Page 3 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
Which I guess serves her point.
I understand what she’s telling me loud and clear. I can’t afford another scandal. It’s then that I realize how close to cutting me she’s probably been. My stomach twists at the thought. If I don’t have hockey, what have I got?
“No parties. No brawls,” I say, and I mean it.
“Good. Well, anyway,” she says, shifting in the chair like I’ve made her the slightest bit uncomfortable at bringing up her engagement, and then my subsequent fistfight with the dude. “Thanks for coming in today. I just wanted to meet with you face-to-face and make sure you’re certain about this. About being here. I know this must be difficult for you—”
I hold up one hand, stopping her. “It was weird at first, but I’m fine, Eden. I’m a big boy. I can handle it.”
She nods. “I know. Glad we’re on the same page.”
I rise to my feet. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Enjoy your summer. Just do me one favor.” She grins. “Stay out of the tabloid headlines, would you?”
“Don’t worry. I plan on it.”
2
* * *
ASPEN
Sometimes it’s easy to pretend everything is fine.
For instance, when I was getting ready for my boss’s party tonight, debating comfort versus fashion in the eternal question of shoes, I almost forgot about my heartbreak. Mulling over the hypothetical of will I dance or won’t I, I was pleasantly distracted. A regular girl again.
But now that I’m waiting outside the club, I feel that dull ache carving away at me again.
What did I expect? Just two weeks after a devastating breakup, and I thought I’d be fine? My first outing since my heart got put through the garbage disposal, and God help me, it’s an engagement party, no less.
Yep, the Boston Titans’ owner, Eden Wynn, and her head of security, Holt Rossi, are engaged. The whole team is here too, swarming around the club entrance like a pack of wolves. Loud, vulgar wolves. But that’s hockey players for you—they show you who they are from the get-go.
I pull at my black tunic dress, willing the hem to fall an inch lower on my thighs.
I’m an idiot for agreeing to come. But when you’re crashing in your boss’s spare room because of said breakup, you kind of owe it to her to go to her party. I couldn’t exactly hide out at her house alone. I may be the most amazing executive assistant ever, but I didn’t want to lose points for being a lousy friend.
Holt pulls Eden into a side hug, planting a kiss on the crown of her head as their fingers intertwine. They look like a dang cologne commercial, all romance and class. Her in a floor-length, plum-colored gown, him in a well-fitting suit. My heart aches as I watch them, a power couple who are so in love. So comfortable together.
“I hate that PDA shit, Aspen. You know that.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to claw my way out of the spiral of bad memories of my ex that threaten to pull me under.
God, this was such a bad idea coming here. I have to keep it together tonight. Having a meltdown in the middle of my boss’s very public engagement party would be catastrophic—on so many levels.
“Aspen?”
I blink. Speak of the devil, and she shall appear with a very concerned look on her face.
“Oh, hey. You look amazing,” I croak, touching Eden lightly on the arm.
My gaze flits from her to the woman just over her shoulder. Frick. Eden’s college friend. I forgot her name. Greta?
“Are you okay?” Eden tilts her head, and her dark blond waves shimmer under the streetlight.
“Oh, God yes.” I choke out the words on a laugh, dragging anxious fingers through my own loose curls. “I just zoned out for a sec. Gretchen, right?” I say to Eden’s friend, who has now joined us.
“Yes, Eden and I have been besties since our college days,” she says with a smile, the two exchanging a concerned glance that makes a flush creep up my neck.
This must be repeated information. I was probably too busy mud-wrestling the ghost of my ex to hear her the first time.
“Right,” I manage to say, smiling back. “I’ve heard all about you. Do you live in the area?”
From there, it’s easy to recover. I’m perfectly capable of small talk, swapping the basics, nodding along when required.
No, I don’t mind the weather in Boston. Yes, I’ve gone to a couple of Red Sox games. I grin and laugh and pretend like every nicety doesn’t remind me of how hard I’m faking every second of this evening.
God, this truly sucks.
“I haven’t been to a club in ages.” Gretchen pouts, her scowl quickly turning coy. “Someone decided to get all coupled up, and now a bitch is single with no friends to go dancing with. How about you, Aspen? Any of these fine gentlemen off-limits?”
