Page 75 of The Do-Over Girl
KALI
Halfway through the school day on the Friday before the benefit game, Nash comes up behind me in the hallway.
“I thought you had a class,” I say.
He shrugs, then gives me a devilish grin, his one dimple daring me to do something crazy.
“I have practice tonight with the guys. Ryan O’Rourke and Spencer Logan will be staying at the inn. We’re meeting the rest of the guys at Andrews Point Pizza for dinner.”
“Just like old times—all that camaraderie, plus pizza and beer,” I say. He slides his hand lower to my ass and gives it a squeeze, making me jump and look around. The racing of my pulse has more to do with desire than fear of someone catching us.
“You want to join us? A couple of guys brought their wives, some brought kids who are teens now.” He’s boyishly giddy with happy excitement and so not cool but so endearing.
“I promised Charline I’d help her with baking. Besides, I have a feeling this is one of those nights you won’t need my help to enjoy yourself.”
“Don’t sell yourself short there, Lollipop.”
I laugh, my heart swelling and wishing we could be like this forever, with everything going our way, enjoying each other and not worrying about tomorrow.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy,” I say, grinning back at him.
He leans in and whispers, “Then you must have had your eyes closed last night.” He nips at my earlobe, and I feel like melting right there in the middle of the main hallway, right outside the principal’s office, no less.
“You’re so bad, Nash. What about setting a good example? Or did you forget your no-PDA rule for the team?”
His devil-may-care wink tells me he has no conscience whatsoever—not about this, anyway.
Nikki sees us in the hall walking and grabs my arm. “I need to speak with you.”
She drags me away from Nash, glares at him when he’s about to follow, then pulls me into her office and shuts the door behind us.
“What the heck is this about?” I’m surprised and not surprised because she’s on edge like the rest of us, waiting for the benefit game and gala to happen now so we can close out our campaign successfully and cash in on all the pledges and the big TV contract. We’re crossing every pliable bone and joint in our bodies so that nothing goes wrong.
“What’s the name of Brad’s company—the one you worked for?”
“Killian PR. Why?” My brow furrows deep, and bad vibes shudder through me because any conversation beginning with anything to do with Brad can’t possibly be a good thing. Shit. I steel myself, staring her down as she takes a deep breath and then blurts her answer.
“Brad’s company is donating a hundred thousand dollars—”
“That’s great---right?” I hold my breath, wishing and hoping that’s all there is, but no.
“And Brad is coming to the game.”
“Shit. Is he coming alone or with a date?” I grasp her arms and squeeze, willing the answer to be that he’s bringing a fucking date. Yes, a fucking date. “Please say yes.”
She shakes her head and pulls from my hold. “I don’t know—how would I know? Did you think I was going to ask him? I didn’t even talk to him. The administrative clerk you hired to help with the tickets and tracking donations and funding took the call—though she did tell me Brad asked to speak with you. I told her no. Of course not.”
“Fuck,” I say it out loud because, really?
“Wow. It’s worse than I thought—and believe me—I figured it wasn’t a good thing. Do you think he’s coming for you? To get back together?”
“It’s either that or to gloat. Fifty-fifty bet,” I say, my tone flat.
“Really? He’s a jerk. But I hope he’s coming to gloat because you can gloat right back, and since he’s not going to have a princess on his arm, you’ll win the trophy.”
“Really? That’s what you think I’m worried about?”
“What? Nash won’t even know. He’ll be too busy playing in the game.”
“What about the gala afterward?”
“Skip it. Make some kind of excuse. You can think of something to keep Nash away from the gala.” She wiggles her brows.
“How will that look if the APA hockey coach, arguably the engine behind the whole shebang, is missing? Don’t you think the trustees would be pissed?”
“You have a point.” She puts a finger to her forehead, and I watch her think because my brain is too overloaded with panic at all the possible bad scenarios. “How about if you avoid him—there’ll be a lot of people at that gala. I can run interference. Archie will help, too. You and Nash never need to see Brad or his possible guest the whole night.”
“Shit. I suppose it’s the best we can hope for.” Deep down, I don’t believe it’ll work, but I bounce back up and will myself to think positive.
However, the possibility of running into Brad isn’t even what threatens to ruin the game.
It’s what happens an hour before the game when a statuesque woman wearing faux fur and looking like she belongs on a fashion runway shows up and sits right at the end of our row, right behind the players' bench.
Nikki whispers in my ear that the mystery glamour woman is none other than Nash Lewis’s ex-fiancée, except she forgot to use the “ex” and is claiming to be his fiancée right now, present tense.
