Siena or Samantha?
Sadie?
I had no clue.
I was not a player. I wasn’t one of those guys who would bring a different woman home every night and brag about it to his coworkers the next day. I didn’t have notches on my bedpost, and I actually really hated the one-night stand routine. But I wasn’t a saint, and sometimes, the solitude and quiet of being alone would get to be too much, overwhelming me to the point where I would become so weighed down by it that I thought I might drown. That was when I would end up here—with a nameless woman and a f**king mess to clean up.
She really was beautiful though.
I’m a giant ass**le.
“Hey—” I started but stopped short, remembering I had no idea what to call her.
She stirred a bit, stretching like a cat, which made the sheet draped over her fall away to expose her naked body. I turned away.
“Oh.” She giggled a bit. “Good morning, Adam,” she nearly purred.
Adam, huh? I never gave my real name, but I hadn’t ever used that one before.
She reached out, searching with her fingers, but I jumped off the bed before she could touch me. I was sober. There would be no touching now. I threw on my clothes and began running around to pick up hers. Once that was done, I risked turning around.
Sitting up now but using the sheet to cover herself, she had that look. It was the same look they would all give me when I did this one-eighty routine. Her eyes darted around the room, and the confidence from her good-morning purr was now replaced with insecurity and awkwardness.
“Am I missing something? I thought we had a good time last night,” she said quietly.
I huffed out a breath. “We did,” I said even though I didn’t remember any of it. “But you need to go. I’m sorry.”
She nodded silently, and I tried to ignore the sight of her lip quivering as I put her clothes on the bed before walking out.
My apartment was small, bordering on claustrophobic, and it took exactly five steps to reach my kitchen from my bedroom. If I were to give someone a tour, it would last about ten seconds. I had one solitary bedroom, and it was barely big enough to fit my bed, nightstand, and dresser. There was one bathroom, and the kitchen and living room bled into each other so much that they were really considered one entity. To complete the bachelor pad, I had a small kitchen table that most people would probably consider more of a card table.
My sister, Clare, hated this apartment. She would refuse to use the bathroom because it was too close to the couch, and she felt like people could hear her pee. She’d said the word pee in a hushed tone, like it was a bad word. I’d tried not to laugh, but she was kind of ridiculous. Also, she was right. We could hear her pee, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. She would make me move.
After visiting for probably the tenth time and still refusing to use my bathroom, she had finally asked, Why do you live in such a shithole, Garrett?
It was a good question. I had a good job—one that would pay for a place that could eat my current apartment for breakfast. But why bother? It was just me. It would only ever be just me.
Just as I started to pour myself a cup of freshly brewed coffee, the smell beginning to do its job as my droopy eyes were prying themselves apart, my mystery date appeared in the kitchen. She looked awkward, tugging at her wrinkled black dress, as she stared at the floor. I got the feeling that she wasn’t the type of girl who did this often.
“I’m going to take off,” she said softly, her timid brown eyes peeking out from tousled blonde bangs.
“Okay,” I answered, feeling like the worst kind of ass**le on the planet.
She waited for a second, obviously stalling to see if I would follow up with anything. When I didn’t, she reached for the door and took a step forward, but I stopped her.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I just…I’m…” I didn’t know what to say. I’m f**ked-up? Permanently?
She looked up at me with those sad brown eyes that were now rimmed with tears—tears that I’d put there.
“Just answer one question. Is your name even Adam?”
“No,” I answered honestly. I didn’t volunteer my real name. What was the point?
Her watery eyes peered up at me as if searching for something. “You’re hurting…over a woman?” she asked, surprising me.
My silence was enough of an answer for her, and she seemed to recover a bit from her revelation. Seeing me as a victim suddenly made her feel better. Well, at least there was that.
“The tattoo on your arm…is it for her?”
Inquisitive little thing, wasn’t she? I really needed to stop getting drunk.
Her eyes wandered down to the tattoo in question, stopping at the black tip of script peeking out of my T-shirt sleeve.
“No,” I bit out. “That’s for someone else.”
Date night was definitely over.
~Mia~
It had been eight years since I was in my home state of Virginia. Eight years since I’d left the boy who stole my heart on a hot summer night under the stars. Eight years since I’d given him nothing more than a tear-stained note, destroying everything we’d planned. Eight years since I’d driven over that state line and never looked back, ruining my life from that moment on.
Now, fate had brought me home again. Why? I didn’t know, but like a magnet, I’d felt drawn back here, and I only hoped it wouldn’t be a mistake.
Virginia was beautiful and picturesque as I made my way down the tree-lined back roads dotted with small farms and forgotten towns. My roots were here, buried in the sweet Southern air and the historic countryside. Crossing the city limits into Richmond felt like coming home for the first time in almost a decade. No matter where I had gone, where I’d settled down, I never felt more at home than I did here. This is where I truly belonged and it was about time I came to accept that.
A few miles deeper into the city, I was pulling up to the curb of my longtime friend Olivia Prescott, or Liv, as I liked to call her. It had been years since we last spoke. That had been my fault, not hers. I’d cut ties with everyone from my former life when I quietly left town the night of our high school graduation. After what I’d done, I’d felt too ashamed to face anyone, even those I was closest to.
The house was drastically different than what I’d ever envisioned for Liv. Her family, like mine, came from money. Initially, it had been why we became friends. Our parents had attended the same country club, and we would end up attending many of the same functions together. We quickly realized that we had a lot in common, and we had become fast friends.