Page 38 of Hart Breaker

“It doesn’t matter that you were broken up; the man you loved died, Riley. He’s never coming back. You’re going to marry Brett because you don’t love him in an all-encompassing, all-consuming way. You think it’s safe. You’re giving up. And you know what? It’s sad to see the girl I’ve always looked up to settling for a miserable life.”

I walk into my place and don’t see my dress lying across the couch or counter, so I take the stairs up to my loft and find the white bag hanging exactly where I left it.

I should be freaking out, especially since I’m not freaking out at all. I’m having a Pink Floyd moment; I’m comfortably numb.

Instead, with tampons in hand, I return to the bar, tuck them under the sink, and then head back out to the bar and get through the night. I smile, I crack jokes, and when the night is done, and Lauren is heading out the door, I stop her with a hug.

“I love you, Lo.”

“Well, no shit. I love you, too.” Then she pulls away and heads out the door.

“You need me to stick around?” Mickey asks, walking out of the kitchen, backpack thrown over his shoulder.

“No, I’m done here.” I shove my hands in my jean’s pockets. “I may not go to the game in Vegas with?—”

“I’m not going to burn the place down. You need a break and extra time with Lo to fix whatever it is you two have going on. Every member of the staff is feeling the tension, which makes for a shitty work environment, and you promised me that would never happen here.” He reaches up and tightens his man bun. “I’ll never leave you short-staffed, but I can’t work like this forever, you know.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll fix it.”

He gives my elbow a squeeze. “I know you will.”

I watch through the window as the lights from his truck begin to disappear down the road and make a decision.

I head over to my place, toss my phone on the couch, leave a note in case anyone wonders where I am, and grab my keys.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking up the steps of Hart’s mansion, where Boone is standing in the doorway with a shit-ass grin on his face. “Go easy on him, Brooks.”

“Will do.” I look up at him. “Where is he?”

“Kitchen.”

“Anyone else here?” I ask, suddenly remembering his family is in town.

“The other Harts decided to make it a mini vacation,” he says, walking up the stairs. “If you need anything, just yell ‘I need you, Big Daddy Boone.’”

I roll my eyes. “Is that how Hudson calls for you?”

“You know it.” He winks then nods toward the kitchen. “Follow the sound of the mixer.”

I thought Boone was joking, as Boone typically does, until I actually hear the whirling of a mixer as I walk into the kitchen and find a shirtless Hudson Hart standing at the island with a giant spoon in his mouth, wearing sunglasses and a black beanie with the Knights’ logo on it. And yes, that knit hat is where I’m focusing. Why? Because Hart is hot in loose-fitting jeans and a tee. But sans the shirt, exposing his body—the pierced nipples, the ink on his arm, the light sprinkling of hair traveling from his belly button to … fuck.

He’s done it; this self-proclaimed ass girl is suddenly getting a bit hot under the booby traps over man nips.

He turns the mixer off, spots me, and yells out, “Fuck,” holding his hand to his seriously defined chest. “Jesus, Ry, you can’t say something when you walk in?”

Hot or not, he’s infuriating.

“Like you did when you were sneaking out of my freaking house? Or stole my wedding dress? You have some freaking nerve, Hudson Hart.”

“How do you know it was?—”

I force out a laugh as I wave my hand up and down in the air. “Do you think anyone could miss this?”

He points his giant spoon at me. “Your little bitch tried to fat-shame me the other night. Don’t you do it, too.”

“What?” I laugh disbelievingly.

“Never mind.” He scowls at the spoon as he sighs, then drops it in the bowl, places his hands on the counter, leans forward, and asks, “I’d ask what brings you here, but I’m assuming it’s to deliver an ass-chewing that I may deserve but won’t lie to your face and say I shouldn’t have done it, because what I shouldn’t have done was returned it. He’s an asshole. So”—he steps back and crosses his arms over his hot-as-hell chest—“give it to me.”

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