Page 1 of One Day

CHAPTER ONE

SONYA

One of these days, I’m going to stop betting on Dylan’s sex life.

Today is not that day.

“Thoughts, Sunny?” Everett asks, lifting his hand to point across the bar at our friend and star right-winger for our university hockey team, surrounded by a group of girls. Each one hangs onto his every word, and he’s soaking in their attention like his life depends on it. A charming smile rests on his face, and his hungry gaze settles solely on the blonde hanging off his arm.

Sometimes, he just makes it too easy.

“My bet is on the brunette,” he adds.

“You’re wrong,” Bekah argues from beside him, leaning her elbow on the table we’re sitting at in the back of the only bar in our small college town. “It’s definitely the redhead.”

“You sure about that?” I ask, a smile creeping up on my lips as I assess my options. I don’t know when we started placing bets on which of the women vying for Dylan’s attention would win out and earn themselves more than five minutes, but it’s become a game now. While his lists of conquests grow, so does our entertainment for the night. “The blonde seems to have his attention. Might be her chance.”

“She tries every time we’re here, and he never goes for her. He’s always had a thing for brunettes,” Everett says, tracking his pick before his eyes land on me and the dark brown curls hanging around my shoulders. “You should know, Sunny. You were one of them.”

I narrow my eyes and flip him off. “When are you going to let that go?” I ask, a frown pulling at my lips.

I was dumb and naïve when I met Dylan last year at freshmen orientation and was eager to have my first wild university experience, which is exactly how I landed at one of the legendary hockey parties. Ten minutes in, I realized rolling around in the sheets with someone I didn’t know wasn’t as fun as I thought. It was the opposite of fun, and instead of getting off the way I hoped, I freaked out and left.

Everett’s brown eyes flash with amusement. “When it stops bringing me so much joy,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “So never.”

“I hate you.”

“Would the two of you shut up?” Bekah asks, leaning into Everett’s side. Her gaze is laser-focused on the redhead she’s hoping Dylan picks. Out of all of us, Bekah gets the most invested in our little game. “Reid, you going to weigh in?”

Reid, who I’ve known my entire life, doesn’t even look up from the book he’s had his nose tucked in since we got to On the Bench and settled into our usual spot. “Can’t say I care to bet on our friend’s sex life,” he says, sinking further into his corner of the round booth.

What was once an old community center was converted into a bar in the early nineties and has become a staple in the town. A place for college students to forget their stresses and town locals to take the edge off. The brick walls are covered in old music posters and sports awards from alumni who attended Millboro University.

“You are no fun,” Bekah groans, throwing her head back in disapproval. I try to hide my laugh, but it’s useless and only earns me a glare. “You care to make things interesting, Cartelli?”

A firm sense of competition tugs at the corner of my brain that knows I’m only going to lose, but I can’t seem to help myself. “More interesting than a coffee tomorrow when I win?”

“Twenty bucks,” she says while reaching for her bag. “Winner takes all.”

My gaze shifts back to the bar where Dylan leans down towards the short blonde, his lips curving up at whatever she just whispered before looking at my two friends placing their bets.

“Deal,” I say, reaching for my purse that sits between me and Reid. “Evy?”

“Sure, I could use forty bucks,” Everett says, tossing two ten-dollar bills on the table. Bekah and I do the same and go back to scoping out our bets.

“The three of you are ridiculous,” Reid says, shaking his head at our antics, but it doesn’t stop him from finally lifting his head to look before laughing to himself.

“What?” I ask, eyeing him.

His answer comes in the form of a point seconds before Bekah throws her arms up in the air, drawing my attention back across the room where the redhead is pulling Dylan around the bar and down the long hall towards the bathrooms.

Dylan DeLuca—classy as always.

“How do you always do that?” I gasp, nudging Reid’s shoulder while Bekah’s gloating has resulted in her standing up on the leather booth, drawing every set of eyes in the bar to our table. All I can do is grin at her and the radiant glee that takes over her face, arms up high as she swings her hips in time to the eighties rock that’s playing.

“Jesus, Bekah!” Everett mutters when she stumbles, his hand grabbing her hip to steady her. “Would you please be careful?”

Bekah grins at him, oblivious to his concern and the lingering gaze of a particular green-eyed hockey star hanging onto her every move from across the room.

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