I tried to see what others saw in him.

I’m sure the height hit them first. Six feet and two inches of pure athletic muscle was bound to grab attention. I got that.

I got that the stupid thing he did with his hair made all the girls and even teachers swoon. Of course, I wasn’t convinced he didn’t know exactly what he was doing there. I mean who honestly ran both hands slooowly through their hair in the middle of talking to someone? It was ridiculously sensual – especially when it always left his hair so perfectly tousled, like he’d just rolled out of bed.

Then there was his voice. Low and kind of gravelly. The dark hair, light eyes combo – that was a thing too. I got that.

But I just couldn’t get past what a prick the kid was. Our dads were best friends, and having grown up with Emmett Hoult, I couldn’t see the appeal that everyone saw. All I could see was what they couldn’t.

When the world looked at Emmett, they saw confident, devilish, sexy.

I saw cocky, spoiled, arrogant. Your typical all-American jock.

I saw the kid I was forced to spend every weekend and vacation of my childhood with – the one that Xeroxed the worst photos he could find in my family albums, just so he could tack them all over my crush’s locker.

I saw the kid who got away with literally everything, no matter who I complained to. Teachers, coaches, even the school principal looked at me as a nuisance. A thorn in their side. All they wanted was to adore Emmett Hoult in peace – to be completely charmed by his playful, laid back nature. The last thing they wanted was to have to acknowledge me, the surly buzzkill whose griping would get him undoubtedly pulled from practice, something the football team “just couldn’t afford.”

Even my parents defended his every move.

“It’s just a sibling rivalry,” Mom would brush it off. “You grew up together. You’re practically family. But give it a few years, Aly, and I’m sure you’ll get on great.”

Right. I gave it a few years, and all Emmett did was get worse.

In high school, all it took was one evening of his mom comparing his bad friends, bad grades or bad behavior to mine, and I’d wind up paying for it with a week of torture at school.

His teammates snickered at me in the halls. He spread the nickname “Baldy” when I botched my haircut sophomore year. By the time I was a junior, I was down to just three friends who didn’t worship him or use me to get close to him, and he told me – “just for shits and giggles” – that he’d hook up with every one of them so I’d have no allies left to gripe to.

And he did precisely that.

In short, with very little effort involved, Emmett Hoult took over my entire life.

At home, Dad raved nonstop about his athletic achievements. At school, he ruled every last hallway and classroom. Even at night, in the privacy of my bedroom, I couldn’t escape the constant texts from friends he’d “mysteriously” ghosted. They sobbed for me to help figure out what went wrong, or begged me to subtly bring them up to Emmett when we saw each other that weekend. They didn’t seem to realize he’d never hang out with them again – that he only hooked up with them to get under my skin. He didn’t even remember most of their names.

Simply put, the kid was an asshole.

He always got what he wanted, he didn’t have to try, and he never even knew how much his antics made me cry every night. While I was completely miserable, he just carried on with his perfectly charmed life.

And so I hated him.

For all the many stunts he pulled on me, I despised Emmett Hoult. But amazingly, all that crap happened before the last week of junior year.

That was the week he truly ruined my life.

* * *

Unbelievable.

Of course his ‘summer cottage’ is more like a frickin’ resort, I thought as I walked through the house.

I had arrived at Emmett’s East Hampton home a good ten minutes ago, but I wasn’t over it yet. It was going to take awhile to get over this four-bed, six-bath masterpiece of a dream house that Emmett apparently visited just a few weekends per summer. Seriously. This place looked like an ad for Ralph Lauren Home. It had its own wine cellar, pool and outdoor kitchen. It was more beautiful than any home I’d be able to afford in my life, yet it was basically just his side piece home – the bonus one he dropped by if he happened to find himself in the mood.

This frickin’ guy. What the heck does his apartment in the city look like if this is what his summerhouse looks like?

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or scowl as I imagined the life Emmett Hoult probably led these days. Over the years, I’d tolerated some Emmett-related updates from my parents, but never enough to get a clear picture of who exactly he was now.

Honestly, I didn’t want to know.

Because thinking in depth about Emmett Hoult generally led me down a road of jealousy, bitterness and countless what if’s. It made me think of all the bad memories I’d swept under the carpet and tried to tell myself I was fine with when I wasn’t, so I staunchly avoided the topic.

That is until now.

“Um… Aly?”

Evie was unblinking when she finally caught up with me in the guest room, dragging my last suitcase in behind her. Her wide eyes went wider as she drifted inside, stopping in front of the door to fully soak in everything from my canopy bed to the lush, white curtains framing the window overlooking the pool.

“So… you said you were crashing at a family friend’s house,” she said slowly, narrowing her big eyes at me. “And I just wanted to inform you that this is not a house. This is a baby mansion.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I know. I mean I didn’t know before I walked in here with you, but I had a feeling it would be something ridiculously nice. That’s just… Emmett Hoult. His life is awesome.”

“No wonder you hate him,” Evie murmured with fascination as she floated into the bathroom across the hall. The echo of her gasp had me guessing it was pretty big in there. “Aly! Holy fuck, this shower is bigger than my apartment!”

I laughed as I crossed the hallway into the bathroom, my eyebrows arching high at the marble luxury that lay within.

“Jesus, Emmett,” I muttered under my breath, taking in the absolute spa of a bathroom. “We could actually throw a decent party in here,” I snorted, opening the shower door to peek inside at the ceiling showerhead and waterproof speakers.

“Or you could just let me move into your bathroom for the summer,” Evie said as we returned to the bedroom. “I mean Mike might not even notice that I’m gone,” she cracked, though I could tell from the way she winced that she found nothing funny about her own joke.

Mike was Evie’s fiancé of ten months and her boyfriend of eight years. They’d been together forever but were, to put it lightly, on the rocks as of late. It was precisely why Evie couldn’t take me in. Aside from the fact that they lived in a tiny studio, and aside from the fact that Mike had firmly said no, their tension these days was already like a third roommate. Trying to make a relationship work was hard enough, so they definitely didn’t need the burden of my homeless ass crashing on their couch.

“Well, if you ever do need me to set up pillows and a comforter in that shower, I’m more than happy to,” I offered to make Evie laugh.

“I actually could take you up on that. I mean you’re sure he won’t drop by at all this summer, right? Like, not even once?”

“Trust me, I triple-checked with his mom when I picked up the keys. She said her friends were just staying at this place because he’s always out of town. He’s at like, some resort for the next three weeks. Then it’s off to his house in Hawaii till the end of summer.”

“Jesus, how rich is this guy?” Evie asked, sounding both amazed and disgusted. “And what exactly does he do for a living?”

“I actually have no idea,” I mumbled, rereading the texts Emmett’s mom sent me when I double-checked about him being away.

She wasn’t kidding.

I wasn’t big on pitying myself, but this last week had seriously put me through the wringer, starting with the electrical fire that tore through my Sag Harbor apartment in under thirty minutes.

Thankfully, I was at the café when it happened. Not so thankfully, the fire devoured almost all the clothes, books and other belongings I’d acquired over the course of my twenty-eight years – something I’d be way more torn up about if my mind weren’t so completely focused on this particular week of work.

It was basically my coming out week for the new and improved Stanton Family Market. Evie and I had poured every last penny of our savings into buying the dead company from Dad, and as a seasonal business in its very first year, I had a lot to prove in just a few months’ time. So the last thing I needed to stress about was where to lay my head at night.

I needed a place that I could get quick, cheap and close to work.

Hence the summerhouse arrangement.

“Alright.” Evie gave one loud clap of her hands. “Let’s stop drooling over this place and start unpacking. We can’t lose focus – we do have a mission tonight.”

I nodded dutifully.

That we did, because on top of a surprise fire this week, I also had nearly a lifetime of insomnia working against me. I hadn’t slept more than three hours a night for two months now, and while I was generally happy to run on fumes, tomorrow was a different story. Tomorrow, I had to be functional and easy on the eyes since I had Hamptons frickin’ Magazine coming to do a feature on the café.

According to Evie, I needed to let them photograph my “pretty lil’ face” in order to personalize our brand. And while I was normally averse to picture taking, I’d do pretty much anything for this venture, so tonight, I needed my beauty rest.

And since college, there were only two surefire ways to get my restless body a full and healthy night of sleep.

“Dancing and fucking!” Evie declared the moment we finished unpacking the last of my things. “I’m making you do both tonight. You ready, girl?”

I snorted as I rolled my empty luggage into the massive walk-in.

“Uh, no, because that’s not necessary. It only needs to be one or the other, and I choose dancing.”

“Why?” Evie whined. “Wouldn’t you rather play it safe and do both?”

“No, because with dancing, I only have to rely on myself. The other option is never a guarantee,” I pointed out. “In case you forgot, I only fall asleep after like… crazy, mind-blowing, lost-two-pounds-in-the-process type sex, and that’s not always easy to find.”

“Aly. It’s East Hampton in July. This town is currently a hot bed of A-list actors and pro athletes – you’re basically drowning in sexy, physically fit dick right now,” Evie said. “Also, if there’s anything good about my butthead fiancé at this time, it’s that he works in PR. So it’s legit his job to hunt down the places where all the yummy famous people go.”

“Alright.” I laughed as she started digging like a squirrel through her Madewell tote full of dresses for me to borrow. “Well then, if I spot Brad Pitt or George Clooney tonight, I’ll totally go for the one-night stand. But otherwise, we’re just dancing. Alright?”

“Brad Pitt or George – what the fuck? Those guys haven’t been hot since two thousand nine,” Evie said with exasperation, tossing a bunch of slinky numbers onto my bed. “And I can guarantee you neither of them have a six-pack anymore, let alone an eight-pack.”

“An eight-pack? Does anyone have those outside of Marvel comics?” I asked distractedly, undoing my topknot and shaking out my hair in the mirror. It was just past my shoulders now – long for my standards, and back to blonde for the first time in ages. Three months into this new look, and I still wasn’t used to it yet. But it was finally me – the real me – so thus far, I was loving it.

“Yeah, the eight-pack is definitely a rarity,” Evie conceded, tossing me a little black dress to try on. “Like a four-leaf clover. But that’s exactly why if you find one, you have to fuck it.”

“I have to fuck the eight-pack?” I snorted as Evie narrowed her eyes at me.

“You have to fuck the guy who owns it,” she clarified. “Because he’s clearly physically fit enough to fuck you like a champ. I’m talking pin-you-up-against-the-wall sex, or bang-you-while-you’re-on-top sex.”

“I’m sorry – what was that second one?” I grunted as I struggled to wiggle into her skintight dress.

“You know. When you’re straddling him but he’s holding your hips and like, slamming up into you? It takes a shit load of core strength to go at it like that for awhile, which is why the eight-pack is essential,” she insisted as I rolled my eyes. “I’m serious, Aly. You know you want that Superman sex. Especially since you lost your good vibrator to the fire.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”

“I know, it’s a tragedy,” Evie lamented. “But that just means you deserve a good lay tonight. Get some good dancing in, have dirty, wild sex with some stud, then pass out on this five thousand dollar mattress here. No way in hell you don’t get at least six hours of sleep after all that.”

I smirked, partially convinced.

“Fine. If I find a guy with an eight-pack tonight, I’ll go home with him.”

“Atta girl!”

“But he also has to be phenomenally good-looking with a decent personality,” I said as Evie groaned.

“Oh, please – who cares about personality? It’s a one-night stand. You’ll never see him again!”

“Yeah, well, I need to trust him enough to go home with him, ‘cause there is no way in hell I’m having sex with some guy in Emmett’s house.” I shuddered. “That’s just… gross. And way too weird.”

“Fair enough,” Evie declared, sliding my shoebox across the floor at me. “Now hurry up and put on these fuck-me heels. We got eight-packs to hunt for, and time’s a wastin’.”

* * *

“Hold up – what are you wearing under that dress?”

Evie’s question came only once we hit the dance floor at Godsend, the absolute jungle of a nightclub she’d brought me to. Hanging from the ceiling and snaking up the walls were vines upon vines of beautiful flowers and plants, their petals illuminated by the black lights.

At first I liked the lights. Then I realized they lit the white of my bra on fire and made it shine like two blazing suns under my black dress. I was legitimately blinding people on the dance floor. One guy actually passed me, yelped and shielded his eyes like he’d stared at the eclipse. Beyond that, I was getting taunted left and right.

“Hey! Hush!” Evie scolded two girls who shimmied past me and yelled, “Nice bra!”

“It’s okay, I deserve it!” I yelled over the music, still dancing as I stared down at myself. For God’s sake, there were polka dots on the bra. Pink ones. They were so bright they were distracting even me.

“Do you not own a black bra?” Evie shouted over the blaring EDM.

“Do you not recall the fire that ate everything I’ve ever owned?” I countered.

“Shit, right!” Evie cursed, still grooving as she tossed her honey locks over her shoulder. Peering around the floor, she looked back at me and laughed. “Alright, girl, we’ve got way too much weird attention right now. You gotta lose the bra.”

“Really?” I crinkled my nose. I had far too much boobage to dance comfortably without a bra, but Evie was right – I also had way too many guys staring at me with grins that ranged from leering amusement to flat-out creepiness.

“It’s okay, the dress is tight enough to keep the girls contained!” Evie yelled, reading my mind. “Now go, go, go!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll be back!” I shouted before heading off to the bathroom.

The first one I located had a line spilling out the door, but thanks to a shot girl who took pity on my radioactive chest, I managed to find my way to an empty employee bathroom on the second floor.

In the last stall, I peeled Evie’s skintight dress down to my waist, unclasping my bra and laughing at myself as I whipped it off. It had been on clearance at Victoria’s Secret, and for good reason – it was ridiculously over-the-top girly. Even its polka dots had polka dots. But that was precisely why I bought it. Once upon a time, for all the wrong reasons, I was that stone-faced tomboy who wouldn’t cry and scoffed at all things pink. I went as far as to wear undersized sports bras to minimize my curves because I felt the urgent need to hide all shreds of femininity. Like it was something to be ashamed of.

I was stupid then.

So these days, I was making up for all the years I forced myself to be what somebody else wanted. These days, I no longer hid my body. I no longer scoffed at “girly” fashion. Gone were the sports bras, oversized button-ups and shapeless loafers. Replacing them were things I’d always liked but never let myself wear – all the shift dresses, pencil skirts, ballet flats and espadrilles.

And occasionally, the neon polka dot bras.

I snorted at myself as I exited the stall, swinging my bra on my wrist and rather enjoying the feeling of going braless in public for the first time in my adult life. Gathering my hair to the side, I gazed down my front, giving myself permission to admire my heeled feet, my smooth legs and the poor, braless boobs that I’d hidden from the world since the summer they came.

Poor girls. It’s your time to finally shine tonight, I decided with a giggle, reaching under my neckline to give my cleavage a boost. But just as I scooped and lifted, I heard a groan.

“Fuck – what are you doing?”

“Omigod!” I yelped in shock, clasping my hand to my chest as my eyes shot up to see whom the voice belonged to.

Holyshitholyshitholyshit.

My mouth fell open when my eyes landed promptly on muscle – hard, naked muscle on a tall, dark, shirtless God of a man.

Whoa.

Okay.

What… the fuck?

My eyes fluttered. Who was this guy? Where were his clothes? How was this level of hotness even possible? In two seconds I already had so many questions, but none of them made it out of my mouth because it was too busy watering over his body.

Holy pecs, Batman.

I swallowed hard as my gaze traveled across the stranger’s shoulders down to his broad chest and killer six… no. Wait.

My shameless eyes narrowed as they counted every deep-cut section of his eeeight-paaaack!

In my head, I yelled it like Oprah.

But seriously. Shit. He had a fucking eight-pack. Oh, Evie. Part of me wanted to whip out my phone, take a picture and send it right to her, but I found myself quickly distracted by those insane rib muscles. What the hell were they called? I had no idea, but this guy had them and they made him look stronger than a wild fucking animal. My thighs squirmed against each other as I heard his low voice speak to me again.

“Yeah, you, uh…” I looked up to see him wince and rub his square jaw in a way I found painfully sexy. “You gotta stop doing that,” he said with a short laugh.

I blinked.

“Doing what?”

He nodded at my chest with a slight crease in his brow.

“Fondling yourself in front of me.”

My eyes fluttered down my front, and only then did I realize my hand had still been under my dress when I clasped my heart in shock. My cheeks lit aflame as I processed the fact that I’d basically just groped my boobs for a good three to four seconds in front of this absurdly hot stranger.

“Oh… my God,” I whispered under my breath, fairly mortified as I released myself and slipped my hand out from under my dress.

“I mean if you want to keep doing that, by all means,” Eight-Pack smirked, his lean biceps twitching as he hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “It’s just I already stained my shirt tonight.” He nodded toward his booze-splattered button-up in the sink. “Didn’t really feel like busting the zipper on my favorite jeans.”

I took a moment to process what he was saying. I gave a dry laugh as I stared at him.

“Was that a boner joke?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know how much it counts as a joke when I’m actually hard right now.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?” he laughed. “Cut me some slack, I thought I was alone in here – I definitely didn’t expect a fucking gorgeous blonde to walk out playing with her own tits.” He held both hands up when I shot a look. “Breasts. Sorry.”

“Huh.” I crossed my arms, unsure if the noise I made in response was a laugh or a scoff. I honestly couldn’t tell if I was offended, charmed or completely turned on by this guy, but I was leaning towards all of the above. “Yeah, well… I also didn’t expect to walk out of the bathroom to find a guy just standing there without a shirt on,” I countered. “Pretty sure this is a women’s bathroom.”

“It’s a unisex employee’s bathroom,” he corrected, his gaze traveling leisurely up my legs. “And I’m pretty sure you’re not an employee.”

“How do you know that for sure?” I challenged.

“Because I would’ve remembered you,” he replied as his eyes landed back on me.

Ugh, fine.

I had been biting it back till this point, but fuck it, I finally let go of my grin. I was officially charmed, my heart skipping a beat as I watched the stranger’s lake blue eyes fall gently onto my mouth. When he looked back up at me, a curious frown pinched his brow.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Evie,” I lied.

“Evie,” he repeated.

His stare was still glued on me as my own trailed down the vein snaking from his tricep to his thick forearm. I imagined that vein twitching as he did everything from open jars to roll up sleeves to lift giant weights at the gym. I also might’ve pictured those forearms flexing as he lifted girls by the backs of their thighs and pinned them up against the wall, but that fantasy was fleeting.

And by fleeting, I mean I forced it out of my head because if my panties got any wetter, they might very well slide off my body.

“Hey.” There was a laugh in his voice. “Still with me?”

My eyes fluttered up at his question, and only then did I realize he’d been talking to me during the entirety of my ogling.

“Sorry – what?” I asked hastily.

“Nothing, I was just asking what finally brought you to this club tonight,” he chuckled. “Nothing urgent – just your shitty, run-of-the-mill small talk to hide the fact that I can’t stop staring at you.”

Oh. I raked my little grin between my teeth as our eyes gleamed like fucking stars at each other. God, what was happening? I’d known this guy all of twelve seconds yet the sexual tension was through the roof. I could practically hear the spark of electricity between us. It was nothing I’d ever felt before.

Then again, he is shirtless and beautiful, I reasoned with myself. And his first glance at you did involve extreme boob grabbing, so of course you’re both thinking about sex. Dirty… sweaty… bite-his-shoulder, claw-his-back kind of sex. All things considered, totally expected – but for the love of God, change the topic already.

My mind raced as I rewound the conversation back to his mundane question about what had brought me to the club tonight.

“I have insomnia,” I blurted, watching Eight Pack lift an eyebrow. “And dancing is one of two things that gets me thoroughly tired.”

He tilted his head to the side.

“Come again?”

I blushed at myself.

“Sorry. Going back to your question about what brought me here tonight… I have insomnia and a fairly important thing at work tomorrow morning that involves getting my picture taken, so basically, I need sleep and I’m pretty much here tonight so I can tire myself out,” I explained, waiting for that sexy laugh – for him to tease or ridicule me.

But he gave no reaction.

Instead, he studied me, letting silence fill the room for several seconds before flashing a smirk.

“I could tire you out,” he said.

The huskiness of his voice went straight to my clit.

Easy, I pleaded with my imagination. I really didn’t need more mental pictures of what this guy looked like naked and pinning me down on his bed. Any more squirming or blushing and he’d know that he had me tempted, and I couldn’t have that. I couldn’t just hook up with some random guy at a club. Despite how unbelievably hot he was, and how unbelievably hot he’d gotten me in about three seconds, it just wasn’t a thing that I did.

“Sorry.” A wry smile twisted my lips. “But I think I have to decline.”

“Of course you have to,” he grinned. “Whether you want to is the question.”

“In that case, I plead the fifth.”

“Why not just take what you want?” he laughed. “I do it all the time, and let me tell you, it’s a great way to live.”

I snorted. “I just don’t go home with strangers.”

He glanced to the side. “Fine. Then I’ll tire you out over the sink.”

Fuck.

I couldn’t help glancing over at the sink as well. One tiny look and I was already imagining his hard chest pressed against my back and his big hands filling themselves with my tits, squeezing them relentlessly till I cried out. I could practically hear his gravelly voice growling dirty, sexy filth in my ear as he gripped my hips and pumped into me from behind. Yeah, he’s definitely huge, I decided, not even realizing that I’d closed my eyes till his voice made them flutter open again.

“Now that’s just fucked up,” he said, serious despite a curt laugh.

Tipping his chin up, he drew a hand across his perfect jaw, his face a mixture of annoyance and arousal as he looked down his perfect nose at me. I swallowed.

“What is?”

“You making that lusty little ‘fuck me’ face right now.”

I breathed out a laugh. “Was I?”

“I don’t know. Your cheeks got nice and pink and you were sucking on your lip like it was candy. Is that the face you make when you want to get fucked?” he asked, his question flooding me with heat.

“No.” I lied. “I just do that sometimes.”

“Well, don’t do it now,” he muttered. “Not unless you want me to pull that little skirt up your thighs and make you come all over my mouth.”

Holy…

Shit.

I was speechless as he smirked.

“You’re doing it again.”

“What? The fuck-me face?” I choked breathlessly, my entire body on fire. “Sorry. Can’t really help it when you’re standing there without a shirt on and telling me you’re going to lick my pussy till I come.”

“Christ.” His jaw tightened as a low growl rumbled from his chest. “Did I say those exact words?” he asked, arousal thick in his voice.

“No,” I sputtered hotly, suddenly embarrassed that I’d dropped the word “pussy” right in front of a stranger. “But you implied. So I deduced.”

“Right,” he grinned as his eyebrows pulled tight. “Are we fighting, by the way? Because if we are, it’s getting me even harder than I was when you first walked out squeezing the hell out of those perfect tits.” He laughed as my jaw dropped. “What? You can say pussy but I can’t say tits?”

“Now you’re just trying to rile me up.”

“No, you’ve been riled up. You’re just trying to pretend otherwise because you don’t want to believe that some stranger at a club is actually tempting you to break whatever rule you have about one-night stands.”

I glared at his self-satisfied smirk, letting the silence stretch between us till it felt almost deafening. He broke it with a laugh.

“I meant to ask, by the way – what was the other thing?” he asked.

“What?”

“You said that dancing was one of two things that got you actually tired. What was the other thing?”

Fuck, I cursed, our stares locked tight as I sucked on my bottom lip. Sex is the other thing, I answered silently as he gave that low chuckle. Crazy, sweaty, eight-pack sex. You asshole.

I wasn’t sure how, but he already knew the damned answer, so rather than say it I simply swallowed the knot in my throat. Holding my hair off the blazing hot back of my neck, I tried to reconcile the fact that I was about to do something crazy.

“I can have my driver outside in a minute if you want to get out of here,” he murmured, his eyes gleaming at me.

I was still chewing my lip, and it took a good few moments to find my words. But when I did, they came out without the slightest tremor.

“Fine. Call your driver now.”