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ALLISON

I am not heartbroken. Nope. Not me. I’m absolutely fine. And if I keep drinking, laughing, and pretending hard enough, maybe I’ll actually believe it.

The wedding reception is chaos. Ford and Harper, the groom and bride, are gone. Big shocker. Those two couldn’t keep their hands off each other, especially with Harper provoking Ford until he snapped.

But the rest of us? We’re still going strong, the open bar fueling our poor life choices.

Music pulses, glasses clink, and somewhere, Gram is probably making a public menace announcement.

I wouldn’t know because I’m currently on top of a damn chair, singing my heart out, barefoot and buzzed, holding Gram’s flask in one hand and a microphone in the other.

The music plays and I tilt the flask to my lips, but it’s empty.

Oh, damn.

But I refuse to be sad tonight. I won’t let my pathetic, cheating, jackass ex ruin this for me. It’s my best friend’s wedding reception, after all. Even if she disappeared with her caveman husband to start their honeymoon early.

So I sing, loud and dramatic. Like I’m a damn Nashville superstar and not just a tipsy idiot making a spectacle of myself. Maybe, just maybe, if I sing loud enough, I won’t hear his voice echoing in my head. The idiot who broke my heart when he said, "Maybe we should take a break."

I should’ve seen it coming. I should’ve known better.

No. Stop this. Don’t think about it.

The song ends, and applause erupts, Connor’s teammates cheering the loudest.

Like a magnet, my gaze locks onto him. Connor walking red flags Byrns.

My heart clenches at the morose expression on his normally cheerful face.

This is my fault. I shouldn’t have kissed him when I was upset over my ex. I just wanted revenge. A way to dull the pain.

Instead, I ended up with a big complication. A sexy, sarcastic, and hilarious hockey player I can’t stop thinking about.

Instead, I ended up with a big complication.

A sexy, sarcastic, hilarious hockey player I can’t stop thinking about. Even though I should.

Like a trainwreck I can’t look away from, my thoughts flash back to the moment I kissed him.

* * *

I was at dinner with Harper, Ford Brooks, and four members of the Green Mountain Avalanche — Connor Byrns, Jake Monroe, and Cole Kingston — when Mark’s text came through.

It said, “I can’t make it to Harper’s wedding.”

My vision went red. I shot up from the table, fury sizzling under my skin. I barely registered Connor’s voice calling after me, that annoying hockey menace trailing me like he couldn’t help himself.

He’d been flirting with me all damned night, even before the restaurant.

I ignored him, already dialing Mark’s number.

I needed reassurance from him, dammit.

Connor was shredding my resistance, complimenting me, making me question everything with Mark.

When I smugly informed Connor I had a boyfriend, he just raised his eyebrows and asked why he wasn’t around.

I defended Mark until Connor said, "Guess I’ll meet him at the wedding."

I faltered — Mark had already told me he "probably" wouldn’t make it.

Connor pounced. "If he wanted to, he would."

His words sliced beneath my skin like a knife.

I texted Mark, hiding my phone from the nosy asshole hockey player sitting beside me.

I needed to hear from him. To be reassured that we were still us.

All his traveling and never being with me for anything important was getting to me.

His work and his life always came first.

The phone rang.

Mark answered, sounding distracted, like I’d interrupted something.

“What do you want?”

I told him to FaceTime me.

He huffed and hung up.

The screen lit up, and behind him, people in formal wear milled around, holding drinks and laughing.

“What is it, Allie? I’m in the middle of something.”

The dismissive tone. The frustration in his eyes. It triggered something I couldn’t hold back.

"I think we should take a break."

Mark didn’t argue. Didn’t hesitate.

I think that’s for the best."

He looked fucking relieved.

The silence between us crushed me.

And right as I was about to hang up, a beautiful blonde slid her arms around him, leaning over his shoulder.

I didn’t hear what she whispered.

I didn’t need to.

That’s when my heart broke.

Mark was supposed to be safe. Reliable. Boring.

Instead, he was just another liar.

I hung up, fighting back tears.

And that’s when I felt him.

Connor emerged from the shadows, coming up behind me. "Allie."

The way he said my name was like a boulder slamming into my chest.

I turned — and the sympathy in his eyes wrecked me.

Connor didn’t do sympathy. He did sarcasm. Teasing. Flirtation.

But not this.

I fisted my hands in his shirt and yanked him down.

His lips parted, his breath fanning across my face. His eyes burned with something that scared the hell out of me.

I kissed him.

Connor groaned against my mouth, his arms banding around me, pulling me so tightly against him I could barely breathe.

I gasped — and his tongue slid inside, devouring me.

Owning me.

Proving he was just as desperate as I was.

Like butter, I melted into him.

* * *

The sound of laughter yanks me back to the present.

I won’t let Mark win.

I won’t give him the satisfaction of ruining my fun.

With a big smile plastered on my face, I snatch a drink from a random table, down it, and climb back on the goddamn chair.

Someone thrusts a microphone into my hands, and I start singing like a tipsy disaster, doing everything I can not to feel a single fucking thing.

I don’t look at Connor. I can’t.

The memory of that kiss haunts me.

It was supposed to be for revenge. A fuck you to Mark.

But Connor’s lips wrecked me.

When he pulled me close, his arms wrapped around me, everything went hot and sharp and out of control.

No. Not thinking about it.

Just keep singing.

When the song ends, I stumble off the chair, the warmth of the champagne settling in my veins.

I am thriving.

Until I glance over at him.

Connor is watching me, a scowl on his face.

He clutches a drink in his hand, looking like he’s two seconds away from dragging me off the chair and shoving me into a padded room.

What the hell is his problem?

I stalk toward him, crossing my arms. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He doesn’t flinch. "Like what?"

"Like I just kicked a puppy."

His jaw clenches. "Maybe because you’re standing on a fucking chair, singing like your life depends on it, pretending you’re totally fine."

I freeze.

And for a split second, something in my chest cracks.

I scowl, pushing past it. "It’s called having fun, Byrns. Try it sometime."

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches me — like he sees straight through me.

And I hate it.

I hate that he looks concerned.

I hate that he makes my stomach tighten.

Most of all, I hate that he’s right.

So, I do what any emotionally repressed woman in denial would do.

I grab his shirt and drag him toward the nearest bathroom.

* * *

The moment the door closes, I shove him against it.

Connor blinks. "Allie, what the hell?”

His voice is low, rough, like he’s trying to hold himself back. "You’re drunk. This isn’t?—"

I kiss him.

It’s desperate and messy, like I’m trying to erase every lingering ache in my chest with his mouth.

He freezes, but only for a second.

Then something snaps.

He kisses me back with a deep, possessive hunger that makes my head spin.

His hands grip my waist, yanking me closer.

I fist his shirt, dragging him down, needing more.

His breath is hot and ragged. His body presses me back against the sink.

This is a terrible idea.

But right now, I don’t care.

Because this isn’t about heartbreak or betrayal.

It’s about him.

And that’s a hell of a lot scarier.

I’m not ready for it.

Not for him.

Not for how he makes me feel.