Page 7 of Knotted

Then, he’s gone, leaving me with my unsettling tasks and my phone buzzing like a vibrator.

TayTay

9-1-1 already.

I swear.

This.

Is.

An.

Emergency.

Shit.

CHAPTER 3

Jules

I race back to the shoebox of an apartment Taylor and I like to call home.

Technically, it’s in Brooklyn. It’s not the glossy, high-rise dream of Manhattan that’s so far out of reach it might as well be on another planet, but let’s be real—neither of us could dream of affording to live in the city. Hell, there are some months when even Brooklyn is a stretch.

But the moment we saw it, we both fell hard. It’s like a rugged guy with just the right amount of scruff—rough around the edges but impossible to resist. Here, Taylor’s got the walk-in closet she’s always wanted, and I’ve claimed the oversized window that’s become my writer’s haven.

And it’s got that old-school Brooklyn grit. The creaky floorboards and arched doorways whisper stories in my ear. This isn’t just an apartment; it’s history, alive and breathing, wrapping us in its worn, familiar embrace.

Plus, it’s a quick, cheap subway ride from the heartbeat of New York. Or if things get desperate, a cab.

Like today.

Which is good because, at the moment, all I care about is getting through the door.

“Taylor?” I shout as I burst inside, my heart still pounding from the sprint up the stairs.

“In here!” Her voice floats back, calm as ever.

I rush to the bathroom and find her standing front and center, glued to the mirror.

She’s fussing with her honey-gold hair, not even glancing my way as I practically crash into the doorway. She takes her sweet time, painting her lips with a rich cherry-red lipstick, each stroke precise. Finally, she turns to me, her big blue-green eyes locking onto mine—those eyes that tend to make men go insane. Fortunately, they have no such effect on me.

Emergency, my ass.

“Why am I here?” I ask. Taylor was ringing my phone like a damn alarm, and now, it’s as if she never texted at all.

She bats those impossibly long lashes at me and flashes a pleading grin.

It’s a grin I know all too well. The one that says I’ll regret ever returning her call.

I roll my eyes, cross my arms, and brace for the inevitable. “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Taylor. I was in the middle of an interview.”

She spins around, eyes wide with excitement. “Did you get the job?”

“Barely, with my phone going off like crazy. I’m pretty sure at one point, he thought I left my vibrator on. But I start in three weeks as a no-kidding, real writer.”

She squeals and hugs me, nearly knocking meoff balance. “You’re going to be a famous! In no time, you’ll be cranking out stories and supporting your bestie in the lifestyle I’d like to become accustomed to.”

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