Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57139 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
And then he barely texted this week. Just one message saying Vex, the actor, would be on time at the restaurant and that he’d sent over my interview questions. When I’d asked what he was doing, he mentioned visiting family. Something about a eulogy. Then, totally deadpan, he’d asked if it was hard being a woman and why I torture myself at the salon. Weird.
I glance at my phone again. Still nothing but a passive-aggressive thumbs-up emoji from earlier.
What did I expect? For him to rush in and stop the date? For him to confess his love in the middle of the street? How would I even react? The grey area of our friendship was starting to haunt me, and I didn’t know if it was the dates doing it… or if it was me finally cracking. Maybe I’d just gotten tired of pretending I didn’t want someone safe. Someone who knew me well enough to order my food without asking.
I set my phone down. Five minutes late. Vex the actor was fashionably five minutes late.
Whatever. I pasted on a smile and lifted my huckleberry martini—
And then I felt it.
A shift in the air. The kind of subtle buzz you get before a summer storm, or before something very, very bad happens in a horror movie.
I looked up—
Hazel eyes. Gorgeous hazel eyes, framed by criminally long lashes. Messy, designer-wavy hair, gold threads through dark strands like the chaos was planned. Sharp cheekbones. Smirk that could start wars. Black peacoat over a tan shirt, dark jeans, sneakers—hell, even the shoelaces looked smug.
He wasn’t just stunning. He was beautiful.
He was perfect.
He was—
Holy shit on a stick.
He was Ezra.
My Ezra.
The martini glass slipped from my fingers, shattering. Ice cubes and pink liquid bled across the floor, one traitorous cube sliding perfectly into my dress, right against my nipple—hello, front-row seats to my dignity dying.
It was the dress. The dress was making me react. Not Ezra. Nope. Not Vex. Definitely not Vexra.
Oh god, he was walking toward me.
Every head turned. I swear at least two marriages ended right there from the way women looked at him. A waiter and a waitress practically body-checked each other to get to our table. The bartender was already making me a replacement martini. I forgot how to breathe.
And then—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he stopped in front of me, cupped my face with his warm, capable hands, and gently closed my hanging jaw.
“You look beautiful, Harper,” he said, voice low. “Just like I remember.”
You look familiar and fuckable, I thought. Just like I remember. Oops.
“Statistics!” I blurted.
His brows lifted. “Excuse me?”
I laughed. Too loud. “Ha, ha—math. Stats. You like numbers. Me too.”
What? What? What was that?
He leaned down, blocking my body from the view of my set-up phone. “You okay? You’re shaking.”
“Cold,” I lied. “Ice on my tits.”
And I wondered why I was in this predicament? With the dating? Well I need not look further than ice on my tits.
He snorted. “Why do I feel like that should be a song?”
“Because it should,” I whispered.
“Relax,” he murmured. “It’s just me.”
But it wasn’t. Not this version.
This wasn’t Ezra from my kitchen. This was sexiest man alive Ezra. The kind of man you climbed like a tree—not because you wanted to, but because biology demanded it.
I was still trying to remember how breathing worked when I heard it.
“Ezra?”
A woman’s voice—warm, lilting, and absolutely sure of itself.
He froze. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to notice before he turned toward her with a smile that was polite but… tight.
She was gorgeous in that effortless, I don’t have to try because God just made me like this way. Long, hair twisted into a glossy knot, a silk blouse tucked into tailored trousers, diamond studs flashing at her ears. She walked right up like she owned the oxygen between us. The hate I felt was immediate. I’d never been one of those girls, is this what it took to turn me into them? Just one girl looking at Ezra? What was mine? My best friend? My fake date? Vex?
“I thought that was you.” Her eyes skimmed him in a way that said she’s either seen him naked or wants to. “It’s been, what… since Yale?”
Yale.
I blinked in shock. Ezra went to Yale? Since when? I met him Freshman year, second semester, had he transferred then?
He didn’t even look at me—just smiled faintly at her. “Hey, Lila. Yeah. It’s been a while.”
“More than a while,” she said, her tone dipping into something happened between us and I’ve never forgotten it territory. “You disappeared. No calls, no texts. Next thing I knew…” She trailed off, glancing at me like I was the world’s worst interruption. “Well. I guess you’ve been busy.”
My grip on the napkin tightened. My brain tried to connect dots—Ezra, Yale, Yale Girl, Vex—but the picture wouldn’t quite form. Wait, why did this version of him look so familiar?