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But I'm not sharing this fantasyland marital bed with a goddamn monster made of goo and the disassembled bodies of his victims. Hell no.

"Why'd you think she'd fuck Huxley?" Seraphina asks Ava, her brows furrowed in curiosity.

"Because she would," Ava mumbles, curling up on the end of the sofa. "You know it. I know it. She knows it. Hell, I'm pretty sure he knows it, too."

Isn't that the problem? I would sleep with him. And he does know it.

Ugh.

Lucky for me, it's never going to happen anywhere except in my own subconscious. And no one ever has to know just how often it happens there.

That's one secret I'm taking to the grave.

Chapter One

Nova

"What the fuck?" I stumble to a stop in my bedroom door, gaping at the blond guy in my bed. He's half naked and passed out…and I absolutely did not invite him to sleep with me.

I don't even know who he is. I've been drinking, but I'm not nearly drunk enough to have forgotten inviting a goddamn stranger into my bed.

Larissa.

Oh, I'm going to kill her.

I slap my hands over my boobs to cover them, because, of course, the only thing standing between them and the world is a flimsy towel, and then turn on my heel, storming across the hall to my roommate's bedroom.

I don't bother knocking before I fling the door open hard enough for it to slam against the wall.

"Jesus, Nova." Larissa looks up at me from the center of her frilly pink bed with a scowl on her deceptively cherubic face. "Have you ever learned to knock?"

"Who the fuck is in my bed?"

"Oh." Her scowl morphs into a smirk. "That's Toby."

"Toby," I say flatly. "And why the fuck is Toby asleep in my bed?"

"Late flight." She shrugs. "He needed a place to crash, and you weren't home, so… You can just crawl in beside him. He's totally harmless."

I stare at her for a long moment, trying to remind myself that murder is illegal and I wouldn't survive jail. We both know she wants me to snap. She wants me to act like a madwoman. It's part of her masterplan to get me out of our apartment.

Larissa hates me. Apparently, asking for a little peace and quiet in our shared home was a cardinal sin. She's never forgiven me.

And I'm too stubborn to let her run me off…but there is a strange man in my bed, I'm in nothing but a towel, and I've had way too much wine to deal with this. Or maybe I haven't had nearly enough.

Either way, she might actually win tonight. No apartment is worth this. I don't care how much natural light it has or how great the rent is. There is a fucking half-naked stranger in my bed.

"I'm so fucking done," I growl, slamming her door hard enough to rattle it in the frame. My head feels like it's going to explode. I think that's the rage speaking. Could be the wine, though.

The girls and I certainly had enough of the latter. I mean, it's not every day that your three best friends all get engaged within weeks of one another. What are the odds?

I don't even want to know, especially since they're all convinced they manifested their destinies the night we got drunk and played kids' games, trying to sort out our futures. I refuse to entertain the possibility that they're right…mostly because I refuse to entertain the possibility that Huxley Saint, my brother's infuriating best friend, is in any way tied to my future.

Absolutely not.

I did not Fuck, Marry, and Kill my way into getting hitched to him.

I stomp back to the bathroom in search of my phone.