Mitch is already at the Bridges Grill when I arrive, wearing one of his signature denim shirts over black jeans. While most people’s styles evolve with the years, Mitch’s has remained the same since school.

My friend looks relaxed and in his element. Watching him, one would never guess that the man is one hell of a workaholic. The stress never shows on his face.

He rises when I get to the table at the back, next to a jukebox. “LaClaire, great to see you. I’ve missed you. I can’t even remember the last time we met up in person.”

“That’s because it was too long ago.” We give each other a quick hug and take our seats. I lean back. “Looks like you’ve been doing well.”

“I can’t complain.” Mitch threads a hand through his curly auburn hair. “Business is booming and life is good.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” A waitress with hair slicked back with what must have been an entire container of gel approaches our table. “What can I get you gentlemen?”

“Just a coffee for me, please,” I say even though the aroma of fried onions and grilling steak on one of the open grills entices my taste buds.

“Really?” Mitch interjects. “I thought we were meeting for lunch.”

“That’s what I thought too, but I just left an emergency meeting with a future business partner. He insisted we talk over food.”

“And for you, sir?” The waitress glances at Mitch only long enough to ask the question before returning her smoky eyes to me.

“Since my friend won’t eat with me, I’ll have a Budweiser. Thanks.” Mitch hands the waitress both menus, touching her arm to get her attention.

“Of course.” Color floods her cheeks. “I’ll be back soon with your order.” She leaves our table and I sigh with relief.

“Did you see how she was staring at you?” Mitch leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Looks like you still have the LaClaire touch. I’m pretty sure she would have allowed you to have her right here on this table if you offered.”

I roar with laughter. “Unfortunately for her, she’s too skinny for my taste.”

“Her loss, I guess.” Mitch clasps his hands behind his head. “How are the other LaClaires? I still can’t believe Bryant is a married man.”

I roll up my sleeves. “Don’t forget the fact that he’s also a dad.”

“Who would’ve thought?” A smile spreads on Mitch’s face. “I never thought any of you LaClaires were even capable of settling for one girl.” He cracks his knuckle. “Except for Neal, of course, the one-woman man. The way fate screwed him over is messed up.”

Since Mitch and I had spent a lot of time together in school, he hung out with me and my brothers. It almost seemed as though he was our sixth brother. He’s well-informed about all the tragedies our family has had to endure. If only money could guarantee a pain-free life.

“Yeah,” I say as the waitress returns with our orders and places them in front of us, almost rubbing her small breasts in my face. I wait for her to leave before continuing. “Fate is fucked up sometimes.” I raise my coffee to my lips. “How about you? When are you going to find someone to get serious with?”

“Hopefully soon.” He puffs out his chest. “I’ll be thirty in five years. I want to settle down with a good woman by then.”

“Are you serious?” I glance at a customer arguing with a waitress over a bill. “You’re also not a forever kind of guy.”

“People change. I’m tired of playing the field. If I find the one, I’m diving right in, like your brother did.” He cocks his head to the side. “In fact, since we last met, I was involved with a girl who made me change my mind about the whole bachelor for life thing. It didn’t work out though.”

“Well, in that case,” I raise my cup of coffee, “here’s to you crossing the road to the other side. I hope you find the one, the right one.”

“Thanks.” He tips his beer glass against my cup. “Any chance of you joining me on the other side or will you continue walking alone?”

I drink a mouthful of coffee. “Define alone. Just because I’m not interested in a serious relationship doesn’t mean I’ll be alone. That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“Still bed hopping?”

We both laugh out loud. “You’re still full of shit, Mitch Biron.”

“I guess some things never change.” He takes a swig of beer, glancing at me over the rim. He wipes the foam from his upper lip. “But what I have to show you today, could change your afternoon or the rest of your life.”

I drink from my coffee, enjoying the heat on my tongue. It was so much fun catching up that I forgot why we’ve agreed to meet up in the first place. “What have you got?”

“Something that will blow your mind.”

“Cut the crap and spit it out.” I put my cup down and glare at him, ignoring the tightness inside my chest.

He pushes his glass of beer aside and reaches into his tan leather messenger bag, pulling out a white envelope. He places it on the table and rests his hands on it, watching me. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

I narrow my eyes at the envelope. “Wasn’t I the one who wanted you to look into this in the first place?”

“Fine.” Mitch starts to open the envelope, driving me nuts as he takes his time.

As I wait, tempted to snatch it from him and open it myself, my blood is pounding in my ears. What am I afraid of exactly?

“Here you go.” He pulls out two sheets of paper, slides them across the table in my direction. I grab the papers and run my gaze down the first. My head jerks back.

“Holy shit. What the fuck?”

“That’s what I thought when I found out.”

“Brooke Rayner?” I move on to the second page, my fingers clutching it so hard it’s in danger of ripping. “Are you sure this isn’t some mistake?”

Mitch drinks his beer. “I pride myself in being one of the best bloody investigators in Boston. So yes, I’m pretty sure. It wasn’t hard to get her real name. One of the girls she works with helped out.”

“No.” I shake my head as my mind tries to look for familiarity in the face I saw twice at The Mirage and from a distance when I trailed her a few hours ago. “But Brooke is a redhead.”

“Was. Or she could be wearing a wig. It’s not uncommon with prostitutes.”

“True. It’s just that she’s the last person I’d think—”

“As I said before, people change. And you don’t know what happened to her after she left school seven years ago.”

I nod and allow thoughts of the girl I used to know to flood my mind. Even though she doesn’t know it, she was the first girl who made me aware of the heart lying inside my chest. The moment I saw her, I knew I had to have her. Unlike most girls, she was a hard catch. She was a good girl, who stayed away from the crowd, was never seen at parties, and spent her free time helping out in the library.

Even though reading was not my passion, I wanted to get into her pants so badly, I faked it. For several days, I showed up at the library to see her face, to inhale the scent of vanilla in her hair when she walked by. I told myself I’d get over her as soon as I slept with her, because that was what I did. Even back then, I was the fuck them and leave them kind of guy.

One night, after watching her for three weeks, I decided to go for the goal. During a fundraising event at school, I went on the search for her. I found her crying behind a bookshelf in the deserted library. It was closed for the day, but she had forgotten to lock herself inside. When she saw me standing there, her eyes and mouth rounded in surprise as she brushed away the tears trickling down her face. I remember thinking she looked beautiful with her bronze hair sticking to her flushed cheeks. I still remember the way her body had looked in her skinny jeans and a white T-shirt.

Without waiting for her permission, I sat down beside her. “Are you okay?” I’d asked. I surprised myself with my concern.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” She sniffed and scooted a few inches away from me, wrapping her arms around her body.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to talk about it.” I leaned my back against the cool, white wall.

“What do you want?” she asked. “The library is closed.”

“Yep, I know. I saw the sign on the door.” I allowed myself a small smile. “I was looking for you. I thought you might be here.”

Her body tensed beside me.

“Why would you be looking for me?”

I turned to her then. “I saw you during Keller’s boring speech. You looked upset. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” It had been a lie. I hadn’t seen her at all that day.

“I’m fine,” she whispered. “You can go now.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you make me believe you.”

I rose from the floor and went to the door, locking it while she watched me through a gap in the bookshelf.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked when I returned to her.

“Do you want anyone else to see you crying?”

“No.” She gave a small, broken laugh that lifted my heart. “But I’m fine, really. I’m having a bad day, that’s all.”

“Then let’s create a better day together.”

“Why do you care anyway?” She twisted her body to look at me, questions in her eyes. “You don’t even know me, not really.”

She was right. We didn’t take the same classes, didn’t hang out in the same circles, and hardly ever exchanged a word, except when I asked her where to find a particular book. And, yet, I felt as though I’d known her all my life.

“We share a common love for books.”

“Wrong.” She managed the sweetest giggle. “I love to read. You’re here all the time but you don’t read.”

“Is that so?” I gave her my lopsided grin. “And how would you know that?”

“Because on more than one occasion, I saw you holding your book upside down.”

“Damn.” I slapped my forehead, glad the ice had been broken. “Well, maybe I’m able to read books upside down. I’m sure that’s some kind of skill.”

“Yeah, right.” She laughed again and dropped her gaze. She didn’t speak anymore and I didn’t make her.

We sat in silence for what felt like hours. I’d never been close to a girl for so long without doing things to her body. When I thought I’d go nuts if she didn’t speak, she did.

“Thank you,” she said. “It means a lot that you came here.”

“You’re welcome.” Unable to stop myself, I reached for her hand. She flinched, but didn’t pull away. I counted to twenty and lifted it to my lips, my gaze holding hers.

“What . . . what are you doing?” she whispered as I watched her eyes melting with warmth.

“Making it all better.” Without saying another word, I kissed every knuckle. Only then did I let go of her, lowering her hand back in her lap. That was all I needed to do to open the door to her pussy. The next week, we bonded while talking about her cold-hearted stepfather and my adoption. Three days after that, I fucked Brooke Rayner against one of the library bookshelves, and after getting what I wanted, I moved on to the next girl, pretending Brooke didn’t make an impact on me. I never talked to her again until, from one day to the next, she left Magnolia High.

I finish my coffee and almost slam the cup onto the table. “Brooke Rayner, a prostitute? How did I not know it was her?” But then again, I did feel something while in her presence, a familiar pull I could not explain.

“You had a crush on her in high school, didn’t you?”

My feet shuffle under the table. “It wasn’t a crush. She was just another girl.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” Mitch reaches for the pages which had fluttered to the table. “Anyway, what will you do with this information?”

“Why do you think she chose this path?” I ask, ignoring his question. An uncomfortable ache blooms inside my chest.

“Why do most women choose to be pros?”

Pros, the name Mitch always preferred to call prostitutes.

“Money.” My shoulders sag.

“Exactly.” Mitch slides the papers back into the envelope and hands it to me. “You’ll find her phone number and address in there as well.” He props his chin on his hand. “Now, tell me, why did you need this information so bad?”

“I was just curious.” I don’t tell him that I already know where she lives.

“All right, then. And now that you know the truth, what will you do with it? I get the feeling you won’t stop here.”

“Is that so?” I give a half smile.

“Yes. I’ve seen that look in your eye before. Actually, the last time I saw it was when you were determined to sleep with Brooke.” He shrugs. “But, since you said she was just another girl, it shouldn’t bother you that she sleeps with random men for a living.” He takes a swig of beer. “Or does it?”

“Shut the fuck up, Mitch.” I lean forward. “And stop cracking your damn knuckles. It drives people crazy.”