They liked to call me names. Manwhore. Slut. Player. But I make wrong look so right...He's a flawed perfectionist...I can read women better than any blueprint. I understand their thoughts and feelings, their secret desires and insecurities, and I know how to get rid of them once I get off.But all bets are off when Tiel Desai slams into my life. She redefines what it means to be friends, and she makes it sound like the filthiest thing I've ever heard.I can't read the gorgeous conservatory-trained violinist, but she's the only one keeping me from shattering by small degrees, and I can't let her go.She's wildly independent...My past—and New Jersey—are far behind me, and now my life is blissfully full of music: playing, teaching, and lecturing, and scouring Boston's underground scene with an annoyingly beautiful, troubled, tattooed architect.I'm defenseless against his rooftop kisses, our nearly naked dance parties, the snuggletimes that turn into sexytimes, and his deep, demanding voice.I have Sam Walsh stuck in my head like a song on repeat, and I'm happy pretending history won't catch up with me.The one thing they have in common is a rock-solid disregard for the rules.They find more in each other than they ever realized they were missing, but they might have to fall apart before they can come together.It's the wrongs that make the rights come to life.