Sitting at my dining room table, I chew on the inside of my cheek, wondering how the hell I approach this. I know if I ask, Heather won’t tell me no, but I’m starting to feel like a shitty friend.

She’s done so much for me already, I won’t ask for more favors. I just need to be creative.

I think back to when I was a reporter and didn’t have connections. Being resourceful was paramount. The file Erica gave me, the one filled with information about Noah Frazier, sits on my table. He’ll be in Tampa on Friday to visit Eli for the weekend, which means I’m supposed to have a story for the blog on Monday.

Considering I know nothing about Noah, I need to get busy trying to find an in.

I open it and read the info laid out like a police record.

I smile when I realize we share a birthday.

The next line makes me chuckle. Who the hell comes up with these forms for stalking celebrities?

I almost spit my coffee. It literally says “banging ass.”

There’s loads of information about his career, food likes, and pretty much anything I could ever want to know. It isn’t until I turn the page that my jaw drops.

Holy shit.

He’s freaking hot. Like really hot.

Maybe this job won’t suck as much as I thought it would.

I open my laptop and click on the browser so I can search his images. Noah is photographed with Eli quite a bit, most of the shots are them on the set of A Thin Blue Line, but then there are a few of them out at various bars. He looks damn freaking good in a police uniform. I rest my chin on my hand as I click through the images. The next photo is of his back, and in it, he’s squatting a little and his gun is drawn . . . I now fully understand the banging ass comment.

My scrolling continues through delicious photos of Noah, and I sigh.

I keep clicking and then stop when I come to a photo from the Emmy Awards.

Holy mother of God.

He’s in a black tux that fits him perfectly. Even with all the material he’s wearing, I can see the angles of his body. Broad shoulders, trim waist, and strong arms are visible in the shot. His dark brown hair is parted to the side and pushed back into a sleek, polished look. The photographer captured him in the middle of a laugh, and his green eyes are bright and full of life.

I could stare at this all day. If my job is looking at him, I may never quit.

My phone rings, and I jump.

Shit. It’s Scott.

“Hi.” I close the laptop, feeling a little guilty that I was drooling over another man while I’m legally married to this man.

“Hey.” My heart thumps at the sound of his voice. We haven’t spoken since I moved out two weeks ago, and hearing it now hurts. “I was verifying the kids are staying with me this weekend.”

“That’s the plan,” I say as I run my finger along the mug. “I can drop them off after work on Friday.”

He clears his throat. “I can get them.”

“Okay, I was offering since I’ll be in West Chase. And per the temporary agreement, I either drop them off or pick them up. This seemed to be the perfect compromise. I have to go into the office on Friday, which means the kids will be at Danielle’s. I have a ton of paperwork to fill out.”

Scott goes quiet and a knot forms in the pit of my stomach. “I’d rather us have a meeting place in the middle. The lawyer suggested having a neutral place. For the kids . . . and for us. That way, we’re not in each other’s business. I’d rather you stay away from my home.”

My hand stops moving and I grip the mug. His home? It’s his home now. He had to say it like that? I’ve known this was going to be difficult, but no one warns you about the pain during it all. It’s about lawyers, money, and keeping things separate. Civility is a struggle when you’re dealing with a selfish asshole.

I do my best to hold back the tears that threaten to form. It’s so much easier said than done. He’s still the guy I always wanted to love me.

“That’s really not convenient for me, Scott. I can’t drive out there on Sunday.”

He huffs. “I’m not trying to be a dick, Kris.”

It just comes natural to him.

“We agreed that one of us would drop them off and the other would pick them up. When you sent your requests the other day, that is what I signed off on.” I can be a bitch, too. I won’t let him walk all over me.

My lawyer called me Wednesday night to let me know we got our court date and to go over Scott’s requests during the separation. I agreed to some, this being one of them, but he’s out of his damn mind if I’m going to drive them to and from his visits let alone meet in some random place. They’re his kids, too. He can be the one inconvenienced if he wants to change shit around. I was the one who had to deal with him until the kids were out of school and then uproot my home and the kids because he wanted to stay in the house, which I still think is totally ridiculous. Why the hell does he need a four-bedroom house?

“My lawyer believes this is the right choice.”

He and his lawyer put all of this crap in the letter, and now he’s acting as if none of it works for him. Too damn bad. It didn’t work for me to move, but I did it. Time to grow the fuck up. I’m being nice by offering to take them to his house so he doesn’t have to drive out to Carrollwood when he works clear on the other side of Tampa.

I huff. “I’m happy for you and the lawyer, but I didn’t agree to these terms. You can’t decide something and just expect me to do it. I’ve been more than accommodating so far. I’m offering to drop them off Friday and then you can bring them back to me Sunday by the agreed time, which is exactly what you wanted and exactly what I agreed to when your lawyer delivered the terms.”

Driving to a central location makes absolutely no sense. I’m not doing it.

“I have to work on Monday,” he complains. “You’ll need to meet me at the neutral location in the morning instead of at night. I can have Jillian meet you if the time doesn’t work.”

He has to be kidding me. He must be out of his ever-loving mind if he thinks I’m dropping the kids off with his assistant. Especially considering I’ve never liked the bitch. She’s always been nasty to me and up his ass.

“I’m not meeting you—or your damn assistant—and per your stupid agreement, you have them until six. I have plans on Sunday.”

Stalking Noah Frazier and getting my blog post together, but I don’t tell him that.

“Plans?” He laughs. “Give me a break, you don’t have a life. I have a big meeting. For once, don’t be a bitch.”

I’ll show him a bitch.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” My words are laced with sarcasm. I’m not sorry about anything. “However, that’s not my problem. I will drop them off on Friday at the house, and I expect that you’ll drop them off at my home on Sunday after six. That’s what we agreed upon in writing.”

“When did you become so fucking difficult? Can you do anything helpful?”

Such an asshole. “I’d love to chat about that, Scott, but I’m busy right now. If you have an issue with the arrangements, take it up with my lawyer. I’ll drop the kids off Friday after work at your place. Thanks for calling.” I disconnect the call, and my head falls back as I groan.

I don’t feel like doing anything but passing out. This single parenting thing is exhausting. I get up and head toward the bedrooms.

Carefully, I open Aubrey’s door and move to her bed. She looks so little when she’s sleeping. I brush back her hair, kiss her forehead, and sit on the edge of her bed. Last night was hard on her. She cried for Scott for almost an hour, and I couldn’t calm her. In my arms, she begged to go home and stay with Daddy. I’m not sure how many nights of that I can take before it breaks me.

She nestles into the pillow, clutching the blanket she’s slept with since she was an infant. “Sleep tight, my beautiful girl,” I whisper and kiss her again.

I make my way to Finn’s room and smile. He’s the craziest sleeper in the world. I find him with his head hanging off the bed, his one foot is on the wall, and the other foot is on the pillow. I’ll never understand how he wiggles himself into the positions he does, but no matter what we did, it was the same each night.

My poor sweet boy is so out of control. I’ve always been close to him, but lately, he hates me. I don’t know if he assumes that us moving out was my choice or if he thinks it’s something else. I grab his legs and spin him back into a normal position.

“Mom?” He rubs his eyes, and I brush his hair back.

“Go back to sleep, honey.”

Finn sits up and wraps his arms around me. “I’m sorry I’m being mean.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” I murmur while pulling him to my chest. “I know you’re just working out your feelings.”

He pulls back and tears fill his beautiful brown eyes that mirror Scott’s. “Why doesn’t Daddy love us?”

I take his chin in my hand. “He loves you very much. Don’t you ever question that.”

“Then he wouldn’t make us leave.”

Oh, Finn. I wish it were that easy. I’m not sure how to explain this to him, but he’s a smart kid. He’s always had this innate ability to sense when someone is lying, so I shake my head, wanting to choose my words extremely carefully.

“Sometimes, moms and dads can’t make things work.” A tear falls down his puffy cheek and slices my heart apart. “Sometimes, no matter how hard we try, we can’t fix it. It’s not because of love, honey. I love your daddy very much, and I know he cares deeply about me. It’s just . . .” I sigh. “It’s just better if we don’t live together anymore.”

All of that is the truth. Well, as much of the truth as my ten-year-old needs. I will never bash their father. No matter what happens, I’ll protect the hearts of them toward him. He’s their father and a man I loved for a long time, and I want them to love him.

“At least you won’t be sad anymore,” Finn notes as he wipes his nose with his arm.

Boys.

“What do you mean?”

He lies back on his pillow, and I cover him with the blankets. “You were so scared at night. Daddy was always yelling at you, and then you’d cry.” Finn lets out a yawn.

My chest tightens as I clutch my throat. I thought we were doing a good job hiding things. Scott and I would never say anything in front of the kids, and I worked hard to hide my pain. Seems I sucked at that, too.

“I love you, Finn.” I touch his cheek, but he’s already out.

Now to cry myself to sleep another night in my lonely bed.

Erica called me this morning to inform me that “the Arc has moored in Tampa.” I’m assuming that is her not-so-subtle way of saying Noah is here, but who the hell knows with that girl.

She’s absolutely certifiably crazy.

For real.

She’s unglued. Erica believes the government is performing an experiment on humans, and we’re in some sort of Hunger Games reality series. I’m not sure what district she’s in, but I’m hoping we aren’t in the same one. We’ll all die.

She also lives at home with her parents, who still pay her bills while she works to find her cause in life. What does that even mean? Her cause? Shouldn’t it be purpose?

I wish I were making this shit up.

I text Heather, praying this stupid plan of mine will work.

She’s never going to buy this, but my bullshit ability is at zero with my life being in the crapper.

I hate myself. I’m the worst friend ever.

Guilt gnaws at me for misleading my friend at all.

I pace the living room with my phone in my hand. I won’t be this person. Heather doesn’t deserve me being this way.

My phone rings, and it goes clattering to the floor. Why does she always call instead of texting? I’m quick to pick it back up and hit the green button.

“Hello?” I say with trepidation.

“You’re such an idiot! A complete and total idiot! If you needed to meet Noah, I would’ve brought him gift-wrapped to you. Dork.” Heather laughs, and I hear her partner, Brody, in the background. “All you had to do was ask.”

She doesn’t get the hatred I have for doing this. “I don’t want to ask you! I’m supposed to be a journalist or whatever the hell they call this shit. It’s my job to get the dirt on Eli’s freaking friends.”

Heather sighs. “Eli knows this, and he got you the job because he knows you’re a good person, Kris.”

I don’t feel like a good person. I feel like a user.

“I owe that man. You should give him sex as a thank you.” I smile.

“Oh, I will. Lots and lots of hot, sweaty sex. The kind that people write about.”

Brody grumbles loud enough for me to hear it and then makes a gagging sound. “Good. But please don’t tell me about it. I’m going to be sex-less for a while. It’s already been more than eleven months. Last thing I want to hear about is your fantastic sex with a guy who was on the cover of Men’s Health last month. Could he have at least one flaw?”

“Tell me about it. I keep waiting for him to grow love handles. When he does, I’m going to poke at them daily.”

I laugh as I imagine her teasing Eli. It really is not fair. However, he works hard. I’ve never seen anyone be so regimented about their diet. While we gorge ourselves on nachos with guacamole and queso, Eli eats hardboiled eggs and boiled chicken.

I’ll take the love handles if it means I don’t have to give up guacamole.

“Thank you for not being mad at me.” I chew on my thumbnail.

Heather releases a deep sigh. “You’re going to have to get over this, Kristin. Come over tonight at eight, and we’ll hang out, okay?”

“Okay. Shit! What do I wear?”

The only famous people I’ve ever been around are the guys from Four Blocks Down. The first time we met them all, I almost died. Now, Shaun, PJ, Eli, and Randy have been sort of inducted into our little group, so it isn’t so bad.

Still, my pulse was going so crazy when Shaun kissed my hand that I almost fainted.

Meeting someone for a work reason . . . I’m not sure what the protocol is. Do I dress up?

“Noah is really sweet, Kris. We’re going to drink by the pool, so just be you.”

“I’m—”

The radio blares, cutting us off. “Shots fired. I have to go. Love you.” Heather hangs up before I can respond.

I absolutely hate when she’s on shift. When she first joined the police force, I was a nervous wreck. She was required to text me each night after she made it home safe. There was no way I could sleep if she didn’t. I know I’m weird, but it was scary as hell knowing she could be shot.

She finally had enough and told me to take a sleeping pill or get a therapist.

Every now and then, I’m reminded how dangerous her job is.

Instead of freaking out—about Heather’s safety or my meeting Noah—I grab my stuff and head out of the office.

This will be the first time I see Scott since I moved out. I’m part nauseated and part terrified. Our last phone conversation was not good, and the text I got this morning told me to meet him at the house.

Time to find out if that meant the house or his unknown neutral spot in Tampa.