Pilot Error

I didn't mean to announce my virginity to an entire club.

But three vodka sodas in, and after some LinkedIn-reject called my feminism "unattractive," here we are.

My name is Shelly. I'm twenty-six, I run a struggling bookstore, my best friend Woody tends bar like his life depends on it, and I have exactly zero filter. Zero. Ask anyone.

The night I cracked my head open on a club floor — long story, the patriarchy was involved — a stranger carried me out. Tall. Dark. Annoyingly calm. Made sure I didn't choke on my own stupidity. Then disappeared.

Except Woody got his number. (Best friend of the year, honestly.)

The stranger is hot but his friend is weird at best and sinister at worst. Woody is getting hit on all of a sudden and I am thoroughly entertained, hopefully you are too, what could go wrong?