Once Upon a Sure Thing (Heartbreakers #2)

Ally: La la la la. I CAN’T HEAR YOU.





Macy: Seriously, this is so hella hot I don’t even know if there’s a temperature that can record how incendiary it is. I can’t stop watching you two. And I’m not alone. Your videos are burning up the charts.





Ally: It’s crazy, isn’t it? It was never like this with Kirby.





Macy: Well, let’s hope not! But I need you to tell me the truth. Are you dying for Miller? When I watch those videos, all I can think is that you must have climbed him like a redwood tree when the cameras stopped rolling.





Ally: No trees were scaled, I assure you. We simply have stage chemistry.





Macy: I can literally hear you lying through the transom of text.





Ally: I swear, Macy! There’s nothing happening.





Macy: Not a thing? Not even a little bitty flicker of a thing?





Ally: When we sing, we’re performing. We both just go into character. That’s all.





Macy: Bummer. I was hoping for one final salacious tale before I leave for Boston.





Ally: Fine. I’ll give you one little nugget. I might have felt a flicker of a spark when I went ice skating with him last week, but I think it’s normal to be attracted to someone you perform with. That’s what happens when we’re in the studio. But what’s important is what to do with the attraction.





Macy: Act on it?





Ally: No. Channel it into the music. Acting on it would ruin our band and ruin our friendship.





Macy: All I’m saying is Kirby and I were friends, and now look at us. It can work. :)





Ally: Yes, but you and Kirby were on the same page. Miller’s not, and I respect his wishes. It’s best if we let our unusual chemistry fuel the music. Only the music.





Macy: I bet it winds up fueling your pants.





Macy is determined to make her point. She fires off a string of text-message gifs—Blanche from The Golden Girls spritzing water on her flushed skin, James McAvoy fanning himself with a sheet of paper . . .

Laughing at my friend’s antics, I set the phone on the counter as an image of a cat basking in much-needed air-conditioning pops up on my screen.

While Chloe’s hair dryer whirs from the bathroom, I squeeze honey into a mug, and consider Macy’s efforts to break me down. She’s not wrong. I would absolutely like to climb Miller. In fact, I’d like to ride him like a rodeo bull. Yeehaw. I’d saddle him up and reverse cowgirl him till the cows came home.

Have him tie me down with rope . . .

Wait, do I have a Western fetish?

No, that’s not the case, because my brain serves up an image of Miller pinning my wrists in an elevator, then on a bed, then in a town car.

Well, that’s clear now. I don’t have a Western thing. I have a Miller thing. As my belly swoops in a dirty roller-coaster ride, it’s a thing my body wants me to act on.

But there are choices, and then there are foolish choices. They have the most foolish of consequences.

When Chloe clicks off the hair dryer, she pads into her room and calls out to me, “Can you braid my hair, Aunt Ally?”

“Of course.” I shove away the dirty thoughts to focus on my girl.

I find her on her bed, brushing her hair, wearing her doughnut pajamas. I take a drink of my hot tea, place the mug on her nightstand, and hop onto the bed beside her. She hands me a hair tie and I move behind her, sitting cross-legged as I gather chunks of her red hair. “What was your high and low today?”

She hums then answers, “High was when Hailey and I decided we should go bowling together over break, and maybe binge-watch a new show we like. I love bowling.”

“Bowling rocks. I like this plan. And your low?”

Her shoulders sag a bit. “Low was talking to Uncle Kirby. He called me when you were picking up dinner.”

“Why would that be a low, Monkey?”

She sighs. “Because I’m going to miss him and Aunt Macy when they move.”

“Me too,” I say wistfully, weaving another strand of her hair. “It’ll be strange not to have them nearby.”

“I know. But I’m glad you’re not the one moving away.”

Startled, I drop her hair and scoot forward so I can look her in the eyes. “Sweetie, I’d never move away from you.”

Her lips are a tight line before she seems to force out a shaky question. “You wouldn’t?”

My throat catches. “Monkey, you’re stuck with me.”

A little smile seems to sneak out. “Okay. Good.”

I squeeze her shoulder, wanting her to feel reassured completely. “You’re stuck with me for good.”

She shrugs. “Well, Uncle Kirby is leaving.” Her eleven-year-old logic must seem ironclad to her. Poor kid.

“Chloe,” I say, fighting back the hitch in my voice. I need her to feel my strength. I need her to know deep in her gut I’ll be here. Always. “It’s not the same. I’m your guardian. I made a legal promise to the state, and I made a promise to my sister. It’s an unbreakable vow. You know that, right?”

“I think so.”

“Know so,” I tell her firmly, as I look her in the eyes. “You’re mine. That’s an unbreakable promise too. It’s my promise to you.”

A little tear forms in the corner of her eye as she sniffles. “I don’t want you to go.”

I wrap my arms around her, trying to pour all my love for her into her little body. “I’m not going anywhere. And if I ever go somewhere, you’re coming with me. You and me—we go together.”

She pulls back and holds up her pinky. “Package deal?”

Laughing, I wrap my pinky around hers. “I swear.”

“Well, now that we’ve pinky sworn,” she says softly, then her shoulders rise and fall, as if she’s letting the last of her tears escape, “can you go back to my hair?”

“Of course,” I say, relinquishing my shrink role and returning to my hairdresser job. Tomorrow, I’ll wear another hat, then another. Good thing I like hats.

As I finish her hair, she tells me how excited she is for tomorrow since we’re heading to Campbell’s in the early evening to decorate his Christmas tree. After I tie off the ends of her braid, I wrap my arms around my little monkey and give her a kiss on the forehead.

“Do you want to watch an episode of Girls Rule?”

“What’s that?”

“It’s this new show about a girl band in high school. I figured since you’re a girl, and you’re in a band, you might, I don’t know, like it,” she says, that deadpan Chloe back in full force.

“Sounds like my kind of show.”

And it sort of is. It’s cute and kitschy, but the girls can hella sing, as Chloe says.

When the episode ends, I say goodnight and return to the living room. After I review some pages from an upcoming book about the exploits of a hyper-sarcastic sixteen-year-old who hosts her own sports radio show, I grab my phone, perusing the texts from Macy once more.

Did we really look that hot?

I sink onto the couch, pop in my earbuds, and find one of the videos of Miller and me. I hit play. Seconds later, a tremble rushes through me as I watch Miller kiss my neck. A shudder runs roughshod over my skin as I study the look on my face on the screen. I slow down the video, pausing it.

Holy shit.

That look.

It’s like rapture. Like bliss.

I close my eyes and recall that moment in the studio, how I felt with Miller’s lips on my body.

I felt like a stranger in a strange new land, one I wanted to travel to again and again. I picture myself there, being kissed on my neck, my ear, and my lips. My skin heats from the inside out. My breath comes faster.

Awareness dawns on me like the sun rising. I could stay here in this land where Miller and I kiss and touch and lose ourselves in each other.

But it’s too risky.

Too dangerous.

I snap open my eyes.