Page 4 of Broken Deal

Aria and I exchange a knowing look. This always happens when we try to find out what the hell happened between them. While I haven’t personally witnessed their dynamic, Aria tells me it’s not pretty. And I don’t doubt it. I love Isabella to death, but her temper can be a lot sometimes. She’s always simmering in anger, which as her best friend, makes me hurt for her. But I guess everyone copesdifferently. I’m not about to reprimand her for something I also do. While she relies on anger, I rely on jokes and keeping a smile plastered all over my face even when it hurts.

“8 p.m. at Lorenzo’s, don’t forget,” Aria says while pointing her index finger at me, successfully deterring the conversation. “I’m sure you guys will get alongreallywell.”

I hold back an eye roll. I love my best friend—truly, I do—but she still thinks I’m teenage Sophia, the hopeless romantic who wanted to meet her prince charming. But the more I witnessed at home, the more I knew it was all bullshit. When my father died, I also witnessed—and cleaned up—the mess he left behind. So much heartbreak. Darkness. Sadness. Some people are not meant to fall in love and find their person. I happen to be one of those people.

And every day, I try to be okay with it.

Walking outside my stuffy restaurant with a glass of whiskey in hand, I take a deep breath as the bustling city sounds and wind welcome me. When I moved to Chicago, I was so excited. Eager to start my life and looking forward to what this city had to offer.

Now, knowing I’m stuck in this stuffy city, going to stuffy parties and stuffy meetings, makes my skin crawl. I didn’t even want to celebrate my goddamn birthday today. But my best friend, Ivy, insisted. Try saying no to her. I dare you. It’s impossible. All I wanted was to stay home and exist. Something I’ve been doing a lot lately. Simmering in the exhaustion I can’t seem to shake off. Instead, I’m stuck at a birthday dinner I didn’t even want. The only thing giving me some sort of relief is that at least it’s happening in my own restaurant. Most people would say it’s lame, but the restaurants are the only thing I still enjoy in this life I get to call mine.

I loosen my tie and slide it off, unfastening three buttons on my dress shirt before taking a slow sip of whiskey, savoring the burn as it warms its way down my throat. Thesharp scent of car exhaust fills the air, stinging my nostrils. I used to love the city’s relentless pace and no-bullshit attitude. But now? It feels like background noise to the thoughts I can’t escape.

“What is your problem, man? Jesus,” I mutter to myself, scrubbing my face.

A lot of things. Do we really need to go through the list right now?

A sudden sharp laughter followed by a sniffle cuts through the air, pulling me from my trance. I look around my surroundings until my eyes land on a woman. The fading city lights barely light up where she’s sitting on the sidewalk. All I can see is her silhouette and her long, wavy dark hair.

I take a hesitant step forward. “Are you okay?”

She doesn’t turn around. “Yes.” Her voice quivers with a sniff, but she tries to recover with the fakest laugh I’ve ever heard.

“You’re sitting on the sidewalk in the middle of the night, crying,” I point out. A brief silence follows before I add, “And laughing.”

She forces yet another laugh. What is it with this woman and her fake laughs? “I’m not crying. Now could you please leave me the hell alone?”

“Hey.” I raise my hands in defense, which is pointless, because she’s not looking at me. “I’m trying to be nice here.”

“Be nice somewhere else. I’m trying to have a moment here,” she snaps, still refusing to look at me.

Why am I dying to look at her right now? And why does her voice sound so damn familiar?

“You’re the one sitting outside a restaurant”—I point to the restaurant doors—“on a Saturday night, in the middle ofa busy city. Maybe try having a moment somewhere more private next time,” I retort.

She lets out an exasperated sigh. “For God’s sake,” she mutters as she stands and brushes off her dress, trying to remove any trace of dirt.

She’s petite, even with the black boots she’s wearing. As she steps closer, the overhead lights of the restaurant gradually illuminate her face, revealing her features. When she looks up, my stomachflips, my heart almost skipping a whole fucking beat. This is the strongest emotion I’ve felt since last year.Fuck, what is happening right now? The world around me fades, my body suddenly hyperaware of the eyes locked on me.

Her eyes are like chips of ice. Piercing, cold, and a haunting shade of blue. They’re the kind that pierce right through your soul, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. But that’s not what throws me off-guard. What does is that they are the same eyes that have been stuck in my head forexactly365 days now. The ones I fell for on this very day, a year ago. The ones that looked over her shoulder in amusement when I tried to get her number and left me standing—starstruck—as she walked away from me.

Now here I stand, dumbfounded, staring at the woman I fucked senseless in a cleaning closet at a clubexactlyone year ago.

My breath falters as I take her in. I never forgot what she looked—and felt—like. But seeing her in the flesh is so much better. Her brown hair frames her face beautifully. Her lips are plush and an inviting shade of a soft, nude pink. She’s wearing a short, black dress that hugs her curves perfectly and an oversize leather jacket.

She studies every inch of my face, with a small frown. The moment she realizes who I am is obvious, because herexpression starts to change. We both stand there, our eyes roaming each other shamelessly, drinking each other in. The only sound interrupting our deafening silence is the people walking and chatting around us and cars honking.

Before I can say anything, the restaurant door swings open and Aria and Damian step out. As they approach us, I don’t miss the way she brushes under her eyes with her knuckles and plasters a huge smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Sophia! You’re here,” Aria says excitedly, throwing her arms around Sophia in a hug. “And I see you’ve met the birthday boy.” Aria’s grin is playful, her eyes dancing with a trace of amusement.

I can practically hear the laughter inside my head, my brain having entirely too much fun with the situation. Chicago is not a small city by any means. The chances of running into someone you had a one-night stand with are, hell,slim. I can attest to this fact, because I’ve had my fair share and have yet to run into any of them.

But here she is. The woman I haven’t stopped thinking about. The only one-night stand I’ve had where I felt an uncontrollable, charged chemistry. I’ve never in my now thirty-six years of life—happy birthday to me, I guess—felt such a strong connection with someone. Having casual sex has always been a means to an end, nothing more. With her, though, it was anything but ordinary.

I’m a man who believes in destiny. There’s something out there that’s much bigger than us and can decide if luck is on your side or not. And right now, standing in front of her, I have no doubt. If this doesn’t scream destiny, I don’t know what will.

“Sophia as in, Aria’s best friend, Sophia?” I ask, tiltingmy head. I’ve heard much about Aria’s best friend. And for the life of me, I can’t believe this is who it is.

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