Page 95 of Offside Devil

“Okay, but you could have filled the awkward silence by asking if he had any pets or what his favorite food is. You didn’t need to set up Failed Double Date: Round Two.”

“You’d disagree if you’d seen the poor guy’s face,” Taylor retorts. “He definitely thought you stood him up. Even Daniel kept texting me under the table, asking if you and Zane were too busy banging to come to the phone. I was trying to preserve the poor guy’s dignity.”

“By selling mine?” I snap. “I can plan my own dates.”

She arches a brow. “Oh? Show me the dates you’ve planned, Mira. Point me in the general direction of your dating life, I beg you.”

“You know what I mean.” I try to shuffle the dresses to my other arm, but they all slip and slide around. Finally, I drop them to the floor and shake some blood back into my tingling hands. “I’m not in a good place to date. My head is a mess. It wouldn’t be fair to Blaine.”

Taylor snatches one of my hands out of the air and holds it with both of hers. “Honey, pardon my language, but fuck Blaine and what is fair to him. He has slept with three-quarters of the female population of our gym. I don’t think he’s looking for a love match with you.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Are you saying you set me up with him while knowing it would probably lead to nothing?”

“No, I set you up with him hoping you would get railed by a man whose abs have abs. I figured it would be good for you.”

I yank my hand away from her. “Ew!”

“Don’t act like you’re not interested!” she cries out. “You’ve been living in that condo with Zane for weeks and you’re miserable. Whatever is going on inside those walls, it is not good for you.”

I want to argue, but Taylor is, against all odds, making solid, logical, irrefutable points.

I press my fingers into my eye sockets. “Zane is just… He’s so frustrating. He’s a good father. He tries so hard to do what’s right by Aiden, but he’s also… He’s…”

“Smoking hot and refusing to play Hide the Pickle with your vagina?” Taylor finishes, her voice dripping with genuine sympathy.

I grimace. “Not exactly how I would have phrased it, but yeah, something like that.”

Taylor scoops my pile of dresses off of the floor and returns them to my arms. “Well, newsflash, Mimi: you are also smoking hot and you can do way better than Zane Whitaker.”

“He’s a super famous hockey player with a trillion dollars and a jawline Michelangelo would be jealous of.”

“And?”

“And he drives a Ferrari and has an assistant who delivers his suits and?—”

“And you are Mira fucking McNeil.” She grabs me by the shoulders and steers me towards the dressing room. “You’re going to buy these dresses, strut your stuff, and make Zane Whitaker rue the day he let this absolute smokeshow go unfucked.”

I shake my head, biting back a smile. “You’re like a poet, Tay.”

She grins. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

39

MIRA

It was easier to believe in this plan back when I was in the dressing room, tipsy on free champagne while Taylor was hyping me up.

“He’s going to fall to the ground and worship at your very expensive heels.” She tied the straps of the sundress into bows on top of my shoulders and cinched in the corseted waist until I could barely breathe. The entire time, she was grinning over my shoulder like the little hellspawn she is.

I was high on shopping spree hormones and revenge fantasies. It sounded plausible. It could work.

Now, I’m tired from being on my feet all day and nauseous at the thought of walking back into the condo in this dress.

What if Zane actually decided to fire me while I was gone? I’m going to waltz in there wearing the proof that I just blew half of the money I had in my account and then he’s going to cut my financial security off at the knees.

This will forever be the dress I was wearing when I threw away the only break the universe has ever felt inclined to toss my way.

“He isn’t going to fire you,” I whisper, trying to channel some of Taylor’s mojo.

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