Page 6 of Hard to Love

“No one gave you that job,” I say like the petulant child I know I’m being.

“Your father did.” The words hang in the air like lead. “He entrusted it to me and you damn well better know that I plan on keeping my promise to him.”

My stomach twists in knots and my heart races at the mere mention of him. “Great. My condolences on having the job no one wants.” I motion for him to get out of the way but he doesn’t move. “If you’re going to stand there, you could at least be useful and get me another drink or two.”

“Ten o’clock, Stevie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter, giving him a salute before motioning to the waitress circling the VIP section for another drink without so much as a look Carson’s way.

He clears his throat, the weight of his stare pinning me motionless. “He’d be disappointed in this. In you.”

Each word feels like a battering ram to my solar plexus. A direct hit of guilt and pain and hurt.

The problem is, those are the things fueling me, driving me, pushing me to act this way.

Carson meant to correct me with those words and he has no clue he just poured gasoline on a smoldering fire. Because my dad—my purpose, the only one I ever tried to please—is gone.

And nothing—not winning, partying, practicing, nor trying—will ever bring him back.

STEVIE

“I NEED SOME EXCITEMENT,” I say as I set down my empty drink on the space next to the vacant slot machine.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock is ticking on my freedom.

I’m not naïve to what Carson has in mind for me. Some prissy PR executive to stalk in tomorrow morning—maybe it’s today because I have no idea what time it is—in her high heels and too-perfect hair and tell me exactly how we need to reimagine and repackage my image.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Back to pristine white tennis skirts and walking the fucking tightrope I’ve lived all twenty-four of my years on so far.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“It’s my last night of freedom for a while,” I groan to Vivi, my number one enabler who is standing beside me surveying the lay of the land. She and Jordan flew out here five days ago at my request, knowing that without my dad, I’ve felt so untethered. Alone.

And since then, we’ve been living our best life. Something that is completely outside the norm for me and my typical seven-day training, clean-eating, and no-alcohol regime.

“And?” Jordan says, a mischievous smile sliding on her red-painted lips. “If it’s your last night of freedom, then I guess we better get moving.” Her laugh rings out above the electronic noises of the machines surrounding us.

“You’ve got your wig on,” Vivi says as she motions to my dark brown wig that shocked the shit out of me when I saw my reflection in the mirror. It was so real looking I did a double take—me, but so very different looking. “So you’re covered from the media catching wind of any trouble we willingly get in.”

My grin widens. The feeling of freedom is still so new and liberating that it’s like a high for me. “The question is, what trouble might that be?” I laugh and then close my eyes for a beat, allowing the alcohol blitz to make the room spin a bit before meeting the expectant gazes of my closest friends.

“We’ve danced. We’ve drank,” Jordan says. “We’ve flirted our asses off and kissed our share of hot men—”

“Jordan and I have completed our two Cards O’ Fun for the night. You’ve only done one so far,” Vivi says as she holds up the last sealed envelope by her two fingers, a more than coy smile on her lips. “It’s time for you to pick your last one, Stevie . . . unless of course, you’re not brave enough to do it?”

“Why do I get the feeling that I’m not going to like this?” I say as I look from Vivi to Jordan and then back again.

“Are you accusing moi of rigging Cards O’ Fun?” Vivi asks in a way that makes me know she definitely has.

“Give it to me,” I say, snatching the envelope from her hand and tearing it open to find out what awaits me. I unfold the piece of paper inside and read the words written there: have a one-night stand.

I stare at the dare on the piece of paper and don’t say a word as I try to process it. Not so much process it but rather consider how I get the nerve up to do it since I don’t exactly have ample experience like they do.

Being a wild child is one thing—that I can handle. Sleeping with some random stranger is a different realm for me.