Present day

RHETT

I'm a good liar. Always have been. I could convince my mom I didn't eat that cookie before dinner with a single look. The dog ate my homework actually worked for me. My lies were always meant to help myself. Never to hurt anyone else. But the best lies I tell—those I reserve for myself. The lies we tell ourselves are the most important we tell. You can lie to your boss, your partner, your friends—keep things to yourself, not share the whole truth. You want the day off, so you phone in sick when you're not. You say you'll call somebody, knowing you won't. Conveniently forget that party you were supposed to go to, but didn't really want to attend. The list is endless. All those are crappy, but it's the lies we tell ourselves that define us, hold us hostage, give us excuses for doing what we do. Those are the lies that keep up the facade. The ones that keep our lives going. The lies I tell myself—those are the tape holding everything in place, and once you start to pick at it, it can all unravel. She's better off. That's what I tell myself. Ass in the chair, fingers tapping my leg, my eyes burn a hole in my phone. It's the same every day. Every day since she left. Correction, every day since I forced her out of my life. Every day, I fight the same damn fight.

Call her.

Don't call her. Falling in love is easy. Holding on to that love—well, that's the real bitch. There's two sides to every love story. The how you fell in love, and the how you fell apart.

Eighteen Month Ago

I can't remember not loving you.

A. Rose

RHETT

"There are women you should never, ever have sex with: your boss' girlfriend, your secretary, a married woman, your friend's ex, but the holy grail of women you should never screw is your best friend's baby sister." I look at Sadie, my golden retriever mix, for confirmation, but she simply licks my hand. "I'm a total lunatic," I say, giving her a good scratch behind the ears. Ainsley is off limits. There are lines you don't cross, and fucking your best friend's little sister is one of them. But all I've been able to think about since I heard she was moving back to Charleston was the way she looked last time I saw her, her strawberry blonde hair flowing, her bright smile, and blue eyes. No matter how much I scold myself, tell myself it's wrong, I know I'm thinking about her way too much. She's a beautiful woman. I'm a healthy, red-blooded man. It's just physical. That's it. Bullshit. Fucking lie. Sometimes it's best to lie. Like now. The lie of the day is: Ainsley's sexy as hell, and my dick knows it. That's all this is.

Yep, that's my story, and I'm sticking to it. And now she's back in town, living one floor below me in her brother's old place. Brody's condo and mine have the exact same layout. Two bedrooms connected by an open concept kitchen and living area. The only difference is, mine is one floor higher. Located in one of those great old buildings that used to be a chocolate factory or something before its conversion, it's been a perfect setup, walking distance to our vet clinic right off the historic district in Charleston. But a few weeks ago, he and Skye bought their dream house and moved in together. They're only here now to celebrate Ainsley's move to Charleston. I'm completely screwed. God has a sick sense of humor sometimes. I am literally living right on top of her, which is exactly where I want to be—on top of her naked, making her moan, screaming out my name, her nails digging down my back, until her legs are trembling and . . . Jesus Christ, I have to stop this. Slipping on a pair of shorts, I head out of my condo toward the elevator. "Come on, Sadie." "Little sister, little sister, little sister," I repeat over and over again, drilling it into my thick skull, tugging at my hair. The elevator doesn't move slow enough for my dick to understand that I'm supposed to think of Ainsley as my little sister, not my next screw. For God's sake, I've known her for well over ten years, since I met Brody, her brother, our freshman year in college. Ainsley was only around twelve at the time, still flat-chested, wearing braces. Oh, how times have changed.