Prologue
SAGE
“I like you.”
I drop my hands to my lap and blink at him. The crowd and the music blaring through the speakers make the bar feel small.
It’s hard to talk in here, and for a moment, I think I misheard him.
“I mean, I really like you.” Aiden searches my gaze, looking for something, although I’m not sure what.
My body tenses.
My mind is blank. I should be thinking about all the reasons his confession is bad. Wrong.
Instead, I draw a blank.
The music is swiftly muffled by the blood rushing to my ears, like I’m hanging by a thread, ready to snap and fall on my face.
“I need air.” I slide off my barstool and fight my way through the crowd, bumping into sweaty bodies, my heart racing.
I sidestep the young bouncer and throw the door open. Emerging onto the sidewalk, I take a deep breath to try to steady my dizziness. I’ve had two drinks—two. And yet, it feels like I’ve had ten.
Aiden likes me?
He has feelings of more than friendship… for me?
It can’t be.
“Jersey, wait.” Aiden pulls me to the side.
The music is faint out here. The stars twinkle in the night sky. Giddy students sway past us, celebrating yet another week of finals behind us, which was what Aiden and I were doing. Celebrating before he goes off to law school in the fall, and I enter my senior year.
It’s a normal Friday night, yet this moment feels life-changing.
“Please say something.” He holds my hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over my knuckles. The moment I feel his warm touch, my shoulders sag.
I’m captivated by his liquid amber eyes.
It’s always like this with Aiden. He makes me feel calm and comfortable and so many other things… but what do I do with his confession?
“Are you drunk?” I whisper, searching his eyes for a hazy layer, or any indication that he doesn’t mean what he said. My heart is caught in my throat as I wait for an answer.
His lips twist. “No, I’m not drunk, Sage. I mean it.”
I don’t miss his use of my real name instead of the nickname he gave me two years ago.
It forms a knot in my stomach, but it’s not the nauseating kind. It’s the good kind. The terrifying yet liberating kind of excitement I felt when I drove a car for the first time.
But it only confuses me further—I’ve never thought of Aiden this way.
“I, um…”
He steps closer and cups my cheek. “I fought it. I fought my feelings for you as much as I could, but I can’t do it anymore. You’re not with him now.”
Even though my thoughts and feelings are a mess, I tilt my face into his hand, loving the heat of it against my skin.
“Tell me what to do.” He licks his lips, then leans closer still, so his lips are a mere inch from mine. “What do I do, Sage?” he rasps.
I don’t have an answer, nor does he wait long for one. His lips brush against mine, so softly. Like a breeze rustling leaves, he peppers a light kiss across my tingling lips.
It lights something inside me that I haven’t felt from a kiss in a long time. Simply put, it’s exhilarating.
It takes everything in me to push him away. To take a step back. To think clearly.
“This isn’t right.” My chest heaves as pain flashes across his expression. “I mean”—I gulp—“Dave… we just broke up. He and I were together for years. He deserves an explanation…” My voice trails off as guilt festers inside me.
Aiden runs both his hands through his hair, then down his cheeks, which makes his eyes frown even more. “Don’t go back to him, Sage. Please don’t.”
“I need time to think.” I choke on a sob that snuck its way up my throat.
He steps away like I rejected him.
“Aiden…” I reach for him, but he shrugs out of my hold. “I just need a little time. This isn’t easy.”
He remains silent as he stares at a spot on the sidewalk. What is he thinking?
Silently, he nods, his jaw set. He slinks away as if he’s a martyr in this tense situation, and I’m left standing here with my emotions weighing heavily on my chest.
I want to yell and scream for him, but my words are lost in my shock.
Students bump into me, but I remain in place as he disappears around the corner without a backward glance.
And I know, in this moment, I lost my best friend.
Before I’ve had the chance to consider that I might want him to be more.
Chapter One
Eight years later…
AIDEN
“Tina’s doing yoga in her underwear again.”
I groan as I roll over and lay my arm across Raven’s bare stomach. “Not exactly the first thing I want to hear this morning.”
“She should really get some blinds. They’re literally less than a dollar.”
Sighing, I open my eyes. Raven’s angled her neck toward the window where the curtains are parted just enough to view Tina’s living room across the alleyway.
I prefer the floor-to-ceiling window behind the head of my bed. I purposely don’t have a headboard. This way, I can lie down and fully appreciate the view of the Hudson River and Jersey City in the distance.
I keep my eyes firmly away from Tina’s morning escapades. She’s lived there longer than I have here, and after her husband died, she’s had one man after another to cure the lonely nights.
And yoga. Enough yoga to resemble a pretzel by now.
“Stop watching her, you perv.” I nuzzle Raven’s neck, then trail kisses down her shoulder.
She turns her attention to me. “She’s the one putting her business on display. Literally.”
“She’s a grown woman. Let her do what she wants,” I murmur against her skin, distracting myself from the same conversation we have almost every morning.
She exhales and runs her fingers through my wavy hair. “You’re only defending her because you like the cookies she drops off for you every week.”
I stop kissing her and rake my gaze over the tattoo on her upper arm, up to her shoulder, until I reach her cheeks. “She makes damn good cookies.”
“I better learn how to bake before she steals you away from me.” She giggles. It’s a feminine sound that doesn’t seem like her, and it makes me think she’s referring to more than Tina and her cookies alone.
As if any other woman would steal me away.
I hum, letting the scruff along my jaw tickle Raven’s cheek. “I like the sound of more baked goods, but it’s going to take a lot more than a few cookies to keep me from you.” I kiss her lips, drinking her in like I would expensive whiskey, liking that they’re natural. Any minute she’ll cover them in bright red, pink, or purple, depending on what kind of day this is for her.
“Aren’t you meeting with the new PR firm this morning? You’re going to be late if we keep this up.” She nibbles on my bottom lip, then pulls back, her black lashes fluttering as she opens and closes her eyes.
I run my hands through my hair, sighing with exhaustion. I’ve worked long, nearly impossible hours to get our startup company rolling. We’ve created an app that allows users to buy and sell stocks in players of different sports, and their value is determined by an algorithm I carefully—and painstakingly—built over three years.
It’s been five total years of grueling work, continual beta tests, and assembling the best team. Finding Jared, in particular, was a miracle. I did most of the heavy lifting, but he was a major help in perfecting the algorithm. Without him and his wizard skills, we wouldn’t be where we are now.
We’ve had numerous meetings with investors too, although Westin has handled most of those. We learned after a few rejections that I don’t belong in the spotlight. Westin’s taken the lead on our funding and marketing, both of which are his strong suits, anyway.
But we’ve exhausted our connections over the last couple years as we tested the app in phases during every sports season, correcting bugs and faults in the sequencing and selection of the algorithm. Now, it’s time for the official launch of Jock Stock, and we agreed a PR firm would be the most beneficial way to expand our reach.
This morning will be our first meeting since they took us on as clients, and we’ll need to go over the campaign that will secure our place in the sports industry—our future.
Despite my excitement, my job and its long hours have taken a toll. And at times, my sanity.
Small business owners and entrepreneurs should receive daily medals for their dedication and drive to not stop. To motivate ourselves, especially when no one’s watching. To reach for more and refuse to settle, or worse—give up.
“Go.” Raven nods toward the bathroom.
Groaning, I toss the covers to the side. My body feels like it’s made of cement as I drag myself to the shower. I rub shampoo into my hair, noticing how much longer it is than I normally keep it, but I haven’t been able to make my last two haircut appointments. Between work, sleep, and sneaking in a date with Raven as often as I can, it’s been hard to squeeze anything else into my schedule.
Thank fuck this is New York, though, and many places stay open past midnight. It opens so many more options for me, unlike my small hometown, where options are limited to begin with, and everything closes as early as eight o’clock.
I step out of the bathroom, a towel around my hips, when Raven says, “We should celebrate tonight.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re going to have to take a break someday.” She brushes past me into the bathroom, leaving the door ajar, and I catch small glimpses of her as she moves about.
Over the last few months, my loft has become basically hers too. More of her things litter this place than my own, and not only bathroom toiletries. She has throw pillows and rugs, canvases and paints, even tampons, which would have freaked me out if I didn’t have two overly comfortable sisters. Mia and Avril share far too much about their personal lives with me.
But this is still my home.
Raven hasn’t brought up the idea of moving in together, not since last month when I told her we should wait since her lease isn’t up for another few months, after which we can revisit the topic.
What I didn’t tell her is… I felt unsure when she asked, although I don’t know why.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Raven twists her wet hair in a towel, wringing it out. “I thought Westin said business attire today because of the meeting.”
I peer down at my jeans and plaid button-down over a white tee. “But these are my good jeans. No holes or tattered cuffs.”
She smiles, placing her hands on my upper arms. “You definitely should change, and we need to go shopping this weekend. You literally only have two pairs of slacks, A.”
My jaw tics.
She’s trying to help—I know and appreciate this—but having her tell me we need to go shopping makes me cringe, as if I can’t take care of myself. Even Mia has never tried to take me shopping, and that’s what she lives for.
“We’re a casual office,” I say, keeping my voice neutral.
“But you’re on your way to making it big, so you’ll need nicer clothes to impress people.” She pats my shoulder, then kisses my cheek.
“That’s another reason why I’m not the face of the company and Westin is. He’s a lot prettier, and his closet is practically a J. Crew store.”
She rolls her eyes. “Go.”
Forcing a smile, I change into the nicest clothes I own—I haven’t dressed up this much since I was in college interviewing for internships.
College.
It feels like another lifetime at this point, but the thought of that time in my life, when my world imploded, still makes me grimace.
I smooth my hair back into a low bun and leave the top two buttons of my shirt open, then grab a sports coat and assess myself in the mirror.
“It’s perfect,” Raven says from behind me.
I nod, then pull my leather messenger bag over my shoulder and kiss her once more before I head out into the fresh morning air.
We survived another brutal winter, and the smell of spring in the air gives us hope for relief—a new beginning.
On my way to the subway, I pass the bakery where Raven and I get coffees and pastries when we have a free morning. Past a small convenience store next to a dry cleaner. I move out of the way of a jogger and her St. Bernard, who’s salivating and keeping pace next to her like she promised it a big steak later.
A taxi cuts off a minivan right as the light turns for us to cross. No one flinches. It’s New York City, after all. I’ve lived here long enough not to be fazed by the chaos, either.
It’s been almost eight years, but it seems like yesterday that I came here and met Westin at my last job. Our first conversation was over Fantasy Football and sports stats.
We sold IT equipment, and Westin outdid me every quarter. He has a way with words and natural charm that proved very helpful when we needed to secure startup funds. It’s because of him that our app has become more than a simple idea.
It’s a company.
I head down the stairs, disappearing into the dim light toward the subway. People run, walk, or idly stand to the side. One guy is hunched in the corner, and a couple guys use buckets as drums, an upturned hat in front of them with change.
Thirty minutes later, I get off the subway and walk a couple blocks to our new office in Midtown. We moved in a couple months ago, and I’m still getting used to the commute. It could be worse, though. It takes Jared an hour to get to work now, sometimes longer, which I’m sure he’ll complain about as soon as he sees me. He complains about it every day.
The sun is high, reflecting off the windows of the buildings surrounding me. I maneuver around a few businessmen with briefcases like I’m switching lanes. When I find an opening, I race across to the sidewalk and stand in line for coffee from a small truck.
I take a deep breath, leaning my head back.
Back home in Virginia, I didn’t have this bustle. I never walked to work, the grocery store, or the local coffee shop. Besides, the only coffee option was Randy’s old café across town, which was mainly a donut shop with three coffee choices. He had three creamers in stock from the local Wal-Mart, and his version of a vanilla latte was stirring Coffee-Mate French Vanilla creamer in a warm cup of medium roast.
I smile at the thought as I grab my coffee, welcoming the warmth of it in my hand. Randy’s the reason I began drinking it black at such a young age. As he got older, he tended to forget the creamer altogether, and no one’s had the heart to tell him—small-town family and all. Thankfully, from what Mia’s told me, his daughter is moving back to help him.
I take the elevator to the eighth floor of our building and get out. Our offices—more like cubicles—line the walls and have sliding glass doors, giving each of us a view of the elevators but little privacy. We aren’t too concerned about it at this point, though. There are only ten total Jock Stock employees so far, and we’re spread out. As we grow, we might discuss renovating the space to include more privacy.
A work in progress.
The second my ass hits the seat, Jared appears next to my desk. “Has an apartment become available in your building yet?”
“No, and before you ask, yes, Tina still lives in hers.”
He groans. “I’m dying here. It’s like waiting for the next Star Wars movie—torture.”
“That’s not what fans of The Mandalorian say.” I pull my laptop out of my bag and set it on my desk, then hook it up to my monitor.
As Jared keeps on beside me, I pull up the reports from our quality assurance department. It’s not really a department yet since there’s only one person, but Westin says we should think big, so we call them all departments, no matter how few people are in each.
“Do you know what time I get up every morning?” Jared’s eyes widen.
“I do know, because you tell me every morning.”
“Four.” He huffs. “Four o’clock a.m. Like I’m some kind of fitness fiend filled with self-loathing.”
“Just think, now that you’ve created a habit of waking up early, you can start jogging in the mornings when you do find your new apartment.” I point to his legs—his scrawny frame is that of a tall high schooler. “You should probably join Westin and me at the gym for leg day, though.”
He rolls his eyes as Westin strolls in, briefcase in hand. He nods in our direction and makes his way to his office, which is next to mine. “You ready for our meeting this morning?” he calls over to me.
I drum my fingers on my desk. “All set.”
He pops his head around the corner. “Jared, please tell me you’re not complaining about your commute again.”
Jared scoffs.
“You missed his riveting tale of how early he gets up.” I laugh, swiveling in my chair to face them.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if we didn’t stay until ten or later, most nights. I might as well bring an air mattress and camp out in my office.”
“There’s an idea.” Westin snaps his fingers.
“Never.” Jared shakes his head as he turns toward his own office.
We like to give him shit, but it’s all in good fun. At the end of the day, we always have each other’s backs. Which is why I’ve been trying so hard to keep an eye—and ear—out for any openings in my apartment building.
Once I’m alone in my office, I leave the lights off and pull up the reports. There’s too much to squeeze into thirty minutes before our meeting, but I like to know what will be waiting for me afterward.
Once I print off the reports and prep for our development meeting, Westin buzzes me that it’s time to meet with the PR firm.
I stop in my tracks by my office door as a slender woman with her hair pulled into a sleek ponytail walks in, a laptop bag and small purse slung over her shoulder. I instantly recognize her as Taylor from our previous meeting with CJJ Promotions when we hired her.
But the other woman stands directly behind Taylor, blocked from my view.
Nikki, our office manager and receptionist, greets them and offers them a beverage. After they politely decline, Nikki holds her hand out. “Right this way.”
The mystery woman follows closely behind them, slowly coming into view the longer she walks. Unlike Taylor’s heels, she’s in flats, a pencil skirt, and a tucked-in blouse. Her shoulder-length hair flows in soft waves around her pink cheeks.
In a word, she looks natural, as if business attire is her second skin.
She walks like she belongs in an office. She’s confident, but there’s a comfortable air about her too. Stunning, and… familiar.
Those doe eyes.
High cheekbones and warm smile.
I stiffen, and my heart thunders in my ears like Mike Tyson’s practicing his punches against the walls of my skull.
Her smile widens as Westin approaches them, and when her gaze drifts in my direction, her face pales.
What the fuck…
My heart is caught in my throat as I walk toward them.
What is she doing here?
Her sweet aroma consumes me, bringing back so many memories that I’ve long buried in the “Do Not Open” part of my brain.
She tucks her hair behind both ears as I’m taken back to college nights of video games and pizza. The grease glistening on her lips and how she would slowly, innocently, lick it off.
Afternoons in the park playing Frisbee and soccer. Sitting in her car while I introduced her to indie rock music.
And worse—I’m taken back to our night together when everything had been nothing short of blissful, but quickly turned into a nightmare.
I squeeze my eyes shut and run a hand over my hair, hoping she won’t be here when I open my eyes again.
But sure enough, it’s her.
Here.
It’s been eight years since I last saw Sage Matthews. Since I heard her laugh. Since I admired the way her hair shined in the sun.
Eight years since I held her in my arms, before she rushed to another man.
She stands in front of me, looking beautiful—breathtaking.
Instantly, I panic as my gaze jumps from Taylor to Westin and back to Sage.
We’re obviously supposed to work together.
For years, this company has been my whole life. How am I supposed to focus on bringing it home with Sage here?
Fuck me.
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