Space in Your Sheets.

When I was a little girl, I thought about being a nun.

Seriously, I did.

I always used this in games of “two truths and a lie,” well aware that anyone who knew anything about me would think that it was the lie.

To be fair, I had changed quite a bit from those days. Gone were the days when I would sit and scowl at the rowdy neighbor boys as they narrowly avoided breaking a window with their shenanigans, thinking that there was no hope for them to have a full life. I didn't go to church anymore, trading my time praying in the chapel for praying that the cops wouldn't find us when we chased around higher than kites through the countryside.

Those days disappeared when I turned thirteen. Maybe it was from typical teen angst, maybe it was from grief, and honestly, I couldn't tell you.

Everything changed when I laid my sister six feet under, there was no denying. These days, it was easiest to run from it and simply pretend she didn't exist.

That's how I got to where I was now, standing across from some guy, sipping an overpriced drink at a penthouse party my best friend was throwing because she had become an overnight musical sensation. Sure, I was making a name for myself as an actress, but it was taking me a lot longer.

I had to hand it to Beret: for such short notice, she sure knew how to throw one hell of a party. The place was packed, people dancing and laughing and drinking as they celebrated the success of the day: 12 Billboard Award nominations. I was proud of her to say the least.

“So you know Beret?” The guy asked, cradling a beer in one hand. To his credit, he was pretty easy on the eyes. Tall enough that I didn't tower over him in heels, his open flannel and skinny jeans accenting the boyish charm held in his hazel eyes. It didn't take much to see that he was fairly toned, his undershirt clinging to his torso and his rolled sleeves showing off lean arms.

“Yeah, we grew up together.” I answered, making sure that my voice was audible over the music from the party.

“How do you know her?”

He took a sip of his beer. “ My band's on tour with her. The Maine? She's dating our singer...”

I chuckled, knowing all too well how that came together. “I heard all about that.”

I didn't bother to mention that I had been there when John had finally made the move, not wanting to create any awkward tension. He may have been bandmates with John, but I only had spoken to Jared and John. The others were still a complete mystery to me, him included. And with how this conversation was going, my night seemed to be shaping up well, so I wasn't about to take any chances.

“What brings you out to Los Angeles?” He asked, effortlessly continuing the conversation. “I'm guessing if you grew up with Beret, you're not from around here...”

“Work,” I shrugged. “I'm auditioning for some television roles, I have a bunch of callbacks this week.”

“So you're an actress?”

I nodded. “I've been doing broadway but I want to switch to film-- it'd give me an excuse to move out here, which is where I'd rather be.”

It was easy to humor him by answering his questions-- he was friendly enough, and I was pretty comfortable with a couple drinks in my system. He was a master of subtle flirting, using his body language to convey the impression of engagement, his eyes occasionally scanning my body as he subtly checked me out. I couldn't be offended because I was doing the exact same to him, letting my eyes soak in his fit figure.

“Why do you want to be in Los Angeles?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow at me.

I shot him a grin, pointing over at Beret, who was happily chatting away with her boyfriend. “She's my best friend, and the only one of my family and friends who has wholeheartedly supported me since I've started. It'd be nice to be closer to her, even if she's gone nine months out of the year.”

The guy smiled, his eyes darting to Beret before returning back to me. “Beret's a pretty cool girl. I'm still trying to figure out how John managed to steal her heart.”

I couldn't help but laugh at his comment, both of us turning to watch her lanky boyfriend as they enjoyed a quiet moment together.

“They're happy, that's the important thing.” I commented, taking one last sip of my drink.

He noticed my cup was now empty, shifting his position as he finished off his beer and gestured for my cup. “Refill?”

“Yes please.” I grinned, passing him the cup.

The guy vanished into the crowd, allowing me a moment to take in my surroundings. Beret and her boyfriend had vanished, two of her bandmates creating a scene as they tried to out-dance each other. I laughed, rolling my eyes at them. They had been trying to hit on me earlier, though Beret cut them off before they could get too far.

If Beret knew one thing, it was that I didn't date. I wouldn't say it was because I had some traumatic experience, because there wasn't one. My sob story about my sister didn't have anything to do about my aversion to dating, or relationships. It wasn't that I was scared of guys, because that wasn't the case. My appreciation of the male anatomy knew no bounds, and I wasted no energy in making sure I had a good lay when I needed one. I'd even argue that I was a sex connoisseur: I loved the feeling of an expert touch on my skin, when my lover for the night would gently nip at my ear, the rush of fire when a husky whisper would send me over the edge. I knew the drill, and I could spot a casanova from a mile away.

That's why when the mystery guy I had been talking to returned, offering to dance, I didn't turn him down.

I didn't even know his name when I took him home that night, but Kennedy Brock would come to change my life.