by Blake Wilder
“And instead…”
“He told her he was seeing Beverly Bryant.”
I whistled. Damn. And I thought my night had sucked. “His boss’s daughter?”
“Ben told her she had to know it wouldn’t work out between them, that they were too different, that he needed a wife who would understand and support his career.”
“How fucking hard is it to be an accountant?” I muttered.
“That’s what I said! Anyway, here we are in Vegas and she’s not doing so well. She’s out in the living room of my suite. Actually…give me a second…it’s too quiet out there. I better check on her.”
I heard a door open and my sister stopped talking to me to address someone else.
“Where the hell did you get that?” she asked Charley.
I only heard a muffled response, none of the words decipherable.
“For God’s sake, Charley. Put the salami down. I’m almost finished with my phone call. Then we’ll go to the casino and play the slots.”
The door closed again.
“Sorry about that.”
“Salami?” I asked.
“She ordered a meat and cheese platter from room service.”
“Of course, she did,” I deadpanned, torn between laughing and cussing.
“I just can’t stand the thought of her walking into that wedding reception tomorrow alone, having to put on a happy face, while Ben and Beverly rub her nose in their relationship.”
“As much as I’d like to—”
“Ben is a huge hockey fan. It was one of the few things he and Charley had in common. If she walks into the wedding on your arm, she gets a win. It’s a way we can shove karma right down that asshole’s throat.”
I chuckled. Bella was a big believer in karma, always finding comfort in the concept that people who do wrong will get theirs in the end.
What the hell?
Charley might actually be the perfect companion for me. Drinking and fucking it off didn’t appear to be options.
Charley was always a lot of fun, with an off-color sense of humor that matched mine and an easy laugh. Maybe commiserating with an old friend would do the trick. We could bitch and moan about our shitty weeks together.
“Fine. I’ll take Charley to the wedding.”
Bella squealed loudly. “Seriously? Oh my God. You are the best brother on the planet. The two of you will have a blast, I promise.”
A blast seemed well beyond my reach.
At this point, I’d settle for merely tolerable.
Two
Charley
“Who has the greatest best friend on the planet?”
I lowered the wine bottle I was chugging from as Bella emerged from the bedroom of her hotel suite.
“Jimmy Fallon.”
“What?”
The answer seemed pretty obvious to me. “Um, JT. Who wouldn’t want Justin Timberlake as their best friend?”
Bella rolled her eyes. “Guess again.”
I had at least three more smartass answers in the can, but I was in no mood to play games. “I give up. Who?”
“You, you idiot. I just landed you a date for the wedding. A stellar date.”
I shook my head. “No. Fuuuuuck no. I’ve been single all of twenty-four hours. I’m going to need a lot more cheese, wine, and time before I even consider going out with someone else.”
“It’s with Alex.”
I froze for a second, certain I’d heard Bella wrong. Then I started going through the list of Alexes we knew who were invited to the wedding. I could only come up with one and there was no way…
“Alex who?” I asked, forcing her to confirm my fears.
Bella gave me an exasperated look. “My brother, of course. Who else would I be talking about?”
“Alex has more sense than—” Ah. The pieces fell into place. “What did you tell him?”
Bella shrugged. A sure sign that my so-called best friend had told her brother all about the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to me. “I just said that your date fell through.”
“You go to hell for lying, Bells.”
“What does it matter what I told him. The fact is he wants to take you to the wedding.”
Want was definitely the wrong word. If I knew Bella—and I did—she wouldn’t take no for an answer. So what she’d set up for me was a pity date with a reluctant suitor.
“Call him back. Let him off the hook.”
Bella shook her head. “No.”
“There’s no way I’m going to the wedding with Alex. I know you forced him to take me.”
Bella crossed her arms, a sure indicator she wasn’t going to give in. “Charlotte,” she said in the same tone my mother used whenever I said or did something annoying.
“I’m going by Charley again.”
Bella smiled as if I’d just turned some miraculous corner.
I hadn’t. I just couldn’t stand to hear my own God-given name anymore because of…him.
Ben Jerome, the world’s biggest dickhead.
It had been Ben’s suggestion that everyone start calling me Charlotte, insisting Charley was a childish nickname and no one would view me as an adult if I kept answering to it.
I could see now it was just another quiet, insidious way he’d tried to mold me into what he wanted me to be rather than accepting me for who I was.
Bella had tried to point all those things out to me the last few months—from my new feminine attire to selling my beloved, beat-up pickup truck to changing my name—but I had refused to acknowledge any of it, foolishly believing that true love took work and compromise.
What I’d failed to see until the veil was pulled away last night was that I was the one bending over backwards to accommodate him, while Ben hadn’t changed one single thing for me.
Cheating son of a bitch mother fucker.
Bella came over to the couch and sat down next to me. She reached for the wine bottle and took a big swig. “Welcome back, Charley.”
I leaned over and put my head on her shoulder, fighting the urge to cry. I never cried. Like neeeeever, but there was a fat lump in my throat right now that told me I was in danger.
Bella wrapped her arm around my shoulders and squeezed comfortingly. I’d always been more at home in a big group of guys than with girls. Bella was the one exception. She always had been. She’d been my best friend forever—something I chalked up to an opposites-attract kind of thing. She was uber-girlie while I was hardcore tomboy, yet it worked.
“Vegas is going to suck.”
Bella sighed. “No, it’s not. You do realize people come here for more than just the tacky chapels and eloping.”
“I know, but…I really thought…”
“What are you most upset about, Charley? Losing Ben or finding out he was cheating on you?”
Until she asked the question, I’d never considered that what I was calling a broken heart might actually be wounded pride and disappointment. Ben had made a fool of me and feeling stupid pissed me off.
“He was my first boyfriend. My first…my only…” My confession explained nothing. Or maybe everything.
“I know. And I know how much you always wanted to date—in high school and college.”
“Guys never looked at me like a girl they’d ask out. I was always the confidante or another freaking buddy. Ben…liked me. At least at the beginning. I think.”
Bella tightened her arm around me, no small feat considering I had her by a good six inches. She was petite and curvy, while I was all long limbs and sharp angles. “He did like you. In all fairness to him, I think he even loved you. But it boils down to this—you challenged him. Beverly never will. And because he’s shallow and selfish and lazy, he’s chosen the path of least resistance. You deserve better than that. You deserve someone who sees all the things I see—how funny, smart, sensitive, spontaneous, and real you are.”
“I haven’t been very real lately.”
Somehow, slowly, over the past year or so
, Ben had drawn me away from my friends and into his circle. Instead of chugging beer at a sports bar while watching hockey on the big screen, my evenings had turned to cocktail parties and wine tastings, discussing politics, as Ben schmoozed his way into a partnership at the accounting firm.
And instead of dropping everything to go on a long hike or a spontaneous road trip just because it was a sunny spring day, our lives were suddenly planned down to the second, all impulsiveness snuffed out in favor of routine.
I sucked at routine.
“You made a rookie mistake, Charley. You thought changing would make Ben love you. That’s something girls have been doing since the beginning of time. And if we’re being really honest, you decided making those changes would be easier than looking for someone better suited to you.”
Bella had a knack for calling things as she saw them. It was why I loved her so much. Except for now. When I preferred being pissed off and blaming Ben for everything rather than forcing myself to do some serious introspection.
Bella wasn’t wrong, but I was in too much of a mood to tell her so.
She didn’t need those words. Smug woman knew she was right. “So now, you have experience under your belt. It’s time to find a man who will love you for you, and if he can’t, instead of changing yourself, you’ll kick him to the curb and move on to the next one.”
“Yeah. Right. Because I have a line of guys just waiting to ask me out.” I meant that sarcastically, but hearing it out loud, I realized I just sounded pathetic.
“You have a date tomorrow night.”
I scoffed. “That doesn’t count.”
“Make it count.”
Bella’s comment took me aback and I struggled to understand her intentions. “Are you pimping me out to your brother or your brother out to me?”
She laughed loudly. “God. This is what I’m talking about, Charley. No one ever has to guess where they stand with you. You have a question or a thought, you just say it. I wish I had half of your boldness.”
It was the first time Bella had ever confessed to wishing she were like me. Truth was she was the cool girl in school, the one every other female in our class tried to emulate—except me, of course. I could never pull off her kind of cool and never wanted to. It required too much time in front of a mirror or at the mall.
“You’re bold,” I said, not sure how else to respond. I actually wouldn’t call Bella bold as much as…well…spoiled, but in a way that wasn’t annoying.
“You and Alex have always been great friends. I’ve never admitted it, but sometimes I was jealous of your relationship. The two of you had a lot more in common than we do. There were times when I thought he would have preferred you as a little sister.”
I shook my head. “Trust me. He never thought of me as a sister.”
Bella’s brow creased and I knew she’d misinterpreted my comment, so I clarified. “A kid brother, maybe. But never a sister.”
She laughed.
“You were good for him. You kept him humble. Always kicking his ass at hockey and punching him on the arm whenever he said something douche-y.”
“It didn’t make him less douche-y.” Alex and I had been hockey teammates for most of our childhood, starting way back with 8U. Long enough that he and the other guys forgot I was a girl. That meant I was privy to way too much of their locker room chatter.
“True,” Bella said, giggling.
Alex had been a cocky manwhore in high school and given the fact I’d never seen him pictured with the same woman in the tabloids, it didn’t look like that fact had changed. Neither had his taste in women. He tended to go for the Barbie doll type, with long blonde hair, huge tits, and legs that stretched forever. Brains optional. “Has the guy ever had a girlfriend?”
Bella shook her head. “No, but his career doesn’t exactly lend itself to seriously dating someone, does it? I mean he’s on the road with the team twenty-four weeks of the year, not counting playoffs and preseason and all the charity stuff he does.”
“Spoken like the perfect enabling sister.”
She gave me a shit-eating grin, but didn’t deny it. “I’ve accepted the fact that Alex will never get married. I’m pretty sure he’ll never even have a long-term relationship. Bachelorhood is his shtick and he’s devoted to that and that alone. Told me once he’d never even have a dog because he didn’t want that kind of commitment. A dog! Seriously? Who doesn’t love dogs?”
Bella would set up a cot in the back of the SPCA and move in if they’d let her.
“We couldn’t get one because Ben was allergic.” Though now that I was single again…the idea of adopting a dog sounded very appealing.
Bella gave me a look that said that should have been my first red flag in regards to Ben.
“Besides, you and I both know, tomorrow isn’t a real date,” Bella said. “It’s called payback. Can you imagine Ben’s face when you walk in with Alex?”
I could. And I liked it.
But real date or not, going to the wedding with Alex would break a streak I was secretly proud of.
Because I figured I was the only girl in high school who hadn’t fallen under Alex’s spell. The rest had squandered countless hours—and sheets of paper writing Mrs. Alex Stone in hearts—either dreaming of him, dating him, sleeping with him, or crying over him because he didn’t invite them to prom.
“You know, I’ve done a lot of things in my life that I’m proud of—graduating top of my class at Northwestern, publishing my first book, buying a new car with cash, but top of that list—without a doubt—is the fact that I never made a jackass of myself over your hot brother.”
Bella crinkled her nose. “You think he’s hot?”
I rolled my eyes and ignored her question. Any woman with eyes knew Alex was sex-on-a stick hot, but that didn’t mean I was going to add my notch to his bedpost. “It’s bad enough I let Ben make a fool of me.”
Bella sobered. “Aw, babe. He fooled everybody. Don’t kick yourself about that for a second longer.”
“To be honest, I think I’d be smarter to take a break from dating for a little while. I need to take a long, hard look at myself, figure out who I am and how I can make sure I never let another guy try to change me into his version of ideal. I really miss my pickup truck.”
Bella reached over for a piece of my salami. I slapped her hand away. “That’s a smart thing to do, although, honestly, I think you already know who you are.”
“Maybe so, but I should probably wait until Ben gets the rest of his shit out of my apartment at least.”
“You can kick start your new life tomorrow with Alex…as friends,” Bella quickly added for clarification. “So you can still hold your head up high about not getting trapped in his sex web. Besides, the poor guy is taking the loss hard. I’m counting on you to help him.”
I appreciated her attempts at cheering me up, even if they were misguided. “You’re not going to let me or Alex off the hook, are you?”
“Nope. I consider my actions a public service. You and Alex are both down in the dumps. Better you commiserate alone in some quiet corner of the reception crying in your beer together rather than bring us all down. I don’t want to spend my night cheering you both up. Its Vegas, baby. And I plan on getting drunk and dancing my ass off.”
I snorted at that, perfectly aware the sound wasn’t very ladylike. Ben used to give me shit for it. God, how had I let myself become such a pushover?
Never again. Those days were over.
I raised my right hand, in true I-swear-before-the-court style, as I considered my perfect man. “Hear me now. I will not marry a guy who doesn’t love me for myself, who hates the way I snort, who thinks my nickname is silly, who can’t hold his liquor, who is offended by my cursing, who won’t fly to Vegas on a moment’s notice to elope, who doesn’t love hockey as much as me…and refuses to adopt a dog, allergies or not.”
Bella raised the wine bottle in a silent cheers, then took a big chug. “Operation Perfect Guy has
commenced.”
I laughed as I took the wine bottle back, took my own long drink, and realized I actually felt better.
“Now do me a favor and infuse some of that newly recovered confidence back into my big brother tomorrow.”
“I seriously doubt Alex needs help in that area. He’s a smug son of a bitch even on down days.”
Bella didn’t bother to disagree. “Good point. So let him teach you how to strut around like you’re God’s gift to the planet.”
I snorted again, embracing the laugh. Then I actually considered asking Alex for those lessons. The man was cockiness personified.
Something that was probably justified considering his talent on the ice. His off-the-chain sense of humor. His smoldering good looks.
His…shit.
That was the second I realized two things.
My heart hadn’t been broken by Ben.
And I wasn’t as immune to Alex Stone as I pretended.
Three
Alex
I’d regretted agreeing to take Charley to the wedding about three minutes after I had hung up the phone with my sister. So now I was trudging down the long hotel hallway like a man walking toward death row.
I wasn’t holding out much hope for the evening. My mood over losing the game had grown progressively darker with each passing hour and comforting a crying woman—and with Charley, I used the term woman loosely—over a broken heart wasn’t my idea of a good time.
Shit. I was suffering from my own damn broken heart. And I didn’t see my so-called loving sister going out of her way to console me or make me feel better.
This was crap.
I was a grown-ass man, an all-star player in the NHL with a ten-million-a-year contract for God’s sake, and here I was, catering to my kid sister.
And this was no small favor.
This was a date with Charley Matthews. I mean sure, she’d been cool to hang out with—as another one of the guys—when we were teenagers and she’d kicked my ass at hockey more than a few times, but she wasn’t the type of woman I’d ever ask out. I liked my women soft and fluffy and, well, low-maintenance—light on conversation, heavy on sexuality.