Chapter One

Sam

Liz: My undersexed phone would like to invite your undersexed phone to exchange some inappropriate text messages we’ll regret when we’re sober.

When I look up from the message, I catch Lizzy Thompson watching me from her table not five feet from mine. Another woman might blush. Liz winks.

She’s in red heels and one of those short, tight dresses that’s scientifically engineered to make a man’s jaw drop. Her legs are crossed and on full display from where she’s propped on a stool.

I lift an eyebrow, questioning, and she shrugs.

Brady’s is buzzing with activity tonight. The seats at the bar are crowded with men trying to escape their women for the night, and men trying to find a woman to take home are surrounding the pool tables. I’m somewhere in between, at a table with a beer and a few empty shot glasses. I’m not in the mood to socialize, but going home and being left alone with my thoughts sounds even worse.

Last week, I’d been complaining that Will’s phone was getting more action than mine, and Liz asked for my number. I thought she was joking. Apparently not.

At the time, I would have been all over some dirty sexting with the leggy blonde who’s starred in more than a few of my fantasies. At the time, I had no idea how badly one person could fuck over my world.

But that was last week. Tonight, I’m a different man. I’m changed. Hell, I’m broken.

I can’t tell Liz that. I can’t tell anyone. Because telling would lead to questions I don’t care to answer.

Her lips pull into a subtle pout, and I sigh and type a reply.

Sam: While my undersexed phone would enjoy that, my undersexed brain worries it would put ideas in your head.

I watch her as I wait for my message to go through. She reads it and smirks for a beat before her fingers fly across the screen. Thirty seconds later, my phone buzzes again.

Liz: Oh, the ideas are already there. What’s wrong? Your little guy not UP for the task?

That almost makes me smile. Almost. I didn’t think I could smile tonight, but Liz is the most likely candidate to make that happen. She’s one hundred percent no-nonsense. Sure, maybe half the shit she says is for shock value, but it’s usually what everyone else is thinking. I’ve always liked that about her.

Sam: Sorry to say, I don’t have a LITTLE guy. But my dick is up for anything you’ve got. It’s the next morning that would be a problem. I’m not your type, Rowdy.

Liz: Really? What’s my type?

Sam: You need a good guy. A long-term guy. One who does dates and romance and emotional strings.

Liz: And what kind of guy are you?

Sam: I’m just an asshole who wants to tie you up, make you come, and walk away.

I make sure I’m watching when that one goes through, but she doesn’t blanch. Instead, her lips part—fucking beautiful lips, pink and full and perfect. I kissed those lips before, tasted them. It was all I could do to end it there, but I’ve remembered that kiss and thought about a repeat performance a hell of a lot more than once.

She lifts her gaze to mine. Nothing on her face says she’s insulted by my text. Her chest rises and falls and her cheeks flush pink.

No one can tell me I lead women on to get sex. I’ve never needed to. I take women to bed without any promises and make damn sure they don’t regret it. I don’t do commitment or forever, and I don’t hide it.

Her eyes darken, and her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

Fuck. Me.

Standing, I throw some money on the table to cover my tab. I have to get out of here before I take her up on her offer. Demons are clawing their way into my easy life, and using her to escape them would only hurt us both.

* * *

Liz

“I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing that.”

I tear my gaze off my drink and look up to see Della Bradshaw sliding onto the stool across from me. “Seeing what?”

“You were eye-fucking my brother.” She shudders. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I asked you to figure out what’s wrong with him.”

“He’s hot, Del. All the girls think so. I’m just the only one honest enough to tell you.”

She gags and rolls her eyes. “Well, whatever. Did he tell you what’s going on?”

Della’s boyfriend, Connor, says Sam’s struggling with something, but Sam won’t tell his family what it is. Della asked me to figure it out. Seemed like an obscure request to me—doesn’t everyone have a secret? But I could tell she was worried about him, so I agreed to launch a little investigation. “Not yet, but have patience in my process.”

“I’m starting to think your process might involve things I don’t want to think about.”

“Are you worried I’ll break your brother’s heart?”

She snorts. “Try the other way around. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. I saw the way you were looking at him.”

“Consider me warned.”

She hoists her purse onto her shoulder and hops off the stool. “Connor’s waiting for me.”

“Tell him I’m sorry I don’t know anything yet.”

She waves away my apology. “He doesn’t know I asked you. I plan on taking all the credit when you figure it out.”

I arch a brow. “And what do I get?”

“You get to make fuck me eyes at my big brother without me vomiting all over you.”

“Oh, gee, I’ll try to contain my excitement.”