Page 15 of A Wreck, You Make Me (Bad Boys of Bardstown #3)

While Snow loves the Thornes, she loves someone else more.

His name is Byron Bradshaw and he plays for New Orleans.

Instead of a soccer player though, he looks like a linebacker for a football team.

Actually, he could also be a mountain man with his burly muscles and beard and a man bun.

He’s handsome, no doubt, but he’s as brawny and gigantic as Snow is soft and delicate.

Plus, he has a reputation. Not just with the ladies but with the law.

As in, he’s been in and out of jail for various crimes and misdemeanors.

But every time he comes on-screen, Snow freezes with wide eyes and parted lips, and doesn’t look away until he’s gone.

It’s adorable. My good-girl sister has a giant crush on the bad boy soccer player.

“Stop trolling Snow,” Meadow says. “We’re talking about you, and she’s right. You totally watch it for him.”

I stab my finger at her. “You’re one to talk. You watch that game with me too. Every single time.”

Mostly because one of the players on the team, Riot Rivera, happens to be her fiancé.

But even if he wasn’t, she’d still watch his games because she’s always been a huge fan of his.

In fact, that was one of the reasons why when she saw an ad from him seeking a nanny for his little girl—he’s a single dad—she applied for the job.

I mean, she’s great at what she does and she was totally perfect for the position, but her initial motivation came from her crush on him.

That quickly turned into love the moment she saw him.

Good thing he saw something in her as well, and the rest is history.

Echo laughs. “Burn.”

“What are you laughing about?” Tempest interjects. “You skipped a whole day of classes to go to Reign’s first game.”

She did do that. Echo’s boyfriend, Reign Davidson, plays for the Florida team and Echo did skip her classes to go see his very first game in the pros.

They used to be at the same college—they’ve known each other since they were teenagers though; he used to be her ex-boyfriend’s best friend and for the longest time, her number one enemy, until things changed and sparks between them exploded—before he got drafted and now Echo, the good girl who never skips school, doesn’t blink an eye while missing classes in order to attend her boyfriend’s games.

Echo throws a pillow at Tempest, who easily dodges it and throws one back. “It wasn’t a whole day. I did attend first period. And you’re one to talk. You went to Ledger’s game eight months pregnant. With twins.”

Tempest shrugs. “Hey, it’s not a secret I’m obsessed with my husband.”

She totally is. As she should be. Ledger practically worships the ground she walks on.

Her and their twins. Well, they aren’t walking yet, but you get the gist. He has to be the most devoted husband and father I’ve ever seen.

I thought that title was reserved for Callie’s husband and baby daddy, Reed, but I guess they give each other tough competition.

“All right,” Meadow finally says, raising her hands.

“I think we’ve gotten a bit off track. Juju, you’re going.

” She pauses here, probably to let her words sink in, but she didn’t need to do that.

Her using my childhood name was enough of an indication she means business.

“You have to go. You have to do this for yourself.”

Again, my friend is right. Despite putting up an argument about it, everything they’ve said is true.

If I don’t go, I’ll spend the night watching his games, all the while thinking about how he’s spending his.

If he’s partying or if I’ll see his paparazzi photos tomorrow.

Hanging out with a girl or girls, all model gorgeous, all fashionable, all ready and willing to be used.

If this is the girl who’ll finally help him forget the one he’s in love with and move on.

It’s pathetic. It’s schoolgirl-ish. It’s sad.

It’s always been all those things, but for some reason it seems more of those things now than ever. Probably because that’s exactly the words he used to describe me. But mostly it’s because despite that, I still haven’t managed to find the way to not be those things.

As I said, it’s not my first date, but it’s not so high up in number either that I feel comfortable doing it.

Over the years, I’ve tried dating. I’ve tried hanging out with guys.

But I’m not the kind of girl guys want to hang out with.

Frizzy red hair and freckles will do that to you.

Or the ones who do want to hang out with me are creeps like my neighbor and my catering boss.

Plus it’s not as if I had a lot of time to go on dates.

Given my family situation, it was a wonder I was able to go on any at all.

But all that’s changed, so I should at least give it a try and not be so sad anymore. Or reckless and crazy like I was when I spilled those drinks on him two days ago.

So thirty minutes later when my date—his name is Joe and he works at the same coffee shop that I do—knocks at the door, I genuinely smile at him.

When we reach the restaurant—it’s more like a sports bar with big TV screens mounted along the walls—I don’t try to see what game is on.

I can see it’s soccer, but I don’t try to investigate who’s playing.

I don’t let my mind wander and lose interest.

And after a while, I realize I don’t want to either.

I’m having fun. Joe is funny. He’s attentive.

He likes me. He really likes my dress; he’s said that to me multiple times now.

While he’s expressed how the dress would look better if I had a clear, freckle-less skin, I’m choosing to let that go.

I mean, I don’t like my freckles either so he’s not wrong.

Once we’ve placed our order, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

Mostly, I’m going to check on my red lipstick and text my friends and my sister—we’re in a group chat together—that they were right.

I’m having fun and I’m going to be making my famous pina colada for them every Saturday for at least the next couple of months.

They all come back with happy but sassy replies about how I should always listen to them because they’re always right.

Sighing happily, I exit the restroom and I’m on my way back when it happens. When I think I’m hallucinating and come to a screeching halt.

I am, aren’t I? Because how is it that I’m seeing what I’m seeing?

Him . Sitting at my table. With Joe.

What the…

But then he turns, and somehow his gaze lands right on me, as if he was just waiting for me to emerge, waiting for me to find him, and I know this is real. I’m not hallucinating. He’s really sitting at the table with the guy I’m on a date with.