Jules shakes her head, laughing. “No, I’m just impressed. You really had it all mapped out, right down to the pseudonym.”
“I don’t usually give my real name at the coffee shop,” I say, defending myself. I’m not a household name yet, but with two successful albums out, I’m often spotted. Though, to be honest, I’m usually spotted by my core demo—young women in their teens and twenties. Guys, less so.
“I know, sweets,” she says, then shoots me a serious stare. “But that’s not why you didn’t give him your real name.”
Ugh. Best friends. Why do they have to see inside your soul? “Fine,” I grumble as I move to another rack, this time spotting a sweater. “I just…well, I don’t want him to think of me as Karlsson’s sloppy seconds.”
“Camden,” Jules says, sympathetic now.
“But it’s true,” I admit, my gut twisting, right along with the second thoughts that swirl up in me. “Besides, maybe this whole thing is a bad idea. He doesn’t know I used to date his rival, and he doesn’t know who I really am. Is it a good revenge ploy if I’m using someone?”
“First, you’re not using him. You’re genuinely attracted to the guy! And secondly, it’s a damn good revenge ploy, especially if you can get him to kiss you over the boards,” she says.
“Now you’re an enabler.”
“I’ve always been an enabler,” she says. “I’m also brutally honest. I say go to the game and kiss him, and if the kiss is good, then fuck him, but not before you tell him who you are.”
“You’re already having me bone him?”
She stares deadpan at me. “He took his time asking you out. I bet he takes his time in bed.” She wiggles her brows suggestively.
Hmm. I wouldn’t mind a man who likes to savor his food. But I’m getting ahead of myself. “When you say tell him who I am, do you mean?—”
“That you, Camden Tinsley, used to date his shit-for-brains rival.”
“So it’s truth before sex. I hate you.” I pout.
She wraps an arm around my shoulders. “You love me.”
I sigh. “I do.”
“And you’re really going to love me now,” she says, breaking the embrace to dip a hand into her canvas bag. “I bought this for you!”
She takes out…a New York Ice Kings jersey with the name Coleman on the back underneath the number twenty-six.
“Noooo,” I say.
“Yessss.”
And really, I suppose she’s right. This jersey is a definiteyes. Especially when I spot a short, vegan leather skirt to pair it with.
Well, revenge is best served half-dressed at your ex’s rival’s hockey game. As I buy the skirt, I feel both devious and brilliant.
When I get dressed for the game, though, I’m not thinking of Erik at all. I’m thinking of the deliciously confident and heart-stoppingly gorgeous Brit who invited me to watch him play a game.
As I head to the arena with Jules, my chest flutters. It has nothing to do with my ex. And everything to do with the guy whose name I’m wearing.
4
FIRST DATE
Camden
I’m not a rock star by any stretch, but a few years ago I worked in a lounge as a bartender, moonlighting there as a torch singer. When my good friend Ethan invited me to perform one of my songs with his popular band one night, I jumped at the chance, singing “Whiskey Memories” with Ethan harmonizing along. A few days later, a video of our performance went viral. A few months later, I released an album calledFirst Times. It struck a chord with my demo—sexy, playful tunes about women owning their lives, their bodies, their romances. It was the right music at the right time with the right marketing. My label sent me on tour, where I performed for big crowds under my first name only.
Camden.
I didn’t use my last name—Tinsley. It’s never really felt like mine anyway.
