Chapter 1: Indy

“You’re coming out tonight,” my cousin Claire demands, glancing at me in the reflection of her bedroom mirror.

I flop back against her bed, staring at the glow stars that decorate her ceiling. “I can’t. I have work to catch up on.”

“Too bad. You’re too young and too hot to never get laid.”

I groan, yanking my gaze back to the ceiling. Mentally, I tally up the months. Seven of them. Seven months since I had sex. It wasn’t even good sex — comfortable, one last hurrah before I relocated to Boston, see-ya-when-I-see-ya sex with the guy down the street.

Six months ago, when I landed a job as the youngest assistant professor Brighton University has ever hired, I swore to myself I’d turn over a new leaf. Embrace the city. Meet new people. Stop being a self-isolated workaholic. My plan failed.

“I know you’re working your ass off because you’re intimidated,” Claire says. “But you’re qualified. You’re prepared. You need a night out.”

She holds up a short, tight, black dress I would never wear. “Put this on.”

Inside, a thrill shoots down my spine. I drag myself upright. “Okay.”

She lets out a loud whoop — and that’s how Indiana Griffith ends up at a Boston Hawks team party, swearing she absolutely will not fall for a hockey player.

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