Chapter 1
Piper
The apartment is throbbing with house music and conversations. This is it, apartment 223, the New Year's Eve party.
I take a deep breath, push the door open, and step inside.
It's an expensive loft and it's crowded. Insanely crowded.
Most of the room is a dance floor. People are grinding, kissing, swigging booze straight from the bottle. The couch in the corner is packed with people making out. From this angle it's hard to say, but I'd put money on the woman in the silver dress and the guy in the matching silver blazer doing a lot more than swapping spit.
Okay. It's a rowdy party. No big deal. I'm not the innocent little girl my brothers think I am. I can handle any party, however off the wall.
First, a drink. People bump into me as I cut through the packed dance floor. I'm halfway to the refreshments table when a man in a sleek suit runs right into me.
He's at least ten years older than the next oldest person here and his greasy comb-over isn't doing him any favors.
He shoots me a crooked smile. "Sorry, babe. How about I make it up to you?" He brandishes a prescription bottle.
Oxycontin.
"No thank you." I step backwards with a polite smile. Fuck, if Ethan and Mal find out I'm at a party with drugs...
The man moves on, unperturbed. He finds another friend—a skinny guy in designer jeans— and offers him a pill. Then the two of them are chasing their pills with vodka and moving to the corner of the room.
I guess that's the drug corner. I better steer clear.
Really, I should leave, but it's nearly ten now—I got lost, then spent forever looking for parking—and I don't want to be sitting on the couch, alone, when the ball drops.
Not again.
I'm tired of sitting alone, on the couch, period. I'm not doing it on a holiday devoted to socializing.
I'm not a naive good girl. I can handle being around drugs. As soon as I fix my makeup, I'm going to mingle properly. I'm going to have fun the way my brothers do.
I find the bathroom down the hall and turn the knob. It's unlocked.
But the room isn't empty.
It's...
There's a man leaning against the counter, his jeans at his ankles, his black button up shirt falling off his shoulders.
He lets out a low, deep groan.
His...
He's...
He's hard.
He's hard and he's huge.
At least, he looks huge. I have nothing to compare it too—I've never seen a guy naked before. Not in the flesh.
There's a woman on her knees, taking him into her mouth.
And his hand is on the back of her head, tugging at her platinum blond hair hard enough to rip out her extensions.
She's wearing the same hot pink BCBG dress I am.
She's giving him a blow job.