1
PIPER
For a woman browsing sex toy catalogs at noon on a Monday, you’d think my life was a whole lot… steamier than it is right now.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, bless the soul who first put two and two together and came up with a solo, rechargeable device (and hands-free? Even better for holding that Kindle), but flipping through the latest wifi-paired devices promising twice the fun in one little package, I find myself wishing that I had an eager and willing partner in saucy crimes.
And, you know, that my research wasn’t strictly professional.
“Day drinking, Piper? Do we need to stage an intervention?”
I stifle a yelp of surprise, slamming my laptop shut before anyone can see my screen. I’m at Mavericks bar, working on my business plan at the bar with a mimosa. I figured it would be quiet enough to go unnoticed.
Clearly, I was wrong.
“Says the man with a beer in his hand, who co-owns the bar.” I reply, narrowing my eyes at the interruption. It’s Flynn McCord also known as my brother’s best friend.
Also also known as the bane of my existence.
He gives a shrug, his gaze already moving to the group of brunching blondes by the window. Two of them flutter in his direction, with a wave of their hands—and then they frown at each other when they realize they both know him. Pretty well, I’d guess.
“Whoops,” I say with a smile. “Looks like your game’s up.”
“No game,” Flynn says, unruffled. In his trademark flannel shirt and work jeans, he’s still pulling off the whole ‘rugged craftsman’ thing, and from the look of the blondes, it’s been working quite well. “We’re all adults here. At least, most of us are,” he adds, ruffling my hair as he saunters off to charm the blondes back into submission.
Or a threesome, knowing his track record.
Not that I care. Not one bit.
I take a sip of my mimosa and try to focus on work. My older brother owns the place with his friends, and since I don’t have an office just yet, I’ll take all the space I can get. A girl can only stare too long at her apartment walls, and I already had to bail on a coffee shop when they started playing 101 Most Melancholy Breakup Anthems.
On repeat.
“Any chance of a drink?” A male voice interrupts me.
“I don’t work here,” I reply, before looking up. Then I blink. The tall, blonde guy leaning against the bar has a scruffy beard and a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, but there’s still something familiar about him…
“Think anyone would mind if I help myself?” he asks, and then doesn’t wait for a reply before he rounds the empty bar, grabs a bottle of bourbon and pours a healthy splash.
I smile. “It’s your funeral,” I say, still trying to place him. Have the Gods of Sex Toys decided to offer up my willing and eager testing partner?
He flashes a grin. “Will you say something sweet at my graveside?” he asks, rejoining me. “You look like you could make grown men weep.”
I snort with laughter at the line. Then I realize where I’ve seen that smile before. On a billboard in Times Square, advertising some big blockbuster movie.
My jaw drops. Holy shit. “Wait… You’re—”
“Running early,” Flynn interrupts. He plants himself squarely between me and Teen Choice Heartthrob of the Year, Jackson Kane. “Jackson, my man… Don’t worry about Pipsqueak here, she just wants an autograph.”
I resist the urge to punch him. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” Flynn smirks, his dark blonde hair curling at the ends.
“Because my name is Piper,” I smile past him to Jackson, giving him a welcoming ‘date me’ grin. “And please, ignore him.”
“Wish I could sometimes.” Jackson grins back. “But the man’s already under contract for my apartment renovation.”
“Says the guy who begged me to make room on my busy schedule.” Flynn laughs. “Good to see you, it’s been too long. When was it, Vegas?”
“No, Mexico.”
Flynn snaps his fingers. “That’s right. Whatever happened to those dancers, the ones with the…”
“Sparkling conversation skills?” Jackson finishes. “No idea.”
They greet each other with a manly backslap/hug combo, and my heart sinks.
He’s Flynn’s buddy? So much for a steamy night together exploring the best that modern technology has to offer. My chances of scoring with the heartthrob—which, let’s be clear, were already thin—plummet to right about zero.
Because if there’s one thing Flynn—and all my brother’s friends—excel in, it’s chasing away every man that ever comes within a ten-foot radius of yours truly.
Call it the curse of being the baby sister, or their antiquated ideas about protecting me from the big, bad, hunky men of New York, but regardless, it ends the same way:
With me stuck home alone on a Saturday night, enjoying the more, ahem, solo pursuits.
“I’m just finishing up some business,” Flynn tells Jackson. “Give me fifteen, and we can check out the building?”
“Sure, I have some calls. Nice to meet you, Piper,” Jackson adds, flashing me another smile as he heads out the door.
Hmm, maybe all is not lost.
Flynn steals a handful of my fries. “Don’t let the fame and good looks fool you, he’s a dog.”
I slap his hand away. “A guy hiding his manwhore ways behind a charming smile? Gee, I’ve never seen that before.”
“So, you think I’m charming?”
He winks and heads upstairs before I can object, leaving me down one hunky actor—and out half my delicious snack, too.
Typical Flynn: The man has a way of getting under my skin.
“Uh oh,” Roxy, my new roommate and the best bartender around, appears from the back, lugging a crate of beers. “What’s that face?”
“Just my usual ‘I’m going to die alone and untouched’ face,” I reply cheerfully, downing the rest of my mimosa.
“Well, you luck might be changing.” Roxy drops her voice. “Six o’clock, by the door. He’s been checking you out for twenty minutes now.”
“He has?”
I perk up, casually turning, and locking eyes with the man in question. Khakis, preppy button-down, kind eyes…
I can work with that.
I mean, let me be clear, after the dry spell I’ve been going through, I could work with a cardboard cutout of Jason Mamoa, but I’d much prefer an interactive experience.
I flutter a wave in Khaki Guy’s direction, and throw in an inviting smile for good measure…
… Just as Charlie, another of my brother’s buddies, walks through the door. He catches me smiling, follows my gaze to Khaki Guy, and then leans in, to murmur something his way as he passes.
Khaki Guy snaps his head around like he’s just noticed I have a second head. He stares intently at his phone, pretending like he never saw me, as Charlie keeps strolling.
Leaving me alone at the bar. As usual.
“Are you kidding me?” I exclaim in frustration.
Roxy winces. “They have a habit of doing that, don’t they?”