“Mama.” I enforce discipline in my tone and slide farther down onto the sofa, twisting my body until I crash flat on my back in the center and cover my face with my hands as I try not to get defensive. “It’s just work.”
“How do I apply for that job?” Laughter bubbles in her throat, and I give in. We’ve always been close, sharing our secrets like sisters. I can tell she’s not saying many of the things she wants to say, and I appreciate her giving me some space. In a way, it’s also fun to hear her tease me about him because he is sooo handsome. My face heats when I recall how it felt to be in his arms. If he was my boyfriend for real, I’d feel so safe. A special compartment in my heart swells as I think about what it would be like if those photos had been real. Still, it doesn’t pay to talk about it because there wasn’t much to talk about. Just one photo.
My stomach rumbles for the first time since I got dumped. It’s a good sign, as it shows that my appetite is coming back. Before Ican ask what’s for dinner, my phone vibrates in the center pocket of my oversized sweatshirt, stealing my attention. Bill Baker’s name is flashing on the screen.
“I better take this upstairs.” I jump to my feet and don’t look back, because I can already see my mom’s smirk. As I head upstairs, I press the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Well done!” he exclaims, a jolly laugh rolling out.
“Thanks.” I hesitate, unsure why he’s calling when our agreement is finished. “Did you need my agent’s number?”
“Nope. I’m calling to invite you to the game tomorrow. I’ll get you a box seat right next to me. Best seats in the house. It’s the least we can do to show you our appreciation.”
“Well . . .” I suck in a deep breath, as hockey isn’t my thing, and I search for polite words to say that I want to be left alone. The photo is out, and even my mom is blushing. It’s apparently working. “That’s awfully nice of you, but I’m afraid I’m busy. I have to reschedule my concerts and get back—”
“Did you happen to see the video of Rocco and that blonde in the Bahamas?”
“What?” My brows bead together as my mind gets whiplash from the sudden change of conversation. “I’m lost.”
“Yep, about an hour after we leaked your photo, a semi-blurry image of Rocco and some blonde on the beach in the Bahamas was published on his Instagram.”
“Rocco doesn’t have Instagram.”
“Oh, he does now, and it’s filled with photos of him and this lady friend.”
This is a game.
I run my hand through my hair and my fingers snag at the ends, reminding me I haven’t even brushed it today. It’s been one of those recovery days. I don’t want to have to do anything, least of all talk about Rocco and some woman. Rocco and I had planned a trip to the Bahamas. I can’t believe he took some girlonourtrip. My heart flips and twists, and now I’m about to throw up. I wish I could be strong and ignore these feelings, but it’s still raw. Rocco humiliated me, and even though I vowed to not waste any more feelings on him, I’m disgusted.
Does he think I care who he spends time with?
Does he think I care if he’s moved on three days after our public breakup?
He’s off on a “honeymoon” with some bimbo, and I’m hiding out in the middle of nowhere, trying to figure out whatIdid wrong. The only thing I did wrong was love him. I wish with all my strength I could flip a switch and get over him, but the amount of anxiety flooding my body right now tells me I’m clearly not.
“You can look it up if you want.” Bill’s suggestion interrupts my heartbreaking all over again.
“I don’t want to see it.” Parking one hand on my hip, both to steady myself and assert control, I force myself to accept the situation—and his gift. Clearly God put Bill in my life for this very purpose—to help me cope with this humiliation—and just like that, I’m ready to deal. “What’s the plan? Another leaked photo?”
“Come to the game.” His voice is smooth, enticing. “Play the role of supportive girlfriend. We’ll take care of the rest.”
“Okay.” I nod, ready to show Rocco I’m not sitting around crying about him. “I’ll be there.”
seven
Axl
Some song by the Chainsmokers pulsates through the speakers, and the whole arena jolts into a state of overstimulation as our team skates out for warmups. I circle around our goal, feeling the burn in my hamstrings, before seeing Noah wag his eyebrows toward the owner’s box above our goal while letting out a wolf whistle that pricks my ears. “Your girlfriend’s here.”
What is he talking about, girlfriend?My jaw unhinges, flapping all the way down, and I skate to a halt.
Sophie is standing in the owner’s box in front of her seat, daintily waving at me.
That part is relativelyokay.
The part that makes my jaw stay locked in this wide-open position is the dress she’s wearing. Emerald satin loosely hugs her curves, accentuating how trim she is, while doing everything to draw my attention—and the attention of all the warm-blooded men in this room—to her. Green isn’t our team color but it’s theexact twin to her eyes, and even over the distance between us, I can see her eyes shining back this way—on me.
Who wears a dress to a hockey game? Then again, she’s so stunning that she’d stick out even if she was wearing a garbage bag.
