Raquel.Reads

I’m just so exhausted—always living on the edge of desperation, one paycheck away from ruin. But this new job… It could be the fresh start I need. It could change everything. The contract is only for three months, but if I keep my head down, work hard, and prove myself, maybe I could stay longer. Maybe I could make Black Mountain Lodge my home. As I pull down the gravel drive, surrounded by the forest and mountains and bright blue skies, I feel something I haven’t felt in a while. I feel hope.

I should have run the other way. Paid my tab and gone back to my room. But he was there. And he was…everything. I figured, what’s the harm in letting passion rule my decisions for one night? So what if he looks like the Devil in a suit? I’d be leaving in the morning, flying home to my pleasant but predictable life. I’d never see him again. Except I do. In the last place I expected. And now everything I’ve worked so hard for is in jeopardy.

My friends found their happily-ever-afters with a couple of sweet, doting, over-the-top, in-love athletes. They got nicknames like Kitten and Sugar. But me? I got stuck with a dickhead who riles me up on purpose and calls me Banshee. Yeah, he might have a voice made explicitly for wet dreams. And he might have a body and face carved by the gods. And he might have a level of Alpha-hole that gets me all hot and bothered. But when he presses my buttons, he presses ALL my buttons.

My friends have convinced me: no more hockey players. With a dad who is the Head Coach for the Minnesota Sleet, it seemed like an easy decision. My friends have also convinced me that the best way to boost my fragile self-esteem is through a one-night stand. A dating app. A hotel bar. A sexy-as-hell man who’s sweet, and funny...and did I mention sexy-as-hell?

There are a few things that life doesn’t prepare you for. Like what to do when a super-hot guy catches you sneaking around in his basement, or what to do when a mysterious package shows up with tickets to a hockey game (because, apparently, he’s a professional athlete). Nor how to handle it when you get to the game and realize he’s freaking famous, since half of the 20,000 people in the stands are wearing his jersey.

Okay, so my bad for assuming the guy I was going on a date with wasn't married. And my bad for taking him to a friend's house for dinner, only to find out my friend is also friends with his wife. Because, in fact, he is married. And she happens to be at my friend's house because her husband was "busy working." Confused? So am I. Unsurprisingly, my date's wife is super angry about finding out that her husband is a cheating asshole. Girl, I get it. Then to make matters more convoluted, there is the man sitting next to my date's wife. A man named King, who is apparently her brother.

Running away from home at 17 wasn't easy. Let's face it, though, nothing before or in the ten years since has ever been easy for me. And I'm doing okay—sorta. I just need to keep scraping by, living under the radar. Staying out of people's way, off people's minds. When a man walks through my open patio door, stepping boldly into my home and my life, I should be scared, frightened, terrified. I must be more broken than I realized because I'm none of those things. I'm intrigued—and I'm wondering if the way to take control of my life is by giving in to him.