Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
They look good in the soft lamplight of the January evening. Rhys, who’s tall and lean for a hockey guy, with dark hair that’s nearly black and a trim beard the same shade. A slice of white skin splits his right eyebrow—probably one of many scars.
Gavin is the broadest of the bunch with a thick slab of a chest, barrels for arms, and a dusting of light brown stubble across the fair skin of his jawline.
Hollis is all California sunshine and muscles. Light freckles and dark blond hair, surfer style, like the ocean breeze always blows through it.
I know him the best of the three. But I think he also makes himself the most known. The others probably know me more as a rival since I work for the opposing team.
And now they’ve seen me at my worst.
My most helpless.
And frustrated.
And hurt.
I squirm a little under the spotlight. I really need to go. “Thanks again for the help.” Donut barks in solidarity from the backseat. “I owe you guys one.”
Hollis flashes the biggest smile of all and taps the open window. “Can’t wait to call that one in.”
They leave, walking the other way, and I drive into the night, desperately needing someplace to stay.
I fumble for my phone and hit the first number I find. “Any chance I could get into that rental a week early?”
6
I NEVER LIKED HIM ANYWAY
Briar
Aubrey waggles a bottle of champagne at me. “Breakup champagne. You need it. I’ve got it.”
I’m not turning bubbly down. Or friendship. Twenty minutes after saying goodbye to the guys, I sink onto the cushy stool in the state-of-the-art kitchen at her palatial home in Pacific Heights—the one she shares with her two hockey boyfriends.
I glance at the label on the bottle. I Never Liked Him Anyway. “How fitting,” I say as she pours. “A prototype of yours?”
“Yup. I’m thinking of making a line of breakup champagne with my friend Juliet. She’s a party planner. So we made a few types to test.”
“I’m the perfect guinea pig,” I say with a frown.
She hands me a flute and gives me a sympathetic smile. “Been there.”
“I know,” I say, heavily.
After I called Kailani, who’s handling logistics for the festival, about getting into the rental in Lucky Falls early, I rang Aubrey to see if I could crash at her place for the night. If anyone understands my situation it’s Aubrey. Her story’s not identical to mine, but her line of breakup champagne is inspired by her own failed love story. Her groom ditched her at the altar ten minutes before their wedding. Now, more than a year later, Aubrey is living her very best life, happily in love with two men who adore her. One is the goalie for the Golden State Foxes and the other is the recently retired forward from the Sea Dogs.
Their dog, Puck Fitzgibbons, is here too. He and Donut are tussling over a couple stuffed armadillos in the spacious living room, their happy barks and playful growls telling me they’re getting along. Frances Furbottom is already lounging in the guest room.
Take that, Madison, and your stupid rhinestone collar.
But even though I have a place for the night and, thankfully, my pets, I still feel so stupid. It’s not like I was in love with the guy, but I liked him enough to live with him. I liked him enough to think we could have a future.
I knock back some of the delicious bubbly then set it down. “How did I miss the signs, Aubrey? Why can’t I just pick a decent guy?”
She smiles gently. “It’s hard to know who to trust,” she says. “And it’s really hard to be out there dating.”
“He seemed so…into me. Calling, and texting, and taking me out. He was attentive. He took me to his networking events, and his dinners with advertisers, and his cocktail parties with sponsors, and he bought me these dresses to wear—” I stop as a sharp realization hits me like a slap to the face. “I was his advertiser candy! For that stupid site he runs. He needed to look involved so he could pitch advertisers on the articles and advice columns he runs on his man’s man dating advice site. That’s why he went all in on me,” I say, shaking my head, disgusted with him and with the way I fell for him. “How did I miss it?”
Aubrey tucks a finger under my chin and makes me meet her brown-eyed gaze. Waves upon waves of lush red hair frame her face. Freckles dance across her pale skin. “Because people wear masks, and it’s really hard to get them to take them off.”
“I guess Steven’s was like one of those sexy Venetian masks you wear to a masquerade. But underneath he was a chameleon.”
Like my mother. Always changing her mind about what she wanted—to eat for dinner, to watch on TV, to do a job. Then, whether she wanted a family or not. She’d promised to be there for us. Then one day she just…left.