by Maren Moore
The Enemy Trap
Maren Moore
Copyright © 2021 by Maren Moore/R. Holmes
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the authors, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, businesses, companies, organizations, locales, events and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental. The authors do not have any control over and do not assume any responsibility for authors’ or third-party websites or their content.
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Cover Design: Cat with TRC Designs
Formatting: Maren Moore
About the Book
The Enemy Trap, is a hockey romance with a twist. Throw in a fake fiancé, a surprise baby, and the banter of enemies turned lovers and you have a recipe for disaster. Right?
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If you enjoy this over the top man, and his woman, please leave a review on Amazon. It would mean so much to me!
Blurb
Hayes Davis is America’s sweetheart, the #1 hockey player in the country, and my fake fiancé.
Simple, right? It would be, if my betrothed were anyone else.
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But it turns out America’s sweetheart is arrogant, selfish, and a guy I have no intentions of letting break my heart again.
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It was never supposed to happen.
But then one night changes everything.
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Now, he’s not only my pretend fiancé but my very real baby daddy.
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How can two people who hate each other pull off the lie of a lifetime while figuring out how to raise a child together?
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Everything between us was supposed to be fake, but I’m not pretending anymore.
To my real life Holly
I can’t imagine my life without you by my side.
I love you.
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This one is for you.
Playlist
Name(feat. Tori Kelly) - Justin Bieber
Hell You Raised- Mae Estes
Drunk (And I don’t Wanna go Home)- Elle King & Miranda Lambert
Somebody Like That- Tenille Arts
Easily- Bruno Major
Can’t Help Falling In Love- Haley Reinhart
How You Get The Girl- Taylor Swift
Bad Liar- Selena Gomez
High Horse- Kacey Musgraves
Why Haven’t I met You?- Cameron Dallas
Wild(feat. Gary Clark Jr.)- John Legend
Thief- Ansel Elgort
Me Without You- Ashe
Till Forever Falls Apart- Ashe, FINNEAS
Click to listen to the full playlist on Spotify
Contents
1. Sophia
2. Hayes
3. Sophia
4. Hayes
5. Sophia
6. Hayes
7. Sophia
8. Sophia
9. Hayes
10. Sophia
11. Hayes
12. Sophia
13. Sophia
14. Hayes
15. Sophia
16. Hayes
17. Sophia
18. Hayes
19. Sophia
20. Hayes
21. Hayes
22. Sophia
23. Hayes
24. Sophia
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
One
Sophia
It seems fitting that I'm ringing in the dreaded big "three-oh" wine drunk on my couch in granny panties and a semi fashionable muumuu. Honestly, if that isn't a birds-eye view of my life, then I don't know what is.
I’m not just a little drunk—I’m a lotta drunk. Like, call your ex and cry on the phone, professing your love for him—even though he cheated on you with your cousin—kind of drunk. Trust me, I hope I forget it by the time morning rolls around.
Highly, highly unlikely.
"Soph, are you listening?" my best friend Holly asks. She's sitting on the arm of my hot pink loveseat, engrossed in the sub-par job she’s doing of painting her toes candy apple red.
"Umm, no. Sorry, I was reliving the word vomit that just spewed from my mouth," I groan, dropping my head into my hands. This is not how I envisioned the whole "death to my twenties" party. But that's what happens when you're the last of your single friends. Everyone's married and has kids, and I'll forever be stuck being the cool aunt.
"Tell me again why I thought it would be a good idea to call him? This is going to suck a lot more when I'm hungover and semi clear-headed."
Holly shrugs. "I have no clue why you do half the shit you do, Soph. But...I said, Scott and I made a sex schedule. You know, with Brady teething and Gracie in dance, we really wanted to nail down a time." She grins, "Get it, nail? No, but seriously, how boring and predictable is my life that we have to schedule sex. I’ve officially reached my peak. It’s only downhill from here."
"At least you have someone to have sex with and who wants to have sex with you."
She finally looks up from her toes and rolls her eyes, “Yes, sixty seconds of missionary and a faked orgasm is honestly something to look forward to.”
Okay, she had a point. Still, I’d take a fake orgasm over none at all.
"Ugh, if you’d stop dating guys like Horndog Harry, this wouldn't be a problem." Her tone softens when she sees my expression, a mixture of hurt and regret. "I just hate to see you get hurt over and over by the same type of guy—scared of commitment and couldn’t keep his dick in his pants if his life depended on it. Honestly, I don't know what the appeal is with him. You are definitely a ten, and he's like…a three, at best."
"It's not like I purposefully attract assholes, Hol! Apparently, I have a sign on my forehead that says, ‘Please fuck me up.’ And I'm a solid seven, not a ten."
She rolls her eyes and stands abruptly, setting down the nail polish on my second-hand coffee table and stomping over to where I sit dejectedly on the arm of the couch. At five-eight, she towers over me. Her dark hair is always ten kinds of hot mess, but she pulls it off flawlessly. Holly is the only person I know who could have six days of unwashed hair, dark bags under her eyes, be wearing the same shirt as yesterday, and still look like a supermodel straight off the cover of Vogue. It’s ridiculously unfair.
"Listen, enough of this sad bullshit! It's your birthday, and we're celebrating, not crying into our beers."
"We're drinking wine...." I squint at her, trying to figure out where she's going with this.
"Whatever. You get it. Oh! Wait," she snaps her fingers. "I've got an idea. I know exactly what you need to cheer you up, and it'll be a stepping stone in the path of getting over HH and under someone else."
Here we go.
I drain my wine in one long gulp that seems to go on forever. My head spins as I swallow down the alcohol, but screw it, I’m in. In like Flynn.…
She disappears into my room and comes back moments later holding the box of photos I have stashed under my bed that I wasn't even aware she knew about.
"You hussy, how did you even know about those?”
Holly rolls her eyes. "Because you're a sentimental bitch. But, no longer! We're burning this shit, and you're going to enjoy every single second of it. Goodbye to the little dick, shitty cheater of a fiancé, and hello to a brand new Sophia St. James. You're hot, single, and a solid nine.”
She smirks, holding out the box and shaking it back and
forth with a shimmy, as if to entice me.
What could it hurt? Maybe it'll help me let go of some of the anger I've been holding in. Lord knows I'm drunk enough to forget it in the morning.
"Fine."
I take the box from her and remove the lid. Maybe she's right; maybe it is time to let go of the past and move forward. Harry doesn’t deserve me, and he obviously deserves my slutty, homewrecking whore of a cousin. Those two are a match made in Heaven. If anything, my cousin did me a favor.
"I need something harder for this. Jose, my darling, come to me," I sing-song, dancing over to the fridge.
Don’t judge me. I'm going to drown my sorrow in the only man who will never break my heart.
This conversation is making me think too much about my sad, boring life. I'm stuck in the same town I grew up in: same people, same faces, same places.
Broke. Thirty. And single. Probably forever.
I have every reason to cry into my beer. Wine. Bottle of tequila. Whatever.
"Alright, I've decided," I tell Holly as she's rifling through my junk drawer for a lighter. "One more night of feeling sorry for myself, and then I'm going to put my big girl panties on, go back to the foundation, ask for my job back, apologize for my momentary lapse in judgment, and grow up. I mean, I'm thirty," I whisper, like it's a secret I want no one to hear.
You see, I might have fallen off the deep end a tiny, minuscule amount when I found out I was being cheated on—I quit my job and wallowed on the couch for two weeks straight until Holly came over, fumigated my apartment, and made me shower.
It's not that I hate my job per se, but I feel stuck. Like I'm never going to be anything more than I am right now.
The boring job, the cheating fiancé, the backstabbing friends. Turning thirty is really making me open my eyes and see the bigger picture.
Okay, so it's only been like three hours, but still. I'm a changed woman.
"Got it! Let's go." She thrusts the lighter at me and grabs my hand, pulling me out the backdoor, even though I'm in a muumuu that barely covers my ass. "Wait, I want pictures of this as you literally send the old you up in flames. Like a phoenix rising from the fucking ashes, Soph."
Jesus, why did I agree to this? She is entirely too excited about lighting shit on fire.
Together, we light the photos and watch the memories blaze. The fire crackles and pops as it destroys a part of my life I'm not all that sorry to see go. Holly's right...I do feel lighter. Maybe it's the fact that I know this box is no longer going to be stuffed under my bed, waiting for me to pull the photos out and relive the memories over and over again. Or, maybe it’s the fact that HH is a douchebag, and deep down I’ve always known it—I just never wanted to admit it. Catching him with Emily wasn't surprising, at least not now, after the fact. I should've seen the signs.
I should've realized that I was a ten and he was a six, at best.
And that's not just my man Jose talking.
"To stupid assholes who cheat and break our hearts, only to make us stronger." Holly raises the bottle of tequila and takes a sip, her face scrunching in distaste as it burns going down.
"You're married, Hol. Happily, remember?" I laugh, snatching the bottle from her.
"This is about you, not me." Linking her arm in mine, she drags me back towards the house. "Now that you've let go of the past, it's time to move forward. We're setting you up with a dating profile and finding you Mr. Right. We'll think of a good bio that screams, ‘Crazy, but not crazy enough to slash your tires.’ Guys love crazy bitches. Trust me."
"Uh, no. Absolutely not."
"Really? What happened to the brave, bad ass, solid ten Sophia who just burned every memory of her piece of shit ex? Go take a shower; you've got ashes in your hair. Symbolic, I'm telling ya."
Half a bottle of tequila and a lot of tears later, my still delicate, broken heart lays in tatters on the floor. Add in a shower, more tears, and another signature muumuu, snuggled on the couch with my best friend, and it's a birthday I'll never forget.
The beginning of a new chapter in the messy book of my life.
"Oh, hell," Holly breathes, looking at her phone like it's grown two heads.
"What?"
She flips the phone around, showing me the screen.
I groan.
On the screen is the one person I despise more than HH, and that's saying a lot. Hayes Davis.
Of course, it's another gossip magazine and another scandal. The guy gets himself in more shit than a Kardashian.
"You have got to be kidding me. Does he want to destroy his career? Is being a rich, professional hockey player not enough for him? Gross. I mean, not that I keep up with him or anything, but he's on the cover of a different magazine every week with a new scandal in hand."
Holly gives me a knowing smile. "You know, he was voted Hollywood's Most Eligible Bachelor this year."
"Gross. Hope they had a spot for his enormous ego too."
"Yep. He called Scott last week to talk to him about it. Those two gossip on the phone more than we do."
I gag, sticking my finger down my throat for dramatic effect.
"Out of every guy in the world, they chose him. Didn't their mamas teach them that looks are deceiving?"
She rolls her eyes, "You two are ridiculous. Neither of you have moved on since high school."
"Well, that's because...because he's…Hayes Davis! Arrogant. Egotistical. Vain as they come. Ringing a bell? He is Scott's best friend, and for whatever reason, your kids’ godfather. You should be well aware of how vile he is."
"Well, unfortunately, the world seems to disagree. Introducing Mr. Hollywood's Most Eligible Bachelor." She grins.
Hayes Davis. America's sweetheart and my number one enemy. Yep, even over HH and his cheating pencil dick.
I'd rather use cardboard tampons than spend another second of my time talking about him.
"No, but really, you guys would be so cute together, Soph. Maybe it's time you stop fake hating him and let me and Scott hook you up. He's hot—you can't deny it. Remember, we're leaving the past in the past?"
"Hol! He's your husband's best friend," I cry, my eyes wide.
Shrugging, she looks back at her computer, "So? He is on People's Sexiest Men Alive list, so it's merely an observation of fact."
"Too bad they don't account for how big egos are when they choose them, or Hayes would be screwed. I think he's making up for what he lacks in dick size."
"Sophia St. James, you are so hot for him. Stop lying."
Another gag, and I'm five seconds from puking on my Goodwill couch. Hot pink velvet and puke do not mix. I can think of at least ten torture activities I'd prefer over being in the same room with Hayes. Thankfully, even though he's Scott's best friend, he’s busy warming every puck bunny’s bed from here to Seattle, so I rarely have to be subjected to seeing him.
Only for the kids’ birthdays and the occasional holiday, which is more than enough for me. The less the better.
I don’t like to give Scott shit about it since we were all adults, and I really should be over the whole number one enemy from childhood thing, but...I’m a huge grudge holder, so I’m not getting over this anytime soon.
It doesn’t help that the few times Hayes does come home, he flaunts his money and a new bimbo on his arm. Not that I would ever—and I mean ever—admit it out loud, but he is ridiculously attractive, to the point that I want to punch him in the balls just for being so insanely handsome.
No one should be that perfect on the outside and so ugly on the inside. Life can be so unfair sometimes.
"I'd rather you run me over with your car than touch Hayes."
"Dramatic. Whatever. It was just an idea. It's time to put yourself back out there, Soph. It's been over six months since HH. Can we please put you on the dating site? Just give it a shot. If it sucks, you can delete your profile."
"Dating sites are gross. A giant waste of time. I already tried it, and it was a shitshow. Everyone pretends to be someo
ne they aren't just to match with someone. Remember that time I met the guy who brought his mother? He paid more attention to her than to me."
She squints her nose when she remembers that date. "Okay, true. But that was just one. You can't let one ruin it for them all."
"Okay...What about the guy who sucked his thumb...at thirty? Oh, or what about the one who recorded all our conversations so he could replay them later?"
"Alright. Fine. No dating sites. But, at least give your number to that guy from yoga. He was super hot."
I shake my head. "And he also likes the same guys that I do, Hol. Stop playing matchmaker. I'm fine being alone. Actually, I'm thriving being single, free, and happy with myself. Really."
"Whatever you say, Soph."
Okay, I’m lying. We both know it. I hate being alone. I prefer to be in a relationship, however comfortable it is, even if sex is scheduled. I'd choose that over waking up each morning alone.
"Fine. I’m lying."
"I know."
"One dating site. One. And not the Singles in Seattle one. That one was full of weirdos. Oh, what about this one?" I point to Tinder.
"Yes!” she squeals, clicking on the signup button. “You're going to meet the man of your dreams, just watch. When you least expect it, Mr. Perfect is going to sweep in and sweep you off your feet."