Mister Hockey (Hellions Angels #1)(13)

Shave legs.

Moisturize.

Use sunscreen.

Buy milk and eggs.

Get rocks off.

Studies showed it was better than melatonin for sleep.

But still . . . that didn’t mean she wanted to discuss her vibrator preferences or lube choices with the actual embodiment of these dirty fantasies.

Panic simmered in her stomach. This was all so awful that it couldn’t be happening.

Bump. Another hard thud. Followed by the snickity-snick roll of something plastic across the hardwood.

“There. I hear it again!” Mom clutched her purse to her chest, eyes wide. “Someone is in your bedroom.”

Her mother had a gift for stating the obvious.

“Is it a man?” Granny Dee rubbed her hands with undisguised glee.

“Of course not!” Mom gave a disparaging shake of the head. “This is Breezy, not Margot.”

She didn’t mean those words as an insult. Still, Breezy flinched. She wasn’t a play-the-field girl like her bestie who had a different guy lined up for a date every single Saturday night. From the look of her friend’s Instagram account, her time in Mexico consisted of doing a lot of sun salutations and a lot, a lot, of very muscled surfers.

Breezy had never played the field. Her only serious boyfriend had been Rory and he’d strung her along for years. Whenever she pushed to set an official date for the wedding, he’d mumble that his job pressures were too high. That he couldn’t be the provider he wanted to be. A change of subject always came fast and furious. Whenever she had a problem at work, he’d dismiss it, but if he had an issue then stop the presses, this was a public emergency, ladies and gentlemen. He’d text her all day, no matter what was going on or how busy her schedule.

She made room. Accommodated. Because isn’t that what people do in functional adult relationships?

Except two people had to do the giving. In Rory’s case, she’d given and given and given until . . .

God. Any wonder that she despised The Giving Tree?

Once Rory’s career was poised to take off with his long-anticipated promotion, she booked a dinner at a fancy bistro to toast the tomorrows that could finally become today. Instead, he had broken the news over the second glass of merlot. The promotion was tied to a move to the Boston office. She had just started to wrap her head around what it meant to leave her family and summon enthusiasm for New England, when he dropped the second bomb.

The one where she wasn’t included in the relocation package.

His words exploded over her like lobbed grenades.

I need to buckle down and have space. Put me first for once. Focus on my career.

Blah. Blah. Fuck you. As if she’d ever taken up space in his world.

But to pour salt in the stinging wound, once he moved, Rory had met someone. Another lawyer. They went on a skiing vacation. Traveled to Iceland. Posed in the fall colors and hammed it up in a witch shop in Salem.

For a while, she’d stalked his Facebook account like a midnight masochist. She wasn’t proud. But he’d dated this chick for six months before posting news of the elopement. They’d driven to New York City and gotten married in spring in Central Park, posing for selfies afterward on top of the Empire State Building.

Turned out Rory wasn’t dragging his feet on marriage. Just marriage to her. Breezy had been the safe backup choice, as comforting as a well-worn pair of UGG boots.

Ugh was right.

“I know! Honey, focus!” Mom seized her shoulders and shook. “Where’s that pepper spray that I bought you last Christmas?”

“Stop.” She twisted free of her mother’s grip. “There isn’t a burglar. I had a problem with the roof. It leaked. It’s getting fixed.”

“All this excitement makes me want to pee.” Granny Dee shuffled toward the bathroom. “And to sneak peek at your handyman.”

When her grandma’s screech followed a few seconds later, Breezy squeezed her eyes shut. Granny Dee had found Jed West. The only hope was that he wasn’t double fisting two lipstick vibrators.

They’d been on sale, two for one, which seemed like a deal at the time.

Granny lurched back into the room, eyes the size of tea saucers. “There is . . . there is . . . there is . . .”

“Sit down. I said sit. I’ve got your blood pressure meds right here in your pocketbook.”

Jed West appeared hot on Granny’s heels and the sight took Breezy’s breath.

How did he go through life looking like that? Did he ever get stuck ogling his reflection, transfixed by that face, those eyes, that chin. A modern day Narcissus?

Of course not.

He seemed comfortable and casual in his own skin. It must be like living in Paris or Venice, someplace where tourists showed up and fired off five hundred thousand photos and oohed and ahhed while locals went about their daily business.

“Hope I didn’t frighten you,” he said to Granny Dee in his deep voice.

Mom screamed. Not one of those Beatles fan crying and jumping up and down moments. More like opening a closet door only to discover ET nestled among the clothes requesting to phone home.

“Granny, sit in the rocking chair. I’m going to fetch you a glass of water. Mom. Take the love seat,” she ordered with a confidence that she in no way felt.

But someone had to take charge and it wouldn’t do to add two heart attacks to the cluster. She quickly filled Mom and Granny in on the bare details of what had happened, Neve bringing Jed to the library as a surprise special guest. The jacket theft (minus the accidental mooning). The roof leaking. Turning, she found his gaze on her. “Jed?” It still sounded so weird to speak his name.