Exes and O's (The Influencer, #2)(66)

“I don’t know.” I hang my head. “The last girl he brought home was Gabby. From your gym. Though he is casually texting one girl he used to date. Kyla.”

“Has he ever given you any hint he has real feelings for you?” Mel asks.

“He smiles at me a lot, mostly when he thinks I’m not looking. Oh, and he feeds me,” I add, grasping at straws. “He even tries to make food I’ll like.” Just a few evenings ago, he made me a flatbread pizza. Half was loaded with veggies, while the other half was plain sauce, pepperoni, and cheese, just for me.

Crystal’s doubtful expression tramples my theory to dust. “I mean, the smiling . . . he’s a bit of a flirt in general.”

I frown. “Maybe. But hypothetically, what if I’m not reading too much into things? What if he did catch feelings for me?”

“Expecting to be the exception to the rule is like eating Taco Bell and being shocked when you get mad diarrhea,” Crystal says pointedly.

Mom huffs at us as she passes by with beady-eyed Hillary. “Crystal! People are eating.”

Crystal mouths a lazy Sorry and looks to Mel for support. “I love you. But the last thing I want is for you to get hurt again.” She watches me for a few more beats. “Do you mind if I consult Scott?”

I barely have time to agree before Scott’s face takes up Crystal’s phone screen. He tells her about the trauma of being kidnapped and nearly punching Trevor in the face. Crystal laughs, her face aglow at the sight of her soon-to-be husband, as if they’ve been apart for days and not mere hours. “Can you step away for a minute? I have a question for you.”

“About what?” Scott asks, taking refuge away from the guys in the gym changing room.

I press my cheek against Crystal’s so I’m visible on camera. “We need your advice. A behavioral analysis, if you will.”

“We need your help with Trevor,” Crystal clarifies, giving him a brief rundown of my situation. “Has he said anything about Tara to you?”

He raises a contemplative brow. “He talks about her sometimes at work.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Crystal waves a hand. “This is important information, babe. Care to elaborate?”

“I didn’t think it was a huge deal.” Scott frowns. “He’ll just laugh at texts she sends at work. Nothing too major.”

“He’s your friend. Could you ask him for us? Get the intel. Whatever it is that dudes do,” Crystal requests.

Scott is mildly taken aback, like we’ve just asked him to commit a crime on our behalf. “You want me to flat-out ask him if he likes Tara?”

“Yes,” we say in unison.

He leans against the hand dryer, accidentally turning it on. “Fine. But he’s gonna know something is up. We never talk about feelings,” he shouts over the fan.

My lips twist like I’ve just sucked a lemon. “Seriously? Never in your decade of friendship have you talked about feelings?”

“Unless you count our feelings toward hockey, Crocs, or fire calls, no.” When we shake our heads in derision, he gets defensive. “Hey, it’s not like I’ve never tried. He’s just not a very open guy.”

I sigh. “That’s . . . pathetic.”

Crystal scoffs in solidarity. “Gotta love toxic masculinity.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Scott rolls his eyes and leans in close to the camera, suddenly channeling FBI agent vibes. “Okay, I’ll ask him tonight when we go out once he’s liquored up. How should I play it? Casual? Or like I’m an overprotective new brother who’ll murder him if he breathes amorously in your direction?”

“I mean, I appreciate the brotherly support, but definitely not the latter,” I warn. “Just be casual and report back.”

“Deal.”

    TARA: Hello?? I haven’t heard from you in like an hour. You promised a play-by-play.

SCOTT: Sorry. At club now . . . Trev ordered a beer. He’s hanging out with a girl.

TARA: A girl? Who?

SCOTT: She met him here. I think they already know each other. Her name is Kayla or something.

TARA: Is she tall? Smiles with her mouth open?

SCOTT: Yeah.



Kyla. It’s Kyla.

Trevor’s ex-girlfriend.





LIVE WITH TARAROMANCEQUEEN—THE PLAYBOY TROPE AND WHY I HATE IT


[Tara’s face is partially obscured by poor lighting. She is neck-deep in a hot tub, her hair crunchy and partially frozen, looking like a straight-up mess.]





EXCERPT FROM TRANSCRIPT


TARA: Hello, romance book lovers, welcome back to my channel. If you’ve followed me for an ounce of time, you’ll know I’m absolute trash for most tropes. I’ll take anything: secret babies, love triangles. But for some reason, I can’t handle playboys lately. Now, I’m not against people sleeping around. You do you, boo. But I have a problem with the double standards.

The playboy hero is often rich and powerful, maybe a duke, a CEO, or the firstborn son of a crime family. As a commitment-phobic man-child, he sleeps around to cope with his overt emotional problems (due to a tragic backstory). He’s cruising through life, an empty robot until a doe-eyed, virgin heroine unexpectedly piques his interest. She’s only immune to his charm for a hot second before falling for his rakishly handsome looks and secret, true self that only she knows.