“Chicks instantly drop their panties the moment you flash those big baby blues their way. It really is too easy, and in turn, you’re becoming New York’s biggest man-whore,” Hunter declares. His bluntness suddenly pisses me off.

“When did you turn into such a pussy?” I bark at him, narrowing my eyes. “I expected it from him…” I gesture with my head toward Finch. “No offense,” I add, and he shrugs, not at all offended.

“But you, man,” I say to Hunter. “Last I checked, you had no problem screwing random chicks. So quit it with the holier-than-thou crap.”

I’m getting pissed off rather quickly, but getting advice from Hunter, who of all people shouldn’t be lecturing me about my hook-ups, I can’t help but lose my cool. I’ve known these boys for the majority of my life. We did everything together. I know the shit we’ve done, especially Hunter.

Finch, however, he’s been our voice of reason. He’s saved us from many situations that could have turned sour if not for his levelheadedness. But Hunter, he’s always been wild and free.

I love these two morons like brothers. They’ve seen me at my worst and never once judged me until now.

“What’s with the third degree?” I ask, calmed down somewhat.

Finch nervously lowers his eyes, and I still have no fucking clue what’s going on.

When Hunter sees my confusion, he clarifies. “We’re worried, man. Next week is…ya know?”

“No, I don’t know. Are you high?” I loosen my navy tie as it’s suddenly suffocating me.

Finch’s thin lips pull into a tight line, which is never a good sign.

“Spit it out, Finch.”

“In a couple of weeks, it’s the thirteenth,” he replies, finally meeting my eyes.

“Yeah. And?” I question with a baffled shrug.

“Oh, dude.” He sighs, and I can hear the pity in his tone. “It would have been your one-year anniver—” He suddenly pauses, not wanting to fill in the blanks.

One year?

Holy shit. One year ago I would have been married to the love of my life, Lillian Davis. Just thinking her name makes me want to dig my brain out with an ice-cream scoop.

If I believed in soul mates, then Lily was mine. We met three years ago in a line at Starbucks, and it was love at first macchiato. I proposed to her halfway through our relationship because we were happy and ready to take the next step. Well, I was. And I believed she was too, until she met my buddy Leo.

Leo also grew up with Hunter, Finch and me in New Jersey, and he too moved to the Big Smoke. But Leo obviously didn’t value our friendship the way I did, because he was fucking Lily behind my back for months.

Lily dumped me six weeks before our wedding because she was in love with Leo. I couldn’t accept the words coming from her lips, but when she showed me the reason behind her recent weight gain, her words became crystal clear. Not only was she in love with my best friend, she was also having his baby. I knew it wasn’t mine because we hadn’t had sex in over three months. I know, I know, I should have seen the warning signs, but love is blind and all of that crap.

So things couldn’t get any clearer after that.

She blamed her infidelity on me, stating she never saw me and I put work first. I did put work first, but only so I could pay for the three-carat diamond on her finger, and the lavish, upscale Manhattan condo she insisted we buy.

I did all of this for her. And she thanks me by screwing my best friend and bearing his spawn.

So after she left me, I went a little wild.

But this lifestyle, it’s no longer just a phase—it’s who I am. I’ve become addicted to senseless, shameless sexual acts with random women, completely knowing that, on some level, I’m hoping to replace the face of the one woman who took an axe to my heart and hacked into it, leaving behind a bloodied, broken mess of the man I once was.

But these hook-ups, they’re slowly losing their appeal, and I’m afraid that one day, I’ll wake up and no longer recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror.

So, there you have it, that’s my life in a nutshell. I eat, sleep, work and fuck because that’s what I have to do to survive. It’s a sad, miserable existence, but it’s better than being a lovesick puppy, pining after a woman who doesn’t give a damn.

Snapping back into the now, my shields slip into place and I try my best to appear nonchalant. “Big deal. I’m over it. I’m over her.”

Finch frowns, while Hunter disputes my claim. “No, man, you’re not. If you were, then you’d have no problem with me telling you that Leo the Ass and Lily the Whore are getting married next month.”

“Jesus, Hunter!” Finch scolds, shaking his head.

“What? If he’s over it, me telling him this shouldn’t be a problem,” Hunter states with a shrug.

Hunter’s tactlessness doesn’t bother me in the slightest. His statement, however, does.

“She’s marrying that asshole?” I spit out, disgusted, but more so, I’m hurt.

What does he have that I didn’t? I swallow down my defeat and repulsion, and need to get the hell outta Dodge before I fucking lose it.

“Dixon,” Finch says with nothing but pity in his tone, but I don’t want his sympathy.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand after finishing my lukewarm, stolen beer, I stand, hoping my friends understand why I need a minute alone.

“I’m going out for a cigarette.” I pat down my jacket pockets to find my smokes.

Thankfully, the boys let it go and don’t make a fuss when I push through the massive crowd. As I step outside onto the pavement, I light a Marlboro and take a much-needed drag as I lean back against the brick wall.

I would be a complete liar if I said I never thought of Lily, because I think about her more often than I care to admit. I gave up long ago on the dream of reconciliation, but deep down, I wished her relationship with Leo had failed.

My life is a mess, and the only person I could talk to about this is dead.

My mom passed away six months ago from breast cancer, and the loss destroyed my father. He had a major mental breakdown and now resides at Sunnyfields Hospital. Ironic, isn’t it? Dixon Mathews, New York’s finest shrink, can’t even help his own father.

Automatically taking a drag of my cigarette, I’m lost in the past—a place I’d rather not be. So when I hear the animated voices of a couple to my left, I welcome the distraction.

Turning to see what the commotion is all about, I see a short brunette being manhandled by a meaty jock, who is jerking her a little too roughly by her upper arms. She’s fucking tiny and his huge paws are going to snap her into two.

“Let me go,” she scowls, attempting to pull out of his grip.

I’ll give her points for trying, as she looks like she’s putting up a pretty good fight. But this asshole has about a hundred pounds on her.

Flicking my smoke into the gutter, I decide to intervene, as it’s pretty obvious she’s trying to get away. Her anxious green eyes flick in my direction when I’m feet away, and she silently pleads with me to help her.

“How about you let her go,” I say firmly, and the wildebeest turns my way with a cocky grin.

“How about you mind your own business, old man,” he replies with a deep, southern accent.

Old man?

Fuck this little pubescent jerkoff.

“How about you mind your manners? Let the lady go.”

“Or what?” he chides, but thankfully he loosens his grip.

“Or I’ll call the police, because from where I stand, those marks on her arms—” I point to her biceps as he releases them “—are a clear indication that you’re a low-life douchebag who likes to beat up on women to make yourself feel like a man. What’s wrong?” I mock. “Trying to act all tough ’cause you want to make up for what you’re lacking?” I hold up my pinkie.

The girl giggles, but quickly stifles her outburst with her hand when douchebag turns and glares at her.