Page 20 of Can We Skip to the Good Part?

NINE

Ride or Die (But Mostly Ride)

A slight shift in the vibrancy of the purple.

Ella bit her lip and surveyed her work. Better .

A couple of subtle lines to add detail to the woman’s chestnut hair as it swished to the side, mid-swing.

Yes . That most certainly worked. And finally, a pull back on the opacity of the ice rink in the background. There. Right there .

Ella sat back with a happy sigh, more than pleased with the cover illustration.

Her shoulder blades ached, and her head held nothing but fuzz.

Didn’t matter. Her heart was ready to burst and run down the street in victory.

She had just put the finishing touches on her very first commissioned cover, No Pucks Given .

Who knew hockey romance was so hugely popular?

She certainly hadn’t, but had fallen down a rabbit hole and quickly educated herself.

She’d been hugely happy slash shocked to accept the job from an indie romance author whose cover artist had left her high and dry on the cusp of her release date.

The author at hand, Holly Sprockets (which couldn’t have been her real name), had fallen in love with the rough draft version depicting a woman placing a hockey stick across a uniformed player’s chest while she leaned into his space, determination in her eyes.

Had she drawn the guy extra hot just for Holly?

Most definitely. But she liked that she’d given the power on the cover to the female character.

“Headed your way, Sprockets,” she murmured as she attached the file and uploaded it to their shared drive for Holly’s approval, two hours before she’d promised to have it delivered.

“Tell all your hockey writing friends.” Once Holly signed off and had a chance to post a cover reveal, Ella would toss it up on her new Instagram page, which she’d noticed was growing steadily already.

If she pulled in enough of these commissions, she might be able to sneak by without another job.

Freelancing for herself would be the best thing that had ever happened to her.

The cherry on top of the sundae was how much she loved the work, reveling in the creation process and celebrating her contribution to telling a brand-new story.

She gave her shoulders a celebratory shimmy-shake just as her phone leapt to life and joined her.

Ariana . “Dance, Ari. Dance,” she said, continuing their duet with a bit of hip action.

She slid onto the call with a grin. “I just finished my first commissioned book cover, and you and I just danced.”

“Because you’re a badass. We should dance more.” And pause. “How are you so quick to start taking over the romance world? You literally just walked in the door.”

“Well, I’m not new to design. It was simply a matter of understanding how the work differs on a cover. Binging the books sure helped.” She fell back onto her bed like a teenager and regretted it when her body screamed back like a woman in her thirties. “And I’m getting old.”

“You’re a toddler at best. So, here’s the thing I’m calling about, you badass creative child, you.”

Ella got serious. She sat up and rested her elbows on her knees. “Tell me.”

“Remember how we pitched the very gay bar Sally Sue’s Western Safari?”

“That name puzzles me at night.”

“By design, I’m sure. I think you’ll love it there. Everyone does once you’re over the warring themes.”

“That’s a valid pitch.” She’d been looking forward to checking it out.

“Well, find your boots. It’s on. Can you be ready in an hour?”

“Tonight? It’s happening now?”

“You just finished the cover, so the answer must be yes.”

“Really, though? Must it?”

“I think Stevie could use a night out,” she said in a less playful tone.

This was down-to-business Ari. She was learning the difference.

“She’s guilt-ridden about the divorce and ruining Dominic’s life.

And now she’s just staring at these shattered pieces of the past. I think she needs a taste of what’s ahead to help her through. ”

“Okay, okay. So, we show her a good time.” Ella’s eyes darted around the room. She had three shirts on the bed, two on the floor, and one on the lampshade—beautiful, organized chaos. “Let me just get my bearings here. Fashion is important, but a struggle.”

“Listen to me, you’re gonna nail it. Want to ride with Max and me to the bar? She drives her black luxury car while I check my nails and secretly pretend like she’s my chauffeur. It’s the best kind of game.”

Ella went still, lampshade-shirt frozen in her grip for examination.

She didn’t exactly want to drive thirty minutes on her own in the dark to a place she’d never been, but hopping in hot Max’s Range Rover might not be the best idea, given her pledge to Rachel about cordiality.

But hold the phone. With Ariana as a chaperone, they would have no choice but to keep their distance.

That felt pretty cordial. Plus, she could let Ariana carry the conversation.

“You know what? I’d love a ride. Sign me up. ”

“Done. Pick you up at nine.”

Her brain screamed. “Nine? Did you just say nine? I’m in my thirties.”

“Ella, you’re going to be just fine.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“That’s why. When you cross the thirty threshold, it’s like a light switch. You can’t hang with the late nights anymore. You physically feel the betrayal in your bones. It’s like my joints just heard ‘nine’ and filed a formal complaint.”

“Tell them we’ll get back to them. And when the clock strikes midnight, maybe Max will hold onto your shoe for you.”

She winced because it meant Ariana had picked up on the often sexy vibe that pinged between her and Max. She decided to dodge the insinuation. “Good thing I’m a night owl.”

“Good thing, Buttercup. See you soon. I won’t ask for directions because I’m confident Max knows how to get to the house.”

“Very funny, Ari.”

She headed to the small closet in the guest room and found her cute red top, which she paired with her brown booties, the closest thing she had to actual western boots.

They’d have to do. Since Rachel was with coworkers for the night, she helped herself to her curling wand and added a few loose curls, anything to elevate her look beyond just sitting in front of a tablet all day.

She surveyed herself in the mirror, adjusted a few strands, deciding that she’d done her best.

When 9:07 rolled around, there was Max’s black Range Rover in the driveway. She headed into the cold night, approached the car, and paused because where in the world was Ariana, the pretend passenger who’d hired the car?

“Hey,” Max said as Ella opened the door to the passenger side. She gestured to the center console. “I grabbed you a coffee for the ride. Just wagered a guess on what you might like.”

“Thanks,” Ella said, distracted. She slid into the passenger seat and glanced behind her like a cop looking for clues at a crime scene. “I thought Ariana was riding with us.”

“That’s true. She was. But then something happened with her aunt and a prescription at the pharmacy. She may or may not make it later.”

“Oh.” Chappell Roan played from the speakers as Ella sorted through her jagged thoughts. “So, just us.”

Max studied her and hesitated. She was a people reader.

Hell, it’s what she did for a living. Ella was probably shooting off worried flares like a stressed-out rocket.

“Is that okay? You can be honest. If you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to ride together.

Ari just told me you were expecting me, so I came. ”

“No,” Ella said after a beat, not wanting to make this any more complicated or weird. “We’re grown-ups capable of riding in a car. Right?”

“My thinking exactly. I tell myself to be a grown-up at least twice a day.”

“Oh, no. And it still hasn’t worked.” After a brief pause for effect, Ella smiled triumphantly at Max, already feeling lighter.

Why was it that when they were in the same space, all the issues between them felt conquerable?

She should lean into that tonight. Keep things fun.

And just like that, all the stress she’d been carrying around about how to handle the Max/Rachel debacle just lifted right off her chest.

“You’ve been in this car for less than three minutes and completely flamed me. Impressive.”

“It’s my job in life to keep you humble.”

“You keep me a lot of things.”

She pulled in air, allowed the comment to dissolve and settle, unsure what words to send back.

Max looked over at her as they approached a red light. “Too much?”

“No. I’m okay.”

It wasn’t the answer Max was expecting, and she seemed pleased. “Good. How was your week so far?” There was elegance in the way she asked even the most mundane of questions.

“I’ll tell you, Max Wyler, it’s been a series of ups and downs.”

“Fair enough. Tell me a down.”

It was a low-pressure command, and it sent a shiver winding through her body. Who’d ever heard of a winding shiver? “Okay, well, my parents broke up with me for the season.”

“I’m sorry? I’m trying to translate. They broke up with you?”

She recounted the story to Max and sighed. “They mean well, but they have a whole big exciting life, and I’m usually not at the forefront of it.”

“I see.” She paused at a red light, which afforded her a moment to look at Ella fully. “This may not help, but after years of dealing with people and their interpersonal strife, I can tell you that it was likely more about them than about you.”

Ella nodded, but it was hard to believe entirely. She decided to move them away from the subject matter that still made her chest ache. “Are you close with your parents?”

“Well, we talk every day, but close is not a word I’d use.” The light changed, and they drove on. “Today, my mom asked me if I’d given any thought to a more dignified hairstyle. That’s a pretty standard example of daily conversations.”