Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78470 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Nate: I was being polite. Try it sometime. Anyway, just letting you know I’m not, shockingly, solo.
Bryan: I’m still shocked.
Tanner: Miracles happen.
Luke: I do believe!
They’re such assholes. But if they didn’t give me hell, I’d think they were imposters. I’m about to razz them back when my phone pings with an email from my agent. Maybe it’s about the meetings we’re having with sponsors in London, but I groan when I scan the preview window.
I dreamed last night your ex got his social media account shut down. I was sad when I woke up and it was just a dream.
Grimacing, I reply to Vance: What now?
I hate being blindsided. Had enough of being fooled for those three years of wedded bliss. Don’t want any surprises now.
I go to Oliver’s social media feed. There he is, a thumbnail, his palms pressed together in prayer.
The grimace turns into a full-body cringe as I pop in one earbud and hit play.
“I’ve shown you my muscles, but now I’m showing you my sadness. This is the real me. Post-divorce. Look at me,” he says to the camera.
Honestly, no shade on the whole real me movement, but Oliver looks haggard, like he hasn’t moisturized in a year. And the dude loved his lotions. Or, really, he loved the ones my lotion sponsor sent me.
Gee, I sure hope his new boyfriend can afford to keep him in expensive creams now that he’s not pilfering my freebies.
My ex goes on, gesturing to his face, his frown.
“And this is who I am nine months after the heartache.”
I scoff. Heartache, my ass.
“I truly never thought it would come to this. I met my ex-husband at the gym. He flirted his heart out with me. He was relentless, and I was totally charmed. I went home with him that first night, and it was magic.”
Gosh, Ollie. Want to tell them how we did it too?
“We were instalove,” he continues. “We were insta-everything. Today, three years of marriage later, I’m trying to forgive myself for all that went wrong. I only have myself to rely on now, and my work here as a humble trainer while Nate has football and the love of millions, as well as his millions of dollars. But I want the best for him. I hope he’s living his best life with all the things he has—his home, his fame, his sponsorships—while I start over with only myself.”
Are you fucking kidding me? He’s doing the I’m-poor-you’re-rich routine again? I seethe inside, wanting to shout, Well, at least my football contract was faithful to me.
I half wish Vance wouldn’t call my attention to this sideshow, but it’s best to know my enemy. Looking up, I see I’m one gate away from my flight. I keep walking as Oliver keeps talking.
“Every day I find a little self-care in the gym. And in my new love, Lon. He helps me to forgive myself. Remember, forgive yourself for the times when you’ve been ‘less than.’”
Why not tell your fans the truth about Lon then, Ollie?
“Ooh, something good in Internet land?”
Oh, shit.
At the sound of Hunter’s voice, I hit end as fast as a teenager whose mom walked into the bedroom without knocking. That’s got to be a great look—caught watching a video of my ex when I see my date already at the gate.
Could this be a worse start?
As I pop out my earbud, I turn to answer Hunter. “Nope,” I say quickly, stuffing my phone into my pocket. Hopefully, he didn’t see Oliver’s face or name. “Just something my buddy sent. A farmer and an eggplant,” I say.
Real smooth, Nate. Covering up your marriage PTSD with eggplant porn.
Why did I think I was ready to handle traveling with someone?
“Sounds like the start of a good joke,” Hunter says with a smile. “A good dirty joke.”
I smile, relieved he took me at face value. If he did notice anything, he’s chill and letting it slide away where it won’t ruin our trip. Thank fuck.
Briefly, I assess the scene around us, taking in the sea of people, the fellow travelers, the crowded gate, kids slumped on seats, parents scrolling on their phones.
Then I look at this guy here with me, the one with the upbeat attitude. He looks really good, all flirty grin and warm brown eyes.
If I’m not afraid of linemen barreling after me, I shouldn’t be afraid of one night with a guy who likes dirty jokes and arrives on time. I lean in, wrap an arm around him, and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for coming.”
When I pull away, Hunter’s sporting that cheeky, confident grin he wore the day I met him. “I hope you can thank me for that later.”
Maybe Jason was right—it’d be good to be happy. I feel better than I have in ages, like I’ve drunk some of the antidote to the last few years of heartache—Fun. Just fun.