Page 5 of Can't Kiss the Chef

It’s the same hockey rink that he and Jalen met at as kids. It hosts camps for underprivileged kids who wouldn’t be able to afford hockey otherwise.

I busy myself, unpacking my brother’s textbooks and organizing his desk for him.

The room falls silent as I wait for him to elaborate on what else I know hedidthis summer. It only takes a few seconds for me to know that he isn’t going to mention the girl I saw him with when I went to New York City to visit Jalen and Ivy. By that point our communication was at the bare minimum of what I would have demanded from someone I was allegedly in a relationship with.

I’d never admit it to him but I was a little heartbroken when he didn’t come to the dinner Jalen helped me plan to surprise him. We sat in a dimly-lit Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side waiting for him. We were finished with our second glass of wine by the time Byron texted Jalen to say he wasn’t feeling well.

After dinner I reluctantly gave into Ivy’s pleas to go to the club with them. I settled into our booth surrounded by Jalen’s drop dead sexy teammates, but all I cared about was drowning my sorrows in the expensive bottle service.

That was until something across the room demanded my attention. The tall figure struted in what felt like slow motion with a smaller figure tucked under their arm. The whole thing played out like some Hollywood dramatic comedy. The strobe lights that had been flashing all over the club landed on the one person I wasn’t expecting to see.

Byron.

Byron with a leggy blonde on his arm.

She was my opposite in every way. But if living with my mother had taught me anything it was how to keep a straight face when you are screaming on the inside. When I realized he didn’t see us, I grabbed the closest professional hockey player to me and dragged him to the dance floor before I could be hypnotized by Byron’s mystic blue eyes.

I was devastated. Jalen and Ivy didn’t know that though. When they asked what happened between us, I told them what I had told everyone that asked, that we were never serious, and it just fizzled out. The truth was that I kept missing his calls, and when I tried to call him back, he could only talk for a second before he had to be at work or practice. Eventually, the calls became fewer, and I stopped calling back. It was one thing to try and put in the work to be accepted by my family, but I wasn’t begging any man to be with me.

“Did you have a good summer?”

“It was good.” I flash him a sincere smile. “I had a really good trip to New York. Jalen told me you were sick. That was a bummer. I was looking forward to catching up.” I really was. I missed him. He would never know that though.

His face drops the goofy smile I was desperate to see this summer and is replaced with pinched eyebrows and a small frown.

“Yeah, it was a rough summer.”

“I got the last bag!” Oliver says from his bedroom door.

Needing the comfort of my baby brother I meander over to him and wrap him in a side hug.

“I’m going to go to the house. Call me if you need anything.” I let him go, before he walks into his room and plops his bag onto his twin-sized bed. Byron throws his arm around Oliver and flashes me his most panty-dropping smile.

“Don’t worry, Lo, he’ll be in good hands.”

Pointing my finger at Byron I slowly drag it to my brother. “Do. Not. Corrupt. Him.” I punch out each word. “He is my sweet angel.”

At that comment, Oliver rolls his eyes. I keep mine locked on Byron.

“I have no such plans,” his lips say, but his eyes tell another story.

“I’ll see you both later and I expect all clothes to stay on during beer pong this time.” I turn to walk out of the room. I’m halfway to the staircase when Byron pops his head out the door.

“No promises.” He smirks, before hitting me with a wink.

Heat flushes my cheeks as I hurry into the stairwell. Once I know I am safely out of view of those teasing blue eyes, I fan myself with my hand, pissed Byron can still make me feel this way.

Since I was able to leave my winter wardrobe and furniture in my apartment over the summer break I’m unpacked in forty-five minutes. The tote I picked up on a trip to Greece is the last thing left to unpack. Holding some of my most prized possessions in it. I pull out a stack of books and slide them into the front opening of my bedside table. Each book represents a period ofmy life. You could say my life is timelined by the books I read. I remember what I was reading when I made my first best friend–Junie B Jones And The Stupid Smelly School Bus. When I was dumped by my first “boyfriend” in middle school–The Outsiders–or when I got my first period–The Sisterhood Of The Traveling Pants.

The books I bring with me every move-in day have never changed. The stack sits like this:

If You Give A Mouse A Cookie

I Spy Treasure Hunt

Magic Tree House Polar Bears Past Bedtime

Best Friends For Never- A Clique Novel

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