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We’ve been taking photos for an hour to get the exact angle Stella wants. I admit she’s a beautiful woman, and the sex is good. I wouldn’t say the best I’ve ever had or earth shattering. But at this moment, when the rest of our friends are throwing frisbees or running with Roscoe, Harper and Logan’s dog, I’m taking a million photos of my girlfriend in almost the exact same pose. I don’t want to be a photographer. I want to be on vacation.

“I’m done. I’ve taken hundreds of pictures. Surely one is good enough.”

“This is my job, John,” Stella snaps. “If you weren’t a professional athlete, I would probably make more money than you.”

My brows lift, and my mouth hangs open. “Maybe. But by pimping yourself. Making it seem like you’re one hundred percent fulfilled. Like you’re living your best life. Are you living your best life? Are you happy?” I don’t wait for a response, opting to get this shit off my chest. “You obsess over tiny details when your followers would probably appreciate honesty. If you were real. If you didn’t have a face full of makeup while at the beach.”

“Oh, like your precious Becca? All fresh faced and manipulative?Needing you to carry her because she scraped her leg. Please.”

I trail my fingers through my hair. “As a matter of fact, I think they would love to see what you look like naturally. You’re pretty without all of it. I’m just saying that we’re here to have fun and blow off steam. Hockey season starts soon, and we won’t see each other as much. Speaking of which, I’ve decided to stay in Dallas. I’m accepting the contract extension with the Rattlers.”

Her eyes round, and she pops her hip out as she folds her arms over her waist. “Your dad will be pissed.”

“It’s not my dad’s life; it’s mine.”

“You’ve never been serious about me. I’m a trophy girlfriend who you love to have on your arm at red carpet events. I create buzz for you. And have you ever thanked me? No. You don’t care.”

“Exactly. I don’t care about being famous. I care about being the best hockey player I can be, not the hockey player with the best arm candy. I want more than that, Stella. I want love. Someone who finds fun in sipping a glass of lemonade on the porch or wants to hike for the experience of being with nature and the person they’re with, instead of hiking to get thatonephoto that will be the envy of social media.”

She spins her head toward my friends. “I don’t want the simple life.”

I gasp then let out a booming fake laugh. “That’s not a simple life. It’s living in the moment. You’ve had life handed to you, going to the most expensive private high school. You have a trust fund, so you didn’t have to go to college or worry about money. Yes, you learned to monetize your social media but Stella, you’re the very definition of simple. Social media drives every decision you make. It’s that simple.”

“Ha! Look who’s talking. Your dad is a multi-millionaire.”

“I always had what I needed, but he never gave me what I wanted.”

“What did you want? A daddy who hugs you and takes you to get ice cream. Or did you want a dad who stepped in to save your ass in college?” She pushes my chest.

How dare her. She doesn’t know what happened. “I paid the price for Dad’s help. You have no idea what happened. All you know is what you’ve read or what my dad has told you. And while we’re talking honestly, answer me this. How often do you see my dad? How many nights are you accompanying him to his dinners and formal events using me as cover? Thomas Basilio’s escort is Stella Saccone, girlfriend of Basilio’s son John. You’ve been seen with him more than me.”

“Well, at least he desires me.”

What?

Did she admit to screwing my dad? The thought has crossed my mind several times but I had brushed the thought away. A father wouldn’t screw his son’s girlfriend, even if we were on a break, would he?

My stomach doesn’t sink like it should.

My fingers move slowly over my bristled chin.

It takes everything I have not to laugh in her face, but instead, I grab my phone and pull up my travel app.

“You’ve been fucking my dad? I suggest you take this flight home,” I say as I forward her the flight information.

“Are you being serious?”

“Tell me that my dad hasn’t been inside you.”

Stella stares until her eyes fall to her bright pink toes wiggling in the sand.

“I’m waiting.”

“We’re over. And when your dad finds out, he’ll ruin you,” she says, snatching her ten-thousand-dollar designer beach bag while slipping on her one-of-a-kind sandals. She faces my friends on the beach, “Bye, have fun losers.”

I follow her back to the bungalow to make sure she doesn’t steal my clothes or worse yet, set them on fire. And no, I’m not going overboard. When Stella is angry, she lashes out.

“You know what’s funny, John? You’re not even upset that your father has fucked me. That he has taken what was yours. Unbelievable.”