with you
anymore.”
I—what?!
 CHAPTER TWO
KASE

I STEPPED OUT of the bathroom the same time Garner stepped out
of a bedroom.
I smirked. “Your dick’s almost out, bud. You and the Codester
have a fight?” I propped a shoulder against the doorframe, now
wanting to enjoy this. It was obvious my best friend was anguished
about some shit, but my two cents, he should always be anguished
when dealing with his ball-and-chain.
Tysan Coda and I did not get along. Never had.
We hated each other, but Aiden had loved her since eighth grade.
He’d told me to shut my trap about her in sophomore year, so if I got
the chance to go in on the bitch, hell yes. I wasn’t missing this
chance. “What happened? She lay into you about something?”
This happened, and I’d get to listen to him bitch about her for two
days before he’d disappear for a fuckfest. He could bitch about her,
just not me, but he was still quiet, not looking at me, so who was I
not to keep going?
“What? She kick you out because you wouldn’t give her a gas
card or some shit like that?”
“Fuck,” he whispered, still staring at the wall in front of him.
Alarm flickered in me, and I straightened from the doorframe.
The party was still raging beneath us, and the bass was almost
pounding through the floorboards, but when I saw people starting up
the stairs, I barked, “Go downstairs.”
“Wha—”
I jerked forward. “NOW!”
 They scrambled. I recognized one of the girls from our class, but
not the friends she was with.
It was obvious The Coda Beast had lain some serious shit into my
best friend. “Dude.” I leaned forward, then cursed. His eyes were
glazed over.
Serious, serious shit.
“What’d the bitch do?”
His head jerked around, blinking, as if seeing me for the first time.
“Croux.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Garner.”
“Oh God.” He stepped back, his hands coming up as if trying to
ward me off.
What the fuck?
“Dude?” I shook my head. The alarm was off the chain now. That
bitch hadn’t just sunk her nails in. She had pulled out his organs.
“You going to start communicating through words? You need to get
out of here?”
“No.” The word ripped from him and he was shaking his head,
more and more. He was looking frenzied, like he needed not only to
shit everywhere, but throw up whatever was in his stomach, too. Like
the hardest workout he’d done, ever in his life. And I trained
alongside him, and knew Aiden could throw down if he needed to.
He scrambled, yanking on his shirt over his head and grabbing,
pulling his pants up.
He glanced at the closed door. “I—” He raked a hand through his
hair.
I didn’t want to know where that had just been. Well, fuck. I knew.
“I can’t. Can you—take care of her for me?”
“What?”
But he was gone, darting down the stairs.
I could hear shouts a second later, but fuck, man.
What the hell?
Take care of her for him?
I opened the door.
 CHAPTER THREE
TYSAN

NOT HIM.
Anyone but him.
“Get out.”
I was not noticing how he had stopped. I wasn’t noticing how his
eyes went wide, then his lips pursed as if he were going to whistle. I
really wasn’t noticing how he stepped inside, shut the door, locked
the door, and then his gaze traveled down my body.
And I was really, really not noticing how my body was reacting to
that perusal.
Fuck Aiden. Honest to everything good, just. fuck. Aiden.
“What happened?”
I glared at him, rising up, and if I could’ve lunged at him, I
would’ve.
If Aiden stood for good and saintly, then his best friend Kase
Croux was everything Aiden wasn’t. Bad. Evil. Sick. Twisted. Name
the bad shit and that’s what he was. And I’ve had to deal with him
since Aiden and I started dating. He moved to Calcito the beginning
of that year. It was like he and Aiden both had ‘popular guy’ radar.
Like they looked at each other and were like, “He’s popular.” And the
other one was like, “Oh, he’s popular too.” And, of course, they had
to become best friends.
Aiden was the golden boy, with his adorable golden hair and you
name it. Kase was dark. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark soul. His hair
was shaved on the side with a good amount on the top, which was
either left loose and wavy or slicked back. If he could’ve picked his
own nickname, I’m sure it would’ve been Badass, but he was being a
pain in the ass for me right now.
Our mutual hatred was known to many and all of Calcito. The only
things we had in common—and that list was seriously short—were
that we both loved Aiden and we both had seriously active sex lives.
We’d never talked about it, though Aiden had made mention a few
times that Kase was the male version of me.
Too alike to like each other, and that was putting it mildly.
He was waiting for me to answer, but dammit, I couldn’t.
I felt tears burning my eyes, and fuck no. Hell no. I would not cry,
not in front of this asswipe. But my throat wasn’t working either, and I
couldn’t speak.
I couldn’t break down.
That wasn’t me either.
When shit came at me, I handled it. The same as being panicked.
If someone broke into my house, took my mother hostage, murdered
her in front of me, I wouldn’t get scared. I’d get even. I’d murder the
guy back, and I could say that because that had happened in real life
—except I hadn’t murdered him. Cops had busted through the door
and stopped me from doing what I had every intention of doing.
Crap.
Why’d I go there? Thinking on that night?
I never remembered. That was locked down, just like those sorts
of feelings.
Fuck Aiden. Can I say it again?
He was making me feel shit, and I didn’t want to feel any of this
shit.
“Coda,” he prompted, moving closer to the bed.
“What!” I snapped, this time shooting upright and actually trying to
get at him. If I jerked hard enough, maybe I could’ve broken the
ropes.
Nope.
I was slammed back, and my wrists were starting to burn.
 His gaze went to them, and a slow smirk started to form.
“I’m in love with Sadie.”
I winced, hissing and tasting my tears.
“I was going to tell you in two days…”
Two days.
Wait.
I frowned. “When does your sister get back?”
He frowned, but remained distracted as his eyes were lingering on
my breasts. “Sadie?” He shrugged. “Uh, I don’t know. Two days?” He
lifted up his chin, nodding at me. “You and Aiden have a fight?”
“What gave you the first clue?”
He shifted and looked, then his smirk turned cruel. “The fact that I
can smell you?” His eyes moved to mine, and he winked. “He tore
out of here, told me to take care of you.” He gripped his dick and
stroked it. “How about it? We had that one crazy weekend.”
He was kidding.
Kase Croux would never touch me, not unless he got permission
from Aiden. And that weekend—I suppressed a shiver at the mention
because there’d been a lot of permission during that one and only
weekend. It’d been Aiden’s birthday and he had a request for us. He
wanted to watch.
Yes. There was some kink in our sex. Look down on me, if that
made you feel better.
I growled at him even bringing it up now. “Can you untie me?”
His smirk widened, one corner of his mouth curving up even
higher. “What’ll you do for me?”
“Seriously!” I yanked on the ropes again, hoping I could break
them, break the headboard, and then hopefully break him.
His eyes flashed, but that smirk never left him. “Calm down,
psycho. Who’d ever think I’d willingly untie you, hmm?” He moved
forward, working at the knots.
I waited, closing my eyes, and went back over everything.
 Every look Aiden made. Every move. Every word. How each word
was spoken.
And then I started thinking back, and I was remembering a night
here and there when he was at Kase’s. When he was at Kase’s
family’s cabin. When he needed to pick up Kase some food…
Kase never seemed the type to ask a friend to bring him a burger.
At nine at night.
“Hey, Kase…” My stomach was twisting, but I had to know.
He was still working at the knot. “What’s up?”
“For spring break, did you go to Aspen for skiing?”
“Spring break?”
“Yeah.” My throat was hurting.
My chest tightened.
He had to stop to remember. “Uh… nope. I was in Vancouver with
Rosk and Martins.”
My chest imploded.
The knot that had stuffed up in my throat gave out, and I felt sliced
open.
He never said Kase Croux. He said Croux. He said he went skiing
and he’d be at Croux’s Aspen cabin.
He never said Kase…
My throat felt so raspy. “I don’t suppose you needed him to bring a
burger over for you last week? Thursday, to be exact.”
He’d gone from me to her.
“What?” Kase laughed, getting one knot untied and standing back
to stare at me, but the laugh was fake. His eyes were dark and
molten, and he cocked his head to the side. “Why you asking me
these questions?”
Kase would murder him.
He loved his sister, adored her, worshiped her. All the guys were
scared of dating her because Kase ended them at school. She’d
been dating guys from other towns, a couple rival towns because
Kase Croux was a vindictive and spiteful piece of shit. He gave no
fucks who your daddy was, who your mommy was. He didn’t care
about anything except hurting whoever was going to eventually hurt
his sister, that’s how he thought about it. And I knew that for a fact
because I overheard him saying it to Aiden. He was drunk, but he
hadn’t lied.
I couldn’t tell him.
He’d find out.
For Aiden to say it to me, to stop mid-sex—he did that for her.
It’d come out. Kase would find out, just… not this way, maybe.
I didn’t know what I was thinking until my body was warming, and
I was noticing his body.
I said that Aiden had a six-pack, but he wasn’t the most ripped
guy at school and that’s because Kase was. He was a soccer
superstar. He ate, lived and breathed soccer. If he could’ve, he
would’ve fucked soccer. His parents kept him in the U.S. to finish
school, and once he graduated, he was packed and ready for a
European club. They wanted him when he was twelve.
He got one night. We were done with school today, and then
Saturday morning, he’d be airborne.
He wasn’t even going to graduation on Sunday.
“He’s been cheating on me.”
Kase took a step back, his eyes went flat. “No.” He was shaking
his head, but that smirk came. “There’s no way—”
“He literally left me, for her.”
His lips thinned, something flashed in his eyes, and he started
around the bed. He went for the other knot, his eyes never leaving
me. “Who?”
I waited.
That one weekend, it had changed things for us.
Aiden, Kase, and I had gone camping at a weekend rave. The
plan had been to simply have fun. We didn’t do drugs, but it was one
of the weekends that we thought it’d be okay to experiment. That’d
been the plan. Then we got there. The music was already starting.
Sex and sweat were in the air, and by the time the tent was put up,
Aiden was on me.
Kase had dipped out.
He came back hours later, stepped inside, saw we were still
going, and started to leave again.
“Wait.” Aiden rotated me, positioning me so that I was on full
display for Kase. He ran a hand up my side, and I could feel him grin
over my shoulder. “For my birthday.”
Kase’s eyes got dark, molten. His lips parted. “What for your
birthday?” His tone had been grating.
Aiden ran a hand down between my legs, and then he slid a finger
inside me.
I gasped, arching my back.
He added, “You and her. I want to watch.”
“You serious?”
“Hell yes.”
We never talked about that weekend. Not once.
Was I a slut? I’d been with two guys in my life. Did that make me a
slut?
I didn’t think so, but the hatred had gone down a level between
Kase and me.
Now, I couldn’t help but wonder if Aiden had already started with
Sadie by then.
No—I shoved that thought out of my head, and I fixed Kase with a
look.
“Untie me,” I rasped out.
His eyes narrowed, but he undid the knot.
He didn’t step back. He stayed right where he was, his gaze not
wavering, and he was looking over all of me.
I scooted to the edge of the bed, my chest starting to heave, my
pulse picking up at what I was going to do, and I still couldn’t let
myself actually think it, but hell yes, I was going to do it.
 He glanced down, seeing my legs coming down on either side of
his. “What are you doing?”
I touched his jeans, expecting him to back away. He didn’t. I ran
my hands up the sides of them, going to his waistband.
Reaching for the button.
“What are you doing, Coda?”
He still didn’t move back.
I undid the button, moving to the zipper.
Now he began to lean back.
“Coda.”
I let my gaze fall, taking in the entire ropes course of his stomach
muscles. It looked like a maze, one with dips and valleys, and the
two obliques that led down, right to his dick. And I was remembering
how his dick felt that night.
I was now remembering everything, not letting myself think of
Aiden any longer.
I was remembering how Kase took me from behind.
How he held me, how he pounded into me, how he made me
gasp his name and how he made me plead, and how I had loved
every second of it. I was letting myself remember how his touch had
started to become addictive, how Aiden had left us alone, knowing
what we were doing, and how time had ceased.
I never noticed when he’d come back.
I’d felt so guilty.
What a shitty girlfriend I had been…
Now, though.
Now was different.
I pulled down his zipper, and just as I started to reach for him, he
caught my wrist. “What are you doing?”
I took my hand back, but I knelt on the bed, sitting up as his gaze
swept down over my breasts.
I took the shield down.
 I let him see everything, that I wanted him, that I was hurting, that
I was trying not to cry. But I let him see the rage inside me because
he needed to see it.
“Want to know who he left me for?”
His eyes narrowed.
“Sadie.”
His eyes flashed, and his hand was at my throat in a split second.
I didn’t move, just swallowing against his hold.
I finished with, “He’s been banging your sister.”
“You’re lying,” he hissed.
His hand tightened its hold, but he wasn’t hurting me.
God.
I swallowed over a knot.
I was gambling here because I didn’t know how he’d react, but I
wanted to hurt Aiden. I had to hurt him.
I needed it in order to breathe, keep going.
“All those questions, he told me he’d be at your family’s Aspen
cabin. He took food to her last Thursday night.” I shook my head, the
fight starting to fade, the hurt moving in. “There’s been so many
nights I thought he was with you. I assumed, and …”
“When?” he grated.
A tear held on my eyelid, hanging there. “Pick a day. He was
always with you, or her. I was with him two nights a week, that was it.
He gave me Tuesdays and Sundays. Every other Thursday maybe.”
His eyes widened, his hand still holding me captive. “I’ll say it
again. You are lying.”
“Why would I lie about this? You’d kill me. You’re that sick of an
asshole.”
His hand tightened.
I didn’t care. I almost wanted it to get tighter.
I wanted the pain.
 Cursing, he tore his hand away, and I slumped forward, hitting his
chest, but he didn’t move away. He stood there, letting me rest
against him, and I could feel how tense he was. He was coiling up,
getting more and more rigid. He was like cement.
“My sister,” he hissed again, through his teeth. His hand was up,
gripping the back of my neck, and tipped my head back. His eyes
were almost glittering at me. “My sister!”
I gulped again, realizing this could go a whole different way than
what I thought.
Hurt Aiden by actually hurting me? Would he—but as I thought it,
his mouth crashed down on me, and I felt everything in me come
alive.
Yes.
 CHAPTER FOUR
TYSAN

WELL.
That happened.
Shit.
I rolled away from Kase, taking the sheet with me. I’d never been
self-conscious with Aiden, never. God. Shame was rising up
throughout my whole body. It was so painful, I had to pause a
moment, breathe through it. I took a tally of where my clothes were
and bent, grabbing what was closest. My top. I pulled the rest of the
sheet with me, wrapping it tightly as I collected the rest of my items.
“He’s not responding to my texts.”
I looked over, seeing Kase had moved and was sitting on his side
of the bed, his phone in hand. His jaw was grim, his hair falling over
his forehead. His shoulders and chest were tight with anger. He
moved his thumb across the screen of his phone, and he cursed a
second later. “He’s at my family’s lake house. That’s where Sadie is.
The fucking asshole. He’s dead.”
I tensed.
Yes, there was a mountain of hurt moving through my entire body
like a glacier. Hurt that was mixed up with all the conflicting emotions
I had about what we just did. That I enjoyed it, that I wanted—no, not
going there—that I was feeling guilty, like I had cheated on Aiden,
but the fury. There was so much rage too.
But now, concern?
“Get over yourself.”
He pierced me with those eyes, his jaw clenching again. “Say
what?”
 I flushed, ignoring how that was coming out as a threat. I tipped
my chin up. Screw being self-conscious. My faults. I knew them, but
being embarrassed about my body wasn’t one of them. Good grief.
I’d modeled in the past and knew I’d probably do more to get by at
college, but I wasn’t going to let this shame start to change my
insides.
Having sex was my sin, my only sin, and I wasn’t going to be
ashamed of that either.
I threw down the blanket and glared, noting his eyes were growing
molten again, but I ignored that and bent to start pulling on my
clothes. I yanked on my shirt, pulling it down, and kept up with the
glaring. “Don’t do that shit. Don’t take away this justified anger that I
have for Aiden and make me shove that down, so that I’m calling him
and warning him you’re heading his way with death threats. Don’t do
that.”
His eyes were narrowed to slits, and his nostrils flared. “He’s
fucking my sister.”
That was another thing we had in common. We both knew the
situation and accepted it. Others might’ve argued, wanted to deny or
lie to themselves. Not Kase. Not me. We both had the ability to read
the writing on the wall and proceed accordingly.
“Yeah,” I bit out, grabbing my jeans and pulling them up. “I’m quite
aware, trust me.”
Where were my sandals?
The room was in disarray. Bedding had been tossed around. The
pillows—one was in the bathroom. Half the fitted sheet was off the
bed, and none of that had happened when Aiden had been in here.
I felt a lump sitting in my chest, right in the way of everything.
I cursed, then spotted one of my sandals. One was under the
loveseat in the room. How had that gotten there? I grabbed it and
bent down, looking for the other.
“Fuck me.”
I froze, hearing those soft words from him, but spotted my second
sandal. Nabbing it, I turned and looked over, now cautious.
 He was shaking his head at me. “You’re not going to tell him, are
you? You and me.”
That knot in my chest just got a whole lot heavier.
I stood up and toed on my sandals, then started looking for
whatever else I had coming in here. Purse? No. I’d only had my
phone and keys on me. I left my purse at home, but my I.D.? I felt
the back of my pockets, and phew. They were there.
My keys, though…?
I spotted my phone on the couch and checked for messages.
There were twenty-three.
Frowning, I put in my code and pulled up whoever had left those.
“You going to answer me?” he clipped out.
“Nope.” I shifted back on my foot, settling in, and my mind was
blown.
Text after text from Aiden. Several were from Sadie, too, complete
with one voice message.
I hit play, sitting down on the loveseat as Kase’s little sister’s voice
filled the room, “Oh my God, Tysan.” She broke off, sobbing. “Aiden
told me that he told you. I’m—you’re not responding to him or me,
but I’m so sorry. You and me, we were friends, and I can tell you that
we never wanted this to happen—”
I hit delete, my stomach threatening—nope. Not threatening.
I shot for the bathroom, hitting the floor right as my stomach
emptied itself into the toilet.
I retched, then retched again.
Sweat trickled down my face, my back. A droplet fell from the top
of my nose.
I smelled disgusting. Felt disgusting. I was disgusting.
Sweat. Sex. Vomit. What else?
“You and Sades were tight.”
I groaned. He’d followed me to the bathroom, standing in the
doorway, and I looked up. He’d pulled on his pants, but no shirt. I
could see my nail marks down his front, and knew there were
matching marks on his back. I could almost feel his marks on me. My
neck. My breasts. Lower. And then even lower.
I felt him all over me again, inside me.
“Tysan, RUN!”
I flinched, hearing my mom’s scream from that night so long ago.
I gritted my teeth. Where the hell had that come from? Like I didn’t
have enough to deal with right now.
“Can you not start?” My voice came out rough, and I grabbed a
washcloth, swiping it over my face. The party was still going. I didn’t
know how long we’d been in here, but I was sure whoever was still
down there was beyond plastered. Most parties cleared out after a
few hours, but the rest liked to stay forever.
I’d need to sneak out.
I could do that.
Go down the stairs.
I knew this house. It was Ben Drain’s house, and his parents had
an exit door to the bedroom. Or, crap. If that was being used, I’d go
through the garage, but no. Everyone would be around. I thought
there was a side door somewhere.
“You’re a vengeful bitch. I’m livid with my sister, but are you going
to plan something against Sadie?” He squatted and stared me down.
There was no mercy, no kindness. Just hardness and cement. That
was how Kase was, though. He was only kind to his sister, his mom,
and Aiden. Even their other friends were wary around Kase. He
didn’t like anyone much, now that I was thinking about it, but his
absolute hatred was usually only toward me.
I sat back against the wall, my knees up, and I rested my arms
over them.
My entire body was exhausted, and I stared at him, my head
against the wall. “What are you going to do to Aiden?”
His glare was like ice, and a chill went through me. He raised an
eyebrow. “You’re bargaining on behalf of the guy who screwed you
over for the chick he screwed you over for?”
 I winced. “That chick is your sister.”
“Not from your point of view. What are you doing here, Coda? We
just got done going three rounds and now you’re worried what I’ll do
to the guy who screwed you over? Because, fact check, that ain’t
me. That’s golden boy.”
I watched my mom murdered in front of me.
My dad was hardly around.
It’d only been Aiden all my life.
I looked away. “Can’t erase someone who’s been there for you
most of your life.”
“Yeah, you can.” He stood, and I looked back. His eyes were so
cold, staring down at me. “I won’t physically cause permanent
damage to him if you promise to stay away from my sister.”
Another deal with this devil?
I closed my eyes, saying quietly, “Fine.”
“Fine.” He disappeared through the door, but came back and set
my keys on the counter. “Do me a favor? Don’t give him a heads-up
I’m coming.”
I didn’t have anything more in me, so I let my head nod a little,
and he was gone in the next instant.
I wanted to lie down and cry.
I wanted to lie down and disappear.
Instead, I stood. I washed myself up, and then I left.
Everyone was wasted when I got to the first floor, and I went
down, finding the side door that I remembered from the other times
I’d been at Ben’s house. As I walked across the lawn and headed
down the driveway, then the street where my car was parked, I could
hear the others still partying behind me.
I never had a lot of close friends in school, but I had casual
friends. A lot of casual friends. Girls I hung out with at parties, or
rode with to away games if Aiden was playing, but it was all different
now.
 I knew I wouldn’t be reaching out to any of them, or keeping in
contact.
Aiden had been my family. Sadie, too, in a way. I always
considered her my little sister, or I wanted to, so badly.
That was gone too.
I got to my car, now grateful that Aiden asked to meet me at the
party.
I couldn’t stop the tears any longer.
They flowed as I drove home.
I turned my phone off, climbed into my bed, and I cried the rest of
the night.
Fuck. Aiden.
 CHAPTER FIVE
TYSAN

Ten months later.

“YO.” A CHAIR wheeled down the hall, past my room, and a hand
slapped the doorframe. “Woman.”
I grinned, looking up at my roommate from my desk. “What,
Broad?”
Rosalie called me Woman. I called her Broad. We had great
chemistry between us. It consisted mostly of a dry sardonic humor,
alcohol, and not taking shit from anyone, including ourselves. We
were honest without being assholes, and there was a line. Also,
Rosalie was a model I’d met at a casting. I saw a chill-looking
redhead reading a book, then saw her bag and knew she went to my
same college. I started a conversation, realized she was a cool
chick, and we went for a drink afterwards. Rosalie and I both were
assigned horrible roommates, so we both got out of our rooming
agreements and hit up an apartment.
It’d been great ever since.
“A friend just hit me up. He’s got a soccer game in our neck of the
woods today. Wanna hit it with me? Guaranteed hot soccer players
will be there, and I know he’s going to ask us to hit a couple clubs
with him and his friends. They’re fun people. I know how you enjoy
soccer.”
She did, but not really. She knew I’d become glued to a certain
European club, but she didn’t know why.
Rosalie was not like me in the friend department. She had a ton,
and prided herself on keeping in touch with her peeps from high
school. Yes. I was so not in the same category there. I kept in touch
with my dad, and that was it. No Aiden. No one else. A few of my
female friends had messaged me on Insta, and I responded, but
those messages had begun to fade in November. I hadn’t gone to
graduation, deciding to take a page from Kase’s playbook, and I
hadn’t regretted it.
The only one who seemed bummed was my dad because while
he wasn’t around that much, he had inquired about our Sunday
plans. Maybe it had been a rash decision and I’d regret it, but so far,
I hadn’t one bit. He and I went to an extravagant restaurant for a
celebratory dinner and I promised him I’d walk at my college
graduation. My pops wasn’t dumb. He knew something was up with
Aiden, but he’d only asked if I needed to talk. I never took him up on
that offer, but he reminded me that he was ‘there for me’ if I ever
needed him. And he’d been reminding me all year long.
I loved my pops, and I was reminded on that graduation day just
how much.
He was a workaholic, something he’d made a conscious decision
to be since my mom’s death, but yeah… Turned out Aiden wasn’t my
only family. Pops was too, I just hadn’t noticed. Instead of worrying
about being a shitty girlfriend, I should’ve been worrying about being
a shitty daughter, right?
This year, that was fixed.
I called Pops, or Pops called me almost daily. We just… never
talked about Aiden specifically. He always got quiet and gently asked
if I needed to talk. I got quiet back and said, “Not yet, Pops.”
“Well, I’m here.”
And I’d get quiet and say, “I know.”
Sometimes I remembered all those years with Aiden and got
remorseful, felt some sniffling coming on, and then I’d remember
how he ended things and the hardness moved in.
Everyone knew back home that he and I had ended, and that he
and Sadie Croux had started not long after.
I was never told the specifics of their ‘coming out.’ I was never told
how much Kase fucked Aiden up that night. I also was never told
where Kase stood in regard to his ex-best friend—or maybe they
were still best friends? Who knew? I didn’t, and I didn’t want to know,
but what I did know was that Kase had gone overseas, and as far as
I knew, he was still there.
He’d been a breakout star this last year over there. There’d been
another guy from the U.S. that everyone was raving about, but he’d
already been over there a year, so Kase was new. They weren’t in
the same club. Kase, I learned since I knew nothing about European
football, was at a club in Germany.
That, and he was still fucking hot. Seriously. Fucking hot.
If it was even possible, Kase had gotten even hotter.
Then again, maybe after that night, even more walls had come
down against him? Maybe? I didn’t know.
I didn’t want to know.
There was no reason to know.
Kase was over there and so very much not over here.
But, damn.
I hadn’t had sex since him, and for me, that was a travesty. My
vibrator was worn out, and I was frustrated.
Maybe that was why I’d said yes to going to that soccer game.
I didn’t know the college team Rosalie’s friend was on, if he was
the home team or the visiting team, but I was blaming my brain for
not being able to disassociate Kase with soccer and sex, because
when we got off the train and walked the couple blocks to where the
field was, I was throbbing with sexual desire.
Jesus.
I was ridiculous.
But we got there, and it was a smaller kind of game. People were
in the stands, but a good portion were watching from the sidelines.
Rosalie saw some friends, and she was heading for them when I
noticed two guys standing across the field, near the end of one of the
teams’ benches. They were farther down, set away from the team,
but still a part of the team, and my heart dropped.
 Other body parts were reacting too, but yeah, I was focusing on
the heart-dropping part.
That reaction made sense.
I wasn’t giving the other reactions the time of day.
“This is my roommate.” We’d gotten to Rosalie’s friends, and there
were a mix of a bunch of guys, some girls too. I was introduced, and
while I said hi with a smile and a hand wave, I was fully focused
across the field. Our group was a little loud, a little boisterous, and
the girls were whispering together a bunch.
One of Rosalie’s friends moved in, bumping Rosalie with his
shoulder, and he gestured right to where I was trying not to gawk
toward. “See that guy? The one with the dark hair, not the guy in the
business suit.”
Kase.
He was dressed in workout clothes, a hoodie and sweatpants, but
they were the rich kind of clothes. Even from here, I could tell, but I
also knew Kase. He wouldn’t wear anything else. My guess, it was a
sponsorship deal because he had one that popped up this last week,
and I was figuring with his popularity, there were more to come.
I was getting ready to start seeing Kase’s face all over again.
And again, I didn’t know how I felt about that.
I knew my mind didn’t like it, but the body was always a different
story with him.
“Damn. He’s hot,” Rosalie breathed, pretending to pant and
grinning with her friend.
He grinned, but then got serious. “That’s Kase Croux. He’s a new
football player in the European leagues. That guy is freaking
amazing on the field.”
“Wasn’t there another American that was making waves over
there? My brother mentioned something about him. He’s on the
Norway team?”
“Hungary club, and that’s Blaise DeVroe. He’s amazing too, but
this Croux guy, he’s like ice cold over there. Amazing to watch. He’s
a freak of nature on the field.”
“Has anyone gone over for pictures with him?”
“Not yet, but probably after the game.”
Great.
Lovely.
Rosalie liked the celebrity scene. I knew without her asking that
we’d be staying after.
I resigned myself, but I was hoping to still go by unnoticed, maybe
wait on the outskirts of the group or something?
That didn’t happen.
At the end of the game, Rosalie grasped my arm and marched
right over to Kase. Her friends were right behind her, and a couple
other guys were angling in front of us. Kase saw the group coming,
shared a few words with the guy beside him, and then settled back,
resigned.
I was guessing this wasn’t a new thing for him.
I stuck to the outskirts, shaking off Rosalie’s hand until it was her
turn and she went forward, her phone in hand.
“Hi! I’m Rosalie. My roommate is a big soccer fan, so I recognize
you from the television. Could I get a selfie with you?”
He frowned at her, but nodded, his head going forward into
position.
She clicked the camera button, but she wasn’t done.
“One more? Please?” She was giving him a disarming smile that
bordered on the edge of being seductive, and I knew what she was
going for. She wanted a full body picture of him, and my word, who
could blame her?
I hoped she’d ask her friend to take the picture.
Nope, again.
She searched for me, and seeing me, yelled, “Ty! Can you take a
pic for me? You know the angles.”
The group shifted, and a path opened for me.
 I knew the second he saw me, a wave of intensity hit my body,
rocking me back from its force, but I avoided looking at him and gave
my roommate a smile. She was handing her phone over, a slight
confused look on her face, her grin faltering as I took it. But then I
held it up and she was right.
Model to model, I knew what she wanted and thumbed off a
bunch of pictures.
It wasn’t till the end that I looked at Kase’s gaze through the
camera, and it was fierce.
My breath was suspended a moment, then I swallowed over a
small lump and forced a bright smile. Rosalie’s small frown vanished
and she was beaming back when I handed the phone over. “All
good. You look great!”
“Thanks, roomie!”
She stepped back, but asked, “Do you…”
I was already shaking my head. “I’m good.” I gave Kase a smile
without meeting his eyes. “It’s really nice to meet you—”
“Fuck’s sakes,” he growled, and typical Kase, I almost relaxed at
hearing that.
He reached forward. “Where’s your phone?”
My eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“Where’s your phone, Coda?” he clipped out.
I was ignoring the shocked quiet going around us, and how
Rosalie was frozen with big eyes, taking everything in.
He ignored my own chill and reached into my pocket.
I sucked in my breath, hearing Rosalie do the same, and he was
pulling out my phone, keying in a code that I didn’t know he knew.
“Hey!”
He shrugged off my reach, turning away, and a second later, I
heard a small buzz. Then he handed the phone back and glared,
right in my face. He said, quiet so only I could hear, “You look good.
A year’s a long time.” And with that, he released me and stepped
back.
 He turned for the next guy.
It wasn’t a big group around him, but enough that as Rosalie and I
walked away, I was feeling the attention. I had to give my roommate
credit, she waited until we were away from her friends before
pouncing.
“You know Kase Croux?!”
I threw back, “You know Kase Croux?”
She flushed. “You know what I mean. Spill the beans, Woman.”
I groaned and then gave her a very, very revised version of our
past.
All of the sexy parts weren’t included.
 CHAPTER SIX
TYSAN

 
 
Kase: Didn’t know if you got a new number, wanted to make
sure.
Kase: I’m in the city for three more days. Business trip.
Kase: I’d like to see you.
Me: Why?
Kase: You know why.
Me: You still talk to Aiden?
Kase: Is that what you really want to talk about?
Me: No.
Kase: You watch my games?
Me: I watch Blaise DeVroe.
Kase: Bullshit. What club is he from? And if you don’t
answer in the next second, I know you’re looking him up.
Fuck.
Me: Norway.
Kase: Such a liar. When can I see you?
Me: It’s not a good idea.
Kase: When can I see you?
I answered him thirty minutes later,
Me: Now.
 CHAPTER SEVEN
TYSAN

KASE PICKED ME up in a black Lamborghini, and I was in the

passenger seat before it even came to a complete stop. My mouth
was on the floor. “Are you kidding me? Your folks are rich, but dude.
You’ve only been playing a year. A Lamborghini?”
He chuckled, shooting off into traffic. “Relax. It’s not mine.”
“Oh.” Now I felt embarrassed. “Whose is it?”
“A teammate is letting me stay at his place while I’m here. He said
I could take it for a joyride. Picking you up was the joyride.” He
shifted gears, moving into the next lane, and his grin lingered. “Worth
it to see your face.”
“Suck it, Croux.”
He shot back, not skipping a beat, “That’s what I’m hoping you’ll
do.” He glanced sideways at me, his grin still there, but waiting.
I stopped the flush from rising up over my face, but the back of my
neck was hot and everything south. I fought against squirming too.
A year.
He’d been my last.
For a healthy sex drive, it turned out that only came out to play for
two guys. I was so screwed because I did not want to analyze why it
had been those two guys.
“Is that what we’re doing here?”
He kept driving. “I thought I was obvious.”
“You were,” I confessed.
Aiden.
Man.
 It’d been a year since I talked to him.
After that party and his pull-out, I iced him out. His number was
blocked. His emails. All his social media were blocked. And since I
left the day after my graduation dinner with my dad, it’d been easy to
avoid him. If he’d been to the house, Pops never informed me.
“Sadie messaged me on Insta.”
“She’s not blocked?”
I threw him a quick look. “You know?”
“I know you blocked Aiden, but I didn’t know about my sister. They
don’t talk to me about you, don’t have a reason to or so they think.”
Right.
Because I never told Aiden, though that’d been the initial plan to
hurt him back.
I sighed. “He would’ve gone nuts.”
“He still would.” He threw me a dark look before turning back to
the dashboard. “I heard you iced everyone.”
“I did.”
“That’s lonely.”
“Not my dad. He’s a workaholic, but he’s been great on the phone.
And I have Rosalie.”
“Right.” He flashed me a grin. “The roomie.’”
I flushed again, unable to contain a small grin. “She likes
celebrities.”
“That girl had no clue who I was. You told her I was someone?”
“Her friends did. A couple of the guys knew you.”
He nodded, running a hand over his face. We were pulling onto a
side street, and then another, and another. Slowing down. We were
by some seriously rich downtown homes. He slowed even more, and
then hit a button and a garage door started lifting from a side alley.
He turned, moving into it. Once we were in, the door automatically
closed and the lights inside turned on.
Whoever his friend was, the dude was wealthy.
 Kase and I didn’t talk as he led the way inside, flipping on the
lights, and I was in the most industrial and technological kitchen that
I’d ever seen in my life. No, not even in movies. This place was
definitely a dude’s.
“Whoa.”
Kase laughed, going past me. He dropped the car keys onto the
counter and headed through the kitchen, through a dining area, and
another large glass garage-type door lifted for him. We were now in
the backyard. This place had a backyard, in New York City.
I was in Neverland. That was the only explanation here.
He didn’t stop, going down a path and to the side of the house,
and there was another entire floor-to-ceiling glass wall, but this one
didn’t open like the other. It was a regular glass sliding door, and he
pushed it open, going into a bedroom. He indicated for me to wait
and ducked inside.
He came out, carrying a bourbon bottle. No glasses.
There was a fancy-looking fireplace, the one with the pretty and
shiny rocks surrounding it. But this one was in the middle of a huge
high-top table. Suddenly, a flame lit up the same time as Kase
opened the bourbon. He took a swig and slid it over to me.
Shit.
Well, okay.
This was what we were doing.
I took a swig, swallowed over the burn, and slid the bottle back.
Kase took it, eyes on me the whole time, and took a second slug.
He raised an eyebrow, holding the bottle.
I nodded.
He slid it over.
We repeated this two more times.
It wasn’t because either of us needed to be drunk. Just... I didn’t
know why we were doing this, but it felt right.
I had to get the elephant out of the room. “Do you still talk to him?”
 That one eyebrow went back up, but he just put the bottle on the
table, relinquishing his hold. He settled back, standing and resting
his elbows on the table. “He fucked my sister. What do you think?”
There was a snap in his tone.
I ignored it. “I think that maybe he really loved her and you’ve
realized that and you and he are friends again?” I raised an eyebrow
at him. “I don’t know what I think, but I’m proceeding with caution
here.”
I felt a chill coming from him.
He hadn’t liked something I had just said.
A slight growl this time. “You think I’d be here if he and I were
back to being besties? That’s what you think of me?”
“I don’t think of you—”
“That’s a lie, and we both know it. Took you thirty minutes to tell
me ‘now.’ That shit says everything.” He was giving me a hard look.
“We didn’t like each other, but we never fucking bullshitted each
other. No. He was fucking her when I got there, and I barely
remembered my promise to you. I beat him until I almost couldn’t
see his face, there was so much blood. Sadie was screaming at me,
but it wasn’t her that stopped me. It was you, my promise to you. I
saw your face when you got mad that you might have to call and
warn him. That shit stopped me, nothing goddamn else.” He hissed
again, flexing his hands as if they were sore. “He’s put Sades
through so much shit and it’s just been a year. I remember that kid,
remember what he did with you, and you think I’m okay that he’s
going to do it with her? My sister? Fuck you, Coda, if you think I’d
ever go back to being besties with that piece of shit.”
That made me… my heart warmed, and then hollowed.
I asked, “He’s still with her?”
“I think he’ll always be with her. She’s the one he chose to be his
political wife, but fuck, I bet he had a side chick already waiting for
him within six months.”
I felt more hollow at hearing that.
 I swallowed over another lump. “I didn’t know he was like that
when we were together. I loved him.”
He was quiet, and then, “For what it’s worth? He didn’t get bad
until eight months before he ended things with you. He was good
before that. You made him good.” He shook his head, reaching for
the bottle again. “But he’s gone. And,” his eyes dipped over my face,
my mouth, down my body, “I brought you here for a reason.”
Such a crass and crude way of speaking, but damn, it was making
me throb for him.
I was screwed up. Only explanation.
He was waiting. “What do you want, Coda?”
I licked my lips, and his eyes darted there, following the motion.
His eyes darkened, getting that molten look I couldn’t hold out
against.
“Just tonight? Just this trip? What are the parameters here?”
“The para—fine. I want to fuck you every time I get a chance. How
about that?”
My entire body was throbbing. It was coming alive, and he was
the reason I was scrambling.
I needed rules. I could function with rules, especially with him.
No rules and Kase Croux would bulldoze through me and over
me, and I’d be roadkill behind him. But with rules? I stood a chance.
“Just tonight? This trip? Again. What are you talking about?”
His eyes sparked and his head cocked to the side. He spoke, low
and silky, and it felt like a caress by itself. “I want you every time I’m
in town, every holiday you have, every long weekend you have. I
want you flying over, and if we’re doing that, I don’t want any other
guy sliding inside of you.”
My throat swelled up, and I needed a moment to breathe.
“That—that sounds like a relationship?” I whispered, and I hated
that I whispered it. That was weak. I wasn’t weak.
“It’s sexual, how about that? Only me for you and only you for me.
I want you bare the next time I see you.”
 My entire head was swimming from all of this. “If you—if I say yes
to this, and you get with someone else—”
“Do not insult me.” His tone went low.
I heard his warning. Hell, I felt his warning, but still, “I mean it—”
His eyes flashed now. “I just told you not to insult me. You say that
shit one more time and I’m insulted.”
All of this rocked me. “Why? I mean, I can see one night, but…”
He moved over to me, taking my hand, and he spoke into my ear,
“Because I can still taste you a year later. That’s why.” He waited a
beat. “Yeah?”
Yeah.
Oh yeah.
Desire was already flooding my entire body, and my mind shut off
after hearing that. I whispered back, and didn’t give one shit this time
that I was whispering, “Yeah.”
He squeezed my hand, then led me into the bedroom.
I’d just made a second deal with the devil.
I didn’t care.
 
 
I hope you enjoyed reading Tysan and Kase!
 
This is a short set-up for their full-length novel coming at a later time
from me.
 
Go to my website to be notified or find more stories similar to F*ck,
like Blaise DeVroe’s story Rich Prick, Enemies, Teardrop Shot, or
Hate To Love You.
 
Thank you!
 
www.tijansbooks.com
 THE DRESS

 
COLLEEN HOOVER
 CHAPTER ONE

“TWO MORE DAYS until it happens,” I say, pushing the slice of pizza
away. “I can’t eat that.”
Jay rolls his eyes. “You can eat one slice of pizza. Chase isn’t
going to decide not to propose to you because you gained one
pound.”
“Try twenty-three pounds.”
“We’ve been in the middle of a pandemic, Jessica. The whole
country gained weight.”
“Chase didn’t,” I say. Chase never gains weight. But then again,
Chase is a fitness instructor who owns a gym and works out for a
living. Even when his gym was closed during the height of the
pandemic, he did Zoom classes and went for a run every day.
“Chase is a freak of nature,” Jay says. He directs his attention
back to the video game we’ve been demoing. Jay isn’t a huge fan of
Chase’s, but Chase has also never been too impressed with Jay.
I’ve been dating Chase for two years, and I’ve worked with Jay for
three. They’re complete opposites, which I find humorous since I
spend so much of my life with both of them. Chase is into fitness and
health and Jay is a computer nerd who sits in front of a screen all
day. They’re both good-looking, but in completely different ways.
Chase would look at home on the cover of any romance novel. He’s
got dark brown hair and smoldering brown eyes and a jawline that a
few men have paid for.
Jay has a sweet baby face and a squishy dad bod.
Jay and I work for the same software company, and we live in the
same building, so naturally we’ve become friends. We have a lot in
common other than our age. I turn thirty in a few months and Jay is
only twenty-two. It’s only seven years difference, but three years ago
when he was nineteen, the age difference was a lot more noticeable.
He was offered the job while he was still in college because he’s
extremely intelligent and good at what he does.
I envy both Chase and Jay. When it comes to computers, I have
to work my ass off to learn all the things that seem to come so
naturally to Jay. When it comes to health and fitness, I feel like I work
my ass off physically to keep my body from turning into a tub of lard,
but Chase has never once had an issue keeping the weight off. He’s
got a great body. It’s one of the things that attracted me to him at
first, but once I got to know him, I realized he has such a great body
because his body is his career.
I once had a great body, but the pandemic has turned me into a
fluffier, more sedentary version of myself. Before 2020, I walked
eight blocks with Jay to work every day, and Chase and I were
always on the go, and he encouraged me to take the stairs every
time we’d come back to my apartment.
But then when my job became remote and Chase and I couldn’t
go out with our friends as much, I just sort of...blah’d. That’s what I
did. I blah’d. Blah should be in the dictionary if it isn’t already.
“You’re staring,” Jay says.
I didn’t even realize I was staring at him. He’s eating the slice of
pizza I rejected, and it looks so good and cheesy. “I’m not staring at
you. I’m staring at the pizza.”
He holds it out for me. “It’s not too late. You can still take a bite.”
“Stop,” I say, pushing off the floor. “I haven’t had carbs in two
weeks, you’re going to derail me.” I slip into my shoes and walk
toward his door. “Let me know if you need my help before Friday.”
“If I don’t see you before then, happy anniversary,” he says all
monotone because he thinks Chase is a tool. Chase isn’t a tool, but
he’s a Millennial and Jay is more Gen Z than Millennial, so they just
don’t vibe. And Jay isn’t in a position to judge Chase just because
they have different life goals.
I live on the eighth floor, one floor above Jay. Chase stayed with
me a lot during the pandemic, but now that his gym is open again,
he’s starting to stay at his place more because it’s an easier
commute.
It’s for the best; my apartment isn’t meant for two people. It’s
cramped enough with just me living in it. Once Chase proposes and
we start making plans for the future, we’ll likely get a new place
together after both of our leases are up.
Chase and I are going out to dinner to celebrate our two-year
anniversary on Friday, so naturally, it would be the right time to
propose. We’ve discussed it at length and we both know it’s our next
step, but I’m trying not to get my hopes up.
My mother has asked me what I’m wearing to our anniversary
dinner twice, and why else would she care if it weren’t for the
potential pictures we’d be taking after our engagement? Maybe
Chase asked my father for permission and my mother knows it’s
happening.
I don’t know what’s going to happen two nights from now, but just
in case, I really want to fit into the dress Chase bought for me to
wear to our anniversary dinner.
He always buys me clothes, and they’re almost always a size too
small. I like that he thinks I’m smaller than I really am, but I’m
embarrassed about this dress because he specifically bought it for
me to wear to the anniversary dinner and it was way too small when
I tried it on two weeks ago—like almost three sizes too small. Which
is why I’m taking the stairs up to my floor right now, and why I’ll be
skipping dinner rather than enjoying the pizza Jay ordered while we
were working.
When I get up to my apartment, I go to the closet and pull out the
dress. I haven’t tried it on since I received it two weeks ago, so I’m
hoping the work I’ve put in these last two weeks has made enough of
a difference.
It’s a beautiful dress. It’s long and black, with a sheer layer over
the top that shimmers under the light. I saw it a few months ago in
the window of Nordstrom when Chase and I were out for a walk. It
was late in the evening, so the store was closed, but I remember
mentioning how much I loved it. When I opened the gift two weeks
ago, I cried. I couldn’t believe he went back for it.
I just hate that I’ve gone up two whole sizes (maybe three) this
year. I would love to be proposed to in this dress.
I slide it over my head and have to shimmy it down over my hips. I
suck in and adjust my boobs and oh, my god, it’s super tight.
Not as tight as it was two weeks ago, but still too tight to wear
comfortably. I can’t get my arms to bend in ways it would require in
order to get this thing zipped. I need to see what it’s like when it’s
zipped though, so I decide to head back to Jay’s. I think if I work my
ass off over the next two days, this dress could possibly fit.
I take the elevator down a floor and knock on Jay’s door. When he
opens it, I turn around and point at my back. “Can you zip me?”
“Wow,” he says. “Is this the dress?”
“This is the one.”
He fingers the zipper and gets it about four inches up, to my mid
back. “Suck in,” he says. I inhale a breath and he gets it up one more
inch, but I can feel the dress pulling and pinching.
“How much is left?”
“About five more inches.” He touches right below my bra line to let
me know how far it goes up. That’s not nearly good enough.
I sigh and face him with a pout. “I’m so close.” I fake cry, showing
my frustration.
“Even if you get it to zip before Friday, you aren’t going to be
comfortable. How are you going to sit down?”
“I bet it’ll zip if I buy some Spanx.”
“Okay, but how are you going to breathe? Chase will get down on
one knee and propose, and you’ll pass out before you even get to
say yes.”
“Laxatives. Water pills. I can do this.” I turn around to head back
to the elevator.
I hear Jay say, “You shouldn’t have to, Jess,” right before he
closes his door.
 CHAPTER TWO

CHASE AND I met through my friend Penny. He was her personal

trainer, but Penny is married, so she used to always set me up with
single guys she thought were hot. I had just broken up with one of
the guys she introduced me to three months before, so I wasn’t
willing to meet Chase when she first brought him up. Two months
passed and she’d always make it a point to mention his name any
time we’d talk about me dating again, but I wasn’t interested. She
ended up tricking me into coming to her house for dinner when he
was there one night.
As soon as I saw him, I wanted to kick myself for waiting two
months to meet him. Anyone could have snatched him up in that
time. He was absolutely gorgeous. He was a big-city ten. His smile
was like kryptonite, so naturally, I slept with him four hours after we
met.
It was a mutual attraction, and intense for both of us, which is why
we spent the first two days together after we met. It was like the
gobsmacked, whirlwind romance I’d always hoped existed, but never
truly believed in.
I met his mother just two weeks after I met him. I introduced him
to my parents within the first month—something I never do. And after
one year of dating and hanging out, and one year of surviving
through the trials of 2020, I still think he’s the total package. He’s
gorgeous, funny, motivated, has great teeth, and most importantly,
he’s kind to me. There’s honestly nothing I would change about him,
although his job does get a little annoying sometimes when it bleeds
into our personal life.
I know fitness is important to him, but it doesn’t make it easier
when he suggests we both order salads when I’m craving Chinese,
or when he pokes fun at me for taking the elevator over the stairs
when my arms are full.
Or when he buys my dream dress in a size that doesn’t fit me.
I hang the dress back up in the closet, and then I go to the
bathroom to dig through my medicine drawer. I find a package of
water pills and take one.
Five more pounds and a pricey set of Spanx is all it will take to get
into that dress, although fifteen pounds is probably what it would
take to fit into comfortably. Then I’ll be proud of myself for hitting that
goal. And then, if I get a ring out of it at the end of the night, it’ll be
icing on the cake. I might even have an actual piece of cake to
celebrate the win.
Chase shows up just as I get my pajamas on. I was about to
watch an episode of Below Deck, but when I open the door for him
and see how sexy he looks, I immediately want to make other plans
with him. I love it when he doesn’t take a shower before coming over.
He’s still a little sweaty, and he’s in a loose tank top that shows off
his biceps. He locks the door and then pulls me in for a kiss.
“Hey, beautiful.” He kicks off his shoes and gives me the
onceover. “Where’d you get these?” he says with a laugh.
I look down at my pajamas. I usually wear something a little more
flattering, but I wanted to be comfortable after squeezing myself into
that dress. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
“Quarantine pajamas,” I say with a shrug. “How was your day?”
“Long. But we finally got approved for the expansion permit to put
in the pool.”
“That’s great!” He and his partner have been trying to get the
permit for over a year now, but everything has been backed up.
We’re making our way to the bedroom when I say, “How long before
you guys can start building?”
“We’re meeting with contractors after I get back from our vacation
next week.”
Our vacation is another hint that Chase might be proposing. He
booked us a getaway to a cabin in the mountains. We leave the
morning after our anniversary dinner. I know nothing about the trip,
other than he told me to pack hiking clothes and lingerie, so I’m
guessing his plan is to be outdoorsy during the day and in the
bedroom at night.
Chase kisses me again when we reach the bedroom, and then he
picks me up and drops me onto the bed. “Take off those ugly
pajamas,” he teases, pulling off his shirt. He’s unzipping his jeans
when I pull the pajama bottoms off. This is our routine on the nights
he stays here. He walks in, we fuck, he showers, we sleep. He’s an
early riser, so he’s out of here by six in the morning. He says his
hours will shorten once he has the new gym up and running and the
expansion on the current gym is completed.
I expect our routine will fall together once we move in together. I
look forward to both of us having an actual normal schedule. I’m
back in the office now, which I didn’t think I’d be happy about.
Everyone always says they want to work from home, but now that
I’ve been forced to work from home for almost a year, I’m more than
happy to be back in an office. I missed having somewhere to go, but
now that Chase and I are back to our old schedules, we don’t see
each other as much.
Jay and I work together and live in the same building, so I have
more dinners with Jay than I do with Chase.
That’s a big part of my downfall this year—eating dinners with Jay
instead of Chase. Chase is conscious about what we both put into
our bodies, while Jay eats whatever he feels like eating and rarely
gains weight. Not that he’s in the best shape, but at least he’s
consistent. He hasn’t really changed much physically in the three
years I’ve known him, other than going from looking like a teenage
boy to a man.
I’m not consistent at all. I’ve changed a lot. I gain weight just
looking at what Jay orders us for dinner. Hell, I probably gained
weight just staring at his pizza tonight.
Pizza. The thought of it makes my stomach growl.
“Are you hungry?” Chase asks. He kisses my stomach.
 “Starving. I didn’t eat dinner.”
“You didn’t eat with your nerd buddy?” Chase never calls Jay by
his name. I think he might be a little jealous of the time I spend with
Jay, but he’s not jealous of Jay as an individual. Chase isn’t jealous
of anyone. He’s usually the best looking one in the room, so a guy
who is seven years younger than me and develops video game
software for a living is not a threat in Chase’s eyes.
“I’m trying to fit into the dress you bought me, so I skipped dinner.”
Chase pulls back and looks at me. “It doesn’t fit? I thought you
said you were trying to get back into a size eight.”
“Yeah, but I only said that three weeks ago. It takes more than
three weeks to lose what it took a whole year to gain.”
Chase kisses me on the tip of my nose. “You can do it. I have faith
in you.” It’s a sweet thing to say, but I get a sinking feeling in my
stomach when he says things like that. It almost feels insulting. I
don’t know. I just wish he’d be more like Jay sometimes when it
comes to my eating habits. Maybe instead of ignoring the fact that I
said I skipped a meal just to fit into a dress he bought me, he could
say, “Not eating is unhealthy. Let’s go grab dinner.”
Oh, the perils of dating someone like Chase. I see the positives,
but I also sometimes feel like I can see my future playing out before
my eyes. I’m not naturally thin. I have to work hard not to be
overweight. What’s going to happen when I get pregnant? What’s
going to happen when I’m trying to lose the baby weight? Will his
encouragement turn into resentment? Is his attraction to me solely
tied to my physical appearance?
I feel like a hypocrite when I worry about this, because I love the
way Chase looks. I love that he works out and has a great body and
he’s sexy, but I truly feel like I would appreciate him and be attracted
to him in any of his many potential shapes. If he were to tell me right
now that he’s sick of working out and he wants to switch careers, I’d
probably be ecstatic.
I’m not being fair. His job is his passion, and I’m also his passion,
so it’s natural for the two to intersect. I know he loves me and wants
the best for me. I need to appreciate that I’m going to have a partner
in life who motivates me to be the best me I can be.
“You want to be on top?” Chase asks.
I roll on top of him, but hate that the light is still on. When we first
met, I felt sexy against his body. But now with almost twenty-five
extra pounds sitting on top of him, I feel...blurgh.
Blurgh should be in the dictionary, too.
 CHAPTER THREE

“IF I COULD JUST puke one time, it would fit,” I say, frustrated. Jay
finally got the zipper up, but the dress is so tight, it cinches below my
boobs and accentuates the new stomach flab I’ve been carrying
around all year.
“There has to be something more comfortable you can wear
tonight,” Jay says.
I suck in a breath. “This is comfortable,” I say through gritted
teeth.
Jay laughs. “You look constipated. Beautiful, but severely
constipated.”
I couldn’t even get the zipper up one inch two weeks ago. I’m
proud of what I’ve accomplished, but I’m also starving and moody
and I’ve cried at least once a day in these two weeks. Jay has
witnessed two of those minor breakdowns.
“Thanks for helping me,” I say. “You can go now, Chase is on his
way here.”
Jay heads for my door. He and Chase do everything they can to
miss each other because their interactions are so awkward.
Jay pauses in the doorway, and his big brown eyes almost look
sad. “After you get engaged, what’s the plan? Will you be moving?”
He’s one of my best friends, and since he and Chase don’t
actively hang out, I know all the time we spend together as
neighbors is going to come to an end when I move into a new place
with Chase. I doubt Chase will be too excited to have Jay over all the
time. And knowing Jay, he wouldn’t come visit me if I lived with
Chase.
 I hate that the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with and
the coworker I consider one of my best friends can’t even stand to be
in the same room together. I hate that I know tonight is going to
change everything between Jay and me. I’m potentially gaining a
fiancé, but losing a best friend.
It isn’t fair.
Jay is staring at me, waiting for me to answer his question about
whether or not I’m moving. I just nod, and he presses his lips
together and makes a face like he’s been expecting it. There’s a
stretch of sad silence between us, like he wants to say something
way more important than anything he’s ever said to me before.
And then he does.
“This is the worst night of my life.” He says it so quietly, I barely
hear him. He closes the door behind him after he leaves, and I’m
instantly angry.
Why would he say that? Why would he choose tonight to say
that? This moment?
I rush to the door and swing it open, but Chase is there instead of
Jay. Disappointment settles in my stomach, because now I have to
go through the entire night not knowing why Jay said that, or what he
meant by it.
Chase looks me up and down as he walks into my apartment.
“Wow,” he says, taking my hand and twirling me. “What a beautiful
dress.”
I pull at the material below my boobs. “It’s too tight. Does it look
ridiculous?”
Chase slides his hands down my waist, getting a feel for the
dress. “Nah, you look great. And the restaurant is dark, no one will
notice.”
No one will…notice? Notice what? That’s not the reaction I was
fishing for, but he’s walking past me and into the kitchen.
I stare at the door for a moment, feeling conflicted by Jay’s
sudden absence and Chase’s sudden appearance, but then I go to
the bathroom to force myself to pee one more time. I need all the
space in this dress I can get.
It’s an Italian restaurant. I’m nervous—too nervous to even care
that he waved away the breadbasket when the waiter brought it over.
I’m looking at the menu, wondering what food I could eat that
wouldn’t expand and pop my zipper.
If he’s going to propose, will it happen before dinner? Or is he
planning to put the ring inside a dessert? Maybe at the bottom of a
champagne glass?
The waiter comes over and Chase orders a steak with a side of
broccoli and the minestrone soup.
I order a...blurgh...blah...salad.
The waiter takes our menus, and then Chase reaches for my
hand and holds it from across the table. “Two years,” he says, almost
wistfully.
I smile, but I can feel my chest beginning to grow warmer. It looks
like he’s preparing for a speech. Maybe he’s doing it now.
“Jess,” he says. “Jessica…” He takes a sip of his champagne and
then continues. “We’ve been together two years now. We’re coming
out of a pandemic with our relationship still intact. That’s huge. The
success rate of couples took a nosedive last year, but...here we are.
Stronger than ever.”
“Here we are.”
He motions for me to give him my other hand. Now he’s holding
both of my hands in his across the small table, rubbing his thumbs
soothingly over them. “What I’m about to say is a little bit...I don’t
know...unconventional. So, I want you to hear me out, okay?”
I swallow, because my nerves are beginning to shift from
excitement to discomfort. This doesn’t sound like the beginning of a
proposal.
“I want to marry you someday. You know that. I want us to spend
our whole lives together and have kids together and grow old
together.”
Okay, maybe it is a proposal.
 “And I know we just went through a difficult year, but...I feel like
I’ve let you down.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I own a gym, I know all about nutrition, but I wasn’t there for you
in ways I should have been. And I love you, I love everything about
you, but I’m also worried that if I don’t step it up and give you the
tools you need to stay healthy, then I’m failing you as a boyfriend. As
a potential fiancé.”
I’m not following. I shake my head to express my confusion.
“I want to propose to you, Jessica. I wanted to do it tonight,” he
says, “but instead, I thought tonight could be a conversation about
that proposal. I want it to be perfect—you want it to be perfect. But
you aren’t happy right now. You’re not where you want to be on the
scale, and that makes me feel like a failure. And speaking from a
business perspective, how does that make me look? How am I
supposed to maintain a clientele if they know I can’t even motivate
my own girlfriend not to gain weight?”
My hands are sweating. He says more things, words, blah, blah,
blah, but all I can hear is my own pulse pounding in my ears. I start
to sink into the booth. I’m folding in on myself. He’s no longer holding
my hands. He’s making big gestures with one hand while holding his
champagne with the other. I watch him speak, and all I can think of
are the tiny little digs he makes. There are so many tiny little digs.
Even him just saying that I’m not happy with the number on the scale
is a dig, and a very inaccurate one. I’m only not happy with where
I’m at when it comes to him. But when I’m not thinking about my
weight in relation to Chase, I’m happy.
I’m happy when I’m with Jay…I like myself when I’m with Jay.
Until I start thinking about Chase.
Oh, my God. What am I doing?
“Think of this as a pre-proposal,” Chase says. “I want to marry
you. I love you so fucking much. But I worry about your health and
longevity. I think we should set a goal together, a weight-loss goal,
and our engagement can be the reward.”
 He’s worried about my...longevity?
Did he really just say that?
The waiter brings our food. Chase doesn’t pick up his fork or his
knife to cut into his steak. He just stares at me, waiting for me to
speak. I have no idea what to say. I’m still processing the idea that
he just pre-proposed to me based on what the numbers on the scale
say.
Is this really happening? Did I really just spend two years of my
life with a guy who is going to postpone his love for me until I hit his
idea of a satisfactory body weight?
“You understand, right? You get what I’m saying?”
I nod, because I’m so in shock right now, I don’t know that I can
find the words to tell him why I disagree. I nod, because I need him
to stop speaking and just eat. His tongue is a chisel and his voice is
a hammer, and every word he speaks chips away at me.
“We could get a dog,” he says with a hint of excitement in his
voice. “A dog will encourage you to be more active.”
There goes a chip in my confidence. “Yeah. A dog.” Wow. I can
feel that suggestion chip away at more than just my confidence. I
feel it in my pride, my self-esteem, my happiness. Chip, chip. Chip,
chip.
Chase smiles after I nod, and then he picks up his fork and his
knife and he cuts into his steak. Blood seeps out of the chunk of
meat, and I find myself wishing that was Chase’s head on that plate.
I pick up my fork and stare at my salad. My sad salad. It’s my two-
year anniversary. I should be eating a plate of spaghetti and tiramisu,
but instead I’m sitting across from a guy who is going to have an
opinion about everything that goes into my mouth for the rest of my
life.
If Jay were here right now, he wouldn’t be claiming to be worried
about my longevity. He’d be offering to spread butter onto a piece of
bread for me, because Jay doesn’t disguise his disappointment as
concern.
 Chase isn’t worried about me. Chase is worried about Chase.
Chase is worried about the shape of the woman he’s with, rather
than the mental health of the woman he’s with.
This is an issue. And what’s even more upsetting—or revealing,
rather—is I would rather be spending my two-year anniversary with
my neighbor than with my own boyfriend. A neighbor who is seven
years younger than me, but who I sometimes catch staring at me like
he thinks I’m the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. A neighbor who has
the same interests as me, and has never once shamed me for being
me, especially when I’m not being perfect. A neighbor who
encourages me to share a pizza with him after a hard day of work.
The waiter returns to refill our glasses. “I’d really like a
breadbasket,” I say to him. “And butter.”
He smiles, “Right away, ma’am.”
Chase cocks his head as he shoves another bite of steak in his
mouth, but he pauses before eating it. He’s about to say something
about the bread, or carbs, or my longevity, but I cut him off. “Shut the
fuck up, Chase.”
My words shock him so much, he gasps. Then he sucks in a
sharp breath and coughs. He makes a face, like he’s in pain, and he
starts to beat on his own chest with a fist.
I think he’s choking.
He is. He’s literally choking on my words. And steak.
He hits his chest even harder when he can’t seem to get his bite
of steak to go down. His eyes grow wide, and I realize he really is
choking.
The veins in his neck are starting to bulge, but the moment is so
surreal, I feel like I’m in the middle of a hazy dream.
Oh, my God. Do something, I tell myself.
But I do nothing. I just watch him as his face changes colors, and I
can’t help but wonder what it would be like to get to walk out of here
without him, should he stop breathing altogether and fall face-first
onto the floor.
I would go get a scoop of ice cream.
 The waiter comes back with the breadbasket, and I motion toward
Chase, and very calmly, I say, “I think he’s choking.”
The waiter glances at Chase and does a double take before he
realizes he really is choking. The waiter immediately steps into
action and rushes around the table. He wraps his arms around
Chase, who is now standing and panicking and flailing. The waiter
starts to squeeze while his fists dig into Chase’s abdomen.
I grab a breadstick. They’re still warm.
A few other waiters have gathered around them now. Chase’s
face is a strange shade of blue when the waiter finally frees his
airway. The piece of steak flies out of Chase’s mouth and onto the
floor. There’s a collective gasp and a few sighs of relief from
everyone watching.
“Sir. Are you okay?” the waiter asks.
Chase is wheezing, coughing, gripping the back of his chair. His
arms are shaking, and when he reaches for a glass of water, his
hand is trembling so much that the water splashes on the table.
Chase downs the water and returns to his seat and waves the
waiters away all in one motion. The commotion has caused people
to stare, but Chase is focused solely on me. “What the fuck is wrong
with you, Jessica?  I was choking!”
“Yeah,” I say flatly. “That was scary.”
“I could have died and you just fucking sat there!”
I take a bite of my bread. It’s been so long since I’ve had bread, I
forgot how delicious it is. Would it be rude to moan? I swallow the
bite and take a sip of my champagne.
“Sorry I didn’t help you,” I say to him. “I was just...well...you
started choking and I realized that the thought of you dying relieved
me. For about ten seconds there, I started to look forward to living a
life where I wasn’t trying to live up to the ridiculous standards you’ve
set for me.” I lean forward and look at him with complete sincerity.
“Chase. I’m worried that if I marry you, I might end up killing you in
your sleep someday.”
Chase is staring at me like he doesn’t recognize me.
 “I’m serious. Slicing your throat would bring me more satisfaction
than marrying you, and I feel like that’s a big red flag. I think we
should break up. You know...for the sake of your longevity.” I stand
up and realize almost everyone in the restaurant is staring at us,
including the couple at the table seated right next to us. I turn my
back to the couple, but look over my shoulder at the woman. “Can
you unzip me? I can’t breathe in this fucking dress.”
She puts down her fork and mutters, “Yeah. Yeah, sure.” She
stands up and unzips my dress.
I let out a huge sigh. Then I grab my purse and the breadbasket
and I leave with both of them.
 CHAPTER FOUR

I EAT EVERY piece of bread on my walk home. It’s nine blocks, and
I’m not walking home for the exercise. I’m walking home because I
just feel like walking, and there’s no shame in this walk because I’m
not doing it for anyone but myself.
When I get to my apartment building, I take the elevator even
though I’m only carrying my purse, simply because I feel like taking
the elevator, and I shouldn’t have to explain that decision to anyone,
or feel guilty on the ride up.
I press the button for seventh floor instead of the eighth floor
because I want to see Jay. And while I’m in the elevator, I take off
the goddamn dress. I don’t care that it’s from Nordstrom and cost
him half a paycheck. I step out of it and leave it on the elevator for
someone else to claim.
I knock on Jay’s door wearing only my Spanx and a bra. When he
opens the door, he’s taken aback. He tilts his head and his eyes are
filled with curiosity, but he says nothing. I think he might be
speechless.
“Can I borrow a shirt?”
He opens his door wider. “Yep.” I enter his apartment and go to
his room and find a shirt. I pull it on and then remove the Spanx and
toss them in his bathroom trash can.
When I walk out of his bedroom wearing his t-shirt, he’s standing
in the middle of the room, staring at me. “What…” He just shakes his
head. He doesn’t even know what question to start with.
“Does our age gap bother you?” I ask him.
He stiffens at that question. “Age gap? We’re only like...seven
years apart. That’s nothing.”
 “As friends it’s nothing,” I say. “But...hypothetically speaking...if a
woman who is seven years older than you admits she likes you,
would you ever consider dating her?”
Jay thinks about that for a moment, and then he takes a few steps
toward me until he’s standing right in front of me. “If you’re asking
me if I would date you despite our age difference, the answer is,
hypothetically, fuck yes, I’ve been in love with you for three years.”
I gasp at his admission. His “hypothetical” admission. And then I
release a huge fucking breath, because I can, because I’m in a
baggy t-shirt and I’m not restricting my air supply just to please
someone else, and hearing him admit he’s been in love with me
while I simultaneously realize I’m in love with him is like a huge
weight off of me. A weight in the shape of Chase.
“Did he propose?” Jay asks. His eyes are fearful, like he doesn’t
want our hypothetical conversation to be hypothetical at all.
I shake my head. “No. I realized in the middle of dinner that I
would rather be here than anywhere else, because I’m myself when
I’m with you, and more importantly, I like myself when I’m with you.”
Jay looks so relieved. He slides a gentle hand through my hair
and his fingers settle at the nape of my neck. Chills trickle down my
spine, and he’s looking at me with sincerity. “How did the worst night
of my life just become the best night of my life?” He presses his
mouth to mine and he kisses me.
It’s the kind of kiss I’ve been needing—a kiss full of feeling and
empty of judgments and insecurities.
Jay picks me up, but he’s not nearly as strong as Chase is, so we
barely make it a few feet to the couch before he accidentally trips on
his living room rug and drops me to the floor.
We’re both on our backs laughing now.
I’m not sure what comes next with Jay, but one thing I know for
sure is that I fell out of love with Chase tonight and in love with
someone else.
Myself.
 ABOUT COLLEEN HOOVER
Colleen Hoover is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of over
twenty novels and novellas. To read more of her work, visit her
website at colleenhoover.com.