Page 1 of Rematch
Chapter One
“This is madness. How many tickets did they sell to this party?”
Allyson laughed, then yelled over the throng. “Hell if I know! Ours were free, so who gives a shit.”
Chelsea Murphy rolled her eyes but didn’t have time to respond because the music changed to a popular line dance, and a mass of people cheered at the same time they rushed to claim a spot on the makeshift dance floor—aka, a massive dining room that had literally been stripped of all furniture.
Allyson was at the head of the crowd, jockeying for position. Chelsea considered joining her, then decided to sit—stand—this one out. She’d only just returned to the social scene as a single lady six months ago, when she’d had the rug pulled out from under her, her future completely and cruelly rewritten in a few horrible minutes.
Six. Months.
She couldn’t quite believe how half a year could simultaneously feel like an eternity and the blink of an eye.
Chelsea fought her way through the crowd standing just outside the dining room, watching the crazy dancers shake their asses in unison, so that she could seek a quieter—ha ha—spot.
“Nice sweater.” A guy wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.
Chelsea laughed but kept walking, cursing Allyson for goading her into making matching sweaters. One of Chelsea’s two besties in the whole world, Allyson had spent the better part of yesterday poring over Ugly Christmas sweater sites before landing on this design, proclaiming they’d win the contest for sure. Then she had dragged Chelsea to Walmart for all the supplies, and they’d spent nearly three hours last night armed with a glue gun—and two bottles of wine—creating these so-called masterpieces.
It spoke to how distracted Chelsea had been of late that she’d gone along with the design without thinking it through all the way to the end, because their sweaters had oversized mittens covering their breasts, the words “Feel the Joy” emblazoned in green and red underneath. They had even added tinsel around the neck and wrists to “festive” it up.
Chelsea, with the help of the wine, found the concept funny, but within five minutes of arriving here, she realized she’d basically plastered a “grope me” billboard on her chest. Not that anyone had gone that far yet, but the night was still young, the keg far from floating.
Luckily, she had a T-shirt on beneath the sweater, so at some point, she’d simply proclaim herself too hot and rip the thing off before too many drunk guys accepted her stupid, unwitting offer.
God.
How the hell had she wound up in Philadelphia a week before Christmas?
Well…she knew how. She just couldn’t believe she’d agreed to the impulsive road trip, because she had way too much other shit to do.
Some friend of a friend of Allyson’s had purchased tickets, planning to attend this Ugly Christmas Sweater party with her boyfriend, because she’d heard the inn where it was being held was haunted. Then, said friend of a friend got whisked away for a surprise holiday vacation by her boyfriend—now fiancé—and started looking for someone who might want to use the two tickets.
Allyson wound up somewhere down the line on that phone chain and, of course, despite the fact it was a two-hour drive from Baltimore to Philadelphia, and it meant they’d be sleeping on a blow-up mattress in the tiny living room of Allyson’s cousin’s apartment, her bestie had snatched them right up, proclaiming this was one of their last chances to party before Chelsea’s big move to Paris.
In. A. Week.
Which was why she really shouldn’t be here.
However, Allyson was a professional when it came to living life to the fullest while not spending a dime. Somehow, her best friend always came into free shit. If the radio was holding a contest, nine times out of ten, Allyson was the lucky caller. It was how the two of them—plus their other bestie, Ethan—had scored tickets to no less than five rock concerts, two murder mystery dinner theaters, and even a midnight dance cruise around the Inner Harbor.
Tonight was no different. The second Allyson heard “two free tickets,” she’d decided this was going to be their last hurrah. And while Chelsea would miss her friends dearly, she was not going to miss all the nightclubs, bars, and parties Ethan and Allyson had dragged her to over the past six months, in an attempt to help mend her broken heart.
Finding a quieter corner, Chelsea took a sip of her Chardonnay, considering how different this holiday was going to be from the one prior.
Last year, she’d spent Christmas with her fiancé, Rick, the two of them celebrating with their families. They were fortunate to both be from Baltimore, so they didn’t have to add hours of travel to the already hectic season. There was also the added benefit of Rick’s mother and hers being best friends since high school. It meant their families’ holiday festivities had been combined…for most of Chelsea’s life.
Their mothers—who’d been more excited about the upcoming nuptials than the bride and groom—had spent most of the last holiday season planning their June wedding, conversations consumed with flowers, color schemes, caterers’ menus, and decorations. It had been thrilling and slightly overwhelming, and Chelsea had loved every second of it.
The day of the wedding had been absolutely perfect—bright blue sky, seventy degrees, warm breeze, not a single cloud to give even the tiniest threat that a drop of rain might fall. She’d spent the morning getting her hair and makeup done, donning her white wedding dress, then trying not to cry, as her mom, Allyson, and Ethan helped her put on her veil, all of them moved by the moment and the special time together.
When her dad knocked on the door, she’d been so ready to walk down that aisle with him.
However, the second he’d stepped into the room, Chelsea knew something was wrong. She wasn’t sure how or why—because she certainly hadn’t suspected or had the slightest feeling something was amiss—but when Dad looked at her, she’d blurted, “Rick’s not here.”
Dad had held out his arms, and she’d fallen into them, trying hard not to cry because she didn’t want to ruin her makeup, still hopeful the asshole would show.
He hadn’t. Worse than that, he hadn’t even called or sent her a note or…anything.
