Sighing, I shake my head. Glowering at the sky does as much for the weather as telling myself that my problems could be worse. And missing Olivia is better than thinking about my deadlines at work.
Or my brother.
The original plan was for me to go get him, but I said I had pressing matters at work and had happily paid for an Uber. Not that Chase cares. As long as he gets from A to B, he’s happy. Probably happier, since he gets to avoid awkward car conversation.
I scrub my face with my hand and set the margarita to the side.
Alcohol, my brother, work, and women are useless for forgetting Olivia. And I need to forget her. It doesn’t help when I get text messages from her, even though I’ve removed my number from her phone. Her message was simple, to the point, begging for an answer:Why are you flaunting your whores?! We have just broken up.
All she’d seen was a picture of me leaving a restaurant with a woman. As far as the article was concerned, I was meeting a potential lead for an upcoming project. That was the line I’d told her too. And that’s all it had been. She’s the only woman for me. If I tried maybe I could fuck her memory away so that I could get on with my life, but it was no use. I was just going through the motions, hoping somehow my feelings would shift to someone or something else.
I take another drink of the margarita, thinking of Olivia in my old bed, the one I’d had to sell since I couldn’t be in it without thinking of her. Her laugh, her smile, the way her body felt against mine. She’d made me want to settle down and be a real boyfriend, a good man to her. The age difference hadn’t even mattered.
“Fuck!” I pour the margarita out and sit up from the lounge chair.
I can’t keep going in circles like this. If I touch her again, her father will eviscerate me. That keeps me in line.
Getting up, I collect the papers in front of me and look through them. There’s something off, either about the names or the contracts. Maybe I’m just overthinking it like I overthink everything.
My phone goes off and I check it, half-hoping it’s from Olivia. Because I’m apparently a raving masochist. She could be mad, as mad as she wants—that means she still knows I exist. But no, it’s not from her—it’s just an alert telling me that the limo has collected Chase from the airport.
Chase is a handful on the best of days, which means I better work now if I want to get anything of value done before he joins me at the house. Whoever said family comes first clearly has never met my family. They drain so much energy, they’re worse than a black hole. I don’t know what I was thinking agreeing for Chase to come over. I guess at least he’ll be a distraction.
Chase Grant, hockey player beloved by women. A modern Adonis if the papers had anything to say about him. That’s more than I know. Other than a love of women, I have so little in common with my brother, he might as well be a stranger. He’s just a guy I happen to share DNA with and see on forced family get-togethers.
He’d probably say the same thing about me, which would be fair. He doesn’t know anything about me. Like the fact that I fell for my best friend’s daughter half my age, and worse, that I was caught by said best friend fucking said daughter.
It’s a cliché in L.A. One so bad it’s made it into porn—the young starlet that falls for the producer. But at least I tried to resist her. At least I loved her. And at least…I let her go.
Not that it makes it right. I have twenty years on her. Garrett had been sure I’d protect her, look after her, and make sure she got through the business unscathed. Instead, I fell for her and dragged her down on top of me.
All it had taken was one photographer and my shitty luck. I hadn’t thought that anyone would follow us to an actual date. I’d taken so many precautions. And I knew better than to kiss her anywhere but at home. Still, I couldn’t resist, and the next day the news exploded on the tabloids. Garrett detonated shortly after.
Memories of Olivia keep swirling until the doorbell rang. I blink a few times and realize it’s my door. Harsh fists follow the doorbell and I sigh. Chase. Impatient, classically annoying Chase.
Any excitement I had felt is replaced by the overwhelming feeling that I’m too old to handle any of this. Still, I open the front door and welcome him into the foyer. He whistles as he looks around, then grins at me—the same boyish smile that I remember.
Some things don’t change.
“What’s up, brother?” He reaches out for me, one arm in a sling.
I hug him and pat his back. He’s more solid than I remember, pure muscle. His arm around me is stronger than I remember too. How long has it been since we’ve hugged at all?
“Good to see you, Chase. Welcome to L.A.,” I greet as I pull out of the hug.
“Not too shabby, man. Hotel rooms have nothing on your life.” He chuckles, looking around, taking everything in.
“How’s your shoulder? How’s your head?”
“It’ll be fine. Nothing in my head anyway if you believe Dad. Unfortunately, it’ll be a while before I’m back on the ice.”
“I thought the doctor said a few weeks?” I take his suitcase from him as we walk further into the house.
A shadow passes over his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Weeks might as well be months with the training I’m missing out on.”
“Come on in. You can choose what bedroom you want. Just get comfy.”
I like the reactions I get from this house. It’s big enough to hold an old-fashioned Hollywood soiree, but it’s also free of memories. It’s a blank slate, which is exactly what my life should be at this point.