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The second I collapse on the couch, I’m texting Brina. Come bearing alcohol. Do not bring Maggot. Single people don’t need to see kissy faces. TY.
Brina: Who’s single???
Me, I type, feeling a shot to my chest.
Brina: But your contract isn’t up yet! And what happened to the moves he was making? Last I checked, you looked anything but single.
I wince as I type, Amazing show, wasn’t it?
Brina: ...you’re joking?
Nothing funny about the Winthrope crap, I send, twisting my lips as I add, Or Wardholes with empty shelves where their hearts should be.
Brina: Paige, I’m coming.
I sigh with relief. Thank God. Don’t forget liquor!
With the cavalry coming, I turn on Netflix, looking for a happy distraction until Brina arrives. It doesn’t help. The cushions on the couch sink under my weight. I nestle deeper into my body-shaped indent and dry sob.
How was I ever blind enough to think a man like Ward Brandt was interested? And how could I be that dumb twice in one lifetime?
Prince Charmings are a myth, and even when they’re not, they definitely don’t fall for sculpting nerds who compare their handsome, grumpy, heart-stabby faces to the stars.
We’re face-to-face. Skin on skin. Soul in soul.
Connected.
But I still need it deeper, both the thrust and the burn of his kiss.
As if he can read my mind, he plunges deeper, marking me with the fire in his lips. My legs tighten around him.
“Paige.” He breaks our kiss on a torrid groan.
He pulses inside me, his stubble rakes my throat, and his eyes are a little mad in the way that always sets me off. My body responds, clenching around his, twining my tongue in his rasping mouth like I want to be consumed.
“Don’t ever leave me. Promise?” He rolls off and cradles me.
“Promise,” I whisper.
His lips are about to brush my forehead when—
A harsh tapping noise yanks me from my dream. Memory? Memory-dream?
Ugh. What planet am I on?
The banging starts again.
“Paige, it’s cold! Let me in.”
Cold? How long have I been zoned out?
I pull myself up and stagger to the door with my eyebrows knit together. “It can’t be cold. It’s still summer,” I say.
Brina hits me with the widest grin. “Yep, but it got you off your butt. Nice to see you too.”
I laugh. “Get in here.”
“How not okay are you?” she asks, reaching into the bag swinging from her hand. “I’ve got four pints of ice cream, half a carrot cake, a whole box of Heart’s Edge truffles from Sweeter Grind, and...oh, yeah. The big guns. Wine or lemon vodka?”
“I’m...surviving, so it’s your call,” I say.
“You’re too pretty so don’t take this the wrong way, but lady...you look like a crap sandwich,” she says with a worried look.
“Thanks,” I say with a snort.
“That’s it. We’re baking a pie. I’m going to catapult it right in his face.” She sets the bag on the counter and starts pawing through my cabinets with a focus that makes me laugh.
“Brina, no. Just stay out of it.”
She turns back with a smirk. “You don’t mean that. If you did, I wouldn’t be here.”
Dragging myself over to the couch, I collapse again.
“True. But don’t make it worse. No point.”
“How could it be worse? He’s a giant heartbreaking douchebag with a billion dollars. Reason enough to take him down a peg or fifty.”
I shrug—but can’t because I’m sunk too deep in the couch.
“Also, you pied my husband. It’s my turn at the karma wheel serving up justice!”
“If Ward shows up here, then pie-bomb away. But don’t get too excited. He’s not brave like Mag. Also, I think he’d have to care first to come over, and he doesn’t.”
She sighs, then pulls out a couple glasses for the wine. “What exactly did he say? I saw the way he looked at you. Hard to believe it meant nothing.”
“He said it was time to end this before I got more obsessed. Oh, and he doesn’t love me or anyone else because he’s a freak who can’t fall in love.”
“Wow. At least he’s not subtle.” Brina hands me a wineglass filled to the top.
I throw back half my drink in one long toss, and choke when I remember a single glass of wine was what got me into this mess. Kinda.
Setting it down with a clink, I go back to leaving a Paige-sized impression on the sofa.
“Um, you might want to pace yourself,” Brina says, lowering her wine. “If you need water...”
“It’s like the opposite of last year, isn’t it?” I ask morosely, ignoring her offer.
“Last year?” She acts like she doesn’t get where I’m going. “Oh. That worked out pretty well after a mountain of drama, didn’t it? There’s nothing my husband won’t do for me, and I don’t mean to brag, but...knowing what we had to lose just made us stronger.” She smiles, transported to a better place than my miserable apartment.
