Break Up with Him, for Me (You Belong With Me 1)

“You were eavesdropping?”

“I walked by to shut the door. You want three or four pancakes?”

“I want you to put some clothes on.”

“In my own damn house?” He smirked. “Three or four?”

“Four. And yes, in your own damn house.”

He laughed and grabbed a pair of sweats from a chair, pulling them on. “Better?”

“Much.” I took out the syrup. “I need a favor.”

“Then you need to write some more letters for me.”

“Can you drive me to the Hamptons tomorrow?” I asked. “Preferably early in the morning so we can beat the traffic?”

He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

“I’ll give you some gas money,” I said.

“A full tank of gas in my Maserati costs two hundred dollars.”

“That’s not your only car.”

“It costs more in the Bugatti. Those are your cheapest options.”

“Can’t you buy a Honda or a Prius between now and then?”

He laughed. “I thought you had a session at the rink tomorrow with that Olympic hopeful.”

“I’ll call to reschedule.” I shrugged. “She’s only looking for feedback.”

“I’ll drive you, but under the condition that you don’t reschedule on her again,” he said. “You hated when your coaches did that to you, and I still have the angry text messages and voicemails to prove it.”

I stared at him, hating that he knew me so damn well. That he was taking me on a well-deserved guilt-trip.

“I’ll ask Tatiana to show up in my place,” I said. “She’s been itching to see good skating for a while.”

“Good idea.” He turned off the stove. “Be ready to leave at four. How much longer before you can get back to the letters?”

“Simon’s calling me within the hour.”

“Okay, well no pancakes for you. Just letters until he calls.” He took a bite of my stack and slid a pen toward me. “You’re welcome.”

Nine

Present Day

Hayden

The following morning

“Have I ever told you that you’re a terrible driver?” Penelope looked over at me as I steered my Audi through the back streets. “The speed limit is sixty-five and you’ve been going ninety this entire time.”

“If you like, we can switch seats and you can drive.”

“I actually would like that.”

“Tough shit, it was sarcasm.” I laughed and switched lanes. “How long did you and lover-boy stay on the phone last night?”

“Three hours. He’s had his heart broken in some pretty awful ways like me. Want to hear about it?”

“Sure,” I said, with no intent on listening to a single word she said.

I’d thought that working on the letters and chatting about ‘Prince Charming’ would be enough to stop the dirty images that were still flooding my brain from the night before, but I was wrong.

Dead wrong.

To make matters worse, she’d decided to get into my car wearing nothing but a bright red bikini top and light jean shorts that might as well have been panties.

I was playing my best game of restraint with every curve I steered, wondering where the hell my best friend who previously wore oversized T-shirts and jeans to parties had gone. My best friend who didn’t arouse me every time I looked at her …

“What do you think about that?” Her voice interrupted my thoughts. “His fiancé dumped him the day that they were walking through the wedding venue.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“Yeah, it’s really sad.”

“Long-term commitment only leads to disappointment,” I said. “Someone like him should’ve known better.”

“Of course.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess that’s what makes you, you. You’re a good muse for a late-night orgasm in bed, but a terrible template for a boyfriend.”

“You touch yourself while thinking of me?”

“It was an analogy, Hayden.”

“I think there’s a hidden meaning behind it.” I looked over at her as we pulled up to a red light. “You can be honest with me, you know.”

“I honestly think that you’re full of yourself, and if I’d known that you had over a thousand apology letters to write, I would’ve never agreed to helping you.”

“Then you probably would’ve spent the entire yacht party in the bathroom. You’re still welcome for that, by the way.”

She didn’t have a rebuttal for that.

I steered the car around the corner and stomped on the brake once I saw what was ahead.

“What the hell?” Penelope sucked in a breath.

Miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic lay ahead of us—cars full of people with the same idea, killing her initial plan to get there early.

Or on time.

“Should I text Simon and tell him I’ll be three hours late?” She sighed. “I don’t see me getting there any sooner.”

“No,” I said, steering the car out of the lane and making a U-turn. “I’ll park at the garage and we’ll walk to one of my beach rentals. I’ll have Roger fly via helicopter to check on it, and then I’ll get someone else to bring me a different car so I can drive back home.”

“Do you ever stop and realize how ridiculously wealthy you are?”