Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Deep in my mind, I realize there’s a strong possibility this is a coincidence, but I can’t let myself believe it. Giving people the benefit of the doubt is what got me in trouble with Malcolm, and I’m never doing that again.
I hope Rylan Pierce loses every single game the rest of the season. I never want to see him again.
*
I can’t stop stalking Rylan Pierce’s social media pages. The Rebels are in Detroit right now, and the people commenting on his last posts aren’t happy with him. I don’t understand the negativity online, the harsh things people will say to others, why they think their opinion matters so much that they must give it so freely when no one asks for it. They seem to get some kind of joy out of it, highlighting others being mean and trying to see who can say the cruelest thing.
Still, I refuse to feel sorry for him…okay, that’s a lie. I refuse to let my feeling a little bit sorry for him change anything about my vow to stay far, far away from Rylan Pierce. I don’t trust him. Can’t trust him. Will never, ever trust anyone again for as long as I live, but…he is hot. Like wow. I kinda forgot how hot he is, and the fact that I pulled that for a mutual BJ is pretty flattering. Too bad I hate him…and it’s also too bad that said BJ with him wasn’t a sign of things to come.
I rode my high of how it felt to drive Rylan out of his mind, was inspired by the knowledge that it couldn’t have just been him that made our hookup go so well, and I got back on the hookup app.
Zero stars. Do not recommend.
Turns out having lots of sex isn’t as easy as I thought. It might be because I’m…finicky is a good word, but everyone annoyed me, and the one guy I did decide to meet up with flaked on me.
Twice in two days.
So how do I respond? By stalking a professional hockey player. I don’t know why I can’t get him out of my head, why I can’t let it go. I must admit, though, this is a theme for me. Not the wild sex with strangers, but the obsessing. It’s in my nature.
I set my phone down and try to focus on my work.
If I knew whether Rylan tricked me, I could get over this. I could move on and forget it ever happened, but the not knowing is making me obsess.
Work. I can do this. I love work. I thrive at work. I don’t ever struggle to keep on task—or at least I haven’t until now.
An email notification pops up on my computer screen. I click it because it’s not like I’m actually getting anything done, and as soon as I do, I see the subject line—Fellow Member of the Jilted Exes’ Club—and the sender—Donovan Carter. Donovan is a twenty-eight-year-old resident of Los Angeles, and a nurse. How do I know that? Because he’s a member of the Jilted Exes’ Club.
I don’t want to open the message. What I really want is to delete it, but I also know me, and no way I can stop myself from finding out what he wants.
Hayes,
Sorry for messaging you at work. I couldn’t find another email address for you, and I didn’t want to send a DM on social media. It felt less personal, and considering we were dating the same man, I think we’re past that. I’ve sent messages to both you and Anthony. I’m not sure if you know, but he’s another local man who was dating Malcolm. I was thinking maybe we could meet up sometime, and…maybe be friends? Maybe some good will come of it. Anyway, let me know what you think!
I hope you’re doing well.
Donovan
Meet up? I don’t think I can do that. All it would do is remind me of how I screwed up, how stupid I was to trust Malcolm.
I close the email and force myself to work.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rylan
I’m the worst hockey player who ever lived.
At least, that’s how I’ve been playing the last week. I don’t understand how I went from our Seattle game to team embarrassment so quickly.
I blame Harry. There’s no other option. Hooking up with him is the only thing I did differently before playing so well in Seattle, compared to the shitshow of the last couple games. It’s like meeting him clicked some hidden button inside me. I played a spectacular game after draining a load out of his balls, and then all the hockey skill was sucked out of me when I didn’t.
“Good practice,” Mads tells me as we’re getting dressed after the shower.
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t seem to be my problem lately,” I grumble. I’m being a dick, but I can’t help it. I’m one of the best defensemen in the league. I’m better than this, and I don’t fucking like it.