Prologue
TWO YEARS AGO
SILAS
“I don’t know, dude. Maybe I should have gone with the princess cut,” I say into the phone as I head up the elevator to my penthouse apartment that offers expansive views of the BurrardInlet.
When Sarah and I found this place, she told me we had to get it. Not only were the views everything we could have asked for, but the privacy was also a huge bonus, especially since privacy doesn’t come so easily anymore. Not when you’re the star right wingfromthe Vancouver Agitators.
“Do we really have to go through this again?” Pacey Lawes says through the phone, clearly irritated with my inability to settle onthe right ring.
“I want to get this right.” The elevator shoots me up to the penthouse. “I know Sarah has been waiting for this, and I’m finally in a place in my life where I can get her the ring she deserves. I want to make sure it’s perfect.”
“How many times do we have to go throughthis? She sent you pictures of that halo ring. That’s what she wants, and what yougot matches that. Don’t change anything.”
“Yeah,you’re right.” I sigh. “Shit,I’mnervous.”
“Are youdoingit tonight?”
“No.” I shake my head even though he can’t see me. “I have to figure out her ringsize first.”
“That would have been job number one,” he says just as the elevator dings andthe doors beginto part.
“Probably.” I scrub my hand over my face as I step off the elevator. “This is my first and last proposal, so I’m not quite sure ofthe timetable here.”
“Don’t think that’s part of a timetable. Just common sense, man,” Pacey says as I set my keys on the side table next to the elevator, kick off my shoes, andthenheadtoward the kitchenwhere I findone of Sarah’s bras discardedonthe counter.
That’s weird.
She’s a bit of a neat freak, so finding something like a bra onthe counter andno other laundry feels out ofplace.
“Youthere?” Pacey asks.
“Uh, yeah.” I clear my throat andpick upthe black lace, a bra I don’t think I’ve ever seen her wear before. And I know because I’ve been with her since high school. I’ve seen the ins and outs of this woman’s wardrobe, and I would have easily remembereda bra like this. “Hey,I have to go.”
“Everything okay?” Pacey asks with concern, obviously hearingthe change inmy tone.
“Yup, just, uh, realizedI forgot to take the meat out of the freezer.” Asimple lie that I know willdo the trick.
“Ohshit,dude,you’re introuble.”
“Don’t I know it,” I say right before hanging up and settingmy phone onthe counter.
I examine the bra, tracing my fingers over the lace. Have Iseenthisbefore?
No,definitely not.
This is different.
This is not the SarahI know who onlywears nude-colored undergarments. That’s allshe’s ever worn,andI’ve beenfine
with it. I couldn’t care less. I just wanted to see what was under the undergarments, and lately, there’s been a drought inthat department.
She blames it on hockey, saying I’m never around. But I don’t see how my schedule is any different from last year. Sure, I might have acquired more deals that have brought in anexponentially higher income, andthose commitments have stolen some of my time, but I still make an effort to make time to be available for her.
She’s the one who tells me she’s tired.
She’s the one who offers me her cheek when I try to kiss her goodnight.
I spoke to the guys about it. How she never initiates intimacy, how she rolls away from me at night, and we concluded that maybe she was tired of waiting for a true commitment fromme.
Hence the ring.
But this bra . . . maybe she’s trying to spice things up for the bothofus.
Maybe she left this here, knowingI was cominghome and wouldbelieve it’s a clue.
A smile stretches across my face as I stick the bra in the back pocket ofmy jeans andmove towardthe bedroom.
“Sarah, babe, you here?” I ask, heading closer to the shut bedroomdoor. “Foundyour bra.”
“Mmmmm.” I hear her moan, which makes me pause in my pathto openthe bedroomdoor.
Was that moan for me, or was that moan . . . something else?
Confused, I reach for our bedroom doorknob and twist it just as I hear her again. “Yes,right there.”
What the . . .
I part the door open, just enough to see Sarah spread naked on our bed with a woman’s head between her legs. What.The.Fuck?
My mouth drops to the floor, my heart sputters to a stop, andI canfeelallthe color drainingfrommy face.
“That’s it, baby, keep up that pace,” a male voice speaks from the side of the room, nearly knocking me back on my ass.
I glance toward the window and find a naked man sitting in the chair I use to put my fucking shoes on, stroking his mediocre erection.
“What the actualfuck?” I say,unable to stopmyself.
Sarah’s head pops up, and her eyes connect with mine. Fear crosses her pupils right before pure ecstasy. The woman doesn’t stop eating Sarah’s pussy, the man doesn’t stop stroking his dick, and it’s as if everything is playing out inslow motionlike some sort offucked-uppornvideo.
Sarah’s eyes remain on mine as she bites her bottom lip andher cheeks flush, a look I haven’t seenfromher inI don’t know how long. And for the life of me, I can’t look away as her chest lifts, nipples puckered, skin slick, and her mouth falls open as a low, feral moan slips past her lips. A sound so erotic that I honestly wasn’t sure she couldmake it.
Her headfalls back to the bed, her fingers gripthe sheets tightly, and then, to my absolute horror, I watch her come, getting off from another woman while a man in the corner does the same,he groans evenlouder.
At a complete standstill, unsure of what to fucking do, I stay rootedinplace,waitingfor this nightmare to end.
“OhGod,” Sarahsays as she fondles her breasts, plucking her nipples. “So good,” she mumbles before she finally catches her breath.
So good? Is she fuckingkiddingme right now?
The naked woman between her legs pulls away and turns towardme. Her fake breasts are waytoolarge for her body. That’swhatyounotice, Silas?She stands up and then starts fingering herself. With a coy look, she asks, “Do you want to be next?”
“The fuck?” I ask. “No!” I look past the busty redheadand over at Sarah. “What the fuck is goingon?”
Hand draped over her face, she closes her legs and then rolls up to a seated position. She’s flush, satisfied, and it makes me so fucking mad. My vision starts to tunnel. She’s my girl, and someone else made her look fucking satisfied. That doesn’t settle well withme. Nor does her hair lookinga mess. Or the wild expression in her eyes. Gratification rings clear inher voice as she says,“I neededa goodfuck,Silas.”
She neededa goodfuck?
That’s her excuse?
“Thenwhy the helldidyounot ask me? Your boyfriend?”
I stare Sarahdown, lookingfor ananswer, but she doesn’t give me one. The redhead walks up to me seductively and rests her hand onmy chest. “Youseemtense. Let me fix that for you.”
Keeping still, I speak through my clenched jaw. “I suggest youget the fuck away fromme right now.”
“Do not talk to my woman like that,” the man says while standingandstuffinghis now flacciddick inhis pants.
“Test me, dude. Seriously, see how far it gets you. I’ve bashed more skulls in my lifetime to even count. You do not want to fuck withme.”
“Maybe I do,” the man says, acting like a stupid fuck. He steps toward me, and without even thinking twice, I cock my arm back. Sarah inserts herself between the man and me before I canhit him.
“Don’t,” she says,her voice stern.
She can’t be serious.
“You’re protecting him?” I ask. In my fucking house? My fuckingbedroom? What the hellis happening?
Without answering me, she turns toward the man and woman. “I think youtwo shouldleave.”
“Are you sure?” the woman asks. “If you’re in trouble, we canstay.”
“She’s not in fucking trouble,” I yell. “I’m her goddamn boyfriend, and if you don’t leave in the next five minutes, I willphysically remove youmyself.”
“Go,” Sarahsays.
While they pick upandleave,Sarahgrabs a robe fromthe bed and tosses it over her body, covering up the bite marks along her rib cage and breasts. Breasts I’ve spent years worshipping.
Pain, anger, and confusion all lace through my body, putting me through a mental fuckery of a roller coaster as I try to pick one emotionto focus on.
WhenI hear the elevator doors close,I know whichone to run with. Anger. I turn toward her and say, “What the fuck was that?”
Arms crosseddefensively,she answers,“I’ve . . . I’ve been feelingneglected. ToddandNancy have—”
“ToddandNancy?” I shout.
“Yes, Todd and Nancy.” She secures the tie around her waist. “They’ve made me feel supported, fulfilled, and not so alone.”
White-hot rage shoots up my spine. “Don’t fucking come at me with that. I’ve tried to make you feel . . . fulfilled, but you won’t let me. You push me away, turn me down, you won’t even fucking look at me. I mean, what the hell, Sarah? How longhas this beengoingon?”
“Four months,” she says without evenanounce of apology inher voice.
“Four months?” I ask. “Jesus Christ.” I step away, running my hand through my hair. When I look at her, I don’t see the same person I fell in love with years ago. I see someone jaded, someone manipulative, someone who had no intention ofprotectingmy heart.
After everything we’ve been through, all the ups and downs of trying to make it in hockey, the hardships, the joy, she’s going to act like cheating on me for four months is nothing?
That it’s my fault whenI’ve put inthe effort?
That I’m the one to blame even though we both agreed that my goal to be a professional hockey player is what we bothwanted?
She knew what this life would be like. I didn’t see her complaining when she got her expensive purses and brandname shoes.
I stare at her, the womanI gave my heart to, andas anger fills me,I say,“Fuck you,Sarah.”
“Excuse me?” she asks,shock registeringacross her face.
“I said. . . fuck . . . you.”
“You’re mad at me.” She points at her chest. “You’re mad at me whenI’mthe one who has to stay here allalone?”
“You knew what you were getting into,” I yell. “You fucking knew this is what life would be like, and you agreed to it. We had an in-depth conversation about what to expect. We agreed this was what would be best for our life together. Andto helpthe situation, to make youfeel more comfortable, I got the fancy apartment you wanted. I got you the car and the clothes. I got youeverythingyouever askedfor. So yeah, Sarah,fuck you. We were supposedto be monogamous.”
“As ifyou’ve never cheatedonme,” she says offhandedly.
“Never,” I answer with a low growl in my voice. It feels like the hair on the back of my neck is standing to attention. “I’ve never once touched another woman, looked their way, or even thought about it because I love you, Sarah. You’re my girl. You’re the one I want to be with.”
Hand propped on her hip, disbelief in her voice, she repeats, “You never cheated on me? That’s hard to believe. I’ve heard what the other girls have said about all those women running around the hotel rooms looking to hook up withyour team.”
“Yeah, that’s true, but I have fucking loyalty,” I snap at her. “I promised myself to you, and I’ve kept that promise. Wait, have you been cheating on me with other people besides ToddandNancy?” Whenshe glances away, I have my
answer. I throw my arms up and turn my back on her. “Unfucking-believable.” This whole time, I thought she was loyal. I thought we were in this together. I thought that maybe she was pulling away because of the change in popularity I’ve received. But she’s been fucking unfaithful all this time. Whattheactualfuck?
Everything I’ve known about love comes crashing to a fuckingstandstill. I feelso . . . betrayed. Broken. I take a few deepbreaths. “I want youout.”
“What?” she asks.
I turnaroundto face her. Feelingabsolutely guttedinside, I repeat myself. “I saidI want youout. Youhave anhour. Get what youneedandget the fuck out. We’re done,Sarah.”
“This is my apartment too.”
“You know what? You’re right, it is.” I smile demonically. “I’ll call the landlord right now and tell her to switch the name onthe lease to yours. Enjoy payingrent.”
Her face falls flat. “You can’t do that. I don’t have a job. I put my life onholdto support you.”
“I didn’t know supporting me meant you got to fuck around with other people. I think we have a different view of what supportingreally means.”
Not sure if it’s me asking her to leave or the realization that she has nothingwithout me, but panic lights upher eyes. “Listen,Silas,we canwork this out.”
“The fuck we can. Now you either pack up and get out of here in an hour, or the apartment is yours. Rent is due in a week.”
And with that, I storm out of the apartment and as far away fromher as I canget.
We are so fuckingover.
And I’ll be damned if I ever let anyone treat me like that again.
Chapter One
OLLIE
“To the worst internshipof our lives,” Ross says, holdingupa shot glass.
I hold mine up as well. “And may Alan Roberts’s teeth fall out for creating the toxic workspace we’ve suffered through allsummer.”
“Cheers to that.” Ross clinks his glass against mine, and together, we take down a tequila shot, quickly counteracting the bitter taste withsome lime.
When we finish, I let out a large breath. “I can’t believe the fucker is making us work extra to earn our internship credit.”
Ross licks the lime before setting his down. “That’s what happens when you’re fucking the head of the journalism department. Youget what youwant.”
I grip Ross’s arm. “Do you really think Roberts is fucking Professor Wheeler?”
Ross purses his lips and gives me his telltale look for “girlllll.” “Please, Yamish saw them in her office last spring. That’s how Roberts nabs all of those summer interns to do
his dirty work because he siphons them straight from the department.”
“We were siphoned,” I say.
“Exactly, and look where that got us. Sure, we worked a paid internship for college credit. That was great and appreciated, but at what cost? We lost one of the greatest summers of our life to Alan Roberts and his coffee order of steamedmilk witha teaspoonofespresso. Andnow,whenwe finally have a chance to take part inwritingsomethingfor his elusive website, we have to do it when school starts to earn our credit. What the fuck is that about?”
“Poor time management,” I say as I pick up my margarita and twirl my straw. Our drink of the summer has been a margarita on the rocks with a shot of tequila on the side. It gets the job done withno hangover inthe morning.
Ross and I met our freshman year. We were put into a study group together and immediately hit it off. We bonded over face creams, fashion trends, and workout routines that gave us the best results withthe least possible injury.
“Have youevenlookedat your assignment?” he asks.
I slip the envelope handed to us when we left work today out of my purse and hold it to my chest. “I have not. Have you?”
“No.”
“Want to do it together?” I ask.
He nods and reaches into the back pocket of his perfectly pressed dress slacks and pulls out his envelope. “I’ll read yours,andyoureadmine.”
“That seems fair. It lessens the blow.”
We exchange envelopes, and he nods at me. “You read mine first. And if it says anything about sports, just end me now.”
“Same,” I say as I pull out the letter. “Ahem. You, my friend, have . . . ” I pause, scanning the letter . . . “Oh shit, youhave fallfashiontrends.”
“Shut up,” he shouts before ripping the letter from my hands andreadingit himself. “Holy fuck, a five-hundred-word spread on fall fashion must-haves.” His eyes widen when he looks up at me. “Ollie, do you understand how big a deal this is?”
I chuckle. “I do. I worked with you this entire summer. Everyone is going to see that article, and I have no doubt it willbe syndicated.”
“Holy . . . fuck,” he breathes out. “And here I thought Roberts hated me. He just made me get his coffee every morningso he couldmake sure I hadthe style to back upthe article. This could only mean if I got fashion, you probably got lifestyle. That list of books you’ve been putting together will pay off.” He rips open my envelope, and I wait in anticipation because I truly hope he’s right. Lifestyle would be my ideal topic, the one I know the most about. I’ve kept up with all the reading, beauty, and exercise trends. I’m my very ownAndie Andersonover here.
He clears his throat, tosses the letter open with a shake ofhis hand,andsmiles at me.
“Ollie, my dearest friend who has the glowing complexion ofanangel—”
“Thank you,plant-derivedsqualane.”
Smiling, he says, “You will be working tirelessly, writing about . . . ” He pauses, and I know it’s for dramatic effect. Ross doesn’t know any other way to operate. At least that’s what I think until his brow creases in concern, and his smile flattens into a frown.
Uh-oh,that can’t be good.
Unless he’s tryingto fake me out. Would Ross do that, though? He’s not much of a prankster.
OhGod,what ifI got somethingbad? “What,uh. . . what is it?” I ask nervously. His eyes slowly lift to mine. “I think they messedup.”
“What do youmeanyouthink they messedup?” I snagthe letter fromRoss andscanit untilmy eyes landdirectly onthe assignment. “No,this can’t be right.”
“Looking at assignments?” we hear a cheery yet shrill voice say as she walks upbehindus. Candace Roundhouse.
The bane ofour existence.
The suck-upofthe summer.
The brown-nose that belongs to AlanRoberts.
Abhorrently annoyinganda compulsive inhibiter ofallfun, Candace has been the second main reason Ross and I came up with a drink of the summer. Roberts is the margarita. Candace is the shot oftequila onthe side.
Plastering on a smile because even though we can’t stand her, we have to pretend to get along, I turn toward Candace andsay,“Ohhey,didn’t think youwere goingout tonight.”
She flips her fake fiery-red hair over one shoulder and gives me a slow once-over. “Yes, thought I would introduce my boyfriendto allmy work peeps.”
Ew,who says peeps?
“How fun,” Ross says with his genuinely fake smile. I know it’s fake because his teethclenchtightly together while the corners ofhis mouthtwitchever so slightly.
“Can you believe Roberts allowed me to put together the assignments? He just tossed it on my desk and said have at it.”
The
bitch.
Of course she put these together. I should have freaking known.
“You put these together?” I ask, still trying to hold my composure. I want to flick that red lipstick right off her pursedlips.
“I did.” She smiles brightly. “I knew youwouldbe amazing with the fashion piece, Ross. The minute I saw it, I thought youneededto have it.”
“Yeah, thank you,” he says quietly because sure, she did hima favor. But what about me?
She did this on purpose, I know she did, and it’s all because ofthe stupidfreakingPost-it Notes.
Want to talk about petty?
Candace Roundhouse is the definitionofit.
You see, Candace was very particular about her office supplies. So particular that she took in her own, which is fine. If you want to use the stupid gel pens like a girl who grew up in the two thousands, have at it. I’m not going to stop you. But one day, I was running around the office at everyone’s beck and call, and I was on the phone with an advertiser who needed me to pick up a product from a warehouse downtown. I needed something to write the address down on. I was right next to Candace’s desk, and since she wasn’t there, I picked up a pen and a Post-it Note and wrote down the address. When I hung up and turned around, Candace was right behind me, staring me down as if she was one ofthe twins fromTheShining.
I smiledawkwardly,beggingfor forgiveness.
She foldedher arms.
Nothing was said between us, just a stare down still ingrained in my memory as one of the top five scariest moments ofmy life. There is nothinglike utter silence to gain the upper hand when facing a competitor, especially me because I can’t standthe silence.
Ross told me he heard Candace offhandedly mention to one of the girls in the office how I used her Post-it Notes and didn’t bother to replace them. She soundedirritated.
It was ONE Post-it.
See what I’mtalkingabout? Petty.
Clearing my throat, I say, “So . . . with all due respect, what were youthinkingwhenyougave me my assignment?”
Her amused eyes turn toward me as she says, “Well, all I heard all summer was how much you enjoyed the male form,
objectifying men in every which way.” What the hell is she talking about? “I thought your assignment would be perfect for you.”
“I wasn’t objectifying men,” I say because if anything, I was professional all summer, and that was exhausting. There were many times I didn’t want to be professional.
Like whenCandace bossedpeople aroundfor half anhour while her fly was undone. I could have asked her if she was attempting to win the boss’s affection, maybe offer a panty parade, or even looking for singles ready to mingle. But did I open my mouth? Nooooo, and that’s because I was a professional.
I didn’t tell her it was down either because just that morning, she’d yelled at me for taking the last Green Mountain blueberry coffee pod. Someone had to take it, and that someone just happenedto be me.
“I distinctly remember you going into great detail about the contours andcrevices ofChris Hemsworth’s body.”
I shake my head, trying to comprehend her idiocy. “That was on a lunch break, and it’s because he just came out with a series of pictures in Men’s Health. How does that have anythingto do withmy assignment of. . . hockey?”
Yup, she gave me hockey. A sport I know absolutely nothingabout other than. . . skates, uh. . . puck . . . stick . . . andlots ofice. That about sums it up.
She smiles. “Figured you could study the contours and crevices of hockey players. After all, hockey is a national treasure in Canada. You could really do something special withthe assignment.”
Petty. She is so freakingpetty.
I can be petty, you know. I could . . . uh . . . I could kick her right in the crotch. Not sure if that’s petty, but it sure as hell would make me feel better. A toe to her camel toe. Blam-o,instant joy for me.
“I know nothing about hockey, and you know damn well if I turn in a fluff piece about muscles and perfectly
proportioned man nipples, Roberts isn’t going to give me credit for this summer internship. Everything rides on these last assignments.” I canfeelmyselflosingmy cool.
If I don’t do a goodjob onthis assignment, I might have to repeat the internship, and I can’t do that. Repeating would put me behind, andI needto graduate at the endof this year. Ihaveastrictschedule.
She taps her chin. “Hmm, you might be right about that. Looks like youneedto learnsome hockey.”
Steppingforward,I point my finger at her. “Youdidthis on purpose,allbecause ofa Post-it. Honestly,how couldyou—”
“Darling, there you are,” a male voice says. A familiar male voice. A voice so bone-chillingly familiar that I feel my stomach bottom out as I slowly look up to see Yonny Biliak standinginfront ofme.
Actually, not just standing in front of me but wrapping his armaroundCandace andkissingthe side ofher cheek.
No fuckingway.
Who is Yonny Biliak,youask?
A self-proclaimed rising star in the legal field, horrid offender of crisscrossingsuit patterns, expert dribble pee-er, and my ex-boyfriend of two years. He broke up with me this summer, stating we were going our own ways. He thought it’dbe best that we focus onour careers andnot eachother.
Funny how it’s the end of summer, and he seems NOT to be focusingonhis career but rather the backside of Candace Roundhouse.
Like I canactually see himrubbing her ass. Right here, in the middle of a bar, as if we’re in the privacy of his stuffy bedroomwhere he chose to show affectionbecause PDAwas forbidden. He hadto upholdanimage,after all.
“The beefy sweetheart of my life,” Candace coos back as she lifts her hand to his ill-shaven face and kisses his dry, crusty lips. At least that’s how I want them to be, but they actually look quite moisturized, which just irritates me even more. Looks like the man found chapstick. Also, can we
please pause for a moment and lament over the pet name “beefy sweetheart”? Blech. “I’m so glad you found me. I’m lost without you,” Candace continues.
Oh,come on.
Are they tryingto make the bar collectively dry-heave?
I feel Ross leaninto me, his handslowly fallingto my back protectively. I appreciate him. He knows how I was after my breakup with Yonny. Yonny never treated me right, yet I still gave himall of me, so when we broke up, I didn’t take it that well.
I spent more time holdinga bottle ofwine to my lips thanI care to admit . . . and yelling at innocent birds just trying to put ina day’s work offindingtwigs andworms.
When the two sugarplum sweethearts of our generation are finally done cooing at each other, Yonny looks up, only to be partially stunnedwhenI come into view.
“Ollie,” he says, straightening up. “Didn’t see you there. How,uh,how are you?”
Lovely.
Bubblingwitheuphoria.
Onthe precipice of so muchjoy that my soulless heart—as you once called it—might combust into micro pieces of merriment.
“Great,” I answer louder than I want. “So great. The greatest, actually. The greatest of all time. GOAT. I’m the GOAT ofallGOATs.”
“Stopsayinggoat,” Ross whispers. I smile withjust my lips, regainingmy composure, andsay, “Just wonderful.”
Yonny drapes his arm around Candace and pulls her in close to his chest,clearly tryingto make me jealous.
Well, try harder, sir, because you’re not muchof a prize to fight over.
Yet . . . eventhoughI know he’s not a prize and more of a jerk than anything, I feel myself gearing up to do something stupid, say somethingstupid, anythingto save face infront of
the manwho once toldme it was normal to have pee drips all over his underwear.
“I’m really great, actually,” I continue because they can’t hear that enough. I push my hair behind my ear. “Yup, everything is wildly awesome for me right now. Just got the assignment of a lifetime thanks to Candace, living my best life in the heart of Vancouver, rolling in lavish food from sponsor after sponsor, and easily having the best sex of my life.” His brow turns down, and that spurs me on because nothing feels better than seeing an ex displeased with your success. “Yup, so much sex, crazy sex too. Sex that actually makes me convulse like an electric shock but straight to my pu—”
“Asemblance ofclass,” Ross says,cuttingme off.
Yup, okay, I can admit when I’ve gotten a touch out of hand.
“Well, that’s nice,” Yonny says, looking uncomfortable. Yeah, that’s right, feel uncomfortable. Regret life. Reconsider allofyour choices.
“That’s funny,” Candace says, a smarmy look on her face. “Last I heard, you’ve been in a drought since you and Yonny broke up.”
Freakingoffice gossip.
I get drunk one night and tell a few girls that it’s beenthe Sahara Desert between my legs all summer, and it just happens to get back to Candace Roundhouse. What is she freaking doing? Paying people for information? Does she pay them in Post-it Notes? I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s vengeful,folks,andnot one to mess with.
Yet here I am,goingallin.
“This was recent,” I say. “He’s actually here, right now, the man I’ve been losing many nights of sleep to. The man who has stretched me in more ways than one. The man who I’ve purposely called daddy in the middle of fu—” Ross elbows my ribs. Right, stay on track. I clear my throat. “So .
. . yeah, anyway, I bet you two have a lot of public rubbing youwant to get onwith,so I’mjust goingto go—”
“Where is he?” Candace asks, the challenging look in her eyes telling me she doesn’t believe me one bit. What a freakingfrump. “I wouldlove to meet him.”
Ofcourse she would.
“Ohyeah, I wouldlove for youto meet him. Unfortunately, my little cuddle bunny is shy,” I say, offering an apologetic smile.
“What are you doing?” Ross whispers under his breath, clearly concerned for me. He has all the right to be because I have become unhinged.
“Oh, I’m sure he’s shy,” Candace says with a roll of her eyes. “So shy that he doesn’t exist.” She pats Yonny’s chest. “Let’s go before she embarrasses herselfevenmore.”
“He does exist,” I say, anger pulsing up my spine. My voice sounds so convincing that I almost believe he has magically appeared from my imagination and parked it right here inthis bar.
Candace glances over her shoulder. “Okay, Ollie. Enjoy your assignment. I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job with it.” Her condescending tone tips me over the edge, and I feel my body go absolutely feral.
Teethsnarling.
Hair raised.
Bloodshot eyes.
Ohhhhh no, she doesn’t walk away from me with the last word, not when I have to conjure up a fake boyfriend who has givenme the best sex ofmy life.
“He is. Actually, there he is,” I say, aiming my gaze at the first manI see. Andbefore I canstopmyself,I charge toward the far endofthe bar.
Better watchout,man,feralbeast incoming.
Chapter Two
SILAS
Silas: Did you see the press announcement from the Agitators?
I pick up my glass of Scotch as I stare down at my text thread with my boys, willing themto respond. I’mall sorts of fuckedup.
The moment I saw the press announcement come in, I dropped everything I was doing, slipped on my shoes, and walked to the closest bar where I’ve been ever since, wallowinginhow the universe is so fuckingunfair. No,not unfair,just fuckedup. My phone dings witha message.
Pacey:Dude...whattheactualfuck?
Pacey is the star goalie for the Agitators. Last summer, when we were spending our time off the ice at my cabin in Banff, he met the love of his life, Winnie. He recently proposed, and she said yes. Not sure when the wedding will be, but I do know their disgustingly cute love makes me want to throw up.
Pacey:Areyouokay?
Shakingmy head,I text himback.
Silas:No.Allkindsoffuckeduprightnow.
Hornsby: Wait. . . SARAHis working for the Agitators now?HOW?
Eli Hornsby—defenseman, pretty boy, and the guy who got Pacey’s sister pregnant. Yeah . . . sore subject, but everything seems to have worked out now. Penny is due soon, and throughout all the years I’ve known Hornsby, I’ve never seen him this protective over anything . . . even his gleaming,Prince Charming-like smile.
Oh, and if you didn’t catch his text, yeah, my ex, the girl who destroyed me, is working for the Agitators in the marketing department. Hence the heavy glass of Scotch in my hand.
Posey:Whoa,whoa...whoa.*pinchesbrow*How?How thefuck?
Levi Posey—teddy bear on the inside, absolute bruiser on the outside acts like the innocent one of the group with his love for bologna sandwiches and his penchant for helping old ladies walk across the streets of Vancouver when, in reality, he’s the biggest ladies’manofthemall.
Pacey:Doyouthinksheusedyournametogetthejob?
Hornsby:Shebetternothave.Whocanwetalktoabout this?Howcanwegetherfired?
Posey: You can’t get someone fired because of a personalrelationship.
Hornsby:Yousureashellcanifthisnewhireisgoingto fuckwithTaters’shead.Youknowitis.Nooffense,bro.
Silas:Nonetakenbecauseyou’refuckingright.
Holmes: Just catching up. Sarah is working for the Agitators?Dude,areyouokay?
Halsey Holmes, besides me, is the quickest skates out on the ice. A former twin, he lost his brother in a horrible car accident. Halsey turtled in on himself and focused on hockey and only hockey. That was until this past summer when we discovered that Halsey has a huge fucking crush on Penny’s
best friend, Blakely. The only problem is Blakely is massively inlove withher boyfriend. Yeah,he’s indeep.
Silas: Yeah, not doing great. I mean, what the actual fuck?Whywouldshedothis?
Hornsby:Isn’titobvious?Tofuckwithyou,man.
Pacey:Ihatetoadmitit,butI’mwithHornsby.
Hornsby:Sohowcanwetakeherdown?
Posey: Once again, you can’t take her down. Her personallifeisn’ttheAgitatorsconcern.
Holmes:I’mwithPosey.Thereisn’tmuchwecando.
Hornsby: What the fuck? What happened to band of brothers?
Silas: Iappreciateyour willingnessto charge after her with a bayonet at the end ofyour hockey stick, but bro, they’reright.Nothingcanbedone.
I set my phone down and bring my glass to my lips. Absolutely nothing can be done other than hope and pray I don’t have to interact with her. And how the fuck did she get the job? As far as I know, she has little to no job experience. Are the Agitators just hiring anyone now? I want to see her credentials.
After taking a sip, I set it down on the bar in front of me as a handpresses to my back. I turnjust intime for a woman to speak closely to my face as if we’ve known each other for years andwe’re incahoots.
“My name is Ollie. I’m in a really tough spot, and I’m so sorry, but I’m about to kiss you because I need to save face in front of my ex-boyfriend, who is now dating my nemesis. If you don’t stop me in three seconds, I’m going in.” She says this at such a rapid rate that I almost don’t understand what she’s saying.
As I turn to face her, I catch a glimpse of thick wavy brown hair and a flash of red lipstick, and then her lips are onmine,her handshiftingto the back ofmy head.
Whoa,what the hellis happening?
I’mcaught off guard, but it’s only a moment because once her soft, plush lips move along mine, I turn toward her and smooth my hand around her narrow waist as my lips move alonghers.
And for a brief second, I’m stunned, brought to another world where Sarah doesn’t exist and my worries are nowhere to be found. Instead, I’m lost in the most perfect pair oflips I’ve ever tasted.
My hand grows tighter on her waist as her fingers toy with my blond locks. She steps in closer, her mouth parting just slightly. I part mine as well while her other hand falls to my chest. Hell, this woman tastes good, like tequila and promises.
Just as I reach to pull her in even closer, she breaks away but keeps her face close as she whispers, “Please pretend to be my boyfriend for a second. Also, you’re the best sex I’ve ever had.”
That makes me smirk. “Damn, and I didn’t even have to do anything to earn the title.” I catch her glance over her shoulder,so I quickly say,“I’mSilas.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says before turning around and sinking into me, my open stance on the barstool welcoming her as I slip my arm around her waist and pull her in even closer. Not sure why I’mgoingwithher demands. Maybe I’m a bit drunk from the kiss . . . and the Scotch, but I hold still, ready for what’s to come.
Three people approachus.
One is a woman sporting a shocked, disapproving glare— must be one ofthe offenders.
Behindher is a lanky manwhose brow is pinchedtogether so tightly that I bet it couldholda quarter ifI slippedit in.
And the other man just keeps blinking . . . rapidly, as if he can’t quite comprehendwhat he’s witnessing.
From a guess, I think Cranky and Lanky are the people Ollie—that’s her name, right?—is trying to save face with, andthe blinker has to be a friend.
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