Each day begins in exactly the same way—with a dull throbbing in my head and a blissful ten seconds during which I don’t entirely remember what’s gone wrong. When I still believe I have my house, my flourishing career, my wife, and the respect of my peers.

And then I realize I’ve lost most of those things, and the day truly begins.

I wander downstairs for painkillers, bracing myself resentfully for the view I’ve paid so much money for. The sun is out, but I prefer the days when the weather and my mood are perfectly aligned, when it’s storming and I don’t have to watch all these assholes biking past, or the couples walking hand-in-hand.

The trucks lining the road won’t improve my mood, either. When I bought this place a year ago, I pictured a future in which I’d get up to surf each morning before work. I imagined taking my future children on bike rides along the path, teaching them to catch the more manageable waves down by the wharf. Except Audrey wasn’t picturing any of those things when she moved to London a year ago, and now every goddamn one of them is off the table.

But when I turn, expecting cheerful couples and the endless blue of the Pacific, I’m instead staring at a woman’s ass in baby blue yoga pants. Bending over like an invitation.
On my deck.

I ignore the way my gut tightens at the sight. I don’t care how lush an ass it is—this is private property and its owner shouldn’t be here. I ignore my pounding head and march toward her, fully prepared to let her have it…just as she rises and turns.

Daisy.

Daisy, Liam’s niece, is on my deck. I feel like I should know why. I think maybe I dreamed about her last night, but I sure as hell wouldn’t have dreamed of this very adult iteration of her. Because holy fucking shit…the curves on this girl. The curve of her pouty little mouth, her cheeks, her tits barely covered by a sports bra, her tiny waist flaring out to her hips.

My body reacts before I can stop it, and her gaze drops.

“Wow, one part of you is wide awake,” she says with a grin. “And impressive. I’d offer to take care of it, but you smell like a distillery even from here.”

Hearing her suggest she’d be willing to take care of it, even in jest, should horrify me, but instead I’m about to burst out of my boxers.

I roll my eyes as I place a discreet hand in front of my junk. “Before you get too flattered, let me make it clear that it has nothing to do with you because I didn’t know I’d be finding you on my fucking deck, now did I? Why are you here?”

Her mouth falls open. “Harrison, we had a lengthy conversation last night. Are you really saying you don’t remember any of it?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose between two fingers and squeeze my eyes shut. Do I remember? There was something about a really hot girl bickering with me. I thought it was a dream.

A car passes on the street below us, and my head throbs in time with the thump, thump, thump of the bass. I’m exhausted and I can’t think right now. I turn on my heel and go to the kitchen, where I swallow down twice the recommended number of painkillers with a swig of bourbon. She follows, pulling her blonde hair out of her ponytail as she takes a seat at the counter.

I should have told her to stay outside.

I love Daisy—she’s practically family—but I want solitude. I want to sleep for the rest of the day. I don’t want to have to be polite to anyone. Most of all, I need to keep my current situation to myself.

“Look,” she says, “I showed up last night because I fought with my mom and couldn’t stay at Liam’s, but—”

“I have no idea why I said you could stay,” I cut in, “but you need to go.”

Her eyes widen and I get that…Even I’m surprised I was so rude, so abrupt. But she really does need to go. And I wish she’d put on a goddamn shirt in the meantime.

Her arms cross. “No, I don’t think so.”

I press my index fingers to my temples. “Daisy, you’re no longer the adorable toddler who can just say no to a request and be indulged.”

“Right,” she says with a smile. “I’m the adorable adult who knows you’ve been lying to your friends for six months about the girlfriend you made up—you admitted it last night.”

Fuck. This incredibly bad situation just got infinitely worse. I’m too hungover to even talk my way out of it, but I’ve got to try. “That’s not what I was doing.”

“Cool.” She picks up her phone and starts to type. “Let me just text Liam and tell him you’re around this weekend, despite claiming you were in LA with your fabricated girlfriend. He’d love to see you.”

I exhale heavily. If she texts Liam, the next thing you know he’ll be descending on me, mad that I lied yet determined to fix this situation in a thousand ways that won’t help. It’s the last thing I need right now, though his niece is proving to be a close second.

“Stop,” I croak. “I wasn’t avoiding them, okay? I’m just trying to sort my shit out on my own, without dragging them into it.”

She sets the phone down. “Interesting. When I have to sort my shit out, I don’t normally do it by getting blackout drunk alone and half-naked.”

I groan. Today was hardly shaping up to be an ideal Saturday—I just wanted to take some aspirin and sleep off my hangover. I’d had no idea things could get so much worse. “Look, I’ve had a really long week. I tried to take the edge off and went a little far.”

She laughs. “I just watched you wash down painkillers with bourbon. It’s ten in the morning.”

I start the coffeemaker and turn toward her. “That was to deal with the pain of your presence here, Goth Barbie.”

She runs her thumb over the lip of her water bottle. “Harrison, I’m not leaving until I’ve seen some proof that this”—she waves a hand at me—“isn’t your normal state.”
I’m in hell right now. How am I going to get rid of her? I either admit what’s gone wrong to all my friends or spend the next week living with Bridget’s indecently hot child while proving my life is together.

“What’s it going to take, Daisy?” I growl. “I’ll write you a check. You’re a student, right? Students usually need money.”

She takes another long sip of her water, and I look away quickly. This is how the human race survives: no matter how hungover or heartbroken a man is, he can still get an erection from the mere sight of a woman swallowing.

“I don’t want your money,” she says. There’s a flash of hurt in her eyes. “But I would like you to stop being such an asshole. Tell your friends the truth or get ready to do everything I say.”

She walks back outside and bends over again. I bury the desire to watch her as deep as it’ll go and head upstairs.

What a really inopportune—and deeply inappropriate—time for my libido to make a reappearance.

I changed her fucking diapers.