Page 5

CHAPTER 5

EMILY

I ’ve come to the conclusion that Dallas Shaw is every boy your mother ever warned you about. You know the one. Tall, handsome, funny, charismatic, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-his-mouth . A chaotic mix of good, bad, and downright insufferable, all rolled into one undeniably pretty package. He’s the kind of man who, with just one look, can make panties drop and inhibition fly out the window. A self-professed playboy, he makes good use of his country boy charm, fooling women into believing he’s one of the good guys when, in actual fact, he’s quite possibly the biggest man-whore in all of Manhattan.

How do I know all this? Thank God for the internet.

By the time I finally managed to convince my parents I wasn’t embroiled in some tawdry affair with a married MLB player, I finished up a few last-minute items for Andy and headed home. With a bowl of mac and cheese and the biggest glass I could find to fill full of wine, I began my journey down the Dallas Shaw rabbit hole, where I am now, four hours later. And, for the record, I hate it here.

Sure, Dallas Shaw is hot; there’s no denying that. And, from what I’ve seen, he can wear a pair of tighty-whities like nobody’s business, if the underwear campaign he featured in last summer is any indication. But he’s also twenty-six. Twenty-six. And he’s rumored to have slept with over five-hundred women. Five-hundred! He was quoted in an interview as saying he has a roster of women in every city he plays in, ready for the call up. Disgusting.

God, I’m almost ten years older than the guy, and I can count the number of men I’ve slept with on one hand. Well, one hand and a thumb now; thanks a lot Dallas Whore .

I hear the front door open, followed by my sister’s drunk hyena laugh ricocheting down the hall. Slamming my laptop shut, I try to act normal as Tess and her wife, Bron, walk into the living room. Unfortunately for me, I can see it written all over their faces the moment they see me. They know something’s up.

“What’s wrong?” Tess asks, worry marring her pretty face.

“What’s wrong ?” I scoff. “I hooked up with a twenty-six-year-old man-whore.”

Bron’s jaw drops, a look of wonderment spreading across her face.

Tess’s eyes go wide as she scans the room like she’s looking for evidence. “What? Like, tonight?”

“Yeah, Tess, he’s currently naked and hiding under the coffee table.” I roll my eyes. I swear to God. “The guy I went home with that night. Dallas Shaw. Goaltender for the New York Thunder.”

Tess and Bron both stare at me, clearly confused.

“He’s twenty-six!” My frustration is only aggravated further by their inability to respond. “Um, can either one of you please be incredulous with me?”

Bron offers a knowing smirk. “This sounds like a ‘ sister’ thing,” she says with the added emphasis of air quotes before leaning in with a chaste kiss to Tess’s lips. “I’m going to bed.”

Tess slaps Bron’s ass before rounding the couch and flopping down next to me.

“You smell like a winery…” I murmur.

“You smell like an old man’s ball sac,” she quips .

I shove her. She shoves me back. Suddenly we’re wrestling one another on the couch, in a fit of giggles and muttered curses, like the mature thirty-somethings we are.

Tess isn’t just my sister; she’s my best friend. She’s four years younger than me and so much cooler than I ever was. A brand manager for a high end cosmetics line, Tess is all about partying and VIP events, being seen at all the most exclusive clubs and bars around the city; in a nutshell, Tess is the polar opposite of me. I’ve often wondered how we’re even related, but that’s the thing—we’re not just sisters; Tess is like my other half.

When my life turned to complete shit a few years ago, I was not in a good space, mentally or physically. I was forced to move back to our family home in Staten Island for a while, living in my parents’ basement. But when Mom became overbearing, mollycoddling me and treating me like a baby, it was only making everything worse. Tess and Bron stepped in, and they brought me to live with them, here, in their two-bedroom condo on the Upper West Side. And sure, it sucks being woken up at the crack of dawn to the sound of them having sex through the walls, but I’m eternally grateful for my sister. She helped pick me up when I was at my lowest. And I really do owe her my life.

“Okay, show me.” Tess snaps her fingers, indicating my laptop. That’s another thing about Tess… she knows me too well. It’s scary and often inconvenient.

Sighing, I lift the screen, handing it over.

“Holy shit—he’s hot!”

I scoff, snatching my laptop back. “Okay, firstly, you’re gay.”

She snorts, stealing it back from me. “Yeah, gay. Not blind .”

“Secondly, focus, Tessa.” I smooth my hair back from my wine-flushed face. “This isn’t about what he looks like, this is about me having sex with a man almost ten years younger than me, who also happens to be my boss’s client !”

“Okay, you need wine.” Tess jumps up and disappears into the kitchen .

“I’ve already had three glasses,” I mutter, grabbing my drink from the side table and knocking back the last of it.

Tess returns moments later, topping up my glass and then falling down next to me and necking a few gulps straight from the bottle. “Did he remember you?”

It’s then that I realize I’ve been so distracted by my Dallas Shaw deep-dive, I haven’t updated her with what happened in my office after our phone call was cut short.

“Holy shit!” Tess gasps after I tell her everything. “So he wants round two.”

“Of course he does. He’s… a slut.”

“Firstly, no slut shaming in this house. You’re better than that,” she scolds, only half-heartedly. “Secondly, he’s a gorgeous professional athlete, and he said he won’t say a word.” Tess clicks her tongue, looking up to the ceiling in thought before glancing dubiously at me. “You’re going to have to spell it out for me, because I’m having a hard time trying to understand what the big damn deal is?”

“The big damn deal, Tessa , is that there is a strict non-fraternization clause in the employment contract I signed. If Andy finds out… I’m fired.”

“But he said he’s not going to say anything,” she says like I’m an idiot.

“Oh, please.” I scoff. “Judging by the man’s track record, he’s probably already told half his teammates, the coaching staff, and the Thunder’s social media team by now.” I chew on my nail. “I’ll probably go into work on Monday to find a box of my personal belongings sitting behind the security desk in the lobby.”

Tess snorts. “You’re more dramatic than Dad.”

I roll my eyes, snuffing my anxiety with more wine I really don’t need.

My laptop chimes with a notification and Tess asks, “Who’s Do Not Engage ?”

“Huh?” Confused by her question, I peer at the screen and almost drop my glass when I see right there, in big bold letters, the name I designated for Dallas in my contacts.

DO NOT ENGAGE

“Oh my God, he just texted me!” I squeak, hiding my face with a hand. “Can he see me?”

“Dude, it’s a literal text message!” Tess guffaws.

“What does it say?” I whisper, too scared to look for myself.

“You up,” she says questioningly before sucking in a gasp.

“What?” Brows furrowed, I look from my sister to the words on the screen.

DO NOT ENGAGE: You up?

“What does that even mean?”

“It’s a booty call!” Tess throws her head back and laughs.

“What?” I balk. “Ugh. What a pig!”

Before I can even consider responding with a piece of my mind, another message pops up.

DO NOT ENGAGE: Sorry. That was sent in error.

Tess laughs. Again.

“Oh my God!” I shriek. “I don’t know what I’m offended most about. The fact that he sent me a booty call, or that he just admitted he sent it to the wrong number.”

Tess keeps on laughing because she’s an asshole.

Another message appears.

DO NOT ENGAGE: Sorry. I lied. That wasn’t sent in error. You were the intended recipient.

“What the…?” I try to make sense of his messages.

“Maybe he’s drunk,” Tess suggests with a shrug.

The laptop chimes with yet another notification and we both look closer to see what it says.

DO NOT ENGAGE: I hope you’re proud of the fact that you’ve rendered me incapable of stringing together a sentence. I promise I’m not normally a giant, bumbling fool.

“Aw,” Tess coos. “That’s kind of adorable.”

My sister has always been a romantic. And not so long ago, so was I. We were raised in a house full of love. Our parents grew up across the street from one another, and they fell in love when they were teenagers. Even now, almost fifty years later, they’re still obsessed with each other. But when my ex, Luke, cheated on me, when he hurt me in the worst possible way, during the worst possible time in my life, he didn’t just break my heart, he broke me. After Luke, love is just another four-letter word to me. Like wine. Speaking of… I take a big fortifying gulp from my glass.

“It’s not adorable, Tessa,” I chide. “He just wants into my control-top panties. Again.”

The laptop dings.

DO NOT ENGAGE: What’s your favorite food? I’m a Texas boy, so of course I’m gonna say you can’t go wrong with some good ol’ fashion barbeque. But I also like Italian.

Tess groans. “Oh, I’d kill for some barbecue right now.”

I roll my eyes at my sister right as another message pops up.

DO NOT ENGAGE: If you like Italian, we could go to Cucina Vappiano. It’s this cute little mom and pop joint in Bay Ridge. I think the lady that owns it has a crush on me. She’s always putting extra cannoli in my order.

“Wait…” I re-read his message. “Did he just ask me out?”

Of course, at this, Tess lets out a squeal, falling sideways onto the couch and kicking her feet. “Ohhh, Emmy’s got a boyfriend!” she teases.

“Oh, my God, be more obnoxious.” I shake my head, taking possession of my laptop again.

“What’s going on?” Bron suddenly appears in the doorway, wearing her terrifying LED mask and looking every bit the murderous serial killer. “I heard screaming.”

I wave off Bron’s concern while Tess continues acting like a thirteen-year-old at a slumber party. “Your wife is being a child.”

“Okay, time for bed, ma’am,” Bron says, holding her hand out and waiting for Tess to take it.

“But we’re just getting to the good part,” Tess whines, taking Bron’s hands and huffing as she stands. She leans into her wife and, with a stage whisper says, “Emmy has a boyfriend.”

Bron offers me a contrite smile, and I wink at her before flipping my sister the bird.

“Say goodnight, Tessa,” Bron murmurs.

“Goodnight, Tessa,” Tess sasses like the brat she is.

I shake my head again with a quiet laugh, watching them walk hand-in-hand out of the room and down the hall toward their bedroom. It still amazes me how they’re married. Tess is the fun, life of the party, whereas Bron is this quiet, serious corporate attorney. They couldn’t be more different. But they’re actually perfect together. I think it’s a Tessa thing; you can’t not love her.

My laptop chimes again, and I look down at another message from Dallas.

“God, can this guy not take a—” my muttered words are cut short when I see what he’s sent.

DO NOT ENGAGE: I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night. Your smile, and the dimple in the apple of your cheek when you laugh. The way you treated me like I was an actual person and not just some piece of ass. You’re the first woman I’ve ever held as I’ve drifted off to sleep. And I really want to hold you again.

Holy shit. I swear, I feel my stomach bottom out. I have to read the message a few more times to make sure I’m not misinterpreting it. But nope. I’m not. It’s right there, glaring up at me, word for word.

Not only does my subconscious swoon like the pathetic traitor she is, but I’m taken aback by the unexpected fragility in his words that I have a feeling guys like Dallas Shaw tend not to show very often. It makes me wonder if this is all an act. Or is this the real him? The one he keeps hidden beneath the veil of cocky flirtatiousness and bravado.

I’ll admit the time we spent together was amazing, and not just the sex. We talked and laughed, and it was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before with a man.

I remember I was mid-sentence when it happened. When I realized he was just staring at me with this enamored smile, looking at me like I invented beer. But then it was as if something snapped between us, and in an instant, everything changed. And I can confidently say without a sliver of a doubt, that I have never been kissed the way Dallas kissed me. I’ve never felt such an overwhelming surge of lust and longing from just one kiss.

But he’s twenty-six. Almost a full decade younger than me. And sure, it’s not like he’s nineteen or anything; we’re both fully grown adults, but he’s this hotshot pro hockey player, and I’m what? A broken thirty-five-year-old with way too many scars.

Not to mention, I need this job. This is my first job in over three years. It’s a statistical fact that the longer a woman is out of the workforce, the harder it is to get back in. It was by sheer chance I applied for the role at HMC when Andy was desperate. He’d just fired Paris and he was drowning; I was the only suitable applicant with immediate availability. A combination of good timing, luck, and possibly a little sympathy secured me the job at HMC, and I cannot screw this up. There’s no way I can risk jeopardizing this job for a cocky, self-professed playboy who will likely run for the hills the moment he sees the real me, regardless of how sweet and vulnerable that last text message was.

But as I re-read the message one last time, all I keep thinking is that if Dallas is serious, and he really can’t stop thinking about something as innocent as falling asleep with me in his arms, then perhaps he’s not quite the man-whore the internet is making him out to be…