Dear Sexy Ex-Boyfriend (The Guys Who Got Away Book 1)

by Lauren Blakely

Summer

  “You’re stuck on a stripper pole?”

  I rub my ear in case I’m hearing things. Because that just can’t be. How can Roxanne be stuck on a stripper pole? How can anyone be stuck on a stripper pole?

  “I’m not stuck,” she says diplomatically.

  “Who is, then?” I ask, swiping at the tears pricking my eyes, zeroing in on the Mayday call instead.

  “It’s more like the pole is stuck.”

  “In your apartment?”

  “In the activity room,” she confesses in a hushed voice.

  “How is there a stripper pole in the activity room?”

  “I had it installed. As part of the bingo revolt.”

  “Oh my God,” I groan, rushing to the stairwell and racing downstairs so I can get across town. “I’ll be there in five.”

  Once outside, I call a Lyft, which speeds me through the park to Sunshine Living.

  I run to the second-floor activity room, blinking when I find Roxanne, a seventyish man named Michael, and a woman Roxanne’s age, tugging at a silver pole.

  “Ah, Summer!” Roxanne rises, a little wobbly, setting her puma head cane down. “Be a dear. You’re so strong and young. Can you help us move this?”

  I shake my head in disbelief. This is my life? I’m carrying a plastic bag with a sopping wet bridesmaid’s dress inside, and now I have to uninstall a stripper pole, plus the internet hates me, my dreams have been crushed, and the man I love thinks we are a mistake. He didn’t mean for any of it to happen. He didn’t mean for us to happen.

  But first things first. Dropping the bag, I rush to the crew who are pulling—to no avail—at a stripper pole installed in a silver base. After a quick assessment, I figure out they were unscrewing it the wrong way. Grabbing the screwdriver, I slide the tool into the base and detach the pole from it, holding tightly so it doesn’t fall. Once it’s detached, the pole comes apart in two pieces.

  Roxanne guards the entrance to the activity room, then mouths, Coast is clear. Let’s take it to my place.

  I hand her and her friends the pole pieces. “Maybe that’s where it should have been installed in the first place.”

  “Live and learn,” she says, then stomps off with her friends.

  I sink down on the couch, grab my phone, and stare at my messages, trying to decide what to tackle next.

  But really, there’s nothing to tackle.

  I can’t undo The Dating Pool’s decision.

  I can’t convince them to requalify me.

  And I can’t prove we didn’t lie. We did lie. We were fake, and we won’t ever be real.

  But I can at least return my mother’s call.

  “Sweetheart. I’m at Mags’s place. Where are you?”

  “I’m on my way,” I say, crying for real, and there is nothing fake about these tears.

  37

  Oliver

  “So this is true.”

  The words are clipped, crisp.

  I pinch my nose, nodding as I slump down on my couch. “Yes.”

  I tell Geneva the truth. There’s no point in lying now. “It’s all true that it was all fake.”

  She sighs. “I’m soooo—”

  I take the liberty of filling in the blank. “Disappointed. Yeah, I’m disappointed in myself too.”

  “Yes. I thought I could trust you as my attorney.”

  “Of course you did. That’s why you hired me.” A weight sinks onto my shoulders, dragging me down. There is no point backpedaling now. No purpose in covering it up. The proof’s there on social media, where all truths and lies are exposed.

  The ring, the comments, the offhand joke between Summer and me post-paddleboat hump. Those people who took a picture of us on the street last night were probably sent by our crazy exes. More proof that exes are crazy.

  But even so, I deserve this.

  I tricked a client.

  “And I suppose that’s what is most surprising. I would expect you, of all people, to know the value of trust,” she says.

  I hang my head, dragging my hand through my hair. “You’re not wrong. It was a mistake. It seemed like a way to save face at the time, but I should have told you the truth when you first called me. I wanted to help you with your deal. I want to take care of my employees and my aunt and everyone else. So I said we were engaged because it seemed easier.”

  She sighs heavily. “I suppose what’s so strange about it is that . . .” She takes a beat to think, or maybe to mull over what to say. “It seemed so real. Last night, the things you said to Summer, the way you looked at her. I suppose it made me believe in love again. Like it was possible to get hurt and then get back up and try again. When you said—”

  “‘I realized after all these years that it’d always been her.’” I repeat my words from last night. Words that make my chest feel lighter. Words that fall from my lips so easily.

  “Yes.” There’s a smile in her voice. I can hear it. “When you said that, Oliver, I was so sure you meant it.”

  I sit up straighter, recalling last night, remembering how my heart thundered when I looked at Summer at the party. How it ached when I put her in the car. How it sped up when we were in the paddleboat, then the shower, then the bed, only an hour ago.

  “I did mean it.” I’m speaking the whole truth now.

  “What?”

  “I did. It was all fake, and it was all true too.”

  She’s quiet, humming softly then asking carefully, “What do you mean?”

  “It started as a ruse. It started because you didn’t trust me. So I thought it’d be safer if I was involved with the woman who wrote the letter, so it wouldn’t be a character indictment. And Summer’s my best friend. I’ve known her for seventeen years. She’s been by my side through everything. I know how to make her laugh, I know how to comfort her when she cries, I know what makes her happy—the park and exercise and her grandmother and trying new things—and I know her dreams. And I want to help her achieve them.”

  There goes my heart again, pounding mercilessly against my rib cage, trying to find her, to see her. “And I suppose I didn’t truly realize all of this until we faked it. But I also think maybe a part of me knew I had feelings for her and just didn’t see what was in front of me. After all, I never wanted to invite Emily to prom. I only wanted to go with Summer.”

  Geneva sighs happily. “Oh my God, that’s so sweet.”

  Then I freeze, remembering something else I said, not last night, but just an hour ago.

  I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.

  Those words could easily have been misinterpreted.

  Shit.

  I picture Summer’s face, the hurt in her pretty brown eyes, and I’m sure they were.

  There’s a voice in my head, loud and clear, and it’s not my sister’s voice, though I suspect she’d tell me exactly what I need to do right now.

  And I know she’d be right, because my own voice is telling me the same thing.

  “Excuse me, Geneva. You’re not the one I should be saying this to. Summer is.”

  I hang up, grab my keys, and leave.

  38

  Summer

  I am a stubborn girl.

  I know this about myself.

  But when I walk into my apartment and find not just my roommate but my mother, my niece, and my twin brother, I let all the tears rain down.

  I head for the couch, nosedive into it, and cry in my mother’s lap. Amelia crawls up next to me, crouching by my side. “Don’t cry, Aunt Summer. Everything’s going to be fine. I swear.”

  And that makes me cry a little harder—her sweet six-year-old faith in the world.

  “Tell me why you’re so sad, honey,” Mags says.

  “Yes, tell us. What can we do?”

  Amelia snuggles on my lap. “I’m all ears. That’s what my daddy says to me when I want to talk to him. He says, What can I do?”

  Logan ruffles his daughter’s hair, then plops down on the couch next to all of us—four wom
en and a guy.

  “I’m in love with Oliver Harris.” I choke out the words past the prickly, complicated emotions that clog my throat.

  Logan snorts.

  I shoot him a sharp stare. “What was that for?”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. I came here to see if you were okay, and this is what you confess? Something we’ve all known for years?”

  “Thanks a lot,” I mutter.

  My grandmother smiles, petting my hair. “Ignore him, honey.”

  “Yes. We all do,” my mother says.

  “I like Oliver,” Amelia chirps.

  “Me too. But it’s a mess, and he said the whole thing was a mistake, and it is a massive mistake. Just look at what happened. I lost the prize money. I lost the chance to write the feature piece. I lost Oliver.”

  My mother tuts. “Did you lose Oliver though?”

  I make a show of looking around. “He’s not here, and he said it was all a mistake.”

  “It’s hard to believe it’s a mistake when you seem like such a great couple,” she says diplomatically.

  “But we’re not. This isn’t some cheesy romance where everything works out perfectly. It’s real life.” I swipe my hand across my face, swallowing these dumb tears. I draw a deep, fueling breath, one that I hope masks all this pain in my heart, this wild ache for Oliver. An ache that won’t be soothed. “It’s fine. I don’t want a relationship. I’m not interested in one. It doesn’t remotely make sense in my life.” I hold my chin up high even as my lower lip quivers.

  “Relationships never entirely make sense, dear,” my mom says softly. “Did you think it made sense to me when I met your father?”

  I furrow my brow. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”

  She tucks a finger under my chin, tilting my head so she can look me in the eyes. “I just loved him. It wasn’t always convenient.”

  I straighten my shoulders. “Well, I don’t have time for a relationship. I’m trying to grow my business, and it’s going to be even harder now. I’ll have to start over.”

  “You can do both.”

  I stare at her and point out a truth of my whole life. “But you didn’t do both.”

  Her brow knits. “What do you mean?”

  “When you quit working to help with Dad’s business. You always made comments about how you left your job at the bookstore. You didn’t really want to leave it, did you?”

  “Sweetheart. I did want to. I chose to,” she says, rubbing my shoulder.

  “Why did you always say that, then? To me? To us?” I gesture to my brother and then to me.

  Logan simply smiles, his grin telling me he knows why she did it.

  “Because I was proud of my decision,” my mother says. “I brought it up because it was what I’d wanted to do. I was glad I made that choice. I stood by it then; I stand by it now. And whatever you decide, I hope you have no regrets. There are too many other things to regret in life, and I don’t want your career to be one of them.” She squeezes my arm then lets go to tap my chest. “But I don’t think the way you feel now, this hurt in your heart, has anything to do with your career.”

  Mags squeezes my other arm. “It doesn’t at all.”

  And Amelia shoots me a sad smile. “Just be happy and tell Ollie you love him. Sheesh.”

  Logan scoops up his daughter. “You are full of brilliant advice.” He meets my gaze. “And as Oliver’s good friend, let me tell you something, Summer. You might need to spell it out for him—how you feel—because he doesn’t always believe when good things happen.”

  My heart crawls up my throat. “You think he wants this?”

  Before I can say anything more, my phone buzzes. It’s Oliver. I answer it the second it rings, but he speaks first.

  “It’s Ollie, and I’ve come to fix something stupid I said earlier.”

  “Yes.”

  Logan walks down the hall and holds the door open for me.

  Rather than wait, I rush out, down the steps, and into Oliver’s arms, where he waits on the stairwell.

  39

  Oliver

  She’s flying down the stairs, her blonde hair a sheet behind her, a huge grin on her gorgeous face. I stop on the landing, my smile taking over my entire being as I drink in the sight of the woman I love madly.

  “It wasn’t a mistake. Nothing was a mistake,” she blurts out.

  “I know. I meant it all. I wanted it all to happen.” Words tumble out in a rush, and I reach to catch her and tug her into my arms.

  She’s wrapped around me in an instant, arms, legs, and then lips on mine.

  “I meant it all, Oliver,” she says between kisses. “I wanted it all to happen. When I said I didn’t mean for any of it to happen, I meant everything going wrong. But not everything that went right. And we’re right.”

  I run my arms up her back, holding her tight, thrilling at the feeling of her, at the truth of her words. “We are so right together,” I agree, happiness taking over my chest, sunshine flooding my veins. “I love you. I am in love with you. And I never wanted to ask Emily to prom. I always wanted to ask you.”

  The smile that takes over her face is radiant. Beautiful. Magical. And all for me.

  “I was hoping you’d say that. I wanted that. I think I started falling in love with you that night all those years ago,” she says, all soft and sweet and so sure.

  “I definitely did. But I’m a simple man. It took faking it for me to realize how real it all is. How real everything is with you. I don’t want this to stop. I want it to keep going, on and on, always.” I press a kiss to her lips, savoring the chance to imprint her with the full truth of my heart. “Because I’m in love with you, Summer. Madly.”

  She slides off me, planting her feet on the ground, cupping my cheeks. “I am so in love with my best friend. Will you be mine?”

  I laugh, shaking my head in amusement. “I’m not letting you go. So yes, I’ll be yours, and you’ll be mine. And let’s not fake a thing ever again.”

  She slides her hand down my cheek, stroking my jawline. “I was never faking a thing with you.”

  I close my eyes, brush my lips to hers, then claim her mouth in a possessive, greedy kiss that’ll turn filthy if we let it.

  So I stop, running a hand through her hair. “After all these years, it’s always been you.”

  She rises on tiptoe, kissing me tenderly. “And it’s you for me.”

  Then she takes my hand, leads me up the stairs, and kicks everyone out, including her grandmother.

  It’s fine by me.

  I have plans for her. For her body. Her heart. Her mind.

  But I’ll start with her body. Even though I had her mere hours ago, I want her again, and she wants the same thing. We go to her room, strip down to nothing, and I bring her close to me then slide inside her, making love to my best friend.

  40

  Summer

  A few weeks later

  “Hmm. What would taste good with an order of humble pie?” I ask as I peruse the display at Stella’s Cookie Shack.

  “Personally, I highly recommend the cherry chocolate chip cookie as a chaser when you have to eat crow,” Stella says with a wink.

  “Make it a double, then,” my mom says.

  Stella plucks two cookies from the case, slides them onto a plate, and hands it to us. We head to a white table in the back of her shop, settling in with the sweets.

  My mom picks up a cookie. “A toast.”

  I pick up the other one. “Yes, let’s toast to the end of my stubborn streak.”

  She scoffs but says nothing.

  “What?”

  “You’ll be stubborn again. But I’m glad you’re not being stubborn now.”

  I give her a soft and very genuine smile. “Me too. Also, thank you, Mom. I truly appreciate you doing this for me.”

  Setting down her cookie, she stretches her hand across the table and squeezes mine. “I love that you’re pursuing your dream. I love that you saved
so much of the money. And I love your commitment to doing this. It’s a beautiful thing to bring health and fitness to the older generation. I’m proud of you.” Emotions swell in my chest as she clasps my hand more tightly. “But I’m especially proud that you’re allowing me to help. Thank you for letting me.”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Thank you for making this happen.”

  We finalize the details of her gift to me.

  I wanted it to be a loan, but she said she wanted to give it to me, no strings attached.

  And I decided to take it.

  With grace, at last.

  It seemed more important to move forward than to dig in my heels.

  And that means my gym opens in less than two months, and I have a ton to do.

  I couldn’t be happier.

  41

  Oliver

  Later that day

  She’s staring at me shamelessly.

  She doesn’t even pretend not to.

  As I reach the ladder at the edge of the pool, my gaze locks on Summer, on the naughty glint in her brown eyes.

  She watches unabashedly as I climb up the ladder and out of the pool.

  And I watch her too.

  My girlfriend looks gorgeous in her workout clothes.

  But then, she looked stunning in a sopping wet sequined dress.

  “Feel free to check out the crown jewels.”

  She wiggles her brow. “I am. But I’ll give them a more thorough inspection tonight.”

  “Excellent. You be sure to give a proper review, okay?”

  “Count on it.” She offers me a towel then snatches it back.

  “No towel for me?”

  “Nah. I’m going to check you out a little bit longer.”

  “Feel free.”

  With a smile, she hands me the towel, and I dry off. “How was your workout?”

  “Amazing. Roxanne came with me. We did a Zumba class here. And she’ll do the water aerobics I’m teaching tomorrow.”