Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“None of us did, not really,” Donovan says. “I always had Eric, but it still often felt like I was on the outside looking in, but now I’m here, with the two of you. A Jilted Ex for life and proud of that.”
We let go of each other’s hands and lift our glasses in the air. “To the Jilted Exes’ Club,” I say.
“To the Jilted Exes’ Club,” they repeat, and we clink our glasses.
“Now, do we have time to talk about how I’m madly in love with Kason Maddox? Because I really, really am.”
“Ant…we always have time to talk about that,” Donovan replies, and for the first time ever in my life, I gush to best friends, about a man I love, and one who just so happens to love me too.
Better late than never.
*
The Rebels had one win and one loss so far on their road trip. Their third game is tonight, and then they’ll be coming home. Even though we talk every day, I miss him when he’s gone. I stalk his games and the score like crazy. We used to tease Hayes about that, but now I get it. When your boyfriend is a hockey star, it’s impossible not to be all in. I always loved hockey, but now I have a stake in it, and I also kinda want to kill anyone who gets too close to Kason. I can’t imagine how I would feel if he was a d-man like Rylan. Kason doesn’t get knocked around the same way Rylan does.
I head to work early. There’s not much going on, and my apartment feels empty without Kason. Plus, I love the vibe at Lush—the music, the happiness, the freedom this queer space provides for so many. Young Anthony couldn’t have imagined ever having access to a place like this, never mind owning it. I built this club, and I’ve been keeping it to myself for too damn long.
“Hey, Ant. What’s good?” Adrian, one of the head security guys, asks.
“What’s up?” I give him a quick hug. Adrian is a big-ass guy. I swear, one of his arms is the size of my head. He’s tall and tattooed, which makes him look scary as fuck to people who don’t know him, but really, he’s the world’s biggest teddy bear.
“Gonna be a good night tonight, I can feel it,” he says.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I been paying attention to your man. Never watched much hockey before, but he’s pretty good.”
“He’s really good.” I grin, my chest warm. I have friends all around me, don’t I? In more places than I realized. Or if not friends, just people who care—coworkers, customers, Chelsea, and others. They’ve been here a long time, but I never took the time to notice, never let myself see what I had right in front of me because I was always afraid I’d lose it, and acknowledging it would make it that much harder.
Not anymore.
Adrian and I talk for a while longer before I excuse myself. People say hi to me as I walk through the dancing crowd, bartenders and dancers waving or saying hello. Funny how much brighter the world can be when you’re looking at it through a different mindset.
I make my way back to the office, unlock the door, and head in. I’m dancing later tonight, but there’s some payroll and other maintenance I can work on first. I’m just finishing getting payroll sent in, when there’s a knock at the door. “Come in,” I call out, and Bryson, one of the dancers, enters. He’s wearing a jock and is covered in glitter, so he must’ve been mid-shift when I arrived. One look at his face tells me something serious is up. “What’s wrong?”
He closes the door behind him. “I, um…wasn’t sure if I should show you this, and maybe you already know, but people are talking about it, and if you didn’t know, well…”
My heart drops, the back of my neck burning. “What is it?” I ask when he doesn’t seem to want to say.
“Malcolm…did a podcast. One of those shitty ones that rips people apart. God, why is that a thing? Why are there people who love tearing others down? But in it he shares what he calls his side of the story, and clips have started popping up online… It’s… A lot of it is about you. I just didn’t want you to go out there and be blindsided.”
My pulse throbs in my head, the room feeling slightly echoey. I shouldn’t be surprised, nothing should surprise me anymore, but it does—surprises me and makes me sick.
“Should I not have said anything?” Bryson asks when I don’t reply.
Ignoring how fast my heart is beating, the twisting and turning in my gut, I say, “No, you should have. I appreciate it. Thank you.”