Break Up with Him, for Me: A ‘Friends to Lovers’ Romance

by G. , Whitney

“Okay, then.” I propped her feet on a pillow and slid the stilettos off her feet.

  “At one point, I felt like it was only the two of us aboard.”

  “Lay your head back on the armrest, please.”

  “At one point, I think he was trying to kiss me, but I wasn’t sure if I was reading him right, so I just grabbed another glass of champagne and drank it down.”

  I adjusted the pillows behind her head as she continued to ramble. She talked about the silverware that bore Simon’s initials, the way the waters sloshed against the ship, and a second, third, and fourth verbatim recap about how they danced to Frank Sinatra’s ‘New York, New York’ like it was a ‘nineties rom-com.’

  As I was pushing a few stray hairs off her forehead, she pressed her hand against my belt buckle and looked directly into my eyes.

  I raised my eyebrow.

  “Is it bad that I was thinking about your cock for an entire hour after you left?”

  “I’m getting you a blanket,” I said. “You can tell me about the rest of your night later.”

  “I thought about putting it in my mouth, if it would even fit, or if my eyes would water if I took it all the way down my throat.”

  “Penelope …” My cock hardened in my pants. “I need you to stop talking.”

  “You wanted my honest opinion about your pictures, right?”

  “Not at this moment.”

  “I’ve always thought that you were the sexiest man I’ve ever seen—even when I hated you,” she said. “Even when I thought your cockiness was simply you over-compensating for having a small penis.” Her gaze moved down to my pants. “You clearly weren’t.”

  I gently pushed her hand away and walked down the hall. I opened the closet and pulled out a blanket, vowing to forget her drunken rambling.

  When I returned, she was smiling—looking as if she was waiting to finish her thoughts.

  “I swear, the thought of sleeping with you never crossed my mind until I saw your pictures,” she said. “Why didn’t you ever go into porn?”

  “I’m officially done talking to you for the night.” I covered her with the blanket. “Please stop.”

  “I don’t think I would ever say those two words to you if we were having sex.”

  “Penelope fucking Carter …” I narrowed my eyes at her. “Stop talking.”

  She laughed and rolled over to face the windows. “Thank you for the advice so far on Simon. You’re the best, Hayden. You always have been, and you’ve always been there for me.”

  She started snoring seconds later, and I hit the lights and headed to my bathroom.

  I needed a cold shower.

  Stat.

  Break up #7

  The One Who Made Origami

  Penelope

  Back Then

  * * *

  Sochi, Russia

  “What do you mean, you can’t be there for me?” I stare at Travis’s face on my laptop—hoping that this is some type of sick joke. “I’m about to skate in the effin’ Olympics. Tomorrow.”

  “I know, but I was there when you skated in other competitions,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll win gold. You haven’t placed anything less than first all year.”

  “Travis…” Tears well in my eyes. “If you’re playing a joke, now would be the time to say the punchline.”

  “Listen to me, Crown.” He moves his head closer to the screen. “I got a call from Gatorade earlier this week, with a six-figure sponsorship offer,” he says. ‘They said the deal was mine if I made it to their headquarters and signed off on everything ASAP. Six figures, Crown. Isn’t that amazing?”

  I say nothing.

  I’m having a sudden bout of déjà vu from when he missed The Grand Prix in Chicago because of a last-minute match opportunity. Or, maybe it’s from when he missed the invitational in Los Angeles, when he couldn’t bear to miss a meeting with the UFC commissioner because he “Had to make it clear that he’s in this sport for the long haul.”

  It doesn’t matter that I’ve given up sleep to stay up late to watch all of his matches, that I’ve skipped weekend’s worth of practices to ride along with Hayden to attend his press conferences. His career is taking off, and since he’s actually making money, his sport is the only one that matters…

  “I just have to make sure that I beat Marquez on the fifteenth…” His voice interrupts my thoughts. “I’m sure that more sponsors will come knocking at my door after that one.” He smiles as if he’s not stomping all over my heart. “Gatorade is only the beginning for us, Crown.”

  Us? “I’m sure Gatorade would’ve understood you wanting to be there for your younger sister.”

  “I am there for you.” He narrows his eyes at me. “Last time I checked, I’m the one who buys you and your coach’s plane tickets to wherever you need to be. I’m also paying for you to have the best physical therapy in the country, and the sponsorships you’re getting—Oh, wait. Yours aren’t at the same level, so someone else needs to take care of you.”

  “You promised Travis.”

  “No, I considered.” He lies. “And I’m done talking about this right now. I need you to suck this shit up. I’m doing the best I can, and if me not being there in the crowd affects your performance, then maybe—”

  I hang up in his face and shut my laptop, preventing him from calling me back with an “I’m sorry, Crown. You know I’m more logical than emotional. I’m so sorry…”

  I don’t want to hear his apology this time; I need to talk to someone who actually gives a damn.

  Jackson…

  I’m grateful that my boyfriend is here. He’s competing as a freestyle skier, and he’s the first boyfriend who has completely understood how much dedication it takes to make it.

  Even though I have an “advised team curfew,” I’ve snuck out every night to chat with him in the hot tub for a few hours.

  Getting out of bed, I pull on my boots and put on a coat. I walk over to the origami display he’d delivered last night—a tower of pink roses and white swans, with hidden messages between their folds.

  I pick up a rose-colored one that reads, “I know we’re here to focus on competing, but I’m always here for you. I’ll drop everything and listen.”

  Opening the door, I look both ways and head to the elevator.

  “Well, look who it is,” The devil reincarnate, i.e., Tatiana Brave, steps in front of me.

  I roll my eyes and hit the down button.

  “Curfew starts in fifteen minutes,” she says. “It’d be a shame if I had to tell the team ambassador that my fellow American is sneaking out to see her boyfriend. With both of us scoring so high, I imagine you’ll need all the extra rest you can get.”

  “If you want to snitch on me, go ahead and snitch,” I say. “It won’t make one bit of a difference.”

  “Want to bet?”

  “Absolutely.” I shrug. “It’s a shame you flew all this way for chance at silver or bronze. We both know there’s not a chance in hell you’ll win gold over me, but I love how you get your hopes up. It’s cute.”

  “You’re a bitch.”

  “You’re a bigger one.”

  She storms away without another word and the doors glide shut.

  When I make it downstairs to the lobby, I walk out of the doors and toward the hot tubs.

  Rock music is blaring from the speakers, and I easily recognize the hard metal from Jackson’s playlist.

  I walk to the towel stand, but then I notice that Jackson isn’t here alone. He’s with another guy in the hot tub and they’re kissing each other like no one is watching.

  I stare at them as Jackson pulls the guy into his lap, as their tongues collide and it’s not until the song ends that Jackson happens to look over at me.

  “Oh, shit.” Jackson’s eyes widen. “Penelope, stay right there. I can explain.”

  “Don’t bother.” I turn away and rush back to my hotel.

  When I make it back to my room, I flop onto the bed. I try not to cry, but
it’s no use. I turn on the TV and flip to a dubbed version of How Harry Met Sally.

  In the middle of the meet cute, a knock sounds at my door.

  “We’re over, Jackson!” I call out, walking over to it. “I don’t even care that you’re gay. It’s the lies and the—”

  I stop talking at the sight of Hayden standing in the hallway.

  “So, your boyfriend was gay like I told you he was?” He smiles.

  “No.” I avoid his eyes. “No, he was not. I was saying the lines of a TV show aloud.”

  He glances behind me. “There’s a commercial on right now.”

  My cheeks redden and I struggle to find the words to say. It’s been three days since we last spoke, and he’s supposed to be pitching his dating app to people in California.

  “Why aren’t you in L.A.?” I change the subject. “I was going to stay up for five more hours to call you.”

  “Since I know that you’re not going to admit that I was right anytime soon…” He opens his backpack and pulls out a roll of chocolate chip cookie dough and a plastic pink spoon. “I fucking told you so.”

  Before I can slam the door in his face, he pulls me close for a hug.

  “Thanks for not rubbing it in.”

  “I’m still planning to rub it in,” he say. “I just want to give you a few more hours before I officially start.”

  “Did you really book a twelve-hour flight just to laugh at me?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You’re smiling, Hayden.”

  “Am I? I’m not trying to.” His dimples deepen. “I don’t see anything funny about this situation at all. I mean, I did tell you that your boyfriend spent more time asking about me than you, but what do I know?”

  “Is that a man out in the hallway?” My coach calls out from around the corner. “Who is that?”

  I pull Hayden into the room and shut the door.

  “You woke up this morning and randomly decided to fly to Sochi?”

  “No” he says. “But once Travis told me he wasn’t coming, I didn’t think you should be alone. I booked a suite at the hotel across the street.”

  I smile. “Thank you for coming and being here for me.”

  “It’s what friends do.” He shrugs. “Besides, I’ll expect something in return down the line.”

  “I should’ve known.”

  “I got you this,” he says, pulling a blue box from his pocket. “Saw this in L.A. and figured you might appreciate it.”

  I flipped the box open, staring at the entwined skates on a silver necklace.

  The letters WWHS were engraved on the front.

  “WWHS?” I ask. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you can cut down on calling me with so many of your questions because you can just ask yourself, What would Hayden say?” He motioned for me to flip it over. “And then, once you disregard that advice and fail, you can get a head start on hearing me say, I told you so.”

  “Thank you for officially giving me the worst gift I’ve ever received.”

  “You’re welcome.” He motions for me to turn around so he can clasp it around my neck. Then his eyes meet mine in the mirror.

  “You’re all that Travis talks about,” he says. “He really measures every move he makes with you in mind, and I think you should cut him some slack. He lost his parents, too.”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  “Good.” He walks over to the tower and picks up one of the swans, reading the word aloud “Sometimes I feel torn with myself over liking a beautiful woman as you. Someone who is so close to him. I really like you and I appreciate how you bring him around. Always.”

  “Seriously, Penelope?” He shakes his head. “How the hell could you not see that he was gay after reading this shit?”

  Eight

  Present Day

  Penelope

  I woke up in Hayden’s guest suite with a throbbing headache and a dry throat. The memories from last night were tumbling through my mind in an embarrassing rose hue that matched the champagne I abused.

  An image of Simon helping me into a black car and carrying me past Hayden’s security guards kept playing on a loop. And I desperately wanted to believe that him seeing me drunk out of my mind was a dream and not a memory.

  I can’t believe I drank that much.

  “Ugh, why.” I groaned and rolled over to look out the window. The sky was still dark, and the sun had yet to peak over The Triborough Bridge.

  On the nightstand next to me lay two bottles of chilled orange juice, aspirin, and handwritten note.

  Working on the apology letters all day today.

  Join me when you wake up—because we have a deal.

  (Only if you’re 100% sober)

  —Hayden

  I tossed off the covers and unzipped my dress, letting the silk hit the floor.

  After taking a long shower, I rummaged through the drawer that I kept at his place. Pulling on a pair of leggings and a Team USA sweatshirt, I followed the scent of freshly brewed coffee to the kitchen.

  Surrounded by printed sheets and envelopes, Hayden was sipping from a cup at the breakfast bar.

  “Hey.” I cleared my throat, and he looked up at me.

  “Hey. Are you sober yet?”

  “If I say no, can I sleep in for the rest of the day?”

  “No.” He motioned for me to take a seat next to him. Then he slid a stack of cards toward me. “I finished these already. I just need you to look over them.”

  “I’m sorry that I didn’t take all of your advice last night.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. “You typically do that in the beginning with all your boyfriends, so I would’ve been surprised if you’d done otherwise.”

  “Did I say anything embarrassing while he was here?”

  “Embarrassing? No.” His lips curved into a smirk. “Highly inappropriate? Yes.”

  “What the hell did I say?”

  “Nothing he’ll ever know.”

  “Do you think he’ll ever call since I got smashed on our first date?”

  “He didn’t seem to be put off by it when he tried to kiss you.”

  “Well, good.” I let out a breath. “What did you think of him? Honestly.”

  “He needs to hire a better tailor.”

  “I’m serious, Hayden.” I punched his shoulder.

  “We didn’t talk much, but he seems decent.”

  “Great. I need to ask you about a few things he mentioned while we were—”

  “I don’t think so.” He pressed a finger against my lips, and my heart skipped a beat at his touch.

  The alcohol must be coursing through my veins still.

  “We’re talking about my letters for the next few hours.” He looked into my eyes. “And then I’ll let you waste my time by talking about Prince Charming. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Eight (B)

  PRESENT DAY

  Penelope

  A few hours later, I circled a typo and looked up at Hayden.

  “So, you trashed a penthouse suite at Marriott when we weren’t talking … So badly that the manager had to replace everything except the drapes?” I made sure I was reading his “Reasons I Need to Apologize” list correctly. “Why would you do something like that?”

  “It’s a long story.” He handed me a check. “Put this in there before you seal it.”

  “Will do. You know, I think it may be best if I just write a set of templates that you can adjust so you won’t have to spend so much time coming up with new things to say.”

  “If two people get the same letter, they’ll get even more upset than they already are.”

  “I’ll set it up so the words won’t repeat.” I opened my laptop. “I learned how to do this in a motivational speaking class. Trust me.”

  “As long as Lawrence never finds out.”

  “He won’t.”

  Before I could start a fresh pot of coffee, my phone sounded with a new call. Simon.

  I sta
red at the screen as it buzzed against the table. “Should I answer it?”

  “Depends.” He crossed his arms. “Will you promise to accept my suggestion?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He picked up my phone and tossed it onto the couch. “No. You don’t answer the phone the first time he calls you. You can answer it if he calls you a second time, though.”

  “Why wouldn’t he just wait for me to call him back?”

  He shot me a pointed look.

  “Fine.” I held up my hands in a surrender. “I won’t pick up unless he calls a second time.”

  “Good girl.” He pointed to his list. “Back to work.”

  I crafted forty different templates, and downed an entire pot of coffee alone over the next couple of hours. I didn’t look at my phone or dare to pick it up—even when Hayden disappeared a few times to take business phone calls.

  It wasn’t until Sarah arrived with lunch that my impatience nearly got the best of me.

  “Simon Gaines is a pretty hot guy,” she said, handing me a covered tray. “But you know, you can’t have two hot guys swooning all over you at the same time. It’s really unfair, now that I think about it. You’re pretty, but you’re not that pretty.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Sarah?”

  “Nothing.” She smiled. “I’m just enjoying how I get to spend my weekend getting a custom lunch order for my boss and his best friend. It’s not like I have a life of my own.”

  “You can have the rest of the day off.” Hayden looked up at her. “Thank you for complaining about your easy-ass job as always.”

  “My pleasure, Mr. Hunter.” She rushed out of the room.

  “You really need to fire her,” “I really need to fire her,” we said in unison, laughing.

  As I was picking up a fork, my phone buzzed against the sofa.

  Without thinking, I stood up and rushed over to see who it was. Simon, again.