The Hone-Don't List the sweetest new romcom from the bestselling author of The Unhoneymooners - Christina Lauren Page 0,34

I’ve worked for her, she’s never questioned my character or accused me of being disloyal.

I wipe my face again, wishing I were more furious and less hurt. Wishing I had stood up to her instead of letting her see me cry.

You and Russell humiliate the fuck out of me in front of two hundred people and now you want to shut me up with food?

Carey has just tried to take credit for my fucking life’s work …

I’d been so grateful when she’d finally made James leave, but she wasn’t finished.

I have given you so much, and this is how you repay me?

Melly, I would never—

Are you calling me a liar?

No—

Try that again, and I will replace you in a second. Do you understand? You’re not special, Carey. Don’t forget that.

Not special.

Rusty just stood there; his eyes were soft with pity, but he didn’t dare contradict her and risk getting something else thrown at his head.

SACRED HEALING, my ass.

And then there’s James. I want to thank him for trying to stand up for me, but I’m still too mortified that he had to witness that debacle to imagine ever talking to him again.

I pull the last Funyun out of the bag and glance over at the boys, envying their carefree youth and fighting the urge to rush over to tell them to study hard, to go to college, to do whatever they can to give themselves options. Make plans, and make backup plans. Network, and meet people, and don’t be afraid to try something new and fail at it—experience is everything. I want to tell them, more than anything, not to settle down in the first job they get.

One of the boys runs screaming toward the pool and does a cannonball so epic he soaks all of his friends and a good portion of the pool deck.

“I had my phone, you motherfucker!” another shouts. This is followed by a chorus of delighted cackling that echoes off the building. The pool area sits in a U-shaped courtyard created by the exterior walls of the hotel, with floors of windows that look down. I expect a set of drapes to slide open, or a parent or chaperone to appear with a stern warning to Behave Yourselves or Else, but it doesn’t happen.

Because they are clearly unsupervised, some form of boy wrestling ensues, complete with a few of the dirtiest words I’ve ever heard—and my dad worked construction, so I’ve heard them all. Splashes turn into waves that ripple to where my bare legs dangle in the water. The boys are slowly morphing from Kids on the Loose to Lord of the Flies, but the chaos out here is still preferable to facing whatever is going on inside.

My phone vibrates, and I look, reluctantly. I have a few missed calls from James. Nothing from Melly, but then, I don’t expect that until tomorrow. After a few hours to cool off—and with nobody else around to placate her—she’ll apologize in the morning, like she always does. I think.

But there is a message in my group chat with Peyton and Annabeth.

Annabeth

Checking in

I think about how to best reply here. Having to actually type the lie that everything is fine will make my head explode, but I can’t really describe what’s going on, either. Weirdly, the only person I think would truly understand is James.

And I can’t confide in him.

Carey

You know how parents tell you that if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?

Annabeth

Uh-oh.

Peyton

Mine never said that.

Annabeth

Because Liz and Bill Gibley live for the gossip.

Peyton

It’s true. They do.

Annabeth

Going out on a limb and guessing that the book tour is not off to a solid start, C?

What an understatement.

“Hey.”

I’m so startled I nearly drop my phone in the pool, and look up to see James hovering over me. The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, and it accentuates his forearms so nicely it’s enough to distract me from my morose mental bender.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your Funyunning.” He clears his throat, and I blink to focus, eyes scanning down his arms (he really does have very nice arms) to where he’s carrying a bag of Funyuns in one hand and a beer in the other. This makes him my current dream man.

With my own bag empty, my mouth waters immediately. From the Funyuns, not the forearms. I think. “Those for me?”

“I thought you might need them after …” He jerks his head back toward the hotel. “That. But I see