Yeah, no kidding!
My bestie just ran off to Las Vegas—telling no one, mind you—and married some freaking professional hockey player out of the blue.
Oh, and he’s a hot one at that. I know this because I just showed the man the house he’s now living in.
Yeah, the same home he’ll be sharing withmyfriend, who is now hiswife.
Ugh, I can’t believe this.
I’m also disappointed because I was supposed to be Claire’s maid of honor when she finally did get married. And she’d be mine.
What happened to that promise?
I start to run my fingers through my blonde hair out of frustration, but then I remember it’s up in a ponytail.
Grrr. I swear, nothing is going right today.
I mean, damn it, we were supposed to navigate the singlewaters together. I’d share my dating horror stories, and Claire would share hers. Not that she ever really had all that many. She never dated that much.
Unlike me. I run through men like yesterday’s laundry.
I guess you could say I’m a “love ’em and leave ’em” kind of gal. At least, that’s what Claire calls me.
It’s mostly true. I date and run. Some of the dudes I sleep with, but most of them I don’t. In any case, after I bed the “chosen” ones, I usually dump the guy shortly thereafter.
It’s kind of fun to turn the tables and have them wondering what went wrong. They aren’t the only ones who can ghost people.
Claire calls me a “commitment-phobe,” but I don’t know about that. I think I’m just really picky. No man has ever piqued my interest enough for me to stay and pursue a real relationship.
Although, now that I think about it, I bet a hot hockey player like the one Claire just landed might make me want to stick around a little longer.
Hey, I don’t know.
Maybe.
“Well, Madison, it’s worth a try,” I state out loud as I lean forward and click the mouse on my desk, snapping my computer out of Sleep mode.
After a few more clicks, I find myself staring at the Phoenix Bears’ official team website. Even though I like hockey and periodically catch a game or two on TV, I’m not, like, super into the sport, so I don’t really know any of the players.
“But you’re about to,” I say, snickering as I pull up the team bios.
Maybe if I find a guy who captures my interest, Claire can hook us up. I bet these dudes are good in bed, what with their muscular physiques and bodies trained for endurance.
Gah!
Unfortunately, though, as I scroll through the headshots and information, no one catches my eye.
That is, until I reach a player named Lennox Foley.
Oh my, he is fine.
He’s very much my type. He has jet-black hair that’s a little on the messy side, a sharp jawline, and features that are surprisingly near perfect for a damn hockey player.
Lucky guy.
But truly, it’s his deep caramel-colored eyes that, even in a photo, sparkle with what always draws me in—trouble.
Yeah, this Lennox dude is the one.
