Dear Sexy Ex-Boyfriend

by Lauren Blakely

  “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.”

  “And the
n pole dancing? Have you signed her up for that?”

  “Not yet. But I will,” she says, then she glances at the clock. “Do you have a few minutes? I was hoping I could borrow your brain to review my gym plans.”

  “Always. I always have time for you.”

  42

  Oliver

  Several months later

  * * *

  I pace in my office, finishing a call. “Yes, we can absolutely add that clause into the contract.”

  “Oh, good. That’ll make a huge difference with the next acquisition,” Geneva says.

  “Almost as big a difference as in the last partnership.” As we talk, I check out the crowds below, New Yorkers scurrying by on Park Avenue.

  “Yes. That deal was top-notch,” she adds. “I’m glad I stayed with you.”

  “As am I.”

  We wrap up and say goodbye, and I hang up the phone.

  When I turn around, Jane’s standing in the doorway. “Still have her eating out of the palm of your hand?”

  I shrug like it’s no big deal, when, in fact, it’s a huge deal that she stayed.

  I didn’t chase her. I didn’t beg. She decided to stick around on her own, telling me that the work was good, that she appreciated me owning up to the ruse, and that if I lied to her again, she’d have my head.

  That seemed fair and reasonable on all counts, so we finished the first deal and started working on a second one.

  “Besides,” Geneva had said. “It’s your personal life, and honestly, you’re free to do what you want with it. I shouldn’t have cared so much or taken it so personally.”

  “Don’t think twice about it,” I’d told her, all too happy to move on.

  I meet Jane’s green-eyed gaze. “Aren’t they all eating out of my hand, Jane? Aren’t they all?”

  “Ah, there’s that cocky nephew of mine.”

  “And you wouldn’t have me any other way.” I glance at my watch. “And on that note, I need to meet the fellas.”

  “Don’t stay out too late.”

  “I promise to be good.”

  I leave, catching a Lyft to Chelsea, texting my cousin in Paris on the way, who can’t stop reminding me that falling in love with Summer was exactly what he meant by an exit strategy.

  * * *

  Christian: When are you going to admit I was right about everything?

  * * *

  Oliver: You were right. There, are you happy?

  * * *

  Christian: Yes. And I suspect you are too. Happy, that is.

  * * *

  He’s right on that count. He’s completely right.

  The car pulls over to the curb, and I thank the driver, then get out to meet Logan and Fitz for drinks. Summer’s teaching a kickboxing class at her gym now, but I’ll see her tonight when she comes home.

  Since she lives with me now.

  I open the door to Gin Joint, finding my mates quickly. They’re toasting to all sorts of good news.

  I order a beer, then join them.

  “So, we have loads to celebrate tonight,” I say.

  “Yes, how good of you to grace us with your presence. Maybe you’ll have something to celebrate soon,” Logan deadpans.

  “Maybe I will, but let’s start with you.”

  Fitz raises a glass and stretches his free hand across the table to knock Logan on the shoulder. “To this cat finally getting on the apps. The ladies of New York had better watch out. They don’t even know what’s coming their way.”

  Logan takes a drink. “Speaking of, remember that woman I told you guys about at lunch the other day?”

  My ears prick. I know who he’s talking about. I also know what went down and it’s way more complicated than he ever expected. “The Snoopy lunchbox woman?” I ask just to make sure who we’re discussing.

  “She’s the one,” Logan says, heavily. “Her name is Bryn, and she is the sexiest, most captivating, most off-limits woman I’ve ever met.”

  “Did anything else happen since you and I last talked?” I ask.

  “Yeah, stop holding out on me, bro,” Fitz says. “I want all the deets too.”

  “It’s quite complicated,” I say, like a warning.

  Logan scratches his jaw. “Crazy complicated,” he says, then catches Fitz up to speed on the details.

  “Whoa. I do not envy you there, Logan. Good luck with that. It actually sounds mega complicated,” Fitz says.

  “And you?” I ask Fitz. “What’s your news?”

  “My little sister was just accepted into the art program of her dreams—in London. So I’ll be taking her over there in a few months, helping her get set up.”

  “Say hello to the homeland for me. And don’t forget to check out The Magpie. Some of my mates over there were raving about it. It’s their favorite local bar.”

  Fitz taps his temple. “I’ll file that away.”

  “Supposedly, the bartenders are good-looking.”

  He arches a brow. “Tell me more.”

  I laugh. “You’ll have to figure out that part on your own.”

  “Maybe you’ll meet someone with an accent just like Oliver’s who’ll sweep you off your feet,” Logan chimes in.

  Fitz laughs. “Not gonna lie—I do love a hot British accent. But getting swept off my feet? I don’t think so.”

  I shrug. “It can happen to the best of us, mate. After all, tomorrow I’m going shopping.”

  43

  Oliver

  A few weeks later

  * * *

  Another satisfying last meal is on the books.

  We leave Melt My Heart on a Sunday afternoon and wander through Central Park, the afternoon sun warming our skin, the birds chirping.

  “I’ve decided,” I announce as we walk along the path.

  “And what did you decide?”

  “The grilled cheese at Melt My Heart wins.”

  She shoots me an oh really look. “What about that sandwich makes the cut?”

  I drape an arm around her, loving that I can, that I have the freedom to touch her as we walk and talk. “It meets the most critical requirement. It says something about how I lived my life.”

  “It says you loved carbs and cheese? Get in line. Me too.”

  “Carbs and cheese are the hallmarks of a well-lived life.”

  She laughs as we near the carousel. “Words to live by.”

  The carnival music grows louder as the merry-go-round comes into view. “But in this case,” I say, returning to the reason we’re here, “I believe what it says is this.”

  I stop, take her hand, and meet her gaze. “I hope it says that the grilled cheese sandwiches we just devoured are the last meal we’ll have before . . .”

  I drop down to one knee, take her hand, and finish the thought. “Before you become my fiancée for real.”

  She gasps, her hand covering her mouth. “Ollie.”

  “Summer, I’ve been falling in love with you since I was seventeen, and I plan to keep falling in love with you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me? Because I would love for my best friend to become my wife.”

  Her smile is worthy of a million social media posts. Of a thousand Instagram likes. Of all the BuzzFeed lists ever made.

  But it’s just for me.

  No cameras.

  No pictures.

  No Twitter.

  And that’s how I want it to be, as the woman I love falls to her knees, throws her arms around me, and smothers me in kisses.

  Well, I could get used to this.

  When she breaks the kiss, she says, “Yes. In case that wasn’t clear—yes.”

  I take out a box from my pocket, slide a diamond solitaire on her finger, and kiss the hell out of my very real fiancée.

  Epilogue

  Summer

  * * *

  A few months later

  * * *

  Dear Sexy Ex-Fiancé,

  * * *

  I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again.

  * *
*

  Exes are exes for a reason.

  * * *

  But not always for bad reasons.

  * * *

  You’re an ex now for the best of reasons.

  * * *

  Because you’re graduating. You’re moving on up and kicking all of those old titles to the wayside.

  * * *

  You’re no longer the guy I crushed on. You’re no longer my pretend ex-boyfriend. You’re definitely not my fake fiancé. And you’re about to leave your position as my real fiancé.

  * * *

  Today, you become my husband.

  * * *

  And as I write this on the morning of our wedding day, I can’t wait to walk down the aisle and say, “I do.”

  * * *

  But fair warning.

  * * *

  I might jump into your arms.

  * * *

  Who am I kidding? I will definitely jump into your arms.

  * * *

  It’s what I’ve been wanting to do for so many years.