Hard Fall (Trophy Boyfriends #2) - Sara Ney Page 0,82
her favorite spot to be kissed. “You’re marrying me.”
“We’re getting married!”
And now comes the fun part: the planning.
The End
Turn the page for a sneak peek of Hard Love coming October 8th!
Sneak Peek at Hard Love releasing October 8! *Unedited and subject to change*
CHAPTER 1
Tripp
My brother is getting married.
Married.
A grown man who calls himself Buzz.
Like seriously, what the fuck.
Oh, and get this, he’d only known the girl for three weeks before they got engaged.
Three.
Yeah—I didn’t stutter.
I can’t help the bitter taste rising from my throat; he hadn’t bothered to deliver the news in person—he sent me a text. Well. My mother sent the text after Buzz and his fiancé told our mom and dad in person, at a dinner I wasn’t invited to.
Roast beef and potatoes with pecan pie.
Beef is my favorite and I didn’t even get some.
My fingers grip the steering wheel of my truck as I pull it into my garage, my gregarious bulldog, Sven, hopping on his back feet at he sight of my arrival, pudgy face pressed against the screen door in the laundry room.
Sven.
He’s the only buddy I can trust.
Unlike my backstabbing engaged brother, the dick.
I shove my truck into park, grabbing the ice coffee I stopped for on my way from work—and shove open the drivers side door. Hop out and tug at my jeans; they feel restrictive after having worn spandex compression shorts the past five hours. Should have gone with mesh, not denim.
Sven continues hopping and I’m shocked the little bastard hasn’t put a hole in the screen door because he sure as shit has dented it in about forty spots.
“Dude, chill,” I tell him and he chills.
I’m not sure who wields more power in our relationship: myself or the dog. Probably Sven, since I hold the door open for his majesty, so he can prance out into the yard and do his business. Then I hold the door open for him, so he can prance back inside, where I’ll feed him and brush him and I am clearly his bitch.
The bag clenched in my fist gets tossed on the counter; it’s already past six in the evening and I have to arrive at my brothers bachelor party by eight—which gives me two hours to eat, relax, shave and get my ass back out the door.
I shoot Sven an apologetic look. “Sorry bud, I have to leave again. Uncle Buzz is having a party, but Molly will swing by to play with you.”
Molly is a teenage neighbor girl I pay fifteen bucks an hour to hang with the dog; she scoops his poop and feeds him on days I’m running late or weekends I’m gone. Which lately, is a lot.
Like my brother Buzz—who plays professional baseball when he’s not being a professional douche—I play professional sports too.
Football.
And right now it’s football season, so I’m gone a lot. Poor Sven spends so much time with Molly, I should just rehome him. I’m like the dog dad he never gets to see unless its summer break. Summer camps and spring training take far less of a toll than fall and winter.
“Yeah,” I inform the dog. “Uncle Buzz has his bachelor party tonight, do you believe that shit?”
Sven stares up at me, bottom jowls salivating.
“Want to know what’s worse than a bachelor party on a Saturday night, when I could be laying on the couch? A themed bachelor party.” I eyeball the bag on the counter through narrowed eyes and yank open the fridge. The cleaning lady slash housekeeper has left me some chicken patties and a side of potato salad, so there’s nothing for me to prepare.
I grab and go.
Heat and eat.
The chicken goes in the microwave, the potato salad goes in my mouth.
“Get this.” I swallow. “We’re going axe throwing and he wants everyone to wear plaid.” That’s what’s in the bag—the plaid, flannel shirt I had our mom buy for me. Who has time to hunt that shit down? Not me.
Yes, I could have ordered it online, but who knows what I like better than my own mother.
I peer inside the bag. The shirt is lumberjack plaid—haha, funny Mom—a red and black checkered patter. Khaki cargo pants.
I groan. Why must Buzz insist on making us look like complete imbeciles in public? As if axe throwing wasn’t bad enough. I’ve never done it, but how hard can it be? Obviously I’m going to dominate at it, but still, I’d rather be couch surfing tonight with the dog.