Page 3 of The Boyfriend Boycott
“Nice to know that some things never change,” I say to Finn through gritted teeth.
“Don’t worry about Carter, he’s full of shit. Everyone knows it.” Finn tries to reassure me, but there’s still something that feels unsettled within me. I know how these things work, and the unfortunate truth of the matter is that Carter is right—money talks.
“Thanks, bud. Shout if you need anything,” I say over my shoulder as I leave the bar after Carter. Thankfully he’s made a full exit and isn’t anywhere to be seen as I glance around the street. I climb on my bike again and look back at theFor Leasesign hanging in the darkened window of the Parks’ restaurant. Carter may have money to throw at this, but the town of Heartwood deserves to be protected.
A few minutes later, I pull up to the familiar A-frame cabin that now belongs to Ally and Mason, the gravel crunching under my wheels. They’ve spruced the place up since Dad lived here. Ally has planted swaths of brightly-coloured flowers in the garden, and a newly landscaped pathway curves around the cabin towards the backyard. They’ve also added onto the rightside of the cabin to make room for their new arrival. My niece. Every time I think about her my heart just about explodes. Nothing has made me happier than seeing how excited Mason is to become a dad. Nothing has hurt more at times too, remembering the fact that Mom and Dad won’t be here to meet their granddaughter.
Mason must have heard me pull up because he saunters out from around the side and greets me in the drive.His dark eyes have a sparkle in them, and his normally stubbled jaw is groomed. It’s nice to see that he’s started taking care of himself again since he’s cut down on his hours working at the clinic. I worried about him constantly when he took over our dad’s practice. The workload almost killed him. That is, before Ally came along and made him take a step back.
“Hey,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “We’re all out back, but feel free to head inside and grab yourself a beer. There are cold ones in the fridge.”
“Thanks, I’ll come around and say hi to everyone first.” I survey the yard as we round the back of the cabin, and I spot Hud and Jett amongst the small group of five gathered in the yard. They’re into what seems like their second or third game of Beersbee based on how loud they’re getting. We’ve played the game ever since we were raucous teens, balancing an empty beer can on a wooden stake in the ground and trying to knock over your opponent’s can with a frisbee. Jett lets out a holler as he sends Hudson’s can flying with his frisbee, and Hudson drinks with a groan. It still baffles me why Hudson insists on playing any games with Jett, who is a professional skier, and a professional at anything that involves competition, even a silly game of Beersbee. He’snevergracious about it winning, he’s cocky as hell.
I find Winnie and Poppy seated at the patio table, engaged in a lively conversation over a glass of rosé, but there’s still no sign of Ally—or Spencer.
I try, and fail, to shake off the nerves before wandering over to Winnie. I thought I had gotten a hold of my anxiety on the ride over, riding my bike normally settles me, but I’m jittery again. I feel like I just downed an entire pot of coffee. My heart is racing, I can’t still my hands, and my T-shirt is sticking to the sweat on my back. I’m sure it had something to do with seeing theFor Leasesign on the Parks’ restaurant and the subsequent blood-boiling run-in with Carter. But a small part of me knows the truth—that it has less to do with that, and everything to do with the way my eyes have been constantly scanning the group for a stunning redhead.
“Hey, Mama,” I say, calling Winnie by the playful nickname she inherited when she took us in to help Dad out after Mom passed. Winnie has always been insistent that she would never live up to the name of Mom—she and my mother had been best friends since they were little—but I started calling her Mama and it suited her just fine. I lean down to give her a one-armed hug and a kiss on the top of her cropped auburn hair. “Hey, Pops.” Poppy lifts her glass to me in greeting. “Where’s Ally? I want to say hello to my niece.”
Poppy’s dark, wavy bob swishes on her shoulders as she scans the yard for Ally.
“Inside, I think,” she answers.
As if I spoke her into being, Ally comes around the side of the house, her hands full with a plate of burger patties. I run over to her, taking the plate out of her hands and giving her a peck on the cheek.
“Don’t bother saying hello tomeor anything,” she jokes, running one hand down her belly and placing one on her lowerback. “Spencer is coming out with the condiments soon, so once the burgers are ready, everyone can serve themselves.”
I try not to focus on the mention of Spencer, or the way my hands become slick at the sound of her name. The fact that any moment now, she’ll come around that corner and I will once again be face to face with the woman that has plagued my dreams. All from one night where I never even made a move on her.
Holy hell I need a beer.
CHAPTER 2
SPENCER
There’sa six-and-a-half-foot wall of muscle and tattoos climbing off the motorcycle on the gravel drive outside the cabin, and I can’t breathe. Whatever Ally has just said to me has gone in one ear and out the other. My eyes dart around the kitchen where we’re sitting at the island, and I’m trying to look anywhere but towardshim.Grady Landry.
Grady Landry, whose T-shirt is creeping up his waist, showing a sliver of his tanned skin as he lifts his helmet off. His dark brown hair is perfectly mussed in a way that makes me want to run my fingers through it. God, he’s hot. I thought so the very moment I saw him, but who wouldn’t? With his thick arms covered in matching inked sleeves, his short, groomed beard, and the almost child-like way he’s smiling at Mason, he looks as if he came out of the same mould used to make all my other boyfriends. I give my head a shake. I’m strictly off men for now.Especially men who look like Grady.
It was stupid of me not to expect to see him here—my best friend is having his brother’s baby, after all—I just didn’t expect it to happen the night I arrived in Heartwood. Something Ally says sneaks its way past the all-consuming thoughts swirlingaround my mind, and I hear her repeat the question she just asked me.
“How’s your mom?” Ally asks. It’s a loaded question, and she knows enough not to even bother asking about my dad. Not that I would know how to answer anyway, given that we haven’t spoken in over six months.
My mother is a different story. Marla Sinclair likes to make me aware of everything that is going on in her life. It has always been that way. She flits around, generally only caring about herself and whatever boyfriend or husband she has on the go, while I’m the stable one in our relationship.
“She’s Marla,” I offer. She is like no other. My eyes flick over to the large front windows of the A-frame cabin, out to where Grady is pulling Mason into a quick hug before moving out of sight around the side of the house. A muffledwhoopfrom one of the Landry brothers, who has already arrived and is probably a couple of beers deep, drifts through the front door. “Living her best life in wine country, you know how she is.”
“Still with Roy?” Ally asks.Marla moved to the Okanagan after her second marriage fell apart, found herself a house by the lake that she loved. I really thought she was getting her life together, finding herself, thriving in her own independence. Then she met Roy, and he gave her attention, and her pattern repeated.
“Yup. Still with Roy.” I don’t elaborate. Ally knows that Marla’s relationship with Roy is her longest one yet at three years out from their nuptials. But the clock is ticking. Roy isn’t a bad guy per se. He is just another replica of the other men my mother has dated—and married—in the past. Their love feels lukewarm, a by-product of the fact that Roy tells my mother she’s pretty.All her past relationships have been the same. She is so easily swayed at first, but then the honeymoon periodends, and the butterflies fade, and the man she thought was so charming moves on to the next best thing.
The Sinclair women have whatever is the opposite of a green thumb when it comes to dating. Any long-term relationship just withers and dies under our care, no matter how well we think we water it. I think we subconsciously pick men who are like orchids—pretty to look at, but a bitch to keep them that way. I seem to have inherited this trait from my mother.
That’s why I stick to casual flings, ‘situationships’ if you will. Different city, different guy. It’s a perk of being a travel influencer; I never stay anywhere long enough for anyone to catch feelings. Some of the men I’ve dated have been just memorable enough that I’ve kept them around for more than a night, but they all end the same way; a half-hearted “we’ll keep in touch” as I head for the airport. None of the assholes I choose are around for the long haul anyhow, so it’s better for everyone if no one gets attached.
“She’s nothing if not consistent, at least,” Ally says, rounding the small kitchen island with a plate of burger patties in one hand and placing her free one on my shoulder as she passes by. “I’m going to take these out so Mason can fire up the grill. Can you bring that tray of condiments?”
I nod. “Of course.”
