: A Plane Ticket

I feel my face flame. Who does this girl think she is?

"I'm not," Finn replies, not even pausing to think.

"Bummer." Amber pouts. "I do want to see her naked, though."

What's her problem? Is she mocking me? Making fun of the plain, awkward friend? Or is there something genuine in her interest?

Either way, I don't want to stick around to find out.

I turn and push my way through the crowd, heading for the restroom, needing space, air, silence.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, I chant silently. What did I expect would happen tonight?

In the bathroom, I lean against the sink, staring at my reflection in the smudged mirror.

"Get your shit together," I mutter. "This was your idea."

My brilliant plan to cheer up Finn has backfired spectacularly. Instead of distracting him from Delilah, I've pushed him into the arms of Amber. And now I'm hiding in a bathroom while they're probably exchanging saliva and phone numbers.

I splash some cold water on my wrists, reapply my lipstick, and steel myself to go back out there. I'm a grown woman. I can handle watching my best friend hook up with someone else. I've been doing it for a decade.

But when I finally brave the club again, scanning the dancefloor for Finn's familiar form, he's nowhere to be found.

The spot where he and Amber were dancing is now occupied by a group of college-aged girls taking selfies. Panic flares in my chest as I push through sweaty bodies, searching. He wouldn't leave without me. Would he?

I spot them just as they're slipping out the front door, Finn's arm wrapped around Amber's waist, her head thrown back in laughter at something he's said. They're leaving. Together. Without so much as a text.

I shove my way to the exit, ignoring the curses and glares thrown my way.

The cool night air hits me as I burst outside, just in time to see Finn fumbling with keys—my keys—at my car.

"Hey, hey, hey. Where are you going?" I hurry toward them, my heels clicking on the pavement.

Finn looks up, startled. "We're taking the party home, Sloane."

"And you decided to take my car?"

He has the decency to look sheepish, a hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck in that familiar gesture I usually find captivating. But tonight, it just feeds my anger. How dare he stand there looking boyishly embarrassed while he was about to steal my car?

Amber just rolls her eyes. "Chill, Mom. You can Uber home."

"I will do no such thing." I snatch my keys from Finn's hand. "You two are drunk. Get in the backseat. I'll drive."

Amber's eyes narrow, but she slides into the car anyway.

Finn follows her, not quite meeting my eyes. I slam the door behind them harder than necessary.

The drive is excruciating. My knuckles are white on the wheel as I navigate the dark streets, trying to ignore what's happening in my rearview mirror. But it's impossible not to hear them—the whispers, the giggles, the wet sounds of kissing.

I turn up the radio, but even that can't drown out their murmurs.

"I want you so bad," Finn says.

"Take me right here, right now," Amber responds.

Her voice makes my skin crawl.

"Eww. If you have sex in my car, I'm flinging you both right out the window," I say, swerving slightly as I turn to glare at them.

They're tangled together in the backseat, Amber practically in Finn's lap, her lipstick smeared across his neck. Her hand is dangerously high on his thigh.

She catches my eye in the mirror and smiles. "Wanna join us?" Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. "It will be fun."

I nearly drive us off the road.

"What?" My voice comes out as a squeak.

"You heard me. I've always wanted to try a threesome."

Finn's eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. He can tell I’m pissed. "Amber, I don't think—"

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it, Finn," she cuts him off. "Your hot little nerd friend, all worked up and desperate. I bet she's wild under all that... restraint."

My face burns so hot I'm surprised the car windows don't fog. "You're drunk," I manage to say. "Both of you."

"Not that drunk," Amber purrs. "Just drunk enough to be honest. What do you say, Sloane? You, me, and Finn? I bet you've imagined Finn’s hands on you a million times."

The car falls silent except for the hum of the engine and my own thundering heartbeat. Amber has spoken my deepest, most guarded secret out loud, thrown it into the air between us like it's nothing. Like it's just another drunken suggestion, not the thing that's kept me awake for countless nights.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, focused on the road ahead, afraid to look in the mirror again. Afraid of what Finn might see in my face.

"Amber, stop," Finn says. "You're making her uncomfortable."

"Am I?" Amber leans toward me. "Or am I just saying what Sloane is thinking? That's why you followed Finn here as his chaperone, isn't it? You want him."

I slam on the brakes, pulling sharply to the curb. "Get out," I say, my voice shaking. "Both of you. Get out of my car."

"Sloane, come on," Finn says.

"I'm serious. Get out. Take an Uber to your place. I'm going home."

Amber laughs, the sound like glass breaking. "Oh my god, I was right. You totally want to fuck him."

"Amber!" Finn hisses. "That's enough."

Is that all she thinks this is? Some base physical attraction? She has no idea what Finn means to me. No concept of the depth of feelings I have for him. She's reduced my love to something tawdry, something shameful.

My hands are trembling as I turn to face them. "Get. Out. Now."

Something in my expression must convince them I'm serious. Finn gets out first, then helps Amber, who's still laughing as she stumbles onto the sidewalk. I don't wait to see where they go. I pull away from the curb with a screech of tires, my vision blurred with unshed tears.

~~~

For almost a week, I ignore Finn’s calls.

My phone rings. I let it. It pings. I swipe it away.

I bury myself in work, hoping it will overwrite the humiliation burning through my veins.

But Finn Hartley is like a cockroach. He always finds a way in.

“Are you avoiding me, Sloane?” he asks from above me.

I look up from my monitor. He's there, leaning against the edge of my cubicle like he owns the building. His hair is a tousled mess, dark eyes smudged with sleeplessness. He looks… wrecked. Good.

“Who let you in?” I say.

“The receptionist has a crush on me, remember?”

“Finn, I’m busy.” I turn back to my screen. “Can we talk later?” Hopefully never.

“I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”

I glance around. My coworkers are openly gawking. Jenna from accounting literally just nudged Carla from IT. Fantastic. Now I’m the office drama spectacle.

“Will you keep your voice down?” I hiss. “People are watching.”

He grins. “More like they’re checking me out.”

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“What’s with the attitude? Is it… that time of the month or something?”

Oh. Oh, this motherfucker.

I swivel my chair toward him, eyes narrowing. “Did you really just—”

“I’m kidding!” he raises his hands in surrender. “Jesus, Sloane. What the hell is going on with you?”

What’s going on with me? He's seriously acting like he doesn't know? Fine, let's play this game together.

I stare at him, throat tight. “What do you want, Finn?”

He reaches into his jacket and tosses something onto my desk.

“What is that?” I ask.

“A plane ticket to Asheville, North Carolina. I booked it for seven weeks from now.”

I frown, not liking where this is headed. “Why are you giving me a plane ticket, Finn?”

“You and I are crashing Delilah’s wedding.”

: Meeting The Wrong Brother

I drag Finn by his jacket all the way to my company's parking lot, ignoring his protests.

The moment we're in front of his car, I whirl around to face him.

“What is wrong with you?” I ask. “You seriously want to crash your ex’s wedding? Have you completely lost your mind?”

Finn runs a hand through his hair. “I need closure, Sloane.”

“No, Finn. You need professional help. Therapy.”

“I can’t just sit still and watch the woman I love marry someone else.”

God. I want to punch him in the face. I want to kiss him until he forgets Delilah Crestfield ever existed. I want to scream until I shake the stars loose from the sky.

“So what’s the plan, huh? You gonna storm the aisle? Ruin her big day? Shove the groom off the altar and declare your undying love like some cliché rom-com protagonist? Jesus, Finn, you’re better than this.”

“I don’t want to destroy the wedding,” he mutters. “I just… I need her to look me in the eyes and tell me it’s over.”

My breath catches.

I hate him. I hate how stupidly, pathetically in love with Delilah he still is. How after everything—after the endless heartbreaks—he still thinks she hung the sun, moon, and stars.

“Well, I’m not going with you,” I say.

“Why not?”

“Because I don't want to.”

“You’re going, Sloane. End of discussion.”

“I am not.”

“I need you.”

Oh.

There it is. The words that crack me open and leave me bleeding all over this parking lot.

I hate how my pulse jumps. Hate how he still has this power over me.

“If things… don’t exactly go as planned,” he continues, stepping closer, “I need my best friend beside me. I’m not sure I’ll survive on my own if Delilah goes through with this wedding.”

Of course he needs me. He always needs me.

I’ve been stitching Finn back together for so long, I could probably rebuild him from memory. I know every crack, every fracture. I’ve held the broken pieces of him in my hands and pressed them back into place more times than I can count.

But I’m tired.

I’m so tired of loving him when he’s never even thought to love me back.

I swallow the lump in my throat and force myself to meet his eyes. “I’m not your emotional support animal, Finn.”

“Please, Sloane. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.”

And just like that, I cave.

Because I’m weak. Because I’m pathetic. Because I love him.

I will always love him.

“Fine,” I say. “But when this inevitably blows up in your face, I’m not picking up the pieces this time.” Even as I say it, we both know it's a lie.

Finn grins, that boyish, lopsided smile that makes my heart skip. "Deal."

“Did you at least get me a first-class ticket?”

“You know I don't do economy, Sloane.”

“Whatever.”

I turn on my heel and march back to the office.

We’re really doing this.

We’re really flying across the country to crash his ex’s wedding.

What could possibly go wrong?

~~~

[[Seven weeks later]]

I’ve been waiting at Asheville Regional Airport for over an hour, my suitcase propped against my legs.

Finn was supposed to meet me the moment I landed. But of course, Finn Hartley, master of emotional chaos and poor decision-making, is nowhere to be found.

I’ve tried calling him. No answer.

Tried texting. Left on read.

I check my phone for the hundredth time. Still nothing. The battery's at 12%—just enough to call an Uber and find the nearest hotel if I have to.

I'm seconds away from throwing my phone against a wall when I hear the low purr of an engine that sounds like it crawled straight out of hell—a deep, thunderous growl that makes several people nearby turn and stare.

I raise my head just in time to see a monstrous black Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 glide to a stop in front of me.

The window rolls down, and—God help me—the man behind the wheel looks like sin itself.

He’s beautiful in a way that feels wrong. Dangerous. Sharp-jawed, dark-haired, and dressed in all black like he's either about to commit arson or murder.

His eyes drag over me from head to toe, sizing me up. I resist the urge to smooth down my travel-rumpled clothes or fix my hair.

"Sloane Mercer?" he says.

I blink. "Who are you?"

"I guess you can call me the wrong brother," he replies.

"What?"

"Forgive my manners," he says, his voice smooth, deep, and annoyingly sexy. "I’m Knox Hartley. Finn's brother. Finn sent me to chauffeur you to our parents' house."

: Torture Devices

So this is the infamous Knox.

I’ve heard stories. Finn talks about him the way you'd talk about a stray wolf that occasionally shows up to your campfire, steals your food, and disappears back into the woods. Wild. Unpredictable. Maybe even a little unhinged.

Now that I think about it, he does resemble Finn—same sharp bone structure, same annoyingly perfect mouth. But where Finn is sunshine and charm, Knox looks like he crawled out of a lifestyle magazine for sophisticated gangsters.

“How do I know you’re not a kidnapper?” I ask, tilting my chin up. “You’ll have to provide proof that you’re who you say you are.”

“Like an ID card?”

“That would work.”

“I don’t have any.”

“See? Kidnapper vibes,” I say.

“Why don't you call Finn and confirm?”

I cross my arms. “He’s not answering. Why do you think I’ve been standing here for an hour like an abandoned dog?” I glance at the car. “And you showing up in an aggressive-looking muscle car that screams ‘mafia boss’ isn’t exactly helping your case.”

“Are you getting in or not? I have places to be, young lady.”

“Young lady? Did you really just belittle me?"

Knox sighs, a long-suffering sound that suggests I'm testing what little patience he has. “Get in, Sloane.”

I stare at him, deadpan. Then I sigh, because clearly, I have zero self-preservation instincts. I've already agreed to help Finn crash his ex's wedding. Getting into a car with his potentially murderous brother isn't even the worst decision I've made this month.

“Open your trunk,” I say.

Knox pops the trunk from inside, and I toss my bag in, muttering to myself about how this is how women end up on true crime podcasts.

When I slide into the passenger seat, Knox doesn't move.

“Why aren’t you driving?” I ask, glancing sideways at him.

“Your seatbelt.”

Oh.

A safety-conscious potential kidnapper. That's... unexpected.

I snap it in place with a click, and he guns the engine, pulling out of the airport pickup zone and onto the highway with a smooth acceleration that pushes me back into my seat.

The moment we hit the open road, he speeds up, the Shelby Mustang roaring beneath us like a beast unleashed.

"Whoa, slow down!" My hands instinctively grip the edge of my seat.

"Wanna get out?" he asks.

“No. But you're moving too fast. I can't even see the city."

"Asheville? There's nothing to see."

“Easy for you to say. You’ve probably lived here all your life and traveled the world. I hardly leave New York. When I do, I like to... fill my eyes.”

It sounds poetic when I say it out loud, almost embarrassing. But it's true. I collect moments, images, sensations. Store them away for the lonely nights when my apartment feels too empty and my thoughts too loud.

"You think I live in Asheville?" he asks.

I turn to him. "You don't?"

"Nope. New York."

Wait a damn minute.

“You’ve been in New York all this time,” I say.

“You sound shocked.”

“It’s just... Finn’s never mentioned that. Ever. How do you both live in the same city and never cross paths?”

“Finn and I have a... complex relationship.”

The way he says it makes me drop the subject.

We drive in tense silence for a while, until Knox suddenly swerves off the main road with no warning, the car taking a sharp turn that has me clutching the door handle.

He parks in front of a dimly lit building with neon red letters that read:

SENSUAL DELIGHTS.

“Umm… Is this your parents' house?” I ask, knowing full well it isn't.

Knox smirks. “Sensual Delights? Really? Does it look like a house to you?”

The place is exactly what you’d expect an adult store to look like. Dark windows. Shady alleyway.

“A sex shop?” I ask.

“Bingo.”

My brain short-circuits. “Why are we at a sex shop?”

“Need to grab a wedding present.”

“For who?”

“My friend and his bride.”

I hesitate, swallowing hard as the pieces click into place in my mind. “Wait... your friend is Hunter? The groom?”

“Yep.”

“Delilah’s fiancé?”

Knox grins wickedly. “Yep.”

Oh, for God's sake.

Finn's brother is a friend to Delilah's fiancé?

Why has Finn never mentioned any of this? It's like I know nothing about my own best friend.

This is just a time bomb waiting to go off.

“Would you like to wait here or come inside?” Knox asks.

I glance at the building, then back at his face.

Screw it.

I unbuckle my seatbelt and step out of the car, awkwardly adjusting my glasses and smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of my top.

“Let’s go buy some torture devices in Delilah's name,” I say, not the least bit joking.

Knox chuckles. “Alright, ma’am. But I must warn you, some girls do enjoy being tortured.”

We'll see about that. I'm going to get something with enough voltage to zap Delilah's fake, cheating ass right off the face of this Earth so she doesn't get to ruin Finn anymore.