One Night Stand-In (Boyfriend Material #3) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,7

be done faster then,” I say before I connect the dots. But when I do, all the life leaks out of me. I brace myself for an answer I don’t want. But I have to ask the question. “Who’s helping Luna? Is it her sister?”

Please say no. Please say no.

I can hear Rowan smile as he answers, “Yes. Lola will help.”

Lola Dumont.

Lola fucking Dumont.

I lean against the coffee shop’s brick wall, picturing the last time I saw the dark-haired beauty at an industry event. She’d looked like she wanted to toss her champagne at me. Then deliver a scathing rebuttal listing all my mistakes.

Hell, there were things I wanted to say to her too.

When her name pops up in my texts a few minutes later, my brain plays a cruel joke by reminding me of three things.

How much fun we had together for that one year when we were nearly inseparable.

How good her lips tasted the night I kissed her.

And how shitty I felt the weekend after.

3

Lola

Isn’t a morning workout supposed to de-stress you?

That’s why I started my new regimen—begin the day right, and all that jazz. Though, credit where credit’s due, the early-bird fitness strategy was Amy’s idea. She twisted my arm a month ago. “If I’m going to enter the endurance sport of wedding cake testing, I need to adopt a new workout ritual. And pretty please, will you be my fitness partner at the crack of dawn?”

I’d said yes instantly, because my two shrinks—aka my good friends Peyton and Amy—keep telling me I need less stress in my life.

Sure, the stress is technically self-induced because I just branched out on my own. Starting a business is both a wonderful and terrifying adventure.

I used to be a staff designer at the Bailey & Brooks publishing house, but I’ve always wanted to run my own design firm. In the last year, I took the first few steps, finagling a contractor position here at the publishing house, cutting down my time to three days a week. The other two days are for me to develop my own clients, and I’ve nabbed a handful so far—clients I need to tend to both tonight and this weekend, because that’s how you build a business.

Round the freaking clock.

But now, I have unexpected plans. The giant flat tire of picking up my sister’s stuff from all over Brooklyn.

When she forwards the email, she sends along a series of text messages strewn with stars and comets. That tugs at my stupid heart—it’s our code. Our sister language. And it’s exactly why I’m doing this for her. This touring opportunity is her dream, and if picking up her crap helps her, I’ll do it.

I reply with a moon, and she writes back with the sun. Then she says she’s about to lose cell service, but she loves me with all her heart and soul.

And I love her too.

After I shower, tame my dark curls into an acceptable mane, and dress for work, Amy and I leave the gym. On the walk to Bailey & Brooks, where Amy is a full-time kick-ass editor, we dissect the world’s most ridiculous email.

“It figures that my sister would have a dramatic landlord,” I say as we turn down Madison Avenue.

“Like attracts like?” Amy offers.

A flash of silver streaks by on the busy street. I jerk my head toward the spandexed rollerblader cruising the streets at the speed of an Italian race car. A former rollerblading champion, he’s hell-bent on restoring the sport to its 1990s glory days with his YouTube channel.

“Hi, Peter,” I shout.

The fortysomething man angles up his purple Rollerblade, slamming on the brake. Hopping onto the sidewalk, he wheels over to us, whipping off his gleaming black helmet with its GoPro camera mounted to the front. “Lola! Are we still on for coffee this evening? To review the graphics?”

I wince, then give him my best professional smile. “Any chance we can switch to tomorrow morning? Coffee’s best in the morning anyway.”

He pouts, like he’s so put out, then he shrugs happily. “If you insist. Gives me more twilight blading time anyway.”

“And that’s what matters most. I’ll have everything ready to show you in the morning,” I say. He gives me a thumbs-up then Froggers his way across the avenue, attacking the street once more with his trademark ferocity.

Amy nudges me. “For the record, I love that your first client is none other than Peter the Blade. Maybe he’ll even write a memoir someday of his wild rollerblading exploits