Chapter 2: The Night That Changed Everything

2

Six years ago, in the thick of a New York summer.

Humidity clung to my skin, making every breath feel heavy. My apartment’s fan just pushed hot air around, and every night was a sweaty, sleepless battle.

There was a blackout in my neighborhood, and not being able to turn on the AC at night was pure torture.

I’d given up counting sheep and just scrolled on my phone, battery dying fast. It felt like the entire city was melting and no one was coming to the rescue. Even the bodega downstairs was out of ice and Gatorade—New York in a heatwave was survival of the fittest.

I posted on Facebook: [Is this heatwave going to kill me?]

I was half-joking, half-hoping for a lifeline. My phone buzzed almost immediately with a call.

My best friend, who was far away in Europe, called me and told me to stay at her place.

She sounded worried, her voice thick with sleep. “Don’t be stupid, Morgan. My place is empty—just go. Seriously, you can eat whatever’s in the fridge. I won’t judge.”

Her apartment in town was empty anyway.

It was a sweet little one-bedroom above a bodega in Brooklyn, with a window AC unit that could freeze you out if you cranked it high enough. I’d always admired how tidy she kept it, even back in college.

I quickly drove over, cranked up the AC, and collapsed on her bed.

I remember kicking off my shoes, tossing my damp shirt in the hamper, and flopping onto the crisp sheets. The icy air was instant heaven. I conked out, limbs sprawled, without a second thought.

The hum of the AC was the only lullaby I needed.

Who would have thought I’d wake up in the middle of the night to find someone lying next to me?

For a second, I thought I was dreaming. But then the bed dipped, and the warmth was real—a body, not a pillow. My heart started hammering as I fumbled for the lamp. My hands shook so badly I nearly knocked it off the nightstand.

I was startled.

The light stung my eyes, but when I saw the silhouette beside me, my mind went blank.

I turned on the lamp and saw a face so handsome it was almost criminal.

He had that model-perfect jawline and cheekbones that could cut glass. In the pale lamplight, his skin looked almost luminous.

Broad chest, defined abs, and those sharp v-lines.

I’ll never forget how the sheet barely covered his waist, and how the lines of his torso looked sculpted—like something you’d see in a Calvin Klein ad.

He was so good-looking, it was almost unfair—like the universe was showing off.

But his cheeks were flushed from drinking, and no matter how I called him, he wouldn’t wake up.

I nudged his shoulder, called his name, even tried flicking his earlobe. Nothing. The faint smell of whiskey clung to him, mixing with the citrusy fabric softener on the sheets.

Of course, I recognized him right away.

He was my best friend’s little brother.

He was only eighteen—still a fresh-faced kid—but after taking off his shirt, he was so well-built that just one look made my heart race. Too tempting.

I remembered the shy, awkward kid who used to tag along to movie nights. But this? This was not the same kid. It was like he’d skipped the awkward phase and jumped straight to heartbreaker.

The little brat must have gotten drunk and passed out, not even realizing someone else was on the bed.

I looked for a note, a clue, anything to explain how he’d gotten here. Nothing—just his shoes by the door and an empty bottle on the nightstand. Typical.

What was I supposed to do?

My friend’s apartment was a one-bedroom. There was no other room, and the living room had no AC.

I considered sleeping on the couch, but the heat in there was unbearable—felt like a sauna. I was too tired and too cranky to make a fuss.

No way was I giving up the room for him.

I wanted to kick him off the bed so he’d sleep on the floor.

But no matter how I tried, I couldn’t move him at all.

He was dead weight, limbs sprawled like a starfish, totally oblivious to my efforts. I even tried rolling him to the edge, but he just mumbled and flopped right back.

I lay there, eyes closed, fuming and at a loss.

Every muscle was tense. My mind was racing—this was so not how I’d planned my night. But eventually, exhaustion started to win out.

Suddenly, the little brat rolled over.

A pair of warm, forceful, slightly whiskey-scented, sexy lips—

Caught me off guard and pressed against my own.

One moment I was half-awake, the next his lips were on mine. Soft, persistent, tasting faintly of whiskey and mint gum.

My brain short-circuited—was this actually happening, or was I hallucinating from heatstroke?

Who would have thought I’d be kissed in the middle of the night by my best friend’s younger brother, five years my junior?

A million thoughts shot through my head at once—mostly, what the hell is happening and why does it feel so good?

I was about to scold him awake.

But as soon as I opened my mouth, his soft lips slid right in.

Before I could say a word, his tongue brushed against mine, gentle but insistent. I gasped, shocked at how quickly things escalated.

My whole body felt like my blood was flowing backwards.

My limbs went numb, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. I wanted to pull away, but every nerve was on fire.

I opened my eyes wide, and all I saw were his tightly closed brows and eyes.

His eyelashes were even longer than mine.

With his eyes closed, they looked just like upside-down crescent moons.

I’d never noticed before how boyishly innocent he looked when sleeping, even while doing something so bold.

His breath brushed against my face—hot, a little ticklish, making my heart flutter.

It was a weird, dizzying blend of awkward and electric. I felt both mortified and, if I was being honest, a little bit thrilled.

Never in my life had my emotions run so wild in a single minute.

I should have been angry and embarrassed, but my heart was pounding uncontrollably.

I kept telling myself this was insane—completely, utterly wrong. But all the rules and logic in my brain seemed to melt away in that heat.

The little brat, drunk, ran rampant in my mouth.

His kisses grew bolder, exploring, as if he knew exactly what he wanted even in his sleep. I was too shocked to even think straight.

My mind was screaming at me to push him off, but my body just froze, caught in the current.

My tongue tried to dodge him, not wanting to get tangled up.

But the little brat wasn’t in any hurry.

If he couldn’t catch my tongue, he’d just slowly savor my lips, bit by bit.

There was something oddly patient and sweet about the way he kissed, like he had all the time in the world. I felt myself trembling.

The tip of my tongue brushed against the roof of his mouth.

It was like an electric shock—wave after wave, almost unbearable.

I literally jumped, the sensation so intense I nearly bit my own lip. It was overwhelming in a way I’d never felt before.

A thought popped into my head: This feels amazing.

Crazy.

I immediately scolded myself for even thinking it. But it was true—nothing in my life had ever felt so reckless and exhilarating.

My mood swung wildly, my mind a complete mess.

One moment I was about to push him off, the next I was melting into his kiss. My head and my heart were at war.

No matter how out of control he got, I couldn’t let him keep going like this.

My hands shook as I gently tried to nudge him away, but he only mumbled and tightened his hold on my waist, pulling me closer.

I’d never kissed anyone before.

Now, teased by my best friend’s little brother until I couldn’t resist, my mind was spinning and my heart was in chaos.

I felt awkward and out of my depth, yet a part of me wanted the moment to never end. Was this what all those romance novels were on about?

I really couldn’t stand this soft, sticky feeling.

The taste of whiskey and mint lingered on my lips, making my skin tingle. I tried to get a grip, but my willpower was shot.

In the end, my tongue couldn’t help but want to touch his again.

It was as if something inside me just snapped, and I gave in—if only for a second.

My heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest.

Every beat thudded in my ears, loud enough to drown out any rational thought. I was breathless, dizzy.

I thought I was going crazy.

I’d never felt so alive—and so unhinged—in my life. My thoughts were a tangled mess.

In the quiet of the night, my whole body was hot and sweaty.

The AC purred, but it couldn’t cool the heat in my cheeks or slow the rush of adrenaline. The rest of the world faded away, and it was just me, him, and the darkness.

Looking back later, I couldn’t remember it clearly—only the burning sensation, deeply imprinted.

Like a fever dream, details blurred, but the way my body lit up that night stayed with me.

Afterwards, the little brat must have had his fill of taking advantage of me and fell asleep snoring beside me, while I—

My heart was in turmoil, unable to calm down.

I lay there, wide awake, every nerve tingling. I kept replaying the kiss, trying to decide if it was a nightmare, a fantasy, or both.

I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night.

I stared at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the paint, listening to the distant hum of city traffic.

At five in the morning, before the little brat woke up from his drunken stupor, I slipped away in a panic.

I gathered my things in the half-light, tiptoed out the door, and fled. The morning was already muggy, but I barely felt it—I was too busy replaying everything in my head.