Chapter 1

1

DES

T he door swings open in front of me. Hmmm. Damp and musty. Cold too.

A lump lodges itself in my throat like a coin stuck in a vending machine. I bought this apartment in an old warehouse on Water Street a year ago when I joined Williams Security and my salary took an uptick. Every time I look at my mortgage statement my stomach turns over, but when I first looked at the key in my hand, I knew in my gut I'd left that tiny bedroom with four bunk beds in the projects behind for good. And I'm ten minutes up the road from the office!

Shouldering past the bare walls, I dump my backpack on the gray couch and take in three months' worth of dust, the old Turkish rug, and too-large TV screen. Too little furniture and not enough love. I need to do something about that, but later, later .

I drag my suitcases through the door and run around the living room and kitchen waving my arms and squealing. Then I race into the bathroom and sniff the bottles of shampoo and body wash sitting on the shelf before turning on the shower. Inhale the joy, Des. Thirty minutes to wash the plane funk off me, walk down a sunny New York street, visit my favorite barista, and get my ass into work. And tomorrow I go and pick up my sweet ball of fluff from Bob and June, who've been looking after her for me while I've been away. If my windows weren't nailed shut, I'd fling them open and shout, "I'm back!" at the top of my voice.

Five hours later, I'm in a cramped office and I must have farted out the inhaled joy hours ago: Our software development is way behind, and the team are panicked and giving me terse answers to questions. Leaving my desk, I head into the glass conference room and the noise dampens as the door clangs closed behind me. My eyes sweep over the sea of heads and desks outside in the open-plan space. Holy shit, we're growing so fast . They're all working on the Samsung account reporting to me. Me—I'm twenty-four! As one of the youngest chief technical officers in a tech company by a country mile, I cannot fuck this up.

I sink into a seat. Ever since my boss, Jo Williams, got together with Janus Phillips— the Janus Phillips—my life has been a roller coaster. Jo's a tech security supremo, a tiny dynamite of a woman with red hair and freckles and more than a match for Mr. Swoony, my own personal nickname for Janus. Samsung found out about Jo's business when a now infamous bust-up between the two of them caused Janus to declare his undying love for her in a newspaper interview—you see? Definitely a swoony move—and she impressed the Samsung bosses so much that they asked her to work on the security on their phones. So now I'm in Korea more than New York and I've got two Zoom meetings lined up with the client there in about half an hour. Shut up, Des! Time for fun. A drink. A hookup. This is your favorite city in the world.

I fish my phone out of my pocket and pull up my Grindr account, sinking into the quiet. Ten minutes to browse. And … uh … okay … thirty notifications. Wow. Maybe I went a little crazy with messages in the cab from the airport. I flick to the first guy.

Tattoos. Nice . The message says:

What's up?

Literally, that's it. Honest to God, what are guys thinking ? Sometimes it's "Yo." But to be fair to him, I check out his picture. He's wearing no shirt and a cowboy hat with his hand stuffed down his pants. Next.

Oh dear, oh dear.

This one is dressed in a vest pulled up to reveal a six-pack. Impressive, but that's a red flag. I've hooked up with men like this before and abs are too easy to fake in pictures. So much false promise right there.

The third one, oh my God! I cover my eyes and peep through my fingers. He took a photo of his ass ? Gross. There's hair and …

Swipe.

What is that a picture of? Is he holding his …

Swipe.

The fifth one is a bent head of dark curls. No eyes, just the tip of his nose and full lips, sort of squarish. Yum. The message says:

This is my Sunday:

· Lazing in bed reading

· Heading out for a pastry and taking the dog, Foster, for a walk

· Absently talking to Foster and realizing people are looking at me

· Wandering in the sunshine

· Watching Sex Education all afternoon and getting completely caught up in the gay romance storyline even though it's not the main story.

If you'd like to share a Sunday with me, get in touch.

Interesting. Unusual response for Grindr. I pause, humming. I quite like the sound of Mr. Sunday. I start typing:

Hi Mr. Sunday,

Here's my Sunday:

· Wake up in a big bed with two guys somewhere across town

· Roll over and realize I'm still wearing a condom

· Try and sneak out before anyone wakes, only to be told to "be quiet when I'm leaving"

· Pull my clothes on from the heap on the floor, realize I can't find my boxers and that I should have taken a shower

· Catch sight of myself in the mirror in the elevator and notice that my hair is standing on end, and I have love bites all over my neck. Sure enough, I can remember some guy sucking on me like a vampire.

· Wondering if that guy really was a vampire because I've read too many of those kinds of books and have started to believe they're real

· Staring at the jeans I'm wearing in an Uber and realizing they don't belong to me.

If this isn't TMI for you, I'd love to meet.

I grin. If he wants to get together after that word vomit, then it's game on.