When the door opens, Sheri laughs. “Maddie, you have a key. You don’t need to knock.”

I shrug, and my messenger bag slides down my arm, dragging my blouse with it. Tugging up my shirt so I’m not flashing her, I blow my bangs out of my face. “It felt like the right thing to do. I’m your guest. Your very grateful guest.”

“No, you’re my roommate. None of this guest shit.”

Smiling weakly, I acquiesce, but only so she’ll stop arguing because we both know she’s not charging me anything close to half the rent. She lives in a luxury brownstone in Boston’s Back Bay, something I could never afford in my wildest dreams. But my friend caught wind that I needed a place to stay since I had already given my notice for my old apartment, and she all but demanded I move in.

I’ve been here before, but I’m still a little awed by her condo. Dark, polished hardwood floors draw my eyes to an enormous brick fireplace, which is flanked by sleek modern furniture. It’s sophisticated and elegant, and about a million times better than my futon fold-out bed and cinderblock book shelves.

There’s only one thing missing from the view.

“You moved my boxes.” Because, holy crap, that was a lot to move.

“I had a little help. My neighbor stopped by, and he lent a hand. Speaking of that hot man—”

“You went through too much trouble. I could have done it.” When I brought over my moving boxes last weekend, I was afraid I’d get a ticket for double-parking the small van I’d rented out front, so I just left everything in the corner of her living room.

She waves me off. “It gave me an excuse to skip the gym. Besides, I had fun analyzing how you labeled your stuff.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bathroom makeup and moisturizers. Winter bedding and thermal layers. News-writing textbooks and notes. Everything color-coded. Did you use a label maker?” She doesn’t wait for my response. “By the way, what was in the ‘bedroom nightstand’ box that started vibrating when I accidentally dropped it?” My mouth drops open, and her chuckle grows into full-blown laughter. “Hmm, let me guess. Jacob’s replacement.”

Clearing my throat, I shake my head, and with it, my embarrassment. “Jacob wishes he was as hung as the Power-Boy 3000 or that he gave me nearly as many orgasms.”

Her eyebrow raises. “The Power-Boy 3000? Where can I find one?”

“I bought it at my friend’s sex toy party.”

“We are so going to have one of those! Maybe when we wrap up this film.” Sheri works for her dad, who’s this big movie producer, so she travels a ton. It’s one of the reasons she wants a roommate. To keep an eye on her place when she’s gone. It would be so much easier for her to move to New York or LA, but she’s a Boston girl through and through and gets a little crazy at the mere mention of relocating.

After I change out of my work clothes and into a pair of jeans and a fitted v-neck t-shirt, Sheri suggests we check out a new bar that opened up down the street and grab a few drinks.

Twenty minutes later, we settle into a corner table in the dimly lit bar, and by the time we get our second round, the effects of the alcohol have me on the verge of crying into my beer. I never drink for a reason. I get too emotional. And right now, my heart feels heavy. “Sheri-berry, I really appreciate you taking me in.”

Her eyebrows raise. “You’re the first friend I ever made at BU. Of course I’d take you in.”

Sheri and I were roommates freshman year in the dorms at Boston University. We didn’t get along at first. I think she found me too uptight, and I found her to be too rich. I know that sounds terrible, but she’s a Park Avenue transplant, and growing up, I was a second-hand clothes kind of girl—not because I thought that was cool or because I watched too many old John Hughes films, but because we couldn’t afford more. But I eventually began to look beyond Sheri’s designer labels and French manicures to see a girl with a heart too big for her pixie-sized body.

Together, Sheri and I make for odd-looking friends. If she’s the size of a walnut, then I’m an oak tree. She’s petite and tan with cropped blonde hair and big blue eyes. I’m a little over five-eight with long black hair, pale skin and blue eyes. She looks like she waltzed off a movie set, and I look like a character from Wicked. But I love her, even if her whole body could fit into one leg of my jeans.

“Mads, I would totally sucker-punch Jacob’s gonads for you if I could. Is that douchebag still calling you?”

“Just once or twice a week now. I let them go to voicemail.”

She watches me, her frown growing. “How are you doing with everything?”

I take a quick sip of my beer to buy me a moment. “I’ll be honest. It’s been a rough few weeks.” Especially once I realized I had lost my apartment. Since I’d been planning to move in with Jacob, my old roommate had already found another living situation, and the landlord had found a new tenant, so I was doubly screwed. My fingers play with the corner of the wrapper on my beer. “Make that a rough month and four days.”

As much as I wish I could forget the date of our breakup, it coincided with getting my new job, making it that much tougher to block out.

But I have to look on the bright side. At least my tests came back negative. Because the first thing I did after our breakup was bolt to the clinic to make sure the asshole didn't give me something nasty.

Sheri scoots her chair closer and reaches over for a side hug. I drop my head onto her shoulder and sigh. I’m an only child, but if I had a sister, this is how I imagine she’d be. It’s times like this that I ache with more than the pain of losing Jacob. I miss my dad so much right now, my chest feels hollow.

“I realize you’re mending a broken heart, but I want you to know how psyched I am to have you as a roommate. I’m still pissed at you for ditching me sophomore year.”

I gasp. “I did not ditch you! As I recall, you wanted to live in West Campus, and I needed to be next to the Com School on East Campus for six a.m. call times.”

“Oh, yeah.” She chuckles and glances down, a serious expression crossing her face again. “I’m so sorry that dick hurt you, Mads. Are you okay? Really?”

“Mmm.” My eyes well with tears. “Aside from the fact that Jacob ruined my five-year plan?” I let myself think about the video on my phone, and the anger surfaces. This is what I have to hold on to because hatred is a more valuable emotion than grief.

Sheri’s mouth twists. But before she can say anything, I go on a rant. “I get that he was tempted to sleep with other women. They threw themselves at him wherever we went. And maybe I was a fool to think I had somehow tamed him. But what’s really been bothering me is how he…” I close my eyes and the scene flashes before me in graphic detail. Lowering my voice, I say, “How he talked to her.”

Show me how much you love my cock in your mouth.

I can’t say the words, but they ricochet in my head like a gunshot going off in a canyon.

Tilting my head so my hair falls forward to hide my face, I clear my throat. “He was never that way with me.”

“What do you mean he was never that way with you?”

How do I say this? God, this is humiliating. “He, uh, he was… careful with me. More… proper.”

“So he didn’t talk dirty.”

“It’s more than that. He treated me like he was afraid he’d offend me somehow. Here was this intimidating fighter, but he was surprisingly gentle and maybe… too respectful? Uh, that sounds terrible. Am I crazy that I wanted him to be rougher?”

She snorts. “Fuck, no. Rough is good. Rough rocks my world.”

“I guess I wonder if I was too anal for him.”

“Anal works for me too.”

I smack her in the shoulder. “You know what I mean. Like you said, I can be particular, and I can’t tell you how much I loathe sleeping on the wet spot. He hated how I’d bolt from bed the moment we were done, but I can’t have that dripping down my leg at two in the morning.”

Sheri giggles. “It’s totally his loss for not sexing you up properly. And so what if you like to clean up? To each her own.” She takes a sip of her beer and gives me a once-over. “Look, I know you had boyfriends before Jacob, but you definitely have this good-girl vibe. I wonder if he couldn’t get past that. You know, that whole Madonna-whore complex.”

“So I was the virgin and that woman in his bed was the whore?” Sheri nods reluctantly. “I guess that would explain why he had her deep-throating him like he was trying to reach her bellybutton through her esophagus.”

“Jacob might have been sleeping around, but he wanted to marry you, so maybe some part of him had to keep you pure.”

At this I laugh half-heartedly. “Pure. Right.” Had I not purchased a half-dozen see-through nighties for this man? What part of him thought I wanted to be pure? Did he need me to spell it out for him? I mean, he didn’t have to go all Christian Grey on me, but it’s like he never lost control when we were together. And isn’t that what every girl wants? To make her guy so crazy in lust he can’t control himself?

Damn, Jacob. Wasn’t the sex good enough? I thought he seemed satisfied. And I might not have always had an orgasm, but what girl who works sixty-five hours a week achieves the mighty O every time?

I’m so tempted to think this was my fault. That I drove him to be unfaithful. Because I worked too much or seemed preoccupied with my job. But he’s the one who strayed, and I’m not some broken-down girl who lives for her man’s approval.

Screw that. I tip my drink back to my lips. No, I dodged a bullet.

I recently read that over seventy percent of married men would have an affair if they knew their spouse would never find out. No, Jacob isn’t an anomaly, and I am not the problem. Men are.

After my internal pep talk, I’m feeling a little more resolved. I’m going to be okay as long as I keep reminding myself that men are the enemy. Especially good-looking men.

Sheri elbows me. “Don’t look now, but my favorite neighbor just strolled in.” Her eyes widen as she stares at someone behind me.

I twist in my seat, and my eyes bug out as I take in the small entourage at the other end of the restaurant. “That’s your neighbor? Daren Sloan?”

“I see you’re already familiar with this nearly mythical creature.”

I turn back to her as I put two fingers against my jugular. “Hmm. Let’s see.” I wait a few seconds for dramatic effect. “I have a pulse. Because that’s all one requires to take notice of your ‘favorite neighbor.’”

Inwardly, I growl. Even from here, his expression grates on me. Daren Sloan has this irritatingly smug look on his face, like he knows women everywhere are envisioning him ripping off their underwear with his teeth.

Of course Sheri and Daren are neighbors. Because her dad is a movie mogul, she knows everybody. When she says she loves Brad and Angelina, she actually means she loves them because they all vacationed together last Christmas.

“Let’s call Daren over.” Sheri starts to wave, but I yank her arm down before anyone sees her.

“Let’s not.”

“Why?” She gives me a look that tells me I might be insane.

“Because no.”

“Maddie, I need more than that. You’re going to love Daren. God, he’s such a great guy. Thank Jesus and the little lamb he finally broke up with that slore Veronica.” She clinks her beer against the bottle in my hand. Slore? “You should see him after a workout. All hot and sweaty and hard.” After a quick swig, Sheri gasps so loudly I’m half afraid she’s choking on her beverage, but before I can pat her on the back, she drops the bomb. “You should totally go out with him!”

Huh?

She wiggles in her seat, a giddy expression on her face like I just told her Charlie Hunnam wants to hump her. “He went through a manwhore-rebound phase this summer, but I think he’s getting over it. I haven’t heard his bed frame banging against the wall lately.”

“Wait. What?”

A devilish grin spreads on her face. “His bedroom shares a wall with your bedroom. I might have listened in. And if I’m right, he’s a beast in the sack. We’re talking Godzilla. And holy crap, you guys would make the cutest couple!”

A little snort escapes me. I’m still laughing when I realize she’s serious. She actually wants me to go out with Daren.

“Um, no, Sher-bear. That will never happen. Ne-ver. Never ever.”

“Never say never.” She tugs on my arm. “Don’t be a fool. He’s Boston’s most eligible bachelor. The Heisman winner. The number one draft pick. A god among men.” Sheri turns my face toward his table. “Look at that chin dimple. I mean, that alone gets girls to drop their panties. Never mind those eyes. I’m telling you, Maddie, if I were into jocks at all, I would scale Mount Everest over there so fast, I’d break the sound barrier.”

“Mount Everest?” My eyebrow tilts up.

“Yeah. Earth’s highest mountain. The Big Kahuna. The Big Enchilada. The—”

“I get the idea.” I’m trying to be patient because I know Sheri just wants to be helpful. “I’m not into athletes. Not anymore. There’s too much temptation for them, and I’m not good at being a doormat. It would never work. I’m going back to dating econ majors. Those guys might not be able to throw me over their shoulder or bench-press my body weight, but at least they’re not going to rear-naked-chokehold my heart.” I rack my brain to think of something to get her off my case. “Hey, Brad, the tech guy at work, asked me out.”

She looks at me suspiciously. “And did you say yes?”

“I don’t date coworkers, but we still had a nice chat. He’s a decent-looking guy. And I didn’t think about Jacob once.”

“I’m sure the poor schmuck will find that comforting when he’s jerking it with his left hand instead of boning the hot reporter.”

“Ew.” I do not want to think about Brad and his left hand.

My eyes trail back over to the table where Daren sits with a couple of friends. Thoughts of my coworker fade as I take in this elite athlete. To call him beautiful is an understatement. He’s a five-alarm fire of a man, and that’s with his clothes on.

I roll my eyes at myself.

That’s the old Maddie talking. The new Maddie realizes Daren is just a pretty boy who thinks he’s God’s gift to women. Been there, done that. Having grown up in the area, I’m probably better acquainted with Daren Sloan’s reputation than I care to be.

Daren runs a hand through his thick, dark hair that’s cropped short on the sides but long enough on top to flop onto his forehead. I don’t need to get closer to see the effect those hazel eyes have on girls as three women saunter over to his table.

Sheri flicks me in the shoulder. “At least let me introduce you two before some slussy gets her hooks into him.”

A cynical smile plays on my lips, one that I hope says I’m a no-fly zone for players. Because Daren’s a player just like Jacob, and players only do one thing. They cheat.

I shake my head. “No need. We’ve met.”

* * *

Go out with Daren. That’s the worst idea ever. I want to punch myself in the face for the two-point-two seconds my brain found the suggestion appealing.

I finish tying my shoelaces before I trudge down the stairs and out into the humid morning. Well, night for most people.

Reaching behind me, I grab my ankle and stretch my quad. At quiet times like this, I always think about Jacob. Not that we ever worked out together. He never got out of bed at this hour. Maybe the fact that he didn’t says something about us.

I can’t stop doing this, replaying our relationship to try to pinpoint what went wrong. It’s been torture to not take his calls—I miss him like crazy—but I’ll never forgive him for what he did. Because it wasn’t a one-time thing. It wasn’t some crazy drunken accident. It was deliberate. Calculated. Habitual.

My hand twitches on my phone.

When I get desperate, when I get tempted to contact him, I watch the video on my cell. That’s a different kind of torture. Watching the man you thought loved you screw another woman feels like a slow death of a thousand lies. I love you. I want to marry you. I want you to have my children. All lies.

But rather than distance myself from these thoughts, I force myself to think about those excruciating details to harden my resolve. His dick. Her mouth. Their moans. Yeah, fuck him.

When I’m done stretching, I jog slowly and let the ache from last night’s drinking spread through my limbs. I’ve never run in Sheri’s neighborhood before, but I know the main streets well enough from attending school nearby, and I’m on the familiar ground of the Esplanade before I know it. The path meanders around the Charles River, which laps against the banks this morning with the steady breeze.

By the second mile, Jacob’s betrayal feels duller, less like a knife to my heart and more like a bruise to my ego. But I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. For questioning my self-worth. Moving in with Sheri and getting my new job means I get to start over, and I intend to take full advantage of these opportunities.

Perhaps that’s why Daren sounded briefly alluring. A gorgeous face to distract me. God, I could use a distraction. That’s why I love work. It keeps me so busy, I barely have time to breathe.

By the time I loop around and reach Sheri’s building, the sun is starting to warm the horizon. Guns ‘n Roses blasts from my iPhone as I push into my final sprint. My blood is thrumming through my veins, and I’m drenched with sweat, but it feels good. I’d never admit this to a sane person, but I like having to get up this early. It forces me to stay on top of my life.

Internally, I’m ticking off today’s call schedule. I have a meeting in an hour, an on-air interview at eight a.m., three stories I’m researching for the week, the web report to update, and at least a dozen follow-up calls to make.

When I turn the corner, I never see it coming. But when my body slams into the brick wall, all the air escapes my lungs as I fall backwards and onto the pavement.