By: Kim Karr

P.S. I kissed Brooklyn when the clock struck twelve, outside under all the confetti while the sky lit up with fireworks, and the ball dropped . . . and felt nothing.

End of our love story.

I already got the “so you and Brooklyn” look from Makayla. I’ll break her heart tomorrow. Why bother tonight?


She really wants me to have what she has—love.

Pfffttt . . . so not interested.

Leaning against the counter, I curl my finger to beckon her my way. “Now what’s in the box, Makayla?”

“Nothing.” Her voice is low in the most suspicious manner.

I raise a brow. “Something dirty? Come on, you have to share. I feel like lately I’m living vicariously through you.”

Her cheeks turn a fantastic shade of red. I think it almost matches her nail polish. “Okay, you know that book Cam and I read together last summer?” she asks.

My lips twist in thought. “Winter’s Men?”

She groans good-naturedly. “No, Summer’s Ménage.”

“Right, the smutty one about the threesome. From what you told me, it sounded pretty hot.” I throw my head back in laughter.

“It was—” she pauses as if to contemplate completing her sentence, but then goes for it—“a beautiful love story.”

Laughter bubbles up my throat.

She eyes me with one of those looks I taught her.

It’s scary.

Still giggling, I cover my lips with my hand. “Too much champagne, I think.”

“Anyway, I thought it would be fun to try out something we read about.”

“Something—” I let the word hang.

“It’s a cock ring,” she blurts out.

I clasp my hands over my ears, wondering if I can bleach the words away. Cam might be her boyfriend, but as of January 2, he’s my new boss, and, well, I cannot, just cannot even go there.

Honestly, I feel like our roles are reversing.

I used to be the sexpot.

Now Makayla is.

Oh how I long for the good old days.

Standing up straight, I wrap my arm around hers. “Come on then, whore. Let’s get back to the party so you can give Cam your naughty little gift. And please, I beg of you, no details afterward.”

The White Lotus Club is fourteen thousand square feet of all-black everything silhouetted in purple neon lights. And the best part, The Out Hotel is right downstairs. I can stumble back to my room without setting foot in the record-low temperatures of New York City again tonight.

Boy, I don’t miss the snow one bit.

We swing open the door, and the heavy thumping of the bass is enough to pound my pulse in my wrists and throat.

Flashing lasers bisect the multiple dance floors. Everything flashes in different shades of purple as the lights hit it. Mirrors are everywhere. The room looks like one giant disco ball.

It’s fantastic.

Cam is waiting for us just at the end of the hall. “Let’s go get another drink!” he shouts over the music.

Anxious, he holds out his hand for Makayla, and she grabs it, then she holds out her hand for me, and I grab it. We make a chain through the crowd toward one of the many bars set up around the club’s outer walls and squeeze our way in.

Cam had already ordered before coming to retrieve his maiden, and he hands Makayla and me each a shot of something orange and fizzy looking. “Happy New Year!” he cheers.

“Happy New Year.” I sip mine. “Oof, what is this?”

“They’re called Fuzzy Fucks,” says Cam. “Jägermeister, orange juice, and peach schnapps. Drink it.”

I push it back his way. “I think I’ll have a whiskey, but thanks.”

Shrugging his shoulders, he says, “I liked the name.”

At least he’s honest.

Cam turns and orders something different for me, and then tosses his shot back, and mine too. Makayla is nursing hers with a sour look on her face.

As soon as Cam gives me the amber liquid I asked for, I laugh and point to the small glass in Makayla’s hand. “You’re supposed to shoot it. Watch.”

I tip my head back and down all 1.5 ounces. The initial burn jolts me, but after that the taste spreads deliciously across my tongue. When my gaze returns to eye level, it lands on the most absolutely gorgeous-looking man I have ever seen, and he is headed our way.

In a simple white shirt and plain black pants, you wouldn’t think someone could be so sexy. Yet he so is. I watch his slow strides, and I swear every part of me goes on alert, and I mean every part.

As clichéd as it sounds, this man is tall, dark, and handsome as hell. Messy yet perfect dark hair, a lean build that makes him look like he could bend a woman over with ease, a wide mouth with full lips that I bet can drive a woman to her knees with one kiss, and the bluest, most glimmering eyes that must make the best magic.

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