BEST I EVER HAD

They came without warning—

the storm and the man.

One day, I’ll look back and realize they were one and the same.

PROLOGUE

No halo is hanging over her chestnut-colored hair, and she’s paler than most of the sun-worshiping girls at the party. She blends into the background. Not much about her outfit stands out—corduroy miniskirt, sunset-orange tights, ankle boots, and a burgundy top caught at the waist. No one else seems to notice her.

Except me

. . . And Troy Hogan.

But seeing the way he wraps his arm around her neck, I’d say they’re already well-acquainted. That’s too bad.

For him.

She may be dating him tonight, but we haven’t met yet.

CHAPTER 1

Cooper Reed Haywood

Five Months Later

I’ve never believed in omens or signs, but I’ve been given several in the past hour.

The lights of Bean There coffee shop shine like a beacon through the heavy pelts of rain. I make a mad dash for the door, swinging it open with more force than necessary in my rush to get inside. No one appears bothered when the bell above the door rings, but I get two quick glances from over the tops of laptops near the counter.

And then they carry on minding their own business.

“Seat yourself,” chimes a voice from behind a swinging door. The porthole window gives me a glimpse of the brunette bustling in the back.

I score a table by the window and, as luck would have it, an outlet. My laptop doesn’t have enough juice to last the hours needed to write my paper. When my building lost power and the generator didn’t kick in, I went to the library. The horde of over-caffeinated and procrastinating students pouring out of the doors told me I’d have no luck in there.

After rubbing my hair dry with the hood of my jacket, I unpack my bag to prepare for the long night ahead. As this coffee shop is on the opposite side of town from where I live and farther from Atterton University’s campus than I generally travel for a hot brew, this is my first visit. But it’s decent in here, low key with a kind of old-school hideaway vibe to it—lamps instead of bright overhead lights, scuffed wood floors that have seen better days, and jazz playing in the background.

Apparently, I’m the only one not privy to this secret. Every table, though they’re small, is occupied. Bags on the floor, laptops open, the unflattering glow of LED white lights reflecting across faces half-hidden by their screens.

Little plates with muffins and coffee cups fill the tables to the point I’m starting to think these people are taking up residency instead of just being here for the evening. That or the staff is slacking. Since I’m not seeing anyone other than the girl in the back, I’m thinking that might be more the case.

When I reach down to plug my laptop in, I hear, “The storm rolled in without warning.”