Lover's Game (South Bay Soundtracks Book 3) Read online

  Ellie and I were roommates our freshman year at MIT, and we’d been friends since the day we met. And for almost as long, she’d been relentless in her efforts to convince me I wasn’t still the short, chubby girl I’d been for the first eighteen years of my life. But after a long, miserable childhood of feeling like the ugly duckling, it was hard for my brain to catch up to suddenly being the swan.

  All the women in my family were supermodel gorgeous. In fact, my sister Phoebe had worked as a legitimate runway model for a while, before her career as a designer had taken off. But even Lindsay, who was a high school math teacher and a mother of four, still had a figure that kept her husband’s hands on her at all times. Which was probably why she was currently incubating baby number five, come to think of it.

  The point being, everyone from my mother to my baby sister was tall, curvy, and stunning, with silky dark hair, dark blue eyes, and a face that could break hearts.

  Everyone but me, that is. No, I had to be the short one. The freckled one. The redhaired one. The fat one. The four-eyed one. The snaggle-toothed one. The one girls judged and boys ignored. The one no one even wanted to be friends with, let alone date. That was my life, from the minute I was born, until I was old enough to vote.

  But all of that changed in college. In my freshman year, I finally caught up with my genetic destiny. I shot up nearly eight inches, graduated from an A cup to a full C, and the extra fifty pounds I’d been carrying around since, oh, birth, turned to hourglass curves seemingly overnight. I was still covered in freckles from head to toe, with crazy corkscrew curls in a dark shade of red that most closely resembled rust, but at my new, formidable height, I looked Amazonian rather than gnome-like.

  I also figured out how to tame the frizz. So I had that going for me, at least.

  Suddenly I went from the girl no one noticed to the girl who turned heads everywhere she went. Ellie liked to say that Mother Nature was a punitive bitch to me for most of my adolescence, but when she decided to make it up to me, she did it in spades.

  I liked to say that a gift horse is usually filled with angry people armed with sharp, pointy spears.

  But I had to say that in this case, she was right about one thing. Objectively speaking, I could admit that I was now a babe.

  Admitting it and believing it were two completely different things, though.

  Still, I had major reservations about going to my high school reunion, especially since the only pro on the list seemed to be ‘I look better now.’ I wasn’t really used to leading with my looks, and not only because I had lingering body image issues and an ingrained lack of confidence.

  Six years ago, I’d gone straight from shlubby college student to video game developer and entrepreneur, and the dress code didn’t change much. Mine was an industry populated with people who dressed in casual clothing, day in and day out. Being clean, somewhat well groomed, and wearing clothes that fit me gave me a leg up on probably two-thirds of my peers.

  If I went to my reunion, I’d have to wear something that made me feel self-conscious and stand in a room full of people who would gawk at me, size me up, and judge me. I’d done that before, and it had ended in heartbreak. Now Ellie wanted me to go through it all over again?

  No thank you.

  I hadn’t kept in touch with any of my classmates for a very good reason: high school was torture. And thanks to my tiny hometown with just one school system, I’d been tortured by the same kids for years before then, too. Thirteen long years of being mocked, pranked, and made to feel invisible had made me loathe my classmates in particular, and social interaction in general.

  So Ellie’s insistence that I secretly wanted to see all the jerks who’d been cruel to me, simply so I could gloat about my reversal of fortune? It was absurd. Vengeance wasn’t usually my MO, and in this case, the people who had wronged me were frankly not worth the effort.

  Besides, I’d already been on the phone with Jess that morning, griping at her for more than half an hour because she gave the reunion committee my work address. I wasn’t about to back out of all that grumpy old lady posturing now. I had my pride to consider, after all.

  Ellie hummed thoughtfully, bringing my attention back to her. Her eyes were bright and wide, and the corners of her mouth were tipped down, like she was preparing to plead her case.

  Yeah, no. It was time to make my objections clear.

  “I have nothing to wear,” I said, before she could get a word out. “It says cocktail attire.” I gingerly held up the invitation as though it could explode at any moment.

  She rolled her eyes as she took the envelope from me. “It’s not going to explode,” she said, because she knew me too well.

  “It might.” I took a sip of my Diet Coke. “Hey, how come we can’t send Howlers to people in real life? That would be awesome. I know at least eight people who deserve a letter that shouts at them before self-destructing.” I narrowed my eyes at Ellie. “One of whom is sitting in my office right now.”

  She snorted. “You love me.”

  I huffed, because I did love her. But she wouldn’t get the satisfaction of hearing it right then. I was feeling pretty truculent at the moment. She knew why I didn’t want to go, so all this pushing was just not cool.

  “Besides, the dress code is a hurdle even I can clear,” she quipped, because my four-foot-eleven best friend never missed an opportunity to make a short joke at her own expense. “We’ll get you a cocktail dress,” she continued. “A party dress.” Her eyes were shining, as they did whenever she had the opportunity to shop for me.

  I scowled at her. I knew what that was about – she wanted to go crazy with my credit card, buying me a bunch of high fashion crap I’d never wear. Rather than rising to the bait, I made a quick left turn, hoping to divert her from visions of plum silk or whatever.

  “Going to a cocktail party is a waste of time. I don’t even drink.”

  “You know you don’t have to drink. I’m sure they’ll have Diet Coke. Besides, I think you owe it to yourself to show up and wow them.” Ellie paused, worrying her bottom lip like she had something more to say. Then she took a deep breath that had me tensing my shoulders in anticipation. “And I know you want to see Seth again.”

  And there it was.

  I’d told Ellie all about my erstwhile best friend about a month after we’d met. She’d come home from study group to find me watching My Best Friend’s Wedding with a pint of chocolate chocolate chip and a face crusted with long-dried tears. I’d had no choice but to spill the whole sordid tale after that, all about the boy who’d been my best friend in the whole world. Until he wasn’t.

  There were so many things I wished I could have done differently in high school. I wished I’d been more outgoing. I wished I’d been thicker-skinned. I wished I’d had more confidence in myself. I wished I’d been Jess, really. But I knew those were things I probably couldn’t have changed, no matter how badly I wanted to.

  But what happened with Seth, the way our friendship ended? That was something I could have – should have – changed. I should have told him so many things back then, things I’d likely never get the chance to tell him now that everything between us was broken.

  Ellie squeezed my hand, giving me a sympathetic look.

  “You’re going to be in South Bay for more than a week, Krista. That’s the longest you’ve been home in a decade. I think it’s as good a time as any to reconnect with him.”

  I shook my head. “I’m pretty sure he won’t want to see me. Not after the way I ended things all those years ago.” I swallowed roughly.

  “Ten years is a long time. You never know. Maybe he’ll be curious about you,” she replied. “And I know he’ll like what he sees. He’d have to be blind not to.”

  I frowned at her. “I can’t delude myself into thinking he’ll see me, even the ‘hot new me,’ and suddenly realize he’s attracted to me.”

  Not again, I silently added.

  She gave me a hopeful smile. “Then mayb
e you could just be friends again.”

  I thought about it for a beat. The idea had appeal. I missed Seth, more than I wanted to admit even to myself. I missed the boy who’d been my only friend for thirteen years. Ellie was wonderful. She was kind, and funny, and supportive. Her sunshine and optimism made her the perfect foil for me. She was my best friend in the world.

  But she wasn’t him. No one had ever known me like he did, and a big part of me feared no one ever would.

  But ultimately I shook my head. “What would I say if he wants to talk about what happened between us?”

  How do you tell your former best friend you picked a fight with him, that you cut ties with him, because you were in love with him? And you knew – just knew – he didn’t love you back?

  I gave her a pleading look, willing her to understand. “I can’t do it, Ell.”

  Ellie reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “I think you should go, for what it’s worth.” She gave me an impish grin as she dropped my hand. “And I think we’d have a lot of fun getting you prepped for the big night.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I grumbled. “This isn’t even about me. You just want to play with my credit card.”

  She laughed, a trilling sound that I never got tired of, and grudgingly, I smiled at her.

  “Of course I do,” she replied. “You have so much more spending power than I do.”

  She was right about that, too. Thanks to Golden Goddess’s initial public offering last year, I now had more money than I would ever know what to do with. Though Ellie certainly had a few ideas: namely, clothes, shoes, and accessories.

  “Well, you won’t get to flex those swiping muscles. Not for this.” I crossed my arms over my chest stubbornly. I would not go to this godforsaken reunion. No fricking way.

  She sighed. “This isn’t just about the outfit. You know that, right? I really do think it would be good for you,” she reasoned. “If nothing else, it might give you some closure.”

  Ha. More likely, it would be like the couple of times I’d been dragged to charity functions or industry parties. I’d get waylaid by dozens of people I had no desire ever to see, all so they could either kiss, ogle, or try to get a piece of my ass. And the whole time, I’d be desperately trying not to crawl out of my own skin.

  No thank you.

  “Maybe we’ll do a girls’ weekend soon,” I replied in the hope it might get her off my back. “We can stay at a nice hotel and act like Eloise.”

  “Here’s the thing of it: I want a better wardrobe than my namesake. I do not look cute in suspenders.” She laughed. “Though Mary Janes are always in style.”

  I laughed, too, because hers was infectious. “Deal.”

  She picked up the invitation again, her laughter slowly fading into a pensive frown as she looked down at it. “You sure you won’t just email them and tell them you’ll go?”

  I frowned at the heavy cardstock. My least favorite former classmate, Melody Reyes, had included her contact information at the bottom, under the most florid RSVP I’d ever seen. I wrinkled my nose in disgust, and not just because the paper smelled like her perfume. You’d think she was inviting people to her wedding, not a school dance for adults.

  The thought of having to see Melody again – of having to see any of my former classmates again – was enough to make my upper lip damp with sweat.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Ellie sighed. “That’s a shame. I had a dress in mind, too, from this boutique in Chelsea that I went to last week. It’s the most divine shade of navy, your eyes would have really popped! I know just the shoes that would go with it, too. And you have that red lipstick that you haven’t even worn!”

  She chattered on for a moment or two, lamenting the would-have-been-perfect outfit she’d planned for the big night.

  I shook my head. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  She sighed again, like she was used to the suffering. “It’s okay. I’ll just have to hold out for Jess’s wedding. You can’t get away with jeans and a tee shirt for that, because you’re the maid of honor!”

  “Thank you for reminding me.” My baby sister was getting married in just a few months, and she’d made me the most important person in her ginormous wedding party, because she hated me, obviously.

  Ellie chuckled at my dour expression, then checked the time. “Well, I’d love to needle you some more, but I have to get back to work. You’ll pick me up at eight Saturday morning?”

  I nodded. Speaking of weddings, my cousin, Larkin Michaels, and Ellie’s brother, Graham, were getting married in my hometown of South Bay Island that coming weekend. We were going to surprise the bride-to-be with a spa visit before she got hitched.

  “Excellent.” She gathered the wrappers from our lunch, sweeping everything into the trash. Then she stood, coming around the desk to give me a peck on the cheek. “Love you, kiddo.”

  “Love you, too, kiddo,” I replied, because I was incapable of not completing our farewell routine, no matter how annoyed I might be with her.

  She gave me a wave as she turned, and as I watched her walk out, I wondered whether I was doing the right thing after all. Over the last decade, I’d had a lot of time to think about what might happen if I ever came face-to-face with Seth Holt again. I’d imagined so many conversations, guessing what he might say, planning what I’d say in reply. The sound of his gravelly baritone was still as clear in my mind as it had been ten years ago, and I both dreaded and longed to hear it again. Most of the time, the dread won out.

  But should it? Was there actually any hope that we could make amends? Or at the very least, could I finally get some closure? Or would a reunion with him merely rub salt in not-entirely-healed wounds?

  I put my head in my hands, letting out a pitiful groan. The whole debate might be moot, anyway. He probably wouldn’t even show up, since he didn’t live in South Bay anymore. Last I’d heard, he moved to Arizona after his premature retirement from professional baseball. I couldn’t see him flying all the way across the country just for an evening of compulsory nostalgia.

  At least, I hoped he wouldn’t. Because I wasn’t sure I’d ultimately have the strength to stay away. Not if he were there.

  Luckily for me, he wouldn’t be.

  Probably.

  Maybe.

  I hoped.

  Gods.

  My feet pounded the concrete at a brutal pace – well, brutal for me, anyway. I winced with every grueling step as I wound my way along the trail that lopped around the gated community I currently called home. The sun beat down on my neck, and I wiped the stinging sweat from my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt.

  Christ. The moisture-wicking tee was really earning its keep today, even though it was barely February. I didn’t normally do this in the middle of the day; the relentless desert sun was hottest in the afternoon, which is one of the reasons I usually exercised at the ass crack of dawn.

  Although if I was really being honest with myself, it wasn’t just the sun pushing me closer and closer to my breaking point. These days, my knee made it difficult to do everything at my normal pace.

  The joint throbbed despite the athletic brace as I took step after excruciating step. Running is hell on anyone’s knees, but it was even worse for me, with my history of injury and re-injury. I’d been warned by trainers and doctors for years not to push myself too hard, and the warnings had only become more urgent after the last surgery. Just take it easy, Seth, they said. You shouldn’t be running at all, they said. If you keep up this pace, they said, you could permanently hobble yourself.

  I didn’t bother heeding their advice. I had nothing to lose at that point. My baseball career was over.

  As I neared the security booth, I dug deep to propel myself past it as fast as I could. Jerry, the guard who worked afternoons, was one of those talkative guys who’d tell his entire life story to anyone who stood still long enough. He had a bad limp from an old gunshot wound he’d sustained in Vietnam, and while I had all the respect i
n the world for his service and sacrifice, I was tired of him constantly wanting to compare injuries. It was like he’d inducted me into some secret walking wounded club – without my permission, I might add. He kept using phrases like “guys like us” and “you know how it is” when he described his doctor’s visits in minute detail. Even the community’s most famous neighbor, Michael Phelps, wasn’t granted the insider status Jerry the security guard reserved just for me.

  Then again, the world’s most successful pothead got to retire on his own terms. He didn’t have the sport he loved ripped from him before he was ready. He wasn’t on the permanent DL. No, Michael Phelps was living the goddamn dream, polishing his gold medals and making babies with Miss California.

  Fucker.

  I managed to squeeze by the guard booth just as an obnoxious yellow Hummer pulled up, saving me from another prolonged conversation with Jerry. By the time I finally limped home, the envelope that had prompted my second run of the day was exactly where I’d left it, sitting on my kitchen counter. Irritating me. Mocking me with its fancy script and floral-scented paper.

  Why the hell did the envelope have to be perfumed, anyway? Who decided that was something that needed to happen?

  My ten-year high school reunion was coming up in just a few months, and the arrival of the invitation this afternoon had put me on edge. I’d tried to ignore it. I’d watched a couple episodes of American Horror Story, sent some emails, made lunch. Fuck, I’d even called my agent – not that she answered. She hadn’t been taking my calls for months, not after I’d turned down that last broadcast offer.

  Anyway, the point was that none of my efforts to distract myself from that stupid invitation had been any good. Finally, I had to get out of the house and burn off some restless energy before I went crazy.

  I couldn’t even say why I was so worked up about it. I wasn’t opposed to the idea of a reunion, really. As my buddy Ward Hopkins had been reminding me for months now, I was overdue for some quality time with my old friends. And I did miss them all, in one way or another.