Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
My legs are stretched across Ryder’s lap while I design a custom-made T-shirt on my MacBook. Tomorrow is my dad’s birthday and I already got him a present, but I’m adding another item thanks to his behavior during the Boxing Day Beatdown. Beau Di Laurentis and AJ Connelly were named team captains that morning, and Dad was so outraged about getting picked fifth that he glared at the teenage boys and growled, “Is this a joke? Do you realize I’m Garrett Graham?”
“Do you think the I’m Garrett Graham line should be black or silver?” I ask, angling the laptop.
Ryder looks at it. “Black.” Then he chuckles at what I’m working on.
My phone buzzes again, as it’s been doing all day. I’ve been fielding texts from friends asking what I’m doing tonight. It happens to be New Year’s Eve, but we decided to stay in.
I check the screen. It’s Diana, who’s spending New Year’s with her older lover, Sir Percival.
DIANA:
I kind of love how mature he is. I didn’t feel like partying tonight and he was perfectly cool with staying in. NYE = wine, a movie, and very adult lovemaking. I think I’m getting swept away by the allure of the older man…
ME:
I’m glad! But don’t completely lose your head. It’s early yet.
I’m as tactful as I can be. Truthfully, I’ve always thought there’s something a bit off about a man who wants to date someone so much younger. Granted, six years isn’t a huge age difference. But Diana mentioned that Percival had a serious relationship with another younger woman before her. When he was twenty-four, he dated an eighteen-year-old. I find that icky. But he and Diana are both adults, and so long as she’s happy, I’ll reserve my judgment.
Another text pops up, this one from my cousin.
ALEX TUCKER:
What do you mean you’re staying in tonight?? NOT ALLOWED. You’re coming to Manhattan.
In her last message, she mentioned she’s making a paid appearance at a new nightclub in Manhattan tonight.
ME:
This last minute? No way. It’s too late for the train and any available flights will cost a gazillion dollars.
She disappears for a while, and I assume the subject’s been dropped. But then she texts again.
ALEX:
My friend will send his jet.
I cough out a laugh. Jesus. I thought I had friends in high places. Meanwhile, Alex is over here just hanging out with private jet owners.
ME:
I can’t.
ALEX:
Yes you can. Come on, I miss you. And it’ll be fun.
I think it over for a moment. It’s rare I’m able to be impulsive with such a rigid hockey schedule, and I realize this might be my last chance to go a little wild. We’re going back to school, where a new semester will commence, the season will resume, and playoffs will start soon. When will I ever have the chance to fly on a private plane to New York?
“Hey,” I say to Ryder. “We’ve been invited to a New Year’s party. You in?”
He looks up from his book. “Who invited us?” He’s absently stroking my knee.
“My cousin Alex. She’s going to a nightclub in Manhattan. One of those nauseating events where all the celebrities are paid to show their pretty faces.”
“Is this the supermodel cousin?”
I nod. “Do you wanna go? She said she can send us a plane.”
Ryder blinks. Then he snorts out a laugh. “Oh fuck off.”
“I know.” I sigh. “I can’t help it, though. She’s got serious connections. Uncle Tucker thinks it’s pretty cool.”
Another message from Alex pops up with a link to the event.
“Oh, these are the details.” I pull it up and scan the information. Some hot DJ is headlining, and there’s a list of the celebrities that are scheduled to show up. The name at the top of my list makes me hoot in laughter. “Dude. Guess who’ll be there.”
“Who?”
“Vizza Billity.”
“The worst-named rapper of all time?”
“Yup. Oh man, if Mya wasn’t in Malta right now, she would totally come with us.” I keep scanning names. “Hey, look. Your buddy Owen McKay is supposed to make an appearance too.”
There are a few athletes on the list, but McKay’s name is the only one that jumps out at me.
“Okay, now we have to go,” I tell Ryder.
He shifts, looking uncomfortable.
“Or we can stay here. Whatever you want.”
His blue eyes fix on me. “You want to go, huh?”
“Kind of.”
“Then I’ll go.” He cocks a brow. “But I will not be dancing.”
“Yes, you will.”
“And I’ll also pretend I don’t know you when you ask for Vizza Billity’s autograph.”
“You’ll miss out then. I was planning on getting him to sign my tits.”
Ryder grins.
And that’s how later that evening, we board an actual private jet bound for Manhattan. The plane’s interior is all white, from the leather seats to the plush carpets to the spacious bathroom. As much as I want to joke about it, it’s kind of absurd.