Page 1 of He Has MVP (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Prologue
Allie “Pink” Pinkerton
Iget it, the whole bride thing. Chelsea and Ryan’s wedding weekend was out-of-orbit romantic and fun. Even if it was my third time playing bridesmaid this year at a sorority sister’s wedding. But I don’t see myself in the white dress anytime this decade. I’m only twenty-five, for the love of wine and chocolate.
Besides, my life is short on Prince Charmings, which is a major requirement for walking down the aisle. More importantly, my career is stoked and shooting for the moon right now. It’s hotter than the wedding couple I’m sitting with—which is pretty damn hot.
No way can I concentrate on anything but my fledgling business right now. No time- and energy-sucking romantic relationships for me. I barely got away for this wedding weekend on Nantucket and only because I brought work with me.
Romance is not a priority. I’m more serious about my career than I am about any man I’ve met so far—and I don’t see that changing. Not anytime soon.
Why should it? I have flannel PJs to keep me warm at night and a vibrator to get me hot. Who needs a man, right?
I’ve dated casually in the past, but the effort wasn’t worth the trouble and one-night stands aren’t my thing.
So maybe my sex life is a little off.
Small price to pay to become one of the top five women to watch according to Boston Business Magazine, in the running for entrepreneur of the year with my new company. My parents are proud and my older sister and brother who are into cybersecurity start-ups are almost impressed.
One shiny gold star for Pink.
Now if I can just keep that rebel streak in me suppressed, I’ll make it to millionaire status before my next birthday, number twenty-six, and there’ll be no looking back. Not my father nor either of my siblings made it to a million before twenty-seven.
The race is on.
Even Mom agrees that when opportunity not only knocks, it grabs you by the hand and yanks you forward with gusto, you have to go with it.
So I’m running with it like a frenzied Usain Bolt in girl accountant’s clothing. End of story. Period. I mean it.
I don’t miss parties at all.
Or I didn’t until this weekend because I swear I forgot how irresistibly fun it could be to drink and dance like a maniac, letting loose among my best friends.
And now I’m paying the piper with a distracting headache the day after. I’m more than a little irritable as I sit at the crowded table with the bridal party at Cru while we wait for the ferry to take us from Nantucket back to real life in Boston.
