Page 3 of Playbook
“Ben’s family is here.”
“I can see that.” I smile at her, then look past my sister to where Ben’s parents are sitting side-by-side at the table. A little closer than most couples and smiling more. They always look so in love. “I like Ben’s parents,” I tell her. “It’s fine. Really. I promise to go easy on the bottomless mimosas.”
“Not just his parents,” she says slowly.
It takes my muddled brain a moment for her words to sink in.
“Who else is joining—” My question is cut off when a familiar dark head steps up behind my sister.
Sierra glances back at him, then whispers to me, “Please be nice.”
White-hot anger spreads through me as I come face-to-face with my ex-boyfriend for the first time in two years.
“Hey, Lo.” He puts one hand in his pocket and keeps a foot of distance between us, but it still feels too close. He’s in a black dress shirt and pants like he’s heading to the office instead of brunch in the scorching heat. Always immaculately put together no matter the cost. I forgot that about him—or at least pushed it from my mind.
“Chris.” I force his name between gritted teeth.
Ben steps forward and thrusts a glass of something in my hand. I down it quickly. Champagne. It feels all wrong for this moment. I glance quickly at the table and all eyes are on us. Our parents have the decency to look away, but Sierra and Ben keep staring with anxious, hopeful expressions.
“I’m going to head to the bar and grab another drink,” I say to no one in particular.
I breathe a sigh of relief after I slump onto a bar stool and order a Bloody Mary, but it’s short-lived when Chris comes to stand in the spot next to me and sets his phone down on the bar like he’s planning on staying awhile.
When my drink comes, he hands his card over to the bartender to pay for it and asks for the same thing.
“Thanks,” I say begrudgingly, then as dryly as possible add, “This totally makes up for the last time I saw you.”
In bed with another woman.
As only Chris can do, he ignores my remark and leans against the bar. Cool and casual. “So, how’ve you been?”
I want to roll my eyes at his question. How have I been? Like we’re old friends catching up instead of exes who vowed never to speak to one another again. Or I vowed it anyway.
“Well, I was fine until you crashed my favorite Saturday of the month,” I say with fake cheer. No sense in pretending like I’m happy to see him. He knows I’m not.
He cranes his neck around and a look of disgust crosses his face before he rears back. “Oh, wow. Someone here smells like they bathed in bad cologne.”
My cheeks heat. Perfect. The first time I see the lying, cheating spawn of Satan, I smell and have windblown hair. Not that it matters. I don’t have any dream scenarios that include him seeing me and wishing he hadn’t let me get away.
“Oh shit,” he says, reading the embarrassment on my face. “Is that you?”
His lips quirk up in amusement.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, teeth gritted.
“Ben asked me to be here,” he says by way of explanation. For all his terrible qualities, I know he’s good to Ben, so that’s something.
While I’m debating on what to say or do—tossing my drink at him would just waste a perfectly good Bloody Mary—Chris tries to engage again.
“So who is the guy?” he asks.
“The guy?” He’s not making any sense, and I’m seconds from telling him to get lost, but then I spot Sierra out of the corner of my eye. I can manage a civil conversation for her. Justthis once.
“You only ever wore perfume at the beginning of our relationship. Kind of like dressing up or making any effort at all with your appearance.” The way he says it all so even-toned, like that’s not the most asshole thing he’s said (and he’s said a lot of asshole things), is truly mind-blowing.
“All you need to know is that he’s better than you in every way,” I say sweetly.
With a disbelieving smirk, he brings his drink to his lips. “Really? Ben said you were stillverysingle.”
