Break Up with Him, for Me: A ‘Friends to Lovers’ Romance Page 11

“Hello?” I answered.

  “Hey there, gorgeous.” There was a smile in his voice. “Are you still recovering from your hangover?”

  “Maybe.”

  He laughed. “Well, in that case, I’m calling to beg you for a second date.”

  “Really?” Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. “When?”

  “Tomorrow, if you can,” he said. “I’m hosting a second welcome party in the Hamptons. Would you be able to make it?”

  “Um …” I looked over at Hayden. “Hold on a second, let me check something.”

  “Sure.”

  I made sure to hit the mute button. “He wants to take me on a second date in the Hamptons tomorrow. What should I say?”

  “That normal people have jobs and can’t party with their blast from the past every night.”

  “You know that’s super hypocritical coming from you, Mr. Untamed Playboy of Manhattan, right?”

  He leaned back in his chair and laughed. “You should go with him. Tell him yes.”

  I un-muted the call. “Sorry about that. I can come.”

  “Great. I’d offer to pick you up, but I already promised my guys I would drive. Can I arrange for a town car to pick you up instead?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’ll have Hayden bring me.”

  “Hmmm.” He paused. “Okay, then. I’ll text you the address and start time.”

  “I had a great time with you on the yacht,” I said, hoping that his “Hmmm” wasn’t bound to lead down a familiar road I didn’t want to travel.

  “Me too,” he said. “Although, I have to warn you. Once word gets out that my firm is completely here, you may see a few photogs trailing us here or there. I mean, if you’re still going out on dates with me, that is.”

  “They won’t bother me at all.” I bit my tongue before I said, ‘I’m used to photogs with Hayden.’ “Trust me.”

  “Tell me why your last relationship didn’t work,” he said suddenly, catching me off guard.

  “What?”

  “Your last relationship,” he repeated. “I’m curious as to why any sane guy would ever let you go.”

  “It’s complicated,” I said, blushing. “It’s also a long story.”

  “I have all day.”

  I blushed again. “He just wasn’t right for me. We dated six months and he was harboring resentment over something stupid the entire time. Something that he knew about from the beginning.”

  “You mean, the fact that your best male friend is a super successful CEO with a bad-boy reputation?”

  “Yes.” I smiled. “That.”

  “Well, so you know, that doesn’t bother me in the slightest.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Most of my friends fell off once I started getting obsessed with my work, and it was hard to find new ones. I think its good to have a loyal friend like that in your life.”

  “I think my obsession with skating cost me the chance of making lot of friends, too. I don’t regret it in the slightest, though.”

  “You shouldn’t,” he said. “You accomplished almost everything you wanted from your career, right?”

  Just like at the yacht party, one simple question evolved into an hours-long conversation about nothing and everything all at once. I wasn’t second-guessing my answers or putting up boundaries like I usually did when I was pursuing someone new.

  It was all natural and easy, smooth and sweet.

  I didn’t even care that Hayden ate my lunch and literally lifted me up mid-convo to carry me back to the guest suite so he could focus.

  In the middle of Simon telling me about his favorite places to eat in Florida, his assistant interrupted.

  “Can I call you back within the hour?” he asked. “This will be quick, I promise.”

  “Absolutely.” I ended the call and returned to the kitchen, stopping when I saw Hayden dressed in nothing but a pair of black briefs.

  He was standing in front of the stove, letting droplets of water trickle down from his freshly showered hair and onto his perfectly chiseled chest.

  “Yes?” He flipped a pancake before looking at me. “Are you finally done talking to Simon about your favorite Disney movies, or is there a part two for that riveting topic of discussion?”

  “You were eavesdropping?”

  “I walked by to shut the door. You want three or four pancakes?”

  “I want you to put some clothes on.”

  “In my own damn house?” He smirked. “Three or four?”

  “Four. And yes, in your own damn house.”

  He laughed and grabbed a pair of sweats from a chair, pulling them on. “Better?”

  “Much.” I took out the syrup. “I need a favor.”

  “Then you need to write some more letters for me.”

  “Can you drive me to the Hamptons tomorrow?” I asked. “Preferably early in the morning so we can beat the traffic?”

  He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

  “I’ll give you some gas money,” I said.

  “A full tank of gas in my Maserati costs two hundred dollars.”

  “That’s not your only car.”

  “It costs more in the Bugatti. Those are your cheapest options.”

  “Can’t you buy a Honda or a Prius between now and then?”

  He laughed. “I thought you had a session at the rink tomorrow with that Olympic hopeful.”

  “I’ll call to reschedule.” I shrugged. “She’s only looking for feedback.”

  “I’ll drive you, but under the condition that you don’t reschedule on her again,” he said. “You hated when your coaches did that to you, and I still have the angry text messages and voicemails to prove it.”

  I stared at him, hating that he knew me so damn well. That he was taking me on a well-deserved guilt-trip.

  “I’ll ask Tatiana to show up in my place,” I said. “She’s been itching to see good skating for a while.”

  “Good idea.” He turned off the stove. “Be ready to leave at four. How much longer before you can get back to the letters?”

  “Simon’s calling me within the hour.”

  “Okay, well no pancakes for you. Just letters until he calls.” He took a bite of my stack and slid a pen toward me. “You’re welcome.”

  Nine

  Present Day

  Hayden

  The following morning

  “Have I ever told you that you’re a terrible driver?” Penelope looked over at me as I sped my Audi through the back streets. “The speed limit is sixty-five and you’ve been going ninety this entire time.”

  “If you like, we can switch seats and you can drive.”

  “I actually would like that.”

  “Tough shit, it was sarcasm.” I laughed and switched lanes. “How long did you and lover-boy stay on the phone last night?”

  “Three hours. He’s had his heart broken in some pretty awful ways like me. Want to hear about it?”

  “Sure,” I said, with no intent on listening to a single word she said.

  I’d thought that by working on the letters and chatting about ‘Prince Charming’ would be enough to stop the dirty images that were still flooding my brain from the night before, but I was wrong.

  Dead wrong.

  To make matters worse, she’d decided to get into my car wearing nothing but a bright red bikini top and light jean shorts that might as well have been panties.

  I was playing my best game of restraint with every curve I steered, wondering where the hell my best friend who previously wore oversized T-shirts and jeans to parties had gone. My best friend who didn’t arouse me every time I looked at her …

  “What do you think about that?” Her voice interrupted my thoughts. “His fiancé dumped him the day that they were walking through the wedding venue.”

  “Sounds terrible.”

  “Yeah, it’s really sad.”

  “Long-term commitment only leads to disappointment,” I said. “Someone like him should’ve known better.”
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  “Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess that’s what makes you, you. You’re a good muse for a late-night orgasm in bed, but a terrible template for a boyfriend.”

  “You touch yourself while thinking of me?”

  “It was an analogy, Hayden.”

  “I think there’s a hidden meaning behind it.” I looked over at her as we pulled up to a red light. “You can be honest with me, you know.”

  “I honestly think that you’re full of yourself, and if I’d known that you had over a thousand apology letters to write, I would’ve never agreed to helping you.”

  “Then you probably would’ve spent the entire yacht party in the bathroom. You’re still welcome for that, by the way.”

  She didn’t have a rebuttal for that.

  I steered the car around the corner and stomped on the brake once I saw what was ahead.

  “What the hell?” Penelope sucked in a breath.

  Miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic lay ahead of us—cars full of people with the same idea, killing her initial plan to get there early.

  Or on time.

  “Should I text Simon and tell him I’ll be three hours late?” She sighed. “I don’t see me getting there any sooner.”

  “No,” I said, steering the car out of the lane and making a U-turn. “I’ll park at the garage and we’ll walk to one of my beach rentals. I’ll have Roger fly via helicopter to check on it, and then I’ll get someone else to bring me a different car so I can drive back home.”

  “Do you ever stop and realize how ridiculously wealthy you are?”

  “I do, but my best friend isn’t the slightest bit impressed.” I smiled. I drove under the underpass that led to a private garage.

  Penelope grabbed my baseball cap and sunglasses from the backseat and handed them to me. “Here. I don’t want to risk too many women trying to distract you.”

  “The beach on this side is empty.” I motioned for her to follow me across the lane and down to the sand.

  We walked in silence for the first half-mile, with nothing but the sound of waves slapping the shore between us.

  “You should get laid soon,” she said out of nowhere.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You haven’t had sex in months and I think it’s affecting you on a deeper level.”

  “This coming from a woman who consistently fakes it in bed?”

  “My moans are real.”

  “Your orgasms aren’t.”

  “I’m just saying.” She looked up at me. “You’re a lot more easygoing when you’re getting laid. Speaking of which, does your seven date rule apply for me and Simon since I already know who he is?”

  “I think you can fuck him whenever you want,” I said. “However, knowing you, you’ll probably wait until he tells you that he cares about you.”

  “If that was the case, I would’ve slept with you a long time ago.”

  “Penelope, you and I wouldn’t be compatible in bed.”

  “Because your ego would be bruised when you realized I’m faking it?”

  “You wouldn’t be faking it with me.”

  “I think every guy says that.”

  “I think I mean that.” I stopped walking and stared at her.

  Then, because I needed a reason to get into the ocean and hide my hard-on, I picked her up and tossed her into an oncoming wave.

  “Seriously?” She laughed and screamed, swallowing a mouthful of saltwater.

  “You deserved that,” I said. “Any other bad, hot takes you want to share?”

  “I think you’re all bark and no bite when it comes to how good you are in bed.”

  I pushed her into a wave again and joined her in the water.

  As she attacked me with armfuls of heavy splashes, I realized that getting her into this water was a terrible idea.

  Her bikini top was thin enough for me to see her nipples through the fabric.

  Fuck.

  She suddenly kicked a huge splash of water onto my face, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “I’m going to make you regret that.” I picked her up and tossed her over my shoulder with ease. Then I threw her down into the water again and again.

  When she finally surrendered, she climbed onto my back.

  “You can’t possibly pick me up and throw me into the water this way, Penelope.”

  “I’m not trying to.” She wrapped her legs around my waist from behind. Then she pressed her breasts against my back.

  “I think I sprained my ankle,” she said. “Can you carry me for a little while?”

  Can you promise to stop being so obliviously fucking sexy? “Of course.”

  By the time we made it to my rental house, we were both soaking wet, and my Hamptons’ contact was pulling a car into the driveway for my return trip to New York.

  Setting Penelope down near the pool, I handed her a few towels.

  “Unless you want to show up to his event drenched, there’s a dryer in the back.”

  “I know.” She dabbed her face. “I’ll shower first.”

  “If he doesn’t offer to take you home, call me and I’ll come back,” I said. “But then you’ll have to immediately stop talking to him. If he’s truly into you after all this time, he’ll want to spend as much time with you as possible.”

  “Noted.” She stepped back, and I tried not to stare too hard at her nipples.

  Are they hard?

  “Also,” I said, crossing my arms, “just in case he does take you home, and you start penning your fairytale later tonight, do not call me to recap his party.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “Because whenever we’re on the phone mid-recap, the guy typically guys calls you, Penelope,” I said, heading toward the door. “Let him call you and talk to him first. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Okay. Well, thank you for everything. You’re being quite the gentleman today.”

  No, I’m showing impressive restraint.

  Nine (B)

  PRESENT DAY

  I shook the sand from my shoes the following morning, smiling as I remembered how sweet Simon was to me yesterday.

  Honestly, his second party wasn’t much to write home about. All of his executive buddies drank beers and relaxed on beach chairs while he introduced me to them one by one.

  His insistence on the introductions was the type of not-so-subtle approach that Hayden often called the ‘See how hot my girl is?’ move.” It was a silent power play, but it boded well for us since I knew he wasn’t trying to downplay his interest in me while in front of his friends.

  Making sure the last of the sand was gone, I put on my shoes and grabbed my bag.

  “I’ll be back, Tatiana!” I called out. “I’ll bring you back a muffin!”

  “Blueberry, please!”

  I opened my front door and found myself face to face with Simon and a beautiful vase filled with red roses.

  “Um, hey, Simon.” I blushed.

  “Hey, Penelope.” He smiled. “I uh, I hope this doesn’t come off like I’m stalking you or anything, but I was wondering if I could take you out for some coffee? I feel like I spent more time talking about you to my team, than actually talking to you yesterday.”

  I was utterly speechless.

  “I mean, if you can’t join me, I totally understand. I can ask you out another day.”

  “No, I can totally come with you.” I reached for the flowers. “Let me put these in the kitchen, and I’ll be right out.”

  “Okay, great.”

  I rushed inside and snapped a picture of the flowers. Then I called Hayden.

  “Yes, Penelope?” he answered on the first ring.

  “Guess who got me flowers?”

  “Guess who owes me some apology letters?”

  “Prince Charming.” I avoided his sarcasm. “I sent you a picture. What do you think?”

  “I think he spent over a hundred dollars on these, so he’s not cheap like The One Who Thought Ramen Noodles Were Italian.”


  “I think The One Who Stole Starbucks might have him beat.”

  We both laughed.

  “He just showed up to my place and asked me out for coffee,” I said. “I agreed before realizing that I didn’t ask you if that was a good idea.”

  “It’s a great idea,” he said. “It’s just coffee. You do have a client in a few hours, so you can’t stay that long anyway.”

  “Good point. What are you doing?”

  “Watching Lawrence glare at me for answering your call in the middle of an important meeting.”

  “How hard is it for you to call Hayden after five in the afternoon, Penelope?” Lawrence called out. “Do I need to buy you a watch? Doesn’t your phone tell time?”

  I snorted. “Sorry. I’ll let you get back to it.”

  “Wait,” he said. “One quick thing. Since he’s a hedge fund guy, he may be the type that likes emailing and texting all day, so don’t do that with him. At least, not too much.”

  “Why not?”

  “You need to make him work for you,” he said. “He needs to call and show up in person. Plus, for whatever reason, you and emails don’t tend to do well when it comes to relationships.”

  “They work with you.”

  “I’m an exception.” He laughed. “Don’t send him an email or get involved in too much texting until you’ve been dating him for a few weeks, okay? Trust me.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.” I ended the call and returned outside to Simon.

  “Ready for coffee?” He asked.

  “Yep.”

  “You know,” he said as we stepped onto the sidewalk, “I wanted to text you before coming over here, but I’m an old school guy at heart, and I don’t like too many digital things in a real relationship. I hope you’re okay with that.”

  I smiled. I couldn’t wait to tell Hayden.

  “I’m more than okay with that.”

  Break Up #9

  The One That Sent An Email/The One That Almost Got Italian DInner

  Penelope

  Back Then

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