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PROLOGUE

Several Years Ago

T he Past

Mother: You’re so lucky we adopted you.

Your birth mother could have chosen other options.

But she chose us to be your parents.

And we chose you to be our child.

Me: I’m lucky I exist? And am wanted?

Mother: Yes. Exactly.

If we didn’t adopt you, you would have grown up on a farm.

With seven brothers and sisters.

And your mother would have been your sister.

And your stepfather who would also be your grandfather would have been physically and emotionally abusive.

You’re so lucky we chose you.

I love you so much.

Me: Thank you so much.

I am grateful.

And I love you so much, too.

Several Years Ago

I’m minding my business at my favorite place in town to grab a drink, the old Irish dive bar many people don’t even know exists.

It’s very… wood-forward, I guess you could say. A long, battle-scarred bar that runs the entire length of the front room, lined with nondescript bar stools.

The walls have ornate wooden detailing at the top, and the back of the bar has built-in wood shelves.

Whoever designed this place really loves wood.

They have all the typical booze you’d expect for an Irish bar—a bunch of beers on tap, a ton of Irish whiskey—and then some weird choices, like a big-ass bottle of blue curacao. There has to be a story about it, but it’s not one I’ve asked, even though I’ve talked to the people who work here for many, many hours on end.

And one of my favorite things is the noticeboard, where the staff members place notes for each other, and put up pictures of them doing silly things—face painting, bad karaoke, and so on. I love sitting down that end of the bar so I can be nosy and read it. Because the staff here have all become my friends.

They love to make silly check names for me, and it’s become a bit of a competition. Puns on my name… Margaux with the Flow. Let the Good Times Margaux. Let it Margaux. Margaux your own Way. Ma rgauxna Be A Star. And my personal favorite, Margaux All Night Long.

I feel at home here. I can come and sit after a stressful day at work.

My phone lights up. Please don’t be a work email . I can’t take any more for the day. Probably some dickhead from Tinder, anyway.

Dex:

Hey Marg! I’m in town… want to grab a… marg?

I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop from smiling. Dex is just as punny as the team here.

“Oooh, who are you talking to?” Pamela, one of my favorite bartenders in the world, asks. “I see that look on your face. You’re positively beaming.”

“Ah, it’s no one.” I can feel myself blushing.

“Doesn’t look like a no one,” she winks. “And you’re beet red by the way. Your face matches your hair.”

I feel my face getting even hotter. “No no. It’s my dickhead brother’s best friend. It sounds like he’s in town. He likes making puns out of my name, just like you guys.”

She laughs. “Sounds like a real doll. Why don’t you get him to come by?”

I grin. “Maybe I will.”

I text him the address.

Me:

It’s not really a margarita kind of place. But I know you like whiskey, and they have plenty of that.

Half an hour later, I’m flicking through my phone and half-reading some random article about celebrities behaving badly, when I hear a familiar voice booming from the entrance.

“Well, if it isn’t Margauxrita sitting at an Irish dive bar, in all her redheaded glory?! I’m shocked to find you in an establishment such as this!”

Everyone in the entire bar seems to stop what they’re doing and turn to look at him.

And I mean, I can’t blame them. I’m staring too. He’s very easy on the eyes, and I swear he gets even more attractive every time I see him.

He has a deep tan—must have been working outside again—and he’s tall as fuck. I’m thinking six-foot-four or so, but I’ve never asked.

He’s absolutely covered in tattoos, and his long, light brown hair is pulled back in his signature man bun.

And then there’s his smile that could make a nun question her life choices.

He’s holding his motorcycle helmet under his arm.

Oh my god, I forgot he rides a motorcycle. Kill me now.

I blush and shake my head as he approaches me.

Hopping off my bar stool, I turn to face him, and he wraps me in a bear hug.

It’s a long hug with a little bit of twisting, and I feel my bones crack in a good way. I never want to let him go.

Dex has always been an epic hugger, ever since I was little. I think he builds a little bit of chiropractor stuff into his squeezes, because I always come away from his crushing feeling a little more aligned and a lot warmer than I was before.

“Gosh, he says,” looking me up and down. “You’re looking great, Marg! How long’s it been, like 6 years? And what’s this flowery stuff you’ve got on, eh? I thought you hate flowers.” He grins at me. “You look good in it, though.”

I blush, suddenly self-conscious. I’m still dressed in my corporate work clothes, although I try to keep it as business casual as possible without breaching the dress code. But work slacks and a flowery top with cap sleeves are definitely not my preferred look.

“Oh thanks,” I say, swiping a loose strand of hair from my face. I gesture at my outfit. “You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do in these corporate gigs.” I glance at him again and feel a little shy when he catches me staring. “Um, you look good, too. Really good.”

The words make me blush again. He’s wearing a leather jacket over a collared plaid shirt, and gray jeans of the skinny kind which cling to his giant quads and highlight his… um.. package. “And yeah, I think it must have been six years. Have you talked to Danny recently?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, he’s off doing his thing. I try not to bother him, and stay out of the drama. You know what he’s like.”

“Oh, I definitely do.”

My brother Danny is the reason Dex and I know each other.

Danny’s a lot older than me, and he and Dex grew up together in New Zealand in the same small neighborhood after Dex’s dad got a work transfer from the US.

They were really close as kids, but I guess after a certain amount of time around my brother, Dex started to see his true colors. Which is fair enough, because I’ve distanced myself from him too, and only engage in polite exchanges around the holidays.

It helps being in a totally different country and in a different time zone.

Eventually, Dex moved back stateside, where I’ve found myself, too, and he occasionally reaches out to see what I’m doing. But he’s right, time flies. It really must have been a full six years since I last saw him.

“Well, it’s so good to see you, Margaux, truly,” says Dex, and I find myself getting lost in his eyes.

The amount of times I thought about him when I was growing up, even though he was old enough to be… well, a lot older than me, but not old enough to be my dad, at least. Still, I know the only reason he showed an interest in me was because he was friends with my older brother, and he’s someone who knows how to be polite.

I blush and inwardly cringe as I remember forcing him and my brother to sit through many awkward dance performances put on by me and my friends .

God, I’m lucky he gives me the time of day anymore now that he’s not obligated.

Pamela walks past, and I catch her winking at me from behind the bar. She can feel it, too. There’s always been a chemistry between us, some kind of connection.

But Dex would never cross that line.

Even though my brother Danny is far from perfect, Dex operates by a code of honor.

He wouldn’t hit on his best friend’s kid sister.

And besides, last I heard, he was still engaged. He might even be married now.

“So, uh… what’s new? How’s… what’s her name, Stephanie?”

A strange look passes over Dex’s face. I could swear he’s blushing, too. “Oh, we, uh… things didn’t work out between us.”

“Oh wow, I’m sorry. I thought you were going to say you were married with like three kids.”

He smiles, and I detect a hint of sadness. “Well, let’s say I dodged a bullet.”

I get the sense he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t press any further.

“How about you, Marg?” He quirks a brow. “With your beauty and brains, and your deranged sense of humor, I’m sure you have a line of guys waiting for you around the block.”

I groan. “Oh my god, the dating scene is so bad in this city. I have a million horror stories that I could share with you, but you’d have to have all night. I won’t bore you.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Fair enough.”

The rest of the evening goes well. We pay up at the Irish bar and head to another place with live music.

We dance, which feels really good. It’s not something I normally do, but the live music and the few drinks we’ve had have got me feeling a little loose. The bass is heavy, and I’m enjoying the way it’s vibrating through my body. It’s a release after the hell week I’ve had at work .

At one point, Dex pulls me close, and I find myself melting into him.

The music slows and I glance up at him, and there’s a spark between us, more intense than anything I’ve felt before.

I tilt my head up, and I think he’s going to kiss me.

But right as our lips are about to touch, he pulls away. “I—I should get going,” he says. “I’m still jet lagged, and I have a meeting first thing in the morning.”

Oh god. I’ve read the signs completely wrong. “Dex, wait, I?—”

“Sorry, Marg. I’ve got to go,” he frowns. “Get yourself an Uber and get home safe, okay? It’s late.”

And the six-foot-four godlike man takes off into the crowd, weaving his way through the array of dancers and out the door. Vanished from my life just as quickly as he re-entered it.

Ugh. If only men like him existed around here.

And if only Dex wasn’t my brother’s best friend.