Chapter One
When your wild best friend is about to marry a cop, move to the suburbs, and most likely become a Stepford wife, you accept her barbecue invitation.
It’s the least I can do, really. Especially since I’m the one who dared her to kiss that very same cop all those months ago, inadvertently getting her arrested. I’m pretty sure Zoey forgives me for that, though. Her guy is criminally hot.
I pull up to Zoey’s new two-story house, immediately nostalgic for our crappy walk-up apartment above Miller’s Garage. After Zoey moved out to be with Porter, I didn’t feel at home there anymore. Porter insisted it was unsafe, so now I have a studio apartment in a decidedly nicer neighborhood. But it’s not the same.
A teen with a gold-plated star pinned to his vest motions me forward like he’s the Sheriff of Parking; he doesn’t even look old enough to drive. But I’m trying this thing where I care way less about everything, so I pull up and toss him the keys.
“Don’t scratch it, sheriff,” I say, flashing him a smile, and handing him a twenty. He nearly faints, and quickly disappears inside my Honda. It’s not even a nice Honda. I just felt like making his day.
I try not to worry when he squeals my tires and heads down the block at top speed. I glance around to check if anyone else noticed this, but people seem to be in a rush to get to what must be the barbecue of the year. I realize suddenly that I’m the only person here under fifty besides the happy couple.
I better start drinking early if I plan to stay for s’mores.
“Cheyenne!” Zoey calls, practically falling over me. We hug, and she hands me a beer. Although I saw her like two weeks ago, her eyes water like it’s been years. “Oh, my gosh,” she says. “You look like shit. What’s wrong?”
I pretend to be offended for a moment, but then smile. “We can talk about it later,” I reply, waving off her concern. I don’t want to ruin her big… barbecue day?
“Okay,” I say, swinging around to face her. “What the hell is going on? Do your new friends like grilled meat this much, or—”
“We’re celebrating,” she says. “Porter made captain. He’s like… in charge of everything. It’s awesome.”
I’m pretty sure Zoey has no real clue what Porter does most of the time, but it’s adorable how proud she is. I wish I had similarly good news.
“Frankie Miller is getting married,” I announce, and straighten my back as if I’m not bothered at all. Why should I be? He’s my ex-husband. My employer. I haven’t had sex with him since we were eighteen. I’m honestly not even attracted to him anymore.
But…
“Who the hell is Frankie marrying?” Zoey demands, looking scandalized. “He can’t do that to you. He promised to let you remarry first.”
He did. Frankie was always awesome about stuff like that. He always let me do everything first. And I mean everything.
“I guess he got tired of waiting,” I say, but then shake my head. “He actually met a great girl,” I admit. “I think he’s been wanting to ask her for a long time. He couldn’t wait on me anymore. I’m like forever single. The petrified forest of Tinder. The—”
“Frankie Miller’s getting married,” Zoey says, sounding stunned. “I’m sorry, Cheyenne. It sucks. You know what this means, though?” She looks over at me with an exaggerated pout, and holds up her beer.
“What?” I ask suspiciously before clanking the glass.
“You’re getting laid tonight.”
I glance around the party, at all the older—albeit fit—men and their wives. A few screaming kids running through a sprinkler. I’m about to tell her I’m more likely to get arrested than sexted, when I see him. Or rather, his arms.
Over at the bar, in a short-sleeved white T-shirt that is pulled taut over his biceps, is possibly the hottest guy I’ve ever set my eyes on. And I haven’t even seen his face yet.
“Who the fuck is that?” I ask, pointing my beer in his direction. Zoey’s eyes trail over there, and when she figures out who I’m talking about, she laughs.
“Oh, no,” she says. “Not today, Satan.” She puts her arm across my shoulders and turns me away. “That is—Ryerson Banks, Porter’s brother.”
“Is he single?”
“I don’t know. Stopped keeping track after the last three. In a month.” She widens her eyes to let me know that he’s not even the fun kind of dirty. He’s short-term with a ton of regrets filthy.
I glance over at him again anyway.
“Don’t even think about it,” Zoey sings out from the lip of her beer. “He’s also a convicted felon.”
“Oh,” I say, disappointed. Just then, Ryerson turns around, and scans the party. I’m disappointed to say he is even cuter than his arms gave away. If Porter is criminally hot, then his brother is a… well, a convicted felon, I guess. But a super-hot one.
His eyes meet mine from across the lawn, and I sort of expect him to smile, flirt. Instead, he quickly looks me up and down—his black eyes the kind you can lose your soul in. And then he sniffs a laugh, and turns away.