Page 1 of The Love You Win (Going Rogue #1)
one
ISLA
I wonder how many donuts I can eat before I feel sick?
My phone buzzes beside me on the couch for the third time.
This Boston Cream is really good. I can’t believe Alex didn’t like Boston Creams. Looking back, that should have been a dead giveaway that he’s a soulless asshat. And maybe foreshadowing that he wasn’t into eating creamy things. Honestly, I should have seen all of this coming the first time he went for a powdered cake donut back in high school. Who actually likes those? I think the only flavor more boring than powdered cake is plain cake. His second favorite flavor.
Shocker.
But ugh . The way he’d make that smacking sound with his lips as he tried to lick all the powdered sugar off them?
Gag .
They always say love is blind. Apparently, mine was deaf, too.
My phone buzzes again. This time, it doesn’t cut off after the short two-burst vibration alerting me to a text message.
Who the hell is calling me right now? What kind of actual barbarian does something like that? For the love of god, we’re not living in the twentieth century. Text messages are clearly superior because I can pretend I didn’t see them right away.
I groan as Jess’s name lights up in big block letters. I want to send her to voicemail, but that would be a mistake.
Here we go .
“Isla’s den of donuts. How can I help you?” A pause on the other end makes me grin.
“ Have you showered today?”
Well, okay then. Going right in for the kill. “Hi to you too.”
“Yeah, yeah. Seriously, Isla. Have you showered today?”
I consider how to answer. I could lie, but… “I showered myself in donut crumbs. Does that count?”
“Yep,” my best friend says to someone, her voice growing muffled. “You were right. She probably hasn’t changed her underwear in days.”
Jesus. You forget to change your clothes for a few days when your life blows up, and your friends never let you forget it. Being unceremoniously dumped by your fiancé two weeks before your wedding for no real reason other than you’re suddenly not good enough should give you a pass for things like forgetting to change your clothes.
And I’ve been doing fine. Until last week. When Alex and I were supposed to take our honeymoon. The one we scheduled for summer vacation so I wouldn’t have to take time off during the school year. The bastard still went to Cabo. Without me. “Um, rude. I totally changed my panties today. I think.” I tug on the stretchy waistband of my grease-stained leggings to check the color of my undies. Navy blue.
Well, crap.
“Okay, so I changed them yesterday. Whatever. I’m not going anywhere today.” I was doing so well when I had teaching and my students to distract me. Sure, I was depressed, but with all the end-of-year testing and general craziness, I never had time to wallow in it. Summer though? I don’t have built-in distractions to keep me from spiraling about the honeymoon that should have been. Now, I’m this weird combination of depressed and pissed. I planned that whole damned honeymoon. But Alex paid for it, so he’s the one that got to enjoy the sun and sand.
Fucking typical.
Two sets of groans float through the speaker. “We’re coming over. Please take a shower and change your clothes. Don’t make me douse you in Febreze.”
“You know that stuff makes me sneeze,” I reply, offended. I don’t smell bad. A little ripe, maybe, but nothing a quick rub-down with deodorant can’t fix.
“You have half an hour,” Nevaeh pipes up.
“Seriously? You two are ganging up on me right now?”
Nevaeh’s smooth chuckle floats through the speaker. “That’s what best friends are for. Now drag your cute little butt into the shower, get clean and dressed in clothes you haven’t already worn this week, and brush your teeth. We’ll be there soon. ”
I groan, but what my two best friends can’t see is the smile overtaking my face. Which is probably a good thing because I’m pretty sure I have chocolate frosting on my teeth. “Give me forty-five minutes.”
Jess sighs. “Forty-five minutes and not a second more. And shave your legs. We’re taking you out.”
Dammit. I haven’t shaved my legs in at least a month. This might be a two-razor job.
“Where are we going?” I ask my friends as they force me to stand in front of my bathroom mirror. I apply a coat of mascara and a few swipes of blush. After staring at my pasty face for a minute, I can acknowledge I need it. Normally, I’ve got some color in my otherwise-translucent skin, but I’ve been looking more and more ghostly with every month that goes by P.B.
It’s how I measure time now. B.B. and P.B. Before Breakup and Post Breakup.
Before Breakup Isla always had her fiery red hair curled in loose waves that cascaded gracefully down the middle of her back. Before Breakup Isla had rosy cheeks that softened the smattering of freckles that dusted her face. She wore light makeup but always looked like she’d spent an hour getting ready. She smiled. Well, sometimes. B.B. Isla may not have had the perfect relationship—who does?—but she knew her place in the world and had someone to share it with.
Post Breakup Isla is a mess. She rocks stringy hair that air-dries in tangled, asymmetrical waves, pale skin that highlights dark under-eye circles and the freckles across her upturned nose, and nary a smile to be seen.
Nary’s a weird word.
Maybe I do need to get out of this slump. My thoughts sound too much like the Regency-era romances I’ve been binging. And those women aren’t allowed to get any until their wedding night. Even then, I doubt the sex was anything to write home about, so I definitely don’t want to live in their world. Hell, I’d be considered an old maid back in Jane Austen’s day. A spinster. A crone.
Even with the blush and mascara, I still look haggard.
Whatever. If my appearance screams bog creature or old crone and scares all the men away, then good-fucking-riddance. That’s what I want, after all. No more men for me. I’m determined to focus on my career and myself. When I started teaching, I had these big dreams of making a difference and empowering my students to pursue their passions. I was going to build them up. But after everything with Alex, I lost sight of that for a while. No more. If this breakup has taught me anything, it’s the importance of an unflinching support system.
I study my reflection for a moment and shrug. This is as good as it’s going to get.
My best friends give me a last once-over before turning to one another. Nevaeh’s full lips twist to the side, her springy curls bobbing as her head tilts at an angle. “Yeah. We’ve got our work cut out for us. I think you’re right. We should make her an appointment with Louise.”
I turn slowly to face them. “And why exactly do I need an appointment with Louise? I don’t need her brand of torture. No one’s petting my kitty anytime soon, so there’s no need to groom her. ”
Nevaeh chuckles, and her rich umber eyes sparkle. Her straight, white teeth practically glow against her warm brown skin.
“We’re going out,” Jess replies. As if that explains anything. “We have a surprise for you.”
Her gray eyes narrow when my gaze slides her way, looking stunning and sharp against her deep golden skin. They’re up to something. I don’t like it. Especially not when her thin lips twitch with a failed attempt to keep a smile off her face. Jess brushes a strand of raven hair behind her ear and raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow in challenge.
“You know I don’t like surprises.”
Nevaeh squeezes my hand, and her expression softens. “You used to.”
I did. I liked surprises once. But not anymore. No, I’ve had enough surprises to last me a lifetime, thank you very much. Something about being dumped two weeks before my wedding— SURPRISE! —sorta sucked the fun out of being caught off guard. Still, my protests are weak as they drag me out of my apartment.
We pile into Nevaeh’s car, and I stare out the window as she and Jessica chatter about their jobs, the disastrous dates they’ve gone on with guys from dating apps, and the latest gossip about their coworkers. I don’t say much of anything.
Being the center of Alex’s attention was thrilling. He was so confident and driven; he made me feel special and rare when he showered me with love and affection. But when that affection turned into annoyance and his attention became cruel? His words were weapons, and he was an expert at cutting me down .
Why did I let him get in my head?
I’m trying to figure out where I went wrong when we park in front of a cute dress shop that is way outside of my budget. That’s when the first swirl of discomfort hits me. My friends both have glamorous jobs with equally glamorous paychecks. Me? I’m a high school English teacher in an inner-city school. The closest I ever come to high-end fashion is when I splurge on a dress from Zara rather than Target. A place like this? It would gobble up so much of my paycheck that I’d be eating Ramen for weeks.
Nevaeh and Jess hop out, their faces bright and excited. They don’t even give me a moment to regret my life decisions before yanking the car door open and tugging on my hands.
“What are we doing here?”
Jess smiles brightly. It makes me twitchy. “You’re going to have a Pretty Woman moment.”
I frown. “You’re pimping me out?”
To Nevaeh’s credit, she tries to hide her laughter behind a coughing fit, but it only earns a glare from Jessica.
“No. Chris Hemsworth on a cracker. You’re going shopping. With my black card. Whatever you want, you get. As long as one of those things is a super-hot dress that shows off those toned thighs of yours and your killer rack.” She tilts her head and hums, eyes glazing over. “We should probably get you some sunless tanner, too. I’ve seen your legs recently. You could blind a person with those things.”
“Gee,” I say, following her into the fancy shop. “Thanks.”
Racks of beautiful clothes give pops of color to the otherwise monochromatic shop, and I eye them with distrust. “As sweet as it is that you want to step up and be my sugar-mama, why exactly are we here?”
Jess flicks her hand in the air dismissively. “Do I need a reason to treat my bestie to a day of shopping and fun?”
“Yes.”
My friend clutches her chest. “Don’t you trust us?”
“Are you really asking me that right now?” I let my fingers trail across silky fabric as I arch an eyebrow at her. “The last time you bought me clothes was at Halloween. You promised you wouldn’t pick out anything too racy and then showed up at my apartment with a slutty nurse costume that didn’t even cover my butt cheeks.”
Nevaeh laughs. “I warned her you’d be pissed about that.”
“Well, I was,” I retort. “Thank god I had those Cookie Monster onesie pajamas.”
“Oh, come on,” Jess says with a roll of her eyes. “You would have been such a hot slutty nurse. You just need to have some confidence in yourself, babe. Now try this on.” She pushes a crimson bodycon dress against my chest, forcing me to grab it. A silky off-white number with spaghetti straps and a flared skirt follows quickly behind it. “And this.”
“You still haven’t told me why we’re here.”
“Sweetie, it’s been five months since you and Alex broke up. I know you thought you’d be spending your life with him. We know it’s been hard, and without teaching to distract you this summer, you’ve been struggling. But it’s time to put yourself out there again.” Nevaeh squeezes my shoulder. “It’s time to move on.”
Sure. Move on . She makes it sound so easy . She’s not the one who had to call and email every single one of her friends and family members two weeks before her wedding date to tell them it was off. She’s not the one who had to return wedding gifts and smile at words of sympathy while scrambling to renew a lease she’d already let lapse, keep it together for her students while feeling like a worthless failure, or lose—in one day—an entire group of friends she’d had since high school because they were her ex’s friends first.
“I’ve moved on.”
They both shoot me incredulous looks.
“What? I have. I totally don’t think about Alex anymore.” Ok, that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but I don’t cry myself to sleep anymore. And I haven’t sat on the couch to Netflix and chill with my thumb hovering over his name in my contacts list for at least two months. I’m over him. I am.
Jess turns to Nevaeh. “Did you see the photo Alex posted last week with his new hair? Can you believe he bleached it? He looks like early 2000’s Justin Timberlake. Total ramen hair.”
“He didn’t dye his hair last week,” I say with a frown. “He just posted a photo yesterday, and it’s totally still brown.” My friends stop sifting through the racks and stare at me with raised brows.
Dammit. Busted.
In my defense, I’m not stalking Alex’s socials because I’m still in love with him. I’m looking for some sign that he regrets dumping me, so when he comes crawling back, I’m ready to put on a revenge dress and tell him to kiss my ass.
Mostly.
Sometimes, I’m just a glutton for punishment.
I let my head hang in shame. “Fine. So maybe I need to move on. I still don’t see what that has to do with us buying dresses that cost a third of my paycheck.” They practically shove me into a dressing room, demanding I start with the red bodycon dress.
“You need something hot to wear on dates,” Jess says as I wiggle into the skin-tight dress. Jesus. It looks like I painted it on.
“Oh, no.” Nevaeh’s nose crinkles. “I think the slutty nurse costume was less provocative.”
I snort, closing myself back into the dressing room and trying on a little blue number with a halter neckline and a low-cut front. “I have plenty of clothes,” I tell them as I open the door to model this new option. It’s not a winner, either.
“New clothes, new you,” Jess sings. “Besides, you tend to dress for comfort.”
Pulling on a yellow dress that does nothing for my complexion, I grunt. “And what’s wrong with that?”
“No,” Jess says when I swing the door open dramatically. I immediately swing it closed. “And there’s nothing wrong with dressing for comfort. When you’re at home or teaching your students. But when you’re out on a date? Dress to get what you want.”
I roll my eyes as I pull a slinky black dress over my head. The fabric is shimmery, and it has a scoop neckline, thick straps, and a hemline that falls mid-thigh. I stare at myself as I ask, “And what, exactly, do I want?”
Nevaeh’s throaty chuckle filters through the thin changing room door. “To get dicked-down real good by a hot professional athlete.”
I choke on a laugh. “That may be what you want. I’ve never been the girl that falls all over herself for a jock. ”
Besides, I haven’t had sex since Alex. I need someone who’s the sexual equivalent of a bike with training wheels. Average, unassuming, and reliable enough to get me across the finish line. Even if the ride isn’t exciting. Some hot jock with a string of sated women in his rearview mirror is more like a motorcycle. Sure, it could be the best ride of your life, but you could also end up going too fast, falling, and finding yourself covered in road-rash for your troubles.
Road rash being an STI.
“Then you don’t know what you’re missing,” she replies. “Big, strong hands, nimble fingers, and muscles that you’ll want to li—” She falls silent when I step out of the changing room. She and Jess stare at me as I do a little spin—because I’m feeling myself in this dress—before turning to each other with matching mischievous grins.
“Oh, that’s the one. That dress will bring monsoon season to your Sahara.” Jess waves vaguely toward my crotch. “Now we really need to get her an appointment with Louise.”
“Seriously, you guys, I do not need an appointment to get waxed. I don’t even have any dating prospects, let alone professional athlete prospects.” I pull a face. Besides, aren’t all athletes notorious for sleeping with anything with boobs? The last thing I need is chlamydia.
Jessica shrugs. “But if you had a potential date, you’d go?”
“I guess so.”
“And if you happened to land a date with a sports star, you’d go to that too?”
That makes me laugh. And maybe tomorrow, pigs will gain the ability to fly. “Sure. If I landed a date with some famous jock, I’d go on that too.”
Easy enough to agree to. It’ll never happen.
Jessica’s beautiful face breaks into a smile I don’t like. It’s her I’m up to no good smile that reminds me of the Grinch when he’s about to steal Christmas, and I feel like I’m about to wake up to a tree without presents. “Nevaeh, make that appointment with Louise.”
“Um, no, do not.” I point to myself. “Dateless, remember?”
“Actually,” Jess exchanges a look with Nevaeh, “you have a date this Saturday night. With Maddox Graves.”
Maddox Graves. I know that name. How do I know that name?
I stare out the window of the dress shop, my mind trying to place where I’ve heard of him. A bus idles at the stoplight with a massive photo of one of the Minnesota Rogues players on the side. He’s ridiculously hot with his tousled black hair and five-o’clock shadow that accentuates his sharply-cut jaw. The color of his eyes is warm brown, flecked with amber, but his expression is hard and sexy, and he holds his hockey stick like he’s ready for a fight.
Okay, I wouldn’t mind going out with a guy that hot, even if he was a cocky athlete. “Who in the hell is Maddox Graves?”
Jess laughs. “You seriously don’t know?”
“No,” I reply, irritated. “I seriously don’t know.”
Jessica leans forward, lifting her arm and pointing at the idling bus before it pulls forward. “ That , my sweet Isla, is Maddox Graves. And come Saturday evening, He will be your date. ”
My eyes must be round as saucers as I turn to her and splutter, “Bullshit!”
Anticipating my response, Nevaeh holds up her phone, the screen confirming what Jess just told me. “Not bullshit, babes. And there’s no getting out of this because you swore.”
I stare at the larger-than-life photo of Maddox Graves as the bus drives away. His piercing gaze seems to linger on me. As if making a silent promise to upend my life in the most catastrophic way.
But maybe my life could do with some upending. Maybe Jess and Nev are right. It’s time to get over Alex. To focus on my students and get ready to start the new school year off with a bang. I will walk into Center High with my chin up and a renewed determination to be the best damned teacher I can be.
And if my best friends think going on a date with a broody hockey player might help me get my groove back, I guess that’s what I’ll do.