

No one appreciates the morning quite like Nathan. Which is why Satin-PJ-Kelsey is standing in the kitchen looking pissed off.

Any girlfriend of Nathan’s knows if she wants to see him at all that day, she has to wake up just as early as he does. It’s 6:30 AM on a Tuesday morning, so I know for a fact he’s already awake. I narrow my eyes at her with a tight smile. I thought you were some stalker girl who broke in somehow.” She sets the knife down, raises one of her perfectly manicured eyebrows, and mumbles not so quietly, “But then again…you sort of are.” “Oh my gosh, Bree! You scared me to death. She releases a big puff of air and lets her shoulders sag in relief. The woman who was here before you and will be here well after you. Remember?” Nathan’s best friend since high school. She seems so opposite of the type of person I would pick for him-they all do. I have no idea how he spends time with this woman. And yeah, I know her name, because even though she pretends not to remember me every time we meet, she’s been dating Nathan for a few months now and we have met several times.

This isn’t my first rodeo with one of Nathan’s girlfriends, though, so I do what I always do and smile at Kelsey. I would raise my hands in the air so I don’t get knifed to death, but I’m sort of loaded down with breakfast goods-goods for me and Nathan, not Miss Screechy. “DON’T COME ANY CLOSER!” she screeches, and I immediately roll my eyes, because why does she have to be so screechy? She sounds like a clothespin is pinching the bridge of her nose and she has recently inhaled a whole balloon full of helium. We’re separated by a massive island, but from the way her eyes are bugging out, you’d think I was holding matching cutlery against the jugular vein in her neck. She’s clutching a butcher knife to her chest. Peeking around the corner, I find a woman wearing a light pink shorts-and-camisole sleep set pressed into the far corner of the wraparound white marble kitchen counter. ATTENTION ALL SEXY QUARTERBACKS! COVER YOUR GOODS! A GREEDY-EYED WOMAN IS IN THE HOUSE!Ī high-pitched yelp sounds from the kitchen, and I immediately frown. Using the heel of my tennis shoe, I slam the front door shut with enough gusto to warn Nathan that I’m on the premises. I know this smell so well I think I could follow it like a bloodhound if he ever goes missing. The moment I step inside Nathan’s apartment (which really should not be called an apartment because it’s the size of five large apartments smooshed together), the familiar clean and crisp scent of him knocks into me like a bus. I have fair skin, so there’s a one million percent chance it’s going to leave an angry red mark. I hiss when I turn the lock and a splash of coffee darts out onto my wrist through the little hole in the lid.

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