Author's Preface
The morning sun struck Chantell directly in the face.
She groaned, squeezed her eyes shut, and pulled the pillow over her head. Unfortunately, it offered little protection against the bright light pouring through the enormous windows.
She rolled onto her back and slowly opened one eye.
The unfamiliar ceiling made her frown.
Then she sat bolt upright.
"Wh... what... what the fuck?"
She stared around the bedroom, trying to piece together the previous night. The last thing she remembered clearly was being at The Moonshine. After that, things grew dangerously hazy.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and staggered toward the windows. Beyond the glass, the city was bathed in the soft light of a Sunday morning, skyscrapers rising in the distance beneath a pale blue sky.
Chantell stared at the view.
"Where the hell am I?"
She knew she was in the city... but where?
Her reflection caught her attention, and she stopped dead.
Her hair was sticking out in every conceivable direction, resembling Sideshow Bob after he'd jammed his fingers into an electrical socket.
"Oh, my God."
She tried patting it down. The hair flatly refused to cooperate.
A delicious smell drifted through the apartment, interrupting her battle with her reflection. Bacon. Eggs. Toast. Then came the unmistakable aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
Her stomach rumbled.
Following her nose, she shuffled toward the kitchen, stopping halfway to look down at herself.
Still dressed.
Not covered in vomit.
Small mercies.
She glanced at her feet.
No shoes. No socks.
"Brilliant," she muttered.
Then she reached the kitchen doorway.
Ian stood at the counter, shirtless, preparing breakfast.
Chantell's hangover didn't exactly disappear, but it was suddenly forced to share her attention.
"Mornin'." Ian glanced over his shoulder with an annoyingly relaxed smile.
He placed a mug of coffee, a glass of water, and two paracetamol tablets on the counter. "Thought you might need these."
Chantell stared at him, then at the unfamiliar kitchen.
"Where am I?"
"My apartment. In the city." He gestured toward the enormous windows behind him. "The view didn't give it away?"
She ignored the remark and reached for the water and tablets first, swallowing them before wrapping both hands around the coffee mug.
The warmth felt heavenly.
She took a cautious sip, then looked at Ian over the rim.
He was still shirtless.
This was going to be a very difficult morning.
"How can you afford all this? You only starred in six shows."
"Ah, well, my mother was an investor. She made all kinds of deals around the city. She was good at it," Ian replied, placing more bacon on the grill.
"Was?"
"Yeah. She, erm... ran off with her toy boy ten years ago, then they both died in an accident, and with no other living heir, I was left with a nice chunk of money."
Chantell paused, her coffee halfway to her mouth.
"Didn't Holly get any?" she asked, her eyebrows furrowing.
"We share... sorry, shared the same dad, not the same mom."
"Oh." Chantell considered that for a moment before looking back at him "Oh. So, you're good-looking, can sing, play guitar, and you're wealthy. What else are you hiding?"
"Well, don't tell anyone, but my basement's full."
"Of what? Bodies?"
"Don't be silly." Ian glanced over his shoulder, grinning. "Comic books."
"Well, I'm impressed." She sat down at the breakfast bar. "So, what happened last night? I didn't make a fool of myself, did I?"
"No. You danced, you drank, and you had a good time."
"So how did I end up back here?"
"I wasn't comfortable letting you go home in your state, so I brought you back with me."
"Oh, my God... we didn't... did we?"
"Not my thing," Ian said smoothly. "I like my women conscious, knowing what they're doing, and sober enough to actually enjoy it."
"I'm not saying I wouldn't, but-"
"Like I said, we didn't." He placed a plate of freshly cooked eggs and bacon in front of her.
Chantell stared down at the sizzling food.
"I think I'm going to throw up."
---
Ian drove her home after they'd finally located her missing socks and phone. The screen was flooded with missed calls and frantic texts from Sarah. Chantell called her right away, reassuring her that she was fine and promising they'd catch up at school on Monday morning.
When she hung up, Ian glanced over at her. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah, just Sarah." She tucked her phone into her pocket.
"I remember you mentioning someone named Ricky."
"Ricky? The lead singer?"
"That's the one."
Ian chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, he and Sarah went home together last night. Don't tell her I said anything, but he'll buy her a necklace as a grand declaration of love, then leave her hanging."
Chantell turned in her seat to stare at him. "What?"
"It's his signature move." Ian shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. "Apparently, breaking hearts wasn't enough he had to accessorize."
---
They pulled up outside Chantell's apartment building, a typical apartment complex. Ian glanced up at it, but to his credit, he didn't scoff or make a snide remark.
"Not bad... for a high school teacher."
"Yeah, well, my mom's the landlady, so technically I don't pay rent. Though I'm sure that's coming if I don't give her grandchildren soon."
Ian sniggered.
"What?"
"Nothing." Still grinning, he waved a dismissive hand.
"Anyway," she asked, "do you want to come up?"
"I would, but I have a meeting."
"On a Sunday? Don't you know even God rested on Sundays?"
"True, but God didn't run six different startups, manage a portfolio of failing businesses, and have one sexy girl who needed a ride home."
Chantell raised an eyebrow. "You're a businessman? I thought... because of Broadway..."
"In another life." He smiled gently.
---
Chantell spent Sunday grading papers and polishing her screenplay. By late afternoon, she was completely exhausted. She couldn't tell whether it was the aftermath of the previous night or the mountain of schoolwork she'd been battling all day.
Dirty mugs of tea dotted her coffee table. Some were empty, others half-drunk, and a few had developed that faint film on the surface from being left out too long.
The clock on her mantelpiece chimed five-thirty.
She'd had enough.
Papers littered the floor around her as she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Pushing her reading glasses up onto her forehead, she rubbed the bridge of her nose where the frames had left a faint red mark.
When she closed her eyes, all she could picture was red ink tracing its way up Ian Jenkins's dangerously sexy arm.
"Oh, Chantell, what have you gotten yourself into?" she muttered, lowering her glasses and opening her eyes to address the photograph on the mantelpiece.
It showed her on graduation day, looking considerably more innocent than she felt right now.
The buzzer jolted her back to reality.
Buzz.
Buzz.
Buzz.
It was relentless.
Chantell hauled herself out of the chair, her joints popping as she stood. Papers scattered in every direction as she half-walked, half-hobbled over to the intercom.
"Yes?"
"I have a package for a... Miss Chantell Lovelace."
"Leave it in the lobby."
"Sorry, ma'am. The note says hand-delivery only."
"Fuck's sake." She rubbed her forehead. "Okay, okay. Apartment 4C, second floor."
A few moments later, a sharp knock at the door made her freeze. She hurried over and pulled it open, only to find Ian standing on her doorstep.
Suddenly, she became painfully aware of everything: the oversized hoodie she'd apparently owned since 1987, her hair scraped back into a messy ponytail, her reading glasses, and the complete absence of makeup.
Ian looked her up and down, then peered past her into the apartment.
"Oh erm, hi. I must have the wrong apartment. I'm looking for a redhead about yay high. Very, very attractive. Seen her anywhere?"
"Ian!" she squeaked, instinctively trying to cover herself despite being fully dressed. "W-what are you doing here?"
"I came bearing gifts." He held up a bag of takeout. "Plis my meeting finished early and Holly wanted me to move something in Dad's garage. So I thought since I'm in the neighbourhood I'd drop in."
"So you just show up?" Chantell glanced over her shoulder at the wreckage behind her.
"Bad time?"
"You could say that."
She stepped aside and let the door swing wide, gesturing to the disaster zone of her living room with a grand, theatrical flourish.
"Ta-da! I'm a slob."
"Erm... you know what? I'll come back," Ian teased, turning as if to walk away.
Chantell grabbed the back of his t-shirt, dragging him back over the threshold. "No, no, no. You brought takeout and I'm starving."
---
They sat on Chantell's apartment floor, eating takeout straight from the containers and using paper towels as plates.
"So... Ian. Broadway."
"No." Ian reached for another egg roll. "Just no."
"But come on! Which shows were you in?"
"I'm not telling you."
"Fine."
Chantell reached for her phone, a smirk spreading across her face as she opened a browser to search his name.
Ian eyed her suspiciously. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing."
"That's never a good sign."
"Whoa! You were in Cats? No way!"
Ian closed his eyes. "I was a cub," he muttered under his breath.
Chantell stared at the screen for another second before letting out an excited squeal. "Oh, my God! Oh my god! Look at you!"
She turned the screen toward him, displaying a photo of a much younger Ian in full costume all fluffy ears, tail, and feline face paint.
"Don't," he warned.
She did a mock pout "Aw. You were adorable!"
"I was a professional performer." Ian said straightening his tee.
"You were a kitten!"
"I was a cub!"
Chantell dissolved into laughter, clutching her phone to her chest as Ian reached for another roll with the grim determination of a man reconsidering every life decision that had led him to her living room floor.
"No, no, no..."
"What did you find now?"
""You... you were in Matilda!" She squealed again, practically breathless with laughter. "You played her brother! Mikey! Oh, this is priceless... wait, wait, wait, there's a video of you singing..."
Chantell completely lost it. She was laughing so hard she started snorting like a pig, tears streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to press play.
The apartment suddenly filled with the unmistakable sound of twelve-year-old Ian singing onstage.
Chantell let out another ear-splitting shriek of laughter.
"Oh, my God! Ian! I can't breathe!"
Ian stared at her in horror.
"Turn it off."
She clutched the phone to her chest, laughing even harder.
"Not a chance, Jenkins!"
Without a word of warning Ian tackled her playfully, attempting to grab her phone as they wrestled along the floor.
"Not a chance Jenkins" she laughed holding the phone a far away as possible.
"That's it" Ian growled, and began ticking her sides sending her into another laughing fit. As she clutched her side ian grabbed the phone.
"You're never getting this phone back." Ian gave her a wicked grin.
"Is that so?"
"Yeah"
She threw her full weight into a roll and somehow tossed him over using her legs so she was straddling him.
"Give it back!"
"Never!"
He abandoned the phone long enough to dig his fingers into her ribs. Chantell shrieked, twisting and kicking as she tried to fend him off. "Ian! Stop! I can't breathe!"
"Give up!"
"Never!"
She managed to catch his wrists, but he was relentless. They wrestled across the floor, laughing so hard that neither of them seemed capable of remembering what they were fighting over in the first place.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
Ian slumped beside her, breathing heavily. Then he shifted, leaning over her until his face was only inches from hers.
Their laughter faded.
Chantell looked into his eyes. For once, he wasn't smirking or gearing up for another clever remark. He was just looking at her.
His gaze dropped to her lips.
She barely had time to draw a breath before he leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn't a teasing peck or part of their game. It was deep and unhurried the kind of kiss that made the rest of the room fade into the background. Chantell responded without hesitation, sliding one hand against his cheek to pull him closer. For a long moment, neither of them showed any intention of stopping.
Then Ian suddenly broke away.
He scrambled backward across the rug, leaving Chantell staring after him in utter bewilderment.
"Sorry," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.
She pushed herself up onto her elbows. "Don't be. I want this."
"It's not that, Chan."
"Then what is it?"
"I... I"
"Its ok Ian just say"
"I'm leaving. I'm moving to London in eight weeks, and I don't want to lead you on."
"You're not leading me on. I'm not proposing to you, Ian, it's just sex between two consenting adults."
"I don't want to break your heart."
"Break my heart, Ha. Look, Ian, just be honest with me, okay?" She sat up completely and held his gaze. "Are you married?"
"No."
"Do you have a girlfriend, a partner, or anyone out there who's pregnant?"
"No, no, and... I hope not."
"Then it's just two adults having fun. I want you, and I felt how much you want me."
"I do"
"Then whats the problem"
"So, what? We're just friends with benefits?"
"Yeah, sort of, yeah." Chantell teased, a small smirk returning to her lips. "Just that one of us is a high school teacher with no prospects, and the other is a wealthy guy who can pay for everything we do."
Ian chuckled, the tension breaking. "I don't know... I'm not sure you can afford me."
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