Page 2 of The Perfect Spiral
“Babe, I’m—” he stammered, reaching for me again. I balled my fist and drove it straight into his nose. Hard. Having three older brothers teaches you how to throw a punch.
My hand throbbed with the impact, but the pain was nothing compared to the satisfaction of seeing him reel back, his hand flying to his bleeding nose.
The other girl, half-dressed now, stood up and sneered, “He’s been trying to get rid of you for months. He told me everything. Said you were clingy and boring. I’m giving him everything he ever wanted.”
Her voice was smug, like she thought she’d won something. Like she thought I’d just crumble.
“Oh, did he now? That’s funny—he told me the exact same thing about the girl before me. Said she was needy. Dramatic. Drained him. Sound familiar?”
She blinked, her mouth opening slightly.
“At least I had the class to wait until he actually broke up with her before I started fucking him,” I added, every syllable laced with acid. “But hey, maybe low standards are more your thing.”
I slammed the door behind me and rushed to the elevator. As soon as the doors closed, the tears started to fall, my sobs echoing in the small space.
I stepped out of the building into the warm Los Angeles night. I walked half a block and found a bench in a park. I pulled out my phone and dialed my roommate Andy, but she didn’t answer, so I called my other lifeline, my brother.
My thumb trembled as I hit the contact, vision blurred from tears, chest still tight with everything I’d just witnessed. But when the line picked up, it wasn’t my brother’s voice on the other end.
“Alex?” the deep, gravelly voice said. “Why the hell are you calling me?”
My breath caught. “Knox?”
Of course. Of all the people in my phone, I’d accidentally called Knox Carter—my brother’s best friend, the guy who used to eatdinner at our house five nights a week, and now just happened to be one of the most famous quarterbacks in the NFL.
I hadn’t seen him in person in years, but I’d seen him on enough magazine covers to know what he looked like: a muscular build, tanned skin, piercing blue eyes, and that annoyingly perfect beard stubble. The kind of face that made brands throw endorsement deals at him and girls everywhere lose their minds.
And right now, that face was on the other end of the line.
He sounded older, rougher—but I knew that voice like I knew my own heartbeat.
“Alex,” he said again, voice gentler this time, but edged with concern. “Are you crying?”
I sniffled, hastily wiping my face. “No. It’s nothing. Wrong call. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t lie to me.” The sharpness was back in his tone, fierce and protective in a way that made my chest ache. “What happened? Where are you?”
“I’m in L.A., Knox. What does it matter? Aren’t you in New York?”
He didn’t miss a beat. “I’m in town. Photoshoot. Just wrapped. I’m on my way.”
My heart skipped. “Wait—what? Knox, no, you don’t have to—”
“I’m already in the car, baby doll. Tell me where you are right now.”
I hesitated, then gave him the address.
“Stay right there. Don’t move. I’m coming to get you.”
“Knox, that’s not necessary, I’m—”
“No one makes you cry,” he said, low and lethal. “Not on my watch. Not ever. I’ll be there in ten.”
My hands were still shaking, but for a whole new reason. Knox Carter—my childhood enemy, the one who used to pull mybraids and call me a know-it-all—was on his way to see me.
But he wasn’t a kid anymore. He was the NFL’s number one bachelor, the man with a smirk that had millions of girls squealing worldwide.
And he was coming for me. I didn’t know whether to be excited or terrified.
