Page 75 of Pucking Wild

“Why not?”

I speak the truth we both know. “Because I can’t trust you not to tell Troy.”

We sit in the silence of that truth. I watch as a pair of men casually open the ice box and pull out a few bags. They walk in front of my car, ready to load their cooler, as if inside this vehicle my life isn’t going up in flames.

“What happens from here?” Bea says at last.

Finding my voice, I make my plea. “If you ever truly loved me, you’ll help me convince Troy to sign the divorce papers. This doesn’t have to be contested.”

I sense her indecision. “Divorce is such an ugly word,” she replies. “And the press, our clients, our friends—”

“There’s a way out of this that doesn’t involve a PR crisis for the family or the firm,” I say, ready to silence her doubts. “But you need to know this, and you need tohearit, Bea. Take off your mother hat and put on your CEO hat. Troy means to detonate us both. If you side with him in this, you will be left holding the grenade when he pulls the pin.”

“You certainly paint a bleak picture.”

“You’re the one who’s always cared about appearances,” I counter. “You want the public face of your familyandyour company preserved? Then help me. Just this once, set aside your blind loyalty to Troy. I have an idea of how we spin this into a positive outcome for everyone, but if you won’t help me, then Troy wins…and we will all burn.”

Whether she can admit it out loud or not, Bea Owens knows the truth about her son. If she has to bet her family’s name and her company’s reputation on my conduct or his, I can only pray she’ll make the right choice.

After a moment’s consideration, I hear the resignation in her tone. “Fine. We’ll try this your way, Tess. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

I smile as the smallest kernel of hope blooms in my chest. It’s weak, and so terribly fragile, but it’s there. “Get him to sign the papers. Without the divorce papers in hand, the rest of my plan falls apart.”

She sighs. “I’ll see what I can do.”

29

When I pull up to Ilmari’s condo, I pump the brakes in surprise. There are two cars parked in the driveway. I swallow back my frustration as the truth hits me: Ryan is home. I should have realized that the team wouldn’t make an injured player travel across the country just tonotplay in a game. After the epic shitstorm that was this day, I really have to go in there and pretend I’m not crushing on my roommate?

And did I mention the cars? He has company. So, after surviving my fights with Mars and Bea, I now have to put on an Emmy-winning performance as the thirty-three-year-old hot mess of a soon-to-be divorcée who is most definitelynotpicturing her roommate naked.

Awesome. Love this journey for me.

I huff, glancing up and down the street, looking for somewhere else to park. Finding a spot a block down, I parallel park and trudge down the sidewalk towards the condo, readying myself for my performance.

The last several days have been oddly nice having Ryan Langley for a roommate. He behaves like a perfect gentleman, helping where he can given his limited mobility. He helped me with groceries yesterday, swinging around on his crutches with the bags on his wrists.

He always asks me if I want anything if he’s ordering in food. And he sends me little voice memos throughout the day. Yesterday he was bored doing his PT, so I got a string of rambling voice memos where he’s panting into the phone, rank ordering his favoriteSOAcharacters.

At night I’ve been helping him get comfortable so he can fall asleep. Sometimes we lay on the bed and chat or watch TV. Twice now it was me falling asleep before him.

Everything with him feels so easy, so natural. We joke together like we’re old friends. God, he’s such a big flirt. But he does it in a cheesy way that is so completely disarming, like his little pickup lines at the beach. He’s so charming that you can’t decide if you want to kiss him or slap him. You could almost write it all off as a tease…until you catch the heat in his eyes.

He wants me. Whether he wants more than sex is unclear. But I won’t deny that something about Ryan makes me nervous. It has since that first meeting on the beach all those months ago. He quite literally took my breath away. Part of that may have been the blow to the head with that stupid soccer ball, but it was at least a little bit due to him.

Rachel may be the bigger zodiac girl, but I know enough to believe that certain signs are drawn to each other. They share an energy. I googled Ryan after beach day, and he’s a Virgo, which means both our signs are ruled by Mercury, the planet of communication. Is that why I find him so easy to talk to?

I wanted to dismiss our connection, this feeling of opposites attracting, but then Ryan went and called me magnetic. I think he feels it too. He’s drawn to me, and I’m drawn to him. Part of me questions if we’re not meant to collide.

Taking a deep breath, I swing the door open and step inside. I’m immediately met with the thumping sound of loud rock music. I’m greeted by a scene like something out of a low budget frat boy porno. There are five buff shirtless guys lounging on all the furniture. A few have game controllers in their hands, their eyes locked on the TV, including Ryan. Two more are on their phones, manspreading in those sexy workout shorts that give a generous glimpse of cut thighs.

I’m just gonna say it—whoever is in charge of approving the designs for NHL team apparel deserves a raise.

The guys are so engrossed in their video game and their phones that they haven’t even noticed me yet. I turn, glancing over to the kitchen. “Oh my god.”

Heaven only knows what look of horror has just crossed my face. It looks like a bomb went off in here. There are dirty dishes everywhere. Someone made a mess using the blender. Scrunching up my nose, I count not one, not two, butfourempty boxes of Kraft Mac and Cheese. A big silver pot shows the telltale signs of being used to make a vat of powdered cheese noodles.

Lady boner gone.

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