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"Brock Rhodes."
My stomach drops. "Cora—"
"Don't even try to deny it," Cora says, waving her wineglass. "I've seen the way you look at him. The man is gorgeous. But you're not going to do anything about it, are you?"
"Of course not. He's a parent."
"Exactly. Which is why you need to find someone else." Cora pulls out her phone, scrolling through something with a knowing smile. "Have you ever heard of Veil?"
"Veil?"
"It's an app. Exclusive, anonymous, very discreet." Cora turns her phone toward me, showing a sleek black interface with minimal text. "Everyone wears masks. No last names. Clean STI tests required. If you're not feeling it, you leave. No pressure, no judgment."
I stare at the screen, my pulse quickening. "That sounds—"
"Like exactly what you need to get Brock Rhodes out of your system?" Cora grins. "You want him, you can't have him, and you're driving yourself crazy. So find someone else. Someone anonymous."
My chest tightens. She isn't wrong.
"Okay," I say finally. "Tell me how it works."
Three days later, I sit on my couch with my laptop open, staring at the Veil application.
I submitted my STI test results that morning—clean, as expected—and now all that's left is the profile. The app is thorough. It asks everything from my age, my body type, my experience level, my preferences, boundaries, fantasies, what I like, what I don't, and what I'm curious about.
My face burns as I fill it out, but I force myself to be honest.
Experience level: Limited. I've had sex before, but nothing anonymous or particularly adventurous.
Preferences: Someone confident, attentive, and decisive. Someone who knows what they want and can make me feel wanted. Sincere praise and reassurance.
Boundaries: Respect. Communication.
Fantasies: My pulse quickens. Being with someone who takes charge. Someone who tells me what to do, praises me when I respond well, and makes me feel safe and utterly consumed.
I stare at the words, my heart pounding. It's the truth. I want to surrender, just for one night. I want someone to take over, to tell me what to do and praise me, to make me feel safe and utterly consumed.
Someone like Brock. No. Not Brock. Someone anonymous. Someone I'll never see again.
I scroll to the bottom of the application, my finger hovering over the submit button.
I think of Brock's hands. His voice. The way he looked at me across the table.
I think of the way my body aches every time I see him, the way I go home and touch myself and imagine it's him.
I need this. I need to get him out of my system.
I take a deep breath and click submit.
The screen changes, a simple message appearing: Your application is under review. You will be notified within 24 hours.
I close my laptop, my hands still shaking, and tell myself I've done the right thing.
Chapter Two
BROCK RHODES
I sit in the darkened study of my house, a tumbler of neat single-malt resting on the polished mahogany desk, untouched.
