Jaxson Stade is a Roman statue come to life, carved by the ancient masters with a body of a god and a heart of impenetrable steel—most likely fashioned by those rolls of alloy that have made his family billionaires ten times over. It’s hard to believe after all these years we’re in the same room, feet on the floor within fighting distance in the very same bar. A live band croons in the corner, an entire crowd of bodies hustles for space between us as the scent of stale fries and beer fills my senses, but it’s Jaxson and his obnoxious presence that has my full attention.

A tiny blonde scoots in beside me. “Poppy Montgomery! Now is that a look of yearning or burning on your pretty little face?”

I glance over at my best friend, whom I haven’t seen in the flesh in far too long, and dive into a quick embrace. “It’s a look of churning—as in revulsion. And by the way, I’m pretty sure yearning and burning are one in the same, Sadie Richards.” I pull her into a hug with an explosion of laughter as we bounce up and down like six-year-olds.

“I’m so happy to have you back!” Her blonde curls dust my face as she does her best to crush my ribcage. “You can never leave again. I’m not letting you go.” Sadie is a pixy incarnate. Tiny features, sparkling pink lips, big blue doe eyes—Sadie is gorgeous enough to make anyone with an X-chromosome look twice. She’s petite and beautiful and an all-around vixen—and she just so happens to be coming off of what she refers to as her very first divorce. It’s safe to say, Sadie is planning on amassing her fair share of exes. “Are you scoping out the midnight offerings?” She bumps my hip with her own.

Midnight. I shudder at the prospect of being void a set of lips to press against mine at that annual bewitching hour.

New Year’s Eve is just the kind of holiday that requires copious amounts of alcohol, lots of carnal cavorting with friends and potential lovers alike, and, perhaps best of all, a sexual situation brewing around midnight. But this New Year’s Eve is different. It’s my first in Oak Grove since I left five years ago. I’ve been back for the odd obligatory holiday, this last Christmas withstanding. My family alternates hosting the holy holiday with the Stade family every other year—as in Jaxson Stade’s family—and every other year I’m magically and mysteriously unable to make it. While I was still in college, my tried-and-true excuse was citing post-final exhaust, and after graduation a faux internship cropped up, but this past Christmas, I was wrapping up my last two weeks at work as a design consultant to an impressive L.A. firm. Yes, five years at a private college on a beach in Santa Barbara has done me well. I managed to land myself a cushy position at a top firm touted highly by everyone who is anyone in La La Land. But I digress as my eyes fall back on the sight they’ve been craving for oh so long, Jaxson Stade… don’t even get me started on that hot body. I bite down over my lower lip as an aching sigh expels from me.

“He is a sight to behold.” A dark-haired beauty, smelling of that sweet familiar tea-scented perfume I’ve come to associate with my sister, pops up on my left.

“Mackenzie!” I pull her into a tight embrace as my second hug-fest of the evening ensues. Back in L.A., I’ve yet to hug a single soul. Come to find out, such a show of affection is practically illegal in the City of Angels. In its place are well-delineated physical boundaries and sexual assault infringements. “Is Conner here?” Conner is Mack’s twin, and thankfully our one and only overprotective brother. Back in high school, I couldn’t go two steps with a date without Conner giving them a shakedown worthy of an FBI investigation.

Mack squawks at the prospect. “Conner took off with some hot blonde over an hour ago—but never mind our whorish big bro. You really took a crap on Christmas this year, Pops. We missed you.”

It makes my stomach churn to hear her say that. Sure, I feel guilty missing other holidays, too, but missing Christmas feels like something just this side of a felony. Christmas is huge in my family, and I hate that I missed out on all the caroling and cavorting because I’m essentially a coward. I shoot Jax a knife-sharp look because we both know it’s all his fault.

“I’m here now.” I pat Mack over the shoulders, drinking down this slightly older version of myself, same dark wavy hair, same lucent green eyes. My mother called us her Irish twins mostly because we were born a year apart—she didn’t let the sheets cool as she so indelicately puts it. But to this day, I think the reference has more to do with these emerald lenses we get to see the world through. “And I’m ready to take a crap all over the New Year, too, so you’d better watch out. Where’s your better half?” Mack married her longtime boyfriend, Dave Holiday, right out of high school. They’ve been hitched for a blissful six years and have a boy and a girl underfoot already, Ellie and Benny. Well— blissful might be a tad exaggerating. An acid tongue is a longtime family trait that has been passed down on our mother’s side, and is something both my sister and I have in common. Apparently, it doesn’t bode well for spouses, thus the constant strife the two young lovebirds face, and sadly thus the constant strife in their marriage.

“My other half is probably literally crapping. He tapped out and sent me into the wild. I knew you’d be here, and I wouldn’t miss it. Did you see Mom?”

“Only for a second. My flight came in late, and by the time I dragged my luggage into the house, she and Dad were already headed up to bed. She pointed me to the party and hit the sack.” It’s true. Everybody, including my mother, knows that the Starry Nights Bar and Grill is the place to be on this the lustiest night of the year—and every night outside of that, considering that it’s the beating heart of Oak Grove. This is basically it as far as the party scene goes, and judging by how packed it is, the locals and the Denver overflow alike don’t seem to mind it.

“So, what do you think?” Sadie hooks her arm through mine as she nods over toward Jax and the horny little harem amassing around him.

Mack leans in and sinks her gaze in the god of Oak Grove’s direction. “I know you’re wondering—and yes—he’s single as a slice of cheese.”

Both Sadie and I groan. Mack is the queen of the cheesy one-liners.

“Of course, he’s single,” I grunt as the girls crowding him block him from view. “He’s a manwhore. Everyone knows you can’t hold a good manwhore down—especially not one with his bank account lined in solid gold Krugerrands.”

“But we can try!” Larissa Debeers, a dark-haired vixen, face of a cold-hearted bitch, who looks as if she belongs on a Victoria’s Secret runway rather than holed up in Oak Grove, pops up swilling a cherry red cocktail in her well-manicured hand. Yes, Jax is panty-dropping gorgeous, but he’s also loaded, which means he brings the gold diggers to the yard, case in point Larissa. “Nice to see you slumming, Pop Top,” says the Krugerrands’ huntress herself.

Wow. You flash the boys’ track team just once in your entire scholastic career and you garner a nickname that endures time immemorial.

“I see L.A. is doing well by you,” Larissa muses as she takes me in from head to toe. Larissa had her own stint in L.A., and thankfully our paths never crossed. She was out trying to progress her modeling slash acting career, but after one mediocre commercial touting the ills of a yeast infection, she packed up her yeast-infected behind and hightailed it back to Oak Grove. I’m guessing that vaginal itch for Jax and his billions never quite went away. There’s no cure for greedy.

“Louboutin heels in a snowstorm?” She snorts. “Snug leather jacket—that fits as if Cinderella’s mice themselves adhered it to your body? And those jeans?” Her brows rise in amusement. “I’d ask if you painted them on, but my guess is you’ve gone pantless and your flesh has turned a healthy shade of blue.”

I’d laugh, but I promised myself long ago I wouldn’t waste the energy on Larissa. We have a brief yet tumultuous history not worthy of repeating.

I’d ask why she’s kept her feet planted in Oak Grove, but according to her body language, her own painted on clothing, it’s apparent why she’s hanging around. “Still working on your MRS degree at the U of Oak Grove, I see.” I nod toward Jax without meaning to, not that it’s a secret she’s heavily into the town’s honorary playboy.

“Mmm,” she moans, taking him in with the rest of us. “It’s true. I’ve always had a hankering for tall, filthy rich, and gorgeous. But Jaxy Boy is untouchable. I think that’s why the girls swoon twice as hard.” She looks to me with those dark amber eyes. “A girl always wants what she can’t have. Isn’t that right, Pop Top?” She gives a sly wink before slinking away.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My foot twists in my Louboutin as if doling out a threat.

“Don’t listen to her.” Sadie shoves her cosmopolitan in my hand, and I take a quick sip. “She’s just bitter because the closer you are to her favorite boy toy, she knows that her chances of landing him horizontal for the night decrease dramatically.”

“That might be true,” Mack muses. “But nonetheless, she is one of his regulars. That boy has every available girl in town on a crop rotation—they’re well-trained to his nefarious ways, too. The only catfights that take place are at his request. Rumor has it, all of those wrestling matches take place in bed at his command. Dave says he’s taking them three at a time now.”

“Disgusting,” I hiss as Jax slowly becomes enveloped by the harlots vying for a chance to become one in three. “God, when did he morph into such a pervert? And it’s shocking his mother puts up with that.” His mother just so happens to be my own mother’s lifelong best friend, and if they’re about anything, they’re about getting into every sloppy detail of their children’s lives. To them, it’s not only a haunting pastime— it’s research. Charlene—my mother, and Debbie—the one who sponsored Jaxson’s birther movement, have in recent years embarked on the precarious world of blogging.

The Mischief Mavens’ Baking Blog has had over a million hits last year. Yes, you’ve read that right. A million hits means that they’ve actually spellbound a jury of their peers and tricked them into coming back time and time again. And believe you me, that whole baking thing is just a confectionary ruse. The most popular feature of their blog falls under the category of mischief. You see, pranks and all things shenanigans happen to be our mothers’ specialty. Donning fuzzy pink robes and curlers just to drop us off at school was a regular running gag—the irony being that neither of them slept in curlers. I can’t even count how many Halloween nights they followed close behind the two of us with demonic clown masks and axes. If you’ve surmised the fact that we never trick-or-treated with other people, you’ve guessed right.

Then there was the time they showed up to our prom. They made no bones about the fact they were chronically pissed that both Jax and I chose to go stag rather than as each other’s plus one. Of course, the mischief mavens decided that what better way to mark the occasion as regrettable than dancing the Macarena right beside us? And the last, but I’m sure not final stunt they pulled on the two of us was altering the acceptance letters from the universities we applied to, informing us that we had swiftly been rejected from each and every school, when in fact the opposite were true. They copped to it soon enough, but the laugh was on them once I chose a school thousands of miles away from them at a private university in L.A. that came complete with a major scholarship. Only it wasn’t the two of them I was running from.

Sadie steps in close with her arms crossed, that oddly vexed look on her face, and it makes me wonder if she wants her cosmo back. “Of course, his mother knows he’s a pervert. Everybody with a pair of eyes knows that. But I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want that for her precious baby boy. In fact, you of all people should realize what Jaxson’s mother wants for him—or should I say who?”

“Not this again.” I down the rest of her drink and slam the glass on the table next to me like a gavel.

“You know it’s true.” Mack shakes her head. “Mom and Deb have always thought you two belonged together. As soon as you were born, they pressed your little hand in his.”

“I know. I’ve seen the picture.” It sits in a frame just outside my old bedroom along with an entire childhood montage of the friendship Jax and I once shared. Our mothers delivered us three months apart—and were they ever thrilled to have a bride for baby Jaxson. Little did they know their precious JJ, as they affectionately called him, would turn into a petri dish for all sorts of new strains of syphilis. “But, poor Deb will have to find another bride for her wayward slutty son,” I huff. “One that doesn’t mind sharing the marriage bed with a revolving door of hussies.”

Jax and I used to be the best of friends—and then puberty hit and ruined that good time. Jax and I started with the puppy dog eyes about fifth grade—but a quick peck of a kiss in the middle of our freshman year landed us in an unspeakably awkward place. It didn’t help that our mothers glommed onto that pimple-laced opportune moment to plan our upcoming nuptials.

Then, in our sophomore year of high school, Jax cornered me next to the old oak in his mother’s front yard that we must have climbed a thousand times to sit in the tree house perched in its branches—and he straight up asked if I liked him. Of course, I lied. I said I was totally in love with Miles Frampton from history class, and that if he ever cornered me with that I’m-going-to-land-you-horizontal look in his eyes again, I would have Miles tear his hairy little balls off. That, right there, launched us onto a rocky road that we have never recovered from.

Jax didn’t seem too afraid of my quasi-violent verbal exchange. Instead, he happily starred in a parade of vaginas—an entire sisterhood of girls who fell to their knees and worshiped at the altar of his boxers.

I know what you’re thinking. Why the lie? I wish I knew that myself. But sex, lies, and vagina parades aside, Jax has morphed from the sweet, kindhearted boy whom I once made mud pies with, to an obnoxious sex machine that sees prospective bedmates as nothing more than walking unruptured hymens and pillowy boobs he can bury both his face and junk in. Jax Stade is not the boy I grew up with, and that’s too bad because I actually miss that boy on occasion.

“Oh, hon”—Sadie shakes her head in his direction—“if I know one thing about Jaxson Stade—it’s that there will be no marriage bed.”

“And if you’re lucky”—Mack holds her drink in the air—“you’ll both escape that thorny matrimonial cage yourself.”

Both she and Sadie whoop it up in honor of their shared disdain for the diamond-clad union.

Mack shudders as she downs the shot in her hand and lets out a howl that nearly pierces my eardrum. “Who’s in for another round? I’ve got you covered, girls.” She takes a few dancing steps away as she edges toward the bar. “We’re going to get M.C. Hammered tonight!”

“Nice.” I frown over at my lush of a sister. It’s clear I’ll be the designated driver of the evening. Hunter, my old buddy who owns the Starry Nights Bar and Grill, actually has a system in place to make sure there are no drunk drivers on the loose in Oak Grove. There’s an entire volunteer force ready and willing to pick up the sloppy drunks as they stumble out of the bar.

“Nice?” Sadie nudges her shoulder up against mine. “Or is it naughty thoughts infiltrating your undersexed brain? That boy has it going on, Poppy.” She lets out a deep, unruly moan. “You do realize you are the sole reason I haven’t pounced on that Christmas package he’s got tucked away in those tight in all the right places, naturally distressed Levi’s. This is the first night I’ve seen him in anything but a suit, and, dear God, you have not lived until you’ve seen Jaxson Stade in a well-sculpted Italian masterpiece.” She swoons on cue, and as much as I hate myself for it, I swoon right along with her.

“I’ve seen him in a suit plenty of times.” True. And I can attest to the fact he’s just as sexy and swoon-worthy as she claims.

“Not lately. Not with that new body of his. Jax has been hitting the irons like a prisoner. He’s practically a fixture on the main road as he jogs that rock-hard, shirtless, glossed with sweat body of his. Mmm...” She gives a wistful shake of the head. “You should see the backup on that two-lane stretch from seven to nine.”

“Seven to nine in the morning? I see he’s going after the MILF demographic.” Not surprising since everyone knows he’s just about raising his sister’s son ever since Jules’s husband ran out on her. Jules is a few years older than us, and my heart broke when I heard her oaf of a husband took off for the concrete pastures of Manhattan.

“He doesn’t care about the MILFs, Poppy.” Sadie cocks her head as if she wants me to read between the MILF-fy lines, but I refuse to do it. There is absolutely nothing to read at all. Jax and I simply aren’t happening.

And then, just like that, his clear blue eyes settle over me, and he rises a notch out of that crowd of estrogen enough for me to see his dimples digging in on either side of his cheeks, and both Sadie and I lurch a bit.

“He’s spotted you in the wild!” she squeals.

I open my mouth to protest the idea, but it’s too late. She’s right, and he’s headed this way.

“Oh my God!” Sadie does a quick tap dance in her ruby red slippers, and suddenly I’m feeling like there’s no place like home. Why did I think showing up at Starry Nights was a good idea, again? “He’s coming over! He’s parting the sea of redheaded skanks, and he’s coming to see you! Oh my God, this is so exciting! And to think, all those girls have waited all night to see where his penis compass would lead him, and here it’s been pointing to you all along. I bet that needle-dick of his has been pointing hard your way for the last five years—not that he has anything as minute as a needle-dick. It’s just a play on—”

“I get it!” I give her a quick swat over the arm, but oh my God… It’s as if the world takes life down a notch, and suddenly everything is unfolding in slow motion.

Jaxson Stade walks steadily toward me with that cocky grin curling up his lips, those dangerous sapphire eyes fixed over mine, holding me hostage right where I am, helpless to do anything but wait for him to close the distance between us. His flannel is split open down the front, revealing a white T-shirt stretching taut over his chest, the contours of which demand that the cotton adhere to every sculpted ridge. Damn, that boy is sexy as hell. A breath gets locked in my throat as he swoops in so close I’d swear those lips were coming in for the kill far earlier than midnight.

“Poppy Montgomery.” He pulls me into a tight embrace, his heavy chest presses to mine as I take in the spiced scent of his thick cologne. Those strong, heavy arms, those thick fingers pressing into me, evoke a choking sigh from me. I try to tell myself that I’m not interested in his basic bad boy persona and those basic unearthly good looks. That the fact I’m shuddering from a spontaneous orgasm is just an aftereffect from the rather prolonged dry spell I’m currently enduring, but Jax’s stark sex appeal demands I tell the truth. His heart-stopping looks, those cobalt bedroom eyes, coupled with the fact his rock-hard girth is pressed tight against me, have my body quivering in all the right places.

“Jaxson Stade.” I try to sound equally as jovial, but it comes out more of a whimper after a long wild romp. Something I’m sure he’s accustomed to—both the whimper and the long wild romp.

He pulls back, his arms slipping down toward my waist, and our eyes lock a moment, and there it is—that unspoken secret we have lingering between the two of us about as welcome as head lice, but neither of us is willing to give in to it.

“Good to see you.” His fingers press in over my arms just enough, and a part of me wonders if that’s sexual code for let’s hit the sheets later. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to learn that he and his hussies have established their own perverted language through a series of clicks and whistles. “I hear you’re killing it in L.A.” He winces a little when he says it as if it pained him on some level. “I always knew you would.” He offers a congratulatory tap to my back before taking a step away, his arms hanging awkwardly at his side as if that were the last place they wanted to be.

“Of course, I’m killing it.” I am so not killing it. Unless, of course, you categorize fetching coffee and flagging down Uber drivers as a success. In that case, I am totally killing it. I avert my eyes to Sadie. My little blonde nymph of a friend is the only one I’ve divulged the truth to so far. I was too afraid if I told Mack, she’d tell Mom who would understandably tell Dad and they’d both veto my very adult decision to stay on the West Coast sans friends and family as I venture daily to the beach for a sand nap. The horrible truth is, I recently quit my job. As soon as my boss made it clear he wanted me on the mattress more than he wanted me decorating the mattress, I told him he could bend over and suck his own fat dick because I wasn’t about to do it. I believe his parting words to me were you’ll never decorate in this town again! And true to his prophetic utterings, I’ve yet to find a firm that will take me. I put out the feelers far and wide, and I’m still hoping against hope I come up with something fast because my bank account is running on fumes and my roommate already has a pair of Russian twins in the wings who make a steady living down on Hollywood Boulevard dressed as Wonder Woman and Supergirl ready to replace me.

“And now you’re killing me.” Jax steps back enough to take in the rest of me. “Bringing L.A. back to Oak Grove, I see.” He shakes his head at my ensemble of choice. “The boys better watch out.” He tips his cocky yet impossibly gorgeous head my way. Those dazzling eyes of his latch onto mine once again. “So you’re here for the big birthday slash announcement, I take it.” His lips twitch as if he’s holding back a laugh, and the thought of Jax having a good chuckle at my expense enrages me. I’m sure he’s been laughing at me all along. I can’t shake the feeling he sees through my façade, right down to the dirty glorified Starbucks’s secretary details.

“Exactly that.” I swallow hard. It’s only partially a lie. Yes, our mothers are set to announce something they promise will knock our socks off in just a few short weeks at their shared sixty is sensational birthday bash, but I’m also hoping to score a small personal loan from my father that will get me through the spring.

“Mmm.” He gives a quick moan while drinking down my features as if he hadn’t seen them one too many times already. But there’s something about hearing that moan—watching the way his left eye came just shy of winking as if he were indulging in something far too delicious for words sends my thighs trembling once again. In the five years since I’ve seen him, he’s grown into a full-blown man. His chest has filled out, his face is that much more comelier, and those lips, those cutthroat deep flame blue eyes—God Almighty, someone call the fire department. This boy has set my panties on fire.

Just as I’m about to tell him to stop with the waking wet dream, Mack shows up with a tray full of shots that promise to take this night from tolerable to memorable.

“Jaxy Jax!” Mackenzie squawks with delight as she nods us to the table just a few steps away. “This is perfect. Now we can finally discuss that fabulous sixty fiasco and how we’re going to show up those high jinks heroines once and for all.”

“Prank the pranksters?” Sadie winces. “And risk enduring their formidable wrath for years to come? Count me in—but I’m watching from the sidelines.”

Jax and I exchange a brief glance.

“Lord knows we have more than enough reasons to exact revenge.” I pick up my tiny glass and toast my sister. “But Sadie is right. They’ll come at us ten times harder. Each time we’ve tried to malign the mavens of mischief, we’ve ended up on the wrong side of a very humiliating act of foul play.”

Jax scoots his seat in, and his knee brushes against mine for a moment. “Don’t tell me you fear a couple of middle-aged women—and I say that as a fact, not a putdown—who have made sure that every highlight of your juvenile years was not only recorded but as toxically degrading as can be?”

I’d call him out on his use of the word toxic, but it happens to be true. If anything, Char and Deb take toxic to a whole new level.

“Of course, I fear them, and, if you were wise, you would, too. Face it, there’s no one else on this side of the continental divide who can strike the fear of payback in you the way they can. Besides, what prank would even be worthy to take on the divas of damaged psyches? Let’s be realistic. Those old gals are twisted, and I shudder to think what their devious minds might conjure up in the name of retribution.” Although it would be fun to watch Jax, the casual billionaire boy, squirm as a little good old-fashioned recompense is doled out via his mad maven of a mama.

His bedroom eyes wince my way as he leans in. “Why are you grinning at me that way?”

“I thought you were used to women falling all over you with a greasy smile.”

“I am.” His knee grazes over mine once again. “And usually when they’re baring their fangs, they’re getting ready to bite. See anything you’d like to sink your teeth into?”

“Down, boy,” I’m quick to reprimand.

“Not so fast, Pops.” Sadie gets that squirrely look in her eyes. “I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss a good naughty invite.”

Mack pushes Sadie aside. “Down, girl.” She opens her mouth to say something else, but all that manages to eke out is a small choking sound. She draws another breath and gasps. “Oh my word! You did it, Sadie!”

“I did?” She scoots my way a notch, in the event the Fireball my sister just imbibed has inspired her to test out her uppercut on my sweet pixie friend.

“Yes! You just gave me the brainstorm of the century.” Mack’s eyes swirl like pinwheels. “I’ve got the ultimate prank we can pull on those mischievous mavens as they get ready to turn a sexy sixty.”

“Give it to me,” Jax says while looking at my sister, but his knee rubs over my own, warm and lingering, and I can’t help but think he’s throwing out the perverted invite once again. Something tells me Jax isn’t one to hear no very often, and the thought of sending him home without a vaginal pocket to place his penis brings a dark smile to my face.

“The two of you”—Mack slides a shot of liquid gold to both Jax and me—“are going to pull the ultimate prank on our mothers.”

I avert my eyes at the thought. “Well played, Mack. So when the ax falls, you’ll be safely on the sidelines with Sadie. Right. There’s no way I’m pulling anything on those two beady-eyed biddies, unless you enlist yourself along with Jules and Kali, too.” Jules and Kali are Jaxson’s sisters—one older, one younger, both far more affable.

Mack bounces in her seat, giddy with excitement. “No can do. What I have planned only the two of you can pull off.”

Sadie knocks back her drink and slams the shot glass to the table. “Don’t keep us in suspense. Midnight is nearing—and I’ve got a loose set of lips to wrangle up.”

“Okay.” Mackenzie closes her eyes a moment as if summoning all her strength for the effort. “You know how Mom and Deb have been after the two of you to get together ever since you were in the womb? Well, I say give them what they want.” A tiny dimple in her left cheek digs in as she indulges in a self-gratifying smile.

“I don’t get it.” I look to Jaxson, who seems to be warming to the idea, wetting his lips, chest expanding like a sexed-up baboon. “Oh, wait”—I sit up straight—“you don’t mean…”

“Yes.” Mack clasps my hands tight. “The two of you pretend to be knock-down, drag-out, head over heels in love. And then, once their sixtieth birthday bash slash huge announcement settles down, you lay it on them—whamo!” She slaps both hands down on the table so hard, half the bar turns to see if shots were fired.

“That’s cruel, Mackenzie.” I’m the first to protest. “That’s heartless.” That’s brilliant is what it is.

“It’s a heart stopper,” Jax adds in that low octave that makes my girl parts bounce on cue. Dear God, this man is a hormonal weapon of mass destruction.

“It will kill them.” Now it’s my knee rubbing up against his. Take that, Mister Women-in-My-Presence-Don’t-Require-Personal-Space.

“It will kill them.” Jax bears those luminescent eyes into mine, and I’m prisoner to his haunting good looks. It’s not fair. The universe knows I’m a sucker for black hair and blue eyes, those dimples that I actually once stuck my finger in while Jaxson did his best impersonation of an electrical socket. I used to get thirsty for a tall glass of water just looking at his eyes, and now I’m just thirsty for him.

Sadie clears her throat, but neither Jax nor I am willing to break our stare. “You can always let them down easy. Haven’t they earned something just this side of heart stopping? I mean—showing up at prom? That was pretty brutal. And the time they held a surprise birthday party for you, Pops—and yet the invites they sent out were actually to your faux engagement party? Remember the lines at the return counter? I was with you. It was brutal.”

“I forgot all about that.” My entire body burns with something just this side of anger as a sense of self-righteous revenge percolates in me anew. “I was thirteen for shit’s sake!”

Jax taps the table with a dead look in his eyes. “My mother made me pick out a ring.”

“They deserve it.” Mack inches those shot glasses toward the two of us, and Jax and I each glom onto our own.

“They deserve it.” He lifts his glass as if toasting the idea.

“They deserve it.” I touch my glass to his, then Mack’s and Sadie’s.

“To love!” Mack raises her suspiciously empty glass a little higher, and we do the same.

“To love,” we cry out as a group.

Mack is quick to excuse herself, citing the fact she needs to check on Dave and the kids before disappearing. Sadie outright blows us a kiss before trotting off to the deep end of the bar where there’s enough testosterone and cologne to drown in.

Jaxson Stade brazenly runs his knee over mine with those oven-heated eyes searing me from the inside. “You in this, Eight Ball?”

Eight ball. Now there’s a blast from the past. Jax thought up that pool-based moniker after I insisted that the eight ball was demonic and we should banish billiard games from our after-school repertoire. In my defense, I was seven, and he went right along with it until his father almost tore him a new one for falling for something so idiotic. Jax actually had a great father whom he lost just as we were about to leave for college. And as far as I know, it’s still a pretty sore subject, so I don’t dare contest him on the silly name just yet.

“That’s right, Gordo.” A cheesy grin glides over my face. Jax was Gordo to my Lizzy aka Lizzy McGuire—the show I enjoyed best during my storied childhood with this panty-dropping prankster seated before me. Those were the good old days. I have no idea where they’ve gone.

Jax holds out his hand, and I place my palm over his and we reinitiate our once secret handshake, two pats, a firm shake, and a knuckle bump. That’s what best friends do. They have great monikers that outlast collegiate life and secret handshakes that imbed themselves into our muscle memory. His hand is thicker, stronger than I remember it. Everything about Jaxson Stade is far more heart-stoppingly masculine than I ever remember.

“It’s good to have you back, Poppy.” Something just this side of fatigue is layered in that look he gives me. It’s probably closer to regret or resentment.

“You don’t have to fake it with me, Jaxson. You hate this. I’m the last person on the planet you want to even pretend to like.” I growl over at him without meaning to. “Don’t worry. As soon as our big reveal is through, I plan on being on the next plane back to L.A.”

The band stops playing, and the lead singer starts in on the New Year’s countdown as couples scurry together to get their midnight molestations underway.

“Now go ahead and get back to that boob parade you’re the grand marshal of,” I snip. “I’d hate for any of your bodily members to miss out on their shining moment.”

And with that, I head back into the icy night, slipping all the way to my mother’s loaner in my thousand dollar L.A. Louboutins and freezing in my flimsy leather jacket.

I shiver all the way back home, wondering just what in the hell I’ve gotten myself into.