Love Bites

RACHEL K. BURKE

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HarperImpulse an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014

Copyright © Rachel K. Burke 2014

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Rachel K. Burke asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

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Ebook Edition © December 2014

ISBN: 9780007556731

Version 2015-03-06

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Praise for Rachel K. Burke

“I loved everything about this book. The writing was great and the characters are so likable that you will be rooting for them the whole way.”

Book Briefs

“When a book makes you smile as much as this one did, you know you’ve found a good thing.”

The Bookish Babe

“Seriously, the CUTEST story I’ve read in a long while!”

The Chiq Blog

“Have you ever just connected with a person and had to fight to be with them? Well if you have, this book is for you.”

Diary of a Book Addict

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Praise for Rachel K. Burke

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

Also by Rachel K. Burke…

Rachel K. Burke

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

Chapter 1

What do you do when you fall in love with your best friend’s boyfriend?

There it was: the question I had been asking myself since that first day. The day I met him.

The day that changed everything.

It was the question I had analyzed endlessly, hoping to find some sort of answer. The only problem was, there was no answer. Because when you’re forced to choose between the two people you love most in the world, either way you lose.

Sure, I know what you’re thinking. Best friends don’t fall in love with each other’s boyfriends. They can’t. It’s an unspoken rule. Even if the guy is downright perfect, the fact that he’s with your best friend prohibits you from falling for him.

Right?

I can honestly say that anyone who believes this has never, ever felt the way that I felt about David Whitman.

My name is Justine Sterling. I grew up in Rockland, Massachusetts, a small town south of Boston that most people have never heard of. With a population of under 20,000, there wasn’t much to do in Rockland growing up, but when you’re young, you have no idea how much of the world you’re missing. I thought the rest of the world was just like Rockland. I imagined kids all over America living their lives exactly the way we did – riding bicycles, walking to the local convenience store, begging our parents to drive us two towns over to the nearest shopping mall.

For me, Rockland was the greatest place on Earth.

Still, there was always something missing, and I finally discovered what that was when I met Renee Evans. I never held an interest in sports or cheerleading, so in a limited-activity town like Rockland, my happiness stemmed from new CDs, new clothes, new posters. Only I never realized how much more fun those things were when you had someone to share them with. Someone who appreciated them just as much as you did.

I met Renee during my freshman year of high school. She had just transferred from a local Catholic school, and seeing as how Rockland High didn’t have many new students, she was immediately scrutinized and labeled “the new girl.” Everyone in Rockland had grown up with one another, and their families had grown up with one another. No one left Rockland. It was an intimidating place to start over.

When I first met Renee, she was a mess. Catholic school clearly didn’t exemplify fashion. Her hair was blonde and thick, and ended abruptly at her shoulders. It looked similar to the way a horse’s tail would look if you cut it to be six inches long. Like a bush that only grew sideways. And even worse, she had bangs too. I remember wondering what on earth had possessed her mother to give her that haircut, as her hair wouldn’t have been that bad if it was long and weighed down. We didn’t have hair-straighteners back then.

Looking back now, it makes sense to me. Mrs. Evans, Renee’s mother, was a very sweet woman, but fashion was not one of her strong suits. As teens, Renee and I labeled her mother’s sweater collection the “Bill Cosby Sweaters.” Each of them shared the same blend of neon colors, knit together like an afghan. So it was of no surprise that Renee showed up to Rockland High her first day looking like she’d just stepped out of the Salvation Army.

Even worse than her hair were her clothes. They weren’t bad per se, just much too big for her. It was like someone had dressed her up as a boy and forgot to tell her. Baggy clothes were the style in the nineties, with it being the grunge decade and all, but there were still ways to maintain your feminism.

What I liked about Renee was that she didn’t seem to care. She was naturally pretty, but she didn’t know it. She didn’t give a second thought to her appearance. She was so happy to get the hell out of Catholic school and surround herself with normal people that she just took it all in. She was like a kid at Disneyland. She didn’t say much. She didn’t try to impress anyone. She just observed.

After striking up a conversation with her, I learned that this little fashion-deprived creature was actually quite intelligent. She knew a lot about music. More than anyone I’d ever met. I think she was so isolated at her previous school that she befriended rock and roll and never left its side.

I asked Renee once about Catholic school. She said that the kids were nice, just different. She told me that she wore an Aerosmith shirt to school on a casual day and all the kids teased her, chanting that Steven Tyler looked like an old lady. She said, “All I could think was that Steven Tyler was one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen.” It didn’t bother her that the kids made fun of her. She just seemed genuinely confused as to how these people could view the world so much differently than she did. I think it was then that I fell in love with her.

Over time, Renee’s image slowly began to develop. We went shopping at the local favorites, Hot Topic and Newbury Comics. We bought blue mascara and purple lipstick, oversized moonstone rings and bicycle-chain necklaces. We replaced Renee’s skateboarder pants with tighter jeans, and her baggy band t-shirts with fitted ones. She grew out her bangs and put layers in her hair to offset the bush look.

And thus, Renee Evans was born.

Ironically, if you met Renee now, you’d never guess that she once dressed like a lumberjack. She has a very tall, modelesque presence, perfectly put together, like a stylist dressed her. Her thick hair is always immaculately curled, her makeup like a cosmetic ad, her scarves and boots matching the exact shades of her latest ensemble. But back then, Renee didn’t care what people thought of her. She didn’t try to fit in. Renee was who she was, without apology. And I loved her for that.

I fell in love with David Whitman the first time I saw him. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but trust me, no one thought the concept of love at first sight was more ridiculous than me. Up until David, I was a self-proclaimed serial dater. Renee was more of the relationship type, and she somehow managed to find great guys who also happened to be single. I never had such luck. I always found the ones who were single for a reason. Needy, jobless, womanizers, alcoholics, not-really-single-pretending-to-be-single, you name it. Deep down, I wanted to find true love, but it just never worked out that way.

Renee always teased me for my ever-changing love life, calling me a game player, telling me I loved the thrill of the chase. But the truth was, I hated dating. I hated the disappointments. That’s what dating was: one disappointment after the other. I guess I just hoped that eventually I’d find someone who would make all the bad dates worth it.

And I did. I just didn’t expect him to stroll through my living-room door with my best friend.

David Whitman. Renee had told me all about him. In fact, he had been the sole point of our conversations for weeks. When Renee had a new love interest, it was all she talked about. At the time, we were both seniors at UCLA, and Renee was interning at Pace, a local LA magazine. David was the sports editor, and every day Renee came home with a new story about him – what he was wearing that day, how he’d brought her a coffee, how all the girls in the office loved him. That was the funny thing about Renee. She called me a game player, yet she generally only liked a guy if a) he didn’t like her, or b) everyone else liked him. So essentially, she played games too, she just didn’t know it.

Before I met David, I wasn’t sold on the idea of him. Renee was a creative soul. A creative soul who was now dating a sports editor. She hadn’t mentioned a single thing they had in common, or that she found interesting about him. It seemed to me that she felt she had won the hunk of the office and wanted to parade around with the prize on her arm. Sure, he sounded nice and cute and all, but I knew Renee. Eventually, she’d want more than that.

When David walked through my living-room door that first night, everything in my body stood still. I understood now. None of his personal history or interests mattered. It was the effect he had on you. Those eyes. That smile. He could be a needy, jobless, alcoholic womanizer and it wouldn’t have mattered. You would have followed him to the end of the Earth anyway.

From the instant I met David, I felt an immediate connection that I had never experienced before. It was the way he looked at me. Maybe he looked at everyone that way, but he still made me feel like I was the only person in the room. Intense brown eyes and the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. Like he was looking through me. Like he knew that he could have me if he wanted me, even if it meant ruining a lifelong friendship. He had that power.

I hated him for that.

And at that moment, for the first time in my life, I hated my best friend.

Chapter 2

Los Angeles, CA

January 2009

During our senior year at UCLA, shortly after Renee landed an internship at Pace, I landed one of my own at Sphinx, a local video-game company. I have no idea why they hired me, because I didn’t love video games. I didn’t even like video games. I was just desperate for a paying internship. But as it turned out, Sphinx was exactly what I was looking for.

After several major switches, I’d decided on communications because it allowed me to take photography courses, which had always been my true passion. I loved photography because it was the only art that allowed you to capture truth in the visual sense. Renee loved music because it captured truth in the audio sense, but for me, I loved the visual. The lens didn’t lie. It highlighted the little beauties of everyday life that were often overlooked, and there was something so raw and honest about that. But I also knew that photography was a difficult business to earn a living at, therefore I picked a major that included creative courses that still had a business aspect to them, such as marketing and media studies.

I had just completed an interactive marketing course on social media outreach, as well as a media literacy course in which we were assigned to read about the psychology behind role-playing video games. So when I came across Sphinx’s ad stating they were looking for interns with experience in online marketing and knowledge of video games, it sounded pretty perfect. I may not have been much of a gamer, but my last two classes had provided me with all the knowledge I needed for the position. Not to mention, it paid a lot. More than most internships.

Before I was called in for an interview with Sphinx, I was contacted by a local health insurance company, HCG, who was looking for an intern to manage their website and social media pages. I like to call these kinds of experiences “blessings in disguise.” Because if I hadn’t had the opportunity for comparison, I never would’ve realized how utterly perfect Sphinx was for me.

The HCG office was located next to the LAX airport. I was greeted by a man named Jason Porter, who introduced himself as the Human Resources Director. He cleverly referred to himself as the resident “herd,” then had to draw me a verbal map to his joke, spelling out the acronym for Human Resources Director: HRD. He chuckled at his own irony. I did not find him funny.

Jason brought me to his spacious office, then sat down at his desk and motioned for me to take a seat across from him. He began the interview with some small-talk, asking me why I moved to LA, why I chose my major, what courses I had taken thus far. As I answered his questions, I noticed that he was actually quite good-looking. Olive skin, green eyes, nice smile. I suspected he was older than he looked, as he had the slightest hint of gray in his brown sideburns. Early forties, maybe.

These good looks slowly disappeared less than ten minutes into the interview. After the small-talk concluded, Herd wasted no time getting down to business. He made it very clear that, when I was not in class, every spare moment would be spent working for him. On the days I did not have class, I would be expected to work a full eight-hour day, beginning at 8am, and wear a suit. I almost choked on my own disgust. I was not a morning person, nor was I a suit. And five days a week? I had envisioned working a few afternoon hours after class, three days a week at most. Herd had other plans for me.

It only got worse from there. Herd went on to tell me that he expected the internship to become a full-time position once school was complete. He emphasized that he worked between fifty to sixty hours a week and expected this person to follow suit. No pun intended. He droned on about his role in the company and how much impact he’d had since he came on board. It wasn’t even an interview. It was Herd talking for the sake of hearing himself talk. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

When the interview was finally over, Herd handed me his business card and frowned when I placed it in my purse.

“You know, you should really buy a briefcase,” he scoffed in a patronizing tone. “Placing business cards in a purse is just so… unprofessional.” He laughed mockingly and shook his head, having his own little private business joke with himself. “And also, Justine, you should always wear a suit to an interview.” He looked me up and down like I was a toddler who’d dressed herself for the first time. I followed his gaze, glancing down at my black-collared shirt and charcoal dress pants. Judging by his expression, you would’ve thought I’d shown up dressed for a hip-hop video.

As I headed toward the elevator, I passed by the work area, where all the insurance agents sat next to each other in tiny cubicles, wearing blazers and headsets. Their desks were lined with tiny bags of junk food. Most of them were overweight. They looked tired. I felt sad for them.

Herd shook my hand goodbye at the elevator, but I no longer saw him as good-looking. I saw him as a man with a condescending, insincere laugh, who had bags under his eyes from working sixty hours a week. A man with no social life and no family, only a mahogany desk and an oversized briefcase. A man who owned an expensive house with expensive things that never got used.

It’s funny how, in the course of thirty minutes, you can learn very, very quickly what you want in life. And, more importantly, what you don’t want.

As a precaution, I went out and bought a suit. I refused to be humiliated twice. Luckily, I didn’t need it, as Sphinx was as far from a suit shop as you could get.

Sphinx’s office was located in Playa Del Rey, which was about a 20-minute drive from my apartment in West LA. Their lobby was like a Toys-R-Us. The walls were covered with action figures and game posters. A giant candy bowl sat on the receptionist’s desk. As I filled out my application, I continued to sneak glances at a Reese’s peanut-butter cup that was taunting me from the corner of the dish. The receptionist finally noticed and offered me the dish. I liked the place already.

I watched the employees flow in and out of the lobby as I waited for my interview. None of them were dressed professionally. In fact, it was the complete opposite. Some of them had facial piercings and tattoos. They reminded me of the people who worked at Hot Topic when Renee and I shopped there in high school. A petite Asian girl wearing tights, jean shorts and boots skipped through the lobby, stealing a Kit-Kat from the candy bowl. I smiled at her.

After giving my application to the receptionist, a man appeared and led me to the interview room. He introduced himself as Manuel Mendoza, the Human Resources Manager. He was short and stocky, with a young face. Latino, I assumed by his name and dark features. He wore a gray t-shirt, jeans, and converse sneakers. He did not refer to himself as an acronym.

My interview was the complete opposite of HCG’s. It didn’t feel like an interview at all. Manuel and I briefly discussed the position and my college courses, then he brought me to the “gaming room,” which held several flat-screen TV’s hooked up to gaming consoles and a few old-school arcade games. I confessed that I didn’t play video games. He didn’t care. We played anyway. It was the best interview of my life.

After Manuel beat me at a round of virtual sword-fighting, he brought me back to the interview room and introduced me to Vincent Seminari, Sphinx’s Marketing Director. Manuel had warned me that Vincent was the man to impress, as he would be my future boss. Vincent had dark eyes, a long nose that gave him character, and spoke with a hint of an Italian accent. I guessed that he was probably in his early to mid-forties. He also wore jeans and informed me that everyone at Sphinx did. He joked that I was the “best-dressed person there.” I felt foolish in my stupid suit. He told me that most of the employees began work at 10am and everyone received four weeks of paid vacation annually.

I was in my glory.

After the interview, Vincent gave me a tour of the building. The workstations were gorgeous. Sphinx occupied the seventh floor of the building, a bright, beautiful space with an incredible view of the city. There were no cubicles, only wide tables in the shape of a U, where everyone sat next to each other. Open and free. It was what every company should be.

As Vincent and I walked around, I noticed that everyone seemed happy. Two of the employees shot Nerf guns at each other from across the room. The break room had free coffee, snacks, and soda. The CEO walked through, clutching a skateboard in his right hand. It was like being in a world where no one grew up.

Before we reached the elevator, I noticed a small office that had paper taped over the window. I turned to Vincent, pointing to the room. Before I could say anything, he shook his head, laughing.

“You don’t want to go in there,” he insisted.

“Why not?” I asked.

“We call that the ‘Lactation Station’.”

“The what?”

“Lactation Station,” he repeated, lowering his voice to a whisper. “It’s the breastfeeding room.”

I had never laughed so hard in my life.

Chapter 3

I make lists. Correction, I’m a compulsive list-maker. I write everything down – to-do lists, shopping lists, future goals. And sometimes, when I’m down, I make them for simple inspirational reminders.

I stared at the piece of my paper in my hand for a long time; the new list that I would hang on my fridge and read every day as a positive reminder.

Why I Moved Back to Boston:

That was as far as I’d got.

Okay, so I wasn’t adjusting well. It was November. I was freezing. My parents had a cottage in Cape Cod that they rented out during the summer, so they were letting me live there rent-free until summer rolled around again. Cape Cod was great in the summer, but in the winter it was the boonies. I had to drive 45 minutes to reach civilization, and even then, the only nightlife that existed on the south shore was at Irish pubs. I hated beer. I hated sports. I rarely ate meat. That didn’t leave me many options. If I tried to order a hummus wrap and a Champagne Royale at one of the local bars, they’d think I was insane.

My cell phone rang before I could attempt to continue the list. I looked down at the ID and felt a slight pang of disappointment. I had been home for almost four months, and every time my phone rang, I still hoped it was him.

It never was.

“Hey girl,” I answered.

“Hey J,” Renee said on the other end. “You still coming to Dylan’s show tonight?”

Shit. I had forgotten all about it. Renee’s fiancé, Dylan, was the singer in a local band, and she had told me about the show weeks ago. I glanced down at my pajama pants. “Yeah,” I answered. “Of course.”

“You forgot, didn’t you?”

“Yup.” Renee always knew when I was lying. There was no point in covering it up. “What time does it start?”

“They go on at ten. They’re playing the downstairs room at the Middle East, not upstairs. I’m going to ride in with Dylan so just call me when you get there and I’ll come meet you.”

“Okay. See you soon.” I hung up and took a sip of coffee from the mug I’d been holding for the last 20 minutes. I picked up the piece of paper again.

Why I Moved Back to Boston:

#1 – Renee is here. She is my other half. I need her in my life.

It was true. LA didn’t feel like home without Renee. Sure, I had made a few friends at school and at Sphinx, but for the most part, Renee and I did everything together. When she left, it didn’t feel the same. And besides that, the girl was an absolute saint. How she could forgive me after what happened with David was beyond me. But regardless, she was my best friend, and she was here. Therefore I would brave the coldest of winters to be with her, because I loved her.

Truthfully, though, everything worked out for the best. Renee was now six months pregnant, engaged, and happier than I’d ever seen her. Dylan and Renee were perfect for each other. David and Renee… weren’t. My aching heart wanted to say that he was perfect for me, but my head knew that wasn’t true either.

#2 – David does not live here. Therefore, I do not have to worry about seeing him everywhere I go.

I swear, people in love need a live-in therapist. It’s all we think about. It’s all we talk about. After David broke up with me, I couldn’t go anywhere. Everything reminded me of him. Our favorite restaurant, our local bar, the supermarket where we shopped. I couldn’t go any of those places. It was almost as if it would’ve been better if he’d died in some tragic accident or something. At least then I wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into him in line at Von’s.

Here, I was safe. Nothing reminded me of him. He was thousands of miles away. It’s like it was all a dream.

But deep down, I knew that as far away as I was from him, he was still here. He was always here. I couldn’t escape him.

I glanced down at the paper again. I couldn’t think of a number three.

Los Angeles, CA

February 2009

I always know that I’m going to sleep with a guy by the way he looks at me. It’s usually an intense stare, he’s usually Italian, and I usually end up regretting it. That’s just how it goes.

I was less than an hour into our morning meeting at Sphinx when I noticed it. The Stare. I was seated in the conference room with the marketing team for their weekly conference. They met every Monday at 10am to go over marketing strategies for new game releases, and Vincent thought it would be a good idea for me to join the meetings, even though I hadn’t a clue about anything they were discussing. As one of the girls talked about an upcoming convention, I caught eyes with Vincent from across the table. I quickly reverted my gaze back to the girl so he’d think I was paying attention. I wanted to make a good impression. But when I looked back at him a few minutes later, he was still staring at me.

Oh boy.

It’s easy to differentiate a professional stare from a sex stare. A professional stare ensures that the employee is comfortable and attentive on his or her first day of work, but seizes once eye contact is met. A sex stare does not. A sex stare is confident and will maintain eye contact even after the contact is broken, thus intimidating its target and causing he or she to become nervous.

And damn it, it always fucking works.

By the third eye-contact connection, I already knew I was going to sleep with him. The stare wasn’t making me uncomfortable. Instead, a familiar nervous-yet-exciting stomachache appeared. I looked down at my outfit, trying to see myself as he did. I was wearing a black fitted sweater, my favorite pair of Bebe jeans, and black stilettos. Undoubtedly the most feminine outfit in our entire mini-gaming world. I twirled my long brown locks between my fingers. I felt his dark, Italian eyes on me. I liked it.

My eyes drifted to his left hand. No wedding band. Check. Rolex watch. Silver cufflinks. Double check. Navy collared shirt, tanned skin, slightly gelled hair. Very put-together. I pictured him in an expensive sports car. A Porsche, maybe. Black. I pictured myself in the passenger seat. I wondered if he had a girlfriend.

It suddenly occurred to me that maybe I had been looking in the wrong places. I mean, didn’t a lot of couples meet at work? It was pretty obvious by now that I wasn’t going to find Mr. Maturity at UCLA, nor was I going to find Mr. Monogamous on the Sunset Strip. Vincent was older, good-looking, and, judging from his appearance and title, did well for himself financially. He was a catch. And based on my appearance, age, and the burning stare from across the conference table, it appeared that the feeling was mutual.

My first few weeks at Sphinx were a joke. I made zero professional contribution whatsoever. Instead, my days went something like this:

10am: Get coffee and bagels for Vincent.

11am: Have coffee and bagels with Vincent in his office. Pretend to talk about work. Talk about anything but work.

12pm: Have lunch with Vincent.

1pm: Pretend I am checking my professional emails. I am an intern. I do not have professional emails.

2pm: Pretend to pay attention to Vincent’s social media tutorial when what I am really paying attention to is how close he is standing to me.

3pm: Attend “off-site meeting” (happy-hour drinks) with Vincent and “vendors.” Pretend to know what “vendors” are.

Repeat.

Surprisingly, Vincent waited an entire month before asking me out. By then, I was practically panting for it. He, of course, pretended the invitation was to “celebrate” all the hard work I had accomplished during my first month. I knew better. Not only because he stared at me like I was a Krispy Kreme, but because I hadn’t accomplished jack shit in the past four weeks.

The bad news was that he was going to be working from Sphinx’s London office for the next month, so our date was postponed until his return. The good news was that we had already covered everything that you cover on a first date, so I figured I was good to skip the three-date rule and prematurely put out. I knew everything about him that I needed to know. He had grown up in Milano and moved to the United States when he was eleven. He lived in Beverly Hills. He had a ten-year-old son, whom he mentioned having on the weekends, thus the reason he didn’t go out much. Ah, a divorced dad. I wondered if my parents would disapprove.

I couldn’t wait to tell Renee about my upcoming date. I had been gushing about Vincent since my first day at Sphinx, and I could tell she was relieved that I finally had a love interest, too. Her daily David Whitman anecdotes had grown more than tiresome and I hadn’t even met the guy yet. They were still in the newlywed stage, where they mainly just had sex at his place. David lived alone. I understood.

I was bent over the kitchen stove making a grilled cheese when I heard the sound of our front door open.

“He asked me out!” I yelled to Renee, flipping my sandwich onto a plate. I barreled into the living room, but stopped dead in my tracks when I realized she wasn’t alone.

“J,” Renee said cautiously, as if she felt bad catching me off guard. “This,” she gestured behind her, “is David.”

Wow. I was not expecting that. Naturally, I wasn’t expecting David to be standing in my living room, but I also wasn’t expecting to feel the sinking in the pit of my stomach when I met him. Never in my life had I met someone and felt so instantly drawn to them. And he hadn’t even said anything yet. He just grinned at me like we were having a private joke. The only two people in the room. In the universe.

“He asked you out, huh?” David joked. There it was again, that mischievous, one-dimpled grin. His eyes went slightly wild when he smiled, like he was scared, surprised, and amused all at the same time. I couldn’t help but smile back.

“He did,” I said, nodding slowly. David loomed behind Renee, at least six feet tall, with dark hair and a hint of a baby face. His lips had twisted into a faint smirk, the amusement of the situation still lingering. But those eyes. Those giant, brown, crazy eyes. They were having sex with me. In my own living room. Behind my best friend, who I could no longer see.

“About time,” Renee said, hanging her purse on the wall rack. “Listen, we’re going to sleep here tonight because David has a meeting in Brentwood in the morning. Fill me in tomorrow?” She winced like she felt bad.

“Okay,” I agreed. David followed Renee out of the living room, still smiling back at me. But not with his mouth. With those goddamn eyes. I had never met anyone who could smile without moving their mouth.

I heard the bathroom door close and the sound of the sink running. Before getting settled on the sofa, I realized that I’d left my grilled cheese sandwich in the kitchen. I got up and headed toward the kitchen, and there he was. Leaning casually in the doorway, his right arm propped against the wood. Like he’d been hiding there, waiting for me the whole time.

“So, did you say yes?” he asked, not bothering to move out of my way. He was blocking the doorway. I couldn’t get through. I didn’t care. “To the date, I mean.”

“I did.” I was whispering. I wasn’t sure why. Like we were sharing a secret.

“Lucky guy,” he said in a low voice, slowly looking me up and down. As he turned and disappeared into Renee’s bedroom, his eyes never left mine.

Even if Vincent wasn’t in London, at that moment, he still seemed a million miles away.

Chapter 4

The Middle East felt like my childhood. It was what I imagined Seattle to be like during the nineties. Dark basement feel, sticky floors, heavy distortion, the distinct aroma of weed and beer. It was dirty and raw. In LA, everything was pretty. Even the rock clubs were pretty. In Boston, the rock scene was real, not manmade. No one painted a mural of Jim Morrison on the side of the building to be cool. It was cool without trying.

I spotted Renee as soon as I walked downstairs. Even at six months’ pregnant, she was still stunning. Her blonde hair spiraled down to her waist, and she wore a long, black vintage coat with a fur collar. She looked like a seventies groupie. She was perched by the merchandise table, helping the merch girl unload the band’s albums and t-shirts. Her face lit up when she saw me.

“Hey!” She waved and abandoned the table, wrapping me in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here. You have to see the albums!”

Tonight was the album-release party for Dylan’s band, Electric Wreck. They had just finished their first full-length album, Hiatus. I’d photographed them for the album cover, thanks to Renee’s referral, but had yet to see the finished product. Renee was like an elated toddler, grabbing me excitedly by the arm and dragging me to the table.

“What do you think?” she asked, thrusting a copy into my hands. I looked closely at the cover. It looked great. We had used their studio for the shoot, which everyone agreed was a practical location, with the graffiti and equipment in the background adding to the sincerity of the setting. The four guys were strewn across the room with their instruments – Christian in the back of the photo behind the drum kit, Andy seated on the floor with a guitar in his lap, Jeff leaned up against the wall clutching his bass, Dylan in center, head down, gripping the microphone with both hands. It was a fantastic shot.

“It looks awesome,” I said, running my fingers along the edges. I had sent the final image to their graphic designer, who had adjusted it to black and white and added classic-style font so it looked like an album from the sixties. I flipped it over to read the twelve-song list on the back.

“I know!” Renee was beaming. “I told him it would come out great.”

Dylan was not a fan of the cover concept. He thought a photo of the band members was cheesy and opted for artwork instead. Renee insisted that, since they were all good-looking guys, it would be more marketable. Sex sells. Dylan argued that this theory was exactly what was wrong with the music industry today.

He eventually gave in.

With her new mom-to-be schedule, Renee had quickly become the band’s pseudo-manager. She devoted all her spare time to learning about the music industry and indie artist success strategies. Thus, Dylan usually listened to her even when he didn’t want to. And I was just grateful for the referrals. Electric Wreck was the second band she had referred to me for photography shoots, and since I hadn’t found a job or a permanent place of abode yet, freelance work helped. Living rent-free also helped.

Although I knew the real reason for my lack of drive. I hadn’t fully committed to being home yet. My heart was still in LA.

Renee handed a cardboard box to the merch girl, then led me to the side of the stage. “Did I tell you that they raised over 20,000 dollars for their album through the Kickstarter campaign?”

She had. At least three times. “I think so,” I lied.

“You’re almost as bad of a liar as I am,” she said, laughing. “Sorry if I keep repeating myself, it’s just so exciting. Twenty thousand dollars! They haven’t even been around that long.”

Through Renee’s research, she’d discovered that a lot of emerging indie bands were launching online donation campaigns to help with their album recording expenses. Renee had started a campaign for the band and executed different marketing strategies to get the word out. I knew she’d put a lot of effort into it, but I don’t think anyone realized how effective it was until the results came in. It was all Renee had talked about for weeks.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” she said, lowering her voice. “Andy thinks you’re cute. He hasn’t shut up about you since the photo shoot. Do you…” She hesitated. “What do you think of him?”

I think he’s not David, I thought.

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” I said. Technically, it was the truth. I hadn’t thought about any man except David in months.

“Do you think he’s cute?” she asked. She had a painful expression on her face, like it would hurt her if I said no.

I considered. Their guitarist, Andy, was average-looking, shaggy dirty-blonde hair, nice cheekbones, a little extra weight around his midsection. He was the personality of the band, that was for sure. Dylan was too intense, and the other two didn’t talk much.

“He’s okay,” I answered, shrugging. “He’s funny.”

The truth was, every time I pictured myself with a guy, all I could think of was David. I couldn’t imagine feeling that way with anyone else. And if I couldn’t feel that again with someone, then everything else would just be settling. I’d rather be alone.

Just then, the lights dimmed and the four guys slowly made their way to the stage, Dylan arriving last. Renee’s eyes locked on him, and I knew better than to say any more. I had seen Dylan perform, and the way he silenced the audience. He had an undeniable gift. He wasn’t just a voice, he was a presence. It was easy to see why Renee had fallen for him.

When I first met Dylan, he wasn’t at all what I had expected. Maybe because he was so different from David. He was smaller than I’d imagined, five foot nine at most, and incredibly skinny. A true starving artist. He had a big nose and very dark hair, almost black, the complete opposite of his glowing light-blue eyes. His eyes were so intense it was hard to look at him sometimes. Like he was perpetually scared.

After my first conversation with Dylan, I understood the attraction. It was his voice. Not his singing voice, but the way he spoke. He had a deep, sexy tone and spoke slowly and deliberately, like he was half-asleep. It was almost hypnotic. He kept you hanging on every word. Renee also had a tendency to gravitate towards the mysterious, detached type, and Dylan was about as elusive as they came. You never knew if he cared, what he was thinking. He just stared at you with those glowing eyes.

The music started, and for the next two hours, I had officially lost Renee. The music had taken her. My beautiful best friend, with her tiny baby belly poking out from behind her coat. Swaying to the music. In love.

Throughout the entire show, her eyes never deviated from Dylan. At one point, he looked over at her and smiled ever so slightly, and I felt a pang of jealousy in my gut. I wanted that. I wanted someone to look at me like that.

Only that someone was 3,000 miles away, and he’d never look at me like that. Because he didn’t love me.

Los Angeles, CA

March 2009

David started coming around the house more often. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thrilled. I tried not to be. I tried to pretend I wasn’t excited by the sight of him on my couch when I came home, the thought of him in my shower. I tried not to read into his mild flirtations, not to feel his eyes on me constantly. I tried to fight it. I did.

I started to think that maybe it was in my head. Maybe I was reading into it. But it seemed like every time Renee stepped out of the room, he’d inch just a tiny bit closer to me, stare a little bit more intensely. And he didn’t look away. The Stare.

One night, the three of us were watching a movie in the living room. Renee decided to go to bed early, and David stayed up to finish the movie with me. But he didn’t watch the movie. He watched me. I felt his eyes on me the entire time, waiting for me to look his way. I didn’t.

“Anyone ever tell you that you look like Denise Richards?” he finally asked.

“Every day of my life.” My eyes were still on the TV.

He kept staring. I finally gave in and looked at him. He was grinning. That wild-eyed grin. That we’re-sharing-a-secret grin.

“What?” I asked, fighting back a laugh. I couldn’t help it. He had this way of staring and smiling like he knew something you didn’t.

“You’re really into this movie, huh?” he asked.

I stopped watching it a long time ago, I thought to myself.

“It’s okay,” I said.

“Have you ever had Rocky Road popcorn?”

I whipped my head in his direction. “Huh?”

He stood up, walked over to my chair and grabbed both of my hands with his. In one swift motion, he lifted me to my feet. “Come on,” he said, pulling me behind him.

And there, in the kitchen, we melted chocolate and marshmallows, crushed almonds, popped popcorn, and threw them all together. David stood tall above me, so close we were almost touching, and without missing a beat, he shoved a giant fist of popcorn into my mouth.

I screamed, wiping chocolate and marshmallow wads from my face. We were both in hysterics. If this were a date, it would’ve been the best date I’d ever had.

The next day, Renee told me she wanted to break up with him.

Apparently, their differences were beginning to weigh on her, which I knew would happen eventually. You can’t fight the inevitable. Up until David, Renee hated jocks. She wouldn’t even look at a guy if he didn’t hold an interest in some sort of creative endeavor. I think David’s charm had succeeded in blindsiding her temporarily, but now graduation was creeping around the corner. She was starting to think about the future. And questioning whether or not David would be a part of that.

I couldn’t fathom it. She had Him. How could you give up those eyes? Those dimples? The way you felt inside when he looked at you?

Then I realized why. She didn’t feel that way. Maybe to a degree, but not nearly as close to the way I felt. I wouldn’t have given him up for anything.

I understood where she was coming from, but deep down, part of me hated her. I had been on an endless bout of bad dates for as far back as I could remember, hoping to find what she already had. And she was going to throw it away, just because the guy didn’t “get” rock and roll.

Since Renee relied heavily on my opinion, I did what any best friend would do. I told her the truth – that I thought David was great, but if she was having doubts, then maybe she should take some time apart from him to think about their relationship. Renee was flying home to Boston the following week to attend her grandfather’s funeral, so she’d have some space to evaluate their future while she was away.

I just honestly didn’t think that, in the end, she’d decide to stay with him.

Chapter 5

It was almost one in the morning by the time the band was packed up and ready to go. Everyone except for the venue employees and band members had already gone home, so I was left in the smoke-filled backstage room with the Electric Wreck guys while Renee was off settling their bar tab. Dylan must have sensed that I was uncomfortable, sitting alone in the corner, because just as I was about to leave he sat down next to me.

“You like the show tonight?” he asked.

“You know you’re always great,” I said, although I wondered if he really did. No matter how many compliments Dylan received, he still seemed to doubt himself. Typical self-loathing artist.

“Do you have to drive back to the Cape tonight?”

“Yeah. It’s only a little over an hour. Not so bad.”

“Except at this hour.” He smirked. “You’re always welcome to crash with us, you know.”

Renee and Dylan lived in Quincy, which was only a 15-minute drive from the city, but I hated sleeping anywhere except in my own bed.

“I’ll be okay,” I said. “Thanks, though.”

“How are you kids doing over here?” Andy asked, sliding in between Dylan and me. He removed a joint from his pocket and held it in my direction. “You smoke?”

I thought about it for a minute. I wasn’t much of a pot-smoker because it made me sleepy, but I did have a long drive home…

“What the hell,” I agreed. “Here?”

“My car. I think they’re going to kick us out soon.”

I followed Andy through the empty main room, catching Renee’s eye on the way. She abruptly stopped her conversation with the bartender when she saw us leaving, giving me the thumbs-up sign. I made a joint-smoking motion with my hands so she wouldn’t get the wrong impression. She shrugged and gave me a smile that said, “Hey, it’s a start.”

Andy drove a black Infinity with gray-leather interior. It was much nicer than I’d imagined. I guess I assumed all musicians drove beat-up vans like Dylan did.

“This is nice,” I said, running my hand along the seat. It had that new-leather smell that I loved.

“Well, playing in a band isn’t the only thing I do.” He lit the end of the joint. “I also teach guitar lessons. And I taught music theory classes for years at the Art Institute.”

I took the joint from his grasp, looking around before taking a hit. We were parked in the lot behind the club, a dark, inconspicuous place. I felt safe. “Why’d you quit?” I asked.

“If we’re going to be touring more, I need the schedule flexibility. I’ll go back to teaching once we start working on our next album, when I know I’ll be home for a while.”

I exhaled a ring of smoke into the air, feeling much more relaxed. That was the good thing about pot. It made your problems not seem so bad. David felt a million miles away.

“What are you smiling about?” Andy asked, looking at me with hazy eyes. I hadn’t even realized I was.

I took another hit of the joint and shrugged. I was having too much fun in my little stoned world to start unleashing my weird thoughts. My head began to feel lighter. I wondered how long we’d been in the car. It felt like forever.

“Just smiling at life, huh?” Andy asked, stubbing out the joint in his ashtray. It was the furthest thing from the truth, but at that moment, it felt one tiny step closer.

“Yeah,” I said. “Something like that.”

Los Angeles, CA

April 2009

The day had finally arrived. My long-anticipated date with Vincent was here at last.

And I had absolutely no idea what to wear.

He hadn’t mentioned where he was taking me, but I assumed it was somewhere fancy, so I had to dress to impress. The problem was, I wasn’t your typical LA girl. I didn’t own designer bags or shoes or sunglasses. I liked funky shit. Purple pants, glass jewelry, fake fur. Those were my style. Red dresses and strappy shoes… not so much.

Renee was out of town, so I ransacked her closet, seeing as her wardrobe was slightly classier than mine. I decided on a low-cut sparkly gold dress because I had a pair of heels that matched perfectly. Luckily, Renee and I were the same size, although she was much taller. It was essentially a mini dress on her, but on me it ended about an inch above my knee. Just long enough to be classy, but just tight enough to be sexy.

Vincent picked me up promptly at 8.30 in a black Maserati. Very close to the black Porsche I’d pictured him in. I felt sexy as I stepped into it. Like a woman. The red lipstick and curls I’d added to my hair also helped me feel closer to his maturity level and less like an intern.

We valeted at the Huntley hotel on Second Street in Santa Monica. I was officially a Hollywood cliché. A cliché in a tight dress and a Maserati, strapped to the arm of someone 20 years my senior. There was a split second where my senses kicked in and I wanted to haul ass in the opposite direction, but instead I kindly kicked my intuition to the curb and followed Vincent to the elevator.

The Penthouse was located on the top floor of the hotel, and was one of the most gorgeous restaurants I’d ever seen. Everything was white. White tables, white chairs, white floors, white walls. They even had white sheer curtains that enveloped each booth; your own private canopy overlooking the city. The bar was lined with candles, and in the corner was a fireplace surrounded by oversized leather chairs.

Vincent and I sat across from each other in one of the cozy booths, and as each drink passed, I wished the curtains weren’t sheer so we could have a little privacy. I studied him in his blue-and-white-striped button-up, realizing that I’d forgotten how attractive he was in his absence.

Or maybe it was because I had been a little preoccupied developing a crush on a certain someone…

“Did I tell you how gorgeous you look tonight?” he asked, stroking my hand from across the table.

“Thank you,” I said politely.

“I mean it. You look stunning.” He removed my hand to grab his menu. “Have you eaten here before?”

I shook my head, taking a sip of champagne. It was my second glass and I was already a little tipsy. Probably because I hadn’t eaten lunch.

Tight dress = no lunch. The LA way.

“Oh come on,” he teased. “Your other boyfriends must take you to places like this all the time.”

Other boyfriends. That was a laugh. I did a quick, mental run-through of all the bad dates I’d been on in LA, and at that moment, the only boyfriend I wanted was him. I stared into his smitten brown eyes, trying to picture us together. Curled up on the couch in his nice home in Beverly Hills. Watching movies and drinking red wine together. Sharing Italian food. It made me feel happy. Safe.

I ordered another glass of champagne and inched closer to him. The booths were U-shaped, and each drink had us slowly gravitating closer to each other. One more drink and I’d be sitting next to him. Two more drinks and I’d be on his lap.

Damn the sheer curtains.

As I sipped my drink, Vincent slid next to me and casually rested his right arm on the back of the booth. His left hand grazed the top of my thigh. My leg tingled.

“You know,” he said. “I don’t normally do this with coworkers. But there was just something about you…”

Our eyes locked. His hand inched further up my thigh.

“To be honest, I don’t get out all that much,” he continued. “My son is my whole life. As much as I love my job, I hate all the traveling. Being away from him is really hard.”

My heart melted. A good-looking, sweet, devoted dad. He was beyond perfect.

Then why couldn’t I get the image of David out of my head?

Stop it, I scolded myself. David is your best friend’s boyfriend. You are on a date with a good-looking, single man, who is interested in you. A date you’ve been looking forward to for a very long time.

I snapped my attention back to Vincent.

“What do you and your son do together?” I asked.

“He plays baseball, so I go to a lot of his games. He loves the movies, too. There’s a great theater in the Marina with reclining couches and a full dinner menu. It’s his favorite place to go.” He smiled proudly.

“That sounds like fun,” I said.

“Yeah, I know it’s not as exciting as the Hollywood scene, but that’s what happens when you’re a dad.”

I would’ve taken baseball games and Disney movies over bad dates and pretentious clubs any day.

“Trust me,” I assured him. “Hollywood is not all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Come on. A girl like you?” He looked me up and down. “You must have guys lining up.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, mentally sorting through my dating roster. I had them lining up all right. Let’s see, there was the Brit whose credit card declined and I got stuck with our two-hundred-dollar bill… the jock who was sleeping with my friend and I simultaneously… the actor who spent our entire date reciting his IMDB page…

“Let’s just say the grass is always greener,” I said.

Vincent removed his left hand from my thigh and brushed a loose strand of hair from my face. “Well, do you think any of your boyfriends would mind if I kissed you?” he whispered in my ear.

Before I could answer, his lips were on mine.

It was exactly how I had imagined it. Soft, warm lips, his hand behind my neck. A strong masculine kiss, with a slight sense of aggression. Shivers spreading through my body. The taste of bourbon.

As our lips continued to interlock, I could feel the image of David slipping further and further away.

Vincent pulled back and looked me straight in the eyes. “Well, I hope those boyfriends of yours aren’t too jealous, because I might want to do that again.”

I giggled. “No boyfriends.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He looked over my shoulder for a long moment. “But then again, I wouldn’t know. I’ve been out of the dating scene for so long.”

I shot him a confused look. “Why? Because of your son?”

“No, because…” He cleared his throat, looking down at the table. “You know. Because I’m married.”

If it weren’t for the champagne buzz, I’m almost certain I would have clubbed him over the head with the nearest plate and ran for my life.

“You’re what?” I asked, positive I hadn’t heard him correctly.

“Married,” he repeated oh-so-casually. “You knew that.”

“You’re married.” It didn’t even come off as a question. More of a dead, lifeless statement.

He nodded, casually taking a sip of his bourbon. As though this was the most normal conversation in the world.

This is not happening, I thought, shutting my eyes tight. Not again.

“Wait, I’m sorry, and how would I have known that?” My voice was rising now.

He shrugged. Mr. Casual. “I just thought you knew.”

“Why don’t you wear a wedding ring?” The vocal decibels went up another octave. A borderline shriek. I stared accusingly at his bare left hand.

He shrugged again. “I stopped wearing it a long time ago.”

Just like that. No other explanation. He just “stopped wearing it.” You know, because everyone just wakes up one day and decides to stop wearing their wedding ring.

I stared at him, incredulous. Finally, realizing I wasn’t going to let it drop, he sighed. “Listen, Justine, people sometimes… grow apart. Relationships change over time. But like I said, I love my son. He’s my whole life. So I have to do what I can… for him.”

This heartrending speech was interrupted by our waitress, a tall, gorgeous blonde who looked identical to every other waitress in Los Angeles. She smiled at Vincent, clearly admiring the handsome, dark-haired gentleman seated next to me. Only I no longer saw him as handsome. I saw him as a number. Another number to add to the long list of Neanderthals on Justine Sterling’s master dating list.

“Are you two ready to order?” she asked.

Vincent looked at me expectantly. This was the moment of truth. He knew that at this moment, one of two things would happen. I would either a) decline dinner and demand to be taken home or b) accept dinner, thus insinuating that I wasn’t opposed to his affair proposal. Vincent was a lot of things, but he wasn’t an amateur at this game.

Fortunately, neither was I.

“You know,” I said, grabbing my menu. “I’m starving. Are you?”

A subtle smile inched across Vincent’s lips. He nodded slightly, taking my free hand in his. This was it. I had agreed to dinner. He had me right where he wanted me.

“You order first,” I urged him.

I didn’t listen to his order. Instead, my eyes browsed the page until I found the most expensive item on the menu.

“And for you, miss?”

I smiled confidently and pointed to the astronomically high-priced beef rib. “I’ll have the 32-ounce rib, please. Medium well.” I paused, looking over the wine menu. “And actually, I’d like to order a bottle of your finest champagne, too.” I turned to Vincent. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” he insisted, waving his hand at the menu. “Whatever you’d like.”

I knew he wouldn’t object. Even through my alcohol-fogged glasses, I saw him as he really was now. Vincent, with his expensive car, expensive clothes, and expensive home, was a façade. He was an image. On the outside, he had the perfect life. A perfect marriage, a perfect son, and a perfect job that allowed him to travel all over the world. But in reality, he had an unhappy wife, a lonely son, and a job that did nothing but contribute to both of those factors.

And a man like Vincent certainly wouldn’t taint his ego and decline a beautiful woman an expensive meal. Especially in front of their beautiful waitress.

I waited for our waitress to bring the champagne bottle, then downed one last glass before excusing myself to the restroom.

“Hurry back,” Vincent called after me.

I shot him an award-winning smile before walking away. Luckily, the bar area of the Penthouse was so crowded that it was easy to lose sight of someone.

I snuck around the corner, down the elevator, and hailed a cab home, leaving Vincent all alone with a 32-ounce steak and lots and lots of wasted champagne.

Chapter 6

Renee’s house was covered in boxes. She and Dylan had moved into a condo prior to the unexpected pregnancy, so they were now transferring some of their items into storage to make room for the baby. She said they were going to start looking at houses soon.

Renee was sitting upright on the sofa when I walked in, a silver laptop propped on her lap. She was the only person I knew who could wear an oversized t-shirt and a messy ponytail and still look gorgeous.

“I know it’s a mess,” Renee said, without looking up from her laptop. She looked deeply focused. I felt like I was interrupting something.

“It’s fine.” I stepped over a box to get to the loveseat. “Do you, um, want me to help you pack?”

“No, it’s okay. Dylan will finish at some point.” Her eyes were still trained on the computer. Fixated on her latest project, no doubt. Renee was always embarking on some sort of new venture.

I sat quietly on the loveseat and scanned the room while Renee finished typing. The only decorative items that remained were two aromatherapy candles and a black and white photo of Renee and Dylan that hung on the wall.

“Sorry. I’m done.” Renee slammed her laptop shut like it had offended her with its distraction.

“What are you working on?”

“Oh, it’s… nothing.” The smile she was hiding indicated otherwise.

“Renee.” I looked at her accusingly. “Spill.”

Her eyes lit up. “Okay, but you can’t say anything because Dylan doesn’t know yet. Promise?”

I placed my hand over my heart. “Grove’s honor.”

As we both laughed simultaneously, the mention of our previous joke immediately invoked a flashback in my mind.

It was the fall of 1998, the beginning of our sophomore year. Renee and I were smoking a joint in the Groves, the woods behind our high-school football stadium. We were supposed to be at the football game, according to our parents, but the only reason we’d gone to the game was to stalk our current love interests. After realizing they weren’t there, we immediately headed to the Groves.

“Tell me the truth,” Renee said, taking a swig from the Budweiser can she’d hidden in her coat pocket. “You did, didn’t you?”

“Did what?” I knew exactly what she was referring to.

“You know.” She rolled her eyes. “Derek. You had sex with him, didn’t you?”

I hesitated. Derek Spaulding was the sole reason I’d come to the football game, and the second person I’d ever slept with. But because I was 15 and insecure, I’d hidden this from my friends so they didn’t judge me and think I was slutty.

“You can’t tell anyone,” I insisted. “Especially Beth.” Renee’s friend, Beth Broadley, was still a virgin and I didn’t want to make her feel bad. I also suspected she judged us and thought we were slutty.

Renee placed her hand over her heart. “I swear…” She looked around like she was seeking something sacred to swear on. Coming up empty, she looked back up at me and slurred, “Grove’s honor.”

We laughed like this was the funniest saying ever created.

Much like we’re doing now.

“Okay.” Renee inched closer to me, something she always did when she was about to dish a secret. Like the close proximity somehow trapped the secret from getting out. “Have you ever heard of Faded? The denim company?”

I nodded.

“Well, they held an online indie artist contest and Electric Wreck was selected as one of their finalists.”

“That’s great.”

Renee shooed me with her hand. “No, what’s great is that I just convinced their marketing team to sponsor Electric Wreck’s next tour.”

I could tell she was waiting for my enthusiastic reaction, but in truth I had no idea what that meant. “So… what happens now?”

“They’ve agreed to give the band 25 grand to cover their touring expenses. And in exchange, the Faded logo will be on the band’s touring vehicle and all their touring flyers and promotional materials.”

I had to hand it to her, for someone who had no marketing background whatsoever, the girl certainly had a knack for it. “Renee, that’s incredible. Dylan is going to be so excited.”

“I know. My little rock star.” She smiled nostalgically at the black and white photo of them on the wall, then turned to me with a serious expression. “Now, let’s talk about the real reason you’re here.”

The reason? There was a reason I was here? Renee never needed a reason to invite me over.

She inched forward, even closer this time. This was serious. “I’m worried about you,” she said in a low voice.

I shot her a confused look. “Worried? Why?”

She rolled her eyes. “Justine. We’ve known each other since we were kids. You think I don’t know when something’s bothering you?”

Okay, so maybe I hadn’t been overly forthcoming about my lingering feelings for David, but come on. He was her ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t a favorable subject.

“I’m fine,” I insisted. “I’m just having a little trouble adjusting, that’s all.”

“Well, you don’t seem like you’re making much of an effort.”

I flinched like I’d been slapped. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’ve been home for months, you’re not working, you’re not attempting to find work, and you’re living down in Cape Cod, away from everyone.” Renee looked down at the floor nervously. She hated confrontation. “It’s like… you’re not even trying to adjust. Like you don’t want to be here.”

“Well, truthfully, I don’t.” I sighed. “I miss LA. A lot. And I miss…”

“David?”

And there it was, the elephant in the room. Even though Renee and I had made up and moved on, we’d never talked about it. Sure, we’d briefly talked about it, but we’d never really talked about it.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I miss him. Every day.”

Her face softened. “Why don’t you ever mention him?” she asked. “You know I don’t care. Not any more.”

“But I care,” I said. “And by talking about it, it makes it… real.”

Renee placed her right hand on her temple. She looked like half of her felt sorry for me and the other half wanted to kill me. “I don’t know why you do this.”

“Do what?”

“This.” She gestured toward me. “You never tell me how you feel. You keep everything in. You’ve always done it.” She shook her head in frustration. “I don’t even know what really happened with you guys. I mean, I know you obviously fell for him pretty hard or else you wouldn’t have…” She looked up at me with pleading eyes. “Will you please just talk to me?”

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything. I want to know what happened then, and I want to know what’s happening now. I want to know everything.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. When I opened them, my best friend was staring at me, silently begging me to let her in.

“Okay,” I agreed. “Everything.”

Los Angeles, CA

April 2009

I was the saddest girl to ever hold a martini. A walking Sex and the City episode. Minus the sex.

I wished Renee was here. If she wasn’t home for a funeral, I would’ve called her for a long-distance cheer-up, but it wasn’t the most appropriate time. So instead, I resorted to sitting barefoot on the living-room floor, still wearing Renee’s gold dress, crying into a martini glass.

Pathetic, really.

I’m not sure what set it off, because I shouldn’t have been this upset. It wasn’t like I’d invested much time or energy into my relationship with Vincent. I think this was just the last straw. The end result of the bad-date build-up. I finally thought I’d found someone who was different, and he turned out to be worse than all of them.

At first, it was quite comical. I chuckled to myself in the cab, wondering how long he’d wait at the table, how stupid he’d feel when our waitress realized he’d been ditched. I skipped into my kitchen, made myself a dirty martini, then sat down on my living-room floor and drank.

And somewhere around the second martini, the humor faded.

First, I thought about my parents, and the dreaded question that presented itself every time they called. “So, are you seeing anyone special?” It was the first thing they always asked. Well, technically the third, aside from the traditional “How are you?” and “How’s LA?” But the first two were just a buffer to get to the third question, the one they really wanted to ask.

Even worse was their discouraged “oh” after I told them no. I could hear the disappointment echoing from 3,000 miles away. And forget about family parties. My mom would attempt to cover up my patheticness by telling my nosy relatives that I was “kissing a lot of frogs” when they asked about my dating life.

You can only kiss so many frogs before your parents start to think you’re a lesbian.

After thinking about it some more, I started to feel bad. It wasn’t my parents’ fault. I was an only child. I was their only hope for grandchildren.

And then I cried.

I cried because I felt like a huge disappointment. I cried because I was jealous of everyone else’s happy relationships. I cried because I was afraid of being alone forever.

The sound at the door made me spill the remains of my drink onto the floor. Shit. I knew Vincent had my address, but I didn’t actually think he’d show up here. I was quiet for a minute, hoping he’d go away, but then I watched in horror as the knob turned and the door swung open.

I could have sworn I had locked it behind me when I came in. No, I definitely had. But then how…

“Justine?”

I looked up and locked eyes with David. David in all his six-foot-tall gorgeousness, standing above me with a look of bewilderment on his face. I knew what I looked like. The drunken cry-fest had invoked a black mascara trail under my eyes and a ring of perma-snot under my nose. Not my sexiest moment.

I opened my mouth to explain, fully expecting David to ask what the hell was wrong with me. But instead, to my surprise, he burst out laughing. And it wasn’t just a chuckle. The guy was in absolute hysterics.

“Is this what you girls do when guys aren’t around?” he asked, trying to catch his breath. “You get dressed up, make martinis and cry? Is there a Lifetime movie marathon on?” He leaned forward and clutched his stomach.

“It’s not funny,” I said, fighting back a smile. When I thought about what I probably looked like to someone else, it actually was pretty funny. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“I left some stuff here. Renee said I could use the spare key and stop by. She said you wouldn’t be here because you were out on a…” A look of recognition came over him as his grin faded. He walked over and sat down next to me on the rug. “I’m guessing the date didn’t go well?”

“He’s married.”

“Ouch. Now I feel bad for laughing.” He took my chin in his hand and turned my face toward him. “Although you do look kind of funny having a depressing cocktail party on your floor.”

We both burst out laughing.

“I take it Renee didn’t tell you I was coming by?” he asked.

I pointed to my phone. I had turned it off so I wouldn’t be tempted to answer Vincent’s phone calls, wondering where I’d gone. I wanted to make him wait. Make him feel as stupid as I did.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Nothing to talk about, really. He took me out to dinner, kissed me, then proceeded to tell me he was married like it was the most natural thing in the world.”

“Hmm, let me guess. Makes a lot of money… drives a flashy car…”

I nodded.

“Typical. So what did you do?”

“Ordered the most expensive bottle of champagne, a 32-ounce steak, then told him I was going to the bathroom and snuck out the back.” I grinned proudly.

“Nicely done.” David looked like he was impressed. “Well, on that note, I say we go make a few more of these.” He took the martini glass from my grasp.

I followed David into the kitchen, happy he’d come to my rescue. This was exactly what Renee would’ve done. She would’ve turned the unfortunate situation into a party.

“There’s only one problem,” I admitted, as David passed me a glass.

“What’s that?”

“He’s my boss. Does that mean I have to quit?”

“Absolutely not.” His tone was so matter-of-fact, like he’d majored in corporate adultery. “Here’s what you do. You walk into work on Monday like nothing ever happened. If he tries to bring it up, you casually tell him that you think you should keep your relationship strictly professional.” He paused, taking a sip of the martini. His face puckered from the taste, and he took a straight shot from the vodka bottle instead. “The guy isn’t going to say shit. If he’s your boss, he could lose his job for pulling something like that.”

Hmm. He had a point.

“But seriously, though, why the tears?” He cocked his head to the side. “I know I shouldn’t be saying this, since you’re Renee’s best friend and all, but Justine, you’re gorgeous. You could have anyone you want. Was this guy really that great?”

I thought back to all the days I had spent with Vincent, joking around in his office, flirting at happy hours. We shared the same sense of humor, I admired his intelligence, and I was crazy attracted to him. He was definitely part of the reason I was upset, but it was more than that.

I was sick of the Vincents of the world. Sick of disappointing my parents. Sick of envying my best friend for having a great guy and wondering if my turn would ever come.

In short, I was lonely.

“I did like him,” I said. “I’ve dated a lot since I moved here, and I really thought that this time it was going to work out.”

“LA’s a different scene, that’s for sure. But, like anywhere, you have to take the good with the bad. On the downside, there are a lot of douches on the dating market. On the upside, it’s 75 degrees year-round.” His eyes lit up. “Speaking of, I have an idea. You have a pool here, right?”

I nodded. The pool was our apartment’s greatest selling point. It was heated, secluded, and open 24 hours.

“I say we go for a swim and exchange worst-date-ever stories.” He tossed me a knowing look. “If anything will cheer you up, it’s the David Whitman dating rolodex.”

I looked down at my outfit hesitantly. After the night I’d had, even the thought of selecting a bikini seemed exhausting. But David’s damn puppy eyes and taunting dimples were impossible to resist.

“Fine,” I surrendered. “But you’d better have some damn good stories.”

The pool was exactly what I needed. The warm water on my skin made my experience with Vincent seem like it was nonexistent. I felt like a kid again.

When I was in the third grade, my father lost his job and we had to live with his parents for a year until he and my mother got back on their feet. While my parents were devastated, I was elated because my grandparents had a giant built-in pool in their backyard.

I always remember that summer being the best of my childhood. My friends from school would come over and we’d swim all day. Sometimes we’d play games (“The Little Mermaid” had made its debut the year prior), and other times we’d just hang out on the blow-up rafts. But I’ll never forget the feeling of happiness that came from the water.

That was exactly how I felt right now, swimming around in my pink-and-white-striped bikini. I’d chosen a girl-next-door type of suit, as I didn’t want to bust out the thong bikini and give David the wrong idea. David seemed to sense my ease once we started splashing around. He kept looking at me with a proud-dad smile, like he was happy he’d made the suggestion.

The great thing about our pool was its seclusion. It wasn’t connected to our apartment building at all. You had to walk through the parking area to get to it, and even then it was fenced in, so you couldn’t see in from the outside. Luckily, our apartment management was very low-key and didn’t close it at a certain time. The glowing blue pool lights stayed on all night, unlike a lot of other buildings that closed the swim area at ten.

“Okay,” David said, resting his arm on the ledge. “Worst date ever. Go.”

I had to pick just one? This could take a while…

“I met a guy at the W hotel last year, who introduced himself as D.X.X.” I used hand quotations as I said the acronym. “I refused to call him this idiotic term, but he insisted it was his name.”

David was already laughing. “Don’t you love how no one in Hollywood uses their real name? It’s like, if they tell people their name is John Smith, they’re destined for career failure.”

“Yeah, well, he was cute, and I was drunk, so I agreed to go out with him.” I sighed, partly wishing I hadn’t agreed to divulge this horribly embarrassing story to a gorgeous guy. “I met him at Katana, that sushi place on Sunset, the next night and he tells me that if I want to have a few drinks, I can stay at his place since he lives right next door. He promised to be a perfect gentleman.”

“Famous last words,” David joked.

“Well he was, at first. We both fell asleep shortly after we got to his house. But then I woke up in the middle of the night because I heard a weird noise and I look over, and the guy is kneeling above me on the bed, jerking himself off.”

“While you were sleeping?” David threw his head back and laughed loudly. “That’s got to be illegal somehow.”

I lowered my head, mortified.

He waved his hands in front of him like he was surrendering. “Okay, I’m starting to understand the martini pity-party.” He swam closer to me. “I went home with a girl once, after our first date. We were taking our clothes off, having a good time, and then she tells me that I don’t have to use a condom. Because she’s already pregnant.”

I was feeling better already.

“I went out with an actor once,” I said. “And I asked him what he did when he wasn’t shooting. He started running his hands over his body and said ‘well, not to be cheesy, but my job is to maintain this’.”

“Stop it.”

“That wasn’t even the bad part. The bad part was that my gorgeous classmate showed up at the same restaurant we were at, and he immediately dropped the douche act and invited her to join us. He ignored me for the rest of the dinner and stared at her fake boobs the entire time.”

“So how was the second date?”

“Funny.”

David grinned. “I went out with an actress once, too. The date was awesome, actually, until her fiancé showed up at the restaurant and punched me in the jaw.”

“You’re lying.”

He pointed to a small scar on his chin. “I don’t date actresses any more.”

Okay, I was really starting to feel better. If a hot catch like David had just as bad of a track record as I did, then maybe there wasn’t something wrong with me.

David paddled in a circle around me, then lifted me up and tossed me underwater. After I came back up and wiped my face, he pulled me towards him.

“Well, Justine, I have good news and bad news,” he announced, looking into my eyes ever-so-seriously. “The bad news is that I officially made the worst martini ever, therefore I’m not in the best shape to drive home.” His lips twitched devilishly. “The good news is that I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”

Chapter 7

Renee had decided to start house-hunting. I think it was partially because she couldn’t stand living in a cramped condo filled with boxes, and partially because she needed a new project to work on. Renee couldn’t sit still. She loved writing, and when she wasn’t working on a freelance assignment, she was managing Dylan’s band. And when she wasn’t managing Dylan’s band, she was searching for somewhere else to direct her energy.

Today, she’d decided to focus her energy on houses. Dylan was at rehearsal and wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make it in time, so she’d elected me to be her co-conspirator for the afternoon.

I agreed to meet her at a new real-estate company in the city. Apparently they were headquartered in New York but had recently opened a Boston location. A friend of Renee’s had referred them, so she’d made an appointment to go in and meet with one of the agents. I couldn’t think of a less fun way to spend the afternoon, but Dylan had promised to meet us after his rehearsal, so I hoped I’d be off the hook soon enough.

The Keller office was bright and beautiful. Everything seemed to be made of glass or granite: a vibrant, open space. The receptionist looked up from her computer as I walked in.

“Welcome to Keller Realty,” she greeted. “Do you have an appointment with us today?”

I pointed to Renee, who was already seated in the lobby, filling out paperwork. “I’m with her,” I said. Renee smiled and waved me over.

I strolled across the office and sat down next to Renee, still admiring the surroundings.

“Nice office, huh?” Renee asked, following my gaze.

I nodded. “Have you been here long?”

“No. I’m just filling out some papers.” She looked down guiltily and picked up another clipboard from the table next to her. “But there’s another reason I picked this place.”

I eyed her suspiciously. “Why do I feel like this has to do with me?”

She bit her lip. “Well, they also specialize in rentals. So I thought maybe… you could look at apartments, too. Wouldn’t it be fun if we both looked at places together?”

I sighed. Ever since I’d started dishing the David details, Renee seemed gung-ho on helping me move my life forward. Which was sweet. I just didn’t know if I was ready for it yet.

“Renee, they’re not going to rent to someone who’s unemployed.”

“I know. But maybe if you see a place you really like, it’ll motivate you to start looking.” She pouted. “Besides, I hate that you live so far away.”

“It’s only an hour…”

“Well it’ll be longer in a few months with summer Cape traffic.” She pushed the clipboard closer to me. “Please?”

I rolled my eyes and reluctantly took the clipboard from her. “Fine, I’ll fill it out. But I don’t know if I want to live in the city. Too much traffic.”

“They have places all over the south shore.”

Of course they did. I appreciated her efforts to cheer me up, but I highly doubted that looking at apartments out of my price range was going to heal my broken heart.

“It’ll be fun,” she insisted, sensing my hesitation. “You can just look at some different places and neighborhoods. Get a feel for what you like.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, accepting defeat. “I’ll do it.”

“Ms. Evans?” The receptionist walked over to us. “Have you finished?”

Renee nodded and handed her the clipboard of papers. The receptionist looked down at Renee’s protruding stomach, beaming.

“So, how far along are you?” she asked, clasping her hands together.

“Six months,” Renee answered.

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Renee shook her head. “It’s going to be a surprise. My fiancé doesn’t want to know.”

“Oh, that’s great. Congratulations.” She returned to her desk, then glanced over her shoulder in our direction. “Mr. Keller should be with you in a few minutes.”

“Mr. Keller, huh?” I turned to face Renee. “Is the President himself giving you a housing tour?”

“His son,” the receptionist corrected. “He’s in from New York to help set up the new office. But trust me, you’re in good hands.” She winked at Renee.

Renee leaned closer to me. “Do you think it’s weird that Dylan wants the baby’s sex to be a surprise?”

I shrugged. “Some people like surprises. Why?”

“Because it’s killing me,” she whispered. “I’ve thought about finding out and just not telling him.”

“Don’t,” I warned. Renee couldn’t keep anything to herself.

“I know. I won’t. I just really want to.”

“What do you think it is?”

She placed her right hand on her stomach and looked down. “I think it’s a boy. I’ve read that boys carry low.”

It was still so strange to me, seeing my best friend as a mother, hearing her use big-girl words like “fiancé.” It was like we had grown up overnight. I still pictured us as the girls who skipped class to smoke pot in the woods.

“Renee Evans?”

Oh, my. Well hello Mr. Keller. I had to assume it was Mr. Keller by the way he carried himself. He walked like he owned the place. And he looked like… wow. His face was perfectly chiseled, his body rock hard, his skin tanned and smooth, his eyes a nearly impossible shade of brown. I had never seen eyes like his. They were so light they were almost gold.

“Oh my God!” Renee’s scream rung through the entire office. By the time I looked over at her, she was already out of her seat, barreling towards him.

“I can’t believe it!” Renee threw her arms around him in a tight hug, then took a step back, studying him. “Walter, what are you doing here?”

Walter? How did I know that name? It sounded oddly familiar…

“Oh, fuck no!” I heard a loud yell from behind me, and turned around to find Dylan storming through the office, decked out in an all-leather ensemble. “No way! Absolutely not!”

Renee turned around and grabbed Dylan’s hand, pulling him closer. “Walter, I’m sure you remember Dylan.”

“Ah, yes, Dylan. Of course.” He flashed Dylan and Renee a charming smile. God, even his teeth were flawless. “So I see the two of you worked things out?”

“We did.” Renee glanced down at her stomach.

“Are you kidding me, Renee?” Dylan eyes were aflame. I’d never seen him so mad. Everyone in the office was starting to stare. “How could you not tell me this?”

“Relax,” Renee said in her calmest voice. “I had no idea this was his office until just now.” She turned to face Walter. “Are you living in Boston now?”

“No, I’m just here for a few weeks. My dad wanted to branch out and open an office here, so I’m helping him get everything up and running.”

Suddenly, Renee whipped around, remembering I was there. “Justine!” she called, motioning for me to come over and break the tension. I rose from my seat. “This is…”

“Walter,” I interrupted. “So I heard.” I extended my hand. “Justine Sterling.”

“Walter Keller,” he said, shaking it. “A pleasure.”

Is it ever, I thought. Who the hell was this guy? And why was Dylan so pissed?

“So, are we still going to…” Walter looked hesitantly between Renee and Dylan. “I mean, if you guys would prefer to use another agency, I completely understand.”

Dylan started to say something, but Renee silenced him. A slow smirk emerged on her face as she looked back at me. “Actually, Justine is looking for a new apartment.” She feigned an innocent expression. “Maybe the two of you should get started on that while Dylan and I discuss our options?”

“Sure,” Walter agreed, turning to face me. “Why don’t we go into my office and discuss the locations and price ranges you’re thinking of, and then we can see what’s available?”

I looked at Renee. Grinning like the little shit she was. But hell, if anything was going to help me get over David, Walter Keller was a good start.

Los Angeles, CA

April 2009

I didn’t sleep with David that night. I mean, sure, I slept with him, but not in the sexual sense. Only in the nocturnal sense.

After changing out of our soaking-wet swimsuits, David and I somehow ended up in my bed. I’m not really sure how it happened. One minute, I was curled up under my covers, trying to warm up because my hair was soaking wet. The next minute, David was sitting on the edge of my bed, attempting to continue our conversation. Eventually, we both fell asleep without leaving that general proximity.

By the time I woke up the next morning, David was no longer in my bed, so it sort of felt like it never happened. Instead, he was now in the kitchen, making coffee and eggs and toast. God, he was so damn perfect. Even in his gym shorts with messy bedhead. I remember, at that distinct moment, thinking about how much I wished I could find someone like him. And hating Renee for not realizing how lucky she was.

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