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After having my heart broken terribly in college, then again in my early 20s, and most recently three years ago, I refuse to allow thirty-year-old me to fall for another man’s lies. They all cheated on me. Three boyfriends went behind my back and had sex with another woman. It gave me a complex, created an impenetrable wall around my heart, and now I refuse to let my emotions get involved. Call it self-preservation.
It doesn’t help that I am always attracted to the bad boys. They’re my catnip and my kryptonite all rolled into one. And since I’ve convinced myself they are not relationship material, I’ve discovered the key is not getting too emotionally involved with anyone. My past heartbreaks haven’t allowed relationships to go that far and I have a protective shield around myself. It’s just easier that way.
I feel like the vase that has dropped and broken one too many times, then been repeatedly glued back together with a lot of hope and a little trepidation. Yet despite being held together, the cracks are visible and very fragile. One more fall and I’m done.
The only person I allow in is Kennedy Hart, my sister and best friend. We’re not sisters by blood, but we are in every other way. She moved in with me and my mom for a while after her mom kicked her out when we were sixteen. Then after college, we shared the apartment where I’m currently living until she moved to D.C. for work. She’s back in NYC for good now, but she spends all her time with herfiancé,Aidan Wolf. I’m glad she moved back and I’m so happy for them, but it’s just not the same.
There was one person I considered getting closer to, letting in just a little, but then I shut him down and ran away.
Eric Finn.
We met and hit it off when I was visiting San Diego for Kennedy’s engagement party a few months ago. My Bad Boy Radar zeroed right in on him—the arrogant smirk, devil may care stubble, messy light brown hair, bomber jacket and flirty words, mixed with my terminal loneliness and the alcohol I’d consumed, left my defenses weakened.
I ended up hopping on the back of his motorcycle, going to his beachside bungalow and making out with him. I had every intention of having a one-night stand until Kennedy called and warned me that Eric Finn is a player and heartbreaker. A flyboy who has a track record for loving and leaving ‘em.
Her words sobered me up quickly, snapping me out of my lust-filled haze and I made a quick exit. Sure, I’m always attracted to the wrong men, but I can’t allow myself to fall in love with them. That’s a one-way street to nowhere. But something about Finn made my heart beat a little harder and my pulse race a little faster.
And that made him very, very dangerous.
Despite how much we connected and how very much I enjoyed his attention—his lips on mine, his hands touching me—I bolted. I’d promised myself no more toxic men, and Kennedy’s warning opened my eyes before I could do something I’d regret. Something that would hurt me. Again.
Lost in thoughts of Finn, I wander aimlessly down the street and keep snapping pictures. Turning the corner of a large brick building, passing in front of an alley, I wipe the lens off and snap a bunch of shots in quick succession to make sure everything appears clear.
POP! POP! POP!
My feet abruptly stop and my head snaps up at the sound. There are several men down in the alley and one just dropped to the ground and isn’t moving.
Ohmygod. Those were gunshots. The sun is low now and the shadows in the alley are deep, so it’s hard to see, but I think I just captured everything on my camera.
I gasp, unable to believe what I’m seeing, and the two men at the other end of the alley look over at me.
Oh, shit.When the taller man lifts his arm and points the gun in his hand at me, I immediately turn and start running.
“Hey!” a deep voice yells. “Get back here!”
Yeah, right. Does that ever work?Gripping my camera and tote bag tightly, my feet slap against the pavement and I have never run so fast in my life. Unfortunately, I’m running in the opposite direction of my car and now I don’t know where the hell to go. I wasn’t thinking clearly when I took off, only that I needed to put some serious distance between me and those trigger-happy killers.
Shit!I just witnessed a murder.
The thought hits me hard and fear spills through my veins, making my stomach sour and my legs move faster. Where the hell am I going to go? I don’t know this neighborhood and there aren’t many places to hide. Just a lot of boarded-up buildings on this block or businesses that are already securely locked up for the night. I can hear them chasing after me, big boots pounding on the pavement, and before I get a bullet in the back, I duck down a side street, pick up my pace and spin around a corner.
Glancing up, the first thing I notice is a lit-up sign blinking Rock Bottom. It’s a small, hole-in-the-wall bar and I remember Finn telling me he hangs out here when he’s in New York and waiting while his team is on a job. He told me he likes it because it’s close to the airport and he knows the owner, so he can sit there all day and no one bothers him. But the chances of him being in there right now are slim to none. Probably less than one-percent.
But I don’t know where else to go and there should be customers and staff in there. I can’t imagine the jerks chasing me would shoot me down in cold blood in front of all those witnesses.
At least, I hope not.
Praying to see that cocky smirk, I throw the front door open and burst into the bar. It’s dark and takes my eyes a minute to adjust. There are a handful of patrons sitting at tables, a couple playing pool and a few people sitting at the bar. But no Finn.
My heart sinks. What should I do? The bad guys are going to figure out I ran in here sooner rather than later. I suppose I could drop down behind the bar and pray they don’t search the place. Or I could hide out in the restroom. That seems like the better option, unless they decide to break in. Then I’ll be trapped.
There has to be a back door in this joint,I think, and start toward the hallway to the left of the bar where I spot a sign for the restrooms. If I can duck out a back door, then I can circle around the block and head back down to my car.
With a plan firmly set in place, albeit a shaky one, I’m walking past the bar when I hear someone call my name.
“Ivy?”
I freeze, immediately recognizing the deep voice that’s normally laced in teasing humor, and turn my attention to the right where I spot Finn sitting at the opposite end of the bar. He slips off his stool and starts toward me.
