“Why are there no single men in this town?” I complained, raising a brow at my best friend, Missy. I took the shot of god-only-knows-what then slammed the empty shot glass back on the polished oak bar in front of me. “Seriously, are we in a dick drought?”

I should have known that third Appletini was a mistake.

I definitely should have known not to accept that second shot Andy slid in front of me with a wink.

It was somewhere between that Appletini and the shot that my filter decided to strut out of Hamilton’s and the need to discuss my lack of a sex life strutted right on in.

After a crazy day at my home decor store, Sass, I’d called Missy, and girls night had been relocated from my house to Hamilton’s, my family’s bar, and now I was enjoying a vodka-infused buzz, a belly full of pizza, and girl talk.

Tonight it was also the place to discuss our sex lives.

And in my case, the lack thereof.

Missy’s whole body shook as she burst out laughing beside me. Her loud, throaty chuckle echoed around the bar, and I started to giggle along with her. Missy and I were known around Monroe as the sassy blonde and crazy red head. Missy owned the local diner, and we were located on either side of Main Street. Feisty, loud, and energetic—that's how you'd describe Missy Jenkins. We'd been best friends since we were six, and there was no Sasha without Missy, or vice-versa. We'd spent our childhood playing with dolls, pretending we were princesses, and dreaming of fairies. When we hit our teens, it was all about boys, makeup, and wishing we could grow up. Then we became adults, and girl’s nights out, cocktails, men, and living life to the fullest became our priority.

“There is plenty of single dick in Monroe. It’s just not the kind of dick that is up to your standard.” Missy snickered as she clinked her glass with mine, before tipping her head back and finishing the rest of her Gin and Tonic. “Plus, aren’t you getting it on the regular from Danny?”

I, Sasha Hamilton, was a hot-blooded woman who loved every sweaty, delightful, heart-thumping moment of sex. The problem was I wasn't getting that. What I got was the occasional night of missionary with Danny, my college ex-boyfriend, when he came through town on business. But there was only so much missionary a girl could take when all she wanted was earth-shattering sex with no commitment.

“What are we talking about?”

My gaze darted from Missy to Shelley Johnson, one of the newest members of Hamilton’s, and also a recent inductee into girl’s night. A week after starting as day manager, we initiated her, after bonding over our mutual love of shoes, cocktails, and spontaneous girl’s trips.

“Sasha is discussing the lack of dick in Monroe," Missy answered and nodded at Shelley when she lifted the bottle of gin. “Make it a double, Shells. I’m feeling feisty tonight.”

“Have you thought of online dating?” Shelley asked, her voice serious as she began pouring Missy’s drink.

I smirked, then shook my head.

Then I waited.

One.

Two.

Thr—

Missy lost it, and her boisterous laugh surrounded us. “Oh . . . My . . . Fuck.”

Her reaction to the thought of me online dating wasn't surprising. Some days I swear she knew me better than I knew myself. The facts were there. I didn’t date. I didn’t do relationships of any kind, and I certainly didn’t do online dating. It had been three years since my last, and let’s be honest, disastrous attempt at a relationship. It lasted two months. The man in question couldn’t handle the fact that I owned a successful business, had a healthy savings account, and was self-sufficient. He had called Sass a hobby, and he wanted dinner, which I was to cook, on the table at six p.m. every night. I politely told him it was no longer the 1950s, aprons didn’t look good on me, and six p.m. didn’t work for my schedule. He thought I was joking. The next day he brought me a freaking apron. Yes, an apron, with frills and my name embroidered on it. Oh, and he informed me he was okay with dinner being at six-thirty. Let’s just say my politeness died. I threw the apron at him, told him he could jam his dinners up his ass, and that I was going to enjoy earning the big bucks at my not-a-hobby store.

From then on, I began a long-term commitment with Vinnie the vibrator, participated in the occasional one-night-stand when I needed a break from Vinnie, and it cemented my decision that relationships just weren’t for me.

“Oh my god. I cannot handle this,” Missy said, gasping for air and wiping dramatically under her eyes. “Imagine the dick you’d find on there.”

“Christ, are you girls talking about dick again?"

I swung around on my stool, a little too eagerly, at the sound of the highly amused yet sexy voice electrifying the space behind me.

The voice belonged to Andy Smith.

Okay, maybe there was some single dick in Monroe; however, this was single dick I couldn’t touch.

Being co-owner of Hamilton’s meant I was his boss.

Six months ago Andy joined the staff at Hamilton's, and from the first time I met him, I knew he was a danger to all women, whether they were single, married, straight, or lesbian. He was rugged, tattooed, and utterly delightful on the eyes, and he had the confidence to match. One minute in his presence and he had you questioning your beliefs, morals, and sexuality within seconds.

I’d nicknamed him Randy Andy, after Missy and I came in for drinks and he spent the majority of the night unashamedly flirting with us, then in the next breath he was smooth talking the head cheerleader of the Monroe University Football Team. An hour later, he winked at me as he walked her out to her car, and half an hour later, he returned with lipstick on his collar, disheveled hair, and the just-got-laid look plastered all over his face. He gave me a high-five, and from that moment I never called him Andrew again.

“And who the fuck is Danny?” he asked, his eyes locked onto me as he opened the latch and moved in behind the bar.

“He’s Sasha’s bit on the side,” Missy piped up, and Andy’s gaze jumped to her. “You would have seen him in here. Preppy-looking guy, blonde hair, orders the beer no one can pronounce, and eye-fucks Sasha whenever she's around.”

Andy chuckled. “News flash, Miss, most guys eye-fuck Sash when she’s around.”

Choosing to ignore that bit of knowledge he gifted me, I faux glared at Missy, before turning back to him.

“He is not my bit on the side. He’s just . . . available at times.” God, could I sound any more like a hussy? “But let me tell you, I’m getting sick of PPGD.”

Perplexed, Andy stared at me and waited for an explanation.

“Pump, pump, grunt, done—a.k.a. the PPGD. The kind of sex that leaves me a quarter of the way to an orgasm with a man lying on top of me and breathing heavily, like he just ran the Boston Marathon in record time.”

I really needed to stop drinking Appletinis.

“That’s bullshit. Why do you put up with it? Babe, you could get any man you wanted, and if he were any kind of man, he wouldn’t leave you unsatisfied. You sure this Danny guy doesn’t bat for the other team, because Sash, a man should be making you scream before he even thinks of getting off.”

Woah.

“Andy, we should hook up,” Missy suggested in a breathy tone that came out more like a pant. “Sasha won’t jump in your bed, but I’m sure I could be persuaded.”

The side of his mouth lifted into a smirk as his eyes roamed over her face and down to her chest. “Missy, do you really think you could handle me?”

“Believe me, I would give it a red hot go.”

Andy shook his head, amusement flashing in his eyes. “Ladies, someone has to work around here, so I’m getting back to it. Please try and refrain from the dick talk when I’m around next time, otherwise I’ll start talking about pussy.”

He stepped out from behind the bar, grabbed a dishtowel, and disappeared into the crowd. Missy, Shelley, and I watched his every move like a bunch of schoolgirls perving on the star quarterback.

“I am willing to take one for the team, ladies. I would ride him so hard that I’d be walking funny for days,” Missy declared, her voice breathy and low.

My best friend clearly meant serious business.

* * *

This was my life.

The perfect life I’d spent the past thirteen years working hard to call my own. I was forced to grow up quickly. I had no choice. It was never a decision I had the privilege of making. Since I was fifteen, I’d been clawing my way to create the life I now lived.

I kept the people I loved close to me, and I very rarely opened myself to anyone new.

It was protection at its finest.

My need to protect my already fragile heart was astronomical.

I knew that opening my heart to anything that wasn’t innocent could destroy me, and to be honest, I feared one more crack would shatter it forever.

It was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.

* * *

Crossing the dance floor, I smiled at a few locals and made small talk to those who stopped me. Being third generation Hamilton, owner of the only home decor store in town and part owner of the local watering hole, meant people knew me. It was both a blessing and a curse. When you were going through the worst time of your life, everyone wanted to know the ins and outs of your business. But then when you were experiencing the joys of life-changing moments, those same people cheered and celebrated right alongside you.

That was Monroe—the place that had small town vibes but big city dreams.

And that is why it would be my forever home.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the feeling of being watched slammed into me with a force I’d never experienced before. My steps halted and I froze in the middle of the dance floor while the few people that were dancing continued to sway to the music around me, completely oblivious to the intense, overwhelming feeling swarming me.

I eagerly scanned the crowd, searching the dark corners, the perimeter of the dance floor, and the occupied tables and chairs for any sign of who was giving off the intense vibes crashing into me. The feeling intensified and excitement bubbled inside me. I felt no fear. I felt exhilaration. I felt like I was being stripped naked, and my body was put on display for whoever wanted to see.

“You good?” Andy asked, touching my arm softly and bringing me back to reality.

“Yeah,” I replied with a smile, trying desperately to hold his gaze instead of continuing my search.

“Well then why are you standing like a statue in the middle of the dance floor with a weird as fuck look on your face?”

Shit balls.

Busted.

“It’s nothing.” How the hell was I meant to tell him that I sensed some unknown person was watching me, and was making me squirm in the best possible way? “Honestly, I’m good.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

I smiled, wrapped my arm around his waist, and gave him my best puppy-dog eyes. “Of course you can believe me.”

His chuckle told me that I’d gotten away with it. “Come and find me when you and Missy want to leave. I’ll drop you home.”

“Watch out, Andy, people might think you are getting soft.”

“Or they might think that I’m a lucky son of a bitch and taking home two hot women.”

“You are such a ladies man.” I laughed.

Through all of this, the feeling of eyes burning into my body didn’t falter. My skin tingled in delight. My confidence soared. My cheeks warmed. I didn’t want the owner of the mystery eyes to leave, and more than anything, I didn’t want whoever it was to become distracted. Selfishly, I wanted their eyes only for me.

For some unknown reason, I had a feeling it was a man.

And I wanted to see him.

Seriously, how strong were those Appletinis?

My phone vibrated from inside my bra, the classic place for women to store their phone, and I pulled it out and looked at the screen.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

“Go and use Drew’s office,” Andy suggested, and shot me a wink. “I better do some work before you fire me.”

I laughed as I rushed toward the office, answering the call just after closing the door behind me. “Hello,” I greeted, crossing the office and pulling out the leather chair behind the desk. “Hello, anyone there?” I repeated, louder, as I sat down.

Still no answer.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked down at the screen. The call was still connected, so whoever was on the other end clearly had no intention of speaking.

I ended the call and placed it on the desk. I had no time for prank calls at any time of the day, so I sure as hell didn’t have time for them at midnight. I rested my head against the leather of the chair and closed my eyes. Silence hadn’t been my friend for the past thirteen years, and now in the silence of the office, my turbulent mind screamed louder than ever.

My aim for tonight had been simple: erase the day and forget the night. After working from sunup to sundown and not taking a break, there was no other choice but to move girl’s night to Hamilton’s. Free booze, the distraction of Andy, and a night with my girls were promised. But as usual, every time I came here, she crept into my thoughts. My mother. My anger had never faded. Over the years, it had grown into a cruel reminder that never disappeared. It sat just below the surface, simmering until something triggered it and it boiled over. The moment she appeared in my thoughts, the knife imbedded in my heart twisted a little further, reminding me of the choices she made. My memories were the light switch that illuminated the truth if I ever thought of letting someone close to me.

That’s what she had left me.

The worst kind of gift that continued to give.

I shook away the memories and browsed around Drew’s office and desk. Papers were strewn everywhere—monthly liquor forms, staff rosters, and entertainment booking sheets. But it was a piece of paper with my full name, Sasha Abigail Hamilton, in bold capital letters that caught my attention.

My gaze frantically ran over the paper, taking in every word and sentence. The legal jargon jumped out at me, slapping me in the face as I tried to understand what I was reading. I read it three times, every word, every sentence, before I placed it back on the desk and sat back in the chair. My hands shook, and it felt like my stomach had sunk to my toes.

How could he do this?

The fact that it was after midnight didn’t cross my mind. I scrolled through my phone and pressed the call button when I got to Drew’s number. I’d continue calling until he answered. As I waited for him to answer, or for the call to go to voicemail, I pushed back from the desk and started to pace the office. My head throbbed as I tried to process what was going on, and I could barely catch my breath.

I froze when the call connected, then I unleashed my hurt onto my unsuspecting brother. “Why the hell am I looking at a change of ownership contract for Hamilton’s?” I asked, my level of annoyance and hurt evident in my tone. “Seriously, Drew, what the hell?”

“Sash, listen to me,” he murmured, the calmness in his voice shocking me. How could he possibly be calm? “What are you doing there? Its Wednesday night, for fuck sake.”

“I’m twenty-nine, I really don’t need to explain why I am at the bar we both own on a Wednesday night,” I said, emphasizing the fact that the bar was mine as much as his. Our father had given Drew the reigns of Hamilton’s when he turned twenty-five. Even though he got control of the day-to-day running, we shared ownership. “Now, you need to start explaining. Why is my name on a change of ownership form?”

He sighed, and I imagined him running his hand through his hair like he always did when he was frustrated. “We are not talking about this over the phone.”

I blew out a deep breath in defeat, and my gaze shot to the ceiling. Our relationship had changed a year ago, and I was still trying to figure out the turning point. Yes, I still saw him when I came to Hamilton’s, but it wasn’t the same. He had become distant, and I hated it. I’d lost my brother somewhere along the way, and I had no clue where to find him.

“I’m not signing it,” I said firmly. “Absolutely, no way.”

“Meet me at Missy’s tomorrow. I’ll be there at noon.”

He didn’t give me a chance to respond.

Silence hit my ears.

What the hell?