Ex Games

Chapter One

Mondays had a bad rap but since the breakup, Wednesdays had become my mortal enemy.

I’d gone through nine of them since the one on which Aaron packed his bags overnight and left me with just a note on the kitchen table. Which was almost humorous, really, because for the last year of our three-year relationship, we had only two struggles: his inability to clean up after himself, and his refusal to write a card instead of agonize over gifts. Lucky for us, he finally got past both those struggles in one shot. Not so lucky for us, the achievement came in conjunction with him dumping me out of the blue, without so much as a word of explanation. Were it not for the goodbye he scribbled on the back of a Duane Reade receipt, I’d have alerted the press and filed a missing persons report.

Not that I didn’t end up doing other dramatic things. Though to be fair, they sounded more dramatic than they were. On paper, calling Aaron’s friends, colleagues, boss and a couple gym buddies might sound borderline-to-fully batshit insane, but in my own defense, I thought he had either lost his mind or been kidnapped by the Sicilian mafia.

Because nothing had led up to him leaving me.

Nothing. In fact, we’d had that steamy, breathy, fingers-tangled-in-his-hair kind of sex the night before. The last fight we’d gotten into was a petty one about the sheer amount of butt shots he liked on Instagram, and we settled that one fast with a new rule: No more double-tapping booties for Aaron as long as Taylor agreed to stop moaning every time she saw a picture of Charlie Hunnam. It was easy. We’d become so good at settling our silly stuff, and as far as I knew, silly stuff was all we had.

But then he left me. And all he gave me was that shitty note.

Tay. I hope you’ll forgive me but I had to go. Please keep the ring because you have been nothing but amazing to me, and you don’t deserve this at all. I don’t have a choice, but I promise I love you. And I promise you’ll move on. – A

I stood in the middle of the kitchen for a solid five minutes as the room spun around me. Then I snapped out of my daze and called him, all the while tearing through our Columbus Circle apartment for any clues that this was just a big, cruel joke.

He didn’t pick up, but it took two Wednesdays for me consider I might actually be single.

It took another till I realized I was.

Several more passed before I truly accepted that this was it. Aaron and I were over. Done.

The man who had seen me through my absolute worst trials and tribulations – the man I had spent the past six months planning a wedding with was gone. And not only that, he wanted to be. As it turned out, he had premeditated leaving me for at least a month considering he’d put in two weeks at his job, had a fucking goodbye party with his colleagues and even finagled his way off our lease, leaving me to pay solo for the four-grand-a-month studio he claimed we “needed” for its prestigious address.

That one left me dumbfounded all over again.

Because it was one thing to abandon me, but it really took some nerve to also leave me with the bills he knew I couldn’t afford alone. After all, he was the one who needed to impress his rich friends. He was the one who decided that we couldn’t reside anywhere but the thirtieth floor of a high rise, with a weekly maid service and the most absurdly expensive gym membership known to man. Since the rent came out of Aaron’s checking, I footed our other expenses and paid the difference owed every month.

It worked fine for three years.

But now, every last dollar sign was mine to tackle, including that of the cancellation fees from every vendor and venue we booked for the big fat wedding that wasn’t going to happen. It was like rubbing financial salt into the wounds of my life turned upside down.

Four Wednesdays ago, I picked up a night job as a waitress.

Two Wednesdays ago, I maxed out my second credit card.

Last Wednesday, I got a late notice on my rent, and I was sure it couldn’t possibly get shittier than that. But today, I woke up to something a solid thousand times worse than the last three combined because this Wednesday, the bad news was waiting impatiently outside my apartment and rapping nonstop on the door despite the fact that it was 7:15AM, and even if it weren’t, he had to know I’d want nothing to do with him. I generally preferred a good fifty streets separating me and the man whose guts I’d spent the past three years hating with every last fiber of my being.

“Taylor, come the fuck on. Open the goddamned door.”

Ever the charmer, that one.

Today, I got Aaron’s brother, Mason.

Chapter Two

“Taylor, I know you’re in there. I can hear the TV.”

Panicked, I popped up on the couch that had been my bed since the breakup. Throwing the sheets off my body, I shoved my hands between the pillows, my foggy morning brain convinced that Mason would go away if I just turned off the volume.

“Don’t bother looking for the remote. I can clearly hear you watching The Real Housewives of Your Shitty Taste in TV.”

Standing now, I cut my eyes to the door, trying to decide if I wanted to blow my cover with a retort.

“Trust me, I’d have no interest in being here if it weren’t an emergency. And I’m trying to give you the chance to do this on your own terms. Either open the door or I will, and before you say I don’t have a key, I do.” He paused. “So for both our sakes, put on some pants.”

Asshole. I tried to tell myself he was bluffing but my lips betrayed me. “Mason, don’t you dare come in.”

“There she is,” his smug voice came back straightaway. “Morning, sunshine. Hope you slept well. Now open the door.”

“I don’t want to or have to. Whether I like it or not, this is my apartment now and mine alone.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s not your apartment. You don’t own this building, it’s just a rental that you haven’t paid for in a month, according to this gorgeous pink note I’m staring at.”

Shit. My cheeks went aflame as I realized my landlord had left another notice. I tried to think of a response, but suddenly, I was frozen at the sound of metal jimmying in the lock of my door. No way. In my mind, I ran to grab the blanket on the couch and cover myself up. In reality, I stood there, useless and unmoving because despite knowing Mason Leo for three whole years, I was still shocked that he was in fact shitty enough to barge into my home without asking.

“Mase…” I watched the doorknob turn. “Wait – ”

“Incoming.”

With that casual announcement, the door swung open and my jaw hit the floor as Mason Leo strolled right into my home, wearing a damp white T-shirt and dark grey sweats. Holy shit. I froze, a knot jumping into my throat because one, I’d never seen Mason in anything but an expensive suit and two, I’d never seen this much of him before. The cotton of his shirt was saturated in sweat and it clung to his every muscle. He’d been on a morning run and I could very much see that – as well as some rather clear outlines of six-pack.

And cock.

Wow.

Just like that, I forgot my instinct to cover myself up and suddenly, in a see-through shirt and ugly panties gifted by Sofia as a joke, I was standing before Mason Leo’s famously lusted-for body, watching his blue eyes move leisurely up my bare legs and over every inch of my mortification. Silence stretched between us till finally, he raised his eyebrows and gave a low laugh.

“Well. The top half almost makes up for the bottom.”

I blushed something furious, clasping my hands over my breasts before acknowledging the panties. “They were a gag gift.”

“Gag or not, today’s Wednesday.” He squinted at the pink cursive on my crotch that read ‘Sunday.’ I snapped my fingers in front of my eyes.

“Up here. And I don’t actually wear these according to the day,” I sniped as he ignored me to amble into my kitchen and grab a mug out of the cupboard. “Please don’t make yourself at home.”

“I could never feel at home in a five hundred square foot studio.”

Five-fifty, I thought bitterly as I tore my gaze off Mason’s Superman shoulders stretching the life out of his shirt. Crossing my arms, I forced my stare elsewhere, instead watching his long fingers work the buttons on the espresso machine I never knew how to use. “Mason.”