Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 501(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
“And he tagged them both,” I add.
She cringes, but then narrows her brow. “It’s like he’s trying to use my sister as a celebrity endorsement in some way.”
“And trying to get them to what—carry his beer at their wedding?” I knew I was right about this guy. He’s such a poser. “Why not just ask his bud?”
Remy breathes fire as she says, “Because he knows Parker has no say. We even joked about it when we were together. He said I know weddings are for champagne but if they need beer, I’m their guy and I told Parker as much. I just laughed and said He’s not making any wedding decisions and besides, my sister runs everything past me. So Jameson probably figures he has to suck up to me.”
I burn with loathing for this guy, but I don’t need to let more of it show. That won’t help her move on. Instead, I take a drink of my coffee, then set it down and meet her eyes. “Like I told you the other night, you deserve so much better than him—someone who tries to be friends after you split to get some social credit with your sister. Plus, the way he ended things tells me a lot about who he is.” I shove my phone away, like it offended me simply by revealing his picture.
She winces, as if she’s a little embarrassed. “I think the breakup kind of made it clear to me who he is too. I wish I’d seen it sooner, while we were together. But hindsight and all.”
Well, I can’t leave that tidbit alone. “What do you wish you saw?”
She takes a moment, clearly thinking. “There were things I liked about him when we were together of course. He seemed super self-aware and all. And friendly. He was friendly,” she says, and I bite back all the bitter words I could say about the poser, letting her share. “But I think, looking back, I’m not even sure I missed him during the mandatory post-breakup hermit days,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh.
I give a small smile at her characterization, then wait for her to say more.
“I missed the idea of him,” she continues. “I missed not being embarrassed on the Jumbotron. I missed not feeling like a fool with an Internet nickname. I missed all that more than him.”
And I can’t hold back now. I lean closer, speaking from the center of my damn soul. “You deserve someone who treats you better. Someone who’s honest. Someone who’s passionate about you.”
“I appreciate you saying that,” she says, like I just gave her a compliment about a promo she put together, or the way she organized an event.
But this moment isn’t about appreciation. It’s about action. Before I know it, the words are coming out of my mouth. “I want to show you how you should be treated. Before, during, and after a relationship. I want to be the best rebound you’ve ever had. Nope—make that the best rebound anyone has ever had.”
She looks at me like she can’t believe I’m saying this. But I can. This new game plan—one I devised seconds ago—makes perfect sense to me.
Tilting her head, she asks carefully, “What do you mean exactly by rebound, Lake?”
I go full-speed ahead. “It was hardly an act today at the picnic, talking you up, treating you well, lifting you up. The story I told about asking you out every damn day felt real. You deserve someone like that. Someone who’s relentless in his pursuit. You deserve someone who sends you stuffed foxes and leaves you notes. You deserve someone who messes up your lipstick,” I add, and a slight tremble seems to run through her. That tremble drives me on. “Someone who defends you against douchey photographers and lying exes. You deserve passion and honesty and to be put first in a relationship.”
She lifts her hand, sets it on her heart, like she’s touched. “Thank you. Seriously.”
But nope. That’s not enough. Thanks isn’t the point. I hold her gaze, making sure she knows I’m dead serious. “While we’re doing this, while we’re fake dating, let me show you what it means to be treated with passion and honesty. That social-climbing fuckwad should not be your last impression of romance. I want to be. I want to show you what it means to put you first. That’s what I mean by rebound.”
She dips her head, like she’s hiding a smile, or maybe emotions, since when she raises her face, her eyes are shining. “Show me how to rebound, Lake.”
This is the real hat trick. “I will.”
I slide another piece into place, feeling better than I do on the ice. There’s just one more thing. “About those rules. I don’t think we ever established an important one. So let me be clear. While you’re fake dating me, I won’t be dating other people and—”