“Well? What did you say?”
Of course.Of coursethat’s what she focuses on.
“That I don’t make public statements about players’… equipment,” I mutter, finally lifting my head. “Then the mailman stopped me. Then the girl from the market. Everyone was staring at me like I’m—God, I don’t know—a celebrity. Everyone wanted to know if it was really Cohen Becker.”
Ivy gently slides a steaming cup toward me.
“Here. Pumpkin Cream Cold Brew. Extra foam. It cures the soul.”
I take a desperate sip. It’s sweet and spicy and for one blessed second, it keeps me from screaming.
“Thanks. I needed that before telling you… the rest.”
The two of them exchange a look.
I adjust my purple heart-arm glasses on my nose. The energy at the table shifts immediately. Lina stops chewing. Ivy abandons her alignment project.
I inhale deeply.
These are my best friends. The only people in Elm Hollow who won’t judge me. And besides, this is the very first meeting of Ivy’s new smut book club. If there’s a sacred, holy place to confess carnal sins and absurd plot twists… it’s here.
And since they’re about to be distracted by everyone else arriving, I might as well rip the Band-Aid off now.
“Okay. Brace yourselves. Because the newspaper story? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. Underneath is a Titanic-sized disaster sinking while the orchestra playsIt’s Raining Men.”
I glance around to make sure no one is eavesdropping—Mrs Higgins with her poodle, a cluster of high-schoolers—then lean in.
“Do you remember Mark’s awful bachelor party? The one at The Aureum that thankfully ended his engagement before it even began?”
Lina freezes with the muffin halfway to her mouth.
“You mean the party where you tried to send me dressed as Sexy Cupid? And you came back with a hickey you covered with foundation for a week?” She lifts a brow. “Of course I remember. You never told us who the mystery guy was.”
“Right,” Ivy adds, eyes sparkling as she hugs her ceramic mug. “The one dressed as Lucifer, right?”
I close my eyes and nod, painfully.
“Yes. Lucifer.”
Deep breath.
Time to drop the bomb.
“Lucifer was Cohen.”
Silence. One single second of it.
Then Linaliterally spitsa blueberry across the table.
“YOU ARE SHITTING ME!”
Her scream is so loud Mrs. Higgins drops her poodle’s leash.
“LINA!” Ivy hiss-whispers, grabbing her sleeve. “Lower your voice!”
“I WILL NOT LOWER ANYTHING!” Lina shrieks, leaning across the table and grabbing my arm. “You’re telling me the ‘Sex God’—your words, Sloane Heart, I still have the voicememos from that night—was COHEN BECKER? The man you’ve insulted for months?!”
“Yes!” I wail, burying my face again. “But I didn’t recognize him! We were at The Aureum, I thought he was a bored banker or a model slumming it for a night!”
