BREAK UP WITH HIM, FOR ME

A ‘FRIENDS TO LOVERS’ ROMANCE

WHITNEY G.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by Whitney Gracia Williams

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.

Cover designed by Najla Qamber of Najla Qamber Designs

Model: Lucas Bloms

CONTENTS

Dedication

A Note from Whitney G.

Prologue

Sixteen weeks ago

Sixteen *breakups* ago

Breakup #1

Breakup #1.5

Breakup #3

Years Later

One

Two

Two (B)

Three

Four

Break Up #6

Four (B)

Five

Five (B)

Six

Six (B)

Seven

Seven (B)

Break up #7

Eight

Eight (B)

Nine

Nine (B)

Break Up #9

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Twelve (B)

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Fifteen (B)

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Two (B)

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Break Up #12

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Seven (B)

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Break Up #13

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-One (B)

Thirty-Two

Break Up #15

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Six (B)

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Seven (B)

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Break up #16

Break up #16

Break Up #16

Forty

Forty (B)

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Break Up #16.5

Break Up #16.5

Break Up #16.5

Break Up #16.5

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Break Up #17

—

Author’s Note

On a Tuesday

Grayson: Now

Don’t Miss Out!

Another Long Read?

DEDICATION

For fun.

For the summer.

For me.

<3

SYNOPSIS

Please leave your message at the sound of the beep…

Penelope, I know that it’s three o’clock in the morning, but I need to get this off my chest.

I can't give you any more advice on landing this other guy, can't tell you another “sexy” thing that you should do, or suggest a new set of filthy words that you should text him late at night.

As your best friend, I’ve reached my limit, and I can honestly say that he doesn’t deserve you.

I'm not saying all of this because I'm fucking jealous, or because he had the audacity to say that he makes more money than me. (I still can't find his name on the Forbes 500 list, and I know damn well that he's renting that Ferrari, but that's a story for a different day.)

He's not who you think he is, and the better man has always been right in front of you...

You have every reason to never give me a chance since you know me better than anyone, and you agree with all the tabloids calling me The Cocky King of New York and the Untamed Playboy of Manhattan. But I honestly believe that you're better off with someone else, and I need you to see.

I'm not asking for too much...I just want you to break up with him, for me.

This is a contemporary friends-to-lovers romance by New York Times bestselling author, Whitney G.

A NOTE FROM WHITNEY G.

Dear Awesome Reader,

Thank you so much for picking up Break Up with Him, for Me! I can’t wait for you to fall in love with Hayden & Penelope! This book ends at 90% and features a sneak peek of On a Tuesday.

If you want to be the first to learn of my upcoming releases, sales, and special things that I only offer to my readers, be sure to sign up for my Exclusive F.L.Y. List. (F.L.Y. = Effin Love You. Because whether you love or hate this story, I still love you for giving it a chance!)

Sincerely,

PROLOGUE

SEVENTY TWO HOURS POST-BREAKUP

Hayden

When you and I meet again at the end of this novel, you’ll owe me a huge apology.

Yes, you.

The person devouring these words.

I can see you prematurely judging me—wondering why my face is battered and bruised, or why I’m slumped over a grey leather chair in my penthouse suite.

You’re embarrassed that you ever told your friends how “drop-dead sexy” or “insanely gorgeous” I was. How I made your panties soaking wet when you saw me on the cover of Esquire or GQ magazine.

First of all, you’re welcome for that last thing. I know that your boyfriend/husband hasn’t given you mind-blowing, toe-curling sex in forever, so consider my panty-melting skills our dirty little secret.

Second of all, I’m well aware that I look nothing like the Cocky King of New York or the Untamed Playboy of Manhattan at this moment. There’s no need to remind me.

And yes, I also know that I’m bleeding all over this marble floor …

I want to tell you what happened, but I can barely move my jaw right now, and you’d never believe me anyway.

So, I’ll tell you something else.

Everything I’ve learned over the past seventy-two hours can be summed up in a single sentence: The only difference between a devastating breakup and a car crash is the fact that I would happily sign up to suffer through the latter more than once.

Broken bones, fractures, concussions, and cuts? I can deal with all of that.

The recovery time for those injuries lasts anywhere from six weeks to six months. And after doctors prescribe a medley of painkillers and intense physical therapy sessions, I can move on with my life as if the accident never happened.

A broken heart after a breakup, though? There are no painkillers, therapy sessions, or guaranteed recovery plans available. And anyone who says, “Time heals all wounds,” has never loved and lost their best friend.

“You’re a piece of shit!” My best friend Penelope’s voice suddenly comes over the penthouse speakers for the umpteenth time this morning.

I’ve been struggling to walk over and turn it off, but it’s no use. I can’t feel my legs.

“I hate that I ever slept with you, that I trusted you to be anything more than the cocky, arrogant bastard that you’ve always been,” she says. “I guarantee that I will never, ever talk to you in my lifetime.”

Beep!

“I hate you, Hayden Hunter.” She starts a brand-new message. “I. Hate. You. I hope your cock falls off and you lose every dime in your bank account. Those things are all you’ve ever cared about anyway.”

Beep!

“I left out one last thing, asshole …” Her voice cracks, and my heart burst into flames. “For the record, you were the one who started our cold war years ago. It was you and that was always your fault … As your former best friend, allow me to name our breakup like we’ve named every single one of my others.”

She pauses for a few seconds, sniffling in between breaths. “You’re officially ‘The One That Should’ve Never Happened.’ You were better off helping me land other guys than convincing us to cross the line. You also weren’t that good in bed. I’ve had far better sex with my exes.”

Beep!

There’s no sense in me reacting to that last sentence, as we both know that’s a lie.

It’s not even a good one.

Even though hearing the pain in her voice hurts like hell, this is the most she’s talked to me in days, and a part of me is glad she called.

As much as I’ve been dying to tell her my side of the story, i.e., why our breakup is not my fault, she might have a point about us crossing the line.

Maybe if I’d said, “Go ahead and keep dating him. He’s a far better man than me,” (he wasn’t), then I’d still be helping her date some other guy. Perhaps, if I’d never insisted that our relationship was worth the risk, we could’ve remained best friends and nothing more.

Then again, Penelope and I weren’t always this close.

Hell, she wasn’t even my “friend” for the first few years that I knew her.

She was nothing more than a tag-along third wheel, a woman who was meant to be “off limits” forever.

She was my (other) best friend’s younger sister …

SIXTEEN WEEKS AGO

No, wait.

Allow me to rewind things a little bit further.

SIXTEEN *BREAKUPS* AGO

Yes.

Let’s start this train wreck of a love story here.

Shall we?

BREAKUP #1

THE ONE THAT RUINED VALENTINE’S DAY

Penelope

Back Then

My brother is going to kill me …

He’s going to kidnap me the moment I step out of this dorm, drive me to an abandoned dump, and suffocate me behind a stack of burning tires. Even if it’s what I deserve for lying to him, I doubt he’ll bat an eye when he’s sentenced to prison.

He’ll probably thrive there.

In fact, I’m pretty sure that the headlines tomorrow will read, International Figure Skating Champion Found Dead in Apparent Strangulation; Older Brother Confesses, ‘I Told Her to Focus on Skating, Not Dating.’

Shit. Shit. SHIT!

“Babe? Hey, babe?” My boyfriend, Michael, pushes me against the elevator’s back wall—knocking me out of my thoughts. “Babe, you’re scaring the hell out of me. What are you thinking about?”

“Getting murdered.” I look into his eyes. “Did you notice anyone following us when we left the arena? Was the person driving that green Honda a guy who looked like a human version of the Hulk?”

“Um, wow. And no.” He tugs at the medal around my neck. “You’ve been away from me for months, finally won another medal like you wanted, and you’re thinking about getting killed?”

You would be too if you knew my brother. “Sorry, I’m just—” I struggle to think of a lie. “Tonight’s competition was a bit more intense than I thought.”

“The only thing you should be thinking about is how your loving boyfriend, i.e., me, is about to lay down this nine-inch pipe when I get you into my bed.”

I blink a few times.

I’ve envisioned losing my virginity hundreds of ways, and a guy saying any version of “laying down this pipe” has never appeared in any of them.

Also, I’ve felt him rock-hard before, and he definitely isn’t “nine inches.”

Four, maybe …

“Babe, pay attention.” He presses his lips against mine, kissing me so hard that I lose my train of thought. Once he’s rendered me breathless, he grabs my hand and leads me off the elevator and toward his room.

Pressing a kiss against my cheek, he unlocks the door and pulls me inside.

The mixed scents of old pizza, beer, and soy vanilla candles waft around me as he walks me to the bed.

“I’ve missed you so damn much.” He slides a hand under my dress, pushing my panties to the side.

As if he can sense my hesitation, he pulls back.

“Let’s get tipsy so you can get comfortable,” he says. “I have strawberries, whipped cream, and some specialty champagne I bought for you.”

“Actually, I think all I need to do is make a phone call.”

“To who?”

“Travis.”

“Your brother?” He raises his eyebrow.

“Yeah.” I nod. “He’s called me like ten times tonight, so I should probably let him know that I’m fine.”

“Your brother is a thousand miles away.” He shakes his head. “And last time I checked, he left you in Seattle to fend for yourself. He can wait.”

Good point.

Pulling me close, he runs his fingers through my hair—kissing me all over again. I wrap my arms around his neck as whispers my name. I try my best to focus on this moment. On him.

“Take off your shoes,” he says, and I kick off my heels.

Without another word, he rolls me onto the mattress and stamps a line of kisses against my neck.

As I’m threading my fingers through his hair, a loud knock sounds at the door.

“Coming!” He groans. “I forgot to put a sock on the door for my roommate, babe. Hold on.”

Walking over to the door, he looks through the peephole. “Holy fucking shit.”

The knock comes again—much louder this time, and he steps back.

For a moment, I start to believe that my premonition of murder is seconds away from coming true. I look around for our best chance at escape, but both windows are blocked with beer can towers, and I can’t risk my legs by jumping down four stories.

I consider volunteering as tribute to be murdered first, but logic steps in to alleviate my fears.

It would take Travis seventeen hours to drive here, and even if he chose to fly, he wouldn’t dare waste money on a last-minute plane ticket.

He’d also call me a million times in advance to let me know.

“Who’s at the door?” I ask him.

“Shhh.” Michael presses a finger to his lips. Then he stares at me, looking torn between jumping out of the window and hiding under the bed.

Suddenly, like a scene straight out of Mission Impossible, he runs over to me and wraps his arms around my legs. Tossing me over his shoulder, he carries me to his closet and drops me onto a pile of musty clothes.

“Stay here and be quiet, okay?” he whispers. “I love you so much.” He slams the door shut, but he quickly reopens it.

“Here. Take your shoes.” He almost hits me with them.

What the hell? I stand to my feet as he pushes a laundry basket in front of the closet door.

Through the thin slats, I watch as he puts on an erratic one-man show.

In the first act, he makes and remakes the bed—adjusting the pillows by color. In the second, he takes off his jeans and changes into a pair of sweatpants, all while humming an off-key refrain of a familiar pop song.

He ignores my whispered demands for answers during the intermission, and after brushing gel into his hair, he takes a few swigs of Listerine and spits into the sink. For the finale, he rummages through his top dresser drawer for cologne, spraying a bit too much of it on his chest.

“You can do this, Michael. You can do this.” He takes a few deep breaths before finally approaching the door and opening it.

“Hey there, babe,” he says.

Babe?

“Hey sexy.” A brunette who looks way older than me wraps her arms around his neck. Her D-cup breasts are popping out of a tight, low-cut pink dress, and her makeup is painted to perfection. “I know that we agreed to celebrate Valentine’s Day tomorrow, but I can’t wait until then.”

Michael grips her waist in the same way he gripped mine—giving her the same deep, open-mouthed kiss that he offered to me minutes ago. He even whispers, “I’ve missed you so damn much,” in a verbatim cadence.

What in the actual fuck?

For a moment, I wonder if I ever looked as foolish and bewildered as the brunette does at this moment. So in love and so naïve.

When he pulls away from her mouth, he lets out a deep sigh. “I need to tell you something super important, Kylie.”

“Yeah?” She kicks off her shoes. “What is it?”

“I’m a cheating bastard and I’ve been dating a high-school girl.” I wait for him to say those words and let me out of the closet, so that we can marvel at his lies.

“I know that we’ve been ‘off and on’ these past few months,” he says, grabbing her hands and staring into her eyes. “But I want you to know that I’m ready for us to stay ‘on’ this time for good, and I’ve put a lot of thought into making our Valentine’s Day special … I have strawberries, whipped cream, and a specialty champagne I bought for you.”

No, really. What in the actual—

“Oh my gosh, seriously?” She points to the red purse at the foot of his bed. My red purse. “Is that Coach bag for me, too?”

“Yes, it is.” He pushes it onto the floor. “I’ll let you grab that later. Kiss me first.”

I pinch myself a few times to make sure that I’m not imagining this scene. That somewhere along my linear narrative of the day, the universe hasn’t randomly decided to throw in a crazy subplot that ruins my story.

The painful pinches on my wrists are real as ever, though, and the more I watch Michael’s mannerisms—the more I hear him whisper the very words he’s whispered to me, the past months of our relationship play before my eyes in a clarifying slow-motion.

He only called me at night, and he hardly ever wanted to go on dates during the daytime, since he claimed, “I want to keep you all to myself.” He preferred showing up to my practices at the rink instead of letting me come over.

Although he did come to some of my competitions, he never took selfies with me at the ceremonies. He waited until I joined him in the parking lot, and he was always parked in the farthest row.

Foolish, foolish girl.

By the time I’m finished replaying all of the memories that confirm he was never serious about me, the brunette is moaning, and he’s trailing wet kisses against her chest.

“Oh godddd, Michael,” she says.

Screw this.

I kick at the closet door until it opens.

“Seriously, Michael? Were you planning to let me rot in there all night?”

He looks over his shoulder and gasps.

“Um…Who are you?” The brunette covers her chest with a pillow. “And why the hell are you watching us from the closet?”

“Oh, wow,” Michael says, his voice deadpan. “This is so shocking. This is my roommate’s girlfriend—Well, ex-girlfriend. I think she’s here trying to surprise him or something.”

I stare at him in utter disbelief.

“That’s who you are, isn’t it?” He shoots me a pleading look.

“Hell no.” I grab my purse. “This is my Coach bag, by the way.”

I look over at the brunette as I head to the door. “I’ve been dating him since January, and I almost gave him my virginity tonight. He’s been cheating on you, too.”

I don’t wait for the aftermath. I slam the door shut and rush straight down the emergency stairwell.

Seattle’s wet and winds slap me in the face once I push open the door. They remind me that I left my coat in Michael’s room.

Refusing to return, I fold my arms across my chest and walk to the front of the building.

When I make it inside the lobby, I pull out my phone and open the Uber app. The closest driver is an hour away, and there’s a mandatory surcharge for the distance.

I groan and shut the app. Then I scroll through my contacts, pausing at “Dad” and “Mom.” If they were still alive right now, I’d happily submit to their “We’re so disappointed in you” lectures and threats of punishment for the entire ride home. Hell, I’d even suggest that they ground me for the rest of the year.

Shaking away those thoughts, I continue to scroll through the list—passing the names of my coaches, competitors, and neighbors. I know these people well, but not well enough to call for a favor at this hour.

Upon reaching the end of the list, only “Ugh: Cocky Bastard,” i.e., Hayden Hunter, my brother’s best friend, remains.

Just the sight of his name is enough to make me roll my eyes.

If there were ever an award for ‘Guy Who Thinks He’s God’s Gift to Women,’ Hayden would win it in a landslide every year. To make matters worse, every woman who has ever laid eyes on him would happily cast a vote in his honor and tell him that he has every right to think that way.

With his stunning blue eyes, dreamy dark brown hair, and chiseled jawline that’s practically made for the cover of GQ magazine, he’s definitely one of the most attractive guys that I’ve ever seen in my life. Hands down. But once he parts his full and defined lips to speak, all of his attractiveness goes up in flames.

He’s the ultimate man whore who has had a terrible influence on my brother, and I’ll always regret the day he came into our lives. The day he became the closest person to Travis and made me nothing more than a third wheel.

He has to have at least ten STDs by now. No, twenty.

Clicking on his name, I read through our recent, one-sided thread of text messages.

Ugh: Cocky Bastard: I dropped off a package at your house earlier. It’s from Travis. Maybe he finally sent you what you need: Some goddamn gratefulness. You’re welcome for my FREE help, by the way.

Ugh: Cocky Bastard: Your brother needs you to call him after your evening practice. He says that he doesn’t want you out past eleven since you have a meeting with those TIME and Skate World reporters in the a.m.

Ugh: Cocky Bastard: I can SEE that you’re reading my goddamn messages, Penelope. Can you at least respond?

I’ve never answered anything from him, and I have no interest in starting now.

I reopen the Uber app and decide to wait for as long as it takes.

I’d rather freeze to death than deal with Hayden …

BREAKUP #1.5

THE ONE THAT RUINED VALENTINE’S DAY

Hayden

Back Then

Travis: Hey. I’m sure that you’re probably somewhere getting your cock sucked right now, but can you give me an update on Penelope? It’s been FIVE days.

Travis: Did you deliver the training check to her coach yet? That three grand is still sitting in my account.

Travis: WTF? Answer me, Hayden. I’m only trying to check in on my goddamn sister. I’m doing all I can to make sure she’s cared for.

If you care so damn much, you need to come back home ...

I clench my jaw as I read over Travis’s latest text messages.

It’s only been six months since he traded in the cold rains of Seattle for the sweltering summers of Las Vegas, but with each demanding text he sends, it feels more like a decade.

The morning after his parents’ joint funeral, he placed a UFC Looking to Expand its Sport news clipping on my coffee table, along with a list titled, ‘Things You Need to Help Penelope (Crown) with While I’m Gone.’

With no emotion whatsoever, he said, “I need to focus all of my energy on taking care of Penelope now. I’m trying my shot at MMA fighting and I’ll send as much money as I can back home. You can still work on your dating app and help me with her from afar, right?”

He didn’t wait for a response.

He picked up a duffle bag, drove home to break the news to his sister, and I haven’t seen him since.

In his absence, I’ve found myself thrust into the world of competitive figure skating, and I honestly preferred the days when I never knew it existed. The days when I didn’t have to wake up at the ass-crack of dawn and shuttle Penelope to and from dozens of practices, when the phrases “triple toe loop” or “double axel” weren’t things I understood, and when the only ice-skating competition I’d ever watched was on television via the Olympics.

I’m sick of this shit.

Rolling out of bed, I make sure not to wake the woman next to me. Our one night stand—along with her name, is long forgotten, but I’m not the type of guy who will ever let her know.

I uncap a marker and write, “Thx for a good time—Had fun,” on the back of a burger wrapper before setting it on her nightstand. Then I walk around the mattress to pick up my clothes.

After pulling on my T-shirt, I quietly grab my keys and put on my shoes. I double-check to make sure that I’m not leaving anything behind and head outside to my car.

Speeding across town, I pull into the driveway of Travis’s house to “make sure Penelope’s cared for.”

The porch lamps burn brightly, but there’s no glare from Penelope’s bedroom television like usual.

Confused, I take out my phone and send her a text.

Me: Hey. Can you flash the lights upstairs or turn on your TV so I can confirm that you’re alive? Your brother wants to be sure that you’re alright.

The “message read” alert pops up, but she doesn’t respond.

Of course.

Me: Hey Travis. Pen’s safe at home. Just checked. She says that she’ll call you tomorrow.

Travis: Thanks man, I appreciate it.

Travis: How have you been lately? Is your dating app going well?

I know that he doesn’t give a fuck about my work, so I don’t bother answering his questions.

Instead, I mute our thread and drive out of the neighborhood—heading home for an all-nighter. As I’m turning up the music, Penelope’s name crosses my dashboard via phone call.

I hit ignore.

She calls again.

I hit ignore once more.

When I merge onto the highway, she calls me a third time.

“What, Penelope?” I answer. “I already told your brother that you were at home. You’re welcome.”

“I’m … I’m not at home.” Her teeth are chattering. “Not at all.”

I know that I should ask where she is, but I continue driving—letting a silence stretch between us.

“Are you still there, Hayden?” she asks.

“I’m waiting to hear why the hell you’re calling me at three o’clock in the morning.”

“I need a ride home. Can you pick me up?”

“Come again?” I pull into the emergency lane. “Did you stay at the arena to practice or something?”

“This drunk couple stole my Uber and the closest one is two hours away.” She avoids my question. “I can give you gas money since I’m kind of far. Please.”

“Where the hell are you?”

“The Avis Dorm at Central University.”

Huh? I’m certain that I misheard that. “That’s an all-boys dorm.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then what are you doing there this time of night?”

“I was studying. With a boy.”

“Right.” I make a U-turn. I consider telling her to stay on the phone with me until I arrive, but I don’t owe her anything. She’s never once said, “Thank you” to me for anything.

“Are you coming to get me?” she asks.

“Unfortunately. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

I hang up and drive fifteen miles under the speed limit.

She can wait.

When I pull up to the Avis Dorm, I can see Penelope arguing with a security guard through the lobby’s windows. Her face is beet red, and she’s shaking her head back and forth, looking as if she’s refusing to leave.

Dressed in silver stilettos and a thin, red dress that leaves little to the imagination, she was clearly here for anything but “studying.”

I honk the horn a few times, cutting her argument with the guard short.

She snatches something from his pocket before rushing outside, and the guard throws up his middle finger.

Where the hell is her coat?

She flings the passenger door open, and I turn up the heat.

As she buckles her seatbelt, I can’t help but notice the tears streaming past her cheeks.

“Studying is supposed to be pleasurable, not make you cry.” I pull onto the street. “Was your boyfriend that bad in bed?”

“You know what?” She wipes her eyes. “Can you drop me off on the highway? I think I’d rather wait for another Uber.”

“Too late.” I make sure the doors are locked. “Not that I give a damn, but please tell me that you used a condom.”

“I didn’t use anything, okay?” She glares at me. “Because nothing happened.”

“That’s not what your dress says.”

“My dress is a costume that I’ve worn on the ice before, but go ahead and snap a picture. I’m sure you’re itching to send it to Travis and tell him all about this.”

“I’m not telling your brother shit.” I look over at her. “Your sex life is none of his business. It’s not mine either.”

“That may be the smartest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“No, offering to get you condoms is. Do you need me to stop and get you some?”

“Are you dense? I just said that nothing happened. And nothing happened because my so-called boyfriend ruined Valentine’s Day the moment his real, college-girlfriend showed up.” The words rush out of her mouth. “He’s been cheating on me this entire time, and I can’t believe I was naïve enough to trust that a college guy would ever be faithful to a high school girl. That he was ever worthy of being my first.”

Yeah, you definitely should’ve known better than that.

“Would you like me to give you some boyfriend advice for the future?” I ask.

“Ha! I’ll pass.” She shakes her head. “I doubt that I’ll ever need your advice on anything. Then again, the moment I want to know how to be an asshole or a man-whore, I’ll give you a call.”

“Leave a voicemail.” I turn on the music, preventing any further conversation.

I drive fifteen miles over the speed limit this time, and I don’t stop at any red lights.

The quicker I can drop her off, the better.

Twenty minutes later, when I pull into her driveway for the second time tonight, I consider getting out and opening the door for her. Until I look over and see that she’s changing my name in her phone again. I’m not listed as “Ugh: Cocky Bastard,” anymore.

I’m now Unsympathetic Asshole (Do Not Call Ever Again).

On the one hand, it’s an improvement from the names “Fuckhead Hayden (I Hate Him)” and “Definitely Has Syphilis” from last week, but not worthy enough for me to be a gentleman.

“Okay then,” I say. “You can get the hell out of my car now. I’ll pick you up on Saturday for practice, unless you find a new study buddy by then. Try to make sure that he doesn’t have a girlfriend first.”

“That’s a low blow,” she says. “Even for you.”

“I can say much worse than that, trust me.” I point to the door. “Only one of us has attempted to be cordial these past six months. Spoiler alert: It hasn’t been you. Double spoiler alert: It won’t be me after tonight.”

“There’s no need to be cordial when you’re a huge part of the reason why Travis agreed to leave me here,” she says. “The fact that he was ever willing to take any advice from someone who flaunts ‘bros over hos’ as his personal motto has never made sense to me.”

“I’ve never said ‘bros over hos.’” I lean over and push the door open since she’s not moving fast enough. “I may have said, ‘Put me over pussy’ a few times, but that’s none of your concern. Once again, now is the time for you to get the hell out of my car.”

“Gladly.” She steps out. “I need to hurry up and shower in case I caught one of your STDs during this ride.”

“You know what?” I’m done playing nice. “That’s exactly why your boyfriend cheated on you. He got tired of your bullshit in the bedroom since you probably kept asking about STDs every time he fucking breathed on you. I bet he wanted to date someone who actually knows which hole his cock goes into, someone who doesn’t have the body of a twelve-year old boy.”

Her jaw drops to the ground.

“Let me know if I need to pick up a Sex 101 book for you the next time I’m at Walmart. I’ll even highlight the important anatomy parts if you like.”

“Fuck you, Hayden.” She slams the door shut.

I roll down the window, feeling a sudden need to get the last word. “You’re welcome for the ride home, Penelope.”

“No, thank you.” She glares at me. “I’ll never call to ask you for another one.”

“That’s more than fine. I’ll never pick up the phone for you this late again.”

“In the meantime, try to clean out your car. It smells like unsatisfied pussy.”

“How would you know? You can’t even find yours.” I roll up the window a bit—ready to pull off and leave her standing there fuming, but her lips begin to move.

“I hope your dating app fails and you lose every dime that you’ve ever put into it.” She looks right into my eyes. “I don’t even know why you, of all people, would attempt to build something like that when your idea of a relationship is fucking every woman you see. But I guess that’s why you haven’t gotten anywhere on it in two whole years. Maybe you should’ve stayed in college after all. Everyone isn’t meant to be like Mark Zuckerberg, especially not you.”

We glare at each other for several seconds.

Deciding not to continue this argument, I reverse out of the driveway. I’m determined to call Travis first thing in the morning and tell him that this little arrangement is over.

This “help” is far beyond best friend duties, and I can’t deal with it anymore.

I’m done dealing with Penelope.

An hour later, I’m walking down the candy aisle of a 7-Eleven—armed with enough Monster energy drinks and Skittles to get me through a weekend of work on my dating app.

Contrary to what Penelope said, I’ve made some progress with it over the past couple of years; it’s just been slow.

There’s interest from investors, but they’ve all told me the same thing: “It’s lacking heart,” “Come back when you figure out what’s missing,” or “There’s something I can’t quite put my finger on…”

I grab a box of donuts before making my way to the checkout counter. As I pull out my wallet, my phone buzzes with a new text message.

Penelope.

Travis’s Little Annoying Sis: Just so you know, I’m not sorry about anything I said about you earlier.

Me: I’m not sorry about the shit I said to you either.

Travis’s Little Annoying Sis: Good … Can I call you for a second?

Me: For what?

Travis’s Little Annoying Sis: The breakup advice you offered earlier. I want to hear it.

Me: I’m no longer interested in giving it to you. Call Travis and get some from him. I’m sure he’d love to know that you had a boyfriend in the first place.

Travis’s Little Annoying Sis: *middle finger emoji* *vomit emoji* *suck my dick gif* Sorry for even trying with you. I’ll wait until one of my friends wakes up.

Me: If you have “friends,” why didn’t you ask one of them to pick you up tonight?

She doesn’t answer, and as much as I’m ready to end all communication with her forever, I can’t help but think about why she didn’t call someone else. Why she’s never asked me to drop her off at anyone else’s house, any movies, anything non-figure-skating related over the past few months.

Between her twelve-hour practice days and her tutoring sessions, she’s only gone to school a few times a week to take tests and turn in assignments.

I have to be missing something.

When I make it to my car, I open the glove box and rummage through papers for Travis’s ‘Things You Need to Help Penelope (Crown) with While I’m Gone’ list.

On the back, listed next to number thirteen, is a line I previously overlooked. It stands out more than ever now:

13. Help her find some friends.

Our mom was her BFF/Coach/Everything before the accident, so … I know it’ll be hard, but can you introduce her to the *women* on your app team sometime?

She doesn’t have a single friend.

Against my better judgment, I return her text.

Me: I’ll give you two minutes. Call me whenever.

My phone buzzes instantly.

“My advice is super simple,” I answer, getting straight to the point. “Any guy who really cares about you—especially a college guy, wouldn’t invite you to his room for Valentine’s Day, or any other special nights. He’d try to make a bigger effort than that.”

“You mean, he would ask to come over to my place?”

“No, he would—” I pause, choosing my next words carefully. “You’re a virgin, right?”

“I mean, technically. A few of my ex-boyfriends have gone down on me, and I’ve also—”

“I don’t want to hear the rest of that sentence.” I cut her off. “Ever. You’re a virgin, so let’s leave it at that. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Anyway, if this particular guy truly wanted you, he would’ve made your first time a lot more special. Did he treat you to a nice dinner first?”

“He took me to Burger King.”

“What about reservations for a nice breakfast somewhere tomorrow, then?”

“He said he would take me to Starbucks.” Her voice is soft. “He did have champagne and strawberries for tonight, though.”

“He probably bought that stuff at one of the frat house ‘V-Day for your Girl’ sales,” I say. “They sell that shit for super cheap since one of the founders owns a distillery in town. I mean, that’s how it was when I went there.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” I crank my engine. “Don’t take the next guy you date at his word, okay? You have a lot of shit going on in your life, and you can’t trust any of the boys out here.”

“You mean, boys like you?”

“Yeah, exactly,” I say. “Boys like me. Take it from someone who has mastered the game and has no intention of ever retiring.

“Wow.” She lets out a light laugh. “Thank you very much, Hayden.”

“You’re very welcome. Bye.” I end the call and start to power off my phone, but she calls me again.

“Look.” I answer. “That’s all the advice I have to give you.”

“I’m calling because I have some for you,” she says. “You need a better name and a home page for your dating app. That’s a huge part of what you’re missing.”

“What?”

“Your dating app.” She speaks a little louder. “You need to name it something different and give it a sleeker home page. I mean, that’s what I’ve heard from my physical therapist who uses it.”

Silence.

“Are you there?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “You don’t think the name ‘Burning for You’ works?”

“Not unless you’re advertising ‘burning’ after sex.” There was a smile in her voice. “You would know a lot about that though, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m blocking your number after tonight.”

“Speaking of other things that don’t work,” she continues to talk. “That ‘Rate Your Top Picks’ sucks. Oh, and so does the ‘little black book’ thing where people can keep up with their conquests. That’s a disgusting feature, and it makes me gag whenever I see it.”

“Your physical therapist seems to know a lot about my app.”

“She’s rooting for you to fail at life.”

“I see.” I smile. “I’m headed back towards your part of town in a few. Do you mind if I stop by to get more of your therapist’s feedback?”

“I do mind, actually,” she says. “But if you want more of my help, you should bring me a bagel and coffee in exchange for my advice. You should also know that I will always despise you to your core, and this is a one-time thing.”

“Trust me, I already know that.” I scoff. “This is the last time I’ll ever spend this much of my free time talking to you.”

“Is that a ‘Yes’ or a ‘No’ to the bagel?”

“It’s an ‘I’ll think about it.’” I end the call, hesitating a while before sending her a text.

Me: You want cinnamon, garlic, or cream cheese?

Travis’s Little Annoying Sis: Cream cheese and cinnamon.

Travis’s Little Annoying Sis: Also, ummm … Since this is the last time we’ll be nice to each other * thinking emoji* When I’m done helping you, can I get your advice about some other breakup stuff?

I don’t answer that.

The last thing I need in my life after tonight is more Penelope. The second she gives me her opinion on the app, I’m insisting that we return to our stalemate.

And then I’m calling Travis to end this arrangement.

I look up the closest bagel shop, and she sends me another text message.

Travis’s Little Annoying Sis: The guy I was with tonight just texted me and said that he’s sorry and that he wants to come over and make things up with me. Of course, it’s a no on that, but can I still be his friend? Like, maybe just to have him around at my competitions?

I pull onto the road and call her.

“Yeah?” she answers.

“Hell no to dealing with him ever again,” I say. “Read me exactly what he sent you, though.”

“Now?”

“Right now.”

I don’t know it then, and I never would’ve believed it, but that moment marks the first of me giving her breakup advice in real-time, the first night of our friendship. As much as I wanted to resist it, my friendship with Penelope eventually becomes the best friendship I’ll ever have in my life …

Ha.

Please.

I give her the advice, take her notes on the app when I arrive at her house, and then I return to our previous routine with ease.

Our rides remain silent on the way to her practices. She leaves my text messages “read,” yet unanswered.

In the rare case that I do say something, it’s nothing more than “Congratulations on winning again,” as she continues to skate her way to the top of every judge’s scorecard.

The only difference is that there’s no hateful tension between us anymore. Well, that, and my name is now “Just Hayden” in her phone.

BREAKUP #3

THE ONE THAT WANTED A THREESOME

(BREAK UP #2 WAS ‘THE ONE THAT WANTED ME TO CALL HIM DADDY’ BUT I NEED TO PRETEND LIKE THAT ONE NEVER HAPPENED…)

Penelope

Back Then

One of the hardest problems that comes with not having any female friends is having to rely on Instagram and YouTube influencers for random life and dating advice.

My mom showed me the ins and outs of makeup—courtesy of her lauded career on the ice, and she taught me plenty about persistence and being the best, but when it came to guys?

The only advice she was able to share was, “Just don’t date anyone like your brother … Or that Hayden Hunter boy.”

That’s it.

That’s why I’m somewhat grateful that Kayla Lilith—the third-ranked skater in the country and my fellow “practice-mate” has started to hang out with me.

After ballet intensives, between the stretch sessions, and during the off-moments of our morning runs, she’s slowly pulled me into her life.

She’s also the reason why I’m currently putting my number one ranking at risk—again, and standing outside my boyfriend Brody’s apartment on a Saturday night.

I’ve told her that I’m not really one for parties—not even his, but she’s insisted that I show up and confront him about his “lack of communication.” And then she suggests that we finally have sex.

“You said you two were arguing a lot more lately, right? Go to his party and tell him what’ll make you happy … I’ll be there for support if you need me.”

I smooth my hands over my dress before opening the door.

His townhouse is filled to capacity with red cup holding college students, and the scent of alcohol, sweat, and marijuana is in the air.

I spot him standing on the balcony talking to his other friends, but there is a swarm of girls blocking my way.

They’re all fawning over some guy in a black leather jacket. Some guy who has a perfectly chiseled side profile, pearly white smile, and—Hayden?

Shit.

His blue eyes suddenly meet mine and he tilts his head to the side.

He dropped me off at the rink hours ago, and I’m sure he’s expecting to pick me up at midnight.

I turn my head and make a beeline for the punch table.

Grabbing a red cup, I fill it to the brim. I quickly down all of it, as if doing so will make me disappear.

Then I fill it up again.

“So, you decided to come after all?” Brody kisses the back of my neck and briefly grips my hips. “I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” I turn around and he kisses me deeply.

He clasps my hand, leading me away from the crowd and into the hallway.

“Are you planning to stay the night with me?” he asks, pressing a kiss against my exposed collarbone.

“Yes.”

“Good, because I think I figured out why we’re having communication problems. I also know why you always stop when I’m trying to have sex with you.”

I raise my eyebrow, confused.

“It’s a trust issue, right?”

“No, it’s because you always conveniently forget to bring condoms.”

“We should take some time to address this.”

“Or, you can just remember to bring condoms. Better yet, you can ask me to bring condoms.” I tug at the strap of my purse. “I brought my own this time.”

He laughs and leans closer, whispering in my ear. “I think it would be better if you experienced a threesome for your first time. I think having two people tuned in to your pleasure would relax you.”

WHAT? I can literally hear my vagina threatening to set itself afire if I even consider this.

“You want me to sleep with you and another guy?” I want to believe this is a joke. “Like, for my first time?”

“No,” he says, running his fingers through my hair. “Another girl, someone you trust.”

“Who?”

“Kayla,” he says. “You said you two were getting closer, so…”

“So, what?”

“So, I think that a threesome would be good for all of us.” He presses another kiss against my neck and my flesh crawls.

I’m grateful that we haven’t been together too long, but I’m hating the fact that I’ll have to start over and find someone else.

There’s no way I’ll look at him the same after this.

“What do you say, Penelope?” he whispers. “It’s what I think is best, if you want to continue this relationship. What do you think?”

“I think we’re fucking over.” I push him away—hard, and head to the bathroom.

Slamming the door shut, I let out a frustrated scream and vow to call Kayla and tell her that she was dead wrong about me coming to this party.

I don’t want to wait for her to get here; I just want to go home.

As I’m splashing my face with water, a soft knock comes to the door.

Someone opens it before I can lock it shut.

“Last time I checked—” Hayden steps inside. “You’re not twenty-one years old yet. I don’t think you’re supposed to be drinking at a college party.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Dad. Last time I checked, you’re no longer in college, so you’re not supposed to be here either.”

He looks like he’s about to fire off more sarcasm, but his expression softens. “Why do you look like you’re about to cry?”

“Because I’m skipping practice for this terrible party.”

“I can see that.” He smiles. “I’m sure your opponents would be quite pissed to know that you have tons of extra time to spend on dating.”

I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or an insult, so I don’t respond.

I lift the red cup to my lips, but he takes it and hands me a water bottle instead.

“All bullshit aside.” He looks genuine. “What’s wrong, Penelope?”

“I’m not talking to you about this.”

“If you don’t, I’m calling your brother and you can tell him.”

I’m tempted to call his bluff, but he pulls out his cell phone.

Ugh. Traitor. “I was planning to spend the night here when everyone went home, so I could …”

“Give away your virginity?”

“Hang out with my newest boyfriend.”

“You moved on from the last guy pretty fast.”

“Not as fast as you.” I gulped down the water. “Anyway, we’ve been arguing a lot more lately, so I came here so we can make up. But then he said he’d only do it if I gave him a threesome with one of my teammates.”

“Come again?”

“You heard me.” I avoid his gaze and sigh. “Travis hasn’t sent me any money lately, so I can’t pay you for gas right now. Tomorrow?”

“Not so fast.” He tilts my chin up with his fingertips. “Why would he ever have the nerve to ask one of your practice mates to join you in a threesome?”

“Because every guy who watches Kayla Lilith skate for all of five seconds is instantly turned on. He probably thinks we’re close enough friends that we’d want to share him.”

“Penelope, Penelope, Penelope.” He shakes his head. “You don’t see what’s going on here?”

“Yeah. You’re trying to make me feel worse about another breakup.”

“I didn’t make you feel bad about the first one. I only gave you my honest opinion.”

“You said that I have the body of a twelve-year-old girl.”

“Twelve-year-old boy.” He has the audacity to smile. “That’s a fact, though.”

“I’m walking home now.” I try to move past him, but he blocks me.

“First of all, your ex-boyfriend is too old for you—again. If the next guy you find can have a beer with me with a real ID, then he’s too old for you. Clear?”

I cross my arms.

“Second of all, your practice-mate—who rarely ever talked to you, until recently, probably came onto him at some point. Or, vice versa. They’re both shitty individuals, but the threesome has nothing to do with you and everything to do with them.”

I mentally rewind my last few conversations with Kayla and remember how she spent more time talking about how “cute and sexy” Brody was than anything else.

“So, I was dating another cheater?” I ask.

“Another cheater with a backstabber’s influence,” he says. “There’s a slight difference with this one.”

My blood begins to boil. “What would you do if you were me?”

“I’d tell Hayden that he’s the smartest man I’ve ever met in the world. Then I’d vow to be a lot nicer to him and learn to say, Thank you.”

I give him a blank stare, and he laughs.

“I would leave this house, call the cops on my way out, and tell them that you saw a minor drinking at this party.”

“You want me to ruin the night for everyone else?”

“You asked me what I would do if I was seventeen.” He shrugs. “I’d use up the last of my immaturity while I could, especially if my feelings were involved.”

“What about Kayla?” I ask. “Does she get off scot-free in this?

“Depends.” He returns my red cup. “I’ll be across the street. You have three minutes, and then I’m driving you to the rink so you can make up for lost time.”

“Because you actually care?”

“Because I made a promise to your brother.” He walks away, and I let out a breath.

I look myself over in the mirror one last time and leave the room, pushing my way through the bodies on the living room’s makeshift dance floor.

Completely shameless, Brody is pressing Kayla against the wall—laughing in between kisses.

I stroll right over and tap his shoulder.

“Yes?” He turns around. “Changed your mind so soon?”

“No, fuck you,” I say. “I just want to make sure you know how big of a douchebag you are.”

He smiles, looking completely unfazed. “Thanks for the reminder that I don’t need to date any more high school girls. You’re not mature enough to handle the complex things in life.”

Welp. I’m definitely calling the cops.

“Poor little ice princess,” Kayla says, confirming our friendship meant nothing. “I guess you can’t win everything in life. How does it feel to finally lose?”

I toss my drink in her face. “Pretty damn good.”

I turn away without another word and make my way through the guests. I call the police and report the house as I’m walking toward Hayden’s car.

When I slip inside, he cranks the engine.

We ride in silence for several minutes, and I stare at the words “Future Billionaire” that he’s etched onto his dashboard.

“This little incident doesn’t make us friends,” he says, once we reach a red light. “I need you to know that.”

“The two of us will never be friends, Hayden.” I roll my eyes. “But since we’re stating the obvious, I hate the new name of your dating app even more than the first one.”

“Something tells me that you’ll hate it even when I become a billionaire.”

Right.

“I practiced for three extra hours every day this week just in case I went out tonight,” I say, changing the subject. “I’d rather go home and think about things.”

“That’s the last thing you should do,” he says. “Idle thoughts won’t get you anywhere. You should at least work through your short program a few times.”

I hate that’s he’s right, but I don’t fight it.

“You really don’t think that I’m going to become a billionaire, do you?” he asks, looking over at me.

“No, I know that you’re not going to become one.”

“Want to bet?” he says. “Because I’m willing to bet that you’ll never find a single real friend for the rest of your life.”

“Deal. Now I’m really looking forward to watching you fail.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing you cry in perpetual loneliness when I’m right …”

YEARS LATER

She lost that fucking bet by the way …

As did I.

ONE

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

Billionaire Hayden Hunter is Officially Over! (Still Sexy AF, But Over)

Should We Stop Using Hayden’s Cinder App and Switch to Tinder Once & for All?

How a Billionaire, Playboy’s Empire Crumbled Overnight: Will He Ever Apologize for the Lies?

Beautiful, Sexy, Liar: The Fall of Hayden Hunter (& Cinder)

I held back a laugh as I read the latest headlines while sitting in a hole-in-the-wall cafe.

These people always acted as if I’d somehow failed to read the “What Happens When You Become a Billionaire Overnight” handbook.

There were no rules for me to follow, no list of ‘Dos and Don’ts’ and I’d spent the past several years writing my own.

Was I reckless as hell sometimes? Yes. (Well, mostly in the past.)

Did I spend my hard-earned money lavishly? Of course.

Was I worthy of an ongoing smear campaign? Never.

Yet, after becoming one of the youngest billionaires and launching Cinder—the number one hookup app in the country, Karma had randomly decided to come for me.

With no warning whatsoever, she cleared the register of my life and printed the receipts of all my past mistakes, for the entire world to see.

And for some strange reason, she decided to expose them on the same damn day.

Yesterday.

Leaked emails, private texts, flights logs, everything …

All those times when I smiled on live television and said I was “humbled” to have the number one app in the country, while secretly seething with rage that Tinder was getting closer with every passing day?

There were thousands of leaked emails with subject lines like, “How can I destroy their company by the end of the year?” “Stop letting these journalists ask me about Tinder,” and “I’m not humble at all … I worked for this shit,” that exposed the truth.

The numerous times I lied about being in a business meeting, but I was really in Vegas partying?

There was literally a two-foot-long hotel receipt and plenty of raunchy, resurfaced photos to prove the damages. (In all fairness, I’d always avoided business meetings like the plague; I just never let the public in on that fact.)

And all the times, years ago, when I was as reckless as I’d ever been, but pretending to be a “homebody obsessed with work”?

There were far too many hotel camera records for those.

The “receipts” had started dripping onto Twitter yesterday morning—eventually breaking into a full-scale flood, and I’d been pulled into a public relations crisis like never before.

“Stop reading that garbage over there and try to look like a competent CEO.” Lawrence, my advisor, and the man who was the closest thing to a real father I’d ever had, snapped his fingers. “And try to tone down that stupid James Dean thing that you do before the Vogue interviewer gets here.”

“What James Dean thing?”

“You know, the whole sexy smirk and smoldering blue eyes—‘let’s go have sex after you ask me all these questions’ thing.” He groaned. “Be a goddamn professional for once in your life.”

“For the record, I haven’t had sex with anyone in six months.”

“Oh, okay,” he said, not looking convinced. “Well, for the record, you’re the best client I’ve ever worked for.”

“I’m telling you the truth, Lawrence.”

“Me too, Hayden.” He rolled his eyes. “Me too.”

I laughed, bringing a cup of coffee to my lips.

The door to the cafe opened seconds later, and a redhead in a revealing black dress—one that was definitely not interview appropriate, stepped inside.

I stood to my feet and pulled out a chair for her. “Good morning, Miss Gregory.”

“Good morning, Mr. Hunter.” She extended her hand. “I’m so honored to meet with you today.”

“Likewise.”

Lawrence moved to another table as we settled into our seats.

“Before we get started, I want to give you this on behalf of my team members.” She handed me a small white box. “You can open that when we’re done.”

“Will do.” I waited for her to pull out notes and a recorder, but she just stared at me.

For a full minute.

“Is there a problem, Miss Gregory?” I asked.

“No.” Her cheeks reddened and she cleared her throat. “Well, yes. I’m not sure a light and fluffy interview is going to bring the public back to your side after your latest drama. I think you’ll need way more since everyone thinks you’re a liar now.”

“That’s for me and his PR team to decide.” Lawrence scoffed. “You’re not on Cinder’s payroll, so please get on with the interview.”

“Fine.” She pulled out a small spiral notebook. Then she crossed and re-crossed her legs.

“What does it feel like to be a billionaire?” she asked.

“I’m not sure how to answer that question,” I said. “But not having to worry about financial problems for the past few years of my life has been quite nice.”

“Is your father proud of you?”

“I wouldn’t know.” I sipped my coffee. “I haven’t spoken to him since he walked out on me when I was a teenager.”

“Family questions aren’t on the approved list, Miss Gregory.” Lawrence intruded once more. “Next question. Now.”

“Oh, that’s right. Um—” She looked down at her sheet. “You’re often photographed with a pretty brunette around town. You meet her at Central Park, at coffee shops, and most recently you were spotted walking together on the Manhattan Bridge.”

“That brunette is my best friend, Penelope,” I said. “Everyone in the media knows that.”

“So, there’s nothing romantic between you two?”

“No, we’re just friends.”

“Has there ever been anything romantic between you two?” She tapped her chin.

Lawrence shot me a “Where the hell is she going with this?” look, and I shrugged.

Every now and then, an inexperienced journalist would ask me some form of that question, but once they tied our connection to “Travis Carter: The Punisher,” they let it go. A guy hanging out with his best friend’s younger sister was a non-story for them.

“Penelope and I are strictly platonic,” I said. “We always have been, and we always will be.”

“I’m sure that all of my readers will be happy to hear that.” She batted her eyes at me, and Lawrence glared at her from across the room. “Speaking of romance—”

“You are here to write up a short piece called, Hayden Hunter’s Top Lessons in Life.” Lawrence interrupted, crossing his arms. “That’s literally the entire reason why we shut down this coffee shop, since your editor demanded that we have the photoshoot someplace ‘down to earth and real.’ The photogs have taken their pictures and left, so you need to hurry up and get to the point.”

“Yes, of course.” Her cheeks reddened. “What’s your favorite color, Mr. Hunter?”

“Oh, wow.” Lawrence rolled his eyes. “What a thought provoking question.”

“Ignore him.” I smiled at her. “He doesn’t get laid much. I like sky blue.”

“Okay.” She scribbled a few notes on her pad. “I’ve heard that you’re also a huge fan of candy, so do you like pineapple?”

“I do.”

“There’s a myth that if a woman eats pineapple, her ‘down there’ will taste better when a guy uses his mouth on her. Seeing as though you’ve mentioned loving pineapples several times, do you think that’s true? Do you have any experience in that area?”

I smiled as Lawrence looked like he was seconds away from losing his shit. “Next question.”

“Okay, then.” She shrugged. “When you first built your company here in New York—I’m twenty-four years old, no kids, tons of ambition, and I can suck your cock like you wouldn’t believe.” The words rushed out of her mouth as she jumped the shark. “I can make you forget all about your latest scandal, if you give me three hours.”

What the fuck?

“You can take me up to your penthouse suite.” She leaned forward. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Security!” Lawrence held his cell phone up to his ear. “Security, come in from the outside, now. We have a certified psychopath on our hands.”

“I wanted this interview to see if I felt a vibe with you.” She clasped my hand atop the table. “I felt it the moment I came in and you pulled out my chair. From the way you looked at me, I can tell that you care about me. You complete me.”

I raised my eyebrow, wondering if a prankster TV host was seconds away from making an appearance.

“I run the Hayden Hunter Wears Sexy Suits blog and I’ve followed you for years. I think we belong together.”

I had no idea how to respond to that.

My security guards, Henry and Taylor, moved in front of her.

“Come on, Miss.” They helped her up, but she pushed back.

“I’m not done talking to him!” She tried to move around them, but Henry looped his arms under hers—pulling her away.

“I wrote my number in lipstick at the bottom of that gift box!” She shouted as they carried her to the door. “I’ll be waiting for your call!”

I shook my head once the door shut. “Well, that won’t be helping me anytime soon.”

“I’ll have Sarah do a better job screening the next interviewer,” he said. “I’m not sure how she managed to slip through the cracks.”

“It’s fine.” I stood to my feet. “I’ll be ready for Vanity Fair and The New Yorker on Friday.”

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Out. I have plans with Penelope.”

“No, you don’t.” He crossed his arms. “Unless she’s dying. Is she dying?”

“She wants to introduce me to her new boyfriend,” I said. “He’s making us dinner at her place. Italian, I believe.”

“And?” He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Does he have some type of clout with the press that we can use to better your fuckups?”

“The ‘meet the family’ thing is a very important part in being her best friend, Lawrence.” I smiled. “She doesn’t have her parents, as you know. And she hardly ever gets to the six-month mark in any of her relationships.”

“Gee, I wonder why that is … ”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that your reputation—what’s left of it anyway, is in tatters and we can’t rely on your upcoming charity ball to help with your image this time. We need a hardcore plan with weeks of strategic moves, and you need to be there for every step of the way.”

“I will be.” I slid a pair of shades over my eyes. “After I get done meeting with Penelope and her boyfriend.”

“How long are you expecting that to take?”

“An hour or two.”

“Then you’ll come right back here?”

“Of course.”

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “So, that means I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

TWO

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

No one ever bothers to tell you what happens after you’ve given your all and it’s still not enough.

I’d read enough self-help books to fill a swimming pool—highlighted every positive platitude, and I had yet to find the solution for my situation.

In fact, every morning, I woke up hoping that the past few years of my life were a cruel and twisted joke.

I desperately wanted to believe that I never fell face-first onto the ice in competition, or that I never lost several months of my life while being confined to a hospital bed—forever missing out on the chance to beat my mother’s iconic medal record.

Shake it off, Pen. Shake it off.

I focused my attention on the twelve lopsided “We Made it Six Months” cupcakes that were currently cooling on my kitchen counter.

They looked like something out of a horror novel—all cracked open with a burnt spot at their centers, but they’d have to do for now.

This was my fourth and final attempt.

Bing! Bing! Bing!

The timer suddenly sounded, and I pulled a tray of sauce from the oven. After setting it on the counter, I picked up my phone and called my boyfriend, Mack.

“Hey there, Gorgeous,” he answered on the first ring.

“Hey. The timer went off on your sauce. Do you want me to pour it over the noodles?”

“No, let it sit out for a minute. I’m looking for one last garnish, so I’ll be back in ten minutes or so.” He paused. “I’m sorry I wasn’t better prepared to meet your family today.”

“No worries. There’s no rush.” I ended the call and checked the time.

As usual, Hayden was ‘the world revolves around my ego’ late, so Mack could probably take another hour before he arrived.

Out of all the boyfriends I’d ever had, Mack was by far the most sympathetic and caring.

He never said things like, “Things happen for a reason,” “Maybe that career-ending fall was meant to be.” He let me vent and cry whenever it crossed my mind—never told me that it was time to move on.

Hayden did the same, of course, but he didn’t count. He was a constant character in my life’s novel; Mack was an entirely new chapter.

I waited a few minutes before scrolling down to Hayden’s name and hitting call.

“Yes, Penelope?” he answered.

“Where the hell are you?”

“Around the corner from your brownstone.”

“Why are you always late?”

“Because I’m only on time when it counts.” There was a smile in his voice. “I stopped to buy a few gifts.”

“For Mack or me?”

“Mack.” He laughed. “You’re too stubborn to accept anything from me. I’m outside your door now.”

I walked over and looked through the peephole first.

As if he could see me looking at him, he smiled a perfect set of pearly whites.

Sometimes, I still found myself forgetting just how attractive he was. Even when he was dressed down in a white T-shirt and jeans, he managed to look as if he was seconds away from stepping onto the cover of a romance novel.

“People are talking a lot of shit about you on Twitter,” I said, opening the door. “I’m not sure if I should associate with you anymore.”

“I’m not sure if you should keep sending me the worst tweets via screenshot, then.”

“I have to, in order to keep your ego in check.”

“Interesting.” He smiled and pulled a white box out of his pocket, handing it to me. “Here’s the gift for Mack.”

“This gift is addressed to you, Hayden.”

“Oh, right.” He tore the tag off and stuffed it into his pocket. “There. Now, it isn’t.”

I rolled my eyes and ushered him inside.

He walked straight to the refrigerator—as always, stopping when he saw my cupcake concoctions on the counter.

“Please tell me that you don’t expect anyone to eat these,” he said.

“They’ll be fine once I put the frosting on top.”

“I doubt that.” He plucked one from the tin and flipped it over. “They’re fucking burnt, Penelope.”

“They won’t be after I put the frosting on top.” I snatched it back, and he laughed.

“I hope that after today’s ‘Meet the Family’ episode, that you’ll be honest with Mack and tell him about the lackluster sex.” He poured two shots of scotch. “Reaching the six-month mark means you should be able to be honest.”

“Our sex isn’t lackluster.”

“You’ve finally had an orgasm, then?”

“No.” I swatted his hand away from the fruit tray.

“Has he gone down on you?”

“That’s none of your business.” My cheeks reddened.

“So, that’s a no.” He handed a shot glass to me. “You’re fine dying without any of your boyfriends properly doing that to you?”

“It’s not a big deal.” I shrugged. “Not every guy wants to do that.”

“It’s not about the guy, Pen. It’s about you. You need to tell him what you want.”

“I will.” I downed the alcohol. “But you know, everyone isn’t comfortable talking about sex as easily as the weather like someone I know.”

“That’s a shame.” His lips curved into a smirk. “That means that there are a lot of people in this world having terrible sex. Hopefully, you’ll stop being a member of that club before you turn thirty.”

I stood on my toes and slapped the back of his head.

He laughed and poured two more shots.

As we were tossing them back, Mack walked through the front door.

“Hey babe,” he said.

“Hey.” I walked over and kissed him. “Mack, this is Hayden. Hayden this is Mack.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” Hayden said, extending his hand. “I’ve heard a lot of good things.”

“I wish I could say the same.” Mack left his hand hanging, and the room suddenly became ten times smaller.

What the…

Hayden shot me a confused look, but I had no idea what to say.

“Should we wait for your brother to get here?” Mack asked.

“No, he cancelled at the last minute. He’s too deep into training for his next fight,” I said. “He did say he could video chat with us later tonight, though.”

“Oh okay, cool.” He walked into the kitchen. “Well, you two can sit down and I’ll present the food like a true chef. I’m still fasting, so I hope I used enough seasoning.”

We obliged, taking our seats near the window.

Minutes later, Mack placed a huge platter of alfredo and a basket of rolls at the center of the table. Hayden made me a plate before making one for himself.

“Penelope tells me that you work in the book industry?” Hayden asked, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Yeah.” Mack nodded. “I’m a senior editor.”

“Any books that I should be on the lookout for?”

“There’s a How Not to Be an Asshole: Part 2 self-help book coming this fall.”

“Interesting.” Hayden smiled. “Maybe I’ll finally get around to finishing part one.”

“I gave him a copy of that one for Christmas,” I said, looking at Mack. “He needs a year of intense therapy and a personality transplant, not a book.”

Mack laughed.

“Do you still have the book that I gave you for Christmas?” Hayden looked at me, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

“No, I burned it.” I refused to discuss his handmade How to Ask My Boyfriend for What I Want in the Bedroom book aloud. “The author didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.”

“I think he’s very skilled in that subject matter.”

“No, he just thinks that he is,” I said. “There’s a reason why his book has a one star average on Goodreads.”

“Because you’re the only reviewer. You’re also a terrible liar, Penelope.”

“And you’re an incredible shit-stirrer.” I changed the subject. “How’s Mack’s alfredo?”

“It’s pretty good.”

“Did I tell you that he was almost a chef?” I added more pepper to his plate. “His mom owns a restaurant in New Jersey.”

“You did tell me that. We went there for dinner a few weeks ago, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” I sipped my wine. “I guess I forgot since your world has imploded since then, and I can’t tell if you’re laughing to keep from crying or crying on the inside.”

“It’s a bit of both.”

We laughed.

“Okay, fuck this shit.” Mack cut off our laughter, his voice terse. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What?” I looked over at him. “What did you say?”

“I said, I can’t do this anymore.” He let out a breath. “Me, you, him. I literally cannot do this.”

I set down my fork, confused as to what the hell he was talking about. “You said you wanted to meet my family today.”

“Your family, not your …” His voice trailed off for a few seconds. “I’m sorry. I was thinking more along the lines of your brother. I don’t need a dinner date to meet Hayden. I mean, as much as he comes up in our conversations, I feel like I already fucking know him.”

“Mack, I’m not sure—”

“Every morning you talk to him about what we did the night before.” He interrupted me. “You click over when we’re on the phone if he calls, and you leave me hanging for hours.”

“I’ve only done that once, and it was an emergency.”

“Tinder suing him over Cinder for the umpteenth time is not an emergency.” He glared at me. “That shit happens every month, and you know what? One of these days, they’re going to beat him in court.”

“I highly doubt that,” Hayden muttered under his breath.

“I guess it’s good that he’s here, though,” Mack said. “Because I don’t have to hold back anymore and wonder how I should spend the next six months of my life. And I won’t bother being your roommate to help pay for a place that your best friend could easily buy for you if he wanted to.”

“I want to make my own way in life,” “She wants to make her own way in life,” Hayden and I spoke in unison.

“Him or me, Penelope.” Mack shook his head. “Tell me right now.”

“There is no ‘him or you,’ Mack.” My chest ached. “I want you as my boyfriend. Hayden is like a brother to me.”

“A brother in a taboo Porn-Hub video, maybe.” He looked disgusted. “I can’t continue to date you, if he’s still in the picture.”

“Mack, wait. Can we talk about this in private?”

“No.” He crossed his arms. “What’s it going to be?”

Silence.

The past six months of our relationship suddenly played on a rose-tinted loop in my head. He was kissing me in the elevator, holding my hand in the rain, and promising me that he was falling for me like I was falling for him.

Hayden wasn’t in any of those frames, and I couldn’t believe that Mack was threatened by him in the slightest.

“I don’t want to lose you as my boyfriend, Mack,” I said. “Please don’t do this.”

“I’m not doing anything.” He looked into my eyes. “It’s your choice.”

“You know what? I’m going to head out.” Hayden stood to his feet. “You two clearly need to talk alone, so—”

“No, we don’t.” Mack’s face reddened. “I’ll leave. I think it’s more than clear that she’s choosing you. Right, Penelope?”

“Hayden is just my friend.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes and stood up. “Just friends don’t do whatever the hell you two do, and I’m done pretending I’m okay with it. Thank you—both of you, for wasting the past six months of my life. You can keep the dinner and shit.”

He grabbed his jacket and stormed out of my place, taking a piece of my heart with him.

I moved from my chair and followed him, but Hayden rushed behind me and pushed the door shut.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked. “I need to catch him so we can work this out.”

“It’s on him to come back to you,” he said. “But even then, what’s the rule?”

I said nothing, even though I knew the answer.

“Any guy that gives you an ultimatum without considering how you feel isn’t worth your time. Name the breakup, cry if you have to, and then move the hell on.”

“How about, The One Who Thought I’d Choose Him Over My Best Friend?” I asked, pretending like my chest didn’t hurt like hell.

“We already gave that title to one of your other exes,” he said. “I think you should sleep on this for a while.”

“Okay.” I let out a sigh. “What did you really think about his alfredo?”

“It was bland as hell, overcooked, and it was missing something.”

“Parmesan and butter, right?”

“Plus chives.” He walked into the kitchen and pulled out a few bottles, placing them on our plates. Then he carried them over to my couch, and I plopped down next to him.

“You can live with me for a while, if you don’t find a roommate by the end of the week,” he said.

“No, thanks.” I shook my head. “I don’t want to live anywhere where groupies and paparazzi lurk outside every entrance. No offense.”

“None taken.”

I leaned against his shoulder and sighed. “Go ahead and say it, so we can get this over with.”

“Say what?”

“The right guy will come into your life when you least expect it.”

“Please stop going on Pinterest and pretending those bullshit quotes belong to me.” He laughed. “If you want me to say my usual, which always proves true, then—”

“Please keep that to yourself.”

“I fucking told you so,” he said it anyway. “I didn’t like him for you after the two-month anniversary, and I’m disappointed that you stuck around for six.”

“It’s called monogamy.”

“It’s called ‘torture,’ if the only pleasure is in him taking you out on dates and being nice.” He looked at me. “Do me a favor and stop looking for Prince Charming. He doesn’t exist.”

“Should I seek out assholes, then?”

“No, you’ve had your fair share of those.” He shook his head. “Just stop trying so hard.”

“Fine. I won’t go on Cinder for a while … Or Tinder.”

“You should never go on Tinder,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me. “That’s the ultimate betrayal.”

“Just wanted to see if you’d still get angry at me for mentioning it.”

“I always will.”

“Will you judge me if I start crying about Mack breaking up with me?”

“Have I ever?”

“No.” I buried my head in his chest. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d never have to hear the words ‘I told you so.’” He rubbed my back. “You think that would be worth it?”

“No.” I shut my eyes. “Never.”

TWO (B)

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

A few days later

“I hope that me having a career on OnlyFans won’t be a problem for you,” my latest “Hell no” roommate option said as she walked around my living room. “I’ll probably need to use this couch as a backdrop for some of my deep swallowing and faux-bestiality videos, if you don’t mind.”

“OnlyFans doesn’t bother me,” I said, trying to think of a way to get her the hell out of my place.

If her need to use my place like a mini-movie studio was the only thing that made me raise my eyebrow, I would’ve agreed to let her stay, but the more she walked around, the more red flags she threw.

She let her Chihuahua run wild the moment she stepped inside, and she encouraged him to pee in my plant since, “It’s good fertilizer for it. Trust me.”

“Well, I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I think you and I will make an incredible match.”

“I’ll let you know.” I forced a smile.

“Be sure to call me with a ‘Yes’ before eight tonight,” she said. “I’m taking Rex to the doggy spa, and I don’t answer calls when I’m there.”

Right. “Will do.”

The moment she stepped onto the elevator, I picked up my plant and held it under the tap. Then I scratched out her name and looked at the last potential on my list: Ashley Brave.

If this last interview didn’t work out, I’d have to choose between a chain smoking foodie and a mortician who warned me that she liked to hang up pictures of her “best work.”

Shuddering, I downed a glass of wine and watched the minute hand tick toward four thirty.

The doorbell sounded right on time, and I rushed over and swung the door open.

What the …

It took everything in me not to slam the door in her face.

This woman’s name wasn’t Ashley Brave. It was Tatiana Brave, and I’d live in a homeless shelter before living with her.

My fiercest competitor, and the only reason why I was missing three particular medals, she was still stunning as hell.

Her sun-kissed brown skin, curly hair, and hazel-colored eyes were striking as ever, and she looked like she could jump onto the ice and compete with ease.

Ugh. “It’s you.”

“You.” She glared at me.

Too bitter to speak, I crossed my arms—waiting to see if she’d steal the first word like she’d stolen my ranking several years ago.

“If I had known this place was yours,” she said, “I would’ve never answered the ad.”

“It’s a good thing you did.” I shrugged. “You can get a good look at a beautiful place where you’ll never stay.”

“I’ve always known that you were a cold-hearted bitch.”

“I’ve always known that you were a bigger one.”

“I’d die before living here.”

“Do you see me offering to let you in?” I started to slam the door in her face. “Good luck with your search.”

“Wait,” she said, wedging her foot against the frame. “I hate to ask, but can I please use your bathroom before I go?”

Offer her the plant to piss in.

“Fine.” I opened the door. “It’s down the hall and to the left. Make sure you get a good look at my medal collection on your way there. Pay special attention to the gold one from the Olympics in Sochi.”

“Too bad you’re missing the gold one from Pyeongchang.” She shrugged. “I wonder who won that one.”

“You have two minutes to handle your business and get the hell out.”

“It’ll take me less than that.” She walked down the hall and shut the door.

I immediately pulled out my phone and texted Hayden.

Me: I’m going with the mortician. Can you have Sarah run the background check for me?

His response was immediate.

Just Hayden: Are you sure? She gets aroused by staring at dead bodies, Pen.

Me: 100%.

Tatiana emerged from the bathroom as I hit send.

“Your bathroom is nice,” she said. “Is that the only one?”

“No, there are three. Two more you’ll never see.”

She slid her purse over her shoulder and looked me right in my eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever hated another person the way I hated you.”

“The feeling will always be mutual.”

Silence.

We stared at each other, years of on-ice battles hanging between us. The utter viciousness I felt toward her hadn’t dissipated in the slightest.

“What are you doing now?” she asked. “Like, career-wise.”

I said nothing.

“I heard that you never got all your memory back after the fall. Is that true?” She looked somewhat sincere, and I hated that.

“I get bits and pieces back on some days, but I’m still missing a lot, and the memories are never in order.”

“Are you coaching?”

“I coach off and on,” I admitted. “I have a few private clients, but they’re not worth mentioning.”

“Let me guess. They have rich parents who are wasting their money since the kids can’t skate their way off the railing?”

“Exactly.” I nodded. “I give inspirational speeches to colleges and sports teams, too. I have one coming up in a few weeks in California actually.”

“Does that pay well?”

“Sometimes.” I paused. “Not ‘living in New York’ well. Hence, the roommate thing. I doubt it pays as well as your career.”

“How do you know what I’m doing?” She looked confused.

“I hate-follow you on Instagram from a burner account. I’m the person who always comments, ‘You’re not that pretty,’ and ‘Get over yourself.’”

“Good to know.” Her lips curved into a smile, but she didn’t let it stay. “I would say that it’s nice seeing you after all these years, but—”

“It’s not.”

“Agreed.” She walked toward the door. “Best of luck finding a roommate who doesn’t hate you.”

“Thank you.” I waited for her to step out before shutting the door.

I slumped against the wall and stared straight ahead.

It’d been years since I spoke to someone from my former life, someone who actually knew the ins and outs of skating. And for the first time in forever, my heart didn’t immediately ache mid-sentence when I discussed the fall.

Why does she have to be the best candidate? Should I interview her?

Granted, I still hated her down to her marrow, but I already knew that she would stay out of my way. We’d shared hotel rooms during competitions before—not by choice, but we’d managed to stay alive until checkout time.

Sighing, I opened the door to run after her, but she was still standing there.

“I really need a place to stay, and I can pay for the first ten months in advance.” The words rushed out of her mouth. “And this is like the nicest, most affordable condo I’ve seen online since I moved here. Even if it belongs to someone who is practically Satan, can you at least give me the interview? We don’t have to be friends to be roommates, and we’ve roomed together before, remember?”

“Well, that depends on how honest you are.” I crossed my arms. “How hard did you party when you surpassed me and ranked at number one?”

“Far harder than you did when you used to throw it in my face every month.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course, you know I was only number one for eight months, until Natalie La Croix got in the way.”

“She was so overrated.”

“Tell me about it.” She nodded. “Her programs were so technically sound that they were boring. I fell asleep forty seconds into her routine at Skate America.”

“That, and she always had a bullshit background story for her costumes,” I said. “She claimed that she wore flecks of brown dirt in her sleeves one time because she wanted the audience to see the beauty of the earth as she skated. She said that shit with a straight face.”

“I’m still convinced that the white angel dust in her Cup of China costume was a different type of dust, if you catch my drift.”

Her eyes met mine, and we both burst into laughter.

“We can do the interview,” I said. “But I can’t make any promises.”

“Okay.” She nodded and stepped inside.

“Tour first?” I motioned for her to follow me. I showed her the second master bedroom that was down the hall from me. Then we returned to the kitchen.

“It’s even prettier in person,” she said. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. You say that you can pay ten months in advance?”

“I can write the check by morning.”

“Do you have any pets?”

“No.”

“What about any weird habits?”

“I like to watch anime and Sailor Moon marathons every Saturday morning.”

“You still do that?” I crossed my arms, remembering that she used to skate to that show’s theme song during her warmups. “Don’t you know every episode by heart at this point?”

“Yeah, but they recently released a new collection of crystal toy wands, so I’m re-watching to get the movements right.”

I gave her a blank stare. The “I like to stare at dead bodies” woman was still in the running.

“Will it bother you if I have a guy friend over once in a while?” I asked. “We hang out in the living room sometimes, but I go to his place more than he comes here.”

“Not at all,” she said. “I don’t have any friends.”

“Me either. Outside of him, anyway.”

She smiled. “How does it feel to have a famous ex-boyfriend?”

“Huh?”

“Hayden Hunter,” she said. “The guy who came to all your practices and performances. Did you know he’s like a super-rich mogul now?”

“Oh. We’re still friends,” I said. “He’s the guy I was talking about. We were never dating.”

“What?” She looked stunned. “Never?”

“Never.” I shrugged. “There was nothing there.”

“Sorry for asking.”

“Don’t be. We get that question all the time.” I started to tell her that I would give her a decision by nightfall, but my phone suddenly buzzed in my pocket.

Just Hayden: Sarah just ran the mortician girl through a background check. She stabbed her last roommate a year ago and claimed self-defense.

Just Hayden: She also received a citation for keeping raw pigs’ heads at her last apartment.

I set down my phone. “What day do you want to move in?”

THREE

PRESENT DAY

A few weeks later

Penelope

Eeerkkkkk! Eeeerrrkkk! Eeeeerrk!

The layover plane landed at Charlotte Douglas International with a sickening series of screeches that knocked me out of my nap.

One motivational speech down, hundreds more to go.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying with Elite Airways.” The pilot’s voice came over the speakers. “Per the flight attendant’s previous announcement, most of you are taking this same plane to New York City in an hour. Please allow those who are not to get off first.”

“Also,” a soft voice came over the speakers next, “if you’d like to take the other flight to New York that’s in four hours, please see the gate agent at G-8 upon deplaning.”

I looked out the window as another plane rolled on the tarmac.

“Excuse me?” My seat-mate tapped my shoulder.

“Yes?” I turned to face him.

“Are you staying on this flight?”

“Yes.” I unbuckled my seatbelt and stood up. “After I get something to eat.”

“I wanted to say something to you earlier, but you had your earbuds in.”

“Yeah … ” I made a mental note to keep them in when I got back on later.

“I recognized your name from your bag.” He pointed to it and smiled. “Penelope “Perfect Feather” Carter. I was a huge fan of yours back in the day.”

I nodded, wondering if I should ask if he wanted to take a selfie together.

“You used to look really good in your costumes,” he said. “You started skating at six, I believe.”

“Four,” I said. “I skated several years after that, too.”

“Yeah, but—” He waved his hand. “I stopped watching once you turned sixteen.”

“Um, okay.”

“You just weren’t my type anymore.” He winked. “You were past my preference, if you catch my drift.”

Bile rose up my throat.

“You were far more fascinating to watch in the beginning,” he said. “I still use clips of your old programs plenty of times whenever I want a nostalgic night.”

I blinked a few times, rescinding all thoughts of offering anything except a police tip. “I uh, I need to go now.”

“It’s a shame what happened to you at the end, but are you coaching any new girls now?” he asked. “Any young hopefuls that I can look forward to watching this season? Better yet, don’t tell me now. I’ll wait until you get onboard again so I can write down their names.”

I turned around and rushed off the plane.

I was switching to that other flight. Now.

G-8. G-8. G-8…

Rushing through the crowds, I held my purse close to my chest and hoped I would run into an alternate version of reality.

“Excuse me, excuse me!” I pushed my way past a group on the moving sidewalk, then I made it past the food court.

As I was nearing Concourse G, I lost my balance and collided head-first into what felt like a wall.

For a split second, I could see exactly how everything after was about to unfold in slow, detailed motion.

Face meet ground. Everything in my purse flies high into the air, all before—

“Whoa.” A pair of heavy hands gripped my waist from behind. “Slow down there. Are you alright?”

I stared at the ground, my nose inches away from the concrete. I took a few seconds to gather my thoughts. I also couldn’t help but think that the deep voice sounded familiar.

I took my time standing up and turned around, finding myself face to face with a man I hadn’t seen in years.

He was a man who invaded my dreams whenever I wondered what could’ve been.

The one that got away …

My jaw slowly unhinged as I looked him over.

Somehow, all these years later, he’d become ten times sexier.

Dressed in jeans and a dark grey T-shirt that revealed muscles that were far more defined than they were years ago, he was also a lot taller. His dirty blond hair was cut low, and his full and defined lips were still tempting as ever.

As he stared into my eyes, I felt like we were in college all over again.

The memories flooded my brain frame by frame, blending into a beautiful montage.

I saw him asking me to stay later in his dorm room for “one more episode,” witnessed the two of us getting kicked out of the library for staying too long, and watched him subtly throwing hints and smiles my way that I never seemed to catch.

I’d always asked Hayden about every guy before I made a pursuit, but since we were in the middle of a “Cold War” then, I never got around to it. Instead, I watched some other woman intercept Simon’s hints and smiles, watched as she ran off the field with him and scored an engagement.

“Simon Gaines?” I said.

“Penelope Carter.” He smiled a perfect set of pearly whites. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again. Good thing I did, though. My memories didn’t do you any justice.”

I blushed, and we stared at each other for what felt like forever.

“Dare I ask why you’re running like someone is chasing you?” He smiled again.

“I think my seat mate was a pedophile. Well, is, and I need to change my flight before it fills up. That’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, right?”

He pressed a hand against my forehead, sending every nerve in my body wild with that mere touch. “Do I need to call a medic for you?”

“No.” I couldn’t think straight with him this close to me. “I’m more than fine. I’m—Hi.”

“Hi.” He laughed and moved his hand. “Where are you headed today?”

“New York City.”

“Really?” He crossed his arms. “Are you visiting someone there?”

“No, I live there.”

“What?” He looked dumbfounded. “I’m in the process of permanently moving there. Well, I’m going back and forth to Florida to get all my things.”

I glanced down at his left hand, where a wedding band should’ve been, but nothing was there.

There wasn’t even a tan line.

“She and I didn’t work out,” he said, reading my mind. “Six months before the wedding, she told me that she was still in love with her ex, so she broke up with me.”

Oh. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be.” He looked me up and down. “I’m not.”

Silence.

“Attention passengers who are flying on flight 3505 to Miami International, the door at F-7 will be closing in fifteen minutes.”

“That’s my flight,” he said, sighing. “I’m having a private ‘Welcome to New York’ party for my company two weekends from now,” he said. “I’d love to see you there. If you’re interested in me making you come, of course.”

“What did you just say?” I was certain I’d heard that wrong.

“If you want to come, I’d love to see you there.” He smiled. “What did you think I said?”

I didn’t answer that. “I would love to go to your party.”

“Good to know.” He reached into his pocket. “Shit. I left it back at my gate. Can I give you my number?”

I nodded, pulling my phone from my pocket. I tapped the screen and it vibrated a few times, the tell-tale sign of battery death.

He laughed. “Maybe this is an omen.”

“Yeah, I guess we should never speak again.” I quipped. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

“I hope you’re joking, Penelope.” He motioned for me to follow him to the condiment stand outside of Starbucks.

“Here. We’ll do this the old-fashioned way.” He grabbed a napkin and uncapped a pen, scribbling down his number. “Call me whenever you’re free, and I’ll give you more details about the party.”

“Okay.”

He looked as if he wanted to say more, as if he wanted to pull me close and finally put an end to a fantasy I’d had years ago, but a reminder about his flight sounded over the speakers once again.

“I’ll be waiting for your call.” He looked me over one more time before walking away. “I’m so glad I ran into you again.”

“Me too.”

I waited until he was out of sight before rummaging through my purse for my phone charger. Plugging it into the closest socket, I connected to my phone and waited until it reached five percent to power it on.

Scrolling down to Hayden’s name, I hit call.

It didn’t ring once.

His voicemail sounded instead.

“Leave a message at the sound of the beep, and I’ll think about getting back to you.”

Beep!

I sighed and sent him a text.

Me: Just landed in Charlotte. Call me when you see this.

I made it to the other gate and switched my flight before finding another Starbucks with a vacant socket.

Impatient, I ordered a cup of coffee and waited for Hayden’s name to cross my screen via phone call. It never took him longer than ten minutes to get back to me, and even in those rare cases when he couldn’t pick up, he’d have Sarah or his advisor Lawrence send me an “He’ll call you back in a few” message.

Confused by his silence, I sent an email to his business inbox just in case he had his personal alerts off.

Subject: GAHHHH! CALL MEEE!

Ten minutes passed.

Then twenty.

Too impatient to wait another second, I called Tatiana.

“Oh my god!” She answered on the first ring. “I’ve been waiting for you to call me. Are you back in New York yet?”

“Still in Charlotte on a layover,” I said. “You won’t believe who I just saw.”

“I bet I can guess,” she said. “Did he make your panties wet?”

“Um, maybe.” I laughed. “I’m sure if I’d stared at him any longer that probably would’ve been the case.”

“Maybe? You might be the only woman in the country who feels that way. I guess that’s why you two have remained platonic for so long.”

“Wait, what? What the hell are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Simon Gaines,” I said. “A guy I went to college with. I think I’ve told you about him before. I showed you some of our pictures in my college scrapbook. He’s the guy with the—”

“I’m talking about Hayden’s dick.” She cut me off.

“What?”

“You haven’t seen it? It’s all over the news right now. Deservedly so, might I add.”

I tapped my fingers against the table, realizing that he was probably in another mini-crisis meeting with Lawrence now. The last time his “nudes” leaked, it was a few grainy pictures and the guy turned out to be an extortionist.

“It’s probably not Hayden, Tatiana,” I said. “Don’t believe the hype.”

“Oh, it’s definitely Hayden.” She laughed. “Look at them now and give me your thoughts.”

“No, I—”

“Look. At. Them.” She goaded me. “I texted you a few links.”

“Fine.” I sighed and put her on speaker. “Hold on.”

I clicked on the first link—expecting to be met with another montage of exposed-ab outtakes from his recent GQ cover shoot, but—

OH. MY. GOD!

My jaw dropped to the floor.

Hayden was standing on a balcony, his perfectly chiseled body on full display, a satisfied smirk on his lips. His eyes were staring right at the camera, saying, “Come here,” and there was a Cuban cigar in his left hand.

His cock stood hard and erect between his legs, thick and huge. Far bigger than any of the cocks I’d ever seen.

How the hell does any woman take all of this?

I shook my head in utter disbelief, unable to stop staring at it.

I scrolled down to look at the other pictures, him in other positions. His cock was breathtaking at every angle.

In all the years that we’d been friends, I’d jokingly asked why women couldn’t seem to get enough of him in the bedroom, why they’d asked for “repeats” long after he’d turned them down.

“Is your dick magical or something?” I’d say.

He’d laugh and say something sarcastic, and I continued to assume that they were blinded by his looks.

His cock pictures shattered that notion all at once.

How does it even fit?

“Um, hello?” Tatiana’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Are you there?”

“Yeah…”

“You agree it’s him, right?”

“Yes.”

“Are your panties wet now?”

Hell yes. “Nope.” I clicked off the picture. “Can I tell you about Simon Gaines now?”

“Depends. Does he have some dick pics that I can stare at?”

“No.”

“Then, no.” She laughed. “I’ll happily listen to it tonight when I get home from working out, though.”

“So much for being a new friend.”

“We’re still enemies.” She ended the call, and I laughed.

Hayden never called me back, and against my better judgment, I spent the entire flight to New York staring at his dick for far longer than I would ever admit.

FOUR

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

“Can you give me any reason why I woke up this morning with your balls in my face?” Lawrence slammed a paper onto the café table. “Better yet, you want to tell me why your six-inch slong is currently the number one trending topic in the country?”

“First of all, hello, Lawrence.” I smiled at him. “I see that you’re angry as usual on this lovely afternoon.”

“Answer my question.”

“Second of all, I’m happy to let you know that my ‘slong’ is definitely longer than six inches.”

“Give me a reason, Hayden.” His face reddened. “Give me a reason right now.”

I said nothing.

I just watched as he popped a handful of stress relief pills and placed his hand over his heart. His “I’m so sick of you putting me through this shit,” speech was inevitable.

In the past, he’d effortlessly handled drugged-out rock stars, popstar princesses with secret addictions, and boy bands with international fandoms. Yet, for some strange reason, he claimed that my scandals were the ones that drove him to the brink of insanity.

“If you think pleading ignorance is going to get you out of this one, you’re sadly mistaken.” He pushed the printed headlines closer to me. “Look at what they’re saying about you so far.”

I glanced down at the words and tried not to smile.

The COCK-y King of New York Indeed

Cinder’s CEO Can ‘Hunt’ Us Down Any Day

Hayden Hunter Shows Us His Huge … Ego

“These are very creative,” I said. “Would you like me to host a contest for the best one?”

“Shut up, Hayden.” He pulled up a chair and signaled for the manager. “I called Sinful Suit a few minutes ago and spoke to the editor in chief. She said that an anonymous person randomly submitted these an hour before their issue went to print.”

“Oh?” I smiled.

“Yes. Oh.”

“Any idea who might have perfectly curated, nude photos of you at their disposal?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “You did say that we needed to give them something else to talk about, so I gave them something else to talk about.”

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t more specific about the type of shit I meant.” He held up his hands in surrender. “You need a fucking avalanche of good press at this point. I’m talking children’s hospital visits, soup kitchen volunteer hours, the works.”

“That sounds staged as hell, Lawrence. Everyone will see right through it.”

“Not if you do a good job and convince them otherwise.” He picked up his briefcase and set it on the table. “We can get started by using Penelope to show off more of your human side. Let’s put your overbearing friendship to work for a change.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tell her that she needs to join you on a shopping spree in full view of the press,” he said. “We’ll call some photogs and have them put a spin on ‘Most Generous Best Friend’ or something. Then we’ll make sure the cashier leaks the amount you spend on her, which should be at least seventy-five thousand dollars. Oh, and when you two are out, she should…”

I tuned out the rest of his suggestion, knowing that it was a hell no. Penelope would never willingly set foot inside of a clothing store. She’d freeze at the glass doors, come up with an excuse for why she suddenly needed to leave, and walk away in tears.

She never admitted the reason to me—even after all these years, but it was because of her mother. Shopping was the last thing they did together—half an hour before the accident, and she never got over it.

“Stop.” I cut Lawrence off. “That’s not happening. Give me something else to do.”

“What’s wrong with taking your best friend shopping?”

“Move on to another suggestion.” I kept my voice firm. “Now.”

“Fine.” He flipped through his folders, then he slid a sheet toward me.

“Okay, next option,” he said. “I want you to write an apology letter to every single person or company that you’ve ever wronged. I’m sure that some people will leak their letters to the press, and over the long haul, this can start the rehab process for your image.”

“You know how I feel about apologies, Lawrence,” I said. “They don’t do anything but state the obvious.”

“They’ll do something more than that this time. Trust me.”

I looked down at the sheet. “You think that I’ve wronged two hundred and fifty people?”

“Ha! Don’t be silly.” He flipped it over. “There’s more on the back, and I left the other sheets at headquarters.”

Before I could tell him that this suggestion wasn’t happening either, my phone sounded with Penelope’s signature ringtone. A FaceTime request.

“Don’t you dare answer her right now.” Lawrence glared at me. “She can wait.”

“This’ll only take a minute.” I tapped the screen anyway.

“Yeah, Pen?” I answered.

“Why haven’t you called me back yet?” Her face appeared on screen, and a subway whooshed by in the background. “I’ve already made it back to New York.”

“I don’t have any missed calls from you.” I noticed the silver charm around her neck and tilted my head to the side. “Are you dressed up for something?”

“I’ve called you five times and—” Her lips froze, and I waited for her to realize, for the umpteenth time, that her phone had terrible reception in the subway tunnel.

As the call stalled, I stared at her gorgeous face.

I wasn’t sure when it happened, but somewhere between our final days in Seattle and now, she became sexy as hell. Her dark brown hair fell to her shoulders in waves, and her light hazel eyes perfectly accentuated her full, pink lips. Even though she usually wore T-shirts and sweats, she was fucking stunning without trying.

Now and then, I had to catch myself from looking at her too hard or fantasizing. Especially since I knew that her brother would have me stoned to death if I ever uttered the words, “Your sister is sexy as fuck,” within a hundred-mile radius, so I kept that opinion to myself.

“Hey!” Her screen suddenly unfroze. She was now on a street. “Can you see me now?”

“Yes.” I stared at her lips. “I can see you.”

“Guess what happened to me at the airport this morning?”

“Can he guess after we get done with our meeting?” Lawrence called out. “Hayden has a billion-dollar business to run, Penelope. I’ve told you countless times to stop calling during business hours unless it’s important.”

“This is important.” She smiled. “I ran into the one.”

“The one who did what?” I raised my eyebrow. “What’s the rest of his breakup name?”

“He’s the one that got away.”

I blinked. None of her exes came to mind.

“He’s not an ex,” she said, reading me. “And I never told you about him, because—It’s a long story. Can you meet me at Central Park to talk?”

“No, but since I already know that you’ll insist on talking to him anyway, you can come to him.” Lawrence intruded again. “We’re at Sweet Seasons on Park Avenue, and thanks to your friend’s ‘special member’ making waves in the news, the paparazzi are outside. Please don’t speak to them.”

“I would never,” she said. “I’ll be there in fifteen.”

I ended the call and looked over at Lawrence. “Now, where were we? Discussing how long these apology letters need to be?”

“No, we’re at the part when I finally realize that you’re incapable of focusing on anything if Penelope calls or texts you.”

“That’s not true.” I picked up a pen. “I hit ignore when she calls sometimes.”

“Ha! I’ll believe that when I see it.” He stood to his feet. “Now that you mention it, I don’t think you could ever hit ignore on Penelope, even if you wanted to.”

“How much would you be willing to bet on that baseless assumption?”

“I’ll roll the dice on my entire life.” He shrugged. “Want to take me up on it, so I can retire in peace?”

“No, I’d rather keep you miserably employed a little while longer.” I smiled. “But just so you know, you’re wrong.”

“Deep down you know that I’m not ...”

BREAK UP #6

THE ONE THAT DIDN’T PAY $72.99

Hayden

Back Then

Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): Hey. You busy?

Me: Yes. Do not call me.

Me: Aren’t you on a date with your newest boyfriend right now?

Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): He’s in the restroom. I need to ask you something important.

Me: I just said that I was busy, Penelope. (Happy Birthday, btw.)

Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): Do you think it’s weird that I’ve never had an orgasm when any of my past boyfriends have gone down on me? Like, their mouths feel good against my lips down there, but it’s never the OMG earth shattering thing that I’ve heard people talk about. (Thank you! Sweet 18!)

Me: Stop texting me. Now.

Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): All of them have fingered me while they’re doing it and I do like that, but…Is there something I’m not doing? How do I get an orgasm the next time?

Me: Reread my last message. I’m turning my phone off.

Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): Why? You said I could ask you for advice.

Me: About dating and breakups. Not sex.

Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): Who else can I ask then?

I set my phone down and sigh.

You changed her name in your phone for a reason. Do not answer this. Ever.

Tonight marks the umpteenth night in a row that she’s taken my “I’ll give you breakup advice whenever you want” offer a little too seriously.

At first, I honestly didn’t mind, but that was until she started giving me a history lesson about all of her breakups; the studies were never-ending for someone who was only seventeen.

Well, eighteen.

To her credit, she moved on fast after each one—dumping any guy at the first sign of disrespect. She also made it perfectly clear what she was looking for in the early stages, so any guy who stuck around after hearing her delusional outlook on love had to like her.

Not only that, but her relationships had to be balanced on a training, travel, and performance schedule that was getting stretched thinner by the day. Since she’s placed first in every competition this year—The Grand Prix, Cup of China, and the Four Continents Championship, all while maintaining her number one ranking in the world, she’s all but guaranteed to be selected for a spot on the Olympic team.

Why do I know this shit?

I tap my screen and scroll through our previous thread of messages, zeroing in on the one she sent me last night.

Travis’s Little Sis (Stop Giving Her Advice): Is it too much to ask for a guy who wants me and only me? A guy who’s in this for the long-haul? I know I’m young, but my parents got married at 18 and they were always happy…I want that for myself. You think that’s possible?

It’s not, but I’d told her yes anyway.

Without thinking, I tap her name and hit call.

“Yeah, Hayden?” she answers on the first ring.

“Okay, look,” I say. “Do you know where your clit is?”

“Yes.”

“Good. After your date tonight, point it out to your boyfriend and tell him to kiss it slowly and use his tongue to focus on it.”

“Wait. I thought you previously said that I shouldn’t get intimate with a guy until date five. This is only date three, and I want to make sure I’m prepared by then.”

I roll my eyes. “In that case, use two fingers and touch it yourself until you feel it swelling, until it feels like you can’t take any more.”

“I’ve tried that before, but I always pull back…I don’t think I ever go long enough. How long should it take?”

“Penelope.” I can’t believe she’s not letting this go. “Tell you what. Buy a vibrator online and read the instructions. Or worse, if you’re that damn anxious, go to CVS or Walgreens for an electric toothbrush. Take off the bristles, buy the padded attachment, and press that against your clit the next time you’re horny. Don’t move it until your pussy is super wet and throbbing in utter pleasure. You’ll know when you’re coming, clear?”

“Clear.”

“Can I hang up now, and act like this conversation never happened?”

“After one last thing,” she says. “How long should I wait for him to come back from the bathroom before going to check on him?”

“Depends. How long has he been in there?”

“Fifteen minutes.” A paper ruffles in the background. “He handled the check and then he—Holy fucking shit.”

“What?”

“He wrote ‘Sorry. It’s Me, Not You. I Owe You’ on the receipt!” She sucks in a breath. “This dinner cost seventy-three dollars and he—” She pauses again. “I’m looking at him now.”

“He’s returning to the table to pay it?”

“No, he’s outside getting into his car.” She sighs. “Should I ask the manager if I can wash dishes to pay for this?”

“No, sit tight.” I send my graphic designer a message to let him know that I’ll finish up the app’s logo some other night. “Order a dry aged New York strip with extra butter for me. I’ll join you there in twenty minutes.”

“Really?” There’s a smile in her voice. “In that case, can you also take me to CVS when we’re finished?”

I hang up in her face.

FOUR (B)

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

At six o’clock, I emerged from the subway station at Lexington Avenue, heading straight toward the flock of photogs that were stalking Hayden.

“What did you think about his nudes leaking, Penelope?” “Is he still inside with Lawrence?” “Can you tell us how he’s currently feeling?” They yelled all at once.

I slid a pair of shades over my eyes as I moved through them, showing no emotion whatsoever as I made it in front of Sweet Seasons Coffee.

“How’s he planning to turn this one around?” “He’s still trending on Twitter!” “Were you the holding the camera while he was taking those pictures?”

I held back a groan at that last question and knocked on the door.

Within seconds, his security guard opened it wide enough to grab my hand and pull me inside.

“He’s upstairs, Miss Penelope,” Henry said. Then he lowered his voice. “Mr. Lawrence is on a bender, so tread lightly, and don’t say I never warned you about anything.”

I laughed. “Thank you, Henry.”

“Anytime.” He locked the door again.

When I made it to the top of the steps, Lawrence was pacing the other side of the floor and shouting into his phone.

Hayden was sipping a cup of coffee, looking completely unfazed.

“Hey.” I walked over and dropped my purse onto his table. “I told the photogs that you’re beyond embarrassed about what happened today. I also said that you’re gifting every offended person a bottle of eye-bleach and a memory-erase stick.”

“Thank you very much.” He smiled. “That’s exactly what Lawrence wants to do to fix this.”

“I knew it.”

He laughed. “Is that dress yours, or are you still borrowing things from strangers online?”

“It’s not borrowing. It’s sharing, and renttherunway.com dry-cleans everything before sending it out.”

“Hmmm.” He looked me over. “You look good in that one.”

“Thank you. I’ll try to dress up more often, so you can keep saying nice things to me.”

“I personally prefer you in sweats.” He stood to his feet. “Let’s go outside and talk so we can have some privacy.”

“Where the hell do you two think you’re going?” Lawrence stopped pacing. “Don’t you dare go out there.”

“Relax,” Hayden said. “We’re going to the alley.”

“Be back in ten minutes.”

“Twenty,” we said in unison.

“Fine.” He returned to his call, shouting as if he’d never lost a beat.

Hayden led me downstairs and outside where we often whenever our bench in Central Park was out of the question.

The street was blocked off with a deceiving wall that most people (more importantly, the photogs) thought led to nowhere. Bright pink lights hung high—complementing the iron rose chairs, and a small fire pit spewed short flames.

The manager followed us outside, setting two frappes and a tray of macarons on a table before walking away.

“So—” Hayden leaned against the wall. “Who’s this ‘the one that got away’ guy?”

“Simon Gaines.” Butterflies fluttered in my stomach as if I was still in the airport with him. “He was my study partner, and he’s pretty much a walking Prince Charming.”

“Anytime you say that, the guy ends up being a villain in the end.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, I never got to spend that much time on campus since I was still skating, but he always walked me back to my dorm whenever it was raining, went out of his way to help me on campus if I called, and threw hints here or there about ‘us’ but I wasn’t sure if I should catch them because—” I paused. “You and I weren’t talking at that point.”

“So, you met him during our Cold War?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

We stared at each other for several seconds, like we always did whenever that sixteen-month gap in our friendship came up. We never talked about that era; we let it lay abandoned and forgotten. Casualties of a painful past better left unvisited for good.

The thought of it still made my heart ache from time to time, and I still blamed Hayden for starting it, but time had healed most of the wound. Supposedly.

“Anyway,” Hayden said, shattering the silence. “Keep going.”

“Yeah, anyway—” I cleared my throat. “This one time when we were driving to a movie, he saw a turtle that escaped from a pet shop and he pulled over to save it, so no car would kill it. Then he took a half hour detour and set it free in the ocean.”

“He put a pet store turtle in the sea?” He raised his eyebrow. “He probably killed it faster than the traffic would’ve.”

“That’s not the point of this story, Hayden.”

“Then tell a better one.”

“I think he’s the one,” I said. “Like, I think it’s fate that I ran into him—literally, after all this time and things never worked out with the other woman he was seeing. I think this is the guy I’ve always belonged with.”

“You could’ve summed that up in five seconds.”

“I thought you’d appreciate the extended cut.” I laughed and pulled out the napkin that Simon gave me at the airport. “He wrote his number on this since my phone was dead and he left his elsewhere. Romantic, right?”

“That’s not exactly the term I was thinking.”

“Just promise that you’re going to give me advice on getting him this time,” I said.

“I might give you advice.” His lips curved into a smirk. “Are you going to take it?”

“I always do.”

“No, you only take the parts that you like.” He tapped his chin. “That aside, what do I get out of helping you with this?”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He smiled. “What’s my incentive to help you land this guy?”

“You get the honor of knowing that you’re a good best friend.”

“I’m a great best friend,” he said. “I want something tangible. A real payment that I can collect.”

“You bought a thirty-million-dollar condo last month.” I scoffed. “You don’t need any more money, and I’m not giving you a dime of mine.”

“I wasn’t thinking money, per se.”

“No, I won’t replace your assistant Sarah at Cinder.”

“I would never hire you to work under me.” He laughed. “I just want your help with some letters I’m being forced to write. Well, unless Lawrence changes his mind.”

“I’m not changing my mind about shit, Hayden!” He called out from above, and we both laughed.

“What’s the catch?” I asked.

“There isn’t one.”

“Then how many letters are there?”

“Just a few.” He extended his hand like this was a business deal. “Deal?”

“Deal,” I said, shaking on it. “What’s my first step with Simon?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Wait for him to call you.”

“Did you miss the part where I said that he told me to call him?” I shook the napkin. “The part where I have his phone number and he doesn’t have mine?

“I heard you.” He eyed my dress. “But since he saw you wearing that, he’ll find a way to call you. Trust me.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate more—to show how his point made any sense, but no words fell from his lips.

“Just to be sure that you won’t do anything stupid tonight ...” He grabbed the napkin from my hand and tore it to pieces. Then he tossed the shreds onto the ground. “You’re welcome.”

“You think he’s going to find me by magic?”

“If he’s really into you, he’ll find a way.”

I stared at the shreds, tempted to pick them up and piece them together for insurance.

As if he could read my mind, he picked up a few of them and tossed them into the fire pit.

“He’ll call you, Penelope,” he said. “I’ll give it a week at best.”

“Fine.” I crossed my arms. “That’s when I’ll start helping you with your apology letters, then. Doesn’t make sense to hold up my end of the deal if yours falls through.”

“I don’t have a problem with that.” He smiled. “Is that when you’re going to tell me what you thought of my pictures?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You haven’t looked at my dick?”

Do not answer that. It’s a trap.

“I need to get home, so I’ll see you later.” I rushed back inside, then past the photogs, feeling my cheeks heat with every step.

Best friend or not, I wasn’t even sure where to begin with that discussion, and I didn’t want my mind to wander there ever again.

FIVE

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

Three days passed without a single call or a text from Simon.

I even started a brand-new Gmail account—PenelopeCarterNYC@gmail.com, but the only thing that inbox received was a fresh dose of spam.

FIVE (B)

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

Day four came with nothing new.

Then day five.

Simon never called, and I was tempted to return to that fire pit and summon his number to life from the ashes.

SIX

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

What the hell was Hayden Hunter thinking?” “Are any of the rumors true?” “Leaking dirty pictures in the middle of a PR crisis is not how to run a business!”

Loud voices blared from the television in my living room, cutting through the soft streams of my shower.

I cursed myself for not unplugging it from the wall the night before.

My pictures were still the talk of the gossip world, but they’d done little to quell any of my other issues in the business realm. Those were somehow getting worse.

Now, on top of being a “ruthless liar” and a “reckless playboy with Daddy issues,” I was now a thief. A “thief with a big dick [we’d] love to fuck” according to Cosmo.

Groaning, I stepped outside my shower and wrapped a towel around my waist before walking down the hall.

I grabbed the remote right as Tim Lassing, the CEO of Tinder, took his seat across from a morning anchor.

He still looked as smug as he did years ago, when he first accused me of stealing his damn idea. As if “swipe right for yes and swipe left for no,” was some type of groundbreaking concept.

It was a pure coincidence that we’d come up with it at the same time, and that was the only similarity between our apps.

His app had twenty-million world-wide subscribers. My app had one-hundred million. Case closed.

“Thank you for coming here to discuss your competitor Hayden Hunter this morning,” the anchor said. “I understand that the two of you have been engaged in a bitter feud for years.”

“Not necessarily.” He smiled. “I’ve been desperately trying to prove that he’s a fraud and a liar, but I’m glad that so many people are finally starting to see how reckless he once was.”

“Once was?” she asked. “Does that mean you think he’s changed over the years?”

“Ha! No.” He rolled his eyes. “He’s even more of a conniving asshole than he was before.”

I crossed my arms. He looked saner today than he usually did, but I knew it was only a matter of time before he veered into psycho-territory.

He’d been in a skiing accident not too long after founding Tinder, and some parts of his brain were still on the slopes.

“If you could offer any advice, CEO to CEO—” the anchor said, “What would you say to him?”

“I would say that he should lawyer up for one hell of a fight.” His eyes went wide, nearly bulging out of his skull. “He should also admit that he kidnapped my dog in the past.”

“He what, sir?”

“He stole my dog.” He looked like he was about to cry. “I don’t know why you people don’t believe me. I can’t remember everything exactly, but he’s a dog thief, too. Never trust a dog thief.”

And there it is …

I picked up the remote and turned off the TV.

Before I could send a message to my lawyer, Lawrence’s email crossed my screen.

SUBJECT: No Penelope Today. Whatsoever.

The universe has gifted us with another meltdown from the Head Loon at Tinder.

Your lawyer, Andrew Hamilton, wants you to focus on writing one hell of a compelling letter to the judge about why his latest claims against you are bullshit.

After that, I need you to get to work on those damn apology letters so we can take advantage of this timing.

If Penelope calls or texts you, please don’t answer her until you’re finished.

Thank you in advance.

Lawrence.

I SMILED, immediately disregarding his request.

SUBJECT: Fwd: No Penelope Today. Whatsoever.

If you need me, email me at my alternate account.

As you can see, Lawrence doesn’t want me to talk to you today.

Start a new thread and send it to my second phone.

Tell me what you’re up to …

—HH

SUBJECT: Simon (Does Lawrence hate me?)

I’m currently waiting for a bird signal from you know who.

He still hasn’t called or texted because he doesn’t have my number. O_o

I’m also watching two new clients bust their ass on the ice. One of them just turned to me and said, “What the hell would you know about completing a double lutz?” UGH.

—Pen

P.S.—I opened your letter list this morning … You honestly want me to help you with all 1000? How the hell have you pissed off this many people???

SUBJECT: Re: Simon (Does Lawrence hate Me?)

It’s been five days, Pen.

FIVE. DAYS.

Be patient and do something else with your time. Have you picked out what you’re wearing to his party yet? (He’ll find you sooner or later)

—HH

P.S.—2000* letters. I was a very bad boy when we weren’t talking apparently *smile emoji*

P.S.S—Lawrence does hate you, but he hates everyone else, too.

SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Simon (Does Lawrence hate me?)

I looked Simon up and found out that he made the Forbes 500 List last year. He’s listed at #301.

Impressive as hell, right?

Tatiana offered to let me borrow one of her designer dresses. (I told you that her mom was a former supermodel, right?)

(It’s midnight, so that means it’s been five and a half days now. The party is in three days!)

—Pen

SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Simon (Does Lawrence hate me?)

I guess that’s “impressive as hell,” if your best friend wasn’t already listed at #1 …

(He will, Pen. Trust me. Have I ever been wrong?)

—HH

SIX (B)

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

There was a first time for everything.

Day six.

No call. No email. No trail of magical breadcrumbs that Simon followed to find his way to me.

Utterly impatient, I continued my sleuthing online and found his firm and tons of articles about his hedge fund.

On his website, there was no direct way to contact him if I wanted to. The email addresses listed all went to various assistants, and the phone numbers were 1-800 numbers that made it perfectly clear that they were for “Client Access Only.”

Refreshing my phone screen for the thousandth time, I leaned back against the seat in one of Hayden’s town cars.

“Hey there.” The driver’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror. “Everything okay, Miss Penelope?”

“I’m fine, Chance,” I said. “Just waiting for something that hasn’t happened yet.”

“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure that you can tell your best friend and he’ll buy it within seconds.”

I forced a smile and refreshed my screen again.

As we rounded the block to my brownstone, my phone rang with an unknown number.

“Simon?” I answered without the slightest bit of grace.

“Who the hell is Simon?” Travis’s voice was on the other line.

Ugh. “No one I’ll ever tell you about.”

“Good.” He laughed. “I don’t want to hear about him until he proposes. This is my new business phone, by the way. Save the number.”

“I’m doing quite fine, Travis,” I said, hating that he had no phone etiquette whatsoever. “Thank you so much for asking. How are you?”

“Great, and good to know that you’re fine. You know I’ve never been good at small talk.”

You’re not good at communication in general. “My birthday is coming up soon.”

“I know that. I already asked Hayden for advice on what to get you.” There was a smile in his voice. “I’ll call you back later this week to spoil it, just in case you want something else. Love you, Crown.”

I laughed. “Love you, too.”

I ended the call and waited for the car to pull the curb before stepping out. Rummaging through my purse for my keys, I overheard a series of honking cars and screams.

“What in the hell?” “Are you serious?” “What the hell are you doing?”

“Hey! Hey! Penelope?”

I turned around and saw Simon rushing across the street in a suit. He was dodging taxis, ignoring the way they were flipping him off.

“I was hoping that was you,” he said, smiling. “I think I’ve tracked down every Penelope Carter in this city.”

I blushed as he moved closer. “You’ve really been trying to track me down?”

“Yeah. Is there a reason you haven’t called?” he asked. “Was I misreading our conversation at the airport?”

“No, I—” I tried to think of a non-Hayden reason. “I lost your napkin in baggage claim.”

“Okay, well …” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to make sure that doesn’t happen again. Can I have your phone number?”

I nodded, reciting it and feeling it buzz against my pocket seconds later.

“I was hoping you’d still be able to come to my party this weekend,” he said. “Is that possible?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “Where is it?”

“Pier sixty-two. It’s on a super-yacht.”

“You rented one of those for a party?”

“No, I own one of those.” He smiled. “It starts at seven, but people won’t start getting there until eight. Myself included.”

“In college, you were always an hour early.”

“That was before people started asking me for money.” He laughed. “Now I’m purposely late so they don’t get the chance.” He stepped closer. “They’re also a bit more hesitant to get closer if they see that I have a date.”

I blushed again.

“I should’ve asked you out in college,” he said. “I shouldn’t have been subtle back then, and I won’t make the same mistake twice. I’d really love to see you this weekend.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good.”

“Hey, asshole!” A gruff voice shouted from across the street. “How long do you plan on holding up traffic with your lover boy bullshit?”

“Yeah!” Someone else shouted. “I hope she’s giving it up to you if you’re willing to act like you own this damn street!”

“I guess I should move my car now.” He stepped back, laughing. “See you this weekend, Penelope.”

“See you this weekend.”

I watched him slip behind the wheel of a bright red, candy-coated Ferrari. I waited for him to disappear down the block before rushing inside my place.

The moment I entered the living room, I was slapped in the face with something soft yet itchy.

What the hell?

I stepped back, realizing that it was a silk shirt with sequins on its sleeve, and it was hanging from a wardrobe rack full of other silk shirts.

Stepping around it, I saw more racks lined up in the dining room, then black and white boxes that were stacked high near the windows.

Versace. Fendi. Christian Louboutin.

“Hey there!” Tatiana tiptoed around a tower of Prada boxes. “I’ve been waiting for you to get home.”

“Were you waiting to brag about a shopping spree?”

“Ha! Please.” She picked up an envelope and handed it to me. “Your best friend did all the shopping apparently.”

I tore it open and read the card.

Penelope,

I think it’s way past time for you to have a wardrobe that you don’t have to rent.

Don’t try to pay me back, and don’t you dare ask how much this costs.

Just accept it.

Let me know what you pick for the party.

You’re welcome.

Hayden

P.S.—Wear your hair down.

P.S.S.—Don’t wear panties. Trust me.

SEVEN

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

Saturday

The second I stepped aboard the pristine white yacht, I felt out of place. My red dress—with its deep cut that revealed my cleavage and high thigh slit, stood out against everyone else’s toned down black and blue formal wear.

Shit.

I debated running back to the town car and begging the driver to take me home to change into something else.

Before I could think that through, the security guard motioned for me to step forward.

“Next in line, please,” he said, his eyes glued to a tablet. “Name and affiliation to Mr. Gaines?”

“Um…” I forced a smile as I moved closer. “Is there a coat check in there? You think I can borrow someone’s jacket?”

“Your name and—” He looked up from his pad, his gaze traveling up and down my dress. “I think you’re at the wrong party, Miss. This ain’t a Hollywood premiere.”

“Thank you.” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Penelope Carter.”

He crossed his arms, still staring at me. “The private party for the Hollywood models is on Pier fifty-seven. Would you like me to have someone escort you there?”

“I’m not a guest at the celebrity party. I’m here to see Simon Gaines.” I folded my arms. “We went to college together.”

He took another look at me before returning his attention to his tablet. He tapped the screen a few times and his eyes widened.

“Forgive me for not realizing that you were Mr. Gaines’ date. Please follow me.” He ushered me onto a small elevator and hit the “S” button. “Mr. Gaines is in the gallery room. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you.”

The doors glided shut and I took several deep breaths as the car rose to the third floor. When I stepped out, I found myself in a sea of more drab-blue and black suits, but there were pops of color with other dresses here or there.

Still, none of them were as revealing as mine.

Weaving through the crowd, I followed the signs for ‘Gallery’ and stopped once I saw Simon surrounded by a small crowd.

Looking sexy in an all-black tuxedo, he smiled and pointed to a vase.

“I have no idea why I let my advisor talk me into buying this thing,” he said. “It’s supposedly an Egyptian artifact, but I will happily sell it at no profit, if any of you are interested.”

“How much?” Someone asked.

“Four million.” He picked it up. “Any takers?”

Everyone laughed, shaking their heads.

“What about taking my advisor as part of the deal, then?” He joked. “His stock market advice is way better, I promise.”

Laughter filled the room again.

“Excuse me.” A brunette brushed against me. Hard. “I hope you’re not looking to land anyone here while wearing that.” She sucked her teeth and walked past me.

As Simon picked up a different vase, I took several steps backward. I bumped into a few other people on my way to the bathroom, and then I locked myself inside.

I stared at my reflection, swallowing. I wondered if I could have Tatiana bring me a more suitable and boring dress within the hour.

A knock sounded at the door as I pulled out my phone.

“Someone’s in here!” I called out. “Give me a minute.”

The door opened anyway.

“I just said that someone is in here.”

“I heard you loud and clear.” Hayden stepped inside, glass of wine in hand. “I decided to stop by to see if you were taking my advice.”

“I have a cell phone.”

“You didn’t answer any of my texts,” he said. “You also didn’t call me last night.”

“I did. It went to voicemail.”

“I was genuinely worried that you’d pick the wrong dress.”

“Did I?”

“Not at all.” He looked me up and down. “You did confirm that you still have no idea how to say, thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome.”

He laughed. “Why did I know that you’d be in here, far away from the party?”

“Because you’re a stalker who somehow snuck onto the guest list.”

“I own the pier.” He sipped the last of his drink and set it down. “I’m on every guest list.”

“Of course.” I let out a sigh. “People keep staring at me.”

“Because you look sexy as hell,” he said. “Despite the fact that you’re not taking my advice like you promised.”

“How? I did every single thing you said.”

“Almost everything.” He placed his hands on my shoulders and spun me around to face the mirror.

In the reflection, his eyes met mine and I couldn’t help but inhale the sexy scent of his cologne.

He traced his finger against the back of my neck, running his fingers against the pair of black and white swans that were tattooed on my skin. Then he stopped at the line of cursive Latin underneath.

“I’ve never noticed this quote part of your tattoo before,” he said, his voice low. “I thought it was just a straight line.”

“It was, before I changed it.”

“When was that?”

“During our Cold War …”

“Hmmm.” He rubbed his finger against it again, keeping his gaze on mine. “I feel like I’m learning one too many new things about you that I should already know. Anything else you want to reveal?”

“I once bought a voodoo doll that bore your likeness when we weren’t talking,” I said. “It had blue eyes and everything.”

“Oh?” He smirked. “How many times did you stab it with the pin?

“Thousands. I wished that you would fail at life with every prick at it.”

“I’m sorry to inform you that it didn’t work.”

“Clearly.” I smiled.

“Anyway—” He cleared his throat. “This is the first bit of my advice that you didn’t follow.”

He grabbed the glittering clip from my up-do and pulled it out, forcing the curls to fall to my shoulders. “I told you to wear your hair down. You look sexier this way.”

“Tatiana thought it looked better up.”

“Tatiana isn’t a guy you’re trying to get, and from what you’ve told me, she’s been single for years.” His lips curved into a slow, sexy smile. “You need to take everything she suggests with a garage full of salt.”

“You mean grain of salt?”

“No.” He ran his fingers through my hair, making sure all the curls were down. “I mean, she spends every night watching Sailor Moon marathons and playing with crystal wand toys, so it’s a whole fucking garage full.”

I held back a laugh. “Fine.”

Sliding his hand around to my necklace, he gently adjusted the silver skate charm that hung between my breasts.

“I also told you not to wear panties.” His eyes met mine in the glass again. “Why are you wearing them?”

“I’m not.” My cheeks flushed red. “I’m not wearing any.”

“You can’t lie to me, Pen …” He slid a hand under the slit of my dress, setting my skin on fire as his palm grazed my thigh. He slowly looped his fingers under the band of my lace thong, and yanked it off in one smooth motion. Then he stuffed it into his pocket.

“Much better.” He smiled. “Don’t you agree?”

“I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Believe it.” He looked at his watch. “You only have a few hours left before people start hogging him for photographs and favors. I highly suggest that you walk out of here with me. You can also say, ‘Thank you for your much-needed help’ at any point.”

“Thank you for stealing my panties.”

“You’re very welcome.” He laughed and walked over to the door, holding it open for me. He started to walk away, but then he turned around.

“I don’t think that I can trust you to do this right,” he said. “I think it’s better if I make him come to you.”

Huh? Before I could ask him what that meant, he pushed me against a window. “How close are we, Penelope?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a simple question.” He lowered his voice, looking into my eyes. “How close are we?”

Too close. “Pretty close.”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“Twenty.”

“I agree.” He tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear. “So, I need you to tell me something. What did you think of my dick?”

WHAT? “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You heard me,” he said. “I want to know what you thought when you saw my pictures.”

“Hayden Christopher Hunter.”

“Penelope Nicole Carter.” He mocked me. “Glad we’ve established our full names.”

“I’m saying your full name so that you can come to your senses.”

“I’m fine.” He smiled. “I’m asking you a simple question.”

“A very inappropriate question.”

“How?” He ran his fingers through my hair. “If your nudes ever leaked, I would give you my honest opinion. I wouldn’t even wait for you to ask.”

“That would never happen to me because unlike you—”

“You’re deflecting.” He cut me off. “Stay on the topic of my dick.”

“Fine.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I thought that you were very well-endowed. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

“How the hell is this line of questioning supposed to help me get Simon’s attention?”

“Because no man wants a woman that another guy isn’t into, and if the so-called Untamed Playboy of Manhattan is making you blush in a corner, I think that speaks volumes. Don’t you?”

“No.”

“I do.” He laughed and stepped back, looking over his shoulder. “Don’t stay too long and don’t drink too much. You’re welcome.”

He walked away without another word, and Simon was suddenly strolling toward me.

“Wow.” He grabbed my hand and brought it to his lips. He didn’t say a word for several seconds; he just looked me up and down. “You look stunning, Penelope. Thank you so much for coming. I was beginning to think you were standing me up.”

“Not at all.” I blushed.

“Was that Hayden Hunter that you were talking to?”

“Yeah, but—Wait. How do you know who he is?’

“He’s on the cover of GQ this month, and I have a subscription.” He smiled. “He’s also the CEO of Cinder and pretty famous, I believe.”

“Right, well—I, he,” I stuttered, feeling butterflies flutter as he pressed his hand against the small of my back. “He’s my brother’s best friend. I mean, he’s more like my best friend, but—”

“Is he my competition?” He interrupted, gazing at my lips. “Should I be worried that he wants you, too?”

What? My cheeks heated all over again. “No, not at all. Hayden is like an older brother to me.”

“Good,” he said. “I’d hate to watch him lose if the alternative was true. Are you available for dinner with me afterwards?”

I bit my tongue before I could blurt out “Hell yes.” “No, I can’t stay past the party.”

“How unfortunate.” He grabbed two glasses from a passing waiter’s tray. “In that case, let’s go to the top of the ship and make the most of the time you have.”

THE YACHT SET sail around the river and I leaned against the railing as Simon grabbed the railing on both sides of me.

The years that we’d spent apart collapsed into an hours-long conversation, and I felt as if we were back in his old dorm room all over again. His lips brushed against mine a few times, but he never let them linger for more than a few seconds, and he never took his eyes off of mine.

Before I knew it, I broke both of Hayden’s suggestions without even trying.

SEVEN (B)

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

“I could’ve sworn that I told you we had a deposition prep session today.” Lawrence glared at me the moment I stepped inside my condo.

“Breaking and entering is a crime, Lawrence.”

“I had to sit there and make small talk with two of the biggest assholes in this city for an entire hour. Not only that, but they blinded-sided me with tons of things that are going to hit the papers tomorrow. We couldn’t get in front of that if we tried, but I’ve called some staff to work the next seventy-two hours straight, so we can clean up as much as we can.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” He looked surprised that I’d uttered those words. “Okay, well uh, speaking of ‘sorry’ how many apology letters have you finished?”

“One.”

“To who?”

“You.” I picked it up from my coffee table and handed it to him, but he didn’t make a move to read it.

Instead, he tucked it into his pocket. “The best apology is changed behavior, Hayden. That’s all I’ll ever want from you. Plus my paycheck and yearly bonus, of course.”

“Of course.”

“What were you doing instead?”

Realizing how fucking sexy Penelope is. “I stopped by Pier sixty-two to clear my mind.”

“In that case, your apology letter is officially worthless.”

“It’s true.” I smiled. “I needed to make sure I enjoyed my last day of freedom before I get into what looks like a never-ending apology tour.”

He didn’t look like he believed me in the slightest. He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen, then he hit the speaker button as rings filled the room.

“This is Sarah, how can I—” She paused. “Oh, it’s you, Lawrence. What do you need?”

“Can you tell me where Mr. Hunter spent his afternoon?”

“He was clearing his mind.”

“Don’t make me ask you again.”

“He was at a yacht party.” She betrayed me in seconds. “It was for Penelope and some guy she’s dating, but he made me promise not to say anything or bring up any meetings because he didn’t want to deal with that and was more worried about Penelope messing things up.” She finally took a breath. “You’re not going to tell him I told you this, are you?”

“I would never.” He ended the call and narrowed his eyes at me. “I want fifty letters in my inbox by the end of this weekend, and I want thirty Monday morning, and every morning after that. We can’t have an entire team working to repair your image if you’re only halfway in. Are we clear, son?”

“Crystal.”

“Good.” He headed toward the door, but then he looked over his shoulder. “Did Penelope mess things up?”

“Not at all.”

He left my condo, and I walked into the kitchen. I needed a stiff drink.

I hadn’t meant to show up to the yacht party at all, but I’d remembered a time in the past when she avoided the guy she wanted all night by overthinking too much in the bathroom. When she didn’t respond to any of my text messages about making her move, I felt like I had no choice but to show up.

And I fucking regretted it.

The moment I saw her in that red dress, I envisioned her legs wrapped around my waist. My hands grabbing fistfuls of her chestnut colored hair as she took me deeper and deeper.

It wasn’t until I silently chided myself with, “Stop. She’s your best friend and Travis’s little sister,” that I snapped back into reality.

Curious, I pulled out my phone to see if she’d texted me back about enjoying the party.

Still nothing.

My “Are you having fun yet?” and “Do you need a ride home?” messages weren’t even read yet.

Just as I was about to call her, there was a loud knock on my door.

Confused as to why security didn’t call me with an alert first, I walked over and stared through the peephole. Penelope was in some guy’s arms looking like a dead fish. Her tell-tale drunk face.

What the hell?

I opened it and the suit came better into view.

The Simon guy from the party.

“Um, hey,” he said. “Mind if I uh, put her down in your place? She said—”

“I told him to bring me here.” Penelope smiled. “There was too much traffic and Tati isn’t answering her phone.”

I held the door open. “White sofa by the window.”

He carried her over and gently laid her down. Then he turned around and extended his hand to me.

“Simon Gaines.”

“Hayden Hunter.”

“I’m a big fan of yours,” he said. “I truly admire your hustle.”

“Noted.” I nodded. I wasn’t used to being friendly—let alone meeting any guy of Penelope’s this early in the game; I didn’t want to encourage him to stay in my place too long either.

“Why do you keep your condo so cold?” Penelope groaned. “Can you bring me a blanket?”

I ignored her question like she ignored my instructions.

“How much did she drink tonight?” I asked Simon.

“We shared three bottles of champagne.”

Of course. “For future reference, stick to wine. She can’t handle champagne.”

“I’ll remember that.”

She let out a soft sigh and tried, then failed to roll over. “I think I need some water. Can you get me that with the blanket?”

“I can get it from your kitchen,” Simon said.

“I’ll handle it,” I said. “You can go now.”

“Are you sure? I mean—”

I raised my eyebrow. “You mean, what?”

“I feel kind of responsible for this, so I can stay.”

“Or, you can go.”

He looked tempted to fight me on this, but he simply cleared his throat.

“I never noticed how stunning all of the details in your ceiling are, Hayden.” Penelope said. “What color is that? Taupe? Butterscotch beige?”

Simon smiled and moved closer to her. He took off his jacket and placed it over her chest. Then he whispered, “Call me when you’re sober. If I don’t call you first.”

He leaned in as if he was about to kiss her, but I cleared my throat.

“Nice to meet you, Hayden.” He stepped back. “Hopefully next time it’ll be under sober circumstances.”

“Hopefully.”

He walked to the door and I waited until I heard the ping of the elevators before looking at Penelope.

Even drunk, she was stunning as hell.

“Didn’t I tell you not to get drunk?” I asked.

“Stop yelling at me.”

“The only one yelling is you.”

“I can see you judging me.”

“Trust me, I haven’t begun to judge you,” I said. “I’ll do that when you’re sober, though. Once again, did you miss the part where I specifically told you not to drink too much?”

“The yacht was so beautiful.” She sat up and smiled. “Simon took me on a private tour of it and showed me all these hidden rooms.”

“So, you’re blatantly ignoring my question?”

“We danced on the balcony under Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York, New York.’ I felt like I was living in one of those nineties rom coms.”

“Okay, then.” I propped her feet on a pillow and slid the stilettos off her feet.

“At one point, I felt like it was only the two of us aboard.”

“Lay your head back on the armrest, please.”

“At one point, I think he was trying to kiss me, but I wasn’t sure if I was reading him right, so I just grabbed another glass of champagne and drank it down.”

I adjusted the pillows behind her head as she continued to ramble. She talked about the silverware that bore Simon’s initials, the way the waters sloshed against the ship, and a second, third, and fourth verbatim recap about how they danced to Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York, New York’ like it was a ‘nineties rom-com.’

As I was pushing a few stray hairs off her forehead, she pressed her hand against my belt buckle and looked directly into my eyes.

I raised my eyebrow.

“Is it bad that I was thinking about your cock for an entire hour after you left?”

“I’m getting you a blanket,” I said. “You can tell me about the rest of your night later.”

“I thought about putting it in my mouth, if it would even fit, or if my eyes would water if I took it all the way down my throat.”

“Penelope …” My cock hardened in my pants. “I need you to stop talking.”

“You wanted my honest opinion about your pictures, right?”

“Not at this moment.”

“I’ve always thought that you were the sexiest man I’ve ever seen—even when I hated you,” she said. “Even when I thought your cockiness was simply you over-compensating for having a small penis.” Her gaze moved down to my pants. “You clearly weren’t.”

I gently pushed her hand away and walked down the hall. I opened the closet and pulled out a blanket, vowing to forget her drunken rambling.

When I returned, she was smiling—looking as if she was waiting to finish her thoughts.

“I swear, the thought of sleeping with you never crossed my mind until I saw your pictures,” she said. “Why didn’t you ever go into porn?”

“I’m officially done talking to you for the night.” I covered her with the blanket. “Please stop.”

“I don’t think I would ever say those two words to you if we were having sex.”

“Penelope fucking Carter …” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Stop talking.”

She laughed and rolled over to face the windows. “Thank you for the advice so far on Simon. You’re the best, Hayden. You always have been, and you’ve always been there for me.”

She started snoring seconds later, and I hit the lights and headed to my bathroom.

I needed a cold shower.

Stat.

BREAK UP #7

THE ONE THAT MADE ORIGAMI

Penelope

Back Then

Sochi, Russia

“What do you mean, you can’t be there for me?” I stare at Travis’s face on my laptop—hoping that this is some type of sick joke. “I’m about to skate in the effin’ Olympics. Tomorrow.”

“I know, but I was there when you skated in other competitions,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll win gold. You haven’t placed anything less than first all year.”

“Travis…” Tears well in my eyes. “If you’re playing a joke, now would be the time to say the punchline.”

“Listen to me, Crown.” He moves his head closer to the screen. “I got a call from Gatorade earlier this week, with a six-figure sponsorship offer,” he says. ‘They said the deal was mine if I made it to their headquarters and signed off on everything ASAP. Six figures, Crown. Isn’t that amazing?”

I say nothing.

I’m having a sudden bout of déjà vu from when he missed The Grand Prix in Chicago because of a last-minute match opportunity. Or, maybe it’s from when he missed the invitational in Los Angeles, when he couldn’t bear to miss a meeting with the UFC commissioner because he “Had to make it clear that he’s in this sport for the long haul.”

It doesn’t matter that I’ve given up sleep to stay up late to watch all of his matches, that I’ve skipped weekend’s worth of practices to ride along with Hayden to attend his press conferences. His career is taking off, and since he’s actually making money, his sport is the only one that matters.

“I just have to make sure that I beat Marquez on the fifteenth.” His voice interrupts my thoughts. “I’m sure that more sponsors will come knocking at my door after that one.” He smiles as if he’s not stomping all over my heart. “Gatorade is only the beginning for us, Crown.”

Us? “I’m sure Gatorade would’ve understood you wanting to be there for your younger sister.”

“I am there for you.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Last time I checked, I’m the one who buys you and your coach’s plane tickets to wherever you need to be. I’m also paying for you to have the best physical therapy in the country, and the sponsorships you’re getting—Oh, wait. Yours aren’t at the same level, so someone else needs to take care of you.”

“You promised Travis.”

“No, I considered.” He lies. “And I’m done talking about this right now. I need you to suck this shit up. I’m doing the best I can, and if me not being there in the crowd affects your performance, then maybe—”

I hang up in his face and shut my laptop, preventing him from calling me back with an “I’m sorry, Crown. You know I’m more logical than emotional. I’m so sorry…”

I don’t want to hear his apology this time; I need to talk to someone who actually gives a damn.

Jackson…

I’m grateful that my boyfriend is here. He’s competing as a freestyle skier, and he’s the first boyfriend who has completely understood how much dedication it takes to make it.

Even though I have an “advised team curfew,” I’ve snuck out every night to chat with him in the hot tub for a few hours.

Getting out of bed, I pull on my boots and put on a coat. I walk over to the origami display he’d delivered last night—a tower of pink roses and white swans, with hidden messages between their folds.

I pick up a rose-colored one that reads, “I know we’re here to focus on competing, but I’m always here for you. I’ll drop everything and listen.”

Opening the door, I look both ways and head to the elevator.

“Well, look who it is,” The devil reincarnate, i.e., Tatiana Brave, steps in front of me.

I roll my eyes and hit the down button.

“Curfew starts in fifteen minutes,” she says. “It’d be a shame if I had to tell the team ambassador that my fellow American is sneaking out to see her boyfriend. With both of us scoring so high, I imagine you’ll need all the extra rest you can get.”

“If you want to snitch on me, go ahead and snitch,” I say. “It won’t make one bit of a difference.”

“Want to bet?”

“Absolutely.” I shrug. “It’s a shame you flew all this way for chance at silver or bronze. We both know there’s not a chance in hell you’ll win gold over me, but I love how you get your hopes up. It’s cute.”

“You’re a bitch.”

“You’re a bigger one.”

She storms away without another word and the doors glide shut.

When I make it downstairs to the lobby, I walk out of the doors and across the campus toward the hot tubs.

Rock music is blaring from the speakers, and I easily recognize the hard metal from Jackson’s playlist.

I walk to the towel stand, but then I notice that Jackson isn’t here alone. He’s with another guy in the hot tub and they’re kissing each other like no one is watching.

I stare at them as Jackson pulls the guy into his lap, as their tongues collide, and it’s not until the song ends that Jackson happens to look over at me.

“Oh, shit.” Jackson’s eyes widen. “Penelope, stay right there. I can explain.”

“Don’t bother.” I turn away and rush back to my hotel.

When I make it back to my room, I flop onto the bed. I try not to cry, but it’s no use.

I turn on the TV and flip to a dubbed version of When Harry Met Sally.

In the middle of the meet cute, a knock sounds at my door.

“We’re over, Jackson!” I call out, walking over to it. “I don’t even care that you’re gay. It’s the lies and the—”

I stop talking at the sight of Hayden standing in the hallway.

“So, your boyfriend was gay like I told you he was?” He smiles.

“No.” I avoid his eyes. “No, he was not. I was saying the lines of a TV show aloud.”

He glances behind me. “There’s a commercial on right now.”

My cheeks redden and I struggle to find the words to say. It’s been three days since we last spoke, and he’s supposed to be pitching his dating app to people in California.

“Why aren’t you in L.A.?” I change the subject. “I was planning to stay up for five more hours to call you.”

“Since I know that you’re not going to admit that I was right anytime soon…” He opens his backpack and pulls out a roll of chocolate chip cookie dough and a plastic pink spoon. “I fucking told you so.”

Before I can slam the door in his face, he pulls me close for a hug.

“Thanks for not rubbing it in.” I smile.

“I’m still planning to rub it in,” he says. “I just want to give you a few more hours before I officially start.”

“Did you really book a twelve-hour flight just to laugh at me?”

“Of course not.”

“You’re smiling, Hayden.”

“Am I? I’m not trying to.” His dimples deepen. “I don’t see anything funny about this situation at all. I mean, I did tell you that your boyfriend spent more time asking about me than you, but what do I know?”

“Is that a man out in the hallway?” My coach calls out from around the corner. “Who is that?”

I pull Hayden into the room and shut the door.

“So, you woke up this morning and randomly decided to fly to Sochi?”

“No,” he says. “But once Travis told me that he wasn’t coming, I didn’t think you should be alone. I booked a suite at the hotel across the street.”

I smile. “Thank you for coming and being here for me.”

“It’s what friends do.” He shrugs. “Besides, I’ll expect something in return down the line.”

“I should’ve known.”

“I got you this,” he says, pulling a blue box from his pocket. “Saw this in L.A. and figured you might appreciate it.”

I flipped the box open, staring at the charm of entwined skates that hung on a silver necklace.

The letters WWHS are engraved on the front.

“WWHS?” I ask. “What does that mean?”

“It means you can cut down on calling me with so many questions because you can just ask yourself, ‘What would Hayden say?’” He motions for me to flip it over. “And then, once you disregard that advice and fail, you can get a head start on hearing me say, I told you so.”

“Thank you for officially giving me the worst gift I’ve ever received.”

“You’re welcome.” He motions for me to turn around so he can clasp it around my neck. Then his eyes meet mine in the mirror.

“You’re all that Travis talks about,” he says. “He really measures every move he makes with you in mind, and I think you should cut him some slack. He lost his parents, too.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Good.” He walks over to the tower and picks up one of the swans, reading the words aloud. “Sometimes I feel torn with myself over liking a beautiful woman as you. Someone who is so close to him. I really like you and I appreciate how you bring him around. Always.”

“Seriously, Penelope?” He shakes his head. “How the hell could you not see that he was gay after reading this shit?”

EIGHT

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

I woke up in Hayden’s guest suite with a throbbing headache and a dry throat. The memories from last night were tumbling through my mind in an embarrassing rose hue that matched the champagne I abused.

An image of Simon helping me into a black car and carrying me past Hayden’s security guards kept playing on a loop. And I desperately wanted to believe that him seeing me drunk out of my mind was a dream and not a memory.

I can’t believe I drank that much.

“Ugh, why.” I groaned and rolled over to look out the window. The sky was still dark, and the sun had yet to peak over The Triborough Bridge.

On the nightstand next to me lay two bottles of chilled orange juice, aspirin, and handwritten note.

Working on the apology letters all day today.

Join me when you wake up—because we have a deal.

(Only if you’re 100% sober)

—Hayden

I tossed off the covers and unzipped my dress, letting the silk hit the floor.

After taking a long shower, I rummaged through the drawer that I kept at his place. Pulling on a pair of leggings and a Team USA sweatshirt, I followed the scent of freshly brewed coffee to the kitchen.

Surrounded by printed sheets and envelopes, Hayden was sipping from a cup at the breakfast bar.

“Hey.” I cleared my throat, and he looked up at me.

“Hey. Are you sober yet?”

“If I say no, can I sleep in for the rest of the day?”

“No.” He motioned for me to take a seat next to him. Then he slid a stack of cards toward me. “I finished these already. I just need you to look over them.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t take all of your advice last night.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “You typically do that in the beginning with all your boyfriends, so I would’ve been surprised if you’d done otherwise.”

“Did I say anything embarrassing while he was here?”

“Embarrassing? No.” His lips curved into a smirk. “Highly inappropriate? Yes.”

“What the hell did I say?”

“Nothing he’ll ever know.”

“Do you think he’ll ever call since I got smashed on our first date?”

“He didn’t seem to be put off by it when he tried to kiss you.”

“Well, good.” I let out a breath. “What did you think of him? Honestly.”

“He needs to hire a better tailor.”

“I’m serious, Hayden.” I punched his shoulder.

“We didn’t talk much, but he seems decent.”

“Great. I need to ask you about a few things he mentioned while we were—”

“I don’t think so.” He pressed a finger against my lips, and my heart skipped a beat at his touch.

The alcohol must be coursing through my veins still.

“We’re talking about my letters for the next few hours.” He looked into my eyes. “And then I’ll let you waste my time by talking about Prince Charming. Deal?”

“Deal.”

EIGHT (B)

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

A few hours later, I circled a typo and looked up at Hayden.

“So, you trashed a penthouse suite at Marriott when we weren’t talking … So badly that the manager had to replace everything except the drapes?” I made sure I was reading his “Reasons I Need to Apologize” list correctly. “Why would you do something like that?”

“It’s a long story.” He handed me a check. “Put this in there before you seal it.”

“Will do. You know, I think it may be best if I just write a set of templates that you can adjust so you won’t have to spend so much time coming up with new things to say.”

“If two people get the same letter, they’ll get even more upset than they already are.”

“I’ll set it up so the words won’t repeat.” I opened my laptop. “I learned how to do this in a motivational speaking class. Trust me.”

“As long as Lawrence never finds out.”

“He won’t.”

Before I could start a fresh pot of coffee, my phone sounded with a new call. Simon.

I stared at the screen as it buzzed against the table. “Should I answer it?”

“Depends.” He crossed his arms. “Will you promise to accept my suggestion?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He picked up my phone and tossed it onto the couch. “No. You don’t answer the phone the first time he calls you. You can answer it if he calls you a second time, though.”

“Why wouldn’t he just wait for me to call him back?”

He shot me a pointed look.

“Fine.” I held up my hands in a surrender. “I won’t pick up unless he calls a second time.”

“Good girl.” He pointed to his list. “Back to work.”

I crafted forty different templates, and downed an entire pot of coffee over the next couple of hours. I didn’t look at my phone or dare to pick it up—even when Hayden disappeared a few times to take phone calls.

It wasn’t until Sarah arrived with lunch that my impatience nearly got the best of me.

“Simon Gaines is a pretty hot guy,” she said, handing me a covered tray. “But you know, you can’t have two hot guys swooning all over you at the same time. It’s really unfair, now that I think about it. You’re pretty, but you’re not that pretty.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Sarah?”

“Nothing.” She smiled. “I’m just enjoying how I get to spend my weekend getting a custom lunch order for my boss and his best friend. It’s not like I have a life of my own.”

“You can have the rest of the day off.” Hayden looked up at her. “Thank you for complaining about your easy-ass job as always.”

“My pleasure, Mr. Hunter.” She rushed out of the room.

“You really need to fire her,” “I really need to fire her,” we said in unison, laughing.

As I was picking up a fork, my phone buzzed against the sofa.

Without thinking, I stood up and rushed over to see who it was. Simon, again.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hey there, gorgeous.” There was a smile in his voice. “Are you still recovering from your hangover?”

“Maybe.”

He laughed. “Well, in that case, I’m calling to beg you for a second date.”

“Really?” Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “When?”

“Tomorrow, if you can,” he said. “I’m hosting a second welcome party in the Hamptons. Would you be able to make it?”

“Um …” I looked over at Hayden. “Hold on a second, let me check something.”

“Sure.”

I made sure to hit the mute button. “He wants to take me on a second date in the Hamptons tomorrow. What should I say?”

“That normal people have jobs and can’t party with their blast from the past every night.”

“You know that’s super hypocritical coming from you, Mr. Untamed Playboy of Manhattan, right?”

He leaned back in his chair and laughed. “You should go with him. Tell him yes.”

I un-muted the call. “Sorry about that. I can come.”

“Great. I’d offer to pick you up, but I already promised my guys I would drive. Can I arrange for a town car to pick you up instead?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll have Hayden bring me.”

“Hmmm.” He paused. “Okay, then. I’ll text you the address and start time.”

“I had a great time with you on the yacht,” I said, hoping that his “Hmmm” wasn’t bound to lead down a familiar road I didn’t want to travel.

“Me too,” he said. “Although, I have to warn you. Once word gets out that my firm is completely here, you may see a few photogs trailing us here or there. I mean, if you’re still going out on dates with me, that is.”

“They won’t bother me at all.” I bit my tongue before I said, ‘I’m used to photogs with Hayden.’ “Trust me.”

“Tell me why your last relationship didn’t work,” he said suddenly, catching me off guard.

“What?”

“Your last relationship,” he repeated. “I’m curious as to why any sane guy would ever let you go.”

“It’s complicated,” I said, blushing. “It’s also a long story.”

“I have all day.”

I blushed again. “He just wasn’t right for me. We dated six months and he was harboring resentment over something stupid the entire time. Something that he knew about from the beginning.”

“You mean, the fact that your best male friend is a super successful CEO with a bad-boy reputation?”

“Yes.” I smiled. “That.”

“Well, so you know, that doesn’t bother me in the slightest.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Most of my friends fell off once I started getting obsessed with my work, and it was hard to find new ones. I think it’s good to have a loyal friend like that in your life.”

“I think my obsession with skating cost me the chance of making a lot of friends, too. I don’t regret it in the slightest, though.”

“You shouldn’t,” he said. “You accomplished almost everything you wanted from your career, right?”

Just like at the yacht party, one simple question evolved into an hours-long conversation about everything and nothing all at once. I wasn’t second-guessing my answers or putting up boundaries like I usually did when I was pursuing someone new.

It was all natural and easy, smooth and sweet.

I didn’t even care that Hayden ate my lunch and literally lifted me up mid-convo to carry me back into the guest suite so he could focus.

In the middle of Simon telling me about his favorite places to eat in Florida, his assistant interrupted.

“Can I call you back within the hour?” he asked. “This will be quick, I promise.”

“Absolutely.” I ended the call and returned to the kitchen, stopping when I saw Hayden dressed in nothing but a pair of black briefs.

He was standing in front of the stove, letting droplets of water trickle down from his freshly showered hair and onto his perfectly chiseled chest.

“Yes?” He flipped a pancake before looking at me. “Are you finally done talking to Simon about your favorite Disney movies, or is there a part two for that riveting topic of discussion?”

“You were eavesdropping?”

“I walked by to shut the door. You want three or four pancakes?”

“I want you to put some clothes on.”

“In my own damn house?” He smirked. “Three or four?”

“Four. And yes, in your own damn house.”

He laughed and grabbed a pair of sweats from a chair, pulling them on. “Better?”

“Much.” I took out the syrup. “I need a favor.”

“Then you need to write some more letters for me.”

“Can you drive me to the Hamptons tomorrow?” I asked. “Preferably early in the morning so we can beat the traffic?”

He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

“I’ll give you some gas money,” I said.

“A full tank of gas in my Maserati costs two hundred dollars.”

“That’s not your only car.”

“It costs more in the Bugatti. Those are your cheapest options.”

“Can’t you buy a Honda or a Prius between now and then?”

He laughed. “I thought you had a session at the rink tomorrow with that Olympic hopeful.”

“I’ll call to reschedule.” I shrugged. “She’s only looking for feedback.”

“I’ll drive you, but under the condition that you don’t reschedule on her again,” he said. “You hated when your coaches did that to you, and I still have the angry text messages and voicemails to prove it.”

I stared at him, hating that he knew me so damn well. That he was taking me on a well-deserved guilt-trip.

“I’ll ask Tatiana to show up in my place,” I said. “She’s been itching to see good skating for a while.”

“Good idea.” He turned off the stove. “Be ready to leave at four. How much longer before you can get back to the letters?”

“Simon’s calling me within the hour.”

“Okay, well no pancakes for you. Just letters until he calls.” He took a bite of my stack and slid a pen toward me. “You’re welcome.”

NINE

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

The following morning

“Have I ever told you that you’re a terrible driver?” Penelope looked over at me as I steered my Audi through the back streets. “The speed limit is sixty-five and you’ve been going ninety this entire time.”

“If you like, we can switch seats and you can drive.”

“I actually would like that.”

“Tough shit, it was sarcasm.” I laughed and switched lanes. “How long did you and lover-boy stay on the phone last night?”

“Three hours. He’s had his heart broken in some pretty awful ways like me. Want to hear about it?”

“Sure,” I said, with no intent on listening to a single word she said.

I’d thought that working on the letters and chatting about ‘Prince Charming’ would be enough to stop the dirty images that were still flooding my brain from the night before, but I was wrong.

Dead wrong.

To make matters worse, she’d decided to get into my car wearing nothing but a bright red bikini top and light jean shorts that might as well have been panties.

I was playing my best game of restraint with every curve I steered, wondering where the hell my best friend who previously wore oversized T-shirts and jeans to parties had gone. My best friend who didn’t arouse me every time I looked at her …

“What do you think about that?” Her voice interrupted my thoughts. “His fiancé dumped him the day that they were walking through the wedding venue.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“Yeah, it’s really sad.”

“Long-term commitment only leads to disappointment,” I said. “Someone like him should’ve known better.”

“Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess that’s what makes you, you. You’re a good muse for a late-night orgasm in bed, but a terrible template for a boyfriend.”

“You touch yourself while thinking of me?”

“It was an analogy, Hayden.”

“I think there’s a hidden meaning behind it.” I looked over at her as we pulled up to a red light. “You can be honest with me, you know.”

“I honestly think that you’re full of yourself, and if I’d known that you had over a thousand apology letters to write, I would’ve never agreed to helping you.”

“Then you probably would’ve spent the entire yacht party in the bathroom. You’re still welcome for that, by the way.”

She didn’t have a rebuttal for that.

I steered the car around the corner and stomped on the brake once I saw what was ahead.

“What the hell?” Penelope sucked in a breath.

Miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic lay ahead of us—cars full of people with the same idea, killing her initial plan to get there early.

Or on time.

“Should I text Simon and tell him I’ll be three hours late?” She sighed. “I don’t see me getting there any sooner.”

“No,” I said, steering the car out of the lane and making a U-turn. “I’ll park at the garage and we’ll walk to one of my beach rentals. I’ll have Roger fly via helicopter to check on it, and then I’ll get someone else to bring me a different car so I can drive back home.”

“Do you ever stop and realize how ridiculously wealthy you are?”

“I do, but my best friend isn’t the slightest bit impressed.” I smiled. I drove under the underpass that led to a private garage.

Penelope grabbed my baseball cap and sunglasses from the backseat and handed them to me. “Here. I don’t want to risk too many women trying to distract you.”

“The beach on this side is empty.” I motioned for her to follow me across the lane and down to the sand.

We walked in silence for the first half-mile, with nothing but the sound of waves slapping the shore between us.

“You should get laid soon,” she said out of nowhere.

“Excuse me?”

“You haven’t had sex in months and I think it’s affecting you on a deeper level.”

“This coming from a woman who consistently fakes it in bed?”

“My moans are real.”

“Your orgasms aren’t.”

“I’m just saying.” She looked up at me. “You’re a lot more easygoing when you’re getting laid. Speaking of which, does your seven date rule apply for me and Simon since I already know who he is?”

“I think you can fuck him whenever you want,” I said. “However, knowing you, you’ll probably wait until he tells you that he cares about you.”

“If that was the case, I would’ve slept with you a long time ago.”

“Penelope, you and I wouldn’t be compatible in bed.”

“Because your ego would be bruised when you realized I’m faking it?”

“You wouldn’t be faking it with me.”

“I think every guy says that.”

“I think I mean that.” I stopped walking and stared at her.

Then, because I needed a reason to get into the ocean and hide my hard-on, I picked her up and tossed her into an oncoming wave.

“Seriously?” She laughed and screamed, swallowing a mouthful of saltwater.

“You deserved that,” I said. “Any other bad, hot takes you want to share?”

“I think you’re all bark and no bite when it comes to how good you are in bed.”

I pushed her into a wave again and joined her in the water.

As she attacked me with armfuls of heavy splashes, I realized that getting her into this water was a terrible idea.

Her bikini top was thin enough for me to see her nipples through the fabric.

Fuck.

She suddenly kicked a huge splash of water onto my face, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“I’m going to make you regret that.” I picked her up and tossed her over my shoulder with ease. Then I threw her down into the water again and again.

When she finally surrendered, she climbed onto my back.

“You can’t possibly pick me up and throw me into the water this way, Penelope.”

“I’m not trying to.” She wrapped her legs around my waist from behind. Then she pressed her breasts against my back.

“I think I sprained my ankle,” she said. “Can you carry me for a little while?”

Can you promise to stop being so obliviously fucking sexy? “Of course.”

BY THE TIME we made it to my rental house, we were both soaking wet, and my Hamptons’ contact was pulling a car into the driveway for my return trip to New York.

Setting Penelope down near the pool, I handed her a few towels.

“Unless you want to show up to his event drenched, there’s a dryer in the back.”

“I know.” She dabbed her face. “I’ll shower first.”

“If he doesn’t offer to take you home, call me and I’ll come back,” I said. “But then you’ll have to immediately stop talking to him. If he’s truly into you after all this time, he’ll want to spend as much time with you as possible.”

“Noted.” She stepped back, and I tried not to stare too hard at her nipples.

Are they hard?

“Also,” I said, crossing my arms, “just in case he does take you home, and you start penning your fairytale later tonight, do not call me to recap his party.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because whenever we’re on the phone mid-recap, the guy typically guys calls you, Penelope,” I said, heading toward the door. “Let him call you and talk to him first. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Well, thank you for everything. You’re being quite the gentleman today.”

No, I’m showing impressive restraint.

NINE (B)

PRESENT DAY

I shook the sand from my shoes the following morning, smiling as I remembered how sweet Simon was to me yesterday.

Honestly, his second party wasn’t much to write home about. All of his executive buddies drank beers and relaxed on beach chairs while he introduced me to them one by one.

His insistence on the introductions was the type of not-so-subtle approach that Hayden often called the ‘See how hot my girl is?’ move.” It was a silent power play, but it boded well for us since I knew he wasn’t trying to downplay his interest in me while in front of his friends.

Making sure the last of the sand was gone, I put on my shoes and grabbed my bag.

“I’ll be back, Tatiana!” I called out. “I’ll bring you back a muffin!”

“Blueberry, please!”

I opened my front door and found myself face to face with Simon and a beautiful vase filled with red roses.

“Um, hey, Simon.” I blushed.

“Hey, Penelope.” He smiled. “I uh, I hope this doesn’t come off like I’m stalking you or anything, but I was wondering if I could take you out for some coffee? I feel like I spent more time talking about you to my team, than actually talking to you yesterday.”

I was utterly speechless.

“I mean, if you can’t join me, I totally understand. I can ask you out another day.”

“No, I can totally come with you.” I reached for the flowers. “Let me put these in the kitchen, and I’ll be right out.”

“Okay, great.”

I rushed inside and snapped a picture of the flowers. Then I called Hayden.

“Yes, Penelope?” he answered on the first ring.

“Guess who got me flowers?”

“Guess who owes me some apology letters?”

“Prince Charming.” I avoided his sarcasm. “I sent you a picture. What do you think?”

“I think he spent over a hundred dollars on these, so he’s not cheap like The One Who Thought Ramen Noodles Were Italian.”

“I think The One Who Stole Starbucks might have him beat.”

We both laughed.

“He just showed up to my place and asked me out for coffee,” I said. “I agreed before realizing that I didn’t ask you if that was a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” he said. “It’s just coffee. You do have a client in a few hours, so you can’t stay that long anyway.”

“Good point. What are you doing?”

“Watching Lawrence glare at me for answering your call in the middle of an important meeting.”

“How hard is it for you to call Hayden after five in the afternoon, Penelope?” Lawrence called out. “Do I need to buy you a watch? Doesn’t your phone tell time?”

I snorted. “Sorry. I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Wait,” he said. “One quick thing. Since he’s a hedge fund guy, he may be the type that likes emailing and texting all day, so don’t do that with him. At least, not too much.”

“Why not?”

“You need to make him work for you,” he said. “He needs to call and show up in person. Plus, for whatever reason, you and emails don’t tend to do well when it comes to relationships.”

“They work with you.”

“I’m an exception.” He laughed. “Don’t send him an email or get involved in too much texting until you’ve been dating him for a few weeks, okay? Trust me.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.” I ended the call and returned outside to Simon.

“Ready for coffee?” He asked.

“Yep.”

“You know,” he said as we stepped onto the sidewalk, “I wanted to text you before coming over here, but I’m an old school guy at heart, and I don’t like too many digital things in a real relationship. I hope you’re okay with that.”

I smiled. I couldn’t wait to tell Hayden.

“I’m more than okay with that.”

BREAK UP #9

THE ONE THAT SENT AN EMAIL/THE ONE THAT ALMOST GOT ITALIAN DINNER

Penelope

Back Then

Subject: Us

Dear Penelope,

I’ve been thinking A LOT lately, and these past few months with you have been pretty fucking awesome.

I really like your vibe and all, but I don’t think that this long-distance thing will work for me.

You spend more time at practice/on the ice than you do with me, and I don’t think I’m built for all the traveling you do, so yeah …

I don’t want us to be over AT ALL, I’m just asking for some space until you have more time for me.

Good luck at Skate Canada next month.

Ryan

SUBJECT: Fwd: Us

Yo.

You think this was a good enough message to end things with Miss ‘Too Good to Fuck’?

Kind of feel bad since she’s a nice girl, but she was on some bullshit “7 date rule” and didn’t even offer to suck my dick while I waited on her to give me the pussy. (Took her out to eat five times and she didn’t even think about giving me her mouth once.)

If she’d done that, maybe I’d have more of an incentive to stop messing around with Maya.

Let me know if you’re still planning to head to the Alpha Party tonight.

I’m going to Maya’s first.

Ryan

HAYDEN’S LIPS turn up into a smirk as he reads over my ex’s accidental email for the third time in a row. He’s read it in a different accent each time—Russian, British, Italian, as if that somehow softens the impact of the words.

“Okay,” he says, returning my phone. “I think that’s enough. There’s only thing left for me to say about this breakup.”

“Don’t you dare say it, Hayden.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Keep that shitty-ass line of commentary to yourself.”

“Why?” He smiles. “He’s been calling your relationship ‘long-distance’ when you live thirty minutes away from each other. That was a red-flag from day one.”

“I still don’t want to hear you say it. Not right now.”

“Okay, well—” He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “I won’t dare hurt your feelings any further by saying, I fucking told you so.”

“Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “Thanks for being so mature.”

“You’re welcome. For the record, the next time a guy tells you that he needs space, he’s just trying to be gentle about breaking up with you.”

“Noted.” I look outside the window, wondering if he’s ever going to start the car.

We’ve been sitting here for hours.

“How much longer do we have to sit here and stare at your ex-girlfriend’s house?” I ask.

“She was never my girlfriend,” he says. “I just liked her a lot.”

I tap my foot.

The woman in question is—well, was, a member of his app team. And she’s the first woman who managed to get him to go out on ten dates in a row.

A record that will probably never be broken.

“I just don’t understand why we’re sitting out here staring at a house,” I say. “Like—”

“She’s in there fucking the new guy I just hired to the team.” He interrupts. “He’s engaged and she’s fucking him. I had my suspicions, but I needed to see it for myself.”

I look over and notice that the red Bronco from his other teammate is parked on the side of the street.

“I was planning to make her an Italian dinner if I was wrong about it,” he says. “Oh well.”

“All those grocery bags in the back were for her? Not you?”

He doesn’t answer me.

“Do you want me to give you some breakup advice?” I ask.

“Not at all, Penelope.”

“I’m going to give you some anyway.” I clear my throat.

“I think that we should drive to Wal-Mart and buy the best brand of box cutters.” I look at him. “Then we should slash her and the new guy’s tires. After that, you should send his fiancee an anonymous text via the Block Sender app with a picture of his car parked in her driveway. Then you should fire her via text with the same thoughtfulness that she gave you, and after that, you can use all those groceries to make me an Italian dinner. I’ll probably feel starved by then.”

“Are you being serious, Pen?” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “That is by far the pettiest, immaturely stinted, and ridiculous advice that you could ever give someone in this situation.”

“I didn’t mean for it to come off that way,” I say. “I know that you'd never do any of that. I was trying to lighten the mood and make you laugh.”

“There’s nothing funny about this,” he says, pausing. “Because we don’t need to go all the way to Wal-Mart for a great box cutter. The gas station around the corner sells plenty of those.”

“Oh?” I smile. “Do you already have the Block Sender App, then?”

“I will in a few seconds.” He hands me his cell phone. “Download that for me, please.”

“Will do. Um, does this mean that you’re making me the Italian dinner once we’re finished? Are we following that part of my suggestion, too?”

“Don’t fucking push it.”

TEN

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

Hell Has Frozen Over: Hayden Hunter is Actually Apologizing

Hayden Hunter, Untamed Playboy of Manhattan, Recent Revealer of D*ck Pics, Wants Us to Know He’s “Sorry” Now

The Allure of Handwritten Letters: How Hayden Hunter Is Bringing It Back to Life

Hayden Hunter’s Apology Letter to Hilton Hotels Revealed: Details Inside!

Ten Reasons Why We’re Skeptical of Hayden Hunter’s Apologies (Just Give Us More D*ck Pics!)

ELEVEN

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

“Sarah, have you heard from Penelope today?” I looked up the moment she stepped into my office Monday morning.

“Why would she ever call me when she talks to you twenty times a day?”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

“It’s a pretty stupid question.” She smiled and set the latest copy of The New York Post on my desk. “The CEO of The Williams Company leaked your letter this morning. He still hates you, but he wants you to know that you’re forgiven for being an ass years ago.”

“It’s a yes or no question,” I repeated myself.

“Mr. Walsh from Tinder is currently giving a brand-new interview on Good Morning America, and he says that he doesn’t want an apology letter from you. He wants a confession.”

“He’s not even on my list.”

“Thank you for finally joining me on this conversation topic.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve personally sent ‘Thank You’ packages to everyone who RSVP’d ‘Yes’ to your charity gala, and I sent one to myself since you have a problem saying that phrase to me.”

“Your paycheck says it loud and clear.”

“The fireworks coordinator is calling me in an hour via video-chat to give me a preview of the show based on your ideas. Would you like to join us?”

“Not at all.”

“I figured.” She shrugged. “Well, that’s all I have for you at this moment.”

I stared at her.

“We’re off to a fabulous Monday here at Cinder, Mr. Hunter,” she said. “It’s nice to have actual business things on my agenda instead of personal things for a change. Although, yes, I will be sure to deliver the second wardrobe to Penelope’s brownstone this afternoon. No need to ask me for that. ”

No really. Why haven’t I fired you?

I tapped my fingers against my desk as she smiled and silently dared me to do it.

“Oh, and I remembered something …” She pulled a yellow post-it from her pocket. “Penelope called me an hour ago since your phone kept going to voicemail. She said she needs a raincheck for dinner tonight because Simon is taking her to—” She squinted, then she tossed me the paper. “I can’t read the rest. I guess I scribbled it down too fast.”

“Why couldn’t you say that before?”

“Because I’m desperately waiting for you to threaten to fire me, so Lawrence can offer me another big bonus to come back.” She smiled. “Is there anything else that I can do for you today?”

It took everything in me not to say what I really wanted to say. “No, thank you, Sarah. Please be sure that the next set of letters are sent off today.”

“Will do, Mr. Hunter.” She took her time walking out of my office.

I glanced at the post-it and read her handwriting just fine.

Please tell Hayden that I need a raincheck for our usual dinner tonight.

Simon showed up at the rink and invited me to fly down to Miami for dinner.

PS—Could you please NOT pretend like I didn’t call and tell you this? Like, for once…Could you NOT make things difficult?

TWELVE

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

A few days later

Me: Hey! Why does it feel like we haven’t talked in forever?

Hayden: Because it’s been five days. That’s a record for us. How was Miami?

Me: Soooo effin beautiful. He owns a residency building right on the beach and he gave me a private walkthrough. He wanted to stay a few nights (separate suites), but I thought that would mean moving too fast. Right?

Hayden: Right.

Hayden: Feel like catching up at Central Park later?

Me: Can’t. Simon is hosting a party at the top of the Empire State Building. It’s a “Thank You” event for his top executives, and he invited me as his date *blushing emoji*

Hayden: Are you sure that Simon has a real job? When exactly does he work, if he has all this free time to fly you around and throw parties?

Me: That is so beyond ironic coming from you. (Did you receive the twenty apology letters I emailed?)

Hayden: How so? I’m a changed man now. (Yes.)

Me: You’re a changing* man, but you’re still a womanizing asshole. LOL. I’ll call you once I get home. I’ll tell you all about it.

TWELVE (B)

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

She didn’t call.

Didn’t even text.

All she did was send me a ‘raincheck’ email.

For three days in a row.

This wasn’t quite the five-day record we’d just set, but it was unusual all the same. Even when she’d dated boyfriends in the past, they never took up this much of her time in the beginning.

They received her mornings or her afternoons, and I received the rest. The best.

I wasn’t sure why, but for the time since we’d become friends, I felt like I was undergoing the oncoming symptoms of withdrawal.

And I didn’t like it.

THIRTEEN

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

A couple of years ago, I unknowingly created one of my top enemies in this city. I was attending an opening night at Gershwin Theater and speaking to an undercover reporter.

At intermission, she said, “What do you think so far?” and I said, “I’ve seen better high school productions.” The following day, The New York Times ran my picture along with “Hayden Hunter Unimpressed with Opening Night” as a lead story, and it caught fire.

The play was deemed D.O.A.—dead on arrival, and the production lost hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Ever since then, the director took out a full-page ad at the back of The Post with “Hayden Hunter is an Asshole” and a new picture of me.

Sighing, I looked over the last lines of his letter before tucking it into an envelope. As I was making sure the address was centered, my phone buzzed with a text. Penelope.

Penelope: Can I have a raincheck tonight?

Me: Another one?

Penelope: I just sent you 20 letters.

Me: In that case, I’ll write as many rain checks as you like.

I shut my inbox and decided to deliver the letter to the theater personally.

“HAYDEN! LOOK OVER HERE!” “Any comment on your pictures?” “Any word on Tinder?” The photogs yelled after me as I stepped out of my car.

I ignored them and made my way to the V.I.P. entrance. Before I could ask the hostess to direct me to the executive box, Mr. Lewis stepped in front of me.

“Well, well, well,” he said, crossing his arms. “Glad to see you here to insult my work all over again. We’re sold out tonight and the second act is almost over.”

“I’m not here to watch your show.” I pulled the envelope from my breast pocket. “I’m here to say sorry.”

He stepped back, looking scared to take it from me. “What type of poison did you put on the pages?”

“None.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s a goddamn apology, and it’s one of the ones I wrote by hand. I didn’t mean to affect your production back then, even if it was a shitty play with the most terrible acting I’ve ever seen.”

“Seriously?”

“I shouldn’t have said anything publicly about it.” I held out the letter again. “I’m sorry.”

He stared at me for a few seconds before taking the envelope. “Can we bury the hatchet without me reading a word of this?”

“How so?”

“Well, um…” He looked nervous. “We’re doing well box-office wise so far, but I think we’d do even better if you were spotted here and maybe made a comment about how much you love it so much that you had to stop by—just to see your favorite part.”

“Sold.” I snatched the envelope back. “I’ll make an appearance at the bar during the intermission.”

“Thank you.” He snapped his fingers. “Brenda, can you get Mr. Hunter a drink and escort him up to the bar area?”

“Absolutely.” A redhead suddenly appeared at my side. “Follow me, Mr. Hunter.”

“Is this play any good?” I asked. “Be honest.”

She blushed, ignoring my question. “I saw your pictures online.”

“That’s nice. Is this play any good?”

“I saved them in my phone.” She lowered her voice. “I touch myself to them at night. Usually, I have to switch my porn videos after a few viewings, but I’ve been using your pictures for two weeks straight now. You have a gift. Feel like giving it to me later?”

I ignored her until we reached the top of the steps.

“I’ll get you a drink.” She pulled out her phone, snapped a selfie with me without permission, and disappeared.

I knew that drink wasn’t coming anytime soon, so I signaled for the bartender.

“Yes, sir? What can I get you?”

“Scotch on the rocks, please,” I said. “It’s on the owner’s tab.”

He nodded and made it within seconds.

The doors to the theater opened for intermission shortly after, sending audience members into the bar area.

I turned my head and nearly dropped my drink at the sight of Penelope. She was a vision in a tightly fitted top, with a plunging neckline that cut below her breasts.

She was utterly oblivious to the way every man was stealing glances of her, completely unaware of how she was the center of attention without even trying.

She didn’t tell me she was coming here tonight.

Picking up my drink, I walked over to her.

“Hey,” I whispered into her ear from behind. “You look good.”

“Thank you.” She turned around to face me. “You do, too. I mean, as always.”

Silence.

“Did you come here by yourself?” I asked.

“No, this was another spur of the moment surprise from Simon,” she said. “We were talking Broadway and I told him that I’ve always wanted to see Wicked.”

You’ve never told me that.

“He showed up with yellow roses and told me I had an hour to get ready. I didn’t have time to put on any makeup.”

“You’ve never needed it.” I looked her up and down, and she blushed. “You forgot to do something else, though.”

“What?”

“Here.” I gently grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a corner. I slid my hand around her neck—feeling her skin heat at my touch.

“Hayden…” She looked into my eyes and her cheeks flushed red. “What are you doing?”

I tore off the small price tag from her shirt and crumpled it. Then I pushed it down deep into her pants pocket.

“Oh.” She swallowed. “Why are you here? This director hates you.”

“I’m well aware.” I held back a laugh. “I came here to deliver my apology, but he asked me for a favor instead.”

“How nice of you.” She lowered her voice. “His first play really did suck, though.”

“I know. Is this one better?”

“It’s beyond amazing.”

“You look really good, Penelope.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I mean that.”

We stood staring at each other in silence, struggling for a new line of conversation for some reason. The thoughts running through my head were an insult to the word ‘inappropriate’ and I wasn’t looking at her like she was “just my best friend” at all right now.

She’s your best friend’s younger sister…Your best friend’s younger sister…Travis’s little sister…

“Mr. Hunter?” A woman suddenly stepped in front of us. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m Myra Tate from Vanity Fair, and I’ve been trying to get a comment from you for months on the new Tinder lawsuit. I know this is probably unethical, but I can’t help but ask if I could borrow a few minutes of your time tonight.”

Penelope glared in her direction, looking as annoyed as I felt about her intrusion.

“Here,” I said, pulling the envelope from my pocket. “Here’s a better story for you. It’s an exclusive.”

She took it from my hands and walked away as quickly as she’d appeared.

I returned my attention to Penelope—getting aroused at her puffy pink lips all over again.

“Are you going back to his place tonight?” I asked.

“Probably.” She stepped closer, lowered her voice. “We’re not having sex.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“You would’ve told me.”

Before I could ask her anything else, Simon moved between us and slipped his arm around her waist. He kissed her cheek and whispered, “Sorry for leaving you alone.”

“Good evening, Hayden.” He smiled at me. “Nice to see you again.”

“Likewise.” I extended my hand. “I’ve been hearing good things.”

“Most of them are true.” He smiled. “We have reservations at The Murray across town after this. I’d invite you to join us, but I’ve heard that they’re sticklers when it comes to sticking to the reservation number.”

“I’m sure they’ll make an exception for the owner.”

“Oh. Well, in that case … ” He pressed a kiss against Penelope’s cheek. “Want to join us after the play?”

“Looking forward to it.”

I MADE it to The Murray and requested the table right next to the windows. I wasn’t sure why I agreed to this; I never wanted to be around any of her boyfriends.

Probably just to see her lips again.

As I was ordering glasses of water for the three of us, a roar sounded on my left. A bright red Ferrari swerved a U-turn in the middle of the street, swinging its way into a spot.

Simon stepped out of the car and walked over to Penelope’s side.

The patrons at the window “Oohed” and “Ahhed” as he helped her out. Photogs snapped pictures; people whispered and wondered about who they were.

Penelope’s eyes met mine, and they made their way over.

You are really fucking gorgeous. I stared at her as she walked.

I stood up to pull out the seat next to me, but Simon pulled out the other one. The one across from me.

He took the one between us.

“Was the second half of the play as good as the first?” I asked.

“It was all phenomenal,” Pen said. “Ten-star show.”

“Nice to know. I’ll have to get tickets someday.”

“Penelope was telling me that you own the IMAX Theater in Times Square,” Simon said it as more of a question. “You also dabble in real estate and restaurant chains?”

“Yeah,” I said. “My advisor suggested that I do that years ago.”

“I wish I could branch out like that.” He smiled. “My investors want me to focus on the fund and nothing else, but maybe one day they’ll let me.”

Thankfully, the waiter appeared before I could respond to that. She set down menus and a basket of bread, rattling off the chef’s special for the night.

“Will this be one check or three, Mr. Hunter?” she asked.

“One,” Simon and I said in unison.

“You should let me pay for it,” he said, placing a roll onto Penelope’s plate. “I mean, I was planning to treat Penelope to dinner anyway.”

“Fair enough.” I looked at the waitress. “One check.”

“I’ll return shortly to take down your orders.” She walked away.

“I’d like the oysters,” Penelope said, standing to her feet. “I’ll be back.” She shot me two winks and a smile, our shared “Check him out for me” signal before stepping away from the table.

We both stared at her until she disappeared around the corner.

“So,” Simon said, clearing his throat. “Penelope was telling me that you have an obsession with watches. I couldn’t help but notice the Yachtmaster on your wrist. Is that one of your favorites?”

“Yes.” I picked up my water. “Are you into watches as well?”

“Very much so.” He held out his wrist. His watch was the same as mine with a few adjustments.

“Very nice.” I was impressed. “How long did it take the designers to craft that?”

“Longer than I expected, but their new designer is a friend of mine,” he said. “She lets me have access to all of the newest ones before release.”

I raised my eyebrow. None of the watch designers I knew would let any customer request adjustments before the accessory was released. No matter how wealthy he or she was.

“Don’t tell anyone.” He must’ve read my mind. “She’s not supposed to do that and the design house would let her go if it got out.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” I said. “She’s willing to risk her status, just because you’re friends?”

“Because her husband is my friend and I’m the reason they’re married,” he said. “It’s strictly platonic. Are you and Penelope like that?”

“Married?”

“Platonic.”

“She’s dating you, isn’t she?”

He picked up his glass and took a slow sip.

“Nice Ferrari,” I said, needing to change the subject.

“Thank you. I saw your car collection in GQ this month. I was shocked that you didn’t reveal any custom ones.”

“I like being subtle.”

“Right.” He laughed. “Well, I never want to share the same thing as another man. I like to always go custom and keep my things at a far reach from others.”

I tapped my fingers against the table, wishing that Penelope would hurry the hell up and come back before this turned into a full-scale pissing match.

“I read that you like scrappy investment firms in Esquire,” Simon said. “If you’re ever interested in investing some of your money in a hedge fund with small returns but great long-term strategies, let me know. I manage three billion, which is a little more than what your company is worth, but I take on smaller clients, too.” He pulled out his business card, and I let it hang in the air for a few seconds.

Is he insinuating that he makes more money than me?

“Thank you for the offer,” I said, taking it. “I’ll be sure to check it out later this week, Simeon.”

“It’s Simon.”

“That’s what I said.”

Silence.

“Sorry I took so long.” Penelope returned to the table. “Have I missed anything exciting?”

“No,” Simon and I said in unison.

I cleared my throat and stood up from the table. “I realized that I have something to do for Lawrence tonight,” I said. It was nice meeting you, Simon. I’ll see you tomorrow morning for brunch at Wagner’s, Penelope.”

“You might see me, too.” Simon smiled. “She mentioned wanting to show me that place, and tomorrow sounds more than perfect.”

I walked away before I could say anything else.

FOURTEEN

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

I knocked on the front door of Wagner’s in the morning, hoping that Hayden’s security detail were the only people inside and that I’d get a few minutes alone to myself.

I fucking needed it …

The moment I saw Hayden at the theater last night, the butterflies I’d felt for Simon lost a fight to something far more powerful in my chest when I saw him.

The sight of him in a custom-black, three-piece suit had always been lethal to me when I was prepared for it. But when it caught me off guard?

There were no words to adequately describe it.

He’d ruined the rest of the play for me.

During the second act, I wasn’t witnessing the story on stage; I was envisioning Hayden pulling me into that corner all over again. Pressing his lips against mine and gripping my waist, claiming me in front of everyone and not giving a damn about any photogs that caught shots of us.

He’s your brother’s best friend, your best friend, and the ultimate playboy. Snap out of it, Penelope.

Those words were the only ones that seemed to lure some sense into my brain.

Letting out a breath, I knocked on the door again.

“Sorry about that Miss Penelope.” Hayden’s lead guard opened the door. “Happy Saturday.”

“Happy Saturday.” I took off my sunglasses and noticed Hayden sitting in the back, looking sexy as ever in jeans and a black T-shirt.

He’d already ordered my favorites—beignets and strawberries, and he was sipping a cup of coffee.

“Hey.” His eyes met mine as I approached.

“Hey.”

“Where’s Simon?”

“He had a last minute meeting.”

As I took my seat, his security guard set a rose bouquet and a note between us.

“For you, Miss Penelope,” he said. “From a Mister Gaines.” He pulled a receipt from his pocket and handed it to Hayden. “Also, he uh, prepaid for the two of you to have brunch today.”

“How very kind of him,” Hayden said, and we sat in silence for a few seconds after the guard walked away.

“How was the rest of your night with Simeon?” he asked.

“It’s Simon.” I picked up a fork. “It was good. How was the rest of yours?”

“Good … You didn’t call me when you made it home.”

“I didn’t think you were still awake. We went on a joyride in his Ferrari, and he didn’t drop me off until three.”

“Since when do I not answer late night calls from you?”

“Right.” I swallowed. “Look. About last night—”

“What about it?”

“I don’t think I ever told you that I wanted to see Wicked,” I said. “I kept thinking about it over dinner, and I feel like I should’ve. Would you have sat through it with me?”

He gave me a look that answered that rhetorical question.

“I think we should spend some time together. I feel we haven’t hung out that much lately.”

“We haven’t.” He tapped his fingers against the table. “My apology tour and gala planning has picked up, though. That’s probably why.”

“Oh, yeah.” I’d almost forgotten about the gala. “Well, Simon is taking me down to Miami this week to hang out at Sunny Isles Beach, so how about the day after we get back?”

“I took you to Sunny Isles last year.”

“He’ll never know.” I smiled. “I play dumb like you said, whenever he suggests something I’ve already done with you before. It’ll be my first with him, right?”

“Right.” He downed his coffee.

“He hasn’t asked me to be exclusive yet,” I said. “We’re just dating.”

“I know.”

“It was a question.”

“I didn’t hear the inflection.”

“Oh.” I cleared my throat. “Is it a problem that he hasn’t asked me to be exclusive yet?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I know you two have a history, but it’s only been a few weeks. You should give it a few more. You should also remember to hold up your half of our deal.”

“I have.” I pulled a few letters from my bag. “Thirteen, for all the members of a street symphony that you insulted for playing love songs you didn’t like. You asked for Taylor Swift’s ‘Clean’ and they played ‘Blank Space.’ In all fairness, I probably would’ve lost my shit, too.”

A smile spread across his face, and the strange tension between us slowly dissolved.

“That’s not what happened,” he said. “But thank you.”

“I’m not sure I want to know anything else about what you were doing during our Cold War.” I picked up a beignet. “You were always pretty petty, but each set of apologies is getting crazier and crazier.”

“The only thing you need to know about our Cold War is that you started it.”

“No, you started it.” I pointed my finger at him. “But I forgive you.”

He laughed and sipped his coffee. “Your brother is coming into town. Want to bring Simon along for lunch?”

“Never.” I rolled my eyes. “The earliest I’d introduce him to Travis is at the fight in Vegas, where he’ll be too distracted to grill the hell out of him. That’s why I’m glad I have you. You’re far more understanding about guys than Travis will ever be.”

“I see,” he said. “That’s what best friends do for each other, right?”

I wasn’t sure why, but it sounded like there was a bit of grit in his voice when he said, ‘best friends,’ and I felt like he didn’t really mean that.

A part of me—one I couldn’t deny or explain, didn’t want him to mean it.

“Dinner tomorrow night at Central Park?” I said, shaking away the thought.

“How about the next night? Lawrence is making me do a mock deposition and I don’t know how long he’ll make me stay.”

“Perfect,” I said. “Central Park. Tuesday night.”

FIFTEEN

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

Tuesday night

“You really need to get better at disguises,” a familiar deep voice said from behind. “Like, I knew it was you from miles away.”

I turned around to see Travis in shades and a hoodie. “No, I just need to fire Sarah for always letting you slip by.”

He laughed and sat next to me on the bench. “When you finally fire her, let me know so I can make her an offer to work for me.”

“You can’t afford her,” I said. “Why are you in town so early?”

“All the hype in Vegas is getting to me.” He pulled off his shades and sighed. “All this buildup and training for the fight is a bit overwhelming, you know? I feel like I can retire after this one, though.”

I didn’t bother responding to that. Every one of his fights was the one where he could “retire after this,” and there was no way he was giving it up without a good reason. Or death.

“I want to personally give you something,” he said. “Where’s Crown?”

With Simon. “Running late as always.”

“I should’ve known.” He pulled a few glittering lanyards with sparkling badges from his pocket. His face was on one side, and “The Punisher, Forever Undefeated” was on the other. “These are for you, Crown, and her roommate that shall not be named.”

“Tatiana hated you in the past, too?”

“Rightfully so.” He smiled. “You can each bring a plus-one if you like, but you have to get their names on the list a week before or they can’t come.”

“Noted.”

“I’ve heard about your apology tour.” He crossed his arms. “Will I receive one from you anytime soon?”

“You can have it right now,” I said. “I’m sorry you ever think that I’m apologizing for shit to you.”

We both laughed.

We sat on the bench talking for hours, as if things were how they once were, and before I knew it, it was almost midnight.

“Shit.” He looked at his watch. “I need to get back to my hotel. Are you allowed to go out or are you still on punishment with Lawrence?”

“It’s not punishment. It’s image-rehab.”

“Whatever you say.” He stood to his feet. “Come over for lunch when you have some free time this week. I’m here through Saturday. Should I assume that Penelope isn’t coming at this point?”

“Probably.” I stood up, too.

“I should’ve asked if she had a serious boyfriend before coming into town,” he said, laughing. “I guess I can hang up seeing her before Vegas.”

I didn’t laugh with him. I walked alongside him as we made our way past my security and into separate cars.

As my driver pulled off, I took out my phone and saw that Penelope had texted me hours ago. Right before Travis arrived at the bench.

Penelope: Can I have a raincheck for tonight? Simon surprised me again.

Penelope: I’ll make this up to you, I promise.

Penelope: Hayden?

I let out a sigh and texted her back.

Me: Of course. I spent most of the night talking to your brother anyway.

Penelope: I need to ask you about something later. Can I call you in an hour?

Me: Sure.

FIFTEEN (B)

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

My phone sounded with Penelope’s signature ringtone early in the morning. I rolled over and noticed the time. Five fifteen.

What the hell? I grabbed it and swiped the screen.

“Yes, Penelope?” I answered.

“Were you sleeping?”

“Clearly.” I groaned. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll be quick,” she said. “Hold on. Let me move.”

The faint sound of elevator music and laughter came over the line.

“Have you ever had truffles?” She asked. “I think they’re a bit overrated.”

“I know that this is not what you called to talk about.”

“I called to tell you that I feel like I’m living in the pages of a romance,” she said. “Simon is perfect. He surprised me and Tatiana with this invite to a private truffle tasting. In the center of mine, he wrote a note saying that he’s really glad we found each other again.”

“You need advice on this?”

“He wants to take me to the Bahamas for a week,” she said. “We’d have separate suites since he’s there for business, but is it too early?”

I said nothing.

I wasn’t used to her dating someone with extreme financial means, someone who had access to so much and was willing to use it so soon.

“When exactly is he trying to take you away from me?”

“What?”

“When is he trying to take you away?”

“The end of next month,” she said. “After your gala.”

“Hmmm.”

“Hmmm, this is good, or Hmmm this is not good?”

“Hmmm. This is interesting.”

“Well, he doesn’t need an answer right away, so whenever you determine which one it is, let me know.”

“I will.”

Silence stretched over the line for several seconds.

“I feel like we haven’t talked in a while,” we said in unison.

She laughed. “Good to know the feeling is mutual. How are you letters coming? I saw the editor of Vogue reading hers aloud to her fans on social media.”

“She didn’t tell them that she sent me a letter saying that she’d only accept it if I doubled her check and gave her ten extra tickets to the gala.”

“Did you?”

“Only because I didn’t have a choice.”

“Of course.” She laughed again. “Is Lawrence happy with the good press?”

“Lawrence is never happy, but I think he’ll be less stressed out after the Tinder thing.”

“You could just lie and say that you did steal it so we can settle it once and for all.”

“Then they’d sue me for all of eternity.” I needed to change the subject. “You really like Simon?”

“Yeah, I do. I think he’s the nicest guy I’ve ever dated. I think he’ll be the first guy who actually believes we’re just best friends.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I sat up, convinced I was hearing things.

“Oh, just that—” She let out a breath. “I tend to forget how much I call or hang out with you.”

“We haven’t hung out that much lately.”

“That’s the point I’m trying to make.”

“Can you try a bit harder?” I asked. “I’m still not getting it.”

Her light and raspy laugh came over the line. “Go back to sleep. You’re being a grouch.”

“Fine.” I lay back down again. “Again, though. You really like him?”

“Yes, I do. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

SIXTEEN

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

Subject: For Hayden

Hey Sarah.

Hayden’s phone is going to voicemail again, and he hasn’t “read” my text. Can you tell him that I’ll need a raincheck on Central Park tonight?

P.S.—Can you also tell him that I’ll need some advice on what to wear for a hotel’s groundbreaking ceremony?

—Penelope

SUBJECT: Wagner’s + Missed Your Call

Sorry *sad face emoji*

I forgot to text you in the heat of the moment. Simon showed up and took me on a drive across the Hudson.

Also, I was knocked out last night, so that’s why I missed your call.

P.S.—I still need your thoughts on the Bahamas trip. Yay? Nay? Wait?

SUBJECT: ???!!

Hey.

Are you getting any of my texts lately? All of them are still “on read.”

Also, we finally got past the sweet kissing and dry-humped on his couch. It was pretty hot for dry humping :-) .

Anyway, I’ll need a raincheck on Central Park this Thursday, too. I’ll tell you about it later.

Pen

P.S.—No, really. Is your phone broken or something?

SUBJECT: Raincheck Requests in Advance

Should I just assume that every day this week will have a raincheck request?

It would seriously save me unnecessary conversations with my boss.

Thank you.

Sarah

P.S.—His phone is definitely not broken …

SEVENTEEN

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

There was no raincheck today. No request for an extension, only an “I’m running late” text which was the first thing that felt normal in weeks.

According to Lawrence, my personal brand was looking better and better by the day, and he hadn’t felt the need to double his blood pressure medicine.

His daily,“So proud of you son!” text messages and emails were supposed to be encouraging, but they were simply a result of me working as hard as I could to not think about Penelope.

I was hoping that our lunch at Tully’s today would bring her back into my orbit, and our lives could align as they did before.

Before Simon.

I sat in the back booth and sipped my water.

“Mario?” I called out to the manager. “Can you turn on the TV?”

“Certainly, Mr. Hunter. What channel?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

He flipped between a house renovation station and the news, ultimately settling on a stock market show.

“Feel free to change it, sir.” He set the remote in front of me and refilled my glass.

I tried to pay attention to the boring suits and their predictions, but they weren’t saying anything of value. I pulled out my phone and watched the time tick by instead.

Fifteen minutes passed, and there was still no sign of Penelope.

“We’re here with Simon Gaines of Gaines & Associates.” The reporter’s voice made me look up again. “The biggest and most successful hedge fund right now. They’ve recently moved their headquarters from Florida to New York.”

Simon smiled and shook her hand.

I squinted at the background, realizing he was at the Park Bay Cafe off the Hudson River. He was wearing another custom suit and that custom watch he’d bragged about over dinner.

I tossed back my shot and ordered another.

“How are you enjoying the Big Apple so far, Mr. Gaines?” the reporter asked.

“It’s been wonderful thus far. Already feels like home. My luxury cars have never been treated better.”

What do your cars have to do with anything?

“You have tons of high profile and big name clients,” she said. “Why do you think that is?”

“My experience and track record—especially landing on the Forbes 500 at such a young age, speaks for itself,” he said. “I was more than fine in Florida, but the clients wanted me to be somewhere bigger, so I came here.”

I started to change the channel, but the sexiest woman in the world suddenly appeared on a boat behind him.

Penelope looked ahead at Simon with stars in her eyes, dressed in a white blouse and jeans.

“You were spotted with Hayden Hunter recently,” the reporter continued talking. “Is he considering an investment in your firm, or are you investing in Cinder?”

“I can never discuss business publicly.” He smiled. “But for the record, it was a friendly dinner. He and I share a beautiful common interest, and I believe he now knows that I’m protective of the things that I like, that’s all.”

I clenched my jaw, catching the double entendre.

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

I answered my phone without looking at the screen. “Yes?”

“Really?” Penelope laughed. “Am I interrupting you?”

“No.” I noticed her onscreen again, getting out of the boat with the phone held up to her ear. “I believe you’re standing me up, though.”

“How so?”

“You said you’d meet me at Tully’s.”

“Yeah, on Tuesday,” she said. “It’s Thursday, Hayden.”

Huh? I looked at my watch.

She was right.

“Sorry.” I let out a breath.

“It’s okay. I’m losing track of time these days as well.” She walked down to the edge of the riverbank, taking a seat at a table.

A waiter stepped in front of her and blocked my view.

“Are you there, Hayden?” Penelope asked.

“Yes.” I watched the waiter finally move, tried to tune out Simon’s never-ending spiel. “I’m here.”

“For what it’s worth, I like the fact that you make people schedule their interview with you in advance,” she said. “I’m literally watching a play by play of what happens when they don’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Some finance reporter spotted me and Simon walking and she just so conveniently happened to have her full camera crew and lighting kit ready. She begged for an interview and Hayden actually bought into her ‘what a coincidence’ nonsense.”

“He’s just new,” I said. “He’ll adjust soon. You shouldn’t be upset.”

She leaned forward on her elbows. “Why is that?”

“Because during our Cold War, I was the same way. I stopped and talked to whoever asked me. The extra attention can be quite addictive at first. Besides, if this is the worst thing he’s done, then he’s a great guy right?”

She smiled, and I honestly couldn’t believe that I’d just said that.

“Right,” she said. “This is the first time that I’ve been annoyed. Everything else has been wonderful.”

“Well, brush this off as a one-time thing and pick up where you left off. If he’s serious about you, he’ll find a way to make it up to you soon anyway.”

I need a fucking lobotomy.

“Thanks, Hayden.” Her lips curved into a smile again. “You’re the best.”

“You’re welcome.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but the screen suddenly glitched and faded into a bottled water commercial.

“I think he’s done talking to the interviewer now,” she said. “I’ll call you later. Tonight, maybe?”

“Sure.”

EIGHTEEN

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

Me: Raincheck on Central Park tonight? The ice at the rink is cracked around the edges again, so I’ll have to be there tonight with the staff until they finish.

Me: By the way, Simon sent me chocolates and flowers at the rink this morning to make up for it. (You were right.)

Me: What should I say to his text? (Attaching screenshot) I think he wants me to fly to Napa Valley this weekend.

Me: Sorry I missed your call! I’ll call you later. (Thank you for the advice via voicemail [smile emoji] )

NINETEEN

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

I was starting to get annoyed by all the advice I was giving her to land this other guy. And by “annoyed,” I meant jealous.

Stage ten envy. Full-blown fucking jealous.

To make matters worse, the fantasies that ran through my mind were getting filthier with each passing day. Uttering the words, “Stop. She's your best friend's sister,” no longer blocked me from thinking about all the ways I wanted to see her in my bed, taking every inch of me.

The more I thought about our missed meetings at Central Park and the nightly conversations that had come to a halt, the more I started to feel that maybe, just maybe, she’d be better off with me.

Penelope: Are you at home? I need some advice on something.

I didn’t answer her.

Instead, I headed downstairs to my private gym. I’d taken five cold showers today, and I needed to take a new approach to get her off my mind.

Letting out a breath, I adjusted the weights on my bar and settled on the bench.

My phone sounded with more texts from her, but I ignored those, too.

As I was lifting the bar, I heard the sound of heels clicking against the floor. And then Penelope was suddenly standing over me. The sight of her in a tightly fitted grey dress damn near made me drop the weight onto my chest.

“You got a minute?” she asked.

“I'm clearly in the middle of something right now.” I tried not to stare at her lips too hard, but I couldn’t help it. I slowly set the weight into place and sat up.

I looked down at her deep red stilettos and knew precisely what new image would be running through my mind the moment she left.

“Make it quick,” I said. “I would like to finish this.”

“Fine. Why are you avoiding me?”

“What makes you think that I’m avoiding you, Penelope?”

“I’m not stupid, Hayden.” She crossed her arms. “You haven’t answered my texts for three days.”

Has it only been three days? “I’ve been busy with the latest Tinder lawsuit.” I offered a half-truth. “And I’m not sleeping well.”

“Oh.” She looked somewhat relieved. “Well, Simon just bought me this great sleep aid thing the other day. Want to borrow it?”

Fuck no. “I’ll buy my own. What do you need help with?”

“I want to know your favorite position in bed.”

“Come again?”

“What’s. Your. Favorite. Position. In. Bed?” Her eyes met mine. “Like the place where you have sex.”

“None of your business. That sounds like something you should be discussing with Simeon.”

“His name is Simon.” She rolled her eyes. “I'm only asking for your help because he texted me something dirty and I need a super filthy response.”

“Go pick up a romance novel.”

“I’m serious.” She smiled. “Help me out, please.”

“Fine,” I said. “What were his exact words?”

“What?” Her cheeks flushed red. “I can’t tell you that.”

“I can’t help you if I don’t have all the details.”

She let out a sigh and tapped her phone, avoiding eye contact with me as she read. “You told me you’d like to take things slow, so that's exactly how I’ll fuck you when I get you alone. Nice and slow.”

“That’s it?” I blinked. “Where’s the rest?”

“That’s the end of it.” She looked up at me. “Hot, right?”

“Right … ” I tried not to laugh. There was no point in telling her something that was on the level that I would say; she didn't need to show him up in the dirty talking department at this stage in the game.

“Tell him that when he fucks you slow, you want him on top of you, missionary style. Say something about wanting to feel how deep he can go.”

“Is that what you would say?”

“No.” I shrugged. “But you’re not sexting me, so—” I stopped and cleared my throat. “Send him what I told you and leave it at that.”

She tapped the screen. “Wait. So, hypothetically, if you were interested in sleeping with me me, what would you sext?”

Don’t you dare answer this. It’s a trap.

“I need to finish my work-out and get back to finishing some letters, Penelope. I’ll have to pass on a game of hypotheticals with you.”

“Just tell me what you’d say. It’s not like I’m going to laugh at your skills or anything.”

“The only thing you’d laugh about is how much better I am at it than your boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend yet.”

I don’t think he ever should be. “Just take my word for it.”

“I’ll start taking your word for things when you turn back into the Hayden I know.” She stepped closer. “The one who behaves like a best friend and doesn’t go M.I.A. just because Tinder is suing him for the umpteenth time. You should be used to that by now, so if you think I’m going to buy that excuse—”

“I’m done trying to sell it." I narrowed my eyes at her; she’d baited me. “If you want me to answer your silly-ass question, I’ll do it.”

“I want you to stop cursing at me first.”

“If you were sexting me and we were discussing your favorite positions, I wouldn’t want to waste my time with words. I’d just show up to your place, bend you over the couch, and show you.”

“Isn’t that cheating?”

“It’s better than telling you that whenever we fuck, I’m going to pull you back by your hair while sliding my cock so deep inside of your pussy that you’ll never want to fuck anyone else.” I looked over her dress again. “I’d start with that.”

Her cheeks flushed red, and she took a step back. “Um. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I think I should go now.”

“I think so, too.”

TWENTY

PENELOPE

Present Day

I stood still staring at Hayden, pinned to the spot by his heated gaze.

“The door is behind you, Penelope,” he said, moving closer.

“I know exactly where it is.”

“Then why aren’t you walking toward it?”

“Because I’m starting to think that we need to set some boundaries in our friendship.”

“I agree,” he said. “You can send me the list in an email or a text message. You need to leave my condo, though. Now.”

“I don’t want to discuss my sex life with Simon anymore.”

“You mean, your lack of a sex life?” He narrowed his eyes. “Dirty texts and dry humps on the couch aren’t sex. Then again, maybe that’s what you’ve been doing with all your boyfriends this entire time.”

“I don’t want to discuss the sex I’ve had with my previous boyfriends either.”

“I’m not a fan of talking about failure anyway.”

“In the meantime,” I said, taking a step back as he moved forward. “I want you to go back to being a good best friend and calling me.”

“It would help if you actually picked up the fucking phone.”

“I pick up whenever you call.”

“Only to ask for a raincheck.”

“You sound like that bothers you.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“So, can you please go back to being my best friend and giving me advice when I ask for it?” I said. “We have a deal.”

“We need to make some amendments first.” He looked me up and down. “You haven’t been holding up your side.”

“Seriously? I send you ten fucking letters a day—minimum. I’ve crafted over a hundred templates, and—”

“You still can’t find the time of day to see me in person.”

“So much for it not bothering you.”

“I never said that it didn’t.” He closed the gap between us. “I said it shouldn’t.”

Silence.

“This is the part where you leave my place, Penelope.” He lifted his hand and tucked a few errant strands of hair behind my ear. “Otherwise … ”

“Otherwise, what?”

He didn’t answer.

He crashed his lips against mine, sliding his other arm around my waist and pulling me flush against him within seconds.

I lost my balance as he dominated my mouth with his—taming my tongue in between breaths. I struggled to keep up with his tempo, clawing my fingers into his sides for some sense of control, but he didn’t give an inch.

My back hit the wall as he steadied me, and his cock hardened against my thighs.

Oh my god…

“Open your mouth a bit wider for me …” he whispered. “We both know that all of me won’t fit this way.”

Lost in a trance, I willingly obliged, and he trapped my bottom lip between his teeth, biting down on it so hard that I couldn’t help but cry out.

Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he freed my lip and slid two fingers inside of my mouth, slowly pushing them in and out.

I moaned as he gently grazed the back of my throat, feeling my pussy get wetter with each teasing stroke.

He used his hips to tease me with another rhythm, showing me just how good we could be.

Smiling, he slowly pulled his hand from my mouth—trailing the pad of his wet fingertips against my lips.

“Does your boyfriend make you this wet?” He slid a hand under my dress and pushed my panties to the side—strumming his fingers against my soaking wet clit. His fingers found their way deep inside of me, and I grinded against his hand.

He muffled my moans with his mouth again, pleasuring me all over at once with ease.

No man in my life had ever kissed me like this. No man in my life had ever—

I suddenly realized what the hell I was doing. Who the hell I was kissing and riding.

Oh my god! I tore away from him, and he stepped back.

We stared at each other and panted heavily, letting the remaining tension suffocate any chance at conversation.

“I should go now,” was all I could say.

He didn’t say anything in return. He just stared at me.

Swallowing, I moved past him and headed to the door.

I took the elevator downstairs and signaled for one of his town cars.

When I was halfway home, with the taste of his mouth still on my lips, I sent him a text.

Me: That kiss never happened, right?

Just Hayden: Delete this part of our thread before your boyfriend sees it.

Me: Can you agree that the kiss never happened first?

HE NEVER ANSWERED.

TWENTY-ONE

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

I didn’t text or call her for an entire week.

I couldn’t.

TWENTY-TWO

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

The leather seats in Simon’s Ferrari blew heat against my thighs as we coasted along the Brooklyn Bridge. Raindrops attacked the windshield with a vengeance, and he clasped my hand behind the gear shift.

For the second night in a row, I was taking him on a pastry tour—showing him some of my favorite bagel cafes in the city.

This man was honestly everything I’d ever wanted in a boyfriend, but that kiss from Hayden’s lips was still infiltrating my thoughts at every turn. It was showing up in the hidden places of my mind whenever I thought I’d forgotten it.

It was also far hotter than any of the latest “Disney kisses” and dry-hump sessions that Simon was giving to me.

It’s a good thing that we haven’t spoken to each other this week.

“Hey.” Simon waved his hand in front of my face. “Are you there, Penelope?”

I snapped out of my thoughts, realizing that we were parked in front of TJ’s Bagels. “Sorry. I was daydreaming.”

“Hope it was about me.” He smiled, brushing a few strands of hair off my face. “I really like you a lot.”

“I like you, too.”

“I can’t believe they close so early,” he said, reaching back to get his jacket. “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your headphones.” I pointed to the dashboard. “Trust me.”

He pressed a light kiss against my lips and grabbed them. “I’ll take your word for it.”

I watched him walk into the rain and hold the door open for a couple before stepping inside.

He blew me a kiss from the window, and I blew one right back.

“La-da-da-da-da-daaaa…”

My phone suddenly sounded with Hayden’s ringtone, and I put in my air-pods before answering.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.” His deep voice came over the line. “Am I catching you at a bad time?”

“I’m out with Simon.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No.” I wasn’t sure why my heart was skipping a beat. “This isn’t a bad time. He’s inside TJ’s getting us some bagels.”

“Did you warn him that the bakers are typically super slow because they’re perfectionists?”

“I think he’ll realize that pretty soon.” I held back a laugh. “That’s part of the first-timer’s experience, though.”

“I agree. While he’s in there, I need your help with a letter to someone you know personally. Well, someone you used to know.”

“Okay.” I unbuckled my seatbelt. “I’m listening.”

“Dear Spencer Turner—” He cleared his throat. “I would like to formally apologize for an incident that happened several years ago. Without saying too much, the reason you never made it to dinner at The Falls on your special day was me. However, I’m only apologizing because I only meant to break your jaw, not your ribcage. My apologies, Hayden Hunter. Thoughts?”

“I think you need to sit on that one for a while. Actually, don’t send it or bother rewriting it. Ever.”

His deep laughter came over the line, and my stomach tightened at the sound of it.

“That’s not the real version,” he said. “I only wanted to check and see if I could get away with what I truly want to say.”

“So, you did beat up ‘The One That Made a Podcast’ back then?”

“I beat him up because you spent an entire week crying over what he did to you,” he said. “There’s a difference.”

“Anything else you care to admit to?” I smiled. “Any other apology truths you want to spill?’

“No, but I have an apology letter that’s addressed specifically to you. Is there time for me to read it?”

I looked ahead and saw that the line inside the shop hadn’t moved much. “Yeah.”

“Dear Penelope—” he said, pausing. “I apologize for a highly inappropriate conversation about touching yourself that we had years ago. It happened when you were eighteen, and I was twenty-four. I should’ve known better.”

“You really don’t need to apologize to me for that.”

“I think I do,” he said. “I was the adult.”

“You were a friend answering a question.” I paused. “And the advice definitely came in handy over the years. No pun intended.”

He let out a low laugh, and my nipples hardened under my blouse.

“I’m serious, Hayden.” I swallowed, unsure of whether he was joking about this. “I don’t need an apology for that.”

“Let me read it anyway.”

“Fine.”

“As your best friend, sometimes I forget just how close we are—how much you’ve been there for me like I’ve been there for you. Over the years, I’ve started to realize that …”

I tuned out his words, focusing on the deep sound of his voice, the way it served as a perfect complement to the heat under my seat.

Without thinking, I slid my hands between my thighs, pretending that we were in his condo all over again, that we were mid-kiss, and his hand was still under my dress.

“We both know that all of me won’t fit this way …”

I spread my legs as he continued to speak, biting down on my bottom lip as hard as he did to prevent myself from making a sound.

Pushing the lace of my panties to the side, I pressed two fingers against my soaking wet clit—rubbing it in a slow, sensuous circle. Just like he’d taught me over the phone years ago.

His voice was still playing in my ear, the unwitting conductor to the pleasurable, pulsing symphony between my thighs; the heat from the seat made it all the more intense.

“Penelope…” he said my name, and I shut my eyes as my pussy began to throb against my fingertips.

I didn’t care what he was saying now, but with every word that dropped from his lips, my hips slid off the seat a bit more.

Please keep talking …

“And then…” He obliged, giving me more words for a letter than he gave to anyone else.

I sucked in a slow, erratic breath as I neared closer and closer to the edge.

Visions of Hayden’s blue eyes looking deep into mine collided with fantasies of his lips owning my mouth. Forbidden wishes that could never be fulfilled flooded my brain.

Him kissing me, fucking me, wanting me.

Fuck…

I bit my lip and gripped the sides of Simon’s seat as I came.

“My apologies. Sincerely, Hayden Hunter.” His words sounded clearer now.

“Penelope?” He asked. “Penelope?”

“Yeah?”

“How was that?”

“Completely unexpected.”

“I know,” he said, a smile in his voice. “I’m still getting used to giving apologies. Do you forgive me?” he asked.

I nodded as if he could see me. “Yes.”

“Okay, great,” he said. “I’ll give you the real copy in person. Well, whenever I see you in person anyway.”

Ask him about that kiss in his condo now. Ask him if he felt something like you did.

“Wait, Hayden.” I let out a breath. “About that kiss in your condo the other night—”

“It’s water under the bridge.” He didn’t let me finish my sentence. “I’ve already forgotten about it.”

My heart sank. “Oh, okay. Well, Simon will be coming back to the car, soon, so…”

“Goodnight.” He ended the call before I could say a word, and I tried my best to ignore the strange pang in my chest.

“Ready to experience the best part of the night?” Simon returned to the car. “I can’t wait to try this with you.”

“Me either.” I vowed to fully focus on what I was building with him from here on out; Hayden was just a friend, and a one-time, good time, nothing more. “What flavors did you buy?”

TWENTY-TWO (B)

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

“Simon Gaines,” “Simon G Fund,” “Simon Gaines, Forbes 500.”

My Google searches for today were all repeats from the day before.

Although almost everything he’d bragged about checked out, except for one thing. I couldn’t find his name on the Forbes 500 List, even though he’d placed it on his website with the official symbol.

The editors had left me off their list one year out of pure pettiness (I forgot to give them tickets to my gala once), but Simon was a new addition, and I doubted he’d burned any bridges at this point in his career.

Maybe it’s an error?

I tried to pretend like this was a noble exercise, as if I wasn’t looking for anything that would make him look less than stellar in Penelope’s eyes. Anything that would bring her back to spending more time with me.

“You have a visitor.” Sarah stepped into my office. “A very important one.”

“Is it Penelope?”

“No.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s some guy from—”

“Send him home. I’m not interested.”

“He wants to donate two million dollars ahead of your charity gala.”

“Ask him how he takes his coffee and send him in.”

“I thought so.” She walked away, and I smoothed my tie.

I was going home after this. I needed some time to think.

The door opened seconds later, and Simon stepped inside.

“Good afternoon, Hayden.” He smiled. “Hope you won’t mind me stopping by.”

“Be my guest.” I motioned for him to take a seat, but he remained standing.

“I really believe in the work that your charity is doing,” he said. “I can’t imagine what it was like to have a father walk out on you at only thirteen. For him to start another family like you never existed must’ve been really rough.”

“Tread lightly, Simeon.”

“And your mother …” He shook his head. “Word around business circles is that she was so distraught about him leaving the two of you that she drank herself insane, and you practically raised yourself.”

I clenched my jaw. “I highly suggest that you change this topic of conversation if you want to remain on my good side, Simeon.”

“It’s pronounced Simon.”

“You won’t be able to pronounce anything if you don’t change the topic.”

He smiled and pulled an envelope from his breast pocket. “I want to donate to your cause. I genuinely believe in helping kids who don’t grow up in the best of circumstances.”

“Thank you.” I motioned for him to place it on my desk. “You can leave my office now.”

“Actually, I can’t.” He was still smiling as if this was an enjoyable conversation. “I also stopped by because of Penelope.”

“Is she alright?”

“She’s more than alright,” he said. “She’s happy. With me. And I’d appreciate it if her best friend—who is just a friend, would refrain from calling her late at night when she’s with me.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re going to be exclusive soon, so I want to let you know that I’m not the sharing type.”

I blinked.

“I’ve done my research on you,” he said. “You’ve never been in a real relationship before, so I can’t blame you for not knowing how they work.”

“Do I need to open the door for you to get you out of my face, or are you capable of doing that yourself?”

“The boyfriend, i.e., me, gets the majority of the girlfriend’s time, and the best friend, i.e., you, fades into the background until he’s needed.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Seeing as though we’re making travel plans for the next few months around her coaching and speaking schedule, you won’t really be needed. Thought I’d give you a heads-up.”

“So, I have to open it for you.” I walked over to the door and held it open. “Be my fucking guest.”

He let out a laugh and followed me over, stepping into the hallway. “I’m glad that we could have this conversation, Hayden.”

“The exit awaits you.”

“One last thing,” he said. “I hope you won’t take any of what I said personally. You seem like a good and mature best friend that knows his place, right?”

I slammed the door in his face.

TWENTY-THREE

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

The following morning

I couldn’t sleep.

Simon’s unwelcome visit to my office had left me on edge, and the envy I felt before was intensifying by the second. So, like the “good and mature best friend” that he asked me to be, I decided to do some research on him.

Via stalking.

I pulled across the street from Penelope’s brownstone in a tinted silver Prius.

I made sure that my baseball cap was secure, and then I waited for Mr. Prince Charming to arrive.

From the recent unanswered texts Penelope sent me, he’d started a brand-new morning routine: Bringing her a fresh cup of Starbucks coffee—along with a fresh flower bouquet at exactly seven forty-five.

He was “always on time,” but unless my watch my wrong, he was about to be late.

Five … four … Three …

Simon’s red Ferrari suddenly roared down the center lane, right past me. As if he owned the street, he swung into the ‘No Parking’ spot right in front of Penelope’s place.

He stepped out with a coffee cup and a bouquet of red roses in hand. Dressed down in jeans and a black blazer, he looked more like an insurance salesman than a “billionaire in the making.”

He knocked on her door, and she opened it within seconds. Kissing her on the forehead, he said something that made her smile and handed over his gifts.

I waited for him to kiss her on the lips—to be unable to resist her sexy mouth, but that didn’t happen. Instead, he grabbed her hand like a hero from a Disney movie and placed three soft kisses against it.

Wow.

I cranked my engine as he blew her an air kiss and returned to his car. When he pulled away, I trailed him from afar, keeping four cars between us at all times.

Half an hour later, I followed him into the parking lot of a private elementary school.

Tapping my steering wheel, I watched as he popped the trunk and grabbed a handful of bright blue balloons and a huge white box. Then he walked through the school’s front doors.

As my mind spun with theories, I noticed the flashing billboard on the side of the building.

Thank you to the Simon G. Fund for sponsoring the fourth-grade ballet recital!

Love,

Elm School for the Gifted

Hmmm. It’s probably a tax write-off.

Simon returned empty-handed minutes later and sped off onto the street.

I trailed him once more, and for the next five hours, I watched him like a seasoned chess player, committed his every move to memory.

He treated his entire team to breakfast at The Four Seasons and awarded them the next few days off as appreciation. He drove along the outskirts of the Wall Street to make deposits at his clients’ banks. Anytime someone waved or complimented his car, he smiled and handed them a hundred-dollar bill.

After lunch, he stopped by Tiffany & Co. and purchased a charm bracelet that featured a diamond-encrusted “P” and a “You’re so beautiful” necklace.

By mid-evening, when he was parking in front of Audemars Piguet, I was convinced that he pissed sunshine.

I was also convinced that day one of my mission was a complete and absolute failure.

Feeling defeated, I waited for him to leave before walking inside.

“Good afternoon, sir.” A grey-haired man smiled as I approached. “How can I help you today?”

“I need a new watch.” I couldn’t help but still feel a pinch of envy about Simon knowing the designer. “The same one my friend just came in here and bought actually.”

“Oh, you’re one of those guys.” He scoffed. “Follow me.”

“What the hell do you mean, one of those guys?”

He didn’t answer. He motioned for me to follow him into a side room.

“Please be sure to tell the others in your group that this arrangement will not renew at the end of the month,” he said. “This hasn’t been mutually beneficial in the slightest, and I can’t believe my boss ever fell for it.”

“I could follow this conversation a lot better if I knew what arrangement you were talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, sir.” He waved his hand. “You and your buddies lease our watches for days at a time because you can’t afford to buy them. Then you have the audacity to request models of the more refined and exclusive collections, just because someone on this company’s board went to business school with one of you.”

I raised my eyebrow. “What?”

“Come on, you know the drill.” He pointed to my wrist. “I don’t know why the hell I ever let you rent that one, but you won’t be able to borrow it again. That’s in a collection far above your rental grade.”

“I didn’t rent this at all.” I unclasped the band, flipping it onto its back. “My name is engraved onto it. And for the record, I don’t plan on ever renting a watch.”

“Hayden Hunter?” His eyes widened. “I didn’t—Oh, I didn’t recognize you, sir.” He put on a pair of glasses. “I’m so sorry I ever engaged you in that conversation. How can I really serve you today?”

“I want to know everything about that arrangement, and anything you know about the guy who was in here before me.”

“Well, I—” He stepped back, looking confused. “As one of our most esteemed customers, you know that I can’t share private information about another client.”

“Real clients don’t rent.”

He smiled, looking as if he was happy to oblige, but then it faded away.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said. “I’m not allowed to do that.”

“I’ll buy ten watches from the signature collection at a minimum of one hundred thousand dollars each.”

“Have a seat, and I’ll be with you in two minutes.”

TWENTY-FOUR

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

Later that evening

I caught up with Simon at Citi Field. While the Mets were fighting the Dodgers at the bottom of the ninth, he chatted with a security guard at the Will-Call window.

I’d intended to continue my stalking tomorrow, but the watch seller’s parting words wouldn’t stop running through my mind.

“He always pays with someone else’s credit card, sir. And I know he’s always flying in and out of Colorado, but I find it odd that he doesn’t purchase the additional weather insurance. Any man who knows watches wouldn’t dare wear these in the elements.”

It was his mention of Colorado that caught my attention. Penelope had consistently brought up the fact that he flew back and forth from Florida every week.

I questioned the seller, asked him if he’d misspoken about Colorado, but he showed me the “gift” Simon recently dropped off for him as a thank you: A ‘Come Back to Colorado’ keychain with a snowy cabin backdrop.

It made me wonder what else he could be lying about.

As he posed for selfies with the security guard, my phone buzzed with text messages. Penelope.

Penelope: Hey. I’m torn between two dresses for your gala. What do you think? [img.] [img.]

Penelope: Also, I told Simon about how you typically have a special place reserved for me and you to talk when you’re bombarded with guests. I hope we’ll get those same minutes this year. We need to talk.

Penelope: Unless now is a good time? Simon has a few partners flying into town tonight. Please text me back.

My finger hovered over the images, but I couldn’t bring myself to open them; I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it.

Deleting her messages, I put the car in drive as Simon slid behind the wheel of his Ferrari.

I watched him buy another bouquet of white and red roses, and then I followed him to John F. Kennedy International Airport, into the arrivals lane.

This would be my last stop, I told myself. I’d call Penelope the moment he and his other watch-borrowing stiffs rode into the city.

Keeping my distance, I waited for the group of suits he’d pulled in front of to get into his car, but they didn’t move.

Instead, Simon stepped out of the car and walked toward the zone doors.

Before he could make it inside, a brunette in a blue dress ran into his arms.

He kissed her like there was no tomorrow—grabbing fistfuls of her hair with one hand, cupping her ass with the other.

What the …

They were oblivious to the people around them, as if this was a terminal for two.

When Simon finally tore his mouth away from hers, he led her to the trunk of his car—handing over the roses and the Tiffany & Co. bag from earlier today.

I blinked a few times, making sure that my eyes weren’t deceiving me. That “Prince Charming” wasn’t now playing the role of a two-timing villain.

My vision is perfectly fucking clear.

Lawrence’s name suddenly crossed the car’s dashboard via phone call, and I hit accept out of habit.

“Yeah?” I answered.

“Oh, great,” he said. “You are alive. I have good news, great news, and well, Tinder news. What do you want first?”

“I’m not interested in any of it.”

“I’ll start with the great news, then.”

I didn’t even pretend to listen. I was too focused on Simon kissing this other woman all over again.

He slid his hand under her dress, and she playfully pushed his hand away.

He slapped her ass in return.

If the “Disney kisses” and dry-humping couch sessions were ever frustrating to Penelope, it was probably because he was pacing himself and giving those parts to someone else.

“Um, hello, Hayden?” Lawrence asked. “Where are you?”

“On a secret mission.”

“Come again?”

“You heard me,” I said. “I’m doing some much needed recon.”

“Okay, fine. Once and for all, what drugs are you taking?”

“Instead of being a smart-ass, you should volunteer to help me with this.”

“I have no idea what ‘this’ is, Hayden. When exactly would you need my help?”

“Tomorrow and every morning this week,” I said. “We ride at dawn.”

Silence.

“Can you be honest with me?” He let out a long breath. “Is it cocaine or heroin?”

“I’ll pick you up at four. Be ready.” I ended the call and sent an email to Sarah.

I wanted her to do more than a simple, surface-level Google search. I wanted her to send me everything she could find on Simon, in every database, and I wanted it in my hands by midnight.

I also wanted—no needed, to know if he really owned that Ferrari.

When I finally pulled out of the line and sped away, a new message from Penelope appeared on the dashboard.

Penelope: So, you’re just going to keep reading my messages and IGNORING me? Being fickle for no damn reason? This is what you call being my best friend? What the hell have you been doing these days?

What I always do. Looking out for you.

BREAK UP #12

THE ONE THAT STAYED THE NIGHT

Penelope

Back Then

Ottawa, Canada

Me: I lost my virginity tonight. Thought you would want to know.

Hayden: I’ll pick up a ‘Congratulations’ card for you at Walgreens if you want to celebrate.

Me: I’d rather you pick up a ‘Get Well Soon’ one.

Hayden: [confused emoji] What’s that supposed to mean?

I don’t answer him. I tuck my medal from Skate Canada under my jacket and slip out of the hotel room.

Without looking back, I rush downstairs and run across the street to The Hilton.

Grateful that there’s no one else in line at the front desk, I place my purse onto the counter.

“I need a room, please,” I say. “I don’t care how much it costs.”

“I’m sorry.” The desk agent looks up at me. “We’re sold out due to the skating competition, Miss.”

For a split second, it looks as if she may recognize me, so I look down.

“Are you sure that you don’t have anything?” I ask.

“One hundred percent certain. I think most hotels downtown are filled to capacity for the weekend.”

“I see.” I’m tempted to ask if I can take a nap on the lobby’s couch.

“She can take my suite,” a familiar voice says from behind. “I haven’t been in it yet anyway.”

Tatiana? I turn around in utter disbelief.

We tied for first place today, and we traded insults on the podium hours ago.

“I have room 1242,” she said. “I can share a room with my parents.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” She shoots me a sympathetic look, almost as if she wants to ask what’s wrong, but she walks away without another word.

The desk agent taps her keyboard a few times and hands me a key packet. “The elevators are down the hall and to the right.”

I thank her and walk in the opposite direction. I want to avoid the crowd of people who are headed that way for a while.

As I’m circling the water fountain, my phone vibrates with a call. Hayden.

“Yeah?” I answer.

“What do you mean by needing a ‘Get Well Soon’ card?”

I don’t say anything.

“Penelope, tell me.”

“I told Joshua no,” I say. “I told him that I wasn’t ready and that I changed my mind, and I know that’s a really shitty thing to say in the moment when he’s already on top of me and the condom’s on, but I didn’t want to do it. I said no … ”

Silence.

“He said I was just nervous and then he uh—” I wince at the thought of him sliding into me all at once, him muffling my mouth with his hand and telling me to, “Calm down and take this dick.”

“He fucked without any mercy, and he didn’t care that I was crying. ” I can barely get the words out. “He left the room for champagne but I couldn’t be there anymore, so I walked across the street to stay someplace else for the night.”

He lets out a soft sigh.

“The only time he looked into my eyes was when he said his ex’s name,” I say. “The rest of the time, he was—” I can’t even finish my sentence.

“I need to sleep this off so I can start forgetting about it as soon as possible. Can you tell Travis that I’ll need a raincheck for our video call over breakfast tomorrow? I’d really appreciate that.”

“Penelope, wait.”

I end the call. I don’t want him to hear me cry, and I’ve held back long enough.

Once I’m sure that the hallway crowd has gone, I return to the elevator bank. Then I turn off my phone before stepping inside.

I double-check the room number on the key packet and anxiously watch the numbers tick by as the car rises.

The moment the doors glide open, I rush down the hall and lock myself inside the assigned room.

I collapse onto the bed, and the sobs wrack my body in waves. Shutting my eyes, I try to fall asleep, but it’s no use.

You’re still a foolish, foolish girl.

I can’t stop replaying the past hour, and I know it’ll leave a scar on my brain for the rest of my life. There’s no point in giving him an ex-boyfriend title because I don’t want to remember him at all.

Sniffling, I wipe my eyes with the corner of a blanket and dial room service. I order two bottles of water that I don’t really want and a carafe of coffee that I don’t need.

Several minutes later, a loud knock comes at the door.

I grab a few dollars before walking over to open it.

There’s no room service attendant on the other side, though.

Hayden?

I wait for him to look at me like I’m deranged, but there’s sincerity and sympathy in his eyes.

He cups my face in his hands and presses his forehead against mine, but he doesn’t say a word.

“He said his ex-girlfriend’s name when he came. He said it twice.” I can’t help but replay that part. “What the fuck is wrong with me, Hayden? Why can’t I find a decent guy?”

He doesn’t give me an answer. Instead, he gently runs his fingers through my hair, pressing a kiss against my skin. Then he pulls me into his arms and holds me close.

I fight to hold back more tears, but it’s no use.

Without judgment, he walks me over to the bed. Pulling me against his chest, he kisses my forehead a few more times and tightens his grip around me.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”

He stays the entire night, holding me through every shed tear.

WHEN THE SUN filters through the blinds the following morning, Hayden runs me a warm bubble bath.

I resist getting out of the bed to take it, so he slides his hands under my legs and carries me into the bathroom.

A complete gentleman, he undresses me down to my bra and panties—all while keeping his eyes on mine.

“I think you can take off the rest yourself,” he says, whispering. “If not, I’m right outside.”

When he shuts the door, I peel off my panties and bra, and I take my time slipping under the warm suds.

I expect him to be gone by the time I get out since I take over two hours to soak, but he’s there in the bed once I open the door.

Moving next to him, I lean against his chest, and he wraps his arms around me again.

He stays with me another night.

ON MONDAY MORNING, I sit up in the bed alone. The drapes are pulled open, and there’s a note on the pillow next to me.

Stepped out to pick up some breakfast.

-Hayden

P.S.—Told Travis that you decided to spend the weekend hanging out with Tatiana.

(Couldn’t come up with anything else, but he bought that shit. :-) )

I laugh and grab my cell phone from the nightstand. I scroll down in search of Joshua’s name so I can let him know how awful he’s made me feel, but it’s not there.

He’s not listed in my texts or recent calls, and when I manually type his number, an “Error: Not Allowed” message appears.

What the heck?

The door to the room opens, and Hayden walks inside carrying two brown bags.

“Good. You’re up,” he says. “I’ll let you choose which bagel stack you want.”

“What did you do to my phone? I can’t contact Joshua.”

“Cinnamon or regular?” He ignores my question.

“Cinnamon.”

“Okay.” He opens a bag and takes his time setting a tray in front of me.

I can’t help but notice that there are cuts and bruises all over his knuckles. Cuts and bruises that weren’t there last night or the night before.

“What happened to your hands?”

“It’s nothing.” He hands me a fork. “I just hit them on someone stupid.”

“Someone or something?”

He doesn’t answer that question either. He fluffs the pillow behind my head and hands me a fruit cup.

“Hayden, what happened?”

“I was looking out for you,” he says.

Then he changes the subject, giving me a look that lets me know that the ship for the previous conversation has sailed. “Let’s talk about your next competition. It’s in North Carolina, right?”

TWENTY-FIVE

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

Simon Gaines was a fucking fraud.

The evidence lay ahead of me in black and white, and the numbers didn't lie.

The lengths he’d taken to craft his persona were enough to fill a nine-hundred-page novel, but no sane author would ever pen a story with a plot this insane. (Then again, he was also a “New York Times bestseller,” according to his website, so perhaps he was borrowing a storyline from one of his nonexistent books.)

In addition to renting his Ferrari, his watches, and his suits, he dated a different woman in every city (five and counting), with a complementing wardrobe and personality to match.

In Los Angeles, he was a doting widower dating a nurse named Shelby. In Las Vegas, he climbed mountains and led spiritual yoga sessions with a thrill-seeking woman named Ana. In Indiana, he moonlighted as a part-time stock bro who “hated the thought” of spending weekends away from his girlfriend Yasmine.

The variations of his last name—Gines, Gains, Giannis, were adjusted sufficiently enough to maintain his ruse and keep his lies protected.

If he were any other boyfriend, I would immediately call Penelope and tell her what I’d found. I would say, “We need to talk about your boyfriend. You’ll need to break up with him tonight.”

But in this case, I needed to take a different approach because I wanted her to do more than break up with him.

I wanted her to break up with him, for me.

Pouring myself a shot of scotch, I contemplated how I should handle this. I pulled out one of my stationery sheets and clicked my pen.

Wait. What the hell am I doing?

I picked up my phone and scrolled down to her name. Then I finally opened the series of text messages I’d avoided for the past several days.

Penelope: Hey. Not sure if my images with the dresses came through or not? Which one should I wear? (Can you answer my other messages as well? I would appreciate your help.)

Penelope: I see you giving an interview on TV. You looked at your phone when I texted you. Why aren’t you answering me?!!

Penelope: Okay, let’s pretend like you’ve had a string of bad weeks, and you’ll tell me about it later. *Fresh slate?* *Okay, great* I’m thinking about sleeping with Simon after your gala since things have been heating up. Let me know what you think about my dirty texts/lingerie. [.img.] [.img]

Fuck this shit.

I clicked on her name hit call.

It rang once. It rang twice.

“Please leave your message at the sound of the beep.” Her voicemail sounded instead.

Beep!

“Penelope, I know that it’s three o’clock in the morning, but I need to get this off my chest.” I let out a breath. “I can’t give you any more advice on landing Simon, can’t tell you another sexy thing that you should do, or suggest a new set of filthy words that you should text him late at night.”

I paused. “As your best friend, I’ve reached my limit, and I can honestly say that he doesn’t deserve you. I’m not saying all of this because I’m fucking jealous, or because he had the audacity to say that he makes more money than me. By the way, I still can’t find his name on the Forbes 500 list, and I know damn well that he's renting that Ferrari, but that’s a story for a different day.”

“He’s not who you think he is,” I said. “And the better man has always been right in front of you ... ”

“You have every reason to never give me a chance since you know me better than anyone, and you agree with all the tabloids calling me The Cocky King of New York and the Untamed Playboy of Manhattan. But I honestly believe that you’re better off with someone else, and I need you to see.”

“I'm not asking for too much, I just want you to—”

“Hello?” Simon picked up the call before I could save it. “Hello?”

What the fuck? “I was calling to talk to Penelope.”

“I’m sure you were,” he said. “She’s sleeping with me right now, though.”

“In that case, I’m sure she’s disappointed,” I said. “Give her the phone.”

“She’s sleeping, Hayden.” He hissed. “She’s also my girlfriend—like I told you before, and three o’clock in the morning isn’t an appropriate time for you to call.”

“I’m not going to ask you to give her the phone again.”

“Your name in her phone is now ‘Currently Being an Asshole’ so I don’t think you two are on that good of terms. She said you haven’t called or texted her in weeks. Why’s that?”

“That’s none of your fucking business.”

“Fair enough,” he said. “Well, since you didn’t catch my drift when I stopped by your office, allow me to reiterate: You’re just her friend, not her boyfriend. Fall the fuck back.”

He hung up in my face, and I didn’t bother calling back.

I’d rather handle this in person anyway.

TWENTY-SIX

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

In years past, Hayden called me at six o’clock the night before his gala. He’d tell me that he was outside my place and ready to drive me away so I could have a sneak peek of the party’s theme before anyone else.

The first few themes were relatively simple—Old Hollywood, A Night Under the Stars, and A Fairytale Escape. But as the years progressed, he came up with more complex themes that never failed to leave me impressed.

Since it was one of the highlights of my year, I was holding out hope that he would set aside whatever was bothering him and still follow through.

I eyed the clock on Friday night, watching as the minute hand ticked past one, then two.

My heart dropped once it made it to fifteen.

I refreshed my phone’s screen to see if maybe—just maybe, he was running late.

Nothing.

No new messages or emails. No mysteriously missed calls.

He was still avoiding me.

Fuck him.

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, I stared at my reflection in the living room mirror. Since Hayden never bothered to help me pick a dress, I settled on a one-shouldered mauve gown that cinched at my waist and flowed to the floor. The thigh-high split on the right side of it revealed a pair of sparkling Cinderella-styled stilettos.

“Wow.” Tatiana stepped into the room wearing pajamas, a bowl of ice cream in hand. “I thought Simon was picking you up at eight-thirty.”

“Nine-thirty,” I said. “His flight from Florida is running late. Why aren’t you dressed?”

“Because it’s raining. I don’t want to get my gown wet.”

“The gala is inside, Tatiana.”

“Is it?” She smiled. “Well, hold on. Allow me to think of another excuse for why I don’t want to spend my night around a bunch of rich people who think they’re better than everyone.” She tapped the spoon against her bottom lip. “Oh, nooo. I’m suddenly feeling sick.”

“You’re so full of shit.” I laughed. “Thanks for the advance notice that you’re not going.”

“You’re more than welcome.” She picked up my purse and brought it over to me. “Let me know how the sex is afterwards. I want to know every explicit detail, down to how long each kiss is.”

“I’ll tell you if there’s sex.”

“There’d better be.” She scoffed. “You’ve been dating him for what feels like forever at this point.”

“I know.” I made sure that condoms were still tucked into my purse.

As if on cue, the doorbell sounded.

“Farewell, Cinderella.” Tatiana plopped down on the couch, and I walked over to the door.

When I opened it, I couldn’t help but smile at Simon. He was dressed in an immaculate black tuxedo and holding two long stem red roses.

“Whoa.” He looked me over for several seconds, struggling to say a word. Instead, he clasped my hand and held it up, motioning for me to twirl around.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he said. “I may have to watch my back tonight, since I think all attention will be on you and this dress.”

I blushed. “Thanks for the compliment. Are you seeing more than one woman or something?”

“What?” He furrowed his brow. “What makes you ask that?”

“There are two giant roses in your hand, but only one me.”

“Oh, never that.” He kissed my lips. “One is for your roommate. Isn’t she coming with us?”

“No, she just caught the instant ‘I don’t feel like it’ flu and she’s a terrible person.”

“I heard that!” Tatiana shouted from inside.

“You can have both then.” He laughed and let up an umbrella. “Ready?”

“More than ever.”

He pressed his hand against the small of my back, walking me down to his Ferrari.

For some reason, the interior looked a bit different from yesterday. Gone were the customizations, and there was a strange bar code stamped onto the dashboard.

“The dealer gave me a loaner car since mine wasn’t detailed as well as I wanted it to be,” Simon must’ve noticed my expression. “Hope you won’t mind riding around in this one for a while.”

“Not at all.” I buckled my seat belt, and he shut the door.

As he walked around to the driver’s side, my phone sounded with a ringtone I hadn’t heard in forever.

A text message from Hayden.

Currently Being an Asshole: Call me before you leave my gala. We need to talk.

That was it.

No, “I’m sorry for being an ass and ignoring you.” No, “I’ve been a bad best friend lately,” not even a “Please forgive me.”

I turned off my notifications and looked over at Simon as he cranked the engine. I didn’t want to think about Hayden for the rest of the night, and I wasn’t calling him for shit.

“Tell me about your latest trip to Florida, Simon …”

TWENTY-SEVEN

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

The flashing lights from the cameras nearly blinded us as we stepped out of the car.

As always, a lush red carpet lay underneath a covered awning that stretched from the valet lane to the gala’s tree-lined entrance.

“Welcome to Hayden Hunter’s Annual Children’s Charity Gala,” a tuxedoed host greeted us at the door. “Name and affiliation, please.”

“Simon Gaines.” Simon squeezed my hand. “I’m one of the multimillion dollar donors.”

“Are you sure?” He shook his head. “You’re not on the list, sir. Could it be listed under your company’s name, instead?”

“The Simon G. Fund, perhaps.” Simon shot me a confused look.

“It’s not under that one either, I’m afraid.”

“Try Penelope Carter,” I said, and the host’s eyes met mine.

“You already know that you’re on all of Mr. Hunter’s lists, Miss Carter,” He smiled and lifted the velvet rope. “You and your date can follow the silver signs to the V.I.P. section.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s weird,” Simon whispered. “I personally delivered my donation check to Hayden.”

When was this? “He probably forgot to tell Sarah to add you,” I said. “That, or she wrote it down too fast and couldn’t read her own handwriting. That happens a lot with her.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

We made our way through the mirrored hallways, and my jaw dropped to the floor once we set foot in the ballroom.

Thousands of twinkling white lights hung from the glass ceiling, perfectly arranged to frame the ice skating rink design on the floor.

The words for tonight’s theme—Dreams are Forever, were etched onto the champagne glasses that sat atop passing waiters’ trays.

“This is phenomenal,” Simon looked as in awe as I did. “Did you give any input on this?”

“No.” I noticed a walkway of ice sculptures in the form of skaters’ poses. “Hayden didn’t tell me anything.”

“There are snowflakes falling over the dance floor.” He pointed out. “Well, glitter maybe.”

“Allow me to grab us something stronger from one of the bars.” He kissed my cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

I barely noticed him leaving.

I stepped onto the “rink,” pressing the front of my heel on top of a snowflake that was trapped under the glass.

I squinted at the tiny words that were frozen onto the ridges, but I couldn’t quite read the whole phrase.

Still unmatched at twenty-seven?

“There he is!” “That’s him over there!” “Get his picture, would you?” A chorus of voices from behind made me look up.

At the center of the floor, Hayden posed for a picture with Lawrence.

Dressed in a custom black suit and diamond cufflinks that put every other man in this room to shame, he instantly became the center of attention.

Flashing his perfect smile, he performed his staged laugh for the press as Lawrence gave him the usual signal.

He made brief eye contact with the photogs while they snapped thousands of pictures, and then he looked over at me.

Blinking a few times, his lips parted as he slowly looked over my dress. His gaze roamed my body up and down, and my body betrayed me with a reaction.

With every second that passed, my heart raced a brand-new rhythm—picking up speed each time his eyes returned to mine.

I tried my best to turn away from him—to focus on something else in this stunning room, but he was the best thing in it.

Looking me over one more time, he posed for a final picture before walking my way.

“Good evening, Penelope,” he said. “It’s good to see you here.”

“Is it?” I snapped out of my haze, refusing to forgive or forget his past few weeks of assholery. “Given how you’ve treated me lately, I’m shocked you even want me here.”

“Of course, I want you.” He lowered his voice. “I think I’ve made that somewhat clear. Did you get my text?”

“Yes, I got it.” I shrugged. “I’m planning to text you back a few weeks from now since that seems to be the timeline we’re going with these days. Right?”

“You tell me.” He narrowed his eyes. “You started it when you got a boyfriend.”

“If you had a girlfriend, I’m sure it’d be the same.”

“I guarantee that it wouldn’t.”

We stood still glaring at each other, ignoring the sounds of clicking cameras around us.

“Hey there, Hayden.” Simon stepped between us with drinks, deflating some of the tension. “This is the most beautiful gala theme that I’ve ever seen. I can tell that you’re a true artist and planner.”

“Yes,” Hayden said. “I think it’s some of my best work since it’s personal. Thank you very much for the compliment, Simeon.”

I didn’t bother correcting his name this time. I took the drinks from Simon’s hands and downed them both.

“Well, okay, then.” Simon looped his arm in mine. “Allow me to help you dance that off, shall we?”

“Yeah.” I glared at Hayden. “I think getting away from here is a great idea.”

Hayden clenched his jaw, but he didn’t say a word. His gaze lingered on me long after we walked away, and I felt his eyes following me across the room.

Simon held me close for several songs on the dance floor, whispering words into my ear that I could only halfway hear. I was too busy thinking about Hayden to pay attention, too busy wishing that he wasn’t so fucking sexy.

Focus on Simon, Penelope. Focus on Simon.

“You’re being awfully quiet tonight.” He kissed the shell of my ear. “Are you having a good time?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to come over my place after we leave?”

“Absolutely.” I looked up as I said those words, catching Hayden staring at us from afar.

His eyes were focused on my hands, so I threaded my fingers through Simon’s hair. Then I trailed them down to his neck.

Hayden’s face reddened, and I finally looked away from him.

“You want to try a few things from the inspiration bar?” I said to Simon. “That’s always the best part of this event.”

“I’d love to.” He let go of my waist and clasped my hand, leading me over to the side of the room that was partitioned by the twenty-foot ice sculptures.

He took his time making us a plate of appetizers, but before we could taste them, the CEO of Tinder—Tim Lassing, stepped in front of us.

“Well, look who it is.” He smiled. “Hayden Hunter’s partner in crime. You look stunning as always, Penelope.”

I didn’t bother saying, “Thank you.”

“Are you ever going to admit what he did to me, or are you going to forever cling to his bullshit lies?” he asked.

“Could you like, not?” I rolled my eyes. “I’m shocked Hayden even put you on the guest list.”

“Me too.” He smiled. “But he knows how to throw a damn good party and you’re always around, so I’ll never turn down the chance to get to you. Is this suited guy next to you your date?”

“Simon Gaines.” Simon extended his hand to him. “Nice to meet you.”

Tim didn’t shake it. Instead, he patted Simon’s shoulder.

“You’re wasting your time on this one,” he said. “Get out while you can before the coincidences start piling up.” He snatched one of the strawberries off our plate and walked away.

“I don’t even want to know what the hell he was talking about.” Simon laughed.

“He does that all the time.” I shook my head, suddenly needing a breather more than ever. “Can you give me a few minutes? I need to run to the restroom.”

“Take your time.”

I walked away and headed upstairs to the bathroom that few guests knew existed.

I needed to be alone.

“Mints, spritz, or napkins, Miss?” The attendant smiled at me once I pushed the door open.

“Water, please.”

“As you wish, Miss. What type of—”

“We need to talk.” Hayden was suddenly behind me. “Now.”

“I’m not in the mood to talk to you.”

“I didn’t ask if you were.” He stepped around me. “Can you leave us alone for a few minutes, Martha?”

The attendant nodded and left the room.

Hayden walked over to the sink, but I remained still against the wall that was closest to the door.

I waited for him to come clean, to throw himself at my mercy, and apologize for being an utter jerk these past few weeks, but he didn’t look remorseful in the slightest.

“For the record,” he said, his eyes meeting mine, “you’re fucking beautiful.”

“Thanks. You’re fucking avoiding me.”

“I vividly remember speaking to you a little over an hour ago.”

“You know what I mean.” My chest ached. “Call me before you leave the gala? That’s the only text you’ve sent me for the past couple of weeks, Hayden.”

“Is coming up here your way of telling me that you’re about to leave, then?”

“No,” I said. “I’m trying to tell you that you’ve been a terrible best friend.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrow. “That’s what you think?”

“I can repeat it if you like.”

“Look,” he said. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, that’s how relationships usually work.”

“He isn’t who you think he is,” he said. “Simeon has some shady shit going on, and I think you should know.”

“His name is Simon.”

“His name depends on what state he’s living in,” he said. “Nonetheless, he’s not Prince Charming in the slightest and I need you to know that now before you make a huge mistake.”

“You mean, before I fuck him tonight?”

“You’re not fucking him. Ever.”

“Why are you acting so jealous, Hayden?”

“Let me finish talking.” His voice was terse.

“After you stop acting jealous.”

“I’m not acting.”

Silence.

“Your boyfriend is a con artist,” he said. “He’s pretty much Jay Gatsby on steroids, and he’s been cheating on you this entire time.”

I crossed my arms, saying nothing.

“He has a different woman in six different cities, and that doesn’t include you.” He looked into my eyes. “As for his place on the Forbes 500? He paid for a journalist friend to place his name on the website for a day and he took a screenshot before the editor in chief corrected it.”

“How do you know all of this, Hayden?”

“That Ferrari that he’s been driving you around in for weeks is a rental and he hasn’t made the payments in two months.”

“How do you know all of this?” I repeated, my voice cracking.

He still didn’t answer that question. “I think you should break up with him. The sooner, the better.”

“You haven’t talked to me in weeks, and now you’re asking me to dump my boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice deadpan. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but you wouldn’t have believed me,” he said. “And you know it.”

“I don’t believe you now.” I shrugged. “Two weeks ago, you said that he was your favorite out of all my boyfriends.”

“I have never said that about any of your boyfriends.”

“You implied it. You also implied that you’d be there for me, but you seem to have dropped the ball on that one lately.”

“I stalked your boyfriend every day for weeks, okay?” He glared at me. “And I had Sarah do some advanced digging. That’s where the fuck I’ve been. Looking out for you.”

I swallowed. “You know what? I regret ever asking for your help on this.”

“I don’t regret giving it to you,” he said, moving closer. “The next thing you need to do is break up with him and start dating the better guy.”

“Oh?” I glared at him. “So, while you were out galvanizing and stalking Simon, you also managed to find me a replacement boyfriend? How generous. Will he be arriving to this gala anytime soon?”

“He’s standing right in front of you.” He hissed. “And I want you to break up with him, for me.”

Silence.

I blinked a few times, and he took a few more steps forward.

“I fucking want you, Penelope,” he said. “You belong with me.”

Tension hung in the air; neither of us said a word.

The music from downstairs suddenly sounded at a much higher volume, pulsating so loudly that the floors and walls began to shake.

I stepped back, my heart racing a mile a minute, my mind spinning in a million different directions.

Hayden closed the gap between us, and then he pressed his hands on the wall above me.

Trapping my body between his legs, he looked deep into my eyes, his irises a mix of longing and lust. “You should leave this room now if you don’t believe that I want you.”

His eyes remained locked on mine, and the suffocating tension in this room was begging to be addressed.

I slid my hand against the doorknob to my left and pressed the lock button.

“I’ll take that as your answer,” he said, tilting my chin up with his fingertips. He pressed his mouth against mine—kissing me deeply and thoroughly.

“Ahhhh.” I moaned at the feel of his tongue controlling mine.

He slid his hand under the thigh-high slit of my dress and tugged at my panties.

I expected him to tear them off like he did at the yacht party, but he suddenly stopped and pulled away from my mouth.

“Turn around to face the mirror,” he said. “I want to look at you while we fuck.”

I slowly turned to my right, and he gripped me from behind.

His gaze met mine in the full-length mirror, and he made me watch as he slowly pushed my panties down to the marble floor.

Stuffing them inside his pocket, he moved behind me again and bit my ear.

“Grab the sink for me.”

I obeyed, grabbing it tightly and watching as he bit my neck and pushed up my dress.

He unbuckled his pants and pulled out his cock. Without saying a word, he pressed the thick tip of it against my pussy.

My eyes widened, and he let out a low laugh as he slowly—oh, so slowly, slid into me.

Oh. My. God.

“Ohhh …” I cried out as I adjusted to his length and his thickness, as he took his time positioning himself just right behind me.

“Does it feel good?” he asked when he was only halfway inside of me.

“Yes.”

“Good.” He slid the rest of himself into me all at once, making me cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

“Ohh god …” I kept my eyes on his in the mirror, loving the way he felt deep inside of me. Loving the way he groaned behind me as he owned my body with his.

My knuckles whitened as I gripped the edge harder, as he rocked against me and thrusted in and out with controlled, yet wild abandon.

Years of our friendship unraveled and fell away with every deep stroke. With every wet kiss he pressed against my neck.

He slid his left hand up to my breast and squeezed it, whispering, “You feel so fucking good.”

I moaned as he slid into me harder.

The way he watched me through the mirror as he controlled me, as he fucked me, was beyond intoxicating. I never wanted to look away.

“Slide your hand to your clit,” he whispered. “Let me see how well I taught you.”

I sucked in a breath as he kept up his reckless rhythm, and I slowly slid my hand under the slit of my dress.

I teased my clit with my fingertips, rubbing it in a slow circle, gaining his gaze of approval.

I tried to match his tempo, but it was no use. He was suddenly getting even more turned on at the sight of me touching myself, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

I can’t hold on anymore.

I gripped the counter harder than I had all night and screamed his name at the top of my lungs.

He stiffened behind me, reaching his orgasm next.

Both panting, our bodies still entwined, we stared at our reflection to see what we’d just done.

He kissed the back of my neck one last time before slowly pulling out of me. And he didn’t take his eyes off mine while he zipped his pants.

He smoothed my hair into place, looking as if he wanted to say something, but no words fell from his lips.

The realization of what just happened dawned on me in slow motion. Each staggered second exposed that the two of us had done more than cross the line of our friendship.

We’d bulldozed over it and set fire to the bridge behind it.

“I can’t do this.” I pushed him away. “I can’t believe that I…That we…”

I unlocked the door and left.

TWENTY-SEVEN (B)

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

I ran out of the building and into the rain, rushing toward the first available town car. The sign in the rear window read, Designated Driver: Paid for by Mr. Hunter, and a valet quickly walked over and opened the backdoor.

“Have a safe night, Miss.” He shut it once I climbed inside.

“Where to?” The driver asked.

“555 Aurora Avenue. As fast as you can, please.”

“Will do.”

His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror as he pulled onto the street, but he didn’t strike up a conversation. Instead, he turned on the radio, letting the songs complement the rain’s steady percussion.

Holding back tears, I leaned against the seat and tried to process whatever the hell had happened between Hayden and me in that bathroom.

My heart pounded an unfamiliar rhythm with every instant replay, and my lips felt pleasurably sore from how hard he’d kissed me.

How hard he fucked me …

“Simon isn’t who he you think he is.” “He’s been cheating on you this entire time.” “That’s where the fuck I’ve been. Looking out for you.”

I knew he’d never lie to me, but those words still hurt to hear. And I couldn’t believe he’d waited more than a single day to tell me the truth.

“You wouldn’t have believed me.”

My phone vibrated against my thigh as the car coasted through Manhattan, but I ignored it.

It wasn’t until I was halfway home that I forced myself to face its screen and change Hayden’s name for the umpteenth time.

Hayden: [img.] [img.] [img.] [img.] [img.]

Hayden: [img.] [img.] [img.] [img.] [img.]

Hayden: [img.] [img.] [img.] [img.] [img.]

I opened the images one by one, feeling my stomach tighten and twist with each stolen glimpse of Simon’s other lives.

He kissed a blonde on a white-sanded beach, hugged a brunette in the corner booth of a crepe café, and laughed with a pretty redhead over confetti-speckled ice cream.

He wore glasses and a plaid shirt while wearing an “S. Gines” name tag, a suit while standing in front of a sign that read “Sam Giannis Wealth Building Seminar,” and jeans and a T-shirt while picking up a coffee reserved for “Silas Gains.”

Oh my god.

With every new picture, a memory of the time we’d shared over the past few months shattered to pieces in my mind.

As I was staring at an image of him groping some woman’s ass in the arrivals zone at John F. Kennedy International Airport, his name crossed my screen via phone call.

I hit ignore.

I zoomed in on the image and realized that this woman wasn’t just anyone. She was the fiancé who’d supposedly left him hanging on his wedding day, the woman he’d crafted as a total villain whenever he brought her up to me.

What a fucking liar.

He called my phone again, and I immediately answered.

“Yeah?” I didn’t try to hide my disdain. “What the hell do you want, Simon?”

“I’ve been looking all over for you.” He didn’t catch my tone at all. “I wanted us to dance again before the fireworks. I was also hoping you’d want to leave early so we can have the rest of the evening to ourselves.”

He sounded so damn sweet and genuine that I couldn’t blame myself for not seeing through his facade.

“How the hell do you sleep at night, Simon?” I asked. “I want to know.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I mean, how the hell do you sleep at night knowing that you have multiple women across the country vying for different pieces of your heart?”

He said nothing.

All I could hear was the clinking of champagne glasses and light laughter in the background.

“How many women are there?” I asked. “Do any of them know?”

“Wow. I’m not sure who has gotten into your head with these lies and ugly allegations, but— ” His voice faltered for the very first time since we met. “None of what you’ve said about me is true. I’m falling for you and only you.”

“You know, years ago, I would’ve loved nothing more than to hear you say that.”

“Better late than never, right?”

“More like, better off as never.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “We’re fucking over, Simon. I’ll send you some pictures as a parting gift, but please don’t contact me again.”

“Penelope, don’t do this to us.” He had the audacity to sound sincere. “We have something special here. I felt it the moment I saw you at the airport.”

“That was probably guilt for cheating on the other girls.”

I didn’t wait for a response. I ended the call and forwarded him every single picture I’d received from Hayden.

Once the last one went through, he disregarded my wishes.

Simon: I’m so sorry about this situation, Penelope. I’ve always been afraid of committing to one person, but I can honestly say that you were on the verge of transforming me into the better man I want to be.

Simon: I can let all of them go for you. I swear.

Simon: Please take as much time as you need to think about forgiving me. I’ll never talk to any of them again if you give me another chance.

I blocked his number and turned off my phone. I had someone far more important to think about.

WHEN THE DRIVER pulled the car in front of my brownstone, he turned around and handed me a Kleenex.

“Hope the rest of your night gets better, Miss.”

“Thank you.” I handed him a few twenties and headed up the steps.

As I was rummaging for my keys, I spotted a note that was taped to the doorframe.

Soooo….

I went out to a Sailor Moon Con in Jersey for the weekend.

Don’t judge me!

Tell me everything (& I do mean EVERYTHING) on Monday.

Tati

P.S.—Please don’t move the star crystals on the mantle.

I CRUMPLED the note and pushed the door open.

Wanting to silence the thoughts that were racing through my head, I hastily unzipped my dress and avoided looking at myself in the mirror as the fabric fell to the floor.

I shut myself inside the bathroom and let the tears break free as I stepped into the shower. I turned the water to the hottest setting, allowing the streams attack me with their scalding, unrestrained judgement.

You had sex with your best friend.

In a public bathroom.

You fucked him a bathroom, and you broke up with the guy he’s been helping you chase for weeks.

As much as I wanted to deny it, I knew that things would never be the same between us again.

Not after that.

I tried to think about something else—anything else, but it was no use. All I could hear over the water slapping my skin was Hayden’s deep, rugged voice.

“He’s standing right in front of you.”

“And I want you to break up with him, for me.”

The steam fogged the glass doors and assaulted my throat, making another minute inside the shower unbearable.

Giving in, I turned off the water and wrapped myself in a towel. Since I was still on edge, I headed toward the kitchen.

I needed a drink.

“Hello, Penelope.” Hayden’s deep voice stopped me dead in my tracks.

I turned around to see him sitting on the edge of my bed. He’d pushed his shirt sleeves back to his elbows, and he’d loosened his dark tie.

Staring at me with his jaw clenched, he looked torn between pulling me against him or losing his shit on me for leaving the gala.

“Is your boyfriend coming over to join this conversation?” he asked.

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore.” I swallowed. “I’ll have to figure out a title for him soon.”

“‘The One That Wasted Our Time’ seems fitting.”

“Our time?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “He’s been in the way for too long, and I wasn’t lying to you about him.”

“I’m aware.”

“I also wasn’t lying about us.”

“There is no us,” I said. “That’s the most ridiculous thing that you’ve ever said to me. Then again, it may be tied for first place with you admitting that you stalked someone for an entire week.”

“Longer than that.” A faint smile crossed his lips, but he didn’t let it stay.

“I can’t be just your friend anymore, Penelope.” He looked into my eyes. “I refuse.”

“Are you saying it’s all or nothing?”

“Yes. But I’m also saying that I want to be yours, and I want you to be mine.”

Silence.

My heart was begging me to say yes and throw myself all over him, but my mind knew better.

Hayden had never been in a functioning relationship in his life.

Stay friends, stay friends …

“What if I said that I need to think about it?”

“I guess you can do that.” He walked over to me, wrapping an arm around my waist. “But that doesn’t need to happen until tomorrow. I think we need to pick up where we left off at the gala, in the meantime.”

“What makes you think that’s a good idea?”

“Because I know you,” he said, running his fingers through my hair.“And I know you want more, so tell me how you want it.”

I stood still, completely speechless.

“Tell me, Penelope,” he whispered. “Do you want me to go slower? Devour your pussy with my mouth?”

“Yes.”

“Can you say that for me?”

I swallowed, and he tugged at the edge of my towel until it fell away from my body. It landed on the floor in a useless heap.

“Penelope.” He bit my bottom lip, trapping it between his teeth while he stared into my eyes. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want what you said.” I struggled to speak. I was beyond turned on. “I want that.”

His low laughter turned me on even more.

Letting my lip go, he pressed a light kiss against my mouth. He pressed his palms against my ass—alternating between soft and hard squeezes.

“I’ll give you whatever you want,” he said. “But I need you to say it. I need you to be very clear and direct with me.”

As if his desire was to tease me—to give me a sample of how good he would be, he slowly licked his lips before leaning down and sucking my right nipple into his mouth.

He darted his tongue against it in a slow, yet firm rhythm—turning me on with so much ease that he could probably make me orgasm that way.

“I want you to fuck me slower and with your mouth,” I said, finally. “That’s what’s I want.”

“Good girl.” He pushed me back onto the mattress.

Moving on top of me, he kissed a scorching hot trail of kisses between my breasts, then he took his time moving his mouth down to my stomach.

Then lower …

He was staring at me with every move he made, silently demanding me to submit as he tightly grabbed my ankles.

When he blew a long kiss against my clit, I damn near lost it.

He teased me with another one, sliding two fingers deep inside of me and pushing me into a zone of pleasure I’d never ventured to before.

“I want you to look at me, Penelope,” he said. “Look at me while I eat your pussy.”

I opened my eyes, and he smiled. Then he blew a soft, warm kiss against my inner thigh.

Without any warning, he spat directly onto my clit, and I gasped at the sight of him burying his head between my thighs and devouring me—rendering me utterly useless.

Fuck.

“Hayden…” I gripped his hair and screamed as he controlled my entire body with his mouth. As he owned me like no man had ever done before.

“Ahhhh.” I clawed my nails into his shoulders, but he didn’t respond to the pain. He only responded by devouring me more.

The tremors inside of me were building, building, and building, as he kept the same dominant tempo. My body was reacting more to him than my inner my pleas to hold on just a little longer.

As he darted his tongue against my clit at just the right angle—just the right spot, I lost all control.

“Oh godddd, Haydennnn!” I screamed his name at the top of my lungs as I reached an orgasm and came in his mouth.

He didn’t let me go. He continued rolling his tongue against my pussy for several minutes after, until I’d completely stopped shaking.

When he finally stood to his feet, I lay against the mattress, panting and sweating, trying to come down from a high I’d never experienced before.

The sound of running water suddenly filled the room, and it took all of my energy to sit up a bit.

Hayden returned to the bedroom and stared into my eyes. “You’re fucking gorgeous when you come. Do know that?”

I blushed. All sense of conversation was eluding me at this moment.

I motioned for him to lay next to me, but he shook his head.

“I’m not done with you,” he said, moving on top of me. “I’m just getting started.”

He covered my lips with his, pulling me under his spell, and I became lost in him all over again.

For the rest of the night, he explored every inch of me—bringing me to orgasm after orgasm. Never letting up, never letting go.

TWENTY-EIGHT

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

When I woke up in the morning, Penelope was no longer in my arms.

Her dress from the gala lay in a silk pool on the floor, and my shirt was hanging from the window sill.

I sat up, slightly confused.

She’d come in my mouth multiple times—screaming my name so loudly that I had to press my palm against her mouth so none of her neighbors would hear.

The look in her eyes when we were entwined, when I was buried deep inside of her, was something I’d never forget.

I was still replaying the way she looked the moment she stepped inside the ballroom, how every man she passed did a not-so-subtle double take. How I knew, the moment her eyes met mine, that I wasn’t letting her leave with Simon.

Every move she made with him on the dance floor cut me, confirming what I’d felt for the past several weeks.

Years, even.

And because I knew her down to her marrow, I could tell that she was going to fight like hell to run away from this.

TWENTY-NINE

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

“Come on, come on.” I pushed the fire escape window as hard as I could, but it wasn’t budging. “Please.”

I needed to breathe. Then I needed to analyze every single second of last night, preferably someplace alone before Hayden woke up.

“Need some help?” His deep voice was suddenly behind me.

“No.” I jumped, but I didn’t turn around. “I’m fine.”

He kissed the back of my neck and stepped in front of me anyway, pushing it open with ease.

“Thank you.” I started to step out, but he slipped an arm around my waist and spun me around to face him.

Bare chested and wearing his pants from the night before, he was turning me on all over again with ease.

“Want to talk about it?” He smiled.

“I don’t think there’s anything to say.” I crossed my arms. “We were drunk and we got carried away.”

“I was one hundred percent sober.”

So was I. “Well, I wasn’t, so … ”

“So, what?”

“I’m willing to forget all about it and act like it never happened if you are.”

He let out a low laugh and picked me up in one smooth motion, carrying me out onto the fire escape. He gently set me down on the iron and trailed his finger against my exposed collarbone.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

He disappeared for several minutes, and I tried to focus on the slow trudge of morning traffic below.

When he returned, he was holding a blanket and two huge mugs.

Taking a seat next to me, he wrapped the blanket around my shoulders.

We sat in silence while we sipped our coffee, and I struggled to find something to say. I felt him staring at me, watching my every move and waiting to look his way, but I kept my gaze toward the cars.

“I can’t wait to see what gala picture Page Six and Sinful Suit pick for their front covers this weekend. My money is on one of you standing under the awning of lights. Either that, or you giving your usual grand speech after the fireworks.”

“I didn’t give a speech after the fireworks this time,” he said.

“What?” I finally faced him. “Why not?”

“There was something far more important that I needed to address.”

Silence.

“Lawrence and Sarah gave the speech on my behalf,” he said. “I’m sure they did fine without me.”

“Did any photogs follow you here?” I was suddenly paranoid for the first time. “What if—”

“No one saw me leave.” He assured me. “And I drove Lawrence’s car here. He didn’t ask me any questions when I told him I needed to go.”

“Did you tell him why?”

“I think he knew.”

“I can’t do a friends with benefits thing with you.” I couldn’t help but blurt out the words. “That’s just not for me. I’m sorry.”

“Penelope …” He sighed, tilting my chin up with my fingertips. “I meant every word that I said to you last night. I want to be with you, and you belong with me. No one else. Don’t you believe me?”

Tell him that last night was just a heat of the moment mistake.

“It wasn’t a heat of the moment mistake,” he said, reading me easily. “What else are you thinking?”

“You’re my best friend,” I said. “Like, my best fucking friend, and even if I do believe you, I can’t vet you like I do with anyone else and that scares the hell out of me.”

“Okay.” He trailed a finger against my lips. “Let’s vet me, then. Tell me the pros and cons of being in a relationship with the guy you were with last night.”

“I can’t think of any pros right now.”

“Then tell me the cons.”

“He’s never been in a monogamous relationship.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s incapable of being faithful.”

“You’re not supposed to take his side,” I said. “You have to let me finish and stay neutral.”

“Okay.” He brushed a few stray hairs from my forehead. “Give me the next one.”

“This guy is close friends with my brother, and my brother wouldn’t approve of me dating him at all.”

“I don’t see why you would suddenly have the need to tell your brother anything. It’s none of his business.”

“You think I should wait until the wedding?”

“Since when did the guy in question ask you to marry him?” He smirked. “I believe he only wants to be your boyfriend. Next con.”

“He’s famous.”

“That’s a fact, not a con.”

“I wouldn’t want to deal with the press hounding me or making up rumors just because I was dating him.”

“I think the press would continue to assume that there’s nothing going on,” he said. “It’s not like the guy we’re talking about would ever touch you in public. No matter how badly he wants to. Is there another con?”

“I’m just terrified of getting hurt.” I looked into his eyes. “I can’t stress that enough. If you hurt me, I have no other best guy friend to talk about the breakup with, and I lose everything.”

“I can promise you that won’t ever happen,” he said. “Now that we’re done with the cons, allow me to list out the pros for you.”

I opened my mouth to interject, but he pressed a finger against my lips.

“One, I know you better than any other guy you’ve ever dated.”

“You didn’t know about Simon or the voodoo doll.”

“Only one of those things will ever be discussed again.” He held back a laugh. “Two, I’m not going to watch you date any other guys.”

“That sounds like more of a threat than a pro.”

“It’s a guarantee.” He kissed my forehead. “Three, I think that deep down you want me as much as I want you, and that we can work very well together.”

“I only think that there’s a chance.”

“All the more reason that you should give it to me.”

“Three pros?” I asked. “That’s all you have?”

“It’s not like too much would change between us, Penelope.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “We talk to each other every day already, and we see each other whenever we want.”

“We weren’t having sex before.”

“And I never want to know what that’s like again.” He smiled. “I promise I won’t hurt you, Penelope. Give me a chance.”

I stared at him for several seconds, not saying a word.

“Penelope?” He looked concerned. “What do you say?”

“Okay.”

“Okay yes, or okay you need to think about it?”

“Okay, it depends on how good the next round of sex is.” I smiled. “I’m not sure if it’s as good as I remember.”

“Fair enough.” He laughed and clasped my hands, pulling me up against him. “Quick question. You really never thought about sex with me until you saw my leaked pictures?”

“Seriously? That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

“I’m just curious.”

“Yes, Hayden.” I only managed to get a few words out before he assaulted me with another kiss. “That was my first time.”

BREAK UP #13

THE ONE THAT WAS SOMEONE ELSE

Penelope

Back Then

“What I’m about to say is highly inappropriate, so I’ll deny it if you try to repeat it later.” My coach places his hands on my shoulders and looks deep into my eyes. “You’re sucking ass out there.”

“You gave me a perfect score thirty minutes ago.”

“To see if that would inspire some life into your performance.” He shook his head. “You’re not getting any better, so I’m giving you the spoiler: You’re going to lose tomorrow morning, and some other girl will be standing at the top of that podium. ”

I bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying something sarcastic. “I’m really doing the best I can, Coach.”

“No, this is your worst.” He scoffs. “You’re out there skating like you’ve never been fucked before.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

“I said what I said.” He shrugs. “You had the audacity to tell me that you’re on the chase for twenty-eight championships so you can beat your late mother’s record? Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re eight short, and if you want to even think about achieving that, you can’t afford to lose for two years.”

My blood boils as he berates me in front of my competition.

Before I can tell him that I’m done listening to him for the day, he lowers his voice and softens his tone.

“You’re the best damn singles skater that I’ve ever had the honor of training, but you have to want this shit more than I want it for you, and you can’t cut corners … Even if you have more talent than anyone else.”

I want to tell him that I’m trying my best, but deep down I know that’s not true. I’ve been on auto-pilot ever since Canada.

I’ve done my best to forget about wasting my first time on an asshole, and I’ve spun through a few other first dates—landing on a guy who believes in romance for a change, but my skating has hit a robotic, complacent plateau.

“You want to continue reigning at number one?” My coach interrupts my thoughts. “You want to cement your legacy as only here to get first place and being the best skater to hit the ice since they invented this goddamn sport?”

“Yes.”

“Then tomorrow morning, I want to see you go out there and shut your eyes. Dig deep into your best thoughts of you and your boyfriend Francis—”

“Frankie. His name is Frankie.”

“Really? That name is even worse than Francis.” He shudders. “Anyway, go out there and pretend like every move is a passionate plea for Frankie when he’s making love to you. Get the hell out of my sight until then.”

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, welcome to Skate America,” a loud voice comes through the speakers at Washington Arena in the morning.

Far across from me, in the front row, Frankie is wearing a bright blue “Go Penelope!” sweatshirt. Several rows behind him, Hayden is attracting the attention of every woman in a hundred feet radius as usual, but his eyes are locked on mine.

He waves, mouthing, “Travis says sorry he couldn’t be here. Raincheck?”

I wave back. “It is what it is.”

Frankie blows me a kiss, and I smile and hold onto it—not wanting that to get misdirected. Ever.

For half an hour, I watch my competitors dance on the ice with my heart locked in my throat.

It’s as if they’ve all noticed my slight slump into complacency, and they’ve raised the bar in hopes of finally dethroning me.

Especially Tatiana Brave.

When it’s my turn, I glide to the center and shut my eyes.

Think about Frankie. Be passionate about Frankie.

An instrumental version of “Time After Time” sifts through the speakers, and I push off backwards—launching into my routine.

My light blue skirt flutters as I spin around on the ice, as I jump into a triple axel, and again when I complete a double lutz. Instead of following my already-challenging program to the letter, I replace every double jump with a triple salchow or the ever-elusive quad that’s always come so easily to me.

Gasps from the crowd fill the arena with my every move, and I keep picturing Frankie kissing in my bedroom, him slowly pulling off my clothes and making love to me.

I know without a doubt that every move is perfect, that by the time the song ends and I complete a final Hamill spin that I haven’t made a single mistake.

Except when I finish and the crowd—judges included, are standing to their feet and clapping, I realize that it’s not Frankie who I was envisioning making love to me.

It was Hayden.

THIRTY

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

Boston, Massachusetts

If it weren’t for the fact that I was adamant about keeping my promises, I would’ve spent the rest of my weekend in bed with Penelope instead of chartering a mid-day flight to Boston.

Alas, this date was set months in advance, and I’d always agreed to show up to the opening ceremonies for Travis’s chain of workout gyms. It was something that ensured that even in our busiest years, we scheduled the time to support each other.

By the time my plane landed and the town car whisked me down Newbury Street, I was twenty minutes late.

I rode a private elevator to the top floor of the building, finding the usual suits already lined up for the photo.

Forcing a smile at the anxious press, I took my place right next to Travis.

“Thank you for blessing us all with your presence today,” he muttered. “So glad that I’m worthy of your time.”

“You’re not,” I said. “I’d much rather be in New York.”

He laughed. “Penelope said she was coming, but apparently she’s too sick to make it.”

No, she’s too sore to make it. “I’ll check on her when I get back.”

“Thank you.”

“On the count of three, say, ‘Congratulations on location number seven, Mr. Carter,’ everyone!” The photog saved me from letting that conversation go anywhere else.

“One … two … three!”

“Congratulations on location number seven, Mr. Carter!”

Everyone smiled as Travis held a pair of oversized scissors above a red ribbon.

With the photogs trailing our every move, we walked around the gym and posed for perfectly curated shots for the next hour and a half.

“Which penthouse suite did you book for the weekend?” Travis tossed me a free weight after they snapped the final picture.

“None,” I said. “I’m flying back home.”

“Why so soon?”

“I have some personal business to handle.”

“You’re not the slightest bit interested in hanging out with me before I have to completely lock in for the fight of my life?”

I’m more interested in your sister. “I have plans.”

“Some best friend you are.” He feigned hurt and pulled a folded paper from his back pocket. “Guess who I spotted on the cover of Page Six this morning?”

“Whatever they wrote about me, it isn’t true.”

“You weren’t important enough to make the cover this time.” He unfolded it, revealing a stunning photo of Penelope and Simon staring at each other on the dance floor.

The words “New York’s Newest Bachelor Dances the Night Away at Hayden Hunter’s Annual Gala” graced the top of the page.

“I spent a few minutes researching her date this morning, and he looks like he totally has his shit together.” He smiled. “This might be the first boyfriend of hers that I actually approve. Do you like him?”

“They broke up already.” I didn’t want to acknowledge Simon Gaines’ existence ever again. “That was nothing more than a cordial photo opp. She’s dating someone else now.”

“Okay then … Is the ‘someone else’ a better guy?”

“A much better guy.”

“Cool.” He shrugged. “You know, sometimes I feel a tad bit jealous that she tells you more about her personal life than me.”

“That’s because I’ve never threatened to murder any of her boyfriends.”

“I only did that one time.”

“You’ve done it six times.”

“Those don’t count if I never made it to prison.” He instantly confirmed how unhinged he was. “Thanks for still being there for her whenever I can’t be, though.”

“No problem.”

“I really mean that, man.” He looked genuine. “I owe you a huge one, and I’m still trying to figure out a way to pay you back someday. If you were the one who’d lost your parents and had a little sister—”

“I would’ve never left her anywhere near you.”

“Yeah, true.” He laughed. “What the hell was I thinking back then? Anyway—how about joining me at the strip club before you leave?”

“I literally just told you that I have plans, Travis.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure that Lawrence can wait a few hours.”

“My girlfriend can’t.”

“Your what?” He looked at me as if I was speaking a foreign language. “What did you say?”

“I said, my girlfriend can’t wait.”

“Is this some type of fake arrangement for your image or something?”

“No, it’s the real deal.” I held back a sigh, knowing that the time to discuss dating Penelope would be long after Vegas. “I’ll introduce her to you later.”

“But like … Given your track record with monogamy and shit, you probably won’t last that long with her anyway, so can we still go to the strip club together?”

“Goodbye, Travis.” I patted his shoulder before heading towards the door. “I’ll see you in Vegas.”

THIRTY-ONE

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

It took me fifteen orgasms to realize that I needed to do some real work before I spent the rest of my life in bed with Hayden.

While he stepped into my shower, I slipped away to the ice rink and found an envelope from U.S. Figure Skating waiting on my desk.

I’d been staring at it for over an hour now, brewing fresh cups of coffee while wondering what was inside.

“Open it already,” Tatiana said. “I need to know if it’s my biggest fear come true.”

“Why would the figure skating association send me a letter about you?”

“I don’t know, but I sometimes have nightmares that they’re going to give you this grand award with a special, over the top ceremony for being the best skater in the sport.”

“Glad you can finally admit that I was the best.” I smiled. “Took you long enough.”

“I didn’t mean it.” She eyed the envelope. “Open it, will you?”

I picked up a pen and sliced the top, pulling out a bright blue sheet.

Dear Miss Carter,

As the most decorated female singles skater and a two-time Olympic gold medalist, we wanted to reach out to you about a rule change regarding the upcoming winter games in Beijing, China.

Per the International Olympic Committee, qualified coaches of individual athlete sports will now be eligible to receive medals.

Unfortunately, the coach for candidate Katie Folds is now banned from our organization, and we are hoping to replace him with someone who respects our sport at the highest level.

Per structural changes we’ve made (and the earlier date for the World Championships that began last year), the top choices will train at the Edwin Compound in Salt Lake City, Utah for four months before traveling to Beijing.

If you’re interested in this opportunity, please contact me at your earliest convenience to go over the updated rules and terms for our organization. (I’m sure you’ve kept up with them. This is a formality.)

The chase for 28 continues …

Deborah Walsh

I DROPPED the paper to the floor, and Tatiana quickly picked it up to read.

Her eyes widened with every word, and she let out a breath once she reached the end.

“Wow,” she said. “You’re totally doing this, right?”

“I need to think about it.”

“Why?” She crossed her arms. “This cements your legacy and gets you bragging rights forever, especially since Katie Folds will definitely get on that podium.”

“Exactly.” I sipped the coffee. “If the rule change is permanent, I’d rather coach someone I really helped to get there. It would mean more.”

She stepped closer and pressed her hand against my neck. “You know, I was about to check for a pulse, to make sure you’re alive, but—” Her lips curved into a smile. “There are red marks all over your neck, so I think this is the post-gala sex with Simon talking.”

“We can discuss what day you’re calling to accept their offer later.” She plopped down on a chair. “Give me all the dirty details with Simon, full play by play.”

“I didn’t have sex with Simon.”

“Ugh, come on.” She crossed her arms. “That’s how you want to play this?”

“It’s true,” I said. “I mean, I did have sex.”

“Clearly.”

“It wasn’t with him, though.”

She gasped. “You met some other guy that night? Who?”

“Hey.” Hayden’s deep voice suddenly filled the room and made me look toward the door.

My cheeks heated as he strolled inside, and my body reacted at the sight of him in dark grey sweats and a white T-shirt.

He set my keys down on the desk, and I had an instant flashback of hours ago when he was making me ride his hand in the shower.

“You might need those later,” he said. “Don’t you think?”

“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat. “Thank you for bringing those here, Hayden. As you can see, I am busy speaking with Tatiana at this moment.”

“I can see that.” His lips curved into a smirk. “You left me, so I was checking to make sure you were alright.”

“Yes, I left you at the coffee cafe—because that’s where we were earlier.” I tried to act natural. “I’ll call you later to discuss more coffee.”

He looked as if he was about to lean over the desk and kiss me—to kill my fumbling ruse on the spot, but he laughed and left the room.

“Okay,” Tatiana said. “Now, back to the guy you had sex with this weekend. You said you were never the one-night stand type, so—” She stopped talking and tilted her head to the side. Then she sucked in a breath. “You fucked Hayden, didn’t you?”

“No.” My cheeks heated again. “No, I did not fuck Hayden.”

“You did!” She saw right through me. “Did his entire cock even fit inside of you? Did it feel good? No, wait. Don’t answer that yet. Tell me everything—and I do mean down to every second, from the time Simon picked you up until now.”

“Can I tell you after I get done coaching my client?”

“Ha! No.” She pointed to the window behind me, where my “client” was coordinating her umpteenth TikTok video on the ice instead of doing a warm-up. “She’s only here because of her rich parents and you know it. Get to the sex recap. Now.”

TWO HOURS LATER, Tatiana fanned herself with a binder.

“Well, damn,” she said. “I feel the sudden need to go home and have a date with my vibrator.”

“I didn’t need to know that.”

“Of course you did.” She laughed. “That way, you can go to his place and have more sex to tell me about later. Are you two an item now?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “But please don’t tell anyone.”

“Who would I have to tell?”

“Good point, sorry. I just want to make sure my brother doesn’t know until later.” Much later.

“I fucking hate your brother.” She stood to her feet. “He used to leave me ‘You’ll never outrank my sister’ and ‘How does it feel to be number two again?’ voicemails after every competition.”

“Really?” I smiled. “He never told me that. That was sweet of him.”

She gave me a blank stare.

“I mean, I can’t believe he did that. What an awful human being.”

She laughed and picked up her purse. “Brunch tomorrow, if you’re not screwing Hayden again?”

“Sure.” I nodded and waited for her to leave.

I reread the letter from the skating committee a few more times, wishing that they’d written me sooner.

As I was weighing the pros and cons, Hayden stepped into my office again.

“I thought I asked you to leave, sir.” I placed the letter into the drawer as he walked over to me. “I’m busy at work.”

“You were busy discussing us fucking.” He smiled, pulling me up by my hands. “Very interesting recap.”

“You eavesdropped?”

“I briefly took notes on the second half.” He pushed me against the wall. “If you wanted more, you shouldn’t have left.”

“I have a job, Hayden.”

“You’re self-employed.” He pressed a kiss against my lips. “And your only client for the day left over an hour ago.”

“I have tons of other things to do.”

“I know,” he said, covering my mouth with his. “I’m one of them.”

“Did you overhear the part when I said I wanted to have sex on the ice with you someday?”

“I did.” He slid a hand under my shirt. “We’ll get to that next.”

THIRTY-ONE (B)

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

Hayden Hunter’s Gala Raises $10M for Charity

Tinder Sues Cinder, Again: Why They Might Win The Case This Time Around

Chicago Woman Crafts Line of Vibrators Inspired by Hayden Hunter’s “Member”

Fifteen Reasons Why We Think Hayden Hunter Is Currently Celibate

THIRTY-TWO

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

In my office. On the ice. In his office. On the roof. All over every surface in his condo.

Not a day had gone by that Hayden and I hadn’t had sex. On the one hand, I felt like we were making up for years of repressed attraction and unrequited yearning.

On the other, we’d lost our late-night phone conversations, all-day texts, and meet-ups in Central Park; I didn’t want to lose those things over sex, no matter how phenomenal it was.

I swiped my key at his penthouse suite Friday afternoon—hoping to catch him when he arrived home from work.

When I pushed the door open, I found him reading a newspaper near his windows.

“Yes, Penelope?” He smiled at me. “Breaking and entering is a crime, you know.”

“Not when you have a key.” I blushed. “I didn’t think you would be home yet.”

He set down the paper and walked over to me. “What’s wrong?”

“I need to talk shit about my new boyfriend,” I said. “But the guy I usually talk about this kind of thing with is my boyfriend.”

“Hmmm.” He smiled. “Would you like to call Tatiana instead?”

“She’s still in-flight from L.A. She won’t land for another two hours.”

“I see. What’s the problem with your boyfriend?”

“We haven’t done much of anything except have sex.”

“Oh?” He looked amused.

“I know he’s supposed to be laying low with his scandals and all, but I feel like he knows me well enough to take me out somewhere. Don’t get me wrong, I mean, the sex is beyond phenomenal, and it’s the best I’ve ever had, but I loved our friendship.”

He didn’t say anything.

“This is the part when you join me in talking shit about him.”

Laughing, he took out his wallet and pulled out two tickets. “Your boyfriend was planning to take you to a private premiere tonight. This was after he took you to dinner atop the Empire State Building, and after his security team cleared a path for a private walk through Central Park.”

My cheeks heated as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

“I think your boyfriend knows you very well and you should try to be patient with him since you’re his first,” he said. “He’s trying to be the best boyfriend you’ve ever had.”

He already is. “When were you planning to start tonight’s date?”

“Around ten.”

“If I said that I wanted to have sex first, would that make me a hypocrite?”

“Only if I granted your request.” He clasped my hand and led me out of his condo and onto the elevator. “Let’s do something else first.”

As the car moved down, I stared up at him. “Tell me something that I don’t already know about you.”

“I DVR your brother’s press conferences and watch them later,” he said. “Even though I tell him that I watch them live.”

“I’m usually there when you do that.” I laughed. “Tell me something else.”

“I sent an apology letter to my father today,” I said.

“What on earth are you sorry to him for?”

“Not feeling the need to reconnect or fix anything between us,” he said, looking at me. “I have everyone I want in my life already, and I have no desire to reconnect with strangers. Your turn.”

The doors glided open, and I thought long and hard about something I hadn’t already shared with him.

When we made it into his car, I let out a sigh.

“I used to have the biggest crush on you. No, I actually liked you.”

“What? When was this?”

“A long time ago.”

“Before or after our Cold War?”

“Definitely not after.” I rolled my eyes. “It was fleeting, though. I think it lasted a week or so.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because you would’ve turned me down and said that you were too old for me.”

“Hmmm,” he said. “Probably.”

“Did you ever like me?”

“No, Penelope.” He laughed. “You were just a friend, then.”

“Well, thank goodness I never told you.”

“Exactly.” He leaned over and kissed me. “The walk from the elevator to my car counts as doing ‘something else’ before sex, right?”

“Absolutely.”

BREAK UP #15

THE ONE THAT NEVER EXISTED

Hayden

There’s a park bench hidden under an oak tree canopy on Covington Avenue, and it’s become my go-to meet-up spot with Penelope on Sunday nights. It’s close enough to her rink and my rented office space that we can both walk there within ten minutes.

When we first found it, we called Travis via video chat to catch up on things with us, but after he continued to no-show or cancel at the last minute, we’ve kept it to ourselves.

Taking my seat, I see Penelope walking toward me from afar. Dressed in her typical sweats and oversized T-shirt, she looks more like a skateboarder than a figure skater.

She’s fucking beautiful.

“Why the face?” I ask, noticing her scowl. “You’re still ranked number one in the world, and you just got paid two hundred dollars to give a speech full of platitudes to high schoolers.”

“Platitudes?” She crosses her arms. “I put my heart and soul into writing that speech.”

“You remixed a bunch of quotes from Pinterest.”

“Thank you for un-remixing them for me.” She smiles, but she doesn’t let it stay. “Stephen broke up with me today.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “I don’t remember what he said. I don’t even care.”

“Wasn’t your boyfriend from four weeks ago named Stephen, too?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You think so? If you’re forgetting your boyfriends’ names this quickly, you’re getting into my territory.”

“No, I won’t set foot in your territory until I contract a strain of syphilis.”

“Fuck you, Penelope.”

“I’ll never be that desperate.” She leans against my chest, and I run fingers through her hair.

“Do you think there’s something wrong with me, Hayden?”

“I can list way more than one thing,” I say. “What do you mean, though?”

“As of a few months ago, we’ve stopped counting my breakups as often,” she says. We’re just naming them so I won’t feel so pathetic about the number of guys who don’t want to stick around that long.”

“That’s what dating is, Pen.” I’ve given up on her ever relinquishing her hopeless romantic ways. “Every guy you meet can’t be the one. Even if you get along great in the beginning, that doesn’t mean you’re meant to stay together for the long term.”

“I guess …” She repositions her body so that her head is in my lap. Then she shuts her eyes.

“If it makes you feel any better, most people who claim they find ‘the one’ at your age end up divorced five to ten years later with kids that hate them.”

Her lips curve into a smile. “That does make me feel better.”

“Good. You’ll find a good boyfriend eventually.”

“At the rate I’m going, it won’t happen until I’m twenty-five.”

“That’s a better age anyway, since you have so many ridiculous expectations.”

“At this point, I’ll settle for a guy who won’t cheat on me.”

“Every guy who ever dared to cheat on you was an idiot.” I kiss her forehead, and she smiles again.

I stare at her cherry-red lips and suddenly feel the need to taste them.

Brushing a few strands of hair away from her forehead, I lean down to kiss her, but I catch myself when I’m inches away.

What the fuck am I doing?

Her eyes are still shut, and her lips are tempting as hell, but the fact that I almost crossed the line is wrong on too many fucking levels.

“Shit.” I gently grab her hands and pull her up. “I just thought about something. I need to head back to my office.”

“Now? Do you want some help?”

Not from you right now … “No, I’ll call you later, though.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I know.”

I IGNORE her call that night, trying to figure out what the hell almost happened on that park bench.

It was too natural and easy on my part. There was no hesitation whatsoever, and that means we need to set some better boundaries.

Perhaps we can cut back on the phone calls every night, do away with our Wednesday evening dinners, or ax the park meet-ups on Sundays. Or maybe I can stop giving her a ride to practice and showing up to see her competitions.

Fuck.

I honestly don’t want to let go of any of it, and I can’t believe that she’s become this engrained in my life. Our friendship has evolved far past me giving her breakup and guy advice, far past the typical “I’ll be there for you, you’ll be there for me” framework.

It’s almost like she’s my … girlfriend?

“I can’t even go there right now,” I mutter and grab the remote.

I turn on the television and see my “father” starring in his latest bullshit commercial. Dressed in a custom suit and tie that cost more than what most people make in a month, he’s grinning like he’s won the lottery.

“If you or your loved one needs one-on-one support with a trusted professional, come down to Heartstone Therapy,” he says. “We have more than fifteen locations nationwide to serve you.”

Per the cheesy script, his new son—a two-year-old who is also named Hayden, jumps into his arms.

“I love you, Daddy!” His mouth is full of red gummies.

Thankfully, the screen transitions to a far more entertaining toothbrush commercial.

I still find it tragically ironic that he’s a leading family therapist, despite leaving my mother and me out to dry years ago. That no one has ever bothered to look below the surface and discover how much of a fraud he is.

I flip through the channels, settling on a business infomercial. As I’m taking out my notebook, the doorbell rings.

Walking over to it, I see Penelope standing there with an oversized duffle bag.

“Yeah?” I answer.

“Can I stay the night?”

“Why?”

“Because you have a pair of compression boots that I like to use on Thursdays.” She looks confused. “Remember?”

“You can take them with you and go back home if you like.”

“No, I’m good.” She walks past me before I can say anything else.

As usual, she sets up camp on my couch and slides her legs into the compression boots. Like I’m instantly wired into what’s become our routine, I go into the kitchen and make her a vanilla protein shake.

I sit next to her on the couch, and she leans against my chest.

“I met the cutest guy at the grocery store before coming over here,” she says, looking at me. “I think you’ll be super impressed with how I handled approaching him.”

“I’ve told you countless times to let the guy approach you.”

“That’s what I meant,” she says. “Anyway, I took a page from ‘The One That Was Shy’ and made direct eye contact and smiled. It took him a minute to ask for my number, but we hit it off pretty well after that.”

I listen as she talks about this guy for another hour while begging for advice, and I start to think that my ill-timed moment on the park bench may have meant nothing at all.

It’s probably all in my head.

THIRTY-THREE

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

The devil was lighting up a room in preparation for my arrival. Forget fire and brimstone; my punishment was bound to be a nuclear detonation that would leave an acre-wide hole in Hell.

I couldn’t stop falling for Penelope if I tried, and I wasn’t concerned with any of the consequences or repercussions right now.

We were toeing the line between reckless and insane—hanging out in public more often under the ever-snapping gaze of the photogs. The headlines had yet to reflect that, though; they were still distracted with my apology letters—still unassuming.

“Have you picked out a dress for your brother’s fight?” I pressed a kiss against the back of Penelope’s neck as we sat on my balcony.

“No, but now that you’ve brought it up, you can help me choose.” She moved out of my lap. “I stuffed a few options into my bag the other day, but you can pick out the lingerie that I’ll wear underneath the dress first.”

“You don’t need to wear anything underneath it at all.”

“We’ll see.” She laughed. “Go wait in the living room.”

I kissed her one more time and headed down the hallway. I was halfway to the living room when someone knocked on the door.

Lawrence.

I grabbed a few apology letters from my table before walking over to open it, finding myself face to face with Travis instead.

What the fuck? “Um, hi.”

“Um, hi?” He laughed. “That’s all I get?”

“Shouldn’t you be in Vegas?”

“My plane leaves in a few.” He held up a bottle of thousand-dollar champagne. “I can’t pop up to see you for a quick celebratory glass?”

“You haven’t fought the match yet, Travis.”

“I already know the results.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and ushered him inside. Then I sent a quick text to Penelope.

Me: Your brother is here. Stay in my bedroom.

“Do you still have that contact at Top Modeling?” Travis walked into the kitchen.

“I do, but she no longer talks to me.” I pulled two glasses from the cabinet.

“Is she still mad about you never calling her for a repeat?”

“Probably so.”

“Well, I won’t bring up your name when I call,” he said. “I need to hire a few more replacements for my grand entrance.”

“Good idea.” I tapped my screen and sent him the contact info.

I was about to ask him how long he planned to stay, but the sound of heels clicking against the floor made me turn around.

Shit.

Penelope walked into the room wearing a short, nude-colored dress that left nothing—fucking nothing, to the imagination. The thin fabric exposed her hardened nipples and the intricate lace imprint of her panties.

“Hey there, Crown.” Travis looked her over. “I see that you’re currently searching for the rest of that dress. Try calling to the store and asking why they only sold you half of it.”

“Funny.” She hugged him. “Hayden is helping me pick out an outfit for your big event.”

“You don’t need his help if you’re considering that one,” he said. “It’s a fuck no, so pick another.”

“I’m twenty-five-years old, Travis. I don’t value your opinion on much of anything anymore.”

“Don’t you dare wear that to my fight,” he said.

She groaned and attempted to change the subject. “Are you excited about the big five-million-dollar payday?”

“I don’t want even you to pack it into your suitcase.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

Then he shot me a “You better back me up on this” look.

I could only nod. I was too speechless at how fucking sexy she looked, far too turned on.

“Anyway, yes,” he said to Penelope. “I’m excited about getting five million for showing up to fight this clown, and even more for winning. My rider is all set for everyone and—” He stopped talking once his phone vibrated in his pocket. “Yeah, Graham? Right. I’m on my way.”

He ended the call. “Well, so much for a quick drink. I’ll see you two in Vegas.” He looked at Penelope. “Preferably in a pantsuit.”

He shook my hand, and I walked him out and to the elevator.

I waited for it to go down before returning to Penelope. “Did you not get my text message?”

“I did.” She shrugged. “So?”

“So, I like living. Comprehend it a bit better next time.”

“I didn’t think he would suspect anything.” She pulled the dress over her head, revealing her breasts. “What do you honestly think he would do if he found out we were dating?”

“Before or after he hid my body?”

“Before.” She laughed. “Way before.”

“I think he would end our friendship, then he’d go out of his way to ruin me.”

“You’re kidding. I don’t think my brother is that irrational or petty.”

“Then you don’t know your brother.” I trailed my thumb against her bottom lip. “He would fucking kill me if he knew what goes through my mind when I think about you.”

“Are you saying that we should put a stop to this before he finds out?”

“No.” I pressed my lips against hers. “I’m saying, turn the lights off … ”

THIRTY-FOUR

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

Las Vegas, Nevada

Sometime between being named The Humble Kid from the Emerald City and The Punisher, my brother evolved into a cocky asshole.

Not to me, per se, but he’d definitely let the fame and the attention get to his head.

He was now the highest-paid athlete in MMA with the most endorsements, and he knew it. He talked trash in the media about his adversaries, torched their accomplishments as worthless compared to his own, and went out of his way to make it clear that he was the best.

Still, his pre-fight routine was a legend around the UFC, and he followed it to the letter each time he was up for a championship fight.

He also made me follow it as well.

It started with a midday brunch with the closest members of his entourage, his cornerman, and a bevy of personal trainers.

They sat at one end, watching practice film on a massive screen over high-price steak and waffles, while friends and “family” sat on the other end in utter awe of how much bigger his ego had become.

“When I win the match this weekend, I won’t be allowing bum ass photogs to come to my parties anymore,” he shouted. “Unless they want to pay to get a picture of this face, of course. They’ll probably make more of my picture than they will all year at their little journalism jobs.”

Ugh! I stabbed a salad tomato with a fork.

As I was raising it to my lips, Hayden’s hand lightly grazed my inner thigh.

My eyes widened, and I looked over at him.

“What?” He smiled.

“You’re touching me,” I whispered. “In public and in front of Travis. I thought you liked living.”

“You’re worth dying for.”

I blushed and pushed his hand away, but he placed it back minutes later—giving my thigh a soft squeeze.

“So, Crown …” Travis’s voice made me look up. “Hayden hasn’t told me much of anything about your new boyfriend. When will I get to see him?”

He’s sitting right in front of you. “Sometime soon.”

“So, never?” He smiled. “You should’ve invited him to come here this weekend. I think he would’ve enjoyed it.”

Tatiana choked on a piece of bread and signaled for the waiter.

“If Hayden likes him, he must be a good guy for you,” he said.

“Yes.” Hayden squeezed my thigh again. “He’s a really good guy for her.”

Travis looked as if he wanted to say something more, but the wait staff began serving the second course.

It was now time for the next part of his routine: Watching his most recent match one final time to inflate his ego.

It was good that he always encouraged everyone in the room to cheer and shout as if it was happening in real-time.

Otherwise, I’m pretty sure they would’ve noticed that my shouts weren’t for the sport at all. They were because Hayden used his fingers to bring me to back to back orgasms under the table.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, I avoided Hayden’s request to meet at the aquarium.

When he asked me to join him for a late lunch at the Aria, I turned him down and regretted every moment of agreeing to go to a three-hour anime cosplay show with Tatiana instead.

By the time I returned to my suite, it was a little after midnight, and he was sitting on the sofa waiting for me.

“I don’t remember giving you my other room key.” I dropped my purse to the floor.

“I took it at brunch.” He smiled. “Are you having a good time in Vegas so far?”

“Yep. You?”

“Not particularly,” he said. “My best friend is avoiding me for some strange reason.”

“You think so? I’m not really getting that vibe at all. I think you’re misreading things.”

“I’m not.” He kept his eyes on mine as he walked toward me. “Do you plan on acting awkward with me this entire weekend?”

“I’m not acting awkward at all.”

“You haven’t come up to my room once,” he said. “And at brunch, I saw you drafting text messages of excuses and rain checks that you plan to give to me this week.”

“Is that why you finger-fucked me under the table?”

“I did that to help you stop being so jittery,” he said. “I also love the way you look whenever you come for me.”

“Well—” My cheeks heated. “I’m sorry you think that I’m acting awkward. We can go up to your room now, if you’d like.”

“No, that’s okay.” He stepped closer. “Yours is fine. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I know you, Penelope.” He looked into my eyes in the way that only he could. “Tell me.”

“It’s two things,” I said.

“Name the first one.”

“I think my brother really would kill you if he finds out we’re dating.”

“We’ve already established that.” He smirked. “Can I trust you to make sure that my funeral is a beautiful one?”

“Do you have a color scheme in mind?”

“Sky blue and white.”

“Noted.” I smiled.

“What’s the second thing?”

“It’s stupid,” I said. “Not even worth mentioning.”

“Tell me.”

“I haven’t gone up to your room because there are photogs watching the damn elevators, shouting rumors in hopes of getting the whiff of a comment, and snapping pictures of anyone who dares to take a ride up to the penthouse.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

“Before, their presence never bothered me, but now it does for some reason.” The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could think them through. “I mean, the rumors they’re mentioning are nothing that you haven’t already told me. I just hate when they shout about it.”

“I do, too.” He tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear. “It’s in the past though, Pen. And you know that the worst of it happened when we weren’t friends.”

“Yeah.”

“You do know that when we’re a public couple that they’ll continue to do that, right?”

I didn’t say anything.

“You’ll have to continue tuning them out like you did before you were mine.” He kissed me. “Nothing changes.”

“When we were here together last year, I hardly ever went up to your room and it wasn’t a problem,” I said. “Things have changed.”

“For the better.” He looked into my eyes. “At least, I think so. I think you need something far more entertaining to focus on while we’re here.”

“Something like what?”

He didn’t answer me.

He covered my mouth with his and kissed me deeply—making me forget my trivial worries the more his tongue tamed mine.

Briefly tearing away from me, he leaned back against the wall and unzipped his pants. With his eyes on mine, he smiled.

“Let’s see if you can take it all the way down your throat like you mentioned to me before.”

I swallowed as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and kissed me again, as he whispered, “Get on your knees.”

I obliged, sinking my knees into the hotel room’s plush red carpet.

He didn’t let his grip on my hair go, he tightened it. “Take out my cock.”

I reached up and unbuckled his belt. Then I pulled it through the loops of his pants and let it fall to the floor.

Unbuttoning his pants with my fingers, I leaned forward and bit his silver zipper with my teeth, pulling it down.

I took my time as he watched me, and I watched him.

“Fuck…” He looked impressed.

Sliding my hands into the top of his briefs, I pushed down the fabric until his thick cock was staring me in the face.

I kissed the tip of it, swirling my tongue around in circles. Using my hand to rub up and down his length, I stared at the veins that swelled with my touch.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he said. “I want to look at you as you take it down your throat.”

I looked up and opened my mouth as wide as it could go, taking him in inch by inch, holding back my tongue as I adjusted to his girth.

I sucked it hard and moved back, slowly pacing myself to take another inch.

Without warning, he gently guided my head forward and then back. Forward and then back.

“Like this,” he said, staring at me. “Like you know there’s no place better for my cock than your hot mouth.”

I couldn’t even nod.

My mouth was too full of him.

I pressed my hands against his thighs to balance myself, and then I slowly began establishing my own rhythm. And then he slowly stopped having to guide me.

“Fuck…” He groaned as I took him in deeper, faster.

In between taking him inside, I used my right hand to tease him.

His breathing slowed, and I felt his body stiffen against me.

While his eyes were still on mine, he whispered, “Let me come in your mouth.”

I said, “Yes,” with my gaze, and he grabbed a fistful of my hair again. I took him deep into my mouth—as far as I could go, and the next thing I felt was his warm cum shooting past my lips.

I stilled as the saltiness sat on my tongue.

Then I swallowed.

Smiling at me, he grabbed my hands and pulled me up. He pressed a kiss against my cheek and positioned me on the bed so that my legs were hanging over the edge.

“Let me pay you back for that.” He kissed my thigh.

He slid a hand between my thighs and swirled his thumb around my clit.

“Wait!” I gasped and sat up.

“What’s wrong?” He pressed a kiss on my shoulder, looking completely unfazed.

“I think we should get dressed and take this upstairs to your room.”

His lips curved into a smile. “Why is that, Penelope?”

“Because some of my brother’s entourage is next door and they might hear us.”

“Then try not to scream.” He pushed me back down, rendering me useless with the skills of his mouth.

THIRTY-FIVE

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

Las Vegas, Nevada

“Is it me, or does your brother look a bit more psychotic than usual?” Tatiana whispered to my left. “Something’s off with him.”

I looked up from the floor as he danced in his corner of the ring.

“I don’t see any difference,” I said, noticing the same fire that’d been in his eyes since he was sixteen. “He looks focused.”

“If you say so.” She shrugged. “By the way, a brand-new, designer wardrobe was delivered to our suite last night, but since you weren’t there, and your boyfriend can afford to buy you another one, I’m keeping it for myself.”

I laughed. “Noted.”

“Ladies and gentlemennnn!” The announcer stood at the center of the ring, yelling into the mic. “Welcome to UFC Fight 1234 between Travis ‘The Punisher’ Carter, the undefeated, undisputed welterweight champion and the challenger, Christopher ‘Red Eye’ Juarez!”

Screams filled the arena. The lights above flashed in an array of reds and blues.

“This match is five rounds,” he said. “The winner will be determined by judges in the event that there isn’t a TKO. If you’d like to touch gloves out of respect, do so now.”

My brother didn’t make a move.

The announcer looked surprised at that, but he focused on the crowd. “Let’s fight!”

The referee took his place in the ring—going over the rules one more time, and I braced myself for an ongoing saga of brutal wear and tear.

My brother attacked Juarez the moment the bell rang, punching him straight in the face.

He didn’t falter, though.

He returned the jabs to my brother’s shoulders, kicking him in the legs whenever he couldn’t quite connect.

My brother smiled with glee as he punched Juarez in the throat, right as the first round came to an end.

“I wish he’d retire,” I whispered to Tatiana as the crowd roared.

“I don’t see why.” She tilted her head to the side. “I take back what I said about him earlier. Your brother is hot as fuck.”

“You’re dead to me.”

She laughed. “I’m just saying. Do you know if he has any cock pics out in the world?”

I swallowed before bile could rise up my throat.

The bell sounded for round two, and I leaned against Hayden’s shoulder.

He smiled and clasped my hand.

My brother bobbed and weaved between Juarez’s attempts to strike, but one of the left punches actually landed on his face. Hard.

Then Juarez landed another one.

And another.

The crowd collectively gasped as Travis stumbled backward.

I jumped to my feet as his head hit the mat with a sickening thud. Blood spewed from his lips.

Juarez moved over him, punching him in the face repeatedly until the referee pushed him away and called the match.

There was a stunned silence in the arena. Everyone held their breath in confusion, but then wild, raucous applause broke out amongst the fans.

Juarez strutted around the ring and blew kisses to the crowd.

My heart dropped to the floor.

I’d watched Travis conquer his opponents time and time again; I’d never once had to witness him in defeat.

In a state of shock, I rushed over to the side of the ring, waiting for him to move, but he was out cold. The bleeding was getting worse.

Medics surrounded him, and I grabbed onto the rope.

“Travis!” I yelled louder. “Travis, get up!”

“He’ll be alright, Pen.” Hayden pressed his hand against the small of my back. “Come on.”

I screamed his name again anyway, wanting to watch until the medics got him up, but Hayden pulled me away.

Several hours later

“JUAREZ IS ON FUCKING STEROIDS.” Travis seethed from the hospital bed. “I want him tested for drugs, Shaw. I want him tested tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” His manager nodded, and his entourage of yes-men remained silent on the other side of the room.

“Mr. Carter?” A nurse held out a tray of pills. “Can you—“

“Get the fuck away from me, please.” He glared at her. “I’ll heal myself.”

Her cheeks reddened and she rushed out of the room.

“It’s not her fault you lost,” I said softly.

“It damn sure isn’t mine.” He glared at me. “I’m fucking undefeated. This bullshit match doesn’t count, and it’ll be wiped away the moment everyone knows the truth about him being on drugs.”

I bit my tongue.

“How the fuck does some scrawny ass kid from the middle of nowhere beat a fucking champion?”

I’m sure your first opponents thought the same thing …

“I don’t think he was on steroids, Travis,” I said.

“He was, and he is.” He attempted to glare at me, but his face was too fucked up for it to have the full effect. “I’ll never make the mistake of pacing in a match again. Now that I think about it, I remember telling you to start every routine with an attack when you were skating.”

“Funny, I remember you hardly ever showing up for me when I was skating.”

“What’s that, Crown?”

I didn’t answer him. I’d already gotten away with more than usual.

Hayden suddenly stepped into the room, handing him an energy drink and a bag of Cheetos from a vending machine.

“Here you go,” he said. “Need me to get you anything else?”

“Yeah, I want you to fly Crown away from Vegas,” he said. “Distract her with something she actually understands.”

What the fuck? “My reservation is for the rest of the week, Travis. I’d like to stay and enjoy it.”

“I don’t want her here anymore. Take her and Tatiana on to a beach or something,” he said. “I’ll pay you back for whatever that costs.”

“There’s no need to talk about me like I’m not standing right in front of you.”

“Oh, and keep checking out her new boyfriend for me.” He ignored me like I was seventeen all over again. Like he made all the decisions, and I had to willingly accept the aftermath. “Maybe we can all get brunch sometime after I get Juarez’s drug test back. You can help me with this, right?”

Hayden didn’t bother answering him.

Travis’s requests were always rhetorical.

Right as I was about to tell Travis that he deserved to get his ass beat—that a part of me was happy his ego received a healthy dose of defeat, Hayden clasped my hand.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get out of Vegas.”

“Thank you, Hayden.” Travis shot me a ‘Fucking try me’ look as we left.

Hayden held onto my hand until we made it downstairs and through the waiting press. He led me over to a waiting town car and pulled me into his lap once the doors shut.

“We’re really leaving Vegas tonight?” I asked. “Just because he said so?”

“Fuck no,” he said, smiling. “We’ll stay here as long as you want.”

“Promise?”

“Always.” He controlled my mouth with kisses until we made it back to the hotel suite.

For the next five days, he did everything in his power to make me forget all about tonight.

He ordered room service and explored my body—giving more than he took, holding me in his arms every time I collapsed from the pleasure.

THIRTY-SIX

PRESENT DAY

A week later

Hayden

“I hope that smile on your face is because you’re seconds away from handing over the last bulk of your apology letters, son.” Lawrence looked up at me from his desk Monday morning.

“It’s because I’m taking the rest of the week off.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “It’ll be nice to give the photogs a well-served break. Hand over the rest of the apology letters that I asked you for.”

“I’m taking Penelope to Bora Bora for a few days. Then we’re going to Aspen.”

“I don’t care.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Letters. Now.”

“I’ll need you and Sarah to keep me up to date on the Tinder thing while I’m away.”

“The ‘Tinder thing’ is a multi-million dollar lawsuit and they are beyond determined to fry your ass this time.” He leaned back in his chair. “Would you like to write Mr. Lassing an apology letter to see if he’ll drop it?”

“I’ll consider writing his letter after I get back.” I smiled. “That’s when I’ll pen the others. I’ll see you then.”

“Hayden fucking Hunter.” He stood up from his desk as I walked away. “Hayden get back here right now!”

I made it onto the elevator before he could come after me.

When I made it downstairs, I slid behind the wheel of my car.

“How did Lawrence take it?” Penelope smiled at me.

“He was totally fine.”

“So, he’s mad as hell?”

“Yep.” I sped toward the airport, and she laughed. I clasped her hand behind the gear shift as I drove.

“I don’t want this to ever end, Hayden,” she said.

“It won’t,” I said. “This is just our beginning.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

THIRTY-SIX (B)

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

Hayden Hunter Jets Away with Friend As Tinder Case Heats Up

Was Hayden Hunter Trolling Us with His Apologies?

Simon Gaines of the Simon G. Fund Under Fire for Alleged Fraud

Hayden Hunter Spotted at Private Aspen Resort with Friend

THIRTY-SEVEN

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

Why didn’t we cross the line years ago?

Dating Penelope was the best thing I’d ever experienced in my life, and I now understood why she’d so desperately chased this euphoric high.

My days started and ended with her taste on my lips, her laughter against my chest, and conversations that I never wanted to end.

Our nightly strolls through Central Park were slowly trickling onto the smaller gossip blog sites via “Is Hayden Hunter Dating His Best Friend?” and “Is it Me, or Are They A Bit Too Close in These Pics?” type of posts, but there was nothing more.

And I honestly didn’t care.

I was in love with her.

Occasionally, she’d still say, “Please don’t ever hurt me,” and “I don’t have anyone else if I don’t have you,” when we spoke for a little too long, but I was determined to make her never worry about us breaking up again.

Armed with roses and wine, I stepped out of my car and walked up the steps to her brownstone. I wasn’t sure what came over me this afternoon, but I’d gotten up in the middle of a meeting and headed straight toward her side of town.

Walking into her kitchen, I pulled out a few wine glasses. Then I checked to make sure the catering would arrive before she came home from the rink.

As I was rinsing off the stems, Tatiana cleared her throat.

“You want to join us for dinner?” I asked. “I ordered Italian.”

“No, I’ll pass. I’d rather know how the fuck you live with yourself.” The harshness of her voice made me turn around.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said.” She glared at me from across the room. “Are you happy holding Penelope back? Do you get some sick thrill out of it?”

I think I liked you better when you hated Penelope. “I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”

“It must be nice to achieve everything you’ve ever wanted in life, huh?” She continued her one-sided conversation. “I bet you don’t have any regrets because the world laid out the red carpet for you, and you’ve never had to face anyone ripping it from under your feet.”

“You know, I vaguely remember you playfully swinging a bat at Penelope’s knees at a competition years ago,” I said. “Do I need to find that video and blackmail you into talking like a normal person again?”

“I’m being serious, asshole.” She looked like she was on the verge of tears. “Bora, Bora, Aspen, Hawaii. What’s next?”

“The Dominican Republic.” I crossed my arms. “I invited you to join us for all these trips.”

“Yeah, and you purposely threw in little hints at your gala about ‘Twenty-seven still being great,’ right?” She shook her head. “I’m sure you thought that was a nice, warm touch. So, let me ask you something. When’s the last time Penelope went to the rink and worked with a client?”

I shrugged. I honestly couldn’t remember.

“When’s the last time she gave a speech or did anything outside of flying around the world and fucking you?”

I said nothing, unsure of where she was going with this.

“You know her better than I ever will—and everyone who’s ever been around you two knows that.” Tears fell down her face. “Which is why I don’t understand why you’re being so fucking blind about standing in the way of what she’s chased her entire life.”

“Tatiana—”

“Her entire life.” She interrupted me. “I may have hated her for years, but I’ve always respected what she was trying to do. And I think she would’ve done it if she never fell. But she has a chance to make it now, and she’s giving it all up for you.”

“I’m honestly lost as hell,” I said. “Can you tell me what you’re talking about?”

She walked over to a drawer and pulled out two letters, handing them to me.

“The president of U.S. Figure Skating sent me a letter this morning, saying that Penelope nominated me to go in her place to help coach Team USA in Salt Lake City for the Winter Games.”

I raised my eyebrow. Penelope hadn’t uttered a word about this, and I refused to believe that this was true.

I opened the first envelope, the one for Tatiana.

“You’ve been highly recommended by Penelope Carter…”

I tucked it back into its envelope and opened the other. Then I flipped it over and saw that she’d received this weeks ago. It was timestamped for the week of my gala.

She never said a word about this to me.

“She watches her old performances in secret every night,” she said. “Well, before she was traveling off with you anyway. I haven’t been living with her for that long, but I’ve never seen someone watch all of their perfect performances and say, ‘Too bad I never surpassed my mom like I promised. I really wish I would’ve…’ And then she cries as if somehow her career was a fucking failure.”

I sighed.

I knew that she still cried off and on—especially with me, but I never knew it was enough for someone new in her life to notice.

“I didn’t know about this,” I said, setting down the letters. “I honestly didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.” She shrugged. “I’m sure as her best friend—well, boyfriend, that you’ll talk to her about it? Make her reconsider?”

She left the room without saying another word to me, and I pulled out my phone.

I was about to call Penelope, but she’d texted me first.

Penelope: Hey! I showed up at your office for a surprise lunch date, but you weren’t there. Where are you?

Penelope: Want to grab Italian and wine later tonight instead? I don’t know why I’m craving that for some reason.

Me: Sorry. Something important came up. I need a raincheck.

I left the roses and the wine on the table, then I returned to my car. I sped off towards my side of town with an agonizing ache in my chest.

I knew that there was a reason Penelope didn’t tell me about that damn letter and another reason why talking to her about it wouldn’t lead to her making the right decision.

I’d known her like the back of my hand for years, and there was only one way that she would chase twenty-eight again.

THIRTY-SEVEN (B)

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

Me: Hey. I just heard that the IOC changed the rules for medals. The upcoming Olympic Winter Games will be the first to start awarding coaching medals alongside the athletes.

Penelope: Oh, wow. Really? I haven’t heard that at all! Interesting! (Are we still on for dinner tonight at Wardman’s?)

Me: Want me to email you the link? It looks like they’re training in a compound in Utah, similar to where you trained for Worlds that one summer.

Penelope: No, I’ll look it up later. And LOL yes! I remember that. I think you got kicked out for coming to see me. No outsiders allowed (smile emoji)

Me: I’m surprised that no one has reached out and asked you to be a part of the new change since you told me a lot of high-profile coaches have been banned recently.

Penelope: I’m not surprised. I’m not a coach, and I don’t really care about that stuff anymore, you know? I have 27. 28 was the dream, but—life.

Penelope: Are we still on for dinner at Wardman’s?

Me: No, Penelope. I’ll need a raincheck.

THIRTY-EIGHT

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

“Look at that control as she goes up for a triple salchow and immediately into a—Wow! Penelope Carter lands a quad instead!”

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are watching a master of her craft, a woman who will go down as arguably the greatest female figure skater of all time.”

I lay on my couch and watched my final performance at Skate America.

Before the fall that ended it all.

“I agree Mary,” the third announcer said. “Look at the precision of her spin. I’m sure she’ll be notching the first place position here and continuing her ambitious chase for twenty-eight.”

“The most complex combo of her program—two quads with a triple lutz is coming up. Should she land this, she would be the first female singles skater to ever—”

I hit pause and stare at the freeze-frame of myself in mid-air—my arms high above my head as my glittering blue dress flies free.

To this day, I could never get past this part of the show.

It still hurt like hell.

Sighing, I clicked on my performance at the Sochi Olympics instead.

As I was taking to the ice, my doorbell sounded.

I grabbed a tip for the delivery guy, but when I opened the door, it wasn’t pizza.

It was Hayden.

“Hey.” I smiled.

“Hey.”

“I thought you were working on the final apology letters tonight.”

“I am,” he said. “I wanted to stop by before I started.”

“Come in.”

“I can’t.” He shook his head. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just say it. I need some space, Penelope.”

His words hung in the air for several seconds.

“I don’t understand.” I crossed my arms. “You need space? For what?”

“It’s complicated.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I have the Tinder deposition coming up and I got hit with some new, silly headlines in the media this afternoon.”

“Whatever they are, I’m willing to help you like I did with the letters.”

“It’s not that easy.” He looked into my eyes. “I just need the space, Penelope.”

I stared at him in utter disbelief.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” I said, crossing my arms. “You told me the other day that this was only our beginning. You also promised—repeatedly, that you wouldn’t fuck ‘us’ up.”

“That’s not what I’m doing at all. I’m doing what I think is best for you. Us.”

That “best for you” line made the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention; that was a line from Travis’s controlling playbook, not Hayden’s.

“Did you tell my brother about us or something?” I asked.

“Not at all.”

“Then what the hell, Hayden? Space for what?”

He stood there looking half sympathetic, half defeated, and as much as I wanted him to pull me into his arms and say this was a bad attempt at a joke, I took a step back.

I couldn’t help allowing my mind to wander to several different places at once. The destination that stood out the most was the ugliest, and I didn’t want to believe it was true.

“What did you do?” I asked.

“What?”

“What. Did. You. Do?” My voice cracked. “Tell me the truth because I’m not buying the ‘I need space’ bullshit.”

He placed his hands on my shoulders and pressed his forehead against mine. “I haven’t done anything that would hurt you.”

“Did it happen in Vegas?”

“Penelope …”

“Was it on the night you left the room to go to that cigar shop? Or was it here in New York maybe? Already tired of being with one woman?”

“No, Penelope.” He looked genuine, but his words weren’t adding up, and every unanswered question was cracking a new piece of my heart.

“If this is some type of game,” I said, “I don’t want to play.”

“It’s not a game. I’m being honest.”

“Well, per your own advice, a guy only says he wants ‘space’ when he’s trying to be gentle about breaking up with you, or when he’s cheated and wants to save face because he knows you’ll never forgive him.”

“Penelope, I would never cheat on you.”

“I would never forgive you if you did, but you could at least have the decency to tell me why my best friend for almost a decade, the same guy who told me that he loved me last night and wants to build a future together, is now randomly, fucking randomly, standing on my doorstep and telling me something completely different.”

“I just need some space. That’s it.”

“Okay, let’s start now then. Don’t fucking call me until you’ve taken all the space you need, and I’ll consider talking to you again.”

“Penelope, I’m not breaking up with you.”

“Breaks and spaces lead to breakups, Hayden. You taught me that, too. Doesn’t that still hold true?”

He let out a sigh, but he didn’t say anything.

“I thought so.” I slammed the door in his face.

Guilt tightened its grip around my heart later that night, pulling on the strings with every second that passed.

I couldn’t help but think about the stretch of weeks in the past when I could only text or email him if certain trials and depositions wore on too long.

Besides, he didn’t say, “Let’s breakup,” didn’t mention anything of the sort; I was being overly dramatic, and I could probably blame it on the fact that U.S. Figure Skating had received my rejection letter by now.

I was taking my uneasiness about saying no out on him.

Sighing, I scrolled down to his name and started to send him a text message, but that guilt suddenly transformed into suspicion.

Something told me to search his name to see what “new, silly headlines” he was talking about.

The moment the results appeared, my stomach fell to the floor.

Hayden Hunter Caught Leaving Four Seasons at 4 a.m.

Hayden Hunter & Supermodel Anya Sterling Sleeping Together?

Hayden Hunter’s Late Night Tryst with Anya Sterling

What the fuck?

I checked the dates.

They were for the other night. The night when he asked for the raincheck.

Even if I didn’t want to believe the headline—even if my heart begged me to call him and see if there was more to the story, the images said enough.

They said it all.

Hayden’s hand was pressed against the supermodel’s back as they walked through the doors of the hotel. The photog caught them coming and going, with time stamps confirming how long they were inside.

He cheated on me …

THIRTY-NINE

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep.

All I could do was cry.

I stayed in my room with the door shut, watching my old performances and wishing I could go back in time to the night when Hayden first picked me up in Seattle.

If I could rewind time to the beginning, I’d keep him at a cold distance that was never meant to be crossed or warmed.

I should’ve waited for another Uber.

My heart splintered in my chest—breaking into smaller pieces, each time I refreshed my screen and saw another article about Hayden with Anya. Each time I replayed him standing on my doorstep and lying right to my face. Promising me that he would be different for me.

I can’t believe him.

Hastily changing his name in my phone to ‘Do Not Answer’ and blocking him did nothing except make me cry harder.

My worst fears about dating him had come true; I’d lost my best friend and my boyfriend at the same damn time.

AFTER CRYING for three days in a row, I called the U.S. Figure Skating Association and begged to speak to Deborah.

I needed to focus on something other than Hayden, and I should’ve never rejected their offer in the first place.

“Yes, Miss Carter?” She came on the line within minutes.

“I’d like to rescind my rejection letter. I would love to coach Katie Folds and be eligible for a medal.”

“I thought you might.” There was a smile in her voice. “I’ll have our coordinator arrange for a flight and the required three months of accommodations. Would you like to fly in toward the end of this month?”

“No,” I said. “I’d like to come as soon as possible.”

“Next weekend soon, or this weekend soon?”

“This weekend soon.”

Within minutes, I received a first-class flight ticket to Salt Lake City for Friday and a suite at the private training compound.

I didn’t tell anyone.

I was too damn hurt.

Out of spite, I deleted Cinder from my phone and downloaded Tinder.

Then I vowed to never let Hayden hurt me again.

I should’ve known better the first time. From what I was beginning to remember anyway.

BREAK UP #16

THE ONE THAT STARTED THE COLD WAR

Penelope

Back Then

“The best romance you’ll ever find is with your best friend.” The fortune cookie serves me a truth that I already know.

I’m falling in love with Hayden Hunter.

So much so, that I make up fake problems sometimes just to talk to him on the phone at night. So much so, that I lie about needing to make late-night runs to the grocery store, so that we can spend more time together.

In my mind, it all makes sense: He’s the guy I spend the most time with, he sits front row at all of my competitions, and he knows me better than anyone else.

Given our six-year age gap, I know he’ll probably say, “Hell no, Pen,” but I’m hoping he’ll follow that up with, “We’ll try it after you win medal twenty-eight, or after your brother is committed to a psych ward. Whichever comes first.”

That’s more than enough hope for me, more than enough for me to dump my boyfriend for him. Even if I have to wait for years.

“Let me see what your fortune cookie says, babe.” Tim Lassing, my latest space-filler boyfriend, snatches the thin white paper from my hands.

I’m only dating him because he reminds me of Hayden and he has a similar work ethic when it comes to building his dating app.

He’s still not Hayden, though.

“Well, it’s fate then.” Tim smiles at the fortune. “We’re on the right track with each other.”

Right.

In the car, on the way home, my phone buzzes with a text message.

Hayden: Sorry I missed your call earlier. About your voicemail, I’ll be free tonight around 7. I’m dropping off some things for the manager at CinePlex.

Me: Okay, great. I’ll meet you then and there.

My heart tap-dances in my chest as I stand outside the doors of the movie theater. As if this is a date, I’m wearing a sexy red shirt and tight jeans, along with complementing nude heels.

When I step inside, I see Hayden laughing as he shakes the manager’s hand.

He starts walking toward me and stops.

For a second, I think he’s checking me out, but I brush off the thought as I walk to him.

“Hey.”

“Hey. What did you want to talk to me about?” He smiles, and my heart skips a beat.

“I think I’m falling in love with someone.”

“You mean, Tim?”

No, you. “I mean, I want to tell him, but I don’t know how. It could fuck up everything because he has a lot on the line, but I feel like he’s the one.”

“The one that what?”

“Just the one.”

“Hmmm.” He tucks a few strands of hair behind my ear, looking into my eyes. “Well, you should be honest with him, then. He’d be out of his mind not to want you back.”

“Even if he’s six years older than me?”

“If he has good intentions, I don’t see why not,” he says, stepping back. “Now, your brother probably won’t approve, so you’ll have to date the guy in private for another two years before saying anything. You also need to make sure he won’t distract you from your ultimate career goal. Twenty-eight medals, right?”

“Whenever I’m with him, I don’t care about any of that stuff.”

“Any of that stuff?” He looks confused. “You mean, what you’ve worked for your entire life? That’s more than stuff, Penelope.”

“I know, but—”

“Don’t let a guy distract you from your dreams.” He interrupts. “He won’t be worth it, no matter who he is.”

I stare at him, feeling my heart beat an unfamiliar rhythm, the words stalling at the tip of my tongue.

Go for it. Say ‘I love you, Hayden Hunter,’ and kiss him now. Right now.

“Penelope?” Tim’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I look across the lobby.

“Hey.” I step away from Hayden and smile at Tim.

He walks over, looking between us. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Hayden says. “I was just telling Penelope that I got an investor for my app. He wants me to move, so I’m considering it.”

What? My world comes to a complete stop, and I look up at him in utter disbelief. “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I was about to.”

“Oh,” Tim says. “Investment company or single partner?”

“Single partner—at least now anyway.” He smiles, then he looks at me. “I figured it’s time for me to make plans for the future anyway. I think Travis is cool with me putting an end to looking after his little sister anyway.”

“Well, congratulations,” Tim says. I’m looking forward to competing with you down the line.”

“Likewise.” He extends his hand and shakes it. “I’m sure we’ll meet in the future someday.”

“Come on, Pen. I bought tickets to The Tracy Show.” Tim wraps his arm around my shoulder, leading me away from Hayden.

It takes everything in me not to look over my shoulder, not to run back to Hayden and tell him what I feel, but his words are still stinging.

Finally putting an end to looking after his little sister anyway?

BREAK UP #16

THE ONE THAT STARTED THE COLD WAR

Penelope

Back Then

A week later

“We need to talk.” Tim leans against my kitchen sink one morning, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. “And no, I’m not giving you another day for space. You’ve had an entire week, and somehow you managed to forget that today was my birthday.”

“I have a birthday cake being delivered this afternoon.”

“Well, you can call it a breakup cake now.” He shrugs. “Or maybe you can call it an ‘I want to fuck Hayden Hunter’ cake. The latter actually sounds better.”

“For the umpteenth time, Hayden is just a friend.”

“Friends don’t look at each other like that.” He shakes his head. “The way the two of you looked at each other before we went camping last month and at the movies last week told me all that I needed to know.”

“I think you’re reading too much into that.”

“I know that I’m not.” He walks over to his duffle bag in the corner and pulls the strap over his shoulder. “I can’t do this anymore, Penelope. I’m sorry.”

“Tim, there’s nothing going on between me and Hayden.” My voice cracks. “We’re really just friends.”

“Do you always get this emotional when you talk about your friends?” He puts on his jacket. “Better yet, if he wasn’t suddenly leaving town with little notice, would you even care that I was breaking up with you?”

Silence.

“I thought so.” He walks out of the kitchen, slamming the door on his way out.

I wait until he leaves before ordering an Uber to Hayden’s house.

Even if he rejects me, it’s worth giving it a try.

When I arrive, I find myself face to face with a For Sale sign in the grass.

There’s also a bright yellow note on his door.

Please leave all packages with my neighbor.

She has my new address.

Thank you.

If you need to reach me, you can call me at 555-8756.

What the hell?

It’s a new phone number, and I’m wondering if by “new address,” he means that he’s going to surprise me by showing me the realtor listing of his house later.

Where is he staying now, though?

“You’re here looking for your friend, hun?” His redheaded neighbor calls out from her porch.

“Yeah. Can you tell me where he went?”

“He’s in the sky by now, I suppose.”

“The sky?”

“New York City,” she says. “His flight is this afternoon. Got a love letter you want me to send him?” She smiled. “I’m sure he’ll think that’s really cute.”

I rush toward the Uber and fling the backdoor open. “Can you take me to the airport, please?”

Half an hour later, I weave my way through the crowds at Sea-Tac International, looking for Hayden.

Two gates later, I spot him sitting at a Starbucks.

“Hayden…” I step in front of him. “Hayden, what the hell are you doing?”

“Going to New York,” he says. “I told you that I was leaving.”

“No, you told me that you were thinking about leaving. Last time I checked, you usually call and talk to me about major things in your life before jumping on them, because they affect me, too.”

He stares at me blankly, as if I’m speaking a foreign language.

“You’re leaving, just like that?” My voice cracks. “When were you planning to tell me?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Why not?”

“You didn’t need to know. It’s my life.”

“What?” I push at his chest. “It’s my life, too. You’re my best friend.”

“We’ll always be friends, Penelope.” His eyes are cold, and his voice is flat. He’s nothing like the man I was talking to in the theater the other day, nothing like the man who has become my support system.

“Why are you acting this way with me, Hayden?” Tears prick my eyes. “Why are you really leaving me?”

“I’m not trying to act any way with you at all.” He grabs my wrists, holding me still. “I’m behind on my app and I’m running out of money, and investors who are willing to help me fix it. I’m in a bad place.”

“A place so bad that you can’t talk about it with me?” My heart aches. “Tell me the truth, Hayden.”

“I need to leave so I can work on my app,” he says. “There’s nothing else to this.”

“Are you coming back?”

“I don’t see why I’d need to.” He shrugs. “You’re doing pretty good for yourself now. I’ll still call and text you, of course.”

“Of course.” Tears fall past my cheeks. “You’re being an asshole, Hayden.”

“Come again?”

“I thought you said you’d always be there for me.”

“I’ll always mean that.”

“Then an apology for blindsided me with this goodbye would be a good place to start.”

“Apologies never change anything, Pen,” he said. “They just state the obvious.”

“Okay, then.” I step back. “Well, obviously fuck you. Fuck you hard.”

“Penelope, don’t be like this.”

“You and Travis are the most selfish bastards in the world,” I say. “You two don’t care about anyone else but yourselves.”

“Pen—”

“I hope you fail,” I say, not meaning that at all. “I hope you go fucking bankrupt and don’t make any friends, because you don’t deserve them.”

He still isn’t showing any shred of human emotion, and I can’t bear to look at his face for another second. I tear off the silver chain he gave me in Sochi, the one I’ve worn ever since, and toss it at his face.

“I don’t want to hear from you ever again.” I walk away without another word, letting the tears fall down my face.

It hurts to know that my love for him is unrequited, but deep down, I know that it always will be. That it’s best to pull up the anchor and cut the chain, to sail across the sea and find someplace else I’m wanted.

I know that he was never my boyfriend, but “breaking up” with him hits me harder than all of my other breakups combined.

BREAK UP #16

THE ONE THAT STARTED THE COLD WAR

Penelope

Back Then

Several months later

Chicago, Illinois

With the exception of “How are you?” “Happy Birthday,” or a “Congratulations on being ranked number one again,” message that is delivered through my brother, Hayden never reaches out to me.

He doesn’t text.

He doesn’t call.

He moves on with his new life in New York like I never existed, and I do the same. At first, it’s hard to get used to not seeing him in the stands to watch me perform, even harder to resist the urge to call him at night and talk.

Some days, I want nothing more than to hear his voice, but I refuse to reach out and end a Cold War that he started for no fucking reason.

Why the hell would he just leave me like that?

“You skated like a drunk duck throughout your entire warmup today.” My coach moves in front of me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Do you feel like winning today?”

“Yes.” I glare at him. “I do.”

“Then, do you mind taking to the ice?” He points to the rink. “It’s your fucking turn.”

Shit. I suck in a breath and force a smile.

“Hey.” My coach gently grabs my arm. “Think about whatever you thought about when I goaded you with Frankie, and you’ll wash every girl here off the map.”

I nod and make my way to the center of the floor.

I shut my eyes and wait for the music to play. I’ve used Hayden as a muse before and I have no choice but to do it again.

He’s all I see whenever I shut my eyes, no matter how hard I try to get him off my mind.

As I start my routine, I hear a new addition to the soundtrack: audible gasps from the audience and their shouts of approval are louder than usual.

While I’m dreaming of Hayden coming back to say sorry, or him sitting in the stands and telling me that he loves me, I go up for the hardest jump in my program—a quadruple lutz, and I land it with ease. I complete a triple salchow and add back-to-back quadruple lutzes for the hell of it.

I launch into a triple toe loop and fall into the rest of my routine. I nail every spin, every twist, and as I attempt my fourth quadruple of the night, I feel like I’m flying—and for a few seconds, I’m untouchable.

My blade doesn’t touch the ice like it should once I complete my final, though.

And suddenly, I’m not flying anymore.

I’m crashing …

FORTY

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

Penelope: FUCK YOU. We’re over.

Penelope: Do not ever call me again.

Penelope: THIS is ME breaking up with you since you didn’t have the balls to be honest and take responsibility for what is 100% your fault.

Okay, maybe I made the wrong decision.

My chest felt as if someone had set it afire, and my pillow kept attracting some type of wet spot on it every night.

“Taylor!” I called out for my housekeeper.

“Yes, Mr. Hunter?”

“It rained in here last night, didn’t it?”

“No, sir.” She looked confused. “It doesn’t typically rain indoors.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” I picked up the pillow and tossed it to her. “Can you take this down with you to the laundry? I think it got rained on.”

“You were crying, sir.”

“So, you agree that it was raining.” I picked up my phone, and she rolled her eyes. I waited for the door to close before scrolling down to Penelope’s name.

I was tempted to hit call, but I held back.

Since I knew her down to her marrow, I was well aware that there was no need to initiate any conversations. At some point today, she would start calling to leave angry breakup voicemails.

Despite all the lessons I’d taught her over the years, she still had an issue mastering that particular one.

Before I could consider a better move, the doorbell sounded.

“I’m coming, Taylor.” I groaned, knowing she’d locked herself out again. I swung the door and found myself face to face with Travis instead.

“Damn,” he said. “You look like shit.”

“Thank you, Travis. You looked like shit not too long ago.”

“You’re welcome. Who died?”

“No one.” I ushered him inside. “I thought you were my housekeeper.”

“Oh. I just ran into her on the elevator.” He placed his hands on my shoulders. “Seriously. Who died? Tell me.”

“No one. I broke up with the woman I was seeing.”

“How shocking.” He laughed, but I didn’t join in like usual. It took him a while to realize there was nothing funny about this. “Have you been fucking crying?”

“No. Taylor used some new cleaning supplies that I’m allergic to, that’s all.”

“Want to talk about it?” he asked.

Not with you. “Not really.” I walked over to my liquor cabinet and took out a bottle of vodka.

I needed to change the subject. Fast.

“Is your agent working on a new date for the trilogy yet?” I asked.

“After all the drug tests come back.” He leaned against the bar. “You’re scaring me, man. I’m not used to you showing any emotion when it comes to supermodels like Anya Sterling.”

“Anya Sterling?”

“Yeah. That’s who you broke up with, right?”

“Sure.” I didn’t feel like correcting him. The last time I saw Anya was sometime last week. She’d drunkenly fallen out of a damn cab, and she was on the verge of embarrassing herself. I’d helped her up to her suite and waited in the hallway until her manager arrived.

“I swear, you and Penelope have the worst luck when it comes to the opposite sex.” He shook his head. “I could barely talk to her yesterday. She was sobbing out of control over this last guy. So much for him being good for her, you know?

What? My chest twinged in guilt. “What did she say about him?”

“I don’t recall.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t translate through her tears.”

“Could you please try to recall?”

“Why?” He tapped his fingers against the countertop. “Shouldn’t you already know this? Surely she’s told you more than me.”

“That’s usually how it goes …”

“Yeah, it is,” he said. “Are you two upset with each other or something?”

“That wasn’t my intent.”

“When’s the last time you talked to her?”

“Feels like forever ago.”

“And what was your girlfriend’s real name?”

“Pen—” I caught myself. “You don’t know her.”

“Oh, I think I do.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “It’s Penelope, isn’t it?”

I didn’t respond, didn’t react. This was a far cry from how I wanted this scene with him to play out, but the film was already down to its final frame.

“You’ve been fucking my sister behind my back?”

“No, I’ve been dating your sister behind your back,” I said. “Big difference.”

“Were you ‘dating’ her in Vegas? When that other woman was screaming your name in your room hours before my fight?”

“There was no other woman,” I said deadpan. “It’s just been your sister.”

“So, now you’re going to lie to me?”

“Travis …” I didn’t have time for this right now. “We need to do this some other day. I’m going through some emotional shit, and no offense, but you’re not the guy I want to talk to about it.”

“When were you planning to ask if dating my sister was okay?”

“I wasn’t planning to ask you shit,” I said. “I was going to tell you a few weeks from now, and you were going to deal with it.”

“Deal with it?” He glared at me. “Is that what you just said to me?”

“There’s not an echo in this room.”

“When did you start grooming her then?” His face reddened.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“She was a fucking minor when I—” He shook his head. “Did you sleep with Penelope when I left her with you in Seattle?”

You’ve officially lost your goddamn mind. I shrugged. “Can we talk about this when you get that murderous look out of your eyes? Preferably like adults?”

“Of course, we can.” His left fist hit my eye first.

Then his right.

Caught off guard, I stumbled backward and grabbed onto the counter.

“Let’s talk some more, huh?” He seethed. “Say something else.”

He didn’t give me the chance. He opened one of the kitchen cabinets and slammed it against the side of my face.

He did it again and again until I fell to the floor.

Then he stood over me and fucked me up harder than he’d ever fought any opponent.

No referees came in to save me.

FORTY (B)

SEVENTY TWO HOURS POST BREAKUP

My blood dripped onto the marble floor, and my voicemail system tormented me by playing Penelope’s messages on repeat.

I tried to open my eyes a bit wider, but it was no use.

Over the past several hours, I’d managed to string a few things together—albeit very little since I was pretty sure my skull was fractured.

One, my first former best friend thought I was a pedophile.

Two, my far more important best friend thought that I’d cheated on her with a supermodel.

Three, my fucking voicemail machine was officially broken, and it was the first thing I was going to have destroyed once Lawrence or Sarah showed up looking for me.

“I hate you, Hayden Hunter,” Penelope’s voice came through the speakers again. “I. Hate. You. I hope your cock falls off and you lose every dime in your bank account. Those things are all you’ve ever cared about anyway.”

Beep!

Jesus Christ.

FORTY-ONE

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

“I thought I told you to leave me here to die.” I looked at Sarah as she adjusted the bandages around my legs.

“I was planning to, but I saw that I wasn’t in your will, so I wouldn’t gain anything from your death.” She poured a glass of water and set it next to me. “Now, if you’d told Lawrence that, he might’ve obliged.”

“What day is it?”

“Healing day.”

“What day of the week, Sarah?”

“Healing day.” She smiled. “It’s a new addition.”

“Fine. How many days have I been like this, then?”

“Lots.”

Okay, fuck it. “Where’s my phone?” I asked. “I need to call—”

“Penelope?” She shook her head. “She won’t answer you.”

“Can you give me my phone so I can test that theory for myself?”

“I’ll give you the whole thing whenever you’re well again.” She pulled it out of her pocket, and then she took out the battery before tossing it to me.

“Sarah, give me my entire phone.”

She picked up the remote and turned on the TV. Then she left the room.

I tried to get up, but it was too hard. My legs were still too numb.

“Sarah!” I called for her, but there was no answer. Before I could try again, the Behind the Scenes: Journey to the Olympics program appeared onscreen.

They panned the compound in Utah, then the interior facilities, and then Penelope.

The sight of her made me risk the pain of sitting up. Dressed in a bright red Team USA windbreaker, her hair was pulled atop her head in a messy bun, and her skin was glowing.

“It’s an honor to be here,” she said to a suited reporter. “I’ve truly missed being a part of this world, and I’m hoping to guide the incredible Katie Folds to her best performance yet when the games begin.”

“Well, we’ve more than missed you.” The suit smiled. “Years later, and we still haven’t seen anything like The Perfect Feather in this sport. You were one of a kind. Truly.”

She smiles uneasily, and I can see a hint of pain in her eyes.

As he gushed about her accomplishments, several highlights of her career began to play onscreen.

The last one, one of her nailing four back-to-back quadruple lutzes in Italy and pumping her fists, merged into what happened once the music ended: Her running toward me in tears of joy.

“I did it, Hayden! I did it!”

In excruciating pain, I managed to get out of bed within an hour. I headed to the kitchen, so that I could grab my other phone and charter a jet to see her.

But my legs gave out, and everything went black.

Fuck.

FORTY-TWO

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

Salt Lake City, Utah

The sound of skates hitting the ice had never seemed so jarring and annoying. From the moment that I stepped into the training Arena, I felt out of place.

As if I didn’t belong in this world anymore.

All of my days blended in a montage of nonstop workouts, media appearances, and nonstop questions about my former fall.

My emotions were still playing an out-of-sync symphony of sadness, and for whatever reason, I couldn’t get completely locked into coaching.

Katie Folds was extraordinary in every way, and she didn’t need any guidance; my presence was a mere formality.

Sighing, I sipped my coffee and signaled for her to take a break. “Let’s take twenty!”

She nodded and skated over to me.

“For the record, I watched you all the time when I was younger,” she said. “I’ve saved all of your competition tapes for inspiration. Well, you and your mom’s. You two are my favorites of all time.”

“That means a lot to me, Katie. Thank you.”

“Want something back from the deli?”

“Lemonade.”

“You’re welcome.” She nodded and slid a bag over her shoulder.

I waited until she was gone before sitting down and giving in to my emotions again.

I’d thought that I could break my record of six hours without thinking about Hayden, but it was no use. He invaded my daydreams, stormed through all of my thoughts, and I had to resist the frequent urge to pick up my phone and contact him.

He was, by far, the hardest breakup I’d ever had in my life, and I hated having to deal with it by myself.

Without my best friend.

“You know a ‘goodbye’ would’ve been nice.” Tatiana suddenly stepped in front of me. “Actually, I would’ve settled for an ‘I’ve changed my mind about flying to the compound to coach’ text message. That way, when I came back into town from my mini-coaching stint, I wouldn’t have been itching to file a Missing Persons report.”

Tears pricked my eyes as I looked up at her. “What are you doing here?”

“No, no, no,” she said. “The person who booked a flight without paying her part of the rent can’t ask me any questions right now. The better question is, why are you crying?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Frenemies talk to each other, Penelope,” she said. “They tell each other things.”

“Hayden broke up with me.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“He asked for space, and he also cheated on me.” Tears fell down my face.

She tilted her head to the side. “Where’d you get that latter thing from?”

“I lost my boyfriend and my best friend in one fell swoop.” I didn’t feel like addressing that topic right now. “I just reacted and picked up everything and left. I’m sorry that I didn’t call or text … I didn’t know what to say. Now I’m here and this doesn’t feel right. I mean, I want this more than anything, but the timing isn’t right, you know? And I feel like the one person I want to share it with isn’t here to celebrate the chance with me.”

She sat next to me on the bench, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

I sobbed so hard that my chest and stomach ached even worse than they did last night.

“I have to vomit,” I said, rushing to the bathroom.

She followed and held my hair back just in time. “Hold on, let me get some tissue.”

“Ewww!” She scoffed. “There’s vomit in this other toilet already. Whatever food is being served here, don’t you dare offer it to me.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I forgot to flush that one an hour ago. That’s how upset I am. I’ve been crying every day.”

“Have you been vomiting like this every day, too?”

“Yeah.” I took the tissue from her. “I’ve never been like this after a break up before. This is so beyond awful that I don’t think I’ll ever get over him.”

“I bet.” She leaned against the wall. “I don’t think everything you’re feeling is due to the breakup, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think we need to get you a pregnancy test … ”

FORTY-THREE

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

Travis: Since you want to avoid my phone calls, I’m in town. Meet me for lunch. Now.

Me: Where? And what’s this about?

Travis: Anita’s at 43 Woodland.

Travis: You know what the fuck this is about.

I stepped into the café and took off my hat, stopping when I saw that all the shades in the room were drawn shut. The tables sat untouched and clear of silverware, and a brunette stood alone at the hostess stand.

“Good afternoon, Miss Carter,” she said. “Thank you for choosing Anita’s tonight. Can I show you to your reserved table?”

“Sure.” I followed her to a booth at the back of the room.

Over the years, I’d come to know this ‘reserved table’ routine very well.

Whenever Travis wanted to berate me for something, the idea of a public meeting was out of the question, so he made it look like he’d considered the idea.

This was how he’d always handled being a big brother, and I had no choice but to submit.

His way or no way.

I flipped through the pink plastic menu and ordered a stack of pancakes and a coffee. Then, just like clockwork, Travis walked through the door alone.

He handed the manager a clip of bills and made his way toward me.

“Hello, Crown.” He glared at me as he took off his jacket. “How are you on this lovely Saturday?”

“You’ve never been good at small talk, Travis. Please don’t try to practice now.”

“What can I get for you today, Mr. Carter?” The waitress moved in front of us, setting down two coffees.

“I’ll take what I discussed with your manager over the phone.” He kept his eyes on mine. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Yes, sir.” She stepped away.

“I really am interested in knowing how you’re feeling today,” Travis said. “Do you feel like hiding more things with Hayden or coming clean?”

“Cut the shit, Travis.” I rolled my eyes. “You don’t have to treat me like a kid.”

“Fair enough. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“First of all—”

“Let me answer it for you.” He interrupted. “You weren’t thinking. Because the idea of Hayden being someone worthy of dating should’ve never crossed your mind. You know how he is with women, and you’ve had a front row seat to his show for years. Did you honestly think he would change his character for you?”

I didn’t answer.

“I’m beyond disappointed in you,” he said. “I’ve taught you better than this.”

“You’re not Dad, Travis.”

“Good thing that I’m not.” He sipped his coffee. “He wouldn’t be this calm if he were here. And he damn sure wouldn’t be okay with you dating Hayden. Trust me.”

I gritted my teeth as the waitress returned to our table.

“Here you are,” she said, setting down more than what I’d ordered between us. Another power play by Travis.

He waited for her to leave before speaking again. “Good thing the two of you broke up before things got worse or he got you pregnant.”

“I am pregnant.”

“Stop fucking with me.”

“I’m eight weeks,” I said. “And yes, the baby is his.”

He sucked in a slow, steady breath. “Penelope …”

He didn’t finish that sentence.

Instead, he picked up his knife and sliced his pancake stack with such a slow and delicate precision that the nerves on the back of my neck stood up. The fear he’d instilled in me over the years was still there.

“Whatever he promised you while you were dating behind my back is a lie,” he said. “That said, I doubt he’ll ever walk away from his child. Given his past, he wouldn’t dare be a deadbeat dad.”

“I know that.”

“You should also know that I’ve talked to him about how he should’ve never touched you. There’s no future with him outside of co-parenting schedule. I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it?”

“I didn’t stutter.” He glared at me. “He’ll be there for your child of course, but he’ll never be there for you in any other capacity. You should’ve heeded my words years ago. I’m the only one who will always be there for you. You’re all I have and vice versa.”

My blood boiled at his blatant rewriting of history, at his ability to say that shit with a straight face.

“Speaking of being there for you—” He pulled an envelope from his jacket and placed it into my purse. “I’ve had this account in your name since I started MMA, and I planned to hand it over to you next year, but you’ll clearly need it before then. By the way, don’t be surprised if Hayden doesn’t the baby is his for a while.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” he said. “I’ll be there for you for the long-term, since he can’t be.”

“You want to know who was really there for me when I needed him?” My voice cracked. “Who showed up to every fucking competition even when I told him that he didn’t have to, because just like you, he was working on his goddamn dreams?”

He narrowed his eyes at me.

“Hayden, Travis.” I hissed. “Hayden was there, and you were not. So, spare me the extra side of bullshit about being a fucked up white knight when I never needed you to save me.”

“Penelope—”

“You’re so full of yourself that you can’t even see it.” I stood to my feet. “But you know what? You’ve always done a pretty good job avoiding me for months at a time. Do me a favor and continue doing that for the rest of the year.”

“What?”

“I’ll be there in the front row at your next competition,” I said. “Or, will I? I vividly remember you feeding me that very line when you first left me.”

“Sit back down, Crown. I’m not done talking to you.”

“I’m done listening.”

I left the diner without another word, without telling him any of my plans.

I had a plane to catch.

FORTY-FOUR

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

PilotNav: I can’t fly you to Utah until a doctor clears you, sir.

PilotJoel: You’ve asked me this twenty times a day sir. You need clearance from your doctor.

DoctorMurray: I’ve called every private airport/pilot union and listed you as a safety risk to commercial airlines. You have to heal for a few more weeks, Mr. Hunter. Be patient.

Fuck it, I’ll drive to Utah.

I was running on autopilot, commandeering a life I didn’t want to live since there was no Penelope in it.

I called her phone multiple times a day, sent endless texts, and even had flowers and apology letters sent directly to the training complex, but they were all returned.

She was using my own breakup advice—“Ignore the asshole until he gets the point,” against me, and it hurt like hell.

“Your Honor, Mr. Hunter has done nothing but stare at his phone and mumble to himself since we started this hearing.” The raspy voice of Tinder’s newest lawyer snapped me out of my thoughts.

I looked up, realizing that somehow I’d arrived at an agreed-upon boardroom, surrounded by twenty people from each side.

“He’s also shown up to this hearing wearing a fucking eye-patch.” She groaned. “He’s not prepared to take this seriously today, and he’s wasting our time.”

“I was in an accident,” I said, sighing and taking it off. “I’m willing to answer all of your silly little questions.”

“You mean, my legally binding questions?”

“That doesn’t make them any less sillier.”

“Mr. Hunter—” The judge chided. “Please give us your undivided attention and stop looking at your phone.”

I refreshed the screen one last time before placing it into my pocket.

“Thank you.” The lawyer picked up a sheet of paper. “Do you know why we’re here today?”

“To try to get more money out of me.” I smiled, even though my cheeks still hurt. “Or maybe it’s because you’re trying to pretend like I’m not ten-times better at building apps than your client over there.”

Tim shot me a glare, and the judge chided me again.

“Yes, I know why we’re here.” I changed my tone. “I’m here to discuss the similarities between Cinder and Tinder for lawsuit number fifty-seven between us.”

“Eighty-seven.” Lawrence coughed.

“Good.” The lawyer slid a folder toward me, but I didn’t look at it.

Instead, I looked over at Tim like I’d done several times in the past at these depositions. Even after all this time, he still looked as worried and saddened as he always did.

As if he was the only one in the room who knew the truth.

Well, besides me.

“Mr. Hunter,” his lawyer said, “Did you ever steal—“

“Yes.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” I said, standing to my feet. “Not everything, but yes. I stole from Mr. Tim Lassing.”

The room fell silent.

“For what it’s worth—” I looked at Tim. “I’ll settle with you for what your team asked for. Forty million. I also think you should pick up The New Yorker tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry for what?” He crossed his arms.

“You know what it’s for.” I didn’t say another word. I left the room amidst whispers and murmurs, heading straight to the elevator.

“Hayden?” Lawrence was on my heels. “Hayden, what the hell are you doing? And what the hell is running in The New Yorker tomorrow?”

“I thought you hated spoilers,” I said. “A copy should arrive at your desk tonight, though.”

“What’s it about, Hayden?”

“The truth about The Cold War, Lawrence.” I hit the down button. “I finally told the truth about everything.”

BREAK UP #16.5

THE ONE THAT COULD NEVER BE

BETTER YET …

THE ONE THAT REALLY STARTED THE COLD WAR

Hayden

Back Then

I can’t believe that I’m falling for my best friend. My “she’s way too young for you,” and “her brother would beat me into another dimension” best friend.

Her breakups have become points of conversation and nothing more, comedic relief that only stands in the way of the main scene. Or, what I wish the main scene could be.

Us …

Not a night passes by without us talking on the phone or discussing our lives. I’ve told her things that I’ve never told Travis, and I want her to be mine.

Even though she showed up to meet me at the theater, just to tell me that she’s in love with Tim—to the point of putting her career on hold for him, I can’t take that as a defeat for some reason.

“Well, that’s it.” Nina, the woman I’m on a fifth pointless date with, kisses me on the cheek. “I’m going to do you a huge favor and break up with me, for you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I can’t compete with the woman you’re really in love with. That’s her texting you now, isn’t it?” She points to my phone. “That’s who we’ve spent the past hour and half talking about, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve told you that you taking me to see her skate isn’t a date. Even if it does come with perks.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“It’s exactly what I think.” She smiles, looking completely unoffended. “Go ahead. Answer it.”

“She can wait.”

“Ha! You never make her wait.” She pulls a bag over her shoulder. “See you around, Hayden.”

I watch her walk away and hold off for a few minutes just to prove a point.

Penelope (Too Young for You): Hey. Thank you for sending me the protein shakes and extra pressure sleeves yesterday. I appreciate that.

Me: You’re welcome. What are you doing tonight?

Penelope (Too Young for You): Nothing. Want to come over?

Me: Be there in ten.

When I make it to Penelope’s place, I take a deep breath and try to think about how I need to play this. She has dreams she’s chasing—as do I, but I don’t want to get in the way of hers.

But I’m also selfish and don’t want her to date anyone else. Not even Tim, just me.

I’ll figure it out.

I get out of the car and knock on the door.

Penelope doesn’t answer it, though. Tim does.

What the hell?

“Hey, Hayden.” He smiles. “Nice to see you.”

As if he can read my confused expression, he clears his throat. “The water pipes at my house burst an hour ago, so I figured I could stay with my girlfriend for a few days while they get fixed. That’s what girlfriends are for, right?”

“Right.”

I step inside and see that her living room is filled with his belongings. Rolling my eyes, I look around for her, finding her in her mother’s old library.

“Is Tim still taking you camping for the weekend?” I can’t think of anything else to say.

“Yeah, unless …”

“Unless, what?”

She doesn’t answer me.

“Did you mean what you said at the theater last week?” I ask.

“Yes.” She nods. “Every word. I really do love him.”

My chest aches at her confessing that she’s in love with him again. The look in her eyes is undeniably for him.

“Take things slow with him, then,” I say, surrendering. “Make sure he’s everything you want before you cross the line.”

“He is. I just wish that he could see that.” She hugs me longer than usual, and I rub my hands against her back.

We slowly pull away and stare at each other.

Fuck it. Tell her that she belongs with you instead. Consequences be damned.

“Hey.” Tim steps into the room before I can utter a word. “I was looking for you two. I just got an email about free pizza night at Brick Oven. Let’s go, shall we?”

“No, I’m okay,” I say. “I need to pick up some stuff for her brother while I’m here anyway. I’ll be out of your way soon.”

“I’ll go.” Penelope keeps her eyes on mine, but she loops her arm in his. “We need to leave now if we’re going to make it before they run out, though. Oh, and Hayden, can you shut the door all the way when you leave the house? Tim’s dog is here.”

“Will do.”

I watch from the windows as they leave and get into his truck. Once they roll out of the driveway and pass the four-way stop at the end of the street, I treat myself to a private tour of his things that are in the living room.

I remember Penelope telling me that he was building a dating app as well, but according to what she’s said, he is a bit farther along in the process than me. Where I have a team of seven, he has a team of twenty.

Flipping through his folders, I raise my eyebrow at the logo and name ideas.

Tinder as the name? A red or hot pink flame as a logo?

I open one of the mini file cabinets near the coffee table and pause. There’s a stack of papers, all dripping in code. In between the lines are the words, ‘suggested algorithms, and features.’

I know that I should let them lay as they are, but I can’t help myself.

I make copies of everything in Penelope’s library and unplug the printer. Then, just because he has the audacity to make my best friend fall for him, I knock over all of his shit before leaving.

BREAK UP #16.5

THE ONE THAT COULD NEVER BE

BETTER YET …

THE ONE THAT REALLY STARTED THE COLD WAR

Hayden

Back Then

The copies on my front seat are taunting me as I drive; they’re calling me a “thief.” The guilt of what I’ve done almost makes me turn around and shred everything.

Keyword: Almost.

I want to look at his work, only to see if he’s figured out something amazing for his app. If there’s anything I can learn, not steal.

Trying to silence the voices in my head, I accidentally trigger the memory of a dog barking.

Woof! Woof! Woof!

I try to think of something else, but the barks get louder. And it only takes me half a mile to realize that those sounds aren’t in my head at all.

Woof! Woof! Woof!

I pull over on the side of the road and look in the backseat.

“Woof!” Tim’s grey and black terrier stares into my eyes.

He’s sitting on the floor, and his front paw is trapped under some shipping tape.

What the hell?

I mentally rewind the past hour, wondering when and how he jumped into my car.

He barks louder and struggles to free himself.

I sigh and take my time helping him, considering the pros and cons of returning him tonight or first thing in the morning.

The cons outweigh the pros, so I scoop him up and move him to the passenger seat. Then I grab a blanket off the floor and cover him.

Pulling onto the road again, I take a detour to the closest pet store and try to pretend like I haven’t completely lost my damn mind.

One hour later

I PLACE a bowl of water onto my kitchen floor and make sure there’s enough kibble in the new dispenser that’s next to it.

I’ll return him tomorrow, and Tim will know.

Pulling out the stolen notes, I sit down at my table and begin to read.

His idea isn’t similar to mine in the slightest, but he’s figured out the part that I’ve struggled to find: An addictive way to reject and accept matches.

Swipe right for yes. Swipe left for no.

Hmmm.

He has far more stupid ideas than good ones, though. Things like bagel meet-ups, murder mystery games, and more niche games that users can play to “score true love.”

All of that was utter garbage. But the swiping feature?

That was impressive.

Very, very impressive.

A wave of envy washes over me, nearly drowning me with every hit.

He has my Penelope.

My Penelope.

Without thinking, I pull out the ‘accept and reject’ plans for my dating app and set them next to his. Then I compare every line of code.

I brew cup after cup of coffee, comparing the best parts of his app to the places where my app is at its weakest.

I only take the swiping feature—obviously, but I vow to never admit that shit to a single soul.

By the time I finish, the sun is rising into the sky, and Tim’s dog is pawing at my leg—reminding me that I have to quietly drop him off at Penelope’s next-door neighbor’s house with an anonymous note, so that Tim will never know that I “stole” him.

Shit.

BREAK UP #16.5

THE ONE THAT COULD NEVER BE

BETTER YET …

THE ONE THAT REALLY STARTED THE COLD WAR

Hayden

Back Then

I pack my broken heart into a suitcase and head to the airport for New York.

I’m not sure how the hell Penelope finds me, why she insists on making this shit even harder since she broke my heart by falling for some other guy, but I do my best to show no emotion.

I tell her that I’ll still call.

That we’ll still be best friends, but that’s a lie.

I’m too in love with her for that to be a reality.

At first, things seem normal between us—like she doesn’t notice, because I still send her small texts here or there. But I force myself to stop after a few weeks.

Outside of a “Happy Birthday,” or a “Hope you’re well,” we rely on Travis for updates on one another.

He’s far too involved in his own career to ever notice the change.

BREAK UP #16.5

THE ONE THAT COULD NEVER BE

BETTER YET …

THE ONE THAT REALLY STARTED THE COLD WAR

Hayden

Back Then

Several months later, I sit in a bar in SoHo to watch Penelope compete in Skate America. My feelings for her have been compartmentalized, and I’ve channeled everything I once felt for her into my newly named dating app—Cinder. (Yes, I know that it’s petty to make it rhyme with Tinder, but I haven’t completely let go of my envy. Plus, it sounds better than Tinder anyway.)

Alas, almost all of my “She’s too young for you,” “It’ll never work,” “She’s your best friend’s little sister” affirmations have finally paid off. I’ve also managed to get a therapist to convince me that my emotions for Penelope were misplaced for the family I never had.

“Can you turn the TV up a bit?” I call out to the bartender as the show begins.

“As you wish.”

“Welcome back to Skate America, ladies and gentlemen!” The announcer smiles onscreen. “First up on tonight’s program is the reigning world champion in singles figure skating, Miss Penelope Carter!”

I stare at Penelope as she takes to the ice in a stunning blue costume, still feeling remnants of feelings that I swore were long gone.

I have to call her after she wins today. We need to put an end to this Cold War.

Her music begins to play, and she commands the attention of everyone in the bar. Everyone in the arena.

She’s utter perfection for the first minute in, and the announcers are already declaring her as the winner.

She deviates from her program with a quadruple lutz that she lands perfectly. Then she does another.

As if she has something to prove, she attempts and lands a series of triple salchows, and then she gears up for a fourth quadruple lutz.

She launches herself into the air, but she doesn’t land with her blades this time.

Her head hits the ice first.

I stand up from my chair as blood spatters onto the ice, as the announcers scream for someone to help her.

Deafening screams and wails fill the bar, and the TV cuts to a quick commercial.

Without a second thought, I rush to the airport and pay triple for a last-minute ticket to Chicago.

“TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH.” Travis stands up the moment I step into the waiting room.

“How is she?”

“Broken legs, wrist fracture, fractured skull, and selective, spatial memory loss. The latter has to be short term, because she remembers all of my transgressions just fine.” He rolls his eyes. “The doctors say she’ll recover easily, but she’ll never skate again. They say her chase for twenty-eight is officially over.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Me neither.” He pats my shoulder. “I’m getting her some snacks from the cafeteria. You want anything?”

“No, thank you.” I walk down the hall and into her room, expecting to see her sleeping, but she’s sitting up.

Even with her head wrapped in bandages, she’s still fucking gorgeous.

“You wear suits now, Hayden?” She smiles. “I would give you a compliment on how good you look, but I don’t want to feed your ego, and according to my journal, I hate you.”

“You definitely do.” I laugh and set a bouquet on her table.

“Before you say anything, can you tell me if Hell has frozen over, or if I’m still in a coma?”

“What makes you ask that?”

“I had a vision that Tatiana Brave came in here with flowers, and she was crying like she gave a damn about me being hurt. I can’t believe that was real.”

“Hmmm. Let’s see.” I flip over some of the bouquet tags, stopping when I see one signed as, “Your sworn enemy and #2 Skater in the world.”

“She was definitely here.” I pull out the card and clear my throat.

Penelope,

How dare you get hurt months before the world championships?

You are utterly selfish for attempting another quad in what was already a winning routine, and I will never EVER forgive you for that.

I’m praying for a miracle because I want to beat you once and for all.

Love

(Ha! Not really. I don’t have any freaking white-out :-/ )

Tati

P.S. You’re the only person in this sport I’ve ever respected 100%, but I still hate you down to your marrow.

“She drew a few lines through that last note, and then under it she wrote, Your costume sucked ass and I look forward to being the new #1.”

“Of course, she did.” Penelope snorts. “I hate her so damn much.”

“No, you don’t.” I sit on the edge of her bed. “I think you respect her, too. In fact, I think you two would be cool if you weren’t such vicious competitors.”

She doesn’t respond to that, but the look in her eyes says it all. “Why aren’t you and I friends?”

“Probably because of our Cold War.”

“One you started according to what I wrote.” She holds up her journal.

“I’m sure your point of view of the past several months is biased.” I take off my jacket.

“Why did you stop talking to me?” she asks. “Was it something I did?”

“No.” I shake my head. “I was just being selfish. That’s all.”

“Selfish about what?”

I don’t answer that. “Are you still with Tim?”

“Who the heck is Tim?” She shakes her head. “You’re the second person to ask me that today. He must not have been that important because he’s not written in my journal at all, and I remember every guy I’ve dated since you left. I have Jackson, Roger, Tate, and Randall—all breakups that you weren’t there for.”

“I’m sorry. Will I have to grovel in order to get your friendship back?”

“Would you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be making a list, then.”

“I’ll follow it.”

She swallowed. “I’ve missed you, Hayden.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” I point to her journal. “Are any of those breakups worth recapping?”

“Well, let’s see. There’s the one who stole my car.” She flips a page. “The one who couldn’t stop burping, the one who told me that I was in love with someone else, and the one who pulled out his cock in the movie theater.”

“I’d like to hear all of them except that last one.”

“I’ll have to start with that one then.” She laughs and slams the book shut. “Promise me something.”

“Yeah?”

“The next time I’m head over heels in love with a guy, tell me to break up with him when things start getting serious if I’m not exactly who I want to be.”

“Why the hell would I ever tell you to do that?”

“Because I’m noticing a theme in all of my journal entries,” she says. “I mean, at the end of every recap, I tell myself the same lessons and they clearly never take. I forget about my own dreams and latch onto his, or I try to become a part of his world at all costs, while sacrificing my own.”

“So, you want to push the one who loves you away?”

“He’ll understand why, if he loves me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, Penelope.”

“Just say you’ll do it, no matter how much it hurts. You’ll tell me to focus on my dreams and accomplish everything I want before I get super serious with anyone else.”

“Even if he really loves you?”

“Especially if he really loves me.”

SHE FALLS asleep after we’ve caught up on a few things, and then she’s wheeled into a series of surgeries the following evening.

Then again, the next day.

Her memory comes back in pieces here or there, but it’s never the whole thing. And it’s never quite in order.

On the one hand, her failure to recollect Tim helps me with Tinder. I mean, Cinder. On the other, I know that one day, should we ever cross the line, she’ll fail to see that I did exactly what she made me promise to do.

FORTY-FIVE

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

My letter in The New Yorker stopped the internet at nine-thirty in the morning. For twenty minutes, the tech world held its breath while they read my words, and then they collectively gasped in shock.

Thousands of emails flooded my inbox, and #HaydenHunterisOverParty #HaydenHunterstole #TindermadeCinder made their way to the top of Twitter’s trending charts.

As morning news shows caught wind of the story, I turned off my phone and told Sarah to avoid making any statements on my behalf.

I knew that more intensive backlash was coming, but I wanted to stave off facing it directly for as long as I could.

There was only one person I wanted to reach anyway.

I sent out a company-wide memo, telling everyone to enjoy the rest of the week off, and then I brewed myself a cup of coffee. It was almost time for me to begin stage two of getting Penelope back.

As I was looking over my list, a loud knock sounded at my door.

I didn’t bother calling out to ask who it was. The people who were worth my time had keys.

The lock twisted, and the tell-tale sound of loafers hit the marble floor.

Lawrence.

“I love what you’ve done with the place,” he said. “All of these empty pizza boxes, takeout Chinese cartons, and beer cans add a true depressive flair to the room.”

“Thank you. That’s exactly the feel I was going for.”

“Hmmm.” He stepped on an empty wrapper, and I turned around to face him.

“Let me guess,” I said. “You’re here because all of the board members are resigning, and they want to see my head on a platter.”

“Quite the contrary.” He crossed his arms. “I’m the only person who wants your head on a platter—preferably a stone one, so I can crush it with a mallet. Everyone else at Cinder is beyond thrilled with you. They’re planning a celebration in your honor.”

What? “Why?”

“Because ever since you published that ridiculously, ill-advised lover-boy letter, our subscribers have increased by three hundred percent and our stocks are approaching record highs.”

He sounded anything but upset. “I figured you were biding your time and preparing one hell of a gloating session, so let me have it.”

“There’s nothing to give.” I shrugged. “I don’t have anything to gloat about.”

“Allow me to repeat myself. Subscribers are up by three hundred percent and we’re reaching record highs on the stock market.”

“I guess. Anything else?”

“Yeah, I need to give your doctor a follow-up call,” he said. “He clearly missed the fact that you’ve sustained some brain damage. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Wait,” I said. “Has Penelope called you? Has she emailed anything?”

“She texted me ‘Happy Birthday’ this morning.”

“Read me the message.”

“I just did.” He crossed his arms. “Happy Birthday, Lawrence.”

“Were there any emojis? Any hidden lines of code for me?”

He gave me a blank stare.

“Fine.” I downed my coffee.

“Can I give you some breakup advice?” He cleared his throat.

“No.”

“I’ll offer it up anyway,” he said. The Hayden I know wouldn’t be here right now. He wouldn’t give a fuck about anything except getting what he wanted. Because everyone and I do mean fucking everyone— minus her brother, maybe, could see that you two belonged together.”

He was right.

This guidebook-phase shit in getting her back wasn’t my style at all.

I grabbed my jacket and headed to the door. “I’ll be back to work sometime next week.”

“Please don’t do anything stupid for the next month.” He held his hand over his heart. “You owe me four weeks without any heart palpitations.”

“I don’t have anything stupid on my agenda.” Yet.

“So, you’re off to get Penelope back?”

“No,” I said. “I’m off to put Travis in his place once and for all.”

FORTY-SIX

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

I tore off my final wrist bandage and parked my car in front of B&B Warehouse.

To passersby, it was just another place on the shipyard that blended into everything else. Nothing left to see.

I knew better, though.

It was where Travis held his private workouts. Since he was still nursing his ego from his Vegas loss, there was a ninety percent chance that he would be here.

I waited for a couple to walk past and pulled a pair of shades over my eyes before stepping out. Then I made my way to the side entrance.

Typing in the code on the keypad, I opened the door and found myself face to face with his bodyguard.

“You’re the last person Mr. Carter wants to see.” He bellowed. “Get the hell out of here if you know what’s good for you.”

“Are you still cheating on your wife, Greg?” I asked. “Or, have you finally stopped? It’d be a shame if I accidentally brought up your mistress’s name the next time I saw her out.”

“Go.” He glared at me before stepping out of the way.

I bypassed the remainder of Travis’s entourage and walked into the gym.

Standing at the center of a ring, Travis was bobbing and weaving, throwing punches at a dummy’s torso.

“I see that you’ve healed pretty quickly.” Travis’s eyes met mine. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable with that jaw if I were you. It’ll be broken again by the time you leave.”

“Fuck you, Travis.” I glared at him.

“Come closer and say that shit to my face.”

“Gladly.” I moved closer, and he punched the dummy a few more times.

Climbing past the ropes, I walked right up to him.

“You really do have a death wish, don’t you?” he asked.

“Shut the fuck up, and let me explain this,” I said. “If you don’t, one of us is leaving here hurt, and I can guarantee it won’t be me.”

“Only one of us is a professional fighter, Hayden.”

“And only one of us has ever lost at something we’re the best at,” I said. “Reminder: You just fucking lost in Las Vegas.”

His face reddened, and he flexed his wrists. “I suggest you hurry up and say whatever the hell you want to say.”

“One, you’re lucky that I’m in love with your sister. Two, Penelope is my best friend,” I said. “Not you, and it’s been that way for years. I was never attracted to her when you selfishly made me agree to look after her when you left.”

He clenched his jaw, but he didn’t say a word.

“It was strictly platonic for years, and there was nothing there.” I admitted. “But I fell for her long before I came to New York. That’s actually why I fucking came here, because in the best interest for her career, I didn’t want to distract her. So I—”

“Fucked your way across the city until you decided that you wanted someone naïve to settle down with?”

“I’m still in love with your sister, and I don’t care if you agree with it or not.” I shrugged. “If you think so low of me that I was actually grooming her like a sick person and wasn’t looking after her, that’s on you. Because if I have to choose between which one of your relationships means the most to me, it won’t be the one I had with you.”

Silence.

I considered punching him in the eye, paying him back for the senseless beatdown he gave me, but he suddenly stepped back.

“I heard you with another woman in your room in Vegas,” he said.

“Like I told you before, there was no other woman.”

“And Anya Sterling?”

“A run-in with bad timing,” I said. “It was also blown completely out of proportion. I would never cheat on Penelope.”

He stared at me for a long time, looking torn between believing me and lunging at me.

I flexed my fist just in case it was the latter.

“I’m not sorry,” he said.

“I wouldn’t accept your apology if you were.” I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for the attempt, though.”

“Okay, I really am sorry.” He looked genuine. “I just thought you were treating her like every other woman you’ve—Well, you know.”

“I’m still not accepting your apology, especially if that’s the best you can do.” I crossed my arms. “You fractured my fucking eye socket.”

“If you thought some other guy hurt Penelope, I’m sure you would’ve done much worse.”

“You left me bleeding on the kitchen floor.”

“I remember you calling me about a certain guy you beat to a pulp before. What exactly did he do to Crown?”

I sighed. “Apology accepted. Have you talked to her? She’s ignoring me.”

“For now. She’ll have to talk to you within the next few months or so, I’m sure.”

“You must not know how long she can hold a grudge.”

He stared at me blankly for several seconds. “She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I met her in Salt Lake City, but she’s upset with me now, too. I can try to call her.”

“No, that’s okay,” I said, stepping out of the ring. “I’ll find her myself.”

FORTY-SEVEN

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

The moment that I landed in New York, I took a cab to Seventh Avenue Bank.

Since Travis made such a huge deal about this bank account, I decided to withdraw every dime and use it toward a new condo.

If there was enough for that, anyway.

“Thank you for calling ahead of your arrival, Miss Carter.” The bank manager extended his hand when I stepped through the doors. “We’re still getting things together, but we’ll be handling this in my office.”

“Sounds perfect.” I followed him into a large room where other suits were waiting.

He motioned for me to take a seat.

“Just to confirm, a few years ago, Mr. Carter transformed this account into a money market. Then he started a new one in your name and invested almost all of it into Cinder’s shares. Does that sound correct?”

He never told me that.

“Sure.” I nodded.

“Okay, well—” He cleared his throat. “I recommend getting a few cashier’s checks, but I’ll happily dole your funds out however you like. How do you want it done?”

“Cash, please.” I set my bag on his desk. “All hundreds.”

He picked up the bag and looked inside of it. “Do you have other bags on their way here?”

“No.” I shrugged. “That’s it.”

He looked over at his associate, then back at me.

“Miss Carter,” he said, slowly sliding the reading glasses off his face. “How much money do you think is in your account?”

“Fifty thousand, give or take.”

“If it was fifty thousand, I wouldn’t have met you at the door, and you would’ve been out of here minutes ago.” He leaned forward. “This is seven million dollars.”

My jaw dropped to the floor, and I felt all the color leaving my face.

“Like I was saying.” He looked at me. “How do you want it done?”

“Cashier’s checks.” I could barely hear my voice. “But just for um, ten percent of it.”

“I thought so.” He stood to his feet. “I’ll be right back, Miss Carter.”

I leaned back in my chair, beyond stunned.

I pulled out my phone to unmute Travis and send him an appreciative message, but he’d texted me already.

Several hours ago.

Travis: I love you, Crown … I hope someday you’ll see where I was coming from. Even though I couldn’t physically be there, every match I ever fought was for you.

FORTY-EIGHT

PRESENT DAY

Hayden

Cinder Settles with Tinder for $40M

Cinder’s Company Valuation Now Worth $2B

Simon Gaines Arrested in Manhattan for Fraud, Hedge Fund Offices Raided

FORTY-NINE

PRESENT DAY

Penelope

Manhattan, New York

“It took me all this time to realize that everything I’d done with Cinder, every move I’d ever made, was because I was in love with my best friend, and I didn’t want her to be with anyone else …”

“I was willing to lie, cheat, and steal, to get back at the man who I thought had taken her away from me.”

Tears hit my screen as I read Hayden’s words in The New Yorker for the umpteenth time. In revealing the truth about Tinder, he’d exposed bits of our story that I’d long forgotten, and late last night, the months before my accident unfolded in my brain like the pages of a novel.

Scene after scene of me wanting him and dating Tim as second-best, not knowing that he felt the same way that I did.

I wanted so desperately to call him and tell him to meet me someplace so we could talk, but I couldn’t do it.

The past headlines of his affair with Anya were still a barrier to us ever being friends again.

We can be co-parents and nothing more.

“Hey, Penelope?” Tatiana’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “You kind of need to get out of the car now.”

I looked to my left and saw her holding up an umbrella over the cab’s open door.

“Oh, sorry.” I stepped out and stood underneath it, shutting the door behind me.

“I think this is a decent complex,” she said, tilting her head to the side. “Lots of great amenities, and it’s close enough to two rinks. It’s also close to—Well, um…”

“Cinder,” I said. “In case.”

“Yeah, in case.” She looped her arm in mine and led me inside. “I’m sorry I brought that up.”

“No worries.”

We took the elevator to the top floor, finding ourselves in the middle of a private party. We wrote our names on the badges, then we moved over to the table of gourmet snacks.

From here, the view of Manhattan was perfect.

As I was pouring myself a drink, I felt a familiar jolt of electricity traveling through my body, that pulsating throb that I only felt when …

“Is that Hayden Hunter?” “Oh my god, look!” “Is he here to buy everything before we can?”

Hushed whispers suddenly filled the room.

“You want to leave through the back elevator?” Tatiana whispered. “I can put in bids for you if you don’t want to stay.”

Yes. “No.” I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

I nodded and let out a breath. Tuning out the whispers, I scooped another handful of M&Ms onto my plate.

I managed to make it to the end of the snack buffet before giving in for a quick glance at Hayden.

Looking sexier than ever, he was dressed in a black V-neck shirt that clung to his muscles and dark jeans. Still incapable of looking anything less than perfect.

His blue eyes met mine, and I tried to look away, but I couldn’t.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please?” The curator clapped his hands and moved to the center of the room. “Thank you all so much for coming to our open house. Please follow me into the showroom area where we’ve set up space for the formal auctions.”

The guests made their way toward the showroom, but I remained still.

A guy who looked a few years younger than me walked over to Hayden with his cell phone held high.

“You’re my idol,” he said. “Can I please take a selfie with you?”

Hayden nodded, but he kept his eyes on mine; the guy snapped the shot without noticing.

Tatiana moved behind me. “Do you want me to leave you two alone?”

“No,” I said. “Please stay.”

Hayden walked over, stopping right in front of me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice hoarse.

I didn’t say anything in response. I simply stared at him.

“I’ve missed you.” He looked into my eyes. “I’ve called you twenty times a day, left messages, and sent flowers. I’ve paid for ads on all the shows you watch, and I penned a letter in The New Yorker.” He paused. “Have you seen any of those things?”

“No.” I lied, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I’ve been trying my best to take a certain someone’s advice and move on.”

“Have you?”

“Not yet.” Tears pricked my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. “You look good, too, Hayden. I bet Anya loves waking up next to you.”

“I would never cheat on you, Penelope,” he said. “Those pictures aren’t what you think they are, but even still, I should’ve never asked for space with you. I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back and make it up to you.” He stepped close enough for me to inhale the scent of his cologne.

We stared into each other’s eyes for several moments, the unspoken words remained unsaid.

“Is this the type of condo you really want to buy?” he asked finally. “These aren’t your style.”

“I plan to renovate,” I said. “I’m bidding on it for the space and the amenities, so that—”

“So that what?”

“I was planning to call you sometime next week.” I refused to go there. “There’s something important I need to tell you.”

“I’m standing in front of you now.” He closed the gap between us. “No need to wait a week.” He lifted his hand and pressed it against my cheek, sending warmth through my entire body. “What is it?”

“Please write your initial bids on your cards for the first round!” The curator called from the other room. “You’re free to outbid your first one, but this is to ensure accuracy for the speaker.”

“I have to go,” I said. “I need to bid on this.”

“Or, you can let me buy it for you.” He grabbed my hands. “I need you to hear me out right now, Pen. We need to talk.”

“We will.” I stepped back. “Next week.”

I walked away from him before he could say anything else.

Anxious, I grabbed a paddle and a marker. Then I took a seat in the front row.

“For the first round, we are offering four condos identical to this one,” the curator said. “To start the bidding, I now welcome—”

“If you won’t talk to me in private, I’ll talk to you in public.” Hayden was suddenly in front of me, his eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched.

“Sir, this is a bidding process.” The curator cleared his throat. “If you’re interested in staying, you can register and—”

“If you believe that I would ever hurt you after all we’ve been through together, you are sadly mistaken.”

The room filled with whispers, then those soft conversations dissolved into silence.

“I can’t go another day without you talking to me.” His voice was hoarse. “I have never felt for anyone else what I feel for you, and you’re more than my best friend, Penelope. I think that you always have been.”

Tears fell down my face.

“I’ve loved you since breakup number fifteen.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “I wanted you to be mine back then, but I loved you enough to want you to focus on your own career…”

My breathing slowed.

“I love you, and I know you’ve read my letter,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes, but just do we’re clear, I’m in love with you—every part of you, and I will never give you advice on landing another guy again, because you belong with me. And if you give me a second chance, you’ll never have to experience another breakup again.”

The room was now silent enough to hear a pin drop. The words I wanted to say aloud were trapped under my tongue.

I could feel everyone in the room staring at us, begging me to give him an answer.

“Please.” Hayden leaned close enough that our lips nearly touched. “Please, take me back, Penelope.”

I swallowed. “I never wanted to give you a breakup title.”

“You don’t have to,” he said. “Take me back.”

“Okay.” I nodded, feeling fresh tears fall down my face.

“Okay yes or okay you need to think about it?”

“Okay, yes and let’s leave.”

He kissed me without any regard for the guests, without caring whether they were recording this or not.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered. He threaded his fingers through my hair as he owned my mouth, making me remember just how badly I’d missed him, too.

When he finally pulled away from me, a few of the guests clapped.

“Can the two of you get the hell out of here now?” The curator groaned. “I have real estate to sell.”

We laughed and Hayden clasped my hand, pulling me out of the room. He led me onto the elevator, pressing his mouth against mine all over again as the car went down.

When we made it downstairs, he pushed me against a wall and kissed me so deeply that I silently promised to never go that long without kissing him again.

“My place or yours?” he asked.

“Yours.”

“Good choice.” He wrapped an arm around my waist, leading me down the street and toward his car. He held me tighter when the first photog stepped in front of us.

He kissed my forehead as two more started flashing their invasive cameras.

“No umbrellas in this rain?” “Are you two an item now?” “Any comment on Hayden’s letter, Penelope?”

Hayden opened the passenger door and helped me inside without saying a word to them.

He moved to the driver’s side and sped onto the street.

Holding my hand behind the gear shift, he looked over as we approached a red light. “What exactly did you have to talk to me about next week?”

“A communication schedule.”

“What?” He scoffed. “You honestly think I would follow something like that just to talk to you?”

“It was for co-parenting,” I said, pausing. “I’m pregnant.”

He put the car in park and looked over at me.

“Before you ask, there’s no need for a paternity test.”

“I wasn’t planning to ask that at all.” He glanced at my stomach. “How far along are you?”

“Thirteen weeks,” I said. “Are you scared?”

“Terrified.” He leaned over and kissed me, ignoring the honking cars behind us once the light turned green.

“Tell me something, then,” he said. “A communication schedule for a friendship would be one thing, but why did you think something like that would work once I found out that you were carrying my child?”

“I was willing to include a few no-strings attached sex provisions if you kept up your end of the deal.”

His lips curved into a smile. “A few would never be enough.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “I’m looking forward to a true new beginning with you, Penelope, but I want to make sure that I’m never in the way of your dreams.”

“I understand that.”

“Good,” he said. “I also want to make sure that you remain open with me and always tell me what you want, so I can give it to you.”

“In the bedroom?”

“That’s a given, but no.” He shook his head. “I mean in everything. Tell me.”

“What about letting me drive your car?”

“Don’t fucking push it.” He laughed, kissing me again. “I’ll have to take you to a parking lot this week and test that out first. What do you really want?”

FIFTY

A few months later

Penelope

I ran my fingers across a spool of red ribbon, letting out a breath as I read the words that were embedded in the trim.

[The Perfect Feather: Ice Skating Pavilion ]

The grand opening of my rink wasn’t scheduled until months from now, but I’d made it my personal mission to oversee all of the custom details for the ribbon-cutting ceremony.

My mother’s collection of medals and awards would soon have a new home on the far-left wall, right next to mine.

In between ours, I’d leave spaces for other women to show off their accomplishments. I already knew that the skaters who’d signed on to work with me in the spring had high chances of developing long-term careers on the ice.

I also knew that I could still possibly train someone who could help me get to “twenty-eight,” via the Olympics coaching rule someday, but it was far better to have twenty-eight students and counting instead.

Smiling, I walked over to a pair of skates on the bench, resisting the urge to put them on.

“I could’ve sworn we agreed that you wouldn’t come here until after our son was born.” Hayden’s deep voice made me turn around.

“Since you know me, you should’ve known that was a lie.”

“I did.” He smiled, kissing my forehead. “I also knew to fly home early if I wanted to know what you’re truly doing. This doesn’t look like hanging out with Tatiana.”

“You don’t know what it’s like to sit through hours of anime with a super-fan.” I shook my head. “How’d your meeting with Sarah and Lawrence go?”

“Good.” He wrapped his arms around my waist. “They’re happy to move to the next level. Speaking of which, on a scale of one to ten, how happy are you with me?”

“Eight.”

“Only eight?” He raised his eyebrow.

“It would be a ten if you could get the tabloids to stop printing their daily, ‘How long will Penelope Carter last with Hayden Hunter?’ game. They run multiple versions of that story a week.”

“I told you that you’re not supposed to read that stuff.”

“I’m still working on it.”

“Hmmm.” He kissed me, pulling a small red box from his pocket. “Tell you what. The next time they play, you should join them and bet on forever.”

He stepped back and got down on one knee.

I gasped as he grabbed my hand and looked up at me.

“I wanted to propose to you months ago,” he said, “but I knew that you would want the traditional approach, i.e., asking your parents, which is unfortunately impossible.”

“Please tell me that you didn’t ask my brother instead.”

“I did ask your brother.” He smiled. “He said, Hell no. But I did ask him.”

I laughed.

“He came around after a few days, though. Even if he hadn’t, I would’ve done this anyway.” He squeezed my hand.

“Penelope Carter, I’ve been in love with you since breakup number fifteen,” he said. “I wish I’d told you then, and that we’d never had to go through a Cold War at all.”

Tears pricked my eyes.

“Nonetheless, I’ll never put you through another one, and I want to spend the rest of my life as more than your boyfriend.” He looked deep into my eyes. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “Yes.”

He slid a massive diamond ring onto my finger and kissed my hand before standing up. Pulling me into his arms, he kissed me until I was nearly breathless.

“I’m glad that you’re my first and last relationship,” he whispered against my lips.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I know that I’ll never have to give you a breakup title.”

THE END

BREAK UP #17

THE ONE THAT OWES ME AN APOLOGY

EPILOGUE

Hayden

Don’t forget that you owe me an apology.

I know that you made assumptions about me that didn’t come true when we first met in the prologue. I could see you.

You probably thought I’d cheated on my best friend somehow or done something completely unforgivable.

Either way, since I’ve spent most of this novel doling out apologies like candy, I think it’s only fair that you extend one to me.

I’ll even email you one of Penelope’s templates.

I’m waiting.

—

The End

(Again)

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Thank you so much for downloading Hayden & Penelope’s love story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Up next from me is On a Wednesday, a friends to lovers/second chance/swoon-worthy novel that features a world you’ll want to jump into and never leave.

Sign up for my newsletter—The F.L.Y. List, so I can let you know the moment it goes live!

If you’ve never heard of it, it is Book 2 (total standalone) in The One Week Series, and you can get a sneak peek of Book 1 in the series (On a Tuesday) by flipping the page.

ON A TUESDAY

A SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE

We met on a Tuesday.

Became best friends, then lovers, on a Tuesday.

And everything fell apart on a Tuesday ...

Charlotte Taylor has three automatic strikes in my book: 1) She hates me. She also claims that I'm a “domineering jerk with a huge, overbearing ego.” (I do have something huge. It's not my ego, though.) 2) She takes our mandatory tutoring sessions way too seriously.  3) She's sexy as hell ... And a virgin.

At least, those were her strikes before our study sessions started lasting longer than they were supposed to. Until one innocent kiss became a hundred dirty ones, and until she became the first woman I ever fell hard for.

Our future together after graduation was supposed to be set:

Professional football for me. Law school for her.

But she left me at the end of the semester with no explanation, and then she completely disappeared from my life.

Until tonight.

We met on a Tuesday.

Became everything, then nothing, on a Tuesday.

And now it's seven years later, on a Tuesday ...

GRAYSON: NOW

Present Day

New York City

GRAYSON CONNORS WINS SUPER BOWL MVP, AGAIN

GRAYSON CONNORS LEADS NEW YORK TO CONSECUTIVE SUPER BOWL WIN

CONNORS’ LATE TOUCHDOWN LIFTS NEW YORK OVER NEW ENGLAND

I read this morning’s headlines for the hundredth time and forced myself to smile. I tried to feel something—anything, but it was no use. This wasn’t what “winning” was supposed to feel like, and I would know because—well, I almost always won.

As a heavy snow fell over Manhattan, I walked over to my balcony and watched a construction crew adjust a new billboard that read, “Go, Grayson Connors!”

Last year, I’d celebrated the championship by joining my teammates in a reckless five-day party in Las Vegas. We’d drenched our team plane in thousand-dollar champagne, demanded over the top accommodations for the Super Bowl parade, and basked in the never-ending attention from women who wanted to know “what it felt like to sleep with a champion.”

But this year, when the game clock struck zero, and the score was in my team's favor, I felt no excitement at all. I coasted through the ensuing media interviews with a fake smile plastered on my face, and I didn't bother flying with the team to Vegas. I came straight home and called the police to report the flock of groupies that was waiting outside my condo.

I decided to host my own private celebration, but when I scrolled through the five hundred contacts in my phone, I realized that there were only two people worth calling: My mother and my best friend, Kyle. Then again, my mother didn’t believe in leaving her house for non-emergencies when it snowed, and asking Kyle to celebrate days after defeating his team in the game was a bit egotistical. Even for me.

I’ll ask him about it next weekend …

I scrolled through my contacts again, hoping I’d missed someone, but the results were the same. Frustrated, I tossed my phone at the wall and turned on the TV.

As the announcers walked through their favorite moments of Sunday’s game, a knock came to my door.

Confused as to why my doorman would let anyone up to my floor without asking me for permission first, I walked over and looked through the peephole.

Anna?

“We’ve talked about this, Anna,” I said, opening the door and letting her inside. “You’re supposed to call and ask me if you can come up here first.”

“I’m your agent.” She scoffed and held up her phone. “I called several times because you just bolted after the game. Since you didn’t answer, I was worried.” She looked around the room. “Am I interrupting a celebratory orgy or something?”

“No.” I groaned. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to personally congratulate you on winning your second Super Bowl.” She handed me a bright pink envelope. “I’m so proud of you, that I actually wrote inside of this card.”

“You came all the way over here just to give me a card?”

“Of course not.” She smiled and pulled a manila envelope from her purse. “I have a few things I need you to sign, and a few time-sensitive deals we need to negotiate.”

“That sounds like it can wait until next week.”

“It could, but what if one of us dies before next week? What if you hurt your throwing arm between tonight and this weekend and suddenly, you realize that no one wants to endorse an injured athlete?”

I gave her a blank stare. This woman was the most anxious person I’d ever met. She was undoubtedly the best when it came to doing her job, but her anxiety made her incapable of relaxing, so she never took a day off. She used the word “time sensitive” for everything, and I knew just by looking at her, that none of what she had to say to me today was that crucial.

“You’ve got twenty minutes,” I said. “I’m not spending my entire day on paperwork.”

“Fair enough.” She carried her envelope to my living room, turned on the fireplace, and hit mute on the television, like this was her house. Then she slipped off her heels and plopped onto my sofa, rearranging the ESPN and Sports Illustrated magazines on my coffee table.

“Would you mind making me a cup of coffee, Grayson?” she asked. “I’m thirsty.”

Okay. Now, you’ve got five minutes.

I filled two of my “Yes, I’m That Good” mugs with coffee and took a seat across from her, bracing myself for bullshit.

“Let’s start with the simple things first,” she said, sliding her phone to me. “The gossip blogs caught a picture of you dining with a mystery woman inside of a Tribeca restaurant a few nights ago. I know how annoyed you get about your privacy, so if you want to kill the speculation, would you like to confirm that you have a new girlfriend or tell them that this is just a fling?”

“I would like to tell them to go fuck themselves.” I rolled my eyes. “I was treating my mother to a private dinner. It was her birthday.”

“Oh.” She tapped her fingers against her phone. “Okay, well that’s now handled. Second thing, you’ll need to read over these contract amendments and sign off on them by tomorrow. Speaking of amendments, the last time we spoke …”

I tuned out her voice and sipped my coffee as she spoke a mile a minute. Without giving her my full attention, I knew that every other phrase that fell from her lips was “speaking of that contract,” “I need you to sign this,” or “Oh! Now, this one is really time sensitive.” By the time she finally stopped talking, an entire hour had passed.

“You went over by forty minutes,” I said, standing. “Whatever we haven’t discussed will have to wait. Hopefully, both of us will still be alive by then.”

She laughed. “Fine. Just make sure you’re all packed for your class reunion at The University of Pittsburgh. You’ll need three suits at most, something to wear on a golf course, and your old college jersey, of course. Delta Airlines has promised to leave two first class seats open on all their NYC to Pitt flights for tomorrow, so no need to feel rushed.”

“What?” I raised my eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your class reunion. It’s this Tuesday night.”

“Since when do college classes have seven-year reunions?” I asked.

“When your class is full of achievers, I guess.” She handed me an ivory envelope.

I opened the invitation and instantly remembered when she’d first given it to me months ago, when I agreed to “do whatever they needed me to do.”

I clearly wasn’t thinking straight.

“They want you to give two speeches,” she said. “One before the fireworks, and one at the farewell ceremony. I’ve made a draft of both speeches, a list of additional things you may want to touch on, and a photo collage of your college memories that you may want to look over while we fly. You’re welcome.”

“I don’t recall saying thank you.” I shook my head and returned the invitation. “I’m not going to this. Get me out of it now.”

“Grayson.” Her face paled. “Surely, you know how terrible it will look if you back out of this the day before. You’re the surprise, special guest speaker.”

“I don’t care.” I walked away from her. There was only one person who would make me consider going to that reunion, and since she never came to any alumni events I’d attended over the years, I didn’t need to waste my time. “Tell them something came up. You can also tell them that I’m more than willing to address the crowd via Skype.”

“Grayson, listen.”

“I didn’t stutter.” I kept my voice firm. “End of discussion.”

“Okay.” She stood to her feet. “Well, now that you're not going to the reunion, I guess we can get your contract renewal with Nike out of the way. I'm having lunch with a few of their team members tomorrow, and I can make that happen, if so.”

“Sure.” I officially gave up on the idea of her ever knowing and accepting when a meeting was over.

“Great! I’ll let myself out.” She slipped into her heels and headed toward the door.

I walked over to the spot where I’d thrown my phone and picked it up, somewhat surprised it was still in one piece. Before I could call my doorman and tell him that Anna was not an exception to my “call me first” rule, I heard her clearing her throat.

“Yes, Anna?”

“I wanted to ask you one last thing,” she said. “Did you see the note about Charlotte Taylor?”

“What?” I turned around. “What did you just say?”

“Charlotte Taylor.” She shrugged and held up the invitation. “There was a little note on the back about her. Did you see it?”

I didn't answer. I rushed over and took the card from her hands. Flipping it over, I spotted a handwritten note in faint purple ink:

Grayson,

I hope all is well with you. I know we haven't spoken in quite a while, but between you and me …

Charlotte Taylor RSVP’d for this reunion a few weeks ago.

I thought you would want to know.

—Nadira

I stared at the note for several seconds, feeling my blood boil with each written word.

I hadn’t heard from Charlotte since I graduated college. I’d spent thousands of dollars looking for her the first year she left me, and all I ever found were confirmations that she’d moved overseas, started a new life, and married someone who wasn’t me.

Just the mere mention of her name was bringing back all the memories of what we once had. What we once swore would never come to an end.

To this day, I’d never loved anyone the way I loved her. Hell, I honestly hadn’t “loved” anyone since her because no other woman ever compared, and it still made me angry whenever I remembered that she never had the decency to give me a damn goodbye.

“Well, I guess that's that,” Anna said. “But you know, now I think we can kill two birds with one stone during the lunch with Nike, if you don’t mind. In addition to meeting your reps, we can finally film two of those short—”

“I won’t be joining you for lunch tomorrow.” I looked over the handwritten note one last time, knowing I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else for the rest of the day. “I’m going to the reunion.”

“Okay. Well, it’s not until Tuesday evening, Grayson. You can still join us for lunch Monday, sign your name on a few papers, and fly out to Pittsburgh in the afternoon.”

“I’m flying there tonight.”

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Contents

Dedication

Synopsis

A Note from Whitney G.

Prologue

Sixteen weeks ago

Sixteen *breakups* ago

Breakup #1

Breakup #1.5

Breakup #3

Years Later

One

Two

Two (B)

Three

Four

Break Up #6

Four (B)

Five

Five (B)

Six

Six (B)

Seven

Seven (B)

Break up #7

Eight

Eight (B)

Nine

Nine (B)

Break Up #9

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Twelve (B)

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Fifteen (B)

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Two (B)

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Break Up #12

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Seven (B)

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Break Up #13

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-One (B)

Thirty-Two

Break Up #15

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Six (B)

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Seven (B)

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Break up #16

Break up #16

Break Up #16

Forty

Forty (B)

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Break Up #16.5

Break Up #16.5

Break Up #16.5

Break Up #16.5

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Break Up #17

—

Author’s Note

On a Tuesday

Grayson: Now

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