Ethan is missing, or at the very least avoiding me. For the first few days after our talk, Ethan was either sleeping or not home. I have no idea where to find him. Will hasn’t said a word about Ethan, and I haven’t bothered to mention him. Drawing more attention to the fact that I care would only make my brother more suspicious.

Will stretches his hand across the kitchen table. “Can you pass me the sugar?”

I push the sugar bowl in front of him, taking a sip from my cup.

“Thanks, baby sis.” He drops three teaspoons into his coffee and stirs it with a knife instead of the spoon in front of him.

Weirdo.

During the regular season, Will drinks little caffeine, but in the post-season, he pounds coffee and Red Bull as if he will never have it again.

“How come you’re so quiet this morning?” Will lifts the mug to his lips and blows off some steam. “You haven’t even yelled at me for staying out all night.”

I shrug against the wooden chair. “Too tired to give you shit, I guess. I haven’t had much sleep this week.”

He smirks. “Me either.”

“You would get more sleep if you weren’t whoring around,” I quip.

Will shrugs, unaffected. “I can sleep when I’m dead.”

“That might be sooner than later if you keep this shit up. Ever since your season ended, you’ve gone out every single night. You never used to party this much.”

Will doesn’t reply. He sucks down half his coffee and turns head away from me.

Something has been up with him for a while now. I wish he would talk to me. Like Ethan, my brother is secretive. He only allows me in when it’s convenient for him.

I peel back the Dunkin Donuts wrapper and take a bite of the sausage and egg sandwich Will brought home for me. He was out with a girl until right before my alarm went off, stumbling through the front door with the key I had made for him around six thirty. I didn’t make one for Ethan, not with him pulling his disappearing act. Again. Ethan’s special skill is leaving as if he never fucking existed. Bastard.

I have no right to be angry. But I am. Ethan kissed me on the floor of my living room, sat with me while I ate Chinese food at the takeout place downstairs, and then I went to bed, assuming I would see him again in the morning. When he kissed me on the forehead and said goodnight, that was the last time I saw Ethan. Over five days ago. I miss him, even though I should hate him.

For as long as I have known Ethan Waters, I have been his fool. More like his pet. I come when he tells me. He snaps his fingers, and I’m right there, begging for him to use me. And I allow him. Every single time. Like an idiot.

In the middle of eating my food, my cell phone buzzes on the table, vibrating in my direction. A sick part of me wants it to be Ethan. My stomach clenches, the eggs in my stomach threatening to make a re-appearance. I let out a sigh of relief, though I’m not completely convinced that I am when I see Clarke’s name pop up on my screen.

Sliding my thumb along the glass, I lift the phone up to read her text.

You were right about Old City Records. Fred is popping major wood over the story. From what I heard in the break room, he scored you an interview for a part-time gig, if you want it.

Before I can respond, a call from Fred Stephenson, my boss from hell, interrupts our conversation. Sucking in a deep breath, I hit the green button to answer and push my chair out from the table.

“Hey, Fred.”

“Mia, cancel whatever you have planned for the morning.”

Hello to you, too.

“I need you at Old City Records at nine o’clock for an interview with the owner.” His deep voice sounds like gravel and hurts my ear the way he barks each word. “I had to pull a few strings to make this happen, but after reading your notes, I think you’re on to something. Chase this lead and see where it takes you.”

Holding the phone to my ear, I get up in a hurry and walk away from Will. Even though we’re close, I cannot tell my brother about certain parts of my job. Following around drug dealers to write a story is not one of them.

“Sure thing, boss,” I say, moving into the living room.

“One more thing, Mia.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t fuck this up. Wear something short and tight. You have to impress the owner if you know what I mean.”

Actually, no, I don’t, you fucking asshole.

“I need the job and the story. I won’t disappoint.”

“Chin up, tits out,” he says. “Call me when it’s over.”

Then, the line goes dead.

Why do all of the men in my life have to be such a pain in my ass? And dirtballs at that. Fred sexually harasses me on a daily basis, though I know he’s harmless. Will fucks anything that moves. And Ethan…

The thought of him alone makes my chest ache, producing a pang of anger mixed with shame and sexual frustration. Even though my mind tells me to stay away from Ethan, my body betrays me. He claimed a part of me that I doubt I will ever get back, which makes the pain unbearable.

Now, I have to put my feelings aside and do my job. My career is on the line. This interview could be a step in the right direction, the distraction I need right now.

* * *

Two hours later, I walk through the front door at Old City Records. Wearing a skirt, boots that lace-up to my knees, a black tank that appears as though I taped it to my body, and a jean jacket, I look the part of grunge rocker chick. The holes that Ethan never fails to give me shit about are interspersed along my jacket, complete with rock band patches I have collected over the years.

If Ethan wanted dress-up Barbie, he should have chased down another puck bunny. Instead, he chose me as his next victim. Like most diseases, he’s hard to shake from my system. I wish I could pop a few pills and cleanse him from my body. But Ethan has a strong hold over me, consuming every thought of every waking moment.

I step up to the front counter with a forced smile.

A man with chestnut hair and deep brown eyes peeks up at me from the newspaper in his hand. How convenient that he’s reading my paper—The Philadelphia Inquirer. Not that it surprises me, considering it’s the most read in the city, but it sure is funny timing.

I push my tits out, as per my order from Fred, and stand straight. “Hi, I’m here to see Connor about the part-time clerk position.”

He sets the paper on a stack of records in front of him and leans forward. A smile that reaches up to his deep brown eyes illuminates his face. As if Fred told him to do it, he glances at my face for a second, before raking over my body with his lecherous gaze. He settles on my chest, making me feel self-conscious and also stupid for listening to Fred. But he was obviously right. And I need this job. So, fuck it. Ogle away.

“I’m Connor.” He reaches his hand across the counter for me to shake. “You must be Pandora.”

I almost burst out in laughter. Pandora? That’s my cover for this job. What the fuck? Like Pandora’s box. Way to go, Fred. Was that the best he could come up with? Or did he do that to fuck with me? A common name like Mary or Patricia would have been better. A little heads up would have been nice. That asshole probably wanted me to mess this up.

Not gonna happen, buddy.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle my laughter, hoping I can make it through this interview without breaking down. I could use a laugh after the week I’ve had.

“You can call me Dora,” I say as if I was born with this unusual name and have to correct people all the time. Dora the Explorer. Oh my God, how will I make it through the next five minutes?

Connor points at the bar stool to the left of me. “Have a seat.”

I do as he instructs, still biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing in his face. From now until I nail the bastards running their operation out of this store, I’ll be Dora or whoever the fuck I need to be to get the story written.

“So, Dora,” Connor says. “Have you ever worked in a record store?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Do you know how to use a record player? We only play vinyl in this store. No CDs or MP3s are allowed on the surround system. Store policy. Not like we have anything you can play them with.”

“Makes sense, seeing as this is a record store,” I say, almost forgetting this is an interview. I flash a closed mouth smile and continue, “Yes, I know how to use a record player. I have my parents old Thorens model they bought after they got married.”

“Sweet.” He moves his hands in front of him to crack his knuckles, his muscular arms flexing in the process. “It’s not often we get anyone in here who even knows how to drop a record.” After he finishes his stretch, he leans forward with his hands on the glass counter, holding my gaze. “Well, the hours are pretty straightforward—Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights from four o’clock until closing at ten. I pay in cash once a week. No overtime, no health insurance, no benefits of any kind. You would be expected to lock up at the end of your shift, close out the till, and make sure the store is clean for the next morning. Think you can handle that?”

That’s a lot of trust to hand over to a new employee. Maybe I was wrong about this place. Either way, I could use the extra money to buy groceries, or at the very least a fresh supply of Cheetos and vodka.

“Yes, I can handle it. When do I start?”

“How about tonight?”

I nod, nervous about starting so soon. This is all finally happening for me. The break I need.

“Sounds good,” I tell him.

“Come by around quarter to four, and I’ll get you set up with everything you need.”

I extend my hand to Connor, and he gives it a shake. I have a job, the one that could make or break my career.