To All the Guys I Loathed Before (Lucky in Love #3)

Chapter 1

AURORA

“We’re officially too old for this.”

“You’re only saying that because we got caught,” Juliet says.

I turn my head to glare at her, but she just shrugs unrepentantly, her blonde hair a pale, sickly color in the harsh light of the holding cell.

Yes. The holding cell. The place I now find myself, along with India and Juliet, while the sparse night shift of Lucky’s finest keeps shooting us glances as we huddle on the bench.

The three of us are dressed in black like the criminals we are—except Juliet has a pink bow in her hair, and India is grimacing at the shards of egg shell stuck to her jacket, and I’ve just noticed the film of raw egg yolk drying on my fingers.

We’re a mess. An embarrassing, ridiculous mess, and I don’t remember the last time I felt this humiliated—

Actually, that’s not true. I remember. I remember perfectly.

My cheeks flush with heat, and I swallow past the ugly knot in my throat as my eyes search blindly for something to focus on.

They land on the only other person in the cell with us. He appears to be in much better shape than we are—he’s asleep on the floor in the corner, dressed in a suit that definitely does not belong here, his arms crossed easily like this is his favorite place to be.

“Aren’t there usually separate cells for men and women?” I say, watching the gentle rise and fall of his broad chest.

“No idea. I wonder what conditioner he uses,” Juliet whispers, and when I look at her once more, her eyes are on the man too—who, yes, has excellent hair, warm light brown that falls carelessly over his forehead.

“Something expensive,” India says skeptically. “It’s so shiny. And look at his watch.”

The watch is shiny too, glinting gold, but I don’t say anything. I just nudge my sisters with my elbows. “Ignore him.”

Because I’m not actually convinced he’s sleeping. I just don’t see how you could. This floor is concrete.

“Ladies,” says a stern voice, and we jump before twisting to face the man now looking down at us from outside the cell. Bert Billingsley normally has a kind, pudgy face, but his hands are currently fisted on his hips, his wiry brows pulled down low.

This is Police Chief Billingsley we’re dealing with.

India can tell too. “Chief Billingsley,” she says, jumping up and approaching the bars. “Please let us out. We’ll never do this again, okay? Ever.”

“This is high school stuff, girls,” Bert says with a huff that tickles his fluffy mustache. “Egging someone’s car? You’re better than that.”

He’s not wrong. I don’t know about Jules and India, but I feel like a moron. I can’t believe we actually did this.

“We know,” Juliet says coaxingly with a quick nod. “We really do. It’s just…” She bites her lip as she looks at me. “There was this guy Aurora works with, right? Barf—I mean, Bart.”

I stifle my sigh. My sisters have started saying Barf instead of Bart when referring to my cheating ex, and they refuse to stop. It’s cruel that we’re now talking to Bert—he won’t be happy if we mix up names or accidentally call him Barf instead.

“And Barf kind of cheated on Aurora with this girl named Mindy,” Juliet goes on. “So—”

“He may have kind of cheated, but he could also kind of press charges, Miss Marigold,” Bert cuts her off. “You understand that?”

“Yes,” Jules says, her voice small now, her lower lip wobbling, just like it did when the patrol car picked us up in the parking lot of Bart’s townhome.

Apparently someone called to report three suspicious figures loitering on the grounds, and by the time the officers pulled in, we were two egg cartons deep into defacing his car.

That was forty-five minutes ago, and every minute since has been worse than the last.

I clear my throat and ask the question that’s been sitting on my tongue like a hot coal, burning to escape. “Are you going to tell him who egged his car?” Because that would be the lowest of lows. My nightmare’s nightmare.

Chief Billingsley hesitates, his eyes narrowing beneath pouched lids as he examines me. “Not necessarily,” he says after a second, and relief tries to jump in my chest. He goes on. “But I’m concerned you girls aren’t taking this seriously enough.”

“We’re taking it seriously,” I tell him as more humiliating warmth creeps into my cheeks. “This will never happen again. I promise.” My voice sounds steady, strong.

Good. Now we just need to get out of here. Then I can put this whole thing behind me, and we can pretend I never did something as stupid as letting a man hurt my feelings.

Because really, what was I thinking?

Police Chief Billingsley harrumphs before shuffling away from the cell, which I hope means he won’t disclose our identities. My shoulders slump as India comes back to the bench, sitting next to me again.

“We should have done Mindy’s place too,” she mutters under her breath.

“Oh, stop it,” I say. “This is bad enough already.”

“If a guy had cheated on one of us, you’d have done the same thing,” Juliet says in a voice that’s far too reasonable, and India nods in agreement. “With more eggs, probably. Or a paintball gun.”

I clench my jaw. “That’s different.” I’m not sure how it’s different, but it definitely is.

The three of us startle at a sound from behind us; we whip our heads around as one, but it’s just the guy in the corner rolling over to his side. He still looks to be asleep, except…

There might be the tiniest curl at the corners of his lips?

We face forward again. “All right. We need to get out of here,” I say, my voice sharp. “Let’s see if Chief Billingsley will let us go. We need someone to pick us up.”

“It’s one in the morning,” India says. “Who’s going to come get us?”

“Someone who won’t be happy about it,” I say grimly. “Our choices are Mom, Cy, Poppy—”

“Felix,” Juliet cuts in, and India nods.

“Definitely Felix,” she says, although she doesn’t look thrilled about calling her boyfriend in the middle of the night to come pick us up from the police station. “He’s the one who would be the least annoyed.”

Now Jules nods. “I would get a telling-off from Luca. And can you imagine Cyrus’s lecture?”

“We kind of deserve a lecture,” I point out, even though lectures from my older brother are one of my least favorite things. “But…”

They’re right. Out of all our choices—parents, siblings, significant others—Felix is easily the best option. Poppy would be cool about it, but she’s Cyrus’s best friend. She would tell him what happened, and then we’d get a lecture from Cyrus anyway.

Felix might be groggy, but if anything, he’ll find this situation amusing.

“Okay. You’re right, Jules—not Luca either. Let’s do Felix,” I say with another sigh.

Goodness knows I don’t have a boyfriend to call.

I stand and move to the bars, clearing my throat. “Bert?” I say. Then, because this is probably a good time to show respect, I correct myself. “Chief Billingsley?”

Bert’s head pokes out of his small office, his eyes narrowed. When he grunts but doesn’t speak, I take it as permission to continue.

“Could we call someone to come pick us up?” I force myself to stand up as straight as possible, and the posture comes easily. I’m used to holding my head high, remaining poised even when I don’t feel like it.

Bert grunts again and shuffles out of his office. His gaze is still disapproving. “I don’t want to see this kind of behavior ever again, girls,” he says. “Understood?”

“Yes,” I say, and I mean it. My voice is firm as I add, “Absolutely.”

He must be able to tell that I’m being serious, because he finally nods, his shoulders slumping. “All right,” he says with a sigh. “Let’s get you out of there, then.”

The jingling of keys and clanging of metal are the most beautiful sounds I’ve ever heard as we step out of the cell. The man lying in the corner doesn’t move or open his eyes; he just stays where he is, and no one seems to care, so I don’t ask.

“You call, Indy,” Juliet says anxiously as Bert passes us our phones and points to the bench by the entry doors.

“Yeah,” India says, looking resigned. “I will.” She taps around on her phone, hesitates, and then holds it to her ear.

Jules and I both lean closer, waiting with bated breath until India speaks again.

“Hi,” she says. “It’s me.” She glances around at us. “I know it’s the middle of the night, but if you’re able”—she bites her lip and then goes on—“me and Juliet and Aurora kind of need a ride.”

Felix says something on the other end, and India takes a deep breath. “Uh…” she says. Then, with one last wince and a quick look at us, she speaks. “At the police station.”

And calling Felix is the right move. When he shows up fifteen minutes later, he has bleary eyes but a wide smile. The late-night spring air gusts in with him, and he winks at India before strolling right on past until he reaches the open door of Bert’s office.

“Chief,” he says, popping his head inside. “Felix Caine. I’m here to pick up the Marigold hooligans.”

India and I roll our eyes as Juliet laughs. I can’t hear Bert’s reply since we’re still at the entrance, but Felix nods a moment later and then turns on his heel to come back to us.

“All set,” he says, looking frankly more amused than necessary. He turns his gaze to India, his eyes softening on her the way they always do. “And I have to say, Sunshine, that this was quite the midnight call.”

“Casual Barf needed to be dealt with—”

“Bart,” I cut her off, stressing the name.

“Stop defending him, Aurora,” Juliet says. “His name is officially Barf, and it’s no use trying to convince us otherwise.” Then she looks at Felix. “Thanks for coming to get us.”

“I know you and Cy and Poppy are friends,” India says severely, “but your loyalty is to me now. You are forbidden from telling any of them. Definitely not Cyrus—”

“My lips are sealed,” he says, holding up his hands and grinning. Then he jerks his head at the door. “Shall we, ladies?”

The house is dark, of course, when Felix drops us off. Indy and Jules go up to their room immediately, but I linger, drifting aimlessly toward the kitchen.

It’s unlike me. I’ve never been particularly sentimental, and especially not as an adult. But these rooms hold so much of my life now, so much of my time with my sisters, and truthfully…I don’t know how much longer we’ll be here.

Felix and India will get married eventually. So will Luca and Jules. That writing is on the wall for both of them. Then they’ll move out, and it will just be me.

I don’t know what I’ll do after that. I want to buy this house, and I’ve been saving for a long time. I’ve been gearing up to ask for a raise after the upcoming event at work, too—a pay increase I’ve earned twenty times over—but I don’t know how much help a little bump in my salary will be.

I sigh and trudge back out of the kitchen, dragging myself tiredly upstairs. There’s only silence from my sisters’ room; they’re probably already dreaming about the men in their lives, smiling and glowing with that joy that’s always seemed just out of my reach.

I wonder, sometimes, what it would be like.

I keep that question in my heart of hearts, deep down where no one will ever find it.

Because the truth is, I don’t think I need love like my sisters have found.

Sure, I’m a little jealous sometimes. But ultimately, romance is a risk.

My family depends on me to be strong; I depend on me to be strong.

There’s no place for a broken heart in my life.

I have my sisters. I have my parents. I even have Cyrus, as much as we butt heads. That’s enough.

Although I’d rather just dive into bed when I get to my room, I take the time to lay out my clothes for tomorrow—the smart, responsible thing to do.

It’s only when my skirt and blouse are draped neatly over my desk chair that I set my alarm clock, plug in my phone, and let myself burrow under the covers.

I dream about nothing at all.