The (Hate) Love Bet (L.A. Hawks Hockey #5)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

When the sun won't laugh, tickle the rain!

From the self-help book for self-pitiers by psychologist Rachel James

While you’re getting your hands wet, I’ll get an umbrella… (You should leave out the "therapist." "Psycho" is perfectly acceptable!) - Connor

You flee two thousand miles from your problems only to end up with one foot in literal shit all over again.

It was clearly her fault. Rachel should have expected to find a baby goat tied to a lamppost on the Santa Monica boardwalk, slinging its shit just as happily as angry monkeys and Scientologists.

For months, her life had been dominated by the C star: Cacti, calories, calamities, and caca.

The first two Cs had, of course, been necessary as a coping strategy for the last two Cs.

All that was missing to perfect her happiness was a carcass.

And the goat looked a little weak, so hey, maybe this was the day.

Sighing, she pulled her shoe out of the goat excrement and wiped it on the sandy path. Her Croc now looked like a misshapen rum ball. A goat poop ball. Surely a delicacy somewhere.

The goat bleated contentedly, as if it were surprised it had attained its goal for the day so early, and Rachel gave up. Some crap couldn’t be wiped away. She knew that better than anyone.

God, in her senior year of high school, if someone had told her that, fifteen years in the future, Perfect Rachel James would have one foot in goat shit and the other in real shit, she would have given them a whole flock of birds. Perfect Rachel didn’t tarnish her reputation or her shoes.

She squinted against the July sun – stupid thing was literally laughing in her face – and looked down the street.

Her gaze fell upon the long pier. It was less than a hundred yards away, jutting out over the water.

It was this that gave the promenade its name: Sunshine Pier.

The old, perfect Rachel would probably have found it terribly romantic that only couples were frolicking on the boardwalk in the warm sunlight, that the dozens of seaweed-covered wooden pilings defied every foaming wave, just as love defied judgment and cynicism.

Okay, the new Rachel still believed it was romantic, but she didn’t have the energy to write down the wonderful analogy between a boardwalk and love for her next session.

Instead, she turned her back on the ocean and stared at the five colorful buildings in front of her.

The small row of brightly painted shops reflected the California sun.

Rachel had seen many streets in her life, but she was getting the vague feeling that Sunshine Pier was special.

And not only because of the goat happily frolicking in its own manure. No.

Directly ahead was her destination. Match Me! the dating agency she had practically founded with her sister Maddie, but had never visited. A large sign stood at the front window of the small building at the left end of the row: Find Your Dream Man!

The building directly next door apparently housed the offices of a private investigator who had also put up a sign: Is your dream man cheating on you?

In the middle, there had apparently once been a workshop, but only dusty windows and the sign We repair everything except broken hearts remained.

Next to it was a divorce lawyer advertising: Get a divorce from your dream man! At the end of the promenade was the Sunny Umbrella bar, whose window did not advertise a drinks menu but a poster with the words: Divorced? Drink your worries away!

Rachel fought a smile. She recognized a pattern — she loved patterns. With them, the secrets of the human psyche could be explored. Insights could be gained. Security could be created. The future could be predicted.

However, her radar had apparently been broken for a while because, by God, she hadn’t seen the last few months coming, and she had finally had enough! She was known for being levelheaded and patient and for showing compassion and gentleness. But right now, she wasn’t feeling any of that.

Man, life had a weird sense of humor.

But the man stomping toward her down the boardwalk obviously didn’t. “She can’t be fucking serious!”

Pensive, Rachel tilted her head. Besides the animal dung, she should have known to expect a hot, six-foot-three giant wearing a black three-piece suit that clung to his ridiculously broad shoulders.

This despite the 90-degree heat. Damn, that suit was so tight, someone must have stapled it on.

Rachel’s radar might be on the fritz at the moment, but the guy didn’t fit in with this scene.

His expensive watch screamed money, his short, dark-blond hair angel, and his dark brown eyes gates of hell.

He was certainly attractive, with all those muscles, his chiseled jaw, and his “archangel of destruction” charisma, but Rachel preferred her men to be average, not to mention with a more positive attitude.

Overall, this man gave off rather bad vibes, one that certainly didn’t run on green energy but rather children’s tears.

She was surprised the sign he had tucked under his arm didn't catch fire instantly.

She would have liked to stare at him a little longer.

First impressions said a lot about people, and she always tried to draw them out as long as possible to avoid getting the wrong opinion.

Still, she found it difficult to concentrate on him.

The baby goat was bleating happily at the man as if they were good friends who had previously shared a pasture.

He ignored it as if it were the most normal and uninteresting thing in the world and pushed open the door to Match Me! not twenty feet away.

Hmm. What exactly did he want…

“Where the hell is Madison?” the suit-wearing man thundered, making even the goat jump.

Rachel pressed her lips together. Starting a conversation by shouting wasn’t polite, and she was sick of rich, handsome men who thought they owned the world!

Rachel squared her shoulders, crossed the street, and pushed open the door of the dating agency with her fist. The man with the bad energy was glaring at Hailey, his free hand resting on her desk by the entrance.

Rachel knew the IT expert, the woman who had programmed the dating site’s algorithm using the questionnaire Rachel had created.

She was also her sister’s best friend and incredibly kind. She didn’t deserve such an attack.

Hailey, however, just pursed her lips and tapped her chin with a pen. “Good morning to you too! Maddie isn’t here yet.”

“When the hell will she be here, Hailey?” the suit-douche growled.

“I don’t know,” she replied innocently, leaning back in her chair. “You need to be patient.”

“Patience isn’t my strong suit.”

Rachel nodded, impressed. “Insight is the first step to improvement,” she stated.

The man turned to her. His eyebrows furrowed in irritation, his gaze flickering over her once before he spit out, “What?”

“It’s nice that you’re reflecting on your behavior,” Rachel explained, casually smiling. “Few people can admit their weaknesses. And since Maddie isn’t here yet, maybe I can help you for a sec?”

Her little sister didn’t like being yelled at.

Her obsession with harmony was world-record-breaking.

Rachel’s job as a couples therapist, on the other hand, consisted of listening to people rant at each other.

She had absolutely nothing against a few more decibels — and she regretted not having been there for her siblings over the past few years.

So maybe today was the day she could start making amends.

“You know,” she continued, in a deliberately friendly tone, “I generally stay away from irrational screamers, but I’ll make a one-time exception for you.”

The man blinked. “Irrational scream…wow.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Who the hell are you?”

She held out her hand. “Rachel. Maddie’s sister.”

“Oh, fantastic.” He ignored her hand and tilted his head back with a groan. “There are two of you!”

“Three,” she corrected. And he didn't even know how lucky he was that Lucy wasn’t here. Lucy's patience with arrogant men was shorter than the stubble on her counterpart’s chiseled jaw.

“And the world is rejoicing,” he replied dryly. “But fine. If you want to help, maybe you can explain to me what this is.”

With that, he pulled the sign from under his arm and slammed it down on the desk in front of Hailey.

Curious, Rachel leaned forward and tilted her head. Someone had painted a wooden board white and then decorated it with hearts and red lettering:

If you let us match you, you’ll never have to see a divorce lawyer again. Match Me!

Below was an arrow pointing to the right, presumably toward the dating agency. Oh, Maddie was good!

She bit her lip to keep from laughing, and finally said, straining to look serious, “In my professional opinion, that’s a sign.”

“No shit!” the man growled, annoyed.

“Then why are you asking?”

“Calm down, Connor. You don’t own the sidewalk,” Hailey said with a shrug before smiling past him in her direction. “Hey, Rachel, good to see you. Weren’t you planning on arriving this evening?”

“I drove through the night.” She wasn’t getting much sleep these days anyway, and she had needed to get out.

Out of Chicago. Out of her life. Just out.

So she’d drunk three liters of Coke, taken a few naps at rest stops — and now she was here, fighting yet another battle.

But this one was for her sister. And, strangely enough, fighting for her family was so much easier than dealing with her own demons.

“So he’s the Connor Stone I've been hearing about?” She frowned and crossed her arms. Maddie had told her about him.

He was the cynical lawyer next door who never missed an opportunity to mock her psychological questionnaire.

God, his timing was bad. She really wasn’t in a good mood for lawyers right now. “I’ve heard about you.”