It’s rare when I can say something is a first for me. Not in a bragging way: there’s lots of shit I wish was still on my Never Have I Ever list. I just say it as a fact. I’ve done a lot.

But this is a first, and a good one: being high on a rooftop with a guy, watching stars through the haze of the city. His suit jacket keeps me warmer than it should. I wrap my fingers around the lapel and press it to my nose, smelling his cologne.

Between us, my purse chimes. It’s the sound of my phone dying. In this warm-bathwater feeling, Levi’s shoulder touching mine while wind rushes past, I’m actually glad. No interruptions from the real world.

“Must be hard, watching your little brother get married.”

“No, I’m happy for him. Juliet’s awesome. And her family, too. They’ve basically accepted me right along with Cohen.”

This makes me smile. I’ve only met the Brooks family a few times, but I can totally see them welcoming Levi as one of their own. They tried to do it with me, too.

“The only hard part,” he goes on, drawing a breath, “is that it’s here.”

I sit up on my elbows. “You guys got married in the same hotel? Why would he do that to you?”

“It’s not like that. Our uncle insisted, and I told Co it was okay. I mean, what was I going to say: ‘No, don’t have it in this incredible, free venue, because I’ve got bad memories’?”

He’s got a point. It would feel petty to bar someone from using the same advantage you got, just because yours didn’t work out.

“Probably wanted to prove something to yourself,” I add, lying back. “Showing yourself you’re moving on, or whatever.”

He looks at me. I stare back and trace the bow of his mouth with my eyes.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m not sure if I have or not, though, after today. It’s been harder than I expected.”

“Weddings are always harder than you expect.” I look back at the stars. We can’t see many, but a few peek out whenever the smog tumbles out of the way.

“And besides,” I say, a moment later, “it’s okay to just be ‘moving on’ instead of ‘moved on.’ Progress is better than nothing.”

“It’s not like I still want her.” He brings his arm up and puts it behind his head. The other stays where it is, hand so close to mine, I keep imagining contact. “After she cheated on me the second time...that was it. I couldn’t even look at her the same. The first time finally felt real, when she did it again.” Levi shakes his head and swallows. “Fool me twice, right?”

I try not to wince as I smile. He’s not wrong. That was a lesson I learned much, much sooner than most: if someone screws you over once, they’re an asshole. If they do it twice, you’re an idiot.

“This is a huge downer,” he sighs, and sits up, rubbing his face with both hands. “I’m sorry. Let’s talk about something else.”

I stay where I am and shut my eyes. “Like?”

“I don’t know.” His whiskey glass clunks nearby. “Like us somehow getting alcohol without having to go all the way back downstairs.”

My smile immediately puts him on his guard.

“What? What’s that look for?”

I don’t say a word. I simply grab my dress and pull the fabric up past my knee, all the way to my thigh.

Levi bursts out laughing.

“A garter flask?” He leans in, inspecting it. “I have no idea why I’m surprised.”

“Always prepared.” I lift my leg straight up in the air and point my foot. “Care to do the honors?”

The wind drowns out his laughter as it quiets. But the smile, I notice, doesn’t totally fade, even when he scratches his head and glances out across the skyline.

“Come on.” I prop my leg on his shoulder. He shrugs me off. “It’ll be good for you to remove a different garter, from a different woman’s leg, in the same building you removed your ex-wife’s.”

“We’re on top of the building, technically.”

“The easiest way to forget a bad memory,” I say, ignoring him, “is to make a new one.”

He looks back at me. I noticed that the minute we met: he rarely looks at you dead-on. Usually with his head tilted, or over his shoulder, or in side glances. Sometimes just beyond your head. Or maybe that’s just how he looks at me.

“Fine. But I call first drink.” His fingers hover near my skin, until I nudge my leg closer and press the outside of my thigh into his palm.

For a second, he holds it there.

“You don’t pull off garters with your hands.”

Another look, this one chiding. “I actually did, with my wi—” He catches himself and swallows, then lets out his breath instead of correcting himself.

I watch him carefully during this, trying to figure out where on the rebound spectrum Levi falls. Ex-girlfriends are worlds apart from ex-wives, and there’s a lot of baggage with divorced guys. You can’t know from a glance where they are, because their recovery isn’t linear. You have to look at the overall trend. And I don’t know him well enough to do that.

Yet.

“All the more reason to use your teeth.” I lift my leg higher. He can definitely see my underwear.

Then again, that’s kind of the whole point. That’s why I came up here in the first place, when I saw him duck out of the reception: Levi Fairfield is sexy, all the way down to his family tree. I want him. And I don’t always get what I want, but damn do I try.

Levi’s eyes dodge mine. When he finally looks back, I raise my eyebrow. This is a challenge. Not to prove anything to me, because frankly, I don’t care if he’s over his ex-wife.

But if he can have fun with someone else for a night, he can start to forget her. I’ve seen it happen plenty of times. In a way, my little rebound career performs a crucial public service.

The fact I get some fun out of it too, without any strings? Let’s call it a perk.

“I get the first two drinks, then,” he says, that soft, sideways smile telling me, loud and clear, Challenge Accepted.

His heartbeat’s visible in his neck. I notice his Adam’s apple bobbing the closer his mouth gets to my leg.

Lips first. Pressing, motionless, like a photograph of a kiss.

They part, and I feel the damp heat of his breath leaching through the lace.

His teeth graze the skin. He shuts his eyes, bites down into the fabric, and slowly pulls it down to my knee.

I could embarrass him if I wanted to, making him pull the garter all the way down to my ankle. And I kind of want to.

It’s cute, though, the way his eyes are shut and his hand clenches on the gritty rooftop. He’s dying to get lost in this, and it’s freaking him out.

“Nicely done,” I tell him, and pull my leg away so the garter and flask clatter at his feet.

Levi picks it up and unscrews the top. “I, uh...I get why so many guys prefer to use their mouths for that.”

I smile and sit up, taking the flask when he passes it over. It’s small, maybe four ounces total, so I take a moderate sip before ordering him to kill the rest. He needs it more than I do.

“We should get downstairs before the big send-off.” Levi wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, eyes glazed like he can see straight through the buildings in front of us.

I wait for him to stand so he can offer to help me. It’s a subtle trick, but one that always works. Almost as good as pretending to shiver.