with me?"

My voice comes out slightly strained as I stare across the table at my boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend I suppose, as he adjusts his tie for the hundredth time tonight. Since the start of what I'd assumed was going to be one of our normal date nights, I noticed that Sebastian had seemed extremely nervous. He was sporting a thin sheen of sweat on his upper lip, and his icy-blue eyes would occasionally dart around the restaurant, almost as if he were looking for a way out.

I should have known something was off from the moment Sebastian had picked me up for our date. He had pressed a hurried kiss to my temple, before awkwardly pulling away and placing his clammy hand in mine to give me a handshake. A fucking handshake. Never in our relationship had Sebastian ever shaken my hand.

Staring at him now, all of the signs were there. Nervous posture, lack of eye contact, the way his fingers kept fidgeting with the velvet tablecloth. I'd watched enough rom-coms in my lifetime to know exactly what a pre-breakup attitude looked like.

It looked just like this.

"Evie," Sebastian starts, finally meeting my gaze. "It's for the best."

A chuckle that holds absolutely no humor leaves my lips as I pick up my wine glass and take a long swing from it. "Best for who? C'mon, if you're going to dump me, at least be honest."

Sebastian's face tightens immediately, his lips puckering as if he'd just tasted something sour. "Evie, don't be difficult. I just can't be with you anymore. My parents and I agreed that–"

"And there it is! The grand reveal!" I jeer. It was no secret that Sebastian's family was well known, and well off. His father, Declan Raymond, is the CEO of a rather successful tech company that's in a partnership with Apple. His mother, Sarah Raymond, is one of the biggest socialites in New York City. Her great-grandparents were best friends with John D. Rockefeller. The entire Raymond clan is full of high-maintenance individuals who will all but claw their way to the top, not caring who they expose or hurt in the process.

After almost four years of dating, Sebastian had finally caved and introduced me to his parents. During the entire ordeal, the two of them had bombarded me with questions about what my family does, what school I am attending, and what I am planning on getting my degree in.

His parents had worn identical looks of pure mortification on their faces when I had explained that I grew up in New Jersey with a mother that is a schoolteacher, that I am attending NYU, despite it being an amazing school, and that my degree will be in photography. It was almost comical to see how close they were to keeling over.

The moment we had left their house, Sebastian had been utterly silent, and we hadn't talked since then.

Except for tonight.

The first time we are meeting up since the disastrous night with his parents is for him to dump me because of it.

"They just think it's beneficial for me to date someone more . . . suited for this lifestyle." He grimaces as the words leave his lips like he knows just how idiotic they sound. I've always thought that Sebastian is different from his family. He doesn't flaunt his last name or the plethora of money attached to it. On our first date, he'd taken me to a farmers market in Chelsea, and after, we'd walked the High Line for hours, eating ice cream and talking. I didn't even realize what exactly it meant for him to be a Raymond until we'd become official. And even then, he'd assured me that it didn't mean a damn thing. That he was his own person at the end of the day.

It had all been bullshit.

"I'm not of high enough status, right?" I snap. "My family don't make over six figures and live in a big mansion in the suburbs. I'm not attending an Ivy League school and majoring in medicine. I'm just too poor for you." Sebastian winces but keeps his gaze level with the table, enough for me to know that I am right. He can never admit it, but I have hit the nail right on the head.

"I'm sorry, Evie." I have never heard a less sincere apology than the one being uttered to me at this moment. I scoff, deciding I don't want to be here with him anymore, and I don't want to hear the bullshit that is coming out of his mouth. He's embarrassed me enough as it is, and I at least want to leave here with some form of dignity.

"You'd think spending four years together would warrant some sort of fight. That you meant it when you said your parents don't control you, that you were your own person," I rant, grabbing my purse and coat. "Yet here you are, Seb. Letting your mommy and daddy dictate your life for you. How pathetic."

Hurt flashes across his features, but I am too past the point of actually giving a fuck to even attempt an apology. I have wasted four whole years loving a man who doesn't even love me in the same way. Who doesn't care enough to fight for me, to fight for us?

His hurt doesn't even come close to mine.

"Evie, please–"

I jab my finger in his face, trying to control the steadiness of my hand. I can feel the tears burning my vision, but I blink them away. I am not going to let Sebastian Raymond see me cry. I am not going to let him see how much I am breaking inside.

"Rot in hell."

And with that, I stand up from the table, my chair screeching against the floor, gaining a few looks from nearby patrons. Sebastian looks flustered, holding out his hand as if trying to stop me, but I simply breeze past him, my heels clicking against the vinyl flooring as I near the exit. I don't even spare a glance behind my shoulder, even though I can feel Sebastian's gaze burning a hole into the back of my head.

I just keep walking right out of the restaurant, and away from the man who I thought would be the last person to ever break me.

• • •

"Another one?"

The bartender gestures to the empty shot glass I've just pushed to the center of the counter. My throat is burning from the rancid taste of the tequila, and that was my fifth shot of the night, but I nod.

After the night I am having, I need all of the tequila shots I can get.

The bartender smiles apologetically as if he can sense exactly why I need to drown all of my sorrows in cheap alcohol. He grabs the shot glass, pouring me another before sliding it back towards me. I nod as a thank you, averting my gaze as I pick up the small glass. My inhibitions are slowly slipping away, and I know it is only a matter of time before I completely blackout.

Throwing back the shot, my face twists up as the alcohol burns my throat. The tequila is slowly starting to taste like rubbing alcohol, but it is also doing a damn good job of lessening the pain in my heart.

The bar is almost empty, save for some stragglers sitting in booths in the corner, and a few people on the small stage packing up their instruments.

I sigh, feeling my phone buzz in my pocket. I glance down to see Sebastian's name illuminate on the screen and I feel the anger bloom in my chest. I swipe past the text messages of him asking me if I'm alright and where I am.

"As if you give a fuck," I mutter to myself with disdain, turning my phone off completely before stuffing it back into my bag.

"Do you think I can get another?" I ask, waving the shot glass a little in my hand. The bartender pauses his task of wiping down the counter next to me just to shoot me a dubious look.

"We're closing soon, sweetheart," he drawls, throwing the dirty rag over his shoulder. "It's almost 3, don't you have somewhere to be?"

I can't help the frown that tugs at the corner of my lips. I should go back to my apartment, but I know my roommates are most likely still up, and I don't want to deal with their questions. I don't want to admit out loud that I've just been tragically dumped.

Before I can open my mouth though, I feel a body slide up on the stool next to me, the strong scent of fresh detergent infiltrating my nose.

I turn to see a man leaning on the counter, an acoustic guitar slung over his back as he stares at the selection of alcohol on the wall. His thick eyebrows are drawn in concentration, and he occasionally runs a hand through the mess of curls on his head. In a split second, he turns to look at me, and I feel my cheeks heat up at the fact that I've just been caught staring at him.

His eyes are the first thing that seems to draw me in. They are green, bright, and soft all at once. It's the kind of green that sparkles like an emerald gemstone.

"I'll have a whiskey on the rocks, and a tequila sunrise for the woman," he says smoothly. His voice is husky and low, seeming to reverberate throughout my entire body. I sit up straighter once I realize he's just ordered me a drink.

The bartender looks pissed off, but there's a hint of playfulness in his voice as he says, "you're lucky you bring in the crowds, Miles, or else I'd tell you to go fuck yourself."

Miles smirks, fishing out a crinkled-up twenty-dollar bill from his pocket before sliding it across the counter towards the bartender. "Ricky, you know how to charm a customer."

Ricky glares at Miles, but pockets the cash nevertheless and turns to make our drinks, leaving me and the mystery man who's just paid for me in an uncomfortable silence.

"You didn't have to do that," I speak up, clearing my throat when I realize it sounds hoarse and scratchy.

Miles shrugs, turning his large body towards me on the stool. "It's no problem. I enjoy buying pretty girls drinks at the bar."

I raise my brows at that, while Miles just grins cheekily. "So this is a habit of yours?"

"What can I say? It's all a part of my charm." I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth but don't say anything else. I can feel Miles watching me from the corner of my eye, but I opt to stare at the cracked lines on the counter instead.

"I don't mean to pry, but are you okay . . .?" He trails off, waiting for me to fill in the blank with my name.

"Evie."

Miles studies me for a moment, his emerald eyes making me feel a bit unnerved, before his lips pull into a soft smile. "Nice to meet you, Evie."

"I'm fine," I mumble. "Just having a shitty night."

"I'm sorry." I look over to see a sincere expression on his face as he utters those words. It's weird how a stranger can feel that much empathy for me without even knowing anything about me or my situation.

I shrug. "I'll get over it."

Ricky comes back over then with our drinks, sliding them over to us. I gently take my tequila sunrise, trying to ignore the weird flutter in my chest at how Miles had gotten my favorite drink right.

The bar is seriously in hell if I am getting a bit giddy over a man ordering me a drink.

"Do you need a ride home?" Miles suddenly asks me, throwing back his drink in one single gulp. I stare at him with equal parts fascination and confusion. He notices my expression and chuckles. "I can call you a cab or something, I mean."

I immediately shake my head. "I'm fine, thanks for the offer though. I don't think I'm going home yet."

"Where are you going to go then? It's 3 in the morning, Evie."

"And that matters to you because . . .?"

Miles tilts his head a little. "Because you look extremely sad, and you're also drunk. I can't leave you here without wondering if something bad will happen to you. This is New York City after all."

"I can take care of myself," I say haughtily, swirling the contents of my drink around in the glass. I had taken two sips before realizing I am good on drinks for the rest of the night.

"I don't doubt it," he replies honestly. "Listen, I have space at my place if you want to crash there for the night. I swear I am not a psycho."

I narrow my eyes at him, but can't help the tug of my lips. "That sounds exactly like something a psycho would say."

He grins, sliding off of the stool and holding out his hand for me to take. "I can give you my social security card in the cab if it makes you feel better, let you have some of the power."

I contemplate his offer, staring down at his outstretched hand. It's either I go with this handsome stranger and sleep away this horrible night, or go back to my apartment and bear the incessant questions from my roommates.

It's a silly and quite intrusive thought, but I decide that if I am going to die at the hands of a stranger, at least I can say my murder was done by someone as gorgeous as Miles.

Suddenly, I start to think about Sebastian for a split second, much to my annoyance and dismay. I think about how many other women are waiting for him now that I am no longer his girlfriend. I think about who he might be spending the rest of tonight with and a bitter taste fills my mouth.

I start to wonder if maybe he'll love her more than he ever loved me.

Without thinking about it anymore, I let my hand coast over Miles' as he lifts me gently to my feet. His palm is warm, and I immediately feel a sense of comfort wash over me. I've never been a believer in love at first sight, but maybe if I didn't have a huge lump in my throat and fresh tears ready to fall at any moment, I might have leaned more into Miles' touch.

"Is there a specific reason that you're avoiding going home?" Miles asks, his fingers still intertwined with mine as he leads us out of the bar and onto the busy street. Despite it being the wee hours of the morning, people in the city were just now coming out to enjoy the nightlife. It's something I enjoy about living in New York City. It always feels like no matter what time of the day, you can never feel alone.

"You know, I would love to keep this exchange as ambiguous as possible," I retort. Miles scoffs, turning to look down at me with mirth swirling around in his green eyes.

"There's absolutely nothing ambiguous about this, don't you think?"

I shrug, not being able to come up with something to say to that because, in a way, he's right. I watch as Miles drops my hand to whistle down a taxi. I've never seen anyone manage to successfully hail a cab before for as long as I've been living here. It had started to become something I thought is only glorified in the media, but looking at Miles now, he seems like such a natural.

The taxi screeches to a stop, and Miles pops the door open, stepping aside to let me go in first. I scramble in, making sure my dress doesn't fly up, and accidentally flash him. But, judging from the surprised hum that leaves his mouth, I know I've failed. My cheeks are bright red as Miles shuffles in behind me. He takes one look at my face before he begins to chuckle.

"620 East 6th Street," Miles says to the driver. The man simply nods, swerving back into traffic, and narrowly avoids hitting another vehicle.

"Nice strawberry panties." My head whips over to Miles who is giving me a rather smug-looking smirk. I shake my head, diverting my attention out of the window.

What the hell am I doing? I am going to a random man's apartment whom I've only known for about twenty minutes. I should've declined. I should've just sucked it up and gone home. But there is something about Miles. Something that makes me want more. I don't know if that is just the tequila talking or the after-effects of getting my heartbroken, but he intrigues me. From the sly smirk that he never seemed to leave his lips to the acoustic guitar that is now strewn over his lap. Even in the little time that I've spoken to him, he already proved to be so much different from Sebastian.

And right now, I desperately need that.

The taxi finally pulls up to, what I assume is the front of Miles' apartment, and Miles leans through the seats, a couple of bills tucked between his fingers. "Thanks, man."

The driver mumbles out an unintelligible response, before taking the money and unlocking the doors. Miles taps his finger against my thigh, motioning towards the door as my cue to open it and let us out. I blush, fumbling with the door handle before managing to swing it open. Clambering out, I can feel Miles' warm breath on the back of my neck as I try to focus on not falling on my ass while getting out of the car.

Miles all but closes the door behind him before the taxi starts speeding off, disappearing around the corner and leaving us cloaked in silence. His neighborhood is quiet, and I instantly recognize the area as the East Village, which isn't too far from my apartment in Greenwich Village.

Great, so if he tries to murder me, at least I have an accurate description of the area for the police.

I watch as he takes a set of keys out of his pocket, walks over to the gated door, and swiftly unlocks it. It is a walk-up apartment, a set of stairs directly behind the door. Miles holds out his arm, allowing me to go up first. "It's on the second landing," he calls out from behind me.

I climb the steps, making sure to keep my fingers secured around the banister, for I don't want to accidentally fall backward and bring down not only myself but Miles as well.

He cuts in front of me once we reach his floor, jamming the key into the lock before the door creaks open. The apartment is pitch black as I step inside, narrowly avoiding running into a wall whilst I fumble my way around. Miles switches on a light, illuminating the room so I can see the apartment.

"My room's at the end of the hall." I nod, following behind him as we walk through his apartment. It's small, but then again, so were all decently priced places around here. The kitchen has a nice-looking island that immediately sparks jealousy inside of me. His living room is big enough for the L-shaped couch in the middle, flanked by an average size television. "I think my roommates are still out, so you can save yourself from any awkward introductions," Miles teases, opening the door to his room.

The first thing I notice is just how tidy it is.

Everything has a place. From the stack of books next to his bed to the array of vinyls against his dresser. I watch as Miles gently places his guitar against the wall, turning to look at me.

"Do you need a change of clothes or something?" he asks, gesturing to the extremely short dress that isn't offering much comfort to me anymore. I nod, feeling the effects of the alcohol slowly start to fade away, leaving me with the intense urge to just fall asleep.

Everything about this situation screams unusual. I am about to sleep in the apartment of a man who I've just met. No one knows where I am. If Miles wants to do anything to me, he can probably get away with it.

He turns back around with a pair of sweatpants and a shirt folded up in his arms. His emerald eyes search my face, the corner of his lip pulling up into a smirk as if he can read what I am stressing about.

"I can crash on the couch, it's no big deal." I take the clothes from his outstretched hands, feeling him brush past me as he walks towards the door. "If you need anything, just shout."

I look over my shoulder at him. "Thank you, Miles. You didn't have to do this."

He shrugs, leaning against the door frame. "You know, my mom always says that I have a severe hero complex. And when I saw you sitting at the bar, I could tell you were hurting." He looks up at me through his lashes. "I'm sorry for whatever hurt you."

My voice catches in my throat, but Miles doesn't wait for a response, giving me one final look before ducking out of the room, grabbing the knob, and pulling the door in behind him.