No sex.

No make-out sessions.
One good kisser and Isla is done for.

No heavy petting.
One brush anywhere near her nether regions and she might as well rip this whole thing up.

Dating is allowed.
If she wants to torture herself.

Masturbation is okay.
Under controlled circumstances.

No sex!

No Sex!

NO SEX!

“Oh good, I didn’t think you were coming tonight.” Arie says.

Isla’s gaze drifts upward.

Higher. Holy Mother of God.

Broad shoulders. Dark hair. Black square-framed glasses that somehow made him even more attractive instead of less. He looked like he stepped straight out of a ‘90s soap opera — Clark Kent, if Clark Kent spent his weekends reading first editions instead of saving Metropolis.

“Ellis!” Iris says.

Isla shoots Iris a raised brow.

Ellis…

The name echoed around inside Isla’s head.

Why did that sound familiar?

Her eyes drifted between Iris.

Arie.

Then back to him.

“Isla, right? Nice to finally meet you.” Her name slides off his tongue like silk. “I’m Ellis. Arie’s older brother.”

Oh my — Ellis Mann.

Isla stared at his hand for half a second too long.

Of course.

Of course the universe would wait until she committed to one full year of focusing on her herself before dropping a six-foot-something pair of shoulders and dimples directly into her path.

She hadn’t even made it twenty-four hours since officially declaring her No Sex Rule.

Somewhere, God was laughing.

Not laughing. Cackling.

“Nice to meet you,” Ellis repeated.

Isla slipped her hand into his.

Oh, this was absolutely a test.

Isla thought she knew exactly how the third date would end.

A handsome man. Manhattan cocktails. Dangerous dimples. And enough chemistry to fog up the windows overlooking the Hudson.

What she didn't expect?

A bedroom disaster so spectacular, she'd be telling the story for the rest of her life.

Some women get flowers.

Isla Monroe got trauma and a future stand-up routine.

Because apparently, the universe had jokes.

She exhaled slowly.

You’re being ridiculous.

Her hand closed around the doorknob.

Then—

Footsteps.

Right outside her room.

Her entire body went rigid.

Someone was there.

She held her breath until her chest ached, afraid even the smallest sound might give her away.

The footsteps stopped.

Silence followed.

Complete.

Unbroken.

Perhaps whoever it was had left.

Perhaps they had realized no one was home.

Perhaps—

The door exploded inward with a deafening crash.

The edge struck Isla square in the forehead before she could react. Pain flared sharp and immediate, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Then everything went dark.