She hums and a smirk toys at her full, red lips. Wrapping her fingers around the collar of my shirt, she pulls me down until our lips meet. The kiss is indulgently slow, her tongue tracing over my bottom lip.

I want to do this for the rest of my life.

“Happy New Year, Asher.”

“Happy New Year, Olivia.”

THE END

Interested in reading more about Bree?

Read on for the prologue and first two chapters of my next novel!

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Prologue

I have three options: skinny margarita mix, expired oat milk, or an open can of lime La Croix.

I close my fridge and grab a mug from the cabinet. I turn on the faucet, letting the water run down the drain before filling my cup. I set it down on the counter and glance at the time on my microwave.

It’s 4:56 p.m. On a Monday. In December. I should be shutting down my laptop right now. Putting on my jacket. Avoiding the elevator and taking the stairs. The same Uber that I always get is waiting at the corner. We listen to Turkish rap for twenty-five minutes. He pulls up to my apartment. We part ways without a single word.

I look at the clock again. 4:59 p.m. I take a deep breath and hold it for one, two, eleven seconds too long. When I look back, it’s 5:01 p.m.

I take a sip of water and swallow.

I do it again.

And again.

And again.

Then I stab my thumbnail into the foil backing of the package in front of me, pushing the plastic bottom until the four pills pop into my hand. I take another deep breath and place them underneath my tongue.

I don’t let myself cry.

Or feel anything.

I avoid my reflection as I pass my window, and again when I walk by the mirror in the living room. I sit on my couch the way I would sit on a stranger’s couch—shrinking myself into the tiniest corner to avoid taking up too much space. The news is on the TV, but the sound is muted. People are fighting over a gaming console at a mall on Staten Island. It plays over the screen like a silent film.

My phone rings. It’s my mother. I watch the seven-day forecast while I wait for it to go to voicemail. It’s going to be cold and gray until Christmas.

“Hi, Bree. It’s Rosie, your mom’s assistant. Unfortunately, she had a last-minute business trip to Dubai scheduled, so she and your father won’t be able to make it to the gala in New York tomorrow. Please send along her apologies to River McGowan and let him know that they look forward to seeing him in Los Angeles at the end of the month. Thanks so much! Bye!”