Because for me, it was a risk worth taking to execute The Great Escape—which was what my brother Adam nicknamed my plan to finally move away from home.
I’d started hatching it senior year of high school, since the day I pled—literally on my knees—for Mom to let me dorm at college. To let me have just the tiniest taste of independence. She was the town’s most notorious helicopter mom and at seventeen, she still dictated what I wore out of the house, what I watched on TV, how I decorated my room.
For the record, it was all pinks and pastels.
Because all my life, I served as nothing but her precious little doll. Her do-over child who was raised to be perfectly quiet, polite, obedient—basically everything Adam wasn’t. He was unmanageably wild, I was exceptionally docile, and that was just how it was in our family.
Which was why I wound up commuting daily from our home in Jersey to my classes at Parsons School of Design. Three hours back and forth every day with a 9PM curfew—just to ensure that I wasn’t out drinking or partying like every other kid my age. And if I ever caught anything later than the 8PM bus home from Port Authority, Mom would grill me for hours, search my purse, smell my breath, and if it was an extra special night, change the WiFi password before reminding me in a fit of tears about the torture she went through raising Adam, and how she refused to let “another Adam” happen again.
So… yeah.
I love my mom—I swear I do—but I was more than ready to move by the time I graduated college, which meant I was more than happy to chance it on Mia’s super-sketchy listing.
And thank God I did.
Because now, after four years of secretly busting my ass by working two, sometimes three jobs during school to save up and move out, I was finally, finally my own woman. An adult who made my own decisions, paid my own bills and had my own rush hour commute to a job at a company I’d wanted to work for since I was fourteen years old. I was—at long last—living the life I’d been dreaming up and plotting out in a little notebook since I was that painfully sheltered, over-protected child constantly holed up in her bedroom.
And it all started with Mia Zamora choosing me to live with her at her bomb-ass apartment in the East Village—which was why I was still, on pretty much a daily basis, thanking God Almighty for her.
“Hey, babe?” she called to get my attention, whistling me back to service bar once I finished dropping off the Manhattans at my table twelve. “These are the IPAs for your table ten but before you drop them, will you drop this check real quick at Mr. Ass’s table? Lana was supposed to like twenty minutes ago, but she’s too busy trying to seduce him right now.”
“Got it,” I nodded dutifully, stacking my tray with the beers before grabbing Mr. Ass’s check and narrowing playful eyes at Mia. “Is he really that hot?”
“Girl.” She shot me a very serious look. “My thong melted off my ass the first time I looked at him, but if you don’t believe me, you’re about to see for yourself,” she said, making me snort as she reached over service bar to fluff my hair and yank my neckline down a couple inches. “Just try not to have heat stroke and die, okay? ‘Cause I can’t afford to pay rent on my own.”
“Oh, thanks, but I think I’ll survive,” I laughed as I made my way to Lana’s section, a smirk already curling on my lips.
I had trouble believing anyone was as hot as Mia described Mr. Ass, but considering how much drama and fighting I’d witnessed among the staff in just my first few weeks here, I was excited to see the one thing in the world they could all agree on—this alleged panty-scorcher of a mystery babe.
It was probably about time, anyway, that I start letting myself look at men again. I didn’t ever during college because it was just a bunch of pointless torture. I’d had some cute guys hit on me before, but there was no sense in talking for long because once it came to being officially asked for my number, I had to explain that I didn’t actually have time to meet, because not only did I still live at home with my parents, I had a bus to catch and a very early curfew to make.
Pretty much all it took was one crush-worthy guy laughing in my face and saying “yikes” for me to just shut up about my curfew and stop talking to boys altogether.
Besides, I had my fellow freakshow in Brendan.
He was a sweet, soft-spoken family friend whose mom was best friends with mine. Since he grew up similarly smothered, he commuted home with me every day after his classes at NYU, and we wound up dating junior and senior year because, well, we were each other’s only options.
We fumbled through our first kisses together, clumsily lost our virginities to one another, and while I held onto hope that it would start to feel good at some point—like that hot, breathless, passionate sex I saw in movies—we never came anywhere close to finding our rhythm. Partly because doing it in his classmate’s dorm room during the twenty-minute window that we could afford to meet up wasn’t the most romantic thing in the world.
But mostly because he never lasted more than two minutes.
And I’d never been genuinely attracted to him in the first place, so I tried to break it off senior year, but then he cried very loudly on the bus and reminded me that this would upset our moms, which he was absolutely right about, so I stayed with him till exactly five weeks ago—when I pulled off the The Great Escape.
And now you’re free, I exhaled with a minty fresh wave of gratitude as my heeled feet weaved through the candlelit tables in Lana’s section. Free to talk to all the boys you want, go on all the dates you want… free to have all the real, non-dorm-room sex you want with hot guys like Mr. Ass.
I smirked to myself.
Assuming he’s really that hot.
I had to suppress my amusement as I closed in on his booth, because our resident flirt, Lana, was being even sultrier than usual while standing in front of the table—one hand holding her tray up high and the other placed on her very dramatically cocked hip.
Come on, lady, way to block my whole view, I snorted inwardly as I came up behind her, though just as the thought crossed my mind she lowered her tray.
And bam.
The world’s greenest eyes locked on mine, and I nearly dropped all my beer because holy.
Fucking.
Shit.
3
HOLLAND
My heart slammed so hard in my chest that I swore my whole body careened forward. In my mind, I’d just gasped so hard I lost my footing, dropped my tray and toppled beer-soaked onto the table.
But in reality, I was frozen.
Completely still and barely breathing because sitting before me in that booth was a sex god in a suit—an absurdly expensive-looking, dark grey suit wrapped around that long, muscled, achingly perfect body I’d once memorized by heart, because I wasn’t staring at just some hot regular my coworkers were obsessed with.
I was staring at Iain.
As in Iain Thorn.
As in my brother’s best friend, my childhood crush and the devastatingly beautiful man I’d loved since the day I laid eyes on him. Who used to help me with my homework. Who took me to my first baseball game, and picked me up from my first sleepover because I couldn't make it through the night.
He wasn’t just the sexy, bad boy object of my every teenage fantasy, he was the sole bright spot of my lonely adolescence. The warm, protective big brother I never had in Adam.