Page 2 of Forget Me

“On a Sunday?”

“It’s for the foundation. We have a brunch meeting in the Mission in half an hour, and I’m presenting next year’s budget to Jackson Jones.”

“Wait, you’re not even gettingpaidfor this?”

“No.” Though someday if I copied my little brother and turned my passion into a paid job, I could have an occasional day off. “Hustle culture, you know.”

“Ugh, don’t give me that bullshit. You’re a mensch. You’re doing it for—for the kids.”

I knew she’d almost saidfor me.It was true that I’d started volunteering for the foundation for my best friend. For the time I’d heard that jerk, Anthony Anker, call her Blinky Barbie on our first day of seventh grade. I’d wanted to get up in his face, try out the punch my brother had taught me the summer before,definitelymake sure Anthony never made fun of my friend’s tic again, but Bree had held me back, told me he wasn’t worth getting detention over. But all these years later, I’d kept up my volunteer work because I truly loved the work the foundation did for kids with Tourette’s. Kids like Bree had been.

I’d just opened my mouth to break up the tension with a joke when she said, “Did you think about what we talked about last night?”

Staring at my poster of Doctor Strange, I scanned back for a memory of anything other than tequila and screams of laughter and dancing. Dancing? “You’re going to have to refresh my memory.”

“You don’t remember?” Shit, she sounded hurt. “We talked about how you’re the last single person in our friend group. You promised to try to—”

“Doubtful.” I twisted my mug on the counter until its handle was at a precise 45-degree angle. “You know how focused I am on my career now. And on the foundation. I don’t have time for distractions.”

“A distraction like Byron, you mean? That guy was a douche canoe. There are tons of good guys out there, Mimi. Guys who’ll help you and won’t steal your promotion.”

“I don’t need help. I can succeed all on my own.” The words came out sharper than I’d intended.

“I know, I know. All you need is smarts, drive…”

“And confidence,” we finished together. My mother had said those words about a million times.

“Your mom got married,” Bree said.

“She’s the top environmental lawyer in the state. I’d never compare myself to her. And just because you’re a week from saying ‘I do’ doesn’t mean it’s right for everyone. I want to establish myself in my career first.”

“And scratch that itch with one-night stands?”

I lifted my chin even though she couldn’t see me. “There’s nothing wrong with my no-strings hookups. I get all the benefits, none of the arguing over whose work function we have to go to and where we spend the holidays.”

“It’s kind of nice to have someone to spend the holidays with, you know.”

I eased a hip against the counter. I hadn’t missed the way Mom’s eyes had gone soft when my brother showed up at her Hanukkah party with his fiancé. They’d worn matching ugly Hanukkah sweaters. Even my cold, black heart had melted a little at how adorable they were together.

Me? I couldn’t exactly ask one of my hookups to come to my parents’ party after I’d slipped out of his apartment before dawn and stopped replying to his texts.

“What, you want me to show up to your wedding with a plus-one?”

“No!” Her laugh was high and strained. “We already gave the final count to the caterer. But you’re deflecting. Even Ben—”

The intercom dinged, saving me from my best friend’s speech about how even my little brother had finally found lasting love. She was right about all the coupling-up. A week never went by without the arrival of an invitation to a wedding or a bridal shower or an engagement party. If someone sent me a birth announcement, I was going to puke. Again.

“Sorry, Bree. Someone’s at the door.” It was probably Ben dropping by to check on me. Though last I’d seen him at his engagement party yesterday afternoon, he’d been pretty tipsy himself.

“Good luck with your big presentation. I know you’ll rock it. Call me after?” She made a kissing sound before I disconnected.

I walked to the intercom. It was just like Ben to bring me a sack of breakfast pastries to soak up the alcohol. My stomach gurgled.

“Hey,” I said into the speaker as I buzzed him up.

I opened the door a crack and headed back toward the kitchen to tuck my presentation into my satchel. Then I froze. Ben still had a key. Why would he use the buzzer?

When I whirled back around, the answer filled my doorway. Six-foot-something of tanned skin, blond hair, a clean-shaven jaw that could cut glass, and eyes the color of the Pacific Ocean on a rare sunny day. Ben’s friend, and his fiancé’s cousin, Mateo. I stared at his muscle-rounded shoulder where his too-tight black T-shirt clung to it. Looking at his face was like staring into the sun. Eye-searingly bright and beautiful. Too handsome to be real. And today I didn’t need a distraction that came in the shape of a flirty Thor look-alike.

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