Kylie

Ten minutes to midnight, and I have no idea where my date is.

That’s the problem with letting your best friend set you up with someone for a New Year’s Eve party. It’s such a date sort of holiday, with all the pressure to have someone to kiss at midnight. I’m surrounded by couples—drinking, talking, kissing, slipping hands in naughty places when they think no one is looking—but I’m leaning against the kitchen island at my best friend Selene’s house, looking like an idiot as I comb the party for … what was his name?

Steven. Right, it’s Steven.

Things started off well enough. He showed up looking nice in a blue sweater and jeans. Clean-cut, smooth jaw. All in all, not a bad looking guy. I’m rocking a black mini-dress and a pair of fantastic red heels—because why not, it’s a holiday, and my red heels are hot. I wore my dark hair down and wavy, which makes me feel sexy, and I think I’ve finally perfected that smoky eye thing without making myself look like I got punched in the face. The way Steven’s gaze moved up and down when Selene introduced us, he seemed to like what he saw. We grabbed a couple drinks and made semi-awkward conversation, the way you do when you’re both the victims of a set-up and aren’t quite sure if agreeing was a good idea.

Two drinks in, he was leaning closer, and he did smell good. He said he’s an accountant, and I had to stop myself from choking on my beer. Selene set me up with an accountant? Then again, I was just telling her that I need to stop dating the wrong guys. Hot men with killer abs who are stallions in bed are fun, but they’re not necessarily the kind you bring home to meet your father. And as much as I do not want to admit it, I’m not in my early twenties anymore. Hell, I’ve passed my mid-twenties at this point, and thirty is getting awfully close. I feel like maybe it’s time to get serious about this adulting thing—quit chasing the bad boys with fabulous cocks, and find someone responsible. Mature. In fact, it’s one of my new year’s resolutions.

Steven seemed like he fit the bill, although the more we chatted the more I realized I felt absolutely nothing for him. No desire to inch closer and accidentally-on-purpose brush against him. No temptation to tilt my chin up and lick my lips to draw attention to my mouth. No finding excuses to put my hand on his arm.

I was kind of bored.

Still, that’s no excuse for the guy to wander off and ditch me just before midnight.

Music blares through the speakers; the living room turned into a dance floor about an hour ago. I see Selene, swaying to the music with her boyfriend Nathan. It’s a fast song with a good beat, but they’re acting like two kids at prom, slow dancing as if no one else is around. I’m happy for Selene. I wasn’t so sure about Nathan at first. He struck me as too much the bad boy type—or, more accurately, the Selene type, which is not necessarily a good thing—but he actually seems pretty nice.

Selene’s been my best friend since we were kids; my father was their family’s lawyer. She and her twin brother Braxton lost their parents when they were ten, and my dad saw to the estate and managed the trust that contained their parents’ considerable fortune. It meant I spent a lot of time roaming around their big house, the three of us getting into all sorts of trouble together. Over the years, we’ve stayed close. If anything, we’re better friends as adults than we were as scabby-kneed kids.

I search the crowd for Steven again and see Hope trying to murder me with her eyes. Hope is Braxton’s girlfriend, and she hates me with a seething passion I can feel from across the room. I pretend I don’t notice her. She’s disliked me from the first time we met, about a month ago. I don’t let her ire concern me in the least. This is Braxton we’re talking about. Braxton’s relationships never last. He’s way too much of a player to stick with anyone.

I give Hope another month, two if she sucks his dick regularly.

Still, I don’t understand why she hates me so much, other than the fact that I’m Braxton’s best friend. She must assume that means friends with benefits. It’s never been that way with me and Brax, though. We’ve never even fooled around. It’s one of the main tenets of our friendship—the thing that makes this guy/girl thing work, despite the fact that Braxton seems to want to stick his dick in half the women in Seattle. He and I don’t cross that line.

Not that I haven’t considered it. Braxton isn’t the type of man you can be around without thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. Or fuck him. Because if there’s any man in this world who is totally and completely fuckable, it’s Braxton Taylor.

But I leave that to the steady stream of women who flit in and out of his life, and keep him firmly in the friend zone.

Selene and Nathan wander over from the makeshift dance floor. Selene’s house is amazing. She still lives in the house she and Braxton grew up in, a fucking mansion in Phinney Ridge. Braxton insisted she keep it, and after college he bought himself a condo not far from here, just off Greenwood. The house is deceiving from the outside. It’s like one of those magical Harry Potter tents—looks pretty normal from the street, but once you walk in, it’s breathtaking. It has six bedrooms, a huge living, dining, and kitchen area with soaring ceilings, an old-fashioned study, and great views from upstairs. Braxton and I don’t live here, but we still have our own bedrooms, leftover from our college days. Selene used to bug me about moving back in with her—the house is definitely way too big for one person—but I prefer to live on my own. There’s a certain weirdness in leaning on their money, even though both of them have plenty. I have an apartment about ten minutes away, but I crash here when the occasion arises. I definitely will tonight—although, sadly, it appears I’ll be sleeping alone.

Selene stands next to me while Nathan pours drinks at the counter.

“Awesome night, huh?” she says. “Where’s Steven?”

She looks glorious in a shimmering, sleeveless gold top and black skirt, with her brown hair pinned up. She has a Victoria’s Secret model body—tall and effortlessly thin, with fantastic boobs.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess he went to the bathroom or something.”

“Well, you better find him,” Selene says. “It’s almost midnight.”

Someone turns on the flat screen to the New Year’s countdown. Nathan hands Selene her drink and they go back into the midst of the party.

I decide to do a lap to see if I can find this date of mine. The least the guy can do is make sure I’m not the only one at this party standing alone to ring in the new year. We don’t have to make out, but someone to clink glasses with would be nice. He didn’t even tell me where he was going; he just mumbled something about being right back. That was at least ten minutes ago.

I don’t see him among the people dancing, and he isn’t grazing on the snacks set out in the dining room. The downstairs bathroom is empty, although a girl ducks in front of me and darts in, closing the door behind her. The study door is closed—Selene doesn’t usually want guests in there—but I peek inside, just in case. It’s empty. I check my bedroom, which isn’t far from the kitchen. No one in there either.

I walk to the entry foyer and find a couple making out next to the coat rack, but neither of them are Steven. I don’t know why he’d go upstairs, but I figure I’ll check. The wide staircase curves to an upper balcony. I take another look from the top, but don’t see him anywhere.

The music is quieter upstairs, and I hear the distinct sound of moaning. Oh lord, am I about to walk in on someone getting it on in the hallway? Are we at a fucking frat party? It’s dark, but I walk a little farther and definitely see someone—two someones. The guy has the girl pressed up against the wall, his hand up her shirt. She’s giggling as he kisses down her neck.

I don’t want to intrude, so I’m just about to hightail it back downstairs when I recognize the guy’s sweater. Wasn’t Steven wearing blue? There’s not much light but—

He turns his head just enough, and I get a glimpse of his face. It’s definitely Steven.

I back up quickly, tip-toeing so they won’t notice me. Fuck. Of course my date would make out with some other woman at the New Year’s party. That pretty much sums up my love life right there.

So much for the responsible and mature accountant.

I head back downstairs, planning to retreat to my room. Selene will ask about Steven if she sees me, and I don’t want to ruin her night by telling her what happened. I’ll make her feel guilty about setting me up with a douchebag later. Tonight is her party, and I don’t want to mess it up for her.

I slip through the kitchen to get another beer, then pause and think better of it. Instead, I grab a plastic cup and mix an impromptu cocktail. Vodka, over ice—and I may or may not tip in a little extra after I pour in two shots. I add some cranberry juice from the fridge. There. That ought to keep me company while I listen to the happy people out here, starting their new year off right.

“Hey, Ky,” a gravelly voice says behind me. “Where you running off to?”

“Hey, Braxton,” I say.

Selene’s twin brother looks so much like her. They have the same dark eyes, olive skin, dark hair. But where Selene is tall and slender—she’s a fucking Amazon warrior at five-eleven—Braxton is six-foot-four-inches of thick, solid muscle.

He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Where’s your, uh … date?”

“Found someone else to hang out with.”

Braxton’s expression darkens. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” I say with a shrug. Despite the fact that I wasn’t into Steven, being ditched still stings. But I don’t want Braxton to know that. “Whatever. He was boring anyway.”

Braxton moves a little closer and I catch a whiff of him. I swear, the guy must have a cologne called Weak Knees. I always feel fluttery in the stomach when he’s around, always need a minute or two to find my grounding. It must be why he gets so much ass.

“He left you alone right before midnight?”

“Yeah, it’s no big deal.”

I glance around, looking for Hope, but she’s nowhere in sight. I want to ask Braxton how much longer I’ll have to deal with her murder glares, but I don’t. It would violate our unspoken pact, the other tenet that makes our friendship work: we don’t talk about our relationships, especially if we don’t like whoever the other person is dating—which is pretty much always. When a relationship ends, the pact is nullified, and the gloves come off. But prior to that, our dates are off limits.

This came about because the people we date are never comfortable with our friendship. Hope isn’t unique in that. No one minds Selene—Braxton’s girlfriends want to impress her and become her BFF. My dates see how hot she is, and try to hide it when they stare, but they don’t mind me spending time with her. But Brax always seems like a threat, and apparently so do I.

Why his girlfriends see me that way, I have no idea. The women he’s with are always more like Selene than me—tall, model gorgeous, with great clothes and perfect hair. I’m just … me. I’m happy with how I look, but I’m not going to grace the covers of magazines or anything. I’m average height, and a little too curvy for my taste these days (did I mention I am no longer in my early twenties?). I do have a nice rack, but I’m not crazy gorgeous or anything.

But Braxton? I get it. I don’t blame any guy I date for being uncomfortable with our friendship. Braxton is big and powerful, and not just physically. He’s one of those people who fills whatever space he’s in. His personality is as big as his biceps—maybe bigger.

And he’s fucking gorgeous. I can admit that to myself, although I’d never tell him. He has a strong jaw that he keeps covered in light stubble. His eyes are so dark they’re almost black, and when he stares at you, it’s like he can see through to your soul. He’s just the right type of muscular—big and strong, without looking like a meathead. He has a set of gorgeous tattoos down his left arm, adding to the bad boy thing he does so well. Women stare at him wherever he goes, and he knows it. Women are putty for him.

Except me, of course.

Mostly.

“That sucks,” he says. “You shouldn’t start the new year without someone to properly kiss that sweet mouth.”

Hope is definitely not around, and Braxton is definitely drunk.

I smile and take a sip of my drink so he’ll quit looking at my mouth. I hate it when he looks at me like this; I feel like I can’t breathe. “That’s okay,” I say. “I’ll be fine. It’s a stupid holiday anyway. Who fucking cares? It’s just a calendar flip. It’s not like a new year has to mean anything.”

I’m lying through my teeth. I’ve been looking forward to this night for the last month, feeling like this coming year will be different. I’m going to get my shit together and start living life on my terms. Set goals. Find a better job. Achieve things I can be proud of. Maybe find love—real love, with a future. Not this dating bullshit, with the games and uncertainty.

I’ve been planning to make this a year of change, a year of figuring out my shit. Which is probably why the fact that I’m about to sneak off to my room and start the new year by myself, nursing a strong drink, brings the sting of tears to my eyes.

Someone yells, “One minute!”

Braxton gets closer. “You need someone to kiss tonight, Ky?”

I force out a laugh. “Why, you offering?”

He meets my eyes and, for a second, I think he’s serious. My smile drops and my heart beats too fast.

“There you are,” Hope says, slipping her hand around Braxton’s arm. “It’s almost time.”

He steps back, his expression mischievous. He was totally fucking with me. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Come on, baby,” Hope says, trying to pull him out of the kitchen. Her eyes narrow at me, but her expression softens before Braxton sees the look she gives me.

Everyone starts counting down. “Ten … nine … eight…”

I watch Braxton for a beat longer as he lets Hope lead him away. He turns to her and puts his hand around her waist while she tips her face up to him, ready for his kiss. People around them pair off. Selene and Nathan are already busy playing tongue hockey on the other side of the room.

“Six … five … four…”

I can’t even deal with this scene. Clutching my cup, I cross the distance to my room and duck inside. I lean back against the door just in time to hear, “One!”

Cheers. Noisemakers. Whoops and hollers. I’m sure Braxton is kissing Hope, a prelude to him tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her upstairs to his room. I’ll probably have to suffer her dirty looks through breakfast tomorrow. Maybe I’ll get up early and go home before Braxton and Selene wake up. I’m not sure I want to hang out with people who all got laid the night before, while I’m spending the night alone in my room, with only my good friend vodka to keep me company.

I sink down on the bed and put the drink on the nightstand. As much as I want this year to be better, from the way it’s beginning I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a lot more of the same.

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