Prologue
Joey
Before tonight,my most significant sexual relationship has been with my showerhead.
Let me just say it takes guts to purchase a removable shower head from DeLuca’s Hardware Store when Mrs. DeLuca’s eyeing you like she knows you’re going to blast it against your privates when you gethome.
Unfortunately, bravery has been fleeting in my life, but that was one of my more courageousmoments.
So is thisone.
For some reason, though, I’m not feeling the relief I thought Iwould.
And I’m not talking about the lack of anorgasm.
This—hooking up with Trent—is supposed to be about me letting go of the past, of someone I can’t have, and forging ahead. Of living my life instead of always feeling like I’m trapped in the back seat of someone else’sjourney.
Trent is trying his best. Going slow and speaking softly. Beinggentle.
And the sex is…fine.
Except my body aches, and not in pleasant ways. But a girl’s first time doesn’t always feel good,right?
I blink, wondering if I’m supposed to feel so numb. Sodisconnected.
But like I’ve just been hit by a car and it’s taking my body a few seconds to process the pain, the dam of emotion finallybreaks.
One tear. Then two. Until a whole river cascades down my face, my conscience objecting to what I’ve justdone.
Objecting to the man hovering over me with his brow crinkled in concern. Because he looks all wrong. Smells wrong. Feelswrong.
Black hair instead of dirty blonde. Brown eyes instead of blue. Smooth hands instead ofrough.
“Joey, sweetheart. Are you okay?” Even the way he talks to me iswrong.
I shove him off me, wincing when he exits my body, and curl into the pillow that smells like the rest of this hotel. “Yeah. Just had too much to drink. Sorry.” I try to muffle the sob by burrowing deeper into thebedding.
His hand runs along my spine, a gesture to soothe me, I’m guessing. Trent’s a good guy. It’s not his fault I’m in love with someone else. In fact, we bonded over our mutual heartache. He’s recovering from a bad breakup. It was his idea for me to “break the seal” and use him to forgetLogan.
Not that Logan was evermine.
Trent probably just wanted to get off. I can’t blame him. A sure-thing hook-up with a twenty-two-year-old virgin with no strings attached? What red-blooded man declines that? No one Iknow.
But this is supposed to help me cut ties with Logan. That’s what this trip to Florida has been about. To grow up and get overhim.
I needed to do something. What self-respecting woman in this day and age spends her whole life pining for the boy next door when he’s made it clear she’s not his type? That he loves her as a friend. That he sees her as his bud. His sidekick. Maybe even a littlesister.
I cry harder. Because I know—as certain as I’m sure the sun will rise in the morning, despite the dread burning in my soul right now—that Logan loves me. As a friend. That even after not talking to him for months, he’d probably take a bullet for me. That he’d likely be pissed I gave it up to some guy I’ve only known for a few weeks after spending a lifetime waiting to give myself to someone Ilove.
Well, I got tired ofwaiting.
After years of watching my best friend hook up with other women, I finally grew a backbone. I only wish it feltbetter.
It doesn’t matter because Logan will never know what I’vedone.
I’ve been friend-zoned, and I’m ready to moveon.
And by the time I see him at his brother’s wedding this summer, I hope my heart has let go of himtoo.
