Page 1 of Breathtaking

Part I

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LENNON

Umm... If I have to put on pants with actual buttons and a zipper, the answer is no.

—Lennon’s Secret Thoughts

Okay... I get it. Sometimes a good cry is called for.

Cathartic, almost.

I’m as happy as the next girl to have my heart ripped out and stomped on, but I need to be ready for it. Preparations need to be made. Like when I’m reading a great book. I’d go as far as to say there are few ways I’d rather spend a night off than curled up on my couch with some rocky road ice cream and a beautiful love story that will make me laugh and cry and kick my feet all in one book. I mean, really... does it get better than a sexy, swoony man who falls deliciously in love with some sassy heroine and sweeps her off her feet, broken parts and all? Add in some really great sex and absolutely gut-wrenching drama, and I’m all in. The chocolate, marshmallowy goodness doesn’t hurt either.

And now I’m nostalgic for a good book and a good cry.

But that’s not what I got tonight.

No... I’m sitting here, sobbing over the end of anAvengersmovie.

Who does that?

Apparently, I do.

And I’m doing it with bad ice cream. Well, not bad, really. But not rocky road because the store didn’t have any today. Can I send one of my security detail out for better ice cream? I mean, that would probably cement me firmly into the diva category, so I’m going to say no, but I bet it would make me feel better.

Instead, I dig a frozen peanut butter cup out of the pint I had to settle for, more than slightly annoyed with the less than top-tier candy. And yes, I do realize I sound like a spoiled brat... or maybe a serial killer.

I can imagine the headline now—Princess Set Fire to the Store When They Didn’t Carry her Favorite Ice Cream.

A ridiculous laugh bubbles up my throat until I snort the most unladylike sound I may have ever made. My mother would be ashamed of me if she were here now. She’d also be a ghost since she’s been dead for three years. So there’s that.

And that thought has laughter mixing with big, fat, crocodile tears streaming down my face.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The door to my flat opens with a flourish only my brother Atticus is capable of, and I look up over my spoon and confirm my assumption. My older brother looks horrifically mortified by the sight of me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I shrug, wipe my nose on my sleeve, and lick the melting chocolate from my spoon.

Atticus, the asshole, slams the door shut behind him and throws a paper sack at my face. Reflexes demand that I swat it down with my spoon and watch innocently as chocolate ice cream splatters across the room, causing another sob to catch in my throat.

There’s never a reason to waste chocolate... even bad chocolate.

“Okay.” He points at me from where he’s standing in all six foot two of his judgmental glory. “That’s enough.” I sniffle, and the big bully tries to take my ice cream from me, but I hang onto it for dear life.

Who knows what I’m capable of doing in the name of chocolate?

After quite the glare-off, I eventually give in and let him wrestle it away. Mainly because Atticus’s resting bitch face is way scarier than mine, and I’ve been told mine is pretty bad. But also because it’s not like it was rocky road. “You...” He picks up the paper sack from the pharmacy down the street and holds it out in front of me. “Take this. Get your little ass up and go into the bathroom.”

“My ass is not little. I’ll have you know I have a great ass.” Years of dancing has given me that. It’s also given me ugly feet, but you take the good with the bad.

The asshole shakes the sack in my face until I snatch it out of his hand. “Do as I say, Lennon.”

“What are you talking about?” I peek inside the sack, and my jaw drops. “I’m sorry... What in the fucking hell is that?”

Does my brother shrink back when I scream like I’ve just seen my first penis and don’t have a clue what to do with it?

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