Chapter 1

Morgan Davis

"For fuck's sake, when was the last time you got laid?" Zara teased me, her eyes twinkling mischievously over the rim of her iced latte. She lifted her eyebrows up and down a few times very suggestively, and my mouth dropped wide open in disbelief.

I felt my cheeks heat up, a warm flush spreading across my face faster than a blazing wildfire. "Zara! You can't just ask that out loud in a coffee shop," I hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping on our conversation. She always had a flare for the dramatic, and she never passed up an opportunity to make me blush.

It was like her superpower.

For whatever reason, she thought it built character. I disagreed, but that didn't save me from moments like these. Still, I loved her. She was my best friend and had been through it all with me, from one break up to the next, to my forever impending single-dom.

"Oh please, Morgan," she waved off my concern with a flick of her perfectly manicured hand, "we live in Seattle, not a fucking nunnery. Besides, don't think I don't see how you're dodging the question. Now kindly answer, please and thank you."

I sighed, stirring my coffee absentmindedly. "You know I've been too swamped with work. And after the whole debacle with Mr. No-Long-Distance-Asshat, I'm not exactly rushing to jump back into the dating pool."

Zara rolled her eyes dramatically. "You mean after Mr. ‘I-can't-handle-a-few-thousand-miles' bailed on you the day he was supposed to fly out? Girl, that was ages ago. Okay. Maybe only two weeks ago, but you need to jump back on the horse. Or, you know, someone who resembles one. Or maybe you just need a hard ride… Whatever. You know what I mean."

I couldn't help but laugh, shaking my head. "Your metaphors need a little work. And it's not like I haven't thought about it. It's just…"

"Just what?" Zara leaned in, her expression suddenly turning serious. "Morgan, come on, you moved across the country to start your company, Davis Media Relations, and that's no small feat. You've built something amazing here. But this," she gestured at me with a flourish, "isn't living. You work so fucking hard. You need fun, excitement, maybe a steamy fling or two or ten. You know, you really deserve it."

A part of me hated that I thought she was right. She'd spent all morning pestering me to drag myself away from work for brunch because we hadn't seen each other in ages. I had been swamped with my most recent client. PR disasters didn't wait for anybody. I'd had a bit of a clusterfuck going on since Thursday, and it showed no signs of letting up.

Even now, I was worried about it.

I bit my lip, mulling over her words in my head. "I know, I know. It's just hard to think about dating. Every time I do, I just remember how he called, literally as his flight was boarding, just to say he couldn't do long-distance, and he wasn't coming after all. It felt like such a slap in the face, especially after all the planning and the build-up with the stupid ring and the three years I wasted on his dick face."

Zara reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "I know it hurts, but that's all the more reason to move on. You need someone who appreciates how incredible you are, someone who won't get cold feet just because of a little—okay, a lot of—distance."

I smiled, feeling a surge of gratitude for my friend. She always knew what to say to make me feel better.

"Thanks, Zara. I don't know what I'd do without you," I said, and I meant every word.

She grinned, releasing my hand. "Probably turn into a hermit and adopt six more cats. But don't worry, I won't let that happen. Now, let's talk strategy. There's a whole city of potentials out there, and we're going to find you someone who's worthy of the amazing Morgan Davis."

I laughed, the sound mingling with the clatter of cups and the soft hum of conversation all around us. A man close by heard me laugh and looked my way, but I didn't pay him any mind. I was too much in my head to care.

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to put my ex-fiancé in the past and see what Seattle truly had to offer.

"After all, what's the worst that could happen?" I didn't know why I said that out loud… Maybe because I was an idiot.

Those were famous last words, weren't they…? Anytime anyone said that in the movies, something bad always happened, but that wasn't real life, right?

Zara cleared her throat and leveled me with a knowing look. I immediately got a bad feeling about whatever she was about to say. I opened my mouth to instantly renege on what I'd said, but she beat me to the punch first.

"I'm thinking immediate action is required, and I have the perfect solution. You and I are going out tonight, and before you even think of protesting, I'm not taking no for an answer." Zara wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Fuck…

I raised an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and apprehension swirling inside me. This could either go really well, or really, really badly.

Probably really badly…

"Zara, I don't know. The last time you said that, I got so tipsy that I ended up on stage at a karaoke bar singing ‘I Will Survive' in front of a crowd of poor, unsuspecting strangers."

"And you killed it," Zara shot back with a grin. "Besides, tonight will be different. Think less public humiliation, more scouting for potential Mr. Right… or at least Mr. Dick-Me-Down-Right-Now."

I couldn't suppress a giggle. "I'm not sure my singing or my love life needs that kind of exposure again."

"Girl, you need to trust me. As your officially-appointed wing woman, it's my duty to ensure you get some quality dick to compensate for Mr. Captain-Can't-Commit's unfortunate snubbing of your fabulous little ass."

I choked on my tea, coughing a little. "Zara! I can't take you anywhere!"

She was right though. I did have a nice ass. It was one of my finest assets.

I crack myself up sometimes.

"It's true though. And you know I'm all about the truth," she said with a dramatic flourish. "Besides, think of it as celebrating your independence. You're a successful, stunning bombshell of a woman in the prime of her life. It's time to enjoy the perks that come with it. And most importantly, get that D."

I shook my head, still chuckling. "Only you would turn a break-up into a ‘celebrate your independence' party."

"That's because only I can see the silver lining, or in your case, the hot guys in every bar. Come on, Morgan. What do you say? Let's paint the town red!"

I hesitated, the comfort of my planned quiet evening reading a book with a bottle of wine battling with the temptation of a night out with Zara. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and a part of me knew she might be right.

Maybe a night out would be fun…

"Alright, Zara. You win. Let's go out tonight. But…" I added, raising a finger for emphasis, "no karaoke bars and no setting me up with guys who have more greasy hair gel than brain cells."

Zara clapped her hands in delight. "Deal! I promise, no karaoke and only the classiest of gentlemen for my girl. And who knows? Maybe tonight's the night you meet someone who makes Mr. I-can't-commit-because-I-have-a-small-dick a distant memory."

"Oh my god, you're terrible," I replied, shaking my head, but chuckling anyway. I took a sip of my coffee, delighting in the sweet and creamy taste, and shook my head, leveling her with a knowing look.

"You love me," she quipped, beaming in my direction.

"I do," I smiled. And I meant it.

* * *

Okay, maybe this wasn't too bad. I could survive this.

We met at the elegant Vino Veritas, a chic wine bar known for its extensive selection and sophisticated clientele. The atmosphere was buzzing with the soft hum of conversation, underscored by the subtle notes of a jazz piano playing in the background.

It was actually pretty nice.

Perched on high stools at the bar, we each held a glass of wine—Zara with her bold Shiraz and me with a more reserved Chardonnay. I took a sip of wine and looked around the softly lit space, enjoying every bit of the overall ambience more than I thought I would.

She leaned in, her eyes scanning the room like a hawk on the hunt.

"Okay, let's see what we have here," Zara murmured, her gaze landing on a man in a sharp suit at the far end of the bar. "Hmm, over there—that's Mr. GQ Smooth. Looks like he stepped right out of a fashion magazine, but probably spends more time in front of a mirror than any woman I know. Hard pass."

I giggled, sipping my wine as I followed her gaze. "Not bad, but definitely looks high maintenance."

Zara's eyes twinkled as she spotted another prospect. "Yeah. Definitely hard pass. And there, by the window. That's Mr. Tech Bro. Wearing a hoodie in a wine bar, really? Probably has more money in Bitcoin than sense. Hard pass times two."

I couldn't help but laugh, "What about him?" I nodded towards a man who seemed engrossed in his phone at a secluded table.

"Oh, that's Mr. Swipe Right," Zara said, with a dismissive wave. "Too busy swiping through dating apps to notice the real world around him. Hard pass times infinity."

For a few minutes, the two of us just sipped our wine, looking around at all the possible contenders for Mr. Right.

Suddenly, Zara nudged me, her expression turning more serious. "Okay, but seriously, Morgan. Look at the guy who just walked in. Tall, dark, and handsome alert."

Following her gaze, I saw a man, confidently poised, his eyes scanning the room. He had an air of quiet sophistication about him. He wasn't just attractive; he was actually intriguing.

"Wow, he's…" I started, finding myself at a loss for words.

"Mr. Potentially Perfect?" Zara offered with a smirk. "Come on, this is your big chance. Go talk to him!"

I hesitated, feeling a familiar flutter of nervousness. "I don't know, Zara. What if…"

Zara interrupted, her voice firm yet encouraging. "No ‘what ifs'. Remember, ‘what's the worst that could happen?' Go for it, girl. I'll be right here cheering you on."

"Fineeeee… If you insist," I muttered, and Zara winked in my direction.

Taking a deep breath, I mustered my courage from somewhere deep down inside me. I could do this. Pulling back my shoulders and lifting my chin, I slid off my stool, smoothed down my dress, and took a tentative step towards the stranger.

With as much confidence as I could muster, I walked up to the man, my heart pounding in my chest. He looked up from his drink, his smile broadening as I approached.

"Hi," I managed to say, trying to sound more self-assured than I felt.

"Hello," he replied, his voice warm. "Can I help you with something?"

Taking a deep breath, I introduced myself. "I'm Morgan. I just… thought I'd come over and say hi."

He chuckled, a sound that was both friendly and disarming. "Well, hi, Morgan. I'm Ethan. It's nice to meet you."

"I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink with me?" I asked, trying not to paint my hope into every syllable of my voice.

"No disrespect, sweetheart, but you're not exactly my type…" he answered, his face looking a bit uneasy.

"Your type?"

"My type is… well… men," he said, flinching a little as he spoke.

"Oh, my bad! Enjoy your night then!" I squeaked, my cheeks flaming with heat.

Quickly, I retreated back to Zara, a wilted smile on my face.

"What happened?" she asked, her eyebrows raising with curiosity.

"So, Mr. Potentially Perfect is indeed perfect," I began, catching Zara's expectant gaze, "but for another man."

Zara's eyes widened in surprise, and then she let out a hearty laugh. "You're kidding! My gaydar must be officially on the fritz!"

"Hey, there's always the next guy," I said, scanning the room. My eyes landed on someone who seemed promising. "What about him?" I nodded towards a man who appeared to be alone, nursing a drink at a nearby table.

Zara squinted, assessing the new prospect. "Hmm, Mr. Mysterious Solo? Why not? Go for it, Morgan."

Encouraged by her enthusiasm, I approached the man, hoping this interaction would go better than the last. "Hi, I'm Morgan," I said with a friendly smile.

The man looked up, his expression unreadable. "Hello," he replied curtly, not offering his name in return.

Undeterred, I tried to start a conversation, asking about his drink choice. His responses were short, his demeanor cold. It quickly became clear he wasn't interested in chatting. After a few awkward attempts at conversation, I excused myself and returned to Zara, feeling a bit deflated.

"Let me guess," Zara said, seeing my expression, "Mr. Mysterious Solo was more Mr. Ice-Cold Hermit?"

"Yeah, something like that," I sighed, taking a sip of my wine.

"You know what we need? A change of scenery. This wine bar is classy, but it's not doing us any favors tonight. How about we hit a nightclub and go dancing instead?"

I hesitated for a moment, the comfort of the wine bar's mellow atmosphere appealing to my more introverted side, but then, the image of us letting loose on a dance floor and forgetting my failed attempts at flirtation seemed like the perfect remedy to close out the night.

"You know what? You're right," I said, finding a newfound enthusiasm bubbling within me. "Let's do it. Let's go dancing!"

Zara's face lit up. "That's the spirit! There's this new place I've been dying to check out. Supposedly, they have the best DJ in town and a dance floor that's out of this world."

"Who knows," I said, embracing the unpredictability of the night, "maybe my luck will turn around."

Zara laughed, linking her arm through mine as we walked. "With your killer dance moves? It's practically guaranteed. And even if we don't meet Mr. Get-Laid-Tonight, we're going to have a blast."

The walk to the nightclub was blissfully short, which I was exceedingly thankful for due to the heels Zara had put me in tonight. She was always on the leading edge of fashion and had insisted on dressing me in a little red dress that hugged my every curve. It was, without a doubt, the shortest dress I'd ever worn. I had to keep pulling it down with every step.

When we passed through security and went inside, the club was pulsing with energy. Colorful vibrant lights cut through the darkness, and the rhythmic thud of the bass vibrated through the floor.

Zara and I made our way through the crowd, the excitement of the dance floor infectious as we found a spot amidst the vast sea of partygoers.

Actually, this might be fun.

We moved to the music, letting the rhythmic beats take over our bodies. The freedom of dancing felt exhilarating, and for a moment, all my worries seemed to fade away.

Just as I was getting into the groove, I felt someone press up behind me. Startled, I turned to see a guy with a little too much enthusiasm and not enough sense of personal space attempting to dance with me. He ground his hard cock into my lower back, and I froze.

Before I could react, Zara was by my side, her expression a mix of protectiveness and annoyance. "Hey, Mr. Grindy-Man, back off!" she shouted over the music, pulling me away from him. She turned to me, her eyes softening. "You okay, Morgan?"

I nodded, still shaking off the unwanted contact with a shiver. I looked around, suddenly seeing the loads of men leering in my direction, and I suddenly wanted the comfort of home, a good book, another glass of wine and my two kitties, Sherlock and Holmes, cuddled beside me in bed.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for that. I just… I think I've had enough for tonight."

Zara's face fell slightly, her concern evident. "I get it. Let's get out of here."

As we made our way through the dance floor and out of the nightclub, the cool night air felt like freedom. I couldn't wait to go home.

Zara slipped her arm through mine, her voice gentle. "I'm sorry tonight turned out to be such a bust. I just wanted us to have a good time."

I squeezed her arm, grateful for her friendship. "It's not your fault. I'm glad we went out. It was… an experience. I had fun… with you anyway."

"Adventure or not, we'll find you a Mr. I-can-commit-and-I-actually-have-a-big-dick before you know it," Zara winked.

I literally groaned out loud.

"I hate you," I muttered, not really meaning it, but saying it anyway.

"No, you don't. You already told me you loved me. No take back-sies," she quipped, and I shook my head.

She was absolutely right.