Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
winnie
Oh god. Oh god.
Winnie skitters back into the mansion as quickly as her high heels will allow, then collapses against the nearest wall, cowering from the window so Tyler won’t see.
She’s been through many a mortifying moment in her life, but none has hit with such astronomical humiliation as this one.
Because it’s Tyler. Because her parents, and her brother, and every other person she knows plus millions of other people she doesn’t will bear witness.
Mostly, because she freaking knew better.
He said he would never think of her in that way.
Never. She heard it with her own two ears.
And still, her stupid, stubborn, happily-ever-after-seeking heart convinced her it was worth a shot.
I really hate myself sometimes.
Won’t she ever learn her lesson? It’s one thing to be ridiculed for something out of her control, but it’s another thing entirely to walk into a trap with open arms. Did Liam teach her nothing?
And this is so much worse than a frog. Heck, a frog would be easy!
Swipe her forearm, swill some mouthwash, and it’s gone.
But Tyler?
Her lips still tingle from that brief contact with his mouth, as if he’s part habanero pepper.
Heat radiates from the spot. It’s not a feeling she can just wash away.
The spice has already permeated the barrier, and the metaphorical water only swirled it around, inflicting more pain as point after point caught fire. Her entire body prickles.
Did I really dare him to fall in love with me?
Yes. Yes she did.
And his exact response was, No, Winnie, you don’t—
You don’t what?
You don’t love me. You don’t really mean it. You don’t understand that I’m trying to kindly turn you down in front of ten million people. I’m not interested in you that way, and I never will be.
Never.
Gah! she wants to scream. Instead she just releases a sad little groan, balls her hands into fists, and lifts her gaze to keep the tears from falling.
In any other instance, the dark coffered ceiling would leave her feeling soothed, like a small piece of home to latch on to.
Now, she just feels buried six feet under, her grim reaper a stunning blonde bombshell adorned in a lace flutter-sleeve gown.
But maybe the quick getaway was a mercy in disguise.
Now she just needs to survive the rest of this cocktail party before she can crawl home with her tail between her legs and overanalyze every possible reason why a multimillionaire hockey player who can have any woman he wants isn’t interested in a twenty-five-year-old book-obsessed struggling artist who’s about to move back in with her parents.
The world may never know.
She cringes internally.
It’s too soon to wallow.
Winnie takes a deep breath and pulls herself together.
She’s here. She might as well make the most of it and numb her pain with free champagne.
It’s what Sam would do. She can practically hear her roommate’s unflappable voice in her ear.
Never let them see you sweat. And never pass up an open bar.
We’ve paid for way too many seventeen-dollar cocktails to skimp out on an opportunity like this.
Yes, we have.
Winnie lowers her chin, prepared to scope out a tray of bubbling flutes, when she catches sight of a black tuxedo instead.
Shit!
Her fight-or-flight instincts only operate on one mode.
Without even thinking, she dives for the nearest hiding spot, which happens to be a pin-tucked leather couch.
Winnie drops to all fours and presses her exposed back against the cool material just as the patio door opens.
She hugs her knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible.
The move is apparently unnecessary, because Tyler doesn’t stop.
Doesn’t call her name. Doesn’t appear to look for her at all.
She sits there listening to his shoes click across the floor with a mix of relief and despair.
Luckily, her disgrace is so complete she can’t even bring herself to feel embarrassed by her overreaction—and the blinking red camera that undoubtedly caught it all on film.
Or so she thinks.
Until soft tittering reaches her ears.
It’s not about me, she reasons. Then she hears, “God, she’s full of herself, isn’t she?” and “What a drama queen” and her personal favorite, “I told you she must be a stalker.”
It’s totally about me.
Winnie drops her head into her arms. Seven years since she graduated high school, seven years of progress, seven years of telling herself she’s moved beyond that little bullied girl, and yet here she is, hiding away as a bright spoke of shame pierces her chest.
I’m stronger than this.
She is. And truth be told, she doesn’t even blame them.
This is what the producers set her up for, what she walked into—arriving after all the other girls, kissing Tyler without speaking a word, practically forcing him to cause a scene and chase her through the house for all the other confused, jealous women to see. What are they supposed to think?
“Are you all right?” a sweet Southern voice asks.
“I’ve been through worse,” Winnie mumbles.
“On national TV?”
“No.” Winnie laughs darkly and looks up into the bluest eyes she’s ever seen.
Her mysterious savior wears a warm, wide smile.
Two sweet dimples pucker her rosy round cheeks.
The deep sapphire silk draped effortlessly over her knockout curves brings out the strawberry-blonde highlights in her light brown curls, which are held back by a studded headpiece.
She looks like an Instagram filter come to life.
Winnie’s momentarily awestruck before she remembers to add, “That’s a first.”
Another girl steps into view, not quite as perfectly crafted.
Her platinum-blonde hair is piled into a messy high pony, and her sleek black racerback dress gives off a sportier vibe.
While the first girl would be described as pretty, this one is striking.
Her features are more angular—her jaw pointed, her eyes big, her brows heavy.
But her almost turquoise irises are still warm as she extends her toned arm. “Need a hand?”
“Thanks.” Winnie takes it gratefully. “I’m Winnie Rusu.”
“Harper Nicholls,” the girl says as she pulls.
“And I’m Charlotte Webb.”
“Charlotte…Webb?” Winnie asks hesitantly. “I’m sorry, but I’m a complete bibliophile, so I just have to ask—”
“Yes. I’m named after a spider.” She rolls her eyes, but there’s something vulnerable in the move. “It was my mom’s favorite book. My dad completely forgot how ridiculous it would sound with his last name when he picked it, but, well…he had other things going on.”
Winnie frowns, easily able to read into what the girl isn’t saying. “Well, I’ve got you beat,” she jumps in to shift the mood. “My real name is Uldwyna.”
“That’s—”
“A mouthful?” Winnie laughs. “It was my grandma’s name.”
“Where was she from?”
“Romania.”
“That’s really cool,” Charlotte says, surprising Winnie with how genuine she sounds. Most people treat her name like the butt of a joke. It’s why she’s learned to beat them to the punch. “I love it.”
A smile pulls at her lips. “Thanks.”
“Wait,” Harper interjects as her already large eyes pop wider. “Romanian? And you said your last name is Rusu?”
Here we go… “Guilty.”
“That’s who you are!”
“Sort of.” Winnie winces, not quite ready to face her fate. “Who does everyone think I am?”
“There’ve been a few theories. Ex-girlfriend. Stalker. Puck-bunny—”
“Harper!” Charlotte scolds.
“What?” The other girl shrugs. “It’s out there.”
“Superfan,” Charlotte graciously corrects with some side-eye toward her friend. Then she snaps her head toward Winnie. “But who are you? And what’s it to do with your last name? I’m not following.”
“She’s Alex Rusu’s sister,” Harper explains.
“Is that supposed to mean anything to me?”
“Alex Rusu?” Harper repeats with an edge of exasperation. “Center for the Boston Bears?”
“I don’t really follow hockey.” Charlotte shakes her head. “What does he have to do with Tyler?”
Harper looks as if she might blow a gasket, so Winnie comes in to save her. “Tyler is my brother’s best friend. Has been since they were about nine. I’ve known him most of my life.”
“Oh, that’s—” Charlotte cuts off as her mouth drops into what would be an almost cartoonish depiction of shock if she weren’t so attractive. “Ohhhhhhh.”
“That’s right.” Winnie nods. “I am a walking cliché.”
“No, you’re a badass.” Harper gives her an affectionate nudge. “I have three older brothers and if any of their friends were even half as hot as Tyler is, you can bet your damn ass I would have shot my shot too. What else are brothers good for, anyway?”
“So is that what you were talking to him about outside?” Charlotte leans close and lowers her voice to a whisper, as if they’re trading government secrets. “That you love him?”
“Yes.” Winnie cringes and drops her face into her hands. Speaking to her palms, she adds, “But don’t worry. If his reaction is anything to go by, I won’t be making it through the night. So, he’s all yours.”
“Hey.” Warm fingers settle on her shoulder. “You don’t know that.”
“Yeah,” Charlotte adds. “Maybe he was just…shocked or something. Whatever he said, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Men can be idiots.”
“Can be?” Harper scoffs.
“You know what I mean.”
Winnie lifts her head, looking from girl to girl as she fights back a fresh round of tears. “Why are you being so nice?”
The girls look at each other, then back to Winnie. Harper asks, “Are we not supposed to be nice?”
“That’s not what I meant. I just— Well—” Winnie waves her hands around, then finishes awkwardly, “Wouldn’t it be better for you if I’m not here, you know, to compete with?”