Livvy

Thirteen-year-old me—the one who used to practice signing Mrs. Olivia Dixon—would be screaming, crying, throwing up, because Noah Dixon (subject of all my inappropriate adolescent fantasies) is hitting on me in a crowded bar. Twenty-one-year-old me might throw up, too.

I've just graduated college, moved in with my older sister, and am trying to figure out my life. What I have figured out is I need to 1) find a job (and quit my questionable, but lucrative, side gig of naughty texting with men through an anonymous app) and 2) start dating since I've never done it and I've finally gotten over my painful shyness and awkward phase.

But I cannot do it with Noah Dixon, because, unfortunately, he's my sister's ex-boyfriend.

Noah

She's changed a lot since I saw her last, but I see the resemblance now. It's probably a good thing the only girl who's caught my eye in years is my ex's little sister. Off limits. Because my life and career are finally right where I want them, and the last thing I need right now is to complicate it with a relationship.

Besides, I'm already kind of enamored with someone I've been chatting with anonymously online, and that's just how I like it—uncomplicated, at a distance, no one gets attached, no one gets hurt.