Page 36 of The Love You Win

There. That should make Alex wonder. What was so unforgettable? Did Maddox take me home and ravish me against my apartment door because he couldn’t wait the seconds it would take to walk to my bedroom? Have we been dating long? When did we meet? How quickly did I move on? I doubt Alex will suspect it to be memorable for how awful it was and how small it made me feel.

At least there’s that.

I suffer a momentary twinge of guilt at using the photo of me and Maddox. After all, he’d been kind at Skin and Tonic. He’d helped me. But he’d also been an ass when we first met, and this photo was part of the deal. It was one of the reasons I agreed to stay. It’s only fair I use it for its intended purpose.

As I tap the button to post it, part of me wonders if Maddox will ever see it. I wonder what he’d think. Would he find me pathetic? Would he even care enough to have an opinion?

The guys would be excited if you came to a game.

No, I doubt he’d care enough to have an opinion. And it’s probably pathetic to assume Alex thinks about me enough to stalk my socials the way I stalk his. After he broke things off with me, he made this speech about being adults and not making a scene of things. Which, to him, meant keeping up the appearance of civility. Of being friends. Not that we actually are. It just meant he didn’t want us to unfollow and block each other all over social media. He claimed it was because it would make us both look bad to our employers, but that’s bullshit. Now I realize he’s just an asshole.

Why did I go along with that?

Well, I suppose it would be difficult to act like a voyeur in his life if I blocked him. And part of me hopes he’ll slip up one day and reveal he’s desperately unhappy without me. That he made a mistake and realized the error of his ways.

I wouldn’t take him back, I really wouldn’t. But it would be nice not to feel so insignificant and easily discarded. It would soothe me in some small way to know that recreating his life without me was just as painful as it was for me.

But Alex is off smiling on what should have been our honeymoon while I’m moping around Minneapolis, feeling sorry for myself. It’s clear I was easy to move on from, and easy to forget.

It’s high time I do the same. Fuck Alex Jones. I’ll give him time to see my photo with Maddox, then I’m blocking his ass. No more moping. No more feeling sorry for myself.

Time to start living again.

sixteen

MADDOX

Another day of training, and I’m more exhausted from my teammates’ endless meddling than I am from the intense workout. All three of my friends spent the day brainstorming ways I could win Isla over. A few of them were decent, but most of them were ridiculous.

Griffin’s favorite suggestion was to rent a horse and ride it to her apartment while carrying three dozen red roses with a Bluetooth speaker playing In Your Eyes hooked to the saddle à la Lloyd Dobler in Say Anything. But with a Prince Charming twist. When I told him I didn’t know how to ride a horse, he just shrugged and said, “How hard can it be?”

I still think it’s a lost cause, and I’m trying not to dwell on it as I watch ESPN on my comfy couch and drink a beer. I need to relax. To think about anything other than Isla Harding and her fiery eyes and kissable lips.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I grin when my younger sister, Mira’s name flashes across the screen. It’s been a few weeks since we’ve talked, and I miss her. Maybe I can convince her to ditch Chicago for a weekend and visit me. It’ll only get harder to make it work once the season kicks off. I press the accept button, put it on speaker, and start to say hello when my sister interrupts me.

“I can’t believe you have a new girlfriend and you didn’t tell me,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

I choke on my beer. “Sorry, what?”

“Seriously, Maddy? Don’t play dumb with me. I’m your sister, for god’s sake. You know I’ll always find someone to spill the tea if you don’t.” She makes a tsk-ing sound. “And she’s so gorgeous. Why would you keep her a secret?”

My heart pounds. This wouldn’t be the first time some random woman on the internet made claims we were an item, but those women have never fooled my sister. The last thing I need—the very last thing—is for the media to catch wind of this and give a delusional fan a platform to lie about me. I won’t be subjected to that again. I try to keep my voice calm and even, even as my head starts spinning.

“Mira, what are you talking about? Who’s claiming to be my girlfriend?”

She sighs, and I can imagine her rolling her eyes. “The hot redhead you’re making heart-eyes at. You two look ah-mazing together.”

Hot redhead? She has to be talking about Isla, right? But why would Isla post anything claiming to be my girlfriend? I’m fairly certain she doesn’t even like me. “Where did you see this picture?”

“Instagram. Probably wouldn’t have seen it if one of her friends didn’t tag you in a comment. She didn’t even add a hashtag or anything, so it didn’t ping the Google alert I have set up with your name.”

The tension in my chest eases. I need to see this post for myself before I flip out. After all, I told her she could take a selfie with me to make her ex jealous. That’s probably all this is. “What’s her username?”

“Maddox Graves. You don’t even know your own girlfriend’s Instagram handle? Jesus. Be a better boyfriend.”

“Mira,” I growl. “She’s not my girlfriend. Username. Now.”

She rattles it off, and I type it into the app’s search function. A black-and-white photo of a smiling Isla pops up in a little circle alongside her handle. My stupid heart speeds up as I tap on it, bringing up her feed.

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