Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97994 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 490(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
My stomach flips. “Where?”
“His stupid condo.”
It hasn’t escaped my notice that Blaire has taken to using unflattering adjectives in association with Declan.
His stupid condo.
His dumb face.
His bullshit hockey game.
If I didn’t know any better, I would think she harbored a secret attraction to him that she’s not willing to admit. Not to me and certainly not to herself.
She begins unloading the takeout, containers thudding onto the coffee table. Pad thai. Spring rolls. Stir fry vegetables. Rice. Blaire tosses a handful of fortune cookies to the center of the table. “We’re probably going to need these later.”
“What happened?”
“He opened the door in sweatpants,” she tells me, opening the rice and dumping half the container onto a plate. “He looked like total shit. Hair was a mess. Looked like he hasn’t slept in days.”
Good.
This is weighing on him, too.
“And?” My voice is thin. “Then what?”
“I forced my way inside and told him I wasn’t there for small talk. I told him you were home, crying. I told him you felt blindsided.” My best friend slides a plate in my direction, forcing me to load it with food. “He had no idea Garrett Storm told you what’s been going on, and he felt terrible.”
Good.
He should.
I nod, throat tight.
Blaire tears open a soy sauce packet with unnecessary aggression. “I may have called him a piece of shit.”
I blink at her.
“I apologized, don’t worry,” she adds quickly. “But only in a technical sense. Like—sorry for saying that out loud, not sorry for meaning it.”
I muster a smile.
“He didn’t argue,” she continues. “Which almost made it worse. He stood there, taking it.”
“What exactly did you say?”
She points her chopsticks at me. “I said, and I quote, ‘You absolute bag of crap, there are hundreds of women in this city, and you chose your teammate’s girlfriend?’”
Blaire grunts, satisfied with herself.
“Like, sir,” she goes on, incredulous all over again. “Did the dating pool dry up? Did the apps shut down? Was every other woman unavailable? No. You went straight for the one person guaranteed to torch the locker room.”
“The audacity.”
I stare down at my plate, where a lonely spring roll sits.
“He kept saying he didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to hurt you,” she says with a mocking tone, chewing with her mouth open. “As if withholding the truth was less hurtful.”
A fresh wave of emotion climbs my throat.
“He said he thought you’d hate him,” she says matter-of-factly. “That you’d look at him differently.”
“I do look at him differently,” I whisper.
Blaire nods slowly. “I know.”
She chews, and for a while, we sit in companionable silence.
“Seriously. I almost felt sorry for him,” she confesses. “Almost.”
Her expression sharpens, getting cloudy. “I asked him point-blank if Aaron started seeing you out of revenge.”
“What did he say?”
Blaire hesitates. “He said… he thinks that might’ve been how it started.” She pushes rice around her plate with a chopstick. “Obviously, he has no idea what’s going through Aaron’s head. They are not on speaking terms these days.”
Oh.
My shoulders droop. “So, he thinks it’s true?”
“He’s suspicious. He has no proof.”
Right.
Blaire licks her fingers and goes on. “I also said, ‘You’re telling me you two have been barking at each other like two rabid dogs and you don’t know what his angle is?’” She stops talking and watches my face. “What are you thinking?”
My head shakes. “I have no idea what to think.”
“How many times has Aaron tried calling you?”
I shrug. “Not sure. Four?”
She hums. “At least he’s attempting to reach you.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” I say warily.
“He’s not hiding.”
“He could be trying to get ahead of it,” I murmur. “Control the narrative.”
“Counter point,” she says. “He’s freaking out.”
“At the thought of losing me, or the thought that I could go to the press and tell the media what… what…?”
Blaire snorts. “That man has survived playoffs, press conferences, and online hate. I promise you he’s not shaking in his skates over a hypothetical headline.”
“That’s not fair,” I pout. “This could be a scandal.”
“Only if you want them both to look bad.”
True.
My brother may be a cheating, no-good homewrecker, but he’s my brother and I wouldn’t want to publicly humiliate him.
“Say it,” Blaire coaxes. “Go ahead, call them both dickheads.”
I laugh despite myself as she reaches over and flips my phone face-up before I can stop her.
My heart jumps into my throat.
Six missed calls.
Three texts.
All from Aaron.
My chest aches.
Blaire looks at me. “That doesn’t look like a man who’s smug about getting caught.”
No.
It doesn’t.
“Well.” I exhale shakily. “Thank God I didn’t march into HR this afternoon.”
Blaire blinks. “You were going to?”
“I considered it.” I press my palm to my forehead. “I was this close to humiliating myself by reporting the relationship. Can you imagine? ‘Hi, yes, I’d like to file paperwork because I slept with a hockey player who may or may not be revenge pucking me.’”