Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90475 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 452(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“But what if it does?” Aubrey asks, encouragingly.
The question is too tempting. Too alluring. It’s a question for book club. A question for starry-eyed dreamers. One I’ll ask the ladies tomorrow night.
In the real world? No matter how much I wish it were true—and I wish for it from the bottom of my soul—it can’t be.
I used to think the three of us couldn’t be a thing because of my family. Because of my sister. Because of all their unmet expectations of me. But sometime in the week I spent with Chase and Ryker, I learned to let go of their life plans for me.
To embrace my own un-plan.
I came to accept myself, and my own quirky, messy, making-it-up-as-I-go-along choices. Including the one to fall for two men. To imagine a future with two men. To see that as a bright, new possibility, with me and my two guys.
I was ready that night after the wedding. Ready to say screw the world, let’s be together anyway.
But I told them I was falling for them, and they didn’t see it the same way. I’ll have to keep moving forward into my own messy future, full of unpredictable choices.
Even though the question Aubrey asked plays on repeat for the next day.
What if it does?
41
THE BIG IF
Chase
The text arrives when I’m walking to my mom’s home for the lunch she planned last week—the one with the guy I used to call my best friend.
Ryker: Let’s talk. Today.
That’s a relief. I was about to send him one saying the same thing. I hit reply.
Chase: Agree. Let’s do it in about ten minutes.
But the rest of the way, I’m still a powder keg. Too many emotions swirl inside me. I’m still pissed at Ryker for the attitude and a half that he gave me a week ago. I’m filled with regret for letting go of Trina. And then, there’s this brand-new emotion that’s jostling all the others like bumper cars.
Obsession, I think?
But that doesn’t feel quite right.
Sure, I can’t stop thinking about Trina. Yes, I can’t stop wanting her. But I also want to shower her with gifts and pleasure and kisses and sex and adoration and so much more.
Is that obsession?
Hell if I know, but the question is driving me mad. It was driving me mad when I was in New York and then in Boston. It’s reached a boiling point now that I’m in the same vicinity as she is. I’m itching to go see her, to find her, to tell her I wake up thinking of her, I go to bed and dream of her, and I spend all day wanting her.
I don’t know how to contain all these feelings. But I know this—I no longer want to.
It’s time to deal.
When I reach my mom’s home, she swings open the door. I relax for a second, giving her a hug and handing her a three-bean salad I picked up at the gourmet shop she loves.
“Good to see you, Mom,” I say.
“You too. You look good. But out of sorts,” she says, reading me right away.
“I feel out of sorts,” I admit.
She nods sagely. “It’s about a girl, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say, relieved.
“Well, sort it out, kid,” she says, and on that simple piece of advice, I head inside, feeling a little less tightly wound. I breathe in the lavender scent of her home—one she owns fully, thanks to the money she and my dad put away. She’s been able to do that partly because I pay for college for my brothers, so she never had to worry about that.
But as I walk through her bright, cheery home, it hits me—we’ve done it. Mom and me. She’s made it through the tough years. I helped her like my dad asked me to. But she helped herself too.
Now, she’s secure and my brothers are set. Maybe it’s time to take care of me finally.
I’m ready at last. Hell, that’s probably why I’m obsessed.
In the kitchen, I find Ryker’s mom pouring a glass of chablis. “Hi, Chase. You better have brought a good salad this time. I still have nightmares about the egg salad from last month,” she says, then shudders.
I smile, grateful for the levity, then give her a hug. “This one is good. I promise.”
I don’t sit though. I’m antsier than I ever have been for a simple lunch. More out of sorts than when I’ve stepped onto the ice during playoffs.
For all my time spent taking care of people, I’m clueless about romance.
But maybe it’s like hockey. When the puck drops, you go after it. Seconds after Ryker rings the bell then comes inside, I don’t waste time. “Excuse me, ladies,” I say to the moms, then I tip my forehead to the patio. “We need to talk.”
“Yes, we do,” he says.
But before he heads outside with me, he looks to his mom, then mine. “Nice to see you. I guess I’ve been summoned.”