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ME: Yes, his slutty balls are unscathed
REGINA: See? You were incredibly thoughtful
REGINA: He’ll still be able to make three of his four Saturday hookups
I sputter out a tiny, rueful laugh. Talk about finding the silver lining.
ME: Yes, I am thoughtful
I pay a pretty penny to have my therapist on call, and I’ve found that seeking immediate feedback works much better than waiting until our weekly sessions.
REGINA: You did fine, Nadia. You can’t be expected to take responsibility for someone else’s character defects.
REGINA: Give yourself some grace.
She’s right. She’s right. Laurent’s shitty values and warped morals aren’t my burden to carry. Once again, I need to just move on.
I release a heavy exhale and delete his phone number from my contacts. “Good riddance, Laurent,” I mutter under my breath right before I slam headfirst into a wall.
A warm, muscly, shower-gel-smelling wall with big hands that curl around my hips to steady me on my feet.
I stumble and look up to find…Harry Westbrook.
Harry Westbrook squinting down at me from under his baseball cap with a curious, boyish half-smile.
2
HARRY
“Bro, seriously—what the hell are you wearing?” I’m vaguely aware of Knox questioning Maxwell as the guys follow me through the Snow Moon Brewery’s front door.
“Honestly, dude, I’m not sure how I feel about being seen in public with your mismatched ass,” Jace informs our quarterback, skepticism in his voice.
“What? I look damn good in this,” Maxwell argues, defensive as ever. “I’m ‘Instagrammable’ as fuck right now.”
We’ve all been giving our team captain shit for the multicolored Hawaiian shirt he showed up wearing at practice today. The shirt is bad enough on its own. But the poor guy went and paired it with some tangerine-colored slacks. Yes, to him that seemed like a good choice.
Jude chuckles knowingly. “This is what happens whenever his wife goes on vacation. He ends up dressing like a toddler who doesn’t understand color-coordination.” Jude would know. His wife and Maxwell’s are sisters, which makes the two of them brothers-in-law.
From somewhere over my back, Jace makes a clear-cut declaration. “It’s decided—Faith is not allowed to leave town during the football season. Ever again.”
The guys continue talking shit. Typical for them. But right now I’m largely ignoring them. Because—bam!—all my startled attention is focused on the sexy woman with golden brown skin and thick coiled hair currently having a head-on collision with my chest.
I know exactly who she is.
Nadia.
Nadia Chester.
MyNadia.
In your wildest fucking dreams, jackass.
The gorgeous woman emits a soft “Omph!” when we bump into each other. Instinctively, I grab her by the hips to steady her, but only end up slamming her closer to me. Her fingers grip the front of the Paragons hoodie I’m wearing.
With our bodies crushed together like that, her eyes dart up to mine. And a switch automatically flips inside me—the primitivemine-mine-mineswitch—as soon as she’s in my arms.
I breathe her in, and everything starts to move in slow motion.
