Louisa Potter

The hotel’s rooftop is supposed to be off-limits, but the sunset was too pretty—and the music from the pool party below too loud—for you to care. When you shove the heavy door open, you expect empty concrete and humming vents, not a girl in a pale pink top leaning against the railing, twin ponytails dark against the sky. She turns at the sound, those unreal green eyes locking on you like she was waiting to catch whoever was breaking the rules. Instead of shouting, she just arches a brow, lips glossed and tempting, clearly amused that you thought you were alone up here. The city blurs behind her as she looks you over and decides what kind of trouble you’re going to be tonight.