Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 694(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
“Hold on. Agent’s texting. Says I got an offer to finish out my career with the New York Ice Kings.”
“And this round goes to…the player,” Theo concedes. Before I can gloat, he quickly shifts gears. “You on your way to the gym?”
Maybe he’s psychic. “Do you have a ring camera installed on my ass?”
“Thanks, man. It’ll take me a lifetime to erase that image. Anyway, I just know you and your routines. But instead of hitting the weights for the second time today—yes, I know you already worked out this morning—why don’t you get your camera-less ass down to the old firehouse and meet me right now?”
“That abandoned one? On Holly Springs Street?”
“Yup.”
I’ll go, friendship code and all, but why the hell does he want to meet there? “You need me to help you bury a body, obviously.”
“Nope. I just got off the phone with my sister,” he says, done joking. “She’ll be coming too.”
And he hangs up.
With a chill, I stare at the phone, the screen showing a call time of fifty-three seconds. Fifty-three seconds for my best bud from college to let me know he’s ready to chew me a new one.
To let me know I’ve crossed a line.
That Mabel’s been through enough shit with guys and doesn’t need me messing with her head. That I’m no better than her ex.
I researched the asshat yesterday while I was waiting for the monkey bread to come out of the oven. Turns out an edit went semi-viral last night—a five-second mashup of Dax’s comment about his ex not having her act together, then Mabel toppling elbow-first into the cake. It wasn’t pretty. It’s the kind of meme bound to be shared with friends as shorthand for oops.
And I hate that it exists.
After I found that mash-up, I forced myself to watch nearly an entire episode of Romance Beach. I wanted to better understand Mabel’s romantic history, but also to understand Theo’s ire a little more. Dax Strong is a piece of work, all right. The dude is a day-trading fitness trainer who wants to launch a YouTube show on how to survive in the wild. Make it make sense, dude. He couldn’t be more man-o-verse-y if he tried.
Does Theo see me the same way? As someone who’d kiss Mabel and ditch her for…work?
I rewind my track record with love. There’s Sarah, of course, but we weren’t truly together. I dated on and off when Charlotte was younger, but nothing much came of those nights out. Hockey and a little kid took up most of my free time. When my daughter started kindergarten, I met Eliza, who ran a PR agency in the city. She was recently divorced and wasn’t looking for anything serious. We were together for a few years. Fun and easygoing, she joked that I was a fantastic plus one, and so was she. But we never moved in together, and sometimes, with my travel and hers, we wouldn’t see each other for weeks at a time. When Mom turned sicker, I didn’t have the bandwidth to fit Eliza into my life, so I ended things.
Does that make me a dick like Dax?
I don’t think so, and Eliza didn’t seem heartbroken about the end of our relationship. But it wouldn’t hurt to show up at the firehouse with some apology bread, just in case he has heard about my cake clean-up kiss. But fuck, I hope he doesn’t know that it was turbo-charged. I mean, there are kisses and then there are kisses.
Either way, nothing soothes Theo like sweets, so I hang a U-turn and pedal at rocket pace back to my house. Leaving the bike on the lawn, I bound up the steps two by two, dart inside, and grab another chunk of bread wrapped in tinfoil. Then it’s back to the bike and a race down Main Street. My heart is pumping, and so are my legs. But it’s best to deal with this situation head-on and strategically.
I sprint past the new, state-of-the-art firehouse, then swing a sharp right onto Holly Springs and pull up in front of the old firehouse.
Jumping off my bike, I let it clatter against a streetlamp. I unhook my helmet, grab the bread, then beeline for Theo and Mabel, who are checking out the garage door of the single-bay fire station. Mabel, arms spread wide, says something about a sign. Her hair falls in waves down her back. I can tell she has streaks in it, lighter than the rest, but I don’t really know what shade of brown her hair is. I know how her hair felt, though—thick, shiny, and soft, even when a little sticky with frosting.
I shouldn’t get sidetracked remembering how my pulse spiked when I touched her. As I come closer, sneakers slapping against the pavement, Theo spins around. Mabel does too, and I take Annabelle’s advice to heart. I can’t let the storm in my head distract me from a decision.