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Ten minutes to midnight, and I have no idea where my date is.
That’s the problem with letting your best friend set you up with someone for a New Year’s Eve party. It’s such a date sort of holiday, with all the pressure to have someone to kiss at midnight. I’m surrounded by couples—drinking, talking, kissing, slipping hands in naughty places when they think no one is looking—but I’m leaning against the kitchen island at my best friend Selene’s house, looking like an idiot as I comb the party for … what was his name?
Steven. Right, it’s Steven.
Things started off well enough. He showed up looking nice in a blue sweater and jeans. Clean-cut, smooth jaw. All in all, not a bad looking guy. I’m rocking a black mini-dress and a pair of fantastic red heels—because why not, it’s a holiday, and my red heels are hot. I wore my dark hair down and wavy, which makes me feel sexy, and I think I’ve finally perfected that smoky eye thing without making myself look like I got punched in the face. The way Steven’s gaze moved up and down when Selene introduced us, he seemed to like what he saw. We grabbed a couple drinks and made semi-awkward conversation, the way you do when you’re both the victims of a set-up and aren’t quite sure if agreeing was a good idea.
Two drinks in, he was leaning closer, and he did smell good. He said he’s an accountant, and I had to stop myself from choking on my beer. Selene set me up with an accountant? Then again, I was just telling her that I need to stop dating the wrong guys. Hot men with killer abs who are stallions in bed are fun, but they’re not necessarily the kind you bring home to meet your father. And as much as I do not want to admit it, I’m not in my early twenties anymore. Hell, I’ve passed my mid-twenties at this point, and thirty is getting awfully close. I feel like maybe it’s time to get serious about this adulting thing—quit chasing the bad boys with fabulous cocks, and find someone responsible. Mature. In fact, it’s one of my new year’s resolutions.
Steven seemed like he fit the bill, although the more we chatted the more I realized I felt absolutely nothing for him. No desire to inch closer and accidentally-on-purpose brush against him. No temptation to tilt my chin up and lick my lips to draw attention to my mouth. No finding excuses to put my hand on his arm.
I was kind of bored.
Still, that’s no excuse for the guy to wander off and ditch me just before midnight.
Music blares through the speakers; the living room turned into a dance floor about an hour ago. I see Selene, swaying to the music with her boyfriend Nathan. It’s a fast song with a good beat, but they’re acting like two kids at prom, slow dancing as if no one else is around. I’m happy for Selene. I wasn’t so sure about Nathan at first. He struck me as too much the bad boy type—or, more accurately, the Selene type, which is not necessarily a good thing—but he actually seems pretty nice.
Selene’s been my best friend since we were kids; my father was their family’s lawyer. She and her twin brother Braxton lost their parents when they were ten, and my dad saw to the estate and managed the trust that contained their parents’ considerable fortune. It meant I spent a lot of time roaming around their big house, the three of us getting into all sorts of trouble together. Over the years, we’ve stayed close. If anything, we’re better friends as adults than we were as scabby-kneed kids.
I search the crowd for Steven again and see Hope trying to murder me with her eyes. Hope is Braxton’s girlfriend, and she hates me with a seething passion I can feel from across the room. I pretend I don’t notice her. She’s disliked me from the first time we met, about a month ago. I don’t let her ire concern me in the least. This is Braxton we’re talking about. Braxton’s relationships never last. He’s way too much of a player to stick with anyone.
I give Hope another month, two if she sucks his dick regularly.
Still, I don’t understand why she hates me so much, other than the fact that I’m Braxton’s best friend. She must assume that means friends with benefits. It’s never been that way with me and Brax, though. We’ve never even fooled around. It’s one of the main tenets of our friendship—the thing that makes this guy/girl thing work, despite the fact that Braxton seems to want to stick his dick in half the women in Seattle. He and I don’t cross that line.
Not that I haven’t considered it. Braxton isn’t the type of man you can be around without thinking about what it would be like to kiss him. Or fuck him. Because if there’s any man in this world who is totally and completely fuckable, it’s Braxton Taylor.
But I leave that to the steady stream of women who flit in and out of his life, and keep him firmly in the friend zone.
Selene and Nathan wander over from the makeshift dance floor. Selene’s house is amazing. She still lives in the house she and Braxton grew up in, a fucking mansion in Phinney Ridge. Braxton insisted she keep it, and after college he bought himself a condo not far from here, just off Greenwood. The house is deceiving from the outside. It’s like one of those magical Harry Potter tents—looks pretty normal from the street, but once you walk in, it’s breathtaking. It has six bedrooms, a huge living, dining, and kitchen area with soaring ceilings, an old-fashioned study, and great views from upstairs. Braxton and I don’t live here, but we still have our own bedrooms, leftover from our college days. Selene used to bug me about moving back in with her—the house is definitely way too big for one person—but I prefer to live on my own. There’s a certain weirdness in leaning on their money, even though both of them have plenty. I have an apartment about ten minutes away, but I crash here when the occasion arises. I definitely will tonight—although, sadly, it appears I’ll be sleeping alone.
Selene stands next to me while Nathan pours drinks at the counter.
“Awesome night, huh?” she says. “Where’s Steven?”
She looks glorious in a shimmering, sleeveless gold top and black skirt, with her brown hair pinned up. She has a Victoria’s Secret model body—tall and effortlessly thin, with fantastic boobs.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess he went to the bathroom or something.”
“Well, you better find him,” Selene says. “It’s almost midnight.”
Someone turns on the flat screen to the New Year’s countdown. Nathan hands Selene her drink and they go back into the midst of the party.
I decide to do a lap to see if I can find this date of mine. The least the guy can do is make sure I’m not the only one at this party standing alone to ring in the new year. We don’t have to make out, but someone to clink glasses with would be nice. He didn’t even tell me where he was going; he just mumbled something about being right back. That was at least ten minutes ago.
I don’t see him among the people dancing, and he isn’t grazing on the snacks set out in the dining room. The downstairs bathroom is empty, although a girl ducks in front of me and darts in, closing the door behind her. The study door is closed—Selene doesn’t usually want guests in there—but I peek inside, just in case. It’s empty. I check my bedroom, which isn’t far from the kitchen. No one in there either.
I walk to the entry foyer and find a couple making out next to the coat rack, but neither of them are Steven. I don’t know why he’d go upstairs, but I figure I’ll check. The wide staircase curves to an upper balcony. I take another look from the top, but don’t see him anywhere.
The music is quieter upstairs, and I hear the distinct sound of moaning. Oh lord, am I about to walk in on someone getting it on in the hallway? Are we at a fucking frat party? It’s dark, but I walk a little farther and definitely see someone—two someones. The guy has the girl pressed up against the wall, his hand up her shirt. She’s giggling as he kisses down her neck.
I don’t want to intrude, so I’m just about to hightail it back downstairs when I recognize the guy’s sweater. Wasn’t Steven wearing blue? There’s not much light but—
He turns his head just enough, and I get a glimpse of his face. It’s definitely Steven.
I back up quickly, tip-toeing so they won’t notice me. Fuck. Of course my date would make out with some other woman at the New Year’s party. That pretty much sums up my love life right there.
So much for the responsible and mature accountant.
