Hard Love (Trophy Boyfriends 3)

“What moves?”

“Your karate moves—I bet he’d love that.”

Fun fact: I am a first degree black belt in karate. My mother wanted me to learn self-defense at an early age—thought it was more useful than gymnastics or dance team or ballet—and by the time I was in high school, I’d earned my first black belt. When I was leaving for college, I’d earned a stripe.

Basically I can flip a grown man easier than I can do a cartwheel.

“You can’t just bust out karate moves—that’s for self-defense only,” I say indignantly, chin tipped up. “Besides, what reason would I have to utilize my martial arts skills on him?”

“Badassery.”

That’s a good reason. “That’s not a reason.”

“Showing off? Peacocking? Men do it all the time.” Finally, Hollis commits to tearing off a chunk of sugary deliciousness. “At least talk to the man. I’ll probably make you dance with him at the wedding.”

Here I thought her fiancé was the matchmaker in their duo. “What are you going to do, make an announcement in front of the whole room?”

“Don’t worry about me, worry about you.”

In the short time she’s been with Buzz, Hollis has gotten fun. Her messages are funny, her laughter is easy—happiness radiates from her. It’s infectious.

Her phone buzzes. “The guys will be back in ten minutes. They have most of it loaded into the back of the trucks already.”

“I don’t even want to look when they get back.”

Hollis laughs. “I guarantee you your shit is piled a story high, like the Santa sleigh in the Grinch. Crap spilling everywhere.”

Definitely not going to look when they pull up.

“Just tell them where you want the boxes when they bring them in. I’ll be the job supervisor.”

“I am just so thankful you’re helping me right before the wedding. I know you have a million things you need to be doing.”

Hollis shrugs. “Nah, don’t think twice about it. My mom and sister and Madison have turned into wedding-planner-zillas—I haven’t had to do anything. Mostly because when I try, they get frantic and it screws up what they’ve already planned. This wedding is my mother’s dream and Fiona is so excited. You’d think it was Madison getting married the way she’s carrying on, and honestly?” She picks at one of the sprinkles covering the donut. “I’m happy to let them. Trace and I just want to be married—we weren’t going to do a big wedding, but my family wanted one. And his mother would have a heart attack if we went to Fiji and eloped.” Another shrug.

“You’re a better woman than I am. No way would I let my mother and sister and friend plan my entire wedding.”

“Seriously? It’s amazing. All I have to do is show up. It’s like having all these surprise parties—and you know how I love surprises.”

She always did.

“Still. I would kill my mom. She would drive me completely bonkers.” My mother has always controlled everything I’ve done. Putting me in the activities she wanted me to be in, signing me up for classes she felt were cultural—not necessarily ones I was interested in. Made me hang out with girls who were from good families, not girls who were fun to play with.

The only freedom I ever tasted was those four years at college—one I chose that was a plane ride away.

My moving back to the city where I grew up isn’t what I planned for myself. I wanted to be far away and stay far away. Problem is? No job offer could compare to the one my father, uncle, and grandfather made me.

The plan? Work the next five years, stash the cash, then search for my dream job.

My cousin’s voice interrupts. “You’re zoning out on me. Earth to Chandler.”

My head shakes. “Sorry. I was just…”

“If you married Tripp, we would be sisters.”

That is the sort of thing we daydreamed about as kids, marrying brothers and becoming sisters. Even though Hollis has a sister, they weren’t as close as she and I were. I don’t have any siblings, but have always wanted one.

It would be so perfect.

If the guy wasn’t a douchecanoe.

I scrunch up my face. “I love you, but…”

“So no to Tripp? You don’t want me to…” She gives her upper torso a shimmy. “Facilitate a union?” Her brows go up and down.

I laugh. It’s sweet that she thinks he’d even want to date me if she suggested it to him. “No, I’m good.”

Her eyes trail to the swag bag from her bachelorette party, and she gives an “Ooo” before pulling it toward her. Peers inside. Roots around. “The vibrator isn’t in here. Did you get one?”

“I did.”

Hollis glances up at me. “Where is it?”

I stare at her silently, unwilling to point toward the bedroom or admit that I may have tried using it last night before passing out in bed with exhaustion.

“Chandler Westbrooke, were you jerking off last night?” she shouts as the front door opens and Buzz sticks his head through, ears perking up at the tail end of Hollis’s statement.