B I G R O C K

b y L a u r e n B l a k e l y

CoverDesignby©HelenWilliams

EbookFormattingby

Allrightsreserved.Withoutlimitingtherightsundercopyrightreservedabove,nopartofthispublicationmaybereproduced,storedinor
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 contemporary
romanceisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,brands,media,andincidentsareeithertheproductoftheauthor’simaginationor
areusedfictitiously.Theauthoracknowledgesthetrademarkedstatusandtrademarkownersofvariousproductsreferencedinthiswork
of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or
sponsoredbythetrademarkowners.Thisebookislicensedforyourpersonaluseonly.Thisebookmaynotbere-soldorgivenawayto
otherpeople.Ifyouwouldliketosharethisbookwithanotherperson,pleasepurchaseanadditionalcopyforeachpersonyoushareit
with,especiallyifyouenjoysexy,wittyromanticcomedieswithalphamales.Ifyouarereadingthisbookanddidnotpurchaseit,orit
wasnotpurchasedforyouruseonly,thenyoushouldreturnitandpurchaseyourowncopy.Thankyouforrespectingtheauthor’swork.

A L S O B Y L A U R E N B L A K E L Y

TheCaughtUpinLoveSeries(Eachbookinthisseriesfollowsadifferentcouplesoeachbookcan
bereadseparately,orenjoyedasaseriessincecharacterscrossover)

CaughtUpinHer(AshortprequelnovellatoCaughtUpinUs)
CaughtUpInUs
PretendingHe’sMine
TrophyHusband
StarsinTheirEyes

StandaloneNovels

BIGROCK
MisterOrgasm(2016)
FarTooTempting
21StolenKisses
PlayingWithHerHeart(AstandaloneSEDUCTIVENIGHTSspin-offnovelaboutJillandDavis)

TheNoRegretsSeries

TheThrillofIt
TheStartofUs
EverySecondWithYou

TheSeductiveNightsSeries

FirstNight(JuliaandClay,prequelnovella)
NightAfterNight(JuliaandClay,bookone)
AfterThisNight(JuliaandClay,booktwo)
OneMoreNight(JuliaandClay,bookthree)
NightsWithHim(AstandalonenovelaboutMichelleandJack)
ForbiddenNights(AstandalonenovelaboutNateandCasey)

TheSinfulNightsSeries

SweetSinfulNights
SinfulDesire
SinfulLonging
SinfulLove(2016)

TheFightingFireSeries

BurnForMe(SmithandJamie)
MeltforHim(MeganandBecker)
ConsumedByYou(TravisandCara)

TheSapphireAffair
Atwo-bookseriesreleasingSummer2016

A B O U T

It'snotjustthemotionoftheocean,ladies.It'sdefinitelytheSIZEoftheboattoo.
AndI'vegotbothfiringonallcylinders.Infact,IhaveALLtherightassets.Looks,brains,myown

money,andabigcock.

YoumightthinkI'manasshole.Isoundlikeone,don’tI?I'mhotassin,richasheaven,smartas

hellandhunglikeahorse.

Guesswhat?Youhaven'theardmystorybefore.Sure,Imightbeaplayboy,liketheNYgossiprags

callme.ButI’mtheplayboywho’sactuallyagreatguy.Whichmakesmeoneofakind.

The only trouble is, my dad needs me to cool it for a bit. With conservative investors in town

wantingtobuyhisflagshipFifthAvenuejewelrystore,heneedsmenotonlytozipitup,buttolook
the part of the committed guy. Fine. I can do this for Dad. After all, I’ve got him to thank for the
family jewels. So I ask my best friend and business partner to be my fiancée for the next week.
Charlotte’supforit.Shehasherownreasonsforsayingyestowearingthisbigrock.

And pretty soon all this playing pretend in public leads to no pretending whatsoever in the

bedroom,becauseshejustcan’tfakethekindoftoe-curling,window-shatteringorgasmiccriesshe
makesasItakehertonewheightsbetweenthesheets.

ButIcan’tseemtofakethatImightbefeelingsomethingrealforher.
WhatthefuckhaveIgottenmyselfintowiththis…bigrock?

D E D I C AT I O N

ThisbookisdedicatedtoHelenWilliamsbecauseofthedayImessagedyouandaskedifyoucould
makeanRlooklikeaC.Younailedthat,Helen,andthat’swhythisbookexists.And,asalways,tomy
dearfriendCynthia.

P R O L O G U E

Mydickisfuckingawesome.
Butdon’tjusttakemywordforit.Considerallitsaccomplishments.
First,let’sstartwiththeobviousone.
Size.
Sure,somepeoplewilltellyouthatsizedoesnotmatter.YouknowwhatI’lltellyou?Theylie.
You don’t want a tiny diamond on your finger when you can have three carats. You don’t want a

one-dollarbillwhenyoucanhaveaBenjamin.Andyoudon’twanttorideaminiatureponywhenyou
cansaddleuponarock-starcockattherodeoofyourpleasure.

Why?Becausebiggerisbetter.It’smorefun.Askanywomanwho’severhadtoutterthedreaded

words,“Isitinyet?”

Nowomanhaseverhadtoaskmethat.
You’re probably wondering by now—just how big is it? C’mon. A gentleman doesn’t tell. I may

fucklikeagod,butI’mstillagentleman.I’llopenyourdoorbeforeIopenyourlegs.I’llholdyour
coatforyou,I’llpayfordinner,andI’lltreatyoulikeaqueeninandoutofbed.

ButIgetit.Youwantanimageinyourmind.Ameasurementininchestomakeyourmouthwater.

Fine.Imaginethis.Pictureyourfantasy-sizedcock;mine’sfuckingbigger.

Movingontolooks.Let’sbehonest.Somedicksarejustmotherfuckingugly.Iwon’tgetintoall

thereasonswhy.Youknowwhattheyare,andwhenitcomestomybestasset,allIwantyouthinking
aboutarethesewords:long,thick,smooth,hard.IftheRenaissancemasterswerecarvingsculptures
ofcocks,minewouldbethemodelforallofthem.

Buthonestly,noneofthiswouldmatterifmydickdidn’tpossessthemostimportantattributeofall.
Performance.
Ultimately,aman’sdickshouldbemeasuredbythenumberoforgasmsitdelivers.I’mnottalking

aboutthesoloflights.That’scheating.I’mtalkingabouttheOsthatcanmakeawoman’sbackarch,
hertoescurl,herwindowsshatter…Herworldrock.

Howmuchpleasurehasmydickwrought?Idon’tkissandtell,butI’llleaveyouwiththis.Mydick

hasaperfecttrackrecord.

That’swhyitfuckingsucksthathehastogoonhiatus.

C H A P T E R O N E

Mendon’tunderstandwomen.
That’sjustafactoflife.
Likethatguy.
Thedudedownthereatthecornerofmybar.Hiselbow’sonthemetalcounterinanaren’tIcasual

andcoolpose.He’sstrokinghishandlebarmustache,andhe’sactinglikehe’sthebestlistenerinthe
worldashetalkstoahotbrunettewithsquareredglasses.Butthethingis,he’sstaringatherrack.

Fine,thebrunettehasnicetits.AndImean“nice”inthesensethattheycouldoccupytheirownzip

code.

Butc’mon,man.
Hereyesareupthere.Andyou’vegottolookatthem,ortheladyisgoingtowalk.
Ifinishpouringapalealeforoneofourregulars,abusinessmanwhopopsinonceaweek.He’s

workingthewholemybosssucksformakingmetravellook,andattheveryleastIcanhelphiminthe
drinkdepartment.

“Thisone’sonthehouse.Enjoy,”Isay,slidingtheglasstohim.
“BestnewsI’vehadallday,”hesayswithasmallquirkofthelips,beforehechugshalftheglass

andplunksdownathree-dollartip.Nice.Thebartendershere,whodependontips,willappreciateit.
ButJennyhadtotakeoffearlybecausehersisterhadsomesortofcrisis,soI’mhandlingthelastof
thecustomers,whilemybusinesspartner,Charlotte,ismanagingthebooks.

AsHandlebarleansinclosertoRedSquare,shebacksaway,shakesherhead,grabsherpurse,and

headsfortheexit.

Yup.Icouldbeafortunetellerifmyspecialtywaspredictingwhenamanwouldscoreandwhenhe

wouldn’t.Mostofthetime,theoddsaredefinitelynotinthedude’sfavor,becausehemakesthemost
commonbarmistakes.Likestartingtheconversationwithastupidpick-upline.“Girl,youmakemy
software turn into hardware,” or “You should sell hot dogs because you sure know how to make a
weinerstand.”YeahIcouldn’tbelievemyearseither.Orhowaboutthismistake?Theguywhohasa
wandering eye and can’t stop checking out the other attractions. What woman is going to find that
flattering?

Theworstbarsin,though,isassuming.Assumingshewantstotalktoyou.Assumingshe’sgoing

homewithyou.Assumingyoucankissherwithoutherpermission.

Youknowwhattheysayhappenswhenyouassume.
Butme?
Justcheckmydiploma.Idoublemajoredincollegewithonedegreeinfinanceandtheotherinthe

language of women—and I graduated summa cum laude. I have an encyclopedic understanding of
whatawomanwants…andgivingittoher.Iachievedfullfluencyinfemalebodylanguage,theclues,
andthegestures.

Likerightnow.
Charlotte is tapping away on her laptop and biting the corner of her lip in concentration.

Translation:Iamonaroll,sodonotbothermeorIwillthroatpunchyou.

Okay,fine.She’snotreallyathroat-puncher.Butthepointbeing,sheisgivingoffmajorDoNot

Disturbvibes.

Handlebar,though,can’tread,speak,orwriteWoman.He’ssaunteringalongthebar,gettingready

tomakeamove.Thinkinghe’sgotachancewithher.

Frommyspotbehindthebar,wipingdownglasses,Icanpracticallyhearhimclearinghisthroatas

heprepstosayhellotoCharlotte.

I can understand why the man has my best friend in his crosshairs. Charlotte is pretty much a

goddess of the highest order. First, she has wavy, blonde hair, paired with deep brown eyes. Most
blondes have blue eyes, so Charlotte gets major points for the killer reverse combo that just slams
youwithitsunexpectedandabsolutehotness.

Next,shepossessesafantasticdrysenseofhumor.
Plus,she’swhipsmart.
ButHandlebardoesn’tknowthoselasttwo.He’sonlyawarethatshe’sgorgeous,sohe’saboutto

makehisplay.Hesnagsthestoolnexttoherandflashesatoothygrin.Sheflinches,startledthatthis
guyjustinvadedherblinders-onworkzone.

Charlottecantotallyhandleherself.Butwemadeapactlongago,andre-uppedwhenwewentinto

businesstogetheronthisbar.Ifeitherofusneedsafakegirlfriendorboyfriendtogracefullygetout
ofastickysituation,we’vesworntostepinandactthepart.

It’sagamewe’veplayedsincecollege,anditworkslikeacharm.
ItalsoworksbecauseCharlotteandIwouldneverbearealcouple.Ineedhertoomuchasafriend,

andjudgingfromthenumberoftimesshe’slaughedwithme,orcriedonmyshoulder,sheneedsme
too.Whichisanotherreasonwhythistacticisbrilliant—webothknowwewillneverbemorethan
friends.

IwalkaroundthebarandheadstraightforCharlotte,rightasHandlebarreachesherandsayshis

name,thenasksforhers.

Islideinandbrushahandonherlowerback,asifshe’smine.AsifI’mtheonewhogetstotouch

thisbody,threadhisfingersthroughherhair,andlookintothoseeyes.Itiltmyheadandflashhimthe
biggest shit-eating grin, because I’m the lucky son-of-a-bitch who goes home with her in this
scenario.“Myfiancée’snameisCharlotte.Nicetomeetyou.I’mSpencer,”Isay,andofferahandto
shake.

Theguywrinkleshisnoselikearabbit,gettingacluethathe’sjuststruckoutagaintonight.
“Haveagoodnight,”hemutters,andscurriesout.
Charlottetipsherchintomeandgivesanapprovingnod.“Lookatyou.CaptainFiancécomingto

therescue,”shesays,runningahandalongmyarmandsqueezingmybicep.“Ididn’tevenseehim
makingthemoves.”

“That’s why you’ve got me. I have eyes everywhere,” I say as I lock the front door. The bar is

emptynow.It’sjustus,likeit’sbeensomanynightsatclosingtime.

“And usually those peepers are busy scanning for available women,” she says, shooting me an I

knowyousowellstare.

“WhatcanIsay?Iliketogivemyeyesagoodworkout,too—justliketherestofme,”Isay,patting

myflatasaboardbelly.

Thensheyawns.
“Gettobed,”Itellher.
“Youshould,too.Oh,wait.Youprobablyhaveadate.”
She’snotfaroff.Iusuallydo.
Earlierthismonth,Imetatotalbabeatthegym.Sheworkedouthard,thenworkedoutevenharder

with me when I bent her over the back of the couch in my apartment. She texted me the next day,

tellingmehowherthighswereaching,andshe’dlovedit.ShesaidifIevermadeittoLosAngeles,
wouldIpleaselookherup,becauseshewantedtoridemyrideagain.

Ofcourseshedid.Onceyou’vehadfiletmignon,youdon’twanttogobacktohamburgerhelper.
Isavedhernumber.Youneverknow,right?Nothingwrongwithtwoadultsenjoyingthenightand

partingwaysinthemorningwithaspringinthestepcourtesyofmultipleOsbestowed.

That’showitshouldbe.Thefirstruleofdatingisthis—alwayspleasethewomanfirst,thenideally

a second time before you get yours in. The next two are equally simple—don’t get attached, and
never, ever be a douche. I follow my own rules, and they have given me the good life. I’m twenty-
eight,single,rich,hot,andagentleman.Likeit’sasurprisewhenIgetlaid.

Buttonight,mydickisoffduty.Earlybedtime.
IshakemyheadinanswertoCharlotte’squestionasIresumecleaningthecounters.“Nah,Ihavea

seven-thirtybreakfasttomorrowwithmydadandsomeguyhe’stryingtosellthestoreto.Ineedto
befreshandreadytoimpress.”

Shepointstothedoor.“Gogetyourbeautysleep,Spencer.I’llcloseup.”
“Idon’tthinkso.IcametofillinforJenny.Yougohome.I’llhailyouacab.”
“YoudoknowI’velivedinNewYorkforfiveyears,right?Iknowhowtohailacablateatnight.”
“I am well aware of your independent ways. But I don’t care—I’m sending you home. Whatever

you’redoinghere,youcandoatyourapartment,”ItellherasItossthewashraginthesink.“Wait.
You’renotworriedthatBradleyDipstickisgoingtoberoamingaroundthelobbytryingtogiveyou
flowersatthistimeofnight?”

“No.Heusuallyplanshisapologyambushesforthedaylighthours.Yesterday,hesentmeathree-

foot-tallteddybearholdingaredsatinheartthatsaid,Pleaseforgiveme.WhatthehellamIsupposed
todowiththat?”

“Senditbacktohim.Athisoffice.WithredlipstickontheheartspellingoutN.O.”Charlotte’sex-

boyfriendisagradeA,top-choicedouchenozzle,andthebastardwillnevergetherback.Iholdupa
hand.“Wait.Isthereanychancethisteddybearhasamiddlefingeronhispaw?”

Shelaughs.“Nowthat’sagoodidea.Ijustwishthewholebuildingdidn’tknowmybusiness.”
“Iknow.Iwishyoudidn’thavetorunintohimeveragaininthewholehistoryoftime.”
Ihailheracab,giveherapeckonthecheek,andsendherhome.AfterIcloseup,Iheadtomypad

intheWestVillage—thesixthfloorofakickassbrownstonewithaterracethathasaviewofalllower
Manhattan.PerfectonaJunenightlikethis.

ItossmykeysontheentrywaytableasIscrollthroughmyrecentmessagesonmyphone.Ilaugh

whenmysisterHarpertextsmeaphotofromagossipmag,onefromafewweeksago,ofmeout
with the hot woman from the gym. Turns out she’s a celebrity trainer from some reality TV show.
AndI’mthe“notedNewYorkCityplayboy”—samethingthemagazinecalledmewhenIwasseenwith
ahotnewchefatarestaurantopeninginMiamilastmonth.

Tonight,I’magoodboythough.
Imakenopromisesfortomorrow.

C H A P T E R T W O

Button-downshirt.Tie.Charcoal-graypants.Darkbrownhair,greeneyes,chiseledjaw.
Yep,it’sallworking.
I fully approve of myself this Friday morning, and if I were a dude in a cheesy movie, I’d give

myselftwothumbsup.

Buthonestly,I’mnotthatkindofguy.Imean,whodoesthat?
Instead,Iturntomycat,Fido,andaskhimwhathethinks.Hisresponseissimple—hestrutsoffin

theotherdirection,histailhighintheair.

FidoandIhaveanunderstanding:Ifeedhim,andhedoesn’tcock-blockme.He’dappearedonmy

balcony a year ago, meowing at the sliding glass door, wearing a tag that said “Princess Poppy.” I
checked his collar, and found he belonged to this sweet little old lady in the building who’d just
moved on to the Great Beyond. That sweet little old lady had, evidently, confused him for a girl.
She’d left no relatives, nor any forwarding instructions for the cat. I took him in, ditched his pink
sparklycollar,andgavehimanamebefittinghismanhood.

It’sawin-winrelationship.
Liketomorrownight.Fidowon’tbitchandmoanwhenIcomehomelate.BecauseIfullyexpectto

be stumbling through the door in the wee hours. I’m working tonight, but Jenny’s back on shift
tomorrow,andIneedtotakemymanNickouttocelebrate.HishitTVshowwasjustre-uppedfor
another season on Comedy Nation, and we plan to toast many times over at a watering hole in
GramercyPark.Besides,there’sahotbartenderthereI’vetalkedtoafewtimes.HernameisLena,
and she makes a mean Harvey Wallbanger, so she put her name in my contacts as the drink itself.
Well,partofthedrink.BangHer.

Soundspromisingenough,andbypromisingImean,asurething.
ItakeoffandmakemywayuptownonthesubwaytotheUpperEastSide,myparents’stomping

ground. Yeah, they’re well off, but they’re also—shocker—not assholes. That’s right. This isn’t the
storyofaguywitharich,shitheaddadandacold,bitchymom.Thisisthetaleofaguywholikeshis
parentsandwhoseparentslikehim.Guesswhatelse?Myparentslikeeachother,too.

HowdoIknowthis?
Because I’m not fucking deaf. No, I didn’t hear that when I was a kid. Instead, I heard my mom

whistling a happy tune every morning when she woke up. I learned some good lessons from them.
Happywife=happylife,andonewaytomakeawomanhappyisinthebedroom.

Todaythough,myjobistomakeDadhappy,andDadwantshisoffspringwithhimatthisbreakfast

meeting,includingmylittlesister,Harper.ShewalkstowardmeonEighty-SecondStreet,herredhair
likeasheetofflame.Whenshereachesme,shepretendsshe’sabouttotakeaquarterfrombehindmy
ear.

“LookwhatIfound.Wait.What’sthathere?”Shewavesherhandbehindmyotherearandproduces

atampon.

HermouthfallsintoashockedO.“SpencerHoliday.You’recarryingtamponsnow?Whendidyou

startgettingyourperiod?”

Icrackup.

She reaches behind my other ear, and brandishes a small pill. “Oh look, here’s some Advil for

whenyougetcramps.”

“Goodone.”Ismile.“Doyouperformthatoneatallthechildren’sparties?”
“No.”Harperwinks.“Butit’strickslikethatthatkeepthemomsbookingmesixmonthsout.”
She joins me as we walk toward the restaurant on Third Avenue, wandering along one of those

perfectNewYorkblocks—thekindwithwidestoops,andredbrickbrownstones,andtreeswithlush
brancheseverytenfeet.Itlookslikethesetofarom-com.

“How’sthecity’snotedplayboy?IheardCassidyWinterssaidyouwerethebesttimeshe’shadin

ages.”

Ifurrowmybrow.“Who’sthat?”
She rolls her eyes. “The hot trainer you were in the papers with. I sent you the picture last night.

Didn’tyoureadthecaption?”

Ishakemyhead.“Nah.Besides,shewasagesago.”That’swhatafewweeksfeelslikeinthedating

world.

“Guessshe’sstillsingingyourpraises.”
“LookslikeI’llbeerasinghernumber.”Flappingyourgumswillgetyoublackballed.
“Well,youbetterwatchitwithMr.Offerman.Dad’sbuyer,”shesays,asablue-hairedladywalking

aPomeranianheadsinourdirection.

“You mean I shouldn’t hit on him?” I ask, deadpan. I stop in the middle of the block. Gyrate my

hips.Givemybeststripperstare.“Doalittledance.”Ismackmyownass.“Backitup.”

Harper ’sfacegoesbeetred.Sheshiftshereyesinthedirectionofthelady.“Ohmygod.Stopit.”
“So,don’tdomyusualChippendales’routine,then?”
She grabs my arm, and pulls me along as we pass the dog owner. The woman waggles her

eyebrowsatme,andmouths,“Nicemoves.”

See?Chicksdigme.
“Anyway,whatImeanis,he’sveryconservative.Familyvaluesandall.Whichiswhywe’rehere.”
“Ofcourse.Actasifwe’reahappyfamilyandlikeeachother.Right?IsthatwhatIshoulddo?”I

sayandgiveherahugenoogie.Becauseshedeservesit.

“Ouch.Don’tmessupmyhair.”
“Fine,fine.Igetit.YouwantmetopretendI’machoirboyandyou’reanangel.”
Sheplacesherpalmstogetherinprayer.“Iamanangel.”
Weentertherestaurant,andmydadgreetsusinthelobby.Harperexcusesherselffortheladies’

room,andmydadclapsmeontheback.“Thankyouforjoiningme.Yougotthememo,right?”

“Ofcourse.Don’tIlookthepartofthesuccessful,blue-bloodedson?”Islidemyhandalongmy

tie,courtesyofBarneys,thankyouverymuch.

Hegivesmeamockpunchonthejaw.“Youalwaysdo.”Thenhedrapesanarmovermyshoulders.

“Ah,I’msogladyou’rehere.Andlisten,”hesays,loweringhisvoice,“youknowIdon’tcarewhat
you do after hours. But Mr. Offerman has four daughters, ages seventeen down to eleven. So he
prefersabitmoreofa—”

“GoodyTwo-shoesimage?”Isay,flashingmybestgood-boygrin.
Mydadsnapshisfingersandnods.
“Aretheyhereatbreakfast?Hisdaughters?”
Heshakeshishead.“Justyouandyoursister,himandme.Hewantedtomeetthetwoofyou.And

allImeanisthelessyourstatusasthe‘notedNewYorkCityplayboy’comesup,thehappierhewillbe,
andthehappierheis,thehappierIam.Canyoudothat?”

I heave a sigh and widen my eyes. “I don’t know, Dad. That, like, seriously limits my

conversational abilities. Since I usually only talk about women and sex. Fuck,” I say in a frustrated

tone.Ipretendtopropmyselfup,countingoffonmyfingers.“Okay,politics,religion,guncontrol.
That’swhatI’llfocuson,’kay?”

“Don’tmakemegetmymuzzle,”hejokes.
“Dad,Igotthis.Iwillnotderailyourdream.Ipromiseyouthat.Forthenexthour,Iamthedutiful

sonandrisingNewYorkbusinessman.Iwon’tsayawordaboutwomen,ortheBoyfriendMaterial
app,”Itellhim,becauseI’machameleon.Icanplaypartyboyorseriousbusinessman.IcanplayYale
graduateortrashtalker.Today,I’llbecallingonmyIvyLeagueself,notthedudewhocreatedand
soldoneofthehottestdatingapps.

“Thank you for keeping low-key about that side of things. I’ve been searching for years for the

rightbuyer,andIthinkwe’vefinallyfoundone.Ifallgoeswellonthelastfewdetails,weshouldbe
signingthepaperstheendofnextweek.”

My dad is a rock star in the jewelry business. Hardly anyone knows his name, but pretty much

everyone knows his store. He started Katharine’s on Fifth Avenue thirty years ago, and it is the
definition of class in the jewelry business. The sky blue boxes the store uses have become nothing
shortoficonic—asignthatagorgeousgiftisonitsway.Pearls,diamonds,rubies,silver,gold—you
name it. Named for my mom, Katharine’s is a palace of sophistication, and my dad has turned the
Fifth Avenue store into the flagship of a chain with locations in twelve cities around the globe.
Katharine’s put my sister and me through private school, then college, and has generally made our
livesall-aroundawesome.

Dad wants to retire and sail around the world with my mom. It’s been his dream, and he finally

foundtherightbuyer,someonewhogetstherefinedelegancehe’sbuilt,andhasthefinancialprofile
forthekindoftransactionherequires.

Leaving the business to Harper or me was never in the cards. I have zero interest in running an

internationaljewelrychain,andmysisterdoesn’teither.I’malreadydoingwhatIlove—runningthe
three Lucky Spot bars in Manhattan with Charlotte. Besides, I made my own mint when I launched
BoyfriendMaterialstraightoutofcollege.

Thewholepremisewassimple,butgenius.
Nodickpicsallowed.
Because – wait for it – women don’t like dick pics. At the early stage of dating, there’s basically

nothingmoreaggressiveandoff-puttingthansendingaladyyou’reinterestedinashotofyourjunk.
Doesn’tmatterifyou’rehunglikeahorse—thatshotwillmakehercringe.Myappofferedahaven
forwomen,apromisethattheywouldn’tbephotographicallyassaultedbyunwelcomecockshots.

Theapptookoff,myinvestorsmademajorbank,andIcleanedupliketheluckybastardIam.
Butforthenexthour,whiletalkingtoMr.Offerman,I’msimplyaguywhoworksinthefoodand

beveragebusiness.Gameon.

C H A P T E R T H R E E

DadescortsHarperandmetoabigroundtable,coveredinacrispwhitetablecloth,inthebackof

therestaurant.

“Mr.Offerman,I’mdelightedtointroduceyoutomychildren.ThisismydaughterHarper,andmy

sonSpencer.”

Withdarkeyesandjet-blackhair,Mr.Offermanistallandimposing.He’sbuiltlikeatreetrunk,

andhestandsramrodstraight.Ibethewasmilitary.Hehastheairofageneral.

“Pleasuretomeetthetwoofyou,”hesaysinadeepbaritone.Yup,thismangivesorders.
Weexchangepleasantriesandsettleinatthetable.Onceweorder,henarrowsinonHarper.
“I’ve heard a lot about you. How fantastic that you’re a magician…” As he pumps her with

questions,ithitsme—Harper ’sprofessionisperfectforhis“family-friendly”image.Sheworkskids’
parties,andhe’seatingthatup.Sheshowshimsomeofhertricks.Shemakeshisforkdisappear,then
hisnapkin,thenhiswaterglass.

“Wonderful.Ibetitsimplymesmerizesallthechildren.Mygirlswouldlovethat.”
Dude,youhaveteenagers.Ihighlydoubtthey’rekeenonsleightofhand.
“I’llbehappytoshowthem,”Harpersays,bestowinghershiningsmileonMr.Offerman,winning

himover.

“Wonderful. I’d love to set up a dinner for tomorrow night for all of us. With my wife and

daughters.”

“I’dlovetobethere,”Harpersays.
Hefixeshisgazeonme.“AndhowisBoyfriendMaterialgoing?”
Ah, there it is. Clearly he’s done his research. “I hear from the company that bought it that it’s

goingwell.ButI’mnotinvolvedanymore,”Isay,deflectingthequestion.

“It’squiteahit,fromwhatIreadaboutit.Youseemtoknowwhatwomenwant.”
Igulpandhazardaglanceatmydad.Hehasonhisplasticsmile.Hedoesn’twantMr.Offerman

goingdownthisroad.“AllIknow,sir,isthatyouneedtotreatawomanwell,andwhenthetimeis
right to get down on one knee, you should go for more than one carat from Katharine’s.” I give
myselfpropsforthejewelryjoke.

Hesmilesandnods,thenclearshisthroat.“IalsohaveareporterfromMetropolisLifeandTimes

magazinethat’sfollowingthesaleofthejewelryfranchise.Bitofabusinessfeature—bitofalifestyle
piece,too.Ihopeit’snottoomuchtoask,butI’dloveifwecanallagreetofocusonthestoresover
thenextfewweeksduringthetransition.Notonmatchmakingappsorrelatedmattersthatthepress
seemstolove.Likedatingexploits.”Hestopstospreadhisnapkinacrosshislap.“Doyouknowwhat
Imean?”

Weallknowwhatyoumean,man.
Myfatherweighsin.“Icouldn’tagreemore.There’snoneedforthearticletobeaboutanything

elsebutjewelry.”

“Good.”Mr.Offermanreturnshisfocustome,andtheinquisitionisn’tover.“Yournewbusinessis

goingwell?”

“Thefoodandbeverageindustryisafantasticonetobein.CharlotteandIstartedTheLuckySpot

threeyearsago,andit’sgoinggreat.Funplace,greatreviews,customersarehappy.”

Hepeppersmewithmorequestionsaboutthebar,andIcantellit’sallpartofhisneedtovetmein

person.Toseeifmynewbusinessseemsas“sleazy”ashethinksmylastonewas.ButIcanhandle
men like him. I didn’t start my own company because I was easily intimidated. I started it because I
wasfuckingfearless,andIreadthemarket,justlikeIcanreadhim.Iknowhowtogivehimwhathe
wants,andIdosowitheachanswerbecausegivinghimwhathewantsisgoodformydad.

“Whatdoyouenjoymostaboutit?”
“WorkingwithCharlotteisgreat,”Isay,becausehowcanIgowrongwiththatanswer?“Wewere

prettymuchmeanttodothistogether.Weseeeyetoeyeoneverything.”

Asmiletugsatthecornerofhislips.“That’sfantastic.Howlonghaveyou—”Hisquestioniscut

offwhenthewaiterbringsourplates,butI’vegotthegistofit.Howlonghavewebeenfriends…

“Sincecollege,”Ianswer.
“Wonderful,”hesays,asthewaitersetsdownhiseggsbenedict.“Ihopeyoucanjoinustomorrow

nightforthedinnerparty,then.”

Oh,soI’vepassedhistest.Yayme.
“I’dbethrilled,”Isay.
TheregoescelebratingwithNick.Buthe’llunderstand.Isneakaglanceatmydad,who’slooking

pleasedthatthisbreakfastisgoingwellsofar.

Mr.Offermanpicksuphisfork.“Andperhapsyoucouldbringyourgirlfriend.”
Inearlychokeonmyorangejuice.
Mydadstartstocorrecthim,butMr.Offermankeepstalking,thatbigbaritoneleavingnoroomfor

interruption.“MywifewouldlovetomeetCharlotte.Allmygirlswould,too.Wehavesuchafamily-
centricbusiness,andit’ssoimportanttomaintainthatduringavisibletransitiontime,consideringthe
mediainterestandall.Iloveknowingthatthey’llseethiscommittedsideofyou”

I part my lips to correct the misunderstanding. To tell him Charlotte is just a friend. That we’re

onlybusinesspartners.

Buthissmilerightnowislikehissignatureonthedealitself.Imakealineofscrimmagedecision.
Mr.OffermanalreadythinksCharlotteismylong-timegirlfriend,andthatpleasesthepunchoutof

him.Whatifshewasmore?Gobigorgohome.

“Actually, Charlotte and I have just been friends since college,” I say, then take a beat to deliver

whathewants.“Butwestarteddatingamonthago,andwejustgotengagedlastnight.Icouldn’tbe
happiertosharethenewshere.She’smyfiancéenow.”

Harper drops her fork, my father blinks, and Mr. Offerman lights up. We’re talking Rockefeller

Christmastreestyle.He’sbesidehimselfwithgleeoverthisfamilyenvironmenthejustwaltzedinto.
Hethoughthewasgettingaplayboy,andinsteadhe’slandedagroom-to-be.

“And I would be thrilled to bring my beautiful and brilliant fiancée to your dinner tomorrow,” I

add,thenflashmydadabiggrinbeforeIdigintomyscrambledeggs.Mysisterisstaringatmelike
she’sabouttocommenceacross-examination.I’msureshewilllater.ButIhaveabusydayaheadof
menow.

AllIhavetodoisconvinceCharlottethatthisispartofourpact.

C H A P T E R F O U R

Standing on the street outside the restaurant, Dad runs his hand through his hair. His brow is

furrowed.Hisexpressionisflummoxed.HejustsentMr.OffermanofftotheFifthAvenuestoreina
towncar,lettinghimknowhe’djoinhimtheresoon.

Butfirsthemustgrillme.Understandably.
“Whenwereyougoingtotellme?”
Here’sthething.Ican’ttellhimI’mfakingitforMr.Offerman.
IfmydadknowsthatIjustpulledthatengagementoutofmyassforthesakeofhisbusinessdeal,

he’llthinkhehasnochoicebuttoapologizetoMr.Offerman.He’llwalkuptohim,fixonhisHonest
Abelook,andsayhe’ssorry,buthissonwasjustjoking.That’sthekindofmanheis,andthekindof
businessheruns.Andifhehastogobacktohishand-pickedbuyer,tailbetweenhislegs,andconfess
thathisparty-boysonputhisfootinhismouth,that’llscrewuphisbigsaleinaheartbeat.

Nope.Can’tletthathappen.
Iwon’tputmydadinthepositionofbeinginonthisfakeengagement.Butthefactis,heneedsme

tobeengaged.IsawthelookinMr.Offerman’seyeswhenIdroppedtheEword.AsSingleSpencer,
Man About Town, I’m the wild card in this deal that’s not quite sealed. With a ring on Charlotte’s
finger,Ibecomethegoldenchild.

SoIdosomethingIdon’twanttodo,butIhavetodoit.
Padthelie.Makeitairtight.
“Itjusthappenedlastnight,whenIaskedher.”
“Ididn’tevenknowyouweredating,”headds.
Awomaninatightpinkskirtandblackheelswalksinourdirection.Sheshootsmeaflirtylook,

andI’mabouttosmilebackwhenIrealizeIneedtocutmyselfoff.

Ouch.I’vejusthandcuffedmyfavoriteappendageforthenextfewweeks.
Butthat’sokay.Icandothis.Icanpretendtobeengaged.Icanputmydickonice.Sotospeak.
“Iwantedtotellyourightaway,andwell,‘rightaway’wasthismorning.”
“Howlonghaveyoubeentogether?”
Keepitsimple.Keepitshort.
“Itallhappenedsoquickly,Pops,”Isay,adoptingalookofwondermentandhopefullypuppy-love

formybride-to-be.“We’vealwaysgottenalongsowell,asyouknow,andbeengreatfriends.Ithink
itwasoneofthosethingswheretheoneforyouisjustrightunderyournose,butwedidn’trealizeit
forthelongesttime.Thenonenightafewweeksago,weadmittedthatwehadfeelingsforeachother,
and…bam.Therestishistory.”

Wow.Didthatsoundbelievableorwhat?Icansodothis.
Dadholdsupahand.“Notsofast.Whatdoesthatmean?Therestishistory?Howdidyoupropose?

And for Christ’s sake, where did you get the ring from? If you say Shane Company, I will disown
you,”hesaysinmockseriousness.

Ineedaring,stat.Abig-assring.Thesonofajewelrymagnatewouldgetnothinglessforhislady.
“Wefellinlovefast,Dad.Wedatedforafewweeks.”Thatsoundsplausibleenough.Butitwould

sound a little better like this… “That was all we needed, because it was built on the foundation of

yearsoffriendship.Youknowwhattheysay.‘Marryyourbestfriend,’”Isay,thoughIhavenoclueif
anyonereallysaysthat.Butevenso,Imightaswellbeslammingthebasketballintothenetwiththat
one, because it sounds fucking awesome. My dad nods in understanding as I finish my ode to my
fictionalloveaffair.“Whenyourealizethatyoucan’tgoadaywithoutthewomanyouadorebyyour
side,youneedtomakeheryours,whetheryou’vebeendatingafewweeks,orbeeninlovewithher
foryears.SoIproposedlastnight.Couldn’twaitanylonger.Whenyoujustknowsomethingisright,
yougoforit,don’tyouthink?”

Hesighsindelightasacabswoopsalongtheroad.“Icouldn’thavesaiditbettermyself.”
Heshouldhiremetowritehisads.Thatwasmoney.
“But no, I don’t have a ring,” I say, then I wink. “Would you happen to know somewhere that I

couldgetonerightaway?”

Hestrokeshischin,pretendingtobedeepinthought.“Ah,Ijustmightknowtheplace.”Helaughs

at his own cleverness and clasps my arm. “Come by at two, and Nina will hook you up with a
beautifulstoneandsetting.Youcan’tbeengagedwithoutaringfromKatharine’s.”

“Truerwords…”
Myphonebuzzesinmypocket.Charlotte’sringtone—theDarthVaderentrancemarch.Shepicked

itherselfasajoke.

“Charlotte,”IsaytomydadasIgesturetothephone.
“Maybechangethatnowthatshe’sgoingtobeyourwife,”mydadsuggests.Thenhepointsatme,

asmileonhisface.“Hey!Thatwasmyfirstofficialpieceofadvicetoyouasasoon-to-be-married
man.”

Amomentaryspateofnerveslodgesinmychest.WhatifCharlottewon’tgoalongwiththeplan?

Whatifshelaughsatme—asshefuckingshould—andtellsmethisisthecraziestideaintheworld,
andnowayisshegoingtodoit?

Itellmyselfnottopanicprematurely.Thisiswhatfriendsdoforeachother.Theypretendthey’re

goingtomarryyouwhenyouneedthemto.Right?

Theringtonesoundsagain.Vaderismarchingcloser.
“Youshouldansweritnow.Womenlikethat,”mydadsays.“Hey.That’smysecondgreatpieceof

advice.”

I steel myself, slide my thumb across the screen and go into character. “Good morning to my

beautifulbride-to-be,”Isayinasmooth,romanticvoice.

She cracks up. “Why are we playing so early? Don’t tell me you started hitting the sauce on a

Fridaymorning?Areyoudrunkoffyourassalready,Spence?”

“I’mjustdrunkonyou.Whereareyourightnow?”
“Justtalkedwithoneofoursuppliers.Gotusanevenbetterdeal,thankyouverymuch.Nachosare

onyounexttime.Butwhyareyouactinglikealovesickweirdo?”

“Well,sweetheart,”Isay,meetingeyeswithmydad,whogivesmeathumbsupasIlayitonthick

forhisbenefit,“I’llcomeseeyoushortly,andyoucantellmeallaboutitinperson.”

“Okay,” she says slowly. “But the deal is good, so I don’t have to give you the play-by-play in

person,orevenonthephone.Ineedtogojumpintheshoweranyway.Andno,don’tsayit.I’mnot
literallygoingtojumpintheshower.”

Ilaugh.“Ofcourse.I’llbethereintwentyminutes.Ican’twaittoseeyou,too.”
I almost say pookie before I end the call, but then I’d have to relinquish my balls to the Guys’

Committee.Ilikemyballs.I’mratherattachedtothem.

Iendthecallbeforeshecanprotestandthengivemydadaknowinglook.“Thewomanneedsme.”
Mydadwaggleshiseyebrows.“Youmustheedthecall.”Herubshishandstogether.“Thisisthe

bestnewsever.Icouldn’tbehappier.I’vealwayslikedCharlotte.”

AndIcouldn’tfeelanyguiltier.Irarelyliedtomydadasakid.I’mprettysureI’veneverdoneitas

anadult.Themorselsofguiltzippingaroundinsidearenewtome,andthey’rekindofcrummy.But
it’llbeworthit.Thedealmemo’sdone;thecontractwillbeinkedinamatterofdays.Thislittlelie
willhelpthetransitiongosmoothly.

Hegrabsmeinabigembrace.“Callyourmotherlater.She’llwanttohearitallfromyou.”
“I’llgiveherallthemushydetails,”Isay,wincinginsideasIpreptolietoMomaswell.
IcatchacabtoCharlotte’s.AlongthewayItextNicktocancel.Family stuff this weekend. Gotta

bailtomorrow.We’llcelebrateanothertime?

It’lltakehimhourstoreply.Nickistherarebreedofmodernman,sometimesspottedinthewild

withoutascreen inhisface. He’sapen andpaperkind ofguy, dueinno smallpartto himbeinga
world-classcartoonist.

AstheyellowcarzipsalongLexingtonAvenue,IlookupBangHer,thehotbartender,thenfireoff

aquicktext:Sorry,babe.Somethingcameup,andIneedtoseethefam.Anothertime.

Herreplyarrivesthirtysecondslater.Youhaveanopeninvitationwithme.:)
Thosearetwoofmyfavoritewords—openinvitation.
Butshe’snottheoneI’mthinkingofwhenIarriveinMurrayHill.It’sthewomanbehindamassive

bouquetof…balloons?

C H A P T E R F I V E

Easily, there are three dozen of those suckers. All the size of Martian heads, in every shade of

pastelknowntoHGTV.

A centerpiece balloon rises in the middle, higher and prouder than the rest. That one is the lone

brightshade.It’sbloodred,andIthinkit’ssupposedtobeshapedlikeaheart,butitlookslikeabig
butttome.

I hand the cabbie a twenty, telling him to keep the change, and shut the door behind me as he

screechesoffinsearchofthenextfare.

I can’t even see her face. Or her chest. Or her waist. The top half of her is entirely obscured by

balloons,butI’drecognizethoselegsanywhere.Charlotterantrackinhighschool,andhasstrong,
tonedlegswithmuscularcalvesthatlooklikesincometolifewhenshewearshighheels.Cometo
think of it, they’re fuck-hot right now in white socks and sneakers. She must have been out for her
morningrunearliertoday.

Peeringdownthestreetather,IwatchthesceneunfoldasIeatupthesidewalkwithlongstrides.

Shetriestohandthebouquettoamotherpushingastroller.Themomgivesherashakeofthehead
andasneer.AsIcutthedistancetotenfeet,sheofferstheballoonstoagirlwholookstobeaboutten.

“Noway!”thegirlshouts,andrunstheotherdirection.
Frombehindtheballoons,Charlotteheavesafrustratedsigh.
“Letmeguess,”IsayasIreachher.“You’veeitherditchedTheLuckySpottoattemptanewcareer

asaballoonpeddler,orBradleyDipstickhasstruckagain?”

“Thirdtimethisweek.Hecan’tseemtounderstandthemeaningofthewords‘wearenevergetting

backtogether.’”Sheyankstheballoonsawayfromherface,buttheybatherhair.Shetriesagainto
slamthemaway,butstaticclingisworkingagainsther.Thepastelfuckersarerelentless,andaslight
breeze keeps jamming them closer to Charlotte’s hair. “These are the world’s most obnoxious
balloons,andIsweartheotherresidentsarewhisperingabouthisplantogetmeback,sincetheyall
knowaboutwhathedidinthefirstplace.”

“Hejustsentthem,Itakeit?”
“Yes,”shesaysthroughgrittedteeth,assheclutchesthebouquet.“AbouttwominutesafterIcalled

you,Iwasheadingouttogetaquickcoffee,andthedoormanrangtotellmetheyhadtheseballoons
forme.Buttheyweretoobigtofitintheelevator,socouldIpleasecometakethem?EvenifIwanted
tokeepthemIwouldn’tbeabletogetthemtomyapartment.”

“Andyou’retryingtogivethemaway?”IaskasIextendahand,gesturingforhertogivethemto

me.

“Ithoughtperhapsachildmightenjoythemmorethananadultwoman.Shockingly,I’veoutgrown

myballoonfetish.”

A bus groans to a stop outside her building, and a plume of exhaust sends a balloon straight for

Charlotte’sface.

“Oomph,”sheutters,asavilecottoncandypinkballoonattacksher.
Igrabthetangledmessofstringandjerkitawayfromher,thenholdthemhighabovemyhead.

“Wecan’tjustletthemflyawayintothesky?FloatoverManhattaninshadesofgarishEasteregg?”

Sheshakesherhead.“No.Balloonseventuallylosetheirheliumandthentheyfloatdown.Theyget

stuckontreesorfalltotheground,andanimalseatthem,andgetsick,andthatisnotokay.”

Charlotteisasoftie.Shelovesanimals.
“Gotcha,”Isaywithanod.“JustsoI’mclear.Areyouokaywitnessingthemassacreofthreedozen

obnoxiousballoonsrightaboutnow?”

Shenodsresolutely.“Itmightscarmealittlebit,butI’mconfidentIcangetthroughit.”
“Coveryourears,”Isay,thengrabmykeyswithmyfreehandandproceedtostabeachballoon

withaloudpop,includingtheass-shapedone,untilI’mholdingalimpbouquetofbrokenrubber.

SortoflikeBradley.
Here’severythingyouneedtoknowabouthowBradleyearnedhisstripesasatotalasshole.Heand

Charlottemettwoyearsagosincetheybothlivedinthesamebuilding.Theystarteddating,hittingit
offandgoingstrongforawhile.Theytalkedaboutmovingintogether.Theydecidedtobuyabigger
placeonthetenthfloorandgetengaged.Everythingwasgoingswimminglyuntilthedaytheywere
allsettosignthepapersonthetwo-bedroom,andBradleyheadeddownearlyto—getthis—“check
outthepipes.”Yeah,thatwashisrealexcuse.

WhenCharlottearrived,peninhand,Bradleywasbangingtherealtoragainstthekitchencounter.
“I never did care for those steel counters,” Charlotte had said, and I’d been so proud of her for

comingupwiththatzingerintheheatofthemoment.

Ofcourse,inreality,she’dbeendevastated.She’dlovedtheguy.She’dcriedonmyshoulderasshe

toldmethestory,zingerandall.Thathadbeentenmonthsago,andwhenBradleyfinallyditchedthe
realtor,heembarkedonacampaigntowinCharlotteback.

Withgifts.
Abhorrentgifts.
Istufftheflaccidballoonsintothegarbagecanonthecorner.“Theanimalsaresafenowfromhis

reignofterror.”

“Thankyou,”shesayswithrelief,asshegrabsatiefromherwristandyanksherhairoffherface

and into a quick ponytail. “That was like a pastel explosion of pathetic. Once you killed them, they
wereprettydroopy,too.”

“LikeBradley?”Iaskwithanarchoftheeyebrow.
Herlipsquirkintoatinygrin.She’stryingnottolaugh.Shecovershermouth.Charlottehasnever

beenonetokissandtell.Shenevershareddetailsoftheirsexlife—notthatIwantedtoknowany.But
shewasavault.

Sothefactthatshe’sholdingupathumbandforefinger,andmouthingalittlebitisahugedealfor

her.

Formetoo,itturnsout.
I’m a guy, and therefore I’m in competition with all men, all the time, so I can’t help but feel a

surgeoftriumph.

Thatissonotanissueformewhatsoever.
“Let’sgetyouthatcoffeeandI’lltellyouwhyIwasactinglikealovesickweirdo.”

C H A P T E R S I X

Asshepourssugarintohercup,hereyeswiden.Assheaddsadropofhalfandhalf,theyturninto

saucers.Andasshebringsthecoffeetoherlips,hereyeballspracticallypopoutofherhead.

WhenImentionthedinnertomorrow,shenearlyspitsoutthehotbeverage.
Then she clutches her belly, clasps her hand on her mouth, and shudders with laughter. “How do

yougetyourselfintothesesituations?”

“Iliketothinkit’smywitandcharm,butinthiscase,itmighthavebeenmybigmouth,”Isay,with

awhatcanyoudo?shrug.Thingis,there’sonlyoneanswertothatquestion—Ihavetoshowupwith
afiancée.Whichmeansshehastosayyes,soIturnserious.“Willyoudoit?Willyoupretendtobe
engagedtomeforaweek?”

Thelaughterdoesn’tstop.“That’syourbrilliantidea?That’syourbestsolutiontothefoot-in-the-

mouthproblem?”

“Yes,”Isay,nodding,stayingfirmtotheplan.“It’sagreatidea.”
“Oh, Spencer. That’s fantastic. Really, truly, one of your best ideas ever.” She leans against the

creamercounteratthishiplittlecoffeeshopnearherplace.“Andby‘bestidea,’Imean‘worst.’”

“Why?Tellme,whyisitsuchabadidea?”
Shetakesadeliberatepause,thenholdsonefingerintheairforemphasisandspeaks.“Correctme

ifI’mwrong,butyouwantthisfakeengagementtowork,right?Youwanttopullitoff?”

“Yes.Obviously.”
Shestabsherfingeragainsthersternum.“Andsoyourbrightideaistoaskme?”
“WhoelsewouldIask?”
Sherollshereyes.“You’reawarethatI’mprettymuchtheworstliarintheuniverse?”
“Iwouldn’tcallyoutheworst.”
ShestaresatmelikeI’mcrazy.IthinkImightbe.“DoIneedtoremindyouofthetimeinjunior

year when you and your friends pranked my dorm? If memory serves, I not only witnessed your
prank, thanks to skipping out of The Notebook screening early, but my roomies got the truth about
whodunitinaboutfiveseconds.”

“You couldn’t have caved that quickly,” I insist, taking a drink of my coffee as I flash back to

college.OneofmybuddieshadbeendatingoneofCharlotte’sfriends.Thegirlfriendhadhunghis
TVremotefromafourth-storywindow,sinceshethoughthewatchedtoomuchTV,andtogeteven
heenlistedabunchofusinalittlefurnitureswitcheroo.Troublewas,Charlottecaughtusintheact,
soIsworehertosecrecy,promisingwe’dreturneverythingaftermidnight.

“Oh,Idid.Iabsolutelydid.Itwasn’thardtogetthetruthoutofme,”shesaysadamantly,looking

mestraightintheeyes.“Alltheyhadtodowasaskwhorelocatedallthecommonroomfurnitureto
thelaundryroom,thentickleitoutofme.IfIcouldhavemadeitthroughthatmovieIneverwould
havewalkedinontheprank.IstillblameNicholasSparksformyfailuretoprotectyourtrick.”

“Ipromiseyouwon’tbeforcedtositthroughaNicholasSparksfilmunderthisfakeengagement

scenario.AndIsweartherewon’tbeanytickletortureconfessions.”

“Look,Ijustthinkthisisnotonlyridiculous,butalsohighlylikelytoblowupinyourface.”She

softenshertone.“Icareaboutyou,Spencer.Iknowyouwanttomakethispretendengagementwork

foryourdad’ssake,butofallthewomenyouknowinNewYork,whyonearthwouldyoupickme?
Evenanescortagencywouldbesmarter.Thosewomenknowhowtobebelievablefiancéetypes.”

I scoff at the idea and then clasp my hand on her shoulder, squeezing her, like a coach trying to

persuadeafreeagenttojoinhisteam.Ineedtoconvincehershecandothis.Becauseshecan.She
knowsmebetterthananyone.Plus,Ican’tjustcallupanescortagencyandorderupafiancéefora
week.“Hello,canIhavethefullgirlfriendexperiencewithasideoffriestogo,please?”One,Idon’t
knowanyescortagencies.Two,thebuckstopsatCharlotte.Iofferedherupthismorningasmybride.
It’sCharlotteornothing.

“Itwon’teventakeupthatmuchtime.It’lljustbeafeweventstogototogether—pickingoutaring

today,thenthisdinnerthingtomorrow.Youcandothis.It’syouandme,babe,”Isay,andshefurrows
herbrowatthelastword.

“Is that what you call me as your fiancée? Babe? Or is it sweetheart? Or something else?

Snookums?Honeybear?Sweetcheeks?Snuffaluffagus?”

“Iassureyou,it’snotSnuffaluffagus.”
“IkindoflikeSnuffaluffagus,”shesays,andnowshe’sjusttryingtopullmyleg…ormaybeavoid

givingmeananswer.

“Iguessit’sbabethen,”Isay,stayingthecourse,asshedrinkssomeofhercoffee.“Idon’tknow

whyIcalledyouthat.Exceptfortheobvious.You’reababe.”

Shesmilesagainandsaysinthesoftestvoice,“Thankyou.Soareyou.”
See?CharlotteandIcanbothappreciateeachother ’sappearance.That’soneofthegreathallmarks

ofourfriendship.Icanacknowledgesheisababe,andshecandothesamewithme,andwe’restill
allgood.That’swhyshehastobemypretendfiancée.

Igesturefromhertome,confidencecoursingthroughme.Maybeit’safalsebravado.Maybeit’s

real. But it’s all I’ve got, and I need her. The clock’s ticking on the two p.m. opening curtain at
Katharine’s.“Mypointisthis.We’vedonethis.It’sourgame,”Isay,likeI’mconvincinghertojoin
thecrewI’massemblingforaVegascasinoheist.“Weknowthedrill.Iplayfakefiancéwithyouall
thetime,andyouwithme.”

Sheworriesawayatthecornerofherlip.It’skindofridiculouslycute.Like,ifshewerereallymy

fiancée,I’dprobablythinkthatwasadorable,andIwouldleaninforaquickpeck.

“That’s for three minutes, at the most, at a bar,” she points out. “That’s just a quick wham bam,

thankyou,ma’amkindofthingtosaveeachotherfromunwantedadvances.ForthisI’dhavetokeep
it up for a week, you’re saying? Under scrutiny? Of the press, your parents, your dad’s buyer, and
everyoneelse?Ijustthinkyou’reaskingfortrouble.”

“Yes,butwhoknowsmebetterthanyou?You’retheonlypersonwhocouldpossiblypullthisoff,”

Isay,andasanewrushofcustomersstreamsintothetinycoffeeshop,weheadout,makingourway
backtowardherbuilding,coffeecupsinhandaswewalk.

“Iwanttohelpyou.YouknowIdo.Ijustthinkeveryonewillknowwe’renotreallyengaged,and

thenthat’snothelpfultoyouatall.”

Undeterred,Ipresson.“Thenlet’shaveadebrief.EspeciallysinceI’msupposedtobuyyouaring

attwop.m.”Hereyesgowide,andIkeepreassuringher.“Let’sgoovereverysinglethingweneedto
know.”

“LikewhattoothpasteIuse,andwhetheryouhogthesheets?”
“Idon’thogthesheets,”Isayaswesidestepahusbandandwife,eachwearingbabiesinBjörnsand

arguingaboutwheretobrunch.

“AndIuseminty-freshCrest.Theteeth-whiteningkind,”shesays.“Butlet’sbehonest.That’snot

what anyone is going to ask. Also, have you thought about how you’re going to survive a week or
morewithoutyourfavoritepastime?”shesays,asanevilglintlightsupherbrowneyes.

“Icanhandlebeingcelibate.”
Shenods.“Sure.Keeptellingthattoyourself.”Shestopsandpointsatme.“ButI’mserious—ifIdo

this,youbetternotmessaroundwithanyoneelseafterhours.”

Hopebounceswildlyinmychest.“Doesthatmeanyou’resayingyes?”
Sheshakesherhead.“Notyet.I’mjustpointingoutanotherpotentialroadblockforyou.It’sgoing

tobealoooongsevendaysforyou,”shesays,elbowingmeintheribs.“Besides,howareyougoing
tomanagethefactthatyouwerebasicallypubliclydatingafewweeksago?Whatareyougoingto
tellyourdadandhisbuyeraboutthat?OrhowaboutthewomanyousawinMiamiamonthagoatthe
restaurantopening?”

I wave a hand like the escape artist I am. “Leave it to the master. If anything comes up about that

celebritytrainer,I’lljustdenyit.Noonebelievesthegossipragsanyway.AndtheMiamithingwas
justafriendly,posedphoto.Besides,Ialreadydevisedaperfectstoryofhowwefellinlove.Itoldmy
dad it happened quickly. In just a few weeks, in fact, and that I proposed to you last night because I
realizedafteralltheseyearsthatI’dbeeninlovewithyouthewholetime.”

“Thewholetime?”sheasks,liftinganeyebrow.
Ishrugplayfully.“Thewholedamntime.I’vebeenheadoverheels.ItfinallydawnedonmewhatI

wasfeeling,andIgotdownononekneetomakeyoumine.”

Shedoesn’tsayanythingatfirst,justpartsherlips,andIstareatthemforlongerthanusual.They

arereallyprettylips.Imean,fromanempiricalpointofview.Asherfakefiancé,it’sgoodformeto
beknowledgeableaboutallherfeatures,includingherlips.

Assumingshesaysyes.Shehastosayyes.
“That’sactuallyasweetstory,”shesays,hervoicecompletelysincereaswestandonthecornerof

herblock,holdingeachother ’sgaze.“Atruefriends-to-loversromance?”

“Yes,” I say quickly, breaking the eye contact because it’s a bit too much for me to handle right

now.Ihavenocluewhyitfeelsweird,whetherit’sthewordsorthewayshelooksatme.

Orreally,whyIfeelweirdatall.
Wekeepwalking,andshetakesaheartygulpofhercoffee.Shestraightensherspineanddrawsin

abreath,andIcrossmyfingersthatshe’sabouttoagree.

“Iwanttohelpyou,but…”shesays,hervoicetrailingoff.
Mychestcraters.Like,worsethanthosedeflatedballoons.Iamoutofair.I’mgoingtohavetotell

my dad the engagement ended before it even started, hang my head, cry in my soup, and claim
Charlottedumpedmeandbrokemyheart.

“Crap,”shemutters.“Incomingdouche.”
It’sthetotalassholehimself.Bradley“BendHerOverTheCounter”Buckinghamwalkstowardus.

He hates me. Not that I give a shit, but he detests me because I had the audacity to advise Charlotte
againstbuyinganapartmentwithhim.Itdidn’tmakefinancialsensetogointogetherinthisbuilding
whenotherresidencesinthehoodwereincreasinginvaluefaster.

He’saboutsixfeet,whichmakeshimtwoinchesshorterthanme.Hehasblondish-redhair,broad

shoulders, and the cheesy grin of a vacuum cleaner salesman. He works in PR. He’s senior VP of
Communicationsforahugepharmaceuticalcompanythat’salwaysunderfire.KingofSpin.Aceof
Liars.CaptainofScum.

“Charlotte!”hecallsout,wavingtoher.“Didyougettheballoons?”
Hepullsupnexttous,barelymakingeyecontactwithme.
“Theydidn’tfitintheelevator,butitreallydoesn’tmatter.Youneedtostopsendingmegifts.It’s

overwithus.Infact,”shesays,andreachesouttograbmyfreehand,threadingherfingersthrough
mineandsurprisingthefuckoutofme,sinceshe’snotahand-holder,“I’mengagedtoSpencernow.”

Whoa.

Thatsurpriseoverherholdingmyhand?It’snothingcomparedtothesurprisefromwhatcomes

next.

She thrusts her coffee cup at Bradley, and in the blink of an eye she wraps her hands around my

neck,andpressesherlipstomine.

C H A P T E R S E V E N

Charlotteiskissingme.
OnthestreetsofNewYork.
Herlipsareonmine.
Shetastesfantastic.
Like cream and sugar and coffee and sweetness. Like all the good things in the world. Like I

imaginedshe’dtaste.

NotthatI’vebeenthinkingaboutkissingmybestfriend.
But,look,youcan’thelpwhereyourmindwanderssometimesasaguy.Anymanwhoisfriends

withawomanhastakentheoldimaginationoutforastrolltoKissingAvenue,thenLoversLane,then
FuckingStreet.

WhichisexactlywhatI’mgoingtobevisitinginYeOldeBrainifshekeepsbrushingthoselips

softlyagainstmineinthisfluttery¸lingeringkindofkiss.Becauseitisgettinghardertothinkabout
anythingotherthanturningupthevolumeonthislip-lock.

Alotharder.
Sheletsoutthetiniestlittlenoise—likeasigh,oragasp,oranalmost-but-not-quitemoan.Andif

shedoesthatagain,Iwillbepushingheragainsttheslate-graybrickwallofherbuilding,cagingher
in,slidingmyhandsalonghersidesandturningthisintoafull-bodykiss.

Becausesheistoofuckingsexyforherowngood.
Formygood.
Sheletsgoofmylips.
Myhard-ondoesn’tgetthemessagetochillout.It’sstillpointinginherdirection,wantingmore.I

cycletomycertifiedbestbuzzkill,picturingsweatybasketballplayers,anditgoesdownasCharlotte
flashesadevilishlysatisfiedgrinatBradley.

While Charlotte was busy devouring me on Lexington Avenue, Bradley’s jaw had become

dislodgedfromhisfaceandfelltotheground.

Excellent.
“We got engaged last night. And I couldn’t be happier,” she says, snuggling up next to me and

snakinganarmaroundmywaist.

Hetriestospeak,butfishairbubblescomeoutinstead.
Oh,thisispriceless.Istaredownatmyshoes.I’mnotsmirkingrightnow.IswearIhaven’tgota

big-assgrinonmyface.I’mjusttheinnocentbystanderwhogotlip-smackedbythegoddess.

“AndlikeIsaid,itwouldbeawesomeifyoucouldstopassaultingmewithballoonsandteddybears

andchocolate-coveredcherries,”shesays,andImakeaquietsnort.Charlottecan’tstandchocolate-
coveredcherries.Howdoeshenotknowthis?

“Idon’tevenlikethem,”shesaystoBradley,assheinchesherfingerstighteraroundmywaist.So

tightthatforasliverofaseconditseemslike…likeshe’scoppingafeelofmyabs.

Okay.
That’snotevenremotelyaproblematall.Thoserock-solidabsarethereforyourpleasure,m’lady.

“I had no idea you two were involved,” Bradley says. I look up to see the wheels turning in his

head.“Wereyoualways?”

Charlotte’sexpressionmorphsintooneofcomplete,slack-jawedshock.“Whatdidyoujustsay?”
He’sgraduated.Ididn’tthinkitwaspossible.ButhejustearnedthetitleofMasterAsshole.
Timetostepin.
“No,Bradley.It’sallnew.It’sallquiterecent,”Isay,meetinghiseyes.“Andtobehonest,Ireally

oweyouahugedebtofthanks.Ifitwasn’tforyou,andthosequalitycontroltestsyouperformedon
thekitchencounter,wemightneverhavehadthechancetobetogether.Sothankyouforfuckingupa
good thing with the most amazing woman in the world. ’Cause now she’s mine.” Then to bust his
chops one more time, I drag her against me caveman-style, bend her backward, and kiss her hard
again.

Inseconds,Ipullherup,wavegood-byetoherex,andguideherintoherbuilding.
I’mnotsureifshe’smoreshockedbywhathejustsaid,whatIjustdid,orbyherownspur-of-the-

momentdecision,butassoonaswe’reintheelevator,sheturnstome,andshrugshappily.“Iguess
I’mplayingyourfiancéeforthenextweek,Snuffaluffagus.We’vegottobuyaringattwo,andI’m
goingtorequireafulldebrief.”

ThereareotherthingsI’dliketodebriefrightnow.Butthisworkstoo.

***

Idomybestworkinthebedroom.Thisiscompletelymydomain.Soitshouldbenobigdealthat

sheaskedmetowaithere.ButsomethingaboutbeinginCharlotte’sbedroomiswiggingmeout.

Mostlybecausethere’snuditytranspiringmerefeetaway.
She’stakingashower,andnomatterhowyouslicethem,NewYorkapartmentsarethimblesize.

Letmespellthisout—Thereisawet,naked,hotwomaninaten-footradius.

Gotit?Okay.Movingon.
I pick up a picture frame on her sky blue bureau, a photo of the dog her parents have. A fluffy

brownsummadog—someofthis,someofthat.I’mgoingtofocusonthismutt.Zeroinonhim.Look
athistail.Checkouthisears.Yup,thispictureisdoingthetrick.Itishelpingmenottolingeronthe
nakedwomanandhowwellshekisses.

OrhowmuchIlikedit.
WhythefuckdidIlikeitsomuch?
Ofcourseyoulikedit,idiot.You’reastraightmaleandaprettywomankissesyou—you’dbestupid

nottolikeit.Endofstory.Doesn’tmeananything.Stopanalyzing.

Especiallysinceshejustturnedofftheshower.
Maybesheforgotatowel.Maybeshe’llopenthedooracrack,andaskmetograboneforher.
Ismackmyforehead.Getittogether,Holiday.
Isetdownthepicture,inhaledeeply,andstraightenmyshoulders.Thedoorcreaksopen.Shesteps

outofthebathroomwearingonlyawhitefluffytowelwrappedaboveherbreasts.

“YoumightbewonderingwhyIaskedyoutowaitinmybedroominsteadofthelivingroom,”she

says,inthemostmatter-of-factoftones.

I have no clue how she can be talking like we’re having a business transaction while droplets of

waterslidedownherbarelegs.ButI’mastrongman.Icanhandlethis.I’mnottemptedatallbymy
bestfriend.Mydick,however,begstodiffer,thetraitorousprick.

“Thethoughtcrossedmymind,”Isay,asIleanagainstthebureau,strikingacasualpose.
“Becauseifyou’remyfiancé,youneedtobecomfortablewithmebeingnaked,”shesayswitha

crispnod.

Shit,she’sgoingtodoit.She’sgoingtodropthetowel.She’sgoingtomakeuspracticefucking.I

amtheluckiestmanonthefaceoftheearth.

Wait. No. I can’t fuck my best friend. I absolutely, positively, can’t screw Charlotte. Even if she

tossesthetowelonthefloorandbegsmeto.

Ilacemyfingerstogetherbehindmyback,linkingmytwitchyhands.
“Okay, so you’re getting naked,” I say, doing my best to imitate her cool-as-a-cucumber tone,

whichisthrowingmeoffbigtime.

“No.It’stheideaofmenaked,”shecorrects.
Igiveherapointedlook.“Seemstomeit’sboththeideaandthereality.”
“Fine,fine.They’reoneandthesame,andit’spartofthedebrief.”
“Isthistheexamportion?”
She walks past me, her arm brushing against mine before she yanks open the top drawer of the

bureau.“Yes.Thisismorelikethepracticallabinstruction.”

“Andthisisbecauseyousomehowthinkwe’regoingtoberequiredtobenakedtogetherinfront

ofMr.Offermaninordertopullthisoff?Thisisn’tlikesomerealityshowfakeengagementwhere
wehavetopasscertainskillsinanobstaclecourse.Youknowthat,right?”

Shenodsasshehuntsaroundinthedrawer.“I’mawareofthat.IseethisasmoreliketheNewlywed

Game.”

“And in this version we’re quizzed on how accustomed I am to the idea of you naked and vice

versa?”

HerbreathhitcheswhenIsaythat—viceversa.
Idon’tknowwhattomakeofthatsmallgasp…likeifitmeanssomethingabouttheideaofmeau

naturel.

She spins around and holds up two pairs of panties, one in each hand. “Quick. Do you prefer it

whenyourfiancéewearstheblacklacethong?”Shewagglesascrapofsilky-lookingfabricthatisso
hotmyfacemightbeengulfedinflamesrightnowbecauseCharlotteownsthat?“Ordoyouprefer
herinthewhiteside-stringbikini?”Shewavesthewhitepairbeforemyeyes,andallIcanseeisatiny
triangularpatchoffabricthat’stheslightestbitsee-through.

Forgettheflames.Iamafuckinginfernorightnowknowingsheownsthistoo.Whitepantiesthat

revealprettymucheverything.

Lordhavemercy.
If a woman I was dating wore those panties, they wouldn’t be on her. They’d be in my teeth as I

pulledthemoff.Ican’tdoanythingbutstareatherlingerieasmybloodheatstosurface-of-Mercury
levels.

Charlottetiltsherheadandshootsmeanexpectantlook.“Whichonedoyoupreferyourfiancée

in?”

Ihaven’tansweredheryet.I’mjusttryingtogetthebloodflowingfromotherpartsofmyanatomy

backtomybrain.

“Nothing,”Isay,intendingitasajokeyretort,butmythroatisdryandscratchy,sothewordscome

outinaharshgrowl.

Sheliftsaneyebrow,completelyunperturbed.“Nothing?Really?Okaythen,”shesays,andswivels

around, stuffing the underthings back in the bureau, grabbing a bra, then closing the drawer with a
gentleping.“Thatmakesthingseasier.I’llberightback.”

Shetouchesmyshoulderplayfullywithherindexfinger,yanksopenhercloset,grabssomething

fromahanger,andreturnstothebathroom.Assheshutsthedoor,Isinkdownonthebedandbreathe
out hard. I drop my forehead to my palm. What the hell kind of test was that? That was a feat of
strength,ifIeverexperiencedone.

ButIdon’thavetimetofigureitoutbecausetwentysecondslater,sheopensthebathroomdoorand

says,“Whatdoyouthink?”

She’s wearing a cranberry red skirt that falls to her knees and kind of flares out as she twirls

around,alongwithablacksilkytank.“Doesthisworkforyoutotakemeringshopping?”

Ipointathermidsection,thenlower.“You’rereallynotwearingunderwear?”
Hereyessparklewithmischief.“Myfiancétoldmeheprefersmein…”Shestepscloser,dropsa

handtomyshoulder,andbringsherlipstomyeartowhisper,“Nothing.”

And now, ladies and gentlemen, my cock is officially saluting my best friend, the Commando

Temptress.Shepopsbackintohercloset,emergeswithapairofblackheels,andslipsthemon.

Killmenow.
Herlegslookinsanelyhot,andknowingthatthetreasureattheapexofherthighsisbareisgoing

todrivemecrazy.Idragbothhandsthroughmyhairlikebulldozers.“Okay,youwinthefirstfeatof
strength.” I march over to her bureau where I open the top drawer, grab the bikini underwear and
waveitlikeawhiteflag.“I’msurrendering.”

Shefurrowsherbrow.“That’sallittakesforyoutobowout?Ithoughtyouwantedandneededme

tobeyourfiancée?”

“Ido.Iabsolutelydo.Butyoucannotgooutwithoutunderwearon.YoucannotwaltzaroundNew

Yorkstarknakedunderthatskirt.Puttheseon,”Isay,thrustingthemather.

Herlipsquirkupinagrin.Thecornersseemtotwitchbackandforth.IswearhereyessayI told

youso.

Iholdmyhandsoutwide.“Okay,CheshireCat.Whatcanarydidyoueat?”
Shetakesthepantiesinherhand,grabsmyarm,andtugsmeintothebathroom.Shepointsatthe

mirror.There’sanoteonit,writteninredlipstick.Spencerwillmakemeputonthewhitebikinis.

And I crack up—deep, big chuckles that come from the very heart of me. I point a finger at her.

“Andyousaidyouweren’tagoodliar.”

Shedropsherjaw,thenplacesherhandonherchest.“Iwasn’tlying.That’sthetruth,writteninred

lipsticktwominutesago,andIwasright.Admitit.”

“Youwereplayingme.”
“No.IwasprovingtomyselfthatIcouldpulloffbeingyourfiancée,”shesayswithawickedgrin,

bumpingmewithherhip.Thelookinhereyesisacocktailmixofprideandamusement.“Iwantedto
seeifwekneweachotherwell.”Shepausesbeforeshesaysthenextthing,loweringhervoice.“And
intimately.”

Thenshestepsintothepanties.
Infrontofme.
Withherheelson.
Over one ankle, then the other, then she slides them seductively up her smooth, strong legs. My

eyestrackherthewholetime.Icouldn’tlookawayifItried,andI’mbeginningtoacceptthatI’mjust
gonna be sporting wood even more than usual during this next week. I figure that’s normal, right?
Whatred-bloodedmancouldbeincloseproximitytoagorgeouswomanwho’sputtingonapairof
see-through—

Mybrainstopsprocessingwords.Iswallowdryly.
Thepantiesareoverherknees.They’reglidingupherthighs.Makingtheirwaytoherbare—
“Closeyoureyes,”shewhispers.
AndbecauseI’magentleman,Ido.Iseeblackandsilverystarsbehindmylids,butI’mpicturing

everything I’m missing right now. Yup. Round-the-clock pocket rocket. Just resign myself to
perpetualwood.Can’tfightthesethings.Noneedtoeventry.

“Youcanopenthem,”shesays,andIoblige.Shepointstothetoiletseat.“Takeaseat,partner.Let’s

debriefasIdomyhairandmakeup.”

C H A P T E R E I G H T

Wereviewthevitals.
She’sasheet-hogger.Isleepnaked.Shedoesn’tlikesharingthebathroomsinkatthesametime.I

couldn’t care less if she spits out toothpaste while I’m brushing. She has more than two dozen
differentlotionsfromTheBodyShopandwearsadifferentoneeachdayoftheweek.

“Obviously,Idon’tuselotion,”Isay,gesturingtothesilverbathroomcartfulloforangeblossom,

honeyvanilla,coconutisland,andeveryotherflavorofbodyrubunderthesun.“Andagain,Idon’t
thinkanyonewillbequizzingusonwhetherIknowwhatkindoflotionyouwear.”

“Iknowthat,”shesaysassheplugsinahairdryer.“Butthepointis,Iwanttofeellikeweknow

thesethingsabouteachothersoitwillbebelievablethatwe’dbeengaged.Forinstance,ittakesme
fiveminutestodrymyhair.”

I set the stopwatch on my phone and read a chapter in a thriller as she blows out her hair.

Somethingaboutthismomentfeelsverydomestic.Likewereallyareacouple,andI’mwaitingfor
mywomantogetreadytogoout.

Hmmm.
Maybebecausethat’spreciselywhat’shappening.
Exceptthepartaboutusbeingarealcouple.
Whenthebuzzersounds,she’sdone,soIputmyphoneinmypocket.Aftershewindsupthedryer

cord,shesnapsherfingers.“Weforgotoneveryimportantthing.”

“What’sthat?”
“Howdidweknow?”
“Howdidweknowwhat?”
“Duh. That we were in love.” She says it so sweetly, so convincingly, that for a second my mind

goesblank.Iforgetwe’rerehearsing,andIsimplystretchbackintimeandtrytopinpoint.Thenthe
realitysmacksme,andIlaughtomyself.We’renotinlove.We’replayingpretend.Soasweleaveher
bathroom,ItellherwhatItoldmydadthismorningabouthowwecametogether.

“That’s not enough,” she says, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor as we cross the short

distancetohersliverofakitchen.

“Why not?” I ask, as she grabs a cold pitcher of iced tea from the fridge and I take two glasses

fromthecupboard.She’sparticularabouthericedtea.MakesitherselfwiththeseteabagsfromPeets
thatsheordersonAmazon,sincePeetsisn’tinNewYork.

“Weneedmoredetails,”shesaysasshetakesadrink.“IbetMr.Offerman’sdaughterswillbethe

firsttosniffoutalie.Girlsaresmartlikethat,andifhisdaughterscatchon,youbetthey’retelling
Daddy.Weneedthissolid.So,itwasonenightatthebarwhenwesupposedlyrealizedwehaditbad
foreachother,right?”

“Yes.Justafewweeksago.Itallhappenedquickly.”
“Buthowdiditstart?Specifically?Whatwasthatonethingthatstartedourromance?”
“Charlotte,itwasmydadItoldthestoryto.Hedidn’task.”
“Butwomenwill,”shepointsout,thenwigglesherbarefingers.“OnceI’vegotthatringon,allthe

womenwillbecooingoveritandaskingforthedetailsofhowwefellinlove.Probablytomorrowat

dinner.Weneedastory,”shesaysemphaticallyasshepacesinthesmallkitchen.Thenhereyeslight
up with excitement. “I got it! One Thursday night at The Lucky Spot, over a glass of wine after
closing time, you made a joke about how everyone thinks we’re a couple, and I said ‘maybe we
should be one.’ And then there was an awkward pause in the conversation,” she says, her tone
softening,asifshe’sreminiscingaboutthatfatefulnight.

Igonext,pickinguptheMadLibsthreadofourmake-believelovestory.“Onlyitwasn’tawkward.

Itwassimplyright,”Isay,shootinghermybestlove-strucksmile.“Andweadmittedthenthatwehad
feelingsforeachother.”

“Andwehadthehottestkissever.Obviously.”
Iscoff.“Notjustthehottestkiss.Wehadthehottestsexever,”Isay,becauseIhavetouptheante

likethat.

Sheblushes,stayssilent,andfinisheshericedtea.Itakeanotherdrinkofmineandthenplaceboth

glassesinherdishwasher,liningthemupneatlyonthetoprow,justlikesheprefers.

“Thentokeepitsimple,let’spretendyouproposedtomeatthebarlastnight,sincethat’swhereit

allstarted.Youproposedaftereveryoneleft.Yougotdownononekneeandsaidyoucouldn’teven
waittogetmearing,butIhadtobeyours.”

“Perfect.Loveit.Easytoremember.”
Iclosethedishwasher,andshemeetsmygaze.Herbrowneyesaresoftandsweet.“Spencer.Thank

you.”

Igiveheralooklikeshe’scrazy.“Forputtingtheglassesinthedishwasher?”
“No.Forputtingupwithallthat.”Shewavesinthegeneraldirectionoftherestofherapartment.“I

waskindofputtingyouthroughyourpacesnow.ButIneededtofeellikewecouldpullthisoff.”

“Doyounow?Doyoufeellikeyou’reonyourwaytobecomingMrs.Holiday?”
She laughs. “That’s funny. Those are two words that we’ll never hear together again,” she says,

running her hand absently down my arm as we leave the kitchen. “You’re the avowed bachelor for
life.”

Inod,confirmingmystatus.Totalplayboy.Onehundredpercentswingingsingle.Noneedtolasso

thisfreebird.“Absolutely.”

Shereachesforherpurseonherlivingroomtable.“Wait.There’sjustonemoretest.”
“You’regoingtomakemejumpthroughanotherhoop?Sheesh.Youareapistol.”
Shehuffs.“IhardlythinkselectingmypantiesissomeHerculeantask.Butbethatasitmay,thistest

isforme.It’sthefinaltesttomakesureI’mreadytowalkintoyourdad’sstoreinourfirstpublic
appearanceasMr.Holidayandhisbride-to-be.”

Icrossmyarms,waitingtoseewhatshe’lldonext.
Shelooksmerightintheeye,herlipsastraightline,herexpressionstarklyserious.“Ineedyouto

trytoticklethetruthoutofme.”

Iarchaneyebrowskeptically.“Forreal?”
Shenods.“Absolutely.Youknowit’smyweakness,”shesays,backinguptohersoftgraycouch,

andfloppingdownamidstaseaofpillowsinblues,reds,andpurples.Shelovesjewel-tonedcolors.
Assheliesacrossthecushions,thegoldenblondestrandsofherhairfanoutoveraroyalbluepillow.
“Doit,”shecommands.“IneedtoknowIwon’tcave.Ineedtoprovetomyselfthateventhetorture
ofticklingwon’tmakemegiveupthesecretsofmybestfriend.”

Iunbuttonmycuffsandrollupmyshirtsleevestomyforearms.
“Don’tgoeasyonme,”shesays.
“Notinmynature.”
“Makemesquirm.Makeitpuretorture.Makemewanttogiveitup.That’stheonlywaywe’llknow

ifIcantrulyhandlethischaradeforthenextweek.”

Iholdmyhandsoutwide.“AllIcansay,Snuffaluffagus,isyou’reon.”
Irunthefewfeettothecouchandgoforit.Iamaferociousticklerandatenaciouscompetitor,and

even though this is Charlotte, I’m not going to let up. Diving in, I tickle her waist, and in a
nanosecond,sheiswiggling.

“Admitit—you’renotreallyengagedtoSpencerHoliday,”Isay,likeaharshcross-examiner.
“He’sgoingtobemyhubby,Iswear,”sheshrieksasItickleharder,diggingin.
“Idon’tbelieveyou.Tellthetruth.It’sallanact.Hemadeyoudoit.”
She squeals as she thrashes back and forth in a wild attempt to scramble away from me. Her

uncontrollablelaughterripplesthroughher.“I’vebeencrazyabouthimforever.”

“Idon’tbelieveyou,”Ibark,asIgrapplewithherhips.Shemightaswellbeaneel,she’sfighting

sohardtowiggleaway.Shepracticallyburrowsintothecouchpillowstoescapemytickling.ButI’m
strong,andI’vegotherpinned.Imoveuphersides,andshearchesherentirebackinacurve.

“OhmyGod,no!”
Holyshit.Sheisbeyondticklish.Thisisepicticklishness.Herfaceisallscrunchedup,hernoseis

crinkled,andhermouthiswideopenasshelaughsceaselessly.

“Why?Whyareyoucrazyabouthim?”IdemandasItrytobreakherdownwithribtickles.Ina

knee-jerkreaction,sheliterallydoesjustthat—jamsherkneeintomystomachtotrytomakemestop.
Iblockit,andherkneecapgrazesmyhip.Doesn’tevenhurt.

“Because,”shesaysonabreathlesspant,asmyfingersraceuphersides,“hemakesmelaugh.”
I’mnearherarmpitsnow.“Whyelse?”
“Becauseheopensthedoorforme,”shesays,hittingahighnoteonthelastwordasIreachher

mostticklishspot.

“One more reason,” I demand as I trap her, my lower body pinning her, and I capture one leg

betweenbothofmine.

Herlaughterceasesabruptly,andhereyeswiden.“He’shuge,”shesaysinawhisper.
We both go silent for a few seconds. Then I nod approvingly and end the torment. “You have

provenyourloyaltytothecause.”

I look down at her. Her hair falls in a wild mess, her black tank rides up her stomach, revealing

inchesofsoftflesh,andherbreathcomesinheavypants.ThisisthemomentwhenIshouldmoveoff
her.Ireallyshould.She’snotwigglinganymore.She’snotfightingme.I’msupposedtoletgo,offer
herahand,andtakeherringshopping.

Buthereyesseemdifferent.I’veneverseenthemlikethis.Somethingvulnerableflickersthrough

them.“Weshouldpractice,”shesaysinasoftvoice,herwordslandingontheairlikesnowflakes.

“Practice?” I repeat, because though I’m pretty confident what she means, I don’t want to assume

anything.

Her lips part, and her tongue slides across the bottom one. “What we did on the street. So it’s

believable.”

“Iskissingpartofthecharade?”
Shenods.“Ican’timaginetwopeoplewhojustgotengagedwouldn’tkissatleastoncetomorrow

atthedinnerevent.Itwouldmakeitmorebelievable,don’tyouthink?Can’tlooklikethefirsttime
we’vedoneit.”

“Right.Likeinthemovieswhereamanandwomanhavetoshareahotelroomatsomeinn,and

they pretend to be together, and the innkeeper says at dinner, ‘Kiss the girl.’ That’s what you mean,
right?”

Shesmilesbeneathme,thenshebitesthecornerofherliplikeshedidatthecoffeeshop.Atthe

time,Iresistedtheimpulsetogiveheraquickpeck.Now,Idon’t.Ipressmylipstothatcornerand
kissher.

Asoftkiss.
Ipullback.Herchestrisesandfalls.Hereyeslookwild.“Isthatwhatyouwant?”
“No,”shesays.
“Whatdoyouwant?”
“Arealkiss.Iwanttoknowhowmyfiancékissesforreal.Notjustasoftlittlekissonthestreet.”
“Arealkiss.Areyousure?”
“Yes.Whywouldn’tIbesure?You’renotahorridkisser,areyou?”Herhandfliestohermouth.

“OhmyGod.That’sit.Youkissinsomeweirdway,”shesaysasshetakesherhandoffhermouth.

“Thatjustearnedyouseriousproofoftheopposite.BecauseIpromiseyou,Iwillkissyouinthe

onlywayyoushouldbekissed.”

“Whatwayisthat?”
Igazeintohereyes,movemyhipsagainstherthighsoshecanfeelmoreofme,thensay,“Areal

kissshouldgetyouwet.”

Shegasps,andIdipmymouthtohersandkissthesoundaway.
Sheledourfirstkiss.Shecaughtmeoffguardonthestreetwithafantasticambush,butthiskissis

mine.

Icontrolit.Ileadit.AndIwanttoteaseher.Tomakehersquirmagain,onlythistimewithdesire.

Thistimeshe’llbewrithingtogetclosertome,nottoescape.Islidemytongueacrossherlips,and
sheopensthem,invitingmetokissherdeeper.Idon’theedherwishes.Instead,Imovetoherjawline,
kissing her there, along her soft skin, and up to her ear. Her skin tastes amazing, like sunshine and
cherries,andmaybethat’sthelotionsheputonafewminutesago,ormaybeit’sjusthernaturalscent.
Eitherway,itdrivesmecrazy.MyboneshumwithdesireasItraveltotheshellofherear.Iflickmy
tongueagainstherearlobe,andshemoans.

“Ohhhh.”
It’snotthesoundshemadeonthestreet.It’slouder.It’sfreer.It’sunleashed.
AndIfuckingloveit.
Shepushesherhipsupagainstme,tryingtogetcloser.
Istealaglanceatherclosedeyes,theflushinhercheeks,therednessinherlips.She’sthepieceof

chocolatecakeinfrontofmethatImustconsume.Allofit.Now.Everybite.

Iropemyhandsinherhair,theblondestrandsspillingovermyfingersinagoldentumble.With

allthisfantastichairinmyhands,I’mcompelledtotugit.WhenIdo,shedrawsasharpbreaththat
turnsintoasoftmoan.Myfingerscurlaroundherskull,andIgripherheadtightly,holdingherin
place.

Returningtohermouth,Istopteasing.
Instead,Iturnitup.
Crankthevolume.
Kissherhard.
Devourher.
Ourtonguestangle,ourteethclick,andIswearshe’smeltingunderme,beneathme,intome.My

veinsthrumwithlust,mycockissteelinmypants,andmybrainiszeroedinononething—akiss
thatmakesherwet.

Ittakesallmyresistancenottorunmyhandupherthigh,underherskirt,andacrossthepanelof

thosewhitesee-throughbikinipanties.ButIdon’thavetotouchhertoverifyshe’sturnedonbeyond
anyandallreason.Iknowinthelittlemurmursshemakes,inthewayherarmsslinkaroundmyneck,
inhowherfingerscurlintotheendsofmyhair.Mostofall,theconfirmationcomesinthewayshe
triestorockintome.Herhipsshift,move,seekingmeout,andbrieflymyrestraintsnaps.

Imovequickly,wedgingmyselfbetweenherthighs,thrustingonceagainsther.Asexycryescapes

herlips.Herhandsflytomyass.Therestraintbreaksoncemoreasshepartsherlegsforme,making
room,invitingmetodryhumpheronthecouch.

Ohhell,doIwanttoRSVPtothisoffer.IfIdo,inafewmoresecondsherlegswillbewrapped

aroundmyhips,andI’llwanttobefuckingher.Friendsorstrangers,howcouldInotwanttofuck
her?She’shot,she’sready,andshe’sraringtogo.

Iwanttotugoffthosepanties,sinkintoherheat.
Butshe’smybestfriend,andIcan’tdothat.
Somehow,mycommonsensegrabsthesteeringwheel,wrestingcontrolfrommydick.
I break the kiss and jump away from her, standing in seconds. I need air. I need space. If I stay a

secondlongerI’llpushthebothofustoofar,andIdon’twanthertoknowthebattlethatjustwagedin
myhead.Igivemybestcasualshrug,thensay,“Idon’tevenhavetoaskifthatgotyouwet.”

Sheblinks.
Shescoffs.
She sits up and straightens her spine, squaring her shoulders. “I bet you’d like to know, cocky

bastard,”shesays,asshesmoothsouthershirt,adjustingit,thenherskirt.

Themomentisawkward.Wewereontheprecipiceofdryhumping,butnowwe’retossingzingers,

andI’mstillarousedtopainfullevels.Thiscan’thappenagain.We’veconductedthetest;shewon’t
feeluncomfortablepretendingtobewithme,andthat’sallthereistoit.Onwardandupward,andthe
showmustgoon.

Afamilyshow.Notfuckingporn.
Shegetsupandslipsaroundthecornerintoherbedroom,andIusethebreaktoadjustmyself,take

adeepbreath,andimaginealockerroomfullofhairymen.

Fuck,Iwanttogag.
Butitworks.Myerectionfadesaway.
Shereturns,andwhenshebendsovertograbherpurse,Ican’thelpbutnoticeshe’swearingthe

blacklacethongnow.

Ilookawaysothegrinonmyfacedoesn’trevealmycompletecockybastard-dom.

C H A P T E R N I N E

“SohowaboutthoseMets?”
Astheelevatordoorsspreadopenonherfloor,Iguidetheconversationawayfromthatpractice

sessiononhercouch.Thefinalpracticesession.Nomorekissingrehearsals.Toodangerous.

“They’rehavingagoodseason,”shesaysassheyanksherpursestraphigheronhershoulder,not

entirelytakingthebait.

“Goodpitchingwilldothatforyou,”Isay,pressingthebuttonforthelobbyandwonderingwhen

wasthelasttimethatwetalkedaboutbaseballtocoverupanuncomfortablemoment.She’sahard-
corefan,dueinnosmallparttothefactthatsheregularlycrushesitinherfantasybaseballleague.
I’veoftentoldherifourbarsfizzle,sheshouldbeageneralmanager,butshejustlaughsandtellsme
baseballisherlovesoshewantstokeepitpure.

Right now, it’s not pure. It’s a goddamn metaphor for a true awkward moment. “Are you still

killingitwithyourlineup?”

She turns to me, her brown eyes intensely serious. “I meant it earlier when I said no dating this

week.Ineedtoknowthatyou’reokaywiththat.Notevenafterhours.”

Andwe’redonewiththebaseballbullshit.
“Ofcourse,”Isayquickly,tuggingonmytieandactingoffended.“Ican’tbelieveyouthinkIcan’t

manageaweekwithoutsex.”

She shakes her head as the elevator chugs down. “This might seem silly to you, since this is a

pretendrelationship,butafterwhathappenedwithBradley…”

“Charlotte,Iswear.I’monthewagonforthenextweek,”Isay,holdingupthreefingers.“Scout’s

honor.”

“Youwereneveraboyscout.”
“True.ButIalsodon’tcheat,whetherI’minafakerelationshiporarealone.”
Shearchesaneyebrow.“Haveyoueverbeeninarealone?”
“Sure. And by real, you mean the type of relationship where I know her last name, right?” I say,

deadpan.

Shecrossesherarms.“Letmeamendthat.Haveyoueverbeeninarelationshipthatlastedlonger

thanafortnight?”

Imakeasnootysound.“Fortnight.Aren’tyoufancy?”
“AndAmandafromcollegedoesn’tcount.”
“Whynot?Iwentoutwithherforfourmonths.Butyes.Ihave,”Isay,thoughI’mprettydamnsure

Ihaven’t.Butmyabilitytosustainalong-termcommitmentisn’tthepointofthisconversation.The
pointiswhethermydickpracticesserialmonogamy.“AndI’llkeepitinmypantsforthenextweek,
likeIsaidIwould.Whilewe’reatit,thesamegoesforyou.”

“Youdon’tevenhavetoworryaboutthat.”
“Youmeanthisisn’tgoingtocrampyourstyle?”Iask,astheelevatorslowsatthelobby.
Shescoffs.“Likethat’spossible.”
“Nohotdatesontheagendaforthenextweek?”

Sheraisesherhandsandliftsalltenfingers.“It’sbeentenmonthsforme,”shesayssharplyasthe

doorswhooshopen.

WewalkacrossthelobbyandontoLexington,wheretheUbercarIorderediswaiting.Iopenthe

doorforher,andsheslidesacross.Ifollowher,andwebucklein.Thingsfeelnormalagainbetween
us,likewe’veslidoutofthetunnelofawkward,andit’snowjustus.

“Tenmonthswithoutarelationship,youmean?”Iask,sinceIknowshehasn’tbeeninvolvedwith

anyonesincethesplit.Butcometothinkofit,shehasn’tmentionedanydateseither.Eventhoughshe
doesn’tkissandtell,shestillprobablywouldhavesaidsomethingifshe’dhadagooddate.

Sheshakesherhead.“Norelationship.Nodates.Nokissing.Nothing.”
Ten months without sex. That’s like a lifetime. Not sure I’ve gone more than ten days. Maybe

fourteentops,butthatwasaroughtwoweeks.Shemustbeworkinghertoyshard.

Ah, fuck. Now, I’m picturing Charlotte in bed with a purple vibrating rabbit, legs spread, hand

workingtheten-speedcontroller,breathcomingfast.

Thanks,brain,forputtingthatfantasticimageinmyheadtoderailanyintelligentthought.
SomedaysIwonderhowmengetanythingaccomplishedatallwithsexonthebrainconstantly.In

fact,Iwonderhowmenhaveevergottenasinglethingdoneacrossthewholevastexpanseoftime.
It’samiraclewemanagetotieourshoesandcombourhair.

Thenithitsme.Thatkissonhercouch.Thatkissonthestreet.Thosewerethefirstkissesshe’shad

in nearly a year. My kisses. It makes me kind of happy that I’m the first guy she’s kissed in a long
time.EventhoughitmakesnosensethatI’dbegladaboutthat.Italsodoesn’tmakesensethatadose
ofpossessivenessoverCharlottecoursesthroughme,too.Idon’twantanyoneelsetokissher.

Imean,notforthenextweek,ofcourse.
That’sallthispossessivenessisabout.
“Bytheway,”shesaysasthecararrivesatthestore,“howdoesthisend?”
“Us?”
Shenods.“Thefakeengagement.”
“I guess we have a fake breakup,” I say, even though I hadn’t thought out the end of this. Maybe

becauseIhadn’tscriptedthebeginningeither.It’sallbeenmeflyingbytheseatofmypants.

“At the end of the week?” she asks, as we reach the gleaming glass doors of the New York

institutionthat’sbeenpartofmylifeforaslongasIcanremember.

“Yeah,arealfakebreakup,”Iemphasize,beforeIbuyhertheringtosealthedeal.Aringthathas

anexpirationdate,justlikethisfakeaffairthatwe’venowplannedtheendingfor.

Therealending.

***

ThingsIlearnaboutCharlotteinthenexthouratKatharine’s:
Shelikesholdinghands.
Shelikessnakinganarmaroundmywaist.
Shelikesrunningherfingersthroughmyhair.
She’s quite handsy when we’re playing pretend—it’s downright impressive, her commitment to

methodacting.

Shealsohasimpeccabletasteandselectsaprincesscuttwo-caratdiamondsetinaplatinumband.

“ThisistheringI’vealwayswanted,”shedeclarestoNina,mydad’sright-handwoman,andIswear
Charlotte’s going to float away on a cloud of happiness. The woman absolutely sounds like a
blushingbride-to-be.

Nina smiles brightly. She’s tall and neatly dressed in a silk blouse and gray skirt, and her brown

hair is swept into a bun. “Then let’s make sure the glass slipper fits you perfectly,” she says, and
disappearstothebackofthestoretohavetheringsized.

“You’reapro,”IsayonceNina’soutofearshot.Charlottewavesahanddismissively,andItellher,

“No,seriously.You’regoingtobeacceptinganOscarsoonfornailingtheroleofecstaticfiancée.”

Shedragsherfingersalongaglasscaseandshrugs,likeherperformanceisnobigdeal.“Ilike

diamonds.Thatmakesiteasyforme.”

“Ah,sothisisHonestCharlotteinaction?AndHonestCharlottelovesjewelry?”
She nods. “Honest Charlotte adores princess-cuts and platinum. When my friend Kristen got

engagedlastyearIwasthrilledforher,andcouldn’tstopstaringatherprincesscutdiamond.Itwas
gorgeous, but more importantly, she’s so happy, and she’s madly in love. Being elated over an
engagementringisn’tanemotionIhavetofake,”shesays,meetingmyeyes.Icanseehersincerity
writteninthem—inthismoment,thosebrowneyesarecompletelyguileless.

Shelovestheideaofbeingcommitted.Maybenottome.Butjustingeneral.
Thetruthofthatemotionisalmosttoobigforme.Igottagoforajoke.“Whatifitwereapinkie

ring,though?WhatifIwantedtogetyouagoldpinkieringwithabig,fatrock?Wouldthatfityour
style?”

She leans in closer and wiggles her eyebrows. “Thanks for the hint, snookums. Now I know just

whattogetyouforaweddinggift.”

Nina returns to tell us the ring should be ready in fifteen minutes. “Thank you. I can’t wait,”

Charlottesays,andnowIknowshemeansit.She’stellingsomesortoftruthtoNina.

ButI’mlying,andthatmakesmefeellikeabitofaschmuck.I’veknownNinaforyears,andshe

even babysat for Harper and me when we were younger. She was my dad’s first employee when
Katharine’sstartedasasmallboutiqueoffParkAvenue.Asalesclerk,sheworkedherwayupover
theyears,risingtoVPasthatoneshopgrewintoaninternationalbusiness.Myfatherhasoftensaid
thatNinaandmymotherhavehelpedhimmakemostofhisimportantbusinessdecisionsinthelast
thirtyyears.They’rehiskeyadvisors.

“I’m so thrilled for the two of you, and I’m so glad you’re the woman who brought him to one

knee,” Nina says to Charlotte, who looks away. Nina rests a hip against a display case of diamond
tennisbraceletsandturnstome,gentlyswattingmyarm.“Istillcan’tbelieveyou’regettingmarried.”

“Ihavetopinchmyselftoo,justtoremindmethatit’sallreal,”Isay,andpinchmyforearm,doing

mybesttoignorethenaggingseedsofguilt.Ican’tletthelyingeatawayatme.It’sallforagood
cause, and no one is getting hurt. Besides, I’m not the first dude in the history of the world who
neededafiancée,stat.

“I can remember when you were a wild five-year-old boy like it was yesterday,” Nina says,

nostalgiaglimmeringinhereyes.

“Ican’tbelievemydadactuallyletmevisitthestoreasthatcrazyfive-year-oldboy,”Isay,flashing

backtoallthehoursI’veloggedinthisupscalejoint.Iknowtheplaceinsideandout.Fivefloorsof
sophistication, glitter, and glamour. Diamonds sparkle behind gleaming glass showcases and atop
marblepedestals,andtheburgundycarpetissolushyouwanttocurlupandsleeponit.

Orruncirclesonit,whichiswhatIdidasakid.
“You were so wound up,” Nina says, shaking her finger at me. She smiles, and her gray eyes

crinklewhenshedoes.

“Howwildwasheexactly?”Charlotteasks.Idetectanoteofmischievouscuriosityinhertone.She

castsaquickglanceatme,andIknowwhatshe’sdoing—fishingforfoddertoteasemewithatsome
unsuspectingmoment.

Ninalaughsdelightedlyassheanswers.“LittleSpencerwasahandful.Once,whenhismotherwas

visiting relatives out of town, Spencer ’s father brought him into the store an hour before opening,
and this little devil child immediately started zipping and zinging around all the cases,” she says,
weavingapathintheairwithherhandstodemonstrate.

Icringe,asCharlottelaughs.“Icanpicturethatperfectly.”
“Oh,thatwasonlythestartofthehavochetriedtowreak.Heknockedoveracaseofrubiesonce

duringoneofhismarathonlapsaroundthestore.Anothertime,hesnaggedthevelvetliningfroma
displaycase,andturneditintoacape,”shesays,andCharlotte’slipstwitchinamusement.“But,”Nina
says,narrowinghereyesandholdingupafinger,“Ihadasolution.”

“Benadryl?”Charlotteasksplayfully,thensqueezesmyhand.
Igroaninside,knowingwhat’scoming.
“Oh,IwishIcouldhavegottenhimtonapwhilehisfatherwasbusyinameeting.Instead,Iwentto

the fancy pet accessories shop down the block, bought a leash, and attached it to the loops of his
corduroypants.”

Charlotte’shandfliestohermouth,andIdropmyforeheadtomypalm.Thereitis.ThestoryIwill

neverlivedownnow.Idon’tknowwhat’sworse—theleashorthecorduroy.

“You walked him around the store on a leash?” Charlotte asks, taking her time with each word,

wonderinhervoice.

Ninanods,proudofhersolution.Shepatsthesideofherlegasifshe’sgivingadogacommand,

then emits a low whistle. “C’mere boy,” she says, laughs shuddering through her. “He loved it. He
tooktoitlikealittleCockerSpaniel.”

“Amazing.Almostlikehe’sgotalittlebitofdoginhimjustwaitingtocomeout,”Charlottesays,

shakingherheadinamusement.

Irollmyeyesasthewomencontinuetheirbanter.
“Butdon’ttheyall?Men,thatis,”Ninasays.
Charlottenods.“GoodthingIlikedogs.”
“Besides,itwaseitherleashhimup,orriskthislittlehellionbreakingallthediamondcases.He’s

mellowed over the years though. In a good way,” Nina says, patting me on the cheek. “And he’s
mellowinginanevenbetterwaynow,isn’the?”shesays,directingthelastwordstoCharlotte,who
gulpsandseemstotense.Hereyeswiden,andIfreeze.

Shit.
Thisisit.
ThisiswhenCharlottechokes.
“Wouldn’tyousayso?”Ninacontinues,promptingCharlotte,who’sstockstill.
Redstartstostreakacrosshercheeks,andshe’sabouttoword-vomitthetruth.Toblurtitalloutin

one big, fat confession tied up with a white bow of ridiculous. She might have aced the jewelry
selection,butthatwaseasyforhersparkly,jewel-lovingheart.Thisisthehardpart,anditshows.Oh
crap,doesitshowintheterrorinhereyes.

Her lips start to move, but no sound comes. I squeeze her hand, a reminder that it’s her turn to

speak.Butifshecan’tformwords,I’mgoingtoneedtostepin.Somehow,shemanagesanervous
smile,thenshewinksatNina,andatlastspeechreturns.“Actually,he’sstillahellion.Soifyouheld
ontothatleash,Imightbeabletoputittogooduse.”

Ninatossesherheadbackandcackles.ShedropsahandonCharlotte’sarmandwhispers,“Oh,Ido

solovethenaughtyenergyofthenewlyengaged.”

Sheexcusesherselftogocheckonthering,andCharlotteshootsmealook.“ThoughtIwasgoing

toblowourcover,didn’tyou?”

Iholdupmythumbandforefinger.“Youwerethisclosetogivingitup,weren’tyou?”

Shearchesaneyebrow.“MaybeIwantedyoutosquirm.”
“Youevilwoman,”Isaywithnarrowedeyes.
She dances her fingers up my arm. “Or perhaps I was just processing the fantastic image of you

beingonaleash,”shesays,lookinglikethecatwhodidn’tjusteatthecanary,butfeastedonthebird’s
wholedamnfamily.“Youdoknowthatwasbasicallythebestammunitioneverthatshejustdropped
in my hand. The Spencer on a Leash tale. But it got even better when she called you a Cocker
Spaniel,”shesays,thecornerofherlipsquirkingupina“gotcha”grin.

“WhatcanIsay?IguessIwasadogeventhen.”AtleastIcanbreatheeasilyagain.
“Doyoustilllikeit?Beingwalkedonaleash?”shesays,eggingmeon.
“Isthisyourwayofaskingmetoparticipateinkinky,dirtythings?”
“No.It’smywayofaskinghowfarthisfantasticstoryextendssothatifIwanttomentionitwhile

we’re at the bar, or out with Nick or Kristen, or your sister, that I get it right,” she says, miming
walkingadog.

Butthat’snothowIseethingsgoing.Notatall.JustsosheknowshowIlikethesescenariostoplay

out,Ileanincloser,brushherhairawayfromhershoulder,andwhisper,“Ifanyone’sgettingtiedup,
it’syou.Anditwon’tbewithaleash.It’llbewithascarf,orstockings,orthatblackhot-as-fuckthong
you put on because I made you so wet you had to change. I’d wrap it around your wrists, nice and
tight,thenpinthembehindyourbackuntilyoubegmetotouchyou.”

Herbreathcatches.
She trembles, and a shiver runs through her body. She grips the front of my shirt, her fingertips

curlingaroundabutton.Andholyfuck…shelikestheideaofbeingtiedup.Icanfeelitintheair.In
thewayprotonsandelectronsarebuzzing.Inthesexualenergythat’sradiatingoffherbody.

Iinhale.
Itsmellslikechemistry.
AndIhavenocluewhattomakeofit.
Idon’tevenknowwhyIjustsaidthat,sinceI’mnotsupposedtobethinkingaboutscrewingher,let

alonetyingherup.

Good thing Nina returns moments later with the ring. “A rush sizing job for my most special

customers,”shesayswithasmile.Charlotteholdsoutherhand,andIslidethediamondontoherring
finger,meetinghereyesforasecond.Itrytoreadthem,toseeifshethinksthisisassurrealasIdo—
me,theNewYorkCityplayboy,puttingaringonit.

Evenatemporaryone.
Maybethisisweirdforhertoo.
As I study her face, I can’t tell at first from her serious expression how she’s feeling to wear an

engagementringforthefirsttime.ThenIseeitinherbig,browneyes,asaflickerofsadnesspasses
overthem.Myheartlurches,andIfigureshe’srememberingthattenmonthsagoshewasabouttobe
engagedtoamanwhowoundupbreakingherheart.

GoodthingIwon’tbetheonemakingherlookthatwayever.Idon’thavethepowertohurther

likethat.

Idropaquickkissonhercheek,thenhandovermyplatinumcardandspendclosetotenthousand

dollarsonaring.Whenwegotoworkthatnight,shedoesn’twearit.

C H A P T E R T E N

Thenextafternoon,I’mwatchingasalittlewhiteballsoarshighintheair,thenlandswithaplunk

onfakegrassaboutfifteenfeetaway.

“Dude,yousuck,”ItellNick.
“Wellawareofthat.”
Hegrabsanotherball,setsitdownonthetee,andswingshisclub.Whenhemakescontact,theball

sails so damn high, it nearly hits the top of the black net, then smacks the long path of green that
extendsbelowlikeadockovertheHudsonRiver.Twowhitedinnercruiseshipsaremoorednextto
the driving range, and nothing but blue skies stretch above us. We’re at Chelsea Piers, where he’s
workingonhisgolfgame.

“Hate to break it to you, but I doubt your new boss is going to be terribly impressed with your

swing.Maybeyoucanconvincehimtoplaysoftballwithusinstead.”

He scoffs. “Not likely. The man is obsessed with golf, and word is he plays favorites and gives

bettertimeslotstotheshowrunnerswhokeepupwithhimonthecourse.”

“That’sinsane.Butifthat’strue,youneedlessshoulder.Morehips,”Itellhim,sinceIdabbledin

golfinhighschool.Idon’ttalkaboutitmuch.Makesmesoundtoosnooty.Ortooold.Butifithelps
mybuddy,I’llcalluptheoldgolfskillbookforhim.

Nick raises his face and stares at me through his black hipster glasses, his brown hair flopping

downonhisforehead.“Don’tyoudareputyourhandsonmyhipstoshowme.”

Icrackup,holdingupmyhandsinsurrender.“Youcancountonthatneverhappening,”Isay,asI

moveoutofthewayofhisnextattempt.

Hedoesbetterthistime,andtheballarcsneatlyoverthegrass.
“Thereyougo,”Isay.“Writethatintoyournextepisode.Mr.Orgasm’sbuddysaveshisassfrom

embarrassinghimselfwithhisgolfswinginfrontofthenewboss.”

NickHammerisarockstarintheTVworld.Backinhighschool,hewasthequietgeekbentover

his notebook sketching dirty comic strips that he posted online. Ten years later, he turned his talent
and his concept into an animated TV show—The Adventures of Mr. Orgasm, a hilarious and filthy
show that airs late at night on the cable network Comedy Nation. The hero is an animated caped
crusaderwhobestowsorgasmicpleasureonwomankind.PrettysureitwaswishfulfillmentforNick
backinhighschool.Now,artimitateslifeandviceversa.He’sstillgotaquietside,butwomennotice
him.He’shittheweightssinceourteenagedays,inkeduphisarmswithtattooshedesignedhimself,
and found the guts to finally start talking to the opposite sex. The result? Pure magic. The man’s a
total tomcat, and I suspect the glasses and unassuming I-once-was-a-geek-now-I’m-a-star persona
helpshiscausewiththeladies.

“Andhowexactlydoesthecomingcomeintoplayinthisstorylineyoupropose?”heasksdryly.
I shrug and clap him on the shoulder. “Don’t know. That’s why you, my man, are the writer. It’s

yourjobtofigureouthowtheOsfitintotheshow.Speakingofstorylines,Ineedalittlehelpwith
something,”Isay,gettingtotheheartofthisquickdetourI’vemadetoseehimthisafternoon.

He sets down his club, and crooks his finger. “It’s called the G-spot. You find it inside a woman.

When you hit it at just the right angle, she comes harder than she ever has before. Need anything

else?”

I pretend to bang a drumstick as soundtrack to his punchline, then I tell him about my new

temporaryrelationshipstatus.

Afterhelaughs,guffaws,andchucklesovermypredicament,heasks,“Isthisyourwayofasking

metobeyourbestman?Willtheweddingbefake,too?”

Ilaughandshakemyhead.“Therewon’tbeawedding.Ever.ButthisiswhatIneed.Whenwehave

oursoftballgamenextweekend,mydadwillbethere,andhisbuyerwillbethere.AllIneedisfor
youtoactlikeyouknewIwasintoher.Ifitcomesup,don’tactsurprisedorsuspicious.”Mydadruns
amixed-agesoftballteamsponsoredbyKatharine’s,andherecruitedbothNickandmeforhisteam
thisyear.Nick’ssoftballswingisworldsbetterthanhisgolfswing.

He nods several times, like he’s taking in my directive, then he strokes his chin. “Let me get this

straight. What you’re saying is, I should behave like I’m perfectly capable of backing up the latest
bullshitofyours.Okay.IthinkIcandothat.”

Irollmyeyes.“That’swhyIdependonyou.Thebottomlesswellofsarcasm.”
“Itmatchesyours,”hesayswithasmirk.
“Ineedtotakeoff,sinceIhavethisdinnerthingtonight.I’llcatchyoulater.”
I start to head out, when he calls out to me. “Does this mean I can’t put the moves on Charlotte

now?”

Myshoulderstenseforamomentandthatfieryburstofpossessivenessreturnswithavengeance,

likeared-tailedhawkswoopingdownfromthesky,big-assclawsbrandished.Iremindmyselfhe’s
joking. That’s what he does. And I’m not the least bit jealous or possessive. The hawk turns into a
dove.“Justforthenextweekorso,”Isay.“Thenshe’sallyours.”

Butthosewordsfeelallwrongcomingoutofmymouth.Evenifshe’snotmine,shecan’tbehis.

AndI’mnotamotherfuckingbirdofpeace.

“Ialwaysthoughtyoutwowouldmakeacutecouple,”hesaysinasugar-sweetvoice.
As I walk off, he makes mock kissing sounds. I’m pretty sure he’s singing the kissing tree song,

andit’sdefinitelymycuetoputhimintherearviewmirror.

Besides,Ineedtogetincharacterfortonight.
Becausethisisallanact.
Nothingmore.

C H A P T E R E L E V E N

Thesteakisdelicious,theCaesarsaladtasty,andtheredwinesmooth.
Liketheconversation.
Sofar,sogood.It’sbeenjewelry,privateschools,softballleagues,andhowgreattheweatheris.

Canyouspellgetting-away-with-it?

Oh, and after we arrived at the restaurant, the Offermans all bestowed their requisite

‘congratulations’onmybride-to-beandme,assheflashedherring,andthewomenoohedandaahed.
Mysister,too.Hercongratswasthebiggestofall;sowasherhug,asshepulledmeintoherloving,
sisterlyviceandbreathed,barelyaudible,inmyear,“Youcan’tfoolme.ButI’vegotyourback.”

Guessyoucan’ttrickamagician.She’sbeentrainedtodetectsleightofhand,andshespottedmine

inseconds.

“Thanks.Ioweyou.”
“Youdo.EspeciallysinceIstillhaven’tforgivenyoufortheSantaClausincidentwhenIwasten,”

shehissed,beforebreakingapartandflashingasmileforthecamera.

ButthereporterfromMetropolisLifeandTimesdidn’tseemtocatchon,nordidhelastforlong

hereattheprivateroominMcCoy’s.Isuspecthewasanintern,whichconfirmsthiswillbesomesort
of puff piece. A young guy, he lobbed a few questions at my dad and Mr. Offerman, about the
handover of the family-owned business, then snapped some pictures of the clan and took off.
Probablysohedoesn’tmisshisbedtime.

Easyaspie.
Nowwe’refinishingourmealatthismidtownsteakrestaurantthatexudesclassandambiancewith

itscrispwhitetablecloths,oaktables,softlighting,andwaitersinsuits.Islidemyknifethroughthe
filet mignon and do a double take at something in the corner of my vision. Mr. Offerman’s oldest
daughter,Emily,isseatedacrossfromme.Shetwirlsastrandofherlongblackhairandlooksatme.

Uh-oh.
Irecognizethatstare.It’sthekindwomengivefromacrossthebarwhenthey’reflirtingwithyou.

Worryshimmiesthroughme.Isshebattinghereyelashes,now?

Avertingmygaze,Itakeabiteofthesteak,chewit,andswallowroughly.Igrabmywineglassand

downmoreoftheredliquid.Somethingslidesacrossthetoeofmyshoe.

SomethingthatfeelsdistinctlylikeFootofaYoungLady.
No.
Nofuckingway.
IsEmilyplayingfootsiewithme?
Mychesttightens.
Iyankmyfootaway.
Mysisterlaughsoutloud.
Thestinkinglittleprankster.She’ssittingnexttoEmily.
MymotherturnstoHarperandsmilesbrightly.“Somethingfunny?”
She nods, her red ponytail bouncing as she reins in a grin. “Just remembering this funny joke I

heard.”

“Caretoshare?Orisitinappropriate?”mymotherasks,voicelacedwithpoliteness.Shewantsthis

dinner to go well for my dad, too. She’s no stick in the mud. If Harper has a good, clean joke, my
momwillwanttohearit.Thewomanloveslaughing.

My sister sets down her fork. “It’s completely appropriate. In fact, it’s perfect for Spencer now,”

Harper says, her eyes lasered in on me. She clears her throat. She’s got the attention of the whole
table.Isitramrodstraight,nervesskitteringthroughmebecauseIhavenocluewhatshe’supto.She
saidshe’dkeepmysecret,butshe’salsobeenlookingforawaytostickittomeeversinceItoldher
SantaClauswasn’treal,andthatasafifthgradershewastoooldtostillbelieveinhim.Withweteyes
andatear-stainedface,shesworeshe’dgetbackatmeforruininghergreatestdream.

She better not be exacting her revenge now. If she is, I will dangle her upside down over the

banisteruntilshecriesuncle.Oh,wait.Thatwasten-year-oldSpencerthinking.Thematuremewould
never do that. Instead, I’ll just break out the old family photo album the next time she brings a date
home.Showoffhersecondgradehaircut.Thatshegaveherself.

“Can’twaittohearit,”Isay,leaningbackinmychair.
Bringiton,sis.
Sheraisesherchinandlaunchesintoherjoke.“Whycan’tRayCharlesseehisfriends?”
“Why?” Mrs. Offerman asks curiously, knitting her brow. She mouths to herself, “because he’s

blind,”andseemspleasedshegottheanswerinadvance.

Mysisterpauses,tiltsherhead,andstaresstraightatme.“Becausehe’smarried.”
Harper has the whole table laughing. Well, the over-twenty crowd. Mr. Offerman’s daughters

hardlychuckle,butHarperdoesn’tneedtoamusethem.Shehadthemeatingoutofherhandearlierin
thenightwhenshewasdiscussingpopmusicandtipsfortakingbetterselfies,includingpointsfor—
getthis—videoselfies.

“Doyouthinkthat’llhappentoyousoon,Spencer?”mysisterasks,battinghereyelashesatmeas

shepropsherchininherhands.

Sheissuchadevil.
“Nah,Charlotteiscool,”IsayasIslidemyshoeclosertoHarperunderthetable,andtrytokick

her.Imean,tapherfootlightly.Butinstead,Emilyyelps.

“Ouch,thathurt,”shewhines.
Ohfuck.Wronggirl.
“What happened, dear?” Mrs. Offerman snaps her gaze to her oldest daughter. She’s a petite

woman,andhasspentmostofthemealfussingoverherfamilymembers.

“Someonejustkickedmeunderthetable,”Emilysays,annoyed.
Hermotherturnsthosewatchfulblueeyestomysideofthetable,scanningforthekickingculprit.I

winceinside.Ican’tbelieveI’vefuckedthisupalready,andit’sallbecauseofmysister.

Iracethroughpossibleexcuses,butbeforeIlatchontoone,Charlottepipesin,placingherhandon

herheartinapology.“I’msosorry,Emily.Thatwasme.WhenSpencerdrivesmecrazy,Ikickhim
underthetable.And,beingaman,hedoesthatoften,eventhoughIstilladorehim.Thistimethough,
I slipped and kicked you. I’m sorry,” she says with the sweetest smile, and I could kiss her. I could
fuckingkissher.

SoIdo.Iclaspmyhandonhercheek.“Ideservedit.Ilovethatyoukeepmeincheck,honeybear,”

Isay,thenpressasoftkisstoherlips.

Shekissesmebackforafewseconds,achaste,sweetkiss,butevenso,it’snearlyenoughformeto

forgetthewholetablefullofpeople.AllIwantismoreofthisfakekissing.Moretongue,morelips,
moreteeth.

Morecontact.
Moreher.

ExactlywhatIcan’tbewanting.
Clappingbegins.Iendthekisstoseemysisterleadingthecheers.“Youtwoarethecutestcouple.

Whenisthewedding?”

Oh.
Thatdetail.
Mymother ’seyesshinewithexcitement.“Ohyes,willitbeasummerwedding?”
“We’re thinking spring,” Charlotte says, once again seamlessly taking the reins. “Perhaps May.

Maybeatanartgallery.Oramuseum.TheMuseumofModernArthassuchlovelysculpturegardens
forweddings.”

“Oh,thatwouldbeagorgeouslocation,”Mrs.Offermansays,thekickingincidentnowinagalaxy

far,faraway.Shecupsherhandoverthesideofhermouthsohergirlscan’tseeher.“I’vealready
been scoping out locations for their nuptials, even though those are years away. But you can never
starttooearly.”

Mr.Offermanclaspshishandontopofhers.“It’sagoodhobbyforyou,dear.Itgetsyououtofthe

kitchen.”

Istraightenmyspine.Areweinthefiftieshere?“Outofthekitchen?”
Myfatherclearshisthroat,hisvoiceboomingovermine.“Kate,whatdoyouthinkofthesculpture

garden?”hesaystomymother,andthat’smycuetozipmylips.“You’vealwayslovedtheMuseum
ofModernArt.”

“It’s a stunning location, and I think Charlotte and Spencer ’s wedding will be beautiful wherever

they choose to hold it. Charlotte, I know you’re close to your own mother, but I’m here for any
planninghelpyouneed.Iadoreweddings.”

Mrs.Offermanweighsinagain,lockinghergazewithCharlotte.“Yourmothermustbesothrilled.

Willshebeplanningitforyou?”

Charlotte’sexpressionturnsperplexed,andshefurrowsherbrow.“I’msureshe’llhelp.”
“Ofcourseshe’llhelp,dear.She’lldomorethanhelp.Isshenearby?”
“MyparentsliveinConnecticut.”
“Whatelsewouldshebedoingbuthelpingplanthespecialday?”Mrs.Offermansayswithalook

ofuttersurprise,asifshecan’tcomprehendanyscenariobuttheonewhereCharlotte’smomspends
everywakinghourbarkingcommandsatfloristsandissuingordersatswankreceptionhalls.

“She’sprettybusywithwork,”Charlottesays.
“Oh.Work?”Thatseemstoconfusethewoman.“Whatdoesshedo?”
“She’sasurgeonatahospitalinNewHaven.”
Mrs. Offerman’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline, her eyes widening to beach-ball size. “How

interesting.Andyourfather?”

“He’sanurse,”Charlottesays,andhertoneissocompletelydrythatIstarttocrackup,butmanage

tosuckinthesoundandclampmylipstogetheroncemore.

“Really?Ithoughthewasadoctor,too?”mymothersays,genuinelysurprised,assheshouldbe,

since Charlotte is fucking lying right now. It is killing me, absolutely killing me to hold all this
laugherinsidemythroat.

Charlotte smacks her forehead. “My bad. He started as a nurse, but he worked his way up, at my

mother ’sencouragement,andbecameadoctor,too.”Thistimesheistellingthewholetruth,andthe
lookonMrs.Offerman’sfaceispriceless.It’sasifshe’sneverheardofamalenurse,andcertainly
notonewhobecameadoctorathiswife’surging.Mr.Offermanappearsevenmoreflummoxed.

Thesilencespreads.Thetablegoesquietforamoment.Theclinkofglassesandthejanglingslide

offorksagainstchinaistheonlysoundintheprivateroom.

“Tothehappycouple,”myfathersays,rescuingthetablefromanymorechatterabouttherolesof

menandwomenbyraisinghisglass.

“Hear,hear.Whodoesn’tloveawedding?It’sourfavoritething,isn’tit?”Mr.Offermansaysto

Dadwithawinkthatsays,nowwe’retwomencelebratingwhatfeedsourbusiness.

Hisdaughtersraisetheirsodaglasses,andIholdupmywineglass,clinkingfirstwithCharlotte.A

faint noise comes from under the table, like a light thunk. She flashes me a grin, and there’s
somethingveryprivateinherexpression,somethingthatsayswehaveasecret.Then,Iknowwhatit
is. Because this time, there’s no doubt who’s touching who. It’s her toes sliding over the top of my
shoes.Thenalongmylowerleg.Nowhigher,andit’scrazy,trulycrazy,thatCharlotte’stoesalong
mylegfeelsodamngood.

ThekindofgoodwhereIwanttograbherhand,tugherintothebathroom,pushherupagainstthe

wall,andhikeupthatskirt.ThekindwhereIdiscoverwhatkindofpantiesshe’swearingtonight,and
ifthey’realreadydampwithherarousal.

Butthat.Can’t.Happen.
Mustbeallthewine.
“WeshouldgotoMoMAtomorrow,”Mrs.Offermansaystomymom.“Emilyplanstostudyart

historyincollegenextyear.”Emilyraisesaneyebrow,likeshedisagreeswiththatnotion.“Andyou
cancheckoutthegardens,Kate.”

“Whatalovelyidea,”mymother,everthediplomat,says.
Mrs.OffermanlockseyeswithCharlotte.“Wouldyouliketojoinus?”
“Absolutely.”Charlottesqueezesmyhand.“We’llbothbethere.”
“Can’twait,”Isay,becauseanyotheranswercouldbecausefordismemberment.
Ifinishmyglassofwine,andastheconversationheadsinanotherdirection,sodoesCharlotte’s

foot,assheslidesitbackintohershoe.I’mgrateful,becauseifIgetarousedbyafoot,Imightneed
togetmyselfcheckedouttomakesureIhaven’trevertedtopreteenturn-onlevels.

Afterdessertandcoffee,Ipullmysisterawayfromthetable,farenoughfromtheotherstohavea

wordwithher.“Harper,seriously.You’vegottobeonmyside.Youweresoclosetoservingitup.”

“Oh,please.Iwasnot.Iwasonlyhavingfun.YouknowI’vegotyourback,andalwaysdo,”she

says,likeI’dbecrazytothinkotherwise.Butcrazyfeelslikemynewnormalthisweekend.

“Iknow.Justbeinonthiswithme.Notagainstme,”Isay,adashofdesperationinmyvoice.Who

amIkidding?It’snotadash.It’safullfuckingserving.

Shelaughs.“You’resopatheticwhenyouneedsomething.Where’stheSpencerwhodangledme

overthebanisterwhenIwaseight?”

Iadoptalookofshock.“Ithoughtyouweresixwhenthathappened?”
“Evenworse.”Shepullsmeinforahug.“It’sokay.Iwon’tratyouout.ButIhopeyouknowwhat

you’redoing.”

“Don’tworry.Igotthis.”
“Youbetter.Andyoubetterbecareful.”Sheturnshervoicetoathreateningwhisper,andgraspsmy

shirt.“Butsomeday,whenyouleastexpectit,IwilltakemyrevengeforSanta.”Hergriptightensand
hervoicegoesevenquieter.“Watchyourteno’clock—Emilyismakingeyesatyou.Shehasitbad
foryoualready.”

Emilyrisesfromthetable,staringatthephoneinherhand.
“Wrong,” I say, as I break the embrace. “She’s just zoned out on her screen, texting friends

probably.”

But it turns out my sister isn’t wrong, because Emily is definitely looking at me now. Her eyes

hookintomine,andhertonguedartsout,lickingherlips.

Harperlaughs,thenbrandishesimaginaryclaws.“Meow.Ismellacatfight.”

Ishakemyhead.Charlotteishardlythetypeforacatfight.
MyfakefiancéewalkspastEmily,andtheyoungergirlroamshereyesoverCharlottelikeshe’s

studyingher,waitingtopounce.Herhandshootsout,andshegrabsCharlotte’sarm.Shit,Harperwas
right.Fisticuffsareabouttostart.I’mmomentarilytornbetweenthesheerrubberneckingfascination
ofwatchingthesceneunfold,andtheimpulsetostopatussle.

“OhmyGod,Iloveyourshoes,”Emilysays,ahugeadoringsmileonherface.“Wheredidyou

getthem?”

Whew.EmilywasonlycheckingoutCharlotte’sfootwear.Thetwoofthemgababoutfashionand

clothesanddesigners,andCharlottehandlesitallwithaplomb.

Idon’tknowwhyshedoubtedherselfearliertoday.
Shefuckingrocks.Shecanbemyfakefiancéeanytime.

C H A P T E R T W E L V E

Charlotte lets out a big breath. She wipes her hand across her forehead. “After that performance,

andthislongday,Ineedadrink,”shesayswhenweslideintoacab.“Ortwo.”

“Youandmeboth.”Itapherkneewithmyknuckles,thentellthedrivertoheaddowntown.“Bythe

way,nurse.Fuckingbrilliant.”

Weknockfists.“Anditwasn’tevenalie.Itwasjusta,howshallwesay,delayedadmissionofthe

truth.”

“Honestly,I’mgivingyouanAforperfecttimingwithyourdeliverytonight.”
“Whythankyou,”shesays,playfully.“Ilookforwardtomyreportcard.”
Ipretendtohandonetoher.
Shemimesopeningit,thenreads.“IseeIearnedstraightAs.”
I shake my head. “A-plus. The nurse comment counts as extra credit. See?” I stab a finger at the

invisiblereportcard,asifI’mpointingitout.

Shelaughsandgrabsmyarm.“Icouldn’thelpmyself.Hercommentsweresoold-fashioned.”
MymomstayedhomewithHarperandmeaskids,soI’mtotallyonboardwithamomworking

outofthehouseortakingcareofthekids.Whateverworksforher.InMom’scase,sheraisedus,and
shealsoadvisedmyfatheronhisbusiness.Throughitall,hetreatedherlikeaqueeninsomeways
andanequalinallways.That’showitshouldbe,whateverchoiceawomanmakes.

“Speaking of old-fashioned, want to try Gin Joint?” I ask, naming a new bar in Chelsea that’s

gettingravereviews,especiallyforitsold-fashionedmadewithgin.

“Yes.I’vebeenupsincesixa.m.,”shesays,thenpoutsherlipslikeamoviestarofoldendaysand

speaksinahusky,sexytone.“ButI’mstillinthemoodforanightcap.”

Soonwewalkthroughareddoorintoagarden-levelbarwithsoft,sultrymusicpipedinoverhead,

and wine red, royal blue, and deep purple velvet couches. The place has a New Orleans–style
ambiance—rich,dark,andmoody.

Charlottesinksdownontoacouch,droppingherpursebyherside,relaxationevidentinherpose.I

orderforus,returningwithherold-fashionedandabourbonontherocksforme.

“ToHonestCharlotte,”Isay,liftingmyglass.
“ToCockerSpanielSpencer,”shesays,thentakesadrink.Shemoansafterthefirstsipandtapsher

glass.“Thatisdivine.Tryit.”

Shehandsmetheglass,andItakeadrink.Mytastebudsdoajig.“Wow.Canwestealtheirrecipe?”
Shelaughs.“JustlikethetimewewenttoSpeakeasy,”shesays,hereyestwinklingwiththememory

of how we went into business together. We were celebrating the sale of Boyfriend Material at the
openingofanewbarinmidtown.We’dorderedthebar ’ssignaturecocktail,thePurpleSnowGlobe,
whichwentontobecomeabighitasapackageddrinksoldingrocerystores.Itwassodamngood,
we’dbothpointedtoourdrinksatthesametime,andsaid“Let’sstealthisrecipe.”

“Jinx,youowemeadrink,”we’dthensaidinunison.
Thathadsealedthedealonourplans.Incollege,wewerebeersnobs,andweusedtojokeatparties

that we’d open our own bar someday, and we’d kick ass at it because we could tell the difference

betweenqualitybeerandtheswillfromakeg.Hardlyaspecialskill,butevenso,thatwaswhatgotus
rolling.

Oncewegraduated,wewentindifferentdirectionsworkwise,eventhoughwestayedclosefriends.

I launched my app, and Charlotte snagged a plum gig in business development at a Fortune 500
company.Thehourswereruthless,though,theenvironmentwascutthroat,andtherewasn’tasingle
ounce of enjoyment. She was miserable but determined not to wallow in it, so she started making
planstodowhatsheloved—runabusinessbasedonfun,beingsocial,andhangingoutwithfriends.
Whenshegavenotice,sheaskedmeifIwasreadytodowhatwe’dtalkedaboutthenightwe’dvowed
nevertodrinkkegbeer.

“I’vebeensquirrelingawaymyyearlybonuses.Wanttoopenabarinmidtownwithme?”
Flush with cash from the sale, and ready for a new adventure, I’d said yes in seconds. “Can we

namethebarafterthedogswehadaskids?”

“Hellyeah.”
Therestishistory.TheLuckySpotisprofitableandhasexpandedtothreelocations,andwehavea

blastrunningittogether.

Charlotteand I reminisceabout our earlydays in business asGin Joint fillsup. The door opens,

and a group of pretty, sexy ladies wearing slinky jeans and heels that go on forever pour in.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a part of me says to check them out, but the thought vanishes
almostasquicklyasitappears.

Charlottefinishesherold-fashionedjustasmybourbondisappears.Wemoveontosecondsaswe

talk about our most memorable customers over the years. The conversation is free and easy, and it
remindsmeofwhyweworksowellasfriends,andwhyit’ssomuchbetterforourfriendshipifwe
don’teverpracticekissingagain.BecauseIdon’twanttogivethisup.She’sthepersonIcanmostbe
myselfwith,andIlikejustchillingherewithher.Wedidn’tdoatonofthiswhenBradleyDipstick
wasinthepicture.

Likeshecanreadmymind,Charlottesighshappilyandsays,“ImisseddoingthiswithyouwhenI

waswiththatjackass.”

“Iwasthinkingthesamething.”
Shetiltsherheadandlooksupatme.“Really?”Theexpressiononherfaceisoneofwonderand

surprise.“Soitworks,then?”

“Whatworks?”Iaskcuriously.
Sherunsafingeralongthesideofmyhair.“ThedeviceIimplantedinyourheadsoIcouldread

yourmind,”shesaysinmockseriousness.

Ilaughandsqueezehershoulder.“Yougotme.Nextroundonme.”
“Theentirenightbetterbeonyou.”
“Itis.Andyes,Imissedthis,too—hangingwithyouwhenyouwerewithhim.”
“Going to your house. Binge watching TV shows, eating gummy bears or lemonheads, and

drinkingtequilaorwine,dependingonwhatwedecidedwentbesttogether.”

“Wereallyarequitesavvyatourcandy-liquorpairings.”
“We are.” Charlotte sighs happily and scoots closer, almost like she’s going to cuddle with me.

“Youknow,thismightsoundweird,butI’mgladIcaughthimscrewingthatwoman.Buyingaplace
with him would have been such a mistake. It was like someone was looking out for me, in a weird
way.Doesthatsoundcrazy?”

“Notatall.”
“IfIwerewithhim—engagedtohimandlivingwithhim—Iwouldn’tbeabletodothiswithyou.”
At first I’m sure she means hanging out. But when I feel a brush of her hand against my leg, I

wonderifshemeanssomethingelse.

Ilookdown,andherpalmisspreadacrossmythigh.Interesting.I’mhonestlynotsurewhenthat

happened,orwhyIdidn’tnoticeitbefore,butherhandiswarm,anditfeelsgood,andIsupposeI’m
gettingusedtohertouchingme.Maybethat’swhyIdidn’trealizeshe’sbeentouchingmethelastfew
minutesaswe’vebeenchatting.I’vequicklygrownaccustomedtoherhandsonmybody.

When the waitress strolls by, Charlotte calls her over, and orders a gin and tonic. By the time it

arrivesfiveminuteslater,Charlotte’shandisnolongerrestingonmythigh.It’smoving.Shestrokes
littlelinesalongmyleg,andthisisn’tjusthandsyanymore.Thisissomethingelseentirely.

I’m caught off guard and completely unprepared for this side of Charlotte—the nighttime, after

hoursCharlotte,whoisverymuchtouchingmelikewearetogether,eventhoughthere’snoaudience
now.

“Spencer,” she says, and her voice is all floaty and happy, “I’m so glad we went into business

together.”

Okay,thatmakessense.She’sinoneofthosehappy-go-luckytipsymoodswhereshegushesabout

lifebeinggood.Icanhandlethis.Shetakesasipofherdrink,setsdowntheglass,andshiftscloser.
Asshemovesnearer,sodoherfingertips,astheymigratehigherupmyleg.

Whoa.
Wasnotexpectingallthishandaction,northesubtlepathshe’staking.
“Yeah.Me,too.”
Herfingersbrushhigheronthefabricofmypants.She’sgettingfriendlier.Muchfriendlier.Just

howstrongarethesedrinks?

“Iwassomiserablebeforewestartedit,andnowIlovewhatIdo,”shesays,andherhandonmy

thighsuddenlyacquiresamindofitsown.Orhormonesofitsown.Becauseitisonaone-waypathto
mydick.Andit’slikesomeonecrankeduptheheatinthebar.“DoyouknowwhyelseI’mgladI’m
notwithBradley?”

“Why?”Iaskcarefully,asthosenimble,eagerfingersinchcloser.I’menfuego.Myneckishot.My

hairmightbeupinflames.Icouldmeltpolarcapsrightaboutnow.

“BecauseI’mhavingagreattimeplayingpretendwithyou,”shesays,andherrightbreastpresses

against my arm. She’s so soft, and I’m dying to know what her breasts feel like in my hands, how
she’drespondtomyfingerstracingcirclesacrossthesensitiveflesh,thenoisesshe’dmakewhenI
suckanippleintomymouth.

Howhardhernipplesgetfrommylips.
ThereIgoagain.
ExactlywhereIshouldn’tbe.
Herfingersarenotinches,notcentimeters,butnowmillimetersfromtheoutlineofmydick.
Iknowwhattodo,andatthesametime,Idon’thaveaclue.Myinstinctstellmethemovestomake,

howtotouch,howtokiss,howtofuck.Butit’slikeapagefromtheplaybookismissing.Awhole
damnchaptereven.BecausethisisCharlotte,andoursituationisbeyondbizarre.We’refriendsand
business partners. We’re fake lovers who aren’t fucking. Yesterday, we were sober and practicing
kissing,andtonightwewereperformingforanaudience.

Nowallbetsareoff.It’sjustus,andyetwe’restilltouching.
Neitheroneofusisoperatingattop-notchbrainpower,though.I’mtipsy,butshe’shighlybuzzed.

That’sgottobewhereallthispersistentcontactiscomingfrom.It’slikethebaristryingtoseduce
us,toweaveitsspellonus.It’sdark,andeveryonearoundusistouching,armsaroundwaists,hands
in pockets, lips on neck. Gin Joint is pulsing with dirty thoughts. It’s beating with the promise of
midnight,andsexafterdark.

Mybreathfleesmychestwhenherfingerstouchmyhard-on.Hereyeslightup,likeshe’sopening

agift,andthat’sexactlyhowIwantawomantofeel,butpreciselyhowCharlotteshouldnotfucking

feel.

“Charlotte,”Isay,myvoiceaharshwarning.
“Spencer,” she whispers, her lips pouty and sexy as she lingers on the last letter. When she does

that,allIcanseeisherlipsonmycock,herblondehairspillingacrossmylegs,herheadbobbingup
anddown.It’sagloriousimage,andagoddamndangerousone.

Thetemposhiftsagainwhenshesimplyrestsherheadonmyshoulder,andreturnsherhandsto

herlap.

Likesheturnedoffthelightswitch.
“Ijustlikehangingoutwithyou,”shesays,hereyesfluttering,likeshe’ssleepy.
“Ilikeit,too,”Iraspout.“Andyou’retired.”
“Iknow.Longday.Mypillowiscallingouttome.”
Great.Fuckinggreat.I’mturnedon,andshe’sslidingintothesnoozezone.Herhandshavesettled

down,hertouchy-feelysidehassubsided,andI’mleftwithamassivefuckingerection,andmybest
friend’ssexy-as-sinbodysnuggledbymysideonavelvetcouch.

Fifteenminuteslater,wegetinacab.IgivethedriverCharlotte’saddress,becauseIwanttomake

suremyhappy,tipsy,tiredfriendgetshomesafely.Aftertheword“Lexington”leavesmymouth,I
turntolookather,andeverythinghappensinawildblur.

C H A P T E R T H I R T E E N

Herarmsarearoundmyneckandhermouthclaimsmine.Shekissesmefuriously,likeastorm,a

lightningstormofkissesrainingdownfromthesky,burstingwithheatandsparksandthunder.

She’sbuzzed.Icanfeelitintheloose,languidwayshemoves,inthesoftnessofherlimbs,andin

thepantinginherbreath.Itasteginonherlips,andtheliquorhasnevertastedbetterinmylifethan
whenit’smixedwithCharlotte.Everythingaboutherbombardsmysenses—hertaste,herscent,her
breath. I smell honey on her skin—she used honey blossom from that collection she showed me.
Knowingthissmalldetailabouther,wherethisintoxicatingscentcomesfrom,makesthebloodroar
inmyveins.Makesmewanttoknowwhatshe’llsmellliketomorrow.Howshe’lltastethenextday.
When she gets out of the shower, what scent she’ll rub into her body, and whether it will drive me
wild,too.

Thishoneysmellisspectacular.Headyandbewitchingandallher,andIknowwhateversheputson

the next day and the next will turn me on with the same raging intensity, because she is so fucking
alluring.

Especiallywhenshesucksonmyliplikethat.Igroanandropemyarmsaroundher,yankingher

closer.She’sclimbeduponme,straddlingmeinthebackofthecabasitslingsusuptheavenue,the
lightsoflate-nightManhattanwhippingby.

She says my name again on a smoky moan. It sounds like an orgasm as it leaves her red lips.

“Spencer.Iwantyou,”shewhispersinmyear.“Yougotmesowetfromthatkissyesterday.I’mso
wetrightnow,too.Everythingyoudoturnsmeon.”

OhGod.Ohhell.Oh,fuckingsavemefrommyself.
Thereisnoway.Ineedtopressthebrakes.Thiscarisspeedingoutofcontrol.It’sgoingtocrash

inafieryblaze.Ihavetostopit.

“Charlotte,”Iwarn,andItrytopeelheroffme,butwhat’sthisnow?She’sliftedupherskirtand

positionedherselfontheoutlineofmycock,andthisissweet,unholytortureofthehighestdegree.I
breatheouthardasIgazedownather.Thecabslowsatalight,andneitheroneofusgivesashitthat
thecabdriveristhreefeetaway.Ican’tcareaboutanythingbutthepureheatsizzlingovermyskinas
shegrindsagainstme.Herwetpantiesrubagainstmyerection,andherlipsareeverywhereonme,
like a sensual assault that comes so close to breaking me down. Her mouth moves to my neck, my
chin,myjaw,asshetravelstomyear.Sheslidesherteethacrossmyearlobeandnips.

Imoanandgripherhipsharder.Ifuckingloveit.Iloveeverythingshedoes.Sheflickshertongue

againsttheshellofmyear,andImightaswelljustwavethewhiteflagandadmitdefeat,becauseshe’s
foundmyweakspot,andsheseemstoknowit.Shekissesmethere,andeverysweepofhertongue
makesmeharder,makesmewanttohaulheruptoherhome,throwheronherbed,slideintoherand
showherthatifshecandrivemecrazywithakiss,Icanmakeherscreaminpleasurewithmycock.

She raises her hips, slams back down onto me, and whispers, “When I felt you on my couch it

drovemewild.Completelywild.”

Herhandsnakesbetweenus,andshegrabsmycock.
I’melectrified.Everyinchofmebuzzeswiththousandsofwattsofpowerbecauseshetouchesme

throughmypants.Hereyesshinewithpure,unbridledlustasifshe’srealizinghowmuchthereisof

me,and,Ihope,howmuchshewantsme.Fuck,Iwanthertohaveitall.

Rightnow.
“Iwanttoknowhowyoufeelinsideme,”shemurmurs.
Athousandresponsesfillmyhead.It’llfeelbetterthananythingyou’veeverhad.Unzipmypants,

wrap your hands around my cock, and let me take you for the ride of your life. You’ll see stars,
mountainswillmove,andtheearthwillshake.

Thesimplestanswer,though,istheoneI’mdyingtoutter.
God,Iwanttofuckyousofuckingbadlyrightnow.
But thankfully, those aren’t the words that escape my lips. Somehow, the rational portion of my

brainknowsbetter.Thegentlemaninsidemefightshiswayout,managestosquirmhiswayup,and
resumecontrolfromthemanwhore.

Charlotteisbuzzed,andIwillnottakeadvantageofBuzzedHonestCharlotte.
“You’redrunk,Snuffaluffagus.Let’sgetyouinyourjammiesandputyoutobed,”IsayasIgrip

herhipstoliftheroffme.

She’sfaster.Shemovesquickly,parkingherselfinherseatwithmoreagilitythatIexpected.She

sneers,“I’mnotdrunk,”anditcomesoutsurprisinglycrispandclear.

I’mnotgoingtoarguethispointrightnow.Drunkornot,thatwasafartooriskymoment.Thecab

slows at the next light, and she yawns loudly, covering her mouth. Her head sinks on my shoulder.
Soon, I’m unlocking her door, carrying her to her bed, and sliding off her shoes. She murmurs
somethingashereyesflutterclosed.

“Water,”Isay.“Youneedwater.”
“Mmm.Thatsoundsdelish,”shesayssleepily.
Iheadtothekitchen,fillacoldglass,andbringittoher.“Situp,”Itellher,andshemanagesto

scootbackinbed.Ihandhertheglass.Shedownsmostofit.“Drinkitall.I’llleaveanotherglasson
yournightstand.Drinkthatonewhenyouwakeupinthemiddleofthenighttopee.”

Nodding,shesetsdowntheglass.Shethrowsherarmsaroundme,andtugsmeintobed.Shetries

topullmenexttoher.

“Ihavetogo.”
“Stay with me. Please,” she says, patting the soft, comfy bed. “Just sleep next to me. That’s all I

want.”

Sleepnexttoher?Withthisboner?Withherwildhandscrawlingallovermybody?Noway.I’m

notthatstrong.I’mnotthatgood.

“Ineedtogo.I’vegottofeedmycat.”Itsoundslikethelamestexcuseintheworld,butit’sactually

true.

There’s a flash of hurt in her eyes. Maybe even disappointment. Then it passes, and she smiles

faintly.“Goodnight,CaptainFiancé.Givethepussyakissforme.”

Oh,howIwouldabsolutelyloveto.
Her head hits the pillow, and in seconds she’s snoring. It’s so fucking cute, the little sounds she

makes.Iscratchmyhead—howisitpossiblethathersnoresareadorable?Buttheyare.Istandand
lookatherinthedark,themoonlightstreakingacrosshercovers,cuttingacrisscrosspatternthrough
the blinds. Her blonde hair is spread over her white pillow, her blouse slinks down her shoulder,
revealingacherryredbra,andtheskirtofherdressridesupherthighs.Icouldundressherlikethey
dointhemovies,orIcouldleaveherinherclothes.

Undressingherfeelslikeaviolation.Instead,IdowhatItoldherIwould.Ifillherglassofwater

andleaveitonthenightstand.Iopenhermedicinecabinet,grabtwoaspirin,justincase,andplace
themnexttotheglass.Ihuntforsomepaper,andIfindaPost-Itnotepadinherkitchenandapenin
theutensildrawer.

Iwrite:Twoaspirininthemorning,andcallmewhenyougetup.Ineedtotakeyououtforthefinal

hangoverpreventionstep.

I leave, and I should earn a commendation for self-restraint. I’m going to contact the Guys’

CommitteeandletthemknowwhatIaccomplishedtonightintheresistancecategory.I’llfullyexpect
agoldmedalinthemorningand,frankly,anawardsceremony,consideringthelevelofdifficulty.

AcabblowspastmeonLexington,butIdon’tshootmyarmintotheairtoflagitdown.Instead,I

turnsouthandwalkhome,eventhoughI’mmany,manyblocksaway.Ineedthetimeandthespace
andthedistancefromthosefiveminutesinthecabwhenIwantedtofuckmybestfriend’sbrainsout.

This city should take my mind off Charlotte, so I soak it in—the bodegas peddling fruit and

flowers, the Chinese restaurants offering greasy noodles, the twenty-four-hour pharmacies selling
anythingandeverything.Icutacrosstown,surroundedbythrongsofpeople,somanystilloutlateat
night.

ButwhenIunlockmydooratonea.m.,I’mstillturnedon.Thewalkdidn’twork.I’mhornyashell.

IfeellikeI’vetakenCharlotteViagra,andthishard-onisacruelandunusualpunishmentforlusting
sobadlyaftermybestfriend.

Fidomeows,thenstretchesuptogreetme,hispawsonmyleg.
“Hungry?”
His tail twitches. I head to the kitchen, open his bag, and scoop out some cat food. It’s this all-

natural,organic,eat-like-your-ancestorsfood.HarpergotitforhimwhenItookhimin,tellingme
thatstore-boughtfoodwouldn’tcutit.Mymanisaddictedtoit;maybeitmakeshimfeellikeatiger.

Isetthebowldown,andhepurrsasheeats.Thedudeissosatisfiedfromabowlofdrykibble,and

aknotofjealousytightensinmybelly.Great.NowI’menviousofmycatbecausehislifeissimpler
than mine. Note to self: Go to the store tomorrow and order up some perspective, because you’re
losingyours.

Iheadtothebathroom.Iwashmyface,brushmyteeth,andtrytoputtheeveningbehindme.Look,

it’snothardtoturndownadrunkgirl,becausethat’sjustwrong.Butitwashard,forsomeunknown
fucking reason, to turn down her. Those things she was saying. Those wicked, dirty words falling
from her red lips. They torched a path up my body. They stirred something inside me. Some wish.
Somewant.

Thatkissonthestreetwasonething.
Thesessiononhercouchwasentirelyanother.
Butthecabwasawholenewwrinkle.Shejustcombusted,likearocketoflust,firingoffinevery

direction,jumpingme,climbingme,grindingonme.

Iwanteditall.
Iwantedher.
Istilldo.
Iundressandtossmyclothesintothehamperinmycloset.Naked,Igetintobed,turnoffthelights,

andparkbothhandsbehindmyhead.FaintsoundsoflateSaturdaynightinNewYorkfilterthrough
the window, even from six stories high. Shoes clicking on cobblestoned streets, friends laughing,
cabsstoppingandlettingoutcustomers,thenpickingupotherfares.

Evenafterzoninginonallthat,I’mstillinsanelyaroused.
WhatthefuckamIsupposedtodowiththiserection?Hammersomenails?Bangsomewood?This

islikeapunishmenterection.It’sgotitsownbloodsupply.

Ishutmyeyes,squeezethemtight,andpressmypalmsintothebackofmyskull,resisting.
BecauseIcan’tgothere.
Can’t jack off to her. Can’t do it. Won’t do it. Won’t ruin the friendship by going that far. We’ve

already done more than we should, and if we go further, we’ll lose everything she was saying was

goodatthebartonight.She’smysteady,reliable,fantasticfriend.Shegivesmehell,andshemakes
melaugh,andIcan’trisklosingherbyfuckingher.

Oreventhinkingoffuckingher.
ButIamdyinghere.Myskinisonfire,andmybrainisstuckonrepeat—sex,sex,sex.
I’vegottodosomethingaboutthispersistenthard-onthathasbeenworkingovertimetoday,likeit

signedupforatwenty-four-hourshift.Ipadouttothelivingroom,grabmylaptop,andreturntomy
bed,flippingopenthescreen.

Women.Lotsofwomen.Hotlesbianporn.That’swhatIneed.Somethingtotallyremovedfromthe

lasttwodaysoftorrentiallust.Like,twohotchicksinstockingsbangingeachother.NoTumblrgifs
forme,please.Ineedvideo,andIknowwheretofindit.

Inseconds,agorgeousredheadinblackstockingsandgarterswalksintoadimlylitlivingroom.

Perfect.Parkingthelaptoponthecovers,Istretchoutmynakedbodyonmybed,myheadproppedup
onacoupleofpillowssoIcanenjoythefront-rowseat.

Asmokinghotbrunettejoinsher,wearingonlywhitethigh-highsandheels.Thiswilldothetrick,

thankyouverymuch.Itakemydickinmyhandandstroke.Movingmypalmdownmyshaft,Iskim
lightlyatfirst,downtomyballs,whichareheavyandaching.

Justwhatthedoctorordered.I’mgoingtoenjoyeverysinglesecondofthisjerk.Itightenmygrip.

Mydickisthrobbinginmypalm,butI’mthrilledtobeontheroadtoimminentreliefasthewomen
movetotheircouchandgetiton.

Thisisperfect,becauseneitherlookslikeCharlotte.Theykiss,andmyskingrowshotterallover

asIwatchthesenakedbeauties.Theirmouthsdevoureachother,andtheredheadcupsthebrunette’s
full,roundtitsinherhands.Thebrunettemoansandslidesherfingersbetweentheredhead’spussy
lips.MyshaftgrowsthickerasIwatchthebrunette’sfingerflickacrossallthatwetness.

Mybreathhitches,andIgroan.
Loudly.
Imagininghowhotandwetherpussyis.
Allniceandslickandcoatedinarousal.
Howshe’dfeelonmyfingers.
Ishiftmyhips,pumpingfaster.Myotherhandmovesupmystomach.Myfingertipsbrushagainst

myownflatnipple,andI’mgettingintothissomuchthattherestoftheworldisgone.It’sjustme,
andmybody,andthewomenonthescreen,andI’mfuckingmyfist.

Soontheredheadisdownonherknees,spreadingopenherpartner ’slegs.Thebrunetteleansback

onthecouch,hermouthfallingopeninamoanastheredheadlicksher.Nice,long,deliciousstrokes.

“Yeah,”Isayonagrunt,myeyeslockedtothescreen.Iaminhelpinghandheaventhankstothese

babes.Mydickisoutforajoyride,andI’msofuckinghappytobeonthefast-tracktocoming.

Ipicturemyselfslidingbetweenthetwochicks,servicingthemboth,eatingone,fuckingtheother.

Nothingisbetterthanthis.

Untilitgetsastronomicallyhotterwhenathirdoneentersthescene.
She has blonde hair and brown eyes, and she’s divine. I have blinders on, erasing the others,

becauseshe’sallIsee.Sexy,strong,andcompletelycaptivating.Ican’tlookaway.Soon,she’snother
anymore…she’smygirl…she’sCharlotte,andshe’snakedinfrontofme,andIdon’tseetheother
women.They’vedisappearedfrommynight,asIclosemyeyesandjerkharderandfaster,andIcan’t
fuckingfightitanymore.

I’mlosingthisbattlebecauseit’sCharlotteIsee.
It’snotCharlottefromyesterdayafternoon,orevenCharlottefromthisevening.ThisCharlotteis

new, and she’s naked, climbing up on my bed, crawling to me on her hands and knees—her sexy,
poutylips,hersoft,sweetbelly,herstronglegs,andherbeautiful,hot,wetpussy.

Wetforme.
Achingforme.
Shesinksdownonmyshaft,andthat’sit.
Myballstighten,myspineignites,andIsqueezemyeyesshutasshudderswrackthroughme,and

withanepicgroan,IcomesogoddamnhardinsideCharlotte.Anorgasmthatjustsucksmedry.

I’mpanting.
WhenIopenmyeyes,Fidoisatthefootofmybed,lickinghispaw.Hedragsitoverhisfurryface,

thenbehindhisear.Hestopshispost-mealbathtostareatme,adisdainfullookinhisbeadyyellow
eyes.

This is the end to my Saturday night. My cat has watched me whack off to a vision of my best

friend.

“Don’tsayaword,”Ihiss.
Helooksaway,liftinghischinhaughtily.
Buthe’llkeepmysecret.
I’llkeephis,too,thefuckinglittlevoyeur.

C H A P T E R F O U R T E E N

Let’spretendIdidn’tdothat.
Imagine I have amazing self-control and didn’t masturbate to the thought of my business partner

lastnight.

Assheordersscrambledeggs,potatoes,toast,andblackcoffeeatWendy’sDinerthenextmorning,

Ican’thelpbutwonderifsheknowsshestarredinmyfantasies,ridingmelikeacowgirl.

Thenreversecowgirlinthemiddleofthenight,herhairspillingdownherspine,myhandsonher

ass.

In the shower this morning, too. I went down on her then, and she tasted absolutely heavenly

coming on my tongue. So, yeah. That’s the thing about slippery slopes. Take that first step, and the
nextthingyouknow,you’vecompletedajerk-offhattricktoyourbestie.

ButI’monthewagonnow.Straightandnarrow.Thosethreetimesworkedlikeacharm,andI’ve

gotheroutofmysystem.Onehundredpercent.Scout’shonor.

Shewearsashortgrayskirt,apurpleT-shirt,andherhairisknottedinalooseponytail.Ihaveno

cluewhat’sonunderneath,andI’mnoteventhinkingaboutherbraandpanties.See?I’mcured.

“Andforyou?”thewaitressasksme.
“I’llhavethesame.Butwell-cooked,borderingonburntfortheeggs,”Itellher,andshenodsand

walksaway,pasttheopenkitchen.

TheguyatthetablenexttousturnsthepageintheNewYorkPost.Aprepcookslapsbutteronthe

griddle and it sizzles. The lights shine brightly, revealing every scratch on the faded mint-green
Formicatableandeverynickonthebeigetiledfloor.

This is the morning after, and as the door opens with a jingle, a quartet of dudes a few years

youngerthanmewalkin.Theypartiedtoolong,andarewildlyhungover—it’sobviousintheireyes.

Wendy’s is a stark contrast to Gin Joint’s nighttime enchantment. The diner air is thick with the

scentofregret.Idon’tknowifit’scomingfromothers,orfromCharlotte.

Shefiddleswithhernapkin.
“Headstillhurt?”Iask,sinceshe’squiettoday.
Sheshakesherhead.“Totallyfine.”
“Waterhelped?”
Shenods.“Alwaysdoes.”
“Good.Butjusttobesafe,weneedthefullhangoverpreventionpack,”Isay,sincethat’swhyItook

her here. “Nothing rebounds you better after a night of drinking than diner food. It’s a medically
provenfact.”

Shemanagesafaintsmile,andthewaitressreturnsquicklywiththecoffeepot,pouringtwocups.

Charlotte wraps her hands around hers. “Is it now? Even though I didn’t have much to drink.” Her
toneislackluster.

Idon’tletitdeterme.ThemoreItalk,themorewebanter,thebetterthechancewecangetbackto

whowewerebefore.“TherewasastudyjustlastweekintheJournal—”

“Aboutlastnight,”shebegins,andthewheelsoftheconversationscreechtoahaltwiththosethree

dreadedwords.

ButI’mnimble.Iknowhowtodartanddodge.Iholdupahandlikeastopsign,shakingmyhead.

“Don’tworryaboutit.”

“But—”
“No,buts.Everythingisfine.”
“WhatI’mtryingtosayis—”
“Charlotte,webothhadsomecocktails,andhey,Igetit.Ilookbettertoyouwhenyou’rewearing

beergoggles.”Iwink,goingforself-deprecatinghumorbecauseIdon’twanthertofeelbadinthe
leastforwhatalmosthappened.

Thecornerofherlipsquirksup,butthat’sall.She’snotwearinglipstickthismorning.Shehardly

hasonanymakeup.Shestilllookspretty.Shealwaysdoes,nightorday,rainorshine.

“Theyweregingoggles,butevenwithoutthem—”
I reach for her hand, wrap mine around it, and squeeze it in a nice friendly gesture. I need to

reassureher.“We’refriends.Nothingcanchangethat.Nothingisevergoingtogetinthewayofus
beingfriends.Well,unlessyoumarryatotaldouchesomeday.Sodon’tdothat,”Isay,flashingmy
trademark grin and trying desperately to steer this conversation away from us, lest she figure out
whatmyhandhasdonethreetimesinthelasttwelvehours.

“Don’tyoumarryatotalbitch,”shesayswithnarrowedeyes,andthat’smyCharlotte.She’sback,

and she’s just like me. She’s not going to let last night’s weirdness in the cab derail the best
relationshipeitheroneofushaseverhad.Thoughweirdnessmightnotbetherightword.Morelike
hardness,wetness,andhotness.WhichareexactlythewordsIshouldn’tbeusingasIthinkabouther.
“ButthethingIwantedtosayaboutlastnightisaboutusbeingfriends.”

“Metoo!”Isay,withfartoomuchenthusiasm,butshe’sjustutteredthemagicwords.Friends.Us.I

havetolatchontothemsowedon’tlosesightofwhatweare.“Ourfriendshipisthemostimportant
thingtome,solet’sjustkeepbeingfriends.”

Her features freeze, as if a mask has slid into place. She fiddles with her ring, and the strangest

thingis,myheartseemstobeatfasterasIwatchherplaywithit.Shedoesn’thavetobewearingit
now,butsheis.

“Yes.Friends.That’sthemostimportantthing,”shesaysinamonotone.
“Likewetalkedaboutlastnight,right?”Isay,remindingherincasehergingogglesperformeda

blackout trick on her brain. “Binge watching TV shows, eating gummy bears or lemonheads, and
drinkingtequilaorwine.”

Shenods.“Right.Absolutely,”shesays,andflashesmeasmilethatdoesn’tfeelreal.
“Weshoulddothatagain.Sincewecan,”Isay,likeacardplayerslidingchipsintothepottobetI

canjustbefriendswithher.

“Sure.”
“Howabouttonight?”Isay,uppingtheanteagain.IamgoingtoblowmyownmindathowgoodI

amatjustbeingfriends.

“Okay.”
“Myhouse?”Doublingdown.Bigtime.
“Really?”Shearchesaneyebrow.“Youreallywanttojusthangout?”
“Ofcourse.Weweresayinglastnightthatweshould.”
She shakes her head, and I’m not sure if it’s amusement or some sort of resignation. She takes a

breath,adjustsherponytail,andshrugs.“Fine,”shesays.“Friendsdon’tletfriendseatgummybears
alone.I’llbringthebears.”

“I’lleatthegreenonesforyou.”
Sheshudders.“Hatethegreenones.”
“AndI’llgetthewine.Ifmemoryserves,youpreferachardonnaywithyourbears?”

“Ido,butmaybevirginmargaritastonightinstead?”
Itossmynapkinontothetablewithaflourish.“Touchedfortheveryfirsttime,”Isay,andagain,

maybeIshouldhavethoughtfirstbeforethosewordscameout.

Mercifully,thewaitressarrives.
“Hereareyoureggs,”thewaitresssays,settingdowntheplates.“Well-cooked.Justlikeyouasked

for.”

ThoselastwordsecholoudlyasIrealizewhatI’vejustdone.WhatI’veaskedforwithmycocky

mouth.Mybigideas.MyI-can-pull-anything-offattitude.

IjustinvitedCharlotteintomyhousetonight.Therearen’tenoughsweatybasketballplayersinthe

universeformetodealwiththedangerinthatdecision.

***

We spend the rest of the meal planning for the week ahead at The Lucky Spot. Neither one of us

breathes another word about tonight, or last night, or our fake relationship. When we stop by The
Lucky Spot and spend a few hours working before Jenny handles the Sunday afternoon shift—and
beforeweheadtothemuseum—wemanagetheslidebackintobeingfriendsandbusinesspartnersso
smoothly,it’sasiflastnightneverhappened.

Butoncewesetfootinthemuseum,somethingchanges.
Handsy Charlotte has left the building. Sure, she’s still playing my fiancée, but she’s not as

committedtotheroleasshewaslastnight.IhavenoclueifmymomorMrs.Offermancantell,but
aswestareatanEdwardHopperpainting,Idomydamnedesttomakesurenooneknows.

“Thepaintingisbeautiful,”Mrs.Offermansays.
“Yes,itis,”Ichimein.
Iwrapanarmtightlyaroundmyfakefiancée,plantaquickkissonhercheek,andsay,“Likeyou.

Bytheway,haveItoldyouhowprettyyoulooktoday?”

Charlottetenses,butmanagesathanks.
Mymotherglancesatusandsmiles.
Emilydoesnot.Emilyseemstohavezerointerestintheartwork,eventhoughthisisherintended

major.

But that’s okay. I’m returning to the swing of things. I’m on my game. As we wander through

ChagallsandMatisses,Imakewittycomments,andallthewomenlaugh,includingCharlotte.When
we’reoutatthesculpturegarden,I’mconfidentCharlotteandIareonsolidground,andwe’regood
enoughatplayingpretend.

UntilEmilyturnstoher.“HowlonghaveyoubeeninlovewithSpencer?”
Charlottestiffens,andaburstofredsplashesacrosshercheeks.
“I mean, were you attracted to him first before you started dating?” Emily continues. “Because

you’vebeenfriendsforever,right?Sowasitjustoneofthose—”

“Emily,dear.Somethingsarepersonal,”Mrs.Offermansays,cuttingin.
Theteenagegirlshrugslikethisisnobigdeal.“I’mjustcurious.Theywenttocollegetogether.I

don’tthinkit’sthatweirdtowanttoknowiftheywereintoeachotherbackthen.”

Charlotte raises her chin. “We’ve always been friends,” she says, then presses her hand to her

forehead.“Excuseme.”

Shetakesoff.
Mymotherglaresatme,andallIcanthinkis,sheknows.HereyestrackCharlotte’sexitthrough

the glass doors into the museum, and instantly my mother beckons me. I close the gap. She speaks
low,outofthecornerofhermouth.“She’supsetaboutsomething.Goafterher.Comforther.”

Right,ofcourse.SuperFiancétotherescue.Momsalwaysknowbest.
IrushafterCharlotte,throughthedooranddownthehallway,catchinguptoherasshereachesthe

ladies’room.Icallouttoher,butshe’sgotherhandonthedoor,andshepushesitopen.

Thedoorswingsshut,andIstop.
Forasecond.
Thehallwayisquiet,farremovedfrommostofthemuseumtraffic.Ipushonthedoorandfollow

herin.She’satthesink,splashingwateronherface.

“Areyouokay?”IasktentativelyasIwalkovertoher.Therearethreestallsinhere,butthey’re

empty.Footstepsechothenfadedownthehall.

Sheshakesherhead.Ireachher,placeahandonherlowerback,andgentlyrub.Sheflinches,and

inchesawayfromme.

“Areyounotfeelingwell?Doyouhaveaheadachefromlastnightorsomething?”
Thedoorcreaks,andwefreeze.Itclosesagain,butIdon’thearanyonecomein.Theladies’room

issilent;it’sjustus.

Sheswivelsaround,grabsmyshirt,andtugsmeintoastall.“Ican’tfakethis.”
Myshouldersdrop.Mylimbsfeelheavy.I’vepushedhertoofar.“Theengagement?”
“No.That’sfine.Thepretendengagementisfine,”shesays,staringstraightatme.I’veneverseen

herbrowneyessointense,likeshe’sabouttoscaleasheerwall.Theydon’twaveratall.

I knit my brow. “Then what is it?” I’m genuinely curious because if she’s not talking about our

pretendrelationship,Ihavenodamncluewhatitisshecan’tfake.

Her grip tightens on my shirt. Her jaw is set. She huffs through her nostrils. I’ve never seen

Charlottelikethis.“WhatdidIdowrong?”

“Last.Night,”sheseethes.Eachwordhasitsownbreathingroom.
“Whataboutlastnight?”
Hereyesfloatclosed,butshelookspained.Shetakesadeepbreathandopensthem.Thehardedge

seemstofadesomewhat.“You’rejustpretendinglikeitdidn’thappen.”

“No,”Isayquickly,tryingtodefendmyself.“That’snotwhatI’mdoing.”
But,infact,itiswhatI’vedoneallday.It’sexactlywhatI’mhopingtoaccomplish.
“Itiswhatyou’redoing.It’swhatyoudidatbreakfast.Wejustbrusheditundertherug,andthat’s

not me,” she says, her tone fierce, reminding me of one of the very many things I admire about
Charlotte—hertoughness,hertenacity.“Youdidn’tletmetalk,andIneedtoknow.ItoldyouI’ma
shitty liar, and I meant it. I’m rubbish at lying. Even last night, when I said the thing about my dad
beinganurse—thatwasstilltrue.”

ThisisyetanotherthingIlikeabouther—she’ssodamnhonest.
“Okay, so what do you need to know?” I ask, and nerves don’t just skitter across my skin. They

fuckingdescendonmelikeflyingmonkeys.

Theevilkind.
Asifthere’sanyothervariety.
Sherollshereyes.“Areyoureallythisdense,Spencer?”
Iholdmyhandsoutwide.“ApparentlyIam.Whydon’tyoujustspellitoutforme?Whatdoyou

needtoknow?”

She twists the fabric of my shirt in her hand, pulling me closer, and in a split second, the gap

between us narrows. We were a foot away before—enough space to fend off the hormones. Now,
they’reback.Swirling.Circling.Gripping.Thetemperaturerisesoncemore.

“Areyounotattractedtome?”
Myjawfalls.Myheadrings.Shemustbecrazy.“Areyouserious?”

Shenods.“Answerthequestion,Holiday.Isthatwhatthewhole‘let’sjustfocusonbeingfriends’

thingisabout?”

“You’re gorgeous. You’re beautiful. You’re stunning,” I say, rattling off compliments like a

salesmanonastreetcorner.“Ialsodon’twanttoruinourfriendship.It’stooimportant.”

Sheshakesherhead.“Youstilldidn’tanswerthequestion.”
“Isaidyouwerebeautiful.”
“YousaidthatabouttheHopper,too.AreyouattractedtotheHopper?”
Iswallow.Itrytostringwordstogether,butallthatexistsinmyheadisthefilmreeloflastnight.

OfwhatIdidtoherwhenIwashomealonewithmyhand,andmyfantasies,andallthefuckingthings
Iwanttodowithmybestfriend.BecauseIamwildlyattractedtoher—I’velearnedthatduringthelast
forty-eight hours. Like, stratospheric levels of attraction. Like, the power-an-airplane-around-the-
worldkind.

“Do I look insane?” I ask, and my voice is strained. I hate that she’s asking, and I love that she’s

asking,andIamstrungsogoddamntightrightnowbecausethiswholedaywassupposedtobeabout
usbeingfriends.

“Doyoureallywantmetoanswerthat?”
“Yes.”
“No.Youdon’tlookinsane.Youlookannoyed.Justlikeme.SoIguesswe’rebothpissed.”
“No.I’mnotpissed,”Isay,andIwrapmyhandaroundhersanduncurlherfingers,thenIslamher

body against mine. “I’m not pissed. I’m fucking turned on. Because I’d have to be insane not to be
attractedtoyou,”Itellherinaharshwhisper.

Hereyeslightuplikesparklers.LikeI’vesaidtheoneperfectthing.Heririsesdancewithmischief

andjoy.

“You are?” All that anger is stripped from her tone. She’s soft and feathery, and that voice wafts

overmeandmakesmewantherevenmore.Makesmewanttohearhersayotherthingsinthatvoice.

“Yes.” I speak through gritted teeth. With my hand around her waist, I somehow yank her closer,

then I drag a finger along her jawline. “But you’re not supposed to be attracted to your best friend
like this. That's not how it works. I’m probably going to have to get checked into a facility to deal
withtheamountofattractionIhaveforyou.I’llaskthemtoremoveit,andthey’llsay,‘Sorry,sir,it’s
spreadacrossyourentirebodyandwecan’ttakeitout.’”

Her smile grows wide. “Really?” she asks, but it’s hardly a question, more like a statement of

wonder.

Nowthatshe’sgotmegoing,Iwon’tbackdown.It’snotinmynature.“Don’tmakemeproveit,”I

say,eggingheron.

Hereyessparkle.“Proveit.”
“Challengeaccepted.”
In seconds my hand snakes up her skirt, and she gasps when it registers what I’m doing. My

fingertipsclimbupthesoftfleshofherthighs,andwhenIreachherpantiesIflickmyindexfinger
across the cotton panel. They’re damp, and my dick does its best impression of the Empire State
Building.Igroan.Nevertakingmyeyesoffher,Islideonefingerinsideherpanties.Hershoulders
shakeandmybloodheatsasIrunthatfingeracrossherwet,hot,slipperypussy.Ibringittomylips
and suck off her wetness. She tastes like all my fantasies. This time, my groan echoes. It rumbles
acrosstheladies’room,andCharlottetremblesinmyarms.

She watches me lick her off my finger, and this is the moment when there is no question. When

everything is clear. She parts her lips, and says, “There’s something I want to prove to you, too.
Tonight.”

“Whatisit?”

Beforeshecananswer,thedoorcreaksopen.Ibreakapartfromher,andshesmoothsahandover

hershirt,thenherskirt.Justsosheknows,sothere’snofuckingdoubtatall,Ibringmyfingerback
tomymouth,andIsuckitonemoretime.Withmyeyeslockedonhers,Iwhisper,sofuckinghot.

Sheshudders,andherlipisquivering.Ibrushmyfingeragainstherlowerlip,thenpushitpasther

teeth.Instantly,shedrawsitintohermouthandsucks.

Istareather,burningupeverywhere.Itakemyfingerout,nipthecornerofhermouth,unlockthe

door,andbackout.IgiveaquickwavetoMrs.Offerman.

Sheblinks,thenfixesonasmileandwaves.
Ireturntothefamilyknowingonethingforcertain—Ihavenocluewhatisgoingtohappenwhen

Charlottecomesovertonight.

C H A P T E R F I F T E E N

WhenIopenthedoor,Ihandheravirginmargarita.
Shethanksmeandtakesasipasshewalksinsidemyapartment.She’swearingjeans,blackflats,

andadressygraytanktopwithsomekindoflacyneckline.

Dammit.She’scamouflaged.Ihavenocluewhatherintentionsarebasedonheroutfit.Admittedly,

Imightbeoversimplifyingmatters,butifshewerewearingashortblackdressandfuck-mepumps,
I’dbealotlessinthedark.Thenagain,I’minjeansandablackT-shirt,soI’mnotsuremyclothes
spellGameforAnythingtoher,butIhopetheydo.

Shedanglesabagofgourmetgummybears.“Farmfresh,”shesays.
“Locallygrown,too,Ihope?”
“Ofcourse.Withinafifty-mileradiusfromfarmtotable.”
“Excellent. They better be small-batch made, too,” I say, mocking the food purists of the world,

gladIcanatleaststillbanterwithher.

She lowers her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re from Brooklyn. Of course they’re

smallbatch.ThoughIstilldon’tunderstandwhyifwecansendamantothemoon,theycan’tremove
thegreenbearsfromthebag.”

“Itisoneoflife’sgreatmysteries.”Ishutthedoorandgesturetothelivingroom.Shewalksahead

ofme,andIcan’thelpmyself.Istareatherassasshecrossesthehardwoodfloortomycouch.She
gavemethelicensetooglethisafternoon,asfarasI’mconcerned.

“Alongwiththeexistenceofgiganticasparagus,”shequips.
“I’llneverunderstandtheneedforoversizevegetables.ButdidyoureallygotoBrooklyntoget

gummy bears?” I ask as she settles into my beige couch. The sliding glass doors that lead to my
terraceareopen,andthewarmJunenightfiltersin.

Sheshakesherheadasshekicksoffhershoes,andtucksherfeetunderher.“ThestoreinBrooklyn

thatmakesthemopenedanothershopinMurrayHill.Buttheyarelocally-sourced,andnotmadewith
gelatin.”

“Whichisabasicrequirementinagummybear.”Ijoinheronthecouch,repeatingwhatshe’ssaid

overtheyears—shewon’ttouchcandiesmadewithgelatinsincegelatincomesfrombeef,andifshe
wantedbeefinhercandyshe’deatbeefcandy,andshe’snotdoingthat.Becausethat’sjustdisgusting.

Whichiswhybeefcandyisnotathing.
I point to my laptop. “What’s it going to be? Netflix? Hulu? Castle? Will Ferrell’s latest? Rom-

com?Spyflick?SportsCentertocatchuponyourbaseballstats?”

Sheripsopenthebagofcandy,andpopsayellowbearintohermouth.Itslidespastherlips.Lucky

bear.“HowaboutCastle?Let’swatchthatonewiththeIrishmobster.”

Iknowexactlywhichoneshemeans,sincewe’vewatchednearlyeveryepisodetogether.Ifindit

quickly, sending a silent thanks to, well, myself that I remembered to close out my porn last night.
Fidowandersintothelivingroom,archesaneyebrow,andmeows.I’msureinfelinelanguagehe’s
tellingherwhatIdid,butthankGod,noonehascreatedaBerlitztranslationguideyetforcat.

We settle into the rhythm that we’ve perfected over the years. She’s at one end of the couch,

burrowedintothepillows.I’mattheother,andthelaptopisonthecoffeetable,streamingtheshowto

theTVscreen.Weplowthroughhalfthebagofgummybears,Charlottesiftingthroughthecolors.I
dive on the green-bear grenade for her. We down our virgin drinks, and at some point during the
show,sheputsherfeetonmythighs,crossingthemattheankles.

Asparkzipsthroughmeevenfromthat,andIflashbacktolastnightattherestaurantwhensheran

herfootalongmyleg.IbrieflywonderifIhaveafootfetish.IneverthoughtIdidbefore,butasmy
gazedriftstoherfeet,andthecandypinktoenailpolishthatIcan’tseemtostoplookingat,Irealize
I’ve missed nearly every word of Castle explaining to Beckett what he thinks is the motive in this
episode’smurder.

I return my focus to the screen, but my awareness of her has leveled up, like I’ve had a shot of

caffeineandnowmysensesareonCharlottealert.Sheshiftshershouldersintothepillow,andIsteal
aglance,wonderingifshelikestobekissedthere.Shebrushesastrandofhairawayfromherface,
and I want to know how much she likes having her hair pulled, if at all. Castle and Beckett are this
close to finding the killer when Charlotte munches on a red gummy bear, and I become intensely
curiousastohowthecherrytastesinhermouth.

She pokes me in my belly with her big toe. I tense for a brief second, wondering if she can tell

wheremymindisandisn’t.Buthersissoclearlyonthescreen,sinceshe’snotlookingawayfrom
ourintrepidheroes.

I don’t get it—I was sure we’d already be naked. But then, I have no barometer for reading this

womananymore.Except,basedonmyastutepowersofobservation,I’mprettydamnsureshewantsa
footrub.Ireachforherfootandstartmassagingit,havingdonethismanytimesbefore.

AsIworkmywayfromherarchtoherheel,Itrytoavoidthenaughtiestthoughtsinvolvingher

feet.No,nottheoneswhereIsuckonhertoes,becauseIdon’thavethatkindoffootfetish.Butthe
oneswhereIholdheranklesinmyhands,spreadherlegs,andpoundintoher.

My dick transforms into a two-by-four. The fucking turncoat. I swear, if my dick were a person,

he’dbeanarc,alwaysspillingmysecrets.

“Fuck,”Imutterundermybreath.
Shesnapshergazetome.“Youokay?”
“Yeah.Fine.Alloutofmydrink,”Isay,grabbingtheglassfromthetablesoIhaveanexcusetoget

somebreathingroom.“Justkeepwatching.I’llberightback.”

“It’sokay.I’llwait.”Shehitsthepausebutton,andthat’sthelastthingIneed—herscrutinyasIwalk

to the kitchen to refill the glass I hardly want. I drag a hand through my dark hair and stare at the
pitcherofmargaritamixthat’smockingmewithitsinnocence.Fuckit.Igrabatequilabottlefromthe
cupboardanddeflowermydrink.Ibenddown,yankopenthefreezerandrootaroundformoreice.

Formyface.
Afewsecondsintheiceboxcoolsmeoff.
IreturntoCharlotteandraisemyglass.“Spikedmine,”Iadmit,thentakealong,thirstygulp.
Sheholdsoutherhandinagrabbygesture.Igivehermyglass,andshedrinkssome.“Mmm,”she

says.

Isetthedrinkdown,andwereturntotheshowastheysolveamurderIcouldn’tcarelessabout

rightnow.I’mnotsurewhattomakeofthisafternoon’sheatedmomentinthebathroomatMoMA,
but then I’m starting to accept that I don’t know what to make of a lot of what’s been happening
betweenCharlotteandmeoverthelastfewdays.IwishIdidhaveadevicetoreadhermind,because
I’dreallyliketoknowwhatshewantstoprovetome.

Whenthecreditsroll,sheturnstome.“WanttowatchNick’sshow?”
No!Idon’twanttowatchTV!Iwanttoundressyouandlickeveryinchofyou.Butyou’reactingso

damnnormal,it’sthrowingmeoff.

Ishrug.“Sure.I’veonlyseeneveryepisodetwentytimes.Whichonedoyouwanttosee?”

“I’ll find it,” she says, leaning across my legs to grab the laptop and toggle through Comedy

Nation’sstreamingapptofindTheAdventuresofMr.Orgasm.Soonenough,thefamiliarthememusic
begins,andsodotheadventures.Iclosemyeyesandletmyheadfallbackintothecouchcushions
whenIrealizewhichepisodeshepicked.

It’stheonewherethewomanhasmisplacedherorgasm.Shehasn’thadoneinayear,andshehas

tohireMr.Orgasmtotrackdownhermissingclimax.

It’shilarious,andCharlottelaughsincessantlythroughtheshow,andIhaveasneakingsuspicion

whatsheistryingtoprovebyactinglikewe’rejustgoodbudswhenwebothknowwe’redyingtodo
the deed, because she wants it as much as I do. The clues have been in front of me all along, and
maybeI’vebeendenseupuntilnow,butI’mnotanymore.Ialsodon’tthinkIcanwaitanylongerto
findoutifI’mright.

Ireachacrossthecouchandhitpauseontheshow.Thedinofasirencarriesfromsomewhereelse

inthecity,minglingwithmusicfromthebardownthestreet.Myhomehasitsownnoise.Thehumof
possibility.Weareteeteringonsomething.SomethingIshouldn’twant.SomethingIwantdesperately.

“Whatdidyouwanttoprove?Yousaidatthemuseumyouwantedtoprovesomethingtome.”
Shestraightensuponthecouchandsitscross-legged.“Thatwecanbefriends,”shesaysmatter-of-

factly.

“Okay.Anddidweprovethatsomehowtonight?”
Shenods,lookingpleased.“Yes.Weategummybears,anddrankmargaritas,andwatchedTV,and

didallthethingswe’vealwaysdone.”

“Whydidyouwanttoprovethis?”
“Because I’m going to proposition you,” she says, speaking as directly as if she were going to

offer me a job. “As you may know, it’s been a while for me.” She pauses and meets my gaze so I
know what she means. I do. Oh yes, I do. I nod. “And apparently, I’m quite attracted to you. Go
figure.”Sheshrugs,asifthisisabigsurprise.

Ilaugh.“Yeah,gofigure.”Imakeakeeprollingmotionwithmyhand.“Dogoon.”
Shegesturestothelaptop.“I’dlikeyourhelp.”
“Be more specific. Pretend I’m a totally clueless guy and you need to spell it out for me,” I say,

tryingmybesttostaycool.

“Justasyoupropositionedmeandaskedmetobeyourfiancéeforaweek,I’dliketoproposition

you and ask you if you’d return the favor for the next week, in a slightly different way. The way
whereyoufinishwhatwestartedlastnight.”

ThatwaswhereIthoughtwewereheading,butnowthatshe’ssaidit,I’mcompletelyunprepared

forthereactioninmybody.Iamelectrified.Thekeyhasbeenturnedintheignition,andIracedown
theroadofpossibilityofreenactingmyfantasiesfromlastnight.

“Now,Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,”shecontinues,andIhopetoGodshedoesn’tknowwhatI’m

thinking,whichisabouthowshelooksnakedcomingonmycock.“You’reworriedaboutusstaying
friends.That’swhyIsaidIwantedtoprovesomethingtoyou.Wecanstayfriends.Itwon’tbeweird.”

Oh.Sure.Yeah.Iwouldn’tsayIwasthinkingthatjustnow,butI’vethoughtitbefore,solet’sgowith

it.

“Yes,thatwasonmymind,”Isay,fibbingmildly.
“Butwe’vemadeoutlike,what,threetimesalready,andithasn’tchangedourfriendship.Right?”

shesays,soundingsocasualandsodamnconvincing,butI’mprettysureshehadmeatfarmfresh,the
wordssheutteredwhenshewalkedinthedoortonight.

“Right,” I say in a strong, assertive tone, like I’m banging a judge’s gavel because I’m so damn

certainweshouldscrew.Now.Thenmanymoretimestonight.

“Sowhatwouldyouthinkaboutuskickingthingsupanotchduringthenextweek?”shesays,then

kicksmegently.

Ithinkthat’sageniusidea,andI’mreadytopounceonherandstriphernaked.Tofulfillallthose

fantasiesIhadlastnight,andalltheonesshehas.Togiveheranepicfuckingorgasmortwentyto
make up for months of none but the solo variety. But deals are always done best when both parties
knowwhattoexpectfromtheget-go.

“Wejustneedafewgroundrules,”Isay.
“Yes.Groundrules.Likenoanal,right?”
“Um.Thatwasn’treallyonmylist,butIcanlivewiththatrestriction,”Isaywithalaugh.
“Good,” she says, nodding, then she scrunches up her brow. “Why? What were you thinking for

groundrules?”

“Morelikehowlongthiswilllast.”
“Oneweek.Untilwebreakup.”
Clearlyshe’sgiventhissomethought.“Gotit.Makessense.”
“Thenwegobacktobeingfriends.Promise?”
“Absolutely,”Isay,offeringapinkyeventhough,let’sbehonest,Idon’tdopinkyswears,beinga

guyandall.Still,itseemstherighttimetostart,soshetwistsherpinkyaroundmine.

“That’svital,”shesaysemphaticallyaswelinkfingersthenletgo.“Wejustsliderightbackintothe

friendzoneattheendoftheweek.”

“Nosleepovers,either,”Iadd.“Becausethatjustmakesshitweird.”
“Agreed.Andnoweirdness.That’sanotherone.”
Inodvehementlyandsliceahandthroughtheair.“Ihateweirdness.Wecan’thaveanyweirdnessat

all.”

“Also,nolying.”
“Definitelyonboardwiththat.”
Shecountsoffonherfingers.“Okay.Sowe’vegotnoanal,nosleepovers,noweirdness,nolying.

Wedothisforaweek,andwereturntobeingfriends.”

“Anythingelse?”
SheshootsmealooklikeI’mcrazy.“Well,duh.There’sonemorething.”
“Hitme.Whatisit?”
Sherollshereyes.“Obviously,nofallinginlove,”shesayswithutterdisdainfortheconcept.
Ican’thelpbutscoff,too.“Ofcourse.Likethatwouldeverhappen.”
“Itwouldsoneverhappen.”
“There’s no way. Absolutely no way.” We both nod once again, completely in agreement on this

topic.Thenshereachesforthebottomofhertanktoplikeshe’sabouttostrip.

Iholdupahand.“Whoa.”
“You’renotready?”
“First,Iwasbornready.Second,I’mprettymuchalwaysreadytogoatamoment’snotice,”Isay,

myeyesdriftingtomycrotchsoshegetsmymeaning.“AndIhavebeenincrediblyreadyforthelast
forty-eight hours.” That makes her grin. “But let’s, you know, turn on some music and yada, yada,
yada.”

Shesmacksherforehead.“Right.Mood.Let’sgetinthemood.”
“Alreadyinthemood.Butcallitthatifyouwant.”
Shestandsandholdsupafinger.“I’mjustgoingtopeefirst,”shesays,andshescurriesdownthe

hall.Sheheadsinthedirectionofthebathroomattachedtomybedroomratherthantheoneoffthe
kitchen.Ishrug.Whatever.

Iclickonmystreamingmusicapp,cueupsomesexy,sultrynumbersthatremindmeofthebarlast

night,takemywalletoutofmypocket,andgrabacondomfromit.Itossthecondomonthetable,and
itslipsoutofmyfingerseasily.

It’sthenthatIrealizemypalmsaresweating.
Holyshit.
I’mnervous.
I’mfuckingnervous,andthatisnotacceptable.Idonotgetnervousbeforesex.Iamarockstarin

the sheets. I am all confidence, all skill, and all focused on the woman. Charlotte is not getting
anything less than my A game. Hell, she’s getting nothing less than an A-plus game. I take a deep
breath,lettingitfillmychest.IstraightenmyshouldersandremindmyselfthatthisiswhatIexcelat.
This is my master class. I’m going to give Charlotte the most mind-blowing pleasure she has ever
experiencedinherlife.

Iwalkovertothelightswitch,dimtheoverheadslightly,andwhenIturnaround,Charlotteisinthe

livingroom,leaningagainstthewall.

Shewearsoneofmywhitebutton-downshirtsandnothingelsethatIcansee.
Ifreeze.
Ican’tbreathe.Ican’tblink.Ican’tdoanythingbutstareathergorgeousfigure.Herblondehair

curlingoverthefrontofmyshirt.Herhandsrestlessagainstthebuttons,asifshe’sunsurewhattodo
withthem.Herstronglegs,allbareandbeautiful.Theedgesoftheshirtcoveringher.Idon’tknowif
shestillhasonherpanties,butI’mgoingtohaveafielddayfindingout.

Everyatominsidemebuzzes.Ineedtotoucheverypartofherbeautifulbody.Kisseveryinchof

herskin.Lickher,tasteher,fuckher.

Pleaseher.
“Areyoutryingtoseduceme?”IaskasIwalkovertoher.
“Yes,”shewhispers,hervoicefeathery.“Isitworking?”
Inod.“Butthat’snothowthisworks.”
Enough of her setting the rules. Enough of her making decisions. This is my fiefdom. I rake my

eyes over her from head to toe and watch her reaction. She breathes hard, and her eyes shine with
desire.“Whatdoyoumean?”

“You’renotseducingme.”Ibrushthebacksofmyfingersalonghercheek,takingthereinsasshe

tremblesintomytouch.“I’mgoingtoseduceyou.”

C H A P T E R S I X T E E N

Withgreatpowercomesgreatresponsibility.
It’s not classified intel that I’m well-endowed. Charlotte’s already figured that out, and she hasn’t

eventakenoffmyclothesyet.Buthere’sthesecrettosuccesswhenyoupossessamuch-larger-than-
average-sizecock.Youcan’tjustwaveitaroundlikeabigbat.You’vegottotreatitlikeabaseball
managerdoesacloser.Acockwithfirepowerisyoursecretweapon,andit’sworthitsweightingold
ifyouknowwhattodowiththerestofthelineup.Meaning,thedickshouldneverbethestarofthe
show.

Thewoman’snameshouldbetheoneinlights,andyouneedtomakeherfeelthatwayfromstartto

finish.Warmherupright.Useallyourtools—hands,fingers,mouth,tongue,words.

Fortunately,Iamwell-versedinalloftheabove,andIintendtoshowCharlotteallmyskills.
First,words…
“Ihaveaconfessiontomake,”Isay.
“Yes?”
“IknowyouweretryingtoprovewecanstillbefriendswhenwewerewatchingTV.ButIwasn’t

feelingveryfriendlytowardyou.”

“Youweren’t?”sheasks,thetiniestbitofworryinhereyes.
Ishakemyhead.“Iwasn’tfeelingtheleastbitfriendlywhenIwaswonderingwhatyourlipstaste

liketonight,”Iwhisper,andtheworryinhergazeturnstoasparkofexcitement.Herchestrisesand
falls,asifeverybreathisrichwithanticipationofwhat’scomingnext.

Iholdherfaceinmyhands,slantmymouthtohers,andkissher.
Likeatease.Asoft,slow,lingeringteasethatwilldoexactlywhatIpromisedherakisswoulddo.I

brush my lips over hers, tasting her, claiming her mouth, all before I slide my tongue between her
red,eagerlips.

Imoanwhenhertonguedartsouttomeetmine.
Thisisn’tourfirstkiss,butit’sthefirstonethat’snotgoingtostopatkissing.It’sakissthatwillgo

thedistance.

Herbreastspushagainstthefabricofmyshirt,andsoon,verysoon,I’mgoingtomeetthem.I’m

goingtogetthoroughlyacquaintedwithhergorgeoustits,andthenI’lltakemysweettimegettingto
knoweveryinchofherbody.

That’sthewayIkissher.Asapromiseofwhat’stocome.
Her.
Manytimes.
WhenIbreakthekiss,Irunmythumbacrosshertoplip,likeI’mmarkingthisterritoryasmine.

Sheletsouttheneediestlittlegasp.

“You taste like cherry candy, and tequila, and desire,” I tell her, as I lower my hand to her neck,

draggingmyfingersalongthesoft,tenderskinofherthroat.“AndnowthatI’vetastedyou,Iwantto
seetherestofyou.Iwanttoknowwhatyoulooklikenaked.I’vepictureditnon-stopfordays.”

“Getmenakedthen,”shesaysinaplea.

“Sinceyouaskedsonicely,”Isay,lettingmyvoicetrailoffasIslidethefirstshirtbuttonoutofthe

hole,thenthenext.I’mbuzzingeverywhere,knowingI’mnotonlygoingtoseeherbreasts,butI’m
goingtotouchthem,feelthem,kissthem.Theanticipationhasitsownpulse,itsownpresenceinmy
apartment here with us. I want to imprint this moment on my permanent memory. To never forget
howitfeelstotakemyshirtoffCharlotte.

Sherunshertongueoverherlips.Hereyesblaze,andshetrembles.She’slikeabeautifulbirdina

cage,wingsfluttering,heartracing,dyingtobreakfree.

I’mgoingtobetheonetodoit.Igettoletherescape,andexperienceallofher.
Ifreeanotherbuttonfromitsprisonandmyfingertipsbrushacrosstheswellofhertits.
Shegasps,andIgroan,andwebothgrinatthesametimefromthesharedrealization–becauseit

doesn’ttakeamind-readertotellshelovesbeingtouchedbymeasmuchasIlovetouchingher.Even
thoughI’mpastherbreastsnow,Idon’tspreadopentheshirt.I’mwaitinguntileverydamnbuttonis
undone.Iwantthemomenttobeagoddamnunveilingofhernakedbeauty,becauseIknowwithout
havingseenheryetthatsheisgorgeouseverywhere.

AsIreachforthefinalbutton,Idragmyfingertipdownhersoftflesh,andshemurmurs.
Islidethelastbuttonthroughtheholeandtakeastepbacktolookather.I’mutterlyflooredbythe

woman in front of me. She’s always been beautiful, but here, tonight, with the moonlight from my
balcony illuminating her as she stands against the white wall in my living room, she is more than
beautiful.

She’sanangelwho’scometosinwithme.
Myshirtishalfopenonher,revealingalong,lusciouslinefromthehollowofherthroat,through

hercleavage,downtoherbellybutton.Shewearspinklacepanties,lowonherhips.Reachingforthe
collar of the shirt, I slide the fabric down her shoulders, stopping briefly to dust a kiss on her
collarbone,thenalongherarms,pausingtokissherinthecrookofherelbow,thenallthewaytoher
wrists.

She shrugs off the material with a happy sigh. It falls to the ground, and my chest heats to

supernovalevelsasIdrinkherin.MyGod,undressingherislikeunwrappingagift.Undothebow,
openthetop,anddiscoverthatwhat’sinsideisevenbetterthanyoudreameditwouldbeonChristmas
morning.

Sheisheavenlybeauty.
Herbreastsareroundandfull,andhernipplesarehardlittlepeaks,tippingup.Herbellyisflatand

soft,andherhipsbegformyhandstogripthemasIsinkintoher.MydickhardenstopuresteelasI
pictureholdingthosehipsandslidinghome.

Butherbreastsareatthefrontofthelinerightnow,andthey’regettingallmyattentionfirst.My

hands shoot out, cupping them. She moans the second I make contact, and lets her head fall back
againstthewall.

“WanttoknowwhatelseI’vebeenthinkingthat’snotsofriendly?”IsayinagrowlnearherearasI

strokethesoftflesharoundhernipples.

“Whatelse?”sheasks,hervoiceshootinghigherasItouchher.
“I’vebeenwonderingifyou’lllikehavingmymouthonyourbreastsasmuchasIknowI’mgoing

toloveit.”Iwrenchbacktolookherintheeyes.“Thinkyouwill?”

Shenodsquickly.Thatdesperationsendshotsparksdownmyspine.Herresponseislikeadream,

andthat’showIwanthertofeel—thatthisnightwithmeisbetterthananythingshe’severimagined.

Iwantherrealitytoexceedanyandeveryfantasy.
EspeciallybecausetheCharlotteofthelastfewdaysisnowheretobeseen.Theonewhowantedto

teaseme,theonewhoclimbedontopofmeinacab,whowhispereddirty,filthythingsinmyear,has

left the premises. Oh, she’s not far away, I’m sure. But in her place is a softer, more vulnerable
Charlotte,andthat’swhoIwanttonight.

SoIcanleadher.
SoIcanshowher.
SoIcantakeher.
Lowering my mouth to one gorgeous globe, I draw that diamond peak between my lips. She lets

outalittlecry,andthenherhandsfindtheirwaytomyhair,herfingersthreadingtightlythroughitas
Isuckonherabsolutelydeliciousbreast,thengentlytugonhernipplewithmyteeth.Ikneadhersoft
flesh,andaflashofimagesflickersinmymind,ofhowhotitwouldbetoslidemydickbetweenher
titssomeday.They’resohighlyfuckable,andshe’ssodamnsensitivejustfrommytongue.

I could have a field day fucking these beauties, coming all over her skin. Not tonight, though,

becausethatwouldbeforme.Thisnightisallforher.

Imovemymouthtoherotherbreast,givingitthesamelavishtreatment,asIcaressherwithmy

tongue.HernoisesaretheanswertothequestionIaskedheraboutwhethershe’dlikethis.Shesays
yesinthewayherbreathcatcheswitheachlickandkiss.

“SoyoudolikeitasmuchasIdo,”Isay.
“Yesssssssss.”
Itisanoteheldlongandlastinginasong.Averydirtysong.
Iinchmywaydownherbody,kissingherbelly,flickingmytongueacrossherhips.Shemovesand

moanswiththepathofmymouth,breathingwildlyasItasteeveryinchofherskin.

As I draw a delicious line around her belly button, I’m intensely aware of how much I want this

night to be amazing for her. I want her to feel worshipped and fucked at the same time. Traveling
down her body, my tongue explores the edge of her pink, barely-there panties, flicking under the
waistbandasshequivers.Inearherpussy,andthisistheonlyplaceIwanttoberightnow.Theonly
fucking place in the universe. I hook my thumbs into the slim waistband of the pink lace, when she
saysmyname.

“Spencer.”
Ilookup.
“Willyoutakeoffyourshirt?”
In one quick move, my T-shirt is gone, and her hands are on my bare shoulders, and it feels

fantastictobetouchedbyher,evenifit’sonlyasheranchor.That’sallIwanttobe—theonewhoshe
holdsontoasIrockherworldwithmymouth.Iinchherpantiesdowntoherthighs,savoringevery
secondoftherevealasItakeinhernudityforthefirsttime.Iswallowdrylyatthefirstglimpseofher
mound,andthelightcurlsofhairthatcoverit.

Naturalblonde.
Ipressmynoseintothehairandinhaleher.Iamabouttotasteher.Iamabouttoslidemytongue

betweenmybestfriend’slegs,andI’veneverbeensofuckingturnedoninmylife.

“Believemenow?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”Hervoicesoundsasifit’sfloating.
“ThatI’mattractedtoyou.”
“Yes,”shesaysonapant.
“It’sbeyondattraction,Charlotte.I’mfuckingdyingtotasteyou,andyoubetternoteverdoubthow

muchIwantyou,withmeonmyknees,peelingoffyourpantiessoIcanburymyfacebetweenyour
thighs,”Itellher,andherhipsshootclosertome.

“Idon’tdoubtitanymore.IswearIdon’t,”shesays,sodamndesperatetobetouched.
Ikissheroncerightaboveherclit.Hermoanstellmeshe’saninferno.
Justlikeme.

Islidethelacetoherankles,andwithherhandsonmyshoulders,shestepsoutofthem.Iraisemy

face,meetingherdarkeyesthatblazewithalustthatmatchesmine.Nomorewords.Nomoreteasing.
Nomorewaiting.

Ipressmyhandsontheinsidesofherthighs,widenherstance,andgroanheadilyasImarvelatthe

sightbeforeme—Charlotte’sbeautiful,hot,wetpussy.

Andthatgorgeousclit,alreadyhardandthrobbingforme.
Idartoutmytongue,flickingitacrossherswollenclit,andsheunleashesthemostgloriousmoan

I’veeverheardinmylife.Igripherthighs,holdingonasIkisshersweetpussy.Icouldgototown
onherrightnow.Icouldlapheruplikeacrazed,hungryman.ButasmuchasIwanttodevourher,I
needtopaceher,tolearnifshelikesitfastandhungry,orifsheneedsmorebuild-up.Flickingmy
tongueacrossherclit,Ilickherwhereshewantsmemost.Judgingfromthewayherfingernailscurl
intomyshoulders,shedoesn’tneedmuchmorethanthetipofmytongue.

Shetasteslikesexanddreamsandlust,andshe’sfloodingmymouthwitheverylick.Mybodyisn’t

justaninferno;it’savolcano.Myveinsrunwithlava,andmypulsebeatseverywherewithdesire.My
dickissettingworldrecordsforhardnessasitstrainsagainstthezipperofmyjeans.

Ineedtodrinkthiswomanin.Ineedtobecoatedinher.Iwantherwetnesscoveringmystubbled

chin,myjaw,myface.Iwantthisslickheatonmygoddamnnose.

Using my fingers, I spread her open and lick across her slick folds. She moans in pleasure. “Oh

God.”

That’sallshesaysforthenextfewminutesasIconsumehersinfullysweetpussy,learninghowshe

likes it. She rocks into me, her hips rolling with a wildness that mirrors the staccato speed of her
erraticbreathing.AsIslipmytongueinsideher,shedigshernailsintomyshoulders.AsIreturnmy
mouthtoherclit,shebucksagainstme.AsIslideonefingerinsidehertightwalls,shesings.

Shefuckingsings.
“OhGod,ohGod,ohGod,ohGod.”
She’ssaidlittleelsetheentiretime,andit’sawesome.Iloveherinabilitytoformwords.Ilovethat

shecan’ttalkwhileshe’sinheavenfrommytongue,andshecanonlymanagemoans.

She hits the highest note I’ve ever heard, and she fucks my face in a frenzy. Her hands shoot up

from my shoulders to grip my skull, and she rides my face while I lap up every last ounce of her
sweetnessasshecomesinmymouth.

Shetastesbetterthanshedidintheshower.
Betterthanmyfantasies.
She’sallreal,andherorgasmisspreadonmylipsandallovermychin.
Iamsofuckinghappyandsoincrediblyhorny.
Istand,andlooponearmbehindherhead.She’sshaking.Tremblingeverywhere.
ThenItellherthethingIcouldn’tsaylastnightinthecab.
“God,Iwanttofuckyousofuckingbadlyrightnow.”
Sheanswersmewiththethreebestwordsamancaneverhear.“Iwantyou.”Wait.Icountedwrong.

Fivebestwords,becausesheaddstwomore.“Iwantyousomuch.”

C H A P T E R S E V E N T E E N

Iscoopupherwarm,pliantbody,andcarryhertothetableinmydiningroom.Trustme,thisisnot

aspur-of-the-momentdecision.

I’vecycledthroughallthepossiblepositionsandchosenthisone.
Missionary—thoughfantastic—isnotgoingtoblowhermindforouropeningnight.Norcanshe

beontop,becauseIneedtobeincontrol.AndnowayamIfuckingherfrombehindoronallfours
thefirsttimeIsinkintoher.IwanttoseeherfaceasIfuckher.Iwanttowatchherlipspartasshe
fliesoverthecliff,andIwanttoseehereyesasshecomesundone.

Isetherbareassgentlyontheedgeofthewood,andhereyeswidenasrealizationdawnsonher.

Forasecond,IwanttoaskifsheandBradleyevermadeitoutofthebedroom,buttheimpulsefades
asquicklyasitappeared,becauseIdon’tcare.She’sminerightnow,andhewillneverevergethis
handsonthisbeautiful,amazingwomanagain.Hemesseditup,andIgettohaveher.

“Stayhere,”Itellhersharply,asIwalkbacktothecoffeetabletograbthecondom.
“Iwasn’tactuallyplanningongoinganywhere,”shesaysinamonotone,andIsmile,lovingthat

herdryhumorisneverfaraway.

WhenIreturn,Iunbuttonmyjeans,unzipthem,pushthemdownmylegs,thenkickthemoff.Ina

second,thosebusyhandsofhersareonme,tuggingoffmyboxerbriefsasshenibblesonthecorner
ofherlip.

Whenshefreesmycock,itsalutesher.Hereyesdon’tjustwiden.Theyturntomoons.“Holyshit,”

shemurmursandclaspsahandoverhermouth.

I laugh lightly then peel her fingers from her lips. “Yes, it’ll fit,” I say, answering the question I

knowisonthetipofhertongue.

“HowdidyouknowIwasgoingtoaskthat?”
Idon’tanswerher.Instead,IaskanotherquestionasIsetthecondomwrappernexttoheronthe

table.“WanttoknowwhyIsaythat?”

“Why?”
I drag my fingers along her slippery heat. “Because you’re so wet, I’ll slide inside you nice and

easy.”ThenIreachforherhand.“Now,touchmycock.”

She draws an excited breath and wraps her hand around my shaft, and I groan with decadent

pleasure.Sherunsherhandupanddownmydick,andhertouchignitesme.Mywholebodycombusts
asshestrokesmycock.Everyinchofmeisablazewithsomuchwant.Istandbetweenherlegs,and
she’s perched on the edge of my table, naked and already glowing from her first orgasm, and this
momentisaboutasfuckingperfectasamomentcanbe.

Sheplayswithmeforanotherminute,hernimblefingersexploringmyshaft.Arumbleworksits

way up my chest from the soft, delicious friction of her hands. When she spreads a bead of liquid
overtheheadofmydick,Ican’ttakeitanylonger.

“Needtobeinsideyou,”Isay,andIrunmyhandsalongherthighs,spreadingherlegswiderfor

me.Reachingforthecondom,Igentlytearopenthewrapperandslideiton.

With my hips, I nudge her legs more open, and slide the head against her wetness. Her eyes roll

back,andsherocksagainstme,seekingmeout.

Iloopmyfingersintoherhair,cuppingthebackofherhead.“Putitin,”Itellher,inaroughvoice

thatleavesnoroomforargument.

Wrapping her hand around the base, she rubs the tip of my dick against her pussy, then slides it

inside,inchbyinch.Iletherlead.Lethertakemeasshecan.Atonepoint,sheinhalessharply.

“Doesithurt?”Iask.
She shakes her head, lets go of my dick, and wraps her arms around my neck. “No. It feels so

good.”

That’smycue.Ieaseintherestoftheway,andthenstillmyselfwhenI’minsideher.
Because…hell.
Heaven.
Bliss.
Thisisit.
Me.Rightnow.Thismomentintime.
Herwetheatisintense.Everything,everything,everythingaboutthisfeelssoincrediblygood.
Her fingers thread their way into my hair. I clasp her hips and start to move, giving her time to

adjust.Iwatchherexpression,theconcentrationinherbrowneyesasshegetsusedtome.Ifollowher
cues, giving slow, lingering thrusts, until she relaxes completely, letting me fill her. Her knees fall
open,hermouthsoftens,andshenods.

Finallyshelockshergazetomineandwhispers,“Fuckme.”
Twowordsthatlightupeveryinchofmyskin.
AsIfuckher,shefucksmeback.Isinkdeeperinsideandshematchesme,risinguptomeetme.We

setarhythm,andwearemorethaninsynch.Wemesh.

Itrytotakeineverysensationofourfirsttime.Theflushthatdarkenstheskinofherchest.The

scentofvanillalotiononhershoulders.Hernoises,likeawomanunleashed.

Her lips are swollen and parted, and they’re begging to be kissed. I dip my head to her mouth,

capturing her lips as I thrust into her. We kiss—rough, hard, sloppy, mixed with sighs that tell me
she’sinanotherworld,butthatworldisrightherewithme.

Islidemyhandsunderherthighs,andsheraisesherlegsuphigher.
“Wrapthemaroundme,”Itellher.
Shehooksheranklesaroundmyback.“Likethat?”
“Justlikethat,”Irepeat,thenclosemyeyesasthepressurebecomesalmosttoomuch.Myquads

tighten,andIcanonlyimaginehowincredibleitwillbetocomeinsideher.ButIstaveitoffasshe
rocksupintome.

Idriveharderanddeeper,hittingsomespotwithinherthattripsaswitch.Shegasps,shuddering.

Shetugsmetighterwithhercrossedankles,andthisisit.ThisishowIwilltakehertotheedge,all
tight and snug around me. Beneath me. Under me. She writhes and bucks, and she starts to lose
control.

“OhGod,ohGod,”shemoans,andhernoisesturnferal,echoinginmyears.
Her body is like water, like fire. She is all the elements, all woman, all vulnerable, soft, strong

femininity.

Shecriesout—along,low,endless,gorgeouscry.Sheraisesherfacetome,clutchingherhands

aroundmyneck,hunting,andsearching.Inaflurry,herlipsareonmyear,andshewhispers,asifI
neededthecorroboration,“I’mcoming,I’mcoming,I’mcoming.”

Likeachant.
And,fuck,IwaswrongifIthoughtthismomentcouldn’tgetanysexier.Itdid.Ithas.Hearingher

saythatinmyear,hearinghertellmeshe’sthereeventhoughIalreadyknow,isthehottestthingever.
Becauseshesimplyhadtovoiceit.

Ijoinher,fuckingherhardtomyownrelease,insideheratlast.
Aminutelater,afterourbreathingsettles,Ibracefortheawkwardtosetin.Butitdoesn’tarrive.

NotasIpullout,grabthecondom,andtossitintothetrashcan.NotasIreturntoherandkissher
eyelids. Not as she heads to the bathroom to clean up. And not as I ask her if she wants to watch
anotherepisodewhenshewalksbackintothelivingroom.

Stillnude.
WewatchCastleandBeckettattempttosolveanothermurder.
Wereturntowhowewere,munchingongummybearsandpouringmoremargaritasandguessing

plottwists,untilItughercloseandCharlotteViagrakicksbackin.Soon,we’regoingforroundtwo,
thistimeonmycouch,andit’snotlonguntilIhearmynewfavoritesongasshedoesthatthingagain
whereshemovesherlipsagainstmyeartotellmeshe’scoming.

After,wecrash,andIwakeuptoFidoplayingthepianoonmyheadtoletmeknowhe’shungry,

Charlottesoundasleepsnuggledinmyarms,andthemorningsunstreamingacrosstheterrace.

We’vealreadybrokenourfirstrule.

C H A P T E R E I G H T E E N

IgettheBat-Signalintheearlyeveningaftertwogloriousdaysofnearlynon-stopfucking,with

occasionalbreaksforworkandthebareminimumofsleep.

ThealertcomesviatextasI’mrunningalongtheWestSideHighway.
Atthegyminmybuilding.Dipstickishere.He’sstaringatmyring.
I sniff opportunity, like a dog. Bradley is why she said yes to being my fake fiancée in the first

place,towardoffhisobnoxiousgiftattacks,andtoexacthercleverrevenge.Thankgodhelosther.
Butstill,he’sscum,andnowIgettorubhislossinhisface.

I break right and sprint across town, dodging pedestrians, guys in suits, women in dresses,

constructionworkers,andeveryoneelseinNewYorkonthisTuesdayeveningasImakemywayto
MurrayHill.OnceIreachherbuilding,mybreathcomingfast,sweatstreakingdownmychest,Itell
the doorman I’m here to see Charlotte. Since I’m on her list of approved-at-all-hours visitors, he
wavesmein.Iheadtotheelevatoranddownstairstothegym.

Ifindherinseconds.She’sjoggingonatreadmillatalightpace,andBradleywatchesherfromthe

exercisebikeashepedals.

Ilockeyeswithhim,givehimaquicktipofthehat,andmarchovertoCharlotte.AfterIhitstopon

hermachine,Ikissthehelloutofher.She’snotexpectingme,butshedoesn’tquestionit.Shegoes
with it, melting into my kiss, and soon the kiss moves from PG to PG-13. It veers into R territory
when she hops off the treadmill, wraps her arms around me, and tells me to come upstairs for a
quickiebeforewehavetogotoTheLuckySpot.

That’sme.CaptainFiancéatyourservice.
AsIleave,ItakeaganderatBradley.He’shuffingandpuffing,andlooksmadashell.
Ijutupmyshoulders.
WhatcanIdo?Thewomanwantsme.

***

ThenextBat-SignalcomesfrommymotherlaterthateveningasI’mworkinginthesmallofficeat

the back of our bar, surrounded by boxes of cocktail napkins and cabinets where we store our top-
shelfliquor.

Atfirstitappearsasaninvitationviatext.Hidear!WehaveticketsfortheFiddlerrevivaltomorrow

night.Twoextra.CanyouandCharlotteattend?WecanallgotoSardi’sbeforehand.

TosayI’mnotafanofmusicalswouldbeagrossunderstatement.Infact,I’msurprisedmymom

even asked, because I’m known in the family circle for my variety of unapologetic excuses for
decliningallinvitationstoanythinginvolvingsong-and-dancenumbers,rangingfromI’m watching
paintdry,I’mbusyrearrangingmyties,toI’llbehavingelectivedentalworkdoneinstead.

But none of these excuses makes it from my brain to my fingers to the phone, because my first

thoughtisthatCharlotteadoresBroadway.Ipopoutoftheofficetofindhermanningthetapsatone
endofthecounter.“Weirdquestion,”IsayasIjoinher.“WouldyouwanttoseeFiddlerontheRoof
tomorrow?Withme?”

Shestudiesmyface,thenplacesherhandonmyforehead.“Youdon’thaveafever.”
“I’mserious.”
“Maybeithasn’tsetinyet.”
“Imeanit.”
“ShouldItakeyoutotheERnowtogetchecked,orwaitforthechillstostart?”
Itapmywatch.“Theinvitationexpiresinfiveseconds.Five,four,three…”
Sheclaps.“Yes!Yes,Iwanttogo.Iloverevivals.Thatwouldbeamazing.I’mnotevengoingto

askwhereyourbagofexcusesis.I’mjustgoingtoenjoymyself.”

“Good,”Isay,andI’msteppingclosertodropaquickkissonhercheekwhenIstopmyselfinthe

nickoftime.

Panic flickers across her eyes, and she makes a small jerk of her head. Jenny’s here, and so are

waitersandwaitressesonthefloor,takingdrinkorders.

Shit.
Howthehelldidthatalmosthappen?I’mnotaversetoPDA,butnothereatworkwithcustomers,

ourmanager,andstaffcirculating.

“Sorry,”Imumble.
From her spot mixing a vodka tonic, the dark-haired Jenny raises a well-groomed eyebrow, but

says nothing. Charlotte doesn’t wear her ring here, but Jenny’s reaction makes me wonder if our
employees can sense the change. Like animals sniffing out a storm, do they know their bosses are
banging?Cantheytell,too,it’satemporarything?Questionsracethroughmybrain—amIstanding
too close to Charlotte, am I staring too hard, is it completely obvious from the way I look at my
businesspartnerthatI’mpicturinghernakedandfuckingmyfacerightnow?

Ishakemyhead,chasingoffthedirtythoughts.Itrytomakelightofmygaffe.“Wealmostbroke

anotherrule,”Isay,justtoCharlotte.

“Whichone?”
“Thenoweirdnessone.”
Shelaughsandpatsmyshoulder.“You’reokay,Holiday.Thatwasn’teventiptoeingonweird.”She

lowershervoiceandspeaksjusttome.“Itwasactuallyadorable,truthbetold.”

Ahhell,nowI’mblushing.Because…
Wait.
Whatthehell?
Imustreallyhaveafever.I’vevolunteeredmyselfforthepainandsufferingofmusicaltheater,and

I’ve been dubbed adorable. I am not okay with this. This is not acceptable. Charlotte is so getting
fuckedfrombehindtonightsosheknowsthere’snothingadorableaboutme.

I’monlymanlyandrugged.
“Great,” I say, coolly drumming my knuckles against the bar, like my new casual attitude will

resurrectmystreetcred.“Sowe’llgotomorrow.Only’causeyouwantto.”

Myphonebuzzesoncemore.Igrabit,andmyshoulderssagasIread,TheOffermanswillbethere

too:)

IturntoCharlotte.“Itwasanambush,”Isay,thensharethedetails.
Hersmileneverfalters.“It’sokay.Idon’tmindgoingwiththem.”Sheleansincloserandwhispers,

“Infact,it’sbeeneveneasiertoplayyourfiancéethelastfewdays.”

“Why’sthat?”
Hervoicedropsevenlower.“Becauseofthewayyoufuckmeallnightlong.”
Aboltoflustslamsintome,andI’mreadytodraghertotheoffice,slamthedoor,andscrewher

hereatwork.

ButJennycallsherover,andIreturntothecomputerwithmynewwood.

AsIansweremailsfromsuppliers,itoccurstomethatCharlotte’scommentaboutbeingadorable

shouldmakemefeelweird.Butitdoesn’tbugme,andIaskmyselfwhy.

MaybebecauseCharlotteseemedsohappytoseetheshow.Hell,takinghertoBroadwayistheleast

Icandoforher,sinceshe’spullingoffafantasticperformancethisweektohelpsealthedealonmy
dad’ssale.

Mysterysolved.IlikemakingCharlottehappybecauseshe’smyfriend,andfriendshelpeachother.
There.Iteetered,butavoidedbreakinganothergroundrule.

C H A P T E R N I N E T E E N

ThereporterjoinsusatSardi’s.HisnameisAbe,hisfacebearsapassingresemblancetoahorse,

andhisclothesmightbelongtoanolderbrother,giventhattheyappeartwosizestoolarge.I’malso
notsureifhehasadriver ’slicenseyet,orifhe’sevenstartedshaving.

Hesnapsphotosofthetwofamiliestoastingandnibblingonappetizers,andI’mtrulyamazedat

whatapuffpiecethisfeaturearticleisgoingtobe.Mustbewhythemagazineassignedacubreporter
to it. But then, Metropolis Life and Times is known for giving the best blow jobs in the journalism
business.Openupandtakeitallin.

The photos are technically candid, but we’re all keenly aware of the lens as we order, chat, and

raiseourglassesasblack-and-whitecaricaturesoftheaterandmoviestarspresidefromthewallsof
thisBroadwayinstitution.Onlycouplesareinattendancethistime—Mr.Offermanandhiswife,my
dadandmymom,andCharlotteandme.OrdinarilyI’dteaseHarperthatshewasbanishedtonight,but
she’sprobablythrilledtositoutthisrequiredeventandskipthephony“wehavenocluethereporter
ishere”conversation.

ButIgetwhyMr.Offermansetupthestory.Pieceslikethisaidinthetransitionofabusiness,and

showing the friendly handoff of a jewelry powerhouse as well-known as Katharine’s will reassure
customers.Wesurelookpolishedandspit-shinedforthemagazine.I’mwearingalightgreenbutton-
downshirtandapaleyellowtiewithcartoonpandasonit,whileCharlottelooksstunninginablack
short-sleeveddresswithapinkribboncinchedthroughslimbeltloops.

“You didn’t bring your daughters along tonight,” I remark to Mr. Offerman as I finish an olive.

“They’rebusywithend-of-yearschoolstuff,Ipresume?Ornotfansoftheater?”

Hewavesahanddismissively.“Weonlyhadsixtickets,anditseemedmoreimportanttobringthe

men.”

Inearlychokeontheolivepit.“Excuseme?”
“Mygirlsdon’tgetinvolvedinbusinessaffairs,”hesays,knockingbacksomeofhisscotchbefore

signalingtothewaiterforanother.

“I’mnotinvolvedinmyfather ’sbusiness,though,andyouinvitedme,”Isay,pointingouttheflaw

inhislogic.

“True,butI’msureyouropinionismorevitalthan,say,your—”
Hisremarkiscutoffwhenthereportertapsmeontheshoulder.“PictureofyouandCharlotteby

thebar?Oursocietypagewouldloveoneofthehappycouple.”

MyguttwistsasIstand,knowingthisphotoisasham.It’lleitherrunonlinetomorrowandthenbe

out of date when we split up in a few more days as planned. Or it will never run because…well,
becausewewon’tbethe“happycouple”muchlonger.

Aswestepawayfromthetable,Charlotteshootsmealookthatsaysshe’sthinkingthesamething.

Thatwe’reskirtingtheline.Ourcharadeseemedfineatfirst—aplausibleenoughwaytoensuremy
romantic entanglements didn’t derail Dad’s business deal—even though I was lying to my family.
Now,itbordersonbald-facedmanipulationasIlieto,well,everyone,leavingapitinmystomach.

Buttheendjustifiesthemeans,Iremindmyselfasweheadtothebar.WhenItalkedtomydadthis

morning, he said he expected to sign the deal by the weekend, once the final bank paperwork is

completed.IhatethethoughtthatMr.OffermanmighthavewalkedhadInotfitthemoldhewanted.
Still,I’mstartingtoseemyselfasmoreofasnakeoilsalesman,andIdon’tcareforthissideofme.

ThegoodpartisI’llonlyhavetolieforanotherfewdays.
ThebadpartisIonlygetafewmoredaysofpretending.
“Smileforthecamera,”Abesaysaswereachthebar,thesketchesofTomHanksandEdAsnerin

thebackground.

IwrapmyarmaroundCharlotteandflashagrin,thenstealaquicksniffofherneck.Shesmells

likepeaches.Idustaquickkissonhercheek,andherbreathcatches.Sheinchescloser,andyup,what
wasfakeisrealagain,andthatnaggingfeelingdriftsaway.There’sheatbetweenus.Sizzleeven.The
camera’sgottobepickinguponthesparks.

WhenIletgoofher,Ishootasheepishgrinatthereporter.“Sorry.Can’thelpmyself.She’stoo

lovely.”

“It’s obvious you like her,” he says, then lowers his camera and retrieves a notebook from his

pocket.“ButIcan’thelpbutwonder,whendiditbecomeexclusive?”

“Sorry?”Iask,knittingmybrow.
“It’snew,right?Theexclusivityinyourrelationship?”
“Ofcoursewe’reexclusive.We’reengaged,”Charlottesayspossessively,wrappingahandaround

myarmasshedeflectshisquestion.

“Icantell,”thereportersays,pointingatCharlotte’srock.“Iwasasking,though,whenitbecame

exclusive.”

AhintofredblazesacrossCharlotte’scheeks,andIchimein.“Theengagementisrelativelynew,if

that’swhatyou’reasking.”

“Well,itmustbenew,”Abesays,likeadoggrabbingabone,refusingtoletgo.“Youwereinlast

month’sSouthBeachLifemagazinewithaMiamichef,andjustafewweeksagoIbelieveyouwere
seenwithacelebritytrainer.”

Fuckmeandmyplayboyways.Itense,mymusclestightening,andhereitcomes—thesituationmy

fatherdesperatelywantedtoavoid.

“Thatwasjustchatter,”Isay,asImaintainmygrin.“Youknowhowitgoes.”
“YoumeanwithCassidy?ItwascasualwithCassidyWinters?”heasks,insertingtheadjectiveof

hischoice—casual—asifhecangetmetoagreetouseit.

“No,Iwasn’tsayingthatitwascasual.Iwassayingitwaschatter.Meaningtherewasnothinggoing

on,”Isaycrisply,correctingtheboldlittlebastard.

Henodsandstrokeshischin.“Gotit.Butthat’snotthecasewiththechef.BecauseinMiamilast

month,youweretaggedinaFacebookphotothathasyougivingherakissonthecheek.”

Hereachesforhisphone,slideshisfatthumbacrossthescreen,andshowsmethephoto.Hehadit

ready and waiting. He’d called it up in advance, preparing to pounce. I shrug, my mind quickly
playingoutscenarios.ThenIgoforit.IpuckerupandgiveAbeaquickairkissonthecheek.Ifight
everyinstincttocringeasmylipscomewithinmillimetersofhisbabyface,butI’vegottopullthis
off.“See?I’mjustanaffectionateguy.”

Hewipeshispalmacrosshischeek.“Soitwasnothingwiththechef?”
Inodandgesturetohisface.“Justlikethatwasnothing,”Isay,wishingIcouldgivehimthebrush

offhedeserves.ButifIwalkaway,orsay‘nocomment,’itwilljustfuelhim.Answeringcoollygives
methegreatestchanceofdiffusingthisbomb.

AbeanchorshisattentiontoCharlotte.“Doesitbotheryouthatupuntilafewweeksago,Spencer

HolidaywasinthepapersasanotedNewYorkCityplayboy?”

Sheshakesherheadandsmilessweetly.“No.Iknowwhohecomeshometoatnight.”
“Noteverynight,”thereportermumbles.

Angerlashesthroughme.That’stheendofMr.NiceGuy.“Excuseme?Whatdidyousay,Abe?”I

askpointedly,becauseit’sonethingtobepushy.It’sentirelyanothertobeanasshole.

Heraiseshischin.“Isaid,soeverynightyou’llberunningTheLuckySpotashusbandandwife?”
Liar.
Buttheliarmakesagoodpoint,andhisremarkremindsmethatCharlotteandIaregoingtoneeda

gameplanformanagingthisfakeengagementatworkduringthenextfewdays.Ormaybenot,since
it’llbeoversoon.

Onceagain,thatthoughtchurnsmystomach.
Before I can answer Abe’s inquiry about how we’ll run our business, Mrs. Offerman joins us,

insertingherselfintotheimpromptuinterview.“Everythingokay?”

IneverthoughtI’dthinkthis,but,boy,amIgladtoseeher.
“Just catching up on how quickly Charlotte and Spencer became exclusive,” the reporter says to

Mrs.Offerman.“Veryquickly.”

Shearchesaneyebrow,andhercuriosityseemstosetin.“Isthatso?Iknewitwasfast,butwasn’t

awareitwasquitesorecent.”

TurnsoutI’mactuallynothappytoseeher.Notatall.Especiallysinceshesaysthosewordslike

they’repoisonous.

Charlotteclearsherthroat,pushesastrandofhairbehindherear,andmeetsMrs.Offerman’sgaze,

thenAbe’s.“Itisrecent,aswe’vesaidmanytimes.Everythinghappenedquickly.Butthat’ssometimes
howitgoeswhenyoufallinlove,isn’tit?”Charlottesaysassherunsherfingertipsalongthesleeve
ofmyshirt.There’salayerofcottonbetweenus,butIswearhertouchignitesmyskin,leavingatrail
of sparks in its wake. She tilts her face and meets my gaze. My breath catches when she locks eyes
withme,andbrieflytherestoftherestaurantceasestoexist.

Inod,swallowingdrylyasIdo.I’mnotsurewhomyanswerismeantfor—her,them,orus.
Butmyyesfeelshonestattheveryleast,andthatmatterstome.
Charlotterisesontiptoesandbrushesasoftkisstomylips.Whenshepullsaway,shehooksher

armthroughmineandstaresatthereporter.“It’snotaproblemthathewasseenwithsomeoneelsea
fewweeksago.Doesn’tchangeathing.Itdoesn’tchangehowIfeelforhim.”

Abehasnomorequestions.Atleastfortonight,she’smanagedtothrowhimoffthescentofour

charade.

IflashbacktoourplayfulrevengeonBradleyatherbuildinggymtheothernight.Sure,Charlotte

gotakickoutoftheshowwestagedforherex,butthatkissonthetreadmilltomakehimjealouswas
nothingcomparedtowhatshejustfinessedforme.Shekeepssavingme,againandagain.

Myhearttripsoveritselfinaracetogetclosertoher.
Something is happening. Something strange and completely foreign. My heart is speaking a

languageIdon’tunderstandasittriestoflingitselfatCharlotte.

Great.Now,that’stwoorgansIhavetodobattlewitheveryday.

***

Whenit’stimefortheshow,myfathercommandeersmyattentiononthebriefwalkacrossForty-

fourthStreettotheShubertTheaterentrance.

“Everythingokay?”
“Absolutely fine,” I reply, because the last thing I want is for him to worry. A cab screeches by,

spewing out exhaust, then slams on its brakes at the red light. “The reporter was annoying, but
nothingIhaven’theardbefore.”

Mydadshakeshishead.“ImeantwithCharlotte.Everythingokaywithher?”

“She’sfine,”Ianswerwithasmile,gladthatmydadcaresmoreaboutthewomanthanthestory.
HepointstoCharlotte,walkingseveralfeetaheadofuswiththeothers.“Youtwoareperfectfor

eachother.Don’tknowwhyIdidn’tseeitbefore,butnowasIseeyoutogether,it’slikeitwasrightin
frontofmeallalong.”

Likeahawkswoopingdownfromthesky,theguiltreturns.Thistimeitplantsclawsinmychest,

settling in for a long stay. I shove my hand through my dark hair. My father is going to be so
disappointedwhenCharlotteandIbreakup.“You’resuchahopelessromantic,”Isay.

Helaughsasweslowourpacewhenwenearthecrowdsmillingoutsidethebrightlylitmarquee.

“That’swhyIrunajewelrystore.”

“Notmuchlonger,though,”Ipointoutplayfully.“You’reafreemansoon.”
“Iknow.”Hesighs,awistfulnoteinthesound.“I’llmissit.”
“You’llbehappytoberetired,though.”
Henodsseveraltimes,asifhe’sbuckinghimselfup.“I’llbehappytospendmoretimewithyour

mom.She’sthecenterofmyworld.LikeCharlotteisforyou,”hesays,clappingmeontheback.

Yeah,weirdness.It’shappeningnowforsure.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y

Theusherseatsus.
Charlottecrossesherarms,andheavesasigh.
“Youdoingokay?”
Shenods.Herlipsformastraightline.
“Yousure?BecauseifIwereabettingmanI’dsayyou’repissed.”
“I’mfine.”
Iarchaneyebrowskeptically.“Areyousurenothing’swrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She uncrosses her arms, grabs my shirt sleeve, and shifts gears instantly.

“Whenarewegoingtomakeavoodoodollforthatreporter?”

Ipretendtostarethoughtfullyinthedistance.“Let’ssee.I’vegotthatonthecalendarfortomorrow

atthree.Thatstillwork?”

Shenodsvigorously.“Youbringthepins;I’llgetthecloth.”
“Excellent.I’llfindaninstructionalvideoonYouTubesowecandoitupright.”
Shebeams,thenwhisperstomeastheoverturebegins,“Ihatedthosequestions.”
“Hewastryingtoplayhardball,andit’ssuchapointlesstopic.Youdidgreatthough.”
“They were embarrassing,” she says, then beckons me closer as fiddle notes carry across the

audience.“Doyouthinkhe’sontous?”

“Itfeltthatway,butIthinkhewasjustlobbingquestionstoseewhichstuck.”
“Didyoulikemyfinalanswer,though?”
Likeit?Ilovedwhatshesaidaboutthingshappeningquickly.MorethanIshould.“Itwasfantastic.”
“Ididgoodwiththatone,didn’tI?”shesays,blowingonherfingerslikeshe’stoohottohandle.
Myheartplummets,thencraterstothefloor.ThatsinkingfeelingcomeswiththerecognitionthatI

wantedsometruthtowhatshesaid.Iwantedsomethinginittobereal.

“Itwasthoroughlybelievable,”Isay,managingasmilethatisfake,andheranswerisareminder

thateventhoughforsomeunknownreasonIdon’twantthistoend,Charlotteisoverandoutinfour
moredays.

She’llbedone,butI’llwanttokeepthisup.
Thefirstnumberbegins,andIthink—no,I’msure—thatthisisofficiallymyleastfavoritetimeata

musical,ever.Watchingithurts.

***

CharlotteisquietaswewanderthroughTimesSquare,havingsaidgoodnighttomyparentsand

theOffermans.WethreadourwaythroughthecrazycrowdsintheglitzyneonofManhattan’sfamous
sardinetin,sortofamoshpitmeetsazooofpeopleinacityofmillions.Amanpaintedasasilver
robotmakesjerkygesturesnexttoatophatcollectingafewcoins.AguypeddlingStatueofLiberty
keychainsbumpsintoCharlotteandknocksherwithhiselbow.

“Ow,”shemutters.

“Youokay?”Iask,andreachmyhandtorub.Instinct,Isuppose—totakecareofher.ButIpullmy

handback.Shedoesn’twantit,orneedit.Shecantakecareofherself.

“Yeah,I’llbefine,”shesays,shruggingitoff.“Andhey,wesurvivedanotherperformance.”
“OfFiddler?”
Sheshakesherhead.“No.”Sheadoptsthetoneofaradioannouncer.“Andtonightateightp.m.,we

haveanotherrenditionofHappilyEngagedCouple.”

Iwince.“Right.Thatone.”
ThisiswhenIshouldmakeajoke.WhenIshouldreassureher.WhenIshouldtellherthanksonce

again.

Isaynothing.Ihavenothingtosay.Abaldmanwithtwogoldteethbarksoutofferstoahalf-nude

comedyact.“Halfnude,halfoff.”

Someoneshoutsback,“Allnude,alloff?”
We pass a theater, then a T-shirt shop, and sidestep a couple in khaki shorts, white sneakers, and

FDNYT-shirts.Ihavenoideawherewe’regoing.Honestly,I’mnotevensurewhywewerewalking
on Broadway in the first place. I think we just went in a U. What is wrong with me? I can’t even
navigatemyowncityanymore.

We reach the corner of Forty-third and stop on the concrete. A bus crawls up Eighth Avenue.

Tourists circle us as we stand awkwardly, facing each other. My whole life I’ve known what to do,
howtomoveforward,howtomeetlifeateverycurveandbend.Tonight,I’mthrown,andIbarely
understandhowtoputonefootinfrontoftheother.

Iscratchmyhead.
“Um,wherearewegoing,Spencer?”
Ishrug.“Hadn’tthoughtaboutit.”
“Whatdoyouwanttodo?”sheasks,claspingherhandstogetherasifshe’slookingforsomething

todowiththem.

“Whateverworksforyou,”Isay,jammingmythumbsintothepocketsofmyjeans.
“Doyouwanttogosomewhere?”
“Ifyoudo.”
Shesighs.“ShouldIjustgetacabhome?”
“Do you want to get a cab?” I ask, and I’d like to kick myself. I can’t stand me right now, this

indecisive,uncertaindudeinafunkwhoistryingtotakeovermybody.Idon’tknowhim.Idon’tcare
forhim.AndIdidn’tgivehimsquatter ’srightsinmybody.I’mgoingtohavetomusclehimoutof
theway.Iholdupahand.“Scratchthat,”Isaywithdrummed-upconfidence.Thisfakeaffairmightbe
endinginafewmoredays,butI’mnotgoingtomopemywaythroughthebestsexofmylife.I’m
goingtorisetotheoccasion.

“Scratchwhat?Gettingacab?”
Ishakemyheadandparkmyhandsonhershoulders.“ThisiswhatIwanttodorightnow.Iwantto

takeyoubacktomyplace.Stripyounaked.Runmytongueacrosseveryinchofyourskin,andthen
dothatthingItoldyouIwoulddotoyouwhenwewereinKatharine’s.”

Hereyessparkle,thenshinewithdesire.Shenodseagerly.“Yes.”
There.Beautiful.IgrabmyphonefrommybackpockettoorderupanUber,sincecatchingacab

hereisimpossible.AsItapmydetailsintotheapp,sheplacesherhandonmyarm.

“But,um,there’ssomethingIwantedtotellyoufirst.”
Oh shit. My heart pounds. She’s going to end this. She’s had enough. She’s gotten her fill. She’s

saddlingupforonelastridetonight,andthenshe’sputtingmetopasture.

“Whatisit?”Iask,andmyheartfeelslikeit’sinmythroat.
“Rememberwhenwesaidnolying?”

“Yes.”Iswallow,bracingmyself.Thetensiontiesitselfintoknotsinmychest,andIdon’tlikethis

feeling.Idon’twanttoeverfeelthisway.Itfeelslikeneedanddependency.LikesomethingIbarely
know.“Areyougoingto?”Ispitout.

“Goingtowhat?”
“Endthis?”Iask,becauseIcan’ttakeitanymore.
Shelaughs.
“It’snotfunny,”Iinsist.
“Itisfunny.”
“Why?”
Sheshakesherhead.“Youidiot.”Shegrabsmyshirtandbringsmeclosertoher.Myheartthrows

itselfagainstmyribs.“ThisiswhatIwantedtotellyou.Whenyouaskedmewhatwaswrongbefore
theshowstarted,andIsaidnothing?Thatwasalie.Iwasjealous.Terriblyjealous.”

IrewindtoCharlottecrossingherarms,tohermakingjokesaboutthereporter,toherbeingproud

ofpullingofftheact.“Youwerejealous?”

“Iwastryingdesperatelynottobe.That’swhyIletitgoandmadethejokeaboutthevoodoodoll.”
“Whywereyoujealous?”
She rolls her eyes. “All those women the reporter was naming. Hearing about them made me

jealous.”

“Why?”
“Don’tyougetit?”
“No.Butwe’vealreadyestablishedyouneedtousetheABCswithme.Sogoahead.Spellitout,”I

say,tappingmytempleandmouthingdense.

Sheblushes,thenspeakssoftly.Hervoiceisbarelyaudibleabovethenoiseofthestreet,thesound

ofthecrowds,theroaroftraffic.Buteverywordismusic.“Becausetheywerewithyou.”

My lips quirk up. “Like how I felt about Bradley when you were with him,” I admit, and it feels

freeingtosaythat.Moreso,togivevoicetosomethingI’dfeltbutbarelyunderstoodatthetime.

“YoufeltthatwaywhenIwaswithhim?”
“SometimesIdid,”Isay,flashingbacktothosedayswhenshewaswiththesupremedouche.There

werenightswhensheleftTheLuckySpotearlyandwenthomewithhim,andmymindwanderedto
her.Sure,Ihadwomentokeepmebusy,butnowandthenthegreen-eyedmonsterpaidmeavisit.I’d
beasap,though,totellherallofthat.I’vegottoprotectsomeofmysecrets.Iholdupmyhands.“Go
figure.”

“Spencer?”shewhispers.
“Yes?”
“Ithinkwebrokeanotherruletonight.”
Iarchaneyebrow.“Whichone?Lying?”
“Yes,butalso—”
Wespeakatthesametime.“Weirdness.”
Thenwelaugh.Together.
“Fromthewayyouaskedmetotheshow,tomebeingjealous,tothereporterbeingawiener.Itwas

allweird,”shesays.Shegivesmeaknowinglook.“There’sonlyonecureforweirdness.”

“Anal?”
Sheswatsmeontheshoulder.“We’renotbreakingthatrule.Ever,”shesays,hereyesdriftingto

mycrotch.“Iwasthinkingmorelikedoggiestyle.”

“That’swhatImeanttosay.”Ikissheruntilthecararrives.
Thentherestofthewaydowntown.
Allthewayupinmyelevator.

AsIopenthedoor.
AndthenasIstriphernakedandlayheronherstomachonmybed.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- O N E

Startingatherneck,Ikissmywaydownherbody.Itravelalongherspine,lickingapathacross

hersexy,beautifulback.Shesighsandwrigglesonthebed.Sheturnsherheadtowatchme,andInear
herass.Idropakissononecheek.“Don’tworry.Norulesbeingbroken.Andjustsoyouknow,I’m
finewithhavingeveryotherpartofyou.IonlyteaseyouwhenIsaythat.”

Shesmilesbackatme,herwayofsayingthanks.
“Idolikethesoftfleshofyourassthough,andI’mgoingtoneedtospendsometimehere,”Isay,

drawingalineatthebottomofherrightcheek.

Sheraisesherrearhigher,invitingmetokissher.Ilickalinearoundthecurveofhercheek,first

one, then the other, and she wiggles against me, a soft little moan falling from her lips. I press my
teethagainstthefleshandbitegently.Hermoanrisesinvolume.

Lustbeatsapaththroughmyveins.I’mhard,readyandeager,butIwon’trushthings,becauseI’m

lovingeverysecondofthis.Pressingmythumbsagainsthercheeks,Iliftupherassandsurpriseher
withaslow,lingeringlickalongherwetpussy.

Shegasps.“Didn’texpectthat.”
“Icantell.ButIcantellyoulikeit.”
“Ido,”shesaysbreathily.
That’sallIgiveherofmymouthrightnow.Instead,Ireturntoherlegs,wantingtoworkherup,to

getherhotandwetfromall-overkisses.Irunmytonguedownthebackofherthigh.“Everyinchof
you,”Isaysoftlyagainstherskin.“Iwanttohavemarkedandkissedandtouchedeverysingleinchof
yourskin.”

“Iwantthat,too,”shesaysonawhimper,hervoicebreathy,thewayshegetswhenshe’sheatingup.

Ialreadyknowhercues,hersigns,thewaysherespondstome,andit’sonlybeenafewdays.Ilove
knowingherbody,knowinghertastes.

Likethis—thebackofherkneeisanerogenouszone.Ibrushmylipsthere,andshemakesatiny,

sexynoise.

Imovedownhercalf,andkissherotherlegallthewaytoherassagain.Then,Igriphercheeks,

tiltherhips,andburymyfacebetweenherlegs.Shetastessilkyandsweetasherliquidarousalfloods
mytongue,andherscentfillsmynostrils.Sherocksbackintome,andmydesireforherratchetsinto
thisdeep,clawingneedinmychest,inmybones.AllIwantisallofher.Ikisshersweetpussyuntil
shecomesonmylips.

When I step away to strip, she flips over. Her lips are parted, and her eyes look glossy. Her skin

glows.“Wow,”shesays.

IwiggleaneyebrowinresponseasIshrugoutofmyshirt.
“IthinkI’maddictedtoyourmouth,”shesayssoftly.
“Good.Becausemymouthisaddictedtoyou.”
WhenIreachmypants,shesitsupandtakesover,unzippingmyjeans.“Iwanttodoit.”
Shetugsoffmybriefs,andmycocksayshellotoher.
Shemakesasoundlikeapurr.“Goodtoseeyou,too,”shesaysanddartsouthertonguetolick.

Sheswirlsthetipofhertonguearoundthehead,butbeforeIgetlostinthemagicalworldthatisher

wickedlywonderfullips,Imovequickly.Igrabherhips,andflipherover.“Handsandknees,likea
gooddirtygirl,”Itellher.

“AmIadirtygirl?”
“Youarewithme,”Isay,asImovetograbacondom.
Istop,though,toadmirethebeautifulsightinfrontofme—Charlotte,onallfours,hergorgeous

assraisedintheair.Ismackitonce,alightcrackonthesideofacheek.Sheflinches,butletsouta
sexylittlecry.“OhGod,”shemoans.

Thatsound.Herwords.Hernoises.Thiswomanisadream.She’sdiscoveringhowmuchshelikes

everythingwithme,andI’mlearninghowmuchIadorefuckingher.Ibendmyheadtoherrearand
pressakisstothespotIsmacked.Theninaflurry,Igrabherwristsandpushthemdownonthebed.
“Changedmymind.Onyourelbows.Assuphigh.”

Shebendslikeadancer,followingmylead.Idragtheheadofmycockthroughherwetness.She

moansandshiftscloser,wantingme,invitingme,needingme.Ispankheronceagain,andsheyelps
inpleasure.

Irollonthecondomandsinkintoher.White-hotsparksshootthroughmyveins.Thetightness,the

heat—it’sastonishing.Igrowl,lowandguttural,likeananimal.“You,”Isayonagroan.“You’reso
sexy.IthinkI’mgoingtosetupcamphereallnight.”

Shelaughsandmoansatthesametime.“You’recrazy.”
“No,I’mjustfuckingturnedonbeyondanythingI’veeverfelt,”Isay,myvoicerough,asIstartto

pump.

She’ssilentsuddenly.No,moans,nocries,nowildpants.Asmallbutclearvoiceasks,“Really?”
Shecraneshernecktolookupatme.MyGod,she’sallvulnerable,hereyessotrusting,herbody

bentinadownwardslide.“Yes,”IanswerasIslamintoher,givingherallofme.Myhandsclamp
tightly to her hips. “I swear, Charlotte. You fucking do something to me.” I pull back out of her so
onlythetipisin.Shewrithes,tryingtodrawmeback.“Youdrivemewild.Youmakemecrazy.”I
thrustdeeply,andherbreathspillsoutinagorgeousmoan.“Ijustcan’tgetenoughofyou.”

“OhGod,Ifeelthesame,”shesays,andbendslower,liftinghigher,offeringmore.
She’sallIwant.Allofher,asIfuckherlikethisuntilshecomesinafrenzyofsoundandheated

cries.Mymusclestighten,myvisionblurs,andmyownclimaxseizesmybodyasbright,hotpleasure
crashesoverme.

Iflopdownontothebed,andsheflopsnexttome.Restingherheadinthecrookofmyarm,she

stayslikethat—hot,sweaty,andnaked.AbsentlyIrunmyfingersthroughherhair.Shebrushesher
handacrossmystomach.

“That was amazing,” she murmurs. “I think that was our best ever. I’m going to give you a gold

starforexcellenceinorgasmdelivery.Astatueeven.”

“I’dliketothanktheAcademy,”Ibegin,teasingher.
Sheswatsmychest.“Soyouwerefakingit?Fine,sowasI,”shesayswithahuff.
Inaninstant,I’monmyhandsandknees,pinningher.“No,youwerenotfakingit.”
Hereyestauntme.“Yes.Yes,Iwas.”
“You weren’t. But just for that comment, you’re going to show me how much you like it when I

fuck you.” In a flash I raise her wrists over her head, and lower my arm along the side of the bed,
feelingforherdressonthefloor.Igrabitandyankofftheribbonfromthebeltloopswithonehand.

Iwrapitaroundherslenderwriststhenaroundabedpost.Hereyestrackmyhandsthewholetime

asItightenthepinkfabric.“Prettyinpink,”Imurmur,thenIrunmyfingertipagainstherlips.

Ilocateanothercondomandrollitonmydick.Yes,I’mfuckinghardagain.HowcouldInotbe?

She’stiedtomybed,stillwetfromherfirsttwoorgasms.OfcourseI’mfuckingerect.Ispreadher
legs,savoringthesightinfrontofme—herlegsinaV,herhandsbound,hereyeswideopen.

Iwedgemyselfbetweenherthighs.“Now,you’regoingtobegforit.”
“Iam?”
“Youare,”Isayroughly.“Becauseyou’renotgettingallofituntilyoudo.”
IslideinbutIonlygiveherafewinches.IlowertomyelbowssoI’mclosetoherandproceedto

slow-fuckherforthenextseveralminutes,teasingherthewholetime,nevergoingallthewayin.She
moansandwrithesandrocksbeneathme,everythrustelicitinganewsexymurmurfromher.

“Sayit.Sayhowmuchyouwantme.”
“Iwasn’tfakingit.IwasjokingwhenIsaidthat,”shesaysonapant.
“Tellmehowmuchyouwantitall.Tellmehowmuchyouwantallofmycock.”
Herhipsshootup.“Iwantyou.Iwantyousomuch.Fuckmedeep.I’mbeggingyou,”shecries,and

sheisbegging,anditisexquisitetowitnessherdesperatesexiness.

I fuck her hard and deep, until she is out of her mind with pleasure. Until her cries turn hoarse.

Until her eyes squeeze shut. Until she can’t stop saying my name as she falls apart once more.
Multipleorgasmssoundprettydamngoodtome,too,soIjoinher,comingagainwithashudderthat
joltsmywholebody.

WhenIuntieher,sheraisesahandtomyhair,dragsitthrough,andkissesme.“Ilied.Thatwasthe

besttimeever.”

“Itgetsbettereverytime,”Isaysoftly.
Soon,shestandsandstartstogatherherclothes.Spinninginacircle,shehuntsforsomethingon

thefloor.

“Whatareyoudoing?”Iaskcuriously.
“Gettingdressed.”
“Pourquoi?”
“SoIcango.Isn’tthatthedeal?”
Icrawltotheedgeofthebedandtackleher,armsaroundherwaist,surprisingher.
“Whatareyoudoing?”sheshrieks.
Itossheronthemattressandtickleher.
Shecracksup.“Stopit.”
Idon’trelent.Myfingertipsraceuphersides,makinghersquirm.“I’llstopifyouspendthenight.”
“Mercy,mercy,”shecallsout,andshe’ssmiling,aswideastheseaofstarsinthesky.
Itughertome,brushherhairawayfromherear,andthenwhisper,“Willyoustay?”
Herbreathhitches.“Yes.Youdon’tcareifwebreakanothergroundrule?”
“We’restillahead.Imean,Idon’tcare,solongasyoudon’ttrytokissmethesecondyouwake

up.”

“Becauseofmorningbreath,right?”
Inod.“Notyours.Justingeneral.”
Shewrinkleshernose.“Morningbreathisanexcellentnewgroundrule.Ihatemorningbreath.”
“Me,too.”
“Idon’thaveatoothbrush,though.”
“Ihaveanextraone.Neverbeenused,”Itellher.
She places her index finger on her lips as if she’s weighing all the options. “But what flavor

toothpastedoyouhave?”

Ablushcreepsacrossmycheeks.
Shenoticesandpoints.“Don’ttellmeyouusebubblegumCrest?”
Ishakemyhead.“No.Iboughtthekindyoulike.ThemintyCrest.”
Her eyes sparkle, and she brings a hand to her chest. It’s the sweetest thing. “You bought me

toothpaste.”

ShesoundshappierthanwhenIboughtherthering.Myheartbeatsfaster,andwordsstarttoform

on my tongue. Words that reveal strange new feelings inside me. I part my lips so I can say
something.TellherhowmuchIamstartingtofeelforher.Howrealitisallbecoming.

Istopwhenshelowershermouthtomineandwhispers,“Youreallyaremybestfriend.”
Friends.
Yes.That’sallshewantstobe.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- T W O

Harperlickslemonicecreaminacone.
“This doesn’t make up for Santa,” she says, pointing at the treat as we leave her favorite gelato

vendor.“Butit’sagoodstart,andyou’veboughtmysilenceforanotherfewdays.”

“Good.That’sallIneed.”
“Saw the picture of you and Charlotte this morning.” She nudges me as we walk along Central

Park,enroutetoaquicksoftballpracticewithourteam’sstarslugger,Nick.Thethreeofussnagged
thefieldforthirtyminutesonaFridayafternoonbeforetheactualgametomorrow.I’vegotmyglove
andbat,andHarperhashergloveinherfreehand.

“Youreallycan’tstayawayfrommeonline,canyou?”Iteaseher.
“Iknow.It’saterribleaddictionIhave,mygossipfetish.”
“Soitran?TheonefromSardi’s?”Iask,confirmingwhatIsuspectedAbewoulddo.
“Yup.”
“ThatreporterfromMetropolisissuchatool.”
Shefurrowsherbrowasshelickstheicytreat.“Wasn’tinMetropolis.”
Asweturnintothepark,Iask,“Well,wherewasit?”
Sheshakesherhead,bemused.“Ireallycan’tbelieveyoudon’tlookthisstuffupaboutyourself.”
“Believeit.Idon’t.Neverhave.Tellme.”
“ItwasPageSix.”
Myeyeswiden.PageSixisthebigNewYorkgossipoutlet.ItrytoavoidPageSix.
“How’dthathappen?IthoughtheworkedforMetropolisLifeandTimes.”
“He’saninternthere,”Harpersays.“AbeKaufman.Ilookedhimup.He’sinjournalismschoolat

Columbia,sohefreelancesforMetropolisLifeandTimesaswellasPageSix.Lookslikehesoldthe
pictureofthetwoofyoutomoregossip-centricone.”

Whatatenaciousfucker.
Iconsiderthebenefits.IfI’mseenonPageSixwithmylovingfiancée,thiscouldbekeyplacement

forDadforthesale.Mr.Offermanwouldwethispantstoseemeappearlikethegood,solid,soon-to-
be-married son of the respected businessman he’s buying the store from. “What did it say?” I ask
hopefully.

She stops on the path, shoves her glove at me, and whips out her phone. She clears her throat.

“Ahem.SpencerHoliday,sonofthefounderofthewell-knownjewelrychainKatharine’s,andcreator
ofthepopulardatingappBoyfriendMaterial,knownforitslackofphotosofacertainmemberofthe
maleanatomy,isbetrothedtohisbusinesspartnerandco-ownerofthepopularbarchain,TheLucky
Spot. Charlotte Rhodes is also a Yale graduate, and the ring on her finger is as large as Holiday’s
littleblackbook.Lookslikehe’llhavetoburnthatlistofnumberssoon,sincetheone-timebachelor
playboy was using it a few weeks ago. Time to zip it up, Holiday! Check back on Sunday for even
morejuicyphotosandthefullstoryontheengagement.”

Smokebillowsoutmyeyes.Iwanttofindthathorse-faced,cubreporterandthrottlehim.Wait.I

hateviolence.I’llplaydirtyinstead,andslatherhisFacebookpagewithsomanynutshotshehasto
shutitdown.

Notmynuts.
Justnuts.Nutscapes,preferably.
I drag a hand through my hair. “This is everything Dad didn’t want in the papers.” I point to the

phone. “And what the hell is he going to add to this on Sunday? He kept pushing about how new it
was,andaskingwhenwestarteddating.Likethat’sinteresting?Butthiswrite-upisjustcompletecrap.
Whywouldthereporterwritethatstuff?Whydotheydothat?”

“Becauseitsells,that’swhy.Butthat’snotwhyI’mreadingthepiecetoyou.”
Ihandherthephoneandweresumeourpace.“Whyareyoushowingittome?”
“Youreallydon’tknowwhyIreadthisstuff?”
“Becauseyoulikegossip?”
“You’resuchanidiot.Idoitforyou.Tolookoutforyou.”
Isoftenforamoment.“Really?Youdoitforme?”
“Ido.Becauseyoudon’t.Ilookyouuponlinetomakesurethere’snothingwehavetodealwith,

andthisissomethingwehavetodealwith.”

Inod.“Right.WeneedtofigureouthowtospinitforDad.”
She shakes her head. “Wrong again.” She stops once more underneath a magnolia tree that

canopiesuswithlush,greenbranches.“Lookagain.”Shetapsthescreen.“Lookatthispicture.”

Istareattheimage.AbecaughtthemomentwhenIwassniffingCharlotte’sneck.Myfaceisonly

half-visible,butCharlottelightsupthescreen,radiantandjoyful.Hereyesarebright,andIswearI
see of a flicker of something in them, but my mind returns briefly to her neck and the way she
smelledlastnight.Thescentmemorywashesoverme—peaches.Shesmelledlikepeachesanddirty
dreams.

Likehappinessanddesireallatonce.
“SeewhatImean?”
I look at my sister and realize she’s been talking to me as I’ve been drifting off. “What do you

mean?”

Shepokesmysternumwithherindexfinger.“Don’tbreakherheart.”
Istareatherlikeshe’scrazy,butforoneraremoment,Harper ’sblueeyesareserious.There’sno

joking, no teasing in them. “I like Charlotte,” she adds, as we walk along the path to the fields. “I
knowthisstartedasafakething,butit’sbecomingreal.Atleastforher.”

Istarttosayforme,too,butI’mtooflooredbyherwords—I’mnotsureIcanformmyown.Iwas

socertainCharlotte’sgroundrulesweregenuine,thatherintentionsweretrulyjustforsex,andthat
her goal was for us to remain friends after a few fucks. But women have intuition, even my sister.
Theyseethingsmendon’t.“Really?”

Harperrollshereyes.Ah,mypain-in-the-asssisterisbackinfullforce.“Iknowthisisshockingto

you,sinceyourknowledgeofloveandrelationshipsiswoefullylimited.You’veneverhadaserious
relationship.”

“That’s not true,” I say as we resume our path through the park. “I went out with Amanda in

college.”

“Oh, well la dee dah. Four months. Whoa. Let me call the record books because that is soooo

serious.”

“Itfeltseriousatthetime.”
“Spencer,thismaysurpriseyou,giventhetrailofdestructionyouleavebehind,buteverynowand

then, God knows why, a woman might develop real feelings for you when you screw her. Just be
careful,especiallywhenit’ssomeoneyoucareaboutasafriend,”shesays,aswereachtheballfield.
Nick’stherealready,practicinghisswing.

Amillionquestionsracethroughmyhead.IwanttositHarperdownandquizher.Toaskhermore

about Charlotte. But Harper elbows me. She licks her lips and stares salaciously at Nick. “He’s so
fuckinghot.”

I drop my bat. It hits my toes before I can jump out of the way. “Did aliens just take over your

brain?”

“Look.At.Him.”She’soglingmybuddy,who’swearinggymshortsandaT-shirt.“Hisarms.Oh

myGod.Theyarethedefinitionofarmporn.I’mgoingtotakesomepicturestostareatlater.”

Shestartssnappingphotosonherphone.
“I’m calling the psych hospital. We’re checking you in,” I say, wincing because my stupid toe

smartsnow.

Nickcatcheshergazeandsetshisbatontheground,leaningcasuallyontoit,likehe’ssomekind

ofstarballplayer.“Hey,Harper.You’relookingfoxy.”

Foxy?Whatthehell?Downisupandrightiswrong,andNewYorkisfallingintotheoceaninstead

ofCalifornia,becausewhythehellismybestguyfriendhittingonmysister?

Harperjutsoutahipcoquettishly.ShewavesatNickwithherfingersandbatshereyelashes.“So

areyou,hotstuff,”shesays,thenwinksathimbeforeshepointsathisshirt.“Canyoutakeitoff?SoI
cangetanothershot.”

“Ohyeah,”hesays,soundinglikeastripperasheyanksoffhisT-shirt.
“Yum.”Shesmacksherlipsandmimesmakingacatclaw.Sheleansintomeandwhispers,“Iamso

goingtobevisitinghimone-handedtonightinmyfantasies.”

Myeyespopoutofmyhead,andIclasphershoulders.
“Youhavetostopnow.Wecangetyouhelp.Therearetreatmentcentersfortemporaryinsanity.”
“There’snostoppingthistrain,”shesays,tossinghergloveontheground.Shovingherconeinto

myhand,shestrutsovertoNick,who’sshirtless,hischestandabsonfulldisplay.Harperrunsher
fingernailsdownhispecs,thenlocksherarmsaroundhisneck.

My fists clench, not because I want to hit Nick, but because some primal brotherly protective

instinctiscurlingthroughme.

“Dude.Handsoff.That’smysister.”
Harperswivelsaround.“Gotcha!That’sforruiningSantaClausforme.”

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- T H R E E

IttakesawhiletoerasetheimageofmysisterandNickwrappedupineachother,evenifitwas

justaprank,butImanage.

Thankstomynewobsession.
Thisphoto.Ican’tstopthinkingaboutwhatHarpersaidaboutCharlotte,andIcan’tstoplookingat

thatpictureonPageSixlikeitholdsallthecluestotheuniverseinit.

IstareatitasIheadintotheColumbusCirclestation,havingdroppedmybatandgloveatNick’s

apartmentnearthepark.MyheadisbentovermyphoneasItrotdownthestairs,thenslipinsidethe
downtowntrain.Iwrapmyhandaroundapolewhileahipstergirlingreenskinnypantsshovesher
wayontothecar,slidingpastthedoorsjustbeforetheyclose.Shecarriesbagsoneacharm.

“Whew,”shesays,relievedtohavemadeit.Buttheedgeofaclothbagiscaughtinthedoor,soshe

yanksitfreeandturnsinatangle,spinningaround.

Somethingwhacksmyfunnybone,andIcringe.“Ow.”
Herhandfliestohermouth.“Areyouokay?Isitmymayonnaise?”
“Mayonnaise?”Iask,asIrubmypalmovermyelbowwhilethetrainslalomsaroundacurveinthe

tunnel.Whatisitaboutfunnybonesthathurtsodamnmuch?

“Ihavejarsofpestomayonnaiseinthisbag.Imadeitmyself.I’mgivingittofriends.Isitokay?”

There’sterrorinhereyesassherootsaroundinthestrawbagonhershoulder.

Painradiatesthroughmylowerarmwhilesheascertainsthestateofhercondiments.“Don’tworry

about me. Your mayo just attacked me, but I won’t file charges,” I mumble under my breath as I
wince.

Shelooksup,realizationdawningonher.“Areyouokay?”
Inod.“Yes.Elbowmatchesmytoenow.”
“Yougothitwithmayoonyourtoe?”
“No.Abaseballbatattackedmyfootearlier.Apparently,inanimateobjectsareouttogetmetoday,”

Isayasthesharpnesssubsides.“Isyourmayonnaisegoingtomakeit?”

Shenodsandbeamsaswechugintothenextstop.“Itwilllive.SorryIhityou.”
“It’sokay.Hazardofbigcityliving.”
Shepeersatmyhand.I’mclutchingmyphonestill.Thepictureissplashedacrossthescreen.“Cute

couple.”

“Oh.Right,”Isay,raisingmyphone.
“Theylookreallyhappytogether,”MayoGirladds.
“Dothey?”
Shenods.“Definitely.”
“Whatdoyouthinkheshouldtellher?”
Shecocksherhead.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Sosheknowshowhefeels?”
Sheshrugsandsmileswide.“Heshouldjusttellherhowhefeels.Ifhelikesherasmuchaspesto

mayo,heshouldletherknowthat.”

“I’lltellhimtoconsiderthat,”Isaywhenthetrainreachesitsmidtownstop.

AsIclimbupthestepsandexitintotheearlyevening,IknowthissituationwithCharlotteisn’tas

simpleasmayonnaise,andthat’snotonlybecausemayonnaiseismyleastfavoritefood.

***

TheLuckySpotisazoo.There’snotimetothink.Notimetoplan.Andcertainlynotimetofigure

outwhattodowiththestrangenewnotionsthatareimplantingthemselvesinmyhead.

Ineedtostrategizethis,butIdon’tevenknowwhatthisis.
Beingmorethanfriends?
Feelingsomethingreal?
Findingoutifshefeelsthesame?
Whatisthewordforthisfeeling?It’slikemychestisatrampoline,andmyheartisdoingbackflips

onit.Only,I’veneverpracticedthembefore,andifIdothemagainIcouldlandonmyhead.

Ormyass.
Orevenmyface.
Soyeah.WithapackedbaronaFridaynight,I’mnotsosureIcanfigureoutwhattodowiththe

pestomayofeelings.

Duringtheeveningrush,Ialternatebetweencatchinguponpurchaseordersonmylaptop,telling

Charlotte about the train attack, and helping out behind the bar, while in the back office Charlotte
worksonideasforanewmarketingcampaign.

“OutofBelvedere,”Jennyremarksfromthecounterasshewagglesanemptybottle.
“I’ll grab one,” I say and head to the office, where Charlotte is perched on a reclining chair,

wearingjeans,andawhitestrappytop.WhenIseeher,Ifreeze-framethroughimages—thephotoof
us,themomentonthecornerofForty-third,thepestomayo,thetoothpaste,thewordsshesaidtoAbe
the other night. My heart slams against my rib cage, and I wonder if this crazy overtime beating is
whytherearebooks,movies,songs,poetryaboutpeoplefalling—

“Heyyou,”shesays,andthesoftnessinhertonewaftsoverme.Butit’sthesweetnessthathooks

me.Thatsweetnessfeelspersonal,andjustforme.

Yes.
Thisiswhytherearebooks,movies,songsandpoetryaboutfallingforsomeone.Iroammyeyes

overher,andeventhoughwehaven’tchristenedthisofficeorthebaryet,andeventhoughIwantto,
mythoughtsaren’tonsex.They’reonher,andonthisjumbleofwordslikealphabetsoupinsidemy
head.

“Heyyouback,”Isaysoftly.Ipointatthecabinetbehindher.“IneedaBelvedere.”
“I’ll grab it.” She sets her iPad on the chair, stands, and reaches for the cabinet handle. As she

stretches,hershirtridesup,revealingasmallsliverofherback.

“Youlookgorgeous,”Isay.
Sheglancesbackatmeandsmiles.“Sodoyou.Yourhouselater?Mine?”
Maybethisisjustsexforher.Maybethat’sallshewants.Butevenso,Ineedtoknow.
“Yes.Either,”Isayassheopensthecupboard,andIinchclosertoplantakissonherbareneck.
Then pain slices through me with a thunk as the cabinet door connects with my skull. It

reverberates.Ittakesovermyhead,mybody,everysinglecell.

Icurseupamotherfuckingstorm,becausethishurtslikehell.
“OhmyGod,ohmyGod.Areyouokay?”shesaysinapanic,herhandsonmyshoulder.
Myrightpalmcoversmyeye,myheadroaringasthethumpechoesinmyskull,epicenteredinmy

temple.

“Ithinkyouhitmyhead,”Isay,becausethewhackhasturnedmeintoCaptainObvious.

“OhGod.”Thistimeshewhispersthewords,andshe’sstaringatmelikeI’velostaneye.
“Whatisit?”Iask,andwhileI’mprettysureI’mnotdowntooneeye,sinceIcanstillsee,Isuspect

myfaceisn’tpretty.

“That’sthebiggestgooseeggI’veeverseen.”

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- F O U R

ThingsIlearnedtonight.
First,Icheckedthecalendar.TurnsoutitisAbuseSpencerDay,andabuseoccursinthrees.Butit’s

pastmidnightnow,soI’dliketothinkthethreatlevelhasdowngradedtogreen.

Butyouneverknow.
Second, the goose egg is the largest known bump in recorded human history, but three hours of

continuous ice have not only frozen my temple but reduced the swelling to pretty much nothing.
However, the bruise on the side of my face is what’s referred to as a “whoa, dude, that’s a big-ass
bruise.”

That’swhattheguyatDuaneReadesaidwhenIpickedupibuprofen.
Third,ibuprofenhasworkedwonders.
Buttherealtestcomesnow.There’sabuzzingnearthedoor,andit’sCharlotte,sinceshetextedme

shewasonherwaywithsupplies.IturntoFido.He’ssoundasleeponthecouchpillow,histongue
stickingoutofhismouth.“Canyouanswerit?”

Hedoesn’trespond,soIdragmyselfoffthesofaandheadtothedoor.Ipressthebuzzer.“Hello?Is

ittheworld’shottestnursethatIorderedfromthetempnursingagency?”

Herlaugherbouncesthroughtheintercom.
“Whyyes,itis,andI’mheretogiveyouaspongebath.”
IbuzzCharlottein,openthedoor,andwaittilltheelevatorcreaksupthesixflightsthenletsher

off.“You’reasightforsoreeyes.”Iwatchherwalktowardme.

“Don’ttellmeyoureyeshurt,too,”sheteases.
“No,justthis,”Isay,lightlybrushingnearmytemple.
She’sholdingseveralbags,andIshutthedoorbehindherandreturntomycouch.Shesetsthebags

downonthecoffeetable,andstudiesme.Raisingherfingers,shemovesthemclosetothebruise,but
doesn’ttouch.“Doesithurt?”

Inod.
Sheleansovermeanddustsakissonmyforehead.
Imoanforeffect.“Somuch.Ithurtssomuch.”
Sheshakesherhead,thenpullsbacktolookatme.“Seriously.Howdoyoufeel?”
Iscrunchupthecornerofmymouth,tornwithwhethertotellherthetruth—gettingbetter—orto

goforsympathyandsex.Mydecision-makingprocesslastsallofananosecond.“Awful,”Imutter,
andthatearnsmeonemorekiss.

She sits up straight, brushes her palms together, and says, “Okay. I brought you your favorite

drink,” she says, reaching for the bag, and showing me an airplane-size bottle of scotch. I raise an
eyebrow appreciatively. “Cold sesame noodles from your favorite Chinese restaurant.” She grabs a
whitecarton,andholdsituplikeit’sondisplay.Ilickmylips.“Or,”shebegins,dippingherhandinto
anotherbagassheretrievessomethingwrappedinwhitebutcherpaper,“thegrilledpaninisyoulove
fromthebodegaonthecorner.Chickenandprovolone,holdthemayo.Sinceyouhatemayo.”

Forgetsympathyandsex.ThisiswhatIwant.Her,herewithme,knowingallthesethings.Icupher

cheeks.“Iwantitall,”Itellher.

Shekissesme,butherkissesaretentative,herlipsnervous.“I’mnotbroken,”IsayasIpullaway.
“Ijustfeelbad.It’smyfault.Ihityouwithacabinetdoor.”
“Well,itwasn’tintentional.”Ipause.“Orwasit?”
Sheshakesherhead.“Ofcoursenot.”
“AmIthathideoustolookatnow?”
Sherollshereyes.“Please.You’regorgeous,asalways.”
“Thenwhatisit?”
“I just feel terrible for hurting you. I want you to feel better. That’s why I brought you this care

package.”Shegesturestothegoodies.

“AndIappreciateit.”
“Letmegetyousomemoreice,”shesays,andheadstothekitchentograbacoldpackfromthe

freezer.Whenshereturns,shepressesittomyforehead.Gently,Iswatherhandaway.

“Charlotte,I’vebeenicingitforhours.Ifyouiceitanymore,thegooseeggwillreverseitselfand

getsuckedintomybrain.That’saverydangerouscondition.”

She narrows her eyes but relents, setting down the pack. She gestures to the bottle of ibuprofen.

“Doyouneedanymore?”

Ishakemyhead.“Itooktwoattenp.m.I’mdrunkonthestuffrightnow.”
Shewringsherhands.“I’msorry,”shewhispers.
Ipushmyheadbackonthepillow.“AmIsomehowdoingsomethingthatmakesyouthinkIgivea

shit that you whacked me? Unless this horrific bruise is going to stop you from fucking me right
now,Idon’tcare,”Isayloudly.

Sheshakesherhead.
I soften my voice as I run a finger down her neck. “Then stop fussing over me. I don’t want

ibuprofen. I don’t want ice. I don’t even want cold noodles, and they’re my second favorite food
behindthosesandwichesyoubroughtme,holdthemayoplease.”

“Whatdoyouwant?”
Icurlmyhandaroundthebackofherheadandtugherdowntome.Herlipshoverinchesfrom

mine.IthoughtIdidn’twantsexandsympathy.Iwasrightonthataccount.Iwantsexandsomething
else,though.

Sexwithher.Sexwithfeelings.SexwiththeonlywomanI’veeverfeltthiswayfor.Iwhisperinher

ear,“You.”

Sheshiversagainstme,thenslowly,playfullyshemovesdownmybody.
Asshereachesthewaistbandofmybasketballshorts,shewiggleshereyebrows.Pressingherhand

againstmyerection,shesays,“Ifinditamusingthatyourgooseeggmatchesyourdick,Spencer.”

“Yeah?Inwhatway?Notcolor,Ihope.”
“The biggest ever,” she says, then tugs off my shorts and briefs. I yank off my shirt. “This will

makeeverythingbetter,”shemurmursasshepushesmychestflatonthecouchandkneelsbetween
mylegs.Hereyesstayonmeasshetakeshertime,settlingin,lickingherlips,gettingready.

Shetakestheheadofmydickinhermouth,andIsigh,Igroan,Imoan.
This is the very definition of heaven. Look it up. Dictionary. Right there. Charlotte’s lips on my

cock. She teases me, swirling her tongue around the head then licking the length of my shaft. She
worksherwayup,flatteninghertongueontheunderside,andheatshootsthroughmyveins.

Myhipsshift,andIwanthertotakemeallthewayin,butherkissesonmydickaredrivingme

wild.ThewayshelicksmelikeI’mherfavoritecandyislightningalongmyspine.Itcrackles.

She opens wider and draws me in, sucking the head, and my eyes fall closed as I rock into her

fantasticmouth.

ButIdon’tkeepmyeyesclosedforlong.Ineedtoseeher.Towatchher.Herhairspillsallover

mythighs,herheadbobsbetweenmylegs,andherlipsareswollenandredasmydickslidesthrough
them.

Nobetterimageever.
Staringunabashedlyatmygoddess,Ithreadmyfingerstighterintothosestrands,yankingonher

hair.“Takemore,”Iwhisper,urgingheron,andshedoes,droppinghermouthlowerthencupping
myballsinherhand.Iclosemyeyesandhiss,andthenIcan’thelpit.Istarttomove,topump,tofuck
herbeautifulmouth.Myhandonthebackofherheadpullshercloser,seekingmore.Myskinburns
up,andI’mclosetotrippingthatswitch,tocominghardinhermouth.

“Fuck,”IsayonaroughgroanasIpullheroffme.
Ican’tcomeinhermouth.NotwhenIwantherthismuch.NotwhenIwanthertocome.
“Youdon’tlikeit?”sheasks,worryetchedinherbeautifulbrowneyes.
Iscoff.“Iloveit,butIwantyoutorideme.”Ireachformywalletandacondom.“AndIwantyou

toridemenow.That’stheonlythingthatwillmakemefeelbetter.”

Sheshucksoffherclothesinsecondsflatandstraddlesme.Ireachforherhipsandlowerheronto

mydick,thrillingatthehot,tightfeelofher.Shegaspsasshetakesmein.

“You’resowetforme.Isthatallfromsuckingmydick?”Iask,asImoveherupanddown.
She nods and pants, and then she does the sexiest thing. It’s like she’s not even thinking about it,

whichiswhatmakesitsosexy.ShedragsherhandoverherbreastsasIthrustintoher.She’stouching
her own tits, and it’s fantastic. Everything inside me sizzles. My blood runs to Mercury levels as I
watchherrideme,likeagorgeous,languidcowgirl.Herhandsbrushdownherbelly,thatflat,soft
bellyIwanttolickandkiss.Shemoansandpants,anditisthehottestthingintheworldtowitness—
she’stouchingherselfasshe’sfuckingme.

Sheridesme,slidingupanddownonmycock,findingherfriction,chasingherrelease.
It’slikeshe’smasturbatingwithmydick.
Iwanthertouseme.Todowhatevershewantswithme.Tohavemeinanywaythatfeelsgoodto

her.Herbreathhitches,hershoulderstremble,andshestartstolosecontrol.Grabbingherhips,Iurge
heron.“Letgoforme,baby.You’resobeautifulwhenyoucome.”

“I’mclose,soclose,”shemurmurs,grindingonme,takingmedeep,hermoansturningtocries.
IburnupalloverasIwatchher.Iamcomprisedofnothingbutheat.Herlips.Hermouth.Hereyes.

Everything.Sheismyfuckingeverything.

Herhandfliesintoherhair,andsherunsherfingersthroughitasherotherhandplayswithhertits.

Hereyesareclosed,andshe’scompletelylostinherownpleasure.Sheisbeautifulandbreathtaking
asshefucksmetotheedge.Soonshe’sthrustingwildlyonme,andnowIneedtobeinthiswithher.

“Lookatme,”Itellher,myvoicehoarse.
Hereyesflutteropen.Theyarehazyandfulloflustandpassion,andsomethingmore,something

thatfeelsincrediblynewandyetintenselyfamiliar.Shestartstoclosethemagain.

“Lookatme.”Thistimeit’sacommand,roughandheated.
“ButIfallapartfasterwhenIdo,”shemurmursinprotest,butit’smoreofanadmission,because

hergazelockstomineasshelowersherfaceclosetome,herhandscurlingaroundmyshoulders.
“AndIwantittolast,”shesaysonamoan.Iknowshe’stalkingaboutsex,onlyIcan’thelpbutthink
shemeanssomethingelse,too.LikeIdo.

Wearetethered.Shedoesn’tlookaway,andIcouldn’tifItried.Inhereyes,IseeeverythingInever

knewIwanted.NowIneeditfiercely.Shewhispersmyname.Itsoundslikehoneyonhertongue.I
snap.Myballstighten,andIneedhertocomenowbecauseI’msecondsaway.

“Comeonme,”Iraspout,asmyclimaxstartstotearthroughme.“Comeonmenow.”

Andshedoesonawildcry,comingwithme.Sheleansintome,hermouthnearmyear.Theepic

chantsounds,andthisoneisnew.“Ican’tstop.Can’tstop.Can’tstop.”

It’ssohotandsowild,thewayshesaysitoverandover.Iloveit.IloveitwhenCharlottecomes.I

loveitwhenshe’shappy.Ilovefuckingher.Iloveeverythingrightnow,evenmygooseegg,eventhe
elbowwhack,eventhebatthatfellonmydamntoe.

She collapses on me, nuzzling my neck, kissing my ear, whispering so good, so good over and

over.

“It’ssogood,”Iecho,thoughthatadjectivefeelsinsufficientforwhatthishasbecome.
“Everythingiswithyou,”shesays,andwhenIwrapmyarmstighteraroundherback,shesnuggles

intome.

“Everysinglething,”Isay.
Iloveeverygoddamnthingintheuniverse,andIamthehappiestbastardintheworldrightnow,

here,inthisroom,withthewomanIhavefallenfor.

That’swhatthisis.That’swhatthealphabetsoupspells.
I’vebrokenthebiggestgroundruleofall.
I’vefalleninlovewithmybestfriend.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- F I V E

The bat connects with the ball with a resounding whack, and I tag up on third, waiting, waiting,

waitingtoseeifitlandsintheoutfielder ’sgloveorsendsmehome.

Boom.Overthefence.
Ipumpafistandshout.
NicktossesthebatonthedirtandtrotsdownthebaselineasIrunhome.Watchinghimroundthe

bases sends my father whooping from the makeshift dugout. Nick’s homerun has put Dad’s team
aheadatthetopoftheninth.

I hold out a hand and slap palms with our slugger as he nears the home plate. “Nice work,

Grandslam,”Isay,sincehe’sknockedoutafewsofarthisseason.

Once his foot hits the plate, the chorus from “Beautiful” by Christine Aguilera plays. Interesting

choice. Not my first pick for Nick, but Mr. Offerman’s daughter appointed herself “announcer” for
thegameandhasbeenpickingthetunesforhits,homers,andstrikeouts.Emilyholdsupablue,oval-
shapedhandheldspeakerthat’sstreamingmusicfromherphone.Sheshakesherhipsandencourages
ourteamtorockoutwithher.Hersisterscheerheronfromthethreerowsofcreakymetalbleachers.

My father high-fives Nick as he walks off the field. “You’re my ringer. Your check’ll be in the

mail,”mydadjokesasweheadtowardtheteambenchnearthebleachers.Charlottewavesandsmiles.
MyheartbeatsfasterasIlookather.

Tonight, I tell myself. I’ve got it all planned. I’m taking her to her favorite Italian restaurant in

Chelsea,andI’mgoingtoputmyheartontheline.I’lltellhershe’stheoneandthenhopetohellthat
thewomaninthePageSixphotoistheonewho’scomingtodinner,notthewomanwhosaidshe’s
justmybestfriend.IhavenoclueifCharlotteonlyseesmeasafriendlyfling,orifshewantsmore,
likeIdo.ButIknowhowIfeel—Iwanthertobemybestfriend,mylover,andmypartner.Iwanther
tobeallmine,andthat’swhythismorning—afterwebrushedourteeth,ofcourse—Iaskedherouton
arealdate.

Shesaidyes.
TherealizationthatIhaveanofficialdatetonightwiththeonlywomanI’veeverfalleninlovewith

makesmypalmssweat.I’llbegoingoutonalimbandtakingthebiggestchanceofallwhenItellher
that faking it led to making it for me. My pulse races with the rabid hope that this isn’t a one-way
street.

Hell, she’s holding my keys, wallet and phone in her purse during the game—there’s got to be

roomfortheoldticker,too,right?IbreakawayfromNick,runupthestands,andgiveCharlottea
quick kiss. Her lips glide across mine, and she sighs softly. In seconds, Ciara’s “Pucker Up” blasts
fromEmily’sspeaker.Damn,thatgirlisfast.

Iheaddownthebleachers.
AnotherplayerfromtheKatharine’steamstepsuptotheplate,andmydadcheershimon.Dad’sin

a good mood today, not only because we’re winning, but because the papers were signed this
morning. His attorney is doing a final review, and filing them with the business authorities on
Monday. By then, if all goes well, Charlotte and I will be a real couple, so we won’t even need to
breakup.Amazing,howeverythingiscomingtogetherperfectly.

As I grab a spot on the bench, Nick speaks to me in a low voice, pretending he’s talking to

Charlotte.“Ohhey,Char.How’sitgoing?YoustillenjoyingdatingSpencer?What’sthat?Youlove
hisbigego.Ohyeah,it’ssohuge.Iloveit,too.”Heturnstome,hisvoicedeadpan.“SohowamI
doingatgoingalongwiththings?”

Ipretendtogazeinwonder.“Amazing.It’salmostasifyoumakeshitupforaliving.”ThenIdrop

thesnark.“And,incidentally,I’mhopingitwon’tbepretendmuchlonger.”

Heraisesaneyebrowinaquestion.
Ishrughappilyandspeakquietly.“Itwasfake.Itbecamerealforme.Ihopeforher,too.I’mgoing

totalktohertonightandseeifshefeelsthesame.”

Nickoffersafistforknocking.“Goforit,”hesays,noteasing,nosarcasmnow.“Youtwoalways

seemedrightforeachother.”

“Yeah?Why?”Iask,eagerforcorroboration.
But, he laughs and shakes his head. “Dude, what do you think I’m going to say?” He clasps his

hands together and bats his eyes, overdoing the hearts and flowers. “Oh, it’s so sweet the way you
finisheachother ’ssentences,andbothlikegummybears.”Hedropstheactandshrugs.“AllIknowis
you’vegotmyvote.”

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” I pause, then narrow my eyes. “Incidentally, if you ever touch my

sister, that’s grounds for me to shave your head in the middle of the night and dye your eyebrows
orange.”

Hiseyeswidenandheclutcheshislocks.“Notthehair.It’swhereallmypowercomesfrom.”
“Exactly.So,beware.”
Wetakeourspotsonthefieldforthebottomoftheninth,andwhentheotherteamdoesn’tscore,

“Raise Your Glass” by P!NK commemorates this Saturday-morning victory. I trot off the field and
high-fivemyteammates.

IslappalmswithMr.Offerman.“Thisisgoingtobeallyoursnow,”Ijoke,gesturingtotheteam.
“Can’twait,”hesays.“Iloveitall.Ihopeyou’llstayontheteam,andyourfriend,too.We’llneeda

bigbatifwewanttowinthechampionshipnextseason.”

Man,it’saweekendsoftballleague.Chillout.
“I hope you win it all,” I say, staying cordial through the end, as P!NK sings about all the

underdogs,andEmilymimesholdingaglasstogoalongwiththewordsofthesong.AsIstuffmy
gloveandhatintoaduffelbag,IglanceatCharlotte,who’sgettingintothecelebration,too,bumping
hips with Harper, and it’s pretty cool to see her like this with my sister. It feels like this could be a
regularthing—Charlottehangingoutwithmyfamilyasthewomanbymyside,notjustasmyfriend.
Icanpictureitallunfoldingbeforeme.Daysandnightsofher.Realinsteadoffake.

Themusicstopsabruptly,andP!NK’sunbridledenthusiasmforcelebratingisreplacedbyatinny

echo,likewhensomeonecuesupanewsongwithascratchofarecord.Butit’snotmusicthatcomes
fromthehandheldspeakerthatEmilyclutches.

It’svoices.
Or,rather,myvoice.
“Areyounotfeelingwell?Doyouhaveaheadachefromlastnightorsomething?”
Ifreeze.
Mybloodrushescold,asthememoryofwhenI’dsaidthosewordsslamsintomewithstarkclarity

—inthebathroomwithCharlotteatMoMA.Myjawclenchesandmychestseizesup,becauseIknow
what’snext.Myeyessearchthecrowdthatgathersnearhomeplate.It’ssparse,butallthekeyplayers
are here. The Offerman clan. My parents. Me. Like statues, listening to Emily’s recording of my
privateconversationwithCharlotte.

“Ican’tfakethis.”

ThewordscamefromCharlotteaweekago.Adrenalinekicksin,thedrivetostopthisrightnow.I

takeastepclosertoEmilyandgestureforthespeakerasmyvoicereverberates,amplifiedfromdays
ago.“Theengagement?”

Myfather ’sbrowfurrows.Hemeetsmyeyes,andaflashofdisappointmentappearsinhis,chased

byembarrassment.

Mr.Offermanstaresatme,thensnapshisgazetoCharlotteonthebleachers.Hermouthisopen,

andhereyesarefullofterror.

Must.Stop.Now.
I rush to Emily. Maybe I can grab the speaker from her hand and hit stop before the next words

sound.

“Stopit.Please,”Iplead,reachingforherphone,herspeaker,hersenseofmotherfuckingprivacy.
Sheshakesherheadandholdsthespeakerhigh,asthenextlinefromCharlotteringsloudandfar

tooclear.“No.That’sfine.Thepretendengagementisfine.”

Emilyhitsstop,andIexpecthertoturntomeandsay“caughtyou.”
Butinstead,Abeappears,walkingaroundtheedgeofthemakeshiftbleacherstojoinEmilyonthe

field.Idoadoubletake,andpointathim.HestandsnexttoEmily,andsmilesatherlikeaproud…
teacher?

Emilystaresatherdad.“DoyoubelievemenowthatIdon’twanttostudyartatColumbia?”
Columbia.Emily’sgoingtothesameschoolasthetenaciousreporter.Thatmustbehowsheknows

him.

Mr. Offerman’s nostrils flare as he steps forward. “Emily, now is not the time to discuss your

intendedmajor.Whatonearthisthisabout?”

Yeah,I’mkindofwonderingthesamething.
EspeciallybecauseIthoughtthiswasaboutCharlotteandme—butitalsoseemstobeaboutafather

andadaughter.

Emilyglaresandparksherfreehandonherhip.“Ihavenointerestinstudyingart.I’vetoldyou

that for years. You never listen to me. You never listen to what I want. I want to study business in
college.Likeyoudid.Butyouthinkbusinessisaman’sworld.You’rewrong,though,becauseIjust
savedyoufromsellingyourbusinesstoaliar.EversinceImetthem,Iknewsomethingwasoff,”she
says, gesturing wildly to me, then to Charlotte. “So I talked to Abe at dinner at McCoy’s, since we
realized I’m going to the same college he attends. And guess what? He felt the same way about the
happycouple,andwedecidedtoworkonittogethertogettothebottomofthisbusinessdeal,andthe
heartofthestory.Andit’sthis,Daddy.”

She points at me, the accused. “Spencer Holiday faked his engagement to Charlotte Rhodes so

you’dbuyKatharine’s,thinkingitwouldappearlikethefamilyfriendlyandwholesomebusinessyou
want it to be, not something associated with someone best known for discussing dick pics in the
businesstrades.”Herfeetareplantedwide,herhandsonherhips,determinationinhereyes.“How
doesthatsoundforastorythatAbecanruntomorrow?Gotanofficialpresscomment?”

AbeandEmilybothstareatuswithsmugdelight,butIzeroinonEmily.
Mostly,Iwanttolaughandclaimshe’smakingallthisupbecausethelittlepathologicalliarisoff

her meds. But some small part of me wants to applaud the girl for her guts. I don’t like being the
target of her underhanded tactics, but holy fucking balls. Emily has some big gonads, and she’s
stickingittoherfatherforbeingasexistpig.She’salsobeenplayingallofus—thatflirtingatdinner
wasneverflirting.Shewasplayingme,tryingtogettothebottomofthelieshesniffedout.

“Isthistrue?”
Thequestiondoesn’tcomefromMr.Offerman.Itcomesfrommyfather.ThemanIadmire.The

man I respect. The man who taught me to be better than I’ve been for the last week. Shame washes

overmeasDadsidestepsMr.Offerman.He’snotlookingatthemanontheothersideofthebusiness
deal.He’slookingathisson.

Hisfleshandbloodwholiedtohim.Whoembarrassedhim.Whohoodwinkedeveryonehere.
Myfaceburns.ThefactthatmyfeelingsforCharlottehavebecomerealismeaningless.Noneof

thatmatters.Inodandstarttofashionananswer.

But the slap of flip-flops on flimsy metal interrupts me. Charlotte races down the makeshift

bleachersandacrossthegrassanddirt.

“Stop,”shesays,holdingupahand.She’stwistingherringonherfinger.“Thefakeengagementis

myfault.Don’tblameSpencer.”

Myfatherfurrowshisbrow,andturnstoher.“Whatdoyoumean?”
“Itwasmyidea,”shesays,contritioninhertone,guiltinhereyes.“IaskedSpencerifhe’dpretend

tobeengagedtomesomyexwouldstopbotheringmesomuch.”Hervoiceisheavy.Shetugsatthe
ring,andIgritmyteeth,hatingtoseeitcomeoffherfinger.

“That’snottrue,”Isay.She’stakingthefall,andIcan’tlether.Thisismymess,andIneedtoclean

itup.

Sheraisesherchin.“Itistrue,”shesays,hertonefirmandcertain.Hereyesglareatme,andme

alone.Theysay,don’tyoudareinterruptme.Charlottelookstomydad,thenMr.Offerman.“It’sall
on me. I needed Spencer to pose as my fiancé so my ex would leave me alone. I live in the same
buildingashim,andit’sbeenawfulsincethesplit.Everyoneknowshecheatedonme,andI’vedealt
with their stares and looks of pity. But when he started begging me every day to take him back, I
neededtodosomethingdrastictomakeitstop.”

Mrs. Offerman nods imperceptibly. Her eyes seem to say she understands Charlotte’s plight.

Charlotte is so damn convincing—but then, she doesn’t have to be convincing. She just has to be
honest.Nearlyeverythingshe’ssaidsofaristhetruth.Eveniftheinitialideacamefromme,therest
ofherstoryaddsup.

Unlikemyruse.
“Charlotte,youdon’thavetodothis,”Isaysoftly,justtoher.
Sheshakesherheadandspeakstothegroup.“No,Idohavetodothis.Iaskedhimtopretendtobe

engagedtomesoIcouldfinallyhavesomepeacewhereIlive.Butpleasedon’tblameSpencer.The
fakeengagementwasallmychoice,andhewentalongwithitbecausehe’sareallygreatguy,andhe
just wanted to help me. We planned everything, every detail, including how we would end it.” She
sighs,butholdsherchinhigh.“Afteroneweek,andnowit’sbeenaweek.So,Iguessthisisit.”She
tugsoffthering.HereyesaredarkerthanI’veeverseenthembefore.Inscrutable.Shelookstothe
others. “It was never real, but not for the reasons you think.” She plunks the ring in my hand, and
curlsmyfingersaroundit.“Thankyouforpretendingforme.”

Shewrapsmeinahug.“I’msosorry,”shewhispers,andmymusclestightenwithasickhopeasI

waitformorewordsjustforme,wordslike,I’dliketothanktheAcademy,orDoIgetagoldstarfor
thatperformance?Buttheydon’tcome,andherapologyfeelsasrealasanywordsshe’severuttered.

Shebreakstheembrace,castshereyestoeveryoneelse,andrepeatsherself.“I’msorry.”
Sheleaves,walkingawayfromme.Nojustkiddingcomesmyway,becausethisisalltooreal,and

eachstepshetakescrushesme.Likeafool,Istandfrozenathomeplate,myinsidesachurningmess
of emotions as the embarrassment shifts into something worse. Hurt. So much damn hurt, like my
hearthasbecomebruised.Shedoesn’tloveme.

Itwasneverreal.
Mr.Offermanturnstomyfather.Hisnostrilsflare.Hiseyesarehard.“Idon’tcarewhoseideait

was.Idon’tdobusinesswithliars.Thedealisoff,”hesays,slicinghishandthroughtheair.

Rihanna’s“TakeaBow”playsfromEmily’ssoundsystem.

Icringe,andMr.Offermanroarsathisdaughter.“Enough.”
Onthatcount,weagree.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- S I X

Myheadspinsandmychesthasagapingholeinit.
Thatdoesn’tstopHarper.Shepullsnopunches.
“Look.”Herhandclampsonmyshoulderasshemarchesmethroughthepark,Nickonmyother

side.“Yourto-dolisttodayjustgotawholelotlonger.”

It’sagoodthingshe’sguidingme,becauseIhavenocluewhereI’mgoingorwhatI’msupposed

todo.Mydadtookofffifteenminutesagotodealwiththecrateringofthemostimportantdealofhis
career,thankstome.AndCharlotteishistory.Itriedtofindher,butshe’svanishedinapuffofsmoke.
IcouldcallherfromHarper ’sphone,butastherealitysettlesinlikeadeadweightinmyheart,I’m
notsosureI’mreadyforthatkindofself-inflictedtorturejustnow.Hey,Charlotte.That’sabummer
thatyou’renotintome,butIhadsomeideasforournewmarketingcampaign?Oh,good.Gladyou
likemyplanstosellmoreshots.Nachosareonyoutonight.

“Okay.What’s on theto-do list?” Iask, my voice hollow.“Any chance itinvolves me waking up

fromthisnightmare?”

She scoffs as she tugs me closer to avoid a skateboarder. “No. Welcome to your life, Spencer

Holiday.Yourbigmouthhasgottenyouinalotoftrouble,andyouneedtodigyourselfoutofthis
hole.”

“It’s kind of the size of a black hole, though,” Nick says. “Do you have a shovel that’ll work on

somethingthatdeep?”

Iwanttolaugh.Ireallydo.Instead,Iscowl.“Whileyouworkonfindingthatshovel,maybeyou

canalsoletmeknowwhattodoaboutCharlotte?SeeingasInowrunabusinesswithawomanwho
servedmewalkingpapersonhomeplate.”

My sister shoots me a look that could burn up asphalt. “She’s not the first item on the to-do list,

Spence.”

“She’snot?”
Harper shakes her head as the path spills out of the park and we curve onto Fifth Avenue. She

points.Farinthedistance.Downtheavenue.“There.Tenblocksawayyou’llfindajewelrystore.Up
onthesixthfloorisourfather ’soffice.Youneedtogoseehimandgrovel.”

Myshoulderssag,andIsighheavily.“Ireallyfuckedthisup.”
Nicklaughssympathetically.“Youdid,man.Butnowit’stimetounfuckit.”
Iholdmyhandsoutwide.Ahorse-drawncarriageclacksalongFifthAvenuebehindus.“Howdoes

thatwork?I’mfamiliarwithfucking.Butunfucking—isthatlikepullingoutearly?”

Nick shakes his head. “Not exactly. It’s a new scientific discovery, though. Like reverse osmosis,

butinsteadofwater,itfiltersoutyourfuck-up.Gotitnow?”

Harper rolls her eyes. “Guys. Focus. Now is not the time to practice one-upmanship in

smartassery.”

Idragahandroughlythroughmyhair.“Allright.Let’sdothis.Whatisstepone?”
HarperdrawsadeepbreathandturnstoNick.“Shouldwetellhim,orlethimfigureitoutonhis

own?”

Nick screws up the corner of his mouth, then pushes his glasses higher. “Not sure his brain is

workingatfull-speedtoday.”

“Tellmewhat?Wereyoutwotalkingaboutthisalready?”
“Yeah.Duh.WhenyoutriedtorunofftofindCharlotte,”shesays,andIwinceatthereminderof

howIracedofftocatchuptoherafterRihanna’ssongscreechedtoahalt.Buttheblondbeautywas
long gone, leaving me nursing this black-and-blue heart. Meanwhile, she has my phone, keys and
wallet,soI’moperatingblind.

Penniless,too.
“AndwhatdidyoudecideIneedtodo?”
“Dude,firstyouneedtoapologizetoyourdadforlying.Youneedtoexplainwhyyoudidit,thatit

camefromtherightplace,butthatitwasamistake,andyou’resorry,”Nicksays,takingontherole
ofstraightshooter.

Inod.“Gotit.Icandothat.”
“Thenyouneedtotrytofixthismess,”Harpersays,chimingin.
“How?”
“YoushouldasktotalktoMr.Offerman.Seeifyoucansmooththingsover.”
Icringeatthethoughtofgrovelingtothatasshat.“Hedoesn’twanttohaveanythingtodowithDad

anymore.”

“That’s right now,” Nick says. “Tempers flare in the heat of the moment. See if he cools down.

You’vegottotry.”

Inod,takingthisallin,knowingthey’reright.“Andifthatdoesn’twork?”
Theylockeyesagain,thenlookbackatme.“You.You’rethewaytounfuckingit,”Harpersays.
“Ohshit,”IsayinaheavyvoiceasithitsmeexactlyhowI’llhavetoreverseosmosisthisfuckup

formyDad.

***

Harpergivesmeaten-dollarbill.Ifeellikeagrade-schoolerclutchinghisallowance.“Now,only

useitifyouneedtotakeabushome,dear,”shesays,likeaparentadmonishingachild.

ShegivesmeashovetowardtheentranceofKatharine’s.“Go.”
Iheadinside,stickingoutlikeasorethumbwithmygymshortsandballcap.Imakemywaytothe

elevator and press the button for the sixth floor. After the doors close with a whoosh, I inhale and
exhale,fightingtokeepmyfocusonmydad.NotonCharlotte.NotontheworstwordsI’deverheard
inmylife.

Itwasneverreal.
Idon’tknowhowIcouldhavemisreadthingsbetweenussobadly.Iwassodamnsurewenotonly

had epic chemistry, but so much more. But that must just be the cocky bastard in me, making
assumptionsthatthewomanwantedme.

Whenthewomandoesn’tlie.
Shemadethatclearfromthestart.
Shesaidshe’saterribleliar,whichmeanseverythingshesaidattheballfieldwastrue.
HowthehellamIsupposedtogobacktoworkingbyherside?Torunningabusinesswithher?
Whentheelevatorreachesmydad’sfloor,thedoorsslideopen.Istepoutandseeafamiliarface.

Ninawalkstowardme,dressedinacrispsuitevenonaSaturday.Butthen,Saturdaysarethestore’s
busiestdays.

“Heythere.Areyoulookingforyourdad?”
Inod.“Iam.Isheinhisoffice?”

“Yes.He’sworkingonsomecontracts.”
Aflickerofhopeignitesinme.Maybethedealisbackon.Maybethekerfuffleblewoverinmere

minutes.MaybethereareWalmartsonJupiter.

Still,Ihavetoask.“IsMr.Offermaninthere?”
“No,”shesayswithasmallsmile,thendropsahandgentlyonmyarm.“Butgoseehim.”
She leaves, and I draw a deep breath, square my shoulders, and walk to my father ’s office.

Whateveriscoming—whetherangerordisappointment—Iwilltakeitlikeaman.

Iknock,andDadsaystocomein.
He’sathisdesk,stillwearinghissoftballjersey,hisfingerspoisedoverthekeyboard.Ican’tread

theexpressioninhiseyes.Iseizethemoment,thewordstumblingoutinatrafficjam.

“Dad, first of all, I owe you a huge apology. I lied to you and tricked you. And I’m sorry. You

raisedmebetterthanthat.IshouldneverhavepretendedIwasengaged,butinmydefense,Ithought—
stupidly—thatitwouldbethethingyouneededforthedeal.WhenImetMr.Offerman,hesoclearly
didn’t like my past or my ‘reputation,’”—I sketch air quotes—“so I thought I could simply be
engaged for a week as you finished the deal. It wasn’t Charlotte’s idea. It was mine. I thought I was
doingtherightthingandmakingsurethatmypastwouldn’tbethereasonyourdealwentsour.But
insteaditwentsouranyway,becauseofme.”

“Spencer,”hebegins,hislipstwitching.
Iholdupahandandshakemyhead.“IshouldhavebeenhonestwithMr.Offermanatbreakfastthe

next day, and I should have been honest with you. But I wasn’t. You said all those nice things about
CharlottebeforeFiddler,too,andIfeltlikeaschmuckforlyingtoyou.Youtaughtmetobebetter
than that.” I sigh and say the hardest part. “But at some point, it stopped being a lie, because even
thoughitstartedasafakeengagement,itbecamerealforme,andIfellinlovewithher.”

The corners of his mouth curve up. “Spencer,” he tries again, but I keep going, standing on the

othersideofhisdesk,mymeaculpapouringoutofme.

“Butthatdoesn’tmatter,becauseyouheardwhatshesaid.”MyvoicechokeswithsadnessasIrecall

her awful words. “She doesn’t feel the same, and that’s that. I’m sorry that I took advantage of you
withtheentirecharade.AndIknowIcan’tmakeituptoyou,butIwanttotry.”

ThenIdiveintowhatI’verealizedImustdotomakethisright.“Iknowwhatyouwantmostinthe

world—toretireandspendmoretimewithMom.Iknowthat’swhyyouwantedtosellKatharine’s.
I’m not asking you to hand it over to me. I’m not asking you to give me your business. But I’m
volunteeringmytime.I’mofferingtorunthebusinessforyou.Atnocharge,ofcourse,”Isaywitha
smalllaugh,becauseeveninthesemoments,youneedtokeepyoursenseofhumor.Mydad’seyes
sparkleashelistens.“I’mgoodatbusiness.Imightbeterribleatrelationships,andIclearlyhaveno
cluewhatwomenreallywant,andIhaveanegothat’sfartoobigtofitonanycitybus,butI’marock
staratrunningallsortsofbusinesses.I’dlovetomakethisuptoyouandbeyoursubstituteteacher
whileyoutakeyourtimeoffandwefindyouanotherbuyer.”

Itakeabreath,andeventhoughIneverwantedtorunthestore,andeventhoughheneverintended

formetodoso,itfeelsgoodtomanupandmaketheoffer.TolethimknowthatI’mwillingtofix
mymistakes.

Dadrises,walksaroundhisdesk,andcrosseshisarms.Hestandswithhisheelsdiggingintothe

carpetofhisoffice,hisdarkeyestakingmein.

Theweirdthingis,hedoesn’tlookpissed.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- S E V E N

“You’re right, Son. I’m not happy you lied. I’m not happy you made up a whole pretend

engagement.AndI’mnothappyyoufeltyouhadtobeanythingotherthanyourselfinorderformeto
havewhatIwant.”Hestopstosqueezemyshoulder.“ButIdidraiseyouright,becausetodowhatyou
justdidisallIcouldaskfor.”

“I’mgladtodoit,Dad,”Isay,andsoonitwillstarttofeeltrue.I’llpourmyheartintoit,because

Godknows,IneedtogetmymindoffCharlotte.MaybeI’llevenletherbuymeoutofthebarsoI
won’t have to see her anymore. Seeing the woman who broke my heart every day will sting like a
yellowjacketwithrabies.

Dadclapsmyback,thentugsmeinforahug.“You’reagoodguy.I’mproudofyouforowningup

tothis,andfortryingtofixit.”Heletsgo,parkshishandsonmyshoulders,andsighshappily.“But
I’mnotgoingtoletyou.”

Iknitmybrow.“Whynot?”
Helaughs.Hiseyestwinkle.“Becauseyousavedme.BecauseIwasrackingmybrainswhenitwas

myturnatbat,tryingtofigureouthowtogetoutofthisdealgracefully.Iwashavingsecondthoughts
aboutsellingtothatpompous,chauvinisticpiginthefirstplace,andyougavemetheperfectout.”He
points to his paper shredder on the floor, and brushes one palm against the other. “Good thing the
papersweren’tfiled.”

A smile spreads across my face, the first one I’ve felt since Charlotte chopped up my heart,

juliennedit,andateitforasnack.

Fine, maybe that’s dramatic. But the organ in my chest is pulverized. My dad’s grin, however,

doesn’thurt.“Hereallywasapig,”Isay,withaquirkinmylips.

“He was completely disrespectful to women, to his wife, to his daughters—I can’t have the

Katharine’slegacycarriedonbysomeonelikethat.”

“No,youcan’t.Leaveittousforalittlebitlongeraswefindabetterman,orwoman,tosellitto,”

Isay,andaburstofpridecoursesthroughme.I’mproudofmydadformakingthischoice.

Hecluckshistongue.“Here’sthething.Ialreadyfoundsomeone.”
Myeyeswiden.“Youdid?”
“Yes. Not to sell it to.” He stops to roam his eyes over the office and then to the door, as if he’s

reflectingonallthat’sbeyond.“ButtorunthisplacewhileIkickback.I’mnotreadytoletKatharine’s
go,evenifIamcompletelyreadytoworkless.”

“Okay.”Iasktentatively,“Whoisit?”
Buttheinstantthewordsmakelandfall,Iknowwhoitis.Somethinginmyheadclicks,likealock

slidingintoplace.Isnapmyfingers.“Nina!YouaskedNinatotakeoverday-to-dayoperations?”

Henodsandbeams.“Andshesaidyes.”Hetapshisfingeragainstthepapersonhisdesk.“That’s

whatIwasworkingonwhenyoucamein.Hernewcontract.She’llbeCEOofKatharine’s,andI’ll
remainasfounderandownerwhileIsailacrossthesevenseaswithyourmother.”

“Youaresucharomantic,”Isay,shakingmyheadinadmiration.“She’sperfectforit.She’sbeen

withyoufromthestart,andnooneknowsthebusinessbetter.”

“Exactly,”hesays,thenstridesovertohiscouchbythewindowoverlookingmidtownManhattan.

“ButsinceIamahopelessromantic,andsinceIhavebeenhappilymarriedforthirty-fiveyears,and
sinceIknowalittlesomethingaboutwhatwomenwant,let’stalkabouthowyou’regoingtowinback
Charlotte.Isawthewaythetwoofyoulookateachother.”

He pats the couch. I sink down next to him, my limbs heavy. “Love the thought. But she made it

clearshe’snotintome.”

“Hmm.”
“Hmm,what?”
“Didshe,though?”heasksquizzically.
“Ibelieveherexactwordswere,‘Itwasneverreal.’”
“Those were her words. And generally speaking, I believe a man should pay keen attention to a

woman’swords.Butsometimesactionsspeaklouder,andwhatdidCharlotte’sactionstellyou?”

Animageofheryankingoffherringmocksme.
“Thatshedoesn’tfeelthesame,”Isaybluntly.Nopointmincingwords.Hesawthesamething.
Or maybe not. He tilts his head to the side, and raises an eyebrow. He shakes his head. “I saw a

womanwhoputherheartonthelineforyou.”

Istareathim.Hiswordsdon’tcompute.
“I saw a woman who took the fall for you,” he continues, gesturing from him to me. “You and I

both know that Charlotte didn’t ask you to be her fiancé. You asked her. She said yes to you. She
wanted to help you. And today, she wanted to help you, too. It might not have worked the way she
intended,butshewastryingtosavethisdealbecauseshecaresaboutyou.Shewastryingtohelpyou
stayoutoftroublebythrowingherselfunderthebus.”

Somethingcomesaliveinsidemeagain.
Notanalien,oranythingweirdlikethat,butaracingheart,aspikingpulse,athrillingpossibility.
“Holy shit,” I say under my breath, cycling back through the day, the morning, last night. The

sandwiches, the noodles, the whiskey. The broken rules, the jealousy, the pure, private moments of
blissandconnection.Lastnight,andthewayshesaidshewasfalling.Howshelookedwhenshewas
nakedontopofme.

IgrabthecollarofmyT-shirtandtug.Whoa.It’shotinhere.Notmybrightestmovetolingerona

sexmemory.

Ishoveitaside.
Mostofall,Irewindtohowshewasalwayssavingmefromme.Fromtheverystartofthisaffair,

rightthroughtotheend,shesavedthedaywhenIneededhermost.

“Ineedtofindher,”Isay,pattingmypockets.They’reempty.“Oh,shit.Shehasmyphone.Andmy

wallet.Andmykeys.”

“Good.Becausewe’renotmovingthatfast.”
“Whynot?Shouldn’tIjustgotoherplaceandtellherhowIfeelorsomething?”
“Orsomething?”Hearchesabrowashemimicsme.“Youmightknowathingortwoabouthowto

land the ladies for a night. But I know how to win one woman for a lifetime,” he says, tapping his
heart. “Your dad happens to be a hopeless romantic. So let the master give the apprentice some
lessonsinwinningbackawoman.”

Istandandhandoverthereins.“Ialwaysdidkickassinschool.Teachmeyoursecrets.”
Hesurveysmyattire.“First,weneedtogetyouintosomedecentclothes.”
“Idon’thavemywallet.”
Herollshiseyes.“Iboughtyourfirstonesie.IthinkIcanspringforanicepairofslacksnow.”
“Dad,that’sfineandall,butcanyousweartoneversaythatwordagaininrelationtome?”Isay,as

weleavehisoffice.

“Onesie,youmean?”
Inod.
Heshrugs.“I’lldomybesttoneverdiscusshowadorableyoulookedinalittlebabyblueonesie.”
“Dad.”
“Right.Youweren’tadorableinit.Youweremanlyandrugged.”
HaveImentionedIhavethecoolestdadintheuniverse?

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y- E I G H T

Ilooksharp.I’mrockingapairofcharcoalgraypants,anavybluebutton-down,andnewshoes.

And…wait for it…I’m freshly showered, too. Yup. Dad took me shopping and let me use the guest
showerathishome.Anddamn,doIcleanupwell.

Hewouldn’tletmecallCharlottethough.
Andyes,Idoknowhernumber.It’soneofmaybetwoIhavecommittedtomemory.Hersandthe

Chinesefooddeliveryjoint.Instead,hecalledher,andinquiredpolitelyifshewasstillavailableto
seemetonight.Evidently,shesaidyes,sohetoldherIwouldbearrivingatsix.

As the town car I hired pulls up to her building, I feel a bit like a teenager arriving for prom.

ExceptIdon’thaveacorsage,orteenagestamina.Grownpastthatone,thankyouverymuch.

Butthenervesarethesame,andminearesky-high.Istepoutofthecarandheadtothedoorman.

Hebuzzesher,andIwait,pacingintheentryway,checkingmywatch,countingthenumberoftileson
thefloor.Threeinterminableminuteslater,Charlottecrossesthelobby.

Shewearsacranberryskirtandablacktop.It’stheoutfitItookherringshoppingin.Thefactthat

she’swearingitknocksthebreathfrommylungs.Itfeelslikeasign.Asshenearsme,Itakeinevery
detail.Herhairhangslooseandbeautifuldownhershoulders.Herlipsareredandglossy.Herlegs
are bare, and she wears black high heels. I’m not sure I’ve ever told her that those shoes are my
favorite,andsomehowitturnsmeonevenmorethattheonesshelikeswearingaretheonesIlike
seeingherin.

Ican’tbelieveit’sbeenonlyeighthourssinceI’veseenher.
Shestopsinfrontofme.Narrowshereyes.Points.“Idon’tknowwhethertokissyouorpunchyou.

BecauseI’vebeensendingtextmessagesallday.Tomypurse,”shesays,droppingherhandintoher
purseandhuntingaround.

Shegrabsmyphoneandthrustsitatme,andthefirsttextIseemakesmegrin.
THATWASTHEBIGGESTLIEIEVERTOLD.CALLME.
Her jaw is set hard, and she glares at me. “Oh, and I called you several times, too, before I

rememberedIhadyourphone.Iwasbasicallymessagingmyselfallday.Youhadtheringeronsilent,
youidiot.”

“Idiotseemstobethethemeofthedaywhenitcomestome,”Isay,butI’msmilingbecausethisis

anotherreasonwhyIlovehermadly.Thefactthatshemarcheduptomeandcalledmeout.

Sheparksherhandsonherhips.“Doyouevenwanttoknowwhatmymessagessaid?”
“Ido,”Isay,takingherhandandlacingmyfingersthroughhers.God,itfeelsgoodtotouchher

again.Itfeelsout-of-this-worldamazingwhenshesqueezesback,herhandfittingminesoperfectly.
“Butrightnow,Iwanttotakeyouout.”

“TotherestaurantinChelsea?”sheasks,aswereachthedoorofthegleamingblacktowncar.
“Yes,butnotyet.First,I’mtakingyouonathemedtourofNewYork.”Igesturetoherbuilding.

“ThisisstoponeontheLessonsILearnedintheLastWeekTour.”

Shearchesaneyebrow,invitingmetosaymore.
“RighthereiswhereIwasreallydense,”Isay.
“Howwereyoureallydense?”

“Because the day I asked you to be my fake fiancée, I actually believed I could pull it off and it

wouldn’tchangeathing,”Isay,asIliftthehandleofthecarandholdthedoorforher.Iwatchher
slideintothecool,air-conditionedbackseat.Shelooksedible.

“Diditchangethings?”sheasks,hervoicerisingonthequestion.
InodasIgetintothecarnexttoherandpullthedoorshut.“Itdid.”
Sheswallows.“What’sstoptwothen?”
Igesturenorth.“ArestaurantcalledMcCoy’s.Heardofit?”Iask,asthecarzipsuptown,weaving

throughSaturdayeveningtraffic.

“IbelieveI’mfamiliarwithit.I’msocuriouswhatyoulearnedthere.”
WhenwereachtherestaurantwherewehadourfirstdinnerwiththeOffermans,Iholdherhand

and escort her out of the car. We don’t go inside, though. We stand under the green awning, and I
touchherhair,strokingthestrandsthatfallontohershoulder.Herbreathhitchesasmyfingersmake
contactwithherskin.

“Asyoumayrecall,wewerehereonlyoneweekago.Wehadpracticedkissingonthestreet,andin

your apartment,” I say, then lean in to brush a kiss to her cheek. She trembles. “But none of those
practicesessionspreparedmeforthelessonIlearnedherewhenyoukissedmeatthetable.”

“Whatlessonwasthat?”
“HowmuchIlikedfakekissingwithyou.”
Agrinspreadsacrossherface.“Andrealkissing?”
“Even better. In fact, let me just refresh your memory of how much we both like it.” I cup her

cheeksandcaptureherdeliciousmouthwithmine.Ikissherhard,likeI’mremindingherofallthat’s
instoreforus.Herarmslooparoundme,herbreastspresstomychest,andshemeltsintothekiss,
makingthosesexysighsandmurmursthatarelikeacurrentsurgingthroughme.

Otherthingswillbesurgingsoon,too,ifwekeepthisup.Andwhilethat’spreciselywhatIwant,

I’mnotdoneyetwiththetour.

Twenty minutes later we roll up to Gin Joint, and I lead her into the sultry, sexy bar where she

drovemewild.“ThisiswhereIwasacompleteidiot.”

Herhandslinksupmyarm,andashudderwracksthroughme.“How?”
“Becauseofthat,”Isay.
“Becauseofwhat?”
“Because when you touch me, it turns me on like nothing ever has in my life,” I say in a husky

voiceasItugherclose.“Yetforsomecrazyreason,IthoughtIcouldresistyou.”

Shelacesherhandsinmyhairandwhispers,“Sosilly.”Sheshakesherheadinadmonishment,now

fullyplayingalongwiththetour.

“You think that’s silly, then wait ’til you hear what’s next. If I were to take you to the next spot,

you’drealizetheheightofmyridiculousness.”

“Iwould?”sheasksasIwalkhertothecarandthecoolbackseat.
“Yes. Because after I took you home that night, I returned to my house and took matters into my

ownhand.Yourodemehardinmyfantasies.”

Hereyeslightupwiththerealization,andthenherfingerstapdanceacrossmyleg.“That’ssohot.I

wanttowatchsomeday.”

“Yeah,Iwanttowatchyoudothat,too.”Icurlahandaroundherhead,bringmylipstoherear,and

whisper,“Threetimesthatnight.Andsomehow,IthoughtIcouldgetyououtofmysystemthatway.”

“Oh,Spencer,”shewhispers.“Ithoughtthesamething,too.”
Ourlipscrashtogetherasthedriverpullsaway.Wekisshungrily,erasingthehoursapart,thelies,

the pretending. We kiss until our lips are bruised. We kiss until we reach the next destination. The

corner of Forty-third. It’s six-forty-five now, and theater traffic has begun, so we don’t stop the
vehicle.

Ipointthroughthetintedwindows.“Strangestthinghappenedonthatcorner.”
“Whatwassostrange?”sheasks,herhappytonetellingmeshewantstheanswersasmuchasIlove

givingthem.

“I wasn’t a complete idiot that night. I made sure to tell you the full truth—that I was jealous of

anyoneelsewho’deverhadyou.WhichwasreallymywayofsayingIdon’twantanyoneelsetohave
you,”Isay,thenbrushmylipsagainstthehollowofherthroat.“Ever.”

“Ifeelthesame,”shesays,hersmilelikesunshineasshegrabsherphoneagain,thistimeshowing

methemessagesshesentrightaftersheleftthismorning.“Look.Justlook.”

Aboutthathorridlie.

Ithurtsomuchtosaythat.

Ididn’tmeanit.

Itfeelssorealtome.

Doyoufeelittoo?

Ilookupfromthescreenandpressmyhandtoherchest,overherheart.Itthundersundermyhand.

“Yes,Snuffalaffugus.Ifeeliteverywhere.”

ShegiggleswhenIuseourtermofendearment.“Me,too.Butbeforewefullyexploreeverywhere,

Ireallywantyoutoreadtherestofthese,”shesays,asshepeelsmyhandoffherchestandpresses
herphoneintomypalm.

Ohgreat.IjustrealizedI’msendingallthesetextmessagestomyself.BECAUSEYOURPHONEIS
LIGHTINGUPMYPURSE!

Okay.Soyeah.Thissucks.

You’vegottoknowIonlysaidthatonthefieldtotrytohelp.Iwastryingtosticktotheplan.To
makeitallbelievable.IHAVENOIDEAIFITWORKED.

Ugh.Ifeelawfulnow.Imessedthingsupevenworse,didn’tI?

I’mtalkingtomyself.ButlookwhatIfound…

SeemsIhaveyourkeysandwallet,too.Hmm.Youhavealotofcreditcards.

I’vebeenmeaningtogetanewKateSpade.

AndsomeLouboutins.

WHEREAREYOU?DON’TYOUKNOWWHEREILIVE?

I’mnotrelinquishingthisphoneunlessyoufeelthesameway.IswearifIseeyouanditturnsout
thisisaone-waystreet,youwillnevergetthisphoneback.Itwilldieafast,painlessdeathbythe
hammerofmyembarrassment.

Soifyou’rereadingthesemessages,itmustmeanonlyonething.

You’recrazyforme,too.

“I’msocrazyforyou,too,”Isay,andourlipscometogetheragain.

Before the moment can turn heated, before she can climb on top of me like I want her to, we

somehowmakeittoCentralParkandthebaseballfield.Thecaridlesonthepath,waitingforusasI
walkhertothegrass.

Anothergameisunderway—apizzeriaisbattingagainstashoestorechain.IpullCharlotteclose

tome.“Butthis,”Isay,pointingtotheground,“thisiswhereIwasahugedumbass.”

Shegrins.“Why’sthat?”
“Becauseright here, earliertoday…” I takea breath, letting itfuel me tofinally share my whole

heart. “This is where the woman I love went to bat for me.” She gasps when I use the L word. “I
should have told you then that I love you. I should have said everything to you.” Inching closer, I
pressmyforeheadtohers.“IshouldhavetoldyouI’mmadlyinlovewithyou,andIwantyoutobe
mine.Whenyoutoldmeitwasn’treal,Iwasdevastated—”

“Spencer,Ididn’tmeanit.Isaidittotrytofixthings.”
“Iknowthatnow.Iwasfoolishthen.Butitwasallforthebest.BecausefeelinglikeIlostyoumade

merealizeI’ddowhateverittakestohaveyou.Becauseyou’retheone.You’vebeeninfrontofme
allalong,andinsomewaysIfeellikeIfellinlovewithyouquickly,inonlyoneweek.Butinother
ways,IknowI’vebeenfallinginlovewithyouovertime,overtheyears.Itjusttookfakingitforme
torealizethatyou’retheonlywomanI’veeverloved.Butmorethanthat—you’retheonlywomanI
wanttolove.”Ibrushthebacksofmyfingersagainsthercheek.Hereyesarelitwithjoy.Irecognize
theemotionbecauseIfeelitwithher.“AndIknowthat,becauseIwanttoeatthegreengummybears
foryousoyouneverhavetotastethem,andIwanttositthroughthetortureofFiddlerontheRoof
withyou,anddrinkvirginmargaritassomenights,andnon-badbeerothernights,andputyouinbed
ifyou’retiredandhaveaheadache,andmakelovetoyouallnightlongifyoudon’t.”

Her lips part, and she sighs contentedly. She grabs at my collar, pulling me even closer. “I don’t

haveaheadachetonight.AndIwanttodothatallnightlong,too.IwanttodothatbecauseIbrokethe
samerule.I’msoinlovewithyouthatI’dkissyouwithmorningbreath,andI’llevenscrapepesto
mayooffyoursandwichesforyouifanyoneservesittoyoubymistake,”shesays,lockinghergaze
tomine.

“Ihopethatneverhappens.”Mytoneisintenselyserious.“BecauseIdon’twantyoutohavetogo

anywherenearpestomayoorbadbreath.Butifitdoes,Iwantustodealwithbothhorrorstogether.”

“Me,too,”shesays,thenkissesme—adeep,passionatekissthatsealsalltheselessonsIlearned.
Whenshebreaksthekiss,sheraisesasuggestiveeyebrow.“Leftovercoldsesamenoodlesatyour

houseinsteadofdinnerout?”

“You’reon,”Isay,sinceIknowwhatshewants,andIwantthesamething.
“Oh, wait. There’s one more thing I want you to know,” she says, running her hand down the

buttonsonmyshirt,apreludetowhatwe’llbothbedoingsoon.

“Whatisit?”
“RememberwhenIthoughtIcouldn’tpullthisoff?”
“Iremember.”
“Iwasabletobecausebeingwithyourarelyfeltlying.Itwaseasytopretendtobeyours.”
“Why?”Iask,grippingherhips.
“Itdidn’tfeelfake.Italwaysfeltlikeitwasbecomingreal.”
“Itisreal,”Isay,lockingeyeswithher.Iamrootedtothismoment—itisthenewhubofCharlotte

and me, and I want to see and feel and taste all of it. But I also want to taste her. Right about now.
“Knowwhatelseisreal?”

“Whatelse?”sheasksplayfully,hertonetellingmesheknowswheremythoughtsareheaded.
“HowmuchIwantyouthissecond.It’sveryreal.It’s,like,teninchesofreal,”Isay,leaninginto

hersoshecanfeelhowmuchIcraveher.

Shearchesaneyebrow.“Ten?Iwouldhaveguessedtwelve.”
“Starts at ten. Finishes at twelve,” I joke as I clasp her hand and return to the town car with her.

Onceinside,Iaskthedrivertoclosethepartition.Afterthetintedwindowclicksintoplace,weare
cocooned.

“I’lltakethetennow,please.”
“Ah,soyoudowantanappetizerbeforetheChinesedinnerin,”Isay,runningmyhanddownher

spineandoverherrear,squeezingherass.

“No,Spencer.Iwantdessertfirst.”
I lift her on top of me. “Appetizer. Dessert. The main course. Let’s have it all,” I say, raising the

fabricofherskirt,andsheworksopenmyzipper.

Inseconds,Itugherpantiestotheside,rollonacondom,andlowerherontomyshaft.Wemoanat

thesametime,thenwekissandwefuckforthenextfewblocks.Thenwekisshardandfuckharderas
the car whips downtown, my hands tugging on her hair, her fingernails clawing my shoulders, our
lipssmashingtogetherasweconsumeeachotherhungrily.

Wefuckasifit’sbeenweekssinceweweretogether,whenit’sonlybeenhours.ButI’lltakethis…

thisneedforanotherperson,especiallysincetonightisasgoodasit’salwaysbeen.Butit’sworlds
better, too, because it’s not ending. There’s no expiration date in sight, no ground rules, and no
pretending.

Thenightturnsintoamarathonofsexandsesamenoodles,offoodandorgasms,oflaughterand

moreoftheL-wordthanIeverexpectedtoutter.

Wetestoutthestrengthofmycoffeetableanditpasses;thoughmykneesgetbruised,Idon’tcare.

Alittlelater,Charlottesuggestsashowerjustforfun,andsinceI’mafanoffunshowers,Isayyes.
When she kneels on the tiles, she treats me to the best shower I’ve ever had in my life, and does
somethingsointensewithhertonguethatI’vegottoremembertoaskherifshecantieaknotina
cherrywithit,too.

Notthatitmatters.Ihavenouseforknottedcherries.ButIhavelotsandlotsofusesforhertongue.

Mine,too,asIindulgeinanothertasteofheraftermidnightwhenwegetintobed.

Then,wefoolourselvesintothinkingwe’llsleep,butinsteadIslideinsideheraswespooninthe

dark.Fidoprovidestheharmony,purringloudlywhenshecomes,andtogethertheysoundlikeamini
earthquake.

“Charlotte,Ihaveaconfessiontomake,”ItellherasIrunmyfingersthroughherhairwhileshe

comesdownfromherhigh.

“Spititout.”
“Mycat’sapervert.”
Shelaughs.“Soundslikethethreeofuswillgetalongfinethen.”
Ithinkso,too.

E P I L O G U E

Onemonthlater

We are the only ones at The Lucky Spot. The last drink was served an hour ago, and now we’re

doneclosingup.

I grab my keys from the office, and she shoulders her purse. “Your place or mine?” she asks

playfully.Thensheanswersitwith,“Imean,ours.”

Her lease runs out at the end of this month, so she moved in with me a week ago. She hogs the

sheets,andIsleepnaked,sothatmightbeaprobleminthewinter,butasidefromthat,lifewithheris
pretty much perfect. Add in the fact that Abe’s article never ran, since there was no sale of
Katharine’s,onlyafakeengagementthatturnedintoagenuinelovestory.I’mahappycamperandso
ismydad,who’ssomewhereintheMediterraneannowwhileNinarunsthestore.

Theonlythingthatwouldmakethismomentmoreperfectisabottleofwine.
“Before we leave, let’s have a quick glass,” I say, heading behind the bar and grabbing a bottle I

pickedoutforthenight.

Sheshootsmeacuriouslookfromhersideofthebar.“Doyouwanttojusthavethatathome?”
Ishakemyhead.“Nope.Here.”
Ipouraglassformyself,thenoneforher.Islideitacrossthebar.Iholdmineuptotoast.“Tore-

creations.”

Shefurrowsherbrow.“What?You’renotmakinganysense.”
“Workwithme.It’llmakesensesoon.”Itakeadrink,thensetdownmyglass.“Isn’titfunnyhow

everyonethinkswe’reacouple?”

“Butweareacouple,”shesays,shakingherheadandtappingtheglass.“Wereyoudrinkingalot

beforeyoucrackedthisoneopen,Holiday?”

I’mundeterred.“Weneedastory,”Isay,remindingherofwhatshetoldmeinherkitchentheday

we first decided to fake it. “Remember?” I ask, prompting her. “One Thursday night at The Lucky
Spot,overaglassofwineafterclosingtime…”

Recognition dawns, and her brown eyes twinkle. “Yes. If memory serves, you said what you just

said.”

I repeat myself, holding her gorgeous gaze captive. “Isn’t it funny how everyone thinks we’re a

couple?”

Sheremembersherline—hermade-up,make-believelineabouthowwecametogether.“Maybewe

shouldbeone.”

Isaynothing.Shedoesn’tspeakeither.Webothrecallthescript,andhowitcalledforanawkward

pause.

Whenthepauseisweightedwithenoughawkward,Ispeak,thecornerofmylipscurvingup.“But

thistime,there’smoreaftertheawkwardpause,”Isay,thendipmyhandintomypocket.

“Whathappensnext?”sheasksbreathily,herpalmspressedonthecounter,anticipationevidentin

howhershoulderscurvetowardme.

“Amagictrick.”

“Showme.”
Ileavemypostandwalkaroundthebar.WhenIreachher,Iwaveonehandbehindherleftear,then

Itakemyotherhandoutofmypocket,andbrushitbehindherrightear.“LookwhatIfoundbehind
yourear,”Isay,thenopenmypalminfrontofher.

“OhGod,”shesays,hervoicecatching.
I bend down to one knee and take her hand. “I have a proposition for you. When we first played

make-believefiancée,youusedtwowordsthatwebothsworewe’dneverhearagain.Buteventhen
theysoundedperfectcomingfromyou.Mrs.Holiday.Andthat’sbecauseyou’retheonlyoneIever
wanttobeMrs.Holiday,andIhopeyouthinkitsoundsassexyandbeautifulasIdo.Willyoumarry
me?”

“I love being propositioned by you, so the answer is…yes,” she says, as a tear slips down her

cheek.

Neverhasonewordbeenmoreperfect.
Iholdupthering,lettingthestonecatchthelightfromabove.“Thisistheringyoupickedout—the

oneyouwanted,theonethat’sperfectforyou.It’salsotheringIgotforyouthefirsttime,andit’sthe
oneIwantyoutowearforalways,”Isay,assheholdsoutherhand.

“Put it on me,” she says, in between happy sobs. “It’s the only one I want. You’re the only one I

want.”

Islideitonherringfingerforthesecondtime,andIknowthatitwillbetheforevertime.

A N O T H E R E P I L O G U E

Sixmonthslater

Mywifeisfuckingawesome.
Butdon’tjusttakemywordforit.Considerallheraccomplishments.
She’sbright,she’sbeautiful,she’sfunny,andshemarriedme.
Endofstory.
Oh,wait.There’sonemorethingIhavetosay.So,yeah.Webrokeprettymuchalltherules.We

hadsleepovers,andwelied,anditwasweird,andwefellinlove,anditdidn’tlastaweek.It’slasting
alifetime.

Therearetworuleswekeptthough.Rememberhowweagreedtostayfriends?Weremainfriends.

Bestoffriends.

Now,you’reprobablywonderingaboutthatotherrule.Charlotteheldfastonthatone,butI’mnot

missing a thing, especially considering how well she can tie cherry stems with her tongue. I’m the
luckiestbastardonthefaceoftheearth,becauseI’mmadlyinlovewiththewomanIcomehometo
everynight.Mywife.Mybestfriend.

AndImakeherhappyeverynight.
IfyouknowwhatImean.
AndIthinkyoudo.
Happywife=happylife.

THEEND

C O M I N G S O O N !

MisterOrgasm!

Did you enjoy getting to know Nick Hammer, Spencer ’s best friend? Stay tuned then for Mister
Orgasm!Nick’sgotastorytotelltoowhenhestartsspendingmoretimewithHarper,sogetready
foranotherdirty,cocky,funnyall-guyPOVwhenNickshareshisstoryoffallingforhisbestfriend's
sister!CominginSummer2016!

JustcallmeMr.Orgasm.No,really.Iinsist.
Orgasms are my specialty. Delivering them. Administering them. Giving them in multiples. Then

doingitagainforanencore.I’mlikethesuperheroofpleasure.

Butbeforeanyonegetsallupinalatheraboutmy“manwhoreways,”rememberthis.Youprobably

didn’tevenlookatmeyearsago.Youlikelydidn’tgivemethetimeofdaywhenIwasthequietgeek
bent over his notebook drawing cartoons about a caped crusader bestowing orgasmic pleasure to
womankind.

Now, that I’m creator of the hottest animated TV show in the world — The Adventures of Mr.

Orgasm—everythinghaschanged.Thewomenhavelinedup.Thechecksrollin.AndthelifeI’m
livingisgooooooood—looks,talent,andamasterfuldonghavegottenmefar.

Except,there is someonewho knew methen, and who knowsme now…and shejust asked me to

teachhereverythingabouthowtowinaman.Theonlyproblemisshe’smybestfriend’ssister.

LooksliketheAdventuresofMr.Orgasmhaveonlyjustbegun…

TobenotifiedwhenMISTERORGASMbecomesavailable,

pleasesignupformynewsletter

C O M I N G S O O N !

TheSapphireAffair

The Sapphire Affair

is a two-book series about a sexy, high-end bounty hunter hired to find stolen

jewels,andtheonlythinginhiswayisagorgeousandadventurouswomanwho’safterthemtoo…

Both books should be available for preorder soon! Get ready for a sexy, witty, suspenseful,
contemporary romance with shades of mystery and crime — Seductive Nights meets the Thomas
CrowneAffair.

TobenotifiedwhenTheSapphireAffairbecomesavailableinsummer2016,

pleasesignupformy

newsletter

Checkoutmycontemporaryromancenovels!

TheNewYorkTimesandUSAToday

BestsellingSeductiveNightsseriesincluding

NightAfterNight

AfterThisNight

and

OneMoreNight

Andthetwostandalone

romancenovels,

NightsWithHim

and

ForbiddenNights

,bothNewYorkTimes

andUSATodayBestsellers!

SweetSinfulNights

SinfulDesire

and

SinfulLonging

,thefirstthreebooks

intheNewYorkTimesBestsellinghigh-heat

romanticsuspenseseriesthatspins

offfromSeductiveNights!

PlayingWithHerHeart

USATodaybestseller,andasexySeductiveNights

spin-offstandalone!(DavisandJill’sromance)

21StolenKisses

,theUSAToday

Bestsellingforbiddennewadultromance!

CaughtUpInUs

,aNewYorkTimesand

USATodayBestseller!(KatandBryan’sromance!)

PretendingHe’sMine

,aBarnes&Nobleand

iBooksBestseller!(Reeve&Sutton’sromance)

TrophyHusband

,aNewYorkTimesand

USATodayBestseller!(Chris&McKenna’sromance)

FarTooTempting

,anAmazon

romancebestseller!(MatthewandJane’sromance)

StarsinTheirEyes

,aniBooksbestseller!

(WilliamandJess’romance)

MyUSATodaybestselling

NoRegretsseriesthatincludes

TheThrillofIt

(MeetHarleyandTrey)

anditssequel

EverySecondWithYou

MyNewYorkTimesandUSAToday

BestsellingFightingFireseriesthatincludes

BurnForMe

(SmithandJamie’sromance!)

MeltforHim

(MeganandBecker ’sromance!)

and

ConsumedbyYou

(TravisandCara’sromance!)

A C K N O W L E D G E M E N T S

ThankyoutoHelenWilliamsfortheCandRandthecompleteandabsolutecoverawesomeness!

ThankyoutoKPSimmonforrollingwiththecrazy.BighugstoKelleyforrunningtheship.Huge
gratitudetomygirls,Laurelin,CDandKristy.

AbigmassivesmoochandkissestoJenMcCoy,thefirstreadertofallinlovewithSpencerandthe

onewhomadesurethemagicallcametogether.IamgratefultoLaurenMcKellarforherkeeneye,
insightandattentiontodetail,andtoKaraHildebrandforhelpingmenailtheprologue.

Thankyoutomyfamilyandmyhusband,andtomyfabulousdogs!
MostofallthankstoYOU–thereader.Thebooksarealwaysforyou.

Xoxo
Lauren

C O N T A C T

I love hearing from readers! You can find me on Twitter at

LaurenBlakely3

, or Facebook at

LaurenBlakelyBooks

, or online at

LaurenBlakely.com

. You can also email me at

laurenblakelybooks@gmail.com

Document Outline

COPYRIGHT
ALSO BY LAUREN BLAKELY
ABOUT
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
EPILOGUE
ANOTHER EPILOGUE
COMING SOON! (MISTER ORGASM)
COMING SOON! (THE SAPPHIRE AFFAIR)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
CONTACT

Wyszukiwarka

Podobne podstrony:
Blakely Lauren Big Rock
The Engagement Gift An After D Blakely, Lauren
Caught Up in Him Blakely Lauren
Blakely Lauren Seductive Nights (tom 0 5)First Night PL
Out of Bounds – Lauren Blakely
Once Upon A Red Hot Kiss Lauren Blakely
Fighting Fire 1 Burn for Me Lauren Blakely
Every Second With You (No Regre Lauren Blakely
Delayed Satisfaction Lauren Blakely
The Virgin Gift Lauren Blakely
LIST DO ROMEA OD OJCA LAURENTEGO W KTÓRYM ZAKONNIK WYJAŚNIA SWÓJ PODSTĘP
big profits from a very dirty business
05082502Foto Big
Hard Rock Cafe 2008 07
204 Ayers Rock Uluru
Laurent
Polarymetr Laurenta, AGH, agh, programinski, Laborki, Laborki, Lab, FIZYKA - Laboratorium, Polarymet
02823808Foto Big
10 szeregi Taylora i szeregi Laurentaid 10637

więcej podobnych podstron