I’m walking toward the gates of hell. And they charge for admission.
“Oh, Oliver…” Christa Foreman greets me with a slow once-over, her pastel-pink lips curling up into an impish grin. She’s aptly named, because our senior class president was no joke when it came to strong-arming and manipulating her fellow classmates into getting what she wanted. “It’s so good to see you. Wow. I mean, I see your pictures in magazines and on social media every now and then because I follow you, but you’re way better looking in person than I remember from high school.”
“Um. Thank you?” It comes out as a question, my head tilting in her direction.
“Sure. No problem.” She licks her lips, her long, fake eyelashes batting faster than a butterfly’s wings at me. “Are you here alone tonight?” She giggles as a flush creeps up her cheeks. She’s married. Can we just say that? “I’m only asking because I need to know how much to charge you. I got stuck collecting money until the event coordinator can get her shit together.” She huffs out a flustered breath, rolling her eyes derisively. “Anyway, it’s a hundred per person. Should I put you down for one or two?”
And this is where I hesitate. Not over the money. The money is not an issue.
“Just give me a second.”
Christa stares longingly at me, licking her lips. “Sure. I’ll give you all night.”
“Right.” Because I have no idea what else to say to that. I don’t remember Christa being so overtly interested in me when we were in high school. Then again, that was ten years ago, and I was most definitely taken. Which is both the main reason I don’t want to be here and the main reason I came. But now I’m starting to reconsider everything.
I have nothing to prove by being here.
Not to her, her douchebag husband—my former friend—or anyone else.
I should just go. Maybe meet up with Carter, who I already know is going to our favorite bar, and get lost in a night of fun. Nothing about this hellhole will be fun. And in truth, I could really use a drink. A quiet one. It’s been a shitful week. Too many patients. Not enough time. Oh, and finding out that your mom’s cancer is back is always a winner.
I slip my phone from my pocket and shoot off a text to my best friend, Grace.
Me: Sorry, babe. Not gonna be able to make it.
The message bubble instantly dances along my screen. Grace: It’s not a choice, honey pie. Everyone is already asking when you’re going to get here. Everyone.
And instantly I’m tempted to ask if she’s asking. In fact, my thumbs, who seem to have a mind of their own, start to type that very question until I tamp them down and rein them under control. Of course, she’s asking. That’s what she does. She continues to hunt me down with terrorist-level determination, even all these years later.
She’s likely giddy at the prospect of rubbing her picture-perfect life in my face without even caring that she’s the last person on the planet I want to see tonight or any other night. Hence why now is the perfect time to leave.
Me: Don’t care.
Grace: Yes, you do. Come on. I know you’re already dressed for tonight. Carter sent me a text.
Carter. My traitorous brother.
Grace: Just come inside the hotel. Come up to the reunion. Have a drink with me. See the people you haven’t seen since high school who will fall at your feet the way they did back in the day. Oh wait, they still do.
Me: You’re doing a shitty job of selling it there, sweetums.
Grace: Everyone will think you’re a pussy if you don’t come.
Me: Nice gauntlet drop.
Grace: I thought so. Now get your ass over here!
I growl out a slew of curses under my breath, still seriously contemplating fleeing for the sake of my sanity, when I catch sight of a short, curvy redhead in a tight, backless black dress, higher than high heels, and fuck-me red lips that match her hair walking up to Christa. She’s as late as I am, and before I know what I’m doing, a smile cracks clear across my face.
I know her instantly.
Even if it’s been ten years since I’ve seen her. A guy never forgets the girl who gave him his first boner. A first-ever boner in class, I might add. We were twelve and she bent over to retrieve her fallen pencil when a flash of her training bra caught my eye. Instant erection.
I was pretty smitten after that moment, as you might imagine.
“Amelia,” Christa greets her, her face now lacking any of the warmth it had when she was talking to me. “I had no idea you were coming.”
What the fuck? You’d think in the ten years since we graduated from our annoyingly prestigious prep school that the rich girls would get over the self-created, mean-girl bullshit they had with the scholarship kids.
Amelia turns redder than her hair, and she takes a small step back before straightening her frame and squaring her shoulders. “Well, I’m here. Graduated same year as you. I even received the invitation in the mail. Must have been an error on your part,” she finishes sarcastically.
“Uh-huh. It’s a hundred-dollar entrance fee,” Christa snaps, taking far too much pleasure in announcing that sum as she purses her lips off to the side, giving Amelia a nasty-girl slow once-over.
“A hundred dollars?” Amelia asks, though it comes out in a deflated, breathy whisper.
“Yup. Sorry,” Christa sneers with a sorry-not-sorry saccharine sweet voice. “No exceptions. Not even for the kids who were on scholarship.”
And that’s it. Before Christa can say anything else that will make me want to throttle her, I walk over to Amelia, wrapping my hand around her waist. “Sweetheart,” I exclaim. “You made it. I was starting to get worried.”
Amelia jolts in my arms, her breath catching high in her throat as she twists to face me. Then she looks up and up a bit more because she’s about a foot shorter than I am even in her heels. Suddenly, two sparkling gray eyes blink rapidly at me, and my heart starts to pound in time with the flutter of her lashes, my mouth dry like I’ve been eating sand all night.
“I’m sorry,” she says, confused, her parted lips hanging just a bit too open for us to be selling this. “I think you must—”
I lean in, my nose brushing against her silky red hair that smells like honeysuckle or something sweet and I breathe into her ear, “Just go with it.”
She swallows audibly as I pull back, staring into her eyes and wondering how a color like that is even possible when she smiles and robs me of my breath. Whoa. That’s unexpected.
“I didn’t mean to worry you…” She trips up, biting into her lip like she’s searching for a suitable term of endearment. Or maybe my name? I guess it is possible she has no idea who I am. We didn’t exactly run in the same circles, and I just came up to her and wrapped my arm around her. “Oli,” she finishes with, and I blow out the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.
“It’s fine. I just didn’t want to go in without the most beautiful woman in the world on my arm.”
Amelia gives me that stunning smile again, this time with a blush staining her cheeks, and I marvel at how it makes her eyes glow to a smoky charcoal. Goddamn, she’s fucking sexy.
“Wait,” Christa interrupts. “You’re with her?” She points at Amelia.
“I sure am,” I declare without removing my eyes from Amelia’s because those eyes, man. They’re just too pretty not to stare at. “I’m a lucky bastard, right?”
“You’re with him?” She turns that finger on me.
“So it seems,” Amelia replies, her tone a bit bewildered, though there is a hint of amusement in there, too.
“But. You’re. You. No. You’re Oliver Fritz,” Christa sputters incredulously. “And she’s Amelia—” Her words cut off when I throw her my most menacing glare, already knowing the exact nasty nickname she’s about to throw out. Why certain women feel the need to degrade and belittle other women, I’ll never understand.
I slip two one-hundred-dollar bills from my wallet and toss them at Christa. “Have a good night,” I say instead of what I’m really thinking. My fingers intertwine with Amelia’s, and then I’m dragging her past Christa, down the long corridor with the paisley rug and gold walls, toward the ballroom.
I guess I’m going to my high school reunion after all.
The second we’re out of sight of Christa, Amelia yanks her hand from mine, stopping in the middle of the hall and turning to stare up at me. “You remember me?” she asks and then shakes her head like that’s not what she meant to say.
“Amelia Atkins. You were in most of my classes from the time we were in sixth grade or so, on.”
“Right. What I meant to say is, thank you for stepping in back there, but it really wasn’t necessary.”
“Maybe not. I’m sure you can handle yourself with women like Christa. But it felt wrong to stand there and watch that go down, doing nothing. I can’t stand women who feel the need to hurt others just to make themselves look and feel better.”
She folds her arms over her chest, giving me a raised eyebrow. “And yet you dated a woman who did exactly that all through high school.”
Touché. A bark of a laugh slips out my lungs. “Can’t argue with that. Hell, I dated that same vicious woman through college too. Adolescent mistake. What can I say?”
Still, at the mention of that particular woman, an old flair hits me straight in the chest. My fingers find my pocket, toying with the large diamond solitaire set in a diamond and platinum band I stuck in there tonight. It’s the ring. The one I nearly gave to said woman who was screwing around on me with my friend, Rob. A lesson in betrayal I’ve never forgotten. It’s why on certain occasions, I carry it with me.
A reminder to never get too close again.
“Sorry,” Amelia says, withering before my eyes. “That was insanely rude of me. I don’t even know why I said that. Christa got my hackles all fired up, and I just took them out on you instead of her, like I should have. Damn, some women seriously suck, right?” I can’t stop my chuckle, though I think she was being serious. She stares down at the rug, shifting her stance until she’s leaning back against the wall opposite the closed doors where the reunion is taking place. “Look, I wish you hadn’t paid for me. Money and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment. It’s going to take me a while to pay you back. But I will pay you back. I just don’t have that kind of—”
My fingers latch on to her chin, tilting her head back up until our eyes meet. “I don’t care about the money. And I don’t want you to pay me back.” She opens her mouth as if to argue with me, and I shake my head, cutting her off again. “I mean it.”
She huffs out a breath. “Well, thank you. That’s very generous. But if this is how this night is already starting off, I’m thinking maybe I should just go. Hell, I shouldn’t even have come here in the first place. I don’t know what I was thinking. My sister talked me into it, and I thought…” She shakes her head. “Never mind. It’s stupid.”
I prop my shoulder against the wall so I’m facing her, folding my arms while I stare at her because I can’t seem to help myself. “Why is it stupid?”
“You really want to know?”
“I really want to know.”
Those big eyes slay through me, slightly glassy with emotion. “Because no one in there wants me there. You heard Christa. I was fooling myself into thinking that I could waltz in here ten years later and everyone who treated me like garbage growing up would finally see me for me. That they’d finally realize we’re all on an even playing field now that high school is over. It was going to be like putting all my old bully nightmares to rest once and for all. Only, nothing has changed. I’m still the girl wearing thrift store digs who couldn’t even afford to pay the entrance fee.”
Wow. That’s...
“Can I tell you something?” I ask.
Her hands meet her hips. “You mean something to rival the way too personal verbal diarrhea I just spouted at a man I haven’t seen in a decade?”
She’s trying for brave and strong, and even sarcastic. But she’s sad. I can see it in her eyes that bounce around my face, almost as if she’s not sure she wants to know what I’m about to say. No one wants to be slammed back into their high school nightmare. She wanted to walk in there and make all those assholes eat their words.
I want that for her too.
I like Amelia. I always have. There was something about her that just got to me on a weird level I never quite understood. She was sweet and nerdy and quiet and reserved. So understatedly beautiful. Her hair was all wild with red curls. Her glasses a touch too big for her face. Her body small with her ample curves hidden beneath her ill-fitting prep school uniform.
And looking at her now, after hearing what Christa was saying to her…
In truth, I do remember people being that nasty. Though now I’m positive it was a lot worse than I knew about if Christa’s reaction to her tonight is anything to go by. I only heard comments here and there that I didn’t pay much attention to, nor did anything to stop. Even if I never directly contributed to it, by not stopping it, I was part of the problem.
That’s on me. And it’s not okay. I should have done more to protect her. I should have said something.
“Something like that. You told me yours. Now I’ll tell you mine.”
“Alright.”
I step into her, bending down like I’m about to tell her a secret when really, I just want to be closer to her. Smell her shampoo that makes my cock jump in my slacks. Feel the heat of her body as she starts to blush from my proximity.
“I don’t want to be here either. I got talked into it by my friend, Grace, and now here I am.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “Why wouldn’t you want to be here? You’re a doctor. You were the most popular guy in our class. Captain of the football team. Everyone loved you. Still do, if the tabloids are anything to go by.”
I suck in a deep breath, ready to tell her something only my family and Grace know. “My ex is not only in there with her husband, my former friend, but she’s pregnant. Likely going to be delivered by either my brother or my best friend since she sought them out to be her OB. How’s that for irony?” I roll my eyes. “The only saving grace I have when it comes to Nora is that she never knew I was about to propose. I had the ring in my pocket, ready to drop down onto one knee, but before I could do anything, she told me she was in love with Rob and that we were over.”
Amelia sucks in a rush of air, her eyes flashing. Her hand shoots up, covering her parted lips as she stares at me with a combination of shock and sympathy. “God. That’s awful.”
“The real kicker of all that is I had made a lot of sacrifices for her. A lot. Nearly everything I wanted I had given up for her with the exception of medicine. But I chose NYU to be with her instead of playing ball at Michigan. I finished college in three years instead of four because she said the sooner I can complete med school and residency, the better. Then, on the fucking day I got into Columbia for med school and was set to propose, she informed me she had been cheating on me for the better half of six months.”
Six. Fucking. Months!
“Jesus, Oliver. I’m so sorry. I never heard anything about that.”
“That’s because no one knows, so if you wouldn’t mind keeping that to yourself, I’d appreciate it. The last thing I want is for that to hit the press next.”
She reaches out her hand, touching my arm and giving me a squeeze. “Of course. I’ll never tell anyone. I don’t blame you for not wanting to go in there. It seems we both felt like we had something to prove by showing up tonight.”
That’s not the reason I came tonight. But Nora is the main reason I didn’t want to go in. I’ve successfully avoided seeing her for years. In truth, I’ve been over her for a long time, just not over what she did to me. Most of my bitterness and resentment is on me. I should never have made those sacrifices for her.
I gave up pieces of myself I can never get back.
But Amelia deserves more. She always has, and she never got it. She deserves to have people look at her and treat her with the respect they never did. They owe it to her. Hell, I owe it to her. I don’t want her to leave tonight the way she is now.
“I only wish it had turned out better for us,” she continues. “But I think my carriage has officially turned back into a pumpkin and I should just cut my losses and head home. Tonight can’t possibly end the way I had envisioned it.”
Like a bolt of electricity flowing through me, suddenly I’m giddy with an idea that is quite possibly the most ridiculous idea in the history of ideas. Christa nearly swallowed her tongue when she thought Amelia was my date. So maybe everyone else will react the same way if that’s what they see. Bonus for me—I’ll have a hot as hell woman on my arm and maybe Nora will leave me alone.
More than that, I want to go in there with Amelia. I want to spend more time with her tonight. And if they don’t like it or think less of me for it, well, I don’t give a shit.
But Amelia being my date isn’t enough. Not with my reputation. They’ll just assume I’m using her, because ever since Nora and I split up… I’ve been somewhat of a player. A fact the media loves to report on. Hell, my face is splashed across the internet every other week, showing me with a different woman each time. Not in the last few months or so, but it’s been the standard of my life since Nora. It’s the way I keep from getting hurt again.
And the media reporting on it all? Well, that’s the standard of all my brothers’ lives. It comes with being a Fritz and living in Boston. We own this city. We’re royalty. For better or worse, that’s how it is.
But if Amelia and I really want to make an impact tonight… if I really want to make all those assholes who hurt Amelia choke, and Nora—who still calls me to tell me all her ‘happy’ news—realize that I’ve finally and officially moved on from her… it needs to be more than just people thinking I’m dating Amelia.
They need to know she’s something special. Believe she’s something special to me.
My fingers dig back into my pocket, locating that ring. Looking at her… plotting this insane idea… I’m hit with the fact that I know it will change everything. Both for her and for me.
A deviously crooked smile curls up at the corner of my lips.
Yeah. I have an idea, alright. And I think I can get Amelia to go for it. It’s only for a few hours anyway. What could go wrong?
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
