“Can y’all stop making out so we can go?” Pink called out from the doorway, jumping foot to foot. Oh, to have the energy of a twenty-three-year-old again. “I call dibs on the elliptical.”
Matty smiled when I rolled my eyes. “Are you jealous, Pink?” I asked our pitcher.
“Please,” he protested. “We all know that I’m the most lovable one here. If anybody’s getting kissed, it’s gonna be me.”
Roman and Tuck smirked. Bennett looked like he regretted ever turning his speech processor back on. Together, we trudged down the hall toward the weight room, some of us—namely me—moving slower than the others.
“I hate to break this to you, Pink,” I said as I limped across the linoleum until our shoulders were square. Only then did I deliver my parting blow that would, no doubt, crumble his ego. “Matty’s much more my type.”
The smirk fell clean off his face.
“Excuse me?”
I clapped his shoulder and rounded the corner to the weight room. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know that Pink was hot on my heels. “Why am I not your type, Sinclair?!”
Clarke
“Let me get this straight.” June narrowly dodged a puddle. We were already nearly ten minutes late for cocktails with her friend, Nessa. Mostly because I’d insisted on changing my shoes before we left. I was alreadythisclose to throwing out my favorite wedges. “You’re part of the Roasters’ social media team, yet you didn’t know a thing about their star third baseman? The bad boy of baseball? Lothario to the stars?”
Apparently, I was the only person in the Western Hemisphere who, until today, hadn’t heard of Soren Sinclair. OrSin,as they called him.
“I’m not a sports fan,” I told her.
“You work for a baseball team.”
I shrugged.
“Okay, but surely you know Monica J.?”
That was a name I did recognize. Even the farthest corners of rural South Carolina knew Monica J., the chart-topping popprincess and Grammy nominee. Celebrity news had never been my thing—the circles Walden and I ran in didn’t exactly dabble in idle gossip, at least not about celebrities—but I’d heard her music on the radio a time or two.
And based on this afternoon’s research, I now knew that until recently, Soren had been dating her. Their breakup had been front page news on every tabloid and blog in America. And the string of bad press about Soren didn't stop there.
“I know they dated.”
“Oh, they more than dated,” June said. “Supposedly, he broke her heart. She thought they were going to get married and then he dumped her when the Roasters traded for him.”
That didn't surprise me, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed. Soren had all but ogled me in the shower the first time we met, and then he'd teased me about it the second time. The guy dated pop stars, supermodels, and,allegedly, his ex-teammate's wife. There was no way in hell I’d get mixed up with a guy like that. Not that I was looking to get “mixed up” with any guy anytime soon.
“What’s that look?” Her eyes lit up on a smile. “Oh my god, do you like him?”
Her question stopped me in my tracks just outside of a storefront called Green Goddess, which, judging by the logo, sold cannabis.Toto, we aren’t in South Carolina anymore.
“Of course not.”
“Uh-huh.” Her eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. He’s a good-looking guy, clearly charming. He even helped remove some fallen branches off the outdoor kitchen after last week’s storm.”
Nowthatdid surprise me. Despite every blog, article, and Reddit thread detailing Soren “Sin” Sinclair’s illustrious past, I couldn’t help but feel like there was more to him than met the eye. Or, in this case, met the internet. That didn’t helpmeany, though. If I had my druthers, it would be a lot easier to avoid him, so long as I could pretend like he was a bad person. Anything to protect my heart.
Then again, I’d pretended like bad people—some of the worst people—were good for years, and where had that gotten me?
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, tossing my hair nonchalantly over my shoulder. “He’s not exactly my type anyway.”
I winced at my haughty tone of voice. The one I’d fine-tuned so frequently over the years, until it was just right. Until even I believed it. Almost.
But June didn’t know me. Nobody here did.That’s not who I have to be anymore.Rose City was my opportunity to do better. To be better. The last thing I wanted was to alienate my new friends—if I could even call them that—or mislead them into thinking I was too good for them. I knew I wasn't.
“Sorry,” I told her. “What I meant is that I’m not looking for anything romantic with anybody. I just ended an engagement.”
