Breaking Bro Code (The Line Up #4) - Misti Murphy Page 0,16

think they’re doing.

“Make sure you drink your Gatorade before bed,” he says.

“So that’s a no?” I pout.

He shakes his head and presses his lips to my cheek. “Good night, Lily. Let’s hope you don’t remember any of this in the morning.”

I cup the side of his head and twist into the friendly peck. Our lips skim each other. He tastes sweet and spicy like a jalapeño Slurpee.

I moan into his lips. “Mmm. I’ve always wanted to do that.”

He pulls away roughly before reaching around me to open the door wider. “Good night, Lily.”

He’s gone before the resounding click tells me I’m locked in.

I brace myself against the door while I dig out my phone. My bag doesn’t want to go on its usual hook. It falls to the floor instead. One shoe thuds against the skirting. The other comes off only when I press my back against the wall and perform some sort of half yoga, half exorcist move that involves lifting my foot in the air and yanking that sucker off.

I’m going to be hungover in the morning, but I don’t care. I did something tonight that I never thought I would ever do. Something I haven’t had the guts to do.

I kissed him. I kissed Vale Westerly. I never thought I would, but I did.

My dress lands on the arm of the sofa like a throw made out of purple silk as I sail through my open plan living space.

I fumble my phone and nearly drop it in the hallway. There’s one more thing I want to do while I’m on a roll.

Chapter Six

Lily

Someone is in my room and they’re wolf-whistling at me like a sleezy construction worker who hasn’t yet realized it’s not polite to sexually harass women.

Urgh, how did they get in here? I peel open an eyelid and am practically blinded. What, did I wake up on the surface of the sun? I’m parched too. Even my skin feels like tanned leather. I run my hand over my seasick stomach.

I peel open my other eye. I’m mostly naked and whoever is whistling in my apartment is doing it again. I groan as I push myself up onto my elbows.

Bra, panties? Check.

People in my bedroom beside me? Zero.

The whistle comes again. I mash the heels of my palms into my eye sockets as I sit all the way up. We partied hard last night. A little too hard if my swollen gray matter is any indication. How much did I drink?

My phone chirps on the night stand. Probably Kiki or Lewis checking up on me. Picking it up, I lay back down. I need Gatorade—which I should have drank last night. Tylenol. And some kind of cheesy, oily goodness. Like an egg and cheese sandwich. With jalapeños.

I draw down my notifications.

Kiki: Check out my sandwich.

Drooling over the perfectly toasted bun, surrounding egg, bacon, and cheese, I type out a response and send it back to her.

Me: Bish, where’s mine?

She responds straight away.

Kiki: You won’t take the hot man I set you up with, I’m not wasting my tasty breakfast sandwich on you.

I ignore it for now and move onto the next one which is from Lewis, asking me to let him know I got home safely last night. Oops. I shoot off a quick message to tell him I’m alive and unharmed.

My phone wolf-whistles at me. That’s new.

Icebreaker Notification: You have a match.

The contraption slips out of my grip, smacks me on the nose, and bounces off the bed. Curiosity has me scrambling after it. Sliding off the covers and onto my knees beside the mattress.

I have a match? That’s about as likely as developing an allergy to macadamias. Especially since I was still trying to avoid signing up to it last night when Kiki mentioned it, and I don’t recall setting up a profile. But considering I did develop an allergy I’m scared to find out why I’m receiving notifications from an app I didn’t sign up for.

My stomach seesaws and I clutch my head with a whimper. There is such a thing as too much of a good thing.

Picking up the device I open the app to find I do indeed have a profile. Violet Queen. Twenty-five years old. Lives in California. Gamer. Likes her career and friends. Dislikes salty nuts.

The lives in California bit is new. The profile picture however is not. It’s an image of me dressed up for a Comic Con I went to with Lewis a couple years ago. My