The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(2)

I can stay unattached, see through the bullshit. And while love always ends in heartache for someone, I supply my clients with a more complete picture of who they’re hitching themselves to in order to avoid even more of a disaster.

But dating someone beyond my requisite two dates? No. I’ve seen enough of the aftermath to know love isn’t in the cards for me. The rubble it leaves in its wake isn’t worth the risk. Hence my conundrum.

“I’ll handle that on… Monday. Or Tuesday.”

“Cassie…” she trails off, but I know what she’s saying. This isn’t the first call I’ve dodged. It’s just the first one today. I need to give an answer, if only so my new mommy doesn’t call personally, making it awkward for Gabrielle, who will probably break out in stress hives trying to dodge the drama.

Am I bringing someone, or am I once again showing up alone? Without a man on my arm. The perfect target for pesky questions I do not want to answer.

The scales in my head balance my options. Show up alone and hear the whispers pointing out my flaws, all the reasons I can’t keep a man—“just like that mother of hers”—or… find a solution.

The truth of the matter is, I want nothing less than to show up at the wedding alone. The thought makes me queasy, knowing I’ll be facing questions about my single status, about when I’ll have kids. Relatives I see less than once a year will mumble under their breath about how maybe I could keep a man if I lost some weight or tried harder, about how I’m not getting any younger. And, shit, it’s not like I’m fifty. I’m twenty-nine. And I’m building my own business, happy with my life the way it is. I don’t need to add a man and make things more complicated.

Plus, I’ve learned with time, a man will offer nothing other than whiplash and heartache.

An orgasm or two would be nice, my inner sex fiend whispers. The inner sex fiend who hasn’t been satisfied in much, much too long. Some people have a devil and an angel battling on their shoulders, whispering in their ears.

Because I’m a crazy person, I have a sex fiend and an uptight librarian who keeps me grounded. I mentally stuff a sock in the sex fiend’s mouth and shut her into the dark closet I keep her in. I have a perfectly capable collection of battery-operated boyfriends, thankyouverymuch. What more could a man offer me?

Precisely, the librarian says. The one who always uses common sense to remind me men bring nothing but pain and suffering. The one who looks alarmingly like my mother.

I sigh.

A man would offer me the chance to show up my father, though, and quiet the judgmental family who hates me. The librarian shrugs because even she can’t argue that fact.

So, in that moment, I make the fatal move of deciding something based solely on emotion, not on intelligence or planning or my rules or my carefully crafted life plan. No, this one is a pure, idiotic impulse.

“When he calls next, tell him I’m bringing a date.” Gabrielle’s eyes widen with shock before she nods, jotting down a note. Before she can say another word, I wave goodbye and walk out the door, wondering what the fuck I’ve just done.





Two





-Luke-





My phone rings from where it sits on my toolbox, the vibrations rattling on the red metal and catching my attention more than the ringer. Glancing at it, my sister Quinn’s smiling face is staring at me with Quinny calling written across the screen. She added her own contact years ago, using the name I called her when I was just three or four.

I’m covered in grime and in the middle of a job, but my dad taught me no matter what, when family calls, you answer. Family is more important than any job, any repair, anything, so I peel off the grease-covered latex gloves, toss them into the can next to the car I’m working on, and tap the screen to answer.

“What’s your email address?” Quinn asks before I even say hello.

“Well, hello to you too, Quinny. I’m great, thank you.” The sound of her eyes rolling can practically be heard over the line. The thing about being the little brother is I live to annoy my sisters. It’s basically the main thing I was born to do. And with two older sisters, one five years older and one ten, I’ve had more than a few opportunities to do just that.

“Yeah, Luke, hi, how are you? Still as boring as yesterday? And the day before? Great. Now, what’s your email?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you need my email?” She hesitates, piquing my interest. My two older sisters are both happily married with kids of their own to bully and baby, but they each still call me nearly every day to check in. Unfortunately, they’re also the nosiest women I’ve ever encountered. As the youngest of three, I’ve learned this kind of silence can be one of two things.

One, she’s trying to save my feelings. This is rare because, again, she’s my older sister. In the same way I live to annoy her, she lives to bring me down a few notches. Whereas my oldest sister, Tara, still babies me and lives to give me motherly advice, Quinn taunts me.

Alternately, there’s option two and the situation I’m pretty sure I’m in now: she doesn’t want to answer my question because she knows I won’t like it.

“Quinn…” I say in a warning.

“I’m creating a profile for you.”