The apartment is throbbing with house music and conversations. This is it, apartment 223, the New Year's Eve party.

I take a deep breath, push the door open, and step inside.

It's an expensive loft and it's crowded. Insanely crowded.

Most of the room is a dance floor. People are grinding, kissing, swigging booze straight from the bottle. The couch in the corner is packed with people making out. From this angle it's hard to say, but I'd put money on the woman in the silver dress and the guy in the matching silver blazer doing a lot more than swapping spit.

Okay. It's a rowdy party. No big deal. I'm not the innocent little girl my brothers think I am. I can handle any party, however off the wall.

First, a drink. People bump into me as I cut through the packed dance floor. I'm halfway to the refreshments table when a man in a sleek suit runs right into me.

He's at least ten years older than the next oldest person here and his greasy comb-over isn't doing him any favors.

He shoots me a crooked smile. "Sorry, babe. How about I make it up to you?" He brandishes a prescription bottle.

Oxycontin.

"No thank you." I step backwards with a polite smile. Fuck, if Ethan and Mal find out I'm at a party with drugs...

The man moves on, unperturbed. He finds another friend—a skinny guy in designer jeans— and offers him a pill. Then the two of them are chasing their pills with vodka and moving to the corner of the room.

I guess that's the drug corner. I better steer clear.

Really, I should leave, but it's nearly ten now—I got lost, then spent forever looking for parking—and I don't want to be sitting on the couch, alone, when the ball drops.

Not again.

I'm tired of sitting alone, on the couch, period. I'm not doing it on a holiday devoted to socializing.

I'm not a naive good girl. I can handle being around drugs. As soon as I fix my makeup, I'm going to mingle properly. I'm going to have fun the way my brothers do.

I find the bathroom down the hall and turn the knob. It's unlocked.

But the room isn't empty.

It's...

There's a man leaning against the counter, his jeans at his ankles, his black button up shirt falling off his shoulders.

He lets out a low, deep groan.

His...

He's...

He's hard.

He's hard and he's huge.

At least, he looks huge. I have nothing to compare it too—I've never seen a guy naked before. Not in the flesh.

There's a woman on her knees, taking him into her mouth.

And his hand is on the back of her head, tugging at her platinum blond hair hard enough to rip out her extensions.

She's wearing the same hot pink BCBG dress I am.

She's giving him a blow job.

And I'm watching.

I shouldn't be watching.

"I'm sorry." I take a step backwards. My gaze refuses to budge from the action.

The woman pulls back. She looks at me with an expression that screams the clearly innocent girl in the doorway is not a threat to me sucking off this hot dude.

Slowly, I force myself to take another step backwards. My gaze only cooperates enough to move up his defined, tattooed torso, to his strong shoulders, to the curly black hair hanging in front of his dark eyes.

No...

That's Kit.

The bassist in my brothers' very famous, very successful band. A super hot famous rock star belongs at a party like this.

A good girl college student... not as much.

His eyes catch mine. They flare with recognition.

Oh God. I have to see him in a few days. I have to look him in the eyes.

"I didn't... you should really lock the door." I turn and move away from the bathroom as quickly as possible.

I know there's something wrong with Kit being here, but my brain isn't working. My brain is stuck on the image of him naked in that woman's mouth. My brain is thinking up alternate scenarios of me being the girl with him in the bathroom.

Stupid brain. It's not like I'm about to lose my virginity in the bathroom at some party. Not even if it's with Kit—I'm not ashamed to admit I've had a crush on the bassist since we met.

It's a school girl he's hot and mysterious kind of crush. I'm old enough to know that. But that knowledge does nothing to make my heartbeat calm down when he's around. It certainly isn't helping with the jealousy twisting my stomach in knots.

He's so fucking beautiful.

And, apparently, he's also incredibly well-endowed.

And as slutty as his reputation suggests.

And at this stupid party with way too much booze and drugs.

Wait—

A hand curls around my upper arm.

"You're too tall to blend into a crowd this well." Kit's deep voice flows into my ears. His other hand curls around my other arm. Gently, he turns me so we're face to face. "You okay?"

My cheeks flush as I attempt, and fail, to look him in the eyes. Instead, my gaze stays on my shoes—the Mary Jane flats that scream innocent little girl. "You're already finished?"

He chuckles.

God, I'm going to die of embarrassment. It wouldn't be so bad if this was some random guy but this is Kit, my brother's best friend. And my friend too. I see him all the time.

"I mean... I wasn't saying that you... that you're..." Foot, meet mouth. Words are failing me here. It's too hard to think of anything but Kit nearly naked in that bathroom. Again, I try to look into his eyes. This time, I get as far as his chest. "Your buttons are off." I tap the third from the top button of his shirt.

He fixes his buttons. "You have a coat?"

I shake my head.

"You can wear mine."

"Why would I wear your coat?"

He nods to my dress.

Is he really telling me my dress is too skimpy? He was in the bathroom with a chick in this dress. "Excuse me?"

"There's drugs at this party."

"I know."

"You shouldn't be here."

It hits me like a ton of bricks. "I shouldn't be here? I'm not the one who—"

"Keep your voice down." He leads me through the crowd, towards the door.

I'm not sure where Kit gets off telling me what to do—apparently, he didn't get off in the bathroom, not if the hard on straining against his jeans is any indication.

I don't need another guy who thinks he's in charge of my life.

He grabs his leather jacket from the rack and takes his time helping me into it. "You're a nice girl, Piper. This place isn't your scene."

"It shouldn't be yours either."

"It's not."

"Then why are you here?"

"I live down the hall."

"And?"

His dark eyes fix on mine. "I'm not going to tell Ethan or Mal I found you here."

"And I'm not going to tell Ethan or Mal I walked in on you getting blown by some random chick."

He chuckles.

"Or that you were at a party with drugs."

No more chuckle. His expression gets serious, intense. He leans in close enough to whisper. "Do you actually want to be here?"

No. Not even a little. But- "I don't want to spend New Year's Eve alone."

"You're not alone. You're with me."

"That must be fun for you, babysitting your friend's baby sister."

"I don't offer to do shit I don't want to do."

Likely story.

"Either I take you to my apartment or I take you home. Those are your only choices." He looks at me the way Mal and Ethan do—like I'm the innocent young thing he has to protect.

"Have you heard of asking nicely?"

He shakes his head.

"I suppose women do whatever you order them to do?"

"Usually."

"Well, I'm not going along with your protect Piper shit. I'm not a child. I'm nineteen."

"Piper, will you please come with me to my apartment?"

God, I never thought I'd be upset about Kit inviting me to his apartment. My body is certainly on board with the plan. But my body is all confused by the proximity of his body—his hard chest is only inches from mine, his calloused fingers are on my bare arms. My body doesn't realize that Kit thinks of me like a little sister.

That there's absolutely no chance he'll ever want me to be the girl in the bathroom with him.

No, I have more self-respect than this. I'm not going to be with a man who was just getting blown in the bathroom. Even if it's Kit.

If I'm ever going to be with Kit, it's not going to be in a bathroom. I demand a bed. A couch at the very least.

"Bet this is the hardest you've ever had to work to get a woman to your apartment?" I tease.

Again, he chuckles.

"Okay, I'll go, but I'm kissing someone at midnight." I bite my tongue. It's hard to remember that this is Kit, my brother's best friend, and not some hot guy I saw getting blown at a party. It's hard to remember that him being a famous rock star isn't a big deal to me. It's hard to remember anything but the sight of him half-naked. "I don't mean that you have to, just that I'll find someone at this party if you—"

"Let's go."

"Does that mean you—"

His dark eyes brighten. "It means let's go."