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Authors: Sonya Loveday,Candace Knoebel

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BOOK: Runaway Heart (A Game of Hearts #2)
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Charlotte flicked a dull glare in my direction before turning and skating toward him. Dropping her bag, she jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist and laughing as he spun her around on his toothpick-thin legs.

“Don’t drop her,” I shouted as I skated over to them, wishing more than ever I had kept my car instead of being forced to sell it in order to pay rent.

A spark of anger tried working its way through me, so I squashed it down with a mental stomp. There was no way I’d allow myself to think about all the shitty ways life had been a complete and total bitch to me. Not after the win.

Besides, I was doing fine on my own. Well, somewhat. I didn’t need to mentally crawl back to the hellish confines of my childhood just because life reared up and kicked me in the ass every so often.

I had escaped, and that was all that mattered.

 

 

LATER THAT NIGHT, AFTER POUNDING back three shots of whiskey and being uncomfortably sandwiched between Charlotte and Edward Scissorlips in the hot tub, I splashed at the water, wondering how I always managed to get myself in awkward situations.

The kind where I was left daydreaming about what would happen if I actually screamed out loud. Would they jump? Would they continue making silly, lovesick remarks to one another in between rounds of sticking their tongues down each other’s throats?

Probably.

Daryl, a regular bleacher creature who somehow always found his way to our after-parties, sat across from me, his large, beady eyes invading every inch of my exposed skin. Bubbles rippled over his well-maintained beer gut and fizzled out from the stringy, grayish hair on his chest.

I swallowed back a gag.

The minute he noticed that I caught him watching me, a slow smirk spread across his lips as he licked them.

I rolled my eyes with a heavy sigh. “Am I going to have to give you a split lip, Daryl, or are you going to take your ogling party of one elsewhere?” I asked, my fists already tightening.

He blinked at me, grappling to understand my words between the intoxicated batch of hiccups and the spacey look in his eyes. “When—” He held his hand up, asking me to wait for him as he let out a burp that made my insides quiver like Jell-O. “Just when are you gonna give me a chance to get in those pants, Hani
belle
?”

Someone, kill me. Put me out of my misery. Stab me, shoot me, or inject me with the zombie virus… I don’t care how… just do it quick. Please.

He said my derby name with a certain desperation in his tone that made my skin feel like a thousand baby spiders were crawling all over me. Made me want to scrub my skin with acid just to rid the implications left behind.

“Ugh,” I forced out, standing. I glanced down at a couple next to Charlotte, who were locked together like a pair of octopuses in a death match, and sighed some more.

I have to get the hell out of here.

Charlotte grabbed my arm. “Where are you going?”

“Crazy. Want to join?”

Scissorlips laughed as if he was invited in on the joke.
Gross.

“I’ll catch you later, chick,” I said to Charlotte, climbing the rest of the way out and wrapping a towel around myself. Pushing my way through the crowd of keg-chuggers shouting profanity and blasting music, I made it inside and headed up the stairs to Charlotte’s room where I could change.

And, of course, her room had to be occupied by none other than Johnny and some female I remembered seeing earlier that night. She wanted me to sign her chest—one his mouth was currently all over.

That was my luck.

I tried reaching for my bag quietly, but somehow managed to knock over one of Charlotte’s My Little Pony dolls.

I never said I was graceful.

“Hannah?” Johnny called out, his eyes glazed over as he looked up at me.

“Don’t mind me. Just grabbing my bag. Continue on,” I said quickly, feeling like my skin had been left out all day under the sun.

He was too drunk or stoned or whatever to understand.

“Hey! You didn’t call me back after the other night,” he shouted as the girl underneath him squirmed and hiccupped.

I stopped, turned, and said, “I know.”

As soon the door closed behind me, I leaned back against the wall and turned around, tapping my head repeatedly against it.

What the hell was wrong with me?

My phone vibrated in my bag. I fumbled for it through the mess of clothes and various makeups, answering it on the last ring. “Hello?”

“Hannah?” It was Maggie. “I can barely hear you over the music. Where are you?”

“Hang on,” I said, trying to work my way through the crowd of partiers to the nearby bathroom. Once I shut the door behind me, the noises were muffled a bit, so I said, “How the hell are you? I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

“I know. I’m sorry. We’ve been slammed with vacationers. Summer’s the season, you know?”

“For sure. So what’s up? Everything going good?”

“Yeah.” She went quiet for a moment, hesitation in her voice. This meant there was something she wanted to tell me. Something serious. The last time she pulled that type of quiet was when she delivered the news about her near-death experience after falling off her boat.

If there was ever a time I wanted to strangle my best friend, it was then.

“What is it, Maggs?” I asked, trying not to get too worked up, thinking about her daughter Autumn, who couldn’t be older than a year.

“I want you to be my maid-of-honor.”

Well, I didn’t see that coming.

“Really?” I asked, my heart inflating, trying to float out of my chest.

“Yeah. And we have everything paid for… even a plane ticket. All you need to do is make sure you have the weekend off and, well, be here. Do you want to? Be my maid-of-honor, that is?”

My lips parted to answer her, but I was cut off when the bathroom door swung open. A girl in a black, pleather mini-skirt and a glittery halter-top rushed over to the sink.

You might want to turn your head for this part.

I tried to contain my gag as she filled the sink with the inside of her stomach. Tried not to curse her out when she looked over at me with glossy eyes, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and then stumbled back out of the bathroom, shouting to one of her ditsy friends that she was ready to party again.

W. T. F.

“Absolutely,” I said into the phone, kicking the door shut and locking it against the chance of more unwanted vomiters. “Any chance I get to see my best friend and get the hell out of here is a chance I’m taking.”

Maggie laughed into the phone. “I’m glad to hear that, because we decided to just have the wedding. Simple and easy. No planning. Just me, him, our closest family, and the beach.”

“And when is this magical day taking place?”

“Next weekend.” Her voice trailed off on a lilted, pleading high note.

“Of course it’s next weekend, because when can you ever make a serious life decision not on a whim?”

We both laughed.

“I know it’s really soon. I won’t hold it against you if you can’t make it.”

“I can,” I said quickly, keeping my eyes trained on the door and not the sink. “What better way to finish out the summer than with my best friend?”

She giggled. “Umm… nothing’s coming to mind.”

More knocks banged against the door. Apparently, my important phone call had no place at a party. “Cool. Send me all the info, and I’ll get my ish together,” I said as a little bit of the weight my interesting night brought finally lifted.

Maggie always could turn my frown upside down.

 

 

 

“BLOODY FUCKING HELL…”

It was too early for the screaming match happening outside the front door of my flat.

As I got out of bed as slowly as possible to keep from alerting the percussion band on stand-by in my head from last night’s over-indulgence, I scooped up my discarded boot and chucked it at the door. The laces sailed through the air, looking like one of those wonky, blow-up air-dancing things I’d seen in a used car lot back in the States.

My boot hit the door with a loud bang, making the thin wood shudder in its frame.

The arseholes quieted down.

Content they’d move on, I made my way back to bed, pulling my pillow over my head when round two kicked off.

With a grunt, I tossed my pillow, climbing out of bed and growling as I snatched the boot that I’d tossed earlier off the floor. I yanked the door open and stepped into the hallway, ready with my own string of curse words to sort them out.

“…saw ye with me own eyes, ye bloody wanker.”

“…I’m tellin’ ye it wasn’t me—”

The fug of alcohol fumes coming off the both of them made my stomach lurch. I took a shuddering breath and steadied myself by bracing my feet. Clearing my throat to work up a proper yell, I took in the scene before me. I’d seen them before, once or twice, snogging in the hallway.

Well, they’re not snogging now, are they, mate? Give ‘em a good wallop with your boot and be done with it so we can get back to bed. Yeah?

I brought the boot up by its laces and watched it swing in front of me like a pendulum.

“And wot the hell d’ye think ye’ll do wi’ tha’?” the girl asked, shoving past her boyfriend and yanking the boot out of my hand.

I reached to snatch it from her. “Give it back, ye cow!”

Her reflexes were better than mine. To add insult to my miss, she held it up with a sneer. “A cow, is it?” she taunted, and then hurled the boot at my head.

Her boyfriend, finding the situation funny, planted his ass against the wall and bent over, laughing hysterically when I ducked and crossed my arms over my head to keep from getting booted.

“Hoy! What the devil are ye on about? Get out the hallway and shurrup afore I call the old nick on the lot of ye!” my neighbor—Annie Fielding—from two doors down shouted before slamming her door.

With the girl’s attention turned away from me, I snatched my boot from the floor, chucked it inside my flat, and then stood there, giving them the ‘ole evil eye, hoping it would make them clear out faster.

Both nutters stood motionless in the hallway, but at least the boyfriend stopped his imitation of a braying donkey.

“Ed, is there a problem out here?” Roger asked, stepping out into the hallway wearing his robe. In one hand, he held a steaming cup, in the other, a cordless telephone.

I waved, feeling a smug smile pull at my lips. “I’ll be all right once these two clear out and I can get some sleep.”

“Good and well,” he answered, turning his attention on them. “Be off with ye. If I see ye loitering outside my door again havin’ a row, I’ll report ye first thing.”

The girl, classy as she was in her skirt that barely covered her backside and a see-through tank top, flicked us off, and then smacked the lift button, completely ignoring her boyfriend, who silently moved to stand beside her.

When the lift door closed, I heard Roger say, “I’m surprised ye woke up. It’s a bit early for a night owl like yourself.”

I yawned as if on cue, clapping my hand over my mouth. “Just got in about an hour ago.”

“That late, was it? I thought ye got out of work ‘round three?” he asked before taking a swallow from his cup.

My eyelids felt like heavily weighted sandbags, and my blinks seemed to be exaggeratingly slow as I answered, “Some bloke Charlie—the pub owner—knows is getting married, so he told him he could have a stag party at the pub.”

“Did a little celebrating, did ye?” He laughed when I brought my fingers up to indicate my participation in said celebrating. “Well, ye’ll get no sympathy from me on that,” he replied, eyes dancing in merriment.

I snorted. “I’m not hungover, just exhausted.” Which was sort of the truth. I’d only had a couple of drinks, but those, added to the fact I hadn’t a wink of sleep the night before, compounded into one giant-sized headache working its way up to the point of blowing my head clean off my shoulders.

There was one thing about Roger Denton… make that two things. He called it like he saw it, and he didn’t take shite from anyone.

He was the perfect neighbor. Even more so after dispatching the lover’s quarrel, making the hallway nice and quiet again.

“See ya later, Roger,” I said, giving him a slight wave as I stumbled back into my flat, hoping my legs wouldn’t give out on me before I could cross the room and fall down on my bed.

 

 

“DID YE JUS’ ROLL OUT the bed?” Charlie called out as I tied my apron around my waist. “Or did ye make it to bed at all?”

He laughed at his own joke as he slapped me on the back.

Taking a quick peek at myself in the beveled mirror above the till, I realized I looked like hell. Rolling my bloodshot eyes at my reflection, I shoved my fingers through my rain-dampened hair.

It’s a good thing the lasses like the whole ‘just rolled out of bed look’ these days.

Charlie snickered at my waterlogged appearance as I dried my hands on a discarded bar towel.

“Have another stag party like that again, mate, and yer on your own.”

Charlie, the wanker, just laughed at me and left me to it.

Sodding arsehole.

I couldn’t complain too much about Charlie. Once he’d found out I was back from my stint in the States, he put word around for me to come see him. It was how I got the job at Gads Hill Pub, working for him, late into the night.

Rochester wasn’t on my list of places I wanted to settle down in, but neither was London. I had enough of big city living, well, except for New York. I’d go back in a heartbeat if I could. Two years wasn’t long enough of an adventure. But like all good things—it came to an end.

With a sigh, I tucked those memories away and set about wiping down the bar.

“Hoy!” a distinctly familiar voice called out from across the room, stalling my hand in mid-circular motion.

“Holy shite! John, is that you, mate?” I reached across the bar, taking a grip on his hand, giving it a firm shake.

“Heard you were back and thought—what the hell. I might as well take a drive down and see the old chap! How was America?” John asked as he settled belly-up to the bar.

“Brilliant! If you ever get the chance to go, ye should,” I answered, adding, “What can I get ya?”

He slapped a tenner on the bar. “Pull me a pint of
Fosters
. So why didn’t ye come back to London?”

“Wanted a change of scenery,” I answered, keeping my answer to the basics. There was no way I wanted to get into the real reason I’d decided London was no longer the place for me.

“And this is what you chose to look at?” He looked around the bar, and then back at me as I set the pint in front of him. Scowling down into it, he said, “She asked about ye.”

And there it was. My past rearing up to smack me straight in the gob.

I did my best to side step the conversation about
her
. “So, ye heard I was back and wasted the petrol to come see me. I gotta say, mate, I’m flattered.” I didn’t want to talk about her, or even think about her. We had both moved on, although she had first.

John took a long swallow of beer and belched. “Ye ain’t that pretty. Had to come this way for work and thought I’d pop ‘round to see for myself if you really were back.”

“I’m here,” I answered, unable to keep the touch of disappointment that hung heavy with my words out of my voice.

John eyed me over the rim of his glass. “Well, ye look the same. I guess those Americans didn’t change ye too much.”

I gave him a tight smile in reply and moved down the bar when a new customer sat down.

John’s remark hit me square in the chest. While I might not look like I’d changed much, that was only on the outside. My life in New York, and all the experiences that came along with it, had forever changed me.

Who’d have thought two years ago, I would have actually enjoyed my time there so much that I missed it every single day. What really made the biggest difference was my roommate Phillip. The Yank became one of my very best friends. A real friend. Someone I could count on.

“What can I get ye?” I asked, grabbing a glass as the guy across the bar dropped his briefcase on the seat beside him.

“A pint of
Fosters
,” the guy answered.

I busied myself getting his drink, glad to have the brief moment away from John’s prying questions. I’d done well at keeping everything lodged in the back of my mind. Would have probably been able to keep it that way if not for John popping in out of the blue.

“The boys want to know when you’ll be ‘round. They even offered to buy ye a pint or two,” John called out to me as I set the customer’s order in front of him.

“I can’t be sure. My schedule is—” The vibration of my cell phone in my back pocket kept me from finishing. When I fished it out of my back pocket, I read the caller name. An instant smile bloomed across my face.

“Phil, ye bloody bastard! How the hell are ye?”

The phone hissed and popped in my ear with the static-filled connection. “Hey, Ed! I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”

“Nah, there’s no bad time for your calls, mate. How’s everything? How’s our Maggie?” I asked, moving to the far end of the bar to keep my conversation somewhat private.

“We’re doing great. Listen, I don’t want to keep you too long and rack up a huge phone bill, so I’m going to make this quick. Maggie and I are getting married next weekend, and I want you to be my best man. Tickets are bought, so you have to come.”

“Oh, I have to, is it? Did ye think I could just drop everything and come?”

“It’s not for me, asshole. It’s for Maggie,” Phillip countered.

I laughed. “Well, in that case, I’ll be there. Can’t let our Maggie down, now can we?”

“Jackass.”

“Wanker.”

God, I missed Phil.

“I’ll send you an email with all the information after we get off the phone. Will that work?”

“It will. Give Maggie a kiss for us,” I said, baiting my best friend again before we hung up.

“You’re lucky you’re so far away right now,” Phil replied. “Next weekend, Ed. Make sure your ass is on that plane!”

“I’ll be there with bells on. See ye then.” I hung up with a chuckle.

“Pull me a pint of—” another customer said, waving his hand to get my attention.

I held my finger up. “Hold that thought, mate,” I said, beelining for Charlie’s office.

He looked up, startled, when I poked my head in. “Take me off the schedule next weekend.”

“Wait, what do ye mean, take ye off the damn schedule? Where the hell ye goin’?”

“Rum Cay!” I shouted over my shoulder as I headed back to the bar.

Phillip’s call was just what I needed to get out of my funk.

BOOK: Runaway Heart (A Game of Hearts #2)
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