My Enemy Next Door - Nicole London

Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page My Enemy Next Door SYNOPSIS ONE TWO THREE E.N.E.M.Y. | E is for ENEMY FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN SEVEN, AGAIN EIGHT NINE E.N.E.M.Y. | N is for NEMESIS E.N.E.M.Y. | N is for NEMESIS, AGAIN TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN E.N.E.M.Y. | E is for ERROR E.N.E.M.Y. | E is for ERROR, AGAIN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN

E.N.E.M.Y. | M is for MALICE E.N.E.M.Y. | M is for MALICE, AGAIN E.N.E.M.Y. | Y is for YOU SIXTEEN —The End— Sign up for our newsletters! | Nicole London | Whitney G. A Letter to the Reader SNEAK PEEK: | On a Tuesday SNEAK PEEK: | Mr. Popular

MY ENEMY NEXT DOOR (A Second Chance/Enemies to Lovers Romance) NICOLE LONDON WHITNEY G.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Copyright 2018 by Nicole London & Whitney Gracia Williams. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the author. Cover design by Najla Qamber of Najla Qamber Designs.

Table of Contents Title Page Copyright Page My Enemy Next Door SYNOPSIS ONE TWO THREE E.N.E.M.Y. | E is for ENEMY FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN SEVEN, AGAIN EIGHT

NINE E.N.E.M.Y. | N is for NEMESIS E.N.E.M.Y. | N is for NEMESIS, AGAIN TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN E.N.E.M.Y. | E is for ERROR E.N.E.M.Y. | E is for ERROR, AGAIN FOURTEEN FIFTEEN E.N.E.M.Y. | M is for MALICE E.N.E.M.Y. | M is for MALICE, AGAIN E.N.E.M.Y. | M is for MALICE, AGAIN E.N.E.M.Y. | Y is for YOU E.N.E.M.Y. | Y is for YOU

SIXTEEN —The End— Sign up for our newsletters! | Nicole London | Whitney G. A Letter to the Reader SNEAK PEEK: | On a Tuesday SNEAK PEEK: | Mr. Popular

ALSO BY NICOLE LONDON New Adult Romance My Brother’s Roommate* Mr. Popular Resentment *denotes that title is available for pre-order and/or an upcoming release

ALSO BY WHITNEY G. Erotic Romance Reasonable Doubt (Full Series) Turbulence Malpractice* Dirty Doctor: A Novella Naughty Boss: A Novella Cocky Client: A Novella The Layover: A Novella Contemporary Romance On a Tuesday: A Second Chance Romance Thirty Day Boyfriend: A Novella Resisting the Boss (A Falling for Mr. Statham Novel) Loving the Boss (A Falling for Mr. Statham Novel) Over Us, Over You (Twisted Love) New Adult Romance Sincerely, Carter Sincerely, Arizona Forget You, Ethan* The Beautiful Series*

*denotes that title is available for pre-order and/or an upcoming release

FOR US. For the endless nights of laughter. For all the years of friendship. And for all the besties in the world who prefer to pursue things in the best way they can be done: together.

SYNOPSIS WE USED TO BE CLOSE. We used to be best friends. Until we became enemies all over again... Courtney Ryan ruined our on and off again friendship with one swipe of her sexy, red pen. After the final rude message she wrote in my yearbook, I decided that we didn't need to see each other anymore. (But if we ever did, I would show her exactly why I had every reason to be "cocky," and make her admit that I really *was* "that damn sexy.") Now that it's ten years later, I've graduated from law school at the top of my class, and I'm being recruited to work at the number one law firm in New York City. Since I'm in desperate need of a change and want to meet new people, I don't hesitate to accept the offer. Until I find out that Courtney Ryan graduated from law school, too. Until I realize that she'll be working at the same exact firm, in the office right across from me. And if this timing isn't unfortunate enough, she's far more tempting and sexier than I originally remembered. (Oh, and last night I found out that she lives right next door...)

We don't have to be close. We don't have to be best friends. But she's going to pay me back for making us enemies all over again...

ENEMY (noun): A guy who pretends to be your friend during his senior year of high school after you’ve both been unfairly sentenced to semester-long detention. This guy may also be so goddamn charming and sexy that you end up slowly falling for him, but not before he rips your heart in two and makes you regret ever trusting him. [Please see the definitions of “Asshole” or “Jace Kennedy” for further clarification]

ONE Jace: Present Day JACE KENNEDY NAMED Lawyer of the Year, Helps $15B CEO Beat False Charges Seattle’s Youngest Senior Lawyer—Jace Kennedy, Helps Clear Troubled Tech President Top Executive of Harper Inc. Acquitted in Securities Fraud Case, Another Kennedy Win George Swann Found Not Guilty, Thanks “Kick-Ass Kennedy” in Press Conference The headlines that were currently staring at me were only telling half the story. If an unsuspecting reader ever glanced at them, he might assume that I actually gave a damn about my work as a lawyer. Or that the people I was forced to represent were innocent all along, but that was far from the truth. Every single one of my clients was guilty. Every. Single. One. Over the past few years, I’d given up all optimism of representing someone who hadn’t blatantly broken the law. I’d started looking for a way to get the hell out of my cesspool of a firm. It was called Stanton and Benson, the number one firm on the West Coast—winner of numerous awards and “Best of” accolades. But it’d taken me far too long to realize that the partners were just as

crooked as the clients, and that with every “not guilty” verdict, my sleepless nights only increased. I dropped the latest newspapers under the boardroom table and faced my current client. “I’m going to ask you this one more time, Mr. Donovan,” I said. “It’s Gary.” He smiled. “I’ve told you that all my best friends can call me Gary.” “I’ll stick to Mr. Donovan.” I looked him straight in the eye. “Did you, or did you not follow your wife on the night of April fourth?” “I’m paying you five hundred dollars an hour, so the jury will believe that I didn’t.” “That’s not what I asked you.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m your lawyer, so whatever you say to me stays between us via attorney-client privilege, but I can’t properly defend you unless I know the truth.” “Your boss said the truth never matters.” “My boss is a fucking idiot.” “He also said that the law doesn’t apply to men like me.” He adjusted his thousand dollar cufflinks. “And since you, Mr. Kennedy, have yet to lose a case in the years you’ve worked here, I know you feel the same.” “I don’t. Answer my question.” “I forgot what it was.” “Did you, or did you not follow your wife the night of April fourth?”

“Since a prison sentence is on the line, I need to know if this is off the record or not first.” “Did you, or did you—” “Yes.” He hissed. “Yes, I followed her that night. Happy?” “Almost. After you found out that she was having an affair, did you remove her from your company holdings and draft a petition for divorce?” “Yes.” “Did you have anything to do with her lover being brutally beaten the night of April fifteenth?” “No.” He smiled. “Of course not.” “You were caught on camera beating him with a crowbar.” “I was also wearing a ski-mask.” “Should I assume that you had nothing to do with the sudden termination of your wife’s family members from your parent company, Gary Holdings, Inc.?” “Like I told you last time, Mr. Kennedy,” he said, still smiling. “That was a simple glitch in my Human Resources computer system. As of two weeks ago, they have all been restored as employees.” “That’s a pretty convenient glitch.” “It is, isn’t it?” I stared at him, unsure of why he wasn’t taking this seriously. “You’re being sued for insider trading, assault, and your wife is considering

pressing additional charges for domestic intimidation.” “Not anymore.” He pulled out his cell phone and tapped the screen. Within seconds, the boardroom door opened. His wife, a blonde who was ten years his junior, walked into the room and smiled. She extended her hand to me before sitting next to him. “Mrs. Donovan, you’re not supposed to be here since you’re pressing charges against your husband,” I said. “Surely your lawyer has told you that.” “I’m dropping all the charges.” Her smile widened, and I spotted a new, six carat-ring on her finger. “I don’t even know why I filed them in the first place. My husband was simply protecting me.” “Protecting you from what?” “Why, rape of course,” Mr. Donovan said, looking dead-ass serious. “I’ve seen your work with making insider trading charges look faulty, so now that only leaves the aggravated assault charges that we need to deal with. I’m sure the jury will understand why I would be upset about our contractor raping my wife the day I was out of town, and I’m sure they’ll understand I was in a blind rage that evening after she called me crying about it.” I dropped my pen onto the table and looked at his wife. “You’re willing to falsely accuse a man of

rape to protect your husband and your lifestyle, Mrs. Donovan? Why the hell would you let him talk you into this?” “She talked me into it.” He smiled. “We’ve discussed her infidelities, decided to work on our marriage, and we have our own private arrangement. I personally think this plan is brilliant, but I’m still open to hearing how you’re going to prep my defense. Just in case it may be better.” I stared at him long and hard, then I shut my folder. “I need you to excuse me for five minutes, please.” I didn’t wait for a response. I left the room and headed straight for my office. Opening the closet, I took out the box I’d been secretly filling with my things for months, along with the sealed envelope that held my one day notice. (Two weeks’ notice gave me too much time to reconsider, and every time I voiced my frustration about “guilty-ass clients,” the partners gave me a bonus check.) I set the envelope on my desk, made sure nothing was left in my drawers, and headed down to the lobby. “Good afternoon, Mr. Kennedy!” The secretary blushed as I stepped in front of her desk. “Are you leaving early today?” “I’m leaving forever.” “Oh, you always say that.”

“Today, I finally mean it.” I placed the key to my office on her desk. “Tell Stanton and Benson that I still expect a check for the hours I’ve logged on Mr. Donovan’s case. They can also find my defense plan in the envelope I left.” “Wait, what? Are you being serious right now? You’re like leaving, leaving?” I didn’t answer her. I walked down the side steps and headed to the parking garage. I took one last look at the painted white cement that bore my name and title: Mr. Jace Kennedy, Senior Associate. Sliding behind the wheel of my Jaguar, I set my box of belongings on the passenger seat and sighed. I needed to come up with a plan, and I needed to think of one before the partners could guilt me into coming back with offers only their firm could provide. I had enough money in the bank to take off for a few years if I wanted—enough to travel the world and grow a conscience about all the guilty men I’d helped evade justice, but I was incapable of vacationing. I lived, breathed, and ate the law, and it’d been that way for as long as I could remember. I pulled out my phone and opened my inbox, pulling up my “Exit Ideas” folder. There was only one email, a message I’d drafted to myself: New York? Fuck no.

When I graduated from law school, I vowed that I would never go to New York City. It was cliché for any ambitious new lawyer to go there, and I thought I’d meet the worst of clients. Even though I had offer letters from every top firm in the country—most of them in the very city I wanted to avoid, there was one firm’s short, succinct letter that still stood out to me to this day: Dear Jace, You’re too good to work anywhere other than here in New York, and you know it. 100k to start. Benefits. Period. Even after I sent that strange firm a ‘Thanks but no thanks’ letter, they tracked me down and continued to send me postcards every six months. Each one was always a variation of, “You belong in New York City, Jace,” “Tired of playing the law in Seattle yet?” and “We’re impressed. We’d be even more impressed if you were where you belonged.” Weighing my options, I scrolled down to the name of the firm in my phone—unsure of why the hell I’d ever saved it. I hesitated a few seconds before hitting call. “Walton and Associates, how may I direct your call?” a woman answered on the first ring. “I’m not sure,” I said. “I’m looking for whoever sends me the postcards.” “Postcards?” she asked. “We don’t send anyone post-cards, sir.” “What’s your name?”

“Jace Kennedy.” “Jace Kennedy?” She gasped. “Give me one second.” Soft elevator music sifted over the line, and within seconds there was a series of rings. “So, you’ve finally come to your senses and want to join a real firm.” A deep male voice came over the line, laughing. “What took you so long, Mr. Kennedy?” “I’m not calling to join your firm, Mr. Walton.” I assumed I was talking to him. “I’m calling to tell you to stop sending me the goddamn post-cards.” “Oh.” He laughed again. “I haven’t put the one for this month in the mail yet. You’re not calling me for a new job right now?” “I have no reason to. I just won my latest case and earned a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus.” “Then you have every reason to.” The smile still lingered in his voice. “Some things in this career are worth more than money, Mr. Kennedy. Things like sleep and a clear conscience.” Silence. “If I was interested in your firm—which I’m not, what’s your current salary offer for a senior associate?” “For a regular senior associate, it’s about two hundred thousand with benefits. But for you, Mr. Jace Kennedy, I’m more than willing to double that.”

I shook my head. It sounded too good to be true, and I’d had enough bullshit from my current firm to buy into another one. “There is no catch, Mr. Kennedy,” he said before I could say anything else. “My firm is number one in New York for a reason, and the main reason is that I’m always willing to pay the best salaries so I can hire the best lawyers. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but you already know this.” “If I knew it I wouldn’t have asked.” “So, the man who’s been calling all of my top lawyers for the past month and a half with questions about how things work around here wasn’t you?” “I’ll get back to you on your offer.” I ended the call and cranked the engine, speeding out of the garage and onto the sleek streets. The adrenaline from quitting was now rushing through my veins, and although I was beyond ready to leave this city tonight and start over, there was still one person that tied me here. Barely. I parked my car in front of my condo and took the elevator to the penthouse suite. I pulled out two glasses and a bottle of scotch, and headed to my bedroom. I started to call my current pseudo-girlfriend’s name, but I stopped once I heard her breathy moans floating down the hallway.

“Oh...Oh goddd...Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” Don’t stop fucking me!” Confused as hell, I set the glasses and the alcohol down on the hallway table. I stepped closer to my bedroom—refusing to believe that she was fucking someone else in my bed, but my mind went blank when I stepped in the doorway. Bare ass naked, she was bent over a chair near the window and my boss, Stanton, was pulling her hair back as she moaned his name. My blood ran cold, and I mentally calculated how much time I would serve for two murders. If I could get away with the “self-defense” excuse. “Oh, god... Stanton...” Realizing I wouldn’t get away with it, I stepped back and noticed Stanton’s jacket hanging on the doorknob. His phone was peeking from the pocket, so I took it out and hit Facebook Live. Then I set it on the hallway table—giving all of his friends and his wife a perfect view of him fucking my girlfriend. Then I left my condo and headed for the airport. There was no use confronting people I no longer gave a fuck about anymore, and the sooner I left for New York, the better. There was only one woman in the world I would actually want to see again, but since I’d failed to run into her in over ten years, it was time to just focus on myself.

I’ll send for all my shit later...

TWO Courtney: Present Day SO, THIS IS WHAT BEING a “hot-ass mess” feels like... I rushed through Manhattan’s crowded sidewalks—muttering “Excuse me,” “Please excuse me,” and “Get the hell out of the way!” as I rushed toward the courthouse. Since my alarm had failed to go off this morning, my body was running on nothing but a slice of bread and a banana, and my brain was far too fried to go through my opening statement. My hair was frizzy—thanks to my blow dryer dying, there were coffee stains all over my creamcolored coat, and I was certain I looked more like the nerdy girl I used to be in high school than one of New York City’s newest, up-and-coming lawyers. I prayed like hell my boss wouldn’t be present in court today, and as I finally made it up the steps of the courthouse, I took one last look at my reflection in the windows. No, this is ten levels below what a “hot-ass mess” looks like. “Ugh...” I smoothed my hair as best I could and made my way to the courtroom at the end of the

hall. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door and was immediately met with stares. “Nice of you to finally join us this morning, Miss Ryan.” The judge rolled her eyes at me. “Now that you’ve graced us with your presence, would you mind approaching the bench with the opposing counsel?” “Right away, Your Honor.” I made my way down the aisle and tripped over an intern’s briefcase. I grabbed onto the edge of a seat before I couple complete a face-plant onto the floor. The audience in the courtroom gasped. My clients—two snobby teenage girls, snickered and I avoided looking at them as I approached the judge. “Okay, counselors,” the judge said, looking at me and the prosecutor. “As much as I enjoy my weekly dose of teenage soap-opera cases, I will not be allowing this one to become a circus. Nonetheless, it’s come to my attention that one of the girls is requesting an immediate change of counsel.” “Since when?” I asked, looking over my shoulder. “Neither of them ever mentioned this to me. I was just walking them through everything yesterday.” “Maybe if you were on time this morning they would have.” The prosecutor smiled. “For the record, I am totally onboard with allowing the girl’s

boyfriend to be her new counsel, Your Honor. I find it quite endearing actually.” “I don’t recall asking what you thought, Counselor.” The judge chided. “I want this silly-ass case over and done with as soon as possible, and I’m not—” She paused as a guy in jeans and a sweater stepped to the bench. “May I help you with something, young man?” “I object to this case, Your Honor,” he said, looking dead-ass serious. “If my girlfriend says she didn’t do this, then she didn’t do this. She’s the most honest person I know.” The judge blinked. “There’s also evidence,” he said, pulling out his cell phone and holding it up for us to see. “She sent me a text of cry-face emojis last night. She only does that when she’s really upset, which is proof that she’s really sad and didn’t do this.” He put his phone into his pocket. “Since I’m going to be her lawyer now, does that mean I get paid? How does that part work?” The three of us gave him a blank stare. “Young man, get the hell away from my bench and have a seat,” the judge said. “Now.” His cheeks flushed red, and he walked away. “Look, Miss Ryan,” she said, directing her attention at me. “I’m going to give you forty-eight hours to knock some sense into your clients. Then, because I’m feeling so very generous today, I’m

going to give you another twenty-four hours on top of that for you to transform into the amazing Courtney Ryan that I’ve heard so many great things about.” She looked me up and down, making me feel ten times smaller. “Unless there’s another amazing Courtney Ryan lawyer in this city somewhere.” “No, Your Honor.” “Seventy-two-hour recess.” She banged her gavel and stood to her feet, turning away to her chambers. I walked toward my clients, ready to ask them why the hell they wanted to replace me, but my boss stepped in front of me—blocking me. I smiled at him, but he didn’t smile back. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and I could tell without him uttering a word that he was upset with me. “Can I talk to you for a few minutes, Miss Ryan?” “Sure, Mr. Walton.” I looked over his shoulder. “Would you mind if I addressed my clients first?” “They’re not your clients anymore,” he said, motioning for me to follow him out of the courtroom. “Jenna is going to pick up right where you left off. Given your impeccable notes and defense strategy, I’m sure my firm will be counting this as a win in the coming weeks.”

I buttoned my pea-coat as we stepped out into the falling snow and toward a small coffee stand. I’d heard rumors about how Mr. Walton started each of his terminations the same way. A complimentary coffee outside the courthouse. A short lecture. An appointment to “See me in my office on Friday.” Swallowing my nerves, I forced a smile as he ordered two cinnamon lattes and handed one to me. “So,” he said, finally, staring at the stains on my coat. “Is there any particular reason why you were twenty-five minutes late to court today?” “I wasn’t twenty-five minutes late ... I was only fifteen minutes late.” “What did you just say?” I cleared my throat. “I had a long morning. It won’t happen again.” “Damn right, it won’t.” He sipped his coffee. “The best lawyers always beat their clients and the judge to court. They don’t make rookie mistakes, and if they’re lucky enough to work for me, they ensure that my firm always looks like the best firm. I believe I laid out these principles when I first hired you, correct?” I could only nod. My voice was locked in my throat. Please don’t fire me. Please don’t fire me... “You’ve done good work since you’ve started for me, Miss Ryan.” His eyes were on mine. “But I

expect great.” He paused as a group of school kids rushed by us on the sidewalk. “Anyway, I think you need to take the next few days off. Take a few trips around the city to clear your head, and then come see me in my office on Friday. Nine o’clock.” “Does it have to be Friday?” I couldn’t believe this. “Like, what about Thursday instead?” “I much prefer Fridays for these types of things, Miss Ryan.” He smiled at me, and then he walked to his waiting town car. “I’ll see you then.” I watched as the driver held the door open for him, as he slipped into the backseat, and then I stood there frozen in shock as the car drove away. The past six months of my life suddenly flashed before my eyes and my heart began to sink at the thought of it coming to an end. With the exception of today, I’d never been late, never missed a beat at work. I stayed later than all the other lawyers, always arrived two hours early, and even came into the office on weekends. I lived, breathed, and ate the law all day, every day. Even though I knew I could get a job someplace else in this city, there was no firm like Walton & Associates. No firm that I’d longed to work for since I fell in love with the law at sixteen years old. Sighing, I tossed my coffee into the nearest trash can and decided to take the long way home. I cut through the freshly salted paths of Central Park,

past the paved ice rink, and into my towering high rise: The Hamilton. I took off my boots as soon as I walked through the door and immediately called my best friend, Mila. “I’m buying the wine for your courtroom win as we speak!” she answered on the first ring. “Do you want white or red?” “Neither,” I said. “I didn’t get a win. I got fired.” “What?” “You heard me,” I said. “My boss took me off the case because I was late, and then he said he wants to see me Friday. At his firm, that only means one thing.” “Oh, come on, Courtney. You don’t know that for sure.” She paused. “Do you?” “I do.” I opened my refrigerator and took out a bottle of wine, downing a gulp straight from the bottle. “There’s a secret motto among everyone who works there. Hiring is for Monday and firing is for Friday.” “Look, if he were going to fire you, he wouldn’t expect you to come into work for the rest of the week, right? He would tell you not to show up until Friday so he could fire you.” “He did.” Silence. “Oh...I’m so sorry, Court.”

“It’s okay.” I gulped down more wine. “I’ll just spend the rest of my day calling around other firms and checking my options.” “Like hell you are.” She scoffed. “I’m on my way to your place. Meet me in the lobby, and be ready to drink and party for the rest of the day.” “Mila, it’s a Monday.” “So? You don’t have work for the rest of the week. Be there in thirty.” She hung up before I had a chance to answer. LATER THAT NIGHT, I sat at a high-table and tossed back my eighth shot of vodka. My feet were swollen from walking up and down Manhattan’s hard streets in six-inch stilettos, and I was two shots away from plotting my escape from this club. I was surrounded by Mila and three of her dropdead gorgeous friends who were only interested in discussing the latest runway collections and designer bags. I’d sat through a two-hour discussion about the best accessories to pair with a cashmere sweater and a three-hour debate about whether MAC’s latest line of mascara was better than Maybelline’s. I almost blurted, “Why do you all even care about shit like this?” but the sober part of my brain remembered that they were all professional models. Even Mila. Whenever they weren’t posing for

photoshoots, modeling for designer campaigns, or walking down runways, they were talking about photoshoots, campaigns, and runways. They just couldn’t help it. Pulling out my phone in the middle of a new lipstick debate, I opened my email and noticed there were three new messages from my coworkers. SUBJECT: HEARD ABOUT Your Day in Court... Can I have your office when Mr. Walton fires you? —Max SUBJECT: NEW TURNER Case Anyone want to help me with the research on this one? I’ll let you be the first chair during the deposition. (Well, anyone except Courtney. I’m not sure if she’s going to be with us past this Friday. Did you hear about how she looked in court today? BAHAHAHA!) —Tyler SUBJECT: RE: NEW TURNER Case Shit. You weren’t supposed to get that email, Courtney. Sorry about that.

PS—Can I have your office when he fires you? —Tyler UGH! I deleted all the emails and grabbed another shot glass from the center of the table. “Did you see the new Yves Saint Laurent campaign?” Mila asked. “I was surprised they chose to go with white instead of soft grey, you know?” “Me too!” Her friend to my left nodded. “But the white was still so...So colorful.” Okay, that’s it. I stood to my feet, slightly wobbling in my heels. “I think I’m going to head back to my place. It was great seeing you all again.” “It’s only nine o’clock, Court.” Mila rolled her eyes. “Want to go to another lounge instead of being lame as hell? It’s not like you have work tomorrow.” “I actually have plans to meet someone tonight,” I said, standing up straight. “He’s meeting me back at my place.” “For sex?” “Yes.” I lied, hoping she would buy it. “For sex, to you know, help me get over this terrible day.” “Who is it?”

“He’s um...” I lowered my voice. “One of my colleagues.” “Bullshit, Court.” She laughed. “You haven’t fucked a guy in six months, and you hate every guy at your firm. But you know what? I think you should get laid tonight.” She stood up and grabbed my hand. “Excuse us for a moment. I’ll be right back.” She tugged me through the crowded floor of suits and into the bathroom. Once we were inside, she opened her purse and pulled out two tubes of lipstick. “Do you really need to refresh yourself every two hours?” I asked. “You still look as stunning as you did earlier.” She laughed. “This is for you. You’ve knocked so much alcohol past your lips that there’s no lipstick left. And my god, look at how you’ve ruined the fabric of your dress! Do you have any idea how to wear—” I tuned her out and leaned against the sink— letting her do what she always did on nights when she forced me to go out with her. Step one: Listen to her praise the universe for all the times I allowed her to help me with a wardrobe that spiced up my “boring ass law life.” Step two: Listen to her berate me for finding new ways to mess it up. Step three: Allow her to fix me in ten minutes flat with all the tools that she kept in her oversized bag—

everything from a mini flat iron, to an eyelash curler, to a compact array of eye-shadow. “Okay, there.” She placed one last layer of gloss on my lips. “Now you’re ready to get fucked tonight.” I turned around and looked at my reflection in the mirror. I stood in awe at the glimmering golden eyeshadow on my eyelids and the bright red lips. I smoothed my hands against my short, mid-thigh black dress and smiled “Thank you.” “You’re beyond welcome.” She tossed everything back into her bag. “Now, all you have to do is approach the sexiest man you see, and I guarantee he won’t be able to turn you down.” “I haven’t had a one night stand since that time I went to France last year. Shouldn’t I sit near the stage and wait until the guy approaches me?” “In this era?” She looked at me like I was insane. “Never. But if it makes you feel any more confident, I’ll help you pick out the guy.” I nodded, and she grabbed my hand again— pulling me back into the lounge and toward the dimly lit bar area. I could no longer feel the pain in the soles of my feet from wearing the stilettos, and I knew I could only afford to have three more drinks before reaching my limit. “How about the guy at your three o’clock?” Mila asked. “Brown suit. White tie.”

I glanced in that direction. “He’s wearing a wedding ring.” “Oh.” She shook her head. “Forget I ever pointed him out. Check out your six o’clock at the end of the bar. The guy with the glass of champagne in his hand.” The guy smiled at me and waved, but I wasn’t attracted to him at all. “You know what, Mila? I don’t think I need to have random, stranger sex to get over what happened today. I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine if I catch a cab home and watch some Netflix, so—” “Goddamn!” She suddenly gripped my arm. “Am I seeing this right?” “Huh?” I looked at her. “What’s going on?” She didn’t say anything for several seconds. She stared straight ahead—looking as if she was in a trance. I tried to follow her gaze, but I couldn’t see anything. “Okay.” She finally faced me, her cheeks blush red. “I just saw the man you need to talk to, and I don’t want to hear any excuse about how he’s not your type because this man is every woman’s type.” “I’m sure he is.” I knew she was exaggerating. “Where is he?”

“First, promise me you’ll talk to him, no matter what.” “Fine. I promise.” “The guy in the blue walking to the bar right now. Over there!” She nearly squealed as she pointed. I turned my head and looked to where she was pointing. All I could see was the side profile of a sexy man in a navy-blue coat. He was running his hands through his chocolate colored hair and taking a seat at the bar. The women on his side blushed and smiled at him, moving their chairs a little closer. The bartender quickly set down her pen and approached him with flushed cheeks. Then he slowly looked up and smiled, revealing two deep dimples and a perfect, cocky smile that I would know anywhere. What the hell? I blinked a few times, refusing to believe that the man I was staring at—this perfect, sexy as hell man, was the same guy I still hated with a passion from Blue Harbor High. Jace Kennedy? Why the hell are you in New York? I took a step back, hating that I was still turned on by the sight of him all these years later. That he was still capable of making me remember all the times he’d owned my body in the backseat of his truck.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mila raised her eyebrow. “You promised you’d at least try. The guy is hot, right?” He’s always been hot. More than just “hot.” I turned away from her before she could insist that I approach him and re-open old wounds that had yet to completely heal. I made my way through the suits, hoping like hell that Jace hadn’t spotted me. I grabbed my coat from the table and bolted through the side door. The second I was on the street, I peered through the windows to get another look at the bar, but Jace was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was another man, in another blue coat, waving his hand at the bartender. I let out a sigh of relief and turned away. I needed to get home ASAP since the alcohol was making me see things. I pulled out my phone and sent Mila a quick “I’ll make this up to you” text and then I hailed an approaching cab. As the car stopped, a woman opened the back door and stepped out. She fumbled her cup and tripped over the sidewalk, wasting her coffee all over my coat. “Oh my god!” She looked as if she was bracing for me to yell. “I am so sorry, Miss!” “It’s actually quite fine,” I said, sliding into the backseat. It was only fair that a day that started as

a hot-ass mess ended as a hot-ass mess.

THREE Courtney: Present Day Four days later... THE BEST PART ABOUT living on the top floor of a new condo was having access to the executive lounge and hallways all to myself. Unlike the other residents who were forced to share their floors with whoever they were unlucky enough to live next to, I could wander through the hallways and to the lounge in a robe and panties without a single care in the world. For the past four days, I’d done exactly that. In between ordering Chinese every four hours and making “Are you hiring associate lawyers?” calls to every New York City firm, I blasted my music and danced in the open hallways. I sang along terribly to old boy band songs as I watched the tourists brave the ice and snow on the streets below. But this morning, as much as I wanted to start my day with a loud “Fuck You” song, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. My reality was sinking in, and my heart hurt too much at the thought of losing my dream job.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I stumbled out of bed and slipped into the shower. I let the scalding hot streams fall over me until my skin turned pink, and then I stepped out and tried to find the perfect “Getting Fired” outfit. Anything too bright and colorful and I would come off too weak and bubbly about the occasion. Anything too dark and I would come off too serious. I settled on a light blue dress, black stockings, with my grey pea coat and nude colored heels. I flat-ironed my hair and styled it into a sleek side ponytail. Then I followed Mila’s “natural face” make-up tips by heart. My phone buzzed on the counter as I made a quick cup of coffee. My boss’s secretary. SUBJECT: OFFICE KEYS. Miss Ryan, Mr. Walton wants you to bring both sets of your office keys—the originals and the spares, into your meeting with him today. Okay? Thank you, Michelle I DIDN’T BOTHER RESPONDING. I grabbed the spare set of keys from my kitchen drawer, picked up my briefcase, and took the elevator downstairs.

Not wanting to wait in the cold for a cab, I rode the subway to the firm. I made a mental note to stop by three firms on the way back and drop off my resume. When I finally arrived at Walton & Associates, I took a few minutes to stare at the place I’d had bookmarked in my dream journal since my freshman year of college. A white marble building, it featured two sculptures of legal scales at the top of its steps, and right inside its front doors was an incomparable, elegant courtroom we used for mock trials. Walking inside, I avoided the looks from my colleagues and didn’t bother going to my office to wait out the remaining half-hour before my firing. There was no point in boxing up anything since Mr. Walton always had his team hand deliver everything except the furniture to the employee’s house by the middle of the afternoon. “Good morning, Miss Ryan!” His secretary called to me as I walked to his side of the firm. “You’re early for your meeting. Anxious?” “Not really.” She held up her hand. “He’s finishing up with someone, so you can wait over there in the parlor area.” I started to step away, but the double doors to his office opened and one of the top junior lawyers

stepped out. Loosening his tie, he set his keys on the secretary’s desk and sighed. “It was nice getting to know you, Michelle,” he said. “I wish you all the best.” Then he looked at me. “Best of luck to you as well, Courtney.” “He fired you?” I whispered. He didn’t get a chance to answer. Michelle stood up and motioned for me to move. “No need to wait anymore, Miss Ryan,” she said. “You can go inside now.” I hesitated a few seconds before entering his office, and Mr. Walton immediately looked up from his desk. “Good morning, Miss Ryan,” he said, his face stoic. “Have a seat, please.” I obliged and held my briefcase in my lap. “Do you have the keys to your office for me?” “Yes.” I pulled them from my pocket, setting them on his desk. “Thank you.” He stood from his chair and began pacing the room. “Do you have any idea why I hired you, Miss Ryan?” “I was only late to court one time.” “What?” I cleared my throat. “Um, no, Mr. Walton. I have no idea why you hired me.” “It’s because I thought that as a number one graduate from Harvard Law School and one of the most promising editors of the Harvard Law Review

that you would fit in here,” he said. “And you did. At first.” He stopped walking and looked at me. “You’ve earned raved reviews from your peers and superiors, handled your first few cases with ease, and I’ve noticed that you’re often the last one to leave the building. You work harder than all of your peers, and I’m impressed with your work ethic.” My fingers clutched the handle of my briefcase in anticipation of hearing him say, “But...” “You see, you remind me of someone else I hired long ago, Miss Ryan,” he said. “Someone I failed greatly. I accepted good, when I should’ve pushed for better, and I allowed her to become a great lawyer when she could’ve become a phenomenal lawyer. So, unfortunately, I have to—” “I’m not going to let you fire me, Mr. Walton.” The words rushed out of my mouth before I could think them through, and within seconds I was standing to my feet. “You said it yourself. I’m always the last one to leave the building, and I work hard. Really, really hard. So, if you think for one second that I won’t file a complaint with HR over you letting me go because I was late one time —one goddamn time, in court, you are sadly mistaken. And if I have to, and this would totally hurt me because I admire you as a person, I will sue you. Sue. You.” He blinked. “What the hell are you talking about, Miss Ryan?”

“I know what this is, Mr. Walton, so you don’t have to give me the rest of the speech. It’s a Friday, and you just fired that junior lawyer. I can see the writing on the wall.” I paused. “I just don’t understand why you always jump to firing people on a first offense. Whatever happened to written reprimands or warnings first?” He blinked again, and his lips curved into a small smile. “Miss Ryan, contrary to whatever is going on in your mind right now, I am not firing you today. Far from it actually. Although I am quite amused that you think you’d be able to successfully sue me in an at-will state if I was, though.” I felt my cheeks burning, and I wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m promoting you to the junior-lawyer level of my firm, Miss Ryan,” he said. “That’s why I asked you to bring your keys.” He pulled a new set of keys from his pocket and placed them next to my old ones. “Your office will be on the other side of the building now, and you’ll have benefits that you didn’t have at the associate level.” “Oh.” “Yes. Oh.” He laughed and leaned against his desk. “I just hired a new senior lawyer who reminds me of my best student.” He pointed to a picture of Liam Henderson—the greatest young lawyer this city had ever known. “I see qualities of him in you as well, and I don’t want you wasting your talent on

cases like the one you were working on Monday. You deserve better than that, and I want you to hone your skills as best you can since I see big things for your future.” I was still unsure of what to say next, unsure if I should apologize for threatening to sue my boss right in front of his face. “I’ve taken the liberty of pairing you with this new senior lawyer,” he said, walking behind his desk. “You’re going to work with him on his first case and if all goes well—meaning, if he gives me a good report of your work, I’ll let you be the first chair on one of my Madison class lawsuits.” “Really?” My jaw dropped. “Really.” He picked up his desk phone. “Send him in, Michelle.” “Thank you so much for this opportunity, Mr. Walton,” I said, my mind was now officially blown. “I apologize for threatening to sue you, and I promise that I will give you nothing but my best over the next few—” My sentence died on my lips the second the door opened, the second the sexyass man I thought I saw several nights ago actually stepped into the room. “Miss Ryan, I would like you to meet Jace Kennedy,” Mr. Walton said. “Jace Kennedy, this is the promising associate lawyer I was telling you about, Courtney Ryan.”

Jace’s lips parted as he looked me up and down. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ryan.” He extended his hand, but I didn’t take it. “Miss Ryan?” Mr. Walton stepped over to us. “Mr. Kennedy is trying to shake your hand.” “My apologies.” I forced a smile and shook it. “I’m just so overwhelmed with everything, you know?” “Oh, of course!” He looked at Jace. “Ten minutes ago she thought I was calling her in here to fire her.” Now, I really wish you would’ve. “Jace graduated from college two years early, and he graduated from the law program at Yale at the top of his class while working three jobs. How amazing is that? I never knew someone could handle all that pressure.” “I never knew he could read...” I muttered under my breath, but then I cleared my throat. “You sound like you’ve had an amazing career, Mr. Kennedy. I look forward to working with you.” He looked me up and down with his piercing blue eyes, but he didn’t utter a word. “If you two will excuse me for a few minutes,” Mr. Walton said. “I need to get you a copy of the case files from my library.” He left the room without another word, and the two of us stood staring at each other.

Up close, Jace’s gaze was ten times sexier than I remembered from high school, and all these years had hardened his chiseled jawline and sculpted mouth. “So, you're going to act like you don’t already know me?" he asked. “I don't,” I stepped back, shrugging. “I have no idea who you are." He smirked. “Would you like a reminder?” “Mr. Kennedy, with all due respect, if you were a memorable person from my past, I wouldn’t need a reminder.” “You don’t remember anything about the back of my pick-up truck?” His eyes were on mine, and images of our former nights spent rolling around in the back of his truck were suddenly flashing through my mind. His rough hands gripping my waist, his mouth claiming mine, his tongue whispering promises against my naïve lips. “No.” I lied, my voice cracking. “I don’t remember that.” “I think you do. I’d be more than happy to help you remember if you’d like,” he said, his voice low and his body close. I jerked back before my body could give in, hating that he was having such an effect on me. “Something wrong, Miss Ryan?” Mr. Walton returned to the room with a box. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“No.” I shook my head and gave him a fake smile. “I just realized that Jace and I went to high school together.” “We did a lot of things together.” Jace’s voice was too low for Mr. Walton to hear. “Oh! Well, look at that. What a small world!” “Too small,” I muttered, looking away from him. “Michelle’s going to bring us some coffee, so you two have a seat. I want to walk you through what’s on the line with this class-action case before I let it go.” He pulled out a chair for me. “Miss Ryan has promised to give you her best, Mr. Kennedy, so don’t accept anything less.” “Trust me.” His eyes met mine. “I won’t.” THREE AWKWARD-ASS HOURS later, Mr. Walton finally put me out of my misery and ended the meeting with Jace. Walking me down the junior wing of the firm, he opened the door to a small office in the corner. “I figured you’d want to be closer to the library and our new café since you’re always here so late,” he said, placing the keys into my hand. “Do you have any last-minute questions for me?” “Yes, actually.” I set my briefcase on the desk. “You mentioned that I’ll have different benefits at this level. What type?”

“Oh, of course.” He rubbed his chin. “Well, for starters, you’ll have town car access, so if you’d like to be driven to work instead of taking a cab or the subway, that’s now an option.” I smiled. “Your salary, of course, will be moved to the next tier—effective immediately, and you’ll have access to the junior-associate lounge that my firm owns in the basement of your building. Oh, and if you’d like, you can put in bids for any of the vacation timeshare properties we own.” “Thank you, Mr. Walton.” “You earned it.” He wished me luck and walked away. I ran my fingers against the smooth mahogany of my brand-new desk and relaxed in the leather chair. I started to lean back when Jace walked into the hallway, when he stopped at the door right across from mine and unlocked the door. You’ve got to be kidding me... He looked over his shoulder at me and smiled. “Do you prefer to get reacquainted on my desk or yours?” I stared at him, taking in that familiar blue-eyed gaze that once left me breathless. Then I stood to my feet and walked to the door, slamming it right in his face.

We didn’t have to work on phase one of our case until next week, and until then, I was spending my nights at Mila’s place. I needed a few days to vent and drink. I also needed some time to convince myself that I could handle seeing Jace all these years later, as long as we only had to see each other at the firm. I can definitely handle seeing him as long as it’s just at work...

E.N.E.M.Y. E is for ENEMY (It also stands for enormous ego, which is something Jace Kennedy has always had. Okay, wait. I’m getting ahead of myself...) Courtney: Back Then “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA how much goddamn trouble you’re in? Do you, boy?” I hear my principal, Mr. Thompson, railing against someone through his closed door and I can only hope that he’ll go easier on me. I’ve never been summoned here before, so I’m not sure what to expect. Then again, last night was the first time I’ve been arrested, and instead of the cops hauling me off to jail, they dropped me off at my parents’ house. The look on my mom’s face when she opened the door is still kind of fuzzy, but I’m pretty sure she thought they were dropping off some foreign object. My dad’s first words, however—“What the fuck were you thinking?” are far clearer.

Breathe, Courtney. Breathe. “I’m disappointed in you, son,” Mr. Thompson says. “Utterly disappointed.” The door to the office suddenly swings open and a senior guy I’ve seen around a few times before walks out. Hands-down the most attractive guy at Blue Harbor High, his name is Jace Kennedy. Always dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that clings to his muscles, he drives a black pick-up truck that he parks across two spots in the student lot. It pains me to admit it, but he’s capable of leaving most girls speechless with a single glance in their direction or a smile. He also has the most stunning blue eyes I’ve ever seen. His irises are a deep-sea blue with specks of stormy grey. Running his hands through his dark brown hair, he steps in front of me. Then he raises his eyebrow and smirks. “See something you like?” “Never.” I roll my eyes and start to turn away from him, but I can’t help but notice that he stares at me for a while before leaving the office. “Miss Ryan?” The principal calls my name. “You can come in now.” I take a deep breath and stand to my feet. I make my way to his office and look around before taking a seat. It doesn’t look as prison-esque as I was expecting. The walls are bright blue, and white bookshelves align the walls. There’s also a huge

smiley face poster tacked to the window behind the desk. It reads: “Sometimes a smile makes everything okay!” I tuck that advice into the back of my mind just in case he starts to yell at me, and then I sit down in front of Mr. Thompson’s desk. “Well, well, well,” Mr. Thompson says finally, running his hands through his salt and pepper colored hair. “Christina Courtney Ryan.” “It’s Courtney Christina Ryan, sir,” I say. “My mom never got my official birth certificate changed, but all my friends here know it’s Courtney Christina. Besides, the other way sounds really weird if you think about it, but now that you’ve said it that way—” “Stop talking.” He cuts me off. “Now.” I lean back and feel my heart racing against my chest. “Now, before we get to why you’re here, I’ll have you know that I asked around about you, Miss Ryan. All of your teachers and even your debate team coach had nothing but kind things to say about you. Half of them couldn’t even believe that you would ever get into any trouble.” I look down at my hands. I’m still having a hard time processing this myself. “Nonetheless,” he says, his voice is still firm. “Rules are rules. I’m going to ask you some

questions, Miss Ryan. Your degree of honesty will determine the degree of punishment. Understood?” “Understood.” “Whose plan was it to break into the school pool after hours?” My best friend, Genevieve. “Mine, sir.” “Whose idea was it to bring the beer, weed, and alcohol?” Genevieve’s boyfriend. “Mine, sir.” “And how did you, a seventeen-year-old junior, get access to these things?” “I have some friends at Blue Harbor University, sir.” “Hmph.” He shakes his head. “Some friends. Then again, maybe I should be commending you for being a good friend since you’re the only one here taking the blame for this and acting as if you did this alone.” “I did sir.” I swallow my lie. “It was my idea.” He slides a sheet of paper across the desk. It’s a medical report about my “friend” Brynn Michaels, a guy I’d never met until last night. “The medics said his system was two shots away from needing his stomach pumped, so thank God you called 9-11 when you did.” I sigh and avoid looking directly at the paper. I’m trying to block as many of last night’s memories from replaying in my mind for as long as I can.

“They assumed that he drank anywhere between eight beers and six shots,” Mr. Thompson said. “Would that be correct?” Ten shots. Six beers. “That sounds about right, sir.” “Well, that’s quite interesting. When they gave you a Breathalyzer, your alcohol level was clear. Why is that?” “I don’t drink, Mr. Thompson.” “Good.” He narrows his eyes at me. “So, if you weren’t drinking and your friend Brynn only had eight beers that night, why were there over fifty empty beer cans around the pool, Miss Ryan? Why were there tons of empty jello-shot containers and cigarette butts?” I don’t answer. I know the truth is written all over my face, but I’ve promised my best friend that I would cover for her. That I would take whatever is coming so she won’t be punished twice in the same school year. “I see.” Mr. Thompson shakes his head. “Well, I’m disappointed in you, Miss Ryan. Given your stellar grades and your excellent track record with our debate team, I would’ve thought that you would be completely honest with me. That’s what a real aspiring lawyer would do.” No, that’s what a real snitch would do... “Since the police found fifty beer cans and twenty-two jello shots, you’ll spend seventy-two

days in after-school detention, and you’ll complete every Saturday service with the janitorial staff here in the mornings until you decide to tell me the truth.” He scribbles a few words onto a green pad. “You’re assigned to Detention Group D, and you’ll need to report to Room 221 every afternoon at three thirty. No exceptions.” “What about my debate team practices?” “You’re more than welcome to attend all of your debate practices in their entirety, Miss Ryan.” He stops writing and glances up, giving me a look of sympathy. “Just tell me the name of every person who was here with you that night.” “I already told you.” I sigh. “It was just me...And Brynn.” “Um hmmm.” He rips the sheet off the pad and hands it to me. “Room 221. Three-thirty. Enjoy.” I take the paper from his hand and stand to my feet. I leave his office without another word and walk to my locker. “So, what was the sentence?” My best friend, Genevieve, is suddenly next to me. There’s a look of worry etched on her face. “Remember, if he threatened you with a suspension or expulsion, you were supposed to give the guys and me up. No exceptions.” “He didn’t threaten me with either of those.” “Oh?” She hands me a bottle of my favorite tea. “What did he give you?”

“Detention every afternoon, and on Saturdays,” I say, sighing. “Can you do me a favor?” “Anything.” I pull my yellow notebook from my locker. “Can you drop by my debate practices after your cheerleading practices every day and write down whatever topics are on the left side of the board? I’m going to talk to my coach tomorrow morning, but I think he’ll let me stay on the team if I make up for my studying by doing the topic research after hours.” “Of course,” she says. “Wait. You have to start detention now?” I glance at my watch. “Yeah. It’s three fifteen.” She hugs me. “I’m sorry. I can’t thank you enough for taking the fall for me. I’ll find a way to pay you back.” “I know.” I smile and pull the pack of Twizzlers that’s sticking out from her purse. “I’ll call you later tonight.” I walk down the hall—toward the part of Blue Harbor’s campus I’ve never needed to go to, the part where all the detentions and behavioral counseling classrooms are. (It’s also, according to the rumors, where all the guidance counselors secretly smoke weed after school.) 218, 219, 220, 221... Letting out a breath, I twist the doorknob and open the door—revealing an empty classroom. The only words on the whiteboard are:

3:30-6:30 Detention Hours Group D I take a seat in the back, right near the windows —watching other students talk and laugh in the parking lot. “Is your last name Ryan?” A man in a tracksuit opens the door, making me look over. “Yes, sir.” “Okay, good.” He bites into a donut. “Don’t leave this room until six thirty. Don’t even try. Me and the other detention leaders are in the hallway, so we’ll see you if you do.” “What if I have to pee?” “Do you have to pee?” “Not right now.” “Okay, well when you do, we’ll talk about it.” He takes another bite of his donut and steps out of the room. Confused, I pull out my notebook and start to write a list. Things I Need to Bring to Survive Weeks in Detention: 1. Music Player 2. Headphones 3. Books 4. Donuts (For Bribes Maybe?) 5. ???

As I’m thinking of number five, the classroom door opens again, and Jace Kennedy walks into the room. His eyes meet mine and he stops, looking as if he can’t believe that I’ve been subjected to criminal punishment. A smile slowly crosses his lips and he steps closer. I look around at all the rows of empty seats— hoping he’ll get the hint, but he doesn’t. He plops down on the desk right next to me. “Seriously?” I say. “Out of all the empty seats in this room?” I don’t give him a chance to respond to that. I grab my folder and move to a front row I can enjoy myself. I return to making my list—deciding that a collection of “PLEASE DO NOT SIT HERE” signs will be a good thing to start making tonight. “I didn’t catch your name,” Jace says, sitting next to me again. “I’m Jace Kennedy.” “Do you know the rules of personal space, Jace Kennedy?” I ask, hating that his smile is making me blush against my will. “Like, if you’re not friends with someone, it’s rude to just impose your presence upon them.” “Why do I hardly ever see you around this school?” “Probably because before today, I wasn’t a criminal like you.” He smiles. “Are you a senior, too?”

“No, I’m a –” I stop myself. “You’re bypassing the conversation about personal space.” “I am.” I open my mouth to say something else, but The Donut Man walks into the room and slams the door shut. “Now, listen up.” He walks to the whiteboard and then he looks at us. “Wait, there’s only two of you for D-level detention this year? Wow. You must have done something beyond stupid for Mr. Thompson to insist on sending you here this early in the school year.” He picks up a blue marker and writes our names on the board, circling them for effect. “So, I’m technically supposed to make you write three, fiveparagraph essays every day about new life lesson topics. Then I’m supposed to sit here and listen to you read them, but look.” He lowers his voice. “I don’t get paid enough for that. If you don’t tell, I won’t tell. Clear?” We both nod. “Good,” he says. “Now, every now and then, I will need you to help me with a few things in the athletic department, but most of the time I won’t. So, be sure to bring your books and stay in the room until I come and dismiss you at six thirty.” He looks at me. “When you have to pee, use the restroom across the hall. I’ll pop in every hour or so to make sure neither of you has gotten any ideas

about leaving early, but until then...” He looks at his watch and walks to the door. “See you in an hour.” When the door closes, Jace turns toward me again. “Since we’re going to be seeing a lot more of each other, what exactly did you do to get in here?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. I blink. “That’s personal. Besides, I’m only obligated to talk about things like that with my friends.” “And I take it that your friends understand the rules about your personal space?” “Yes.” “So, why aren’t your friends in here with you right now?” I try to fire back something sarcastic, but I can’t. He’s pushing his desk so close that it’s touching mine and my heart is flipping in my chest again. I’ve been attracted to plenty of guys at this school before, but not like this. Never like this. Before I can come up with my next line, he pulls the green detention slip from my notebook and holds it away from me. He stares at it for a long time—far longer than necessary to read Mr. Thompson’s messy handwriting. “If you need help reading, I can bring you some remedial aids from my debate club,” I say. “We

have letter blocks, and we even have some in color.” He smiles and sets the paper down. “I have no problems reading, Courtney Ryan. But from the looks of things, you’ve been sentenced to the same amount of days in detention as me. So, contrary to what you’ve previously said, we are definitely going to be friends.”

FOUR Jace: Present Day THERE WAS NO COMPARISON between my old firm in Seattle to New York’s Walton & Associates. Instead of the hushed murmurs and ugly secrets that accompanied clients between meetings, there was an open and honest dialogue about cases the lawyers actually wanted to take. There were no unmarked envelopes stuffed under my door from the mob (yet), and the first large case I’d been assigned to handle was the type of case I went to law school to help fight: Big greedy corporation with endless power tactics versus small group of defenseless clients. The cherry on top of my relocation to New York City, though, was the view from my office. It was utterly impeccable. Every morning, I was treated to the sight of full red lips, mesmerizing green eyes, and the sexiest body I’d ever seen. Unfortunately, those sexy sites belonged to the same woman who ruined an amazing friendship from years ago. I couldn’t deny that time had treated her well, and I left my door open all day just to steal glances of her scowling at me whenever our eyes happened to meet.

It’d been a week since we met in Mr. Walton’s office and she’d gone out of her way to avoid speaking to me. I thought this was going to be a short phase and I was tempted to tell her to get the hell over it—that she was the one who left me. But there was a hint of pain in her eyes whenever we looked at each other, which made me realize that her nonchalant act was just a façade. I was convinced I’d seen her at the bar nights ago—that the sexy woman causing a scene and saying “Hell no! No, no, no!” and rushing out was the same girl who cruelly rejected me years ago, but when I went after her, she was nowhere to be found. Picking up my phone, I dialed the main secretary. “Yes, Mr. Kennedy?” She answered on the first ring. “Did Miss Ryan call in sick today?” “No sir.” “Did she call to say she was going to be late?” “Not that I know of, sir. To my knowledge, she’s been here since seven o’clock.” What? “Thank you.” I ended the call and walked across the hall, knocking on her door. “You can come in!” I twisted the doorknob and pushed it open. The second I stepped inside, she turned around from her bookshelf.

“You can get out.” I smiled, looking at her tight green dress and grey heels. “You are aware that you’re responsible for working with me on this class action lawsuit, correct?” I asked. “And that I’m in charge of reviewing your work?” “I’m perfectly aware of these facts, Mr. Kennedy. Are you aware that I’ve done everything you’ve asked me to do for this case this week?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I’ve completed the pre-opposition research, arranged the interviews, and booked travel for our research-interviews with the clients. Have I missed something?” “What about the summary of our defense if they file a counter-suit?” “I sent that to you yesterday.” She sat at her desk. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have other things I need to do.” “You’re required to work on this case for a minimum of twenty-five hours a week, so you’re going to work on this case for twenty-five hours a week. And you’re also going to stop obstructing my goddamn view. Clear?” “Only if you want us to bill the clients every time we daydream about their case.” She scoffed. “Since I’m a good lawyer who doesn’t falsely bill clients, I’d prefer if I only billed them for actual work. We don’t need to touch anything until next week.”

“If you were a good lawyer, you would know how to stay on top of things.” I dropped a file on her desk. “You would also know that this case is pro-bono, so that billing shit doesn’t apply. Nonetheless, some of our clients are requesting a meeting with us this month, so we’ll need to start preparing for it. How’s tonight sound?” “Today sounds better.” “Okay.” I rolled my eyes, stepping back. “What time would you like to start our meeting so we can get on the same page?” “Two o’clock will work for me, Mr. Kennedy.” “You can call me Jace.” “I’ll leave that for your friends,” she said. “I’ll meet you in the library.” “Fair enough.” I looked her up and down one last time and started to head back across the hall. “Wait,” she said. “Question.” “Yes?” “Do you need me to get the secretary to show you how to operate the automatic blinds in your office so you can stop blaming me for obstructing your view?” “There’s no need for that.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and tapped the Walton Firm app, forcing my blinds to open. “The view I’m referring to is you. So, regardless of the fact that you still hate me, I’d appreciate it if you kept your door open.”

Her jaw dropped and her cheeks turned bright red, but the second I returned to my office, she slammed her door shut.

FIVE Courtney: Present Day THE MASON FAMILY VS. Bryson Power & Water, Co. I tried to keep my eyes focused on the document in front of me—a printout of a detailed timeline of incidents that led up to the case in question: a group of small-town families suing a huge utility company for poisoning their water supply. The families lived two counties outside of Blue Harbor, and they were against coming to New York unless it was necessary, so we needed to make sure that we only took the documents we needed for the first trip. This was the type of case I’d always dreamed of defending—serving up a plate of justice to a greedy corporation that had no regard for human life, but I was pretty sure Jace was never in that dream. He was currently sitting across from me, highlighting his stack of documents and making phone calls every few minutes. Occasionally, he’d get up and make a new pot of coffee for us to share, but we barely said a word outside of “Coffee?” and “Yes” to each other.

The tension between us was just as thick and palpable as it was since the day he walked into Mr. Walton’s office, and every time I looked up at him, my heart betrayed me with a hard and fast rhythm. I still couldn’t believe he went to law school and actually passed, let alone graduated at the top of his class. He told me he wanted to be an actor... Setting down the document, I pulled out my phone and noticed a text message from Mila. MILA: Hey. Did you take my advice about that Jace guy yet?” I rolled my eyes. ME: No. MILA: Why the hell not? ME: Because that was terrible advice. Her name crossed my screen via phone call, and I stood up. “Mr. Kennedy, can you excuse me for a second, please?” I stepped out of the library without waiting for his answer. “Yes, Mila?” I whispered once I stepped into the hallway. “So, why can’t you fuck him?” she asked. “It’s like fate that he’s the guy from the bar, right?” “No, it’s the universe torturing me.” I groaned. “It’s also inappropriate.” “Why? He’s not really your boss, just your supervisor. He’s clearly into you, and you went to high school together, right?” She popped her gum

into my ear. “I showed his picture to all my friends, and they’re convinced he’s way too perfect to be real.” “I used to think that too,” I said softly. “How come you never mentioned him to me before? You’ve mentioned all your other past boyfriends.” “It was high school,” I said. “A kiddie relationship from a long time ago. How’s your Cartier photoshoot going?” “Fabulous! Can you give me three minutes to tell you about this new watch they let me wear?” “Of course.” I listened as she described it to me, feeling slightly guilty for abruptly changing the subject from Jace. The truth was, I’d never told anyone about my first true love. I’d let all the memories of my heartbreak sink to the bottom of my brain— weighted down by “fuck him” chains. I’d let the years go by in hopes that my feelings for him would never resurface and that we would never cross paths again. “Hey Court?” Mila’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “The photographer’s back. I’ll call you later!” “Okay, bye.” I ended the call and returned to the room. I noticed that Jace had put away all the files. “What are you doing?”

“Calling it a night,” he said. “We can pick things up tomorrow morning.” “For a so-called good lawyer, you sure seem averse to pulling a necessary all-nighter.” He smirked. “It’s eleven o’clock.” “What’s your point?” I shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t leave here until three. “And you still get in at seven in the morning?” “I do.” Looking impressed, he picked up his briefcase. “I’m willing to work on this some more with you tonight, but I need a change of scenery. I can’t take the lights in here anymore.” “I’m not going to your place.” “I didn’t say anything about my place,” he said. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, it’s actually quite convenient.” “I don’t think so,” I said, picking up my coat. “We can go to my place. There’s an executive lounge on my floor we can use.” “Fair enough. I’ll get my car keys from my office, and I’ll drive.” “No, I was um—” I blushed. “We don’t have the best track record when it comes to sharing car rides, from what I remember.” “I’m shocked you remember anything at all.” He smirked. “But, look. There’s no point in us taking two separate ways to get there. That’s a waste of our time. This is strictly professional,

Courtney. I want to win this case, and I can assure you that I’ll leave as soon as we’re done working.” He looked genuine. “Meet you in the parking garage?” “Okay.” TEN MINUTES LATER, I sat in the passenger seat of Jace’s Jaguar—trying to avoid looking over at him. The sexy scent of his cologne was turning me on, and I could feel him staring at me at every red light. “You’re really going to make me wait until we get to Manhattan to give me your address?” he asked. “I want to be sure there’s as little chance as possible that you’ll remember it in the morning. He let out a low laugh and turned on the windshield wipers. Years ago, in high school, he would entwine his hands in mine behind the gear shift and make up some bullshit story about how scientists had it all wrong about how snow came to be. He would tell it with a dead-ass serious face and remind me exactly why he was receiving a C plus in Science. “What’s so funny?” he asked, turning down the radio. “Nothing.” I cleared my throat. “Are you missing Seattle yet?”

“Not in the slightest.” “There was nothing about it you liked?” He didn’t answer. He kept driving. “Mr. Walton must’ve really been impressed with you to let you have a car near his office without a probationary period. What was your winloss record in Seattle?’ His lips curved into a smile and he glanced over at me. “You and I both know that you looked me up the second you realized I’d be working at your firm.” “No, we both know your ego is still out of this goddamn world after all these years.” I refused to give him the satisfaction of being right, and I also refused to believe that all the things I’d read about him were true. “I’ve never lost a case in my career,” he said. “And I don’t plan on losing this one.” “Good to know.” “What’s your address?” “220 Park Avenue.” “The Hamilton?” “Yeah,” I said. “It’s a pretty amazing place.” “Interesting.” We rode the rest of the way in silence and when we arrived at the parking garage, I pulled my guest pass out of my wallet. “Here,” I said, handing it to him. “You’ll need to put this on your dashboard or security will have

you towed away. You’re welcome.” He let out a low laugh. “Thank you.” He pulled into a spot near the front and I led him through the lobby. There was a crowd of people waiting to take the set of elevators, so I motioned for him to follow me down another hallway. “Do you live on this floor?” he asked. “No,” I said. “Mr. Walton installed a separate elevator for the higher floors when he bought this place years ago. Maybe one day, if you get back on my good side, I’ll give you a tour.” He smiled, but he didn’t say anything else. We rode up to my floor—number twenty-two, and I led him to the executive lounge. “So, you live on this floor?” He looked confused. “Were you living here last week?” “I’ve been living here for quite a while.” I took off my coat and draped it over a chair. “No, you’re not welcome to come back whenever you like.” He laughed and took a seat. “I’ll set up the files.” “I’ll get us some cups for the coffee.” I left and unlocked my apartment, changing into a pair of flats and sweatpants. When I returned to the lounge, he was sitting near the windows, reading over the utility company emails.

He looked me up and down as I approached with a cup of coffee, and I expected him to say something inappropriate, but he didn’t. He handed me the file I’d been reading at the office, and returned to reading. For hours, the two of us sat without saying a word to each other. I was highlighting a few lines from the CEO’s emails when I heard Jace clearing his throat. “Yes, Mr. Kennedy?” I looked up. “Is Taylor Swift your morning alarm music?” “Yes.” I set my paper down. “Why?” “Just guessing. I shouldn’t be surprised that you still don’t know what good music is.” “You never did.” I rolled my eyes and closed the file. “I guess we’ll pick this back up tomorrow. I can walk you out if you like.” “I would.” He put his files away and stood up. I left the room and walked to the elevator, but he didn’t follow me. Instead, he stood in the hallway as if he were expecting an invitation to stay the night. “You promised that you were going to keep things professional.” I hit the down button. “I am keeping them professional.” “So, allow me to walk you to the lobby,” I said. “Or else, I’ll be forced to call security.” He smirked. “And say what?”

“That someone who does not live here is trying to stay the night.” The elevator doors sprung open, and I motioned for him to step onto the cart. “I also need my parking pass back.” “Hmmm.” He walked to the apartment door that was next to mine and pulled out a set of keys, smirking as he unlocked it, then he pushed it open. “Tell you what, I’ll let you have my parking pass, and we’ll call it even. How about that?” I felt all color leaving my face, my jaw dropping to the floor. “You knew I lived next door to you the entire time?” “No,” he said, still smirking. “I just realized it tonight. But now that I know, there’s no reason for us not to get reacquainted. I’m available whenever you want.” I didn’t say anything. I was still in too much shock. I resorted to my usual tactic. Get the hell out of dodge, i.e., rushing to my apartment and shutting the door. WHAT. THE. FUCK?

SIX Courtney: Present Day THE NEXT MORNING, I turned off my alarm an hour before Taylor Swift’s “Style” could start. I’d been on edge all night—tossing and turning every few minutes with the knowledge that Jace was sleeping right next door. I’d racked my brain to see when he could’ve moved in and realized it must’ve been the weekend I was at Mila’s. I realized that the fact that we never ran into each other in the hallways or the lobby during the past week was probably due to my super early mornings and super late nights. Sighing, I tossed the covers off my body and slipped into the shower. I let the water sting my skin until it was red and raw—until I couldn’t take the stifling steam in the room anymore. I wrapped myself in a robe and made a cup of coffee—deciding to start my day in a way I never usually did. Checking work emails. The second I read the top unread subjects in my inbox, I remembered exactly why I never looked at them until I made it to the office. SUBJECT: Is Mr. Kennedy Single?

Subject: So... Can You Do Me a Favor? (Hint: It’s About Mr. Kennedy.) Subject: Are you Fucking Mr. Kennedy? (Saw You Leaving Late Together Last Night O_o ) UGH. I continued scrolling down—only clicking on the ones that actually pertained to work, and stopped at one that was from an ex-boyfriend. SUBJECT: HEY YOU. Hey Court, Hope all is well. I’m missing you. Hoping we can try “us” sometime soon again? Call me, Will PS—If you don’t want to try “us” again...Maybe we can be fuck buddies? *wink wink* I SET MY PHONE DOWN and groaned. I was starting to feel like the universe was playing a wicked trick on me, that this was karma for something I’d done in the past. Wait...What the hell have I done in the past to deserve this?

Will and I hadn’t been “together” since I was in law school, and even when we were, our time together was far from being worthy of a second chance. I could still remember faking it whenever we had sex—feeling like I had to brush up on my porn-watching on weekends to make sure my moans were believable. I could still remember him cheating on me with my roommate a week after my birthday and blaming it on being “just shit-faced drunk babe.” The break-up was a welcome relief, though. Just like every other break-up I’d experienced before. Every kiss from every boyfriend felt fake— never natural like it was with Jace. No matter how hard I tried to convince myself that our high school affair was “young infatuation” or an “intensified crush,” no man I’d met over the past ten years made me feel anything close to what Jace once made me feel. Jace’s mouth still looked as if it was made for kissing me, and I knew—all these years later, that his piercing blue eyes could see right through mine. As I was debating whether I should block Will from emailing me again, I heard music coming through the walls. Then I heard the sound of the water pipes slightly rattling as the shower next door came to life. So, now he’s going to get up for work two hours early, too? Shit.

I rushed to my bedroom and started to get ready. I didn’t want to see him until work. I needed a couple more hours to think about how I was going to handle living next door to him. I snapped on a bra, pulled on a dress, and slipped into my heels. Grabbing my briefcase and my coat, I downed the rest of my coffee before heading straight for the elevator. I hit the “door close” button repeatedly and just as they were shutting, Jace stuck his briefcase through. Then he stepped onto the cart. He was dressed in an impeccable grey suit— looking even sexier than he did in my dream from the other night. “Good morning, Courtney.” He stepped in front of me, glaring. “Good morning, Mr. Kennedy. I’m surprised you’re up this early.” “You shouldn’t be.” He stepped even closer, closing the gap between us. “Especially since someone called the building manager last night and filed a complaint about me.” “Oh?” “Yes.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Oh. This person claimed she thought that there was a strange, marijuana smell, so they told me I needed to be out early. Something about needing to

investigate the matter and make sure I wasn’t breaking my contract.” “Oh, wow,” I said dryly. “I had no idea you smoked weed. That’s such an awful habit. But, if you’re going to continue to do that, maybe you should just request to move to another floor.” “Do you want to start this game with me, Courtney? I can guarantee you’ll lose.” “Wouldn’t be the first time.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means I’m sure you’ll go out of your way to make sure I feel like shit in the end, just like you did ten years ago.” “You’re remembering things completely different from how they happened.” “No.” I swallowed. “I’ve always had the better memory between us. That’s why I’ll never forgive you.” “There’s nothing to forgive. But for the record —childish games or not, I’m not moving out.” “We’ll see.” The elevators stopped at the lobby, and he stepped off first. Then he looked me up and down. “Are you not wearing panties under your dress on purpose?” he asked, smirking. “I think it’ll definitely enhance my view of you at the office, but if not, you may want to change before you start a so-called war with me. I would hate for you to be unprepared.”

Embarrassed, I hit twenty-two, and the doors closed again.

SEVEN Jace: Present Day I CARRIED A STACK OF case files to the elevator early Saturday morning and hit the button for the parking garage. I was hoping the office wouldn’t be too busy today so I could study in peace. One of the major downsides of working at a good firm was that the lawyers actually enjoyed their work enough to want to show up on the weekends. When the elevator doors opened, I pressed my key—waiting to hear the sound of my Jaguar roaring to life, but I heard nothing. I tapped the key again—waiting. Nothing. Confused, I walked to where I’d parked the car last night and there was nothing there but an empty space. What the fuck? “Are you looking for something, sir?” A parking attendant in a white tuxedo walked up to me. “I’m looking for my goddamn car. It was right here last night.” “Um, okay.” He pulled a small device from his pocket. “Was it like a Honda or a Toyota or something?”

“It’s a fucking Jaguar. It’s black with an interior custom design, and the license plate says JACE.” “Oh, dude!” He smiled. “I remember that car from this morning. Me and the tow truck driver were really impressed with what you did to the interior.” “Why the hell was it towed if I’m a resident?” “Because resident or not, you parked in a spot that didn’t belong to you past the allotted time,” he said. “It’s usually not that big of a deal, but if someone complains we have to enforce the rules.” “Who complained?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer to this shit. “I can’t tell you that sir.” “Who the fuck complained?” “It was the woman on the twenty-second floor.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket. “Here’s the number you’ll need to call to get your car back.” Annoyed, I took the card from him and sent a text to the firm’s executive car service. The car arrived at the condo’s lobby and I slipped into the backseat, sending Courtney a text. ME: I don’t appreciate you fucking with my Jaguar. Her response was immediate. COURTNEY: I don’t appreciate you living in my building. (You have a base salary of 200k. You can afford to move out.)

ME: I’m going to pay you back for this shit. (My base salary is 500k. Now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ll consider buying your unit.)

A few days later... “MR. KENNEDY, CAN YOU sign off on these packages, please?” The main secretary stepped into my office. “You ordered a batch of historical newspapers from The New York Times, a statistical report from the state water department and—” She paused, lowering her voice. “Something personal I’d rather not say aloud.” “Are you referring to the 1970s love-fest movies?” I rolled my eyes. ‘They’re for the case. The utility company purchased the movie set even though they were warned that it was low quality. You can see how awful the water is in some of the scenes.” “No, sir.” She cleared her throat. “I’m referring to the Viagra you’ve had sent here. It looks like it was supposed to be sent to your address at The Hamilton, but it was forwarded here somehow.” I looked over at my “view” for the day—seeing Courtney’s sexy, devious smile that made me want to bend her over my desk. She was laughing at this exchange, enjoying the stunned looks from some of the associates in my office. “Oh, that’s right,” I said. “I forgot I ordered these. Miss Ryan was telling me how her impotent boyfriend was having problems and couldn’t afford

the prescription, so I went out on a limb. You can walk those right across the hall.” Courtney’s face immediately fell, and she scowled at me. “One last thing,” the secretary said. “I um, tried to pick up your dry cleaning, but they can’t seem to find your suits.” “What do you mean they can’t find my suits?” “That’s just what they said when I went to pick them up. They can’t find them. They’re going to search their warehouse top to bottom and get back to you. Worst case scenario, they’ll cover the cost of each one, up to two hundred dollars.” Each one of my suits is worth at least twothousand dollars. “Thank you very much,” I said, watching Courtney smile at her “victory” all over again. You have no idea who you’re fucking with, Courtney Ryan...

A few MORE days later... ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, I woke up to the sound of construction right outside my hallway. My first assumption was that it was Courtney, but I’d heard her blasting her usual Taylor Swift music an hour ago and I knew she’d left the building. Annoyed, I stepped out and saw that the building manager was installing a new type of piping system. “Sorry to wake you up, Mr. Kennedy.” He smiled. “Well, did I wake you up, or were you in there smoking marijuana again?” “I don’t fucking smoke.” He laughed. “I know. I won’t ever check again. I just always check on the first offense.” “Are you responding to another complaint from my neighbor?” “Quite the contrary,” he said. “I’m installing some new water features for the hallways on this floor and the floor above you. It’s going to affect your hot water for a few weeks, but that’s it.” “How so?” “Well, the water features are going to be temporarily connected to the same heating tube that you and your neighbor use, so you’ll need to be cautious with how much time you spend in the shower, especially since you both work mornings.

I’d say ten-minute showers for the next few weeks. If either of you goes over that, your neighbor is going to be in for one hell of an ice bath.” “Good to know. I’ll be sure to share this information.” I returned to my apartment, debating whether I should be the bigger person and put an end to Courtney’s nonsense. I was about to text her and ask if we could talk, but Mr. Walton’s name suddenly came across my screen. “Yes, Mr. Walton?” “Hi, Mr. Kennedy. I’m calling because I’m wondering how much longer you want us to wait before starting today’s emergency meeting.” “Today’s what?” “Today’s emergency meeting,” he repeated. “We’ve been at the firm for over an hour and Miss Ryan said she knocked on your door for over twenty minutes this morning. So, I wanted to be sure you were alright and on your way.” “I’m on my way.” I clenched my jaw. “I’ll be there in twenty.” This is fucking war.

SEVEN, AGAIN Courtney: Present Day I SLIPPED INTO MY APARTMENT at two o’clock in the morning—utterly drained from all the interviews I’d had to record today. My back was aching and my eyes were sore from staring at the screens for so long. Quickly changing into my pajamas—a pink set of flannels, I fell face first onto my bed and thought about the one great thing that had happened today: Seeing the look on Jace’s face when his drycleaning company still hadn’t found his suits. (They were all tucked in my closet.) Laughing, I rolled over and shut my eyes. Just as I was about to drift to sleep, there was a loud banging noise on my door. And before I could even process who the hell would be banging on my door at this hour, a group of firefighters walked inside. “Ma’am, are you breathing?” One of them walked over to me, yelling. “Ma’am, are you breathing?” “Yes...” I rolled over and sat up. “What’s going on?” “Ma’am we need you to exit the apartment. You need to take the closest stairwell down to the

lobby. Do not stop and collect anything, just go.” “What?” I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. “What’s happening?” “Your neighbor reported a gas leak, ma’am.” He grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet, ushering me out of my apartment. “We can’t afford to take any chances. Out.” “There is no gas leak.” I was so tired I could cry. “My neighbor’s trying to get back at me. There. Is. No. Gas. Leak.” “Your neighbor is concerned about you.” He motioned to one of the other firefighters. “Tommy, carry her out of here.” I bit my tongue the entire way down twentytwo flights of steps. When we reached the lobby, Jace was sitting at a table with a hot cup of coffee, smirking at me. “Something wrong, Miss Ryan?” He smiled. “It’s quite late for you to be wandering around in your pajamas.” I started to fire back, but then I noticed something. There were no other residents downstairs, there was no fire truck parked right outside, and the tell-tale alarms were silent. How is that even possible? A “firefighter” walked past me and right over to Jace, and I noticed his suit wasn’t even real. Then I noticed Jace slipping him a hundred-dollar bill.

“You son of a bitch...” I cursed under my breath, but Jace definitely heard me. He stood up and had the audacity to wink at me. “Remember, you started this shit. I’m going to finish it.” We’ll see about that. Several days later... I WOKE UP SUPER EARLY so I could beat Jace to the firm. Lately, he’d been insistent on arriving there first, and I knew it was just so he could stare at me as I walked into my office. Stepping into the shower, I turned on the water and screamed. “What the hell!” I jumped out of the tub like a wet kitten and wrapped myself in a towel. Putting on my “good neighbor” face, I walked over to Jace’s apartment and knocked on the door. To my surprise, he opened the door within seconds. “Yes?” He stared at my towel as it dripped water onto the floor. “May I help you with something, neighbor?” “Is your hot water out, too?” “No.” He shook his head and smiled. “My hot water is just fine.” “Are you sure? Because I just tried to use it and it’s ice-cold.”

“Well, that’s probably because I’ve purposely used all of it, all day, every day, but...” He shrugged. “Then again, it could be something else.” “You did what?” He opened his door a little wider, giving me a glimpse of his kitchen faucet where a steady light stream of water was dripping into the sink. “It’s only going to be like this for a few more weeks while they fix the water features in the hallway. If you’d like, you can drop your towel and I’ll tell you whether someone would notice if you took a shower or not today.” I screamed again and stormed back to my apartment. I quickly dressed and called the town car service. I made sure I had everything I needed and rushed down to the lobby. I can use Mila’s apartment to shower and then I need to get his ass back for this... The driver helped me inside the car and sped across town to Walton & Associates. The second I made it to my office, I hit the lights and prepared to slam the door—ready to block his “view” for the rest of the week, but the door was gone. My. Door. Was. Gone. “Looking for something, Miss Ryan?” Jace was already at his desk, smiling. How the hell did you beat me here? “Yes,” I said. “It seems as if someone has misplaced my door.”

“Oh, well that’s an odd thing to lose, don’t you think?” He stood up and walked over to my office, waving his hand in the space where my door used to be. “Perhaps you should file a police report. Maybe the same person who stole your door, stole my suits. Theft seems to be a thing around this firm.” He smiled his cocky grin and returned to his seat, staring at me—daring me to make my next move.

A whole week later... Do not engage. Do not engage. Do NOT engage. I was in my bed, attempting to use my vibrator to get a release after another petty-war week, but the wall that separated my apartment from Jace’s was shaking under the vibrations of his loud music. He’d been playing it for four hours straight, and I was waiting for him to give it up and fall asleep, but it didn’t seem like that was going to happen for a while. Annoyed, I slipped the vibrator between my legs anyway—pressing the tip against my clit and turning it on. Nothing happened. Not a single buzz. Ugh! I tossed the vibrator into the drawer—along with my other failed ones, and picked up my phone. I checked the status of the one I’d ordered three days ago and noticed it arrived yesterday. I knew, without a doubt, that Jace had it, but I was hoping he hadn’t opened it. And I was hoping he would be open to a quick truce. Swallowing my pride, I slipped into my robe and stepped into the hallway. I saw a woman in a grey suit leaving his apartment—the same woman who I’d seen twenty minutes ago.

“Um, hey,” I said, feeling a pang of jealousy in my chest. “Um, hey.” She smiled at me and pressed the down button. “Are you dating Jace?” She laughed and stepped onto the elevator, not answering me. Okay. No truce. Two can play this game. I banged on his door as loud as I could. “Jace! Jace!” He answered the door with his trademark sexy smile as always. “May I help you, neighbor?” “I’m looking for a package.” He leaned against the doorframe. “What type of package?” “A package that was delivered to my address.” “Do you have any idea what it looked like?” “It looked like it had my name on it.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Have you seen it?” “I’m not sure yet,” he said. “But now that you’re here, maybe you can help with a problem I’m having. You see, every night for the past few weeks, I’ve been hearing moans through my wall —your wall, but they’re only from one person. There’s usually a loud buzzing noise accompanying the moans...I think the person tries to muffle them with the sound of the shower water sometimes.” I felt my cheeks reddening, but I didn’t say anything.

“Have you heard anything like that in your apartment?” “No. Must be coming from another floor.” He smirked. “Must be.” I started to resort to asking for the truce, but I spotted my package on his floor. Right there behind him, on his floor. “The package I was looking for is right behind you,” I said, crossing my arms. “Could you kindly fucking give it to me?” “Kindly fucking give it to you? Are you referring to the package?” “Yes, I’m referring to the package.” I snapped, hating that he’d made me wet over such a simple exchange. “Please give it to me. Now.” “I’ll give it to you after you give me my fucking suits.” “I don’t have your suits.” I paused once I saw the look on his face. “Okay, I’ll give you the suits if you give me my package.” He pointed down the hall. “Go get the suits. I need to make sure you didn’t open or tamper with them, just like I didn’t open or tamper with your package.” I returned to my unit and walked into my closet, pulling out the first of thirty dry cleaner bags. I grabbed five at a time and handed them to Jace, and when I was done (and he’d finished “inspecting” them) he handed me my package.

“Thank you so much for finding my suits.” He smiled. “Have a good night, neighbor.” “I hate the way you say the word neighbor.” “I hate the way you act as my neighbor.” He shut the door, and I took the box to my room— ready to (unfortunately) use his face as inspiration. When I opened the box, I realized he’d lied about tampering with it. Not only had he opened the vibrator and placed batteries in it, he’d left a note. DEAR COURTNEY, I find it sad that you have to resort to using such things to get pleasure in your life... Nonetheless, if you ever want the real thing, please know that I’m right next door and willing to help. (And as you already know, my cock is twice the size of this “toy” you’re playing with.) You’re welcome, Jace.

EIGHT Jace: Present Day WHEN I WAS IN LAW SCHOOL, my professors warned me about a certain type of opponent. They said this type of opponent would always be willing to bend the rules of the law to their own will, to reconstruct the lines in a way that fit them best, and that if I should ever encounter someone like this, I could either risk my license to practice or try to beat them at their own game. In Seattle, I’d handled plenty of these rogue lawyers with ease, but right now, even though this current war was personal, Courtney was definitely closer to winning. Sliding her pen into her mouth for the umpteenth time this afternoon, she crossed her legs and cleared her throat. “The CEO of the utility company is willing to come into our office for a taped deposition,” she said. “His lawyer says he’ll be too busy to participate in a trial—if this goes to trial.” “I’m sure.” I shut my book, noticing the imprint of lace panties under her dress. “Who was the guy in your apartment last night?” “What?” She blushed.

“The guy in your apartment last night,” I repeated. “Who the fuck was he?” “Don’t curse at me,” she said, glaring. “And stick to questions about the case, or I’m leaving.” “Are you sleeping with him?” “No.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “Anything else that’s not about this case and I’m walking out right now.” Silence. I tapped my fingers on my desk, debating whether now was the time I needed to ask when the last time she’d been fucked was, but I decided to wait until later. “What did you tell the lawyer after he mentioned the deposition?” I asked. “I said I’d get back to him.” She let out a breath, and the tension between us slowly gave way. “I’ve read the depositions from previous cases like this, and I’m not trying to insinuate anything but...” “But what?” She sighed. “Can we have a truce for like two minutes?” “Only two minutes?” “Seeing as that’s how long you had a woman over your apartment the other night, that’s how long you last these days, right?” “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Are you sleeping with her?” The words rushed out of her mouth. “I thought you only wanted to talk about the case.” “I do.” She paused. “But are you sleeping with her?” “No.” I pointed to her computer. “Say what you need to say over our two-minute truce, Miss Ryan.” “Okay, well—” She opened her laptop and spun it around to face me, showing me a screen where she’d pieced together video clips. “Bryson Power & Water Company has been involved in over three hundred similar lawsuits dating back to 1969. Of those, two have made it to court, and the rest have been settled.” “I’m well aware of that. What’s your point?” “The depositions from all the opposing counsels are all the same.” I raised my eyebrow. “I’ve watched every single one—Well, the ones from the eighties. I read the ones from the sixties. And in every single one, the counsel agent asks the current president or CEO the same questions, sometimes in the same order.” She hit play on her laptop, and a collection of the videos began to play at the same time. “Do you always make sure your water facilities are up to current federal code?” “How do you deal with issues that arise when customers bring it to

your attention?” “Did you purposely use cheaper materials to construct your piping wells?” She stopped the tape and looked at me. “There may be some variation here or there, but each of these is the same. So, unless every lawyer who wanted to sue Bryson, Inc. over the past few years came up with the same exact questions in the same exact order—” “They were all paid under the table.” I hit play on the video again—letting the video roll for eight more questions. “You watched all of these?” She nodded. I hit pause, impressed. At my previous firm, whenever I told the second chair lawyer to do research on a huge company, they’d handpick up to ten cases. Never more. Before I could tell her that she could call the utility company lawyer and tell him to go fuck himself, my desk phone rang. “Yes?” I answered. “May I speak to Mr. Kennedy?” It was the lawyer. “This is he.” “Mr. Kennedy, hello. I’m calling to let you know that we’re willing to concede to a deposition and a very generous settlement with your clients.” “Define very generous.”

“We’ll offer fifty thousand per family member for a total of two hundred fifty thousand dollars.” “Surely you’re smart enough to know better than to waste my time with an offer like that.” “If you agree, we’re willing to be more than generous to you and your team for working on this case as well. I know you were a hot shot in Seattle, but this is a whole different ballgame. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” “For your sake, I would hope not. I’ll see you in court, Mr. Redford.” “Why are you acting like this is personal?” “It is.” I ended the call and stood up the second Courtney crossed her legs. I needed to take a cold shower, and I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my afternoon being tortured by the sight of Courtney’s pen game or dealing with her sarcasm. “I’m leaving early today,” I said. “What? Why?” Courtney looked confused, but then she cleared her throat and tried to look nonchalant. “I don’t recall asking.” “I just thought I’d let you know that if you’re interested in leaving early and practicing your pensucking skills on something thicker and longer, I’ll be right next door all night.” Her cheeks turned redder than ever. “You know I can file a sexual harassment claim against you, right?”

“You can.” I pulled out my phone. “And if you do, I’ll share the video of all the bullshit you’ve pulled this week as well.” “I didn’t know you still cared so much.” “I’m still trying to figure out if you do.” She shook her head—the truth etched all over her gorgeous face. “I don’t. Our truce is long over by the way.” “That means you’re back to the petty shit?” “Yes.” She picked up one of my favorite pens, sliding it between her lips again. “Back to the petty shit.”

NINE Courtney: Present Day A few weeks later... I HIT “22” ON THE ELEVATOR and clutched my briefcase. I was beyond ready for this week to come to an end. Between my petty personal war with Jace, my never-ending hours at the firm, and my turbulent emotions, I was in desperate need of a break. Since this weekend marked a mandatory trip to Blue Harbor for us to sit down with some of our clients finally, I was determined to spend tonight alone. All I needed was a glass of wine and one night when I didn’t have to look at my work. Or Jace. I didn’t trust myself around him, and even though we were playing a twisted game of back and forth, I knew my foolish heart was ready and willing to fold at any given moment. When I stepped off the elevator, I noticed that Jace was standing in the hallway with his arms crossed—glaring at me. Standing right next to him, at my door, was a sexy guy in a blue T-shirt in jeans. “My door’s already open, Michael,” I said. “You can go in. I’ll be right behind you after I talk

to my neighbor.” Jace clenched his jaw as Michael walked into my apartment—blocking me from doing the same. He grabbed my arm and pushed me against the wall, sending a familiar jolt through my body. “Courtney,” he said, his voice deep. “Jace,” I mocked him. “That’s the third guy you’ve brought over this week.” “You’re counting?” “I am.” “Well, I think you need to get better at it because he’s the fifth guy I’ve brought over this week.” I tried to move away from him, but he blocked me again—pinning me against the wall with his hips. “Is this your idea of trying to act like you don’t have any feelings left for me?” “No, this is me living my life—you know, that thing that went on long after our high school friendship ended? The friendship you ruined.” “It ended because of you.” “No, it ended because of you.” I hissed. “But if you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to my personal life. I’m obligated to talk to you when we’re inside of Walton & Associates.” “So, you’re just going to keep this shit up for another few weeks?” He clenched his jaw. “You’re

not going to pretend to be an adult about this and let us talk?” “About what, Jace?” my heart was beating so loudly in my chest that I was sure he could hear it. “What we had ten long years ago?” He didn’t answer. He continued glaring at me, slipping an arm around my waist and tightening his grip. “You want to talk about some of the times we skipped detention?” I shrugged. “Would that make you feel like there was something actually there? How about some of the times you dropped me off at home afterward? Were those moments deep enough for you to—” He cut off my sentence and crashed his lips against mine—making me swallow the rest of what I was about to say. I gasped as he tore open my coat and pressed his forehead against mine, as he bit down on my bottom lip. My briefcase fell to the floor—cracking open and scattering files all over the hallway. His hands found their way to my scarf, and he untied it and let it fall. I wanted to push him away, but once his eyes met mine, I couldn’t. Kissing him back, I murmured as he slipped his tongue against mine, as he silently commanded me to let him take full control. I gave in within seconds, and everything about the way he used to

kiss me—the way he used to own my mouth, all became so much clearer. Shutting my eyes, I wrapped my hands around his neck. He groaned against my mouth and slid his hand around my thigh, grabbing it and lifting it around his waist. His kiss became harsher the longer we lasted, and before I knew it, he was biting my bottom lip so hard I had to tear away from him. He let my leg go and stepped back, looking more vulnerable than I’d ever seen him before. “It was you who fucked us up, Courtney.” He looked livid. “You.” He bent down to pick up my scarf, draping it over my shoulder. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something else, but he returned to his apartment and slammed the door. I touched my swollen lips and sighed, leaning against the wall to catch my breath. I didn’t bother picking up my briefcase or any of the papers. I’d handle them later. Instead, I slipped inside my apartment in desperate need of that wine. “Okay, I’ve had enough.” Mila stood up from my sofa. “Why have you asked a different one of my male model friends to meet you here every night?” I glanced over at Michael who was raising his hands in a fake surrender.

“She made me talk,” he said, holding up a box of Thin Mint cookies. “I was strong until she brought these out. You can’t blame me for being weak.” I rolled my eyes and uncorked a bottle of Pinot Grigio, drinking straight from the bottle. “I’ve been asking them over for a special case I’m working on. It’s an um...comparison research case of what goes on behind the scenes at photoshoots.” “Bullshit, Court.” She walked over to me and snatched the bottle, taking a sip for herself. “Spill the truth. Now.” “I’m doing it to make Jace jealous. You know, since he’s been living next door for the past few weeks and all.” “Hmmm. Okay.” She took another swig and handed the bottle back to me. “Keep going.” “What do you mean, keep going? That’s it.” “No, no, no.” She crossed her arms. “There’s more. See, over the past few years that we’ve been friends, you’ve told me about every single exboyfriend you’ve had. Every guy from the one who couldn’t keep it up for more than ten seconds, to the guy who cheated on you with your roommate, to the guy who wanted to suck your toes every night.” “You’re into getting your toes sucked, Courtney?” Michael asked.

Me and Mila both turned around, giving him a blank stare. “I’m just asking...for a friend.” “Anyway.” Mila returned her attention to me. “You’ve told me everything about those other guys, and the first time I’ve heard you say a word about this guy is the day after you left me hanging in the bar. Why is that?” “Probably because it was so long ago.” I tried to feed her more bullshit. “It was high school, you know?” She stared at me, completely unconvinced. “He was my first love,” I said, my voice cracking. “My first real friend, my first real everything. I’ve been trying to convince myself that it was just a childhood love or a simple, evolved crush for years but—” I paused as she used her scarf to dab my eyes. “The second he walked into the law firm, I knew my feelings never really went anywhere. And five minutes ago, we were kissing in the hallway—until we realized what the hell we were doing.” She sighed, shaking her head. “You know, looking back, the fact that you’re still hung up on a guy from your past makes so much fucking sense I can’t even take it right now.” She stepped back. “I want the whole goddamn story, though. And I want it right now.” “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

“No.” She scoffed and plopped down on my sofa. “I need to hear exactly why you haven’t fucked this guy’s brains out—especially since you two have such a long history. But after we’re done —and you better not leave out any details, you need to leave my male model friends out of this.” “Okay, fine.” “Wait.” Michael said, standing up. “Before you two get started, can I have a few beers to go, Courtney?” “Sure?” He walked by and lowered his voice. “Can you also answer the toe sucking question? Like, I’m really just asking for a friend.”

E.N.E.M.Y. N is for NEMESIS (It also stands for never, which is when my punishment in detention will probably come to an end...) Courtney: Back Then I’M PRETTY SURE THAT whoever came up with the concept of after-school detention was high on drugs. Like, they couldn’t have thought this thing all the way through before sharing the idea with someone else. Exhibit A: I’m currently sitting in a classroom, alone with an attractive guy who is a full year older than me. An attractive guy with a bad reputation. Exhibit B: The supervisor of detention is again nowhere to be found. Exhibit C: Some other students who were assigned to different rooms for “after-school” detention are currently huddled around a tree outside, sneaking cigarettes and keeping watch until the supervisors return. “Whoever came up with after-school detention had to be high as hell,” Jace says, making me look at him. “The teachers don’t want to be kept here any longer than we do.”

“Well, I think after-school detention is a brilliant idea.” I can’t agree with him on any point. Agreement leads to conversation. Conversation leads to friendship. And from the rumors I’ve heard, Jace “doesn’t do just friends” when it comes to girls. “I would almost believe that you were telling me the truth if you hadn’t spent most of yesterday writing, This detention shit is for the birds a million times in your notebook.” I try not to laugh, but I can’t help it. “Okay, you’re right. This is pretty pointless, but it could be worse.” “Worse how?” “My best friend Genevieve got in trouble last year for sneaking a smoke in the bathroom. Mr. Thompson made her clean every bathroom in the school for an entire week.” “I’d honestly rather take that than this,” he says. “Then again, I am enjoying my newfound, sexy company whose stuck here next to me every day.” Welp, that conversation was nice while it lasted. I reach into my backpack to grab my headphones, but he leans over and gently grabs my hand. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I promise that I won’t give you any more compliments.”

“Will you also promise that you’ll just stop talking to me for the rest of these sessions?” He laughs and lets my hand go. “No. Do you want to get out of here for a while?” “What?” I can feel my eyes bulging out of my skull. “What did you just say?” “Calm down, teacher’s pet.” He smirks. “I just mean do you want to go grab some food. We’ll come right back.” “So, you want us to get into even more trouble?” I shake my head. “You know, I used to think that the idea of someone being born a criminal was a lie. Thank you for making me see the light.” His lips turn up into a huge, cocky grin and I hate the way my stomach flips as he lets out a low laugh. “Let me guess. You want to be a lawyer?” “Not want to be. I’m going to be. So, I’ll pass on ruining my chances before they begin.” He shrugs and stands to his feet. “I’ll be right back.” I watch as he leaves the classroom, and within minutes I spot him in the parking lot—slipping into his black pick-up truck. As he speeds out of the lot, I pull out my phone and call Genevieve. “What’s up jailbird?” she answers on the first ring. “Nothing, future felon.” I shoot back. “I’m in detention—again, for you. But anyway, don’t

forget to pick up the notes from my debate teammates at the library Saturday. I won’t get out of here until the afternoon so they’ll be long gone.” “I’m already two steps ahead of you. Got my alarm set, my pink highlighters ready, and my headphones ready to be plugged in when they start talking to me.” I laugh. “Thanks, Genevieve.” “Hey, whenever you’re done with detention today, you should come over and hang out.” “I’m grounded, remember? But you can come over to my place. My parents would let you.” “Well, it would be me, my boyfriend, and Sam. He’s been asking about you since the summer so I figured seeing him again might cheer you up. Unless you’ve been letting Jace pick up where Sam left off these past few weeks. Is that why you haven’t been answering Sam’s calls?” I can feel all color leaving my face, and a part of me I can’t explain doesn’t want to talk to my own best friend anymore. “No,” I say, my voice a whisper. “I hear the detention coach coming back down the hallway. I’ll call you back.” “You better!” I end the call and put my head down, doing what I always do when a memory of Genevieve getting me into trouble resurfaces. Shut my eyes and block that shit out.

But for whatever reason, at this moment right now, I can’t. All I can think about is how this past summer Genevieve and I watched one too many episodes of a sex-crazed soap opera, and she thought it would be “cool” if we both lost our virginity on the same night. She introduced me to her boyfriend’s best friend shortly afterward. For weeks, I made myself laugh at his jokes, let him slip his hand under my dress whenever we made out, and when Genevieve’s parents left for vacation in July, the so-called “losing our virginity” pact was set: She and her boyfriend would take her room, and me and Sam would take the guest room. I’d always pictured my first time being all kisses and repeated whispers of “I love you.” Hell, I would’ve accepted a mere “I care about you,” but all I got was Sam forcing himself inside of me, and humping me a few times while he said, “Fuck, you’re tight.” He didn’t notice the tears falling down my face and he didn’t even think to ask if I was okay afterwards. He just zipped up his pants and said he had fun. “So much fun...” But if that wasn’t hurtful enough, when I finally stepped out of the room and approached Genevieve with what had happened, she just stared at me in utter disbelief. She’d said that the pact was just a

joke. That she was kidding and never intended for either of us to take things that far. “I just thought you would back out...You’re such a square, and you always said you wanted your first time to mean something. Guess that means it means nothing now, huh? Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone ever call you a slut for what you did...” Several minutes later, I feel someone tapping my shoulder and look up. Jace is standing in front of me with a box of donuts and a bottle of my favorite tea. “I tried to get the pink sprinkle kind you always bring in here —the ones you never offer to share with me, but they only had the glazed kind.” “Sorry.” I smile and sit up, taking the box and tea from his hands. “Thank you very much, Jace.” “You’re welcome.” He takes the seat next to me. “You okay?” I nod and focus on the donuts, not wanting to say anything else. To my surprise, he doesn’t try to make me talk for the rest of detention. He smiles at me each time I glance over at him—which always makes me blush, but he doesn’t say anything else. With half an hour to go, I check my phone to see if my dad has sent me his usual, “Yes, I’m still disappointed in you, but I’m outside waiting” text message. He’s texted me, but the message is different this time.

DAD: I’m working two hours over today, so ask Genevieve or the detention counselor if they can bring you home. Come. Straight. Home. DAD: Yes, I’m still disappointed in you. I don’t text him back. “Alright, kids.” The detention counselor suddenly walks into the room. “I think we can leave just a tad bit early today. What do you say?” Jace is already closing his notebook and standing to his feet. I shut mine and walk over to the teacher. “Yes, Miss Ryan?” He raises his eyebrow. “The door to leave the school is over there.” “I was wondering if you could give me a ride home. I live about twelve minutes away.” He tilts his head to the side as if I’ve asked him to do the impossible. “Do you have gas money?” “Um...no.” “Do you know how much a teacher makes in this town?” “Um, no?” I shrug. “Well, it’s not enough to give out twelve-minute rides to the suburbs without getting some gas money in return.” He takes my donut box from me, opens it, and looks disappointed to see that there are only two inside. He doesn’t give it back, though. “Mr. Kennedy!” He calls out to Jace right as he’s stepping into the hallway. “Mr. Kennedy,

would you mind taking your fellow cell-mate home today? She says she lives about twelve minutes away.” Jace smiles and looks at me. “I don’t mind at all.” I turn toward the teacher. “Are you being serious right now?” “Dead ass serious.” He pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and points to the door. “I’m officially off now, kid. Out.” I roll my eyes and walk to the door, following Jace out of the room. My heart is beating faster than ever, and I’m not sure I like the way Jace is staring at me with every step we take. He leads me out to the parking lot, and to my surprise, he walks over to the passenger door and opens it for me. I don’t move, though. I just stand there. “Are you going to get in?” he asks. “Sometime today would be nice...” “In a second,” I say, my heart pounding loudly. “How many tickets have you gotten since you started driving?” “One, maybe two.” “Maybe two? What were they for?” “Speeding.” He smiles. “Anything else, Counselor Ryan?” “Do both the seatbelts work?”

He rolls his eyes and lifts me up without permission, placing me on the seat. He reaches over me and pulls the seatbelt over my lap, buckling it before I can say a word. “Yes, Counselor Ryan,” he says. “The seat belts work.” He shuts the door and walks to his side, cranking the engine. “What’s your address?” “Five hundred Summer Fly Lane.” “Good to know.” “Yes, good to know because you need it to drop me off and you’ll be forgetting it the second I get out of this car.” “Or, because now I know you only live six minutes away from me and as friends you should call me whenever you want to hang out.” “I’ll pass. I have enough friends.” I notice a dimple in his cheek. “How come you don’t have any of your own?” “I have some associates, but I don’t think too many people at Blue Harbor know what real friendship is.” “Sometimes I feel that way, too,” I say. “It’s all based on social ladders and stuff, and who wants to be seen with who. And it’s like people are just trying hard to fit in and be liked to keep friends.” “Exactly.” He pauses. “So, if you had six friends who were at the secret pool party you had

at the school, how come only you are in detention with me?” “How did you know there were six other people?” I look over at him in shock. “And who told you about the pool party at all?” “Doesn’t really matter. Those don’t seem like real friends to me.” “First of all,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him, “I’ve known you for all of what? Two days?” “Two weeks.” “Second of all, all of the people there weren’t my true friends—just Genevieve Porter. And even though it’s none of your business, I decided to take the blame because she’s already been in trouble this school year for trespassing and if she’d got caught again, she probably would’ve been expelled. She would’ve done the same for me, and she’s done plenty of things for me long before I ever met you.” “Things like what?” “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” I lean forward and turn on the radio, switching it to a pop station before turning up the volume. He doesn’t talk to me for the rest of ride. When he pulls in front of my house, I unbuckle my seatbelt and nearly jump out of the car, but he grabs my hand. “I got sentenced to detention because I broke into the school the same night as you all did,” he said, his blue eyes on mine. “I was planning to do

laps in the pool to clear my mind, but I saw you there. You were trying to help some passed out guy breathe...Was that your boyfriend?” “No.” I shake my head. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” He looks relieved. “Anyway, when I saw the rest of your friends still swimming and drinking on the other side of the pool, I called 9-1-1 from the locker room phone.” My face pales. All this time, I could’ve sworn Genevieve told me that she was the one who called. She’d been so adamant that none of us call using our cell phones that I thought she slipped away to call while I tried to help Brynn. “And after that...” Jace is still looking at me and holding my hand. “I went to the main office and destroyed all the security footage since you guys failed to do it when you first got there. I think that’s the main reason I’m in detention.” He smiles. “I forgot to destroy the tape of me destroying the other tapes.” I stare at him in utter shock, my cheeks reddening with every second that passes. “If you’re expecting me to invite you inside or to sleep with you to say thank you, then I’m going to have to disappoint you.” He laughs and squeezes my hand. “I honestly hate that I didn’t meet you sooner, under different circumstance. I like your sense of humor.”

“I wasn’t joking about the sex.” Still laughing, he finally lets my hand go. Then he gets out of the car and walks over to my side of the car, opening the door for me. He walks me up to my front door, and once I’ve turned the key, he clears his throat. “Thank you very much, Jace,” I say, looking up at him. “I appreciate the ride home, and the not so invisible help from you that night. I’ll find a way to pay you back. Want me to start by bringing more snacks to share with you during detention?” “I was thinking you could start by giving me your phone number.” I blush. “My boyfriend wouldn’t like that.” “You just said you didn’t have a boyfriend.” “Right, well...” I recite my number fast—so fast I’m sure he doesn’t catch it. Then I thank him for the ride again and go upstairs to my room. From the windows, I watch him return to his car and pull away, and I can’t help but feel like this is the exact type of moment that I should want to share with Genevieve. I’m sure that I should want to call and replay every single moment that just happened in excruciating detail, but I don’t. Instead, I flop onto my bed and pull open my diary. I pen a quick entry, and then I open my debate folder. At least she’s kept that promise to me all this time.

As I’m writing down the list of this week’s current national cases, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from an unknown number. Unknown number: This is Jace. You should save my number permanently just in case you need it. (Are you allowed to talk to guys on the phone?) I immediately text back. Me: I can’t believe you actually understood how fast I was speaking...I’ll hold off on saving this permanently, though. (Of course, I’m allowed to talk to guys on the phone. I’m not twelve...Why?) Unknown number: I can’t believe you think I didn’t already have your phone number. I was just asking for it before putting it to use... (Pick up when I call you at eight.) Me: (Beg me to, and I’ll think about it.) Unknown number: (If I thought I had to**beg** you to, I wouldn’t bother you at all...) I stare at my screen for a full hour—thinking of all the things the girl characters said to the guy characters whenever they called during the summer soap operas. I try to think of a list of topics that we can talk about, just in case the line goes silent, but I never end up using it. He calls me right at eight, and I’m not sure how, but by the time we hang up, it’s time for us to get ready for another day of school.

E.N.E.M.Y. N is for NEMESIS, AGAIN (It also stands for new friend, as in Jace is the last person I thought I would become my friend at Blue Harbor High ...) Courtney: Back Then FOR THE FOURTH SATURDAY IN a row, I’m sitting inside the school library watching heavy rains fall over Blue Harbor. Heavy winds are blowing through the oak trees that stretch down the town’s main lane, and the huge lake right across from the school looks as if it’s about to overflow onto the county bridge. There’s no one else in the school but me, Jace, and a few janitors. They’ve told us to “just stay put” at our usual table in the back as usual, and they haven’t checked on us since we arrived here this morning. Since we’ve spent last night talking on the phone until sunrise, Jace has his head down and his earbuds in. He’s told me to wake him up any time I want to finish our conversation, but since he brought me breakfast and picked me up for today’s

detention session, I figure the least I can do is let him sleep. I’m still refusing to admit it since it’s only been a month, but I’m starting to really like everything about Jace Kennedy. Sure, he’s still cocky as hell and he’s definitely well aware of how attractive he is, but he’s been nothing but super nice to me. He insists on driving me home after detention—even asking my Dad for permission, he volunteers to bring me tea and coffee to school every day, and he always calls me for another never-ending conversation at night. Although we definitely want to do different things in life—a life in front of the Hollywood cameras for him, a life in the courtroom for me, we have a lot in common. He loves reading as much as I do, I can quote movies just as well as he can, and we both like to go for long walks around the greener side of Blue Harbor’s main lake. My phone suddenly buzzes with the usual Saturday morning text from Genevieve, and I pull it out of my pocket. GENEVIEVE: Hey Court! Here’s what your debate coach wrote on the whiteboard at your practice today. Would it kill the debate team to meet at nine on Saturdays instead of eight? Ugh. ME: Thanks a mil. And yeah, I think it would LOL. GENEVIEVE: I’m so sorry you’re in detention for me again. (I owe you the world) And before you

ask, YES, I already went to the other bookstore and picked up that book you ordered. ME: Thank you, G. GENEVIEVE: Want me to ask your dad if you can come over and “study” with me tonight? Sam will be there **wink wink** ME: I don’t want to see Sam if I don’t have to again...I told you it wasn’t “fun” for me. He was really rough and I don’t like him like that. GENEVIEVE: Okay. No problem! I won’t bring him up again. Maybe just me and you then? I could use your help with Ethics 101. ME: The irony...LOL GENEVIEVE: What about ironing? I think autocorrect cut off your last message... I let out a breath and shake my head. ME: I said sure to just me and you. GENEVIEVE: Awesome! I’ll hit you up after I get done writing my English essays! TTYL I put my phone away and immediately get to work. Despite my punishment, my coach has been pretty understanding about my absences from practices. He still considers me one of the top members of the team, and he thinks I was born to be a lawyer. Even though he thinks I ask one too many questions from time to time. It takes me an hour to get through the list of topics Genevieve sent, but halfway through, I realize something.

Ugh. She left off the last two topics again! Knowing there’s no chance in hell she remembers them, I send a text to my debate teammate, Sarah. Me: Hey. Can you tell me what the last two topics were on the board from this morning? My friend only sent me a picture of the top eight again. She texts me back immediately. Sarah: What are you talking about? I send her the picture Genevieve sent me, the faded picture of the whiteboard at the bookstore. In our coach’s handwriting are the top topics I’m supposed to study this weekend—minus the last two that are cut off in the shot. Seconds later, she texts me again. Sarah: Court, that was the whiteboard from like, the first Saturday you missed. She kept asking him to write a bunch of different lists because she claimed she was having trouble reading his handwriting. You want me to send you the real lists? (You’re like four weeks behind though...) Me: Yes, please. I feel a lump rising in my throat and stand up from the table. I slip between two bookshelves of classics and call Paper & Spine, the bookstore where Genevieve was supposed to pick up my book. The phone rings four times before a young, male voice comes over the line.

“Paper & Spine,” he says, “How may I help you today?” “I’m calling about a special book order.” “Well, fair warning.” He doesn’t let me finish. “We can only hold those until the following Saturday afternoon, Miss. What can we order for you?” “I already ordered it. It’s a 1988 book called Twenty-One Things All Aspiring Lawyers Should Know, and it should be on hold under Courtney Ryan.” “Let me check on that.” He puts me on hold for a few minutes, and then he returns to the line. “Yep! It looks like we still have that one waiting for you, Miss Ryan. You have another hour and a half to pick it up before we have to place it on the shelves for anyone else to get it, though.” “Will I still get to use the fifty percent off discount if I get it another day?” “Unfortunately not, Miss Ryan. That’s the whole point of us being a specialty close-out shop, you know? I’ll hold it until we close today. Anything else I can help you with?” “No.” I wipe away a tear before it can fall. “Thank you very much.” I end the call and start to send Genevieve a text, to ask her why the hell she lied to me when she knew just how much I wanted that book, but there’s a message from her already.

GENEVIEVE: If my parents call you today, tell them I was with you. I’m totally doing my English homework at Starbucks, but I doubt they’d believe me, so just tell them I was with you in the school library okay? I don’t answer. Instead, I walk back over to my table. “I thought you left me here by myself.” Jace smiles, but he stands up once he sees the look on my face. “Whoa. It looks like you’re about to cry. What’s wrong?” I don’t answer that. “You want to get out of here for a while?” “Only if we don’t have to come back,” he says. “I just saw all but one of the janitors leave.” “Okay.” I stack up my books, but he doesn’t let me carry them. He places them all into his backpack, and then he pulls me close to his side as we walk out of the library. When we make it to the front of the school, he tells me to “Wait here.” And before I can ask why, he rushes out to the parking lot and drives his pickup truck closer to the door so I don’t have to walk that far. Ever the gentleman, he still gets out and opens the passenger door for me. “So, where are you trying to go, fellow criminal?” he asks.

“Paper & Spine. The bookstore on Baker Street.” He shoots me an ‘Are you serious?’ look. “You wanted to leave the library to go to the bookstore?” “Friends aren’t supposed to judge each other.” “They’re supposed to call each other out when they’re not making any goddamn sense, though.” He smiles. “I take it there’s a book on hold for you there or something?” I nod, grateful I don’t have to explain how this works to him. Genevieve (clearly) still doesn’t understand this at all. For the rest of the drive, the only sound between us is the rain pounding against the windshield. At every red light, he looks over at me and smiles, making me feel somewhat better about this rocky start of the day. When we make it to the bookstore, he insists on getting the book for me. He doesn’t let me out of the car, and he doesn’t even let me pay for it. “Here,” he hands me the white bag. “Where would you like to go next? Wait, let me guess. Another bookstore or a knitting class, maybe?” “No.” I playfully hit his arm. “How about a movie so I can pay you back for the book?” “I don’t fucking think so.” “Why not? You told me you want to be an actor, right? Shouldn’t you watch movies all the

time to study your craft?” “I do watch movies all the time to study my craft.” “Okay...” I shrug, confused. “So, what’s the problem?” “Courtney,” he says, glancing at my lips. “It’s torture enough being around you in broad daylight. I’m not putting myself through even more by being next to you in a dark ass room.” “Well...” I blush. “What would you prefer that we do today?” He’s quiet for several seconds, but then he leans over the seat and cups my face in his hands— pulling my face closer to his. Pressing his lips against mine, he kisses me slowly—slipping his tongue into my mouth and whispering words I can’t quite understand. I shut my eyes in utter awe as he kisses me in a way I’ve never been kissed before, as he runs his fingers through my hair and makes me lose all sense of time. Just when I start to kiss him back, he gently pulls away from me. His sea blue eyes are on mine, and there’s a smile on his lips. “Why are you stopping?” I ask. “Was I doing that bad of a job kissing you back?” “Not at all,” he says, running his fingers through my hair again. “But you’ve told me time and time again that you just want us to be friends,

so I want to make sure we keep things that way until you change your mind.” He let me go and cranked the engine. “Even if you ever did, for the record, I want you to know that I do like you and I’d take things slow with you.” My jaw drops and I can’t get a single word to fall from my mouth. “For the rest of the day, how about we go to Kline’s since it’s raining?” “Okay.” I lean back in the seat as he drives, feeling him clasp my hand behind the gear shift. When we make it to Kline’s, the rain has slowed to a drizzle, but he still insists on letting me out closer to the door first and parking the car second. We order the same sandwich—a grilled ham and cheese sandwich and take our seats near the back. As if our kiss never happened, he picks up where we left our conversation last night. The part where he tried to make me admit what everyone else in his life has already told him—that he looks like a sexier version of James Dean. (He does.) He’s halfway through his second list of reasons why he’s destined to be a bigger actor when I can’t help but reach across the table and take his hand. “I change my mind,” I say. “What?” He raises his eyebrow. “About us just being friends,” I say, the words rush out of my mouth. “I mean, I like you, too. I’m

willing to be more than just your friend, but only if you meant what you said about taking things slow with me.” He smiles. “I did, Courtney.” “Okay.” I tap my fingers against the table. “So, can we finish the kiss from earlier or do we really have to sit here and pretend like that’s not what we’re both currently thinking about?”

TEN Jace: Present Day SUBJECT: SEAT 2A & a rental car. Mr. Kennedy, I’m attaching a copy of your flight ticket and the receipt for the rental car you’ll be driving this weekend. (I am also attaching, for your reference, a copy of the employee sexual harassment conduct rules of our firm. Please see: How to handle unwanted kisses from a supervisor. Notice how that this should technically be reported to HR immediately.) I decided to change my seat and get my own rental car at the last minute. PS—Thank you for using up all the hot water again. See you at the airport later this morning, Courtney Ryan Walton & Associates SUBJECT: RE: SEAT 2A & a rental car. Miss Ryan, Thank you for the copies of the flight ticket and the rental car receipt.

Thank you also for letting me know that you changed your seat (so I could change mine to sit next to you once again), and for getting your own rental car. I just canceled my car, so you’ll need to share. (Where is the clause about the “victim” kissing her aggressor back and not so—subtly rubbing his cock through his pants? Also, please point out the other clause where it discusses your pussy being soaking wet because I know damn well it was...I’m sure HR would want to know that as well) PS—You’re more than welcome. Jace Kennedy Walton & Associates I set my phone down, watching as Courtney read my words from across the room. Scowling at me, she started typing back. Travel weekends like this were supposed to be the most stress-free part of any lawyer’s job. However, being forced to travel alongside a woman who forced every fucking man to stare in her direction—the same woman who was still refusing to talk to me since we kissed in the hallway, made me beyond ready to end this trip. “Can I get you something, sir?” A bartender blushed as I took my seat. “You look like you could use something strong before your flight.” “A Jameson, neat.” “Right away.”

I looked over my shoulder, seeing Courtney still typing away on her phone. There were four businessmen across from her—all of them watching her intently as she bit her bottom lip and murmured with each word she typed. Sighing, I picked up my glass and walked over, taking the seat next to her. “The utility company knows we have a solid case,” I said. “They know the evidence we’ve been collecting—along with the tampered depositions, will be far more damaging than any of the other cases they’ve had to handle. They’ve upped their offer to five million per family member.’ She immediately stopped typing and looked up at me. “They called me five minutes ago with that offer, but I think that’s only the starting level. What do you think about that, Miss Ryan?” She looked as if she was finally going to speak to me for the first time this morning, but she returned to looking at her phone and sent me a text message. COURTNEY: I DON’T THINK that’s a fair settlement offer... I groaned and texted her back. ME: I’m aware. I’ll be rejecting their offer. I just wanted to hear your thoughts.

COURTNEY: You’ve heard them. ME: Are you planning to act like this in front of the clients as well? COURTNEY: No, I’ll speak to you in front of the clients. But that’s it. I rolled my eyes and put my phone into my pocket. Then I took her phone out of her hands. “Okay, look,” I said, ignoring the glare she was giving me. “You want to act like you don’t still have feelings for me? Fucking fine. You want to continue playing the hating game? That’s fucking fine, too. But I’m not going to play games when it comes to our work together, and I’m going to need you to talk to me this weekend, whether you like it or not.” She opened her mouth to interrupt, but I placed a finger against her lips. “It’s bad enough that you live next door to me and I can’t have you—that you insist on acting like you don’t remember shit about what we had and that I’m not the best friend or lover you’ve ever had—” “You’re not the best lover I’ve ever had.” “Your drawer full of broken vibrators says otherwise.” Her cheeks turned bright red, and she looked as if she was struggling to come up with her next line. “If you want to live the rest of your life in denial, that’s more than fine with me,” I said,

lowering my voice. “But you’re not going to fuck up this case just to be spiteful. And if you think I won’t give Mr. Walton a truthful review of your performance at the end of this case just because we knew each other before, you’re sadly mistaken. Especially since, in your world, what we had before doesn’t mean a goddamn thing.” She let out a breath and slowly shook her head. “I would never try to fuck up a case just to be spiteful, Jace. Never. I was giving you my honest opinion on the settlement offer.” “Can you also give me your actual words, from your mouth, for the rest of the weekend and the rest of this case, instead of making me read text messages and emails?” “Yeah.” She swallowed. “But only if you agree to a few things as well.” “Name them.” “No more running up the hot water.” “Then no more getting my Jaguar towed.” She smiled. “No more loud music after midnight.” “Then no more random complaints to the building manager.” “Okay, and no more guests...” She lowered her voice. “Unless you really are dating or sleeping with them.” “Fine. And no more moaning loud as fuck in the shower when you’re touching yourself.” I

paused. “Actually, you can keep continuing to do that. That’s never been a problem for me.” She blushed. “Deal.” “Deal.” FIVE HOURS LATER, LONG after we’d landed in Green Lake, we were sitting in one of our clients’ homes. The Masons. Courtney was in the living room with the wife and the son, and I was in the kitchen with the husband and the three-year-old daughter. Now and then our eyes would meet, and she’d look as if she was about to get up and join me, but she never came closer. Instead, she continued tempting me by blushing and reminding me exactly why I first fell for her years ago. “I can’t thank you enough for turning down that five-million-dollar offer, Mr. Kennedy.” He leaned forward in his rocking chair. “That’s horseshit.” “Horseshit!” His daughter repeated, giggling. “Horseshit!” I waited for him to tell her not to curse after him, but he didn’t. He gave her a high five instead. “Yep. Fucking right.” He picked up a can of beer and chugged it. “I bet they make five million in a day.”

“An hour,” I said. “But it was a bad deal. I think we can make this right for you and your family.” I walked him through our strategy for the umpteenth time, but he cut me off halfway through and recited the remainder of it from memory. A man who’d once wanted to be a lawyer himself, he knew a thing or two about the law, and he’d called our office every week without fail to make sure we were making his case a high priority. Every now and then, when we spoke, I would pause to make sure I couldn’t hear someone else breathing heavily on the line. That there wasn’t a whispered threat coming in the event of a loss. Then I’d realize that this was a case that actually meant something, that I really wasn’t at my old firm fighting for the scum of the country anymore. Mr. Owen suddenly sighed and whispered something in his daughter’s ear, making her rush out of the kitchen and into the living room. Then he looked at me. “All bravado aside, I would happily settle for five million each, Mr. Kennedy.” “What?” “My daughter has two more surgeries lined up at the end of this month, and that’s just for her heart problems.” He looked as if he was about to cry. “Should she recover, she has three more scheduled months from now for her spine. She’s three years old.” He shook his head. “If you think for one second that they’re going to drag this out

and not cover everything that all of us have been through since we moved here just promise me you’ll settle. We’ll take five million.” I shut my folder. I knew damn well that five million each wouldn’t cover all their health issues long term, but I nodded anyway. “I’ll do that.” “My wife read about your career in Seattle,” he said, wiping away tears and smiling. “She said they called you the prosecution’s number one enemy.” “Mr. Kennedy is definitely good at being an enemy,” Courtney said, walking into the room. “And he’s going to win this case for you, Mr. Mason. He’s never lost one a day in his career.” “Okay.” He looked hopeful all over again. “But you’ll be there every step of the way, too, right? Don’t take this the wrong way but, he always seems to be in a better mood when you’re in the room during our Skype calls.” “Yes.” She smiled. “I’ll be there every step of the way, too.” She made sure he signed all the paperwork we needed, and—like the class act she was, kissed him on the cheek and assured him that everything was going to be okay. As we were getting into the rental car, she looked over at me. “You know, you can be somewhat decent when you want to be. I remember that about you from when we were in high school the most.”

I wasn’t sure what the hell she wanted me to say to that, so I just cranked the engine and sped out of the Masons’ driveway. Several minutes later, she clasped my hand behind the gear shift and cleared her throat. “Blue Harbor is about twenty miles away,” she said, her voice soft. “You mind stopping by for a few minutes?” “Not at all.”

ELEVEN Courtney: Present Day EVEN IN THE DARK, THE drive to Blue Harbor was as stunningly beautiful as I remembered it. The lush oak trees that lined the main streets still stood tall and proud. The white wooden bridges that guarded every access point to the lake still looked freshly painted. And Blue Harbor High—the massive white brick building that stood at the end of Main Street still looked just as imposing as it did during my freshman year. My parents—ever the keepers of nostalgia, had long moved away and retired in Florida, but they made it a point to send me specialty Blue Harbor postcards every six months “to keep our hometown alive.” After being here for only a few minutes though, I realized that all of their glossy pictures had failed to do this place justice. “What are you thinking about?” Jace put the car in park, keeping my hand entwined in his. “How much I took living here for granted.” He muttered something I didn’t quite catch, and then he cleared his throat. “Do you still keep up with anyone from here?” “Not really. A few of my debate teammates and I meet up every couple of years for a drink, but

that’s about it. You?” “The only person I would’ve wanted to keep up with was you. So, thanks to what you did, no.” I started to fire back, but I stopped. I didn’t want to argue with him right now. I was tired of going back and forth between wondering if we could ever pick up where we left off or wanting to bite his head off. Before I could change the subject, he did. “I had to force myself not to look you up and find you after we fell apart,” he said. “But I still thought about all the things we used to do, all the time.” He leaned forward and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “You want to go inside?” “You mean, break into the school?” “It wouldn’t be the first time.” I held back a laugh. “Sure.” Within minutes, Jace was helping me out of the car and hoisted me over the same fence that me, Genevieve, and all her “friends” climbed over the night my social life ended. Jace came over right after me, and as if we were still as we once were, he slipped his arm around my waist and pulled me against his side. No alarm sounded when we pushed the backdoor open, and from what we could tell, the security cameras were all focused on the one thing that mattered most: The state championship trophy case that stood in the center of the lobby.

Walking around it, we roamed the empty hallways—amazed that with the exception of a few flat screen monitors, they still seemed stuck in time. When we approached room 221, Jace insisted on going inside. The room was now fitted with more modern desks—metal instead of wood, but the words written on the whiteboard at the front of the room made us both burst into laughter. In familiar, terrible handwriting, the detention supervisor had written: 3:30 – 6:30 Detention Hours Group D The Daily Rule: Bring Me Donuts or Write Three Essays. Your Choice. “What was that guy’s name?” I asked, still laughing. “I have no idea.” He pulled me close and kissed my lips, catching me completely off guard. Without hesitation, I returned his kiss—not holding back, not stopping. I felt his cock hardening against my dress, and he slid a hand up my body and gently squeezed my breast. He slowly pulled away from me and sighed. “I think we should stop at one more place before we leave.” I nodded, unable to catch my breath.

He pulled me against his side again, and we walked to the other side of the school. And still, all these years later, Blue Harbor High hadn’t learned how to lock the pool at night. The doors opened with a light push, and the Olympic-sized pool looked grander now than it did before. As we walked around it, I noticed that the only thing new was the line of championship banners that was hanging high above the lap lanes. “I still can’t believe you covered for me before you even knew me,” I said, looking up at him. “I still can’t believe you ever covered for Genevieve.” He smiled. “I wasn’t completely altruistic, though. I had an ulterior motive.” “Sex, right?” “With the squarest girl in school?” He rolled his eyes. “No.” “I wasn’t that square.” “You were.” He was still smiling. “And every guy here fucking knew it. They also knew you were the most attractive girl in the damn town, but since you weren’t putting out, no one wanted to go after you.” “So was your ulterior motive a bet? See who can fuck the square first?” “No.” He laughed, looking eighteen all over again. “I had a crush on you. That was my ulterior motive—to finally act on it. That’s it.” “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Because you wouldn’t have believed me,” he said. “I would’ve.” He gave me a blank stare, and I laughed. “Okay, I wouldn’t have believed you.” “I know.” He led me to the other side of the pool, stopping near the locker room. He finally let my hand go and stood in front of me. “I need you to be one hundred percent honest with me right now,” he said, locking his blue gaze on mine. “Can you do that for me?” “Yes...” “Have you missed fucking me?” “What?” “You heard me,” he said. “Have you missed fucking me?” “I’ve missed you.” “That’s a given. That’s not what I asked you, though.” He pushed me against the wall, pinning me still with his hips. Then he lowered his voice. “I don’t think a day went by after our first time that we didn’t have sex at least once a day.” It was twice a day... “Surely. You’ve had sex with plenty of other people since we ended things, Jace. So, I’m not sure why—” He bit my bottom lip, preventing me from getting another word out. “Answer my question.” I hesitated, and he bit my lip again.

“Now.” “Yes.” “Yes, what?” “Yes, I missed fucking you. Happy?” “Ecstatic.” He pushed my dress up my waist. “Can you finally admit that it was you who messed us up or will I have to fuck that out of you first?” I didn’t get a chance to start that argument again. His lips were on mine, and my hands were unzipping his pants. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and pressed it into my hand, silently commanding me to take out the condom. Briefly taking his lips off mine, he pressed kisses against my neck and slid his hands up my thighs—yanking off my lace panties. I rubbed my hands on his rock-hard cock, blushing as I got a reminder of just how huge he was. When I finished with the condom, he returned his mouth to mine and whispered, “I missed fucking you, too.” “How romantic. I forgot that’s one of your strong suits.” He let out a low laugh and lifted my leg around his waist, pressing his cock against my soaked pussy. “Romantic has never worked with you.” I sucked in a breath as he slid into me inch by inch, as he kept my waist tightly gripped with the firm control of his fingertips.

“Jace...” I cried out his name once he was completely inside of me—making me feel complete in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Without another word, he began grinding his body against mine—teasingly pulling his cock out of me and thrusting it back into me with a wild and reckless rhythm. He didn’t give me a chance to adjust to his pace, and anytime I tried to move my hips or slow him down, he squeezed my ass. Hard. Our eyes remain locked in a heated gaze of confusion and our lips constantly collided with a series of wet and angry kisses. Harsh and whispered words. “I didn’t leave you, Jace,” I said, scratching his neck as he buried himself inside of me again. “I didn’t leave you.” “Yes.” He hissed. “You did.” He slid a hand between my thighs and began circling my clit with his thumb—rendering me completely speechless as he continued to fuck me. The sound of our skin slapping against each other and the soft waves from the pool echoed in the room. Since he still refused to let me get a chance at taming his reckless tempo, I eventually gave him full control. My pussy throbbed against his cock as he fucked me even harder, and he softened his kisses against my mouth.

“Jace, I...” I breathed. “Jace...” He whispered my name against my lips, and my knees went weak. My entire body began to shake against him and my head fell back against the wall. Holding me steady, Jace kissed the corners of my mouth, and I cried out his name. He found his release shortly after me, and we remained entwined for what felt like forever, but as the pleasure began to wear off, I felt as if the sex had only made things more complicated. As if we were still unresolved. Slowly sliding out of me, he readjusted my dress and ran his fingers through my hair. “Are you okay?” he asked. I didn’t answer. “Courtney?” “I’m fine.” I bent down and picked up his wallet. He disposed of the condom and adjusted his pants. And then he stared at me. “Can we talk about this when we get back to the hotel?” “About the fact that you just fucked me in a high school pool-room or the fact that there’s clearly been some miscommunication on both sides during all these years?” “Both, Courtney.” “Sure.”

He reached for my hand, but I didn’t take it. I wanted to hear his logic about me leaving him (I definitely didn’t) first. We left the school through the same doors we came through, and he helped me over the fence again. In the car, I held my own damn hand, and we rode in silence all the way back to the Embassy Suites. When we made it to the elevator bank in the lobby, he looked at his watch. “I’ll come to your room in an hour? Is that a good time to discuss you leaving me?” “Sure,” I said. “I’ll be waiting for you.” I watched as he stepped onto the elevator, waited until the doors closed and then I took out my phone and called a cab to the airport. This is me **really** leaving your ass...

TWELVE Courtney: Present Day AT AROUND THREE O’CLOCK in the morning, I sat in my apartment, wrapped in a towel as I watched through a new series of deposition tapes. I’d tried to force myself to go to sleep the second I returned home from the airport, but it was no use. My body was still on a high after the sex with Jace, and my mind wouldn’t stop racing with the thoughts of him insisting that our demise was my fault. Turning down my TV’s volume a bit, I hit pause and jotted down a few notes. Then I poured myself a third glass of wine and called Mila. “You better be dying or on your way to dying.” She groaned. “What do you want, Court?” “I fucked Jace tonight.” “Okay. So, you’re clearly drunk, and you’ve skipped out on the business trip with him?” She sighed. “Where are you right now? I can have someone pick you up if you give me fifteen minutes.” “No, I really fucked him.” “Okay, well...” She paused. “Was it good?” “Yes.”

“So, why are you calling me instead of fucking him again?” “Because he pissed me off and I need someone to talk to right now.” “I’m listening.” She sighed. “But I’m only giving you five minutes.” “What? Why do I only get five minutes?” “Three reasons. One, I already know what you’re going to say. Two, it’s three o’clock in the morning. And three, I have to wake up in exactly sixty-five minutes for a Givenchy photoshoot. If I don’t let my coconut pods sit on my eyelids for exactly two hours because I was up rehashing a conversation with you, it’ll show up in all the proof photos, and I’ll never forgive you.” I rolled my eyes, but I’d honestly heard one too many conversations between Mila and her friends about the necessity of coconut pods to doubt her right now. “Well, to save us some time,” I said, crossing my arms. “What do you think I’m going to say?” She cleared her throat. “First, you’ll start with some bullshit. No offense, but ever since this guy came back into your life the first ten minutes of all your explanations are all bullshit. Second, you’ll tell me how hard it is to explain, but you’ll say Jace is the epitome of what a best friend was to you. He was your first everything and you still—all these years later, haven’t recovered because he meant

that much to you. Third, you’ll admit—after much prodding on my part, mind you, that you’re not that upset about him claiming that you ruined things. You’re happy that you finally fucked. Hell, I would be too since he looks like he definitely knows how to fuck a woman out of her mind.” She let out a soft sigh. “But anyway, you’re probably more upset about the fact that he didn’t say all the shit you’ve built up in your head over the years.” She deepened her voice, attempting to mock Jace. “I missed you, Courtney. I’m sorry we stopped being friends, and I still have feelings for you. I want to make this up to you by sticking my cock inside of you in a very slow way. I also have some gifts for you because I know deep down you’re totally into that romantic bullshit.” She paused and let out a breath. “Am I missing anything?” I hung up in her face. Within seconds, my phone buzzed with a text message. MILA: I’ll call you after my photoshoot. Love you! I set my phone down and sighed, pressing play on the deposition tape again. Half an hour later, there was a knock on my door. For a moment, I thought it was a sympathetic Mila, but when I opened the door, I immediately lost hope.

Standing in the hallway with his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched, Jace looked beyond pissed. I started to slam the door in his face, but he wedged his foot between the door and pushed it open. “May I help you with something, Mr. Kennedy?” “I’m not sure what I should be more pissed about right now,” he said. “The fact that you fucking left without any warning, or the fact that I knew you were going to leave me without warning at some point this weekend and I didn’t try to stop you.” “The latter, obviously.” I crossed my arms. He stared at me, looking as if he was torn between laughing and continuing his angry rant. “You told valet not to give me the rental car keys back until tomorrow. You also told them not to let me know where you’d run off to.” “And they clearly broke that promise. The manager will be hearing from me tomorrow.” He smiled and pressed a kiss against my forehead. “I’ve missed your sense of humor.” “Nothing I’ve said so far has been a joke.” He kissed me again and sighed. “I messed up at the pool. I shouldn’t have done that.” “You’re saying you didn’t mean to fuck me?” “No, I definitely meant to do that,” he said. “But if you’re still anything like the girl I used to

know, then I think I should’ve held off on bringing up an argument while I was fucking you.” I started to interrupt, and as if he knew that, he pressed a quick kiss against my lips and whispered, “Let me finish.” “Okay...” “You were my best friend, Courtney,” he said. “My only true friend in a cesspool of assholes. Even all these years later, no one else has ever come close, and I’ve missed you. So, regardless of whatever happened back then, I never stopped having feelings for you.” He pulled me closer. “I’ll always have feelings for you, and I should’ve said that while fucking you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry we ever fell apart, too.” Silence. “I had a few gifts in my room for you—to make this slightly more romantic but—” He smiled. “You left me, so you’ll have to settle for a New York delivery tomorrow.” I blushed, but I didn’t say anything. “Anyway...” He ran his fingers through my hair. “It’s going to take more than a few conversations for us to decide if this is something worth salvaging, but I’d like to work on that as much as possible once we’re done with this case. Would you?” “Yes.” “Yes?” His fingers were still in my hair. “No other sarcastic commentary?”

“I’m currently processing the ‘I still have feelings for you’ part,” I admitted. “I’m also trying to find something nice to say to you right now.” “The words, I still have feelings for you, too, will suffice.” He waited for me to say it, but I simply started at him. “Courtney...” I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him, catching him off-guard. His arms went around my waist and within seconds, he was lifting me up and carrying me to my bedroom. Tossing me onto the bed, he pulled the towel away from my body. He looked me up and down for several seconds without a word, making me blush all over like I was in high school again. “Lay back,” he said, his voice low. I obliged and watched him pull his shirt over his head. Taking off his pants, he smirked as I stared at his cock. Positioning himself over me, he pressed a brief kiss against my lips and began trailing kisses down my neck and my stomach—stopping once he reached my pussy. He gently pushed my knees up and blew against my clit. Using two fingers, he slipped them deep inside of me and groaned once he felt how wet I was. I gripped the sheets as he sucked my swollen clit into his mouth, as he took his time torturing me

with his tongue. “I missed you so much,” he whispered. “Did you miss me?” I didn’t get a chance to answer. Just as I was about to say yes, he buried his head between my legs and devoured my pussy. “Ahhh...Fuck, Jace...” I clawed at his hair as he fucked me with his mouth. I squirmed each time his tongue lashed against my most sensitive spot, and he kept me pinned to the mattress. My toes curled as he darted his tongue in and out of me with the perfect rhythm, and every time I called his name, he slid his hand under my body and squeezed my ass. “Oh...Oh, god, Jace...” I tried to move his head away, to give me a chance to control the pleasure, but that only made him pin me down harder. My legs trembled with each lick of his tongue, and each time I was seconds away from coming on his lips, he drifted his kisses away from my pussy to my inner thighs. Then he whispered, “I’m not ready for you to come yet...” With every kiss, I was torn between sweet misery and pleasure, and my arms were weak from fighting him for control. “Jace, please...” I begged as my body arched off the mattress, as he sucked my clit between his lips again. “Please just let me—”

“Come?” I nodded and shut my eyes, but he moved his mouth away from me again. Before I could yell at him for putting me through this, he grabbed my ankles and flipped me onto my stomach. “Get on all fours,” he whispered. I hesitated. My legs were too weak. “Courtney.” He slapped my ass. “Get on all fours.” I took my time, arching my body up on the bed. I heard him unwrapping a condom behind me. Looking straight ahead, I saw our reflection in my headboard’s mirror, saw him kissing my shoulders and pulling my hair to one side. His eyes met mine in the mirror, and he smiled. “Do you want me to stop?” “Never.” Still keeping his eyes on mine in the mirror, he gripped my hips and slowly slid his cock into me, inch by inch. “I want this again,” he said, kissing my shoulder. “I want you again.” “Can you try to give me that?” I nodded, and he gripped my hips a little tighter. “Say it.” “Yes...” My voice was hoarse. “I can try to give you that.”

“Good.” He kissed the back of my neck and began slowly making love to me, taking his time as he kept his eyes on mine in the mirror. And this time, he didn’t leave me hanging on the edge when my orgasm began building inside of me. He tightened his grip around me as he reached his release at the same time.

THIRTEEN Jace: Present Day TONIGHT WAS THE FIRST time since moving into this building that I appreciated the fact that Courtney lived next door. And it wasn’t just because we’d spent the past four hours fucking on every surface of her apartment. It was because the second we were finished, she insisted on coming next door and sleeping at my place. (“A true truce,” she’d said.) Of course, we had yet to get to the “sleep” part. We’d fucked on my couch and my bed first, and now Courtney was resting her head against my chest in my tub. “How long do you think Bryson is going to try and extend this trial?” she whispered. “If we’re lucky, four to five weeks. If we’re not, eight to ten.” “Yeah.” She nodded. “I think that, too. Can I ask you something?” “Anything.” “What made you switch from wanting to be an actor to a lawyer?” “We’ll have to discuss that after the trial?” “What?” She narrowed her eyes at me. “We just agreed that we could talk about anything

except our breakup whenever we wanted. Or did I hear that wrong when you were fucking me in your kitchen?” “I was fucking you on my couch when we came to that agreement.” “That’s not the point.” “I’m aware.” I kissed her shoulder. “It does deal with our breakup, though, so it’ll have to wait until after the trial.” She looked upset, but she didn’t push the subject any further. “For the record, regardless of what happens after we talk things out, I want us to be friends at the very least.” “You think you can handle being just friends?” She nodded. “It would hurt a little at first, but...Everything was always so easy and perfect with you when we were friends, and a part of me still believes that even after all these years, and despite all the petty shit—” “The petty shit you started, Courtney.” “Yes, well...” She laughed. “Despite all the petty shit that was continued by both parties, I think you’re still the same guy I used to know.” “Hmmm.” I positioned her so she was sitting on my lap and facing me. Then I kissed her lips and looked into her eyes. “Are you still the same girl I used to know?” “You tell me.”

E.N.E.M.Y. E is for ERROR (It also stands for endless kisses in the back of Jace’s pickup truck) Courtney: Back Then I’M STANDING IN FRONT of my bathroom mirror re-applying my make-up for the umpteenth time in a row. My parents have (shockingly) agreed to let me go out tonight since they feel bad about me missing out on the first quarter of Blue Harbor High’s social events. Then again, they must not feel too bad because they told me that they expect me to be back home at nine-thirty. (Oh, and they’re still “disappointed” in me for breaking into the school pool.) Am I supposed to use bubblegum pink or soft pink to create the natural lip look? Frustrated with the lipstick, I picked up my phone and called Genevieve. “Hey there, Court!” She answers on the first ring. “Where the hell have you been lately?” “Same places as always. School, detention, home, repeat.”

“You left out all the hanging out with Jace parts.” She laughs. “I’ve seen you with him a lot lately.” “Because he’s in detention with me.” “Oh, that’s right.” She paused. “So what’s been up?” I start to tell her that Jace is taking me out tonight on my first real date, but something tells me not to. Ever since she botched my debate practice notes request, I’ve been keeping her at arm’s length —waiting for the perfect opportunity to talk oneon-one. But between school, detention, and the nonstop hours I spend talking on the phone to Jace every night, there really hasn’t been any time for me to talk to Genevieve. She hasn’t really called me that much either... “I was calling because I was wondering if you could come over and help me with my make-up,” I say. “And maybe we could catch up for a little bit?” “I can’t, Court.” Her voice is suddenly soft. “You haven’t heard?” “My parents caught me and my college boyfriend out at the movies the other night. I’m grounded until they can think of a better way they can punish me.” “Oh...I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. I guess all the trouble I’ve been getting into these past couple of years was bound to catch up to me at some point, right?”

Even though I absolutely agree, I don’t mention it. Instead, I say, “Well, I’ll stop by after I get out of detention tomorrow. You want me to bring you anything?” “Not at all, but I’ll definitely help you with your makeup tomorrow.” “Okay, great. Bye.” “Bye.” I end the call and try to finish the make-up the best way I can. Just when I’m putting on the last of the mascara, my mom steps into the bathroom. “You look pretty.” She smiles. “Are you really going out with your debate team tonight or are you hanging out with Jace?” I drop the mascara tube into the sink. “What?” “You heard me.” She sips her coffee. “Is tonight’s outing, the one that you begged us for, really with your debate team or Jace?” I don’t answer. I haven’t uttered a word about Jace to my mom, and I’m not sure how she even knows his name. “Courtney?” She smiles again. “Is tonight about Jace?” “We’re not having sex...” “What?” She laughs. “That’s not what I asked you, but good to know. Is he taking you out tonight?”

I nod. “yes.” And then I wait for it—the grand ole take-back, the “you weren’t honest and now you can’t go” speech. Then I mentally prepare myself for another night of watching Law & Order in my room. “Well, I’m glad to finally hear about him from you.” She doesn’t look upset at all. “Genevieve told you?” “No, Jace did.” This is a trick. “When was this?” “He stopped by yesterday during dinner, while you were out celebrating the final debate match with the team. He introduced himself to your dad and me, and then he insisted that you were the best friend he’s ever had. He said you two have been spending a lot of time studying together on the weekends.” So, she doesn’t know he’s been sentenced to Saturday detention as well... “He mentioned how you two met in detention, and after seeing his charm for all of an hour—” She smiles, fanning herself. “I can see why you like him. He’s a very attractive young man, and I think his intentions are good. I think it’s also clear that he’s over the moon for you.” “Over the what?” “I mean, I can tell he really likes you.” “Oh.” I blush.

“You should invite him over for dinner sometime. Any guy your dad doesn’t immediately hate is a winner in my book,” she said. Then she lowers her voice. “I have a good feeling about him, but as always be careful.” “We’re really not having sex.” Laughing, she places her hand on my shoulder. “Would you like me to re-show you the bananacondom trick just in case you start thinking about it?” “No.” Once was bad enough. “I thought so.” She hugs me. “I trust you to make good decisions—well, minus the breaking into the school pool thing you did.” She steps into the hallway. “Make sure you’re back by nine-thirty and make sure you leave some time in your day to hang out with your other best friend, Genevieve.” I say okay and wait until she walks away. My mom has never said it, but she doesn’t like Genevieve. She just tolerates here and always masks her dislike with a simple, “I can’t pick all your friends.” An hour later, Jace is ringing the doorbell downstairs with a box of my favorite brownies (flowers are so cliché). My dad beats me to the door, and he wastes twenty minutes of precious date time by asking Jace to give him a hand with our dishwasher.

When he’s finally done, Jace takes my hand and walks me to his pickup truck right outside. He opens the door for me like always, and he manages to drive for a full five minutes before he realizes I’m glaring at him. “What?” He has the audacity to smile. “Is something wrong?” “You told my parents about us? Behind my back?” “I did.” He laughs. “Clearly.” “But why?” “Because you still hadn’t done it.” “I was planning to, Jace. I was just giving it time.” “It’s been three months.” He looked over at me as we approach a red light. “Plus, if everyone at school knows that we’re practically together, then your parents should probably know, too.” “Did you tell your parents?” “I did.” “When?” “Months ago,” he says, and I don’t bother asking anything else. I’ve spoken to his mother after detention on numerous occasions, and she’s always been extremely nice to me. She’s always whispered to him when she thought I couldn’t hear, “Finally, a girl I actually like.” “I think I deserve an apology for this sudden and utter betrayal,” I say, trying to keep a straight

face. “In the law books, there’s a name for what you did: blindsiding the witness.” “No, it’d be turning over all applicable evidence for a fair and balanced trial. But good try, Counselor Ryan.” “You’ve been watching more legal movies?” “I have.” He smiles. “How about a sundae for your brownies instead of an apology?” “Accepted.” He drives up the street to Blue Harbor Creamery and parks in the first space. As he’s asking me what I want on my sundae, I stop dead in my tracks. I blink a few times, to make sure that what I’m seeing is real. Genevieve is sitting in a booth in the back—rubbing her hands all over her boyfriend’s chest. She’s laughing as all her other “friends” take seats on the other side of her. “She told me she was grounded,” I whisper to Jace. “I asked her to come over and help me with my make-up and she...” I sigh. “She lied to me like it was nothing. Again.” Jace grabs my hand and whispers into my ear. “Do you want to leave?” “Not yet.” I pull out my phone and send Genevieve a text message. ME: Hey! Just wanted to say sorry to hear about you getting grounded over your boyfriend. How are you staying busy tonight?”

I stare at her as she looks at her phone, as she taps the screen and texts me right back. GENEVIEVE: Thanks, bestie! I’m currently watching Netflix and drinking coffee. It’s not too bad. PS—Did you get the notes I sent from your final debate practices last week? I tried to take a clearer pic this time! I feel my blood boiling as I read over the last line in her message. She has no idea that I know she really hasn’t been taking my debate practice notes, and that she left me weeks behind without a single care. Livid, I walk away from Jace and storm over to where Genevieve’s booth is. “You are a lying, conniving, manipulative bitch,” I say. “I can’t believe I was ever friends with you.” “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” She stands to her feet and moves closer to me. “What’s gotten into you, Court?” “Courtney. My friends call me Court, so please refrain from using that term with me.” “Oh?” She smiles, crossing her arms as her friends break out in Ohhs and Ahhhs behind her. “I see you’ve been reading one too many of your ‘I want to be a lawyer’ books today, and you’re using it on me. How very cute. Juvenile, but cute.” She steps closer and leans forward, whispering under her breath. “Stop whatever this charade is right

now, or I’ll tell everyone here how much of a slut you are and how you gave it up to Sam after only knowing him for a few weeks. No guy wants some girl who was fucked the way you were, and who knows how many other guys you’ve been with since that night. I can guarantee that Jace will drop you fast as hell once I tell him that the goodiegoodie he thinks he’s dating is a world-class—” “Fuck you, Genevieve.” The words are out of my mouth before I can think them through and the shop becomes completely silent. “FUCK. YOU.” I step past her and look at all her so-called “friends,” the people I only tolerated because she swore to me that they were “cool.” “Just a fair warning to all of you,” I said. “If you think Genevieve will be loyal, you’re sadly mistaken. I was her best friend—supposedly, and she’s been lying to me since day one.” Then I step back and look Genevieve right into her deceiving hazel eyes. “If Mr. Thompson had threatened me with a suspension or expulsion, would you have owned up to everything that happened that night?” She doesn’t answer, and the look on her face tells me everything I need to know. And I also know that if I don’t handle this now, I’ll never be able to claim that I care about seeing people get the true justice they deserve.

“You have until Monday to tell Mr. Thompson you were involved in the pool incident. You need to tell him that you baited me into it at the last minute because your so-called friends were driving drunk and you wanted someone sober to be there.” I cross my arms. “You’re also going to tell him that you were too chicken shit to call 9-1-1, and if it had been left up to you, you would’ve left Brynn there dead that night and made up some story about how he got there.” Brynn, who is sitting on the edge of the booth, gasps and stands to his feet. He slams his glass onto the table and storms out of the café. “And after you get done doing that, I never want to hear from you again,” I say. “Oh, you’ll never have to worry about hearing from me again.” She hisses. “But what makes you think that I’m going to do anything you say? That I’m going to own up to any of these lies you’re accusing me of?” “Because if you don’t, I’ll just tell Mr. Thompson everything else you’ve done this year, and if necessary, I’ll tell him what you did last year as well.” She raises her eyebrow, calling my bluff. “Like this year, how the school’s fire alarm has gone off six times. How it conveniently goes off anytime there’s a pop quiz in your French class, one you haven’t studied for.”

Her cheeks redden. “Or how you and your college friends are the ones who spiked the punch at the homecoming party that got half of all the football players sick. The one I missed out on because I was at home, grounded because of you. Then again, I guess I could take the personal route and tell your current college boyfriend that he’s not your only college boyfriend. I could walk down that road with you as well.” Her boyfriend’s jaw drops, and she whispers, “Please stop. Now. I get it.” “Those are just a few things I can think of off the top of my head. I’ll have a list of twenty by Monday if you haven’t spoken to Mr. Thompson.” I turn away from her for what I hope will be the last time, ignoring the stunned silence from all the patrons. Jace wraps his arm around my shoulders and walks me out of the café. Before helping me into his truck, he pulls me into his arms and kisses me until I can’t breathe. “Good job,” he whispers. “I think you’re going to make one hell of a lawyer someday.” “You heard what I said?” “Everyone heard what you said.” He kisses me. “She’s had that shit coming for a very long time.” “Did you hear any of what she said to me?” He shook his head.

“Okay.” I let out a breath, completely relieved. “Good.” I turn away to get into the truck, but he blocks me and spins me around to face him again. “What did she say?” “Nothing.” “Courtney.” He trails my lips with his finger. “What did she say?” “You’ll dump me if I tell you.” “I highly doubt that.” He smiles. “Tell me.” I swallow. “If we ever have sex, you won’t be my first. I did it with this other guy over the summer, but I didn’t like it, and I didn’t want him to do it. Genevieve and I made a pact to lose our Vcards the same night, but she backed out without telling me, so...She promised not to tell anyone that I was a slut since I gave it up to a guy I barely knew. She threatened to tell you.” He blinks. “Are you going to take me back home now?” “No.” A smile spreads across his face. “We’re going to finish this date now.” “None of what I said bothers you?” He shakes his head. “Only the part about you having to deal with a terrible-ass best friend.” “Oh...So, if we ever have sex—” I pause. “Wait. Are you still a virgin?” He looks as if he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “No, Courtney. I’m not.” “How many girls have you—”

My sentence ends on his lips, and my hands find their way to his hair—just like they always do whenever he starts to kiss me for what feels like forever. When he finally pulls away from my mouth, he whispers, “If we ever have sex, it’ll be my first time doing it with someone I care about.” He kisses me one last time and opens the car door for me. “Come on. We’ve only got one hour and forty-five-minutes left before your nine-thirty curfew.”

E.N.E.M.Y. E is for ERROR, AGAIN (It also stands for everything, which is what Jace Kennedy is to me.) Courtney: Back Then ON MONDAY AFTERNOON, I find myself summoned to the principal’s office for the second time in my high school career. Typical future felon behavior... “Miss Ryan?” The secretary says to me as soon as I come downstairs. “Mr. Thompson is ready for you.” I take a deep breath and walk into his office. “Well, well, well,” he says, taking off his reading glasses. “We meet again, Christina Courtney Ryan. This will be quick.” I take a seat, hoping Genevieve told him everything. “Genevieve Parker has told me everything,” he says. “A lot of things I’m still trying to process. And well, to be frank with you, I’m just in shock. Utter shock.” He pulls out a yellow pad and begins

to write. “As of today, your detention sentence is suspended, and I’ll be sure this doesn’t appear on your permanent record. You’re free to go to all your debate team practices now.” “Debate season is over, Mr. Thompson.” “Oh. Well, stay out of trouble for the rest of the year and the summer so you won’t be in danger of missing any of them during your senior year.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “What’s going to happen to Genevieve? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.’ “I’m not sure,” he says, handing me the yellow clearance slip. “Miss Parker is officially enrolled at Boulder Boarding School as of this morning, so that’s between her and her parents.” I gasp. That school is one of the strictest in the country. It’s three hours away, and they don’t allow cell-phones. Even if I wanted to contact her, I wouldn’t be able to. “Any other questions, Miss Ryan?” “Um, yeah. Is Mr. Kennedy free from detention, too? There’s no point is you letting me out if you don’t consider letting him out as well.” He gives me a blank stare. “Go enjoy your freedom, Miss Ryan. Hurry up before I change my mind.” He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I leave his office and head down to room 221. No one is inside. Not even the supervisor.

I rush out to the parking lot and see Jace standing in front of his pick-up truck. He looks as if he’s been waiting for me. “Hey.” He pulls me into his arms. “Did Mr. Thompson let you off, too?” “He did.” “So, we have what? A semester and a half to enjoy together before I graduate?” “Yeah.” I ignore the g-word. I don’t like to consider the thought of him ever leaving me behind in Blue Harbor. “Where do you want to go on our first day out of prison?” “My house.” “Okay.” He shrugs and helps me into the truck. When he cranks the engine, he speeds out of the parking lot and far away from Room 221. Pulling his truck onto Main Street, he looks over at me. “Why do you want to be a lawyer again?” “Well, I’ve always studied the criminal justice system in the history books, but mainly because of my dad,” I say. “He got into an accident at his job several years ago, and the insurance company refused to pay for it. He was in and out of courtrooms for two years, all while dealing with physical therapy, but in the end, he didn’t get much at all. To this day he says that if he’d had a good lawyer, things would’ve ended much differently.”

“Very touching.” He smiles. “I can understand that.” “Why do you want to be an actor again?” I mock his question. “Because I’m sexy as fuck. That’s about as deep as it gets.” I roll my eyes and laugh. “I appreciate your honesty.” “I once wanted to be a weatherman.” He clasps my hand behind the gearshift. “But that was before I realized how full of shit they all were.” “I think acting suits you better.” “Lately, I’m not so sure.” “Why not?” “Because my girlfriend has repeatedly told me that she’s hell-bent on marrying a lawyer when she gets older.” I blush. “I’ve only said that twice.” “But you’ve said it.” He parks in front of my house. “Then again, if you’re willing to compromise and maybe consider being with a guy who plays a lawyer on television, my feelings will be less hurt.” Laughing, I lean over and kiss his lips. “I’ll consider it.” I glance at my house, then back at Jace. “My parents are out of town for the next three days.” “Okay?” He raises his eyebrow.

“So, maybe instead of walking me to the door and going home, you can come inside?” He stares at me as if I’ve just spoken Spanish. “Maybe I can finally show you my room...For like a couple of hours?” His lips curve into a smile, but he still doesn’t say anything. “And um. I’m assuming you have your own, but I bought some condoms. I bought the biggest size they had because anytime we’re rolling around in the back of your truck and you place my hand on it, it feels huge...But, if the ones I bought are too big, you can just go get the rights ones, like now.” “You’re saying you want to have sex with me?” he asks, his eyes on mine. I nod. “Then you can just say, I want to have sex with you.” “You don’t think that sounds cliché?” “I think that sounds perfect.” As if he knows that I’m not going to say it like that—ever, he gets out of the car and opens the door for me. He walks with me into my house and up the steps to my room. Instead of immediately pulling me onto the bed and climbing on top of me like Sam did, he pulls me close and runs his fingers through my hair. “Are you sure?” he asks softly. “We don’t have to do this until you’re ready.”

“I’ve been planning this for weeks...I even bought lingerie from the mall.” He laughs and kisses my forehead. “I just need to hear you say it.” “I’m ready.” “Okay.” He walks over to the wall and hits the lights. Then he takes my hand and walks me over to the bed. Grabbing the hem of my shirt, he slowly pulls it over my head—stopping once he catches sight of my black lace bra. He trails his fingers against the straps, and then he unzips my pants. Pushing them down to the floor, he presses a kiss against the red bow on my panties. “Get on the bed,” he whispers, stepping out of his pants. I move past him and oblige, watching as he pulls off his shirt—revealing the set of six-pack abs I’ve touched every day in his backseat. He takes a condom from his wallet and climbs in bed on top of me. Brushing my hair out of my face, he kisses me softly, whispering, “Courtney?” “Yes?” “I love you.” “I love you back.” I lean up and press my lips against his. He unclasps the front of my bra and trails his tongue all the way down my stomach—making me

blush all over. Gently pulling my panties down my legs, he presses a kiss against each of my thighs before putting on a condom. Returning to his position on top of me, he clasps both my hands and slowly enters me inch by inch. I shut my eyes and brace for pain, but this isn’t painful at all. Him being inside of me, him kissing me every step of the way, is total pleasure. Beyond total pleasure. “Ah...Jace...” My eyes flutter open, and I notice he’s staring at me intently. “Do you want me to stop?” he asks. “Never.” He smiles and covers my mouth with more kisses. Then he continues controlling my body with his for what feels like forever. When we’re done, we do it again. Then again. Then every day after that, we do it whenever and wherever we can.

FOURTEEN Courtney: Present Day ONE OF MY FAVORITE law professors once told me that the worst thing a lawyer can do is hold a grudge. She said the inability to let go of something in your past would always affect the arguments in your present, and that no lawyer “worth a damn” had enough time in the world to practice and focus on the past at the same time. Even though I committed every other lesson that this professor taught to heart, that was the one piece I always ignored. Through my years in law school, whenever I was forced to work on a mock case that involved a dispute between two lovers, I always sided with the one I related to the most. The one who was stupid enough to believe in love and was burned with reality when it was time to face it. I was bitter and immature then, still secretly holding contempt for a guy I never mentioned aloud to anyone else. But now, I was starting to see what that law professor meant, and over the past couple weeks, I was certain I’d become a much better lawyer. Ever since we had sex after the business trip, Jace and I were spending our overtime hours in each other’s apartments. During the week, he

invited me over after work. While he cooked and committed some of his most compelling arguments to memory, I pored over more research and made calls to our clients. On weekends, he knocked on my door with breakfast and we sat in my living room—side by side, working until the sun set. Occasionally, he’d look over at me with his stunning blue eyes and I’d find myself in his arms and on my back for an afternoon quickie, but we tried to keep most of our attention on the looming case ahead. And in moments like tonight, when I was sitting in his lap as we both read separate documents, I really just wanted to let everything from before go. I didn’t want us to have to sit through a conversation “after the trial” about all the things that’d gone wrong. I wanted us to keep doing this, this thing that still—ten years later, felt so right. Uncapping my highlighter, I marked a passage in bright pink. I was in the middle of highlighting another one, when the front door to my apartment opened. What the? I waited to see if the landlord was making a random appearance, but it was Mila. “Good evening, Court,” she said, shutting the door behind her. “Hey, Jace. Again, for like, the umpteenth day in a row.” He laughed. “Hello, Mila.”

“Am I interrupting sex?” “Does it look like you’re interrupting sex?” I tossed a pencil at her, laughing. “What do you want? And why do you have a key to my apartment?” “I have a key because up until a few months ago, I was your only friend.” She glanced at Jace and playfully rolled her eyes. “I’m here because the cable in my apartment keeps freezing. I need to watch my show tonight since it’s running without commercials on the fashion network.” I blinked. “Come again? What show?” “The Victoria Secret Fashion Show,” Jace said, standing to his feet. “You were in it this year, correct?” “I was.” She smiled. “Me and Court usually watch it together, but I’m giving her a pass this year since she’s working on a case that seems like a pretty big deal.” “It is a pretty big deal,” Jace said, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “You can use my apartment to watch your show. I can’t focus if the television is on, so I figure it’s more than fair.” “Thank you so much!” She took his keys and walked to the door. Then she whispered to me, “He’s a keeper...Fuck him tonight, for me.” “He can hear you just like I can, Mila,” I said. “Oh.” She blushed, laughing. “Well, I still mean it.” She left out of my apartment as fast as she

came in. “Do you have a transcript of the Robinsons’ television interview from 1999?” “I do.” I flipped through my binder and handed it to him. “The part you’re looking for is highlighted.” “Do we have all the Masons’ medical bills?” “In the folder to your left.” “Okay, and what about the deposition from the Bryson versus Graham case? Do you have the transcript of that for me?” I flipped through the files to my right. Then I flipped through the files to my left. Shit... “I left all of last week’s research back at the firm. I knew I was missing something when I left today.” “Okay.” He sighed and pulled out his car keys. “We need that, so let’s go back and get it.” “No. You stay here and work on your opening statement. You said you wanted to have it perfected by next week.” “It’ll only take me twenty minutes to drive you there and back.” “I’ve seen you drive when you’re focused on something else.” I shook my head and took the keys from him. “We’ll probably end up in Jersey with you at the wheel. I’ll be right back.” I grabbed my coat and my purse before he could say anything else and I rushed toward the elevator.

The second I made it to the parking garage, my phone buzzed with a text message from him. JACE: Thank you. Be careful. I made it to the firm in record time, enjoying the feel of Jace’s Jaguar every mile of the way. When I arrived at my office, I scooped up the file box I needed and noticed there was a pink envelope on my desk. Opening it, I made my way downstairs as I read the neat, cursive handwriting: Dear Courtney, I still fucking love you. Jace PS—Do you by any chance remember the last lines you wrote in my senior yearbook? PSS—We can discuss our past until we’re blue in the face “after the trial,” but I just want you to know I’ll fucking love you no matter what I READ OVER HIS WORDS repeatedly as I walked out of the firm, laughing at his bluntness. I felt like we were on the same page when it came to wanting things to stay how they were now, and I felt like I was floating. My stilettos felt as if they were carrying me on air, and then I suddenly stopped mid-thought. What the hell?

My box slipped from my hands and hit the ice first, and then my back made a sickening splat noise as it hit the railing. I wasn’t floating. I was falling. Literally.

FIFTEEN Courtney: Present Day A few weeks later... THIS WAS not how I pictured making my debut in my first huge case. I was supposed to be standing right next to Jace in the cover photo of Legal Affairs Magazine, under the headline that read, “Walton & Associates Takes Bryson Power & Water to Court: Historic Class Action Lawsuit.” I was supposed to be on television, answering reporters’ questions every few days like he was— letting them know we were definitely going to win this for our clients. And as uninspiring as it sounded, I would’ve given anything to be joining our team in one of the cramped hotel rooms, in the small county, where the trial was taking place. Instead, I was sitting in my bed—surrounded by pillows, “Get Well Soon” cards, and an array of colorful plastic scratchers to use whenever I needed to reach my left leg. My fall on the ice that night had been brutal, and I’d stayed in the hospital for two weeks while doctors stabilized the numerous compound fractures in my leg. They kept saying I was “lucky” that my back was only severely bruised with contusions, but once Mr. Walton

removed me from the case for recovery, I failed to see where any “luck” was. The only highlight about my condition was that Jace called me every few hours with updates, and he’d personally hired someone to make food for me every day while he was away. He blamed himself for my injury and vowed to make it up to me, even though I told him every day that he didn’t have to. Then again, Mr. Walton was super impressed with my work and he’d given me plenty of files to look over for my next case. He’d also gifted me with a deluxe wheelchair, but I still needed help getting into it. Grabbing a pink scratcher, I slid it down my cast and began to scratch. Then I hit play on the last unmarked DVD I’d placed in the player. I opened my notebook, prepared to take down the quotes from a witness that stood out most, but the person on my television wasn’t a witness at all. It was Jace. He smiled and adjusted the camera, looking directly at me. “Courtney,” he said. “I know you have a talent for finding the truth buried under years of deposition tapes, so I’m hoping you’ll find this one this week while you’re at home.” He paused and smiled, looking sexier than ever in a navy-blue suit. “I’m sure we have a lot to discuss about where we went wrong ten years ago after the trial, but for the

record, I like how the past few weeks have gone between us. I feel like we still have a lot to learn about each other, but I’m more than willing to work on picking up from here when it’s all said and done. And by here, I don’t mean friendship because I won’t be able to be “just friends” with you. Ever. It’s all or nothing, and I’m not going to accept nothing.” I hit pause on the tape and grabbed a bottle of water from my nightstand. All or nothing, and I’m not going to accept nothing... I hit play. “Nonetheless, looking back, I wish we’d just talked because I think we could’ve sorted this out long before this point. But because I know you, and I know you won’t be able to truly let go until you know both sides, here is exactly what I remember and why I felt like it was you who left me...” I hit pause again and leaned back against my pillows. I wasn’t ready to watch the rest of this right now. Something told me his version was going to be a lot different from my version, and I needed to make sure I was fully rested before I combed through every detail of his story.

E.N.E.M.Y. M is for MALICE (It also stands for mistake, which is unfortunately what my relationship with Jace Kennedy was all along.) Courtney: Back Then “DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE that, Courtney,” Jace says, hugging me. “It’s just college, not the end of the world.” “Okay.” I try to smile, but I can’t do it. I’m currently standing in his dorm room at Central University—a college that’s six hours away from Blue Harbor. I’ve made the trip with him in his truck, but I’ll be taking the trip back home with his mother. His senior year flew by in a total blur, and the moments we shared together—late nights in his pickup truck, laughter around the lake, kisses around school bonfires, all seem so distant now. It’s as if I didn’t commit the details to memory well enough to hold onto them for the long term.

He’s given me his senior yearbook so I can write the long inscription I never got around to writing this summer, but we both know that it’s more than that. It’s a tangible thing for him to come home for, a reason he can come knock on my door should we break up between now and his holiday break. “I told you that I’ll still call you every night,” he says, kissing my forehead. “And I’m going to come home to see you every four weeks.” “That’s once a month.” “That’s why I said four weeks. Once a month sounds unbearable.” “Don’t leave me while you’re here, Jace.” “What?” He holds me tighter. “What do you mean?” “Like, leave me,” I say. “Physically you’ll be gone, but I’ll still need you to be there for me emotionally. And I’ll still need you to act like you’re my best friend...Also, you can’t date anyone else. That counts as leaving me, too.” “Okay.” He lets me go and walks over to his door shutting it. “The rules are the same for you then. Especially that last part. No dating other guys while I’m gone.” “No guy at Blue Harbor has approached me since I started dating you.” “Good.” He kisses me and pulls me onto the bed. “Then let’s keep it that way. Let’s also stop

acting like this is some type of funeral.” “By having sex on your dorm bed?” His kisses answer my question.

E.N.E.M.Y. M is for MALICE, AGAIN (It also stands for mistake, which is unfortunately what my relationship with Jace Kennedy was all along.) Courtney: Back Then Two weeks later JACE KEEPS HIS PROMISE to call me every night, but the conversations don’t last like they once did. I tell myself that this is normal, that he’s just adjusting to his new life in college and things will go back to normal soon. To show that I’m not upset about the new change in our relationship, I tell him that we should consider emailing each other. That way there’s no excuse not to keep up with each other every day. Still, without him being in Blue Harbor, I realize just how much time we used to spend together. I eat

lunch alone at school, I have no one to hang out with afterward, and on weekends, I’ve tried forcing myself to hang out with my debate teammates, but they don’t share my sense of humor like he does. I’ve never felt so utterly alone, and despite all the amazing things I once looked forward to doing when I finally became a high school senior, they all seem pointless without him being here to share it with me. I decide not to burden him with how I’m really feeling—promising myself I’ll tell him the truth when he finally comes home to see me. If he ever comes home to see me... SUBJECT: TWO MORE WEEKS! Hey Jace, I’m so happy you’re in college and pursuing acting. (I’m sure you’re wowing everyone already). I miss you like crazy. Tell me everything you’ve been up to this week. Miss you and love you, —Court PS—Can’t wait to see you in TWO WEEKS! SUBJECT: RE: TWO MORE Weeks! Hey Court, I like this email idea. I tried calling you earlier, but I couldn’t get a good signal in the dining hall.

My acting classes are not what I thought they would be. I’ll have to tell you about it over the phone. Anyway, I miss you more. I’ll try to call you this weekend to catch you up on everything. —Jace PS—Don’t hate me, but I may not be able to come home in two weeks. Let’s aim for four weeks from now instead? I’ll make it up to you I promise. SUBJECT: RE: RE: TWO More Weeks! I definitely want to hear more about your acting classes. (My AP English class is nothing like I thought it would be either, so I can totally relate.) I understand the change. I’ll change your homecoming date on my calendar, and I’m anxiously awaiting to see how you’ll make this up to me. **wink wink** PS—I really miss hearing your voice on the phone at night. (I called you three times this week...Is the reception really that bad on your campus?) SUBJECT: I’M THE NEW captain! Hey Jace! You’re officially talking to the new captain of the Debate team! (It was actually a unanimous vote). I’m totally excited, but this means I’ll have

to put in an extra hour or two of prep every day. My parents are taking me out tonight to celebrate. How are classes going? You still haven’t told me, but hopefully you’re more adjusted to your course load now. Did you forget to call me this weekend like you said? I don’t have a missed call. —Court SUBJECT: RE: I’M THE new captain! Hey Court, Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. Congrats on being the new captain. You deserve it. Talk soon. Love you, —Jace SUBJECT: RE: RE: I’M the new captain! Jace, Is that seriously all you have to say about me being captain? I deserve it???? Court SUBJECT: RE: RE: RE: I’m the new captain! Of course not. I’m sending you something in the mail this week to congratulate you as well.

You do deserve it. Jace SUBJECT: PHONE CALLS Hey...You didn’t call me at all this week, and you haven’t responded to my last three emails. Are you okay? PS—I got the gift you sent me in the mail this week. Thank you so much. PSS—As much as I love the things you send me in the mail, I really love just talking to you...Please call me. SUBJECT: HAPPY MONDAY! Hey. Just adding this email to the other thread I’ve been sending you. I have a new part-time job on Sundays at Paper & Spine... It helps me fill my time since you’re not here. I’m attaching some pictures I’ve taken this year. PS—Today I sat down to write my long letter at the back of your yearbook, but it was starting to feel weird because we’re not in the same place we were when you left. At least it feels like it... PSS—Call me...I guess.

SUBJECT: RE: HAPPY Monday Hey Court, I’m sorry I haven’t been calling and emailing you as much as I should. I promise I’m going to try and do better. I’ve been thinking...Would you like to come up to campus to see me since I keep pushing my visit home back? I’ll buy your train ticket. I love you (and I’m never “leaving” you), Jace SUBJECT: RE: RE: HAPPY Monday! OMG Yes! Just let me know the dates, and I’m there! I love you more, and I’ll never leave you either, Court

E.N.E.M.Y. M is for MALICE, AGAIN (It also stands for mistake, which is unfortunately what my relationship with Jace Kennedy was all along.) Courtney: Back Then Eight weeks later I’M PACKING MY BAGS to see Jace, even though I’m mad at him for not coming home for the holidays like he swore he would. I’m making sure that I have his Christmas gifts tucked tightly at the bottom of my suitcase, and that I bring his yearbook. I have yet to finish writing the love letter at the back of it, but I’m hoping the train ride will give me a chance to do so. We’re officially down to two phone calls a week—if we’re lucky, and they’re basically laundry lists of what we’ve done. There’s no conversation anymore, and I’ve stopped writing “PS—Call me”

at the bottom of my emails because it doesn’t really make a difference. I’m hoping that one weekend of being around him will make me see that he’s just been busy, and that the two of us are going to make it for the longhaul. “Court?” My cousin Amy walks into my bedroom and hands me a pack of condoms. “Did you pack these for your trip? I’m sure you’ll need as many boxes as you can get since you haven’t seen him in a while.” I stuff the condoms into my dresser drawer. Sex is the last thing that me and Jace need to do this weekend. We just need to talk. That’s it. “Oh? So, you two are not having sex anymore?” “It’s kind of hard to have sex when you’re in two separate cities.” I sit on my bed. “We don’t talk like we used to anymore, so it’s just hard.” “Yeah, well.” She shrugs. “Shit happens. That’s why you’re not supposed to date a guy who is in college if you’re in high school. It’s a completely different world, and from the way your boyfriend looks, I’m pretty sure he’s keeping himself busy with plenty of girls on campus.” “Jace would never cheat on me. He’s been really busy these days, but he loves me.” “I’m sure he does love you.” She smirks, and I’m tempted to slap it off her face, but I don’t have

anyone else to talk to these days. “But he’s probably still fucking someone else.” “We used to have plenty of sex.” I hate her right now, and she’s absolutely wrong. “All the time. Like, multiple times a day.” “Keyword: Used to.” She pulls her phone out of her pocket. “But you know what, little cousin, I’m going to do a little investigating, just for you today. She pulls up a site called Facebook.” “What’s Facebook?” “It’s a site just for college students. They’re talking about opening it up for everyone someday, but for now, only college students with the .edu address can have one.” “It’s a hookup site?” “No, it’s just a way to meet up with other college people and post pictures and post events and stuff.” She taps her screen. “So Jace goes to Central University, but what’s his last name again?” “Kennedy.” She types in his name and his picture comes onto the screen. My heart speeds up at the very sight of him in his Central hoodie, at the sexy ass dimples in his cheeks. It instantly fades away the second she clicks on his profile, and I see pictures of his social life, though. In every single picture, his arm is around a girl that is not me. A blonde. A brunette. A redhead.

He’s laughing and smiling as he and a girl share a cup of coffee with two long straws. He’s posing next to a poster of James Dean outside a liquor store and hundreds of comments are telling him what I’ve already told him a million times. (He looks better.) And in multiple shots, he’s sitting on a park bench—staring at his phone. The very phone that he can’t fucking call me on for five to ten minutes a day. He doesn’t have many “statuses” up— apparently those are ways these Facebook people tell everyone what they’re doing and who they’re hanging out with all the time, but the pictures say enough. I feel tears falling down my face and I feel like a fool. “Oh, god. I’m—” Amy takes the phone away from me. “I’m so sorry, Courtney. I know you said you loved him, but I didn’t know it was enough to make you cry. I would’ve never shown you that if I knew.” She keeps apologizing and handing me Kleenex, trying to take back her words. She says the pictures don’t mean anything, that Jace could go without having sex just like me, and I should give him a chance to explain. The damage is already done, though. I’m still going to board the train to see him this weekend, and I’m still going to finish writing him that yearbook letter I promised. But it’s not going

to be a love letter anymore. This letter is going to say goodbye.

E.N.E.M.Y. Y is for YOU (As in I love you, Courtney, and I want to be with you...) Jace: Back Then COLLEGE IS NOTHING like what I thought it would be, and if I’d known this shit was going to be this fucking miserable, I would’ve gone to the college in Blue Harbor. Since my parents aren’t real estate tycoons or business owners, I have to work three jobs just to stay afloat, and my bills are on a rotating off and on schedule. I pay my phone bill two weeks late to cover my groceries, using the extra cash to send Courtney small things home. Twice, I’ve had to cancel my plans to go home and see her because an asshole professor decided to tell me about a new book I needed to buy for a class. And for some reason, in college, the price of a book starts at two hundred dollars. I want to tell her how much I’m struggling financially, how much I miss her and not these fake

ass college “friends” who are obsessed with posting on this dumbass site called Facebook and making it seem like we’re closer than we really are. I don’t want her to worry about me at all, though. I want her to enjoy her senior year as much as possible. Even though we don’t talk as much, and I don’t email her back as often as I should (I’m still not used to only getting five hours of sleep a night), I’m looking forward to seeing her when she comes up via train this month. I’m going to tell her that I’m considering moving back home and going to college in Blue Harbor to be closer to her, and that, after being inspired by my current ethics classes, maybe pursuing career in law. As much as I love acting, I can’t see myself staying in this major for four whole years. I need to make money, and I need to get out of school and pursue a career with guaranteed income. Not dreams of income. I write down the rest of my thoughts on a napkin—making sure they’re as thought out as they can be for Courtney since she’ll have a million questions, and then I walk to Addison and Macy. The top gift shop on campus. “Hello there, Mr. Kennedy.” The owner smiles at me as soon as I walk in. “Is your girlfriend still coming into town this weekend?”

“She is.” “Well son,” he says, walking over to me and handing me a gift for Courtney. “Never in all my years of working on this campus, has someone come to me and said, ‘Can I work fifty hours for free, to buy my girlfriend a gift.’” He hands me the pink box. “You must really love this girl.” “I really do.”

E.N.E.M.Y. Y is for YOU (As in you left me Courtney. For no fucking reason.) Jace: Back Then I MAKE SURE TO GET to the train station an hour before Courtney is set to arrive. I’ve made sure that my roommate will be gone the entire weekend so we can have the room to ourselves, made a dinner reservation at a place I know she’ll love, and I’ve written an apology about not being there for her as much as I was in Blue Harbor. When the train pulls into the station, I expect her to be one of the first people to get off, but she’s not. It takes over twenty minutes for her to step off, and she doesn’t look happy to see me at all. She looks as if she’s been crying. “Court?” I walk over to her and pull her into my arms. “Court, what’s wrong?” “Jace...” I keep my arms around her until she stops, and then I lead her over to a bench. “Do you want to talk about this here or in my room?”

“I’m not going back to campus with you.” Her voice cracks. “What do you mean?” She shakes her head and her red and puffy eyes meet mine. “I spent the last of my money on a return trip that leaves in an hour, so I won’t be staying. I’ll find a way to pay you back for the ticket you bought, though.” “Court, you’re not making any sense. You just got here. Literally. Did someone back home die or something?” “No.” She turns away from me, looking straight ahead. “You left me, Jace, and I can’t pretend that this is going to work for me anymore.” “Courtney, what the hell are you talking about?” I stand up and move in front of her, so she can see my face. “How did I leave you if I’m standing right here?” “I’m sorry I ever trusted you.” She shakes her head. “You can’t even answer a phone call or a text message.” “I can explain that.” “I’m sure you can.” She shrugs and pulls my yearbook out of her bag. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to call me to do it since I have to board now, but...Since we both know you’re averse to calling me, I won’t hold my breath.” I grab her hand as she walks away. “Courtney, what the fuck? Please tell me this is some type of

goddamn joke.” “Am I laughing?” She snatches her hand away from me and rushes past the boarding line before I can catch her. Beyond pissed, I’m confused as fuck. And I can feel something painful happening to the muscles in my chest. I take several deep breaths and try to think of what the hell could’ve happened between the time she agreed to come here and now, and I can’t think of anything. I also can’t believe that she would fucking hurt me like this when she knows just how much she means to me. Maybe she doesn’t care. Maybe she found someone else. Refusing to even consider that second thought, I return to the bench and call Courtney’s phone. It goes straight to voicemail. I call again and again and I get the same result. It’s not until the damn train leaves the station that I finally get the hint. Sighing and unable to deal with the unfamiliar pain in my chest, I open my yearbook and see that she’s left me a short note. DEAR JACE, It’s over.

I clearly can’t trust you, and you clearly don’t love me. You promised not to “leave” me, and you did, so please don’t try to deny it. I’ve been trying to make us work—all by myself, for months and it’s clear that you don’t want the same thing. It’s clear that you’ve moved on and we’re in different places in our lives. (I can’t believe I bought into you saying you could see yourself being with me forever. What. A. Joke.) Please don’t call me (I won’t answer), and please don’t stop by my house if you come back home to Blue Harbor. (I don’t want to see you anymore) PS—You were a cocky, arrogant asshole in high school and I can’t believe I ever fell for you... PSS—For the record, you weren’t **that** damn sexy.

SIXTEEN Courtney: Present Day I WATCHED JACE’S DEPOSITION for what had to be the hundredth time this week—pausing it each time he got to the part where I left him at the train station with his yearbook. I had no idea he was working three jobs to support himself back then, no idea that he was struggling with loneliness as much as me. “So, Courtney...” he said, in the final minute of the tape. “If you’re watching this tape, I just want you to know that this was how things looked from my point of view all those years ago, and that to this day, you’re still my only love and first heartbreak.” He smiled. “But if it’s okay with you, after you tell me your side of things, I’d like us to move on and start over whenever you’re ready. I let you leave me once, but I’m not going to do it again. I love you.” He winks at me and then the tape ends. I replayed the entire thing—all thirty minutes of it, one last time. Then I picked up my phone and called Jace. “Yes, Courtney?” he answered on the first ring. “Congratulations on winning the case.” “You told me that three hours ago.”

“I know, but I hadn’t seen any of the pictures yet.” I picked up this morning’s edition of The New York Times from my nightstand and smile at yesterday’s picture of him and Mr. Walton walking outside of the small county’s courthouse. “You were supposed to send me pictures of the celebratory party from last night.” “I told you I didn’t go to that.” There was a smile in his voice. “I was too busy talking to you the whole damn time.” “Oh, right.” I paused. “How does it feel to win your clients eighty million?” “Eighty million? You mean Eight hundred million?” He laughed. “I guess it feels okay since I’ll be getting fifty of it.” “Will you share it?” “I’ll think about it. Have you finished watching my deposition tape yet?” “Your tape?” I smiled. “You mean the ones for the new Lawson case?” “I mean the one that you clearly watched half of because you left me fifteen voicemails about your side of the story last night. The one that you must’ve been watching all this weekend on repeat.” “You don’t know me.” He laughed. “I understand why you felt the way you did, but I’d prefer if we finished this conversation in person. I’ll bring you lunch after I stop by the firm. Mr. Walton said he wanted to see

me in his office as I soon as I landed in New York, so I’m on my way there right now. See you soon.” “See you soon.” I ended the call and picked up my files for the newest case. I was about three minutes in, when Jace’s words hit me. He wanted to see me in his office as soon as I landed in New York... I looked at the calendar on my phone. Today was a Friday. The last Friday of the month that was almost always a fire-day. Is he seriously going to fire Jace after all the money he’s just made? I wasn’t sure what came over me, but I grabbed my umbrella from my headboard and leaned over my bed, hooking the handle of it on my wheelchair. I took my time moving from the bed, down my inflatable ramp, and into the chair. Wheeling myself into my closet, I wrapped my neck in two scarves and stuck my arms through a coat backwards since there was no help. I made my way to the elevator and straight down to the lobby. “Miss Ryan?” The doorman stepped in front of me when I made it to the sidewalk. “Mr. Kennedy has made it perfectly clear that you’re not supposed to leave the building by yourself.” “I’m not.” I motioned for my town car driver to help me and he opened the backdoor, slowly

helping me onto the backseat. “See? He brought the SUV specifically for my wheelchair.” The driver shook his head at me as he secured it. “If Mr. Walton or Mr. Kennedy asks, I wasn’t involved in this.” He shut the door and navigated the car through New York’s snow streets, and when we arrived at the firm, he helped me out of the car and into the elevator. “Miss Ryan?” Mr. Walton’s secretary gasped as I wheeled my way into the office. “Mr. Walton said you weren’t supposed to come in for another month or so.” “Is he in his office right now?” “He is, but—” I didn’t wait to hear the rest of her sentence. I rolled my ass right into Mr. Walton’s office—right in front of his desk. “What is it with you and Fridays, Mr. Walton?” I asked, blushing when I realized Jace was sitting in the room already. “I know it’s none of my business and that Jace totally flubbed a line in his closing monologue—he said instrumental instead of detrimental, but he’s won one of the biggest class action lawsuits in the state. Why is he in here on a Friday?” He blinked. Then he stood up from his desk and laughed, walking over to Jace. “Well, well, well, Mr. Kennedy.” He opened the door to his office. “Who knew you could predict

the fact that she would try to show up today? I’ll be right back with the town car driver so you can go back home where you belong, Miss Ryan. Then we’ll finish our conversation.” He winked and Jace laughed at me. “Me saving you from getting fired is funny?” “I wasn’t getting fired,” he said. “I’m quitting.” “What? Already?” I shook my head. “You just started.” “I did, but there’s a huge conflict of interest with someone who has an office right across from me.” He smiled, trailing his finger against my lips. “Dating is a blatant violation of this firm’s rules. It’s also why they’re the best in New York.” “So, you’re leaving me?” “Not you,” he said. “Just the firm. I’ll still be living next door to you until you decide to move in with me, somewhere else.” “You’re saying that as if it’s a given and not a question.” “Based on all your voicemails, I think I’m right to assume that you want to start ‘us’ again just like I do.” “I also feel like I need you to accept my apology for how I treated you,” I said. “I had no idea about everything you were going through back then. I’m sorry.” “I accept, but I’m sorry, too,” he said. “We were young so we didn’t know any better. Now we

do.” “Well, I only want to start ‘us’ again if it’ll feel the same.” “It won’t.” He leaned close and kissed my lips until I couldn’t breathe. “It’ll feel better.”

—The End—

If you enjoyed this book, please check out our other titles. Nicole London Mr. Popular: A Falling for My Brother’s Best Friend Romance Resentment: An Enemies to Lover’s Romance

Whitney G. Over Us, Over You On A Tuesday: A Second Chance Romance Sincerely, Carter: A Friends to Lovers Romance Sincerely, Arizona

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ALSO BY NICOLE LONDON New Adult Romance My Brother’s Roommate* Mr. Popular Resentment *denotes that title is available for pre-order and/or an upcoming release

ALSO BY WHITNEY G. Erotic Romance Reasonable Doubt (Full Series) Turbulence Malpractice* Dirty Doctor: A Novella Naughty Boss: A Novella Cocky Client: A Novella The Layover: A Novella Contemporary Romance On a Tuesday: A Second Chance Romance Thirty Day Boyfriend: A Novella Resisting the Boss (A Falling for Mr. Statham Novel) Loving the Boss (A Falling for Mr. Statham Novel) Over Us, Over You (Twisted Love) New Adult Romance Sincerely, Carter Sincerely, Arizona Forget You, Ethan* The Beautiful Series*

*denotes that title is available for pre-order and/or an upcoming release

A Letter to the Reader DEAR INCREDIBLE READER, Thank you so much for taking time out of your life to read our book! We really hope you were thoroughly entertained and had as much fun with these two characters as we did. It has been so awesome writing our very first book together. Jace and Courtney’s love story was inspired by our obsessions with all things law, endless re-runs of Law & Order SVU, our love for New York City, and our infatuation with sweet love stories:-) If you LOVED this story and have any extra time, PLEASE leave a review on amazon.com. Love, Nicole London & Whitney G.

SNEAK PEEK: On a Tuesday (A Second Chance Romance)

SYNOPSIS We met on a Tuesday. Became best friends, then lovers, on a Tuesday. And everything fell apart on a Tuesday... Charlotte Taylor has three automatic strikes in my book: 1) She hates me. She also claims that I'm a "domineering jerk with a huge, overbearing ego." (I do have something huge. It's not my ego, though.) 2) She takes our mandatory tutoring sessions way too seriously. 3) She's sexy as hell...And a virgin. At least, those were her strikes before our study sessions started lasting longer than they were supposed to. Until one innocent kiss became a hundred dirty ones, and until she became the first woman I ever fell hard for. Our future together after graduation was supposed to be set: Professional football for me. Law school for her. But she left me at the end of the semester with no explanation, and then she completely disappeared from my life. Until tonight. We met on a Tuesday. Became everything, then nothing, on a Tuesday. And now it's seven years later, on a Tuesday...

GRAYSON: NOW Present Day New York City GRAYSON CONNORS WINS SUPER BOWL MVP, AGAIN GRAYSON CONNORS LEADS NEW YORK TO CONSECUTIVE SUPER BOWL WIN CONNORS’ LATE TOUCHDOWN LIFTS NEW YORK OVER NEW ENGLAND

I read this morning’s headlines for the hundredth time and forced myself to smile. I tried to feel something—anything, but it was no use. This wasn’t what “winning” was supposed to feel like, and I would know because— well, I almost always won. As a heavy snow fell over Manhattan, I walked over to my balcony and watched a construction crew adjust a new billboard that read, "Go, Grayson Connors!" Last year, I’d celebrated the championship by joining my teammates in a reckless five-day party in Las Vegas. We’d drenched our team plane in thousand-dollar champagne, demanded over the top accommodations for the Super Bowl parade, and basked in the never-ending attention from women who wanted to know “what it felt like to sleep with a champion.”

But this year, when the game clock struck zero, and the score was in my team's favor, I felt no excitement at all. I coasted through the ensuing media interviews with a fake smile plastered on my face, and I didn't bother flying with the team to Vegas. I came straight home and called the police to report the flock of groupies who were waiting outside my condo. I decided to host my own private celebration, but when I scrolled through the five hundred contacts in my phone, I realized that there were only two people worth calling: My mother and my best friend, Kyle. Then again, my mother didn’t believe in leaving her house for non-emergencies when it snowed, and asking Kyle to celebrate days after defeating his team in the game was a bit egotistical. Even for me. I’ll ask him about it next weekend... I scrolled through my contacts again, hoping I’d missed someone, but the results were the same. Frustrated, I tossed my phone at the wall and turned on the TV. As the announcers walked through their favorite moments of Sunday’s game, a knock came to my door. Confused as to why my doorman would let anyone up to my floor without asking me for permission first, I walked over and looked through the peephole.

Anna? “We’ve talked about this, Anna,” I said, opening the door and letting her inside. “You’re supposed to call and ask me if you can come up here first.” “I’m your agent.” She scoffed and held up her phone. “I called several times because you just bolted after the game. Since you didn’t answer, I was worried.” She looked around the room. “Am I interrupting a celebratory orgy or something?” “No.” I groaned. “What do you want?” “I wanted to personally congratulate you on winning your second Super Bowl.” She handed me a bright pink envelope. “I’m so proud of you, that I actually wrote inside of this card.” “You came all the way over here just to give me a card?” "Of course not." She smiled and pulled a manila envelope from her purse. "I have a few things I need you to sign, and a few time-sensitive deals we need to negotiate." “That sounds like it can wait until next week.” “It could, but what if one of us dies before next week? What if you hurt your throwing arm between tonight and this weekend and suddenly, you realize that no one wants to endorse an injured athlete?” I gave her a blank stare. This woman was the most anxious person I’d ever met. She was undoubtedly the best when it came to doing her job,

but her anxiety made her incapable of relaxing, so she never took a day off. She used the word “time sensitive” for everything, and I knew just by looking at her, that none of what she had to say to me today was that crucial. “You’ve got twenty minutes,” I said. “I’m not spending my entire day on paperwork.” “Fair enough.” She carried her envelope to my living room, turned on the fireplace, and hit mute on the television like this was her house. Then she slipped off her heels and plopped onto my sofa, rearranging the ESPN and Sports Illustrated magazines on my coffee table. “Would you mind making me a cup of coffee, Grayson?” she asked. “I’m thirsty.” Okay. Now, you’ve got five minutes. I filled two of my “Yes, I’m That Good” mugs with coffee and took a seat across from her, bracing myself for bullshit. “Let’s start with the simple things first,” she said, sliding her phone to me. “The gossip blogs caught a picture of you dining with a mystery woman inside of a Tribeca restaurant a few nights ago. I know how annoyed you get about your privacy, so if you want to kill the speculation, would you like to confirm that you have a new girlfriend or tell them that this is just a fling?” “I would like to tell them to go fuck themselves.” I rolled my eyes. “I was treating my

mother to a private dinner. It was her birthday.” “Oh.” She tapped her fingers against her phone. “Okay, well that’s now handled. Second thing, you’ll need to read over these contract amendments and sign off on them by tomorrow. Speaking of amendments, the last time we spoke ...” I tuned out her voice and sipped my coffee as she spoke a mile a minute. Without giving her my full attention, I knew that every other phrase that fell from her lips was “speaking of that contract,” “I need you to sign this” or “Oh! Now, this one is really time sensitive.” By the time she finally stopped talking, an entire hour had passed. “You went over by forty minutes,” I said, standing. “Whatever we haven’t discussed will have to wait. Hopefully, both of us will still be alive by then.” She laughed. “Fine. Just make sure you’re all packed for your class reunion at The University of Pittsburgh. You’ll need three suits at most, something to wear on a golf course, and your old college jersey, of course. Delta Airlines has promised to leave two first class seats open on all their NYC to Pitt flights for tomorrow, so no need to feel rushed.” “What?” I raised my eyebrow. “What are you talking about?” “I’m talking about your class reunion. It’s this Tuesday night.”

“Since when do college classes have seven-year reunions?” I asked. “When your class is full of achievers, I guess.” She handed me an ivory envelope. I opened the invitation and instantly remembered when she’d first given it to me months ago, when I agreed to “do whatever they needed me to do.” I clearly wasn’t thinking straight. “They want you to give two speeches,” she said. “One before the fireworks, and one at the farewell ceremony. I’ve made a draft of both speeches, a list of additional things you may want to touch on, and a photo collage of your college memories that you may want to look over while we fly. You’re welcome.” “I don’t recall saying thank you.” I shook my head and returned the invitation. “I’m not going to this. Get me out of it now.” “Grayson.” Her face paled. “Surely, you know how terrible it will look if you back out of this the day before. You’re the surprise, special guest speaker.” “I don’t care.” I walked away from her. There was only one person who would make me consider going to that reunion, and since she never came to any alumni events I’d attended over the years, I didn’t need to waste my time. “Tell them something

came up. You can also tell them that I’m more than willing to address the crowd via Skype.” “Grayson, listen.” “I didn’t stutter.” I kept my voice firm. “End of discussion.” "Okay." She stood to her feet. "Well, now that you're not going to the reunion, I guess we can get your contract renewal with Nike out of the way. I'm having lunch with a few of their team members tomorrow, and I can make that happen, if so." “Sure.” I officially gave up on the idea of her ever knowing and accepting when a meeting was ‘over.’ “Great! I’ll let myself out.” She slipped into her heels and headed toward the door. I walked over to the spot where I’d thrown my phone and picked it up, somewhat surprised it was still in one piece. Before I could call my doorman and tell him that Anna was not an exception to my “call me first” rule, I heard her clearing her throat. “Yes, Anna?” “I wanted to ask you one last thing,” she said. “Did you see the note about Charlotte Taylor?” “What?” I turned around. “What did you just say?” “Charlotte Taylor.” She shrugged and held up the invitation. “There was a little note on the back about her. Did you see it?”

I didn't answer. I rushed over and took the card from her hands. Flipping it over, I spotted a handwritten note in faint purple ink: Grayson, I hope all is well with you. I know we haven't spoken in quite a while, but between you and me ... Charlotte Taylor RSVP’d for this reunion a few weeks ago. I thought you would want to know. —Nadira I stared at the note for several seconds, feeling my blood boil with each written word. I hadn’t heard from Charlotte since I graduated college. I’d spent thousands of dollars looking for her the first year she left me, and all I ever found were confirmations that she’d moved overseas, started a new life, and married someone who wasn’t me. Just the mere mention of her name was bringing back all the memories of what we once had. What we once swore would never come to an end. To this day, I’d never loved anyone the way I loved her. Hell, I honestly hadn’t “loved” anyone since her because no other woman ever compared, and it still made me angry whenever I remembered that she never had the decency to give me a damn goodbye. "Well, I guess that's that," Anna said. "But you know, now I think we can kill two birds with one

stone during the lunch with Nike, if you don’t mind. In addition to meeting your reps, we can finally film two of those short—” “I won’t be joining you for lunch tomorrow.” I looked over the handwritten note one last time, knowing I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else for the rest of the day. “I’m going to the reunion.” “Okay. Well, it’s not until Tuesday evening, Grayson. You can still join us for lunch Monday, sign your name on a few papers, and fly out to Pittsburgh in the afternoon.” “I’m flying there tonight.”

CHARLOTTE: THEN Seven years ago Pittsburgh THERE HAD TO BE A SPECIAL place reserved in hell for advisors who steered you on the wrong path during your college career. At least, I was hoping that was the case so my clueless advisor would know what it felt like to have his future in the wrong hands. “Well, this is quite a problem, Charlotte.” He tapped his fingers against the desk. “Even with all the advanced classes you’ve taken, you’re still missing six of the credits you need for your Political Science degree. I can’t believe that you, of all people, didn’t catch this before now. You’re supposed to be one of my smartest students.” “Are you seriously blaming me for this?” "I'm not blaming you, per se," he said. "I'm just saying that for someone who cares so much about your education, you should've known that you hadn’t taken all of your Ethics courses. Hell, I was a Poli-Sci major decades ago, and even I know Ethics III and IV are necessary." I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to scream. “On the plus side,” he said, smiling, “You’ve completed everything you need for your Art major,

so you’ll at least get that. Who needs two degrees anyway?” "Mr. Henderson." I took a deep breath. "With all due respect, if I'm only six credits short, it doesn't make sense if I don't graduate with two degrees. Are you sure there aren't any alternative courses I could take in place of Ethics III and IV?" "Dr. Bradshaw is offering an internship at her firm this year. You're a perfect candidate, and I'm sure she'd love to sign off on having you there." "I can't." I shook my head. "I'm already taking eighteen credits this semester, and I'm a resident assistant at a freshman dorm. An internship like that would be complete and utter suicide.” “Well, there’s always the summer semester.” He smiled. “You’ll still walk with your class. You’ll just take those six credits, then.” “Ten seconds ago, you said that Ethics courses are never offered in the summer. You literally just said that.” “Oh, right.” He blew out a breath and looked at his screen. “Okay, look. I need you to give me a few minutes alone so I can figure this out.” “You want me to leave?” “Yes.” He pointed to the door. “Step outside so I can be alone with my thoughts. And while you’re out there, go get me a coffee.” Ugh! I grabbed my backpack and stepped outside his office, walking over to the study room.

As I poured him a cup of coffee, I overheard him saying, “Shit, shit, shit!” and calling for his secretary. I was tempted to add salt to his drink instead of sugar, but I decided to wait until he came up with an actual action plan. It never ceased to amaze me how nonchalant he was about being an advisor, how there was always a “minor problem” at the start of every semester. If it wasn’t for the fact that one of the university’s deans had encouraged me to double major in Art, I might not have a completed degree at all. I leaned against one of the bay windows and looked down at the campus below. No matter how many times I attempted to describe it to my friends back home or paint it on my canvases, it still managed to look different every time. The “campus” at the University of Pittsburgh wasn’t anything like other college campuses. Instead of acres of lush green lawns with complementing blond brick buildings and dining halls, Pitt was more like a miniature city with university and dorm buildings artfully placed wherever a corporate business, restaurant, or hospital couldn’t fit. The Cathedral of Learning, the massive beige monolith that towered over the skyscraper dorms and student unions, was the only building that made it clear that the twenty blocks

that stretched across the Oakland neighborhood were part of a school. In every promotional booklet, the university captured at least twenty pictures of students studying beneath the sun on the Soldiers and Sailors lawn or throwing frisbees across the student union park. They just conveniently failed to mention the fact that those places were only usable for two months out of the year because Pittsburgh was second only to Seattle when it came to dreary gray skies. As I was watching a child run across the street with a balloon, I felt my phone buzzing against my pocket. A phone call from my best friend, Nadira. “Hello?” I answered, whispering. “Hey! Where are you?” “I’m at the Honors College with my advisor. Can I call you back?” “This will only take five seconds,” she said. “I just want to make sure that you’re coming to the ice cream social later tonight.” “I can’t. Tonight’s the night we’re throwing the welcome party for our dorm, remember?” “No, no, no. We are not throwing anything. We're setting up the snacks, and then we are going to the ice cream social because no one ever comes to university-sponsored dorm parties, Charlotte. You know this."

“People will come because I’m hosting,” I said. “I hand-made the invitations and I even painted a new banner.” “Jesus." She groaned. "Look, I'm your best friend and your co-RA, and even I'm not going. I told you that last week." “You told me it was because you had a date.” “I lied.” She laughed. "I'm not taking no for an answer on this. It's your senior year, and you're finally going to enjoy the social part of college. You're partying every weekend, going to at least four football games with me, and in addition to all the random and reckless shit you'll never get the chance to do again in your life, you're going to this ice cream social tonight." “The only point of going to the ice cream social is to stare at the football players while they take their shirts off and run around the lawn.” “Okay, and? I’ll see you there.” She ended the call, and I sent her a text message. ME: I’ll go, but I’m only staying for thirty minutes. (Are we really starting our senior year off like this? O_o) NADIRA: You’re staying the whole time. (What better way to start the year than seeing Grayson Connors with his shirt off? :-) ) #GoPanthersGO I rolled my eyes, not even bothering to respond to that.

"You can come back into my office now, Charlotte!" Mr. Henderson called my name a few minutes later, and I returned to his office, handing him his coffee before taking a seat. "I made a few calls around, and you're in luck." He slid a sheet of paper toward me. "The dean is going to allow you to earn those credits over the next two semesters via a peer-tutoring program." “So, it’s like another job?” "A super easy job," he said. "You'll only have to tutor someone once a week. You'll do it on your own schedule, —and you’ll receive credit for doing so. I personally think this is a pretty sweet alternative to taking two ethics courses. This coffee is a bit tart, by the way. You should probably remake me a cup on your way out later.” Please let there be a space in hell for him. “The tutoring thing would be ‘pretty sweet’ if I wasn’t worried about getting a good score on the LSAT.” “You’re joking, right?” He laughed. “You almost made a perfect score on your first try. Getting a few extra points on it won’t change the fact that you can get into any law school you want.” He leaned back in his chair. “Besides, once the dean realized I was talking about you, he insisted that we come up with something simple so you could try to enjoy your senior year. You’ll be fine.”

Right ... “Well, which subject will I need to tutor?” “English Literature,” he said, handing me another sheet. “I’ll call the dean again to make sure I’m not missing anything, but I’ll forward you more information later this week so you can go ahead and set up a meeting time with the other student.” “Thank you, Mr. Henderson.” “You’re welcome. Is there anything else I can help you with today?” “Not at all.” I stood to my feet. “Okay, great! Well, if you wouldn’t mind remaking my coffee before you—” I left his office before he could finish that sentence, heading straight for the elevators. The second the doors glided open, I stepped inside and punched the button for the ground floor. The only other things I needed to do this afternoon were buy a new set of paint brushes and attempt to get through the rest of the day without hearing the words, “Go, Panthers! Go!” The elevator stopped on the second floor, and a group of girls piled on with bouquets of blue and gold balloons. “Hey, there!” One of them handed me a balloon. “Go, Panthers! Go!” I sighed. “Thank you.” “No, no, no! You’re supposed to say, ‘Go, Panthers! Go!’ right back to me!” She smiled.

I blinked. “Go, Panthers! Go!” She repeated it, as if that would make me say it. “Go, Panthers! Go!” Then, like the contagious virus that school spirit was, the rest of the girls in the elevator began chanting the words louder and louder. The elevator doors sprung open at the lobby level and I quickly stepped off, finding myself in a glittering sea of blue and gold decorations. Every column, counter, and wall was draped in Pitt’s trademark colors, primed and ready for the number one thing that everyone cared about this time of year: Football. Saturdays were game days, and every other day of the week was simply a warm up to game-day. The frenzy was established right before my freshman year, right when they landed a cocky, high school phenom named Grayson Connors. A phenom who’d now led them to three national titles in a row, and made it so that the football team was all there was to talk about in this city. Well, it was for everyone except me. Even though I loved the game of football itself, I avoided their games like the plague—giving up my discounted season passes to my mom and dad instead. I never went to their larger than life parties and I did my best not to buy into the hype. My Saturdays were reserved for art, coffee, and endless reruns of Friends.

And regardless of what Nadira said, I was going to make sure that most of my Saturdays this year were spent the exact same way. LATER THAT NIGHT, I took my time walking to the student union for the ice cream social. It only took my freshman year to realize that this was the first place where upperclassmen preyed upon the freshmen girls, and my sophomore year to realize that it was best attended in transit: Grab the ice cream, say hello to the people I know, leave. As long as I was gone before the football players arrived to take off their shirts and challenge each other to chug the remaining vats of ice cream, I was in the clear. “Charlotte!” Nadira waved at me from the line. “Over here!” I cut in front of a few people, ignoring their groans, and she handed me a cup of cherry ice cream. “Well, don’t you look stunning today.” She smiled and tugged at my bright blue summer dress. “I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. You don’t deserve your fashion sense. It’s just not fair.” “Thank you.” I laughed. “I was checking our final dorm numbers earlier and there are going to be twenty more freshmen on our floor this year. That’s a good thing, right?”

“That’s a terrible thing,” she said. “That means more rooms to check for random alcohol violations and more guys sneaking up to our floor after hours. On the plus side, since the room next to us is going to remain empty, whenever I need to get laid, it’ll be nice to have a room to use instead of asking you to leave.” “How convenient for you.” I laughed and slipped my matching shades over my face. I started to ask her which shift she preferred this week, but the telltale sound of the football team arriving interrupted my thoughts. Everyone was suddenly clapping and chanting —calling out ‘Hail to Pitt!’ and that other slogan I’d escaped earlier. And then, as usual, the “OMG! OMG!” screaming began. As if we were at a real game and these football players wouldn’t be sitting right next to us in some of our classes tomorrow. “Well, that’s my cue,” I said, looking at one of the servers. “I’ll take two peanut fudge scoops to go.” “Oh, come on!” Nadira grabbed my ice cream cup and pulled me onto the lawn. “One hour. Stay for me.” “Fine.” I took my cup back and shook my head as our star quarterback, Mr. Cocky himself, took off his shirt and tossed a football made of ice cream to one of his friends.

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I couldn’t deny that Grayson Connors was sexy as hell. He was honestly beyond that, and he turned heads everywhere he went. His eyes were a stunning shade of ocean blue. His pearly, white smile with complementing dimples was the type that could make any woman’s panties wet, and everything about his body—his six-pack of rock-hard abs, his black-ink tattoos that snaked up his left arm, and his rumored "huge cock" were enough to make any girl do a double-take. His reputation, though, was the complete opposite. In all my years here, I’d only had one encounter with him, a brief “Hey” while we were on a late night Safe-Rider bus, but I’d heard plenty of stories that made me want to keep my distance. Everything from, “He fucks a different girl after every game,” “He’s been inside more pussies than the doctors at the campus women’s health department,” and my personal favorite, “He’s nine inches and he knows it.” “God, he makes my ovaries burst every time I look at him!” Nadira fawned over him. “Like how can one guy be so perfect?” “He’s not perfect.” I stuffed a spoonful of sprinkles into my mouth. “He’s a man-whore.” “No, he’s rumored to be man-whore. He’s probably the ‘walk you to your car,’ ‘kiss you on your cheek,’ and ‘soft making love’ type of guy.”

I gave her a blank stare. “I’m kidding!” She laughed. “Well, if it wasn’t for his reputation, would you ever sleep with him if you knew no one else would find out? Be honest.” “I can be more than honest.” I scoffed. “No, I would never sleep with him.” “Charlotte will never sleep with anyone.” Our mutual guy friend, Eric, stepped between us. “She’ll die with cobwebs in her pussy and I’m willing to bet a thousand on it.” Nadira burst into laughter and I punched him in the shoulder. “So, Eric,” I said. “Would you like to be a mature senior, unlike Nadira, and join me at the freshmen dorm party that I’m throwing tonight?” He looked at me as if I was speaking another language. “You’re not coming either?” “Charlotte ...” He sighed and placed his hands on my shoulders. “No one is coming to your freshman dorm party—not even the freshmen. Please join the rest of us normal college students in the real world. Everyone is going partying tonight. You included." “Well, could we at least—” My sentence was cut short as something hit me right in my face. Something cold, yet soft. I felt Eric’s hands wrap around my waist and hold me steady, felt him adjusting my sunglasses.

Then I looked down and realized what had assaulted me: An ice cream football. What the hell? I stooped down to pick it up and was instantly met with the sight of Grayson Connor’s stunning blue eyes. “Sorry about that,” he said, looking genuine as he took it from my hands. “Are you okay?” “I’d be a lot better if you actually learned how to throw.” “That’s a joke, right?” “Does it look like I’m laughing?” “I’ve got it!” He yelled over to his teammates, and then smiled at me, extending his hand. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious with me since you’re wearing shades, but I’m glad you’re not hurt. I’m Grayson Connors.” “I’m unimpressed.” He laughed and took a step back. “Well, you’re clearly just a freshman, so by the end of this semester, I think you’ll be more than impressed with me.” “I doubt it.” “Oh, really?” Before I could respond to that, one of his teammates ran behind him and snatched the ball from his hands. “You’re taking too long, Connors!” The guy returned to the middle of the lawn, but Grayson

kept his eyes on me. He looked me up and down, but he didn’t say anything else. He simply winked at me and walked away. “I swear that I hate you sometimes,” Nadira said, lowering her voice. “Like, only you would find a way to mess that up.” “Was I supposed to kiss up to him because everyone else does?” “No, you were supposed to introduce me to him, so that way, I could do it.” She laughed. “You could’ve at least looked like you were attracted to him or flirted back. He was clearly flirting with you.” He flirts with everyone. “I’ll be sure to remember that next time.” “You should.” She looked at her phone and groaned. “Looks like there’s only going to be valet parking at the club tonight. You two want to head back and get ready?” “Absolutely,” me and Eric said in unison. We stepped off the lawn and onto the sidewalk that lined Fifth Avenue, and while the two of them debated who was going to drive later, I pinched myself twice to make sure that I was still standing firmly in reality. That I hadn’t felt my heart beating a little faster when Grayson looked at me, and that I didn’t almost say, “Yes, I’d sleep with him in that scenario,” when Nadira asked me. It must be the heat.

If you’re interested in reading On a Tuesday in its entirety, you can purchase the full title via the link below: On a Tuesday is currently available in Kindle Unlimited.

SNEAK PEEK: Mr. Popular (A Falling For My Brother’s Best Friend Romance)

SYNOPSIS Rule #1: Do not vote for Mr. Popular. Rule #2: Do not talk to Mr. Popular. Rule #3: (Most importantly, and above all) Do not fall for Mr. Popular... Liam 'Mr. Popular' Carter will always be the closest thing to the "walking plague" in my eyes. His cockiness seeps through his every move, and no matter how many state championships he wins with the basketball team, he will forever be a "loss" to me. Because he's my older brother's best friend, I'm forced to tolerate him, and he's forced to tolerate me. In fact, unless my brother is around, we happily ignore each other every chance we get. It wasn't always this way, though... Several summers ago, we both attended the same summer camp. A place we returned to year after year. We became friends—close friends, but right when I thought he could possibly turn into my everything, he made it clear that what we had was nothing. Now that's he's a senior, and I only have to deal with him for one more year, I've vowed to keep repeating the same set of rules to myself. Especially since he seems so hell-bent on wanting to talk to me for some reason, and especially since he seems to be staring at me every time we're in the same room together...

Rule #4: Always follow rules #1-3... Rule #5: (OMG what the hell are you doing?) Do not KISS Mr. Popular...

PROLOGUE Mariah IF I’M EVER GRANTED my wish of personally kicking one person off this planet, that person will definitely be Liam Carter. (Also known as Mr. Asshole Mr. Popular) Star of the basketball team, top cheater on the national Spanish exam (there's no way he scored higher than me), and man of my nightmares, Liam walks through our school's hallways as if he owns them. It's bad enough that he's "best friends" with my older brother, but he's also, unfortunately, every silly girl at Blue Harbor High’s wet dream. He smiles and winks at every girl who glances his way — constantly playing up his good looks, as if any of them will ever stand a chance in taking him away from his girlfriend, Miss Popular, a.k.a. Ashley Jordan. (I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried, I swear.) The two of them together are like a bright and colorful Ralph Lauren ad on sugar, and in moments like right now, I wish I could kick them both off the face of the earth ... They’re currently standing in front of my locker, laughing at something that probably isn’t funny. He’s running his fingers through her

strawberry blonde hair and she’s massaging his broad shoulders. “Excuse me?” I clear my throat to get their attention. They don’t make a move. They continue standing there in their own little bubble, laughing even louder. “Excuse me, please?” I clear my throat again. Nothing. Okay, fine. “Could you two idiots please step the hell away from my locker? Like, now?” They immediately turn to look at me. Before Liam can say anything, Ashley crosses her arms and pops her gum. “What did you just say, Maria?” “It’s Mariah.” I roll my eyes. “And I said I need you two to get away from my locker.” “Well, ask us nicely and maybe we’ll consider.” “No need for that, Ashley.” Liam gently grabs her arm and pulls her to the side. Then he looks at me. “Better?” “Much.” I open my locker, hoping the two of them will move farther down, but Ashley acts as if my intrusion never happened. “Can you finally say that you like me back, Liam?” she asks softly. “We’ve been together since the summer, gone on all types of dates, and you have yet to say those words to me.”

“Ashley ...” He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “I have said them to you. More than once.” “Then say them again ...” She lowers her voice, and I immediately regret not accepting a locker on the sophomore hall. A locker far away from the front row seat to senior student drama. “I really like you, Ashley,” Liam says the words in the most unconvincing tone I’ve ever heard. “A lot.” “Finally!” She laughs. “So, can I wear your letterman jacket at the pep rally this week? I feel like people need to know that you’re mine and I’m yours.” “We can talk about that later ...” “We can talk about it right now. Yes or no to me wearing your letterman jacket, Liam?” I grab my books and slam my locker door shut, immediately walking down the hallway, so I can miss the rest of their conversation. I make my way to first period, Advanced Literature, and take a seat in the back row. I take out all the reports I’ve completed over the summer, the extra printed analyses I completed for fun, and as I’m double checking to make sure my eighteenth-century poems are in order, Liam walks into the class and takes the seat next to me. “Did you finish all the Victorian novels on the list?” he asks.

I don’t answer. He isn’t supposed to be in this class. It’s only for the people who attended the advanced summer session, and he was nowhere to be found during those eight weeks. “Mariah?” he calls my name, waiting for a response. I don’t give him one. “Mariah ...” He grabs my wrist, as I’m organizing my pencils. “Mariah, I know you can hear me talking to you.” “No, I can’t.” I jerk my hand away and face him. “Senior English is in room 212. This is Advanced Lit.” “I’m well aware.” “Are you?” I cross my arms. “Because I don’t remember seeing you in any of the study sessions this summer. I did see you all around the harbor with Ashley Jordan, though. At the movies, at the — “So, you were stalking me?” His lips curve up into a smirk. “I didn’t know you cared so much.” “I don’t.” “Clearly.” He lowers his voice. “But for the record, the teacher made an exception for me because of my basketball schedule. I did just as much work — probably more than you this summer.”

Then he smiles and the girl sitting across from him practically swoons as she stares. “And if I were you, I would try to be a lot nicer to me this year — especially since it’s my last year. Not only that, but with Zach going on recruiting trips every other weekend, I’m sure you’ll need me to drive you places when he’s not in town.” “No, I’m sure I’ll catch the bus.” “It doesn’t run on the weekends.” “Then I’ll pay for a cab.” I glare at him and feel my phone buzzing against my pocket. “And I will tolerate you this year. Nothing more, nothing less, and I can guarantee that I will never ask you for anything.” I pull my phone out of my pocket, grateful to have a distraction from his too-gorgeous-to-be-true blue eyes. It’s a text message from my brother. ZACH: Hey, Ryah. I asked Liam to take you home after-school all this week since I’ve got some scouting meetings. He said it was cool, so be nice to him, please. Thanks. MY BLOOD BEGINS TO boil as I feel Liam looking over my shoulder, as I see him smiling as he reads the text message, too. “Like I was saying—” Liam leans back in his seat. “I think you need to be a lot nicer to me this

year. I think you owe that to me, correct?” I don’t get a chance to respond to that. Our teacher walks into the room and approaches the board. “Good morning, everyone!” He slams his coffee onto the desk. “Welcome to Advanced Literature, and thank you for being brave enough to return after I put you through all of those summer sessions. Since this is an advanced, college-level course, you’ll need a study partner, and you’ll need to work together at least three to four times a week.” “Now ...” He ignores our chorus of groans and taps a pen against the lectern. “I’m not silly enough to let any of you choose your partners on your own, so everyone in row A, look to your right. Your partner for the year is sitting in row B. Everyone in row C, look to your right and meet your partner for the year in row D.” I look to my right, at Liam, and resist the urge to knock that smirk off his lips. I consider asking the teacher if I can please be paired with someone I’m not tempted to kill, but Liam leans close to me and whispers, “I’m looking forward to being friends again ...” “We will never be friends again.” “Then that’s too bad ...” He looks down at my shirt and back up at me. “Because if we were friends again, I’d tell you that I’m pretty sure you

forgot to put on a bra this morning.” He looks down at my shirt once more. “Not that I mind, though. You can definitely show up to every study session with me dressed just like this, if you like.” I look down and feel my cheeks burning bright red. This school year is going to be way harder than I thought it was going to be ...

1 Mariah A few days later... “RYAH, HURRY UP!” MY brother Zach calls me from downstairs. “What the hell are you still doing up there?” “I’m looking for my apron!” I ruffle through my drawers for effect, hoping it’ll throw off the fact that I literally just woke up ten seconds ago. “You woke up late again, didn’t you?” “Nope! Not at all!” I rush to the bathroom, pulling on a pair of jeans and reach for my toothbrush. “Be down in five minutes!” I splash water onto my face and stare at my reflection in utter disbelief. My skin is pale, my hair is frizzed beyond repair, and there are large bags under both my eyes. I can literally pass for a zombie right now ... I tie on my bright pink Dawson’s apron and rush downstairs, finding myself face to face with a brooding Zach. His eyes are narrowed and he’s looking at me like I’m a four-year-old in trouble. “Ryah,” he says in a voice that reminds me of the way our Dad used to scold me. “If you’re going to ask me to take you somewhere at a certain time

— a certain early-ass time, don’t you think you should be ready at whatever certain time you begged for?” “Asking for a ride to mom’s bakery isn’t really that big of a deal ...” “It is, if I say it is.” I give him a blank stare. It’s six in the morning and my usual snarkiness isn’t ready to go this early. “If this happens again,” he says, “you’ll have to ask your friend Kelsey to wake up this early and take you.” “What? Kelsey doesn’t even have a car.” “Exactly.” He gives me that “Try me” look that our dad used to give, and for a moment, I have to remember that he’s only two years older than me. It just has always felt like ten. He walks over to the kitchen counter and hands me a waffle and a bottle of orange juice. “I made you breakfast. Let’s go.” I take the food from him and follow him outside to his car. Like the overly protective big brother he is, he asks me about my plans for the week as he drives, as if part of his life is to keep up with my every move. “Knowledge Bowl practice at five on Thursday, right?” he asks as we approach a red light. “Yes, and on Friday.” “Okay. I should be able to pick you up after. If not, I’ll just ask Liam to do it.”

I bite down on my waffle hard to prevent myself from saying anything sarcastic. I’ll save my thoughts on his dumping me on Liam for later. “Anywhere you need me to take you this weekend?” He looks over at me. “Just the mall. You’ll need to pick up Kelsey, too.” “Sounds good.” He shrugs, his typical “okay” response, and for the rest of the drive, we ride with slow rock music playing on the radio, with the breathtaking scenery of a morning in Blue Harbor coming alive outside our windows. We used to joke about basically living in a place that is the perfect postcard — bright blue lakes that stretch for miles, lush evergreen trees that line all the main roads, and brightly coated buildings that appear to be more like cottages than businesses, but we’ve adjusted to it now. The only thing we haven’t adjusted to is life without our father. And although I doubt we ever will, we try to make the most of it by helping our mom out as much as we can at the town’s number one bakery. At the one thing that keeps my mom going every day. “Remember,” Zach says, as he pulls into the bakery’s parking lot, “next time, be ready on time, or —” “Yeah. Yeah.” I get out and shut his car door before he can finish, and he flips up his middle

finger with a smile before driving away. I let myself into the shop and my mom immediately appears behind the glass counter. “You can start riding with me, if you want, on the days you’re assigned to work, Mariah.” She smiles. “We do live in the same house, last time I checked.” “Except you wake up at three in the morning so you can get here at three thirty.” I shake my head. “I don’t think so.” “Fair enough.” She tosses a bag of flour toward me and I barely catch it. “I need three batches of buttercream cupcake batter, three batches of peanut butter brownie batter, and three batches of lemon cream-sicle batter within the next couple of hours.” Before I can insist on making four batches, since those are the most popular weekend flavors, the bell above the door sounds and I turn around. Kelsey? “Thank you so much for allowing me to work with you this morning, Mrs. Dawson,” she says, smiling as she flips her black hair over her shoulder. “I truly, truly appreciate it.” “No, thank you for coming to help on such short notice, Kelsey.” “My pleasure, Mrs. Dawson.” My pleasure? I give Kelsey a ‘Who the hell are you right now?’ look.

“Up early and ready to work with a positive attitude?” My mother looks between the two of us. “I definitely think Mariah can learn a thing or two from you. Fast.” She winks at me and motions for us to get to work. Kelsey follows me to the prep room in the back and I double-check the hallway — making sure my mom is out of earshot. “Okay, you’ve got five minutes to tell me what you’ve done with my best friend and get the hell out of her body. Right now.” She laughs. “Okay, okay, okay. The football team is moving their morning workouts from the stadium to one of the trails today.” “No, really.” I sigh, confused as to what the football team has to do with her ‘girl next door’ behavior. “Please step out of my best friend’s body.” “The trail is right across the street from the bakery, Mariah! You and I will have front row seats to the six-pack sexiness that is Ryan Winston.” She puts her hand over her heart. “Only the sight of him sweating would get me out of bed and on the town bus to work on a Saturday.” “Now you sound like yourself.” I toss her a mixing bowl. “I’ll head over with you for a little while after we’re done. Nine batches shouldn’t take more than a few hours or so.”

She gives me a thumbs up and retreats to the opposite side of the counter for measuring, while I prepare my side for mixing. Even though Kelsey would deny it in a heartbeat, she loves coming to Dawson’s and helping me during my shifts. She always says, “The quicker you’re done, the quicker we can go out! Plus, I get paid. Duh!” That, and since Kelsey is an only child and a bit of a rebel, she’s always been kind of like a twin sister to me. In fact, we like and love almost all of the same things and our hatred for popular kids, petty rumors, and asshole athletes is pretty much on the same wavelength. (Actually, she likes the asshole athletes a tad bit more than me.) It takes a little over three hours for us to finish, and when we’re done, we make a few more batches of the popular flavors before my mom can ask. When ten o’clock rolls around, Kelsey takes off her apron and stretches her arms. “It’s break time! Let’s go take a walk and get a look at the football team.” I shake my head and untie my apron, heading up to the front of the store. There’s a line of customers, as usual, and my mom’s full-time staff is working as fast as they can. “We prepped fifteen batches for you guys,” I say to the lead cashier. “We’ll be back in thirty to do more.”

She nods and gives her attention to the next customer in line. Kelsey and I slip out into the warm weather and walk across the street to the grey pebbled trail that connects Blue Harbor to Green Cove. We take a seat on one of the bright red park benches as the football team begins a round of pushups. “What exactly do you see in Ryan Winston?” I ask. “I mean, sure he’s cute, but he’s a douchebag.” “You think every popular guy is a douchebag.” She rolls her eyes. “What’s not to like, though? Dark hair, dreamy green eyes, amazing abs, and he actually knows how to carry a conversation with a girl.” “The only thing I’ve ever heard him say to a girl is, ‘Hey, I’m Ryan Winston. I think you’re hot. Go out with me’.” “Downright swoon-worthy.” Kelsey smiles, practically salivating as she stares at him. “Speaking of popular douchebags, though....” She leans back and points to a car that’s making its way down the other side of the trail. A car I know all too well. Ugh, Liam ... I watch as he parks his car near the edge of the border and steps out. He walks over to the passenger side of the car, presumably to help Ashley step out, but she doesn’t. She’s not even there.

Instead, Liam grabs his backpack and a notebook and heads down to the dock. He takes off his shoes — like we once did together, years ago, letting his feet hang over the ledge and touch the top of the lake’s water. Then he suddenly looks up at Kelsey and me. He tilts his head to the side and I can tell that usual cocky smile is spreading across his face. He waves and I throw him the middle finger. Laughing, he looks down at his notebook and starts doing his work. “You don’t think there’s ever a chance that the two of you could be friends again?” Kelsey asks. “Depends,” I say. “Would you give him a chance, if you were in my shoes?” She pauses for a while. “Hell no.” “Exactly.” I look over at him. “It’s bad enough that I’ll have to be his critique partner for the next two semesters, but I don’t need or want to be his friend. Besides, he’s in love with Ashley Jordan. That alone automatically disqualifies everything we used to have in common.” “Very true.” Kelsey laughs and stands from the bench. She steals a few more glances at Ryan Winston and pulls me to my feet. “Mark my words though, bestie. This year, you are going to finally date someone or get a boyfriend and we’re going to start working on that right after this shift is over.”

I nod and pretend to agree, but unless the guys in question are exactly like the gentlemen I’ve read about in my period novels, I want nothing to do with them. I refuse to get my hopes up again ...

If you’re interested in reading Mr. Popular in its entirety, you can purchase the full title via the link below: Mr. Popular is currently available in Kindle Unlimited.