Page 32

A SNEAK PEEK

Charlie

Female laughter wakes me. Never a good sign.

I peel my eyes open, but my bedroom offers few clues. It’s a disaster, sure, but it’s been a disaster for a while. I vaguely remember the girl in my lap at the bar, and a bottle of wine opening after we met a friend of hers in the lobby, but nothing afterward. It troubles me, this gap. Mostly because threesomes don’t just fall in your lap. They’re the sort of memories that will keep you warm in your old age, but you’ve got to actually remember them.

There’s more laughter. Dammit. A hundred bucks says that Maren’s making them a nutritious breakfast while she administers STD tests. And now these two nameless girls are happily settled into my apartment rather than tucked into a cab the way they should be.

I throw on sweats and trudge down to the kitchen, where they’re all busy drinking from large mugs and eating…muffins. Where the fuck did they get muffins? Or the oversized mugs?

“Good morning,” I say with a forced smile.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses, Charlie!” one of them cries gleefully.

Unsurprising, since we met ten hours ago and I still don’t know your name.

“I can’t believe Maren Fischer is your stepsister!” squeals the other.

They’re loud. And cheerful. Was I the only one who was drunk last night? Should I worry that I was taken advantage of?

“Yes, lucky me,” I say, shooting daggers at Maren, who beams back at me with her clear blue eyes and pink-flushed cheeks. A living blonde Barbie doll as always, with a kind word for everyone she meets.

Except...I’ve got Maren’s smiles memorized, and this is a new one. It’s not the brave, false one she wears when her husband ridicules her or the patient one she wears whenever Ulrika, her insane mother and my tiresome stepmother, says something ridiculous. Nor is it the unfettered, happy one I spy sometimes when I’ve made her laugh.

This one has an edge. And might be vengeful. Did I intentionally make a lot of noise last night? It seems…possible. I’m not the best version of myself when blackout drunk.

One of the girls starts asking Maren why she’s no longer modeling, and I can see that this hang-out is never going to end. “I’m sorry to cut this short, ladies, but I’ve got a—” I scan my brain for a lie Maren won’t be able to refute. “Meeting.”

“A meeting?” Maren asks. “Who would you need to meet with on a Sunday?”

Apparently she can refute it.

“Tokyo.”

Her raised brow and that glimmer of a smirk on her mouth scare me, because behind Maren’s Mother Teresa act lies an evil streak. I’d enjoy watching it unleashed. Just not at me. And not right now. She glances at her watch.

“It’s eleven at night there.”

Dammit. “Yes, they are finishing up dinner then calling me on Zoom.”

The girls make pouting faces, but gather their things and say goodbye. They seem sadder about leaving Maren, but she’s been far nicer to them than I’ve been, which is fairly typical.

Maren wants everyone to love her, but never seems to grasp that some people’s love isn’t worth earning. Like that of these girls she’ll never see again. Or my own.

I wait until the door shuts behind them and turn. “What the fuck, Maren,” I groan.

“You deserved it, after what I had to listen to last night.” She throws her head back. “Oh, God, Charlie, yes, yes, yes!”

“You’re good at faking an orgasm,” I reply, turning toward the coffee maker before she realizes exactly how good she was at it. “Not surprising. I bet Harvey gives you a lot of practice.”

“Would it kill you to have had breakfast with them?” she asks. “Would it kill you to get to know them beyond the moment you blew your load?”

Fuck. My favorite appendage was beginning to settle until she used the expression “blew your load”. It was unusual phrasing from Manhattan’s sweetheart. Is there porn involving Barbie or a Disney princess getting railed from behind?

Probably. I’ll check later.

“Maren, my life is hard enough without your bullshit. And you’ve broken every single rule I set, so it’s time for you to go impose on someone else.”

“Charlie, we need to talk?—”

“Not really a good time, since you’re leaving and I’m about to host a fictitious Zoom meeting at 11 pm in Tokyo.”

“I’ll go if you tell me what’s so hard about your life, and that wasn’t an opening for you to talk about your dick. Tell me what’s wrong.” There’s something genuine in her voice, but firm at the same time.

Knowing I’ll regret it, knowing she’s still not going to fucking leave, I cross the room and grab the letter.

Arriving August 28, 2025.